Winters notices Blithe hiding and totally wins me over by being encouraging, not angry. Winters is warm. Wow, so that's Winters, Blithe, Easy Company...man, how is it that a non-fiction show gets to ooze with so much irony? It's a bit sick. "Get on your feet, soldier! That's right, Blithe, you can do it!" Winters shouts with a smile. "Fire your weapon, Blithe, get those goddamn Germans!" His hands trembling, his brow furrowed and sweat beading on his face, Blithe gingerly pulls the trigger, then again, and again, and finally he's in a rhythm. Slowly he's fiercer, more in control. "Let them have it, Blithe!" Winters cheers him. Stunned at his own strength, Blithe quickly reloads and starts shooting off another round.
Someone's finger is shot off. The tanks creep closer to Easy's hedgerow; for its part, Easy is holding ground and praying that the infantry shows up to provide relief. Welsh and a Pvt. McGrath lug a bazooka out into the field. "You're gonna get me killed, Lieutenant!" McGrath yells, shaking his head. "I knew you'd get me killed!" Welsh loads the gun as McGrath aims it; they're going to try to hit the tank just as it comes over the hill's crest. Across the field, two other men toting a bazooka get blasted back to the hedgerow by tank fire. An encouraging omen. As Winters screams for covering fire, Welsh gives the order to fire and McGrath hits the tank with a blast right to its front. Score! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! The tank disabled, they scramble back to the pits as someone praises McGrath's aim.
Several unidentifiable men get hurt: one is shot in the knee, others are shot while firing from the hedgerow; another takes a bullet to the throat, and yet another takes one in the chest. Medics run around trying to tend to all the wounds, but it's hard to get concerned when we don't have anything invested in any of the injured men. They're just extras.
To the delight of Easy, Sherman tanks appear over the hill and start decimating the German side. "Well, hello 2nd Armored," cheers a man we should probably recognize, but whose face is obscured by binoculars. Whose decision was that? Lord, this show is driving me to drink. Well, okay, I was already there, but this show definitely bought me a few shots. Easy begins to celebrate, firing with renewed vigor at the urging of Winters, Welsh, and even young Perconte. Out in the field, Malarkey sighs, "About damn time!" and Winters shouts, "Let's go, pour it on! Let 'em have it!" The American tanks run wild, blasting the hell out of the enemy and even crushing one soldier under its treads. We hear the gruesome crunchy pop of an exploding skull, and I'm sort of surprised Spielberg and his realism fetish didn't result in viewers getting treated to a grisly shot of his remains. Maybe Stevie slept through this episode.