| The characters of Combat! belong currently to the Action Channel. No profit is made. Copyright 2004 by Eagle Lady From Boys to Men Sergeant Saunders stepped out of the barn in the abandoned village that the Brass was using for headquarters and stopped to light a cigarette, squinting against the early morning sunlight. Someday, maybe the guys in Washington would realize that you couldn’t fight a war without trained soldiers. Sighing, he strode down the hill toward what was left of his squad. Littlejohn, Nelson, Brockmeyer, and Williams were all out of action for at least a week. Caje and Kirby, the only two veterans he had left, were worn to a frazzle. Doc wasn’t in much better condition but at least he didn't have to fight; although in some ways his job was harder than that of the fighting soldier. Two hours ago, he’d gotten four replacements that were so green he wasn’t sure that they even knew which end of the rifle was which. He’d left Caje with instructions to teach them hand signals and whatever else he could pound into their heads. Smith and Cline were right out of school; Beechum had been a county clerk; and Johnson…a gardener. Jeez, a gardener! Well, maybe he could throw flowers at the Krauts. Amused by the mental picture that engendered, he was grinning when he entered the barbershop where the squad was quartered. His grin faded as he studied his men. The three seasoned men all looked tired and hungry and their uniforms were torn and filthy. The four replacements looked absurdly young; Smith and Cline probably weren’t even shaving yet. Damn it all, they were too young to be here! “What’s up, Sarge?” Kirby looked up from the grenade he was apparently explaining to the new men. “Saddle up. Recon patrol. Smith; a day’s rations for everyone. Beechum; ammo. Leave all personal items here.” “Aw, Sarge.” Kirby protested in dismay. “Are we the only guys left in this Army?” “With soldiers like you, why would we need anyone else?” Caje grinned. Uncertain just how to take that, Kirby contented himself with scowling at the scout as he retrieved his BAR. “What do we do on a recon patrol?” Beechum asked nervously. “You did go through basic training, didn’t you?” Kirby stared at him. “A recon patrol is just what it sounds like. You go walking around through mud and weeds looking for Krauts, hoping you see them before they see you. Then you come back and tell the boss what you saw. Piece of cake.” “Which way are we going this time?” Doc asked as he checked his bag and canteens. “South.” “Good. Something new for a change.” He grinned cheerfully. “When you’re ready to go, gather 'round and we’ll go over the map.” Saunders ordered while preparing his own gear. A few minutes later, he spread the map out on the seat of the only chair left standing in the shop. “We’re here. We’re going south along this line of hills, then swinging east toward this stream. Back to the north after we cross the railroad tracks and back home. Any questions?” “Will there be any Germans there?” Cline asked. “That’s what we’re going out there to find out.” Saunders gave a long-suffering sigh, ignoring it when Kirby rolled his eyes. Caje grinned slightly while Doc just shook his head. “Alright, move out. Caje, take the point. Kirby, rear.” “Where do we go?” Smith asked, puzzled. “In between Caje and Kirby. And don’t bunch up.” Saunders snapped, his patience suddenly exhausted. He didn’t have the time or the energy to train these kids. Weren’t they supposed to have some training before they got dumped on him? Somewhat taken aback by the sergeant’s reaction, the new men silently fell in behind Caje. Smith and Cline walked side by side, a few feet apart; Beechum and Johnson followed in single file while Doc took his place behind Johnson, just ahead of Saunders. On days like this, Doc thought, he certainly did not envy the sergeant his job. A patrol with exhausted veterans and scared replacements was a recipe for disaster. “Are you as scared as I am?” Smith asked softly. “Depends.” Cline answered. “How scared are you?” “That noise you hear is my teeth chattering.” “Can’t hear ‘em over my own.” Cline tried to grin. The first minor misadventure happened at mid-morning, as they were moving up a fairly steep hill, following a narrow dirt path that was eroded by runoff from the rains. At the cry of pain behind him, Doc