Back to the Front

National Archives

The column was advancing through territory that the veterans had seen before, they skirted the Hürtgen Forest, passing to the south of that area. 2nd Lt. Stephen Hernandez couldn't help but think that not too far north of here, back in December, he'd still been a sergeant, 2nd Platoon's platoon sergeant as a matter of fact, the job now held by S/Sgt Jack Wilson. Of course, back then Nathan Paddock had been the platoon leader. Hernandez wondered how his old lieutenant was doing these days.

Paddock had been hit back on the 8th of January, which seemed like a lifetime ago to Hernandez. They'd lost other men that day, good men, killed with no hope of any future. Last he'd heard, Paddock was still in hospital in Belgium. Though his wound could have been very serious, it wasn't bad enough to get him back to England then back to the States. Lots of other casualties had left him behind, he was a fairly low priority compared to the men who would probably be crippled for life. Hernandez hoped that he and Captain Edith Parsons were getting to spend some time together.

He'd had a letter from another Army nurse, Beth McGee, who he'd met at Christmas time when he'd taken Paddock into town to get him drunk. She had written of the many wounded which had come in from the fight in the Ardennes and how busy they all were. She asked him to write back, which he hadn't done yet. He'd have to make time for that, he had fond memories of the lady.

"Hey, L.T., you awake over there?" S/Sgt Wilson was on the other side of the halftrack taking them deeper into Germany.

"Yeah, Top, just thinking."

"Yeah, you looked like you were in another world for a minute."

"I was." Hernandez looked at the sky, he figured they would be stopping for the night at the next small village. After a glance at his map, he figured that their next stop would be Bergstein, not far from the Roer River which, he understood, was where the front was at the moment.

He stood up, the terrain was still snow-covered, to his front was one of S/Sgt Brad Woodstock's tanks, the halftrack that the platoon headquarters was riding in was towards the middle of the column of five tanks and five M3 halftracks. The road was winding and muddy, the temperature hadn't been as cold the past couple of days.

Looking to the rear, he saw another tank, the tank commander waved at him, he recognized Sgt. Doug Harrell, his crew had had their tank knocked out at the Battle of the Crossroads, but through the miracle of American industry, they had gone to the rear and been issued another.

Their second tank had been a refurbished vehicle, one wag in the platoon said they should've named their new tank "Refit." The one they'd lost had been called "Misfit." The refurbished tank was named "Misfit II." Not clever perhaps, but Harrell's crew liked the "Misfit" name, so they kept it, simply adding a number.

Hernandez waved back, then looking forward again, he could see that they were coming up on a village, probably Bergstein. He hoped so, he was cold and hungry, getting inside a building would be a good way to spend the night.

When they rolled into the remains of the village, Hernandez realized they'd be sleeping in and around their vehicles again. The village was a wreck, most of the buildings were identifiable only by the remains of their chimneys, the rest were hollow shells, the interior open to the sky.

"Alright, looks like we're where we're supposed to be. Jack, get the men to start setting up camp for the night. No fires, I have no idea how far away the Germans are or even if they have any artillery, but I'm not taking any chances. Have Cat and Stump set up listening posts, tell Cruz I need to talk with him."

"Got it L.T., are you gonna be here?" Wilson asked.

"No, send him to Woodstock's tank, I need to talk with Brad. Need his advice on where he wants to post his beasts for the night. Hell, even tankers need to sleep sometime. Or so I've heard." Hernandez said this as he stretched and climbed over the side of the halftrack.

Leaning into the driver's side of the track, he asked Pvt. Fred Strickland, who had been driving the halftrack, "So Fred, did ya need to hit every pothole?"

Strickland laughed and said, "Sure L.T., I figured you guys in the back would mark 'em on your map so the engineers could fill them in, ya know so that the rear area types get a smoother ride!"

Hernandez laughed then looked around, "Park her over there, Fred. Next to that building which might have been a pub in happier times."

"Got it L.T., looks like we can set up shop in there, no roof, but the walls are intact. We'll rig up a tarp or something."

"Thanks Fred, get something to eat first, okay?"

"You got it Sir, you want something?"

"I'll eat after the men have, I need to plan our defenses for the night and figure out where we're going tomorrow. Now move out."

Strickland drove the halftrack over to the ruins of the village's Gasthaus¹ and parked it. The platoon guide, Sgt. Woody Sherman had the Basic Duty privates and the platoon messengers busy setting up shop as soon as they'd dismounted.

As Hernandez went to talk to Woodstock, he felt a drop of rain on his face.

"Wonderful." was all he had to say.

¹ Gasthaus, an inn, often the location of the village pub.

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