Bloody Bastogne Page 19

  He congratulated himself for having escaped. Now all he had to do was make it back to Bastogne in one piece. He craved a cigarette but didn’t dare smoke. Thinking about what had happened, he concluded that the Germans must have had some patrols in the woods, and one of them had heard the convoy. That meant he’d have to be extra careful so that he didn’t bump into any more Germans.

  Slowly, he made his way through the woods. He estimated that he should be back in Bastogne in two or three hours if no problems developed.

  Mahoney couldn’t see well in the darkness, and he tripped over a branch, tumbling head over heels into a ditch.

  “Is that you, Hans?” asked a voice in German.

  Mahoney looked up and saw a big hulk of a man a few feet away in the ditch. He didn’t dare shoot the German soldier because it would attract too much attention, so he reached for the bayonet on his belt.

  “Hans?” asked the German soldier.

  Mahoney pulled out his bayonet and leapt toward the German soldier. He covered the German’s mouth with his big hand and pushed the bayonet with all his might into the German’s belly. The German twisted his face away from Mahoney’s hand and howled in pain. Mahoney slashed his throat, and the howling stopped.

  “What’s going on over there!” asked another German voice.

  Mahoney picked up his submachine gun and jumped out of the ditch. He ran into the woods in a crouch and heard Germans shouting behind him. They fired a few shots, but the bullets came nowhere near Mahoney.

  He ran for several minutes, dodging around trees and jumping over bushes. Then he stopped to catch his breath and listen for sound of pursuit. All he heard was a commotion in the distance behind him. He grinned when he realized that the Germans probably thought they’d been infiltrated by an American patrol and were shooting at shadows.

  He continued moving again and happened to look up at the sky. Something twinkled up there, and he blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. It still twinkled and Mahoney realized it was a star!

  That meant the weather was clearing, and he wanted to jump for joy, but instead he kept himself under control and stepped over the snow, still heading for Bastogne.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chaplain O’Neill awoke to the sound of a tremendous roar over his head. He opened his eyes and saw sunlight streaming through the flaps of his tent. Rolling out of bed, he stuck his feet into his boots, put on his field jacket and helmet, and went outside.

  He looked up and saw the sky blanketed with American airplanes. The weather had cleared, and for the first time, the American Air Force was going after the Germans in the bulge. He recalled his prayer yesterday, and being a religious soul, was thunderstruck by the thought that his prayer had brought this about. The Lord had heard him and delivered good weather. He was about to fall down and offer thanks, when he realized the theological implications: there would be widespread death and destruction today because of him.

  As he was pondering this, he saw General Patton walking toward him across the tent encampment. Patton was resplendent in polished boots, a neatly pressed uniform, and his pearl-handled revolver at his hip.

  “Good morning, Chaplain O’Neill,” Patton said, holding out his hand and smiling broadly. “I just wanted to shake your hand and thank you for making the sun come out. I have always believed in the power of prayer, and now I believe more than ever. You sure must stand in good with the Lord.”

  Patton shook Chaplain O’Neill’s hand, and the chaplain tried to smile.

  ~*~

  As Mahoney approached Bastogne, he saw cargo planes dropping huge bundles of supplies. The ground shook beneath his feet from the tons of bombs falling on Germans in the vicinity, and vast clouds of smoke darkened the day.

  He thought the supplies ought to contain some candy and realized that it was the day before Christmas. Somehow he’d have to get some of that candy and give it to the kids in the hospital. He remembered their big eyes and sad faces and quickened his step.

  He entered the city of Bastogne, and there was jubilation everywhere as paratroopers hauled the newly arrived supplies to the places where they were needed. The situation had seemed bleak only a few hours ago, but now, everything had changed.

  Mahoney made his way to the headquarters of the 101st Airborne, checked the conference room, and found it empty.

  “Where’s General McAuliffe?” he asked a private in the hall.

  “In his office, I think.”

