| The characters of “Combat!” are the property of ABC. No profit is made, quite obviously. Copyright 2004 by Mel Roberts.
A Hitchhiker’s Guide to WWII France It was a bad idea from the start, but Kirby could be persuasive when he put his mind to it. Or maybe it was that Kirby could be annoying beyond all comprehension when he put his mind to it and you just went along to shut him up. Either way, Doc should’ve known better. It had started off innocently enough. He and Kirby had been left behind at an aid station to have some shrapnel wounds taken care of and had a ride with a supply truck for later that afternoon. Only, Kirby hadn’t wanted to wait. “C’mon, Doc, time’s a wastin’. I’ve got a winning streak with my name on it, waiting for me back at our barracks. Let’s just hitch a ride with somebody. What d’ya say?” What he should’ve said was “no”. What had come out of his mouth, however, was, “Okay, Kirby. I don’t see the harm in leaving a few hours early.” Well, you know what they say about hindsight. Kirby talked to a few guys and finally waved to Doc with a big grin on his face. “This fella says he’ll give us a lift to the village. Let’s go.” The two soldiers climbed into the jeep, Doc rolling his eyes as Kirby scrambled into the passenger seat without a word. Resigning himself to a bumpy ride, Doc climbed into the back. Once they were settled, the driver shoved the jeep into gear and they lurched forward. It quickly became evident the young man was heavy handed with the gears, making Doc grit his teeth with annoyance. Kirby hadn’t seemed to notice, his mouth running a mile a minute as he traded war stories with their new friend. It didn’t take too long before the sound of the engine, the droning of voices and the early afternoon sun combined to make the medic a tad drowsy. Slumping in the back, Doc had just about dozed off when the voices from up front rose in pitch and volume. Uh-oh. Uh-oh had been right. Next thing Doc knew, he was standing on the side of the road, watching their jeep leave in a trail of dust and grinding of gears. Crossing his arms, Doc turned and narrowed his eyes at Kirby. “Hey, it’s not my fault! What kinda guy leaves two wounded GIs standing on the road?” “That guy, obviously. What were you thinking?” “I didn’t know he was from Detroit. He shouldn’t ‘a come from such a crappy city. Shoulda been born in Chicago. He didn’t kick you out, ya know. You coulda stayed in the jeep.” Doc gave Kirby a sharp look of disbelief. “And explain to Saunders that I left you out in the middle of nowhere because you let your mouth run away with your brain?” The sharp look turned into a glare. “Again.” “We’re not out in the middle of nowhere. We passed a couple of trucks a while ago. Maybe they’ll see us and give us a ride.” Taking off his helmet to let the breeze cool his sweat-slicked hair, Doc sighed and began to walk. “Might as well see how far we can get. Those trucks might’ve turned off somewhere. I can’t believe I listened to you in the first place.” Grumbling under his breath, feeling unjustly accused of any misdeeds, Kirby fell into line behind Doc. It was gonna be a long afternoon. Just as they were about to take a break, however, the first of two trucks crested the hill behind them. Watching the sunlight glinting off the windshield, Kirby couldn’t keep an I-told-you-so smile from his face. “See? I knew they’d be by soon enough.” Refusing to comment, Doc merely watched as Kirby stuck his thumb out and waved his arm. The two trucks rumbled to a stop, a sergeant poked his head out the passenger side window and waved to the second truck. “Climb in the back of that one, boys. This one’s full up with equipment.” Jogging to the back of the truck, the two GIs couldn’t believe their luck. Smiling down at them from the truck’s benches were two beautiful blondes. USO gals, of course. Kirby shot Doc a wolf-like grin and scrambled up into the back. His own mouth quirking up into a pleased smile, Doc followed behind. As soon as the two were settled, the trucks started up and they were once again on their way. Swaying with the movement of the truck, Doc tried to keep from falling against the woman sitting next to him. Not that he’d mind…but she might. She sure smelled good, though. It was nice, like a touch of home. He traded small talk with her and the trumpet player sitting on his other side for a while, but before long the movement, exhaustion and droning of voices once again lulled him to sleep. He got a short nap before a sudden jolting stop tilted him into someone’s lap. The trumpet player’s, unfortunately. Sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Doc looked around to see what the trouble was. It didn’t take long to find it. The red handprint on the side of Kirby’s face and the angry look on the face of the other blonde pretty much spelled it out. Next thing he knew, they were once again standing on the side of the road, watching a trail of dust. “Kirby, I don’t believe you! What the heck did you do?” “Hey, how was I supposed to know you could look but not touch?” “Oh, for the love of Mike! I’m finding us the next ride.” Grabbing the strap of his medical bag in an effort to give his hands something to clench around besides Kirby’s neck, Doc once again began walking in the direction of the village. His stiff posture and clenched jaw pretty much kept Kirby from mouthing off. It didn’t keep him from quietly mumbling against the world’s injustice, however, as he trailed along behind. ~~~~~***~~~~~ They had a bit of an argument over the next mode of transportation. “Aw, c’mon, Doc. We can walk faster than this thing.” “Yes, Kirby, but the operative word there is walk.” “Hay makes me itchy.” “You make me crazy, but I’m still here. Get in.” Doc thanked the farmer and his daughter, and the two GIs climbed into the back of a weathered old hay wagon. It was slow, but Doc was tired of walking. And the hay made a prefect bed for a little nap. Pushing and spreading the straw until it made a nice nest to sleep in, Doc used his bag as a pillow and sighed contentedly. It might be slow, but this was the way to travel. No. No, no, no, no, no. He was