Fury of the Tiger, page 10
"Of course I'm sure. I know this area well. There is a submerged track that is very shallow. It will take you to the other side of the lake, and you can circle around and come up behind your German tank."
"How would you know we're on the track?"
"I will come with you and show you the way." She smiled again, "I take it you have no objection to giving a girl a ride on your tank?"
"Er, well, I..."
Before he could object, she skipped up onto the hull, and he followed her. She held on to a stanchion behind the turret. He shrugged. She'd evidently made up her mind. He climbed into the hatch and took his place in the commander's seat. He glanced at Margot to make sure she was secure, shook his head, and ordered the driver forward.
"Take it slow, Angel. Miss Caron is up on the hull, and she'll guide across the flood."
"You got it."
He engaged the tracks, and they lumbered forward. The girl leaned close to him and gave directions in a husky voice.
"Left. Yes, that's it, straight ahead now; bear a little to the right. Not too much, come back a couple of degrees to the left."
It took them almost thirty long, grueling minutes before they cut the road. Angel swung onto the dirt track and headed back toward Gruchy, and they strained to look ahead, searching for the Tiger. Every man knew they'd get only one shot. After that, the monster tank would swing their main gun around, and an 88mm shell would destroy them. The girl still clung to the hull, and he didn't know whether to order her to get off or tell her to shelter inside the cramped interior. In the end, he decided the risk of engaging the Tiger was too great.
"Driver, halt."
As they slowed to a stop, he explained it to her.
"It's for your protection, Mam'selle. We don't want anything to happen to you. But we're mighty grateful for the help. I mean, really grateful."
She grimaced but nodded her acceptance.
"I will find my own way back. Good luck, Sergeant. Perhaps when you are back this way, you will come and see me, and let me know how it went."
"Sure I will."
She bent forward, kissed him on the cheek, and then skipped lightly to the ground.
What a woman!
"Driver advance. Heads up, guys, that Tiger can't be too far away. He has to be in front of us, somewhere."
They approached the section of track next to the farm, but there was no sign of the German tank. He glanced idly around, and gaped, German armor, coming straight at them. Not Tigers, these were three Panzer IVs. Their Sherman was outnumbered and outgunned. He wondered if the Krauts had seen them. Probably not, they were backlit in the moonlight, which meant Minnie Mouse was in dark shadow. They needed reinforcements. He grabbed his mike.
"Company Commander from Sergeant Grant. Three Panzer IVs, approaching Gruchy from the northwest."
Major Morgan replied almost instantly, "Acknowledged. Can you engage?"
He sounded tired, a different man from the stern, serious academic who'd landed on Omaha Beach.
"Affirmative, Sir, but we need support. A platoon should be enough."
A chuckle. "We're a little short on armor, Grant. Lieutenant Bligh is with me, and I can't spare him. I can give you Sergeant Kuruk. I'll detach him to your position now. Good hunting. Three Panzer IVs, you said?"
Four Shermans, all that's left for the entire Company! Shit, almost three quarters of our strength gone. They sure hit us hard.
"It looks that way, Sir. We didn't get a good look at them."
"Understood. Do your best. Sergeant Kuruk will be with you in a few minutes."
"Roger. We're also short on ammunition and fuel, Sir."
"So are we all. Morgan out."
They needed somewhere off the road to hide until the Panzers came into range.
"Driver, swing back into the farm. We'll keep out of sight until they go past us." He switched to the Company net, "Kuruk, this is Grant, do you copy?"
"This is Kuruk, receiving you loud and clear. We're heading out of Gruchy right now. We'll be up with you soon."
"Negative. Hold at the edge of the village, and wait until the shooting starts. I'm planning to wait for them to go past and bushwhack them. When their attention is on Minnie, bring up Cochise and hit them hard."
"They wouldn't let me name this one Cochise."
"They'll change their minds if we pound those Panzers. If we don't, we'll be dead."
"Uh, okay. We'll be there."
