by Len Levinson
They moved out again, and this forest was thicker than the others. Branches scratched their uniforms and slapped them in the face. The moon came out for a few minutes and hid behind a cloud again. Mahoney hoped the weather would clear up sufficiently for them to have some air support tomorrow. It would be a rough day for him because he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.
They climbed a hill, and at the top they saw the twinkling lights of Comblain in the valley beneath them. “There it is,” said Woodward with satisfaction, raising his binoculars. “It seems pretty quiet to me.”
Mahoney looked through his own binoculars, and the magnification showed him the houses of the little town. He saw a few German trucks and Kubelwagens parked on the streets but nothing to indicate a large German force. His battalion should have no trouble punching through the German lines and taking this town tomorrow.
Woodward kneeled, made some notations on his map, and returned it to his map case. “All right, let’s go back,” he said, standing.
Mahoney looked at his watches. “It’s only half past one, sir. Don’t you think we should stick around awhile?”
“What for?”
“To see if any more Germans arrive in town.”
“What makes you think more Germans will arrive.”
“The krauts have been awfully busy tonight, sir. Maybe something’s going on.”
“Nothing of any significance is going on,” Woodward said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They followed Woodward back down the hill. Ambitious officers are going to be the death of me yet, Mahoney thought. They all wanted to look better than the other officers of their rank and would do anything to stand out. Sometimes they pushed their men to the point of exhaustion; other times they let their careers take precedence over sensible military procedures, such as now. Mahoney thought Woodward was ignoring the most important aspect of the patrol because he wanted to beat all the other patrols back to headquarters. I’m going to tell Captain Anderson all about this when we get back, Mahoney thought.
They passed through the woods without incident and entered the vast expanse of field just as the moon came out again. Mahoney looked up and saw that it probably would be out for several minutes.
“Sir,” he said, “I think we ought to go around this field.”
“No,” replied Woodward. “Move it out.”
They cast long shadows as they made their way across the snow covered field. Mahoney was thankful for the wind because the snow it blew around helped provide some camouflage. I don’t mind if the stupid bastard wants to risk his own life for glory, Mahoney thought, but I don’t want him to risk mine. He hoped no Germans were looking at the field. He didn’t know it, but all the Germans in the area were preparing for their early morning offensive.
Finally they reached the woods.
“Take a break,” Woodward said.
The men dropped to one knee, and Woodward looked down at them. He was pleased with the way the patrol had gone so far and thought he’d done his job like a seasoned old pro.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t listen to Sergeant Mahoney back there,” he said. “If we had, we’d still be trying to get across this field, and who knows how many Germans we would’ve run into?”
Mahoney stood so he could get eye to eye with Woodward. “If we ran into them in the woods we’d be better off than if we ran into them out in the open.”
“But we didn’t run into them in the open, Mahoney. Why don’t you use your head once in a while?”
Mahoney wanted to punch Woodward in the mouth.
Woodward taunted him. “Well, why don’t you?”
Mahoney reared back his arm, but Cranepool grabbed it. “Cool down, Sarge.”
Woodward laughed. “Go ahead—let him.” Then he suddenly became serious. He looked deeply into Mahoney’s eyes. “Try it, and I’ll have you put in front of a firing squad.”
Mahoney sighed and said, “Yes, sir.”
“You’re just a big gorilla, Mahoney. Nobody around here is afraid of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Woodward turned toward the American lines. “Let’s move it out.”
They entered the woods and slogged through the snow. The moon had disappeared behind clouds again and the night was pitch black. After a half hour, they reached the road that they’d crossed earlier. Kneeling behind some boulders, Woodward checked his map again, then looked at his watch.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go across the road all together this time.”
Mahoney groaned. “Sir, that’ll make an awful lot of noise.”
“Nobody’s around to hear it, so don’t worry about it.”
“How do you know nobody’s around to hear it?”
“Because I know.” Woodward put his map away and stood. “All right men—let’s go!”
Stealthily they approached the shoulder of the road. Lieutenant Woodward looked to his right and left, listened to the wind shaking the branches of the trees, and moved his arm forward.
The seven men ran across the road, and to Mahoney it sounded like Grand Central Station at five o’clock. If any Germans were around, they’d hear them, and Mahoney was convinced Woodward would get him killed or court-martialed before long. Maybe I should shoot the son of a bitch right now, Mahoney thought. Cranepool and the rest would testify that a German did it.
They reached the other side of the road and crowded behind some bushes, breathing heavily and sweating despite the frigid temperatures.
Woodward turned to Mahoney. “Looks like you were wrong again, huh?”
Mahoney looked away. This guy doesn’t know it, but he’s signing his own death warrant.
“You’re wrong so often, Mahoney,” Woodward said. “It’s a miracle the men ever pay any attention to you at all.”
Cranepool looked at Woodward. “Sir, why don’t you leave Sergeant Mahoney alone?”
Woodward stared at Cranepool for a few moments, then turned to the other men. “It’s amazing the way you people stick up for Sergeant Mahoney. He must really have you bamboozled.” Woodward’s eyes met Mahoney’s, and he saw the raging fires. Woodward smirked. “Let’s go, men.”
