For What He Could Become Page 9

  He kept the patrol off the main trails, and when they had to cross one he’d send Wayne and Coric to check it out, sit beside it for fifteen minutes and see if there was any activity. He figured the krauts wouldn’t keep quiet for fifteen minutes when they’d overrun the hill and taken 6,000 prisoners, and if they were watching the trails, Wayne would catch sight of them. After they’d gone about two miles they stopped on battlescarred ground overlooking the village of Schoenberg and the Our River just as the sun peeped through a low layer of clouds. Bill sent Coric and Wayne to scout for food and ammo and kept the other three to man the machine gun.

  The reconnaissance was very short.

  “Foxholes all over the place,” Wayne said as he dumped the contents of his musette bag on the ground.

  Coric was smiling as he dumped his. “The army took better care of these guys than they did us. I took ammo out of the busted rifles, and some group had piled theirs behind a rock in the bush where I stopped to take a leak.”

  Bill looked at the pathetic pile of discarded food.

  “Not much,” Wayne said.

  “No,” John said. “But in the land of blind men the oneeyed man is king.”

  Bill said, “Divide the ammo up and draw straws for the food. I think we’ll be eating where it’s dry and warm tonight.” They all looked at him. “John, hand me your binoculars.”

  He took the glasses and walked toward the edge of the trees, careful to stay in the shadow of one of them. His stomach growled. He nibbled a D Bar but concentrated on the farmhouse across the river. He watched it for an hour until he was satisfied with his plan, then got up and went back to the perimeter. Three of the guys were asleep even though the afternoon’s cold air was creeping down the slope.

  “What’s up, Corporal?” Eric asked.

  “We’ll sleep here until we get too cold, then head down to that farmhouse across the river. Got a feeling we can warm up there and get some food.”

  Eric’s eyebrows went up. The others who were awake just looked at him. Bill lay down and in seconds was asleep, a habit he had picked up the last couple of years in the army. If he’d slept during the day in the village, they’d have doused him with water.

  Wayne shook him awake and pointed at his watch. He stretched his legs and felt the cold in them, and as he rolled over and rose to his knees, stiffness grabbed every joint in his body. He used his rifle as a cane and levered himself upright, his right leg finally giving him the strength to stand up. Wayne was waking the others.

  Bill watched them go through their waking-up modes, first realizing they were awake, then where they were, then how cold and stiff they were, then struggling to find the best way to get upright. After they had relieved themselves, they gathered around Bill at the edge of the wood.

  “You see that house just across the river all by itself with the barn off to the right rear?” he said. “We could cross the bridge but I’m sure it’ll be guarded, and we’d raise a ruckus getting across. We’ll wade the river down by that bend where the tall tree stands on the far bank.

  “Assuming the water isn’t over our heads, we’ll be wet and cold, so we gotta move fast. John, you and Eric set up the machine gun facing the bridge and Peter will cover you. Wayne will take the back door and Coric the side door, I’ll take the front. I don’t want anybody doing any shooting unless it’s to save yourself or one of us. If that happens then we’ll just have to adjust to it. The idea, plain and simple, is to overpower the people in the house fast and easy, then dry out, eat, and get to Bastogne.”

  He let it lie for a minute. “Any questions or ideas?”

  In all of his short life he had never expected that any people close to him might get killed. It just wasn’t something he thought about—now he saw it as a distinct possibility. You had to think of the consequences when you were about to cross a river at night and break into a hostile house. He and Wayne had just wanted to escape, and now he found himself leading a patrol of six guys risking death. He looked at each of them, hoping someone would come up with a better plan or at least say “to hell with it” so they’d stop.

  Nobody spoke.

  Bill swallowed hard and hoisted his M1.

  “Okay. Spread out going down this hill, and I only want to see one person moving at a time. We’ve got time and we don’t want to screw this up.”

