My conversation with the Oberst was shorter than I had expected, but it was already in the mid-afternoon when it concluded. I made the decision to immediately return to our camp even though it would be in the early evening when we finally arrived. It would be dangerous to travel in the fading light, but I believed it was a risk necessary to take.
The morning's raid needed to be promptly analyzed while it was still fresh in our minds and I needed to begin planning for the capture of the British supplies. We could not afford to waste a precious second with so much depending on our mission. No, I was never one to delay hard work and I had much to accomplish in a very short span of time.
I knew it was common for soldiers to relax their diligence after experiencing combat. Often, they believe that they will not be attacked again by the same enemy within such a short time period. I had seen this occur too frequently and I needed for the men to remain alert and attentive.
I ordered my men to be on their guard and to be prepared for another possible ambush. A second hit against us so soon would be more difficult to repel than the previous one and it could be disastrous. We were now even further undermanned due to our casualties and had fewer weapons at our disposal. I wouldn't put it past the Rat Patrol to hit us again today, although I rationalized that such an action would be unlikely.
To begin with, we were now a much less attractive target without the supply vehicles. While damaging or destroying the remaining half-tracks or panzers would still be keenly felt by the Afrika Korps, they would be much more difficult to damage or destroy than the unarmored supply trucks. The payoff for the Rat Patrol would be much smaller against the greater risk they would be assuming.
A second reason was they had lost the key element of surprise. They would naturally assume that we would be much more diligent after the last attack and would be prepared for a second one. Also, compared to our previous route, our current one was not as advantageous for a surprise attack. I had ordered a return which took us much deeper in German held territory. Also to our advantage, the terrain was much flatter and more open with few, if any, natural landmarks available to conceal the Rat Patrol. This route gave the upper hand to us, and took it away from them.
Finally, the main reason I firmly believed they would not attack us again today was due to their single casualty. Even though they had only lost one man to our three, their loss had an exponential impact against them. The single loss meant that the second .50 caliber weapon would be unmanned. To attack with only one heavy weapon would be foolhardy. They would need to replace their casualty if they were to remain effective. My instincts clearly told me it would not take long to achieve this. However, I seriously doubted it would be accomplished in the matter of mere hours.
It would be interesting to see how quickly and successfully the lead soldier would find a replacement and integrate him into his team. I needed to assume that he would succeed. It would be dangerous for me to think anything else. Even after only a single encounter with the Rat Patrol, I firmly believed that this commando group was something with which to be reckoned and the capabilities of its leader should definitely not be underestimated.
It had fleetingly crossed my mind that there could be more than one commando team operating in this general area. It would explain the numerous commando sightings in varied locations within relatively short time periods. After careful consideration, I placed this possibility aside. From what little information I was able to gather, the Rat Patrol patterns were too consistent and the operations too similar for there to be more than one team. I also knew their Jeeps were highly maneuverable and could move quickly over the desert terrain.
No, I was convinced it was just one team lead by one man, a man who was very capable and deadly at his assigned profession.
It was already past dusk when we returned to our camp and as I had anticipated, the return trip had been uneventful. Two of my wounded men had been able to return with us and I immediately had them attended to by our camp's medical personnel. I was already seriously short of men and I didn't want to take the chance of them being assigned elsewhere when I wasn't there to protest. The one seriously wounded man left behind was fortunate that he was in an excellent field hospital. He was expected to make a full recovery and I would push for his return to my unit as soon as he was cleared for duty.
It was necessary for me to file a status report and I radioed in the disastrous results after I had carefully written it out in detail. I frankly didn't see much value for my efforts. I had already given my verbal report to the Oberst shortly after the attack and I didn't particularly care to officially relive my first combat failure so soon after assuming this command. Still, the report assisted me in gathering my thoughts as I was forced to transfer them paper. It provided me the opportunity to stress that our route from this morning should not be used in the future for transporting supplies, or for anything else. It was obviously too well known to the Rat Patrol. However, I believed the route could be used as an opportunity to capture the commandos in the future by staging a decoy column through it.
I wanted to waste no time in analyzing this morning's mission while it was still fresh in our minds. I knew the problem of the Rat Patrol had to be addressed and I gave it my full attention. Hoffman and I probed and dissected this morning's ambush late into the evening without stopping. He had been at the rear of the convoy and would have experienced a different perspective than mine. I probed his thoughts how this ambush was similar to those in the past, how it was different, what we could do different in the future. The results could have been worse, I frankly told myself, but they should have been much better.
I released Hoffman shortly before midnight, telling him to catch a few hours' sleep before dawn arrived with all its additional demands. He appeared ready to collapse in front of me, from both the physical and emotion strain of the day. I knew I had pushed him to his limit when he started to become frustrated at my constant questions and scrutiny. In an exasperated voice, he finally said that he had told me everything he had witnessed and knew nothing else. Overall, I thought that he had handled himself well.
It was late when I wearily sat down at the now neatly organized desk. It had taken me several hours, but I had finally sorted and filed all the mess that Meyer had so graciously left behind for me. My final task of the day would be to write letters to the families of my fallen soldiers notifying them of their loss. It was now time to officially take care of the dead.
I reached up to my breast pocket to take out a folded piece of paper, briefly touching the cigarettes but forcing myself to leave them in place. I gently unfolded the paper, smoothing the creases which allowed the two names to leap from the page. The two dead were two too many, I thought silently. They were boys who had looked years older given what they had witnessed. I had witnessed the same but it was different for me. It had always been expected for to become a soldier, while these other poor boys had had their dreams of life interrupted by mad men who were forcing their dreams into a reality.
I felt a sadness rise in me, which I attempted half-heartedly to push aside.
