…you'll just die tired
"All right men. The 3rd Armored is just a few miles out, so we need to hold here until they arrive. Taylor, grab that sniper rifle and get to your hide-spot. Don't let anyone by without a warning."
"Will do, Sarge." I hefted the sniper rifle and an M1 carbine before heading to the barn. As I climbed the ladder to the loft one of the cows shifted nervously. It could sense that trouble was incoming. The soft hay was a welcome relief from the hedgerows that I had spent the last week in. Apart from the stench of the dead Germans, this was a perfect spot to sleep. We hadn't had enough time to bury the dead since we took the town yesterday. Their bodies lay in the nearby creek-bed. Forty-three of the fifty-some Germans had died or were captured defending the town. We had attacked just before dawn, when they were least ready. I still could remember their surprised looks as we attacked. One moment they were huddled around a little fire, probably exchanging stories and coffee; the next moment they were falling like flies as we mowed them down. The sight of the seven fresh notches on my rifle almost shamed me in the gloating of their deaths. War is war, I thought. They lost. I won.
The town was as quiet now as it was then, just before we attacked. Barring the stench and occasional brass shell casings, it looked like war had never touched this sleepy little town. I fought hard just to keep my eyes open as I casually scanned the area for grey uniforms.
A lone dog sauntered out into the middle of the street and sniffed at the ground. I focused on it for a moment and smiled. The dog wandered in circles where we had just fought less than twenty hours earlier. After a few minutes of watching the dog I began to scan the woods again. As I swung over to check the left flank the dog's ears shot straight up and it began to bark loudly. Instantly my sights were trained on the dog's location, searching for targets. Nothing showed in the tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze.
The dog crouched low and began pacing back and forth in front of the grass, occasionally sticking its nose in and growling. After a minute it gave up and stalked off huffily from the offending meadow. I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly. That had been close. They could be sneaking up anywhere, just out of sight. I need to stay focused. The dog turned back one last time as it left the intersection. It paused faintly and let out a final growl. Then it pounced.
The dog was a brown streak as it shot across the road and launched itself into the brush. I tried to see through the wildly shaking grass and find a target but none showed. At last the dog emerged victorious, carrying a dead raccoon in its mouth. Blood dripped down from its muzzle in several places as it began feasting casually on the vermin.
I laughed lightly as I realized how hyped up I had gotten over the incident. Randall would have a cow when he heard about it. I could already hear him in my head, berating me for hunting down coons when there were Krauts around. "Darn it, Taylor. You aren't getting paid to have fun hunting freaking vermin out here. You're getting paid to hunt the vermin being raided by those vermin. Next time you do that I'll send you out with a black powder instead of a thirty-ought."
This will last for a while. The smile faded as I scoped the raccoon. A small piece of fabric was caught in its teeth. It was Kraut gray, freshly smeared in mud. There wasn't any mud around for at least half a mile. They were close.
The grass rustled quietly from where the dog had attacked the raccoon. Curious, I slowly scanned the area from left to right and back. Hopefully it is another raccoon. Or even a nice fat pheasant. Those grow real fat around here…
A dull grey helmet rose from the grass, quickly followed by five more. The six Germans checked the area for threats and signaled behind them. Twenty more helmets poked up from the grass. A full platoon. Oh…dang. We're really in the crapper. I've got to warn Randall.
The German troops spread out across the grass and presented a hedge of rifles and submachine guns. It would be suicide to shoot this close to them. It would be suicide to do anything. I was totally screwed.
One of the Germans took off his helmet and placed an officer's cap on his head. He waved his MP-40 in the air and the twenty five others crossed the road five at a time. I saw my chance and took it without hesitating.
As the last five got up to go none of the Germans were looking at the barn. There was a tiny chance that they wouldn't notice me. The German's forehead slid easily into the crosshairs as I focused on him. The man was a perfect specimen of human fitness. Perfectly proportioned facial angles, bulging muscles, he was a well-built man. And a dead one.
The rifle barked out loudly as it sent forth its messenger of death. The German's head snapped backwards and he fell without a sound. I blinked as I shot, and when my eyes opened it was as if he had never been there. The only sign of his previous existence was a smattering of gore on the grass blades. A second had passed, but it felt like an eternity as the Germans realized they were under attack.
A handful of rounds tore through the woodwork to my left as the nearest Germans opened fire. I rolled to the right and bumped against the barn wall. Not good. More bullets shredded the area where I had just been as the Germans triangulated fire on me. I needed to move fast. At least my squad could hear the racket.
