down—”
Von Leinsdorf reached for Preuss. Bernie grabbed his hand.
“Don’t do it.”
“Let go of my hand, Brooklyn—”
Before they started to struggle, both men were caught in the convoy headlights; eight vehicles—jeeps, transport trucks, and a towed antitank gun—turned into the clearing behind them. Von Leinsdorf shook off Bernie’s grip and stepped toward the oncoming vehicles waving his arms. Bernie could see a platoon of rifle infantry hunched in the trailing canvas-backed trucks.
The lead jeep pulled up alongside Von Leinsdorf. An American captain in the backseat stood up.
“What’s the holdup?” asked the captain.
“Somebody fired on us when we drove in,” said Von Leinsdorf. “One of my guys is hit.”
“Let’s take a look at him,” the captain said, then turned and called to the rear. “Get a medic up here!” A man jumped out of one of the transports and jogged toward their jeep. “Was it Krauts?”
“We couldn’t see. We returned fire, I think they moved off—”
“You a recon unit?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Well, don’t go after ’em, all hell’s broke loose up ahead—”
“We heard shelling. What’s going on?”
“Who the hell knows? We’re getting reports they started coming at us in force soon as that artillery knocked off. Radio’s saying there’s Kraut paratroopers up along the ridgeline—”
“No shit—”
“We’ve got units strung out all along this road; everybody’s ass is hanging out. They want us to hook in and form a line at Malmédy—”
The medic opened his haversack and stepped up on the jeep’s sideboard to take a look at Preuss. Bernie hovered next to him.
“He can’t even talk,” said Bernie. “Think he’s hit pretty bad.”
Taking his cue from Bernie, Preuss rolled his head back, moaning as the medic ripped the arm of his jacket down and probed the wound. Preuss didn’t respond to any of the medic’s questions; Bernie answered in his place.
“We heard they might try a spoiling attack,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“Hell, you hear those planes overhead, the V1s? They’re throwing the works at us. It’s no fucking spoiling attack—”
“He needs a field hospital,” said the medic, sifting a packet of sulfa powder onto Preuss’s shoulder.
“We were on our way to Vielsalm,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“Screw that, I’m overriding it, you’re coming with us,” said the captain. “Two hundred ninety-first Combat Engineers. Got orders to drag every able body we can muster in there. Fall in behind me, Lieutenant. We’re about five miles from Malmédy.”
The medic jumped into the jeep beside Preuss, unrolling a bandage. Bernie looked for guidance at Von Leinsdorf, who nodded at him to climb in. Bernie steered their jeep into line behind the captain and they continued down the road.
“One hell of a morning, huh?” said the medic to Von Leinsdorf.
“You said it, pal.”
Malmédy, Belgium
DECEMBER 16, 6:30 A.M.
Earl Grannit’s jeep covered the mile back to Elsenborn at top speed, dodging through a moving wall of vehicles as the artillery barrage continued behind them. The village was in an uproar, hungover soldiers roused from sleep running in every direction. Frantic citizens clogged the roads, belongings in hand, evacuating to the west. Grannit pulled up next to the checkpoint at the edge of town, waved over one of the young MPs trying to control the traffic spilling in from the east, and flashed his CID credentials.
“Were you on duty here night before last, son?” asked Grannit.
“I guess I was, sir,” said the MP.
“A jeep came through, sometime between nine and midnight, three men. Anything come to mind?”
“Coulda been ten like that, sir.”
“I’m only looking for one. Think about it. Something stand out?”
Another shell burst, closer to the village, less than a hundred yards from where they were parked. The MP ducked down; Grannit didn’t flinch. “Yeah, maybe. There was one
Von Leinsdorf reached for Preuss. Bernie grabbed his hand.
“Don’t do it.”
“Let go of my hand, Brooklyn—”
Before they started to struggle, both men were caught in the convoy headlights; eight vehicles—jeeps, transport trucks, and a towed antitank gun—turned into the clearing behind them. Von Leinsdorf shook off Bernie’s grip and stepped toward the oncoming vehicles waving his arms. Bernie could see a platoon of rifle infantry hunched in the trailing canvas-backed trucks.
The lead jeep pulled up alongside Von Leinsdorf. An American captain in the backseat stood up.
“What’s the holdup?” asked the captain.
“Somebody fired on us when we drove in,” said Von Leinsdorf. “One of my guys is hit.”
“Let’s take a look at him,” the captain said, then turned and called to the rear. “Get a medic up here!” A man jumped out of one of the transports and jogged toward their jeep. “Was it Krauts?”
“We couldn’t see. We returned fire, I think they moved off—”
“You a recon unit?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Well, don’t go after ’em, all hell’s broke loose up ahead—”
“We heard shelling. What’s going on?”
“Who the hell knows? We’re getting reports they started coming at us in force soon as that artillery knocked off. Radio’s saying there’s Kraut paratroopers up along the ridgeline—”
“No shit—”
“We’ve got units strung out all along this road; everybody’s ass is hanging out. They want us to hook in and form a line at Malmédy—”
The medic opened his haversack and stepped up on the jeep’s sideboard to take a look at Preuss. Bernie hovered next to him.
“He can’t even talk,” said Bernie. “Think he’s hit pretty bad.”
Taking his cue from Bernie, Preuss rolled his head back, moaning as the medic ripped the arm of his jacket down and probed the wound. Preuss didn’t respond to any of the medic’s questions; Bernie answered in his place.
“We heard they might try a spoiling attack,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“Hell, you hear those planes overhead, the V1s? They’re throwing the works at us. It’s no fucking spoiling attack—”
“He needs a field hospital,” said the medic, sifting a packet of sulfa powder onto Preuss’s shoulder.
“We were on our way to Vielsalm,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“Screw that, I’m overriding it, you’re coming with us,” said the captain. “Two hundred ninety-first Combat Engineers. Got orders to drag every able body we can muster in there. Fall in behind me, Lieutenant. We’re about five miles from Malmédy.”
The medic jumped into the jeep beside Preuss, unrolling a bandage. Bernie looked for guidance at Von Leinsdorf, who nodded at him to climb in. Bernie steered their jeep into line behind the captain and they continued down the road.
“One hell of a morning, huh?” said the medic to Von Leinsdorf.
“You said it, pal.”
Malmédy, Belgium
DECEMBER 16, 6:30 A.M.
Earl Grannit’s jeep covered the mile back to Elsenborn at top speed, dodging through a moving wall of vehicles as the artillery barrage continued behind them. The village was in an uproar, hungover soldiers roused from sleep running in every direction. Frantic citizens clogged the roads, belongings in hand, evacuating to the west. Grannit pulled up next to the checkpoint at the edge of town, waved over one of the young MPs trying to control the traffic spilling in from the east, and flashed his CID credentials.
“Were you on duty here night before last, son?” asked Grannit.
“I guess I was, sir,” said the MP.
“A jeep came through, sometime between nine and midnight, three men. Anything come to mind?”
“Coulda been ten like that, sir.”
“I’m only looking for one. Think about it. Something stand out?”
Another shell burst, closer to the village, less than a hundred yards from where they were parked. The MP ducked down; Grannit didn’t flinch. “Yeah, maybe. There was one
Similar Books
