"Driver, take the next three left turns. Get us moving in the opposite direction."

  "Out of town? You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "You got it."

  The Sherman lurched when Angel swung through the first ninety-degree turn, just as a huge shell smashed into the house ahead of them. He looked in the direction it had come from.

  The Tiger commander’s clever, very clever. He stopped short of Gestapo Headquarters, waiting for us to present him with a clear shot. If I hadn't given the order to turn, it would have been 'farewell Minnie Mouse.'

  They squeezed through the narrow streets, and he had another thought.

  If the German can predict our movement, he'll expect Minnie to go around the block and come up behind him. It wasn’t my intention, but the three turns will do exactly that.

  "Driver, skip the next turn, keep heading south along this street. When you see a junction, take a right."

  A pause. "You got it."

  He smiled; he could almost hear Angel muttering, "Why don't you make up your damn mind?"

  He could sense their anxiety, their terror; it was like a dark fog that clouded the interior of the hull. Yet they trusted him to make the right call. He needed that trust, needed them to jump when he told them to jump, because a split second's delay could kill them all.

  They turned south, and now they were heading out of town. He tried to work out where the Tiger could be waiting.

  Where will he set an ambush for us to fall into their trap? The Gestapo Headquarters, it commands the center of town. Is he waiting behind a wall of the ruined building, with the long barrel poking through a hole in the masonry?

  More shells were smashing into the town, churning the rubble over and over. There were plenty of walls to shelter behind, enough concealment for a company of Tigers.

  He had to take a risk, a hell of a risk. Then again, in war everything was a risk. He had to assume the Tiger was waiting for him in the center of town, and that meant the Gestapo building, which offered the most concealment. As soon as Minnie approached, he'd have time to line up a clear shot. At short range, the 88mm would penetrate their frontal armor like paper.

  Dammit, it'd penetrate their frontal armor at most any range.

  More shells were falling around them, and he forced himself to ignore them. He had to outthink that Tiger.

  "Driver, new direction, head toward the east side of town. Skirt around the outskirts to the north, and then come back in to the center. We're heading for the rear of the Gestapo building.

  A pause, this time longer, a lot longer. Followed by a sigh.

  "The outside? You sure this time?"

  "I'm sure. Real sure."

  "You know there's a Tiger out there hunting our ass?"

  "I know."

  Another sigh, "You got it."

  Grant turned it over and over in his mind.

  Do I have it right, or has that Nazi SS bastard outthought me again?

  He was so preoccupied he almost missed the enemy troops who suddenly appeared fifty yards in front of them, two soldiers, one supporting an MG42 on his shoulder, and the other behind the butt, about to hose them down with a stream of 7.92mm Mauser bullets. It wasn't these two men who would kill them. It was the missile team who followed.

  Two Panzergrenadiers, one with an anti-tank launcher on his shoulder and the other carried spare missiles. He ducked down into the turret and slammed the hatch closed. The first salvo from the machine gun smacked into the hull. Some of the bullets ricocheted off the hatch before he got it closed.

  A close one!

  "Vern, anti-tank crew missile ahead! Nail them. Solly, shoot those bastards!"

  As he spoke, he grabbed for the machine gun. Before he could cut loose, Vern fired, loosing off a stream of lead at the enemy. A half second later, Solly fired his first round. There hadn't been time to switch to HE. The shell was AP, ready for the Tiger, but the projectile exploded next to the soldiers, adding to the carnage created by Vern's machine gun.

  "Good shooting, men. Angel, don't slow, roll over 'em."

  "You got it."

  They barely noticed the slight jar as the tracks churned over the bloody remains of the four Germans. Then they were past. He opened the hatch and looked back. A mess of blood and tissue lay on the narrow street, mixed with fragments of metal flattened by Minnie's tracks. He didn't feel any emotion at the ghastly sight. It was just part of fighting a war. Even the urge for the revenge he'd sought when he came over from England had evaporated, and he'd begun to see his brother's death in some kind of box. A box called war, and in war, people died. He hadn't forgotten, would never forget, but the time to mourn would come later.

