Note from Kanuro5: They just released the teaser trailer for Company of Heroes 3, am very excited about it because it's covering the Italian Theater, a theater which isn't touched upon much in video games. Enjoy!
The Rifleman II
August 6, D-Day + 61, 2350 hrs.
"Judging is giving too much value on the surface and missing the value beneath."
Sergeant Chaim Hirsch could not believe how hard the Germans had pushed his platoon back.
2nd Platoon was initially stationed on the northern base of the hill with the Company CP behind them. They were dug in, but the Germans kept throwing platoon after platoon at them. After the third platoon assault, the Germans brought in their armor, 2nd Lieutenant Peck called for them to fall back to the hill slope. Once they got on the slope and into their defensive trenchworks and foxholes, the Germans attacked, even managing to send a tank up there. The tank hit some landmines used to protect the hill, and it blew; but a second tank came up, which made Peck order the withdraw once more, to actually move back to the hilltop.
Now 2nd Platoon was all the way at the epicenter of the hilltop, the platoon pushed back, and with a German Panzer and a platoon strength of German intruders now on the hill. Hirsch was fuming mad.
This was his first time in combat with his new company. After being wounded on D-Day, Sergeant Hirsch was forced to fill the ranks of this battered division. He could acknowledge the 29th Division fought hard on D-Day and through its campaign, but he knew that this relatively "new" division couldn't hold a candle next to the "Bloody" 1st Division, a veteran division that had two years of combat experience, in which he was with since North Africa.
Currently, he wasn't impressed with his new unit, particularly, "the veterans". They weren't fighting aggressively enough, they gave up too much ground to the Germans, especially that Lieutenant Peck. Was this lieutenant weak? Just like most of the other junior officers that he served under. Once the Germans started turning on the heat and started fighting harder, Peck ordered them to fall back. Now, the lines were broken, and 2nd Platoon was in the middle of Hill 314 with a tank breathing down their faces. This was bullshit, they were riflemen, they had to hold the line and fight whatever came their way. And perhaps, the most brutal twist of the knife came on a personal matter, that he was forced to fall back from the Germans. Him, a Jew. Hirsch didn't even want to believe what would happen if the Krauts captured him alive…
As of now, 2nd Platoon occupied the interior trenches of the summit, right behind them was Able Company's triage center. If they got pushed back even more, then the triage would fall, and the Krauts could completely overrun the company on the hill. It was bad enough at first with a select few infiltrators running around the hill, but now, 2nd Platoon was staring down a wounded Panzer with a platoon of Germans reinforcing it.
Though it was dark, Hirsch's eyes were trained enough to spot moving outlines in front of him. He leveled his M1 rifle and fired twice, dropping a German twenty-five yards away. His clip ejected with a ping. Hirsch dropped back in the trench to reload. Next to him was seemingly the only other man in the platoon that was as competent as he was, Corporal Walter Blackwell.
The tank was limping slowly towards them, firing its bow gun at any American muzzle flashes. Its heavy treads shook the earth, and its creaking metal was near deafening.
Blackwell leaned back in the trench to reload, "How the hell is that thing moving?!"
"That mine weakened it; but it didn't cripple the bastard! We just got lucky with the first tank!" Hirsch yelled to be heard.
"If they keep this up, they're gonna roll over us!"
"I know, damn it! We need to make a move!"
Not too far from the two NCOs, were the Platoon Leader and Platoon Sergeant of 2nd Platoon discussing a plan of action.
"That tank's weak, but it's still getting closer, along with the infantry, sir!" Sergeant Duck elaborated.
"I know, Hudson! I'm trying to think!" Lieutenant Peck countered.
"We can probably take that thing out if we had stickies, but we're too far to lob 'em effectively, sir!"
"You're right, Hudson! We need a bazooka!"
"That's right, sir! I called on Burke a while ago to go fetch it, where the hell is he?!" Hudson stuck his head out of the trench, then turtled it back in once he drew fire. "I swear to God, he better not be hit…!"
And like that, Private First Class Burke was dashing forward from the rear, carrying a bazooka tube and ammo bag over his shoulder. He was close to reaching the trench, when a burst of automatic cut him down, Burke fell flat on his face.
"Damn it!" Duck cursed.
Hirsch saw it all. None of the "veterans" made a move. Not Sergeant Hudson, Corporals King or Terry, or the other men of the "Second Platoon Nine", Saywell, Hefferman, or Lovett. All these men were useless.
If you want to do something right… "I'll go, sir!" Hirsch shouted.
Peck pointed to him, "All right, Hirsch, go get it!"
