My Honor Flight (11 page)

The gunfire
stopped after a few seconds, and I could hear return fire from Chartelli,
Thrailkill, and Trumbull.  Then there was a pause.

 “Goddamn!”
yelled Trumbull. “Donovan!  Donovan!...  Mack?”

 “Here!” I
yelled.

 “Anderson?”

 “Here!” Pete
yelled from behind the tree.

So our plan
had failed.  And not only were we now down a man, I was a sitting duck.  I was separated
from our three men on the other side of the road, and also from Petey. 

 “Mack?” said
Petey.  He was on the other side of the tree.  I couldn’t see him.

 “Yeah,
Petey?”

 “You hit?”

 “No, I’m all
right.  Donovan’s dead.”

 “I know.”

There was a
pause.  “Pete, listen.  Get around there to the other guys.  Get your asses
back to Buzz Company.  We can’t fight these guys off.”

Pete actually
laughed.  “You think I’m just gonna leave you here?”

I paused,
thinking about what was going to happen to me.  Even if the grenades held them
off for a while, they would eventually make a move.  I was going to die in a
ditch in a French forest.

 “Pete?”

 “Yeah?”

When a man
knows he’s about to die, it’s a strange mix of adrenaline and sorrow.  My mind
was racing, and I started to cry a little.  Pete waited for me to talk.

 “Make sure
Debbie gets my letter, OK?”  I kind of sobbed as I talked.

 “That ain’t
happening, Mack.  I ain’t leaving.  And I’ll kill every goddamn kraut who comes
close to us.”

I wiped my
nose on my sleeve.  “There’s too many of ’em, Pete.  They’ll take me, and then
they’ll start picking you guys off one by one.  Your only hope is to regroup
with the platoon and fall back.  They may stop chasing you if they get their
trucks out of here.”

I heard a
rustling in front of me.  Donovan had fallen right next to the tree trunk. 
Pete was using Donovan’s body for cover, and I saw Pete’s hand reach around the
tree and grab Donovan’s rifle.  Then I saw his hand pluck a grenade from
Donovan’s belt.  Then he disappeared again.

 “Mack?”

 “Yeah?”

 “Do you
trust me?”

 “Hell yes!”

 “Throw me
your rifle and ammo.”

 “Uhh.  Why?”

 “I need as
much help as I can get here.  It will save me some reloading time, and grenades
will buy me time to reload.”

 “Christ,
Pete!  That’s just goddamn crazy!  Get the hell out of here while you can!”

 “Mack,
you’re a dead man with or without weapons.  If I have them, we have a shot of
getting out of here.  And I am NOT leaving here without you.”

I choked up
again.  Pete was going to kill himself for me.  He had no chance.

 “Fine,” I
said. “But get them to the other men so you all have a chance of getting out of
here!”

I tossed the
rifle as gingerly as I could over the tree, hoping it didn’t break.  There were
a couple of kraut gunshots in response.  I checked my sidearm.  It was fully
loaded.  I was going to keep it for the end, and take as many of those bastards
with me as I could.  I still had three grenades, so I threw them and my ammo to
the stump.  I saw a hand flash out and grab the ammo belt, then I heard the
familiar clicks of clips being loaded.

For a few
minutes I just lay there in the noise of the forest.  There was an occasional
bird tweet and that was about it.  It was peaceful.  I thought about home, and
Debbie.  And then I thought of the Ninth Platoon.  How we had all been so young
and naive in England.  Then I started thinking of the men who didn’t make it. 
And I wondered how many would make it.  Donovan’s words haunted me.  “None of
us are going to make it.”

 “Hey, Pete,
tell the guys I wish them luck getting out of this hellhole alive....  Pete?”

A single
gunshot popped from behind the tree.  I heard krauts yelling.

 “One down!”
called Petey.  “That’ll set them back on their heels.  I wish I had Peters with
me!”

Pete was
sniping the krauts!  A couple of minutes later, he fired again, from a
different part of the tree.  More kraut yelling.

 “Two down!”
called Petey. 

 “Aaaaay!”
called Chartelli. “That’s good shootin’ Petey!”

There was a
lot more yelling from the krauts now.  Petey had pissed them off.   They
started firing at the guys across the road, then I heard snapping from the
forest close to us.  There was a group of men charging Pete through the forest.

 “Pete, get
the hell out of here!” I called as I pointed my sidearm toward the trees.

