A/N: I'm glad everyone enjoyed the battle chapter, and the cliffhanger. So without further ado here's the next one, and just in time for Labor Day. Battle chapter is long, but that's expected now. I try to intersperse some character development and drama into the action, so hopefully it strikes a good balance. Don't want it to be all one and all the other, you know. Anyway, please read on, review, and all that jazz.
Also, next chapter expect to get another cameo from a familiar E7 character. Who is it? You'll just have to wait and see.
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning
Somewhere in Normandy, France
Dawn was just beginning to break over the woods, and in a small cabin, a couple lost from their comrades was still wrapped in the sweets of sleep. Renton and Eureka's long night of evasion had robbed them of rest, which they needed desperately. They lay exactly where they were when they found the cabin: on a small bed, wrapped in a blanket, and nestled in each other's warm embrace.
Dreams had captured both of them, and were far more intriguing to them than the world outside and all its ugliness. For Eureka, the war was already over, the victory so long sought after finally won, and peace had come to all. She had settled into her new home with Renton as her husband, who had just returned home from a hard day's work at the pharmacy. A small conversation between them was interrupted by the cry of a baby in the next room. Eureka, sighing knowingly, could only kiss him and say she would tend to him later.
Renton had a way of being amorous, even right in front of the baby. His kisses, gentle embraces, and even passionate touch had a way of creeping into time made especially for the little one. Eureka would gently rebuke him for such displays, but he always said it was to remind their child of how much he loved her, and the gift she bestowed him.
He was just playing with the baby, bouncing him on his knee with a gentle "thump-thump-thump" that brought a smile to the infant's face. However, something strange began to happen. Each time he bounced, the thump would grow louder, more dragged out, even scraping. Surely a young babe could not weigh that much! Renton brought the child to him, but the thumping sound persisted, growing louder as if it was coming closer to him. A giant? A marching column?
Finally, the sound woke him. Only the tiniest evidence of sunlight rayed through the windowpane, casting the entire cabin in a dim blue glow. Eureka was still sleeping soundly next to him, her arms curled around his chest and legs entangled with his. The night had been one of soft passion for them, as they explored the confines of their bed. Nothing they would be ashamed of talking about passed between them that night, but it still left him in a position of being trapped by her gentle hold. Of course, nothing would give him greater joy than to be in her clasp forever. Sadly, life was not that simple.
Thump. Thump.
On the opposite side of the bed, near the front door of the cabin, a small square of light was cast on the wooden walls. Renton watched the square of light intently, fearing the thumping sound was the footsteps of an advancing enemy. It drew closer, and became ragged. Was the enemy dragging his feet? It seemed strange, since they would be quick and perhaps sprint through the woods. Perhaps something was different this time…
Sure enough, a shadow passed through the square of light, staggering with his step. Even if something was off, they needed to be ready to meet the attack. Renton gently shook Eureka by the shoulder.
"Eureka, wake up," he whispered. "Someone's coming."
Eureka stirred and moaned softly. She giggled as she mumbled something underneath the blanket.
"Please, Rentoshka…not in front of the baby…"
Renton blushed. What on earth was she dreaming? Even though she was outwardly meek and somewhat shy with strangers, she could be amorous with Renton in private. Soft words spoken in sleep betrayed her true nature. Nevertheless, Renton was persistent.
"Please wake up…we don't have much time…"
Her eyelids slowly rose and revealed her grey orbs, staring up at his piercing green ones. She smiled, unmindful of the potential danger creeping upon them.
"Well, good morning," she muttered softly. "You're up early. I shouldn't be surprised."
"There's someone outside!" he whispered hurriedly. "We need to get up now!"
Eureka gasped, and Renton soon briefed her on what had transpired since he had awoken. Almost immediately, the mood took on a darker more serious shade as they quickly leapt from the bed. Eureka made for her Kar98k as Renton quickly grabbed his Springfield rifle. He knelt beside the bed, aiming at the door and listening for the footsteps as they circled around the cabin, and came closer and closer. Eureka stacked on the wall, ready to club their enemy if it came to it. Every muscle tensed as finally, the thumping stopped. All they could hear was the sound of their breathing as the young couple waited, and wondered what would happen next. Was the unknown outside an enemy or an ally? Before each could even examine their minds for answers, the latch on the cabin was lifted, and the door slowly creaked open.
Renton brought his rifle tight into his shoulder and his finger curled around the trigger as he aimed at the door. Despite his stance, the boy's knees were shaking violently, and he feared his body would collapse from its own weight. However, he managed to keep his aim steady as the door opened and the outline of a figure staggered in.
He was a German, dressed in dark grey fatigues and carrying a Gewehr-43. The German was easily in his teens, as evidenced by his young, smooth face, which was as pale as a bed sheet. His brown eyes were shrunken, with dark crescents hanging around his eyelids. Black jackboots clopped with each step onto the wooden floorboards as the German kept his gaze straight ahead…for the bed. He took no notice of either Renton or Eureka until they both rose and entered his peripheral vision. Renton spoke first, in what little German he knew.
"Halt! Hände hoch, schnell!" (A/N: Stop! Hands up, now!)
The German stopped, but he did not move or raise his hands. Instead, he looked at both of his captors, with an almost relieved look on his porcelain face. Like a faulty pillar, he fell to his knees with a groan, and careened over to the left side. The intent of Renton and Eureka immediately shifted; instead of capture, they were intent on assisting this man. Clearly, something was wrong with him, that much was evident from the moment he set foot in the cabin. When Eureka came upon his form, she instantly spotted the trouble: a dark red splotch on his uniform, near his abdomen. Accompanying the stain was a large tear in the tunic. This wound was serious. The German murmured something as she laid him on his back.
"Bitte…helfen mir…bitte…" (A/N: Please...help me...please...)
"Renton, he's hurt!" Eureka cried almost in despair. "Do something!"
Seeing their situation had changed, Renton joined Eureka and picked up the wounded soldier from his boots, and motioned for Eureka to do the same by his arms. Together they lifted the German up from the floor and carried him over to the bed that had once been their spot of respite. Yes, he was their enemy. Yes, they had been trying to kill each other not a day before. But in the end, he was also human, and he deserved compassion like any of their comrades and friends.
Eureka opened the German's tunic, and saw his bleached undershirt was almost completely red from all the blood he lost. As she lifted up his last barrier of clothing, Renton turned away in horror. Across the soldier's stomach were three diagonal gashes, as if a bear had slashed him down with its claws. The cuts had received no apparent treatment, evidenced by the skin growing discolored around them. Eureka went for her first aid kit and tried her best as Renton watched the German writhe in pain and agony. There was nowhere else he could look, as the sight of the wound made his stomach turn.
