The one bright spot was that so far, the SS troops had not made any effort to advance and hit the American defenders from the rear. Instead, the Germans seemed intent on setting charges to destroy the bridge. Cole wondered if they would hold off to see if their comrades fought their way through. He doubted it. The SS didn't seem to care much for anyone, including the Wehrmacht.
Cole risked a quick sight check over the lip of the stone wall. More SS troops had come up, right to the edge of the bridge, while others were busy setting charges and running detonator wires back to the western shore of the Moselle. He guessed there were maybe twenty troops on the bridge now. Once they were done wiring the bridge, would they advance into the village to hit the Americans from behind? That was a distinct possibility. Cole wasn't sure how long the three of them could hold off twenty Germans — and who knew how many more might be waiting on the opposite river bank?
General Tolliver had issued orders to hold the bridge, or to try and prevent the Germans from blowing it up. It looked like that wasn't going to happen.
Slowly, a plan began to take shape in Cole’s mind. The plan wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
"C'mon," he growled at Frenchie and Vaccaro. Following Cole's lead, they crawled on hands and knees behind the stone wall, following it down toward the river. The Germans were still concentrating their fire at the point on the wall where they had last seen the Americans.
"We get any closer and we can throw rocks at 'em," Vaccaro grumbled.
"Keep moving," Cole said.
The going was hard, with their hands and knees absorbing the roots, stones, and occasional shard of broken glass embedded in the muddy soil. Although they had left their packs back in the village, they were weighed down with canteens, ammo, and half a dozen grenades each. Cole also carried his big Bowie knife. It didn't help that the wall seemed to get lower the closer that they came to the river, cramping their arms and legs as they tried to stay low. If the Germans on the bridge spotted them, the gig would be up. Soon, they practically had to hug the ground.
Cole's plan was to reach a point near the river where they could see under the bridge. He wanted a glimpse of what those engineers were up to. He also had a vague idea that the three of them might be able to make life very short for the Germans stringing the explosives. Then again, the SS troops guarding the bridge itself might have something to say about that.
He glanced up, noticing that the sky was beginning to clear somewhat. The clouds hung low over the hills beyond, but no longer wrapped themselves around the peaks. It was just possible that Allied planes would get back into the air soon. That was fine by Cole — he’d had enough of the gloom and rain. He turned his attention back to the ground and kept crawling.
Finally, they reached the end of the wall. From here, the bank plunged down steeply to the swirling currents below. There wasn't any cover to speak of beyond this point.
"End of the line," Cole said. He chanced a quick peek around the end of the wall. The Germans on the bridge were still focused up the road, toward the point where they had last seen the Americans. This close, Cole could see the German sniper, tight against his rifle, waiting for a target. Cole was tempted to pick him off, but there were bigger fish to fry.
Beneath the bridge, he could see half a dozen SS troops working to lay satchel charges in the framework of the bridge. They stood on the timbers beneath the bridge, shoving the charges against the stone underbelly of the bridge. Other soldiers were busy snaking wires from the charges, edging along the timbers. The wires would run all the way back to the opposite bank, to a detonator.
Cole had not worked much with explosives, but he knew the basics from the rudimentary training that all GIs received. Both sides carried satchel charges for this very purpose: wrecking bridges, railroads, or destroying whatever resource the enemy could be denied. Considering the abuse these charges took being hauled around the countryside in combat conditions, it was a good thing that the explosives themselves were inert. You could drop them, set them on fire, and even shoot them without the charge going off. Setting off a satchel charge required a smaller detonator charge, which was rigged to an electrical device via a wire. In a sense, the arrangement used a method similar to an old flintlock musket, which required a "flash in the pan" to ignite the main charge in the barrel.
He suspected that an explosive bullet fired into the charge might do the trick, but Cole didn't have any of those for the Springfield. German snipers had used explosive bullets on the Russians, and vice versa, in defiance of Geneva Convention rules. Those two nations hated one another on the gut level. So far, German snipers had not used explosive rounds on Allied forces. Short of an explosive round or an electronic detonator, Cole had an idea for what might be the next best thing for setting off a German satchel charge.
"Just like the arcade at Coney Island," Vaccaro said, eyeing the soldiers silhouetted among the timbers. "We can pick them off and win the kewpie doll."
"You know the SS," Cole said. "They'll just send more. And once those sons of bitches on the bridge spot us, we won't be around to stop them."
"Once they have that bridge wired, they'll attack the village," Frenchie said. "Our guys and the villagers won't have a prayer, fighting in two directions."
Cole had to agree. The force on the bridge was well-armed and experienced. If Frenchie was right about them being the same unit that had wiped out the GIs crossing at Dornot, it was going to be a short fight. A likely scenario was that the SS troops would attack, and once the Americans were defeated and their Wehrmacht comrades were across the river, then they would blow up the bridge.
He looked toward far shore and could see the rest of the unit assembling. He tried to count the troops in their dark uniforms, but gave up after twenty. There were at least twice that many, along with the troops holding the bridge. There were a couple of Kübelwagen there, sporting mounted MG-42 machine guns. It became all too clear that the Germans intended to advance across the bridge and hit the GIs defending Ville sur Moselle. The Germans planned to blow the bridge, not hold it — but SS troops never needed much of a reason for an opportunity to kill Allied troops. The SS was hated and feared by the Allies, and the same might be said of the Wehrmacht. The difference came down to soldiers on the one hand, and fanatics on the other.
An officer on the other side stood up in his Kübelwagen and waved the men forward. Cole desperately wanted to pop him, but one officer wasn't worth the risk. The SS troops moved onto the bridge.
Vaccaro was also peering around the wall and saw the SS troops advancing. "Huh, I thought things were bad, but they just went to worse in a hurry."
Frenchie said them coming now, and his knuckles went white as he gripped the rifle even harder.
"I reckon we're about to get caught between a rock and a hard place. What else is new?" Cole gave them a crooked grin, then explained his plan to Vaccaro and Frenchie. "All right, boys, this is where it gets interestin'. When I give the word, I want you to pitch a couple of grenades at those sons of bitches on the bridge. Then give 'em hell. We want them to think that there are a lot more of us than there are. Frenchie, make sure you've got a full clip in that M-1. Shoot, and keep on shootin'."
The M-1 had the advantage of a convincing rate of semiautomatic fire, versus the bolt action Springfield — or the Mauser rifles the Germans carried, for that matter.
"What are you gonna be doing?" Vaccaro wanted to know.
"Me? City Boy, I'm fixin' to blow up this bridge with all them Nazis on it."