Nixon lowered his binoculars and chewed his gum pensively, gazing from the lofty belfry of a church in Uden with Winters brooding beside him. “Krauts are on the move again,” he said. “Still cutting the highway south of Veghel.”
“We’ve got to keep that road open,” Winters muttered, crossing his arms. “I wanna secure the roadblocks, then get Battalion moving west—”
Both captains instinctively hit the floor as a bullet bounced off the giant bell between them. The ricochet was shockingly loud.
Nixon looked up at Winters, grinning incredulously. “Sniper. Jesus Christ.”
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