There were three good-sized houses and a huge barn. I think it was a common barn. I guessed that this was one farmer, and he’d built houses for his kids and kept everyone in the family here at the farm. But it was just a guess.
I was in the left inner group, and our job was to take the left-most house, and then the barn. The right inner group was supposed to take the other two houses. I kept my eyes on Cap, who would signal us with hand commands if there were any change in plans. When I wasn’t watching him, I was keeping my eyes on the windows of the left house, watching for any telltale movement of curtains. Nothing was moving anywhere. It was a nice day. Sunny with big bright white clouds, a gentle breeze. Too nice for the job at hand.
Cap snapped his left hand up in a fist, which meant stop. He was staring at the barn. Standing there, smoking a cigarette fifty yards in front of us, was a German colonel! He hadn’t seen us. He’d stepped out of the barn, but he was facing to our right. He was very relaxed. His left arm crossed his belly, and his right elbow was resting on his left hand, acting as a sort of tripod so he could smoke his cigarette without moving much. He stared off into the distance. Unfortunately, our two inner groups were in wide open space with no cover. If he turned and saw us, we would have nowhere to hide.
He slowly dragged on the cigarette several times. He would inhale, hold it, and then purse his lips and blow the smoke up high in the air. Meantime, we all just stood there, motionless. As long as Cap held his fist there, none of us would move. Any little movement in the kraut’s peripheral vision would catch his attention. That was a tough situation, because my natural instinct was to turn my gun on the enemy and be ready to fire. But we were frozen in place. It was like if you had a real bad itch and you were reaching to scratch it, but you had to freeze your hand right above the itch.
The colonel finished his cigarette and casually flicked it to the side, which was right in our direction. As he turned to walk back into the barn, his eyes followed the cigarette butt in the air. Then he did a double-take as he realized what he had just seen in the background behind that butt.
“Shit,” muttered Cap.
“Achtung!” the kraut called. “Achtung!”
“Fall back!” Cap called. “Fall back to the last hedge row! Double-time!”
We turned and hauled ass out of there. The outer groups laid down suppressing fire. They were moving slower than us, but they could crouch behind trees, take a few shots, and move to the next trees. Us middle groups were running as fast as we could. I glanced back once, and saw krauts spilling out of the barn and the houses. Then I caught a glimpse of Tom Duncan sprinting out of the woods as his group also fell back, firing their rifles backward as they struggled to catch up to us. At that point, the last hedgerow was probably two hundred yards away, and we covered that fast—maybe in a minute. We were all panting hard. There were occasional gunshots from the farm. The krauts were going to be getting together to attack.
Cap sat for a few seconds, catching his breath.
“Everybody make it back?” We nodded. The gunshots were more frequent.
“How many of them?” called Cap.
Petey Anderson had been peering through the hedgerow. “At least fifty, Cap. Maybe more.”
“Son of a bitch!” muttered Cap. “We can’t take them. We can’t defend from here.” He stood up and looked out over the landscape we had covered earlier in the day. He nodded slightly several times. I think he was counting the hills we had covered on the way here.
Petey looked at Cap, and then back through the hedgerow. “Cap, they’re gonna be coming fast.”
“OK, boys,” said Cap. “We’re bailing out. We’re in deep shit here, and our only chance to make it is to get back and get help. That was a full German colonel back there, which means he’s commanding a lot more than a single platoon. There should be Buzz Company platoons on either side of us about a mile away. We’re going to make a run for McBurney’s platoon. They should only be about a mile to the northwest. We’ll run straight west for about a half mile, then turn northwest.”
We all nodded and looked at each other. “Boys, this ain’t time for shooting, this ain’t time for heroics. This is time to run your asses off. We can’t beat these krauts, and if they chase us, our only hope is to be faster than them. Let’s go.”
