Fury of the Tiger, page 9
Major Morgan's tank led off, his driver slewed around until the tracks pointed toward the sounds of battle.
"This is the Company Commander. Move out. Look for those white Allied stars, and remember, these Krauts know their business. As soon as the shooting starts, button up. I don't want any dead heroes. Oh, yeah, and there could be snipers and anti-tank crews.
It was the familiar warning. Some said Morgan was fussier than their fathers.
"Anything else we need to watch out for?"
He smiled; it was the voice of Daniel Kuruk, commander of the new Cochise, although he hadn't painted the name on the turret. He was lucky to get a replacement for his destroyed vehicle. The first platoon, Alpha, lost a commander when their lieutenant craned his head out of the turret to get a better view of the enemy. He got more than he bargained for when a sniper shot him between the eyes. Immediately, the rest of the platoon opened up on the concealed position and scorched it with machine gunfire, which killed the sniper. But it didn't bring the officer back. They gave the Sherman to Kuruk, but Morgan had refused permission for him to name the tank after a famous Indian warrior. Daniel still hadn't forgiven him.
"Yes, there is something else you need to watch for, Sergeant Kuruk. Me. Any more stupid questions over the radio net and you're demoted to private. You'll find yourself on latrine cleaning duties."
"Jerries’ or ours," he mumbled, in a last act of defiance. He was still pissed.
There was a silence, then Morgan said, "Let's move out, people."
They started forward, and within a few hundred yards came across the first casualties of the battle raging around Gruchy. Two hundred yards more, and they came under fire. The chatter of machine gun rounds hitting the steel hull was the first warning, and Grant ducked down and slammed the hatch closed. Visibility was limited at night, especially through the periscope, but he was able to pinpoint the enemy positions from the muzzle flashes.
"Gunner, target two o'clock. Load HE."
"Gun loaded and ready to fire."
As usual, Solly had anticipated the order.
"Fire!"
The main gun crashed back with the recoil, and the interior was filled with smoke and fumes from the shell. The extractors sucked hard to clear the smoke.
"Reload, HE. I can't see any armor. Fuck!"
He was shocked to see the sudden bright flash as an artillery piece fired. It was hidden between a scattering of cottages on the outskirts of the village. The shell smashed into a house behind them. A fraction of a second later, his brain connected.
There's a fucking anti-tank gun out there! Gunner, counter-battery fire and use the last HE. They're aiming at Minnie!"
"On the way."
The shell slammed out the barrel and exploded, but two seconds later the German fired again. This time the shell grazed their frontal armor, and the clang inside the tank made their ears ring. For a second Grant thought they'd been hit. The stink of ammonia reached his nostrils as someone let it go.
"Solly, hit the bastard, finish him!"
There was no reply, but the gun fired again, and he heard Dale scrambling to reload. In front of him a bunch of soldiers from the 29th raced through the darkness and dived into the shelter of a stone wall. He momentarily thought of his brother, the infantry officer. He could have been leading those men, if it hadn't been for that E-boat attack off Slapton Sands; a surprise attack on unarmed landing craft and small boats. They hadn't recovered his body last time he checked, and he doubted they ever would. All he could do was stick it down Jerry’s throat. Solly would approve of it, a Talmudic revenge, an eye for an eye. Except he wanted more, a thousand eyes, and still more, until they'd ground the fuckers into the dust. He'd stop when the enemy surrendered unconditionally, as the Allied leaders had demanded. Not before.
The crack of the main gun firing brought him back to the present. An explosion up front told of a hit. Then there was a secondary explosion as their ammunition cooked off. He ordered Angel to go forward and gripped the butt of the .50 cal.
"Watch for anti-tank missiles. We're up against Panzergrenadiers, and they'll roast us if we give them half a chance."
Vernon's machine gun came to life, and a line of tracers stitched the night, impacting a spot five hundred yards away. He peered through the gloom but was unable to make out what he'd been shooting at. There were no answering muzzle flashes, so whatever it was had left, or was dead.
