“What are they having for dinner tonight?” asked Bud.
“Shit on a shingle. What else? Rumor has it that when we run out of that crap they’ll declare the war over and we’ll all go home.”
Bud laughed. “Then let’s eat hearty. And when we’re done we can go into town and see that new cabaret everyone’s talking about.”
“Which one is that?”
“The one where all the women are dressed up like nuns.”
* * *
Once upon a time, the road south to Innsbruck had been paved. It had taken drivers on a comfortable and scenic trip between snow-capped mountains. They would arrive at Innsbruck ready for a holiday filled with skiing and other activities. But it had been shelled and bombed so often that the road had reverted to a far more primitive state. It was now worse than if it had never been paved. Craters that could swallow trucks caused the line of Sherman tanks to snake its way slowly down the remains of the highway. White flags nailed to stakes showed where a path had been cleared of German mines. A tank carrying flails that whipped from a bulldozer-like front led the way. It was based on an idea by British officer named Percy Hobart. It and other creations were called “Hobart’s Funnies.” What was a real laugh for the Germans was that the minesweeping tank actually worked as the flails caused the mines to detonate harmlessly.
As long as the American armor kept to the cleared path, they were reasonably safe. The GIs were not likely to stray. Intelligence said they were now in the middle of an extensive minefield. It would be a long time before all the mines were located and dug up.
Tanner nervously followed the column of tanks in a jeep with Sergeant Hill. Their job was to check and see if any Russian prisoners had been swept up or, better, if any of them had decided to surrender as a result of the blizzard of papers urging them to do so. Cynics doubted it if or no other reason than that the Russians were largely illiterate.
Sergeant Archie Dixon was in the first tank behind the flail. Even though there was a significant difference in rank, the meetings between Dixon and Tanner had been cordial, even friendly. Tanner thought that Dixon was a good kid and a helluva leader and wondered where he’d wind up when the war was over. Assuming he made it through, of course.
“Movement,” yelled Hill. A second later, a dozen men jumped up from where they’d been hiding in the grasses along the side of the road. They were carrying Panzerfausts, the antitank rocket that could be fired by one man if necessary. It didn’t have much range, but the Germans were already too close for comfort.
Machine guns cut down several of the Germans, but enough of them got close enough to fire at the tanks. The German rockets arched out and struck their targets. Several struck treads, which was only an inconvenience since damaged treads could be repaired.
Tanner watched in horror as Dixon’s tank was hit. It staggered to a halt and smoke began to pour out of it. Men followed and one man was limping on one leg. He was missing his left foot and screaming. The wounded American staggered off the path and into the minefield. He had gotten only a few yards, when a spring-loaded German antipersonnel mine known as a “Bouncing Betty” jumped from the ground, exploded, and disemboweled him.
Tanner ran to the damaged tank, hugging other vehicles and trying very hard to stay on the path. Medics had arrived at Dixon’s tank by the time he arrived. They had bravely dared to leave the path to get to the casualties.
One of Dixon’s crewmen lay facedown in the dirt. A medic had put his helmet over his face and turned away. A second crewman lay half out of a hatch and the lower half of his body was smoldering. Dixon was leaning against another tank, his face contorted with physical and emotional pain.
Dixon saw Tanner. “They killed my men. Why did they have to do that?”
It’s because we’re at war, he thought but did not say. It would have been too cruel. “Sergeant, are you wounded?”
“I don’t think so, but I wish I was. Maybe I wish I was dead. I think I’m the only survivor from my crew. Would you tell me why that happened?”
“I have no idea,” he said. He thought that one of Dixon’s other men might still be alive, but it wasn’t the time to bring it up.
A medic came and pulled on Dixon’s arm until he followed him. “Shell-shock,” said Hill. “Maybe he’ll come out of it and maybe he won’t.”
Tanner had seen enough mental cases caused by the war to last a lifetime. He looked around at the terrain. The mountains that used to look scenic and romantic seemed to be glowering at him. “Sergeant Hill, is it just me or are the Alps getting bigger and closer?”
* * *
It was movie time in the White House again. The audience was small, consisting of the President and General Marshall. There were no refreshments, although Truman had a bourbon and water. The projectionist had been dismissed after confirming that the five star general could actually run the device. What they were going to discuss would be very sensitive and the fewer who heard them, the better.
A number of scenes had been spliced together, all in black and white and all with that annoying herky-jerky motion that made old movies so maddeningly difficult to watch. It even made war look deceptively funny.
However, each man knew that what they were watching contained no humor whatsoever. The scenes were from World War I battles along the border between Italy and Austria and what they showed were mountains covered by snow deep enough to swallow men, horses, and vehicles. Soldiers moved through the snow with great difficulty, while others burrowed into the massive drifts, made caves, and lived like Eskimos. Some of them actually laughed and played around for the camera.
The Austrians held the high ground and the Italians were slaughtered in great numbers. Black splotches on the snow were bodies-many, many bodies.
The film ended. Marshall turned on the lights. He did not rewind the film. That chore would be left to the real projectionist to handle.
“Sir, those battles lasted almost the entire war and nothing much was gained by them. Italy was almost forced out of the war and that led, at least in part, to the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If winter comes and the Germans haven’t been defeated, that is where and how we’ll be fighting them.”
“Are you telling me that you don’t want us to repeat those battles? If you are, don’t worry. I have no intention of letting that happen.”
“Even though I’ve heard it before, Mr. President, I’m glad to hear you say it again. My point in showing the films is to remind you that winter is going to be upon us in just a couple of months. When that happens, fighting in the mountains is going to be extremely difficult at best. Even though much of the area has a moderate climate and there are many areas that aren’t at all mountainous, the Germans will withdraw to the worst terrain and dare us to root them out.”
“How much use would mountain troops be?”
“They would be excellent, only there aren’t enough of them, Devers has only one division, in fact, and it is being worn down pushing towards Innsbruck. It is now obvious that the Germans are shrinking their alpine redoubt and turning it into an alpine citadel. Their engineers have done a marvelous job of tunneling into the mountains and making giant storage facilities. I’m beginning to think that was their plan all along. The original redoubt was just too big to defend with the forces they had at hand.”
“I assume you have more bad news, General.”
“That depends on you, sir. When the snows come, which will be soon, serious fighting will effectively cease. We will not be able to go for the kill until the spring thaws. In short, we will be at war with the Nazis for a good eight to ten months longer unless something dramatic is done.”
The thought of the war continuing until the summer of 1946 caused Truman’s stomach to churn. “What do you propose?”
“That, sir, is not my job. I’m here to give you options. It you want this war ended before the snows, then it is highly unlikely to occur without the use of nuclear weapons.”