Chapter 47 - The Battle of Cherbourg (Part 8)

After learning about Captain Roberts' situation on the front, I immediately reorganized my troops to resume the advance, hoping to push forward faster and support his flank as originally planned. We had barely moved out when I received a call on the field radio from the regimental commander of the 1st Infantry Regiment. His voice came through with urgency:

"Captain Carter, get me Captain Carter—now!"

"James Carter speaking!"

"Captain Carter,Split your squad—leave some to hold the line, then get moving to City Hall, double time! Roberts' Company 2 has been surrounded by the Krauts! I need you to get them out of there, now!"

"Roger that, sir! We're on it!"

"Damn it—I knew Company 2 was more trouble than they're worth! I can't believe those bastards let Krauts get boxed in!" Luca growled, clearly agitated.

"Can the commentary. Move your ass!" I snapped.

On the march, I managed to speak with Captain Roberts briefly over the field set. He explained that a small German force had lured him into the plaza outside City Hall. While he was trading fire with enemy troops holed up in the buildings ahead, German units hiding in the sewers sprung their trap. They'd concealed anti-tank guns underground and knocked out both of his Sherman tanks in quick succession. Sensing the ambush, Roberts attempted a withdrawal, but more enemy troops surged in from behind and cut off his route. With his company surrounded and unable to break out after several attempts, he had no choice but to hunker down and establish a defensive perimeter.

To make matters worse, the Krauts rolled in a Flakpanzer IV "Ostwind"—a self-propelled anti-aircraft gun. This beast was developed by a mid-level SS officer as a stopgap weapon, built on the chassis of a Panzer IV. Though only about 50 of them had been fielded since 1944, the Ostwind was a 25-ton monster with 80mm of frontal armor and a rapid-firing 37mm FlaK 43 cannon loaded with a thousand rounds. It even carried an MG34 for close-in defense.

It wasn't a tank in the traditional sense—its firepower couldn't match that of a Panther or Tiger—but that 37mm cannon fired close to 100 rounds a minute. Compared to the dozen or so rounds a minute from a conventional tank's main gun, this was a damn buzzsaw. Its main purpose wasn't to take out tanks but to shred aircraft and infantry, and it could still punch through light armor. For us , it was the first time we saw a weapon from the Germans that could arguably be more terrifying than one of their tanks.

The bulk of Roberts' casualties had come from that very thing. The Ostwind's 37mm shells tore through sandbags and walls like they were made of paper. One round could pierce right through a brick wall and still punch a fist-sized hole through a man hiding behind it. Even if the hit wasn't fatal, anyone caught in its path would be lucky to come away with all their limbs intact. Heavy machine guns couldn't even get set up properly under that kind of suppressive fire.

The Krauts kept the Ostwind back—well out of range of our bazookas—and used it as a mobile gun platform. Shell after shell rained down like a hailstorm. Roberts' company was getting pounded.

"Aaagh!" One GI crouched behind a wall screamed as a shell punched through the thick brick, smashed through his chest, and left a gaping, bloody crater where his heart used to be. He collapsed in a twitching heap, blood bubbling out of his mouth.

"Goddammit! I need artillery support—now! I need heavy fire support!" Roberts' voice crackled over the net, ragged and desperate.

The Germans had bottled up his company so tight they barely had any room to maneuver. Though Roberts was fighting back tooth and nail, he was boxed in from all directions and forced to rely on just a few strong buildings for cover. If we didn't reach him soon, his entire unit might be wiped out.

"Move! Move! Get in there!" I shouted. Our forces were only two or three blocks away from Roberts. I knew things were rough, but I hadn't realized just how bad it was. This was a damn meat grinder—and worse than I had imagined.

As we pushed toward the fight, German troops had already established a defensive ring around Roberts. One half-collapsed building became a deadly strongpoint for a German MG42 team. They poured fire at us with everything they had. I didn't hesitate—I ordered the Sherman Crocodile flamethrower tank to move in and torch them.

Suddenly, a German anti-tank soldier stepped out from the corner of a shattered building, a Panzerfaust in his hands, ready to ambush the tank.

