Forest Battles

By Steven Blair Wheeler

By the first week of January, 1945, the massive Nazi offensive that had raged into the Belgian Ardennes was contained. The momentum in the Battle of the Bulge had shifted as the Allied counterattack forced the Germans back into the Fatherland. The fighting remained fierce both on the front line and within the German rear area. SS Colonel Karl Grabner is determined to wipe out troublesome local resistance. From the German headquarters in Meyerode, he leads his security battalion into the snow-covered forest. In their fortified camp, Lieutenant Arthur Hill and his audacious band of GIs are ready to take on the SS in the highest tradition of American heroism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Blair Wheeler
• Release date: Jul 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780981764078

Steven Blair Wheeler

Steve Wheeler was born in Blue Mountain Lake in New York State’s Adirondak Mountains. He attended grammar schools in Baldwinsville, New York, and graduated from Solvay High School. Not ready to face college, he enlisted in the army and requested posting to West Germany. He served three years as a grunt in the 1/54th mechanized infantry, 1st Armored Division before transferring to a mobile nuclear missile unit. Wheeler’s military experiences and travels in Europe sharpened his passion for history. After declining offers to re-enlist, Wheeler emigrated to Portland, Oregon and graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature.Abiding interest in military history led to Steve’s first novel. Based on actual events, Still In The Woods is a trilogy that tells the story of a group of American soldiers who become surrounded during the opening days of the Battle of the Bulge. They rally to a determined officer and continue to fight while eluding capture in the frozen hills and forests behind enemy lines.Steve's latest novel is The Second American Civil War. As divided as America is nowadays, what might a second American civil war look like? How would it appear to people on either side? Suppose there were two levels of conflict, and a national broadcast reporter discovered a deadly covert war between factions of the super rich?

Book preview

Forest Battles

Part III of

Still in the Woods

A Novel of the Battle of the Bulge

by

Steven Blair Wheeler

Copyright © 2016 by Steven Blair Wheeler

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, address:

www.stevenblairwheeler.com

Cover design by Jeanne E. Galick Graphic Design

First Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9817640-7-8

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This book is dedicated to

1st Lieutenant Eric F. Wood, Jr.

and the brave men who fought with him

in the winter of 1944–1945.

May their memory never fade.

Their spirit lives forever.

Prologue

By the last week of December, 1944, Hitler’s surprise winter offensive in the Belgian Ardennes had failed. Yet hard fighting continued as the Nazi leader refused to face reality. Americans hiding out on the wrong side of the front lines wondered if they could hold out until the enemy was pushed back into Germany. But one group of GIs was determined to continue fighting.

Area of Operations

Chapter 1

December 26th

Lieutenant! It’s Corky. Something’s happened!

First Lieutenant Arthur Hill awoke to find Staff Sergeant Randolph Corky Corcoran shaking his shoulder. A flashlight beam shone in the dark. Arthur sat up at once thinking of his .45 automatic in its holster. What is it?

Our food’s been raided. I think it was that bunch that Lewis ran into yesterday, and Guidry’s gone with it. I mustered my squad.

Arthur thrust out his wrist to see his watch. It read 4:38. He reached for his size 12 boots and asked, When?

Just a few minutes ago. I was on my rounds going to check on Guidry and I heard noise at the supply shed. I called the password and three guys ran into the woods.

Someone rose from the floor saying, Then there’s still time to catch ’em! It was Technical Sergeant Hugh MacDonald, the acting First Sergeant. Corky, take your squad and go after ’em now. I’ll get Lewis’ squad and follow.

A deep voice said, They’re likely makin’ for the truck park.

Corcoran’s flashlight flicked to a man in the side doorway. The face beneath a GI helmet could only be that of a Native American with dark eyes under dark brows, strong nose, cheekbones and jaw. Sergeant John Jackson was a Blackfeet Sioux, stocky and well over six feet tall. He held a Thompson in his left hand, had an M1 rifle slung across his shoulders, and wore a .45 automatic on his hip. Two grenades hung from his web gear.

Pulling on his boots, Arthur asked, The truck park?

They might be after one of our trucks, Mac said. He struck a match and lit the Coleman lantern.

Right, Arthur said. Mac, you stay here. I’ll go with Lewis. Corky, Jackson get after ’em on the double. Catch ’em before they can steal a truck. Use whatever means necessary.

Yes, sir, Corky said. He and Jackson left at once.

Two other men who had been sleeping on the floor were now sitting up. PFC Sandy Williams said, I never liked that goddam Guidry. Definitely the barracks lawyer type.

Corporal Gary Lassiter said, I hope nobody gets hurt goin’ after a chump like that.

Tying his boots, Mac said, I’ll find out how much food they got ahold of.

Arthur buckled his rubber galoshes. Right. Baker’s squad’ll mount guard. Have Lewis’ squad draw K-rations. Let’s go!

Even in the dark forest, John Jackson easily followed the thieves’ trail. They were going straight for the truck park north-east of camp. He figured each of them was carrying two cases of rations. If they were all carrying boxes, nobody would be taking a shot at him. But they needed to catch them pronto.

