Title: The Battle of Port-en-Bessin
Author: Andrew Weston
Genre: Historical Action/Adventure
Publisher: DSP
Book Blurb:
The early hours of 6 June, 1944, saw Sergeant Richard—Lion—Hart of 47 (Royal Marine) Commando, leading his men ashore at JIG Green Sector, on the beaches of Normandy.
Their objective: To establish a foothold on enemy territory, and then march west, across country, to the strategically placed and heavily fortified harbor town of Port-en-Bessin. A location that would serve the Allies as a temporary marshalling area for fuel, weapons and supplies until Cherbourg had fallen.
On paper, a straightforward—if hazardous—endeavor.
Yet war is seldom straightforward. The Germans had been preparing for this moment for four years. And, as history has shown us time and again; “the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry,”
An idiom that Sergeant Hart and members of 47 Commando subsequently learned to their cost.
Excerpt:
The intermittent chime of bullets striking armor plating no longer made anyone flinch. The thirty or so soldiers crammed into the landing craft’s central well having become as accustomed to the sound as they were to the fluctuating throb of the engines contending with the swell created by so many vessels in such close proximity.
Sgt Richard—Lion—Hart cast an experienced eye across his brothers-in-arms, all of them marines from A Troop, 1 Company, No 47 (Royal Marine) Commando. An integral part of the Allied 4th Special Service Brigade, they were here at 09:30 hours on a breezy 6th June morning, to play their part in wresting Europe from the clutches of a dictator.
And wrest it they would.
47 CDO’s first priority after coming ashore at JIG Green Sector, Gold Beach, would be to march west, across country, until they managed to link up with the American 1st Infantry Division, whereupon they would assault those Wehrmacht units still entrenched at Port-en-Bessin. A strategically placed and heavily fortified fishing harbor, Port-en-Bessin would serve as a temporary marshalling area for fuel, weapons and supplies until Cherbourg had fallen. Something that shouldn’t prove too difficult to achieve, given the numbers the Allies were throwing at the Germans.
Yet numbers were no guarantee. As Sgt Hart knew only too well.
A sustained naval bombardment lasting more than thirty minutes had taken place earlier that morning before they set off. An offensive designed to weaken enemy resolve as much as their actual emplacements, allowing the first two Allied waves—comprised of engineer and tank regiments, followed by the combined strength of the Hampshire, Dorset and Devonshire battalions—to clear Gold beach of obstacles and resistance, and prepare it for the next stage of the invasion: The arrival of specialist infantry troops.
At least, that’s what should have happened. But with the way things were going, Hart wasn’t so sure anymore.
Bad weather had delayed the invasion by twenty-four hours, and high winds were still playing havoc with the landing phase. Not fifteen minutes ago, 47’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Phillips, had ordered all fourteen of his landing craft to turn parallel to the coast and head west. A maneuver suggesting that they’d been blown off course, and one which made them sitting ducks to every German position that remained.
And judging by the amount of small arms and mortar fire raining down from on high, there were quite a few. Indicating the first two waves must have failed to clear the shoreline.
Hart bit his lip and cursed under his breath. If the pillboxes and bunkers are still in action, then God knows what’s waiting for us on the beach itself. He risked a quick peek over the top of the portside curtain, only to duck back down almost immediately as shots peppered the armor plating close to where his head had been. Crafty sods! The tide’s turning already, and they’re trying to keep us out here until it does.
The currents flowing through the English Channel were complex and treacherous at the best of times. So, for the tide to be rising while the majority of the Special Service Brigade was still at sea didn’t bode well for the landing phase, as it would necessitate navigating another line of obstacles that needed to be avoided at all costs. Hundreds upon hundreds of mines, many of them attached to iron hedgehogs, which had been scattered along the low-water mark like giant knucklebones for miles in every direction.
And if they couldn’t be seen?
Regardless, there wasn’t a thing they could do about it now. 47 CDO had been training for this mission for months, and now it was finally underway, there’d be no turning back. Hart knew his men. They were a tough bunch. Resilient and courageous. Determined, too. And whatever they found waiting for them on the beach, they’d adapt and overcome it.
A change in engine pitch and accompanying shudder through the hull indicated the landing craft was jockeying against the waves. Peering forward, Hart chanced another glimpse across the side and noticed the bow was turning toward the shore, now only three hundred yards away. A fact confirmed when he glanced behind, and noted the coxswain leaning into the wheel. Just beyond the coxswain, both machine gunners hunched low behind their guards and brought their weapons to bear. Here we go.
“Make ready boys,” Hart called out into the expectant hush that had fallen across the rest of the men, “we’re starting our final run. So, check your pouches are secure and that the toggles of your assault jackets are easy to grab at, now, while you have the chance. I don’t want any of you numpties getting pulled under by the current if we end up going in too deep. We didn’t come all this way for you to start mincing, face-down in the oggin first chance you get. Anyone drowns on me, and I’ll put you on a charge. Is that clear?”
“Yes sergeant,” came the enthusiastic reply from all concerned, their white-toothed grins compounded by the black greasepaint covering their faces.
Proud as a peacock, Hart smirked in reply, “Good. If you feel as if you’re being dragged under by the weight, just hang onto your weapon, dump the rest of your gear and swim ashore. Staying alive is the priority. That’s an order. I’ll get you sorted once we reach the cover of the road. Understood?”
“Yes ser. . .”
The expected response was drowned out by a spine-curdling shriek of metal on metal, and the abrupt appearance of the prow of the vessel off their port side jutting up toward the clouds, as if snared by an invisible fishing line.
“They’ve hit a hedgehog!” Hart yelled, dragging the man standing next to him—Bobby Taylor, his Bren gunner—up against the nearest bulkhead, where they both tensed, waiting for the follow-up detonation. . .
Buy Links:
Amazon.com: https://www.amazon.com/Battle-Port-En-Bessin-World-Commando-Adventure-ebook/dp/B0DSV6FSTX
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Battle-Port-En-Bessin-World-Commando-Adventure-ebook/dp/B0DSV6FSTX
Author Biography:
Andrew P. Weston is a bestselling author from the UK who lives with a large amount of rescue cats in a medium sized house on a small Greek island.
A former Royal Marine, he is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association, the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers, and the Western Writers of America. He also reviews articles for Amazing Stories and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction in his spare time.
His latest pursuit – that of writing action-adventure thrillers – has only just begun, as is his quest to create a story that blends the very best elements of Tom Clancy with Robert Ludlum.
Social Media Links:
Website/blog: https://andrewpweston.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @WestonAndrew