“Harry, how many grenades do you have?”

  “Two, that’s all they could give me.”

  “I have three. We have to get out of this channel if we’re gonna take on the Tigers, and I was thinking about lobbing a couple of grenades at them to get their heads down.”

  “Sure, that could work, except when they put their heads up, we’ll be out in the open, and they’ll shred us.”

  “I was thinking about making a try for that half-track.”

  “Are you kidding me? Ray, you did see the machine gun mounted on top, and the guy standing behind it itching to get some private practice?”

  “I saw it, and if you look at the angles, we could approach the half-track without the infantry spotting us.”

  He grimaced. “So all we’re looking at is the machine gun, is that right? You think the guy is gonna be scratching his ass while we rush him?”

  “No, he won’t be scratching anything. I’m gonna pop up and put a bullet in him. Jesus, Harry, I can’t miss with the Garand at this range.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Get his attention, distract him for a few seconds while I aim.”

  “Distract his attention? You’re not serious? What you want me to do, wave to him, singing the Star-Spangled Banner?”

  “When I say the word, run out into the open and make sure you keep the hull of the half-track between you and the infantry. He’ll swivel his machine gun toward you, and that’ll give me a few seconds to line up a shot. Harry, we have to do this. Right now! Let’s go!”

  “I must be crazy,” he shouted as he leaped from the channel out into the open, running across the ground at an angle that would shield him from the mass of infantry doing their best to kill them.

  Ray was aware it wouldn’t shield him from the machine gun mounted on the half-track, and he climbed halfway out of the channel, rifle to his shoulder, and took aim. The gunner on the half-track was confused for a few vital seconds, seeing Harry running at a tangent, and he was moving the barrel of his weapon toward him when a second American soldier popped up with a rifle pointed right at him.

  He hesitated, and Ray took that tiny window of opportunity to aim and fire. The first shot missed, and he cursed, but he aimed again, and this time pumped four bullets toward the target. He didn’t care how many bullets hit and how many missed. What mattered was he knew at least one had hit the target when the machine gunner cried out and fell backward. The officer standing in the half-track opened his mouth in surprise and drew his pistol. Cassidy fired again, put a bullet into his shoulder, and he was out.

  With no time to reload, he picked up the bazooka and took off after Harry, racing toward the vehicle. Two Germans had appeared, the driver and the radio operator. They stared at Cassidy in astonishment, and that astonishment cost them their lives. Harry was almost on them, and he peppered them with bullets from his Garand as he leaped aboard the vehicle.

  Ray sprinted the last few yards and joined him, and the three Germans were dead. The fourth German, the officer, was sprinting away, clutching at his wounded shoulder, and they ducked low as the outraged troops opened fire. Cassidy made a jump for the driver’s seat, shouting at Byrd to use the machine gun. Cassidy pressed the start button, and as incoming bullets spattered against the armored hull, the Maybach six-cylinder engine roared into life. Harry opened fire and spat a stream of bullets at the enemy. The incoming fire ceased as they dived for cover, and a moment later he’d worked out how to get the ungainly vehicle on the move. Except he was heading in the wrong direction, north, and he swung the wheel over to head toward the Tigers.

  The journey was short. The Germans weren’t about to take the surprise attack lying down, and he cranked the engine up to full speed, hitting thirty miles an hour, jerking the wheel aside as the first tank opened fire. An 88mm round is lethal, capable of destroying most heavily armored tanks on any battlefront. The half-track was lightly armored, and if the shell struck the hull, they’d disappear in a flash of flame and smoke. The Germans were accurate, and the shell landed in exactly the spot they’d have been if he hadn’t swerved. A second shell crashed out, and it was too close. They’d adjusted their aim for his change of direction and almost scored a hit.

  Byrd was still blazing away with the machine gun, ignoring the incoming fire whistling around him, and he shouted to Cassidy. “You have to do something. If you get any closer they’ll bracket us, and even if they don’t hit us we’ll overturn. For Chrissake, turn away!”

