No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author.
Thanks to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading.
Encounters at Falaise
Part 2: Enemies
by: Queen's Bishop
[ ] Indicates the character is speaking German.
()()()()() Indicates the passage of time or a shift in the action to another character or location.
Summary of Part 1: Newsreel – While German and American tanks were engaged in a set-piece battle, King Company moved up the left flank, looking for Kraut stragglers. After clearing the village of Merrot, First Squad was detached to escort a civilian film crew back to battalion HQ.
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Lt. Hanley watched First Squad for a moment as they headed for the rise where the cameramen had been filming. But, he had his own mission to worry about and he quickly turned his attention to his remaining squad leaders. Pulling out his map, he opened it on the hood of a jeep so he could indicate various locations as he laid out the plan.
"King Company is going to continue mopping up whatever Kraut infantry stragglers we meet. We'll move south about a mile to sector Zebra. Willis, Third Squad will move forward from there. Cpl. Brockmeyer will be with you. Butler, I'll be with Second Squad. We'll continue on for another quarter mile or so before we start our sweep.
"We'll be a good mile behind and to the left of the armor, with First and Third Platoons moving up between us and the tanks. We might not run into anyone, but tell your men to keep alert and don't let them bunch up. If either squad runs into trouble, the other will be close enough to help out. Any questions?"
"Yes, Sir. How far forward are we going to go?" Sgt. Willis asked.
"Here, to Phase Line Yellow." The lieutenant moved his finger along a line Cpt. Jampel had drawn on the map. "Mark your maps. Once we reach it, we'll come back to William and dig in for the night. This will be the company HQ on the new Phase Line Green."
With that, the platoon moved out. When they reached the starting point for their sweep, Hanley signaled Willis and his squad to drop out and waved Second Squad forward.
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Second Squad was cautiously advancing when three quick shots rang out. Two men fell to the ground. The rest of the soldiers barely had time to determine where the shooting had come from, let alone to return fire, when they were set upon by a half dozen Krauts who had been lying in wait. There were no more shots fired.
The rest of the assailants didn't have rifles. They had dropped them when they fled in terror from the ferocious tank battle that had unfolded over the previous hours. But, Lt. Rotberg, whose unit had been stationed on the flank and then scattered by the combined artillery and tank shelling, had gathered these soldiers. He had set the trap, intent on capturing weapons and then leading the men back to their own lines.
Hanley heard one of his men scream and he wheeled around to see a young soldier on his knees, holding his belly as he looked up with pleading eyes. The lieutenant lifted his rifle to take a shot, but the Kraut was too close, so he flipped the weapon and smashed the butt against the side of the German's head, sending him to the ground. Another bayonet-wielding Kraut lunged at him. Hanley managed to sidestep him and was about to bring the rifle butt down on his outstretched arm when he felt a sharp pain in his back. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.
The first thought that popped into his head was, 'I should've finished that letter to Martin and Betsy.' The second was, oddly, 'I should've read Moby Dick (1),' an ignored American Literature assignment from his college days. This was followed by the more common lament, 'There's so much left undone.'
The lieutenant closed his eyes and thought no more.
Pvt. Corker, his eyes wide with panic, stumbled over the body of one of his squad mates as he backed up. The hand-to-hand combat he had practiced in Basic Training hadn't prepared him for this. His rifle fell from his suddenly unresponsive hands as he scrambled to escape. He reached Sgt. Butler, who had fallen in the opening volley of shots. The sergeant was clutching his shoulder and struggling to stand. Corker yanked him up. Pulling Butler's good arm over his shoulder, the young soldier took off running, dragging the sergeant with him. As Butler looked back, he didn't see any other Americans still standing.
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The men of Third Squad stopped and looked at their sergeant. They had all heard the shots. They sounded like they had come from the general direction of where Second Squad should be. There had been three of them in rapid succession, then silence. Sgt. Willis waited, listening. But, there was nothing more. Whatever it was, Second Squad must have taken care of it. He waved his men forward.
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[Schmidt, don't waste time with souvenirs! Just get the rifle and ammunition belt,] Rotberg called.
