Bullet Bridge Page 2

  “Yes sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  Mahoney slung the walkie-talkie over his shoulder and dug through the dirt to find the bazooka. Grossberger was applying a bandage to Riggs’ shoulder wound, and Riggs was out cold. The night reverberated with the sounds of explosions, and balls of fire rose into the sky. Mahoney tried not to speculate on what would happen when the German tanks arrived.

  ~*~

  Captain Kroll held onto the grips on the turret of his tank as it plowed up a hill. He looked to the right and left, and in the light of explosions in the distance he could see swarms of German tanks with black crosses painted on the sides. The tank commanders raised their fists in the air and shouted exhortations to their tank crews. Behind the tanks was a division of German soldiers on foot, with bayonets affixed to their rifles, to mop up the American soldiers still alive after the tanks rolled over them.

  Captain Kroll’s tank reached the crest of the hill, and in front of him the American lines were aflame. He could see at a glance that the Americans would not recover quickly from the bombardment. The 323rd Panzer Division would cut through them like warm knives through butter.

  The tank lowered its nose and rolled down the hill, followed by all the tanks in Kroll’s company. At the bottom of the hill they came to a grassy plain, and the treads of the tanks kicked up great chunks of sod as they made their way toward the American lines.

  Halfway across the plain, the shelling stopped. Captain Kroll descended the ladder into the belly of his tank and closed the hatch over his head.

  “Faster!” he shouted to his men. “Prepare to open fire!”

  ~*~

  Suddenly there was silence in the Charlie Company area. Everybody’s ears still were ringing from the bombardment, and they couldn’t hear the tank engines speeding toward them.

  Mahoney stood up in his foxhole. “Everybody back!” he yelled, raising his arm in the air and moving it in the direction of Charlie Company’s main line. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

  The men came up out of their foxholes and followed Mahoney back to the relative safety of Charlie Company’s main position. Mahoney carried Riggs over his shoulder, plus the walkie-talkie, bazooka, haversack full of bazooka rockets, and his carbine. He hoped nobody from Charlie Company would take a potshot at him, thinking he was a German on the attack.

  “Double-time!” Mahoney screamed. “Let’s go!”

  The first platoon ran back to the safety of their company area, while behind them the 323rd Panzer Division rumbled ever closer. Mahoney hoped they could get back in time. He jumped over huge shell craters and piles of earth as he streaked across the battlefield. He didn’t jump high enough over the trunk of a tree that had been knocked down, and he tripped, falling on his face. Riggs and all the equipment tumbled into the mud around him.

  Mahoney thought he broke his nose, but didn’t have time to check and find out. He picked up his stuff, threw Riggs over his shoulder again, and continued to run as fast as he could to safety, wondering where the tank reinforcements were.

  ~*~

  Captain Kroll looked through the slit in the turret of his tank and saw a group of American soldiers fleeing in front of him.

  “Machine guns—open fire!” he shrieked.

  The machine guns went burp-burp, filling the interior cavity of the tank with smoke and noise, but it was perfume and music to Kroll. Smiling happily, he looked through the slit and saw American soldiers tripping and falling and throwing their rifles into the air as the machine guns cut them down.

  “Faster!” he said. “Cannoneer—prepare to open fire!”

  ~*~

  When Mahoney heard the first burst of machine gun fire, he already was on his way to the nearest hole he could find. It was a shell crater and he landed on his belly in the mud, spilling Riggs off his shoulder.

  The jolt shook Riggs out of his drug-induced slumber. “What’s going on?” he mumbled.

  “Keep your head down and shut up!”

  Riggs closed his eyes and drifted away into dreamland again. Mahoney peered over the top of the shell hole and gulped as he saw a horde of German tanks bearing down on him. Some of his men thought they could outrun the tanks and had been shot in the back. Mahoney ground his teeth together as he saw them fall to the ground.

  He unslung the bazooka and screwed both halves together. Opening the haversack, he took out a rocket and stuffed it into the end of the bazooka, winding the wires around the terminal posts. He heard an angry roar in front of him and looked up. A German tank was heading straight for him! He didn’t have time to take a shot at it—all he could do was flop onto his stomach and hope it wouldn’t crush him alive.

