since room inside one was at a premium. He hadn’t had a chance to fire it yet, so he felt just a little foolish carrying it. He also had a .45 automatic in a holster on his belt. He’d never fired that either. Nor had he yet been inside a tank.
Somewhere he recalled reading that armored columns were supposed to move quickly and charge dramatically into battle. Well, it wasn’t happening this day. The tanks and tank destroyers were in the front of the column, while half-tracks and trucks followed. Literally hundreds of armored and support vehicles were lined up in the narrow dirt road, and all were heading into combat for the first time as a unit. That is, if they ever got there.
The hedgerows in this area weren’t as bad as those closer to the Normandy coast, but they were difficult enough. They constricted vision and forced the regiment into one long single-file column.
Morgan had drawn PFC Snyder again as his driver. Jack yawned and glared at the half-track in front of them. A dozen men were stuffed into it and they all looked bored as hell. His radioman dozed in the back seat. His chief NCO, Sergeant Major Rolfe, and his two lieutenants, Hazen and Vance, rode in vehicles behind him.
Morgan decided to make light of it. “At this rate, Snyder, the war’ll be over before we get to it.”
Snyder grinned. With Morgan his commanding officer, he was no longer the taciturn and bored driver who’d brought him to the regiment. “Fine by me, sir.”
There was a loud crack and the half-track in front exploded. Bodies flew through the track’s open top and into the air. “What the hell?” Morgan said.
Flames erupted from the stricken vehicle as it slowly fell onto its side. A handful of survivors crawled out. One was on fire. Others screamed and tried to crawl away. Snyder floored the accelerator and pulled off the road to their left just as a second crack sounded and the vehicle in front of the dying half-track also exploded. Their Jeep slid onto its side and all three men jumped out.
It was a German ambush. “Everybody out of the trucks,” Morgan yelled. The order was unnecessary as everyone was doing just that. He jumped up and ran down the line to repeat the order to a handful of men who remained frozen in place, grabbing a couple by the collar and hurling them to the ground. Sergeant Major Rolfe was already doing the same thing, but Morgan’s young lieutenants, Vance and Hazen, seemed dazed and confused, and remained in their vehicles. Jack grabbed Hazen and threw him on the ground. Vance shook off his shock and climbed down. All up and down the line trucks were emptying of men.
Crack!
Rolfe dropped down beside Morgan, who was hugging the ground. “It’s a German eighty-eight, Captain. I remember the sound of the fuckers from North Africa and Sicily.”
The squat bow-legged sergeant was one of his few veterans. Properly identifying their enemy was one thing, but doing something about it was something else.
Crack, and another truck exploded. “It’s a turkey shoot,” Rolfe said. “You’re in charge, Captain. I suggest we do something.”
A Sherman tank roared down the line of trucks, its stubby seventy-five looking for a target. It was on the Germans’ side of the road and the stalled vehicles, and its run exposed the tank’s less heavily armored side.
Crack, and the tank lurched to a halt. Black smoke began to pour from its hatches as the crew stumbled out. Only two of the five made it before the ammunition in the tank began to explode.
“God help the poor bastards,” said Rolfe.
“Can you see where the kraut gun is?” Morgan asked.
“Kinda. I thought I saw a flash in those trees to our left front, maybe a quarter mile away.”
The area wasn’t as thick with hedges and trees as the ancient farms around the Normandy invasion site, but the foliage was thick enough to hide an antitank gun.
“Then get everybody shooting in that general direction. If nothing else, it’ll keep them
Somewhere he recalled reading that armored columns were supposed to move quickly and charge dramatically into battle. Well, it wasn’t happening this day. The tanks and tank destroyers were in the front of the column, while half-tracks and trucks followed. Literally hundreds of armored and support vehicles were lined up in the narrow dirt road, and all were heading into combat for the first time as a unit. That is, if they ever got there.
The hedgerows in this area weren’t as bad as those closer to the Normandy coast, but they were difficult enough. They constricted vision and forced the regiment into one long single-file column.
Morgan had drawn PFC Snyder again as his driver. Jack yawned and glared at the half-track in front of them. A dozen men were stuffed into it and they all looked bored as hell. His radioman dozed in the back seat. His chief NCO, Sergeant Major Rolfe, and his two lieutenants, Hazen and Vance, rode in vehicles behind him.
Morgan decided to make light of it. “At this rate, Snyder, the war’ll be over before we get to it.”
Snyder grinned. With Morgan his commanding officer, he was no longer the taciturn and bored driver who’d brought him to the regiment. “Fine by me, sir.”
There was a loud crack and the half-track in front exploded. Bodies flew through the track’s open top and into the air. “What the hell?” Morgan said.
Flames erupted from the stricken vehicle as it slowly fell onto its side. A handful of survivors crawled out. One was on fire. Others screamed and tried to crawl away. Snyder floored the accelerator and pulled off the road to their left just as a second crack sounded and the vehicle in front of the dying half-track also exploded. Their Jeep slid onto its side and all three men jumped out.
It was a German ambush. “Everybody out of the trucks,” Morgan yelled. The order was unnecessary as everyone was doing just that. He jumped up and ran down the line to repeat the order to a handful of men who remained frozen in place, grabbing a couple by the collar and hurling them to the ground. Sergeant Major Rolfe was already doing the same thing, but Morgan’s young lieutenants, Vance and Hazen, seemed dazed and confused, and remained in their vehicles. Jack grabbed Hazen and threw him on the ground. Vance shook off his shock and climbed down. All up and down the line trucks were emptying of men.
Crack!
Rolfe dropped down beside Morgan, who was hugging the ground. “It’s a German eighty-eight, Captain. I remember the sound of the fuckers from North Africa and Sicily.”
The squat bow-legged sergeant was one of his few veterans. Properly identifying their enemy was one thing, but doing something about it was something else.
Crack, and another truck exploded. “It’s a turkey shoot,” Rolfe said. “You’re in charge, Captain. I suggest we do something.”
A Sherman tank roared down the line of trucks, its stubby seventy-five looking for a target. It was on the Germans’ side of the road and the stalled vehicles, and its run exposed the tank’s less heavily armored side.
Crack, and the tank lurched to a halt. Black smoke began to pour from its hatches as the crew stumbled out. Only two of the five made it before the ammunition in the tank began to explode.
“God help the poor bastards,” said Rolfe.
“Can you see where the kraut gun is?” Morgan asked.
“Kinda. I thought I saw a flash in those trees to our left front, maybe a quarter mile away.”
The area wasn’t as thick with hedges and trees as the ancient farms around the Normandy invasion site, but the foliage was thick enough to hide an antitank gun.
“Then get everybody shooting in that general direction. If nothing else, it’ll keep them
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