A Midnight Clear

by William Wharton

  I turn my head, wink at the squad.

  “Well, make it for sure. I’ll come out tonight, maybe Love, too, and we’ll pick up the prisoner to bring him back. Over.”

  “Love’s coming out here, sir? Over.”

  “Right. At least I think so. Over.”

  “Things must be serious, sir. Over.”

  “You have no idea. Love figures a Jerry squad on an outpost like that might be close to intelligence and know what’s going on. Love’s desperate; the Colonel’s climbing all over him. It’s like a madhouse around here. We keep having staff meetings and nobody has any idea what to do. Hennessee, the S1, has disappeared; nobody’s seen him in almost twenty-four hours. We have double perimeter guard all around headquarters and the perimeter’s pulled in tight. Over.”

  “OK, sir. I don’t really think you have to come out. Tell Major Love we’ll have his prisoner for him sometime after twenty-four-hundred and we’ll jeep him straight to headquarters. No sense his taking a chance coming all the way out here; these woods are full of wandering patrols. Over.”

  “I’ll tell Major Love that. I’m not exactly enthusiastic about driving on those roads at night in the snow without lights. Over.”

  “We have our jeeps ready, sir, with chains. Miller turns the motor over every couple hours to keep the battery and water from freezing. We’re OK. We’ll get that prisoner in for you, sir. Over.”

  Tinker’s balls, the last thing we want is Ware and Love roaming around out here. We’ll never get it worked out for Wilkins.

  “OK. You do what you can. If your squad can pull this one off, you’ll square the whole I and R platoon with Love, that’s shit sure. Over and out.”

  “Over and out, sir.”

  I switch off the radio and watch the light fade. I look up. Mel’s standing behind me, his fists jammed into his sides.

  “The entire first squad gone? God, there are only six of us left in the platoon. It’s like World War I; it keeps going on. My mind doesn’t believe I’m letting this happen to me.”

  “Mel, we’ll just go on the patrol, do the shooting match, pick up our gremlin friends, then dash back to our castle before the dragons get here. We’ll leave Wilkins on the radio. That all makes sense to me.”

  Gordon turns away.

  “None of it makes sense. How can you make sense inside something like war which is basically nonsensical?”

  Miller, Mundy and Shutzer have heard everything; there’s nothing more to say. My first impulse is to dash right out with Shutzer and get it over with. It’d be the simplest way. But the Germans want shooting noises; it’ll sound better if the whole squad’s there.

  So we’ll leave Wilkins on the 506. We’ll pull it off fast, get back, run through Father Mundy’s straw pull, and we’re home free.

  I figure we’ll go out at eleven; then we should have time enough to work over the whole business before Ware shows up. I still can’t believe Love will come scrambling around in the dark with a jeep where there’s any danger of an actual, real-life German patrol.

  Before ten-thirty, we start getting ready. I tell Mother we’re going out to try for a prisoner. I tell him if we’re not back in two hours to call regiment. He’s obviously glad not to be on the patrol. Half-assed tiger patrols like this are the worst.

  None of us is talking about the first squad. There’s nothing to say. I’ve pulled in the guard, so Wilkins will be alone at the château. I think of telling him to man the bridge post just to make it look good in case Ware does come. But I don’t. If things go right, it shouldn’t take us very long.

  This time, we all put on snow jumpers. The room looks like hell. Maybe while we’re gone, Mother will straighten things up. He won’t have much else to do, and since he’ll be on radio, he can’t hide upstairs. I’ve got to admit I’m worried about him; as Mel said, he’s at a terrible disadvantage. It’s like one of those party games where everybody knows some secret or password and one person is being made a fool because he doesn’t know. It’s not fair but I’m hoping it’ll come out right.

  We check rifles and grenades, sling on bandoliers as if we’re going on a serious patrol. Mostly it’s theater for Mother, to make it look good, but also you never know. Then again, Gordon and Mundy haven’t had much contact with these Germans except for the Christmas tableau and caroling; they could still be scared. All of us should be scared, but it’s so unreal we aren’t functioning properly. I’m still wishing they’d’ve let us have one prisoner for now, and push off the big capture scene till later. But maybe they know things we don’t. Maybe there will be an attack coming through here. Ware sure sounded scared enough.

