Next Moves...

(Source)

Leutnant Manfred Sauer watched as the men of 5th Company boarded the train that would take them north to the Düren area. Rumors were rife within the battalion that they were going to be reassigned to a new division. No one knew anything for sure. With the Army's losses, divisions were being disbanded or reformed nearly every week.

He had been to see Major von Lüttwitz the day before, the actual commander of 5th Company was still recuperating from a broken arm. For the moment, until he was recovered enough for field duty, the Major was assigned to the battalion staff.

Sauer was acting commander of 5th Company, they had successfully withdrawn from what the men were now calling the Battle of the Crossroads. It was something, he supposed, if men had to die in battle, the battle should at least have a name.

The battle had been fought on the road between  Losheimergraben in Belgium and Frauenkron in Germany. An obscure little place, an old farmhouse with a single outbuilding was the only thing of note there. But the loss of twenty men hurt, he understood the troops need for some name to remember it by.

Now they were being pulled out to plug another hole somewhere. In some division's manpower charts and in some division's leaky front line. Sauer supposed it could be far worse, he had talked with the battalion Ic¹, the situation in the East could best be summed up as a complete disaster, here in the West, it was just a disaster.

He and von Lüttwitz had shared a bottle of Calvados, which had somehow made it to Germany during the retreat, and had talked deep into the night. Sauer could tell that the Major could not wait to get back to the company. As von Lüttwitz had told him, "I miss the men, I love those boys. My duty now, as I see it, is to keep as many of them alive as I can. Until somehow the higher ups wake up to the fact, not the supposition, but the fact, that the war is lost."

Sauer shook his head as the last of the men boarded the train, one glance at the Spieß, who nodded, and he climbed aboard himself. He had no idea what the future held, other than defeat and death.

To what purpose, he had to wonder...

2nd Lt. Stephen Hernandez and S/Sgt Jack Wilson were sitting in the ruined farmhouse near the crossroads which they had recovered after the Germans had abandoned the place. Both men were extremely hungover, Wilson had had a bottle of Irish whiskey he'd managed to liberate from somewhere, the two men had finished the entire bottle.

Upon recovering their old positions, they had also recovered the bodies of twenty American G.I.s, some had been killed by their own artillery, the Germans had set up an aid station in the now completely destroyed farm building which stood not far from the crossroads. There had been five badly wounded American soldiers in the building when the unwanted barrage had landed.

"So Jack, the tankers never did go up that road, did they?" Hernandez asked as he lit a cigarette.

"No Sir, the lieutenant commanding the two platoons told Tex to go f**k himself, there was no way he was leading his tanks up a narrow road, into thick woods with no infantry." Wilson chuckled as he said that.

"What did Major Josephson have to say about that?" Hernandez asked, eyes wide.

"He laughed, according to Mort Saeger, said that that's what he told regiment but they ordered the tanks to go in anyway. So he told the lieutenant, 'Wait a half hour, then radio me that you met heavy resistance, Hell, tell me you ran into a Tiger,' that should satisfy regiment."

"Wow, good man that Major Josephson." Hernandez remarked.

"Yes Sir, when he first took over the company, we all thought he was a prick. And ya know what? He is. But he takes care of his men. That's all the men care about." Wilson sighed, then continued, "I heard that it's another stint in reserve for us? Hopefully?"

"According to the Cap'n that's a fact. Platoon's got less than thirty men, we need replacements and I sure could use some time off the line."

"Yup, the men can definitely use a break. What's next d'ya think?"

"I've been told we're reverting to VII Corps, we go north, cross the Roer near Düren, then we push for the Rhine. Then I guess it's on to Berlin, provided the Krauts don't smarten up and surrender."

"It could happen L.T., did ya see those POWs yesterday? Poor bastards look and smell like shit. None of 'em looks unhappy to be out of it." Wilson looked around, seeing no one nearby he said, "I say f**k 'em, kill 'em before they surrender. You saw what the bastards did in Belgium, same as me."

Hernandez looked into the distance, "I hear ya Jack, but we aren't going to stoop to their level. Not now, not ever. We clear on that?"

Wilson sighed again, "I guess so, L.T., you're the boss."

"Right-oh, now let's go find some food, I doubt I could keep it down but my stomach thinks my throat's been cut." Hernandez stood, Wilson did as well. The two men went in search of something to eat.

The war could wait.

For now.

¹ Equivalent to a U.S. Army S-2, battalion intelligence officer.

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