  “I’m doing my best, but the problem with Holland it’s all flat. There’re no damn hills to hide behind.” He stopped as another shell hit the ground twenty yards away.

  The explosion caused the eight-ton vehicle to leave the ground, sail through the air, and land five yards from the track they’d been following. He fought with the controls to stop the ungainly beast from overturning, fighting to get it driving on a straight line, although the explosion had disoriented him. Harry pointed out they were about to run into a canal.

  “Ray, ahead of us! It’s another canal, how many do they have in this country?”

  “I’m on it.” He heaved on the wheel, and nothing happened. The explosion had damaged the steering, and it was locked. They were plummeting toward a canal fifteen yards in front of them, and he had no way of avoiding it. Save to put on the brakes, and that would leave them a sitting duck for the Tigers, “Harry, hold tight, we’re going in.”

  “No, this thing will sink like a stone.”

  At thirty miles an hour, they crossed the final few yards in a matter of a couple of seconds. The hood of the half-track dipped down as they went over the edge, dropping five yards into the water. The Hanomag was sinking, down, down, and he shouted for his buddy to get out as he grabbed for the bazooka. Eight tons of German steel sank in seconds, and he dived away just in time to avoid being sucked under. He had no choice but to let go of his Garand, but he had to fight to keep his head above the deep water. Deep enough to completely hide the half-track.

  It was going under, and if he didn’t let go of the bazooka, he was about to drown. Yet there was no way he was going to give up. Without the bazooka, getting this far would be a waste of time, and those guys holding the bridge were as good as dead.

  He struggled, fought, kicked with his legs to keep his head above water, but the heavy weapon was dragging him slowly and inexorably downward. His strength was fading, yet there was no way he’d give up, and he fought harder, knowing he was tiring, knowing it was all over, until hands grabbed him from behind. Harry had joined him to support him and the bazooka. Between them, they kicked for the muddy bank, reached it, and started to climb out. And stopped.

  “I hear voices. They’re coming,” Harry gasped. “Ray, we don’t have any cover. When they look over here, they’ll see us and fill us full of holes.”

  He was right. They were about to be spotted, and they had other troubles. The thick, slippery mud of the canal bank was almost sheer. Getting up would be long and hard, especially with the bazooka. He looked back down at the water. If they slipped under the surface, they may be able to hold their breath long enough for the Germans to think they’d drowned. Or maybe not. But it would mean submerging the bazooka, and there was no way it would survive a ducking.

  Wearily, he contemplated the sole alternative. Defeat, surrender, but the thought of giving in to those squareheads rankled. There had to be another way. He was battling to hold onto the muddy bank to stop sliding back into the water when it came to him.

  “The mud. Harry, cover yourself with mud. With any luck, they may not see us.”

  “Pal, we’re out of luck, or didn’t you realize with our bad luck they’re bound to see us.”

  “It’s all we have, do it!”

  The German voices were getting closer, and they had seconds to spare. They coated each other and the bazooka with thick, slimy mud, pressing themselves into the side and holding on by their fingertips. Half in and half out of the water, and above them a German voice was shouting orders.

  “Achtung, wo is der Hanomag? Und die Amerikaner? In dem wasser?”

  “Ich weise nicht, Herr Major.”

  “Wenn du sie siehst, erschiess sie.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Major.”

  In the short time they’d been in action against the Germans, he’d picked up a smattering of German, enough to have a rough idea of what the guy was saying. If they saw them, they’d shoot them. He held his breath; mouthing a silent prayer they wouldn’t see them with their fingertips clutching a precarious handhold on the bank. Yet not believing they had a chance in hell. In a few seconds, bullets would start to fly.

  Chapter Three

  They hung on the bank, pressing their fingers into the mud ever harder as their weight and the weight of their weapons tried to pull them down into the water, and into view of the Germans. It was like an eternity, and Cassidy was screaming in his head for them to go away. He didn’t want to die, not like this. Covered in mud, half suspended in a Dutch canal, and if that wasn’t bad enough, having to face failure, knowing the cost of their failure. The Germans failed to spot them, and after what seemed like eight hours but was probably more like eight minutes, they left.

