| The characters of "Combat!" are the property of ABC. All original characters belong to the author. Copyright 2001 by Figment FIREWORKS “But you said we’d have two days’ furlough when we got back!” Kirby argued, his face flushed with anger. “Yeah,” Saunders shouldered his Thompson. “Well, I talk too much.” The squad had returned from a two-day patrol only five hours ago. They had lost one of the three new replacements during one of two harrowing engagements with German patrols. Too exhausted to think about food, they had rolled into their blankets for a much needed rest, only to be aroused with less than five hours’ sleep to be told they would have to go out again, immediately. Kirby, always the most vocal in the group, was now letting the sergeant know what he thought of the present situation. Saunders ran a hand through his thick blond hair, scratching the back of his head, and surveyed the slow-moving squad gathering their gear before him. He didn’t want to take them out again this soon, any more than he wanted to go himself, but none of them had any choice. Theirs was the only squad in King Company’s Second Platoon that was not dug in on the front line, which made them available. There was rumor of German troops slipping through the lines a few miles down the river and they had to check it out. “Well, I still say it stinks,” Kirby mumbled as he settled the strap of the BAR across his shoulders and disposed of the C-ration box from which he’d just eaten breakfast. Sergeant Saunders ignored him and placed the camouflage-covered helmet on his head and surveyed the weary soldiers before him. Caje, the dark-haired slim Cajun, was ready to go, as usual. The sergeant never had to call him twice when there was work to be done. Kirby, although still mumbling, had his gear together and had lit up a cigarette to wait for the order to move out. Doc was silently counting his medical supplies and scrutinizing the men just as Saunders was doing. The medic knew how fatigue could cause major problems when everyone needed to be alert and ready for quick action. Stiles and Griffin, the two new replacements who had survived their first patrol, were trying to eat their rations while getting their gear together. Both young men were now considered veterans, since they had seen combat, and their initial nervous conversation had been replaced with a sort of silent brooding. Littlejohn and Billy Nelson were on furlough and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. Saunders shook his head. It was hard enough taking a bone-weary squad on a long hike like this one, much less being short two of his best battle-hardened soldiers. With a sigh, he turned towards the new men. “Griffin, rations for everyone for three days,” he ordered curtly. “Stiles, ammunition.” “Okay, Sarge,” the two said as they moved off to attend their assignments. “Kirby,” Saunders turned to the slight BAR man when the two young men had disappeared. “Keep an eye on Griffin. He’s not too sure of himself yet.” “Sure, Sarge,” Kirby mumbled. Caje walked up and slapped Kirby on the back. “Nothing like a nice long trek through the woods to start a beautiful day.” He grinned. “That’s fine for guys who don’t never need sleep, like you and the sarge,” Kirby exclaimed with a frown. “But for normal guys like me; we need our beauty rest.” “Been missing a lot of it lately?” Caje laughed as he dodged a stick that was suddenly hurled at his head. “Okay,” Saunders said. “knock it off and be ready to move as soon as they get back.” “You really think we’ll be gone a couple more days, Sarge?” Caje asked. “Maybe,” Saunders said thoughtfully. “I drew a radio when I left the CP this morning. If we can recon the area and get it called in without too many problems, maybe we’ll get back sooner. I don’t know.” “Yeah,” Kirby piped up. “With our luck it’ll take a week, and we’ll run into Krauts all the way there and back.” Stiles showed up within minutes and started distributing the ammunition he’d been able to requisition. Griffin was not long behind him with rations. Eyeing the group one more time, Saunders called. “Saddle up.” “Caje, take the point. Kirby cover the rear,” he said turning towards the tiny dirt road leading to the river. It was late fall and the nights were exceptionally cool, while the days still warmed to a comfortable degree. As the morning lengthened, the already tired squad began to slow down a bit. Saunders finally called a rest after they had been following the banks of the river for about an hour and a half. Everyone gratefully flopped to the ground to rest and take a drink from their canteens. The sergeant pulled the worn and wrinkled map from within his jacket front and studied it for a few minutes, replacing it and lighting up a Lucky Strike. He gazed out across the river and along the opposite bank. At this point the river was about a hundred yards across. The current looked swift as it swirled around a few boulders on its meandering route through the French countryside. The scene would have been peaceful and settling, were it not for the ever-present realities of war overriding the beauty and calmness. Just ahead, Saunders knew there was a hill they would have to climb, so he allowed the squad just a couple more minutes to rest. Then getting to his feet, the sergeant donned his camo-helmet and said, “Okay, let’s move out.” “Sarge! Look at that!” Griffin shouted, pointing to an object in the water against the bank on their side of the river. “Stay here!” Saunders told the others as he slid down the embankment to get a closer look at the large, dark object bobbing gently in the brush growing against the bank. It was a barrel, one of the type used by the Germans when building a pontoon bridge. But what was it doing here? S2 said the Krauts were moving in down river, this had to have floated from up the river to rest here in this bend. “Radio!” Saunders called as he rejoined his men. Stiles slipped the handy-talkie off his shoulder and handed it to the sergeant. “King Two, this is White Rook. Over.” Saunders released the call button, waiting for a response. “White Rook, this is King Two. Over,” Lieutenant Hanley’s voice sounded from the speaker. “King Two, have reason to believe there may be enemy activity opposite of where we’re headin’. Over.” Saunders informed his CO. “Wait one.” The lieutenant requested. After a moment’s silence, he was back on the air. “Okay, White Rook. Split up. Check both areas and report as soon as possible. Over.” “Roger, King Two. Out.” Saunders handed the radio back to Stiles and turned to the squad. “We have to check up and down the river at the same time.” He told them. “Caje, you take Stiles and Doc and keep headin’ east down the river. If you see anything at all, call it in immediately and head for home. Got it?” Caje nodded as he stood to move out. “Kirby, you and Griffin are on me,” Saunders nodded to the two men. “Caje will take the radio with him. The rest of us should be close enough to be able to report back by runner if necessary. Okay, move out.” The squad split up and moved off in opposite directions. Each of them knowing the danger in breaking up an already undermanned patrol. Caje moved out towards the east, following the current of the river downstream. Doc fell in