His mind was still reeling from their losses. What did they leave England with, fifteen, sixteen Shermans? Now they were down to four. And they were facing, what? Three Panzer IVs, which were tough opponents, and there was still that Tiger out there somewhere. All they needed now was for a battalion of Panzergrenadiers to happen along. His mother would get the knock on the door, the sympathetic glances from the family support officers, and they'd leave her to shed tears for another son lost on the altar of Hitler's ambitions to turn the world into a Nazi paradise.
No way, José! Adolf ain't got us yet.
Angel drove past the wrecked gate, which gave Grant a brief feeling of guilt, and halted behind the house out of sight of the track. Fifty yards away, the barn swayed as a gust of wind hammered at it. And then it started to rain again, a humdinger of a downpour, reducing visibility to less than fifty yards, perfect ambush weather. Besides, it would wash some of the mud off his uniform jacket, which was out in the open. The engine note quietened from Angel throttling all the way back, and he strained his ears to listen for the enemy. At first nothing, and then he heard it. Heavy, powerful gas engines, and the heavy mechanical clank of steel tracks chewing up the unmetaled roadway.
"Solly..."
"I hear it."
He switched to the Company net, "Daniel, how're you doing?"
"I estimate we're eight hundred yards from your position. Can't see much. The rain is pretty bad."
"Bad for them, too. Keep coming, and when the fireworks start, come in fast and hit them hard."
"Roger that."
He watched and listened. They'd be here soon. There was one thing that bothered him.
Where did that damned Tiger get to?
* * *
Rolf Manhausen peered through a gap in the side of the wooden barn. Behind him, Franz dropped a spanner and he cursed. Even though the rain drummed hard on the roof, kicking up a racket, he knew the sound of dropped metal could alert the Amis.
"Quiet!" he hissed, "They're fifty meters away."
"Sorry."
Rolf thought back to only a half hour before when he'd almost had them in their sights. A Panzergrenadier unit alerted him with a radio message. They'd seen the Sherman cutting through the floodwater. Their intention was clear, to attack the Tiger from behind. Obviously, they had a local who knew a way through the flooded water. Rolf directed his crew to drive to the farm and wait there in ambush. A nasty surprise for the Amis, just when they thought they had the Tiger cornered. They'd left the road and driven into the farmyard to set up the ambush. That was when it all went wrong, and the engine began making the familiar rattling sounds. It was like someone had filled a steel drum with nuts and bolts and was shaking it violently.
"What is it this time, Franz?"
The driver sounded flustered. "The valves, Obersturmfuhrer. We've lost another one, at least. Could be two. We have to stop, or we'll wreck the motor."
"I thought you'd fixed the problem."
"Sir, I said at the time, the spare parts they send us are useless. You know the Maybach engine. It's a precision piece of machinery, not some worthless Soviet junk."
It was true, the Maybach 12 cylinder, 21-liter gasoline engine was well made and powerful, but it was also prone to breakdowns.
Yet we have tens of thousands of Soviet prisoners of war working in our factories, making these spare parts. Is it any wonder they're useless? They sit in comfortable factories while German men and boys go out to do battle with the enemy. Crazy!
"How long to fix it this time?"
"At least three hours. Obersturmfuhrer. We must shut down the engine, otherwise it'll be damaged beyond repair."
With no engine, they'd be helpless even to defend themselves. No engine, meant no power to the eight-ton turret. Nothing. He glanced around and saw the barn.
"Drive over to that wooden structure. Wilhelm, Siegfried, get the doors open. We'll hide in there until Franz has the engine fixed."
The two men leapt out to obey the order, and Franz eased the big vehicle into the barn until it was completely inside. The men closed the doors, and the driver switched off the engine. In the silence, he heard the ticking of the hot machinery cooling in the cold, damp night air. He climbed down and stretched his legs.
"Franz, three hours, not a second more. Wilhelm, radio Headquarters and advise them of our situation. Heinrich, Siegfried, find a good place to keep a watch on what's happening outside. You'd better unmount both of the MG34s, in case the Amis come."
"Obersturmfuhrer, that was a Sherman we saw. The machine guns will be useless," the gunner, Unterscharfuhrer Heinrich Boll objected.
