Kanuro5: 4/1/25 - Nope, your eyes are not deceiving you and it's not April Fools. Finally got this released. Writing in the perspective for armored has always been struggle for me and has given me writer's block. Combine that with life as a teacher, yeah... Also, FYI, I try to keep this story as realistic as possible, but I admit I have a guilty pleasure in trying to make this upcoming battle more exciting and climax-filled than I personally felt was in the game. Enjoy!
The Tanker III
August 16, D-Day 71
"Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head."
"So, why did you become a tanker, Sarge?" Shev, who was the replacement once known as "Rook" asked his tank commander.
Shiloh Wilcox pulled up his zipper after relieving himself behind a bush.
"Why are you asking that, kid?"
Shev shrugged, lighting a cigarette between his lips.
Wilcox noticed that light scar on his face from the action that cost the team their original Sherman, Excalibur.
"How's your face, Shev?"
"It's fine."
"Don't bother you none?"
"Nope."
"You worried, ain't ya?"
Shev drew back on the cigarette and exhaled without a word.
Wilcox smirked, "Look at ya."
"What?"
"Hard as stone."
"What?"
"Asked if you were scared, you ain't reply. Seen too many new guys and tough chumps act like they never scared. You were broken-in way back at the Red Ball Express. You really ain't no rook, no more."
Wilcox spotted something, a small evidence of a smile was creasing Shev's face, "Thanks," the young man said.
"I wanted to be protected."
"What, Sarge?"
"I was going into battle. I became a tanker cause I wanted to be protected by metal."
"Huh. Then, why not be a pilot."
"I can't do heights."
Wilcox suddenly gasped at his own self-admission.
Shev was having a coughing fit as a result. He finally gained his breath, "Wait, what?"
Wilcox turned away.
Shev had an incredulous chuckle, "You're afraid of heights?"
"You tell anyone, and I'll whoop your ass. I shit you not."
Shev buried his face in his hand, unable to stifle the laughter, "I would give my bottom dollar to see you as a paratrooper, Sarge!"
Wilcox shook his head with the roll of eyes. He checked his watch. 0730.
"Get back to the crew, Shev," Wilcox ordered his assistant driver with the clearing of his throat.
"Got it. Where you heading to?"
"Gotta get orders from the king."
Wilcox took a walk back into the area for Able Company. The riflemen were clearly getting ready for a fight. Men were fastening fragmentation and smoke grenades to their vests, tightening their ammo webbing, even some veterans broke the taboo of talking to the replacements in order to inform them of what to expect when the tank came. Everyone knew this was an all-hands-on-deck fight, where every man counted.
Wilcox himself didn't have to go far to find Conti.
Gathered at the CP were of course Conti, Lieutenant Pollard of 1st Platoon, Lieutenant Peck of 2nd Platoon, Lieutenant Eklund of 3rd Platoon, First Sergeant Crane with his arm still in a sling, Staff Sergeant Mercer of the engineers, and Staff Sergeant Eddie Matthews of the Wolverine 'Death Day' who was pivotal at Hebecrevon.
Wilcox patted Matthews on the back, "Good to have you with us again, Matthews."
Matthews smirked, "You should already know you need a Wolverine on the hunt, right? And I saw that Pershing out there, just… just damn."
"Jerry's going to get a hell of an introduction to this thing today, I can guarantee that."
The Company Commander cleared his throat, "Everyone here? Good. Okay, listen up."
Conti pointed at the map, "Columns of vehicles from the 2nd Panzer Division are escapin' through this town at Autry. Baker Company's last report was that they were engagin' Schultz's Tigergruppen. This means the Tiger Ace is defendin' the town. We need to take him out. It won't be easy to get a kill shot—he most likely has heavy Panzer support. Now, everyone, take a look here. There's a major road right down the center of the map, but I wouldn't trust that road durin' the advance."
Mercer added along, "Yes, sir. Neither did Lieutenant Roddy and Baker Company. The Krauts had that approach heavily defended, so he attacked in a line."
"Right. Which is why we strike from the right flank and advance up there. We neutralize the defenses on the right flank to allow an advance. We'll be goin' forth in a slant up with the right drivin' the main assault."
Conti looked at Wilcox, "How does that sound?"
Wilcox stared at the map, "Sounds good, L-T. Reliance will lead the way, but we're gonna need some escorts. A Wolverine can assist us to pack a punch, so Death Day. And another Sherman can't hurt, I want Can Opener. The other tanks will be in reserve, lest we run into an ambush."
Matthews chortled, "Last mission we were on, you were escorting us. What's up with that?"
"Well, I don't see you with a brand-new tank, now do I?" Wilcox smirked back.
Wilcox then turned to the lead engineer, "Did you ever see Schultz or his Tiger?"
Mercer shook his head with a grimace, "No, I didn't. I heard some guys from Baker did, that the Tiger was near the rear and advanced forward, somewhat… but never fully committed."
The grizzled lieutenant sneeringly snorted, "Of course not, the bastard's a coward."
Matthews stepped in, pointing at the map, "It's going to be hard to flank the bastard, the terrain out to the right sort of boxes us. See, look at the vegetation and mounds."
Wilcox nodded, "Not to mention that he'll have some other armor as backup. We need to make him commit."
Mercer's eyes rose up to Wilcox "Then he needs a big juicy target, then."
Everyone looked at the engineer. Yet Wilcox chuckled and stared at Mercer with a grin, "I'm glad I know ya, Merce. Anyone else and that'll be a slug in the mouth for 'em. But I know what you mean, he sees our new tank, he's going to be flummoxed to the gills."
"If he withdraws, then he risks us getting closer to the fleeing Kraut army," Matthews added.
Crane then proposed, "That may be true, but should we risk getting too close to nip the heels of a fleeing wolf? That may just be Schultz's ace-in-the-hole."
"Hmm, touché, Top."
Conti's eyes were fixated on the map. A low growl came out of his throat before he spoke, "No, he may fall back to a rear position, but he won't retreat."
Peck scratched his chin, "How do you know that, sir?"
"He's a Tiger Ace; his pride is on the line. They sent him to be a rearguard, and by hell or high water, he'll ultimately stand his ground. And…" it took Conti a moment to continue, "…the bastard got some balls on him. Think back to Hebecrevon, he could have fled, and we wouldn't have known, but he fired on MacKay, then vanished. The balls on that bastard. He sees a new heavy American tank, if he has armor support, he'll come forth to destroy it and try to stop our advance."
Peck pointed at the map himself, "That being said, how do you want the men to be positioned. Which platoon will lead the attack on the right?"
Conti gave Peck a look.
Peck nodded, "Got it."
"And us?" Eklund asked.
"I want 1st Platoon on the left flank, and I want 3rd Platoon in the center. 2nd Platoon advances up the right, followed by 3rd Platoon in a slant once the word is given, and then so on with 1st Platoon."
"No reserve, huh?" Pollard of 1st Platoon asked.
"Not today, Pollard."
Eklund made a protracted grunt in disappointment, "Where's Dog Company in all of this?"
"In battalion reserve," Conti replied.
