Chapter 20: Freezing
"It really is magical," Nixon said with a smile. "Well then, let's wish ourselves good luck."
When Rhys left Winters and returned to the barracks, the several brothers inside were all sitting as if they were waiting for him. The moment he entered, they all turned to look at him.
"What's with you all?" Rhys asked, sitting down and glancing at the men staring at him with hopeful eyes.
"Parks, we're leaving tomorrow," Cobb said hesitantly.
Rhys looked at him with a smile. "Is there a problem? That's not a secret. And we're walking to Atlanta tomorrow. Were you planning on secretly leaking this military intelligence to us? Perhaps I should ask Captain Sobel to send some MPs to arrest you as a German spy."
On a normal day, this would have drawn a big laugh from the men. But today, there was only silence.
"Alright, spit it out. You guys are definitely up to something," Rhys said, holding up his hands in surrender.
This time, White stood up. "Tomorrow's long march is going to be a huge test for us. God knows why Colonel Sink came up with such an idea, let alone why he chose Second Battalion to do it. You know that the confidence of the brothers in the company isn't very high right now."
"I know that. So what?" Rhys shrugged. "Do you think that just because we complain it's difficult, Colonel Sink will suddenly show mercy and cancel the march? Don't even dream of it, brothers. Forget me being just a Staff Sergeant; even Lieutenant Winters wouldn't dare try to persuade Colonel Sink. That would be suicide."
White smiled, a bit embarrassed. "Our brains haven't gone bad. We wouldn't ask you to do something so impossible. Um, we just wanted to ask you for a favor. We heard you gave Alley a massage today?"
"Yes. So what?" Rhys asked, looking at them strangely. "Unless you've all been punished by Sobel, don't even think about it."
White got anxious. "No, no, Parks, you know we've all been exhausted these past few days. The whole company knows that after your massage."
'Fucking Alley,' Rhys thought. He suddenly felt that his good intentions might have backfired. Looking at the men in the barracks, he could only offer a bitter smile. "Don't look at me, gentlemen. On this matter, I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Oh, come on," White cried out, as the others' faces fell with disappointment.
"However," Rhys continued, "I can teach you how to give each other massages. As long as you follow my instructions, the effect shouldn't be too bad." He glanced around at them. "You choose. Either I go to sleep, or you give each other a massage. It'll have some effect."
"Alright," White had no choice but to agree. No one else in the barracks objected. Doing something was better than doing nothing.
This was just a small interlude before their departure. Although the massages helped, they couldn't solve the fundamental problem. The men had no understanding of acupressure points, so it only served to slightly relieve their fatigue.
***
The next morning, at 07:00 sharp, the soldiers of D, E, and F companies of Second Battalion set off, carrying their full gear and weapons. The column advanced in neat, orderly rows. Led by Captain Sobel and Lieutenant Winters, Easy Company was at the very front. They were the vanguard company, a fact that had excited Sobel for a long time. In his mind, it proved that in Colonel Sink's eyes, his performance was undoubtedly the best.
When they set off, the weather had already turned colder. For whatever reason, Major Horton had chosen a route along small country trails. As rain and light snow began to fall in the afternoon, the roads turned into a muddy mess.
"Damn it, I feel like I can't breathe," Malarkey, a mortarman, whispered. The mortar tube he was carrying felt like a mountain on his back. As he was complaining, his foot slipped, and he started to fall to the side.
"Watch it, Malarkey!" A hand firmly caught his shoulder, steadying him. Rhys, with his quick reflexes, had managed to catch him in time.
"Thanks, Parks," Malarkey said with a grateful nod. "When will this damn road ever end?"
"Quit complaining," Gordon whispered from behind him. "Watch out for Sobel. If he hears you, you're screwed." He adjusted the heavy machine gun on his own shoulder. "Look at me. This isn't any lighter than what you're carrying."
As they were talking, they heard a 'splat'. Someone had fallen. It was Floyd Talbert. Then they heard Sobel's booming voice from the back of the column. "Damn it, Sergeant Talbert. We haven't even covered a normal training distance yet, and you've already fallen! Get up! Nobody helps him! Let him get up on his own!"
Talbert scrambled up miserably, his hands covered in mud. He didn't bother to wipe them off and hurried back into the formation. A heavy, oppressive mood settled over the column.