It was a fair point. "Agreed, we have an MP40 and a couple of KAR98 rifles in the locker, use those. Move it, we need to watch for the enemy. And make sure you wear your steel helmets. You never know."
"Jawohl, Obersturmfuhrer."
They removed their sidecaps, donned the helmets, and one man doubled to each end of the barn where they could observe through the cracks in the ancient timbers. He smiled. They'd magically transformed from boy tankers to German infantry. All it had needed was the addition of helmets and weapons. How easy it was to become a warrior.
But these are child soldiers, he reminded himself, I wonder if I should advise them to surrender if the Amis come.
Posting a guard was more to keep up morale than anything else. If a Sherman happened along and caught them with no engine, they'd have a single option, and that was surrender. At least it would mean these children would survive the war. He walked over to join Heinrich, who was watching through a gap in the center of the big wooden doors. They looked at each other as they both heard a rumble and clatter that meant only one thing. Armor.
Ours or theirs?
* * *
"AP loaded and ready."
"Roger."
The clanking noise came nearer, and in a break in the sheeting rain he saw them, three Panzer IVs, moving slowly along the track. Their frontal armor was slightly thicker than that of the Sherman, while the main gun was about the same caliber, 75mm. Theoretically, an equal contest, except there were three of them.
Grant had no intention of making it an equal contest. At long range, there was no guarantee the Sherman's 75mm gun would penetrate the frontal armor of the Panzer IV. At close range, fifty or a hundred yards, it was no contest, and that was the way he intended to play it. Besides, when he started to shoot, Daniel Kuruk's Cochise would attack from behind, and the 75mm shells would slice into the Panzers like a knife through butter.
Theoretically. So why did he feel so uneasy? It was as if they were being watched, yet he knew the farm was empty. He glanced around at the abandoned house and the big semi-derelict timber barn. There was no one around now that Margot Caron was gone, presumably walking to the nearest friendly village. He felt a pang of loss. He'd like to have known that beautiful, feisty French girl a bit better. Now he never would. He shook his head to focus.
"Driver, advance. Gunner, fire as you bear."
"Roger."
The tank lurched forward, taking them beyond the shelter of the farmhouse, and there they were. Three targets, the Panzer IVs lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery. They had no room to maneuver; the flooded fields meant they had no chance to escape. Solly fired, and the first AP shell smashed into the lead Panzer. The vehicle slammed to a stop, and roiling, black smoke and flame poured out of the turret. The Panzer behind halted, blocked by the wrecked Panzer in front and the tank in the rear. The turret began to turn toward a panicked attempt to engage.
Minnie's gun crashed out, and a second shell hit the center German tank, but the hit was on the thick, sloped frontal armor, just below the glacis. The AP shell glanced off, and tore away part of the track as it exploded. But the tank was still able to fight, even if it couldn't maneuver. They fired, and the 75mm shell skidded off Minnie's turret, only inches from Grant. The projectile whistled away into the darkness. Solly fired again, and this time his shell slammed into the armor plated side of the Panzer, penetrated, and exploded inside the vehicle.
The third Panzer was better prepared. Already the turret was rotating as the driver maneuvered to get a shot at them from behind the wreckage of his two comrades when Kuruk's shell slammed into his rear, and the German armor suddenly stopped. There was no explosion, no flames, but the enemy tank was motionless.
Probably the shockwave from the exploding shell killed them, he thought, At least it killed them before they could kill us.
He called Kuruk on the radio.
"Nice shooting, Dan. Old Cochise himself couldn't have done better."
"Just a hundred years too late, white boy. Next time, it'll be different."
He grinned. It was a standing joke between them.
"It looks like they're all dead, but we need to make sure. We'll go and check them out."
"Roger. I'll come up to your position in case you need me."
Grant called Vernon to grab a rifle and join him. He climbed out of the Sherman, drew his Colt .45 1911 automatic, and together they walked over to check out the wrecked armor. The first and second vehicles were totally destroyed, their hulls blackened and riddled with holes when they exploded. The third Panzer was weird and looked almost unscathed. When he opened the turret hatch, two of the crew were apparently uninjured, although fragments from the AP shell had ripped apart the rest of the Germans.
