He pointed out the spots he had in mind and the men complied. He dug in earnest, feeling like every second had him under a gun sight. If the Germans arrived and he wasn’t back in the tank, they’d have a hell of a time without him.
The three men worked at different spots, trying to dig into the hard dirt. The ground wasn’t just hard; it was rocky. They’d fought over mud and snow, but this part of the road was higher than the land around it, and hadn’t been soaked through.
“They’re coming,” one of the guys said. He couldn’t have been eighteen, looked like a damn kid. Woodward had run into a few guys who’d fibbed on their applications and got into the armed forces. Glory of war was high back in the states. He knew this all too well; it was why he’d joined up.
“You sure about those fuses? Got the pressure plates off and them set?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Woodward hoped they were right, but didn’t have time to take the damn mines apart. He maneuvered his into place and grimaced at how it stuck out an inch.
The ground rumbled underneath him.
“We need to move. Cover them as best you can and get back with your units,” he called to the men.
He pushed earth and rocks on top of the mine he was working on, then stood up to survey his work. He wasn’t fooled for a second. If one of the Krauts were paying attention, he’d see the mounds and avoid them.
The creaking of metal and the squeal of wheels against track told him he was out of time. The men had already disappeared into the woods, and that left him standing in the middle of a road alone, facing a tank company.
Woodward said a short prayer, crossed himself, then ran back to the tank.
As he waded into the woods and bushes, he thought he saw something. Between a pair of large pines, someone had been moving. No, not someone: a lot of someones. He ducked and waited, sticking close to a tree.
The figures moved just fifty yards away. He squinted. The men were dressed in white, and clearly weren’t Allies. But the force was odd, somehow. They didn’t advance through the woods the way they would if they were hunting enemies.
They ran, paused, dropped to the ground and sniffed, and then ran some more. They carried weapons and gear, but none of the men had rifles raised.
“Like a pack of damn dogs,” Woodward whispered to himself.
Then the force faded into the woods and was out of sight.
SIXTEEN
GRAVES
“Silence, I want complete silence.” Graves shouldn’t even have had to say it, but he wanted to be sure they were as quiet as a cemetery when the Germans arrived.
The radio clicked next to his ear.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Got reports of four Panzers and some infantry headed our way. Should run into our little surprise in about three minutes,” Bucky reported from the Sherman next to theirs.
“Guess it’s time to get back in the war,” Graves said, and hung up.
Woodward clambered up the side of the tank and slithered back inside.
“Mission accomplished,” he said. “Saw some Krauts in the woods just now, but they moved away from us.”
“Wehrmacht?”
“Yeah, but they were crazy. Running around like wolves looking for something to eat,” Woodward said.
“Did you step out for a nip?” Big Texas asked.
“No I didn’t have a drink, dummy. I saw what I saw.”
“Stick to the mission. If those wolves become a problem we’ll deal with them.”
They waited in silence. Graves counted in his head while he watched the second hand on his beat up Timex. It ticked away like an inevitable timer counting down their doom.
One Kraut paying extra attention to this area, and it would all be over. The Panzers would make short work of the little force. The infantry guys would have a chance, because they could fade into the forest. The tanks wouldn’t be so lucky. They’d try to perform a retreating action but they’d likely end up on fire. How Murph and his crew had lasted this long was a mystery even to him. A Sherman up against a Panzer was a death wish.
The rumble of the German military machine filled the morning air. It shook the ground, and consequently the Sherman that was glued in place.
“Here they come,” Bucky’s voice came over the radio.
“Roger. As soon as they pass, we fire.”
“Roger. I’ll give the signal,” Bucky said.
“Fine. Standing by.”
The men waited as the intensity of the shaking continued. Graves had a couple of captured SS’ medals stuck to the side of the tank. They shook against the side of the thick metal, and the picture of Betty Boop he kissed on a regular occasion fell off. Graves reached down to pick it up.
“What’s your wife going to say about Betty?” Gabby asked.
“She’s never going to find out about my other girl,” Graves said.
The rumble of tanks came to a dull roar, then suddenly died down.
Graves scanned the area with his scope, swiveling left and right, but the road was still clear.
“See anything?” Bucky said over the radio.
“Negative. Maybe they got off the road?”
“Shit. This damn weather isn’t doing us any favors.”
“Stay sharp,” Graves said, and clicked off.
They waited in silence until Big Texas said, “I gotta take a leak.”
“Hold it,” Graves said, and continued to scan the area.
“Not sure I can.”
“Use a damn ammo tin like the rest of us,” Gabby said.
“Can’t pee while someone’s watching.”
Graves rolled his eyes. He leaned over and pressed his ear to the side of the tank. The tanks were still out there, judging by the dull rumble in the distance. Then the noise grew again.
“Here they come,” Bucky said over the radio.
“Roger,” Graves said.
“Gonna piss myself,” Big Texas said but stuck to his gunner station like glue.
As the noise of the approaching Panzers grew, Murphy closed his eyes and muttered a prayer.
SEVENTEEN
GRILLO
Doc leapt into the hole and kept his head down. “I was catching up on my sleep, Sergeant. What’s wrong?”
“Check out Grillo, here. Got stitched by some Kraut shrapnel,” Sergeant Pierce said, nodding at Franklin.
“Got me right here.” Grillo lifted his jacket and showed the wound. “But I don’t think it’s too bad, Doc.”
He lifted the side of his jacket and tugged his shirt up. The cold hit him immediately and made him shake, even though he felt like he was already frozen to the core.
Doc leaned over and did an inspection. Then he ripped open a bandage and shook it out.
“You don’t think it’s too bad? You suddenly a medical professional? Lay on your other side and hold this. Don’t let it touch the ground,” Doc said.
Grillo complied, and Doc took out a pack of sulfa and shook it over the wound. He wiped away a trickle of blood and looked closer.
“No sir,” Grillo said. “I’m not a medical professional. I just don’t want to die out here. Figure if I stay right with the Lord and keep my wits, I’ll make it.”
“Damn good advice, son. Now, I’ll tell you what’s what. It’s just a cut—a deep cut, but a cut just the same. You’re dammed lucky kid. Or maybe not so lucky. Any deeper and I’d have to send you back to the aid station. Always a chance you’d get sent home.”
“But I just got here,” Grillo said.
Doc winced and looked away.
Gunshots echoed up and down the line, including a German burp gun. The three men crammed into the sugar hole flinched and kissed the dirt.
Another explosion nearby shattered a tree and tossed the trunk to the ground. Shards of wood struck their position.