Screaming Eagles (The Front, Book 1) Page 9

Taylor sighed, because this was how the rest of the battalions were going to see things before much longer.

  “You married, Wayne?” Taylor asked, trying to change the subject.

  “No sir, but I got a sweetheart back home. Her name's Macy and she’s cute as a button. Got a letter from her the other day. She said that we should get married when she gets back. Kinda forward of her, but I’m all for it. How about you, sir?”

  “Married, kids, the works. Miss them like crazy.”

  “They been saying the war's going to be over any day now, but it don’t seem like it. Been saying that since I got here. Now Hitler’s marching right back into Belgium. What’s it going to take to get this guy to give up?”

  “His painful death, I’d imagine," Taylor said wistfully. Drop the 101st right into Berlin after flattening it with bombs. That’d take care of things fast… or get them all killed.

  Taylor slid the jeep to a halt. There was gunfire in the distance.

  He was still a few hundred yards out, and while not impassable, the road was about to become a big problem. Trees had fallen over it, creating a natural roadblock, and the snow was piling up quickly.

  More shots, followed by mortars making impact.

  “This is the place. I’ll try to get us closer. You keep an eye out, and if you see Krauts, call them. We can’t afford to let these supplies fall into the wrong hands.”

  “You got it, Captain. I’ll shoot anyone that looks at us cross,” Wayne assured him.

  They poked through the woods, following the remains of a trail that had been here long before the Allies had arrived. More rounds exploded in the near distance. A bullet whizzed by, but it was too high to judge if anyone was actually shooting at them or if it was just an errant round.

  “Christ. That was close,” Wayne said.

  “We’re almost there,” Captain Taylor assured the man.

  They rounded a small hill that was covered in branches and a dusting of snow. Trees hung over this area, making the fog even harder to navigate. Taylor had to slow to a crawl or risk ramming into a tree.

  A pair of men came into view. One had an arm draped over the other. Behind them, a few GIs fell back but covered the pair.

  “Shit, we’re here,” Taylor said.

  He snatched up his own Thompson sub-machine gun and dropped out of the jeep.

  The injured man was Sergeant Pierce, a tough but fair soldier that Taylor had very little time with. The Sergeant was at home with leading his men into dangerous situations, and had become Taylor’s go-to when a special mission needed to be performed.

  He’d had to disperse his men along a thinly-stretched line, and this was one of the points they’d expected resistance to come from.

  True to form, the man was strutting out of the woods, wounded. He still managed to shout orders, even though he was plainly in a lot of pain.

  “Wayne, see if you can help. I’ll check on the Sergeant.”

  “No problem, sir,” Wayne said, like he was spitting stones.

  Captain Taylor moved to Pierce's side and got the man’s other arm over his shoulder.

  “How many?”

  “Not sure, sir, but they’re in force. Came out of the mist like demons. We dropped a few, but they hit us hard. Some of the damn Krauts are acting weird. Like they're running away from their own army. We got 'em caught between us and their own guys. Maybe they’re out of ammo and want to engage in hand-to-hand. Problem is, we got guns.”

  “Looks like they’re shooting back,” Taylor said.

  “They are, sir, some of them. Others are just running at our lines. Damned if I understand it. Saw two Krauts take bullets to the chest, get back up, and keep on coming,” Pierce said.

  “Where are you hit?”

  “Leg, sir. Below the knee. I don’t think it’s too bad.”

  “Got a jeep here, I’ll take you back to an aid station.

  Wayne dropped behind a stump and opened fire. He emptied a magazine in slow, measured spurts, then reloaded.

  Bullets whizzed around the men as Taylor got Pierce to the jeep. The kid who had been assisting Pierce helped move boxes of ammo around.

  “Some of that’s for the company. Do you have time to distribute?”

  From the front line came the screams of men, and more small arms fire. The mortars had fallen silent, but that didn’t mean they were done falling on this location. Captain Taylor lowered himself next to the jeep and peered over the hood. Steam rose into the morning air where hints of snow fell on the metal.

