Battle of the Bulge

Written by Matthew Lieff, Published on 11/11/2008, Re-published on 5/24/2010

"Stop here!" ordered Captain Conrad. "Look at that signpost. It points in the wrong direction!"

Private Johnson, the captain's driver, squinted through the fog. "If you say so, sir. I don't remember exactly which way it pointed before."

"Well, I do," said the captain. "When we were here three hours ago, it said: turn north for Malmedy and south for Bastogne. Now it says south for Malmedy and north for Bastogne. Pull over and help me turn it back."

The turned-around signpost meant an enemy spy had been there. German agents in American uniforms were driving captured jeeps behind the American lines, causing havoc and confusion wherever they went. They had all spent time in America as children, so they spoke fluent English with no foreign accent. Turning signs the wrong way was one of their favorite tricks.

Back in the jeep, the captain said: "Let's get back to headquarters now. There's a German spy in the area!"

Too bad the captain didn't have a cell phone. But it was December, 1944 - long before cell phones - and the Battle of the Bulge had just begun. Germany's final surrender was less than five months away, but in the Ardennes Woods of Belgium, American forces were reeling under a furious Nazi assault. The German army had just launched its last major attack of World War Two. Captain Conrad and his driver were heading back to headquarters after a long day in the field when they saw the sabotaged sign.

The jeep pulled away from the crossroads. The two soldiers rode silently through narrow, winding mountain roads, the rugged woods around them shrouded in fog and the gathering twilight. Suddenly, an abandoned jeep loomed up at them out of the fog.

"Stop here," said the captain. "I want to check out this jeep. It's not one of ours." Conrad got out of his own jeep, and walked around the abandoned one. He touched the hood, then got in the driver's seat. He turned on the ignition, but nothing happened. He looked at some papers in the glove box, then jumped back in his own vehicle.

"The spy who turned that sign must have come in this jeep," he told Johnson. "There are German papers in it. But it's out of gas, so he must be on foot. The engine's still fairly warm, so he couldn't have gotten far."

"I don't see any footprints in the woods," said Johnson. "He must have gone on down the road."

"There are his footprints," said the captain, pointing his flashlight ahead.

"Holy cow! That's the same direction we're going, Captain," Johnson exclaimed. "And headquarters is just a mile up the road. He must be in camp!"

"I think so, Johnson. So step on it! We need to get back now."

The sun had just set as Captain Conrad burst through the door into the front hall of the abandoned farmhouse that served as his headquarters. "Sergeant Polonski! Did any stragglers arrive while I was gone?"

"Yes, sir," replied Polonski, flipping through his clipboard. "There were four: Anderson, Dilworth, Maguire, and Siegel. They're down in the shed with Corporal Riley now."

"Are you absolutely sure only four came in while I was gone?"

"Absolutely, sir. I doubled up on sentries the whole time you were gone. Everyone who showed up is in the shed."

"Well, round up the extra sentries into a guard detail, and get down to the shed right away," said the captain. "One of those men is a German spy!"

Five minutes later, Sergeant Polonski and the guards met Captain Conrad at the shed. Then they all saw something unusual. Suddenly, five candles in the shed window were lit, one by one. Five small flames twinkled in the gloom. The soldiers outside exchanged quizzical glances, but said nothing. Then Conrad and Polonski stepped inside.

"Ten-HUT!" cried Corporal Riley as they walked in.

"At ease, corporal. You men, stay at attention," the captain told the stragglers. "Who just lit those candles in the window?"

"I did, sir," said Siegel, one of the stragglers.

"Why? To signal the enemy how many men were in here?"

"Oh, no sir! They're for the festival of lights!"

"Where are you from, Siegel? Who's your favorite big-league slugger?"

"I'm a Yankee fan, sir, from the Bronx, you know, so that's Joltin' Joe DiMaggio. Last week I was a battalion clerk, but - that was before the enemy overran us."

"At ease, Siegel," the captain said. Then he turned to Maguire, who rocked slowly from side to side, sweating and shivering. "What's wrong with you, soldier? Nervous about something?"

"No, sir," Maguire whispered hoarsely. "I'm sick. Must be something I ate. I haven't felt this bad since D-Day. I got so seasick when they delayed the invasion, and we rode out that storm in the hold of the ship."

"At ease, soldier," said the captain. "Sit down til you feel better."

"Thank you, sir," replied Maguire, as he slumped into a chair.

"By the way, where are you from and who's your favorite slugger?"

"I'm from Boston, sir - the home of the bean and the cod. So Ted Williams is my guy."

Captain Conrad turned to the third straggler. "Who are you, soldier?"

"Anderson, sir. I'm a rifleman and Missourian. My dad served in World War One and saw his first action at Chateau-Thierry while my great-granddad saw Lee's rebels surrender to Grant at Appomattox."

"Why would your great-granddad fight for the Union? Wasn't Missouri a slave state?"

"Yes sir, it was a slave state, captain. But anti-slavery sentiment was pretty strong in some parts. So the slavers never took over the state legislature, and the state never seceded from the Union. So Missouri sent some mighty fine regiments to the Grand Old Army, sir - and some to the rebels, too."

"Who's your favorite big-league slugger, Anderson?"

"Well, I'm a St. Louis Cardinals fan, captain. I never much cared for the Browns. So I've got a tough choice between Enos Slaughter and Stan Musial."

"At ease, Anderson," said the captain, and turned to the fourth straggler. "What's your story, soldier?"

"I'm Dilworth, sir. I was an artillery spotter - when we had artillery to spot for. I'm from the Bronx, like Siegel. My dad served in World War One, like Anderson's, but at Verdun, not Chateau-Thierry. My favorite slugger? Who else? I can not wait to go back and watch Babe Ruth again!"

"At ease, Dilworth," said Conrad, and turned to Sergeant Polonski.

"What now, captain?" the sergeant asked.

"I've heard enough from these men. I know who the spy is. Sergeant, arrest that man!" said the captain, pointing to one of the stragglers.

Who did the captain point to? And why?