Chapter Twenty Two - Counter Attack
Chapter Twenty Two - Counter Attack
The sight of so many soldiers, of so many scared faces, all looking at them as they moved slowly along the road, made Katka sink down in her seat. It was unnerving, far too silent, because even when the traffic came to a complete standstill, when there were soldiers on foot moving between the cars, no one spoke, no one made a sound.
‘They know they’re heading to their deaths.’ Paul said, and with his fingers he drummed the steering wheel of the car.
Us too, Katka thought and she looked at the people who were moving in the opposite direction. Cars, trucks, all loaded with possessions, people. They should look relieved, Katka thought, they were moving away, escaping. But towards what they were heading they did not know. Only uncertainty, more war, more fighting. It seemed in that moment, stuck in traffic and surrounded by so many people that the war would never end.
Paul and Katka sat in tense silence until the traffic eased and they were able to turn off onto a little country road. It cut through a thick forest and there was no traffic and so Paul accelerated, drove fast. He steered the car along a narrow bendy road, which was dark and sheltered by a thick canopy of trees on either side.
‘It’ll be alright.’ He said to Katka, not turning his gaze from the road ahead, ‘it’ll be alright. When we get to Prague there’ll be other people there, others who want to end the war as quickly we do.’
Katka smiled.
Paul kept talking, but Katka did not listen. Instead she looked through the car’s side window, up at the narrow stretch of sky above them. It was bright blue above the treetops, with only the faintest wisp of white cloud. And Katka thought that perhaps, when they got back to Prague, when they finally reached the city that she had left all those weeks ago, perhaps it might be alright then, perhaps the fighting would be done and the war would be over before they got there..
And as if in agreement, suddenly the trees opened up to reveal a wide expanse of blue sky. It opened up in a burst of light, of sunlight that filled the car and instantly warmed the air. And in front of them, as the road sloped gently downwards, the trees seemed to fall away to reveal the most beautiful expanse of countryside Katka had ever seen.
But then she saw something. Like a mar on the perfect blue sky, a tiny black cross, as ugly as a fly. ‘Is that a plane?’ Katka asked.
Paul stopped talking. He squinted his eyes, frowned. ‘It’s a stuka.’ he said.
‘A what?’
But there was no need for Paul to explain. She watches as the little plane cut through the air and turned sharply, as agile as a bat, suddenly aiming itself at the ground. Then went into a steep howling dive and opened fire with a long burst of machine gun fire.
Paul Immediately slowed the car.
‘No, get closer.’ Katka said and she gestured towards the edge of the trees, ‘Down there, we can see what it was firing at.’
Paul obliged and drove further along the road until they reached the edge of the forest, where he slowed the car to a stop on the side of the road, close enough to the trees that it was sheltered from view. They saw then what was happening - a farmhouse, about a hundred metres away, had begun to flicker with orange flames. A plume of smoke rose up into the sky, grey like thread.
‘There must be some reason they’re attacking that farmhouse.’ Paul said, ‘And look, there’s people.’
A cluster of stick figures were running from the house, looking upwards as they broke away from the farm buildings and scattering into the field. One of them had a rifle on his shoulder and he he aimed it at the stuka as it began its second descent.
But it was pointless though. The sound of the man’s gun was drowned out by the sudden rat-a-tat-tat of the stuka’s powerful guns and the scream of its engine as it neared the ground.
‘That sound!’ Katka exclaimed.
‘It’s on purpose’ Paul said ‘They have sirens attached to their fuselage. It’s to scare the enemy.’
‘God,’ said Katka, ‘Those people must be terrified.’
They watched then in horror as the stuka dived for a third time, and this time it seemed to be firing at the people instead of the house. They tumbled to the ground. It was impossible to tell whether they had been hit by the planes barrage of bullets of if they were just diving for cover.
‘Bastards!’ Paul shouted and he stood up in the car door, taking as he did so one of the machine guns they had brought with them from the house. At once he fired into the air. A futile attempt at fighting back becasue there was no way his bullets would make a difference, even if they hit.
But suddenly the stuka turned. Instead of diving again it turned and began flying away. ‘It’s over!’ Paul shouted and he let out a shout of joy. The little figures on the ground began shouting too.
It was only Katka who realised what had happened, ‘It’s just out of ammunition!’ she shouted to Paul, either that or out of fuel. But Paul wasn’t listening. He began waving his hand in the air, signalling to the people on the ground.
They paid no attention to Pal though. Instead they were busy trying to rescue something from the farm building. It was well alight now, flames were jumping into the air, along with thick black smoke billowing from the cottage windows.
