by Len Levinson
“Do you think they see us?” Cranepool asked.
“If we can see them, they must be able to see us, asshole.”
“But there are only two of us and there are so many of them.”
Mahoney jumped up and down and waved his hands. “Ich ergebe mich!” He bellowed the German words for “I surrender.” “Ich ergebe mich!”
The long gray line of German soldiers didn’t react at all.
“I don’t think they heard you, Sarge,” Cranepool said.
Mahoney jumped up and down again, waving his hands wildly. “Ich ergebe mich! Ich ergebe mich!”
Still there was no reaction from the Germans who were quite close now. Mahoney could see the features of their faces, and they didn’t look very friendly.
Cranepool held his hands high in the air. “Are you sure them’s the right words, Sarge?”
“Of course they’re the right words. Ich ergebe mich! Ich ergebe mich!”
There was a burst of submachine-gun fire, and bullets zipped all around them. They dropped to the ground instantly and looked at each other.
“I guess they’re not taking prisoners today,” Mahoney said.
“Guess not.”
“Back to the truck.”
“Hup Sarge.”
Their chins close to the ground, they scrambled back to the truck and crawled underneath it as bullets zapped over their heads and whacked into the metal.
Major Denton looked as though he was going to have a heart attack. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone out there! I knew you were going to draw their fire!”
Mahoney pointed his finger at him. “I’m sick of your mouth. If you don’t shut up I’m going to kill you.”
“But...”
“You heard me.”
Denton’s ears turned red and a bullet hit the front tire of the truck. The tire blew out and the truck lowered closer toward the ground. Mahoney saw that the axle was high enough to keep them from being crushed by the undercarriage of the truck, and he thought the lowered truck would give them more protection. A bullet hit the other front tire, and it began to lose air too.
Mahoney grabbed his submachine gun. “Well boys, I guess this is it,” he said through his teeth. “They’re not taking prisoners today, so we’ve got to fight.”
He crawled toward the front of the truck, aimed his submachine gun at the advancing Germans, and pulled the trigger. The submachine gun shuddered in his hands and orange flame spurted from its barrel. The Germans were standing up as they advanced and the bullets cut three of them down. Suddenly around five hundred Germans in that section of the line hit the dirt.
Mahoney blinked. He could barely believe that one burst had done all that. Cranepool crawled up beside him and together they fired at the Germans who were only two hundred yards away and clearly visible.
“Let’s go!” Mahoney shouted to the others as the submachine gun bucked in his hands. “Grab those carbines and keep the bastards pinned down!”
Bates grabbed Mahoney’s carbine and Washington took Cranepool’s. They hid behind the hubs of the flattened tires and fired at the Germans, who themselves were directing a withering fire at the truck. Bullets ricocheted off its fenders and ripped into its bumper a few inches above Mahoney’s head. Germans on the far flanks advanced and took positions where they could fire at the sides of the truck. Major Denton and Sergeant Goldberg fired their .45’s, which were completely ineffective at that range, but they hoped stray bullets might kill some Germans.
The bolt on Mahoney’s submachine gun clicked, indicating that the clip was empty. He ejected it, rammed in a new one, and opened fire again, spraying lead from side to side at the Germans on their stomachs before him. He didn’t know why he was fighting back, because death was certain. It would only be a matter of time before the Germans brought up some heavy weapons and blew them off the face of the earth.
“Keep them pinned down!” he said, his submachine gun rocking his body. “It’s our only chance!”
A German soldier got to his knees with a panzerfaust (an antitank weapon), and Mahoney gave him a burst in the face. Some other Germans were trying to set up a machine gun, but Cranepool raked them with bullets and sent them flying in all directions. A German officer stood and moved his arm forward, indicating he wanted his men to attack, but Pfc Washington shot him between the eyes with Cranepool’s carbine.
Another officer leapt to his feet and ordered a charge, but Mahoney poured a burst of six into his belly. As the officer fell backwards, his men leapt to their feet and charged the truck. Sweat poured down Mahoney’s and Cranepool’s faces as they held their triggers back all the way and swayed the barrels of their submachine guns from side to side. A bunch of Germans dropped to the ground but the rest kept coming. One of them reared his hand back to throw a hand grenade but a wild shot from Major Denton’s .45 hit him in the chest. The bullet made a tiny hole going in but ripped out his kidney and liver on the way out. The German fell to the ground and the hand grenade went off, blowing up the Germans nearby and sending shrapnel slicing through the bodies of Germans a little farther away.
The German attack faltered. The American soldiers underneath the truck felt encouraged by the knowledge that they’d stopped so many Germans, and fought even harder, firing their weapons as quickly as they could. The surviving Germans attackers pulled back slowly to their main lines, and the Americans cheered.
The next moment a ferocious hail of German bullets raked the truck and kicked up dirt all around them. Mahoney pressed his chin into the ground and peered under the brim of his helmet at the Germans. A wave of them were attacking while others were laying down a steady base of fire.
“Shoot back!” Mahoney yelled. “Our only chance is to shoot back!”