"Driver, advance! Take us all the way into the town. Watch out for Jerries. They're in there somewhere. We need to clear this out for the infantry. Vern, you see anyone, you know what to do."
"Hell, yeah."
The Sherman lurched forward as Angel hit the throttle. He glanced back and became aware of a dark shape charging at them out of the gloom, but before he could shout an order to engage, he recognized another Sherman.
The Bounty, no question.
Lieutenant Bligh had even fastened a small skull and crossbones to the radio aerial, a nod to the famous Mutiny on the Bounty. Bligh's tank overtook them and charged forward into the village. Almost immediately, the sparks of small caliber gunfire lighted his hull as another machine gun opened up, and a pair of snipers tried to penetrate the viewing slots with Mauser fire.
An AP shell whistled past Minnie Mouse and hit a Sherman that was closing from behind. He grimaced; another Company A tank destroyed as smoke and flames poured out of the stricken vehicle.
"Solly, hit that gun before he gets all of us."
"I'm on it. We're real low on HE, Sarge."
"You can shoot fucking K-rations for all I care, just nail his ass."
"Right."
Solly fired the HE round already in the breech, but the bright flare of the explosion showed he'd hit nothing more dangerous than an old Renault tractor. The anti-tank gun fired again and missed, but this time Solly and Dale were ready for him, and they hit him with two AP shells in quick succession. The second projectile struck the armored shield of the gun, penetrated and exploded the other side, killing the crew. Angel sent the tank surging forward. Seconds later, they were battling through the maelstrom of small arms fire, as they rumbled into the center of the village.
Bligh was engaged in a fierce fight with a STUG III, and AP shells flew back and forth. Grant saw an opening to their right, a narrow street, and decided to explore it for signs of the enemy.
"Angel, swing a right. See it?"
"I got it."
He wrenched on the control levers. The tank spun on its axis and entered the narrow lane. The hull clipped the stone wall of a cottage as they turned, and when Grant look back, the roof had collapsed, and the building was leaning drunkenly to one side.
C'est la vie, too bad.
There was no sign of any Germans, and for a few moments he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Should they turn around and get back into the village square? But he saw something move, a black shadow in the dark countryside ahead, and he decided to keep going.
Could be another STUG.
"Gunner, load AP."
* * *
"You stupid, damn fool!" he swore again at Franz, "I told you to turn right, and you went left!"
"Sir, it was the aircraft attack. You told me to take evasive action."
He recalled the attack, and it had been a close thing. One moment the sky was empty, and the next, they came from nowhere. RAF Typhoons, the markings clear when they swooped down low to release their rockets.
How had they found them? It didn't seem possible, a lone tank, moving along an isolated country lane with high hedgerows either side to hide them from the enemy. Yet they'd come, appearing as if by magic. It was only by luck they'd found the sunken road, with a thick tangle of trees and branches overhead to hide them from the vengeful Typhoons.
They'd endured a bad ten minutes with everything battened down while the aircraft rocketed the countryside around them. After they'd gone, they opened the hatches and found their covering of foliage had been almost totally destroyed. They were lucky the branches and earth had fallen over their Panzer, keeping them hidden from their tormentors.
"I didn't tell you to drive us into Cherbourg, Franz! We're overdue in Caen. They'll post us to the Russian Front for dereliction of duty if we don't make it."
"Yes, Obersturmfuhrer."
He sighed with frustration. They were good kids, and it was hard to be angry with them for long. That was the trouble; they were just kids. They had no business joining the crew of a Tiger I. They should have been in school, or right now tucked up in bed. Instead, they were driving through the night, tired, hungry, though still motivated by fervor for Germany and the Fuhrer. Proud to be part of an elite SS Panzer unit even if they were lost in the dark Normandy countryside.
