At midnight, the patrol moved into no-man’s-land in two columns of three men each, with Lieutenant Woodward in the middle of both columns. Mahoney headed one column and Cranepool the other. Also on the patrol were Puleo, Caddell, and Perez.
Their feet crunched on the snow as they passed through the birch forest and headed toward the town of Comblain to determine how strongly held it was. They would have to pass through the German lines to get there, and that would be the hard part. It was assumed that the Germans were deployed in a series of foxholes and bunkers like the Third Army, and they’d have to probe for an open space between them.
The snow had stopped, and the temperature had dropped to twenty degrees above zero. A strong wind was blowing, roaring through the branches and making their faces numb. The wind picked up the recently fallen snow and hurled it at them, obscuring vision and producing waist-high snowdrifts.
The patrol pushed through the drifts as snowflakes clung to their eyelashes. The GIs held their rifles ready because they knew they’d reach the German lines in another two or three hundred yards. Mahoney glanced back at Lieutenant Woodward and saw a stolid shadowy figure moving steadily forward. Mahoney didn’t like patrols and thought this one would be particularly troublesome. Woodward was obviously crazy and a crazy man could make mistakes.
They trudged down a hill and entered a valley filled with tall spruce trees covered with snow. Mahoney peered into the night, on the alert for unusual movement or the outline of a German helmet against the snow. His hands stung from the cold wind, and his legs felt encased in ice. To his ears, the patrol sounded like a rampaging herd of elephants. He was glad that the wind muffled much of the sound.
“HALT!” shouted someone to their front.
The patrol stopped, and everyone crouched low. They looked at Lieutenant Woodward who pointed to the left.
“That way,” Woodward said softly, “and put your feet down easy.”
They veered to the left, walking slowly and stepping lightly. They pointed their rifles straight ahead, and expected a burst of machine gun bullets to rip them up at any moment. Each of them was poised to drop to the ground at the explosion of the first bullet. Mahoney wished he could be in charge of the patrol, so he could make the decisions.
They heard the sound of voices straight ahead, and the clank of a piece of equipment.
“Hold it up,” said Woodward, raising his hand.
They dropped to one knee on the snow and looked at Woodward, whose head jerked first to the left and then to the right, reminding Mahoney of a big squirrel. The sound of voices and the rattle of equipment persisted and seemed to cover the entire area in front of them.
“You men stay here,” Woodward said. “I’ll go ahead and find an opening. If I’m not back in ten minutes, proceed without me.”
Mahoney glanced at his watch to check the time as Lieutenant Woodward crept forward. Lieutenant Woodward hunched low with his legs bent, and his fingers would have touched the snow if he hadn’t been holding a carbine. In a few moments he disappeared.
“I hope the fucker gets shot out there,” Puleo uttered.
“Knock it off,” Mahoney replied. “Get down.”
They lay on their stomachs and listened to the guttural voices of Germans straight ahead. Mahoney wondered what they were doing up so late. Under normal circumstances, they would have posted guards, and everyone else would have gone to sleep. Mahoney had no way of knowing that they were going to attack in the morning, just like the Third Army.
Mahoney looked at one of his watches and saw the sweep second hand make its way around the dial. Three minutes passed and nothing unusual happened. Mahoney kept thinking about what Lieutenant Woodward had told him earlier: When I’m finished with you, you’ll follow me around like a dog. Mahoney had nearly punched him in the mouth but had held himself back and resolved never to lose control of himself in front of Woodward.
Cranepool checked his watch. “He’s been gone five minutes.”
“He must be doing okay,” Caddell said. “We would have heard something if he wasn’t.”
Perez grunted and sighted down the length of his M-1. “I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes.”
Mahoney turned to Perez. “I said knock that shit off.”
Mahoney wished he could light a cigarette. He thought of Woodward somewhere out there in the darkness, creeping between the German foxholes. Woodward had guts—there was no question about that. His problem was that he was an arrogant son of a bitch, but a lot of officers were that way. They thought their men would obey quicker and try harder if they were afraid.
Puleo looked at his watch. “I hope the fucker doesn’t come back.”
“He’ll come back,” Cranepool replied, “just like a bad penny.”
Mahoney became angry. “How many times do I have to tell you guys to knock it off?”
“Why are you sticking up for him?” Cranepool asked. “You don’t like him any more than we do.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Mahoney said. “I don’t want to hear any more griping on this patrol.”
