“So when do you think we’ll attack?” Cullen asked. “We can’t sit here all summer with our thumbs up our asses. We wait too long and we’ll be climbing the Alps in the dead of winter. Did you hear about the latest plan to bomb the Germans?”
Tanner laughed. Someone in Ike’s staff had a relative in Congress who suggested that the air force commence low-level night bombing since it had become obvious that the Germans were moving men and supplies at night.
Whoever it was had given no thought to the difficulty involved in flying through mountains at night, the problems with sudden winds, and, of course, the inability to hit anything when pilots and crew were focused on not smearing their planes all over the Alps. No, that idea had been laughed away with the result that the Germans were still safe in the mountains and the land adjacent to Switzerland.
Cullen laughed harshly. “So the ghost of Mildred Ruffino lives on.”
“And on,” said Tanner.
“What’s your best guess as to when we’ll hit them again?”
“Sometime between a couple of days and a couple of weeks,” Tanner answered.
“Jesus, Tanner, you’re no help whatsoever.”
* * *
Lena had no difficulty locating Father Shanahan. She’d been wanting to for a while, but had been too busy. She owed him a debt of gratitude and wanted him to know it.
“You’re looking well,” he said. “There’s color in your cheeks and you’ve gotten some decent food in you.”
“Not too much, Father, I don’t want to become some plump German dumpling.”
“I don’t think there’s a chance of that, at least not a German dumpling. So how can I help you?”
“Does everyone who comes to see you want your help?”
“Generally, yes. I don’t lead that exciting a life, so how can I help you?”
Lena took a deep breath. Some things still hurt. “I understand that the Red Cross is establishing a registry of refugees, or displaced persons as they’re now being called. I was wondering if you would be able to help me find my father.”
Shanahan pursed his lips. “I don’t see why I can’t at least try. Now, do you still have that lovely Luger?”
She laughed. “Yes and it’s still not for sale. There’s a war yet to end, and who knows, I might have to use it to protect myself.” And protect Captain Scott Tanner, she realized with a jolt.
* * *
The M4 Sherman tank was not the best tank in the world, but it was being mass-produced by the tens of thousands. While it could hold its own against German Panzer III and Panzer IV tanks, it was totally outclassed by the Panther and Tiger tanks. Fortunately, these German monsters did not exist in great numbers. Germany’s lack of production capacity was the cause of that shortage, and most of those that had rolled off production lines had been destroyed. It was widely understood that the Sherman was vastly inferior to the Red Army’s T34, which was also being produced in enormous quantities. The Sherman tank had been upgraded with a 76mm high-velocity gun, which was superior to the original 75mm gun the tanks had been built with. Still, no one would want to fight a Panther or a Tiger or even a T34. Originally, the upgraded Sherman had been sent to the British, but with them now effectively out of the war, the tanks were going to American units.
The Sherman had a crew of five and weighed in at about thirty tons. Along with the main gun, it had a .50 caliber machine gun and two .30 caliber guns. The tank had a gasoline engine that allowed for a range of one hundred and twenty miles and could go upwards of thirty miles an hour. Mileage and speed were dependent on a number of factors, including terrain and the skill of the driver. Her shortcomings were the fact that she was underarmored and, standing at nine feet, far too tall. Thus, she could be spotted fairly easily by enemies lying low in the grass.
But to Sergeant Archie Dixon, the Chrysler-built tank named “Mimi” was lovely. Even lovelier was the anatomically correct painting of a half-naked blond with huge boobs on her hull. A couple of prudish officers had complained, but Dixon had not received any direct order to cover it up. If he had, he would have used some cardboard that had been painted olive drab to temporarily cover the offending boobs and hope that nobody important noticed when he removed it. Getting Mimi painted had cost the crew ten bucks and some liberated cognac.