‘We need to get down there and help them.’ Paul said, and he got back into the driver’s seat. The sudden sound of an approaching car stopped him though. It came from behind, the roar of an engine travelling at speed, the crunch of its wheels on the rough road as it tore past them, throwing up gravel and dust.
‘Paul, get down!’ Katka screamed, seeing at once that it was an army car, grey and roofless. It had a heavy mounted machine gun in the back and two soldiers, one driving and the other gripping hold of the machine gun behind him. They did not see Paul or Katka though. It was the farmhouse they were interested in and they aimed their car directly for it, stopping about half way between the woods and the house.
‘We have to help them.’ Paul said, We - ‘ but bedore he could say anymore, the soldier in the back of the car let out a sudden volley of bullets. The sound ripped through the country air. Deep and resonant, it shook the ground with its ferociousness, spewing spent cartridges into the air and spitting orange fire from its nozzle.
Great chunks of the cottage wall came loose as the bullets hit. Not that it mattered now, the house was engulfed in flames, the stick figures by the cottage again began to scatter, some took aim with their rifles, responding in kind. But the feeble crack of their rifles was nothing compared to the thundering roar of the German machine gun.
Paul was again out of the car and he ran towards the farmhouse. He shouted something over his shoulder at Katka but it was impossible to hear.
‘Paul!’ Katka shouted in response. It was pointless what he was doing. By the time he got close enough to fire the machine gun would have annihilated the farmhouse, would have cut the fleeing people to pieces too. ‘Paul, wait!’ Katka shouted. She had a better idea.
Katka quickly got behind the wheel of the car. She started the engine and steered it out of the woods in the opposite direction of the cottage, turning in a wide loop so that she could come up behind the German soldiers.
It sickened her, the thought of what she was about to do and she she glanced at the gun she would do it with as it bounced on the seat next to her.
Don’t think, she told herself, don’t think because it's the lives of the innocent people escaping from the cottage she cared about more. She skidded the car to a stop directly behind the German soldiers and straight away stood up in the car doorway. Then she levelled her gun on the machine gunners back.
Suddenly something distracted her though. In the sky just above the horizon a row of specks, as harmless as like summer flies, only flying in a neat line formation. ‘Stukas!’ Katka shouted, unable to help herself but recognising the familiar crook of their wings.
The people in the field had seen them too. They began running for the shelter of the forest. Katka’s hout had alerted the driver of the German car too and he turned towards Katka. ‘Hey!’ he shouted, and in the same instance fumbled for his rifle.
He was too slow for Katka though. She turned her gun to the driver and opened fire. The force of her bullets sent him spinning from the open topped car. She then aimed at the machine gunner, who was still firing, and in the same moment the first stuka began its descent.
One after the other the planes dived, howling in turn. This time they were armed with bombs, which they launched from their bellies, as innocent looking as easter eggs, but deadly in their delivery.
The farmhouse was obliterated, thrown up along with great mounds of earth around it. The stukas targeted the outhouses too, the barn close by in the field. And simultaneously the machine gunner peppered the field upon which the escaping people were fleeing. Paul too, who was level with them now and running towards the woods along with them.
It was only when the first of them fell, cartwheeling into the ground as he was hit by one of the machine gun bullets, that Katka realised what she should do. She pointed her gun at the soldier’s back and squeezed the trigger. At once he slumped across his gun, still firing but the gun’s muzzle aimed at the ground, causing a fountain of earth to erupt around the armoured car.
I did this to save them, Katka told herself as she got quickly back into the driver’s seat. It was to save lives, not to take them and she decided then that it was something she would not dwell on, not now, not ever. She turned the wheel and accelerated towards the tree line, quickly and hopelessly towards the point where Paul and the others were now taking cover.
She could see Paul waving to her as she approached. He pointed to the sky, jabbing manically, but there was nothing Katka could do. She had her foot pressed hard on the accelerator already and there was no way she could out run the line of stukas as they caught up with her and began a fresh attack, this time on her.
Katka ducked into her seat.
The earth on either side of the car exploded in great fountains of earth as the first stuka screamed its rage against the car.
No bullet hit though,
It was the second that broke the skin of the car, punching chunks out of the thin aluminium roof above as the seat next to her was torn to pieces.
Katka screamed. At least she thought she did, but the noise was too much. It was impossible to see too. Earth and dust and a sudden burst of steam from the engine. The car was hit, the engine flooding the air with white.
Then the steering wheel began to spin, ripping itself free from Katka’s grip and suddenly stopping, locking as the whole car bucked like a horse and Katka felt herself flying. For a moment she was weightless, turning in the air, free from the car as it buried itself into the base of a tree and then -
Nothing.