Vernon climbed up beside him, glanced inside, and nodded. "Dead, those two in the turret."
Grant holstered his Colt. "Yeah, no doubt. This lot won't be shooting at any more of our boys."
They looked up as a loud rumbling noise announced the arrival of Daniel Kuruk. The Indian climbed out of the turret and walked up to them as they dropped to the ground and nodded a greeting. He looked at the wrecked Panzers.
"Looks like we're done here. Any survivors?"
"None."
"A massacre," he grimaced.
"Like fucking Little Big Horn," Vern Franklin snarled, "Shot in the back."
Ever since he'd joined the 175th, there'd been friction between him and Daniel, the redneck and the Indian. Although it was true Vern managed to create friction with every soldier of Company A who wasn't a good ole boy like himself. Kuruk decided to let it go, and he smiled at Vern.
"You're right. Didn't we Indians win that one, too?"
Franklin gave him a nasty look and then turned away. It was as well; if he'd tried to push it, Grant would have broken it up. He'd considered on several occasions forcing Vernon to transfer to another unit, which would probably mean he'd go to the infantry. However, so far he'd held back. They were in a war, and if there was any fighting to be done, they needed to concentrate on the Germans, not beat up on each other. It was the only way to get the job done. Kill as many Germans as possible, reach Berlin, give Adolf a bloody nose, and go home. End of story.
He glanced at Daniel. "You okay?"
"I've seen worse. He's just a cracker asshole."
"Yeah. We need to rejoin Major Morgan. There's unfinished business in Gruchy. It sounds like the 29th Infantry have something of a fight on their hands. Let's move."
He ran back to Minnie Mouse, vaulted up on the hull, and held on grimly as Angel drove out the farmyard at speed. The wrecked Panzers partially blocked the track, but Minnie nudged them aside. Angel was careful to avoid sending them into the water at either side of the track, and they drove at speed back to Gruchy. Grant had his turret open, and the sounds of battle were loud and fierce. They neared the village, and the track they followed sloped down until it became a sunken lane. They were surrounded on both sides by high, impenetrable hedges.
Bocage.
* * *
Two hours later, Manhausen cautiously stuck his head out the door and surveyed the area around the farm. It was clear. He boarded the tank, climbed into the turret, and gave the order to advance. Franz drove away at slow speed out onto the track and turned right, away from the burning Panzers, away from the conflagration at Gruchy. And away from their intended destination.
He was starting to get worried. They'd been separated too long. He had to find a way around the local battles to rejoin his unit outside Caen before they got the wrong idea. He'd known of tank commanders in Russia who got lost, and when they returned were accused of desertion. On the front lines, desertion was a crime that carried a single penalty. He shivered, but there was nothing he could do. They would link up with Division when they could, and if the Allies blocked him with armor and aircraft, that was too damn bad. He smiled.
There is an alternative. I could always surrender; at least that would allow the kids in my crew to survive.
Then he dismissed the thought; he'd made an oath to fight. He was a member of the Waffen-SS, not the League of German Girls.
It had rankled watching the Shermans destroy those Panzers, and he'd have given anything to be able to go out and engage the enemy, to wipe out the arrogant Americans. It wasn't to be. Without an engine, the Tiger was just so much junk. Siegfried Lenz, the most enthusiastic Nazi of them all, had wanted Franz to jury rig the engine, so they could at least drive out of the barn and use their main gun to destroy the Amis.
"They're our enemies!" he'd spluttered, "We must engage them, drive them back into the sea!"
Rolf smiled. Siegfried was all of fourteen years old, even more of a Hitler Jugend fanatic than the rest. Even so, he had to be careful; they all did. As long as his uncle, Standartenfuhrer Werner Schulz of the Sicherheitsdienst was in Normandy, they had to guard against an innocent slip. Lenz was quite capable of reporting any of them to Schulz if he thought they'd said something treasonous. A simple word could easily condemn them to a camp, or even death.
