Day 2

0715

I awaken standing upright in my turret hatch, It is daylight now and a fog envelops us. I must have fallen asleep standing upright. My face stings and I surely must have frostbite. I try to move my hands and find that they have froze to the metal. I delicately peel them from the turret, tearing off my skin in the process. I wince in pain, Lucky underneath me, still observing through the gun sight, say" You should probably go get looked at Boss." As I examine my hands and I can see where the top layer of skin has been ripped away and my hands are a fleshy red. They burn horribly, I decide I should probably go to the medical tent for my hands sting and I can barely flex them. My finger tips are purple and numb, I definitely have frost bite. I go to grip for my canteen and find it is incredibly painful, I winch and gasp in pain. It doesn't help that that the canteen is frozen and its cold metal sends shooting pain through my hands and arms. I decide to leave ,"Lucky." I say, he looks up to me with bags under his tired eyes. "You're in charge, I be back." He responds wearily, " You got it Boss, I'll be here." He resumes his observations in the gun sight. Turney and Daunte are asleep in their positions and Sammy now eats his breakfast K rations.

I painfully rise out of the hatch and jump down the side of the tank. It is freezing and another cold wind blows almost through me. I huddle myself for my light tankers jacket is not enough to stave of the elements. I stumble through the snow as my boots crunch leaving a trail. I observe the carnage from the raid last night as I approach the tents. A few of the tents have been ripped to shreds, their insides spattered with blood. Blood stains the snow and pools in some places on the ground. I tread carefully and make my way to the medical tent.

There are three medics: two American and one German. They have gathered the wounded from the field and have collected them at a make shift medical tent. There is no way to evacuate the critical so we have had to resort to shooting them like injured horses. I hear a gunshot from the tent as they put down another critically mauled soldier.

Suddenly shouts in german ring out from the large medical tent and a crowd begins to form. I run up and peer inside to see. There are several mats on the ground that each bare an injured soul, one has a white sheet draped across them. At the far end is an older german soldier who is lying on the ground, face pale, rapid shallow breathing and has two mutilated stumps that use to be legs. From his markings, I say he is what is equivalent to sargent. Surrounding him inside the tent are four young german teenagers, tears stream down their faces as they shout pleadingly in their language. Standing above the wounded german is one of our American medics, pistol in hand trying to sooth them for the disheartening job he has to perform.

One of the German boys jumps up and wrestles the pistol out of the medics hand. A conundrum ensues and the medic jumps back and shouts," What the hell do you think your doing?" The German boy now has the pistol raised to the medic and shouts in german. Oh no he is going to kill him! Suddenly Johnson, the german speaking private, steps in and tries to calm the tensions. He speaks to the now lethal teenage German soldier and they reason back and forth with one another. Johnson looks to the medic and says," He wants to do it." The medic responds," Fine! but if he does that again, I'll shoot his kraut ass."

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Johnson relays the news to the German boy soldier. He returns to their little group and speaks to them. Their sobs continues as they, one at a time, go to embrace their gravely injured mentor and whisper something reassuring in his ear. The final German boy with the pistol finishes his embrace and rises over the dying man. With pistol leveled, the two mens eyes lock and a small nod of approval, with a pained smile, is given from the condemned german. Tears fall down the boys face, his hands shake. He holds the pistol there for what feels like an eternity, we all watch on intently.

In a sudden strengthening of resolve, he finally pulls the trigger and I look away. A bang sounds and blood now drains from the now deceased man as the medic covers him in a white sheet. The German boy executioner drops the pistol and falls to his knees. With his face buried in his hands, he sobs loudly. The other German soldiers in the audience rush to him, raise him to his feet and escort him out of the tent. Our men do the same for the three other distraught german boy soldiers. One of the german boys speaks to private Johnson, he nods in reciprocation. "Well what did he say?" asks the man next to me. Johnson looks to us and says, " He said he is German and deserves a death by German hands." We silently nod in agreement. I know not who that man was to those boys, but he must have meant a lot to all of our German comrades for they all hold an aura of sorrow about them now.

I step into the medical tent, the medic, writing on a clipboard, notices me and asks snappily, " What do you want?" I show him my raw red and purple hands. "Oh, Well that fucking bites. Hold on I got what you need." He goes over to the first, white sheet covered, deceased individual and pulls from his dead hands two mittens. He returns to me like a grave robber with items in hand. "Here you go." He says, "Kraut gloves. They won't ease the pain but they'll keep you warm." I reluctantly accept them. "You know." he says to me, " I was trained to patch bullet holes, not animal attacks. Funny isn't it? Anyway get out." I take the dead mans gloves and gingerly slide them over my hands. It burns but it least my fingers are not as cold anymore. It feels wrong taking from the dead but I guess I need them more than he does.

Eleven of our number perished last night: three German, six American, one American that was presumed to have been carried off. We number just thirty two now. A funeral is held for both sides. Out in the clearing, ten yards from where the German and American line meet, There are fourteen total shallow graves dug for the bodies and those recovered yesterday night. Five german and nine Americans buried on their perspective sides of the lines. A few brave souls went to the forest edge to gather wood to make makeshift crosses. Now crude wooden crosses mark the graves of fourteen fallen men. In attendance is a few of the Germans and most of us Americans who are not watching the line.

As the men are finishing covering the last grave, the Major gives a speech. First in german, then in english, "Comrades." He begins,"We have lost many a good men yesterday. Brave and dependable men. They shall have not died in vain for we will survive this and one day peace will come upon our two nations. Let the mercy of almighty God be bestowed upon our fallen comrades and may they find everlasting peace."

I look around me and see stone faced men desperately trying not to show emotions. We all look depressed as we stand bowing our heads in silence. We all knew someone and the events of today prove that even though we may be enemies, respect for the dead is universal.