The characters of "Combat!" are the property of ABC.  Copyright 2002 by Figment                                                                      Allies      The fighting had been intense the last four days. King Company’s first and fourth squads were dug in deep on a steep hill just south of the small French village of Choudrant. The Germans were dug in on a hill facing them and the stand-off seemed to be going on forever. The foxholes had been excavated at least four feet deep with logs and branches placed over them to protect the soldiers from falling shrapnel and debris. The woods were dense in the area and artillery shells would hit the trees, bursting and raining metal and wood splinters on the fighting men below.     The air was cool in mid-November of 1944, but the soldiers on both sides were sweating. They had eaten nothing but C-rations for four days, but the soldiers missed the warm coffee most of all.     Sergeant Saunders with First Squad managed to slip into the foxhole with Fourth Squad’s Sergeant Rowe.     “How ya doin’ Rowe?” Saunders puffed as he tried to catch his breath after the dash between foxholes.     “Lost Jenkins and Sheridan,” Rowe said with a scowl. “Otherwise we’re holdin’ our own, Saunders. How ‘bout you?”     “I lost Grimes and Kirby took one in the leg, but not too bad. Just a flesh wound.” Saunders was constantly searching the hill opposite them as he spoke. “Somethin’s gotta give. What say we recon tonight?”     “Good idea,” Rowe agreed. “You wanna do it, or ya want me to?”     “I’ll take one of my guys and do it,” Saunders spoke around a cigarette he was lighting.     “If there’s any way of flankin’ ‘em, we might get outta here in this century,” Rowe grinned. “There’s a lot of open ground out there. Be careful.”     “You know it,” Saunders slapped the other sergeant on the shoulder and rolled out of the foxhole to make the mad dash to his own squad.     Dirt and leaves kicked up around him by the force of bullets as he ran and slid into the closest hole. Moving around in the daylight was almost impossible. Nighttime might give them a little more cover.     They had tried a recon two days ago, but three men had died and they couldn’t even reach the bodies between them and the enemy. Saunders hoped two of them could manage to slip around close enough to do some good. Only time would tell. Right now they all had their hands full keeping up a constant fire with the other side.     As darkness approached, the firing slowed, but the artillery shells still kept the Americans’ heads down. Casualties were mounting and something would have to give soon or their foxholes would become their graves.     Saunders turned to the two men occupying the hole where he had landed.     “Caje, we’re gonna recon tonight,” he told the dark-haired slim Cajun. “Kirby, you’ll be in charge of First Squad.”     Kirby frowned and grumbled something under his breath, but nodded his agreement as the three of them settled to wait for darkness to close in. * * * Saunders and Caje doffed their helmets, replacing them with a jeep cap and beret, respectively, then crawled far enough back to try slipping through the dense woods towards the enemies’ trenches. The darkness made walking difficult and noisy.     They were soon climbing the steep hill occupied by the Germans.     A movement to their left caught Saunders’ attention and he motioned for Caje to stay where he was and cover him as he maneuvered for a closer look.     Peeking from behind a large oak, the sergeant could see the barrel of a machine gun protruding from a dark hole in the ground. He also saw the soft moonlight glinting off at least three helmets.     Sliding from the tree to a bush only a few feet from the machine-gun nest, Saunders pulled a grenade from inside his jacket and pulled the pin as quietly as possible. Knowing the noise the grenade would make when he released its handle, he prepared to run the minute he released and threw it.     The click of the grenade handle made all three helmets turn in his direction. Saunders immediately lobbed the small bomb into the midst of the Germans and turned back to the large tree, reaching it just as the Germans started firing a Shmeisser at him. The bark sprang from the tree only inches from his head as a tremendous explosion rocked the ground around him.     Though complete silence ensued, Saunders was surprised to suddenly find Caje next to him. The two Americans sat for a moment listening for any sounds of movement around the foxhole. The silence continued, telling the soldiers that the Germans and their gun were destroyed.     Saunders motioned for Caje to check it out while he watched for any other movements among the trees.     Caje made a quick check of the disabled nest and rejoined his sergeant to report ‘all clear’ in a whisper. Saunders nodded and motioned for Caje to follow. They knew they couldn’t stay in that spot long with the hill covered in Germans. They moved cautiously towards the crest of the hill. The two soldiers knew the blast had alerted both sides to their present whereabouts.     At the crest of the hill Caje reached out and touched Saunders’ elbow, pointing to a spot just ahead and to the right.     Another dark spot indicated a hole in the ground about thirty feet from them. They dropped silently to the ground and Saunders tapped Caje on the arm. Caje looked to where the sergeant was pointing and saw another foxhole only a few feet from the first one. Caje looked at Saunders questioningly.     With hand motions, Saunders told Caje to wait there and be ready to toss a grenade into the nearest hole when the sergeant did the same with the farthest hole. Caje nodded his understanding and Saunders quietly crawled away from him in the direction of the other enemy position. * * *     “White Rook, this is King Two. Come in White Rook. Over.” Lieutenant Hanley’s familiar deep voice issued from the radio making Kirby jump. The small, wiry BAR man shuddered and reached for the receiver to answer the call.     “King Two, this is White Rook. Over.” He spoke into the mouthpiece as he adjusted the controls on top of the set.     “We finally got the 105s. Move everyone back at least a hundred yards. Artillery will be firing in five minutes. Over.” Hanley’s orders were terse and to the point.     “Lieutenant, we have a couple guys out there! You can’t send in artillery now! Over.” Kirby pleaded.     “The 105s are allocated. There’s no more time. Get out of there. That’s an order! Out!” the lieutenant’s tone brooked no argument.     “Roger. Out.” Kirby slammed the receiver down and quickly crawled towards the foxhole occupied by Sgt. Rowe.     “Hanley says to pull back. 105s’ll be raining any second.” Kirby puffed quickly.     A sudden explosion from the other side of the meadow grabbed their attention. There was total silence afterward; no small arms firing or anything.     “That was Sarge and Caje,” Kirby commented. “They’re cuttin’ down the odds, but we been ordered to leave ‘em and clear out.”     Kirby was clearly not too happy with the situation, but they were left with no choices.     “Okay,” Rowe snapped. “You get your squad movin’, and I’ll get mine.”     They both rolled out of the foxhole in different directions, moving quickly to each dug-in American position to relay the order to pull back.     Before everyone was moving, they heard the whistle of 105 shells over their heads and fell to the ground, protecting their heads from the incoming artillery.     The ground bucked and trembled while the hill opposite them flared and exploded in several places at once.     Kirby raised his head to look back at the beleaguered enemy position. ‘I hope you guys make it,’ he thought earnestly as he raised himself from the ground to run with the rest of the squad to a safer distance. He carried the heavy BAR as well as the radio and his injured leg slowed him considerably.     Suddenly Doc had hold of the radio strap, pulling it from Kirby’s hands and slipping an arm beneath Kirby’s to help him along.     “Thanks, Doc,” Kirby yelled over the din of the barrage. * * *     Just as Saunders lobbed in a grenade, the still night air was rent with the sounds of artillery. Their own stuff! Heading straight for them.     “Caje!” Saunders screamed, then flattened himself to the ground as the first shells burst entirely too close.     Ears still ringing, and head reeling, Saunders realized slowly that he was being pulled from the ground by his left arm. He shook his head to clear it and stumbled forward a few steps recognizing Caje’s slender form next to him, urging him forward.     Another blast, and the two of them were propelled sideways from the concussion. They fell in a heap into one of the Kraut foxholes they had only seconds before dropped a grenade into. Saunders lay across Caje, who had fallen on top of two badly mutilated German bodies. Stunned, the two Americans lay where they were, covering their heads and trying hard to think around the loud explosions and screams filling the air around them.     An incredibly loud explosion rocked the hill next to the foxhole and the large oak that Saunders had crouched behind earlier came crashing down across the foxhole where the hapless soldiers had been thrown. The huge trunk of the tree covered the hole lengthwise, effectively imprisoning the men, yet protecting them from further explosions and debris. Only a few inches on each side of the tree trunk allowed a tiny flicker of light from the fires caused by the shelling into the hole.     Saunders moved slowly to one side, shaking his head to try and regain his senses. Caje pushed himself away from the bloody bodies beneath him. He sat against the side of the foxhole, repulsed by the scent of blood and burned flesh permeating the small area he was occupying.     “Caje?” Saunders coughed and called softly in the darkness.     “Yeah, Sarge, I’m here,” the Cajun replied.     “You okay?” Saunders asked.     “Yeah, how ‘bout you?” Caje asked.     “I’m fine,” the sergeant answered, taking inventory of himself to make sure all his limbs were working properly. Other than a headache and ringing ears, he decided he was in pretty good shape.     “What do we do now, Sarge?” Caje asked reaching up and placing his hands against the bark of the giant tree. He had to raise his voice, as the barrage continued to thunder around them.     “We stay put and wait it out!” Saunders yelled back. * * *     “Are they crazy! Caje and the Sarge are over there,” Littlejohn practically screamed in Kirby’s face as he cartwheeled his arms for emphasis.     Billy Nelson stood behind Littlejohn, his youthful face drawn into a deep frown of concern.     “I told ‘em!” Kirby countered. “I couldn’t stop it.”     He was angry and worried, but there was nothing he could do other than wait out the barrage with the rest of the GIs.     “Maybe they took off after they dropped that grenade in on ‘em,” Kirby suggested hopefully.     “Yeah, and maybe they’re lyin’ out there injured or dead,” Littlejohn moaned gloomily. Suddenly the radio crackled and came to life.     “Red Rook, this is King Two. Come in Red Rook. Over.” They heard Lt. Hanley calling for Sgt. Rowe.     Rowe, who had been sitting quietly listening to the banter between the men of First Squad, crawled over to the radio to answer the call.     “This is Red Rook, King Two. Over.” He raised his voice to be heard over the explosions in the near distance.     “Love Company reports heavy opposition moving into your area,” the lieutenant informed him. “Pull back to Phase-Line Blue and wait further orders. Over.”     “What about our missing men? Over.” Rowe asked earnestly.     “No time for searching. The barrage will end in ten minutes and a whole German company will be moving in on you. Get out of there! Out.” Hanley ended his orders firmly, but a hint of sadness colored his words. He must have realized that his good friend, Saunders, was one of the missing soldiers.     “Roger. Out.” Rowe replaced the receiver and turned slowly to face the men of First Squad.     “Hanley says there’s a whole company of Krauts movin’ in on us when this barrage lets up. We gotta pull back now,” he shouted to be heard. Kirby stared at the sergeant aghast.     “But Saunders and Caje are still over there!” Nelson cried out.     “We can’t help them now. We gotta go. Move out!” Rowe waived a hand to the rest of the men. He could be seen clearly in the alternating light of the blasts and flickering fires.     The men turned to the rear and started moving.     Kirby looked back at the glowing hill behind them as Doc pulled him back to his feet.     “C’mon, Kirby,” Doc urged. “We can’t do them any good if we’re dead. Let’s go.”     Kirby’s shoulders slumped as he threw an arm around Doc’s shoulders to lean on him for support. His leg throbbed and his ears rang from the noise of the exploding shells. He shook his head, thinking about what the barrage must be doing to his friends still on that hill. He had never been a very religious man, but he mentally sent up a small prayer for the missing soldiers.     Billy grabbed Littlejohn by the elbow, as he started following Sgt. Rowe and his squad towards the safety of the American lines.     Littlejohn looked at his little buddy with a deep sorrow clouding his eyes, then turned away to move with the group.     It wasn’t long before the barrage could no longer be heard behind them. Daylight was sending its soft glow between the leaves overhead and though everything seemed quiet and peaceful, the men of First Squad moved on silently with heavy hearts. * * * The barrage ended, leaving flickering, crackling fires and a few low groans in its wake. The two trapped Americans sat for a moment letting the quiet wash over them, settling their nerves and easing their ringing ears. A dim light slowly developed through the small cracks on either side of the tree trunk. Saunders found a slit wide enough to slip his hand and arm through, but that was the largest opening he found. “We’ll have to dig our way out,” he stated flatly as he inspected the sides of the foxhole to find the softest dirt to dig in. Caje coughed and gagged at the stench in the hole. “Easy, Caje,” Saunders turned to the Cajun. “Try to breathe through your mouth and throw the dirt over these bodies. Maybe we can cover some of it up,” he suggested as he began to dig near the top of the hole. Caje joined him and together they started digging in earnest. Caje using his bayonet and Saunders using a bayonet he removed from the utility belt of one of the bodies beneath them. The approaching daylight helped them see as they struggled to break roots and dislodge rocks barring their slow progress. Saunders stopped and placed a finger to his lips to warn Caje to silence. There was a rustling of leaves and a voice shouted something in German. Saunders motioned Caje down into the darkest part of the foxhole and they crouched silently waiting for the Germans to move on. Their foxhole/prison was not discovered and soon the shuffling footsteps and low voices moved away. “We gotta get outta here an’ warn the others,” Saunders crawled back to their excavation. “There’s no fighting. Maybe they pulled back when the barrage started,” Caje whispered. “Probably,” Saunders agreed. “but if they come back they’ll run right into those Krauts out there.” Without another word the two Americans redoubled their efforts and soon had a hole large enough for the slender Cajun to wriggle through. They would have to widen the opening just a little more for Saunders’ slightly broader shoulders to get through. The sergeant handed Caje’s M1 to him through the opening and the Cajun carefully checked the immediate area for any straggling enemy soldiers. Satisfied that the coast was clear, Caje knelt to help widen the hole and pull his sergeant up into the fresh air and brightening sunlight. “We can’t go straight back. Those Krauts are between us and the squad,” Saunders reasoned. “We’ll have to try goin’ back the way we came.” They moved off quietly. Crouching and leap-frogging from tree to bush to rock until they were near the bottom of the shell-razed hill. Saunders motioned for Caje to join him as he crouched behind a large boulder near the meadow. “Look,” he said as he pointed across the field. What looked like an entire company of Germans moved noisily through the brush at