Bloody Bush

by Len Levinson

  He looked at Cranepool. “Come with me!”

  Cranepool was trying to hide behind a rock three inches high and four inches wide. “Where to?”

  Bullets flew over their heads, and Mahoney realized that young Cranepool had deteriorated as a soldier in Charlie Company. They’d had too many company commanders and taken too many losses. There was no coherence in the company anymore and no esprit de corps. Mahoney realized that as first sergeant he should have done something about that, but he’d been too demoralized himself.

  Now, however, he realized that he had to weld Charlie Company into a fighting unit. It was a helluva time to do it, but he knew it was necessary if he wanted to have a chance of living. He knew that a good company could keep you alive and a bad company would get you killed.

  “I said come with me!” Mahoney repeated.

  “What the hell for?”

  “Because I said so!”

  “But we’re pinned down! We can’t move!”

  Mahoney sniffed as bullets flew over his head and explosions shook the ground. The air smelled like the sulphurous halls of hell. “I just gave you an order!” he said.

  “C’mon Mahoney, stop playing soldier with me, okay?”

  “I always knew that you were a yellowbelly deep down,” Mahoney told him. “I guess you and me have just come to the end of the road together. I’ll see you around, asshole, if you’re lucky.”

  Mahoney jumped up and ran with his head low toward Captain Greene. Bullets whistled between his legs and past his ears as he jumped over boulders and dodged trees. He dived into the air and landed beside Captain Greene, who was studying his map.

  “Hi,” said Mahoney.

  “How are we making out, sergeant?” Captain Greene said in his hale and hearty voice as though they were lying on a beach somewhere.

  “We’ve got to get into that trench, sir,” Ma-honey said, “and we’ve got to get in it fast.”

  “I’m planning our attack on it right now,” Captain Greene said confidently, looking at his map.

  “What are you looking at the map for, sir?” Mahoney said. “You can see the trench from here, can’t you?”

  Captain Greene continued to pore over the map. “The map tells us what kind of terrain we’re in.”

  “Can’t you see what kind of terrain we’re in, sir?” Mahoney picked up a handful of dirt. “This is the kind of terrain we’re in.”

  Captain Greene looked coldly at Mahoney. “Are you being insubordinate, Sergeant Mahoney?”

  “No sir, but I think we’d better get moving into that trench before we get stuck here.”

  “I’m aware of our situation,” Captain Greene replied, as though he was on a set at Warner Brothers, “and I’m working on the solution. I would have had it by now if you hadn’t disturbed me.”

  Mahoney was getting frustrated and angry. “The solution is to take that trench in waves. That’s the only solution.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Captain Greene intoned.

  Corporal Cranepool came crashing to the ground beside Mahoney. “Hi Sarge,” he said with a big smile.

  “Well whataya know,” Mahoney replied. “The kid from Iowa is here. Our troubles are over.”

  “When are we going to attack?” Cranepool asked excitedly. “What are we waiting for?” He was trying to make up with Mahoney, because he was sorry he’d disobeyed Mahoney’s previous order.

  Captain Greene looked down his nose at Crane-pool. “Who is this person?”

  “This is Corporal Cranepool from the second platoon,” Mahoney said.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s in Charlie Company, sir, and this is where he’s supposed to be.”

  “Why isn’t he with the second platoon?”

  “Because I told him to come with me.”

  “What for?”

  Mahoney was becoming exasperated. He looked around and saw the men of Charlie Company either pinned down or falling back. Some of them were lying still on the ground, and blood could be seen on their uniforms.

  Mahoney turned to Captain Greene. “We’re attacking the hill in quick waves, sir. The first platoon will advance ten yards and the other three platoons will cover. Then the second platoon will do the same thing. And so forth until we’re in the trench. Get the picture?”

  Captain Greene looked troubled. “Well, I don’t know about that, sergeant. I’ll have to weigh the circumstances carefully in my mind and reach a decision that’s in the best interests of my company.”