He had a young face, whiter than all the snow that ever fell upon the earth. The brown eyes had sunken into his sockets, looking more like a corpse than a living breathing being. After pulling off his steel helmet, Renton saw a full head of platinum blonde hair and even evidence of thin sideburns. Apparently, even though he was still a child, the soldier desperately wanted to look and be a man. The nose was straight, with beads of sweat gathering on the bridge. From pain or from the immense heat? As Renton rested his hand upon the lad's forehead, the answer was apparent: the German had a high fever, as a result of his egregious injury.
His lips were thin, with sweat and saliva casting a polish that betrayed his dire straits. The breathing was heavy and labored, giving the impression he had run a full marathon, and was just recovering from the immense fatigue. He could barely make out words as Eureka tended to his gashes. Every touch by her prompted the cry akin to an injured animal. He was just as pathetic a sight as one.
Renton tried his best to alleviate his suffering, asking him questions in broken German. Occasionally he would turn back to Eureka and check on her progress, but he would always turn away immediately, as his eyes could not bear the sight of his infected wounds. Instead, he could only be content with the soldier's moans and the frightened visage on his face.
"Bitte…Ich will nicht sterben…" (A/N: Please...I don't want to die...)
Renton turned to Eureka quickly, averting his eyes from the hemorrhaging lacerations in the Germans' belly.
"How's it looking, Eureka?"
"I can't do anymore…" she returned with a lethal portent. "…the wound is too deep…"
Whether by understanding of his fate, or out of sheer misery, the German squirmed on the bed, his hands curling into fists around the sheets. He turned to Renton, looking like a leper seeking relief from a holy man. His breaths quickened, his body fast succumbing to the infection. How long had he had his wound? How had he managed to survive without any treatment? How could he even walk this far?
"Es tut weh…es ist so dunkel…" (A/N: It hurts...it's so dark...)
He grimaced, and banged one of his fists on the mattress from the sheer pain. The other was outstretched towards the ceiling, begging for someone to take his hand and alleviate the pain.
"Ach…mein Gott…mutti…!" (A/N: Oh...my God...Mother...!)
Unable to bear the heart wrenching sight anymore, Eureka clasped the soldier's outstretched hand, and held it firmly in hers. How could war do this to someone barely older than the two of them? How had they been reduced to animals, slaughtering each other without even considering for a moment just who they killing? The soldier sobbed, as if cognizant of the fate that awaited him. Finally Renton offered what consolation he could give and rested his hand on the German's burning forehead. The fever ran so high, he felt his hand was in an oven. Slowly, in hesitant German, Renton did his best to offer solace.
"All ist okay," he whispered. "Mutti ist here. Ja?"
The soldier's breathing slowed, as he turned his gaze up and focused on Eureka's face. She tried to brave a smile but Renton could easily see that her heart was breaking. Her lips quivered like an earthquake and tears gathered under her eyes, like a fragile dam struggling to hold back the flood of sadness about to break forth. The German smiled and whispered his final words.
"Ja…Du ist hier, mutti. Ich…liebe…" (A/N: Yes...you're here, Mother. I...love...)
Every muscle in him slackened and the German's head fell to one side, a small, sickly smile still stuck to his face. Eureka could not bear it any longer as his hand fell out of her grasp and tears fell from her grey eyes. She collapsed upon Renton's shoulder, crying into his trench coat and sobbing her soul out. He could do little but curl his arms around her, gently rubbing her back in a vain attempt to wipe away the anguish that possessed her. What on earth could he do? What could he say to assuage the harrowing and heartbreaking scene they had just been witness and party to?
Suddenly, he broke down as well. There was not a dry eye among them.
»»»»»
In a clearing on the other side of the woods, Jurgens and his crew were just finishing breakfast. Spirits were damp among the crew, as they had realized during the attack their opponents were French Resistance. They hated the Resistance and saw them more as a nuisance than a real foe. German troops were always harried and harassed by them even before the Allied invasion. Now that the Americans and British were ashore, the Resistance grew bolder, and entire villages rose in revolt. The German occupiers often dealt with them harshly, enhancing the feelings of bitterness on both sides.
Brandt was tending to the engine as he remembered one fateful encounter with the Resistance shortly after the landings.
"Arno, Remember what happened in Trun?" he asked Humbert, with a hint of darkness in his voice.
Humbert, sitting atop the cupola downing the last of his morning coffee, almost didn't want to recall those ghastly memories. They were far too much for even his veteran's heart to bear.
"Ja," Humbert replied, gloomily. "They wiped out Lieutenant Mohr's platoon and almost beat Mohr to death. By the time we got our tank there, it was too late."
"At least we avenged them. There was never a moment that I felt remorse for running those animals down."
"Hopefully we can do the same here, and quickly. Those bandits love these woods. Give me those scoundrels on open fields and I'm a happy man!"
At that moment, Jaeger coughed as he finished off the last of his biscuit for the morning. Out of all the crewmen, he hated the Resistance the most. A dark cloud of sour memories was cast over him as he whispered,
"I lost my boy brother to them in Trun…"
The mood soured as both Brandt and Humbert begged forgiveness for bringing up such a terrible episode. Jaeger, however, assured them it was not necessary, as beating the Resistance whenever and wherever they found them was enough to keep him going, and to honor his brother's memory. He would not be done in as his brother was.
"No matter how this war ends, every bandit we kill is another comrade's life we avenge. We've lost far too many to those animals."
"They're just farmers with pitchforks and hunting rifles, Alfred," Humbert said, surprised at the vindictiveness of his friend. "How can they be anything else?"
"I'm afraid they're much more than that. Trun proved it, and now that the Amis and Tommies are here, they'll only get more audacious."
"I hate to say it," Brandt interjected, "but Alfred is right. As long as Frenchie thinks he has a chance, it's going to make our fight that much harder."
They all nodded solemnly. Until the Resistance was completely destroyed, they would only serve as a thorn in their side and a distraction from the massive Allied armies marching from the beaches. Everything rode on holding them off long enough to wear down their morale. If their advance went unimpeded, it would only be a matter of time. No sooner had they all agreed on that when Jurgens arrived, his black uniform and commander's jacket standing out in the early morning light. Upon seeing their commander, the entire crew saluted sharply. However, Jurgens was quick to have them return to their former stances.
"How is the engine, Heinz?" he asked anxiously.
"Ready to go whenever we are, sir."
