Moment

This is the usual disclaimer…I don’t own the characters from Combat!. There is no connection with the show, etc, etc, etc.

                                               A Moment’s Decision

“C’mon Doc, please. Just go talk to him.” Kirby pleaded with the stubborn medic. He didn’t know how much longer they could take Caje’s behavior. He was going to get somebody killed and Kirby knew it.

“Kirby, I already talked to him. He told me, in no uncertain terms, to get lost! He doesn’t want anybody’s help.” Doc rubbed at the drying mud on his brow, frustrated with his failed attempts to get through to their friend. He wanted to help Caje, but he didn’t think the man was ready to receive it.

Looking to Littlejohn and Billy for help, Kirby made a defeated gesture with his arms. Littlejohn frowned and looked at his feet for a moment, then stared unwaveringly into Doc’s stubborn gaze.

“He may not want help, Doc, but he needs it.”

Doc made a frustrated gesture and took a step closer to the bigger man. “I’m not a doctor, and I’m not a chaplain! I’m just a medic. There are some things I simply can’t fix. Why don’t one of you go talk to him, huh?”

Billy took a reflexive step back from the fuming medic, having never seen him so angry before. He risked a glance at Kirby and Littlejohn, waiting for the inevitable explosion. It never came. They knew the anger wasn’t really directed at them. Instead, Kirby made a calming motion and Littlejohn spoke quietly, but firmly.

“Doc, you’re the closest thing to a doctor or chaplain out here. Sarge already tried to talk to Caje, but no dice. Just try one more time. Please. For all our sakes.”

Bowing his head for a moment in utter defeat, Doc sighed. Those three weren’t going to let up until he gave in. He turned to glance at Caje for a moment. He was sitting against a fallen tree, knees drawn up to his chin, gazing a mile away. Well, what was Caje going do…hit him again? It was worth one more try. He looked back at the others and a crooked smile twitched at his mouth for a moment, only to be replaced by a thoughtful frown. With another sigh, Doc nodded reluctantly. Without another word, he turned away from the others and walked slowly toward Caje. Why me? Doc thought of all who, since the dawn of man, had looked to the heavens and asked that very question. He realized how futile it was to ask. The answer was simply…why not?

Littlejohn shared a triumphant smile with Billy and Kirby, then felt a twinge of guilt. Doc looked like a man walking that last mile. He didn’t envy him; Caje had been a bear for days.

Saunders looked up from his map to see Doc walking slowly in Caje’s direction. Littlejohn, Kirby and Nelson all shared the same odd expression. A strange mixture of triumph, anticipation and worry. Littlejohn also looked a little guilty. The others must have finally talked Doc into having a heart-to-heart with Caje. Saunders wished the medic luck; he’d tried the same thing and had been shot down. More than once. If things continued as they were, Saunders was going to have to do something with Caje. The man was becoming a liability…a danger to himself and the others. He just didn’t know how to help Caje. He was wounded in spirit, not body.

Doc quietly sat down next to Caje and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Caje finally stirred and sighed. “What do you want, Doc?”

Scraping at the mud caking the knees of his trousers, Doc resisted the urge to look at the other man. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Sighing, Caje tried to pin the medic with a glare, but Doc refused to look at him.   “No, Doc, I wouldn’t.”

Still avoiding Caje’s stare, Doc shrugged. “Mind if I tell you a story?”

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Caje frowned. Doc wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d had his say, so he figured he better just let the man speak his piece.   Then maybe he’d go away. “Fine, Doc. Say what you have to say, then just leave me alone.”

Drawing a calming breath and letting it out again, Doc began speaking in his soft, drawling way. “When I was twelve years old, my family had a big reunion. Relatives came from all over and a bunch of them stayed for two weeks at our house that summer. There must’ve been about twenty-two of us staying in that small house. I slept with two of my cousins on a mattress on the kitchen floor. Everywhere I went there was a bunch of people. I felt like I was suffocating with so many relatives around. My little cousin, Dickie, was four and he followed me around everywhere. I couldn’t get rid of him.”

Caje looked up when Doc paused and cleared his throat. As the medic continued, Caje paid a little more attention. He could tell that this was something Doc never spoke of to anyone.

“Anyway, one Saturday everyone decided to go down to the lake for a picnic. I didn’t really feel like going. I mean, I’d been surrounded, overwhelmed, by people for a week and just needed some time alone. Time to just…be by myself and think, ya know? I faked a bellyache so I could stay home. Dickie cried and pitched a fit, ‘cause he wanted to stay with me, but they took him with them. ‘Course, I was glad. I needed a break from him following me around like a little puppy. Staying home…it was just a moment’s decision. One choice that would stay with me forever.”

Doc picked up a small stone and rolled it around in his hands. He didn’t really want to tell the rest of it. The memories were still so strong. Tossing the stone back to the ground, he continued. “Dickie wandered away when nobody was watching him. He fell off the dock into the lake…and drowned before anyone realized he was gone.”

The images from that day were still so vivid in his mind…

He’d been sitting on the sofa, reading a book he’d gotten from the library the week before and enjoying the peace and quiet, when the door burst open and people flooded the room. His Uncle Richard was carrying little Dickie. His cousin’s body was limp and his face was blue. The child was soaking wet. His Aunt Betty was screaming and everyone else was crying. He jumped up from the sofa and looked around in confusion, refusing to believe what his eyes told him. His baby cousin was dead.

The rest of the day had passed as if it was a dream. It was what happened that evening that was so engraved in his memory. The women had gathered in the kitchen, trying to console his aunt. He’d wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Betty, distraught and needing to find a place to fix blame, but in denial of her own role in her child’s death, turned to the easiest of targets…the twelve-year-old boy standing before her.

“Why weren’t you there?! If you’d been with the rest of us, Dickie wouldn’t have drowned! He would have been with you. It’s your fault. My child would still be alive if you’d just been there!” Emotionally spent, she sank to the floor and cried hysterically. His mother turned to comfort him, but it was too late. The seed of guilt had flown straight to his sensitive little heart and found fertile soil…where it grew and flourished. He’d turned and fled the house, not stopping until he’d reached the tree house he and his cousins had built two summers before. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that his father and Uncle Richard finally found him there.

Doc sighed and rubbed his face wearily. Over the years the pain of guilt had lessened, but it was always there. It sat hidden, yet ready to spring to life when given the opportunity. He simply tried not to give it that opportunity.

Glancing up, he was glad to see that Caje was looking back at him with a gleam of understanding in his troubled dark eyes. Maybe dredging up those memories would be worth it.

“Caje, if I could go back and change that moment in my life…that one moment when I decided to stay home…I would. Was his drowning my fault? No. Would it have happened if I’d been there? Probably not. But I can’t change the past. Neither can you. Caje, Peters’ death wasn’t your fault. However, if your…reckless…actions get one the guys wounded or killed, it will be your fault. Getting yourself killed won’t bring Peters back. Nothing will. He’s gone and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Climbing to his feet, Doc placed a hand on Caje’s shoulder for a moment. “Just think about it, okay? Nobody blames you. So don’t blame yourself.” Doc smiled encouragingly and left to give him time to sort things out. He walked a few feet and looked up to see Littlejohn, Kirby and Billy looking at him expectantly. Needing some time to deal with the past, Doc veered away toward the pond.

Saunders watched as Doc left Caje, angling away from the others. Caje seemed thoughtful and…a little more at peace. Maybe Doc had finally succeeded where the others had failed. He watched as the medic shoved his hands deep in his pockets and kicked at a few stones. Now, Doc looked upset. When the other three started to follow, Saunders raised a hand to stop them. He shook his head, indicating that they should leave the other two alone for a while. They’d just have to hope that everything worked out.

Kirby kicked the ground in frustration when the Sarge motioned for them to stay put. He stood with arms akimbo and frowned at Littlejohn. “Great, now Doc’s mad and we don’t know if he got through to Caje or not.”

Arms folded across his chest, Billy watched as Doc wandered over to the edge of the nearby pond and stopped. The medic simply stood there, staring into the muddy brown water. “I don’t know about you guys, but I feel kinda bad. I don’t know if he helped Caje or not, but whatever they said…it’s upset Doc pretty bad. Maybe we just shoulda left him alone.”

“Left who alone? Caje or Doc?” Littlejohn turned to see what Billy was staring at.

