Brotherhood Of War: The Lieutenants Part 6

Cadet Corporal Felter was not given a second chance to reconsider his resignation as he'd expected. He was ordered to turn in his cadet uniforms and equipment. He was then outfitted in an insignia-less olive-drab uniform, the "Ike" jacket and trousers now authorized for wear by both officers and enlisted men, and a.s.signed a room in the Hotel Thayer.

He spent December 30 and 31 filling out forms and being fitted for uniforms. He ate a solitary dinner in the Hotel Thayer dining room on New Year's Eve. He called his parents and Sharon, separately, two calls, and-wished them a Happy New Year, and told them that no, nothing was wrong.

At 0445 on 2 January 1945, Lieutenant Wallace T. Rogers came to the Hotel Thayer, his arms loaded with uniforms from the officers' sales store and a canvas Valu-pak with FELTER S.T. 2ND LT 0-3478003 already stencilled on its sides. He watched as Felter put on a green tunic and pink trousers and a gabardine trench coat, nodded his approval, and then' delivered him to the quarters of the Commandant of Cadets, who fed him breakfast.

At 0615 on the plain with a light snow falling, Sanford T. Felter raised his right hand and repeated after the Commandant of the United States Military Academy that he would protect and defend the Const.i.tution of the United States from enemies, foreign and domestic, that he would obey all orders of the officers appointed over him, and that he would faithfully discharge the duties of the office he was about to enter. The Commandant of the United States Military Academy ('18), the Commandant of Cadets ('20), First Lieutenant Wallace T: Roger ('43), and the cadet colonel of the Corps of Cadets ('45) shook his hand.

A bull-voiced lieutenant colonel ('28), the sheet of paper flapping in his hands, bellowed, "Attention to Orders," and then went on.

"Second Lieutenant Sanford T. Felter, Infantry, Army of the United States, 0-3478003, having reported upon active duty will proceed immediately to the Overseas Replacement Depot, Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, for further shipment by military air transport, Priority AAAl, to Headquarters, 40th Armored Division, in the field, European Theater of Operations. "

He about-faced and saluted the Commandant of West Point and the Commandant of Cadets.

"March past!" the Commandant of West Point ordered. The cadet colonel and Second Lieutenant Felter marched up onto the low reviewing stand after the adjutant. The band played "The Washington Post March," and the Corps of Cadets marched past the reviewing stand. When the color guard reached the reviewing stand, the band segued to "Army Blue."

"Eyes right!" the first battalion commander called out.

Four bandsmen struck four ba.s.s drums. Boom.

Everyone knew the lyrics.

"We Say Farewell to Kay-det Gray." Boom. "And Don the Army Blue." Boom.

The Commandant of West Point looked out the comer. of his eye, as he held the hand salute, at the Commandant of Cadets, and Second Lieutenant Felter, and the cadet colonel.

"We Say Farewell to Kay-det Gray." Boom.

"And Don the Army Blue." Boom.

The Commandant of West Point's eyes were misty.

The band segued to "Dixie!"

That sonofab.i.t.c.h, the Commandant of West Point thought.

The Commandant of Cadets was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned Rebel, and he was always slipping the word to the bandmaster to play "Dixie."

He'd have a word with him. And then he had second thoughts.

This wasn't the first time the band had played "Dixie" on the plain when a cadet resigned his appointment to go off to a war. The band had played "Dixie" at the last parade for the cadets who had resigned their appointments so they could fight for the Confederacy.

The Corps of Cadets, forming a Long Gray Line, marched off the plain to the strains of "Dixie" to return to the barracks and change uniforms and go, three-quarters of an hour late, to cla.s.s. Second Lieutenant Sanford T. Felter walked off the reviewing stand and got into the Commandant of Cadets' Ford staff car and was driven to the railroad station.

Lieutenant Wallace T. Rogers saw him onto the train. "Good luck, Lieutenant," he said.

"Thank you, sir," Lieutenant Felter replied.

He was home just before three and his father wept and his mother shrieked and wailed as he thought they would.

Sharon told him just after supper, when they were left alone for an hour, that she had, made up her mind that she wanted him to do it to her, but that her time of the month had come early and she was sorry that they couldn't.

He reported to the Overseas Replacement Depot at Camp Kilmer at fifteen minutes before midnight, and two days later the Transportation Corps people took him and eight other people by bus to Newark Airport and put him on a C-54 just about full of crates marked FOR MEDICAL OFFICER ETO WHOLE BLOOD RUSH.

(Three) Stalag XVII-B Near Stettin, Poland 3 March 1945 The regulation stated only that a photograph of the Fuhrer would be "prominently displayed." It did not say that there had to be one in every room, or specifically that one be hung on the wall of the commanding officer, although the Fuhrer's stern visage had frowned down from the walls of every commanding officer's office that Colonel Graf Peter-Paul von Greiffenberg could call to mind.

