The Second Objective

“That’s why we’re here?” asked Bernie. “That bridge?”

“Our first objective,” said Von Leinsdorf. “We take and hold it, and two others between here and Namur, before the Americans can destroy or defend them.”

“Just me, you, and lard-butt over there.”

“The entire commando company. Tomorrow, after our recon. Bremer, Schmidt, and Sharper’s teams are scouting the other two.”

Bernie thought about it for a moment. “You said first objective.”

“Did I?”

“Does that mean there’s a second one?”

Von Leinsdorf didn’t look at him. Bernie felt him hiding something, and tried again.

“All those crazy stories flying around camp. We went through all that training just to take a few bridges and sit on our hands?”

“What are you asking?”

“You know what I’m asking,” said Bernie. “Are we supposed to do something else?”

Again Von Leinsdorf kept quiet.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” said Bernie, trying to keep the alarm from his voice. “Skorzeny gave you another assignment. You picked the other squads.”

“What if he did?” said Von Leinsdorf.

“Then come on, at least tell me what it is.”

Von Leinsdorf bent over the radio to transmit a coded report of their progress.

“When our tanks cross this bridge,” said Von Leinsdorf, “all that stands between them and the coast at Antwerp is seventy miles of open highway. Once they’re past here, we move on to something else. And that’s all I can say.”

He stared at Bernie, hard, then turned back to the radio.

Okay, asshole, thought Bernie. Keep your secret. But I’m going to find out what it is.

East of Elsenborn

DECEMBER 16, 1:00 A.M.

“Their relief detail showed up as scheduled at fourteen hundred hours yesterday afternoon,” said the MP, “but the squad’s position couldn’t be immediately ascertained.”

“You mean they weren’t here,” said Gra

“That’s correct, sir.”

The MP walked Gra

“What’s your name, son?”

“Chester Brosh, sir.”

“Chester, take a deep breath, blow your whistle, and get that giant cluster fuck over here behind this line I’m drawing,” said Gra

“Right now, sir?”

“Yes, right now.”

Chester blew his whistle. It took five minutes to clear traffic in front of the block house. Gra

Gra

“Anybody ID these men?” asked Gra

“Guys from their squad say this is Private Anderson and that’s Private Ellis,” said Brosh, pointing to the man without boots. “They had a third man out here with them, Sergeant Mallory, but we can’t find him.”

“So who the hell is this guy?”

“They didn’t know him, sir.”

Gra

Gra

A fourth man had dragged himself away from the others. He had scooped out a shallow depression to keep himself warm, and covered himself with downed branches, which Gra

“This man’s still alive,” said Gra

A medic summoned to the scene covered him in blankets and pumped four units of blood into Sergeant Mallory as they drove him to a field hospital ten miles away in Malmédy.

At five in the morning Gra

Before they took the bodies away, Gra

Ole Carlson brought him a cup of coffee from a supply wagon and they stood near the block house, stamping their feet to stay warm.

“What do you think happened, Earl?” asked Carlson.

“They drive up in a Willys out of the north, down the logging road. Pull up short of the gate. The detail’s playing cards inside; they step out to question them. Whatever the beef was, it starts here, next to the jeep. Mallory, Ellis, and the third man are tapped by the same shooter. Somebody else kills Anderson over by that gate. The third man’s hit first by a second shooter, in the chest, with an M1. Then he was shot in the head afterward like the others. The third man’s the only one of them who discharged his pistol.”

Carlson stared at him with his mouth open. “Geez, you think he killed the other two?”

“No, Ole,” said Gra

“Right.”

“I think the third guy ran toward the gate and shot Anderson-he’s got six small-caliber rounds in him-and Anderson shot him back with the M1. Won’t know for sure till I see the bullets, if they don’t fuck that up at the hospital, which is a big if.”

“Okay,” said Carlson. “So we got GIs shooting GIs. Maybe it’s a robbery. Maybe the parties knew each other. Maybe the killers drove out here to settle some score, or a gambling debt-”

“Facts first, theories later.” Gra