Still moving...Which is good.

 Busy, Busy, Busy.  It's been a busy week indeed.  When last we spoke, we'd had a bit of a hoop jump with closing on the house had been delayed a week until Monday, September 21st.  (As I am writing this post on Sunday the 20th, we are in the midst of a leap of Faith that closing is still on.  We had some emergency document E-Signing last Friday, but did receive a late email that closing will be at 1500 hours today. However if you should see a large mushroom cloud as you look towards central Texas at around that time...Well...)

But, as I say it's been busy around here.

How busy is that, juvat?

Well, Sarge, this busy.

 And I didn't have my phone on me all the time.  Tuesday the mover's arrived, the rest of the week has been unpacking, reassembling, running back to the old house for something we forgot, moving boxes... As I say, busy.

I can't wait for this move to move from the present participle tense to the past tense (e.g. from moving to moved). But...we are getting there.

One of my first students, on high school graduation, started a no frills moving company.  No packing, charge by the hour, within the county only kind of thing.  Seems to have worked as he's now got several trucks and crews.  He's also dropped the within the county thing as I've seen his trucks in various towns around the Hill Country.  We used him when we first moved out to Rancho Juvat 20 years ago, were happy, so hired him again.  Showed up on time, moved our stuff, rode off into the sunset. Leaving us a large pile of boxes.

But...

Mrs J and I didn't have to move....The BEAST and his slightly smaller brother.  Solid Mahogany book shelves.  Both one piece, nothing removable.  Did I mention SOLID mahogany.  Plutonium is less dense.  

As we did the walk through of what was being moved, they took one look at these pieces and the sobriquet was born.  The BEAST is 8' tall.  The House has 9' Ceilings.  We originally wanted it in the Master Bedroom, however the Pythagorean theorem raised it's ugly head.  We couldn't get it around the turn in the hallway.  So, it went in Mrs J's Office along with its slightly smaller brother which couldn't make the Master because of it's width.

However a nice painting I picked up in Korea marks the spot of The BEAST's defeat.

We got far enough on Tuesday to actually eat dinner at the dining room table. 

Make your own pizza with a chaser of wine and Naproxen.

Things got pretty hectic for the rest of the week as we still have some construction going on.

The front sidewalk for one.  The Masons will also put a firepit in the back yard for s'mores as well as a way to warm my aching back. Also on the continuing construction front, installation of a phone landline as well as the WiFi Internet connection.

Based on all the moving parts in the project, it became obvious that we needed to make notes, set priorities and reminders.  Above is the list for Sunday.  That seemed to help quite a bit in making the project a bit less daunting.

Pretty good progress in the Great room.  We'll be shopping for a new TV sometime soon, but needed something to watch...mindlessly of course.

Mrs J spent a considerable amount of time getting the dinning room up and running and I think she did a great job.

I hung some drapes, and generally got the guest room ready for our first guests.  MBD and SIL are coming next week to help with the Dark Side of the Move.  That would be the remaining stuff at the old house as well as the cleaning thereof.

Stuff expands to meet available space.  Now we need to get rid of it.

But, the guest room is ready.

You may have noticed in the List above that completing the reconstruction of the Master Bed was a priority for Sunday.

Unfortunately...

There's always tomorrow.

Assuming I wake up from my nap.

Cheers, folks. 

Not All Wounds Are Physical

National Archives

PFC Dylan Jackson ran into the medical tent, Doc Milbury looked up from inspecting a soldier's feet and gestured, "wait."

"I told ya Gus, ya gotta take care of your feet. Put this ointment on after you clean 'em, and change your socks, every damned day. If you get trench foot, you can lose your feet, man. You want to be a cripple?"

Pvt Gus Belsha shook his head, "I know Doc, I know, it's just we've been up on the line for a couple of weeks now..."

"No excuses," Doc Milbury walked over to a corner of the tent and dug through a box, coming up with a pair of GI socks, "take these and change them tonight. Wash the old ones out as best you can, dry your feet as best as you can, every night at least."

"Thanks Doc."

As Pvt Belsha put his socks and boots back on, Milbury looked over at Jackson. "What's up Dylan?"

Pvt Jackson, a medic in training, came over and whispered into Doc Milbury's ear, "You have to come with me, it's Sgt Jenkins, I think he's lost it."

Doc Milbury grabbed his medic kit and said, "Alright, let's go."

The company had been running the urban combat course all day. The Army had taken over a small Belgian village which had been shelled multiple times. No one lived there now, so the Army decided it would be a good place to try and teach the men the tricks of the trade in fighting for a city. Aachen was there, the brass had decreed that the Big Red One, supported by the 3rd Armored Division, would be attacking, and taking that city.