Schmidt let go of the ring he was trying to remove from the lieutenant's pinkie finger and rolled the officer over. He unfastened the downed man's web belt and pulled it from beneath him, just as his comrades were doing with the other three Americans.
[Look, he's got a pistol!] Schmidt announced.
[Good. That gives us seven weapons. Let's go!] Rotberg signaled the rest of the men and they took off running.
Once they were several hundred yards away, the Leutnant stopped the head-long rush and began to impose some order on his motley squad. He made sure everyone had a rifle, and that the ammunition was evenly distributed. Aside from Schmidt, a slacker from his own unit, he didn't know any of the other men. They had been scared Soldaten who had just received their baptism in battle when he gathered them. Now, their eyes gleamed with their first taste of victory.
[We will head back toward our lines. Stay alert. There are probably more squads of Americans moving up on the flank,] Rotberg said. With that, he signaled his men to move out.
They had traveled less than a quarter of a mile when they were spotted by Third Squad. The ensuing skirmish was brief but intense. Willis raised his fist in the air and waved his men to cover. Shots were fired, first by the Americans, but with a quick response from the Germans. The sergeant told Brockmeyer to try to circle around. When he was close enough, the corporal tossed a grenade.
A piece of shrapnel hit Rotberg, burrowing between two ribs into his chest. With one hand on the wound, he yelled for his men to fall back. Schmidt pulled the wounded Leutnant's arm over his shoulder and together they started running. They made it out of the immediate area before Rotberg collapsed. Schmidt dragged his leader into the brambles and held his hand over the Leutnant's mouth to keep him quiet as two enemy soldiers moved past them, searching for those who had escaped.
Once they had passed, Schmidt removed his hand from Rotberg's mouth. He stared in fright at the officer's bloody hands.
The Leutnant closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out in pain. [I'm not going to make it,] he finally said. [Leave me and try to make it back.]
Schmidt nodded. He didn't try to argue and he didn't need to be told twice. He cautiously crept out of their hiding place and disappeared.
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"CHECK THOSE KRAUTS. MAKE SURE THEY'RE ALL DEAD. AS SOON AS ASHLEY AND RICCI GET BACK, WE'LL MOVE OUT," Willis hollered to Brockmeyer. Then he turned his attention to the rest of his men. Story was dead and Talbot was putting a field dressing on O'Reilly's thigh. He squatted beside the two soldiers. "How is it?" he asked.
"He'll be okay, Sarge, but we're gonna need a litter to get him back," Talbot replied.
Willis put his hand on O'Reilly's shoulder. "You just take it easy, Irish. We'll get ya home."
"HEY, SARGE! COME TAKE A LOOK AT THIS!" Brockmeyer suddenly called out.
The corporal had taken a knee among the three dead Krauts. "These guys were all carrying American rifles," Brockmeyer said. He reached over and picked up one of the weapons. It had a spare ammo pouch taped onto the stock. "This one belonged to Lt. Hanley," he said, although the words were barely audible.
The two men were quiet for a moment, then Willis said, "We're gonna need a litter to get Irish back."
Brockmeyer nodded. He stood and slung the lieutenant's rifle over his shoulder.
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The supply truck stopped and Saunders climbed out of the cab. He and the driver lowered the tailgate and the men of First Squad jumped down.
"Where is everybody? I thought this was the rendezvous point for the company," Kirby exclaimed as he looked around.
"This is as close as I come. William's about a half mile that way," the driver waved his hand, indicating a vague general direction.
"Thanks for the lift," Saunders said as the driver got back into the cab of his deuce-and-a-half.
The private stuck his head out the window. "My pleasure, Sergeant; I don't always get someone to ride shotgun for me." He shifted into gear and the truck continued on its way.
"Jeez, Sarge, ya mean we gotta walk the rest of the way?" the BAR man whined.
"What are you complaining about, you gold brick? We could've ended up walking the whole way back from battalion HQ," Littlejohn responded.
"Who asked you, ya big moose? I was talkin' to the Sarge."
Saunders tilted his helmet forward and, without saying a word, started walking toward William.
"It's just that I don't see why we gotta all the time walk, that's all I'm sayin'," the BAR man continued.
