He warmed as he thought of her smile, and then her more serious expression when she defended her point of view. She'd gone, and the prospect of a wonderful future with her had vanished. He wanted vengeance, more than ever. No, that wasn't entirely true. He wanted her. Yet he couldn't have her. So he'd have to settle for revenge on the Nazi fuckers who'd taken her from him. Yet even killing the enemy didn't seem quite so important. Something inside him had changed.

  Too many dead bodies, many of them children and civilians, shit, I don't know what I do want, not anymore.

  They were grinding along a narrow track, a huge column of American armor, with a division of infantry in trucks following close behind. The Colonel's hand went up to signal a halt. The column came to a ragged stop, and Lindbergh beckoned to his Company commanders to join him. After ten minutes discussion, they returned to their vehicles, and Morgan came through on the Company net.

  "Hill 192, men, that's our first objective. It's about five miles to the east of the town. Take a look. The Krauts are dug in, and the Colonel wants us to support the infantry when they take it."

  Grant shuddered. The approaches were the worst kind. This was bocage with a capital B. The entire area was a maze of narrow lanes and high, thick impenetrable hedgerows. It was going to be a bastard. He watched as the motorized infantry units accompanying them halted, waiting for the armor to push a way through.

  He stared at Morgan. "Sir, if we attack this position head on, they'll slaughter us. The Germans are not stupid. They'll have strong points set up behind almost every hedgerow, and it's almost impossible to get through them."

  Morgan chuckled. "Since you've been on your travels, things have changed. You haven't heard of the Culin Hedgerow Cutter?"

  "No, Sir."

  "Sgt Curtis Grubb Culin III, one of our tankers, a guy with the 102nd Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron attached to 2nd Armored Division came up with a way through the Bocage. He invented a four-pronged device built from scrap steel he took from a German roadblock. Sergeant Culin attached this contraption to the front of his tank, and it plowed gaps in the hedgerows like you wouldn't believe. As soon as we hit the hedgerows, we're going straight through them and come at the German defensive positions from behind."

  "You're sure it'll work, Major?"

  "You haven't seen the device fitted to my tank. I tried it a couple of days ago, and it works; believe me. Works like a charm. More than half of our Battalion vehicles are fitted with the Culin device, and we're going to hack through the Jerry defenses like they were made of paper."

  "That's good news, Sir."

  It sounded unlikely, but when a half hour later they entered the tortuous area of high hedgerows, they drove straight through a gap, courtesy of the Culin device, and into the fields behind. Grant heard a sudden eruption of machine gunfire, and then a German anti-tank rocket exploded on one of Lindbergh's Shermans. There was no doubt they'd taken them by surprise, and although the enemy hit back fast, it only took a couple of minutes for Lindbergh's headquarters Company to flatten the enemy position and drive on. Which meant now they were coming at the Germans from behind them. Already, the 29th had deployed their mortars, and the 81mm shells whistled overhead to land amongst the waiting enemy.

  "Follow me!" Morgan radioed on the net, "We’re going straight through. Watch out for anti-tank fire."

  The Major's Sherman smashed through into the field behind. Cochise and Minnie Mouse followed, and at first there was little sign of the enemy. Until Morgan reached the south edge of the field and smashed through the next hedgerow, crossed the track, and penetrated the bocage the other side. A pair of STUG III assault guns confronted them, one on each side of the field, tucked in beneath layers of leafy foliage. The Germans were as astonished as they were, and they hightailed back through the tall hedge, looking like small, mobile forests with the branches fastened to their hulls.

  The infantry battalions had halted at the first sign of trouble, and they waited for the Shermans to punch a hole in the enemy defenses. A couple of infantry platoons set up a machine gun to cover the field, just in case the Panzergrenadiers showed their faces, but wisely, they stayed back behind cover. A heavy weapons platoon dragged in their mortar and sat down to wait, when Lindbergh's Sherman rolled up to them and he leaned out the turret.

  "You men, I want you in that damn field. If I send my tanks in there, they're liable to get shot to pieces by Kraut anti-tank fire. Move your asses, all of you!"

