Grantville Gazette, Volume 40 Read Free Page A

in the ass, but soon the wisdom of the order became clear.
    The ground began to shake, lightly at first, like the impact trees might make in falling. Along the road, the snow danced and spread down the bank in tiny avalanches. Rice let the cigarette he had placed to his lips fall, unlit.
    The quiet and cold air made the echo of German tanks ring loudly. Through the wood and down the winding path, diesel engines for sure, but how many wasn't clear. Rice tried to squint through the relentless snow, tried to pick out some motion, some flash of a barrel or the shaped hull of a Tiger or Panzer IV. It was a game the men played, trying to figure out the composition of the enemy armor by sound alone. He tried but could not make an accurate account.
    "The Germans mustn't be too happy with the ass kicking they got from the 2 nd ," Davis whispered. "They're sending a few tanks our way." He said the last words as if here were disappointed, as if he wanted more. Poor young fool .
    Rice nodded but wasn't so sure. This wasn't just a few tanks. This was many; more than he had ever heard before. And where there were tanks, there was infantry, Grenadiers, half-tracks, and artillery. He gripped his rifle tightly and tried to think of Ella Lou, his beautiful girlfriend.
    The muffled boom of artillery filled the air, and Sergeant Greene screamed, "Back! Back! Take cover!"
    The men were moving before the order was finished. Rice tucked his rifle close to his chest and rolled down the bank. He disappeared under the snow and felt the hard stomp of a boot on his shoulder as another man bolted for the tree line. He came out of the snow, shook his face clear and fell again, this time from the impact of young Davis against his back. Rice fell forward, further down the bank and under a pile of broken limbs. He paused. This might be a good place to hide, he considered. But no. The Germans were moving forward fast, too fast. Stay here and they'd be found and killed.
    He pushed Davis away and got up. "Get off!"
    "I'm sorry," was all Davis could say, his face bleached with fear.
    Rice grabbed him by the collar and pulled forward. "Stay with me."
    Through the artillery barrage, they ran. Trees burst apart as each strike pounded the space around them. It was foolish, really, to be running through the forest. It would be more sensible to stay in the open. Among the trees, an artillery barrage was far more deadly with nasty chunks of wood flying through the air. But surely somewhere nearby lay a vacant foxhole, an abandoned bunker in which to crawl. The Germans had held this line efficiently for a long time. Rice kept running and looking for cover.
    Davis was about ten yards behind. Rice turned to tell him to get his ass on the move, but the boy stumbled on a root and planted his face square into the snowy mud and leaves. Despite the situation, Rice couldn't help but smile. It's not a winter wonderland anymore, is it, boy? You're getting a real education now.
    "Get up, you country bump—"
    A shell burst behind Davis and blew him apart, scattering his body into a dozen bloody pieces. Rice screamed and fell away from the impact. The sting of hot shrapnel pierced his right arm and chest, cutting through layers of clothing and striking his neck as well. A wince of pain cut across his cheek. A warm trickle of blood ran down his face.
    He panicked. He had promised himself when he had disembarked at Le Havre, France, that he would not do so, that he would keep his cool no matter the circumstances. But this was a far cry from the comfort of a transport ship, and he had never been struck in battle before, had never felt so much pain.
    He ran, and ran, and ran. Was he going in the right direction, toward Höfen? He could not say; he had changed course a couple times, trying to avoid the incessant shelling. He kept running and in time, the sound of the guns tapered off until they seemed leagues away. He stopped, his heart racing, his blood pounding in his ears.
    He leaned