The Engineer II

July 16, D-Day + 40

"I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity."

Saint-Lo wouldn't fall in a day of Able Company's arrival. This is now Day 3 of the constant fighting of the 29th Division within this demolished French city. Progress has been slow. Most units are only able to gain 100 yards a day. The Germans have hidden snipers and MG emplacements within the ruins and rubbles of buildings, their AT guns placed behind junctions and alleyways to catch American armor unaware. Artillery has seemingly done little to soften up the defenders, and only creates more debris for them to hide and defend in.

1st Platoon of Able Company is on the verge of encircling the ring of the German defenders yet has ran into fierce resistance from the entrenched and hidden foe.

"C'mon, Smith. Hurry up with that strap!"

"I'm trying, Birch. I'm trying! Hey, Sarge, hold still please!"

"Hurry up, my gramps can piss faster than ya two could put this thing on me!" T/3 Mercer impatiently groaned. God… I hate wearing this thing!

Private Horace Smith looked at his section leader, "Uh, Sarge? Are you sure you're the one who has to wear this?"

"I am, kid. It has to be me."

"But I could wear it, Sarge."

"Not you, you haven't been properly trained and I have more experience. And Birch is so skinny with the back of an old woman, it'll snap him in half."

"Hey! Not an old woman's, and old man's back. Get it straight, Mercer!" T/4 Birch muttered.

Mercer chuckled lightly, but his mood soured once more as he felt the strap tighten around his shoulder. Every time he wore this, it felt heavier and heavier.

He took off his helmet and draped a towel around his head, then placed the helmet on. It was the middle of July in humid Normandy. He was already hot, but using this thing would be downright scorching. He pitied those Marines who had to use one of these in the 110-degree jungles of the Pacific.

A scout jeep drove its way into the Able Company HQ, careening its way to a stop in front of the three engineers. Toto leaned his body out of the jeep, "Hey, you bums ready? Cap want's it, now!"

Birch finished fastening the last strap "All right, we're good!"

"Flamethrower, ready!" Mercer told.

"Thank Gawd! All right then, all three of ya hop on and squeeze yourself behind Bachman in the back. We're going to the front!"

"Okay. Smith, don't forget the case of AP for the machinegun, bring that along too."

The three men hopped in the back of the jeep, packed tighter than sardines; Bachman himself was having trouble just staying balanced on the mounted .30 cal as the jeep sped along.

"So, what's happening?" Birch inquired from the Cajun.

"Well, it's like this. Able Company is tryun' to flank around the German HQ from the West and East, while Dog Company is trying to bust right down through the German line at the center. Alas, Jerry has brought his A-game, he ain't tryun' to give up a yard of ground to us."

Bachman looked down on them, "We heard that 1st Platoon ran into a tough fortification and they need some, literal, firepower."

"Indeed, a shame Jerry doesn't give up, we have this city surrounded. All right, Mac, give her some gas!" Toto told the driver.

"On it! Everyone, hang on!"

The engineers looked out on the passing terrain of Saint-Lo. From what they witnessed across every street, every building had a wall that had been blown away, a rubble of debris standing six feet high, no green vegetation to small blades of grass to large trees were left in the city, for everything was brown and black. Mercer had wondered if this city once looked beautiful before the ugly talon of war clawed its way into this settlement.

The jeep came to a sudden stop, Toto yelled for the engineers to scramble out of the vehicle. Smith was the first to get out, and he had to help pull Mercer off the back. The three men quickly scurried behind a demolished wall. Toto told them to head west for 30 yards and they'll rendezvous with Captain MacKay; or, to just follow the sounds of the wild firefight.

As the jeep was driving away, the engineer squad could hear Toto cheering them, "Burn them outta their ratholes, fellas!"

Indeed, the engineers could hear the furious exchange of American and German gunfire to the west, and they scampered along as quick as they could down an alleyway, arriving within 1st Platoon's position. Captain MacKay was busy yelling commands into the radio attached to Fats' backpack while Lieutenant O'Leary was ordering his platoon around to best deliver effect fire unto the dug-in Krauts.

MacKay placed down the receiver as Mercer approached him. "Captain, I'm here with the flamethrower! What's the problem, sir!"

