"Our orders are to rejoin our unit outside Caen, not engage in a stupid fight we must lose. Would you disobey those orders, Sturmann Lenz, and allow the Americans to destroy our Tiger?"

  A pause. Lenz knew the penalty for disobeying an order. At best, transfer to a penal unit on the Eastern Front, at worse, death. He also knew his SD relative would not hesitate to pass sentence on a member of his own family.

  "We must follow our orders."

  "Yes. We'll leave when the engine is fixed, not before. As soon as we're clear of the flooded area, we'll turn east and do our best to reach Division in Caen. Schneider, contact Headquarters. Tell them we've had further engine trouble, but we'll be on the way shortly."

  It may be enough to avoid a court martial. Unless Lenz's uncle, Standartenfuhrer Schulz takes an interest.

  "Jawohl, Obersturmfuhrer."

  After three hours, Franz declared he had it licked. They started up and rumbled on through the Normandy countryside, toward Caen and the other Tigers of 12th SS. By sheer luck, they seemed to have found a way through the invading armies. Perhaps it was the only clear route to Caen.

  Once we arrive, link up with the other Tigers of the 12th SS Hitler Jugend and go into action, we can satisfy Siegfried Lenz's lust for glory.

  He thought about that Sherman they'd hidden from at the farm outside. It was hard to bear, having to skulk inside the barn while they destroyed three valuable Panzers, yet they'd had no choice. Not on that occasion. It would all change, if and when they ever met Minnie Mouse on the battlefield. The Tiger's superior firepower would make short work of the medium American tank. Even so, something nagged at his subconscious. He had a strange feeling about that tank, a feeling he couldn't shake off. Was it to be his nemesis, a puny Sherman, named after a cartoon mouse? He chuckled to himself. It was impossible. Their popgun was barely capable of scratching his paintwork. So why was he so certain they'd meet again? And why did he feel so uneasy?

  If I were religious, I'd see a priest and talk it out with him. The problem is, the new religion of Germany is the Nazi Party. To minister to the faithful the priests have been replaced by the Gestapo, and I'd sooner pull out a tooth than spill out my problems to those sadistic bastards.

  Chapter Four

  SHAEF Headquarters, near London, England. June 9, 1944

  General Sir Bernard Law Montgomery was his usual intractable self. Eisenhower sighed; he had other things on his mind than trying to pacify the irritable Brit. A good general, no question, and his men loved him. The problem was, the dapper Britisher had a fiery temperament, which made dealing with him a constant headache. He smiled to himself; these meetings at the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force had become little more than a trial by ordeal.

  "Caen," Monty insisted, his voice imperious as he jabbed a finger at the huge map on the table, "We have to take the city, otherwise the entire invasion could fail."

  "Of course, you're quite right, General," Ike acknowledged.

  If I tell the prickly bastard he's one hundred percent wrong, it'll take me the rest of the day to calm him down.

  "Of course I'm right. It's obvious to anyone but a fool."

  He shuddered. When word of this got around, there'd be even more ruffled feathers to smooth.

  He put on his famous, warm smile. "However, we do have one or two other tangles to resolve first."

  Montgomery seemed to sniff the air for trouble. He reminded Ike of a Jack Russell Terrier looking for something to chase down.

  "Tangles?"

  "Uh, huh, just minor stuff. Like joining my armies on Omaha and Utah Beaches. They've been hit pretty hard, and if they don't link up soon, they'll be easy meat for the Germans to pick off once they bring up their reinforcements."

  Monty was having none of it. "Caen must take precedence. There's no question." His voice was crisp and sharp, like he was lecturing students in a lecture theater, not talking to his senior officer, "We have to beat back the Germans now, so we're in a position to advance east."

  "You'd leave an entire army of Germans, including heavy armor, in your rear?"

  Monty shrugged. "We can handle it."

  He kept the smile on his face. "Sure you can. In the meantime, I'm directing our boys to take Carentan. It's only a matter of time before Isigny falls. We have to link those two armies. It's more than vital; the Germans could punch through our center any time, and the entire invasion could fail. Isigny, then Carentan."

