Hammerhead (The Sergeant War Novel Book 9)

by Len Levinson

  “Hey Puleo!” said Corporal Harris. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend to send you a pair of her black lace panties, so you can sniff ’em before you go to bed at night?”

  “What bed?” Puleo asked. “I ain’t got no fucking bed. I sleep in a fucking hole in the ground. Besides, she don’t wear things like that. She’s a nice religious girl.”

  “Then what’s she doing with a scumbag like you?”

  Footsteps approached over the snow. Everyone turned around to see Pfc Dryden slouching toward them.

  “Knock it off,” Cranepool said. “Here comes Woodward’s stooge.”

  They all clammed up, and Dryden frowned because he’d been treated like a disease by everybody in the platoon ever since he’d become Lieutenant Woodward’s runner. He walked up to Mahoney.

  “Lieutenant Woodward would like you to report to him right now, Sergeant.”

  “Right now?” Mahoney asked with a smile.

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “This very minute?”

  “I guess so, Sergeant.”

  “What’ll you think he’ll do if I don’t go this very minute?”

  “He’ll pitch a bitch, Sergeant.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want him to do that, do we?” Mahoney winked. “I mean, the chickenshit around here is so deep already you can almost drown in it.”

  Dryden didn’t know what to say because Woodward had him terrorized.

  Mahoney looked him in the eye. “Well, isn’t it?”

  Dryden shrugged. “I don’t know Sergeant, but we’ll have to wear rubber pants pretty soon if it keeps up.”

  Mahoney put his arm around Dryden’s shoulder. “I wonder what the asshole wants this time. Maybe he thinks we oughta iron our clothes so we can be better soldiers.”

  Mahoney walked off with Dryden, his arm still around the young Pfc’s shoulders. He’d noticed the hurt in Dryden’s eyes when he’d approached and the men had excluded him from their conversation. Dryden had become ostracized although he evidently wasn’t too crazy about Woodward himself.

  “I guess it ain’t easy,” Mahoney said gently to Dryden, “to be with that son of a bitch all the time.”

  Dryden nodded. “It sure isn’t.”

  “You know what he wants me for?”

  “No, but he’s just come back from a meeting with Captain Anderson, and he’s been looking at his maps.”

  “Something must be cooking, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  Mahoney looked sideways at Dryden. “You’re not a stool pigeon, are you kid?”

  Dryden widened his eyes. “Who, me? Are you serious? What makes you say that?”

  “Well, I think all the guys in the platoon think you are. That’s why they don’t talk with you anymore.”

  “I know, but I’m not a stool pigeon. Lieutenant Woodward always tries to pump me for information about the guys, but I don’t tell him anything.”

  “Good for you. Keep your mouth shut. I’ll try to straighten out things between you and the rest of the guys. You just leave everything to me.”

  Dryden looked at Mahoney. “Gee, that’d be awfully nice of you, Sarge.”

  They continued walking to Lieutenant Woodward’s bunker, and Mahoney figured Woodward had tried to put a wedge between Dryden and the rest of the platoon, so Dryden wouldn’t be able to convey any gossip to the men about Woodward, but now Mahoney would have a pair of ears and eyes in Woodward’s bunker and soon he’d know whatever he needed to about the chickenshit son of a bitch.

  They reached the bunker. Mahoney went inside first, and Dryden followed him. Lieutenant Woodward sat with his helmet low over his eyes and his jacket half unbuttoned, sharpening his bayonet on a stone in front of the fire.

  “Get lost,” Woodward said to Dryden.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dryden turned around and climbed out of the bunker. Mahoney sat on his haunches on the other side of the fire.

  “Don’t you salute officers any more, Mahoney?” Woodward asked, looking down as he continued to sharpen his bayonet.

  Mahoney threw an elaborate salute. “Yes, sir!”

  “Don’t try to be smart with me, Mahoney,” Woodward said, still not looking at Mahoney. “If you and I were to have a battle of wits, I’m afraid you wouldn’t do so well.”

  “Yes, sir!” Mahoney took off his helmet and showed short black hair. “How do you like my new haircut, sir?”