The sergeant turned back to the corporal, "Hey, I need some assistance with the ammo, Blackwell!"
"Fine, I'm right behind you!"
Hirsch and Blackwell climbed out of the trench amidst the gunfire. They had to lie prone to avoid being cut down like Burke. The two men crawled towards the dead man and reached him. Despite not really liking his new company, Hirsch did feel uncomfortable stripping things off his countryman.
"Sorry, man!" he said quickly, but sincerely, to the deceased. He yanked the ammo bag off Burke's arms and tossed it to Blackwell. The sergeant seized the bazooka, awkwardly slinging it over his back, they then crawled back into the trench.
"How many rounds?" Hirsch asked with an exhale.
"We only got two…"
"Oh goddammit!" Hirsch cursed. "Fine, hurry and load the bazooka."
Hirsch grabbed the bazooka and looked down the sights. The bazooka was able to penetrate armor effectively at 50 yards, he was at 20. But even in the dark, this was too close. He was going to be spotted as soon as he fired it. The tank was moving slowly, sporadically firing its HE shells into the ranks of 2nd Platoon, a few calls from the medic were being ushered.
Hirsch felt Blackwell slapping the back of his helmet, "Back blast clear! You're good!"
Hirsch knew a bazooka couldn't reliably penetrate the front or side armor effectively of German armor. So, he picked the next best target. He squeezed the trigger.
A bright flash went off in front of him, followed by an even brighter star jutting forward at insane speed. Once the rocket hit the metal, a sudden flash emerged, followed by the booming of the explosive.
Hirsch couldn't see shit from the darkness and smoke. He knew he hit the treads, but was it enough? Blackwell didn't give him time to wait and see. Blackwell seized the sergeant by his shoulders and forced him to the bottom of the foxhole, shouting, "Get down!"
Both men sunk to the depths of the hole, immediate cracking of German bullets pummeled the rims of the hole. From bolt-action to automatic fire, it was a firestorm above the nest of the trench, Hirsch knew it would be, the smoke from the bazooka was bright enough to see, even through the darkness.
The infantry around the tank had targeted the two, but Peck ordered 2nd Platoon to return fire, drawing the intense fire off of Hirsch and Blackwell. The loud creaking of the tank had ceased.
Both men popped out of the trench, but they couldn't see if the treads were truly destroyed, but the tank had indeed stopped moving forward. But its turret was still operational.
"Load it again!" Hirsch said.
Hirsch leveled the bazooka against the side of the hull. Blackwell shoved and wired the last rocket. Hirsch fired it again, the bright star slammed into the Panzer, rocking it hard. It sounded like a heavy blow.
Sergeant Duck rushed to the two men, "Good work on nailing it!"
"Yeah, but I think its still in the fight," Blackwell replied.
Duck looked to him, "Remember Cherbourg and how we took out that tank, permanently?"
Blackwell shook his head with a grin, "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill."
"What are you two talking about?" Hirsch asked.
Through the darkness, the hatch of the Panzer opened up, the commander came out trying to escape. The rocket must have penetrated and caused a small fire, that was most likely the only reason the commander would open the hatch to his immobilized tank. The rifles of 2nd Platoon opened fire, the commander awkwardly fell off the tank and slammed onto the ground and didn't move.
Mounting the tank was extremely dangerous and should only be done if there were no anti-tank weapons to use. It could only work on a few conditions: if the tank was immobile, the hatch was open, and if there was no enemy infantry in the immediate vicinity to shoot off the mounters to protect the tank. The first two obstacles were eliminated, now they had to worry about the third.
"Suppress the Krauts!" Peck ordered.
The riflemen began laying on fire at the Germans near the Panzer. Hirsch leveled his M1 against the top of the trench and began squeezing off shots. Since the tank was disabled, the Germans slowly began pulling back from the immobile armor. Blackwell stormed out of the trench and dashed straight towards the front of the Panzer. Hirsch was expecting the bow gun to eviscerate the corporal, but the gun didn't erupt.
It was kind of difficult to see, but Hirsch could make out what was happening. Blackwell discarded his M1 against the tank and drew his sidearm. With that in hand, Blackwell started climbing the front of the tank. He would have had an easier time if he climbed the side but doing so would have exposed him to the German infantry. Blackwell wrapped his arms around the cannon and propped himself up on the Panzer turret, he was inching his way closer to the hatch. German bullets were cracking off the tank, but Blackwell kept moving. He got to the hatch, and he took out a grenade or two, before dropping them in the hatch.
Blackwell hopped off the front of the tank, retrieved his M1, and sprinted back. The interior of the tank blew, and the Panzer was formally destroyed. That brave bastard, Hirsch thought.
