The canyon pass loomed ahead, jagged rock formations rising sharply on either side, their edges sharp like the teeth. I could feel the weight of the decision we had just made-the narrow, winding passage was our only shot at survival. The convoy had already called for aid, but whether it would arrive in time was another matter. Our only hope now was to hold the pass long enough for reinforcements to arrive. We moved swiftly, the halftruck gunners expertly maneuvering their vehicles to cover the entrance of the pass. The .50 caliber machine guns on both vehicles spat out bursts of fire, raking across the attackers' positions. The sound was deafening, but it was the only thing that kept the enemy from advancing as we scrambled into position.
I took cover behind a rocky outcrop, my new MP-28 slung across my chest. The German-made submachine gun felt solid in my hands, and I felt a sense of grim satisfaction as I checked the safety. It wasn't the most powerful weapon on the battlefield, but in close-quarters combat like this, it was more than adequate. The sound of the bolt snapping into place was a small comfort in the chaos around me.
One of the halftruck gunners called out to us, his voice strained but clear over the comms. "We've got them pinned for now, but we can't hold out forever. Where's that backup?"
"Not yet," I muttered, tightening my grip on the MP-28. I could see the enemy maneuvering along the ridgelines, trying to flank us. Some of them were crouched low, moving in small, agile groups, but the cover of the canyon forced them to come to us. They wouldn't have the advantage of terrain for long.
"Take cover, they're moving in!" a voice shouted, and I ducked behind a large boulder just as the first round of blaster fire erupted from above. The attackers were closing in, but they were still trying to find their angle.
I peeked over the rock and took aim at a pair of figures moving behind a boulder to the right. The MP-28's recoil was manageable as I squeezed off a controlled burst, the rounds striking home with a satisfying thud. One of them dropped immediately, the other ducking back behind cover.
From the other halftruck, I heard the unmistakable sound of the .50 caliber machine gun firing again, sending a hail of rounds toward the incoming attackers. The explosions and showers of dirt from the heavy rounds rattled the air, but they still pressed forward.
I motioned to one of the other men in our convoy, a burly guy with a scar running down his face, a memory of the last battle against the Black Sun, and gestured toward the higher ground to the left. "Cover the flank! I'll take point."
He nodded, adjusting his M1 Carbine with a practiced motion. The carbine, though less powerful than other rifles like the M1 Garand, was light and maneuverable-a perfect weapon for the quick, close encounters we were about to face.
I crouched and sprinted toward the narrow entrance to the pass. The sound of the Winchester Model 1912, the classic pump-action shotgun, echoed through the canyon as a few of the men fired from behind cover, its brutal effectiveness at close range keeping the attackers at bay. The sound of the heavy .50 caliber machine guns added a grim symphony to the fight. But it was all background noise-the real danger was the enemy's ability to outflank us.
I reached a small ridge and dropped to one knee, scanning the area through the iron sights of my MP-28. That's when I saw them—a half dozen of the attackers, cloaked in tattered armor, trying to sneak around our right side. Their movements were swift, and they seemed to be unaware of the trap we were setting for them.
"Now!" I shouted into the comms, pulling a Mk2 grenade from my belt. The grenade felt heavy in my palm as I pulled the pin, and with a quick flick of my wrist, I hurled it toward the group of enemies. The grenade arced through the air, landing among the attackers just as they took cover behind a set of rocks. The world seemed to freeze for an instant, and then the explosion rang out, a violent burst that sent debris flying in every direction. I could hear the screams of the attackers, but there was no time to celebrate.
"Move up!" I ordered, my voice hoarse from the adrenaline coursing through me.
We had no time to waste. The backup wasn't here yet, but we were slowly forcing the enemy into retreat. The men from the halftrucks had begun to advance, keeping the pressure on the attackers while the rest of us followed suit.
After what felt like hours, I turned toward the distant sound of engines, and my heart skipped a beat. Finally, the reinforcements were here. At first, it was just a faint rumble, but then the ground began to tremble beneath my boots as the unmistakable silhouettes of Sherman tanks crested the horizon. Four of them-heavy, iron-clad beasts-were charging down the road, their turrets swiveling as they locked onto the enemy positions. Behind them, several M3 halftrucks and a few jeeps followed in close formation, their engines roaring with the promise of firepower. The cavalry had arrived.
The tanks were a sight to behold, I could feel a sense of relief flooding through me as the reinforcements drew closer, and the sound of their engines grew louder, drowning out the remaining enemy fire.
"Thank the stars," I muttered, pulling my MP-28 tight against my body and making sure the magazine was seated securely. But even as I exhaled in relief, I knew the fight wasn't over. The attackers, despite being outgunned, were crafty, and they would likely have some nasty surprises waiting.
The first Sherman, a hulking mass of steel and firepower, opened fire with a deep, thunderous boom. The shot landed squarely on a ridge where a group of enemies had been crouching, sending debris and bodies flying. The shockwave rattled the rocks around us, and I could see the attackers' lines faltering as they scrambled to retreat.
"Let's make sure they don't get away," I ordered, adjusting the strap of my submachine gun and signaling to the halftruck crews.
The halftrucks had already started to move forward, their .50 caliber machine guns chewing through the air, keeping the enemy pinned in their rocky positions. The jeeps, faster and more maneuverable, darted in between the halftrucks and the tanks, their passengers unloading their fire to suppress any attackers trying to flank.
I watched as the second Sherman rolled into position, its turret swinging toward a group of enemy combatants attempting to regroup behind a rocky outcrop. Another thunderous boom erupted, and a plume of dust and rock was all that remained where the attackers had been. I motioned for the rest of our team to fall in.
"Let's press them while they're disoriented! We have the advantage now!"
We moved quickly, covering ground while the heavy guns of the Shermans kept the enemy under constant fire. My ears rang, but there was no time to hesitate. We had to move fast and eliminate any remaining pockets of resistance before they could regroup.
I spotted one of the M3 halftrucks rolling forward, its machine gun spitting fire into the hills to the right. A few blaster bolts came our way, but the halftruck gunners were good-they kept the attackers suppressed. Meanwhile, another Sherman moved up to the right side, its 75mm gun slamming into a cluster of rocks where a group of the enemy had set up a defensive position.
"Move out, let's clear the rest of them!" I shouted, grabbing a Mk2 grenade from my belt. We couldn't let them get too comfortable. The enemy had already shown that they weren't afraid to die for a fight, and we had to put an end to this before they turned the tables.
With the Sherman tanks providing the heavy artillery, the M3 halftrucks and jeeps pushed forward, closing the gap. The remaining attackers, now realizing the odds were against them, began to retreat, but we weren't giving them the chance to escape.
I hurled the grenade toward a small boulder where I had seen movement, the explosive sending debris and dust into the air. The blast caught the last few stragglers who had been trying to flee. They crumpled to the ground, their resistance broken in the wake of the overwhelming firepower. The sounds of battle began to quiet as the attackers were either neutralized or scattered, no longer willing to face the combined fury of our forces. I glanced back at the approaching tanks and halftrucks, their guns still trained on the ridgelines and rocks, just in case anyone was foolish enough to keep fighting. "We've got them on the run," I said, taking a deep breath, finally allowing myself a moment to relax. The reinforcements had turned the tide completely.
But even as I caught my breath, I knew this wasn't over we had made it through today, but there would be more battles ahead.
"Let's clean up," I ordered, turning toward the rest of the convoy. We still had work to do.
The tanks rumbled in their position, the halftrucks moved forward to check for any stragglers, and the jeeps began to circle the area, making sure there were no further threats. We were all still alive to fight another day.