Fury of the Tiger, page 30
"The main gun, yes. It is jammed." He grimaced, "In truth, all we have had is trouble these past few weeks. It was not well made."
Thank the good Lord for that.
"Take it and ride all the way back home to the Reich. Those kids should be in school."
"I agree. And thank you, Sergeant."
"Yeah. Maybe you should thank fate."
"I do. By the way, we have a body inside the hull, one of our crewmembers. I would like to remove it. Perhaps we can..."
"Absolutely not. You'll take him home. Treat him with respect. His ma and pa will want to bury him properly."
They stared at each other for several seconds. Manhausen drew himself to attention, clicked his heels, and was about to throw up his arm in the Nazi salute when he thought better of it. Instead, he brought up his arm in a traditional army salute. Grant responded American style, flipping him a cross between a salute and a wave.
"Thank you, Sergeant."
"Yeah."
The SS officer turned to his men and shouted an order. They stared at him and then at the Americans in disbelief. One man asked a question, but Manhausen snapped a few words at him, and they scrambled back into the Tiger. The engine misfired a few times and then started. The once feared monster rolled away, the start of a long journey home. He grinned at Solly.
"I guess that's it. Time to get out of here. We're done. For now."
"Yep. What's next, Sarge?"
"Next? There's a war on. There's still plenty to do, Germans to kill."
The gunner gave him a rueful glance. "It seems a crying shame, now we're rich."
"It'll make it more worthwhile to survive."
"Damn right. There's no way the Krauts are going to get us now. Not after this. I still can't believe it. We beat a Tiger."
"A messed up Tiger. Besides, we let them go, so no one will ever know."
"So? We did it.
* * *
Town of Saint-Lo, 06.38, July 12, 1944
"Obersturmfuhrer, can he do that?"
"Do what, Heinrich?"
"Send us back to the Reich?"
"No, he cannot. He had an alternative, he could have destroyed us."
"Yes, I understand, but he did not. We still have a working Tiger. We could fix the..."
"We nearly died, but we did not. Be thankful that American tanker gave you your life, my young friend."
Boll didn't reply. He didn't get it, didn't get it at all.
Neither will the Reichsfuhrer-SS, and that will be the trickiest part, Rolf chuckled to himself.
Himmler wouldn't be impressed. He resolved to deal with that when he got to it. It wasn't the only problem he had to face. There was the business of Lenz; they'd have to concoct a story to explain the death of the nephew of a senior officer of the Sicherheitsdienst.
There was also the question of Standartenfuhrer Schulz proceeding with the arrest warrant. He was sure to face an SS honor court, and the outcome wouldn't be good, especially now Lenz was dead. His probable fate would be a punishment battalion and an early death. He had to do his best to protect the teenagers of his crew in the meantime. As soon as they were clear of the bombardment of Saint-Lo, he'd find a way to surrender to the Americans. At least they'd survive, albeit in a prisoner of war cage. It was better than lying forgotten in a muddy grave in an anonymous French field. And afterward, he could keep his promise and get them back to Germany, and into the schoolroom where they belonged. He had a suspicion the end was not too far away.
"Sir, there's something strange up ahead."
"What is it?"
"Christ, it's Standartenfuhrer Schulz. He looks, well, odd."
Rolf opened the hatch and looked out. He did indeed look odd. The normally immaculate intelligence officer was covered in mud, and even his face was smeared. He'd lost his cap, and his hair hung in tangled knots, flattened by the rain. He looked around in terror as they approached, and then saw it was a German tank. He waved, and Franz slowed to a stop. Manhausen looked down at him.
"Standartenfuhrer Schulz."
His eyes widened. "You!"
"Yes. Do you have a problem, Sir?"
"I'm trying to get away. The battle is lost. The town is lost, and the Americans are coming."
"It looks that way, Sir. But why are you leaving, surely you should be defending the town to the last man?"
"Waste of time, Manhausen. We must retreat. I require you to carry me to rejoin our lines."
It suddenly came to Rolf that the body of Lenz was still inside the hull. He deserved to know his nephew was dead, so he spelled it out as gently as he could. The reaction was not what he expected.
"Dead? What do you mean dead?"
"We had no choice, Sir. He was going berserk. He'd lost his nerve. He became a risk to all of us, so I had no choice."
"You shot him?"
A pause. "Yes, I shot him."
A cunning look came over the SD officer's face. "You are already under open arrest, is that not so, Manhausen?"
"It was you who gave the order, Sir."
"Yes, I did. And with good reason, fleeing the battle when the Fuhrer ordered every man to stand fast. Who is your second-in-command?"
"Unterscharfuhrer Heinrich Boll."
"Very well, call him up here."
He leaned down and called for the gunner to appear. Boll looked sheepish as he stared down at the SD officer, the uncle of the crewman he'd so recently shot dead.
"You wanted me, Sir?"
"Yes. Unterscharfuhrer Boll, by the authority vested in me by the Fuhrer, I place you in command of this tank. Obersturmfuhrer Manhausen is under close arrest. You will relieve him of his sidearm, and he can assume the duties of the man he killed. My nephew was your loader, is that correct?"
