| The characters of "Combat!" are the property of ABC. This is a work of fiction, written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is made. Mission “It’s an escort patrol, Saunders,” Lieutenant Hanley spoke over his coffee cup. The sergeant laid his camouflage-covered helmet on the table and lit a cigarette. “Where we headin’, an’ who with, Lieutenant?” Saunders moved around the table in order to get a better view of the map Hanley had stretched before them. “You’ll be goin’ in behind enemy lines about two miles north. You’re takin’ a demolition team in to wipe out a bridge just north of Vebray. A Sgt. Miles and one of his team, Pvt. Stockton, will be goin’ with you. The Germans have been moving some heavy equipment in that area and S2 seems to think they’re using the bridge to move the equipment, fuel, and supplies closer to our sector. Take Caje and Kirby. I need the rest of first squad for another mission. This’ll probably take two days, so take what you need. Any questions?” the lieutenant turned to the sergeant. “How many Krauts d’ ya think we’ll run into, sir?” Saunders asked as he studied the map. “There are reports of heavy enemy activity in the area, so watch yourself,” Hanley explained. “Try not to make contact unless absolutely necessary. It’ll probably be better to go in under cover of night. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you have more men, but, as usual, we’re stretched too thin right now. You’ll leave as soon as Sgt. Miles gets here from battalion.” “Yes, sir,” the sergeant ran his hand through his thick blond hair, scratching the back of his head. He accepted the map that the lieutenant had folded and was extending to him, and stuffed it into the front of his jacket, then picked up a handy-talky he would be taking with him. Just as he reached for his helmet, two men walked through the door of the CP. The tallest one, a large dark-haired man with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve spoke, “I’m Sgt. Miles and this is Pvt. Stockton, Lieutenant. We’re the demolition team from division, sir.” “Nice to meet you, Miles,” Hanley began. “You’ll be going with Sergeant Saunders, here, and two of his men. Saunders is in charge of the patrol. Get in and out as fast as you can. There’re rumors of a storm brewing in that sector. Got it?” “Yes, sir,” Miles nodded to the lieutenant, then turned to Saunders. “Ready when you are, Saunders.” Saunders nodded a greeting to the two men and headed for the door. It was mid morning and the sergeant wanted to get as close to the bridge as possible before nightfall. The terrain looked rough so the trip would take some time. The two demo men followed the sergeant to the edge of town, where he paused and spoke to a group of soldiers relaxing near an old stone fence. “Caje, Kirby,” he called. “Saddle up. Food and ammo for two days. You have five minutes.” The sergeant turned to the two men behind him. “Need any ammo or anything?” he asked. “I think we’re all set,” Miles answered. “We’ll just need some help with the explosives and equipment.” “We can handle it,” Saunders assured him. “Just set what you need us to carry over there. We’ll be ready to move out in a few minutes.” Miles and Stockton unloaded some the equipment they were laden with and rearranged their own burdens to be able to carry them comfortably. “Well, I was beginning to think you were the only giant in the army, Littlejohn,” Kirby teased his big friend as he gathered his gear and settled the BAR strap around his neck. He was looking at the sergeant standing beside Saunders. The man was indeed as tall as Littlejohn, but heavier built, making him seem much larger. “There’s actually a lot of us more normal guys around, Kirby,” Littlejohn grinned. “We’ve been spread thin to make you shrimps feel more like men.” “Aw, you’re just bigger ‘cause your so full of hot air,” Kirby jabbed. “I’ll show you hot air!” Littlejohn reached for the wiry BAR man as he sidestepped the big man and nearly ran into the approaching Saunders. “Okay,” the sergeant said. “Knock it off. Kirby, grab some of that gear. You, too, Caje, and take the point.” He told the Cajun. “Let’s move.” The men gathered the small pile of demolition gear and headed out on the dirt road leading north. They had foregone packs in favor of carrying their rations inside their field jackets. This left their backs free to carry equipment. Saunders frowned at the load. If they ran into Krauts overburdened like this, he hoped they could move quickly enough to take cover. Shaking his head, he took the rear position and turned his mind to the task at hand. The afternoon had turned hot and twice they had ducked into the woods at the side of the road for cover to elude German patrols. The further they traveled, the more likely they would be running into the enemy. It wasn’t long before Saunders motioned Caje to take to the woods to avoid being caught in the open. Stockton moved up beside Kirby. “You guys been out here long?” he asked. “Since D-Day,” Kirby said. “Caje and the sarge hit the beach at Omaha together. I joined them a couple days later after hitting the beach at Gold.” “I just got shipped over an’ I gotta tell ya, I really got the jitters,” the young private admitted. Kirby grinned, “We all get that way every time we go out. It’s nothin’ new. Don’t worry about it, you’ll do fine.” “I sure hope so,” Stockton fell back readjusting the load he was carrying. Saunders called a five-minute break and everyone gladly sat in the shade reaching for their canteens. Caje walked back to squat beside Saunders as he pulled the map from his jacket. “How far we goin’, Sarge?” he asked. Saunders pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s a bridge here. We’ve gotta blow it and get out as fast as we can. May be a lotta Krauts to wade through.” “How