Everything silent, everything black.
The sight of so many soldiers, of so many scared faces, all looking at them as they moved slowly along the road, made Katka sink down in her seat. It was unnerving, far too silent, because even when the traffic came to a complete standstill, when there were soldiers on foot moving between the cars, no one spoke, no one made a sound.
‘They know they’re heading to their deaths.’ Paul said, and with his fingers he drummed the steering wheel of the car.
Us too, Katka thought and she looked at the people who were moving in the opposite direction. Cars, trucks, all loaded with possessions, people. They should look relieved, Katka thought, they were moving away, escaping. But towards what they were heading they did not know. Only uncertainty, more war, more fighting. It seemed in that moment, stuck in traffic and surrounded by so many people that the war would never end.
Paul and Katka sat in tense silence until the traffic eased and they were able to turn off onto a little country road. It cut through a thick forest and there was no traffic and so Paul accelerated, drove fast. He steered the car along a narrow bendy road, which was dark and sheltered by a thick canopy of trees on either side.
‘It’ll be alright.’ He said to Katka, not turning his gaze from the road ahead, ‘it’ll be alright. When we get to Prague there’ll be other people there, others who want to end the war as quickly we do.’
Katka smiled.
Paul kept talking, but Katka did not listen. Instead she looked through the car’s side window, up at the narrow stretch of sky above them. It was bright blue above the treetops, with only the faintest wisp of white cloud. And Katka thought that perhaps, when they got back to Prague, when they finally reached the city that she had left all those weeks ago, perhaps it might be alright then, perhaps the fighting would be done and the war would be over before they got there..
And as if in agreement, suddenly the trees opened up to reveal a wide expanse of blue sky. It opened up in a burst of light, of sunlight that filled the car and instantly warmed the air. And in front of them, as the road sloped gently downwards, the trees seemed to fall away to reveal the most beautiful expanse of countryside Katka had ever seen.
But then she saw something. Like a mar on the perfect blue sky, a tiny black cross, as ugly as a fly. ‘Is that a plane?’ Katka asked.
Paul stopped talking. He squinted his eyes, frowned. ‘It’s a stuka.’ he said.
‘A what?’
But there was no need for Paul to explain. She watches as the little plane cut through the air and turned sharply, as agile as a bat, suddenly aiming itself at the ground. Then went into a steep howling dive and opened fire with a long burst of machine gun fire.
Paul Immediately slowed the car.
‘No, get closer.’ Katka said and she gestured towards the edge of the trees, ‘Down there, we can see what it was firing at.’
Paul obliged and drove further along the road until they reached the edge of the forest, where he slowed the car to a stop on the side of the road, close enough to the trees that it was sheltered from view. They saw then what was happening - a farmhouse, about a hundred metres away, had begun to flicker with orange flames. A plume of smoke rose up into the sky, grey like thread.
‘There must be some reason they’re attacking that farmhouse.’ Paul said, ‘And look, there’s people.’
A cluster of stick figures were running from the house, looking upwards as they broke away from the farm buildings and scattering into the field. One of them had a rifle on his shoulder and he he aimed it at the stuka as it began its second descent.
But it was pointless though. The sound of the man’s gun was drowned out by the sudden rat-a-tat-tat of the stuka’s powerful guns and the scream of its engine as it neared the ground.
‘That sound!’ Katka exclaimed.
‘It’s on purpose’ Paul said ‘They have sirens attached to their fuselage. It’s to scare the enemy.’
‘God,’ said Katka, ‘Those people must be terrified.’
They watched then in horror as the stuka dived for a third time, and this time it seemed to be firing at the people instead of the house. They tumbled to the ground. It was impossible to tell whether they had been hit by the planes barrage of bullets of if they were just diving for cover.
‘Bastards!’ Paul shouted and he stood up in the car door, taking as he did so one of the machine guns they had brought with them from the house. At once he fired into the air. A futile attempt at fighting back becasue there was no way his bullets would make a difference, even if they hit.
But suddenly the stuka turned. Instead of diving again it turned and began flying away. ‘It’s over!’ Paul shouted and he let out a shout of joy. The little figures on the ground began shouting too.
It was only Katka who realised what had happened, ‘It’s just out of ammunition!’ she shouted to Paul, either that or out of fuel. But Paul wasn’t listening. He began waving his hand in the air, signalling to the people on the ground.
They paid no attention to Pal though. Instead they were busy trying to rescue something from the farm building. It was well alight now, flames were jumping into the air, along with thick black smoke billowing from the cottage windows.
