"Courage is not the towering oak that see storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow."

Alice Mackenzie Swaim

V

THE AMERICAN LINES

"You did it, Saskia! It was a clean hit!"

Augusta's high-pitched voice echoed inside the captured M3 Medium Tank. Up in the distance, the American Sherman was still spewing oily black smoke into the sky, as the detonation that'd hit it subsided and something in its engine compartment caught fire. In the driver's post, Constanze decided to waste no time and didn't even wait for the commander's order. She made the M3 roll forward and then turn left, in a direct dash to the nearest tree line.

"Let's get out of here!" She yelled, trying to get heard over the engine's howl and the other girl's excitement. Constanze could understand their enthusiasm, as in the previous fight they didn't managed to hit anything, even with the enemy basically at point-blank range. Managing to hit the broad side of the bulky M4 from that distance with the 75mm gun was surely a moment of inspiration from the tank's gunner, Saskia.

Of course that the driver was completely right in losing no time. As soon as she turned to the trees shells started falling all around the M3, making thundering volcanoes of dirt and mud. She couldn't see it either, but two of the American Shermans were also moving down the nearest hillside, hot on pursuit.

The sudden call to the reality of combat made the other girls go instantly silent, and Augusta assume the command posture she should have had all along.

"I knew it. We're dead." Aaron mumbled, holding to the back of the fighting chamber, a conformed look on his face.

An American shell fell too close for comfort, shaking the M3, but Constanze held tightly to the control levers, and soon the old tank disappeared among the trees. Rabbit Team was safe, at least for the immediate future. But the day had just begun.

One of the reasons why the Americans weren't more proficient in their pursuit to the captured M3 Medium Tank was the presence of two artillery teams equipped with 50mm Pak 38 guns in the edge of the forest. As soon as Rabbit Team hit the target they started pounding the American lines with as many rounds as they could slam into the guns' breaches.

The explosions erected towers of mud and pulverized grass over the hillsides, but it didn't stop a couple of the newer and bulkier M4 Shermans to roll down the slope in pursuit. The fire teams changed the angle of their guns and tried to get a clean hit on the tanks, but the distance and the occasional curtain of rain made aiming quite difficult.

It was then that the second reason why the pursuit didn't go longer came into play. One of the German gun teams noticed it when the observer lowered his binoculars and turned to his comrades.

"The tanks stopped." He told them.

The gunner, who was much more experienced, quickly came to the obvious conclusion.

"Where?"

"At the bottom of the hill. It's weird."

At that point the gunner's eyes widened in alarm. "Let's get out of here!"

Led by him, the other two troopers ran to the Kettekrad standing nearby, the vehicle they had used to drag the gun to that position. The gunner gave almost no time for the others to sit in the back and hold to something, immediately turning on the engine and hurling the half-track motorcycle forward, dashing madly among the trees.

In their rush to escape the incoming peril, they'd left the gun behind. It was a good call, as the forest started exploding around them, tree trucks shattering into a thousand sharp splinters as the thunderous roar of artillery fire spread among the trees. Now the passengers were in panic as more and more shells fell, making centenary trees fall over with terrifying ease, leaving smoldering craters where their roots once were.

The gunner kept his cool, teeth clenched and hands holding firmly to the steering handle, while the world seemed to go to hell all around him. Then he noticed the shaking settling down, and the detonations getting farther and farther away, although his ears still rang like alarm sirens. He looked over his shoulder and saw what remained of the charred forest.

Behind him, the gun's loader, who was almost as experienced as he was, turned to the younger observer and showed an open hand and two fingers in the other one.

"Seven." He told him. "I've survived seven artillery barrages with this one."

The observer nodded at him.

"I just hope it was worth it." The gunner said. "After all, this plan hinges on that tank squadron."

"On the girls?" The observer asked, slightly anxious, which prompted the loader to reply.

"Let's see if they don't get them all killed."

The rain was getting more intense, but Ysabelle still managed to notice some of the bombardment of the forest, a few kilometers away from her position. It wasn't hard to recognize the loud explosions overlapping with the sound of the downpour and the rumbling of the engines. While the Anglerfish Team's loader glanced around the fighting compartment, nervous, Simone reported to Maria that Rabbit Team already did their part of the plan, hitting what was supposed to be the local American commander.

Ysabelle could only hope they had in fact hit the right tank. Maria's plan implied an initial probing attack to draw the Americans out, so the forward observer, a veteran officer from Messner's entourage, could inspect the line which would form and try to assess where the local commander should be. It was a risky trick, but Ysabelle hoped that even if Rabbit Team didn't manage to hit the right officer, their attack caused enough confusion to help the rest of the troops in what was about to follow.

With a final sigh, Maria opened the command hatch and looked outside, before returning inside and closing it again. The short peek was enough to get her hair and shirt completely soaked, so Ysabelle extended her a small towel.

"Thank you." Maria accepted the towel with a soft smile on her face, and proceeded to dry her hair as much as possible. "Tell the column to move ahead." She told Simone while she was at it.

With a loud bellow, the Panzer IV rolled forward, digging trenches over the mud on its wake. The rest of the small strike team followed suit, in a cacophony of revving engines and whining tracks. Around them the woodland became sparser, rain falling heavily from the sky above.

"The weather is terrible… Seems someone likes us." Maria returned the towel to Ysabelle, who put it inside a small box in the bottom of the fighting compartment.

"It will make aiming more difficult." Hanna complied.

"Don't forget that works both ways," Ysabelle replied, "and our sights are better."

"We'll just need to remain focused." For a moment Maria almost let out exactly how nervous she was. Everyone knew she was as afraid of the incoming battle as the others, but Ysabelle realized that as a leader she had to remain as stoic as possible, to calm the nerves of her subordinates. But she was still a girl, and the fear she felt regarding her own death and that of her friends could only be held back by the support of those around her.

She also noticed Maria's hand trembling slightly. It wasn't the first time either, it did the same before they fought the British the other night, even if no-one else noticed it. So, Ysabelle held it, earning a surprised glance from Maria, who probably didn't even realized the nervous twitch. The girls traded a supportive smile.

"Well," Hanna started, apparently still thinking in the conversation they had a moment ago, "at least Fräulein Ackerman looks fittingly military."

It was true. Looking down Ysabelle looked again at the khaki coveralls she was wearing. It was far too big for her, and she had to pull back her sleeves so they wouldn't get stuck in something. But it was the only thing Simone had got for her to wear, given the sorry state of her previous garments. Secretly, she was actually very happy with the coverall, as it made her feel like a true soldier.

On the other hand, her friends were still stuck with the clothes they had brought from Baderberg, their shirts now more beige than white, and their skirts covered in dirt. They were starting to stink, too, but it was all they had to wear. Inside the tank, though, it didn't matter all that much, not with the stench of burned oil and fuel, and the acidity of deep-seated sweat.

The tank jerked when it passed over a small stream in the outskirts of the rolling hills where the Americans had established their positions.

"I think we're almost there." Simone said.

Her call to attention made the steely look return to Maria's face, as she leaned to peek through the visors in the commander's cupola.

"Simone, tell everyone to assume battle positions." She ordered. "Let's do this."

We will face the Americans now, Ysabelle thought, recalling the impressive gathering of armored vehicles and troops she'd seen previously. And then she swallowed thickly. She was shivering now, feeling the full weight of being stuck inside a metal box without any means to look outside and assess the true danger of her position. She would have to run blindly along her friends, while facing one of the most powerful fighting forces ever assembled.

Although she'd never seen herself as a religious person, Ysabelle made a silent prayer, hoping someone, somewhere, would be listening.