The Scout II

July 6, D-Day + 30

"Be brave. Take risks. Nothing can substitute experience."

The entire 29th Division was moving down the road south in terrific haste. For the last four hours, the men of Able Company have been crammed inside supply trucks that bounced and shook every so often as it sped down the rough dirt road of France. Morale was rising among the men, there was a very nice breeze going which reduced the humidity of Norman summer considerably, the Germans were on the run, and these foot soldiers actually had the luxury of traveling by truck instead of killing their feet walking.

Leading the convoy of Able Company was the HQ jeep holding MacKay as the passenger, Conti in the backseat, and MacKay's personal radioman, Fats taking up most of the room in the back with Conti. Fats had been wounded in Cherbourg from a German bullet to the shoulder, but had returned after he was treated four days later.

The radioman checked his watched and asked his CO, "Sir, I have question I would like to ask."

"What is it, Middlebrook?"

"I was speaking to Sergeant Spencer the other day—"

"Oh boy, here we go…" Conti said with a roll of the eyes.

"As I was saying, I spoke to Sgt. Spencer the other day, and since we're moving south into France, he figured that we would probably be fighting the Vichy soon."

MacKay turned around in his seat, "He said the 'Vichy' huh? Why did he say that?"

"Because Vichy is in the south sir and the Germans need all the men in Normandy they can get, sir. So why not the Frenchies? So sir, what I'm asking is, are we're going to be fighting Frenchies, sir?"

MacKay sighed, and scratched the back of his neck, "No, Middlebrook, we're not. We're going after the Germans. But if we do meet any hostile French…. Well, if they shoot at us, then we shoot back, Middlebrook."

"Just like that sir? Not even going to conceptualize a way to differentiate between Frenchies?"

Conti wiped his crusty mouth, "America, England, and Canada landed their armies right in their country, ya think any sane Vichy Frenchmen will be chantin' 'Heil Hitler' when we're approachin'?"

"I don't, Top. It's just…I'm not here to kill Frenchmen, Sarge. I'm here to kill Germans."

"Well hate to break the news to ya, Fats. But you're here to kill whoever the Army says you need to kill to aid in the war effort."

"So as liberators we're here to kill the countrymen of the liberated?"

"They ain't countrymen anymore, Fats. They're collaborators. And apparently the French Resistance are shootin' any bastard they suspect of collaboration. So don't feel bad to kill one if they shoot at you."

MacKay added, "Some French sided with the Germans completely. I even heard of a French SS unit fighting on the Eastern Front, Middlebrook."

"They're French in the SS? I thought those were strictly German units, sir."

MacKay shook his head, "Uh-Uh, as big as the German war machine is, they need all the manpower they can gain to fight across the world."

"Yeah, a lot of luck that's doing for them now," said Conti.

Coming from off road to the left was a jeep, speeding up to them. The troop truck behind the Captain blared his horn at the reckless jeep, gaining the attention of the men from the HQ. The speeding jeep drove up next to the MacKay's jeep, sticking to the off road yet having speed to keep up to MacKay's jeep.

The Jeep was armed only with an M1919 Light Machine Gun, mounted on a pintle at the center of the vehicle. The jeep only had two seats, the driver and the passenger. The gunner had to either stand most of the ride or sit awkwardly in the back of the jeep. The jeep held three occupants inside; the driver, the passenger, and the gunner.

"Salutations, suh!" The passenger of the jeep said, saluting MacKay with a smirk.

The Captain squinted his eyes in confusion, but saluted nonetheless. He noted the chevrons of a Technician's Fifth Grade on the passenger's sleeves. "Hello, Corporal. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, suh. The Colonel assigned us three from regiment down to your company, suh."

"Assigned to us, why? What did the colon—" MacKay recognized the machine gunner on the back of the jeep.

"Hold up now, Bachman? Is that you?"

The gunner smiled and waved enthusiastically, "How you doing, Captain? Feels great being back with Able, sir!"

Conti smirked, softly saying to himself, "Son of a bitch."

