To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [340]
“Let’s go! Down the hill! There’s cover down there! Move!”
He waited as the men responded, Angelo beside him, and now he was moving with them, some of the foot soldiers in a mad dash for the line of tanks. He saw a wide brushy trench, blocking the path of the tanks, one big Schneider tank down in the trench, stranded. The men began to find the cover of the trench, and he pushed through it, was out the other side, moved up toward the tanks, moved past the officers without speaking, saw the hand tools, shovels, and picks lashed to the side of each of the Renaults. He grabbed a shovel, yanked it free, tossed it into the trench, then another. Angelo understood, began to do the same from another tank. Knowles began to do the same, and the gunner climbed out from one of the tanks, the others following, each hatch opening, the tank crews emerging. Patton shouted at them, “Dig! Knock these sides down! Put the dirt into the trench!”
The soldiers began to help as well, helmets and bayonets scooping at the loose dirt. The machine-gun fire was increasing now, and he felt a breath of hot air on his face, bullets cracking into the tank beside him. He moved away from the tank, stared out across the open ground, the mist obscuring the view. They’re right out there, he thought. Right there! Enough of this!
“Sir! We can give it a go!”
He looked at the trench, a narrow passageway caved in, shallow enough for the Renaults to cross. Slow going, he thought. And if one gets caught . . .
“Chain them together!”
The men looked at him, puzzled, then seemed to understand. Knowles was in motion, other men as well, chains unrolled from coils on the rear of each tank. In moments, the tanks were connected, and Patton stood back, pointed to the shallow trench.
“Move!”
The tanks began to rumble, coughing black smoke. The first in the line lurched forward, moved down, the others close behind. The engines began to roar, each tank pulling and pushing against the other, a train of power surging through the soft earth. They were up and past the trench now, and Patton felt like laughing. Yes! Now those bastards will see what they can do with their machine guns! The tanks rolled on across the side of the hill, and Patton moved quickly across the trench, shouted to the men crowded along the bottom, “Let’s go! Who’s with me?”
The men began to rise, some staring up at the tanks as they moved away. They began to climb out, and Patton saw the men from his own staff, the runners, the men with the pigeon crates, few of them with rifles. He shouted to Knowles, “The unarmed men stay here. You stay with them. This is your new command post. Get word to corps headquarters of our situation.”
Knowles seemed puzzled, said, “Sir, what is our situation?”
Patton turned, saw the tanks nearly up on the ridgeline, the infantry men around him waiting to follow. “Tell them . . . hell, tell them I’m still trying to find out what’s going on. I’ll try to get word back to you when I can. No need to mention anything about me joining the attack.”
He jabbed the walking stick into the ground, began to climb the hill, the foot soldiers spreading out on both sides of him. The tanks had crested the hill, the machine-gun fire still slicing the air around him, and he pushed the stick into the ground with each step, saw Angelo on one side of him, staring up the hill.
They reached the crest, and the fight erupted across the open ground in front of them. The fire ripped the air from every cut, every cluster of brush and trees. He tried to see signs of others troops, but the thick air obscured his vision again. Around him, men began to fall, some of the infantry flattening out, seeking shelter, some hit by the fire of a dozen Maxim guns. He saw Angelo go down, the young man scrambling into a shallow depression, staring at him, shouting something, his voice drowned out by the firing all across the rough ground in front of him. Patton stared ahead, tried to see