To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [369]
“Dan, they were trying to surrender.”
Parker moved past him, climbed up out of the depression, said quietly, “You don’t capture machine-gunners. You kill them.”
NOVEMBER 2, 1918
THE MARINES STILL PUSHED FORWARD, CAREFUL, DELIBERATE, PROBING the trenches and the dugouts. The fighting was scattered, small pockets of the enemy crouched in bunkers, stragglers making a stand, the Maxim gunners slipping into deeper cover, until they exhausted their ammunition.
Temple still followed Parker, the other survivors of the platoon treading lightly through a German encampment, concrete shelters dug low in the ground, covered by bundles of brush and camouflaged tin. They moved slowly, the men silent, listening for any sound of wounded men in the deep pits that spread out from the camp, long rows of trenches that were mostly abandoned now, the enemy pulling out or captured. The artillery had done its work, many of the shelters blown open, some by the bombs dropped from the massed squadrons of Billy Mitchell’s aircraft. There was smoke still, thick plumes, drifting up from holes deep in the ground.
The squad spread out in a circle around a gaping shell hole, and Temple could see now, it wasn’t a shell hole at all. It was a vast underground room, the roof caved in, the perfect strike from one of the big guns. Temple moved close, watched as one of the men heaved on a long timber, a thick log that had once supported the roof. The man motioned with his hand, waved them close, pointed down. Temple could see stairs, what had once been the door, and the man began to move down, pushing more timbers aside, descending into the smoky darkness. Osborne was there now, said in a low voice, “Take it slow. Check every bit of cover, any place a man can hide.”
They moved down in single file, and Temple caught the odors now, a sickening mix of death and churned earth. They reached the bottom, the men spreading out, Temple’s eyes adjusting to the dim light. There were short tunnels, leading to more rooms, and he realized now, he was walking on concrete.
“Here!”
He followed the voice, saw Parker pointing the shotgun downward, Osborne moving past him. There were bodies, a broken table, china plates in pieces on the floor. Parker moved into the smoky darkness, probed the bodies with the point of his bayonet, said, “Nobody been alive here for a while.”
Osborne said, “Direct hit. Trapped ’em in here. Concussion got ’em. Or they suffocated. They’re all officers.”
Parker had stepped past the bodies, and Temple could see the dead men now, three of them, one older, gray hair, a medal on the man’s chest. There was no blood, no terrible wound, and he thought of Osborne’s word, suffocated. His mind held it away, and he followed Parker down into the darkness, heard the click of a matchstick, a flicker of light. Parker was standing over a bed, said, “They weren’t all officers.”
Temple moved up beside him, the match giving off a soft yellow glow. There were two beds, a small space between them, and on each bed the body of a woman. Temple stared wide-eyed, said, “Good God. What the hell are they doing here?”
Osborne was there now, put a hand on Temple’s shoulder. “You’re too young, Private. Jesus, they’re in nightgowns. I can still smell their perfume.”
Parker probed one body with the bayonet, said, “Senior officers’ quarters, I’m guessing. Soft beds, good food. Entertainment.”
Osborne looked up, a lightbulb on the ceiling, said, “They had electricity. The shelling must have wrecked the wiring. These people have been here for a long time. They never expected the enemy would come busting through here.”
Parker struck another match, and Temple stared at the woman closest to him, dark hair, and very young. He closed his eyes, could not look at her face, caught the smell of the perfume, sickening, his stomach twisting. He backed away, turned toward the light at the doorway, heard a voice outside. “Hey, Sarge.”
Osborne moved that way and Temple followed, saw the man holding a bundle of maps.
“Lots more of these, Sarge. Looks like a meeting room over this