One by one Caje, Nelson and Littlejohn passed him in silence, following the sergeant.
"Ah might be wrong, Kirby, but Ah think that's why they call us the Infantry," the medic said as he passed by, much to the amusement of his squad mates.
"Aw, who asked ya anyway, Doc?" the complainer responded as he turned to bring up the end of the line of soldiers. "All we done today is walk…my dogs are killin' me…we ain't even had a hot meal in over a week…I think my little toe is about ready to fall off…how much further is it, anyway…" The belly-aching continued for a few more minutes but, getting no response, it finally died away.
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Lt. Rotberg dragged himself out of the brambles and over to the nearest tree. He pulled his water skin off his utility belt and took a long drink. When he finished, he wondered if he should have drunk anything. Then he chuckled.
[As if it is going to make a difference,] he said aloud, speaking to no-one.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Then, using the tree, he pulled himself up. He leaned heavily against it and tried, unsuccessfully, to take several deep breaths before finally staggering off in the direction he was facing.
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Hanley opened his eyes. Regaining consciousness, the sudden pain that racked his body took his breath away. He pulled his knees up to his chest and jammed his knuckles into his mouth to stop himself from screaming as the throbbing waves washed over him. Closing and then opening his eyes, he fought to stay awake. When he finally felt he was in control, he took his hand away and called, "Medic…Medic," but, even to him, the words sounded faint. He closed his eyes again.
'Nobody is going to come,' he thought as the quiet encircled him.
Then he heard the voice.
[Comrade, I see that you have also been condemned to a terrible death…Well, we might as well go through it together…Here, let me help you move to a nearby crater. Lying against its wall will be more comfortable for both of us, I think.]
Hanley cried out as someone grabbed his arm and began dragging him across the ground.
[When I was growing up, my father always said, 'Where there is pain, there is life.' I think he learned that during the Great War...But, my mother would always reply, 'Where there is life, there is pain.'] He stopped pulling for a moment to cough, then began again, pulling and speaking. [My wife, Gerta, and I would often discuss this, how men and women see things differently.]
The German stopped talking and rolled Hanley down the side of a shell crater. Once at the bottom, the Kraut helped him straighten out his legs and lean back against the wall. Although the short journey had been agony, now that he was situated, it was actually easier to breathe. The Kraut collapsed beside him. He let out a low moan as he wrapped his arms around his chest and rocked forward. When the spasm of pain passed, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. After a moment, he turned his head to look at the American, giving him a sad smile.
[This is better, don't you think? We might as well talk to pass the time…until our time is up...My name is Karl Rotberg and, like you, I am a lieutenant. I am not, however, from a Prussian military family …If I were, I would probably be at least a major by now.]
The German started to chuckle, but it turned into another cough. After a pause, he continued.
[But, I cannot complain. My father, a butcher in the village of Alwin, encouraged me to join the army…He said it would be steady employment.]
Again he tried to laugh, and again the attempt was cut short as he coughed and gasped for air. When the spell passed, he continued talking.
[It was either that or go to work in the nearby mine because my older brother, Albert, would inherit the butcher shop. You understand?...He tried, my father, but in the end nothing has worked out… Albert was killed earlier in the war and there is no meat for the shop.]
He gave another distressed chuckle as a trickle of blood ran out the side of his mouth.
[Life is funny, don't you think, lieutenant?]
The German stopped talking. Hanley could hear his slow, painful breaths, or maybe those were his own; he couldn't tell. They sat in silence for what seemed a long time before the American began to speak. He didn't know what the Kraut had said. He thought he had introduced himself and spoken of his father, at least the lieutenant had heard a word that sounded like 'father' several times.
"I'm Hanley…Gilbert Hanley and in my entire life…I've never done a single thing that pleased my father…He got me into Yale University as a legacy admission."
The lieutenant tried to chuckle, but ended up gasping for air. After he finally caught his breath, he continued.
"I have to tell you, those were the best four years of my life…lots of parties…lots of booze…lots of girls! But, in the end, I just managed to graduate…My father had wanted me to go to law school, but with my grades, that was out of the question…so I took a job teaching history at a private Catholic girls' school." He smiled at the thought, and then added, "A girls' school run by nuns…of all places for me to end up."
