by Jon Stafford
“Explosives!” he said softly. “If this is an ammunition train, I can’t let it go! I better try ta blow it up.”
Then his thoughts clouded. “I don’t know if this whole train’s loaded with explosives. For all I know, this is the only car with ammo.”
He didn’t pause long.“Well, at least I know this car has some stuff in it! Hey, time ta get out the Bag a Tricks. If I don’t blow this thing up, this stuff will kill a lot of our guys.”
He grabbed a lantern hung on the outside of the car, intending to light it and toss it in. He quickly changed his mind. “I’ll blow myself up!”
Two alternate ideas came into his mind simultaneously. He looked and listened for just a few seconds as the car began to move. Then, placing the lantern in the car, he hauled himself up and into it. Again, he squinted in the poor light to make sure no one else was in the car.
“I don’t know if either will work, but I’ll try ’em both if only I got time.”
He took out a match and lit the lantern. “I gotta have this light for just a minute.”
He noticed a stack of only five of the foot-high boxes on the other side of the car next to the far door, which also was open. “Yeah, I can move that stack.”
The train had not yet reached walking speed. His heart rate jumped, imagining that guards might see him illuminated by the lantern as the train stepped by.
Wiley went over to the short stack of boxes. “These will be perfect.”
His hands began to shake, and he had to take a deep breath. The train lurched again, and he almost lost his balance.
“This is better than perfect. I’ll get this thing out.”
He pulled the candle McMurtha had given him out of a pocket, lit it from the lantern, and then blew out the lantern. He stooped down and placed the candle on the car’s floor, against the lowest box in the stack on its backside.
“I doubt anyone’ll be able ta see it glow as the train goes by. Maybe it’ll catch the box on fire in a few miles, if it doesn’t roll off.”
He considered the setup. Then he picked up the candle, turned it so the melted wax would fall in the same spot, and seated it on the wax. “Now it’s not gonna roll off.”
With some effort, he moved the higher boxes so that they overhung the candle. “That oughta catch that whole stack on fire in a few minutes. Now, for trick two.”
He pulled his only grenade from his belt and went to the side of the boxes next to the door. The standard American grenade, it had a pin like all grenades but a safety handle as well. If a man pulled the pin and let the spring loaded safety handle pop off, the device would blow up in about four seconds. But if he pulled the pin and held on to the safety handle, it wouldn’t go off.
Wiley pulled the pin. Holding the handle, he wedged the grenade carefully between the open door of the car and the lowest box.
“If this car lurches one time too many or if someone closes the door, it’ll be too bad, too sad.” He looked out the door both ways, and chuckled. “Can you beat this, no guards! This is the easiest job I ever pulled.”
He glanced back at the grenade. I hope that holds till I get outta here, he thought.
He sat down in the doorway, made sure he had his gear, looked both ways again, and jumped out. The train was going no faster than a slow walking pace, and he had no trouble maintaining his footing as he hit. He ran up the other side of the embankment as fast as he could and dove into the woods, visible for only a few seconds.
The train rolled on. In a few minutes, it was out of sight. Even the great rumble of the awakened beast soon faded. Wiley felt relieved, back in his element, the woods. Tired from the ordeal, his adrenaline still flowing, he decided to sit for a minute.
He put the poncho over his head again, brought out his map, and frowned. How was he supposed to see the damn map without a flashlight or a candle?
Surprisingly, the batteries still had a little life left in them. He found the railroad on the map. He was maybe six miles from his lines. Before the batteries gave out, he saw that it was 2308.
I got seven hours ta go six miles. Hell, he thought, much relieved, I ought ta be able to do that one. Maybe two miles in an hour. He nodded, knowing full well that things could happen to make it impossible.
Without realizing why, he decided to remain sitting. With perhaps ten hours of sleep in the last sixty hours, and the mission all but concluded, his body began to let down. He was so hungry, so dead tired!
“When did I have that stuff ta eat with Kuehl?” he asked himself, finding it difficult to concentrate. “Was that today? Sure, that was this mornin’, how stupid can I get?”
Wiley started in on one of the chocolate bars the Swede had given him and thought of Kuehl again. When had they had breakfast? Half conscious, he took off his knit cap and ran his fingers through his hair a number of times as he ate, scratching here and there. In what was almost a reflex, he took a drink from his canteen.
“Wonder if he got back? I can’t remember, he only had six miles ta go?” He was slurring his words. “He musta made it, musta.”
He took out a k-ration. At first he couldn’t remember why. Then he could barely muster the strength to tear off the wrapping and open the container.
“This tastes good,” he mumbled, without taking a bite.