An antitank round exploded into an adjacent building; all the men fell to their knees.

"Okay, I can take a guess," Mercer moaned.

MacKay extended a hand and pulled him up to his feet, "Glad that you can, Mercer. And good job bringing up the flamethrower. Listen up, we're pretty close to taking this city, but Jerry ain't having it. If Able can take this intersection, then we can properly encircle the Kraut HQ in the middle of the city and cut off all retreat from the Krauts! But we ran into a tough obstacle, follow me."

The Company Commander and the three engineers peered out from the side of their cover. The men of 1st Platoon were firing down a long stretch of a street, their target was a large, formidable bunker that stood brazenly a hundred yards down the street. Parked beside the bunker was an Armored Car, firing its 20mm shells into the covered ranks of 1st Platoon.

"See that bunker?" MacKay asked.

"Hell yeah, that thing is massive!" Mercer responded.

"That bunker has an MG42 directed down the street, making it hard to approach."

"A Crocodile would be a good idea in this situation, sir," Mercer commented.

"We tried using a Crocodile flame-tank to take it out, and it made some great headway, but the Germans had an AT gun inside the bunker, and it blasted the flame tank."

MacKay pointed in the distance, the engineers could spot the burning and scrapped hull of a Crocodile. Mercer used his binoculars and noticed a long barrel of a cannon protruding out of the aperture.

"And that's the thing that just made that large blast, huh? Is that thing an 88?" Mercer asked.

"We don't think it is," O'Leary told him, "It's smaller, maybe a Pak 40."

"At least it ain't an 88." Mercer's sight fell upon the deceased crew lying scattered around the tank.

"What got the tank crew, sir?"

"The MGs in bottom floor of the candy shop that's closer to us, adjacent to the bunker."

Mercer saw the store MacKay was talking about. It was a one-story sweets shop that housed a MG42 crew inside, and the store itself was halfway between the bunker and the contingent of 1st Platoon, lying 50 yards out from them. The MG was spraying everywhere, determined to keep the Able men in their cover.

MacKay continued, "So not only are we pinned down by the bunker, but we're also pinned down by the MG42 on the first floor and an Armored Car. And to make it more of a challenge, they got that Armored Car protecting the approach to the bunker."

"How did you plan to take out the Armored Car, sir?"

On cue, Sergeant Paine of the machinegun section came along, "Did you bring the AP rounds for the heavy machineguns?"

Smith handed them to Sergeant Paine, "Right here, Sergeant."

MacKay looked at Mercer, "These AP rounds can penetrate that vehicle. Thing is, we need to make sure that the Armored Car commits and drives on forward. If it gets closer to us, we can use it as a momentary defilade from the MG fire from the candy shop and bunker."

"Sir," O'Leary interjected, "to get that thing to commit forward, it would need a juicy target for it to come up."

"Or perhaps, a bright ball of fire, that'll get its attention," Mercer remarked.

Both officers looked at him, Mercer's eyes went wide at his own suggestion. What the hell, Adam?! Why on God's fucking earth did you volunteer yourself for?

"Mercer, you're going to lure it out? You sure?" MacKay asked him.

NO! I'm not sure about this! Ignore my dumbass comment! Yet he couldn't say this aloud, a phantom force of pride kept him from blurting this out. Something kept him from admitting his cowardice. "Yes, sir. I am."

"How the hell are you going to do that?" O'Leary asked him.

Question of the year… Mercer leaned out and examined the terrain. The street was rather open and had few places for cover. There was a large impact crater directly in front of the candy store that held the MG inside. That could give him some precious cover. But how to get from here to there?

The street was surrounded by many buildings running parallel of one another. Each building also had a gap of separation of 5 yards from one another that led into various alleyways. If Mercer could zig-zag and run in a slant from alley-to-alley, then he could have a chance.

The lead engineer explained his plan to the Captain. With accurate covering fire, he could make a dash for cover until he got close enough, but since he would be a big target, some riflemen, maybe two guys would be better to accompany him.

O'Leary turned around, spotting two men, "Lazzano, Franks, I got a job for you two!"

"And you're not forgetting about us, Mercer." Birch said to him.

