| The characters of "Combat!" are the property of ABC. Copyright 2004 by Eagle Lady. Checkmate Sgt. Saunders crouched behind the base of the tree, watching several Germans below him breaking up a temporary camp, waiting while his men worked their way around to the left in order to catch them in a crossfire. He felt something cold and hard press against the back of his neck and froze. He knew just enough German to know that the soft command behind him was ordering him to drop his weapon. Laying his rifle down, he raised both hands to shoulder height, getting to his feet when prodded in the back. When the man behind him grabbed his wrist, jerking his hand up to the top of his head, he brought his other hand up and laced his fingers. A sharp push sent him across the hillside, through the trees, away from his men. The Germans he’d been watching were suddenly waiting for them ahead in the trees. With the gun pressed tight against his back, he stood still while they removed his ammo belt and tossed it aside. “Move. Forward.” He was ordered. When he hesitated, the gun jabbed him hard in the small of the back. They walked him over the top of the hill, loosely surrounding him. The man behind him to the right pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, his attention on the match as he lit it. Saunders immediately threw himself against the soldier, knocking him down and took off running, expecting a bullet in the back. Instead, he was tackled and he and his attacker rolled partway down the hill. Scrambling to his feet, he turned and swung a fist at the soldier. He took the blow and kept coming, hitting Saunders in the face. They fought hard and close for a few minutes, then two soldiers grabbed Saunders’ arms just as he was hit in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, only the soldier’s grip keeping him from falling. They let go and he slumped to the ground on his side. One of the soldiers leaned over and grabbed his pack of cigarettes that had fallen from his pocket, talking excitedly. An animated discussion was carried on while he was shoved onto his stomach and his hands tied behind his back, then hauled to his feet. A sudden strong gust of wind made them all look up in surprise, and clouds covered the sun. Seizing his arms, they hurried him back up toward the road, roughly hauling him back to his feet when he stumbled and fell. By the time they reached the road, the wind was stronger and it had started to rain. The rain pounded them, driven by the wind, and the soldiers abruptly decided to get off the road and move through the trees. Two of the soldiers slipped in the mud, knocking a third down as they fell, and Saunders knocked the fourth down and half ran, half slid down the hill and through the trees, fighting to keep his balance with his hands tied. He could hear them coming behind him and dodged through a stand of wind-whipped bushes, the branches cutting his face. He heard a loud crack and looked up. A branch of the dead tree above him had been torn loose by the wind and was plummeting down. Desperately, he tried to get out of the way, but the heavy branch crashed into him, knocking him to the ground on his back, his head slamming into an exposed root. He came to a few minutes later, agonizing pain throbbing through his hip and leg. Raising his head with an effort, he discovered the branch was pinning him to the ground, lying diagonally across his body. With his hands tied behind his back, he was totally helpless. Only the fact that he’d fallen into a slight hollow prevented the branch from breaking his leg. Unfortunately, the hollow was rapidly filling with water and he was in danger of drowning. He could faintly hear voices talking in German, and decided being a prisoner was better than drowning. “Hey!” He called. “Help me!” The voices stopped. He tried to sit up and failed, dropping back to the ground with an involuntary cry of pain. “Over here!” He tried to yell, managing a hoarse croak. The water was now several inches deep and he dragged in a deep breath and yelled again. A moment later, the Germans broke through the brush and stood looking at him. One of them cradled an injured arm; another was balancing on one leg, supported by a companion. “Help me. Please.” Saunders asked. The man with the injured arm moved toward him, lowering himself to the ground at Saunders’ head. He lifted Saunders’ head and shoulders to his leg, out of the water. The others grabbed the branch and started to lift it, but the wet bark slipped out of