by Jon Stafford
They managed to elude the sentry by going through what appeared to be a park. Sounds of activity were welling up out of the darkness all around them: men talking, then, one after another, three large motors starting. They roared a few minutes and then stopped.
Wiley and Walsh huddled again.
“Damn, Chip, I know a Panther’s diesel when I hear one,” Walsh hissed. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
“You got it, pal.”
The men crept around a corner of a house and then halted. Not fifteen feet away was the outline of a squad of Germans, marching directly toward them!
Wiley thought fast. Even though they’d been seen, it was so dark that the enemy soldiers probably had no idea they were Americans. A man who was probably a sergeant motioned toward them. Wiley swept Walsh around, and the two men joined the enemy. No one said anything. The strange procession continued back toward town for several hundred yards until it rounded another corner.
There was a low stone wall running along the road here. Wiley pushed Walsh out of the line, and they flopped down behind it, Wiley scraping his left leg on it as they did.
Surprisingly, the Germans did not come back looking for them. Wiley had to think no one in the unit had noticed.
It was about 0300 and cold. Wiley guessed it was at least below freezing. He and Walsh huddled, whispering about what to do next. Finally, they decided to cut across below the town, hopefully not making too much noise in the leaves. They looked around sharply at every sound, expecting to be challenged at any moment. It took forty minutes to make it back to the curve in the road where they’d started. They were almost home.
Suddenly, not forty feet in front of them, a vehicle started, and its spotlight caught the men directly in its beam. In an instant, they both bolted toward their lines with the light fully on them. The loud RAT–AT–AT of a machine gun, an MG 42, opened up, dozens of bullets hitting all around them.
The spotlight illuminated the outline of the canal in front of them. They ran for it and jumped in. But just as they dove, Wiley saw Walsh take a hit in the back.
Firing began from the American lines and the light went out, but it was too late for Walsh. The water was near freezing. While their fellow soldiers fished them out in only a minute or so and Walsh was able to stand, within thirty seconds he fell over and lost consciousness.
Wiley didn’t really remember being hauled to the aid station. He vaguely registered the medics working on Walsh for a long time, finally stepping away from the private’s still form.
After the medics checked him over, some of the other soldiers packed Wiley into a Jeep and headed out. Shivering, with two blankets still around him, he found his reception at headquarters about 0430 less than what he’d expected. In the main tent, Captain Redding was talking with Captain Eugene Alvarez, the long-time commander of A Company. Soon Alvarez left, and Redding turned to Wiley.
“All right, Chip, what ya got?”
“Sir, Walsh and I saw the whole place, or at least most of it. The German left flank is wide open. There’s a sunken road that leads right up ta the town, one of those cobblestone places, stone buildings, statues, the whole deal.”
“You fall in a river?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s Walsh? He fall in too?”
“He’s dead, bullet in the back. We were just real unlucky. Ran inta a scout car or truck that had a spotlight and an MG 42.”
Redding looked upset. “Damn. Sorry.”
“Yeah . . .”
“He just got a letter from . . . looks like from his wife in Baltimore.”
“Yeah.” Wiley was feeling numb and dopey from the cold.
“So, the left flank’s open?”
“Yeah, these guys are thin, sir. We saw almost no one.”
“So we could go right up the main road?”
“No! We didn’t see that.” Wiley wondered what the captain was talking about. He repeated himself. “We went around the left and inta the town. It dumps inta the main road, which we followed outta town toward our lines. The whole place is like a half circle.”
“So, you didn’t see their actual positions?”
“No. But we sure as hell came close.”
“Chip, I got to tell you that some guys from A Company went out, came back in an hour or so ago, and said the place to attack is up the main road.”
“That’s bullshit, sir,” Wiley said, puzzled and half-angry. “I don’t see it. Sir, we heard heavy motor sounds, Panthers for sure, when we came out the other side of town on that road. You know how they gotta keep those diesels running every hour on those things. We heard three motors shut off, one after the other. They had ta be very close ta the main road.”
“Well, Alvarez was just here. He’s going to Colonel Pope at the Twenty-Sixth Infantry right now to push for an attack up the main road.”
“What the hell’s wrong with the left?”
“I have no idea.”
Redding got on the phone to the infantry regiment. In a few minutes, someone told him that the attack would indeed be up the main road. He insisted on talking with Pope. Wiley listened wearily. Redding kept trying to speak, breaking off his sentences as Pope broke in on the other end. Apparently, the man’s mind was made up.
Redding finally said, “Yes, sir,” and hung up. He turned to Wiley. “Shit. Chip, they didn’t buy any part of it.” He frowned. “I’m sorry about Walsh.”