"Then we best move out quickly. Let's beat these Frenchies and get back to Caen."
An affirmative cheer was received at that call, and the crew took their respective positions. As Jurgens put on his headset and communicator, he spoke to Eberhardt, and asked for an update from the others in his company.
"Klaus, is everyone else ready?"
"I'm sending a message now, sir. They soon will be."
A small intermission of static overrode Brandt's revving of the tank motor, and Jurgens gently pressed on his communicator. He wanted to speak to them all personally.
"Panzerkompanie, report in."
"This is Schimmelfennig. Tank 794 is prepped and ready to go."
"This is Voss. Tank 801 is ready for new orders."
"Schimmelfennig," Jurgens spoke, "tell Lieutenant Hess we're pushing through the woods. We'll crush those bandits with one blow!"
"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann. We'll mop the floor with those hayseeds!"
At that, Jaeger took offense. Being a farmer himself, being called that was the worst thing in the world. Even more than the partisans who took his brother's life.
"Hey," he shouted back defensively, "I'm a farmer too, you know! You want to make something out of it?!"
"Pay no mind to it…hayseed."
Jurgens's gunner and best friend could only growl in anger as Schimmelfennig chuckled before cutting off the transmission. The time for personal vendettas would have to be set aside for later. In the meantime, what mattered was annihilating the enemy in front of them. They all hoped it would be a quick and decisive battle, so they could return to the business of fighting their true enemies. Every crew member knew it. As much as they hated dealing with partisans, it would rid them of the enemy to their rear, and allow them to return to the front.
"Panzerkompanie, vorwärts!" Jurgens shouted. "Sie sind das essen…" (A/N: Panzer company, forward! They are the food...)
"…und wir sind die jaeger!" his crew and company shouted back in kind. (A/N: ...and we are the hunters!)
With a loud rumble, the Tiger lurched forward and the attack that would, hopefully, dispel the partisans began. Jurgens was sure his men would not fail him.
»»»»»
Renton grunted as he piled on the last mound of earth for the soldier's grave with a digging spade. Eureka had put away the shovel she found outside the cabin and was just sitting on a log, looking forlornly at the final resting place they made for that poor German. It had been frustrating work getting the depth just right, and especially hard for Eureka. She would not stop crying no matter how deep she dug, and no matter what Renton would say to her. What on earth could they say to each other after such witnessing such a wretched scene?
Despite all their best efforts, the German still died. In the end only death could put an end to his suffering. The fact that he was finally at peace was their sole consolation. At peace, but away from home, and away from his mother's warm embrace.
The grave was marked simply, using the German's rifle as a headstone. The muzzle was buried in the dirt to keep it from falling, while atop the butt of the rifle sat his steel helmet, dipped slightly downward in a brooding stance. To Eureka, it looked to be a sentry keeping watch on the tomb of a fallen hero. Around the trigger of the rifle Renton strung the soldier's dog tag. It bore the name, rank, serial number, and unit he belonged to, and only begged for so much more to be known. How he wished the soldier had lived. How he would love to talk a while with him, learn of home, of shared dreams and aspirations when this long war finally ended.
Gefreiter Bohrmann, Franz
901st Panzergrenadier Regiment
01142697
At last, after the long and leaden business of burying the dead, Renton took a seat next to Eureka. He instantly heard her quiet sobbing and thought of just what lay ahead of them, and just what they would do now. Never before had they seen their enemies in such a state. Renton had killed in close quarters fighting, but it was never anything like this. Always he had fought ferociously, never thinking of the lives he destroyed until after the fight had ended. Day and night he had been haunted by the visions of the foes he had struck down. To see his enemy like that, barely clinging to life like a wounded animal, struck a nerve that made the pit of his stomach turn. How had war so easily turned him…all of them…into murderers?
"Renton…" Eureka eked out, fighting through her tears.
His sharp green eyes darted to her, staring out at the grave. How could she even speak while sobbing?
"…I couldn't do anything for that poor soldier. He begged for help, but in the end…all I could do…was watch him die!"
Eureka buried her face in her hands, while Renton gently curled his around her waist.
"Don't blame yourself, Eureka," he said comfortingly. "You did everything you could. The look on his face when he passed on wasn't one of pain. He was rather at peace."
The Russian girl sniffed and wiped her eyes. Even she, at her lowest emotional ebb, could not deny that. Even if they didn't save his life, they did all they had in their power to achieve. The rest was in the hands of God. At least the last moments of the German's life weren't ones of agony. However, as the tears slowly stopped, she was still soaked in the utter astonishment at what she had witnessed. She had never laid eyes on a German soldier before now. When she killed them with her bare hands while escaping the perimeter, it was like not being fully in control. Instead, all that drove her was the need to survive and protect Renton, just as he had sworn to protect her. But now, after seeing her supposed enemy writhing in pain and crying for his mother, she wondered just who they were fighting. Who they were killing. Renton had been right that cold December day when he met Chertov again after so long. At the end of the day, no matter what country they hailed from, they were all still human.
"I suppose you're right," she said softly. "But…"
Her grey eyes connected with his green ones, and conveyed every ounce of confusion and trepidation she was feeling in that moment.
"…when the war started, everyone said Germans were fascist monsters, out to kill Russians. After what they did to my home, to Stalingrad, I had every reason in the world to hate them. But they're just as human as we are, aren't they? They have families of their own to fight for."
Renton nodded solemnly. That fact burdened him more than anything else, even in his first taste of battle at Stalingrad. Every kill was one family shattered. Every wound was one life destroyed. Even now, he tried his best to put it out of his mind. There was much work to be done, after all, and Charles, Ray, Jacques, and the others were all depending on him. Yet, in the back of his mind, a little voice of doubt poked, prodded, and rebuked him.
"Yes," he said darkly. "In the end, they're just like you and me."
"The war started, and we all forgot that. If it weren't for this, he'd be at home with his mother right now."
The boy sighed, knowing she was right.
"I've lived with that knowledge since Stalingrad. And I've tried to live with myself since that time. It's been the hardest struggle of my life."
Eureka nestled into Renton's shoulder, looking out at the grave. There had to be something they could do to make this all right. Surely there was a way to pay back for all the sins and atrocities they had committed.
"What happened to us, Renton?"
"The war happened. It ruined countless lives, stole away our loved ones, and destroyed everything we knew. But we have to survive this."
The girl's eyes widened at that. What was he saying? After all that he had witnessed, after every life he ended, and after every scar he had gained in body and mind, he was still willing to persevere and see this through?
"I'll keep fighting," he said doggedly. "I'll see this war through to the end, so that no more innocent people have to die. People like that soldier can't have died in vain."
