“Don’t stop!” Burke said urgently, and Charlie shifted up, accelerating them past the group as quickly as possible.
Burke glanced out the window, taking in the crowd and searching for any sign of Richthofen.
He didn’t have to look far.
Richthofen’s gaze locked with his own, and in the dead man’s eyes Burke caught a glimpse of hell itself as the other man realized who they were.
“Shit!”
“What?” Charlie asked.
“Richthofen!”
Charlie made a couple of quick turns and suddenly the front gate flashed into view.
“Here we go!” he shouted over his shoulder to the rest of the team in the back. He pointed the truck at the center of the gate, intending to drive right through it, closed or not.
Recognizing his intentions, the sentries at the gate began firing at the lorry. Most of the shots missed, but a few slammed into the grille across the front of the truck and one tore away the mirror on Burke’s side of the vehicle.
The gate loomed large in the windshield, and Burke steadied himself with a hand on the dash and his feet flat on the floor.
“Brace yourself!” Charlie cried.
They hit the gate doing a good fifty miles per hour and smashed through it with ease, the tires bouncing over its remains before biting into the surface of the road again.
Burke looked at Charlie and let out a whoop of excitement. “We’re through!”
The open road stretched out before them, and Burke imagined that they might just make it out after all.
At least until the shooting started behind them.
Chapter Forty-two
OUTSIDE THE GATES
Bullets slammed into the tailgate of the truck as the thunder of a light machine gun split the night.
Charlie yanked the wheel to the right, taking them out of the line of fire, and giving Burke a chance to look behind them at the bad news waiting there.
They were being pursued by several smaller armored vehicles, both of which were faster and easier to maneuver than their own two-ton truck. The AVs were accompanied by a black staff car that looked similar to the one they’d used to bluff their way onto the base, except this one had Richthofen’s personal crest, a two-headed eagle looming over a pair of skulls, on the front doors.
Both the armored vehicles sported light machine guns, and as Burke pulled his head back in the truck the guns opened up again, hammering the fleeing vehicle and causing those in the back to flatten themselves against the floorboard hoping like hell they wouldn’t get hit.
A series of turns came into view ahead of them, forcing Charlie to slow down slightly to negotiate the narrow road and allowing the lead vehicle to catch up with them slightly. The machine gun went off again, stitching holes up and down the fabric that covered the cargo area where the rest of the team were hiding out.
The AV driver pulled up directly behind the lorry, the gunner aiming the machine gun across the cargo area at Sergeant Moore’s unprotected back, waiting to get it lined up perfectly before he took the shot . . .
Manning popped up in the back of the truck and snapped off a shot from his pistol that took the gunner right in the face. The driver swerved away and fell back a few yards.
The driver of the second AV was apparently braver than the first, for he took the opportunity to close the distance with the lorry. The machine gunner lit up the night sky with a blast from his weapon, joined by two other soldiers who leaned out the side windows and fired at them whenever opportunity allowed.
Burke’s men responded by laying down their own barrage of rifle fire from the back of the lorry, the barrels of their weapons pointed over the tailgate.
Sergeant Moore continued to do his part, swerving the lorry back and forth across the road at unexpected intervals, trying to keep the enemy from catching them in a concerted stream of fire.
“We’re not going to make it,” Charlie shouted. “Not like this anyway.”
Burke knew he was right. Their pursuers knew the roads and local area. If they were in communication with any other units, which was highly likely, they could easily coordinate a joint effort to run the fugitives to ground. Burke and his squad would be intercepted long before they could reach the front.
They needed to throw their pursuers off their trail long enough to find an alternate means of escape.
“When I tell you, I want you to hold it steady for a sec,” Burke shouted back.
Charlie nodded.
Burke turned, then yelled at Compton so he could be heard over the sound of the gunfire.
“We need to stop those AVs!” he shouted. “Do you still have those grenades Professor Graves created?”
Compton nodded.
“Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”
When Burke was finished, Compton flashed him a thumbs-up and disappeared back to the tailgate of the truck to pass the word to the others.
Burke waited a few seconds, wanting to gauge the timing just right. When Charlie hit a straightaway, he yelled, “Now!”
As one, Compton and the other men pulled the pins on the magnetic grenades in their hands, counted to three, and then dropped the devices out the back of the truck.
The explosives rolled down the street toward the pursuing vehicles as Charlie stomped on the gas pedal, trying to coax a little more speed from the already laboring engine.
Burke watched as the grenades rolled beneath the pursuing vehicles. He saw a brief flash from beneath their frames and in the next second their forward momentum was stolen completely as the now magnetically charged ground beneath them seemed to reach up and grab the iron frames of the trucks like a vise, bringing them to an immediate, shuddering halt. Frames crumpled and tires blew as the opposing forces fought against each other. He half expected bodies to come flying out the windshields from the sudden transference of g-forces, but then realized that they, too, would likely be struggling to lift themselves off the floor of the vehicle as the magnetic force acted on anything metallic that they were wearing.
