I poked my head out and watched as ten men walked out of the
treeline. Sgt. Morgan stood up and walked out to meet them. I walked over
to my Garand and picked it up.
Even though it was empty and I had no ammo for it, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving it behind for a kraut weapon. I looked over to Sgt. Morgan. He was kneeling down next to Hartmann's body, with his hand on his chest. Standing over them was a tall, slim man, carrying the Carbine that I had heard.
Sgt. Morgan grabbed Hartmann's M-1, hooked the bayonet on and drove it into the ground, just above his head, then gently placed Hartmann's helmet on the buttstock. He then turned to Stankowitz and Miller to start digging a grave. Stankowitz looked like he was about to protest the extra work, but a sharp look from Sgt. Morgan made him stop before he started.
They went off to dig a grave. After a moment, I set down my guns and pulled my shovel off my pack and went to help. The spades cut into the earth and soon all of our squad and a few men from the other squad had come to help. Quickly, a large hole was etched into the ground and we stripped Hartmann of his webbing and any other personal effects that Sgt. Morgan would ensure be sent home, including one of his dogtags.
I opened up his ammo pouches to check for any extra ammunition. He had two unused clips. I took them and put them into my own pouches. We placed Hartmann's body into the hole and covered it over.
I sat down in the shade of a tree and took one of the cigarettes out of my pouches. I lit up the smoke and puffed on it for a few minutes, which was unusual for me, as I don't especially like cigarettes. I finished the thing off and threw the butt into the bush, then took a draught off my canteen.
I looked over at Sgt. Morgan, he and the slim man were talking, bathed in the moonlight. His words were a barley audible buzz. He nodded and finished the conversation, then he looked at me. I took this as my cue to come into the conversation.
I stood up and walked to Sgt. Morgan. "Corporal Stone, this is Lieutenant Schaefer." I nodded in his direction. "He is bringing us information for our next mission. He also had ammo for us. I want you to distribute the ammo evenly among everyone."
I nodded.
Schaefer turned and shouted a command at his troops. As it turned out, they had carried plenty of extra ammo for us. We each had a bandoleer of ammo, and then some, as we had lost two people, we had two extra bandoleers. I took an extra one and Horn would carry the second with him and hand it out as necessary.
I dropped the stripper clips into the pouches around my waist, using up one bandolier, then slinging the other around my body. It felt good to be loaded down with ammo again. I took pleasure in throwing away the offensive MP40 and all the things that were associated with it.
I held my Garand lightly, placed the clip into the action and snapped the bolt shut. It felt good to be holding my American-made weapon again.
The sky was beginning to lighten as the sun prepared to come up. Sergeant Morgan must have finished his discussion; he stood up and called for the squad to form up on him. We walked over to him, me on his closest right.
He held out his map and a compass. "All right, listen up. What were going to do is head north to this point here." He said, tapping a point on the paper.
"It looks like the third SS has been pushing reconnaissance and strike teams down along our axis of advance. They seem to be able to get in, come around behind our advancing troops, blow something up and then get out without much trouble. It doesn't seem to be doing anything serious, except make for slowing us down. Even so, it's a morale crusher for our troops. The plan is for us to follow our main advancing front by about two kilometers, then, we can ambush and attack as they move in to strike against us. We'll be heading north, with three other squads, so don't get to trigger happy, the Germans could have us shooting each other out there. We'll be moving out tomorrow, so we have one day at this house. Lieutenant Schaefer will be moving out with us. We'll be going in the dark to try to avoid or get the jump on any German patrols running through the area. Now settle down, get some sleep and be ready."
We fanned out and got to do whatever we wanted for a moment. I took off my web gear and left it in a heap, but reflex would not allow me to simply walk around unarmed. I slung my Garand over my shoulder and put a couple of stripper clips in my pockets.
Apparently Sgt. Morgan had decided to allow a fire, as there was a small one outside. Ben Doon was placing a pot over the fire and dropping in potatoes that he had cut up with his bayonet.