Blackwell dashed straight towards Hirsch and hopped in the trench with bullets nipping his heels. He fell straight to the bottom, gasping for breath. Hirsch leaned down towards him.
"Jesus, Blackwell!"
The corporal was panting, "I know! Somehow, I did it, but this was harder than the first time."
"Wait, you did this before?"
Blackwell grinned, "Two-for-Two."
2nd Lieutenant Peck shouted to make himself heard, "All right, boys, we got to push up to retake the mortar pits! Keep shooting, we can push the Krauts back!"
Now that the biggest threat was gone, Peck had the idea of reclaiming lost ground and pushing the Germans back. As 2nd Platoon was pushed back, the Germans also captured Sergeant Jelenic's mortar pits and were using the sandbag fortification as a base of fire. If 2nd Platoon wanted even more breathing space, then they had to get the mortar pits which was thirty-five yards away from them.
Sergeant Chaim Hirsch dug into his bandolier for his clip for his M1 rifle. He was on his second-to-last clip. These bastards just kept coming.
The replacements weren't that accurate in the damn dark. But not so for Hirsch and Blackwell. Both of them saw so well at night they might as well have been part owl. That's what a year or two of combat experience will give you.
PING! Blackwell's Garand clip ejected. He went to reload. He suddenly shouted, "Crawler! 11 o'clock!"
Hirsch snapped his head to the direction. There was indeed a man slinking through the shadows, raising his head above ground meekly like a prairie dog. Hirsch spotted the iconic Kraut helmet.
"I see him!" Hirsch shouldered his weapon and aligned the sight with his eye.
He fired twice. The head slumped against the dirt and did not move again.
"We can't just stay here and expect the Krauts to back off!" Hirsch complained. "We need to make a move!"
"Kind of hard with all this fire, dammit!" Blackwell countered.
Both men ducked back down as a hand grenade exploded several yards in front of them.
"You got any bright ideas, genius?" Blackwell asked.
"Yeah, leapfrogging!"
"Son of a—" he growled curtly. He then sighed, "I was thinking the exact same thing!"
Hirsch raised his head above the trench, he could spot an impact crater fifteen yards in front of them to the left. But five yards from that crater was an American corpse.
"Blackwell, do you see that body? 11 o'clock?"
"Yeah, what about it, Hirsch?"
"Fifteen yards ahead is an impact crater. We rush there for cover, establish a base of fire, hopefully that green L-T can do his job and push at the Krauts, the momentum should allow us to take the pits."
"That's quite a plan, you're going first."
"Of course, I will, give me some cover!"
Blackwell began firing rapidly at the Germans. Hirsch climbed out of the trench and began rushing in a leftward slant. He could hear the bullets cracking around his head, splotching into the dirt beneath his rushing feet. His target was the impact crater, but with all the fire he was receiving, he wasn't sure he could safely close the distance. He spotted the dead G.I, he would have to use him as cover.
Hirsch dived behind the body, seconds before automatic fire raked the air where he was running. Hirsch could feel the corpse spasming as the bullets entered it with wet squelches. He closed his eyes with gritted teeth. I'm sorry, man! He had to apologize, even though he knew this faceless and nameless man would have done the same thing if he was in Hirsch's place.
He rolled a foot away to the left of the cadaver and began opening fire, he knew rounds could penetrate corpses, so staying behind that wouldn't have been a viable option.
"Go!" Hirsch shouted.
Hirsch kept on firing until he had to reload. He could faintly hear some footsteps behind him, Blackwell passed the corpse and landed in the crater. As Blackwell fired from the crater, Hirsch crawled in quickly and stopped by his side.
"Okay, now what?" Blackwell asked as he reloaded.
"Simple, we keep pushing fo—"
"Somebody, help me! Please!" a call in English came out.
"D-Did you hear that?" Hirsch asked.
"Yeah, I did? Was that a Kraut?"
"I don't know, maybe it wa—"
"Please, anyone, I can't get out!" the voice called out.
It didn't sound like a German accent, but the Germans were good at that trick.
Hirsch craned his head slightly out of the crater, "Who's there?! Who's there?!" he yelled.
"Sergeant H-Hirsch! Is that you?" the voice cried out.
Both veterans looked at each other. Hirsch called out, "Yeah, who's that?!"
"It's Camden!"
"Who?!"
"Shalom, Sarge! Shalom!"
Camden, the other Jew in the company and fellow platoon mate.
Hirsch could hardly see out there. "Where the hell are you?! Get back here!"
"I can't! I got two bodies on me! Help me!"