But the large number of green replacements who had recently joined the division necessitated a lot of extra training. Some of the new men had barely put a hundred rounds through a rifle in their earlier training. They knew how to take orders, but that was about it, leave them on their own and they'd die.

1Lt Nathan Paddock had been talking with the company commander, Captain Alphonse Josephson, when his platoon guide ran up.

"Begging the captain's pardon, but we need the lieutenant." Cpl Jimmy Winston gasped as he said this, he had run the entire way from the platoon's bivouac.

The captain looked at Winston, then at Paddock, "It's okay, I think we're done for the day. Any questions Lieutenant?"

"No sir, I'll also get you those ammo counts you wanted."

Captain Josephson walked up the main street of the small ruined village as Paddock turned to the young corporal. "What's up Jimmy?"

"It's Sgt Jenkins, sir, we have a problem."

1Lt Paddock looked at the platoon guide and asked, "Problem, what problem?"

"He's lost it sir, he's in that shed next to the platoon CP, he's crying and stuff, he says he deserves to die for what happened to the new kids in his squad."

"Oh shit, let's go." The two men took off running back to their bivouac.

Doc Milbury was already there, it looked as if he was talking with Jenkins through the closed door of the shed, but Paddock didn't hear any response from inside.

"Greg, it's Paddock, what's going on?"

From inside they heard the ominous sound of a clip being inserted and the bolt sliding home on Jenkins' Garand.

"Jesus Lieutenant, I am so sorry about getting those guys killed the other day, it's eating me up inside Sir. What am I gonna do?"

"Don't do anything Greg, let's figure this out. Maybe you need a pass to go down to Paris for a week or two, see the sights, get laid, Hell, we can fix this. You and me buddy, together." Paddock looked over at Cpl Steve McDonald, the other NCO in Jenkins' squad. He walked over to the lieutenant and leaned in, whispering...

"We had a letter for Bill Crawford this morning, the dumbasses at battalion forwarded it to us. Greg got it and looked at it. It was from Crawford's wife, she had a baby, a boy, she wanted to know what Crawford thought of naming the kid for his grandfather. Sorry L.T., but Greg broke down when he saw that."

Sergeant Gregory (NMI¹) Jenkins sat there in the darkness of the shed, he had never felt this low in his entire life. He had loaded his M1 out of boredom, after he had done so, he did, for the briefest of moments, think about killing himself. But as a practicing Catholic, a little voice in his head whispered that that was a one way ticket to Hell, and it would kill his parents back home in Montana.

But the men outside the shed didn't know that, and it suddenly struck him that he should say something...

"Sorry L.T. I don't mean to hurt myself or anyone else, it's just that when I get anxious, I practice loading and unloading old Gertie. It don't mean nothing L.T., I just need some alone time or something. Man, I got those guys killed, Crawford's kid is gonna grow up without a dad. I did that L.T., f**k I am so damned sorry."

Cpl Winston looked at his lieutenant and mouthed, "Old Gertie?"

Sighing, Paddock just looked at Winston and whispered, "Lots of people name their rifles. Just like tank crews name their tanks. Airmen name their airplanes."

Winston just shrugged and said, "Okay."

"Hey Greg, we'll leave you alone then, okay. Don't do anything stupid, all right?"

"I won't L.T., I swear."

Taking Doc Milbury out of earshot of the shed, 1Lt Paddock asked, "I hate to lose Jenkins to this shit. Is there anything we can do to get him off the line for a week or so?"

"Not really lieutenant. Remember that guy Patton slapped in Sicily? Same kind of thing, the man just broke down. A few days R and R² will sometimes help. But it ain't something the Army wants to acknowledge."

"Hey Doc, L.T.?" PFC Jackson spoke up. Both men turned to look at him. "Cap'n wants to set up a rifle range, teach the new recruits how to shoot, he needs an NCO for that. Isn't Jenkins a pretty good man with a rifle?"

1Lt Paddock nodded, then clapped PFC Jackson on the shoulder, "Good idea little Doc! Jenkins can go back with you, I'll write it up for the captain, I know he'll go along."

Doc Milbury turned to look at Jackson as the officer walked away, "Heh, 'Little Doc,' I like that, I think you've got your official nickname now Dylan."

"I suppose that's better than what the battalion surgeon calls me."

"Yup, it most definitely is. Word'll get back that the doughboys call you 'Little Doc' and old Doc McPherson will probably stop referring to you as turdhead."

"One can only hope," PFC Dylan 'Little Doc' Jackson muttered, "one can only hope."

Captain Josephson liked Jackson's idea, who 1Lt Paddock gave due credit to, he also liked the young medic's new nickname.