If we catch ’em, he thought, it ain’t likely they’ll stop ’cause we say so. And it ain’t likely we’ll be able to tackle ’em. We’ll just have to start shooting.

Then he had another idea. He slowed to let Corky catch up.

What is it? Corky asked. You see ’em?

No. Suppose we stop ’em on the road.

How?

Get ahead of ’em while they’re loadin’ up and block the road. Then Lewis’ squad comes up behind and we got ’em boxed in.

I don’t know. If they’re already driving a truck, they’d just barrel on through. Then there’d be shooting and we got the SS just a mile away. Better take ’em in the truck park before they can leave.

John had forgotten about the SS over in town. He ran ahead determined to try not to shoot. He caught up with the thieves as they were loading the Kraut truck. The engine was already running. He brought up his Thompson hearing Corky and his squad coming through the trees.

A thief yelled, They’re right behind us!

One started shooting and John threw himself into the snow. Someone yelled, Everybody get in!

John rose quickly and stalked to his left.

Corky arrived calling, Virginia! Virginia!

Ham, John replied. He gained a partial view of the cab and fired a burst at the engine. The truck lurched away. John bulled through the trees and into the open. A man was standing on the driver’s running board. As the driver steered onto the forest road, John fired a burst. The man fell from the truck as shots blasted from Corky’s squad. Bullets struck metal and sparks flew from the truck’s tailgate. Shots flashed from the back of the departing truck until it disappeared around a curve.

Cease fire! Corky shouted. Cease Fire!

The truck engine faded in the distance and John heard men moving in the woods. The lieutenant called, Virginia!

Ham, Corky replied.

John walked to the body in the snow, knelt and turned it face-up. The man looked familiar. Corky, got a flashlight?

Men gathered as a beam of light shone on Guidry. He was dead. One of the .45 slugs had made a red mess of his lower face. The smell of blood tainted the frigid air.

Someone swore softly, Damn!

Someone else said, Yeah, he’s dead, alright.

Good riddance, Slim said.

The lieutenant asked, What happened, Corky?

They started shooting, Corky said. Then we returned fire.

Their leader started it, John said. They already had that Kraut truck started and were loadin’ it. They heard us coming.

Anybody else hurt?

No one said they were.

Arthur considered the loss of the truck negligible, but the loss of a significant part of their food supply would hurt. They could probably cope with short rations for a time if it came to that, but he wanted to go after the thieves. It would be an easy matter to track them in the fresh snow.

We goin’ after ’em, sir? Jackson asked.

Yes. Corky, return to camp and take Guidry’s body with you. Sergeant Lewis, get the truck started. Sergeant Jackson, I’d like you to come along.

Corky said, Sir? Why don’t we bury him right here?

Fine by me.

It took several minutes to get the deuce-and-a-half’s cold engine to catch. By the time it was warmed up enough to idle, Corky’s squad had started a grave for Guidry.

Sergeant William Pop Lewis and his squad climbed aboard the truck while Arthur had Jackson crowded into the cab with Dunstan as driver. Concerned about noise, Arthur said, Keep it under twenty miles per hour.

With two big men in the cab, Dunstan barely had room to work the gear shift. As the truck started to roll, Arthur asked, John, do you think all that shooting hit anybody else?

I dunno, sir. I was aimin’ for the driver, but Guidry got in the way.

Shot at one rat, and got another, Arthur said.

Jackson’s reply was a frustrated growl.

As they rounded the first curve, Arthur watched intently for the stolen truck, but all he saw was the ghostly white ribbon of the road stretching into blackness. Since they dared not show a headlight, he could see maybe forty yards ahead as they rolled along at a frustrating pace.

Arthur had Jackson roll down the window to listen for gunfire in case the thieves ran into a Kraut roadblock, but all remained quiet.

They were approaching the six-way intersection where he had first met his Belgian friend Charles Maris. Arthur said, Stop. Sergeant you go ahead and make sure the way is clear.

They were less than a mile from Meyerode which had been occupied by the SS. In fact, just yesterday, he had seen SS kill a Belgian civilian and burn down his house for sheltering two GIs.

Arthur could easily imagine a Kraut sentry in town reporting small arms fire in the woods. It’s entirely possible that the shooting at camp was heard, he thought. But would they send a patrol to investigate? How big of a security detail would they have guarding an SS headquarters? A company? A battalion?

By shaded flashlight, he checked his watch. It was 5:09. Dawn was over two hours away. Through the open window heavy artillery rumbled in the distance too far off to flash above the tops of the surrounding trees. The radio news had the front line about eight miles away to the north. To the west, it was thirty miles or more.

Suddenly, a distant MG 42 ripped through a long burst. Kraut rifles joined in. They weren’t shooting at John. It was too far away and in the wrong direction. The machine gun fired again, then silence.

That didn’t sound like they was shootin’ at the Indian, Dunstan said.