 “I told you
I ain’t leaving you here, Mack!” yelled Pete.  Then he started shooting.

He emptied
his clip, and the Germans surged forward, thinking he had to reload.  Boy, were
they surprised when he let into them with the second rifle.  He dropped two of
them.  They all scrambled for cover.  Gunfire continued.  Petey emptied the
third rifle, then threw a grenade.  I heard him snapping new clips into the
rifles.  The krauts started moving again.  I fired at them, but they returned
fire and I had to get as small as I possibly could.  I just lay, board-straight,
as low as I could get.  Petey started up again, and dropped another one.  Then
he started talking.

 “Yeah, you
fucking krauts just keep coming!  You just keep coming on!”  Gunshots.  “Yeah,
just keep coming!”  Gunshots.  Another Grenade.  “We ain’t dying!  Not today!” 
Gunshots.

Silence.

 “Mack?”
called Pete.  “I don’t see any movement?”

I couldn’t
see anything.  Couldn’t hear anything either.

 “How many
did you get?” I asked.

 “I don’t
know. I wasn’t counting.”

Gunfire was
continuing on the other side of the road.  But it was quiet by us.

 “Ambush?” I
asked.

 “Maybe.  But
I think they respect us now.  Best chance to make a run for it?”

 “Yeah.”

 “I got one
grenade left.  When it blows, run for it, and I’ll cover you.”

It worked as
planned, and I scrambled around the tree stump and dived next to Pete.  No
krauts had fired.  He was panting from the adrenaline. 

 “Let’s go
help the others,” he said. He handed me my ammo belt and rifle.  As I took the
rifle from his hand, our eyes met.  I stared at him for a long minute.  He gave
me a knowing nod and then we both blinked our misty eyes a few times.

 “I—I can’t
thank you enough,” I said.

 “You’d do it
for me, wouldn’t you?” said Pete, and he winked and punched me hard in the
shoulder.  That’s all he said.  He’d risked his life to save me.  He didn’t
have to use words.  The look in his eyes was worth more than words.  No one had
ever been so selfless for me before.

We worked our
way around the tree to Chartelli, Trumbull, and Thrailkill.  They’d found good
cover in a cluster of trees.  Even with gunshots all around, they smiled at
us. 

 “Good to
have you back, boys,” said Thrailkill.

After a few
minutes of gunfire, we heard something new.  Airplanes.  The gunfire stopped as
both us and the Germans waited to see what was going to happen.  There was a
tremendous racket from the west.  Explosions and guns.  Big guns.  The planes
were attacking the clearing!  I can’t explain the surge in emotion this created
for us.  We had been fighting what was basically a suicide mission, and now we
had air support!  The air attack lasted for only a few minutes, and during that
whole time, there wasn’t a single gunshot in our skirmish.  The sound of planes
diminished.

After about a
half hour of silence, we heard rustling in the trees to the west.  Were the
Germans flanking us?  Then we heard someone call out. 

 “Aufgeben!” someone
yelled from the trees.  But they yelled that German word with the worst accent
possible—Oklahoman.  It was Tinpan.  Buzz Company had arrived.  I saw glimpses
of GI helmets in the trees, spread down a line about fifty yards long. 

 “Aufgeben!”
Tin barked again.  We peeked over at the krauts, and saw them start raising
their hands.  Five Germans came up on the road with their hands on their head.

The platoon
manhandled the krauts a little, and walked them over to our cover. 

 “Goddamn,
boys,” called Morelli.  “Five little krauts here kept you all pinned down?”

 “Yeah, we
didn’t have no bombers helping us out,” replied Chartelli.  “That whole fucking
truck was full of Jerries when it got here.”

Everyone was
smiling as we joined up, shaking hands and patting each other on the
shoulders. 

Cap walked
toward us, but had his eyes trained on Donovan.  Then he looked at us. 

 “Anyone else
hurt?” 

We told him
we were all right, then we told him what happened.  We all talked about what
Petey had done.  When we checked the woods, we found eleven Germans dead. 
Petey had killed them all.  Cap said he’d be getting a medal for that.  He said
it would be a big one.  Petey shook his head and looked down while he blushed. 
He didn’t care much for attention.