  Woodward glanced at his hair and smiled faintly. “I’m glad you remembered to follow my order.”

  “Yes, sir! And I’m sure I’ll be a much better soldier from now on, sir!”

  Woodward frowned. It became silent inside the bunker, except for the sound of Woodward’s bayonet blade sliding across the stone. Mahoney figured that Woodward was trying to unnerve him by not talking, so he leaned back and took out a cigarette.

  “I didn’t say you could smoke,” Woodward snapped.

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t, either.”

  “Hereafter you ask if you want to smoke in my presence.”

  “Yes, sir!” Mahoney put the cigarette back in his pack because he didn’t want to ask Lieutenant Woodward for anything.

  Twigs crackled in the fire. The wind whistled outside, and Woodward’s blade went back and forth on the stone. Finally Woodward looked portentously into Mahoney’s eyes. “The Third Army is attacking all across our front at 0600 hours,” he said. “We’re going to push the krauts right the hell out of Belgium.”

  “Yes, sir!” Mahoney replied.

  “Captain Anderson has asked me to take out a patrol at midnight to see what’s in front of us. I want you to go on that patrol, and I want you to select four other men to go with us.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Stop being such a buffoon, and stop shouting for heaven’s sake.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Woodward stopped sharpening his bayonet and narrowed his eyes at Mahoney. “Let’s get something straight between us right now, Mahoney. You know and I know that the both of us are fighting each other for domination of this platoon. You have the advantage of having known the men for a long time and being one of them, but I have the rank. That makes us even, more or less, and the one who wins will be the one who earns the respect of the men because they’ll know he’s the man most qualified to lead them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s why you and I are going on this patrol together, Mahoney. I intend to show you up in front of the men. I’m going to prove that I’ve got the brains in this platoon, and you’re just another dogface like they are.”

  Mahoney scratched his cheek. “Sir,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to use this patrol as some kind of competition between you and me. I’m sure we’ll have better things to do with our time.”

  Lieutenant Woodward smiled. “Are you afraid of being shown up in front of the men?”

  “No, sir,” Mahoney said. “I’m not afraid of you at all.” Mahoney looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another stupid fucking lieutenant that I’ve got to deal with, that’s all.”

  Lieutenant Woodward continued to smile. “I’m going to make you respect me too,” he said. “When I’m finished with you, you’ll follow me around like a dog.”

  Chapter Five

  At midnight, the patrol moved into no-man’s-land in two columns of three men each, with Lieutenant Woodward in the middle of both columns. Mahoney headed one column and Cranepool the other. Also on the patrol were Puleo, Caddell, and Perez.

  Their feet crunched on the snow as they passed through the birch forest and headed toward the town of Comblain to determine how strongly held it was. They would have to pass through the German lines to get there, and that would be the hard part. It was assumed that the Germans were deployed in a series of foxholes and bunkers like the Third Army, and they’d have to probe for an open space between them.

  The snow had sto
pped, and the temperature had dropped to twenty degrees above zero. A strong wind was blowing, roaring through the branches and making their faces numb. The wind picked up the recently fallen snow and hurled it at them, obscuring vision and producing waist-high snowdrifts.

  The patrol pushed through the drifts as snowflakes clung to their eyelashes. The GIs held their rifles ready because they knew they’d reach the German lines in another two or three hundred yards. Mahoney glanced back at Lieutenant Woodward and saw a stolid shadowy figure moving steadily forward. Mahoney didn’t like patrols and thought this one would be particularly troublesome. Woodward was obviously crazy and a crazy man could make mistakes.

  They trudged down a hill and entered a valley filled with tall spruce trees covered with snow. Mahoney peered into the night, on the alert for unusual movement or the outline of a German helmet against the snow. His hands stung from the cold wind, and his legs felt encased in ice. To his ears, the patrol sounded like a rampaging herd of elephants. He was glad that the wind muffled much of the sound.

  “HALT!” shouted someone to their front.

  The patrol stopped, and everyone crouched low. They looked at Lieutenant Woodward who pointed to the left.

