by Len Levinson
“You can’t go any faster?”
“We could if we had tanks and trucks, sir. If we had transportation I think we could roll right down this road into Sarrlautern before the sun goes down.”
General Hughes looked down the road. “You really think so?”
“Yes sir.”
“Have you asked for the tanks and trucks.”
“Not yet sir. The battalion commander is out in the field, and he has to okay it.”
“You mean this battalion stops functioning if its commander is out in the field?”
“We’re functioning, sir.”
“According to whose standards?”
Captain Anderson didn’t reply because he was afraid he’d blow his top, general or no general. He’d been in action for two weeks straight and his nerves were getting a little ragged.
“I asked you a question, Captain.”
“By my standards.”
“Well I don’t accept your standards. And I don’t know if I can accept your judgment.” He looked down the road to Saarlautern. “What makes you think this road isn’t defended?”
“Because I think the Germans have withdrawn to Sarrlautern and left a screen behind to slow us down. That’s all we’re fighting—just a screen.”
“What has aerial reconnaissance said?”
“They haven’t told me,” Anderson said sarcastically.
“They haven’t told you what?”
“They haven’t told me, sir.”
“That’s better,” General Hughes said. “Try not to forget that you’re still in the United States Army, Captain. Now I’d like to use your radio if you don’t mind.”
Drago turned around and General Hughes called the headquarters of the 1st Battalion. Colonel Sloan still hadn’t returned, but Major Cutler, the operations officer, came on the phone.
“This is General Hughes, speaking.”
“Yes sir!” replied Cutler, jumping to his feet in the battalion command post tent.
“Do you have any aerial reconnaissance reports yet of the sector in front of you?”
“Only the ones we got early in the morning.”
“What was the enemy troop disposition?”
“Unchanged since yesterday, basically.”
“I’m at the front with Charlie Company, and the Captain here says he thinks the Germans are pulling back to Saarlautern. I want a fresh reconnaissance report as soon as possible, and I want two tank companies plus eight deuce-and-a-half-trucks placed on alert in case they’re needed here. Is all that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
General Hughes hung up the microphone and turned to Captain Anderson. “What company is behind you?”
“Dog Company, I believe.”
General Hughes looked into the gray sky and tried to think. He wanted to launch a strong attack down this road to see the extent of enemy defenses, and he thought the attack should be made with two companies at least. Dog Company was a heavy weapons company and didn’t participate in attacks except in a support capacity. Able or Baker Company would have to be summoned. General Hughes picked up the microphone and called battalion again. Major Cutler came on the phone.
“This is General Hughes again.”
“Yes sir?”
“I want another company up here with Charlie Company. What’s closest?”
“Dog Company.”
“I mean a rifle company.”
“That would be Able Company.”
“Send them up here right away.”
“Yes sir.”
“Over and out.”
General Hughes relit his pipe and looked at Captain Anderson through the smoke. “When Able Company gets here, I want both of you to move out. Able Company will take the left side of the road and you’ll take the right. I want you both to go as quickly as you can and rip right through that screen you think is there. If you meet strong resistance, report it to battalion headquarters. Any questions?”
“No sir.”
“You should let your men have chow now, because they might not have a chance later on in the day. If you have any problems, contact me at battalion headquarters. I’m going there now to coordinate this effort because I want the Hammerheads in Saarlautern by sunset. Good luck, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
General Hughes turned and walked back to his jeep, his canteen jangling on his hip. He climbed into the jeep and Pfc. Braithwaite drove it away.
Chapter Eleven
“Sir, General Balck would like to speak with you,” said Colonel Wolkenstein.
General Dobbeling took the telephone. “Yes sir?”
“Dobbeling,” said Balck, “have you launched your riposte yet?”
“No sir.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“I’ve been forced to pull back, sir.”
“I know that, but you should have been establishing a striking force for your riposte.”
“It’s being established right now, sir,” Dobbeling lied.
“When are you going to launch it?”
“Within an hour or two.”
“I wouldn’t wait too long,” Balck said. “Otherwise the Americans will be in Saarlautern and it will be too late.”
“Yes sir.”
Dobbeling hung up the phone and gritted his teeth. “That idiot!”
“What does he want now?” asked Wolkenstein.
“He wants what he refers to as a ‘riposte.’ I imagine he thinks we’re fencing out here. I tell you Wolkenstein, these fancy generals in their fancy headquarters know nothing about war.”
Wolkenstein smiled. “I imagine some of our officers say the same thing about us.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Dobbeling looked down at the map table. “Well, let’s see what kind of riposte we can develop here. We’ll have to make it good to satisfy our great general.”
Wolkenstein pointed to the main road leading into Saarlautern. “The Americans probably will come down this road fairly quickly as soon as they realized we’ve pulled back. Perhaps we can bloody their noses when they least expect it.” “Perhaps,” replied Dobbeling. “Let’s see what forces we can gather to perform this great military counterstroke.” Wolkenstein sighed. “You’re becoming so cynical, General Dobbeling.”
“I’ve been in this war too long,” Dobbeling said. “Much too long.”
~*~
Mahoney sat in the foxhole with Private Olds, and both of them were eating cold C rations.