He had the turret open to help navigate, but it was almost impossible to find a way through. Large parts of the defenses, the famed Atlantic Wall, consisted of areas of low lying farmland, flooded to make the passage of enemy troops and armor difficult, if not impossible. Feldmarschal Rommel had arranged for anti-tank guns to cover the narrow lanes between the flooded land, and so they effectively became killing grounds. It was impossible to strike out cross-country to change direction. Although they didn't know where they were right now, which made navigating even more difficult.
He saw flashes of gunfire ahead, and Franz slowed, waiting for orders. There was plenty of gunfire to the north around the landing beaches, but he was surprised the Allies had penetrated this far inland. Rommel had insisted the invaders be thrown back from the beaches. He'd stated repeatedly they must not be allowed to penetrate inland. Yet obviously they were here, in front of him.
He smiled to himself. Where is 'here'?
They rumbled past a faded road sign, and his hopes rose. He switched on the searchlight. At last he'd know where they were. The sign said Gruchy.
Where the hell is Gruchy?
He glanced up. The battle was getting nearer, so he switched off the light.
"Driver, advance. Crew, be alert, we may be about to meet the Amis."
"We'll drive them into the sea," Lenz asserted. Rolf could swear he clicked his heels together as he spoke.
"Let's just kill them," he replied, keeping his voice calm, "That will be quite enough. Gunner, load AP."
* * *
They were easing forward slowly between the flooded fields. Angel was careful to stay away from the lake each side of them. If they went in, it could be a problem getting out. There were two small farmhouses four hundred yards ahead of them, with a barn. He thought the moving shape he'd seen was further away, although distance was deceptive at night. It could have been a mile away, probably was. Then he saw the spotlight. It flashed on for a second, and then switched off.
"Did you see that? There could be a truck up ahead, maybe an entire column. Or enemy armor."
"Has to be a Jerry," Solly insisted.
"Could be a Tiger."
Vern again. Grant smiled. "It could also be a farmer driving his tractor, coming home drunk."
"So why did he turn off the light so fast? It's a German, no question."
Angel had slowed, waiting for orders.
He thought quickly, but what else could it be other than a German?
"I concur. Driver, advance. Solly, load AP. Standby to engage. It's probably another STUG."
"We're ready," Dale replied. Grant ducked his head inside the turret and saw the loader with his hand on a heavy AP shell, ready for the reload.
"Driver, forward. Let's go ace this fucker."
They picked up speed and raced toward the distant target. They were almost abreast of the farm when a shell whistled overhead and smashed into one of the cottages. His brain told him it was armor piercing, even as the awesome destructive power became apparent. The building seemed to wobble as the huge shell drove through the structure and exited the other side.
"Jesus, that was an 88!"
Pieces of masonry flew through the air and landed on the hull, and he ducked down and slammed the hatch closed. Through the vision slot he could see the dark shape coming up fast.
"A Tiger!" Vernon shouted, his voice half triumphant, half terrified.
"Maybe, maybe not. Forget what is was, just kill the bastard."
"Target located."
"Gun loaded and ready," Dale sang out.
"Fire!"
Solly did well. He'd aimed at the approaching tank, targeting the muzzle flash, and allowed for the target offset as the distances closed. His shell slammed into the dark shape and sparks flew up into the night sky. They illuminated the ominous outline of a Tiger I. Vernon was right this time. But the shell did no damage, and they may as well have spat at it. Solly fired again, but this time he missed. The Tiger hadn't fired a second shell. Probably he couldn't see them in the darkness.
"Gun loaded and ready."
"Solly, don't fire, not yet. He'll see the muzzle flash. We need to get around back of him to defeat the bastard."
"The fields are flooded both sides," Angel pointed out, "The only way through is this track. We can go forward or back the way we came, that's it. I guess back would be best. Get out of this place."
"We don't want to mix it with no Tiger," Vern snarled.
"That's a Jerry up there!" Solly shouted at him, "We're here to kill them, not run away from those murdering scum. Besides, if he reaches the village, he'll murder our guys. Infantry, armor, none of them would stand a chance."