"Son of a bitch!" Hirsch said to himself.
He looked through the darkness. All he could see were the Germans in the mortar pit twenty yards away. He had to strain his eyes, where was the shouting coming from? It took a while, but he could see in a foxhole ten yards ahead of him, some stirring, was that where Camden was?
How the hell did he get trapped between us and the Krauts?
Hirsch shook his head. No way was he going to risk himself to pull out a dumbass replacement! Why would he?
A flash of lightning erupted inside his mind; Hirsch blinked as he fell back into a sudden memory. It was El Guettar, Tunisia in 1943. His company had barely survived Kasserine Pass, now weeks later, they were being overrun by German forces at El Guettar on a hill. German halftracks and motorcycles were climbing the hill to dislodge them, men were falling back up the hill for safety. Hirsch was there, still a Private First Class, he stood to run, but an explosion knocked him down. A German was on top of him, but someone had shot the enemy and he fell on top of Hirsch.
Hirsch was panicking, the sounds of artillery and screaming was everywhere, and he couldn't get the body off of him. He kept on screaming for help, but he didn't think anyone heard him. Suddenly, four men came forth, two of them pulled the dead Kraut off of him while the other two crouched in front of them to fire at the encroaching Germans.
Brycen, Hollis, Squid, and Lucky… they came to save me, Hirsch remembered.
It was Brycen and Squid who pulled him out. Hirsch recalled asking them why they risked their lives to save him.
Brycen gave that Californian surfer smirk of his, 'Riflemen stick together, you idiot!'
June 6th, an artillery round instantly killed Brycen, while an MG sawed Squid's leg off. And it was Hollis and Lucky this time who pulled Hirsch into cover, it was because they refused to leave him.
Camden's screaming snapped Hirsch out of his memory.
Goddamn it… I… I can't leave him now…
Hirsch snapped his head to the corporal, "Blackwell, stay here!"
"Where the hell are you going?!"
"I'm getting, Camden! Stay in the hole!"
"Are you crazy, with all this shit flying everywhere?!"
An explosion rippled ten yards behind them as if for emphasis.
"That's an order, goddammit!" Hirsch shouted.
He crept on the rim of the crater and started lurching forward, hugging the dirt as hard as he can. What the hell was he doing?! Why the hell was he doing this?! What lunatic would crawl out of the hole and crawl in the middle of a crossfire between his side and the enemy?! And he only had one clip of eight rounds left in his weapon.
He was praying in his head that he wouldn't get a rogue bullet from his own platoon, hopefully they realize that this shadowy figure was moving away from them.
"Sarge?! Can you hear me?!" Camden continued to shout.
Shut up! How the hell the Krauts didn't target you yet is beyond me!
He was four yards away from the hole. He inched his way slowly, one arm after the other. He was sure that snails could crawl faster than him, but he dared not risk the Germans' attention, especially when the German weapons were getting louder the closer he inched. He was a yard away and noticed what was stirring in the foxhole. Camden was caught underneath two dead bodies, one German and the other American. The dead German laid across Camden's torso, while the dead American laid on top of Camden's legs.
"Camden! It's Hirsch, I'm right here!" he whispered loudly.
"Sarge?" Camden whispered in equal decibel.
Hirsch crawled his way into the foxhole, he placed his M1 aside and used his hands to help push the German off of Camden as discreetly as possible, the Krauts by the mortar pits were in grenade chucking distance. By God, was this Jerry heavy, no wonder the skinny Camden was struggling. With joint effort, both men pushed the dead German off, Camden breathed with a sigh of relief.
"Oh God, bless you, Sarge!"
It was easier removing the dead American off of Camden's legs. When the American flopped over, Hirsch thought he recognized this guy.
"Wait, is this…?"
"Yeah, it's Sheeran from our platoon, Sarge."
"What happened?!"
"I don't know, Sarge! We were falling back, me and Sheeran were bringing up the rear! I think I tripped into this hole; it was so dark. Next thing I know, a German was on top of the hole looking down at me! I guess Sheeran shot him, cause the Kraut fell on me. Then he comes to help, and think the other Krauts got him, his body fell on me as well. I've been in this hole for a while trying to get these guys off of me without the Krauts knowing!"
"Well, you picked a good time to actually scream for help!"
He heard three heavy thumps within the hole. He turned to see three German stick grenades beside his boot. It felt as if his heart shot out off of his chest like a cannon.
SHIT, he mentally screamed. The air had escaped his lungs at the sight.
Both of his hands seized a grenade in each, and he awkwardly flung them back out to the mortar pit. Camden grabbed the third potato masher and threw it away as well. Three explosions rippled a full second later, the concussion forced them both back to the interior of the hole.
