By the jeep, Raubach had missed the SS man he had selected as a target, and worked the bolt on his weapon, seeking to make sure of his kill with the next shot.
He ignored the stings as a bullet struck a wooden box from the jeep’s load, sending splinters into his face, neck, and ears.
He breathed out and made sure the sight was on, and pulled the trigger with the calmness of a man who has seen all that war has to offer.
Oberscharfuhrer Emmering had just set himself up behind the .30cal as Raubach’s bullet took him in the chest, robbing the SS NCO of his strength in an instant.
Julius Emmering fell back onto the body of the man he had recently slaughtered and, alone and scared, started the inevitable journey to darkness and the nothingness of what was to come.
Lenz saw his main man go down, hard on the heels of Weiss’ death, and screamed in anger, putting a burst into the old German soldier, and sending Raubach flying with the heavy impacts.
Having killed Weiss and two others, Corporal Rickard turned his attentions to the lunatic enemy officer who seemed to be firing at the destroyed jeep.
The Springfield sniper rifle barked, and Lenz flew backwards with the impact.
Rickard sought other targets.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shape and rolled instinctively.
The vengeful SS soldier responded with equal quickness, and grabbed Rickard’s arm, slashing at the extended flesh with a cruelly sharp knife.
Rickard screamed as the blade bit and opened his arm almost to the bone.
The SS soldier rolled to slice at the American’s exposed neck, his head coming to rest against the barrel of Rickard’s Colt, which immediately discharged a single round that sent the German’s grey matter over the earth behind him.
The dead weight of the body held Rickard in place, and he struggled hard to get back into the action.
Meanwhile, Lenz had reloaded, the empty magazine tossed carelessly to one side, the new 71 round container in place.
The six remaining SS Kommando soldiers, moved towards the Horch and halftrack, intent on carrying out Lenz’s orders, namely to kill survivors and quickly grab anything of use.
Lenz himself went for Hanebury’s command vehicle, the PPSh held one-handed, ready for any threat.
As Lenz moved behind the jeep, a new force entered the arena, one that swung the balance of firepower in favour of the MP platoon, and one that sealed the SS Kommando’s fate.
The M8 Greyhound crashed through some modest hedgerow and started firing at the enemy to its front.
A halftrack quickly followed it, but moved out to the left flank, bringing its own .50cal into use.
A jeep and another half-track followed, completing the group commanded by Stradley, and effecting the reunion of Lucifer’s platoon.
Schipper was first to go down, as heavy bullets hammered into his torso, flinging him aside like a rag doll.
The others quickly followed, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, they chose death, and death obliged them all.
Lenz watched as the remainder of his command was destroyed before his eyes, and his anger overcame him.
The PPSh lashed out at the halftracks, the jeep, and the armoured car.
Not without success.
Stradley took two rounds in the upper back, both of which punched out just below his collarbones. He dropped noiselessly onto the seat of the halftrack as it turned away.
Three others were hit by bullets from the vengeful Lenz.
The SS officer ducked behind the overturned jeep, stepping on the wounded Raubach.
Lenz straight-armed the sub-machine gun’s butt into Raubach’s face, smashing bone and teeth with real savagery.
Hanebury pulled the trigger, the muzzle of his pump action shotgun no more than eight feet from his target… and missed completely.
Holding the heavy weapon in one hand was tricky, and the motion of pulling the trigger, along with his fatigue, had been enough.
Lucifer prepared himself.
He had seen Stradley go down, and could only imagine how many of his boys had been lost to the piece of shit that now turned on him.
This was the man that had killed the medics…
Killed the Russians…
Set fire to the church…
Killed the old woodsman…
Killed how many countless others…
Lenz screamed at the American sergeant lying by the jeep and brought the PPSh up, aiming it in one simple manoeuvre.
He pulled the trigger.
A single bullet only, which took Hanebury in the midriff, causing him to moan with pain.
When Lenz had hammered the gun into Raubach’s face, he had displaced the magazine enough to jam the feed of the next round, thus saving Hanebury’s life.
Two bullets hit Lenz in the back, and he was thrown at Hanebury, ending up on his face right beside the wounded NCO.
Raubach had been responsible for the one that had entered Lenz’s anus and burst out through his genitalia, ruining the SS officer for the rest of his tenure on life.
At the same moment, Rickard had put his own bullet through Lenz’s back, destroying the right lung on its way through to the open air on the other side.
Hanebury moved himself up onto his elbows, and prodded the babbling German onto his side.
Lucifer looked at the man, the eyes still glowing with fanaticism and hate, even though death was rapidly approaching.
Shouts indicated more US troops arriving, as medics and other MPs from the hospital gained the field and started to tend to the wounded and dying.
A young medic stopped by Hanebury, who shrugged off the ministrations, intimidating the green soldier as much with his injuries as his scowl.
“Fuck you, Amerikan… fuck…,” Lenz descended into a coughing fit, bringing fresh crimson blood to his lips.
Bringing his breathing under control, Lenz pushed himself upright, or as best he could, and spat bloody phlegm at Hanebury.
“Ich schwöre dir, Adolf Hitler, als Führer und Kanzler des Deutschen Reiches…”
Hanebury looked around, taking in the terrible scenes… of the medics tending to his wounded men… or covering those beyond help…
“Treue und tapferkeit. Wir geloben dir…”
Raubach fell back into unconsciousness, his face a bloody mess of flesh, bone and teeth…
“Und den von dir bestimmten vorgesetzten gehorsam bis in den tod…”
Lucifer’s face went blank as his decision was made. His hand released its hold on the shotgun, and the Winchester dropped down through his fingers, his hand suddenly shifted from trigger to charger.
Not taking his eyes off Lenz, Hanebury made a sharp motion with his good hand, chambering a shell.
The charging of a pump-action shotgun has a very particular sound, one that carries no good news for anyone at the business end of the weapon.
None the less, there was no fear in Lenz’s voice, or in his eyes… just hate… and malice… and fanaticism.
“So wahr mir Gott helfe! Seig heil!…”
Hanebury held the weapon steady as a rock, his hand back on the trigger, the muzzle placed nicely, balanced on the German’s bottom lip and tongue.
It didn’t make for clear speech, but Lenz still tried.
“Seeg Heeeiill…”
“Fuck you!”
The single report drew many eyes, and the young medic turned, took one look, and violently deposited the contents of his stomach over both the wrecked jeep and the unconscious Collier.
The muzzle of the Winchester stayed in place, supported by the lower jaw of what had once been a head.
Hanebury nodded, the gun slipping from his grasp as his strength suddenly sapped and he became light-headed.
“You’ll kill no more of my fucking boys now, you bastard.”
He dropped gently to the ground and passed into unconsciousness, his mouth trying to master more words for the destroyed corpse of SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Artur Lenz.