Screaming Eagles (The Front, Book 1) by David Moody, Craig DiLouie, Timothy W. Long Page B

fire.
    Another mortar round landed and tossed chunks of earth around. Smoke rose from the holes, and the smell of explosives and frayed earth filled Taylor’s nostrils. The snow had been pure and white a few days ago. Now it was splattered with blackened debris and splashes of blood.
    Pierce rolled over on his stomach and fired back from the rear of the jeep.
    “Help me with this map, Grillo,” Captain Taylor said.
    The kid nodded and dropped next to Taylor. He helped spread out the map while Taylor placed his finger on the surface and traced out their location.
    “We shifted last night, sir. We’re here now,” Grillo said, and pointed.
    “Perfect,” Taylor said. He leaned into the jeep, broke out his radio, and started screaming into it, requesting artillery support.
    “Sir, we’re getting pounded,” Grillo said, and ducked as debris showered them.
    Taylor nodded and spoke into the radio again.
    “Stay tough, soldier. Relief is on the way.”
    Taylor asked for Delta’s situation, hoping they could move on this location and flank the incoming Germans, but he couldn’t raise them.
    “Sir, we’re pinned down here,” the voice came back.
    Taylor popped up and returned fire again. The advancing Germans were right on their lines.
    “I had 'em falling back to our Alamo, sir, but we’re not going to make it,” Pierce screamed over another mortar blast.
    “Right. Get them rounded up. I’ll lead the way, but we’re falling back,” Taylor said.
    Pierce screamed for his men to beat feet. A pair of guys lugging a heavy machine gun and ammo were already dashing around the jeep. They found a new location to provide defilade.
    Three men tossed grenades from the trench slit they’d been shooting from, then ran. The explosions caused a half dozen Germans to drop and scream in pain.
    “Grillo, provide cover while I get the jeep backed up,” Taylor said, nodding at the passenger side seat.
    Then something slammed into Betsy and threw her into the air. Taylor found himself dazed and staring up at the sky as he was tossed back several feet. The hard ground knocked the wind out of him, and chunks of ice and branches bit into his back and ass.
    The jeep landed on its side.
    The man that Pierce had been carrying back was ten feet away and he was moving. A gaping hole in his middle stared back at the Captain.
    “Oh, Christ, here they come,” one of the retreating men yelled.
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Twenty-Two
    Graves
    S quealing wheels , metal on metal, and tracks rolling over the earth made a frightening symphony. Graves had been in enough battles to know that when the superior German tanks arrived, it was time to move. A Panzer could go toe-to-toe with several Shermans and still come out the victor.
    The sound made his balls shrivel up and try to find his stomach. Sitting in a metal deathtrap with only three inches of welded hull between him and a high-velocity round would make any man shake. He forced the fear down and chewed on the butt of an extinguished cigarette so his men couldn’t see how terrified he was.
    A few months ago, his Sherman had taken several glancing blows from both anti-tank and Panzer IVs. Each time they’d been hit, his heart had nearly jackhammered through his chest. But that was the nature of war: hours of sitting around waiting for something to happen, followed by seconds of split decisions that could end a soldier's life.
    Graves and his crew had a job to do, and they were by God going to do it.
    The rumbling Panzers didn’t arrive all at once. The first tank poked forward around the bend in the road, then stopped. The port swung open and an SS officer popped out. He took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the area.
    Graves kept an eye on the bastard with the tank’s periscope.
    “They’re checking out the road,” Graves said.
    “Come to poppa bear, you chickenshit,” Big Texas muttered.
    “Wish 'em away, LaRue. I’m happy sitting here in the cold,” Graves said.
    “We’re going to be sitting in