Looking at the others, Billy shrugged. “Both.”

Shaking his head, Kirby pointed his finger in Caje’s direction. “No way! Caje was gonna get one of us killed if somebody didn’t talk to him. He was getting down right dangerous. It’s worth Doc getting mad if we get the old Caje back. ‘Sides, Doc never stays angry for long, anyway.”

Littlejohn held up a hand, trying to calm Kirby down. “Listen, we don’t know what they talked about so, until either one feels like telling us, we’ll just have to wait. Sarge gave us a chance to grab some rest and I suggest we take him up on it. C’mon.”

Leading the others, Littlejohn headed over to a shady spot and lowered his big frame to the slightly damp grass. The other two dropped to the ground next to him. All three lay back, cradling their heads on their hands. There was nothing else to be done.

Caje sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments after Doc left, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out some paper. Fishing around in the other pockets, he finally found the small pencil he kept. Noticing that the lead point had broken off, he slipped his penknife from his pocket and used it to sharpen the tip. When he was satisfied with the sharpness of the point, he returned the penknife and began to write.

Dad,

I know it’s been a week or so since my last letter. Sorry. I hope you haven’t been worrying. I was going to write to you a few days ago, but something happened. I’m fine, it’s not that. Well, it almost was. Wait, let me explain what happened. Have you ever had a moment in your life that you’d like to change? We make decisions all day, every day. Most of them innocent choices that don’t mean much. But, sometimes, you don’t realize until later that one of those innocent choices…has terrible consequences. A moment’s choice that you’d give anything…anything…to be able to go back and change. Well, three days ago, I had one of those moments. It didn’t seem like a big deal.

But, it had been a big deal. He couldn’t believe they had just been laughing and playing poker…with no idea things were about to take a drastic turn. Closing his eyes, Caje remembered how it all started just a few days ago…
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The squad wandered into the bomb-damaged café, grateful for a few hours’ rest. The guys from 3rd squad trickled in behind them. Tyner, 3rd squad’s BAR man, immediately started taunting Kirby about losing thirty bucks in the poker game several days ago. Determined to shut the man up, and win back his money, Kirby challenged Tyner to another game. Tyner quickly agreed, a smirk plastered across his thin face, and two of his buddies joined in.

Walking over to his own squad, resting any place they could find a spot, Kirby tried to get somebody to join the game. “Hey Littlejohn, Billy…wanna play poker?”

Littlejohn shook his head with a smile and Billy followed suit. Kirby didn’t even get to ask the question before Doc started shaking his head. Not very hopeful, Kirby turned to Caje and Peters, the replacement. “What about you guys?”

Peters checked his pockets, looked at his meager finances and reluctantly shook his head. “Sorry, Kirby, but I best just keep what little money I have.”

Surprisingly, after a moment’s hesitation, Caje nodded and smiled. “Sure Kirby, I’ll enjoy taking your money. It’s been quite a while since the last time.”

Shaking his head as he sat at the only table left standing in the small café, Kirby snorted in amusement. “In your dreams, Caje. I still say the only reason you haven’t played poker since then is ‘cause you know that that was a fluke. It’ll never happen again.”

Laughing softly, Caje took a seat opposite his squadmate. “Never say never, Kirby.”

When Sgt. Saunders returned two hours later, the poker game was still in full swing and Caje had a sizable pile of money in front of him. Tyner and Kirby wore matching looks of disgust. Saunders shook his head with a smile, imagining the bellyaching Kirby would be doing later. It seemed a shame to break a winning streak.

“Caje, Littlejohn, Nelson. We’ve got a patrol to do; we’re checking to make sure the next village has been evacuated. Doc, maybe you should go along, too.”

Giving the sergeant a solemn nod, Doc drew his legs under him to stand. Littlejohn and Billy both gathered their weapons and equipment, watching Caje sweep his winnings together.

Caje sighed as he scooped up his money. He didn’t play cards very often, but he sure enjoyed putting Kirby in his place. Tyner was just as bad, if not worse, and he’d had fun knocking the braggart down a peg. He hated to leave the game when he was on a winning streak.

Watching from his perch on a barrel, Peters smiled at the disappointed look Caje wore. He stood and grabbed his Garrand, waving at Caje to stay seated. “Hey, Caje, I’ll take the patrol for you if you’ll take the next one for me.”

Stunned that the replacement would volunteer for a patrol, Caje took a moment to answer. But, it only took a moment. Caje firmly believed in not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “Are you serious? That’s real good of you, Peters. I’m sure Kirby hopes I’ll say no, but I think I’ll take you up on that offer. It’s a deal. I’ll take your place on the next patrol.”

They shook hands with a smile and Peters followed the others out into the street, slipping on his battered helmet as he crossed the threshold.

If Caje had only known…

As the others fell into step, Saunders smiled. “Good news, guys. See that jeep over there? It’s ours. We don’t have to hoof it this time.”

That little piece of good news was greeted with four grateful sighs. Littlejohn, Nelson and Peters crawled in the back, smiling at their sudden good fortune. Doc stood next to the driver’s side and raised a questioning eyebrow at his sergeant. Saunders smiled and shook his head. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he motioned for the medic to go around to the other side.

“No way, Doc. I was there the last time you drove. Remember?”

Folding himself into the passenger seat, Doc grimaced. “C’mon, Sarge, you know I did that on purpose. You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?”

“Probably not. I’m not so sure it was on purpose.” Saunders grinned at Doc’s pained expression.

It was an uneventful drive to the next village. Once there, they fanned out to search for stragglers or Germans…hoping to find neither. When they made their way to the church, however, they found about a dozen villagers taking refuge there. All were either too old, or too sick to walk to the next town. Doc went from one villager to another, checking for injuries and doing what he could to make them comfortable.

Shaking his head, Saunders rested the butt of his Thompson on his hip. I shouldn’t have let Caje switch with Peters…I could sure use an interpreter right now. He motioned for Littlejohn to bring over the radio. They’d need transportation for the stragglers.

“Here ya go, Sarge.” Littlejohn handed over the radio and returned to the window near the door, keeping a sharp eye open for Germans. For some reason, the village was giving him the heebie-jeebies.

After apprising Lt. Hanley of the situation, Saunders returned the radio to Littlejohn and waved at Doc to join him outside.

Handing one of his canteens to a rather skinny old man, Doc followed Saunders over to the jeep. “What’s up, Sarge?”

Saunders leaned a hip against the jeep and tipped his helmet back. “Lt. Hanley is sending an ambulance and a truck for the stragglers, though it may take several hours. He needs us to do a quick sweep to the south before returning home. Will those people be okay until transportation arrives, or do I need to leave you here?”

Looking back at the church thoughtfully, Doc shook his head. “They’ll be fine, Sarge. I’ll make sure I leave a full canteen with them, and I’ve got a couple of chocolate bars in my bag. I don’t think some of these people have eaten in a few days. I bet some of the other guys are hoarding something, too.”

“Fair enough, Doc. See what you can drag out of the others.”

Giving Saunders a Cheshire grin, Doc jogged back to the church. He decided to hit Littlejohn up for rations first. He knew the big-hearted private would hand it over, and then Billy would follow suit. “Hey, Littlejohn. You got any rations on you? We’re leaving these people here to be picked up later.”

Just as he’d thought, Littlejohn handed over a box of rations, albeit a little slowly. “Thanks, Littlejohn. Where’s Billy?”

Jerking his head toward the stairs, Littlejohn smiled. He knew Billy had been hoarding chocolate for weeks. He’d mumbled something about GI brownies. “He’s up in the steeple, Doc. Oh, and don’t let him tell you he doesn’t have anything.”

Smiling broadly, Doc gave his big friend a slap on the back. “Thanks. I’ll make him give ‘til it hurts.” He made his way carefully up the stairs and stopped just below the landing. “Billy! It’s just me, so don’t shoot.”

Doc climbed the last few steps to see Billy turning back to the window. “We’re going to be leaving in a few minutes. Lt. Hanley’s sending some vehicles to pick these people up, but they’re gonna be here for a while. You got any rations on you? I already got some from Littlejohn.” Doc knew that would get him.

Bowing his head with a heavy sigh, Billy pulled chocolate bars from every pocket. When he finally handed over the last one, Doc held eight bars in his hands. He stared at the cache of sweets in astonishment. “Geez, Billy. What were you planning to do with all this chocolate?”