  I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be. Still, when we get outside, and moving, it isn’t so bad. It isn’t snowing and there’s strong moonlight. It’s the same as the night when the Germans built the scarecrow; fast-moving low clouds, opening and closing the moon, bending shadows, white, blue and black. When there’s a moon, with the snow, it’s almost light as day, moon sparkling on frozen crystals. I spread us at a ten-yard interval. Shutzer’s out as scout and I’m behind him. Mundy’s in back of me, then Miller, with Gordon bringing up the rear. It’s a regular patrol formation, only abbreviated. Around the bend, we stop to dress Miller in his costume.

  The snow’s deep and powdery; it flips up with each step into the tops of my boots. There’re stars and a cold wind. I’ve had some fun ice-skating on nights like this, brooming off the surface of a creek and building a bonfire, but tonight seems quiet, unrelenting and expectant.

  We head downstream toward the shack. I’ve decided to do the same dogleg we made the first time we came up on the lodge. This route we know, and we come in on the uphill side with the outpost below us. Even though they must be waiting for us, I’m worried about our first contact with that German outpost. We want to come down slowly, without scaring anybody. I’m still spinning wheels, expecting the worst.

  When we get to the bottom of that last ridge, I signal the rest of the squad to stop; that is, Gordon and Mundy. Miller comes up in his costume. Shutzer agrees to approach the outpost first while we wait on the ridge. He and Miller will do all the arranging. It’s too dark to see much now, because the moon’s ducked behind a huge bank of clouds. We can just make out the white shining line of the road down at the bottom, between us and the lodge. We still can’t see the outpost we found the first time. Maybe they’re not manning it anymore. Maybe they’re like us, not so scared, more interested in preparing for the big surrender. Shutzer leans close to me.

  “Well, here goes. I don’t know what to say so they won’t shoot at me. I’m just going down shouting ‘comrade.’”

  Miller’s standing behind me.

  “Sounds as if you’re the one surrendering. You sure you know what you’re doing here, Stan?”

  “Don’t bug me, Miller.”

  Miller stands back of me while Shutzer goes downhill. Stan’s saying “comrade” out loud as he goes, but not actually yelling. I hear a voice from the dark say “Kamerad” back. I motion the rest of us farther up the ridge till we all have a good field of fire over the lodge. I tell everybody to cover Shutzer and be ready to fire if anything goes wrong. We definitely have the advantage in case of a firefight. I’m becoming more and more convinced the Germans are being honest about this.

  I keep my eye on Shutzer. I watch as he walks to where the outpost was last time. Then I see the outline of a German as he crawls out of his hole; the two of them start downhill toward the lodge. I’m looking for some sign from Shutzer but there’s nothing. I see them cross the road and work their way up the other hill. The moon’s come out again and it’s perfectly clear as Shutzer walks across the flat area in front of the lodge and goes inside.

  We wait. There’s nothing else to do. Shutzer had his rifle slung on his shoulder the whole way, so he must feel confident.

  After maybe five minutes, Shutzer comes to the door of the lodge and waves us on down. I check to see if Gordon and Mundy are in position.<
br />
  It’s not much for fire cover if something goes wrong; but there’s nothing else we can do. I could just send Miller but I want to know what’s happening, what the arrangements are going to be.

  Miller’s watching me. He saw Shutzer and he’s waiting to see what we do. I signal and we both start walking downhill. The German on outpost, the one who took Shutzer into the lodge, is coming back toward us. We pass at the edge of the road. It’s a weird feeling in the flitting moonlight, so close, both of us armed, passing like that, smiling at each other in a secret way; it really is almost as if the war’s over.

  We work our way uphill to the open space. Shutzer’s waiting; the Germans are all inside.

  “What’s the deal, Stan? Everything still all right?”

  “They want to talk to our officer, Herr Müller, here. I’ll bet it’s because I’m a Jew.”

  Miller does a near-perfect jaw thrust.

  “Fuck you, Shutzer.”

  We’re on the edge of giggles. It’s the first straight-out intrasquad “fuck you” in months.

  “OK, you inferior-type, nick-pricked Jew, take me to our real leaders. How many of them are there anyway?”