"In case we don't make the cut, huh?"
"Hey!" Peck suddenly snapped; such volume surprised the other men. "What kind of talk is that?! Say that out loud and it'll damn sure happen."
"Peck's right," Conti affirmed. "We can't be thinkin' that."
"Sorry, sir, it's just… Baker—"
"Baker was put through the ringer," Conti interrupted. "We ain't gonna let their efforts be in vain, so help me God."
Crane looked at Eklund, "Always Able."
"Always Able," everyone echoed.
"Yeah, Always Able, you're right," Eklund nodded.
Conti looked at the men once more, "This is it, men. If we can take down Schultz, the Krauts will be finished here. C'mon let's find that sonuvabitch."
Wilcox returned back to his crew and the Pershing, Reliance. Shev and the loader, Private Russo, were placing the last containers of water within the tank. The driver, Private Grits, was inspecting every inch of the massive treads of the Pershing. The gunner, Corporal Adrian, was calibrating the sights of the .50 cal of the turrets.
Reliance. Oh, what a beautiful tank. The current answer to the Tiger tanks, or at least that's what the designers were hoping would be the solution. When Wilcox was given this tank, the colonels were emphasizing the rarity of this new invention. He could literally count on one hand how many of these were currently in Europe. This was to be one of their first tests in the field. And he had the honor of wielding this revered holy weapon into battle.
"This is it, huh?" Shev mumbled openly. "We're going out against a Tigergruppe that knocked out 17 tanks, and we have a brand new one."
Russo tossed an empty pack of cigarettes at Shev's head, "Hey, you act like you've haven't been in action before, Rook."
"Damn it, I'm not a rookie anymore! Jesus Christ, I got burned in the damn face in our last fight! I'm Olszewski!"
"Ooooh, now Shev grows some balls," Adrian snickered, as did the rest of the crew.
Wilcox cleared his throat, "Listen up, fellas. We're about to go in. Y'all ready to kick ass?"
"Yes, Sergeant," all four of them said, stopping their action and facing their sergeant.
"Look, last time we went out in the field of battle… we… our weapon was shattered…" he lowered his head as the words left him. "We, took a loss on that day."
All four of them got off of the tank and approached Wilcox closely.
"Excalibur was a good tank," Russo lamented with the shake of his head.
"One of the best," Grits remarked.
"One of the best," Wilcox echoed. "Yeah, our holy weapon, our noble steed, we lost her that day. But this ain't the end of our story. We got another chance with an even stronger weapon. This is it, boys. Our first outing with this new tank, and I wouldn't trade this honor with any other crew in the ETO. You hear me, boys?"
His crew were grinning back at Wilcox.
Wilcox noted the smiling form of Shev. The sergeant playfully punched him in the jaw. The seasoned tanker then placed his hand in the middle.
"Hands in, fellas."
The crew placed their palms on top of his.
"We got a shot at redemption. We're not out of it yet. Now, let's go make Jerry regret taking out Excalibur."
"Yeah!" his crew cheered.
"All right, boys, mount up!"
Crows were squabbling over the carcasses of the men from Baker Company. Strewn weaponry and gear were everywhere; the Germans didn't even move the bodies. In this sweltering steam bath of an August day, the bodies were already bloating.
The field of corpses began to vibrate as a section of American tanks rolled on through with the Pershing tank in the lead with squads of infantry following close behind.
"Are there chances anyone is alive?" Shev the assistant driver asked openly.
"I got a mighty feeling the Germans made sure no one was stirring," Grits the driver answered back. He suddenly growled as he took a used pinup magazine and began to fan himself off, "Goddamn, this heat…"
"Quit that bellyachin', Grits, you ain't the only one roasting, I'm next to the damn ammo!" Russo the loader spat back.
Wilcox was halfway outside the hatch scanning the horizon, but he could hear everything inside his tank, "Knights had to fight while wearing a suit of armor in the warring seasons of summer, we're the fortunate ones, ya hear?" he radioed down.
"Says the man in the hatch with the breeze in his face," Adrian the gunner snarked.
The Pershing stopped in front of a bombed-out building with remnants of American equipment littered throughout the area.
Conti was announcing to the men present, "This here was Baker's HQ. We'll use it for now. Everyone, into positions."
"Jesus Christ," the once rookie Shev commented upon the sight of the near destroyed HQ.
"Don't you be worrying, Shev, that ain't going to be us, ya hear?" Adrian told him.
"He's right. We trained for this," Russo added on.
The 1st squad of the 2nd Platoon took position in front of the Pershing. The other American tanks took position on the line of the HQ. 1st Platoon moved to the left flank whilst 3rd Platoon was reinforcing the defenses around the HQ at the center. Voices were kept at a minimum with the exception of soft barking of orders by NCOs. Everyone could smell the air of death around them. They knew what was ahead of them. They knew that the Germans were expecting them.
Wilcox ducked back inside his tank and drank his canteen; he then offered it to each man. When he got it back, it was empty. He smirked at that.
"Y'all ready?" Wilcox asked, looking at his men.
They wiped the sweat from their brows and draped their towels over their heads before putting on their helmets.
"Ready," said Shev.
"Come on, you know the answer," Grits grinned back.
"Always," Adrian nodded.
"Not even a question," Russo replied.
"Then bow your heads and close your eyes…" Wilcox took his gloves off clenched his hands; his palms were a sweaty mess. He closed his eyes and made the sign of the Cross, "In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost… Dear Heavenly Father, Saint Michael, and Saint George, please watch over your humble knights. Guide our hands to war and grant us courage to wield the banner of victory. Amen."
"Amen!"
Wilcox opened his eyes and put his gloves back on. He stood up through his hatch and grabbed his radio, "All tanks, Wilcox here with Reliance. Report in!"
"This is Matthews with Death Day, ready to go."
"Marco with Hitler's Bane, do ya even have to ask, Wilcox?"
"This is Evans with Grand Slam, let's get it done."
"Brower reporting in with Heavy Duty, we're ready."
"This is Mullis with Can Opener, let's get us some Krauts!"
"Vaccaro radioing in with Eclipse, just say the word."
Wilcox smirked, "All right, radios operational. Reliance will be in the lead with 2nd Platoon, Death Day will be on the flank, Can Opener will bring up the rear. Here we go! It's showtime, boys!"
Wilcox gave the thumbs up to Lieutenant Conti. The Company Commander checked his watch and flung his hand forward, "Able Company, advance!"
Lieutenant Peck and the men of 2nd Platoon began to move forward. Reliance followed them closely behind, with the Wolverine and Sherman as his escorts.
The right flank was moving forward for about two full minutes without incident, until they reached the edge of a series of farmhouses when the boom of German mortars fell on the ranks of 2nd Platoon, followed by a ripping of German machineguns. The men hit the dirt to escape the barrage, but Reliance, Death Day, and Can Opener kept advancing through the withering fire.
The resistance was coming from the last farmhouse on the right flank. An MG crew around with a squad of infantry, this seemed to be a reinforced outpost.
