Screaming Eagles (The Front, Book 1) Page 11

  “If you saw Kraut soldiers attacking the tank commander and the tank crew, then you and I saw the same thing, buddy,” Graves said.

  Figures swarmed over the tank as it lay unmoving. It had come to rest against a big pine and pushed the tree at a sharp angle. The tree gave up the fight and finally cracked in the middle, showering the ground with snow and dead leaves.

  Someone screamed in the distance. Then the sound was echoed by that of another man. The Krauts on the tank spread out and moved away from the vehicle as they sought a new enemy.

  “Maybe those are Americans in German clothes?” Gabby speculated out loud.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. If that were true, they would have told us so we don’t shoot our own guys.”

  “What else makes sense? Germans fighting Germans? Hell, this war will be over by Christmas if that’s the case.”

  “Pipe down, guys. Those Krauts are on the prowl and they’re headed this way.”

  “We should get back in the tank and take them out, Staff Sergeant,” Big Texas said.

  “What if one of those guys shoots us from the Tiger?” Gabby said.

  “Just pipe down. We’ll move out soon. Murph. Drop a grenade in the tank so they can’t use it against us.”

  “On it, boss,” Murph said.

  Murphy moved low to the ground. He tugged a grenade off of his belt and approached the tank.

  German soldiers caught sight of him and broke into a run.

  “Covering fire,” Graves said, popping up and opening fire.

  * * *

  Twenty-Six

  Taylor

  It was a miracle the jeep even started. The mortar round had gone off close enough to throw the vehicle on its side, but Betsy was a tough old broad and shook off the blow. The door was dented in and wouldn’t open, but the men got around that by piling over the sides.

  Grillo, laid down fire over the windshield as they backed up. The rest of the men stood or sat where they could, and jammed into the limited space. She was sluggish and veered to the left, thanks to a damaged axle or bent rim. No time to assess the damage now. She was running, and that was all they could hope for, under the conditions.

  He had no idea how the other companies were faring. With any luck, not as badly as Baker.

  They hit a log, and the jeep bounced up in the air. It came down hard, spilling one of the men out of the transport. He fell with a yell, so Captain Taylor came to a halt.

  Seven Germans streamed out of the woods, thirty or forty yards ahead. They had their hands in the air, and one offered a white flag.

  Wayne hopped off the back of the jeep and grabbed a BAR. He advanced on the men with the gun locked against his shoulder. The Germans carefully lowered their weapons, but they looked over their shoulders in fear as they walked toward Wayne’s position.

  “What’s that? You want to give up and get a warm meal?” Wayne called with his hand cupped to his ear.

  “Surrender,” one of the men called.

  “Come closer,” Wayne said.

  The men closed to in at a quick trot. They kept their hands in the air.

  “You assholes heard of Malmedy?” Wayne asked.

  He aimed and then opened up. The BAR spit rounds in full auto. The Germans looked surprised as they came under the hail of bullets. Blood exploded outward and bodies fell.

  “That’s enough,” Sergeant Pierce said.

  Wayne strode back toward the jeep with the BAR’s stock against his hip.

  “What?” He shrugged his shoulders as he got back into the jeep with the rest of the men.

  “Officially, we don’t shoot surrendering Krauts,” Taylor said.

  “Officially neither do they, sir. But after what happened to POWs at Malmady, I won’t be losing any sleep.”

  “We could have taken them prisoner. Now every German that comes out of those woods is going to be looking for us,” Pierce said.

  “Anyone that comes out of those woods is a crazy, Sarge," Wayne said. "Those guys are doing a good job of killing each other off. I just saved them the effort.”

  “We’re in no position to take prisoners right now,” Taylor said, and put the jeep back in gear. He hit the gas, and the laden vehicle sluggishly spun around in a break in the trees, turned toward Bastogne, and put pedal to metal. “That said, don’t shoot any more prisoners of war.”

  Betsy struggled in the mud and snow, but got her wheels rolling.

