"Bad news! Damn Germans are about to open fire again!" Second Lieutenant Sully shouted urgently.
German heavy howitzers pounding our position were no trivial matter. On a defensive line without proper counter-battery fortifications, a barrage could easily turn into a massacre. With so few men left on our line, every single life was precious.
"Leave ten men here to keep watch! The rest, fall back immediately!"
Boom! Boom! Boom! The Germans' heavy howitzers continued to rain devastation, but to my surprise, their shells did not land squarely on the bridgehead. After a few rounds fell, their barrage shifted backward, exploding in the ruins of the buildings behind me. Of the ten men I'd left on the bridgehead, half miraculously survived.
I, however, darted through that hellish explosion like a terrified rabbit. Damn it—those Germans were using artillery to flush us out. Still, I had to admit respect for their commander. A battlefield officer must constantly read the enemy commander's mind; it's a fundamental principle of military training. The Germans surely anticipated that, once the barrage began, my first thought would be to withdraw from the bridgehead—and that I would take shelter amid the ruined buildings behind us. They guessed my move perfectly.
The sheer power of the German artillery was terrifying. A single shell could level every house within a twenty-meter radius, yet its true lethality lay in its shrapnel and horrendous blast wave. Fortunately, the city's remaining walls mitigated some of the impact. Even so, seven or eight of my men either fell dead or were crippled. I forced myself to count survivors: the ten men I'd left at the bridgehead plus the handful still clinging on behind me. Twenty-odd men in total. How could I hope to stop the German onslaught with those numbers?
"Brooks! Brooks! Damn it, where are you?"
"Sir—I'm here!"
"Report our situation to Major Delaney at once!"
Brooks, his face pale, replied, "Sir—our field radio was blown to hell by that last shell."
"Goddamn it! Why didn't you say so sooner? That shell didn't kill you, so what are you waiting for? Run to Major Delaney—get him to send reinforcements. Tell him we won't hold out much longer!"
Brooks hesitated for a moment, guilt creasing his features. The howitzers had struck so fiercely that none of us could think straight. He adjusted his rifle, hunched his shoulders, and sprinted toward Major Delaney's command post. I could only pray he managed to deliver the message.
In a battle, communications are everything—and the infantry's field radio revolutionized warfare. As radios grew more advanced, they shrank from company-level equipment to individual earpieces. Still, on a chaotic battlefield, a single piece of information could save countless lives—or determine the success or failure of an entire engagement.
If our position falls, the German armored units will quickly push through and outflank Major Delaney and the garrison at the other bridge—who have no idea what's coming. They'll be hit from both front and rear, and the entire defense of Carentan will collapse. But if I can keep relaying real-time updates from the battlefield, Delaney—whether or not he intends to hold the bridge—will at least be able to organize an orderly retreat. Still, I believe if Major Delaney realizes our communications have gone dark, he'll immediately send someone to reestablish contact.
"All of you, fall back to the bridgehead!" I shouted as the German howitzer barrage began to abate. I feared they planned a follow-up assault. No sooner had I returned to the edge of our defenses than their trickery repeated: the shells, instead of landing in front of us, struck the area behind the bridgehead.
I cursed under my breath. Why did I have to face such cunning German commanders? It felt as if God were punishing me. The explosions rained down in relentless bursts, and I took refuge however I could. Miraculously, though so many of us had already died, I was still alive. This was war—no one acted according to my wishes, and there was no fooling cunning commanders.
Since stepping into this conflict, I understood why World War II rarely relied on small special-ops units alone. They could never replace main forces. That brutal, bloody front-line fighting—where victory came at the cost of massive casualties—could not be shouldered by a handful of operatives. When we remember the heroics of special-ops forces, we forget the larger units whose ordinary soldiers paid an even greater price. Had they not pinned down the enemy's defenses, special-ops units, no matter how elite, would have been destroyed.
Yet the more battles I fought against the Germans, the more I came to admire them. No wonder they dominated Europe. Even decades later, military researchers worldwide still studied German tactics. That wasn't Hitler's achievement alone—it was the pride of an entire nation's military tradition. If even arrogant America had to learn from them, that said everything.
I wanted nothing more than an American all-weather fighter to dive into this battlefield, smash German howitzers, and spare us this relentless shelling. But that was a daydream. At this moment, the U.S. military's doctrine and technology had not caught up to the Germans. We'd only just begun to adapt, and our learning curve remained long.