  Mahoney proceeded to General McAuliffe’s office, stated his name to the general’s clerk, and was told to go right in.

  General McAuliffe sat behind his desk, looking over reports from his various front-line positions. “Mahoney!” he said. “You’re back already? What happened?”

  Mahoney sat in a chair. “We ran smack into some Germans, and as far as I know, I’m the only survivor.”

  McAuliffe frowned. “Damn,” he said. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Damn.”

  “Well, at least we got resupplied by air today.”

  McAuliffe opened his eyes. “Yes. And just in time, too. I don’t think we could have made it through the day otherwise. Well, I’ve got to get back to work, Mahoney. Why don’t you get something to eat and sack out for awhile.”

  “Sir, I’d like to ask you a favor if I may.”

  “Shoot,” said McAuliffe.

  “Well, sir,” Mahoney began, “I happened to be in the civilian hospital here a few days ago, and they’ve got a ward full of the most pathetic bunch of kids you’ve ever seen in your life. I thought that since it was Christmas tomorrow, you might let me get some candy from your G-4 officer so’s I can bring it to the kids.”

  McAuliffe smiled, and Mahoney realized it was the first time he’d ever seen him do that. “That sounds like a nice idea,” McAuliffe said. “Go ahead and do it, and if anybody gives you any trouble, just refer them to me.”

  ~*~

  It was noon at SHAEF Headquarters in Versailles, and the morning conference had just finished. Ike stood alone in front of the map table, and for the first time since the German offensive had begun, he felt no anxiety.

  Reports indicated that the American Air Force was pulverizing the Germans from the air while increasing numbers of American units were being brought to bear against the Germans on the ground. It was believed that the German offensive was coming to a standstill. Patton’s Third Army was hitting the Germans hard in the south while Monty’s forces were holding fast in the north and were on the verge of launching a huge counteroffensive. Germans were abandoning their tanks because they had run out of fuel. One battalion strength German panzer unit had nearly reached the Meuse River, but the American Second Armored Division was on the way to head it off.

  Ike looked down at the city of Bastogne. That was the only serious problem left. The garrison was still surrounded and could conceivably be wiped out. The Third Army was driving toward Bastogne from the south, and Ike hoped it would arrive on time.

  He decided to put an immediate call through to Patton and tell him to make Bastogne his number one priority.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was Christmas Eve in Bastogne and the fighting had diminished to an occasional shot from a rifle or a burst of machine gun fire. American soldiers sang Christmas carols in their trenches and bunkers while in the distance they heard German soldiers singing along in their own language. Stars blazed across the sky, and religious services were held on both sides of no-man’s-land.

  Mahoney and a group of paratroopers moved through the streets of the city, carrying bags of food and candy, and one of them lugged an eight foot pine tree that he’d cut down in the woods.

  Mahoney puffed a cigarette and hummed “Jingle Bells” as he recalled the Christmases of his youth, waking up early in the morning and rushing to the Christmas tree to get his presents. Never had he anticipated anything as much as Christmas even though, year after year, he received cheap things like coloring books and cookies or maybe some clothes that
he needed because his family was poor.

  He and his parents, and his younger brother and sister, never missed Mass on Christmas day, and the priest always said they shouldn’t forget that Christmas was not just for giving and receiving presents, but was the birthday of Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace.

  Mahoney snorted sardonically when he remembered that, because he’d had no peace for almost three years and had seen incredible bloodshed and brutality during that time. Yet, although Americans and Germans were only a few hundred yards apart in Bastogne and had been fighting each other viciously for the past several days, there was peace in Bastogne tonight. Soldiers, who on other evenings would be trying to kill each other, were singing about the little town in Bethlehem, remembering Christmases of years past, and praying that they’d be alive on Christmases to come.

  If we all could be good Christians, Mahoney thought, there would be no more wars, but it’s too hard to be a good Christian and be loving toward people you can’t stand and turn the other cheek when people like the Nazis start pushing you around and throwing people into concentration camps. The Bible says there is a time for war and a time for peace, and it looks like this is the time for war.