behind him, with Stiles bringing up the rear, nervously watching everything that moved in the woods surrounding them. In short order the three soldiers came to the bottom of the hill they would have to climb to stay close to the river’s edge. The climb was long and hard. By the time they reached the top, all of them were sweating, though the early afternoon was only slightly warm. Once at the top, Caje motioned for the others to wait as he crept forward to peer over the rim of a cliff face at least 35 feet above the river. The Cajun had a clear view of both banks for half mile or more down the clear blue ribbon that wound through the trees. He realized that if the Germans had set up anything within sight of this cliff, there would have been an outpost covering this strategic point. Not seeing anything moving, Caje crawled back to Doc and Stiles. “There’s a place we can get down on the other side just over there,” he told them, pointing to a spot a few yards from their position. “I didn’t see anything, but stay on your toes. Krauts could be anywhere.” With this, he led the men to the narrow sloping path that would get them to the bottom of the cliff on the other side. Just as they reached the level ground below the cliff face, Caje heard a noise and motioned the others down. The Cajun crawled forward until he could crouch behind a thick batch of blackberry bushes and peer into the woods beyond. What he saw left him wordless. * * * Saunders led Kirby and Griffin back the way they had come, the going a little easier since they knew the terrain. “Bad enough to have to walk blisters on our feet,” Kirby was grumbling. “Now we have to just turn around and do it again.” “At least we’re heading closer to home, Kirby,” Griffin said cheerfully. “Yeah,” Kirby replied. “But we’re not stopping there. We’re gonna walk right on by and keep on walking. I wonder if you can get a Purple Heart for blisters?” Griffin giggled as he picked up his step to keep up with their sergeant. It was mid-afternoon when Saunders called a halt. Kirby perched himself on an old tree stump and lit a cigarette, while Griffin sprawled on the cool grass in the shade. The sergeant pulled out his old map and studied it intently for a moment. After a quick swig from his canteen, Saunders rose and shouldered his Thompson sub-machine gun, indicating it was time to move on. They continued walking until late in the afternoon. The going was hard in the deep woods. Roots, rocks, and dead tree branches barred their progress. They barely made a mile west of the Command Post in the three hours since they had turned up river. Kirby, who had taken the point position, suddenly motioned the others down. Saunders crept on hands and knees until he was beside the BAR man. “Look, Sarge!” Kirby pointed ahead. Just as they had rounded a small bend in the river, a pontoon bridge came into view. Nestled beneath the overhanging trees along either side and spanning a very narrow part of the channel, the bridge was virtually invisible from any air reconnaissance and well hidden from ground troops coming from either direction. You had to be looking for it to see it. Several German soldiers were moving back and forth across the bridge, carrying supplies and ammunition from the north side to the south side, not far above King Company’s CP. Motioning Kirby to come with him, Saunders crawled back past Griffin and far enough away from the busy enemy soldiers to not be overheard. “Okay,” the sergeant told them as he marked a spot on the map he had spread across his knee. “We get back fast and report. Kirby, take the point.” “Okay, Sarge,” all business now, Kirby had forgotten his blisters and tired feet. They hadn’t traveled 50 yards when several shots sent them diving for cover. * * * Caje stared at the sight before him. Beneath the close trees of the forest, a large area of the forest floor was covered with barrels and wooden boxes, all of which were covered carefully by camouflage netting. Sentries were posted at different points around the stockpiled supplies, and other soldiers were moving from the river’s edge with more containers. Returning to Doc and Stiles, Caje described what he had seen. “We need to find out how they’re getting this stuff across the river before I call in,” he explained. “Doc, you stay here,” Caje nodded at the medic. “Stiles come with me. We’ll move along the face of the cliff until we reach the water.” “Okay, Caje,” Stiles moved out behind the Cajun, cautiously watching all around him as he slipped as quietly as he could through the woods. It wasn’t long before the two American soldiers were back at the bottom of the cliff face. They followed the almost vertical wall staying hidden in the low bushes that grew thickly at the edge of the forest. Before they were within sight of the river’s edge, they were stopped by the sound of voices; German voices. Caje motioned Stiles to remain where he was while the Cajun crept forward, carefully placing each step, until he could see the enemy ahead of him. They were carrying containers from a cave in the face of the cliff! But why were they carrying stuff out of the cave and not into it? It didn’t make sense. If they were going to stockpile supplies, the cave would seem to be the perfect hiding place. Slipping quietly back to Stiles position, Caje motioned to him and the two of them made their way back to Doc. “Somethin’ real weird is goin’ on here.” Caje told them. “I don’t know why they’re not usin’ the cave to hide the stuff. They didn’t have to leave an outpost at the top of the ridge. The stuff is so well hidden, an outpost would only draw attention to the area. I’d like to take another look from the top of the cliff again before I call in.” Stiles and Doc nodded their agreement, both glad to be vacating the immediate area, which seemed to be crawling with Krauts. As they neared the top of the ridge once more, Caje motioned the other two soldiers to stay back as he edged closer to the rim. Studying the woods more carefully this time, Caje caught a flash of movement deep in the woods on the other side of the river. Without a pair of field glasses, it was hard to determine just what was happening on the opposite side. Caje slid back away from the edge of the cliff, returning to Doc and Stiles. “I have to find out what’s going on here before I call in. I don’t want to give them any false information.” He whispered to them. “Doc, you and Stiles go back up the river and find a good spot to hide in the bushes. I’m gonna swim across and see what’s going on. Okay?” Doc frowned at the thought of them splitting up again. They’d already spread themselves too thin for a recon of this sort, but he agreed, and he and Stiles quietly slipped into the bushes heading back upstream. Caje crept upstream a short distance and slid into the water, holding his M1 above his head as he waded the shallow river. The water was swift, but not too swift to wade through, though it came up to his chin at a couple places. Soon he was on the opposite shore and silently creeping through the underbrush towards the movement he had seen earlier. In short order, Caje heard voices and he dropped to the ground, crawling as close as he dared to the Germans talking quietly while on guard duty. With the underbrush