Billy shrugged and went back to keeping a lookout. “Doesn’t really matter, now. I was gonna try to make something, but I’ll have to start all over again, I guess.”

“Tell you what, Billy. I’ll give you every chocolate bar I get, ‘til I pay ya back for these. Okay?”

“You’d really do that, Doc?”

Smiling ruefully, Doc slipped the chocolate into his pockets. “Sure. I hardly ever get to actually eat one, anyway. I always end up giving them away to somebody. You know…DPs or wounded. I think I’ve almost forgotten what chocolate tastes like. Thanks, Billy.”

He thumped back down the stairs to look for Peters and realized he hadn’t gotten anything from Saunders. “Littlejohn, where’s Peters?”

“In the back.”

“Thanks.” Doc passed out what he’d already gathered, adding his own two bars from his bag. He found Peters sitting on a table, between the back door and a large window. “Hey, Peters, we’re leaving soon. Got any rations I can give to the villagers?”

Fishing around in his pockets, Peters was surprised to find a box of rations in his jacket. “Well, what d’ya know? I actually do have something. Catch.” He tossed the box to Doc, who caught it and slipped it in a pocket. “So, what’s the scoop, Doc? We headin’ home or what?”

“No. Lt. Hanley wants us to do a quick sweep on our way back. Sarge’ll give a yell when we’re ready to go. At least we don’t have to walk.”

Peters chuckled and stretched his lanky frame. “Amen to that, brother.”

After passing Peters’ box of rations to a thin woman, crippled with arthritis, Doc went back out to find Saunders. He found the sergeant sitting in the jeep, going over a map. “Hey, Sarge. I forgot to get your rations.”

His eyes never leaving the map, Saunders dipped a hand in his jacket, pulled out a box and handed it to Doc. “Go tell the others to come on out. We need to go ahead and get out of here.”

“Will do, Sarge. Oh, thanks for the rations.”

Saunders flapped a hand and returned to perusing the map. Doc went back to the church and delivered the last box of rations. Catching Littlejohn’s eye, he gestured to the door. “Sarge says to go on out to the jeep. We’re leaving.”

Walking over to the bottom of the stairs, Littlejohn gave a shout. “Billy! Come on down; we’re leaving!” When he heard an answering shout from above, he nodded in satisfaction and went outside. Doc made sure the canteen he left behind was full and followed Littlejohn out to the jeep.

Having heard Littlejohn’s bellow, Peters took one last glance out the window and followed the others outside. He joined Littlejohn in the back and they both shifted to make room for Billy when he climbed in.

Once everyone was settled, Saunders put the jeep in gear and turned back the way they’d come. Making a left turn at the intersection outside the village, he headed them in a southerly direction. They saw nothing but trees, hills and dirt roads.

It was after Saunders turned the jeep toward home that all hell broke loose.

They came over a hill, the road narrowing when it entered a tree-shrouded area, and had barely gone ten yards before the sound of gunfire assaulted them. The bullets thumping into the sides of the jeep seemed to come from everywhere and Saunders nearly lost control of it when two of the tires blew out.

Bringing the jeep to a sliding stop, Saunders grabbed his Thompson and dove from his seat. “Take cover!”

As the others scrambled for cover on the side of the road, Peters was hit and went down. Littlejohn grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him to safety in the shallow ditch bordering the narrow road. Billy slid in right next to him. Sarge ended up a few feet away, his Thompson already answering the German’s gunfire. Littlejohn spared a quick glance around before opening fire himself. Doc was nowhere to be seen. Ducking as bullets kicked up the dirt in front of him, Littlejohn took a quick moment to check on Peters. The wounds looked pretty bad, but all he had was his meager field bandage. What he needed was Doc’s medical bag. And Doc.

At the moment, Doc had his own problems. When they came to a stop, Doc had jumped from his seat, clamped a hand to his helmet and rolled under the jeep. Now, as a kraut bullet found its way to yet another tire, he found himself with barely enough room to move. Sharp little stones were digging into his hands and cheek, and he flinched as more lead pinged against the sides of the jeep. Turning his head as he caught a whiff of gasoline, Doc was dismayed to see the trickle of fuel from the penetrated gas tank. Suddenly, taking refuge under the jeep didn’t seem like such a good idea.

Taking refuge in the ditch hadn’t been much better. Saunders sized up their situation as he reloaded…and wasn’t encouraged by what he saw. They were thoroughly pinned in that shallow ditch. There was no way to get from the ditch to effective cover without getting their heads blown off. Peters was wounded and Doc was missing. Firing off a few more shots, Saunders slid closer to Littlejohn and waved him over.

Keeping his head down, Littlejohn crawled the short distance between them. “Sarge, what’re we going to do?”

“Give me the radio. Do what you can for Peters and keep firing. Try to make your shots count…we may need to keep it up for a while.”

Grimacing at the poor odds, Littlejohn handed over the radio. Crawling back to Peters, he nudged Billy to get his attention. “Give me your field kit, quick.”

Billy fumbled with the pouch at his belt then thrust the small package into Littlejohn’s hands. “Where’s Doc?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him leave the jeep, did you?”

“No. How bad is Peters?” Billy cast the wounded man a quick glance while loading a new clip.

Catching Billy’s eye, Littlejohn gazed back sadly. “Bad.”

Opening fire once more, Billy did a mental inventory of his ammo. He didn’t like what he came up with. I sure hope Sarge gets us reinforcements. Quick.

“Reinforcements? Where?” Lt. Hanley frowned thoughtfully when the Corporal pointed out the position on the map.

“Saunders said they were right about here. He says they’re pinned down in a ditch and can’t move without being hit. Says he has one wounded and one unaccounted for.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hanley sighed. “Just once I’d like to get accurate information from S-2. There wasn’t supposed to be any enemy activity in that area. Okay, who’s the closest to Saunders?”

The Corporal closed his eyes a moment as he tried to remember who was in that area. “Sir, Item has a squad over here in the next sector. If they hurry, they can get to Saunders in about thirty minutes.”

“I’m not sure Saunders has thirty minutes.” Hanley studied the map again and shook his head. “Okay, it’s all we got. Get on the radio and get them some help. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Yes, sir.”
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drawing out their ammo, Saunders and the others didn’t fire until fired upon. He kept a sharp eye on their flanks…if the Germans were going to get the drop on them, that’s how they’d do it. Wiping his face with his jacket sleeve, he tilted his helmet back and turned his attention to Littlejohn. “How’s he doing?”

Trying his best to help Peters, Littlejohn knew it was bad. “I don’t think he’s gonna make it, Sarge. I wish Doc was here.”

Saunders shook his head and sighed. “I’m not sure there’d be much more that Doc could do, that you aren’t.”

Shrugging, Littlejohn fired off a few shots to answer the ones that had ricocheted off the rock above his head. Yeah, but at least if Doc was here…this kid’s life, and death, would be in his hands…not mine.

Due to the flat tires on that side, Doc had a very narrow field of vision in the direction of the ditch the others had taken cover in. He could just make out the helmeted heads as they popped up to fire off a quick shot or two. He could count, though, and knew someone was missing. He just didn’t know who it was. It didn’t really matter, whomever it was needed help. He had to get out from under the jeep.

Keeping his head down, Doc slithered sideways until he was facing the higher end of the vehicle. Pulling with his hands and pushing with his feet, he managed to slide forward six inches before coming to a stop. He pulled and wriggled, but one of his canteens was snagged on the jeep’s undercarriage. Panic began to build as he tugged frantically to free himself. More bullets suddenly kicked up the dirt next to the jeep’s last tire and Doc’s panic level went up a notch. He struggled for another futile moment then switched course. Pushing, he slid backward a few inches. Shifting to his right, he tried moving forward again. This time, he managed to clear the obstacle and crawl to the edge of the bullet riddled vehicle.

There was no decent cover on his side of the road, so Doc was going to have to cross over to the others. Taking a deep breath, he clenched a fist around his medical bag and rolled out from under the jeep. Jumping to his feet, Doc sprinted around the front of the vehicle, his eyes on the ditch. He didn’t make it.

A hail of bullets tore up the dirt at his feet and one whizzed so close to his face, Doc was sure he felt the displaced air from it. Coming to a sliding halt, he pivoted and launched himself back at the jeep. Falling to the ground on the high side, he scrambled back underneath, panting for breath. Well, all that accomplished was taking another year off my life. Now what?