the bottom of the hill once occupied by the Americans. “Our guys high-tailed it,” Saunders stated. “Let’s get outta here before one of those Krauts decides to turn around. He motioned to the left and Caje moved out through the dense forest at a crouching run, followed closely by his sergeant. The two of them ran until they had put a safe distance between them and the advancing Germans, then Saunders called a halt and they fell on the grass to catch their breaths and drink from their canteens. “What now, Sarge?” Caje panted. “I don’t know, Caje,” Saunders spoke as his eyes scanned the woods around them, ever watchful for danger. “We’ll just play it by ear and try to reach our lines further east of us.” The sergeant had given his map to Kirby before venturing out on the disastrous recon last night. He had memorized many of the landmarks in a small radius of their dug-in position, but he didn’t know how far east they would have to go before they would be able to swing south towards their own lines again. He knew without a doubt that they were definitely behind enemy lines without their helmets and with only a few clips of ammunition between them. Not a situation he particularly relished. * * * “I just don’t see why we can’t go back ‘n look for ‘em,” Kirby grumbled irritably. “You won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few days, Kirby. You might as well relax. They’ll show up, I’m sure of it,” Doc finished checking the fresh bandage on Kirby’s leg and made sure he was comfortable, then walked to the door of the large tent set up for a field hospital. They were behind their lines again and taking a day’s rest before being sent up again. Kirby’s leg wound wasn’t bad, but he would have to stay off it for a few days in order for it to heal properly. Littlejohn and Nelson were relaxing in the shade of a large tree close to the hospital tents. They had received a hot meal and managed to get some sleep. Worry for their lost friends made them restless. Littlejohn had represented First Squad when Sgt. Rowe had given his report. Lt. Hanley was unable to completely hide his anxiety when Saunders and Caje were reported MIA. With the number of Germans that had moved in on their previous position, it was impossible to return to look for the missing men. The line was closing up and Hanley’s platoon would soon be on the front again. Captain Jampel had told him there would be a big push to the north and east real soon. Hanley was trying to give his men as much rest as possible, because once they started moving, the fighting would be long and intense. They were merely awaiting orders to move out. Billy punched a finger into Littlejohn’s ribs and nodded towards the road. A jeep was barreling at them raising a cloud of dust. Littlejohn and Nelson recognized Hanley’s driving and rose to their feet as Doc strode up to them to wait for the vehicle. The jeep slid to a stop just feet from them and Lt. Hanley motioned the men over. Two young soldiers in fresh uniforms stepped out of the vehicle and walked around to stand with the other men. “This is Canfield and Porter,” Hanley introduced the youthful privates. “They’re replacements. Find some place to bunk for a day or so. It looks like we’ll be here a while. How’s Kirby?” he turned to Doc. “He’s fine, Lieutenant,” Doc informed him. “He’ll be up in a couple days.” “Good,” Hanley nodded. “Introduce yourselves. Littlejohn, you’re in charge for now.” “Yes, sir,” Littlejohn smiled down at Billy. Hanley engaged the jeep’s gears and sped off the way he had come. Doc turned to the new recruits. “Hi, I’m Doc. This is Littlejohn and Billy Nelson. Is this your first time up?” “Yeah,” Canfield answered. “We haven’t seen any action yet, but we’ve heard some bombing and firing on our way up here last night.” Doc smiled. “Yeah, it got a little hairy out there for a while. I gotta get back to work. Billy, why don’t you find a place for these guys to sack out. They look tired.” “Sure, Doc,” Billy turned to the new soldiers. “We have all the comforts of home here.” Littlejohn gave a derisive laugh and placed a big hand on Nelson’s shoulder. “Don’t let him fool you. There’s nothin’ around here like home,” the big private informed them. “Yeah,” Porter commented. “We’ve noticed.” “C’mon,” Billy waved to them. “I’ll show you where to get some hot chow, too.” That evening the new replacements had acquired cots in a small basement now occupied by the squad. They were aware that something was not quite right with the men they’d been thrown in with, but they weren’t sure how to communicate yet, so they turned to each other for conversation and company. “What do you think’s goin’ on?” Porter asked curiously, glancing over at the three older members of the squad. They were quiet and brooding; sitting apart, yet near to each other. “I don’t know, but it feels like a graveyard in here,” Canfield answered. “Yeah,” Porter pulled a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. “Let’s see if we can liven it up a bit. Okay?” “I’m game,” Canfield agreed then turned to the others in the room. “Who’s up to a round of cards?” he asked loudly. No one said anything. Littlejohn stood and stretched his gigantic frame, then strode over to the table occupied by the young soldiers. “Might’s well,” he conceded. “It’s gonna be a long night.” Nelson put down the rifle he’d been laboriously cleaning and joined them, dragging a chair with him as he approached the table. Then he turned to the medic. “Doc?” “No thanks,” Doc shook his head. “I’m supposed to take a shift over at the hospital in a few minutes. You guys go ahead.” They had been playing for about half an hour when Porter blurted out, “What’s goin’ on?” They all looked at him for a moment, then Littlejohn explained, “We lost two of our best friends last night. Our sergeant, Sergeant Saunders, and Caje. They went to recon a German position and our artillery opened up on them before they could come back. We’re afraid they may have been killed, but the Krauts moved up and we can’t go back and look for ‘em.” They were all silent for a time. “I’m sorry,” Porter said looking down. “I didn’t know.” “They’re good soldiers, the best,” Billy affirmed in his boyishly optimistic way. “I think they’ll show up real soon.” Littlejohn just looked at him and shook his head sadly. No more was said on the subject. * * * Too exhausted to run any further, Saunders and Caje finally dropped to the ground again gasping for air. Their flight was taking them straight towards the village of Choudrant, and the sergeant hoped it would be occupied by friendlies. The two GIs hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours and they hadn’t taken anything with them on the supposedly brief recon. Their water was getting low in their canteens as well. They hoped to find refuge in the village and, maybe, some information about enemy movements. Caje sat up and carefully looked around them. “Where are we, Sarge?” he asked. “I figure about a quarter mile from Choudrant,” Saunders informed the Cajun. “We’ll have to check it out closely before we try to enter the village.” “Yeah,” Caje agreed. “I sure hope we can find something to eat. I’m starved.” Saunders smiled and sat up, checking the area around them. “We better not lag around,” he said. “Let’s keep movin’.” The two of them struggled to their feet once more and moved on towards the east. It wasn’t long before they came to a small stream. It was clear and cold and they were able to fill their canteens and splash the refreshing liquid on their faces. Lack of sleep had them sluggish and they had to stay sharp. They had ducked two German patrols already. The two GIs quickly approached the edge of the village. From their vantagepoint on a small knoll just outside the town, they could see no sign of Germans. For that matter they saw no one at all. The little hamlet seemed to be deserted. Only a few ducks, geese, chickens, and cats roamed the streets and storefronts. The Americans approached cautiously, constantly watching for movements in the windows and alleys. It soon became apparent they were completely alone. “What d’ya think, Sarge?” Caje whispered, almost afraid to break the total silence. “I