We asked what
happened with the planes.  It turns out that all but one of the rocket trucks
had gotten out, but most of the krauts stayed behind to engage Buzz Company. 
But they couldn’t advance up the bluff without getting potshots from our
snipers.  Given the numbers, Cap had radioed in that he was going to have to
fall back.  Command decided that rather than lose the rocket to escape, they
would take it out along with all the krauts that protected it.  Cap had a big
smile on his face as he told that story.  We’d never had air support before.

We were supposed
to wait in the clearing for an allied transport truck to haul us out of there. 
So we made some coffee and smoked cigarettes, just talking and playing cards. 

 “What’s the
date?” asked Thrailkill.

 “July twenty-third,”
someone called out.

 “Well, boys,
today was the luckiest day of my life.  I was sure that I was a dead man.  And
we survived it, except for Donovan, God rest his soul.  I got a request.”

 “What is
it?”

 “I want you
all to promise me something.  I want you all to promise me that you will treat
July twenty-third as an official holiday for the rest of your lives.  Every
July twenty-third, I want you to think of this day, this moment, and what we
just survived.  Look around at each other, and remember all of us as we look
today.”

 “Yeah,” said
Torgeson.  “Buzz Company Day.” 

We all
agreed, promising that we would always treat July twenty-third as a holiday in
honor of the platoon.  I never worked on a July twenty-third in my entire
life. 

Something
strange started happening in our platoon from D-Day on.  We kept losing our
prized possessions in battle.  We called it the Buzz Company Curse.  After
every battle, the next time someone went to use their cigarette lighter, or
their favorite spoon, or pocketknife, it was gone. 

You have to
understand what it was like in that world.  Physically, it was very strenuous. 
We were facing death constantly, and having to kill to survive.  It’s easy to
read about that in books, or watch movies that glamorize it, but it’s real damn
hard to keep your head wrapped around it when it’s happening to YOU.   So, you
latch on to little things to help you cope, to keep you grounded.  These little
things were reminders of home, or previous good times.  They were things that
we could pull out and help us get our mind off the tasks at hand.  They let us
escape for a few seconds, and keep our sanity.

After about four
things got lost, everyone made a practice of checking their inventory at the
end of a fight.  It seemed that the Curse went away for a few weeks.  But I had
a ten-dollar gold piece, and it disappeared a few days after our fight with the
rocket trucks.  And that really pissed me off. 

When it was
missing at breakfast, I pulled Cap aside.

 “There’s a
thief in the platoon,” I said.

Caps eyebrows
raised.  “That’s a pretty bold statement.”

 “I’ve been
carrying a ten-dollar gold piece I won in a poker game in England.  After the
Curse started, I checked it after every battle.  I pull it out at every meal. 
I had it last night, and it was gone this morning.”

Cap pursed
his lips as he scanned the men.

 “Cap, that
was my good luck piece.  I carried it through all kinds of hell.”

Cap snapped
his head around at me.  “Well, that’s bullshit. There’s no such thing as a good
luck piece.  But all the same, that IS theft.”  He resumed his scanning of the
men.  After a few minutes, he turned to me.

 “We’re
bugging out in a few minutes.  Ten dollars isn’t going anywhere before camp
tonight.  I’ll talk to everyone at mess tonight, and get your piece back.  It’s
disappointing...”  He shook his head, not finishing his sentence.  “Move out,
Mack.  We’ll get it later.”

So Cap may not
have believed in lucky pieces, but I sure as hell did.  Especially after the
scarf, which I never got to carry.  That coin was my own personal version of
the scarf.  This was going to be the first day in France without having that in
my pocket.  I couldn’t believe one of my brothers would take that from me. 
Could I trust them in battle?  What else would they steal from me?  Were they
stealing from everyone?  Or was everyone stealing from each other?  Was I in a
nest of thieves?

After a few
minutes of packing up and preparing for the day, I calmed down.  I figured
there was just one thief among us.  But I’d let Cap worry about that.  I just
had to get by for one day without my lucky charm.

Our
assignment for that day was to continue pushing our way east through fields,
flushing out any krauts that were holed up in farm houses in the area.  All the
platoons of Buzz Company were in a line several miles wide, pushing to the northeast. 
We couldn’t see any other platoons.  They were probably a half mile on either
side of us.

We had made
our way through fields and woods, probably about ten miles from our camp the
night before.  We found a small cluster of farmhouses nestled in a grove of
trees.  We took a break while a couple of guys watched the farmhouse for traffic. 
Krauts tended to take over places like this because they provided shelter and
food.  The place was really quiet.  No one was out. There was no chimney
smoke.  It looked deserted.  We figured the people were just hunkered down
waiting for us and the krauts to stop scrapping in their neighborhood.

