Company of Heroes 2: Ardennes Assault
Chapter One
Elsenborn Ridge
Dog Company
The music of trees exploding in the distance played in Private Abel Nicholson's ears as he shivered his way towards the old man—Captain Derby.
"Alright boys, don't worry too much—we've got artillery support to counter the Germans. We gotta make damn sure to hold our line."
Nicholson's sneered. "How we gunna to hold our line if our teeth don't stop chattering?"
One of the Lieutenants narrowed his eyes, trying to find the guy who was responsible.
Nicholson glanced up innocently. The LT stole a glance at him then directed his attention at the person next to him.
"Barrage complete in figures 0-1 minutes," the man on the radio reported.
Captain's radio, Nicholson thought. Revealing our position to the enemy 24-7.
"Dismissed!" the Captain shouted. "Let's go shore up those defenses!"
Thankfully, the defenses had already been built by the time Nicholson arrived.
"Well, looks the the Engineer Corps have finally done something," Nicholson noted.
Fraskis nodded. "If I see one more bag of—"
"Would you look at that," Nicholson cut him off. "Ma Deuce."
"First one there gets to fire the gun!" Fraskis began to sprint towards the fighting position, Nicholson hot on his heels. The cold dissipated in an instant.
Unfortunately, when they got there, they noticed four men with brown overcoats—Rear Echelon infantry—already in the fighting position. Lying low against the dirt berm, Nicholson hadn't spotted them from far away.
Nicholson swore in disappointment. He and Fraskis reluctantly took cover in the trench in front of fifty-cal. The rest of the squad soon joined them.
"Come on, come on, I want to shoot the Krauts. I mean, I can't even watch them blow up," Nicholson complained. "Stop firing shells, damn it, and let them come!"
"Soon enough, you'll see enough Krauts to drown in," his new Sergeant informed him.
His Sergeant was right. As soon as the artillery lifted, dozens of German infantry materialized from the woods. Some of them stood behind the cover of tree trunks and began firing, while others hurried across the road, firing automatic weapons as the did.
"Take cover!" the Sergeant yelled. The Browning M2 barked to life behind them, and Nicholson took that as his opportunity to stand up for a peek.
A hailstorm of bullets quickly convinced him to remain in cover.
His Sergeant pulled the pin out of an Mk. 2 "Pineapple" grenade and lobbed it in the general direction of the enemy. A soft crump filled the air as it went off.
"Fire!" Nicholson's Sergeant ordered, leading by example. Nicholson, not one to miss out on the shooting, immediately stood up, aimed at the nearest German, and fired. The man's back blew open and fell face-first into the snow.
Elated at his first kill, Nicholson quickly aimed at another target, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle leaped in his hands, but he missed his mark. Nicholson aimed again, then squeezed off another round, carving a groove into the tree the German guy was taking cover behind.
Nicholson cursed. "Why is it so hard to aim this thing?"
"Just hold your rifle over the target for an extra second. It really helps your shot," Fraskis suggested.
Nodding, Nicholson stared down the M1 Garand's iron sights, held it shakily over his target, then pulled the trigger. The man dropped to the ground, blood spilling out of his chest as he did.
Nicholson whistled. "Thanks, man!"
"No problem," Fraskis replied.
Nicholson continued to fire four more shots before a loud metallic ping rang through the air, signifying that Nicholson's rifle was out of ammunition. He quickly fished around in his pocket for another 8-round clip, and was about to insert it into his rifle when his Sergeant pulled him down.
"What was that for?" Nicholson demanded.
"You dope," his Sergeant scolded. "Take cover when you reload!"
Nicholson muttered a reply as he inserted the clip into his gun. He stood back up, and continued to engage the German infantry.
Soon enough, there was nothing left to shoot at. Jerries either lay dead or had retreated into the woods.
"That's all of them?" Nicholson said. "Aww, come on, I only dropped, like, five of them."
"They'll be back," his Sergeant said. "That was probably just the recon element of their force. Reload and check your ammo."
"Sergeant Taylor!" Nicholson jumped at the voice and turned around, seeing the Lieutenant who was looking through the crowd back at the Battalion C-P. He swallowed hard.
"Uncle Sam," Sergeant Taylor said, happy to see the Lieutenant. "Orders, sir?"
"We got eyes on enemy build up west of the road," the LT said. "Germans hold a key position there. If we can open it up, we might be able to get some help sent this way."
"Swell. What can we do to help?" Taylor asked.
"Get your squad and follow me," the LT said.
