McCabe slapped a fresh clip into his Lee-Enfield and gestured at his section to follow. Ready for whatever lurked below, they stormed down the stairway and took up positions at the entrance to the tram platform. Peering through the small window on the double doors, he spied a single tram on the tracks to his left and what looked like ticket stands and small confectionary shops to the right. He counted at least ten bodies in Wehrmacht uniform slumped along the platform, stripped of their weapons. Bullet holes dotted every wall. After dividing his section to split and take the left and right flanks respectively, he pushed through the doors.
Rushing towards the tram, checking for signs of friend or foe alike, McCabe’s blood turned to ice at the sound of a gun c*****g. He spun about and came