Wilcox spotted the firing of the MG42 behind sandbags about 60 meters away. He radioed Russo, "Load some H-E, we got a machinegun nest 60 meters out."
"On it!"
"Grits, stop the tank. Adrian, fire once loaded."
"Got it!"
"Adrian, H-E is loaded!" Russo shouted.
"Great! Firing!"
The Pershing's 90mm cannon obliterated the machinegun, crew, and sandbags covering it. Reliance kept advancing amongst the bombing of the mortars. Wilcox was peeking his head from the hatch with his binoculars.
"C'mon, where the hell are you," the Detroiter murmured.
"Have you spotted the mortars?" Russo asked him.
"Not yet, but get an H-E loaded, just in case… wait, I see them!"
The mortar crew was about a hundred meters away on a slope.
"Adrian, mortars spotted! About a hundred meters away, slope on the 2 o'clock, see 'em?"
"Uh… no, can't get a good read on them!"
"Grits, stop the tank. Look for the smoke puff, Adrian."
"Yeah, I think—I think I see it!"
"That's a hundred meters, elevate the cannon up ten degrees and let 'em have it!"
"Firing!"
The tank fired its shell; Wilcox could trace the yellow streak as it soared through the air. The shell exploded about a meter off from intended target, but the blast seemed to have disabled the emplaced mortar.
"Damn, what a shot, Russo!" Wilcox cheered.
As Reliance was dealing with the mortar, the Sherman Can Opener and Wolverine Death Day were dealing with the scattering infantry who were now falling back at the sight of these three tanks.
The three tanks moved ten yards out from the farmhouse to watch the perimeter while the platoon moved to secure the position.
"Lieutenant, how is the point?" Wilcox called out to the officer.
Peck nodded to the tanker, "Point is secured."
"This looks like a reinforced OP, sir."
"What? You mean— oh, great… Anyone has eyes on a Kraut radio?"
"Sir, one of these stiffs had a radio on him," Sergeant Duck answered back.
Both the officer and tanker exchanged a look. Wilcox answered first, "We all knew this wouldn't be easy, sir."
"Tell me about it, lead the way, Sergeant."
The three tanks drove forward with the platoon in tow. It wasn't until a minute after that they ran into more opposition.
Driving on an open dirt road past thick lines of trees, Reliance was hit by a Panzerschreck from the left. The Americans walked into an ambush. There was another MG42 crew with more infantry in cover, along with a Panzerschreck team. Fortunately for the Americans, the tanks decided to punch through first, negating the ambush's efficiency.
"Any penetration?" Wilcox called down to the interior crew.
"None! We're solid!" Russo answered back.
"Good, target that MG then!"
Sergeant Mullis of Can Opener radioed in, "Got eyes, on a Pak 38 on the left, repositioning on us!"
It seemed that the Pak 38 was angled down to the left, focusing on the center directly at the main dirt road. Fortunately, the Americans busted through on the right side. The gun crew was caught unaware, they were busy repositioning the gun at the tanks. If the American armor had advanced down the center, they would have gotten slammed by this anti-tank gun.
Reliance opened fire with its coaxial gun, shooting down the targets near the antitank weapon. The 90mm cannon once again targeted where the MG crew were and prepared to fire. Unfortunately, the MG crew already began displacing by the time the cannon was trained on them. Reliance blew their old position to pieces.
Coming down the road, Wilcox saw the first of the enemy armor, a Panzer IV.
The Pershing could spot the Panzer, but the Panzer couldn't spot the Pershing hanging close to the hedgerow.
"Okay, boys, first armored target of the day. Panzer, 80 meters out!" Wilcox commented over the radio.
"What's the game plan?" Can Opener radioed in.
"You support the rifles on the left and watch our flank from any A-T guns. Death Day, bank to the right and try to get a flank, fire as you move, let's see if this chump can walk and chew gum at the same time."
"Roger that! Death Day banking."
The Panzer was advancing, seemingly only to spot the "lone" Wolverine. But out of the defilade of the hedgerow, Reliance emerged to get a better shot, advancing twenty meters before stopping.
"Are we loaded with A-P?"
"Yes, we are!" Russo answered.
The Panzer tank stopped upon sighting the Pershing, its turret wasn't turning, most likely confused at the sight of this brand-new American tank. Death Day was still taking a slanting flank.
"Adrian, fire!"
"Firing!"
The corporal fired the heavy cannon of the tank. The 90mm shell sliced through the air and collided with the front of the turret, destroying the main gun.
"Beautiful! Main gun destroyed!" Wilcox announced to his men. He then got on the radio, "Matthews, we took out the main gun, hit that chump in the gut!"
"Just watch us!"
"Adrian!"
"Got it!"
Reliance belched out an AP shell which slammed into the hull of the Panzer. Two seconds after Reliance hit the tank, Death Day delivered its own shot against the opposite side of the hull. The Panzer caught fire with a few of the crew escaping.
Matthews was cheering, "There we go! That was three shots between the both of us!"
"Damn right, Reliance packs a punch!" Wilcox answered back.
He looked through his binoculars and spotted a new enemy that appeared.
"Shit," Wilcox cursed. He had the binoculars in one hand and the tank radio in the other, "Eyes sharp, we got a Panther 50 yards out 11 o'clock coming around the mound! Russo, get an A-P loaded. Grits, keep us going at this pace, don't stop!"
The cannon of the Panther was aimed in the direction of the Pershing. The German tank came to a stop, its turret following the motions of Reliance. The cannon fired.
The shell was high and glanced off the turret of the Pershing with a screeching clang. The hit rocked the American tank slightly.
Wilcox radioed, "Matthews, you spot that Panther?"
"Yeah, I see him! He ain't moving from that spot! What are you thinking?"
"I give him a target, you shoot-and-scoot."
"Copy that!"
Around the mound where the Panther loomed, another Panzer IV arrived, flanking to the left of the stationary Panther.
Wilcox's fist slammed against the hull, "Son of a— Matthews, the Panther's got back up, Panzer on the left. Gas! Gas! Step on the gas!"
The Panzer fired against the stationary Wolverine. With the warning, Death Day accelerated at the last moment. The Panzer's shell smacked against the left rear-side of the hull but could not deliver maximum impact since Death Day accelerated.
"Christ!" Matthews shouted through the radio, "Thanks for the heads up!"
Wilcox radioed to his crew, "Adrian, fire at the Panther!"
"Firing now!"
The cannon of Reliance roared as the shell made a solid hit against the Panther. But the Panther shook with what looked to be mild inconvenience before returning fire. The shell of the Panther hit the front of Reliance two meters above Shev's position. The inside quaked as if being hammered by a giant.
"Any damage?!" Russo called out.
"None, but my ears hurt!" Shev shouted back.
Can Opener turned its attention to the Panther and fired a well-placed shot in the side hull of the German tank. Mild penetration from the shell ensued, explosive shrapnel exploded inward, eviscerating half the crew of the Panther. Yet on the outside, the tank still looked like it was in commission.
Reliance did not miss a chance to repay its earlier blow.
"Adrian, fire back at that bastard!"
"You got it!"