“Doc!”

Jerking his head up at Saunders’ call, Doc winced when his head connected with the undercarriage, grateful he was wearing a helmet. He had to shout to be heard over the gunfire. “Sarge?”

“Doc, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just…stuck!”

“Well, stay put! What’re you trying to do, get yourself killed?”

“Sarge, who’s hit?”

“Peters!”

“How bad?”

There was a hesitation before Saunders answered and Doc knew it was bad. “Don’t worry about it; we’re taking care of it. Help’s on the way!”

Flinching as more German fire landed near his shelter, Doc shifted a little closer to the high side. “Sarge! If they get another tire…you’re gonna have to lift this jeep off me!” If it doesn’t blow up, first.

“Just stay there, Doc! You poke your head out from under that jeep again and I’ll shoot you myself!”

Resting his cheek on the dirt, Doc sighed…knowing Peters was probably dying while he was stuck under the jeep with nowhere to go. He hated feeling helpless.

“Sarge!” Littlejohn had already used all their field bandages, but nothing seemed to stem the flow of Peters’ blood. The young man was rapidly running out of time. “Sarge, I’ve got two grenades. You want to use them to give Doc some cover so he can get over here?”

Reloading the Thompson once more, Saunders shook his head. “No way, Littlejohn. He’d never make it, so I don’t want him to even try. I don’t know how he made it out from under the jeep in one piece the first time.” Knowing instinctively what was bothering Littlejohn, Saunders nudged him toward Billy. “Take Nelson and go a few yards to the right, but keep your head down. Maybe we can spread their fire a little and keep them off guard long enough to buy us some time. I’ll take care of Peters.”

Littlejohn nodded in relief. He was grateful to have such a heavy burden taken from his shoulders. He didn’t like having a man’s life resting in his hands. Crawling over to Billy, he grabbed his younger friend by the sleeve and motioned for him to follow.

Watching the two slide a few yards away from him, Saunders spared a moment for Peters. He knew the wounded man wasn’t going to make it. After so much time in this hell, Saunders knew a dying man when he saw one.

Smiling grimly when Saunders’ plan of spreading the enemy’s fire worked, Littlejohn crouched elbow to elbow with Billy, trading shots with the Germans. A short while later, he heard a shout and turned to see Saunders pointing past them. Littlejohn looked back to see two Germans trying to sneak up on their right flank. He nudged Billy, who swung his M-1 toward the two and opened fire. Littlejohn pulled one of his grenades from his jacket pocket, pulled the pin and lobbed it toward the enemy. Flattening themselves to the bottom of the ditch, the two Americans waited for the explosion. Smiling in satisfaction when they heard screaming after the grenade went off, they turned their attention back to the trees.

Billy shifted his position and glanced over to Sarge and Peters. He then stretched his neck to peer over the ditch’s edge to see the jeep. What a mess they were in.

After what seemed like an eternity, and with their ammo rapidly dwindling to nothing, the three weary Americans heard more gunfire. Risking a glance, Saunders was relieved to see the newcomers were their reinforcements. Looking back down at Peters, he knew help had arrived too late for the wounded man. He was still alive, but the sergeant knew they’d never get him to an aid station in time.

It didn’t take long for the Americans to overpower the Germans, and it was soon over. Recognizing the tall, lanky sergeant that jogged over to them, Saunders stood and slung his Thompson over his shoulder. Holding out a hand, he shot the man a grateful look. “Jacobs, thanks for saving our hides. It was getting pretty serious there for a minute.”

Returning the handshake, Jacobs took a look around at Saunders’ men, seeing Billy and Littlejohn both hovering over Peters. “No problem, I’m just paying back a debt. Got any more wounded besides this guy?”

“No, just Peters.” He crouched next to the wounded man and winced at the fresh blood seeping through the bandages. “Doc! It’s all clear; Peters need you!” When he didn’t get a response, he stood and looked around. Doc wasn’t there.

Startled when he heard the additional gunfire, Doc’s heart jumped to his throat. He was sure the new arrivals were more Germans, and he and the others were all about to be killed or captured. He worried about the rest of his squad, out in the open in that ditch. After several long, tension-filled moments, he was relieved to hear the shout of “all clear”.

Pulling forward, he felt himself get snagged again on something. Knowing what to do this time, he slid backward and shifted. That didn’t work. Reaching to his belt, he managed to unclasp it, scraping his knuckles on the road. When he pulled forward again…he was still stuck. It hadn’t been the canteens this time, but his jacket. It must’ve caught on something. After sliding every which way, trying to get loose, Doc gave up and reached under his chest to undo the zipper. He struggled for a few minutes and was about to panic, when the catch on the zipper finally parted. He tried wriggling out of the jacket, but there was no room to maneuver. He was good and stuck.

“Sarge!”

Hearing the muffled, panicked shout, everyone turned toward the jeep. Jacobs raised his eyebrows in surprise when Saunders ran over to the right side of the vehicle and knelt to look underneath.

Saunders found himself peering into Doc’s dirt streaked face, the medic’s blue eyes staring frantically back. “What’s the matter, Doc?”

“I’m stuck! I can’t get my jacket loose.”

“Can’t you just slip out of the jacket?”

“I tried that, but there’s not enough room!”

Hearing the frustration in Doc’s voice, Saunders knew the medic had tried everything. Standing, he motioned for Littlejohn to help. They both knelt and reached under the jeep. “Doc, reach out and we’ll pull.” They each grasped an arm, locking their hands on Doc’s wrists.

Adjusting his weight, Saunders leaned back. “Okay, guys, on three. One. Two. Three!” He and Littlejohn gave a mighty pull, heard a ripping sound and Doc shot from under the jeep like a cork from a bottle. Stumbling, Saunders and Littlejohn somehow kept from falling at the sudden release. Doc scrambled to his feet, gave his sergeant a grateful look and darted across the road to Peters.

Dumping his bag next to the wounded man, Doc dropped to his knees…and knew instinctively that he was too late. He did his best, though. When he was ready, the others threw together a litter and gently placed Peters on it for the trip back to the village. Despite everyone’s best efforts…it wasn’t enough. The young soldier stopped breathing just as the village came into view.

Standing just outside the aid station, Lt. Hanley and Sgt. Saunders shared concerned glances. Littlejohn, Billy and Doc huddled together dispiritedly. You couldn’t find a more ragged looking trio. Littlejohn and Doc were both stained with Peters’ blood and Billy was covered in dirt, slouching wearily. Doc’s jacket was in tatters as a result of his confinement under the jeep, and was liberally splattered with gasoline to boot. The three stood shoulder to shoulder, as if unable to stand without the support of the others.

“Saunders, what happened?”

Lighting a Lucky Strike, Saunders shook his head in disbelief. “We were on our way back and ran into an ambush. The jeep took some hits, blowing out a couple tires. We all bailed out and took cover. Doc rolled under the jeep and the rest of us ended up in a ditch. Peters got it. We did the best we could, but he was hurt too bad and Doc couldn’t get to us. I don’t think he could’ve done anything anyway; Peters was just hit too badly.”

Hanley crossed his arms in frustration, knowing it all could have been prevented if they’d had accurate information from S-2. “Saunders, I’m giving you and your squad 24 hours before you have to go back out on patrol. Make sure those guys get some sleep; they look like hell.”

“Yes sir.” Saunders gave him a tired salute and walked over to the others. He was grateful for the 24 hours. Something was definitely bothering those three…something beyond Peters’ death. He just didn’t know what. “Let’s go, guys. Time to catch some sleep.”

Littlejohn and Doc walked side by side, neither looking at the other. Billy cast them furtive glances, wishing he knew what to say. He knew they both felt some guilt about what happened, even though neither one could’ve done anything different. Then, there was Caje.

Caje. Doc couldn’t seem to pull his mind away from it. What if it had been Caje? It was supposed to have been Caje. If the two hadn’t switched…it might’ve been his friend under that blanket. Doc wondered it he would have tried harder if it had been Caje. Would it have made a difference? He knew the answer to that was no. That disturbed him even more…knowing that he wouldn’t have been able to save his friend.

His mind more or less traveling the same circles, Littlejohn began to drag his feet the closer they got to the little café. He hated knowing how close they had come to losing Caje. He, too, wondered if he would have done more if it had been Caje wounded, instead of Peters. Would he have tried just a little harder? He didn’t know…and that was tearing him up inside.