  What had been a small assault was turning into something larger. Figures moved in the mist--a lot of figures.

  An American machine gun squad got situated at his three o’clock and started hammering the oncoming German forces.

  A mortar round landed twenty feet from the jeep and threw a man into the air. Another landed fifty feet away and shattered a tree. Pieces of wood flew at high velocity and caused more screams from his men.

  Taylor dropped next to the jeep and broke out his map.

  “What’s your name, Private?”

  “I’m Grillo, sir. Just got here a few days ago,” the guy called back.

  Private Grillo didn’t cower like some of the green recruits he’d seen over the last few days. He unslung a Thompson, took cover next to the jeep, and started returning fire.

  Another mortar round landed and tossed chunks of earth around. Smoke rose from the holes, and the smell of explosives and frayed earth filled Taylor’s nostrils. The snow had been pure and white a few days ago. Now it was splattered with blackened debris and splashes of blood.

  Pierce rolled over on his stomach and fired back from the rear of the jeep.

  “Help me with this map, Grillo,” Captain Taylor said.

  The kid nodded and dropped next to Taylor. He helped spread out the map while Taylor placed his finger on the surface and traced out their location.

  “We shifted last night, sir. We’re here now,” Grillo said, and pointed.

  “Perfect,” Taylor said. He leaned into the jeep, broke out his radio, and started screaming into it, requesting artillery support.

  “Sir, we’re getting pounded,” Grillo said, and ducked as debris showered them.

  Taylor nodded and spoke into the radio again.

  “Stay tough, soldier. Relief is on the way.”

  Taylor asked for Delta’s situation, hoping they could move on this location and flank the incoming Germans, but he couldn’t raise them.

  “Sir, we’re pinned down here,” the voice came back.

  Taylor popped up and returned fire again. The advancing Germans were right on their lines.

  “I had 'em falling back to our Alamo, sir, but we’re not going to make it,” Pierce screamed over another mortar blast.

  “Right. Get them rounded up. I’ll lead the way, but we’re falling back,” Taylor said.

  Pierce screamed for his men to beat feet. A pair of guys lugging a heavy machine gun and ammo were already dashing around the jeep. They found a new location to provide defilade.

  Three men tossed grenades from the trench slit they’d been shooting from, then ran. The explosions caused a half dozen Germans to drop and scream in pain.

  “Grillo, provide cover while I get the jeep backed up,” Taylor said, nodding at the passenger side seat.

  Then something slammed into Betsy and threw her into the air. Taylor found himself dazed and staring up at the sky as he was tossed back several feet. The hard ground knocked the wind out of him, and chunks of ice and branches bit into his back and ass.

  The jeep landed on its side.

  The man that Pierce had been carrying back was ten feet away and he was moving. A gaping hole in his middle stared back at the Captain.

  “Oh, Christ, here they come,” one of the retreating men yelled.

  * * *

  Twenty-Two

  Graves

  Squealing wheels, metal on metal, and tracks rolling over the earth made a frightening symphony. Graves had bee
n in enough battles to know that when the superior German tanks arrived, it was time to move. A Panzer could go toe-to-toe with several Shermans and still come out the victor.

  The sound made his balls shrivel up and try to find his stomach. Sitting in a metal deathtrap with only three inches of welded hull between him and a high-velocity round would make any man shake. He forced the fear down and chewed on the butt of an extinguished cigarette so his men couldn’t see how terrified he was.

  A few months ago, his Sherman had taken several glancing blows from both anti-tank and Panzer IVs. Each time they’d been hit, his heart had nearly jackhammered through his chest. But that was the nature of war: hours of sitting around waiting for something to happen, followed by seconds of split decisions that could end a soldier's life.

  Graves and his crew had a job to do, and they were by God going to do it.

  The rumbling Panzers didn’t arrive all at once. The first tank poked forward around the bend in the road, then stopped. The port swung open and an SS officer popped out. He took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the area.

  Graves kept an eye on the bastard with the tank’s periscope.