"Grits, advance 50 meters and get us away from this hedgerow."
"On it."
Shev spotted a Panzerschreck team and bellowed out, "Panzerschreck, 1 o'clock!"
The launcher fired and smashed into the front chassis. The Pershing shook.
Shev tilted the machinegun ripped out a burst and cut down the two-man team.
"The bastards are down!" Shev shouted.
"Good job, kid! Hey, any damage?" Wilcox asked.
"She still handles just fine, but I feel a breeze or something, don't know how much more of this she can take," Grits replied.
"I don't see any penetration, but we keep getting too many hits," Shev answered.
"I know, but we gotta keep going," Wilcox replied.
Reliance kept on driving forth and aimed at the Panther, who after receiving a damaging shot by the Sherman, Can Opener, was driving back in reverse. But it was not quick enough.
Can Opener fired a second shot at the broadside of the Panther, then Reliance fired its larger shell directly into the front. The Panther was neutralized.
"Target gone!" Adrian cheered.
"Don't worry about us, we took out that Panzer!" Sergeant Matthews of Death Day replied.
Sergeant Mullis of Can Opener spoke up, "Reliance, how's your tank, looks like you took a few hits? Maybe you should fall back a bit and get patched up."
Wilcox was indeed feeling cautious with his new tank. It was tough enough to take several hits, but who knew what else Jerry had in store. They assaulted him with three tanks and an AT team, he shouldn't be pushing his luck.
Outside of his tank, 2nd Platoon was still battling with the Germans. But Can Opener and Death Day were present, and Wilcox reluctantly knew they can handle that as he repaired his Pershing.
Wilcox radioed back, "Acknowledged, Can Opener. Keep engaging and we'll get some repairs! Hang tough. Hey, Grits, reverse us back."
Fortunately, Mercer and his squad of engineers were spot-on in proximity, and they began to repair the tank as it fell back away from immediate gunfire.
The men inside the Pershing were resituating themselves with their ammo and inspecting internal damage, all Wilcox could do was watch impatiently as the battle amongst the infantry raged on. As much as he wanted to open fire, it was dangerous to do so with the engineers around him.
It was during this lull in the fighting that the true enemy was spotted.
Adrian was the first to notice it, looking through the cannon's sight. "Oh shit, Tiger!"
Through the smoke of battle, Wilcox saw it in the distance.
There was the Tiger.
Black as Death.
Wilcox had his binoculars out and peered straight towards the monster of a tank.
He saw him.
Out of the Tiger hatch was a German officer wearing a field cap; the officer was looking through his own binoculars, directly at the Pershing, directly at Wilcox.
"I got eyes on him," Wilcox fists began to tremble in excitement. Here he was. Captain Schultz.
No, here was Mordred on the fields of Camlann… And he was Arthur, staring down this ruthless monster, both armed with their mighty lances staring down one another on their indefatigable steeds on this glorious field of battle.
Trailing the Tiger tank about fifteen meters behind were two Panzer escorts. Behind the three tanks was a scourge of German infantry rushing forward at a controlled trot.
Caution be damned. His prize had come.
Wilcox opened up his hatch fully and popped his torso out. Fortunately, he spotted Lieutenant Peck about 25 meters out and waved to get his attention. Peck thought intuitively and took out his binoculars to get a better look at Wilcox.
With both hands, Wilcox pantomimed what he saw: "Tiger tank, Ace, positive I.D, accompanied with two Panzers, a hundred meters out, advancing slowly, platoon of about 50 men, 2nd Platoon should hunker down."
Peck shot his hand in the air as confirmation.
The officer got his radioman, Lovett, and got on the horn back to his C.O, "Conti, this is Peck, we have visual confirmation from Wilcox spotting the Tiger Ace. He's a hundred meters out from our position, he has two Panzers and a platoon of about 50 men in tow, he's heading right to where we are. There is a town square to the east of us, we'll fall back and hunker down. Over?"
Conti shouted back through the radio, "Schultz?! Copy! Maintain your position, I'll be ovuh there in a heartbeat."
"Copy, which platoon is reinforcing us?"
"None, they got their own job, I'm comin' ovuh there with Fats."
"Wh-What? Just you two? What ab—"
"I'll be there quickly. Out!"
2nd Platoon was busy trying to fight its way out of the open country to the more defensible village to the east before the German armor and infantry reinforcements arrived. The American tanks had to bide the platoon time to fall back.
Matthews was radioing in, "That is one ugly bastard! Hope you got a good plan to take out that Tiger, Wilcox!"
Wilcox was nodding as he spoke, "Yeah, I'm calling in the reserve! Grand Slam, Eclipse, and Heavy Duty, you three are off the bench, advance forward at the center flank of the road! Tiger has been spotted!"
"Copy that! We're on our way!" Sergeant Evans of Grand Slam radioed.
"And you better not be in first gear! Hurry it up!"
Wilcox yelled outward to the engineers still repairing his tank, "All right, y'all, knock it off! This tank is engaging the enemy!"
"What?!" Mercer shouted back, "We ain't done yet!"
"It'll have to do!"
"Goddammit, Wilcox!"
"Just fall back for now! The Tiger's here! We ain't wasting a chance and it's gonna get hairy!" Wilcox got onto his radio, "All right, then. Death Day, Can Opener, all tanks, engage that bastard!"
The Pershing, Wolverine, and Sherman rotated their cannons to the behemoth of German engineering. The Tiger had its sights leveled on the Pershing.
"He's locked in on us, bank to the right twenty degrees, Grits!" Wilcox ordered.
The Tiger fired; its shell smacked with an angle against the broadside of Reliance. The Pershing tank rocked harder than its previous hit with the Panther.
"Jesus!" Shev roared in surprised, violently tumbling in his seat. "That felt like a damn car crash!"
"Car? Hell! More like a locomotive!" Grits spoke back.
"Thank God Mercer did them repairs!" Russo shouted.
"Keep moving! Don't stall for a second!" Wilcox told his crew.
All three tanks fired in rapid succession, their shells slamming against the seemingly impenetrable hull. The Tiger took three hits, one from the front hull and two shells on both sides, but the German tank was still standing tall.
"Solid hit! Everyone, reload now! Give him another serving!" Wilcox told them.
Suddenly, bright white smoke began enveloping the Tiger, obscuring it from the Americans as it began to withdraw backwards.
"The Tiger's deploying smoke!" Shev announced.
"The bastard was just probing us to see what we could do!" Wilcox realized.
"We got him running scared!" Matthews radioed. "What's the plan, Wilcox?"
"After him! We can't let him withdraw and dig in with the rest of the Krauts!"
As the infantry of 2nd Platoon was still engaged with the enemy infantry, the American armor began accelerating forward. Grits slammed the tank into 4th gear, Reliance was going after the Tiger as a hound goes after its prey. Reliance was moving down the center, Death Day on the right, and Can Opener on the left.
"We got two Panzer at ten o'clock! They're on my broadside!" Mullis of Can Opener radioed.
