Street Boys by Lorenzo Carcaterra Page B

force. Their only known enemy is the one who blocks the path they have chosen.
    Connors stepped back from the bluff and stuffed the small binoculars into the rear of his pack. “Never seen churches so big,” he said to Willis and Taylor, glancing over at the sleeping mastiff. “You could fit half of Covington inside any one of them. And there are so many. The people who lived on those streets must have given a lot of hours over to prayer.” He turned to take one more look down through the smoldering smoke and misty haze of the broken buildings below. “Didn’t seem to do them all that much good though, did it?”
    “I never used to pray,” Willis said. “Not until I started eating army rations. Now I pray before every meal.”
    “You think we’ll ever get a taste of that Italian food we hear the Dagos in our unit talk about?” Taylor asked, holding up his can of hash. “Or is this as good as it’s going to get?”
    “I wouldn’t mind a nice cool glass of wine myself,” Connors said. “All we got in Covington is moonshine and watered-down beer.”
    “From the looks of what’s left of that city down there,” Taylor said, “the only wine bottles we’re going to find are broken ones.”
    The first shot rang out and bounced off a rock, missing Connors’s leg by less than an inch. The second one clipped the back of the tree where Taylor and Willis were eating their hash, sending both men scurrying for cover. “You see anything?” Taylor shouted out, rifle at the ready, as he braced himself against the side of a large boulder.
    Connors looked at the mastiff and watched as the dog stood, his eyes staring up into the clearing to his right. “In the thick bushes,” he said. “About two o’clock.”
    “How many you figure?” Willis asked. He was laying flat down, the tree his only cover.
    Connors ran from the edge of the bluff and threw himself to the ground, seeking cover behind a small stone wall. Two bullets rang out, each nicking off a piece of rock. “So far, I figure it’s just the one,” he said. “But the others could be out there waiting for us to make a move.”
    Taylor raised his rifle above the boulder and fired off two quick rounds into the bushes overhead. “Save your ammo,” Connors said. “Count on seeing him, not on luck.”
    “If he’s in there, I’ll bring him out,” Taylor said, checking his ammo belt. “When I do, you take him.”
    Connors nodded. “Willis, you any good with a gun?” he asked the medic.
    “I’m better with wounds,” Willis said, his head still down.
    “You figure Krauts or Dagos?” Taylor asked, his knees bent, waiting to make his move.
    “Italians have no reason to shoot at us now,” Connors said. “My guess is a Nazi scout team.”
    The mastiff’s bark forced Connors to turn to his left and he fired off two rounds as soon as he saw the glint of a rifle. The second bullet found its mark as he heard a loud grunt and saw a German soldier fall face forward into a row of hedges. Taylor looked over his shoulder and then waved across to Connors. “The medic covers me,” he said. “And you take out the other German.”
    “He’s got the sun to his back,” Connors said. “You’re going to be shooting into glare. He’ll have clear sight on you. None of us will have it on him.”
    “We can’t wait,” Taylor said. “There might be more than two or there might be more coming. Or he can radio back for help. I’m moving and I’m moving now. Back me.”
    Connors took a deep breath and nodded. “Go,” he said.
    Willis and Connors fired into the hedges above them as Taylor made his way up the bluff, running from tree to tree, looking to gain leverage on the hidden soldier. The mastiff stood next to Connors, protected by the row of stones. “I’m just shooting blind rounds here,” Willis said. “I’m going to move to that tree to the right.”
    “Stay put,” Connors said. “Let Taylor get to the top of the hill, then we both