“Yeah.”
“Try to get some sleep. You’ve got a few hours before things start.”
Wiley headed wearily back to his tent. He picked up his poncho, into which he had crudely sewn a blanket. Some of the men had German women sew the blankets in, and their “viel fleckens” even had pockets. Wiley’s sewing job wasn’t nearly as good, but it provided extra warmth, which was the important thing.
He put the poncho hood up and put his helmet on over it. He closed his eyes and slept in fitful dozes, each interrupted by his starting awake, dread heavy in the pit of his stomach.
The attack, which Wiley and his squad participated in, commenced in four hours. It proved a disaster, with three Sherman tanks destroyed and forty casualties, including fifteen dead.
When the men returned from the attack, with wounded men being carted by and the cries of others left on the field fresh on the minds of everyone, Redding sent for Wiley.
“Look, Chip.” Redding’s voice was dull and sad. “I suppose you know what they want.”
“Tonight again?”
“Yes. Are you up to this?”
“Why not?” Wiley didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “What am I supposed ta do this time?”
“Same damn thing.”
“I figured. What’d they do ta those jerks who said the main road was clear?”
Redding leaned forward. “They blamed it on you, pal.”
“What?! What’re you sayin’?”
“They’re saying you and Walsh went in there and made so much noise that the enemy thought we were going to attack the main road and moved back in! Pope
bought it.”
“You can’t be serious! Those guys never moved in the first place. They were there when Dennis and I scouted, and they were still there when we attacked.”
“These other guys are from Pope’s old company. They’re calling you two real shitheads.”
“Who are the guys?”
“That’s not important. Hey, I know that look on your face. Now soldier, Chip, give it the hell up. It’s done!”
“Sir, we scouted. Sometimes people see ya, and shoot at ya, and kill ya when ya scout. So they saw us, shot at us, and killed Walsh. But they didn’t even see us in town on the damn main road. Walsh was shot 150 yards from this goddamn spot.” Wiley slammed his fist down on the desk. “That’s on the left a the line! That must be a good nine hundred damn yards from their position, so how in hell could we a mucked up?”
Redding sighed. “I have no idea. It’s done. Take Dietrich.”
“No!”
Redding looked at Wiley. “I know you like to go alone, but that’s orders. Comes straight from Pope himself. The mission is to be done by two men.”
“Crap.” Wiley was too tired to complain much. But he had to ask. “Why Dietrich?”
“He knows a little German. Why, what do you have against him?”
“Nothing.”
“Get some rest.”
“Sure.” Wiley spun around and stalked out of the tent.
At dark, the ever-present Sergeant Bracey nudged Wiley awake. “Chip.”
Wiley, all warm in his poncho, yawned and then blinked a few times. He’d been thinking of a dark-haired girl in Columbia, South Carolina. Just a kid when he’d last seen her, but he’d been thinking of her more and more. She’d be grown up by now. But she probably wouldn’t want anything to do with a guy like him.
He stood up, slowly, stiff with cold. The last mission came back to his mind. He thought: Did I mess that up and get Dennis killed? No. I can’t see it. No! Damn, it feels even colder than last night.
He turned to Bracey, who was still standing there to make sure he got up. “Where’s Dietrich?”
“Loadin’ up his canteen. He’s ready to go. We got some slop for you at the cook tent. At least it’s hot.”
“Thanks. There’s no hurry in this; they’re always on the guard at nightfall.”
Again the last mission played in his head. As tired as he was, it was easy to blame himself. It was hard to think he might have caused someone’s death.
Distracted, unbelievably tired, Wiley made the mistake of splashing water from his canteen on his face. It was so cold that it jolted him and gave him a sharp pain in one eye. He winced and slowly walked toward the water vehicle, yawned again, and almost tripped over a tree root.
“Even German roots hate me,” he muttered.
He thought over the last mission as he got his gear together. What, exactly, had gone wrong? Maybe they shouldn’t have gone through those leaves coming back.
He felt a little better as he checked in his right pocket for the little Colt .25 pistol his grandfather had given him. Its metal was warm, which made him a little uncomfortable. Then he took his .45 out of the holster and ejected the clip. He saw that it had the full nine shots, stuffed the clip back in, and pushed it back into the holster.
He gathered a few other things and joined Dietrich for chow. They talked most of an hour about how to handle the mission and then shoved off.
If anything, that second night began even darker than the first. But Wiley knew the ground this time, and Dietrich proved easy to work with, so they made good progress. In an hour and a half, they crossed the lines and came to the curve in the road where the vehicle had shot Walsh. They startled a deer about halfway into town. Finally, they arrived at the cobblestones at the edge of town.