Wilcox noticed it. Two Panzers that were in the rear were now rolling out to the left about forty yards out from the smoke of the Tiger, covering the heavy tank's withdrawal. Both Panzers aimed at Can Opener on the left flank and fired in unison. Penetration. Hitting the broadside caused the Sherman to burst into flames with two lucky shots..
"They took out Can Opener!" Matthews announced.
"Damn it! Matthews, hold back, don't go out too far, your sides are exposed!"
Wilcox was gnashing his teeth. Where the hell is our backup?
The smoke cloud was growing thicker in intensity; meanwhile, the two Panzers were slanting forward, surpassing the Tiger in the smoke. They were moving twenty yards past the Tiger, one to the left and the other to the right. Both were turning their turrets to Reliance.
Matthews and his Death Day Wolverine were throttling forward in high gear off to the right and managed to flank the Panzer. The Wolverine aimed its turret at the rear of the German tank and fired. The shell tore through the engine and fuel tanks, black smoke emanated from the Panzer as it slowed to a crawl.
Death Day's loader was Johnny-on-the-spot with reloading and the Wolverine fired a finishing round in quick succession, knocking the first Panzer out.
Reliance's turret was following the lone Panzer. It took a mighty shot and got it in the hull, putting the German armor out of commission.
With the Panzers gone, Wilcox tried to radio Can Opener, a voice in his mind asked him why he was even bothering.
"Hey, Can Opener, come in, over. Anyone there, over? Hey, anyone?!"
The line was dead. He cursed.
The jolt was so sudden that Wilcox dropped the radio in his right hand as he yelped from the abrupt pain. It felt as if an animal bit him on the shoulder, followed by someone lighting that spot on fire.
He looked down at his right shoulder. A piece of his shoulder was missing, blood was oozing from the unexpected wound.
Did—Did I just get shot?
His head snapped to his 3 o'clock; he saw what caused it.
There was a German about 30 yards away, hiding behind a downed tree, rechambering his rifle. This man's body was facing Wilcox.
Encompassed by violent fury, Wilcox pulled out his .45 from the holster around his chest and fired all seven rounds at his assailant with one hand. The bullets missed; the German rifleman scurried off to relocate.
He was fuming through clenched teeth. How dare this lone crossbowman foolishly believe he could dismount an armored knight?!
He reloaded a second clip into his pistol right when a 2nd German made his presence known to the tank commander. This German had an anti-tank grenade, the model that looked to be multiple potato masher grenades strapped together. This man was fifteen to twenty yards away from the Pershing and was lobbing his arm back to heave the grenade.
Wilcox took aim—with both hands this time—and fired five shots at the grenadier. The .45 rounds hit the man at the apex of his lob. As the German fell backwards, the grenade fell only a measly three yards from the German, blowing off the man's feet.
How the hell are they getting this close?! We should hav—
It dawned on him. He took a quick glance around. 2nd Platoon was still engaged with the German platoon and were deadlocked. Originally, the Americans had a Sherman tank as overwatch to keep the infantry off of the Pershing and Wolverine, but with Can Opener gone, the Germans could target the Pershing with more flexibility.
His shoulder ached. It felt as if something was inside his skin and stabbing his shoulder from the inside of his flesh with molten knives.
He knew he had to get back inside the tank with this much infantry around him. Bullets ricocheted off the turret, a few even slammed against the hatch door as he scurried back inside.
His wounded shoulder bumped against the interior, it felt as if a burning brand stamped him.
"Son of a bitch!" the tank commander cursed.
Adrian saw it, "Shit! You're hit!"
"I know, I know!" Wilcox said quickly. "It don't bother me none!" he lied. The tip of his shoulder was burning intensely.
"Sarge, there's a hornet's nest of infantry around us!" Shev called out, firing the coaxial gun.
"I know, I know! Grits, back us the hell out!"
Shev was peering through his periscope, "The Tiger is still obscured in the smoke, can't get a good sight on him."
A sudden chorus of American .50 cals began to sing through chaotic fighting, overtaking the muffled exhaust fans of American engines. The three Shermans had finally arrived from the rear, firing their heavy guns into the ranks of Germans. The enemy that was once rushing forward and threatening to overwhelm the American platoon and armor now had now begun to turn and fall back from the armored reinforcements.
Wilcox knew he had to get on the .50 cal. He pulled himself out of the hatch; his shoulder was screaming, but he fought through the pain. Rounds bounced off the turret around his body. He stood on top of the engine deck behind the turret and seized the .50 cal machinegun.
He fired at the retreating German forces who saw their dwindling chances of success slip away with the arrival of the G.I tanks.
The heavy bullets splintered the forces of the Germans, who now began to fall back in earnest.
Sergeant Vacarro from Eclipse was the one to radio in, "Hey, I got eyes on a Tiger fleeing back to the northeast, he's slanting hard in reverse with an Ostwind as an escort."
Wilcox ceased firing. The Tiger was in reverse, it's front hull facing the American armor. Alongside it, providing rear security, was an Ostwind futilely shooting at the American armor.
Wilcox was panting harder; an evil chuckle came from his throat. His enemy was in flight, it was time to run him down.
Lieutenant Peck rushed towards the Pershing to be better heard, "Have you spotted the Tiger?"
"Yeah, he's fleeing! We're gonna hunt the bastard down!"
"Copy that, Sergeant! 2nd Platoon will secure the village on the right and wait for you to return! Good hunting."
"Thank you, sir."
"It's heading out of effective range," Vaccaro radioed to the tank group. "What' s the plan?"
"All tanks, advance!" Wilcox ordered. "We got him 5-2."
All five American tanks traversed their treads and advanced in the pursuit. Reliance was leading the field in the center, the two Shermans, Heavy Duty and Grand Slam were side-by-side of the Pershing. The last Sherman, Eclipse, was on the far-left flank, while the Wolverine, Death Day, was on the far-right flank.
The still retreating Tiger fired its 88mm shell at the Sherman, Eclipse, on the far-right flank, hitting Eclipse's tread, immobilizing the Sherman.
"Oh, shit! I think he got us on the tread!" Sergeant Vaccaro of Eclipse radioed in.
"That's okay, just watch our back!" Sergeant Matthews of Death Day radioed back.
"Gotta give him credit, he's a good shot on the run," Sergeant Evans of Grand Slam spoke outwardly.
"He ain't an Ace for nothing, Evans!" Sergeant Brower of Heavy Duty conceded.
Wilcox laughed wickedly, "Well that's the last credit he'll get! He'll be dead soon enough."
He wanted this. By God, did he want this!
The Tiger kept its speed in high gear; its menacing cannon was ever-focused on the incoming rush of American tanks.
The Sherman, Heavy Duty, took a shot at the Tiger. The shell flew against the turret, but the Tiger did not falter and kept reversing.
Death Day fired; its shell impacted the tank's hull. The Tiger kept on with its retreat.
"Son of a bitch, this thing is tough!" Matthews remarked through the radio.
"Keep pressing him! Death Day, reload and take out its treads!"
The Ostwind fired at the Pershing, the small shell bounced off the hull.
"Wilcox, who should we get?" Adrian asked.