  “Good. You do that, sir.” Mahoney turned to Private Sawyer of Fargo, North Dakota, who was lying nearby with the company records and the walkie-talkie. “Did you hear what I just said, Sawyer?”

  “About what, sergeant?”

  Mahoney looked at Cranepool. “Get that walkie-talkie and pass the word along. Tell the platoon leaders that we’re jumping off in just a few minutes.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.” Cranepool crawled toward Private Sawyer and tore the walkie-talkie out of his hands.

  Mahoney looked at Captain Greene again. “Are we all set, sir?”

  Captain Greene knitted his handsome eyebrows together. “I don’t like the way you’re behaving, sergeant. I think you’ve got a chip on your shoulder.”

  “Sorry about that, sir,” Mahoney replied. “Are you gonna lead the charge or am I?”

  “What charge?”

  “The one that we’re having in just a few moments.”

  “I never authorized any charge!”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “That’s funny. I thought I heard you authorize a charge. Didn’t you hear the old man authorize a charge, Cranepool?”

  “Sure,” Cranepool replied. “He just said we’re gonna charge in quick waves with the first platoon going first, and the other platoons covering. Didn’t you say that sir?”

  “No, I didn’t say that!”

  Captain Greene’s face was red and his eyes were bulging out of his head. His lips were trembling and he looked like he was having a nervous breakdown.

  “Calm down,” Mahoney said, placing his hand gently on Captain Greene’s shoulder.

  “Take your hands off me this instant!”

  Cranepool finished relaying his message and let loose the button on his walkie-talkie. “Everybody’s ready, sir!” he shouted.

  “Ready?” Captain Greene asked, bewildered.

  Mahoney jumped up and held his carbine high in the air. “First Platoon charge!”

  He ran toward the German trench, and the first platoon got up and followed him. Cranepool ran a few steps behind Mahoney, and Captain Greene, not knowing what to do, found himself following Mahoney too. The second, third, and fourth platoons fired steadily into the trench but the Germans fired back and men from the first platoon tripped and fell with bullets lodged in their bodies. When Mahoney figured he’d come about ten yards, he dived for cover and yelled: “Hit it!”

  The first platoon dropped on their bellies and brought their rifles to their shoulders. They fired a barrage into the German trench as the second platoon arose and advanced ten yards through air thick with German bullets. Then the third platoon charged, and finally the fourth.

  It was time for the first platoon to go again, and go they did. Mahoney leapt up like a wildcat and screamed: “Charge!” The platoon moved forward again around tree stumps and shell craters, and dropped down after covering ten yards. Mahoney could see the eyes of the Germans in the trench now, and pulled a hand grenade out of his lapel. He yanked out the pin and tossed the grenade into the German trench. A dozen American grenades followed it, and the trench shook before his eyes as though it was a ship in rough seas. German soldiers were blown into the air, and when they came down there was much less fire coming from the German trench. The Americans continued lobbing grenades into the trench as they crept closer, and finally Mahoney told Cranepool to notify the other platoons that they were going to charge the trench en masse. Cranepool
passed the word along via walkie-talkie and Mahoney turned to Captain Greene.

  “How’re we doing, sir?”

  “We’re going to charge that trench, Sergeant Mahoney!” Captain Greene said, like Napoleon at Austerlitz.

  “I think that’s wonderful, sir.”

  “I intend to lead the charge personally!”

  “That will be a great inspiration to the men, I’m sure.”

  Mahoney looked behind him and saw another company following Charlie Company up the hill. He figured that there were enough GIs in both companies to swarm over the Germans still in the trench.

  The Germans remaining in the trench raked the American soldiers with machine gun and rifle fire, but their aim was sloppy because too many bullets and hand grenades were landing all around them.

  Captain Greene, his face glowing with perspiration, jumped to his feet, pumped his arm up and down, and shouted: “Take the high ground—follow me!”

  “Let’s move out!” yelled Mahoney.

  Charlie Company raised itself and charged the German trench, now only ten yards away. The German machine guns cut down groups of them but then the GIs were on the rim of the trench and the Germans had to go for their bayonets.

