Looking for Paras

It has been three weeks since D-Day and the Airborne troops are still being rounded up. Intel says that a group of the 82nd is pinned down in a small village North-West of Paris. We have received the order to go rescue them. It figures that the Rangers lead the way.

The column of halftracks entered the town slowly, the men noting every possible source of hostile contact. I sat in the back of the last 'track with my squad. We were still sleepy from our awakening at two in the morning. I could hardly keep my eyes open as we scoured the area.

Braeburn leaned over as he listened to the radio. After a few seconds he straightened back up and passed the mike to Randall. "Battalion's on the horn, Sarge."

Sergeant Randall reached out across the halftrack and grabbed the mike. He listened for a minute and frowned. With a sigh he handed the mike back and picked up his rifle. From the look on his face I knew we were heading out.

"Listen up, squad." Everyone in the halftrack inched closer in their seats. "The reconnaissance planes have spotted a Kraut mortar position about a mile East, just on the other side of the church. They can't bomb the place because we might have friendlies nearby. Battalion wants us to clean it out." He pointed down a side road to where a little church jutted out from the ruined buildings nearby. Nearly every inch of cover had been blown clear during air strikes and artillery bombardments, but the church itself had not been touched. The sight caused me to laugh.

"You got a comment, Taylor?" Randall poked me with the barrel of his Garand. "Spit it out."

"Oh, it's nothing, sir. I was just wondering how we managed to flatten every little house on the block but our artillery couldn't even knock a shingle off of that church. For gosh sakes, it's the biggest target out there."

"Yeah, why don't you ask the artillerymen when they get here." Randall banged on the hatch separating us from the driver. The driver slid the hatch open.

"This is our stop, Thiemann."

Then Randall dropped a clip into the Garand and opened the door on the halftrack. "Let's go boys."

We piled out of the halftrack and assumed overlapping arcs of fire while Randall checked his map for the best route in. By that, I mean the longest route in. He studied it carefully for a few seconds. Finally he folded the map up and stuffed it into a pocket.

"That way, men." He pointed down a narrow alley to the right of the church. "Taylor, you lead."

That wasn't a surprise. I hefted my Thompson in one hand and peaked out across the alley's mouth. It was completely locked in for at least fifty yards before it opened up to a courtyard for some big house. Oh boy.

"Anyone got a Springfield or a Garand that I could borrow?"

A passing radioman from another squad broke off from his group and tossed me his Garand along with his ammo bags. I thanked him and handed back my Thompson along with its ammunition.

"Good luck, soldier."

"You too. I'll be expecting my rifle back in one piece."

I breathed a sigh of relief as the man turned a corner and disappeared with his squad. Randall shot me a half-mad, half-stunned look which I cheerfully returned.

"Cover me, I'm going in."

My sights were firmly trained on the windows down the ally as I crept forward, one foot at a time. Ever few feet I would pause and listen to for voices. My breathing came in ragged gasps as I approached the end of the alley. The voice in my head was screaming for me to hug wall. I ignored it. Walls were bullet-funnels. I'd seen a man get his arm blown off by a flattened MG round that had scraped along a wall for a few dozen yards.

I reached the edge of the alley without incident. After a careful look around the courtyard I turned back and motioned to the others. They began the trek across, guns trained on the buildings ahead.

They were halfway across when the shutters on one of the windows were knocked aside and an MG-42 slid into position. I watched in horror as the assistant loaded a belt into the MG.

"Get down!" Randall raced across the alley in the few seconds it took for the MG to set up and dove behind the wall I was hiding behind.

"Shoot him, Taylor! Take him down now!"

His words snapped me out of my reverie and years of training took over. The Garand slipped up onto my shoulder and I placed the iron sight right on the head of the gunner. I could barely see his helmet from my vantage point, but it was the only shot I had.

The rifle bucked up twice against my shoulder as I unloaded a pair of rounds at his head. The first round glanced off of the Kraut's helmet and spun him around. The second shot was a clean miss. It shattered the window frame holding the shutter in place. The shutter pitched forward and broke off from the frame. With a loud crash it landed in front of the doorway of the house.

