Doom Platoon
Page 5
“Give me the walkie-talkie.”
Mazursky snatched it out of Albright’s hands. He held it against his face and pressed the button. “Red dog one calling red dog four. Red-dog one calling red-dog four. Over.”
He let go the button and listened. “Red dog four to red dog one. Red-dog four to red-dog one. Over.”
“Is this Stein?” Mazursky asked.
“Yes sergeant.”
“Put Corporal Banes on.”
“Yes sergeant.”
There was a pause.
“Banes here.”
“This is Mazursky. I’ve just spotted a couple of battalions of krauts coming down from the north, but the road isn’t too far away. We’ve got to move fast. Get the men off their asses and meet me at the bottom of the hill I’m on, the southern side. Got me?”
“Yes sergeant.”
“You having any problems down there?”
“The men are pissed off about missing chow.”
“That’s tough shit. Anything else?”
“No, sergeant.”
“Over and out.”
Mazursky handed the walkie-talkie back to Albright. The dog was pissing against a tree.
“Follow me,” Mazursky said to Albright.
They went down the side of the hill, hanging onto saplings to keep from falling. But they slipped and fell anyway, on the ice and snow. The dog was on his ass most of the way down. Mazursky took a scratch across his nose and when he touched it with his black glove he saw a little blood on his fingers. His nose stung. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He was getting sweaty and the stink of his body rose from beneath his collar. He hadn’t bathed since they arrived in the Ardennes four days ago. His balls were getting itchy. Every time he looked around he was suffering a new discomfort. “Cuntlapper.”
“You call me sergeant?”
“If I call you, you’ll know about it, Fuckbright.’
They reached the bottom of the hill. The platoon hadn’t arrived yet. Mazursky wiped blood off his nose and looked at Albright, who looked piqued. The dog was prancing around wagging his tail. The little fucker was having fun. Mazursky wondered what had happened to the cigar stub he’d been chewing. It must have fell out on the way down the hill. He didn’t want to put a fresh one in his mouth because he didn’t have time to smoke it and it’d probably be broke in half by one of these goddamned low-hanging branches. He thought he’d be all right if only he could smoke a cigar. And he only had three of them left. He hadn’t had a package from his mother in almost five weeks. The mails were fucked up again. What a fucking war.
He heard feet crunching on the snow, and dropped to his stomach. So did Albright and the dog. Mazursky pointed his carbine at the sound and rammed a round into the chamber. He flicked off the safety. Private Winfield, the point man of the first squad appeared in the mass of foliage. Sergeant Mazursky stood up. Private Winfield dropped to his stomach reflexively before he had a chance to recognize Sergeant Mazursky. The whole second platoon hit the dirt.
“Stupid fucks,” Mazursky muttered as he walked back to them.
Private Winfield got up, a sheepish look on his face.
Mazursky slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, you did right. You should always hit the dirt first and think second. You’re a good point man.”
Winfield, a Kentucky farm boy, shuffled his feet like a teen-aged girl at the high school prom. Mazursky walked past him and saw Corporal Banes come crashing through the woods.
“What’s up?” asked Banes.
“Form the men into two columns of ducks. We’ve got to double-time the fuck out of here.”
Banes ran back, shouting orders. He lined up the first and second squads on the right and the third, fourth, and anti-tank squads on the left. The men had been at the front long enough to know that each should stay six feet behind the man in front of him.
Mazursky, followed by Albright, moved to the center of the four columns.
“DOUBLE-TIME! Mazursky shouted.
The second platoon began running through the woods. They didn’t know why they were running, but they knew there must be trouble someplace. They forgot about their hunger and cold toes. They forgot about their wives and sweethearts back home. They jumped over rocks, dodged trees, and charged through bushes. There was a brook too wide to jump over so they went splashing through, the icy water biting their feet. They ran up a hill and down its other side. They ran around another hill. They slid and fell down on the ice covering a small lake. On the other side was a clump of trees, and behind the trees was the Dillendorf road.
Mazursky, running at the head of the columns, was the first to see the road. He hit the dirt, and so did the second platoon behind him. Lying still, he listened for a few moments, but heard nothing. He turned to Albright.
“You stay here.”
“Yes, sergeant.”
Leaving the second platoon on their stomachs in the woods, Mazursky crawled toward the road, his carbine strap wrapped around his right forearm. In the open now, in the gully beside the road, he looked to his right and left, and saw nothing. But he was too low to see if anything was coming down the road itself. He crawled up the steep gully. As his head rose to road level he moved very slowly. His big brown eyes were even with the road. There was nothing on it except tracks. Looking to the right, he saw no Germans coming. To the left, he could see nothing. So far so good. He crawled back down the gully and made his way to the woods. When he was hidden from the road by bushes and trees, he raised his hand in the air and made a circular motion that meant assemble on me.
The men of the second platoon crawled through the woods and formed a circle around him. Their faces were grimy and showed signs of exhaustion. Corporal Banes was chewing a matchstick. Private Nowicki looked at his BAR as though he wanted to dismantle and clean it. Albright was picking his nose.