"How would you know we're on the track?"
"I will come with you and show you the way." She smiled again, "I take it you have no objection to giving a girl a ride on your tank?"
"Er, well, I..."
Before he could object, she skipped up onto the hull, and he followed her. She held on to a stanchion behind the turret. He shrugged. She'd evidently made up her mind. He climbed into the hatch and took his place in the commander's seat. He glanced at Margot to make sure she was secure, shook his head, and ordered the driver forward.
"Take it slow, Angel. Miss Caron is up on the hull, and she'll guide across the flood."
"You got it."
He engaged the tracks, and they lumbered forward. The girl leaned close to him and gave directions in a husky voice.
"Left. Yes, that's it, straight ahead now; bear a little to the right. Not too much, come back a couple of degrees to the left."
It took them almost thirty long, grueling minutes before they cut the road. Angel swung onto the dirt track and headed back toward Gruchy, and they strained to look ahead, searching for the Tiger. Every man knew they'd get only one shot. After that, the monster tank would swing their main gun around, and an 88mm shell would destroy them. The girl still clung to the hull, and he didn't know whether to order her to get off or tell her to shelter inside the cramped interior. In the end, he decided the risk of engaging the Tiger was too great.
"Driver, halt."
As they slowed to a stop, he explained it to her.
"It's for your protection, Mam'selle. We don't want anything to happen to you. But we're mighty grateful for the help. I mean, really grateful."
She grimaced but nodded her acceptance.
"I will find my own way back. Good luck, Sergeant. Perhaps when you are back this way, you will come and see me, and let me know how it went."
"Sure I will."
She bent forward, kissed him on the cheek, and then skipped lightly to the ground.
What a woman!
"Driver advance. Heads up, guys, that Tiger can't be too far away. He has to be in front of us, somewhere."
They approached the section of track next to the farm, but there was no sign of the German tank. He glanced idly around, and gaped, German armor, coming straight at them. Not Tigers, these were three Panzer IVs. Their Sherman was outnumbered and outgunned. He wondered if the Krauts had seen them. Probably not, they were backlit in the moonlight, which meant Minnie Mouse was in dark shadow. They needed reinforcements. He grabbed his mike.
"Company Commander from Sergeant Grant. Three Panzer IVs, approaching Gruchy from the northwest."
Major Morgan replied almost instantly, "Acknowledged. Can you engage?"
He sounded tired, a different man from the stern, serious academic who'd landed on Omaha Beach.
"Affirmative, Sir, but we need support. A platoon should be enough."
A chuckle. "We're a little short on armor, Grant. Lieutenant Bligh is with me, and I can't spare him. I can give you Sergeant Kuruk. I'll detach him to your position now. Good hunting. Three Panzer IVs, you said?"
Four Shermans, all that's left for the entire Company! Shit, almost three quarters of our strength gone. They sure hit us hard.
"It looks that way, Sir. We didn't get a good look at them."
"Understood. Do your best. Sergeant Kuruk will be with you in a few minutes."
"Roger. We're also short on ammunition and fuel, Sir."
"So are we all. Morgan out."
They needed somewhere off the road to hide until the Panzers came into range.
"Driver, swing back into the farm. We'll keep out of sight until they go past us." He switched to the Company net, "Kuruk, this is Grant, do you copy?"
"This is Kuruk, receiving you loud and clear. We're heading out of Gruchy right now. We'll be up with you soon."
"Negative. Hold at the edge of the village, and wait until the shooting starts. I'm planning to wait for them to go past and bushwhack them. When their attention is on Minnie, bring up Cochise and hit them hard."
"They wouldn't let me name this one Cochise."
"They'll change their minds if we pound those Panzers. If we don't, we'll be dead."
"Uh, okay. We'll be there."
