by Mark Frost
Eisenhower, Bradley, and four staff officers were in the Clemenceau Ballroom of the Trianon Palace at Versailles, which they used as their tactical map room. They were halfway through a relaxed meeting about how to speed up training and delivery of replacement soldiers from the States. Eisenhower drank coffee, chain-smoked, popped a handful of aspirin, and ate a big lunch, trying to negotiate away his headache from the morning’s champagne before the evening’s Scotch. He was already on medication for high blood pressure and stress. His left knee, sprained two months earlier and slow to recover, ached with the arrival of an early winter cold front. Outside, heading into the shortest days of the year, the sky was already beginning to darken.
The meeting was interrupted by the arrival of a brigadier general, deputy to Eisenhower’s chief intelligence officer, British Brigadier General Kenneth Strong. The man appeared grim and called Strong out of the room. Eisenhower saw the same look on Strong’s face when he returned, and asked him to share what he’d learned. Strong moved to one of the large maps that adorned the walls.
“We’re getting fragmented reports that the enemy counter attacked this morning across a broad front,” said Strong. “Here, in the Ardennes, First Army sector, all the way down into Luxembourg.”
Eisenhower looked to Bradley, whose headquarters were in Luxembourg City. “What do you know about this?”
“I was in Spa with General Hodges yesterday, but I didn’t see any of this myself,” said Bradley.
“Didn’t you hear anything, Brad?”
“Some early reports came in as we were leaving. My first thought was it’s just a spoiling attack. That’s what I still think. They’re trying to disrupt our move across the Rhine.”
Eisenhower stood up to join them at the map and pointed at the Losheim Gap. They called this sector the “Ghost Front,” for it had seen no heavy action since Hitler’s panzer blitz to Paris four years earlier. Eisenhower also knew that this same sleepy seven-mile corridor had served as the fast lane for Germany’s first-strike invasions of France in 1914 and 1870. Concentrating their effective forces to the north and south after pushing the Germans out of France, the Allies had rolled the dice that in winter the harsh terrain and broken roads of the thinly held Ardennes offered no strategic advantage or tactical temptation to the reeling Nazi army.
“We’re spread pretty thin in here, aren’t we, Brad?”
“Four divisions.”
“Fairly green, aren’t they?”
“Two of them are replacements. The others we’ve pulled off the line after heavy action.”
“So it’s half nursery, half old folks’ home.”
“That’s the risk we’ve taken.”
“How many divisions have they committed; do we have a count?”
“Not yet,” said Strong. “But Jerry’s put together a steady buildup on the other side of the Siegfried, as many as ten divisions already—”
“And intelligence always indicated that was purely defensive, in anticipation of our moving against them,” said Bradley, slightly irritated.
“Well, it isn’t defensive now.”
“This has to be a local attack, to distract us from Patton’s move into the Rhine.”
They had all been stunned by the news, but Eisenhower was the first to recover. His headache was gone, swept away by alarm and clarity. “This is our weakest point. Why would they hit our weakest point in force?”
“I don’t know the answer,” admitted Bradley. “He’s not after a terrain objective. That ground doesn’t mean anything.”
“This is no spoiling attack. Not with those kind of numbers.”
“Then what kind of attack is it?” asked Bradley.
“I don’t know yet, Brad, but we’re not going to wait to find out. First Army doesn’t have any reserve; they’ve caught us with our pants down.”
“I’m sure Hodges would’ve let us know by now—”
“Maybe he can’t. Mobilize 7th Armored out of Holland, get them moving toward Spa by morning. And I want three more divisions on stand-by to support this sector until we get it sorted out,” said Eisenhower. “What’s available to us?”
“We’ve got the 82nd and 101st bivouacked near Reims,” said Strong.
“They’re still being refitted,” said Bradley.
“Cancel all leaves, get ’em back in camp and ready to move in twenty-four hours,” said Eisenhower. “Patton’ll have to give us one of his for the third.”
