“Stop. You’ll get killed. Stay down here and be safe,” Hummel said.
Schuster clawed at the earth and continued to howl. The tips of his fingers were bloody and raw. Hummel tackled his friend and dragged him back to the relative safety of the bunker. Outside, it was raining murderous hot and sharp metal.
An explosion hit close by and caused the roof of their bunker to collapse. Now I know I’m going to die, Hummel thought. Schuster had stopped digging. He simply lay there, half covered with debris, his chest heaving. At least he’s alive, Schuster thought.
And then it was over. The bombers were gone until the next time. Hummel started to dig his way out, but it was difficult with Schuster inert and in the way. He called for help. A few minutes later, he heard voices and rescuers started digging. Another few minutes and Lieutenant Pfister and several other soldiers pulled the two men out and laid them on the ground. Someone poured water over Hummel’s head and then let him drink.
Pfister looked at Schuster who didn’t respond. “What happened to him?”
“It was the bombing, sir. He couldn’t handle it anymore.”
The lieutenant examined Schuster who lay there until someone sat him up. His eyes were blank. His mouth was open and his tongue lolled around.
“He isn’t faking it,” Pfister said. “I just hope he recovers soon.”
“Sir, should I take him to the hospital?” Hummel asked.
“And what will they do for him?” Pfister asked angrily. “He doesn’t have any apparent physical wounds, so the SS will decide that he’s a coward and not sick and hang him. No, he’s better off with us. Maybe this shock will wear off enough so that he can function, at least a little, but until then he stays with us. We’ll all take turns watching out for him until something happens.”
Hummel stared at his lieutenant and their eyes locked. They both nodded. Pfister was not going to fight to the death either, at least not if he could help it. It was good to know. Too bad it took turning his good friend into a vegetable in order to find it out.
* * *
Fifty-year-old Lieutenant General Lucian Truscott was the new commander of the U.S. Seventh Army. General Alexander Patch’s health had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer function in such a stressful position. They said he had pneumonia but Ike wondered if it wasn’t something more serious. Regardless, the Seventh Army needed a more vigorous commander and the strong Truscott was such a man. He was also a realist. He looked at Ike and Devers and asked a very simple question.
“I just flew up from Italy and crossed the Alps. We probably flew over German-held territory, but don’t worry. I don’t want any medals for that. The scenery was magnificent from a tourist’s point of view but appalling and horrible from a military one. Just how many men are you willing to lose while pushing south to Innsbruck, and what the hell do we do when we take the place? There are no real roads leading from Innsbruck to Bregenz or any other place that the Nazis feel is important.”
Ike winced. The backlash against continuing the war against Germany was gaining momentum. Back in the States, protests had become larger and louder, with many extoling the martyrdom of Mildred Ruffino. There had been no real violence yet, or any large refusals on the part of military personnel to do their duty, but there was tension. A handful of soldiers were being brought up on charges while others had declared that they had suddenly decided they were conscientious objectors. Ike had ordered that any court-martials be held in abeyance until the situation clarified itself. Some historians had likened the period to that just before the Russian Revolution broke out. Most thought that comparison was utter nonsense. It was inconceivable that soldiers would refuse to fight an enemy and form soviets to make collective decisions. Nor was there any inkling whatsoever that the nation’s hatred of Japan had receded. Just the opposite. The ever louder cries called for an American exit from Europe so that Japan could be squashed.
“We will do our duty,” Ike said tightly.
“Never suggested that we wouldn’t,” Truscott responded softly. His vocal cords had been damaged years earlier, which made some think he was soft spoken and not dynamic. Those who thought that way quickly found out that they were dreadfully wrong. “But has anybody thought of what might happen if the Japanese were to surrender first?”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” Ike answered, forcing a smile. “Although I’ll admit that I’ve wondered that as well. While we can be fairly certain that it won’t happen, we cannot totally rule out the possibility. The Japs are suicidal stubborn bastards who won’t quit until the last one is dead. If they do go first, maybe it will motivate the Nazis to give up. Who the devil knows? Unless something dramatic happens to change the game, we’ll be fighting the Japs for a very long time.”
“I suppose that’s good to know,” said Devers. “However, it does mean that our boys will be getting killed by Japs and Germans instead of just Germans.”
Truscott was not finished. “It also means that I am not going to send our boys into a man-killing meat grinder. Have either of you seen a lion eat an elephant?”
“Not lately,” Ike said while Devers looked puzzled.
“Well, I haven’t either. But I understand that the lion eats the elephant one bite at a time. Now the German force is not an elephant. We are larger, you could say that we are the elephant, but they have the stronger ground. Therefore, there will be no more three-division frontal assaults and their subsequent appalling losses. We will isolate an area, pound and shell the crap out of it, and then chew it up and spit it out. It’ll take time and be slow but steady, but there won’t be anything much that the Germans can do. We eat a chunk and their positions to either side are in danger of being flanked while we expand the chunk. When that happens, they’ll either have to come out of their holes and attack or retreat. If they attack, we hit them with bombs and artillery and destroy them. If they retreat, which is the more likely scenario, they will soon wind up with their asses up a mountaintop and nowhere else to go.”
Ike nodded and checked his watch. He’d spent enough time in Strasbourg welcoming Truscott to his new position and he’d liked what he’d heard. Truscott would put immense pressure on the Germans and they would, sooner or later, fold. Some thoughts were nagging at him. In his position he heard rumors, or sometimes just rumors of rumors. They all said that the United States was developing some kind of super-weapon. If this was true, wonderful. If not, then life and death would go on and the Seventh Army would push its way south through the confines of the Brenner Pass towards Innsbruck while Mark Clark’s armies would claw their way north. After that, anything could happen.
* * *
Is there really a war on? thought Tanner. This day was just too idyllic for words. He and Lena were sitting on a blanket spread on the grass in a field and having an old-fashioned summer picnic. They were a few miles away from their workplaces and living quarters. Better, the weather was cooperating. It was pleasantly warm and the sun was shining.
It was the first time he’d been with Lena on a totally social basis and he’d been as nervous as a high school sophomore about asking her. Then, he’d been as pleased as a little kid when she agreed.
Tanner had gotten some good food from the cooks-fried chicken, potato salad, and apple pie with ice cream. A bottle of decent Rhine wine completed the picture.
Lena looked up at the blue sky and smiled. “You have no idea how many times I wished for the simple freedom to be able to do exactly this.”
“And with me?” he asked with an impish grin.
“Of course I didn’t know you then, but definitely with somebody like you. And that reminds me. You call me Lena and that’s correct, but how do I call you? Should I say Tanner or Captain Tanner or Scott, or, God help us, Scotty.”