The veteran's hand was trembling, he looked to the private next to him. The sergeant finally found his voice, "Camden, I'm gonna kill you if we don't die!"
Bullets popped off the rim of their hole. The guns seemed louder now that they were targeting him. Hirsch closed his eyes. His heart knew he was going to die this night, yet his brain was working overtime to determine how to survive this deathtrap.
He remembered the situation. He and Camden were in no man's land, ten yards away from the mortar pit, while the rest of the platoon was behind them. He just had to push forward. He couldn't hunker down with a replacement all night. Besides, if he was going to die, he rather it be on his feet than in a hole.
"Camden, you got your rifle?"
"I-I do, Sarge!"
"Fix your bayonet! We're going to rush the mortar pit!"
"What? B-But Sarge, that's—"
"I got you outta your jam, Private! You're gonna get me outta mine! The Krauts know we're here, how many grenades are you gonna let them chuck at you?!"
Camden promptly snugged his bayonet on his rifle, as did Hirsch. The Sergeant took out his last two grenades and ordered Camden to take out one as well. He told the Private that they were going to chuck it to the pit, that should give the Krauts pause to allow the two riflemen to rush them.
"Throw!" Both men heaved the grenades.
Hirsch vocally counted to three. He sprung out of the foxhole and charged forward, Camden quickly followed, both men were screaming at the top of their lungs. The grenades briefly lit up the pit, the fire subsided for a few seconds.
The mortar pit was several yards wide and four feet deep and surrounded by sandbags, Hirsch didn't know how many Krauts resided inside there. Through the dust and smoke, Hirsch could spot a German resting his rifle on top of the sandbags. Hirsch sprinted faster and screamed harder, firing his rifle from the hip as he closed the distance. Two of the rounds hit the German in the face, he slumped down the pit.
PING!
The final clip ejected.
Hirsch didn't hear it; his heart was thumping too loud amidst the chaos. His adrenaline thundered as he ran forth; he roared as his momentum carried him. He kept pulling the trigger to his empty weapon. He closed the distance to the mortar pit, spotting a terrified German who was witnessing a berserker charging directly at him. Hirsch placed his boots on the rim of the pit and leapt, lunging his rifle downward and buried the bayoneted Garand into the heart of the German. Hirsch couldn't even hear the German scream.
There were four bodies in the mortar pits, pieces of them were smoking, Hirsch figured it must have been from the grenades. He looked to his right, there were three Germans who were reloading their rifles, the one closest to him was startled at the screaming American who just hopped in the mortar pit.
To Hirsch's left, there were two German soldiers, one with a rifle and the other with a machine pistol, both of them had witnessed Hirsch bayonet their comrade. The submachine-gunner was closer and turned his entire body to face Hirsch, his gun was already trained on the American. In a moment quicker than a blink, Hirsch knew he was dead.
But a bullet went through the back of the submachine-gunner, sending the German to the ground. The pinging of a Garand clip ejecting rang out. Hirsch noticed it came from Camden who dragged behind in the charge, he was standing on the sandbags with his rifle trained on the submachine-gunner. The replacement leapt with a roar and tried to spear the rifleman to the left, but that German dodged it, then dashed forward and locked his rifle with Camden's weapon, both men were lodged in a test of strength for survival.
"Amerikaner!" The sudden shout came from Hirsch's right. That German chambered in his last round and swiveled his rifle towards Hirsch. The American sergeant released his empty Garand.
Ever since North Africa, Hirsch and his squad had played cowboys when boredom was at its apex. On a lull or in the rear, they would all take turns mastering their quickdraws. With their empty sidearms, they would practice drawing their pistols as quick as the Legends of the Wild West, to see who was the fastest in the company. Of course, they never pointed the guns at each other, even if it was empty, they all knew the Golden Rule of handling a firearm. They would practice drawing their weapons as they faced their open surroundings as if they were on the rifle range back in basic.
Chaim Hirsch never really figured he would use this skill in combat. He wasn't even thinking of it when it happened, his body moved on its own.
Hirsch's hand scrambled for his waist, his fingers unholstered his .45 and he drew it like "Wild Bill" Hickok. The German was ten feet away, his rifle wasn't centered yet on his torso, but Hirsch's pistol was.
He fired three times, and the German fell backwards.
The next German was right behind the man that fell, he was equally surprised. Hirsch raised his pistol up to actually aim, this time using his left hand to steady the pistol. With gritting teeth, Hirsch fired twice and both bullets caught the German in the torso, he crumpled to the ground in wounded agony.