  “Something’s wrong,” one of the men muttered from the back.

  “Yeah, we’re running away from surrendering Krauts, Owen,” Pierce said.

  “No, I don’t feel right. I feel like I’m on fire,” Owen said.

  Taylor glanced over his shoulder and found that the Private was shaking. His face was flushed and his eyes were glazed. He looked at the men around him like they were strangers.

  Taylor had seen battle get to guys before, and hoped Owen wouldn’t become a problem.

  They passed the Mickey Mouse sign a few minutes later, and the city of Bastogne came into view.

  There was rubble as far as the eye could see. Buildings had been damaged--and in some cases, flattened--by the Germans. Men moved around the roads, but they were in a hurry to get into position. Taylor wondered if the entire German army had made it this far so quickly.

  “Don’t feel right. Don’t feel right,” Owen muttered, over and over again.

  “You’re going to be okay, buddy,” Wayne said. He’d taken a spot behind Captain Taylor, and patted Owen’s hand.

  Taylor sped into the town and brought the jeep to a halt. Men piled out, but not before Wayne gave a yelp of pain.

  “Son of a bitch bit me. What’s wrong with you?”

  Owen turned on Wayne and attacked him. He rode the man out of the jeep until they both rolled across the ground. Wayne fended Owen off, but he was crazy. He flailed his arms as he attacked.

  Grillo moved swiftly, using the butt of the Thompson to knock Owen on his ass. He turned from the ground and gazed at Grillo like he’d never seen him before.

  Taylor drew his .45 and aimed it at Owen.

  “Enough. You stop right now, Private, or I’ll put a bullet through your head,” Taylor said.

  He didn’t want to shoot the man. If they could get him under control, they’d be able to get him somewhere they could reason with him. But he’d attacked one of the men under his command, and that was an offense that could get him court martialed. That was if the men didn’t beat him to a pulp first.

  Owen shook his head, and stared at his hands like they belonged to a stranger. He looked up at Taylor’s gun and struggled to his feet.

  “I mean it, Owen. I’ll shoot you and spare the Krauts the trouble,” Taylor said.

  Wayne grabbed Owen from behind and dragged him back. He thrashed in the grip and kicked back with his legs. Owen took him to the ground and several others fell on them. Owen was a like a wild man fighting tooth and nail.

  They managed to get him subdued but it wasn’t easy. Owen didn’t care about his own limbs, didn’t protect himself from the blows, he fought like a crazy person.

  “Son of a bitch has lost his mind,” Grillo said.

  “Find somewhere to lock him up, and get those wounds tended to. I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Taylor said, and put his gun back in its holster, happy that he hadn’t had to shoot the man.

  He’d deal with Owen in the morning. For now, he needed to report what he’d seen to command.

  * * *

  Twenty-Seven

  Behr

  Behr and his men finished with the soldiers around the village and set off after the people fleeing in jeeps, but the vehicles outpaced his soldiers in minutes. Behr turned his gaze back on the town below and decided there might still be men to fight down there.

  Figures in uniforms, overcoats, and white fought each other to the death. There was confusion and there was screaming.

  Behr stumbled among the men. He found a submachine gun and
used it, but his hands didn’t respond the way they'd used to. He didn’t take any effort to aim, and instead relied on bursts of fire. When he ran out out ammo, he dropped the weapon and grabbed another.

  Snow made a hindrance to his already-sluggish limbs, but he pushed on. The warmth of the men drew him. The ones who were not like him. They needed to and fight alongside Behr for the Fatherland. Anything less would be defeat.

  After getting shot in the shoulder, he took a man to the ground.

  He looped his arm around another soldier and ripped out the screaming man’s throat.

  He tore at a young soldier’s face until one of the man’s eyes was mush in his mouth.

  Each time he rose, there was another soldier ready to join their ranks.

  Behr eventually came to a halt before an imposing figure.

