Miracle at St. Anna (Movie Tie-in) by James McBride Page A

up. I had F Company upstream about five hundred yards. It was pretty hot over there. There was a kid caught in crossfire. One of ’em grabbed the kid and ran up the mountain. Stamps and two others followed him. They’re gone now.”
    â€œYou got their names? Maybe one of ’em speaks German. We need some German prisoners to confirm this report. We need them badly.”
    Rudden produced a sheaf of papers from his pocket and circled four names. He handed the list to Driscoll.
    Driscoll took the list and said, “Get Nokes over here, and tell him to bring a squad with him. He sent ’em. He’ll get ’em.” He was furious at Nokes. The screwball had stayed back at the fire-control center to direct artillery while he sent his men into the canal. It was his choice, but a good captain like Rudden went with his men. Driscoll wished he’d been at the canal that morning instead of having to direct the attack from division headquarters. He would’ve pushed Nokes into the canal himself.
    Rudden turned to leave just as General Allman entered. Driscoll flipped the report on his lap to the floor, rose, and saluted.
    â€œDon’t bother,” Allman said. He wore an air of resignation on his face. “Don’t say a word. Don’t mention Parks to me one time. He’s a stupid bastard. He’s going to run for senator once this war is over, that’s all he thinks about. I told him we need more howitzers. I told him we need fire support. Trying to take a beach without securing the high ground above it! He did the same thing at the Rapido River and got the Thirty-sixth Infantry Division all shot up, and now he’s killing my colored boys, too. Goddamn bastard.”
    Driscoll was silent. He waited a moment before asking, “Any word on your son?”
    Allman’s face softened a moment, and Driscoll thought he saw a glint of despair shoot across the old man’s brow. The kid had been missing nine days. Just as quickly, Allman’s face straightened and he said, “None. Give me what you got on the canal.”
    â€œForget the canal for a minute. I just got a report from an Italian priest who says the Germans have two or three regiments on the other side of the Serchio Valley and are planning a push in ten days, at Christmas.”
    Driscoll watched Allman’s eyes widen, then harden. The old man, Driscoll had to admit, was a tough old bastard. “Where is the priest now?” Allman asked.
    â€œSent him down to S-2 intelligence.”
    â€œWe got any corroboration?”
    â€œNothing. An aerial photo that looks pretty inconclusive. But a squad from G Company Three-seventy-one was over there and hasn’t come back. We had radio contact and lost it.” Driscoll said nothing about Captain Nokes’s not sending artillery fire behind the squad at the Cinquale. If Allman booted Nokes, he might get replaced by someone worse. If he had to continue protecting lizards like Nokes, Driscoll thought bitterly, the 92nd would never take central Italy, no matter how worn-out the Germans were.
    Allman waved his hand. “If we listened to every report from the Italians, we’d still be back at Anzio. You sent a squad for ’em?”
    â€œDone.”
    â€œTry to raise ’em on the radio and tell ’em to get a German prisoner. Meanwhile we’ll gather tomorrow morning at oh-seven-thirty and lick our wounds. Let’s get some replacement officers so we can stay in position. We got boys up there melting away like butter. You see Miller’s report yesterday? They had ten guys heading back to the aid station helping one wounded who’d been shot in the foot. The next soldier doing that is court-martialed, understand?”
    Driscoll nodded.
    Allman turned on his heel. “I’m sick of it,” he muttered. “Sick of this melting-away crap. Bunch of sissies.” He walked out of Driscoll’s tent, so mad he forgot to take