Читаем Arnhem полностью

Captain Theo Redman, a para medical officer, ran into them the instant he landed. ‘They appeared through the trees,’ he recalled, ‘no more than 20 yards away, firing as they came.’ He and two other men with him tried to find cover as bullets kicked up earth around them. One of his companions was shot dead and he himself was hit in the arm. ‘There seemed little future in trying to take them on with my revolver so we gave ourselves up.’⁵ Such was the opposition now amassing to fight off the airborne attack, his war was over before it had even begun.

Meanwhile, Arthur Ayers had found his squadron of engineers in a wood and was relieved to be back among friends. ‘Considering the reception we had, I was surprised to hear about 80 per cent had reported to the RV.’ He was given a replacement Sten, which had belonged to a poor lad ‘who wouldn’t need it any more’. The troops lined up for what they imagined would be the march towards Arnhem. They looked pretty shambolic – ‘like a circus’, according to Johansen. ‘Every jeep was towing a trolley or a cart with the heavy kit on. Some men were walking, some riding motorcycles, some riding pushbikes and the rest perched on the mountains of kit.’⁶ Already the plan of action was changing. The direct route ahead – the one they had been briefed to take – was impassable due to enemy action, and the men were sent a different way, winding through the woods. Ayers remembered seeing a German soldier lying face up in a ditch with a neat round hole in the centre of his helmet. ‘Derogatory remarks were made as we filed by about the only good German being a dead one, but my thoughts were for his mother and father, perhaps a wife and young children.’ From the sky came the sound of low-flying aircraft. ‘Spitfires,’ said a hopeful voice. ‘Air cover for us.’ He was wrong. ‘Jerries!’ the shout went up, and they dived for a ditch. Bullets sprayed down the road and through the foliage. Ayers pressed himself into the rich Dutch earth and prayed not to end up like the German he’d just seen. ‘They made one more swoop over our position, then made off as quickly as they had come. We clambered out of the ditch, miraculously without any casualties.’

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. According to the plan, the bridge should have been secured by now and the men of the second lift having an easy passage along enemy-free roads to reinforce the battalions already there. Instead, the advance slowed to a crawl and then to a stop as they took up defensive positions along the Ede–Arnhem railway line, miles from the bridge. When they set off again, they came under another aerial attack from three Me109s, so low that Ayers could see the black crosses on their fuselages. ‘I crouched low, feeling exposed and vulnerable. I heard a man scream out in pain, as a bullet found its mark. A few brave souls returned the fire with their automatic weapons but their efforts were unfruitful.’ After the strafing, they advanced a little, then dug in; a pattern, slow and morale-sapping, was setting in. In their latest slit trench in a pretty, wooded valley, Ayers chatted to his mate, a 21-year-old from Leeds with an attractive blonde wife and chubby six-month-old baby son back at home. Photographs were swapped, Ayers pulling a small snap of Lola from his wallet. He wondered what his bride of three weeks was doing. Suddenly, thoughts of home were interrupted by a shout. Black dots had been seen in the distance, advancing their way. Germans! Ayers lay, waiting, for the order to fire. ‘My nerves tingled. This was my first encounter with enemy troops. My heart beat faster and there was a tightness in my stomach.’ He peeped over the top at the distinctive bucket-shaped helmets, a dozen of them, automatic weapons at the ready, getting closer.