Free Scorched Earth by Robert Muchamore

we’ve got to try getting ahead of them to make sure they don’t go anywhere fast.’

Part Two
June 15th–June 16th 1944

CHAPTER TEN
    Thursday 15 June 1944
    The Germans who swept through France in 1940 had snappy uniforms and modern equipment that made them seem like men from the future. These first occupying troops had orders to behave correctly towards French people and faced heavy punishment from their own officers if they looted or behaved badly.
    Four years on, Captain Henderson found himself among Germans who seemed much more sinister. Sun streamed through the windows as he sat in one of Beauvais’ largest bars, dressed in his stolen OT uniform. Beauvais had once been a Luftwaffe town, but German air power had collapsed and the place was crammed with soldiers from the 108th Heavy Tank.
    The 108th had been created by merging two depleted battalions that had fought long campaigns in the east. Six million Germans and fifteen million Soviets had already died in this war. Both sides employed scorched-earth tactics in which retreating armies burned or blew up entire towns and villages.
    Civilians who survived the fighting were routinely rounded up and shot, or shipped off to Soviet Gulags or Nazi labour camps, depending on which side won.
    This kind of ruthlessness wasn’t something men could switch on and off, and Germans who’d fought in the east brought brutal tactics with them when they got reassigned to France. As individuals Henderson found the men of the 108th OK, but as a group there was a casual viciousness about them. It was like stroking a massive dog that might turn on you at any second.
    The veteran tank crews had threadbare uniforms with patches sewn over patches. Razor blades were in such short supply that the only men who didn’t have beards were teenaged reinforcements too young to grow them.
    Henderson had got himself into a poker game. One of his fellow players threatened a waiter with a bullet in the foot when he took too long delivering a round of drinks. It was hard to laugh with them at incidents like these, but people who upset the 108th had a nasty tendency to get strung from lampposts or turn up dead in a ditch.
    ‘Two pair,’ Henderson said in German, as he laid his cards on the table in front of him.
    The crowd gathered around the poker table jeered as a bearlike tank commander named Otto Scholl screwed up his face.
    ‘Two pair,’ he growled. ‘Queen and nines, beats your eight and five.’
    Henderson acted annoyed as the burly commander scooped two months’ wages off the table, but he was actually relieved. The mood in the room was heavy and things might have turned nasty if he’d cleaned Scholl out.
    ‘I’m broke,’ Henderson said, as he stood up. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’
    Nobody minded Henderson leaving the table, but four other losing players wanted a chance to win their money back and didn’t like it when Scholl stood up and started stacking his winnings into neat piles.
    ‘Hard luck, OT,’ Scholl said, as he slapped Henderson on the back. He made OT sound like an insult, because soldiers had a natural resentment for any organisation that didn’t fight on the front lines. ‘How about I buy you a drink with some of your own money?’
    He and Henderson moved to the bar and ordered red wine, because that’s all there was.
    ‘You must travel, working for the OT,’ Scholl said. ‘See much?’
    Henderson knew Scholl wanted news about the invasion. ‘Only what I hear on the radio, same as everyone. The Allies have their foothold in Normandy, but are going nowhere fast.’
    This remark gave Henderson an opportunity to try getting information out of the tank commander. ‘I’m surprised your battalion hasn’t been moved up to the front.’
    ‘Army command is scared that they’ll divert their forces to Normandy, only for the Yanks to stage a second landing in Calais or Dieppe.’
    ‘Bet you can’t wait to get at ’em?’ Henderson asked.
    Scholl shook his head.