My faith assured me that they were now at peace and in a better place. Yet I no longer received any comfort from this knowledge. I had seen too many fellow soldiers and friends killed and buried over the last three years. At times, I felt like I was the only one remaining, the only one still standing, of everyone I had known.
How many of these letters had I written over the last three years, I asked myself? A dozen? Two scores? Eyes closed, I shook my head. I had written so many letters of boys' deaths, boys who had aged beyond than their years. Now they were dead. Their faces and souls reached out from the past and briefly touched me. I felt their presence before they mercifully retreated again into my mind.
Their names and faces flashed before me, slowing down as they neared the present. I remembered all of their faces just as I remembered the faces of all of those I had killed. In the beginning I forced myself to keep a mental tally, believing I owed it to them for what they had sacrificed. I tried to force myself to release this count, but I was never able to do so like other officers I knew.
I wondered how many more letters would I have to write to loved ones if the war lasted two more years? Another five years? Five more years would make it 1947. Would I still even be alive in 1947?
She had said that I would be.
At this point, I was unsure and beginning not to care. I firmly believed Nazi Germany would not even have the resources to endure until that date. At any rate, five more years of war was difficult to contemplate.
I believed I owed it to the dead to send a final remembrance to their loved ones. While my letters were always formal I made the effort to at least add one personal note regarding the individual soldier. This was becoming more and more difficult to include since I knew my soldiers less and less due to the constant loss and turnover.
I had written to wives, parents and sisters. Young wives who had small children at home and older women who had now lost their only son. I wrote to a few fiancées as a courtesy when a soldier had requested me to do so if they fell. To spare the emotions of the family, I always wrote that their loved one had died quickly and painlessly. I would not, I could not share how their husband, son, brother had died in agony, screaming for his God, any God, to mercifully take him. Nor would I add how he would beg for his remote mother to provide some type of comfort as he passed from this life.
How many men had grabbed at my shirt with blood covered hands begging for me to kill them? If mercy killings weren't strictly forbidden I would have ended several lives myself.
I studied the two names in front of me. For the life of me, I knew nothing else about them except their names. How much could I possibly come to know about any of them in a week? I stopped for a moment, looking up to contemplate my thoughts. Except for Hoffman, I knew nothing of my men's personal lives. Even with him, the only thing I knew was that he was from Hamburg and that was only because he had casually mentioned it in passing.
Gone were the days before the war when I had the luxury of knowing my men. Now they were killed and replaced, with the replacements only to be killed again before I scarcely knew their names. Perhaps, I told myself, not knowing them was for the best. For me to actually know the men I was ordering to their deaths would have been overwhelming.
I closed my eyes and softly prayed out loud, not caring if any one heard my private plea to my God.
"Lead me, merciful God, with your spirit. Lead me out beyond myself and my own concern. Lead me to that fruitful land of wholeness and peace, even though the path be through the desert. Lead me through the temptations that assault me, and that having been tested, that I may be found fit and faithful for your service. I ask in the name of my Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. Amen."
I opened my eyes, but I felt no comfort. I felt nothing in the least. I stared across the blank emptiness of my tent still not being able to write. I knew I needed to begin, to complete the task on the night of their death, but I kept postponing it. Completing the letters would be my final contact with the two men on this Earth and I wanted to stay connected to them for just a few more seconds. Once I sealed the letters, it would be the same as sealing their coffins. My physical connection to them would be forever severed.
"Why are you missing during those moments when I am in need of your comfort the most?" I softly questioned. "Are you sleeping or have you covered your eyes and ears to me and my brothers?" I still felt nothing.
"Damn you," I softly cursed.
I reached hungrily into my pocket for the cigarettes and matches, hardly being able to wait until I could light one. I furiously struck a match and greedily lit a cigarette, hating myself for needing the crutch. I deeply drew on it and then angrily blew a plume of smoke to the ceiling, being careful not to drop any ash or embers on my writing paper. I sat there furiously smoking for several minutes until the edges of my unease and frustration had finally worn away. It wasn't until then that I was able to gather my thoughts and begin writing, the lit cigarettes my only companion to witness the task.
What little sleep I did manage that night was restless and fitful. For the first time, the American visited me in my dreams, anonymous and faceless, never saying a word. I was unaware of how I realized that it was he, but I instantly recognized him. I knew he wanted something from me, but I was unable to understand exactly what. He beckoned me to walk with him and reached out for my hand, much as a lover would for a rendezvous. His rough hand cool and dry in mine, I went with him, reluctantly at first but then willingly.
I watched myself step away from the peaceful serenity of my home in Coburg into the wilds of the United States to be with him, never looking back, willing to travel this different path of life with him. There was also the presence of an unknown woman around us. I knew she was near us as we walked, always present but hidden from sight, as if not wanting to reveal her until the right moment presented itself. I was unable to discern if she was the fortune teller. However, my instinct advised me she was someone different. Someone I had not met before.
I woke with a start with my heart pounding.
I sat up quickly from my cot, realizing that it had only been a dream. I quickly looked over to the desk hoping that the letters were also a dream, but they were visible on my desk, neatly stacked and patiently waiting to accomplish their assigned task. Eventually, I relaxed and settled back on my cot, able to snatch some sleep before I arose early for another day.
I didn't look at the horizon as the sun rose. I didn't want to see it. Two men, or perhaps three if the Allied commando was indeed dead, would not be here to witness the dawn's glory.
I noticed hardness about my eyes in the mirror as I shaved that hadn't been there previously. There was a fierce intensity there, a witness to what they had seen yesterday. This was different than the massive combat I had seen before, here in the desert and in France. This combat with the Rat Patrol was much more personal and intimate. It had reached down and grabbed my soul unlike the other combat I had experienced.
And as much as I hated to admit it, perhaps Meyer had been correct.