1901

Patrick rose and looked at the situation map on the wall of the tent. His brigade was north and slightly east of the main defensive line on the Housatonic. Why were his men there and not directly behind the defenses along the river where they could be used to plug a gap? Instead, they were almost due north of Waterbury. When he’d asked about it, he’d been politely but firmly reminded that his was a strategic reserve and it would act as a blocking force if the Germans crossed the river to the north. It was not a comforting thought. There was the more nagging feeling that his brigade had been hung out to dry because nobody trusted the Germans and nobody wanted to associate with the Negro regiments. He thought MacArthur and Smith were bigger than that. He also hoped they knew what they were doing.

Patrick caught a noise-a distant, rumbling sound-deep and menacing. He and Harris looked at each other and each saw his own sense of horror reflected in the other’s face.

“That’s not thunder,” Harris whispered.

They stepped outside and looked to the south, toward the river line. They knew there would be nothing to see, but they had to make the effort. As they stood, others emerged from their tents, stopped, and turned in the same direction, until thousands of men were simply staring toward the sound of the distant rumbles that presaged agony instead of rain. The volume of sound increased until it was a steady roar, and they knew they were hearing an artillery barrage of truly epic proportions. God help the men on the river line.

For Ludwig and the men of the 4th Rifles, the night march had been an uncomfortable but not a dangerous experience. German planners had done well, and their way was marked by white ribbons and human guides to direct them. When they reached a point about a mile from the first American defenses without any response from the Yanks, the men of the 4th started to feel better about their prospects for surviving the day. They fed themselves, checked their weapons for the hundredth time, and tried to rest, even sleep.

The shock and roar of the cannons jolted them and they thanked God that the shells were coming from their guns and landing on the Americans. They had all heard cannon fire before, but nothing like this! It was almost deafening, and the earth seemed to vibrate.

About midmorning, they were ordered into ranks and sent out toward the Americans. There were cheerful jokes that no Yanks would be left.

As they swept forward it was with a feeling of supreme strength and confidence. Even though Ludwig could see only a few dozen yards in either direction and sometimes not even all the men in his own company, he sensed enormous numbers all about him. Sometimes when fewer trees blocked his view, or the men moved to a slightly higher point of ground, he saw glimpses of the other companies, battalions, and regiments all sweeping forward with him. He also sensed that the huge numbers he could sometimes observe were only a fraction of what was going on out of his range of vision.

Another small comfort was the presence of other German soldiers in front of them. He wished them well. Even though there was a tendency to deride American efforts, he knew from experience what could be done from behind a good defensive position.

As they advanced, the barrage seemed to advance with them, and the sounds of impact and explosion caused the ground to vibrate under Ludwig’s feet. He looked for Captain Walter and saw him striding erect, once again apparently without fear, urging his men on, and Ludwig wished he could be like that. He also wished that the captain would not get shot, as the battle was not that one sided. He could hear the rattle of small-arms fire and the bark of smaller artillery pieces and knew they were coming from the American lines. Every so often he would hear someone scream or cry out in pain and fear. More often than he would have liked, they passed German dead and wounded.

Ludwig had started the advance cold and wet as a result of the November mist. Now he could no longer feel the weather or his own discomfort. His heart was pumping as though it would go through his chest, and he was aware of sounds coming from his own throat.

Finally they broke into a clearing and he could see both the American earthworks and the river to their rear. How foolish, he thought; they could be trapped. However, he quickly realized that would not be so. As the advancing waves of Germans before him moved over and into the American lines, the brown-uniformed Yanks retreated over pontoon bridges to the other side of the river. He watched spellbound as German guns raked the last Americans crossing to the relative safety of the east bank of the river and saw men fall into the cold water, where they drifted toward the distant ocean.