No Less Than Victory

by Jeff Shaara

  The valley wound away around the hillside, beyond their view, and Benson searched the openings in the brush, crevasses in the rock, the men there moving idly, oblivious, going about their day.

  Beside him, Mitchell said, “There! That black brush! A big gun!”

  Benson focused on a blotch of black, men moving out from underneath. It’s not brush at all, he thought. It’s camouflage! He stared for a long moment, saw another just like it, a few dozen yards to one side, the stick of a protruding barrel just visible. His teeth were chattering, the fear rising, the rifle small, useless, thought, this is more than stupid!

  There was a hand on his arm, the face calm, a slight smile. It was the wire man. “Uh, you all can get on outta here now. We’re done.”

  Greeley slid backward, said, “Back up, you jackasses. We’re not here to sightsee. The job’s done. Let’s go!”

  Benson hesitated, watched the Germans across the way, and below, the gun crews doing their work. Mitchell was tugging at his pant leg, hard, the message clear, and Benson slid himself backward in the snow, past the observer. Harroway was already dug in, disguised by the saplings, snow piled up to look natural, just one more snowdrift. The wire man moved up close to Harroway, hoisted three wheels of the phone cable onto his back, the fourth held low. He said something to Harroway, a nod between them, and Harroway made a short wave to Greeley, a silent thank you, then seemed to disappear into his burrow, already doing his job.

  The engineer was using the trees as cover, and Benson thought about taking his place on the flank, but Greeley had given no orders, the squad ambling downhill. Benson watched the engineer, curious, the man’s efficient carefulness, thought, why? They can’t see us. But there was urgency to the way the engineer was moving, and Benson felt a stab of fear, looked out across the hilltop, the other ridgelines. He was shivering, raw excitement, could still see the Germans in his mind, stupid morons, completely unaware we’re up here, what we’re doing! He wanted to laugh, felt giddy from the adventure of it, still shivering, moving downhill with more speed, the others as well, saw now that the engineer had stopped, was watching them come, his back against a tree, his hands up, motioning them to stay low.

  The crack split the bark of a tree near Benson’s head, more cracks, Benson jolted by the sound. Men were dropping flat close to the trees, huddled low.

  The engineer was back up, crawling among them, hard whispers. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Can’t draw any more fire. Keep moving! Get back down to the road! Go!”

  Benson didn’t understand, saw some of the faces, Yunis, Lane, the others, still huddled at the trees.

  The engineer said it again, louder now. “You want mortars to find you? Go! Get out of here!” He began to run, darting from tree to tree, making his way quickly downhill, still waving the men after him.

  Benson thought of Greeley, didn’t know where he was, the man supposed to be in charge. He searched for the engineer, the man’s confidence, felt loyalty to him, the man who seemed to understand everything. Benson was up now, moving quickly, staying close to the trees, mimicking the engineer, pausing at the edge of the open spaces, then quick darts across. There was a new sound, machine-gun fire, but it was far away, no accuracy, the snow popping, trees chattering with the impacts. Benson kept running, could see the engineer again, the man dropping low, behind the cover of a thick pine, waiting for them, waving still, pulling the men off the hill. The engineer held up his hands, gathering the men, and gradually they came together, panting, terrified. The engineer pressed his palms downward, said in a harsh whisper, “Low! Keep down! We’re okay! No line of sight now. Too many trees. They can’t see us!”

  Benson focused on a spruce tree, thought of the tentlike cover, but the shooting had stopped, and Sergeant Higgins was there, close beside him, said, “That was coming from pretty far away. I don’t think they hit anybody.”

  The engineer stared up the hill, the last of the men coming down. Benson saw Greeley, frightened eyes, a wild animal, falling to his knees, scampering into cover. The engineer crawled up close to him, said, “Take command, Lieutenant! That was sloppy as hell! The Krauts could be anywhere, and you have to keep your men on guard, keep them down. We were standing out like fat pigs up there! Some Kraut must have spotted us from one of those hills across the way, probably that one to the east. I can guarantee you they were about to drop some mortar shells on us, and they still might.”

  Greeley seemed to fight for control. “What about Captain Harroway? He’s alone up there!”

  “Harroway knows how to cover himself up. That’s his job. You could walk right by him and never know he’s there. The enemy probably thinks we’re just a patrol, poking our asses around. The way we blew off that hill, they’re probably laughing themselves sick, watching how they scared us away. Our problem now is to get out of here before any Kraut patrols decide to come out here to find us. Where’s the wire man?”

  Greeley was still frantic, said, “I don’t know! Was he hit?”

