By the Blood of Heroes (33 page)

Chapter Forty-three

SOMEWHERE BEHIND ENEMY LINES

Y
ou should have left when you had the chance!” Moore shouted, doing his best to make himself heard over the crack of the rifles and the thunder of the light machine gun hammering away at them from behind.

“And miss all this fun?” Manning replied. “Never!”

It hadn’t taken long for more vehicles from the base to catch up with them, and they were now being subjected to a withering hail of gunfire from behind. Even as they traded bravado, a series of well-placed rifle shots whipped through the space between them, striking the windshield and shattering it into dozens of fragments that peppered them with cuts on their faces, necks, and hands.

The wind coming in through the space where the windshield used to be made it difficult to see, but Charlie didn’t dare slow down.

They still had a job to do. Every minute they kept ahead of the enemy was another minute that Captain Burke and the rest of the squad could use to make their escape.

Sergeant Charlie Moore was many things, one of which was a realist. He had little hope that they’d get out of this mess and had long since stopped worrying about whether they would or not. How could he? He had no idea where he was or where he was headed; he’d lost track of everything just moments after smashing through the gates of the complex. All he was doing now was keeping the truck facing forward and pushing it as hard as he could, while Manning kept up a constant stream of fire directed behind them.

Moore knew how important it was that Burke get away, which was why even now, as the enemy closed in, he was praying for Burke rather than himself or Manning.

Manning had already emptied the sergeant’s Tommy gun back at their pursuers and now had his pistol out, firing back over his seat—
Crack! Crack! Crack!
—at the enemy behind them.

He spun around, ejected the magazine, and slapped in a new one. “That’s it. Last magazine and then I’m out.”

Charlie opened his mouth to reply and almost bit his tongue in half when the driver behind them rammed the rear of their vehicle with his own.

“Get us the hell out of here, Sergeant!” Manning yelled, as he snapped off a couple of quick shots in the enemy’s direction.

“I’m trying!”

Crash!

The other driver did it again, jamming his rear bumper up against the tailgate of their vehicle while trying to push them off the road.

Charlie jerked the wheel left, then right, but couldn’t seem to get away.

“Shoot the sonofabitch!” he shouted at Manning and glanced back that way.

He was just in time to see the grenade arc through the air and skip—
tink, tink, tink
—across the floor of the cargo space behind them.

“Grenade!” he shouted, trying to warn his companion, but there was really no need. Manning had seen it too and he was already moving, hurling himself between the seats and scrambling to get his hands on the projectile as it rolled around behind them.

He’s insane!
Charlie thought.
No way he can grab that before being blown to bits!

But to his surprise Manning did just that, snatching up the grenade in his right hand and side-arming it out the back of the truck.

Manning threw himself down to the deck of the cargo area, doing his best to make himself as small a target as possible as he huddled up against the thick metal tailgate, and was just in time to avoid being ripped to shreds by shrapnel as the grenade went off just after he released it. The explosion buckled the tailgate inward, but Manning survived unscathed.

Charlie couldn’t believe it!

Neither could Manning. He popped up on his knees, shouting with relief to find himself all in one piece. “Damn, that was close!” he cried.

Crack!

The rifle shot took him square in the center of the back, blasting his spine into splinters as it tore through him from back to front and came out the other side with a wet splat. As Charlie watched in the mirror, Manning looked down at his chest, staring in stunned amazement at the blood pouring out of the fist-sized hole that had appeared as if by magic to the right of his sternum, and then toppled over on his face, dead.

“God damn it!” Charlie shouted at the sky above, not afraid to use a little blasphemy if that was going to catch the Lord’s attention. “I need some help down here!”

But it was not to be.

As Charlie came speeding around the next curve, his headlights fell on the three German vehicles parked across the road. He realized in that instant that nothing he did would change the outcome of what was about to happen and so he didn’t even bother to try. He just pointed the truck at the parked vehicles ahead of him, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and hoped for the best.

The lorry slammed into the roadblock nearly dead center, the momentum carrying the vehicle up and over the others, twisting over on its side as it went. It sailed through the air for a dozen feet before coming crashing back down and sliding along the roadside until it slammed nose first into a tree, stopping its forward momentum.

Inside the truck’s cab, nothing moved.

R
ichthofen stood to one side and watched as his men pulled the Americans from the wreckage.

The first man was already dead, the victim of an apparent gunshot wound. From the lack of blood around his neck and shoulders, the flier had to assume that the decapitation had happened postmortem.