He closed his eyes and took a couple of painful deep breathes.
"I walked the straight and narrow during the day, but still continued to chase skirts in the evening and every weekend...After two years, dear old dad gave me an ultimatum….either grow up, in other words, live the life he chose for me, or he would cut me off."
Hanley turned his head to look at Rotberg. The German's eyes were closed. The American didn't know if he was conscious or not, but decided to continue with his story.
"So, he pulled some strings and got me into Yale Law…I suffered through three years and managed to pass the Bar by a single point…After that, I worked in his practice, Hanley, Stuart, and Hathaway, for a year."
The lieutenant quietly chuckled at the memory.
"That year was the worse decade of my life…And, that was what I had to look forward to… another ten or fifteen years and maybe make partner…then another thirty of the same thing, day after day…until they finally gave me a gold watch and showed me the door…God, I was actually happy when the draft notice arrived."
He couldn't go on. They sat side by side in silence as the sky rolled over them. It was as if time was speeding up, for the clouds and the sun seemed to be in a race to reach the horizon.
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The sun was low in the sky when the squad reached the rendezvous area.
"I'm gonna report in at the platoon CP an' find out where we're supposed to bivouac. The rest of you, see if you can find some hot chow," the NCO said as they passed the sentry outpost.
Saunders asked the men he ran into, but none knew where to find Second Platoon. With mounting frustration, the tired sergeant headed for the King Company HQ. There he found Cpl. Milner, Cpt. Jampel's clerk, bent over a typewriter, pecking away at the keys. Before he could say anything, Milner jumped up.
"I'll let the captain know you're here," he said as he rushed past Saunders.
The sergeant watched the clerk disappear around the side of the tent then looked for something to sit on. He settled for the crate the corporal had been using as a chair and lowered his weary body with a sigh. He took off his helmet and closed his eyes.
'Take your time, Milner,' he thought. 'I'm in no rush.'
By the time Cpt. Jampel, followed by Sgt. Willis, reached the tent, Saunders' chin had dropped to his chest. But, he jerked awake with their arrival. He started to get up, but Jampel motioned for him to remain where he was and for Willis to take a seat on another crate.
The captain looked from one NCO to the other. "Alright, Willis, tell Saunders what you told me."
"Yes, Sir," the Third Squad sergeant said. After a pause he went over the events of the late afternoon, ending his tale by producing the lieutenant's rifle.
"Men sometimes lose their weapons," a subdued Saunders said. "Did you go back an' look for him an' the rest of the squad?"
Willis started to say, "There was no point…" but, avoiding eye contact with Saunders, he quickly switched to, "I had to get a wounded man back."
"Pvt. Corker managed to get Sgt. Butler back…" the captain started to say.
Saunders interrupted asking, "Did they both have their rifles?" even though he knew he was grasping at straws.
Jampel shook his head 'no' before continuing. "I talked to Butler as they were getting him ready to transfer back to battalion aid. He said they were ambushed. The Krauts fired a couple of quick shots and then were on them with bayonets before they even knew what was happening. Butler said he saw Hanley go down.
"It had to be the same group Willis tangled with. They must not've had any weapons when they hit Second Squad. That's why the hand-to-hand fighting. I've reported it up the chain, but it will probably turn out to be an isolated incident; a small group of stragglers who lost their rifles during the battle and set up an ambush to get rearmed."
Saunders slowly nodded in agreement. "Sir, I'd like to take a patrol out tonight in case the lieutenant or any of the rest of the men are still alive."
Cpt. Jampel again shook his head. "You're not going to be able to find anything tonight. We need to solidify the progress we've made and stabilize the line. Graves Registration will start working the battlefield tomorrow. I want you and Willis to lead reconnaissance patrols to try to re-establish contact with the enemy. Saunders, take Pvt. Corker from Second Squad with you. Willis, take Cpl. Brockmeyer and I'll pull a couple of men from our reserves."
"Yes, Sir. What area do you want us to cover?" Willis asked.
"The same as today, sector Zebra. Be ready to leave at sunrise."
