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For all the disruption they caused, these precautions were about to pay tangible dividends.
The French Border
DECEMBER 18, 9:00 P.M.
After driving all afternoon, Earl Gra
Before pushing on for Reims, Gra
“You got a wife, Earl?”
“What do you want to know for?”
“I don’t know, I just never asked you.”
“I had one,” said Gra
Carlson waited. “That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“What did your dad do?”
“He owned a gas station,” said Gra
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“What is this, the third degree?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
“I had a sister.” Gra
Carlson handed them over. Gra
“Go ask at the post if a couple of MPs came across in the last hour.”
“You got it.”
Carlson immediately went next door to the border command office.
Gra
“They came through about twenty minutes ago,” said Carlson. “They had the password and SHAEF passes-”
“Did they check the spelling?”
“He said they had that detail from our bulletin, and that ‘headquarters’ was spelled correctly. They said they were from SHAEF, working security on the Skorzeny case.”
“So they knew about it, mentioned it before they were asked.”
“That’s what he said.”
Gra
“You thought it might be our guys?”
“No, Ole, I thought it was Eleanor Roosevelt,” said Gra
“You would’ve noticed her teeth,” said Carlson. “Even at this distance.”
Something caught Gra
“Hang on, shit, there’s four of them.”
“But their passes were good.”
“Hold ’em up at the gate, we’ll check ourselves. Go now.”
Carlson hurried back to the post. Gra
“Hurry up, Ole,” he said.
As the jeep approached the gate, Gra
The jeep slammed into reverse, spun around, and headed back across the yard toward another exit, quickly reaching top speed. The MP ran after it. Gra
“Hey! Hey!”
The jeep careened straight at Gra
With no time to close the rolling gate at the far exit, two guards threw down a line of necklace mines across the opening. The jeep accelerated as it reached the open gate and hit the mines at fifty miles an hour. The mines detonated, blowing off the front tires. The full, oversized gas tank ignited in a fireball, flipping the jeep into the air. It landed upside down, enveloped in flames.
All four men aboard, including their squad leader SS Unterstürmführer Gerhard Bremer, died instantly.
23
Pont-Colin, Belgium
DECEMBER 19, 6:00 A.M.
Bernie Oster and Erich Von Leinsdorf spent the night huddled in their jeep, side flaps and canvas roof raised, wrapped in blankets. Bernie was still too cold to sleep. They had driven west from Bastogne until after dark, sticking to back roads; eighteen hours to cover fifty miles, across empty fields, through abandoned or devastated villages. Twice they pulled into heavy woods to avoid American reinforcements entering from France. Using binoculars, Bernie spotted the screaming eagle insignia of the 101st Airborne on their sleeves.
Snow fell steadily through the night, wrapping the forest in silence. For the first time since the offensive began, they’d left the frenzy of battle behind. At first light they rolled down to a heavily wooded ridge overlooking a minor border post that Von Leinsdorf had selected on the map. Through binoculars he spotted two French soldiers ma
Von Leinsdorf fished around in his knapsack for traveling papers.
“I’ll do the talking,” he said.
Bernie honked the horn and flashed headlights as they drove up to the gate, alerting a middle-aged French soldier, who stepped out to meet them. Von Leinsdorf waved the transit papers at the man as he emerged, and spoke in rapid-fire French. When the soldier asked for a password, Von Leinsdorf lit into him. Bernie didn’t understand a word, but it was clear that hearing fluent French from an angry American officer u
Von Leinsdorf held up his dispatch case. “Je porte les expéditions importantes pour le chef du perso
Von Leinsdorf jumped out of the jeep, red in the face, using names that Bernie didn’t need translation to understand. Cringing and apologetic, the Frenchman indicated he needed to show their papers to his superior inside.
“Wait here,” Von Leinsdorf said to Bernie.
The sentry led him to their barracks, a squat concrete block house twenty yards behind the kiosk. The Frenchman continued to apologize, backpedaling, tripping over his own feet. Von Leinsdorf waved at him to keep walking and followed, reaching for something on his belt.
Bernie lit a cigarette and waited until the two men entered the block house, then climbed out of the jeep and hurried to the kiosk. He looked around for paper and pen, scribbled a note in English, until he saw the door of the block house open.
Von Leinsdorf walked out, carrying a basket and a bottle of wine. He saw Bernie in the kiosk, studying a sheet of paper next to the window.
“What are you doing in there?”
“Take a look. They changed passwords overnight,” said Bernie.
Von Leinsdorf sca
“Who’s ‘Dizzy Dean’?”
“He’s a pitcher, for the St. Louis Cardinals.”
“Well done, Brooklyn. You finally made a contribution.”
Von Leinsdorf headed for the jeep. As he followed, Bernie noticed a body lying in the doorway of the block house.