  The Brit was already shaking his head. "We must take Caen first. I'm assigning the 7th Armored Division to advance east, cross the Odon River and capture Évrecy. They will then take and occupy the high ground around Caen, while XXX Corps makes their advance to the east. I've planned it to the last detail. It can't possibly fail."

  Eisenhower sighed. The Germans had already given the Brits a bloody nose outside Caen when the German 21st Panzers beat back the Third Infantry Division. It was evident Monty was champing at the bit for revenge, although Caen was an important and strategic crossroads, which meant it would have to be taken sooner rather than later.

  "Do you have a plan, General?"

  "Operation Perch," he snapped immediately, "We're ready to jump off at first light tomorrow morning."

  Ike sighed again. It was like talking to a brick wall. He decided to hedge his bets.

  "Then I wish you luck. The 101st Airborne is in position to punch up through the Cotentin Peninsula, so with luck, we'll achieve both objectives and link up ready for the breakout from Normandy."

  "You said 101st Airborne?" Monty looked curious; "You don't have any armor available to support them, not in that region."

  "We're working on it. As you know, our armor is spread thin, and we've already taken too many losses. More than anticipated, much more."

  "In that case, you'd better pray the Germans don't bring up their armor. Airborne troops, as you know, are helpless in the face of armor. Talking of which, there's something I've been meaning to discuss, the heavy Panzer battalions. Do we have any idea where they are, or what they're doing?"

  He nodded. It was the question that concerned him, the whereabouts of the heavy tanks. They knew now the invasion was not a feint, so why hadn't they brought up their ace in the hole, the heavy armor that could decimate the Allied forces battling to establish a foothold in Normandy?

  "The Panthers and Tigers? We just don't know. It's something of a mystery. So far, they've brought a few of them up piecemeal, but there's been no mass attack, like that one at Kursk last year in the Soviet Union. Either the Germans are holding them in reserve for some reason, or they're making a big mistake. I hope it's the latter."

  Monty nodded thoughtfully. "So do I, Ike. So do I."

  * * *

  Outskirts of Isigny, France, 00.15, June 9, 1944

  "They're almost there, the infantry boys," Morgan exclaimed, "They say there're a few strongpoints inside the town, and they want us to shift them out of the way. It's just after midnight now. Our orders are to advance at 01.00 and overcome any defenders still inside the town."

  They were parked in a wood outside Gruchy, where they'd fought yet another fierce battle to beat back a German counterattack. Each man was eating their meal, savoring every spoonful of the spicy, aromatic stew prepared by their new cook, a French girl, Margot Caron. She'd walked into the village, arriving just after the last German surrendered, threading her way past the bodies that still littered the ground. Most were German, but there were also a few Americans. She approached their encampment, brushed aside the sentry, and walked into Morgan's HQ, a bombed out bakery.

  "Ma'am, you can't come in here!"

  She'd stared him down. "Is that right? Where do you suggest I go?"

  "Home, Ma'am, there's a battle going on here."

  "I have no home, not since your men turned it into a battlefield."

  "You can't stay here, Ma'am."

  Morgan was unusually nonplussed, with no idea of how to deal with the feisty French girl.

  "It is not Ma'am, it is Mam'selle." She glanced at the mess tin he'd put down while he talked to her, "Do you normally eat this pigswill? You need a cook here. That is obvious. "

  "Well, er..." He looked down helplessly at the congealed mess he'd been trying to eat. They'd pooled their K Rations, and the result was a strange, gray concoction that was barely edible. Even so, "We don't have time to cook, Ma'am, er, Mam'selle. We're fighting a war. You see..."

  "Exactly." Her chin jutted forward, like the prow of a sleek, graceful destroyer, "I will prepare your meals. Give me what food you have left. I need an hour to prepare."

  "Er, er..."

  "What are you waiting for, Major? Do you want a meal, or do you intend to die of food poisoning before you have time to beat the Germans?"

  In the end, he raised the white flag of surrender, at least, halfway. Until the food arrived, then the flag went to the top of the flagpole.