as dense as walls in every direction, it was not hard for Caje to slip past the guards and deeper into the guarded area. The Cajun drew up short at the sight that suddenly developed before his eyes. Two trucks were off-loading supplies and equipment which were being hauled into a cave. The men carrying the equipment did not return from the cave immediately, so Caje decided to watch for a while. After about twenty minutes, the Kraut soldiers reappeared. Then it hit the baffled Cajun just what was going on. The cave on this side of the river and the cave on the other side of the river were the same cave. It was a tunnel leading under the river! That’s why it was so hard to find where the Germans were crossing. With redoubled care, Caje crept past the outer guards and was soon wading the river again. By choosing the crossing area carefully, Caje was successful in reaching the other side without being noticed. He followed the riverbank upstream until he heard a low-pitched whistle and recognized Doc’s signal. He joined his two squadmates and motioned them to follow. When he was far enough upstream that he was sure they would not be overheard, Caje called HQ. “Are you sure of the coordinates? Over.” Hanley’s strong tones questioned. “Yes, sir.” Caje answered. “The hill and cliff were on the map the sergeant is carrying. Over.” “Okay,” Hanley ordered. “Get out of there fast. We’re callin’ in a fire mission. Head for home. Out.” “Roger. Out.” Caje motioned to Doc and Stiles and they started running in a crouch upstream, away from the German stockpiles. In only seconds, 105 shells could be heard overhead. The ground shook beneath the fleeing soldiers as the hill and just beyond were being pounded by American artillery. Out of breath and sweating heavily, the three Americans soon flopped on the ground to rest for a few minutes. They could no longer hear the bursting of shells, and they knew the barrage was over. Caje was pretty sure the lieutenant would send them back to assess the damage, so he urged the others to regain their feet and follow the narrow road back to the village where King Company had set up its CP. * * * When Caje reported to Hanley, the lieutenant was studying maps of the immediate area. Sergeant Evans from Second squad was standing near the door, smoking a cigarette. The Cajun nodded to him as he entered. Evans waved the cigarette, but said nothing. “We need to make sure our artillery did the job, but we’re shy a few men. Did Saunders say anything to you about when he might get back?” The tall officer straightened to face the Cajun as he walked in the door. “No, sir,” Caje replied. “He just said they were going to check the area upriver a ways.” Hanley seemed to be in deep thought for a moment. “The line is closing up and Second squad is back in camp. I’m sending Sergeant Evans and two of his men down-river again to recon the area you just left. You up to another little trip, Caje?” Hanley scrutinized the slender PFC before him. “Yes, sir,” Caje averred. “I can go back out.” “Good.” The lieutenant nodded approvingly. “Littlejohn and Nelson are back. They’ll be with us. See if Doc and Stiles are up to another walk.” “Yes, sir,” Caje turned to go. “Evans, go with Caje. Find out as much as you can about the area you’ll be patrolling.” Hanley motioned the sergeant towards the door. “Yes, sir,” Evans straightened, stamped out his cigarette and followed Caje’s retreating back. When Caje had assembled what was left of First squad, Hanley gave his instructions. “Rig for night recon, and leave personal belongings here. Rations and ammo for two days. We don’t know what we’re going to run into. Be ready to move out in ten minutes.” With a round of ‘yes, sirs’ and head nods, the men gathered their gear in preparation to leave. Doc and Stiles had filled Littlejohn and Billy in on the day’s events and concern had grown over the missing men. By the time the squad had reached the edge of the river once more, daylight was waning and shadows had begun to deepen in the dense forest. Moving as quietly as possible the six men followed the edge of the river, spreading out and searching the best they could in the growing dusk for their friends. They hadn’t moved more than a hundred yards up the river, when a thrashing noise sent them all to the ground for cover. Caje, who was on point, saw a soldier stumbling blindly through the bushes, not seeming to care about the noise he was making or the direction he was heading. Caje rose to his knees aiming his M1 and called to the soldier, “Halt! Who’s there?” The soldier collapsed to the ground panting and gasping for air. “Please don’t shoot! I’m American!” he cried. “Griffin?” Caje called skeptically. “Yeah,” the soldier gasped. “It’s me, Griffin.” By this time Hanley and the rest of the squad had heard and moved up to help the young private. “Where’s Saunders and Kirby?” the lieutenant asked. “They’re dead!” Griffin whimpered. “What do you mean, ‘they’re dead’? What happened?” Hanley’s temper was getting dangerously short. “We found a bridge up the river and we turned to leave…and they opened up on us. I heard Sarge yell something, but I don’t know what. Then I heard Kirby’s BAR and a lot of shooting. The noise was terrible!” Griffin seemed to be on the edge of breaking down. Hanley grabbed the frightened soldier by the shoulders and shook him soundly. “What happened!” he demanded. Griffin made a concerted effort to contain his trembling and continued. “Well, I fell behind some boulders and started to fire, but my rifle jammed. I couldn’t get it to work. Then I heard Kirby calling for Saunders, but there was no answer. I saw Kirby try to run from one tree to another, but he was shot and he fell into the river. After that, I just ran. The Krauts were everywhere! They were killed I’m sure.” Griffin sat shaking and whimpering. Hanley dropped his head. “How can you be sure they’re dead? You just ran and left them out there, didn’t you?” Billy was in Griffin’s face, his voice filled with anger. “That’s enough, Nelson!” the lieutenant barked at young Billy. Littlejohn put a hand on Nelson’s shoulder to calm his friend. “Take it easy, Billy.” He soothed. “they gotta be all right.” He assured his friend. “Saddle up,” Hanley ordered the group. “We’ll get as close as we can to see what’s going on. Don’t make contact unless necessary. I want to check out the bridge. We may need to call in another fire mission, so be ready to retreat fast. Caje, take the point.” “Yes, sir,” Caje said as he moved forward upstream once more. “I…I can’t go back there, Lieutenant.” Griffin cringed without leaving his spot. “You will go back, soldier!” Hanley grabbed the boy by the arm lifting him bodily from the ground. “And you’ll follow orders!” the lieutenant growled as he shoved the young soldier ahead of him. “Where’s your weapon?” “It was jammed. I threw it away! It wouldn’t work, Lieutenant.” Griffin sniffled plaintively. “Just stay low and keep up.” Hanley told him. “Yes, sir,” the soldier’s shoulders slumped as he was shoved back in the direction he’d just come. The darkness had enveloped the forest to the point that movement was treacherous as well as noisy. Caje motioned the men down once more as he knelt behind a clump of bushes by the water’s edge. Hanley