The German sniper who had first engaged Joanner's men—Bockman—was already on the rooftop. Ballistic echoes of gunfire and grenade detonations rose from below, yet his face remained an unreadable mask. He knew all too well that the two German riflemen he'd left behind on the first and second floors could only hold out for so long.
He turned to the lone surviving soldier beside him—a lean man named Delin. "Delin—are you scared?"
Delin's dark eyes flashed. He bared a row of white teeth in a grim grin. "What's the point of fear? If I'm dead, I won't feel a thing."
"Atta boy, Delin. By the sound of it, you're a veteran?" Bockman asked.
"I am. Since '42, I've somehow kept breathing," Delin replied, his voice bittersweet.
"Lucky bastard," Bockman chuckled.
Delin's grin turned savage. "Maybe. Hey—why don't we spice things up for those Yanks down there?"
"Exactly what I was thinking, let's rig this stairwell exit, then wait for them to come up and meet their maker." Bockman patted Delin on the shoulder, excitement flickering in his eyes.
"I've got another idea," Delin said.
"I'm listening."
"Let's lure the Americans right into our ambush point instead of waiting here."
Bockman mulled it over. "Those Yanks aren't stupid—they won't just walk into our trap. But if we hurt them enough, they'll chase us in hot pursuit."
"Fair enough. Let's give 'em hell!" Delin smirked.
Meanwhile, we climbed unimpeded to the third floor.
"Joanner—there's no one up here!" I couldn't believe our luck.
"Maybe their manpower's stretched thin," Joanner shrugged.
"Joanner, why not have a tank blow this building flat? Seems easier." I offered, half in jest. I knew our guns and bombardment were powerful, but flattening an entire block for a dozen or so soldiers felt wasteful.
"Captain," Joanner shook his head. "There are too many buildings to shell them all. Since the war began, our bombers have carpet-bombed Cherbourg—yet rubble still litters every street."
I laughed. "Joanner, you keep getting wiser. But that hatch up there only fits two men at a time—it's no way to spill onto the rooftop."
"True." Joanner glanced at the narrow exit.
"Any higher points nearby to cover that roof?"
"No—this is the tallest building around."
"All right. Then we'll have to outthink them. Chalmers—give me your helmet." I held the steel pot with the butt of my rifle and eased it toward the hatch. Though crude, it would help test whether a German was posted up there.
Crack! A rifle shot rang out. The helmet clanged to the floor.
"Damn it—there's someone up there! Everybody back off!" I ordered urgently.
A dozen men retreated in a rush. Sure enough, the sniper had fired, then lobbed a grenade down the hatch. The blast sent dust and debris into the air. When it settled, Chalmers hurried forward, retrieved his helmet—no GI moved without the protection.
Helmet Usage Note: A steel helmet can deflect shell fragments and glancing bullets, its rounded shape sending rounds off-center. It also protects against flying shrapnel and chunks of masonry. To a soldier, it was head armor.
Chalmers picked up his cracked helmet, forced a bitter smile. I examined the rupture—one round had punched clean through.
"He's not far from the hatch," I said, pointing upward.
"Throw a grenade up there and kill him!" Chalmers ground out.
"You don't even know which direction he's facing," Joanner cautioned.
"Then what do we do? We can't let one man pin us down!" Conway's frustration showed.
"Chalmers, Conway—haul a German corpse up here!"
They exchanged bewildered looks. "Sir?"
"No time for questions—move!"
Moments later, Chalmers and Conway staggered back, dragging a dead German soldier. They dropped him at the hatch and kicked him.
"That's sick. He's already dead—leave him be," I protested.
"You haven't lifted that corpse yourself, sir," Conway panted. "It's heavier than you think."
"Strip off his uniform—then toss him up."
My order stunned everyone. They hesitated.
"Hurry up—or you'll be the ones making the climb!" My voice snapped snapped.
"Captain, what are you doing?" Joanner whispered.
I answered quietly, "Angering the sniper. He won't fire on his own comrade's naked body."
They stripped the dead soldier, leaving him naked and limply splayed at the hatch. His skull was half-exposed, ivory-white brain matter oozing. His glassy eyes stared in disbelief.
