Screaming Eagles (The Front, Book 1) (9 page)

S
quealing wheels
, metal on metal, and tracks rolling over the earth made a frightening symphony. Graves had been 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 on 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.

P
rivate 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.

“Fucking
die
, you Kraut pig,” Owen said.

The German didn’t want to comply. He grabbed Owen’s hand and pulled him down. The two fought, Owen with big swinging fists, the German with slow, mechanical movements, even as his face was smashed into pulp.

Grillo aimed with the Thompson and tried to get a fix on the soldier’s head, but was afraid he’d hit Owen.

Captain Taylor got to his his feet, aimed into the mass of Germans and fired. Bullets tore into flesh, but the enraged mob didn’t seem to feel it.

“Someone see if the jeep is running. We’re getting out of here, men.”

Behind the wave of Germans were many more, and they had the same white eyes as the soldier Owen was fighting.

Owen was pushed over, and the German rode him like a cowboy, but his hands were wrapped around Owen’s neck. Grillo aimed, and took part of the Kraut’s head off. The body flopped to the side and didn’t move again.

“Son of a bitch bit me, son of a fucking bitch bit me!” Owen howled.

Wounded, Sergeant Pierce crawled into the jeep and tested the ignition. The jeep cranked over a couple of times and then the engine caught and puttered to life.

Taylor slid into the driver’s seat and Pierce, favoring his wounded leg, got in the passenger side. Owen managed to get his partner into position, and they rigged the machine gun up on the back of the jeep. Owen leaned into the stock while his partner fed in a round. The gun opened up in short bursts, damaging the line of Germans.

“Listen up, men. We’re falling back. I need to report this to command, but the damn radio’s gone. I’m not abandoning a single man. If you’re handling injured, get them on the jeep now,” Captain Taylor called.

Of the twenty or so men that had started the day in Baker, only eight or nine remained.

Grillo used the Thompson he’d borrowed from Sergeant Pierce. He aimed at a pair of advancing Krauts and shot them in half.

“At least they aren’t shooting at us anymore,” he said.

“Damn Krauts have lost their minds,” Pierce said. He shot a German in the head with his sidearm. “Grillo, in the back of the jeep. You’re one of the injured.”

“It’s not bad, Sarge, I can still shoot.”

“Shoot from the jeep.”

“Aye, Sarge,” Grillo said and wormed his way into the back. The crates of ammo had been tossed to the ground when the jeep was knocked over, so men swarmed over it and grabbed clips and magazines. Someone tossed him a couple for the submachine gun, as well as a pair of grenades.

He pulled the pin on one, lifted up, and flung it into into a mass of Germans. It exploded and sent bodies flying.

They’d been facing a force of a few, then dozens, but now hundreds were arriving from out of the mist. They wove between the trees like an eerie wave.

The jeep lurched into motion and turned an arc toward the way back to town.

“Hang on,” Captain Taylor said.

He kept the speed low and his men followed.

Owen had resorted to firing bursts as he followed. He’d had to use a piece of cloth under the barrel to avoid getting burned. The gun was heavy but he wielded it as if it were as light as an M1.

“Lay down a bunch of fire. Grenades. Create a line of hell. Then we’re going to make a run for it. Bastogne is only a couple of miles,” Captain Taylor said. “We’ll switch off in the jeep so the men can rest, but we’re going to have to double time it.”

Men called back affirmatives.

Grillo was nearly in a daze. He’d started the morning cold and in a hole. They’d been expecting to see Germans. They’d expected to hold their position. But this overwhelming force of crazy men fighting tooth and nail hadn’t been in the cards.

Grillo tugged out a grenade and timed his throw with that of the other men. Bursts of machine gun fire cut down many of the pursuing Germans, but some got back on their feet and came on mechanically.

Pineapples sailed into the air and landed among the Krauts leaving a wave of destruction. Limbs flew and clothing shredded.

Still the army came on, as the remains of the 101st ran toward Bastogne.