Sgt Greg Jenkins went back to the company area, the captain got his rifle range set up, and Jenkins helped the new men zero their weapons in, something they hadn't learned in boot camp, and they had the chance to get more familiar with their weapons. Jenkins was able to keep busy and put the incident of the meeting engagement behind him.

After all, as 1Lt Paddock had told him, "You didn't kill those men Greg, the f**king Krauts did. We need your experience with these younger men. Get your act together, I need you Sergeant."

"Okay Sir. I'm okay, still feel bad, but..."

"You don't think I feel bad about every single man we've lost so far? You don't think the captain doesn't feel the losses? It's war Greg, and war is Hell on Earth. Stay alive, do your best to keep your men alive. Someday, we'll all go home. This f**king war can't last forever."

Sgt Jenkins nodded, he knew the lieutenant was right, but he was still going to write a letter to Bill Crawford's wife. He owed him that much.

¹ NMI = No Middle Initial, a very Army thing. Have to fill all the slots on the paperwork, even the one for middle initial, if you didn't have one, you were supposed to enter "NMI." So of course your name showed up like that on a lot of Army paperwork.

² R and R = Rest and Recuperation, and a lot of other unofficial names.

Chance Encounter

Bundesarchiv

Unteroffizier Manfred Sauer looked at the new men in his platoon, the average age was seventeen. He shook his head, then remembered the things he had seen during his group's journey across northern France after the disaster of the Falaise Cauldron. He and six other men had been all that remained of the 5th Company, 2nd Battalion, 983rd Grenadier Regiment of the 275th Infantry Division. He had been a simple Grenadier then, now he was an Unteroffizier, leading his own platoon.

He had been promoted in the field by the very man briefing them, Leutnant, now Hauptmann, Jürgen von Lüttwitz. He had once commanded the very platoon Sauer led now. The division was being rebuilt once again, for the second time, von Lüttwitz now commanded the 5th Company whose remnants he had led back to the German lines. For that feat he had been awarded the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross.

"So lads, it's a simple patrol to give you fellows some combat experience. We move out at first light, patrol to this village here," he pointed to his map as he said this, "and then back to our own lines in time for supper. Klar?¹"

The platoon leaders all nodded, then went to brief their men.

"Hold up a minute Manfred." The captain hadn't had the chance to congratulate Sauer on his ascent to the command of 1st Platoon. "How are you settling in?"

"The lads are all pretty keen, many of them were in the Hitler Youth so at least they know one end of a rifle from the other. I'm just concerned that they're not getting enough to eat. They might look like soldiers, but they're still growing boys." Sauer shook his head as he said that, he was starting to sound like his old sergeant. Must be the responsibility, he thought, which made one so serious, so soon.

"Keep an eye on them, the Amis are out there in force, I've been briefed that their casualties have been surprisingly heavy in their advance across France, the intelligence boys say that there are a large proportion of new recruits in the unit across from us, and that their line is thinly held as they're trying to get their men trained up." While the captain had been told that the information was classified as secret, he wanted his own platoon leaders to know the opposition.

"Rookies fighting rookies. At least their men seem well-fed, the boys I've seen on the other side of the line seem to eat pretty well." Sauer's belly rumbled as he said that, they were always hungry these days.

"Ah Manfred, it's getting colder and they're all wearing overcoats, those coats make you look fat."

"Grrr, our overcoats just make our boys look small!"

(Source)

1Lt Paddock looked at Sgt Wilson and said, "Nope, let it rest Jack. I'm sending out Jenkins' squad on this patrol. You guys have been busting your asses for a couple of weeks, let his guys have this one. He has some replacements who need the experience."

"L.T., they're not ready for this. At least go out in platoon strength, not a single squad." Sgt Jack Wilson had a bad feeling about this patrol. But battalion was adamant about getting another prisoner or two. The advance on Aachen was coming soon, the higher ups wanted - no, needed - to know what was between the division and the German city.

"I know Jack, but the captain expressly ordered that I not send you guys, he wants to give you all a rest, short as it is, but there ya go. It's orders man, nothing we can do but soldier on." Paddock was tempted to go out with Jenkins' squad but Captain Josephson had forbidden that as well.

"Let Jenkins earn his pay Nate. He's a good man, good instincts. I know he's got a number of rookies in his squad, but they need to learn. Now go, get it done."

All Paddock could do was obey, he saw the captain's point, he had to let the new men sink or swim. But he didn't have to like it.

"You, Rothenberg, keep your interval. Bunching up attracts fire, why waste ammunition on a single man when the Amis can shoot the lot of you all at once. Spread out Jungs!²"

Unteroffizier Sauer was having trouble keeping his temper, a lack of sleep, lack of proper food, and the responsibility of trying to keep these young kids alive long enough to be useful to the Fatherland was taking every ounce of his patience.