Dixon, the tank, and the 14th Armored Division had been in Europe for only a few months and had missed much of the heavy fighting after Normandy, something that didn’t bother Dixon one little bit. They had played a minor part in the first assault on the German positions in the Brenner Pass and had taken some casualties. That attack had cost the division dearly when the Nazis fought tooth and nail. They were preparing to launch a second attack and Archie wondered if their luck would still hold. He and his crew considered themselves a band of brothers and he wouldn’t want anything to happen to his brothers.
But now the Nazis did not appear to have any armored capabilities. Those splendid Panther and Tiger tanks had almost all been destroyed or captured. What remained were a relatively few enemy tanks in the Alpine Redoubt. As a result, the battalion Dixon belonged to had been broken off from the division and attached to the 105th Infantry as support when they attacked through the Brenner Pass.
“Piss break,” said Dixon as he jumped off the tank and stretched. The Sherman was consistently uncomfortable. In the winter it was too cold and in the summer it was too hot. The rest of the four tank column had pulled off to the side of the two lane paved road the treads of the tanks were chewing to pieces. Their crews were also savoring the moment.
As he relieved himself, Dixon had to admit that the land around him was beautiful, heavily forested, and hilly. A city boy from the Bronx, he’d never had the chance to be in the woods, and this part of southern Germany had some incredible scenery. On the other hand, the hills were getting higher and more foreboding as they drew closer to the Alps.
“At least we won’t have to fight in the mountains,” Archie said as he buttoned up his fly. He hoped he was right. He’d been a buck sergeant for only two weeks and then only because his predecessor as commander of Mimi had gotten himself shot in the face by a sniper. It was a hideous wound and the man had still been alive when an ambulance carted him off. He had been trying to scream but the blood gurgling up from his mouth kept cutting off any real sound he’d been attempting to make. They’d been in an area they thought was safe and was proof that the Nazis, while defeated, were still able to kill.
It further pointed out that the 14th Division, known as the “Liberators,” was through liberating. Now they were conquering and sometimes having a good time of it. It gave them some pleasure to see German civilians weeping and groveling and begging. Fuck them, was the consensus. They had started the war and now they could suffer the consequences. And so what if some buildings got destroyed or some silverware went missing. If anybody resisted, they might get shot. They drew the line at raping frauleins. The brass was hell on that and anyone who did rape a German woman could count on decades at hard labor.
Not that the tankers cared, but being attached to the 105th wasn’t all that bad. The infantry had managed to make themselves fairly comfortable while waiting for the big attack to take place.
A jeep pulled up next to Mimi and a captain got out. Dixon successfully fought the urge to salute and simply nodded in recognition. “How can I help you, Captain Tanner?”
“First, you can give me the name of the woman who modeled for Mimi.”
Dixon grinned. “You’d have to kill me first, sir.”
“Well then, maybe you can tell me where the rest of your tanks are. The division was expecting twenty and it looks like we’re short sixteen.”
“Sir, I understand that the rest will be along shortly. There were some issues that the colonel wanted to iron out with the men before we came up here.”
Aw, crap, Tanner thought. “Let me guess, Sergeant. A number of the men were less than enthusiastic about coming up here to fight in the Pass.”
“That’s about the size of it, sir,” Dixon said. The rest of the men in the small column had left their tanks but were staying out of hearing range. “We got to go because I was the most junior sergeant and the least likely to piss and bitch about the situation.”
“Did anybody actually refuse orders?”
“No, sir. The colonel’s just letting them sound off about how they felt. We were in the first attack and the division got chewed up badly, which is how I got this last stripe. My guess is that they’ll be along in about an hour or so.”
Tanner forced a smile. “I guess the war can wait that long.”
He had to wonder, though, if the army was getting close to actually refusing to go back into the battle. It had happened before, but not with any large force of Americans. In the First World War, however, a number of French divisions had refused to go on the attack after suffering appalling losses in a number of battles ordered by incompetent French generals. A number of historians felt that the French infantry had been pushed beyond endurance by making a number of futile and bloody attacks on strong German defenses. As a result, the French refused to attack. They would stand on the defensive but not waste men in further slaughters. A number of the mutineers had been hanged, but the French hierarchy became more aware of the anger of their men. They didn’t want a revolution like the Russians had. Was this what was going to happen to the American army? Good lord.
