by Len Levinson
“Aw shit!” he said, throwing the money into the air and storming out of the tent. “Fuck all you guys.”
Riggs bent down and picked up the money, giving it to McGhee. Everybody looked at Mahoney, who was sitting on his cot, inhaling his cigarette.
“What do you guys think this is,” Mahoney said, “a fucking zoo?”
The men shuffled out of the tent. Mahoney pushed his covers back and planted his feet on the floor. He whistled a tune as he walked to his foot locker and took out his fatigue pants.
Chapter Eleven
After a week on R & R, the Hammerhead Division was returned to the line in the Moselle sector. They had little gas and ammunition and could only conduct limited objective attacks to improve local positions.
The Hammerheads and the rest of the Third Army were kept on a leash throughout October, while Field Marshal Montgomery’s Twenty-First British Army Group tried to clear the port of Antwerp and General Hodges’ First U.S. Army was stalled at Aachen.
It was a difficult period for General Patton, who was anxious to get rolling again. He toured his lines incessantly, trying to encourage his men and keep their morale high, and in the evenings he studied maps to determine his next moves because it was anticipated that the supply shortage would end in the early part of November.
But deep in his heart he was more demoralized than anyone, for he knew that a golden opportunity had slipped through his fingers. He knew that if he had the supplies he needed, he could have pushed onward to the Siegfried Line, crashed through it, and charged unopposed toward Berlin. He could have ended the war in two weeks, but now the Germans were building up their forces in front of him, and when he resumed his offensive, he could expect heavy casualties. Many American soldiers would die because of Ike’s inability to understand the realities of the front and because of General Montgomery’s arrogance.
In the presence of his men and officers, General Patton strutted about with his riding crop and pearl-handled revolver, exuding confidence and bestowing medals on soldiers who’d distinguished themselves in battle. He couldn’t let them see his frustration and pain.
A general is just a cheerleader, he said to himself late one night as he was preparing for bed. Without his helmet and shirt, stripped of his polished boots and fancy riding jodhpurs, he looked like a bald old man with bad teeth and a potbelly. He was fifty-nine years old and had a premonition that he would not live much longer. He was certain he could win the war if they’d just let him, but they wouldn’t let him.
Before retiring for the night, he kneeled beside his bed and prayed that God would give him the strength to carry on.
Chapter Twelve
Opposite Patton’s Third Army was the German Armeegruppe G, commanded by General Hermann Balck, a blond, blue-eyed, gentle-looking man who in reality was a fierce soldier and a dedicated follower of Adolf Hitler.
One morning toward the end of October, he held a meeting with his staff officers in a former schoolhouse not far from the front. They gathered around the map table, and General Balck stood with his hands behind his back looking intensely pleased with himself. He was a vain, conceited man and had been appointed to his command personally by Adolf Hitler, whose portrait hung on a wall of the conference room.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, gazing down at the map, “it’s been quite a month. Never in my career have I commanded such motley and badly equipped troops, and yet we succeeded in stopping the great General Patton.” Balck chortled. “It appears that this General Patron isn’t as great as he thinks he is. We have all seen that he is a timid leader, unable to exploit the very considerable opportunities that lay before him at the beginning of this month, for as we all know, there was nothing between him and the heart of Germany. Of course, he’s made some small, insignificant gains during this period, but that was to be expected given his overwhelming superiority in numbers of troops and quantities of material. Yet how amazing it is that we, with only hastily formed units, comprised of old men and teenage boys, of cooks and bakers and file clerks, could stop his much-vaunted army and consolidate our own lines.” Balck pointed to the map. “We can’t say for sure where he’ll make his next effort, but we can expect that he’ll try something soon. Therefore, my orders to you are that we must hold fast and not give up any ground whatsoever. That is what the Fuehrer requests, and that is what we shall do. I repeat: We shall not give up any ground whatsoever. Are there any questions?”
No one ventured to raise his hand or say anything.
“Very well,” Balck said. “I would like to leave all of you with this last thought. The German soldier is a superior soldier. One German soldier is worth ten American soldiers. The crisis we faced at the beginning of this month is over, and we now have a stable line and new troops. If there are any failures to hold our positions, local commanders will be held personally responsible because there can be no excuses for failure now. Let me tell you, gentlemen, that I would hate to be in the shoes of any officer who fails to do his duty. Do I make myself clear?”
The officers nodded or muttered that they understood.
Balck smiled faintly. “This meeting if over,” he said. “Heil Hitler!”
~*~
Mahoney sat in a foxhole, eating C rations in the rain. He wore his helmet and poncho, hadn’t shaved for three days, and had a mild case of trench foot. He and the rest of Charlie Company had been in this desolate sector of the front since returning from R & R, and hadn’t done anything except mount little patrols and improve their fortifications.
It was much different from the heady days when they were charging across France and pulverizing the Germans. Crowds cheered them wildly when they liberated towns, but here, in the province of Lorraine, it was a much different situation. Lorraine was on the German border and had been part of Germany until 1919. Many of its citizens were German sympathizers, and some were dedicated Nazis. There had been numerous acts of sabotage and ambush. When the GIs were able to get into a town for a little beer or wine, they had to keep their eyes peeled for snipers. The good old days were over.