"Herr Unteroffizier," one of his youngest men shouted out, "are those our men over there?" The lad was pointing across the meadow to where the forest closed in again.

Sauer looked in that direction and immediately bellowed, "Take cover! Americans!"

At that point, all Hell broke loose.

"Hey look Sarge, I think those are Krauts." Pvt John Baskevich, 18, of Canton, Ohio, was pointing across the small field to their front at a party of men coming out of the forest. That small party was the advance party of a German infantry company. Though much reduced, they still outnumbered the American squad by nearly ten to one. Sgt Greg Jenkins couldn't believe they had just stumbled into the Krauts like this, his guys were so green.

"Down, down, down, take cover!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, but it was too late. Only by a few seconds, but still too late to save nearly half of his squad.

Sauer's MG 42 section had set up in an instant and were laying down fire on the stunned Americans. It was the only thing which saved his lads from getting chopped up. The Americans had taken casualties, but they were responding with accurate and rapid rifle fire. Sauer also knew that he had to maneuver and fast. The odds were good that the Americans would be calling in support fire from either mortars or artillery as quick as they could.

"Sarge, Crawford is dead, so are Adams and Jones."

"F**k that for now Smitty, I need the f**king radio." As Sgt Jenkins said that, he emptied his rifle in the direction of the Germans, fortunately they were on slightly higher ground than the enemy, which was protecting them from that damned MG 42.

"Sarge, I got the radio, but I can't get to you, every time I move that f**king machine gun starts up, the bastard can see me."

"He can't see ya Smitty, but he sees the brush moving, keep your f**king head down. Can you raise company?"

"Yeah Sarge, I got 'em on the horn right now."

"Okay, here are the grid coordinates, tell 'em four rounds of smoke, then HE³, everything they got."

"Whoa Sarge, aren't we kinda close for that?"

"Just call it in Smitty, if we don't bring the heat on those Krauts, we're all dead meat!"

Sauer was ready to make his move, he signaled to his 2nd Squad to be ready, at which point two of them stood up to see where they were going. One took an M1 round right through the top of his head, the other went down with two .30 caliber rounds to his chest.

"Down you idiots, stay down." That's when Sauer heard the whistling of incoming mortar fire.

"Scheiße! Move, move, move!!"

The smoke rounds landed slightly short but it was enough to cover Sgt Jenkins as he and his squad fell back, dragging their dead and wounded with them. The company mortar crews knew their business, they had added a bit to the range for the high explosive rounds following the smoke. They landed right where Jenkins needed them.

Sauer was up and moving as the smoke rounds began to go off, momentarily he had the thought of assaulting into the smoke, the Amis wouldn't be expecting that, but his rookies would probably get confused. The old army saying of "order, counter-order, disorder" always seemed to have it's most brutal effect on new soldiers under fire for the first time.

So he bellowed, "Fall back lads, let's get the Hell out of here. Run!!"

Unteroffizier Sauer's platoon fell back into the forest, dragging their dead and wounded with them. As they did so, the American mortar rounds impacted all over the area they had just left. It had been a very close call.

1Lt Paddock stood motionless, his helmet tipped back, carbine slung, hands tucked into his belt. He did that so the men couldn't see his hands shaking. He was both furious and immensely sad at the same time. Those were his men, his responsibility there on the ground, dead, covered by overcoats.

Sgt Jenkins held the dog tags out to his lieutenant - three privates, all newly assigned, weren't going home after the war. Crawford, William G., Adams, Joseph C., and Jones, Wilson B., all killed in action during a chance encounter with what had to be a platoon strength German patrol, Jenkins swore that there had been "more of the bastards" back in the trees. May have been a company they encountered, Paddock thought.

"You did the best you could Greg, You got nine of your guys back after meeting with a vastly superior force. How are your wounded, Gibson and Carter, right?" Paddock balanced the dog tags of the dead men in his hand, their physical weight was negligible, what they represented, three young lives cut short, weighed heavily on the young officer.

"Gibson's just a flesh wound, Doc says he'll be back tomorrow. Carter will be going home, probably minus an arm. That Kraut MG hit him low on the bicep, wasn't much left of his arm below that." Sgt Jenkins ran his jacket sleeve over his face. Jesus, he thought, here I am crying in front of the f**king boss.

"It's okay Greg, don't beat yourself up. Get your guys some chow, and some rest, we're moving out to the assault course tomorrow."

The two men parted, neither in full control of their emotions at that moment. 

Hauptmann Jürgen von Lüttwitz, commander of the 5th Company, walked along the line of dead men. "Six men Manfred? Have you taken the roll?"

