by Dean Hughes
And of course, Alex felt that way too. There was a tendency at this point not to want new friends. Replacements hadn’t learned the tricks of surviving, and no one wanted to be close to someone who was only going to get himself killed.
“Does anyone know what’s happening up ahead?” Duncan asked. “I’ve never heard so much shelling.”
“The only thing I know,” Alex said, “is that First Battalion took it on the chin last night. They’re falling back now, going into reserve. Someone told me they’ve lost about a third of their men already, and no one is moving up to take their place. We’re looking right down on the front line–there in Foy, where the Third Battalion is. I have no idea why the Germans haven’t hit us here yet. They seem to be zeroed in on both sides of us.”
“They’ll be sending stuff in here before long,” Duncan said. He spat on the ground and cursed.
Alex had no doubt Duncan was right. “Well, anyway, get that hole the way you want it, and then help me make sure these other guys have some decent cover.”
“I ain’t giving nobody our canvas,” Duncan said. He reached up suddenly and gave Alex a push on the knee. In his crouched position, Alex fell backward and landed on his backside. But he jumped up quickly and kicked a little dirt in Duncan’s foxhole–which brought a loud protest–and walked away.
After Alex had checked with all the men, he went back to his own foxhole and helped Howie get it finished. Howie had cut some branches for cover. That helped keep a little warmth in, but they both found themselves painfully cold that night. Alex slept a little more than the night before, simply because he was so tired, but he was awake and miserable much of the time. Daytime was always easier, when he could think like a soldier, keep himself busy. But at night his mind wanted to cross the Channel, envision what he had missed by losing his pass. He tried not to do that, fought the thoughts, but the images still came.
Alex and Howie took a two-hour turn at the outpost, which was a scary experience, but even worse were the hours when the new guys were out there. Buckley and Ling were teamed up, and that worried Alex. It was easy to get nervous and make a mistake–shoot your own men as they approached to take the watch or miss movements by the Germans.
As the cold intensified toward morning, Alex began shivering so uncontrollably that he felt as though he were convulsing. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had no other clothes, and a fire would signal to the Germans the position of the troops–and attract artillery fire.
“Are you awake?” Howie asked.
“Sure.”
“I’ve never been so cold in my life.”
“I know,” Alex said. “But we should get some winter gear soon–maybe today.”
“I need to get out of here and just move around. That would warm me up more than anything.”
“You can’t start walking around. One of our own guys might blow your head off.”
“Then what can we do?”
“We’ll just wait it out. Once it gets light, we’ll try to get hold of some more blankets or clothes or something.”
“I’m not sure if my feet are froze or not. I can’t feel ’em anymore.” Alex could hear in his voice how discouraged he was becoming again.
“We’ll have to get our shoes off today and rub our feet–for circulation. We could all get frostbitten if we’re not careful.”
“Yeah, that’s just what I need, to take my shoes off.” Howie laughed, and Alex knew that was his way of showing Alex that he was all right, that he was going to work to keep his spirits up.
It seemed as though the sun would never rise, the night lasting forever this time of year. Alex heard other men stirring eventually, complaining. As the sun began to lighten the clouds a little, he moved out among the foxholes. The men in his squad were eating K rations and asking whether they couldn’t build a small fire. He had to tell them no and had to tell them, as he had told Howie, that he would do what he could that day to find some relief before night came again.
But there was no relief–no supplies–and the day never warmed much. It was damp and misty, with low clouds hanging in the valleys. The sound of battle was all about them, northward beyond Foy, and on both sides. The men knew they were lucky not to be in the heat of battle, but the heat of anything sounded good compared to the overpowering cold.
In the afternoon, Lieutenant Wells called the officers and NCOs back to a headquarters tent that was set up in a clearing on the south side of the woods. When Alex got there, he saw his friend Captain Summers, who looked as confident as ever. Summers told the men, “We were able to get a few medical supplies this morning but not enough. And there’s nothing available in the way of underwear or blankets or galoshes. Make sure the men take care of their feet.”