  He went ten yards, then stopped and knelt down. The visibility hadn’t changed. He looked back to see that the second man hadn’t started. He got into a crouch, moved another twenty-five yards and stopped. The only enemy activity was a sandbag sentry post on each side of the bridge. He moved another twenty-five yards and stopped. When he looked back he saw the patrol was well spaced.

  He maneuvered around a blasted-off tree stump near the road, sat with his back to it, and waited for the others. Each sentry post had a single soldier in it, and they didn’t look or act like front-line soldiers. He could hear the next man slide up behind the stump, then the next. He could also hear the faint tinkle of the machine-gun cartridge belt bumping against itself. He pulled off his muffler and handed it to John.

  “Wrap that belt in this. I can hear it ten yards away.”

  When they were all settled Bill crawled to the bank of the road, rolled silently down, and in a crouch dashed across the road to the riverbank. He lay still and listened, then motioned the next man to follow.

  Looking across the black water that rippled in the moonlight, he hesitated. He had crossed many rivers but none in winter and none whose depths he hadn’t probed first. He couldn’t keep his mind off the image of him plunging in over his head and drifting downriver.

  When Wayne finally got there Bill could hear his heavy breathing and see the clouds of his breath. He looked into Bill’s eyes, then Bill nodded and lifted one leg into the water.

  The water swirled around his knee and pushed his leg downstream before his foot reached the bottom. The current ran against his legs and made little swirls of white foam as he tried to move without making a sound. Although it was over a hundred yards to the bridge and Bill doubted either of the sentries could hear them that far away, he wasn’t sure.

  He moved forward and felt for a purchase with his foot, which had become numb. Halfway across he dropped into a hole. The icy water seeped through his clothes and up to his ribs and encased his chest. The shock of it seized his lungs. He tried to move faster, his numb legs flailing underwater, but the next step took him in up to his neck.

  Now he was having difficulty staying upright against the current, and his feet danced across the bottom. He lifted his knees and floated to avoid losing his balance and falling sideways, his feet probing for the bottom. The next step was solid, and he lifted himself out to his waist and waded to the bank.

  The men behind him had watched and waited and now one walked upriver and crossed. He was worried about John and Eric with the machine gun—although they were taller than Bill, the weight of it might tip them over. Wayne had moved downstream to catch them if they had a problem. Bill tried to clench his chattering teeth. The shivers took hold, and he knew he couldn’t go back into the river to save anybody. They would have to make it on their own.

  Back together again on the other bank Bill split them up. Coric and Wayne separated. Bill motioned to the machine-gun crew and moved toward the door. He stopped short of the porch, observed the quiet movements of the crew setting up the gun, and saw Peter choose a position on the river bank that allowed him to see both ends of the bridge.

  Bill counted to ten and turned the doorknob. The door opened and he walked in with his rifle leveled. An old man and woman looked up from the table, soup spoons poised in mid-air. Using the muzzle of his rifle, Bill motioned them to get up and move toward the back wall. Coric and Wayne came through the door and the old man raised his arms and backed into the corner, the woman next to him.

  “Check the house,” Bill said. “Be careful.” He kept his rifle on the pair.

  Wayne and Coric came back shaking their heads.


  “Okay, get the others in here,” Bill said.

  He lifted the lid on a pot on the stove. The soup would be a good start along with the fresh loaf of bread on the table. He motioned to the couple to sit on the floor, and with legs pressed together they proceeded to slide down the wall so awkwardly that he figured they couldn’t get up fast.

  Wayne let the others through the back door and they huddled around the stove, glancing occasionally at the couple seated in the corner.

  “What you gonna do with them?” Wayne asked.

  “Keep them on the floor and out of our way for now. Did you see anything in the barn?”

  “Didn’t go to the barn.”

  “Go check and see what it’s like.”

  Wayne rubbed his hands over the stove, then grabbed his rifle and eased himself through the back door.

  “Coric, get this food divided up and see what else you can find. Peter, get that fire going.” Bill noticed the man and woman looking at each other. “Wait, Peter—don’t kick up the fire. Keep it alive and hot but don’t throw a lot of wood in. Might be out of pattern to what they usually do this time of night.”

