“It didn’t teach them anything, Harry. They’re going in again, but this time on foot and with automatic weapons.”

  “Shit. Can they hold them?”

  “There’re eleven men down there, low on ammunition, and hunkered down in a wet ditch, against thirty vengeful Krauts armed with automatic weapons hitting them from both flanks. What do you think?”

  “I think they’re screwed.”

  “Unless we do something.”

  “Do something? For Chrissake, there’s not a damn thing we can do.”

  Cassidy watched the Germans racing out to the flanks of the beleaguered platoon. Behind them lay the heavy anti-aircraft guns lying in wait for the next wave of aircraft carrying paratroopers. Byrd was right, there wasn’t a damn thing they could do. He looked up at the sky as if somebody up there was about to send them a message.

  Harry saw the direction of his gaze. “Forget it, pal. There ain’t gonna be any miracles this day.”

  Chapter Four

  He was still looking up at the sky when he saw the dark shape descending the steep angle, yet in total silence. A Waco glider that must’ve been released from its tow plane early, and wherever it was going, it was way off course. He shouted to the platoon to alert them to the arrival of fresh troops, but they didn’t hear. In desperation, he pointed his Garand in the air and squeezed the trigger three times. It was enough, and he saw the Sarge staring at him. He pointed toward the glider, descending fast and about to land. Logan waved an acknowledgment.

  The Germans were too preoccupied with their flanking attack to notice the Waco glider until it hit the ground. They had to be American troops from the First Allied Airborne Army, probably the 508th, one of the three regiments of the 82nd. The pilot of the flimsy wood and fabric machine made a perfect belly landing in the field, and the nose tilted upward to allow the troops to emerge. A dozen soldiers spilled out, close enough for Logan to shout a warning.

  The Germans opened fire, and they hit the deck, lying on the grass as bullets hit around them. But these glider-borne troops were better armed than their paratrooper cousins, including a Browning M1919, and they were fresh and eager to do battle. Inside of a minute they had the machine gun in action, and now it was the Germans’ turn to dive for cover. They’d been shocked by the abrupt arrival of the troopers from the glider, but they could still have overwhelmed the outnumbered Americans. Instead, they cut their losses and ran back to the emplacement, and now it was to the four troopers waiting on top of the dike.

  “Harry, we’ll hit them as they come back. Make sure that machine gun is ready.”

  “I loaded a fresh belt while we were waiting, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. They lost two or three men, but there’s still almost thirty, against four of us. I don’t call those good odds.”

  “We also have our platoon and those new men, and they’re not about to give them a free ride. We have them squeezed, and we’re gonna kill the bastards.”

  Right then, they heard Logan bellow an order for the men to heap more misery on the fleeing Germans. Most of the glider troops dropped to a kneeling position and joined in the fun, blazing away at the confused Germans. Still, the enemy may have stood a chance, except for the four soldiers waiting on top of the dike. Cassidy waited until they were inside one hundred yards and shouted, “Let them have it!”

  The gunfight was devastating, the chatter of Harry’s machine gun, and the three Garands squirting out bullets as fast as they could pull triggers. Inside the first few seconds at least ten soldiers went down, dead or dying. The rest milled around in indecision as more bullets packed into them, but they were Panzergrenadiers, elite troops, and they didn’t hesitate for long. Several more had fallen, but a dozen men changed direction and charged up the side of the dike. They couldn’t reach the emplacement without taking even heavier casualties, but someone had decided to deal with the top of the dike.

  They continued firing as the enemy got nearer, but they were climbing the earthwork on their bellies, difficult targets except for the helmets that protected them from the worst of the American fire. They managed to kill more men, but five survived close enough to come at them in a final rush.

  Cassidy realized his rifle was out, and he’d used all his spare ammo. He shouted at Byrd. “Harry, give it to them. Use the machine gun!”

  “I’m out. I just used the last belt.”

  Steiner shouted, “Ray, I’m out, too. All I have is the Colt.”