The German's kept up a steady suppressive fire on me as half of the platoon advanced to cover the incoming paths. My squad would be walking into an ambush if they came in from HQ. I needed to warn them somehow.
A bullet punched a hole in the wood work by my left ear and bounced off one of my fragmentation grenades. The idea of chucking one came to mind, but I dismissed it quickly. It would take too long and they were too far away. I would have to wait for them to get closer.
And closer they got. I peeked out from a window and brought my sights up as swiftly as I could. Seven of the Germans were leapfrogging their way to the barn, alternating firing and advancing. They didn't notice me in the window. The man leading them looked like a sergeant. Perfect.
I willed my heart to slow and centered the sights on the man's chest. He was moving erratically to avoid fire, so I could not get a good shot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a two-man team stop behind a wall and pull something out. Panzerfaust! Oh screw this. The men took a second to aim before launching the projectile at the barn.
I fired as soon as the sergeant's body crossed the sights and pushed off away from the wall. With luck the hay would absorb the blow. It would take a miracle to survive this. A miracle and something more.
The whole side of the barn turned into a gigantic fireball as the round detonated prematurely. A titanic wave of heat and energy threw me across the barn and into the pig troughs on the far side. I blacked out for a second from the force of the blow.
When I revived I gasped desperately for breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire and I couldn't hear a thing except for a steady ringing noise. I was alive. Looking down at my outfit caused my heart to leap into my throat. Blood drenched my uniform everywhere. It looked like I had been skinned and the blood had been drained onto my body through my clothes.
My first instinct was to check for wounds. I couldn't find any apart from the occasional scratch and burn. I searched the barn for an explanation and saw the cow. Or what remained of it. Chunks of gore and meat covered the entire barn. Where the cow had once stood was nothing but a pool of blood. If not for the situation I would have fallen over laughing. Poor cow. We would have eaten him anyways.
The bolt on my Springfield had melted from the heat, gluing it in place. That left me with my M1 carbine. Thank God I keep a spare. The only problem was that I only had two clips for it. Not enough, considering I was facing a whole platoon. I needed all of my skill for this.
As I searched for a good spot to defend from, I finally noticed the full extent of my predicament. Not only was one whole side of the barn practically gone, the rest of it was on fire and burning fast. German voices were already sounding around the back, so I could not retreat. I was stuck here for my last stand.
Thankfully the flames died out rather suddenly. A lone pig trough was untouched by the destruction around it. Two feet high and several inches thick, the hard wood would provide a minimal barrier against the German bullets. It would have to do.
I had just gotten behind it when the first of the Germans entered from behind. The lone scout looked around nervously. He obviously did not like the idea of searching a burning barn for a sniper. The man called back to his comrades that all was clear. His allies were not convinced. With a self-pitying sigh the Kraut walked carefully into the middle of the barn, right past my trough. It was not his lucky day. His MP-40 jammed when he accidentally pulled the trigger. His already nervous state of alert turned to panic as he fumbled with the cocking mechanism of his submachine gun.
My standard issue K-bar bayonet knife slid silently out of its sheath as I rose to a crouch. When the Kraut's back was fully turned I dove into him, jabbing at his throat. He fell with a soft thud as I plunged the knife into the soft tissue at the base of his neck. He did not have time to shout for help before I had finished him off. I picked up the MP-40 and finished unjamming the gun before dragging his body behind a pile of hay. He only had a handful of clips on him, but his Luger was freshly cleaned and loaded. I scavenged his ammo and prepared for the rest to come.
One of the Germans stuck his head into the barn and called out for the man. When he did not get a response, he motioned behind him and two more followed him into the barn. The three men fanned out and scanned the barn for any signs of life. Two of them carried Kar-98 Mauser rifles. The other had a Gewher 43. Horrible close-combat weapons. I had a fair chance against them.
The Germans advanced through the barn slowly, meticulously searching every square inch of ground for clues. I waited until they weren't looking in my direction and lobbed one of the German-made grenades past them at the doorway. The explosion startled them and caused them to spin around. Screams from outside greeted my ears as yet another lucky break as I rose to my feet and trained the MP-40 in the farthest man.
The submachine gun's recoil kicked the second and third rounds high, but the first one did its job. The German armed with the Gewher slumped over and fell in a heap across the remains of the cow. By the time the other two had turned back, I had readjusted and was squeezing the trigger carefully.
