Irwin Shaw - The Young Lions

Crazily, Jamison bent over and took the pearl-handled forty-five out of the holster and threw it into a corner. Then he ripped clumsily at the holster. He couldn't get it off. He took out his bayonet and cut it away from the belt with savage, inaccurate strokes. He threw the shiny holster on the floor and stamped on it. Captain Colclough did not move. The other soldiers continued to stand stupidly along the scroll-work oak buffet against the wall. "We were going to kill more Krauts than anybody else in the Division, weren't we, morgue-hound? That's what we came to Europe for, wasn't it? You were going to make sure that everybody did his share, weren't you? How many Germans have you killed today, you son of a bitch? Come on, come on, stand up, stand up!" Jamison grabbed Colclough and pulled him to his feet. Colclough continued to look dazedly down at the surface of the table. When Jamison stepped back, Colclough slid down to the floor and lay there. "Make a speech, Captain!" Jamison screamed, standing over him, prodding Colclough with his boot. "Make a speech now. Give us a lecture on how to lose a Company a day in combat. Make a speech on how to leave the wounded for the Germans. Give us a speech on map-reading and military courtesy, I'm dying to hear it. Go on down to the cellar and give Seeley a speech on first aid and tell him to see the Chaplain about the slug in his eye. Come on, give us a speech, tell us how a Major protects his flanks in an advance, tell us how well prepared we are, tell us how we're the best-equipped soldiers in the world!"

Lieutenant Green came in. "Get out of here, Jamison," Lieutenant Green said calmly. "All of you get back to your posts."

"I want the Captain to make a speech," Jamison said stubbornly. "Just a little speech for me and the boys downstairs."

"Jamison," Lieutenant Green said, his voice squeaky but armed with authority, "get back to your post. That's a direct order."

There was silence in the room. Outside, the German machinegun fired several bursts, and they could hear the bullets whining around the walls. Jamison fingered the catch of his rifle. "Behave yourself," Green said, like a schoolteacher to a class of children. "Go on out and behave yourself."

Jamison slowly turned and went out of the door. The other three men followed him. Lieutenant Green looked down soberly at Captain Colclough, lying quietly, stretched out on his side, on the floor. Lieutenant Green did not offer to pick the Captain off the floor.

It was nearly dark when Noah saw the tank. It moved ponderously down the lane, the long snout of its gun poking blindly before it.

"Here it comes," Noah said, without moving, his eyes just over the window-sill.

The tank seemed to be momentarily stuck. Its treads spun, digging into the soft clay, and its machine-guns waved erratically back and forth. It was the first German tank Noah had seen, and as he watched it he felt almost hypnotized. It was so large, so impregnable, so full of malice… Now, he felt, there is nothing to be done. He was despairing and relieved at the same time. Now, there was nothing more that could be done. The tank took everything out of his hands, all decisions, all responsibilities…

"Come on over here," Rickett said. "You, Ackerman." Noah jumped over to the window where Rickett was standing, holding the bazooka. "I'm gahnta see," Rickett said, "if these gahdamn gadgets're worth a damn."

Noah crouched at the window, and Rickett put the barrel of the bazooka on his shoulder. Noah was exposed at the window, but he had a curious sensation of not caring. With the tank there, so close, in the lane, everybody in the house was equally exposed. He breathed evenly, and waited patiently while Rickett manoeuvred the bazooka around on his shoulder.

"They got some riflemen waiting behind the tank," Noah said calmly. "About fifteen of them."

"They're in for a little surprise," Rickett said. "Stand still."

"I am standing still," Noah said, irritated.

Rickett was fussing with the mechanism. The bazooka would have to throw about eighty yards to reach the tank, and Rickett was being very careful. "Don't fire," he told Burnecker at the other window. "Let'th pretend we are not present up here." He chuckled. Noah was only mildly surprised at Rickett's chuckling.

The tank started again. It moved ponderously, disdaining to fire, as though there was an intelligence there that understood its paralysing moral effect that hardly needed the overt act of explosion to win its purpose. After a few yards it stopped again. The Germans behind it crouched for protection close to its rear treads.

The machine-gun further off opened fire, spraying the whole side of the building loosely.

"For Christ's sake," Rickett said, "stand still."

Noah braced himself rigidly against the window-frame. He was sure that he was going to be shot in a moment. His entire body from the waist up was fully exposed in the window. He stared down at the waving guns of the tank, obscure in the growing shadows of dusk in the lane.

Then Rickett fired. The bazooka shell moved very deliberately through the air. Then it exploded against the tank. Noah watched from the window, forgetting to get down. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment. Then the cannon swung heavily downwards, stopped, pointing at the ground. There was an explosion inside the tank muffled and deep. Some wisps of smoke came up through the driver's slits and the edges of the hatch. Then there were many more explosions. The tank rocked and quivered where it stood. Then the explosions stopped. The tank still looked as dangerous and full of malice as before, but it did not move. Noah saw the infantrymen behind it running. They ran down the lane, with no one firing at them, and disappeared behind the edge of the shed.

"It works, Ah reckon," Rickett said. "Ah think we have shot ourselves a tank." He took the bazooka off Noah's shoulder and put it against the wall.

Noah continued to stare out at the lane. It was as though nothing had happened, as though the tank were a permanent part of the landscape that had been there for years.

"For Christ's sake, Noah," Burnecker was yelling, and then Noah realized that Burnecker had been shouting his name again and again, "get away from that window."

Suddenly, feeling in terrible danger, Noah jumped away from the window.

Rickett took his place at the window, holding his BAR again.

"Nuts," Rickett was saying angrily, "we shouldn't ought to leave this here farm. We could stay here till Christmas. That fairy diaper-salesman Green ain't got the guts of a bug." He fired from the hip out into the lane. "Get back there," he muttered to himself. "Stay away from my tank."

Lieutenant Green came into the room. "Come on downstairs," he said. "It's getting dark. We're going to start out in a couple of minutes."

"I'll stay heah for a spell," Rickett said disdainfully, "jest to see that the Krauts keep a proper dithtance." He waved to Noah and Burnecker. "You-all go on ahead now and take off like a big-arsed bird if they spot you."

Noah and Burnecker looked at each other. They wanted to say something to Rickett, standing scornfully at the window, the BAR loose in his big hands, but they didn't know what to say. Rickett didn't look at them as they went through the door and followed Lieutenant Green downstairs to the living-room.

The living-room smelted of sweat and gunpowder and there were hundreds of spent cartridges lying on the floor, crushed out of shape by the feet of the defenders. The living-room looked more like a war than the bedroom upstairs. The furniture was piled on end against the windows and the wooden chairs were broken and splintered and the men were kneeling on the floor against the walls. In the twilit gloom Noah saw Colclough lying on the floor in the dining-room. He was lying on his back, his arms rigid at his sides, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. His nose was running, and from time to time he sniffed sharply, but that was the only sound from him. His sniffing made Noah remember that he had a cold, too, and he blew his nose on the sweaty khaki handkerchief he fished out of his back pocket.