They headed for their lines, Mahoney in front of the column on the left, and Woodward behind him in the middle of the two columns. If Woodward had been in front of Mahoney, Mahoney would have shot him down. Seething with anger, Mahoney was unable to concentrate fully on what he was doing. His mind was filled with visions of doing violence to Lieutenant Woodward. Mahoney’s blood chugged through his veins, and his ears pounded like tom-toms. That son of a bitch had better not get in front of me, he thought. I’ll put a bullet right up his ass.
After twenty minutes they heard the first sounds of the German lines. Woodward held them up, listened for a few moments, then moved them forward again.
“Keep the noise down,” he murmured. “Try not to hit every bush in sight, Mahoney.”
Mahoney wanted to spin around and slug him. I’d better calm down, he told himself. This son of a bitch is making me crazy, and I’m liable to do something I shouldn’t.
Slowly they drew closer to the German lines. They heard orders being given and the metallic sounds of equipment being checked or moved. Mahoney was surprised by how thinly the Germans were dispersed throughout the area. We’ll roll right over the bastards in the morning, he thought, but I wonder why they’re up so late?
Woodward raised his hand, and they all stopped. “I’ll go ahead to find a path through their lines,” he said. “You men stay here, and try to keep out of trouble.”
Woodward moved ahead, and Mahoney raised his rifle to shoot him. Then he realized the gunshot would alert the Germans. He’d have to wait for a more opportune time.
The six GIs crouched in the snow. Mahoney scooped some up and put it in his mouth.
Cranepool nudged Mahoney. “Don’t let the bastard get you down, Sarge. Just take it easy.”
“Yeah,” said Puleo. “He’s riding you awfully hard.”
“If I was you,” said Perez, “I’d...” He drew his forefinger across his throat.
“We won’t say anything about it if you do,” Caddell added. “Right guys?”
They all nodded, and Mahoney thought it might be bad if he slit Woodward’s throat in the woods. The six of them would carry the guilt and apprehension around forever; Mahoney would become a murderer, and the rest would be his accomplices, and you never knew when somebody might get drunk and talk too much. If Mahoney was going to settle things with Woodward, he’d have to do it alone.
“Forget about that shit,” Mahoney said. “Maybe if we’re lucky, the krauts will take care of Woodward for us.”
“Ssshhhh,” said Cranepool. “He’s liable to sneak up on us again.”
They recalled how Lieutenant Woodward had eavesdropped on them before and closed their mouths. Kneeling in the snow, they waited for him to return, thinking of all the platoon leaders they’d had since they’d come to Europe, and how not one of them had been as bad as Woodward.
After a while, they heard a voice whisper to them out of the night. “We’re being awfully quiet, aren’t we boys?”
It was Lieutenant Woodward, and he appeared in front of them, a grin on his face.
“I’ve got good news,” he said. “There’s a trench up ahead with three men and an officer sleeping in it. We’re going to see if that officer has any useful documents on him.”
Mahoney and the others looked at each other in surprise, then turned to Woodward.
“Are you out of your mind?” Mahoney whispered. “We’re liable to bring the whole German Army down on our necks.”
“Afraid?” Woodward asked.
“I’m not afraid, but that’s crazy.”
Woodward chortled. “I always knew you were yellow, Mahoney. Now you’re showing your true colors.”
Cranepool cleared his throat. “I think Mahoney’s right. I think...”
Woodward interrupted him. “I don’t care what you think. We’re going to check out that kraut officer. I’m sure he has some valuable papers with him.”
“Valuable papers, your ass!” Mahoney said. “You’re just trying to get a medal for yourself.”
“You’re yellow, and your opinions don’t mean anything to me.”
“We’re not under orders to steal kraut papers.”
Woodward sneered. “Sometimes you have to take the initiative in these matters. We’re not robots after all, Mahoney.”
“It’s an unnecessary risk,” Mahoney insisted. “It’s more important for us to get back with the information we have.”
“I told you that I’m not interested in your opinions, Mahoney.” Lieutenant Woodward tapped his epaulette. “When you have more up here than I do, then I’ll listen to you, but until then, I’m in charge, and this is how we’re going to proceed. I will lead you forward to the German trench that I’ve just described.” He pulled out his bayonet. “We will sling our weapons and use these, because we don’t want to make any noise. As I said, there are three krauts and one officer in that trench. I’ll handle the officer, and I want three volunteers to handle the other three.”
Woodward looked around expectantly, but no one volunteered.
“I didn’t expect Mahoney to volunteer,” he murmured, “but I thought somebody else might. All right—Cranepool, you’ll take one of them, Caddell will take the second, and Puleo the third. Mahoney and Perez can be the lookouts. Any questions?”
Cranepool looked disgusted. Caddell was nervous, and Puleo looked scared.
“Sir,” Mahoney said softly, “you’re making a mistake.”
“Sergeant Mahoney,” Woodward replied, “You’re the one who’s guessed wrong consistently tonight, and I’ve guessed right, so maybe you should keep your mouth shut and learn some humility.” He looked at the others. “All right, let’s draw our bayonets and sling our rifles.”