"Alright, you dopes. Move out." Sergeant Taylor ordered. Fraskis shrugged and followed the Lieuntenant. Nicholson soon joined him, and the Sergeant held up the rear.
They followed the Lieutenant back to the Command Post, then turned right. They trudged into a small path that cut through the woods.
Guns fired, and someone hollered, "Get down, small arms fire!"
Nicholson did as he was told, as did the rest of the assault party. Now that everyone was out of the way, Nicholson could see a group of German infantry taking cover behind a sandbag wall.
"Take cover boys!" The Lieutenant hollered. Lying prone, he shoulderd his M1 Thompson began to fire at the German infantry, galvanizing the rest of the infantry into action. They began to fire back at the German infantry, sidestepping into cover as the did so.
"Grenade! Go!" Sergeant Taylor ordered.
Nicholson stopped firing, grabbed a Frag grenade off of his uniform, pulled the pin off, and tossed it at the infantry behind the sandbags.
The German infantry yelled at each other and quickly shuffled away from the grenade. As soon as it detonated, they dived back into cover.
"Sergeant! Get your boys over there," the LT ordered as he stuffed a new 30-round magazine into the Thompson. "Private Hoyt! Suppressive fire with the B.A.R.!
"Move! Move! Get to that point!" Sergeant Taylor immediately burst into action, making his way towards the sandbags, running behind trees for cover as he did so. The rest of his squad followed suit, Nicholson and Fraskis included. As the LT fired a long burst to keep the Germans behind cover, Taylor and the rest of his Riflemen crept up to the sandbag wall. As soon as the LT's SMG ran out of ammunition, the Germans poked their heads out of cover.
At under a yard's range, Taylor, Nicholson, Fraskis, and the rest of the squad instantly blew their brains out onto the snow.
"All right, we're in business," The Lieutenant commented. He got off of the ground and herded the two squads forward. "Let's move. Get the B.A.R. to the middle of the squad."
Soon enough they arrived at the edge of the road, which was oddly empty. Nicholson was about to walk into the middle of the road when Sergeant Taylor yanked him back.
"Idiot," Taylor breathed. "There's an MG down the road by the sandbags."
Nicholson realized that if he had walked out of cover, he would have probably joined those Germans in heaven. Oh wait, they probably went to hell.
"Sergeant," the LT said. "I'll pop some smoke on them and give you some fire support. You lead your boys and get up-close and personal. A frag wouldn't be amiss."
"Yes sir," Taylor said. "On your feet, Rifles."
One of the Riflemen in the LT's squad stuck a rifle grenade into his Garand and fired. A plume of smoke trailed the grenade as it flew through the air in a graceful arc, grabbing the attention of everybody there.
Germans included. Which, of course, was part of the plan.
"Go!" Taylor shouted. The squad raced towards the MG, whose crew was coughing at the smoke and shouting at each other.
Nicholson made a beeline for the sandbags, just like Fraskis. He couldn't see the Germans in the smoke; he didn't need to. Fraskis yanked the pin out of an Mk. 2 Pineapple and tossed it at the general direction of the machine gun.
By the time the smoke cleared and the rest of the squad arrived, four dead Germans lay dead on the sandbags.
"Get that thing ready for action," Taylor ordered. "Fraskis, get on the gun. Nicholson and Trombly, pick up the ammo."
Fraskis smirked. "First one there gets to fire the gun."
"Good job," the LT said. "Easy Company's sending support. They'll keep sending squads as long as they can. Just hold the area."
"Well, I'm sure this can come in handy," Fraskis said, revealing his captured MG.
"German MG34, 900 rounds a minute," the LT said, slightly impressed. "Set it up on the sandbags over there."
As Fraskis hauled the MG to the sandbags, the LT received a call on the radio.
"All stations be advised. Friendly squad requires immediate support. Check your map for grid point."
The LT ordered everyone to set up security, then pulled out a map and studied it.
"That house is just down the street," the LT thought aloud. Then he switched to his official all-business tone. "Alright, boys, we're going to go save their sorry asses."
"All the way over there?" Fraskis complained, the MG34 already burdening his shoulder.
Nicholson shrugged. "Well, I'll go anywhere I get to shoot Krauts."
Sergeant Taylor led the way to the indicated building. Spying infantry in the courtyard, he instantly ducked behind cover and ordered a halt.
"Here's the plan," he began. "Fraskis, you set up the MG right at the corner there, where it can fire into the courtyard and suppress those sons of guns. Uncle Sam, you take the left flank, and I'll take the right flank. We pop smoke at them. As soon as Fraskis fires, we move in."
