Note from Kanuro5: It's been a while since I've updated this. I had to scrap two chapters and had writer's block. Also, school has been difficult and the current pandemic has been keeping me busy with distance learning with my students. Anyhow, here is the new chap!

The Scouts III

July 23, D-Day + 47

"Have patience with all things, But, first of all with yourself"

"Man, it still feels weird having Conti gone from the company," Ruby remarked, staring at Mac stirring the stew.

Franks nodded his head, "Yeah, it is. I remember how much he helped me out my first day in the field… Kingsley had just got killed and—"

"Who?" Bachman and Ruby asked at once.

"Kingsley. Max Kingsley," Cunningham answered. "He came in the same day as me and Franks."

"Yeah, Kingsley…" Franks said, "Kingsley just got killed and I was sent out to scout alone for Jerry. Conti comes in and teaches me what's what, never felt safer in my life with that man."

"Hell yeah, he knew his shit well," Cunningham added.

"Course he does, he's Old Army," Bachman told them. "He was with the First at Kasserine, took a bullet or two there as well."

"Yeah, I heard, Hernandez and Lazzano were talking about that," Franks said.

"He took two bullets? Damn, tough man, wasn't he?" Mac grunted, looking up from the stew.

"Tough as they came, Mac. Age wasn't a factor with him," Bach told him.

Franks was laughing, "The Top was ferocious as a lion. When we were on the slope of 1-9-2, I saw a Kraut tackling the Top to the dirt. So, the Top had his Tommy under his arm and blasted the Kraut point-blank with a full magazine as they rolled backwards. He then got on top of the dead Jerry and started punching the snot out of him."

"Seriously?" Mac asked with skeptical chuckling.

"God's truth. He was pounding that dead Kraut in the face."

"Hmm, I believe it, that sounds like something Conti would and could do," Bachman affirmed.

Ruby cleared his throat, "Same here. I heard from Duck that Conti led the charge on that lone port in Cherbourg, even took a Panzer blast and shook it off like it was nothing. That old bastard was as tough as they come."

"Where's he from?" Mac asked.

"Brooklyn," Bach answered.

"Oh, that explains a lot," Cunningham chuckled.

The men laughed together, then raised a cup of whiskey procured by Santiago.

"To Lieutenant Conti, eh? The toughest First Sergeant in the ETO," Ruby toasted.

"To Lieutenant Conti!" they all toasted, then downed the cups of whiskey.

Able Company had been on the hot pursuit for the Panzer Lehr Division and were seemingly getting closer with each day, yet it always seemed that Air Corps would get to them before Able could. Able would pass several landmarks of the regions that were marked by the burned wreckage of German armor and bloated corpses. Able was currently bunkering down for the afternoon after a day long trek to catch the Krauts. The men were resting and relaxing the best way they could, and the Scouts decided to mingle with the rest of the company.

Mac was preparing a stew for Bachman, Ruby, Franks, and Cunningham, using nothing but potatoes taken from a French farm, seasoning, water, sauce from liberated French homes, and meat from the K-rations. Mac swore it was delectable, Bachman convinced the others to taste it, since this was one of the few times he genuinely noticed McMahon being truly excited and energetic about something. He was using his helmet as a bowl and the infantry stove to heat the stew.

"The secret is you have to keep stirring, fellas," Mac smiled. "You can't let the texture get to thick or it sticks to everything. The more you stir, the more stew soaks into the spuds. Also, some pepper and red wine, thanks to Santiago for procuring." And like that, he poured some wine into the stew and stirred it passionately.

"You wasting wine on stew? The hell is wrong with you, Mac?" Ruby remarked.

Mac raised his eyebrow and clicked his tongue, "You say that now… but just you wait!"

Mac was stirring the stew for another minute, then he sampled his meal, and smiled from ear-to-ear. "Oh yeah, she's ready."

He took his helmet and poured the soup into each soldier's cup. They took out their spoons and dug in with gumption.

Mac raised his nose in the air, "Yep. You see why I added the wine? It tastes great, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I'll give ya that," Ruby said with his mouth full.

