Waggoners Gap

Chapter 2-2

As he searched for a sign of the patrol, Genero detected movement from a large hedge behind Koronopolis. While Phillip focused on the movement, a tall, burly German soldier suddenly rose up from his concealed position.

Cpl. Genero spun around, and brought the butt of his Springfield to his face in an instant cheek weld. Try as he might, Phillip could not get the German in his sights because Koronopolis had misunderstood Genero’s actions and moved the wrong way, positioning himself between Genero and the German soldier. It was a fatal error.

In less than a second, the tall German leapt behind Koronopolis. Genero tried to get off a shot, but his buddy was in the way. Phillip couldn’t fire without hitting the Greek.

In a lightning-fast move, the German thrust his bayonet through the back of the soldier’s neck. He impaled the blade to the hilt, causing the sharpened tip and several inches of the serrated blade to come out of the front of the young Greek-American’s throat with a loud, wet, sickening pop.

A long thick stream of blood shot forward in a high arch for almost four feet. Stephan’s eyes bulged like round white balls, spun in rotation, and rolled back into the top of his head. Unable to yell, scream, or choke, Koronopolis slumped lifelessly to the ground, still impaled on the German’s bayonet.

The German stabbed the boy with such force that the bayonet on his Mauser remained stuck in the Yank’s body. The German could not pull it free. With his weapon lodged in this macabre predicament, the German soldier began to frantically pull and twist to recover the use of his weapon.

Sensing a different danger, Genero spun back around in time to parry the bayonet thrust of a young, thin German soldier, who’d crept up behind him. The blade from the new threat slashed Genero’s right thigh.

Motivated by primal rage, Genero parried the thin German’s second thrust, countering with a horizontal butt stroke. Phillip aimed the butt of his rifle at the center of his young attacker’s face. Genero’s powerful stroke connected with a satisfying crack, breaking several bones in the German’s face, knocking him back.

Cpl. Genero squared his body, kept his feet shoulder-width apart, weight forward and balanced on the balls of his feet like a dancer. He brought the Springfield back, parallel to the ground, muzzle up and pointed at the German. With his whole body—motivated by a hatred that he’d never before known—Genero thrust his bayonet into the young German’s abdomen. As the blade sank into the enemy’s stomach, he twisted the blade cruelly, 90 degrees to the right.

The Hun dropped his weapon onto the ground and reached with both shaking hands for the American’s rifle, now firmly planted in his stomach. Genero was at full strength and too fast. The German was spent and dying.

Phillip pulled his rifle back before the German soldier could get purchase on the barrel of the weapon. The enemy soldier screamed in desperation, through a formerly boyish face, now crushed and bloodied by the earlier butt stroke. Tears from his eyes mixed with the blood on his cheeks.

The Hun slumped and fell to his knees, struggling to stay up. As he did, Genero brought his rifle to modified port arms. A half-second later, he swung his Springfield around and down in a short, but powerful, arc.

The finely sharpened edge of Genero’s bayonet made contact with the young soldier at the point on his right shoulder where the neck connects to the truck of the body. The bayonet sliced through the neck of the German, partially cleaving it. The wound extended from the boy’s right shoulder to the middle of his chest.

Like Koronopolis, the enemy died quickly. The open wound pumped large volumes of dark, red blood into the air, covering Genero with a ghastly red mist.

After dispatching the young soldier, Genero spun around, turning to face toward Koronopolis, whose body lay prostrate on the ground. The burly German had placed his large boot on the Greek boys back. Thrusting, and extending his left leg, while holding the Mauser, the older Hun finally gained enough leverage to pull the bayonet from the dead boy’s neck.

During the exertion, the German had lost track of Genero. He ended up facing toward the skirmish line commanded by Cpl. York, which had just emerged from the tree line.

Genero watched the burly German bring his Mauser to his shoulder and aim it directly at Cpl. York. York didn’t see the enemy soldier. The Hun came within a hair’s breath of shooting Alvin dead.

Instinctively, Genero raised his Springfield, firing it at the German. Before the German soldier could pull the trigger of his Mauser, a .30 caliber steel-jacketed bullet, moving at over 2,700 feet per second, pierced his skull just behind his right ear. The bullet made a large hole in the German’s forehead and careened off into the forest.

Most of the soldier’s brain landed on the ground more than five yards beyond the German’s body. The rest of his body pitched forward and rolled in a bloody somersault, coming to rest in front of Cpl. York and his men, who advanced toward Genero.

Sensing extreme danger one more time, Genero turned back to face in the direction of the German lines. Genero focused on the opening in the forest on the other side of the brook in front of his position. He perceived movement, quite a lot of movement. Germans!

Genero worked the bolt on his Springfield, chambering another round. He heard Cpl. York coming up behind him. Phillip did not turn, but focused his attention on the danger from the enemy to his front.

In a moment, York knelt beside him and peered into the woods. Neither of the corporals looked at the other. The men in the first skirmish line took defensive positions among the rocks and trees on either side of the non-coms.