"Renton…"
"It seems like the least we can do. We have to stop the needless sacrifice of young people in this war, and our only way is to end it decisively."
"In that case…I'll fight beside you."
Now Renton took his turn with a look of surprise in his eyes.
"Eta moya voina tozhe, Rentoshka," she spoke firmly. "Let me help you. I always helped you deal with your guilt, so let me help you carry on the fight." (A/N: It's my war too, Rentoshka.)
"Eureka…"
"I'm here on your account, Renton. So let me fight. I'll share your struggle and help you carry the weight. Even if it takes the rest of my life."
The barrier between the two soldiers soon closed, and their lips touched gently. Such was their contract, and it seemed only appropriate given their histories. Renton risked life and limb to find Eureka in the streets of Stalingrad. He sacrificed his innocence to save her, and doused his hands in blood. Likewise, Eureka had shared in his sin fighting the NKVD in Vladivostok. Her entire family had taken up the fight against fascism, and had suffered in this war. Mikhail was dead. Vladimir fought on. Dewey was unaccounted for. Holland had been subjected to horror and squalor. If her destiny was to see this war's ugliness face to face, she would confront her destiny. It was the least she could do for Renton, to pay back for all he had done for her.
No sooner had they made their promise when the distant booming of cannons and the spatter of rifle fire broke the stillness of the morning air. The sounds that reminded them of their deadly work sent them up on their feet. It sounded rather close, meaning a battle was taking shape nearby. If they followed the sound, they could run into their comrades, but also run into certain death.
"Those shots weren't far off," Renton said as he went to grab his Springfield rifle. "If we follow the sound's direction, we might be able to get back to everyone."
"Do you think so?" Eureka asked as she picked up her Kar98k.
"It's either that, or keep wandering around blind in these woods. We just have to risk it."
He reached out his hand to hers, and beckoned her back into the terrible work that remained ahead of them. As much as they both feared what was in store, in the end there was only one direction for them. That direction was forward, with no looking back. It was the only direction they could move in if they hoped to finally end this war.
Eureka slid her hand into his, and they went on into the wilderness, following the sound of the guns. It would be a long and bloody road before this war was over, but as long as Renton was at Eureka's side, and Eureka at Renton's, they feared nothing. All the blood and horror this war had to offer would not make them shrink away as long as they could depend on each other.
»»»»»
Charles and Ray normally were assigned as lead scouts for the section, surveying ahead for enemies, buildings, and (more importantly) potential forage. However the casualties inflicted by the German attack forced a slight shuffling of roles. In order to bolster Holland's squad, which had lost half its men in the attack, the young couple were reassigned under him and moved to the far left end of the line. It was a strong position, anchored on the flank by a small, swift-flowing stream. The trenches, despite the haphazard manner in which they were created, were quite strong positions and afforded great protection. They were dug more than four feet deep, and then fitted with logs to cover the head, providing a narrow slit to fire out of. It was crude in design, but provided almost total cover for any unit stationed.
They were thankful to have such defenses, as the German attack came on. Not only did infantry assault the trenches but three Panzer tanks provided fire support in the form of high explosive shells, constantly raining down on the line. They were holding for now, but until something had changed their situation, the Germans would attack again and again. If Renton were here, they thought, the battle could be ended quickly and decisively.
Being on the far end of the line, the most Holland's squad could do was provide supporting fire to Dominic, who was in the center. There, the brunt of the German attack was keenly felt. Charles had to be careful not to bump into Ray as he fired out from his trench at an angle at the advancing Germans. However, their flanking fire was extremely effective.
Charles bagged one German after another with clean, well-placed shots from his Kar98k. He spotted one, firing a semiautomatic rifle from behind the wide trunk of an elm tree. Aiming for the iron eagle on the side of the German's helmet, he slowly squeezed the trigger and sent the round flying through the woods and broke through the metal of the helmet with a loud "plunk." The bark of the tree was stained with red blood as their enemy fell dead. Charles laughed as he shifted the bolt and taunted his foes.
"Fuck your Fuhrer and FUCK YOU, FRITZ!"
To his side, Ray was greatly encouraged by the high spirits of her lover and searched her person for an explosive grenade. She soon found one and quickly primed it, aiming at a group of four Germans armed with submachine guns, quickly advancing towards the center of the line. With all the strength she could gather, Ray threw it over the parapet of the trenches, and towards the oncoming horde.
"Have a taste, Bosche bastards!"
The grenade landed right in the middle of the assault group and quickly detonated. Brown earth was scattered everywhere and Ray's vision was clouded for a brief moment, but she knew her throw was effective from the screams of the Germans as they were hit by grenade fragments. The smoke cleared soon after to reveal all four soldiers down on the ground. Only one had managed to escape death with an egregious wound to the arm. Ray quickly cut him down with a small burst from her MP40.
At that moment, a loud whizz was heard and Charles realized a tank shell was heading towards them. Roughly grabbing Ray by the shoulder, they dropped down to the floor of the trench, just as the ground erupted like a volcano and a loud explosion left them momentarily deaf. Earth showered down on them like grisly rainwater, caking them in a coat of brown dust. Feeling the danger had passed, the two lovers rose and peered through the firing slits to see the terrible damage wrought upon the ground. Not one foot from the trench line was a large crater, easily more than five feet in diameter. It was marked by what remained of a tree, as nothing more than a mere stump and the splinters of what once counted for branches remained. Such destructive power! How could the Germans, or anyone for that matter, be able to harness it and direct it so easily?
Alas, they had no time to ponder and meditate on such grand questions, as their squad leader quickly called their attention to a new threat approaching. They could recognize Holland's voice, betrayed by his Slavic accent and his mediocre French.
"German troops! They're coming straight for us!"
Charles and Ray turned to their front, and saw at least 30 German soldiers coming at full speed with the intent of storming the trench and overwhelming the French positions. How many men did they have hidden in the woods? There must be a battalion or more, they feared. Immediately Holland called upon his entire squad to open fire, and fire they did.
The men worked like demons, concentrating only on what was immediately in front of them. Charles fired round after round frantically, as if time was of the essence in halting the advancing enemy. He was immediately thankful for the logs that gave him such trouble to set up the night before; they provided almost complete protection and allowed him to shoot in relative safety. Despite the rapid rate of fire, he managed to be accurate with his shots. One German fell from a bullet through the throat, another to a shot between the eyes, and still another through the heart, a hole perforated through his tunic with a puff of dust.