  They reached the hospital, and Mahoney led the paratroopers inside. Priests walked among the sick, blessing them and saying prayers. Candles flickered in the gloom, and somewhere in the hospital, a group of people was singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

  Mahoney stopped the paratroopers outside the children’s ward, and they set down their bundles, taking out false white beards they’d made from bed sheets torn into strips and held together by safety pins. They tied the beards on and looked at each other, realizing they appeared ridiculous, but it was Christmas Eve and so what?

  They gathered together and picked up their bundles. Mahoney slung his over his shoulder and strolled into the ward. “Merry Christmas kids!” he said in a deep booming voice. “Ho ho ho!”

  The kids turned around and stared at him, then burst into smiles. They knew exactly who he was and held out their hands.

  “Gimme some candy, GI!” they said. “Hey—over here, GI!”

  “GI?” Mahoney replied. “I’m not a GI! I’m Santa Claus, and these are my helpers!”

  “Then how come you’re wearing an Army uniform?” one of them asked.

  “Because my regular clothes are in the laundry.”

  Annette was working in the ward, and she recognized Mahoney in an instant. She walked toward him, a big smile on her face. “Merry Christmas!” she said.

  “Ho ho ho,” Mahoney replied. “Merry Christmas to you too! Do you mind if me and my helpers give some stuff to the kids?”

  “Go right ahead,” she said. “But please don’t let any of them eat too much and get sick.”

  “Oh no, we wouldn’t do that! Ho ho ho!”

  Mahoney and the paratroopers passed out candy and peanut butter sandwiches, and the eyes of the children sparkled with happiness. Their tiny hands flailed the air as they tried to attract the attention of the soldiers, and they squealed with delight. The paratroopers made funny faces and acted silly although they’d been an elite bunch of killers only a few hours ago.

  “Ho ho ho!” said Mahoney, pressing a chocolate bar into the hand of a little girl. “God bless us every one!”

  ~*~

  Annette ran to the canteen in the basement, and saw Madeleine drinking coffee with some other aides. “Madeleine,” Annette said excitedly, “he’s back!”

  Madeleine knew instantly who she was talking about. “He’s in the ward?”

  “Yes! Hurry!”

  Madeleine wanted to run as fast as she could, but she didn’t want to appear ludicrous to her co-workers, so she walked swiftly out of the canteen and climbed the flight of stairs to the main floor of the hospital. Something had told her that he’d return sooner or later, and now he had.

  She came to the ward and saw chaos. The children who were ambulatory had gotten out of bed and were climbing all over the soldiers, who looked absurd with strips of white cloth hanging from their faces. One soldier was hammering nails into a stand which would hold a pine tree, whose fragrance could be smelled through the odor of medicine and disinfectant. Then her eyes fell on him, his beard crooked on his face because a child was pulling it as he bent over the child’s bed, a chocolate bar in his hand.

  She clasped her hands behind her back and walked toward him. He caught her movement in the corner of his eye and turned around. His heart beat like a big gong as he recognized her, and his jaw dropped open. The child snatched the chocolate bar out of his hand, and then pulled away his beard.

  She smiled and stopped in front of him. “Hello,” she said. “I heard you came by a few days ago to see me.”

  Mahoney told himself to snap out of it as he gazed at her features, especially the alluring shape of her lips. “Yes, but I thought you weren’t here.”

  “Well, I’m here.”

  They looked at each other, and there was nothing more to say. She fell into his arms, and he held her tight, kissing her forehead. He wanted to tell her that he was overjoyed to see her, and she wanted to say she would have died if he hadn’t returned, but then their lips met, and they said it all silently.

  ~*~

  South of Bastogne, the Hammerhead Division had stopped for the night, and the men sat on the snow near tanks and ate C rations while thinking of their families and friends back in the States celebrating Christmas Eve without them.