“What’s going on?” one of the sergeants asked. “Why can’t headquarters get supplies in here?”
“The Germans have cut off the road we came in on. We’re encircled. There may be some kind of a supply drop, sooner or later, but not with this cloud cover.”
“We’re surrounded?”
“Yeah. I’m afraid so.”
“How bad is it?” Alex asked. “Can’t someone break through?”
“The word is, we’re outnumbered something like ten or twelve to one. But we’ve got position, and we’re getting dug in. We have an artillery unit to help us, too, so we’re better off than usual–for paratroopers.” Summers laughed. “When I sent Harper into town for that medicine, some supply officer told him, ‘The Krauts have us surrounded, the poor suckers. We’ve got ’em right where we want ’em.’”
But no one else laughed, and Alex knew Summers was trying to put a good face on things. The 101st did have some artillery help, but the supply of ammunition was inadequate, and it was hard to know how much food headquarters had, beyond what the men had carried in. In the long run, the lack of clothes and supplies might turn out to be as big an enemy as the Germans.
“This isn’t as bad as it looks,” Summers said, obviously sensing what the men were thinking. “The Germans are out there moving around. They make better targets than we do. All we have to do for now is hold our position and not take any chances. The Krauts are cold too, and many of them have been at this for lots of years. The rest are young kids and old men. I’m not so sure their commitment to this thing runs very deep.”
But Alex wasn’t buying that. The Germans had supposedly been on the run in Holland, and yet they had turned and fought with fury.
Chapter 28
Alex walked back to his squad. He had to tell the men that no supplies would come that day, that everyone should improve their foxholes and get by the best they could. He heard lots of complaints, of course, but he tried not to join in. He almost wished the action would pick up in their sector, just to take the men’s attention off their own misery.
But the daylight passed away quickly, and the long night began again. Alex and Howie huddled together. They had stacked more pine boughs over their foxhole, but that didn’t seem to help. Alex shivered until his muscles ached, and Howie, who had become so thin, was worse. Alex could tell from the way he was panting at times, making little grunting sounds, that he was at his limit. But he didn’t complain, didn’t speak at all.
Alex finally said, “Are you all right?”
Howie hesitated, then said, quickly and simply, “I’ll make it.”
The sun never seemed to rise that morning. Eventually there was enough light, however, to see that thick clouds were hanging over the hills, and then the snow began to fall. It was a fleecy, dry snow–easier to deal with than if it had been wet and soaking–but it kept coming all day. By the time it finally let up, late in the afternoon, a foot had fallen. The valley was beautiful: the little town of Foy, the scattered woodlands, the fields and fences–everything was white and pure and peaceful. Even the sounds of artillery fire were muffled by the snow.
Alex looked out across the scene, wondered how the world could look so lovely at a time like this. He kept stamping hi
s feet and moving back and forth, trying to keep his blood flowing. He moved among his men, reminding them to rub their feet, to keep them dry. The men all carried an extra pair of socks. They had learned in Holland to change every day, and to dry their wet socks inside their shirts, against their bodies. Wet feet were one sure guarantee of misery.
Another night passed with the men sleeping little, dealing with the cold as best they could but miserable and getting more vocal about it all the time.
The next day was warmer, with some sun, and that seemed to help a little. Then, when the men saw American airplanes, saw parachutes, they knew supplies were being dropped, and everyone’s spirits brightened. Late in the day, however, word came that food and ammunition had been dropped but no blankets, no winter gear. That was hard enough to take, but everyone also knew what was coming: the clear skies would mean a colder night.
No one said it, but Alex knew as well as anyone that the surrounded 101st Division was in deep trouble. The supply drop would help. The American troops could come a little closer to matching the artillery fire they were receiving, and certainly the soldiers needed bullets for their rifles. But the Germans were attacking from every direction, with far superior numbers. The 506th Battalion had been lucky so far to be sitting in a quiet sector, but that couldn’t last much longer.
