Upon the order to “dig in,” the battalion commander choose high ground and set up two heavy M1917A1 30 caliber, water-cooled machine guns; one on each end of the elliptical shaped fortification. Like cowboys circling the wagons, the battalion was positioned in an oval-shaped formation, with the water-cooled machine guns guarding both ends of the trail. Of course, they did not have chuck wagons to hide behind, nor were they facing natives with bows and arrows. They were surrounded by thousands of Nazis that were armed with machine guns, mortars, artillery, sniper rifles, and the occasional lite tank.
The thick, jungle-like tree canopy, combined with nasty storms, made air support for both sides nearly impossible. The fallen trees, mountainous terrain, and thick forest, that had allowed the Germans to fortify, now offered cover to the trapped American battalion. The 270 Americans had fortified the high ridge trail using downed trees and rock formations to create a strong defensible position.
Dale’s twelve-man squad was near the center of the elliptical fortification, on the side facing away from the valley. The squad directly across the trail from him faced down the mountain toward the valley and town below them. The Germans knew exactly where the American battalion was and had been hitting them with mortars all day. The last attack from a company of Nazis was about an hour ago. The Germans had been easily repelled and broke off the attack after losing a dozen soldiers. Dale was afraid they were going to come back with two Battalions.
Squinting his eyes, he scanned the impenetrable forest for Germans lurking in the settling fog. The forest’s shadowy canopy of trees, gloomy skies and the thick underbrush of fallen trees made it very easy for machinegun-toting Krauts to hide.
“Do you see anything?” hissed Tom from the foxhole next to him.
“Negative,” he replied.
“Me neither,” said Adam, leaning up against the inside of the foxhole with Dale. Adam was shouldering his weapon of choice, a Browning Automatic Rifle, or BAR for short. The BAR was considered a squad-based weapon, not a heavy machine gun, but not as light at the Thompson in Dale’s right hand. Adam had his BAR set out of the foxhole, a tripod holding up the barrel that pointed up the mountain.
Treadwell, another member of the squad, slid into the foxhole like a baseball player coming into home plate. He was holding a new M2 carbine rifle, and his drab, olive uniform was covered in mud. The M2 carbine was an upgrade from the M1 carbine, in that it could be set to full auto and accepted a thirty-round magazine.
“The lieutenant just said Listening Outpost Two reported Germans approaching our position,” he informed the others as he adjusted the helmet which had slid down his forehead. They had set up four listening posts total, each 1,000 meters out. The listening posts would report back to the fortified position but would not engage. Each listening post was heavily camouflaged and had a crank-powered, battlefield telephone to report back to the battalion. The main purpose of each listening post was to ensure that the Americans would get a warning before a German attack.
“They will be here any minute, everyone in position,” called out Dale. All members of his squad were either dug into foxholes are behind fallen trees.
“I think I see movement, two hundred yards out,” Tom whispered as he pointed up the mountain and to the right.
“Hold your fire until you have a clean shot. Conserve your ammunition, no automatic fire until they are inside 50 yards.” Matthews said, as he lifted the Thompson up to his shoulder.
“I like to fire single shots at first, make them think they are up against a bolt action, then when they get close, open up, and switch to full auto.” Adam smiled and rubbed his BAR like it was his favorite puppy. “Gets them every time,” he said with a smile.
Boom. A single shot rang out. It was from ten feet away. Dale looked over and saw Evan give the universal thumbs up sign.
“I think I got me a Kraut,” he said from behind a large fir tree. Evan was holding his M-1 Garand, a semi-automatic rifle. It was deadly accurate and considered to be an excellent defensive weapon. There were four soldiers carrying M-1 Garands in the squad. They would get the first kills because they were very accurate long range, but once the Nazis got close, the BARs would be more effective.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Three more shots, one right after another. This time from 20 meters to Dale’s left. The squad directly next to Matthews was under attack. He could tell it was Garands firing, the Germans were still over 100 yards out. He squinted his eyes and saw the gray uniform of a German solider running between the trees 80 yards away. Then another and another. The next wave of Nazis had arrived.
He said to Adam, “See them?”
Adam nodded his head, and said, “Yes sir, barely through the fog.” He squeezed the trigger on the powerful BAR. A deafening explosion followed, and then, “Damn, I missed.”
Dale and his men were dug in and well-hidden, while the advancing Germans were running tree to tree. Now they were close enough to be seen, and the entire evening erupted in a deafening symphony of nearly 100 automatic rifles firing into the trees.
Dale spotted a Nazi 70 yards out crouching, behind a large tree. He was lining up a shot with a long rifle. He knew the Nazi was seconds from shooting an American. Dale took a deep breath, exhaled, and settled his iron sights on the Nazi rifleman. He gently squeezed the trigger of the Thompson machine gun. The Trench Broom, as his gun was also called, jumped to life and three bullets burrowed into the tree close to the Nazi’s face. Bark and splinters broke free and sprayed into the Nazi’s eyes. The Nazi jerked his trigger, and the rifle overshot its intended target. Dale instantly lined up his machine gun again and fired. This time the bullets slammed into the Nazi’s face, and he jerked backwards and collapsed.
“Hell yeah!” shouted Matthews, “that’s my thirty-seventh kill.”
Adam grinned and said, “Still doesn’t beat my 54 kills!” He peered down the barrel of his Browning and gave the trigger a good long pull, sending 10 bullets into a German soldier that had stuck his head up from behind a tree stump.
“Grenade!” yelled Adam.
Dale heard the thud of a grenade not six feet from him. He turned and saw the smooth, egg-shaped, German hand grenade land on the ground between his foxhole and the one to his left. He flung himself deep into the hole while grabbing Adam by his collar and dragging him down with him. The grenade exploded harmlessly, only feet away. Dale and Adam scrambled to stand, ears ringing from the explosion.
“Thanks. You saved my ass,” Adam choked out, as he wiped mud and dirt from his face.
“Roger that,” Dale responded, as he detached the magazine from his Thompson. He reached into the canvas ammo pouch attached to his web belt and pulled out a fresh magazine and slid it into place. He knew the magazine was in place when he heard and felt the metallic click. From down in the foxhole, he saw Evan firing from behind a tree at unseen Germans. He pulled back the charging handle, and the Thompson was ready to fire.
Dale and Adam cautiously rose from the foxhole, with their weapons held firmly at their shoulders. The Krauts had advanced to 25 yards. From a standing position in the foxhole, Adam fired the BAR at a German’s head as it poked up from behind a large fallen tree. Splinters flew in every direction, as the bullets smashed into the tree just below the German’s exposed head. Adam raised the barrel ever so slightly, and the German’s head exploded in to a bloody mess.