"Take out that pissant Ostwind, Adrian!" Wilcox ordered.
"Got it!"
It took one well-placed round from Reliance to destroy the Ostwind. The sole enemy armor was the retreating Tiger.
But the Tiger still had some fight. It took a shot at the Sherman, Grand Slam, this time hitting it on its right track.
"Shit! He got us too! We're crippled!" Sergeant Evans of Grand Slam raged.
"Don't worry, Evans, he won't get away!" Brower radioed in.
"Damn straight!" Wilcox shouted on the radio. "Let's give 'em a taste of his own medicine! Matthews, can you make the shot on his treads?"
"Just watch us, Wilcox! Fire!"
The Wolverine came to a sudden stop to take a quick yet stable aim. Its cannon fired and the A-P shell collided with the tracks of the Tiger. The tread fell lifelessly into the dirt. Heavy Duty fired its shell against the hull of the Tiger, making a solid hit, but the enemy tank was still operable.
The Tiger was now stagnant, but its turret began to swivel towards the Pershing.
Wilcox was squeezing his radio tighter than a boa constrictor, "That Tiger's on his last leg! Adrian, end this, now!"
A bestial roar was the only sound that exited Adrian's lungs, beads of sweat the size of marbles cascaded down his face. The enemy turret stopped full-center on Reliance. Wilcox's hand nearly crushed the radio, but he refused to break his stare against this Behemoth.
The Pershing fired first. Its shell contacted the Tiger's hull, and the German armored monstrosity exploded.
The air within the lungs of the five-man crew held its place for a solid two seconds, their minds trying to connect what they had accomplished. When it sank in, all five of them exhaled in unison.
"Kiss our ass, you son of a bitch!" Grits was cheering, patting Shev on the shoulder.
Adrian was howling like a wolf, "You see that, boys! That's how you shoot!"
"Oh my God… oh my God…" was all Shev could say with breathy exhales and relieved snickering.
Russo's hands were shaking, but he was smiling, "Son of a bitch."
Wilcox didn't know how hard he was panting until it was all over. He was grinning from ear-to-ear.
He felt his soul leaving his body in joyous rapture.
Wilcox's hands moved on their own. He switched the dial and contacted Fats. "Hey, tell Conti, that we got him. Schultz is dead."
He did it.
The Pershing had back-up during this fight, but it could and did stand up to a Tiger tank.
That well of victorious pride was exploding within Wilcox's bosom.
Through the burning smoke, the hull of the destroyed Tiger became more transparent.
Wilcox scrunched his eyes, "Whoa… whoa-whoa-whoa— hold up now! What?"
He brought his binoculars to his eyes to examine the tank.
With radio in hand, he said, "Uh, Conti, confirmation… Schultz's tank had a grey eagle emblem on its turret, over?"
Fats, who was on the other end, told Wilcox to standby before the Commanding Officer came on the other end. The officer from Brooklyn came in with his gravelly voice, "Confirmation? Yeah, he does, a grey eagle on the turret. What's wrong? Ya got him, right?"
Wilcox didn't know it, but his men inside the tank were looking up, hearing the confusion in his voice.
Wilcox's eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
"Be advised, this tank is not the Tiger Ace! Repeat, this is not the Tiger Ace, over!"
"WHAT?!" Conti screamed back on the radio, forgoing all protocol. "What the hell did ya say?!"
"I say again, this is not the Tiger Ace. I cannot identify any eagle emblem… on top of that… the Tiger Ace was pitch black, and this Tiger is grey itself… this is not the Tiger Ace, over."
"If this isn't him, then where the hell is he?"
The million-dollar question, and he couldn't come up with an answer.
A sudden screech that could split the sky had erupted behind Wilcox's tank. He spun around and looked through his binoculars to see Eclipse, the first Sherman to be disabled and in the rear, bursting into flames. To the west of the tank was a Panther resting on the incline with a smoking cannon.
Son of a bitch…
Over the incline, two more German tanks arrived, another Panther and a Panzer, both tanks were coming down and rushing against the American armor.
Wilcox switched the signal of his radio from Conti to that of his fellow tankers.
"Goddamn it! They ambushed us!" Sergeant Evans of Grand Slam announced.
"They took out Vaccaro and Eclipse!" Matthews shouted.
"We need assistance; our Sherman's treads are disabled!"
Wilcox was speechless. The Lord had robbed his chest of air.
I… I fell into an ambush… his thought bitterly echoed in his skull.
"Wilcox, pick up damn it!" Matthews bellowed into the radio.
"Uh, yeah! Keep it tight."
The two Panthers and the singular Panzer both targeted the crippled Sherman, Grand Slam.
Sergeant Evans of Grand Slam was radioing frantically, "Oh Christ! They got us locked; we can't move! Everyone out of the tank!"
"Evans!" Wilcox screamed into the radio.
But his voice was too late. The three enemy tanks fired in quick succession, blowing the wounded Sherman sky high, the American crew didn't even have moment to open their hatches.
Wilcox unleashed an unintelligible roar.
He looked at the smoking wreck, and he realized how his fortune had utterly failed him.
Through his binoculars, he saw what was transpiring.
An insidious plot had just unfolded before his eyes.
Past the wreckage of Eclipse, three Panzers were heading straight down the center road with at least a platoon of infantrymen in tow. Their destination was alarmingly obvious.
"Marco! Are you there?!"
Marco from Hitler's Bane—the sole Sherman left in reserve—picked up, "Yeah, I'm here. What the hell's going on over there? Sounds like utter chaos! You said it wasn't the Tiger Ace?"
"Marco, we got ambushed out here! We had two Shermans immobilized, but now they're gone. Both Eclipse and Grand Slam! And now we are flanked! Hang tough! We'll fight it out!"
"Oh Jesus Christ! Hold on, we're on our way!" Marco argued back.
"Negative! Negative! Stay where you are, they're coming straight towards you and Able. Hang tight and defend the HQ with everything you got! You got about three Panzers, maybe more, coming your way along with a platoon of Krauts. Tell the riflemen! The Krauts are counterattacking, I repeat, they're counterattacking! They need to get ready; I'm counting in about five to ten minutes at their current speed."
"Shit… fine, we'll stay here, you better make it back, Wilcox! Over!"
"Copy that, hold the castle. Out!"
Just then, two more Panzer tanks came over the incline to encircle the three remaining American tanks: Reliance, Death Day, and Heavy Duty.
5-3
Wilcox noticed that the Panther tank was aiming its cannon directly at Reliance.
"Grits, move! Move forward! Now!" he ordered down.
The Panther fired. Wilcox witnessed the smoke from the cannon blurt out. It felt as if a giant kicked the tank. He felt the impact of the shell colliding against the turret of the tank. His eyes nearly bled from the sound of the screech alone.
He hurtled back inside the tank. His wounded shoulder gave him pain once more.
"Oh God, Wilcox!" Russo shouted.
"I'm fine! I'm fine! Get us the hell out of here, Grits!"
"Goddamn it! I'm trying! Get the hell off of me!" he growled in a panic.