their hands and the branch dropped back. Saunders screamed in pain, nearly passing out. He felt the man supporting him tense and opened his eyes, blinked and looked again. His squad stood just inside the bushes, Kirby cradling his left arm, and Caje had his arm over Littlejohn’s shoulders, standing on one foot. Their weapons were trained on the Germans, whose weapons were trained on the Americans, except for one, which was pointed at Saunders’ chest. “If you fire, your sergeant dies.” “If he dies, so do you.” Caje told him. “Would you consider a trade?” Saunders muffled groan of pain drew all eyes to him for a second, then they returned to staring at each other. “What kind of trade?” Littlejohn asked. “Your sergeant in exchange for cigarettes.” He paused when one of his men muttered something. “And food.” “What happened to your supply lines?” Kirby asked. “Supply lines.” The German appeared to think for a moment. “I used to know what supply lines were. Can’t remember. You’d better decide quickly. I believe your sergeant is in danger of drowning.” “How do we know we can trust you?” Kirby demanded. “Private, both of our groups are injured, wet, miserable, cold, hungry and sick of killing. There are no officers around to get in the way. We make the exchange and go our separate ways. Another time we will try to kill each other, but this time we leave each other alone.” “The sergeant shows signs of your peaceful intentions.” Caje snapped. “He did that to himself, Corporal. He attacked one of my men attempting to escape. They fought. Despite appearances, we have not beaten him.” “Sarge?” Caje called. “He’s telling the truth.” Saunders managed between gritted teeth. “Alright. You’ve got a deal.” Caje said. “There is one small problem, Corporal.” “Yeah? What?” “I have the same number of men, injured the same as your group. We were unable to lift the branch. To free the sergeant, we will have to work together.” Realizing that they would have to lay down their guns, Caje hesitated. Warily, the German lowered his gun. The man supporting Saunders called something urgently. “Hans says the water is getting deeper. It is also very cold. He would like you to hurry up as both he and the sergeant are shivering.” Caje slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped forward, pulling Littlejohn with him. The Germans also shouldered their rifles and they all moved toward the branch. “It is very slippery. We’ve dropped it once, causing him much pain.” The men spread out along the branch, Littlejohn automatically catching and steadying the German with the injured leg when he slipped. Working together, they shifted the log slightly then Caje’s injured leg buckled and the log dropped back. Saunders screamed and went limp. The German supporting him lifted him a little higher in his arms, speaking rapidly. “He said now that the sergeant can’t feel the pain, if we can lift the log, he thinks he can pull him clear.” “With one arm? Doc!” Caje yelled over his shoulder, bringing Doc out of the trees on the run. “We’ll lift the log. You and the German pull him out.” “You have a doctor with you?” The German asked in amazement. “An aide man. Not really a doctor.” Doc told him as he joined the German at Saunders head. This time the men managed to lift the log far enough and they dragged Saunders clear, the injured men of both groups falling when they let go of the log. Littlejohn pulled Caje up with one hand, and a German with the other, while a German helped his fellow soldier and Kirby back to their feet. Doc looked over at Caje. “I can’t work on him like this. I spotted a sort of cave over there. Not big, but enough to get out of the rain.” “Okay. You. What’s your name?” He asked the German. “Mueller.” “Okay, Mueller. I’ll make you a deal this time.” “What?” “You and your men help us get Saunders to that cave, and I’ll have Doc look at your men, too.” “As you say, you have a deal, Corporal. Is his leg broken?” “No.” “Very well. You lead us to this cave and we will help carry your sergeant.” Mueller, the uninjured German, Doc, and Littlejohn picked Saunders up, the German with the injured arm helping Caje walk, while Kirby helped the German with the injured leg. Doc looked around at the group and shook his head. “Nobody’s gonna believe this.” “Why tell anyone?” Mueller asked with a grin. Slipping, sliding, and cursing, the group finally made it to the cave, which proved just large enough to shelter all of them. While Doc bent over the still unconscious Saunders, Littlejohn built a