“This stuff is really vile,” Private Olds said. “I wouldn’t feed it to my dogs.”
“I notice you’re scoffing it up pretty good though,” Mahoney replied.
“That’s because I’m hungry, but it’s really vile anyway. It’s like canned garbage.”
“How do you know what garbage tastes like?” Mahoney asked, chewing a huge mouthful of food. “You ever eat garbage?”
“Of course not!”
“Then how do you know this stuff tastes like garbage?”
“I can imagine it all tastes pretty much the same.”
“Shove your imagination up your ass,” Mahoney said. “This is nothing like garbage. In the neighborhood where I lived before I joined the Army, people actually did eat garbage. That was during the Depression. I never had to do it myself, but I’ve seen other people eat garbage and it wasn’t anything like this.” Mahoney wiggled his khaki can of C rations in the air. “Garbage is orange peels and potato peels with pieces of fat and gristle, and all of it’s rotting and mixed with coffee grounds and vomit and dead cockroaches. I admit that these C rations aren’t so wonderful, but they’re not like garbage.”
“Maybe not,” Olds said, “but as far as I’m concerned, the difference is only academic.”
“That’s because you’re a punk, a creep, and a weakling, and you don’t know how to think straight.”
Olds had been relaxing with Mahoney for the past several minutes and was losing his fear of him. He was just another big stupid gorilla who w
as making his life miserable, and Olds was getting tired of being insulted by people like Mahoney.
“Well,” Olds said huffily, “I guess you can say what you like because you’re a master sergeant and I’m a private, but if we were in civilian life, I’d be the one giving the orders and you’d be the one taking them—because out there in the real world, people like you work for people like me.”
“I’d never work for you, asshole,” Mahoney said. “Forget about it.”
“Oh yes you would,” Olds said. “Smarter men than you have come begging for jobs at the business owned by my family.”
“What kind of business is that, Olds?”
“We own a department store in downtown Los Angeles.”
“No shit.”
“That’s right. If you smarten up, Sarge, and learn how to treat me right, I could give you a good job when this war is over.”
“You would?”
“That’s right,” Olds said confidently as he spooned some beans into his mouth.
Mahoney lunged forward and grabbed Olds by the front of his field jacket. “You little scumbag,” Mahoney said through clenched teeth, “what makes you think I’d ever want to work for you? I’d fucking die before I’d work for a piece of shit like you!”
Olds tried to smile. “You’d better think it over, Sarge. Good jobs will be hard to find when this war’s over.”
“I already thought about it, you little son of a bitch. Shove your fucking job up your ass.” Mahoney let him go and leaned back on the other side of the foxhole. “You know Olds,” he said, picking up his can of C rations and his spoon, “I used to hate you because you’re a coward, but now I just hate you.”
“You think I like you?” Olds asked, his fear turning to anger. “I hate you just as much as you hate me, and maybe more!”
“Yeah?” Mahoney asked. “Well I think that’s good news. Maybe you’re on your way to being a man finally, you little fairy son of a bitch.”
~*~
Scowling, General Hughes walked into the conference room at battalion headquarters and headed for the map table. Colonel Sloan had returned and was accompanied by Major Cutler and several of his aides. They all saluted and General Hughes looked down at the map.
“Has the reconnaissance report come in yet?” Hughes asked.
“Yes sir,” replied Colonel Sloan. “It confirms what Captain Anderson told you: that the Germans have pulled out most of their forces in that particular sector and have left behind a few rearguard units to screen their movements.”
“Are the tanks and trucks on the way to the front as I ordered?”
“Yes sir.”
Hughes pointed to the map. “I want an all-out attack by this battalion down that road. I want you to let nothing stop you, and I’ll expect you to be in Saarlautern by the time the sun goes down. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir, but what about my flanks?”
General Hughes sneered. “You know what General Patton says about flanks, don’t you, Colonel? He says: we’re not going to worry about our flanks—let the Krauts worry about their flanks. Is that a good enough answer for you?”
Colonel Sloan looked nervously at his aides, then turned to General Hughes. “Sir, with all due respect to General Patton and yourself, this movement will place this battalion in an awfully precarious situation.”
“You’re in a war, Colonel Sloan. You’re supposed to be in a precarious situation. Any other questions?”
“No sir.”
“Carry on.”
General Hughes turned and marched out of the battalion headquarters.
~*~
Private Olds took his finger off the button and removed the walkie-talkie from its position against his face. “Sarge, you’re wanted at company headquarters.”
Mahoney wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and threw the empty C ration can over his shoulder. He scratched himself, picked up his carbine, and climbed out of the foxhole. “If anybody wants me,” he told Olds, “tell them I’ll be right back.”
Mahoney slung his carbine over his shoulder and walked to the company command post. Private Olds took out a cigarette and lit it up, watching him go. Olds didn’t know what exactly to make of Mahoney. On one hand, Mahoney was a stupid brute, but on the other, he seemed to be quite capable on a battlefield. Perhaps gangsters like Mahoney find their true element in war, Olds thought. He’s like a pig in shit out here.