  The man was taller than the soldiers who surrounded him, and dressed in a thick black overcoat. Even Behr’s shattered mind recognized a superior, but not one that gave off the red glow that so enticed him to enact violence. He gave a salute that was slow, but acceptable: hand raised, arm eye level, and hand tilted upward. He knew he was performing the action by rote. He’d performed the salute thousands of times before this moment, so it was mechanical.

  Other soldiers gathered around him and offered the same salute to the SS officer.

  He had a name and Behr had known it, an hour or maybe a day ago. Now it didn’t matter. This was their commander, and Behr would follow him into the gates of Hell, if that’s what was required.

  The SS officer turned from the men and pointed to the west. His mouth was a mass of wounds, with bloody lips drawn back over a shattered set of teeth. One of his eyebrows had been ripped away, the skin torn all the way down his face to his mouth, and it produced a constant snarl.

  They followed his gesture and turned as one. He moved among them, the sea of soldiers parting like a wave. When he reached the edge of the town, he kept walking.

  The soldiers followed.

  * * *

  Twenty-Eight

  Graves

  “Staff Sergeant, the tank’s treads are still on,” Murph said when he came back.

  Murph attached his unused grenade back to his belt.

  “Shit,” Graves said.

  They’d abandoned it when faced with the King Tiger. Now that it was knocked out and didn’t seem to be shooting, they might have a chance to retreat gracefully. That was, if it wasn’t too damaged and could still drive.

  He chewed on his cheek for a few seconds while his men leveled weapons in the direction of the Germans attacking their own tank.

  “What if we wait it out, hide in the tank and let the Germans pass, and return in the morning?” Gabby offered.

  “I’d feel safer in there than out here,” Graves said.

  He dashed back to the tank and crouched next to the side. He peered across the distance between him and the King Tiger. The Krauts had started to lose interest in the massive war machine and milled around instead, munching on the crew.

  There was enough cover for them to make an escape without the Germans noticing. If they were going to make a run for it, this was the time.

  “They aren’t even looking for us,” Murph said as they conferred next to the tank.

  “We could mount up and shoot the shit out of them,” Murph said.

  “Elegant,” Graves said.

  But leaving a Sherman to the Krauts seemed like a horrible waste of resources. He could drop a grenade inside and draw the attention of dozens of enemies. He could leave the tank and take his men into the woods. Graves chewed on his lip before he made a decision: he returned to his men and gathered them in the little hole.

  “Alright, everyone back in and button her up tight. Go in through the bottom. We’ll wait them out. Move low and keep the noise down. If they see us we’ll--as Murph put it--shoot the shit out of them and hope that Tiger doesn’t shoot the shit out of us.”

  His crew returned to the tank and took every precaution to keep the noise down as they slid into their seats. The inside of the Sherman was cold, but there was no help for it now. If they were going to rejoin the fight, they’d have to reassess in the morning.

  Graves tried the radio, but the antenna had been knocked out and he got nothing but static.

  With evening approaching, the German soldiers wandered off. A couple passed the tank, but they took little interest in the cold vehicle, and moved into the woods. Graves and Big Texas kept their eyes glued to the periscopes for hours, just waiting for someone to wonder if the tank was still occupied.

  “I miss ham,” Gabby said. “Mom used to make this glaze that tasted like sugar and bourbon.”

  “Yeah. I miss your Mom’s glaze too,” Murph said.

  “Why don’t you suck on a bullet. You ain’t never met my mom.”

  “We all met her, just before the war. She was a good teacher, if you know what I mean,” Murph said, looking around the interior. He offered up winks, but the other guys just weren’t into ribbing Gabe right now.

  “My mom’s in her sixties and as big as a barn,” Gabby said.

  “I just closed my eyes and thought of Rita Hayworth.”

  Gabby shook his head and let out a few choice curse words, until Graves told them to pipe down.

  “Staff Sergeant. What’s our play?” Murph asked.