"Christ. I never thought K-rations would taste good," Cunningham munched.

"Yeah, my sister, Ruth, always loved my stew," Mac boasted.

Ruby's eyes shot up, "Your sister, huh? She seeing anybody?"

Mac's eyes narrowed, "She's thirteen."

"Dammit."

The other GIs laughed.

Toto smiled. He was reclining lazily in the front seats of their Scout Jeep. He had just finished his composition of the five soldiers in front of him, sitting by a stove and eating K-ration meals. He had been stenciling them for ten minutes, and it came out pretty swell. He got the details in their faces with the eyes, noses, lips, and some patches of facial hair. An Able Man would be able to identify these five if he looked at the drawing.

Mac got the stew in his helmet and walked to Toto with a smile, "You hungry, Toto?"

"You bet, let me have some."

Bachman chuckled gutturally and called out to Toto, "I thought a "GI's stew" was too "plebeian" for a Cajun?"

"Only if it's Army-made, Bach! At least, Mac had the good sense of procuring French potatoes, spices, and wine to make this gumbo more délectable."

Mac poured the stew into Toto's mug. The corporal sampled the first bite. "Damn. This is good. Not Lafayette, but damn close. Mmm. You put your foot in this, Mac!"

Mac was blushing. He gave an honest shrug, "Well, I try."

"Well, you succeed."

The men sat there, eating and joking for fifteen enjoyable minutes. Then an officer came knocking.

"Are you Corporal Toussaint of the Scouts?" the officer asked Toto.

He turned around and recognized the officer as 1st Lieutenant Gittens, the man who replaced the old X.O, O'Leary. He rubbed his jaw at the prospect of this man.

"That I be, sir. Everyone just calls me 'Toto', if it pleases."

"Yeah, I ain't calling you that, Corporal," the officer chuckled.

"Suit yourself, sir. Wha'cha need, L-T?"

"Come with me, I need your input on something," Gittens smiled.

"Sure thing. I'll be back, fellas," he told his friends and followed Gittens back to HQ.

"So, Corporal, I know you keep your ears to the ground with scuttlebutt and all, right?" Gittens asked Toto.

"Yeah, I have knack for that, sir. I know quite a number of people."

"So, tell me this, Corporal. Reports have indicated that when the Air Corps was chasing the Lehr Division, they would tally up six confirmed destroyed pieces of armor a day on average. Now my friends back in Regiment told me that they're now getting up to one confirmed tank kill in the past two days. What do you say to that?"

"Uh, perhaps we destroyed a lot of their tanks and they barely got anything left?"

"That could be a possibility, but we're not sure yet. Also, aerial reconnaissance records the remains of heavy armor traffic on the landscape but can only identify medium to light armor actually fleeing. So where is the heavy armor?"

"I see what you mean, sir. That is mighty strange, I tell ya what. But, for what reason are you sharun' this with me, sir?"

"The 29th is hot on their heels, but we need more information on how badly depleted the Panzer Lehr are. Able Company is spearheading the pursuit. So how about we gain initiative and figure out this mystery before we rush headlong into the Panzer Lehr high, hard, and fast ?"

"Sounds fine to me, we can ask the Cap tomorrow and we can get a head start on—"

"No, more initiative than that, Corporal. I want to get going now."

That caused the Cajun's eyebrows to rise, "Y-You said, 'Now'?"

"That's right," Gittens seemed so proud of himself.

"Sir, it's…" he checked his watch, "1845, it's kinda late to be do'un a jeep patrol. The sun will be go'un down in about forty-five… plus, it's cloudy, so less light and that'll mean using the headlights, and that'll increase our visibility…"

"I know, I know. And you're right about that. But just… just hear me out, Corporal. We need to reconnoiter the area a mile out from our position. Since we're on the heels of the Lehr Division, we need to know what we are getting at. If Jerry is bugging out like a bat out of hell, then the best time to leave is during night when the flyboys can't spot them. If we leave now with the light still on our side at this hour, Jerry won't be expecting that. We just need to get some more intel on what the hell Jerry is doing and find out what the reasons are that they're dodging our planes."

