Back Stories

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S/Sgt Homer Kincaid, 3rd Platoon's new platoon sergeant, was sitting under a tree, rummaging through a ration carton, looking for something appetizing. He knew the likelihood of finding something was slim, the men had already picked through and found all the good ones. He found that all that was left was ham and lima beans. He thought about just skipping a meal, but he was ravenous, so he took it.

"Yummy." Kincaid said in a disgusted tone of voice.

"What's that Sir?" Pvt. Abel Simpson, one of the platoon's basic duty privates had walked over, he too was hungry.

"Nothing Private, just happy to find something to eat, even if it is ham and lima beans."

Simpson's eyes lit up, "Really? I'll trade you Sir, I love lima beans."

"Whaddaya got Private?"

"Meat and noodles, I hate noodles."

"Okay, I'll trade ya, have a seat, join me for dinner. What's yer name son?"

"Simpson, Abel Simpson."

"Buddies call ya Abe?"

"Yes Sir, they do."

"Pleased to meet ya Abe, and don't call me Sir, I'm a sergeant, okay?"

The man looked old, older than many of the Volkssturm that Charlie Company had faced to date. But this man was no Volkssturm trooper, he was regular German army. 1st Lt. Nate Paddock and Sgt. Melvin Katz were heading up to the lines to talk to the man. Doc Milbury had patched him up and had sent a runner back to fetch Katz. The lieutenant decided to tag along.

"I'm surprised you're back with the platoon L.T., I would've thought you'd done enough for the war effort." Katz was to the lieutenant's left and his gaze had taken in the nasty scar on the left side of Paddock's neck. In truth, the man was lucky to be alive. Another fraction of an inch and Paddock would have died on a snowy hillside in the Ardennes.

The two men came out of the woods near the small village of Schierke, another of the small picturesque towns the battalion had fought through in the Harz Mountains. The 26th Infantry Regiment was idled for a few days as their sister regiment, the 16th Infantry drove to the east, pinching the 26th out of the line. The men didn't mind, not at all.

But that morning a small German patrol had blundered into C Company's roadblock which was manned by men of Paddock's 2nd Platoon. Of the seven German infantrymen, six were sprawled in the road where machine gun fire had cut them down. The soul survivor was sitting against a stone wall, his left leg heavily bandaged, he and one of the new recruits, a Pvt. Dan Jackson were communicating via gestures and the few words of German which Jackson had learned in high school.

"Private, any useful information from this fellow?" Paddock asked.

"Well Sir, he's about fifty-something years old, this is his second war, and he's glad to be out of it. He smiles a lot Sir." Jackson answered.

Sgt. Katz thanked Jackson and told him to stick around, he could take the prisoner back after Katz had talked with him.

"So old fellow, this is your second war." Katz began.

The old Landser looked surprised at Katz' perfect German, though Austrian accented the old fellow had no trouble understanding Katz as the man was Bavarian and had lived not far from the border with Austria.

"Ja, ja, I was a Feldwebel in the first war. Wounded twice, once on the Marne in 1914, the second time near Amiens in 1918. Damned French tried to kill me twice they did. I sat out most of this war until after Stalingrad, we were running out of men, so I was called up."

"How old are you?"

"Fifty-nine, right now I feel like eighty. My name is Stefan Huber, 26th Volksgrenadier Division. Oberfeldwebel, I was in charge of those boys you fellows killed. I told them not to come this way, but you know the young, headstrong."

"Indeed. How is your leg?"

"Pretty bad, but I was hit worse in the first war, I'll live. Unless you Amis decide to shoot me, that is." The old soldier chuckled when he said that. But the laughter never reached the man's eyes Katz noticed.

Katz explained to Paddock what they had been talking about, Paddock asked, "He seems pretty cheerful, like he's seen it all and doesn't care any more. Why?"

Katz turned back to Huber, "Why do you laugh Oberfeldwebel, your men are dead, you're wounded, your country is losing the war. What is it that makes you laugh?"