"Huh? You guys are coming too?"

"You're our Sergeant," the young Smith replied.

Birch tried to lighten the mood, "Besides, I got twenty bucks on you if that flamethrower breaks your back. And I wanna see that happen."

You guys… you crazy guys… Mercer looked to his men, "You two, stay right on my ass!"

MacKay looked on at the five men, "Listen well, you five stand by the corner and wait for my command. Hope you all had played football once. When that '42 in the candy store has to reload, make a slant to the corner of that building about 10 yards. The Armored Car will hopefully come forward and we can neutralize it with AP rounds. After that, keep on slanting and zigzagging until you reach the candy store, where Sergeant Mercer can burn out the Jerry inside. Once that's done, slant forward again until you get close to the bunker to use the flamethrower. Once each obstacle is knocked out, we'll bring the platoon up closer to assist. Understand? "

"Yes, sir," they all said.

"Good, take positions."

The five men stacked up behind the wall with Lazzano's BAR in the lead. Mercer held the grip on his nozzle tightly, was this last-minute plan of his going to work, or get them all killed? Of all the times to open his mouth for a plan, and for all the times for him to be wearing this goddamn flamethrower.

The constant firing from the MG42 inside the candy shop suddenly quieted.

"They're reloading. Go, go, go!" MacKay announced.

Sergeant Paine's machinegun squad started firing furiously at the candy shop. The rest of the platoon started firing as well. The five men took off in a slant as fast as they could. The riflemen duo were the first ones to cross the ten-yard slant, followed by Birch and Smith, but Mercer's pace was slowed by the giant weapon strapped to his back and was the last to arrive with bullets snipping at his heels.

He moved as quickly as he could. He could feel the jellified gasoline swishing-and-swashing in the tank. What he hated also was that wearing a cumbersome 70 lb. firebomb on your pack made one stick out like a cow among pigs. Many snipers and machinegunners took out flamethrowers in an instant if they spotted one. With that heavy tank on his back, he might as well have been running through tar, he was that slow. And God help the flamer who had his backpack shot.

Mercer had been around the Army for a while and heard all kinds of stories of what happened when a flamethrower's fuel tank was rupture. Some say if a bullet hits either of the tanks, the flamethrower explodes in a great ball of fire. Some say if a bullet only hits the gas tank, nothing happens. Others say if it hits the nitrogen tank, then nothing happens. Some say the tank won't explode immediately if ruptured, but as long as the operator doesn't pull the trigger on the nozzle, then he's fine. Some even say it depends on what ruptures the tank, a bullet from a rifle won't cause it to explode; but a bullet from a machinegun, a flare, or mortar shrapnel could cause a tank explosion. Mercer heard it all, and didn't care which was truthful or not. In the Army, everything is true, and everything is a lie. He just hoped that nothing would ever rupture his fuel tank.

Mercer made the corner with bewildered breath; Mauser rounds had nicked off chunks of bricks from the edge of the corner as he passed by. God damn it! Of all the ideas I had to come up with…

The engines of the Armored Car were firing high, the engineers could see the Car speeding forward, particularly at them.

"Uh, I think that car saw your flamethrower, Sarge," Smith unnecessarily announced.

"As big as this thing is, it ain't hard to miss!"

The vehicle started spraying the wall they were covering behind with its 20mm cannon with audible thunks! Sizeable chunks of wall were exploding near their bodies, Birch was screaming through his teeth from the wicked fury of the gun.

"Christ! That thing is gonna kill us!" he cried out.

Bravo, Adam! You found a grand, stupid way to get yourself killed!

"Maybe we should leave?" Smith yelled out, covering himself on the ground.

"Not yet! We need to wait for Paine's machinegun to disable it!" Mercer told them. A round penetrated the wall, mere inches from Mercer's helmet. The engineer nearly soiled his trousers.

"Well what the hell is taking him so long?!" Birch countered.

The eight-wheeled Armored car came into maximum effective range, Paine glared at the speeding death-wagon. It passed the 50-yard mark and sped on pass the candy shop. He uttered to the gunner "Dunlop, is that weapon loaded with AP?"

"It is, Paine!"

Paine pointed at the Armored Car, "Then turn that thing into Swiss cheese!"

