by Dean Hughes
After all the work, with a good deep hole and limbs to cover it, Alex and Howie lay side by side, hoping to get some sleep. But once they stopped working, the sweat from all the digging seemed to turn their bodies to ice. Alex was shivering violently, and he saw no hope that he could get any rest. Thankfully, the guns didn’t fire all night, and at times he drifted into that half-sleep that had become so familiar to him. It was sleep that never really disconnected him from the passing of time, from awareness of the cold, the place, the danger, and it was a night long enough to seem a week. Eventually he and Howie gave up, sat up, even talked some–but there was so little to say. Alex wondered what would come next. Chances were, they would push ahead again, dig in again. But more men would probably die that day.
As it turned out, however, word came down from Wells–now Captain Wells, since his promotion had come through–only to hold the position for now. So the men ate breakfast from the K rations they were carrying, and they waited. Some worked at deepening their foxholes, covering them better, but all was stasis. Everyone kept asking, “What now?”
During the day, some of the troops, probably the units that had been pounded hardest the day before, were pulled out. Replacement platoons were sent in. The replacements were heading to their positions in the woods when some of them decided to cut across a snowy field. The Germans apparently spotted them, because they opened up with artillery fire. But they didn’t shoot at the men in the field. They fired into the woods where they could see that the men were heading.
Alex and Howie were close to their foxhole, and they dove in as soon as they heard the sound of the shells. But with the first explosion, Alex knew the game had changed. These were big shells, probably 170s, and they seemed to rock the planet itself when they blew up.
For maybe half an hour–a stretch of time that seemed destined never to end–the big guns pounded the position. The earth rolled like waves on an ocean. The eruptions, the tree bursts, the furious blasts were beyond anything Alex had experienced before, and he had never been this terrified. The explosions were like volcano bursts, like earthquakes. The air would suck away, empty Alex’s chest, actually jerk him and Howie off the ground and pull them halfway out of their hole. Several times the impact was so close that the debris blew over their heads like the rubble in a hurricane, tossing away their cover and filling their hole with dirt and rocks. Alex had no doubt that he was about to die. It seemed impossible that anything could live through this.
But then it all stopped.
Alex waited, his breath holding, and finally he looked at Howie, who was obviously in a state of panic. “Is it over?” Howie asked.
“I hope so,” Alex said. “I can’t do that again.”
“You can’t?”
Alex didn’t answer. He knew he had said the wrong thing, but it was what he felt.
“I heard you praying, Sergeant.”
“What?”
“You were praying.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I mean . . . I didn’t know I was talking out loud, I guess.”
Howie nodded. But it seemed important to him. “I didn’t know you could get that scared,” he said. “As scared as me.”
There were no more shells, but the shouts of wounded men were everywhere now, up and down the line. Alex got out and ran to the nearby holes to check his men. He was relieved to find them all right, but he also saw how deeply shaken they all were, even the veterans.
Buckley and Ling were in a hole together. Alex saw how overawed they were. “What was that they were sending in?” Ling asked.
“It was something big. It must have been their 170s. That’s the worst artillery barrage I’ve ever gone through.”
Ling nodded, as though he were glad to hear it. “If they keep coming back at us with those . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. What he meant was obvious enough.
“Just do what you did this time. Stay down and ride it out. Unless they put one in your hole, you’ll be all right.”
But he had heard the cries for help, the screaming, and so had Buckley and Ling. They knew without looking that these shells were making huge craters, reaching a much wider radius than the 88s did.
Buckley was looking up at Alex, wide-eyed, all the color gone from his face, and seeming even younger than he was. He was too tall to fit into a foxhole very well. He looked awkward, crouched the way he was. “Do you think we’ll move out today?” he asked.
And, of course, that was the other question. It was one thing to ride out artillery fire in a hole. It was another thing to go back into the woods and get caught by those big guns. “I don’t know what to expect,” Alex said. “But sooner or later we have to clear Foy out. That’s that little town just beyond this forest.”
Alex saw it in their eyes, the realization that eventually came to every replacement soldier: the reality that he was likely to get hit, sooner or later. And then the other questions always followed: Will it come today? How bad will it be?
When Alex talked to Duncan and Curtis, they looked worn out, weary of it all. Duncan said, “I don’t like that big stuff.” And he wasn’t ready to make any jokes about it.
Curtis said, “Alex, have you got a minute? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Sure. Come back with me. I’ll send Howie over here with Duncan for a few minutes. I don’t think we should spend much time out of the holes.”
And so Curtis ran with Alex the thirty meters or so, and Alex asked Howie to trade holes. Howie looked a little confused, maybe even worried. Alex knew how much he depended on the idea that Alex was going to get him through. “It’s just for a few minutes,” Curtis said.
And so, when they jumped into the hole and sat down, facing each other, Curtis was quick to say, “Alex, that scared me. Me and Duncan took a couple of hits that were way too close. A few yards closer, and we’d be gone.”
“I never felt anything like that, Curtis,” Alex said. “I hope we don’t get that big stuff all night.”