The men did as they were told, and Mahoney watched Woodward smiling faintly as he ran his thumb across the blade of his bayonet. Mahoney remembered Woodward sharpening his bayonet earlier and realized he had probably planned this escapade earlier in the day and had just now gone looking for an officer to bring back.
“Onto our bellies, men,” Woodward said. “Be silent, and keep your eyes on me. The German trench is about fifty yards ahead.”
“I thought you were in a hurry to get back,” Mahoney said.
“Shut up,” Woodward snapped. “I’ve had enough from you tonight.”
They formed an inverted V formation with Woodward at the top and crawled toward the trench. They made their way through bushes and around trees, as the sound of German voices came closer. Something clanked loudly to their left, and Woodward raised his hand, signaling a stop. Woodward listened as the clank repeated itself and moved his arm forward again, satisfied that there was no threat in that direction.
Mahoney slithered through the snow and wondered how people like Woodward got to be officers. He’d heard that Woodward had come from West Point and was surprised that his instability had never been noticed, but maybe Woodward hadn’t dared to act this way at West Point. Maybe he’d graduated at the bottom of his class and was now trying to prove to everybody that he was a great officer.
Mahoney heard footsteps to the left. Lieutenant Woodward raised his hand for a moment, and the GIs stopped. The footsteps came closer, and Mahoney figured there were two krauts coming. Oh shit, he thought, they’re going to step right on us.
The Germans kept coming, and Mahoney peered ahead from beneath the brim of his helmet. It sounded as if the Germans would pass in front of them. Mahoney spotted the dark outlines of their uniforms against the snow. The Germans talked in low, guttural voices as they moved through the woods.
The German soldiers passed by the GIs and kept going. It was a close call. If Woodward had led them forward a little sooner or if the Germans had come a little later, there would have been an ugly encounter.
Woodward signaled for them to move out. They crawled over the snow again, staying close to bushes and trees. The sky had become cloudy hiding the moon and making everything pitch black. Mahoney could discern three separate German conversations going on, but they were too far away for him to understand what was being said.
Woodward pointed, indicating that the German trench was directly ahead. He signaled that they should crawl more slowly now, and they inched toward the trench. Mahoney was sure something would go wrong; the whole situation was too risky.
Gradually the GIs approached a trench and a bunker. Mahoney couldn’t see anything in the bunker, but somebody was snoring. Lieutenant Woodward motioned with his hand, and Cranepool, Puleo, and Caddell crawled closer. Mahoney could see the bayonets in their hands and the tension in their bodies. Woodward moved forward like a big leopard and led the others into the trench.
They slithered down the walls of the trench and crept into the bunker. Mahoney imagined them sneaking up on the Germans sleeping inside. They were ready to strike, and Woodward had displayed courage by reconnoitering the bunker all by himself, but now he was being foolhardy. So many things could go wrong.
Somebody shouted inside the bunker, and Mahoney knew that his worst fears had become reality. There was a scream, a shot, and a terrible commotion.
“What’s going on over there!” someone shouted in German about twenty yards away.
Mahoney flicked his carbine on automatic because he knew the shit was about to hit the fan. The commotion continued in the bunker. Mahoney heard running feet and saw three German soldiers approaching out of the darkness. He took aim and pulled the trigger of his carbine, which chattered and trembled in his hands. Sparks flew out of the barrel, and the three Germans performed their last dance, twisting and writhing in the air, spewing out spirals of blood, and then hitting the ground.
Germans shouted and screamed all around Mahoney. Lights were flashed on. Lieutenant Woodward crawled out of the trench, holding a bayonet covered with blood and gore. Cranepool followed him, then came
Caddell.
Woodward glanced around. “We’ll have to make a run for it!” he said excitedly.
“Where’s Puleo?” Mahoney asked.
“He’s not coming back! Let’s go!”
They jumped up and ran toward the American lines.
“STOP THEM!” screamed a German.
The GIs plunged into the woods, running past trees and bushes, zigzagging and making low silhouettes. Bullets whistled over their heads and past their ears. It sounded as if a whole army were waking up behind them. Machine gun bullets ripped through the woods around them, ricocheting off boulders and burrowing into the trunks of trees. Mahoney held his rifle steady and peered frantically into the foliage ahead because he knew they weren’t even halfway through the German lines yet. The sound of dogs barking joined the other noise.
“HALT!” shouted a voice in front of them.
Mahoney pulled the trigger of his carbine and fired in the direction of the voice as he veered to the left. The woods in front of him exploded with gunfire, and he dropped to his stomach, cursing Lieutenant Woodward for getting him into this mess. German bullets zipped into the snow beside his face, and he flinched backwards, pulling the trigger of his carbine. Woodward and the other GIs fired at the Germans in front of them.
“Listen to me!” Woodward said. “We’ll split into two groups! I’ll take Caddell and Perez with me, and Cranepool will go with Mahoney! Mahoney and Cranepool will cover my group until we get away, then they can go! All right now: one—two—three—GO!”
Woodward and the two GIs ran to the left while Mahoney and Cranepool stayed behind and filled the woods in front of them with bullets.
“They’re getting away!” screamed a German voice. “After them!”
