Shadows in the Mist, page 10
Chambers accepted it gratefully and stared at the fog drifting over the war-battered forest.
“Makes a lovely postcard,” Goldstein whispered, adjusting his glasses. “So, you think about what I said last night?”
Chambers nodded, sipping his coffee.
“And…”
Chambers shrugged. “As much as I respect Captain Murdock, I believe his nightmares were just nightmares. And if he believed they were real messages, then I’m afraid he was delusional.”
“Did you reconsider listening to God?”
“I hate to burst your holy bubble, Goldstein, but he’s not reaching out to me.”
“Well, sir, you’re certainly at choice whether or not you want to listen or see the signs.” Goldstein held up his palm. “I have my sign. That’s why I’ve volunteered to be in your patrol platoon.”
Chambers gave him a sideways stare. “You know Murdock went into battle believing in this hooey, and all it got him was dead.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Chambers sipped his coffee. “Good luck to you then.”
The members of the Lucky Seven gathered around them. Chambers said, “Guys, you remember our chaplain, Corporal Goldstein. He’ll be our medic on this patrol.”
Hoffer said, “Good, maybe you can give us a blessing as well.”
Finch thumped his helmet. “He’s a rabbi, knucklehead, not a priest.”
“Well, since I don’t see any priests around, I’ll take what I can get. Chaplain, you can accommodate other religions, can’t you?”
“I’ll counsel anyone who needs to speak to God.” Goldstein shot Chambers a glance.
Garcia pulled out his family photo and rosary beads. “I’m glad you’re coming, Chaplain. I feel like this might be the Big One.”
Hoffer shook his head. “This isn’t the Big One, amigo. Stop jinxing us.”
“Feels like the Big One,” Garcia muttered.
“Enough of that,” Sergeant Mahoney barked. “We’re all coming back. This is just another day on the job.”
“Everybody ready?” Chambers asked, trying not to appear nervous.
They all nodded.
“Good, we move out in five.” The stone mask of confidence he wore seemed to be holding up. That’s it. Just keep it level.
Deuce gnawed on an unlit cigar, staring out at the fog-cloaked mountain. “Man, they ain’t really gonna send us out into this soup.”
“Rain or shine,” Buck grumbled. “Brass don’t give a rat’s ass whether we can see the Krauts.”
“Quit your bellyaching, boys,” Mahoney said.
Chambers said, “Let’s keep positive.”
“Don’t forget the Lucky Seven ritual,” Deuce said, holding out a joker from his deck of cards. They stood in a circle. Each man held out a personal object that he considered lucky. Chambers held out his silver watch. “Everybody lives.”
“Everybody lives,” they repeated.
Lieutenant Pierce Fallon stepped into the circle, drawing stares from the Lucky Seven. Fallon’s scarred face and slick bald cranium was painted in a black and green war mask. It punctuated the white of his fiery blue eye. “Captain Wolf needs a word with your platoon. Follow me.”
They weaved through crowds of teenagers from LeBlanc’s platoon. This morning there was no talking or smoking or laughing. Just silent waiting for that imminent call to battle. Wide eyes, some with nervous ticks, watched the chosen point platoon move to the rear of the crowd.
Fallon led Chambers’s platoon under a tentlike shelter with camouflage netting. Wolf was leaning over a map on a table. The Czech captain still wore his olive wool cap tight over his light brown hair. He was dressed in the same commando uniform as the X-2 soldiers, complete with semiautomatic rifle and plumb-shaped grenades. The captain’s face, also painted, remained expressionless, all business. “Are your men ready, Lieutenant?”
Chambers eyed the Lucky Seven. Each man was holding his breath. The fifteen X-2 mercenaries, looking fresh and excited, filled in behind them. The elite squad all had black and green paint smeared across their faces. Each commando had his code name stenciled across his helmet—HAWK, MOOSE, FOX, CROW, OTTER, RAVEN, SNAKE, and a half-dozen other animal totems. In front stood Lieutenant Fallon wearing a maniacal grin like a boxer eager for a fight bell.
I can’t believe I agreed to do another mission with this lunatic. Chambers turned back to Wolf. “We’re ready.”
The X-2 captain offered a pleased half grin. “Good. You are first to move out. Chambers, give everyone a quick lesson on the forest we’ll be fighting in.” Wolf stepped out of the group and put on a radio headset.
