1901

Exhausted and stunned, the remnants of the 4th finally made the American lines, only to see the Yanks trotting away, occasionally turning to fire. As before, they were in good order, and Ludwig knew they would have to be fought again. He gasped and took a swallow from his canteen. The rush of excitement caused by the intensity of the battle ebbed fast, and the feelings of cold, wet, and hunger returned. Only now there was fatigue and pure fear.

Captain Walter came by, his arm wrapped in a dirty bandage. His face was pale and his eyes looked haunted. They would rest, he said; their battle was over.

But it didn’t turn out that way. Just as darkness fell, they were ordered to march north. When the captain protested that the men were hungry and tired, and that some of them were nursing minor wounds and cuts, he was verbally savaged by an exquisitely clean staff major for being a slacker. It was sickening, although Kessel had grinned.

The captain gathered his shrunken company and they started to march.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As the new day dawned, Ludwig lay stiffly in the shallow depression made by a dirt road and confronted a wall of trees about a quarter-mile away. His body was a mass of aches and he dreamed of a hot bath. He also prayed that no one would ever shoot at him again.

The captain had told the company they were part of a screening force in place to make sure the Yanks did not attack the now-vulnerable German rear. The main force was driving south to surround and destroy the Americans, who were being pushed into the sea. Ludwig had to agree that it sounded good. But he recalled that the Yanks had pulled out of their untenable trenches in a manner that showed they were a long way from being destroyed or pushed into the Sound.

Ludwig took another swallow from his canteen and tried to wash the taste of filth from his mouth. At least there was something to drink. No one had seen any food since yesterday morning, and his stomach was growling. He looked around at the others in the company, also on the dirt road. No one had dug in yet; they were just too tired. Some were sleeping while others watched the wide stand of trees. Later, when they’d rested, they’d start to dig in. There was no urgency; the American army was miles away and surrounded.

Captain Walter crouched beside Ludwig. “How much ammunition do you have?” Ludwig checked and counted only seven rounds. Had he used up that much? He barely remembered firing. “Well,” Walter smiled, “I hope you hit something with all that shooting.” Then, more seriously, he said, “Nobody has much ammo left. I’ve tried to get more, but the depots are all supplying the troops for the big assault. They say we are to rest and watch the leaves change.”

Ludwig thought his stomach was more important and asked about food. “Same story,” said the captain. “They are sending everything for the troops south of us.” He took out his binoculars and scanned the forest. “Seen any Yanks in there?”

“A couple, sir. I think they’re just keeping an eye on us. Not much else they can do, with their entire army trapped.” Even with most of the leaves gone from the trees, the woods were dark and impenetrable; the shadows and limbs broke up any line of sight.

Captain Walter put his field glasses back in their case. “Oh, they’ll try something. Latest rumor is that an untrained militia will be sent against us in a few days.” He chuckled. “If that’s all they have, the fact that they outnumber us won’t mean a thing. On the other hand, it would be nice to have ammunition by then. I trust we’ll have some before long.”

“And food too, sir.”

Walter slapped him on the shoulder. “Good German soldiers never admit to being hungry.”

The corporal managed a small smile as the captain walked away on tired, unsteady legs. Ludwig was still hungry, and he decided he wasn’t a very good soldier. Hell, he knew that already. In a little while it would be his turn to sleep. He prayed he would not dream of the barbed wire and see the dead lying across it like flies entrapped in a spiderweb.

He watched as the captain walked from man to man, checking each. Sadly, it didn’t take long. Of the 120 who’d landed on Long Island in June, only 38 were present for duty this morning. More than 30 men were dead, wounded, or missing from yesterday alone. Maybe one or two would show up as the day wore on, but somehow Ludwig didn’t think that very likely. The Yank fire had been just too deadly.

He tried not to think of the friends who now lay dead or bloody and mangled. There were too many. One of the Schuler boys was dead, killed in the crossing, and the remaining brother was inconsolable. Ludwig could hear the sound of his sobbing from farther down the widely spaced defensive line.