After a couple
of hours, Cap ordered us into four groups and split us up about fifty yards
apart from each other.  We were going to work our way into the farmhouse area
and engage any krauts in there.  The two outer groups were going to use trees
for cover as they came from the far left and right.  The two inner groups
didn’t have any cover, so we were walking in real quiet.  We waited for the two
outer groups to get into a sniping position, then we started walking toward the
farmhouses. 

There were three
good-sized houses and a huge barn.  I think it was a common barn.  I guessed
that this was one farmer, and he’d built houses for his kids and kept everyone
in the family here at the farm.  But it was just a guess.

I was in the
left inner group, and our job was to take the left-most house, and then the
barn.  The right inner group was supposed to take the other two houses.  I kept
my eyes on Cap, who would signal us with hand commands if there were any change
in plans.  When I wasn’t watching him, I was keeping my eyes on the windows of
the left house, watching for any telltale movement of curtains.  Nothing was
moving anywhere.  It was a nice day.  Sunny with big bright white clouds, a
gentle breeze.  Too nice for the job at hand.

Cap snapped
his left hand up in a fist, which meant stop.  He was staring at the barn. 
Standing there, smoking a cigarette fifty yards in front of us, was a German
colonel!  He hadn’t seen us.  He’d stepped out of the barn, but he was facing
to our right.  He was very relaxed.  His left arm crossed his belly, and his
right elbow was resting on his left hand, acting as a sort of tripod so he
could smoke his cigarette without moving much.  He stared off into the
distance.  Unfortunately, our two inner groups were in wide open space with no
cover.  If he turned and saw us, we would have nowhere to hide. 

He slowly dragged
on the cigarette several times.  He would inhale, hold it, and then purse his
lips and blow the smoke up high in the air.  Meantime, we all just stood there,
motionless.  As long as Cap held his fist there, none of us would move.  Any
little movement in the kraut’s peripheral vision would catch his attention. 
That was a tough situation, because my natural instinct was to turn my gun on
the enemy and be ready to fire.  But we were frozen in place.  It was like if
you had a real bad itch and you were reaching to scratch it, but you had to
freeze your hand right above the itch.

The colonel
finished his cigarette and casually flicked it to the side, which was right in
our direction.  As he turned to walk back into the barn, his eyes followed the
cigarette butt in the air.  Then he did a double-take as he realized what he
had just seen in the background behind that butt.

 “Shit,”
muttered Cap.

 “Achtung!”
the kraut called.  “Achtung!”

 “Fall back!”
Cap called.  “Fall back to the last hedge row!  Double-time!”

We turned and
hauled ass out of there.  The outer groups laid down suppressing fire.  They
were moving slower than us, but they could crouch behind trees, take a few
shots, and move to the next trees.  Us middle groups were running as fast as we
could.  I glanced back once, and saw krauts spilling out of the barn and the
houses.  Then I caught a glimpse of Tom Duncan sprinting out of the woods as
his group also fell back, firing their rifles backward as they struggled to
catch up to us.  At that point, the last hedgerow was probably two hundred
yards away, and we covered that fast—maybe in a minute.  We were all panting
hard.  There were occasional gunshots from the farm.  The krauts were going to
be getting together to attack.

Cap sat for a
few seconds, catching his breath. 

 “Everybody
make it back?”  We nodded.  The gunshots were more frequent. 

 “How many of
them?” called Cap.

Petey
Anderson had been peering through the hedgerow.  “At least fifty, Cap.  Maybe
more.”

 “Son of a
bitch!” muttered Cap.  “We can’t take them.  We can’t defend from here.”  He
stood up and looked out over the landscape we had covered earlier in the day. 
He nodded slightly several times.  I think he was counting the hills we had
covered on the way here. 

Petey looked
at Cap, and then back through the hedgerow.  “Cap, they’re gonna be coming
fast.”

 “OK, boys,”
said Cap.  “We’re bailing out.  We’re in deep shit here, and our only chance to
make it is to get back and get help.  That was a full German colonel back
there, which means he’s commanding a lot more than a single platoon.  There
should be Buzz Company platoons on either side of us about a mile away.  We’re
going to make a run for McBurney’s platoon.  They should only be about a mile
to the northwest.  We’ll run straight west for about a half mile, then turn northwest.”

