Company of Heroes 2: Ardennes Assault
Chapter Two
Bastogne
Baker Company
"Driver, halt."
Staff Sergeant Fredrick "Freddy" Miller opened the hatch of his M4A3 medium tank and immediately regretted it. A blizzard was brewing, pretty much defeating the purpose of sticking his head out of the coupla.
He slipped back inside, closing the hatch of his tank. No, not his tank. His tank was dead.
After he returned to base, Miller and the rest of his crew had been given an hour-long crash course on how to operate the Sherman. They took the tank out for a spin, and Miller hated it. Sure, it had more armor, and a more reliable HE shell, but then again, all American tanks were made of cardboard—well, except for the Jumbo—and it was really sluggish when compared to his M10. He couldn't use the speed that he had become so accustomed to.
Miller sighed. What's worse, his new platoon-mate was a green tank crew which probably had as much battle experience—combined—as his grandmother.
Well, the tank is roomier, Miller thought. And we won't get carpal tunnel from hand-cranking the turret.
"Romeo-one, this is Romeo-two." Sergeant Daniel Martin called Miller on the radio.
"Romeo-two, this is Romeo-one, over," Miller replied.
"I can't see three feet in front of me, over," Martin said.
Miller sighed in disgust. Green as green can be.
"Sir, Captain is on the radio," Cowalsky informed.
"Good, patch him through," Miller ordered.
"Looks like the elements are on our side in Bastogne boys. The Germans will be blind to our movements in this storm," Captain Edwards began. "Perfect time to strike."
"This will make for a great letter home to my father," Edwards thought aloud. The Captain, while a brilliant tactician, was consumed with things like glory and novelty and wrote letters full of that stuff to his father. Miller had the impression that he was born a couple centuries too late.
"Alright," Edwards got to business. "Sergeant Miller, I want you to lead Romeo and push up the main road. A recon element consisting of a Greyhound and two squads of Cavalry riflemen will be attached to your platoon."
"Roger that, sir," Miller responded.
"Romeo-two, this is Romeo-one," Miller called. "Move out, keep your tank on my tail. Load HE, take out the AT guns."
"Gunner, keep an eye out for enemy tanks." As Stevenson nodded, Miller redirected his words to Private Zacheri. "Loader, AP."
Zacheri loaded the 75mm main gun with an AP shell. "Gun up."
"Driver, forward."
Miller let the Greyhound get a lead on the main force. It stole its way up the street, Miller and the rest of the detachment trailing fifty meters behind it.
"Siren-four, contact one o'clock, thirty meters," the Greyhound commander reported. "Infantry inside building."
"Romeo-two, do you have visual, over?" Miller asked.
"Target identified," Martin replied.
"Engage, Romeo-two."
A thunderclap tore through the snowstorm, and an orange fireball erupted in front of the building, the explosion pushing back the blizzard, if only for a split second. Then, Martin's tank opened up with its co-axial machine gun, peppering the building with small arms fire.
The Greyhound crew did the same, raking the windows with bullets. But that was not all. When the enemy infantry attempted to exit the building to deploy a Panzerfaust, the armored car unleashed a deadly surprise.
As soon as the trio of would-be-assailants exited the building, the Greyhound fired a canister shot, effectively turning the gun into a giant shotgun. Hundreds of deadly metal fragments ripped apart the Germans, chunks of them collecting into an untidy pile on the front door.
Miller whistled. That Greyhound crew is no push-over, that's for sure.
The Greyhound crew made sure that there were no survivors from the engagement, then sniffed around to make sure that there were no German witnesses, either. Once that was completed, the armored car made its way down the road once more.
The rest of the town was devoid of German defenders, which left Miller with a bad feeling that they might get ambushed. But that didn't happen, and the next place the Greyhound halted the column was right on the outskirts of town.
"Siren-four, contact ten o'clock, one hundred meters, enemy fortified position," the Greyhound commander reported. "Trenches, machine guns, anti-tank guns."