The third German only had time to swivel his head to the sounds of shouts. Hirsch aimed down his sights and fired two shots, one hit the German in the throat and the other in the shoulder. That German slumped against the walls of the mortar pits.
Camden was still fighting with the sole German, both of their rifles were pressed together, but the German had the advantage in size and was pressing Camden back against the walls of the pit. Hirsch rushed behind the German and got him in a chokehold with his left arm, as he slammed the barrel of his .45 into the German's temple. He always kept an extra round in the chamber. He pulled the trigger.
"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Hirsch cleared the pit!" Blackwell yelled to the platoon. The fire promptly died away.
Hirsch and Camden crouched down in the pit; Hirsch put in another clip into his pistol as Camden reloaded his M1.
"Thanks for taking care of that guy, Sarge."
"Thanks for shooting that guy that almost got me, Camden."
"What now?"
"Now came the tough part, actually pushing the Germans back off the top of the hill. We can't let the Germans come back and—"
Camden looked over the pit, "Oh shit, we got some Krauts coming!"
Eight German soldiers were rushing forward to reclaim the pit. Camden rested his weapon against the sandbag, Hirsch cocked his pistol back. Where the hell is our support?
A strange, ghastly wail emerged from behind the two Americans. It was growing louder and closer. It then evolved into a rising scream. Hirsch flicked his head around. The first man he could see through the dark was Blackwell, stampeding forward and bellowing like a wild beast. The next figure that came into form was Lieutenant Peck with a bayonet on his carbine, howling mad, then came Sergeant Hudson with a bayonet on his rifle as well, roaring like a lion. Behind them, more men came rushing forth. It seemed as if the entirety of 2nd Platoon was charging the mortar pits with fixed bayonets and thundering screams.
Hirsch smirked. Finally, this lieutenant was taking initiative.
The eight Germans were ten yards away from the mortar pits, closer than 2nd Platoon. But the eight of them witnessed the charging mass, they stopped running, a few of them slipped on the ground, they froze, and most of them quickly turned around. The two that stayed had crouched down and started firing at the platoon. Camden took aim and squeezed off three shots, hitting one; whilst Blackwell shouldered his rifle and dropped the other soldier with a single shot.
Blackwell hopped in the pit, he smirked at Hirsch, "God damn." He turned to Camden, "You too."
Hirsch chuckled; he took a look at the charging platoon heading straight for the mortar pits. "Good on the L-T for rushing to reoccupy the pits!"
"Oh, that's not what he's trying to do."
"What do you—"
"C'mon, 2nd Platoon, drive them back!" Lieutenant Peck shouted.
The officer jumped in the pit, followed by his men. But as soon as they all jumped in the pit, Peck waved his arm, "C'mon, boys! Let's go!" The platoon climbed out of the pit and kept on charging with crazed screams.
Hirsch marveled. A counterattack…
Peck wasn't just rushing to secure the pits, he was taking that momentum and trying to drive the Germans off the hill entirely!
Practically all of 2nd Platoon was out of the mortar pit. Duck climbed out and turned to Hirsch, Blackwell, and Camden, "What the hell are you guys waiting for? Let's go! C'mon!"
Sergeant Jelenic's mortar crew reoccupied the pits and got back on their mortars. "Thank you, boys, for getting our pits back, we got it from here!"
Blackwell panted with a twisted grin, "Jerry's reeling! We got to push on!"
Camden was feeling it too, he seized an MG42 that was discarded in the pit, "I feel like we're going to need this!"
Hirsch was incredulous. Peck, he actually launched a counterattack and chased them down! I didn't think he had the spine for that… He was nodding fervently. What was this that he was feeling? Excitement? "Yeah! Yeah, let's do this!"
The three men rushed out and dashed forward, hollering as neanderthals, as they rejoined their platoon's charge.
The sudden charge of about twenty screaming men in the darkness disrupted the German advance. The Germans were advancing in a loose and scattered formation, while the Americans were charging at them practically shoulder-to-shoulder. Several Germans stopped in their tracks to hunker down, the majority started falling back to find better cover, but since none was truly available, others kept running back. The Germans that had stopped to hunker down were shot or bayoneted by 2nd Platoon. The men with the automatics led the way, pulling the trigger as they ran.
The roaring men of 2nd Platoon now reached the crest of the hill, below them were the trenchworks dug into the northern slope of the hill. The Germans were inside, but easily startled at the charging horde of Americans.
Jelenic's mortars sent up an illumination round, the first in a while, and it flared over the position of 2nd Platoon. The Germans in the trench were shined upon. Hirsch bore witness to the veterans of 2nd Platoon.
