"Let her go. If you want a hostage, you can have me."

  The man smiled. "I think not. I hardly think a captured German has the same value as an attractive French girl. Get out of here, and perhaps I will let her live."

  Grant considered taking the shot, but it was risky, too risky. He stared at the Nazi.

  "Listen, pal, let her go. We'll take the priest as well, and we'll leave you here unharmed. Otherwise, we'll have to kill you. If you shoot the girl, well, that's up to you, but you die. However this goes down, I promise you we're not leaving her here with you. Your only chance to live is to let her go."

  He thought for a few moments and then nodded. "I have your promise, your word of honor?"

  "I'm no fucking Nazi. Yeah, you got it."

  "And you?"

  He looked at Gunter, who inclined his head. "As an officer of the Wehrmacht, you have my word I will not attack you, provided you let the prisoners go."

  The Standartenfuhrer smiled and nodded. "Very well, take her."

  He lowered his pistol, and Grant rushed forward to grab Margot before she collapsed. Gunter staggered over to the priest and inspected his wounds.

  "This man needs a hospital and quickly. What did they do to him?"

  "They crucified him," Margot said, "They tried to get me to give them information."

  "What information? All you did was cook some food."

  "I'm sure they did it for their enjoyment. They must have known after the first torture sessions I had nothing to give them."

  He looked at the SD officer, who shrugged. "It's war, mein Herr. Nothing more."

  "Yeah." He looked at Margot, "Can you walk? I need to help Gunter with the priest. He's been shot and won't manage on his own."

  "I can manage, but I hate to leave this monster alive."

  "I gave him my word. Let's not give him the satisfaction of knowing we're no better than him."

  She glared at the SD man for a few moments, and then spat in his face. "Next time I see you, I'll kill you. When you leave here, you'd better get back to Germany, because nowhere in France will ever be safe for you."

  Her voice was eerie, cold and calm, and not a man in that room doubted she meant it. He inclined his head but kept silent. Grant went to help Gunter with the priest, and between them they carried him outside the cell. Margot followed, and they dragged the semi-comatose man to the top of the stairs and out to the lobby. Anderson stood there supervising his men as they carried sealed wooden boxes out to the waiting M10. His face wore a beaming smile.

  "It's all here, just like you said. Jesus Christ, we're rich." His face fell as he looked at the priest, "What happened to him?"

  "The same as Jesus Christ, but he'll make it if we get him to a medic. How did we make out with the money?"

  "Pretty good. It's all Swiss francs. Apparently, the SS were worried the war may go against them and German currency could collapse. They swapped their money for Swiss currency."

  "How much do we each wind up with?"

  "About fifty thousand dollars, that's a rough estimate. Maybe a little more."

  "Fifty thousand dollars?"

  "Yep. Not bad for a few hours of work."

  "Right. We'll help these people outside and make preparations to leave."

  "To leave? Our army is on the way into town."

  "That's right. After they've flattened it with artillery."

  The Lieutenant was silent for a few seconds and then nodded. "Maybe we'd better get out of Dodge."

  "Good plan. We need transport for the civilians. There's no way they can manage on the hull of a tank. The German is in a bad way, too. Too much jolting and he'll bleed out."

  "I'll send a couple of my men to look around. There has to be a car somewhere around here. Jefferson, Engstrom, on the double. I need you to..."

  The crash of a shell landing somewhere in the town cut him off.

  "Forget the car," Grant said quickly, "If we don't get out now, we're dead. Margot, let me help you onto the hull of Minnie. Someone give these two guys a hand. We're leaving."

  Another shell landed, this time closer and in the next street, and they manhandled Gunter and Father Bouchet onto the hull of Minnie Mouse. Margot cradled the priest in her arms as the infantrymen climbed aboard. At that moment, Morgan and Kuruk appeared, taking the corner at high speed and halting in a shower of ripped up cobblestones. Anderson's soldiers swarmed up onto the hulls as the Major leaned down, his expression grim.

  "Grant, we need to leave."

