Detloff was almost in tears. “I was more afraid then I ever thought possible. I have never seen such horror in all my life, not even during the bombings in Berlin.”
Schurmer had no sympathy. “Then you have never truly seen war.” But why should a sixteen-year-old boy have to see war in the first place? Have we sunk that far?
“It wasn’t only the fire, Colonel, it was the fact that the walls were closing in on me and I thought I would either suffocate or be crushed.”
Wonderful, Schurmer thought. How many other claustrophobic soldiers were down in the bunkers and what would make them also break when the real attack came? Fire, not claustrophobia, was the true Achilles heel of the fortresses of the Rhine Wall. They were almost impervious to shelling and bombing, but nothing could stand up to fire, and the liquid napalm used by the Americans could possibly unravel all his work.
“I even hurt my leg again.”
Schurmer wondered if the wretch hadn’t reinjured his knee on purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought a self-inflicted wound would get him out of the military. Well, if that had been Detloff’s plan, he was wrong.
“Please don’t tell my father.”
The look of terror on Volkmar’s face said it all. His father was a petty tyrant who probably beat his children for the slightest transgression. Schurmer wondered if the elder Detloff had killed or beaten any helpless Jews. Schurmer had no love for Jews, but felt contempt for those who took advantage of the helpless.
“I will not tell your father about your cowardice, nor will I have you shot, or even court-martialed. However, you cannot go back to your unit. They had little confidence in you before and none now. You will keep your rank for your father’s sake, but you will command no one. You will be assigned to a new unit being formed to counterattack the Americans if they do succeed in crossing the river.”
Detloff brightened. “Werewolves?”
Schurmer sighed. “There is no such thing as werewolves, Detloff. They are figments of the imagination just like bogeymen and witches. No, you will be part of General Dietrich’s staff. Do you understand English?”
“A little. I learned it in school.”
“Which means you don’t understand a damn thing. However, you may still be useful.”
Detloff snapped back to attention. “I will not fail.”
Schurmer sighed. Better the little fool did fail. At least he would stand a chance of living.
“I will not fail,” Detloff said again. A broken record, Schurmer thought.
Detloff saluted and left. Alone, Schurmer poured himself a couple of shots of good Scotch. Not much more of that left, he thought, but there was no reason to save it. Germany had reached the point where they were sending old men and totally ignorant boys like Detloff out to fight the overwhelming might of the Americans. A Jew at Auschwitz had a better chance of surviving until summer than sixteen-year-old Volkmar Detloff. He took a swallow. Merry Christmas, Germany.
“So what was in your package?” Carter yelled.
“Some socks and some stale cookies,” Jack answered. “Along with some paperback books that look interesting. I don’t think my family knows just what to send.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Levin said with mock piety. “What did you send them, snow from Germany?”
“What a great thought.” Jack laughed. He decided not to tell them he’d sent Jessica a vial of water from the Rhine.
He smiled at the thought of his parents trying to figure out what to send to a son who either has all he needs or nothing at all. They knew that there was no room at the front for luxuries. They also knew that really valuable stuff, like liquor and cigars, might not make it to him. The vast majority of personnel handling mail were honest, but it took only a few creeps to ruin things.
Jack was most pleased by a letter from Jessica and the fact that it began “Dearest Jack.” Dearest? Wow, had he come up in the world. She also said that she missed him and hoped he would get some leave time. Leave time was another rumor. If the war really was on a winter hiatus, would the powers that be grant leave? Whiteside and Stoddard thought it was a good possibility. Maybe the regiment would be rotated out for a while, or maybe just individuals or units could go. It didn’t matter. That Jessica wanted to see him was the important thing.
However, he’d been told that Paris was off limits, and not just because of the near civil war now engulfing France. Apparently the city was becoming a Mecca for deserters. It didn’t matter. He’d find a place for them to be together.
Jack laughed softly. He was in love with a young lady he’d only seen once although, again, he felt their letters had brought them very close together. Hell, they hadn’t even made out. He wondered what would happen if they did get time together. He started to visualize her naked and caressing each other and it began to get warm in the tent. He decided it was best not to dwell on those possibilities.
Life where they were bivouacked wasn’t intolerable. The army had done its damndest to do what it could for the GI’s. Since it was fairly obvious that they weren’t going to move for a while, tents had been set up and wooden floors laid down. Mess halls actually served hot food, and there were showers and laundries working. Colonel Stoddard’s headquarters buildings were solidly fortified and with good reason. There were reports that German infiltrators would try to attack vulnerable spots, so the men were constantly reminded that they were in hostile territory and should carry their weapons at all times.
Other rumors said that the nonfraternization rule would be relaxed to permit “essential” transactions. Levin wondered if that would permit Feeney to go back to the fraulein who’d serviced him. Probably not, was the consensus.
The penance given Feeney by Father Serra had been delicious. Not only did he have to say a rosary each day, but he had to serve as an altar boy whenever needed. Feeney still insisted it was worth it, and that people were jealous.
In the back of everyone’s mind was the ugly reality that spring would inevitably come and with it the titanic battles that would claim so many of them. Jack couldn’t help but look at his comrades and wonder who among them would be alive the next Christmas, and who would be maimed. He knew they were looking at him and wondering the same thing.
If it hadn’t been for the war, he would have finished college and been well on his way with a good job and a career. Maybe he’d even be married and planning a family with a wife who, in his imagination, looked surprisingly like Jessica Granville.
Now he had no idea when any of this would occur, or even if it would occur.
Carter slapped him on the shoulder and passed him a bottle of Rhine wine. “Ain’t it crazy? Christmas is supposed to be joyous but we can’t shake the sadness. Bittersweet, isn’t it?”
Jack took a drink. The wine was pretty decent for once. “Sure is. So what do we do about it?”
“You know as well as I do, my friend,” Carter said. “All we can do is live for today, this moment, and ignore anything beyond that, which is why you should take advantage of every moment you can find to be with my lovely and virginal cousin. Hey, she is still a virgin, isn’t she?”
Jack laughed. “If she isn’t, I had nothing to do with it.”
Levin sat down and smiled widely. He was drunk. “And to all a Merry Hannukah.”