Curtis nodded, but he said, “If we make a move on Foy, a lot of us could die anyway.”
“Maybe. It’s hard to say.”
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Curtis hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “We’ve talked a lot about your church, and I believe what you’ve told me.”
Alex nodded.
“Is there any way you can . . .” He hesitated and smiled. “Sign me up to be a Mormon, or something like that?”
“Is that what you want–to join my church?”
“I guess so. I probably need to learn a little more about it. But I keep thinking about that place you told us about. If I die, that’s where I want to go.”
“Curtis, you’re one of the honest in heart. If you were to get killed, you’d be taught the rest of the gospel, and I know you’d accept it. So you have nothing to worry about.”
“Okay. Good. But I’d feel better, I think, if I could join up now.”
Alex laughed. “I’d have to fill this foxhole with water and baptize you. I don’t have that much water in my canteen, and I don’t think you’d want to get quite that wet, out here in this cold.”
Curtis grinned. “No, I guess not.” But the smile soon faded, and he said, “Alex, I’m not holding up too well. I’m not a very good soldier. It’s too bad I didn’t get hit a lot worse–back in Normandy. Then I could have stayed out of this.”
“I’ve thought the same thing myself.”
“But you do a lot better than I do.”
“Not really. I remember what we’ve been trained to do, and I carry out an operation, once it’s started. But after, I have trouble. You know what I was thinking about back at the hospital, in England. That stuff is still in my head.”
“I didn’t know that, Alex. You never say.”
“A guy can’t say anything out here. You know that. But we all have stuff going on in our heads.”
“Artillery makes a guy reli
gious.” He tried to smile but didn’t come up with much.
“Not always. Some guys blame all this on God.”
Curtis’s eyes were sunken. He looked ten years older than he had when Alex had first met him. The stubble on his chin was light, scattered, but the cold and exposure had taken a toll on his face. His skin looked leathery and pale. “Alex, I’ve always been scared, but this is worse. I just feel like my time is running out.”
“Everyone thinks that. The longer we’re out here, the more we think the odds are running out on us.”
“Aren’t they?”
“Not necessarily.” But it wasn’t much of an answer. Alex wanted to offer something better than that. “Curtis,” he said, “I can’t baptize you right now, but I could use my priesthood and give you a blessing.”
Curtis’s head came up. The eagerness was clear in his face. But Alex immediately doubted himself. He wasn’t at all sure he was worthy to give a blessing. And he wasn’t sure what he could promise. “Curtis, I don’t think I can tell you that you won’t be killed.”
“No. I understand that.”
“But I could ask God to be with you and help you through the hard things ahead.”
“Sure. That’s all I want.”
“But Curtis, I have to be honest. I haven’t felt God with me lately. Maybe I’m not the right one to do this.”
“Alex, if anyone is, it’s you.”
Alex was touched by Curtis’s words but not convinced. Still, he wanted to do this for his friend. He had Curtis remove his helmet, and then he placed his grimy hands on his matted hair. He blessed Curtis with the faith and confidence to deal with his fears and to accept the will of the Lord. Then he blessed him to understand and know the truth of the gospel, whenever he would hear it in its fullness. “Lord, bless him for his goodness. Touch his heart, and let him feel thy presence,” he concluded.
When Alex removed his hands, Curtis began to cry. Alex pulled him close, held his face against his chest. But Alex didn’t cry. He wished that he could. What scared him was that he felt almost nothing. He had trained himself over the past few months to hold everything outside, not to let any of his conflicting emotions overcome him. Now, when he wanted to feel, there was nothing there, not even faith. Curtis was the one who had the Lord with him now. What Alex feared was that whatever he faced in the next few days, he would have to face alone.
Chapter 34
A lot of men in E Company had been hit during the heavy barrage with the 170s, and a couple of men were broken emotionally. A sergeant who had been wounded in Normandy and had survived Holland went to pieces. His squad got ripped apart, almost all of them wounded, some killed, and he lost control. He ran through the woods, screaming for medics. He finally ended up at an aid station, and he didn’t return.
If some had cracked, everyone else was close. The men stayed near their foxholes, and they waited for the next cannonade to begin. But the big guns had sighted in on another target. Alex heard their thunder, and then he breathed easier when he realized that the aim had shifted to another sector. Fortunately, too, the company was not sent into Foy immediately but was allowed to hold its position for another day. Then the men were pulled back into reserve. They were still out in the cold, but at least they were away from the front line. Alex knew that his men were worn out and nervous, but he hadn’t lost anyone, and the other squads in the company had all taken casualties.
The company was receiving replacements now: young kids who had landed at LeHavre just a few days before and had been transported by train or truck directly into the battlefield. Most of them acted cocky, but Alex could see their apprehension.
He was glad he wasn’t getting any of them. His replacements had seen a little action now; they understood what they were up against.
