The Last Tiger - Final Stand

(Source)

Von Schiffler's men were dug in to either side of the tank. The thirty-three survivors were now commanded by an Obergefreiter. He had them set up with their surviving machine guns, an MG 34 and an MG 42, to cover the road leading out of town.

Hoffmeister had to ask, "What if their infantry go through the woods and not down the road?"

The Obergefreiter winked and said, "Mines, the woods on both sides are mined. If they go that way, we'll know."

"Is anyone covering the mine field?"

"Two men, either side of the town. If the Amis start mine hunting, they start sniping. One way or the other, we'll know."

"Do you have enough ammunition?"

"Yes, of course, as much as the Reich can spare. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my position." Obergefreiter Fritz Wolf shook his head as he walked away, "F**king tankers..."

2nd Platoon was still to the south of the town, working their way slowly through the woods, heading east. They were moving slowly, pausing frequently to look for booby traps and mines. 1st Lt. Hernandez had a bad feeling about these woods. He thought he'd rather face that Tiger than be in another battle in a forest.

The platoon's point man, Pfc. Alex Boone, signaled a halt. Hernandez saw Boone's squad leader, Sgt. Katz moving to join him. At the same time, there was a voice on the radio, Hernandez thought it sounded like Gammell.

Myerson, the lieutenant's radioman listened to a brief transmission. "Charlie's got two Krauts up ahead. Take 'em?"

Hernandez nodded.

Gefreiter Horst Lachfeld and Grenadier Jost Wichstein were looking in two separate directions, Lachfeld to the right, Wichstein to the left. Their job was to watch over the thin minefield their unit had placed only a few days ago. The mines were old, they weren't buried well, and some of them weren't buried at all, simply stuck under a pile of pine needles on the forest floor.

Wichstein heard a hissing sound, then a dull "thunk." As he turned to see what it was, he saw something move to his front in his peripheral vision. Before he could determine what was going on, another American bullet came hissing in and hit Wichstein in the upper chest.

Lachfeld was already dead, Gammell's first round had hit him just below his right eye. The bullet had gone through, leaving a pink mist in the air. Wichstein was gasping for breath. Gammell's second round had gone through his esophagus, deflected down through his left lung, and had gone out his back over his hip. His throat kept filling with blood and he tried to spit it out, gasping and coughing as he did so. He knew he was dying and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Cpl. Maurice Ryan, Sgt. Katz' assistant squad leader was maneuvering his element of five men, including himself, to the right. They'd spotted the two Germans, Ryan saw that someone, probably Charlie Gammell and that rifle of his, had taken out both of the Germans. So he thought to maneuver to the right.

As they did so, Pvt. Caleb Christensen, the squad's grenadier shouted a warning, "Mines!" But it was a second too late.

Hernandez heard the crump of an explosion, has to be a mine he thought, then he heard the agonizing scream of one of his men.

"F**k! Doc, with me!" He jumped up and advanced to his front.

Hernandez, followed by his radioman and Doc Milbury, moved to the sound of the screams, which continued and seemed to increase in agony. When they got to the scene, Hernandez nearly vomited, there was one of his men, Pvt. Manny Conrad, writhing on the ground holding what remained of his left leg as he rolled back and forth, screaming.

Doc Milbury immediately made the two men next to Conrad move. "Gimme some room guys, hold still Manny, I got you."

Doc stabbed a morphine syrette into Conrad's butt, then he dug into his bag and pulled out a tourniquet, if he didn't tie that leg off, Conrad would be dead in less than a minute.

On the opposite flank, the northern side of the town, S/Sgt Bob Poole's 3rd Platoon had spotted the hastily laid mines to their front. As they started to clear them, a German position some fifty yards to their front began firing at them.

The B.A.R. of Pfc. Don Miller, 2nd Squad, made short work of the two Germans in that position. One was hit and went down in the foxhole, the other managed to run roughly 10 yards before Miller cut him down as well.

Within twenty minutes the 3rd Platoon had reached the German overwatch position and could see the main German position east of the town. They also spotted that damned Tiger tank.

Poole turned to his radioman, Pvt. Lou Hess and said, "Get the Cap'n on the horn, we need artillery and..." Poole stopped as Hess was pointing to the sky. He was puzzled, then he noticed, the sky was clearing.

"Get us some air Lou!"

Cpt. Palminteri's radio was not working, he sent a messenger to have 1st Platoon's radioman join him, but it took precious time. Finally, with no word of what was happening on his flanks, Palminteri decided to send the tanks forward. He looked up at S/Sgt Woodstock in his tank, and with a sad look, pointed east.

"F**k! Cap'n's radio is out, can you get anything on our net Roger?" Pfc. Roger Blaisdell was in his bow gunner's seat trying to get a message out. The radio's were working, he could talk to the other tanks just fine, but no signals were getting out of the valley.

"Nothing Sarge. Too many hills, too many trees."