He fired his submachine gun wildly and caught the lead Germans across the legs. They screamed horribly and fell to the ground, writhing in pain and rolling around. The other Germans kept coming, but they ran into a hail of lead from the combined firepower of the Americans’ weapons.
The Germans kept charging, and it was hard for Mahoney and the others to fire accurately because German bullets were thick all around them. The Germans advanced to within fifty yards of the truck and kept coming. Mahoney and Cranepool returned their fire, shooting a few down and missing the rest. The Germans charged on, holding their rifles and bayonets in front of them, and then when they were twenty-five yards away their commander told them to hit it and they all fell down. They opened fire, and the Americans fired back as best they could, bullets flying around them like swarms of angry hornets. Mahoney could see that the Germans were going to attack in waves, and when they got close enough they’d lob hand grenades under the truck.
“Keep firing!” he shouted. “Show them what Americans are made out of!”
Even Major Denton fired back and fought hard. All the Americans under the truck figured they were as good as dead and thought they might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Unable to return fire with precision, their visibility hampered by smoke and the whiz of bullets, they didn’t see the German soldier set up a panzerfaust and fire it. The shell flew through the air and landed on the front grille of the truck, exploding on contact and tearing away the grille along with the front half of the engine.
Underneath the truck, the Americans were half deafened by the explosion. Mahoney’s ears rang but he continued firing the submachine gun. The bolt clicked and he ejected the empty clip. Reaching for a new one, he realized it was the last one left. He gulped as he loaded it into the chamber. Well, the game is just about over, he thought. He lifted his head and fired the submachine gun, and his bullets whistled over the heads of the Germans in front of him.
A second wave of Germans leapt up from the main line and charged the truck. Mahoney swung his submachine gun around and fired at them. He saw some fall, but the rest kept coming. Cranepool’s submachine gun chattered next to him and Germans dropped to the ground, but most of them kept driving and dived to the ground near the first wa
ve.
Now both attacking waves fired at once and the Americans beneath the truck could barely raise their heads. Bullets ricocheted everywhere and all the tires were flattened. Another panzerfaust shell hit the truck, exploding the right front fender into the air. Mahoney fired as best he could and then his submachine gun went “click” and he knew he was out of ammunition.
“Hey Cranepool—you got any ammo left!” he yelled above the roar.
“I think so.”
Cranepool reached into his belt pouch and found only one clip left. “Here you go, Sarge,” he shouted, throwing it to Mahoney.
Mahoney jammed it into the submachine gun. “How many you got left?”
“That was my last one.”
Suddenly Cranepool shouted “Shit!” and laid down his submachine gun. He was out of ammunition, but he still was game. He took his bayonet out of its scabbard and vowed to defend himself with it if he was still alive when the Germans came within reach.
Mahoney’s submachine gun stopped firing; now he was out of ammunition too. He dropped it and closed his eyes, hoping that the bullet with his name on it would finish him off quickly. Opening his eyes, he saw Cranepool lying on his stomach with his bayonet in his hand. Mahoney saw Washington and Bates also lying on the ground; evidently they had run out of ammunition too. Goldberg and Major Denton were still firing futile shots from their .45’s. The smoke beneath the truck was so thick that Mahoney could only see the outlines of the other men, and they looked ghostly to him, as though they were already dead.
Mahoney knew that the final grains of sand were pouring out of his hourglass. He was nervous and scared and couldn’t think very coherently, but he expected to be killed at any moment. He pressed his face against the ground and grabbed dirt with both hands. Let’s get it over with, you cocksuckers, he thought. Make it quick and clean.
He looked up, and to his amazement he thought he saw the front waves of Germans pulling back. Rubbing his eyes, he looked again and they still appeared to be pulling back. I must be seeing things, he thought. They can’t possibly be pulling back.
“Hey Sarge!” Cranepool cried. “They’re retreating!”
Mahoney’s jaw dropped open. It was true—the Krauts really were pulling back! But why?
“Hey look!” shouted Washington.
Mahoney turned to squint in the direction Washington was pointing, and through the smoke and haze he saw tanks headed toward the truck.
“What the fuck’s going on here?” he muttered.
“They’re German tanks!” Washington said.
“German tanks?” Mahoney asked. Then the truth dawned on him. The Germans were retreating! The French must have launched a counterattack! Amazed, afraid to believe that this was so, he watched the German tanks speed across the field, heading in the direction from which they’d originally come. Their turrets were turned around and they fired their cannons at the French in hot pursuit behind them. The German tank formations were in complete disarray as they thundered past the deuce-and-a-half. Their treads threw up clods of earth and their exhausts belched hot smoke. They rolled toward the lines of German infantry, who panicked and ran out of the paths of the tanks, but some couldn’t make it and were mashed into the ground.
Mahoney blinked in amazement. In a matter of seconds the whole desperate situation had been turned around, and he could barely believe it. They had been in the jaws of hell but now suddenly they were free again.
“Here come the frogs!” said Washington.
The French tanks were rolling across the field at full speed, firing cannons and machine guns at the retreating Germans. They roared forward and came abreast of the Americans underneath their truck.
“Vive la France!” Mahoney shouted. “Vive de Gaulle!”
