Screaming Eagles

^THIRTY-SIX GRAVES

“We lost the tread. We’re going to be running around in circles,” Murph called.

Graves had felt it, and knew they were in a tight spot. With the enemy closing in on all sides, they’d have to act fast if they wanted to get out of here alive.

They might be able to hold out against the Germans if they could stay buttoned up, but there was no guarantee the crazed Krauts wouldn’t remember how to fight. A Panzerschreck team would be able to take their time, line up a shot, and decimate the tank in a few seconds, and they’d never see it coming, thanks to all of the tree cover.

Graves had an idea that would probably get them all killed anyway. He rotated the periscope and checked out the German truck.

“Murph, you still got your brother’s memento in your pack?” Graves asked.

Germans swarmed up the side of the tank and pounded at the hatches. Gunshots sounded, but lead struck the thick hull and buzzed away harmlessly.

“Of course. Wouldn’t go anywhere without it,” Murph said.

Worry etched the man’s face. Big Texas grabbed his Thompson and chambered a round. He dug out magazines and stuffed them into his pockets.

“How many grenades we got?” Graves asked.

The men did a quick inventory and came up with a nine and split them up while Graves outlined his plan.

“Pretty sure we’re all about to get killed,” Big Texas drawled.

“Maybe, but it’s better than sitting in this tank waiting for the Germans to carve us open like a tin can,” Graves said.

“Why don’t we play dead?” Gabby asked.

“We do that, and the Staff Sergeant is right,” Murph interjected. “Someone’s going to want to check out this lonely American tank and see if there’s anything salvageable. They might just shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Alright, gentleman, and I use that word loosely,” Graves said.

“That wasn’t funny the first time you used that line, Staff Sergeant,” Murph said. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the air.

“You’re going out with a Chesterfield in your mouth? That the plan?”

“Only way I’m going to die,” Murph said between tobacco-stained teeth. “Ain’t had a proper Camel in weeks.”

“You all know the plan,” Staff Sargent Graves said to his men. “Ready?”

The men nodded their heads and got into position.

“On three. One, two…” he barely got the last number out before they moved.

Graves slammed open his hatch and shot a Kraut in the face. The man had been in the process of slamming a rock against the hull like a goddamn caveman.

He tossed a grenade into a mass of Germans on the ground. They’d surrounded the tank and were clawing at each other to reach the armored vehicle. Graves ducked back into the tank as the pineapple exploded and shredded Kruats.

La Rue popped out of his portal and batted aside a Wehrmacht soldier, knocking him off the side of the tank. He fired with his Thompson and mowed down three of the men attacking the Sherman.

Gabby dug out his M3, “grease gun”, and opened his hatch. He cleared a few Germans, then clambered up on top of the tank. They made a beeline over the back, sliding over partially-shattered logs and the chains holding the extra armor in place.

The jagged wood tore at Graves’ clothing and cut his back.

He ignored the pain and kicked a Kraut in the face. He’d been coming up the rear of the tank, a Luger in hand.

Murph had already slithered out of the hatch in the floor of the tank. He used a gun and liberally fired at the legs of Germans crowding around the back of the Sherman.

Graves leapt onto the back of the German half-track and found three soldiers on the floor. They’d taken damage from gun fire and withered on the hard metal. He shot one in the head, but another grabbed at his foot and yanked. Graves smacked his head against the side of the vehicle and bit his tongue.

Big Texas came in swinging. He punched a Kraut in the face and shot another in the back.

Gabe slithered over the side of the half-track and got into the driver’s seat.

Murph was the last. He rolled out from under the tank and came up shooting. Big Texas provided cover fire while Murph spun and shot a couple of Germans who were in pursuit.

“Glad they ain’t shooting us,” Big Texas said, and fired again.

“Damn wheels on the wrong side. Hey, I can’t speak Kraut—anyone know how to drive this thing?” Gabe said with a little hoot. The engine sputtered and died. On the second try, it roared to life.

Big Texas jumped out of the half-track and went to help Murph.

“Looks like you figured it out,” Graves said.

Graves swung around the German machine gun mounted on top of the half-track and aimed at the mass. He was unable to fire, however, because Big Texas and Gabby were in the way.

Big Texas used his gun like a club and cleared a path. Murph tossed his now-empty gun and went for his sidearm. He drew the .45 and blew a hole in a German soldier’s head.

Big Texas fought through the remaining Germans and grabbed Murph around the waist. He lifted the man, then launched himself at the half-track.

One of the soldiers figured out how to use his gun and fired a blast of bullets, striking his own men.

Big Texas stumbled and almost fell. He reached around like someone had tapped his back. Murph dropped to his feet and got a shoulder under his friend.

They ran to the half-track, and Graves helped Big Texas inside.

“Roll!” Graves called and slapped the top of the roof.

The vehicle’s gears ground, and the half-track lurched forward before slamming to a halt. Then Gabby figured out the controls and the truck rolled forward again, bashing into a group of Germans.

“You okay?” Graves said.

“It’s not bad,” Big Texas said.

He lay on the floor and sucked in a couple of breaths. Blood pooled on the metal underneath his body.

“We got ya, Texas,” Graves reassured him.

Murph got on the machine gun and cleared the path ahead.

“No. They got me,” Big Texas said. Then his eyes fixed on the sky and he breathed his last breath.