  A young captain walked across to him and looked up.

  "Colonel, if we go in there, we're liable to get our asses shot to shit. We need your armor to flatten Jerry before we can show our faces."

  "Damn you, Captain." Lindbergh stared at him for a few seconds, his face reddening with anger, "I want your men deployed in there on the double. You're holding up the war, Mister, so move it."

  With a contemptuous glance at Lindbergh, the Captain passed on the order. Men shuffled up to the thick hedgerow, and a few brave souls went through the gap the tanks had made. The rest found other tiny gaps to squeeze through. There was still no shooting; it was as if the Germans were waiting, which of course they were. The Colonel finally nodded and shouted. "Move out!"

  The Major's tank charged through the gap, and he opened fire at the enemy armor. His gunner had loaded HE, probably thinking of anti-tank gunners. He'd clean forgotten the STUGs, and his shell exploded harmlessly on the armored cupola of one of the assault guns.

  Cochise and Minnie Mouse moved up in support and fanned out on either side of the CO to face down the STUGs, not a moment too soon. A German shell glanced off the turret of Morgan's Sherman. Another missed him by inches, and then the American armor went into action. Solly was already taking aim, and with good anticipation, Dale had already loaded AP. Daniel Kuruk fired next, then Grant and Morgan's gunners, but both had targeted the same STUG.

  The German assault gun exploded in a sheet of fire, but the second gun was still unscathed. If the commander had stayed cool, he could have destroyed at least two of the American tanks. Instead, he tried to make a run for it. The vehicle began backing out at an awkward angle through the gap in the bocage. The heavy vehicle jammed as the thick, tangled branches clutched at the hull, holding it with the strength of sprung steel.

  "Fire!" Grant shouted.

  Cochise's gun spat smoke and flame at the same moment, and their shell hit the thick armored mantlet of the gun, to zoom harmlessly off into the hedge. Solly fired next, but the range was too short, too confusing, and his shell smashed into the iron drive wheels inside the track. The STUG couldn't maneuver, but it could still fire.

  Grant saw the vehicle move slightly as they took aim. It was pointed at him, and all he could see was a round, black 'O' shape the end of the barrel.

  "Solly, hit the fucker. Incoming!"

  The enemy 75mm shell smashed into their frontal armor, three and a half inches of solid steel mantlet. It was the best-protected area of the tank, but it was still vulnerable. Incredibly, the warhead failed to explode.

  Some munitions work, and some don't to their job right. Thank Christ for whoever it was in some distant German factory that screwed up that fuse.

  This time Solly made no mistake. The STUG had slewed part sideways in the mud and branches during their panicked attempt to escape. His AP shell slammed into the center of the German armor, and a volcano of fire leapt out of the wrecked fighting compartment. It wasn't over, and the field started to come alive with other threats. They'd stumbled onto a main German defensive position, and the fight was by no means finished. Panzergrenadiers appeared as if from nowhere, coming out from behind heavily camouflaged positions.

  Grant watched as their infantry did their best to flatten the Panzergrenadiers, but the enemy had it down to a fine art. They'd positioned their guns to give overlapping fields of fire, and the field became a death trap. A light machine gun opened up, and scythed several of the infantrymen to the muddy ground, while the rest ducked back into cover. More machine guns opened up at the back of the field, and their fire swept across the muddy field like a hurricane.

  "Solly, load HE, wipe those fuckers off the face of the earth before they kill any more of our boys."

  "Roger that."

  He fired a snap shot that tore into the thick branches and missed the machine guns by several yards.

  "Solly!"

  "Sorry. Dale..."

  "HE loaded."

  "Fire!"

  This time there was no mistake, and Grant watched a large chunk of hedgerow blown apart by the shell, together with men who'd been hiding inside it. Fragments of field gray uniforms and shattered steel soar into the air, mingling with the leaves and broken branches. More field gray uniforms appeared, soldiers frantically pushing out a PAK 40 anti-tank gun from behind its camouflaged concealment. Morgan shouted a warning on the Company net, but they were already on it. And then another PAK 40 began to show its ugly snout from the other side.

