Screaming Eagles

^TWENTY-EIGHT GRAVES

“Staff Sergeant, the tank’s treads are still on,” Murph said when he came back.

Murph attached his unused grenade back to his belt.

“Shit,” Graves said.

They’d abandoned it when faced with the King Tiger. Now that it was knocked out and didn’t seem to be shooting, they might have a chance to retreat gracefully. That was, if it wasn’t too damaged and could still drive.

He chewed on his cheek for a few seconds while his men leveled weapons in the direction of the Germans attacking their own tank.

“What if we wait it out, hide in the tank and let the Germans pass, and return in the morning?” Gabby offered.

“I’d feel safer in there than out here,” Graves said.

He dashed back to the tank and crouched next to the side. He peered across the distance between him and the King Tiger. The Krauts had started to lose interest in the massive war machine and milled around instead, munching on the crew.

There was enough cover for them to make an escape without the Germans noticing. If they were going to make a run for it, this was the time.

“They aren’t even looking for us,” Murph said as they conferred next to the tank.

“We could mount up and shoot the shit out of them,” Murph said.

“Elegant,” Graves said.

But leaving a Sherman to the Krauts seemed like a horrible waste of resources. He could drop a grenade inside and draw the attention of dozens of enemies. He could leave the tank and take his men into the woods. Graves chewed on his lip before he made a decision: he returned to his men and gathered them in the little hole.

“Alright, everyone back in and button her up tight. Go in through the bottom. We’ll wait them out. Move low and keep the noise down. If they see us we’ll—as Murph put it—shoot the shit out of them and hope that Tiger doesn’t shoot the shit out of us.”

His crew returned to the tank and took every precaution to keep the noise down as they slid into their seats. The inside of the Sherman was cold, but there was no help for it now. If they were going to rejoin the fight, they’d have to reassess in the morning.

Graves tried the radio, but the antenna had been knocked out and he got nothing but static.

With evening approaching, the German soldiers wandered off. A couple passed the tank, but they took little interest in the cold vehicle, and moved into the woods. Graves and Big Texas kept their eyes glued to the periscopes for hours, just waiting for someone to wonder if the tank was still occupied.

“I miss ham,” Gabby said. “Mom used to make this glaze that tasted like sugar and bourbon.”

“Yeah. I miss your Mom’s glaze too,” Murph said.

“Why don’t you suck on a bullet. You ain’t never met my mom.”

“We all met her, just before the war. She was a good teacher, if you know what I mean,” Murph said, looking around the interior. He offered up winks, but the other guys just weren’t into ribbing Gabe right now.

“My mom’s in her sixties and as big as a barn,” Gabby said.

“I just closed my eyes and thought of Rita Hayworth.”

Gabby shook his head and let out a few choice curse words, until Graves told them to pipe down.

“Staff Sergeant. What’s our play?” Murph asked.

“We continue to act dead. In the morning we’ll assess the damage, repair the treads if we can, and hightail it back to command. Bastogne’s not far. If we can’t make contact we’ll make for the city, so get some sleep.”

The men were silent for a few minutes before Murph said, “I wish Gabby’s mom was here to keep us warm.”

Gabe Woodward came out of his seat and went for Murph’s throat.

Big Texas got between them.

“That’s enough. Last time I’m warning you,” Graves said. “I know this is not the ideal situation to be in but we’re alive and if we keep going at each other we’re going to make enough noise to draw the entire German army down on us. So just pipe down.”

The men settled down. Gabe with his arms crossed across his chest and Murph fighting a smirk.

Graves let the moment hold and then said, “besides, if Murph’s mom was here she’d be sleeping next to me.”

“That is not funny, staff-sergeant,” Murph said.

Big Texas was the first one to laugh then the other’s joined in. Graves grinned and sat back into the cold seat again.

As Graves drifted off he thought he heard footsteps outside, but in the dark he couldn’t make out anything more than indistinct sounds that might have been bushes or trees moving in the wind. Heart hammering in his chest, he did his best to calm his mind and catch a few winks.

IT WAS BARELY DAYBREAK when Graves popped the hatch and looked around the snow covered forest.

The King Tiger still lay dead in the distance. White piles had accumulated on the tanks and covered body parts and blood, but there were no corpses. He and Big Texas had done a scan of the area through their periscopes, but nothing moved out there. Gabby broke out a couple of Krations, and the men devoured them in relative silence.

Graves slid out of the portal, the rest of his men right behind. They covered each other as they got down to inspect the damage.

The morning air was crisp and smelled like fresh snow. Graves considered walking to the King Tiger and taking a look but he was afraid there might be men like his, huddled inside, waiting out the crazies.

“Look at that. Couple of hours and we can be back on the road,” Big Texas said and pointed at the damage.

“Seen a lot worse, that’s for sure,” Graves said.

Murph got put in charge of lookout while the rest of the crew worked on the tank.

“What’s gotten into those Germans we saw?” Gabe said.

“Way I see it, they’re sick of fighting for the Führer and they went crazy. Get a couple of nuts into one place, let them spread the delusions, and you got yourself a genuine pack of maniacs. Not saying they wasn’t maniacs before, just saying they’re in deep with all the other maniacs now,” Big Texas said, hitting them with one of his nuggets of wisdom.

Murph returned from walking their perimeter. “Hate to interrupt, but we got movement to the south.”

“Kinda movement?” Graves asked.

“Looks like a patrol, but I can’t make out if they’re ours or theirs,” Murph said.

“Gabby. Go with Murphy and check it out. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to,” Graves said.

He and Big Texas redoubled their efforts to get a pin hammered back into the tread. They’d covered a sledgehammer with multiple layers of clothing, but it still sounded like a church bell to Graves. It was as if they were just asking for Krauts to swarm them.

“Will this hold?” Graves said.

“Might hold, until we get it repaired. Might not. Only God knows for sure,” Big Texas said.

“Your optimism is always appreciated,” Graves said, and did little to cover his sarcasm.

“Calls ’em like I sees ’em, boss.”

Another half-hour of work, and they might be fully repaired. Or the tread might run right off, leaving them stuck in the slush. At least they’d be relatively safe inside the Sherman until someone showed up with a Panzerschreck and decided to say “good morning” by punching a hole in the side of the tank and killing the men inside.

Twenty minutes later, his men returned.

“They’re coming,” Murph said. “About fifty of the bastards. They’re well-armed.”

“Let’s get this beast rolling,” Graves said, hoping they’d done enough. If they had another hour or two, they could effect better repairs. As it was, they’d be lucky to get out of the woods alive.

The men piled inside the vehicle and fired up the Chrysler engine. The tank sputtered a couple of times, then roared to life. Graves kept his eyes plastered to the periscope until the Germans came into view.

“How we doing on fuel?” Graves asked.

“‘Bout twenty-five percent. We got plenty of range if the city’s that close,” Murph said.

Graves grunted and popped out of the tank’s turret to assess the threat. What he saw didn’t make his morning any better.

“Thought you said fifty?” Graves said, dropping back into the tank.

“That’s what we saw,” Gabby said. That damn mist is making it hard to see clearly, Staff Sergeant.”

“That, or you both need your eyes checked. There are at least two hundred Krauts advancing on our position,” Graves said.