As Charles ducked down to reload, Ray covered him with a long spray from her MP40. She watched in a mixture of awe and horror as enemies fell left and right, shot in three or four places at once. Despite the tremendous fire she poured on, the Germans still came charging through the woods, firing back and sending splinters of wood flying as they hit the log. One German was no more than 20 paces from the parapet as her weapon suddenly fouled and she had to reach for the stuck cartridge. Screaming his lungs hoarse, the German ran forward with a bayonet mounted on the end of his rifle and now stood atop the parapet ready to fire down into the trench. Ray looked up fearfully, knowing that she had no way to counter her enemy until her weapon was cleared.
Her heart rapidly thumped in her chest and sweat drenched her collar as she thought for sure this was the end for her.
As the German thrust his bayonet down towards her, four rapid shots came from her right. The German was severely wounded once in the side, twice in the arm, and again through the neck. The neck round was particularly devastating as it tore right through the skin before exiting out the other side, wrapping his entire neck and chin in a deadly necktie of crimson blood. He fell down dead headfirst into the parapet as Ray looked to her right to see to whom she owed her life.
Holland, his bright yellow scarf clearly visible through the smoke, emerged to see if Ray was injured. The muzzle of his Thompson submachine gun was smoking like the remains of a campfire, indicating he had saved her life. His tousled grey hair had a renegade twig with a leaf stuck atop his head, though he paid it no mind. In the heat of battle, there was no time for personal grooming.
"Are you hurt?" he asked in his bad French.
"No, I'm fine," she replied shakily, standing up on her two feet. "Thanks for that."
"Don't worry about it; just keep firing!"
Ray promptly obeyed and rejoined her lover, seeing him cycling the bolt of his Kar98k, focused on his front. Just above him and to the left a German was taking aim with his Gewehr-43 straight at Charles, hoping to score a quick kill. Where was the rest of the squad?! How had he gotten through their sheet of fire to the top of the parapet?!
There was no time to ask why. Instead, she promptly aimed her MP40 and fired before the German could get a single shot off. Her rounds fell around the German's head striking him three times in the forehead, and below each eye. As he keeled over on his back, Charles looked up in a shock. How had he not noticed the German so close by? Ray smiled and laughed, despite the smoke choking her lungs.
"I just saved your life, you know!" she shouted. "Hope you're grateful!"
"Oui! Would you like a kiss to prove it, mon cher?" he shouted back, firing through the slit.
"Wouldn't hurt!"
Her old friend, lifelong comrade and now lover was all too eager to oblige. Not minding all the gunfire, tank shells and the threat of their own lives ending, Charles took her in a deep and passionate kiss. Ray felt her feet slowly be lifted off the ground and thought for sure she was floating on a cloud the moment their lips touched. She had to bite back a moan out of embarrassment. Even in battle, the two had a way of letting their love for each other slip through. While it felt like their kiss lasted an eternity, in truth it only lasted mere seconds. They broke apart as quickly as they had joined and went back to their respective businesses.
In the short time of that kiss, however, the German attack on the left flank began to lose steam and the enemy fire slackened. Charles aimed out of the slit and saw for himself the tremendous damage done. He counted at least 20 dead German bodies strewn out in front of their trench line, some in perfect rows as if they fell by command. How many Germans had come at them in this short span of time? How many had they killed? Ray fired short spatters from her MP40 at the remaining dispirited, retreating soldiers as they disappeared into the woods. She could hear the officers calling for a withdrawal.
"Zurückgreifen! Umgruppieren!" (A/N: Fall back! Regroup!)
The entire left flank was about to erupt in cheers when another squad member called out a new challenge fast forming, and holding a potentially devastating fate for them all if it was not met.
"Sergeant Novikov, I count multiple Germans on the other side of the stream! They look to be moving in our direction!"
"Those bastards are trying to flank us!" Holland discerned.
Someone had to wade through the water and blunt the attack before the entire flank caved in. He immediately had two people who, he thought at least, were capable enough for the job. His blue eyes turned upon Charles and Ray, and called to them.
"Charles! Ray! Get across the stream and stop them!"
"How come we have to go?!" Ray protested.
"Because you're dependable! Now do it!"
"Goddammit," Charles cursed as he moved through the trench, "I hate being dependable!"
As tired as they were, as much as they wished the fighting was over already, the battle continued on regardless of their preferences. All they could do was hope their small action could bring a swifter and more favorable end. So Charles and Ray thought, as they raced through the trench line to the absolute left end. Ray called for the squad to provide covering fire while they moved into the open and out of the shelter that provided such reliable and sturdy protection.
The entire squad erupted in a thunderous fire like rockets on New Year's Eve. Even with the cover provided, some Germans managed to shoot back on the momentary retreat, knocking off Ray's red beret and casting it into the stream. Ray turned and fired back five rounds, all of them missing their target. However, it was enough to send the German scurrying into the woods while Charles retrieved the beret. Ray, upon seeing it soaked through, sighed in frustration as she quickly wrung out the water and stuffed it into her coat pocket.
"That was my best hat, too!" she complained as they hurriedly waded the stream.
"I'll get you a new one when we reach Paris," Charles offered.
It was a small consolation that hardly alleviated her exasperation, but now was not the time to fret over ruined berets. Across the stream was a small shack and a wooden fence constructed in an incomplete square, providing cover for sneak attacks and concealment for any Germans who managed to take shelter. Charles and Ray recognized this quickly, for as soon as they waded the stream they immediately dashed for the inside of the fence.
Their intuition proved correct, as they found three Germans preparing to set up an eight centimeter mortar to rain hell upon the left flank. The mortar team was defenseless as the "battle couple" quickly opened up. Ray fired at least 10 rounds into two crewmen, their tunics riddled with holes and quickly stained red. Some of her rounds actually exited through the backs of the Germans and ventilated the fence behind them. Charles was deliberate with his shot as he quickly aimed his Kar98k and shot the last crewman through the heart, a red puff exiting from the German's tunic as he collapsed to the ground in a heap. The mortar was neutralized and potentially many lives were saved, but no sooner had they killed the crew when Charles heard rapid footsteps approaching from behind.
"Look out behind you!"
Both partisans did a quick about-face, expecting to see more of the enemy approaching, but instead what they found were two familiar figures, gazing at them in amazement.
One was a boy with oak brown hair and piercing green eyes, looking more like a normal civilian than a soldier. He wore a light brown trench coat, buttoned and held closed with an ammunition belt. Brown knickerbockers and white socks betrayed the boy's innocence and young age, making him seem more at place on a peaceful country lane than in the heat of battle. In his hands the boy firmly held a Springfield bolt-action rifle, pointed hastily at Charles in the assumption of catching a German off-guard.