Lieutenant Woodward’s mocking voice whispered to them from the darkness. “But don’t you know, Sergeant Mahoney, that the troops aren’t happy unless they’re griping?”
Laughing softly, Woodward emerged from the night. Mahoney turned to him and wondered how long he’d been listening. Mahoney was annoyed at himself for not hearing Woodward approach.
“Follow me,” Woodward said, “and keep quiet.”
Woodward led them into the woods. The sounds of Germans came closer as the GIs crept over the snow. The moon peeked between clouds for a few moments, illuminating the trees, and then disappeared. They slid down a gully and moved through it, hearing Germans on either side of them.
They continued to make their way toward Comblain, hearing the German Army everywhere. Vehicles moved across a road somewhere in the distance, and German sergeants barked out orders. Mahoney wished he were alone because he knew he wouldn’t make any unnecessary noise, but he wasn’t sure about the others.
In a half hour they came to a road. Lieutenant Woodward raised his hand and told them to stop, then dropped to his knees and took out his map. He covered his head with his poncho, lit his cigarette lighter, and figured out approximately where they were.
“Comblain is about two miles ahead,” he said. “We’ll cross the road in twos. I’ll go first with Perez. Cranepool and Puleo will go next. Mahoney and Caddell will bring up the rear.”
They crept toward the road and stopped behind some bushes near its shoulder. Woodward looked left and right and listened for a few moments and murmured to Perez, “Let’s go.”
He and Perez moved around the bush, approached the edge of the road, and dashed across. Cranepool and Puleo followed. Mahoney was about to cross with Caddell when he heard an automobile engine to the left.
“Stay put!” Mahoney said.
“What’s the matter?”
“Something’s coming.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Shaddup, and keep your head down.”
The sound of the engine became louder, and Caddell heard it. A German Kubelwagen turned the corner and rode toward them with its lights out. Mahoney waited until it had passed and the sound of its engine was fading in the distance, then he and Caddell ran across the road.
They joined the others and dropped to their knees in a wooded area on the other side of the road.
Woodward was perturbed. “It took you long enough to get over here,” he said to Mahoney. “You could have made it across the road long before that vehicle turned the corner.”
He narrowed his eyes at Mahoney. “Are you trying to sabotage this mission, Sergeant?”
“What makes you say that, sir?”
“Because you’re wasting time. Maybe you want us to return from this patrol after all the other patrols in the regiment are back, so that I’ll look bad. Is that it, Sergeant?”
“No, sir.”
“Then hereafter I want you to move when I tell you to move. Excessive caution is the sign of the coward, and I don’t want any of that in my platoon.”
Mahoney looked away and said nothing because he didn’t want a confrontation with Woodward behind enemy lines.
Woodward spat derisively into the snow. “I can’t stand shifty eyed soldiers who can’t look me in the eye.”
Mahoney turned and fastened his eyes on Woodward’s. “Sir, we’re wasting time.”
Woodward didn’t reply. He stared into Mahoney’s eyes, and Mahoney looked back at him. Is the stupid bastard trying to hypnotize me? Mahoney wondered. Cranepool and the others watched and tried to figure out what was going on.
“Sir,” Mahoney said, “we’re spending more time here doing nothing than I spent when I waited for that German vehicle to pass by.”
Woodward smiled. “Mahoney,” he said, “you’re such a little man.”
“Sir,” Mahoney replied, “we can talk about this when we get back to our lines, but until then, why don’t we just move the fuck out?”
“We’re taking a little break,” Woodward said. “Don’t you think the men deserve a little break?”
“I thought you were in such a big hurry.”
“We’ll make up for it. Let me do the thinking, Mahoney. We wouldn’t want you to strain your mind.”
Cranepool looked at Woodward. “I’m not tired, sir. Why don’t we just get going?”
“Because we might not have time for a break later.”
Mahoney knew Woodward was bullshitting. Woodward had had no intention of giving the men a break, but he’d done it to save face. I’ve got a fucking psycho case for a platoon leader, he thought. Just what I need!
“All right,” Lieutenant Woodward said. “Let’s go.” They moved toward Comblain again. The forest thinned out and they came to an open field. Looking to the left and right, they wondered if they could go around the field because they didn’t want to travel for such a long distance in the open.
“Straight ahead,” Woodward said. “Let’s go.”
“Sir,” said Mahoney, “don’t you think we should at least check to see if we can go around the field?”