His head ached. He set the ration down, no longer sure he was seeing it very clearly. His right foot, which he had twisted while being shot at the week before, throbbed. His head hung to one side. Exhaustion had such a grip on him that he drooled out the side of his mouth, not really aware of where he was. Though he sat upon an obnoxious-looking rock, it seemed completely blissful to him. He didn’t feel his carbine slide off his shoulder or hear it clunk onto the ground.
In this stupor, a scent came to him that he had not smelled in many months: peppermint ice cream. He loved peppermint ice cream!
“That’s a nice taste.” He stuck out his tongue to taste it. “Good, isn’t it?”
The smell and taste went away as mysteriously as they had come, which puzzled him. His brow furrowed. He stared into the darkness for a minute, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Another smell then wafted into his nostrils. He tilted his head back to make sure.
“It’s sugar maple trees!”
Soon the delicate smell went away as the peppermint had. Puzzled as to whether he had actually smelled anything real, he was bothered enough to blink his eyes and become more awake. Soon he was alert enough to get up. He picked up his rifle by the strap and started walking south, dragging the butt on the ground.
As the light remained dim, the chocolate began to do its magic. Soon he became fully conscious, making his way toward his lines more carefully. Many times he thought he heard something and ducked down, only to have minutes pass by with no untoward sounds at all. Periodically, he came toward lights that turned out to be from farmhouses or came upon roads. Twice he put the poncho over his head and checked his position and the time by match light.
The going was slower than he had expected, but by 0300 he figured he was within a mile of his lines. It was then that he began to encounter German troops. He crept past a campfire here and there, and sounds of men became common. The numbers were sma
ll, however, confirming his idea that the enemy had mostly pulled out. He was not challenged even once.
Just as Wiley came to the river, he heard some distant and muffled explosions to the west and sat down beneath a bush. In a few minutes, a large glow appeared on the horizon in that direction. He smiled.
“Well, I guess I’m not as dumb as I look,” he said to himself. “I’ll bet that was my train. You just never can tell.”
He watched for about ten minutes more, started out again, and soon made it to the water. The water level had receded in thirty-three hours, and he waded across without even losing his footing.
Soon he was challenged by sentries but had no trouble convincing them that he was an American. It was 0430. He smiled, knowing he had made it with time to spare.
Lieutenant Gummerson soon appeared. “Sergeant, you’re back!”
Wiley took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. I’d like ta make my report.”
Gummerson motioned Wiley up the hill toward the command tent. Still dripping wet, Wiley lifted the flap and saw a strange captain behind the desk.
Sergeant Bracey walked by. “Hey, Chip.”
Wiley walked toward the captain, who looked up with a frown. The scout saluted.
The officer looked up, returning the salute. “Sergeant?”
“Sergeant Wiley reporting, sir. I’m supposed ta report ta Captain Reddin’.”
“You will report to me, soldier. Redding’s at the aide station.”
“Bad, sir?”
“Nah, a couple of pieces of shrapnel in the shoulder. Tank he was standing next to got it from an eighty-eight. Report.”
“Sir, Private Kuehl and I were sent out ta get the photo cartridge from a . . .”
“Oh, yeah, Sergeant Bracey told me. Bracey!”
“Sir!”
“Sergeant, get me that report on replacements.” Looking completely uninterested, the officer motioned with his hand for Wiley to continue.
“Sir, Kuehl and I crossed the river at 1800 on the 23rd. We proceeded about six miles in the direction of the airplane, seein’ no enemy activity of any type. That’s when we saw a large concentration a armored vehicles headed north, SS stuff.”
“Yeah, we know all about that. Did you get the cartridge?”
“No, sir. It was already gone.”
“Doesn’t make any difference.”
“Sir?”
“We don’t need the intelligence, sergeant. Some guy in the Twenty-Sixth Regiment, up the line, captured a German colonel who told us everything we needed to know. Where’s this Kean guy?”
“Kuehl, sir. We split up, sir. I sent him back so he could tell you the enemy was movin’ north. I went on for the cartridge. He didn’t come back?”
The officer frowned again, picked something out of his teeth, and then lit a cigarette.
“Nope, haven’t seen him. So you lost a man and didn’t get the film. Well, don’t worry about it. Third Armored Division is moving north to deal with the SS boys, so we get a couple of days off. Since you haven’t been on the line, get some rest. We might want you to go out again tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wiley saluted and walked out of the tent thinking about his friend. He shoulda gotten back. He had a straight shot. At the same time he knew the business of scouting was as dangerous as it got. Anythin’ coulda happened ta him.
The sky was just beginning to brighten. The scout shook his head and sighed. “It’s all just a pile of crap. I hate the Army.” Actually, he loved it.
