Espionage

The characters of Combat! belong to ABC.
Copyright 2001 by Figment

ESPIONAGE

“Come on, Sarge!” Kirby begged. “You haven’t done this in a long time. All the guys want you to.”
Saunders sat in deep thought for a minute. There was a letter he’d been wanting to write, reports to finish, and a dozen other little things he’d really like to attend to while they had some down time. Going into the village and getting drunk with the squad was the last thing he wanted to do. He looked down at the ground as if an answer lay there somewhere, then dropped the butt of the Lucky he was smoking and stamped it out with his old worn boot. He scratched the back of his head and ran his hand a couple times through the tousled, thick blond hair. ‘Oh, well,’ he thought. ‘I might just enjoy it. Might’s well.’
“Okay, Kirby,” he conceded. “Tell the others I’ll be there. But just for a couple beers, then I got things to do.”
“Great, Sarge,” Kirby grinned at his success. “It’s the little bistro down on Rue de Plume. It’s well lit an’ ya can’t miss it.”
Kirby quickly turned his back and joined the others who were busy getting ready for a night on the town. The cellar where they had been bivouacked for the last two days was dark and cool, a stark contrast to the brilliant heat of the mid-August afternoon. When they first arrived in the little village they hadn’t expected to stay, but the line had closed up, things were on schedule for a change, and they had received a few days of much-needed rest.
When they first arrived they were on stand-by and were restricted from any recreational areas that the small town had to offer, but at lunch today, Lt. Hanley had, with strict orders to be on their best behavior, lifted those restrictions. A collective cheer had followed the lieutenant’s announcement and every thought turned to cleaning up for ‘party time’.
Saunders had collected his clean laundry, stowed it with his gear under a cot in the corner of the cellar, then pulling a lantern close enough to read by, he had pulled out paper, report forms, and a pencil and settled himself on the cot for an evening of quiet. But, as it seemed with every plan since Omaha Beach, it just didn’t work out. The squad was excited and happy for a change and they were not about to let their leader sit alone while they were partying.
The sergeant decided he would have a couple nice cold beers and slip out when the guys were getting wound up.
The little bistro was not hard to find. The laughter, music, and loud talking could be heard three blocks away. Lieutenant Hanley’s entire platoon was now billeted in the town and with the exception of second squad, which had drawn guard duty, everyone it seemed, had decided to visit the only bar in town.
There were several tables and chairs under an awning on the sidewalk in front of the building. These were full of soldiers and ladies looking for whatever they could get from the usually generous American infantrymen. And the more they drank, the more generous they were.
Saunders walked past them and through the door, glancing around for his men. Caje saw him first and waved him over. They had graciously saved a chair for him on the back side of a table in one corner, where they knew he would want to sit. From that vantage point he would be able to survey the entire room and its rambunctious occupants.
Soon he was sipping a cold beer and feeling more relaxed than he’d felt in a long time. At first, the squad was engaged in conversation, trying to decide which girl was the prettiest, which liquor tasted best, who would be first to catch a ladies eye (Kirby was sure he would be, of course), and a myriad of light, non-urgent subjects that were as far from war as they could get. But soon they were pairing off, some with a lady for some negotiating, and some with a buddy for some heavy conversation.
After finishing off the second beer, Saunders rose and made his way toward the door and his quiet corner in the cellar-barracks. His heart was light for a wonderfully pleasant, if not brief, change and his step was lighter than usual as he walked down the cobbled side streets.
This little hamlet did not sport the destructive scars of the war as badly as some of the towns they’d been through. A few buildings on the west side of town had taken some mortar fire before the Krauts had been driven out of the area, but these were not beyond repair.
The French villagers were now back in their homes and cleaning up, as well as trying to make the American Army feel as welcome as possible.
Saunders was approaching an alley between a little restaurant and a dress shop when he heard voices speaking quietly somewhere deep in the shadows. It was beginning to get dark and anything in the alley would be hard to see right now. For some reason, probably just his suspicious nature, Saunders slowed and eased up to the corner of the alley to listen for a moment.
German! The voices were German. He cursed himself for not bringing his Thompson and helmet with him, but there had been no sign of trouble within or around the village for two days. He did, however, have his Colt .45 sidearm attached to his web belt. He eased the pistol from its holster and as quietly as possible cocked it.
The men in the alley were apparently unaware that he was there, because their conversation never wavered.
The sergeant sneaked a peak around the corner and spotted the two men standing near the end of the alley next to a door leading into the dress shop, which was standing slightly ajar. They had their backs to him and seemed to be studying some sort of document stretched between them.
Saunders slipped up through the shadows until he was close enough to know he couldn’t miss should he have to shoot.
It was then that he realized that the two men were dressed in GI issue, carrying M1s. A raging anger flooded every fiber of his being and he stepped into the middle of the alley.
“Hande hoche!” Saunders growled, startling the two Krauts. “Get your hands up.”
The Germans turned slowly toward the angry American sergeant raising their hands as they did so.
“Price?” Saunders was shocked. This man had been in King Company’s third squad for at least a week. Saunders had ridden back from battalion with him when Price had been sent up as a replacement.
Suddenly, Saunders caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and started to turn, but he was too slow. Someone slammed into him, grabbing his right wrist and twisting his arm behind him as he was forcefully shoved against the side of the stone building. His attacker was a head taller and extremely strong. Saunders started to struggle, but was quickly subdued as the other two men joined the fray. The pistol was ripped from his hand and he was thrown to the cobblestone paving, his head hitting hard on the uneven surface. Stunned, Saunders tried to fight off his attackers. Then he felt a horrible pain in his left side and realized he’d been stabbed.
“What’s going on!?” a voice called from the street end of the alley.
Suddenly the weight and pounding of the attackers was lifted and Saunders tried to lift his head to follow their flight. He was having trouble breathing, and the world was swimming crazily in circles around him.
Someone was bent over him, but Saunders couldn’t see who it was for some reason. Then he just slipped into peaceful oblivion.