Dunlop squeezed the trigger, the machinegun spurted balls of fire that slammed into the Armored Car. After five continuous seconds of firing, holes were beginning to appear in the front hull; the German vehicle began veering off to the left lazily, and came to a stop in the middle of the street, with its back engine emitting black smoke. The car did not stir again.

Lazzano peered out from a bullet-hole made by the vehicle, "Paine knocked that bastard out. Let's go!"

The five-man squad sprinted out from behind the wall, dashing directly for cover behind the disabled Armored Car. Several rifle rounds cracked off the edge of the vehicle, but all five men were safe. Mercer's breathing was growing more erratic, he hated carrying a flamethrower, but he knew he was the one best suited for the task.

"So, what now, Sarge?" Franks asked Mercer.

"How far are we away from that crater by the candy shop?" he asked.

Franks leaned out the corner for a brief moment before retracting his head. "I'll say about ten yards. It's a straight shot from here. Only problem here are the Krauts!"

"All right let me think! Uh… I'm gonna need the two of ya riflemen ta pour some concentrated fire on that shop from the right side of the vehicle! Birch, Smith, that goes for you two as well. You four fire on from the right, and I'll swing by the left of this Kraut car ta get into the cover by that crater. Once I'm in, Smith, you'll follow me in, capiche?"

"Yeah, we got it," Lazzano answered.

The Americans gun roared against the German ones, and Mercer swiveled around the corner of the disabled vehicle. His eyes were on the large crater in front of him. He was so close. He heard a metallic ping come from his right side. He thought one of the tanks had been punctured. But he looked lower, beside his hip, spotting water suddenly leaking from two spontaneous holes in his canteen.

"Shit!" he cursed in surprised. His feet were moving faster. He was so close to the hole that he recklessly dived like a football player scoring a touchdown. He landed hard within the rough crater, the 70lb flamethrower brought his body down with extra force, his chest felt bruised from the sudden impact.

He groaned as he recovered, but now he was safe in the crater, his target only a few yards away from him. He heard Smith dashing for the crater as well; but as he neared the border, Smith abruptly dropped his submachinegun and squealed, twisting as he fell into the crater.

"Smith!"

"Oh Lord! Oh my God!" Smith squealed. He rotated his upper body and placed his hand on the back of his lower body. Blood was on his palm when he brought his hand back.

"Jesus, Mercer, I'm hit! They got my legs!"

Oh God, not now… Mercer awkwardly crawled on all fours to get closer to Smith. He pressed Smith down firmly on his stomach and started looking him over.

Mercer breathed a bit easier, "It ain't ya legs, kid. They shot ya square in the ass."

He looked up suddenly, "My ass?"

"Yeah, feel it."

He reached behind his back once more and could feel the blood clearly leaking from his rear end. "My God, they really hit me in the ass…"

"Yeah, ass shots are the best ones to get if you had to take a bullet. Just remem—"

"Grenade!"

Mercer blinked out of his stupor as Smith shoved him aside with surprising speed and strength. Mercer saw what he was rushing for. Smith picked up a German grenade that was three feet away from Mercer, and quickly lobbed it forward into the air. Both men covered themselves, the grenade exploded quite a distance in the air.

"You alright, Sergeant?" Smith asked him.

The Brooklynite nodded, seemingly lost for words. Damn, when did this replacement become so dependable?

"That potatomasher came from the candy shop ahead of us!"

Mercer's head peered from the rim of the crater, the MG on the bottom floor was in effective range of the flamethrower. The barrel of the MG swiveled directly on him; Mercer fell back in the crater right as the first bullet was fired. The raking of the rim was sending dirt down on Mercer.

Come on, riflemen! Give me some suppressing fire!

Mercer turned to the wounded man, "Smith, turn it on the valve to the flame, now!"

Smith groaned in pain as he leaned over Mercer's back and turned the pressurized nozzles on the fuel tanks. He slapped the sergeant's shoulder twice, "All right, you're good!"

Mercer gently squeezed ignition trigger at the front and witnessed a small, harmless flame jut out. Everything was working efficiently. He pressed his teeth tightly, now… now it came the part that he dreaded.