Lieutenant Chambers approached the map table, waving the men to gather around. “The Hürtgen extends from a larger wooded region, the Ardennes here in Belgium.” He pointed to the rows of stone pyramids. “On the other side of those Dragon’s Teeth, the Hürtgen stretches seventy square miles in parameter and lies in a square formed by the German towns of Aachen, Düren, Heimbach, and Monschau.” Chambers tapped the four points on the map. “Contained within that square is a variety of terrain. You can see from here, a ridge system, covered with thick fir trees, runs from southwest to northeast. The highest peak rises to over twenty-one hundred feet. The inclines are so steep in places they are near impossible to climb. Through the valleys run numerous creeks and rivers, such as the Roer and the Kall. The forest is one big booby trap with minefields just about everywhere you step, so follow my lead and stay in the column at all times.”
Wolf stepped in. “Okay, let us go over the mission once more.” His finger tapped the map and traced a red line shaped like an arrow. “This first line represents Lieutenant LeBlanc’s platoon along with myself, code name Spear. Lieutenants Hawk, Chambers, your platoon makes up the spear point. We will push up through the middle along this firebreak. Reach these two pillboxes, Target 1 and Target 2, dig in. When the spear reaches this ravine, we will divide into two squads and defend your outer flanks. Chambers, your squad will engage a base fire here in the center, while Lieutenant Hawk’s men circle the German bunkers both north and south and take out the pillboxes from the rear.”
“It’s going to take a lot of TNT to break through those pillboxes,” Chambers said.
“We’ve brought plenty,” Wolf said.
Chambers stared at Fallon and the fifteen X-2 commandos. They all looked like this was going to be a cakewalk.
“Once those bunkers are captured,” Wolf continued, “the two spear columns, led by me and Lieutenant LeBlanc, will merge with the spear point. From there we will hike over this second crest, and depending on resistance, push our way to Target 3, the small town of Richelskaul. Once we capture Richelskaul, we will establish a new base camp, and I will fill you in on our next objective from there.” He showed them a photograph and the X on the map that marked the town’s location. “Beyond these pillboxes the front line is thin, but once we reach Richelskaul we’re expecting resistance, so be sharp.” Wolf clapped his hands together. “Okay, move out.”
LeBlanc walked over and gripped Chambers’s forearm. “A couple more days and we’re going home, buddy.”
“We’re going home.” Chambers tossed out the rest of his coffee and turned to his men. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter 20
The twenty-four-man point platoon, a blend of GIs and X-2 commandos, marched up the near vertical incline. They hiked around fir trees that lay in mangled heaps and where artillery shells had opened gaping wounds into the earth. Scraps of metal littered the ground: bullet shells, artillery shrapnel, exploded grenades, and shattered helmets.
From the top of the ridge stretched a dense forest. In one long column, the soldiers weaved through the giant fir trees, thin streams of gray light barely penetrating the thick canopy. Branches formed a ceiling over their heads. In several places they had to walk hunched over.
Corporal Otter got tangled in a coil of barbed wire. He yanked and kicked. “Damn it, somebody help me.”
“Don’t piss your pants, buddy. Hold still,” Buck said as he cut him free.
“Lieutenant Hawk’s gonna kick my ass!” The kid cursed at a rip in his fatigue pants.
Buck grumbled, “Welcome to the Hürtgen, buddy. Forest ain’t nothing but mines and barbed teeth.”
“These woods actually started out as a fir tree farm.” Deuce waved his arm like a nature guide. “Notice how the trees are planted in perfect rows?”
Chambers glared at the chatting soldiers and dragged a finger across his throat.
Boots crunched over a thick carpet of pine needles. Two X-2 scouts crept ten paces ahead. Some men watched the branches for snipers, while others scanned the mist for movement. Lieutenant Chambers focused on the ground. He stopped and held up his fist. The platoon froze. Chambers knelt, signaling everyone to gather behind him. He deftly lifted a pile of leaves. Three wood prongs stabbed upward from beneath the pine needles. He whispered, “Bouncing Betty. The ones here have wood prongs and are filled with glass. They pop up about face high. They’re nasty bitches, so watch your step.”