  “We continue to act dead. In the morning we’ll assess the damage, repair the treads if we can, and hightail it back to command. Bastogne’s not far. If we can’t make contact we’ll make for the city, so get some sleep.”

  The men were silent for a few minutes before Murph said, “I wish Gabby’s mom was here to keep us warm.”

  Gabe Woodward came out of his seat and went for Murph’s throat.

  Big Texas got between them.

  “That’s enough. Last time I’m warning you,” Graves said. “I know this is not the ideal situation to be in but we’re alive and if we keep going at each other we’re going to make enough noise to draw the entire German army down on us. So just pipe down.”

  The men settled down. Gabe with his arms crossed across his chest and Murph fighting a smirk.

  Graves let the moment hold and then said, “besides, if Murph’s mom was here she’d be sleeping next to me.”

  “That is not funny, staff-sergeant,” Murph said.

  Big Texas was the first one to laugh then the other’s joined in. Graves grinned and sat back into the cold seat again.

  As Graves drifted off he thought he heard footsteps outside, but in the dark he couldn’t make out anything more than indistinct sounds that might have been bushes or trees moving in the wind. Heart hammering in his chest, he did his best to calm his mind and catch a few winks.

  * * *

  It was barely daybreak when Graves popped the hatch and looked around the snow covered forest.

  The King Tiger still lay dead in the distance. White piles had accumulated on the tanks and covered body parts and blood, but there were no corpses. He and Big Texas had done a scan of the area through their periscopes, but nothing moved out there. Gabby broke out a couple of Krations, and the men devoured them in relative silence.

  Graves slid out of the portal, the rest of his men right behind. They covered each other as they got down to inspect the damage.

  The morning air was crisp and smelled like fresh snow. Graves considered walking to the King Tiger and taking a look but he was afraid there might be men like his, huddled inside, waiting out the crazies.

  “Look at that. Couple of hours and we can be back on the road,” Big Texas said and pointed at the damage.

  “Seen a lot worse, that’s for sure,” Graves said.

  Murph got put in charge of lookout while the rest of the crew worked on the tank.

  “What’s gotten into those Germans we saw?” Gabe said.

  “Way I see it, they're sick of fighting for the Führer and they went crazy. Get a couple of nuts into one place, let them spread the delusions, and you got yourself a g
enuine pack of maniacs. Not saying they wasn’t maniacs before, just saying they’re in deep with all the other maniacs now,” Big Texas said, hitting them with one of his nuggets of wisdom.

  Murph returned from walking their perimeter. “Hate to interrupt, but we got movement to the south.”

  “Kinda movement?” Graves asked.

  “Looks like a patrol, but I can’t make out if they're ours or theirs,” Murph said.

  “Gabby. Go with Murphy and check it out. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to,” Graves said.

  He and Big Texas redoubled their efforts to get a pin hammered back into the tread. They’d covered a sledgehammer with multiple layers of clothing, but it still sounded like a church bell to Graves. It was as if they were just asking for Krauts to swarm them.

  “Will this hold?” Graves said.

  “Might hold, until we get it repaired. Might not. Only God knows for sure,” Big Texas said.

  “Your optimism is always appreciated,” Graves said, and did little to cover his sarcasm.

  “Calls 'em like I sees 'em, boss.”

  Another half-hour of work, and they might be fully repaired. Or the tread might run right off, leaving them stuck in the slush. At least they’d be relatively safe inside the Sherman until someone showed up with a Panzerschreck and decided to say “good morning” by punching a hole in the side of the tank and killing the men inside.

  Twenty minutes later, his men returned.

  “They're coming," Murph said. "About fifty of the bastards. They’re well-armed.”

  “Let’s get this beast rolling,” Graves said, hoping they’d done enough. If they had another hour or two, they could effect better repairs. As it was, they’d be lucky to get out of the woods alive.

  The men piled inside the vehicle and fired up the Chrysler engine. The tank sputtered a couple of times, then roared to life. Graves kept his eyes plastered to the periscope until the Germans came into view.