“That’ll take too much time. I said, let’s go.” They stepped into the field, and Mahoney felt naked. The wind howled and whipped them with snow. They crossed the field with their heads angled into the wind, holding their rifles ready. Mahoney thought about asking for a transfer out of the first platoon when he returned to the company because he didn’t think he could take much more of Woodward. With his contacts in the division, he probably could get transferred anywhere he wanted, but he decided it wouldn’t be right to leave Cranepool and the others behind to cope with Woodward without his help. On top of that, Woodward would say that Mahoney had been afraid of him. I’ll stay, Mahoney said to himself. Maybe one of these days I’ll shoot the son of a bitch. It took them twenty harrowing minutes to cross the field, and then they plunged into more woods. They felt safer as soon as they entered, and Woodward told them to take another break. He put his poncho over his head again and studied his map. “Comblain is just ahead,” he said. He stood and took an azimuth with his compass. “We’re right on course.”
They moved out again, and this forest was thicker than the others. Branches scratched their uniforms and slapped them in the face. The moon came out for a few minutes and hid behind a cloud again. Mahoney hoped the weather would clear up sufficiently for them to have some air support tomorrow. It would be a rough day for him because he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.
They climbed a hill, and at the top they saw the twinkling lights of Comblain in the valley beneath them. “There it is,” said Woodward with satisfaction, raising his binoculars. “It seems pretty quiet to me.”
Mahoney looked through his own binoculars, and the magnification showed him the houses of the little town. He saw a few German trucks and Kubelwagens parked on the streets but nothing to indicate a large German force. His battalion should have no trouble punching through the German lines and taking this town tomorrow.
Woodward kneeled, made some notations on his map, and returned it to his map case. “All right, let’s go back,” he said, standing.
Mahoney looked at his watches. “It’s only half past one, sir. Don’t you think we should stick around awhile?”
“What for?”
“To see if any more Germans arrive in town.”
“What makes you think more Germans will arrive.”
“The krauts have been awfully busy tonight, sir. Maybe something’s going on.”
“Nothing of any significance is going on,” Woodward said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They followed Woodward back down the hill. Ambitious officers are going to be the death of me yet, Mahoney thought. They all wanted to look better than the other officers of their rank and would do anything to stand out. Sometimes they pushed their men to the point of exhaustion; other times they let their careers take precedence over sensible military procedures, such as now. Mahoney thought Woodward was ignoring the most important aspect of the patrol because he wanted to beat all the other patrols back to headquarters. I’m going to tell Captain Anderson all about this when we get back, Mahoney thought.
They passed through the woods without incident and entered the vast expanse of field just as the moon came out again. Mahoney looked up and saw that it probably would be out for several minutes.
“Sir,” he said, “I think we ought to go around this field.”
“No,” replied Woodward. “Move it out.”
They cast long shadows as they made their way across the snow covered field. Mahoney was thankful for the wind because the snow it blew around helped provide some camouflage. I don’t mind if the stupid bastard wants to risk his own life for glory, Mahoney thought, but I don’t want him to risk mine. He hoped no Germans were looking at the field. He didn’t know it, but all the Germans in the area were preparing for their early morning offensive.
Finally they reached the woods.
“Take a break,” Woodward said.
The men dropped to one knee, and Woodward looked down at them. He was pleased with the way the patrol had gone so far and thought he’d done his job like a seasoned old pro.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t listen to Sergeant Mahoney back there,” he said. “If we had, we’d still be trying to get across this field, and who knows how many Germans we would’ve run into?”
Mahoney stood so he could get eye to eye with Woodward. “If we ran into them in the woods we’d be better off than if we ran into them out in the open.”
“But we didn’t run into them in the open, Mahoney. Why don’t you use your head once in a while?”
Mahoney wanted to punch Woodward in the mouth.
Woodward taunted him. “Well, why don’t you?”
Mahoney reared back his arm, but Cranepool grabbed it. “Cool down, Sarge.”
Woodward laughed. “Go ahead—let him.” Then he suddenly became serious. He looked deeply into Mahoney’s eyes. “Try it, and I’ll have you put in front of a firing squad.”
Mahoney sighed and said, “Yes, sir.”
“You’re just a big gorilla, Mahoney. Nobody around here is afraid of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Woodward turned toward the American lines. “Let’s move it out.”