No, Arthur said. Besides, Jackson doesn’t let himself be seen, or heard. Keep your eyes peeled. He’ll be coming back any time now. We might need to back up and turn around.

Yes, sir. There he is now.

The big man jogged past the hood through the falling snow and halted at Arthur’s door. Arthur asked, Did they turn right at the junction?

Yup. Ran right into Krauts.

Is the intersection clear?

Yes, sir. But I wouldn’t risk it in a truck.

Me neither. Arthur got out and called, Sergeant Lewis?

Sir?

Come on down here. When the man joined them, Arthur drew him aside. Jackson and I are going to go see what we can see. I want PFC Kinney to come with us. Take the truck back to the park and cover the tracks from here on back. Work fast, but do a good job. Let’s hope this snow keeps falling. Tell Mac to get ready to evacuate the camp just in case.

Yes, sir, Lewis said. Sean, go with the lieutenant. Everybody else, fall out.

Following a compass bearing of due north, Arthur entered the dark forest hoping that Lewis’ men could conceal the truck tracks before an SS patrol came along. So far, the enemy had not been interested in patrolling the woods. They were preoccupied with pushing their offensive west. What the Nazis hoped to gain with the big offensive he had no idea. He had seen their convoys using horse-drawn wagons and captured GI vehicles. The radio news said the Russians are deep into Poland, and the Allies hold Rome, he thought, and here we are on the German border. But somehow Hitler came up with enough strength to mount this offensive. Whether it makes sense or not, we’re still surrounded well behind the lines.

Now we’ve been robbed by some of our own guys. If any of them got captured, it won’t be long before they give away the location of our camp.

He hiked through the frozen forest determined to know if the enemy would soon be coming for them.

The village of Meyerode had only a few dozen buildings, mostly farmhouses, barns and sheds in the middle of fields wrested from the forest over generations. There was a modest-sized Lutheran church, a gasthaus nearly as large, and a small store and post office. The gasthaus had been taken over by the Sixth SS Panzer Armee headquarters. The townspeople had been displaced to their cellars by the command staff and troops from the anti-aircraft and security battalions. Even so, half of the security troops had had to commandeer farmhouses on the outskirts of town.

East of town, one such house near the forest had been turned into a guard post to watch a road that emerged from the timber. Just after the guard shift changed that morning, SS men occupying the farm heard a vehicle approaching. Because traffic on this local road was unusual, the sergeant roused his six men as a truck loomed out of the woods. Rifle ready, the guard at the wooden barricade shouted, Halt!

But when the truck accelerated and smashed through, the SS opened fire. They kept shooting until it crashed into the ditch and fell on its side.

The sergeant and his men cautiously investigated. The wrecked German Opal contained five American bodies: two in the cab and three in the back. A sixth had been thrown into the snow. Only that one remained alive, although unconscious.

Without no field phone, the sergeant had to send a runner to the company command post to report. Within ten minutes, Obersturmführer Mautz himself arrived in his car. Mautz promptly ordered the wounded prisoner to be loaded aboard and demanded, Sergeant, you are sure that no other Americans are alive?

Jawohl, Herr Obersturmführer!

Mautz got in and ordered the driver to make haste to the aid station.

Sturmbannführer Karl Grabner, commander of the headquarters security battalion, listened to Obersturmführer Mautz standing rigidly to attention before him. The vehicle, Mein Herr, is the missing truck from the motor pool. Aside from the dead and the prisoner and their personal equipment, there were seven cases of American rations. The vehicle is being salvaged. We incurred no casualties.

Grabner was not pleased. Obersturmführer, I consider the fact that the security detachment took no casualties only as evidence that they are capable of routine precautions in performing basic duties. That does not call for commendation. On the contrary, your latest failure to secure viable prisoners who can inform me of the location of the American forest bandits is disappointing. A prisoner in a coma is useless.

Grabner nearly pounded his desk in frustration as he glared at Mautz. This was the second time in two days that the man had failed him, but it would be the last. Grabner resolved to transfer him to a combat unit. Meanwhile, he would order patrols sent into the forest. To the man standing at rigid attention, Grabner said, I will call a meeting of company commanders presently. That is all.

Jawohl, Herr Sturmbannführer! Mautz clicked his heels.

Grabner watched him leave suspecting that lieutenant felt ill-used over a situation not entirely within his control, but that was the point. Mautz did not have his men firmly under control. Grabner had already considered his possible replacement.

He shifted in his chair to relieve the ache in his right hip. It was forever sore from his wounds received in Russia. Doctors had warned him that he was returning to duty too soon. They had been right, but also wrong. Grabner had returned to duty none too soon for his own purpose. Knowing that Germany had lost the war, his one desire was to avoid surviving as a crippled pensioner old before his time, subject to the victorious Allies. He preferred death in battle.

To that end, he had used his many connections as a holder of the Knight’s Cross with oak leaves to obtain this posting. He was now close to the front, but to make it the last few kilometers, to attain his final active combat command, he needed to distinguish himself in a way that proved that he was fit for such an assignment. Hunting down the Americans in the forest was his best opportunity.

