The Kids

Bundesarchiv

The men were as ready as he could make them. Hauptmann Jürgen von Lüttwitz, commander of the 5th Company, walked down the line with the commander of his 1st Platoon, Unteroffizier Manfred Sauer. Though it was not unheard of for an NCO to lead a platoon, it was odd that all three of von Lüttwitz's platoons were led by NCOs. Sauer was fairly junior, having only been promoted in mid-September, but he had proved his leadership ability more than once. Von Lüttwitz felt lucky to have him.

"Any questions Manfred?"

"No sir. I wish I had a full platoon to hold this position, I suppose two squads will have to do. Any thing you wish to tell the men sir?" Sauer asked, hoping that his captain would say something. Most of his men weren't much more than school boys. With the exception of Opa Köhler, newly promoted to Gefreiter, the average age of his platoon was eighteen and a half.

"Certainly Unteroffizier Sauer, I'd be honored."

Turning to face the line of expectant faces, von Lüttwitz spoke, "Men, things aren't going to be easy out here. The enemy is well-supplied, resourceful, and is highly motivated. The Americans are not the soft mongrels that they told you about in the Hitler Youth. They are tough and they are good fighters. They chased my ass halfway across France last summer." The men all had a laugh at that. "I'm not asking you to fight for the Fatherland, nor for the Führer, you should be fighting for the man next to you. You watch his back and he'll watch yours. Remember your training, listen to your sergeants, and most important of all... Gefreiter Köhler?"

"Keep your f**king heads down!"

"Yes, indeed. First Platoon! Take up your positions!"

The men were well entrenched, with good overhead cover in the form of logs scavenged from the forest. Sauer and von Lüttwitz had been very careful with the platoon's main assets, two MG 42 machine guns. The riflemen both supported and provided covering fire for the machine gun teams should they have to maneuver. Multiple positions along the trench line had been prepared for the guns, which would be used depended on the Americans.

Köhler was watching two of the younger boys, Wilhelm Stolz and Fritz Pfeiffer. Both were only seventeen, while Pfeiffer was a big farm boy, Stolz was slight and wore spectacles. The two were fast friends and had been since they had gone through training. They had had the luck to be assigned to the same platoon, Sauer had no problem assigning them to Obergefreiter Manfred von Horn's 1st Squad. Von Horn was only 19 himself but was an adept combat soldier. He wore the ribbon of the Iron Cross 2nd Class and had been recommended for the 1st Class as well. Regiment seemed to be taking their sweet time approving that award.

"When the Amis come out of those trees down there, they will be moving low and quick from tree to tree. They will use every fold in the ground to protect themselves and every trick in the book to get up here and kill you. Mark your targets, make every round count. If you kill enough of them, they'll stop. But I'll tell you boys, there are a lot of them!"

Stolz looked nervously at Köhler, who winked at the lad, then began to fill his pipe. Pfeiffer saw the gesture, chuckled then nudged his buddy and said, "You worry too much Willi. Do as the corporal says and we'll be fine. We'll all be heroes!"

"Right," Köhler grumbled, "we'll all be f**king heroes."

At that moment, the word came down the line, "Here they come!"

At first they were merely vague shapes, moving in the shadows under the trees, fleeting glimpses of olive drab clad men, moving up the slope towards the German lines.

A ripping burst from an MG 42 did nothing more than reveal the gun's position. Von Horn screamed at his team to hold their fire, "Wait for a clear target!"

Willi Stolz saw the winking of small lights down the slope, before he could ask what they were, Opa Köhler had pressed his head down into the dirt. "Keep your head down boy or the Amis will blow it off!"

Stolz heard the zip and crack of bullets overhead, he could hear them smack into the trees behind them and into the logs over their heads. He also heard the strangled gasp of one of his squad mates as an American bullet found a human target.

"There, fire!" Von Horn saw a man with a radio next to another man who was talking into the radio's handset. Tracer fire from his MG 42 walked towards those two men and cut through them. Almost immediately the deeper chatter of an American machine gun opened up, the incoming rounds spattering the 42 crew with dirt and wood chips.

"Move to your right lads, position two."

The gunner and his assistant moved low down the trench line to their alternate position, within seconds they were set up.