"Lieutenant, did you clear this with Captain MacKay?"

"Yeah, I did. He did have reservations, but he ultimately okayed it."

"Huh…" was all that Toto could say. It seemed awfully risky, but if MacKay cleared it…

"To be honest, sir, I'm not a hundred percent on this."

"Noted. But I need you, Corporal. You and your team."

"All right then, L-T. Let's do it."

Gittens patted Toto on the arm, "Good man. All right, take a look here on this map. We can search around here," he said with a point of the finger on the map. "This is the main road heading east; we can stay on this road until we get past this bend over the hedgerow. This was the last area that the Air Corps bombed the division. We mark down the position on the map and we use that to detail how far and fast they travel on average with Able Company. We take note of any further landmarks that go up to 300 meters, any detail we can use to give the Air Corps ordinance."

Toto nodded in agreement. It was clear that Gittens was quite adept in Intelligence, his map reading was solid, especially for an officer.

Gittens looked to Toto, "All right, we got a plan. Now go get your men and I'll see you at the entrance with a radio." The officer then gave the NCO a smile, "That's an order, Corporal."

"Yes, sir."

Toto walked back to his team, who were still palling around with the riflemen. Toto cleared his throat and got their attention, "Bach, Mac, we got ourselves a mission."

Bach stood to his feet, "Okay, what time we leaving for tomorrow?"

"Well, we have a mission now, actually."

Bach and Mac looked at one another. Mac stood up as well, "Now? It's getting dark, Toto."

"Don't I know it. Listen, this came straight from Lieutenant Gittens. Kraut armor is eluding the flyboys, so we need to see what's the reason. We drive down the line and scout out where Jerry is going at night, we follow the main road there and back."

"Oh, uh… all right…"

"I know, I know, but Gittens said he cleared it with MacKay."

The three riflemen stood up as well, with Ruby remarking, "Sure is pretty late for that. And he wants you to take a jeep for a night—er, well, a sundown patrol?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it, Rubes." Toto looked to his men, "All right boys, let's get in the jeep, I'll key you in on the details."

Cunningham spoke up, "You guys do that, Franks and I will alert the sentries to know that you'll be leaving and coming back. To make sure they won't fire on you."

"Much appreciated, fellas," Toto smiled.

Ruby said to the Scouts as he was leaving, "Good luck, fellas, we'll wait for ya on the way back."

"Thanks, Rubes!"

Bachman hopped on the back and mounted the 30-cal machinegun as Mac got in the driver's seat and placed the key in the ignition. Toto jumped into the passenger seat and whipped out the map and marked down details in pencil. The jeep was driving to the gate when Lieutenant Gittens stopped them.

"Whoo!" he exhaled, "Glad I caught you guys before you left. Man, you scouts don't waste a second!"

"No, sir, we don't!" Bach proclaimed proudly.

Gittens heaved the radio in the back of the jeep, "Well here's the radio so we can be in contact with Able."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, make some room, gunner."

"Uh, sir, there's plenty of room for the radio."

Gittens was smiling now, "Not just for the radio, Private. I'm coming with you three as well."

The three scouts blinked in silence; Toto's jaw was slowly dropping.

"What?" Gittens had asked.

"Oh, uh, nothing, sir," Bachman spoke up. "It's just, it's usually just us three who go out. You want to come with us?"

"Well hopefully you don't mind me joining, huh?"

"Uh… no we don't sir," Toto said.

"Good. Cause it's my plan anyway. And even if you didn't want me, I was going to order you anyhow," Gittens erupted into laughter at his own joke.

And that was the end of the argument.

Lieutenant Gittens piled in the back, positioning himself awkwardly beside Bachman. Mac put the jeep into gear, and it sputtered forward to the entrance of Able Company's perimeter. As they were leaving, many men waved off the scouts and offered them good luck in Kraut hunting.