"Jawohl Herr Hauptmann, these six dead - Klein, Müller, Dorfmann, Heinemann, Schmitz, and Moeller - Pfeizer and Burg are at the aid station, just scratches really. Everybody else is accounted for and ready for duty." Sauer sighed as he said that, they were just kids. They should be chasing girls and playing football, not dying here in this Gottverdammte Belgian forest.

The captain was wearing his soft cap, which he took off so that he could smooth his hair back, why was he sweating so much, he wondered. He looked at the dead men, his men, the men he was expected to lead, the men who should still be alive.

"So how many Americans were there Manfred?" He was watching the man to see how he answered. While he thought he knew Sauer well after their "adventures" in France, you never knew how authority would change a man.

"No more than a squad, couldn't have been. But they reacted well, those damned rifles of theirs can put a lot of rounds out. By the time we were ready to maneuver, they had called in mortar fire. I had no choice but to pull back. We would all be dead otherwise." Sauer was slightly embarrassed, his platoon had been routed by an American squad.

"It's their ability to get artillery on us so quickly that's the problem. How did your men behave?"

"Instead of taking charge when he spotted the Americans and ordering us to cover, Dorfmann asked if the Americans were our men. He paid the price for that, he was the first to fall. I'll talk to the boys about that. Don't ask questions, react, do something. Standing there and doing nothing is never a good idea."

"Certainly, I'll explain this to battalion. Though costly, it's a good lesson. At least the new men have been blooded. I'm sure they'll react better next time." The captain shook his head as he said that, more lessons like that and his company would bleed away to nothing.

¹ Clear?

² Lads

³ HE = High explosive

The Patrol - Morning

National Archives

"Charlie, wake up."

I came awake, I was in the middle of a very weird dream when Bear had shaken me to consciousness. I was back home, driving a Kraut car, dressed in a Kraut uniform, in front of my Mom and Dad's place. I could clearly see a man some hundred yards away, aiming a rifle at me. I had just seen the muzzle flash when Bear woke me.

"Okay, okay, I'm awake." I checked my watch, it was already light out, nearly 0600. We needed to get back to the platoon.

"Ready to move out Bear?"

"Yup, let's roll, I'll take the point."

The two men picked their way carefully through the woods. From what they could see of the sky through the forest canopy, it was going to be another cloudy and cool day. Both men were from the northeastern part of the United States, Gammell from Vermont and Hebert from New Hampshire, and the weather felt like fall back home. Hebert had mentioned to Gammell the night before that it made him homesick.

"Pretty soon the leaves will be changing, the air will smell different, the angle of the sun changes the colors of things. Man, but I miss being home." Hebert felt like he could confide in his fellow New Englander and often did.

"Yeah man, I hear ya." Gammell didn't want to think about home. He'd watched that Kraut hug the woman he had assumed was his mother the night before, he'd nearly choked up. He was still a bit of a boy at 17, though the number of men he'd killed since joining the Army made him feel more mature. But inside, the little boy who loved his Mom's apple pie wasn't far away.

Man, apple pie.

First Lieutenant Nathan Paddock was making his way to 1st Squad, he had mail for Sgt Wilson. He didn't usually bring the mail to his guys, that's what the platoon guide usually handled, this letter was special, it was from 1st Squad's old sergeant, Bill Brandt.

"Hey Jack, you have a letter from Bill!"

"Bill who? Whoa, not Brandt?"

"Yup, the one and only."

The men in the squad who remembered their old sergeant gathered around to hear what he had to say. He had been wounded pretty badly two weeks ago. The letter was postmarked from a hospital in England.

Hello Jack,

Hope you and the boys are okay. I'm getting better, I think. I have feeling in my legs so the Doc thinks that my spine is okay. But it will be a while before I start walking again. Doc says that they're sending me back to the States, looks like my Army "career" is over.

It still hurts to breathe though I had an operation to fix my lung. Doc says that'll heal just fine. I guess I'm pretty lucky! 

Say Hi to the guys for me. Stay safe, I'll write again when I get back Stateside.

Sincerely,

Sgt Bill Brandt, USA

"Damn, that's good news," exclaimed Cajun, "I always knew the Sarge was a tough customer."

"Yeah, well he's okay, that's the important part, we should..." Sgt Wilson was interrupted by a shout from one of the new guys, Hank Cambridge.

"Patrol coming in Sarge, looks like Camel and Bear."

1Lt Paddock looked up, sure enough, it was the two guys he'd sent out early yesterday. As they entered the lines, Paddock said, "Hope you guys got some sleep last night, we're heading out in an hour or so in platoon strength. Combat patrol, give some of the new recruits a little experience. According to battalion, the division is going to be attacking Aachen. We might have the 'honor' of seizing the first German city."