Fats waved his hand at Bachman, "Hey, Bachman! You're back? For real? That's great!"

"Yeah, and I have the colonel to thank for that, Fats!"

Private First Class Nathaniel Bachman was an original of Able Company who was wounded on Omaha as the Company made the charge to the shingles; he took a machinegun round to his hip. He laid bleeding in the sand as the rest of the Company climbed the bluffs and captured Dog White. He was evacuated back to England where he was treated and recuperating. His hospital time wasn't so bad when he had Able buddies like Terry, Brisbane, Smitty, Duhaney, Sandy, and Adams. Yet when Terry went AWOL to rejoin Able, Bachman knew he had to as well. Unfortunately, as he disembarked back on France, he was caught by several MPs who were catching AWOLs at the beach. They threatened court-martial, yet Bachman claimed he would do anything to get back to Able. Fortunately, Colonel Rivers was nearby and overheard someone speaking of Able Company…

"And next thing I know, the Colonel said I'm with these two now and I had to report to you, sir," Bachman finished explaining.

"Alright! Now it's a party with Bach back." Fats laughed.

"Welcome back, Bachman." MacKay smiled to him. He turned to the driver of Bachman's jeep, "Driver, what's your name, son?" MacKay shouted over.

"Sir! I'm Private Gerald McMahon, sir!" he said, trying to look over at the officer and keep his eyes on the road.

"But I'm going to call him Mac for short," the passenger of the jeep said with a smile.

"And what's your name, Corporal?" MacKay asked the passenger.

"The name's Tom Toussaint, at your pleasure, suh!" The passenger said with a smirking nod. "But you can call me "Toto" for short, suh. Everyone just combines the two letters from my first and last name, suh."

Conti scrunched his eyes. "Uh…'Toto'…like the little dog?"

"Exactly right, Sahgent. Exactly right."

"Who are you all supposed to be?" MacKay asked.

"We're your scouts, suh. Us three and this jeep, here! Here are our orders, suh."

Toto handed MacKay a folded letter straight from Colonel Franklin Rivers—the Commanding Officer of the 116th Regiment—citing these men to be formally attached to Able Company. MacKay remembered receiving word that the organization of the regiment was going to be shaken up with new changes to each individual company roster. Yet he wasn't expecting something like this. Three official scouts, and one of them was a returning wounded from Able.

Conti rolled his eyes in disbelief. "This is what you all will be scouting with?"

"That's correct, Sahge." Toto replied with a smile, a smile which was beginning to annoy Conti. "It's faster than infantry, if we engage the enemy, we got the .30 up here, and surprisunly, the mechanics back at the motor pool jerry-rigged the enjun to make it purr when we reach low speeds, enablun' us to git closer to Jerry."

"You Cajun, son?" MacKay asked.

The man's tooth-filled smile grew. "Yes suh, I am! I also can speak some very good French if I do say so myself."

Conti asked, "What filthy backwaters alley of New Orleans you crawled out from, Corporal?"

Toto looked hurt. "Why, Sahgent…you offend me. Goin' on about that all Cajuns hail from New Orleans, ha! I am from the good ol' city of Lafayette, Sahgent."

"Never heard of it," Fats said with a shrug. "Only two cities that anyone knows about Louisiana are New Orleans and Baton Rouge."

"If such is true, then they must be plebeians such as yourself."

"The hell is a plebeian?"

"My point, thank you very much."

Bachman sighed with a cringe. "Captain, please don't make me stay in this jeep with this man. I'm back in Able now, can't I return back to my platoon, sir? Please?"

"Unfortunately, Bachman, you're staying in this jeep, Colonel's orders apparently." MacKay exhaled, finishing the letter. "You're still in Able, Bachman. But you have a new job to do, understand?"

"I…yes sir…"

MacKay turned to the passenger, "I take it you're in command, Toussaint?"

"That I am, suh."

"You must have orders other than to become acquainted with me. Or else you wouldn't have driven crazily through this convoy just to meet me. What are your orders?"