about that town, Vebray?” Caje queried. “It’s probably full of Germans, so we’ll skirt it and head straight for the bridge.” Saunders explained. Caje nodded and began to rise when shots rang out. “Hit it!” Saunders yelled, as he rolled onto his belly bringing his Thompson sub-machine gun to a firing position and firing a burst into the trees in the direction of the shots. Caje hit the ground beside him and rolled behind a log, bringing his M1 to bear. Kirby’s BAR rattled from the left as more shots emanated from the woods ahead of them. Miles and Stockton were firing from a position to Saunders right near a group of large rocks. The noise was deafening for a few moments and it soon became evident that neither side had much of an advantage. Saunders motioned to Caje to look for a way to flank the enemy. Caje gave a thumbs down motion and the sergeant started crawling towards Kirby’s position. The cover was sparse and he stopped several times to fire short bursts from the Tommy gun. When he reached Kirby, Saunders said, “Give me cover. I’m gonna flank ‘em.” Then he crawled away to the left and into a small dry creek bed less that two feet deep. The dry ditch would take him to within about twenty-five feet of the Germans’ position. There was no good cover any closer than that, so he would have to lob in a grenade from the ditch. Pulling the pin from the grenade, Saunders listened to determine the direction the firing was taking. At what seemed like the right moment, he raised up on his knees and hurled the grenade towards the dug-in enemy, then quickly flattening himself in the ditch for cover. The blast sent several Germans sprawling as two more tried to run. They were immediately cut down and everything became quiet. Saunders rose from the ditch and quickly checked the area. He called, “All Clear!” and strode back to the squad. Miles was bent over Stockton. The young private was hit in the hip and groaning loudly as his sergeant sprinkled sulfa over the wound and pressed a bandage to it to stop the bleeding. “Looks like this mission is scrapped,” Miles stated. Saunders looked at the equipment and men for a moment then spoke. “How is he?” he asked. “Not so good, Saunders,” Miles replied. “We need to get him back to a hospital fast.” “Yeah,” Saunders agreed. “Caje and Kirby can take him back. Would you be able to blow the bridge with only part of this equipment, Miles?” he asked. “Maybe,” Miles averred. “if we can find a weak point and be able to get to it.” “Then you and I will finish this mission, Miles,” Saunders stated. “But, Sarge,” Caje argued. “There’ll just be the two of you and a lot of equipment.” “We’ll handle it, Caje,” Saunders squatted beside the wounded private. “Just get Stockton back home fast.” “Okay, Sarge,” Caje nodded as he and Kirby began rigging a stretcher. Miles patted Stockton on the shoulder and said, “You’ll be okay, soldier.” Stockton tried to smile, but the pain had weakened him to near unconsciousness. Sgt. Miles started sorting through the demolition equipment until he had two fair sized piles separated for carrying. “We’ll have to bury the rest here, so nobody will find it,” he said as he started pulling leaves aside near an old dead log. Saunders knelt to help him and soon better than half of the equipment was buried shallowly beside the log. Caje and Kirby had Stockton placed on the makeshift stretcher. “We’re ready to leave, Sarge,” Caje announced. “Okay,” Saunders nodded. “Move out, and watch yourselves.” “Yeah,” Kirby agreed. “And you, too.” Saunders waved as the men grabbed each end of the litter and headed back the direction they had come. Turning back to the pile of equipment, Saunders started gathering as much as he could carry and still have a hand free to handle the Thompson if necessary. Miles did the same and they were soon on their way. The two sergeants reached Vebray late in the afternoon. They were able to observe the small village from a hill about a quarter mile away. They could see Germans moving leisurely throughout the town with light vehicles and a couple staff cars on the streets. The enemy was apparently unconcerned about attack this far behind their lines. The Americans decided the best route around the village would be to the left, through a large creek bed that ran from north to south about a half mile from the town itself. Their objective, the bridge, should be less than a mile north of them. Saunders led the way down the back side of the hill and through the dense woods leading to the dry creek bed. They only had to skirt one outpost on their route and they were soon past the village and heading north through the woods. Voices sent them quickly into the brush near a dirt road. A patrol of about eight German soldiers marched by them within touching distance. They were talking among themselves and seemed to be at ease. When they were out of earshot, Saunders tapped Miles on the shoulder and they crawled back further into the woods. “We must be getting pretty close to the bridge,” Saunders surmised. “There’s a lot of activity in the area.” “Yeah,” Miles agreed. “Too much activity. I hope we’ll be able to get to the bridge with all this equipment.” “C’mon,” Saunders motioned as he rose to move through the underbrush in a crouch. Miles moved through the bushes silently, which was surprising for a man his size. They finally reached a point on the river’s bank where they could hide and observe the bridge undetected. It was a wooden bridge, well built and heavily traveled. Getting close enough to set charges would be a problem. They would have to wait for dark before they could get any closer than they were. While they waited, Miles gave Saunders a crash course in the use of the demolition equipment they were carrying. Darkness settled around them within another hour and they slid from