  Slowly, they climbed the muddy bank inches at a time, digging their hands into the mud, careful not to drop the bazooka that would finish everything. After another eternity they reached the top, and he peered over. The Germans had gone, and he saw them advancing toward the bridge. The Tigers were three hundred yards away. They’d halted and opened fire on the defenders, and he imagined the platoon was getting hit hard.

  After they’d advanced further to toward the bridge, they were in a better position behind the Germans, and they’d no idea the two Americans were in the rear.

  “Harry, it’s up to us. We have to stop those bastards. We’re behind them, and you know what that means.”

  “Yeah, the rear of a Tiger is the most vulnerable part of the hull. Except for us, we’re the most vulnerable. If they see us, we’re toast.”

  “They won’t see us. They’re too busy giving our guys on the bridge a pounding. It’s now or never, so let’s do it!”

  Hugging the ground, they slid over the edge of the canal bank and snaked toward the stationary tanks. They fired repeatedly, and the two Airborne troopers could only watch as the heavy 88mm shells pounded the 82nd positions around the bridge. There was no time to waste, and when they saw both tank commanders with their heads and shoulders sticking out from the turrets, staring at the bridge, they picked up speed. Rising to a crawl, and when they got within two hundred yards, Harry wanted to take the shot, but he stopped him.

  “Not yet, we need to get closer.”

  “How close?”

  “One hundred yards, one hundred and twenty yards maximum.”

  “Shit, Ray, they have to see us.”

  “It’s that, or we’re wasting our time. Keep crawling.”

  They moved closer and closer, and once they stopped when a German tank commander looked around to check the ground to his rear. What saved them was the thick coating of mud that covered them. Like camouflage, only better, this was Dutch mud, and there was more than enough mud to go around in Holland. He squinted his eyes, his keen gaze sweeping over the ground. Once he looked hard at where they lay, not daring to breathe. His gaze moved on, and he returned to looking at the bridge, taking a heavy pounding from the 88mm guns.

  “We’re almost there, a few more yards, and we can let them have it.”

  They crawled on, snaking across the ground, just two muddy figures almost invisible. When they passed the one hundred and twenty-yard mark, they stopped. Cassidy slid the launcher on his shoulder, the rocket ready loaded, while Harry waited with a spare rocket in his hands. He aimed, carefully, slowly. If they fouled this up, their buddies were as good as dead. They were behind both tanks, looking at the thinnest armor and the most vulnerable area.

  With the primitive sight locked onto the rear of the hulking monster, Cassidy kept his breathing steady, his eye on the center of the steel hull. He gave the trigger a gentle squeeze, almost like caressing the face of a lover. The rocket, tipped with a shaped charge weighing three and a half pounds, soared away to the target, and his aim was good. It slammed into the steel armor, and the shaped charge penetrated the hull before it detonated with a massive explosion. One moment the tank commander was half out of his turret directing the gunfire toward the bridge, and the next the blast blew him fifty yards into the air. It wasn’t until he started to descend they realized it was his torso and head in the air, the rest of him was still inside what remained of the tank.

  He tore his gaze away from the gruesome sight. Harry was already reloading, pushing the next rocket into the tube, and trying to avoid looking at the turret of the surviving Tiger. It had started to rotate toward them, bringing the secondary armament of an MG-34 machine gun into play.

  “Ray, shoot!”

  “I’m nearly lined up, one moment.”

  It was touch and go. The ugly snout of the MG-34 was almost pointing at them, and in his haste, he messed up. Squeezed the trigger, but this was no gentle caress, but a panicked jerk. The rocket roared away toward the Tiger, but his aim was high, and instead of impacting the vulnerable rear of the hull, it slammed into the four-inch frontal armor of the turret. It exploded with a roar but failed to penetrate, and for several seconds a pall of smoke and flame hung over the metal monster.