Seven of the ten men had reached the wall by the time the gunner got back up. Two of the three men dove across the mouth of the alley and landed behind cover. The last man was not so lucky. A burst from the MG caught him in the side as he rolled forward. He landed awkwardly and jerked twice on the ground. Randall and I reached out and pulled his body in behind cover while the others fired at the MG-42.

The corporal was bleeding from multiple entrance wounds along his side. He gasped for air and wheezed as pain racked his body. Blood sprayed out if his mouth as he coughed up the fluids in his chest.

"Sarge," the man's voice cracked as he looked at Randall. "I think I've been hit, sir."

The corporal gave a final gasp and his eyes rolled back in his head. His hands curled up in fists, allowing his BAR to fall by my side. I grabbed the man's dog tags and studied them. William T. Heintzman. He had been with us since D-Day.

"Taylor, blast that bugger."

I slipped the Garand over my shoulder and checked the magazine on the BAR. It was still full. That would work. The bolt slid back easily as I cocked the BAR and placed it on the wall. The Kraut was focusing on a man farther along the wall so I had a clear shot. After making sure the BAR was on auto-fire mode I dropped the sight just below the window. My finger jerked the trigger twice and I traced the bullets across the wall. Five rounds blew fist sized holes in the wall and I heard several men scream in pain. The MG-42 stopped firing and the gunner stumbled backwards from the window. I fired into the wall again and more screams came from inside.

A single Kraut got back up and tried to man the MG. I pumped another burst into the window and the German's helmet exploded. He dropped like a rock. Our squad stayed in position for a minute as we waited for movement, but nothing happened. Satisfied, Randall hurdled the wall and dashed across to the door. We all followed him in.

Randall and I moved upstairs while the rest of the squad checked the bottom floor. We came to the room where the MG had been and checked it out. Four Germans lay on the ground in various poses. Three of them had gaping wounds in their torsos from the BAR rounds, the fourth had practically no face left. Brains and gore coated the back wall and the room already smelled like a slaughterhouse.

Randall and I picked our way past the bodies and grabbed the MG-42. It was still operable and, apart from the brains splashed on the barrel, in fine shape. We carried it carefully back down and handed it off to two riflemen. Then we scanned the road ahead.

There was no sign of German activity across the road but we cold hear the mortars firing in the distance. At a nod from Randall I eased open the door and sprinted across the street.

Automatic fire erupted from a wooden house farther down the road. Lines of bullets kicked up the dirt around my feet as I made my way across the street. Randall and the others targeted the building with the MG-42 and I laid low behind a stone well as it did its work. Splinters flew in all directions as the MG tore whole sections of the wall apart. From my vantage point I saw several bodies tumble down through holes in the floor. After a minute or two the firing stopped and I signaled that the way was clear. The rest of the squad crossed two at a time, with the MG-pair going second-to-last. Once we were all across we moved on.

The sound of battle grew to our west as the rest of the American force advanced. Every little bit we caught a glimpse of the battlefield. The mortars were tearing it up for the lead elements and we hurried forward at increased speed.

Finally we reached the church. While the MG team and three others provided overwatch Randall, Braeburn, two Thompson gunners and I snuck across the yard. We reached the door without detection and lined up on either side for entry. On Randall's order Braeburn kicked open the doors and we poured in two at a time, weapons blazing.

The Germans had set up a command post in the church. Dozens of orderlies, officers and radios covered the sanctuary. A pair of radio operators came into my sights first and I plugged them with a burst from the BAR. An officer reaching for his MP40 came next; I mowed him down without a second thought as he scrambled for his weapon. One solder popped out from a pew where he had been laying, rifle ready. Bandages covered one entire side of his face and he had burn marks all along his right arm. He and I stared at each other for a heart beat, frozen in shock. Randall's Garand fired right by my ear and the German slumped backwards. The rifle fell from his nerveless grasp and his body rolled off of the pew onto the floor.