"Right, suh. The Army Corps is movun to St. Lo, but the only way to go there is across the River Vire. Now the only way we can cross the River Vire is at this town, St. Fromond, where we're all headun' now. We have very little intelligence to go on, so the Colonel is hoping we scouts can change that."

"Alright, then. Go on ahead, reconnoiter the area and report back to me what you've found. Understand?"

"Yes, suh!"

"Good luck, gentleman."

"No need for that, suh. I got luck tattooed on my back, suh!" He turned to the driver. "Let's go, Mac!"

Mac stepped on the gas and the jeep accelerated on ahead.

Conti called out, "Don't get shot this time, Bach."

The armed jeep cruised down the dirt road at 55 mph, the sights of the lush Norman countryside that ran parallel down the road was but a dull environment to the occupants. Bachman was keeping a wary eye out on their surroundings to spot any German that could possibly hide within the green vegetation. Mac had his eyes glued on the dirt road, keeping his hands at 9 and 3 on the wheel, growing ever more nervous the farther they drove away from the rest of the Army. The only one in the jeep seemingly without a care was Toto, humming a composition piece to himself with a smile as he was looking at the local map of the area.

Toto broke the silence. "Hey, Bachman?"

"Yeah?"

"It seems that the men of Able call you, 'Bach', such is your nickname, right?"

Bachman rolled his eyes, "Hey, Toto. What's French for, "No Shit", huh?"

Toto shrugged with his hands up and turned around. "I'm just tryun to be civil, Bachman. If we are going to all work together, might as well be civil, right? Mind if we call you, 'Bach' as well?"

"Uh, no, I guess. It's no skin off my nose."

"I only ask because such is an interestun name. Do you know why 'Bach' is famous?"

"Yeah, he was some Kraut composer right?"

Mac cleared his throat, "His full name was Johann Sebastian Bach, and he was one of the greatest composers in history."

Toto turned to the driver with a smile. "Very good, Mac. It's truly a wonder to meet a connoisseur."

"A conno-what?"

Toto sighed, "Never mind. How have you become acquainted with Bach, if I may ask?"

Mac kept his eyes on the road, "I lived in Iowa, alright? A city that ain't that big compared to other cities out there, Ames. When the stock market crashed, I was forced to live with these German neighbors of mine, the Schneiders, they played all these pieces of Bach during the day, especially Mrs. Schneider, her favorite composition was Bach's Magnificat in D major. God, she played that all the time and I never got tired of it. It was something else, listening to that nearly all day long. Those were good times back then."

"That was nice of those Schneiders to culture you so."

"What about you, Toto? What did you use to do back before the war?"

"I draw. I was very good in my sketches and could sketch nearly anything; people, vegetation and even animals. And when I enlisted, I was drawing maps because of my artistry. I…I actually wanted to be a cartoonist, y'know. Like for the Funnies. Or maybe do something like Mauldin and work for Stars and Stripes."

"Any ideas for a project?"

"Yeah, it's about these people who can breathe underwater…th-there like, uh…hard to describe, like fish people who have to survive these humans trying to fish for them."

"What's the title?"

"…Uh…it's a work in progress…"

Bachman sniggered, "Hmm, A Work in Progress, doesn't have that right ring to it."

"Alright, asshole, be like that."

"So if you were in intelligence, then how come you out here, huh?" Bach asked.

"Because I wanted to. The division was tryun' to reorganize after Cherbourg and they needed volunteers to try out for several new units and scouts. I done made my case about my surveyun' skills and map making skills and before I know it, I'm a scout. Also, I wanted to do some fightun', ya know? Being within the sight of the enemy and dodging mortars and bullets. You know what that was like, right Bach, you were there on D-Day."

Bach sighed, "Trust me, it's not as exciting as you think it is. It was horrible out there…"

Toto turned to the driver. "You know what it's like being in the sight of the enemy right, Mac?"

