The last enemy, p.3
The Last Enemy, page 3
He was right, even though it was no surprise it was Lucas who’d shouted the plea to bug out. He was a square peg in a round hole. Thin and pale, with a spotty face and weedy physique, with a few notable exceptions, he always seemed to make himself scarce when the bullets started to fly. He jealously guarded his job as the platoon lieutenant’s driver and hadn’t objected when he nominated him as the second corpsman in any emergency.
He was a soldier keen to avoid where possible the long, punishing marches that were part of an infantryman’s life. As well as not hiding his terror of getting into firefights with hurricanes of bullets flying overhead. It was a mystery how he’d made the Rangers. Maybe he thought it would make a man of him. All it had done was confirm what he’d felt all along. Soldiering was strictly for the birds.
This time he was right. The order had been to recce the ground ahead of the main advance. In the unlikely event they ran into the enemy, they were to call it in and hold their position while they waited for more men to arrive with armor and artillery. They’d run into the enemy, and it was time to call it in. But screw waiting around.
“Anderson! Contact HQ. Tell them we’re in trouble. We can’t hold here. We have to withdraw!”
“Right away.” Anderson was a good soldier and something of an enigma. His overriding interest was in everything electrical and electronic. During off-duty moments he could frequently be seen tinkering with the radio, attempting to improve its often-unreliable performance. When he wasn’t peering at tubes, resistors and capacitors, he had his head in manuals of electronic theory, soaking up endless facts and figures.
As a result, he was less than one hundred percent fit. He could’ve been a bit podgy, but he wasn’t. Somehow, he managed to stay slim and keep up despite his preference for the sedentary. Men speculated he was so clever, maybe he’d invented some esoteric device that would connect with to a man’s body. Something to make physical working out unnecessary. More likely he was just one of those guys who could eat their way through ten gallons of ice cream and never put on an ounce. He made himself useful in other ways, one of which was taking every opportunity to further his knowledge of first-aid. He would’ve made a first-rate corpsman. Except Murphy preferred to leave him with the radio.
He made the call, said a few words, and listened intently to the reply. When he looked up, his face was ashen. “Lieutenant, they said to obey the order. We’re to remain here until relieved.”
“When will that be?”
He spoke again and listened. “He said four hours, minimum.”
“Tell him he’s a fucking asshole. We’re leaving.”
“You want me to tell him that?”
“Maybe not. Tell him we need a field ambulance pronto to evacuate these men.”
He spoke into the handset. “He said there’s nothing available. The division is moving to a new position, and they’re using every vehicle.”
He grabbed the handset. “Listen, asshole. I have two men here who’re gonna die if they don’t get help, so haul ass.”
“Who am I talking with?” a familiar voice rasped. General Shriver, the Divisional Commander.
“Lieutenant Murphy, Sir.”
“You don’t talk to me like that, Murphy. Consider yourself on a charge of insubordination when you get back.”
He didn’t give a shit about a charge of insubordination. He cared about his wounded. “General, do what you want, but I need to get these men to the rear.”
“We’re all busy. Except for that Brit pain in the butt.”
“You mean Colonel Lawson? Put him on.”
A moment later Lawson’s well-modulated, upper-class English tones came over the radio. He smiled as he thought of the oddball appearance of this Brit officer. His body was constantly on the move, twitching and jerking like a crazy man. They’d nicknamed him ‘Loony.’ His uniform was a mix of civilian and military, with a nod toward the typical tweeds of an English aristocrat out shooting on his country estate. He wasn’t crazy. He was clever and resourceful, prepared to put everything on the line. Including his life, and he often did. Anything he thought would get the job of beating the Germans done quicker.
“What’s the problem, Lieutenant?”
“I have several badly wounded men and I need a vehicle, now, Colonel!”
He didn’t hesitate. Said he’d leave right away and get there as fast as possible. If not faster than possible.
