He’d never seen so much demolition in one place. He’d had the other men help him load rows of twenty-two pound satchel charges into the back of the half-track while Staff Sergeant Graves kept them covered with the Kraut machine gun. They’d outpaced the rest of the force fleeing the city, only to find themselves on a side road, and having to backtrack.
The trip through the rest of the city had been harrowing. They’d found clumps of civilians blocking entire roads. The people of Bastogne seemed to be trying to flee with all of their earthly possessions.
After a group of men, women, and children were run down and massacred by the crazed Germans, the villagers got the idea and abandoned their belongings in favor of a faster escape. It made for a frustrating journey.
“Here,” Captain Taylor yelled.
They’d run into a squad of Americans directing traffic out of the city. A deuce and a half rumbled next to a building. Men moved boxes out and stacked them on the ground. When Grillo got down from the German truck, he was relieved to see others with demolition patches on their uniforms.
“You the other guy?” a man named Lyris said.
Lyris’ uniform and thick field jacket looked like they’d just been pulled out of a bag. He even had creases on his pants.
“Yeah. 101st, Baker Company, but I got assigned to the wrong outfit. Demolition engineer.”
“Great. We got most of the explosives deployed, and Ankers over there,” he waved at a man who hunkered over a bale of wire, “is running cable. Can you get all of this into that building?” Lyris pointed at a two-story complex that probably housed apartments.
Grillo nodded, and took a few steps back to take in the the tall buildings. It’d work, but only if they could get the explosives set correctly. That, or put so much in place it would blow the structure into tiny pieces. The rubble wouldn’t stop the Germans, so they needed to drop the building correctly and create a wall. Then again, it might just destroy this entire block and a lot of civilians.
“How much help can you spare?”
“None," Lyris said. "You’re on your own. You got some strong backs in the Kraut truck. Load her up.”
Grillo nodded. “No problem, Sergeant Lyris. I’ll make it count.”
“Make it count, or just blow up a million Krauts. Don’t matter much to me either way."
Trucks rolled past them on their way out of Bastogne, with soldiers and civilians close behind. While the MPs tried to keep order, there was a panic that was setting in. Every face that passed them was harried. People looked over their shoulders in fear.
Grillo scrambled up the remains of the building that had been partially destroyed, and surveyed the route the Army was using to get everyone out of the city. He found a natural choke point and dropped back to the ground.
“Captain. I need a couple of guys,” Grillo said.
Captain Taylor nodded and pointed out Shaw, Wayne, and Hough. He knew Shaw and Wayne. Hough was from Able Company. He was about Grillo’s age, and looked as green as Grillo felt. He wondered what had become of the guys he’d arrived with on the back of the truck a few days ago. Were any of them still alive?
“You men. Corporal Grillo is going to need your help. We’re going to provide covering fire while you get that demo set up.”
“Don’t know nothing about blowing stuff up, sir,” Hough said and pushed his GI helmet back to wipe a line of sweat off his forehead.
“That makes two of us. Just do what Grillo needs and we’ll get out of this, right, Corporal?”
“Yes sir,” Grillo said.
Later, he’d wish he could take back those words.
* * *
Fifty
Coley
Coley and his crew came across a pair of black soldiers struggling to get an M45 Quadmount anti-aircraft gun turned around.
“Need help?” Coley called.
“You bet, Lieutenant,” one of the men said. “I’m Audley and this is Higgins. We’re with the The 969th Field Artillery Battalion. We got overrun and lost our guns. Figured we’d requisition this fine piece of weaponry and setup a roadblock.”
“Damn fine figuring,” Coley said.
They gathered around the gun and maneuvered it the the edge of a street intersection, over some rubble, and down a short alley. The gun was monstrously heavy. It had a hitch and could be towed, but there was no time to get it attached to a truck.
“What happened to the crew for this beast?” Coley said.
“Don’t know, sir. Up and left, I guess,” Audley said and looked over the controls. “What you all doing with those Krauts?”
“They’re on our side for now,” Coley reassured the men.
Higgins and Audley looked the Germans over, and didn’t appear convinced.
“Know how to use it?”
“More or less. Point and shoot,” Audley said as he studied the machine. He flipped a switch and a battery powered engine hummed to life.
They got it lined up on a wide road, and Audley hopped in the turret and fiddled with the firing mechanism until the four guns moved on their electronically-powered axis.
“Just in time, here they come,” Coley said.
His men lined up alongside the big gun and took up weapons.
“Remember, Audley. Fire in bursts. Top guns, then bottom. Let 'em cool,” Higgins said.
“I know what I’m doing,” Audley said. “Sorta.”
A group of civilians pounded up the road, a force of Germans right behind them.
“Out of the way!” Coley yelled.
Seeing help, the civilians ran straight at the Americans.
“Ah, shit. Wait till they clear, Audley,” Higgins said.
“Ain’t gonna shoot no Belgians,” Audley said. “What are you, my mother?”
Coley’s men took aim and picked off Germans when they could. The civilians got the idea, and cleared a path.