turned to see Kirby rolling and bouncing back down the hill. Doc ran after him, being careful not to step in any of the holes or ridges in the path. When he reached him, Kirby was lying on his side, curled up and clutching his ankle. “Let me see it.” Doc ordered, gently pulling his hands away. “What happened?” “A rock rolled under my foot.” Kirby answered through gritted teeth. “When I tried to catch my balance, I stepped in a damn hole and twisted my ankle. Is it broken?” “No, I don’t think so.” Doc answered after examining it. “Sprained, but not broken.” “Doc?” Saunders, who had moved up behind Caje, called back to them. “Just lace the boot up tight, Doc.” Kirby urged. “I’ll be okay.” “You oughta go back home, Kirby.” Doc replied doubtfully. “I can’t, Doc. With those green kids, the Sarge is gonna need me. Just lace it up tight and give me a handful of aspirins.” Kirby glanced up at the sergeant who was starting back down the hill. “Hurry up, Doc.” “What happened?” Saunders inquired as he approached. “Nothing much, Sarge.” Kirby shook his head ruefully. “Just tripped over my own feet, I guess. I’m okay.” Doc finished tying the bootlaces and got to his feet. He extended a hand to help Kirby up, slipping him several aspirins at the same time. “Thanks, Doc.” He made a show of checking the BAR for damage until Saunders had started back up the hill, then chucked the pills into his mouth and took a gulp of water from the canteen that Doc held out to him. “Kirby…” Doc was shaking his head. “I’m okay, Doc.” Kirby insisted. “I’ve got to be okay. You just walk in front so he can’t see me.” “I still think you should go back.” Doc remarked. “No.” Kirby snapped. “Just start walking before he comes back again.” “All right, all right. I’m going!” Doc headed back up the hill, glancing back occasionally to check on Kirby’s progress. Saunders called for a rest at the top of the hill and pulled out his map to study it. He was aware Kirby was slow in joining them, but didn’t look up. “Nice of you to join us, Kirby.” He commented. “Thought I saw something and stopped to check, Sarge.” “Did you?” “Did I what?” Kirby was lowering himself to a handy rock. “Did you see something?” Saunders asked impatiently. “No. Must have been a rabbit or something.” “Okay, another quarter mile or so, then we turn east. Keep your eyes open.” He put the map away and nodded to Caje to move on. The new men fell in without talking, followed by Saunders. Doc looked at Kirby and started to say something, but Kirby shook his head and waved him onward. They were approaching the turning point when a single shot rang out and Caje spun around and crashed to the ground. Saunders instinctively fired in the direction the shot had come from, pleasantly surprised when a German sniper somersaulted from a tree and lay still. Doc was kneeling beside Caje by the time Saunders looked around. “Kirby!” He called, turning to look for him. “What happened to you?” He demanded as the soldier limped up to him. “Twisted my ankle a little, that’s all. I’m fine.” “When?” Saunders’ voice was coldly angry. “Uh…back on that hill.” Kirby admitted. “Why didn’t you say something back there?” “I figured that you need all the men you can get.” He shrugged. “Yeah? And just how much help do you figure to be?” “I can still shoot, Sarge.” “Doc? How bad is Caje?” Saunders asked, still glaring at Kirby. “Upper arm. The bullet went straight through. I’ve almost finished bandaging it.” “I’ll be okay, Sarge.” Caje winced as Doc pulled the bandage tight. “You and Kirby are going back. Doc, you go with them.” “But Sarge…!” Kirby started to protest. “You heard me.” Saunders snapped. “ I can’t send Caje with Doc, since neither can shoot. You can. Get going.” “You’re going on?” Caje asked. “I still have four men and a mission to complete. Move out.” Smith clutched his rifle tightly, hoping that nobody would notice his hands shaking. The only child of a storekeeper, he hadn’t seen blood since childhood fights, and he was half-sick to his stomach from the sight and smell of Caje’s wound. It took every ounce of his self-control not to turn and run. With those three going back, that left the sergeant as the only experienced man. He couldn’t tell the sergeant how afraid he was. He just knew that the man had never been afraid of anything in his whole life. Today, Smith knew