Several more wounded men appeared, but they were not armed. Before any of us could stop ourselves instinct kicked in and we shredded them with .45 caliber machine gun rounds. A female radio operator rushed into the room and we stopped. Then she reached for the pistol in her holster. Five bullets hit her chest from several directions and she spun around like a doll. Her body landed on the steps leading to the altar, arms and legs stretched out at odd angles.

The firing ceased and we took stock of the situation. Seeing what we had done, I grabbed a nearby pew and leaned over. Revulsion swept across my body and I puked on the stone floors below. The pain of the acid coating my throat was nothing compared to the guilt that flooded every inch of my body. I kept hurling until I felt that I would pass out.

A hand gripped my shoulder and I spun around, rifle cocked and loaded. Randall looked me square in the eye, concern in his face. He too looked disgusted by what had happened. His voice shook as he asked about my condition.

"Are you okay, Taylor?"

"I'm…fine, Sarge." It was obvious that I wasn't but he ignored it. He patted my back sympathetically and crossed over to the others. They were all recovering from the shock. Braeburn had taken a seat and had buried his hands in his face. He was weeping unashamedly.

The other five men crossed the road and entered the church. At the sight of the slaughter they paused, stunned. One of the men dropped his rifle in astonishment.

"Holy mother of Sapphire, what happened here?"

I swallowed the stuff in my throat and picked up the man's rifle. "What happened," I said slowly, "was that we did our job." The man nodded mutely, too stunned to respond.

Randall passed a hand over his face and gulped. His face was white as he pointed shakily towards the rear of the church. "Time to move out, men." He said hoarsely. "We still need to take out the mortars.

The squad followed him into the next room. The MG team and I found the stairway leading up to the spire and we ascended as swiftly as we could. I needed to get away from that scene.

At the top we set up the rifle and aimed down at the mortar teams below. As I trained my sights on the nearest team the machine gunner looked over at me quizzically.

"Bill, what did I see down there?"

"It had been a command post turned make-shift hospital, I think." My hands shook and I readjusted my aim. The rifle shook too much for me to draw an accurate shot so I gave up aiming.

"Ready?"

"If you are, Bill."

Time felt like it slowed as I re-aimed down at the team one of the Germans looked up right at me as I counted down from three.

"Three."

The German looked young, probably still in his late teens.

"Two."

After a moment's hesitation the German realized that I was not a friendly. His eyes widened in terror and he fell over backwards, pointing up at us and shouting out a warning in German.

"One."

The rest of the teams looked up in surprise and stood motionless. The young German reached his rifle and spun around.

"Fire!"

A hail of MG rounds tore down upon their uplifted heads. One whole team of Germans died instantly, their bodies riddled with bullets. I dropped a pair of Germans with the Garand rifle. Their lifeless bodies fell on top of each other as I switched targets.

Randall and the others opened fire from the ground floor. Half of the mortar crews were scythed down by the storm of lead. Every time I settled on a target he was knocked down by a heavy caliber round from downstairs. Finally I found a live target.

It was the young boy. He fumbled to put a clip into his Kar98 as I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The round had jammed in the bolt. Hurriedly I dropped the Garand and unslung the BAR. The German slammed the clip home and cocked his rifle. I put in a fresh clip and leaned out for a shot. He and I exchanged a momentary glance as we aimed at each other.

I pulled the trigger, knowing it was too late. The bullet came darting up from the ground with amazing speed. A dull pain erupted in my head and I tumbled backwards. My helmet flew in one direction and I fell in the other, right into the stairwell. I skidded down several steps and landed with a thud against the wall. Then a terrible explosion erupted in the steeple and my body was hurled over the railing. A bone-jarring collision snapped my head forward and the world went black.

"Taylor, you okay?" Randall's face came into view as my eyes refocused. He and Braeburn were crouched over me, faces smeared in dirt and dust. "Taylor, answer me!"

The blur in my vision faded away and I shook my head. "I hear you Randall." My head felt like I had been beaten with a sledgehammer. "What happened?"

Randall held out a hand. I accepted it and with his help pulled myself to my feet. Taking a look up, I saw a gaping hole in the roof where the steeple had been.

"Mortar round." Randall said. "One of the tubes had failed to fire. I think we hit it and set it off. It made a heck of an explosion."