  He needed to concentrate on the now. This was unfinished business. Ever since that dark, dismal morning on Omaha Beach, he'd been heading inexorably for this day. The day when accounts would be settled, the day that would decide who would live. And who would die.

  "We're coming up on that Gestapo building," Angel sung out, "What do you want me to do?"

  "Hold it! Halt right here until we can take a slow look around."

  "You got it."

  They were behind the big building, and it was unrecognizable, a heap of broken masonry. As they looked, another shell smashed into the ruins. Without doubt, they could drive straight into the rear, and with any luck they'd come up behind the Tiger, who he assumed would be waiting for them to approach from the front.

  We’ll only get one chance, he cautioned himself. If the German gets wind of us, he'll bring that big gun to bear, and it’ll be the end.

  He felt uneasy. He'd worked out how to outwit the German, and he was convinced he'd done the right thing. Except they still hadn't located the hiding place of the Tiger, and there were several places big enough to hide an armored vehicle inside the ruins. If they chose the wrong one, he'd be waiting for them. The seconds ticked by. They watched and waited with the engine ticking over.

  Which way?

  "Angel, you see anything in there?"

  "Nothing."

  "Solly?"

  "Nope."

  He briefly considered climbing out to take a look around, but these Germans weren't fools. They'd likely have someone watching, and the town was still full of Germans like the four soldiers they'd killed only moments before.

  There’s bound to be snipers around somewhere.

  He had to choose. Any longer and the enemy would spot them. He wracked his brains as he studied the wreckage of the building, working out angles, lines of fire, trying to decide the best place for a heavy tank to wait in ambush. And then it hit him. He never knew why it came to him so suddenly, only that they were seconds from disaster.

  "Driver, back up, back up! Fast! Gunner, load AP. Stand by to engage! Target is behind us!"

  Minnie's tracks squealed as Angel hit the gas and shot back. The part of the building where they'd been waiting disappeared in a massive explosion.

  The bastard!

  He'd anticipated their every move, and instead of waiting to ambush them inside the building, he'd hidden in another building across the street, knowing they'd try to get up behind him.

  Angel drove recklessly in reverse, hardly aware of where he was going, just getting them out of trouble. Solly rotated the main gun to target the enemy, but he didn't fire. There was still nothing in sight. Grant studied the big building across the street. It looked like it had been some kind of auto repair shop, big, timber double doors, peeling paintwork.

  There! The end of a 88mm barrel is poking out through the gap between the doors, unseen in the darkness. Nice try, Kraut. You almost had us.

  Then he lost sight of it as Angel retreated further along the street, out of sight of the German. He stopped at an intersection.

  "What do you want me to do now, Sarge?"

  He quickly explained where the German had to be hiding.

  "Angel, we'll use the same plan. Try and get behind him. Quick, you need to..."

  "Sarge."

  "Not now, Solly, we're..."

  "Sarge, we're fucked. Finished."

  "What?"

  "He's coming out. Take a look."

  He swiveled his head to look around. The huge, menacing shape of the German tank had pushed out from cover and waited less than one hundred yards away. They'd outthought him every time.

  The gun looked huge. It was huge. A massive cannon, and inside the breech there'd be an AP shell that was about to blast Minnie into oblivion. He didn't move. Nothing moved. Everything had come to a standstill like a frozen tableau.

  "You want me to put a shell into him?" Solly asked quietly.

  "Negative. Before you can rotate the turret to bring the gun to bear, we'll be dead. He's got us cold, Solly. I'm sorry, guys."

  "There must be something."

  "No."

  We could bale out. We might make it."

  "No, we won't."

  He didn't know why he denied them the chance of making a run for it. Only that he was certain it was the wrong move. He didn't know why.

  "Sarge, we could..."

  "Wait."

  * * *

  Town of Saint-Lo, 05.42, July 12, 1944

  "What are you waiting for, Obersturmfuhrer? Give the order. Shoot the Ami! If you refuse to fire, you would be a traitor to the Reich."