* * *

“I want a full report as soon as he is conscious! We will talk about charges later, Hanley.” Captain Jampel was infuriated. He had given the go-ahead to let the men have some R&R with the specific instructions that they behave themselves. Fighting was a pet peeve of his and he would NOT tolerate it. But Saunders? There had to be some reasonable explanation. Saunders had been known to get into some rowdy situations in his earlier days in North Africa, but ever since Sicily his record was impeccable. He would wait for Hanley’s report before passing any judgements.
Lieutenant Hanley shook his head as he laid the receiver down. Saunders was not that irresponsible. The squad had not seen anything. They said that the sarge had left the bistro alone, that’s all they knew.
Saunders was unconscious when they brought him in to the aid station. He had a concussion and a rather severe four-inch gash in his left side, but the doctor said he would be fine.
Hanley left the CP heading for the aid station. The lieutenant had restricted everyone to their bivouac areas until this mess was cleared up. A few men were still out of pocket, but most were where they should be now. It had been two hours since the sergeant was found in the alley and Hanley hoped he would wake up soon and clear everything up.
The lieutenant had questioned Marks, the corporal who had busted up the ruckus, but Marks was unable to shed any light on the situation. It seems when he had yelled, three men had dashed away into the darkness. He had not seen any of them clearly enough to give any kind of description. Just as he reached Saunders, the sergeant had passed out and was unable to tell him anything.
Lieutenant Hanley entered the aid station, which was set up in a small school house, and asked a medic where Sergeant Saunders was.
“He’s in the little room in the back, sir,” the PFC said. “The Doc wanted him to be kept quiet because of the concussion, so he’s got a room all to himself.”
Hanley nodded and headed for the closed door to a small storeroom that had been cleared and set up as an isolation room for more seriously injured soldiers. At this point, Saunders was the only one that occupied the small room. His head was cradled on a couple soft pillows and his shirt front was open revealing gauze wrapped around him just under his rib cage, with padding along the left side. There was and IV line feeding him fluids through the vein in the crook of his left arm, and his face was as pale as the pillow slips beneath him.
The lieutenant moved up beside the cot and squatting next to it, reached out and touched Saunders right arm lightly.
Saunders stirred, giving a soft moan, and slowly opened his eyes. For a moment he just seemed to stare into space, then his eyes began to focus and he started to sit up. The pain in his head drove him back against the pillows and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the sudden lightening strike near the base of his skull.
“Take it easy, Saunders,” Hanley spoke softly. “Just lie still. You’re gonna be all right.”
Saunders looked up at his lieutenant and squinted in the too-bright light.
“Lieutenant,” he spoke around a parched throat. “Krauts…in G…GI issue.”
Hanley rocked back on his heels and slowly rose, running a hand down his long, tired face. He pulled a stool over close to the cot and perched himself on it.
“What happened, Saunders.” He asked as he lit a cigarette and placed it between the sergeant’s lips.
Saunders retrieved the cigarette from his mouth and asked, “Could I have some water?”
“Sure,” Hanley handed him a cup from a table by the bed.
After several large gulps, Saunders handed the cup back and looked as though he was in deep thought.
“Well, sir,” he began haltingly. “I was headed back to the bivouac area from the bistro in town, when I overheard voices coming from an alley. As I got closer I realized they were speaking German, so, since I had my pistol with me, I kinda snuck up on ‘em and made them raise their hands. They were lookin’ at a paper of some sort, maybe a map. I didn’t see it clearly. Then a third guy ran into me from behind. I didn’t see ‘im until it was too late. He grabbed my pistol so I couldn’t fire it. Then they were all three all over me. I hit my head and I felt it when they stabbed me, but I just couldn’t fight ‘em off.” Saunders stopped to gasp for breath, the words pouring out too fast to stop.
“Lieutenant,” Saunders eyes hardened with memory.
“Yeah?” Hanley answered, digesting what he had just been told.
“One of the men was Price, sir.” Saunders said gravely.
“Price!” Hanley bellowed.
“Yes, sir,” Saunders nodded. “The new man in Evans’ squad. I didn’t recognize the one that was with him, and I never got a look at the one who attacked me from behind.”
Hanley frowned at the toes of his boots for a moment. “Is that all you can tell me, Saunders?”
“Yes, sir,” he had become tired and his voice faltered a bit. Then blinking his eyes wide open again, he stated, “The man that was with Price had something on his right wrist. I saw it when they raised their hands. I’m not sure what it was, a tattoo, a wound, a birthmark. It was just an irregular mark of some kind. It was hard to tell in the dark.”
“Okay, Saunders,” the lieutenant stood to leave. “I’m gonna see if I can track down Price. I kinda doubt he stayed around after you recognized him, but it’s the only thing we can go on for now. I’ll be back after I’ve made my report to Captain Jampel. He’s pretty stewed over the whole deal. Take it easy, Saunders.”
He strode out and Saunders closed his eyes trying hard to remember anything more. Soon the pain of the effort took its toll and he drifted off.

