“Private,” Lieutenant Bracey ordered, “go forward and see how first platoon is making out.”
A hard lump came to my throat, but I swallowed it down.
“Yes sir,” I said.
It was only fifty yards, but it seemed like a thousand. I crawled like a crab, cradling my M1 Garand in
my arms, just as they taught us in basic. The M1 was my baby and gave me a great sense of security. Even
though a bit heavy, I loved that rifle. It shot a hefty thirty-aught-six bullet from a clip that held eight rounds.
I could drop it in mud, water, even off a cliff, and it would always come up firing.
I crawled through shell holes and under barbed wire until I came to some GIs, about ten or twelve of
them, hugging the ground as closely as they could. To my dismay, I also saw parts of many other men
scattered about the area. They were all that was left of first platoon.
I hollered to the man closest to me.
“Where’s your Lieutenant?”
He said nothing. He just kept his head buried.
“Private,” I shouted, “Where is your Lieutenant?”
“Dead,” he said, “they’re all dead.”
A mortar flash lit up the man’s face. It was wet with tears.
I raised myself up onto my elbows. I could see the tank and the two trucks blazing. This route to the
creek clearly wasn’t going to work. I looked off to the right. Between flashes of light, I could tell that the
terrain fell off into a mass of boulders and brush.
I cradled my M1 and crawled back to my Lieutenant.
“What’s the situation?” Bracey asked.
“About half wounded or killed, the lieutenant and non-coms dead.”
“Can we still get to the creek?”
“I think so. There is cover off to the right. The draw is there, I’m sure of it. At the very least, it’s solid
ground for defilade.”
“Private,” Lieutenant Bracey said, “I’m going to need you to step up. I need you to lead what’s left of first
platoon to the creek draw.”
I set my jaw and give him a curt nod.
“I’ll follow with second platoon. Now move out.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
The living of first platoon hadn’t moved. I looked to the right. The area that led to the creek bed still
looked open. I looked to the young dogface I had spoken to earlier. He was still face down, his hands on
top of his helmet.
“Soldier,” I shouted, “time to move out.”
He said nothing.
“Follow me,” I said, “we’re headed for the creek bed.”
Nothing.
“Hey!”
I pushed the man’s shoulder, felt it wet and quickly pulled my hand back. I took a closer look. There was
only about half of him left.
“Shit.”
I pushed up to my elbows. I saw some men moving.
“You men,” I shouted, “follow me!”
“Who the fuck are you?”
I clenched my teeth.
“I have orders,” I called out, “to lead you men to the creek bed.”
I pushed myself up on to my feet. The fire was hot. In fact, the explosions and rip of machine guns never
seemed to stop. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that my legs felt like wet noodles.
I looked about. The men were watching me, their eyes wide and white. I gripped my M1 and stood in a
low crouch.
“Follow me!” I shouted again.
I began to head over to the creek bed.
No one moved.
“If you stay here, you’re all dead!” I shouted.
I continued forward.
“Come on,” I heard someone say.
I looked back.
Slowly, in ones and twos, they followed, about eight men in all. The terrain was steep and slippery but,
by feel and blasts of light, we made it down the draw.
“You men,” I said, “take cover. Don’t bunch up. Establish a perimeter with good defilade.”
“Here,” I commanded, “and over there.”
“Do you have enough ammo?” I asked.
“I have two clips,” one man said.
“I have a bandoleer,” someone added.
“Good,” I said, “spread that ammo out. Watch your front and flanks. The Krauts will find us before long.”
I felt a slap on my back.
“Good job Squires.”
It was Lieutenant Bracey and the rest of second platoon. I let out a breath. The fire was intense, now
mostly machine gun and grenade, but the cover good, at least it was a hell of a lot better than up on that
road.
We settled in to our new perimeter and I found an especially large boulder to stay behind for cover. The
flash and tracers from the German guns and mortars showed that they, too, had dug in with excellent cover
and were just a few yards away from us.
Before long, the yelling and cries of pain started again. The Germans were cutting us to shreds.
“Private Squires!”
It was Bracey.
“We only have about fourteen men left who are able to fight,” he said. “If the enemy decides to charge,
we’ll be overrun. Get back to company headquarters and bring what reinforcements you can.”
I swallowed hard, again.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I crawled up and out of the draw and back up to the flat road, now pot marked with craters. I began to
run through openings in barbed wire, zigzagging as I ran, just as they’d trained us, to make myself a harder
target to hit. Even so, shells still burst as close as fifteen yards.
I returned with ten to twelve men, zigzagging the same way as I dropped them at gaps in our perimeter.
We were running low on soldiers who could still fight, so I returned once again and brought back even
more reinforcements.