Lazzano's BAR and Franks' M1 rounds were bouncing off against the brick layout of the shop, Mercer could hear the audible change of fire direction of the MG42 and how it switched targets from him, over to the guys by the Armored Car. A fatal mistake, that would cost these Krauts their lives.

Mercer inhaled, then stood tall within the crater, gritting his teeth as he aimed his nozzle at the entrance. He squeezed the ignition trigger first which emitted the flame, and then he squeezed the gasoline handle. A stream of gasoline coursed through the hose, and when the gasoline met the harmless flicker of fire at the entrance of the nozzle… Fwooooosh.

A massive jet of flame shot out of the nozzle with great force, the intense blast of heat smacked Mercer in his face; he could feel beads of sweat coursing down his cheeks, his nose and his eyebrows felt like they were roasting, yet they were not burning. He could feel the nozzle and the hose vibrating from the rushing jelly, forcing its way out. He counted to two in his head and released the trigger. After the fwoosh died away, the sound was replaced with horrendous screaming.

The bottom floor window was engulfed in bright orange flame. Black smoke was jutting from the broken windows. And within the enclosed inferno, Mercer could see three figures utterly wreathed in flames flailing wildly, hollering their death cries as they ran in circles. Christ, the smell of gasoline mixed with melting flesh… is that what happens when you place Man into an oven? If pork and beef smelled wonderous if they were on grills, then how come Man smelled differently when they were burned? Perhaps, perhaps Man was never meant to be cooked in this capacity? And those screams, a squealing pig about to be slaughtered had more dignity than human beings did when they were alight.

Mercer's bottom lip was trembling. It was a horrible job, burning people to death, but somebody had to do it. But he fired another burst at the entrance, just to be sure. These Germans were people too, but they were also Krauts. Krauts who took pleasure in their discipline, tanks, defensive capabilities, and artillery, and who took pleasure in killing the servicemen of the Allies. The only way to overpower them and emerge victorious was from brute force; be it air support, naval support, artillery support, armor support, or even the flamethrower, overwhelming strength was necessary to overcome a dogmatic foe.

Mercer ducked back inside the crater; his eyes focused on the inside of the building. Two of the figures finally stopped screaming and collapsed, the last one kept running around for ten more seconds before he fell silent as well.

Smith, who couldn't see the effect of the weapon, looked to Mercer, "Oh my God, listen to how they're screaming…"

"Yeah…"

An H-E round from the Pak 40 in the bunker thundered the ground causing both men to jump a few centimeters from the force of the explosion.

"I think the Krauts are targeting us now!" Smith said.

Mercer found his voice, "Don't I know it. The flamethrower is a giant bullseye on my back, and that flame I shot was brighter than any Fourth of July firework."

As if to hammer in the message, automatic fire raked the rim of the crater. The two suppressed engineers hunkered deeper in the hole.

"We gotta get to that bunker!" Mercer told Smith.

"How the hell are we going to do that, Sarge? We're pinned, and all I can do is crawl with my wounded ass!"

The engineers heard the stomping of boots from behind. Birch, Franks, and Lazzano jumped into the crater.

"Nice work, Mercer!" Lazzano said.

"Yeah, the rest of the platoon is moving up!" Franks added.

"Oh God, what happened to Smith?!" Birch said.

Smith was wincing, "They shot me in my ass, man!"

"Your ass?" Birch ripped open the bloody hole in the trousers. "Oh damn, they did!"

"Is it bad?"

"Hold on… uh… the bullet didn't go through the front of your leg; it seems it just ripped opened your right ass cheek." Birch opened his canteen and pour water on the wound and administered sulfa. "Son of a bitch, I think you got a million-dollar wound!"

"What good is a million dollars if I can't never sit on a john correctly again?"

"Save it, you two," Mercer told them. "We need to figure out what to do now."

Lazzano looked to the head engineer, "We still got about 50 yards of open street to cross!"

"We're halfway there, though."

Lazzano looked to his assistant, "Franks, leave the ammo for the BAR here. I'll stay with Smith and lay down some fire. You escort the engineers forward, understand?"

"Yeah, I got it, Laz. But how are we going to get close?"

