We can't rest—absolutely not. Even though the Germans are momentarily too battered to strike, if they get a few hours to regroup, they'll marshal fresh forces hell-bent on wiping us out. Right now, our company is sitting like a spearshaft in the German defensive line—and the remnants of their armored patrols are free to hunt us down. The only way to survive is to press forward while their units remain scattered across Vierville. We must smash them one by one and secure our lives—and the lives of the men who remain with me. The moment the Germans consolidate, we're dead men.
"Listen up, everyone! Get it together—right now! If you play dead, fine. Stay there and wait to die. I've got no patience for slackers. The Krauts' armored force might be broken, but their strength still lies out there. The second they combine their numbers, that's when they'll methodically pick us off. We have one shot: strike while they're spread out in the village. Hit them fast, break them into pieces, and only then can we pull out of this godforsaken hole alive!"
War isn't polite. In the perpetual shadow of death, every man's temper frays. Even officers—though we try to project calm authority in front of our troops—are human. We need to vent. Sometimes we curse or even strike a man, just to remind everyone who's in charge. The officer who never raises his voice, who never sweats in combat, is either a desk jockey or hasn't faced real war. Once you've endured the front line, your temperament changes—you carry the battlefield with you forever.
I won't lie: ever since I crash-landed into this hellish time, fighting savage battles night after night, I ache for my old peaceful world. Will this damned war ever end? Maybe only when we crush every last German here.
We'd been fighting all through the night; now dawn's pale light crept over the fields. By sunrise, 3rd Company's tally was impressive. Though the Germans fought stubbornly, their resistance was in small, isolated pockets—and without heavy firepower, they couldn't break our concentrated assaults. When they lost several anti-aircraft positions, they finally regrouped all remaining troops into two pillbox strongpoints on Vierville's western edge for one last stand.
At this point, they weren't attacking anymore. They'd sealed every approach with lethal precision. Behind those two bunkers—fortified with four MG42s apiece, a mortar section, and a Flakvierling 20mm quad‐AA gun—lay roughly half a battalion of German infantry. They were like a bristling hedgehog: no weak points to exploit. Without heavy weapons at our disposal, I had no way to smash through their defenses. Any frontal assault would cost us staggering casualties—something I could not afford.
Then we got new orders: the German 29th Parachute Division was on its way to Vierville. No company, much less ours alone, could stop that force—especially since we had no reinforcements on the horizon. Besides, 3rd Company had already accomplished its mission, according to higher command. Pushing onward meant certain annihilation. Reluctantly, we received orders to withdraw immediately to the outskirts of Carentan, where the Fifth Army held a temporary forward base. There, we'd reorganize and resupply. The remaining German garrison would be left to the forces at Omaha Beach and the British troops on the Gold Coast, who would later launch the next encirclement of Vierville.
Carentan sat at a crucial junction between Omaha and Utah beaches—a linchpin in the Normandy campaign. It had fallen to the U.S. Fifth Army and now served as a crucial forward hub. Sending 3rd Company there was twofold: to replenish our shattered strength for future operations, and to bolster Carentan's defenses. We all knew the Germans wouldn't let Carentan slip away without a desperate fight.
"Men! Upper command just ordered us to pull out of this hellhole!" I announced harshly.
Second Lieutenant Joanner's jaw tightened. "Damn it, we were so close to wiping these Krauts out!"
Second Lieutenant Winters—who usually keeps his mouth shut—spat on the ground, "Damn it. If their reinforcements hadn't been on the brink of rolling in, I'd've blown every last one of them away."
I fell silent for a moment, then looked up. "How long until the German reinforcements arrive?"
Job, the intel corporal, frowned. "Less than an hour, sir."
"That gives us a window," I said, my eyes narrowing. "One last chance to score a hit on them."
Joanner stared at me, respect shining in his eyes. "First Lieutenant, you really are a tactical genius."
I let his praise hang in the air, then got straight to the point. "Here's our plan. Listen closely:
"Joanner and Second Lieutenant Harper, you each lead your squads in another assault on the German positions—a feint, not a real attack. Throw grenades, lay down covering fire—make it look like a full‐scale offensive. But as soon as you've drawn the enemy out, pull back immediately. Don't give them so much as a hint that it's a ruse. Your real goal is to bait the Germans out of those pillboxes."
I pivoted to Winters. "Second Lieutenant Winters, find whatever German weapons you can—ideally a couple of MG42s. If you can obtain German uniforms, even better. In fifteen minutes, move to the village entrance and open fire on empty air—spray those machine guns like it's a pitched battle."
Then I faced Donovan. "Second Lieutenant Donovan, you and your platoon will lie in ambush in the valley. Do not fire until the Germans commit their pursuit force. Once they leave the bunkers to chase Joanner and Harper, your squad will move in, blow up those pillboxes with explosives, and then race east toward the old German command post. You'll catch the pursuing Germans in the flank—by coordinating with our main body, you'll cut them to pieces."
Finally, I addressed everyone else. "My headquarters element will link up with Joanner and Harper as they withdraw. Then we'll all fall back eastward toward the former German command post. Joanner, you speak German—if you can infiltrate the enemy's pursuit force, do it. If not, at least get close enough to hit them by surprise. Once I slam in from my direction, we'll surround them on three sides. Those bastards won't see it coming. Understood?"
A chorus of "Understood, sir!" echoed across the dusty field.
"Move out—right now!"
Joanner and Harper launched their staged assault with ferocity. As soon as their squads hurled grenades and opened fire, the Germans went tense. For fifteen minutes, our men hammered at the pillboxes—just long enough to convince the enemy it was a genuine attack. Then, on cue, they broke off, feigning a panicked retreat toward the east road.
From inside the pillboxes, the roar of MG42s exploded in response. Those German gunners froze for a heartbeat, then erupted in glad shouts. Convinced our assault was no ruse, they heaved fresh squads out of the bunkers to chase Joanner and Harper.
Joanner and Harper fell back under brutal fire but returned shots that dropped half a dozen pursuers. The Germans briefly staggered, but as the MG42 chatter at the village entrance intensified and our withdrawal became more chaotic, the German commander committed every available man to the chase.
"Fire! Our reinforcements are here! The Yanks can't hold! Rush them—wipe them out!" their cries rang out, savage with excitement.
Joanner's and Harper's squads fled in full rout, racing toward the old German command post. Their panic convinced the Germans that this wasn't a feint—it was a genuine collapse.
And that was exactly our point.