"Yes, Standartenfuhrer."
"Very well, Manhausen will serve in that capacity. I will accompany you until we reach our lines, and then I will arrange a firing squad for Manhausen."
"A firing squad?"
"Of course. He shot my nephew, killed him in cold blood. I will insure he receives the maximum punishment. Death. Take his weapon. That's an order. Pass it to me."
Boll gave Manhausen an apologetic glance and put out his hand. Rolf unholstered his Luger and gave it to him.
"Hurry, man, give it to me. Unless you want to stand in front of a firing squad with him."
"No one will face a firing squad, Standartenfuhrer."
Boll's voice was calm.
"Eh? What are you talking about?"
"This."
Boll worked the action to chamber a round, pointed the pistol at the SD officer, and fired. And fired again, and again. Until the fourth bullet spat out the barrel, and without a glance at the body of his victim, he handed the gun back to Rolf.
"This is yours, Obersturmfuhrer."
He took it. "But, why?"
"You know why. I killed Lenz, not you. The treacherous little bastard deserved to die." He pointed at the body that lay in the mud, "Besides, that cowardly shit was running away from the fighting. You heard him; the Fuhrer decreed a single punishment for cowardice. Death. I just carried out his orders."
He smiled and ducked back inside the hull.
Rolf shook his head. It was over. With the death of Schulz, there'd be no need to concern himself with the open arrest.
Thank God! Now, how do we find the nearest American unit to whom we can surrender?
"Which direction, Obersturmfuhrer," Franz called from the driver's position.
He only needed to think for a couple of seconds. "Northwest, Franz."
"Northwest? But that is..."
"I know what it is, my friend. I promised to get you all back to school, and I believe that's the quickest route to get you there. It will take time, a long time, and we'll spend time in a POW camp. It could be a year, maybe more. But I will do everything I can to keep the promise I made to that American Sergeant."
The driver sounded uncertain. Eventually, he said, "Yes, Sir."
The Tiger swung around until the nose was pointing northwest, toward the American lines.
They drove across the Normandy countryside for many nights while he tried to find a safe approach to the American forces. During the day, they sheltered wherever they could find somewhere out of sight of the marauding bombers and fighters, ruined buildings, sunken roads, and thick woods. On one occasion they camped in the lee of a platoon of Panzers, wrecked during an Allied bombing raid. Rolf insisted they bury the bodies of the dead crews before they could rest.
They were tired and hungry, and Rolf decided to risk driving in the daytime to find an American unit so they could surrender. Dawn began illuminating the Normandy countryside, and he anxiously searched the skies for marauding aircraft. Abruptly, Franz shouted, "Sir, over there. It's an American unit. Do you want me to take avoiding action?"
He looked toward them and saw a mixture of infantry and armor. One Sherman in particular looked familiar, and he smiled.
"No, drive toward them, Franz, but make it slow. Very, very slow."
He began to fasten a white piece of cloth to the radio aerial. He hoped it would be enough.
* * *
Town of Saint-Lo, 18.40, July 23, 1944
"Tell me where the fuck you've been, Sergeant Grant? I ordered you to stay close to Battalion."
He was standing rigidly to attention, looking at the smooth, unlined face of Colonel Martin Lindbergh III. He couldn't help compare his ragged and stained uniform to Lindbergh's immaculate outfit.
"That's correct, Sir. However, we ran into enemy armor, so I had no choice but to engage."
"No choice! What the fuck do you think you're here for, Sergeant?"
"To help defeat the Germans?"
Lindbergh scowled. "Don't fuck with me, soldier. You're here to obey my orders, nothing more, nothing less." He glanced aside with irritation when Major Morgan tried to intercede, "Major, whatever you have to say, I'm not interested. Put this soldier under close arrest. Dereliction of duty, disobeying orders, you name it. You're finished, Sergeant, finished. And you can forget your rank. I'm dropping you back to private soldier. Good God, I'm trying to fight a war here."
"How?"
He jerked around at the interruption and found himself staring at Major-General Charles Hunter Gerhardt.
"Sir, I didn't realize you were there. I'm sorry."
"Yeah. I asked you a question, Colonel. How?"
"How what?"
"Exactly how are you fighting a war? By arresting your most successful tank commanders? You think that's a recipe for success?"
"N-no, Sir, of course not. But we need concerted action, leadership from the top, and men need to know where they stand. They have to obey orders."
"This NCO destroyed more enemy armor than any other commander in your unit. Sergeant Grant also survived and brought his crew back in one piece. Isn't that what fighting a war is all about? Kill the enemy and bring your men back alive?"
"We have to obey orders, General. It's fundamental to the way the Army functions."
"So is killing Germans, Colonel. And knocking out a Tiger is quite something, you have to admit."
"We only have his word for it," Lindbergh smirked, "He could be lying. He's already under open arrest as it is. He's probably trying to avoid a court martial."
"A court martial for what, Colonel?"
"For murder. He shot and killed an SS Noncom, a soldier who had just transferred to active service from guarding a camp."
"A camp? You mean a concentration camp?"
"Yeah, I believe it was. Some place in Poland."
"Poland."