The sound of a Browning machine gun erupted from behind the men, followed by the popping of Garands and Carbines. Behind the squad, 1st platoon had moved up considerably, with the heavy machinegun section residing in a building and firing down from the second floor. O'Leary was waving for them to move on up as the platoon drew the bunker's fire. This gave the men courage.

"C'mon, let's slant!" Mercer said.

Birch had to help pull Mercer out of the crater, while Franks was already halfway across the open street. The three men ran to the cover behind a building in the corner of the street, they waited thirty seconds, then ran a 15-yard slant behind another building. Closer and closer, they were moving.

They took one more slant towards another crater that was 20 yards away and directly in front of the bunker. The three men reached the crater safely but were then suppressed by the incoming fire.

"Okay, we're as close to the bunker as we can get!" Franks announced. "Now what?"

"I got an idea," Birch mentioned, pulling out a grenade.

Mercer looked to him, "There ain't no way you can lob that pineapple into that opening!"

"I know, I don't play for the Yankees. The grenade goes off close to the opening, the crew is stunned momentarily, you use that time to get close. Got it?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I think I can draw some fire off of you," Franks commented, "I'll dash off to the right side of the bunker."

"Kid, you sure about that?" Mercer asked.

"I am! The longer we wait, the worse it gets!" Franks took off out of the crater, rifle bullets seemingly follow his every step. But Franks did his job and lured the fire away from the crater.

Birch pulled the pin from his grenade and heaved it as hard as he could at the bunker. It landed three free from the cannon itself.

"Go, Mercer, go!" Birch urged on.

Mercer climbed out of the hole, in plain view of the cannon. Mercer could see within the aperture, the Germans actually pointing at him and the cannon directing itself towards this brazenly stupid engineer. Then the grenade went off, the black dust and dirt obscured their line-of-sight. Birch unleashed a full clip from his M3, directed at the aperture of the MG42 crew in order to suppress.

His buddy just gave him a grand opportunity that he was determined not to squander. Mercer had to get a good shot on those shells, if they could just overheat…

He leveled his nozzle against the barrel of the jutting cannon and squeezed both triggers. A long beam of white gasoline shot from the nozzle, surrounding the beam on all sides was the orange blazing fire. The flame leapt a great distance, penetrating the aperture as globs of fire splashed against the rims of the opening. He could hear the screams from the crew within. Keep going, Adam. He released the triggers, didn't want to use up the entire cannister. He walked a few more feet and gave the cannon another shot of fire; this time, walking slowly as he was firing. Smoke as black as coal was funneling out from inside the bunker.

A wicked explosion erupted within the bunker; the cannon had burst into a brighter fury of flame with the sound of screeching thunder clawing on metal. Mercer dropped to his stomach, listening on to H-E and AP shells igniting and exploding randomly within the bunker. All firing coming from the bunker ceased, replaced by the panicked hollering from the occupants within. He could only imagine how brutal the concussion from the shells must be from inside the bunker.

How deep does that damn bunker go?

He could feel that his fuel tank was getting emptier, he had to make this work. He sprang to his feet as quick as he could and rushed to the main entrance of the bunker, "C'mon, Birch, we're almost done!"

Franks was already there, squeezing off shots inside the entrance. His M1 bandolier ejected with a ping and he began to reload. At the moment, two Germans sprinted out of the bunker faster than lightening, panicking from the pandemonium within.

Surprised by the sudden alacrity of the enemy, Mercer yelped and jerked the triggers in response. Orange fire mixed with gray and blackish smoke leapt out of the nozzle, engulfing the fleeing men in a titanic blaze. Sweat from his forehead slipped into Mercer's eyes, the searing heat from using this weapon was damn near unbearable.

The foremost German who ran tripped on his own feet in agonized terror. The flames stuck to his uniform and his flesh, darkening both and singeing all the hair on his body. He flailed and flopped madly like a fish out of water, all the time hollering to the heavens. The second German behind him had a suit of fire on his body, he too was screaming; but unlike the first man, he was still running directly towards Mercer, unaware of any sense direction from the burning pain all around his body.