The fighting around Foy was raging now. Word came back to the men in E Company that the rest of their battalion, along with other troops from the regiment, now occupied a U-shaped perimeter on the west, south, and east sides of town. But they had attacked several times, and each time they had been thrown back, taking heavy casualties.
E Company got four days out of the action, but no real rest. The men were still battling the cold, their own filth, trench foot, minor wounds, illness, and more than anything, the dread of what lay ahead. And then, on the morning of January 9, they were sent back into the battle. The first assignment for the company was to clear another section of the Bois Jacques. They spent a hard day slogging through the deep snow. As it turned out, they met no resistance, and Alex had to think that was lucky. It was hard to keep their rifles dry and functioning, especially automatic weapons, in the cold and wet. Hiking in the snow was also exhausting, and it was easy to let down and not watch closely. If a machine-gun team or a sniper had been waiting for them, the men would have been easy pickings.
By afternoon, the company had reached the road it was pushing toward, and then came the miserably hard task of digging in all over again. Chipping through the first few inches of ground, under the snow, was slow going, but the last thing the men wanted was to be exposed to artillery fire, without cover, or to be out in the weather during the night. Alex and Howie battered away at the ground until neither one had much strength left, but the work got easier as the hole deepened. Alex knew very well that all this work was only for a one-night stay, and he knew some men might give up and settle for a shallow hole, so he moved among his squad, telling the men to keep digging until they had some genuine protection.
By the time the men finally got settled in enough to take time to eat, the sun was low in the sky, reflecting a golden glow off the snow, making everything look lovely. Some of the men were making trips to the woods, cutting and hauling back limbs for cover. And then the whine of artillery shells was in the air. “Incoming!” men shouted. Alex and Howie were sitting on the edge of their foxhole, eating. Howie jumped in, but Alex took a quick look around first. He saw men running hard toward their holes, and he hoped that the artillery wasn’t accurate. He ducked down just before the first shell struck. He could hear–and feel–that it wasn’t far away. And then a deafening barrage continued for maybe ten minutes. The Germans had opened up with a “Screaming Meemie,” as the Americans called them. This was the Nebelwerfer–the “fog thrower”–a weapon that could fire hundreds of shells at a rapid pace. The multi-barreled launcher set off terrific screeching noises, like a tirade of sirens.
When the noise stopped, Alex stood up and looked down the line. He didn’t hear anything from close by, which was a good sign, so he waited a little longer to make sure the Germans weren’t about to fire again. When he finally did go looking, he made a run to Curtis and Duncan’s hole. The two of them were standing up, looking okay. “Man, I almost got caught out there,” Duncan said. “I had to make a long run for it, and there were shells dropping in all around me. Buckley and Ling were yelling for me to jump in with them, but I figured they didn’t need another guy, so I just kept coming.”
“He jumped in here with those size-12 boots of his and landed right on me,” Curtis said jokingly. But neither man smiled. They both looked spent.
“Some shells hit close, didn’t they?” Alex asked.
“Real close.”
“I’m going to check the other men.” He hurried toward the next hole, but halfway there, he saw a crater, and dirt scattered over the snow. The light was dim, and he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing as he came closer. A boot was sticking up from the crater. Alex jogged the last few steps and dropped onto his knees. It was Ling and Buckley. They had taken a direct hit. They were broken in pieces, scattered, mixed with the dirt and snow. And blood was everywhere.
Alex jumped up and spun around. He could see Duncan and Curtis, standing up in their foxhole, the sun behind them. Even in silhouette, he could sense their reactions, their realization.
Alex knew there was no point of calling for help. He would let the medics deal with the wounded who could still be helped. Someone could also try to find Ling and
Buckley’s dog tags, gather something together to bury, but Alex wanted nothing to do with any of that. He was wondering whether he would vomit. He had seen bodies broken and shredded before, but not quite like this. These were just boys. These were the kids he was responsible for.
Pozernac had walked over. He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, but he didn’t say anything.
Alex took a long breath, and he swallowed. Then he said, “You’d better get back to your hole. About now is when the Germans like to hit a second time.”
“The other men in the squad are all right. I just checked on them.”
“All right.” Alex walked toward his own hole. When he reached Duncan and Curtis, they were waiting, looking up at him. “There’s nothing left of them,” he told them.
“That’s the hole I almost jumped into,” Duncan said.
“I know.”
“Buckley was telling me yesterday that he had a girl back home. I think they were engaged, or at least–”
“Don’t talk about it,” Alex said. He walked back to Howie and told him the same thing. Then he got down in the hole and tried to follow his own advice. But Alex didn’t sleep that night. What he had learned earlier that day from Captain Wells was that E Company had been chosen to lead the charge into Foy in the morning. The entire Second Battalion was to move west, line up directly south of Foy, and then make a charge across an open field of snow, straight into the machine-gun and mortar fire that would certainly come from the town. And E Company would be out front. The Germans occupied all the stone houses in the little village, the barns and chicken coops. They would have cover, and they would hit the lead company with everything they had. Men were going to die in the morning, and it seemed very likely that more men in his own squad would fall.