he was going to die. Cline, standing slightly behind Smith, was fighting his own demons. He wasn’t so much afraid of dying as he was afraid of letting the others down. Afraid that someone would get hurt because he did something wrong. Most of his life it seemed that when the rest of the world was turning right, he was turning left; always a step out of sync with other people. He tried hard, but it seemed that the harder he tried, the worse mess he made of things. Beechum and Johnson stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the sergeant’s orders. Johnson was vaguely surprised to realize that he wasn’t worried about going on without the three veterans. They appeared to be too exhausted to be much help anyway. He was worried about Cline and Smith, however. They were just kids. He’d been on his own since he was sixteen and felt years older than they were, although he was only six months older. He had no idea how they would hold up in a fight. Beechum? He didn’t know what to think about him. He seemed to be fairly steady, but then they’d only known each other for two days. Reluctantly, the three turned to head back; Doc helping Kirby while Caje followed. Sighing, Saunders turned and looked at the men he had left. If he made it home from this mission, it would be nothing short of a miracle. “Alright, Beechum, you take the point. Keep your eyes open for anything moving. If you see anything, stop immediately, get low and signal the man behind you. You got it?” “Uh, yes sir.” Beechum nodded his head nervously. “I am not an officer. Do not ‘sir’ me.” Saunders snapped. “Sorry.” “Move out. Smith, Cline, you follow him. Johnson, you take the rear. Keep your eyes open and look behind you every once in a while.” “All right.” The little group moved on toward the east, looking for the stream as they left the trees behind. As they approached a pile of rocks that had apparently been cleared from an adjoining field, an explosion of gunfire erupted and Beechum screamed and went down, his chest shot away. Saunders dove behind a rock that was barely knee-high and returned fire while Smith and Cline cowered in a low spot to his right, neither of them using their weapons. He didn’t hear anything from Johnson either, but couldn’t turn to check on him without getting his head blown off. “Smith! Cline! Fire!” He bellowed. It looked like he was going to have to hold off the Germans by himself. The only saving grace was that the area between him and the Germans was so open that they couldn’t easily flank him. He fired another burst then glanced over at the two soldiers. Smith was openly crying and Cline was shaking so hard that Saunders doubted he could even hold the rifle, let alone fire it. “Smith! Snap out of it! Fire that rifle!” Saunders yelled frantically. He ducked as German bullets peppered the front of the rock that sheltered him, then fired a long burst. He glanced over at the two soldiers, stunned to see them scrambling to their feet. To his utter disbelief, the two turned and ran. Cursing fluently, Saunders turned back and began firing to cover them. At least they had enough sense to take their weapons. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he saw that they’d made it safely to cover. He still didn’t see Johnson. Ducking behind the low rock again, he slapped his pockets for extra ammo, finding two clips. Johnson, who’d taken cover at the edge of the trees, could see the sergeant yelling at Smith and Cline, but couldn’t hear what he said over the noise of the battle. The sergeant turned and yelled again, then both men were up and running toward him. “Go back!” Smith yelled as he pelted by. “Hit it!” Caje called, whirling to face the sounds coming up behind them. Doc and Kirby hit the ground, taking shelter anywhere they could. Kirby twisted over onto his side to bring up the BAR, then all three of them stared in disbelief as three of the replacements burst into sight, obviously terrified. When Caje stood up suddenly, Smith who was in the lead, screamed and collapsed. Cline, just behind him, tripped and went sprawling. Johnson managed to stop just in time. “What happened?” Caje demanded. “Where’s Saunders?” Kirby yelled. When none of them answered, Caje grabbed Smith by the front of his jacket and jerked him to his feet, shaking him violently. “Talk to me! What