Tanner disagreed. “Don’t you wonder just how many of those farmhouses and haystacks are pillboxes and bunkers in disguise? And how many machine-gun nests could be hidden in a field? Give me a bunch of Boy Scouts with water pistols and I could raise hell with anyone trying to cross. The Krauts didn’t help matters by destroying the only bridge in the area. Even if we do get troops across, it’s going to take a long time to rebuild it. In the meantime, we’d have to use small boats and pontoons. And did you notice that the river is running high and fast? And oh yes, the water coming down from the mountains is very, very cold. And unless I’m wrong, those are chunks of ice floating in it.”
The bridge that had once spanned the Rhine was in ruins. The center span was gone, dumped into the river by German engineers. Germany was so unreachable it might as well be on another planet.
“Answer me a question, oh Professor Tanner,” said Cullen. “Are we in Germany or France?”
“Son, this is land that has been shot, fought over, and pissed on for centuries. It was mainly France up until 1870 when the Germans took it. The French got it back in 1918 and then lost it in 1940. I think it’s safe to say that right now the fair city of Vogelgrun is predominantly French. Any Germans who lived there are either running for their lives or keeping their heads down and maybe learning French. There may be a number of Swiss in the town since the border and the city of Basel are so close. And we do want to keep the Swiss happy.”
Despite all the changes in nationhood, Vogelgrun had been spared much of the devastation of war. Only a few buildings had even been damaged. Some collaborators had been beaten and a few hanged, but there had been no orgy of destruction. Nor did they see more than a couple of cases where women who’d fraternized with the Germans had been punished by having their heads shaved or having “whore” painted on their bare breasts.
If it weren’t for the number of armed American soldiers in the streets, Vogelgrun and the neighboring towns could have been quaint tourist destinations. The American army had been greeted enthusiastically and an entire regiment of the 105th had taken up positions fronting the river. Wine and brandy had flowed freely and young French women and even some older ones had been generous with their bodies. Sergeant Hill happily informed them that he’d gotten laid twice. Tanner hadn’t yet been so fortunate. Sometimes he wished he’d kept in touch with his ex-girlfriend back in the States. At least he’d have someone to write to and get letters from. But that relationship had just faded away.
“I just want to keep General Evans happy,” Cullen said as he squinted through his own binoculars. “He wants to cross here and we’re supposed to find boats while he scrounges up a pontoon bridge. Better, he should find a whole lot of pontoons since they have an annoying habit of getting smashed by enemy artillery. I know I don’t see any enemy at all, but you know they are hiding out there and watching us.”
They were distracted by a buzzing sound. They looked to the west and saw a small plane, the army’s version of a Piper Cub, flying low over the far side of the river.
“I wonder whose mad idea this is?” said Tanner.
“Maybe we’ll find out if the Germans are awake,” Cullen muttered.
He had just finished saying that when tracers streaked skyward from several hidden German machine guns, probing for the plane. For a moment, it looked like the plane would dart through the fire, but it was like it was trying to dodge raindrops. The plane was struck by a stream of bullets. It shuddered and started to fall but then rose as the pilot regained a semblance of control. More bullets slashed into its thin fuselage. The plane rolled over and dropped straight down into the ground where it disappeared into a fireball.
“The Germans are alive and well and one pilot isn’t,” Tanner said sadly.
Sergeant Hill had arrived in time to see the plane and pilot die. “Poor bastard.”
In response, American artillery began shooting at targets across the Rhine. Shells exploded near where someone thought they’d seen the Germans fire at the doomed plane.
Tanner looked away from the window. “They don’t know what they’re shooting at. They just want to do something for that damned pilot.”
Shells from the American 105mm howitzers continued to dig up the dirt. The Germans decided they’d had enough. Their hidden guns began firing back. Vogelgrun and the close by city of Muhlbach began to suffer. A shell struck the hotel where Tanner and the others were watching. The explosion threw them to the floor, covering them with dust and debris. Someone in the distance screamed. They smelled smoke. Their hotel was burning.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tanner ordered, and they clawed their way through fallen roofing and walls. Civilians and American soldiers poured from the hotel. Nearby, buildings were burning.
“Why us?” Cullen asked plaintively. “What the hell did we do?”
Tanner ran to a ditch and jumped in. The others followed. The German guns found a nearby American battery of four 105mm cannon and smashed it. Tanner watched in horror as bodies were hurled around like leaves. In the street by their ditch, more broken bodies lay and some of them were burning.
Tanner replied. “Maybe because they saw us in the windows and thought we were artillery observers. Or maybe they were just bored. Maybe they’re just rotten pricks who like to destroy cities.”
More German shells struck buildings in the town and much of Vogelgrun was on fire. So much for it being a tourist destination, Tanner thought. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the Germans stopped firing. So too did the remaining American guns. A few moments of bloody, burning hate and it was over. The surviving American guns from other batteries were towed away out of range of their tormentors. The Germans had won this skirmish. Or had they? If someone was paying attention, they had just given away the positions of many of their guns.
Tanner gathered his small command and they retreated ignominiously out of range or at least out of sight of the Germans. They passed more men from the 105th Division moving in. The battle for Vogelgrun and a Rhine crossing was not over.
When he thought they were safe, they sat on the ground and rested. Canteens were raised and cigarettes lit. “Okay, Sergeant Hill, what the devil did you find?”
Hill took a long swallow from his canteen and poured a little on his filthy head and face. “Well, sir, you sent me out to scout and snoop and I did just that. And you’re right. Just about any boat of any real size was either sunk or dragged over to the other side. However, some very nice people in and around here hate the Germans so much that they’ll be willing to sell us some small boats and tell where some others are being hidden.”
Tanner laughed sarcastically. “Sell? They couldn’t hate the Germans all that much. Still, how many boats are we talking about and what kind of capacity?”
“I think we could get the general a hundred and each could hold a squad. We could get a battalion over with each wave.”
Tanner stood and dusted himself off. “Then let’s gather up all those boats and see what Evans wants to do. At a battalion per wave, it’d take forever to get the division over, much less the entire Seventh Army. He’s trying to scrounge pontoon bridges from Seventh Army and turn this patrol into a major push.”
* * *
Lena watched stoically as the long line of emaciated ghosts moved down the road, headed south towards the mountains. They moved in daylight. They weren’t worried about the American planes strafing refugees. Lena wasn’t so certain. Mistakes had a terrible way of happening, and maybe they weren’t always mistakes. Some Allied commander might just realize that even slave laborers were part of the German war effort and attack them. I could have been one of them, she thought. Perhaps I should have been and it’s still likely I will be.