Reluctant Warriors (41 page)

“Besides, afterward, without further ado, the other scouts came clean in front of
twenty-five or so witnesses and said that they just made up their reports, which
unfortunately we bought.” By this time, the colonel and captain had calmed down.
“Captain, if you would not mind stepping out for a moment.”

As Redding left, Karns leaned toward Pope and lowered his voice.

“Look, Mort, I will spill the whole plate. I am sure you have figured out by now
that I am here officially. The general is concerned enough to send me down here.
I won't mince words.”

He looked Pope directly in the eyes.

“If you fail to attack tomorrow at 0600, or fail to take Heinzeldorf, I have orders
to relieve you of this command, and you will be on the next plane stateside. We know
you have a good record. No one, and I mean this sincerely,
no one
wants you relieved.
But you must know that Bradley and Ike are behind this bloodbath one hundred percent.
It's some stupid game of Ike's to convince the British up north that we can fight.
They have put a lot of pressure on the general and all of the division commanders.”

He shook his head in disgust. “They are going to use you up, and if you cannot do
the job, they are going to put me in here and use me up too. I
can tell you, the
last thing I want personally is to come back to a regimental command.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Pope said, looking at the ground and nodding slowly.

“Besides that one, the general wants you to give battlefield promotions to qualified
noncoms, sergeants.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. We hear that the supply of officers is not too strong for the next two months.
You are going to have to make some of your own. That's the story. All right,” Karns
said, his tone turning half bored. “I'll just sit over here and spy. You won't even
see me.”

“Thanks for the lowdown,” Pope said.

Karns nodded, took up his overcoat, and went to sit in the corner.

Pope turned and yelled for his clerk, Sergeant Justin Romero, to get everyone else
back in the tent. As Wiley came back in, Pope motioned for him to come back to the
map table. “Sergeant Wiley.”

“Yes, sir!” Wiley wondered if his ordeal before Pope would continue. Or maybe he
was about to be arrested.

“All right, sergeant, tell me again. Use this map.” Pope twisted a map around so
that the dirty and exhausted young man could demonstrate.

“Sir, the Germans are dug in here just below the town.”

“Tiger tanks?”

“No, not that we saw or heard. We saw three Panthers, here, here, and . . . about
here.” He pointed on the map. “Germans are dug in and have Panzerfausts (a bazooka
type weapon) all over the place. They haven't moved anythin' in the last two days
that I can tell.”

“Any eighty-eights?”

“No, not that we saw. Sir, we'd need the six Shermans we lost yesterday, and probably
twenty more tanks, ta blast through there.”

“What about the road you said you came in on?”

“It's a sunken lane really, not on your map, runs here.” Wiley pointed. “But we actually
measured it, and it's wide enough for a tank destroyer.
Here's where we picked it
up. It's sunken about two feet, steep sides. Then it goes north toward the town.
Right here in the middle of town, it runs inta the main road. The left goes north
somewhere, as it shows here, while the right goes down ta the back of the position
we've been attacking. As it leaves town, it goes sunken again. The sides are two,
three feet high a some kinda rock like flagstone that's stacked up. A tank can't
get outta it once it gets down in there. If we start our tank destroyer on the sunken
road on our left, advance inta town and get inta the sunken road, even if it gets
blasted, they'd be trapped. But you'll have ta have that tank destroyer with the
seventy-six-millimeter cannon. You know a seventy-five on a Sherman doesn't have
the velocity to handle a Panther.”

“Redding, we only have that one tank destroyer left?” the colonel asked.

“Yes, sir.”

The colonel's mind was racing. He talked quietly, every officer in the tent knowing
that his thoughts would become orders soon enough.

“We'd need several bazookas and two fifty-caliber machine guns, just in case they
have some half-tracks stashed somewhere that Wiley didn't see. Let's send in A Company
on Wiley's road, with the weapons platoon on the point and the other two platoons
coming behind it. They'll come through town and attack the enemy position from behind
as the other two companies attack up the main road as a diversion. I hope to hell
you're right, soldier. That leaves us very weak up front if they attack with those
tanks.”

“May I say somethin', sir?” Wiley asked.

The colonel thought for a minute and then turned Wiley's way. “Go ahead.”

“They're thin, sir.” The scout shook his head. “There were no guards hardly anywhere.
I doubt from what we saw that they got enough men or supplies ta resist long. If
we block that sunken road, I think they'll give up.”

The colonel thought for a full minute, weighing his options. Finally, he said, “We
have no choice. All right!” He looked at Redding. “Captain, I want you to be in command.”

“Yes, sir!”

Completely calm now, Pope nodded toward Wiley. “Son, I want you to lead this. If
you pull this off and live through it, I will see you to a battlefield commission,
tomorrow.”

“I thank the colonel,” Wiley said, as he saluted.

There were a few hours to rest before the attack began. As he sat against a tree,
huddled in his poncho, Wiley wondered if he could still be arrested and about Dietrich
and Torgeson. His clothes itched badly. He could not recall how long they had been
on his body. Was it months or just weeks? He had a strange thought, wondering if
the enemy could
smell
him.