Bruner!

Sir!

Coffee.

Sir!

Grabner stood carefully, showing no reaction to the jet of pain. This business had gotten him out of bed half an hour early. He had merely drawn his tunic over his night shirt to receive Mautz. To stimulate circulation in his hip, he tottered back and forth past the blacked-out window. The room was small and stuffy, but he was in no mood to be among others. He could make a full report to the headquarters commander after breakfast. At the moment, he rubbed his sore flank and considered how this incident could serve his purpose.

He switched off the desk lamp and swept the window curtain aside. In the breaking dawn, snowflakes brushed the glass and the fields merged into distant white-coated trees at the edge of the forest. Gray light blurred all borders so that ground, trees, and sky merged together like an impressionist painting. He disliked French painting. It was imprecise and showed a lazy tendency of mind that preferred to dwell in a misty haze. And look where that had gotten them. He smiled recalling how the Führer had forced their surrender in the very rail car used in the humiliating capitulation of 1918. The car had been blown up before the Allies could recapture it.

Your coffee, Herr Sturmbannführer.

Thank you, Bruner. Grabner addressed the man’s reflection in the window before looking again at the forest. It was just four hundred meters distant. He surveyed the timbered hills to the east. Somewhere out there, in all probability just a few kilometers away, the snow-laden trees concealed his prey. He began to look forward to his interview with the Colonel.

Arthur and his scouts tracked the thieves to where they had turned west and followed the trail to the edge of the forest. In the blackness before dawn, he used his binoculars to study a farmhouse two hundred yards distant. Just past the house, a vehicle that looked like the stolen truck lay on its side. Someone came out of the farmhouse, got into a Kraut jeep, and drove toward town. Clearly the house was occupied with vigilant Krauts.

Arthur gave the glasses to Jackson saying, That looks like our truck.

Jackson studied it. Reckon so. I could go look.

Too much open ground, Arthur said. Even for you. The Krauts are on the look-out.

I could get a lot closer so we can be sure.

Nope. We’ll just wait for dawn.

Then we oughtta circle around that way a piece. Jackson motioned south along the tree line. Arthur agreed and let Jackson lead off. They kept well inside the forest, especially as it angled toward town. Arthur recognized the place from which he had observed the village the day before.

Presently, Jackson halted. Lemme see them glasses, sir.

Arthur handed them over and considered the situation. What he dreaded most was a German foot patrol. If they send so much as a squad to follow the truck tracks, they’ll see that it came from the six-way junction. They might also see our swept-over tracks. There’s not enough snow falling now to cover them. And a foot patrol would mean that at least one of the thieves had talked. The more time that passes without a patrol the better. But how much time has to go by before I can assume that none of the thieves were caught?

Could we get that lucky?

Unless we can know that none were captured, we’ll have to relocate. That means finding a new site at once. And that’s got to be further away from Meyerode. Should we abandon the cabin and mess hall? Shifting the camp will be hard. Just when we got everything set up.

He thought about the village of Herresbach several miles to the east.

Jackson lowered the binoculars. That’s our truck, alright.

Could you make out any bodies?

Not from here. Not yet.

His ruddy complexion blanched by the cold, Sean Kinney asked, See anything else?

The Krauts had a roadblock by the house, and they got a machine gun in the front window.

Well, at least we know this is as far as those bastards got, Sean said. I hope the Krauts took care of ’em all.

Come on, Arthur said, and led them back into the forest until the tree line angled back east again. He knew precisely where he was. We’ll wait here, he said, and see what we can see.

They settled in. Arthur watched the village and listened to distant artillery. He wondered where his battery might be, and if he’d see them again. That struck him as an odd thought. I must’ve meant if I’d see them again before the war ends.

In time, false dawn afforded a better view of the wreck. In the growing daylight he counted three bodies in the snow. Three of six. If even one of the others was taken alive, the SS are grilling him right now.

Sean had asked for a turn with the glasses, then said, Wonder what they’ll do with the wreck. Looks like they might be able to fix it.

That gave Arthur an idea. Well, if that’s so, somebody’ll come along for it. And when they do, they’ll have to collect up the bodies. There ought to be two in the cab, right? I need someone here to get a body count so we’ll know if anyone survived.

Neither man volunteered to stay. But Sean said, What about your civilian friends, sir? Maybe they could find out.

I don’t see how they’d know, Arthur said. Even if they could find out, we wouldn’t know about it until tomorrow at the earliest. The Krauts might move on the camp today.

Jackson said, I don’t know as they would,

How do you figure? Arthur asked.

They don’t seem interested in the woods. I don’t reckon they care if we’re in here or not.

You don’t think they’d come after us if they know where we are? Arthur found the idea curious. He assumed, he had to assume, that the enemy would act on that information.

Unh, there’s a chance, Jackson said. But I don’t know as it’s likely.

Why not?

Well, sir, what do they care if there’s some of us out here? ’Less we raid the town.

What about those civilians yesterday? Sean asked. The SS are bloody-thirsty sonsabitches.