The driver, on the other hand, was still breathing when they pulled him from the crumpled steel that had once been a two-ton lorry, protected by the thick vest he was wearing, a vest made from reinforced leather and steel. He was bleeding from his mouth, which suggested internal injuries, but at least he was alive.

Just two men.

Richthofen wanted to rip the bodies apart with his bare hands in frustration. Somewhere between here and the gates of the base, the rest of the infiltration team had disappeared, taking President Harper’s son with them. Finding them now would be the equivalent of searching for a needle in a haystack.

Richthofen stood over the driver, pistol in hand, considering whether he was going to shoot the man outright and be done with it, or wait, see if he lived, and then get what he could from the heavyset American.

In the end, the lure of the unknown won out.

He beckoned several men over. “Do whatever you need to do to keep this man alive. If he dies, you’ll be next.”

Chapter Forty-four

TRAIN DEPOT

A
n hour later, Burke and what was left of his team were huddled in a ditch next to the station house, staring at a black steel behemoth. The train had started life as a standard steam-powered locomotive, but he could see that it had been through some extensive modifications, not the least of which was a thick set of armor that covered all but a small viewing slit in the front of the cab. A battering ram had been welded to the front of the engine, and two heavy machine-gun emplacements could be seen atop two of the cars. The armor told Burke that Freeman was right—the train most likely made regular visits to the front, which was just what they were looking for. If they could commandeer the train, they might be able to ride it all the way to the rail station on the enemy side of the lines at Nogent. Burke had no idea how he was going to get across the lines once they arrived there, but he’d worry about that later.

“What do you think, Professor? Can you handle a train that large?”

Graves seemed offended by the question. “It’s powered by steam, isn’t it?” he replied, as if that was answer enough.

And maybe it was.

Burke scooted up a little higher against the embankment and took a long look down the tracks, letting the plan formulate in his head.

From his position opposite the train’s engine, he could see a pair of guards, ostensibly guarding the locomotive and keeping unauthorized individuals from getting close enough to do it any harm.

He inched up even higher and chanced a quick look down the length of the train. He could see only one other guard, who stood about four cars from the front, near another boarding point. The guard had his gun slung over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets.

No threat there.

Burke slid back down into the cover of the ditch and motioned the others closer.

“That train is our ticket out of here. If we get lucky, we might even be able to ride it all the way to the front, but first we need to make sure it’s fully under our control.”

He pointed at Compton and Williams. “I want the two of you to make your way around the station house and into the ditch on the other side. When you hear us start the attack, you’re to neutralize the guard and get aboard the closest car as quickly as possible. Understand?”

They nodded, excitement warring with fear on their faces.

“We’re going to be waiting until the last possible second, so don’t be late. Take out that guard and get onboard that train. Now get going.”

The two men slipped out of the ditch and faded into the trees.

Burke watched them for a moment and then turned his attention to the others. “We have to get inside that cab before the engineers figure out what’s going on. If they do, we’re dead in the water, understand?”

Jones, Graves, and Freeman all nodded.

“When I give the signal, here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

Knowing Compton and Williams would give the station a wide berth, Burke gave the two of them ten minutes to get into position. That was, unfortunately, all he
could
give them, for right about that time the engineers boarded the locomotive and began their preparations for leaving.

“Let’s get ’em!” Jones whispered and started to get to his feet, only to have Burke grab him and haul him back down.

“We go when I say we do!” he hissed, his face just inches from Jones’s. “We want that engine up and running before we make our move, you idiot.”

Burke knew that their best opportunity was to wait until the last moment and then seize control of the cab. Doing so would reduce the opportunity for anyone inside the train station to respond to the crisis.

The seconds ticked past.

Smoke began to drift out of the chimney atop the locomotive as the engine built up a head of steam powerful enough to move it along the track.

“Get ready,” Burke whispered to the men beside him, his gaze on the guards outside the cab. In his peripheral vision he saw Jones settling the stock of his Enfield against his shoulder.

The shriek of a whistle split the night air as the motorman signaled their readiness for departure. The pair of guards that were standing near the door to the engineer’s cab threw away their cigarettes and got ready to board the train.

“Now!” Burke cried and launched himself out of the ditch, hitting the ground running and heading straight for the cab and the engineers inside. The guards were slow to respond to his sudden appearance, unable to reconcile the conflict posed by the fact that he was wearing a German uniform and yet was running toward them with his gun at the ready and pointed in their direction. Their hesitation cost them their lives; Jones fired over Burke’s shoulder, taking each of them down with a single shot to the head. Their bodies hadn’t yet hit the ground as Burke rushed past them, his attention focused on the door of the train, knowing that if the engineers managed to close it before he got inside, there was no way to breach the cab.