crept up next to him. “What’s up, Caje?” the lieutenant queried. “There it is, Lieutenant,” Caje pointed just ahead. “The bridge.” The pontoon bridge had been partially dismantled so that crossing it was impossible. “They’re gone, sir,” Caje pointed out the obvious. “Okay,” Hanley turned to the others. “Spread out and check the area. If it’s clean, we’ll stay the night here and see what develops in the morning. There’s no way we could follow them in this dark, anyway.” The squad split up, Griffin staying close to Stiles and Caje. They searched the area around the bridge and found nothing and no one. They were not allowed to build a fire and the evening quickly became cold. After assigning sentry duty for the evening, Hanley and the rest of the squad settled down on the rotting leaves of the forest floor, each one wrapped only in a single wool blanket, to fall into light and fitful sleep. Every little noise bringing the already nervous soldiers to alert. Daybreak found Caje, Littlejohn, and Nelson searching the area closely for any sign of their sergeant and Kirby. Hanley, too, rose and wandered near the pontoon bridge to search for any clues as to which direction the Krauts may have gone. The lieutenant lit a cigarette and watched the smoke drift lazily on the early morning chill. He was hoping desperately that his friends hadn’t been killed and dumped into the river. * * * When the firing started, Saunders dove behind a boulder close to the water’s edge, bringing his Thompson around to find a target. He never got a chance to use it. Three German soldiers rushed him from all sides, one of them kicking the barrel of his weapon hard enough to make him lose his grip on it. “Griffin, get over here!” Saunders yelled as he reached for the Tommy gun with one hand and slipped his map from his jacket with the other. A rifle butt came down hard on the side of the sergeant’s head and he sprawled stunned, as the Krauts jabbed bayoneted rifle barrels against his chest and neck. Suddenly one of the soldiers cried out and fell away as Kirby’s BAR opened up on them. When the soldiers’ attention was momentarily diverted, Saunders shoved the map beneath the edge of the boulder, scooping dirt over it to hide it. Kirby was unable to get a clear shot at the other two Krauts without changing his position. As he darted towards another tree a shot rang out and he felt a burning sensation in his arm as he was propelled sideways and over the short embankment into the river. The heavy BAR quickly dragged him beneath the surface, and he gasped for air as he struggled to get the strap from around his neck. The current was swift where he had fallen and he was swept a short distance downstream before he could reach the surface again. He tried not to make too much noise gasping for air when he came up, but it was to no avail. Four Kraut soldiers stood along the bank with their rifles pointed directly at him. He raised his hands, standing up in the waist-deep water, and surrendered. Two of the Germans pulled him from the water, shoving him up the bank towards the bridge. They stripped him of his web belt as he walked and roughly pulled his jacket aside to look for any more weapons. He was pushed and shoved angrily as he stumbled his way through the brush, holding onto his injured arm. He could tell it was no more than a flesh wound, but it burned and still bled a little. Kirby was shoved towards another group of Germans. These soldiers were standing in a semi-circle and when he got closer he realized Saunders stood in the midst of them. His helmet, web belt, and field jacket were missing and his hands were tied tightly behind his back. A line of blood ran down the right side of his face from a cut over his right eye where the Kraut rifle butt had landed. A German lieutenant stood before the sergeant and several soldiers had their rifles trained on the sergeant’s face and chest. Kirby could hear the officer say something to Saunders, but couldn’t make out what it was. The sergeant replied, “Saunders, Sergeant, two two seven…” He didn’t get to finish. A large Kraut private stepped forward, bringing his rifle butt around and into Saunders’ stomach with enough force to send him to his knees, knocking the wind out of him. “Hey!” Kirby objected, as he was shoved forward close to his sergeant. Saunders’ chest was heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Kirby reached down and placed a hand beneath his sergeant’s arm and helped him back to his feet. Two of the soldiers stepped forward grasping Kirby’s arms and pulling them behind him, binding his wrists with his own belt. The lieutenant turned to Kirby. “You’re sergeant does not wish to converse with us. Perhaps you will.” He spoke the words as though they were a command. “Kirby, Private, serial number one, three, oh, two…” “Enough!” the lieutenant cut him short. Visibly controlling his anger, the officer turned back to Saunders. “Very well,” he huffed. “If you prefer to be stubborn, we will converse in a different manner.” Giving an order to his men, the lieutenant straightened his tunic, brushing away a bit of dust, and turned to climb into a staff car waiting beside a dusty road. Kirby and Saunders were pushed towards an enclosed truck, then unceremoniously thrown into the back of it, where they lay on the floor. Several of the German soldiers climbed in behind them, seating themselves on benches that ran along the sides. The double back doors were closed and the engine sprang to life. The two Americans’ heads were close to one another and Saunders whispered, “You okay? How’s the arm?” “I’m okay, Sarge,” Kirby assured him. “It’s just a scratch. We gotta get outta here.” “We will, Kirby. Just take it easy and don’t make them too mad….Ugh!” A boot came down hard in the middle of the sergeant’s back. “No talk!” One of the Krauts growled at them. The German who had kicked him kept his foot pressed firmly on Saunders’ back as a reminder to keep quiet. The ride was not very long and soon they were dragged from the truck and prodded towards an old farmhouse. The building was large and at one time may have been one of the more elegant homes that dotted the French countryside. The two Americans were brought in through the kitchen and shoved roughly into a small pantry. The door was closed and they could hear a latch being thrown. “You can get off me now, Kirby,” Saunders muttered as he tried to extricate himself from beneath the small BAR man who had landed on top of him on the floor of the pantry. “Oh, sorry, Sarge,” Kirby wriggled around until he got his back against a wall and levered himself up carefully. There was a thin line of light that shone around the old wooden door making visibility poor in the tiny closet. “Sarge, we can’t be too far from…” “Shut up, Kirby!” Saunders warned, cutting him off before he finished. “They could be listening.” “Oh, yeah,” Kirby mumbled. Then moving closer to Saunders, who was sitting against the opposite wall, he slid down the wall to sit close. “Did they get the map?” he whispered close to the sergeant’s ear. “No,” Saunders lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear. “I managed to get rid of it when you opened up on the Krauts around me.” “How’re we gonna get out, Sarge?” Kirby asked. “First