"See that? That's our Captain Sobel. The damned fascist," White muttered through gritted teeth.
"Shh," Rhys hissed quietly. Sobel's roar came again.
"Who was that? Who was talking in the ranks?" Sobel looked around, but he couldn't see anything. Everyone remained silent. "I guarantee, if anyone else speaks without permission, I will have him thrown out. He won't be worthy of the silver wings."
The rain began to fall harder, making the muddy path even more difficult to navigate. Snowflakes occasionally drifted down, accompanied by a biting wind, but the brothers were already soaked through with sweat.
Marching at night was even harder than during the day. Soldiers constantly slipped and fell on the muddy road. Even Captain Sobel fell several times, his crisp uniform becoming caked with mud. He no longer had the energy to care if the soldiers were talking or if someone helped a fallen comrade up. If not for others helping him up a few times, he probably would have struggled to get up from the mud himself.
Their sweat-soaked clothes, when hit by the bone-chilling night wind, immediately sent shivers down their spines.
"This is absolute hell," Cobb said, his voice filled with frustration.
"Hey, Cobb, are you trying to start a mutiny? Go ahead and throw mud at Captain Sobel and Major Horton. I guarantee they'll put you on a train to Atlanta," Guarnere joked beside him.
"Please, Mr. Gonorrhea. I guarantee that's what you want to do in your heart, too," Rhys chuckled from behind them.
Cobb's spirits immediately lifted. "Mr. Gonorrhea," he said defiantly to Guarnere, "forget throwing mud. You're all talk. You don't even have the guts to complain loudly in the ranks."
"I only complain to Parks, because he's my superior. I only complain to my superior, Cobb, just like you complain to me. What can I say, I'm a sergeant now," Guarnere said with a perfectly straight face. "I suppose Parks should complain to Lieutenant Buck Compton, then Buck should complain to Lieutenant Winters, and Lieutenant Winters complains to Captain Sobel." He paused. "Let's just hope Captain Sobel is man enough to complain to Major Horton, instead of just sucking up."
The few men around them started to laugh.
The timely jokes helped to slightly ease the suffering of the soldiers on the difficult march. They continued like this until 11:00 PM, when Major Horton finally gave the order to make camp and rest.
By this time, the entire battalion had marched 45 miles. But the spot Major Horton had chosen for the camp was the top of a small hill. There were no large trees, no bushes, no shelter from the wind. The temperature dropped to 20 degrees Fahrenheit. They couldn't even use their camp stoves, which meant the cold and hungry soldiers couldn't get a hot meal.
"Can anyone even eat this stuff?" Malarkey asked, looking at the piece of bread with a little butter on it, his appetite gone. "Right now, I just want to sleep. Hey, Muck, give me a hand. Let's pitch the tent."
"Alright, but let me finish my bread first," Warren "Skip" Muck replied. "Malarkey, I think you'd better eat something. If you don't, you'll be in for it tomorrow. At this rate, we'll be out here for two more days. Saving your strength is the most important thing."
"Fine, fine," Malarkey said, taking a couple of bites of the bread, which was so dry it nearly made him choke.
The cold wind grew stronger at night. The snow, which had stopped for a while in the afternoon, suddenly began to fall heavily. The temperature had already dropped to twenty degrees Fahrenheit, and even though they were in tents, it didn't help much.
White's teeth were chattering. He had wrapped his blanket tightly around himself, leaving only his nostrils exposed. Rhys was in the same tent. Although his physical condition was excellent, even he was finding the cold hard to bear. But he knew that this was nothing compared to the suffering they would endure later in Bastogne. He decided not to help anyone. If the brothers of Easy Company couldn't get through this, how could they possibly survive the agonizing days and nights in Bastogne?
The next morning at 6:00 AM, a sharp whistle woke the entire battalion. They discovered that everything in sight was covered in a thick layer of frost.
"Damn it, my boots and socks are frozen solid," White cursed, but he quickly realized that many others were in the same boat. The soldiers had to unlace their boots, otherwise their swollen, frozen feet wouldn't fit inside. The rifles, mortars, and machine guns were frozen to the ground. Their two-man tents were frozen and covered in cracks, like peanut brittle candy.
"Man, I hope the weather on the Krauts' side is even colder than this," Cobb joked. "That way we wouldn't have to go to Europe. They'd just freeze to death!"
The brothers of Easy Company all laughed.