I picked up the water bucket and decided to go to the nearby stream to fetch some water.
I tromped down the stream, whistling a tune I had heard somewhere along the line. I stepped to the bank of the fast moving stream we had been using for a water source for now. I dipped the metal pail in and allowed water to flow into it, then pulled it out and set it down.
Then I heard something. It came from over the bank of the stream, as it flowed along a dike-like raised portion of the land. I quietly put the bucket down on the ground, and then walked through the stream. I grimaced as the cold water ran into my boots, and then unslung my Garand off my shoulder and got down on my hands and knees to poke my head over the dike.
Three German soldiers stood in the farmer's field, walking steadily towards the south, about one hundred yards away from me.
It was against my better judgments, but I did it anyway. I rested the forestock of the rifle on the hill of the dike and adjusted the sight a couple of clicks, then aimed. I fired on the man in front first, the bullet going through his squarish helmet with a metallic thump. The man went down, disappearing into the stubble of crops in the field.
The rear man dropped as well, for protection, but the middle man panicked and turned his back to run. I paused a moment to take aim, then sent three rounds into the cowardly German's back. I swept the gun back and sent round after round into the area where the last German had dropped to hide. I fired until the stripper clip popped up. I reached into the pocket of my field jacket for a replacement.
I held off for a moment as I heard heavy footsteps crashing through the bush from behind me. I whipped my M-1 around as Stankowitz crashed through the trees and flopped down next to me. "Where are they? Where are they?" He asked excitedly.
I pointed out into the field approximately where I thought the third man would be.
"Okay," said Stankowitz. "I'm going to go out there and look for him, you cover me."
I nodded and hunkered down over my M-1 as he moved out. I knew what Stankowitz was trying to do. He would head out and then kill the third German. Then he would claim that he had come in and saved the day. I wasn't about to let that happen.
I was surprised that the guy hadn't been shot already. He was carrying all of his gear, which we all normally did, but his small, spindly frame hampered his movement with all of the weight on him. Plus, he was terrible for putting all of his gear on loosely, allowing it to flop around, making a huge amount of noise, all this totally gave him away during times of attempted stealth.
He waded out into the grass and jogged the way out into the farmer's field. He found the two dead Germans, but couldn't find the third. It didn't surprise me, with the long grass, the German could have easily slunk away, but what he did find was several bullet holes in the ground and a lot of blood.
Stankowitz went back to searching and I continued to keep the whole field in my line of sight. Then, like some sort of a predator, I saw the German's head come out of the grass and then move forward.
I saw the German's mistake. He thought that Stankowitz was the sniper that fired the first rounds was him, and didn't know that there was another rifleman in the trees.
The German was now rushing at Stankowitz's back with his bayonet gleaming on the end of the barrel. The German obviously meant to cause Stankowitz as much pain as possible for the death of his comrades. Now, as I looked, I could see that his wool uniform was becoming red with blood from the holes my bullets had put in his stomach.
I wasted no more time. I aimed and fired, but could only hit the man once before risking hitting Stankowitz. The soldier stumbled forward as my round hit him, but he still managed to stab the bayonet into him.
Stankowitz screamed and tried the reach around himself to pull the blade out, but it had hit him high in the back and his loosely stuffed pack was to big for him to get his arms around and yank out the knife.
I jumped to my feet and ran to him. When I got to him, I slid the bayonet out of his back and realized that it had barley gone into him an inch.
I forced him onto the ground and then used the German knife to cut a bigger hole in Stankowitz's clothing, then reached into the scrawny man's first aid pouch. I took out some sulfa and a field dressing.
The wound didn't look that bad. It only oozed a little bit of blood. I sprinkled the sulfa on and slapped the field dressing on it, then used some medical tape to hold it down.