The team have been driving for twenty minutes down the dirt road. Every now and then, they would pass by destroyed German vehicles off the side of the road and blast craters in the middle of the road, courtesy of the Air Corps. There were the occasional German corpses, bloated heavily in the Norman sun. It seemed that Jerry tried to bury their dead when they could, but if they were in a hurry, or if a bombardment was too fierce, they left their dead. The reason it has been taking twenty minutes was because of Mac having to slow the jeep down to avoid debris and the massive craters.

Bachman noticed a tank lying in a ditch, still burning. "Gotta give those flyboys a beer next time I see 'em. They're doing God's work in taking out a Panzer."

"Sad to say, but that's a Stug," Gittens corrected. "Have you boys been noticing a pattern with the dead armor we're finding?"

"Uh…" Bachman droned.

"Sorry, sir, I've been keeping my eyes on the road," Mac answered honestly.

"I have," the Cajun answered. "Ostwinds and Stugs, that's all we've been seeing."

"That's right," Gittens affirmed. "So far, we haven't seen a Panzer or above that was knocked out by our planes. And we know that they just received some Panthers."

"I-I don't get it, sir. What does that mean?" Bachman asked.

"That's what we're here to find out, Private. Two days ago, the recon planes spotted five Panthers and six Panzers, and the bombers took them out, the next day was only two Stugs, and today, we've seen no Panthers or Panzers."

"Maybe they were all knocked out?" Bachman suggested.

Toto turned around with an "I told you so," expression.

Gittens made an immature expression right back at him, he continued with Bachman, "Well… we just have to investigate then."

"Hey, sir, I'm curious, if you don't mind? What did you do before joining Able?" Mac asked.

"Oh, I was in G-2 back at Regiment HQ. I worked on maps and coordinating unit movements. Me and my buds also detailed German casualties, specifically armor."

"And such is why we're here, right, sir?" Bach said to him.

Gittens laughed, "Yeah, pretty much! Colonel Rivers was shaking up the entire regiment to replace battle casualties and Colonel Lincoln came and sat down to ask me about infantry command, and here I am."

"You enjoying it so far, sir?" Mac turned his head and asked.

"Well… it's different. I know, I know. Before you say it, I know being in the field is different from headquarters. I've been here for two days and everything is so different. The men are respectful enough, but I know they're all sizing me up to see what kind of leader I can be. And I won't let them down, I can promise you all that!"

As the dirt road was winding down the countryside, Mac noticed the treads in the dirt leading off to the side and running through the grass. Mac slowed down the jeep, "Hey, guys, the tread marks lead off into the forests."

"Tanks, movun' through a forest?" Bach asked.

"Let's check it out," Gittens said.

Mac gently hit the gas pedal and the jeep moved on smoothly, following the treads off road. The treads took the scouts over a field that was moderately populated with trees. The tank tracks had zigged and zagged across the field with several tracks overlapping the others. Gittens pursed his lips tightly, multiple tanks must have come through and seemingly followed in the tracks of the lead tank as near perfectly as they could.

The tracks led up an incline and continued on for a mile into a forested area that was surrounded by tall trees and thick hedgerows. Mac took the jeep to the edge of the trees where the tracks led into a very large opening. Inside the forest they could hear faint hammering and tools being used, along with commands being issued faintly within the forest.

Toto took out his map and traced the route and circled the location of the forests, "Sounds like they got a lotta Krauts in that forest." He turned around to Lieutenant Gittens, "I marked down the location, sir."

"Excellent. Now we need to drive closer to check out the tanks."

"Uh… excuse me, sir?"

"We need to go in deeper in the forest. We need to know where they're keeping the armor and how the armor is evading our planes, just driving in the forest is not enough."

"Sir, I think we're close enough."

"Look, the sun's going down as well as the visibility, now's the time to dig up some news whilst we still have light. Go in closer, that's an order."

Mac looked to Toto, then to Gittens. Mac nodded and returned his eyes back to the forest ahead of them, "Yes, sir."