We took off at full speed, which was damn hard because we were loaded up so much with gear. But the adrenaline was high, and anyone can run a half mile when you got gunshots behind you. None of us looked back. We just ran. Cap didn’t carry gear so he ran along with us, falling back to the back of the group or sprinting and catching up with the leader. He was like one of those shepherd dogs that nudge a bunch of sheep along.
We crossed three hills and came to another hedgerow, and Cap said to take a break. We all fell to the ground, gasping. The hedgerow was just past the crest of the last hill we had run. He sent Charlie Moore back up to the crest to see if they were following us. He was back in a minute.
“Cap, they’re coming. I just saw them about three hundred yards away, coming over the second hill.”
“Goddamn it,” said Cap. “How fast are they moving?”
“They ain’t running. But they’re walking at a pretty good clip. I saw two groups. They’re fanning out so they catch us if we turn.”
Cap paused. “They think we’ll wear out and try to make a last stand.”
“Cap! More krauts!” called Robertson. “North-northwest. At least thirty of them!”
Cap stood up and bolted over to Robertson. “Show me.”
Robertson pointed off into the distance. “See ’em? Looks like about a half a mile out. Coming this way!”
Cap nodded. “Son of a goddamn bitch. Anything to the south?”
Bo Cooper shook his head. “There’s nothing out there moving.”
Cap took off his helmet, looked down at the ground, and rubbed the back of his head and neck. Then he walked over to Cooper and looked to the south. He scanned the horizon.
“Cap?” said Moore. “Them krauts will be here pretty soon.”
Cap didn’t reply, and looked to the south for a few more seconds. Then he turned to us.
“Boys, I think we were too fast for our own good. I think we advanced past the front line, and we’re in enemy territory. We’ve got enemies on two sides, and maybe a third. The question is, why don’t we see krauts to the south? Either Lancaster’s platoon has got them busy, or they are moving this way, or they are going to try to cut us off to the west. The way I figure it, we’re outnumbered at least four to one, probably more than that. We don’t have time to radio in for help. We’ve got to move as fast as we possibly can to try to slip through before they tighten the noose on us.”
We glanced around at each other. We were all scared, and we didn’t care if anyone noticed. We SHOULD be scared.
“All right!” said Cap. “Drop all nonessential equipment. We’re going to be running hard. Weapons, ammo, and water only.”
“No camp gear? No food?” asked Cunningham. He was a chubby red-faced guy from Wisconsin. Figures he’d be asking about food at a time like that.
“If this works, we’ll be safe in a few hours,” said Cap. “If it doesn’t work, we won’t need food. Drop your gear and move! Fifteen seconds!”
“Cap,” said Kozlowski. “I’m bringing my letters.”
“Letters go with us,” said Cap to all of us. “Get moving!”
We all turned to our packs, pulled the appropriate items, and started following Paul Taylor. He was going to lead the way. Cap had shown him the route on the map. His instructions were to move ahead, then wait for us to catch up, then move forward again. We all couldn’t run the same pace, but this way we would stretch out over a distance and be less likely to get ambushed. We were going to meet at our first checkpoint, which was a stream about a half mile to the southwest. Cap was running like a shepherd dog again, moving up toward the front of the group, then waiting and counting men as they passed him.
It was
a hell of a lot easier running without gear! In fact, it was almost enjoyable, being a good thirty pounds lighter. And it was a nice day. For a few minutes, I didn’t even think about the Germans. I just focused on my footing as I ran, because I didn’t want to twist an ankle. The terrain was good, so it didn’t take me long to get to the checkpoint. I was the fifth person to reach it. As we arrived, we all took up defensive positions on the crest of the small hill by the stream. We watched the rest of the men run in. I saw Cap about a hundred yards out, standing there watching the men run past him. I counted the men as they came in, and all were accounted for except one.
Cap watched the last runner go by, then he looked to the northeast. He knew there was one man missing. He started to run back east when I saw Cunningham come jogging along, still carrying his pack. Cap was pissed! I could see his head jerking as he yelled at Cunningham. Cunningham just kept running. They made it to the stream, and we all assembled there.
