Colonel Oscar Koch, the G-2 (Intelligence) officer for the Third Army, entered General Patton’s office and saluted.
“Have a seat,” Patton said.
Koch sat on a chair in front of the desk.
Patton leaned forward. “Do you remember a few weeks ago I asked you to compile a list of personnel in this Army who could be sent out on special missions?”
“Yes sir. And I’ve compiled it. I have about forty men and officers on the list.”
“Good.” Patton leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach. “I’ve been concerned lately about our left flank. You know, the First Army is spread out awfully thin over a great deal of real estate, and if I was von Rundstedt, I’d attack through those mountain passes like greased shit, wouldn’t you?”
“I imagine it’s a great temptation for him, sir.”
Patton nodded solemnly. “If there is an attack through there, this Army’s left flank will be placed in jeopardy. Therefore I want you to send some of those special men into the First Army sector on a reconnaissance mission to see how bad the situation really is. I’m especially concerned about the Ardennes region because Troy Middleton’s got practically nothing there, from what I’ve heard. How soon do you think you can get these reconnaissance people out into the field?”
“I imagine no more than a day or two, sir.”
“Good,” said Patton. “Get to work on it.”
~*~
The first snow of winter was falling, and it reminded Mahoney of Christmas in New York. He was sitting in a jeep approaching a tiny village in the Saar Valley, and he wondered if Santa Claus would bring him anything nice, like the million dollar wound that would send him back to the States and the warm arms of beautiful women.
Pfc. Higgins drove the jeep, bringing Mahoney up to date on latest events in the platoon. Riggs had returned from the hospital and Private Baker had been killed in Saarlautern. Sergeant Leary had stepped on a mine and Corporal Cranepool had been made an acting sergeant and given command of the platoon. The company had a new executive officer named Hargreaves, who was a son of a bitch, and a few new replacements had arrived.
The jeep drove into the village and Mahoney looked at the bombed out buildings, glad he’d missed the battle that had been fought here recently. Higgins turned a corner, skidded halfway down a street, and stopped in front of a house that flew the company flag.
Mahoney got out of the jeep and trudged through the snow to the front door of the house. He opened it up and stepped into a warm room that had a pot-bellied stove in a corner. Sergeant Tweed sat behind one of the desks, and Pfc. Drago banged a typewriter behind the other one putting together the KP roster.
Tweed looked at Mahoney and frowned. “Look what the wind just blew in,” he grumbled.
“Hiya Tweed,” Mahoney said, feeling as if he’d returned home, because in a way Charlie Company was his home. He looked around the clean office. “Nice joint you’ve got here.”
“How’re you feeling, Mahoney?”
“Like new.”
“I hope you didn’t lose any of your marbles when you got hit in the head.”
“I get headaches once in a while but that’s all.” Mahoney unbuttoned his field jacket and took a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Here’s my orders.” He dropped them on Tweed’s desk.
“You was supposed to be back yesterday,” Tweed said.
“I got tied up.”
“Doing what?”
“None of your fucking business.”
Tweed harumphed. “That’s a helluva thing to say to me. I had to cover for you.”
“What for?”
“Because new orders came down for you.”
Mahoney was surprised. “New orders?”
“Yeah. You’re being sent on TDY (temporary duty) to Third Army.”
“What the fuck for?” Mahoney asked.
“Top-secret.”
“Top-secret?” Mahoney wrinkled his nose. “Are you shitting me?”
“Would I shit you, Mahoney?” Tweed asked, an innocent look on his face.
“I think you would.”
“You’re right, but I’m not shitting you now.”
“What am I gonna do at Third Army?” Mahoney asked.
“I told you it was top-secret.”
“But you know everything, Tweed. What’s the story?”
Tweed motioned with his finger and Mahoney bent over the desk.
“They’re sending you out on a recon in the First Army zone,” Tweed said. “I don’t know exactly what it’s all about, but you’ll be spending most of your time with the Eighth Corps in the vicinity of a quiet little town in Belgium called Bastogne.”
“Bastogne?” Mahoney asked. “Never heard of it.”
“Neither have I, but it sounds like good duty. There ain’t no fighting at all going on there.”
Mahoney straightened up and smiled. “I wonder if they’ve got a whorehouse in Bastogne?”
“If there is, I’m sure you’ll find it, Mahoney.” Tweed reached for the telephone. “I’ll call for a jeep to take you to Third Army.”
Mahoney took out a cigarette and lit it up, thinking that his luck was changing for the better. He walked to the window and looked outside at the snow falling on the countryside.
TDY to Bastogne, he thought. Well, it’s about time the bastards gave me a little vacation.