"City fighting is a lot different than fighting out here in the woods." Captain Josephson had come up while the men were talking. "More like the bocage but you can see even less."

"Morning combat patrol is cancelled Nate. Regiment has set up an 'urban combat' training area in the rear. Trucks will be by around 1000 to take the company there. We need the training, especially the new guys. Be ready." With that the Captain headed back to the company CP.

"You heard the man, pack your gear. Sgt Wilson, I'll leave you to it." 1Lt Paddock went off to get the rest of the platoon ready. He was not excited about fighting in a city. Not at all.

The Patrol - Visitors

Bundesarchiv

Antoine Duchein stared in befuddlement as the German car drove past him. He thought he recognized the passenger. "Wasn't that the Paasch kid?" he muttered. The Paasch family were German speaking residents of this part of Belgium, among those people who had not been entirely pleased when the area had been annexed by Belgium after the Great War. They had been required to register with the Belgian government unless they swore allegiance to Belgium.

When the Germans had returned in 1940, many of those people, including the Paasch family, had been thrilled to be a part of the Reich once more. A number of the young men had volunteered for the German armed forces, Otto Paasch was one of them. He had joined the Luftwaffe in 1941 and had become a pilot.

Duchein marveled at the nerve of the young man returning to the village after the Germans had retreated, "family is family," Duchein muttered. As he recalled there was a young lady whom young Paasch was sweet on, he would be sorely disappointed if he expected her to still be around.

Frau Paasch heard the Kübelwagen pull up and stop outside the door to her home, she peaked fearfully through the curtains, then ran over and flung the door open wide...

"Otto! My son! What are you doing here?"

"It's okay Mama, I'm here to take Greta back to Germany with me. But I had to stop and see you first, where is Papa?" Feldwebel Otto Paasch of the German Air Force looked around expectantly, his father was usually in the sitting room this time of night, sipping an aperitif and listening to the radio.

"Papa is not here, Otto, the Belgian police took him away yesterday. He has been accused of being a collaborator." Frau Paasch looked terrified, it was something she had feared when the German military had retreated from the region. The Paasch family had made no secret of their loyalty to the Third Reich. Another son, Franz, had been killed in action on the Eastern Front, his photo, draped in black crepe, stood on the mantelpiece still. The glass was cracked from when the police had swept it to the floor.

Otto looked thoughtful, then began to speak, before he could say a word, his mother interrupted him, "Greta is dead Otto. I am so sorry. She was trying to make her way to Aachen, hoping to meet up with you when she was caught in an American artillery barrage."

"Why would the Amis be firing artillery at a refugee column?" Otto was puzzled, forgetting the times he and his squadron mates had strafed a column on the road only to realize that they were civilians.

"She was riding with the colonel who used to command this area. He offered her a ride in his staff car, she accepted. The Amis destroyed the entire column, very few survived." Frau Paasch was weeping now, she had liked young Greta Mollers and had assumed that she and her Otto would someday wed. The war had ended that dream.

Otto sat down heavily at the kitchen table, his eyes were wet, but he had seen so much death over the past few years, that not even the death of his Greta seemed to bother him as much as it should have.

Gammell and Hebert had worked their way closed to the village, they could see down the main street now and watched the driver of the Kübelwagen smoking a cigarette next to the small vehicle. Gammell watched through his rifle scope while Hebert swept the area with his field glasses.

"No other Krauts around Charlie." Hebert didn't like Pvt Gammell's nickname of Camel, mostly because he had quit smoking and he thought the nickname was stupid. Jack Leonard, who considered himself a funny guy, gave him that nickname after Gammell had started smoking. The kid had started smoking after he'd killed a few Germans, Gammel had admitted to Hebert that he found it too easy to kill, but the memories of each kill sometimes kept him awake at night. Smoking helped settle his nerves.

Hebert was now studying the kid who was smoking next to the Kraut car. "He's Air Force Charlie, he's a one-striper, just like me! The guy inside must be an officer, maybe he's got a girl in town?"

"Let's keep watching, I don't want to head back before daybreak, we've got the time, it's stopped raining, where else we gotta be?" Gammell sighed as he said that, he could think of a thousand places he'd rather be.

"I have to get back Mama, if we're not back by midnight my flight commander will have a fit. He's kind of excitable." Feldwebel Paasch was reluctant to leave, but he knew that there was nothing he could do for his father. He sighed as he thought of Greta, he remembered her blue eyes and blonde hair, but her face was already beginning to fade in his memory. She had wanted to get serious, he had made her wait, "After the war there will be plenty of time for romance Schatzi¹." How little he knew.