  “That way,” Woodward said softly, “and put your feet down easy.”

  They veered to the left, walking slowly and stepping lightly. They pointed their rifles straight ahead, and expected a burst of machine gun bullets to rip them up at any moment. Each of them was poised to drop to the ground at the explosion of the first bullet. Mahoney wished he could be in charge of the patrol, so he could make the decisions.

  They heard the sound of voices straight ahead, and the clank of a piece of equipment.

  “Hold it up,” said Woodward, raising his hand.

  They dropped to one knee on the snow and looked at Woodward, whose head jerked first to the left and then to the right, reminding Mahoney of a big squirrel. The sound of voices and the rattle of equipment persisted and seemed to cover the entire area in front of them.

  “You men stay here,” Woodward said. “I’ll go ahead and find an opening. If I’m not back in ten minutes, proceed without me.”

  Mahoney glanced at his watch to check the time as Lieutenant Woodward crept forward. Lieutenant Woodward hunched low with his legs bent, and his fingers would have touched the snow if he hadn’t been holding a carbine. In a few moments he disappeared.

  “I hope the fucker gets shot out there,” Puleo uttered.

  “Knock it off,” Mahoney replied. “Get down.”

  They lay on their stomachs and listened to the guttural voices of Germans straight ahead. Mahoney wondered what they were doing up so late. Under normal circumstances, they would have posted guards, and everyone else would have gone to sleep. Mahoney had no way of knowing that they were going to attack in the morning, just like the Third Army.

  Mahoney looked at one of his watches and saw the sweep second hand make its way around the dial. Three minutes passed and nothing unusual happened. Mahoney kept thinking about what Lieutenant Woodward had told him earlier: When I’m finished with you, you’ll follow me around like a dog. Mahoney had nearly punched him in the mouth but had held himself back and resolved never to lose control of himself in front of Woodward.

  Cranepool checked his watch. “He’s been gone five minutes.”

  “He must be doing okay,” Caddell said. “We would have heard something if he wasn’t.”

  Perez grunted and sighted down the length of his M-1. “I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes.”

  Mahoney turned to Perez. “I said knock that shit off.”

  Mahoney wished he could light a cigarette. He thought of Woodward somewhere out there in the darkness, creeping between the German foxholes. Woodward had guts—there was no question about that. His problem was that he was an arrogant son of a bitch, but a lot of officers were that way. They thought their men would obey quicker and try harder if they were afraid.

  Puleo looked at his watch. “I hope the fucker doesn’t come back.”

  “He’ll come back,” Cranepool replied, “just like a bad penny.”

  Mahoney became angry. “How many times do I have to tell you guys to knock it off?”

  “Why are you sticking up for him?” Cranepool asked. “You don’t like him any more than we do.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” Mahoney said. “I don’t want to hear any more griping on this patrol.”

  Lieutenant Woodward’s mocking voice whispered to them from the darkness. “But don’t you know, Sergeant Mahoney, that the troops aren’t happy unless they’re griping?”

  Laughing softly, Woodward emerged from the night. Mahoney turned to him and wondered how long he’d been listening. Mahoney was annoyed at himself for not hearing Woodward approach.

  “Follow me,” Woodward said, “and keep quiet.”

  Woodward led them into the woods. The sounds of Germans came closer as the GIs crept over the snow. The moon peeked between clouds for a few moments, illuminating the trees, and then disappeared. They slid down a gully and moved through it, hearing Germans on either side of them.

  They continued to make their way toward Comblain, hearing the German Army everywhere. Vehicles moved across a road somewhere in the distance, and German sergeants barked out orders. Mahoney wished he were alone because he knew he wouldn’t make any unnecessary noise, but he wasn’t sure about the others.

  In a half hour they came to a road. Lieutenant Woodward raised his hand and told them to stop, then dropped to his knees and took out his map. He covered his head with his poncho, lit his cigarette lighter, and figured out approximately where they were.

  “Comblain is about two miles ahead,” he said. “We’ll cross the road in twos. I’ll go first with Perez. Cranepool and Puleo will go next. Mahoney and Caddell will bring up the rear.”