Mercer wanted to fire another burst on instinct, but his common sense stopped him. Firing at a target this close to him would inevitably danger himself, but he couldn't just let a man on fire run into him either. A few yards away, an M3 unleashed a burst that dropped the flaming man into a silent corpse. Birch came running along and nodded to the stupefied Mercer, Birch targeted the flailing enemy on the ground and pumped ten rounds into his torso, and quieted him.

The two Germans laid there as burning bonfires, their frying corpses emitting a nauseated smell.

Franks looked on unblinkingly, his mouth hung low in shock. Birch saw him and said, "Hey, kid! Get your eyes on the bunker in case more come out, okay?"

That shook Franks out of his trance, "Uh, yeah, yeah… yeah!"

"Hey, Birch, thanks." Mercer said.

"No problem, man."

Franks placed his rifle down and grabbed a pineapple from his jacket. His hand clasped down on the spool and his finger was wrapped tightly on the pin, he looked to Mercer to see if he was ready for the old "Nade & Fire" maneuver. Mercer held out a steady hand and told him to wait.

Mercer was ten yards away from the entrance, he told Franks to back up a considerable distance. Once the replacement did so, Mercer fired a quick burst of fire at the harmless corner of the entrance, making sure the flame wouldn't leap inside the bunker.

He told Franks to get back into position, as he himself stood three yards on elevated ground from the entrance of the bunker. He gritted his teeth and screamed as loud as he could.

"Get outta there! Get the hell outta of there! Or I will burn all of ya alive! Kommen sie hier! Kommen sie hier!"

He could hear them jabbering in German, and he readied his nozzle and prepared himself for the awful, inevitable smell of burning flesh and demonic screaming. Then, someone threw their rifle right out the door, then followed by a machinepistol, and then a handgun.

"Nicht schiessen!" someone in there shouted out.

"No fire! No fire! We give up! We very give up!" one of the Germans bellowed in broken English.

Oh thank God… "Hey kid, tell the riflemen to cease fire, Jerry's surrenderin!" Mercer ordered.

Mercer kept his nozzle trained on the doorway incase they were deceptive. Franks was waving his arms and yelling for everyone to cease fire.

The men of 1st platoon approached with their weapons aimed on the entrance. Staff Sergeant Fischer approached closer with his Thompson at the ready, "Get out of there! Kommen sie hier! Kommen sie hier! Get out of there right now, goddamn it!"

A German shouted out, "Nicht schiessen! Please, nicht schiessen!" Followed by twelve German soldiers exiting the structure in a single file, their hands high above their heads.

MacKay came behind Mercer, patting him on the back, "Great work, Mercer! You did it."

Mercer nodded modestly, "Ain't a problem, sir. Had a few close calls though."

"That you did, but you came out on top. And so did 1st Platoon, thanks to your efforts, Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir."

As the Germans walked out, they stared at Mercer's weapon; some of the soldiers shuddered in fear, others gave him damning glares of disgust. He didn't blame them. Mercer envisioned if he himself was in a bunker trying to ward off German assaulters, then out of nowhere, streams of fire suddenly shoot inside, two men are suddenly engulfed in flame and are screaming their lungs out, and then it gets harder to breathe. And as you're choking on the black smoke, the smell of gas and burning flesh are filling the air, more jets of fire are shooting into your bunker which eats away at your oxygen, and there's nowhere to run or hide, except one place, the entrance where the fire is coming from…

Ten minutes had passed after the bunker was cleared. 1st Platoon had advanced on in order to encircle the city, as the engineers remained near the bunker to prepare to replenish their supplies and ammunition. Conrad had stemmed the bleeding from Smith's wounded behind, the young man was wincing the entire process on the green stretcher. Mercer and Birch looked down on him with amused smirks.

"Of all the ways to get it, you get it in the ass," Birch shook his head.

"Hey, it's the best way to get it, I suppose," Smith said, forcing a smile.

Mercer handed Smith a smoke and lit it for him. "Odds are, you won't be seeing us. With a wound like that, you just may head on home."

The lit cigarette dangled from the young man's lips, "Really?"

Conrad butted in, "Perhaps. The bullet didn't simply go through your buttock and make two holes. The entry was so close to the surface and peak of your buttcheek, it tore the top layer of flesh nearly in half. Think of a knife carving a watermelon rind horizontally."