* * *

“Roger that. Out.” Lieutenant Hanley replaced the radio mike on the wooden table and headed for the door. He had made a full report of the last evening’s incident, and Captain Jampel had given orders to button up the entire area. S2 would be sending someone to investigate the matter. Enemy infiltration seemed to be getting out of hand and this could be an opportunity to put a lid on at least some of the trouble.
Jampel, though deeply concerned over the turn of events, had seemed relieved that one of his best NCO’s had not been involved in a common, drunken alley brawl.
“Brockmeyer!” Hanley bellowed from the doorway of his CP.
The stocky, blond corporal immediately straightened from his relaxed position in a chair in front of the store across the street, soaking in the morning sun.
“Yes, sir!” he said as he trotted up to the lieutenant.
“Go find my squad leaders and tell them to meet me here on the double. Tell Caje to stand in for Saunders’ squad.” He ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Brockmeyer dashed off down the street in the direction of the bivouacs.
Soon three sergeants and Caje were gathered in the small CP, all curious about what was happening. There were two MPs standing near the door, so apparently there was something quite serious in the air.
The first order of business was directed to Sergeant Evans. “Was Price with your squad this morning, Sergeant?” Hanley queried.
“No, sir,” Evans looked surprised. “He was supposed to stand guard duty on the south perimeter this morning, sir.”
Hanley took in the rest of the men in the room. “Sergeant Saunders was attacked last night by German infiltrators wearing GI issue uniforms. There were three and Price was one of ‘em.”
The statement sent a shock wave through the room. Evans stared unbelieving at the lieutenant and Caje closed his eyes and clenched his fists. It was hard enough fighting Germans in their own uniforms, and down right impossible to separate them in American gear.
“Evans, take the MPs and get Price. I want him here now!” Hanley barely contained his rage.
“Yes, sir!” Evans rose to attention and saluted before preceding the MPs through the door.
Hanley half-heartedly returned the salute, then turned to the remaining men.
“Everyone is restricted to bivouac areas until further notice. No one is to leave unless summoned and no one is to be alone. Until this mess is cleared up, we use the buddy system. Everybody watches everybody. Any questions?” Hanley searched the faces of his most trusted men. They nodded their ascension, but remained silent.
“Er, Lieutenant?” Caje queried quietly.
“Yes, Caje, what is it?” Hanley asked.
“Is Saunders okay, sir?” He was almost afraid to ask. The squad knew he had been attacked, but did not know any more than that. There had been little sleep during the night throughout his squad.
“Saunders is going to be fine, Caje. He has a light concussion and a pretty nasty gash in his side, but the doctor, Captain Hollingsworth, said he’ll be back on his feet in about a week or so. You will fill in as squad leader until he’s back.” The lieutenant drew a pack of Luckys from his shirt pocket and lit one.
“There are two unidentified Krauts among us. Check your men. I want to know who is and who has been out of pocket within the last eighteen hours. I want everyone accounted for. Now move out.” Hanley reached for his coffee cup and walked over to the pot sitting on the hotplate that Brockmeyer had set up earlier, turning his back on the leaving soldiers.
“Uh…Lieutenant?” Hanley turned to see Caje standing alone in the middle of the room.
“What is it, Caje?” the lieutenant asked, bringing the cup to his lips.
“Well, sir,” the Cajun began nervously. “The guys are pretty busted up about what happened to the sarge, and…well, don’t you think someone should be with him all the time in case the guys who did this want to finish the job? They probably don’t know that Saunders can’t identify them.”
