were too heavy for the existing flotation equipment and Carter was not brokenhearted about missing the initial fighting. Tanks, he’d pronounced, were not meant to float on anything.
“Hey, did you two see the drivers on the ducks?”
Morgan grinned. He knew what was coming. “No, Jeb, why don’t you tell me?”
“The drivers are Negroes. They are actually sending colored boys into combat. And you know what’s worse? They’ve got rifles in those trucks.”
“How else are they supposed to defend themselves?” Levin asked.
“They aren’t supposed to fight, especially not against white men. Or hadn’t you noticed that the krauts are white?”
Further discussion was silenced when the ducks and tanks began to move towards the river. “Looks like a herd of large turtles,” Carter mused.
The vehicles splashed into the water and began to plow forward. Now the German guns opened up and multitudes of splashes kicked up around the swarm of American craft. The German fire was so intense that it looked like giant raindrops from an immense storm were falling among the craft.
In order to fire, however, the German gunners had to expose themselves, if only for a moment. American counterfire began to hit around the newly exposed targets.
Carter swore and ran off. His tanks could hit the German guns and could be reloaded with additional ammo before any pontoon bridge was built.
A duck was hit and blew apart. Another was swamped by a nearby shell, sending men into the deep and still frigid water. The ducks and tanks surged on as still more were killed. When the attack force got to the middle of the river, German heavy artillery fired from sites dug in behind the hills. They could not be seen by American gunners who depended on spotters to find their targets, but the huge weapons could destroy with a near miss as waves and concussion took out still more ducks. Morgan longed to go up and spot for American gunners, but it was too dangerous with so much metal flying around in the air. His turn would come when the barrage lifted.
Behind the hills, American dive bombers bombed and strafed as the big German guns came out to fire. Enormous splashes landed among the landing craft. “Go faster,” someone near Jack yelled, but the ducks and tanks couldn’t. A glacial six miles an hour was about it for them. Several hundred small craft were now visible in a tableau that reminded many of the Normandy landings.
The ducks reached the far shore, which meant that the enemy bombardment would be lifted. “Time for me to go,” Jack said. He stood and trotted to the rear where his tiny air force awaited. His planes were ready to lift off and spot for the amphibious Sherman tanks that were also reaching the shore. Most of the tanks and ducks had made it, although a disconcerting number were either burning, sinking or had disappeared. As with the crossing of the Seine, heads could be seen bobbing in the dark waters of the Rhine. The tank flotation devices worked, and only a handful of the Shermans had been hit.
Tanks and ducks lumbered over the ground. About a hundred yards in, the ducks disgorged their human cargo and turned around for the next trip. The tanks, with infantry beside them, moved slowly into the heart of the Rhine Wall while German machine guns and antitank guns raked the advancing Americans.
Fingers of flame shot out from the Shermans that had been modified to work as armored flamethrowers. Fire hit the German bunkers and Levin felt he could hear the screams from those inside as they were turned into human torches. He had a hard time feeling any sympathy.
Above it all Jack’s plane flew high above the Rhine and then swooped down behind the hills that hid the German artillery. A nervous Snyder sat behind him.
Jack pointed downward. A short rail line was visible behind a hill. The Germans had hidden a big gun inside the hill, trundling it out on the tracks to fire at American targets, and rolling it back in for safety. But the act of firing had blown away its camouflage and the tracks stood out starkly.
“Aw shit, not again,” howled Snyder as Morgan dropped to below tree-top level and slowed the plane.
“Get ready, Snyder.” They approached the tracks. “Now,” yelled Morgan.
Snyder quickly dropped a couple of flares out the window. They burst into a bright and glaring light. Morgan quickly radioed his position and a pair of dive-bombers soon strafed the area and bombed it. Jack flew back over and confirmed that the tracks had been destroyed. The gun hadn’t been killed, but it had been immobilized. He grinned and banked to look for more tracks.
On the ground by the river, Sergeant Tyree Wall turned and yelled. “Everybody get the hell out of my bus!”
Ranger First Lieutenant Stan Bakowski slapped him on the shoulder. “Knew you’d get us here safely, Sergeant, that’s why I asked for you.”
“Fuck you. I’ll never do another favor for a white man again.”
Bakowski laughed and gathered his Rangers. With such a short crossing, most of them were close around, although a full truckload was missing. Bakowski didn’t have time to dwell on those implications. His men had to maneuver around the German lines and get into the rear where the big guns were hidden. Planes and bombs could only do so much. Sooner or later, someone wearing combat boots was going to have to go underground and root them out.
Wall’s duck hit the water and headed west. Long lines of American soldiers were waiting for his ferry service. It appeared to him that German fire was slackening. It also seemed there were far fewer landing craft than had set off just a little while before. A mangled body floated face down in the water and he swerved to avoid it. Part of him said he should pull it in but that would have meant stopping and making him a stationery target. Sorry buddy, he muttered to himself. If you looked wounded, I’d take a chance, but you are clearly dead. He hoped somebody downstream would pull the dead GI out.
German fire was still lethal. A duck to his right took a direct hit and disappeared. Water from the geyser washed over him and something soft glanced off his shoulder. It was someone’s foot. He groaned and then threw up. Like everyone witnessing death, he thought that it could’ve been him and wondered why he was still alive. If he survived this, he would have questions that maybe nobody could answer.
As he closed on the west bank, he saw that work was progressing on no less than three pontoon bridges. Even though shells from German guns splashed around them, the engineers kept on. Brave bastards, Wall thought.
He pulled onto the shore. Men ran to get in, prodded and yelled at by their sergeants. “Get in, sit down, and shut up,” Wall yelled at their frightened faces. “Keep your heads down. If we start to take on water, bail with your helmets. Got that?”
One soldier glared at him. “Kind of uppity, aren’t you?”
Wall was about to respond when the man’s sergeant smashed him in the face, bloodying his nose. “Watch yourself or he’ll dump your worthless ass in this fucking river.”
What a wonderful idea, Tyree thought.
CHAPTER 24
Margarete and the others huddled in the bomb shelter that had become her uncle’s pride and joy. The battle wasn’t anywhere near them yet, but it was evident that the Americans were invading to their west and, if successful, would overrun the farm. Now all they had to contend with was the sound of bombs and artillery. Nothing had yet fallen near them. Their move to the shelter was prudence. The laborers weren’t with them. They had their own shelter just outside the barn.
Magda looked at her daughter in the dim candlelight and smiled wanly. “I sure am glad we came here to be safe, aren’t you?”
Before Margarete could respond, her uncle glared at them. “We should be at peace. That fool Himmler should have negotiated with the Allies.”
Margarete was shocked. “I thought you believed in Hitler and ultimate victory.”