  Rothman squeezed off his last three bullets and shouted, “Me, too.”

  He snatched his M1911 from a holster. “Use the handguns. Get the bastards!”

  “They have MP-38s!” Rothman shouted as a storm of 9mm chewed into the ground next to him.

  “I don’t care what they have. Kill the bastards! Don’t wait for them. We need to get down there and shove those MP-38s down their throats.”

  He led the way, racing down the side of the dike. The nearest German was ten yards away, and he squeezed off a long burst from his machine pistol. Ray dived the last two yards beneath the hail of bullets and grabbed the Jerry around his legs. Unbalanced by the violent assault, he fell backward, and Cassidy brought up his Colt, putting a bullet into his skull. More Germans were coming toward them, so close if any man squeezed off a shot, he couldn’t miss. Yet now the machine pistols were an encumbrance, and the Americans got close enough to grapple them, and they were unable to bring them to bear.

  This was the moment for the Colt, and they fired repeatedly. Ernie Rothman went down, torn apart by a long burst from an MP-38 fired by a German standing far enough back to bring his weapon to bear, but Harry and Ray fired at the same time. The .45 rounds tore into his chest, flinging him to the ground. A soldier loomed up next to Ray. He’d managed to draw his sidearm, a Walther PPK and was trying to take aim. Cassidy got there first, aimed and fired, missed, aimed and fired again, and missed again. He fired a third time, and the firing pin clicked on empty. But he was close enough to lash out. His boot connected with the man’s pistol, and it flew to the ground.

  The German was big, unshaven, with a cruel, brutal face and eyes that glared at him with a fierce intensity. He reached out with his hands, grabbed Cassidy around the neck, and began to squeeze. Ray felt everything going red as he fought for breath, beating the empty Colt against the German’s head, but it was like beating the trunk of an oak tree. It had no effect, and the hands relentlessly kept squeezing. He was within seconds of passing out unconscious, knowing death would quickly follow.

  His hand floundered to get purchase on the soldier’s arms to prize away that machine-like grip, but it was a battle he was losing. His head swam from lack of oxygen to his brain, and he felt his strength waning. There was no way he could counter the soldier’s huge strength, and he was powerless to do anything other than die. He lost consciousness for a few seconds, and suddenly, wonderfully, he found he was able to breathe. Harry Byrd was standing over him holding the barrel of the MG-34 and grinning.

  “It makes a good club, this thing. The Krauts build them well.”

  “You hit him over the head with it?”

  A shrug. “Three times, he was one tough cookie, and it was lucky he was so busy trying to strangle you, he didn’t notice when I pulled off his helmet to reach his head. The last time I hit him his skull split open, and his strangling days are over. Hey, buddy, let me help you up.”

  He pulled him to his feet, and Cassidy looked down at the body of the huge German. Blood and brain matter was leaking from a massive wound on the side of his head, and all movement had stopped.

  What was it they say? The only good German is a dead German? I guess that makes him a good German.

  He took a few moments to recover, massaging his bruised neck. The platoon was running toward the dike, along with the troops who’d arrived in the glider. They came in a wedge, rushing toward the gap in the dike. Cassidy and the others climb to the top and looked down at the flak site. It was chaos. The soldiers manning the guns had looked out and seen the fate of the Panzergrenadiers, and it was unclear what they were doing. They’d have seen more than twenty American paratroopers racing toward them and understood they were the next targets. Military doctrine dictated they should have grabbed their small arms and readied to defend themselves.

  Military doctrine had gone out the window. Men were running every which way, throwing down their weapons, picking up packs and personal equipment, bunching together, looking around wildly, and getting ready to run.

  “What the hell’s the matter with them?” Steiner grunted, “Why won’t they fight, there must be enough of them to defend their guns?”

  A few seconds later, Cassidy had the answer. He had been puzzled at the unusual stature of the soldiers. They looked small, like runts, their helmets too big for their heads. Like kids dressing up in their father’s uniforms, and a moment later he got it.