Then the M4 Quadmount fired.
The top guns belted out .50 caliber rounds designed to shoot airplanes out of the air and decimated the forward ranks. The Germans didn’t drop; they blew apart. Blood misted and body parts flew. The Krauts didn’t change direction. They didn’t dive for cover. They stepped over their comrades' bodies and kept up a pretty convincing imitation of a goosestep toward the gunner’s location.
Audley stopped firing the top two guns and opened up with the bottom pair. He fired quick bursts, then shifted aim slightly to take out more of the advancing army.
Along with von Boeselager and the remains of his squad, Coley and his men covered the side roads and popped rounds off at any flanking maneuvers. Not that Coley would call the mass of Nazis anything like coordinated.
He reached for another clip and found none.
“Shit, I’m out,” Coley said, patting at his pockets.
He backed up and went for his sidearm. A force of eight Germans had found a cross street and advanced on them. One of the men carried a flamethrower, but it wasn’t lit. He lowered it and pushed the trigger, but nothing happened.
“I got 'em, sir,” one of his guys said, and popped a grenade.
“No, wait!” Coley shouted, but it was too late. The grenade was already sailing toward the mass of men.
* * *
Fifty-One
Grillo
Grillo and his companions had mounted as many satchel charges as they could. Chaos was all around them, with villagers and soldiers alike streaming through the city. He had to carefully weave the primacord with square knots--a simple but frustrating task, thanks to the cold. His fingers were stiff, and his limbs ached from the long night and morning of fighting.
The twenty-two pound satchel charges had been arrayed against walls in two buildings so the blast would blow outward. With any luck, the rest of the walls would follow suit and collapse with the blast.
Grillo’s side itched where the bandaging had come loose. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to stop the irritating bindings from slipping any farther down his ribs.
“Clear the
street!” Captain Taylor yelled, gesturing left and right.
Somewhere to the northeast, a huge gun pounded. Grenades exploded on the streets surrounding them, and small arms fire joined the cacophony.
Grillo backed up, playing out wire. He stumbled over a piece of rubble and landed hard on his backside. He got back up and continued his slow walk.
Captain Taylor joined Grillo, and helped string the wire.
“How we doing, Corporal?” the Captain said.
“Good, sir. Strange to be called Corporal,” Grillo said.
He wouldn’t have a chance to sew his new rank onto his uniforms for a while, assuming he even survived. At this rate, they were going to be overrun in minutes. The delaying action he was effecting would do little to stem the tide, but it might buy them some time.
Grillo played out more wire, and found the doorway they’d designated as their cover for the explosion. He picked up the detonator and attached the cord.
“We’re out of time, Corporal,” Taylor said, and pointed.
Grillo peeked out of the doorway and found hundreds of the crazed Germans flooding the main street.
“Should be ready, sir.”
“Wait," Graves yelled. "There’s a pair of kids.”
He slid off the back of the half-track with one of the other tankers. They rounded the vehicle and ran toward the pair.
The little ones were no older than ten, and bundled up against the cold. They held hands as they picked their way over the rubble in the street.
“Get back here!” Captain Taylor yelled.
Grillo put his hand on the handle. Just a twist and he’d be creating one hell of a big bang. He’d also kill the two little ones, Graves, and the other guy. He looked at the Captain for orders, unsure if he’d be able to detonate the explosives even if Taylor gave the order.
* * *
Fifty-Two
Coley
Coley dove behind the remains of a low wall. The blast shook the ground, and flames rushed over his body. He rolled over and over, hoping his clothing wasn’t on fire. The heat had been so intense that the hairs on the back of his head had ignited, burning to the skin.
Von Boeselager smacked Coley’s back in places to put out small flames. All in all, Coley felt like a damn marshmallow that’d been held over a campfire.
The anti-aircraft gun had fallen silent. When Coley regained his feet, Audley and Higgins were already moving away from it.
Audley pointed at the remains of the army that had been stumbling down the street. “I don’t think there’s time to drag more ammo over here to reload the M4. We done enough.”
Piles of bodies and pieces of men blocked most of the access point.
“Right. Fall back, and let’s get the hell out of here,” Coley said.
His voice was hoarse. He remembered that he’d been screaming when the flamethrower had exploded.
He limped, but von Boeselager was there to help. He draped Coley’s arm over his shoulder, and together the mixed company retreated.
* * *
Fifty-Three
Graves
It wasn’t even a question of his own safety. Graves had made up his mind the second he'd seen the two children. They were innocent victims of this war, and that was one of the reasons he was here: not just to fight, but to provide relief to the people of Europe.
He pounded over the hard road until he slipped and slid across a patch of ice. Murph had been close behind, and steadied Graves. They reached the children and snatched one up.
The Germans were mere feet away.
Something snagged his foot and he fell, but twisted to the side so he didn’t crush the child. She held onto him, eyes wide and terrified as Graves picked her up and turned to run.
Captain Taylor came to their side. He fired his Colt .45, and when he ran dry, he dug out a fresh magazine and slammed it home.