Late that afternoon, Alex watched a German unit with his field glasses–tanks and riflemen–moving along a road. The men were wearing heavy coats and winter boots, all white for camouflage. With that kind of gear, they were certainly getting more sleep, and their morale had to be better. Alex’s men were not breaking down, not yet, but they were suffering, and they were already tired. A few more days like this, and the Germans would stand a good chance of making a breakthrough, somewhere, and then chaos could follow. There was no telling whether that was likely to happen, but one thing was certain: before this was over, a lot of men were going to die.
When night came this time, the temperature dropped quickly. There was nothing for the men to do but huddle together and stay in their foxholes. Late in the night Alex could feel the cold penetrating to the core of his body. He passed beyond shivering and drifted into a numbness, a feeling of warmth that was both relieving and terrifying. Somewhere in his brain was buried the knowledge that this was dangerous, the first stage of hypothermia. Part of him didn’t want to fight it, but an alarm also seemed to go off, and he forced himself awake. Then he awakened Howie, whose breathing had become shallow and raspy. “Howie, Howie,” he shouted in the boy’s ear, and he shook him by the shoulders.
“Don’t,” was all that Howie mumbled.
“Wake up! You’ve got to stay awake–or you’ll freeze to death.”
“Don’t.”
But Howie was waking up. “Listen to me,” Alex said. “I’ve got to go out for a few minutes. I’ve got to wake the men up, make sure they aren’t freezing. While I’m gone, keep your body moving–do some pushups. We’ve got to get our blood moving.”
Alex couldn’t see Howie’s face. But he could hear him breathing better. And finally he said, “Okay.”
“Are you going to do some pushups?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. I’ll be right back.”
“Won’t they shoot you out there?”
“I’ll warn them I’m coming. I’ve got to do it, or someone might freeze.”
Alex was surprised at how unwilling his body was to get going. The stiffness had rendered his limbs almost useless. It was all he could do to pull himself from the foxhole, but he struggled out into the snow, onto his chest, and got himself up. Then he moved about, waking the men, making sure they were still alive. Everyone was in bad shape, but they were all able to answer him. He told them to move around as much as they could but to stay in their holes. Then he went back to his own.
“Howie, I’m coming in,” he said, and he dropped in at the end of the rectangular hole. “How’re you doing?”
“I did some pushups.” He sounded like a little boy telling his dad that yes, he had done the chores. Alex heard the emotion that was so close to breaking into tears, but he also knew that Howie was hanging in there, making an effort.
“Let’s take turns doing exercises. We’ve got a few hours until sunup, but we’ll make it.”
“Okay.”
Alex had Howie lie on his side and leave as much room as he could, and then Alex did pushups. When he was finished, he said, “I only did twenty-one. That’s all this poor old body could manage. See if you can do more.”
And Howie, so lean and yet strong, did do more. He even bragged about it, which was a good sign.
After the pushups, the two lay next to each other. “We’ll do some more in a minute,” Alex said. “I feel a lot better. Don’t you?”
“Yeah. Some.”
“What would you be doing if you were home right now?” Alex asked. He knew he was taking a chance. He didn’t want to make the poor kid homesick, but he did want to remind him of the things that were worth living for.
“What day is it?”
“I’m not sure. We got trucked up here on Monday, and that was the eighteenth. How many nights have we been dug in?”
“This is the fourth night.”
“Okay. So that means it’s Friday, the twenty-third. That’s Joseph Smith’s birthday. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.”
“Nope. But I do know who Joseph Smith is. I did learn that much about your church.”
“So what would you be doing today, back in Boise?”
“Just working somewhere. When construction shuts down in the fall, I always found some kind of work inside somewhere.”
“What about Christmas? Would you have all your shopping done?”