their cover in the bushes, down the bank and into the edge of the river, keeping their weapons as high as possible. They stayed close to the bank to stay in the shadows and although it was shallow most of the way, there were a few holes that dunked them beneath the surface. They had trouble hanging onto their gear. They had left their helmets behind to cut down on noise, so they didn’t have to worry about losing them in the current. By the time the two of them reached the understructure of the bridge, they were both thoroughly soaked. “Okay,” Saunders spoke softly to Miles. “Give me five minutes to get across and start setting my charges, then start setting yours and we’ll meet in the middle, hopefully.” “All right, Saunders,” Miles nodded. “But don’t lag around. This makes me real nervous.” Saunders gave him a reassuring grin as he slipped off through the water holding on to the pilings supporting the bridge. Both men were soon setting their charges beneath the bridge and working their way towards the middle of the river. When they met, Miles connected the wiring necessary to blow all the charges at once and they made their way back to the side of the river where they had hidden the detonation device and the rest of their gear. “Ready?” Miles looked at Saunders after twisting the wires onto the terminals and inserting the plunger. “Go for it,” Saunders said as he started gathering his Thompson and helmet together. Miles twisted the plunger and a series of explosions wracked the bridge and its surrounding area. Saunders and Miles covered their heads and shielded their eyes as the bridge was reduced to splinters and burning embers floating down the river. Immediately, the road and woods seemed to be filled with Germans shouting and running in all directions. “We better get outta here!” Saunders slapped Miles on the shoulder as he turned back into the woods. The two Americans had not gone far before they were forced to dive into a copse of bushes for cover. Germans passed them with flashlights only feet away, lighting up the dense forest with dancing beams. The enemy was everywhere and the sergeants could do nothing but wait. The sounds of the search soon trailed off parallel the road, and the Americans were able to slip from their cover and move westward, away from the probing searchlights. “Hit it!” Saunders called softly after a short distance. They landed on their bellies, listening and watching. Several German soldiers moved through the woods before them, setting up sentries and searching the underbrush. They were surrounded with little chance of getting through the ever-tightening net being thrown around them. Miles grabbed Saunders jacket sleeve and pointed to his right. There was a group of boulders that seemed to be resting against the bottom of a steep hill, or so it appeared in the dark. They crawled cautiously towards the boulders, making as little noise as possible. As soon as they reached the outcropping, they rose and slipped between the boulders to get as deep as possible between them. They soon had to crawl between them on hands and knees, then on their bellies. They were suddenly surprised to find themselves crawling on old planks covered by about two inches of dirt. “What’s this?” Miles asked. Suddenly the planks gave way beneath them and they were tumbling down a long sharply sloping tunnel, bumping into rocks and unseen objects along the way. They finally came to rest on an uneven floor with pitch-blackness around them. Both had the breath knocked from them. They had lost their helmets and were bruised and battered, unable to speak for a few minutes. Finally Miles found his voice, “Saunders?” he asked tentatively. Saunders coughed and tried to answer but still did not have the breath to speak. Miles heard the cough and got onto his hands and knees feeling his way through the total darkness in the direction he thought the other man to be. When Miles found him, Saunders was sitting up and making an assessment of his extremities. Arms and legs seemed to be okay, but he must have fallen into some water. The right side of his head and shoulder was wet and he’d lost his Thompson somewhere along the way. “Are you all right?” Miles asked as he grasped Saunders arm. “Yeah, I think so,” Saunders replied. “You?” “I’m okay,” Miles spoke softly, not knowing where they were or who could be nearby. “Must be an old mine or well of some sort,” Saunders surmised. “Look!” Miles whispered. About thirty feet above them, flashes of light could be seen. “They musta heard the noise we made falling, and they’re looking through the rocks.” Saunders said. “We better get further back in case they can look down here.” They started crawling in tandem, not knowing which direction to take or what was in front of them. They could hear German voices echoing distantly from the rocks around them. Soon they came up against a rock wall and turned to sit with their backs against it. “I lost my Tommy gun,” Saunders stated. “Do you have your Garand?” “No,” Miles answered. “but I still have my side arm.” “Yeah,” Saunders checked. “Me, too.” “We’ll just have to wait ‘em out and then we’ll try using a lighter to see where we are.” Saunders suggested. The two men fell silent as they sat and listened to the activity above them. It was not long before the voices and noises of the search disappeared. They obviously did not find the broken planks that had deposited the Americans into the black abyss. They sat quietly for a time, listening and resting. Saunders reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his Zippo lighter, thumbing the wheel and producing a dim, but welcome light in the dark cavern. The small flame only illuminated a tiny portion of their surroundings. The cave they seemed to have literally stumbled into was much cooler than the warm September