Screaming Eagles

^THIRTY-TWO TAYLOR

Captain Taylor didn’t get a wink of sleep. He’d spent the evening and night conferring with command. General McAuliffe was clear about one thing, though, out all of the talks: they needed to hold the town of Bastogne until relieved.

They’d met in the remains of a partially-bombed home to compare notes. Other officers had presented reports similar to Taylor’s much to the consternation of the General, who said he’d put nothing past the damn Krauts.

The 506^th had run into an ambush and lost nearly half of their men, due to the Germans’ tenacity… and teeth.

“Teeth?” McAuliffe had asked.

“Teeth, sir. Some of them tried to use weapons, but they were like monsters. Animals. They were rabid. We were overwhelmed as we displaced. Foy was a complete loss. They came in by the thousands, ignoring gunfire and mortars. We decimated their force, but it did little, because there were always more of them. Ammo ran short and we retreated.”

Captain Edwards was an older man who’d been in the war for three years and was as hard as a piece of granite. If he’d been chased out of Foy, then things were worse than Taylor could have guessed.

“Men, this whole thing is nuts. Nuts!” The general looked each man in the eye as he spoke. “We’re cut off, but help is on the way. I can promise you that. Now, in the wake of this latest development, I have a lot of questions to answer. Command is breathing down my neck. They want some of these crazed German soldiers captured and brought in for questioning.”

The men were given orders, and told to make haste in preparing the town for assault. With a small contingent of artillery, and ammo running low, they would be hard-pressed to stop the Germans, but they would put up the best defense they could.

After the meeting, he’d been summoned to the seminary to check on his men. Owen was kept in a little room so he could be observed. When a pair of MPs had come for him, he’d flown into a rage and tried to bite the men. His eyes had gone completely white and even though he took damage in the ensuing shuffle, he shrugged it off like a heavyweight champ.

They’d had to beat the man to the ground, but he’d only become more enraged, and struggled until they’d secured him with rope.

There was no sign of his orderly, Corporal Krantz so Taylor put out the word that he was looking for him. With the confusion in town he may have been dispatched anywhere.

TAYLOR SLUMPED against the side of a building and dug the remains of a Kration out of his bag. There was a can of pork, but it was practically frozen. He dug around and found a metal spoon one of the townspeople had donated. The wooden utensils they’d been used to using weren’t much good on frozen food, and broke easily.

The problem with the metal utensils was that there was no way to properly clean them, and dysentery was running rampant throughout the companies. Taylor found a clump of snow that looked more or less white, and scrubbed the spoon.

Across the street, a group of GIs helped clear the rubble from a house that had fallen to an artillery shell. A pair of villagers helped while an older woman wept as they hauled out the remains of her possessions. One of the men handed her a picture frame.

She sat down on what was left of a wall and stared at the picture. She ran her fingers over the surface and quietly sobbed.

A small terrier broke from cover and ran across the street. The woman rose and called to him. The dog settled down and came to her with its tail tucked between its legs. She picked up her dog and whispering soft words to the terrified creature.

Taylor rubbed at his eyes.

“Must be the cold,” he muttered to himself.

Halfway through his meal of crackers, a couple of olives, and some half-frozen pork, one of the men from Baker Company found him.

“Sir, we need you to look at something,” Grillo said.

It was the fresh recruit who hadn’t lost it under pressure. He’d helped his fellow soldiers, and was one of the reasons they’d gotten back to Bastogne. Concern etched the man’s face—boy’s face, really. Taylor was going to put in for Private Grillo to have a field promotion to Corporal.

“What’s happening, Private?”

“Sir. There’s a bunch of Krauts coming our way, and there’s a few Americans with them.”

“Prisoners?”

“No, sir. They’re armed, and it looks like they’re siding with the enemy,” Grillo said.

“What in the Sam Hill?” Taylor said, and sucked down another chunk of half-thawed pork. “You sure about that?”

“Yes sir. Sergeant Pierce told me to find you.”

Taylor packed away his kit and slung his pack over his shoulder. He picked up his weapon and followed Grillo.