“I’ve considered that very thing, Caje,” Hanley stated, thoughtfully. “But I don’t want anyone wandering around alone for a while.”
“I understand, sir,” Caje agreed. “Maybe when we change shifts, two of us can go to the aid station. Then two will be returning to the barracks. Wouldn’t that be alright, Lieutenant?”
“Okay, Caje,” Hanley finally relented. “Just be sure that no one is alone at any time.”
“Yes, sir,” Caje grinned, donning his beret, and giving Hanley a crisp salute.
Hanley returned the salute and Caje was gone. The lieutenant smiled to himself. He knew Saunders’ men had been worried and would do everything in their power to protect their sergeant.
What Hanley didn’t know was that the squad had mixed feelings of guilt and remorse for goading Saunders into joining them when he really didn’t want to. They felt if he had stayed in the cellar, none of this would have ever happened.

* * *

The S2 officer, Captain Murphy, arrived two hours later. He held a short briefing with Hanley before adjourning to the aid station to question Saunders. The lieutenant gave a detailed report answering questions the best he could.
When the two officers entered his room, Saunders was looking much better. He was half-sitting up on the cot and a little color had returned to his face. Though a bit palid, he was alert and smoking one of his ever-present cigarettes.
Kirby, who was sitting in a chair against the wall, quickly rose and saluted.
“You’re dismissed, Private.” Captain Murphy stated, sending Kirby from the room.
Turning to Saunders he said, “I’m Captain Murphy from S2,” the captain said after returning Saunders’ salute. “I have a few questions for you if you’re up to it, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant winced a little as he tried to straighten his position in the bed.
Captain Murphy pulled the chair over close to the cot, while Hanley settled himself on the small stool on the other side, giving Saunders a quick ‘glad to see you’re up’ smile.
Saunders gave Hanley a short nod and turned his full attention to the S2 Captain.
After going over the details of the previous evening twice, Captain Murphy asked, “Are you certain there were only three men?”
“Well, sir,” the sergeant nodded. “That was all I made contact with. If there were any more, they didn’t get involved.”
“How about physical details. Especially the one who attacked you from behind. Can’t you remember any discernable trait other than the mark on the one man’s wrist?”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Saunders shook his head. “It was so dark, I barely recognized Price.”
At that point, Smith, one of Evans’ men burst uninvited into the room, only to draw up short at the sight of the two officers surrounding Saunders’ cot. He came to attention saluting and waiting for permission to speak.
“Well, soldier, what’s so important?” Captain Murphy snapped with some irritation.
“Sir, we found Price,” the out-of-breath private panted. “He’s dead, sir.”
“What!?” both officers echoed at the same time. Saunders just frowned and shook his head.
“We found him near where he was supposed to be standing guard, sir. He’s been stabbed to death.” The soldier explained.
“I want to check this out,” Captain Murphy stated. “Join me, Hanley?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Hanley agreed.
Waiting for the captain to leave the room, Hanley turned back to Saunders.
“Kirby is waiting out here. I’m going to send him back in. We don’t want the same thing happening to you,” he said gravely.
“Okay, Lieutenant,” Saunders appeared to have lost some of the energy he had displayed earlier and was glad to stretch out again and let his tense muscles relax.
Kirby came through the door with a quizzical look on his face, hoping Sarge would divulge some of the content of his debriefing. No such luck. Saunders had closed his eyes and placed his right forearm across them, the gesture he used when he did not wish to be disturbed.
Kirby pulled the chair close to the wall again and sat down, rocking it back against the wall for comfort.