We all nodded
and looked at each other.  “Boys, this ain’t time for shooting, this ain’t time
for heroics.  This is time to run your asses off.  We can’t beat these krauts,
and if they chase us, our only hope is to be faster than them.  Let’s go.”

We took off
at full speed, which was damn hard because we were loaded up so much with
gear.  But the adrenaline was high, and anyone can run a half mile when you got
gunshots behind you.  None of us looked back.  We just ran.  Cap didn’t carry
gear so he ran along with us, falling back to the back of the group or
sprinting and catching up with the leader.  He was like one of those shepherd
dogs that nudge a bunch of sheep along.

We crossed
three hills and came to another hedgerow, and Cap said to take a break.  We all
fell to the ground, gasping.  The hedgerow was just past the crest of the last
hill we had run.  He sent Charlie Moore back up to the crest to see if they
were following us.  He was back in a minute.

 “Cap,
they’re coming.  I just saw them about three hundred yards away, coming over
the second hill.”

 “Goddamn
it,” said Cap.  “How fast are they moving?”

 “They ain’t
running.  But they’re walking at a pretty good clip.  I saw two groups.  They’re
fanning out so they catch us if we turn.”

Cap paused. 
“They think we’ll wear out and try to make a last stand.”

 “Cap!  More
krauts!” called Robertson.  “North-northwest.  At least thirty of them!”

Cap stood up
and bolted over to Robertson.  “Show me.”

Robertson
pointed off into the distance.  “See ’em?  Looks like about a half a mile out. 
Coming this way!”

Cap nodded. 
“Son of a goddamn bitch.  Anything to the south?”

Bo Cooper
shook his head.  “There’s nothing out there moving.”

Cap took off
his helmet, looked down at the ground, and rubbed the back of his head and
neck.  Then he walked over to Cooper and looked to the south.  He scanned the
horizon.

 “Cap?” said
Moore.  “Them krauts will be here pretty soon.”

Cap didn’t
reply, and looked to the south for a few more seconds.  Then he turned to us.

 “Boys, I
think we were too fast for our own good.  I think we advanced past the front
line, and we’re in enemy territory.  We’ve got enemies on two sides, and maybe
a third.  The question is, why don’t we see krauts to the south?  Either
Lancaster’s platoon has got them busy, or they are moving this way, or they are
going to try to cut us off to the west.  The way I figure it, we’re outnumbered
at least four to one, probably more than that.  We don’t have time to radio in
for help.  We’ve got to move as fast as we possibly can to try to slip through
before they tighten the noose on us.”

We glanced
around at each other.  We were all scared, and we didn’t care if anyone
noticed.  We SHOULD be scared. 

 “All right!”
said Cap.  “Drop all nonessential equipment.  We’re going to be running hard. 
Weapons, ammo, and water only.”

 “No camp
gear?  No food?” asked Cunningham.  He was a chubby red-faced guy from
Wisconsin.  Figures he’d be asking about food at a time like that.

 “If this
works, we’ll be safe in a few hours,” said Cap.  “If it doesn’t work, we won’t
need food.  Drop your gear and move! Fifteen seconds!”

 “Cap,” said
Kozlowski.  “I’m bringing my letters.”

 “Letters go
with us,” said Cap to all of us.  “Get moving!”

We all turned
to our packs, pulled the appropriate items, and started following Paul Taylor. 
He was going to lead the way.  Cap had shown him the route on the map.  His
instructions were to move ahead, then wait for us to catch up, then move
forward again.  We all couldn’t run the same pace, but this way we would
stretch out over a distance and be less likely to get ambushed.  We were going
to meet at our first checkpoint, which was a stream about a half mile to the
southwest.   Cap was running like a shepherd dog again, moving up toward the front
of the group, then waiting and counting men as they passed him.

It was a hell
of a lot easier running without gear!  In fact, it was almost enjoyable, being
a good thirty pounds lighter.  And it was a nice day.  For a few minutes, I
didn’t even think about the Germans.  I just focused on my footing as I ran,
because I didn’t want to twist an ankle.  The terrain was good, so it didn’t
take me long to get to the checkpoint.  I was the fifth person to reach it.  As
we arrived, we all took up defensive positions on the crest of the small hill
by the stream.  We watched the rest of the men run in.  I saw Cap about a
hundred yards out, standing there watching the men run past him.  I counted the
men as they came in, and all were accounted for except one.