Standing at the Scratch Line Read Online Free PDF

stammered out an apology. “I didn’t mean nothing against you, you know that, LT. I just meant, if the man ain’t here risking his life with us, he ain’t got shit to say!”
    All the men in the Second Battalion of the 351st Negro Regiment had been stationed briefly at Fort Dodge, outside Des Moines, Iowa, before being transferred to fight in Alsace-Lorraine. Off the base, LeRoi had proven many times that he had the capacity to spill blood, and the fact that none of his enemies was alive or physically well enough to make the trip over to Europe was not lost on the other men in the battalion.
    The conversation was interrupted by a sharp knock on the log above the entrance. All the men picked up and cocked their weapons. “Who goes there?” LeRoi called out.
    “Sergeant Williams and Platoon Lieutenant McHenry,” a voice answered back in clipped tones.
    “Damn,” Slick growled disgustedly. “It’s that boot-licking sergeant and his master.”
    The canvas split and two men entered. The bunker’s occupants stood up in accordance with military discipline.
    “At ease, men,” the lieutenant said as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the lantern. He was young, not much older than LeRoi. Of medium height, he was on the plump side of stocky. “It’s as cold as a well digger’s ass in Nome, Alaska,” he said jokingly, but no one laughed. His face was pink from the cold and he rubbed his pale hands together vigorously.
    The sergeant spoke. “The lieutenant wants to tell you boys about your next assignment. So listen up!” The sergeant was a dark brown–skinned man who was in his late thirties, and he had been in the service for nearly twenty years before the war started. He was military spit and polish down to the bone. Even after four months on the front lines, his uniform looked like recent issue and his boots were shiny.
    “I’ve just come from HQ and I have our orders,” the lieutenant said as he pulled a map from the chest pocket of his jacket and unfolded it on LeRoi’s cot. “We’re going to merge the two remaining platoons of the Three hundred Fifty-first into one, consisting of four squads. We’ll be renamed the First Platoon of the Three hundred Fifty-first Regiment. I know you men have taken some devastating losses in personnel and that you’ve been on the front line continuously since you arrived. I spoke with Lieutenant Colonel Olsen and he assured me that after this mission you boys would get a well-deserved rest. He gave me his word.”
    Slick mimicked softly in a high voice, “He gave me his word.”
    Sergeant Williams instantly turned on Slick. “Watch your mouth, Walters. You’re in the presence of an officer!” He gave Slick a threatening stare.
    McHenry continued. “We’re starting a big offensive tomorrow night and several infantry battalions are going to join in the attack. We know the Germans are pulling out of Saint Die to reinforce their position at Ribeauville. In order to do that they must go through this pass at Kastledorf Bridge.” McHenry pointed to a spot on the map. “Since we can’t possibly mobilize all our troops in time to stop them, it’s been decided that if we can send a small group in tonight, maybe we can blow the bridge up if the Germans haven’t gotten through yet, or if they moved the bulk of their troops and equipment, maybe we can stop them from blowing the bridge up.”
    LeRoi looked at the map and asked, “Don’t all these squiggly lines mean mountains?”
    “Why yes, Kastledorf is only fifteen miles from here—”
    Slick’s sarcasm was barely disguised. “I knows you and the sarge done thought about this, but how you gon’ get forty men fifteen miles deep into Kraut territory by tonight? ’Cause it may be fifteen miles as the crow flies, but it’s a good twenty-five if you traveling by road. If you don’t follow the road it’s gon’ be even more.”
    The sergeant turned to Slick. “The lieutenant doesn’t have to