“I got ’em, sir,” one of his guys said, and popped a grenade.
“No, wait!” Coley shouted, but it was too late. The grenade was already sailing toward the mass of men.
FIFTY-ONE
GRILLO
Grillo and his companions had mounted as many satchel charges as they could. Chaos was all around them, with villagers and soldiers alike streaming through the city. He had to carefully weave the primacord with square knots—a simple but frustrating task, thanks to the cold. His fingers were stiff, and his limbs ached from the long night and morning of fighting.
The twenty-two pound satchel charges had been arrayed against walls in two buildings so the blast would blow outward. With any luck, the rest of the walls would follow suit and collapse with the blast.
Grillo’s side itched where the bandaging had come loose. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to stop the irritating bindings from slipping any farther down his ribs.
“Clear the street!” Captain Taylor yelled, gesturing left and right.
Somewhere to the northeast, a huge gun pounded. Grenades exploded on the streets surrounding them, and small arms fire joined the cacophony.
Grillo backed up, playing out wire. He stumbled over a piece of rubble and landed hard on his backside. He got back up and continued his slow walk.
Captain Taylor joined Grillo, and helped string the wire.
“How we doing, Corporal?” the Captain said.
“Good, sir. Strange to be called Corporal,” Grillo said.
He wouldn’t have a chance to sew his new rank onto his uniforms for a while, assuming he even survived. At this rate, they were going to be overrun in minutes. The delaying action he was effecting would do little to stem the tide, but it might buy them some time.
Grillo played out more wire, and found the doorway they’d designated as their cover for the explosion. He picked up the detonator and attached the cord.
“We’re out of time, Corporal,” Taylor said, and pointed.
Grillo peeked out of the doorway and found hundreds of the crazed Germans flooding the main street.
“Should be ready, sir.”
“Wait,” Graves yelled. “There’s a pair of kids.”
He slid off the back of the half-track with one of the other tankers. They rounded the vehicle and ran toward the pair.
The little ones were no older than ten, and bundled up against the cold. They held hands as they picked their way over the rubble in the street.
“Get back here!” Captain Taylor yelled.
Grillo put his hand on the handle. Just a twist and he’d be creating one hell of a big bang. He’d also kill the two little ones, Graves, and the other guy. He looked at the Captain for orders, unsure if he’d be able to detonate the explosives even if Taylor gave the order.
FIFTY-TWO
COLEY
Coley dove behind the remains of a low wall. The blast shook the ground, and flames rushed over his body. He rolled over and over, hoping his clothing wasn’t on fire. The heat had been so intense that the hairs on the back of his head had ignited, burning to the skin.
Von Boeselager smacked Coley’s back in places to put out small flames. All in all, Coley felt like a damn marshmallow that’d been held over a campfire.
The anti-aircraft gun had fallen silent. When Coley regained his feet, Audley and Higgins were already moving away from it.
Audley pointed at the remains of the army that had been stumbling down the street. “I don’t think there’s time to drag more ammo over here to reload the M4. We done enough.”
Piles of bodies and pieces of men blocked most of the access point.
“Right. Fall back, and let’s get the hell out of here,” Coley said.
His voice was hoarse. He remembered that he’d been screaming when the flamethrower had exploded.
He limped, but von Boeselager was there to help. He draped Coley’s arm over his shoulder, and together the mixed company retreated.
FIFTY-THREE
GRAVES
It wasn’t even a question of his own safety. Graves had made up his mind the second he’d seen the two children. They were innocent victims of this war, and that was one of the reasons he was here: not just to fight, but to provide relief to the people of Europe.
He pounded over the hard road until he slipped and slid across a patch of ice. Murph had been close behind, and steadied Graves. They reached the children and snatched one up.
The Germans were mere feet away.
Something snagged his foot and he fell, but twisted to the side so he didn’t crush the child. She held onto him, eyes wide and terrified as Graves picked her up and turned to run.
Captain Taylor came to their side. He fired his Colt .45, and when he ran dry, he dug out a fresh magazine and slammed it home.
Three Germans attacked.
Graves had no choice but to fight. He got his foot up and kicked a soldier in the chest. The man had white eyes, and his mouth was covered in blood. Lips drew back from red-stained teeth. He was bigger than Graves by about thirty pounds. Graves freed an arm and punched the man in the face, but it was like hitting a side of beef. He got ahold of the Kraut’s jacket, twisted the soldier to the side, then rolled with the momentum, taking the enemy with him. He almost lost his hold on the girl but she put her arms around his neck and held on.
The Captain killed one of the men with a shot to the head.
The other German soldier got a grip on Graves’s pant leg and pulled.
The little girl said something in French that Graves didn’t understand. She had tears in her eyes and her voice was plaintive—begging him, if he had to guess, to get up.
“Ain’t going out like this,” he roared, and kicked the soldier in the head. He didn’t get a lot behind the blow because he was scared half to death and the action was almost mechanical.
The man got to his hands and knees, then pushed himself up until he stood, unsteady on his feet. The German soldier’s front was covered in blood and debris. His eyes were white and Graves struggled away, kicking his feet across the ground to get some distance.
Captain Taylor shot the man in the face, then turned his weapon on the soldier that had pushed Murph aside. Taylor fired, but his gun clicked on empty and he fell beneath the Kraut.
Graves managed to get back on his feet, and pushed the little girl behind him. Murphy carried the boy. He’d outpaced the men, but paused when he’d seen Graves and the Captain in trouble.
“Go!” Captain Taylor yelled.
A dozen Germans stumbled into the fracas and fell on the Captain. Taylor screamed, but fought tooth and nail to get loose. Half of his face was torn off, leaving muscle and teeth exposed.
“Blow it, blow it!” the Captain yelled.
There was nothing he could do. Graves spun, picked up the kid, and ran after Murphy like the devil was on his tail.
FIFTY-FOUR
COLEY
They struggled through the debris and found a side street, but there were dozens of enemies waiting, so they turned and double timed it. They rounded another corner and came into contact with a half-dozen enemies.
Coley and his men were caught by surprise, and one of the Germans under von Boeselager fell to gunfire. The Kraut had managed to loose an entire clip in their direction. The aim was bad—however, not bad enough to save von Boeselager’s man. He spun to the side, clutching at his shoulder.
Higgins kicked the first man in the chest. He fell back into the other soldiers. Audley dug a grenade out from inside his jacket and pulled the pin.