Howie let out a little gust of breath, maybe a laugh. “Prob’ly not. I’d usually buy something for my little brother, but I almost always left it until the last minute.”
“Didn’t you get anything for your mother or your sisters?”
“Naw.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. My family never went in much for all
that. They’re getting a little more that way, but during the Depression, when I was growing up, we hardly got anything. And you know, my sisters are married. I don’t know why I didn’t get anything for my mom.”
“Next year you will. We might all be home by then.”
“I think I will do that.” Then, after a few seconds, he asked, “Do you really think we’ll be home by then?”
“I think the war in Europe will be over by then. I don’t know about Japan.” But now Alex realized he’d taken the conversation in the wrong direction. Neither one of them needed to think about how many nights in foxholes they might have ahead of them. “What are you going to do when you get back home?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know. Just get a job. I can almost always find a job welding, if nothing else.” The shivering was getting worse, and he was beginning to sound distracted again.
“You want to get married, don’t you?”
“Sure. Sooner or later. But . . . I don’t know.”
“What?”
“We’re all going to get killed, aren’t we?”
“No.”
“Aren’t we in an awful mess?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean we’ll all get killed. We can keep holding out. That’s what us paratroopers do. Isn’t that what they told you at jump school?”
“I didn’t think it would be like this.”
“None of us knew what it would be like,” he said. “There’s no way to be ready for it.”
“I’d hate to have my little brother find out what kind of soldier I’ve turned out to be.”
Alex was suddenly at a loss. There was almost no right thing to say. There was something so innocent and plaintive in Howie’s voice that Alex was tempted to wrap his arms around him, hug him like a little brother, and tell him not to feel bad. But that was the worst thing he could do. “Howie, don’t start that self-pity stu
ff again,” Alex said. “Just get through this night, like the rest of us. And when the shooting starts, pull the trigger. You can’t think about everything. Isn’t that what I keep telling you?”
Howie didn’t answer. He lay still for a time, his breathing a little too loud, as though he were straining to control his emotions, or maybe just dealing with the cold. Finally he did say, “When I was a kid, I went hunting for jackrabbits with my dad.”
“I thought your dad ran out on you.”
“He did. But every now and then he’d show up and want to be my big buddy. So this one time, he wants to show me how to hunt. It took me a long time just to hit a rabbit with a .22. When I did, the thing started flipping around and screaming. I never knew a rabbit could make a noise like that.” He hesitated and breathed hard again. “I was only about ten or eleven, something like that, and we’d always raised rabbits and killed them to eat. I never thought nothing about it. But this ol’ jackrabbit was wild with pain, I guess, and flopping all over the place. So my dad said, ‘Shoot him again. Put him out of his misery.’ But I couldn’t do it. He finally did, but then he looked at me and saw I was crying, and he really lit into me. He told me not to be a bawl baby. It was just a jackrabbit, not worth worrying about. But I never hunted after that. I’m the only kid I knew from up around Boise who never wanted to hunt deer and elk and all that. Part of it was, though, if I did go, I didn’t want to go with my dad.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alex said, but he hardly knew what he meant. And then he did put his arm around Howie.
For a long time they lay like that, until Alex said, “We’d better do some more pushups.”
They each took a turn again, and then they lay still. Alex kept repeating in his mind, like a mantra, “Don’t think. Don’t think. Just get through the rest of this night.” But thoughts of Anna kept working their way past his resistance. The twenty-third was the day he had intended to arrive in London.
He knew he had to get Howie talking again–and occupy his own mind that way. Howie had played baseball when he was growing up, so Alex asked him about that. And then they talked about the major leagues, all the great players who were in the military now: Joe DiMaggio, Bob Feller, Ted Williams, Enos Slaughter, Red Ruffing. After that they did more push-ups, and then they talked about boxing, about Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, and Sugar Ray Robinson. And eventually the sun did start to rise.