  Wayne slipped in the back door. “Nice barn. Some hay and a good view of the bridge. A milk cow and apparently they had some pigs but none there now.”

  “Did you find a root cellar?”

  “Didn’t look.”

  “Go check.”

  “I’d like to get warm,” Wayne said.

  Bill glared at him. “We’ll save some fire for you. Go check!” He looked at the couple. “Do you speak English?”

  The man looked at the woman, who said, “Ja.”

  “We won’t hurt you if you stay still and quiet. You understand that?”

  “Ja.”

  “We’ll be gone early morning and leave you in peace, or whatever peace you can find around here.”

  Coric threw a few potatoes on the table. “That’s all I found.”

  Wayne came through the back door with his arms full of cheese, butter, and some fresh milk. “Look at this.”

  Bill had it worked out.

  “Two guys eating, two guys by the stove, two guys on lookout in the house and in the barn. We rotate. After everyone’s eaten and dried we sleep, same rotation. I want to be out of here before first light.”

  “Where do you want the gun?” John said.

  “In the barn—in the loft.”

  “John. You and Eric eat first. Peter and Coric next. Wayne and I’ll stick the gun in the loft and take first watch.” He took his coat off and hung it on the back of a chair near the stove. Then he went into the bedroom, got a blanket, wrapped it around him, grabbed the gun off the tripod, and headed for the barn.

  The team standing watch woke everyone up at 0400. The old couple, covered with sacks and towels, was awake on the floor. Bill and Wayne were in the bed, clothes drying in the kitchen. Eric had managed a night on the couch and John in a chair. Peter laid out the cheese, bread, and milk, and as the others got up and dressed in dry clothes, they grabbed some to eat and some to take with them.

  “Is this all you have?” Bill asked the farmer. He looked at his wife.

  “Ja.”

  “All you’ve said since we got here is ‘Ja’. Can you say any other English?”

  She smiled. “Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Happy birthday.”

  “For crying out loud. So you don’t speak English?”

  “Ja.”

  Bill shook his head. “Don’t yell or move until it gets light. Understand?”

  “Ja.”

  “Okay, men. Let’s go out the back door. We’re heading to Auw.”

  They left single file through the back door. Two guarded the corner of the house while Eric and John got the machine gun and they faded through the field going northeast, keeping the barn between them and the house.

  When they were out of sight of the barn Bill turned left and they started to work their way towards Bastogne.

  Wayne came up alongside Bill. “Are all you Alaskans that cunning?”

  “Just the ones from my village.”

  It was good to have a full stomach and be dry. Now if they could find the rest of the army….

  Bill kept the patrol on the west side of the Our River and headed on an undefined path between St. Vith and Winterspelt. They could hear heavy weapons traffic constantly.

  “Be careful with your exposure,” Bill said. “One of those guys with his head out of the turret might spot you. Wayne’s seen several with binoculars looking around.”

  There was heavy gunfire somewhere to the southwest, but they didn’t have maps and didn’t know where it might be coming from. Bill wasn’t an officer with maps and compass or even a mental outline of the route they’d taken to get to the Snow Eifel, and he’d paid no attention to roads, towns, or directions.

  Now that he thought about it he considered himself stupid. If he’d left Arctic Village he would have noted the route, location of landmarks, direction, sun travel, weather conditions, wind. But in the army he left that to officers whom he now knew, might or might not be with you when you needed that information.

  At noon they came to a small country road and Coric was sent to see what it looked like. He reported back: “Lots of tracks on it. Heavy stuff, guns and tanks.”

  One by one they started across the road. Just as John set off with the machine gun over his shoulder, a German command car came around the corner faster than anyone imagined a car could travel on that one-way road. The officer in the back seat stood up and pointed at John with his swagger stick, then started pounding the driver’s seat with it, yelling at the driver to stop.