  Benson looked back up the hill, saw a man slipping through a cluster of brush, slow, steady steps. Mitchell said, “I’ll be damned. There he is.”

  The man unspooled his wire as he came toward them, calmly doing his job. He reached the thickets, glanced down through the timber.

  The engineer said, “You all right, soldier?”

  “Fine, sir. Sorry to lag behind, but Captain Harroway would have my butt if I didn’t get this here wire strung. Can’t leave the captain up there without a telephone. Wouldn’t be much point to that.”

  The words flowed out in a slow southern drawl, and Benson was amazed at the man’s serenity.

  Mitchell said, “You’ve done this before then?”

  “Oh sure. Buncha times. The captain gets mighty upset if his phone don’t work. We kinda take pride in mashing those enemy guns. Pardon me for saying so, sirs, but we need to keep this wire up here, offa that road. It’s mostly paved, or else frozen rock-hard, and we probably can’t cut across it to bury the wire. Tank treads aren’t helpful to phone wire, and the captain gives me hell aplenty as it is.”

  Benson was enjoying the man’s matter-of-factness, but the engineer seemed to find no humor, was staring out toward the far hills.

  “You’re right. We’ll stay up in these trees and head west, until the ridgeline ends. We’ll probably be able to drop down, then climb right back to our own position over that way. You have enough wire?”

  “Oh, sure, sir. But when each one of these here spools run out, I gotta stop and tie it up to the next one. Make a good connection ’tween the two. Got my tools right here.”

  The engineer seemed satisfied, looked at Greeley now, and Benson saw the change in the engineer’s expression, a hint of disgust. “You ready to lead your men back home, Lieutenant?”

  Greeley had gained control, seemed embarrassed. He looked at the others, made a cursory head count, said to Higgins, “Everyone accounted for, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, good. Let’s keep to these trees, and stay low. I guess we ought to hustle it up. Not much daylight left. Sergeant, you take the point.”

  The engineer said, “Lieutenant, if you don’t mind, I’ll take the point with my man. We run into some open ground, or a trail, we’ll want to sweep it for mines. I’d keep your men in formation, just like before. We already know the enemy is in these woods, and our mission’s complete. We don’t need to bump into anyone, especially in the dark.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Fine. You’re up front then. I’ll stay back, keep anybody from straggling, make sure the wire gets laid all right.”

  The men were rising up now, and Mitchell moved past Benson, gave him a glance, a look Benson knew. Yep, I guess the lieutenant’s decided he’s more valuable in the rear. Hard to argue with that.

  They wound their way back through the thicket of trees, and Benson stayed closest to the road, the left flank, kept one nervous eye on the road below him, the wide flat ribbon that followed the hillside
. There were still no tracks on the road, no sign that anyone had used it at all, virgin snow. Thank God for that.

  Out front the engineer led the way, the metal detector unused now, nothing on this hillside that seemed to concern the man. Below them, the road seemed to rise up, the hillside changing, growing shallow, and Benson saw a hand signal from the engineer, calling the men together. Benson moved close, the others gathering, Greeley there as well, and the man with the wire. Benson saw only one spool now, thought of the man’s drawl. So, he made his connection with the wire. I guess he works faster than he talks. Good thing.

  The engineer focused on Higgins, seemed to ignore the lieutenant, said, “Sergeant, we’re pretty close to our own position. There’s open ground up ahead, pretty flat. Hold your men back in the cover, give us a chance to sweep a path. I’ve seen this place before. We’re a little north of your company’s position, and the open ground is like a bowl. Our boys are on the far side, dug into the tree line. Up ahead, the main road has a feeder trail coming off this hill to our right. It’s just a narrow woods road that goes somewhere out to the north. We have to cross that, so we’d better dig a furrow for the wire.” He looked at the wire man. “Can’t be helped. You understand that?”

  “Sure do, sir. If it ain’t paved, no sweat. Done it before. If some of these boys’ll cut me a V shape, I’ll lay the wire across and slap some flat rocks over it. Oughta work. Snow’ll cover the whole shebang right up.”

  “Good. Give my man a couple minutes to check for mines, clear us a path.”

  Sergeant Higgins seemed to accept the authority the engineer assigned to him.

  “Sir, we’ll hold where you tell us, and you wave when you’re ready.” Higgins looked at Greeley, who seemed to take it all in without comment. Benson watched the lieutenant’s face, expected something, outrage, embarrassment. But Greeley just nodded along with the others.