Frau Paasch followed her son outside where she was introduced to Gefreiter Oswald Schnelling. "Are you sure you and Herr Schnelling wouldn't care for something to eat before you go?"

"Thank you Mama, but if we're late, the Eastern Front beckons." Otto said it lightheartedly, forgetting that his older brother, a member of the Waffen SS, had died in the maelstrom of that front.

"I'm sorry Mama, I meant nothing..."

"It's all right Otto, I understand, you must get back. Kiss me my boy."

"Wanna bet that's his Ma?" Hebert almost smirked when he said it, until he felt the pang of missing his own mother.

"I won't take that bet. I wonder how a sergeant gets a driver and a car to visit his mother?" Gammell wondered as he shifted his sight so that the aim point was on the young German's chest. One squeeze and he is history, Gammell thought, but in front of his mother? I'd deserve Hell for that.

The two Americans watched as the Germans got into the small car, started the engine, and drove off. The passenger waving at the older woman as they vanished into the dark.

For Feldwebel Otto Paasch and Gefreiter Oswald Schnelling, it would be a long drive back into Germany with dim headlamps and the mist. For PFC Jackson Hebert and Pvt Charlie Gammell it would be a long walk back to their platoon's bivouac.

The night wore on, the rain came and went. Paasch and Schnelling made it back to their airfield with only minutes to spare. Hebert and Gammell would still be out in the forest when the two Germans went to bed.

The night wore on as the distant rumble of artillery reminded everyone that the war still ground on, people were dying, people were trying to continue living, even in the midst of chaos.

The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. ― G.K. Chesterton

¹ German for "sweetheart"

The Patrol - Night

(Source - Page 269)

Night was falling, the forest seemed alive with noise which was unnerving to someone not used to such things, but to Pvt Charlie "Camel" Gammell it was only when the forest went silent that one had to be wary. He'd been born and raised on a small dairy farm in Vermont, enlisting at 17 after an old hag in town had commented on why he wasn't in the army. He was a big lad, larger than some men twice his age. But all the men in his family were big and burly, life on a farm with lots of good food helped that.

Pvt Jackson "Bear" Hebert walked behind and to Gammell's right as they moved in silence through the dimming light. They were on the edge of a firebreak, a common thing in this area. Fires were a threat, but the firebreaks helped keep them from spreading. They also provided paths through the wooded area which they could use, but the Germans knew that. Walking down the middle of a firebreak invited death. So they kept to the shadows of the trees, which deepened as night fell.

Neither man knew it but they were inside Germany now, less than five miles from the cathedral in Aachen, part of which had been built by Charlemagne over a thousand years before, though neither man knew anything about that. All they knew is that they had lingered far too long watching a German position even further forward. They had missed their objective and were now backtracking, they crossed back into Belgium after their brief invasion of the Third Reich.

The division was in the process of absorbing, and training, many new recruits to replace the losses suffered since Normandy. While that was going on, the experienced men were kept occupied with patrolling and gathering intelligence on the German defenses on this, the westernmost extent of Germany proper. The Germans were losing this war, and losing it badly, they just didn't know it yet. Or perhaps they simply refused to acknowledge the idea of defeat. Gammell and Hebert didn't really care, they had a job to do, a job they did well. But they had grown a little too confident over the past week.

Their platoon leader, 2Lt Nathan Paddock, had been tasked with sending out a patrol to check out the Belgian village of Moresnet-Chapelle. The battalion S2 had received reports of German activity in the village, after a day of observing the place, the platoon had learned that many of the villagers spoke German. After reporting this, the company commander had wanted someone from Paddock's platoon to watch the village, especially the road towards Germany. He was relying on Paddock's platoon a lot lately.

"I know Nate, but damn it, battalion is convinced there's Kraut activity in that village. Not just some civilians who speak German." Captain Josephson had mellowed considerably over the past week. Though he still suffered terribly from the loss of his wife and son, by focusing on the war and leading his company, he could put that aside. So he tended to be a bit more aggressive than the other company commanders in the battalion, which had not gone unnoticed at battalion.

"So Cap'n, my sniper team is pretty good, both Gammell and Hebert are comfortable in the woods and have been out on their own before. Why not have them set up and watch that road?" Though Paddock hated sending his men in harm's way because battalion was nervous about some German-speaking village in Belgium, he knew that Gammell and Hebert were good at being stealthy. Better send someone who could handle themselves than some big noisy squad-sized patrol.

"Okay Nate, observe only, no shooting unless they see Hitler himself. Got it?"

"Yes sir, they're good men, they can handle it."

"Good, oh, by the way, here." The captain said as he handed Paddock a small parcel. "You can put these on now if you'd like."