  The sound of the tank’s engines made Mahoney’s blood run cold. He envisioned himself being mashed into the mud by the tank, his blood bursting through his skin. Glancing up, he saw the tread of the tank only a few feet away. He burrowed deeper into the hole, uttering a prayer to the God he always ignored except at times like this.

  The tank continued to move forward. Horrified, Mahoney heard the snarl of its engine and smelled the diesel smoke. The big question in his mind was whether the shell crater was narrow enough to prevent the tank from falling down onto him.

  He looked up and saw the hull of the tank above him. Its main weight still was on the ground behind it, preventing it from falling onto Mahoney. Then he saw it dip down.

  “OH MY GOD!” Mahoney screamed.

  But as it dipped lower, its treads bit into the ground on the other side of the hole. The tank continued to rumble onward, supported by the sides of the hole, while Mahoney cowered underneath it in complete darkness, coughing from the diesel fumes. He hoped the walls of the hole wouldn’t collapse under the gargantuan weight of the tank.

  The walls didn’t collapse and the tank kept going. Mahoney pulled a grenade from his lapel, yanked the pin, and pushed the grenade into the slow-moving tread of the tank. He held his helmet with both hands and tried to burrow his head deeper into the dirt. The tank rolled over the hole and kept going, sending a final spume of diesel smoke into Mahoney’s face. Mahoney coughed uncontrollably, and the grenade exploded, blowing the tread off its track. The tank stopped and hunkered onto its side.

  Mahoney got to his knees, put the loaded bazooka onto his shoulder, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The little magneto whirred inside the trigger mechanism, and the rocket zipped out of the tube. It only had a short distance to travel, and it hit the turret of the tank, exploding in an orange fire-burst. When the smoke cleared away there was a jagged charred hole in the turret, and a few seconds later the top hatch opened and German tankers in black berets crawled out of the contraption, their faces blackened by soot, some of them bleeding.

  Mahoney was ready for them. He held his carbine in his hands and it was switched on automatic fire. He pulled the trigger and the tankers did a little dance on top of their vehicle, jumping and spinning through the air, spurting blood in all directions. One tanker raised his head from the turret and Mahoney caught him right between the eyes, tearing the top of his head off and sending his brains flying into the air.

  Mahoney took another grenade, pulled the pin, and held the lever down. Jumping out of his hole, he ran to the tank, jumped onto its rear deck, kicked a dead German out of his way, and dropped the grenade into the hatchway. He leapt off the tank and dived back into his hole as the grenade exploded. The tank spewed a bolt of lightning out of its hatch, and jumped two feet off the ground. Then it settled into the mud and sent billows of smoke into the air.

  Machine gun fire stitched along the top of Mahoney’s shell hole, and he ducked his head. One German tank rumbled past him on the left and another one on his right. Keeping his head low, he loaded up the bazooka again. Raising his head cautiously again, he saw another tank heading straight for him. Quickly he lowered his head and heard the tank veer to his left. He waited until it came abreast of him, th
en got to his knees quickly, put the bazooka on his shoulder, and took aim. Machine gun fire kicked up mud and stones around him and forced him to duck his head again before he could fire the rocket.

  Tanks roared all around him, speeding toward the American rear. They fired their machine guns and cannons, and Mahoney could see that they were breaking through this part of the line. It wouldn’t be long before the German foot soldiers arrived. Maybe he should save that last bazooka round for them.

  A tank snarled in front of him, but he knew it wouldn’t roll over his ditch because of the disabled tank in its path. Sure enough, the tank turned to Mahoney’s right and rumbled onward. Mahoney wished Riggs wasn’t knocked out, so he could load the bazooka while Mahoney fired it. Mahoney raised his head again, and just as his eyes were focusing, German machine gunners saw him and opened fire. Their bullets threw dirt and mud into his face and one bullet came so close to his helmet Mahoney could feel its heat and turbulence.