They killed them people ’cause they were right close by, Jackson said. They wouldn’t’ve bothered with ’em if they were in the middle of the woods.

Well, I’d like to believe that, Arthur said. But even if they don’t come for us today, the next time we hit a convoy, they might come looking.

That made them think. Then Sean said, You planning to hit a convoy again, lieutenant?

Since our food was raided, it might come to that in a week or so. Anyhow, I’m heading back. Sean, I need Sergeant Jackson with me. Stay here out of sight until they come for the truck or the bodies.

Suppose they leave ’em there all day?

Did you draw a K-ration this morning?

Yes sir.

And you can have this one, Arthur gave him his. Report back to camp as soon as you get a count of the bodies, or if it looks like the Krauts are mounting a patrol, or until you’re relieved. Understood?

Yes sir.

Arthur hiked to the Maris farm. Charles Maris, his wife Thesy, and their daughter Elise had let him and Dave Solonsky stay with them one night when Arthur was still trying to get through the lines to rejoin his artillery battery. Since then, Elise, a trained nurse, and her uncle, Dr. Claude Durant, had been drafted to work in a nearby German field hospital. Elise had gotten medicines for Arthur a few days ago, and he had left a note at their wood pile asking for more.

Paying a call to the house was out of the question. He had already put the family in danger asking for their help. He was not going to put them at further risk of arrest or execution just because he wanted to see Elise again.

Any man would. Elise was a beautiful, spirited woman. He’d dreamt of her chestnut hair and lively green eyes, and the way she moved around a room. His marriage to Deborah was very happy, but Elise was a special woman, enchanting, and courageous. He felt certain that if it had not been for the war she would be married to a fine man by now.

He and Jackson paused near the farmhouse to make sure that it was not occupied by Krauts. So far, so good, Arthur thought. The farm was a fifteen minute walk from town. The enemy had not incorporated it into their defensive perimeter. Neither had they any reason to interfere with the family. But then, their neighbors’ house had been burnt down yesterday. He had seen the SS haul out a wounded GI. He had also seen an officer shoot a Belgian civilian in cold blood while troops ransacked the house and set it afire. He would do nothing to cause that to happen to the Maris farm.

He and Jackson crossed the road well out of sight of the house and made sure to wipe out their tracks. When he and Jackson were certain that the coast was clear, Arthur approached the ‘mailbox’. The only communication that he would countenance was accomplished by notes left in a jar in a wood pile in the forest behind the house. The empty jar told him that Elise had his latest message asking for more medicines. He wrote a note in his high school French asking if they had heard anything about a truck driven by Americans stopped by a roadblock that day. Had any had been captured?

They checked their surroundings carefully and methodically covered their tracks until they were well away from the woodpile before turning for camp. Arthur hoped that Jackson was right ant that the SS would not bother looking for them, but he had to assume otherwise.

Arthur did not know that the Belgian civilian who’d been executed in front of his burning house was not the only victim. Guy Bouldin’s wife Bibi had been raped, shot, and left for dead. After the SS had left, she had somehow managed to stumble from the burning house. Elise, Thesy and Charles had found her lying across her dead husband’s body and brought her back to their home more dead than alive. Charles had fetched his brother-in law to treat Bibi and the doctor asked that she remain under Elise’ care until he could arrange a hospital bed.

Claude had spent nearly an hour treating Bibi’s wounds and had watched Elise set up intravenous equipment. Only after their muted Christmas dinner did her uncle warn Elise to watch Bibi closely. We must keep her sedated much of the time, he’d said. She will be despondent.

Elise was with Bibi when she awakened that morning. At first, the poor woman seemed uncertain where she was, but recollection brought crushing despair. Through her swollen lips and injured jaw, Bibi said that she wished she had died. With tears coursing down her own cheeks, Elise arranged the bed covers feeling profound sorrow intensified by the memory of her fiancé Phillipe killed at Dinant in1940.

Struggling to overcome her own pain, Elise knelt beside her friend to hold her hand and speak softly. You fought for your honor, Bibi, dearest. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We love you.

Utterly wretched, Bibi withdrew from contact. Following her uncle’s instructions, Elise gently administered an injection to ease Bibi into sleep and silently left the room with the door ajar.

Elise was scheduled to report for a work shift at the German army hospital, but she resolved to stay home. She never wanted to work for the hated Germans and certainly not the SS swine. She had seen the sergeant that looked like a Neanderthal in the bunch that had marched past the farm on their way to the Bouldin house. She suspected it was that filthy ape who had abused her friend. She wanted every one of the SS to be killed. She wanted the vile sergeant to die in agony. She was through going to their army hospital. Her home was a hospital. She would care for the people who mattered to her.

She descended the stairs to the parlor thinking that the whole town would know what happened at the Bouldin house. Papa had asked Reverend Clery to see to Guy’s body. She recalled how, in a moment of lucidity as Claude worked on her wounds, Bibi had asked where her husband was. Claude had assured her that Reverend Clery was taking care of him. And now as Elise looked out of a front window, here was Horst Weber’s wagon slowly passing the house. Guy’s body lay shrouded in a gray blanket. At least, she thought, Bibi had been spared seeing that.