‘We need to get down there and help them.’ Paul said, and he got back into the driver’s seat. The sudden sound of an approaching car stopped him though. It came from behind, the roar of an engine travelling at speed, the crunch of its wheels on the rough road as it tore past them, throwing up gravel and dust.
‘Paul, get down!’ Katka screamed, seeing at once that it was an army car, grey and roofless. It had a heavy mounted machine gun in the back and two soldiers, one driving and the other gripping hold of the machine gun behind him. They did not see Paul or Katka though. It was the farmhouse they were interested in and they aimed their car directly for it, stopping about half way between the woods and the house.
‘We have to help them.’ Paul said, We - ‘ but bedore he could say anymore, the soldier in the back of the car let out a sudden volley of bullets. The sound ripped through the country air. Deep and resonant, it shook the ground with its ferociousness, spewing spent cartridges into the air and spitting orange fire from its nozzle.
Great chunks of the cottage wall came loose as the bullets hit. Not that it mattered now, the house was engulfed in flames, the stick figures by the cottage again began to scatter, some took aim with their rifles, responding in kind. But the feeble crack of their rifles was nothing compared to the thundering roar of the German machine gun.
Paul was again out of the car and he ran towards the farmhouse. He shouted something over his shoulder at Katka but it was impossible to hear.
‘Paul!’ Katka shouted in response. It was pointless what he was doing. By the time he got close enough to fire the machine gun would have annihilated the farmhouse, would have cut the fleeing people to pieces too. ‘Paul, wait!’ Katka shouted. She had a better idea.
Katka quickly got behind the wheel of the car. She started the engine and steered it out of the woods in the opposite direction of the cottage, turning in a wide loop so that she could come up behind the German soldiers.
It sickened her, the thought of what she was about to do and she she glanced at the gun she would do it with as it bounced on the seat next to her.
Don’t think, she told herself, don’t think because it's the lives of the innocent people escaping from the cottage she cared about more. She skidded the car to a stop directly behind the German soldiers and straight away stood up in the car doorway. Then she levelled her gun on the machine gunners back.
Suddenly something distracted her though. In the sky just above the horizon a row of specks, as harmless as like summer flies, only flying in a neat line formation. ‘Stukas!’ Katka shouted, unable to help herself but recognising the familiar crook of their wings.
The people in the field had seen them too. They began running for the shelter of the forest. Katka’s hout had alerted the driver of the German car too and he turned towards Katka. ‘Hey!’ he shouted, and in the same instance fumbled for his rifle.
He was too slow for Katka though. She turned her gun to the driver and opened fire. The force of her bullets sent him spinning from the open topped car. She then aimed at the machine gunner, who was still firing, and in the same moment the first stuka began its descent.
One after the other the planes dived, howling in turn. This time they were armed with bombs, which they launched from their bellies, as innocent looking as easter eggs, but deadly in their delivery.
The farmhouse was obliterated, thrown up along with great mounds of earth around it. The stukas targeted the outhouses too, the barn close by in the field. And simultaneously the machine gunner peppered the field upon which the escaping people were fleeing. Paul too, who was level with them now and running towards the woods along with them.
It was only when the first of them fell, cartwheeling into the ground as he was hit by one of the machine gun bullets, that Katka realised what she should do. She pointed her gun at the soldier’s back and squeezed the trigger. At once he slumped across his gun, still firing but the gun’s muzzle aimed at the ground, causing a fountain of earth to erupt around the armoured car.
I did this to save them, Katka told herself as she got quickly back into the driver’s seat. It was to save lives, not to take them and she decided then that it was something she would not dwell on, not now, not ever. She turned the wheel and accelerated towards the tree line, quickly and hopelessly towards the point where Paul and the others were now taking cover.
She could see Paul waving to her as she approached. He pointed to the sky, jabbing manically, but there was nothing Katka could do. She had her foot pressed hard on the accelerator already and there was no way she could out run the line of stukas as they caught up with her and began a fresh attack, this time on her.
Katka ducked into her seat.
The earth on either side of the car exploded in great fountains of earth as the first stuka screamed its rage against the car.
No bullet hit though,
It was the second that broke the skin of the car, punching chunks out of the thin aluminium roof above as the seat next to her was torn to pieces.
Katka screamed. At least she thought she did, but the noise was too much. It was impossible to see too. Earth and dust and a sudden burst of steam from the engine. The car was hit, the engine flooding the air with white.
Then the steering wheel began to spin, ripping itself free from Katka’s grip and suddenly stopping, locking as the whole car bucked like a horse and Katka felt herself flying. For a moment she was weightless, turning in the air, free from the car as it buried itself into the base of a tree and then -
Nothing.
Everything silent, everything black.