A figure appeared in the doorway before him, a gun in hand, and Burke felt the passage of the bullet as it screamed past him only inches from his ear before he even realized that a shot had been fired. He responded with a quick squeeze of the trigger of his own weapon, the chatter of the Tommy gun filling the air with its
rat-a-tat-tat
sound as the bullets stitched their way across the man’s chest, flinging him away from the door and into the depths of the compartment behind him. Off to Burke’s right, farther down the length of the train, he heard more gunfire and knew that Compton and Williams had joined the fight.

Burke had no time to worry about them, however, for the door to the engineer’s cab loomed before him and he bounded through it, taking it all in with a sweeping glance. The body of the man he’d shot lay crumpled on the floor in front of him. Motion to his left told him there was another man, possibly two, waiting there. He spun in that direction while still moving forward, unable to stop his momentum that quickly, and his foot landed squarely in the pool of blood spilling across the floor from the first man he’d shot.

Burke’s foot went out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor.

The fall saved his life.

The coal shovel the fireman swung at Burke’s head passed harmlessly overhead, missing him by inches.

Burke wasn’t waiting around to give him another shot either. He was already pulling the trigger as he crashed to the floor; his first few bullets obliterated the man’s face, the rest of them ricocheting around the small compartment as they bounced off the iron doors of the firebox.

Silence fell as the Tommy gun ran dry.

Burke scrambled to his feet, knowing that reinforcements could be only seconds away. They didn’t have any time to waste. He stuck his head out the door and was relieved to see Jones running toward him with Graves and Freeman at his heels. A glance down the length of the train showed Williams and Compton climbing unhindered aboard, four cars back.

They’d taken the train!

Graves went straight to the control station as soon as he was aboard, with Freeman at his heels. Burke and Jones took up positions on either side of the door, their gaze on the station house.

No sooner had they settled into position than several gray-clad German soldiers rushed out of the building, weapons in hand.

“We need to leave, Graves!” Burke called out, risking a glance in his direction. “And I mean NOW!”

“Working on it, Captain,” the professor shouted back, as he rushed from control panel to control panel, pushing buttons and pulling levers, while telling Freeman to shovel coal into the furnace.

The German soldiers sent a flurry of shots toward the train, forcing Burke to flatten himself against the side of the car to avoid getting hit. The small space was soon filled with the sounds of bullets striking metal and ricocheting away in different directions. Thankfully the armor on the train was more than up to the task of protecting them against small-arms fire. Burke grabbed the engineer’s pistol and sent a few shots of his own winging toward the enemy. He wasn’t really trying to hit anyone, just encourage them to keep their heads down. His philosophy was that they couldn’t shoot if they couldn’t see, and every minute that passed brought them one minute closer to departure.

The train lurched a few feet, nearly throwing Burke off balance. As he steadied himself, he realized they were picking up speed.

“Go! Go! Go!” he shouted toward the men in the cab, and Freeman shot him a weary but wide smile in return.

It was when he turned back again, not wanting to let the enemy out of sight for too long, that he saw the 18 mm mortar.

A team of three was hustling it into position on a clear spot just outside the doors of the station. While one man secured the legs, another stockpiled a dozen or more shells beside it. The mortar crew was going to stop the train one way or another, it seemed, and blowing it up didn’t seem to be a problem.

Burke couldn’t let that happen.

He caught Jones’s attention, pointed toward the mortar crew, then showed him the grenade in his hand. The corporal stole a quick look and then pulled his head in before it could get shot off by one of the industrious soldiers providing cover for the mortar crew.

“On the count of three,” he shouted, over the din of the gunfire.

Burke nodded.

Jones counted it down and as he reached three, the two of them spun into the doorway. While Jones laid down some covering fire, Burke leaned out the door and heaved the German stick grenade toward the mortar crew. It flipped end over end and struck the ground a few feet in front of them. The resulting blast lifted the soldiers up and tossed them like rag dolls into the outer wall of the station.

As the train picked up speed, Burke whooped in satisfaction!

Several of the defenders scrambled to their feet and began to run toward the nearest car, hoping to jump onboard, but they were quickly cut down by shots from Williams and Compton.

The train gathered momentum, and within moments they had the station and its defenders behind. Soon they were rolling across occupied France at a rate many times what they would have been able to do on foot. Burke started to think they might have a prayer of surviving after all.