Heinzeldorf
. . . but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.
—King David, 63rd Psalm
King James Bible
As the war in Europe slowly ground to a halt, Allied armies, having crossed the Rhine, rapidly pushed through Germany and its thousands of towns and cities. Most towns and cities gave up without a fight, while others were defended fiercely.
Western Germany, Company B, February 26, 1945, 1830 hours
Staff Sergeant Joseph “Chip” Wiley thought back on the previous two nights’ scouting missions.
The first night, with Private Dennis Walsh, was bad enough. Studying the best maps available at company headquarters for an hour, they’d decided to go to the left of the enemy position and then curve around into the town. It was actually a toss-up what side to probe. Captain Redding’s orders had been of no help in the decision at all.
“Look, you two,” Redding had said, looking up from his desk. “An advance element of A Company with a couple Jeeps and a half-track smashed into what they said was a very strong position going up the main road into that town, Heinzburg, ah, Heinzedorf, whatever.” Like everyone else, Redding was exhausted from being up for thirty-six hours straight. He went on.
“Ran into cannon and machine gun fire. Blew the hell out of one of the Jeeps. Killed Lou Fontana who was on point.”
“Damn,” Wiley said, saddened by the loss of one of the best guys they’d had. Then he asked the obvious question. “How’d we get the place if A Company got hung up?”
“Regiment redrew the line, so now we share the place. They’re talking about three companies being involved in this one, and there are other scouts out too, so watch out for them. We don’t care how you do this, but we want you to look the whole enemy position over.”
Then Redding called across the tent. “Hey, Oren, what the hell is the name of this damn town?”
“Which one?” Staff Sergeant Oren Bracey responded.
“This one!”
“Oh, yeah, it’s, ah, Hastenburg.”
“No, that was the last one!”
“Oh. Yeah! I’m looking. Ah, Heinzeldorf. Yeah, Heinzeldorf.”
“Really? Heinzeldorf ?”
“Yeah!”
Redding turned back toward Wiley and Walsh, and shrugged. “Hell, I got one right! Anyway, I want you two lowlifes to scout this place and find a way to attack at 0600 tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “That gives you nearly ten hours to get in and out and make your report. Any questions?”
“No, sir,” Wiley said, and the stocky little black-haired Walsh nodded.
The two men got their gear together and left when it became dark enough, about 1900. Neither of them had seen the ground during daylight hours, so the going was slow. It was completely black outside.
The first thing they ran into, just after they thought they’d crossed the lines, was some kind of canal or pond. It was about twenty feet wide and went on for maybe fifty feet or more. Wiley never did figure out what it was. He pushed Walsh, and they went around to the right.
In another thirty minutes, the moon rose and they could see much more. Soon, they happened upon what became the focal point of Wiley’s life for the next three days: a sunken road. It wasn’t on the map they had studied. They had no idea where the thing went to the left but thought the right probably led to the town.
With the fall leaves on the ground, the men decided in whispers it would be too noisy to rustle around in the brush. They walked down the s
ide of the road instead.
Soon, it curved and headed up a slight rise in the direction of Heinzeldorf, which they could now see some of, at least the darkened shapes of some buildings. Wiley and Walsh followed it. As they expected, it led directly into the town. They saw no one.
The emptiness did not put Wiley at ease. The quiet brought to mind a feeling he’d had many times before while scouting: that they were advancing into some sort of trap.
Finally, they reached the edge of town and stepped onto the cobblestones that had been part of so many of these German towns for hundreds of years. The place was completely blacked out. After the first block, they went through to a parallel street. Occasionally over the next half-hour, they saw a light here and there and once dodged a dog. They moved carefully, stooping and whispering, concluding that most of the residents had probably fled when A Company approached and was fired upon.
Wiley was beginning to doubt that they were walking into any trap. In another half-hour they’d reached the little town’s center. There was some sort of large statue they could barely see crowning the square. It took a while to conclude that the road they’d been following ended in a new road just after the statue.
“I’ll bet this new road is the main road,” Walsh said, an inch from Wiley’s ear. “If we follow it to the right, it’ll bring us down to the back of their position.” Wiley nodded.
They started to the right, crossing the new road. Still, they saw no one, either soldiers or civilians. They pushed out the other side of the town, where the road became sunken again.
Walsh whispered in Wiley’s ear. “Hey, Chip, I don’t think a tank could even get up the steep sides of this thing.”
The road did head back toward the Allied lines. Soon, Wiley and Walsh saw their first soldier, barely visible walking guard duty, flapping his arms together in an attempt to stay warm. The German position had to be only a short distance ahead.
