Brothers in Arms: Hell's Highway: A Brothers in Arms Novel

Brothers in Arms: Hell's Highway: A Brothers in Arms Novel

“With sharp insights into history, combat, and human nature, this enthralling novel can stand beside even the best chronicles of that fabled ‘band of brothers.’ ” –Ralph Peters, author of Wars of Blood and Faith It’s 1944, and the German war machine is on its heels but still lethal, while the Allies pry the Netherlands from the Nazis’ grasp. Operation Market Garden will be spearheaded by the 101st Airborne Screaming Eagles. But if you’re one man in one corner of this battle, it’s a plunge into chaos–at a place called “Hell’s Highway.” Sergeant Matt Baker is a recon leader from the 101st, in charge of a team of Brits, Americans, and Dutch resistance fighters sent on a desperate reconnaissance mission. For Baker, every step behind enemy lines means dozens of critical choices, firefights that explode out of nowhere, and facing down one ruthless German who knows his war is lost– and who is as fierce as he is brilliant. To both men, it’s a battle to get out of hell alive. From the struggles of the men and women of the Dutch resistance to a pitched fight for one critical bridge, Hell’s Highway is the suspense-packed, surprise-filled version of the bestselling video game–and an intense epic journey into the true nature of war. John Antal, U.S. Army (retired), served thirty years in the military and earned the rank of colonel. He is an airborne ranger and served as a tank officer in combat units around the world. A prolific writer of military history and military historical fiction, he has published more than two hundred articles and eight books, and he is the historical director for Gearbox Software’s mega-selling Brothers in Arms video games. Send any comments you have concerning Hell’s Highway to Colonel Antal at biabooks@gmail.com . 1: The Canal Out of every 100 men, ten shouldn’t even be there. / Eighty are just targets. / Nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. / Ah, but the one, / One is a warrior, / And he will bring the others back. / —Heraclitus, circa 500 BC Monday, 0140 hours, September 25, 1944. Cold, wet, tired, and scared. Why, Baker thought, is war always this way? The air was heavy with moisture, and a thick fog blanketed the flat, marshy land. “Let’s get on with it,” Staff Sergeant Matt Baker announced with a grim smile that was more a measure of determination than anything else. Baker stood five feet, eleven inches with the build of a Notre Dame linebacker. His closely cropped brown hair and blue eyes made him look older than his twenty-one years. His youth and confidence belied the fact that he was a veteran of many skirmishes and battles. Now, he was the leader of a small, forlorn group of soldiers facing an impossible task. “A helluva way to fight a war,” Corporal Tom Zanovitch answered. “But you’ll do okay. Both of you. I know you will.” Baker took off his helmet and handed it to Zanovitch. The helmet was emblazoned with a white “R” painted on both sides, designating that Baker was a member of the elite Reconnaissance Platoon of the 101st Airborne Division, the Screaming Eagles. The rumble of distant artillery interrupted the moment, reminding everyone that there was a bigger war going on than just their personal battle in this small section of Holland. “We’ll only need our pistols for this mission,” Baker added, and gave his submachine gun to Zanovitch. Zanovitch took Baker’s helmet and weapon and placed them in the jeep. At the same time, Private First Class Johnny Swanson, a tough New Yorker from the 326th Airborne Engineer Battalion, took off his helmet and weapon and laid them in the jeep. War changes you, Baker thought as he reflected on his short twenty-one years of existence. It compresses time and experience. Two years ago, he was a civilian. A year ago he was a recruit. A little more than three months ago he was a rookie soldier, jumping into the dark night on D-day. As a squad leader he fought his way across the Normandy hedgerows to Carentan, leading his paratroopers with distinction but unable to save them all. He had earned a Bronze Star for valor for his leadership in the Normandy operation and lost some good friends. He had aged a lifetime in the process. Baker drew a .45 caliber pistol from the brown leather holster at his side. He carefully looked at the pistol for a moment, read the inscription on its side, and then pulled back the slide and let it jump forward. A .45 caliber round was now loaded in the chamber. “That pistol has come a long way. The colonel would be proud. Honor and courage,” Zanovitch offered. Baker looked at Corporal Zanovitch for one protracted moment, searching the eyes of his fellow soldier, looking for a meaning behind the comment. Like a flare in the night, Baker’s glance seemed to say: “Not now—don’t burden me with this now.” “Well, in any case, good luck,” Zanovitch offered, looking straight at his sergeant’s face. “If it can be done, you and Swanson can do it.” Baker didn’t answ