“Nobody here,” Wiley whispered to Dietrich.
The moon rose, much brighter than the previous night. The two men decided to wait until the clouds obscured the light again. The town was as quiet as the night before, with very few lights.
Suddenly, a door opened, and they were caught in a bright and blinding light! There was a boy in the doorway, perhaps a Hitler Youth. He yelled the alarm and kept yelling it.
Wiley pointed the little Colt right at the boy’s face. He wanted to fire as the stupid kid continued to yell, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he and Dietrich bolted off.
Bullets flew around them as they ran, some hitting buildings behind them, some hitting the pavement in front of them. One hit Dietrich in the left thigh. He fell against Wiley, and both men went sprawling.
In a second, they were up again, Dietrich limping badly. They ran around a corner and up a block. In desperation, Wiley kicked open the door of a darkened house, and the men rushed inside and collapsed in a corner. He reached for his .45 and cocked it, expecting the door to burst open at any moment.
“Sorry, Chip,” Dietrich gasped. “I should have shot that damn kid but I couldn’t.”
“Me neither.” Wiley knew he should look over at Dietrich, but he couldn’t. He had to watch the door. “Shit, truth is we been lucky ta get as far as we did. Town on alert’s bound ta be expectin’ scouts.”
Dietrich didn’t answer. At the same instant, Wiley felt something warm on the cold floor. He touched it and knew right away that it was blood.
“Jack, talk to me!”
Dietrich could barely speak. “Don’ worry . . . get me up . . . I can . . . I can . . . wal . . . k.”
Wiley hadn’t had any idea the man was so badly hurt. He pulled out a small flashlight and saw a gaping wound in Dietrich’s leg. It was obvious that the man was going into shock, maybe bleeding to death.
Wiley’s stomach lurched. He thought: I’ll be damned if this is goin’ ta happen ta my partner again. I’ll give myself up if I hafta.
He bandaged Dietrich as well as he could, the flashlight giving the only light in the evidently empty house. He managed to pick him up and open the door to the street, half expecting an avalanche of bullets to crash into them. There was nothing, no lights, no alarm, no troops.
Wiley walked along several streets, the completely limp Dietrich slung over his shoulders. He spotted a dim light in a house ahead.
He trotted up as fast as he could while carrying Dietrich’s weight. He pounded hard on the door with the butt of the .45, glad he knew enough German to yell something: “Raus mit im!”
He pounded on the door again, put Dietrich down on the doorstep, and ran to an alleyway two doors down. He peered around the corner.
The edge of the door opened, emitting a line of light. Wiley heard voices speaking, surprised-sounding German. He watched as, slowly, someone pulled Dietrich inside.
That’s the best I can do for you, pally, he thought. Hopefully, whoever lived there would try to help Dietrich, not kill him.
Wiley went down the alleyway, headed for the edge of town. He thought for a minute that he should go back to his lines. Then the weight of everything descended on him. He knew he had to find out the truth about the enemy positions.
Maybe I killed Dennis and got Dietrich shot. Maybe I been gettin’ my guys killed and captur
ed all along. The idea had been in the back of his mind for some time. The guys who scout with me all get it one way or another.
He knew the enemy would certainly be on the alert. The logical thing to do was to go back to his lines, but he couldn’t do that. He had to prove everything that had happened wasn’t his fault. It wouldn’t bring his friends back, but he could prove that he’d been right in what he’d found. It mattered very little to him that he was risking his life, perhaps throwing it away.
As carefully as he could, knowing that they must be looking for him, Wiley made his way out of town toward the German positions. He got closer this time.
He crept through the darkness for nearly two hours, noting the position of troops and the three tanks. The Germans hadn’t moved at all! He couldn’t see why the other scouts would have lied, but they had!
Wiley headed back around 0200, passing over to his lines at nearly 0400. As before, he made his report to Captain Redding and went back to his poncho-blanket for a couple of hours of rest.
As soon as he awoke that morning, Wiley went over to the main tent. The first thing he saw as he walked in was Redding, pacing and smoking a cigarette, obviously upset.
The captain spotted Wiley. “Sergeant, you won’t believe this. I told them what you found last night. They just called and told us the attack’s going up the main road, just like before!”
Wiley stared. “What?”
“Don’t, don’t even ask me,” Redding said. “I’ve been up all night with this. The same guys that had us attack up the main road and were wrong as hell still have Colonel Pope’s ear. They told him the Germans had moved out of the place.”
“That’s ridiculous! I was just there! There are Germans up and down that main road.”
“Pope’s friends think they must have gotten in after you. Could they have pulled out after you did?”