“That’s going to hurt his move across the Saar,” said Bradley. “George isn’t going to like it.”
“George isn’t running this damn war,” said Eisenhower.
They wouldn’t learn until the following day that General Courtney Hodges, commander of First Army, headquartered in Spa, had been trying since early morning to alert Allied headquarters in Versailles that German forces were rolling over his forward positions.
His phone lines had all been cut.
The foul weather hovering over the Ardennes worsened during the night. Cold winds pushed through a front with heavy cloud cover that discharged sleet storms and sporadic snow. Across the Channel, all of England remained socked in as well, grounding Allied fighters and bombers that might have blunted the initial German advance. C-47 transports were unable to take off from British bases, denying reinforcements and fresh supplies to the troops under siege throughout the expanding front.
By dawn the disjointed communications received by Supreme Allied Command had coalesced into an alarming realization that the weakest sector in their front line was under assault from thirty-six divisions, over half a million men, the largest German offensive of the entire war.
13
The Ardennes
DECEMBER 16, 10:00 P.M.
Bernie powered the jeep along a logging road into the cover of a nearby forest. Hearing more German troops headed their way, he pulled off the road and the six young soldiers of the 99th Infantry covered the jeep with evergreen branches downed by an artillery barrage. Bernie, Von Leinsdorf, and the Americans waited in silence as the forward line of German infantry and scout cars swept past them, visible twenty yards away on the edge of the woods. Von Leinsdorf had to order the agitated engineers to stay down and keep silent. Those were battle-ready German veterans; if these green kids drew fire, they were all dead. Once the Germans passed—Von Leinsdorf identified them as a reconnaissance company—they climbed back on the jeep and cautiously drove deeper into the woods to the east.
An hour after dark they came across an abandoned woodcutter’s cabin. Bernie parked the jeep in a small shed out back and shut the doors. Inside, they pulled the curtains to black out the one-room cabin, lit a kerosene lamp, and settled in for the night. Bernie helped tend the injured GIs with the jeep’s med kit. The crump of artillery, rockets flying overhead, and the crackle of small arms continued through the night. The riflemen shared their K rations, eaten cold. Von Leinsdorf learned as much as he could from the Americans about their company and its movements during the last day. It was clear the German attack had taken the Allies completely by surprise.
Von Leinsdorf assigned a sentry rotation for the platoon, to get them through what remained of the night. The first man stood his post at the door while the rest bunked down around the room. Von Leinsdorf asked the platoon sergeant for a look at their maps, which he spread out on the room’s crude table. Von Leinsdorf held the lamp close and tried to pinpoint their position.
One of the American kids, a baby-faced private, crawled over next to Bernie and offered him a smoke, then lit it for him, cupping his hand to hide the flame.
“You’re from New York, ain’tcha?” the kid asked.
“Yeah.”
“Thought so. Heard it in your voice. Me too. Charlie Decker.”
“Jimmy Tenella,” said Bernie.
“Pleased to meetcha, Jimmy. I’m from the Bronx, Grand Concourse up near Van Cortlandt Park?”
“Yankees fan?”
“Only since birth.”
“I�
�m from Brooklyn.”
“Dem bums. Too bad for you.” They shook hands awkwardly. “So how long you been over here, Jimmy?”
“Too long,” said Bernie. He noticed Von Leinsdorf watching them from across the room.
“You in the first wave? Since D-day, huh?”
“Feels like longer.”
“Wow. We been here three weeks. Fresh off the banana boat,” said Charlie, trying to sound hardened and indifferent. “I graduated high school six months ago. I never been anywhere before.”
“You’re someplace now.”
“You guys know how to handle yourselves. You’ve seen the hellfire and brimstone, am I right?”
Bernie looked at him. “I’ve seen a few things.”
“You probably went through basic, too. They hardly gave us any training. Then they stick us out here, saying we won’t even see any action? I don’t even have the right socks.”