* * *

Private Smith and Sergeant Evans were the only ones present when the officers arrived on the scene, since everyone else was restricted to barracks.
“What happened here?” Captain Murphy asked, returning the subordinates’ salutes.
Evans turned to Smith. “Well, sir,” Smith said shakily. “I was supposed to relieve Price on this perimeter, but when I got here, I found him just like that.” He indicated the prone figure stretched out on the ground with multiple knife wounds apparent in his upper torso.
“I just turned and ran for Sgt. Evans, then he sent me after Lt. Hanley, sir,” the young private was visibly shaken.
Turning to the sergeant Murphy instructed, “Go through his pockets. I want everything! Then get someone in here to haul him out.”
“Yes, sir,” Evans consented and began rummaging through the dead man’s pockets. Cigarettes, lighter, C-rations…all American. Nothing to prove that he was a Kraut; except the fact that he was dead because Saunders could positively identify him.
“Okay, Hanley,” Murphy turned to the tall officer standing at his shoulder. “I’m gonna stay here a few days and see if anything develops. See if you can muster me a place to sack out. I’ll get acquainted with your individual squads and see if I can’t come up with somethin’.”
“Yes, sir,” Hanley replied. “Do you want someone to go with you, sir? It may not be safe wandering around alone right now.”
“I’ll be all right, Lieutenant,” the captain assured him. “Just keep things buttoned up tight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Murphy moved off in the direction of the enlisted men’s quarters, Hanley turned and slowly walked back to the company CP in deep thought.