“I have a new driver who can get five miles an hour of extra speed than the manufacturer specified for a Willys jeep.”
He acknowledged and signed off. In the meantime, all they could do was stay low, pump out lead as fast as possible, and do what they could to keep the severely wounded men alive.
Kelly joined him. “Lt, why did that jeep drive away, and why did the rest stay to hold us back? What do you reckon they had in that Kubelwagen, gold bars?”
“We’ll never know. Could be some high-ranking Nazi.” He grinned, “Maybe carrying gold bars as well.”
He looked up when the shooting eased, but there was no sign of them pulling out. Didn’t they know that sooner or later Allied aircraft or artillery would find them and tear them into bloody ruin? Yet they stayed, and they were still there when a Willys jeep skidded to a halt several yards away behind the ruins of a stone cottage. A British Army officer Colonel Cuthbert Lawson, on attachment to the United States Army to liaise with General Eisenhower’s HQ, climbed out and keeping his head down, jogged toward him. An unusually short driver ran after him, wearing the distinctive uniform of the Free French Army. Complete with goggles, an American-style helmet, gauntlets, and heavy boots. The soldier raised the goggles, removed the helmet, and it wasn’t a ‘he.’ It was a ‘she.’
Clemence Delon. The girl he’d met during the furious battle to secure the Normandy beaches. He’d killed a brutal Nazi officer trying to rape her and afterward they’d got close. She had dark hair usually tucked beneath a peasant scarf, and she was short, a little taller than a child. Yet the amused look from her dark, flashing eyes after he’d recognized her said everything a man needed to know about her. She possessed a steely, inner determination and innate toughness in every fiber of her body. This was France, the country that’d given birth to Joan of Arc, and like the Maid of Orleans, she was one helluva a fighter. There was a further benefit that no man could deny. She was pretty. In the mud and grime of warfare, she reminded a man of the things he was fighting for.
Lawson grinned at his surprise. “Shriver was making noises about getting rid of all civilians in his headquarters, so she enlisted in the Free French Army. It’s official. She’s a soldier. Private Clemence Delon.”
Murphy grinned. “It’s good to see you.” Although he didn’t feel so good about having his girl under enemy fire.
“There’s a bunch of Krauts up on the hill, and they’re not letting up.” He looked at Rooker. “Sarge, get those men on the jeep so they can get them out of here.”
He turned and snapped an order. Men doubled forward to carry the wounded and load them onto the rear of the jeep. Lawson gazed up at the hill, looking thoughtful.
“Lieutenant, what’s with those Germans? Why are they still there?”
He shrugged. “No idea, Sir. It’s a mystery. They should be long gone.” He told him about the Kubelwagen leaving, but those men on the hill had stayed as if to block any attempt to follow. He described the soldier he’d seen through the scope, a senior SS officer with an oak leaf and two diamonds on his shoulder tabs, “I haven’t seen that one before. I don’t know what it means.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“No question.”
His lips tightened. “I need to use the radio.” He got Anderson to crank up the set and contact Divisional HQ. He spoke at length, and Murphy picked up fragments of the conversation, something to do with war criminals and a ‘most-wanted’ list. There was something else, a string of technical jargon he didn’t understand. When Lawson ended the call, he beckoned for Murphy to join him. “His name is Richter.”
“Uh-huh.”
“SS-Obergruppenführer, that means General, Karl-Heinz Richter. Our people want him badly.” He looked back at the hill, “I assume it won’t be possible to get past those half-tracks?”
“Negative. They have the high ground and can see every move we make. If we go up against those machine guns, we’ll lose men. Why not call in artillery or an airstrike?”
He frowned. “It’s not gonna happen. Not since I confirmed the identity of the man you saw in the jeep. He could still be around, and it’s essential we take him alive. How many men do you have?”
“I’m down to twenty, and we’re low on ammunition. My orders are to carry out a forward reconnaissance until we meet the enemy, then hold until the rest of our men arrive. That’ll probably be around several hours.”