not hearing loud voices. Nobody was shouting. He would keep his eyes closed and he’d wake up back at the village with the rest of the squad. He would. He wouldn’t. He didn’t understand a word the farmer shouted at them, but Doc got the gist of it just the same. Kirby had said or done something to make the farmer defensive of his daughter’s honor. Picking straw from his hair with one hand, Doc snagged his bag and helmet with the other as he slid back onto the ground. Unable to speak French, Doc just shrugged his shoulders in apology. Giving up on the bits of straw, he reached over to slap Kirby in the back of the head. “You didn’t learn the first time, Kirby?!” “What? It was a misunderstanding, Doc, I swear!” Shooting Kirby a glare of pure anger, Doc slipped his helmet on and simply stared. He didn’t know what to say, and was afraid he’d start yelling if he tried to say anything anyway. Kirby shifted his feet nervously. He’d never seen such a look of anger on the usually mild-mannered medic. It made him uncomfortable. This time is was Kirby that took the lead, turning to walk once more. The long minutes of silence unnerved the BAR man, though. A sudden thought made him smile. “Hey, Doc. Remember when you told Jackson that you were a bouncer? Were you serious?” Nothing but silence greeted his question, so he tried again. “Well, were you?” “If I tell you, will you shut up?” “You don’t hafta be that way, but yeah.” “Yes, I was a bouncer. Every Friday and Saturday night at the local bar. I was tryin’ to earn money to go to college. Not that it got me anywhere. I’m here, instead.” “Huh.” Before he could form a response, Kirby heard the distant rumble of an engine. This time they’d get lucky with transportation. He just knew it. ~~~~~***~~~~~ The swaying of the truck reminded him of the USO girls. If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell their perfume. But, no. Looking across to the opposite bench, Doc glared once more at Kirby. “Hey, Doc, look on the bright side. At least we’re not walking.” “I’m not talking to you, Mr. Hey-c’mon, Doc-I-think-it’s-one-of-ours.” “Well, it sounded American to me.” “How can an engine sound German or American, Kirby? It’s an engine?!” He’d apparently raised his voice too loudly for his guard’s comfort. The German reached over and hit Doc on the side of the head. The medic turned his glare onto the guard and Kirby swore the kid physically flinched. Chuckling quietly, despite their situation, Kirby shook his head. “Bet you were a good bouncer. Probably just got guys to settle down by lookin’ at ‘em funny.” Leaving the guard alone for a moment, Doc jabbed a finger at Kirby and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say a word, all hell broke lose. Neither was sure which came first, the explosion or the tumbling motion of the truck flipping over. When the dust began to settle and the ringing in his ears to clear, Kirby struggled to sit up. He couldn’t tell top from bottom at first, the truck having settled onto its side. He looked around for Doc and found the medic laying a few feet away with a stunned look on his face. “You okay, Doc?” “This is a dream, right? I’ll wake up in a little while, surely. Nobody could have such a bad day as we’re havin’. My head is killin’ me.” “Nope, ain’t a dream. No dream of mine would have Littlejohn’s ugly mug staring at me.” “Hey, I could just leave you two here if that’s what you want.” Crawling over the dead body of their German guard, Kirby squinted at the sunlight. His brains were rattled from their topsy-turvy tumble in the truck. “How’d you guys know we were in this truck, anyways?” Holding out a hand to help Kirby to his feet, Sgt. Saunders shook his head. “We didn’t. You’re just lucky that way, I guess. We were coming out of the woods, saw the truck and Caje tossed a grenade. I thought Littlejohn was kidding when he looked back here and said you guys were in it.” Wiping blood from his nose, Kirby frowned. “You coulda had a little better aim, Caje. You might’ve killed us, ya know.” Looking up from where he was helping Doc out of the mess that had been a German truck, Caje frowned. “Better bruised than a POW, Kirby.” “Yeah, but I think I popped some stitches. Hey, Doc, look at these, will ya?” After making a hasty inspection of his own bumps, bruises and cuts, Doc went to check Kirby. He weaved a little as he walked, still a bit dizzy from their tumble. He was tired, sore and angry. He could be forgiven if he wasn’t quite his gentle self. Or maybe not. “Jeez, Doc. Make it hurt some more, why don’t ya? Even Caje isn’t so rough with bandaging.” Caje and the medic both fixed a glare at him. “You two have been hangin’ around together too much. All silent and moody looks.” The two silent and moody soldiers shared a look and smiled such evil smiles, even Littlejohn shivered. ~~~~~***~~~~~ So, from that day’s bit of adventure, Doc and Kirby both learned valuable lessons. Doc learned to go with his first instinct, which is not to listen to Kirby. As for Kirby, he learned 10 very important rules for hitchhiking in WWII France. Rules to hitchhiking: 1. Find out where a guy’s from before you start bad-mouthin’ cities. 2. USO girls are to look at, not to touch. Hey, it was an accident…the truck bounced. 3. Don’t look at the farmer’s daughter too much, especially if you don’t speak the same language. Misunderstandings can happen. 4. All engines sound alike. 5. Don’t complain about the Cajun’s aim. 6. Don’t try to blame the whole thing on the guy from Detroit. Leastways, not when the medic is listening. He tends to let everyone know just whose fault it was. 7. Rules 7-8…don’t p*** off the medic or the Cajun. They’re quiet, but can be very dangerous. 9. If you break rule #7, don’t let the medic bandage your wounds. Florence Nightingale he ain’t. 10. Don’t p*** off the tall guy, especially when he’s the only one within shouting distance when the Cajun and medic leave you hogtied in the alley. ~~~~~***~~~~~ “Caje? Doc? Littlejohn, I was just kidding! Sarge? C’mon guys, this isn’t funny. Where’re you going? Saaaaarge!” END |
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