Not to mention, he had German POWs in the jeeps and he had no idea where to take them. He wished the radios hadn’t been left in their haste to escape and the one that had been shot all to hell and was completely inoperable.
Some of the Krauts turned to investigate the sound of the jeeps. White eyes focused on the Americans. A few turned to engage, but they carried no weapons. A group peeled away from the mass of men and moved at a fast clip toward them, weapons lowered, dickhead helmets firmly over heads. Clothing covered in mud, blood, and filth.
“Sir?” Tramble said.
“Goddamn, that’s a lot of enemies,” Coley said. “Let’s get the jeeps turned around and back into the woods. We’ll lose them.”
“Lieutenant,” Owen called from the jeep behind his. “That’s Bastogne, and our guys are dug in around it.”
Three of his men hopped down from the jeeps and opened up on a squad of Germans that had taken an interest in them. They used the jeep for cover, and dropped Krauts with careful fire.
Coley dug out his binoculars and found an emplacement with men looking back toward him. They had a machine gun squad pouring lead into a mass of Germans. If he could get the men around this mess, he’d be able to come up on their right flank and offer assistance.
“Tramble. See that road that leads back into the woods?” Coley pointed to the east.
“Not much of a road,” Tramble confirmed. “More like a trail.”
“Let’s make for it, and then we’ll cut out of the woods. In a few minutes we’ll be able to break free of the trees and close in on the city.”
“You got it, sir,” Tramble said, and dropped the jeep into gear.
Men hopped back into their jeeps and followed.
They ran into a clump of Germans a few minutes later, and drove around them. One of the men lowered a submachine gun and opened up, but his shots were way off target. Jones shot the man, and hit him in the midsection. The German sat down, but then struggled back to his feet.
Von Boeselager said something in German that sounded like his mother would box his ears if she’d heard him.
They wove around the Krauts, but they were now off the little trail. Tramble had to slow down to a crawl and pick out sections of snow-laden trees to drive between. He got them stuck once, and they lost a precious minute backing up out of a bowl and finding a new path.
The edge of the trees was ahead, but the space between a pair of towering pines was too small. Tramble swerved to the right and hit a massive copse of blackberry bushes. The jeep ripped free and they carved a path, but not before Coley got one of his gloves nearly ripped off by a prickly thorn. He fought the brush and managed to get loose.
Clear ground lay ahead, but there were a number of Germans in the way. They’d assembled around a piece of mortar equipment, but they weren’t manning it. The series of tubes lay cold on the ground, but the Krauts seemed unable to figure out how to fire.
Von Boeselager shouted something in German. The men turned, and Coley shot one in the face. As they broke free of the forest, they swerved around the emplacement. One of the men in the jeep behind them tossed a grenade at the mortar crew and blew a hole in their ranks.
They were a quarter mile from the Allies, and with the exception of the harsh terrain, the path was clear.
Tramble pushed the jeep up to speed until they came into view of the town through the mist.
“We’re gonna make it, sir,” Tramble shouted over the roar of the engines.
Then he slumped in the seat, and the jeep tipped to the side as the Corporal fell across the steering wheel.
“Goddamnit!” Coley flew out of the jeep and landed against a clump of ground and snow. The breath left his body and he saw stars.
Von Boeselager fell next to him, and the two men stared at each other as Coley’s gun landed between them. The German soldier pushed the gun toward Coley, then put his hands close to his body.
The German wasn’t the problem. One of the men from their own line had shot Tramble through the chest.
THIRTY-SIX
GRAVES
“We lost the tread. We’re going to be running around in circles,” Murph called.
Graves had felt it, and knew they were in a tight spot. With the enemy closing in on all sides, they’d have to act fast if they wanted to get out of here alive.
They might be able to hold out against the Germans if they could stay buttoned up, but there was no guarantee the crazed Krauts wouldn’t remember how to fight. A Panzerschreck team would be able to take their time, line up a shot, and decimate the tank in a few seconds, and they’d never see it coming, thanks to all of the tree cover.
Graves had an idea that would probably get them all killed anyway. He rotated the periscope and checked out the German truck.
“Murph, you still got your brother’s memento in your pack?” Graves asked.
Germans swarmed up the side of the tank and pounded at the hatches. Gunshots sounded, but lead struck the thick hull and buzzed away harmlessly.
“Of course. Wouldn’t go anywhere without it,” Murph said.
Worry etched the man’s face. Big Texas grabbed his Thompson and chambered a round. He dug out magazines and stuffed them into his pockets.
“How many grenades we got?” Graves asked.
The men did a quick inventory and came up with a nine and split them up while Graves outlined his plan.
“Pretty sure we’re all about to get killed,” Big Texas drawled.
“Maybe, but it’s better than sitting in this tank waiting for the Germans to carve us open like a tin can,” Graves said.
“Why don’t we play dead?” Gabby asked.
“We do that, and the Staff Sergeant is right,” Murph interjected. “Someone’s going to want to check out this lonely American tank and see if there’s anything salvageable. They might just shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Alright, gentleman, and I use that word loosely,” Graves said.
“That wasn’t funny the first time you used that line, Staff Sergeant,” Murph said. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the air.
“You’re going out with a Chesterfield in your mouth? That the plan?”
“Only way I’m going to die,” Murph said between tobacco-stained teeth. “Ain’t had a proper Camel in weeks.”
“You all know the plan,” Staff Sargent Graves said to his men. “Ready?”
The men nodded their heads and got into position.
“On three. One, two…” he barely got the last number out before they moved.
Graves slammed open his hatch and shot a Kraut in the face. The man had been in the process of slamming a rock against the hull like a goddamn caveman.
He tossed a grenade into a mass of Germans on the ground. They’d surrounded the tank and were clawing at each other to reach the armored vehicle. Graves ducked back into the tank as the pineapple exploded and shredded Kruats.
La Rue popped out of his portal and batted aside a Wehrmacht soldier, knocking him off the side of the tank. He fired with his Thompson and mowed down three of the men attacking the Sherman.
Gabby dug out his M3, “grease gun”, and opened his hatch. He cleared a few Germans, then clambered up on top of the tank. They made a beeline over the back, sliding over partially-shattered logs and the chains holding the extra armor in place.
The jagged wood tore at Graves’ clothing and cut his back.
He ignored the pain and kicked a Kraut in the face. He’d been coming up the rear of the tank, a Luger in hand.
Murph had already slithered out of the hatch in the floor of the tank. He used a gun and liberally fired at the legs of Germans crowding around the back of the Sherman.
Graves leapt onto the back of the German half-track and found three soldiers on the floor. They’d taken damage from gun fire and withered on the hard metal. He shot one in the head, but another grabbed at his foot and yanked. Graves smacked his head against the side of the vehicle and bit his tongue.