Charlie smiled and slowly shook his head. With his unlined face and wide eyes, he seemed eerily matter-of-fact about their predicament. Bernie felt an urgent impulse to get away from him.
“You got a girl back home, Jimmy?”
“No, not really. You?”
“Ann Marie Possler. Real sweet kid. I got a letter from her the other day. Finally wrote her back last night.” He took an envelope out of his jacket, smiling as he looked at it. “She’s in Queens. I’d like you to get this to her.”
“Just keep your head down, you’ll be okay.”
“I’m going to die today.”
Bernie didn’t know what to say, but the hollow look on Charlie’s face put a chill through him. Maybe he knows. Maybe he’s right.
“See, a guy like Bobby Dugan”—Charlie pointed at the wounded soldier across the room—“he catches some shrapnel today, falls all to pieces? He’s gonna grow old and die in bed.” He nodded at two more of his men. “Rodney and Patchett. They’re not gonna see home again either.”
“Come on, knock it off, how could you know that?”
“I’ve heard the words of the Prophet. Even a heart of stone can be turned into a heart of flesh, if you don’t reject the teaching. The new covenant will be unbreakable. It will be written on the heart. Redemption is at hand.”
Charlie held the envelope out to him. Bernie saw the madness in his eyes.
“Say but the word, cleanse your soul of sin, and you shall be healed, and you shall have new life,” said Charlie, and then without changing expression: “Just make sure this gets into the mail for me, okay?”
“Sure thing, Charlie.” Bernie took the letter and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You got a Bible, Jimmy?”
“Not on me.”
“I’d like you to have mine. Here, take it.”
“Why don’t you hang on to it.”
“You mail the letter,” said Charlie, lying back down on his bedroll. “I got a good feeling about you.”
Bernie walked away from him and stood by the door, trying to shake the kid’s voice out of his head. When Von Leinsdorf finished at the table, he joined Bernie outside for a smoke. The air was dead still, a frozen pool. They moved out of earshot from the cabin. A thick fog crept in and snow fell silently around them.
“Have you talked to these guys?” whispered Bernie. “At least one of ’em’s a fucking lunatic.”
Von Leinsdorf looked at his watch. “We have to be somewhere in a few hours.”
“Where, for what?”
“To pick up something we need.”
“Is this about the bridge, or the other thing?”
Von Leinsdorf glared at him. “The other thing. And they’re not coming with us.”
“Leave ’em here. Tell ’em we’re going for help—”
“I’m not asking for suggestions.” Von Leinsdorf loaded a fresh clip into his pistol.
“So wave down one of our patrols, identify ourselves—we’ve got signals for that, right? Let ’em surrender.”
Von Leinsdorf chambered a round. “You’re getting sentimental on me, Brooklyn.”
“Look, they don’t have any idea who we are or what we’re doing. What can they say that could give us any trouble? You don’t have to kill them.”
“If you’re not willing to help, I’ll do it myself.”
They heard the cabin door swing open behind them. One of the riflemen walked outside to take a piss. Von Leinsdorf raised the gun on instinct. The man in his sights wasn’t looking their way and gave no indication that he knew they were there. Bernie stepped between Von Leinsdorf and the target.
“I need to know what the fuck we’re doing here,” whispered Bernie. “What are we picking up?”
“Security passes. From the Abwehr.”
Bernie’s heart jumped at the mention of the German secret intelligence organization. “Why didn’t they give ’em to us before we left?”
“They were supposed to be with that fat woman the night we came across. They’ll be there now.”
“What the fuck do we need ’em for?”
“I can’t tell you any more,” said Von Leinsdorf. “Are you going to help or wait out here?”
“We can’t shoot ’em. What if there’s a patrol in the area?”
Von Leinsdorf answered by taking the silencer out and screwing it on the pistol.
Bernie saw the rifleman go back inside. “At least let ’em fall asleep first. It’ll be easier then.”
“Not if there’s two of us.” Von Leinsdorf saw the look on his face and relented. “All right. We’ll wait till they’re asleep.”
