The Stream

Photo by Nicholas A. Tonelli
(Source)

It is a pleasant day for once, the sky is clear, the wind has died down, and the temperature is a pleasant 18° C. Grenadier Max Herrmann is laden with ten canteens, his own and those of his squad mates. As the junior man, he has been detailed to go down to the nearby stream, refill the canteens, then return to his squad. Though he has only been a soldier for three months, his squad leader figures that it's something the 17-year old can manage on his own. After all, Herrmann is a country boy from the Schnee Eifel, not all that far from where his unit is now, the Hürtgenwald.

As young Max approached the stream, he heard something, it sounded like the crack of a dead branch. Someone is nearby. He lowered the burlap sack containing the canteens to the ground as quietly as he could, a sack full of empty aluminum water bottles could be rather noisy. He knelt behind a tree, he could see the stream, which was noisy all by itself, he was surprised that he had heard the branch snap.

With his rifle unslung now,  wondering whether or not he had a round in the chamber, he eased the bolt back to check, he saw the gleam of brass, closing the bolt he then eased the safety off. Noise was his enemy now, though he was new to this soldiering business, he had grown up in the woods. Hunting for one's supper made one alive to the sounds of the forest and the movements of its inhabitants.

He held his rifle loosely, ready to bring it up and aim in any direction to his front. He waited to see if he heard any more noise, though he doubted he would hear anything further over the sound of the nearby stream. His peripheral vision spotted movement to his left, he looked, moving only his eyes, there! Another person was in the forest, Grenadier Max Herrmann trembled slightly, the other person was an American!

Pvt Ozzie Lederer was a new recruit, he had been assigned to Charlie Company only days before his new outfit had moved into the German woods southeast of the city of Aachen. He was a city boy, from San Diego and he hated this weather, he hated this forest, and he hated the fact that he was lugging all these canteens which his sergeant, Cliff Davis, had detailed him and PFC Billy Matuszak to fill up. Matuszak had stopped to take a leak, Lederer had continued on, he wanted to get this job over with and get back to the bivouac.

As he unscrewed the cap on the first canteen, he had the eerie sensation that he was being watched. Shaking his head, he was just nervous being this far from his squad, he dipped the canteen into the clear, cold water and let it fill. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone out here. Jesus, do they have bears in these woods? Being a city boy, he was uncomfortable in the woods, especially these woods which seemed so dark and foreboding. Damn, he missed Southern California.

Herrmann watched the American, the man seemed nervous, so Max tried to stay very still and very quiet. As the man seemed to shrug then go about his business, Max relaxed slightly. No need to make trouble he thought to himself, I'll just wait for the man to fill his canteens, then I'll do the same, when he's gone on his way, of course. It was too nice a day and he'd never fired his rifle in anger, no doubt his sergeant would have shot the guy, he wouldn't unless he had to.

Billy Matuszak buttoned his trousers back up, picked up his rifle and moved down to the stream, though he'd made Lederer carry most of the canteens, he had three of his own to fill. Can't make the kid do all the work, Billy chuckled to himself, even if I do outrank him by one whole stripe.

Something made Matuszak pause before stepping into the open by the stream bank. There, across the slight ravine the stream had worn in the forest floor, was a darker shadow, something which seemed out of place in this sun-dappled wood. Was that a man?

Matuszak dropped his canteens, not thinking of the noise it would make, and brought his rifle up.

Max Herrmann was startled by the noise when Matuszak unthinkingly let the three canteens drop to the forest floor. There was another man over there, had to be another American. The man kneeling by the stream was also startled and turned to see what the noise was, his rifle was still lying on the ground nearby.

Herrmann saw the American standing there, rifle pointed in his direction, without thinking, he fired, then quickly worked the bolt to load another round.

"Jesus!" Matuszak exclaimed as he heard the hiss of a bullet pass close by his head. He had seen the flash of Herrmann's rifle at nearly the same time, then the bark of a German rifle. Without thinking he snapped off three or four rounds at the darker shadow amongst the trees. That's when he saw another muzzle flash and heard the report of the German's rifle again. The soft grunt he heard just ahead puzzled him.