  “Six, plus the one who went to the outpost; seven altogether. If they’re actually going to give up, why keep one on guard? Who the hell are they guarding themselves from anyway?”

  “Maybe other Germans. Who knows. Maybe they have a Major Love of their own; Übergruppenführer Liebe, or something.”

  I look around and take a deep breath. I’m trying to keep control. I’m between rushing into things and abandoning the whole project.

  “Seven, that fits. OK. We’re on. Let’s go see how we do it. By the way, where’s Snow White?”

  “We’ll negotiate that one. Miller, you get seconds. Won’t here doesn’t know what women are for, anyway.”

  We go inside. It’s smoky and smelly but better than our place. There are bunks along the walls. In fact, except for practically no windows, it’s like a barracks. At the foot of each bed is a neat pile of equipment. Hunt would’ve been happy to see this; it’s almost as if they’re ready for some kind of Saturday inspection. I wonder if they always keep it this neat or they’ve neatened things up for us. These Germans are even good at surrendering. That’s what I call real soldiering.

  At the far end of the room there’s a fire burning. Most of the Germans are standing around it, murmuring to each other. They look over their shoulders when we come in. The moonlight coming through the door behind us is blue and hard cold; bright compared to the dark yellow-orange blackness of the inside. The noncom comes away from the others, toward us. After he and Miller exchange those peculiar short headjerk nods, he starts talking with Shutzer.

  Miller and I try looking as if we know what’s going on. The other Germans have drifted closer. They nod and murmur to each other as the noncom goes on with his spiel. I wonder what else can be coming up; I thought it was all settled, was going to be simple. Shutzer turns to Miller, gives me the eye.

  “Somehow we got our signals mixed. They’re still worrying the idea of turning over one prisoner. I think that scared them. They insist on pulling off the whole affair now, tonight. I’m playing hard to get; it’s all coming off perfectly; don’t worry. Miller, act as if you’re not enthusiastic, stroke your chin some more or put on a mean stare. I think they expect it.”

  Miller takes his “military” stance. What would happen if I broke out laughing? Those Germans might insist I be court-martialed, hanged by the thumbs. But Shutzer’s playing things straight. He’s concentrating as if he’s pulling off some kind of exotic pseudo squeeze in a bridge tournament.

  “They say if we take one prisoner now, they’ll have to report it and somebody might come out. They don’t have any radio contact I can see, so that doesn’t make sense either.”

  The noncom looks back at us and Shutzer goes to talk with him again. Miller takes about two steps forward. I crack open some crappy Chesterfield cigarettes and pass them around. One of the Germans whips a bottle off a shelf, along with tin cups. He pours drinks for everybody. It’s that same white lightning they gave us last night. This guy pours me a full cup. I’m liable to get so drunk I’ll hit someone when we start our little firefight. Shutzer comes back with Miller in tow.

  “They’re all worried about the big attack; want to get on with the show right away. Sounds great to me. Miller’s given the OK. They’ll gather their things together and we’ll go to it.

  “One of them was back for supplies this morning and saw lines of weapons carriers and tanks. I can’t tell if they’re bullshitting or not; I just can’t see any kind of attack coming through here, can you?”

  “I don’t know, Stan. I’ll believe anything. The Germans have generals and colonels, the whole shitload of leader types, too. Anything can happen.”

  I give Stan a slug of my schnapps. The Germans are wandering around the room packing; they aren’t taking much. I watch as the noncom slips off his watch and jumps up to hide it on a rafter. I don’t think anybody else sees him do it. Maybe when I come back for my drawings, he’ll be looking for his watch. Everybody trying to save something personal.

  The Germans are lined up by the door. They’re stamping out cigarettes and checking rifles. Each of them opens one of the little leather cartridge holders they wear the way we wear ammo belts. All the German equipment is worn, brown showing through fake black leather, square edges rubbed down round and smooth.

  By the quick way they get ready, you know these would be tough customers in a real firefight. It scares me watching how they go about it: no nonsense; quietly slipping cartridges in their rifles. The noncom slings his Schmeisser under his arm and takes out his Luger. He pulls back the bolt to check his load. He looks over at Shutzer and Miller, nods his head.

  Shutzer gives me the details.