  “They’re kids! They must be Hitler Youth. I’ve heard they use them to man the flak defenses while the adults are away on the battlefront. They’re running scared. Let’s get down there and give them something to get scared about.”

  They slid down the far side of the dike, reached the ground, and ran toward the confused young soldiers. They were halfway there when Harry shouted, “Hey, we’re out of ammo. If they start shooting, we’re screwed.”

  “They won’t start shooting. Watch.”

  Cassidy was right. When they saw paratroopers rushing in through the gap in the dike, they started dropping their weapons and throwing up their hands. Cassidy, Byrd, and Steiner reach them first, and in case they were in any doubt, Steiner barked out an order in fluent German. They threw down the rest of their weapons and stood around looking terrified. Lieutenant Bond arrived with the rest of the men and took stock of the situation.

  “You did well, but we’re behind schedule for taking the bridge. Put those guns out of action, round up the prisoners, and keep them covered. We’ll leave two men to guard them while we head for the Nijmegen Bridge. Let’s hope we’re not too late.”

  The glider-borne troops shared out their ammunition. They left the flak emplacement fifteen minutes later, after smashing the breeches of the guns to make sure they’d never fight again without going back in the shop for a major refit. They left two lightly wounded men to guard the defeated Hitler Youth, and Bond led them toward the bridge at a fast pace. A half-hour later they sighted the massive, curving steel structure, and he shouted at them to pick up the pace.

  They were tired but exhilarated. They’d overcome a massive obstacle, defeated a unit of Panzergrenadiers, knocked out the major anti-aircraft site, and were nearly at the bridge.

  Harry grinned when they saw the steel structure in front of them. “Ray, we made it. They did everything to stop us, and yet we’re here. Next stop the bridge. Nothing can stop us.”

  “Except tanks, and we don’t have anti-tank mines.”

  “We haven’t seen any tanks since we got here. I reckon they’ve gone. We could…”

  He stopped talking. They were all looking to the east, to the roar of engines, and the rattle of steel tracks on the tarmac, “No, it can’t be. Not now, not after everything we’ve done.”

  Sergeant Logan held up a hand for silence, and a moment later he grimaced. “Yeah, tanks, and they’re heading this way. Shit.”

  Chapter Five

  They raced on toward the bridge. The first hurdle was to take it before the tanks arrived. Logan calculated they had little time to spare, and they made it onto the bridge within five minutes. Several German sentries tried to put up a fight, throwing their KAR98 rifles to their shoulders and squeezing off a few shots at the grim-faced paratroopers racing toward them, but it was no contest. The trooper carrying the Browning fired from the hip, squirting a hail of bullets at the sentries, and immediately they turned and ran. They raced onto the bridge, and they’d achieved their first objective, to take the bridge. The second objective was to hold it.

  “How do we hold the bridge against tanks?”

  The Lieutenant looked at Steiner. “First we need to know how many, and then we need anti-tank weapons, like bazookas.”

  Logan stared at him. “Lt, we don’t have any anti-tank weapons. We ain’t got nothing.”

  Bond looked around in confusion, working hard to make a decision, yet there was no decision to make. Without anti-tank weapons, they had nothing. No chance, and when the panzers arrived they may as well throw rocks at them for all the good they’d do. “I don’t… I’m not…”

  “Block the bridge!” Cassidy shouted, “With any luck, it’ll hold them until our army arrives.”

  “Block it with what?”

  He pointed at a tall warehouse standing at the side of the bridge approach road. A substantial building of six floors, and Bond shook his head. “There’s no way we could ever bring it down.”

  “Lt, what you see is the façade, the front of the building. It’s been bombed or shelled, and the building has gone. All we need do is find a way to push over the front. Six floors are gonna make one hell of a heap of rubble, which should be enough to stop a tank.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I still don’t think we can push the remains of that building over. It’s a tall order. It’ll need one helluva shove.”