* * *

The medic crept into Saunders room without a sound. It was 0220 and Billy Nelson nodded tiredly in the chair tilted against the wall. Sarge had been asleep most of the time since his arrival at 2330 and Billy had gotten tired and drowsy with no one to talk to.
The medic moved up beside the sergeant and gently clasped Saunders’ right wrist with his left hand to check his pulse.
Saunders stirred, blinking at the medic for a second, then closing his eyes again. Until the medic tightened his grip on the sergeant’s wrist and pressed down to hold the arm still, as he produced a hypodermic needle! Saunders looked down at the sudden pressure on his arm.
When the medic shoved the needle towards the bare flesh, the sleeve was pulled up slightly, revealing the edge of a dark red birthmark.
“Argh!” Saunders growled as he swung as hard as he could with his left hand, jerking the IV needle from his arm.
Nelson was on top of the medic in a heartbeat, and the two of them fell across Saunders, all three landing on the floor on the other side of the overturned cot.
Saunders cried out in pain as he tried to push the struggling men off him.
From somewhere, the medic produced a handgun and was intent on bringing it to bear on Billy. Saunders grabbed the hand holding the gun with both of his and held on as tight as he could.
Then all struggling ceased as the medic was suddenly pulled up and away from the melee. A very large MP had the medic by the collar and was holding him aloft like he would a cur dog. Then he slung the fake medic against a wall and brought his weapon around to cover him. Saunders’ grip on the handgun wrenched it from the medic’s hand when he was jerked to his feet.
Doctor Hollingsworth immediately bent over Saunders as he lay panting and sweating from exertion. All color had drained from the sergeant’s face and he looked shocky.
“I…I’m all right,” Saunders gasped between breaths. He tried to shove the Doctor’s hands away, but the strength brought on by the sudden adrenaline rush had waned and he wilted against the floor.
Billy looked at Saunders with a worried, yet apologetic, look on his face.
“I’m sorry, Sarge,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t know he wasn’t a real medic.”
“It’s okay, Nelson,” Saunders spoke softly, wincing as the doctor pulled the gauze loose from the gash in his left side. It was bleeding heavily and Hollingsworth was working quickly to stop the flow.
The doctor had sent a medic for Lt. Hanley when they had heard the ruckus in the back room, and the lieutenant now entered the room with the panting medic in tow.
“What happened?” his face was dark with anger.
Billy stood up and gave a quick explanation ending with, “I didn’t realize anything was wrong until the sarge grabbed this guy.”
Hanley bent down and retrieved a hypo lying near the overturned cot. The cylinder was full of some sort of liquid and he put it near his nose to smell it.
“Morphine.” He stated almost to himself.
Hollingsworth looked up from his administrations and exclaimed, “There’s enough there to stop a horse’s heart, much less a man’s.”
“How is he, Doctor?” Hanley asked as his attention centered on the prone figure lying still on the floor.
“He’ll be okay, Lieutenant,” the doctor assured him. “We need to get him back in bed.”
Doc had entered the room not far behind Hollingsworth and the MP, and he was busy setting the cot upright and rearranging the bedding. Between the doctor, the medic, and Nelson, Saunders was soon back in a more comfortable position.
The lieutenant had turned to the man cowering against the wall on the other side of the room.
His hands were raised over his head and the red birthmark was clearly visible.
“I could have you shot right now, as a spy. You know that don’t you?” His visage openly relaying the fact that he wanted to do just that.
“I’ll take it from here, Hanley,” Captain Murphy’s voice came from the doorway.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant acknowledged the captain and turned back to the cot.
A little color had returned to Saunders’ face and he seemed to be resting a bit now. His eyes were closed and he had managed to control his breathing.
“I gave him some morphine, a decent dose, I might add,” the doctor stated as he looked up at the tall lieutenant. “He’ll probably sleep for about eight hours, Lieutenant.”
“Good,” Hanley nodded, then turning to Nelson he eyed the young, baby-faced private critically.
Billy squirmed uncomfortably under the lieutenant’s accusing glare, but kept silent.
“I’m taking the prisoner back to headquarters this morning,” Captain Murphy got Hanley’s attention. “See if you can find some place to lock him up until I’m ready to leave, Lieutenant, and make sure he’s well guarded.”
“Yes, sir,” Hanley answered.
Turning back to Nelson, the lieutenant said sternly, “Keep your eyes open, Nelson! No one is to enter this room unless you are well acquainted with them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Nelson replied sheepishly. “I…I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”
“It won’t happen again.” Hanley stated as a matter of fact.
“No, sir, it won’t,” Billy averred.
“Lieutenant, no one is to administer anything to Saunders unless it is myself or Doc. That should take care of any doubts.” Doctor Hollingsworth said as he rose from the now sleeping sergeant’s side.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Hanley nodded and turned to the MP to give him instructions for the prisoner.

