Rushing was more like wishful thinking, considering the slow pace of the truck making its way through the muck and mire, the slush. The truck drivers and crew were the real heroes today, hunting for the best traction on roads that were little more than muddy tracks.
Some of the men jammed into the back stood up and stomped their feet from time to time to stay warm. Others sat motionless, hugging themselves, afraid to move and let any heat escape from their ragged clothes. It was hard to say which method worked best.
Cole figured that the best strategy was to ignore the cold. He had to admit that wasn’t working so far.
He turned to Vaccaro, who was hunkered down on the bench beside him, and said, “Ain’t you glad that you didn’t stay in that hospital? Hell, you’d be under a warm blanket right now, drinking hot soup. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”
Vaccaro snorted. “Don’t remind me. At least we’re better off than those poor bastards at Bastogne. I heard the Krauts bombed the hell out of them.”
The truth was, Vaccaro looked more than a little worse for wear, which was understandable, considering that he’d been wounded during the fight at La Gleize. By any sensible measure, Vaccaro should have remained in the makeshift hospital in a church. But like many of the walking wounded, Vaccaro had decided that he wasn’t going to sit this fight out.
Their recent skirmish on the road hadn’t helped. But Vaccaro wasn’t about to give up.
There was still too much at stake, and the truth was, every American soldier now had a burning hatred against the Krauts for the Malmedy massacre, where nearly eighty US troops, held as prisoners of war by Kampfgruppe Friel, had been murdered in cold blood. At La Gleize, they had also seen an innocent young woman gunned down as she tried to help the wounded. For many GIs, the fight now felt personal.
It certainly did for Cole.
As he watched the shadows lengthen among the trees and the forest grow darker, the thought crossed his mind that it was one helluva way to spend Christmas Eve.
They weren’t the only ones experiencing a miserable holiday. In the embattled town of Bastogne, the commanding officer, General McAuliffe, had issued the following statement to his men, written out on a typewriter that typed unevenly and copied onto thin paper using a mimeograph machine that needed more ink. The results weren’t pretty, but the message warmed the hearts of the defenders.
December 24, 1944
Merry Christmas! What’s merry about all this, you ask? We’re fighting — it’s cold — we aren’t home. All true, but what has the proud Eagle Division accomplished with its worthy comrades? Just this: We have stopped cold everything that has been thrown at us from the North, East, South, and West.
In his own words, the general related the soon-to-be-famous story of how he had rejected German demands to surrender. It was a story that had grown and spread among the beleaguered troops in Bastogne, giving them a sense of pride at their ornery general. Just when the situation had been at its bleakest, the Germans had attempted to get the American defenders to surrender. Under a flag of truce, a German envoy had delivered the offer to General McCauliffe.
McCauliffe’s reply had been a single word: “Nuts!”
The response left the Germans scratching their heads. They didn’t understand what the unfamiliar term meant. Once they figured out that the American general was basically thumbing his nose at them, the firing recommenced. From the hills and forests surrounding Bastogne, more German shells fell like the snow.
CHAPTER FOUR
The bold strike by Germany had originated in the mind of Adolf Hitler and had been a closely held secret, even as he’d gathered troops, trucks, tanks, and planes all through the autumn of 1944, moving them into position using the mental chessboard of his mind. When German troops finally surged into the Ardennes, it was a single-minded projection of Hitler’s will.
He had unveiled the plan at his secret lair, called Adlerhorst, German for “Eagle’s Aerie.” This hideout was located near Koblenz, a town on the Rhine riverfront, roughly fifty miles from the Belgian border.
Der Führer had summoned dozens of generals and other key officers there to reveal his plans. Under cover of darkness, in a cold rain, they had arrived, not knowing what to expect. Among these officers was Obersturmbannführer Ingo Bauer, a veteran of the monthslong struggle to halt the Allied push across Europe. Bauer spotted General Manteuffel and the chillingly blunt Sepp Dietrich, even Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt, and felt out of place in such exalted company.
What in the world was he doing here?
Some officers, Bauer included, half expected to be shot. There was some precedent for that.
After all, it had been only six months before that Claus von Stauffenberg had tried to assassinate Der Führer by detonating a briefcase filled with explosives during a meeting. Hitler had survived and launched a savage purge of anyone even slightly connected with the plot. Rumors spread of basements with meat hooks, or buckets of water and electrical wires, as the Gestapo and SS dealt with the traitors.
The assembled officers were informed rather brusquely that they would soon be addressed by Der Führer himself.
The secrecy surrounding the meeting and the security efforts did little to alleviate their fears. They were relieved of their briefcases and any sidearms. The officers were then brought to a large room and seated by rank. And yet they were treated more like prisoners than Germany’s command staff.
Young SS guards with MP 40 submachine guns stood around the edges of the room, watching the officers with open disdain, as if hoping for some excuse to pull the trigger. They seemed to view the gathered officer corps not with respect, but with disgust for a group of balding fat men who seemed intent on losing the war.
Perhaps their thinking mirrored that of Der Führer.
“No one in the audience dared move or even take his handkerchief out of his pocket,” one general later recalled.
Bauer held himself stiffly at attention in his chair, scarcely breathing. Like the others, he hadn’t ruled out the possibility of mass execution.
However, he found himself excited about seeing Hitler. Although he was tired of the war and wondered how it could possibly go well for Germany in the end, he had always found the German leader inspiring.
Then a side door opened and the leader of the Third Reich appeared.
A barely audible collective gasp filled the room.
Hitler’s appearance shocked them. He looked stooped, pallid, and he dragged one foot as he walked. Even his voice was low and hesitant. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had rallied the German people and enthralled millions with his energy. Bauer had to admit that he had fallen under Hitler’s spell as much as anyone.
However, each military loss that Nazi Germany had suffered in the last few months must have been like a body blow against its supreme leader.
Only when he warmed to his subject and the possibility of victory did some of his old fire and confidence return.
Before the spellbound — and captive — audience, Hitler revealed his plan. He had been working to gather these forces since September. It was to be a multipronged effort.
Several divisions of troops that included the Second SS Panzer Division Das Reich and Volksgrenadier divisions, more than one hundred transport planes carrying paratroopers, hundreds of panzers, nearly two thousand heavy artillery guns, mortars, and V-1 rockets.
Under the direction of Otto Skorzeny, specially trained infiltrators who spoke English and wore American uniforms would wreak havoc behind enemy lines. These men were taking a huge chance, knowing that they would be shot as spies if captured.