The fighting wore on throughout the day. Piles and piles of enemy bodies made obstacles for the oncoming force, but it barely slowed down the relentless army.
Grillo was relieved when the word came to continue falling back into the city. Villages joined the fight, using whatever weapons they could get their hands on: kitchen knives, shovels, and one burly Belgian swung a sledgehammer left and right as he covered a score of retreating women and children.
He put up a fight, but was eventually taken to the ground. The people he’d been covering ran, but some of them weren’t able to get away.
Grillo and his men fired until they were out of ammo, but it was too late for the women and children. He fought back tears as he was ordered to withdraw. He came across a GI who’d been ripped apart and took the man’s Thompson and his ammo. His new M1 was out of ammo so he left it next to the corpse.
As he dug out a pair of magazines and one grenade, the guy reached for him. The presumably dead GI’s eyes had turned white, and he made a low, keening noise that hissed through his shattered throat. Blood bubbled out of his mouth and turned Grillo’s stomach upside down.
When he’d recovered from vomiting, Pierce and Shaw grabbed his arms and urged him on. Pierce had been limping along, aiding when he could, but his leg was clearly paining him.
Captain Taylor had been conferring with command when he found the remains of Able and Baker companies.
“Grillo. Is it true you’re a combat engineer?”
“Yes sir,” Grillo said. “Orders got fouled up on my way to Europe.”
“Perfect. We need you. As soon as we secure a ride, we’re planning a surprise for the Krauts.”
“Kinda surprise, sir?” Sergeant Pierce asked.
“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now, would it? Okay, Corporal Grillo. You’re with me,” Taylor said.
“I’m a Private, sir.”
“Not any more. Field promotion. Congratulations,” Captain Taylor said, then sauntered off.
Grillo fought a smile and followed, but not before he wiped the vomit off his mouth.
FORTY-FIVE
GRAVES
The half-track covered the retreating Allies. Gabby roared with anger as he laid down fire. They’d become trapped in a tiny alley with barely enough room to clear either side. But they slowed to a crawl, to effect a moving roadblock. The bastards kept on coming, no matter how many bullets he shot.
Murph had argued that he was a tank driver and should be in the driver seat. Gabby had said, “All yours. I’ll go shoot Krauts. Pain in the ass driving with the steering wheel on the wrong side, anyway.”
The men had swapped positions, and Gabby had been true to his word. He unleashed wave after wave of German lead back at the pursuing forces.
With boxes of ammo and weapons left by the Germans, they were able to provide a safe retreat. Villagers joined the army and moved among them, but never at a fast enough pace. They carried suitcases and boxes of belongings. Many clutched children close. An elderly couple tossed aside their items and insisted on holding hands as they wove among the refugees.
“This is so FUBAR, Staff Sergeant,” Gabby said as he reloaded the German machine gun with the last of the ammo.
“Ain’t gotta tell me twice,” Graves said.
“What about Big Texas? We left his body back there,” Gabby said.
“We can’t do anything about it now,” Graves said.
“I know. Just a shame. Should have kept him in the half-track with us. We’d have taken care of him as soon as we were safe.”
“If we manage to find a safe place, I’ll say a prayer for him. Right now I’m busy praying for us,” Graves said grimly.
FORTY-SIX
COLEY
The German POWs had been kept under guard during the engagement, before Coley had made the argument that they could help. The Americans were naturally distrustful of the Krauts, and there had been many whispers about Malmade as well as murmurs that the men should be shot.
Von Boeselager had made the move to approach him and offer his comrades’ services. Coley had to scratch his head and consider the German officer very carefully. A day ago, this asshole had been interested in shooting Coley’s men. Now they wanted to shoot at their own guys.
“You see how strange that sounds, right? You want weapons to fight your own men?”
“These are not sons of the Fatherland. These are not sons of any man. These are monsters,” von Boeselager had said as fire poured into the advancing force.
“You guys could turn your guns against us and escape,” Coley had said.
“And go where, Lieutenant? Where do we go after we escape? The only thing that awaits us then is death or collusion with those beasts. We will fight to survive, and surrender our weapons when asked.”
“Your word as an officer?”
“Yes. My word as an officer and a soldier of the Third Reich.”
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly if I were you,” Coley had said.
Lieutenant Coley didn’t have much time to think about the repercussions. Instead, he made the decision himself: he ordered them to be given weapons but limited ammo.
Later in the day, the decision proved to be a smart one.
FORTY-SEVEN
TAYLOR
“You men!” Taylor yelled. “Where’d you get that vehicle?”
The German half-track was a sight that almost sent him diving for cover. But someone had dropped a flag across the front, and there were GIs in the vehicle. They’d been driving down a small road and nearly run into an alley before stopping, backing up, and finding the road again.
“Long story, Captain,” a man carrying a German machine gun said. “I’m Staff Sergeant Graves, formerly a tanker attached to the 37th Tank Division, 4th Armored Division. We got overrun, and had to borrow this beauty.”
“You lost your tank?”
“Like I said, Captain. Long damn story.”
“Save it. I need transport to the southeastern entrance to Bastogne.”
“Hop in, Captain. We’re headed that way,” Graves said.
Taylor and Grillo slid over the back of the half-track and took seats while they made hasty introductions.
“We need to make a stop at the supply depot. I’ll point the way,” Taylor said.
“What about these civilians?” Graves said.
“This mission will save a lot of lives, provided we can get there in time,” Taylor said.
“Hear that, Murph? Got us a mission now.”
Murph grunted, but kept his eyes glued on the advancing horde.
FORTY-EIGHT
COLEY
Von Boeselager and his men didn’t turn their weapons on the Allies. They kept on task and followed orders. There was something about the way went about it, though; a cold relentlessness that reminded Coley he was seeing the German infantrymen in action for the first time, instead of trying to outflank or shoot them.
They worked closely together, and called out frequent smatterings of German. Coley was no linguist like some of the translators, but he’d studied German in school and could pick out a word or two here and there.
They’d fallen back to the remains of an old church, and stopped for a rest break. Coley and his men stood in one corner, von Boeselager and his men in another. The two forces kept a wary eye on each other.
“We got movement, Lieutenant,” Shaw reported. They’d dispatched a pair of scouts, and the men were now back, looking harried.
“How long ’til they get here?”
“A force of a few hundred are heading in this direction. They ran down a bunch of villagers lugging boxes and crates. Took them all down, sir. Relentless. We tried to stop them, but we just didn’t have the manpower,” Shaw reported evenly. “Figure they’ll be here in a five minutes, unless we can drop a couple of artillery shells on them.”