things first,” Saunders told him. “Turn around here and untie me.” “Okay,” Kirby and Saunders squirmed around until their backs were against each other. Working quickly they were soon free, rubbing their chaffed wrists and aching arms and shoulder muscles. “Ow!” Kirby exclaimed as he touched the cut on his upper right arm made by the Kraut bullet earlier. “C’mere,” Saunders told him. The sergeant removed his shirt and undershirt, putting his shirt back on and rolling the undershirt a few times. He wrapped the shirt around the injured arm and tied it as securely as possible. “Maybe that’ll keep it from bleeding anymore.” The sergeant declared. “Thanks, Sarge,” Kirby pulled at the shirt until it was comfortable around his arm. The two soldiers investigated every inch of their prison, finding no possible chance of escaping its walls, then they settled down to rest, knowing they would probably need all the strength they could muster during the next few hours. The late fall evening cooled quickly as the sun set and Kirby and Saunders sat huddled close to one another for warmth in the cold storage room. Sometime in the middle of the night the door was yanked open and three soldiers entered. One of them shoved the barrel of his rifle into Kirby’s throat, while the other two jerked Saunders to his feet, shoving him out the door. Then Kirby was left alone and shivering in the dark, his only companion being the fear that twisted his stomach into a rolling knot. * * * “It looks like there were several vehicles on that road over there real recent,” Littlejohn reported to Hanley as the others were gathering their gear and munching on C-rations. “I’m surprised the Germans seem to be moving so freely on this side of the river and close to our lines.” The lieutenant mused as if to himself. “Get the men together. We’ll follow the road a ways and see what we can come up with.” “Yes, sir,” Littlejohn turned to relay the message to the others. They knew which direction the vehicles were headed by the footprints and scuff marks that were untouched by the vehicles’ treads. Suddenly Caje burst from the edge of the woods with his M1 shouldered and carrying a Garand in his hands. He made straight for Griffin with a look of utter rage on his face. Griffin took a step back before Caje grabbed a double-handful of his jacket lapels and jerked him close so that his face was within an inch of the now frightened young soldier. “You lousy, little coward!” Caje raged at the boy. “Caje!” Hanley shouted. “Stand down, soldier.” Caje immediately released Griffin, who had turned pale and his trembling was no longer caused by the cold alone. “What’s this all about!” the lieutenant demanded. “Look at this, Lieutenant,” Caje picked up the Garand he had dropped when he’d reached for Griffin. “It’s Griffin’s rifle. It hasn’t been fired and it’s NOT jammed!” Caje glared daggers at the cringing soldier. Hanley took the rifle and inspected it briefly. Turning to Griffin his face darkened with anger. “Well?” He was giving the young man the opportunity to explain. “I swear it wouldn’t work!” Griffin cried indignantly. The lieutenant bent into the private’s face. “It wouldn’t work…WHAT…” he spat. “It…it wouldn’t work, Sir,” Griffin almost whispered, remembering military protocol. “He just ran off and left them, Lieutenant!” Caje was seething. “That’s enough, Caje,” Hanley turned to the Cajun. “You can’t prove that and neither can we. So drop it.” “Yes, sir,” Caje said sullenly, still glaring at the private, who had straightened up and taken on the air of the falsely accused. Turning to the others, Hanley ordered, “Saddle up. Caje, take the point. Stiles the rear. Now, move out.” Everyone jumped at the command, not realizing that each man had frozen in place during the confrontation. Griffin fell into line beside Doc as the others passed him without looking at him. “Doc, I swear, I couldn’t help them,” Griffin hoped to find a friend in the always sympathetic medic. Doc looked at him for a moment, then said, “Just drop it, Griffin. And you better hope you didn’t do what they say you did.” With a set jaw, Doc fell in behind Nelson, leaving the sniveling soldier to walk alone. The sun was coming up now, and it offered a welcome warmth to the squad as they followed the dusty road in two columns, one on each side close to the tree lines. They were aware that the Krauts could have mined the road as they passed, and keeping near the trees would give them instant cover if needed. Hanley checked his map as they walked. He realized they were following a road that paralleled the main route into the village where his CP was. It would bring them just above the town maybe a mile away. He shook his head at the brashness the Krauts displayed at traveling so close to American lines. Caje came trotting back to the lieutenant. “Lieutenant,” he puffed as he drew up in front of the officer. “It looks like the vehicles left the main road just ahead. There’s a little side road, no more than a path. It seems they may have gone that way, sir.” “Okay, Caje,” the lieutenant moved ahead as he spoke. “Everyone spread out and stay alert. Sing out if you see anything at all.” He ordered as he passed the squad. Hanley and Caje led the men down the side road into more densely woven forest. The trees, shading the sun, made it cooler, and the men could see their breaths in a puff of vapor occasionally. The leaves were dry and thick on the ground, making it hard to travel silently. The small group followed the winding path for some time. It led them to some gently rolling hills covered with tall dry grass and dotted with trees near their bases. Hanley finally called a five minute break and pulled his map from inside his jacket, spreading it across his knee as he lit a Lucky and began to study the document. Caje squatted before the lieutenant waiting for his presence to be acknowledged, not wanting to disturb his CO. “What is it, Caje,” Hanley finally asked, looking up from the map. “Lieutenant,” Caje began, looking down at his hands. “I know we’re real close to our own lines. Do you really think the Krauts would get this close, especially with prisoners?” “I don’t know, Caje. We don’t have much time left for searching. Captain Jampel gave us until 1630 to return to HQ. If they’re still alive, Saunders and Kirby will find a way out. You know that.” “Yes, sir,” Caje looked away, trying to hide his troubled expression. “Get the men ready to move out, Caje,” Hanley ordered as he folded the map. “The map shows a large farm not far from here. We’ll have to check it out. Let’s go.” “Yes, sir,” Caje still looked down at his hands for a moment. “Somethin’ troublin’ you, Caje?” The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir,” Caje mumbled. “Well, let’s have it.” Hanley demanded. “It’s Griffin, sir,” Caje looked up as the lieutenant began to rise. “What about ‘im?” “What if he really did desert them, Lieutenant? Do you think he can be trusted?” “And what if he didn’t desert them, Caje? We can’t judge the man without hard evidence. If I had that, the soldier would be under arrest. But we don’t. So the subject is closed for now. Got it?” Hanley’s voice had hardened with conviction. “Yes, sir,” Caje stood and nodded his understanding, then turned