"Lieutenant Carter—where are you?"
From the rear, I spotted an officer accompanied by a dozen men, leaping from crater to crater under German fire, desperate to avoid the shells.
"I'm here!"
"How are you holding up? Major Delaney sent us to reinforce you!" A young U.S. second lieutenant emerged from the group, and I let out a breath of relief—he carried a field radio!
"You've arrived just in time," I said. "I've already sent someone to report our situation to Major Delaney. Then you showed up."
"Sir—we didn't find any of your men at Delaney's command post. Major Delaney asked us to bring you an anti-tank rocket launcher and this radio."
"That's perfect—we desperately need both. How are the other two bridge defenses?"
"Damn it, don't ask. They're pretty much the same—disastrous. Our casualties are horrific. Major Delaney has already committed his reserves."
"That's it—We're losing this position! My men's morale is gone. The only reason they're still here is because the Germans are hammering them non-stop. Otherwise, they'd have run for cover."
"Sir, Major Delaney told us to hold on a bit longer. He'll order you to withdraw into the city soon, to fight the Germans in the streets."
"Understood. How long until more reinforcements arrive?"
"The command post warned that the relief column was being delayed by enemy ambushes," the lieutenant said.
"That's discouraging," I admitted.
The second lieutenant sighed. "We're on our own now."
After five minutes of precise German artillery fire, the barrage finally ceased. But our ordeal wasn't over: German armor launched yet another ferocious assault. This time, they had gathered five tanks and nearly a hundred infantrymen. It looked as if they planned to smash through our defenses in one crushing blow.
"Damn—these Germans mean business," I said quietly to the second lieutenant beside me.
He looked nervous. "Can we hold them off?"
"I don't know."
"Sir?"
It was the simple truth. We were down to a few dozen men—demoralized, battered, and exhausted. Who could guarantee we would withstand that kind of onslaught?
"They're attacking!"
"Flares! Flares! Light flares now!" The soldiers shouted in panic, not excitement. They were terrified.
As soon as we lit our flares, the Germans returned the favor, launching their own. The night sky lit up like day. Our positions lay fully exposed. German tanks rumbled to the bridgehead—these were real, heavy Panzer IV tanks, the infamous workhorses of the Wehrmacht. As the tanks moved, German infantry formed assault lines and pressed forward. The battle's final, brutal chapter had begun.
This time, the Germans had learned their lesson. As soon as their tanks reached the bridgehead, they fired smoke rounds ahead of them, creating a thick screen that blinded us and masked their infantry's advance. Through that wall of gray, they bulldozed toward our line, and our defense collapsed under the weight of their steel.
"Sir! What do we do?" a young private begged.
"Fire—just keep firing!" I roared. But with no clear targets, we could only spray bullets into the smoke. In my previous life, I'd never learned of a tactic quite like this. The Germans' huge smoke screens neutralized our geographic advantage and let their superior numbers seize the initiative. It was a lesson I'd never forget.
Their firepower was unstoppable. Panzer IVs fired smoke rounds and high-explosive shells; their MG42s spewed lead from every port. Infantry surged behind them, bayonets fixed. I knew then that it was over. To stay was to die. Our already-shattered line was on the verge of collapse.
"Retreat! Everyone fall back!" I screamed hoarsely. "Second lieutenant—tell Major Delaney! Tell him we're under full German assault! The north bridgehead is lost!"
I hardly needed to give the order. My men broke and ran, scattering toward the city. My command merely legitimized their flight; at least they wouldn't fear punishment for retreating.
We fired over our shoulders as we retreated, trying to slow the German pursuit. Even if we inflicted few casualties, at least each burst gave us a chance to gain ground.
"Lieutenant! This won't work!" Joanner, still alive against the odds, ran alongside me. Panting, he watched the German columns closing in. "We can't hold them like this."
"Harper, cover us for a moment!" I shouted to Harper, who was lugging the machine gun. "Set up the MG and lay down suppressive fire. Everyone else, form multiple delaying positions! If we don't slow them, those Germans will wipe us out entirely!"
Smoke and steel poured around us, soldiers screaming. We fought tooth and nail down the road, but it was clear: the North Bridgehead had fallen. Our only hope was to regroup in the city's streets and turn Europe's most ruthless army into a house of ghosts.