The Second Objective

Bernie swung the shovel again, but couldn’t put much weight behind it. The blow struck her in the ribs and she hardly seemed to notice. She pi

Someone stood in the open doorway at the top, silhouetted. He saw an arm point toward him, holding a pistol. Bernie threw himself flat on the stairs, turning his head away, and from the corner of his eye he saw her nightmare figure lurching up the stairs behind him, the cleaver high in the air. Then came the sharp report of the gun, twice, three, four shots, echoing harshly.

The bullets stopped the woman on the stairs, blossoms of blood spreading across her chest. She looked at Bernie in disbelief, wobbled in place, gave a soft, low groan, crumpled, and collapsed off the side of the staircase, hitting the concrete floor with a heavy crunch.

Bernie felt a hand on his shoulder. He raised his head up to look.

“Jesus Christ, Brooklyn,” said Von Leinsdorf. “I leave you alone for a minute, look what you get yourself into.”

“What the fuck. What the fuck.”

Von Leinsdorf continued down the stairs. He walked into the room at the end of the hall where she’d stashed the bodies. Moments later, Bernie heard another shot.

16

The Bridge at Amay

DECEMBER 17, 4:30 P.M.

Gra

As they accelerated toward the bridgehead, they could see the other jeep parked alongside the checkpoint. All four passengers were still in their seats. An officer in the back was talking with the sergeant in charge of the bridge.

“Don’t you want to slow down a little, Earl?” asked Carlson.

Gra

“Just thought you’d want to come in slow so we don’t tip ’em off.”

“You want me to pull over so you can drive?”

“No.”

“Why don’t I just stop right here and you can take us in at the right speed?”

“Forget it. Sorry I asked.”

“Jesus, you’d make coffee nervous.”

Gra

“Everything okay, Sergeant?” asked Gra

“This is Captain Harlan,” said the sergeant, turning to the new arrivals. “Did I get that right, sir?”

Harlan nodded. Gra

“How are you doing today?” Harlan asked Gra

None of the four men appeared unduly nervous. Two wore their boots without leggings, like the dead German they’d found at the crossing, and one lacked a regulation belt. Only one man wore a unit patch on his shoulder. Keeping an eye on their movements, Gra

“We were near Liège this morning,” said Gra

“We were in Holland yesterday, Eindhoven. Signal Corps, Third Armored. Orders to move came down in the middle of the night. It was hell just getting everybody on the road.”

Gra

“We sure didn’t. Guess the heavy stuff’s still to the east, huh? Is it really as bad as they’re saying?”

“Where you guys headed? Hey, you got a light?” asked Gra

Captain Harlan fished out his silver Zippo. “They said they wanted the whole outfit in Malmédy by to night. Our CO told us to divert west and head down to Bastogne. We’re looking for the turn to get us back on the highway, just stopped to ask directions-”

As the captain held out his lighter, ready to flick it on, Gra

“Have your driver toss the keys to my partner,” said Gra

On the other side of their jeep, Carlson pulled his handgun and covered the driver. The sergeant and his platoon stepped forward, training weapons on the other men in the jeep. None of them moved.

“What’s this all about? What’s the problem?” asked Harlan.

“Do it,” said Gra

The driver looked at his captain, who nodded, then pulled the keys from the ignition and threw them to Carlson.

“You want to think about what you’re doing, Lieutenant?” said Harlan. “Don’t make yourself any trouble-”

“Climb down, all of you. Leave the weapons. Get on the road, hands and knees.”

The men in the jeep obeyed.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Lieutenant,” said Harlan. “There’s obviously some kind of misunderstanding. I know tensions are ru

“Put your sidearm on the ground and slide it to me,” said Gra

Captain Harlan did as he was told. “You want to check our ID again? Our pay books, what? We already showed our trip pass to these fellas; what more do you need?”

Gra

Bitter almonds.

Harlan saw the glass vial in Gra

“Sprechen Sie deutsch, Captain?” asked Gra

Von Leinsdorf helped Bernie up the stairs and set him on a sofa in the front parlor. He locked the door to the cellar and closed the blinds before turning on a light. He laid out an assortment of cold K rations and opened two bottles of ale he’d found in the kitchen. Bernie drank and ate greedily.

“How badly are you hurt?” asked Von Leinsdorf.

“I’m fine,” said Bernie, his voice scratchy and hoarse. “Everything’s working. She never got a piece of me.”

He met Von Leinsdorf’s eyes and didn’t look away, to make sure he was believed. Leinsdorf appeared satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, threw a leg over its arm, and lit a cigarette.

“I lost you in that fog,” he said.

“An American patrol pulled me out of there,” said Bernie, biting into some crackers and cheese. “Tree knocked me on my ass.”

“Never seen pea soup like that before, even in London. At least it let me get our jeep back.” Leinsdorf tapped down a cigarette on the face of his wristwatch and watched Bernie wolf down the rations. “Where’d they take you?”

“Baugnez.”

“You were in Baugnez?”

“Yeah. Just before the tanks got there.”

“That was our main column. Oberstürmba