Miller propped open the coupla to get a better view. The snow didn't sting his face as it did previously; the blizzard was dying out.
"That storm's letting up," Miller informed. "Germans are going to try and get reinforcements in, so shake it up."
The Staff Sergeant peered over his shoulder. "Alright boys, time to dismount."
"Move! Get off!" the leader of the Riflemen hollered. Soon, the Cavalry Riflemen had reluctantly gotten off of the two M4 Sherman tanks, and had lined up on either side of the road. Miller hefted his field glasses to his eyes, studying the German position up ahead.
"Alright," Miller began. "I want Romeo-two to follow on my flank, load HE, drop the infantry in the trenches. Siren-four, you drive down the road and cut in sharp to flank, canister those MGs. Riflemen, take cover behind Romeo-one and Romeo-two."
Multiple yes-sirs and roger-thats filtered through the radio in reply.
"Drop some smoke on those AT guns," Miller ordered. Zacheri stepped up to the task, utilizing the Sherman's smoke shells to cover up their advance. One pop, and one cloud of smoke.
"If we don't haul ass none of those boys under attack in Bastogne will make it outa this—I don't want that on my record," Captain Edwards broke in on the radio. "Let's secure that road and give em' some relief!"
Miller nodded, not one to tarnish his own record. "Driver! Push it!"
The Sherman's radial engine growled, the tank creaking and groaning as it advanced. Miller's heartbeat intensified and he silently willed the tank to travel faster.
"Gunner, HE, one shell, at that cloud of smoke," Miller ordered. Kage slowed the tank down to a crawl as Zacheri took the AP shell out of the breech and loaded a HE shell.
"On the way."
The Sherman's main gun recoiled, and a plume of black smoke and dirt joined the white smoke already billowing in the sky.
Zacheri loaded a fresh HE shell into the breach. "Gun up!"
"On the way," Stevenson said.
"Hold fire," Miller interrupted. "Wait until we get a visual on them."
Before long, the wind carried the smoke away, revealing a trench network and an AT gun.
"AT gun, 12 o'clock, one hundred meters!" Miller shouted. Kage slowed the tank down to a crawl once again.
"On the way."
A shell exploded next to the AT gun a split second before Stevenson fired. Only after Stevenson's shell blew apart the gun shield and dropped the crew did Miller realize that that was probably a round from Romeo-two.
Damn it, I tell you to fire at the trenches, and your shot strays that much? Miller's nostrils flared. Putting that though aside, he ordered the driver to floor it.
Kage gunned the engine, as Cowalsky opened up with his hull-mounted M1919A4 machine gun, trying to pin down any infantry who was standing in front of them. The tank hit a dip and shook violently, jostling the entire crew.
"Driver, halt," Miller ordered. "Rest of you, get on those MGs and let them have it!"
The crew got to work. Cowalsky emptied the rest of the M1919A4 machine gun's magazine at German infantry trying to rush the tank, while Stevenson shot up infantry trying to cower in the trenches. Zacheri weaved around inside the tank, ferrying .30 cal. ammunition to both guns. Miller popped open the hatch and grabbed hold of the pintle-mounted M2HB .50 cal. Ma Deuce. It was intended to be used in an anti-aircraft role, but it worked wonders on enemy infantry. He swung the gun around, chopping down a German infantryman trying to get a Panzerfaust off on his tank.
Just as he dropped the Kraut, Siren-four dived in from the three o'clock vector, ripping up defending infantry as it stormed the defensive position. It then unleashed a canister shot at an AT gun trying to reposition to Miller's assault. Martin in Romeo-two soon stopped next to Miller, and joined the party. Then the infantry came in, rifles and Thompsons howling. Guns fired, ordinance flew, and Germans died.
Perfectly executed assault.
"Romeo-one reporting in," Miller called. "Roads open."
"Roger that, Romeo-one," the radio operator back at base replied. "Recon and scouts are reporting German forces assembling. Be ready for a counterattack."
"We've got ambulances headed up to Bastogne," he continued. "Make sure the corridor is safe."