to get the men on their feet once more. There was a growing feeling of uneasiness in the Cajun’s stomach and he decided he’d keep an eye on the young private. * * * Just after daybreak, the door to the pantry was opened again and the limp form of Sergeant Saunders was thrown carelessly to the floor of the small room. Kirby was sitting with his back to a wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. The sudden glare of daylight flooding the room blinded him momentarily as the sergeant landed across his legs and lay there unmoving. The door was shut and bolted again and darkness returned. “Sarge!?” Kirby gently rolled Saunders off his legs and felt for a pulse along the sergeant’s jaw line. After confirming that the sarge was indeed still alive, Kirby pulled a dirty rag from around the sergeant’s eyes and proceeded to work on getting Saunders’ wrists untied. They had been bound with wire which had cut into the flesh, leaving his wrists swollen and bloody. The blood made the wire slippery and it took a while for Kirby to untwist the ends. When his sergeant’s arms were free once more, Kirby pulled the unconscious man up onto his lap. Even though the room was cold, Saunders was covered with sweat and his skin felt clammy. His shirt was torn and Kirby could feel welts across the sergeant’s chest and back. Kirby realized they must have used a whip or belt on him. The wiry BAR man seethed with anger as he removed the makeshift undershirt/bandage from his arm and then shed his field jacket, draping it over Saunders’ half-exposed chest and shoulders. Then he pulled the sergeant close to try to provide some warmth for both of them. It suddenly dawned on him that the Krauts had not bothered to take him for questioning and the noise outside the pantry door indicated that something was definitely going on. There was a lot of yelling and running. Saunders stirred and moaned softly. “Sarge?” Kirby lifted him to a sitting position. “Kirby?” Saunders throat was parched and his voice was little more than a whisper. “Yeah, Sarge, it’s me. The Krauts just brought you back and somethin’s goin’ on out there. I can’t figure out what it is, but they’re sure excited about it.” Saunders shoved Kirby’s jacket aside and scooted over to the door to listen, wincing at the pain in his arms and wrists when he put his weight on them. It was hard to hear anything over the loud ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. “They probably aren’t paying much attention to us right now, Kirby.” Saunders stated. “Do you have anything we can use to try and jimmy that latch with through the crack in the door?” “Sure, Sarge, try this,” Kirby handed him the wire that had caused part of the sergeant’s present agony. Saunders took the wire and pulled himself up shakily to his knees beside the door. Running the end of the stiff wire through the small gap between the door and the frame, Saunders lifted until he felt the latch. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook him and he sagged against the door for a moment. “Here, Sarge,” Kirby gently pushed him aside, taking the wire from his trembling fingers. “Let me.” Kirby didn’t take long getting the latch loosened, and he realized the Krauts must have been drastically distracted to allow their prisoners access to the wire. “I’ll check it out, Sarge,” Kirby motioned the sergeant back as he eased the door open just a crack. He could see a German Corporal standing at the only window in the kitchen. His back was to the pantry door and his full attention seemed to be on events happening outside the building. His Mausser was raised to a firing position and he stood ready for action. “There’s only one of ‘em out there, Sarge,” Kirby whispered as he knelt beside Saunders. “We can take ‘im easy. C’mon.” He slipped an arm under Saunders right arm and around his back to help him up. Saunders gasped as Kirby’s arm came in contact with his bruised ribs and torn flesh, but he struggled to his feet and steadied himself as Kirby moved back to the door. Saunders bent and retrieved the wire from where the private had dropped it after opening the door. “Here,” he said, “use this.” Kirby grabbed the wire and slipped out the door carefully checking either side of him as he moved cautiously towards the Kraut’s back, holding the ends of the wire with both hands. With a swift lunged, Kirby wrapped the wire around the Corporal’s neck jerking him backwards. Taken totally by surprise, the German lost his grip on his rifle letting it clatter to the floor. Then suddenly Saunders was in front of the hapless Kraut. Moving as swiftly as he could in his weakened condition, the sergeant drew the German’s bayonet from his web belt and thrust it deep beneath the Corporal’s rib cage. Kirby held onto the soldier until his feeble struggles ceased; then let him slip to the floor. Grabbing the Kraut by his collar, Kirby dragged him into the pantry and closed the door. Saunders had retrieved the Mausser and stood with his left arm across his middle, gasping for breath. His face was a mass of bruises and scrapes and the cut above his right eye had been opened again during the beating and blood coated the entire right side of his face and neck. He held onto the window frame for support and Kirby could tell he was on the verge of passing out. “Follow me,” Saunders told Kirby as he pushed himself away from the window and headed for a door leading to the inner part of the house. “Not that way, Sarge,” Kirby pleaded. “You’re not thinkin’ straight. There’s Krauts in there!” * * * Lt. Hanley motioned the men down as they approached the sprawling farm. The house was large and there were several barns and outbuildings surrounding three sides of the extensive property. The house itself was built with one side against a hill that rose sharply on the north side of the grounds. “Caje, you take Littlejohn and Nelson. Circle around and see if you can come up on the side near that big barn.” Hanley said pointing to the large barn farthest from their position. “I’ll be watching that rock outcropping to the left. Leave Nelson there. If everything is clear, move in and start flushing the place. If you see anything, have Nelson signal me, then we’ll all move on my command.” “Yes, sir,” Caje nodded and motioning to Littlejohn and Nelson, the trio slipped off through the woods to get to their position. The lieutenant turned to his remaining troops. “Stiles, you and Griffin take up positions close to those two outbuildings and wait for orders.” Hanley instructed them. “Doc stay here with me and stay low.” Doc nodded as Stiles and Griffin said, “Yes, sir.” Then moved off to take up their assigned positions. While Hanley was watching for a signal from Nelson, he saw the door of the large barn swing open. Four German soldiers walked out, two of them propping the large door open as an engine sprang to life and a troop transport rolled from the building into the bright afternoon sunlight. Motioning to his men to take cover, Hanley crouched low behind the bushes he had chosen for a vantage point. They all watched as the truck backed up to the front door of the house. The tailgate was lowered and several soldiers started loading crates and barrels into the vehicle from within the house. Hanley motioned to