And, Grant thought, I almost got killed because Patton and Truscott wanted to be close to the action. Worse, American troops poised to jump off and attack what they hoped would be dazed and confused Germans were now hurt and confused themselves.
They had to drive more slowly the closer they got to the German lines. It was quickly apparent that a goodly number of Germans had survived the bombing, which was another lesson. Machine gun and anti-tank fire sliced through American infantry and a number of American tanks went up in flames. Tom stopped and they jumped into a bomb crater.
“Please don’t tell me we’re going to retreat,” Bryce said. “That would be a sin after all our boys went through. And where the hell are the generals?”
A quick look confirmed that Patton and Truscott were a little in front of them and a hundred yards to their left. Another tank exploded and someone yelled that the place was mined. Grant and Bryce looked around their crater and wondered if they were lying on a mine.
They slithered up and carefully crawled back to their jeep. They slowly drove forward, conscious that mines could be just under the earth. They passed several broken Sherman tanks that were burning furiously. The stench coming from them told them that not all the crew had made it outside. More bodies lay on the ground, and most were American.
Finally, they were through the German line. In the distance, they could see other enemy vehicles pulling back, while anti-tank and machine guns covered them. This German defensive position had been taken, but at what cost? How many GIs had been killed or wounded by their own planes, and how many others had fallen while taking a thin line of bunkers and machine gun nests? Worse, when the Germans had pulled back, they had taken most of their equipment with them for use at the next site.
As if to taunt them, well-hidden German artillery opened fire, again driving them to the ground. “How far is it from Detroit to Toronto?” Bryce asked.
“A little more than five hundred miles,” Tom answered.
“Christ, Tom, this is going to be a long damned war.”
Canfield looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and glared at Sergeant Dubinski. “Why the hell didn’t you just shoot the little bastard and throw his ass in the lake?”
With that, the scrawny young man in handcuffs standing beside Dubinski started to cry. The sergeant slapped him on the ear, “Shut up you little fucking coward.” Canfield was not going to shoot the foolish boy, nor was Dubinski really going to hurt him. What they really wanted to do was get through to the young soldier and make him realize just how close he’d been to getting hanged for desertion.
Canfield glared at the private. “Tell me, Private Hipple, just how the hell did you think you could get away with deserting? You didn’t even get twenty miles before the MPs picked you up, did you?”
Hipple gulped. “No sir.”
“That’s right,” Canfield continued, “and I’ll bet they were real nice and polite while they kicked the crap out of you weren’t they, which means you have no complaints about the way you were treated, do you?”
Hipple’s face was bruised and both his eyes were blackened, and his ribs were bruised which made breathing difficult. “No sir,” he managed.
“So why the hell did you do it?”
“I wanted to get home, sir.”
“Where’s home son?” Canfield already knew the answer. He had Hipple’s personnel file on his desk.
“Texas, sir. We live on a farm in Hudspeth County and that’s in way west Texas, sir.”
Dubinski snickered. “Ain’t anything much farther west than Hudspeth County. And I’ll be there ain’t nothing in Hudspeth County worth coming home to, is there Hipple, unless, of course, you’re partial to rattlesnakes and lizards?”
Hipple glared back but quickly looked at the floor. “It’s my home and it’s a place where people talk like me and don’t tease me because they think I talk funny. Back home they don’t make fun of me because I don’t know much ‘cause they don’t know nothing either. They also don’t have all this goddamn snow.”
The boy was lonely, Canfield had long ago realized, and homesick to boot. Hipple was twenty years old and had been drafted out of Texas and then sent to upper New York as a filler for the regiment that was trying to get to full strength. Since most of the men were from upper New York, he’d been the odd duck from the first day. He’d arrived several months prior and had been doing what they’d all been doing, train, train, and train some more.
“I was going to come back, sir. I just wanted to see my people. I ain’t heard from them in a long while.”
“Why didn’t you write them a letter or maybe even phone?”
Hipple turned away. “We don’t got no phone anywhere near and none of my people can write.”
Canfield looked at Dubinski who shrugged. The kid was likely telling the truth. “It’s your lucky day, Hipple, I am not going to hang your ass. I cannot bust you to private because you already are one. However, I can see to it that it’ll be an eternity before you get promoted and you will be performing every shit detail we have until we get into combat, at which point you will be allowed to redeem yourself. You will also be watched like a hawk and if you should make a move to get off base, I will make sure that everyone on guard duty knows they have my permission to shoot your worthless ass back to Hudspeth County in far west asshole Texas. You understand?”
Hipple gulped, “Yes sir.”
“Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
Hipple ran like he was on fire. Canfield waved Dubinski to a chair. “Why the hell didn’t the army keep him in Texas?”
“Beats me, chief. Don’t forget, there’s the right way, the wrong way, and the army way.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Hipple can read and write, sort of, but otherwise he’s a social illiterate. Hell, he never saw indoor plumbing until he got drafted. He figured out what toilets and urinals were for, but never realized you had to flush the things to get rid of the piss and shit. Maybe he thought the tooth fairy did it. His so-called buddies rode him hard because of that piece of ignorance along with other stuff.”
“Does he have any useful skills?”
“I hear he’s real good with horses and mules.”
“Jesus.”
“He’s bragged that he’s a dead shot and can hit anything he can see.”
Canfield was intrigued. “Kindly check that out. If he’s as good as he thinks he is, maybe we’ve got ourselves a designated shooter when the time comes.”
Canfield stood and walked outside. Dubinski followed. Canfield waved at the sea of tents surrounding them. “Look at all this. We’ve got an entire army sitting around and doing nothing more than get into trouble.”
“Maybe we should start a war, chief.”
“Maybe we should start fighting one, and haven’t I told you to stop calling me chief? We have an entire army that’s bored to tears and getting into trouble. Abraham Lincoln once had a general, McClelland, who spent all his time training the Union Army and not fighting, so Abe asked him since he wasn’t using his army might he borrow it. I understand McClelland got real angry. Well, I’m angry. I know it isn’t entirely General Fredendall’s fault, but we could do something other than digging ditches and planning to repel a German attack that isn’t going to happen.”
Dubinski shook his head. “I don’t know, colonel, at least nobody’s getting killed digging ditches.”
Chapter Sixteen
Once again the view of the mountains from his mountaintop retreat at Berchtesgaden was breathtaking. Adolf Hitler, however, did not even notice it. He was too angry. His military leaders were failing him. First, the campaign to destroy the Soviet Union for once and for all was bogging down badly in the mud of southern Russia. Field Marshal von Paulus was complaining about the lack of resources he possessed as well as the unexpected tenacity of the Red Army. Hitler was beginning to have doubts about von Paulus’ suitability for high command. The Russians were inferior people and should have been crushed. Yes, it was a very long way from Berlin to where the battles were raging, but von Paulus had an army of more than a million men with several hundred thousand others buttressing his flanks. There was yet another army protecting his lines of supply from hordes of partisans who were causing incredible damage.