The sun had been up for an hour by the time John and the lieutenant returned to camp. The sentry’s brisk challenge and the level of activity going on showed that MacDonald had the men on their toes. The sentry stood to the right of the firebreak where a dugout was being roofed with logs.

The lieutenant gave the countersign and the sentry welcomed them back. John recognized George Pachette and in an instant his mind’s eye showed him standing alone in the back entrance of the hole looking scared and puzzled with shooting going on around him. John suspected it was a vision, but he did not know what to make of it.

Sergeant Ralph Baker and Chuck Roper came into sight carrying a load of cut logs the size of fence posts. Well hey, lieutenant, Baker hailed, did ya catch ’em? He had a husky voice that matched his frame and went with his broken nose.

No, but the Krauts did. Seen Mac?

Prob’ly down to the cabin. Baker and Roper halted. Drop ’em here, Chuck.

The lieutenant strode down the firebreak as the logs crashed onto the frozen earth.

They get captured, John? Chuck asked.

Don’t know, John said. At least three of ’em didn’t. Krauts hit ’em with a machine gun an’ the truck crashed in the ditch. Seen three bodies in the snow.

Didn’t Kinney go with ya? Baker asked. Where’s he at?

Watchin’ to see how many bodies they pull out of the truck.

Glad that ain’t me, Chuck said.

What’n hell’s he gotta do that for? Baker asked.

See how many was killed, Sarge, George said. Be kinda good to know if any was took prisoner. He winked at John.

John nodded to him and started for the cabin.

Figure they’ll come up here, John? Chuck asked.

Ain’t likely, John replied. He continued down the firebreak. He wanted to get away from Pachette before he caused him to see something else.

Arthur found Mac and Sergeant Jack Blatnik at the supply shed. Having served in a supply outfit, Blatnik was in his element. His pencil mustache went with his tailored overcoat while Mac’s standard issue coat was strictly GI. With keen interest in his green eyes, Mac asked, Lieutenant, what’s the score?

Lewis said you guys heard a Kraut machine gun? Blatnik asked.

Arthur eased the helmet back on his head a little. Well, they turned toward Meyerode and a Kraut roadblock nailed ’em. We saw three bodies by the wreck. Sean Kinney’s watching to try to find out if any were captured.

I hate to say it, Mac said, But let’s hope none were. Anyhow, we were just talkin’ about loading the food onto the truck.

Arthur asked, How much is missing?

Eight cases, Mac said. The bastards dropped one on the way, and another at the truck park. The truck’s warmed up in case we need to leave in a hurry.

Good, Arthur said. We might not have to. God knows I don’t want to, but we have to assume that at least one of the thieves was taken prisoner until we know otherwise. Jack, go ahead and load all the food onto the truck, and make sure no one helps himself. Mac, come inside.

The big cook, Swede Lensen, offered Arthur hot tea as he passed through the mess hall. Arthur said to send it in and entered the cabin to find the stove nearly out. Mac tended to it as Arthur stood his carbine against the wall and set his helmet on the radio. When Jackson entered through the front door, Arthur noticed the Christmas tree festooned with dog tags. We’d better get those tags back to their owners, he said. Now, we might be able to take the truck with us if we have warning of a Kraut force coming this way, but I think we ought to have a plan if we can’t.

Wishing he could have some hot cocoa, John rested his Thompson against the wall, unslung the M1 rifle and propped it next to his submachine gun. He watched Mac working on the stove and hoped the meeting would last long enough for his feet to thaw out. As he sat on an ammo crate he pondered the vision of Pachette by the dugout. What did it mean? There was shooting, but since there never had been any by the camp he figured the vision was something that was going to happen. Are the Krauts going to come up here after us today?

That still didn’t make much sense, but visions were often tricky. You usually couldn’t tell when something was going to happen, except that it usually did.

The lieutenant was now saying that he wanted a scouting party to search to the north-east for a new camp site. John had a feeling that meant him, and sure enough the lieutenant wanted one man from each squad with Lewis and Jackson leading the patrol. When MacDonald had no objection, the lieutenant called into the mess hall. Sergeant Rigdon, would you have Sergeant Lewis report here? Closing the door, he said, John, think of who you want from Corky and Baker’s squads.

John nodded and unbuckled his galoshes glad that they were going to wait for Lewis. The stove was just heating the place up. He shucked the galoshes and removed his boots to massage his cold, smelly feet. Mac’s nose wrinkled, but he and the lieutenant got busy talking about carrying parties and making a food cache. John put his boots by the stove and propped his feet on an ammo crate.

The stove and stovepipe were home-made by the engineers from a five gallon water can and ration cans. The cast iron stove that had been in the cabin was now in the mess hall. John didn’t think the home-made one would last more than a month before the thin metal burned through, but it was doing good for now. Me massaged his tingling feet and brought out his K-ration breakfast.