~*~
The company command post was beside a jeep on the road to Saarlautern. Sergeants Mayo and Ledbetter were there already when Mahoney arrived, and Sergeant Guffey showed up a few moments later.
Captain Anderson had laid out a map on the front passenger seat of the jeep. “General Hughes was just here,” he said, “and he’s decided that we’re going into Saarlautern today. The tanks and trucks will be arriving before long, and when they get here we’ll load up and move out. The first platoon will go on the first two trucks, the second platoon will go on the next two, and so on. We’ll have to move fast because General Hughes wants us to be in Saarlautern by the time the sun goes down. Any questions so far?”
Mahoney raised his hand. “How strong a force is going on this little trip, sir?”
“This company and Able Company.”
Mahoney groaned.
“What’s wrong?” Captain Anderson said. “You don’t think that’s enough?”
“Hell no.”
“I don’t think we even need Able Company,” Captain Anderson said. “I don’t think there’s anything in front of us.”
“Maybe not now,” Mahoney said. “But what if the Krauts happen to put something in front of us while we’re on the road?”
“We’ll take care of that when the time comes.”
“It might be too late then.”
“I doubt it. Sometimes you have to take chances, Mahoney. You should know that by now.”
Sergeant Ledbetter shrugged. “If we run into trouble, we can always turn around and go back. Those trucks can go both ways down this road, Mahoney.”
“Trucks are awfully good targets when they’re making U-turns,” Mahoney replied.
They continued to discuss the operation for several more minutes, then Captain Anderson told them to report to their units and wait for the trucks to arrive.
~*~
General Dobbeling and Colonel Wolkenstein leaned over the map table in 44th Division headquarters in Saarlautern.
“A riposte,” said Dobbeling, “should be swift and unexpected.” He pointed at a road leading toward the American lines. “Perhaps if we sent a small armored column down this road and took the Americans by surprise, we might be able to inflict some damage on them and hold up their advance. What do you think, Wolkenstein?”
“I agree, sir. That also would give us time to strengthen our defense here in Saarlautern. But the troops must be ready to pull back after they’ve done their damage. We’ll need them here in Saarlautern for the final throw of the dice.”
“That’s true,” said Dobbeling. “Issue the orders. I’ll want one of our crack units for this mission.”
“What about the 91st Parachute Regiment?”
“No, I want experienced tankers.”
“I’d say that our best tank unit is the 14th SS Panzer. Shall I send them?”
“Yes. But make sure you impress upon them that I don’t want them to linger on that road. I want them to do their work and then hurry back here, is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
~*~
Mahoney sat with Private Olds in the foxhole, waiting for the tanks and trucks to arrive.
“You know,” Mahoney said, puffing one of his cigars, “I think I’ve finally figured out what’s wrong with you, Olds. You don’t think you’re an ordinary person like everybody else around here. You think you’re somebody special, and that your life is more important than everybody else’s, and that’s why you’re so goddamned scared all the time. You don’t want to lose that miserable ratty little life of yo
urs.”
Olds raised his nose in the air. “Well, maybe you’ve got nothing to live for, but I do.”
“What have you got to live for?”
“Well, let me put it this way, Sergeant. I was living very well before I was drafted, and I want to go back to what I had. You and those like you weren’t living so well, and I imagine that life isn’t as important to all of you as it is to me.”
“Says who?” Mahoney asked skeptically.
Olds sniffed. “Says me.”
“Who’re you? Who gives a fuck what you say? What’s so great about your stupid cunty life? You’re just another serial number out here, Olds, but you can’t seem to get that through your head.”
“Maybe you’re just a serial number,” Olds said, “but I’m not.”
“Well you sure as fuck aren’t a man either. I’ve seen women who’ve got more backbone than you.”
Olds flinched because the worst thing you can do to a man is compare him unfavorably to women.
Mahoney lifted up one side of his helmet. “I hear the trucks.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s because you’re a jerk off, but that’s okay, I really don’t give a shit about that.” Mahoney jabbed his big finger into Olds’ chest. “But let me tell you one thing, sonny boy. If you ever do anything that gets anybody killed around here, I’m going to beat your fucking head in, do you get my drift?”
“I get your drift, Sarge.”
“Good.”
Mahoney stood up in the foxhole. “Everybody up!” he bellowed. “The trucks are coming.”
The first platoon came out of their holes and walked to the road. On the horizon the trucks could be seen growing larger and coming closer. The other platoons assembled on the road, and after an interval the tanks and trucks arrived.
Charlie Company trudged toward the trucks. The convoy would consist of four tanks followed by Charlie Company in trucks, and behind Charlie Company would be four more tanks, then Able Company in trucks, and finally four tanks bringing up the rear.
Mahoney stood at the rear of one of the trucks and watched his men pile in. Pfc. Drago ran up to him.
“Sergeant—Captain Anderson wants to talk to you.”
Mahoney followed Drago back to Captain Anderson, who was standing beside his jeep with Sergeant Tweed and Captain Lawrence Braxton of Able Company. Captain Anderson introduced Mahoney to Braxton and Mahoney threw a half-ass salute which Braxton returned with a good-natured nod.