They entered the woods and slogged through the snow. The moon had disappeared behind clouds again and the night was pitch black. After a half hour, they reached the road that they’d crossed earlier. Kneeling behind some boulders, Woodward checked his map again, then looked at his watch.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go across the road all together this time.”
Mahoney groaned. “Sir, that’ll make an awful lot of noise.”
“Nobody’s around to hear it, so don’t worry about it.”
“How do you know nobody’s around to hear it?”
“Because I know.” Woodward put his map away and stood. “All right men—let’s go!”
Stealthily they approached the shoulder of the road. Lieutenant Woodward looked to his right and left, listened to the wind shaking the branches of the trees, and moved his arm forward.
The seven men ran across the road, and to Mahoney it sounded like Grand Central Station at five o’clock. If any Germans were around, they’d hear them, and Mahoney was convinced Woodward would get him killed or court-martialed before long. Maybe I should shoot the son of a bitch right now, Mahoney thought. Cranepool and the rest would testify that a German did it.
They reached the other side of the road and crowded behind some bushes, breathing heavily and sweating despite the frigid temperatures.
Woodward turned to Mahoney. “Looks like you were wrong again, huh?”
Mahoney looked away. This guy doesn’t know it, but he’s signing his own death warrant.
“You’re wrong so often, Mahoney,” Woodward said. “It’s a miracle the men ever pay any attention to you at all.”
Cranepool looked at Woodward. “Sir, why don’t you leave Sergeant Mahoney alone?”
Woodward stared at Cranepool for a few moments, then turned to the other men. “It’s amazing the way you people stick up for Sergeant Mahoney. He must really have you bamboozled.” Woodward’s eyes met Mahoney’s, and he saw the raging fires. Woodward smirked. “Let’s go, men.”
They headed for their lines, Mahoney in front of the column on the left, and Woodward behind him in the middle of the two columns. If Woodward had been in front of Mahoney, Mahoney would have shot him down. Seething with anger, Mahoney was unable to concentrate fully on what he was doing. His mind was filled with visions of doing violence to Lieutenant Woodward. Mahoney’s blood chugged through his veins, and his ears pounded like tom-toms. That son of a bitch had better not get in front of me, he thought. I’ll put a bullet right up his ass.
After twenty minutes they heard the first sounds of the German lines. Woodward held them up, listened for a few moments, then moved them forward again.
“Keep the noise down,” he murmured. “Try not to hit every bush in sight, Mahoney.”
Mahoney wanted to spin around and slug him. I’d better calm down, he told himself. This son of a bitch is making me crazy, and I’m liable to do something I shouldn’t.
Slowly they drew closer to the German lines. They heard orders being given and the metallic sounds of equipment being checked or moved. Mahoney was surprised by how thinly the Germans were dispersed throughout the area. We’ll roll right over the bastards in the morning, he thought, but I wonder why they’re up so late?
Woodward raised his hand, and they all stopped. “I’ll go ahead to find a path through their lines,” he said. “You men stay here, and try to keep out of trouble.”
Woodward moved ahead, and Mahoney raised his rifle to shoot him. Then he realized the gunshot would alert the Germans. He’d have to wait for a more opportune time.
The six GIs crouched in the snow. Mahoney scooped some up and put it in his mouth.
Cranepool nudged Mahoney. “Don’t let the bastard get you down, Sarge. Just take it easy.”
“Yeah,” said Puleo. “He’s riding you awfully hard.”
“If I was you,” said Perez, “I’d...” He drew his forefinger across his throat.
“We won’t say anything about it if you do,” Caddell added. “Right guys?”
They all nodded, and Mahoney thought it might be bad if he slit Woodward’s throat in the woods. The six of them would carry the guilt and apprehension around forever; Mahoney would become a murderer, and the rest would be his accomplices, and you never knew when somebody might get drunk and talk too much. If Mahoney was going to settle things with Woodward, he’d have to do it alone.
“Forget about that shit,” Mahoney said. “Maybe if we’re lucky, the krauts will take care of Woodward for us.”
“Ssshhhh,” said Cranepool. “He’s liable to sneak up on us again.”
They recalled how Lieutenant Woodward had eavesdropped on them before and closed their mouths. Kneeling in the snow, they waited for him to return, thinking of all the platoon leaders they’d had since they’d come to Europe, and how not one of them had been as bad as Woodward.
After a while, they heard a voice whisper to them out of the night. “We’re being awfully quiet, aren’t we boys?”
It was Lieutenant Woodward, and he appeared in front of them, a grin on his face.