The firefight lasted nearly an hour. The Americans would try to maneuver only to be driven back by machine gun and rifle fire. Sauer saw one or two of the shadows fall, but were they hit or simply taking cover?

Grenadier Friedrich Engel from Unteroffizier Wolf Schneider's 2nd Squad was down, he had been hit just below the rim of his helmet on the left side of his head. The wound was bloody as Hell but non-life threatening, Engel would have a very bad headache for the next few hours.

Grenadier Jürgen Peltz, also of 2nd Squad wasn't so lucky, he had been hit by a lucky shot through his firing aperture. Hit in the throat, the bullet had deflected down into his chest. Peter Krause the Sanitäter, had tried desperately to keep young Jürgen alive, but he had died within minutes of being hit.

As the firing died away, the only thing left was the smell of cordite, the disturbed floor of the forest, and the wood chips torn from the overhead cover and the nearby pines. There were other smells on both sides, the coppery smell of blood, and the smell of voided bowels.

Sauer studied the area through his field glasses, no American soldier had gotten within twenty meters of his position. One man had made it that close, he was a big blond soldier who was now laying in front of Opa Köhler's position. The man was doubled up, clasping his hands to his belly, crying pitifully for his mother.

Sauer heard the shout "Sanitäter!" from Köhler, then watched in amazement as Köhler and Pfeiffer scrambled from the trench, dashed out to the wounded American, grabbed him by the arms and dragged him back into the trench.

Krause got there as quick as he could, when he got there the wounded man was staring at him in terror. All he saw was the helmet and Krause's uniform, the enemy.

"Easy boy, rest easy. He's going to help you." Opa Köhler had spoken in a low gentle voice, a voice Pfeiffer recognized from his days helping his father. His Papa had talked to injured farm animals in just such a tone, it seemed to calm them. It did in this case too.

Though Köhler's English was heavily accented, the American boy seemed to understand him, he tried to relax as Krause attempted to patch him up. But the American's wounds were too severe and he died shortly after Krause's arrival.

"Shit!" Krause muttered as he threw the soiled bandages out of the trench. On one knee he leaned over the dead American, closed his eyes, then whispered a silent prayer. Krause was a good Lutheran, he prayed often and he prayed hard. He was a healer, he hated seeing people hurt and he died a little inside each time he couldn't save a wounded man, friend or enemy.

"You did your best Peter." Köhler said. He had known men like Krause from the first war. One of them, from his village, had gone on to be a doctor after the war. A very good doctor. But he had been taken away in late 1942, just before Köhler had received his draft notice. For the man from his village had been Jewish. A decorated veteran and a fine doctor and man, but the Nazis didn't care. Köhler had been outraged at the injustice of the thing when he had heard of it.

"Thanks Opa. I know I can't save them all, but it hurts to see them die."

Unteroffizier Sauer came along the trench line, he had had two men take Peltz's body to the rear. Engel was sent back to see the surgeon, his wound seemed to be okay, it was not bleeding at the moment. But Sauer wanted him looked at and Krause had agreed.

"If that dressing comes off, you might start bleeding again. If that happens during a firefight, I might not be able to get to you. Let the doctor check you, then come back if he says it's all right."

When Sauer got to Köhler's position and saw the dead American, he looked at Köhler, "Trying to save the world Opa?"

"Yes, Manfred, one man at a time. We failed this one."

"He was an enemy, he was trying to kill us. So we killed him. It's war Opa. It's war."

Köhler looked down at the dead boy, for he truly wasn't really old enough to be a man yet. Probably never even kissed a girl, Köhler thought. Looking back up at his platoon leader with a questioning look, he asked "Well?"

Sauer looked at Pfeiffer and Fuchs, "Take the dead Ami back to the rear with Peltz. The man at least deserves a decent burial."

"Thanks Manfred."

"I swear Opa, you can't fix the world. The world is f**ked, we're f**ked, I doubt the Allies will let any of us live after this is over."

"So do we quit, Herr Unteroffizier?" Köhler meant that as an insult, Sauer took it that way, but he understood.

"No, Grenadier Köhler, we fight, we fight until we die, or our leaders tell us to stop. We have no other choices."

Köhler shook his head, sighed and said, "I know Manfred, sorry, but I've seen this before, it ends badly you know?"

Sauer nodded his head, "I know Opa, I know."