After surveying his topo map, he led the platoon northeastward, gravity pulling at their legs as the forest sloped. Hiking up the steep jagged hill, Chambers’s men had to use branches and tree stumps to pull themselves up.
The sky above darkened. The air grew heavy with the familiar dampness of a storm brewing. The fog thickened into white smoke, closing in around them, as if the platoon were marching straight into the clouds. As they climbed higher, the stench of rotting death began to assault Chambers’s nostrils.
GI corpses littered the hill. Arms sprouted grotesquely from the mounds of fallen branches where tree bursts had scalped the trees. One man floated facedown in a puddle. The bottom half of a torso hung upside down in a tree, its leg hooked over a branch. Another soldier sat against a tree, staring straight ahead. Mouth open, lips curled back over red teeth, his face frozen in a life-ending scream. Several X-2 men gasped. Some vomited. Welcome to the Green Hell, warriors.
Chambers kept his gaze riveted on the fog ahead. He licked his chapped lips, the anticipation of battle flooding through his veins. The platoon advanced another hundred yards. Butterflies flapped in Chambers’s stomach. Charred fir trees stood in eerie silence.
The two X-2 scouts signaled up the hill.
Chambers and Fallon ducked, waving for everyone to take cover. The twenty-four soldiers hunkered behind fallen trees and flattened into foxholes dug out from previous battles. Chambers exchanged glances with Fallon then peered through his binoculars. Up the hill sat two German pillboxes. Dirt from the hillside enveloped the heavily wired and concrete-enforced structures. Trees sprouted on top, and ivy camouflaged the front walls. The bunkers were staggered, with one higher up the hill to cover the first one’s backside. At each bunker, high-powered MG42 machine-gun barrels jutted outward from the dark, square apertures.
Fallon motioned for Corporal Fox to hand over the field telephone. Fallon whispered into the phone, “Sir, Spear Point’s uptown and dug in. Targets 1 and 2 spotted. Guns perched at the ready. Presence unknown. Repeat, presence unknown. Copy.” Fallon listened to Wolf’s crackling response and nodded. “Roger.”
An explosion boomed downhill to their right, echoing across the mountain.
Chambers aimed his binoculars at the two bunkers. The four machine guns sat idle.
Fallon whispered into the mouthpiece, “Spear Point to Spear. Explosion on right flank. Repeat, explosion on right flank. Please advise.” Chewing his bottom lip, he listened. “Roger that.” Tossing the phone back to Fox, Fallon motioned for Chambers and Moose to crawl down the hill with him. The three crouched down into a large foxhole.
“What’s the report?” Chambers asked.
Fallon checked the magazine in his submachine gun. “Spear 1 and Spear 2 are delayed by minefields. Captain says secure bunkers pronto.”
Sergeant Moose grinned. “About time we see some action.”
Chambers studied the two concrete boxes. Four gun barrels were aimed downhill, poised to unleash a metal storm of rapid fire. “Wait, Fallon, our plan was to strike with two squads on each flank.”
“Well, plans have changed. You both know the drill. Chambers, your platoon creates a base fire. Moose and I will take out the bunkers. We strike in sixty seconds.” Grinning, Fallon whispered to his husky sergeant, “Let’s see what our warriors can do in a real combat situation.”
Chambers asked, “How many bunkers have your men captured?”
Fallon answered, “In training, dozens. In a real combat situation—these two will be our first.” He winked at Chambers. “Trust us. Ready, Moose?”
“Does a Kraut shit in the woods?”
Fallon grinned. “Unless he shits his pants first. Let’s go.”
The three jumped into action. Chambers relayed the message to the Lucky Seven. They dug in, their rifles aimed at the two concrete bunkers. The forest remained deathly silent.
Fallon and Moose communicated to their squads with hand signals. Carrying the bazooka, an X-2 commando and his shell loader crawled up beside Chambers.
Wearing a two-canister flamethrower, Fallon led a three-man squad up the steep incline on the left, staying just behind the treeline. Three men advanced up the hill tree to tree in leapfrog fashion—two men always covering the advancing man. Sergeant Moose led the second three-man unit up the right side. Mist cloaked the approach of the two units. Chambers searched the thickening miasma through his binoculars. Damn it, where are they?