“I’ve got good news,” he said. “There’s a trench up ahead with three men and an officer sleeping in it. We’re going to see if that officer has any useful documents on him.”
Mahoney and the others looked at each other in surprise, then turned to Woodward.
“Are you out of your mind?” Mahoney whispered. “We’re liable to bring the whole German Army down on our necks.”
“Afraid?” Woodward asked.
“I’m not afraid, but that’s crazy.”
Woodward chortled. “I always knew you were yellow, Mahoney. Now you’re showing your true colors.”
Cranepool cleared his throat. “I think Mahoney’s right. I think...”
Woodward interrupted him. “I don’t care what you think. We’re going to check out that kraut officer. I’m sure he has some valuable papers with him.”
“Valuable papers, your ass!” Mahoney said. “You’re just trying to get a medal for yourself.”
“You’re yellow, and your opinions don’t mean anything to me.”
“We’re not under orders to steal kraut papers.”
Woodward sneered. “Sometimes you have to take the initiative in these matters. We’re not robots after all, Mahoney.”
“It’s an unnecessary risk,” Mahoney insisted. “It’s more important for us to get back with the information we have.”
“I told you that I’m not interested in your opinions, Mahoney.” Lieutenant Woodward tapped his epaulette. “When you have more up here than I do, then I’ll listen to you, but until then, I’m in charge, and this is how we’re going to proceed. I will lead you forward to the German trench that I’ve just described.” He pulled out his bayonet. “We will sling our weapons and use these, because we don’t want to make any noise. As I said, there are three krauts and one officer in that trench. I’ll handle the officer, and I want three volunteers to handle the other three.”
Woodward looked around expectantly, but no one volunteered.
“I didn’t expect Mahoney to volunteer,” he murmured, “but I thought somebody else might. All right—Cranepool, you’ll take one of them, Caddell will take the second, and Puleo the third. Mahoney and Perez can be the lookouts. Any questions?”
Cranepool looked disgusted. Caddell was nervous, and Puleo looked scared.
“Sir,” Mahoney said softly, “you’re making a mistake.”
“Sergeant Mahoney,” Woodward replied, “You’re the one who’s guessed wrong consistently tonight, and I’ve guessed right, so maybe you should keep your mouth shut and learn some humility.” He looked at the others. “All right, let’s draw our bayonets and sling our rifles.”
The men did as they were told, and Mahoney watched Woodward smiling faintly as he ran his thumb across the blade of his bayonet. Mahoney remembered Woodward sharpening his bayonet earlier and realized he had probably planned this escapade earlier in the day and had just now gone looking for an officer to bring back.
“Onto our bellies, men,” Woodward said. “Be silent, and keep your eyes on me. The German trench is about fifty yards ahead.”
“I thought you were in a hurry to get back,” Mahoney said.
“Shut up,” Woodward snapped. “I’ve had enough from you tonight.”
They formed an inverted V formation with Woodward at the top and crawled toward the trench. They made their way through bushes and around trees, as the sound of German voices came closer. Something clanked loudly to their left, and Woodward raised his hand, signaling a stop. Woodward listened as the clank repeated itself and moved his arm forward again, satisfied that there was no threat in that direction.
Mahoney slithered through the snow and wondered how people like Woodward got to be officers. He’d heard that Woodward had come from West Point and was surprised that his instability had never been noticed, but maybe Woodward hadn’t dared to act this way at West Point. Maybe he’d graduated at the bottom of his class and was now trying to prove to everybody that he was a great officer.
Mahoney heard footsteps to the left. Lieutenant Woodward raised his hand for a moment, and the GIs stopped. The footsteps came closer, and Mahoney figured there were two krauts coming. Oh shit, he thought, they’re going to step right on us.
The Germans kept coming, and Mahoney peered ahead from beneath the brim of his helmet. It sounded as if the Germans would pass in front of them. Mahoney spotted the dark outlines of their uniforms against the snow. The Germans talked in low, guttural voices as they moved through the woods.
The German soldiers passed by the GIs and kept going. It was a close call. If Woodward had led them forward a little sooner or if the Germans had come a little later, there would have been an ugly encounter.
Woodward signaled for them to move out. They crawled over the snow again, staying close to bushes and trees. The sky had become cloudy hiding the moon and making everything pitch black. Mahoney could discern three separate German conversations going on, but they were too far away for him to understand what was being said.