"Yes, Sir," the two sergeants said as they stood and saluted. They had both understood the official and the unofficial order.
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Suddenly, it was dark and Hanley realized that Rotberg was talking again.
[…we were so happy when the baby arrived…A little girl….We called her Liesel. Not that I was any less proud of my sons, Kurt and Wilhelm…a man needs sons…but this little girl. To hold her and see my sweet Gerta in her smile…]
He stopped for a moment and looked at Hanley, not with hate for an enemy, but with sadness.
[I wasn't there when they died. A man should be there to hold his wife and little girl when they take their last breaths…I wasn't there to comfort Kurt and Wilhelm…But, how could I explain it to them? I can't even explain it to myself…Now my sons will be orphans and never know how much they meant to me.]
If the lieutenant had looked at Rotberg at that moment, he might have seen the tears that were welled up in his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. But, he had closed his own eyes again; he was so tired.
The sun had already risen when Hanley roused himself to speak. The German's whole monologue had sounded so sad. He decided Rotberg must have been talking about his family. He had heard the word 'baby' and something that sounded like 'son.' Maybe Kurt and Wilhelm were his sons.
"I'm not married; never even thought seriously about it. Although, I think I'd be a pretty good parent…You might not think so from what I've said about my own father, but you'd be wrong…Martin and Betsy are really the ones who raised me…and they're the reason I didn't turn out to be an snobbish prick like my cousin, Raymond…Mother calls them 'the servants' but they've been more like parents to me."
Hanley stopped talking and closed his eyes. He could feel the sun on his face. It felt so good, so warm. The rest of him felt cold. Time continued to pass before he started talking again.
"When the draft notice came, I went to them…Martin said, 'Remember what I told you when I taught you to shave…Make your decisions so that when you shave the next morning, you can look yourself in the eye…' and Betsy said, 'No mother wants to see her son go to war, but there are things worth fighting for and a mother must accept that…' She said it trying to defer to Mother…but I knew she was talking about herself…If I'd waited, I'm sure Father could have arranged a commission and state-side duty for me like he did for cousin Raymond, but I enlisted in the Army the next morning…" He smiled, and added, "…just another disappointment for the old man."
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Pvt. Corker looked around.
"Does anything seem familiar?" Saunders asked.
"To be honest, Sarge, I wasn't payin' much attention on the way out an' comin' back, well, then neither."
The sergeant signaled Caje to join them as he pulled out his map. "After you separated from Third Squad, you covered another quarter mile, right?
The young soldier bit his lower lip, trying to remember. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Sgt. Willis said they heard the shots at about 1400. That sound about right?"
Corker closed his eyes and concentrated. "Gee, I don't know. We were movin' real slow. Sgt. Butler kept tellin' us not to bunch up. After a while, I remember Koski sayin' we'd never make it back in time for hot chow if the lieutenant didn't pick up the pace. That was just before the Krauts hit us."
Saunders shook his head. The private hadn't been any help at all. "Alright, Corker," he said, dismissing the soldier. After Corker had gone back to join the rest of the men, the sergeant bitterly added, "Cpt. Jampel should've gotten the position from Butler before he was sent back."
Caje looked over at his squad mates. "Koski is like Littlejohn," he said with a smile.
The sergeant cocked his head and looked questioningly at the Cajun.
"If he was worried about getting back in time for hot chow, and it was 1400 hours when dey got hit, dey probably hadn't made it to Phase Line Yellow."
Saunders nodded as he looked at the map. He sighed, "That's still a lot of territory they could've covered."
The squad continued the reconnaissance patrol, slowly and carefully looking for the new Kraut line and slowly and carefully looking for the remains of Second Squad.
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The scout stopped and raised his hand. Saunders signaled the squad to take cover before he crouched and moved forward.
"I dought I heard someding, Sarge, but it's gone now," the Cajun said.
The NCO listened for a moment before signaling Caje to follow him. They cautiously moved forward.
"…he's taught me a few things about tactics and I've taught him a few things about the ladies."
Caje turned to the sergeant and grinned. Saunders stood and waved the rest of the squad forward as they headed toward the sound of the familiar voice.