* * *

Lieutenant Hanley headed for his CP feeling very tired. He had muddled through paperwork until nearly 2430 and had been shaken from his short nap by a frantic medic when the ruckus had started at about 0225. There was only a couple hours left before daybreak and the lieutenant wanted to try to get another quick nap in.
Just as he reached the CP, Brockmeyer met him at the door.
“Captain Jampel’s on the horn, Lieutenant. It sounds urgent.” He told the lieutenant as he handed him a cup of coffee.
“This is King Two. Over.” Hanley spoke into the mike as he adjusted the radio volume.
“King Two, a squad from Love Company just arrived with the body of Captain Murphy from S2. Over.”
Hanley stared at the radio as if it had just bitten him.
“Captain Murphy has been here all day, sir. Over.” The stunned lieutenant stumbled over the words as realization slowly dawned on him.
“You have an imposter, Hanley. You’d better handle it right now. Out!” Jampel signed off.
“Come with me!” Hanley yelled at Brockmeyer as he grabbed up his carbine and helmet. “Bring your gear.”
“Yes, sir,” Brockmeyer answered, grabbing his helmet and M1 as he followed the officer at a dead run.
When they reached the small building near the aid station where the captain had been set up, it was empty.
He turned on Brockmeyer so quickly, the corporal nearly ran into him.
“Get Saunders’ squad and meet me at the aid station on the double!” His face was red with anger and frustration. “Then pull a jeep from motorpool.”
“Yes, sir!” Brockmeyer took off as fast as he could go.
Hanley turned and headed for the aid station at a gallop. Opening the door to Saunders’ room he was relieved to find the sergeant still sleeping peacefully.
Nelson jumped up at the sudden intrusion brandishing his M1, until he realized who it was.
“Nelson,” Hanley looked sharply at the private. “Captain Murphy is a Kraut. Don’t let him in here if he shows up. Take him any way you can. I think he’s probably skipped with the prisoner we took last night. Keep a close watch, though.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy tensed as he walked to the door to stand guard. The information just given him was hard to believe. ‘An S2 captain?’
Hanley turned and rushed out the door of the aid station just as Caje, Kirby and Littlejohn showed up all out of breath from their mad dash down the cobbled street.
Before the lieutenant had time to speak, Brockmeyer drove up in a jeep, skidding to a halt in front of the small group.
“Brockmeyer, go man the CP. Caje, stay with the jeep. Kirby, you and Littlejohn you’re on me.” He turned without waiting for a response and started at a trot down a side street leading from town.
Kirby and Littlejohn were hard put to keep up with him as he sprinted up to a small building at the edge of town. The door was open and the lieutenant rushed through with weapon raised.
Just as he had anticipated, the room was empty except for one MP lying near the door. Hanley bent to check the MP’s pulse and finding none, he turned and dashed out the door signaling for Caje to bring the Jeep.
“Murphy was a Kraut. He and the prisoner musta left town in this direction. We’ll see if we can catch up.” Hanley explained to the two men waiting with him as Caje arrived with the Jeep.
They all piled in and Caje spun gravel and dirt high behind him in leaving the cobblestones of the town street and hitting the dirt road beyond the edge of the small hamlet.
Dawn was breaking by this time and deep shadows still lingered to hide different areas along the dusty road.
The Jeep passed an old Frenchman making his way down the edge of the road with a small vegetable cart hitched to a goat.
Hanley told Caje to pull up and ask the old man if he had seen anything.
“Monsieur!” Caje called to the old man. “Pouvez-vous donner des renseinements?”
“Oui, Monsieur,” the old man replied as he walked up to the vehicle. “Qu’y a-t-il pour votre service?”
Caje described the soldiers they were looking for and asked if the Frenchman had seen them.
“Oui, Monsieur, la-bas” The Frenchman said pointing. “J’ai vu de soldats. Prenez a gauche.”
“He says they turned left over there, Lieutenant,” Caje said.
“Okay, let’s go,” Hanley answered, folding a map he was glancing at and replacing it inside his field jacket.
“Merci, Monsieur,” Caje turned back to the old man. “Au revoir.”
Caje wheeled the Jeep back onto the road.
At a junction in the road Caje turned left onto a road that was little more than a path.
“They’re trying to get back to their lines,” Hanley stated, mentally reviewing the map.
Suddenly, not too far ahead, there was a tremendous explosion.
Caje slowed the Jeep and pulled off the narrow dirt track.
Hanley motioned Caje and Kirby to the right side of the road and motioned Littlejohn to follow him. They crept along the sides close to the woods just in case the road was mined.
About a quarter mile ahead the soldiers rounded a bend and came upon the vehicle they were looking for. It had hit a mine and was turned on its side near the right side of the road. No one was in sight.
Hanley motioned his men to him.
“The path they’re going to have to take crosses a stream up ahead. We might be able to catch up to them if we hurry. They’ll be looking for us, so watch out. Let’s go.” Hanley tapped Littlejohn on the shoulder and moved off toward the left side of the road.
Caje and Kirby leap-frogged back to the opposite side and continued their fast but careful search.
A gunshot sounded and a small limb was blasted from a tree just a few inches above Hanley’s head.