fire with some wood he’d found in the back of the cave, the men all huddling around. Doc gently rolled Saunders onto his side and untied his hands, then lowered him back down. “How is he, Doc?” Caje asked after several minutes. “He’s got some deep bruising, some cuts, and he’s freezing. We need to get him warmed up. Got any ideas?” “Yeah. Com’on, Littlejohn.” He and Littlejohn moved in on either side of Saunders, lay down and cradled him between them, offering their body warmth to the shivering man. “That should work.” Doc grinned. “Okay, Mueller. What do you need?” “Hans has injured his shoulder. Schwartz has done something to his leg.” Doc nodded at each man, then moved over to Hans first. Saunders woke slowly, aware first of the throbbing of his leg, then the presence of Littlejohn and Caje on either side of him. When he stirred, they drew back and grinned at him. “How ya doin’, Sarge?” Littlejohn asked. “I’m okay.” “You’re a liar, Sarge.” Caje chuckled. Saunders looked around at the Germans on one side, relaxed and smoking, Kirby on the other, also smoking, and at Doc who was just finishing bandaging Schwartz’s leg. “What the hell is going on?” “Ummm. What do you remember?” “The branch falling on me.” He said after a minute. “The Germans trying to move it. Nothing after that.” “Well, we, uh, made a deal. An exchange. You… for food and cigarettes. Seems their supply line dried up. They haven’t eaten for two days. We needed their help to get that tree off of you, so I told them Doc would look at their men if they helped us. So we all ended up here, out of the rain.” “And when the rain stops?” “If it stops.” Mueller said morosely. “I’m beginning to think I’m part duck.” Kirby laughed, choking on the smoke he’d just inhaled. Hans considerately reached over and thumped him on the back, receiving a nod of thanks. “If and when the damned rain stops, Sergeant, you and your men hobble your way, and we hobble the other. With luck, we will never meet again.” Mueller said. “What I wouldn’t give for a big beef roast, with mashed potatoes and fresh garden peas, and a big apple pie.” Littlejohn remarked. “And a bucket of hot coffee.” Kirby added. Hans and Mueller exchanged comments then Mueller laughed. “Hans asked what you said. When I told him, he agreed but said he’d rather have apple strudel than pie.” “I’ll settle for a drink of water.” Saunders muttered. Doc looked over at his flushed cheeks and hurried to his side with a canteen, one hand going to his forehead. “Great. You’re running a fever.” He fished around in his bag for a minute then gave Saunders a couple of injections. A moment later, Saunders drifted off to sleep. “We’ve gotta get him back to the aide station, rain or no rain.” He said worriedly. “What is wrong, Doc?” Mueller asked. “He’s sick. He’s gonna end up with pneumonia if he doesn’t get care.” Mueller looked at his men for a long moment. “Corporal?” “Yeah?” Caje answered without looking up from watching Saunders. “With your sergeant unconscious, you are in charge?” “Yeah, I guess so.” “My men and I wish to surrender to you. We will help you carry the sergeant back to your aide station. If you will give us hot coffee when we get there.” Caje turned and stared at him in surprise. “You surrender?” “Yes. We have heard that many of our fellow soldiers are surrendering. We will be treated better as prisoners than as fighting soldiers. At least we will be fed more than once or twice a week.” “Are you serious?” Kirby demanded, equally astounded. “You only eat twice a week?” “I assure you, we are quite serious.” Mueller told him. “Fine. You’re our prisoners.” Caje said absently. “Littlejohn, see if you can find something to rig a litter.” Littlejohn nodded and stepped back out into the rain. A short time later, he returned and he and Mueller rigged up the makeshift stretcher. When they had lifted Saunders onto it, Schwartz spoke to Mueller, who looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Private Schwartz is the man who fought with your sergeant. He says the sergeant is a good fighter and a brave man. He has suggested that we prop a helmet on either side of his head and drape a jacket or shirt over the helmets, it will keep the cold rain off of his face and chest.” “Tell him thanks. It’s a good idea.” Doc said, doing as suggested. Kirby helped Caje up and Hans pulled Schwartz to his feet, Littlejohn, Doc, the uninjured German, and Mueller picked up the stretcher and they headed out in the rain. Hours later, cold, soaked, muddy and miserable, they