“Do we go into that, Sergeant?” Fritz asked.

Ludwig understood why he hesitated. Open country was best for panzers. Out on the plains and meadows, you could see trouble coming. But somebody’d forgotten to issue a whole lot of plains and meadows to this part of Czechoslovakia. “Yes, we do,” Rothe answered. “Our job is to smash through their defensive lines. Once we do that, the rest of the country falls into our lap.”

“If they don’t blow our balls off first.” That wasn’t Fritz; it was Theo. So the radioman was listening after all. Ludwig would have come down on him for sounding defeatist if he weren’t so likely to be right.

Into the woods. Other panzers were pushing forward, too. Things were better-or seemed better, anyhow-when you had company. There was, of course, the saying about misery.

A bullet struck sparks as it spanged off the panzer’s hull. That left Ludwig with a couple of really unpleasant choices. If he stayed where he was, he was much too likely to get shot. But if he ducked down inside the turret and shut the hatch, he would have the devil’s own time seeing where he was going. All kinds of bad things were liable to happen to the panzer then.

He stayed where he was. Every so often, he fired a short burst from his machine gun. The other panzer commanders were doing the same thing. Foot soldiers banged away, too. With enough lead in the air, the Czechs would be too busy taking cover and dying to shoot back much.

He hoped. Boy, did he!

The Panzer II emerged from the woods onto open ground that had taken a beating from bombs and artillery. As soon as it did, Ludwig wished it hadn’t, because there sat a Panzer I, burning like nobody’s business. The commander had tried to get out of the turret, but he hadn’t made it. Something nasty lurked in the next stretch of trees.

“There it is!” Fritz screamed. “One o’clock! Panzer! Goddamn Czech panzer!”