  He decided to get down and stay down. There was nothing he could do just yet. It might be a good time to light up the cigarette he’d been craving since he woke up. He reached into his field jacket pocket, took out a Lucky, and lit it with his old dented Zippo. The ground shook all around him and bullets flew over his head as he inhaled the rich strong tobacco smoke.

  Riggs smelled the smoke and opened his eyes again. “Where am I?” he asked dazedly.

  “Keep your head down.”

  “My shoulder hurts.”

  Mahoney didn’t reply, continuing to puff his cigarette. He pulled his bayonet out of its sheath and fastened it on the end of his carbine because he knew the German foot soldiers would be coming any moment.

  “Whatcha doing, Sarge?”

  “Lie down and shut up.”

  Riggs was out of his mind due to the effects of the various drugs Grossberger had given him and felt emboldened to say something he ordinarily wouldn’t dare mention: “How come you’re always so mean to me, Sarge?”

  “I don’t have time for your bullshit right now. You’d better lie down and pretend to be dead, because the Krauts are coming in force.”

  “Pretend to be dead?” Riggs asked as if in a dream.

  “Look over there, Riggs!”

  “Over where?”

  Riggs turned in the direction in which Mahoney was pointing, and Mahoney slugged him over the helmet with the butt of his rifle. Riggs sighed and toppled sideways into the mud.

  “I guess that’ll take care of you for awhile,” Mahoney muttered, sucking on his cigarette again and wondering if it was going to be his last.

  ~*~

  The German tanks rolled over Charlie Company as if it wasn’t even there. They reached Captain Anderson’s command post bunker and fired their cannons at it, but the shells couldn’t pierce the sandbags that lined the bunker. One tank commander decided to roll over the bunker and crush it, shifting into high gear and pulling the fuel lever all the way back.

  The tank climbed on top of the bunker and broke through the roof. Captain Anderson, Sergeant Tweed, and Pfc. Drago lay on the floor, afraid they’d be crushed to death, but the sandbags and ceiling supports held, and the roof only dropped two feet.

  Outside, a member of the weapons platoon saw the tank stopped like a sitting duck atop the bunker and fired his anti-tank gun at it. He scored a direct hit and the tank was split apart by a red explosion that sent huge chunks of metal and portions of German corpses flying into the air.

  Inside the bunker, the explosion made Captain Anderson’s ears ring and filled the cramped space with dust and fumes. Anderson couldn’t see anything and couldn’t stop coughing. He was afraid he’d suffocate. Sergeant Tweed and Pfc. Drago were also coughing. Anderson turned on his flashlight and looked for his field radio. It was lying on the floor, having been knocked off its bench by the explosion, and he was afraid it was broken.

  Moving toward it in a crouch because he couldn’t stand up with the roof mashed down, he put on the headphones and flipped on the switch. He waited impatiently for the tubes to heat up, and then heard static, which indicated that the radio was working somewhat; but would it put him through to battalion?

  “This is Red Dog King calling White Dog One—over. This is Red Dog King calling White Dog One—over.”

  The static of the atmosphere crackled in his ear, and then he heard a voice say: “This is White Dog One—over.”

  “My company’s being overrun by tanks!” Anderson said. “We don’t have a chance up here, and we expect the German foot soldiers to arrive at any moment! When the hell are our tanks arriving?”

  ‘They’re on the way, sir,” said the voice on the other end.

  ~*~

  The last tank passed by Mahoney, and he knew that the worst part was about to begin. Looking over the top of the trench, he still couldn’t see far in the darkness and rain, but he could hear them coming. Their feet pounded the ground and they shouted their guttural orders and battle cries. Mahoney got on one knee and placed the bazooka on his shoulder. He peered through the crosshairs, and a German soldier materialized out of the night right in front of him. More German soldiers appeared behind the first one, running with their rifles held high and their helmets dancing around on their heads.