  At the far end of the field, the German machine guns were still firing, pinning down the infantry with their all-important machine guns, which would have made short work of the guns. It was a well-planned and timed ambush, and it would have succeeded if they hadn't hit the STUGs so fast.

  "Charlie Company, follow me," Morgan shouted.

  Angel went to full speed, and he ducked inside the turret to escape the fury of the machine gunners, doing their best to target him. Solly fired HE that narrowly missed one PAK 40, and the shell exploded harmlessly inside the thick bocage. Morgan fired, and the other gun disappeared in a fury of smoke and flame. But the remaining gun was still firing, and they managed to score a hit on Cochise.

  Kuruk and his crew bailed out of the burning tank, and Grant realized he was counting them, even as he was directing Minnie to attack the enemy gun.

  Four men, five, yes, they’re all out.

  Solly fired, and the back pressure from the propellant charge filled the tank with choking fumes even as the extractors fought to clear the air. There was no explosion. He heard Solly's roar of anger.

  "It's a fucking dud! Dale, load another, fast."

  They were nearing the enemy gun, and Grant watched as the gunners laid the barrel of their piece to face Minnie. There wasn't time for another shot. They'd be dead long before Dale extracted the dud and slammed in another HE round. There was only one thing they could do.

  "Angel, ram the bastard."

  "You got it," came the laconic reply. He smiled, somehow the driver managed to remain calm when everyone was panicking. Probably thinking about his pizza shop.

  The Germans fired, and the shell slammed into Minnie's 76mm frontal armor. The steel held, although the enormous vibration of the blast sent their ears ringing, like they were standing in the bell tower of a Gothic cathedral during bell-ringing practice. He watched the Germans hasten to reload. They were SS Panzergrenadiers he noted, with the distinctive leopard-pattern camouflage.

  Like those poor Russians we captured, except the Russians will live.

  Two seconds later, Minnie smashed into the gun. The Sherman reared up on the broken remains of Krupp steel and gray clad bodies, and Angel drove straight through and into the next field. Two hundred yards away a new enemy waited for them. More Krupp steel, fifty-four tons of it. Vernon shouted the warning, the one word they'd been dreading, and this time no one contradicted him.

  "Tiger!"

  * * *

  Three kilometers outside Saint-Lo, 16.22, July 3, 1944

  It was glorious to be part of such a mighty armored force. It was true he'd been at Kursk, and there were more tanks on that battlefield than in the entire history of armored warfare. But this was different. Tiger Is were at Kursk, but the much vaunted Panthers had performed badly, and most limped off the battlefield with mechanical problems. Those problems were now resolved, and in addition, they had a couple of the new Tiger IIs. The mighty King Tigers.

  They had even more reason to feel confident. The 12th SS Panzers Hitler Jugend was today a support unit to the awesome power of Panzer Lehr, the so-called 'Schoolmasters.' The tankers who'd trained the best tank crews in the Third Reich. These men knew every trick in the book, and then some. The 101st SS Heavy Panzers was part of their force, the unit that included SS Obersturmfuhrer Michael Wittmann's Tiger. Even though their numbers were less than they'd hoped, due to losses from Allied bombing raids, salvos of shells from warships off the French Coast, and the Fireflies.

  Even so, today will be different. Today we will tear into the Allies and rip them to shreds. We are unbeatable! Providing our engine keeps running, the engagement doesn't go on so long we run out of precious fuel, and we have enough shells.

  He thumbed the mike switch.

  "Franz, how is the engine? Any problems?"

  "None, Obersturmfuhrer. She's running as sweet as a prostitute's smile."

  He smiled.

  At the age of seventeen, it’s unlikely he's ever been with a prostitute. If things go badly over the next few days, the chances are he never will.

  "Keep it like that, driver. We don't want to make fools of ourselves in front of Panzer Lehr, even less with Obersturmfuhrer Wittman. How about gasoline?"

  A pause. "The tanks are half full. That was all they'd give us."

  "Understood."

  He switched to the command net and almost immediately heard the Standartenfuhrer’s voice in his headphones.