The LT nodded. "Sounds good to me."
Fraskis set up the MG34 on its tripod, and Nicholson fed it with a belt of German ammo. "Uncle Sam" took his squad and looped around to the left, while Taylor led the rest to the right.
Again, the man in the LT's squad fired smoke into the courtyard. The Germans immediately redirected their attention towards the courtyard's main entrance, where they could see Fraskis, Nicholson, and Trombly. One of them shouted orders, and several of the Germans peeled off and shifted positions to counter this counter-attack.
Fraskis began firing, and found that the MG34 significantly easier to handle than the M2HB, which jostled the operator every time it fired. This machine gun had a much more gentle kick, making it easier for Fraskis to hit something.
And to trigger-happy. Before he knew it, he had blown through an entire belt. Nicholson loaded a second belt, and Fraskis continued providing fire support at the Germans in the compound.
When the Germans began cowering on the ground, Taylor and the Lieutenant led their squads and cut in from the sides, Garands barking. They cut the Germans down like a scythe through autumn wheat.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Sergeant Taylor hollered.
The squad inside the building exited single-file, and assembled in the courtyard.
"You saved our ass," one of them said. "Owe you one sir!"
The Lieutenant just smiled, as if he knew something they didn't. "Derby, this is Lieutenant Goodman. Friendlies have been rescued."
"Goodman, this is Derby," the Captain drawled. "Well done. But we need some help here back at the ridge. We could sure use the boys you just rescued."
"Roger that," Goodman replied. He handed the radio back to the radioman. "Captain wants us back at base. Let's get moving."
They hitched a ride on one of Easy company's M3 Halftacks as they returned, and even though it was cramped, loud, and shook them around like they were riding on a jackhammer, Nicholson was disappointed when the Lieutenant—Was his name really Goodman?—ordered them to dismount. They made their way towards Captain Oldman.
"More of Easy company just got here, sir," the Lieutenant reported.
"Good," Derby replied. "We're going to need every man we've got. I called in some heavy artillery to buy time for you boys and Easy to get here. Now, Battalion reports artillery has gone through their ammo."
The Captain studied his map, littered with little pieces that indicated where his units were. A handful of them had been removed from the map and were sitting in an otherwise-empty K-ration container. "Plus, the damn Germans have taken out a quarter of our troops." The Captain redirected his attention towards Nicholson and the rest of the Rifleman standing there. "Tread lightly, men!"
"Yes sir," they all chorused.
"Now, you, with that German MG," Derby called. "We've got a hole in our lines on the left flank. A Kraut Panzer destroyed a Fighting Position before we could stop it. We don't have suppressive fire support over there, so I need you to set up at the sandbags just behind the trench. Got that, son?"
Fraskis nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Good hunting, boys!"
Immediately after Fraskis had gotten the MG set up on the sandbags, a Panzer IV appeared, complete with supporting Jerries.
Fraskis cursed as he opened up on the German infantry. "Panzer!"
"Rifle Grenade!" Lieutenant Goodman shouted. Nicholson watched as the man who had fired the two smoke grenades load his Garand with a different rifle grenade.
The rifle popped as it fired, flinging the grenade in a beautiful ballistic arc, detonating against the front of the Panzer's turret.
And did nothing.
Taylor cursed. "Where are the anti-tank guns?"
"They're busy!" the Lieutenant hollered, nodding in the direction of the anti-tank battery stationed behind their lines. Several M1 57mm ATGs were hard at work, engaging the enemy tanks that pushed against the US formation to their right.
The Panzer fired its main gun, delivering a high explosive shell into the middle of the trench. The guy who fired the rifle grenade instantly disappeared, and something hit Nicholson's right shoulder, startling him. He swatted it away, fearing that it was a grenade.
A severed hand.
"That's it," Nicholson shouted. Dropping the MG ammunition and tossing away his Garand, he turned and ran for the C-P.
"Hey!" Fraskis shouted, clearly appalled. "Where are you going?"
"Deserters will be shot!" Goodman threatened.
Nicholson kept running.
The Lieutenant shook his head. "Deal with him later!"
With nothing to stop it, the Panzer IV advanced across the road. Taylor and Goodman both tackled the remaining men, keeping their heads down as the Panzer IV fired its machine guns at them. Fraskis and Trombly both cowered behind the sandbag wall, hoping that the Panzer IV's bullets would be eaten up by the bags full of sand standing between them and the German tank.
The long-barreled 75mm gun fired again, this time at Fraskis and Trombly, teaching their pilfered MG34 and the sandbags how to fly.