Mac cleared his throat, "Uh, well…I haven't, really uh…"

"Wait, you've actually never seen combat?"

"No! Alright?! Is that so damn hard to believe? What about you? You ain't seen any fighting."

"Relax, son, ain't that serious a question. And I have seen some. Sort of… I was supposed to be in the first wave of the invasion, but by the grace of the Heavenly Father, the motors to our landing craft had done stalled as soon as we left the ship. So we got new crafts which came in with the third wave, which I believe had rightfully spared us from that horrible fight. We got to the beach, we got mortared, and attacked with machine guns, but it had eased up considerably by the time we came ashore, and we survived that morning. I never had the pleasure of firing my weapon on Omaha. Where were you on D-Day, Mac?"

Mac sighed, "Back on the ship watching the attack. The general I was with… he didn't get on the beach until after the fighting was done. And neither did any of his staff. Including me. I swear I'm one of the few Twenty-Ninthers to be here since the Invasion and not be in combat. "

"Stop the jeep."

"I'm serious, Toto. I'm pretty sure that I'm—"

"No! Stop the jeep!"

Mac placed his foot on the brake and the jeep slowed to a stop. "What is it?"

Bachman stood on up and swiveled the machinegun from side-to-side, "Germans?"

Toto was studying the map, "Not quite...we're a quarter of a mile from St. Fromond. Driving any closer will get us spotted."

"We're that close?" Mac asked, failing to realize the soft layers of panic in his voice.

"I'm surprised we didn't meet any resistance." Bach said to Toto.

"Me too, and that worries me." Toto sighed and folded his map up. "Well, we are scouts, correct? I'm goin' to do some scoutun'. But we can't just leave this jeep in the middle of the road, so…Mac, would you kindly pull us into that section of woods to the left?"

Mac stepped on the gas and the jeep accelerated softly into a green patch of woods that had enough trees and hedgerows to obscure the jeep from any eyes that were walking or driving down the road. As soon as Mac parked the jeep and killed the engine, Toto smiled at him gentlemanly, "Thank you kindly."

Toto hopped out of the passenger seat, he first did some stretching, then returned to the jeep and grabbed his M3 Grease Gun, his pencil pack and notepad from the glove department and shoved them into his satchel; all while humming a Baroque composition from Johann Bach.

Mac was completely puzzled. "Uh, Toto…what're you doing?"

"I told you, I'm goin' scoutun' on the town. Orders, ya know? I go out to the outskirts of the city and record and draw what I see that aerial recon can't make out from up on high. Bridges, troop movement, emplacements, armor, artillery, etc. Don't know why you're askin' this, Mac?"

"Why not just use the jeep?"

"It's a difference between scoutun an outpost and scoutun a town that's held by at least a company of Germans. Discretion on foot is needed when a motor is not."

"Will you be safe?"

"If I'm quiet I should be, though it wouldn't hurt too… Actually, on second thought, you're comun' with me, Mac."

"WHAT?!"

"Ya heard me. Get your rifle from the back and come on."

"B-B-But I'm the driver, I'm not supposed to be fighting. I'm the driver!"

Toto showed his chevrons. "But I'm the corporal. I want you to get some experience, Mac. Don't worry, the jeep's in good hands."

"And you're leaving me here, huh?" Bach asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Well I mean, you're experienced, Bach. And you have a machinegun and you're concealed."

"But you think it's wise taking the driver away?"

"Well you know how to drive, correct?"

"I do."

"So if trouble happens then hop into the driver seat and drive, the keys are still in here."

"Yeah, got it."

"C'mon, private, get on out."

"Why do you need me?"

"In case I run into trouble, I may need some backup. And since you're inexperienced…well let's say I'm here to help ya pop that cherry. Now git on outta there."

Mac's legs were shaking as he exited the jeep. He seized his M1 Garand from the back of the jeep, and stood uncomfortably with it.

"I sh-sh-shouldn't be doing this, Toto!" Mac stammered. "I'm the driver!"