“Damn. They said they’re desperate to get their hands on that man.”
They were still gazing up at the hill when abruptly the Hanomags started their engines and drove away.
Lawson smiled. “They’ve gone. Now you can go up there and search for him, find out where he went.”
He wasn’t too enthusiastic about heading deeper into enemy territory when some men were down to a single clip for their Garands. To make it worse, they’d been unable to obtain replacement belts for the Browning machine gun. He and Kelly both carried German machine pistols, MP-40s, ‘donated’ by enemy soldiers who had no further use for them, on account of they were dead. He had a single magazine left, and that was only half full. Kelly was out.
The situation was dire, but Lawson said he couldn’t overstate the importance of finding this man Richter, likely the same man the intelligence officer had told them about.
“Don’t get into a firefight, just try to pick up his trail, see where he went, and I’ll call it in.”
“You?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Colonel, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’ve been wounded several times, and you’re not fit.” He carefully didn’t say too old to keep up on a fast pursuit, “If we’re following a vehicle while we’re on foot, we’d have to keep up a fast pace. I suggest you go back with the wounded, and we’ll keep you up to date with what we find.”
“Negative. I’m coming with you.”
He didn’t argue further. He was a First Lieutenant and Lawson was a full Colonel, even if they were in different armies. Lieutenants didn’t argue with colonels. He said farewell to Clemence and watched her drive away slowly to give the wounded a steady ride. It was time to move out. Rooker got them on their feet, and they started walking. They didn’t walk far, maybe fifty yards when it happened. The bullets began to fly from the top of the hill, and men cursed as they flung themselves down.
“Motherfuckers!” Crockett snarled, “What wouldn’t I give for a couple of belts for the Browning? The damn thing’s heavy. If we don’t have ammo, we should’ve left it behind.”
He had a point, but they’d been assured that fresh supplies of ammunition and food were on the way, and they would arrive in the next few hours. They didn’t have a few hours. They needed bullets now. Murphy surveyed the hillside with his binoculars. The tracked infantry carriers hadn’t returned, but more soldiers had arrived with machine guns. From such a commanding height they could keep them pinned down, and the moment they showed themselves they’d attract a vicious volley of lead. His men were shooting back, single, well-spaced shots, but the enemy had to know they were low on ammo.
The man next to him screamed when he was hit by a bullet, and Murphy leaned over to put a dressing on the wound. In the next second, he felt something slam into his shoulder. He’d been shot, and there was no way they could stay there. The men up on that hill had a commanding view of his beleaguered platoon, and if they didn’t do something, one by one they’d fall to enemy fire.
He looked at Lawson. “We have to pull out. This is hopeless!”
The Brit surveyed the hillside for several seconds and nodded. “I agree. If we stay here more men will die for nothing.”
Murphy gave the order, and men started edging back until they reached better cover. They took one more casualty before they reached the cover of a low ridge and jogged back to the rear. Two hours later, they arrived at headquarters to a scene of chaos. General Shriver had given the order to move his headquarters away from the original line of advance. Something about a plan to link up with Montgomery’s Brits and Canadians.
Lawson reported to the Divisional Commander what they’d come up against. Told him about a strong force of enemy soldiers standing in the way, and they couldn’t afford to leave them in their rear while they advanced deeper into Germany. The General took the news calmly. “When I can spare them, I’ll detach some men and squeeze those Krauts into a pocket. When they know they’re surrounded, it should persuade them to surrender. Save a lot of fighting.”
“General, about this SS General. Ike’s Headquarters emphasized the importance of capturing him alive, yet every moment we delay he’s getting further away. We need to hit them now and get after Richter.”
He glared at him. “Colonel, I’m busy right now fighting a war. He’s just one man. We’ll grab him sooner or later. Now get out of my hair, I have things to do.”