  “They’re checking out the road,” Graves said.

  “Come to poppa bear, you chickenshit,” Big Texas muttered.

  “Wish 'em away, LaRue. I’m happy sitting here in the cold,” Graves said.

  “We’re going to be sitting in a steel grave pretty soon,” Big Texas replied. “Way I see it, we’re doomed out here.”

  “You’re always saying we’re doomed, and we’re still here. I think you have a death wish,” Murph chimed in.

  “A death wish? Can’t fight Nazis without a death wish, 'specially when you’re in a tank. Surprised I’m still here,” Big Texas said.

  “We can toss your ass out in the cold if you like your odds,” Gabby said.

  “Quit the horseplay,” Murphy admonished.

  The men settled down and got back to the task at hand.

  The lead Panzer poked down the road, then accelerated toward their location. The foliage they’d dragged over the location would work for a few seconds, but as Murph had warned the men, it would only take one vigilant Wehrmacht soldier to give away the Allies' position.

  “Steady on that gun. Soon as they’re past, I’ll give the order,” Murph said.

  “Aye, Sarge,” Gabby replied.

  The rumble of Panzers grew in intensity.

  Murph held his breath.

  The first tank passed their hidey-hole without pausing. The second tank followed close behind, and two more were behind those. Then a fifth tank made the ponderous turn in the road.

  “Shit on a stick. We got five now,” Graves said.

  “Bucky, where’s that mortar team?”

  “Should be in position. I’ll call for fire support again,” Bucky said over the radio.

  The four men exchanged worried looks.

  The last tank was almost upon them when the ground shook with an explosion.

  Graves stared wide-eyed into the periscope, but it was hard to make out what had just happened. Smoke poured into the air some fifty yards away, meaning a Panzer had probably hit one of the mines.

  “Hit em!” Bucky yelled into the radio.

  “Traverse left, hit that son of a bitch,” Graves said.

  “On the way,” Big Texas drawled, not taking his eyes off the gunner periscope.

  The tank bucked as the shell fired. It struck the rear of the Panzer, but spun away. A group of Kraut infantry following close behind hit the dirt.

  The anti-tank opened up and carved apart a Panzer like a can of Spam. The turret spun into the air as the tank exploded. Smoke rose, and somehow having survived the blast, one of the men inside clawed his way out. He was covered in flames and his face bled. His keening cry was chilling to Murph, who expected to go out the same way at any second.

  “Hit him again,” Graves said.

  “Already on it, Sarge,” Big Texas said.

  The gun boomed again as the tank rumbled to life. They were lucky to have gotten off two shots, but needed to move the vehicle if they hoped to survive the next few minutes.

  The second round struck low and shattered a wheel that had been holding a track in place. Metal flew and German infantry ducked.

  The other tanks boomed as they sought to kill the Kraut squad. A man poked a stovepipe out of a copse of trees and fired on a Panzer. The bazookas round struck high, and didn’t do any perceivable damage. Germans opened up on the demolition specialists location with burp guns.

  They in turn were greeted with machine gun fire and pineapple grenades.

  Graves gritted his teeth. The ambush had been carried off perfectly, and for a split second it looked like the Americans had the upper hand. If they could kill the Panzers, the rest would be clean-up.

  Then a Panzerschreck found one of the Shermans, and sent chunks of metal soaring.

  Bucky’s tank rolled backwards, seeking the trees, but the other Sherman was shredded. It moved a few feet to the rear, then stopped, because the tread had come off. A Panzer spun its gun and finished off the Allies' tank with a blast that shook the ground again.

  Another M1A1 bazooka round sped from the trees and punched a hole in the ground where the German anti-tank team had been standing. Men and metal exploded in a cacophony of screams.

  The American anti-tank gun fired again and shattered metal. The struck Panzer rolled forward, then at an angle. The turret opened and smoke poured out, followed by an SS officer and crew. The Allies cut them down as they tried to roll out of the combat vehicle.

  There were still two operational Panzers, and enough German infantry to kill the entire team.