  Mahoney took aim at the lead German and pulled the trigger. The bazooka became weightless on his shoulder for a second as the rocket fired away. It streaked forward and plowed into the German, breaking him in two and exploding. Nearby Germans fell to the side or were blown into the air, but the rest kept coming, looking around for the American soldier who’d fired the shell. Mahoney tossed the bazooka off his shoulder and picked up his carbine. Well, this is it for me, he thought grimly. He rested the carbine on the front of the shell hole, brought the butt to his shoulder, and sighted through the little peephole. The Germans only were fifty yards away and he lined up the sights on one of them, squeezing off the round.

  The German pitched forward onto his face, and Mahoney aimed at the soldier beside him. He squeezed off the round and that German dropped to his knees, clutching the hole in his stomach and howling like a madman.

  The rest of the Germans kept coming. Mahoney shot another one in the face and at point-blank range drilled another through the heart, but now they were on top of him and he had to come up out of his hole and make his last stand.

  Growling like a wild animal, he leapt up in front of the astonished Germans and charged into them with his bayonet held straight ahead of him. He plunged it into the stomach of a German soldier, pulled it out, dodged a rifle butt zooming toward his head, spun around, and lunged at another German soldier, pushing his bayonet through the German’s neck and pulling out quickly, darting to the side to avoid the thrusts of two German bayonets, and bashing a German corporal in the face with his rifle butt.

  German bayonets slashed his arms and shoulders but he kept moving frantically, stabbing Germans with his bayonet and whacking them with his rifle butt.

  A German officer shouted at his men and told them to keep moving. Miraculously, the German soldiers near Mahoney drew away from him and continued to run toward the American rear. A few of them fired their rifles at Mahoney from their hips as they trotted past, but their bullets went wild. Mahoney soon found himself alone except for a German officer standing nearby aiming his pistol at him.

  Mahoney knew the German had the drop on him, but that didn’t stop him. He raised his bleeding arms to shoot his carbine at the German officer, and a shot rang out.

  I’m dead, Mahoney thought.

  The bullet smashed into Mahoney’s carbine, sending bits of metal into his chest and knocking the carbine out of his hands. The carbine slammed into his stomach, taking away his wind. He fell to the ground and the German officer thought he’d shot him down. The German officer didn’t have time to check because his men were getting away from him, so he ran after them, reasonably sure that he’d killed the big American soldier.

  But Mahoney wasn’t dead by a long shot, and when his head cleared he
was seething with rage. A dead German soldier lay near him, his rifle still in his hand. Mahoney picked up the rifle, brought it against his shoulder, pulled the bolt and rammed it forward, and took aim at the German officer running away. The German officer wobbled in his sights as if being pulled by the strings of a puppeteer, and then, when Mahoney fired, the puppeteer let all the strings go and the officer dropped to the ground.

  Mahoney grinned because, in the din of battle, the Germans never would realize someone was behind them shooting them in the back. He aimed at another German, squeezed the trigger, and brought him down. These Mausers are damn fine rifles, Mahoney thought as he pulled back the bolt and ejected the round. He closed the bolt and fired again, and another German soldier stumbled and pitched forward onto his face. Just as he was ejecting that empty shell, he heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw the next wave of German foot soldiers coming.

  Mahoney dragged himself wearily to his feet. His sleeves were soaked with blood and his chest oozed blood in several places from the carbine fragments that had broken his skin.

  Should I surrender? Mahoney wondered. No—fuck it— they’ll probably shoot me anyway so I might as well fight it out.

  Mahoney jumped into the nearest shell crater and raised the German rifle to fire. The second wave of advancing Germans came closer and one of the Germans pulled a hand grenade from his boot, throwing it at Mahoney, who dropped the rifle, caught the grenade in midair, and hurled it back.

  The grenade exploded in the midst of the Germans, blowing a few of them away. The German officer in charge of the group told them to bypass the resistance and keep moving. The German soldiers separated and ran in both directions around Mahoney, while he fired quick shots at them, and they fired wildly at him. Their bullets whistled around him, but they were close together and he couldn’t miss.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that looked suspicious. A German was holding a hand grenade in his hand, and Mahoney could see that the son of a bitch was counting. The German already had armed the deadly thing and was making sure it would explode before Mahoney had a chance to throw it back.