His mind was still reeling from their losses. What did they leave England with, fifteen, sixteen Shermans? Now they were down to four. And they were facing, what? Three Panzer IVs, which were tough opponents, and there was still that Tiger out there somewhere. All they needed now was for a battalion of Panzergrenadiers to happen along. His mother would get the knock on the door, the sympathetic glances from the family support officers, and they'd leave her to shed tears for another son lost on the altar of Hitler's ambitions to turn the world into a Nazi paradise.
No way, José! Adolf ain't got us yet.
Angel drove past the wrecked gate, which gave Grant a brief feeling of guilt, and halted behind the house out of sight of the track. Fifty yards away, the barn swayed as a gust of wind hammered at it. And then it started to rain again, a humdinger of a downpour, reducing visibility to less than fifty yards, perfect ambush weather. Besides, it would wash some of the mud off his uniform jacket, which was out in the open. The engine note quietened from Angel throttling all the way back, and he strained his ears to listen for the enemy. At first nothing, and then he heard it. Heavy, powerful gas engines, and the heavy mechanical clank of steel tracks chewing up the unmetaled roadway.
"Solly..."
"I hear it."
He switched to the Company net, "Daniel, how're you doing?"
"I estimate we're eight hundred yards from your position. Can't see much. The rain is pretty bad."
"Bad for them, too. Keep coming, and when the fireworks start, come in fast and hit them hard."
"Roger that."
He watched and listened. They'd be here soon. There was one thing that bothered him.
Where did that damned Tiger get to?
* * *
Rolf Manhausen peered through a gap in the side of the wooden barn. Behind him, Franz dropped a spanner and he cursed. Even though the rain drummed hard on the roof, kicking up a racket, he knew the sound of dropped metal could alert the Amis.
"Quiet!" he hissed, "They're fifty meters away."
"Sorry."
Rolf thought back to only a half hour before when he'd almost had them in their sights. A Panzergrenadier unit alerted him with a radio message. They'd seen the Sherman cutting through the floodwater. Their intention was clear, to attack the Tiger from behind. Obviously, they had a local who knew a way through the flooded water. Rolf directed his crew to drive to the farm and wait there in ambush. A nasty surprise for the Amis, just when they thought they had the Tiger cornered. They'd left the road and driven into the farmyard to set up the ambush. That was when it all went wrong, and the engine began making the familiar rattling sounds. It was like someone had filled a steel drum with nuts and bolts and was shaking it violently.
"What is it this time, Franz?"
The driver sounded flustered. "The valves, Obersturmfuhrer. We've lost another one, at least. Could be two. We have to stop, or we'll wreck the motor."
"I thought you'd fixed the problem."
"Sir, I said at the time, the spare parts they send us are useless. You know the Maybach engine. It's a precision piece of machinery, not some worthless Soviet junk."
It was true, the Maybach 12 cylinder, 21-liter gasoline engine was well made and powerful, but it was also prone to breakdowns.
Yet we have tens of thousands of Soviet prisoners of war working in our factories, making these spare parts. Is it any wonder they're useless? They sit in comfortable factories while German men and boys go out to do battle with the enemy. Crazy!
"How long to fix it this time?"
"At least three hours. Obersturmfuhrer. We must shut down the engine, otherwise it'll be damaged beyond repair."
With no engine, they'd be helpless even to defend themselves. No engine, meant no power to the eight-ton turret. Nothing. He glanced around and saw the barn.
"Drive over to that wooden structure. Wilhelm, Siegfried, get the doors open. We'll hide in there until Franz has the engine fixed."
The two men leapt out to obey the order, and Franz eased the big vehicle into the barn until it was completely inside. The men closed the doors, and the driver switched off the engine. In the silence, he heard the ticking of the hot machinery cooling in the cold, damp night air. He climbed down and stretched his legs.
"Franz, three hours, not a second more. Wilhelm, radio Headquarters and advise them of our situation. Heinrich, Siegfried, find a good place to keep a watch on what's happening outside. You'd better unmount both of the MG34s, in case the Amis come."
"Obersturmfuhrer, that was a Sherman we saw. The machine guns will be useless," the gunner, Unterscharfuhrer Heinrich Boll objected.