But the picture wasn’t all bad. Charlie Company had been brought up to full strength, and its ammunition stocks had increased steadily. Everybody said that a new offensive was in the offing. Mahoney didn’t look forward to getting shot at again, but sometimes he thought it might be better than sitting around in wet foxholes all the time.
He finished his C ration meal and lit up a cigarette. A detail from his platoon was digging a new deep trench not far away, and he could hear the shovels clanging against the rocks in the ground. I should count my blessings, he thought. At least I don’t have to go out there and dig fucking holes anymore.
He turtled his head into the poncho so that no rain would drip down his back and puffed his cigarette. In times like this, when he could give his mind free play, he would think about Laura Hubbard and their wild night of love. He recalled the insane positions they’d tried, the incredible blow job she’d given him, and the many times he went down on her. It had been unbelievable; in fact, sometimes he wondered if it had happened at all. The only people who knew what had happened were he and Laura, and he wasn’t so sure anymore. He probably never would see her again in his life and never could get verification. Was it all just a wet dream? he wondered. He remembered that an old depraved sergeant had told him once that no woman ever could hope to give a man what he got in a wet dream. Whether it was a wet dream or not, he was convinced that he’d never attain anything like it again in his life. It’s all downhill for me now, he thought. You can only have something like that once in a lifetime.
“How’re you doing down there, sergeant!”
Mahoney looked up and saw Captain Anderson. “Okay, sir,” he replied, standing up.
Anderson jumped into the foxhole. “That’s okay. You can remain seated.”
Mahoney dropped to his haunches again, and Captain Anderson did the same.
“How’re your men making out with the new fortifications?” Anders
on asked.
“Just fine, considering the ground is full of rocks and it’s raining like a son of a bitch.”
Anderson scrutinized Mahoney’s face. “Are you all right, sergeant?”
“Sure I’m all right,” Mahoney replied.
“You haven’t looked too well lately. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Who can be all right stuck here in the mud for a month?”
“That’s about to come to an end,” Anderson said in a low voice. “We’re being placed on a twenty-four-hour alert as of tomorrow morning. There’ll be no more passes, and I want everybody to be ready to move out upon receipt of orders. Tell your men at the evening formation tonight.”
Mahoney’s face brightened. “Something’s up, huh? Do you know what it is?”
“Not exactly,” Anderson replied, “but I hear it’s something big.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Metz,” said General Patton, pointing to a city on his map. “It’s the key to the Saar and the Siegfried Line.”
General Walker, the commanding officer of Patton’s XX Corps, looked at the section of the map that Patton was indicating. Also around the map table were Patton’s staff officers plus the commanders of the Ninety-Fifth Division, the Ninetieth Division, and General Donovan, of the fighting Thirty-third Division Hammerheads.
“For a time,” Patton said, “I had thought we could bypass Metz because it’s a strong, well-fortified position and I knew it could be got only at a high price, but lately I’ve come to the conclusion that we cannot leave that city to our rear because its garrison will be free to harass our supply lines, blow up ammo dumps, stage ambushes, and so forth. Therefore, we’ll have to take the damn place head-on.” He took a deep breath and placed one hand on his hip. “Metz has a rather interesting military history,” he said. “Although many wars have passed around it, it has not been taken by assault since the Huns did it in the year 451 A.D. Many have tried since then, and the city has fallen to siege on numerous occasions, the most recent being during the First World War, but we’ll be the first army in almost sixteen hundred years to take it by force of arms. I don’t know exactly when we’ll attack because so much depends on the weather, but I imagine it will be during the early part of November. The order of battle will be as follows: the 90th will go in on the left, the 95th will go in on the right, and the Hammerheads will go right up the middle. Metz is well defended as far as we know and is protected by numerous natural and man-made obstacles. The Germans know how important the city is, and I suspect they’re waiting for us to come. It won’t be easy, but I want that city.” Patton looked up from the map table and gazed into the eyes of each of them. “I repeat: I want that city!”
~*~
The Hammerheads were replaced on the line by the 110th Division on October 31 and loaded into trucks. They were transported through the mud and pouring rain to a sector of the line not far from Metz, where they dug in and waited for orders to attack.
German spies in the area reported the movement to Armeegruppe G headquarters, as other spies in the Third Army sector reported similar movements. As the reports came in, General Balck realized that a major effort was underway. He called a meeting of his staff officers and local commanders, advising them that the Americans were planning an offensive but expressing optimism that the Americans could be crushed easily. Once again, he repeated to his officers the contention that Patton was inept and his Third Army a joke.
One officer at the meeting didn’t think Patton was inept and the Third Army a joke. He was General Heinrich Freiherr von Luttwitz, who had faced the Third Army in the Falaise Pocket where the Second Panzer Division, which he had commanded at the time, had nearly been wiped off the face of the earth. Now, as commander of the XLVII Panzer Corps, he was responsible for the defense of Metz.