  Mahoney landed feet first on top of a German reaching for his bayonet. The German tried to roll away, and Mahoney lost his balance. He fell on his ass in the dirt and the German jumped on top of him, his bayonet in his hand, plunging it towards Mahoney’s furiously beating heart.

  Mahoney grabbed his wrist with both hands, stopping the movement of the bayonet. The German hauled off with his free hand and punched Mahoney in the mouth. Mahoney yanked the German to the side, and the German toppled over. Mahoney kneed him in the balls; the German dropped his bayonet and Mahoney snatched it up and buried it in his throat.

  The trench was filled with Germans and Americans grappling hand-to-hand. Mahoney picked up his rifle and bayonet and rammed it into the back of a German in front of him. He bashed another German over the head with his rifle butt, and drove his bayonet into the kidney of a German fighting with another American. More Americans poured into the trench, overwhelming the Germans and killing them.

  Mahoney could see no more live Germans nearby. He unsnapped his canteen from its case, took a drink of warm dank water, and returned it. Then he turned around to see where Charlie Company had to go next.

  It was a row of fortifications about two hundred yards away, consisting of bunkers, pillboxes, and trenches. The Germans were firing machine guns, rifles, and howitzers at the Americans. Mahoney’s trench fell under heavy bombardment, and he knew he had to call in an artillery strike on the German position if he could.

  “Cranepool—where are you?” Mahoney yelled.

  “Here sergeant!”

  Mahoney crawled in the direction of the voice, and dirt rained down upon him from artillery explosions. He made his way around the live and dead bodies at the bottom of the trench and finally found Cranepool with Captain Greene and Private Sawyer.

  “I think we’d better get some artillery on that German position up there,” Mahoney said.

  “I’ll call them,” Cranepool said, lifting the walkie-talkie to his ear.

  “Wait a minute!” Captain Greene said.

  “What’s the matter?” Mahoney asked.

  “We don’t need artillery!” Captain Greene declared. “We’re going to take that German position just the way we took this German position!”

  “We are?” Mahoney asked.

  “That’s right, and I’m going to lead the charge!” Captain Greene jammed a fresh clip of ammunition into his forty-five. “All right men—listen to me!” he said. “Your capture of this trench was an example of gallantry and élan that was in the very highest traditions of the army, but the war isn’t over yet! No, not by a long shot it isn’t! We’ve got to keep moving on to keep the Hun off balance, and now we’re going to attack those fortifications directly in front of us! When I count to three we’re going to attack, and you can rely on me to show you the way! Get ready now!” Captain Greene looked to his left and right, and the men looked at him skeptically. The air was thick with bullets and they weren’t anxious to jump into the middle of it. “One!” screamed Captain Greene. “Two! Three! Up and at ‘em!”

  Captain Greene climbed out of the trench and waved his forty-five in the air. “Follow me!” he shouted. “Take the high ground!”

  He charged toward the Germans, and he was all alone. Not one of the GIs had followed him. “Blood and guts!” he yelled. He took five steps and then the Germans’ bullets cut him down. He dropped to his knees, and blood spurted through holes in his body. “Keep driving!” he said weakly. “Push the bastards back to Berlin!” He pitched forward onto his face, twitched a few times, and then was still.

  Cranepool turned to Mahoney and shrugged. “Well, it looks like we just lost us another company commander,” he said.

  Mahoney took the walkie-talkie and called in an artillery strike on the German fortifications straight ahead. He told the artillery commander the coordinates of the hill, and soon the first shell came flying through the air. It went past the fortifications, but artillery technique was to try for an over on the first round, a short on the second round, and then drop the third round somewhere between the first and second.

  Mahoney stayed on the walkie-talkie with the artillery commander, telling him where the shells were falling, and finally the American barrage began to fall directly on the German fortifications straight ahead. Mahoney handed the walkie-talkie to Private Sawyer and leaned over the edge of the trench, aiming his carbine.