Grenadier Max Hermann's first shot had clearly missed, his second was low as the American had fired a burst in Herrmann's direction, throwing off the young German's aim. Fortunately none of those bullets touched him. He was on the forest floor now, trying to make himself very small, working the bolt of his rifle again, he had to make this shot count, he had to...

Matuszak emptied the rest of his magazine at the German, the ping as his rifle ejected the clip reminding him to reload, as he saw the shape, perhaps a man, on the ground the German's rifle coming up to shoot at him. He heard a gasp, then nothing else. He quickly reloaded then advanced carefully. He didn't take any notice of Lederer as he stepped across the narrow stream and moved towards the shape lying on the ground ahead of him.

He might have heard Lederer groaning if he weren't so keyed up and if the babbling of the small stream wasn't making so much noise.

Grenadier Max Herrmann was hit, badly. One of the rounds from Matuszak's wild second burst had hit him in the shoulder, then deflected off bone and gone into a lung. He was having trouble breathing and it hurt, a lot. He wanted to bring his rifle up and shoot the man who had shot him, but it seemed that he had no control over his arms.

As he lay there, bleeding badly, the American came up to him and stood there, looking down at the badly wounded German. Herrmann thought it odd, but the man looked sad.

PFC Billy Matuszak stood over the fallen enemy soldier, it almost seemed that the man was looking at him. Suddenly Matuszak wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He had just shot a guy. He had fired his weapon before in combat, many times, but always over some distance, at movement, not really at any one in particular. Now he had, and it made him sick.

As he watched, not sure of what he was supposed to do now, the German closed his eyes and made an odd sound, deep in his throat. Then he just lay there. Matuszak wondered, "Is he dead? Jesus, I just killed someone."

When he snapped out of his funk, he prodded the body with his rifle, nothing, the man wasn't moving, as near as he could tell, the man wasn't breathing either. Then he thought, "Damn it, where's Ozzie?"

Pvt Ozzie Lederer was lying half in and half out of the stream running through the forest. Two of the canteens he had been carrying had floated away from him shortly after the 7.92 mm steel-jacketed bullet from the German's rifle had passed through him.

The bullet had gone through his heart, the shock of being hit had stunned him to the point where he hadn't really felt any pain. He only had a brief moment of clarity, he had seen the man who had killed him fall himself, shot down by his squad mate, PFC Billy Matuszak.

Then he had died and fallen into the stream.

Matuszak stopped, why was the stream so red, why was Ozzie in the stream, then he realized, Ozzie was hit, that must be blood.

He quickly moved to Ozzie's side, pulling him out of the stream. But it was far too late, Ozzie's eyes were glazed and stared into eternity. When Matuszak checked him, he realized that the kid had been shot square in the chest.

Sgt Cliff Davis had received the okay from his lieutenant to take his squad out to find his two missing men shortly after they had heard a brief flurry of rifle fire. When they found PFC Billy Matuszak and Pvt Ozzie Lederer, Matuszak was holding the dead Lederer while staring at the body of the dead German just up the bank.

"Matuszak, Billy, are you okay?" Davis pointed at another man and gestured for him to check the dead Kraut, while he knelt down next to Matuszak. "Billy, are you hit?"

"Nah, Sarge, I'm okay, but I think Ozzie is dead, he ain't moving and he's got a lot of blood all over his shirt. Is that guy up on the bank dead? I think I killed him."

"Yeah, he's dead, c'mon we gotta get back, the lieutenant's worried about you." As he said that, one of the other men pulled Lederer's body away from Matuszak, while another gathered the canteens and finished the job of filling them. Upstream from where Lederer had been shot. The man who had checked the body of Grenadier Max Herrmann remained next to the fallen German and was watching for more Germans.

Quietly, the squad moved back, two men carrying Lederer's body, another assisting Matuszak who seemed to be in a daze.

The men of 1st Squad, 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion of the 26th Infantry returned to their bivouac. Doc Milbury checked Matuszak out, the man was still quiet and wouldn't respond. 2Lt Morgan Childreth, told Doc to take Matuszak back to the battalion aid station. Perhaps a night off the line might help him recover his senses.

As the sun began to set and the shadows in the forest slowly grew into night, the small stream continued to flow and make its happy sounds, deep in the Hürtgenwald.

The body of Grenadier Max Herrmann was never recovered.