"What about the other two?" I searched the area for the BAR and the Garand. They were not in sight.

"Miles is alive," Randall answered. Seeing my gaze wandering across the floor, he waved to a nearby corporal. The corporal approached with, to my relief, the Garand rifle. "Eckerson's dead, though. At least, we're assuming he's dead. We couldn't find enough of him to tell for certain."

"Oh." I took the Garand from the corporal and shuddered. "So how many do we have left?"

"Counting you, me and Braeburn, we've got eight. Five really, because Rogers and Lief are carrying Miles back to a med station."

"Right then," After checking the clip in the Garand I slipped it around my shoulder. "Where to next?"

"One group paras have been spotted about two blocks east of here. Battalion hasn't given an order yet, but I'm expecting that they will be soon. The Krauts are hitting them hard."

"Fine with me." I picked up a fallen Kar98 rifle. A nearby German had dropped an ammunition bag and I scooped it up with my free hand. It felt heavier then usual. My head started to swim and I stumbled backwards, groping for a wall or pew. My back slammed hard against the altar and I fell to a sitting position.

"You okay, Taylor?" Randall frowned. "Perhaps you should stay here. I'll leave Thomson with you."

"No, no, I'm all right." The words died in my mouth as I tried to stand. Pain shot along my leg and I collapsed against the altar. Looking down, I noticed for the first time the extent of the damage.

Blood covered my left leg from the thigh down. Several wooden splinters stuck out at odd angles around my knee. My pant-leg was shredded and hanging in pieces from narrow strands around my calf. I was in no condition to move.

"I… think I'll just sit tight for now." I mumbled. A grimace of pain shot across my face as a new wave of pain hit. "Anyone got a shot of morphine?"

Braeburn dug into his chest pocket and pulled out a small syringe. "Here's one." He called out. I accepted it and stabbed it into my thigh. More pain caused me to shudder as I pumped the painkiller into my blood.

Randall watched me for a few seconds before shouldering his Garand. "Have fun holding the fort, Taylor. I'll send someone to pick you up in as soon as we contact the main group."

"Will do, Sarge. Just make sure you get those paras out alive."

Randall gave me a rare grin and motioned to Braeburn and McDowell. "It's time to go, boys."

"Hey, sarge," I propped myself up on my elbows, "How are you going to rescue the paras with only three men. You're not superhuman, after all."

"Battalion's sending a platoon over in this direction. We're going to join it and provide recon."

With that he and the other two disappeared around the door, leaving me and Thomson alone in the church. I struggled to my feet and limped over to a pew. Thomson helped me sit down.

"Do you need anything, Taylor?"

"No, I'm fine." A heavy sigh escaped my lips. This place made me feel sick. "Just gather any ammunition that you can. We might need it."

"Yes sir." Thomson hurried off to his task gathering fallen submachine guns and rifles. He piled them up at different points in the church. Then, under my supervision, he blocked up several windows and sealed off the back entrance. After doing all this he returned to check on me. The blood had ceased flowing out of my wounds, but so much had escaped that I felt dizzy and could hardly stand.

"Thomson," the words started to slur in my mouth from fatigue. "Can you find my canteen? I need it."

Thomson searched the area and brought back a canteen. It was a German one. "Sorry, but yours took some shrapnel near the cap. It's all gone."

"That's fine." I accepted the canteen and took a drink. Never in my life had I tasted sweeter water.

Thomson watched me carefully as I downed the rest of the canteen. "Sir, how long have you been in combat?"

I paused to think about the question. It had been so long since I had volunteered for service that time seemed to have mixed and slowed down. "I'd have to say about two years, Thomson. What about you?"

"This will be my second week out here, sir. I was transferred into this unit after the action near Chambois."

"Really?"

"Yes sir, this is my first combat experience-"

Thomson stopped mid-sentence as a shot rang out nearby. The shot was followed the voices of over a dozen people. German voices. Thomson ran to a window and peeked out across the road. He swore and ducked back down. His face was white when he turned around to face me.

"There're twelve of them out there, and they're all heading this way."