Crossing the Line

US Army Signals Corps Photo

"So this is the Siegfried Line? Not as nasty as I'd thought it would be." The 1st Battalion commander had been around, he'd fought in the Great War as a Marine, got out, then re-enlisted when things went south in the Crash of '29. But not in the Marine Corps, they had shrunk to insignificance after the war. But his father, a banker in North Dakota, had many friends, one of whom was a colonel in the National Guard. He had transferred to the Regular Army when FDR started expanding the military in anticipation of going to war and brought the banker's son with him.

He'd made rank the hard way, taking command of his company in North Africa when all the officers had been hit, or were, as the major said, "Elsewhere on that day." The Army hadn't exactly covered itself in glory at Kasserine, but some individual units had fought well. The major had won his battlefield commission for that action.

By the end of the campaign he was a captain, commanding a company in what he liked to call, "The Finest Division to ever grace the Earth." The Big Red One of course. Now, for his actions in Normandy and beyond, he commanded a battalion in that division.

Captain Josephson had a great deal of respect for his commanding officer, but he had to point out, "Surely the S2 has pointed out that this is just the outer belt west of Aachen. The main line is to the east of Aachen. I guess they figured the city itself would stop us, I don't know about that, but cities are tough to fight in."

"I just hope the 9th Air Force doesn't blow it all to Hell and gone, I've heard stories of the fighting in Monte Cassino and at Caen. After the air blew those places to rubble, the Krauts had plenty of hidey-holes to shoot the attackers to bits. Probably better if they'd left 'em intact." The major shook his head and sighed, standing he turned to Josephson.

"You've done a top notch job with C Company, Alphonse," the major didn't believe in nicknames, "keep up the good work, I swear you'll have a battalion before long."

"Thanks Sir, I just don't want to fail my men, we started out on the wrong foot, but I think things have gotten better." The captain didn't want to think of his dead wife and son, months later and it still hurt beyond belief when he stopped to think about it. It had also made him angry and unpredictable in the aftermath. But the man walking next to him had done much to fix that, as did the company's First Sergeant, Mort Saeger.

"How's Paddock making out? I remember when he came to us, Hell, he wasn't but a few days out of the Point, Class of '44 only did three years and not the full four. I had my doubts."

"So did I, he seemed like a good enough officer but his senior NCOs were terrible, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but it was something of a blessing when Draper and Fortin were killed by that mine." Captain Josephson shook his head, "Sorry sir, I'm sure someone misses them."

"Fortin had a chance to be a good NCO, someday, but Draper ruined him. That fool had a godfather on the division staff, so I couldn't get rid of him, the Krauts took care of that, but we have to play the cards we're dealt, but about Paddock?"

"Damned fine officer, I'm submitting the paperwork for a Bronze Star, he's led his men from the front and I daresay they'd all march through Hell for the man. He's bright, he learns quick and, something which took me a long time to learn, he listens to his sergeants."

"Make sure that paperwork gets to battalion ASAP, I'll send it to regiment with my endorsement."

PFC Flavio Gentile was sitting with his back against an old tree stump. He was enjoying a last cigarette before it got dark and was savoring a cup of coffee. Where this platoon managed to get a guy who knew how to make such good coffee was a mystery. He drank it black and he liked it strong. Most outfits made it too damned weak. These guys knew how to brew.

"PFC Gentile, how you settling in?" Sgt Wilson was making the rounds before sunset, he'd been meaning to chat with Gentile but this was the first chance he'd had.

"Pretty good Sarge," he toasted Wilson with his canteen cup and continued, "youse guys know how to make a good cup of joe."

"Ah, that's Katz, ask him and he'll show you the secret. I don't ask, I probably don't want to know. I'm sure someone at battalion wonders where all the coffee gets to. I know he uses more beans than the battalion cook does, probably what makes it strong."

Both men sat back, Wilson lit a cigarette and asked Gentile, "So Philly, how is it you've been in combat since North Africa, was awarded a Bronze Star on D-Day, and you're still just a Private First Class?"

Gentile chuckled, "Well, I made corporal once, punched out a dumbass captain at Kasserine, and the battalion commander thought it'd be a good idea to let me start over again as a private, after 30 days in the stockade, of course."

"Of course." Wilson agreed.

"I think I'm just too feisty to be an NCO, can't keep my mouth shut, can't stand an idiot, you might notice that the Army has a few of those."

"That they do, that they do."

"So that's my story Sarge, I'm just a troublemaker from Philly who wants to kill enough Krauts so that they quit and we can all go home."

Sgt Wilson started to speak again but was interrupted when PFC Jack Leonard walked by, "Hey Sarge, why you talking to that tree stump? Oh, it's the new guy, didn't see ya there Philly, you kinda look like a tree stump, all short and hairy."

Gentile started to get up but Wilson pulled him back down, "Pay him no mind Philly, he thinks he's a comedian but as you might guess, he's no Joe E. Brown, in fact Hebert calls him the company jackass. Now there's a man who don't know when to shut up."

"Sorry Sarge, I don't mean nothing by it." In fact PFC Jack Leonard was desperately lonely, he had no family other than his mother back home, and she seldom wrote to him. He constantly sought the attention of his peers, even if most of what came out of his mouth wasn't particularly funny.

"Run along J.L. before I turn Philly loose on you."

Leonard moved off and Gentile spoke, "He is a little funny, but he seems kind of a sad guy, does he have any friends?"

"Him, Dickenson, and Kennedy all came to us after D-Day. They were in the division band together, came to us when we desperately needed replacements, somehow we turned them into decent soldiers, well, our old squad leader had a big hand in that. Leonard gets along with everyone okay, but friends? Not really. Our old squad leader kind of took care of him, before he got hit by a sniper in Belgium."

"Shit, did he get killed?" Gentile had lost a couple of good squad leaders in his time, one had died in his arms at Kasserine.

"Nah, wounded pretty bad, but we had a letter from him, he's okay, he'll probably recover, million dollar wound, he's headed home last I knew. With all his parts intact. Lucky man."

"Hey Sarge, I gotta answer the call of nature before it gets too dark. Talk to ya later?"

"Sure. Stump." Wilson smiled as he said it.

Gentile grimaced, but he liked the new nickname, he would never let anyone know of course. But a new nickname in his first week with a new outfit, that told him a lot about these guys. Time, and combat, would tell, but he felt lucky to be with this platoon. He wasn't sure he'd survive this war but he'd be serving with some good men.

As 'Stump' relieved himself, he could hear the thump of distant artillery, the thought of city fighting in Aachen made his blood run cold. It was beginning, maybe his regiment would stay out here in the woods. Though he was city born and bred, he didn't fancy fighting in one, too many places for the Krauts to hide.

Out here a fellow could see the sky and breathe the fresh air. An odd thought he smiled to himself as he slid into his foxhole. "Hey, Hank, get some sleep, I'll take the first shift. I got things I need to think about."

"Sure Philly, thanks." Pvt Hank Cambridge was asleep in seconds. Though he seemed to be terrified all of the time, he never had trouble sleeping.

As Cambridge snored, PFC Flavio Gentile thought of home. He missed it as he missed nothing else on this Earth. The letter in his pocket had come that morning, his older brother Giuseppe had been killed in action on some island in the Pacific called Tinian. His Mom had written the letter, his Dad was devastated, Giuseppe was supposed to take over the family business after the war.

He looked at the sky overhead as a single tear slid down his cheek, "G'bye Giuseppe. I'm gonna miss you big brother."

It was a very long night.