Nelson then turned to Doc. “Caje, Littlejohn, and Nelson will move in and infiltrate as deeply as they can. It looks like there may be more than we can handle here, so pull back a ways and wait. Just stay within earshot in case we need you.” “Yes, sir,” Doc nodded gravely watching the enemy soldiers moving between the house and the truck. “Amerikaner!” the alarm was raised. Suddenly there were Germans all over the place. Shots were fired near the barn and Hanley knew there was no backing out easily. They would have to put up a fight. Scrutinizing the area around the barn, Hanley was pleased to see that Caje, Littlejohn, and Nelson had spread out and taken good positions to fire from. Turning to his right, he looked for Stiles and Griffin. Stiles had started firing from his well concealed position behind a small shed and Griffin stood behind an outbuilding looking all around him as if completely confused as to what to do. Then the time for checking on his men was past as Kraut bullets whizzed above his head, ripping leaves and small branches from the trees and bushes around him. The lieutenant opened up with his carbine and concentrated on depleting the enemy numbers. * * * “Sarge! Come back!” Kirby called softly as Saunders slipped through an inner door into another room. Without a weapon, Kirby felt naked and alone in a pit full of vipers. He followed his sergeant with hopes of making him come to his senses. Kirby found himself in a long hallway with doors leading off on either side. As he crouched and slid past the first doorway a hand reached out and grabbed his shirt jerking him into a dark room filled to the brim with crates of some sort. A hand clamped over his mouth and Saunders whispered in his ear, “Be quiet and stay down.” Kirby sat panting, with his hand over his heart. “Geez, Sarge!” he whispered. “Don’t DO that to a fella.” Suddenly there were shots fired outside and several Germans ran down the hallway and out the back door through the kitchen. “Look at this place, Kirby. They’ve been stockpiling supplies and munitions right under the Allies’ noses. No wonder our patrols haven’t been turning up anything lately. We’ve been sitting right on top of the stuff. The Germans have been siphoning it in a little at a time through different areas, never using the same crossing more than a day or two. When they were questioning me, I was in what looked like a cavern full of gasoline barrels. I was blindfolded, so I don’t know exactly where it is, but it has to be close. We’ve gotta find it.” “But, Sarge,” Kirby argued. “That’s our guys out there. They’ll help us if we can get to them.” “I’m not leaving this place until that fuel dump is destroyed!” Saunders stated bluntly. Kirby knew the look in those steel blues eyes, and he knew his arguments were defeated. “Well, I need a weapon,” he groused as he peeked out the door into the hallway. “We’ll get you one,” Saunders assured him. “Look for stairs leading down. I remember going down a long flight of stairs.” “Okay, Sarge,” Kirby nodded, then made a grab at Saunders arm to steady him as he stumbled against a stack of crates. “I’m okay,” the sergeant righted himself and waved off the helping hand. From the battle raging outside, Saunders figured the Germans were pinned down and too busy to worry about supposedly jailed prisoners. He slipped from the room and crept down the hallway trying to remember which way he had turned when the Krauts had been shoving and pulling him to the interrogation area. His head was pounding and thoughts seemed fuzzy and out of reach. “Sarge,” Kirby called softly from a door he had just opened about half-way down the hall. Saunders pulled up on the opposite side of the door, bringing the muzzle of the German rifle around the edge of the doorframe. He was looking at a stairway that disappeared into darkness below them. The sergeant motioned Kirby to follow and slipped cautiously into the stairwell. Kirby followed nervously looking back, expecting Krauts to come barreling down the stairs at any moment. Before they were half-way down a light slowly developed below them making their footing easier and their progress faster. As they approached the bottom of the stairs, they could see a vast chamber filled to overflowing with 55-gallon drums of gasoline. To their left a guard leaned against a stack of crates munching on his field rations, apparently not too concerned about an enemy invasion. Saunders motioned Kirby to the other side of the stairway to create a diversion. Kirby slipped behind a crate and gave a short cough. Immediately, the guard dropped his meal and brought his weapon up to a firing position. Moving carefully among the crates and barrels, the German strained to look over the tops of the piled crates. A shadow moved beside him, and before he was able to respond, a rifle butt crashed against his neck, snapping the bone as he was driven to the floor. Saunders rolled the Kraut over with the toe of his boot to make sure he was dead, then he retrieved the soldier’s field rifle and handed it to Kirby who appeared beside him. “Thanks, Sarge. This makes me feel better.” Kirby smiled as he checked the ammunition and unfastened the German’s web belt, pulling it free and wrapping it around himself. It was a bit large and it hung on Kirby’s thin hips like an old western gunbelt, but the BAR man was armed again and satisfied for the moment. “There’s gotta be a door around here somewhere. Let’s find it. Keep in sight, though. We don’t wanna lose each other in here.” Saunders cautioned as he moved towards one side of the huge room. Since they had not been able to see the layout of the surrounding territory, the two Americans were unsure which wall would provide an outlet. It wasn’t long before Kirby spotted an entry. It was a tunnel about a hundred feet long, ending in daylight. There seemed to be brush and branches covering the entryway. “All the Krauts must be busy topside.” Saunders mused after scanning the empty tunnel. “Okay, Kirby,” He pointed to the gasoline drums. “Start punchin’ holes.” With that, Saunders pulled the bayonet he’d used to dispense the German corporal and started punching barrels low to the ground. Kirby pulled the bayonet from its sheath on the web belt he now wore and started doing the same. They moved to every second or third barrel releasing the noxious fluid until the cavern reeked with the fumes. Saunders ran back to the dead German and quickly searched his pockets until he came up with a box of matches. Returning to Kirby who was waiting near the entrance to the tunnel, Saunders grabbed a five-gallon can of gas and opened the top, pouring it across several barrels and letting it leave a trail of liquid behind him as he headed for the tunnel. His arms and wrists screamed for relief as he ran towards Kirby. Before he got to the mouth of the tunnel, his legs buckled and he fell, losing the gas can in the process. Kirby was suddenly by his side setting the can upright and pulling the sergeant to his feet again. “Here,” Saunders gasped as he extended the box of matches. “Okay, Sarge, c’mon,” Kirby accepted the matches and slipped them in his pants pocket as he hefted the gas can under one arm, letting the gasoline pour behind them. He grabbed the sergeant’s left arm