  "You don't say. Did you get that other Panzer?"

  "He won't be returning to the Fatherland, that I promise. Now let's get out of here." He paused and looked uncomfortable, "Uh, did we get the, er..."

  "The money. Yeah, Swiss francs, no sweat."

  "How much?"

  "Enough to pay for your wife's treatment, Sir. Now let's get moving."

  Solly looked at him curiously. "I thought it was..."

  "Shut up, Solly. Angel, get us out of here. Major, if you don't mind, I'll take the lead, with the M10 behind, then you and Dan. It seemed to work before."

  "Sure."

  Morgan understood. Grant wanted to get Margot away first, and if there was any trouble from the German garrison, the armor at the back would form a barrier to protect her. That was Josh Grant's theory, anyway.

  Explosions like the Fourth of July; flames, flares, a myriad of colors, and plenty of whizz-bangs lighted the town, but this was no celebration, unless it was a celebration of death. As they exited the town, buildings behind them crumpled from shells landing, and then a direct hit on an ammunition dump caused an explosion that rocked the vehicles on their springs. Behind them, more buildings toppled, razed by the destructive force of hundred of shells.

  They made it to the outskirts of the town without any sign of the enemy. He breathed a sigh of relief, what had seemed like an impossible dream had come true. He'd freed her and dealt a solid blow to the Nazis. Solly popped up beside him and stuck his head out of the turret to suck in the fresh air. He caught Grant's eye.

  "A hundred thousand dollars each, Sarge? No way."

  No one could hear them over the roar of the engine, the grinding of the tracks, and the explosions from the artillery barrage. They could have sung a Wagnerian opera and no one would have heard.

  "So?"

  "I heard it was more like fifty."

  "Yeah, I heard the same."

  "Morgan's going to be disappointed when he finds out the real figure."

  "He won't. Find out, I mean. He'll have my share."

  Solly's eyes widened. "Your share? You're kidding me. All this, and you come away with nothing?"

  "I got what I wanted." He glanced at Margot, who was trying to make the priest more comfortable. Father Bouchet seemed to have come round, and she was whispering to him as she worked.

  "Worth fifty thousand dollars?"

  He looked at her for long moments and felt the powerful emotion of tenderness at the sight of her beauty.

  "Every penny."

  She glanced around, saw him staring at her, and smiled back at him.

  Oh yeah, she's worth it. That's one girl in a million, almost worth fighting a war for.

  They rumbled out of town, heading in the same direction as they came in. As the last house slipped behind them and the sunken lane came into sight, every man breathed a sigh of relief. No matter what happened now, they'd done it. Pulled off the impossible, at last something worth fighting for. They were almost home free. It was a miracle. Some of them pulled out concealed bottles of booze, brandy they'd 'liberated' on the way across Normandy, and took a few swigs. Some high-fived each other, and on the hull of each tank, men chatted about their plans for the future. Josh allowed himself to relax.

  We made it.

  * * *

  Outside Saint-Lo, 21.20, July 11, 1944

  "Obersturmfuhrer, are you sure this is the way?"

  "Dammit, Heinrich, I don't know. I can see the town right ahead of us. If it hadn't been for that damn hedgerow, we'd have been there by now. These Frenchmen need to put up some road signs for their country."

  "The Fuhrer says it's our country," Lenz reminded him.

  "Well the fucking Fuhrer isn't here, is he?" Manhausen snarled, "He's hiding in some fucking bunker in Berlin or wherever he goes these days."

  He immediately wished he could take it back. There was a silence, as they digested what he'd said. It was treason, no question.

  "I didn't mean it like that, not the way it came out," he said quickly.

  He knew it was too late. Lenz would gleefully recount his remark to that SD relative of his.

  Fuck him!

  "Sir, there's movement up ahead," Franz shouted a warning, "Armor, coming up fast."

  The driver's night vision was legendary. Rolf could see the shadows up ahead in the sunken lane, but that's all they were, shadows.

  "Relax, Saint-Lo is in our hands. They'll be our own Panzers, probably coming out to reinforce the defenses.