Sergeant Morgan and most of the other people in my squad came, probably from hearing the gunshots. Horn, our medic, ran out into the field and looked at the dressing. We agreed that it would probably do more harm than good to remove it, so we left it as it was.
We walked back to the house, which was now becoming somewhat active, having sixteen soldiers now habititing it. Ben Doon was dancing around one giant pot, brandishing a spoon, in a few minutes, he was handing out bowl and cups of steaming hot broth. He filled mess kits and anything that could hold the soup.
I sat down under a tree and began to spoon the hot broth into my mouth and swallowing it. That was the advantage of having a cook in our squad; it made life a lot easier. He could take some cold K-rations and turn them into a hot, hearty meal for the entire squad.
I quickly finished my soup and washed my mess kit with a bit of water, then replaced it in my webbing.
That afternoon, we prepared to move out. We cleaned our weapons and prepared to move out. We filled our canteens and split our rations between the two squads, then, when it was black and only the moon provided enough light to walk by, we headed out.
The plan was to walk all night and most of the day, then met up in some place called Ytterville. We would arrive there just as the main battle regiment moved through. We would aid them to clear the town, then linger about seven kilometers behind them initially to ward off any attacks from the rear.
We walked through the forest most of the night with one of Schaefer's men walking point. We were coming to a river when the man held up his hand in a fist. We all dropped out of sight, then the man came running back to Sergeant Morgan, he whispered a few words I couldn't catch, then ducked down.
Sgt. Morgan ran in a crouch and then dropped down. He aimed his Thompson at a bush and held his fire for a moment. He then let several rounds fly into the bush. A well –camouflaged German soldier wearing oak leaf camo dropped out. The K-43 that he was carrying clattered to the ground.
Fire exploded all around us. Had we been standing up we would all have been killed. I saw one German sitting in a tree with his Kar-98. I popped off a round through his head and he dropped to the ground.
One German darted out for cover; I fired three times, spinning him around. I fired periodically, then the Germans started throwing grenades. Explosions shattered the air as I fought. I darted for cover behind several logs and dropped into a crouching position. One grenade came over the logs and hit me in the chest. I grabbed the Stiekhandgrenete and hurled it back at the Germans moments before it exploded.
I popped up and fired off two rounds, spearing through a running German. He tumbled down and rolled a few feet in the dirt. The Germans were mounting their resistance. A half-track rolled in and a crew had set up a mortar. Shells began to explode all around us, but we were holding our own.
The half-track tried to cut through our squad and get out of the engagement. Rifle fire did nothing against it, then Ben Doon ran up alongside the vehicle, pulled a grenade and stuck it in between the treads, then darted off, avoiding machinegun fire.
The grenade went off with an earsplitting bang and we could hear the clanking noise as the treads fell off.
We immediately backed away from the vehicle. Sgt. Morgan split up the squad, one part to take whoever was manning the mortar, the other to take out the half-track.
I was left with Sgt. Morgan and Miller on BAR, along with two riflemen from Schaefer's squad. We surrounded the half-track and moved in on it. The hatch on top opened up and a man came out of the port, fumbling to maneuver his MP40 around in the tight space. I fired three rounds, my bullets and several others cut right through him. He fell forward onto the armored top of the large truck.
I ran to the vehicle and threw myself on top of it. I pulled myself along the top until I reached the hatch. The man's body was still halfway out of it. I yanked the pin out of a fragmentation grenade and dropped it down the hatch. I heard several German curses before I threw myself down from the tank. After a few moments, the explosive went off, throwing smoke and the a light red mist out of the port, as well as clearing the body that was hanging out of it.
"Don't slow down, were still in this fight!" Yelled Sgt. Morgan, unloading his clip at four running Germans.
The shells had stopped falling, but grenades were still dangerous explosives. One soldier came running out from behind the decimated half- track carrying a meter-long, tube-shaped object that I recognized immediately. "Panzer Shrek!" I yelled out and brought my Garand to my eye.