"Hey, listen up," Miller shouted, getting the attention of everyone nearby. "A convoy of ambulances are coming. Our job is to keep all of them in one piece. Siren-four, you run point. Romeo-two, follow my tank, I'll follow Siren-four's lead. Infantry, take up this position and use it to defend the convoy as it passes."
The fellows on the ground shouted orders at each other, looted German equipment, patched up the injured, and organized a defensive line. Once Miller was certain that everyone was good to go, he gave the order, and the vehicles moved out.
Miller parked the M4A3 Sherman on the side of the road, AP in the breech. Martin's tank was 50 yards ahead of him, on the opposite side of the street. Siren-four was parked 100 yards behind Martin's tank The three vehicles scanned the terrain, ready to respond to any German offensive.
Soon enough, a dozen W/C 3/4-ton ambulances lumbered down the road, headed towards Bastogne. Miller stole a glance at the formation, grumbled something about why Brass didn't have the brain cells to attach armor to protect them, then resumed looking out. Peering into the woods gave him bad memories of Rocherath.
Shaking that thought off, he remained on-point as the convoy passed. M3 Halftracks laden with infantry lead and tailed the formation, but Miller knew that they would have no chance of survival if German Panzers pounced on them.
Thankfully, the convoy passed, and after a long pause, the same voice came back over the radio. "The wounded are being brought out. Keep security on that road."
Miller grew tense. He hated exfiltrations.
"All stations. This is Siren-four, contact, German infantry patrol," the Greyhound crew reported.
"Do not engage," Miller ordered. There was no need to use tanks when there was only enemy infantry. "Let the Company's mechanized infantry deal with them."
"Roger that, Romeo-one." After the radio fell silent, sporadic bursts of small-arms fire crackled in the direction towards Bastogne.
The convoy soon returned, rumbling down the road. As they began to pass his position, he looked down, and got yet another uncomfortable flashback of the Twin Villages.
"All stations, this is Siren-four, contact," the armored car crew reported. Miller jumped at the call. A pit formed in his stomach, anticipating that he would report enemy Panzer formations. There was no way in hell that they could survive, let alone win the engagement.
"German mechanized patrol, one armored car, one light tank, light infantry," Siren-four finished.
Miller let out a sigh of relief. "Siren-four, this is Romeo-one. Request target location, over."
"Nine o' clock, six hundred meters. They're on the side road heading towards the town, over," Siren-four replied.
"Romeo-two, this is Romeo-one. Engage enemy patrol, over."
"Roger that."
"Driver, push it!"
The two Sherman tanks plowed through the deep snow, making a beeline for the town.
"Romeo-two, turn right, we're going to flank them," Miller said.
"Roger that," Martin replied.
Miller's head was still outside of his tank, but he crouched in his coupla as to not get hit by stray small-arms fire. He got within twenty meters of the side road when the patrol came into view. A squad of infantry flanked either side of the light tank, a tiny Panzer II, which was armed with a machine gun and an autocannon.
Nothing that could hurt Miller's Sherman.
He slipped back into the tank. "Gunner, twelve o' clock, Panzer II, engage!"
Stevenson had long put the Kraut panzer in his crosshairs. "On the way!"
The tank slowed, its gun boomed, and a 75mm AP shell tore a gaping hole through the Panzer II's side armor, destroying a sizable chunk of its left track as well. The Panzer II immediately ceased to function, and there was no crew bailing out, either.
Cowalsky got on the hull MG, spraying the enemy infantry. They cowered quickly and fell flat on the ground, seeking cover.
"Loader, AP."
"AP up!"
"Gunner, prepare for contact with armored car," Miller said. "Cowalsky, ring Romeo-two. Tell him to load HE and clean up the infantry."
As Cowalsky relayed his message, Stevenson opened up with the co-axial MG, trying to keep the infantry pinned. Martin in Romeo-two passed by just three yards to their left, the tracks creaking and groaning. His tank fired an HE shell at the infantry, knocking a sizable gap in the wooden building they took cover behind and flinging them into the air like ragdolls.