Paddock opened the parcel, it was a pair of silver bars, first lieutenant bars. He looked up at Captain Josephson and said, "Sir, I've only been a second lieutenant for barely three and a half months."

"Battalion wanted some recommendations for promotions, regiment is being generous lately I guess. What with all the new recruits coming in, they said to promote some veterans. You're a veteran aren't you?" That last part the captain said with a grin, he liked this kid and his platoon had a lot of veterans in it. Well-led veterans.

"Oh yeah, tell Wilson he's officially a sergeant now, also Katz is now a corporal. They've been doing the job, they should get the pay. Now move out before I change my mind and give the promotions to someone else."

Paddock nodded, he had misjudged Josephson initially, the man could be gruff as Hell, but he was a good officer, and a good soldier to boot. He headed back to the platoon to give newly promoted Jack Wilson the news. A good news, "hey, you got promoted" and a bad news, "I need you to send two guys out there," situation. But he knew his guys could handle it, he had confidence in his troops.

I signaled a halt, Hebert immediately moved closer.

"It's getting too dark to continue, I think we missed a turn somewhere, I don't really know where the heck we are." I was pissed at myself for getting lost. We should have come across the road in the last mile or so, now we'll be stuck out here through the night from the looks of it. Damn it!

"Well Camel, at least it ain't raining." Bear quipped. So of course, it started raining.

1Lt Paddock came over to 1st Squad's bivouac shortly before sunset, "Sgt Wilson, they back yet?"

"No sir, I ain't worried yet. Camel and Bear are pretty capable, they might be out there all night if they've got a good position. I wouldn't worry until tomorrow. I don't like that they're out there, but they're careful, they'll do the job. Don't know if it'll satisfy battalion, but..."

"Yeah, I know, you guys hunker down, it feels like rain tonight."

"All right, talk to you later L.T."

With that, the 2nd Platoon settled in for the night. Paddock and Wilson were worried about Gammell and Hebert, but not excessively so.

"Bear, you seeing what I'm seeing?" I couldn't believe it, but there appeared to be light coming from over the next rise in the ground. "Maybe a village?"

I thought about moving up to that rise, couldn't be campfires, no one was that stupid, but we'd all noticed that some of the Belgians were convinced that the war had moved on, their lives were returning to normal and there were no Nazis around to enforce a blackout. So they lit their lamps and acted as though peace had returned.

"Ya know Camel, with this rain we could move up, see what's going on, the rain will help muffle any noise we might make."

"And maybe stumble into a Kraut position?" I asked.

"What, Krauts? You think the Belgians would have their houses all lit up if the Krauts were still around?" Bear sounded skeptical and I had to agree. So we moved.

Antoine Duchein was extremely drunk, he had been drunk it seemed since the Huns had left three days ago. The village was getting back to normal, after four years of being under the Nazis, it felt good to loosen up. But when would the Yanks arrive? As far as he could see, there was nothing preventing the bastard Nazis from returning.

As he took another drink of his vin rouge, he heard something in the rain, a vehicle!

Gammell and Hebert had got into a position where they could now see the village of Moresnet-Chapelle and the road leading into it from Germany. They could now complete their mission, so they settled in for a long, and wet, night. They too heard a vehicle on the road below. It didn't sound like an engine from Detroit.

Sure enough, a Kraut Kübelwagen with two men in it, one an officer, the other an enlisted man, drove up the road. Gammell and Hebert watched as the vehicle rolled into the village, then they lost sight of it. So apparently there was German activity in the village. Battalion was right. Now to report back.

To be continued...





For those wondering, the eye is a bit better, no ointment yet, thanks to the virus thingee shipments aren't arriving when expected. But the moist warm compresses help. At least I felt well enough to write. Had to make it at least a two parter though, otherwise I'd be up all night. Stand by for heavy rolls!

The Eye

No, not this one -

(Source)

That one in the opening photo. Some sort of plugged up something or other.

Popped up Friday morning as I lay abed at Chez Tuttle et Nuke. I figured, "Okay, mosquito bite or something."

Nope.

Had a routine eye doc appointment Monday AM, she figured it was a plugged and infected something or other. I had no idea there were glands and stuff up under the eyelid.

Warm compresses make it feel better, meds are on order (apparently my local pharmacy ran out, sigh...) and will be on station today. Some sort of salve to apply to the inside of the eyelid.

That should be fun.

Not.

In the meantime, typing strains the poor bastige, so I'm giving the left eye the night off. As the two eyes eat, sleep, and fight as a team (none of that individuality crap), you get this for a post.

Yeah, I know, it ain't much, but...

Yeah, something like that.