  The engineer rose, his man with the metal detector moving with him. The squad followed, Benson closest to the main road, saw the open ground out front, a wide blanket of snow, a ridge farther on, thick with trees. He saw the intersection on the main road, the smaller trail cutting off across the field, just as the engineer had described, barely visible. The hand signal came, Stop, and the squad sat low, all of them watching as the metal detector began its sweep. Benson huddled low, felt uneasy, didn’t like the open ground, maybe thirty yards just to reach the trail. He glanced toward Mitchell, who was cleaning snow from his rifle. They watched the engineer, who stayed close to his man, guiding, pointing, the man with the earphones doing his work, the wide sweeps back and forth. They reached the narrow roadway, seemed to slow, concentrate on the trail itself, and then they were across, more sweeps. The engineer pulled his man down low, knelt beside him, turned and waved at the squad. Benson let out a low breath, relief, the squad filing out into the field, single-file, following the footsteps in the snow. Greeley pushed his way to the front, taking charge once more, and no one spoke, Higgins falling back, waiting as the others passed, Benson looking at him, the sergeant with no expression, doing his job again, bringing up the rear. The wire man was there, doing his as well, the last coil half empty, and Benson looked up to the ridgeline in front of them, thought, can’t go much beyond that. He’ll run out of wire. Then what?

  They had reached the trail, and Benson could see it was a narrow two-rut road, barely visible in the snow, no tire tracks. Nope, no one’s been on that one either …

  The blast erupted in front of him, men knocked back, falling. Benson was shoved down hard, rocks and dirt showering him. There was a sharp scream, more, a hard cry, men yelling. Benson struggled to pull himself up, rolled over, tried to see, snow in his face, his heart shattering his chest. Some of the men were pulling themselves up, some with rifles raised, wild eyes, frantic, moving quickly but there was nowhere to go.

  Benson heard a shout, from beyond the narrow road, the engineer. “Halt! Stop! Stay put!”

  The blast still echoed through the hills, hard ringing in Benson’s ears, and he wiped at the mud in his eyes. The narrow road was a churned-up mess of black smoking dirt, a man’s body, another, pieces. He felt sick, stared, couldn’t look away, saw the engineer stepping quickly toward the road, careful, the man watching his own footsteps.

  The cries came again, one of the bodies in motion, rolling over in the road, out of control, screaming, the engineer falling on top of him, calling out to the others. “Stay in their footprints! There are mines here!”

  The men obeyed, the horror freezing them all so they understood, each man stepping only where the man in front of him had been. Benson looked across, saw the man with the metal detector sitting in the snow, horror on his dirty face.

  The questions came now, Mitchell, close to the engineer. “What the hell happened? That thing busted? You killed them!”

  “Back off, soldier!”

  Benson saw Higgins moving forward quickly, ignoring the footsteps, grabbing Mitchell’s shoulder. Higgins knelt beside the bodies, said, “Oh God. It’s the lieutenant … and who … oh mother. It’s Brubaker.”

  The engineer raised himself off the shattered mess that was Greeley’s body, said, “He lived for a minute. But too much blood. Took his guts …”

  The engineer backed away, sat in the snow, his head in his hands.

  “I killed them both. Son of a bitch. I killed them both.”

  Higgins took up Mitchell’s anger now, said, “How? That damn machine …”

  “The metal detector … the Germans have been using a new mine, almost no metal, wrapped in some kind of wax. I hadn’t heard any reports that there were any out here. I didn’t think … the trail is old … oh hell. God help them. I should have known. I killed these men …”

  Higgins responded, “What the hell could you have done different, sir? You got a wax detector? We gotta get our asses out of this open ground. It’s getting dark, and we got no time for bellyaching. If that’s our ridge, somebody’s watching us.”

  Benson moved in the footsteps, closer to the bodies, saw blood and blackness, dirt and the stink of explosives. Greeley’s face was twisted into some kind of grotesque smile, a wide gash splitting his torso, blood flowing through the melted snow around him. The other man, Brubaker, had lost a leg, the leg itself a burnt stump lying to one side, more blood, too much. Benson felt the sickness coming, spun to the side, dropped to both knees and vomited in the snow. It was contagious, two others doing the same, and he felt Mitchell’s hand, the words, “It’s okay, Eddie. Nothing we coulda done.”

  The engineer seemed to take control of himself, said, “We can’t move them, not yet. Have to check the area by hand.”

  He knelt, the man with the metal detector doing the same, the rehearsed training, sliding their arms into the snow, close to the narrow road.

  Higgins said, “There’s no time for that, sir. We’ve got to get up to those trees. Some Kraut patrol could be following us, and they had to hear the blast. We’re dead out here!”