evening air above and the soldiers shivered in their wet clothes. “Here’s your Thompson,” Miles said as he picked up the gun from dust of the cavern floor. “I found the radio, too, but it’s busted. I guess we’ll have to…” He turned to hand the weapon to Saunders, then stopped and stared. “What’s the matter?” Saunders asked. “You’ve got blood all over you,” Miles said softly. “Sit down and I’ll take a look at it.” Astonished, Saunders accepted his Thompson and sat down handing his lighter to Miles. The large man was amazingly gentle as he brushed a few blond tresses soaked in blood away from a cut just over Saunders’ right temple. “Looks like a cut with a pretty good bruise,” Miles announced after a close inspection. “It bled a lot, but head wounds’ll do that. Gimme your aid kit and I’ll wrap it up. Keep out the infection.” Saunders reached to his web belt and extracted his kit passing it to Miles. The sergeant sprinkled sulfa over the wound, careful not to get any in Saunders’ eye. Saunders flinched for the first time as Miles pressed a bandage against it, wrapping the ends around his head a couple times and tying them off. Then Miles removed his canteen and, using his handkerchief for a sponge, he gently washed the blood from the side of Saunders’ face and neck. “There,” he said finally. “That oughta hold ya for a while.” “Thanks,” Saunders nodded and started to rise. “Let’s see if we can find a way outta here.” Saunders suggested as he started looking around him. There were several of the plank splinters that had made the trip down with them, and Saunders picked up one that was about two feet in length. Since their clothing was still wet from their dip in the river, there was nothing to wrap around the end of the board to make a torch. “Wait a minute,” Saunders sat down and placed the board in his lap. “Bring the light.” He told Miles. “Can I borrow your knife?” Saunders pointed to Miles’ bayonet, which he unsheathed and passed to him. Saunders proceeded to gouge a deep groove into the board near one end. Then he removed a .45 cartridge from his Thompson and began working the cap off the bullet. When this was accomplished, he gently poured the gunpowder into the groove. When he applied the flame to the powder, it flared hot enough to catch the old wood on fire. They soon had a dim, but passable torch to see with, and they stood to investigate their surroundings. There was no way of climbing out the way they’d come in. The walls were just too steep. There were three passages leading from the tunnel they had landed in, and they moved from one passage to the next trying to determine some sort of air flow with the make-shift torch. One tunnel seemed to have a little more air movement than the other two, so they decided to follow it. The ground beneath their feet was uneven and covered with rocks of all sizes, threatening to trip them with every step. The tunnel itself was about 20 feet wide in places, the ceiling disappearing into blackness above them. The air was heavy and cool, but the soldiers were sweating again with the effort of maintaining their footing. Saunders held the torch high in front of him, straining to see through the gloom ahead. Just as he rounded a corner, the floor disappeared from beneath him! With a cry of surprise, he tried to throw himself backwards, but he was already falling. A huge hand wrapped around his left wrist, and the sudden stop caused him to loose his grip on the torch. It fell for several seconds before it hit what sounded like water and was extinguished. Saunders reached up with his right hand to grasp the sleeve above the hand enclosing his wrist. Miles held onto the smaller man’s wrist as he stretched his left arm past Saunders’ head to grab a fistful of his jacket collar. With a mighty heave, Miles drew his fellow sergeant back onto level ground. They lay back gasping for breath in the darkness. Their hearts were thundering and the blood pounded in their ears as they tried to regain control of their rattled senses. Saunders sat up shakily. “Thanks,” he gasped. “You’re…welcome,” Miles answered. “I guess we won’t be going that way. Now what?” “You will come with us.” A man’s voice came from the void behind them. A light clicked on and Saunders and Miles were bathed in the glow from a flashlight. Whirling and reaching for his Thompson, Saunders only then realized he’d lost the weapon as well as the torch. They did not have time to unholster their sidearms. “Who are you?” Saunders asked, still panting for air. They could see the barrel of a rifle extend past the end of the flashlight, pointing straight at them. “You are American?” the voice asked. “Yeah,” Miles said. “What’s goin’ on?” “We are French,” the voice informed them. “We are from a village near here. There are many of us hiding in these caves. Come. We will show you how to get out.” Miles reached over and slapped Saunders on the shoulder. “Our luck hasn’t run out yet, Old Man,” he laughed as he levered himself up and offered a hand to the smaller man to pull him back to his feet. The fact that the mysterious voice hadn’t demanded the surrender of their handguns eased Saunders’ mind a great deal. This in itself proved they weren’t facing an enemy. The light was removed from their eyes and they were able to discern several shadowy figures in the tunnel behind them. When Miles rose to his full height and walked towards the Frenchmen, a couple of them stepped back nervously. “This way,” The voice spoke again as the Frenchman swung his light back the way they had come. Two more flashlights were turned on and the traveling was a great deal easier this time. “My friends do not speak English,” the man explained. “My name is Emile. My wife is from England. She taught me to speak the language. How did you get down here?” he asked. “There was some sort of