Уильям Макгиверн - Soldiers of ’44

“My husband is alive. I have a letter from him. It may be a long time but he is free and will be coming home. As I look at these words, I must say to you I feel they are like the broken links of a circle and I am able to believe my life can be whole again...”

There were a few more words, the gentle and falling close to all such letters, and then her signature, the first letters clear and precise, the rest running into jagged scratches.

February 15, 1945. Hotel Empire, Liège, Belgium. Thursday, 1000 Hours.

A heavy-weather front moved toward Liège that night. Dark clouds drifted over the city the following day and the ballroom of the Empire Hotel was gloomy with shadows, the light from the chandeliers shining palely on the faded carpets.

Lieutenant Bart Whitter sat in a chair between Sergeant Corey’s desk and the conference table, dressed for his appearance at First Army’s board of special inquiry in a carefully pressed class-A uniform that included an olive drab tunic with light tan trousers and polished brown oxfords secured by leather straps.

In giving testimony Whitter frequently consulted a small black notebook and, on occasion, spoke in pronounced southern accents, apparently in deference to the major’s oak leaves and the faded swank of the ballroom.

“Ah can assure the members of this inquiry I’m clear on that point, crystal clear,” he said, in answer to a question from Captain Walton. “My orders to Docker were to proceed due east with his gun section.”

“Lieutenant Whitter, would you give us the time and date of those orders,” Karsh said.

“Yes, sir. I got that information in writing. It was about six-fifteen a.m. on December thirteenth.”

Walton said, “Did you always keep a written record of such orders?”

“When they were important, I surely did, captain. March orders to my gun sections, changes in Air Corps ID signals — things like that, they’re all written down in the book. But if it was just a piffling matter, I didn’t bother.”

“I’d like you to identify that book for the record,” Karsh said.

Whitter approached the conference table and gave the book to Walton, who flipped through it and said, “Sergeant, take this down. ‘Lieutenant Whitter referred to a personal notebook in answering questions relating to orders he gave Lieutenant Docker on thirteen December. Said questions and answers are included in transcript. The notebook pages are numbered consecutively, contain handwritten notations of orders given by the lieutenant to gun sections covering the time from’ ” — Walton looked at the first and last pages of the notebook — “ ‘from the middle of September, 1944 through January of the following year. Notes are made in both pen and pencil. The notebook is a blue-covered Cerberus, number fifty-two.’ ”

“Lieutenant Docker, you heard Lieutenant Whitter’s testimony,” Karsh said. “Did he give you such orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But after reaching the town of Werpen, isn’t it a fact that you withdrew several thousand yards to the west? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“On whose orders?”

“Lieutenant Longworth’s, sir, second-in-command of our platoon.”

“Were his orders in writing?”

“No, sir.”

“Did any of the men in your section hear Lieutenant Longworth give you those orders?”

“No, sir, they didn’t.”

“So it follows they can’t confirm their existence.”

“That’s right, sir. Lieutenant Longworth and I were alone when he countermanded my original orders.”

Major Karsh turned to Whitter. “Lieutenant, did Lieutenant Longworth advise you that he’d given Section Eight a change of orders?”

“No, sir, he did not.”

“Did Lieutenant Longworth discuss the situation at Werpen with you in any way at all?”

“No, sir. But you got to understand, major, we were damned busy at Battery with them V-4 sightings to check out for Battalion and the Ninth Air Defense Command. But I can say this, major, I don’t know nothin’ about why Docker here went high-tailin’ it out of Werpen, contrary to my orders.”

Karsh turned to Docker. “Lieutenant, let’s look at the facts. One, you didn’t follow the orders Lieutenant Whitter gave you. Two, we have only your word that Lieutenant Longworth countermanded those orders. Three, Lieutenant Longworth is dead and can’t confirm your story. Therefore — unless we accept your unsupported version of the incident — it would be difficult to blame anyone for concluding that you had retreated from a combat area without authorization. Would you disagree with that conclusion?”

“Am I restricted to a yes or no answer?”

“It seems to me a yes or no would be sufficient, but I’ll allow you any leeway you feel necessary.”

“Thank you, sir. Unless I’m mistaken, this line of questions is aimed at establishing a parallel between what I did at Werpen and what Jackson Baird told me he did on December sixteenth, the first day of the German offensive.”

“For the record, I must state that you’re making a not necessarily accurate evaluation of Lieutenant Whitter’s testimony.”

“Perhaps that’s true, sir, but to be as objective as I can, I’d like to review what happened before we got to Werpen. And to do that, I need to ask Lieutenant Whitter a few questions.”

Whitter jerked around as if he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. “That’s just like you, trying to drag me into it. I’m not on trial here, you are, Docker.”

“Lieutenant Whitter, you will be in order,” Karsh said.

“I’ll answer any damn question he’s got the guts to ask—”

“Lieutenant Whitter .”

“You ain’t dumpin’ on me like you did Korbick, Docker, ’cause I got nothin’ to hide.”

Karsh banged his fist on the table. “Goddamn it, I will not tolerate—” He drew a deep breath and said, “Sergeant, strike the profanity. Lieutenant Whitter, no one is on trial here, and you will conduct yourself in a manner consistent with those silver bars on your shoulders. Is that clear?”

“It’s crystal clear,” Whitter said. “My daddy was a county sheriff in Alabama and I don’t take a back seat to anybody far as respecting the law is concerned.” Squaring his shoulders, he looked stonily at a point about two feet above Major Karsh’s head.

“Lieutenant Docker, you may question Lieutenant Whitter, but I’ll be the judge of the relevance of your line of inquiry. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Docker stood and walked to where Whitter sat stiffly in a straight-back wooden chair, fists braced on his knees.

“Lieutenant, the day you gave me those orders, do you remember telling my gun section anything else?”

“I might or might not. Docker. But if it’s important, you can bet I’ve got it written down.”

“Let me help you out,” Docker said. “Do you remember telling my section they’d be starting home by Christmas? And that we had the Krauts in a meatgrinder?”

“So what if I did? That was just my way of boosting morale, putting a little starch in their backbones.”

“You remember I objected to it?”

“What if I do?... Okay, sure, you thought it would make them overconfident or some such damn fool thing. If that’s what you want me to say, I’ll say it. But it’s a fact, if you had your men on the ball, a pat on the back from me wouldn’t hurt ’em.”

“You also gave us a fall-back position. Do you remember the name of the town?”

“You can bet I got it written down. Docker. The name of that place was Lepont.”

“So you had quite a lot to say that morning, Whitter. You told us we’d be home for Christmas and like a Horace Greeley in rear gear, you kept saying, head east, head east, and at the same time you gave us a fall-back position to defend if we ran into enemy strength we couldn’t handle—”