I fired one round and my clip popped out. I cursed and dropped to the ground to reload. I jammed the clip into the action and slid the bolt forward, priming the gun for action.
I jumped to my feet and looked around for the man with the Panzer Shrek. I saw him about fifteen yards away, rolling around on the ground. My bullet had taken him in the right side of his chest, judging from the bright frothy blood, it had missed his heart and hit him in his lung. The man was hurt bad, he wheezed air into his chest every time he breathed and he coughed up a lot of blood. I raised my Garand and shot him in the head, destroying a large portion of it.
I darted back into the fight. The Germans were retreating now; we had them on the run. I climbed onto the still-burning remains of the half- track and lay down in the prone position and lined up the sights on the running Germans. I started to pick off all the runners I could see in the night.
The Germans retreated to a point where we could no longer see or catch them. We quickly regrouped to check our losses.
Amazingly, no one from our squad had been killed; the same could not be said for Schaefer's squad. They had sustained three casualties; some of his best men had died.
We couldn't dwell on it; we were depending on mobility to get us to the main force. We recovered their ammunition and moved on, not even having time to dig graves, only mark the bodies with their rifles.
We moved on, trying to be as quiet as possible. Again, one of Schaefer's men had volunteered to walk point. My respect for him and his squad was mounting.
We had been walking for about five kilometers; I was tired from walking over the rough terrain. The sun was just peeking over the hills in the distance. We were walking through a clearing with the same man from Schaefer's squad on point. The shot rang out clear in the air. A puff of steam came out of his chest as the bullet went through.
The man tumbled down and we all dropped for cover. Horn slid forward on his stomach to the man that had been hit. I looked over at where the sound of the shot had come from, but I could see nothing.
Another shot came from the treeline a distance away. The round spanged as it hit the ground, but this time, I saw the muzzle flash from the sniper's rifle. I took aim with my Garand and started to fire. The rest of the soldier around me joined in and all fired a few rounds. The fire trailed off and we held it for a moment, reloading. No more shots came, slowly we stood up. We were already behind on our schedule, so we just marched on.
Even though it was empty and I had no ammo for it, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving it behind for a kraut weapon. I looked over to Sgt. Morgan. He was kneeling down next to Hartmann's body, with his hand on his chest. Standing over them was a tall, slim man, carrying the Carbine that I had heard.
Sgt. Morgan grabbed Hartmann's M-1, hooked the bayonet on and drove it into the ground, just above his head, then gently placed Hartmann's helmet on the buttstock. He then turned to Stankowitz and Miller to start digging a grave. Stankowitz looked like he was about to protest the extra work, but a sharp look from Sgt. Morgan made him stop before he started.
They went off to dig a grave. After a moment, I set down my guns and pulled my shovel off my pack and went to help. The spades cut into the earth and soon all of our squad and a few men from the other squad had come to help. Quickly, a large hole was etched into the ground and we stripped Hartmann of his webbing and any other personal effects that Sgt. Morgan would ensure be sent home, including one of his dogtags.
I opened up his ammo pouches to check for any extra ammunition. He had two unused clips. I took them and put them into my own pouches. We placed Hartmann's body into the hole and covered it over.
I sat down in the shade of a tree and took one of the cigarettes out of my pouches. I lit up the smoke and puffed on it for a few minutes, which was unusual for me, as I don't especially like cigarettes. I finished the thing off and threw the butt into the bush, then took a draught off my canteen.
I looked over at Sgt. Morgan, he and the slim man were talking, bathed in the moonlight. His words were a barley audible buzz. He nodded and finished the conversation, then he looked at me. I took this as my cue to come into the conversation.
I stood up and walked to Sgt. Morgan. "Corporal Stone, this is Lieutenant Schaefer." I nodded in his direction. "He is bringing us information for our next mission. He also had ammo for us. I want you to distribute the ammo evenly among everyone."
I nodded.