Nevertheless, he would be in this office for the indefinite future, and he simply did not want Adolf Hitler, the Bavarian corporal, staring over his shoulder in an obscene parody of paintings of Christ or photographs of the Pope inspiring the faithful.

He walked to the wall and unhooked the framed photograph. The photo had been hanging there for some time, and the outline of the frame was clearly visible. He could, he thought, hang a swastika large enough to conceal the frame's outline. Anything would be better than the Bavarian corporal.

There was a knock on the open door, and he turned to look at his adjutant, Karl-Heinz von und zu Badner.

"Der Amerikaner Oberstleutnant Bellmon ist hier, Herr Oberst Graf," the lieutenant said. Badner, a tall, erect Prussian with sunken eyes, had left his left arm in Russia, and his tunic sleeve was folded double and pinned up.

"Ask him to come in," Colonel Graf von Greiffenberg said.

"I wish to see him alone."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst Graf," the lieutenant said, and nodded with his head for Bellmon to enter. He closed the door behind him.

"How are you, Colonel?" Von Greiffenberg said. "It's good to see you again."

"Very well, thank you, Colonel," Bellmon said. "May I offer the hope that that isn't serious'?" There was just the slightest nod of his head toward the Colonel's left leg, which, obviously bandaged (and perhaps in a cast), stretched the material of his trouser leg.

"It is recovering well, thank you," von Greiffenberg said. "Some muscle damage. A piece of shrapnel. Enough to keep me from 'field duty, I'm afraid. It has been decided that I am fit enough to command this stalag."

"I see."

"I regret that I was unable to arrange your repatriation," he continued. He wondered if Bellmon would object to that, if Bellmon blamed him for still being here, when von Greiffenberg had as much as promised that he would be exchanged.

"So do I," Bellmon said, with a smile.

"It could not be arranged," von Greiffenberg said. "I' made inquiries."

"I understand, Colonel," Bellmon said, and then he gave into the temptation: "I cry a lot, but I understand."

The remark surprised von Greiffenberg. It was not the sort of jesting remark a professional German officer would make.

"You have the material I sent you?" the colonel asked, formally. He did not expect Bellmon to have it. The risk was too great, and disposing of the Katyn Forest ma.s.sacre evidence would have been simply a matter of throwing it in a fire.

"Yes, of course," Bellmon said, as if surprised by the question.

So he was an officer, an officer who kept his word even when it was difficult to do so, even at the possible risk of his life. Von Greiffenberg decided to reply in kind.

"I was wounded in the Ardenne Forest," he said. "I was in command of a Panzer regiment. The plan was to capture Liege and Antwerp, primarily to sever your supply lines, and, it was hoped, to avail ourselves of your petrol and rations."

"I see."

"The plan, as I saw it, was audacious," the colonel went on. "It had a fair chance of success." He watched Belmon's face for his reaction. It was not customary for officers to discuss military operations with their prisoners.

"But apparently, it did not," Benmon said.

"It was necessary for us to alter the plan, and reestablish our lines," the colonel said, either quoting or paraphrasing the official explanation for the failure.

"I see," Benmon said again.

"What the plan failed to take into consideration was the capability of your logistic trains, and the limitations of ours. We were, regrettably, unable to maintain the force of the a.s.sault as long as necessary. On the other hand, your service of supply was equal to the demands put upon it. I understand that General Patton was able to disengage a six division force, move it one hundred fifty kilometers, and mount a successful counterattack on a six division front, within a total of six days."

That was not the official version of a defeat and Bellmon knew it. He took another chance.

"Do you know General Patton, Colonel?" he asked.'

"I played polo with him-against him-in Madrid, some time in the thirties," von Greiffenberg said. "He was at Samur two years before I was there. I believe he and your father-inlaw are quite close, aren't they?"

"No, as a matter of fact, they're not," Bellmon said. "My father-in-law never forgave Patton for going back to the infantry after the first war."

"I wondered why Porky wasn't with Patton's Third Army, but with Simpson's Ninth," von Greiffenberg said. "You've answered that question."

"I think that's just the way the chips fell, Colonel," Bellmon said. "I don't think personalities were involved."

It was the first he had known where Major General Waterford was.

Von Greiffenberg shrugged his shoulders and went on.

"Our attack rather seriously drew down our reserves of forces and supplies," Von Greiffenberg said. "A critical part of the plan was to capture Bastogne, a road and rail center. Much of our artillery was expended in an attempt to reduce your forces there. They held out much longer than it was thought they could, and they were ultimately relieved by elements of the 1st Armored Division."

"Bastogne did not fall?"

"After considering the fluidity of the situation," Colonel von Greiffenberg said, a light but unmistakable tone of bitter mockery in his voice, "the Fuhrer decided that the capture of Bastogne was no longer necessary to the plans for final victory."

"And how are the Russians doing?" Bellmon asked.

"It has been necessary to adjust our lines across the Soviet Union and Poland." He paused for a moment, then resumed. "I understand it is the Soviet intention to take over this area within sixty days, although I am sure the Fuhrer has plans that will thwart that intention."