Looking up from their still ongoing poker game, Caje started to welcome Peters back and offer to share his winnings. The smile on his face fell when he got a good look at the men standing just inside the door. Peters was missing, and Caje knew by the looks on Doc’s and Littlejohn’s faces that the man was dead. His world suddenly seemed to spin out of control.

Standing so quickly that his chair toppled over, Caje looked from one to the other, silently begging them to deny what he knew was true. Kirby and Tyner shared a brief look of sadness. Since no one else was going to venture to ask the question, Kirby cleared his throat. “Sarge, what happened to Peters?”

Dusting off a crate in the corner, Saunders rested his Thompson against the wall and sat down. Removing his helmet and running his fingers through his damp, tangled hair, he kept a watchful eye on Caje as he told the others what happened.

Halfway through the story, Nelson wandered over and slid down against the wall to sit on the floor, resting his arms on his knees. He, too, watched Caje’s reactions during the story. This was not going to be easy for him.

Caje couldn’t believe it. All they did was switch patrols. Nothing was supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be a quick trip to the next village to make sure it had been evacuated; that was all. Caje looked at his pile of winnings on the table. Blood money. That was how he thought of it. Unable to contain all the emotions running rampant through his mind, Caje lashed out.

“Why didn’t you do something to help him, Littlejohn? If he was right there next to you, why couldn’t you keep him alive?”

Momentarily stunned, Littlejohn took a step back. Neither he nor Doc had ventured much past the door when they’d entered the little café. “Now, wait a minute. Caje, I did the best I could. I used all the bandages we had. We needed Doc’s bag, but he was pinned down. We did our best!”

Closing the gap between them, Caje stood toe-to-toe with the bigger man. “Your best wasn’t good enough, was it?”

Saunders jumped from his crate to separate them, but Doc was closer. He placed a hand to Caje’s shoulder and tried to reason with him. “Caje, you don’t mean that.”

Knocking the medic’s hand aside, Caje turned on him next. “Don’t tell me what I mean. Where the hell were you during all this? Just hiding under the jeep while Peters bled to death?”

“Caje!” Saunders took a step forward to put a stop to Caje’s accusations, but Doc held up a hand. Seeing a look of understanding in the medic’s face, he made the decision to trust Doc’s instincts. For now, anyway.

Littlejohn gave Caje an angry shove. “Stop blaming everybody! There was nothing Doc could do. You weren’t there…” He broke off in surprise when Caje swung his fist.

Having stepped forward at precisely the wrong moment, to try to separate the two, Doc caught the blow intended for Littlejohn and fell to the floor. When Saunders and Littlejohn sprang forward to restrain Caje, the medic waved a hand for them to back off. “It’s okay, Sarge. Let him get it out.”

Narrowing his eyes angrily, Saunders kept his grip on Caje’s arm. “What, it’s not enough that you’re beating yourself up over this? You’re going to let Caje get in a few blows?”

Gently feeling the split lip with his tongue, Doc shook his head. “He didn’t mean it and you know it. Let him go, Sarge. Please.”

When they reluctantly released their hold, Caje felt the anger pour out of him…leaving him feeling empty. Unable to stand the stares from his fellow soldiers, he walked over to retrieve his Garand then slipped silently out the door. Littlejohn’s words were ringing in his ears like an accusation. You weren’t there. He should have been.

Reaching out, Saunders gave Doc a hand up from the floor. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

Shrugging, Doc smiled ruefully and instantly regretted it as he felt the split lip pull. “Bad timing? He didn’t mean any of it, Sarge. We can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking. Just give him time.”

Time. Well, Saunders had given Caje time and it didn’t seem to have helped. The sergeant never would’ve believed his squad could fall apart in one day, but the evidence was right in front of him. The 24 hours Hanley had given them was up and they were due to go out on patrol…and for the first time, Saunders didn’t know if he could rely on his men.

Returning just in time for the patrol, Caje looked like he hadn’t slept in that 24-hour period. He kept to himself and wouldn’t even look at the others. He leaned against the wall of the café and stared at his feet, his shoulders slumped as if bowed under a heavy weight.

The two new replacements, McIntyre and Norris, stood quietly talking to Nelson. The two kept casting surreptitious glances at the others and appeared a little uneasy. Saunders couldn’t blame them…it wasn’t much to inspire confidence. The two men who would normally be taking the green recruits under their wings were also keeping themselves apart.

Pretending to be cleaning his M-1, Littlejohn sat on a barrel by the door. He stared off into space and had been rubbing the same spot for over ten minutes. He, too, looked like he’d had a sleepless night. Every now and again he’d cast a glance at Doc, his expression unreadable.

Nodding his head once in a while at whatever Kirby was bending his ear about, Doc counted the supplies in his medical bag. So far, Doc had lost count half a dozen times and Saunders didn’t think it was Kirby that was distracting the medic. He watched as Kirby stopped his rant and waited for a response. When he didn’t receive one, the wiry BAR man sighed. Shaking his head, he wandered over to join his sergeant.

“Sarge, can’t you do something? I gotta bad feeling about today.”

Saunders shifted his weight and rested the butt of his Thompson on his hip. Tilting back his helmet, he frowned. He had a bad feeling, too, but wasn’t going to tell that to Kirby. “You just watch out for Kirby. The others know their job and will snap out of it.” Hopefully.

“Yeah, well, if you say so, Sarge.” Muttering under his breath, Kirby walked over to join Nelson and the replacements. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Billy and shook his head. He didn’t have any idea how to fix what Peters’ death had broken.

“Saddle up! C-Kirby, you have the point.” With the man’s state of mind at the moment, Saunders was a little hesitant in putting Caje at point. “Nelson, you take the rear. Mac, Norris, you guys just keep your eyes open, your heads down and don’t shoot unless I tell you to.”

Kirby led them out of the village, Littlejohn and Saunders following behind. Mac and Norris arranged themselves between Saunders and Caje, both wondering if the squad’s silence was a bad omen.

Walking behind Caje, Doc waited for a good time to try to talk to him. He wanted to tell Caje that he didn’t hold anything against him for what had happened the night before. Doc knew the words and actions stemmed from guilt and denial. He didn’t want to wait too long, or things could get worse.

They’d been walking for over an hour when Doc finally picked up his pace to catch up with Caje. Keeping step, Doc reached out to touch Caje’s arm to get his attention. The medic was a little taken aback by the glare he received. “Um, want to talk about what happened?”

Lengthening his stride in answer to Doc’s question, Caje frowned when the medic simply walked faster to keep up. “No, I don’t want to talk about what happened. Leave me alone.” If he expected that to deter the medic, he was disappointed.

When Doc didn’t take the hint and drop back, Caje sighed in annoyance. He just really wanted to be alone at the moment. “Look, Doc, I’m sorry I hit you. I was aiming at Littlejohn.”

“I know you didn’t mean to hit me and I think you really didn’t want to hit Littlejohn, either. You were just angry and upset. I know you probably think it’s somehow your fault, because you two switched, but it’s not.”

Doc’s words hit a sensitive nerve and Caje swung around to grab the medic by the jacket. “Look, I said I didn’t want to talk about it! Go preach to someone else, because I don’t want to hear it.” He released Doc with a little shove and strode past Saunders, who’d stopped when he heard the angry outburst.

Seeing the shocked look on Doc’s face, Saunders sighed inwardly. This was going to get worse before it got better. He could feel it. When the medic gave himself a little shake and resumed walking, Saunders waited to let Doc catch up to him. “What was that all about?”

Giving a small shrug, Doc laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. I just thought Caje might like to talk about it, that’s all. Get it off his chest, you know? Yeah, real bright idea. I said the wrong thing, I guess, and now I’ve just made things worse.”

“No, you’ve got the right idea, Doc. I guess Caje just needs more time, maybe. Let’s give him some time to work through it on his own. If he doesn’t, I’ll talk to him myself.”

“Sure, Sarge. All I keep doing is making him mad.”

Saunders gave the medic a slap on the back and picked up his pace to shorten the gap between himself and Caje. He thought maybe it was a good idea to keep an eye on the troubled man.

