"Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime."
Ernest Hemingway
XII
KILLING GROUND
Tatum's tanks were again on the move, accompanied by the usual assortment of support vehicles and infantry. Although the farmland was wider in that location, with less hills and trees, it was still cut through by fences, and small houses and barns could still hide ambushes.
David knew all of that perfectly well, and planned the advance with such details in mind. Still, he felt a slight hint of nervousness as the main column advanced through a secondary road, moving in the direction of a set of old houses where he expected the enemy command center to be located. It was a hunch, yes, but when he thought about it, he realized that it was what he would be if it was him. It was the best place, plain and simple.
And it was exactly because of that than an ambush along the way was all but inevitable. Although he was riding on Freeman's Jeep, just behind the Naomi, David couldn't help but stand, monitoring his surroundings attentively. Both the driver and Alisa seemed way more nervous, sweat running down their foreheads.
David felt that was the right moment to change things once again. He leaned over Freeman.
"Get in front of the tank."
Having already stopped to try to guess what could be running through David's mind, Freeman simply obeyed. The Jeep had no problems in overcoming the tank. Of course, the maneuver caught Tatum's attention. He saw David raising a clenched fist, and then ordered the rest of the column to halt. Satisfied, David told Freeman to stop as well. Then he dismounted from the Jeep and climbed to the back of the Easy Eight, where he held onto the roof-mounted M2 machinegun and leaned beside Tatum.
"What do you think?" David asked Tatum.
The lieutenant looked around, absorbing as much of his surroundings as possible. After a while he shook his head and turned to David.
"It's too quiet."
"I agree. I believe we have several ambushes waiting for us starting from those ditches over there and up to their command post."
"Can you be sure?"
David grinned. "One's never sure. But it's what I would do." Then he turned to Alisa, who was still waiting in the Jeep. "Call in the rain. Creeping barrage, starting five hundred meters from us."
Once he finished his instructions, he addressed Tatum again.
"Tell the men to get ready. It's time to finish this."
The lieutenant nodded and passed on the commands. Behind him, David crossed his arms over the machinegun to support his chin, glancing at the confusing assortment of fences, small houses and trees. It wasn't really that different from the fields where he played pretend war with his friends, so long ago. Now he was in a real military conflict, and those old memories became unexpected weapon on themselves.
And he, in spite of all warnings, of all the harm it did to his very soul, allowed himself to be completely dominated by the thrill of the hunt. It was time for his last battle in that God-forsaken war.
Several kilometers from there, one American artillery battery received his request for fire support. The commanding officer turned to the crews of the large M105 howitzers, yelling his orders to make them move faster.
"Come on, ladies! We have work to do!"
The shells were loaded, the guns aimed. In just a few minutes the men were already running to a safe distance, only the respective gunners staying behind to pull the strings which would fire the cannons. Satisfied with such a display of professionalism, the officer turned to the gunners and yelled his command.
"Fire!"
The gunners bent forward slightly and put their free hands against the ear on the side of the cannons. Then they pulled the strings.
That drill was something that had became routine to those men. Artillery was always being requested to clear the path for the advancing Allied forces, or to pound any resistance into submission. At that point American artillery had become the most precise and feared of the war, although not the most abundant or intense.
What that meant was that the guns fired with only slight delays between each other, a cacophony of blasts that seemed as though they belonged to a single oversized automatic weapon. The firing raised a huge cloud of dust and smoke, the thundering sound echoing all across the region.
It was an awesome display of firepower, and every time he thought about what it would be like in the receiving end, the officer winced a little. Anyhow, there was work to do, so he started to command his men to prepare for the second barrage.
When the landscape beyond the closest line of trees started exploding, Roy realized there was no way he would be able to hold his position. Somehow, the enemy had realized where he'd placed his troops. He couldn't really guess how at that moment. Maybe one of the young grenadiers had stuck his head a little too high when searching for the incoming enemies, maybe an unidentified scout unit had managed to pinpoint them without being noticed, or maybe it had simply been an educated guess which had struck home.
Regardless, it meant that his men had to suffer the horror of an artillery barrage. Huge volcanoes of overturned dirt raised against the skies, as the sound of thunder boomed all around. There had been no time to dig proper shelters, so his men, most of them little more than teenagers, were exposed to all of that awesome firepower, being killed in droves.