Next to the boy was a young girl with dark brown hair and melancholy grey eyes, dressed all in dark blue from the beret nestled on her head, the coatdress reaching down to her knees, to the leggings that shielded her calves as they dipped into her grey boots. Her coatdress capelet had a few bullet holes and small tears indicating she had seen battle and had been under fire before, despite her meek appearance. Around her wide hips was a German ammunition belt for the scavenged Kar98k she held in her hands. Her grip was slightly shaky as it was pointed at Ray, evidently of the same mind as the boy. Her eyes were welling and filled with tears of joy at the revelation of reunion.
"Charles! Ray!" they cried in unison.
"Renton! Eureka!" the duo cried in reply.
The four friends quickly hugged each other in jubilance. Tears of joy were shed as friends found each other again, and fearful suspicions were dispelled. Renton was not dead. Neither was Eureka. Their comrades would never leave them behind, no matter what the risks that entailed. Now they could rejoin their section and finally turn the tide against the Germans. Thank God for faithful friends! Thank God for sparing their commander! Thank God for allowing them to continue on through this war together, and never apart!
"Jesus," Renton shouted happily, "it's great to see you guys!"
"We feared you might leave without us!" Eureka exclaimed, unable to restrain her tears.
"Holland would have our heads if we tried to do that!" Ray quipped, nestling Eureka like a little sister.
The friends broke apart and Renton and Eureka were briefed on what had happened in their absence.
"We had to pull back to a new line after the surprise attack," Charles explained, pointing to the slit trenches across the stream. "The Germans are trying to break it. They're bringing in tanks, and if we don't hurry, they'll overwhelm us!"
"Leave the tanks to me," Renton assured him. "I know how to deal with them. Just get us back to the line and we'll do the rest."
"You got it, my friend!"
Neither Charles nor Ray had any time to ask what had happened to them in the past 18 hours, why Eureka was carrying a rifle, or what had taken them so long to find everyone. All they could do was quickly wade across the stream, and direct them to the sight of the major fighting. The German attack on the left had stalled, and they again focused their efforts on the center and right. This allowed Holland's squad to provide enfilade fire, shooting right into the flank of the advancing Germans. As soon as the four friends dropped into the trench, Renton rushed on down the line at a sprint with Eureka in tow. They headed to the sound of the heaviest gunfire as Holland called to confirm Charles and Ray had achieved their objectives.
"Did you take care of those Germans?"
"Damn right, we got 'em!" Ray shouted. "And we brought back some friends, too!"
"Friends?"
Renton, Holland and Eureka almost bumped into each other as they were rushing to their respective ends of the line. They stood staring at each other as if eyeing the greatest oddities the world had ever seen. It was not long before Holland recognized them. Was he dreaming? No. One sight of his best friend and his only sister was enough for Holland to almost break down in tears of jubilation. He quickly grabbed the two of them around the neck in a brotherly hug, expressing great relief that they had not met their ends. Not that he ever had his doubts.
"Thank God…you two aren't dead…!"
"We wouldn't give up that easily, brother," Eureka said joyously, returning her sibling's embrace. "You think we wouldn't come find you?"
"No way in hell I'm going to let you steal my thunder!" Renton joked.
The two friends laughed and playfully grappled with each other for a brief moment before returning to the deadly work before them. Holland pointed him in the direction of Denisov and the militia, just over 20 men struggling to hold back the German onslaught. As Eureka followed after Renton, Holland was struck surprised and dumbfounded to see his beloved sister carrying a rifle and rushing forward to the sound of gunfire and certain bloodshed. What had happened to her in the past 18 hours?
"Eureka! When did you get a gun?!"
The little Russian girl had no time to answer her brother's question as duty called. They passed by Dominic's squad, bravely holding their own in the center of the line against men with machine guns, semiautomatic rifles, and fragmentation grenades. Just then, a loud whizz filled the air, and every man and woman in the line knew what was in store for them if they stayed where they stood.
"Incoming!" Dominic cried. "SCATTER!"
Renton grabbed Eureka and dove to the right, hitting the earthen ground of the trench with a thud. At the same moment their bodies touched the earth, a shell landed squarely on the trench line.
BOOM!
A loud detonation left them all temporarily unable to hear, and only a loud ringing in their ears took its place. Renton and Eureka rose and found the damage done, which was horrendous. The shell scored a perfect hit on the trench, blowing a giant gaping hole of black soil and dust, blowing the head log to splinters and scattering it in all directions. Thanks to the quick reaction of Renton, Eureka and Dominic's squad, there were only two casualties from the blast: one killed and one wounded. The wounded man was not out of the fight yet, and refused to be moved until the enemy had been driven back. However, the Germans knew an advantage was to be had with the large breach. They charged, full-throated down the center of the line, screaming like demons. Dominic ordered his men to reassume their positions, but Renton knew one squad would not be enough to hold them back. They needed support desperately.
"Eureka, plug that gap! Now!"
She rushed into the gap created by the tank shell, and took aim at the charging Germans. As much as she didn't want to, as much as she knew that it was men with homes and families she was killing, it was a duty from which she could not shrink. She came to help Renton, and hopefully finally end this war. She would carry the burden of blood on her hands, even if it took her to her dying day.
Calmly and with firm determination, Eureka fired her rifle at every sprinting figure she laid eyes on. One bullet went through a German's chest, piercing his lung and sending him face forward like a felled tree. Instead of a loud creak, he only issued forth an almost contented sigh, followed by a thud into the earth. Eureka followed this up with another kill, more merciful than the last. A round struck through the front lip of a German's helmet, blood trickling down his face like water in a gutter. Yet another went down, hit just below the eye and left writhing in the dirt in agony before being cut down by Renton's accurate Springfield rifle.
As she cycled the bolt, another German rushed straight towards her, a bayonet heralding his advance with a glint from the rays of sunlight peeking through the forest canopy. He screamed as if to frighten her into submission. But it would take more than that to subdue this strong, brave girl. She pointed her rifle at the German's face and fired.
Her aim was a little off this time, as her shot struck him through the throat, wrapping his neck in a scarf of blood. It did not deter him in the least as he came on, his scream rendered to little more than a sickly gurgle. With a quick shift of the bolt, Eureka finished him off with a pull of the trigger, sending a round straight through his heart just as he landed on what remained of the parapet.
Now an enemy caught her attention to her left, as a submachine gunner rushed towards the crater with the intent of killing her. He was far ahead of his comrades and made a prime target. Eureka aimed her rifle at him, intent on taking him down like the others before. However, with a pull of the trigger, a sound far worse than a gunshot followed.