The second German dropped his gun and fell to the ground as two rounds tore through his legs. Three more rounds caught him in the arm in his fall and pitched him around into the dirt floor. The third German managed to fire in my direction but aimed to high. The round passed harmlessly past my helmet as I switched targets. Seeing that he was done for, the German tossed his weapon away and fell to his knees with his hands in the air. I recognized his Polish tongue as he begged for mercy.
My first instinct was to mow him down after seeing the atrocities committed by similar conscripts at the Point. Something inside me, however, stayed my finger as I relaxed on the trigger. Images from the training film of what the Germans did to the Polish came to my mind. The poor sap had probably been threatened into joining. I couldn't shoot him in cold blood.
"Stay down." I said while waving him onto his belly. "Don't move."
The Pole complied and stretched out on the floor with his hands behind his head and with his face firmly pressed in the dirt. He must have had this happen before, for he seemed to know my next order before I spoke.
"Take off your belt. Lose your weapons."
He hurried to do as ordered. After ridding himself of all weapons, he pointed to the soldier I had wounded and said something I could not understand. I asked him to repeat and he made a gesture of dressing a wound. I nodded affirmatively and the Pole reached over to dress his comrade's wounds. Under my careful eye he stripped away the man's weapons and ammo before ripping open the fabric around the wounds.
I blanched when I saw the damage done the bullets. The man's leg was a mess of bone and blood from the knee to his ankle. The man's arm was even worse. Three evenly placed holes had shattered his forearm in two places. The arm was limp and jelly-like as the Pole tried to dress the wound. Despite his best efforts, he could not get the arm in place.
I knelt by the man and offered help while keeping an eye on the doorway. Under my supervision the Pole was able to brace the arm and fix the broken bones in place. I offered him my morphine syringe but he declined. Reaching into his own chest pocket, he pulled out two similar syringes and injected the man with the painkiller. The Pole noticed my shocked expression at his possession of American issued med supplies and quickly explained in broken English, "From… drop, planes."
Oh. Supply drop. It makes sense, I guess. Our planes were really off that night.
The sound of footsteps alerted me to the presence of more people. Nearby shooting startled me. I readied my gun and glanced nervously at the Pole. If he would try to jump me it would be now.
To my surprise, Sergeant Randall strode through the smoking barn doors and waved at me cheerfully. "Hey Taylor, nice mess that you made."
Half a squad of Infantry regulars followed him into the barn and took up firing positions on the ruined side. From there they poured fire into the unprotected flank of the German platoon. A few of them fell before the whole unit disintegrated. Half of the soldiers dropped their weapons while the others tried in vain to flee. A pair of Jeeps rushed down the road and caught them in the middle of the field. They reluctantly surrendered to the Americans sitting behind the Fifty-cal machineguns.
Randall idly picked a splinter out of his uniform. "Gosh, Taylor. You're a mess. Did you take a bath in someone's corpse?"
I laughed and shook his hand. "Thanks, but you should see the cow. This is all from it."
"Darn it, that was going to be my dinner. They'll pay for that."
"Sure." I waved off an approaching medic and pointed to the injured Germans. "I'm fine, doc. Take care of them, they're Polish conscripts."
Braeburn stepped into the barn at the head of my squad. They were all fine. "Man, Taylor. You did good out there. Nailed a lieutenant and a sergeant. That'll be one more on your tally."
"One more? I thought I missed the sergeant."
"Nope, you pegged him in the gut. He'll be fine, but he can't move at all. They are moving him back to HQ for interrogation."
I learned the whole story at HQ. Elements of the 3rd Armored had reached the village shortly after I left for the hide-spot. With Randall's help they deployed in a defensive screen around the village perimeter. Several other attacks had hit along the perimeter at the same time as mine. Altogether a full company of paras and two platoons of conscript infantry had assaulted the town with disastrous results. The 3rd's artillery and heavy support cut the German attacks to ribbons. On my side of town, the unit sent to reinforce me had been tied up with the second conscript platoon. I had defended the whole left flank of the town by myself.
With the loss of two of their four German officers, the conscripts had lost cohesion and refused to advance. Randall managed to scrape together a reaction force and flank around the barn before coming down hard on their flank. In the entire string of engagements we had four wounded and no deaths. Thirteen of the Germans died and forty-two surrendered. Altogether a nearly perfect victory. We still lost the cow.