Screaming Eagles

^SIX COLEY

The shooting died down a few minutes later, so Coley told his men to take a breather and conserve ammo.

A force of twenty Germans rose and walked toward the barbed wire fence.

“Pick your target carefully and wait for them to reach the fence,” Coley called to his men.

The Krauts in white camouflage approached with swagger, like they were on a country stroll. They carried their guns at the ready, but hadn’t fired them yet.

Coley waited until two of the men paused to inspect the barbed wire, and then gave his command to fire.

Gunshots echoed up and down the line, and the Germans took immediate casualties. Half of the approaching men in white dropped, or crawled back toward the ditch. The other half of the force tried to get over the obstacle and got hung up.

Coley’s force eliminated the men. They caught on the barbed wire or slumped to the ground. Men who were his age—men with families—were dead or wounded.

“Damn firing squad,” Tramble muttered and then opened fire again.

“Line ’em up,” Coley said.

A bullet whizzed past Coley’s ear and struck a log behind him. He shook his head, and then shot at a pair of Germans who were moving toward the fence like they hadn’t just seen their men get slaughtered. Behind him, the distinctive “whump” of a 60mm mortar sounded. A shell fell ten feet behind the road and tossed snow and dirt into the air.

The next round found a clump of Krauts and sent bodies flying.

Shots on their right flank drew Coley’s attention. The dugouts were spread out over twenty or thirty yards, so the last pair of soldiers would have to deal with it. Coley and his men were green but they had all trained with him, under grueling conditions. He knew the men well and trusted them to respond. Right now he needed to get command to help their position.

“A couple got around us, but McClure and Eagles took em out,” Tramble relayed to Coley.

“Tell them I said ‘good shooting’,” Coley said.

He was smiling because his mind had been reeling. There were now twenty men under his command and they faced an overwhelming force. If he didn’t get help soon, they were all going to die or be taken prisoner of war.

Now that they had faced their first assault, he felt much calmer. His men had performed admirably under intense pressure.

The Lieutenant rolled over and dug the radio handset out. He rang up command and again repeated his request for assistance.

“We are assessing the threat. You are to hold your position at all costs,” the man on the other end said.

“We could really use some help. We have a force of five or six hundred men in our sights. We can’t hold them forever,” Coley said.

“Hold at all costs,” the man repeated, and rang off.

Coley slammed the radio receiver down in frustration.

“Tramble, you go left and I’ll go right. Check the men for casualties,” Coley said, nodding at the corporal.

COLEY ROLLED into the first foxhole, and found Jones and Thomas lighting up cigarettes.

They had an arsenal of weapons at their disposal, including an extra M1 and an unwieldy BAR rifle. A satchel of grenades lay between the men. Eagles was left-handed, and the men had smartly positioned themselves so they could grab and throw.

“You guys okay?”

“Yes sir,” said McClure, a skinny kid from the Bronx. “Just scared to death.”

“I’m working on getting us support. We’re to hold this hill for the time being.”

“Understood, sir, but if those Germans keep waltzing up the hill like that, this battle will be over sooner than later,” McClure said.

“Let’s hope you’re right.

IN THE THIRD FOXHOLE, Coley found the first casualty. Dan Eagles had taken a round to the chest, but he was still moving. His partner, Private Dave Jones, applied a bundle of gauze to the wound.

“Jesus, Eagles, you hurt bad?”

“Pretty bad, but I can still fight.”

“I’ll get us a medical team on the double,” Coley promised.

COLEY RUSHED toward the last dugout. He caught movement ahead. A German soldier stepped out of the woods with his machine gun lowered. Coley let him have it and dropped the soldier. Coley rolled into the hole and appraised the situation. His men were doing fine and ready for more. He passed on more words of encouragement.

As he was preparing to make his way back to the center, his men started firing again.

The Germans approached the fence in force this time. There had to be fifty men heading their way.

“Watch the flanks, if they get around us we’re dead,” he reminded the two.

They shouted acknowledgment, then shot at the approaching Krauts in white.

COLEY CAME under direct fire a few seconds later. Bullets blew past his position but he kept moving. If he paused to find targets, he was a dead man. He found his dugout and dove inside. His helmet went flying and he hit the ground hard enough to expel all of the breath from his chest. He flipped over and stared at the sky for all of five seconds before getting back to business.

“Sir, all present and accounted for,” Tramble called. “No casualties on this side.”

“Same here. It’s a miracle,” Coley said.

He’d moved to a dugout behind Coley’s position and taken up position on the .50 cal on the back of the jeep. The big gun boomed, putting giant holes in the approaching force of Germans. The bullets were the same armor-piercing rounds used on the back of the B-17 bomber. They could separate a man from his limbs with one shot.

“Damn thing’s got no range of motion. I’m going to unhook it,” Tramble said.

“It’s gonna be hot as hell,” Coley warned.

Tramble grabbed the barrel and lifted, but dropped the gun back on the mount and thrust his hand into snow. “Ah, Christ that hurt,” Tramble said and ripped a handkerchief out of his pocket. He got the gun under the barrel and lumped into the dugout.

“Don’t burn that gun out,” Coley said. “Short bursts.”

“Do my best, sir, but there are a lot of Germans down there.”

Coley turned his attention back toward the road and found what looked like the entire Kraut division coming at their position.