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In A Wood Just Outside of Bastogne
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In A Wood Just Outside of Bastogne |
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Gene Senior Member
since 2000-01-23
Posts 935Colorado, USA |
This is a true story which I wrote through the eyes of my father. Only the names have been changed. ----- In A Wood Just Outside of Bastogne The fog hung low over the forest of the Ardennes on this coldest of mornings, in the winter of ’44. It was a fog of unearthly guest, but not from heaven, sent. It was a day I’ll never forget—the day of my death. All’s quiet now except for the distant roll of thunder from unfriendly guns. After a vicious artillery barrage, the rain fell silent, but a stillness and tension hung in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife. Oh, that relentless shelling...I’d rather take on an entire battalion. I’ve seen men blown to pieces and driven insane, and others wandering dazed, with the distant stare of a lifeless mind, but what unnerves me the most, is coming upon a fallen G.I. without even a scratch, killed by the concussion, alone. It’s a helpless feeling, as I’d cower in my fox hole, full of mud and snow, desperately grabbing hold, hugging onto every last inch of dirt, like a baby in a fetal position, trying to keep my feet from sliding down into the icy-cold puddle below. But, the shelling would stop, as quickly as it had begun. An eerie silence lingered over us like the impenetrable fog, except for the chirping of one little bird all alone in a tree—the only life that seemed to emerge from the lifeless forest. Too young to fly, and shell-shocked, it hung on desperately for life (much like me), to the only branch left, ‘til it couldn’t hold on any longer and fell to the ground, quivering for a moment before it died. Then, from out of the fog of the living dead, like ghosts out of the mist—it began. One by one, the agonizing cries cut me deep to the bone, far worse than the bone-chilling cold or shelling ever could. "I’M HIT!", yelled someone. "MEDIC!, MEDIC!", I screamed, from out of my hole. "THE MEDIC’S DEAD, SARGE", a voice cried out. "LIEUTENANT MICHEL, ARE YOU THERE?", I hoped. "THE LIEUTENANT GOT IT TOO", one man said. "YOU’RE IN CHARGE NOW, SARGE." (I didn’t want to be in charge. I did my best throughout the war so far, trying not to get promoted. I don’t want this responsibility. How many letters would I have to write to other Mrs. Michel’s telling them, "I’m sorry to inform you Mam, but your son is dead?") "WHO ELSE IS HIT?" "I THINK ROBINSON GOT IT TOO, SARGE." Then, as I reached for my rifle, my hand sunk into a pile of goo I thought was the mud, but as I turned to look, I saw it was instead, all that was left of my buddy’s head. With trepidation, we rose from our temporary graves, as the more fortunate ones were left where they lie. "Quiet, what’s that sound?" It was a German S.S. patrol…quickly, we took cover behind the trees. Unbelievably, they walked right past us, as if they were out for a Sunday stroll. The fog was so thick that they didn’t even know we were there and had already moved on by the time we could see them—too stunned to even think of firing a shot. As we walked through the woods, we slowly became separated in the fog. I could hear the voices of my men echoing through the vaporous cloud, but was unable to determine the direction. I cautiously moved ahead, holding my rifle snug to my hip, like a lance piercing the fog. Then, I felt an unsettling in my essence—that of a menacing presence from behind. I heard a crack of a twig and instantly turned around. (What occurred next, all happened in less than a second or two, but felt like a lifetime). From out of the fog, a dark figure emerged. It was a monstrosity of a man, not more than four feet away, he stood a good foot taller than me. Then, protruding through the haze I caught a glint of steel as he thrust his rifle with bayonet into my neck, missing my jugular by a mere fraction of an inch as it knocked me backwards, sending me to the ground. As I fell back, with my rifle aimed from my hip, I instinctively pulled the trigger, releasing a shot point blank, squarely into the base of his neck, blowing his head clean off, except for a tiny thread of flesh from which it dangled for an instant before the weight of his head tore loose and fell from his torso. Headless, he stood over me, for a brief moment before finally collapsing to the ground. I survived that event, as I would the rest of the war, but a piece of me died that day, in a wood just outside of Bastogne. Having survived three serious wounds and a dozen or more near-death encounters; living through five major battles and 182 consecutive days of combat; having fought hand-to-hand and killing men with my bare hands; I had seen the horror of war and felt it first-hand, but nothing shook me more than that incident with the headless soldier—perhaps, not so much because of the horrific killing, but I think because of what it meant to my existence. It wasn’t the closest I had come to being killed, but it was the most personal. I had so many unanswered questions. Why didn’t he simply shoot me instead of lunging with his bayonet? I was an easy kill for him. He had me in his sights. All he had to do was pull the trigger. Was it that he was out of ammunition? Or did he think that I presented him with such an easy target—why waste a bullet? What would have become of him if he had been the victor. Would he have gone on like me, to have a wonderful family and raise two beautiful children? In another life, might he and I have been friends? From that day on, I had recurring nightmares of that incident. I’d wake up in the middle of most every night, shaking in a cold sweat. It wasn’t until nearly 20 years later, when my son was 12 years old, that the nightmares finally ceased, after having told him about my fears and of that fateful morning in a wood just outside of Bastogne. ______ ~Gene |
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| © Copyright 2000 Gene M. - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Munda Member Elite
since 1999-10-08
Posts 3544The Hague, The Netherlands |
Today it is Memorial Day here in the Netherlands. This story reminds me once more of all the men who fought for our liberty. All the men who lived this war over and over again for many years and how many gave their lives. I thank you Gene for sharing this story and I salute all of you who fought for my liberty. Thank you......wherever you are. |
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WolfsMate Member
since 2000-01-14
Posts 121New York |
I have heard similar stories from my father. This brought back so many memories. Excellent tale. "You never have to worry...Never fear for I am near" |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
How many horrors does a war wreak, when a fellow being kills another for serving the passions of a ruler, who even the fellows agree not to be the Master!!!! Nice depiction, I really appreciate your work. Regards, sudhir. In any moment of decision, The best thing you can do is the right thing, The next-best thing is the wrong thing, And the worst thing you can do is nothing. - Theodore Roosevelt |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
What a tale Gene.. Especially hearing that it's true. Excellently written, very vivid. Abrahm Simons "...Watching fate as it flows down the path we have chose" - Trent Reznor, "We're in this Together" |
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Dawn Eclipse Senior Member
since 2000-01-31
Posts 637The Horsehead Nebula |
That was a very vivid story. Why must it take war to make people realize just how precious life is? So many people have died that didn't have to. Your father was a very courageous man. I enjoyed reading your story. "Even a fool knows you can't touch the stars, but it doesn't stop a wise man from trying." Harry Anderson, "Night Court" *Cassandra Roseen* |
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Gene Senior Member
since 2000-01-23
Posts 935Colorado, USA |
Thank you Everyone, I really appreciate your kind thoughts. This was a very emotional and personal piece for me to write. I've wanted to express this for many years. I never got the chance to tell my father how much his life effected me and how lucky I am that he didn't die that day (I wouldn't be here). ~Gene |
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Jeffrey Carter
since 2000-04-08
Posts 2367State of constant confusion! |
Great story telling on your part. Very vivid indeed. All my love, Jeffrey I lie awake in a world filled with dreams, but dreams can be so real when you don't know you're asleep |
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