Lewis came in as John was munching a sticky fruit bar. John had already eaten the cereal bar and crackers and was warming the chopped ham and eggs.

Ah, Bill, there you are, the lieutenant said. I’ve got a scouting mission for you and John. We might need to move camp.

Yes, sir, Lewis said. He nodded to John.

I need you to scout to the northeast, the lieutenant said. Also, have a good look at the river crossings north of Herresbach. Pick one man from each squad to go with you. Leave in twenty minutes. Take food for two days and this copy of the map. Add to the map as you go of course. Report back by tomorrow afternoon.

Yes sir.

Do you have a compass?

Yes sir.

Good. John, you’re in charge of getting there and back, but Bill, you’re in charge of everything else. Understood? He looked at them both.

Yes, sir, John said, he reached for his boots. Lewis nodded affirmation.

Any questions?

Lewis said, Suppose the SS hits the camp while we’re out, sir?

Then you’ll be on our own, the lieutenant said. But Jackson doesn’t think that’ll happen.

John didn’t know what to say. The vision of Pachette at the dugout was still with him. He got busy pulling on his boots.

Well, sir, just in case, Lewis said, I suggest we draw three day’s rations. We won’t eat ’em unless we have to.

Fine, the lieutenant agreed. If the enemy does come up here, we’ll be heading toward you. Keep your ears peeled. Anything else?

As there was not, the lieutenant said, Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck.

Outside the cabin, Lewis asked, Who do you want for this job?

John said, Tate, for one. And Roper.

Okay. That’s one each from my squad and Baker’s. How about Corky’s?

Maybe that guy that speaks German went with the lieutenant yesterday.

Alright, let’s go round ’em up.

Chapter 2

December 26th, Part II

After briefing the patrol leaders, Arthur stepped into the ‘hospital.’ The men had built an addition onto the north side of the cabin to house the mess hall, but half of the space was taken up with bunks for men wounded or sick. There were three men in the hospital due to wounds. Private Tony Corno had suffered a broken collar bone in an explosion when they had raided an abandoned supply dump the week before. He was coming along well and might be ready for light duty. Private David Solonsky had been shot in the side of his chest two days ago and Arthur was worried that his wound would become infected. Private Teddy Wozniak had had his feet frozen when he and four other men from his outfit had crossed a river escaping from the Germans who had encircled their unit. Arthur had helped hold him down yesterday when Sergeant Rigdon, Teddy’s squad leader, and Private Skip Stephenson had amputated the two smallest toes on his right foot. The toes had turned gangrenous and Arthur dreaded that they had not acted in time to prevent the infection’s spread. He hoped Elise could get them some penicillin.

One advantage of the aid station being under the same roof as the mess hall was that the cook’s stove kept the place warm. When Arthur stepped around the canvas screen that divided the room, Dave looked over. Morning, sir.

He looked pale, but his high forehead was no longer moist with sweat and he was alert. Good morning, Dave, Arthur said, Teddy, how’re you doing? He tried to hit the right tone of concerned detachment.

Foot hurts, sir.

With a slight motion of his head, Dave beckoned.

Arthur knelt by the cot. How are you feeling this morning, Dave? Did you sleep okay last night?

I slept like a log, Dave said. Whatever they gave me really put me out. Then lowering his voice he said, He passed out.

Arthur had leaned over to hear and leaned back. Okay... Where’s Skip?

He went with Corno to the latrine.

Is that right? Arthur said, pleased. So Tony’s up and around? That’s great. How about you? You seem better.

I feel better, Dave said, and seemed to mean it. Even ate some breakfast.

That’s the ticket! Arthur said.

Skip Stephenson, tall, thin and dark-haired came. Good morning, sir.

Skip, Arthur greeted him. Wasn’t Tony with you?

He wanted to visit his friends. I told him as long as he keeps his arm in the sling, it’d be okay.

Sounds like he’s doing good.

He is. He should be up and around every day. It gets pretty dull sitting around here.

Sure. How about this guy here? Arthur asked, meaning Dave.

He’s healing up. Ate some breakfast today, Skip said proudly, although Arthur had an impression that he not being completely candid.

Terrific, Arthur said. Elise will be pretty worried about you. Just keep getting better so I can tell her you’re okay.

I’d like to get the chance to tell her myself, Dave said.

Arthur said. I bet!

Me and Dale need to change your bandages later, Skip said. Anything you need just now?

I’ll need the bedpan pretty soon, Dave said grimly, but not just now.

Arthur moved to a crate by Wozniak’s bunk. Anything you need, Teddy?

No, sir. Wozniak replied without looking at him. His full face bore a blond three-day beard that was not apparent from across the room.

Arthur disliked the young man’s sullen behavior, but it was understandable.

I was just about to change his bandage, sir, Skip said. Once Dale gets back.

I’ll help you, Arthur offered, though he did not want to.

It can wait for a bit, sir.

I’d as soon see how it’s coming, Arthur said, If you don’t mind, Teddy.