stumbled into the aide station. Saunders was hurried into the aide tent, followed by Doc, while the rest headed for the smell of hot coffee in a nearby tent. When the Germans stepped inside, several soldiers grabbed for their rifles. “No!” Caje snapped. “They are prisoners. They’re not armed. They just helped bring in our badly injured sergeant. I promised them hot coffee and they’re going to get it.” The soldiers looked at Caje, Littlejohn and Kirby and decided not to argue, moving to the far side of the tent. Caje, Kirby, Schwartz and Hans dropped into the nearest chairs, Mueller and the other German standing silently behind them, while Littlejohn grabbed a handful of cups and a pot of coffee, bringing them to the table. Caje poured coffee for Mueller, then motioned the others to help themselves. They were on their second cups when Doc joined them. “How is he?” Mueller and Caje asked at the same time. “He’s gonna be here awhile, but I think he’ll make it.” Schwartz obviously asked about the sergeant, and nodded in satisfaction. “He said he is glad the sergeant will be alright. He should live to fight again. When do we go to the prison camp, Corporal?” “I have no idea. Don’t even know where it is. Littlejohn, would you mind going out in that mess again?” “Keep the coffee hot.” He sighed as he got up. When he finally returned, he carried all of their jackets, which he laid out around the stove, then dropped back into his chair, gratefully accepting the cup Kirby handed him. “Well?” Caje asked. “There is a prison camp. But you can’t get there from here right now. The rain has washed out the road. Big surprise. The Captain gave us a choice. We can take them on foot now. Or we can be responsible for them here and wait till we can get there by truck.” “I am not walking any further in that muck.” Kirby said flatly. “We’ll hold them here. We need orders from the sergeant or Lt. Hanley, wherever he is, anyway. Sorry, Mueller, but after you finish your coffee we will have to tie your hands.” “I understand.” He spoke briefly to his men, who promptly set down their cups. “I said after you finish.” Caje waved at them to pick up the cups. “I suppose you want me to go find a radio and see if I can find Hanley?” Littlejohn was already on his feet. “Yep. Thanks.” Littlejohn picked up his wet jacket, looked outside, shrugged and left it behind as he slogged out again. “Caje, you and Kirby should get checked over.” “Later, Doc. As a non-combatant, you can’t be responsible for prisoners, so we have to wait for Littlejohn to get back.” “You could take ‘em with you. Under the Geneva Convention, they’re supposed to get medical care, you know.” “You’re right, Doc. I wasn’t thinking. Kirby, are you up to finding some rope?” “No, but I’ll go anyway.” He grumbled. “Sit still, Kirby. I’ll go.” Doc grinned. He returned a short time later, followed by Littlejohn. “Looks like it’s starting to clear up.” “I found the Lieutenant, Caje. He’s on his way. Says we’re to wait here for him with the prisoners.” “Good enough for me. Tie their hands, would you, Littlejohn? Except for Hans, he can help Schwartz walk.” Doc helped Caje to his feet and they trooped over to the aide tent. There was a slight problem when it was decided that Caje, Kirby, Schwartz and Hans all needed beds, since Schwartz and Hans needed a guard. After a little shifting of beds, they all ended up in one tent along with Saunders, who slept through the transfer. Littlejohn and Doc stood guard while everyone else stretched out and went to sleep. When Lt. Hanley finally arrived the next afternoon, Saunders was awake, the rest sitting on the beds talking and smoking. The lieutenant stopped in the doorway and looked around. “This better be good. I send you guys out for a simple recon mission; you disappear and show up with four prisoners. Littlejohn…” “Yeah, I know, Lieutenant. Get you some coffee. On my way.” “How ya doin’, Saunders?” Hanley sat down and removed his helmet. “Fine.” “Doc?” “He’ll be ok, Lieutenant. But he’s still pretty weak and sore. Needs a few more days rest.” “I said I’m fine.” Saunders said irritably. “Ok, you’re fine. So tell me what happened.” Hanley listened in silence while Saunders explained up to the point where the branch fell, then Mueller and Caje finished, all of them ignoring the fact that Saunders had fallen asleep. “He’s fine, huh?” Hanley said softly, twitching the blanket up over Saunders shoulders. “He will be.” Doc assured him. The End |
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