happened!” He yelled. His eyes wide and staring, Smith could do nothing but babble. Throwing him to the ground in disgust, Caje seized Cline and pulled him to his feet. “Cline! What happened back there?” He growled. “We- we ran into Germans. Beechum’s dead.” “Where’s Saunders?” “He’s pinned down behind a rock. Smith said Saunders said to go back.” Cline jerked out. “He what?!” Kirby demanded. “Smith said that Saunders told us to go back.” Cline repeated. “And leave him there alone?” Doc was incredulous. “I don’t believe it!” Kirby shook his head. “Smith!” Caje roared in fury. Backing the young soldier up against a tree, Caje slapped him several times, until the boy finally raised his hands to protect himself. “Where is Saunders?” He demanded. “Back there.” He stammered. “Alive?” “I don’t know.” “You ran out and left him alone? Surrounded by Krauts?” Kirby pulled himself to his feet with the aid of Doc’s shoulder. “You lousy, stinkin’, coward!” Caje growled. “You take us back to him. Now!” “No! We’ll all die!” Smith sobbed in fear. “You’re going back or I’ll shoot you myself!” Caje slapped him again. Johnson shouldered Caje aside, grabbed the front of Smith’s shirt and slammed him back against the tree. “He didn’t tell you to leave him, did he? Did he? You just ran out on him, didn’t you?” Unlike Caje’s angry roar, Johnson’s voice was a low, cold, growl. “We were gonna die!” Smith was crying and shaking so hard that he would have fallen had not Johnson been holding him. His face twisted with disgust, Johnson threw Smith to the ground at Doc’s feet and turned to Cline. “Are you going back with me or not?” He demanded. “Kirby, lend me your BAR.” “Where do you think you’re going?” Caje grabbed his arm. “To help the sergeant. Where did you think I was going?” He snapped. “No, you’re not.” “Get off it, Caje. You can’t shoot with that arm. Kirby can’t walk. Are we gonna stand here and argue while they kill the sergeant? Kirby, gimme that gun!” Johnson demanded. He snatched the weapon as soon as Kirby pulled it off of his shoulder, then glared at Cline. “You coming or not?” “Yeah, I’m coming.” “Let’s go. You guys take that coward with you. We’ll catch up.” Leaving Doc, Kirby, and Caje staring after them, the two men headed back. When they got close to the battle, Johnson motioned Cline to slow down and they approached cautiously. Sheltering behind a tree, Johnson studied the situation. Saunders still lay behind the rock, which was barely big enough to offer cover. He appeared to be okay, firing occasionally. The Germans were hunkered down in the pile of rocks, apparently in no hurry to finish him off. “Why haven’t they killed him yet?” Cline asked quietly. “They know he’s a sergeant. They know he’s alone. All they have to do is wait until his ammo runs out and then they’ve captured a pretty good prize. They won’t kill him until they get all the information they can out of him.” “What are we going to do?” “Got any grenades?” “Two.” “Okay. One of us has to get around to the right, the other to the left. I’ll distract them with the BAR. When they start shooting at me, you lob those grenades into the rocks. You do know how to use ‘em, don’t you?” “Yeah, I know how to use grenades.” Cline paused. “Look, Johnson, I’m sorry I ran. I was scared. Still am, but I can do this. You just try not to get your head blown off.” “You know what, Cline? I’m so scared my knees are gettin’ bruised from knockin’ together.” Johnson grinned at him. “Ready?” “Yeah. You want the left or the right?” “Left. See that big ol’ tree over there? The one with the busted limb? I’ll get over behind that and cut loose. The trunk should offer enough protection. You just make sure you get those grenades in there.” “I will. What do you think? Five minutes to get in position?” “Sounds about right. Stay low and under cover. We don’t want ‘em to know you’re there. Okay, let’s go.” Swallowing hard, Cline checked his watch, then eased off to the right. The sergeant lay about a quarter of the way across a clearing; the area around the clearing was a mess of weeds, bushes, rocks and broken branches. He relaxed a little, thinking that the area reminded him of the hill country back home in Texas. Just like playing cowboys and Indians when he was a kid. Back then, nobody ever heard him coming until he was right on top of them. Double-checking