The French tanks rolled past the truck and continued their pursuit of the Germans. Mahoney realized that he now was behind his own lines. He breathed a sigh of relief and reached for a cigarette. I don’t think I can take many more like that, he told himself as he lit the cigarette with his Zippo.
The Americans beneath the deuce-and-a-half weren’t the only ones who viewed the sudden turn of events with disbelief. In the German bunker, General Felger gnashed his teeth as he watched his tanks retreating across the field. He’d thought he won a great victory, but then suddenly the French counterattacked and caught half his tanks in a gigantic pincer movement. The other half of his tanks got away, but a French tank corps was right behind them. The German tanks looked as though they were going to retreat all the way back to Berlin, and Felger couldn’t let that happen.
“Stop them!” Felger screamed.
General Buchheim’s countenance had changed from that of a confident warlord to a fat little man who was naked and afraid. “I told them to stop but they won’t,” he said weakly.
Felger turned around and his eyes blazed with fury. “Tell your tank commander that if he doesn’t counterattack immediately I’ll relieve him of command and have him shot. Tell him to pass the word along that any man who fails to stop and fight will be shot and his family in Germany will suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”
“Yes my general!”
“And if you can’t convince them, the same treatment will apply to you. Do you get my drift?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then get to work!”
General Buchheim picked up the field telephone, and General Felger turned to the battlefield again. His eyes passed those of Major Lubel, and Felger thought Lubel was looking at him reproachfully.
“What are you looking at?” Felger screamed.
“Everything,” Lubel replied.
“I suppose you feel vindicated, now that it appears that you were right and I was wrong.”
“I cannot take pleasure in my vindication when the blood of good German soldiers is soaking the ground out there.”
Felger narrowed his eyes to slits. “All battles are bloody, Lubel. All soldiers know that. But a great field commander never shrinks from the sight of blood or hesitates to spill it if he thinks it will win him victory. This battle isn’t over yet by any means. Watch, and you may learn something.”
Lubel raised his chin slowly. “Let’s hope that you learn something,” he said softly.
“What was that!”
“I said that all of us can learn from the great battles of history, sir.”
Felger looked coldly at him, then turned and trained his binoculars down on the battlefield. His tanks were in full retreat, and there was even the danger that French troops would overrun the hill he was standing on. But he was confident that German soldiers would stand and fight when ordered to do so in a forthright manner.
General Duloc watched calmly as the Germans pushed his tanks back once more. At the final moment, when the Germans had reorganized themselves and mounted an attack, he wasn’t surprised because he knew that the Germans were well trained and always fought well. But he still thought he had them beat.
“Lieutenant Grévin,” he said. “What do we have in reserve?”
“Only the 5th Battalion, sir.”
“Order them to attack in the middle of the line between the 415th and 60th Battalions. Have the 25th and 41st Battalions pull in from the flanks and follow the 5th. Tell them to split the German line in half and then form two encircling movements, one on each side of the German flanks. Do you understand that?”
“Yes sir.”
“And order the infantry commanders to lead their men in a skirmish line behind the tanks.”
“Yes sir.”
“Carry out your orders.”
Lieutenant Grévin moved toward the field telephones, his brow furrowed with worry. He knew that General Duloc was throwing everything he had into the battle and that there was nothing to do now except pray for victory.
The French tanks retreated and passed the old deuce-and-a-half again. The German tanks advanced, firing shells every several yards. Mahoney knew that German troops would be right behind the German tanks. Soon he
and the others would be in the same pickle they were in before. And he knew they really wouldn’t have much of a chance once they were behind the German lines again.
He raised his binoculars for a look at the German tanks, and in the smoke of battle he thought they’d stopped. Huge numbers of shells whistled overhead and the battlefield shook with innumerable explosions. He looked behind him and saw that the French tanks had stopped also. The French and German tanks had reached a standoff, maneuvering laterally and lobbing shells at each other. Mahoney realized that the old truck was right in the middle of the battlefield. He and the others were stuck in the worst possible place.
A shell landed near the front of the truck and rocked it from side to side. Another shell landed behind the truck and filled the air with bitter fumes. Bursting shells flashed all around them and Mahoney thought he’d suffocate in the smoke. It became so thick he couldn’t see ten yards in front of him, but then a gust of wind came and cleared some smoke away. The hair stood up on Mahoney’s head as he saw that the German troops were advancing with them!
He thought he heard more battle cries behind him and wondered if there was some kind of weird echo effect taking place underneath the truck.
“The frogs are coming!” Washington shouted.
Mahoney turned around and through the billowing clouds saw French tanks and French troops advancing. The French and Germans were attacking each other and soon would collide right in the middle of the battlefield.
They watched in awe as the French and German forces met and clashed with each other. Tanks from each side drove into each other’s ranks, firing cannons and machine guns. The soldiers fought hand to hand, and some of the soldiers fired antitank weapons. A vicious pitched battle was taking place around the truck, and finally Mahoney couldn’t stand the suspense of hoping the Germans wouldn’t spot them. Something snapped in his mind, and he thought he’d rather be out there fighting than hiding underneath the truck and waiting for the ax to fall. He checked to make sure the bayonet was secure on his German rifle, and said, “I’m going out there.”