"If the readjustment of your lines in this area is subject to revision," Bellmon asked, "are there any plans to insure the safety of the prisoners of war?"

"My primary duty as commandant of this stalag," von Greiffenberg said, "is to insure the safety of the prisoners. Generaloberst von Heteen felt it necessary to remind me of that when informing me of my posting. While l-have every faith that the Fuhrer will be able to stop the Soviet forces, I have, of course, made contingency plans for the evacuation of this stalag and its prisoners to the west."

"How long do you think it will take?" Bellmnon suddenly asked.

Von Greiffenberg looked at him for a moment.

"You are not very delicate, Colonel, are you?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon, sir;" Bellmon said.

"Sixty days," von Greiffenberg said. It was out in the open now. Bellmon obviously knew how the war was going. There was no real reason for him to be "delicate" either. "There is talk of a last-ditch defense in the Alps, but I think that is whistling in the dark."

Bellmon pursed his lips, and then nodded, as if what he had just been told confirmed what he already believed. But he said nothing.

"If it should come to pa.s.s that you should fall into Soviet control," von Greiffenberg said, "it would be very dangerous for you to be found with the Katyn material."

"Yes," Bellmon said, "I've thought of that."

"I release you from your word, Colonel Bellmon, to deliver them to your appropriate superiors," Von Greiffenberg said.

"I'll hang on to them," Bellmon said, flatly.

"Colonel, I'll spell it out for you. If the Russians find that material in your possession, you will die."

"Perhaps," Bellmon said, gently mocking Von Greiffenberg's vaguely Biblical phraseology, "'it will come to pa.s.s' that I will be freed by American forces."

"That is very unlikely, I'm afraid," Von Greiffenberg said. "It is often darkest just before the dawn," Bellmon said.

"So the Fuhrer has been saying," Von Greiffenberg said.

Bellmon looked at him. Their eyes locked. The American and the German smiled at each other.

(Four) April Fool's Day, 1945 The Commanding officer of Stalag XVII-B, Oberst Graf Peter-Paul Von Greiffenberg sent Oberleutnant Karl-Heinz von und zu Badner to fetch Lt. Col. Robert F. Bellmon five minutes after he received the movement order. He spent three of the five minutes in thought, one in prayer on his knees, and one pouring himself and drinking a very stiff brandy.

The middle-aged sergeant major and the more than middle, aged corporal on duty in the office rose to their feet and came to attention as the two officers entered the outer room of the commandant's office. The corporal always jumped to his feet and stood at attention when an officer of either army entered the office. Colonel Count Von Greiffenberg was a stickler for correct military behavior: corporals demonstrate respect to rank no matter what the army. The sergeant major was normally, preoccupied when Wehrmacht officers below the grade of major or American officers of any grade had business in the office.

But he rose and stood at attention for Colonel Bellmon.

"Guten Abend, Obeifeldwebel," Colonel Bellmon said, in fluent German, acknowledging the sergeant major's gesture with a crisp salute.

"Guten Abend, Herr Oberstleulnant," the sergeant major said. "The Oberst Graf will see you now." He pushed open the door to Oberst Graf Von Greiffenberg' s office.

"Herr Graf," he said. "Herr Oberstleutnant Bellman."

Bellmon removed his overseas cap with the silver Lieutenant Colonel's leaf pinned to its front, and which he had worn in the manner of armored soldiers, c.o.c.ked to the left. Holding it in his left hand, he saluted again.

"Come in, please, Colonel," the commandant of Stalag XVII-B said in English. And then, over Colonel Bellmon's shoulder: "Du auch, Karl." The intimate "Du" was magnified by his use of the Oberleutnant's Christian name. "Und schliesse die Tiire, bitte."

Wordlessly, Colonel Count Von Greiffenberg handed Colonel Bellmon and Oberleutnant Von und zu Badner Stubberweg cognac snifters. He picked up his own gla.s.s, raised.it to his' companions, and then drank it down.

"I am in receipt, Colonel," the count began, "of movement orders which affect your officers." He spoke in English as if reciting from memory. "There have been certain temporary adjustments of the line, which make it necessary, in order to maintain the safety of our prisoners, to move them."

"I see," Bellmon said.

"Perhaps you might wish to examine the map," Colonel Graf Von Greiffenberg said. He gestured-an elegant movement toward his desk. Both Colonel Bellmon and Oberleutnant Stubberweg tried, and did not manage, to conceal their surprise at this offer. It is the duty of prisoners of war to make an attempt to escape. The most essential equipment in an attempt to escape is a map. Maps are therefore guarded with great care by the captors.

"If you are in any way uncomfortable, Oberleutnant Von und zu Badner," Von Greiffenberg said, "you may withdraw."

Oberleutnant Von und zu Badner did not hesitate. He came to attention.

"With the Oberst Graf' s kind permission, the Oberleutnant will remain in the hope that he might be of some small service."

"Thank you, Karl," Von Greiffenberg said.'