Mazursky cleared his throat and spat a lunger onto the snow at his feet. He was on his knees, as were the others in the platoon. Their rifle butts were on the snow and their barrels pointed in the air.
“The road’s just ahead,” Mazursky said. “We’re gonna have to cross it fast. I didn’t see anybody when I just went to take a look, but that don’t mean nobody’s out there. We’re gonna cross all at once in one mad rush. I’ll go out first to make sure the coast is clear. You’ll all be at the edge of the woods over there and you’ll all be able to see me. When I give the double-time signal, run like a bastard across the road and don’t stop until you’ve found some natural cover. I don’t know what’s on the other side of the road, but there’s got to be something there. Probably trees just like over here. Once you land, stay still and await further orders from me. Any questions?”
Corporal Banes raised his hand. “Maybe it’d be better if we went over one squad at a time.”
“I think it’d be faster if we all went over at once.”
“But we’re liable to attract more attention that way.”
“If anybody’s looking, they’ll see us whether it’s one squad or one platoon. So it’s best to just get the fuck over there. Any more questions?”
Nobody said anything.
“Okay, let’s form up squad by squad at the edge of the woods. Move out.”
The soldiers crawled to the edge of the woods and stopped, peering up at the Dillendorf road. Mazursky and Albright moved behind them and stopped twenty yards back. Mazursky and Albright moved behind them and stopped twenty yards back. Mazursky looked at the men and thought they were too bunched together. He gave the signal to Banes to spread them out. Otherwise one mortar shell would wipe out half of them.
Banes crawled up and down the line and moved the men apart. Now they were a long khaki line at the base of the trees. It was now or never.
Mazursky looked at Albright. “I’m going alone again. You take a position on the line. When I give the signal, go over the road with everybody else, and then look for me.”
“Right, Sarge.”
“Let’s go.”
Mazursky kept looking to his right and left. His mouth was dry and he expected a shot to go right through his gizzard at any moment. He felt vulnerable as a turtle lying on its back. Raising his eyes to the level of the road, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was still clear. There was no point in wasting any time. He raised his arm and pumped it up and down. Then he got up and ran across the road as he heard the second platoon come out of the woods behind him. He went down the gully on the other side and ahead were some woods. He tripped and fell, got up, and ran into the woods. Stopping, he dropped to his knees and looked behind him.
The second platoon, their rifles at high port arms, came charging across the road. Their helmets bounced around on their heads and their canteens flapped on their hips. They came down the gully and ran toward the woods. They came fast and didn’t look around or fuck around. Soon as they hit the woods they started diving for cover. Suddenly the woods were still. They had done it. Mazursky was proud of them.
Towering behind the trees was the craggy ridge where the second platoon was to make its stand. It was gray and evil looking, and Mazursky wondered if he was staring at his grave. Something rustled beside him. It was the dog.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Mazursky asked, petting it.
The dog licked his hand.
Chapter Three
The second platoon passed through the small wooded area, crossed a frozen swamp, and climbed the hill to the rocky ridge. The hill was steep, covered with ice and snow, and would be hard for German soldiers to take with the second platoon shooting at them and lobbing down hand grenades. Mazursky was glad that headquarters had at least designated a strong defensive position for them. He was first man on the ridge, and took a quick reconnoiter. There were boulders, ledges, and caves for cover. The sides of the hill were too steep to climb, and Mazursky didn’t think the Germans or anybody else could ever get to the summit, which was about fifty yards higher than the ridge.
Corporal Banes walked up to Mazursky. Banes’ helmet was on the back of his head and his eyes were glassy with fatigue.
“The men are awfully hungry, sergeant,” he said.
“They’ll eat after we get dug in.”
“Jeez!”
“What’s the matter.”
“Half of them can barely stand up.”
“Are you talking about them or you?”
“Me too, I guess.”
“The sooner we get set up here, the sooner we eat. German bullets are worse than hunger pains.”
There were three caves along the ridge. Mazursky positioned the two anti-tank crews in two of them, and two bazooka crews in the third. He deployed a few riflemen in each cave, and the rest of them in a skirmish line along the ledge. Two .30 caliber machine guns would cover the flanks, and the BAR men were spaced evenly among the riflemen on the ledge. He made sure everyone had an equal amount of hand grenades and ammunition. Then he called a meeting in the cave where the first anti-tank squad was, because that was the largest cave.
The men sat around him on the cold stone floor. The walls of the cave were covered with hoarfrost. The men hoped the meeting would be over fast so they could eat. Mazursky looked at his watch; it was 0830 hours. In the distance, from all directions, he could hear the sound of artillery bombardment and small arms fire. Smoke filled the sky and merged with the thick layer of clouds that kept the Air Corps out of action.
Mazursky stood with his back to the wall and looked down at his men. “Okay, this is the poop,” he said. “A panzer division is going to be coming down that road in a little while, and we’ve got to stop it. It shouldn’t be too hard. All we have to do is knock out the lead tanks, and that will clog the road. The other tanks won’t be able to get through, and if we keep up our fire, they won’t be able to drag the ruined tanks out of the way. Anyway, we’ve got to stop those tanks, because if they get through, they’ll chew up the regiment, which is in retreat right now. We’ve got to hold the tanks until noon, because then the regiment will be in a better defensive position, and reinforcements will be sent up from other sectors. If we don’t stop the tanks, the regiment will be wiped out. Any questions?”