  They were staring at him, but Lenz had gone too far.

  "How dare you, Sturmann Lenz! I make the decisions about when to shoot, not you. In future, keep your mouth shut."

  It wasn't to be. The fourteen-year-old loader was bolstered by his hatred of the enemy, by adulation of his Fuhrer, and the knowledge he'd always have the support of his uncle, the SD Standartenfuhrer.

  "I will not be silent," he snarled, "Not this time. There's an enemy out there, and you hesitate to shoot. This is treason, Obersturmfuhrer, no question. Either you kill that tank, or I will report your actions to Standartenfuhrer Schulz. You know the penalty. They'll shoot you as a traitor."

  He smiled. The fanatical little shit had made up his mind, and he knew nothing would change it.

  Fuck him, and fuck his SD uncle!

  "Leave it, Siegfried," Unterscharfuhrer Boll advised the young loader, "If you rat on Obersturmfuhrer Manhausen, you're on your own. You'd be making a big mistake."

  "I don't give a damn what you think." His voice had risen to a shrill scream, almost as if his voice hadn't broken, "This is treason against the Fuhrer. Perhaps you're all in it together. I'll give him your names, and we'll see what the Gestapo makes of your excuses. Don't ask me to change my mind. It's made up. You're a bunch of traitors, all of you."

  No one spoke. It was a pivotal moment; his outburst meant they faced an inevitable future, arrest, and incarceration in a Gestapo dungeon, torture, and death. It had gone too far now, much too far. No matter what happened, they would have the threat hanging over their heads.

  "Why won't you shoot?" Boll asked quietly, so Lenz couldn't hear.

  "I don't know, Heinrich. It's just, well, a feeling."

  "If you're not going to shoot, perhaps we should get out of here. I don't understand your reasons, but if we don't kill that Sherman, he'll come at us."

  Rolf suddenly glimpsed troops racing past an intersection less than four hundred meters away.

  Americans. Enemy troops. They’re here.

  "Yes. Tell Lenz to load HE."

  "HE, Sir? That's enemy armor we're facing."

  "There are American soldiers up ahead. They'll be here shortly."

  "Yes, Sir. But the Sherman..."

  "Do it, Boll."

  Why can't I give the order to destroy that tank? What is the thread that connects us, and has connected us for the past month? Why do we keep meeting? I only wish I knew the reason. And what do I do about Lenz? The entire crew is in mortal danger. He'll carry through with his threat, no question. The Gestapo is far more dangerous than the Americans.

  "The breech is jammed."

  He looked down to where Lenz was struggling to unlock the breech mechanism and switch shells.

  "What do you mean, jammed?"

  "It's the powder charge. Somehow it's jammed inside the loading mechanism. It must have been faulty. I can't extract it, and the gun won't fire, not without blowing us sky high."

  "Boll, check it out."

  "I'm looking now, Sir.

  Rolf waited; all the while he was watching the Sherman.

  Why don't they do something? They think the Tiger has them beat, of course, so what would be the point? Or is it something else? Does my opposite number in the tank named Minnie Mouse feel some strange connection, like I do? Maybe.

  "It's fucked."

  He looked down at Boll, who had his arms covered in thick grease.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Somehow a double charge got loaded in the breech by mistake, and the second charge displaced the first, so it jammed it at an angle inside the barrel. If we'd fired just now, the gun would have exploded. Lenz, the little fucker, he screwed up. Nearly got us all killed."

  "I, I...it wasn't my fault. Standartenfuhrer Schulz will tell you I am a dedicated..."

  The report was loud in the confined space. A single shot fired from a 9mm pistol. Boll stared at his victim, at the body of Lenz as it slumped to the steel floor of the tank. They were silent for several seconds, and then he handed the gun to Manhausen.

  "I'm sorry, Sir. Arrest me if you wish. He nearly got us all killed. He'd become a dangerous liability."

  "You mean when he messed up loading the gun, or with his SD relative?"

  "Does it matter? Either way, I confess to my crime."

