Cole looked around at the column of men, all moving along the slushy road. Nobody talked much, as if trying to conserve energy. Most of them had boots soaked through, no match for the snowy conditions, leaving their feet white with cold and their toes numb. It was amazing how a man could get to fantasizing about dry socks. Once they stopped moving and the sun went down, frostbite would set in.
Below the knees, the men’s trousers were wet from melted snow and speckled with mud. Many wore jackets that were not adequate for the winter conditions, not having been issued real cold weather gear yet. A few didn’t have coats at all. The weather was as much of an adversary as the Germans.
Soldiers did whatever they could to buttress themselves against the cold, developing a strategy to reduce their shivering as much as possible. Around their necks, some wrapped makeshift scarves cut from blankets they had scavenged in Bastogne. Still others stuffed old newspapers, mattress ticking, or even straw under their clothes in a desperate attempt at insulating themselves.
Some men wore cloths tied under their chins and tucked under their helmets to protect their ears, looking as if they wore old-fashioned bandages for a toothache. Vaccaro wore a strip of cloth torn from a flowered bedsheet from his chin to his helmet, making him look utterly ridiculous.
So far Cole had made few concessions to the cold, but even he had his limits and found himself shivering whenever he stopped moving for long. He still wore the bedsheet that he’d found as camouflage. The makeshift poncho didn’t offer any protection against the cold, but it would help him blend in against a snowy background when the time came.
They didn’t have far to go before they were ordered into the woods along the roadside, where they commenced to dig in. They were on high ground at the top of a low hill that overlooked a large open field below, through which the road continued. From this position, they had a commanding view of the road as it passed through the field. The entire area would be within their field of fire. It was clear to everyone that this spot had been chosen because the Germans were expected to make an appearance soon.
The men proceeded to dig in, but getting their entrenching tools to bite into the frosty ground wasn’t easy. The stubborn ground spit chunks of frozen earth back at them as it bounced off their shovels. The tree roots didn’t help either. Some men resorted to stabbing at the ground with their bayonets to loosen the soil. Once they had dug down about six inches, past the frost line, the digging became easier.
Cole didn’t need to be told twice to dig deep. The metal blade of the entrenching tool jolted his arms each time it bit into the rigid ground. He swiveled the blade so that he could use the tool more like a pick than a shovel, hacking at the soil knitted with crystals of ice.
They were really exposed here. The ground beneath the trees was so barren of underbrush that it was like a park, with no cover other than the trees above.
From time to time, Cole glanced with apprehension at the stark bare branches overhead. He had seen how an artillery burst could transform trees into whirling deadly splinters.
“What am I, a soldier or a farmer?” Vaccaro complained.
“Shut up and dig,” Cole said. “The deeper, the better. You heard the officers. Sounds like we’ll be facing tanks. Those panzers will tear us apart.”
Like aircraft, a tank was one of those machines that sparked joy in the heart of an infantryman — as long as it was one of their own. When it was an enemy tank that they were facing, the emotion was quite the opposite.
And so they burrowed down into the frozen ground, grunting with the effort.
But no sooner had they made some progress laboriously hacking through the frozen ground than orders came to move out. A chorus of groaning went up from the men.
They took up new positions, still on the hillside, even closer to the road, but beyond the trees. That was fine by Cole, who hadn’t liked the thought of being shelled while under those branches.
The lack of tree roots made the digging that much easier, although the frozen ground still made them fight for every inch. The digging warmed the soldiers, who were almost grateful for the exercise because of that, but it created a new problem.
“Take it slow,” advised Captain Brown, walking among the foxholes being excavated. “You don’t want to break a sweat or those wet clothes will chill you to the bone once you quit. You’ve got time — the Germans aren’t anywhere in sight.”
Once the captain had moved on, Vaccaro said, “Damn, that’s the first time anybody in the army has told me to take my time.”
“Don’t get used to it,” somebody said.
“Just make sure it’s deep,” Cole said. “If there are Krauts headed this way, it’s gonna get ugly in a hurry.”