Toto was surprised that they were this close without being spotted by a sentry. The jeep pushed forward, driving on up a soft incline. For a forest, the trees were rather spaced out, enough for vehicles to maneuver through. The four-man team had their eyes peeled for anything; Mac kept the jeep under 15 mph. It didn't take them long to notice how the tank treads began to diverge and move down different paths. The German noise was growing louder and louder. Toto ordered Mac to stop the jeep, in the distance, they could see movement. Germans were moving around and digging in, and several Germans were draping something over a massive object which was certainly a tank.

Gittens looked through his binoculars and observed the layout of the tanks. "That is definitely a Panther!" The hull of the tank was draped in a thick green and brown canopy, with a mass of tree branches and vines woven together. Logs were stacked around the body of the tanks, yet unlike the Shermans that had protective log coverings, these logs seemed to have been painted in dark green and covered with leaves, grass, and shrubbery. Beside that Panther were three other Panthers, and 20 yards down were about three Panzer tanks; all of the tanks were drape in camouflage and masked by vegetation.

"So that's how, they're escaping our pilots," Gittens exhaled.

"Camouflage, branches and shrubbery from the trees and hedgerows," said Mac.

"But just because they drape their tanks with foliage doesn't mean they're completely hidden. Our boys should still be able to spot them," Bach commented.

"Yes, but not as many and not as frequently," Gittens affirmed. "They get some of them, but not the pack. And not the juicy targets, either. Yes! This is perfect! Okay, Toto mark this position on the map, also, make sure you mark how many miles out they are from us."

"Got it." He took out his pencil was scribbling in the details on the map, "These Krauts are exactly—"

"Amerikaners!" came a screech.

The four men snapped their necks at the outburst. A German soldier was standing up underneath a tree—twenty yards away from the Scouts—and opened fire with his rifle. Blood shot out of Mac; a second later, he screamed.

Bachman instinctually swiveled the .30 cal to the German and sprayed him down.

The forest was suddenly alive with Germanic shouting. Gittens brought his head down between his legs at the sporadic noise of gunfire.

"Mac!" Toto shouted in concern, checking him over.

"Is he all right?!" Gittens asked.

"Mac, talk to me! You all right?!" Toto asked.

Mac's eyes were wide as a moon. "Oh God! I'm shot! He shot me!"

Toto placed his hand on the driver's shoulder, blood seeped unto his palm. "Mac, it went through your shoulder, you'll be fine!"

"Christ, he fucking shot me!"

Germans were rushing out of the foliage and behind the trees.

Bachman cursed, "Oh shit!" and opened fire with the machinegun.

Then came the distinguishable sound of a tank engine revving up and the heavy clinking of metal on gears. Gittens could see a Panther moving in reverse, its body rotating towards them.

Gittens sprang up from his seat and was patting the driver's good arm frantically, "Drive, kid! Drive!"

Mac groaned loudly through his teeth and shifted the stick into reverse. He floored the gas pedal.

The jeep was speeding backwards with Toto craning his body to look behind the jeep as he steered for Mac. His hands were firmly on the wheel and he narrowly dodged several trees. When there was enough space, Toto yanked on the wheel. The jeep spun around, kicking up patches of grass and dirt furiously. Now facing the edge of the forest, Toto yelled for Mac to shift the jeep into drive.

German small arms fire was picking up in intensity. Gittens could hear the rounds slap off the door to the jeep. The jeep started accelerating forward. Mac's bad arm caused him to swerve erratically every four seconds, and it may have inadvertently been because of this that the jeep dodged much of the small arms. The jeep darted out of the forest.

Mac was wincing hard with every hump the jeep drove over. Toto was trying his best to keep pressure on Mac's wound. Bachman was squeezing off the .30 in a frenzy to keep the fire off of them. Gittens was panicking and shouting for Mac to drive faster.

"Mac, talk to me!" Toto begged.

"Oh God, it fucking hurts, Toto!" he winced.

Toto applied more pressure. This only caused Mac to swerve the jeep more out of pain.

"Give him some goddamn morphine before he crashes us!" Gittens ordered.

"I ain't do'un that! Last thing we want is for our driver to doze off behind the wheel as we're being chased!" Toto roared back.

The small-arms fire died away, the distance between the infantry and the jeep was too great.

