Screaming Eagles

^FIFTY-THREE GRAVES

It wasn’t even a question of his own safety. Graves had made up his mind the second he’d seen the two children. They were innocent victims of this war, and that was one of the reasons he was here: not just to fight, but to provide relief to the people of Europe.

He pounded over the hard road until he slipped and slid across a patch of ice. Murph had been close behind, and steadied Graves. They reached the children and snatched one up.

The Germans were mere feet away.

Something snagged his foot and he fell, but twisted to the side so he didn’t crush the child. She held onto him, eyes wide and terrified as Graves picked her up and turned to run.

Captain Taylor came to their side. He fired his Colt .45, and when he ran dry, he dug out a fresh magazine and slammed it home.

Three Germans attacked.

Graves had no choice but to fight. He got his foot up and kicked a soldier in the chest. The man had white eyes, and his mouth was covered in blood. Lips drew back from red-stained teeth. He was bigger than Graves by about thirty pounds. Graves freed an arm and punched the man in the face, but it was like hitting a side of beef. He got ahold of the Kraut’s jacket, twisted the soldier to the side, then rolled with the momentum, taking the enemy with him. He almost lost his hold on the girl but she put her arms around his neck and held on.

The Captain killed one of the men with a shot to the head.

The other German soldier got a grip on Graves’s pant leg and pulled.

The little girl said something in French that Graves didn’t understand. She had tears in her eyes and her voice was plaintive—begging him, if he had to guess, to get up.

“Ain’t going out like this,” he roared, and kicked the soldier in the head. He didn’t get a lot behind the blow because he was scared half to death and the action was almost mechanical.

The man got to his hands and knees, then pushed himself up until he stood, unsteady on his feet. The German soldier’s front was covered in blood and debris. His eyes were white and Graves struggled away, kicking his feet across the ground to get some distance.

Captain Taylor shot the man in the face, then turned his weapon on the soldier that had pushed Murph aside. Taylor fired, but his gun clicked on empty and he fell beneath the Kraut.

Graves managed to get back on his feet, and pushed the little girl behind him. Murphy carried the boy. He’d outpaced the men, but paused when he’d seen Graves and the Captain in trouble.

“Go!” Captain Taylor yelled.

A dozen Germans stumbled into the fracas and fell on the Captain. Taylor screamed, but fought tooth and nail to get loose. Half of his face was torn off, leaving muscle and teeth exposed.

“Blow it, blow it!” the Captain yelled.

There was nothing he could do. Graves spun, picked up the kid, and ran after Murphy like the devil was on his tail.