"Do you want me to keep going, sir?" the driver asked as they passed the lead tank.
"Go, and do not stop until we are back in France."
Friel stood, wind slapping at his reddened face, and waved at the lead tank to keep up. The panzer had been lagging behind, trying not to outpace the rest of the column, but what Friel needed now was speed.
"Almost thirty kilometers per hour, sir," the driver said.
"Good, good." Friel said. "You are doing a fine job, Paulsen."
"Thank you, sir."
It was true that Friel's men would follow him anywhere because he led by example. Looking up at him now, standing in the vehicle like a captain at the prow of a ship, Von Stenger thought that Friel certainly looked the part of conquering hero.
Around a bend in the road, the village came into view. There was a bridge in town that would get them across the river. Having this goal in view was a sensation like a starving man getting sight of a plate of sausages. They had done it!
"Ha, ha! You see, Kurt, that is our key to victory. And not an American anywhere. We have caught them napping again."
Von Stenger had to smile back. Friel's enthusiasm was infectious. "I must say that this village is a beautiful sight."
Friel waved the tanks forward.
Not so much as a cat or dog moved in the streets — the villagers had long since fled at the sound of the approaching tanks.
"Go! Go!" Friel urged his driver, and the car raced into the deserted streets. Von Stenger kept his rifle ready, just in case any partisans decided that a German officer made a good target. They turned a corner, almost on two wheels, and raced down the road toward the river.
Von Stenger saw the rubble before he saw the water. Two stone piers rose up out of the river.
The bridge was gone, along with their chances of crossing at this place.
It was hard to know who had destroyed the bridge. It could have been American engineers, Allied planes, or possibly French resistance fighters — the vicious Maquis. In the end, it did not matter how the stone bridge across the river had been destroyed, but only that it was gone.
Friel stared at the ruins for a full minute. Von Stenger attempted to read some emotion on the Obersturmbannführer’s face, but the young tank commander seemed lost in thought.
“Breger!” Friel finally called. “Pass the orders to burn the village. We will show them what happens when they oppose German troops. When the cowards return, there will be nothing left.”
Under Breger’s direction, men soon filled the streets, splashing gasoline and setting the village on fire. Von Stenger watched with a sickened feeling. The smell of the greasy flames did not sit well on his queasy stomach.
Something exploded and blew skyward to form a mushroom-shaped cloud.
Satisfied, Friel turned back to his map.
So close a moment ago, the road to Antwerp and victory now seemed as far away at the surface of the moon.
"What are you going to do?"
"There is still a chance that the bridge near Habiemont may be intact." Friel waved his map. He still clung to his precious rollbahn. "It is only a few miles away. With luck, we can cross there.”
That’s when they heard an angry whine in the clouds. Fighter planes, coming fast.
Please let them be Luftwaffe, Von Stenger thought.
But as the planes broke from the cloud cover, coming in low, they opened fire on the German column below.
CHAPTER 23
"Do you see that smoke?" Jolie asked.
"Whatever it is, it’s a helluva big fire," the Kid said.
"Kid, you've been in the Army too long. You're starting to swear. What would your mama say?" Vaccaro leaned out of the back of the truck, trying to see up the road. "We'll, I've got some good news, and some bad news. The good news is that we're gonna find out what’s burning because we are heading right toward that big plume of smoke rising up into the sky."
"What's the bad news?" the Kid wanted to know.
"The bad news is that we're gonna find out what’s burning because we are heading right toward it," Vaccaro said. “My guess is that where there’s smoke, there’s Germans.”
"Everybody hang tight," Lieutenant Mulholland said. "They'll let us know when they need us."
The snipers did not have to wait long. Not more than twenty minutes passed before the truck came to a halt. Out the back of the truck, they saw a couple of soldiers running back the way the column had just traveled.
Vaccaro yelled out to one of them. "Buddy, what's the rush?"
"Panzers coming down the road right toward us!"
"Everybody out," said the lieutenant. "It's time to go to work."
The snipers jumped out of the truck. All around them, the American column was in disarray. There had been so much focus on catching up with the Germans that no one was really prepared for the Germans coming back at them. The Americans couldn’t know it, but with the bridge at Trois Ponts gone, the German column had no choice but to backtrack and find a different river crossing.
If it came to a fight, it would be one sided. The Americans had a single tank destroyer, but nothing else heavier than a couple of machine guns mounted on Jeeps. A tank would knock through them like a bowling ball through a stand of ten pins.
"Damn, but I wish we had a bazooka," Vaccaro said. "At least then we'd have a chance against tanks. Remember that crazy English bastard who knocked out a tank with a bazooka back in Normandy?"
"You got a can opener, don't you?" Cole asked. "That might work on one of them panzers, if you had enough time. Like a hundred years."
"Very funny, Cole. I hope you can still make cracks when the Germans line us up and shoot us like those poor bastards at Malmedy."
Cole gave him a cold grin. "Ain't happened yet."
Mulholland gave orders: "Listen up, we're going to deploy on the south side of this road. We'll get back in those trees." The lieutenant waved to where the edge of the forest began maybe a hundred yards from the road. "Once the Germans get here, we can put down some suppressing fire."
"With four rifles?" Vaccaro asked. "Lieutenant, these are tanks we're talking about here."
The lieutenant and Cole said simultaneously: "Shut up, Vaccaro."
They hurried into the trees. Jolie went with them, carrying a pair of binoculars so that she could act as a spotter.
They didn't have to wait long before the first panzers came into view down the road. Against the white winter landscape, the tanks stood out like leviathans. The Germans were still half a mile away, well out of range. No soldiers on foot were visible, but they could see a German looking out from the open hatch of the lead panzer.
"Look at those things," Vaccaro muttered. "King Tigers. Big as a goddamn Tyrannosaurus rex."
"What in the hell is that?" Cole asked.
Vaccaro looked at him. "Cole, I keep forgetting that you're from East Peckerwood. It's a dinosaur, Cole. A Tyrannosaurus rex was the King Tiger tank of dinosaurs."
"If you're so goddamn smart, city boy, tell me where them dinosaurs are now."
"How many dinosaurs have you seen? They're extinct, Cole."
"My point exactly."
Cole put his Springfield across a fallen log. Through the scope, the German standing in the hatch of the lead panzer sprang closer to life. He wore a helmet, and goggles. Cole put the crosshairs on a point slightly above and to the left of the German, to allow for trajectory and the light breeze this morning that had cleared off the low-hanging clouds. Just below the German in the open hatch was the tank's gun, pointed up the road at the American column. The dark maw of the tank's muzzle looked massive.
"If you miss and he shoots back, his gun is a lot bigger," Vaccaro said.