"Ya told me already. You ain't been in combat and if we're going to work together, then I need ya to know what it feels like to be in the thick of it. Got me?"

McMahon turned to Bachman, who shrugged at him. "Don't look at me. Toto's right on that regard. Just go with him, man."

"Okay, okay," Mac said softly, psyching himself up. "Okay, okay, okay, I got this, right?"

"This is nuts!" Mac said softly, holding his Garand close to his chest as he crouched behind some shrubs. He could feel the sweat from his palms soak into the rifle stock. "I'm not supposed to do this."

"Yeah, this must be your first time scoutun," Toto whispered. "You're not supposed to be up here talkun' son."

"I told you, I'm a driver, not a fighter!"

"You joined the Army."

"I was drafted!" he replied in a hoarse, yet audible whisper.

"Whatever. Must be the wrong time to ask, but have you ever fired that weapon, Mac?"

"O-Only at Basic."

The Cajun sighed, "Well, such is better than nothun'… why you so scared? You're a driver of a recon team. You drivun into danger always."

"There's a difference between driving someone to a dangerous location and actually walking into said dangerous location where you can't move as fast."

"Whatever, Mac…c'mon now, follow me and keep your eyes out."

The two men kept low, moving slowly at a crouch until they reached the outskirts of an abandoned small scale farm that held a large farmhouse, two tractors, a well, and a stable.

"This farmhouse, this space…this will be a great place for HQ to be during the assault." Toto declared.

"L-Looks em-empty."

"I think it is. C'mon we need to get closer to the town."

They moved to the edge of the shrubs past the farm, keeping their heads low and eyes open. Toto removed his notepad from his satchel and placed the tip of his sharpened pencil against the white paper ready to sketch or jot down whatever he saw.

The town of St. Fromond was astride the Vire River. The river was high yet had narrowed out of its banks and in Fromond it was approximately 45 meters. Far enough where grenades couldn't be thrown across, yet close enough for rifle, machinegun, and mortar fire to be exchanged. The only point of entry into the town was a bridge that ran in the north. The long bridge was separated in two points, the first was from the mainland connecting the first bridge to a small island in the middle—big enough for about fifty men to stand on—which connected to a second bridge directly to St. Fromond. Toto's pencils moved with fluidity as he traced the landmarks. Yet it was this disturbing landmark of the village that bothered him the most. Since this bridge was the only way into the village, it meant that it would be heavily defended by the Germans. In fact, several two-story houses were very close to the bridge, probably about 30 yards away. Just place two machine guns in the opposite houses and a few snipers and a mortar squad by the court yard and an invader could forget about launching an assault across the bridge. This bottleneck was brutal. They would lose close to 40% of their men just to cross it, and that's not counting the tanks that he could hear rumbling within the town. If Able was going to assault this town, then may the Heavenly Father keep a side for them in heaven.

"That's…actually a good sketch you got of the layout," Mac said, leaning over Toto's shoulder.

"Yeah…" Toto smiled, "I know. But the layout isn't the only thing that we need."

"What else is there? Let's get the hell out of here before the Germans spot us."

"Listen, scout, g'on and think now. You hear that creakun' metal in the distance, that gas exhaust sighun. What do you think it is?"

"It's uh…creaking metal, I heard that a lot with the General…uh, wait! Shit, Toto those are tanks!"

Toto smiled proudly, "Exactly! You're using your brain now. They're tanks in that town, they can be StuGs, Panzers or Tigers for all we know. But we won't know and Able Company won't know unless we investigate. C'mon now and keep low."

They crawled on their bellies closer to the outskirts of the bridge, still keeping to the bushes. Toto took the binoculars from his neck and peered through them.

"What's in there, Toto?"

The Cajun cartoonist exhaled, "Nothun' good. I see…three Panzer IVs moving throughout the square and infantry… a lot of infantry. Based on their uniforms…good God, they're Panzergrenadiers."