  The driver brought the car to a stop. The officer unholstered his pistol and started firing at John and then at Eric as they bounced from cover to cover. When the pistol locked open on empty, the car turned around and went back. Eric and John, who had managed to get the gun set up by now, had no target. They quickly disassembled the gun and tripod and headed across the field. The others came on fast.

  Bill and Wayne were the last across, and Bill noticed it was getting hard to breathe as he climbed up the ditch. He had made it almost halfway across the field when he saw John and Eric setting up the gun. His eyeballs jiggled and the cold made them tear so badly that he couldn’t make out what they were doing. The next moment bullets and tracers were streaming past him twenty yards to his right, and he turned his head to see where Wayne was. Wayne was even with him, even though he had started ten yards behind.

  His breathing shut out other noises, until the snarl of the .30 caliber gun deafened him. He dived past it, unslung his rifle, and hit the ground rolling. The others were in a line, firing. The command car had returned with a self-propelled gun and the officer stood up in the rear seat, oblivious to the machine-gun bullets coming close to him. Bill saw bullets careening off the armor plate on the SP gun. He took a bead on the officer, held his breath, and fired. The officer fell back on the seat, wounded, but immediately sat up and pointed again with his stick.

  The first cannon shot was high and wide.

  “Get out of here!” Bill yelled. He led the way to the left. The riflemen followed fast, but Eric and John were a bit slower with the gun.

  The Germans unlimbered the machine gun on the turret, and bullets were zinging past and splattering the ground around them as they ran. The gunner ran through a belt of ammo, and the gun stopped.

  Bill looked for a place to defend. They were in a field, there was no rise to it, no trees, no walls. He came to an irrigation ditch and dove in feet first, thinking for a split second that he was going to be wet and cold again, but the ditch was empty. It provided scant cover from the gun on the road, but each man threw himself into it and prayed it was deep enough to cover him from view. Eric and John fumbled to set up the gun.

  “Don’t use the pod!” Bill yelled.

  Eric lifted the gun off the tripod and laid it in the grass, and John loaded a belt of ammo. Each man waited, the only sound the rh
ythmic breathing of the man next to him.

  The first cannon round went over their heads. Bill peeked over the lip of the ditch. The command car had taken refuge behind the SP gun and only its armored front faced them.

  The second round exploded against the bank, deafening them all. Bill lifted his face from the dirt and looked to see that all but one man still clung to the steep side. Coric lay on his back, arms flung out over his head, his helmet off and blood coming from his leg and chest.

  Shrapnel had torn him from his left thigh up and across his stomach and torso. Panic washed over Bill. He moved across the ditch and started to open Coric’s coat and pants, then stopped. The only thing he had in his aid kit was bandages, tape, and morphine. There was nothing he could do except yell for a medic, and he hadn’t seen a medic for two days.

  Coric turned to him, his eyes open wide, and blinked with a vacant look, the pupils small and dark.

  “Can you stay?”

  Bill nodded. “I can stay.”

  “I’m thirsty. Is there any water?”

  Bill pulled his canteen out. It was partially frozen and he shook it, breaking up the thin ice. He laid Coric out straight in the ditch and covered him with his coat.

  “Can you say the Twenty-third Psalm for me?”

  “Coric…I….” Bill stopped and lowered his head. “I’m not very good at this. I’m not sure I remember enough of it.”

  The cannon fired again, the concussion and dust penetrating every fiber of Bill’s body. He ended up on top of Coric. He pulled himself off and looked at him.

  Coric’s eyelids were partially closed.

  Bill pinched his memory. It was going back a long time to a summer when he and Carl had been baptized by the Episcopalian Minister who came upriver. He had spent a month in the village and buried several elders. Twice a day he taught bible verses.

  “The Lord is my shepherd…” he said. “…I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…”

  He got most of it. When he finished, Coric said, “Again.”

  The SP machine gun opened fire, the bullets singing off the frozen earth. Everyone clung to the bottom of the ditch.