Huber sighed and the smile went from his face, a dark shadow seemed to cross his visage as he looked up at Katz, "My wife was killed in a air raid on München, my two sons are dead, one in North Africa, the other in Russia. My daughter is a widow, her husband was also killed in Russia. I haven't heard from her in over a month, I don't even know if she's still alive. But I am, and I mean to find her if I survive the war. If I don't survive, at least I'll be with my wife and boys. Things are so bad, I have to laugh, or go insane. Maybe I've already gone insane."

Katz turned to Paddock, "Yes Sir, he's seen a lot." After explaining the man's story to the lieutenant, Paddock told Jackson to get a couple of other men and help the Kraut to the aid post.

Kincaid had his shirt off, he was using his helmet as a makeshift washtub. After cleaning himself up as best as he could, he was getting dressed again. That's when one of the men noticed the heavy scarring across the sergeant's stomach.

"Jesus Sarge, how did that happen?" Cpl. Glenn Cline, the company clerk had trouble looking away, he recognized a bad wound when he saw one. "Why aren't you back in the States, seems you've done enough."

As Kincaid buttoned his shirt he looked over at Cline, "I'm career Army, corporal. I enlisted in 1925, an awfully long time ago it feels. Hell, some of the men I rode up with on the truck were born after I joined up. This is my life."

"But you should have been sent home with a wound like that." Cline insisted.

"Sure, I could have. But my buddies were still fighting, my men were still on the lines. So after the wound sort of healed up, I convinced the Army to let me recuperate here, then when I felt well enough, I came back up. I wanted to come back in December, but the docs all said I wasn't healed enough. But now I am and now here I am." Kincaid finished dressing as 1st Lt. Nathaniel Gonzales came into the barn the 1st Platoon was using as a CP.

"Ready to check the positions with me Sarn't Kincaid?"

"Yes Sir, let's have a look. It's been a while since I've been in action, anything new I should know about?" Kincaid and the lieutenant left the barn, Gonzales filling Kincaid in on all that had gone on in the unit over the past few months.

"Well don't that beat all?" Sgt. Don Arnold said.

"Why's he only a Staff Sergeant?" Cline asked, he checked his watch as he said that, he had to get back to the Company CP soon.

"He's old Army Glenn, wasn't nothing for those guys to get promoted, get busted, then get promoted again. I suspect our platoon sergeant has done that, probably a couple of times. Hell, he joined the Army the year I was born!" Arnold shook his head, "He's old school, that one is."

"Mitch, get in here!" Cpt. Stephen Hernandez had a piece of paper in his hand which concerned him, why hadn't his XO mentioned this?

"Sir?" 2nd Lt. Mitch Hornsby was a 90-day wonder, he had dropped out of college in the summer of 1944 and headed to the recruiter's office shortly after the family had received notice of his younger brother's death in the Pacific on Saipan. He had wanted to join up earlier but his father insisted he finish his education first, he was within a year of getting his medical degree.

"Why didn't you tell me that the Army Medical Corps wanted you." Hernandez waved the paper in the air, "Says here you're close to being a doctor."

"They wanted me as a medical assistant, Sir. Really though, my grades in school were terrible, I was starting to question my 'desire' to be a doctor."

"You don't sound like that was ever your desire, Mitch."

"No Sir, my Dad is a doctor, both grandfathers are doctors. It's kind of the family business. When Jack, my younger brother, enlisted right out of high school in 1943, my parents were furious. I was envious. Everybody was going off to war. Except me. So, first chance I had, I joined up. Because I had a college degree, the Army sent me to OCS. And now here I am."

"Okay, I get it. Any more secrets Lieutenant?"

"No Sir. Well, yes Sir, one."

"And that is?"

"I actually wanted to be a pilot. I sent in an application before I shipped out, I haven't heard anything back yet."

Hernandez shook his head and chuckled, "Well Mitch, if I see anybody from the Army Air Forces looking for you, I'll let you know. But for now, you're still my exec. Sometime in the next couple of days I'll take you up to see the war. You might wish you'd stayed in college after that. Dismissed."

Hornsby left the captain's office, actually the sitting room of a private residence, and wondered why people couldn't understand why he wanted to be here. He desperately wanted to fight. The Japanese had killed his brother, he had wanted to go to the Pacific, but the Army sent him to Europe.

Well, he thought, when the Germans quit, they'll need men to fight the Japanese, then I'll transfer, fast as I can.

The ignorance of youth...

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