“That Hun had me dead ta rights. Ya saved my life! I’ll be thanking ya, Phillip,” York whispered, as both men peered in the direction of the Germans.

“That son-of-a-b***h got Koronopolis. I should have seen him first,” Phillip complained, feeling responsible for the death of the young soldier.

“Couldn’t be helped, boy! Ya done the best ya could.”

Genero had just killed two men, violently and at close range. Adrenaline coursed through his body. His head throbbed from the elevated blood pressure. His whole body trembled, a reaction to the natural chemical imbalance. He watched as York took over.

York observed the tree line on the other side of the little creek for a long moment. He sniffed the air a few times, narrowed his eyes in concentration, focusing on some object. After a bit, Cpl. York smiled a cold, brittle smile. He looked over at Genero.

“I reckon those German boys are fixing a little bite to eat. I do believe I smell some bacon and sausage frying there in that holler,” York said, a wry, insincere little smile replacing a very hard expression.

Genero simply nodded. York was an incredible woodsman, with uncanny powers of observation. It was possible. Even in a battle, the Germans had to eat.

At that moment Sgt. Early came up with the other seven men. He looked around, noting the bodies of the Germans and Koronopolis. He dispersed his skirmishers to various fighting positions and set a rear guard. He approached the two corporals.

Early looked them over. He saw Genero breathing rapidly, covered in blood. York was calm and assessed the situation competently.

“Report!” Early ordered, directing it to both corporals.

“Ma friend, Phillip, got both these Huns. As ya can plainly see, he stuck this one and blew the other’s head clean oft,” York explained.

“That big Hun over there stuck the Greek boy in his neck. He was just about to get me too, when ma friend shot him clean through his head. Saved ma life!”

“Good work, Genero!” Sgt. Early praised. “What’s the situation to the front? We need to get moving.” Early feared that they might lose the initiative—if, indeed, they’d ever had it.

“Alvin thinks the Boche are eating a meal in that glade over there. He says he can smell sausage frying,” Genero said.

York sniffed the air again. He turned to Sgt. Early and with a conspiratorial wink briefly explained the situation. A number of Germans were having a meal, just on the other side of the creek in a small glade, beyond the thick tree line.

Sgt. Early made a decision. The group would move out in two skirmish lines. York and his men would be in front. Genero looked a little shaky, so he and one of the skirmishers would bring up the rear.

“Genero, you’ve done a good job. But we need to spell you. Take Private Davis and follow my line at a ten-yard interval. Don’t let any of those bastards get in behind us. Understand?” Sgt. Early asked.

“Sarge, I can take point,” Genero offered, still game, but not sure that he could keep his hands from shaking if he did go out in front.

“Don’t need a point for this. I need a good man to keep us from getting jumped,” Early responded.

Early turned toward York and gave a series of directions, punctuated by precise hand gestures.

“York, take your line across the creek. Move to the right as you enter the tree line. My line will follow, but we’ll go to the left. Watch out! We’ll be behind you and to your left. Genero and Davis will be behind both of us. The line will be extended a bit, so don’t let your boys get trigger happy, or we’ll be shooting each other in this thick stuff. When you break out into the glade, be ready for anything. If we get into a fire-fight, make the bastards pay!”

With the order to move out, the two lines reorganized. York started off with his seven men in less than 15 seconds. As York’s skirmishers entered the tree line, the second line followed. Then Genero, wiping the German’s blood from his eyes, motioned to Davis. They joined the assault.

Genero was less than 20 seconds behind the lead element commanded by Cpl. York. Crossing the creek and moving into the trees, he heard a commotion up ahead. He could make out shouts in English and German, but no firing.

Genero and Davis broke into a run, rifles at the ready, fingers near the trigger. They passed through the trees into the glade. Genero saw an astonishing sight.

At least 30 German soldiers of all ranks, including two or three officers, had been sitting and lounging in a meadow. Some were preparing a meal, when York’s men stormed into the glade. Genero, 15 yards to the rear, saw the whole group with one glance.

It was pandemonium. The Americans shouted at the Germans to put up their hands and surrender. The Germans responded slowly.

Though American combatants were on the other side of the hill, these 30 soldaten ate and lounged in the open glade. Genero could not believe that a German officer would allow such cavalier behavior in the face of the enemy.

The scene rapidly deteriorated into confusion. The small American force didn’t anticipate stumbling over so many Germans. The Germans refused to follow orders given in English.

As the situation became more perilous, one of the German officers stood up and shouted, “Alarm! Amerikanische soldaten hinter unseren linen! Phillip did not understand the words, but noticed that several of the German soldiers turned in the direction of the reverse slope of the hill, less than 30 yards away, and looked up. A chill erupted down his spine.

My God! That’s the back end of the hill we’re supposed to attack. There must be hundreds of Germans up there! Genero thought.

Phillip saw one of the German sergeants standing behind Corporal York reach into his field coat with his right hand. Genero knew that the German would pull a gun.