They had neared the far end of the area they were out to patrol, when they stumbled across a squad of Germans. Unfortunately, the Germans saw them first. Hitting the ground as bullets suddenly tore through the leaves and branches around him, Saunders did a quick inventory of his men. He couldn’t see everyone from his position, but he could hear the weapons of the ones who were missing.

One of the replacements, McIntyre, had landed a few feet away. He was returning the Germans’ fire, but when he turned to look at the sergeant, Saunders could see the fear in the young man’s eyes. Making a few quick decisions, he slid closer to McIntyre. “Mac, stay here and keep firing.” He passed Mac two grenades and crouched, ready to run. “Give me five minutes to get over on their left flank, then throw those grenades. Got it?”

Swallowing his fear, Mac gave Saunders a short nod and raised his M-1 to give the sergeant cover fire. Glancing at his watch when Saunders broke cover, he opened fire.

Circling around and coming up behind Kirby, Saunders tapped the BAR man on the helmet. “Kirby, think you can make it over to their right flank by 1643?”

Peering at his watch, Kirby frowned thoughtfully. “I think so, Sarge. Whatchya got in mind?”

“I’ll be on the left flank. At 1643, Mac’s going to lob a few grenades to draw their fire. You and I will come in and hit them on the flanks and hopefully end this thing.”

“You got it, Sarge.” Without another word, Kirby slipped from cover and darted for the right flank. Saunders headed for the left, ducking as the Germans picked up his movements.

Unaware of his sergeant’s plan, Caje looked around for the new replacements. He could see Mac a couple yards to his right, but Norris was out of his line of sight. Feeling an overwhelming urge to protect the new members of the squad, Caje hesitated a moment then crawled over to join Mac behind a large stone.

“How you holding up, Mac?”

Stopping to look at his watch, Mac nodded distractedly. “I’m doing okay, Caje.” He loaded a new clip and kept firing. He suddenly felt a little more confident since Caje had joined him. Glancing at his watch, he counted down the seconds in his head. With five seconds left, Mac reached inside his jacket and removed the two grenades. Rising to his knees, he prepared to pull the pin.

Seeing the young man get to his knees, sticking his head above cover, Caje grabbed Mac’s jacket and pulled him to the ground. He leaned down to hiss in his ear, “Keep your head down! You trying to get killed?”

Struggling to get Caje to release his grip, Mac hastily tried to explain. “No, I’m supposed to…”

“You’re supposed to keep your head down and stay alive, is what you’re supposed to do.”

Both men looked up when the distinct sounds of the Thompson and BAR opened up from opposite directions. The Germans turned all their firepower on the two soldiers sneaking up on their flanks.

Looking at Caje with wild eyes, Mac shouted above the noise. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. I was supposed to throw these grenades to give the Sarge cover!”

What have I done? Snatching the grenades from Mac’s hands, Caje pulled the pins and threw them at the Germans…hoping he wasn’t too late.

As soon as his watch hit 1643, Saunders jumped from cover and opened up with his Thompson…fully expecting grenades to explode as he did so. It didn’t happen. He suddenly found himself the target of nearly every German in that squad. Throwing himself behind a fallen tree, the sergeant cursed green recruits who couldn’t tell time.

Kirby watched the seconds tick past, trying to catch his breath after his mad dash to get to the flank in time. As the second hand hit the twelve, Kirby raised his BAR and bolted from behind the large tree that had given him cover. He didn’t get very far before lead flew all around him. He felt a sharp sting high on his right arm and dove for the meager protection of some bushes to his left. He lay on the ground, gasping for air. Holy shit! Where were the grenades Sarge promised?

Wondering the same thing, Saunders was trying to come up with another plan. The welcome sound of explosions had him back on his feet, firing once again. He could hear the bark of Kirby’s BAR, meaning he was up and running as well. As soon as Saunders was close enough, he reached into his pocket for his last grenade, pulled the pin and tossed it at the remaining Germans. Clamping a hand to his helmet, he hit the ground as dirt and twigs landed on and around him, the result of the grenade’s detonation. There were two more quick explosions, compliments of Kirby, then silence.

Cautiously raising his head then climbing to his feet, Saunders began to check for survivors. He saw Kirby doing the same thing. Leaving the BAR man to the grisly task, Saunders narrowed his eyes and headed back to McIntyre.

He found Mac talking earnestly with Caje. Storming over, Saunders took a deep breath in an attempt to regain control of his anger. “Mac! What the hell were you doing? You nearly got us killed by not throwing those grenades when I told you to!”

Holding up a hand and shaking his head, Mac took a step back. “No, Sarge, now don’t go blaming me. I tried to throw the grenade when I was supposed to, but Caje didn’t realize what I was doing and thought I was gonna get my head blown off, so…he jerked me back down.”

Saunders turned to stare at Caje in bewilderment. “You what? Why did you even risk leaving your position?”

Horrified by what he’d almost done, however inadvertently, Caje tried to explain why he’d done what he had. “I’m sorry, Sarge. It…I thought McIntyre could use some help, so I went over to him. When I saw him raise up like that…I thought he was going to get himself shot, so I pulled him back down. After Peters…I just…I didn’t want anybody else to get killed, Sarge.”

Bowing his head and rubbing a grimy hand over his face, Saunders couldn’t believe Caje had done something like that. He waved for Caje to follow, then walked a short distance from the others so they could talk privately. “Look, Caje, I know Peters’ death hit you hard, but you can’t play guardian angel to those two. They don’t need it, and you can’t afford it. You just worry about Caje and let me worry about the others, okay?”

Caje kept a tight rein on his emotions. Giving Saunders a terse nod, his jaws clenched and his back stiff, Caje returned to the others. He stood off to one side, staring at the ground.

The whole squad is coming apart at the seams. What bothered Saunders the most was that he didn’t know what to do to stop the inevitable. He knew Caje just needed time, but he didn’t know if time was going to be on their side. Sighing in defeat, the sergeant slung his Thompson over his shoulder and went to find Kirby and Doc.

After the firing had stopped, and after reassuring himself that Caje and the others were undamaged, Doc went to look for Saunders and Kirby. He hadn’t gone far when he saw Saunders coming towards them. Catching the thunderous look on the sergeant’s face, Doc decided he’d be better off looking for Kirby.

Finding Kirby going from body to body checking for signs of life, Doc waved him off and checked the last three. He’d known it was useless, but did it anyway out of habit. Once he’d checked the last body, he looked up to see Kirby lighting a cigarette. When the BAR man reached down to drop his lighter in his pants pocket, Doc caught the slight wince. “You okay, Kirby?”

“Huh? Oh, that. It’s just a scratch, Doc, nothing to worry about.” Kirby removed his helmet, dropped it to the ground, and used it as a seat. Wiping the sweat from his face, Kirby removed the Lucky and blew a plume of smoke. “What the heck happened back there, anyhow?”

Doc knelt next to Kirby and opened his bag. He widened the tears in Kirby’s jacket and sleeve to check for himself the seriousness of the wound. “Well, I’m not real sure. I was over by Littlejohn and couldn’t see much, mostly because he was practically sitting on me, but from what Mac was yelling a few minutes ago…I’d say it has something to do with Caje. Mac said something about Caje keeping him from throwing the grenades.”

Sprinkling sulfa powder on the small wound, Doc placed some gauze over it then taped it down. “Well, you were right, Kirby, it’s just a scratch. Just nicked ya this time; you were lucky.”

Turning to look the medic in the eye, Kirby frowned. “Yeah, Doc, but what about next time? What if Caje screws up again? He almost got us killed!”

Closing the flap of his medical bag and snapping it into place, Doc shook his head. “Now, wait a minute. Kirby, we don’t know what really happened down there. I said I didn’t know what happened for sure. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

As they both stood and started back toward the rest of the squad, Doc reached out to snare Kirby’s sleeve. “Kirby? Just in case this was caused by something Caje did…don’t let him know you were wounded because of it. Okay? I…I don’t think he could take it.”

Kirby pointed to the tear in his sleeve. “Well, how do you expect me to hide this?”

“If anybody asks…just say you tripped over something while we were checking the bodies. Okay?”

Grumbling about all that had happened in the last two days, Kirby shook his head in disgust. “Well, alright Doc, if you say so. But you’ll owe me one. Tripped? I’ll never hear the end of it from Littlejohn, mark my words.”

“I’ll take care of Littlejohn.”

“Yeah, well you better. That’s all I need, is for that big moose to start riding me.”

