Killer Instincts v5 (35 page)

He was halfway across an open field when he looked back over his shoulder and saw a struggling figure lying on the ground.  Glancing left and right at the other men, he realized that Captain Rourke wasn’t among them.  There had been a heavy burst of machine gun fire moments after Rourke had signalled the retreat, and the Captain made sure he was always the last man off of the line; no doubt he had been wounded, and with the rest of the company falling back, no one had noticed him fall.

Lynch turned to the man nearest him, a green young rifleman named Edwards.

“The Captain’s back there wounded! Give me a hand, we’ve got to go and bring him up with us.”

Edwards shook his head and kept moving.  “Cor, you’re daft mate!  The Captain’s had it.  We need to get out of here before those Jerry tanks roll right over us!”

Lynch thrust a finger at his lance corporal insignia. “That’s not a request boyo, that’s an order.  We’re going back to get Captain Rourke.”

By now, several soldiers nearby stopped when they heard Lynch, and he quickly organized a small band of three other men to go with him.  The four men ran back across the field, mindful of the rapidly closing tanks and scuttling infantry.

When they were only a few dozen feet away from Captain Rourke, Lynch spotted movement in the trees beyond their wounded commander.  Advancing Germans  were moving through the trees and brush on the other side of the field, skirmishers looking to catch British troops who hadn’t fallen back fast enough.  A group of five men emerged at the edge of the field, spotting Lynch and his party at the same moment they were seen themselves.

The German
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reacted first, raising their Mauser rifles and unleashing a volley.  Two of the men with Lynch were gunned down instantly, shot through and through.  The remaining man, young private Edwards, fired his Lee-Enfield, toppling one of the Germans and causing the others to duck.  But there were four other Germans and only two Englishmen still on their feet.

Lynch had slung his rifle across his back when they set out to make grabbing and dragging Rourke away that much faster.  Unable to reach it quickly, he reached into his jacket pocket and drew a little Colt automatic instead.  Almost a year ago, in the summer of 1939, Lynch had been informed his battalion would be part of the British Expeditionary Force assembled to go overseas and halt the German advance.  As much as Lynch loved his trusty Lee Enfield, visions of being stuck with an empty rifle while waves of bloodthirsty Huns advanced with fixed bayonets caused him to go out and purchase a small sidearm to carry with him as a last-ditch defense.  The little Colt wasn’t regulation, and he kept the pistol hidden away in one of his jacket pockets, worried that a sergeant or an officer might see it and confiscate it.  He had never even taken the pistol out of his pocket among the other men, but now he racked the slide, chambering a round. 

Lynch ducked another volley by the Germans, then brought the pistol up and fired two aimed shots at the nearest German, some fifty feet away.  Astonishingly the little gun aimed true, and the man crumpled to the ground, holding his gut.  Another
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was flung back by a shot from Edwards, who seemed to discover within himself a sterner backbone than Lynch had first imagined.

By now, Lynch could see the German armor getting closer, and soon there would be no escape.  Each of them could only fight or save Rourke, but not both at the same time.

“Grab the Captain and fall back!  I’ll keep them covered!” Lynch shouted.

Edwards looked at him as if he had cracked, but nodded and scurried forward towards the Captain while Lynch took careful aim with his Colt and squeezed off three more shots.  He saw one of the Germans jerk as if wounded, and the other man ducked after a bullet missed his head by mere inches.  The pistol half empty, Lynch dropped it in his pocket, pulled a Mills Bomb from his webbing, armed the grenade and threw it as hard as he could just over the heads of the Germans.

The two skirmishers threw themselves to the ground just as the grenade exploded behind them.  Before the debris had even settled Lynch rushed forward, pistol in hand.  Dashing past Edwards as he crouched over the Captain, Lynch ran up to within twenty feet of the Germans.  Both skirmishers were picking themselves up off the ground, only to discover one of the British had covered more than half the distance between them.

Lynch raised the Colt and fired twice at each of the Jerries.  The first man died with a bullet through his brain, the shot striking him right below the rim of his helmet.  The second man fired his rifle, the bullet snapping past Lynch’s face, but before the German could work the bolt, Lynch emptied the last of his ammunition into the soldier’s chest, knocking him over.

Their immediate danger gone for the moment, Lynch ran back to help Edwards drag the Captain away.   As they moved back up the field, Lynch looked back at the bodies of the other two riflemen who volunteered to go with them; the men would have to be left where they lay.