Letters and Rumors

(Source)

Oberst (Colonel) Gebhard Vorwald stepped outside into the cool air of a lovely November day. He lit his cigarette and thought of his son, Werner, killed in action in North Africa in 1942. Today was Werner's birthday, he would have been 40 this day. As he did every day, he wondered how his grandson Gerd was doing. The lad was scarcely 18 and was a lieutenant in the Army, assigned to the 275th Infantry Division in the West. He had seen the casualty reports from his grandson's unit, they were losing men at a rate which just couldn't be sustained for very long.

Working in Signals at the Army Headquarters at Wünsdorf outside Berlin gave him access to information which wasn't available to others in the Army. He had seen the message traffic ordering Gerd's division to be pulled back into the Reserve and rebuilt. Perhaps his grandson might make it out of the Hürtgenwald alive after all!

1Lt Nate Paddock was sitting inside his tent reading a letter from his mother. It was full of news from home, the weather back there, and, of course, the rationing. His mother always mentioned the rationing. She felt that she was doing her bit for the war effort by obeying all the rules about hoarding and rationing. She still mentioned the day she had turned in her old pots and pans and was convinced that somewhere over Europe her old cookware was now a bomber or a fighter, raining death and destruction on the Nazis.

Paddock sighed, if only she knew the harsh reality of this war. He had just sent off the last batch of letters he had written to the families of the men killed in his company - fancy that, he thought, his company - over the past few days. He had also written to his predecessor's family, 1Lt Gus Chambers, which Captain Josephson said he didn't need to do, but he wanted to tell that man's mother and father just what a superb leader their son had been.

In truth, the words seemed hollow somehow. How do you tell a mother and father that the boy they raised, the boy they watched grow up, would never be coming home again?

Oberst Vorwald recognized the young Gefreiter from the Signals Section post office. He thought for a moment, trying to remember the young man's name, oh yes, Georg, Georg Alberg from Königsberg in East Prussia. It was starting to bother him how he was beginning to have trouble remembering people's names. But at the age of 64, he supposed it was something to be expected.

"Herr Oberst! A letter for you." The corporal nodded rather than saluted, hard to salute when you're carrying a satchel of mail and only have one arm. Young Alberg, as the colonel recalled, had lost an arm in the spring of 1940. He had served with Rommel, the same as his own late son.

"Good afternoon Georg, how are you today?"

"Better Sir, I'm glad the weather is warmer, my stump always aches when it's wet and cold."

"Yes, yes, I certainly understand that!" Oberst Vorwald, as he always did, slapped his left hand against his wooden left leg, the one he had lost at Verdun as a young lieutenant.

The two men, separated by a generation yet united in the blood they had shed for their Fatherland had a good laugh. Then Gefreiter Alberg nodded again and continued on his rounds. Whistling as he did so.

"Is it alright if I come in Sir?" Paddock looked up to see his old platoon sergeant, Sgt Stephen Hernandez, standing in the entrance to the tent.

"Of course, Sarge, come on in, take a load off. How are you feeling?" Paddock couldn't help but notice that Hernandez sat down in the camp chair very carefully. Though the bullet which had put him out of action had gone through the muscles of his lower abdomen without hitting anything vital, Sgt Hernandez had learned just how much those muscles were used. He was very careful in how he moved.

"Well Sir, I feel like a ninety year old man, but I'm alive. I'll take it. So, you have Charlie Company now?"

"Not officially, word has it that regiment has a captain looking for a job. Makes me a little nervous, what has this guy been doing all along if he needs a job now?"

"You never know L.T., could be a guy coming back from hospital. I've known a few like that, you might luck out and we might luck out, getting some veteran officer for the company. We'd also get you back in 2nd Platoon! Help me keep those jokers out of trouble."

"Well, we won't know for a day or two, for now Charlie is mine, all mine." Paddock did his best imitation of a movie villain laugh, which Hernandez appreciated. He had been afraid that the young officer might be too far down in the dumps after the events on Bloody Hill.

Winking at the young lieutenant, scarcely five months out of West Point, Hernandez chuckled and said, "Don't quit your day job just yet L.T."

Oberst Vorwald returned to his office, stood next to his desk, and finally had a chance to look at the letter in his hand. It was from his grandson's unit. A wave of panic washed over him, letters from a loved one's unit were almost never a good thing.

He opened the letter, read the first two lines, then sat down heavily in his chair.

Sehr geehrter Oberst Vorwald,¹

I had the honor of serving with your grandson in the Hürtgenwald. He was a good man and a good soldier. It is with great sorrow that I must tell you that your grandson died leading a counterattack against the American unit assaulting our position. He was an inspiration to his men and a great help to me as his company commander.

Please accept my condolences on your loss.

Mit Hochachtung,²

von Lüttwitz, Commanding

5th Company, 2nd Battalion, 983rd Grenadier Regiment 

Mein Gott³, Vorwald said to himself, how am I going to tell his mother and grandmother this news?

My boy's boy, the last of my line...

"Dear God, how can I live with this?"

Outside the sun was setting, the red light of an afternoon in late fall lit the office with a warmth the colonel did not feel. A warmth he believed he might never feel again.

¹ Dear Colonel Vorwald

² With Respect

³ My God

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