  “You mean like from a vehicle? There has to be something around here.”

  “Cassidy, we don’t have time.”

  “We have to make time, Lieutenant. How about we look around for something heavy enough to do the job.”

  “And if the panzers arrive in the meantime?”

  “Then we’re screwed. Lt, we’re wasting time, why don’t we start looking?”

  Logan assigned them to spread out and search the area close to the bridge for anything that moved, and maybe have enough to ram the building façade with sufficient force to knock it over. Steiner found it, three hundred yards away. Nijmegen was a commercial port, served by the massive facility at Rotterdam. He found a huge dock crane, an enormous structure of steel supported on sixteen huge wheels, and he translated the specification on the steel plate fixed to the side.

  “I’ve got something. It says it’ll lift one hundred tons. I don’t know if that’ll be enough.”

  Cassidy raced over to inspect the monstrous crane. It looked capable of lifting a ship clean out of the water, but he wasn’t so sure about it knocking down the building. Although it was the only, and it had another factor in its favor, it was available. When he jumped into the control cab, he pressed the start button, and the engine roared into life.

  “I’ll take it down to the bridge and get in position.”

  Steiner looked doubtful. “I’m still not sure if it’ll do the job.”

  “Kurt, if this doesn’t do it, I’ll eat my helmet.”

  He grinned. “I’d soon as not be around when he spit out the bits.”

  Cassidy experimented with the mass of knobs and levers and managed to get the behemoth moving. It was slow, painfully slow, and it took almost a half-hour to crawl the few hundred yards to the bridge. Bond and Logan stared when the monstrous crane appeared, and the Sarge pointed behind the building. He moved the levers to guide the crane behind the façade of the warehouse, bumping over the pile of rubble until he was close to the single wall that was all that remained.

  He left the engine running, a monstrous, vibrating throb that shook the crane like a wet terrier, and hesitated, unsure if even something this big would be enough. The crane was huge and heavy, but the masonry it had to bring down was bigger and heavier. Harry climbed in to join him.

  “What’re you waiting for?”

  “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

  He looked up at the six stories, and he frowned. “It’s a tall order, Ray.”

  At that moment, the Sarge leaped into the cab to join them. “Tanks are coming. We’re out of time. It’s now or never, Cassidy.”

  “Roger that, Sarge. Here goes nothing.”

  The building was fifteen yards in front of the crane, and he moved levers to set it in motion. It covered the first ten yards and stopped. The wheels on one side had dropped into a channel in the ground that had once been the basement. He kept maneuvering, juggling with the controls, but it was hopeless.

  “We’re not going anywhere. It’s stuck.”

  “Cassidy, you have to do something. They’ll be on us a matter of minutes. This was your idea. Make it work, damn you!”

  He played with the controls some more and managed to get a tiny amount of traction. He jerked the controls, and the wheels went forward a few inches, lifted out of the basement, and dropped back. He moved the crane again, and found by rocking the enormous contraption backward and forward, he was starting to make progress. But it was slow, painfully slow.

  The Lieutenant ran toward them and cupped his hands to shout, “They’re almost on us. You men have around two minutes to push down that building, and then we’re screwed. Get it done!”

  He raced off to prepare the defenses as best they could. Infantrymen against armor, a recipe for suicide. Cassidy kept moving the crane backward and forward. Over the racket of the engine, they heard a new sound, tank engines, tracks clanking over the tarmac and concrete.

  Harry shouted, “I see them. There’s a gap at the side of the building, and four German panzers are heading toward the bridge. Shit, our guys have started shooting. What chance do they have? They’ll blast them into little pieces.”

  “You have to do this,” Logan shouted over the noise.

  “I know.”

  He took a chance, reversed back as far as he could, and pushed the levers all the way forward. At the last moment, he jerked the steering to the left, in the hopes the wheels would find some traction if they hit the edge of the basement at an angle. To his astonishment, the crane rose out of the pit and trundled on toward the building.