Copyright, August 4, 2004. Jessica A. Worley Another Hill Up the monstrous hill they ran, The dirt crumbled easily under their feet, They fell as though running through sand. “Kirby take the left flank! Little John go too!” Saunders shouted, running to the right, Hoping the kraut’s fire he drew. Three men lay dead at the bottom of the hill, Two more hurt, The krauts, all of them they would now kill. The company medic, Doc, their friend, Followed loyally up the hill, Hoping any of their injuries he would swiftly try to mend. Caje hit the deck as gunfire soared high, The skyline he had almost hit, If he had it was likely he would have died. Crouching low, running fast, Kirby and Little John made for the trees, Guns firing, bullets flying, rat-a-tat-tat. Sarge found a ditch and dove in, He wondered if this would be his last battle, as all, But still hoped they would win. Of the krauts there were many, Of the 1st squad there were few, But the hill they knew they must take, Orders they had to follow, They had to do what they must do. Caje crawled along lightning fast, Up that hill, He knew he’d have another letter to write home, Friends lost, more men he had to kill. Doc ducked almost to late, As a bullet whizzed by his ear, Trying to seal his fate, But then he kept crawling along, Trying to keep up with Caje. Sarge poked his head up out of the safety of his foxhole, Just for a second, He fired his Thompson, The crying of a newly wounded kraut, To the Sarge’s ears rang foul. There wasn’t a man there that didn’t hate that war, That didn’t hate to kill, Even on the kraut’s side, Holding out on the top of that wretched hill. Through the cover of the trees Kirby and Little John ran, Further up the hill, Behind the krauts, there they would band With the others, And take out the kraut outpost, on that rotten piece of land. Doc and Caje found themselves pinned down, Unable to move left or right, Just one small bump in the land above them, Keeping them from making their new home permanently under ground. Sarge’s gun stopped firing, Was it jammed? No, out of bullets, Out of tiny killing metal things, as he lay there in the rock like sand. Out of his pocket a grenade he drew, Waiting for Kirby and Little John to finish what they were sent to do. In bunkers on top of the hill the krauts sat, Fresh ammunition waiting there, Knowing from guns they would be hatefully spat. Little John pulled his grenade pin, Waiting for Kirby to take position, Hoping this would work, Wanting this battle to end. Kirby dove out of sight as a kraut machine gun suddenly turned toward his head With a quick nod to Little John, His own grenade he threw, He’d quickly gotten tired of this battle, and had enough of it too. Two great bangs rent the thick air, From the other side of the hill, The Sarge made his move, The green killing bomb flying high and far, Now they had enough power, so with the krauts they could spar. A third explosion, and a fourth Smoke billowing high, And all was silent for a moment, except, For a quiet cry. Doc looked around, as did the Sarge, Wondering who it was that was hurt, But found no one in sight. Had they done their task? Had the krauts been killed? Had they taken that hill? Yes, And again they’d had to kill. The cry came louder this time, Agony in the man’s voice, from wherever it came All of them could tell. Up to the man in the ruins of the bunker the Sarge yelled, “Are you done? Can we send up help?” No answer but another loud moan did they hear, A likely trap, the squad did fear. Doc stood from his spot down the hill, He had to help the man they’d tried to kill. Sergeant Saunders stood too, Unwilling to let one of his men face death alone, He wouldn’t put his friend in danger, So on he climbed in front of him, up that hill, Such a bad feeling though of a trap, he began to less feel. With his medic’s bag clutched in one hand, Doc followed Sarge above the skyline, As they drew closer, They heard the poor man crying. In the Ruins, under a heavy burden he lay, He was another medic, His men dead, The friends he could not save. Doc knelt down beside the wounded man, “It’s only a flesh wound,” he told the Sarge quietly, “In his hand.” The German medic did not look up, So Sarge knelt down too, He was only a boy, Just a kid. On that rotten dreadful hill, Twelve men died that day, All for a simple piece of land. Doc stood up, and turned Unable to watch his fellow medic cry anymore, Just a kid, So soon forced to become a man. Kirby and Little John appeared from the other side of the wrecked building, And saw the broken soul of the boy. Caje came too, and of his gun Down he threw. They had killed nine men, and the tenth was just as well, He had once far away taken a medics oath, Not to harm a living soul. Little John shook his head, ashamed of what they’d had to do, Kirby could not take his eyes off of what they’d done. Sarge, the gentle quiet man behind the shield and booming voice, Placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, Hoping it to be a comfort, But knowing, the bigger wound he could not heal. His head fell as he mourned with the boy. There they sat and stood around the weeping lad, For how long they didn’t know, But eventually he could cry no more, And he allowed his quiet blond haired adversary to lift him to his feet. It wasn’t a march that they did on the way back to their base, After reinforcements came in, But a quiet, and sad sort of walk. The Boy’s people would try and re-take that hill they all knew, And more would die. More spirits would be broken. They didn’t bind the boy as they walked, He was not their prisoner, But their victim. They silently looked away, And the boy wandered off, They didn’t take chase. All in a day’s work, A hill taken, Their lives all filled, With that extra bit of shame. And it was all for another hill. God they hated that hellish place. |
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