Roy wouldn't give up his country, but he wouldn't give up his men either. That fight was lost. Now he had to find a way to delay the enemy advance time enough for the infantry to pull back.
And that meant that he would have to, once again, resort to the girls. There was a moment, shortly after the barrage subsided, where he doubted, hesitated. What if the girls wouldn't be up to it? Be fed up, or afraid? But then Captain Vato Falman, who was manning one the CC's radios, turned to him, with reports of enemy tanks moving against the still dazzled Panzergrenadiers.
At that point the decision came instantly, without doubts, like so many times before.
Roy turned to Falman.
"Try to get through to Nitzschmann."
While the captain worked on that, Master Sergeant Fuery, who, on his turn, was the link to the other units involved in the assault, had something else to report.
"Sir, the SS regiment had to break their attack. They're pulling out as we speak."
"The good news just keep coming…" Roy hissed, sensing the urgency in his mind being slowly replaced by a calm fatalism. It was inevitable, since the very beginning that the operation was bound to fail. Truth be told, they never had the men or the equipment to be more than a thorn in the American's side. They were simply too powerful at that point, and the German leadership too stubborn to see the truth.
With a sigh, he recovered his concentration. And right on time, too. Fallman had managed to get through to Maria Nitzschmann.
"Will you look at them run!"
Lieutenant Isaac Tatum was honestly impressed. David had not only managed to hit the Krauts, but also to do so where in hurt them the most. True to his fame, the man was like some wizard of the battlefield. And now a swarm of escaping German troops, running for the shelter of the trees in the distance, was a plain proof of that fact.
In spite of the American's enthusiasm, David didn't felt as optimistic. He stood on the back of Naomi, hands over the machine gun, looking around, as the armored column advanced around him, machine guns and cannons firing in steady intervals at the escaping enemies.
"Too easy…" The British officer mumbled, seemingly distracted from everything but the landscape and his own thoughts.
"Captain!" Alisa called from him from the back of the Jeep rolling beside the Sherman. It took David a moment to arrange his thoughts and look down at him. "The colonel says the SS are pulling out of the fighting and moving in our direction!"
"Understood. Keep me updated." He leaned over Tatum. "We need to get this over with and form a line. They cannot break through us."
The detonation to the right startled everyone. Having managed to avoid all enemy shells for the whole morning, the M8 was finally hit, a huge explosion shattering its left side, the two back wheels jumping over the mud while the hull wobbled and fell heavily. Fortunately, no-one inside was seriously hurt.
"After him!" Tatum yelled to his men. The ambushing StuG III was already running away, this time trying to force its way to a batch of nearby trees. The lieutenant's order seemed sound at a first glance, but David immediately countered him.
"No! Let him go and turn right!" Then he turned back at Alisa. "Tell the right row to pull in our direction."
The plan devised by David, and improved with advices from Tatum and Mignogna, had the Americans advancing to the Germans in three rows. A central column would be formed by most of the vehicles they had, and was intended to act both as the main pivot of the assault and the bait for possible ambushes. The columns moving on each side, at a certain distance, would be much smaller and mobile, and were intended to gather as little attention as possible and move innards to flank any ambushers.
Now the Germans had finally made their move, and it was time to close the trap.
They weren't being dumb, though. As soon as the armored column started to turn to the right, in the direction of a couple of old and ruined barns, three guns fired from between the buildings. A 37mm round made a direct hit against Naomi's glacis, and went spinning upward as it failed to penetrate. An explosive 75mm shell detonated among the American tanks, raising a geyser of mud, while an armor-piercing round of equivalent caliber slashed along the flank of one of the Shermans, jumping into the air as it lost most of its momentum, without causing further damage.
The Americans returned the favor while still on the move. Their inaccurate shots exploded spectacularly against the walls and the ground around them, but without hitting the German tanks.
"There they are!" Tatum exclaimed. "They're even using our own tanks against us!"
"It's just a machine," David yelled in Tatum's ear to make himself heard over the revving engines and the gunfire, "treat it like you would any Panzer."
The lieutenant glanced at the captain, obviously uncomfortable with having to fire at the captured American machine. Then he turned again towards the enemy, having understood what David's point was. It didn't matter if the M3 attacking them was an American design. It was just a machine used by the enemy. As so, it would have to fall like any Panzer.
Such were the rules of war.