“Hit it!” he shouted as everyone dove for the nearest cover.
They were all unsure where the shot had emanated, but no one dared raise his head too far.
Hanley motioned to Caje, who had dropped behind a fallen log at the edge of the tree line, to pull back and try to flank the sniper.
Caje nodded his acknowledgement and scooted back as far as he could into the woods, then noiselessly disappeared in the dense brush.
Kirby, who had fallen into the shallow ditch beside the road, knew that he was pinned and would not be able to seek better cover. He lay still, barely moving his head to look around him.
Hanley was aware of Kirby’s dangerous situation. He spoke quietly to Littlejohn, who had moved up to the lieutenant’s side in the dense brush they were crouching in. “Stay here and cover Kirby. I’m gonna see if I can flank them from the left.”
“Yes, sir,” Littlejohn answered as the lieutenant slipped through the underbrush, looking for the best cover he could find through which to move.
Another shot rang out from an M1, kicking up dirt inches from Kirby’s right shoulder. This time Littlejohn and Kirby both got a fix on the direction of the shot and opened fire.
Littlejohn caught sight of Lieutenant Hanley as he crouched behind a boulder just beyond where the Kraut was hiding. Hanley motioned them to stop firing.
“Hey, Kirby!” Littlejohn got the BAR man’s attention and relayed Hanley’s order to stop firing.
The lieutenant had managed to get into a good position to cover the enemy. He also managed to get Caje’s attention as the Cajun crept up on the German from the other side.
Hanley motioned to Caje that he wanted to capture the Kraut alive. Caje nodded his understanding and the two men started moving forward towards the sniper.
Suddenly there was a pistol crack and Hanley cried out and went down.
Caje left his cover and ran the short space between himself and the sniper.
The Kraut had turned, bringing his rifle around towards Caje. The Cajun had no choice but to shoot. The German who had impersonated Captain Murphy fell unmoving.
Caje quickly pulled his weapon down to cover a man lying closer to him behind a small boulder. It was the bogus medic with the birthmark that Saunders had identified.
He had not had time to adjust his position after shooting Hanley in order to get the drop on Caje.
The Kraut released the pistol he held and raised his hands.
“I’m injured! Don’t shoot!” he cried as Caje stepped closer with a deadly look on his face.
Never taking his eyes off the Kraut, Caje called to his companions, “All clear! Get up here. The lieutenant’s been shot!”
Kirby and Littlejohn wasted no time arriving on the scene. Littlejohn went directly to Lt. Hanley, squatting before him with a worried look on his face.
Hanley was sitting up, clutching his right thigh just above the knee. Blood seeped through his fingers and soaked his pant leg, and he was pale and sweating profusely.
“How is he?” Caje asked never taking his eye off the German.
“He got hit in the leg, Caje. Kirby, if you’re through playing with the German, we need to make a litter.” Littlejohn needled Kirby as he quickly produced a sulfa pack and bandage.
Kirby glared at the amiable giant bending over their lieutenant. “I ain’t playin’ with ‘im, ya big ape!” he snorted irritably, as he finished binding the Krauts’ hands behind him.
The German had a badly swollen ankle, but was able to stand when Kirby pulled him to his feet.
Caje kept the Kraut covered while Kirby started looking for a couple stout poles in order to build the stretcher. He removed the field jacket from the dead fake captain and then removed his own jacket. By the time Littlejohn had Hanley bandaged and ready to go, Kirby had most of the make-shift litter ready.
Caje took the prisoner by the arm to steady him on his sprained ankle, while Kirby and Littlejohn carried the lieutenant back to the Jeep on the stretcher.
Just as they had gotten Hanley settled in the Jeep, the German made a lunge at Caje when he glanced over at the vehicle. Caught slightly off guard, Caje swung at him, but missed.
Kirby was close enough to fell the Kraut with a swift blow to the side of his head with his BAR.
“That’s for the sarge,” Kirby growled threateningly at the German. “Now, give me a reason to finish it!”
The German was subdued and didn’t put up any further struggle.
The ride back to town was uneventful, other that the fact that due to loss of blood and exhaustion, Hanley finally passed out.

* * *

Lieutenant Hanley woke in a small, cool room. He was resting on a cot with his leg elevated on a pile of blankets.
“So good of you to join me, Lieutenant,” Saunders gave the officer a ‘cat-ate-the-canary’ smile.
Even though he was still groggy, Hanley managed to give Saunders a dour frown.
“Captain Jampel was here for a while, but you wouldn’t wake up, and he was in a hurry. He headed back to HQ just a few minutes ago.” Saunders told him.
“What did he have to say?” Hanley asked.
“He said the Kraut we captured was a real flannel-mouth. He spilled his guts to S2 and two more infiltrators were arrested in Love Company and Easy Company. It looks like we won’t have to worry about spies for a little while at least.”
“That’s a relief,” Hanley nodded. “Maybe we can give the men that R&R they’ve earned.”
“Yeah,” Saunders agreed. “I wish I could join them.”
“What’s the matter,” Hanley asked with mock disbelief. “Wouldn’t you rather have my company?”
“You can keep the company, sir,” Saunders averred gravely. “I’ll just stick with my squad.”

END