“God damn it, Cunningham!” bellowed Cap. “I said no packs!”
“Cap, it ain’t going to slow me down. We might need something before we’re done.”
Cap pulled a knife! He walked up to Cunningham and stabbed the knife right at him! We were all shocked. I looked around at the group, and everyone’s eyes were open wide.
Cap was lightning-quick, and before we could react, we saw that he hadn’t stabbed Cunningham, but sliced his pack strap. With one strap gone, the weight of the pack pivoted around Cunningham’s back and slid off his right shoulder to the ground.
“Noooo!” yelled Cunningham. He dropped to his knees and grabbed the pack and bear-hugged it tight.
Cap was breathing hard from running, but he was still calm. He put away the knife, and pulled his sidearm. I couldn’t believe it! He brought the barrel right up under Cunningham’s helmet and pushed it into the side of Cunningham’s face.
“I don’t know what you’ve got in there, Cunningham,” Cap said, “and we’re never going to find out. You’re slowing this platoon down, and you’ll get all of us killed if you don’t move your ass. Get up!”
Cunningham stood up, but he still clutched the pack! He had tears in his eyes. “Cap, I can make it! We might need something!”
Cap’s expression softened a little. But he still held the gun right at Cunningham’s face.
“Look son, we will ALL DIE if you don’t move faster. And that pack’s too heavy. It stays.”
Cunningham’s lips started trembling. He started bawling. “But it’s my stuff! I don’t want to lose my stuff! I might need it!”
“We’ll get you more stuff later,” said Cap.
“But it won’t be MY stuff!” said Cunningham.
Cap continued to look right into Cunningham’s eyes, the gun still a few inches from his face. They were both still breathing hard from the running. “Stackhouse, get rid of this pack.”
“Nooo!” screamed Cunningham.
Stackhouse stepped up. In one movement, he slapped his hand down on the pack and snatched it from Cunningham’s grasp. Cunningham grabbed at Stackhouse’s arm. Big Swede stepped in between them and pushed Cunningham toward Cap. Stackhouse launched the pack against a tree. It exploded in a shower of items. Pavelchek stepped to the pack, bent over, and picked something up.
“My pocket knife!” he called.
“Son of a bitch!” yelled Morelli. “Is my lighter there?”
About four guys knelt down at the pack, grabbing at things on the ground.
“Boys, we don’t have time for this!” called Cap. “Chartelli, what’s it look like?”
Chartelli was at the top of our little hill, looking to the east and north. “Nothing yet, Cap. They probably ain’t running like us.”
Cap nodded. “OK, next checkpoint. Mile and a half straight west. There’s a road. Find some cover on the other side of the road. Taylor, show us the way!”
Taylor nodded and turned, splashing across the stream. We all started moving, but we were all looking back at Cunningham, who just stood there, looking at his pack.
The next leg of our run wasn’t as liberating. Now the running was work, and the rifle in my hands was getting heavier and heavier. When I made it to the road, I was surprised to see that Cunningham was only a few men behind me. He didn’t talk to anyone, just sat down and rested like the rest of us.
I was bushed! My legs burned and my elbows hurt from carrying the rifle. Cap let us stay for a good five minutes, sprawled on the ground resting. Pavelchek was watching to the east and north. Jones was watching to the south and east.
“Cap?” asked Petey. “They wouldn’t still be chasing us, would they?”
Cap chewed his lip. “I don’t know. But we’re not risking it until we’re in friendly territory again.” He looked at the map. “We’ve got about seven miles to cover to get back to our last village.”
The group groaned in unison. The image of all those Germans had already faded from our memory, so the idea of running seven more miles wasn’t very appealing.
The run turned from a panic-stricken escape to a long, painful slog. We didn’t see anyone—not a single person of any kind. We’d trained back in England by running a lot, and we had a fair amount of time on our legs during out time in France, but we hadn’t covered ten miles running hard. We were exhausted when we got back to the camp.