Trombly began to scream, curling up in a ball and covering his ears. Fraskis started to panic, debating whether or not to run away like Nicholson.
Deserters will be shot.
Fraskis looked back in the direction of the C-P, trying to spot Nicholson. He thought he saw something, and hefted his Garand, readying the gun. His eyesight turned red.
Damn well should be. Leaving us to die.
Fraskis aimed down the Garand's iron sights. He almost pulled the trigger, but then he realized something. The figure was getting bigger and bigger. Which meant that the guy was running towards them.
Odd.
"Fraskis!" Taylor shouted, catching his attention. "Get back in cover!"
Fraskis ignored the Sergeant and the German attackers, and peered back towards the C-P. The same guy was still running towards them, but Fraskis could see him more clearly now. He still couldn't see the guy's face, but he could tell that he was holding something long over his shoulder.
Something long, Fraskis thought. Over his shoulder.
A lightbulb turned on in Fraskis' mind. A Bazooka?
Instantly the anger dissipated from Fraskis, as he realized that he, the Lieutenant, and the rest of the men probably mistook Nicholson's intentions.
The guy got closer and closer, and Fraskis squinted at the face. It was Nicholson.
Nicholson began to slow down. Fraskis immediately got to his feet.
"Get back here, Private! You'll get shot, us or them!" Taylor shouted.
Fraskis ignored the Sergeant again, making his way towards Nicholson. He glanced to his left as he did so, and watched as Riflemen and Rear Echelon soldiers desperately holding back the German infantry, protecting the anti-tank gun battery stationed a bit behind the lines. A strange-looking tank with a tall, boxy structure sitting on its chassis instead of a turret lumbered forward, bouncing an AP shell off of its front armor. Its stubby main gun boomed as it replied, tossing several men into the air like they were a child's night-night dolls.
Fraskis turned towards Nicholson, stopping just in front of him. "Here, let me help."
"I've got this," Nicholson managed, breathing hard. The two men hustled towards the Panzer IV, which was busy trying to crush Sergeant Taylor, the Lieutenant, and the remaining infantry under its treads. They thwarted its efforts by ducking into the trench whenever it made a run, while they picked off attacking German infantry when the tank was busy traversing.
"Stay—away!" Nicholson shouted between breaths, his eyes gleaming with hate. As soon as he got close enough to the tank, he balanced the tube on his shoulder, and aimed at the thinner side armor of the tank.
A tongue of fire leaped from the rear of the M9 Bazooka as the rocket-propelled shape-charge warhead roared forward, catching the Panzer IV in the side of its turret. There was no fireball, just a dull plume of gray smoke, but the sound could be heard across the ridge.
The Panzer IV's gun barrel drooped towards the ground, and the tank slowly rolled to a halt, but then the engine revved and it accelerated forward.
"What the," Nicholson exclaimed. "I thought that it was dead!"
"Do you have any more ammo?" Fraskis asked.
"Yeah, here," Nicholson indicated with a glance. Fraskis quickly pulled another 60mm rocket out from the pouch and handed it to Nicholson, who slipped it into the rear of the tube.
"Stay clear of the rear end of this thing," Nicholson reminded. Fraskis quickly stepped to the side, not wanting to regrow his eyebrows.
Nicholson aimed at the rear of the Panzer IV, which seemed to be trying to get away from the ridge. All of a sudden, it ran into an anti-tank mine and came to an abrupt halt, its left track blown clean off.
"Hah! Teach you for trying to run from a fight," Nicholson taunted as he pulled the trigger.
The Bazooka made a terrific whoosh as it fired, and this time, it connected with the rear of the tank, blowing the engine cover off of the Panzer as it detonated. The top hatch did not open, but the driver and radioman's hatches in the front of the tank did, and the two Jerries slid off the front of the tank and made for the woods.
"Shoot them, damn it, shoot them!" Nicholson shouted. Fraskis shouldered his Garand, but he couldn't get a clear shot at the two Germans.
Nicholson breathed a curse. Fraskis and Nicholson started to chase after them, trying to get a clear shot on their target.
"Fraskis! Get into cover," Taylor ordered. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized Nicholson was there, holding a Bazooka. The Sergeant did notice that a Bazooka was responsible for the destruction of the tank, but he did not expect that it would be in the hands of the would-be deserter.
Taylor was about to commend the Private for his actions—even though he had disobeyed orders—but he was interrupted by a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. A squad of German infantry surged across the road, automatic rifles in their hands.