A thunderous blast erupted 20 meters ahead of them. The men huddled down in the jeep, the sound of the blast nearly made Mac flip the jeep, yet the weight of the combat vehicle and the timely intervention of the brakes saved them. The jeep served from left-to-right for several moments until Toto assisted Mac with regaining control.

"The fuck was that?!" Toto shouted.

"Oh shit! We got a Panther on our asses!"

Bachman pivoted in the back, his eyes scanning for any Krauts. A Panther traversed the incline, both its cannon and coaxial aiming in their direction. The Panther's coaxial opened up, bullets slammed into the rear of the Jeep as the rounds kicked up the dirt around the wheels.

"Sir, get down!" Bachman ordered, dropping out the turret and diving on the officer. The men could hear the bullets tear through the air around them.

Toto kept one hand on the wheel and the other hand on Mac's wound. He turned around, and the distance between the jeep and the Panther was growing, but the Panther did not give up the chase.

"What the hell do we do, sir?" Bach frantically asked the lieutenant.

"I don't know! I don't know!" he screamed back.

"L-T! Get on that damn radio and get support from HQ!" Toto hollered.

"Yeah… Yeah! You're right! You're right!"

Ahead of them, Toto could see the incline that they took earlier where they left the main road. They were halfway home. All they had to do was go down the decline now, and then back on the main dirt road!

"Mac! Keep your foot on the gas!" Toto told him. "You see that decline? We can outrun that sum'bitch!

"We're going at least 60, the jeep's going to fly off the decline!" Mac groaned in pain.

"Don't care! We're bug'un outta here!"

The jeep was a mere three seconds away from the decline, the men all braced for the jeep to jump; yet the Panther was determined to not let them escape. It's coaxial was firing the whole time, but its main cannon was zeroing in on the jeep. It pre-sighted where the jeep was going to drive, and it fired. The 75mm shell fell a few meters short, but the explosion did its job. The sudden force kicked the back of the jeep just as it reached the cusp of the decline.

The jeep jackknifed.

Everything was hurting all over. Toto opened his eyes and moved his arms, everything was sore. He could taste blood in his mouth and could feel blood running down one of his nostrils. His sleeves were torn, and his left forearm was bleeding from a pretty nasty scrape. The entire world was spinning, and he had a pounding headache.

He looked up and could see the jeep was fifteen yards away from him. It was overturned and was wrecked; the engine was still on, yet sputtering. Toto somehow got to his feet but sank to the dirt in pain with a yelp. His left ankle felt so sensitive, he couldn't put pressure on it. He wondered if he sprained or broke it in the crash.

"Wh… Where's everybody?" he mumbled weakly. How far did the jeep fling them in the air as it flipped? He had forgotten all about the Germans. He even forgot to search for his Grease Gun that had flung out of the jeep.

"Bach! Mac!" he called out weakly. He rose to his feet and hobbled on his bum leg, shouting louder, "Bachman! McMahon!"

"Toto!"

"Bach? Where are you?"

"I'm behind the jeep, man!"

Toto could see something move to its feet behind the jeep. Bach was bleeding from his head, his face was covered in grass and dirt stains. He was trembling in pain; his teeth were grinding together to ride out the agony. He had his left hand buried in his armpit.

"Bach! What happened to you?"

"My hand, my left hand," he replied. He showed his left hand to Toto, the Cajun nearly retched. Three of his fingers were grotesquely broken, the two of the fingerbones were jutting out through the skin, as blood leaked down his palm and arm. The third broken finger was bent to the left in a near 90-degree angle. Toto shuddered hard, imagining Bach landing hand first in the crash, causing his hand to be broken in such a gruesome manner.

"Christ!" Toto shouted, "Your hand! We need to bandage that up, pront—"

"Don't worry about me, man! Focus on Mac, here! You got two good hands; he needs help!"

Toto had finally noticed a body lying behind Bach. Toto moved closer and could identify him as Mac, who was still conscious, but in horrid pain.