Click.
Her rifle was empty, and now she was defenseless. She scrambled for a new clip as Renton realized what was at stake and quickly took control of the situation.
"EUREKA!"
He quickly brought his Springfield to his shoulder and fired. He landed a hit on the German's arm, but didn't seriously hurt him. It wasn't until Dominic rose from the trench and fired up into the enemy with his BAR did the submachine gunner go down, his body pierced by six bullets. Renton came beside Eureka as she ducked down into the crater to search for a new clip.
"When it clicks like that, you have to reload!" he rebuked.
"I know, I just forgot!"
"Forgetting could cost you your life!"
"I'll know better next time, I promise…"
He had no time to drill her, and she had no time to be drilled. That would have to take place at a later time, after this battle was concluded. Renton soon realized that time had to approach soon, or they would have no fight left. As soon as he thought that, the dreadful sound of tank tracks squealing reached his ears. His heart leapt into his throat at that sound, and searched the field with a pair of field binoculars scavenged from a dead body. Quickly he scanned the tree line from left to right, and soon spotted the tall dark shadow of a tank. It was large with a long 88 millimeter cannon, looking to be a heavy tank. They needed to act quickly.
Renton left Eureka to fill the hole and dashed down the trench line, passing by what remained of Denisov's platoon of militiamen. At the sight of their commander alive and well, a cheer ran up line, prompting Denisov to look to his left and see what had stirred the men's spirits. His discerning brown eyes widened at the sight of that trench coat, that Springfield rifle, those knickerbockers and those bright white socks.
"Commander Thurston?!"
"Lieutenant," Renton shouted, smoke filling his lungs, "get your men in order! We got a heavy tank coming this way!"
"Tank?!" he said fearfully. "D-did you say tank?!"
Wishing to confirm for himself, Denisov peered through his binoculars straight to his front, and saw exactly what Renton was referring to. It was a Tiger, painted in forest camouflage, bearing red serial numbers on the turret and a forbidding black iron cross on the chassis. Taking down a tank was one thing, but Tigers were near impossible to knock out. The only guaranteed way was a single direct hit to the engine, located on the rear. It would take a miracle to score such a hit, but if Renton had survived the attack, and had returned completely unscathed, perhaps miracles could indeed happen.
Not wasting any time, Denisov called upon Sergeant Nechayev to ready the bazooka for firing.
"Who's up for a challenge?" he yelled. "That Tiger is not going down unless we hit it in the ass!"
Nechayev was all too eager to take on the dare, and searched for volunteers. He found one in the form of Corporal Weaver, one of the most disciplined soldiers in the entire militia. He had always been Denisov's patrolman when Talho was not on call, and never turned down or disobeyed a single order given him. It seemed a natural fit as he issued his command to Weaver.
"Bring the stovepipe, corporal! We're bagging a Tiger!"
Weaver grabbed the bazooka and followed Nechayev to the extreme right flank of the line, skirting an impenetrable hedgerow. As they lifted themselves up out of the safety of the trenches, the Germans opened fire on the team. Renton was quick to dispatch one with a clean shot to the heart, just as he was aiming for Weaver. Bazookas required a two-man team, and the death of one meant the death of both. Denisov ordered his platoon to shift fire to the right to cover Nechayev as he led Weaver forward into the woods. Renton, for his part, called on Dominic's squad to be ready to button the Tiger with suppressive fire when it was in view.
Nechayev stopped Weaver just short of a spreading elm tree, ordering him to take cover. The two militiamen hugged the ground behind the tree and watched as the boots of German soldiers quickly ran past them, rushing to break the Resistance line. They were not equipped to take on infantry without being done away with quickly, so instead they lay low and listened for the sounds of tank treads. The ground rumbled beneath them with the force of a large tremor. That only meant their target was drawing nearer; it was even more imperative now that they kept low and didn't attract attention. One shot from that cannon and it was all over.
They watched on in a mixture of awe and terror as the tank fired its gun straight at the trench line. Its shell fell just short of the line, showering dirt upon German and Resistance alike in a brown tidal wave. The largest tree in this forest offered little protection from that cannon. One might as well have been in front as behind it. Limbs and what remained of tree branches fell about the attacking line of Germans as if torn by a hurricane. As the Tiger rumbled past them, paying no mind, the trench erupted in a vengeful fire. The men's rifles and submachine guns spoke with a lion's roar, and cut through the front line of Germans with the deadly effect of a scythe as almost all went down in the consuming volley.
As the Tiger passed them with the intent of crushing the trench line, Nechayev realized it would not do to wait any longer. The two soldiers rose up, and Weaver shouldered the bazooka, aiming at Tiger's engine. His superior frantically loaded a shaped charge into the tube, telling Weaver to hold his fire until the wires were connected.
"If we wait any longer, it's going to be the death of us!" Weaver shouted.
"We need to time it right or we're all dead!"
Weaver's nerves strained as he tracked the Tiger, approaching closer and closer to the trench line. The Germans likewise were emboldened and launched what must have been their fifth charge, sprinting through the forest and yelling until their lungs had no air and their voices hoarse. The Tiger was less than 50 yards away from them and 30 yards from the trench when Nechayev told Weaver the news he desperately wanted to hear.
"Wires connected, now fire! FIRE!"
The corporal pulled the trigger on the bazooka, and sent the shaped charge flying out of the tube and through the forest, faster than a football thrown by a quarterback. Weaver wanted to move and feared the Germans would soon turn their attention on them, but Nechayev told him to hold, watching the smoke trail to make sure it hit the target. A loud fiery explosion followed as the shaped charge hit the engine's fuel tanks. What was once a fearsome and forbidding Tiger was now a blazing inferno as the tank's advance came to an abrupt halt, barely 25 feet away from the Resistance parapet. Their work done and their foe vanquished, Nechayev and Weaver gathered the bazooka and ammunition and scrambled for the trench. Knowing they couldn't just sprint through the line of German troops without receiving friendly fire, the two soldiers first ran towards the hedgerow, hugging the brambles and brush as they made for the extreme end of the trench. Denisov, seeing his men return in triumph, call upon the remaining militiamen to gather their strength.
"COVERING FIRE!"