He quickly shouldered his Garand and got a shot off at one of the Germans. Lieutenant Goodman and Corporal English took out another two. But the fourth and last German halted just on top of the trench and pointed his weapon at the three living men in the trench.
We're dead.
The German began to fire, spraying them with deadly automatic fire. Taylor watched as English's stomach was sawed open, intestines and blood splattering on the trench floor. Suddenly his left leg exploded in pain, and he crumpled to the floor.
He stole a glance at Goodman, who was lying against the trench wall, clutching the right side of his ribcage, blood already staining his uniform.
The German suddenly hopped into the trench, towering over Taylor. Keeping his rifle trained on the two wounded men, he surveyed the carnage inside the trench.
Hans (or whoever he was) aimed his gun at the Lieutenant, eyeing the single stripe on his helmet. Taylor saw this as his chance. With one last burst of energy, he jumped at the German, knocking him down and pinning the weapon to the floor.
He ignored the burning sensation on his palm and the stabs of pain from his left leg. Taylor drew back his arm and landed his fist square on the Kraut's chin.
Unfazed, the Kraut bloodied Taylor nose by head-butting him with his helmet. The rolled around, wresting with each other on the ground.
"Move, I can't get a shot!"
Was that Goodman?
Taylor rolled to the left, putting all of his body weight on the Kraut rifle. He stole a glance at Goodman, who seemed to have a pistol in his right hand, his left hand still clutching his ribs.
Goodman fired, but probably due to the pain, or maybe because he didn't want to accidentally kill Taylor, he missed.
Taylor watched as the Kraut reached for a knife on his kit.
He cursed, sure that this was the day that he would go to heaven and meet God.
"Die!"
A sickening crunch cut through the gunfire. The Kraut jerked violently and the knife dropped out of his hands, then he lay very, very still.
The Sergeant caught his breath and looked up. He found himself staring at Private First Class Abel Nicholson.
"Don't worry, sarge," Nicholson panted. "I broke his neck."
Taylor looked at the Kraut, whose neck had been bent unnaturally far to the left. Then he saw the Bazooka that Nicholson had propped up against the trench wall.
Taylor sighed in relief. "Damn, Private, you saved my ass."
Nicholson managed a hoarse laugh. "Glad to, sarge."
Taylor redirected his attention to his leg. It wasn't bleeding too much, he noticed, although it hurt like hell.
Just a grazing wound, nothing I'll die from. He sat up, took off his helmet, then removed his bandana and wrapped it tightly around his leg wound, applying pressure to the wound. Then he remembered someone else who also took a bullet. "Private, go give the Lieutenant a hand."
"Uh," Nicholson swallowed. "Sarge, I—"
"That's an order, Private," Taylor reminded, fitting his Garand with a new clip.
Nicholson carefully walked over to Goodman, who was still clutching his ribs. "Private, help me up, " the Lieutenant said. The Private grabbed hold of his armpits and hauled him upright. Then the Lieutenant pulled a strip of cloth from his kit, and handed it to Nicholson.
"Tie this around me," he ordered. The Private did as he was told, carefully wrapping the Lieutenant's wound, then fastening it.
"That'll do," Goodman said to himself. "Good job, Private."
Nicholson nodded, not knowing what to say. He shuffled back towards Fraskis as the LT reached for his Thompson sub-machine gun, which had been dropped on the trench floor.
Another squad of fresh Riflemen from Easy company rushed into the trench and took cover, prepared to engage the German infantry that advanced relentlessly against their position.
Taylor peered skyward, spying dark shapes approaching through the sky, which had not been clear over a week. "Fast air inbound!"
Nicholson looked up and cheered, as did the rest of the men in the trench.
A pair of rockets detonated just outside the trench, shaking the ground. Taylor stood up and peeked over the top of the trench. At least one of the rockets had scored a direct hit against one of the Panzers, which was already a burning wreck.
"Give it to them," the Private cheered. "Let them have it!"
A pair of P-47 Lightning fighter-bombers dove from the skies, angels of death incarnate, raining steel and fire from their wings. The heavy frontal armor of the German Panzers did them no good as more rockets screamed through the air and punched through the thin top armor of the German Panzers. Those that missed sent Jerry infantry sky-high.
Or rather, parts of them.
The United States Army Air Force put on a spectacular fireworks show for the Galvanized Iron in Dog and Easy company. Before long, the Krauts had either pulled back or were sprawled, lifeless, all over Elsenborn Ridge. Five enemy tanks and hundreds of infantry had been wrecked by the sortie of P-47s.
Captain Derby came through on the radio, loud as ever. "We got this in the can, boys! Damn fine work out there!"