Schaefer turned and shouted a command at his troops. As it turned out, they had carried plenty of extra ammo for us. We each had a bandoleer of ammo, and then some, as we had lost two people, we had two extra bandoleers. I took an extra one and Horn would carry the second with him and hand it out as necessary.
I dropped the stripper clips into the pouches around my waist, using up one bandolier, then slinging the other around my body. It felt good to be loaded down with ammo again. I took pleasure in throwing away the offensive MP40 and all the things that were associated with it.
I held my Garand lightly, placed the clip into the action and snapped the bolt shut. It felt good to be holding my American-made weapon again.
The sky was beginning to lighten as the sun prepared to come up. Sergeant Morgan must have finished his discussion; he stood up and called for the squad to form up on him. We walked over to him, me on his closest right.
He held out his map and a compass. "All right, listen up. What were going to do is head north to this point here." He said, tapping a point on the paper.
"It looks like the third SS has been pushing reconnaissance and strike teams down along our axis of advance. They seem to be able to get in, come around behind our advancing troops, blow something up and then get out without much trouble. It doesn't seem to be doing anything serious, except make for slowing us down. Even so, it's a morale crusher for our troops. The plan is for us to follow our main advancing front by about two kilometers, then, we can ambush and attack as they move in to strike against us. We'll be heading north, with three other squads, so don't get to trigger happy, the Germans could have us shooting each other out there. We'll be moving out tomorrow, so we have one day at this house. Lieutenant Schaefer will be moving out with us. We'll be going in the dark to try to avoid or get the jump on any German patrols running through the area. Now settle down, get some sleep and be ready."
We fanned out and got to do whatever we wanted for a moment. I took off my web gear and left it in a heap, but reflex would not allow me to simply walk around unarmed. I slung my Garand over my shoulder and put a couple of stripper clips in my pockets.
Apparently Sgt. Morgan had decided to allow a fire, as there was a small one outside. Ben Doon was placing a pot over the fire and dropping in potatoes that he had cut up with his bayonet.
I picked up the water bucket and decided to go to the nearby stream to fetch some water.
I tromped down the stream, whistling a tune I had heard somewhere along the line. I stepped to the bank of the fast moving stream we had been using for a water source for now. I dipped the metal pail in and allowed water to flow into it, then pulled it out and set it down.
Then I heard something. It came from over the bank of the stream, as it flowed along a dike-like raised portion of the land. I quietly put the bucket down on the ground, and then walked through the stream. I grimaced as the cold water ran into my boots, and then unslung my Garand off my shoulder and got down on my hands and knees to poke my head over the dike.
Three German soldiers stood in the farmer's field, walking steadily towards the south, about one hundred yards away from me.
It was against my better judgments, but I did it anyway. I rested the forestock of the rifle on the hill of the dike and adjusted the sight a couple of clicks, then aimed. I fired on the man in front first, the bullet going through his squarish helmet with a metallic thump. The man went down, disappearing into the stubble of crops in the field.
The rear man dropped as well, for protection, but the middle man panicked and turned his back to run. I paused a moment to take aim, then sent three rounds into the cowardly German's back. I swept the gun back and sent round after round into the area where the last German had dropped to hide. I fired until the stripper clip popped up. I reached into the pocket of my field jacket for a replacement.
I held off for a moment as I heard heavy footsteps crashing through the bush from behind me. I whipped my M-1 around as Stankowitz crashed through the trees and flopped down next to me. "Where are they? Where are they?" He asked excitedly.
I pointed out into the field approximately where I thought the third man would be.
"Okay," said Stankowitz. "I'm going to go out there and look for him, you cover me."
I nodded and hunkered down over my M-1 as he moved out. I knew what Stankowitz was trying to do. He would head out and then kill the third German. Then he would claim that he had come in and saved the day. I wasn't about to let that happen.
