If it was at all possible in a world ripping itself apart, something in the Alsatian air brought a moment’s pause across the battlefield. Those who were more pragmatic argued that it was the obvious product of burning flesh that every nostril detected.
Others believed they sensed a revulsion in the very ground they trod on.
Men migrated to the horrors on display in front of the bistro.
Rangers, engineers, and tankers, stopped and took in the sight. Many an appalled mind refused to acknowledge what they saw there, and many a stomach rejected its contents.
Barkmann hobbled up, sensing what he was about to find.
‘Goddamnit Al, I need you now.’
First Sergeant Ford stood waiting for his commander, face set; hardened, impassive, but betrayed by his eyes.
Barkmann stood with his hands by his side, watching the decreasing fire continue to charr flesh and burn uniforms away, but not enough to hide the identity of the bodies.
“Oh Jesus, Walter.”
Ford was too engrossed in his own mental battle to acknowledge the use of his first name.
“Ne’er seen anthin’ like it in all my days, Cap’n, no sir.”
Some civilians appeared, clearly shocked and stunned by what had gone on in their home village.
A monk, his face bloodied by some unknown injury, stood before the terrible bonfire and made the signs of his faith repeatedly, calling for forgiveness on those who had brought about the terrible event, and seeking to bring mercy to those that had suffered so badly.
A burst of firing made everyone dive for cover, all except the old monk, who continued his entreaties.
Up the road, one of the Rangers had just executed a badly wounded enemy NCO, the same one who had ruled on the squabble over lighting the pyre.
“NO! Stop firing!”
Barkmann strode forward, pointing at the young Ranger who had just dispensed justice as he saw it.
“There will be no more! No more, you hear me?”
He took a deep breath, and raised his voice.
“Men… this is the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my soldiering. Far and away… and you all know we’ve been through some deep shit together.”
He pointed at the pile.
“These men were our Allies…"
He swallowed hard and composed himself.
"We were not in time to save them… but that’s not our fault. We couldn’t have done more. You all know that. YOU ALL KNOW THAT!”
He started to move amongst his men, placing a calming hand on a shoulder or patting an arm as he went.
"You ALL know that we couldn’t have done more for these boys."
Turning back to the smouldering heap, he spoke, almost as if addressing the fallen.
“This… this is awful… but we cannot… we must not… and we will not… let it make us into the same as those that did it.”
He reached the two dismounted armored officers, Watkins and Ewing, the commanders of the 712th and 5th Tanks respectively.
“We cannot become the same as the swine that did this.”
Ewing looked away, but Watkins held his gaze, the anger spilling from every pore in his body.
“You,” Barkmann pointed at an experienced Corporal,
“You,” a young 2nd Lieutenant.
“You,” a Sergeant from Gesualdo’s company.
“Me.”
He drew a few more looks and waved an expansive hand over the group.
“Us.”
He created a moment of silence to emphasise his point.
“All of us were at Hattmatt where… a mistake was made… a mistake that cost many Russians their lives.”
He nodded as a thought occurred to him.
“Perhaps that is why, eh? Maybe that’s why this… this abhorrence happened?”
He saw that some of the men could see his point.
“Perhaps we can help turn this off now… by not becoming like those who did this and… I don’t know… maybe starting to make up for Hattmatt?”
Barkmann had failed to spot the enemy soldier at the feet of one of his Rangers, cowed and bruised.
The American pulled the Siberian rifleman to his feet, both suddenly the centre of attention.
The Ranger shoved the prisoner towards Ford.
“One prisoner, Sergeant.”
Ford looked around him.
Directly opposite the bistro was a modest house, relatively undamaged by the battle that had raged around it.
The wooden hatches that protected the entrance to the basement stood invitingly open.
Two Rangers stood nearby, and Ford called to one.
“Rigby, you been in there?”
“Yep, Sarge.
“Secure is it?”
“One way in, one way out, Sarge.”
Turning back to the Ranger with the prisoner, the First Sergeant jerked his thumb at the basement entrance.
“Stick him in there.”
The fortunate Siberian received another shove, sending him on his way.
Barkmann continued.
“Now boys, let’s get this place secured pronto, and get ready for defence, just in case. Move!”
The crowd immediately dispersed to their duties.
Watkins shook out a Chesterfield for himself, and then offered the pack to Barkmann and Ewing.
“Lukas, right?”
“Yep. You?”
“Jeff, Jeff Watkins.”
All three men drew deeply on the cigarettes and turned to face the pile of corpses.
“You gonna call this in, Lukas?”
“‘Spose I gotta. I mean… Jesus, Jeff. Whatever makes people do that?”
“Hate,” stated Ewing, matter of factly, without thought that his view would be challenged.
“Simple as that?”
“Yep, I reckon. Look fellahs, most of us don’t hate most of them, do we? I ain’t got no beef with the Russkies, save they’re shooting at me and mine. Never had a beef with the Krauts either, for that matter, but,” Ewing took another draw on his cigarette, “But the Japs. I fucking hate ’em, every last man jack of ’em. My bro died in the Bataan March.”
No further explanation was needed.
“I’ll get on the horn straight-away. Told the General we got the place already. But he does need to know about this.”
Before he got to the radio, Barkmann was waylaid by one of his men and the monk. The French-speaking Pfc translated the old man’s version of events, giving the Ranger officer the whole horrible picture.
He was cut short when reporting to Pierce, the general terminating the radio exchange with the briefest of statements.
“Hold in position and await my arrival. Out.”
General Pierce stood in silence, hands upon hips, sucking his lips quietly as he took in the sights that La Petite Pierre had to offer.
Acting Captain Barkmann had briefed him fully, on both the military situation, and the story behind the grizzly sight now served up to the two officers.
“Goddamnit, Barkmann, but it’s a hell of a thing.”
Pierce grabbed the Ranger by the shoulders and talked as a father to his boy.
“C’mon now. Don’t you go thinking you or your men are to blame for this, son.”
By the reaction, Pierce knew that the young officer was plagued with nagging doubts.
“Son, I travelled up that road aways. I saw what you and your boys went through to get here. I don’t see how you coulda got here any sooner, really I don’t. Everyone did their best by these poor boys,” he looked over at the smouldering pile, “But it just simply wasn’t enough, just not enough…,” somewhere in his words he seemed to turn from speaking to Barkmann to addressing himself, “Especially when faced with men who could do that… what sort of men do that?”
He snapped out of the moment as quickly as it arrived.