Bernie followed him back inside. He told the soldier at the window to catch some rest, that he’d take the last watch. The American joined his friends on the floor. Three were already sleeping; the other two were playing cards by the light of the lantern. Bernie looked at Von Leinsdorf. Both men lit cigarettes and waited.
As snow accumulated outside, the fog reduced their field of vision to less than twenty yards, a white void surrounding the cottage. The first hint of dawn was in the sky before the soldiers finally turned off the lamp and lay down. Von Leinsdorf drew his pistol and signaled Bernie. Bernie picked up a rifle sitting by the door and looked down at Charlie Decker lying asleep at his feet.
You could shoot Von Leinsdorf instead, he thought.
No. Not without knowing what his mission was first. But he couldn’t shoot these GIs either.
Von Leinsdorf pointed his pistol at the first man’s head. Bernie heard something outside and waved his hand to stop him. He cracked open the window and gestured Von Leinsdorf over.
The faint sputter of motorized diesels. Moments later, they both heard faint shouts coming toward them in the distance. Charlie Decker woke when he heard the voices and saw Bernie and Von Leinsdorf at the window.
“Who is it?” asked Charlie. “Who’s out there?”
Von Leinsdorf gestured urgently for quiet. They waited. More shouts, closer, then the squeak of footsteps running in the snow outside. A few isolated gunshots, then bursts of automatic fire. The rest of the soldiers woke in the room behind them. Then came the unmistakable grinding of heavy gears. Bernie recognized the distinctive rumble; German tanks were moving their way.
“They’re ours,” said Bernie to Von Leinsdorf, before he could censor himself.
Thinking he meant Americans, Charlie Decker threw open the front door and ran outside before Bernie could stop him.
“Hey! Hey, guys! Hey, we’re Americans! We’re over here!”
From somewhere in the fog a stream of .50 bullets chunked across the front of the cabin, cutting down Charlie Decker at the door, ripping open his chest. He fell back through the doorway, dead before he hit the floor at Bernie’s feet. Everyone inside scrambled for cover. Bernie looked down at Decker, a faint smile on the kid’s face, as his eyes glassed over.
Moments later, GIs slashed out of the fog right in front of the cabin, a platoon in headlong retreat, most without weapons, running for their lives. A tank shell hit the cottage
with a massive, dull thud, but didn’t detonate, a hissing dud, the tip of its nose poking out between logs. At the sight of it, two of the riflemen broke out the back door, out of their heads with fear. Heavier gunfire erupted, bullets piercing the wattled walls of the building. Screams issued from behind the building.
Von Leinsdorf and Bernie dove to the floor as more bullets whistled overhead. The wounded American kid crawled against the rear wall and began screaming for his mother as more rounds kicked through the room.
Bernie crawled to the open door and pushed it almost shut. A ghostly line of German paratroopers in white parkas and winter camouflage emerged from the fog, submachine guns firing. From behind them, the muzzle of a white panzer appeared, and then, moments later, the hulking body of the tank, painted a ghostly white, drove into the clearing. Von Leinsdorf crawled over to Bernie.
“I told you we should have fucking killed them,” he said in Bernie’s ear.
The panzer rolled toward the cottage as paratroopers trotted past the building, picking off survivors running ahead of them. Von Leinsdorf crawled to the wounded American boy and held a hand over his mouth. Pressed against the base of the wall, the last two riflemen looked to Von Leinsdorf for orders, close to cracking, ready to bolt like the others. He gestured at them to stay put.
Bernie saw the parka of a German soldier who was peering in through the cottage window. He pressed his face forward trying to see through the crude glass and his breath condensed on the pane. The Americans huddled directly under the window below him, unseen, terrified. Von Leinsdorf kept his hand clamped over the wounded GI’s mouth, pulled his knife, and held it to his throat. A moment later the German soldier moved away. Bernie raised onto his knees to peer out the same window. What he saw coming drove him to dive down away from the wall.