  “We need to shoot again,” he shouted, “Load another rocket.”

  “On the way.” He managed to load another rocket into the launcher, but the machine gun began to chatter its ugly message of death, “Too late.”

  They clutched at the ground trying to shrink into the mud to avoid the hammering gunfire, but they were as good as dead. Ray thought of the things he’d done in a short life, and the things he’d planned to do and would never happen. A shattering roar deafened his ears and shook the ground. He assumed he was dying, but instead of heavy bullets smashing into his body and turning it into bloody ruin, the noise had faded, and another cloud of smoke covered the area.

  They both looked up, and by chance a wandering fighter aircraft, a USAF Lockheed P-38 Lightning had spotted the Tiger and roared in to attack. Two one thousand-pound bombs straddled the tank, and once more explosions battered at the armored hull, but it wasn’t enough. The vehicle was still intact, and all they’d managed was little more than scratch the paintwork. The Lightning, out of heavy ordnance, performed a spectacular low-level loop and came back in, its four M2 Brownings pouring lead on the German, but it still wasn’t enough, and the aircraft, out of ammunition, performed a barrel roll and pointed the nose west.

  It took a few moments for Ray to understand what had happened. And it had given them a chance.

  “Harry, back to the canal. It’s our only chance. Run like hell!”

  The smoke hung over the Tiger, and small fires had broken out around it. The crew was busy preventing their armored vehicle from catching fire and exploding. They ran around with fire extinguishers and shovels, throwing earth over the flames and beating them to put them out. They reached the canal and climbed over the bank. Out of sight of the Germans, but they were able to keep an eye on what was happening with the enemy. There was plenty happening. Troops were racing back from the bridge to assist with the fires, leaving a small contingent to keep up a constant harassing fire on the beleaguered Airborne troopers.

  “We have to do it again.”

  Harry stared at him in astonishment. “Jesus Christ, Ray, we should be dead by now. It was just luck that aircraft turned up at the right time. If we go back they’ll see us, and right now they’re madder than hornets. We’ve done everything we can, we should try to get back to our people.”

  “If we don’t do this, our people are gonna die. I want another shot at that Tiger.”

  “How? It’s surrounded by Germans, and they’ll see us coming from a mile off.”

  “Maybe they’ll make a mistake.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  * * *

  Major Benz stood back and watched the men furiously beating at the flames threatening to engulf his tank. A fire burned inside him, a furious fire that possessed his very soul. He’d seen the other tank destroyed. Had seen the commander, an old friend, a Leutnant by the name of Rolf Schneider, blasted out of his turret in pieces, and all he wanted was revenge. He looked at the infantry commander, Oberleutnant Otto Jansen.

  “Oberleutnant, I want the men who did this.”

  Jansen looked at him in astonishment. “Herr Major, it was an American aircraft that dropped bombs close to your tank. Do you plan to locate the airfield and visit them?”

  He scowled. “Enough of your sarcasm, I’m your senior officer. I wasn’t talking about the fighter-bomber. I was talking about the men who launched an anti-tank rocket that destroyed the first Tiger and almost destroyed mine. Where are they?”

  A shrug. “If they had any sense, they’d have run.”

  “If they had any sense, they wouldn’t have tried attacking a heavy panzer with a puny rocket.”

  Jansen failed to prevent a smile reaching his lips. “As I recall, Herr Major, their puny rocket destroyed one of your tanks.”

  A couple of men standing close enough to hear chuckled, and Benz felt his rage grow even hotter inside. “Don’t screw around, Oberleutnant. Those men are still out there, and they’re a threat to this mission to recapture the bridge. Find them.”

  At the same time, he shouted for his driver to reverse away from the fires, and they left them to burn out while the soldiers spread out to search for the Americans who’d fired the rocket.

  Benz surveyed the ground and saw the canal several hundred yards back. “Driver, back up to the canal to prevent those men from getting behind us.”

  “Yessir. About the bridge, it’s in the opposite direction.”

 

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