"Wait, 'Panzergrenadiers?' That's bad isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. And I'm looking at their uniform pattern right now. Hmm…they're possibly SS. This most likely means elite." Toto returned to his notepad and began writing. He kept speaking to Mac, "Which means that Able is going to have a hell of a time in there tomorrow. Not only do they have to cross that murderous bridge, but they got tanks waitun' for them, high-quality infantry and God knows what else. They could be hiding more within the town and beyond."

"Jesus…"

"Yeah, I know." Toto folded his notepad. "We can't go to farther without being exposed, this is good enough. C'mon, let's head on back."

Bachman checked his watch. The two of them had been gone for twenty minutes now. He was sitting in the jeep, resting his back up against the machinegun while chewing on a stick of gum, his eyes roaming around the French woods. He could hear the birds chirping melodically within the hedges, almost as if trying to soothe him with a lullaby. He had been awake since 0330 and his eyes had begun to strain in the serenity surrounding him. He closed his eyes for a moment, he just need a quick rest.

He awoke when his head slumped too far down, sending his helmet to fall of his head and bounce on his lap. He checked his watch again. The two of them had been gone for thirty minutes now. He placed his helmet back on and yawned. He then noticed how quiet it became. The birds had suddenly fallen silent. He could hear the crunching of dirt not too far away from him.

He brought his head up. The noise was coming from the road, beyond the hedgerow.

The sun shined through the foliage of the man-size hedgerow, he could see the bobbing of steel grey helmets moving towards the town.

He counted six helmets, all close together in what seemed to be a column formation. He spat out the dry gum onto the grass and stood behind the .30. He cursed himself for not noticing the soldiers sooner and prayed that they would just keep moving.

"Huh? Was ist das?" came from the other side of the hedgerow. The grey helmets stopped moving. They began moving closer to the hedge, seemingly trying to peer through it.

"Damn it!" Bachman thought to himself. Where the hell was Toto and Mac when he needed them? Half an hour and they're still not back? What if they were captured? His eyes fell to the ignition which still held the keys inside it. Maybe he could hop in, start the jeep, and get the hell out of here…? No, if he moved, the Germans would see it and open fire as he struggled to start the jeep. And even if he got away with the jeep, was he really going to leave Mac and Toto behind enemy lines? Like hell he could do that. Maybe he could hide, behind the jeep? No, the Germans would spot the jeep and investigate it. He wouldn't get far at all.

Such choices left only one option that came into Bachman's mind. His index finger snaked around the cold trigger. He squeezed it.

The machinegun rattled and kicked with heavy force.

The thick slugs punched holes through the hedgerow, snapping off branches. The six helmets dived behind the hedgerow, all of them screaming in utter surprise. Bach could hear them blabbering in their language, he cursed himself; the recoil was stronger than he imagined, he knew he failed to hit even one of them.

He could pick up muzzle flashes from the other side of the hedgerow, and could hear the bullets from the Germans clanking off of his jeep. He kept firing, praying that if he couldn't kill one of them, at least he could get them pinned.

He kept up the fire in nice controlled burst of 10 – 15 rounds. As his finger released the trigger after each burst, he could feel his right hand growing numb from the constant vibrations of the machine gun. He fought through the numbness and kept on firing at the hidden Germans he knew were still out there.

He had to reload. He reached down and fetched a canister of ammo, and as he rose to fill it, he caught the sight of a German rising from past the hedgerow on his right. The bastard must have been crawling away to flank him.

C'mon! C'mon! His fingers were fumbling with the ammo as his mind raced on that one German lining him up within his rifle sight. The German rose to one knee and leveled his rifle at Bachman. Bachman had just slapped the opening to the machine gun down and pulled back the bolt.

The German shifted his attention away from Bach and suddenly fell to his stomach and covered his hands on his helmets. A stream of bullets cracked around that German, but the German was able to crawl backwards into safety. Bach tracked the sound of that gunfire that came to his left. Coming out of the hedgerow to his left was Toto, firing his Grease Gun at that German. Toto dived to a prone position, still keeping up his rate of fire.