  "Oh, yeah, this is good," he grinned, enjoying the rare sensation of real food. Then his face darkened, "But this is only temporary. Until we leave the area."

  She nodded and smiled. "But of course, Major, whatever you say."

  They finished their food in a hurry, and Morgan ordered them to prepare to leave. Grant checked his wristwatch. There was just enough time to reach Isigny, and pray the Panzers weren't waiting in ambush. They'd been lucky so far, but every man knew a well-placed ambush could wipe out the remainder of the Company.

  Angel started the engine, and he dropped into the commander's seat, leaving the hatch open. In front of Minnie, Major Morgan was turning to survey the ground around them. Behind Grant, Daniel Karuk rode in Cochise, and bringing up the rear, Lieutenant Bligh in The Bounty. They were all that remained of an entire tank company. Morgan took a last look around and gave the order.

  "Move out."

  The drive to Isigny was easy at first. The only troops they encountered were American. The first houses came into sight, along with the first anti-tank shell. This time, the Germans were ready. The area crackled with gunfire where the infantry had been fighting a fierce battle for possession of the town. They'd advised the tankers there was no armor in the town, which was a plus. Although there was a unit of Panzergrenadiers, which meant anti-tank missiles, and maybe one or more STUG assault guns. It wouldn't be a walk in the park.

  Morgan halted them before the town and surveyed the ground ahead. Then he glanced back at his company, as if one or more of his precious tanks may have got lost on the way. Four Shermans, some company.

  "It looks okay. We'll go in fast and hard, and watch out for the panzerfausts. Company, advance!"

  He roared away, and behind him, Grant gave the order for Minnie Mouse to follow. It was quiet until they reached the outlying buildings, and the first missile flew, narrowly scraping past Morgan's vehicle. The flare of the launch had given away the enemy position, and they poured on heavy fire at the target, a corner turret in an ancient stone building. He heard Solly shout, "Load HE!" and the shell punched out, hit the turret, and exploded, leaving the structure a mass of stone fragments. Not for the first time, Grant felt sorry for the French, whose beautiful and ancient architecture was being systematically destroyed. But they had no choice.

  The Krauts started it. We're just here to finish it.

  Morgan charged ahead, his main gun fired shell after shell, and both his machine guns chattered their message of death to the German defenders. A flicker of light showed in the second floor of a large house, and Grant snapped out an order to Solly.

  "Gunner, target eleven o'clock, second floor, fire."

  The turret moved a fraction and aimed the main gun. It erupted in a fury of smoke and flame as the projectile hurtled toward the target. Lashed with shellfire and machine gun bullets, whoever had been trying to target them, disappeared in the ruin of broken masonry.

  "Driver, keep up with the lead Sherman."

  "You got it."

  He forgot his fears, forgot his determination to seek vengeance, to kill Germans. This was thrilling, like an old time cavalry charge. Punching through an enemy held town and knocking out targets right and left, it was every boy's dream. Cowboys and Indians, or Cops and Robbers, but then he sobered. There was a difference. This was no game, and people were dying. A shell struck their frontal armor and glanced off, and he started searching for the source. Morgan's voice came over the radio.

  "Grant, there's a German gun position ahead of us. It's well hidden. Come alongside me, and we'll charge him down together."

  "Yes, Sir. Driver..."

  "I'm on it."

  They moved up and dropped alongside Morgan's vehicle. Another shell punched out from the hidden gun, and they were lucky when again the frontal armor took the brunt.

  When we get back, I'm gonna look up the designer of the Sherman and treat him to a slap up dinner. If we get back.

  "Driver, take a right, try and bring us up behind the Jerry gun."

  "You got it."

  He called Morgan to explain, but the Major was less than impressed.

  "I told you to stay with me, Grant. Dammit, don't you know how to follow an order."

  "I'm sorry, Major, but this is the only way we'll get him, Sir. Give us a chance."

  A pause. "Very well. Call me when you're in position. We'll take him from both sides."

  "I'll do that, Sir."

  "And good luck."