Various small arms of the militia opened a tremendous fire as the two brave soldiers jumped down into the trench, the recipient of many congratulations. With their tank in smoldering ruins, German morale weakened and the attack soon lost steam. Soon the enemy broke and turned tail, running away from the trench line and into the woods from whence they came. As they retreated, the men and women of the Resistance continued to load and fire, picking off stragglers and those foolish enough to make one last dogged attempt to storm the position. A final spatter of machine gun fire concluded the battle as the last shadow of a German shoulder faded into the woods, and there was not one enemy standing in their front.
Every partisan and militiaman broke forth in a victorious cheers, harmonized in a loud triumphant roar. Even Renton could not restrain his joy any longer as he grabbed Eureka tightly, thankful and relieved they had survived another attack along with being separated from their comrades and friends. However, Renton knew full well that would not be enough to stop the German attack, and they would soon return after rallying their troops. Time was short, and they needed to move quickly before they came back. He called out to all in his section and told them his intentions.
"We can't stay here, men! The krauts will be back any minute; we need to leave!"
As the men looked to each other, somewhat in bewilderment, the squad leaders and officers knew Renton was right, and the time had come for them to withdraw and find better ground. If they stayed, the Germans would surely wipe them out. Dominic soon came up with an idea, and consulted briefly with Holland to check on its soundness.
"If we're going to retreat, we need something to cover us."
"We can use our smoke grenades to conceal our movement while we retreat. By the time the Germans reach us, we'll be long gone."
"Works for me."
Dominic turned to his men and shouted out his plan.
"Someone toss a smoke grenade, now!"
A bright-eyed young man wearing a horizon blue overcoat heard his squad leader's call, and promptly obeyed. He produced from his belt a metal can with a pin latched to the top. With a pull of the pin, he threw the can out like a baseball about 50 feet. Seeing what the partisan had just done, Holland responded in kind with a toss of the smoke grenade. Finally Talho on the right flank did the same, and all of them waited tentatively for the smoke to fill. They didn't have to wait long.
Suddenly a loud hiss emanated from the tossed cans and a thick layer of white smoke rose from the grass like a curtain on a stage. Renton could barely see the trees in front of them, and the forest was enveloped in a dense fog. Knowing this provided the cover they needed, Renton exited the trench first, and motioned for all to follow him to the rear. Silently with no battle cry or jeering taunt to the enemy, the men followed their commander, pointing in the direction of a road about 50 meters to their south, and running east. The perfect escape route for the battered, weary, but unbeaten partisans.
Renton called for a forced march, and his subordinates called for the troops to break into double time, rushing down the road. Fearing the Germans would return at any moment, the men happily obliged their commander as they ran like greyhounds away from the trenches, hauling all the supplies, ammunition and food they could carry on their persons. They ran not for five minutes and the trench lines from which they had held back the German onslaught were out of sight. What lay ahead of them now? No one knew. But it mattered little, as their flagging spirits had rallied, as the knowledge their leader had not fallen and was determined to see this campaign through with his men gave them the strength they need to keep running, keep marching, and keep their eyes only straight ahead.
»»»»»
On the other side of the forest, Jurgens peered through his binoculars from atop the tank cupola, and was struck aghast by what he saw. One of his panzer company's tanks was a smoking ruin, and Lieutenant Hess' infantry company was wrecked. Out of the 125 soldiers who went so confidently into that terrible fire, only 50 returned fit and ready for service. A lowering of his binoculars revealed hazel eyes wide in surprise and fearful awe. Just who was he fighting in these woods? French partisans or demons from another world? The sight of his men, the finest soldiers Germany had to offer, running from what he had assumed were ill-equipped bandits made him seethe. What began as shock soon turned into rage and an urge to even the score. His gloved hand curled into a fist and pounded hard on the cupola in frustration. How could it be?! How were his men so thrashed in the short span of time, and after wreaking such havoc upon them in a well-orchestrated surprise attack?!
Lieutenant Hess, a 25-year-old veteran with brown hair, emerged from the woods and displayed the damage wrought upon him. His field grey tunic was torn in several places, and his right hand had been bloodied by a stray partisan's bullet. A blotch of red peeked through the rudimentary tourniquet around his palm as he saluted Jurgens with a note of struggle. Sensing his gaze, the captain looked down with a vengeful fire in his eyes.
"Hess, what the hell are you doing here?!" Jurgens shouted in frustration. "Reform your ranks at once!"
"Of course, sir," Hess replied hesitantly, "but we need to retrieve our wounded first."
"You can retrieve them after you've driven those bandits out of their trenches. Now reform and hit them again!"
Hess' blue eyes looked on incredulously at his superior. Was he crazy? Did he not see what awful damage had been brought upon his command? Or was he simply blinded by the humiliation of defeat?
"Herr Hauptmann, I've lost more than half of my men! If we go back, they'll rip us to shreds."
"I hate to say it," Eberhardt said from his opened hatch, "but Hess is right. We'll need reinforcements if we are to beat these bandits into submission."
"Klaus, they're partisans!" Jurgens yelled, banging his fist in anger. "They're farmers with pitchforks and hunting rifles!"
"They're much more than that, sir," Hess said with a trace of indignation. "Farmers with pitchforks and hunting rifles couldn't kill half of my company."
Jurgens looked on, and could see that his men had no stomach for more fighting. He was clearly dealing with soldiers more capable and more skilled than any resistance fighters he ever encountered. They were not mere bandits as his comrades frequently called them. With a low incensed growl, he relented, and ordered Hess to gather his men for an eastward retreat. Hess, relieved, saluted his commanding officer and tended to the business of reforming his shattered company. Retreating into the turret, Jurgens dejected spoke to the driver, Brandt.
"Heinz, get this tank moving. We'll accompany Hess and find those bandits."
"Yes, sir."
"Eberhardt, send a radio message for reinforcements and see if there is anyone nearby. Clearly we need overwhelming force if we are to bring these bastards down."
Eberhardt said nothing but only nodded, tuning the radio to a different frequency each time before sending the call for support. As the tank tracks squealed, and as what remained of his panzer company and Hess' troops moved onto a dusty country road, Jurgens could only continue to seethe, humiliation cutting through his very being. He had seen defeat before, but never like this.
The Soviets had bested them in Russia. The British and Americans had prevailed in North Africa. But this was different. He wasn't fighting a trained, well-equipped army. These were civilians carrying scavenged weapons, wearing armbands instead of uniforms, and struck in the shadows rather than in pitched battle. Just the fact that he had been defeated by partisans and not a regular army deepened his anger. This was not just a matter of orders anymore; it was a matter of avenging defeat, a defeat that never should have happened.
"We can't let these bandits win. German soldiers are the finest in the world…!"
So the officer told himself as they continued on. For now, however, such a fight would be relegated to another time. On another day. On another field.