  They crept toward the road and stopped behind some bushes near its shoulder. Woodward looked left and right and listened for a few moments and murmured to Perez, “Let’s go.”

  He and Perez moved around the bush, approached the edge of the road, and dashed across. Cranepool and Puleo followed. Mahoney was about to cross with Caddell when he heard an automobile engine to the left.

  “Stay put!” Mahoney said.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Something’s coming.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Shaddup, and keep your head down.”

  The sound of the engine became louder, and Caddell heard it. A German Kubelwagen turned the corner and rode toward them with its lights out. Mahoney waited until it had passed and the sound of its engine was fading in the distance, then he and Caddell ran across the road.

  They joined the others and dropped to their knees in a wooded area on the other side of the road.

  Woodward was perturbed. “It took you long enough to get over here,” he said to Mahoney. “You could have made it across the road long before that vehicle turned the corner.”

  He narrowed his eyes at Mahoney. “Are you trying to sabotage this mission, Sergeant?”

  “What makes you say that, sir?”

  “Because you’re wasting time. Maybe you want us to return from this patrol after all the other patrols in the regiment are back, so that I’ll look bad. Is that it, Sergeant?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then hereafter I want you to move when I tell you to move. Excessive caution is the sign of the coward, and I don’t want any of that in my platoon.”

  Mahoney looked away and said nothing because he didn’t want a confrontation with Woodward behind enemy lines.

  Woodward spat derisively into the snow. “I can’t stand shifty eyed soldiers who can’t look me in the eye.”

  Mahoney turned and fastened his eyes on Woodward’s. “Sir, we’re wasting time.”

  Woodward didn’t reply. He stared into Mahoney’s eyes, and Mahoney looked back at him. Is the stupid bastard trying to hypnotize me? Mahoney wondered. Cranepool and
the others watched and tried to figure out what was going on.

  “Sir,” Mahoney said, “we’re spending more time here doing nothing than I spent when I waited for that German vehicle to pass by.”

  Woodward smiled. “Mahoney,” he said, “you’re such a little man.”

  “Sir,” Mahoney replied, “we can talk about this when we get back to our lines, but until then, why don’t we just move the fuck out?”

  “We’re taking a little break,” Woodward said. “Don’t you think the men deserve a little break?”

  “I thought you were in such a big hurry.”

  “We’ll make up for it. Let me do the thinking, Mahoney. We wouldn’t want you to strain your mind.”

  Cranepool looked at Woodward. “I’m not tired, sir. Why don’t we just get going?”

  “Because we might not have time for a break later.”

  Mahoney knew Woodward was bullshitting. Woodward had had no intention of giving the men a break, but he’d done it to save face. I’ve got a fucking psycho case for a platoon leader, he thought. Just what I need!

  “All right,” Lieutenant Woodward said. “Let’s go.” They moved toward Comblain again. The forest thinned out and they came to an open field. Looking to the left and right, they wondered if they could go around the field because they didn’t want to travel for such a long distance in the open.

  “Straight ahead,” Woodward said. “Let’s go.”

  “Sir,” said Mahoney, “don’t you think we should at least check to see if we can go around the field?”

  “That’ll take too much time. I said, let’s go.” They stepped into the field, and Mahoney felt naked. The wind howled and whipped them with snow. They crossed the field with their heads angled into the wind, holding their rifles ready. Mahoney thought about asking for a transfer out of the first platoon when he returned to the company because he didn’t think he could take much more of Woodward. With his contacts in the division, he probably could get transferred anywhere he wanted, but he decided it wouldn’t be right to leave Cranepool and the others behind to cope with Woodward without his help. On top of that, Woodward would say that Mahoney had been afraid of him. I’ll stay, Mahoney said to himself. Maybe one of these days I’ll shoot the son of a bitch. It took them twenty harrowing minutes to cross the field, and then they plunged into more woods. They felt safer as soon as they entered, and Woodward told them to take another break. He put his poncho over his head again and studied his map. “Comblain is just ahead,” he said. He stood and took an azimuth with his compass. “We’re right on course.”