  "They don't look like our Panzers, Obersturmfuhrer."

  "They must be ours. Panthers, perhaps."

  A shaft of moonlight suddenly lit up the dark, moving shapes ahead of them.

  He screamed a warning. "Shermans, dead ahead! Gunner, load AP, driver, get off the track."

  He slid down into the turret and slammed the hatch closed. His heart was thudding from the adrenaline pouring through his system, and he squinted through the vision port at the oncoming armor. Another shaft of moonlight lit up the turret of the lead tank, and he felt his guts turn to ice as he recognized the cartoon character painted on the side. Minnie Mouse.

  "Gunner, have you got a shot?"

  "Almost, Sir. They keep dropping out of sight in this damned sunken lane."

  "As soon as you see them, kill them. The lead tank, hit it," he screamed, "Keep hitting it until it's no more than scrap."

  "Sir?"

  He knew he'd let it get to him, the superstition that had followed him all these past weeks.

  Why am I worried? It’s only a Sherman.

  "Destroy him, Boll. Kill him!"

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Strange, the night was cold.

  * * *

  Town of Saint-Lo, 22.00, July 11, 1944

  "Tiger!"

  Vern's shout interrupted his reverie, and he looked around. He saw nothing.

  "Shut up, Vern. There ain't' no..."

  "Over there, he just left the track, and he's driving into the field. I tell you it's a fucking Tiger."

  As his eyes pierced the gloom, he made out a shape, dark, huge and menacing, moving through the field, and just visible through gaps in the hedgerow. The hull was massive, with a flat section at the front of the vehicle, just below the Henschel turret. The gun was enormous, obscene in its outsized length. It looked almost as if the mechanized monster would tip over from the weight of the barrel.

  It was like something from a nightmare. It was death, and he couldn't help the shout.

  "Tiger!"

  Chapter Twelve

  Half a mile outside Saint-Lo, 01.30, July 12, 1944

  Major-General Charles Hunter Gerhardt stood beneath a canvas shelter hastily erected between two vehicles, one a Willys jeep and the other a 'deuce and a half' truck. He was listening to the reports from his men.

  "We're inside the town, Sir. Some of the lead elements of the 29th are fighting their way through the defenders, and we had a report of American armor attacking Krauts hard inside the town itself."

  Gerhardt winced, as he did every time someone used the pejorative term, 'Kraut.' With a name like Gerhardt, it wasn't too hard to work out he had more than a few ancestors who were Krauts. He sighed; he'd forced himself to ignore it ever since Hitler came to power and began this insane war. The report about their armor inside the town didn't ring true, and he questioned the officer, a very young, newly promoted Captain. They'd lost more than a few officers since they landed at Omaha, and promotion was quick.

  "Which armor, Captain? Who sent them forward? Where's Colonel Lindbergh?"

  "Here, Sir."

  The elegant, patrician senior officer stepped forward. He looked like he'd just attended a dinner party.

  "Lindbergh, what's this about your armor inside the town? Could it be true?"

  "Er, well, Sir, I'm not sure. Maybe it's another unit."

  "Sure. Like the 12th SS Panzer Hitler Jugend that's been bugging us all this time."

  "I meant a company from another battalion, General."

  "Which battalion? Unless they've put bigger engines in those Shermans to drive faster, who else could it be?"

  "Er, no one, Sir."

  "You're damn right, no one. If there're American tanks in there, they have to be the 745th. Find out who they are, and tell me how come they made it in while the rest of your outfit is sitting on their butts out here getting wet."

  "Yes, Sir, right away."

  He went off to find someone he could dispatch to check it out. Gerhardt watched him go.

  "Useless tailor's dummy," he muttered under his breath.

  "Sir?"

  Shit, I didn't mean for anyone to hear that.

  "Nothing. You can halt the artillery barrage in one hour. We don't want to kill our own soldiers. Get the men moving. It looks like Saint-Lo is ours. All we need do is walk in and hang our shingle on the door."

