David Healey: Ardennes Sniper

“Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer,” the man said, saluting. “Sir, the men want to know what we are to do if we capture any prisoners. Are we to send them to the rear?”

“We do not have a rear, Breger. We are a flying column. There are to be no prisoners. Is that understood?”

“Of course, Herr Obersturmbannführer.”

The man moved off and began shouting orders. Watching, Friel nodded with satisfaction. “I can always count on Breger,” he said. “He was with me in Russia, you know. He is a man who follows orders and does not ask questions.”

The Schwimmwagen pulled alongside Friel’s tank, and the Obersturmbannführer jumped down and ran to climb back aboard the still-moving panzer. Von Stenger’s driver fell in behind the tank in case the Obersturmbannführer needed the Volkswagen again.

Von Stenger glanced at the skies, or rather, took notice that the damp gray sky seemed to have settled on the French countryside like a thick blanket. As long as the bad weather lasted, they would be free of any worries about the Allied aircraft. If the clouds lifted — well, it would be better to be across the Meuse by then.

They were approaching the Baugnez crossroads near the town of Malmedy. They had crossed several miles and were much closer now to the American lines. Von Stenger’s watchful eyes constantly scanned the countryside, but they seemed to be free of any enemy activity. As they neared the crossroads village where a handful of roads converged like the hub of a wagon wheel, he saw several trucks on the road that ran roughly parallel to their own road. While they were approaching the village, this other column seemed to be leaving. He was confused because the Schwimmwagen was at the very front of the column — how had those vehicles gotten ahead of them?

He raised his rifle and put his eyes to the telescopic sight so that the vehicles instantly appeared closer. The trucks had large white stars painted on their sides. Americans.

No one else had seemed to notice the Americans on the parallel road. Von Stenger stood up, gripping the windshield for balance. “Friel! Friel!”

Once he had the Obersturmbannführer’s attention, he pointed at the enemy column. Friel put his field glasses to his eyes, then snapped them down and began shouting orders. Troops streamed into the field, advancing on the American column, and the panzer abruptly changed direction and swerved into the field. Its massive gun swung round to put the enemy in its sights.

The driver of his own vehicle swerved out of the way and came to a stop in the shadow of the tank. The two soldiers carrying panzerfaust tumbled out.

“Stay close to us and hold your fire,” Von Stenger told them. “If you have to shoot, use your rifles. You want to save those panzerfaust if we go up against Ami tanks later.”

Von Stenger put his rifle atop the windshield again, and this time took aim, settling his crosshairs on a soldier riding behind a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on a Jeep. Fortunately, there were no tanks in sight. Unbelievably, the American column had not yet noticed them.

Then a tank opened fire, turning an enemy truck into scrap, and the American column erupted in panic like an ant’s nest stirred with a stick.

The parallel line of vehicles stopped and several tank turrets swiveled in the direction of the American convoy. Hank saw a burst of flame. Another truck in line ahead of them exploded.

Hank froze, this time not from the cold. “What should we do?”

“Get out of the truck! We need to get in those ditches along the road. We’re sitting ducks out here!”

They scrambled out of the truck. All around them, men were doing the same thing, taking cover in the ditches. Machine gun fire chewed into the trucks behind them. A few bodies lay sprawled in the snow. So far, the fighting seemed one sided because none of the Americans was shooting back. Most of them didn’t even have weapons.

When the Americans did not return fire, the Germans stopped shooting. The faster vehicles in the German convoy reached the hub at the village and raced up the “spoke” or road that the Americans were on. More Germans approached across the field, covered by the tanks. Hank couldn’t take his eyes off them — the tanks were huge, much bigger than the American Shermans he had gotten used to seeing.

“Tiger tanks,” muttered Ralph, who must have been thinking the same thing.

Not every American soldier had forgotten his weapon. In the ditch next to them a man still carried an M1 rifle. His hands shook as he worked the bolt, then laid the rifle across a clod of frozen dirt to aim at the oncoming Germans.

“Hey, what are you doing!” Ralph reach out and wrenched the rifle away.

“I’m doing what I’m supposed to do,” the soldier stammered. “I’m fighting Germans!”

“You take a pot shot at them and you’ll get us all killed,” Ralph said. “They’ve got us pinned down with those tanks. Are you going to take on a Tiger tank with that rifle?”

“But to just give up without a fight—”

“If you’re smart, you’ll toss that rifle in the bottom of the ditch,” Ralph said. “The Krauts will shoot you if they see you with a weapon.”

The soldier looked at the rifle in his hands, then let it fall to the ground.

Up and down the ditches, men began to wave white handkerchiefs, just so there was no mistaking their intention to surrender. The Germans came closer, moving at a trot now. Then Hank could actually see their faces under their square, blue-gray helmets. He had never seen a German up close before. Except for the uniforms, they looked pretty much like Americans. One of the Germans started yelling in English, “Out of the ditches! Hands up!”

Beside him, Ralph muttered, “Look at the insignia on their collars. These guys are SS. Hard core. Ain’t that just great for us. Just do what they say, Kid, and we’ll be all right.”

His stomach churning with fear, Hank climbed out of the ditch and raised his hands high.

Within minutes, the Germans rounded up the American unit. The GIs came out of the ditches with their hands up, looking scared. Von Stenger did not know if he should feel sorry for them — or if he should feel contempt. They had given up like sheep.

It soon became clear why they had been captured so easily. This was an observation and support unit rather than a combat unit. Most had never fired a weapon in battle.

“That’s good for us, Kurt,” Friel said happily, standing tall in the Volkswagen and surveying the groups of captured Americans and their vehicles. He was clearly pleased with the outcome of the encounter. “A fight would only have slowed us down, and we have a schedule to keep!”

“We took them by surprise,” Von Stenger said. “They did not even know what hit them.”

“Look at all these trucks! We can put them to use, hey Kurt! Ha, ha! Imagine riding right around the Americans using their own trucks.”

Von Stenger had to admit it was a positive turn of events. In spite of himself, he was starting to become hopeful about the offensive. Maybe Hitler was right. By attacking the soft underbelly of the Allied line, they could demoralize and defeat the enemy. It was almost too much to hope for, but here he was, surveying a group of more than a hundred Americans with their hands raised over their heads and twenty or thirty captured trucks full of valuable petrol. And the day was yet young.

Hank stood with his hands in the air. He shivered, but not just from the cold. It was hard not to be frightened when enemy soldiers had their guns pointed at you.

“Jesus, Ralph, what should we do?”

“Just keep your hands up and do like they tell you, Kid. It’s gonna be all right.”