Behind him, Mac crawled through the foliage, and timidly squeezed the trigger of his Garand, and slowly began squeezing off more shots with growing confidence, until his clip ejected.

Bachman opened fire again, shouting over to Toto, "C'mon! C'mon! Get over here now while I got 'em pinned!"

The Germans on the opposite hedgerow redirected their fire to Toto and Mac. Bullets snapped off pieces of vegetation over Toto and Mac. Toto hollered, "T'hell with that! You come to us!"

Bachman realized what he was talking about. The jeep was too far out in the woods, if Toto and Mac moved forward, they would be exposed to German fire.

Toto continued. "Bring it over here! We'll cover you!"

"Oh shit!" Bachman jumped from the back and into the driver's seat. He twisted the keys and the jeep sputtered to life. Two German bullets tore into the passenger seat and ricocheted off the dashboard. Bachman said a final curse and drove over to the two scouts, the pinging of rounds bouncing off the jeep followed him.

Toto squeezed off a solid burst from his Grease Gun, as he strafed to the jeep. He yelled to McMahon, "Mac! Get on the .30!"

"B-But I'm the driver!"

"Hurry, man! Now!"

Mac threw his M1 in the back and awkwardly climbed on the back of the jeep as if he was a toddler trying to climb stairs.

Toto jumped in the passenger seat. "Bach, let's go! We got more Krauts on the way! Let's go!"

Bachman floored the gas. The tires kicked up dirt and grass, trying to gain traction, and sped forward in a burst.

"Fire, damn it! Fire!" Toto ordered.

"The gun's already loaded and cocked, Mac. Open fire!" Bach called back.

Mac was screaming with adrenaline as he squeezed out a singular long burst in all directions that he believed the Germans were. The rounds flew everywhere. Cracking off the solid elm trees, sinking into the mud several yards away from the Germans, and some even went straight into the sky as Mac swiveled the MG in all directions. Yet none had hit a single German.

Seeing the jeep getting away, the six Germans rose to their feet—no longer suppressed—and opened fire at the . Several bullets even hit the rear tire. The jeep nearly spun out of control, but Bach reined it in with skill. Mac nearly tumbled off the back, but clung on to the machine gun pintle as if he was a child holding on to a parent's leg.

They drove away.

"Holy shit! Holy shit! Oh my God…holy shit!" Mac kept saying over and over. His heart was beating out of his chest. "Jesus…w-we almost freaking died out there!"

"Yeah…but we didn't." Toto sighed in relief.

"Good God… oh boy. Hey Toto, was that the 'action' you wanted?" Bachman asked, he too was panting as well.

"And more! By God, what a thrill! This fuckun beats sittun down and drawun maps all day."

Bach gave him an expression of worry. "Y-You're serious?!"

"Yes, I am. That was great!" He turned back in his seat, "What did you think, Mac?"

"Holy shit. Oh my—holy shit…"

"See?" Toto said to Bach, "He loved it too."

"Whatever. Let's head back to the Captain." He exhaled. "Oh sweet Lord I wish I was back with the platoon… Hey, Toto, please tell me y'all got what you needed?"

Toto opened his case and pulled out the drawing, smiling. "Yes we did, Bach." He added the finishing touches of the bridge to the town blueprint. "Yes we did."

"Oh my God… Hey Bach, Toto, we almost freaking died, ya know! Holy shit…"

"But we survived, Mac." Toto reassured.

"All in all, that could have gone better…" Bachman said.

"Yeah I ain't gonna lie, it could have," Toto said with sincerity, "But this was our first outtun' as a team. But we're experienced now. Next time, something like this won't happen again. I can guaran-damn-tee you that."

Mac finally caught his breath and asked shakily, "Yeah?"

Bachman smiled assuredly, "Yeah."

Author Note: I made a minor change to the Jeep unit in having three occupants instead of just two, the driver and the gunner. It's minor but I made the change because i believe I can do more with three characters with two and in a practical point that if either the driver or the gunner was killed, then the passenger could replace them.