"Wow," the young man remarked, "I'm going home."

"Maybe," the medic countered, "You'll need to see what the surgeon says."

Mercer chuckled, "If it ain't serious, don't hurry up and rejoin us. Take your time and recuperate, kid."

"And if it is serious, do enjoy some stateside action, Horace."

"Thanks, guys. I mean it. Thank you, Sergeant Mercer and Sergeant Birch, for everything you taught me."

"Well, you listened to what we said, that's why you're still alive."

Conrad patted Smith on the back and told the men to pick up the stretcher and take him back to BAS. The men hoisted him up and walked him away. Smith leaned up from the stretcher and waved at the veterans, "Later, fellas!"

Both men waved back, Birch responded with a grin, "Take it easy, kid!" Once Smith was out of sight, Birch mused, "Well, there goes another one…"

"Yeah, what was he, the fourth or the fifth Smith we had?"

"I think he was the sixth. Remember Gerald and Wally back on D-Day?"

"Yeah, you're right." He lit a cigarette and dragged on the smoke, "But this Horace, fella, he got balls, I'll give 'em that."

"Yeah, he did."

"And he was seventeen, right?"

"Yeah, he was seventeen. First Smith we had that actually was wounded and survived."

"Yeah, good for him, eh? Couldn't happen to a younger or nicer kid."

"Right. And that's why you didn't let him use the flamethrower, eh?"

Mercer looked over at Birch, whose mouth was tight and his eyebrow raised. "Thought I didn't notice? I know, Mercer, I'm thin as a twig and that thing will snap me. I get it. But Smith, for as young as he was, he was a bigger guy than me."

"It had to be me, Birch."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He gave a chuckle that bordered on a scoff, "Bullshit."

" 'Scuse me?"

"Bullshit."

"The balls on ya, Birchie."

"You didn't want to give him the flamethrower. Why?"

The staff sergeant squatted and spewed smoke from his lips, his eyes locked on his subordinate, "It ain't right."

"What?"

"It ain't right for kids to be on the front, roastin' men alive like weenies. It ain't right."

"Really…? Huh… didn't think 'Mr. Brooklyn' was getting soft on replacements."

Mercer chuckled softly, "Whatever, Birch." He looked to the right, "Do ya think Smith could have been the cause of that," he pointed at the two charred corpses of the Germans that ran out of the bunker, the bodies had flies swarming around them, "and still have functioned on?"

Birch was quiet.

Mercer continued, "Ya saw that kid, Franks? Ya saw his face when they were burned right in front of him? And he didn't even pull the trigger on the flamethrower. Ya think Smith could have done that and still have been the same after?"

Birch sucked on his teeth, "No…"

"No, he couldn't have. We're engineers, our first priority is to fix and build, fighting is our absolute last priority. And somehow, we've been granted with the most terrifying small arms in the Army arsenal… this is something infantry should be doing, not us. I've seen engineers who came to the Army with the purpose of avoiding combat, and when they take a life, their performance shuts down. And if that shuts down," Mercer stood up, his eyes focused on Birch, "then everything falls apart. And I won't have that in my section, Birch. I won't."

"But you're different?"

"I am, and so are you. This ain't our first backstreet brawl. But they keep sendin' us kids, buncha softies that the Army ain't efficiently broken yet. If they were told that they need to drop their hammers and torches and pick up Garands, most of them would crap themselves. How would you think they would react with holding flamethrowers? Birch, in a world where we shoot and stab our foes—something that can be quick and silent sometimes, and you can go back to eating your meal—it takes a special kind of person to be able to walk up to their enemies, close enough to see the white of their eyes if they had to, and be willing to burn them alive. Alive and screaming... And once you do that…"

Mercer took the last drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke in the air, then flicked the butt onto the charred German. His eyes came back to Birch, "…the old you is gone forever…"

Mercer walked away.

I tried to combine both real and game aspects of the flamethrower used for this chapter, to my personal feeling the range of the flamethrower in Company of Heroes is ridiculously short, compared to the true M2 Flamethrower. To see a more realistic example, check out Men of War: Assault Squad, the flamethrower's LEAP across parts of the map.