It was a fair point. "Agreed, we have an MP40 and a couple of KAR98 rifles in the locker, use those. Move it, we need to watch for the enemy. And make sure you wear your steel helmets. You never know."
"Jawohl, Obersturmfuhrer."
They removed their sidecaps, donned the helmets, and one man doubled to each end of the barn where they could observe through the cracks in the ancient timbers. He smiled. They'd magically transformed from boy tankers to German infantry. All it had needed was the addition of helmets and weapons. How easy it was to become a warrior.
But these are child soldiers, he reminded himself, I wonder if I should advise them to surrender if the Amis come.
Posting a guard was more to keep up morale than anything else. If a Sherman happened along and caught them with no engine, they'd have a single option, and that was surrender. At least it would mean these children would survive the war. He walked over to join Heinrich, who was watching through a gap in the center of the big wooden doors. They looked at each other as they both heard a rumble and clatter that meant only one thing. Armor.
Ours or theirs?
* * *
"AP loaded and ready."
"Roger."
The clanking noise came nearer, and in a break in the sheeting rain he saw them, three Panzer IVs, moving slowly along the track. Their frontal armor was slightly thicker than that of the Sherman, while the main gun was about the same caliber, 75mm. Theoretically, an equal contest, except there were three of them.
Grant had no intention of making it an equal contest. At long range, there was no guarantee the Sherman's 75mm gun would penetrate the frontal armor of the Panzer IV. At close range, fifty or a hundred yards, it was no contest, and that was the way he intended to play it. Besides, when he started to shoot, Daniel Kuruk's Cochise would attack from behind, and the 75mm shells would slice into the Panzers like a knife through butter.
Theoretically. So why did he feel so uneasy? It was as if they were being watched, yet he knew the farm was empty. He glanced around at the abandoned house and the big semi-derelict timber barn. There was no one around now that Margot Caron was gone, presumably walking to the nearest friendly village. He felt a pang of loss. He'd like to have known that beautiful, feisty French girl a bit better. Now he never would. He shook his head to focus.
"Driver, advance. Gunner, fire as you bear."
"Roger."
The tank lurched forward, taking them beyond the shelter of the farmhouse, and there they were. Three targets, the Panzer IVs lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery. They had no room to maneuver; the flooded fields meant they had no chance to escape. Solly fired, and the first AP shell smashed into the lead Panzer. The vehicle slammed to a stop, and roiling, black smoke and flame poured out of the turret. The Panzer behind halted, blocked by the wrecked Panzer in front and the tank in the rear. The turret began to turn toward a panicked attempt to engage.
Minnie's gun crashed out, and a second shell hit the center German tank, but the hit was on the thick, sloped frontal armor, just below the glacis. The AP shell glanced off, and tore away part of the track as it exploded. But the tank was still able to fight, even if it couldn't maneuver. They fired, and the 75mm shell skidded off Minnie's turret, only inches from Grant. The projectile whistled away into the darkness. Solly fired again, and this time his shell slammed into the armor plated side of the Panzer, penetrated, and exploded inside the vehicle.
The third Panzer was better prepared. Already the turret was rotating as the driver maneuvered to get a shot at them from behind the wreckage of his two comrades when Kuruk's shell slammed into his rear, and the German armor suddenly stopped. There was no explosion, no flames, but the enemy tank was motionless.
Probably the shockwave from the exploding shell killed them, he thought, At least it killed them before they could kill us.
He called Kuruk on the radio.
"Nice shooting, Dan. Old Cochise himself couldn't have done better."
"Just a hundred years too late, white boy. Next time, it'll be different."
He grinned. It was a standing joke between them.
"It looks like they're all dead, but we need to make sure. We'll go and check them out."
"Roger. I'll come up to your position in case you need me."
Grant called Vernon to grab a rifle and join him. He climbed out of the Sherman, drew his Colt .45 1911 automatic, and together they walked over to check out the wrecked armor. The first and second vehicles were totally destroyed, their hulls blackened and riddled with holes when they exploded. The third Panzer was weird and looked almost unscathed. When he opened the turret hatch, two of the crew were apparently uninjured, although fragments from the AP shell had ripped apart the rest of the Germans.