"Take him out, now!" Gibbs shouted. He was right behind the Crocodile and spotted the threat instantly. He opened up with his Thompson, spraying bullets at the German and forcing him back behind cover.

"Watch all sides! Keep your eyes peeled for more AT guys!" Gibbs shouted again.

The Crocodile tank, aware of the danger now, advanced more cautiously. With each step, it belched a wave of fire into nearby buildings—scorched earth, quite literally. Smoke and flames curled skyward as it cleansed every corner it passed.

I followed closely behind the beast. For the first time, I witnessed its true power. Nearly three meters tall and belching liquid fire, the Crocodile was a monstrosity. Sure, it had vulnerabilities—enemy tanks or well-placed anti-tank guns could still take it out—but in a city fight like this? It was damn near invincible.

Urban combat rarely allowed lines of sight beyond a couple hundred meters. Soldiers on both sides holed up in ruined buildings, taking potshots at each other. A regular tank, despite its armor and firepower, often struggled to hit targets hiding out of direct sight. The Crocodile didn't have that problem. It didn't care if you were behind a wall or under a table—one jet of flame and the problem was gone.

Even though anti-tank teams posed a threat, the Crocodile didn't get close enough for them to exploit. And if they tried to fire from too far out, they'd expose themselves to our rifles and MGs before they could line up a shot.

"My God, if you don't give a damn about collateral damage, this thing is damn near unbeatable," I muttered, glancing at the inferno behind us.

Luca snorted. "No kidding. If you let it run wild, there won't be a damn city left to save."

I nodded. "This thing only belongs in a war like this. In the future, you won't see it again."

Luca gave me a strange look. He didn't say anything, but I could tell from his eyes he thought I was being oddly prophetic.

"Keep spread out. Stay sharp!" I ordered.

Suddenly, from the left, an engine roared and a German BMW R75 motorcycle with a sidecar tore around the corner. The gunner in the sidecar opened up on us with a mounted MG, sending bullets flying before they sped off at nearly sixty miles an hour—too fast for a clean shot.

"Shit! Check for casualties!" I shouted.

"Sir! Five wounded—two pretty bad!" a soldier reported.

"Get the wounded out of here and back to the aid station!" I barked. "And someone keep an eye on that damn motorcycle. They'll be back!"

Just as I spoke, the sound of that engine returned, growing louder.

"Sir, that bastard's coming around again!"

"Well don't just stand there—shoot the son of a bitch!"

The Krauts were using that trike to strafe us and then haul ass before we could respond. It was driving me nuts. With how fast they were moving, our guys had a hell of a time hitting them. All we managed to do was kick up a lot of dirt where their rear tire had been.

I couldn't help but think of Job. Ever since he came back from that injury, I'd kept him out of the fight in Cherbourg. My 3rd Company still had some sharpshooters, sure—but they were good against stationary targets. When it came to moving ones like that motorcycle, they couldn't compare to a true marksman. The difference was night and day.

We pushed forward, street by street, clearing intersections. The terrain and lack of enemy armor made it hard for the Germans to hold us back effectively. Eventually, we breached enough blocks that we finally got eyes on Roberts' position.

He saw us too.

"Captain Carter! This is Roberts! I see you—hell, I can see you from here! Listen—at my ten o'clock, there's an anti-tank gun in a gray building. At three o'clock, a German heavy tank. Be careful, they're ready to fire!"

"Roger that, Captain Roberts! We're closing in! Hang on, just a little longer!"

"Copy that! We can hold for a bit more. We'll give you cover fire!" Roberts turned to his men and shouted, "Alright, boys, keep your heads up! Reinforcements are here!"

The sight of our approach was a lifeline for Roberts' men. Though they were still under heavy fire, trapped in narrow, brutal kill zones, at least now they weren't completely surrounded. We'd broken through the German rear and given them a fighting chance.

"Look there, sir! That patch of trees to the left of City Hall—that's where they've stashed the anti-tank gun! Just like Roberts said!" Joanner pointed out the clump of artificial woods.

"Then we've gotta take it out." The buildings hemmed us in, making it impossible to fan out. Just a couple of German MGs in cover could stop us cold without armor support. I gritted my teeth.

"Mortars! Level that treeline—now!"