Finally, a man emerged from the fog. Another followed. The units neared the tops of the pillboxes then set themselves into position. Chambers counted all six. With that he gave the signal to fire.
Bullets cracked the silence. The Lucky Seven at the bottom of the hill laid a base fire. Chambers leaped up from his log, sprayed the hilltop with his submachine gun, and ducked back down. Beside him, the bazooka loader stuffed a shell into the pipe and ducked. Whoof! The gunner’s shoulder-held cannon blasted Bunker One’s left portal. “Bull’s eye!”
The bazooka team reloaded. The Lucky Seven riflemen rotated rounds of grazing fire into the second aperture. The German machine guns at Bunker 2 had yet to return fire. Chambers watched through his binoculars. What are you Krauts waiting for?
The bazooka let loose with a roaring screech. Another direct hit knocked out the second machine-gun. “Bunker 1 disabled!” the gunner yelled.
“Now take out Bunker 2!” Chambers yelled back over the gunshots.
The base-fire team pounded Bunker 2 with a metal hailstorm. Whoof! The bazooka shell erupted in the grassy knoll in front. Still no fire from Bunker 2. Amazed, Chambers looked over at Goldstein to see if he was praying for the guns not to fire. But the chaplain was in full medic mode, poised like a cat ready to leap to the first man wounded.
The bazooka’s next two blasts made direct hits on the machine-guns of Bunker 2.
Up the hill, Fallon’s squad ran with their backs against the ivy wall of Bunker 1.
Chambers gave the okay signal.
The two bomb squads climbed onto the rooftops of both bunkers.
Down the hill, the rest of the platoon watched for an enemy counterattack. Chambers stared at the second hand on his watch. Ten seconds…fifteen…
Feeling his stomach rumbling, he peered through his binoculars.
Twenty seconds…
Fallon’s squad hunkered on the rooftop of Bunker 1. Fallon dug into the escarpment with a spade and barked at his men. The commandos chained together explosives.
Thirty seconds…
Chambers watched the woods for approaching Germans.
Forty-five seconds…
The rooftop of Bunker 1 blew skyward, raining down dirt and concrete chunks. The air filled with dust.
Sixty seconds…
Fallon ran across the rooftop to assess the damage. He cursed at his men. His squad pulled out more explosives. They packed TNT into the holes, lit the fuse, and got the hell out of Dodge. Concrete debris blasted into the air. The entire area rocked like an earthquake.
Chambers’s ears popped. He glanced at his watch.
A minute thirty seconds…and no retaliation.
Fallon shot flames into a breach at the side then disappeared into Bunker 1. Rapid submachine-gun shots came from inside.
Farther up the hill, Sergeant Moose’s squad pressed against Bunker 2’s front wall. The MG42 machine guns had been reduced to twisted metal. An X-2 soldier swung his body in front of the first aperture. With his flamethrower he roasted the interior. Another tossed a grenade into the second hole. Shots fired, followed by another earth-shaking explosion. Moose’s squad rounded the side. Chambers rotated his binoculars down the hill to Bunker 1. Lieutenant Fallon’s squad, still somewhere inside Bunker 1, had yet to surface. The shooting stopped.
Chambers felt pins and needles in his knees. Three precious minutes ticked by. “Come on, boys. Everybody lives.”
Smoke from the smoldering pillboxes drifted down the hill. First platoon crouched low, each man staring ahead, yet somehow inwardly. Buck spat tobacco. Garcia bit his nails. Deuce chewed on his cigar, grinning like this was a poker game and he had pocket aces.
At Bunker 1, Fallon climbed out and gave a thumbs-up. Moose’s squad at Bunker 2 did the same.
Chambers finally released his breath. “Okay, let’s roll!” He led the platoon up the hill to the clearing in front of Bunker 1. He whispered to Mahoney, “Sergeant, line up sentries. We’ve made enough racket to wake up half of Germany.”
“You got it.”
Fallon stood by a steel door on the bunker’s side. Gray soot covered his shoulders and some of the green of his painted face.
Chambers approached him. “Why didn’t they fight back?”
Fallon wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow, smearing the war paint. “Bunker’s empty. Steel door wasn’t even locked. Popped right open when we blew the roof. Looks like somebody else got here first.” He removed his flame pack, his face a mask of disappointment.