Shev was peering through the periscope, "Oh Christ, that's a lot of armor!"
"Who should I go for, Wilcox?" Adrian asked, looking through his sights.
Wilcox was still trying to get back on his feet, "The Panther, damn it!"
Wilcox grabbed his radio, "Matthews, what's it looks like out there?"
Static.
"Matthews, come in, over!"
Static.
"Matthews!"
Static.
"Damn it! Don't tell me they took him out!"
He felt his heart spinning like a top. He quickly switched the dial for the internal radio, he had to inform Conti of what was happening.
"Able Six! Come in, over!"
Static.
His hand began to tremble. Oh no…
"Able Six, come in, over!" he said again.
Static.
No, no, no, no, no, no!
"Conti, come in, over!"
Static. The other line was dead.
"Shit!" Wilcox flung the radio down. "That last Kraut shell took out our radio outside… we're on our own, boys!"
"What?! How are we going to contact the rest of the tanks?!" Shev asked.
Wilcox clenched his eyes; his mind was racing faster than a jouster's horse.
This was indeed it. His mind raced to their deaths at the hand of the enemy. He envisioned that all five of them would be barbecued alive. In those briefest moments, that fear lunged through him like a lance, telling him to run.
That notion evaporated quicker than a blink; he nearly retched upon feeling that fear in the pit of his stomach. Shame forced the fear out of him, followed by fury.
He already had to abandon his trusted steed, Excalibur. The devil could claim his soul before he forfeited Reliance. God gave him a second chance, and he would not squander this.
"Wilcox!" Shev shouted.
He opened his eyes, "We can't communicate with anyone. That's it. We just fight it out!"
"What's the plan, Sarge?" Adrian asked.
"We breakout and rescue the HQ! Keep close to the rest of the tanks so they can watch our rear!"
Three Panzers and two Panthers were now descending on top of him. With his shoulder burning, the fury of Wilcox was rising to the surface with an escalating level of impending violence.
He realized his tactical mistake; he shouldn't have gone after that Tiger with all of his forces. How stupid of him to have overextended his armor section with the infantry. To be separated with the rest of the forces, how humiliating…
These enemy knights were riding to run down their camp. Where was the cavalry? He was it. Cut off from the main army in his own battle with the enemy cavalry. He knew what he had to do. His cavalry had to come to the rescue to avert disaster.
The Sherman was engaging with a Panzer, whilst the Wolverine was attacking the first Panther. He saw a Panther taking position preparing to fire at them.
He leaned forward and shouted downward to his crew, "Target that, Panther! C'mon boys, let do this!"
Moments ago
2nd Platoon had entered the derelict courtyard of the French village; they examined each building and declared it vacant of the enemy. This was a point in the flank that they needed to secure and hold for the central attack from the rest of the company to be unimpeded. If the German armor was to come down the main road, then the flanks had to be protected from the infantry. Fortunately, the ruins were wide enough to support a tank's passage.
Lieutenant Peck asked for his radio. He needed to see how far Conti was with the reinforcements.
Thank goodness it was silent here. Peck never got used to the headache of battle, with the discordance of rifle fire, explosions, and shouting. Here, he seemed like he finally got some quiet, until his C.O. suddenly arrived at the end of the ruined courtyard with his radioman.
"Where's the sonuvabitch?!" Conti growled, looking around frantically.
Such suddenness froze Peck in place until he recovered afterwards, "Sir, where's the rest of the men?"
Fats shook his head, "It's just the two of us."
Peck looked at the chubby radioman with bewilderment, before turning back to the grizzled officer who seemed aloof to the world, fixated on the whereabouts of Schultz.
"Sir!" Peck raised his voice, "We need more men here!"
"Yeah, I know. Now where is Schultz? I thought ya said ya spotted him here."
"No, sir. We spotted him in open terrain, he fell back, and we took this area to tie in our flank."
"Who's in pursuit?"
"The entire armored column."
A loud explosion could be heard in the distance.
About a solid minute later, a call came through Fat's radio.
"This is Fats, over… what… oh… standby…"
Fats looked at Conti with a growing smile, "Sir, they got him. Wilcox and his men took out Schultz and his Tiger."
The heavy air of tension around the 2nd Platoon started to dissipate at the revelation.
The veterans of 2nd Platoon known as the "Second Platoon Nine" were nodding with smirks.
Sergeant Duck Hudson exhaled, "Thank God."
Corporal Terry laughed, "Rot in hell you piece of shit!"
Saywell was nodding, "For what he did to the Cap, I hope it was painful."
Even Corporal Blackwell was looking up at the sky in reflective thought.
Sergeant Hirsch, who was beside him, had a slight grin, "Blackwell, are you glad?"
Blackwell's face hardened with a guttural growl.
Peck looked at Conti. His Company Commander blinked twice before raising his face upwards. He shot out two quick exhales. His mouth did not smile nor frown, but Peck seemed to have felt elation coming from the man.
The men were continuing to cheer when Fats listened in on the radio again.
"Uh, stand by for Able Six, over," Fats told the tanker. He moved over to Conti with the receive, "Uh, Wilcox is asking for confirmation on Schultz's tank. He is asking if it had a grey eagle emblem on its turret."
Conti took the receiver, "Confirmation? Yeah, he does, a grey eagle on the turret. What's wrong? Ya got him, right?"
Peck's lifted expression began to shrink at the last remark.
There was a pause from Conti. The men were still celebrating and patting each other's backs. Peck moved in closer to listen better.
"WHAT?!" Conti suddenly blurted out; half of the men recoiled back from the startling shout. Conti's face grew red, "What the hell did ya say?!"
All exultation from the men ceased.
The men closest to him could hear a muffled explanation, barely audible.
"If this isn't him, then where the hell is he?!" Conti asked.
A distant explosion bellowed on the horizon; it was so quiet around 2nd Platoon that every man heard the boom.
"Wilcox? Wilcox! Dammit, Wilcox, are you there?!" Conti shouted into the radio.
After a brief pause, he handed the receiver back to Fats and ordered him, "I lost contact with Wilcox, get him back on now!"
"On it, sir."
"Sir, what's wrong?" Duck asked.
"They didn't get him! They got the wrong Tiger!"
Peck shook his head in a double-take, "Huh? Wha—whoa, whoa, whoa! The 'wrong' Tiger? How many Tigers are out there?"
"They got the wrong damn Tiger, somehow!"
"So how many Tigers are out there?!" Hirsch asked the C.O.
"I don't fuckin' know! Goddammit, Schultz is still out there!"
More explosions erupted in the distance.
Cunningham was looking out in the general direction of the sounds. "That's uh… that's a lot of noise coming over where the tanks were, right?" he mentioned to the platoon.
"What the hell is going on out there?" Duck muttered to himself.
"Repeat, over?" Fats suddenly said aloud, speaking through the radio. "Huh?! Oh, okay… standby for the Six."
The radioman handed it to Conti, "Sir, it's Sergeant Marco with Hitler's Bane, he said he got an emergency call from Wilcox."