Mac's entire mouth was filled with blood. The right side of his lip was cut open, as if someone took a pair of scissors and cut the right side of his upper lip in half. Several of his teeth were bloody and chipped, one of his incisors was out of his mouth and jammed into his right nostril. He had scrape burns on the right side of his face as well. The bullet wound was still bleeding.

"We need to treat him now!" Bach winced.

"Yeah… please help me!" Mac whined.

Toto limped to Mac's side and was scrambling for his med-kit, "Bach, help me out here!"

"I got pressure on it!" he said, placing his good hand firmly on the wound.

Toto removed the syringe cap to the morphine and administered it into Mac's bicep. He took out the gauze and began dressing the wound the best he can. And then it dawned on Toto.

"Bach, where's the L-T?"

"I have no idea!" Bachman stood up and looked around frantically. He even circled around the jeep several times, his eyes scanning the terrain. The visibility was decreasing as the sun was fleeing behind the earth. "Shit! I don't see him anywhere!"

"We'll find him, man! I'm gonna stay with Mac. Look for him, my ankle feels like it's broken or sprained. The L-T may be worse off."

Bach held his broken hand tenderly with the other, he nodded in pain, "I will, Toto. I'll be back, just wait for—"

"Do not move!" came a shout in English.

The sudden command gave all three scouts a jolt. They all looked to their right. At the pinnacle of the incline stood eight German riflemen of the Panzer Lehr Division with all eight rifles trained on the three Americans, and behind the riflemen was the Panther tank.

The three men were still as statues.

Mac was trembling, "Oh God! Oh God!"

"Oh, hell's bells…" Toto groaned.

The Germans moved forward cautiously; Bach raised his hands above his head slowly. Two Germans isolated Bach, three Germans were ordering Toto to back away from Mac in German. Toto didn't speak their language, but he got the message as the Germans motioned with their rifle barrels for him to back up. He stood up on his sprained ankle and limped remorsefully backwards, trying with all his might not to put pressure on it.

One of the Germans was clearly an NCO, ordering all of the other men around. The NCO went from scout to scout, examining their wounds and peering in their eyes. He ordered two of his men to examine the overturned jeep. It took them an entire minute to find all that they needed.

They opened the glove department to find maps and Toto's sketchbook. And ten yards away from the jeep was the scout's radio, banged up but still operational. The enlisted men gave the maps to the NCO, who examined them with enthusiasm. Toto was summoning an inferno of curses within his mind.

The NCO looked at the map, then at Toto. He pointed at all three of them and asked him in English, "Intelligence?"

Toto said nothing, the only sound coming from him was the whimpering of pain in his bad ankle.

The German NCO grunted, folding the map neatly and placed it in his field jacket. He then gave a curt command to his men, and they forced Mac on his feet. He could move well enough, but the gunshot in his side was hindering his movements fluidly.

The Germans pointed their weapons at them. Mac couldn't hide the fear on his face, and neither could Bachman or Toto. All three placed their hands on their heads, even Bachman despite the agony. The Germans forced them into a single file. The NCO gave another short command, and the German squad led the three bruised, battered, and limping Americans away.

"Oh God…" was all that Lieutenant Gittens could mutter in a whisper. He peered his head back down into the bush, he was about twenty yards away from the Germans and the Scouts. When the Jeep went out of control, Gittens was thrown off first and landed behind a thick bush. He came around at the same time of the scouts. He would have raised his voice, but that's when Jerry came and surrounded the scouts.

His carbine was out of cover about ten feet away from him. If he had gone to retrieve it, he would have been spotted and shot. And besides, what could he do by himself against eight men and a tank? Everything had gone against him. He was quivering as the Germans led the men away, their figures growing smaller the farther they went, until all of them went through the thick foliage of German-held territory.

He was all alone. No jeep. No radio. No reinforcements. No squad. And darkness was quickly descending. Just a banged-up carbine with four clips of ammo and his personal map. He stood up; his legs were jelly. He seized his carbine and ran.

"Goddamn it! I-I-I… I'm sorry, sir. But I do not want this man as my X.O. Hell, I don't want him in my damn company!" Gittens could overhear MacKay growling with Lieutenant Colonel Lincoln.