I was surprised that the guy hadn't been shot already. He was carrying all of his gear, which we all normally did, but his small, spindly frame hampered his movement with all of the weight on him. Plus, he was terrible for putting all of his gear on loosely, allowing it to flop around, making a huge amount of noise, all this totally gave him away during times of attempted stealth.
He waded out into the grass and jogged the way out into the farmer's field. He found the two dead Germans, but couldn't find the third. It didn't surprise me, with the long grass, the German could have easily slunk away, but what he did find was several bullet holes in the ground and a lot of blood.
Stankowitz went back to searching and I continued to keep the whole field in my line of sight. Then, like some sort of a predator, I saw the German's head come out of the grass and then move forward.
I saw the German's mistake. He thought that Stankowitz was the sniper that fired the first rounds was him, and didn't know that there was another rifleman in the trees.
The German was now rushing at Stankowitz's back with his bayonet gleaming on the end of the barrel. The German obviously meant to cause Stankowitz as much pain as possible for the death of his comrades. Now, as I looked, I could see that his wool uniform was becoming red with blood from the holes my bullets had put in his stomach.
I wasted no more time. I aimed and fired, but could only hit the man once before risking hitting Stankowitz. The soldier stumbled forward as my round hit him, but he still managed to stab the bayonet into him.
Stankowitz screamed and tried the reach around himself to pull the blade out, but it had hit him high in the back and his loosely stuffed pack was to big for him to get his arms around and yank out the knife.
I jumped to my feet and ran to him. When I got to him, I slid the bayonet out of his back and realized that it had barley gone into him an inch.
I forced him onto the ground and then used the German knife to cut a bigger hole in Stankowitz's clothing, then reached into the scrawny man's first aid pouch. I took out some sulfa and a field dressing.
The wound didn't look that bad. It only oozed a little bit of blood. I sprinkled the sulfa on and slapped the field dressing on it, then used some medical tape to hold it down.
Sergeant Morgan and most of the other people in my squad came, probably from hearing the gunshots. Horn, our medic, ran out into the field and looked at the dressing. We agreed that it would probably do more harm than good to remove it, so we left it as it was.
We walked back to the house, which was now becoming somewhat active, having sixteen soldiers now habititing it. Ben Doon was dancing around one giant pot, brandishing a spoon, in a few minutes, he was handing out bowl and cups of steaming hot broth. He filled mess kits and anything that could hold the soup.
I sat down under a tree and began to spoon the hot broth into my mouth and swallowing it. That was the advantage of having a cook in our squad; it made life a lot easier. He could take some cold K-rations and turn them into a hot, hearty meal for the entire squad.
I quickly finished my soup and washed my mess kit with a bit of water, then replaced it in my webbing.
That afternoon, we prepared to move out. We cleaned our weapons and prepared to move out. We filled our canteens and split our rations between the two squads, then, when it was black and only the moon provided enough light to walk by, we headed out.
The plan was to walk all night and most of the day, then met up in some place called Ytterville. We would arrive there just as the main battle regiment moved through. We would aid them to clear the town, then linger about seven kilometers behind them initially to ward off any attacks from the rear.
We walked through the forest most of the night with one of Schaefer's men walking point. We were coming to a river when the man held up his hand in a fist. We all dropped out of sight, then the man came running back to Sergeant Morgan, he whispered a few words I couldn't catch, then ducked down.
Sgt. Morgan ran in a crouch and then dropped down. He aimed his Thompson at a bush and held his fire for a moment. He then let several rounds fly into the bush. A well –camouflaged German soldier wearing oak leaf camo dropped out. The K-43 that he was carrying clattered to the ground.
Fire exploded all around us. Had we been standing up we would all have been killed. I saw one German sitting in a tree with his Kar-98. I popped off a round through his head and he dropped to the ground.
One German darted out for cover; I fired three times, spinning him around. I fired periodically, then the Germans started throwing grenades. Explosions shattered the air as I fought. I darted for cover behind several logs and dropped into a crouching position. One grenade came over the logs and hit me in the chest. I grabbed the Stiekhandgrenete and hurled it back at the Germans moments before it exploded.
