Right now, he had more immediate concerns than the flu. If there was one thing that any infantryman feared, it was the German Panzers. The tanks were not invincible — the GIs had certainly proved that by now — but against a Panzer, their individual rifles might as well be pea shooters. Their squad didn’t have one of the new recoilless rifles or even a bazooka. After all, their orders were to slow down the Krauts while the rest of the unit got the road cleared.
Among the trees below, a snowy branch suddenly moved, despite the fact that there wasn’t any wind. Then another branch slightly higher than the first one quivered. Clumps of snow fell. Beyond this localized disturbance, the rest of the forest remained still.
It was a curious phenomenon that could have been chalked up to some forest creature, but Cole knew better. He guessed correctly that it meant a German was climbing the tree, trying to get a glimpse of the road ahead.
For their ambush, the squad had picked a spot where they had a commanding view of a bend in the road. The Krauts weren’t foolish enough to come around that bend right into any waiting guns. Always cautious, they had sent a scout ahead.
“Hey, twelve o’clock,” Vaccaro whispered, suddenly deadly serious. “See that tree moving?”
Cole didn’t respond, but pressed his eye tighter against the rim of the telescopic sight. The icy metal felt as if it was cutting into flesh, but he ignored it, willing his eye to see every detail of the forest below. Another branch quivered, then stopped. High in the tree, Cole caught a glint of something. Binoculars? Rifle scope? The German scout was looking right at them. They just had to hope that they had hidden themselves well enough to fool the scout.
Cole held his fire, although he could easily have picked off the German. He wanted the Germans to think that the road ahead was clear and that there wasn’t any danger.
Seemingly satisfied that this was the case, the tree branches moved again, this time in the opposite order as the scout descended. Cole had to hand it to the Kraut. Other than the stirring of the branches, which would have been hard to notice if you weren’t looking for it, the scout had moved silently and stealthily.
Meanwhile, the Germans came closer. They could hear them, but not see them. The clanking of the panzer treads on the hard-packed ice of the road became distinct. They heard a few commands shouted over the relentless engines — a few Kübelwagen vehicles along with the Panzer. Even if the Allied planes had been flying, the Germans would have had good cover under the canopy of the evergreen forest.
“Here they come,” Mulholland muttered. “Steady … pick your targets.”
There was no need for him to say it. After months of combat, these men knew the drill. All of them aimed their weapons, held their breath, intent on the targets soon to appear around the bend.
They didn’t have to wait long. First to appear were a handful of soldiers wearing white winter camouflage smocks. In the old days, these would have been called skirmishers — sent out ahead of the main force to probe the presence of the enemy.
Still, the men around Cole held their fire, awaiting an order from the lieutenant. The Germans on the road below came closer. Now, the roar and clank of the Panzer sounded even louder. The stink of exhaust reached them like an affront to the clear mountain air. The tank took up most of the road. Despite its size and weight, the Panzer was having some trouble on the icy incline, lurching sideways on the road before straightening itself out.
Cole set his sights on the man in the turret of the Panzer.
“Fire!” Mulholland shouted.
The first burst of gunfire dropped three of the enemy soldiers. The others scattered into the ditches and trees. They knew better than to throw themselves flat on the road, right in the path of the Panzer, where they would be turned into German pancakes.
Through the scope, Cole could see the tank commander in the Panzer turret, pointing in the squad’s direction. It was all too clear that the Unteroffizer was ordering the Panzer to target them. The barrel of the tank’s gun swiveled toward them, the muzzle looking big and black as a pit into hell. Any second now, the Panzer was going to blow them all to Kingdom Come.
Not so fast, Cole thought. He squeezed the trigger. The tank commander slumped in the turret. Cole’s squad had a temporary reprieve from the threat of the Panzer’s main gun. That didn’t prevent the tank’s heavy machine gun from buzzing like a metallic hornet’s nest.
More soldiers poured in from the sides of the tank, setting up an assault on the squad’s position. Cole had seen it all before. You could count on the Germans to be efficient. After years of battle, they knew their business.
Then again, so did the squad. The soldiers around Cole poured a withering fire down the road. The squad had the advantage of being behind cover, while the Germans on the road mostly remained exposed.
Down on the Panzer, someone from below pushed the body out of the turret and the dead Unteroffizer rolled down the side of the tank and fell to the snow like a sack of grain. He noticed that unlike the infantrymen, the tank crew didn’t wear camouflage.
Another man appeared in the turret, this one armed with a Schmeisser. He let off a burst in the direction of Cole’s squad, then shouted something down into the tank. Once again, the big gun began to swivel in their direction.
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Cole muttered. He put his crosshairs on the soldier in the turret, and fired. The tanker slid back down into the hatch.
But this time, there was no stopping the Panzer from sending a round in their direction. The tank fired. The muzzle blast lit up the forest canopy with an orange glow, the shock wave from its big gun making the branches all around dance as if hit by a gust of wind. Snow showered down.
Traveling at nearly four thousand feet per second, the tank round whooshed over their heads and struck the road behind the squad, punching a hole in the icy road. They had dodged a bullet — a damned big bullet, at that — but the squad might not be so lucky again. Already, the Panzer’s gun was angling lower.
“Fall back!” Mulholland shouted.
Nobody needed to be told twice. Their orders were to delay the German advance, not stop it. For that, they would have needed a lot more firepower.
Besides, the Americans up the road had a surprise in store for the Germans.
Cole slipped from behind the fallen log that he had been using for cover, even as a burst of fire from the Panzer’s 7.92 mm MG 34 machine gun chewed up the bark. Time to go.
The squad began a running battle back to the rest of the unit. They stopped now and then to fire at the Germans who had outpaced the tank.
Cole threw himself down flat on the road, locked his arms into a prone position, and waited for the tank to come back into sight. He was disappointed that the tank crew had figured out not to put anybody back in the turret — either that, or they had run out of crew to sacrifice. Instead, a couple of soldiers had climbed onto the tank to serve as its eyes and ears as it navigated the road. While the Panzer had viewing slits and periscopes like any tank, it was easier to drive when somebody had eyes on the road. One of the soldiers leaned over the hatch to shout instructions down into the tank.
Cole picked him off.
Then he and the others were up and running again, back toward the main position.
“I hope they know we’re coming,” Vaccaro panted, laboring to run in the awkward pac boots. Though the rubberized boots kept their feet more or less dry, it was like trying to run with canoes strapped to your feet. It didn’t help that the rubber soles slipped and slid on the hard-packed road.