Wade tapped Swanson’s shoulder and hissed, “Follow me.”
The corporal walked off into the dark toward a tank’s hulking outline.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELEPHANT
Corporal Wade marched to the first M4 tank he found and gave it a quick inspection by moonlight. “This one’s burned out. We’ll find another.”
“I like where you’re going with this, Corporal,” Russo said.
Clay grinned. “Why walk when you can drive?”
“Split up,” Wade told them. “When you find one that isn’t burned, whistle or something to get everybody else’s attention.”
“Cool,” Clay said, the tanker version of, Hooah! He was wearing the German officer’s Iron Cross draped around his neck.
Cradling his Thompson, Sergeant Garrett came around a burned-out husk, his squad of infantrymen following. “Where do you guys think you’re going?”
“Out of here,” Wade said. “We’re going to try to get a tank working.”
“We want in.”
“Honestly, it’s a gamble. You might be better off walking.”
“I know how far we’ve come and how soon the sun’s coming up. I think you tankers are our best bet for a way out of here.”
“We could use your help. Are you willing to do what I say, no matter what?” Wade had a special detail in mind, and the doughs would hate it.
Garrett glanced at his men and turned back. “What do you need?”
They got to work. After a few minutes of searching, Clay whistled. He’d found an M4 with a massive puckered hole in the turret and a thrown track that lay twisted in the dirt. Whatever had hit the tank stopped it dead but didn’t start a fire.
Somebody had stenciled ELEPHANT on the side of the turret beside a painting of a fat elephant firing a shell with its trunk. Fixing the track would take time, but they didn’t have much of a choice. They had to make do with this tank.
Wade mounted the turret. The radio antenna was gone. He gazed down into the black maw of the commander’s hatch. “I need some light.”
Sergeant Garrett climbed up and handed him a lighter. “Jesus, that smell.”
A horrible stench poured from the hatch. The tank reeked of death.
Wade took a breath through his mouth to steady his nerves. “Here goes nothing.” He lowered himself into the turret and flicked the lighter.
The small, bright flame illuminated a slaughterhouse. The killing round had punched a hole in the turret and shattered. The splinters had rattled around the cramped compartment at high velocity, turning it into a meat grinder. The commander, gunner, and loader had been shredded so badly he didn’t even know where to look to collect dog tags. Clotted blood and flesh pasted the walls. Empty shell casings filled the turret basket. These guys had fought hard before they’d bought it.
Fighting a surge of bile, he checked the turret systems. Shrapnel had punctured the radio and damaged the switch boxes on the main gun. Deep dents and grooves scarred the traverse drive motor, generator, and gear box. Tilted and off-kilter, the turret itself was broke-dick.
They couldn’t communicate and likely couldn’t traverse the turret. He doubted the gun worked anymore. Right now, Elephant was immobilized and unable to shoot.
“Coming out,” Wade said.
He climbed out quickly, grateful to escape the freezing, blood-spattered turret and breathe fresh air again.
“How does she look?” said Russo, already making the tank his.
“Ugly. What about the engine?”
Assisted by Clay, Swanson had hauled the engine bay doors open and was inspecting it. “No visible problems. We’ll know when we start her up.”
“Good. What’s the story with the track?”
Russo rubbed his stubbled chin. “I don’t think we have to take the track off. We can re-tie it together.”
Hard work to fix it, but it was something they knew how to do and they had the tools and parts for it.
“What about us?” Garrett said from where he still stood on the turret.
“Glad you asked. I need three of yours on cleanup.”
The sergeant’s face darkened. “You’re kidding me.”
“We don’t have time to do it, and we’re not driving without it. Your choice.”
“Mickey, High Speed, Red. It’s your turn to volunteer.”
The men groaned and dragged their feet but did as they were told.
Wade checked off another box. He’d thought command would be a nightmare of pressure and tough decisions, but so far, he was actually enjoying it. He was as cool in a crisis as Sergeant Austin had been, and he liked solving problems.
The most important lesson he’d learned from Austin was how to act the part and give orders with confidence. That and how to decide on one solution and play it out until it hit a brick wall, at which time he’d shift gears and try something else.
For Wade, the best part was it made him forget his troubles back home and be in the moment. For the first time since he’d discovered Alice’s affair, he felt truly alive. A welcome if unsettling by-product of war.
The doughs handed the empty shell casings through the pistol port to another man outside, who set them on the ground. Judging from the bitching and retching Wade heard soon after that, they’d started the grisly task of cleaning the interior.
He and Russo got to work straightening the heavy track. The driver threaded a rope around the end of the block and pulled until the track meshed into the teeth on the sprocket. Wade attached chain to the ends while the driver worked a jack into position.
Gripping his Thompson submachine gun, Sergeant Garrett wheeled at the distant rumble of armored vehicles. “The Krauts are on the move.”
“Let us know if they get close,” Wade said.
“We’ll keep them busy.” The sergeant chuckled as he chambered a round.
Russo cranked the jack to pull the track ends together. “That’s surprising.”
“Hold it there.” With a hammer, Wade tapped the pins and drive connectors onto the ends of the track block pins. “What’s surprising? That Garrett thinks he can take on German tanks with his Tommy?”
The driver worked a wedge onto a connector and used a wrench to tighten the nut. “No. That Garrett can laugh.”
The resulting track was shorter, but it covered the driving star. If the powertrain worked, Elephant would be mobile. Bumpy and slow, but mobile.
“Mount up,” Wade said. “Let’s see if we can get her started.”
“About time.” Garrett climbed onto the back deck to grab hold of the .50-caliber machine gun. His doughs mounted and sat anywhere they could find room on the cold armor.
“Eugene’s going to drive,” Russo said. “I’ll take the bow gun.”
“Hot dog!” yelled the bog.
“Now’s not a good time to shake things up, Russo,” Wade said.
“If he can’t drive us out of here, we wouldn’t have made it in the first place.”
Wade shrugged. “Have it your way. Let’s go.”
The tankers settled into their stations. Garrett’s men had done the best they could, but the seats and controls were still painted in sticky, congealed blood. The men plugged in. The radio didn’t work, but the interphone did, barely.
“How come Eight Ball gets to drive?” Swanson fumed in the turret. “While I’m stuck in this slaughterhouse.”
“I need you to see if you can do anything about the gun or the turret.”
“The gun’s dicked up and done. I’ll be glad to fix it once I’m in a maintenance platoon and not having to deal with this horseshit.”