The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) by Michael Panush Page B
Authors: Michael Panush
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them good, Sarge!” Elkins laughed. “You should have seen them Krauts run, they were—” He saw Charlie and fell silent. “Ah Hell,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” Mort muttered.
The tent under the altar stirred. Weatherby poked his head out and saw Charlie. The boy started to run out, but Mort stepped in his way and caught him. “Don’t leave your tent, kiddo,” he said, carrying Weatherby back. “You stay there and rest. Save up your strength, you’ll need it.”
“C-Charlie?” Weatherby asked. “Mr. Candle, what happened—”
“He’s gone. He’s gone and you still need to rest, because you’ve got to move later.” Sergeant Candle set the boy down, inside the tent. “So just stay there and rest. Okay?”
“A-all right.” Weatherby’s voice quivered. “Okay.” He wrapped himself in the soldier’s coat and lay down. A shudder ran through his small body.
Candle turned away. He looked at Charlie and shook his head. There’d be no time to bury him. He took off the medic’s dog tags and pocketed them. That was all they’d be able to carry. He looked out through the archway and into the forest. One attack had knocked out one member of their squad, and the German ranks were still going strong. At this rate, they’d be dead by nightfall.
He stepped outside and helped his men collect fallen weapons. There was nothing to do but grab all the Kraut guns and ammo he could find, hold out, and wait for the end.
In the later afternoon, just as the sun was going down and shadows thickened under the boughs and branches of the Black Forest, Von Koch’s troops came again. This time they started with mortar strikes, with several teams scattered under the cover of the trees. Sergeant Candle heard their whine when he was carrying a heavy German rapid-firing rifle and several clips back to the church.
“Mortars!” he cried, seconds before the first round struck the side of the church, blasting aside ancient stone bricks and clumps of dirt. “Get to cover!” He jumped into the nearest trench and stayed down, waiting as more shells streamed from the sky. Another blasted into the church’s roof, rocking the structure. Faded stained glass shattered and tumbled down. A sliver went into Mort’s hand, and he wrenched it out with a stifled cry. It was worse than any storm, the kind of downpour that would herald the end of the world.
The church steeple took a shot and rocked backwards, the stone groaning as it tumbled down over the roof. It bounced twice, and came to a sudden crashing stop in the dirt. Candle looked through the dust and fire. That was Elkins’ post. The poor Okie hadn’t stood a chance.
“Sarge!” But then he saw that Elkins was running back to the trench, his rifle swinging on his back. “They got the sniper’s nest!” He hadn’t been up there. It was luck, and only that, which had saved the sniper’s life.
“Doesn’t matter!” Mort stepped aside, and Elkins joined him. Dutch and Newt were there, and Tiny hurried to grab his BAR. The .30 cal was out of belts, and the BAR was down to its last two clips. Candle looked down at them. “All right,” he said. “We fight. We hold out. We give Patton time to get closer. Then we blow this joint and run like hell to the Third Army. We take Weatherby with us. No matter what happens, the kid makes it. Any questions, ladies?”
The mortar strikes roared down around them. Candle knew they couldn’t pound them into oblivion, for fear of killing Weatherby. They were trying to soften the Screaming Eagles up, to demoralize them and make them panic. It wouldn’t work. He gritted his teeth and treated the mortar shells like rain. All he had to do was wait for them to stop.
When they did, the Germans sent in their infantry. Now the paratroopers opened fire with stolen German rifles and submachine guns. Candle had his rifle out and emptied clip after clip as he brought down the charging Nazis. They took cover in the corpses of their allies, and
“Yeah,” Mort muttered.
The tent under the altar stirred. Weatherby poked his head out and saw Charlie. The boy started to run out, but Mort stepped in his way and caught him. “Don’t leave your tent, kiddo,” he said, carrying Weatherby back. “You stay there and rest. Save up your strength, you’ll need it.”
“C-Charlie?” Weatherby asked. “Mr. Candle, what happened—”
“He’s gone. He’s gone and you still need to rest, because you’ve got to move later.” Sergeant Candle set the boy down, inside the tent. “So just stay there and rest. Okay?”
“A-all right.” Weatherby’s voice quivered. “Okay.” He wrapped himself in the soldier’s coat and lay down. A shudder ran through his small body.
Candle turned away. He looked at Charlie and shook his head. There’d be no time to bury him. He took off the medic’s dog tags and pocketed them. That was all they’d be able to carry. He looked out through the archway and into the forest. One attack had knocked out one member of their squad, and the German ranks were still going strong. At this rate, they’d be dead by nightfall.
He stepped outside and helped his men collect fallen weapons. There was nothing to do but grab all the Kraut guns and ammo he could find, hold out, and wait for the end.
In the later afternoon, just as the sun was going down and shadows thickened under the boughs and branches of the Black Forest, Von Koch’s troops came again. This time they started with mortar strikes, with several teams scattered under the cover of the trees. Sergeant Candle heard their whine when he was carrying a heavy German rapid-firing rifle and several clips back to the church.
“Mortars!” he cried, seconds before the first round struck the side of the church, blasting aside ancient stone bricks and clumps of dirt. “Get to cover!” He jumped into the nearest trench and stayed down, waiting as more shells streamed from the sky. Another blasted into the church’s roof, rocking the structure. Faded stained glass shattered and tumbled down. A sliver went into Mort’s hand, and he wrenched it out with a stifled cry. It was worse than any storm, the kind of downpour that would herald the end of the world.
The church steeple took a shot and rocked backwards, the stone groaning as it tumbled down over the roof. It bounced twice, and came to a sudden crashing stop in the dirt. Candle looked through the dust and fire. That was Elkins’ post. The poor Okie hadn’t stood a chance.
“Sarge!” But then he saw that Elkins was running back to the trench, his rifle swinging on his back. “They got the sniper’s nest!” He hadn’t been up there. It was luck, and only that, which had saved the sniper’s life.
“Doesn’t matter!” Mort stepped aside, and Elkins joined him. Dutch and Newt were there, and Tiny hurried to grab his BAR. The .30 cal was out of belts, and the BAR was down to its last two clips. Candle looked down at them. “All right,” he said. “We fight. We hold out. We give Patton time to get closer. Then we blow this joint and run like hell to the Third Army. We take Weatherby with us. No matter what happens, the kid makes it. Any questions, ladies?”
The mortar strikes roared down around them. Candle knew they couldn’t pound them into oblivion, for fear of killing Weatherby. They were trying to soften the Screaming Eagles up, to demoralize them and make them panic. It wouldn’t work. He gritted his teeth and treated the mortar shells like rain. All he had to do was wait for them to stop.
When they did, the Germans sent in their infantry. Now the paratroopers opened fire with stolen German rifles and submachine guns. Candle had his rifle out and emptied clip after clip as he brought down the charging Nazis. They took cover in the corpses of their allies, and
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