Woodward pointed, indicating that the German trench was directly ahead. He signaled that they should crawl more slowly now, and they inched toward the trench. Mahoney was sure something would go wrong; the whole situation was too risky.
Gradually the GIs approached a trench and a bunker. Mahoney couldn’t see anything in the bunker, but somebody was snoring. Lieutenant Woodward motioned with his hand, and Cranepool, Puleo, and Caddell crawled closer. Mahoney could see the bayonets in their hands and the tension in their bodies. Woodward moved forward like a big leopard and led the others into the trench.
They slithered down the walls of the trench and crept into the bunker. Mahoney imagined them sneaking up on the Germans sleeping inside. They were ready to strike, and Woodward had displayed courage by reconnoitering the bunker all by himself, but now he was being foolhardy. So many things could go wrong.
Somebody shouted inside the bunker, and Mahoney knew that his worst fears had become reality. There was a scream, a shot, and a terrible commotion.
“What’s going on over there!” someone shouted in German about twenty yards away.
Mahoney flicked his carbine on automatic because he knew the shit was about to hit the fan. The commotion continued in the bunker. Mahoney heard running feet and saw three German soldiers approaching out of the darkness. He took aim and pulled the trigger of his carbine, which chattered and trembled in his hands. Sparks flew out of the barrel, and the three Germans performed their last dance, twisting and writhing in the air, spewing out spirals of blood, and then hitting the ground.
Germans shouted and screamed all around Mahoney. Lights were flashed on. Lieutenant Woodward crawled out of the trench, holding a bayonet covered with blood and gore. Cranepool followed him, then came Caddell.
Woodward glanced around. “We’ll have to make a run for it!” he said excitedly.
“Where’s Puleo?” Mahoney asked.
“He’s not coming back! Let’s go!”
They jumped up and ran toward the American lines.
“STOP THEM!” screamed a German.
The GIs plunged into the woods, running past trees and bushes, zigzagging and making low silhouettes. Bullets whistled over their heads and past their ears. It sounded as if a whole army were waking up behind them. Machine gun bullets ripped through the woods around them, ricocheting off boulders and burrowing into the trunks of trees. Mahoney held his rifle steady and peered frantically into the foliage ahead because he knew they weren’t even halfway through the German lines yet. The sound of dogs barking joined the other noise.
“HALT!” shouted a voice in front of them.
Mahoney pulled the trigger of his carbine and fired in the direction of the voice as he veered to the left. The woods in front of him exploded with gunfire, and he dropped to his stomach, cursing Lieutenant Woodward for getting him into this mess. German bullets zipped into the snow beside his face, and he flinched backwards, pulling the trigger of his carbine. Woodward and the other GIs fired at the Germans in front of them.
“Listen to me!” Woodward said. “We’ll split into two groups! I’ll take Caddell and Perez with me, and Cranepool will go with Mahoney! Mahoney and Cranepool will cover my group until we get away, then they can go! All right now: one—two—three—GO!”
Woodward and the two GIs ran to the left while Mahoney and Cranepool stayed behind and filled the woods in front of them with bullets.
“They’re getting away!” screamed a German voice. “After them!”
The Germans lessened their fire as some of them went after the Americans they heard escaping.
“Cranepool!” said Mahoney. “Let’s go!”
Mahoney jumped up, and they ran to the right, keeping their heads low. The night was filled with the sound of running feet, shouting, and barking dogs. Mahoney and Cranepool charged through the bushes as quickly as they could go and came upon three German soldiers in a moonlit clearing.
“Who’s there!” one of the Germans shouted, spinning around.
Mahoney and Cranepool opened fire before the Germans could get set and cut them down. They jumped over the bodies of the Germans and plunged into the thickest bushes they could see.
“Stop here!” Mahoney said.
They lay down amid the tangle of bushes, breathing hard and sweating.
“That fucking asshole!” Mahoney said.
“Ssshhh,” replied Cranepool.
The clearing behind them filled with German soldiers, who inspected the bodies of their fallen comrades.
“They must be around here someplace,” said a German officer.
The officer issued orders that sent groups of soldiers down the paths that led from the clearing, but no one thought of combing the bushes nearby. Medics came and removed the bodies from the clearing. The officer chatted with a few soldiers, then walked off in the direction from which he’d originally come.
The clearing became deserted. Gunshots could be heard from different parts of the woods, along with running men and barking dogs.
“I think,” Mahoney said, “that we’d better fix bayonets just in case.”