  In Charlie Company, Captain Anderson threw his poncho over his head and shined his flashlight on the map spread out on his knees, trying to study in advance the terrain over which they’d fight tomorrow. He tried not to think about home because it was too painful for him. He was only twenty-two years old, and he missed his parents and his girlfriend, whom he was engaged to marry. Every time there was a mail call, he expected her to return his ring along with a Dear John letter, but she hadn’t done it yet, thank goodness. He didn’t know if he could handle it if she did.

  So he tried to bury himself in the terrain shown on the map. He measured the distance to Bastogne and thought they might get there in another two or three days if the Germans didn’t put up too much resistance. Today’s advance had been much easier, thanks to the air support. Trucks had been brought up from the rear because too many soldiers were getting frostbite from the cold winds on top of the tanks. There’d be no rest tomorrow, which was Christmas. The paratroopers in Bastogne had to be relieved.

  Captain Anderson heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. He flicked off his flashlight, threw off the poncho, and saw a jeep with two stars painted on the fender heading toward him. Anderson stood because he knew it was the jeep belonging to General Barton Hughes, the division commander.

  The jeep stopped a few feet away, and Hughes, wearing a parka with a fur collar, stepped out. Anderson marched toward him and saluted.

  “Captain Anderson,” said Hughes, “General Patton thinks we’re not moving quickly enough, so I’m going to ride with you on the spearhead tomorrow. We’re going to get up an hour earlier than usual, and we’re going to push like hell because we’ve received word that the people in Bastogne can’t hold out much longer. Pass the word along to your men.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Anderson rushed off to pass the word to his platoon leaders, and General Hughes looked around for a suitable spot to pitch his tent. Patton had told him that if he didn’t move faster, he would be relieved of command, and Hughes would rather have been shot than be relieved of command. Therefore, he was going to ride the point tomorrow and lead the Hammerheads into Bastogne personally.

  Hughes could hear some soldiers nearby singing “Silent Night,” but as far as he was concerned, it was just another night in the war. He puffed his pipe and waited impatiently for his staff to arrive with his tent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Christmas day, Field Marshal Model put through a telephone call to General Jodl at Hitler’s headquarters in the Eagle�
��s Nest.

  “Jodl,” he said slowly, struggling to keep his voice under control, “you must convince the Fuehrer that the drive to Antwerp must be broken off at once.”

  Jodl was silent for a few moments, then he said, “The Fuehrer will never agree.”

  “If he knows what’s happening here, he’ll have to agree,” Model said. “The Allies have regrouped, received reinforcements, and are attacking all of my positions. Our offensive has come to a halt, and due to the tremendous losses we’ve taken, we no longer can conduct large scale operations. All we can do is pull back to a shorter defensive line and wait for reinforcements.”

  “There is nothing to reinforce you with,” Jodl said. “Wacht am Rhein has already received everything we can spare. However, you cannot retreat. You must stand and fight.”

  “Can you send us more gasoline?”

  “You were supposed to have sustained your attack with captured fuel.”

  “We’ve captured practically nothing. The Americans have blown everything up. Jodl, you must talk to the Fuehrer about this. We don’t have much time to waste. Some of my divisions are in danger of being encircled even as we speak.”

  “I’ll speak with him right away,” Jodl replied. “In the meanwhile, you are not to retreat one millimeter. Is that clear?”

  Jodl hung up the phone, badly shaken. He’d studied the reports and seen the dispositions, but until now nobody had actually said that Wacht am Rhein had failed. Some high-ranking officers, including Model, had said from the beginning that the offensive didn’t have enough men, tanks, and gasoline to succeed, but the Fuehrer had insisted that it would succeed, and Jodl had believed him.

  Now he had to tell Hitler the bad news, and Hitler didn’t take bad news well. He’d rant and rave, and Jodl would have to sit still and put up with it., Jodl drummed his fingers on his desk for a few moments, trying to pull himself together for the task that lay ahead, and then stood, smoothed the front of his tunic, and set off for Hitler’s office.