shaft covered with boards. They were old and wouldn’t hold us. When they broke we fell into the caves. How many are down here with you?” Saunders asked. “Five men, three women, and four children,” Emile answered. “Our family had status in the village of Vebray and when the Bosche moved in, we were afraid and ran. We are all related to one another.” Before they had traveled very far, the tunnel widened into a large underground chamber. A fire burned brightly in the middle of the cavern and several people were gathered near and around it. Women were preparing food as several children played and cavorted around the walls, obviously trying to stay out of the way of the grown people. A man stood near another tunnel with an old shotgun in his arms. He waved an all clear as the group entered the room and walked towards the fire. The children squealed and ran to greet the Americans; their faces showing the unbridled admiration they had for their foreign friends. The man called Emile did his best to shoo the excited children away, but to little avail. “Please sit over here. You must be starved. We will give you something to eat.” Emile said as he waved them towards a low shoulder of stones they were using as seats. As soon as the Americans were seated, two of the women brought plates of vegetables, cheese, and bread, and cups of wine to them. They were hungry and accepted the food and wine gratefully. Emile perched himself on a rock before them, watching them eat with satisfaction. When the two men had eaten their fill, Saunders produced a pack of Luckys and offered one to Miles, who took it with a nod. Then he turned and offered one to their host. “Merci, Monsieur,” Emile smiled as he accepted the cigarette. “We have to get back to our lines,” Saunders explained to the Frenchman. “Do you know a safe route?” “Oh, non, Monsieur,” Emile shook his head emphatically. “The Bosche are everywhere. We do not venture far from this cave. It is well hidden and they have never found it. We only leave the area to look for food. There is no way out.” “There has to be,” Saunders insisted. “Where do you usually get food?” “We steal it from the Germans sometimes,” Emile explained. “And sometimes our friends still in the village give us what they can.” Saunders shook his head. “Do you know how many Germans are in the town?” he asked. “There are many, Monsieur,” Emile said. “Most of our people left, but the Bosche, they force those who stayed to do their bidding. The people are afraid and can only obey.” Miles stood up, sending two of the children who were close by skittering backwards, looking up in awe at his giant stature. “But the Germans,” Miles insisted. “How many are there?” “I’m not sure, Monsieur,” Emile shrugged. “Forty, perhaps more.” “C’mon, Saunders,” Miles urged. “We gotta get back and report.” “Yeah,” Saunders agreed. “But it might be advantageous for command to know what they’re up against in this sector. I think we should take a look at that village before we leave.” “Are you crazy?” Miles threw up his arms. “You heard Emile. You wouldn’t get near that village.” “They do it, don’t they?” Saunders argued. “Yeah, but they sneak in and out, and they’re Frenchmen.” Miles said. “So, why can’t we be Frenchmen and sneak in and out?” Saunders grinned. “Oh, sure, and get shot as spies! That bump on your head really shook something loose,” Miles growled. “Okay,” Saunders gave up. “If you want to head straight back, go ahead. I’m gonna take a look around then I’ll probably catch up to you.” Miles shoulders sank with exasperation. “If you insist on doin’ this, Saunders, I’m with you. But we’ll have to wait until dark.” Saunders smiled and took a long drag on his cigarette, “Thought you’d see it my way.” He said smugly. Miles sneered and turned his back on the small blond man who had so easily manipulated him. “I’m gonna find a place to catch a few winks if I’ve gotta spend another night duckin’ Krauts.” He said. “I will show you where you may rest.” Emile rose to lead the giant man away. Saunders settled back on the rock watching the children play around him and finished his cigarette. He thought these children should be playing in the sunshine, not hiding for their lives in some damp, cold cave. He had seen the war offer a wide range of unkindnesses, from bloody and devastating to seemingly trivial, but unkind nevertheless. “It is now dark outside,” Emile was shaking Saunders’ shoulder to wake him. Saunders sat up and stretched his sore muscles, as he watched Miles stand and light a cigarette. Realizing that he still had a white bandage wrapped around his head that would stand out in the moonlight, Saunders pulled the gauze away from the cut and off his head. The cut was swollen and sore, but it had sealed well and would no longer bleed. “It’s time to move,” he told Miles as he checked his handgun and counted the clips on his web belt. Miles looked at him skeptically. “Not much artillery to go up against a platoon of Krauts.” He muttered. “We’re not goin’ up against anybody, Miles. We’re just gonna take a quick look and get out,” Saunders reminded the big man. “Okay, Saunders,” Miles stamped out the cigarette. