He wasn’t one to be nervous, but Cole couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the machine gun on the front of the tank, not to mention the black maw of the 75 mm main weapon. If that tank crew didn’t like his looks and decided to open fire, Cole knew there wouldn’t be enough of him to bury in a shoebox — if they found anything at all. His mouth went dry at the thought.
Lieutenant Mulholland could have sent anyone, but he had decided to send Cole. Why? Cole could only guess, but he suspected that Mulholland still harbored a grudge about Jolie Molyneaux. Jolie had been a French Maqui, or freedom fighter, assigned to be their guide way back in Normandy.
She had been an excellent guide, tough as nails, and beautiful to boot.
Conflict had arisen in the squad because, in wartime, men fought over a single filly like wolves fighting over a scrap of meat.
The lieutenant had figured that as an officer and educated man, Jolie would naturally go for him. Much to his surprise — and to Cole’s — she had quickly shown that she preferred the company of the sniper. That had been months ago, but Mulholland still seemed to hold it against him, which explained why Cole was now crossing the open field.
When Cole got closer, the tank commander visibly relaxed. He lowered his binoculars and climbed down from the tank.
The lieutenant stuck out his hand. “I’ve only seen Germans these last few days. I thought you might be more of the same.”
“Glad to see you,” Cole replied, shaking the lieutenant’s hand.
“I was worried about infiltrators too. Rumor has it that a lot of Krauts are wearing US uniforms and raising all sorts of hell.” The lieutenant paused. “Say, you’re not really a German, are you?”
“I reckon not, Lieutenant,” Cole replied in his mountain twang. It was not an accent that a German would bother to learn.
“Well, it would be one hell of a dumb infiltrator who walked right up to a tank, so I figured you weren’t a Kraut. Also, no offense intended, but you sound pure cornpone.”
“If you say so, sir.”
The lieutenant nodded at the men dug in on the slope. “What’s going on?”
“We’re a welcome party for the Krauts headed up this road into Bastogne. When we heard your engines, we reckoned it was the Germans arriving. They’re supposed to get here any minute now.”
The lieutenant grinned. “Mind if we join the party?”
“That would be right nice of you.”
“All righty, then. Sounds like there’s no time for proper introductions. Tell your CO that we’ll set up in those trees off to your flank, closest to the road. The Krauts will have to get past us if they want to get into Bastogne.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant took a long look at Cole’s rifle. “Sniper, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve got to say I don’t care much for snipers, present company excluded. I’ve only been in command of this bucket of bolts for three days. That’s because a Kraut sniper picked off the previous lieutenant when he stuck his head out of his hatch to have a look around.”
Falling prey to snipers was definitely an occupational hazard for tank commanders. Cole realized that he had picked off a few German tank commanders doing the exact same thing, but he didn’t say anything about that to the lieutenant.
“I’ll go let our CO know your plans.” Because he was feeling ornery, Cole couldn’t resist adding, “Oh, and keep your head down, sir.”
“Very funny.”
The lieutenant turned back to his tank, and Cole made his way back up the slope to report where the tanks would be positioned. Already, the Jumbo Sherman had revved up its engine and was hightailing it for the woods near where the road emerged into the field. The two smaller tanks followed along in its wake like puppies following the mama dog.
Captain Brown had come down to hear what Cole had to say. He nodded and added a small smile. “I’ll be glad to have their help. If three tanks got through, that means more will be on the way. Things are starting to turn around for Bastogne.”
The tanks weren’t the only card up the captain’s sleeve. Dug in on the hillside, Team SNAFU had their rifles and a handful of machine guns, but no heavy firepower. However, they would not be hung out to dry.
Out of sight back in Bastogne, the artillery had the coordinates of this field dialed in. When Captain Brown gave the word, the artillery would open fire on the Germans in the field. The Krauts would be in for a deadly surprise.
They didn’t have to wait much longer for the Germans to appear. The guttural sound of straining engines announced the approaching panzers and the arrival of the German advance. However, the Germans did not immediately cross the field as expected.
It was as if they smelled the trap that had been set for them.
The panzers stayed within cover of the trees on the opposite side, their engines growling like a pack of mechanical wolves preparing for the hunt. It was clear that the enemy had spotted the US troops dug in on the hillside. They were likely trying to determine the strength of the unit opposing them.