  “Left stick, Left stick, fire!” Graves called.

  “On the way,” Big Texas drawled, his voice rising an octave under stress.

  “What I wouldn’t give for some air support right about now,” Graves said, wishing a couple of Mustangs would appear over the battlefield and flatten this bunch into the earth.

  The round exploded harmlessly off the Panzer’s hull.

  “Christ, he’s got us, right stick!”

  The tank rumbled to the right. The Panzer fired and scored a glancing blow. If they hadn’t moved, the shell would have penetrated the turret and exploded inside, shredding the men. There wouldn’t have been enough to put in a box and send home.

  The anti-tank spoke again but the shell missed.

  “Did we lose the mortar teams?” Graves asked.

  “On the way, Staff Sergeant. They ran into trouble,” Bucky said over the radio.

  “Thank God,” Graves muttered.

  The team of six only had a dozen 60mm rounds and two tubes, but they could use every ounce of help they could get.

  A “whomp” sounded in the distance, and then a shell fell with a whistling sound that was sweet relief to Graves' ears. The mortar round impacted where his tank had occupied space a few seconds ago. The explosive would probably cause little damage but it would make the Germans piss them selves. Bucky yelled over the radio to adjust fire.

  Allied infantry exchanged fire with the Krauts. Small arms fire shattered wood and sent men reeling.

  They’d disabled two Panzers, and sent one to hell. That left two operational tanks on either side. The odds were closing, but it was only a matter of time before the dominant German metal took control of the small battlefield.

  The Sherman was partially hidden by a copse of trees, but it wouldn’t take long for the pursuing Panzer to find them.

  Mortars fell among the German infantry, sending them scrambling across the snow-covered road. Bodies lay unmoving while men tried to drag the wounded off the tiny battlefield.

  A Panzer fired and the shell struck Bucky’s tank.

  “We’re hit!” Bucky said, and then the tank exploded in a huge fireball.

  The American anti-tank team fired, and the Panzer who’d killed Bucky and his crew went up.

  The remaining Panzer zeroed in o
n the anti-tank team and ended them with a high explosive round. The sound of secondary explosions followed as 37mm shells went up.

  “Ah hell,” Graves said.

  Gabe maneuvered the tank in reverse, trying to put distance between him and the Panzer.

  Murph was already firing away from the machine gun port as German infantry tested the woods.

  “Oh shit,” Graves said as the remaining Panzer zeroed in on their location.

  “On the move, Sarge,” Murph said.

  “Better light a fire. That’s not a Panzer. Jesus Christ, we need to get the hell out of here,” Graves said ominously.

  * * *

  Twenty-Three

  Grillo

  Private Grillo shook debris off his head. His helmet had been tossed a few feet away. His ears were stuffed with cotton, and blood leaked from his nose. Something had picked him up like a ragdoll and thrown him on the ground. Next to him, Captain Taylor lay on his back and blinked rapidly.

  Poor Robinson had been loaded into the back of the jeep but now he lay on the ground with a huge hole in his middle.

  Grillo grabbed his helmet and slapped it on top of his head, then tried to get up on all fours. The Thompson he’d been firing with was stuck under the side of the jeep. He grabbed the wooden stock and tugged a few times until it came loose.

  He was rattled, and his side ached where he’d been hit earlier.

  Grillo struggled to his feet and found he was about to be overrun.

  One of the men behind him shot a German. Then a BAR fired at full auto and the line crumpled.

  “Flip the jeep back over. Damage doesn’t look too bad,” Taylor said shaking debris off his helmet.

  Men gathered around them and heaved the jeep back onto its wheels. They took cover behind the vehicle and fired at the oncoming Germans. A Kraut dressed in white crawled over the jeep to reach them. Owen, a machine gunner, grabbed the man and dragged him over, then drove his knife into his chest.

  The German’s eyes had glassed over, and were almost entirely white. He snapped his head around and stared at Owen then, his lips peeled back from blood stained teeth. A keening howl came out of his mouth.