Screaming Eagles

^TWENTY-SIX TAYLOR

It was a miracle the jeep even started. The mortar round had gone off close enough to throw the vehicle on its side, but Betsy was a tough old broad and shook off the blow. The door was dented in and wouldn’t open, but the men got around that by piling over the sides.

Grillo, laid down fire over the windshield as they backed up. The rest of the men stood or sat where they could, and jammed into the limited space. She was sluggish and veered to the left, thanks to a damaged axle or bent rim. No time to assess the damage now. She was running, and that was all they could hope for, under the conditions.

He had no idea how the other companies were faring. With any luck, not as badly as Baker.

They hit a log, and the jeep bounced up in the air. It came down hard, spilling one of the men out of the transport. He fell with a yell, so Captain Taylor came to a halt.

Seven Germans streamed out of the woods, thirty or forty yards ahead. They had their hands in the air, and one offered a white flag.

Wayne hopped off the back of the jeep and grabbed a BAR. He advanced on the men with the gun locked against his shoulder. The Germans carefully lowered their weapons, but they looked over their shoulders in fear as they walked toward Wayne’s position.

“What’s that? You want to give up and get a warm meal?” Wayne called with his hand cupped to his ear.

“Surrender,” one of the men called.

“Come closer,” Wayne said.

The men closed to in at a quick trot. They kept their hands in the air.

“You assholes heard of Malmedy?” Wayne asked.

He aimed and then opened up. The BAR spit rounds in full auto. The Germans looked surprised as they came under the hail of bullets. Blood exploded outward and bodies fell.

“That’s enough,” Sergeant Pierce said.

Wayne strode back toward the jeep with the BAR’s stock against his hip.

“What?” He shrugged his shoulders as he got back into the jeep with the rest of the men.

“Officially, we don’t shoot surrendering Krauts,” Taylor said.

“Officially neither do they, sir. But after what happened to POWs at Malmady, I won’t be losing any sleep.”

“We could have taken them prisoner. Now every German that comes out of those woods is going to be looking for us,” Pierce said.

“Anyone that comes out of those woods is a crazy, Sarge,” Wayne said. “Those guys are doing a good job of killing each other off. I just saved them the effort.”

“We’re in no position to take prisoners right now,” Taylor said, and put the jeep back in gear. He hit the gas, and the laden vehicle sluggishly spun around in a break in the trees, turned toward Bastogne, and put pedal to metal. “That said, don’t shoot any more prisoners of war.”

Betsy struggled in the mud and snow, but got her wheels rolling.

“Something’s wrong,” one of the men muttered from the back.

“Yeah, we’re running away from surrendering Krauts, Owen,” Pierce said.

“No, I don’t feel right. I feel like I’m on fire,” Owen said.

Taylor glanced over his shoulder and found that the Private was shaking. His face was flushed and his eyes were glazed. He looked at the men around him like they were strangers.

Taylor had seen battle get to guys before, and hoped Owen wouldn’t become a problem.

They passed the Mickey Mouse sign a few minutes later, and the city of Bastogne came into view.

There was rubble as far as the eye could see. Buildings had been damaged—and in some cases, flattened—by the Germans. Men moved around the roads, but they were in a hurry to get into position. Taylor wondered if the entire German army had made it this far so quickly.

“Don’t feel right. Don’t feel right,” Owen muttered, over and over again.

“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” Wayne said. He’d taken a spot behind Captain Taylor, and patted Owen’s hand.

Taylor sped into the town and brought the jeep to a halt. Men piled out, but not before Wayne gave a yelp of pain.

“Son of a bitch bit me. What’s wrong with you?”

Owen turned on Wayne and attacked him. He rode the man out of the jeep until they both rolled across the ground. Wayne fended Owen off, but he was crazy. He flailed his arms as he attacked.

Grillo moved swiftly, using the butt of the Thompson to knock Owen on his ass. He turned from the ground and gazed at Grillo like he’d never seen him before.

Taylor drew his .45 and aimed it at Owen.

“Enough. You stop right now, Private, or I’ll put a bullet through your head,” Taylor said.

He didn’t want to shoot the man. If they could get him under control, they’d be able to get him somewhere they could reason with him. But he’d attacked one of the men under his command, and that was an offense that could get him court martialed. That was if the men didn’t beat him to a pulp first.

Owen shook his head, and stared at his hands like they belonged to a stranger. He looked up at Taylor’s gun and struggled to his feet.

“I mean it, Owen. I’ll shoot you and spare the Krauts the trouble,” Taylor said.

Wayne grabbed Owen from behind and dragged him back. He thrashed in the grip and kicked back with his legs. Owen took him to the ground and several others fell on them. Owen was a like a wild man fighting tooth and nail.

They managed to get him subdued but it wasn’t easy. Owen didn’t care about his own limbs, didn’t protect himself from the blows, he fought like a crazy person.

“Son of a bitch has lost his mind,” Grillo said.

“Find somewhere to lock him up, and get those wounds tended to. I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Taylor said, and put his gun back in its holster, happy that he hadn’t had to shoot the man.

He’d deal with Owen in the morning. For now, he needed to report what he’d seen to command.