dunno,” Saunders replied. “Feels weird. Don’t get too comfortable. Somethin’s just not right here.” “I read ya,” Caje agreed as he placed his back against a storefront and peered through the window. They came upon a small café with several tables on the sidewalk. A few plates and bottles lay on a couple tables as if the diners had simply walked away from them. Everything looked as if someone had just been there, then gone. “We gotta flush it out,” Saunders spoke softly. “You take the east end and I’ll take the west. Meet me at that little café.” “Right, Sarge,” Caje nodded then moved off in the direction they had just come to search each building one by one, while Saunders headed in the other direction to do the same. The two of them worked well together, knowing without communicating what the other would do in any given circumstance. It was a trust and working knowledge built from months of harrowing combat and life threatening situations. It did not take long to flush the small village of only one main street, a small side street, and a few outlying sheds. The town was barren, the quiet almost as unnerving as the barrage. “Find anything?” Saunders asked as Caje approached the café. “Nah,” Caje shook his head. “But it looks like someone was here real recent.” “Yeah,” Saunders agreed. “I even found a cook fire still going. I don’t like it. Here, I found some bread, cheese and wine. Let’s eat a bite, then get outta here.” “Thanks, Sarge,” Caje reached for the bottle Saunders was extending to him. They ate hurriedly and wrapped some of the bread and cheese in paper and stuffed it into the front of their jackets for later. A faint whining noise made the two GIs immediately alert. Crouching near the front of the café with weapons at ready, they listened closely. The noise did not repeat itself. Saunders motioned for Caje to follow and started moving towards the edge of town. Just as they passed a small shop, the whine sounded again. This time they recognized the noise as a small child whimpering. Saunders motioned Caje to the opposite side of the shop doorway as he eased the door open with his left foot. They stood listening for another moment, then crouching low, Saunders entered the shop to drop behind a counter near one wall. The shop appeared to be devoid of human presence. There were shelves and a rack with hats displayed. The counter the sergeant crouched behind seemed to be one used for sales. He moved from behind the counter toward a door in the rear wall of the room. Peeking carefully around the frame, Saunders saw a small storeroom. A slight noise made him turn towards the right of the room where hatboxes were piled high against the wall. He motioned for Caje to stay back and cover him as he moved closer to the boxes. Slowly reaching a foot out, Saunders swept a couple boxes from the bottom of the pile, causing the entire stack to cascade to the floor. He brought his Tommy gun up to firing position as a squeal emanated from the toppled boxes. The sergeant was stunned to find a small child of about three years old crouching fearfully in the arms of another child of about twelve. The older child was a boy, while the younger one was a little girl. The girl was whimpering plaintively and clinging to the neck of the boy, nearly strangling him. “Caje!” Saunders called to the Cajun as he moved close to the frightened children. He lowered his Thompson and tried to look less threatening, though it appeared his efforts were in vain. Caje showed up next to him and spoke quickly to the boy in his native language. The young man answered him shakily and soon the tension seemed to ease between them. The boy peeled the tiny arms from around his neck while speaking softly to the frightened little girl. Caje turned to his sergeant. “The little girl was lost when everyone evacuated the town. The boy came back for her and they were trapped in here when we showed up. His name is Pierre and hers is Suzette. He calls her Sue.” Caje explained. “Ask him where the people are; and why did they leave so suddenly?” Saunders urged Caje. Caje conversed with the boy, Pierre, for a time then turned back to Saunders who had moved to the door to keep watch for any danger. “The people of the village are hidden in the forest east of town. One of the townspeople said there were Bosche coming and they all fled. They must have seen us and mistook us for Germans since we’re so far behind the German lines. What do we do with them, Sarge?” Caje asked looking at the still trembling children. “We’ll take them with us and see if we can locate their people,” Saunders told him. Caje crept back to the children and talked softly, smiling and trying to put the little girl at ease. It wasn’t long before she actually reached out to him and he took her in his strong arms gently caressing her soft, dark curls and patting her back, all the time speaking to her with smiles and giggles. She was soon laughing with him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “C’mon,” Sarge motioned from the doorway and moved toward the front of the shop. Caje spoke to the boy, Pierre, “Allons.” Then moved out behind his sergeant, holding Sue close to him. Just as Saunders neared the open door of the little shop, he dropped to one side, signaling the others down. Caje dropped, reaching out to grab Pierre’s arm and pull him down as well. Sue was immediately frightened again and started to whimper softly. “Shh. Shhh…” Caje stroked her hair and tried to quiet the child’s fears. “Krauts have moved in. They’re all over the place!” Saunders whispered. “Looks like the townspeople were right,” Caje muttered, still trying to calm the trembling child in his arms. “Take the kids to the back,” Saunders instructed. “I’ll see if there’s a way outta here.” “Okay,” Caje moved towards the back room once more, pulling Pierre with him. Saunders watched as several Germans approached, checking buildings as they moved. He knew there were only seconds before they would be discovered. “Sarge!” Caje called in a loud whisper from the inner door of the shop. Saunders moved closer to speak to him. “What is it?” he asked the Cajun. “Pierre says there’s a way to get into the ceiling in the back room. Maybe we could hide there until the Krauts pass. He didn’t have time to hide there before we found them earlier.” Caje informed the sergeant. “Okay,” Saunders agreed. “Looks like our only option at the moment. Get moving.” Caje turned to the boy and nodded. Pierre pointed to a part of the ceiling where the boards separated only slightly. Saunders drew a wooden box under the area and stood on it to push at the boards. They lifted together and revealed a small portal leading into the attic of the shop. Motioning urgently to Pierre, Saunders grabbed the boy around the waist and lifted him up until he could reach the opening and help pull himself up, then the sergeant turned and reached for the little girl. She squealed involuntarily and clung tightly to Caje’s neck. Saunders stepped down from the box and motioned for Caje to step up. The Cajun handed Sue up through the opening to her brother, who tried to calm her and quiet her whimpering. “Go on,” Saunders whispered to Caje. He could hear movement near the front of the shop and knew that time was running out for them. Caje quickly and nimbly swung up into the attic, then turned and reached for the Thompson and M1 Saunders was extending to him. A sudden noise in the front of the shop made them jump. “Close it!” Saunders whispered desperately. Caje motioned for the Sarge to come on, but time had run out. Saunders pulled his Colt .45 from its holster and slid to the back of the room, not looking at the ceiling any more. Caje reluctantly closed the opening and turned to help Pierre quiet the whimpering three-year-old as he listened closely to events unfolding below them. A German private entered the storeroom brandishing his field rifle as another soldier moved into the room behind him. Saunders simply surrendered, throwing down his pistol and raising his hands. The Germans shouted angrily at him and he moved slowly and sluggishly to make sure their full attention was on him at all times. The enemy soldiers removed