That's stupid
, he thought. But he really wasn't sure it was stupid at all. He had
seen inside many a German home in the last few weeks and knew that they had a higher
standard of living than he'd seen in the States. They were educated and cultured,
just as he wished to be. He hated them for what they had and what they had done to
his friends. In twenty minutes, in complete exhaustion, he finally went to sleep.

He was awakened by someone tapping his shoulder. He looked up. It was Sergeant Bracey.

“All right, Chip, captain says it's time.”

“Okay. I was just thinkin' about the last two attacks. I hope this one's better.”

Bracey turned away. “I learned a long time ago, Chip, that thinking about this war
is just a really bad idea.”

“Okay, Sarge, I know you're right.” Wiley watched him walk away.

In about twenty minutes, he was on the sunken road for the third night in a row.
The artillery barrage commenced right on time, 0500. Wiley could see the shells flying
right into the enemy position, perhaps nine hundred yards off to the right.

Unlike the previous nights, he walked alone directly down the middle of the dirt
road, defying anyone to shoot at him. It was foolhardy, since anyone
could have put
a bullet in him, and he was the only person left who knew the enemy position. But
he was bone-tired, and tired men don't make very good choices.

The weapons platoon and the tank destroyer were about one hundred yards behind him.
The enemy appeared as lax as before, evidently so thin as to not even have anyone
close enough to hear the tank destroyer.

The bright winter moon occasionally peeked through the clouds, just as it had the
night before. Soon Wiley came up to the cobblestones at the edge of the town. There
wasn't a single light on anywhere. But, as always, he was wary of a trap, so he waited.

The lead elements of the platoon came up, led by Sergeant Larry Betters. Nothing
happened. Wiley felt relieved that he'd told the colonel the enemy was so thin as
to not even place sentries on the road.

With the tank going ahead, he took two squads and went down the parallel street.
They passed the doorway where Dietrich had been shot. Wiley silently lamented that
he had not shot the boy.

I'd be glad ta shoot him the next time
. It was a pointless thing to think, hoping
Dietrich was alive in some German hospital. They passed the same doorways, saw the
same boot on the stoop of the same house, the same pots that might hold flowers again
in the spring. Wiley wondered if he would still be alive in the spring.

After what seemed a long time, they came to the statue, some guy on a horse. The
road ended there, and they turned right toward the back of the enemy position and
their own lines. Wiley began to feel confident that the trap would work, strung on
the enemy and not on them. Just a few more yards, and they could spring their trap
and the Germans would be in the bag.

Then an ugly thought came into his head.
I never saw the far side of the German position,
the American right. Maybe they can retreat there.

Wiley settled for what seemed likely. “Well, at least we'll take the town.”

As they edged out the other side of the town, Wiley turned to Betters. “Larry, send
your point men ahead. We're close enough ta the position.”

“Okay, Chip.”

Betters motioned to his guys, and they went forward. In another couple
of minutes,
Wiley heard rifle fire. At the same moment, someone touched him on the arm. He turned
to see Captain Redding.

“What's up, Chip?”

“Sir, we need to stop the barrage! It hides the sound of the tank destroyer real
good, but we're close ta comin' in contact with it. Betters and his men are ahead
and came in contact with the Germans.”

They both heard the rifle fire continue.

“Yes, I've done that.”

They could see fairly well by this time, with all of the fires their artillery had
started up.

“Captain! See that wall over there, forty yards out? What about the tank destroyer
behind that? It won't be long before one a those Panthers comes lumberin' up this
road. That seventy-six right there'll fix those guys real good.”

“If we leave the TD on the road,” Redding argued, “even if they blow it up, they're
trapped.”

“Well, sir, we haven't seen their left flank. If we put the TD over there, maybe
it can cover that too.”

“Okay. That's good.” Redding turned to the TD commander behind him. “Sergeant Pettibone,
get your tank behind that stone wall over there as fast as you can. You know what
to do.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, saluting.

“Lieutenant?” Lieutenant Gummerson was standing behind Redding. “Bill, you take the
part of the field on both sides of this road. Get four bazooka men and spread them
out. Take one of the fifties. See that house there by the road?” He pointed.

“Yes, sir,” Gummerson replied.

“That second floor window on this corner looks like it'll give you a good field of
fire. Get a thousand rounds up there. I want Chip here in the middle near the TD,
and I'll handle the other flank.”

“Yes, sir!” Wiley and Gummerson said at the same time.

By 0600, as the two companies began their attack up the main road on the front of
the German line, the TD had backed up the road, into the town, and come over behind
the stone wall. It was just in time. The ground began
to shake slightly as one of
the Panthers began to grind up the hill from somewhere below.

The dawn's light became better with every passing second. It was becoming more and
more obvious that putting the tank behind the stone wall was a good idea. It commanded
the sunken road and a great area below of about three hundred yards' width. Unseen,
the TD held its fire as the much greater German weapon came slowly up, perpendicular
to its cannon. Only forty yards off, the seventy-six-millimeter sounded. The Panther
stopped and soon caught fire. Wiley nearly cheered.