But Romeo-two didn't stop. They charged the remaining infantry, machine guns blaring.
"Goddamnit!" Miller roared, sticking his head out of the hatch. "Martin, pull back! You aren't superman, damn it!"
But Martin, even though his head was sticking out of the coupla, didn't hear a word he said. Romeo-two continued on, driving onto the street.
The Sherman immediately shuddered as a shell connected with the tank. Thanks to the tracer, Miller could see that the shell continued on past the tank.
Miller swore."Romeo-two! Martin!"
Kage was already moving the tank forward, getting into supporting range. All Miller hoped was that they weren't too late.
Suddenly, the tank began to back up, out of the street. Miller let out a sigh and halted the tank as Martin pulled up beside him.
"Did your tank take damage?" Miller asked.
"Yeah," Martin replied, visibly shaken. "A shot ricocheted off of the front armor."
Miller swore in frustration and relief. "Don't charge them next time. Next time you won't be so lucky. Stay here and cover this position."
"Yes sir," Martin responded. "Sir, what—what about my radioman? He just wet himself."
"First contact, hug?" Miller snorted, amused. "Tell him to haul himself together, and clean himself up."
The veteran tank commander changed his tone. "Driver, take us far right. We're going to flank the bastards."
Kage complied, and the tank rolled forward. Using the buildings to obscure the enemy's line-of-sight, they continued to a clearing, then climbed back onto the road.
"Driver, halt," Miller said as soon as he got vision on the enemy armored car. "Target, seven o'clock, two hundred meters."
"Identified," Stevenson reported as soon as the turret swiveled into position.
"Engage!"
"On the way!"
Another AP shell burst through the air, connecting with the engine of the lightly armored vehicle. The engine compartment burst into flames, and soon enough the crew hopped out of the vehicle, high-tailing it into a ditch on the right side of the road.
"Driver forward."
Kage revved the engine, and the Sherman stormed down the road. Stevenson and Cowalsky gunned down the supporting infantry, and quickly got to the location of the burning armored car.
Miller pulled out his Colt M1911 pistol, towered over the frightened crew of three, and demanded that they put their hands in the air.
They instantly complied. A squad of Riflemen came and herded them to the Command Post.
"Romeo-one, be advised. Units in your area disabled a tank," the radio operator reported. "Locate it and destroy it before the Germans get it up and running."
A hunter-killer mission. Miller liked it.
Time for some revenge. "Driver, turn the tank around. Martin! You're coming with us."
"But sir, my radioman—"
Miller swore. "I don't give a damn! Battle's not over! Get your tank over here, now!"
Miller's tank led the way as they searched for the tank. They decided to head towards Bastogne, driving along a small path, and ideal position to move your tanks without being spotted from the main road.
Bingo. As soon as they got around the first bend, there was a Panzer IV, with its rear facing them and the crew conveniently lined up by the right side of the tank. Pretty much the definition of "caught with your pants down."
"Gunner, engage!" The tank decelerated, and a shell struck the Panzer IV's engine, which sputtered and died. Cowalsky took advantage of the situation and cut down the crew in a single burst like a lawn mower through dry grass. Martin's tank fired as well, the shell carving a groove through the left side of the turret.
"Damn it Martin, stop the tank, then fire," Miller growled, unable to contain himself. Then he directed his attention to Stevenson. "Gunner, reengage. Light the bastard on fire."
"On the way!" An AP shell burrowed straight into the gap where the first shell punched a hole through, lighting the gasoline and detonating the ammunition store. The turret promptly joined the engine cover as they took flight over the outskirts of Bastogne.
"Burn, you son of a bitch!" Miller shouted.
Miller calmed himself just enough to get back to business. "Cowalsky, get on the radio. Inform the Captain that the tank is now a burning wreck. Driver, get us back to base."
Before Cowalsky could patch through, the radio operator called in first. "Germans are tucking tail. They're pulling out.
"That's it, good work boys, the corridor is secured! Relief is on their way."