Three Germans attacked.
Graves had no choice but to fight. He got his foot up and kicked a soldier in the chest. The man had white eyes, and his mouth was covered in blood. Lips drew back from red-stained teeth. He was bigger than Graves by about thirty pounds. Graves freed an arm and punched the man in the face, but it was like hitting a side of beef. He got ahold of the Kraut’s jacket, twisted the soldier to the side, then rolled with the momentum, taking the enemy with him. He almost lost his hold on the girl but she put her arms around his neck and held on.
The Captain killed one of the men with a shot to the head.
The other German soldier got a grip on Graves’s pant leg and pulled.
The little girl said something in French that Graves didn’t understand. She had tears in her eyes and her voice was plaintive--begging him, if he had to guess, to get up.
“Ain’t going out like this,” he roared, and kicked the soldier in the head. He didn’t get a lot behind the blow because he was scared half to death and the action was almost mechanical.
The man got to his hands and knees, then pushed himself up until he stood, unsteady on his feet. The German soldier’s front was covered in blood and debris. His eyes were white and Graves struggled away, kicking his feet across the ground to get some distance.
Captain Taylor shot the man in the face, then turned his weapon on the soldier that had pushed Murph aside. Taylor fired, but his gun clicked on empty and he fell beneath the Kraut.
Graves managed to get back on his feet, and pushed the little girl behind him. Murphy carried the boy. He’d outpaced the men, but paused when he'd seen Graves and the Captain in trouble.
“Go!” Captain Taylor yelled.
A dozen Germans stumbled into the fracas and fell on the Captain. Taylor screamed, but fought tooth and nail to get loose. Half of his face was torn off, leaving muscle and teeth exposed.
“Blow it, blow it!” the Captain yelled.
There was nothing he could do. Graves spun, picked up the kid, and ran after Murphy like the devil was on his tail.
* * *
Fifty-Four
Coley
They struggled through the debris and found a side street, but there were dozens of enemies waiting, so they turned and double timed it. They rounded another corner and came into contact with a half-dozen enemies.
Coley and his men were caught by surprise, and one of the Germans under von Boeselager fell to gunfire. The Kraut had managed to loose an entire clip in their direction. The aim was bad--however, not bad enough to save von Boeselager’s man. He spun to the side, clutching at his shoulder.
Higgins kicked the first man in the chest. He fell back into the other soldiers. Audley dug a grenade out from inside his jacket and pulled the pin.
“Go!” he yelled, and tossed the pineapple.
They were only a few yards away when the explosion ripped the Germans to shreds.
Von Boeselager stopped and pointed at a German half-track taking up half the road. He said something in German to his men, and they changed course. Dozens of enemies found them, and closed in from two directions.
“There, a truck,” von Boeselager told Coley.
He nodded, and staggered toward the vehicle with his men close behind.
Someone stepped out of a doorway and shouted at Coley, but he couldn’t make out the words. Then he noticed what the guy was holding.
“Take cover!” Coley screamed.
* * *
Fifty-Five
Grillo
Captain Taylor thrashed under the Germans, then grew still. The soldiers lost interest in him and rose to their feet: cold, evil. SS mixed with German paratroopers and infantry. The force set their gazes on Grillo.
He saw a group of survivors a block away, moving toward them. Christ! He did not have time for this. He had to blow the building. Behind the men who’d killed Captain Taylor had grown a force of hundreds.
He yelled for the men to run, but it might be too late for them.
Grillo ducked back into the doorway, muttered a quick prayer, and twisted the detonator’s handle.
; * * *
Fifty-Six
Coley
Coley dove into a building that had been a shop. He hit the floor, and then a massive explosion lifted him off the ground and tossed him like a ragdoll to the hard floor again.
The shelves had been nearly bared of stores. A few tins and bottles still stood, but after the explosion there was nothing on the wall anymore. They fell with a loud crash and broken plates and glass showered Coley.
Von Boeselager had hit the ground next to him. The two men stared at each other as dust settled.
Von Boeselager said something, but Coley’s ears were filled with cotton.
They stumbled out of the building just before it collapsed. Two buildings kitty-corner to him had their corners blown out.
Someone motioned for them to follow. He was dazed and didn’t know what else to do. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that most of the men he’d been with were still standing, though most were covered in debris.
The explosion had dropped tons of bricks and mortar on a large German force, stopping them in their tracks. Arms twitched where they stuck out of the rubble.
Feeling very much like the enemies they’d been fleeing from, he staggered and made for the half-track, he and von Boeselager holding onto each other for support.
They helped him, von Boeselager, Higgins and Audley, von Boeselager’s men, and the remains of the 99th Intelligence and Reconnaissance division into the back of the vehicle. The truck lurched into motion, backed up, and turned until it found the road out of town.
Lieutenant Coley and von Boeselager sat across from each other. They were stuffed between a dozen men, and there was a small pair of children sitting on the laps of two men.
Screaming Eagles (The Front, Book 1) Page 16