“They’re all kids,” Jake said, his voice breaking for just a second. Then he hardened again. “And we’re the only ones who can stop this. On me. Now.”
The first Panzer IV emerged from the mist like a beast from a nightmare. Its tracks chewed the mud, and its long-barreled gun swung toward their position. Around Billy, the remnants of Easy Company opened fire. Rifles cracked. A bazooka team let loose a rocket that screamed across the field and struck the tank’s side skirt with a flash of orange. The tank kept coming.
“He was just a kid!”
What happened next was not strategy. It was fury. The squad crawled through the ditch until they were parallel with the lead tank. Jake pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade, waited two beats, and lobbed it into the tank’s open commander’s hatch. The explosion was muffled, but the tank lurched to a stop, smoke pouring from every seam.
Billy listened. Above the drumming rain, there was a low, mechanical growl. Tanks. German tanks. The rumble grew until the ground trembled. Brothers In Arms- Hell-s Highway
The rumble of Allied trucks came from the south at last—the corridor still open, barely. Billy pushed off from the tank, adjusted his helmet, and fell in beside Jake. They walked together down the endless, muddy road, two brothers in arms, with the ghosts of a hundred more marching silently behind them.
“They’re coming,” Billy said, his throat dry. “They’re all kids,” Jake said, his voice breaking
“No, no, no—” Billy tried to scramble out of the ditch, but Jake grabbed his harness and yanked him back.
Eddie turned, eyes wide as dinner plates. A burst of German fire caught him in the chest. He crumpled like a discarded puppet. The rain washed his blood into the mud before Billy could even close his mouth. Around Billy, the remnants of Easy Company opened fire
“Hell’s Highway,” Billy muttered. “They can have it.”