When we got back to a field HQ and reported on what we saw, Command sent in two full companies to flush out the krauts. We didn’t have to fight in that battle. I was thankful, because they lost about half of their men in that battle. Those were some especially tough krauts.
The next day, we were all sitting around at breakfast.
“Hey Mack,” called Morelli.
“Yeah?”
“You OK?”
“Yeah?” I asked, wondering what he meant.
“You look kind of naked.”
A few in the group guffawed. I looked down at myself, not understanding what he meant. I heard a ping, and looked up just in time to see a flash of yellow land on the ground in front of me. It was my gold piece. I picked it up, and looked questioningly at Morelli. He just nodded slowly.
“Speaking of naked,” said Peters, “there ain’t nothing worse than seeing a cowboy without his favorite pipe.” He held it up in a flourish.
“I’ll be hornswoggled!” said Tinpan as he slapped his thigh. “I thought that thing was a goner for sure. My daddy gave me that pipe!”
So the Curse had been removed. Some quick thinking by those guys recovered everything but a straight razor that Taft carried. We figured it was still somewhere in the pack.
I never looked at Cunningham in the same way again. In fact, I noticed that he acted kind of twitchy. He would put something in his pack, and then check it three or four times. And he would stick something in his pocket and then reach for his pocket over and over, like he’d lost something. And he collected oddball things, like scraps of cloth or sticks. I never worried in battle because he seemed to act straight there. But I didn’t hang out with him during any downtime. In fact, no one got real close to him. And we’d come up with our own rule that anyone could check his pack any time we wanted. And we did, probably every night. We never found anything. He knew we’d kick his teeth in if he stole anything from us again.
Chapter 12 - The Church
I remember in August 1944, we were assigned to clear krauts out of a town west of Paris. It was the first combat where Buzz Company had civilians close to battle. Normally in our scraps with the Germans, civilians would hunker down during the fighting and we wouldn’t even see them.
The krauts were holed up tight, and we skirmished for several days. But the fighting wasn’t constant, and we actually got to meet some of the Frenchies that lived there. They would bring us bread and meat, and some of them promised to bring wine if we kicked the Germans out. We didn’t tell them the rumors we’d heard about Ouradour-sur-Glane. Germans were supposedly destroying entire villages, killing women and children. I didn’t know if these were just gh
ost stories or if Brass was spreading them to keep us fired up and willing to kill the enemy. But the stories haunted us—krauts shooting civilians in the legs so they would die slowly, locking women and children in a church and burning them out, other stuff. All I know is the story cemented the image of an evil empire in our heads. It gave us purpose.
We had a young French woman attach herself to our platoon. She was a teacher, probably in her mid-twenties. Blonde, blue-eyed. Really cute. Some of the guys really slobbered over her, trying to impress her. Obviously we’d been away from women for a long time, so a knockout like that was really distracting. She spoke pretty good English, which was rare in that town. When we would get some rest time, she was always there, asking questions about America, or answering our questions about France. She was committed to getting those Germans out of her town, so she did anything she could to help us. She would bring us water, or make supply runs for us. We’d nicknamed her Joanie, after Joan of Arc. One time Bill Taft gave her a chocolate bar. When she opened it and saw what was in it, she started crying.
“Hey, this ain’t to make you cry!” said Bill. “It’s to make you happy. We just want to thank you for all your help.”
She sniffled and smiled through tears. “We have not had chocolate here for a long time. The Germans take everything. I want to get rid of them fokkers.”
“Hey now!” said Bill. “A lady shouldn’t talk like that.”
“This language is bad?” she asked incredulously.
“Just the fuckers part,” said Bill, “but if you’re gonna say it, it’s not fokkers.”
That started a discussion around American and French cuss words, and in a few minutes we were all laughing. She only ate one small sliver of the chocolate. Then she wrapped it up and tucked it in a pocket, explaining that one chocolate bar would be a treat for at least half a dozen people. We decided to all give her our chocolate. She left in tears with probably eight bars.
My Honor Flight Page 11