Progress had been relatively smooth for my other units. The Germans didn't put up much of a fight against them. Soon, the engineers behind us began clearing out the anti-tank obstacles. I wasn't in any hurry to push forward. After all, Cherbourg was already in the Allies' pocket—there was no need to spill unnecessary blood if it could be helped. But I knew damn well that if I just sat on my hands and waited for the engineers to finish before making any move, my superiors would chew me out for being passive. So, I ordered Donovan to carefully push toward the commercial district in the city center.
As it turned out, the Germans hadn't made the commercial district a defensive priority. They offered only token resistance before pulling back altogether.
I figured they were just stretched too thin. Makes sense—defending a city with a population of several hundred thousand using only four understrength regiments? That was bound to leave gaps. When we took the commercial district, the 2nd Company from the 1st Battalion happened to be attacking there as well. We linked up, and that boost in numbers gave everyone a shot of adrenaline.
Their company commander, a wiry guy named Captain Ethan Roberts, greeted me with a grin. "Hey, Captain Carter! That was a damn walk in the park! Felt like we were chasing a flock of sheep, not fighting Germans!"
I laughed. "You're lucky, Captain Roberts. Me? Not so much. Just earlier, a German bomb almost took my head off!"
"Oh, sweet Jesus! You're telling me you made it out from under a bomb alive?" he joked.
"By the grace of God, yeah. The fuse got blasted clean off before it went off. Gave us just enough time to take care of the guy who dropped it." I found a clean slab of stone, plopped down, and stretched my back with a groan.
"Well, that's some twisted luck if I ever heard it," Roberts said with an exaggerated shake of his head.
"So, what's the plan now, Captain Roberts?" I asked after a pause. Technically, I was just a supporting unit—the main push was his responsibility.
He glanced at me, then found a clean spot next to me and dropped down with a grunt. "Hell, without armor we can't move too far ahead. Not unless we want to get ourselves slaughtered. First thing we oughta do is set up a defensive line and send some guys to scout the area around city hall."
"Don't think that's gonna do much good."
"I know. Air recon says the Germans have abandoned city hall. Just waltz on in, they say. Take it easy, they say. Load of bullshit if you ask me!" Roberts scoffed, clearly not buying the aerial intel.
"You've got a point. If the Krauts are lying low, no way a damn recon plane can see 'em from the sky," I agreed.
The Allied command seemed satisfied with our progress so far. Losses had been minor—acceptable in their eyes. The next logical step would be combined arms—infantry and armor moving together to crush the last pockets of German resistance inside Cherbourg.
With the engineers clearing the anti-tank traps, a tank company from the 6th Armored Division was assigned to support our advance. Roberts' 2nd Company was particularly lucky—they got two M4A1 Shermans and one of those special flamethrower tanks, the Sherman Crocodile.
This was my first time getting up close and personal with one of those so-called "iron loaves"—the Shermans. I didn't have strong feelings either way, but my first impression was that they were damn tall. The M4A1 was a refinement over the old Grant tanks—tossed out that bulky top structure and stuck a 75mm cannon in its place. The idea was to counter the German Panzer IVs. But the Sherman's 75mm cannon barely scratched German armor. And with its high profile and wide body, it was an easy target—and one that turned into a fireball when hit thanks to its exposed ammo racks.
Still, credit where credit's due—the Sherman was well-made, easy to operate, and could take on a variety of engines. Since most of its components came from civilian car manufacturers, production was a breeze. Between '42 and '45, the U.S. cranked out some 50,000 of these things. It became the backbone of our armored force.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, slapping the side of the steel beast, "couldn't they make it any shorter? What, were all our tank designers basketball players or something?"
"You're telling me!" one of the tankers called out. "They should've thrown the bastard who designed this thing inside it and sent him straight to the front lines!"
"Count your blessings, pal. At least you've got a thick tin can wrapped around you. Us grunts? We got nothin' but boots and bad luck," I shot back, loud enough for the others to hear.
That got the infantry howling with laughter.
The tanker, basking in all the jealous stares, slipped inside his Sherman. Just before sealing the hatch, he yelled, "Don't worry, boys! We've got your backs!"
"Yeah, take care of your own ass first!" one of our guys shouted, flipping him the bird.
"Stay sharp! Watch each other's backs! No slacking off!" I yelled. "Once this fight's over, I promise you'll all get some real R&R!"
"Will there be women?" one of the GIs piped up, immediately perking the whole damn platoon up.
"That's up to your own charm, fellas. Don't count on me to be your damn matchmaker," I said, laughing. "If I had to set up every one of you with a lady, I'd drop dead from exhaustion."
"Sir, if you're too tired, I'd be happy to take care of your lady for you!" one of the shameless bastards piped up with a wide grin.
"Piss off! Even if I was shacked up with fifty dames in a day, your CO wouldn't break a sweat!" I said, puffing my chest with mock bravado.
"Pfft!" The whole squad broke into exaggerated groans of disgust.
"You rotten punks! Once this war's over, I'll show you what your CO is really made of!"
Captain Joanner strolled up, grinning. "Captain, are you planning to give us all a front-row seat to that performance?"
"Get the hell outta here!" I snapped. "You assholes are gonna be the death of me!"
Joanner chuckled. "Don't worry. Just me here. I won't tell a soul."
"Keep it up and I'll court-martial you for harassment!" I said, half-laughing, half-growling.
There's only one kind of friendship that never fades—friendship forged through hell. That's what we had here. In a place where none of us knew what tomorrow would bring, the fact that we had each other was the only comfort we needed.
Roberts' men hadn't faced serious resistance during their advance. And frankly, both he and his troops had started to get cocky. Their whole attitude toward the Germans was the opposite of my own men's.
Roberts glanced at my boys and laughed. "Captain Carter, your men look all wound up."
"That's not fear," I said flatly. "That's discipline."
He shrugged. "Sure, sure. Anyway, let me take the lead on the push to city hall."
"Roberts, you're something else. Snatching all the glory for yourself?" I joked.
"Come on now, Carter. We're all U.S. Army. There's no such thing as stealing glory among brothers, right?"
He had that smug look on his face. The kind that made you want to punch it—but in a friendly way.
"Fair enough. I'll let you have it. Go win your medals," I said with a wink. The truth was, I didn't give a damn about medals. They were just pieces of metal paid for in blood. If someone else wanted to risk their neck for one, be my guest. I wasn't about to let my boys die just to look good in some brass report.