his web belt and jacket and pushed him roughly towards the front of the shop. The sergeant dragged his feet and purposefully attracted their ire in order to keep them from looking for anything else in the small building. When they were outside, one of the Germans shouted as others came running towards them. A Kraut sergeant barked an order and Saunders’ arms were pulled behind him, his wrists bound tightly with his own belt. He was then pushed and pulled unceremoniously down the street and away from the shop. Saunders was relieved as they moved further away from Caje and the children. He hoped the Cajun would be able to escape to safety with the kids and find their people. Perhaps he could keep the Krauts busy enough to buy some time for them. As they rounded a corner, Saunders was shoved in front of a German lieutenant, who stood tediously brushing dust from his clothing as he exited a staff car parked nearby. “Well, Sergeant,” he spoke English with a thick accent. “What are you doing here so far from your lines?” “Saunders, Sergeant, two-two-seven- oh-six-two-two,” Saunders stated flatly. The lieutenant smiled slightly and turned to his sergeant. Nodding at the prisoner, he motioned for them to follow him. Saunders was pushed forward and the small party entered an old factory. There were several belts and wheels, machines in need of repair, and lots of dust scattered everywhere. It was apparent the factory had been unused for some time. The lieutenant pointed and spoke to his sergeant briefly. The German sergeant motioned for the two privates that were with them to bring the American forward. Saunders was untied then his wrists were tied again in front of him. A chain was pushed between his forearms and tied in place with a piece of wire. The chain was then looped over a hoist and the sergeant was pulled from the floor a few inches by his bound wrists. He stifled a cry as his arms and wrists were jerked roughly upwards and the weight of his body pulled at the muscles and skin beneath the bonds. One of the German privates stepped forward and ripped his shirt open in the back, pulling it apart to bare his back and shoulders. “Sergeant,” the lieutenant spoke matter-of-factly. “You can avoid all this unpleasantness just by answering a few simple questions. What were you doing here? And how many are with you?” Saunders said nothing. His silence obviously irritating the lieutenant. The officer nodded to the man standing behind Saunders who swung a belt with all his might across the GIs exposed back. The buckle bit deeply into the skin drawing blood and bruising the ribs beneath. Saunders gasped, but was able to withhold a cry, gritting his teeth against the pain. He swung slightly with the force of the blow and a small trickle of blood started down his left arm from his torn wrist. He was sweating profusely, but held his silence. “You accept pain well, Sergeant,” the Lieutenant commented. “But for how long? I wonder.” He motioned to the private and turned to settle himself comfortably on a crate while lighting a cigarette from the lighter he had found in the American’s jacket pocket. The private swung the belt again producing no more than a grunt from the American sergeant. The third swing landed almost exactly in the same place as the first blow and Saunders was unable to restrain himself. He cried out, but cut it off as quickly as possible. The fourth blow was high and caught him behind the right ear, splitting the skin and knocking him unconscious. The German officer was furious with the unfortunate private wielding the belt. He needed answers, but now the American was unable to respond even if he wanted to. Leaving one private to guard the prisoner, the lieutenant motioned for the German sergeant and the private who had administered the beating to come with him, and they left the factory. * * * Caje heard the scuffling and yelling going on below them, but could do nothing about it. Sue was scared and trying to scream. It took both Caje and Pierre to hold her still and try to silence her. It seemed the tighter they held her, the more frightened she got. Finally the German voices moved away from them and Caje relaxed slightly, letting go of the poor, scared little girl. She clung to her brother crying softly now, her face buried in his shoulder. He patted and soothed, but seemingly to no effect. Caje lifted the ceiling door just enough to peek down into the room below. It was empty and he could hear nothing in the shop. He lifted the door and turned back to the huddled children. “Ne bougez pas,” he instructed as he carefully lowered himself through the opening. He dropped to the floor almost noiselessly and quickly slid to the door to peer around the frame into the shop front. No one was there. The Cajun moved to a window at the front of the shop and peeked cautiously over the windowsill. He saw Germans shoving his bound sergeant around a corner near the end of the street. Shaking his head with anger, he turned and rushed back into the stockroom. “Pierre,” he called softly. The boy’s face appeared in the ceiling opening and Caje motioned for him to hand Sue down to him. The little girl was calmer and eagerly slipped into the waiting arms of the American soldier. When she was safely deposited on the floor by his side, Caje turned and helped Pierre to climb down. Pierre picked up his little sister and followed Caje into the shop front. The excitement of capturing the American Sergeant seemed to have pulled attention to the opposite end of town, so there was no problem slipping down an alley and into the woods surrounding the little village. Caje told Pierre that they had to find the townsfolk as quickly as possible. The Cajun was desperate to find refuge for the children, then get back to see what he could do for Saunders. Pierre took the lead when they were safely away from the village and they moved swiftly through the woods, Pierre carrying his little sister on his back. Caje watched their progress carefully so that he could find his way back to the village as soon as the children were safe. An older gentleman in the clothes of a French farmer suddenly appeared before them brandishing an old shotgun. He started to speak, then his eyes widened at the sight of the two children, and he dropped the gun and gathered both of them up in his arms with tears of joy streaming down his face. “Grandpere! Grandpere!” The children cried and clung to the old man. Caje immediately started to turn away, his only thought at the moment was of his sergeant in the hands of the enemy. “Americain!” the old man called. “Where are you going?” Caje turned back to face the happy trio. “I have to go back to the village, Monsieur,” he told him. “What?! There are Bosche in there! You will be killed. Stay with us. We will protect you,” the old man pleaded. “I cannot, Monsieur,” Caje explained. “The Bosche have captured my sergeant. I must try to do something for him.” “Wait, Monsieur,” the man begged. “My name is Alain Bouliane. You have brought my grandchildren back to me. I owe you much. Perhaps my people can help.” Caje smiled sadly at the earnestness in the old man’s tone. “I can’t endanger the lives of civilians, Monsieur Bouliane. My sergeant gave himself to the Germans to save me and the children. I must hurry.” The little girl ran to Caje and threw her arms around his leg, looking up into his face with smiles and tears of happiness, begging him not to leave. Caje reached down and picked her up giving her a huge hug and placing her on the ground once more. She looked at him puzzled as she tried to understand why he was leaving. “Give me just one moment, Monsieur,” Alain requested. Caje impatiently nodded and placed a hand on Sue’s head as she moved closer to him. Alain waved a hand and immediately four Frenchmen emerged from the woods around them. They were armed with hunting rifles and shotguns. One had a Mausser, which he probably had lifted from a dead Kraut soldier. The old man spoke briefly with them, then turned back to the American. “We will help you any way we can, Monsieur,” Alain announced. Turning to Pierre he instructed the boy to take his sister and join the rest of the townspeople further down the path. “Thank you, Monsieur Bouliane,” Caje smiled gratefully. “My name is Caje. We must hurry. There is no telling what they are doing to him now.” The Frenchmen fell in line behind Caje and they moved swiftly towards Choudrant with no idea what they would do or how they would do it. Darkness was closing in and they knew traveling would be hazardous if they did not hurry. * * * A pan of water was splashed into Saunders’ face. The sudden shock of cold water brought him back to a world of pain and suffering. His shoulders, arms and wrists were in agony. The pressure on his lungs caused by hanging by his arms made breathing difficult. He could no longer feel his fingers and hands, the circulation having been cut off for too long. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes to face his tormenter once more. “Well, Sergeant,” the oily voice pierced his consciousness like a dreaded disease. “Have you had time to think about my questions?” Saunders stared at the Kraut officer without expression. He tried to find something else to think about through a blinding headache. Thoughts eluded him, so he just hung there and stared at his captors without speaking. The German lieutenant stepped close and reached up to grab a handful of thick blond hair jerking the sergeant’s head up. “You’re silence will only bring you death, Sergeant,” he hissed in Saunders face. Silence. Furious, the lieutenant barked an order to his sergeant and turned on his heel to leave the building. The chain was released and Saunders suddenly dropped to the concrete floor in a heap. The release of pressure on his arms and shoulders sent spikes of fire over his entire body. He was vaguely aware of the Germans removing the chains and dragging him to a small, empty storeroom. He was deposited onto the floor and the door was slammed and locked. The muscles slowly relaxed in his arms and he was able to roll onto his side to relieve the pressure on his cut and bruised back. His head had dropped forward when he was knocked unconscious and the blood from the cut behind his right ear had drained down his neck and the front of his shirt. His back was covered with blood, but the wounds had sealed while he had hung senseless on the chain. His hands began to burn like they were on fire as the circulation slowly began to find its way through to the tips of his fingers. His wrists were still bound, the belt soaked with blood from the torn flesh. He lay still in the darkness relishing the air he was now able to fill his lungs with. He was very thirsty, but his mind could not dwell on any one thing at the moment. He let himself slip away as the darkness closed in. * * * “Hi guys,” Kirby greeted the squad as he walked into their cellar-barracks. “What’s the word?” “Kirby?” Doc looked up surprised. “What are you doing here? I thought you were gonna get a few days R&R to let that leg heal.” “The doc didn’t think it was as bad as I told him it was,” Kirby explained. “They put some iodine on it and turned me out. What’s goin’ on? Any word about Caje and the Sarge?” “Nothin’,” Doc shook his head sadly. “Looks like we’ll just have to wait and hope for the best.” “I don’t like this waitin’,” Kirby grumbled. “I wish we could at least go back and look for ‘em.” “You may get your chance,” a strong voice issued from the doorway. “Saddle up. We’re movin’ out in fifteen minutes.” Lieutenant Hanley swept the room with his eyes to make sure the entire squad was present. “Battalion will be pouring in artillery within the next five minutes. We’ll move in behind the barrage. We’re following a course from your previous position to the village of Choudrant. Get your gear together and collect rations for three days. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The lieutenant turned to leave as the men eagerly began gathering their belongings together. “See, Doc?” Kirby exclaimed. “I show up and things naturally happen.” “Yeah,” Littlejohn joined the conversation. “Things would stay nice and quiet if you never showed up.” “Aw, you’re just jealous,” Kirby ribbed the large man. “You know you’re bustin’ to get out there just like the rest of us.” “You’re right,” Littlejohn agreed for once. “I sure would like to find out what happened on that hill.” In just a few minutes, they could hear the sound of 105 shells pounding away at a distant enemy. Doc was just stowing away the last of his supplies when Lt. Hanley entered the cellar. “Okay,” he said around a cigarette. “Let’s go.” Turning, he walked back out the door to wait for the squad to ascend the stairs. One by one they walked into the early morning sunshine, stretching and adjusting their packs and weapons for easy carrying. “Kirby, take the point,” Hanley ordered. “Canfield, take the rear.” With ‘yes, sirs’ the men positioned themselves and moved out towards the hill they had left only two days before. The shells were still bursting, the sound seemingly closer with every footstep. The two new recruits were nervous, but keeping up with the rest of the squad with no problem. They watched the veteran soldiers closely, not wanting to make any mistakes, fatal or otherwise. It was obvious these new young men were going to do their best to fit in with the squad. After about an hour’s walk, Hanley called a halt and the squad stopped for a short rest. They could go no further while the shells still rained in the area. Being this close made even the seasoned veterans nervous (there was always the possibility of a short round, which could drop in on them). They hadn’t been halted five minutes when the shelling stopped. “Move out,” Hanley called motioning the squad to spread out on either side of him. “Stay within sight of each other,” he ordered. “We’ll search the hill, then head for the village.” The squad moved towards the battle-scarred hill, searching carefully everywhere. * * * Caje moved to a position behind some rocks on a small knoll just outside the village in order to be able to see what was going on in the streets. There were only two streets running at a ninety-degree angle to one another and meeting at one end. From his vantagepoint, the Cajun could see both streets clearly. Or at least he would have been able to see them clearly if night hadn’t fallen leaving everyone and everything in the dark. He turned to Alain handing the old man his M1. He had retained Sarge’s Tommy gun and opted to use it at this time. “Stay here,” He instructed. “I’ll sneak down there and see if I can find out where they’re holding the sergeant.” “Be careful, Monsieur Caje,” Alain warned. “We will wait here for you.” Caje moved away from the Frenchmen and crept stealthily towards the end of town where he had last seen Saunders being taken. A dark alley helped him get close to several Germans leisurely talking and smoking in front of an old factory. A staff car was parked near the large freight door and much of the activity seemed to center there. He had a feeling he had to see what was inside the factory. Slipping away from the street, Caje crept back into the woods watching constantly for outposts and sentries. He made a wide circle around the end of town and slowly made his way towards the back of the factory. Suddenly a small light flickered to his left and he dropped soundlessly to the ground to watch. He could see the glowing end of a cigarette not more than 30 feet away. A sentry! The dumb Kraut should have known better than to smoke on duty. Apparently they weren’t too worried about enemy infiltration this far behind their lines. The night was cold and the guard pulled his coat closer around him and settled himself against a convenient tree to enjoy his smoke. It wasn’t hard for the American to slip past the unwary guard. The Cajun’s progress was painfully slow due to the caution he was compelled to use. The night was progressing quickly and he was angry at giving the Krauts all this time to do unspeakable things to his sergeant. The need for speed must not outweigh the need for caution. He would do Saunders no good at all if he got himself captured or killed. Soon he found himself at the back wall of the factory. There were a few windows and an old metal ladder leading to the roof. Caje