For just a second, he felt a tug back in the direction of the wreckage as the magnetic charge tried to ensnare them as well, but the distance was too great and they broke free. Burke couldn’t see what happened to the staff car behind the AVs, but was confident that they had gained a few minutes’ advantage. The dense forest on either side of the road wouldn’t let Richthofen’s car pass, and the wreckage of the trucks would be immovable until the magnetic charge wore off.
It might only last for a few minutes, but even that would give them some time and distance to come up with a plan.
The solution must have occurred to him and Charlie at the same time. They looked at each other, the same thought running through their heads. We need a decoy to lead pursuit away from the rest of the group . . .
“I’ll do it,” they said simultaneously.
Charlie barely slowed as he whipped the truck around a hairpin turn and then stomped back down on the pedal as they hit the next straightaway. Without taking his eyes off the road he said, “Sorry, sir, but I can’t let you do that. Somebody’s going to have to lead the team all the way back to the front, and you’ve got a better chance of holding them together under pressure than I do.”
Burke braced himself as they jolted over several bumps in the road.
“If you think I’m going to just leave you behind after all we’ve been through . . .”
Charlie cut him off. “With all due respect, you don’t have a choice. You need to get Freeman and the information he has back to the other side or none of this will matter.”
He was right; Burke knew it, too. But that didn’t make it any easier.
The big sergeant glanced at Burke and smiled. “I’ll meet you farther down the line. Just be ready to pick me up when the time comes.”
They both knew it would take a miracle for him to do so once he drew the pursuit vehicles away from the rest of the squad. The enemy troops would run him down and shoot him on sight once t
hey had.
Charlie didn’t stand a chance.
No way was Burke going to admit that though. His friend deserved better, and if it helped him make the sacrifice he was about to make, Burke would happily plan their reunion if that’s what Charlie wanted.
The grenades they’d dumped in the road gave them a bit of distance from their pursuers, but it wouldn’t be long before they would catch up again. If they were going to do this, it was now or never.
“There’s a big partisan group near Reims. Make your way to them. They’ll take you in and should be able to get word to us that you made it out all right.”
“Will do.” Charlie stuck out his hand. “Good luck.”
Burke gripped his friend’s hand tightly, then turned and spread the word to the others in the back of the truck. They held on as Charlie took them through series of turns and then brought the truck to a screeching halt.
“Go!” he shouted.
Burke didn’t waste any time with further good-byes, just flung open his door and scrambled out of the truck. The rest of the men were piling out of the back at the same time and he counted heads as they joined him, only to come up one short. Glancing back toward the cab, he saw Manning climbing into the passenger seat beside Sergeant Moore.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “We’ve got to go!”
“Sorry, Captain,” Manning replied. “I’ve still got a shot at bagging that bastard Richthofen and I’m going to take it. Give my regards to Colonel Nichols when you see him.”
Before Burke could say another word, Charlie threw the truck into gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. No sooner had he sped off than lights appeared on the road behind them in the distance.
“Into the woods! Hurry!” Burke cried, waiting for all his men to head out before turning and running like hell for the safety of the trees.
Burke paused in the darkness around them and watched as the enemy sped past in a pair of lorries and Richthofen’s staff car. At the speed that they were going, he estimated that Charlie had a two-, maybe three-minute lead on his pursuers.
That wasn’t much. Charlie was going to need every trick in the book to get away.
Burke tried to get one last glimpse of the fleeing vehicle through the trees, but it was already out of sight.
“Godspeed, my friend,” he whispered into the darkness.
It took Burke ten minutes to catch up with the others, at which point he called a quick break. He put two of them on guard and let the others grab a few minutes of rest while he tried to figure out their next course of action.
Time was of the essence. Sergeant Moore and Clayton Manning wouldn’t be able to hold off their pursuers indefinitely. At some point, Richthofen would discover that he had been duped and the hunt would be on for Burke and the rest of his men. They needed to be miles away before that happened.
Their options were limited, however. Roads in this region were few, and all the previous traffic they’d seen had been military in nature. Burke had no objection to hijacking a truck if the opportunity arose, but the problem with that strategy was that they hadn’t seen a single vehicle traveling on its own all the way from Stalag 113 to the testing facility in Verdun.
The more vehicles there were, the more soldiers they’d have to face. No, there had to be another way to . . .
“Why do I get the feeling that this wasn’t part of the plan?”
Burke looked up from the map to find Jack watching him steadily and waiting for an answer. His half brother had pitched his voice low enough that the rest of the men wouldn’t hear his comment, which Burke appreciated. Not that such subterfuge was necessary; Burke’s men knew the plan had been screwed the minute the Victorious had been shot out from underneath them.
Seeing no reason not to tell the truth, Burke said, “Because it wasn’t. We were supposed to rendezvous with the British airship that brought us behind the lines.”
“And we’re not doing that now because?”
“Because the Boche shot it down.”
He turned back to the map, running his finger along a possible route that might get them a few miles farther from the camp without exposing them. If they stuck to the woods, they might be able to get as far as . . .