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Saunders turned toward the Frenchman. “Can you or one of your people lead us close to Vebray?” he asked. “Oui,” Emile answered. “I will lead you. As I said, we have friends in the village who may be willing to help.” “That’ll be fine,” Saunders nodded and rose to follow Emile towards a tunnel which evidently led above ground. Miles fell in behind him and they reached the warmer air of the outer world in no time. Emile knew where he was going and moved silently without benefit of a light. Saunders and Miles did their best to keep up, but they constantly tripped on roots and rocks, unseen in the dense blackness of the forest. Soon Emile stopped, then moved forward slowly in a crouch. The Americans followed suit, watching every shadow and waiting for any sound of enemy movement. Emile motioned them down and turned to speak to them in a whisper. “Just ahead is a house on the outskirts of the village. I will go ahead to make sure all is quiet, then I will return for you in about ten minutes. I will give a whistle to let you know I am here. If I do not return, you must leave quickly. Understand, Monsieur?” he asked. “Yeah,” Saunders answered. “We understand. We’ll give you ten minutes.” Emile placed a hand on Saunders arm for a moment, then slipped away into the shadows. They had only waited about seven minutes when they heard a low whistle. Both of the soldiers had their handguns at ready when Emile appeared before them once more. “All is quiet, Monsieur,” the Frenchman assured them. “My friends are waiting. We must hurry.” He moved off, leading Saunders and Miles down a short pathway. Then they crossed a small open space to a stone house surrounded by a wooden fence covered with vines and bushes. Emile stood at the door and spoke quietly to someone inside. The door opened and Emile slipped through, motioning for the soldiers to follow. Once they were inside, the door was closed and an inner door opened spilling light upon the waiting group. They moved from the small entryway into a large and graciously furnished room. Two Tiffany-style lamps lit the room. Heavy ‘black-out’ curtains hung over the two windows and the door to the entry was tightly shut behind them. “This is Francois,” Emile introduced the old gentleman who had let them in. “We will be able to reach a shop on the edge of the village through a tunnel in his cellar. It is hidden and the Bosche do not know it is there.” Francois smiled at the American soldiers and nodded; though he did not understand all of what Emile was telling them. The old man walked to a table containing a couple kerosene lamps. Lighting them, he handed one each to the sergeants and moved to a large sideboard cupboard. Grasping one end of the cupboard, Francois pulled the heavy piece of furniture out from the wall. A low doorway was revealed well hidden behind the cabinet. Emile turned his flashlight on and moved to the opening. A stairway led down to a cellar lined with shelves for canned goods and wines. Most of the shelves were empty. “Francois hides food here for us when the villagers can get it to him.” Emile explained as he moved towards the back of the cellar. The Frenchman moved a wine rack aside and another tunnel was revealed. This one dug into the earth with timbers and beams supporting the ceiling and walls around them. The tunnel was large enough that Emile and Saunders could walk upright, but Miles had to bend slightly to keep from bumping his head on the beams as they moved down the shaft. They traveled several hundred yards before they came to another stairway leading up into darkness. “We must extinguish our lamps now,” Emile said. “The door at the top of the stairs leads into a shop near the edge of town. The light will be seen through the shop windows.” Saunders and Miles blew the flames out on their lamps as Emile turned off his flashlight. “Hold onto the back of my coat,” he instructed. “I will lead you up the stairs.” Saunders grabbed the back of the Frenchman’s old wool coat and Miles hooked a couple fingers into Saunders’ web belt. Carefully and quietly they slipped up the stairway. Emile stopped and pushed on the wall in front of him. An opening appeared, large enough for the men to slip through. The brilliant full moon outside cast a dim silver light through the front windows of the little shop. There was the smell of leather and they soon realized they were in a cobbler’s store. Emile turned and pushed a floor-to-ceiling shelf back into place and the tunnel opening disappeared. Slipping to the front of the store, Saunders and Miles peered out the windows on the quiet village street. Two German soldiers were standing on a corner less than ten yards away. They were smoking and talking casually. No one else was in sight. “Is there a back way out of here?” Saunders whispered to Emile. “Oui, Monsieur,” the Frenchman nodded and motioned to the soldiers to follow. The back door led to a narrow alley between stone and brick buildings. Saunders motioned for the others to stay where they were while he slipped to the front of the alley and peered around the corner. The two Germans were still standing on the corner paying no heed to the rest of the street. The sergeant inspected the building on the other side of the alley. It was partially destroyed by a previous shelling, and only half of the front still graced the street. Motioning for the other two to follow him, Saunders stepped cautiously into the rubble of the building. Picking their way carefully the three men were able to reach the front of the store, which was hidden in deep shadows cast by the buildings across the narrow street. Emile moved away from the storefront crossing the street to the buildings on the opposite side. Soon all three men were standing in a dark doorway of another shop about midway down the street. The Frenchman produced a key and opened the door, letting the Americans in and locking the door behind them. “Come,” he said softly as he moved through the dim light towards a stairway. They reached a second floor and Emile turned on a light. A heavy curtain over the window concealed any light from the outside. “This is my store,” Emile smiled sadly. “I sell clothing. I am also the mayor of the town. My house is at the end of this street. I have not been able to get near my home since the Bosche took over. They have set up their headquarters there. That is why my family lives in the caves. I am surprised the Germans have not