  Benson heard voices, up ahead, in the trees.

  “Hey! What happened?”

  The uniforms were their own, breathless relief, and Higgins shouted, “Two casualties! There are mines out here! Stay back!”

  The men kept coming, a dozen, stepping carelessly through the snow, closer now, one man moving out quickly, an officer.

  “We cleared off this field a while back with a flail tank. Must have missed some on the road. Dammit to hell. This field’s okay, though.”

  Benson didn’t know the officer, saw dull white captain’s bars on his helmet. The captain looked at the engineer now, said, “I know you, Lieutenant. Galen, right?”

  “Yes, sir. These men are from Company B, of the Four Two Three.”

  “Yeah, I know. Captain Moore told me about the mission. You get the observer in place?”

  The engineer nodded slowly, and Sergeant Higgins said, “Yes, sir. His wire man is here.”

  The wire man held up his spool. “Right here, sir. All I n
eed is a wire to hook ’er up to.”

  The captain called back to his men, who seemed reluctant to get any closer. “Bring two litters up here. There’re no wounded, so leave the medics in their holes.” He looked again at Higgins, said, “Who’s in command here, Sergeant?”

  “I suppose … I am, sir. That body there is our platoon leader, Lieutenant Greeley.”

  The engineer pulled himself upright, tried to show composure, said, “Captain, he’s correct. I was only accompanying the patrol. My job was to … prevent this from happening.”

  The captain showed no emotion, and Benson saw him glance at the two bodies, shake his head. He put a hand on the engineer’s shoulder. “Get hold of yourself, Lieutenant. Sergeant, take your men up into that tree line. Captain Moore’s OP is to the left, about a quarter mile down the line, back in a thicket. Somebody’ll guide you if you need. Report to him, tell him what happened.” The captain moved toward the wire man, looked at the spool. “I’ll be damned. Just enough. That crazy Harroway knows how far he can push. All right, soldier, you follow me. I’ll hook you up at the communications tent.”

  “Thank you mightily, sir. The captain’ll be pleased to know we ain’t forgot him.”

  The captain moved away, the wire man following, unrolling the spool as he went. Benson was still on the near side of the blasted road, saw Mitchell moving across, between the bodies, stepping through black mud. Well, I guess that’s safe. He followed, tried not to look down, the smell overpowering, death and explosives. The rest of the squad came across, some of the men staring away, looking up into the tree line, to safety, some glancing back at the gutted lieutenant, the other man’s severed leg, the boot still attached.

  Higgins said, “Benson, you and Yunis stay here. Stay with … them, until the litter bearers get here. There are animals in these woods. We’re not just leaving them out here.”

  “Okay, Sarge.”

  Benson looked for Yunis, saw him still out across the road, hunched over, looking sick. The sergeant moved away, led the others up toward the tree line, slow slogging footsteps, each man behind the next, no one with much faith in the captain’s reassurance. Benson looked for a place to sit, kicked at the soft snow, cleared an open swath, thick grass and mud. He realized it was snowing again, the sky just as dense and gray as it had been every day they had been there. He ignored Yunis, didn’t care if the squirrelly man was sick or not, tried not to stare at the remains in the churned-up road. He didn’t know much about Brubaker, would never know now. Brubaker had been one of the new men, maybe friends with the bully, Lane. Lane had been silent throughout the entire mission, and Benson didn’t look for him now, didn’t care which one of the parade of black shapes he was, the squad disappearing into the trees. He could feel wetness in the seat of his pants, tried to ignore it, his legs too tired to keep him standing. The rifle was upright between his knees, and he felt a light breeze, the snow hitting his face. There was already a light coating on the gash of open ground, the wound in the earth where the two men had died. He looked toward Yunis, sitting as well, the two men staring at each other from across the deadly roadway. Benson thought of the lieutenant, Greeley not Greeley at all anymore, not a man, just a body … meat. He felt sick again, looked away, let it pass, thought, the lieutenant wasn’t much of a soldier, no hero, no friend to his men, no leader at all. Doesn’t much matter now. He’ll probably get a medal, that damn engineer putting him in for it, because he feels guilty for killing him. Hell, he didn’t kill him. Mines with no metal. Who’d a guessed that? I guess the engineer should have thought of it. What kind of crazy stupid place is this? He thought of some joke, the usual black humor that swept through the early days of training. Join the army and learn a skill. Find a better way, a smarter way to kill someone. I guess, today, the Krauts won. Their engineer was better than ours. Somewhere out there, some Kraut general is patting that guy on the back for his good idea.