He left and found Murphy, who couldn’t work out why Lawson was unhappy. “That sounds like sound military strategy. Box ‘em in and get them to surrender.”
“It could also lose us the war.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“It’s no joke. We believe SS General Richter could be the key to turning the war around for the Germans. He’s…” He paused for a few seconds, collecting his thoughts, “He’s not a soldier, he’s a scientist. I can’t give you the full details, it’s classified, but you have to know it’s vital we get our hands on him.”
“We were told about him by an intelligence officer before we left and to look out for him. What’s he done, invented a death ray?”
“I’m not sure. Rumors are circulating that he’s developed a new kind of bomb. A bomb with the potential to annihilate an entire army in a single massive blast.”
“One bomb? No way.”
He shrugged. “That’s what they say, but everything about his work is classified. Listen, I must contact Ike’s headquarters and report what you saw. You’d better come with me in case they ask for confirmation.”
They headed for the radio truck. As they got there, the door opened. Shriver emerged and descended the steps.
He scowled. He always scowled when he saw Murphy, and Lawson wasn’t one of his favorite people.
“Colonel, what’re you up to?”
He didn’t wait, just stared in distaste at Murphy and regarded the two officers as if sizing them up for some unpleasant duty. Shriver was a tall man, fleshy, with a pronounced paunch, his face was streaked with tiny veins. The kind of veins you’d see in a man who liked his booze just a tad too much. His eyes perpetually squinted out at the world, suspicious of what he saw, and when he descended the last step, his movements were ponderous. Unlike the lean, grace of the two officers, the Brit and the Ranger lieutenant who stood before him.
General Earl ‘by the book’ Shriver commanded the 27th Infantry Division. He was reputed to read military manuals in every spare moment to make sure he never forgot a single regulation. An uninspired officer who lived his life according to the military code of conduct. A man who’d achieved his rank by strict adherence to military discipline, and who expected no less from those men who answered to his orders.
One man who technically answered to his orders was First Lieutenant Jack Murphy, 2nd Platoon, U.S. Rangers, attached to the 27th. Problems arose when Murphy received an order he considered stupid and likely to put his men in unnecessary danger. He had the perfect solution for stupid, dangerous, and downright crazy officers and stupid, dangerous, and downright crazy orders. He ignored them. Which put him on Shriver’s shitlist from the moment they arrived in Normandy, and nothing had changed since.
He regarded Murphy with a steely gaze. “You!” Shriver spat out.
He came to attention and delivered an immaculate salute. “General!”
“My order to you was clear. You were to advance until you made contact with the enemy and then hold your position until the rest of the men arrived. You’ve disregarded a direct order from your superior officer, so what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Sir, we were almost out of ammunition, under heavy fire, and we were taking heavy casualties. I didn’t have any choice but to pull back.”
He grunted in annoyance. “I require my officers to obey my orders to the letter, and that you did not do. I also recall the language you used on the radio. I’ve had enough of your antics, Murphy. This time you’ve gone too far. I’ll…” He paused, staring at his combat jacket, “Your uniform, Mister. It’s stained and dirty. Get yourself cleaned up and then report to my adjutant. I’ll advise him of the charges you’re to face. I won’t have my officers looking like vagabonds. You’re dismissed, Murphy. Murphy?”
He couldn’t stop himself, swayed, and fell to his knees. The image of the General swam in and out of focus, and his vision started to go dark. With a huge effort of will he managed to stay conscious and tried to get to his feet. “I’m sorry…”
“What the hell! You’re bleeding, man. Why didn’t you say? Medic!”
A corpsman sped toward them and took a close look at the shoulder wound. “He’s taken a bullet, and it’s still in his body. I need to get a surgeon to look at it. Give me a minute.”
He rushed away and returned with a doctor who inspected the wound. Shook his head and sucked air through his teeth. “It’s not good, Lieutenant. It could even be infected. I’ll get you into the aid station and have a closer look.”