I popped up and fired off two rounds, spearing through a running German. He tumbled down and rolled a few feet in the dirt. The Germans were mounting their resistance. A half-track rolled in and a crew had set up a mortar. Shells began to explode all around us, but we were holding our own.
The half-track tried to cut through our squad and get out of the engagement. Rifle fire did nothing against it, then Ben Doon ran up alongside the vehicle, pulled a grenade and stuck it in between the treads, then darted off, avoiding machinegun fire.
The grenade went off with an earsplitting bang and we could hear the clanking noise as the treads fell off.
We immediately backed away from the vehicle. Sgt. Morgan split up the squad, one part to take whoever was manning the mortar, the other to take out the half-track.
I was left with Sgt. Morgan and Miller on BAR, along with two riflemen from Schaefer's squad. We surrounded the half-track and moved in on it. The hatch on top opened up and a man came out of the port, fumbling to maneuver his MP40 around in the tight space. I fired three rounds, my bullets and several others cut right through him. He fell forward onto the armored top of the large truck.
I ran to the vehicle and threw myself on top of it. I pulled myself along the top until I reached the hatch. The man's body was still halfway out of it. I yanked the pin out of a fragmentation grenade and dropped it down the hatch. I heard several German curses before I threw myself down from the tank. After a few moments, the explosive went off, throwing smoke and the a light red mist out of the port, as well as clearing the body that was hanging out of it.
"Don't slow down, were still in this fight!" Yelled Sgt. Morgan, unloading his clip at four running Germans.
The shells had stopped falling, but grenades were still dangerous explosives. One soldier came running out from behind the decimated half- track carrying a meter-long, tube-shaped object that I recognized immediately. "Panzer Shrek!" I yelled out and brought my Garand to my eye.
I fired one round and my clip popped out. I cursed and dropped to the ground to reload. I jammed the clip into the action and slid the bolt forward, priming the gun for action.
I jumped to my feet and looked around for the man with the Panzer Shrek. I saw him about fifteen yards away, rolling around on the ground. My bullet had taken him in the right side of his chest, judging from the bright frothy blood, it had missed his heart and hit him in his lung. The man was hurt bad, he wheezed air into his chest every time he breathed and he coughed up a lot of blood. I raised my Garand and shot him in the head, destroying a large portion of it.
I darted back into the fight. The Germans were retreating now; we had them on the run. I climbed onto the still-burning remains of the half- track and lay down in the prone position and lined up the sights on the running Germans. I started to pick off all the runners I could see in the night.
The Germans retreated to a point where we could no longer see or catch them. We quickly regrouped to check our losses.
Amazingly, no one from our squad had been killed; the same could not be said for Schaefer's squad. They had sustained three casualties; some of his best men had died.
We couldn't dwell on it; we were depending on mobility to get us to the main force. We recovered their ammunition and moved on, not even having time to dig graves, only mark the bodies with their rifles.
We moved on, trying to be as quiet as possible. Again, one of Schaefer's men had volunteered to walk point. My respect for him and his squad was mounting.
We had been walking for about five kilometers; I was tired from walking over the rough terrain. The sun was just peeking over the hills in the distance. We were walking through a clearing with the same man from Schaefer's squad on point. The shot rang out clear in the air. A puff of steam came out of his chest as the bullet went through.
The man tumbled down and we all dropped for cover. Horn slid forward on his stomach to the man that had been hit. I looked over at where the sound of the shot had come from, but I could see nothing.
Another shot came from the treeline a distance away. The round spanged as it hit the ground, but this time, I saw the muzzle flash from the sniper's rifle. I took aim with my Garand and started to fire. The rest of the soldier around me joined in and all fired a few rounds. The fire trailed off and we held it for a moment, reloading. No more shots came, slowly we stood up. We were already behind on our schedule, so we just marched on.