Private Saywell wielded the BAR with a bipod, he shouldered the heavy gun tightly. He pulled the trigger hard and methodically wheeled his body to right, bloodily mowing down five Germans in the trench with that long burst. He was the first man from 2nd Platoon to hop in the trench. He reloaded his magazine which was taped with a second clip upside-down, and placed the bipod down the slope, and began firing at the Germans who were still climbing the incline.
Private Hefferman wielded an authentic M1918 trench knife that incorporated a brass knuckle-duster grip on the knife handle. This man bragged that he was phenomenal with a knife, and Hirsch thought it was all the usual soldier-bravado bullshit. Here, Hefferman showed it. He brandished the trench knife in a reverse grip. Hefferman leapt into the trench, the second man in the platoon to do so. He angled his trench knife downward, he pounced onto a German and brought down the blade into the German's neck. The German spasmed quickly and plummeted to the bottom of the trench as Hefferman retracted the blade. Hefferman was now between two Germans in the trench, the American pivoted to left and delivered a brutal right hook with the brass knuckledusters to the Kraut's face. Hirsch didn't see that Kraut get back up. Hefferman spun around to face the last German, delivering two right jabs with the knuckledusters to the face, followed by hammering the knife into the screaming German's chest multiple times.
The men of 2nd Platoon began pouring into the trench that they once abandoned, engaging in vicious hand-to-hand fighting with the trench's new occupiers. The sporadic charge and sudden illumination of their position startled the Germans inside the trench, several of them began exiting and rushing back down the hill.
The Germans advancing up the hill faltered as they collided with the retreating men, as if not knowing whether they were to advance or fall back. Such pause gave 2nd Platoon more time to organize.
Hirsch, Blackwell, and Camden leapt into the trench on the extreme flank. Camden unlocked the bipod of the machinegun and set it up. He shouldered the infamous weapon and peered down the sight, "C'mon, feed the ammo, Sarge!" he commanded.
Hirsh coupled the rounds in his hand, "Let 'em have it!"
From the flank, Camden unleashed devastating enfilade fire on the Germans still trapped on the hill's incline. Hitler's Buzzsaw scythed through eight men in Camden's first burst. He was screaming through his teeth as he fired.
Soon after, American mortars began dropping on the slope of the hill, pounding the Germans that encroached, and the ones that were falling back.
Camden was burning through the ammo as Blackwell was taking precise shots at the German stragglers on the hill. Once the '42 emptied, Camden fluidly unslung his rifle from his back and started popping off shouts as he yelled in a frenzy.
There was a wounded German on the slope that Hirsch spotted moving. He flung something in the air, Hirsch picked it out to be a grenade. He could see its trajectory, right where Lieutenant Peck and Sergeant Hudson were standing.
"Grenade! Lieutenant, Sergeant, move away!" he warned.
It landed between their feet. Peck and Hudson scrambled to get away.
"Get back! Everyone get back!" Lovett the radioman, screamed.
Hirsch could see the grenade smoking out the back end. His heart stopped at the sight; he knew that they were all dead.
But Lovett pushed men aside and jumped on the grenade. Hirsch blinked wordlessly at the sight.
"Lovett!" Duck screamed for his friend.
"No!" Peck cried out.
Lovett closed his eyes, with gritted teeth. He curled up like a ball on top of the explosive, "Get back!" he told everyone. Those who were watching didn't move a muscle expecting a booming cloud of flesh and smoke to emerge from where Lovett was.
Nothing.
It didn't go off.
Ten seconds had passed, and it didn't go off.
Lovett opened his eyes and quickly got off it, equally perplexed as the onlookers were. It registered to Hirsch what happened.
"Lovett, hurry up and throw it back!" he called out.
Breaking out of his silent trance, the radioman, picked it up and heaved it out of the trench, back to the Germans. As soon as the re-tossed grenade hit the ground, it exploded on contact, blowing a single German back down the hill. Hirsch breathed easier, it was a defective fuse in the stick grenade, all it needed was a good hit to it and it would have ignited the powder. He had seen this in Sicily with faulty grenades that were not properly designed in the factories, or perhaps it was intentionally sabotaged by a slave worker in a factory whose country had capitulated to the Germans.
"C'mon, boys! Pour it on 'em!" the lieutenant roared.
The men of 2nd Platoon shouldered their weapons and unloaded with everything they had. The Germans returned fire at what they could see. But Hirsch noticed that quite a few of them had turned their backs and started running down, this few had trickled into some, and the some poured into many.
"They're falling back! They're falling back!"
