“What’s happening, Private?”
“Sir. There’s a bunch of Krauts coming our way, and there’s a few Americans with them.”
“Prisoners?”
“No, sir. They’re armed, and it looks like they’re siding with the enemy,” Grillo said.
“What in the Sam Hill?” Taylor said, and sucked down another chunk of half-thawed pork. “You sure about that?”
“Yes sir. Sergeant Pierce told me to find you.”
Taylor packed away his kit and slung his pack over his shoulder. He picked up his weapon and followed Grillo.
THIRTY-THREE
GRILLO
Grillo returned with the Captain in tow and dropped back into his position.
Before he’d left the seminary the nurse had given him some Sulpha tabs and told him to take them. She had warned him to drink as much water as he could get ahold of. In the early morning light, the men of Baker had started a fire to warm food and make coffee, so he’d melted a few cups of snow and drank the water, trying to ignore the little chunks of dirt in the bottom of the tin can. The smoky remains of the small campfire had nearly burned out but several of the men had removed their gloves and put their hands so close to the embers it looked like they’d get burned.
His side itched where he’d been hit the day before, but it had a fresh dressing. He didn’t complain. If Sergeant Pierce could shake off a bullet to the calf, Grillo wasn’t about to be a crybaby.
He checked his weapons while Taylor and Pierce consulted.
The mass of men had been growing by the minute. The woods were a few hundred yards away, and in the midst of the trees, figures moved around mysteriously. Since the SS officer had poked his head out, they hadn’t seen a single distinct shape since.
The morning was broken by the sound of artillery. Grillo hit the ground and tucked his legs close to his chin before realizing some of the guys were laughing at him.
“That’s us,” Shaw said.
Sure enough. Three rounds landed in the trees and blew holes in the cover. They must have missed, because there were no screams from wounded.
A pair of machine gun squads had set up on either side of their position. One of the gunners got anxious and fired into the tree line.
“Hold fire until we see them,” Pierce called, and leaned over to study the map that Captain Taylor had laid out on the ground.
“There!” Grillo said.
A squad of fifteen or twenty men moved out of the trees, and some of them wore the unmistakable clothing of American soldiers.
“Hold your fire,” Taylor yelled.
The enemy had other ideas, and a couple of men started firing in the general direction of Grillo and the rest of Baker Company. But they were horrible shots, and bullets whizzed overhead or hit the ground in front of them.
The machine gun squad got trigger happy again and decimated the men. They fell as .30 cal bullets tore into them. Then, just like clockwork, some of the men struggled to their feet again.
“I said hold that goddamn fire!” Taylor called.
“Sorry, sir,” one of the machine gunners called back.
Taylor shook his head and directed his attention back to the men who had fallen. He took out a pair of binoculars and studied the bodies.
A GI wearing the insignia of the 101st was among them.
“Christ,” Taylor said.
“Maybe they stole uniforms to fool us? I heard the Krauts had guys speaking perfect English and dressed like our guys causing a bunch of shit behind lines,” Pierce said.
“That true Sarge?” Grillo asked.
“Hard to believe but it’s true. Germans caused all kinds of disruptions by posing as military police and redirecting the Allied forces down the wrong roads. They’d even gone so far as to change signs, pointing out directions to towns around the offensive.”
“Here they come,” Shaw interrupted.
Grillo settled back behind his emplacement—a small ridge of rocks and dirt—and aimed his M1.
Captain Pierce didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
The mass coming at them was like nothing they’d seen before. Hundreds, maybe thousands of men poured out of the woods and advanced on the town of Bastogne.
Captain Taylor finally gave the command, but he didn’t sound happy about it.
“Open fire, men, and make sure that every time you shoot you drop a body. Got it?” Taylor said.
Grillo blew out a breath of steam and prepared for the assault.
A dozen soldiers peeled away from the main force and came in like they were being chased by a demon. They outpaced the others and ran straight at the emplacement.
“See the asshole in white?” Taylor said, pointing at the squad of German soldiers. “I want him. We’ve been asked to bring back a prisoner, and that’s our man.”
“Got him, sir,” a man said from his dugout.
“Grillo, Shaw, Perkins. You’re with me. We’re going to bring that son of a bitch alive,” Taylor said, and leapt out of the dugout.
“Sir, I’ll go. You stay here,” Pierce said.
“You can’t run worth a damn, Sergeant. I respect your tenacity, but you’ll be dead if you try to run on that leg,” Taylor said.
“But sir, you’re a Captain,” Pierce argued.
“A Captain who’s been in this war for two years, Sergeant. I know what Im doing,” Taylor said.
“It’s your funeral, Captain,” Pierce said.
“Say something nice at my graveside,” Taylor said. He nodded at Grillo and Shaw. “Got it, men? Everyone but the guy in white, and if anyone shoots me, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
Very disappointed? If they shoot us, we’re going to be very dead. Grillo’s stomach lurched in fear again, but he pushed it aside and followed the Captain onto the open battlefield.
THIRTY-FOUR
BEHR
Behr’s world had finally found some semblance of sanity. His mind roared with anger and he raged to be let loose, but the SS officer had gathered the force as they’d moved through the woods. Now, with an army of men to rival anything he’d seen in the war, they would launch the attack.
His teeth hurt, because he wished them to be tearing into flesh.
The city lay ahead, and there were fresh bodies to add to the horde.
His senses were dulled to the point of feeling like his body was frozen. It reacted to his commands, but he was slower than he’d ever been in his life.
He carried his machine gun, but his fingers were so cold so that he was no longer able to fire.
Behr now gripped a knife, and intended to use it against the warm bodies.
So many bodies.
Finally, the SS officer pointed at the city and nodded.
Together with the men he’d gathered over the last day, he advanced on the city.
THIRTY-FIVE
COLEY
“This is not right,” von Boeselager said as they broke the line of trees.
“Sheeeeyit,” one of the men from another jeep called. “Ain’t nothing been right in days. I should be relaxing in a barracks right now and watching the same movie I’ve seen six times. I read a tourist brochure that said this was the perfect location for winter sports. Worst sports I’ve ever seen.”
Since yesterday morning, Lieutenant Coley had been in a bad spot, but he’d known what to do. He’d trained for months before being deployed to the Europe. Now, though, he was caught behind enemy lines and facing an overwhelming force.