  “Here’s how it’ll go, Won’t. They’re going to line up on the open space in front of the lodge. Miller and I will stay here with them. You go back up to the squad on the hill. When he gives the signal, we all start firing. Maybe have everybody fire off about two clips; that should be enough. Then the squad’ll come down, we meet on the road and take them in. That’s when we disarm them. The noncom wanted to hide his Schmeisser but we said no deal. What the hell can he want with a gun like that after the war? It’s not exactly a gun to hunt rabbits.

  “He and I will put up our arms to stop the shooting and that’s all there is to it. Seems OK to me.”

  “Sounds fine, Stan. I’ll scoot back uphill to brief Mundy and Gordon. You and Bud play it close, now.”

  “Nothing to worry about; it’s in the bag. This might be the high point of my war.”

  I go out past all the Germans. They have their weapons at the ready and it’s almost like being the groom at a military wedding. The outside is silvery, the moon bright; clouds racing past in a fast moving sky. I think the moon’s about one phase before full and it’s lighter outside than in the lodge. I struggle uphill and pass the guard in the outpost coming down. I wonder how they signaled him? Maybe there’s a phone in his hole. I peer in as I go by but don’t see anything. It’s a good hole, with a fire step. Huge roots on the sides look as if they’ve been hacked through with a bayonet.

  I work my way up to Gordon and Mundy. I grab hold of Mundy’s wrist and check the time. The moon just then is clear of clouds and Father’s watch hands are straight up, midnight. The snow on the hill across from us glistens with refracted moonlight, tiny flashes of blue, violet, crimson in glaring moonlight whiteness against the dark. I send Mundy off right, above the road to our château. I stay in the middle; Gordon goes lower and off left twenty or thirty yards. I can see everything, including both of them. We wait; it’s absolutely silent.

  I’m feeling unreasonably calm when they walk out from the lodge. Shutzer and the noncom come first. The noncom lines his men in an evenly spaced line. Miller stands behind the noncom and Shutzer. The three of them are on the edge of the clearing with their ba
cks to us up on the hill.

  Shutzer looks up to see if we’re all ready. I wave my arm. Shutzer and the German put their arms over their heads. The German soldiers lift rifles to shoulders and point at the sky. I swing my rifle into position aiming out over the lodge. Gordon and Mundy’ve done the same thing. They don’t look at me; they’ve got their eyes on Shutzer.

  Then Shutzer and the German bring their arms down. The Germans fire simultaneously, almost like a salute at a military funeral. First the military marriage, now the funeral. I fire off a clip, one at a time, trying to space them unevenly. Mundy and Gordon are doing the same. The Germans are reloading. At least we’ve found one thing we do better than they do: running a fake firefight.

  The next round, the Germans fire more irregularly, as they individually shove new cartridges into the chamber and fire. It begins to sound like a real battle.

  I’m pushing in my second clip when one of the Germans goes down! Honest to Christ, the way things’ve been going, my first thought is he’s faking it, pretending, the way kids do playing cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers. But then I see this is for real: he’s not playing; he’s kicking his feet, rolling, and blood’s spurting from his neck! I scream at Gordon and Mundy to hold their fire. Shutzer has both his hands up. All firing stops and it’s quiet for two seconds. Then there’s another single shot; another German goes down, buckles and pitches face forward.

  I see Mundy breaking fast off our hill and down to the road. He’s farthest forward and is yelling as he runs. He’s holding his rifle over his head; running along the road, waving his arms, yelling.

  “Wilkins! Mother! Stop it, for Chrissake, hold your fire!”

  There’s another shot. Mundy drops on the road. This time it’s a Luger. The noncom turns and shoots Shutzer, who still has his rifle slung. Miller drops to his knees and fires; the noncom bucks, spins and falls. There’s a few seconds’ silence after that. Then the other Germans begin firing into the hill at us. There’s nothing else to do. I pull off all seven shots in the clip, with Gordon firing away beside me. Miller’s flat on the ground. Shutzer sits up once, then stretches out and rolls over. With our position and semi-automatic rifles, the Germans don’t have a chance. In ten seconds they’re all down; only one’s moving. He’d tried to run uphill toward the latrine. He’s dropped his rifle, but now he’s been hit and is screaming on the side of the hill.