Without taking his eyes off the battlefield, the colonel asked the only question that mattered, “Are they going to help?”
“No sir. They’re movin’ too slowly. They won’t be here for days.”The battalion commander let out a long sigh. “Well, that’s it then. It’s just us.”“Yes sir. It’s just us.” The words were chilling in their implications but the lieutenant didn’t care. He needed to get back to his company. He walked to the edge of the crest and looked down on the battlefield. He’d been gone from the Salerno plain for days and although the war had by no means passed him by, this was different, less personal, than the killing he’d seen. The killing he’d done. There was enough of a breeze off the water to push the haze around so that he could catch glimpses of the battle below. The battlefield looked no better from this side of the mountain. A burst of fire erupted from several hundred yards below where the mountain sloped to a ribbon of flat land between the base and a small creek. Beyond the water lay a farmer’s pasture where water buffalo or perhaps cattle had grazed in happier times. On this day, the pasture had become a killing field as the battle reached its culminating point. A little bridge over the creek was the key to the beachhead, to the battle, the lieutenant decided. If the Allies hold the bridge they inexorably build up and move inland. If the Germans win the narrow strip of wood and iron it would make Dunkirk look like a weekend at the shore.“Sir, I was told we’ve been ordered to evacuate to the ships. Is that true?” The lieutenant had heard the rumor only yesterday and had driven through the night to return. It was the worst night of his life. “It was a stupid order. Never give an order you know cain’t be obeyed. We ain’t goin’…” The battalion commander was interrupted by cheering. Through a hole in the smoke, they watched as a salvo of naval gunfire destroyed a tank and a squad of panzer grenadiers who’d been using the tank as a shield as they moved into the killing field.“Sir, where’s Able? I need to get back to my platoon.” The lieutenant thought it a damn odd thing cheering the deaths of a score of men, but then thought maybe the Germans had been praying for an end as well. Perhaps their deaths were…what was the phrase? Sweet and fitting. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. The old lie. 