  * * *

  Town of Saint-Lo, 04.30, July 12, 1944

  "All of you, off the hull and board the other tanks."

  "Off the hull?"

  "Now!"

  He watched as infantrymen helped Margot and Father Bouchet down to the ground and across to the other two Shermans. Margot looked up at him, shoving away a soldier who was trying to hurry her along.

  "Josh..."

  "It's okay, Margot. We'll be fine."

  "You cannot do this. Not on your own."

  "I don't have a choice."

  "That's crazy! Why don't you have a choice?"

  A good question, how can I explain to her that premonition I had when we came ashore? How do I tell her I knew it would end like this, just Minnie and the Tiger; it has to be.

  "This won't take long."

  She gave him a sorrowful look. "Josh..."

  Already they were bundling her on top of Kuruk's Cochise, and he turned away. It was time to call Morgan.

  "Major, I'm going after the enemy armor. Take care of these people."

  "What kind of enemy armor, Grant? Why are you sending those people across to me and Dan?"

  "Just get those people to safety, Sir."

  A pause. "Why do this on your own? What's so important?"

  There it is again. The one question I can't answer.

  "It's something I have to do, Sir. Give my regards to your wife."

  "My wife? Of course, but..."

  "Good luck, Sir. Take care of them."

  Especially one of them.

  He shouldn't have made that comment about Morgan's wife. It was a death thought, and the last thing on his mind was dying. Not when they'd just located and rescued Margot after he'd thought her dead. However, it was too late to change anything; it was something he had to do. Alone. It had been bugging him ever since they came in on the LST and saw that big mother up on the cliff top.

  Why am I so certain it’s the same one? Why do I think it has to come down to this, a one-on-one duel with the biggest, meanest Nazi bully on the block? I just know.

  "Driver, advance. Gunner, load AP."

  "AP loaded."

  "Stay sharp, this is a Tiger."

  "They're big, bad fuckers," he heard Vern say. No one contradicted him.

  We all know that, Vern.

  "Driver, make a one hundred and eighty degree turn. We're heading back into town."

  "Into town? You sure, Sarge?"

  He smiled at Angel's astonishment. "I'm sure. This is a Tiger, and out in the open we're dead meat. The only chance we have is inside the town where he can't maneuver."

  "They're shelling the town," Solly reminded him, "We might take a hit from our own side."

  "So could the Tiger. Do it, Angel."

  The tracks squealed as he spun Minnie around, knocked over a stone wall and plunged back toward Saint-Lo. A stray shell burst close by, and Grant ducked inside the turret as steel fragments sliced through the air. He popped his head back out in time to see the enemy tank fire. The boom of the big 88mm main gun, and a second later, the whistle of the shell sped past them, a miss, but not by much. The gunner had offset the shell to allow for their forward speed and miscalculated. The projectile struck a rusting tractor a hundred yards away and blew it to small fragments.

  That could have been us. Dear God, I've led them into this.

  Seconds later, they were inside the town. As they passed a narrow intersection, he glimpsed the Tiger moving toward them, only fifty or sixty yards away. The German commander glanced his way for a split second, and then they were once again out of sight. In that split second, he'd seen the man's face.

  He knows, the same as I do. Good.

  A shell smashed into a spot on the tarmac a split second after they'd rolled past. They avoided three more shells that demolished a house in the next street, and debris bounced off the rear of the hull. They were lucky; inside the town it was impossible for the German to get a clear shot. Out in open country, it would be a different story. They'd be dead.

  He briefly considered closing the hatch, but in the close, dark confines of the built up area he needed his vision to be one hundred percent. They passed Gestapo Headquarters as the familiar building loomed out of the night. It had already been partly destroyed by artillery shells. Getting them out had been a close thing.

  The Tiger could well know the reason they'd come into town ahead of the main force. After all, they were SS, and everyone knew they were linked to the Gestapo. If the tank commander worked it out, he could be waiting for them in ambush, expecting them to appear in a predetermined place. In which case, he needed to do the unexpected.