“You mean, after you’ve been giving him such a hard time about being ‘clumsy’?”

Kirby shot Doc a smile as he ducked under a branch. “Yeah, well, I guess it would be payback. But we don’t have to tell that to Littlejohn.”

“Tell what to Littlejohn?”

They both jumped, startled when Saunders stepped around a tree, and shared a brief look of guilt.

“Jeez, Sarge, you’re worse than Caje about sneaking up on people. Give a guy a heart failure, why not?” Kirby held a hand to his chest, as if to still his pounding heart.

Suppressing a smile, Saunders pushed his helmet back. “You didn’t answer my question…and what happened to your arm?”

Exchanging looks with Doc, Kirby shrugged. “Nothing Sarge. I mean, I just tripped and fell on something sharp. It’s just a scratch, is all.”

“Doc?”

“It’s nothing, Sarge. He’s right; it’s just a scratch.”

Saunders got the feeling the two were leaving out a few important details, but they just stared innocently back at him. He opened his mouth to ask the obvious question then changed his mind. Shaking his head, he just waved his hands. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Shrugging, the two fell in step behind Saunders as they picked their way through the underbrush. When they reached the others, Saunders stopped to examine his map. He’d need to remember exactly where this spot was, to inform Hanley of the German activity.

As Doc and Kirby walked over, Billy noticed the tear in Kirby’s jacket. He wondered what had happened and, knowing that Kirby usually made sure everyone heard about it when he was injured, his curiosity finally got the best of him. “Hey, Kirby. What happened to your arm?”

Annoyed, Kirby glared at Doc. The medic wore a pleading look and Kirby sighed in resignation. “It’s nuthin’, Billy. I just tripped on a root and fell on something sharp.”

Just as Kirby had suspected, Littlejohn saw that as a golden opportunity for retaliation. “Well, well, well. Who’s clumsy now, Kirby? Can’t even check on a few dead Germans without hurting yourself.”

Before Kirby could think of a good comeback, Doc was sidling over to Littlejohn to tell him what had happened. Littlejohn leaned down to catch the whispered words. Shooting a glance at Kirby, he turned back to Doc with a look of dismay. “Aw, come on Doc. Do I have to? He deserves it.” The medic whispered a few more words and Littlejohn sighed in disappointment. “Well, alright, but you owe me one.”

Saunders had witnessed the whole exchange, was certain Doc and Kirby were hiding something and changed his mind about his need to know what was going on. He’d just have to pull one of them aside and shake the truth out of them. He was in no mood for subterfuge.

“Saddle-up! We need to head back. Keep your eyes open, just in case these Germans have friends. Kirby-point. Littlejohn-rear. Let’s go.”

Waiting as his men arranged themselves in the straggling line, Saunders fell into step next to Doc. He knew the medic wouldn’t keep a secret from him for long. “So, Doc, you want to tell me what really happened to Kirby?”

Lifting his eyes from the ground, Doc checked to see how far Caje was. The lanky scout was walking between Kirby and Norris, far enough ahead that he probably couldn’t overhear their conversation. He gave Saunders a crooked, sheepish grin and hitched the strap of his medical bag a little higher on his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge, I just didn’t want Caje to know. I didn’t want things to get worse than they already are. You see, Kirby was nicked when the two of you went for the Germans’ flanks…before Mac finally threw the grenades.”

They’d both been lucky. Saunders had known that, but just how close it had been was suddenly brought into focus. He needed to talk to Caje, but it would have to wait until they got back. The problem was…he didn’t really know what to say.

“Thanks, Doc. I think that would have been the last thing for Caje to hear. I don’t know how you talked Kirby into covering up, though.” Saunders knew that particular goldbrick was notorious for exaggerating every little boo-boo or wound he got.

“Kirby knows Caje wouldn’t do something like that if he was thinking clearly. He may not always show it, but Kirby looks out after the guys in the squad. In his own way.” Doc grinned, knowing the BAR man went out of his way to cultivate the image of the selfish goldbrick.

“Just don’t keep any secrets from me, if it means covering for Caje. We can’t afford any more mistakes like that. Someone could get killed.”

Reassured by the serious expression on Doc’s face, Saunders dropped back in line. All the way back to the village, he tried to figure out how to help Caje get past what had happened to Peters. Unfortunately, when the tired squad reached the shelled buildings of Thaumiers, Saunders was still unsure.

Caje sat down on the scarred wooden pew and propped his M-1 next to him. Removing his helmet, he ran a hand through his dark hair and stared up at the ceiling. The cracked remains of what once was probably a beautiful painting of cherubs and angels hovered above him. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d chosen this particular spot to stop and rest, after wandering the streets of Thaumiers for several hours. Although, after the events of the last two days, it was no wonder he chose to find solace in the battle-scarred church.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so empty after talking to Saunders. He knew the others were worried about him, but he just couldn’t get past Peters’ death. It was his fault. He chose to let Peters take his place, and now the man was gone. Caje couldn’t find anyone else to blame but himself.

To add to that, he’d almost gotten Sarge and Kirby killed. He still didn’t have any idea what had made him do that, except that he didn’t want to see another young man die. He hadn’t felt this uncertain or…doubtful…of his combat instincts since he first hit the beach. The incident with Mac was eroding his confidence, and he had no idea how to shore it up against the flood of blame and doubt.

As the sun set, the fading light sparkling through the jagged remains of the stained glass windows, Caje remained in the church, finding some measure of comfort from his surroundings and apprehensive about rejoining his squad at the café. The news that they were to go out again tomorrow had left Caje in turmoil.

Stretched out on his cot, hands cradling his head, Saunders lay awake. He listened to the night sounds as he waited for his last man to return. He could hear the buzzing and chirping of the nocturnal insects, mixed with the assorted sounds of his sleeping men. He’d become so used to those particular sounds, he could tell that two were still awake. He knew one was Littlejohn, from the lack of snoring in that part of the room. He guessed the other was probably Doc.

The two men, unaware of the vigils being held by the others, each lay waiting for their squadmate’s return. Both were chasing the same question around and around in their minds. Was there anything more I could have done?

After a long, sleepless night and a lot of fruitless soul-searching, Doc had nothing to show for it but a headache, a tense neck and burning eyes. Standing and rubbing at his neck, he looked over to see Littlejohn doing the same. From the weariness in his face, Doc knew the big private had also stayed awake. If the two of them had worried all night, he was sure the Sarge had been up, too. It was going to be a long day.

Man, it’s gonna be a long day. Kirby shifted the BAR’s weight and glanced around warily. He had a strange feeling that something bad was going to happen. They’d been walking for two hours already and the utter stillness of the woods was eerie. The day hadn’t exactly gotten off to a good start.

They’d all run into Caje at breakfast and he, Doc and Littlejohn had eaten their food in silence. Kirby had broken his bootlace and had to spend over an hour trying to get a new one. Then they get this lousy patrol, Sarge hadn’t cracked a smile, Caje was back at point and nobody was talking to anybody. Yep, it’s gonna be a long day.

A sense of relief had settled on Caje when Saunders had sent him to take point when they’d left Thaumiers, as well as a little of the confidence that had left him a day ago. His mind still kept wandering to the poker game, though, so he had to constantly pull his thoughts back to the task at hand.

Saunders wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing when he’d put Caje at point, but he knew a show of confidence would help Caje. He hoped nothing disastrous happened, then maybe Caje could put the last few days behind him and move on.

Being new, Norris didn’t really understand what was going on with the guys in his squad. He could sense an undercurrent of tension among the veterans and thought the others felt a sort of…disarray. As if that…something…that held them all together was slipping away, and no one seemed to know how to stop it. He wondered what Mac thought of the whole mess.

Walking a few paces behind Norris, Mac wasn’t sure what to think. All he knew was, he was scared. He didn’t know what to expect from Caje, and the uncharacteristic silence from the others gave him the willies. He felt a shiver run up his spine, suddenly feeling like he had a target painted on his back and a German was taking a bead on him right then and there. He couldn’t shake the morbid thought and hoped it wasn’t prophetic.

Lengthening his stride to catch up to Mac, Billy looked to the rear. He could see Littlejohn keeping pace behind Doc, and wished he knew how to snap his big friend out of the gloom he’d settled in overnight. He hoped Saunders had an idea how to fix things. Billy just wished they could go back a few days and start over. He couldn’t believe so much could go wrong in so little time.