destroyed my store. They have not vandalized very many of the shops here, yet.” “How do we get to your house from here?” Saunders asked. “You cannot, Monsieur!” Emile looked at the blond sergeant wide-eyed. “There are many Bosche! They will kill you.” “Just tell me,” Saunders insisted. Emile frowned his concern, but carefully gave directions to his house. Saunders turned to Miles. “I’m gonna see how close I can get. If I’m not back in an hour, head for our lines and tell them what we’ve found out so far.” “Saunders, you can’t do this by yourself,” Miles argued. “You’ll need someone to watch your back.” “Listen, Miles,” Saunders persisted. “When the brass finds out how many Krauts are in here, you know they’re gonna shell this place. We need to gather as much info as we can and try to get the rest of the villagers to clear out.” “Oh, Monsieur!” Emile pleaded. “They cannot drop shells on the village. There are several families still here. The Germans will not let them leave. They feel they will be safe if there are French people still inside the town.” “Then we have to get ‘em out,” Saunders stated flatly. “Very well,” Emile agreed. “I can get to a few of them and my friend, Francois, moves freely in the streets. He can get to the rest.” “Okay,” Saunders moved towards the door. “You go warn the people, and I’ll go do some investigatin’.” “Saunders, you get back here fast,” Miles ordered. “I don’t want to leave here without you, but I will.” “You better,” Saunders grinned and slapped the big man on the arm. Saunders slipped from the store and ran at a crouch towards the center of the village. The closer he got to the mayor’s house, the more Germans he began to see milling about the storefronts and pacing the streets. He hid in the shadows of a doorway waiting for three German soldiers to pass before he slid behind a pile of supply crates stacked close to the building he planned to check out. A staff car was parked in front of the house and several German sentries were positioned around the two-story structure. Saunders squirmed his way between the crates until he was able to watch the front of the house. It was not long before three German officers emerged and stood in the well-lit entry talking. There was a Wehrmacht captain and lieutenant and a Major with SS insignia emblazoned on his tunic collar. ‘Why are the SS here?’ Saunders wondered as he subconsciously reached for his sidearm. He desperately wished he hadn’t lost his Thompson, but the handgun made him feel a little more at ease. Soon the lieutenant saluted and stepped to the staff car, opening the door. The captain followed suit and settled himself into the back seat as the lieutenant moved around the vehicle to take the wheel. They drove off and the SS major returned inside the house. Saunders eased himself from between the crates and, looking carefully around him, made a dash for the darkened doorway close to him. He made it without being noticed and was quickly making his way back to the clothing store where Miles waited. The sergeant finally slid through the front door of the store and crept quietly up the dark stairway. Feeling his way across the short hallway, Saunders found the door leading to the room where he had left Miles. The door was standing slightly ajar and the room beyond lay dark. On the alert now, Saunders held his Colt .45 in front of him as he gently pushed the door open with his left foot. There was no movement within and the sergeant eased himself through the door. Suddenly a huge hand grasped his right wrist twisting it as another gigantic arm encircled his neck and lifted him bodily from the floor. “Mi…Miles,” Saunders choked past his constricted windpipe. The pressure was released and Saunders sank back against the doorframe gasping for air. “I wasn’t sure it was you, Saunders,” Miles whispered. “Krauts have been poking around in all the buildings along the street since you’ve been gone.” “Miles,” Saunders finally managed to get his breath back. “There’s a SS major stationed here, and it looks like there may be at least a platoon, maybe even a whole company in the area. We’ve gotta get back and report this right away.” “Okay,” Miles agreed. “Let’s go.” Miles turned to the window to check the street for movement, then back with Saunders, they started moving down the stairway. It did not take them long to get back to the cobbler’s shop and the tunnel beyond. At the bottom of the stairs, Saunders found the lamps they had stashed there and lit them with his Zippo, handing one to Miles. They moved further down the tunnel towards Francois’ cellar. “There are French people in there, Saunders,” Miles spoke at Saunders retreating back. “I know,” the smaller sergeant acknowledged. “but S2 has to know what’s happenin’ in there.” As they neared the old Frenchman’s cellar, the Americans could hear voices arguing and talking in loud whispers. They stopped and listened for a moment, before moving to the stairway in the cellar. The voices were French, so the sergeants climbed the stairs to the house above. When they moved the cabinet/door, the talking ceased and a couple shotguns were pointed in their direction. “It’s us, the Americans,” Saunders held his hands out as he emerged from the stairs. The Frenchmen seemed to relax and let the soldiers enter the spacious room, which was now occupied by several men and women. Two of the women were crying, and from the looks of it, they had been for some time. The others were trying to comfort the distraught women, even though they were having little effect. Emile moved towards the American soldiers. “We cannot leave, Monsieur,” he spoke urgently to Saunders. “The cruel Bosche, they hold four children who belong to these women here. They make these people work for them, saying they will kill the children if they disobey.” Saunders and