"Kirby an' Nelson, security. Caje, look around an' see if you can find the rest of Second Squad. Littlejohn an' Corker, make a litter. Doc, you're on me," he said hurriedly as the men approached.
A few more mumbled comments were coming from the crater. The sergeant and the medic rushed down its side to the wounded officer. Hanley looked up as they knelt beside him.
"Doc…Saunders…I was just telling Lt. Rotberg about you…"
"Lieutenant, let me take a look…" the medic started to say.
Hanley closed his eyes. "No, I can wait. Take care of Lt. Rotberg first."
Saunders nodded, so Doc swung around to check the German. His fingers began to felt Rotberg's neck to find his pulse, but he quickly pulled his hand back.
"Sarge, he's stone cold. He's been dead for hours."
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"De rest of dem are dead," Caje said as he handed Saunders three dog tags. "What about de Kraut."
The sergeant shook his head. He glanced down at the papers he had taken off the German officer before stuffing them into his field jacket. "Get the rest of the men an' let's go home."
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The NCO stood in the doorway at battalion aid, observing Hanley for a moment before entering the room.
"You look a lot better than the last time I saw you, Lieutenant. I hear they're sending you back to London for a few weeks."
Hanley nodded. "Yeah, I leave within the hour for some rehabilitation therapy. Say, Saunders, you read a lot."
The sergeant laughed. "When I'm not out enjoying the French countryside."
"Have you ever read Moby Dick? I thought I might give it a try."
"No, I haven't gotten to that one yet, but I hear it's a whale of a story."
That drew an eye roll and a chuckle from the lieutenant.
After a few moments of silence, the NCO said, "I know you and that Kraut talked. I thought you might want these. S-2 didn't have any use for them." Saunders handed his friend Rotberg's personal papers.
Hanley glanced at a letter then studied the two pictures. One was of a pretty woman smiling as she looked down at the baby she held in her arms and the other showed two little boys standing seriously on either side of a seated old man. "Thanks," he said.
A medic entered and announced, "Lt. Hanley…time to go."
"I'll see you when you get back, Lieutenant," the sergeant said as he backed out of the room.
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Hanley lay in the hospital bed with his head and shoulders propped up. The nurse responsible for his therapy showed him no mercy and every bone and muscle in his body ached. Still, he was feeling stronger every day. He picked up the book with a sigh. He was learning more about whaling than he ever wanted to know. But, he was determined to finish.
Some papers he had stuffed into the back of the book fell out. He stared again at the pictures of Lt. Karl Rotberg's family. There was also the letter with a return address of Alwin, Germany. Rather than reading, he lay there thinking about what he could say to the lieutenant's family…that they were both soldiers and enemies…that the lieutenant's men had tried to kill him, but Rotberg ended up saving his life…that he had spoken tenderly of his wife, baby and sons…that his last thoughts were probably of them. It wasn't much, but he had written letters with a lot less information.
Later that afternoon, when the nurse came by to check his vital signs and to ask if there was anything he needed, he inquired if there was anyone who could write a letter in German for him. That evening, an elderly woman appeared.
Speaking with a thick German accent, she said, "I understand you need assistance with a letter."
"Yes, I'm hoping the Red Cross would see that it got to Germany," Hanley replied.
She sat in a chair at his bedside and arranged some sheets of stationary, a small inkwell and a fountain pen on the nightstand.
"I'd like to enclose these two pictures," he said.
The old woman took the photographs and nodded as she looked at them. She picked up the letter and read it.
"These belonged to a soldier killed at the Front?" she asked.
"Yes," Hanley answered.
"This letter is from his father. It says his wife and baby were killed in an air raid."
The lieutenant stared at her. She had given him the news so matter-of-factly, as if one family's tragedy was of no consequence in a world brimming with catastrophes.
"And the two boys?" he asked.
"They are safe with the grandfather. Do you still want to send a letter?"
Hanley thought for a moment. 'It might be the only remembrance they will have of their father.'
"Yes, more than ever," he said. Then he began dictating, "Dear Kurt and Wilhelm…"
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(1) Herman Melville's Moby Dick was published in 1851 and is considered to be one of the great American novels.