"War had scraped humanity raw, but survival justified the savagery," I muttered, steeling myself. "Now toss him up."
A handful of men heaved the body through the hatch. All eyes turned to me; it wasn't until later I learned they'd nicknamed me "The Bastard"—the brute who weaponized a corpse.
Above, Delin gasped. "Good Lord—that's one of ours!"
Bockman paled. "Damn—he's Schneider!"
"I can't believe it. How could they do that?" Delin spat.
"They're savages." Bockman ground his teeth. "Cover me—I'm dragging him aside. That body will give them perfect cover."
Bockman, not wanting his comrade further dishonored, made the bold move. My intent was simple: We hunkered down behind that German's corpse—after all, no sniper worth his salt would shoot at his own fallen comrade.
"Watch out!" Delin warned Bockman.
"Don't worry—open your sights and pull the trigger when they shows himself." Bockman also warned them as he struggled to drag the corpse.
But it barely budged—dead weight wasn't meant to be moved that way.
"Frag grenade—now!" I ordered. I counted three seconds after pulling the pin, then hurled it into the hatch. It was a risky gamble: mistime the fuse, and you explode yourself.
"Another one!"
I tossed a second grenade. When I prepared to climb up, Joanner yanked me back. "Let me."
Without a word, I let Joanner go. He climbed a few yards up, reached the hatch, removed his helmet, and raised it slowly—no return fire.
"Don't move, Joanner—here's your mirror!" I pulled out a small pocket mirror, a keepsake since Omaha Beach. So that it could be used in combat.
Using the mirror's reflection, Joanner peered safely over the hatch. He spotted a blood-soaked German corpse lying next to the naked one. After scanning all sides, he smiled. "Captain—you genius! One down, no sign of others!"
"Not so fast," I shook my head. "If only one man's up here, he wouldn't risk retrieving a body. He's lying in wait."
"Get down; let me climb up and have a look."
I swapped places and used the mirror—but still saw no one. I prepared to peek out.
"Careful, Captain!" Joanner's warning came just as I bent forward—and a stone-sharp impact snapped against my helmet. A bullet had glanced off.
"Damn!" I wiped cold sweat from my brow. Without Joanner's warning, I'd be history.
"Sniper!" I shouted. "One more to assist me!"
I crouched behind the naked corpse, sliding my rifle from its cover and sweeping toward the sniper's position.
"Someone else—cover me!" Joanner leapt up beside me.
"Will this thing stop bullets?" he asked, nodding at the corpse.
"God only knows," I shrugged. "For now, it's our best armor. He's at two o'clock—let's suppress him, then we all storm."
"Got it!"
"Fire—fire!"
Joanner sprang up and poured lead toward the sniper's hiding spot. I rolled behind the second corpse and opened fire. We dared not let up—or that sniper would pick us off.
"Joanner—grenade!" I yelled.
Just then, we heard a crisp shot from the sniper's ledge. Moments later, a spreading puddle of blood confirmed it.
I rose slowly, relief flooding me. "He's dead—he shot himself."
We approached the body. The sniper had jammed the muzzle into his mouth; his brains had splattered the low balustrade. In his final act, he spared himself pain.
Joanner shook his head. "If it were me, I'd have taken you bastards with me."
"No chance," I sighed. "We'd never let him." I paused. "Honestly, that was a soldier's best death."
Our men trickled onto the roof. Chalmers spotted a pile of stones at the hatch, with something dark buried inside. Focused on the sniper, we'd missed it.
"What's that?" Chalmers prodded it.
"Don't touch it!" I shouted. "Everyone back—bomb!"
It turned out to be a makeshift cluster grenade: several pineapples tethered together. The pin had been partially severed by our earlier blast. We'd narrowly escaped.
"Oh my God!" we all breathed.
"Lucky we're alive," I clapped my hands.
"Captain—you're one lucky son of a gun," Joanner laughed.
"Thanks—but let's get back to work. No time to chat," I ordered.
Joanner had men set up a machine gun here, giving them direct control over the crossroads of the two streets. We'd inched closer to Cherbourg's town square—but the fight was far from over.