A good point, Grant acknowledged. Except it was a fight they would lose. They'd gone over this before they shipped over from England. The only way to beat a Tiger was to sneak up from behind and ram him in the ass. But there was no way to get behind him. He opened the hatch again and chanced a look around. The only island in the floods was the farmyard.
"Driver, get off the track, turn into the farm, and stop behind the barn while we figure this out."
Angel swung the through ninety degrees, and Minnie plowed through the farm gate, trampling it into the mud, and they stopped close to the rear of the barn. The engine throbbed quietly as it ticked over.
Did that Tiger see us come in here? There's no way to know. If he saw us, we're toast.
Solly was cursing and swearing, at least it sounded like that. The language sounded weird, so it could have been Hebrew. Then again, he may have been praying, although he wasn't that kind of a Jew. He'd told them once he left that kind of religious stuff to the guys in the black hats and beards.
Angel came up for some fresh air and poked his head out through the hatch. They searched for a way through the floods, but the entire area was one gigantic lake. The driver looked at Grant.
"It's hopeless. There's no way we can get across this lot, a Sherman DD maybe, but not us. That Jerry will be along soon, and we're be trapped in the middle of a fucking ocean. We're like sitting ducks."
He glanced around, but he had to agree. There was no way out.
"Swing her around, Angel. Get ready to try and sneak out."
He returned to his seat, and the Sherman began the maneuver of slewing around. He kept his head out of the turret hatch to keep an eye out for the enemy; the big dark hull of the Tiger had disappeared in the dark. Grant suddenly saw movement close by and reached for the machine gun, but then he stopped. It was a civilian, a girl. She waved to him, and in an idiotic moment, he waved back. Angel had started to creep out of the farmyard, but he had an idea.
"Driver, halt. There's someone down there, a civilian. She may know a way around the floods."
Minnie jerked to a halt. He vaulted down to the muddy farmyard and slipped into the mud. When he picked himself up and wiped the filth from his uniform, she was standing only three feet in front of him. She wore a crumpled, belted raincoat and rubber boots, yet somehow she managed to make the peasant garments look appealing. He wondered briefly if she had anything on underneath; she must have been roused from her bed by the shellfire.
"You are American?" Her face was devoid of any amusement.
"Yes, Ma'am. You speak good English."
Her English was strongly accented, the way only Frenchwomen can do it.
He smiled to himself; they can even make a shopping list sound sexy.
She ignored the compliment.
"Are you lost?"
"We were trying to find a way through the flooded area."
She pointed out to the roadway. "You were already on the track. Why did you turn off and destroy my gate?"
"Sorry about the damage, Ma'am. We were in a hurry." He explained about the Tiger, "If we tangle with that monster, we'll lose."
"Why?"
"Their armor, it's too thick. We can't penetrate it unless we can come at it from behind."
She nodded her understanding. "Then perhaps I can help you. It's Mam'selle, by the way, not Ma'am. My name is Margot Caron."
"Er, Grant, Josh Grant. Sergeant."
She held out a tiny hand, and he shook it. She wore no make-up on her pale skin, yet her face glowed with a natural beauty that almost took his breath away. Even the scattering of freckles enhanced her beauty. She was short, a little over five feet tall, slender and straight backed, with a piercing gaze from two huge, shining dark-brown eyes. Her hair was styled with an urchin cut that suited her gamine, oval-faced looks to perfection.
Jesus Christ, if all French farm girls look like this one, I'm gonna enjoy this trip.
"Well, Sergeant Josh Grant? You want me to help you or not?"
He started, realizing his mind had been wandering. In the middle of the French countryside, with a Tiger tank less than a mile away, it wasn't such a good idea.
"You can show us the way through?"
"Yes."
"I see. Where is the path through the flood?"
She smiled at him, and he felt his knees go weak.
"It is there." She pointed across the lake that surrounded them.
"You're sure there's a way through?"
