There were some in the German high command who saw these tactics as shameful, considering that these were the tactics of retreat. But by 1944, with the notable exception of Hitler himself, most German officers knew that the military simply didn't have the men or materials for anything but this more elastic approach.
While the Germans faltered, the Allies pressed their advantage. Led by the Third Army under fiery General George Patton, American troops had dashed nearly 400 miles from the Normandy beaches and across France, culminating in the crushing blow to German forces at the Falaise Gap. D Day had been the foothold, but the fighting at Falaise had finally broken the German hold on Normandy.
In all honesty, Ike had not expected the Germans to collapse so quickly. Consequently, the Allied advance had outpaced its supply lines. The roads and bridges that the Air Corps had bombed so effectively to thwart the Germans now meant difficulties in transporting Allied supplies. The famed Red Ball Express had trucked supplies to keep up with the troops on the front, but it was not enough. Simply put, Allied forces were spread too thin.
In some sense, it was a good problem to have. Reluctantly, though, Ike had called for Patton to halt. Ike could not send Americans yet deeper into enemy country without fuel, ammunition, food, or adequate medical care. The situation left American troops too vulnerable to counter-attack if the enemy regrouped. The Germans were notoriously good at that.
German forces were quickly coming to what would become known as the West Wall. They had lost France at great cost. Between the D Day landing on June 6 and early September, it was not unreasonable to state that the Germans had lost more than 300,000 men. That was nearly half the 1944 population of Boston or the entire population of Columbus, Ohio.
While the human losses alone were hard to bear, the Germans also had lost hundreds of tanks and almost countless vehicles and horses, not to mention artillery captured or destroyed by the Allies. There were no replacements for those men or for that equipment. War was a meat grinder. Every man they lost, every tank destroyed, practically every shell fired, could not be replaced — or not replaced easily. The Allies were wearing down their enemy through sheer numbers and seemingly endless resources. In a single year, American factories produced thousands of Sherman tanks.
As for the Luftwaffe, it was now mostly like an eagle with clipped wings, having only about 650 serviceable planes of any kind. With the Luftwaffe outnumbered ten to one, the skies over Europe mostly belonged to the Allies.
But the numbers on paper did not tell the only story. Working in the Germans' favor was the fact that conditions by mid-September were not conducive to air operations. Rain, sleet, and heavy fog kept the planes grounded. The grounding of the planes enabled the Germans to re-organize. Just when it seemed that they were at their lowest point, when they must surely be beaten and the war must be over, they had a talent for managing to mount an active defense. Grudgingly, Ike also had to admit that the Germans made far fewer tactical mistakes than the Allied forces. But they had no cushion.
The Germans were far from beaten and the fighting was far from over. After the mostly flat countryside of coastal and central France, they were now in terrain that favored defense, with hills, forests, rivers, and even the old fortresses of the Siegfried Line. If Normandy had been the Atlantic Wall, then this was Germany's West Wall. Rather than giving up, as Ike had hoped, the enemy only seemed to be fighting harder.
The main goal of concern right now was not the Rhine, but one of its tributaries, the Moselle River. Currently, the bloodiest fighting of the autumn campaign was about to take place on the banks of the Moselle.
Both the Germans and the Americans needed to get across the waterway and then make their way to the Rhine. The Germans were mostly on the other side of the Moselle by now, which meant that they had destroyed or were trying to destroy the Moselle bridges. This meant that U.S. Forces must build pontoon bridges, which was a time-consuming task usually undertaken under fire.
The Supreme Allied Commander thought about all of the German tanks, artillery, and machine guns being brought to bear against Allied troops that the Germans now saw as invaders. With no way to go but forward, American troops would have to brave the maelstrom and ford the Moselle River as the first step toward invading Germany itself.
"God help them," Ike said.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Cole and the rest of the squad woke up wet to the bone from the rain. Even the leather of their boots was soaked through. They heard firing in the distance, and the thump of bigger guns that might be tanks or artillery.
"Beautiful morning," Vaccaro said, tugging at his poncho. "What do I want for breakfast? Maybe eggs and bacon, or a nice fresh bagel. How about you, Cole? Bet you could go for some squirrel stew or whatever it is you hillbillies eat for breakfast."
"Biscuits and gravy," Cole said quietly. Between his knees stood the stubby machine gun, as sheltered from the weather as possible. It was against Cole’s nature not to take care of any weapon, even one that he didn’t much like. "Wouldn't that be somethin'? My mama made biscuits and gravy when we had flour and milk. When pa didn’t drink up the money. Everybody got one biscuit and one ladle of gravy and we thought we was kings and queens." Cole shook his head at the memory.
Coming from Cole, that had been quite a speech. Vaccaro seemed about to say something mocking but fell quiet, looking at the far-away look on Cole’s lean face. Vaccaro had never worried about getting enough to eat, but he could see echoes of hunger in Cole’s lean frame. He finally said, ”There’s not gonna be any biscuits and gravy this morning. There’s not even gonna be any hot coffee."
Sergeant Woodbine was moving among the men, reminding them to put on dry socks if they had them and to oil their weapons. It was a fact that an infantryman had to take care of his feet first and foremost. Wet boots, wet socks — it was a surefire path to blisters or even trench foot or frostbite once the weather turned cold.
Captain Norton sat apart from the men, under the relative shelter of a tree branch over which had been rigged a canvas tent half. Of course, Norton hadn’t done the rigging himself but had made his men do it for him.
Leaning against the tree was Cole's rifle. Norton hadn’t bothered to make sure that the Springfield stayed dry. There is was, getting wet in the rain, and it was only with a huge effort that Cole didn’t walk over there and set him straight. The lazy son of a bitch didn’t deserve a pop gun, much less Cole’s rifle.
The captain was huddled over a tiny stove, apparently intent on making himself a hot cup of coffee. The men had to make do with canteen water or attempting to dissolve a packet of instant coffee in a cold cup of water. Captain Norton didn't seem too concerned about rusty weapons and wet feet, so it was hard to say whether Norton had ordered Woodbine to check on the squad or if he had elected to do that himself, which was just the thing a competent sergeant would do.
"You boys good?" Sergeant Woodbine asked, approaching them.
"I could use some bacon and eggs," Vaccaro said. "And some hot coffee. Maybe I'll go ask the captain to share."
Woodbine snorted. "You go ahead and do that," he said. "Just don't ask me for help getting his boot out of your ass."
The sergeant moved off, his comment showing that he didn't necessarily hold Captain Norton in high regard.