  Was it another STUG, he wondered, or an anti-tank gun? Panzergrenadier units had both, so there was no way of knowing which one lay ahead. If it was a STUG, it could already be moving away to change their position. That could make things tricky. If it were an anti-tank gun, he'd hit it from the flank before they could move the cumbersome artillery piece.

  As they careered around the back alleys of Isigny, he wondered again about his thirst for vengeance. This was payback time for his brother, murdered by a marauding E-Boat at Slapton Sands. It was what he'd signed up for. Yet wasn't what he was doing the same as the Germans? Killing every enemy soldier he could place in the sights of Minnie Mouse's main gun, a blood-soaked quest to destroy as many enemy soldiers as possible.

  Isn't that what the E-boat commander that killed David did?

  Yet it was different. The Free World was on a quest to wrest the continent of Europe from the grip of the Nazi warlord, Adolf Hitler, and he was part of that quest.

  The men who killed my brother are part of the criminal regime in Berlin. They were virtually guilty of murder, and it makes what they did wrong, and what I am doing right. Doesn't it? So why don't I feel so certain as I once did?

  "Solly, three o'clock, Jesus! Hit him."

  He'd snapped out of his reverie and glanced left. An anti-tank gun was in plain view, and the German crew had been caught unawares. They were frantically turning the gun to train the long barrel on Minnie, but Solly was ready, and he didn't wait for the order. The turret turned, the 75mm gun fired and hurled out an HE shell. It exploded next to the armored shield, showering the Germans with hot metal fragments. Angel barely slowed their pace as they neared the wreckage, and he drove over it.

  When Grant looked back, all could see was the bloody, twisted remains of their foe. Torn metal, fragments of human tissue, bone, and blood. Parts of torn uniforms lay on the ground, like discarded rags. He realized there might have been body parts in some of those tunics and pants, helmets, and boots. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so righteous. Death was death, no matter what the color of the uniform.

  He shouted into his mike, "Solly, was that the gun that hit us?"

  "No, no way. Wrong angle, the shot that struck our frontal armor came from further north. If we keep on this course, we should come across him."

  "How's the HE holding out?"

  "It's not good."

  "Understood."

  They reached the end of the lane with a suddenness that surprised them all. And there in front of them was a further enemy. This time it was a STUG III, the German assault gun. Along with the later STUG IV, they were the Germans’ most successful tank destroyers, with their powerful and accurate 75mm StuK 40 main gun. This STUG was engaged in a duel with another tank; it could only be one of Company A's precious Shermans. A shell came from nowhere and hammered at the STUG's frontal armor, but the German vehicle seemed to shrug off the blow and kept firing. So far, they hadn't seen Minnie.

  "Gunner, load AP, fire when ready. They're shooting at the Major."

  Before he'd finished speaking, Dale was already swinging the heavy shell into the breech. Solly fired instantly. The shell traveled the short distance to the STUG and exploded on a stone monument several yards in front of the vehicle. Shards of shrapnel flew close to the German, but the hull was intact. The vehicle tracks began to turn as they swung around to face the new threat, and within seconds, the German would be in a position to shoot at them.

  "Damn!" Solly cursed, furious for missing an easy shot.

  "Gun loaded with AP," Dale announced.

  "Fire."

  This time the shell smash into the frontal armor of the STUG, and smoke began to pour out, but they weren't finished. The enemy gun fired, a shell glanced off the turret of the Sherman and exploded in a shower of steel fragments.

  They fired HE, stupid bastards. If they'd fired AP, we'd probably be dead.

  Even as he had that thought, the STUG gun moved a fraction to correct their aim. They weren't fools. The next shot would be AP, and they wouldn't screw it up.

  "Driver, back up, back up. Get us out of here!"

  "Shit, Sarge, I can nail the bastard," Solly shouted, his voice angry.

  But Angel was already moving, and they screeched backward, tearing out great chunks of stone cobbles from the street. Another enemy shell narrowly missed the hull and impacted on a nearby building. When they were out of sight of the enemy gun, the driver began to slow, and Grant reached for the mike.

  "Find another way to get us in, Angel. Another two or three streets, and we can get behind him."