They pulled their bayonets from their scabbards and fastened them to the ends of their carbines.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mahoney said.
They crawled out of the bushes and walked cautiously through the woods, crouching low and holding their carbines ready. They angled around German soldiers whenever they heard them and hid whenever German soldiers came their way.
The sound of dogs came closer. They barked, whined, and howled as they galloped over forest trails and through the underbrush. Mahoney hoped they weren’t coming in his direction, but after a while he realized that they were.
“We’d better get ready for those mutts,” he told Cranepool. “I think they’re headed this way.”
“I was kind of hoping that they were chewing on Lieutenant Woodward by now.”
Mahoney looked around for a big boulder or a steep hill that would protect their backs, but he couldn’t see anything.
“Get a tree behind you,” Mahoney said. “They’re gonna be here any minute.”
Mahoney and Cranepool stood in front of trees and heard dogs yelp and whine as they followed the scent. Mahoney planted one foot behind him, holding his carbine tightly and squinting as he looked for the dogs. His mouth became dry because big angry dogs scared the shit out of him. They were much tougher to fight than men, and Mahoney had already been bitten by German dogs a few times. They were faster than men and could tear out your windpipe in a second.
“Here they come!” Cranepool said.
The dogs darted among the trees and shot through the underbrush. They saw Mahoney and Cranepool and sped toward them, leaping into the air.
Mahoney and Cranepool fired their carbines on automatic and sprayed the air with hot lead. Some of the dogs whined and writhed as they dropped to the ground, but the rest kept coming, and Mahoney figured there were a dozen of them at least. One flew toward Mahoney, and he could see its long white fangs and bloodshot eyes. He fired a burst at it, and the dog’s head disappeared, leaving behind a body and the bloody stump of a neck. The dead dog sailed past Mahoney, and two more jumped at him. Mahoney pulled his trigger and swung his carbine from side to side, peppering them with holes, as a huge Doberman pinscher dove at Mahoney’s legs and dug his fangs into his combat boots.
Mahoney aimed his carbine low and fired a burst into the animal’s back, disintegrating its spine, and its jaws went slack. A German shepherd snarled viciously and made a lunge for Mahoney’s other leg, but Mahoney aimed his carbine low and ripped the animal apart with hot lead.
A furry blur caught the corner of his eye, and he raised his carbine to fire at it. Two bullets shot out of the barrel of the carbine, and then the bolt went click. Mahoney raised his carbine to protect himself, and the dog chomped its huge drooling mouth on the part of the barrel just above the trigger guard. The dog’s eyes were only inches from Mahoney’s; he could see the insane animal bloodlust inside them. The dog realized he was chewing wood and steel, not human flesh, so he let go and tried for Mahoney’s arm.
Mahoney whacked the dog in the head with the butt of his rifle, but he didn’t have enough leverage and couldn’t put much power behind it. The dog dropped to the ground slightly dazed, and Mahoney harpooned him in the ribs with his bayonet.
Another dog collided with Mahoney and sank his teeth into Mahoney’s right bicep. Mahoney reached for the dog’s head and jabbed his thumb and forefinger into the dog’s eyes. The dog yelped in pain but hung on to Mahoney’s arm. Mahoney gritted his teeth, dug his finger and thumb deeper into the dog’s eye sockets, and pulled the squirming dog’s head away. The dog fell to the snow and Mahoney stomped on his head three times until the dog’s skull was bashed in.
Mahoney heard the grunts of Cranepool and the sound of Germans shouting over the barking and howling of the dogs. He looked around and saw dead or wounded dogs lying all around him. Cranepool was fighting two with his bayonet. One chewed on Cranepool’s right forearm while the other tried to maneuver around Cranepool’s thrusting bayonet.
Mahoney ejected the empty clip in his carbine and rammed in a fresh one. He ran toward Cranepool and fired at the dog lunging at Cranepool’s legs. His bullets hit the dog in the side, and their impact threw him to the ground. Cranepool grabbed the other dog by its jaw and pressed his fingers into a sensitive nerve. The dog was forced to open his mouth and release Cranepool’s forearm. Cranepool stepped back, and the dog dropped onto the snow. He crouched to spring at Cranepool again, but Mahoney fired a burst at him, and the dog toppled into the snow, his fur covered with blood.
“Are you all right?” Mahoney asked Cranepool.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
They turned and ran into the woods, leaving dead dogs sprawled all over the snow.