“I don’t want to tell you your business, but have you thought about the train?”
Burke stopped and looked up.
“The train?”
Jack nodded. “The one that was parked behind the gas factory when you arrived at the camp.”
Burke had no idea what Jack was talking about. “Show me,” he said, handing him the map.
Chapter Forty-three
SOMEWHERE BEHIND ENEMY LINES
You should have left when you had the chance!” Moore shouted, doing his best to make himself heard over the crack of the rifles and the thunder of the light machine gun hammering away at them from behind.
“And miss all this fun?” Manning replied. “Never!”
It hadn’t taken long for more vehicles from the base to catch up with them, and they were now being subjected to a withering hail of gunfire from behind. Even as they traded bravado, a series of well-placed rifle shots whipped through the space between them, striking the windshield and shattering it into dozens of fragments that peppered them with cuts on their faces, necks, and hands.
The wind coming in through the space where the windshield used to be made it difficult to see, but Charlie didn’t dare slow down.
They still had a job to do. Every minute they kept ahead of the enemy was another minute that Captain Burke and the rest of the squad could use to make their escape.
Sergeant Charlie Moore was many things, one of which was a realist. He had little hope that they’d get out of this mess and had long since stopped worrying about whether they would or not. How could he? He had no idea where he was or where he was headed; he’d lost track of everything just moments after smashing through the gates of the complex. All he was doing now was keeping the truck facing forward and pushing it as hard as he could, while Manning kept up a constant stream of fire directed behind them.
Moore knew how important it was that Burke get away, which was why even now, as the enemy closed in, he was praying for Burke rather than himself or Manning.
Manning had already emptied the sergeant’s Tommy gun back at their pursuers and now had his pistol out, firing back over his seat—Crack! Crack! Crack!—at the enemy behind them.
He spun around, ejected the magazine, and slapped in a new one. “That’s it. Last magazine and then I’m out.”
Charlie opened his mouth to reply and almost bit his tongue in half when the driver behind them rammed the rear of their vehicle with his own.
“Get us the hell out of here, Sergeant!” Manning yelled, as he snapped off a couple of quick shots in the enemy’s direction.
“I’m trying!”
Crash!
The other driver did it again, jamming his rear bumper up against the tailgate of their vehicle while trying to push them off the road.
Charlie jerked the wheel left, then right, but couldn’t seem to get away.
“Shoot the sonofabitch!” he shouted at Manning and glanced back that way.
He was just in time to see the grenade arc through the air and skip—tink, tink, tink—across the floor of the cargo space behind them.
“Grenade!” he shouted, trying to warn his companion, but there was really no need. Manning had seen it too and he was already moving, hurling himself between the seats and scrambling to get his hands on the projectile as it rolled around behind them.
He’s insane! Charlie thought. No way he can grab that before being blown to bits!
But to his surprise Manning did just that, snatching up the grenade in his right hand and side-arming it out the back of the truck.
Manning threw himself down to the deck of the cargo area, doing his best to make himself as small a target as possible as he huddled up against the thick metal tailgate, and was just in time to avoi
d being ripped to shreds by shrapnel as the grenade went off just after he released it. The explosion buckled the tailgate inward, but Manning survived unscathed.
Charlie couldn’t believe it!
Neither could Manning. He popped up on his knees, shouting with relief to find himself all in one piece. “Damn, that was close!” he cried.
Crack!
The rifle shot took him square in the center of the back, blasting his spine into splinters as it tore through him from back to front and came out the other side with a wet splat. As Charlie watched in the mirror, Manning looked down at his chest, staring in stunned amazement at the blood pouring out of the fist-sized hole that had appeared as if by magic to the right of his sternum, and then toppled over on his face, dead.
“God damn it!” Charlie shouted at the sky above, not afraid to use a little blasphemy if that was going to catch the Lord’s attention. “I need some help down here!”
But it was not to be.
As Charlie came speeding around the next curve, his headlights fell on the three German vehicles parked across the road. He realized in that instant that nothing he did would change the outcome of what was about to happen and so he didn’t even bother to try. He just pointed the truck at the parked vehicles ahead of him, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and hoped for the best.
The lorry slammed into the roadblock nearly dead center, the momentum carrying the vehicle up and over the others, twisting over on its side as it went. It sailed through the air for a dozen feet before coming crashing back down and sliding along the roadside until it slammed nose first into a tree, stopping its forward momentum.
Inside the truck’s cab, nothing moved.
Richthofen stood to one side and watched as his men pulled the Americans from the wreckage.
The first man was already dead, the victim of an apparent gunshot wound. From the lack of blood around his neck and shoulders, the flier had to assume that the decapitation had happened postmortem.
The driver, on the other hand, was still breathing when they pulled him from the crumpled steel that had once been a two-ton lorry, protected by the thick vest he was wearing, a vest made from reinforced leather and steel. He was bleeding from his mouth, which suggested internal injuries, but at least he was alive.
By the Blood of Heroes Page 30