  He looked over the peep-sight at the German fortifications, trying to find a target. Explosions were occurring all along the German line, and smoke obscured his view, but he thought he saw a German helmet move behind a mound of dirt. He set the sight for two hundred yards, gave it one degree windage, and sighted on the German through the little peephole. He squeezed the trigger slowly, and his rifle barked like an angry dog. The German head dropped down; Mahoney didn’t know whether he got him or not. Mahoney waited a few seconds but didn’t see the German’s head reappear, so he scanned the German line for someone else to shoot at.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Horch convertible sped through the French countryside toward Normandy. Corporal Daniel sat behind the wheel, staring ahead impassively at the winding road, and beside him sat Field Marshal Rommel, with a map on his lap.

  Rommel was going to the front personally to see if he could stem the American attack on Saint Lo. The Americans were pressing ever closer to the town, taking strategic objectives before it one by one, and Rommel was hoping that he could shift his troops around so that he could save Saint Lo. The more towns he had, the better his bargaining position would be when he sat down with the Americans.

  It was July 17. The attempt to kill Hitler would take place in only three days. Rommel had told his fellow conspirators that he would become titular chancellor of the Reich until elections could be held. He hoped that elections wouldn’t be held for quite some time, and during that period he could prove to the Germans that he was fit to lead them. Then perhaps they’d make him permanent chancellor.

  It was thrilling for Rommel to think that in only three days he’d be leader of the German Reich, and Hitler would be dead. He’d give Hitler a nice funeral, of course. He himself would deliver a touching oration, while the army arrested surviving Nazi leaders and threw them into concentration camps. People like Himmler and Goebbels would be put up against the wall immediately. Goering would be permitted to live, for the people loved the fat old buffoon, and moreover, Goering had been a great hero and a stalwart commander before he became a drug addict.

  The road was strewn with burning trucks and automobiles. Corporal Daniel turned a corner and ahead the road was cluttered with French refugees whose homes had been bombed out in Normandy. Their horses and cows pulled wagons laden with pots and pans, clothing, and valuable family possessions. They cursed the Ger
mans and Americans as they fled to safety.

  Corporal Daniel slowed down as he passed through the throngs of refugees. Rommel looked at them and felt sympathetic, for civilians should not have to suffer the violence of wars. That privilege should be reserved for professional soldiers like himself, men who had dedicated their lives to battle.

  Corporal Daniel made his way through the refugees and finally broke away from them. He accelerated down the country road and Rommel studied his map again. He resolved that as soon as he became the new chancellor of Germany, he’d move the Fifteenth Army down from the Channel Coast and hurl it against the Americans and British.

  That ought to slow them down and make them think twice about their likelihood of victory. Then he’d make his generous armistice offer which he didn’t think they’d refuse. The German Army would join with the British and American armies and together they’d attack the Russians. They’d push the Russians back to Moscow, shoot Stalin, and then let peace come to the world.

  Rommel heard an angry snarl above him. He looked up and saw eight enemy planes swooping down out of the clouds.

  “Take cover!” Rommel yelled to Corporal Daniel, pointing to a wooded lane that ran parallel to the main road.

  Corporal Daniel swerved off the road, and the planes began to dive. Rommel stared in horror at the planes, which he recognized as British Spitfires. The Spitfires opened up their machine guns and cannons and the road exploded in front of the Horch.

  I’ve got to get out of here, Rommel thought, reaching for the door handle. Machine gun bullets stitched along the road and then a cannon shell exploded next to the Horch. Bits of shrapnel and glass tore into Rommel’s head and he fell out of the Horch, landing in a puddle of mud. His head hit a rock and he went out like a light.

  When they found him, he was nearly dead. He was driven to the nearest field hospital and operated on for several hours. When the doctors finished, they called Wehrmacht Headquarters in Berlin and said it was doubtful that Rommel would live for very long.

  That evening the First Battalion made it to the top of Hill 122. They set to work killing the remaining Germans who resisted them, and making prisoners of those who waved white flags. The prisoners descended the hill in long files, their hands plastered atop their heads, and Mahoney sat on a rock, smoking a cigar and watching them pass.