Miles stood speechless. A redness crept up from beneath Saunders’ collar until it covered his face and he nearly shook with rage. He turned to Miles, trying to control his anger. “Here, take my map and get back to Company,” he told the larger man, shoving the wrinkled paper towards him. “Tell them what’s happened here. I’ll get the kids out of there.” “But what if you can’t get them out and you get caught in there?” Miles was looking down at his companion as if he’d completely lost his mind. “Look,” Saunders reasoned. “Those monsters have to be wiped out, no matter what the cost. I’m sure I’ll get some help from these folks here. Now you get back and make that report. That’s an order!” Miles stretched a huge right hand out in friendship. “I hope we meet again, Saunders. It’s been nice doin’ business with ya.” He turned towards the front door of the house, then stopped and looked back with a grin. “I still think you’re crazy.” He said as he reached for the knob. “Jean will show you the safest way out of the area,” Emile told Miles as he urged a young boy of about sixteen to go with the big American sergeant. “Thanks,” Miles smiled at the boy as the two of them slipped out into the entryway and closed the door behind them. The French boy, Jean, moved quickly through the underbrush, making it hard for Miles to keep up. He nearly lost sight of the kid a couple times, but Jean would stop and wait for him before continuing. Just as the sky was beginning to gray in the east, the boy stopped, pointing to a road that cut through the dense growth. Miles opened the map that Saunders had handed him and checked for landmarks. He was surprised to find that he was only about a mile from home. Jean tapped him on the shoulder and pointed a finger at himself and waved back towards the way they had come. Miles placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled, “Merci, garcon.” He drew on what little French he’d been able to acquire in the months he’d been in the country. Jean smiled back and disappeared back into the bushes. ‘Take care of yourself, little man,’ Miles thought as he turned back to the road leading to Hanley’s Command Post. Within an hour Miles had given a full report on the activities around Vebray and Hanley had relayed the information to Battalion. It only took about five minutes for Captain Jampel to get back to Hanley with immediate orders. “Brockmeyer!” Hanley bellowed for his radioman. “Yes, sir,” The corporal stepped back into the CP quickly. “Get all my squad leaders together. Right now!” He ordered. Then he turned to Miles, who had stayed at the Command Post awaiting further instructions. The sergeant had been pleased to find out that Pvt. Stockton had made it back to the aid station alive. He told himself that he would have to try to visit him before they shipped the boy back. From what he understood, the wound was just bad enough that Stockton would be going back home to the States to stay. Miles thought, fleetingly, of all the hundreds of young men who would never go home again. “Miles,” Hanley looked at him gravely. “You have an option right now. I told the captain that I need every man I can get, so he said you can either go back to your Company or stay with us for the next couple days. We’re moving in on Vebray. Which will it be?” Without hesitation Miles said, “I’d like to stay, Lieutenant. Maybe I can be of some help, since I’ve been there.” He replied. Then looking down at the toes of his boots he added, “Anyway, I’d kinda like to know what happened to Saunders and those people.” The lieutenant smiled and slapped Miles on the back. “We’re glad to have you, Sergeant,” he told him. “I want you to lead Saunders’ squad until you’re relieved here.” Startled, Miles looked up at Hanley. “I’m about to explain,” the lieutenant said as he turned to acknowledge the other squad leaders who were beginning to enter his office. When everyone was gathered, Hanley spread a map before them. “Battalion Artillery will start pouring in shells on Vebray at 0900. You will bring your men up to these areas,” he spoke as he pointed to different points on the map, assigning each squad a position. “Miles and Saunders were successful in taking out the bridge just north of Vebray, so the enemy situated in the village is cut off from any kind of effective reinforcements.” Hanley hitched a hip on the table and lit a cigarette. “Have your men ready to move out in ten minutes. We’ll move into the town when the shelling stops at about 0930. You’ll move on my signal. Any questions?” “Sir?” Sgt. Evans spoke. “Yes, Evans?” the lieutenant nodded at him. “What about the people still in there…and Saunders, sir?” he asked hesitantly. “We can only hope they’ll be outta the way when it starts, Sergeant. The main factor we’re dealing with here is getting rid of a nest of Krauts obviously being led by an SS officer. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir.” Evans downcast expression reflected what the others were feeling. Saunders was a friend and they didn’t want to lose him, especially to so-called ‘friendly fire’; and endangering civilians didn’t set well with them either, but they had their orders and, like it or not, they had to be carried out. It was not long before the men were assembled and marching away from the little village King Company had set up as a Command Post. Miles led the platoon with Saunders’ squad. The men were silent, but eager to get to Vebray and their lost sergeant. They would not let their worry affect the mission before them. Before they had gone half a mile, they heard the first 105 shells whistling over their heads. Miles looked up as the first explosions broke the distant silence. ‘Duck your head, Saunders,’ he thought. ‘Here we come.’ ~~~~***~~~~ End part one. |
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