The American soldier seemed to look right at him defiantly. Von Stenger shot the man through the heart, but his dying action was to slump across the detonator.
Multiple explosions flashed beneath the bridge.
The panzer was preparing to cross the bridge when the structure blew sky high. Chunks of stone, mortar and wood shot upwards, propelled by a geyser of ice and water.
The panzer fired with telling accuracy, the arc of its tracer aimed as accurately as Von Stenger's bullet, but with much more telling impact. The high explosive round detonated, leaving a crater where the American engineers had been a moment before. They had paid for the bridge with their lives.
But for Kampfgruppe Friel, it was too late. Their route back into France had vanished.
Nearby, Friel popped back out of the tank long enough to scream curses at the remnants of the bridge that splashed down into the icy river. He shook his fist at the wreckage, but it was a futile gesture. “Those damned engineers!”
More bullets from the rear. Von Stenger thought he saw a flash of movement. He fired and the shooting stopped.
Friel was still staring at the ruined bridge when a courier approached. The lead elements of the Kampfgruppe, left behind by Friel’s lone panzer, were already pouring into town. "Sir, an American force has been sighted to the east. They have Sherman tanks and tank destroyers. It is a sizable force, sir."
Friel nodded. It had only been a matter of time before the Americans managed to regroup. Operation Watch on the Rhine's element of surprise had run its course.
The reality of the situation began to sink in. Kampfgruppe Friel's back was to a river that it could not cross. Retreat toward Germany was now blocked by the enemy.
With no route across the river, Friel turned his forces toward the nearby town of La Gleize, which offered a better defensive position. It would be his rallying point. More of his straggling tanks and support vehicles streamed into La Gleize. Kampfgruppe Friel might be cut off, but it remained a formidable force. True, they were low on fuel. However, they had plenty of ammunition for one last battle.
Surrender to the Americans was not an option. Not after the massacre at Malmedy. At best, they would stand trial in some puppet court for murder. At worst, they would be gunned down where they stood. He would not do that to his men.
Just hours ago, success had seemed within their grasp. But the loss of the bridges had changed all that. Now, the struggle would be for survival.
"We will stand and fight," he said.
CHAPTER 25
"La Gleize," Lieutenant Mulholland announced. "If we weren't in the middle of a war, this town could be on a goddamn Christmas card."
Even Cole had to agree, although he was hardly in a holiday mood. It was true that the village tucked into the rolling countryside was scenic, with old stone houses festooned with snow. The sight of German panzers and machine gun emplacements marred that picture. Their arrival just in time to harass the lead elements of Kampfgruppe Friel had helped to keep the Germans pinned down on this side of the river.
Cole lit a cigarette. "Ain't goin' to be so pretty once the shootin' starts."
He smoked the cigarette as he studied the layout of the village.
It was Bienville all over again.
At that French village in Normandy, Americans had fought to hold the village against a much larger German force. Strategically, Bienville had been a vital town — nobody was getting anywhere on the roads through Normandy unless they came through Bienville. Cole and the other snipers had been part of that last-stand defense. Thanks to Jolie, they had invited Das Gespenst to what was essentially a duel between the German and Cole.
But Das Gespenst had lived up to his name by tricking them. During the night, he had found a passage into the heart of the village. Safe inside the stone spire of an ancient Norman church, he had picked off the American defenders and then slipped away. Cole had caught up to him, but had paid a steep price for that encounter.
He had hoped that Das Gespsent died that day. By all rights, he should have. Luck had been on the German’s side and he had lived to haunt them all over again in the Ardennes.
Now, at La Gleize, it was the Germans making a last stand. The tables had turned — to a point. For starters, La Gleize had no real strategic value — it was simply where the German armored column had run to ground.
Unfortunately, there would be no using Das Gespent's tricks against him by slipping into town undetected. The Germans were already dug into La Gleize. The snipers were on the outside, looking in.
"Lucky for us, we're in the suburbs," Vaccaro pointed out. "Plenty of space to roam around."
Vaccaro’s description was apt. A much smaller village, really just a clump of buildings that included a few shops, a scattering of houses, and a church, was located east of La Gleize, just within rifle range. The American forces were centered around this smaller village.
A teenage girl came out of the church. She looked to be seventeen or eighteen, pretty in a country way with cornflower blue eyes and dark hair. She wore a simple kitchen apron, flecked with blood. The interior of the church had been converted to a makeshift hospital, staffed by a few medics and this local villager.
There had been a short, sharp fight as the Germans settled into La Gleize and the leading edge of the American force arrived. Inside the church, the pews were filled with wounded Germans, Americans, and townspeople. Someone had taken a white sheet and painted a red cross on it, then hung that from the church steeple.
"You should not be here," Jolie called out to the girl in French. "Go home. There is going to be a battle here."
"I'm not going anywhere," the girl replied. "This is my village. Some of my neighbors have been hurt. What about you? You are fighting alongside those men."
Jolie shrugged and turned back to loading the rifle she had been given.
"What were you two jabberin' about?" Cole asked.
"I just told her this was not going to be a good place for her. That she should go home."
Cole snorted. "Well, if that ain't the pot calling the kettle black."
“That is just what she said to me.”
As the girl spoke, an old man approached her, smiling ear to ear, and brought her what appeared to be a bag of rags. Bandages. The girl took them gratefully.
"Look at her," Vaccaro said. "She's a regular Florence Nightingale, only cuter. Quick, somebody shoot me in the foot."
"Oh, I reckon I might shoot you, but not in the foot."
"Ha, ha. Hey, Cole, ever hear of a redneck virgin? That's a girl who can outrun her brother."
"Vaccaro, did you want me to shoot you now?"
"Wait a little and you might save yourself a bullet. It's gonna get ugly around here any minute now."
As a saboteur behind enemy lines, Klein’s tactic of falling in with an American unit had worked so well in destroying that fuel depot that he repeated it. However, it soon became apparent that this unit was not as disorganized as the one he had mixed with yesterday. He realized that most of these Amis knew one another, making Klein the odd man out. He had to slip away as soon as possible to avoid discovery.
The captain called a halt, and Klein welcomed a few minutes of rest. He put his rifle down against a tree and sat on a tree stump. He kept his head down and tried not to talk, but finally someone asked him a direct question.
“You look lost, buddy. What unit you with?”
“The two hundred and ninety-sixth engineers.”
“Yeah? You’re a long way from home, ain’t you?”
“Ya. Everything is a mess,” he said. Klein could have kicked himself. Not yes or yeah or yep, but ya. He was that damn nervous and tired. He hurried to cover his mistake. “These damn Germans are causing a lot of trouble.”