and drew it around his shoulders as he wrapped his right arm around Sarge’s waist to steady him as they ran. The fumes were gagging them and they fell to their knees at the brush-filled entrance gasping for air. “Give me the matches and take off, Kirby,” Saunders ordered as they crawled out into fresh air and sunshine. “Sarge, you’re done in. You’ll never get far enough away before that thing blows. I’ll get you out of the way, then I’ll set it on fire.” Kirby pulled Saunders to his feet once more and they staggered around the base of the hill that housed the cavern. Both men were puffing with exertion when Kirby finally eased Saunders to the ground behind a group of boulders. The sergeant could see a couple of the small outbuildings from his position and he could hear the constant firing of the battling soldiers. “Hurry back,” he smiled at Kirby. “We gotta help our friends.” Kirby gave the sarge a pat on his shoulder and took off for the entrance to the tunnel. * * * “Nelson!” Caje yelled at the young private who was firing from behind an old farm tractor near the barn. “What!” Billy answered without taking his eyes from the task before him. “See if you can get a grenade in on that machine gun!” Caje bellowed over the noise of the gunshots. “We might be able to rush them if you can.” “I’ll try!” Nelson called back, checking inside the front of his jacket for his stash of grenades. Several Germans broke from the side of the house rushing the sheds where Stiles and Griffin were posted. Griffin saw them coming and fear gripped his very being. He threw his weapon down where he stood and ran for the edge of the woods. Stiles, seeing him run, screamed at him to come back and help him. Griffin never slowed down and Stiles turned back to the rushing Krauts, firing as fast as he could before they overran his position. The emptied clip sprang from his rifle and he grabbed at his web belt for another clip. His hands shook and he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. Suddenly a rifle fired from a few yards to his right, near the bottom of the steep hill, and two of the Germans sprawled motionless. Stiles quickly raised his rifle again, carefully squeezing the trigger and cutting down the last Kraut soldier bearing down on him. The young soldier turned his back against the shed and slid down to a sitting position, sweating profusely and happy to be alive. Lieutenant Hanley had seen everything that happened and strained to see who had slipped up near enough to the sheds to help Stiles. The young replacement also peered around the corner of his little building searching for his rescuer. They both spotted a man in a torn, bloody shirt leaning out from behind a group of boulders and looking for more Germans. His tousled, thick blond hair left no doubt to either of them who it was. Stiles waved his thanks, and Hanley turned back to the German he’d been exchanging fire with for the past fifteen minutes. The lieutenant smiled to himself, pleased that his sergeant and best friend had survived after all. The battle was obviously winding down, the only big problem left was a machine gun dug in tight near Billy Nelson’s position. Billy called for cover and dashed across a short space to roll behind a low stone fence. Rolling over so that his back was against the fence, Nelson pulled the pin on a grenade and hurled it towards the chattering gun. Suddenly the earth shook beneath all of them; then there was a tremendous explosion just as the grenade went off. The large farmhouse exploded upwards sending boards, bricks, dust, and Germans flying in all directions. A huge ball of flames issued from the foundation of the house as well as the tunnel exit at the back of the hill. The earth trembled steadily for a few seconds then settled. The sudden silence was as deafening as the giant explosion. The American soldiers slowly rose from their hiding spots. There was a collective look of incredulity on their faces. Billy Nelson stood unmoving, looking at the total destruction before him. Littlejohn and Caje ran to him to see if he was okay. Nelson turned to them and said, “Gosh! I never saw one of those things do THAT before!” Hanley motioned for Doc and headed across the large opening between himself and the shed where Stiles had been. Before he got there, he was met by Kirby and Stiles practically carrying a badly beaten Saunders between them. “Glad you could make it, Saunders,” Hanley grinned. Saunders pushed the two soldiers away from him and came to attention, executing a perfect salute and promptly collapsing to the ground. Hanley reached out and grabbed one of the sergeant’s arms to keep him from falling too hard and yelled, “Doc!” But the medic was already there bending over Saunders as he started rummaging through his medical bag. * * * When Kirby was finished with his rather elaborate report, Hanley walked over and squatted in front of his sergeant, who was sitting propped against one of the out-buildings. The sergeant had a bandage wrapped around his head and the blood had been washed away from his face and neck, and he was just finishing a tin of ham that the medic had magically produced from somewhere. The lieutenant pulled a pack of Luckys from his shirt pocket, shaking one loose and offering it to his friend. Saunders gratefully took the proffered smoke and took a long drag releasing it slowly. “They were too close for comfort, Lieutenant.” He finally spoke. “S2 had had reports of Panzers and other German machinery moving in this area, but they didn’t know how they were moving through without refueling. We just took a big bite out of their movements.” Hanley smiled at the tired look on Saunders battered face. “We’ll be moving out in a few minutes. Can you make it? We can rig a stretcher if necessary…” “No, Lieutenant,” Saunders interrupted. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a little tired. That’s all.” “Okay,” Hanley stood and offered a hand to Saunders who accepted it and struggled to his feet. “Halt! Who’s there!” Littlejohn’s deep voice echoed through the early evening chill. Everyone turned towards the sound as a thin voice cried, “Don’t shoot! It’s me!” Littlejohn walked out of the edge of the woods with Griffin nearly hanging by his collar as the giant PFC practically carried the whining soldier towards the lieutenant. With an outraged growl, Saunders reached for the sniveling young man, his every movement promising bodily harm. Hanley placed a hand on the sergeant’s arm, restraining him. “I’ll kill him!” Stiles yelled as he reached for his rifle. Kirby grabbed the rifle as Caje got a hold on the angry young soldier. “All right, all right,” Hanley barked. “Calm down; all of you.” “Griffin,” the lieutenant turned to the frightened boy in front of him. “You are under arrest for desertion. Two counts.” “But, Lieutenant!” Griffin cried. “That’s enough!” Hanley lowered his face to within an inch of Griffin’s. “You’ll get to say your piece at the court martial.” Hanley straightened. “And if you decide you want to take another little unauthorized trip, I’ll simply turn you over to Sergeant Saunders.” The lieutenant turned and gave a slight grin to his seething friend as he prepared to move out. END |
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