“Sergeant, are the men aware that the attacks will be preceded by very heavy bombing?”
Dixon started to laugh but caught himself. Captain Tanner seemed like a decent guy, but he knew he shouldn’t push it by being a smartass. “Sorry sir, but most of the guys think that’s just so much bullshit, if you’ll forgive my language. There are a lot of guys who don’t think the bombers can hit the ground, much less a target.”
There was a faint rumble and they instinctively looked skyward. “Speak of the devil,” Tanner said. A long line of bombers was high overhead and headed down the pass. Another rumble told them that the remaining sixteen tanks were heading into the area.
“Sir, I sure as hell hope you’re right about the bombers, sir. It would give me a great thrill to put Mimi in gear and simply cruise through Germany without any incident and not put the brakes on until we hit Switzerland.”
CHAPTER 13
The air raid system had failed. Again. There were supposed to be radar stations letting the German infantry know that the American planes were en route. So what had happened? It didn’t matter. Hummel and Schuster just wanted to survive the horror that was exploding all around them and threatening to blow out their lives.
The two men were in their strong little bunker but far from safe. Bombs exploding nearby were sending shock waves that threatened to collapse their fort and even suck the life from their lungs. Hummel had lost his hearing again, but that seemed to be it. Schuster, on the other hand, was clutching his knees to his chest and screaming silently. At least Hummel thought Schubert was silent. He wouldn’t know for certain until his hearing came back. Or if it came back. If he was deaf, would the army discharge him? Fat chance.
Schuster started to rock back and forth and Hummel could see that he’d wet himself. There was a pause in the bombing and, even though his hearing still wasn’t working right, Hummel could detect Schuster making loud, keening, screeching noises, lunatic noises.
Hummel reached out and grabbed his friend’s arm. “Calm down. It’ll be all over in a minute.”
It wasn’t. Schuster shook off Hummel’s hand. More bombers came and dropped still more bombs. The world was turning to dust and it felt like the earth was disintegrating. Hummel looked into Schuster’s eyes and saw nothing but madness. Schuster pushed Hummel away and tried to climb out of the bunker.
“Stop. You’ll get killed. Stay down here and be safe,” Hummel said.
Schuster clawed at the earth and continued to howl. The tips of his fingers were bloody and raw. Hummel tackled his friend and dragged him back to the relative safety of the bunker. Outside, it was raining murderous hot and sharp metal.
An explosion hit close by and caused the roof of their bunker to collapse. Now I know I’m going to die, Hummel thought. Schuster had stopped digging. He simply lay there, half covered with debris, his chest heaving. At least he’s alive, Schuster thought.
And then it was over. The bombers were gone until the next time. Hummel started to dig his way out, but it was difficult with Schuster inert and in the way. He called for help. A few minutes later, he heard voices and rescuers started digging. Another few minutes and Lieutenant Pfister and several other soldiers pulled the two men out and laid them on the ground. Someone poured water over Hummel’s head and then let him drink.
Pfister looked at Schuster who didn’t respond. “What happened to him?”
“It was the bombing, sir. He couldn’t handle it anymore.”
The lieutenant examined Schuster who lay there until someone sat him up. His eyes were blank. His mouth was open and his tongue lolled around.
“He isn’t faking it,” Pfister said. “I just hope he recovers soon.”
“Sir, should I take him to the hospital?” Hummel asked.
“And what will they do for him?” Pfister asked angrily. “He doesn’t have any apparent physical wounds, so the SS will decide that he’s a coward and not sick and hang him. No, he’s better off with us. Maybe this shock will wear off enough so that he can function, at least a little, but until then he stays with us. We’ll all take turns watching out for him until something happens.”
Hummel stared at his lieutenant and their eyes locked. They both nodded. Pfister was not going to fight to the death either, at least not if he could help it. It was good to know. Too bad it took turning his good friend into a vegetable in order to find it out.