the grenades clipped to his belt, he crouched down and moved into the tangle. Johnson settled the BAR into position and moved off, at times having to go to his hands and knees to stay under cover. He had to cover the last twenty feet crawling on his belly to avoid being spotted. When he finally reached the tree, he got to his feet, being careful to stay completely behind the trunk. To his surprise when he checked his watch, he still had a minute and a half till Cline was supposed to be in position. Saunders ejected his last clip and checked it. Nearly gone. Only a few bullets between him and death, or worse, capture. He knew well enough what lay in store for him if captured. Sliding the clip home, he warily eased the barrel of the Thompson around the rock, pausing to rub his stinging eyes. The Krauts had been shooting at the rock, knocking dust and rock chips into his face. He had dozens of tiny bleeding cuts and his eyes were gritty and painful. He knew he hadn’t a hope of actually hitting one of the Germans, but he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. He fired one shot, and then all hell broke loose. A BAR sprang to life on his left, drawing the German’s fire. A moment later, a grenade exploded and he hugged the ground, burying his face against his arm as debris rained down on him. The BAR kept firing as another grenade blew the remaining rocks into smithereens. The sudden silence was almost deafening. “Sergeant? Saunders?” A voice called. Cline? For a moment, Saunders was too surprised to answer. “Hey, Sarge? You okay?” Another voice called. Johnson? This time, Saunders was sure he was dreaming. Maybe he was already dead and just didn’t know it. Those guys were halfway to Omaha Beach by now. “Sarge?” A hand touched his shoulder. “You okay?” He rolled onto his side to find Johnson crouched beside him, offering him a canteen and a shame-faced grin. Sitting up, Saunders accepted the canteen. “Where’d you come from?” He asked after rinsing the dust and rock fragments out of his mouth. “Back there. You hurt?” “No, I’m okay.” Getting to his feet, Johnson extended a hand to pull Saunders to his feet just as Cline joined them. Cline’s grin turned to a concerned frown when he caught sight of Saunders’ face. “Are you okay, Sarge?” “Yeah.” Cline pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wet it with his canteen and handed it to Saunders. “Your face is all bloody.” “Thanks.” Saunders scrubbed the blood and dirt off of his face then stuffed the handkerchief into his own pocket. “So this is a recon patrol, huh? You go walking around through mud and weeds looking for Krauts, hoping you see them before they see you. Then you come back and tell the boss what you saw. Piece of cake, I think Kirby said.” Johnson paused a moment. “In that case, I think I’ll have pie.” “I’ll take ice cream.” Cline chuckled. “Alright, you jokers, let’s go home.” Saunders shook his head. Caje ignored Doc’s urging to sit down, continuing to pace and search for any sign of the returning men. Equally anxious, Kirby sat with his back to a tree, his leg propped up on a log. “I should have gone with them.” Kirby commented. “You can’t even walk. I should have gone with them.” Caje snapped. “You? What for? You can’t even lift a rifle.” Kirby jeered. “Knock it off, both of you.” Doc ordered. “Neither one of you are in any shape to go anywhere. Caje, sit down somewhere.” “I can’t.” Caje growled. “Well, you ain’t doin’ them, or you, any good pacin’ a hole in the ground.” “Hey, I think I hear something.” Caje held up a hand. The sound of a sneeze carried clearly in the windless air, followed by a couple more. Caje, who’d given his gun to Kirby, ducked behind a tree while Doc pushed the oblivious Smith under a bush. Kirby twisted awkwardly to aim the rifle toward the sounds, wincing as the motion pulled his foot off of the log. A few seconds later, Cline came into sight, followed by Saunders, then Johnson, who headed straight for Kirby and handed him the BAR. “Thanks.” “Where’s Smith?” Saunders demanded. “Over here.” Doc answered. “His mind’s gone, Sergeant.” Saunders gazed down at him for a moment, then glanced at the others. “Okay, Doc, you take care of Smith. Johnson, help Kirby. Cline, you take the rear. Let’s go home, men.” The End |
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