  Rolf sighed, as if he didn't have enough trouble. "A pistol misfired, went off by mistake, Heinrich, that's all. There was no crime. I suggest we concern ourselves with what we do about that Sherman."

  He handed the gun back to Boll.

  "If we'd tried to kill it, we'd all be dead," Boll pointed out.

  "I realize that."

  "Do you think it is fate, Obersturmfuhrer? You know the Reichsfuhrer SS believes in fate, and in the stars. So does the Fuhrer, I believe. They say it enables them to foretell the future."

  "They didn't foresee the crappy mess we're in, Heinrich."

  No one said a word. Not until Franz finally asked if he should drive them away.

  "The moment we move, he'll start shooting," Rolf said.

  "So what do we do?"

  "I don't know."

  * * *

  Town of Saint-Lo, 05.55, July 12, 1944

  "What do we do?" Dale asked, "Do I load AP or HE? I mean; they could be about to bail out. Maybe there's something wrong."

  "Just hold it. Wait."

  "Wait for what?" Solly snarled, "They're fucking SS Nazis. We're here to kill them, not have a pow-wow with them."

  "I said wait."

  They heard the tone in his voice. It was something he'd learned in the courtroom when questioning a witness, what he called his, 'don't fuck with me' voice. People just listened. They waited, and someone murmured, "Jesus!"

  The hatch of the Tiger opened. A man appeared and climbed down to the street, followed by the three further members of the crew, three of them. He'd always heard it was a crew of five in a Tiger. He cautioned himself to remain alert in case they pulled something.

  Is this a trap? What's the fifth guy up to inside that steel hull? But why would they need to do that? They have a Tiger.

  "It looks like they're going to surrender," Angel said, "Jesus, they'll never believe this back at Battalion. We've beaten a Tiger."

  Did we? Or was it something else? Like fate.

  "They're just kids," Solly exclaimed, his voice shocked. He was staring at them through his periscope.

  "I'm getting out to take a look at them."

  "I'll come with you," the Jewish gunner added, "Be careful, they're still Nazis, even if they are kids."

  But his voice had lost some of the hard bitterness. Killing children was not the reason any of them had joined up. Even Solly. The two Americans climbed out of the hatch and down to the street. They approached the black-clad tankers, and as Solly had said, they were kids. Children. Except for one of them, obviously the commander. An officer, a hard-bitten veteran, his eyes were watchful, and his face bore the scars of many conflicts. Grant decided it was for him to kick off. They were the victors.

  "The name's Sergeant Josh Grant. What do you want?" He didn't offer to shake the hand offered by the German officer.

  The man's lips twisted into a cynical smile as he withdrew his hand. "I am Obersturmfuhrer Rolf Manhausen. What do I want?" He sighed, "I want the war to end, and I want these children of mine to live long enough so they can go home to their families."

  "Is that all?"

  The scarred officer nodded. He looked haunted. Beaten. "That is all."

  "You know you've lost. I mean; Germany has lost. You're finished, pal."

  He nodded. "I think we all know that, although some will not admit it. They'll keep fighting until the very end, until the Allies batter down the gates of Berlin and destroy what is left inside the rubble left by your bombers."

  "Why didn't you shoot? A Sherman is no match for a Tiger. We all know that. You could have killed us."

  "I don't know. It was something. I had some kind of a feeling. I saw you come ashore on June 6th."

  "That was you? Up on the cliff top?"

  "I was there, yes. Perhaps you felt something?"

  "Maybe."

  "What will you do with us?" the German asked him.

  He studied the man for several seconds, undecided about how to play this. Then he looked at the kids who comprised the crew of the Tiger.

  What kind of men send their children to do the fighting for them? They belong in a school, not in a heavy Panzer.

  He made up his mind.

  "Get out of here."

  The German looked puzzled. "I'm sorry?"

  "Leave, vamoose, go away. Go home."

  "You're serious?"

  "Yeah."

  "And my tank?"

  "I assume you can't fight with it. Otherwise you would have fired on us. Something's wrong?"