All of the Germans that could run were rushing down the hill in a somewhat organized rout. Several of them shouldered their wounded comrades with others lifting them above their heads and carried them off the base of the hill. The German forces melted away into the surrounding woods. The once hectic din of firing had died away into sporadic gunshots and grenade explosions.
Hirsch's lungs were gasping for air, his arms were shaking. He finally dropped his pistol and caught his breath.
"Lieutenant, we got some prisoners!"
Corporals Terry Cavanaugh and Thomas King were seen escorting twelve bewildered prisoners up the hill. Hirsch blinked incredulously.
Blackwell spoke up, "Terry, King, you guys got those prisoners?"
Terry answered back, "We did indeed. The two of us kept charging and we got the drop on these bastards who were hunkered down in separate craters."
"Hände hoch! Los geht's!" King barked angrily at the prisoners.
"I'll be damned," Hirsch chuckled at the sight.
Peck, Hudson, Blackwell, Terry, King, Saywell, Hefferman, and Lovett. These men truly were "veterans", the balls on all of them…
Camden sagged over on the rim of the trench. His combat high was coming down. He looked to both Blackwell and Hirsch, an exhausted grin of relief was on his face. "That's it? Did we win?"
Both veterans turned to the replacement. Camden's grin washed away upon looking at their reactions.
Hirsch sighed, more fatigued than disappointed, "This wasn't a win, Camden. They still have us surrounded. All we did was push 'em back, nothing more."
Blackwell nodded as he chimed in, "He's right. Remember, they got two divisions. If anything, they were just testing our defenses."
Hirsch tagged in again, "We destroyed two tanks and repelled a breakthrough on the hill and pushed them back down. Tomorrow, they're going to hit us again with an even stronger force and more tanks. Right here, that's where they'll come. Now they know where our line is weakest."
Camden looked at the dead Germans at the base of the hill, "B-But… But Dog Company is coming tomorrow to relieve us, right? We're going to make it out of here, right?"
Blackwell sucked his teeth, in a manner that Hirsch recognized that was not in annoyance but bitter acceptance of the situation. Blackwell spoke, "Let's say this, there's one company for relief that's coming, mixed with our now battered company… so that's one and a half American companies against two German divisions… The Krauts are going to assault us again as soon as Dog Company shows up, just to ensure that they can take the hill before reinforcements come. And unless Dog brings with it a whole other division, we don't got a snowball's chance in hell of surviving this…"
Camden slumped to his ass on the wall of the trench, "So… this was all for nothing…?"
Hirsch exhaled. He slumped right beside the private and patted his shoulders firmly, "I wouldn't say that, Camden. We held out, we showed Jerry we're the wrong company to fuck with, and new men like yourself have shown them, and us, what it means to have grit."
A spark shone in the replacements' eyes, "Sergeant Hirsch…"
"You did good, Camden, don't make me eat my words tomorrow." He patted his shoulder, "L'Chaim," he grinned.
Camden reciprocated, "L'Chaim!"
Duck came rushing down the hill in a crouch and slid into the trench. He gasped to catch his breath, looking at the three men, "You guys all right?"
"We are, Duck." Blackwell nodded.
"Looks like all the Germans around the hill are pulling back away for the night. They'll probably rest, collect their wounded, dead, and equipment, exchange information about our defenses, then attack with a clear view of the battlefield in the morning with a heavier force."
"Sounds like it," Hirsch agreed, "We were just explaining that to Camden."
"I'm hoping Dog hurries there asses over here, tomorrow is going to be rough."
Hirsch nodded, "We just need to hold."
Duck stared at Hirsch for a moment, the corners of his mouth were rising. The Platoon Sergeant turned to Blackwell, "Good work on your Platoon Buddy, Blackwell."
"Well, I certainly tried with him."
Hirsch squinted his eyes. He stood up, "What the hell are you talking about, Hudson?"
"You, Hirsch, I'm talking about you. You showed everyone what a veteran rifleman can do. And for somebody who openly disdained this company, you sure fought tooth and nail to save it."
Hirsch recoiled slightly; such a thought took him back. He cleared his throat, "Well I—"
" '—Was trying to save myself'? Is that what you were going to say? Be that as it may, you helped us as well." Duck smirked as he interrupted.
"No, I wasn't going to say that…"
"You weren't?"
"I was going to say, 'I was just doing my job.' Damn sure Blackwell would have done that if I didn't. You definitely would have, Ranger boy. Cavanaugh, Saywell, Lockett, Hefferman, King, even the L-T would have done so." Hirsch looked down to the still sitting Camden, "And if he had thought of it, pretty sure Camden would have as well."