decided to take a look at the roof and started to climb the rusty ladder. It squeaked and groaned under his weight and his movement was tediously slow. He finally made it to the top and quickly scanned the roof. The moonlight revealed a flat expanse with two skylights rising slightly from the dark surface. The glass was long since gone from the frames and a dim light glowed from within the factory. Caje slipped up to one of the skylights and peered over the edge. The light emanated from a single lantern positioned near the large door at the front of the building. Just to the left was a German private relaxing against a stack of crates and enjoying a meal of field rations. Behind him was a door leading to a room set aside from the main factory floor. It was obvious that the German was left there to guard the door. Saunders must be in there! With the number of Germans in the town and around the factory, it would be very hard to get inside. He would have to have the help of the citizens who had followed him. Reluctantly, Caje crept back over to the ladder to make his slow departure. The sky was beginning to gray in the east when Caje finally made his way back to the knoll and the waiting Frenchmen. The Cajun crouched in front of the men and took a moment to catch his breath. “It looks like they’re holding the sergeant in a room in the old factory. The Bosche are everywhere. What we need is a diversion,” Caje said thoughtfully. “We were afraid you would not come back, Monsieur. You were gone so long,” Alain spoke quietly. “Just before dark we noticed several trucks carrying supplies that were parked near the edge of the village on the north side. Perhaps these would provide fuel for a diversion, yes?” “That sounds fine,” Caje agreed. “One of you can come with me and the rest of you can start the diversion. Give us at least an hour to get into position at the factory. We will have to slip by a sentry and get to the windows at the back of the building. When the diversion starts we will get in and try to find the sergeant. Okay?” “Oui, Monsieur,” Alain nodded and quickly turned to the others to outline the plan. Then he turned back to Caje. “I will go with you and the others will start the diversion.” Caje gave a nod and turned towards the village. The sound of a 105 shell whistling through the air stopped them all short. They hit the ground, covering their heads as the shell landed with a tremendous explosion just inside the village. Caje lifted his head and stared at the smoke rising from a demolished building only feet from the factory. “Oh, no!” He cried. “They can’t do this. Sarge is in there!” He regained his feet and started to run, when Alain grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the ground just as another shell arced in slamming directly on top of the factory. “We cannot help him now, Monsieur Caje,” Alain yelled over the sound of the explosion. More shells were now pouring in on the village as Caje sat stunned, watching the barrage demolish the small town. His heart was in his throat and his expression was one of horror. It soon occurred to him that American forces would be following the barrage. He only had to wait where he was to be able to join up with his own people very soon. He knew he would be safe, but there was no hope for Saunders. ‘Why didn’t I try to get him out when I was in there last night!’ he berated himself. All he could do now was sit and watch the devastation. * * * Saunders woke to a dark, cold room. His back was bare and in his weakened condition he started shivering uncontrollably. The pain in his arms had eased a great deal, but his wrists were bound so tightly that his hands and fingers were practically numb. The cold didn’t help that situation any. He was very thirsty and ached all over, especially his bruised and lacerated back. The headache had let up and he was able to raise himself from the cold floor to a sitting position. He struggled to his feet swaying and catching himself against a wall. His head spun as he strained to see through the dark. He could barely make out the outline of the door by a small shaft of light penetrating between the door and the frame. He staggered to it and felt for the handle. Of course it was locked. He leaned his left shoulder against the wall and turned his back to it, jerking away at the pressure on one of the cuts below his left shoulder blade. He was now sweating despite the cold. The moisture emphasized the cold and his teeth started chattering as he slid down the wall to a sitting position. He tried to loosen the belt cutting into his wrists, but his fingers were numb from cold and he couldn’t reach the belt anyway. He soon gave up and just sat with knees drawn up, trying to find some warmth in his dark little prison. Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion, which rocked the floor where he sat. His head jerked up and he listened intently, hearing the whistle of another shell. He threw himself sideways, covering his head the best he could with his bound hands just as a shell hit the factory. The wall he’d been leaning against fell away from him as the ceiling of two-by-fours and plaster came raining down. A large metal beam from the factory roof crashed down at a slant, missing the sergeant by only a few inches, but other metal and brick materials following it landed on top of the beam creating a small pocket, miraculously protecting the cowering American. The German guard outside the room had not been so lucky. When the wall fell away from Saunders, it landed directly on top of the unfortunate enemy soldier. He was crushed. The barrage went on seemingly forever, but the wounded GI was unaware of it. He had passed out again from fear, exhaustion, and his weakened condition. His unconsciousness saving him from the terror of a prolonged barrage. * * * The hill was barren, the only movement was the noxious smoke rising lazily from burning vegetation and shell craters. The Germans must have pulled back before the barrage. No human presence could be found. Lieutenant Hanley had moved eastward a short distance from the hill and stopped to radio in his report on the hill before he moved on. He handed the receiver back to Brockmeyer, his radioman, and lit a cigarette while awaiting the rest of the squad. As each man showed up, he received a negative report. No Germans in sight. “Lieutenant?” Nelson spoke hesitantly. “What is it, Nelson?” Hanley answered. “I found the oddest thing up there, sir” Billy continued. “I found a big tree layin’ across a foxhole and it looked like someone had to dig their way out from under it. I looked in the hole and there were several dead Krauts in there, sir.” “Well,” Hanley replied. “If there were any live ones, they must have pulled back. Saddle up. We have to move out immediately. Sounds like Battalion is pounding that village now. We need to get there by the time it’s over. Move out!” Kirby took the lead as the squad moved on as quickly as possible. They were all disappointed at not finding any clue as to what happened to their missing men, but there was a certain amount of relief at not finding any bodies either. There was a renewed hope that their lost companions might still be alive. Only a quarter mile from the village, Kirby spotted a glint of light in the woods to their left. He turned and motioned a warning signal just as an 8mm machine gun opened up on them. Due to the quick warning and quicker reflexes, everyone dove for cover before any damage was done. The firing was intense for a few minutes. Hanley motioned to Kirby, and the BAR man slipped off to his right to try and find a way to flank the machine gun nest. Canfield moved off to the left at the lieutenant’s signal to do the same. Within seconds a loud explosion vibrated the air and the machine gun went silent. Kirby’s BAR opened up in the area of the nest, then silence reigned for a few seconds. “All clear!” Kirby called as he waved his hand high to signal his squad. The rest of the men moved forward to check the area for any stragglers. “Good job, Kirby,” Hanley nodded at the wiry private. “Thanks, Lieutenant, but I didn’t do it,” Kirby nodded at the young private standing at