“In the town of Rouget, sir. However we should be finished here within two or three hours and then we’ll move on to the next town.”
“I’m now giving you new orders, Major. You are to move immediately to the town of La Madeleine, and once there you are to seek out the enemy and destroy him, for the Allied armies are storming the Atlantic Wall even as I speak!”
Richter’s jaw dropped. “What!”
“You heard me. Get moving. Are there any questions?”
Richter blinked. “The Allies are storming the Atlantic Wall ...” he said in a daze.
“That’s correct, Richter. Move out immediately. Once again—are there any questions?”
Richter looked at the steeple of the church of Rouget. “But sir—we’re not quite finished here . . .”
“Forget about what you’re doing there, you idiot! The whole disposition of this war has been changed drastically—can’t you see that? Move out, I said!”
“But sir . . .”
Spengle made his voice as deadly as the blade of the SS dagger he wore at his waist. “Richter, if you don’t move out immediately, I'll have you shot. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
Richter closed his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want you to spend one more minute in that town, under penalty of death. Now move out!”
“Yes, sir.”
Richter hung up the telephone, his heart pumping black sludge through his body. He looked at the church steeple. They were so close, but orders were orders, and he’d never disobeyed an order in his life. Puffing his cigarette, he got out of the limousine and raised his arm to call to Grunwald, who came running over.
“Yes, sir?”
‘Tell Captain Schroeder to report to me immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Grunwald ran toward the tanks and men, Richter looked at the ground and kicked a stone that was in his path. Well, there’ll be other days, he thought. We’ll defeat the Allies in the west and then I’ll come back here and finish off this town once and for all.
Grunwald and Schroeder ran toward him from the direction of the fighting. “Captain Schroeder,” Richter said in a low voice that cracked as he spoke, “order your men to fall back and get into formation, because we must leave immediately for the town of La Madeleine. The Allies have attacked the Atlantic Wall.”
Captain Schroeder didn’t bat an eyelash. “Yes, sir.”
Captain Schroeder ran back to his tanks to pass along the order, and Major Richter sat heavily in his limousine, looking at the swastika on the dashboard. We’ll push them back into the sea, he thought, because if we don’t . . . well, it is totally unthinkable and completely unacceptable that we would not stop them ... if we fail we’ll probably lose the war, and we cannot lose the war.
Richter looked in the direction of the fighting. The tanks were already pulling back. This is only a temporary setback, Richter thought. With Adolf Hitler as our Fuehrer, victory will be ours in the end.
Chapter Forty-One
“They’re pulling back!” Cranepool shouted.
Mahoney looked down the sights of his submachine gun and noticed that they were indeed pulling back. He’d been firing his gun like a madman, expecting an artillery shell from a tank to blow him to shreds at any moment, and now the tanks were retreating. What the hell was going on out there?
Cranepool threw his hat in the air and cheered. The Frenchmen behind the wall waved their rifles and fists and shouted for joy.
“Stay alert!” Mahoney warned them. “They might be regrouping for another attack!”
Cranepool and the French fighters realized that probably was true, and settled down again, watching the movements of the tanks and SS men. They were pulling back and the trucks moved forward to meet them. The tanks formed a column pointing west. If Mahoney didn’t know any better, he’d think they were going to leave town. As they moved back, some of them kept firing to prevent the guerillas from attacking.
The scene shimmered before Mahoney’s feverish eyes. His leg was aching and he wanted to go to sleep, but he struggled to remain conscious. He was sure that this was some kind of trick, and yet he could see the SS men loading onto their trucks. Then the procession began to move slowly west. The six tanks were in front; behind them was a long black Mercedes-Benz limousine. Whoever their commander is, he sure travels in style, Mahoney thought. Then the rear guard raised their guns and ran to their trucks, which were formed in a column behind the Mercedes-Benz. They jumped up and were helped in by their comrades. The convoy gathered speed and moved out of town.
Behind the stone wall, the French were jumping up and down and hugging each other. Mahoney looked at the departing convoy and couldn’t believe his eyes. Why were they leaving when they had victory within their grasp? It didn’t make sense.
The people from the church poured outside, cheering and dancing. A group of them began to sing the Marseillaise. Mahoney looked at the church and saw the huge gaping holes in the walls. It couldn’t have lasted much longer, but now the Germans were far down the road, and you could barely see them through the cloud of dust they’d raised. Mahoney closed his eyes and went limp. He thought he might be dying. He opened his eyes and saw Cranepool bending over him.
"I'll get the doc,” Cranepool said.
The young corporal loped into the church, and Mahoney chewed the cigar in his mouth. It had gone out, so with unsteady hands he took out his matches and relit it. He took a puff, which made him feel better. He looked down at his leg, wondering how badly he was hurt. If the bullet had landed a few inches to the left it would have hit him right in the balls, and that would have been worse.
Cranepool led Doctor Lambert out of the church and pointed to Mahoney lying against the wall. The doctor rushed over with his black bag and knelt beside him, examining the wound as Cranepool paced back and forth nearby like an expectant father.
“It doesn’t look serious,” Lambert said. "I'll have to take the bullet out, but that should be no problem.” He looked up at Cranepool. “Help me carry him inside, will you?”
Cranepool called some Frenchmen over, and together they carried Mahoney into the church, laying him on a pew. Father Henri came over to see how he was and congratulate him for his leadership in the defense of the town. Leduc shook his hand. Odette wandered over and wrinkled her nose.
“Too bad they missed,” she said, then smiled, bent over and kissed him.
Mahoney puffed his cigar, his arms crossed on his chest. Things were looking up. A few minutes ago he was sure he was going to die, and now everything was okay. People were treating him like a hero. Maybe somebody could get him some brandy.
He reached out to grab Cranepool’s sleeve, when somebody shouted: “Hey—listen to this!”
It was a young Frenchman a few pews away, listening to a radio. He turned up the volume, and Mahoney heard the announcer’s voice:
“Under the command of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Allied naval forces supported by strong air forces began landing Allied armies this morning on the coast of France ...”
“Well, whataya know about that,” Mahoney, puffing his cigar, said with a smile of satisfaction. “Hey Cranepool, see if you can get me a bottle of brandy from someplace, will you?”
“Sure thing, Sarge.”
Cranepool moved toward the cellar, and Mahoney blew smoke into the air as he listened to the radio broadcast. It sounded as though the troops had landed safely and were moving inland without too much trouble. That meant the Krauts were on the run, and Mahoney would soon be in Paris.
Now he had something to look forward to because he’d heard that the whorehouses of Paris were the greatest in the world. And while the people around him danced and sang, he calculated how much back pay the Army owed him.
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Kindle Westerns by Mike Stotter
Kindle Westerns by Ben Bridges
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Death Train Page 21