Vernon climbed up beside him, glanced inside, and nodded. "Dead, those two in the turret."
Grant holstered his Colt. "Yeah, no doubt. This lot won't be shooting at any more of our boys."
They looked up as a loud rumbling noise announced the arrival of Daniel Kuruk. The Indian climbed out of the turret and walked up to them as they dropped to the ground and nodded a greeting. He looked at the wrecked Panzers.
"Looks like we're done here. Any survivors?"
"None."
"A massacre," he grimaced.
"Like fucking Little Big Horn," Vern Franklin snarled, "Shot in the back."
Ever since he'd joined the 175th, there'd been friction between him and Daniel, the redneck and the Indian. Although it was true Vern managed to create friction with every soldier of Company A who wasn't a good ole boy like himself. Kuruk decided to let it go, and he smiled at Vern.
"You're right. Didn't we Indians win that one, too?"
Franklin gave him a nasty look and then turned away. It was as well; if he'd tried to push it, Grant would have broken it up. He'd considered on several occasions forcing Vernon to transfer to another unit, which would probably mean he'd go to the infantry. However, so far he'd held back. They were in a war, and if there was any fighting to be done, they needed to concentrate on the Germans, not beat up on each other. It was the only way to get the job done. Kill as many Germans as possible, reach Berlin, give Adolf a bloody nose, and go home. End of story.
He glanced at Daniel. "You okay?"
"I've seen worse. He's just a cracker asshole."
"Yeah. We need to rejoin Major Morgan. There's unfinished business in Gruchy. It sounds like the 29th Infantry have something of a fight on their hands. Let's move."
He ran back to Minnie Mouse, vaulted up on the hull, and held on grimly as Angel drove out the farmyard at speed. The wrecked Panzers partially blocked the track, but Minnie nudged them aside. Angel was careful to avoid sending them into the water at either side of the track, and they drove at speed back to Gruchy. Grant had his turret open, and the sounds of battle were loud and fierce. They neared the village, and the track they followed sloped down until it became a sunken lane. They were surrounded on both sides by high, impenetrable hedges.
Bocage.
* * *
Two hours later, Manhausen cautiously stuck his head out the door and surveyed the area around the farm. It was clear. He boarded the tank, climbed into the turret, and gave the order to advance. Franz drove away at slow speed out onto the track and turned right, away from the burning Panzers, away from the conflagration at Gruchy. And away from their intended destination.
He was starting to get worried. They'd been separated too long. He had to find a way around the local battles to rejoin his unit outside Caen before they got the wrong idea. He'd known of tank commanders in Russia who got lost, and when they returned were accused of desertion. On the front lines, desertion was a crime that carried a single penalty. He shivered, but there was nothing he could do. They would link up with Division when they could, and if the Allies blocked him with armor and aircraft, that was too damn bad. He smiled.
There is an alternative. I could always surrender; at least that would allow the kids in my crew to survive.
Then he dismissed the thought; he'd made an oath to fight. He was a member of the Waffen-SS, not the League of German Girls.
It had rankled watching the Shermans destroy those Panzers, and he'd have given anything to be able to go out and engage the enemy, to wipe out the arrogant Americans. It wasn't to be. Without an engine, the Tiger was just so much junk. Siegfried Lenz, the most enthusiastic Nazi of them all, had wanted Franz to jury rig the engine, so they could at least drive out of the barn and use their main gun to destroy the Amis.
"They're our enemies!" he'd spluttered, "We must engage them, drive them back into the sea!"
Rolf smiled. Siegfried was all of fourteen years old, even more of a Hitler Jugend fanatic than the rest. Even so, he had to be careful; they all did. As long as his uncle, Standartenfuhrer Werner Schulz of the Sicherheitsdienst was in Normandy, they had to guard against an innocent slip. Lenz was quite capable of reporting any of them to Schulz if he thought they'd said something treasonous. A simple word could easily condemn them to a camp, or even death.