Conti practically snatched the receiver from Fats as he growled into it, "Marco, what the hell is goin' on?! Tell me… what… huh… what… where's Wilcox… goddammit… goddammit!"
The C.O. was now gnashing his teeth, every man present hung on the lieutenant's every syllable.
Conti was continuing, his eyes flickering with every piece of news he received, "How many did he see? Aw, Christ! Any more of 'em? Uh-huh… shit… goddammit, no, you stay right there, we're fallin' back now! You hold that HQ come hell or high water! Out!"
Conti threw the receiver to the ground and snarled like an animal.
Peck was the only man to get into Conti's face, "Conti, what is going on?! What is happening out there?!"
Conti shook his head furiously, "Goddammit, that was his gambit!"
"Wh-Whose gambit?! What are you talking about?!"
"Schultz!" Conti shouted. "Goddammit, he lures out our most of our armor with a decoy, and he sends the rest of the forces to cut us off and assault our HQ!"
The air was sucked away from every man of the platoon.
Duck approached the C.O., "Sir, the HQ's under attack?"
"It's going to be! Wilcox and his tankers were ambushed by the Krauts and are cut off. Another Kraut force with three Panzers and a platoon are heading straight towards the HQ and to the rest of Able! They're about five minutes out! We overextended comin' this far out, we're falling back now! Peck, get the—"
Out of the derelict French town was the ominous exhaust of a tank engines followed by the creaking of the gears. The Americans could hear it clearly coming from the north, where the enemy resided.
On this hot day, the men could witness a large heat haze emerging past the rooftops of the now abandoned French homes. A low rumble began to emerge from the ground, a soft tremor that was slowly growing in intensity. Suddenly, one of the engines sounded as if it had shifted to high gear and was now going around the town.
The men were near catatonic from the surprise, but Lieutenant Peck of 1st Platoon looked to the two privates, Cunningham and Camden, "Go through that building and scout through the windows what you see."
The privates wordlessly agreed and scampered to a two-story home that was directed near the edge of the town. Both men looked through the window and recoiled at the sight.
About 70 yards out from the rear of the village was a German Ostwind tank with a dozen infantrymen in tow flanking around the town. The German tank commander was out of his hull and peering through his binoculars, scanning for anything out of the ordinary.
The German stopped his turning, slamming his fist on the hull of the tank. The Ostwind came to a halt, the German tank commander was directly staring at the two Americans.
Camden recoiled, "Wait, can he—"
Cunningham shook his head, "No, he couldn't have see—"
The Ostwind commander suddenly shouted orders, and the turret began to swivel towards the American's location.
"Oh shit…" Cunningham whispered.
He grabbed Camden's arm and yanked him out of the house. Moments later, the Ostwind fired, blasting out the first floor.
The rest of 2nd Platoon jolted from the sudden blast. The two privates came running back, Cunningham was the first to speak. "Sir's there's an Ostwind and a squad of Krauts blocking our exit out of town!"
"They took a shot at us! I think they're coming in now!"
The tremors from the tank began to increase, the Ostwind was surely on its way from the rear. But that was not the only sound that emanated from the outskirts of the village.
A few attentive men from 2nd Platoon could hear the sudden onset of shouting coming from the northern edge of the town. Blackwell was the first to notice it, a squad of Germans came rushing into the courtyard 80 yards out from 2nd Platoon's position.
"Krauts! 12 o'clock!" Blackwell announced.
Shadowing this squad was a platoon of Panzergrenadiers who were stampeding into the courtyard as if they were enraged wildebeests. Angry shouts of Germans echoed off the buildings and the enemy began firing at them.
"Fall back, we're too exposed!" Conti shouted.
The men of 2nd Platoon scrambled for cover; some men were returning fire as they moved. Several men got behind low stone walls that surrounded the center fountain, others went behind overturned wooden tables, and some men hid behind the corners of the stone buildings.
Then a true earthquake came. Pieces of rubble and plaster from the broken homes and buildings began to fall unto the courtyard, the sound of exhaust was growing louder, the creaking of gears was now all enveloping.
Out of the corner of the main street emerged the Tiger tank, blacker than coal and more menacing than its animalistic namesake with its five-inch-thick frontal armor and 88-millimeter cannon that punches holes into aircraft. Conti leaned out of cover, there really was a 2nd Tiger, but… was it…
He took out his binoculars and leaned more out of cover than before. He saw it clearly. The white eagle was on the side of this Tiger. Joseph Schultz was in that tank. The man who killed John MacKay was here…
"We got Krauts behind us!" someone announced.
From where Cunningham and Camden retreated, a squad of Germans emerged from around the building with an Ostwind tank arriving from the rear street of the town.
"Goddamn it, we're cut off!" Lieutenant Peck swore into the air.
A ray of illumination suddenly fell on Conti, he saw how it all played out in his mind.
This counterattack… Schultz wasn't leading the main attack on the HQ; he was leading the pincer move. In case Able was too hard of a nut to crack from a frontal assault, he would flank around with his Tiger and an Ostwind to roll up the American line like a carpet.
Schultz made initial contact with 2nd Platoon and the Pershing, deployed smoke, did a switcheroo with another Tiger, and led the armored column on a wild goose chase, just to isolate Able Company. The only reason he was this close to the town was that he probably knew 2nd Platoon was still hanging around here, so he sent the Ostwind to scout it out.
The main attack at Able's HQ was still on with three Panzers and a platoon of infantry heading their way.
This right flank in this courtyard had to hold; or 1st and 3rd Platoon would be encircled.
Conti nearly retched, for an intrusive thought soared through his mind quicker than a flash that utterly sicked him. Realizing Schultz's plan of attack, recognizing his tactical mind, one word grudgingly came to Conti's thoughts.
Brilliant.
Four men of 2nd Platoon darted out of an exposed position for a more solid one closer to the fountain. Whilst running for cover, Middlebrook's radio seemingly burst into flames out of nowhere. German bullets riddled the big man's radio backpack. The smoking radio elicited a squeal from the heavy man.
"Jesus! Get it off of me! Get it off of me!" he frantically squalled, the big man was sprinting around in a near circle.
Hefferman was beside Fats, "Damn it, hold still!"
The smoke was growing in intensity, and fire could be seen from within. Fats' thrashing became more erratic, his shoulders were caught within the straps.
"Get it off of me, goddamn it!" he kept screaming.
Hefferman tackled him to the floor and pulled out his bayonet, "Goddamn it, I said hold still!" He took the bayonet and began sawing through the straps until one of them gave way, allowing Fats to throw the flaming backpack away. Bullets were slicing through the air near the two men.
"I swear to God if I get hit cause of your fat ass—!" Hefferman sneered, pulling him to his feet.
"Oh Lord! My back!" Fats shouted.
"It's fine! It ain't that badly burned."
Hefferman pulled Fats back into cover behind the fountain next to Conti. Conti's eyes went from Fats, then towards the smoking radio backpack.
A Tiger cutting them off at the front, an Ostwind cutting them off at the rear, and German infantry in the middle, and no radio… 2nd Platoon was on its own.
If you are still following this story, thanks as always!