"I understand your anger, Captain, but you will remember who you are addressing," Gittens heard Lincoln reply with a cool air.

"I… Yes, sir… I apologize. My intelligence section was captured in an unauthorized scouting mission! Now the Germans hold intel on our position, our radio codes, and we have little to go on for ourselves. And I lost three valuable veterans in this damn snafu! I do not want him in my outfit!"

"Well that is not your decision, Captain."

"Sir! I cannot have an X.O. in my command that I cannot trust! God knows what the Krauts are doing to Toussaint, Bachman, and McMahon. They definitely know they work in intelligence with all the resources they have in their scout jeep! And since the Krauts were spotted, they may even be retreating even as we speak; so, the information he gathered on their position might as well be useless."

"What do you mean, Captain? You can't trust him?"

"Colonel, I have testimony from men that spoke with the scouts before they left, saying that Gittens had told them that I approved of the reconnaissance and I have done no such thing. He lied to those men and he went out from under me. And for what?!"

"He did, huh…" Gittens could hear the disappointment in Lincoln's voice. Gittens gnashed his teeth in anguish, he wanted to bury himself in the dirt and hide.

It took Gittens an hour and a half to make it back to Able Company. It was dark and he had to use his lighter to see the details of his map. When he reached the outskirts of Able, he was challenged, but windily answered the password and frantically begged to get Captain MacKay. His plight spread through the Company like wildfire.

At least twenty of the soldiers, a good chunk of that number were NCOs, had witnessed four men in a jeep leaving the HQ; and now, only one man had returned on foot. Gittens was winded, his jacket drenched in sweat from exertion and the Norman humidity. He swore the bottom of his feet were bleeding from the sheer torture of running back to Able Company for miles.

Currently, he was outside the HQ company tent; he was listening as if a wayward child was outside the principal's office as his parents were being confronted by the furious educator for the child's misbehavior. But this "principal" was Captain MacKay, and the parent was Colonel Lincoln, who came down around 2200 hours just because MacKay was in a rage over Gitten's idiotic decision. Gittens shivered. He never could imagine MacKay being so furious.

"I want him out of my company, sir." MacKay said firmly. "What he did was reckless, and he didn't even have the spunk to come to me to suggest it! He used my name to rope in my intelligence section and got them captured along with vital pieces of intelligence. He undermined my authority and I lost three good men because of it. Colonel Lincoln… I will not have a second-in-command like this in my outfit. God forbid, I have to leave Able and leave him in charge? No. I want, him, out."

How did he manage to fuck this up so badly? He wanted to surprise everyone with his abilities for intelligence gathering. If he came back with a way to catch the Panzer Lehr, then everyone would be look up to him as a fine infantry leader for seizing the initiative when he saw it. Yet he fucked it all away. He flew too close to the sun… Toto, the veteran, didn't want them going deeper into the forest… But no, Gittens refused to listen, and now those three men… God knows what the Germans will do to them…

What's worse was that he couldn't even hear Lincoln's reply, or if he gave any. Would Lincoln make him leave the infantry and go back to Intelligence with his tail tucked? Would he be demoted? Would they throw him in goddamn stockade?

A man walked by the tent, Gittens recognized him as Corporal Walter Blackwell from 2nd Platoon. As Gittens peered into the face of the veteran, Blackwell scowled with the intensity of a blistering inferno. Gittens lowered his head in shame. By now, all of the company had heard of what he had done. The men were preparing to sleep in their foxholes, but all those at the Company HQ that passed by him either completely ignored him or gave him the glare of the Gorgon. He overheard two NCOs walking past him grumbling loudly that they lost two great leaders in O'Leary and Conti, and now they were stuck with Gittens. He could feel the hatred of the entire company washing over him, and he wanted to drown.

This was supposed to be his moment to shine, to gain their trust. But now, he had lost their respect, their love, and his authority, forever. Not that he ever had any of that since he arrived two days ago. He wanted to cry. He wanted to disembowel himself for his blunder. So many emotions raged inside of him. He wanted everyone to know how sorry he was, but no amount of apology could ever make up for his error.