Well, I don’t guess I got much choice, do I lieutenant? Teddy replied, turning quickly. Just like when you guys knocked me out.

Stung, Arthur replied, Your toes were infected with gangrene, private. If Skip and Sergeant Rigdon hadn’t had the guts to take them off, that infection would be spreading through you right now. And after a while, it’d have killed you. They saved your life. And it wasn’t easy for them, either. As far as I’m concerned, you’re lucky it was only two toes. It could have been your whole foot. Now, if you want to feel sorry for yourself, you go right ahead, but not around me or these men.

Teddy glanced at Dave, who said, He’s right.

And one more thing, Arthur said. A lousy attitude isn’t going to help you get better. And getting better is your duty right now. If we have to leave this place, you’d be better off if you can do it on your own two feet. Now Skip and I are going to tend to your bandage. Ready Skip?

Yes sir. Skip drew up a crate and uncovered Teddy’s bandaged foot.

Teddy gritted his teeth as his foot was unwrapped. The bandage was bloody on the inside. Skip smelled it before dropping it on the floor. He kept his expression neutral as he inspected the foot. There’s some swelling, some bruising... Skip said, But otherwise looks okay. Just keep taking your pills.

Arthur gave Teddy an encouraging look. It seemed like the amputation had been done in time.

I’ll wash your foot and put on a fresh bandage, Skip said.

He gently washed the raw, red area around the two missing smallest toes. Arthur’s stomach lurched when he glimpsed white bone.

Wozniak’s breath hissed. Watch it, for God’s sake!

Sorry, Teddy, Skip said. I’m all done washing. I’ll just wrap you up. You know, it’s good that you have feeling there. It’s a good sign.

That’s what you think.

You’re doing an outstanding job, Skip, Arthur said. Teddy, rest easy and let us know if you need anything.

Uh huh. Wozniak grunted and bit his lip as Skip put fresh gauze over the wound. Jesus, that hurts.

Hold still, Skip said. Almost done.

In a sour mood, Sturmbannführer Grabner was curt with his orderly who had not held his tunic high enough for Grabner to easily slip his arms into it. He was still frustrated by Mautz’ failure to provide a prisoner for questioning and considered having breakfast brought to him. However, he preferred his food hot and needed to exercise his hip and so made his painful way to the officer’s mess. He was eating a soft-boiled egg and a piece of toasted bread with jam when Colonel Mollenhauer paused at his table. They spoke briefly about the location for the new motor park, and Grabner accepted his superior’s suggestion that he come to his office a bit later. We need to discuss these two incidents, the colonel said. I’ll have someone phone you.

The colonel meant not just today’s interception of a truck full of Americans, but also the prior day’s execution of a civilian. Grabner returned to his headquarters considering the report he would make. He intended to begin with his plan for the motor park. He promptly contacted Obersturmführer Trotmann, and told his Company 3 commander to begin work at once to prepare the. Trotmann joked that the men would grumble, and who could blame them? They’re soldiers, not pioneers, but grumbling is a soldier’s lot.

Grabner spent the next half hour composing his report and having it typed. The clerk was pulling the last page from his typewriter when the colonel’s phone call summoned him to his office. Grabner drew on his greatcoat expecting that the interview would be unpleasant. The farmer’s corpse had been brought to the church with the pall of his burning house rising above the forest. The man’s wife had survived and been treated by the local doctor who had joined the priest in lodging strong complaints with the colonel. And this morning a truckload of Americans had penetrated the perimeter.

In the first case, my men had been attacked by two enemy soldiers hiding in the farmer’s cellar. A good man had been critically wounded in the fight which also caused the house fire and the civilian’s death. That was that.

If the colonel does not like how I command my battalion, he can grant my request to return to frontline duty. Not that he will. And he would never dare to replace me. At the most he will ask a pointed question or two, offer some advice and that will be that.

Approaching the town hall that housed army headquarters, he met an old acquaintance. An adjutant to Papa himself, Standartenführer Loch wore a field cap and greatcoat with a brown muffler around his neck as an aide opened the door of a kubelwagen. About to get into the vehicle, Loch glanced up and recognized him. Grabner! How are you getting along?

Standartenführer Loch, good morning, Grabner replied, saluting. I am very fit.

Fine, fine, Loch said, returned his salute and shook hands. I’m on the wing at the moment, but we must have a hand of cards tonight, if you can manage it.

I’ll look forward to it with pleasure, sir.

Good. Good. Loch’s aide held the car door wide. Loch had always been on the portly side and duty at army headquarters allowed him to eat well. Lowering his wide backside into the car, he said, Our comrades are really teaching the Americans how the SS conducts offensive operations. I’m going up there just now. But, as you know, he dropped his voice, even victorious units take casualties. With a significant look, he settled himself into the seat, heeling the car several degrees. Well, I’m away. Until this evening, then?

Grabner saluted as the door closed. The driver put the car into motion and Grabner walked away from the exhaust considering Loch’s comment. What was the blather about victorious units? The northern thrust of the offensive is stalled where the Leibstandarte is fighting. Rumor says that