the edge of the machine gun nest, looking down at the destruction caused by the grenade. “Canfield got here first. He took ‘em out.” Kirby grinned. “Canfield,” Hanley called out. The boy looked up with a mixture of fear, horror, and revulsion on his young face. “Yes, sir?” he said shakily. “You all right?” the lieutenant asked, concerned. “Yes, sir,” Canfield answered. “I…I guess so.” Hanley strode over to the private and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not easy, but it is necessary,” the officer spoke softly. Canfield looked up at his superior and straightened his frame. “Yes, sir,” he stated firmly. “I understand.” “You’re gonna do fine,” Hanley assured him with a pat, then turned back to the squad. “Okay,” He called out. “Move out. Porter, take the point.” “Yes, sir,” Porter called as he turned towards the east once more. The barrage was letting up and the soldiers would have to hurry to get to the town soon after its ending. * * * The German lieutenant screamed orders as he climbed into his staff car. Glancing at the factory, he dismissed any thoughts of retrieving his prisoner. The building lay in ruins. Slapping his driver on the shoulder, he sat back covering his head to protect it from debris raining all around them. Germans were running and trying to escape in every direction. The shells burst everywhere and panic reigned. The staff car and three transport trucks managed to get to the road leading out of the village. They would have to pass within a few yards of the place where Caje and the Frenchmen waited and watched. Fearing the Germans would escape with Saunders in one of the vehicles, Caje determined to try to stop them any way he could. Moving closer to the road, the Cajun pulled a grenade from his jacket and pulled the pin. As soon as the staff car came into view he timed his toss perfectly, causing the car to slide sideways and come to a halt, effectively blocking the road. The minute the trucks pulled to a full stop behind the disabled staff car, something very surprising happened. Caje, concentrating solely on the occupants of the staff car, was shocked to see more than a dozen weapons open up from the woods around him. The trucks were riddled with bullets and several Germans jumped from the backs of the vehicles in an effort to escape. They were mowed down before they could reach the woods. Caje reached the staff car and swung the Thompson machine gun over the side. The driver was dead, but the officer in the back seat was picking himself up from the floorboards as he reached for his Luger. “Drop it!” Caje shouted angrily, ready to dispense with the lieutenant at the slightest wrong move. The German officer dropped his weapon and slowly raised his hands in the air. Caje pulled him from the vehicle and relieved him of his web belt, then patted his pockets to find a map and a silver lighter he recognized as belonging to Sergeant Saunders. The Cajun had trouble controlling his urge to shoot the man where he stood, and instead turned him around to tie his hands behind him. Only then did he look up to see who his allies were. French men and women! What looked like the entire village had returned to help dispose of the imposing German platoon. At least what was left of them after the barrage. Caje stood in wonder as Alain strode up to him smiling. “You returned something very precious to us,” the old man explained. “It was little enough we could do to help you find your friend.” “I haven’t found him,” Caje shook his head perplexed. “He’s not here.” “We will help you search for him,” Alain averred, as his friends checked the trucks to make sure there was no more threat. “Come,” Alain motioned to Caje. Two Frenchmen grabbed the arms of the German lieutenant and shoved him back down the road towards the village. Before they had traveled 50 yards, a low whistle caught Caje’s attention. He whistled back and Kirby emerged from the woods, followed by Lt. Hanley and the rest of the squad. Kirby grabbed Caje up in a bear hug as the others gathered around laughing and greeting their lost friend. “Where’s Saunders?” Hanley asked as the initial greetings died down. “I don’t know, Lieutenant,” Caje replied. “He surrendered to this Kraut here to save me and a couple kids from the village. I think he was being held in an old factory near the edge of town, but the barrage wiped it out. This here lieutenant ought to know where he was, though, sir.” Hanley turned to the German officer. “Where is my sergeant?” he growled threateningly. “I am Lieutenant Karl Schimer. My serial number is…” the officer started. “Never mind!” Hanley cut him off. Grabbing him by the front of his tunic, Hanley practically lifted him from the road, bringing his face within an inch of the enemies’. “Where is my sergeant!?” He growled again. Fear flashed across the face of the German as he wilted under the glare of this tall American lieutenant. “He was in the factory,” the officer answered shakily. “You killed him.” Hanley shoved the German backwards. He would have fallen had it not been for the Frenchmen standing behind him. They angrily grabbed his arms again. “Come on,” Hanley motioned to the squad as he headed towards the village at a trot. Many of the men from the village kept up with the Americans as they made their way to the smoking, decimated factory. The place was completely caved in. No one, it seemed, could survive that destruction. “Search the place!” Hanley called out as he moved into the rubble, carefully starting to pull pieces of debris aside. Caje came up beside the lieutenant. “Sir,” he said. “I think he was being held in a room over near the west wall.” “Okay, Caje, have the others spread out and watch your step. We could be walking on him and not know it in this mess.” Hanley instructed. Caje motioned to the others and signaled for Doc to follow him and the lieutenant as they made their careful way towards the west wall. Hanley quickly found a left hand protruding from beneath a mound of rubble. Squatting, he slowly reached out to feel for a pulse. Nothing. The man was dead. With his heart pounding, the officer pulled at the hand. A sleeve appeared. A German uniform sleeve. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he dropped the hand and scanned the area around him. Doc and Caje were slowly picking through the rubble, moving as many boards and bricks as possible to be able to see the floor below. “Over here!” Doc called suddenly, his voice full of excitement. Caje and Hanley moved quickly beside Doc as he lifted a board to reveal a GI boot. “Get him outta there!” Caje started digging desperately in the rubble lying on top of the huge metal beam slanting to the floor over the injured soldier. They were soon able to pull the sergeant from his trapped position by his feet. He was on his stomach, and they pulled him out easily. When his bloodied back was exposed, Caje gasped and Hanley looked away for a moment, a sudden rush of anger flushing his features. Saunders groaned loudly as they finished pulling him from the rubble pile. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive! The rest of the squad had gathered around to lend assistance if necessary. Doc started cleaning the blood and mortar dust from the sergeant’s face as his eyes fluttered slowly open. Caje drew his bayonet and cut the blood-soaked belt, gently peeling it away from Saunders’ swollen wrists. “Got some water, Doc?” Saunders asked casually. For some reason, Doc found the question incredibly funny and couldn’t help laughing as he raised the sergeant’s head and gave him a drink from one of his canteens. The sergeant choked on the water and groaned, shivering with agony and cold. Doc quickly administered a shot of morphine, but before it completely took effect, Saunders whispered, “Caje? The kids?” “They’re okay, Saunders,” Hanley assured his sergeant. “I’m right here, Sarge,” Caje knelt beside him, placing his hand on the sergeant’s arm. “The whole town turned out to fight the Germans and help us find you. We have more allies than we know what to do with,” the Cajun grinned. Saunders tried to smile as his eyes slowly fell shut. He relaxed, as did the rest of his relieved squad. END