"Shit." Keying his mike, Woodstock told his other tanks to fall in behind him. When they got to the open on the other side of town, he told Harrell in Misfit II to go left, Boyd in Box O' Nuts was to go right, and to Winkler in Boozer he said, "Stay on my ass Wink, when that Tiger kills us, use us for cover and hit him hard while Doug and Ken try to flank the bastard."

In the front of the tank, Will Hartness, the driver, exchanged a look with Blaisdell, he mouthed the words "kills us" and then raised an eyebrow. All Blaisdell could do was make sure his machine gun was loaded and ready, just in case they did survive.

Hoffmeister told his crew, "Hear that boys? The Amis are coming. I can hear their engines. Standby, kill whoever pops out first then..." Hoffmeister paused as something above the treeline caught his eye. Damn it, when did it stop raining?

The first P-51 pickled his tanks a second too early, his wingman dropped right on time. Cpt. Joe MacInnes grunted in disgust as he pulled out, maybe his wingman, 1st Lt. Rich Lang would have better luck.

But Hell, they were dropping napalm, close enough should be good enough.

Woodstock heard the roar of the two Mustangs over the roar of his own engine. He had just ordered Hartness to floor it when the birds passed over. He glanced up, then back to his front.

"Why the heck are they dropping their fuel tanks, no bombs?" he muttered, then the first shiny object tumbled into the ground and the fires of Hell opened up before the gaze of Woodstock and his crew.

Lang, his aircraft out to MacInnes' right and stepped back, laid his napalm right over the German infantry position. Which was next to the biggest tank he had ever seen.

MacInnes' drop was maybe fifty yards short, but close enough that a large part of the burning jellied gasoline enveloped the front of the Kraut tank he had caught a glimpse of as the two aircraft flashed over the German position.

"Let's go around, make a strafing pass Rich."

"Two."

Hoffmeister's face and hands were badly burned, though none of the napalm had touched him, the heat was enough to burn him. As he, his gunner, and his loader bailed from the tank, he tried to turn back and save Krebs and young Schmidt, but the men in the front of the tank had had no chance at all.

They died screaming.

A medical team sent from battalion was working to treat the German survivors, many of whom had been badly burned. There weren't many survivors, but they were already being loaded onto American trucks to be further treated in the rear.

Brad Woodstock watched as a big man, wearing a semi-charred black German tanker's uniform, was being helped along by a medic and another German tanker. He nodded at the man, then nodded again at the burning King Tiger not a hundred yards away. The German nodded, then he pointed his chin at Catamount, Woodstock's Sherman.

Woodstock nodded, the German stopped for a moment, then raised a bandaged hand to touch his cap. Woodstock returned the man's salute.

After the German had been loaded aboard a truck, Woodstock turned to his gunner, Sgt. Jerry Parsons. "Tough looking sumbitch, ain't he?"

"Tough as his tank, boss. He's got a couple of medals on that toasted tunic, doesn't he?" Parsons offered.

C Company's First Sergeant, 1st Sgt. Morton Saeger, was standing nearby. Saeger was a German speaker and had studied all the documents on the enemy they faced. He spoke up.

"Iron Cross 1st and 2nd Class, the Eastern Front medal, tank badge for 50 engagements, wound badge in silver, means he's been wounded three times, maybe four. Did you notice the band around his sleeve?"

"Yeah Top, what was that?"

"That man fought with Rommel in North Africa. That's an Afrika Korps cuff title. The man has been around."

Woodstock nodded, "If those 51s hadn't showed up, I'd be dead, or worse, probably by that guy's hand. Better'n gettin' killed by a rookie I suppose."

All Parsons could say was, "You'd still be dead, rookie or real pro, doesn't matter. I'm glad we're still on this side of the grass."

"Yeah, me too." Woodstock looked around, pleased to still be alive after meeting with a King Tiger. They'd lost a tank, but not a single man. In fact, Otto Walls and his boys should be back any minute now, having gone to the rear to collect a new tank.

"Good to be alive Jerry."

"Yup."

Major Josephson had come up with a few members of the battalion staff, they wanted to see the King Tiger. As they examined the still smoldering wreck, Josephson took Hernandez aside.

"Stephen, Tony broke down, I had to send him to the rear. When his radio crapped out, and when he heard you'd lost a man to a mine, he lost it. Sat down and started crying. I want you to take over the company, Hell the war is almost over. I hear you want to stay in the Army after the war?"

"Yes Sir, I do. There are worse ways to make a living."

"That's true. I'm going to give 2nd Platoon to Nate Paddock, he says he's up to it. You okay with that?"

"I thought he was on light duty?"

"That ended on the last day of March, the battalion doc says he's good to go."

"I'm sure the men would love having Nate back. No problem here Sir."

"Good. Oh, put these on, I'll get regiment to push it through." The major placed a small wrapped bundle in Hernandez' hand. "Stay alive compadre, keep your men alive. No foolish chances, just solid, by the book soldiering."

"You got it Sir."

As Major Josephson walked back to his jeep, Hernandez opened his hand to see what Josephson had handed him.

A pair of captain's bars.

"Well damn..." Was all Hernandez could say.

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.