"Right, nothing to do with us. Besides, I don't believe this claim of his about a Tiger." He snorted, "If it's true, where is this fictitious Tiger?"
General Gerhardt was staring over Lindbergh's shoulder. He smiled. "I do believe it could be that one, Colonel, the Tiger that's coming in under a flag of surrender. It looks real enough to me."
The Colonel swung around, and his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. Gerhard turned to Grant.
"Is that the one you defeated?"
"It looks like the same number and markings. Yeah, that's the one, General."
He nodded. "Very well. Here's how this is going to go down. Major Morgan, your company is a credit to the Battalion. You've fought the enemy, given them a bloody nose, and lived to tell the tale. I guess you're due for a battalion. The 745th is yours. Just try not to lose any more tanks. I have a bad enough reputation as it is."
"Yes, Sir."
While Morgan smiled, Lindbergh scowled. "You can't do that, General. The Battalion is mine."
Gerhardt's expression was cold. "The Battalion is mine, Colonel. I decide who stays and who goes. Do you keep up with the news?"
"The news, Sir?"
"Yeah, the news, current events. Like what's happening on the Eastern Front, where the Russians are hitting the Krauts damn hard."
He looked puzzled. "I try to keep up with current events, of course. As a senior officer, it's important to know what's going on."
"So you heard yesterday about the discovery of a concentration camp at Majdanek? It was the big news on the radio. The entire Army is buzzing with it. Probably the whole world."
"I, er, did hear something about that."
"Right. So you know the Krauts built this concentration camp to be a kind of murder factory. When the Russians went in there, they found thousands of people starving. They were more like skeletons than human beings. They also found bodies piled everywhere. It was like a scene from hell. The Russians located a few of the German guards hiding nearby, and they shot them dead on the spot. I have to tell you I'd have done the same. They weren't men. They were beasts. Now you're telling me you want to punish Sergeant Grant for doing what every soldier in this army would have gladly done?"
"Well, er, I'm not, er..."
"Colonel, you're not really a people person, are you?" He smiled, and Lindbergh shuddered, "There's an opening in my logistics department. I reckon they need someone with your grasp of, uh, whatever it is you have a grasp of. You're dismissed, Colonel."
He stalked off, muttering threats and curses that everyone around him was careful not to overhear.
"Sergeant Grant, this arrest thing is bullshit. It's finished, as from this moment."
"Yes, General. Thank you, Sir."
"No problem. In recognition of what you've achieved, I'm issuing a field promotion, as of now. Congratulations, Second Lieutenant Grant."
"Sir?"
He held out his hand and they shook. "You're an officer. It's no more than you deserve. What are you planning to do next?"
His mind was whirling.
The court martial, it’s all over. Lindbergh gone. And a lieutenant, well, I can live with that as long as I can fight. Margot!
He saw her face peering through the back of the press of soldiers around the General.
"Sir, I need to make arrangements to reinstate the Battalion cook."
"Cook?"
"You won't believe how good she is, Sir. If you'll stay here for lunch, you'll eat better than you have since you left the States."
"Is that right? I'll take you up on that. And afterward?"
"Saint-Lo, Sir. There're plenty of Krauts still in the area, so we need to finish the job and clear up the last pockets of resistance."
"Good man. You'd better see to that Kraut tank first. Those Germans need to go in the pen. I'll see you at lunch, Lieutenant. Dismissed."
They exchanged salutes, and he shook off the congratulations to go find her. She was waiting for him.
"Did I hear right? Lieutenant Grant?"
"Second Lieutenant. I can't believe it."
"You deserve it, my love."
Vern interrupted them. "Hey, Sarge, Lt, whatever it is. I hate to barge in, but did you hide our stash okay? I mean, it is safe?"
He thought of the deep well they’d uncovered outside Saint-Lo. After him and Solly dropped it to the bottom, they’d thrown a couple of tons of rocks on top.
"Safe as Fort Knox, no sweat!"
"It better be," he mumbled as he walked away.
He looked back at Margot. "What about Father Bouchet, did he get back okay?"
"He did. They put him in the field hospital, and they say he'll recover. He says he can't wait to get out of there and start killing the Nazis."
"I don't blame him after what they put him through. And you, any problems?"
Her face still betrayed the scars of her incarceration. Cuts and bruises, and her eyes had lost a little of their fierce shine, but only a little.
"No problems, not anymore." She put her arms around him, and the kiss almost sucked the breath out of him. When they separated, her face had creased into a broad smile.
"You made some crazy boast about my cooking to the General, is that right?"
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. If I'm cooking for you soldiers, it means we can be close together. Show me to the field kitchen. I have an idea for a meal which should please the General, and a very special second course for you."
He hadn't been aware of telling her about his preferences for meals. "What's that?"
"As an officer, you will have your own tent, is that correct?"
"I guess so. As soon as I can get the stores to issue me one."
"You'd better hurry. I cannot unveil my second course until we're safely inside."
For a second, he didn't get it. Then realization dawned. He gave her a quick kiss and darted away.
"I'll be back real soon. This won't take long. Don't go away."
"Never."
Eric Meyer, Fury of the Tiger