  "This is Meyer. You know what we're up against. The Allies are heading for Saint-Lo. Without doubt they intend to take the town and open the door to the rest of France. Our job is to stop them, our 12th SS HJ with 101st SS Heavy Panzers and Panzer Lehr. We also have units of Panzergrenadiers to strengthen our battle group, so we should make mincemeat of the enemy. Do your duty, men, and we'll send these so-called Allies back into the sea. The Fuhrer has every confidence in us and expects a historic victory. Hals und Beinbruch!"

  Incredibly, he'd placed a gramophone close to the mike, and they heard the strains of the Panzer Lied across the radio net. It was crackly, the quality poor, but it nonetheless made him feel proud.

  'When before us a hostile tank appears,

  Full throttle is given and we close with the enemy.

  What does our life matter but for the Reich's army? Yes, Reich's army.

  To die for Germany is our highest honor.'

  "I don't want to die," he heard Lenz complain.

  "Not for the Fuhrer, Siegfried?" Heinrich Boll taunted him, "We thought that was the peak of your ambition, to die for the Fuhrer, and for Germany."

  "I want to live for the Fuhrer, and for Germany," he whined.

  "Too bad. You'd better give Adolf a call. I reckon the enemy intends to kill us all."

  Lenz snorted in derision. "You're just joking, Heinrich. You don't seriously believe the Allies can beat such an armored battlegroup as we have here?"

  "The Soviets managed quite well at Kursk, so I understand. And the British and the Amis have given us a damn good kicking in Normandy. How many Tiger and Panthers have we seen destroyed? Scores of them."

  "We won a mighty victory at Kursk," he objected, "You were there, isn't that so, Obersturmfuhrer?" Lenz asked. He sounded even younger than usual. Pleading for reassurance.

  Rolf thought about how he could phrase his reply.

  It’s true; this battlegroup is impressive, but so was it at Kursk. Did they win there? Berlin says yes, but they left a lot of good men and tanks on the battlefield. Who are the current owners of Kursk and the land for hundreds of miles around? It isn't the Third Reich. Will it be any different here?

  "Kursk was...complicated," he replied carefully. The specter of Lenz's cousin, SD Standartenfuhrer Schulz, was always hovering in the background, "But you can be certain today we'll hit the Allies hard." He attempted to inject some humor into the conversation. "Perhaps we should consider going into the scrap business. There'll be plenty of metal to trade after today."

  "There you are," he told Boll, "We're going to kick their asses today. Obersturmfuhrer Manhausen said so."

  "He said nothing of the sort!" Boll snapped back.

  "He did..."

  "Cut it out, all of you. We're about to move out, so attend to your duties."

  In the event, it was almost an hour before they were ready, after last minute delays and breakdowns. He saw the lead tanks of Panzer Lehr heading out toward Saint-Lo. They were not all Panthers and Tigers; many were the older Panzer IVs. Updated and modified from the early days, to be sure. But still, they were terribly vulnerable even to medium tanks, like the Shermans and British Cromwells. The Tigers of the 101st followed, and then Meyer gave the order.

  "12th SS, advance!"

  He called Franz, "Driver, advance." Then he thought of Lenz's relative, the SD man. It wouldn't do any harm to spout some propaganda, and it might even keep him off their backs, "Today, we will give the Fuhrer and Germany an epic victory. Sieg Heil!"

  The shout echoed through the interior of the Tiger. Boll managed to make it sound mocking, but what the hell. Lenz wasn't subtle enough to pick it up.

  They deployed before Saint-Lo, using the vast swathes of bocage to hide them from enemy aircraft. Manhausen's Tiger was assigned to wait in ambush with a screen of STUGs and Panzergrenadiers in the next field. When the shooting started, he gave the order to load AP, and they waited as smoke and flames erupted into the sky on the other side of the thick hedgerow.

  He ached to go through and engage the enemy, but his orders were to wait in ambush. The Maybach engine was ticking over, and after the exchange of shots, he heard the roar of a tank engine going to maximum revolutions, and then a main gun appeared in the gap in the hedgerow. A second later the familiar high sloped deck appeared. He grabbed for the microphone.