Corporal Banes raised his hand. “What happens to us after noontime?”
Mazursky shrugged. “I guess we try to hold on until the Germans are pushed back. Then we can rejoin our company.”
“But that might not be for days.”
“Any other questions?”
Private Winfield raised his hand. “Did you say that we gotta stop a whole panzer division?’’
“That’s what I said.”
“Do you realize how many tanks are in a panzer division?”
“All we have to do is stop the first three or four, and that’ll clog the road.”
“How about the troops that come with a panzer division?”
“They won’t be able to penetrate this position. We’ll all be behind a solid wall of rock. They’ll have to climb the hill, and we’ll just lob our hand grenades down on them.”
Corporal Ginsburg raised his hand. “What happens when we run out of hand grenades?”
Mazursky scratched his nose and looked away. “We got plenty of hand grenades.”
“But we’ll run out of them sooner or later. And ammo too.”
“We’ll be okay,” Mazursky said, hoping he sounded reassuring.
“For how long?”
“Okay, chow time,” Mazursky said, clapping his hands. “I don’t want any fires. Eat the shit cold and keep your eyes open, got it? If we spot any German troops we lie down and let them pass. It’s the tanks we’re worried about, understand? Now go chow down, and don’t eat so much that you get sick. I want every squad to post a lookout.”
The men returned to their positions, took off their packs, removed cans of C-rations, opened them, and greedily spooned the contents into their mouths. In different circumstances they would have complained about the C-rations, and maybe said C-rations weren’t fit for dogs, but now they were hungry and the C-rations tasted great.
Mazursky ate in the first anti-tank squad cave, throwing scraps to the dog. Albright sat opposite him, eating lackadaisically. Albright’s helmet lay on the floor of the cave and his pale blonde hair was tousled all over his head. He was nineteen years old.
Mazursky looked at him. “Lose your appetite?”
“I think so.”
“I thought you were so hungry before. What happened?”
“Your little speech killed my appetite. I don’t think we’re gonna get out of here alive.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Why did they have to pick us? Why couldn’t they pick some other platoon?”
“I said keep your fucking mouth shut. I’m not going to tell you again. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all.”
“I can’t think of anything nice to say.”
“Then keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Mazursky finished his can of franks and beans and then opened a can of fruit cocktail. He really loved fruit cocktail, but could never get enough of it. He’d sworn many times that if he ever got out of the war alive he’d buy a whole crate of fruit cocktail and sit down and eat it all.
But something told him he wasn’t going to get out of the war alive.
He looked at Albright over a spoonful of fruit cocktail. “You know what your problem is, Fuckbright?”
“Huh?” Albright thought Mazursky didn’t want to speak to him anymore.
“I said you know what your problem is?”
“No.”
“Your problem is that you ain’t mean. You don’t hate. All you want to do is weasel your way out of things, and one of these days somebody
is going to step on you. You’ve got to hate those Germans, Albright. You’ve got to want to split their skulls and drink their blood. You’ve got to want to cut out their intestines and chew on them. And gouge out their eyeballs. And stomp on their balls. If you can get yourself in that frame of mind, boy, then maybe you’ll be a soldier.”
“I hate the Germans, Mazursky. I really do.”
“Bullshit, and who are you calling Mazursky?”
“I mean, Sergeant Mazursky.”
“That’s better. You don’t hate them because you’re too worried about saving your own little weasly ass. When you stop worrying so much about yourself, then you’ll be able to hate.”
Albright looked at Mazursky and went beet red. “Are you trying to say that I’m a coward?”
“Are you trying to say that I’m a coward what?”
Albright’s eyes flashed with anger “Are you trying to say that I’m a coward, and never mind that sergeant bullshit.”
“Sergeant bullshit?”
“That’s right.” Albright stood up, a wiry little man with bandy legs. “If you’re trying to say that I’m a coward, you’ll have to kick my ass.”
Mazursky looked up at him. He was getting cross because he wasn’t finished with his fruit cocktail yet. “That wouldn’t be much of a problem.”
Steam seemed to be coming out of Albright’s ears. “I’m sick of you insulting me and putting me down! You ugly fucking gorilla, I hate your guts!”
Mazursky raised his eyebrows. “Have you gone crazy, Fuckbright? Don’t you know that you can be shot for talking to your platoon sergeant that way?”
“We’re all gonna get shot anyway when the panzer division comes up the road! This is a suicide mission and everybody knows it! You can kiss my royal ass, Mazursky! Fuck you! Eat shit!” Albright charged forward and kicked the half-full can of fruit cocktail out of Mazursky’s hands.
Mazursky looked down in disbelief at his empty hands. Then he looked at the can of fruit cocktail lying on its side on the floor of the cave, its contents spilled out. Last of all he looked at Albright. “Now you’ve gone too far, you little fuck!”
Albright was bouncing around on the balls of his feet and waving his fists around in the air. “Get on your feet, Mazursky! I’m going to kick your big fat ass all over this cave!”