Upon returning to his headquarters, he placed Metz in “Condition Red” and had the city regarrisoned with the 559th Volksgrenadier Division and a makeshift unit called Division Number 462, comprised of fanatical soldiers enrolled in officer and NCO training schools.
Also defending Metz were two replacement infantry battalions, one machine-gun company, one engineer battalion, two antiaircraft battalions, one artillery battalion, four companies of Waffen SS signal-school trainees, some Luftwaffe troops, and the local SS detachment, which was ordered to stop tormenting civilians and prepare to defend Metz to the death.
General von Chevallerie, who commanded the garrison of Metz, was relieved of command because it was felt that he wasn’t aggressive enough. He was replaced by General Otto von Neubacher, who wore a Hitler moustache and had distinguished himself in numerous battles.
When Neubacher took command of Metz, he was pleased to learn that all the approaches to the city had been heavily mined. The Americans would make easy targets for his artillery as they struggled to get through those minefields and he ordered his artillery to zero in on them. He conducted an extensive inspection of the city, moving troops around and ordering the construction of special strongholds and bunkers.
Like Patton, Neubacher was aware of the history of Metz, that it had not been taken by assault since A.D. 451. One day, while standing on the roof of the tallest building in the city, he studied his fortifications through binoculars and decided that Metz probably wouldn’t be taken by assault again for another sixteen hundred years, certainly not for as long as he remained commander of the garrison there.
~*~
A patrol from the Twenty-eighth Regiment of the Hammerhead Division wandered into a minefield one night, setting off three Bouncing Betties and killing three of the soldiers. The explosions made trigger-happy Germans think the attack was beginning, and they opened up with everything they had on the section of the minefield where they’d seen the flashes of light.
In the ensuing minutes, hell rained down on that part of the minefield, killing three more of the soldiers. But two managed to escape and report back to their headquarters. That’s how the existence of the minefields became known among the American commanders, and a plan was devised so that when the bombardment of Metz was to begin, some of the artillery pieces were to aim at the minefield and blow up as many of the mines as possible.
On November 1, the offensive was ready to begin but was held in abeyance for clear weather so that air support could be provided. The days passed, and the weather did not improve. Finally, Patton decided to go ahead without air support. He ordered that the attack begin on the morning of November 8 no matter what.
The soldiers prepared for battle and prayed that the rain would stop, but it didn’t. On the evening of November 7, Patton was pacing the floor in his headquarters near the front when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he said.
The door opened, and Generals Eddy and Grow entered the room. They were the commanders of the Ninth Infantry and Sixth Armored Divisions, respectively, two old war dogs who’d been in the army for most of their lives.
“Sir,” said Eddy, “is the offensive still on?”
Patton looked at him as though he were mad. “Of course it’s still on!” he bellowed.
“But, sir,” protested Grow, “we can’t attack in weather like this!”
“Oh, yes, we can!” Patton retorted.
“The rivers are swollen, and we won’t have air support. It’ll be a disaster.”
Patton looked at both of them angrily. “The attack will go off as scheduled! If you don’t want to lead your troops, tell me now and I’ll relieve you of command!”
“Sir,” said Eddy, “we urge you to reconsider. Weather like this can stop an attack worse than enemy resistance.”
“I’ll say it once more, and that will be all!” Patton replied. “The attack will go off as scheduled! Are you gentlemen in or out!”
Eddy and Grow looked at each other and realized that they couldn’t change Patton’s mind.
“I’m in,” said Eddy.
“Me, too,” added Grow.
“Then get the hell
back where you belong!” Patton told them.
~*~
In Charlie Company, Mahoney sat in a foxhole filled with mud and water, shivering and smoking a cigarette. He couldn’t sleep as always before a big attack, and neither could Cranepool, who was in the foxhole with him. They looked up at the sky and could see a few stars through the clouds, but it still was raining, anyway, although not as heavily as earlier.
They didn’t speak because they had nothing to talk about. The details of the attack had been hashed over a hundred times, and they both knew what to do. The artillery preparation would begin at five o’clock in the morning and would destroy, among other things, the minefield directly in front of them. Then they’d cross the minefield and approach the section of the Moselle River directly in front of Metz. They’d cross the river in boats, and on the other side they’d land directly in the city. Then they’d begin to capture it building by building. Everything would be easier if they had air support, but they didn’t, so they’d have to do the best they could.
When 0500 hours came, the artillery bombardment didn’t begin.
“Maybe the attack’s been called off,” Cranepool said.
“Maybe,” Mahoney replied.
They puffed their cigarettes and wondered what had happened.
Chapter Fourteen
The artillery bombardment began at 0515 hours, slightly behind schedule. The sound of the guns woke up General Patton, who’d been sleeping with his clothes on. He put on his poncho and helmet and went outside.
It was still raining, though much less than before. In the distance, he could see the horizon ablaze with explosions from left to right. The ground shook as if an earthquake were taking place.
Those poor goddamned Germans, Patton thought.
~*~
“Charge!” screamed Captain Anderson, pumping his right hand up and down in the air, the signal for double time.