* * *
Fifty-year-old Lieutenant General Lucian Truscott was the new commander of the U.S. Seventh Army. General Alexander Patch’s health had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer function in such a stressful position. They said he had pneumonia but Ike wondered if it wasn’t something more serious. Regardless, the Seventh Army needed a more vigorous commander and the strong Truscott was such a man. He was also a realist. He looked at Ike and Devers and asked a very simple question.
“I just flew up from Italy and crossed the Alps. We probably flew over German-held territory, but don’t worry. I don’t want any medals for that. The scenery was magnificent from a tourist’s point of view but appalling and horrible from a military one. Just how many men are you willing to lose while pushing south to Innsbruck, and what the hell do we do when we take the place? There are no real roads leading from Innsbruck to Bregenz or any other place that the Nazis feel is important.”
Ike winced. The backlash against continuing the war against Germany was gaining momentum. Back in the States, protests had become larger and louder, with many extoling the martyrdom of Mildred Ruffino. There had been no real violence yet, or any large refusals on the part of military personnel to do their duty, but there was tension. A handful of soldiers were being brought up on charges while others had declared that they had suddenly decided they were conscientious objectors. Ike had ordered that any court-martials be held in abeyance until the situation clarified itself. Some historians had likened the period to that just before the Russian Revolution broke out. Most thought that comparison was utter nonsense. It was inconceivable that soldiers would refuse to fight an enemy and form soviets to make collective decisions. Nor was there any inkling whatsoever that the nation’s hatred of Japan had receded. Just the opposite. The ever louder cries called for an American exit from Europe so that Japan could be squashed.
“We will do our duty,” Ike said tightly.
“Never suggested that we wouldn’t,” Truscott responded softly. His vocal cords had been damaged years earlier, which made some think he was soft spoken and not dynamic. Those who thought that way quickly found out that they were dreadfully wrong. “But has anybody thought o
f what might happen if the Japanese were to surrender first?”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” Ike answered, forcing a smile. “Although I’ll admit that I’ve wondered that as well. While we can be fairly certain that it won’t happen, we cannot totally rule out the possibility. The Japs are suicidal stubborn bastards who won’t quit until the last one is dead. If they do go first, maybe it will motivate the Nazis to give up. Who the devil knows? Unless something dramatic happens to change the game, we’ll be fighting the Japs for a very long time.”
“I suppose that’s good to know,” said Devers. “However, it does mean that our boys will be getting killed by Japs and Germans instead of just Germans.”
Truscott was not finished. “It also means that I am not going to send our boys into a man-killing meat grinder. Have either of you seen a lion eat an elephant?”
“Not lately,” Ike said while Devers looked puzzled.
“Well, I haven’t either. But I understand that the lion eats the elephant one bite at a time. Now the German force is not an elephant. We are larger, you could say that we are the elephant, but they have the stronger ground. Therefore, there will be no more three-division frontal assaults and their subsequent appalling losses. We will isolate an area, pound and shell the crap out of it, and then chew it up and spit it out. It’ll take time and be slow but steady, but there won’t be anything much that the Germans can do. We eat a chunk and their positions to either side are in danger of being flanked while we expand the chunk. When that happens, they’ll either have to come out of their holes and attack or retreat. If they attack, we hit them with bombs and artillery and destroy them. If they retreat, which is the more likely scenario, they will soon wind up with their asses up a mountaintop and nowhere else to go.”
Ike nodded and checked his watch. He’d spent enough time in Strasbourg welcoming Truscott to his new position and he’d liked what he’d heard. Truscott would put immense pressure on the Germans and they would, sooner or later, fold. Some thoughts were nagging at him. In his position he heard rumors, or sometimes just rumors of rumors. They all said that the United States was developing some kind of super-weapon. If this was true, wonderful. If not, then life and death would go on and the Seventh Army would push its way south through the confines of the Brenner Pass towards Innsbruck while Mark Clark’s armies would claw their way north. After that, anything could happen.
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