Littlejohn saw the wistful look Billy tossed back a moment before and felt bad for keeping his younger friend at arm’s length the last few days. He just had so much to work out for himself and needed the space. He’d just decided to put the past in the past, where it belonged, when he felt a tingling sensation between his shoulder blades. He gave himself a little shake and peered into the trees, gripping his rifle a little tighter. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there. He quickened his steps to close the gap between himself and Doc.

Rubbing his eyes, unable to get rid of the sandy feel from lack of sleep, Doc heard Littlejohn come up behind him. He also felt a vague sense of uneasiness, and knew it was more than just the events of the past few days. His head pounded with every footfall and he was beginning to wish he hadn’t had that breakfast. Doc looked closely at the shadows as he walked and saw the others all doing the same. It appeared he wasn’t the only one with the heebie-jeebies. He gripped his medical bag tighter, hoping he wouldn’t need it today.

Slowing his pace as the light became brighter with the thinning of the trees, Caje focused all his attention on the shadows and bushes ahead. He had a feeling they were walking into something. Instinct or experience…either way, it wasn’t to be ignored. Waving an arm, he motioned for the others to slow down and be alert. Placing each foot slowly, careful not to step on any leaves or fallen branches, Caje advanced a few yards before catching a small movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Get down!” Yelling for the others to take cover, Caje threw himself behind a tree as a German machine gun opened fire from behind a large clump of bushes. Bits of bark flew over his head as he pressed his cheek to the loamy soil. When the gunfire switched direction to answer Kirby’s BAR, Caje rose to a crouch and opened fire.

When Caje waved his arm, Saunders passed the signal down the line. He tightened his grip on the Thompson and stepped closer to the trees as the others did the same, the entire squad seeming to melt into the shadows. As soon as Caje turned and yelled, Saunders dropped to the ground. The once eerie silence was replaced with the sound of battle, as seven American weapons and one German machine gun opened fire.

Hearing a yelp of pain, Doc risked exposure to see who’d been hit. Mac was on the ground behind a tree stump, holding his right arm and grimacing in pain. Doc ducked as a volley of lead shredded the leaves just above his head. A few bullets buried themselves in the soft ground, close enough to throw dirt on the medic’s hand. He pulled that hand closer to his body as another round tore at the branches above him. After a long burst from the BAR, the machine gun once again turned its attention to Kirby.

Having also heard the sharp cry of pain, Saunders looked to see who was hurt. He couldn’t see very well from his angle, but knew it was Mac. He just didn’t know how bad it was. He saw Doc stick his head up from cover then drop back down when the machine gun opened up. He felt a sense of deja` vu. Mac was wounded and here they were…pinned down and unable to help.

“Doc!”

Raising his head up when he heard the yell, Doc squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he couldn’t reach the wounded man and feeling helpless. “Mac! How bad is it?”

“It hurts, Doc! I…I don’t know how bad it is.”

“Did you use your bandage?”

“Yeah! I…I think it’s bleeding a lot, Doc!”

“I can’t get to you right now, Mac! Just…stay down and hold on!” Doc dropped his head on his arm and clenched a fist in frustration. He wished he knew how bad the wound was. He couldn’t let this end up like Peters. He just couldn’t.

Saunders’ mind raced, coming up with and rapidly discarding ideas, until he finally came up with a viable plan. There was a small creek running within twenty yards of the machine gun placement. He and Norris were close enough that they could probably get to it without being seen. With any luck, they could follow the creek and toss a few grenades.

He crawled a few feet to his left and tapped Norris on the leg, motioning him to follow. The two made their way, slowly and carefully, to the edge of the creek and slid down the side. Careful not make any noise in the shallow water, trying to keep their weapons dry, Saunders led Norris upstream. Time stretched…seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours. Norris rubbed at the sweat beading his upper lip, leaving a streak of mud in its place.

When he judged they were close enough, Saunders held up his hand for Norris to stop. He peered over the creek’s edge, satisfied when he saw the flash of a German uniform. Slipping the Thompson on his shoulder, Saunders leaned close to Norris to whisper his instructions.

“When I get ready, I want you to cover me, but try to keep your head down. Got it?”

“Got it, Sarge.”

Giving the young man an encouraging nod, Saunders removed a couple of grenades from his pockets, leaned his shoulder against the edge and prepared to throw.

Hearing Mac yelling for Doc again, Caje made up his mind. He wasn’t going to let the wounded man just lie there and bleed to death. He finished off his clip, loaded a new one, and broke from his cover to sprint to Mac’s position. He drew the German’s fire as he ran, bullets tearing up the ground near his feet.

“Doc!”

Hearing Mac’s panicked yell, Doc raised his head again. “Mac?”

“Doc, it’s still bleeding!”

Groaning in frustration, Doc looked for Saunders, only to see that his sergeant was gone. Hoping that meant he had a plan, the medic made the decision to go to Mac. Pushing himself into a crouch, Doc waited a moment then stood to run. Unfortunately, he stood just as Caje ran past and the gunfire that the scout had drawn by his movements tore all around the medic.

Sliding to the ground next to Mac, Caje returned the Germans’ fire. The clip emptied and ejected and Caje reached for a new one. Before he could load it, he heard two explosions in the direction of the machine gun nest. The Germans’ gunfire ceased and he heard Saunders’ call of cease-fire.

“All clear!”

Sagging against the stump, Caje turned to check on Mac. Taking a look at the bandage, he smiled in relief. “You didn’t tie it tight enough. That’s why it was still bleeding some. You’ve got to tie these things good and tight if you want to do it right.”

A little embarrassed, but grateful for Caje’s help, Mac released a shaky sigh. “I was scared, Caje. I’ve never been shot before.”

“You’ll be okay, don’t worry about it. See, here comes Doc. He’ll take good care of you.”

Caje moved aside to make room for Doc, who dropped to his knees and took a peek under the bandage. It looked like just a flesh wound. It had bled quite a bit, but nothing serious. He made sure the bandage was on tight enough and gave Mac two aspirin and a canteen. When Mac returned the canteen, Doc put it back in its pouch and climbed to his feet. He tried to keep a lid on his anger, but it still took a few deep breaths before he could speak calmly.

“It’s just a flesh wound, Mac. You’ll be fine. If the pain gets worse, I’ll give ya morphine, but I’d rather not until we get back to Thaumiers.”

“Okay, Doc, it’s not so bad right now. I think I’ll be okay. I was, uh, just a little scared.”

Nodding stiffly, Doc went in search of the sergeant. Kirby and Littlejohn were fast on his heels.

Catching up with the medic and grabbing him by the arm, Kirby pulled him to a stop. “Doc, what’s the matter? What happened?”

Still trying to control his mounting anger, Doc gestured to himself. “You see any new holes in my clothes, Kirby?”

Taking a quick look, Kirby noticed several holes, but didn’t understand the significance. “Yeah. So?”

“So?! So, they weren’t there until Caje left his position to go running like a madman…right past me as I was about to go over to Mac!”

Kirby stood a moment, a look of confusion on his face. Littlejohn rolled his eyes and gave the smaller man a nudge. “Think, Kirby. Caje drew the Germans’ fire when he ran from cover and if he ran right past Doc, then that machine gun was pointed right at him.”

“Oh! Oh, wow. You hit, Doc?”

“No, but I can’t believe it. Two bullets went right through my jacket and one through my pants leg…and not one of them hit anything but cloth.”

“Boy, you gotta be about the luckiest son-of-a-gun alive.” Kirby shook his head and looked back at Caje, who was talking Mac. “What’re you gonna do?”

Doc sighed, the anger rapidly being replaced with weariness. “I don’t know. I mean, Caje should know better than to do something like that…drawing fire toward someone else’s position. But, I know what motivated him. I felt it myself.”

Seeing Doc hesitate, Littlejohn prodded him to continue. “But…?”

“But, Sarge told me not to keep secrets to cover up for Caje.”

“And I meant it.”

Kirby jumped and started to bring the BAR up, but let it rest on its strap again. “Jeez, Sarge, I told you not to sneak up on people like that.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Saunders’ lips. “Well, Kirby, how else am I supposed to find out what’s going on around here?”

Pulling Doc aside, Saunders rested his arms on his Thompson and frowned. “I heard most of it. Doc, I don’t know what else to do to get through to him.”

Saunders saw his own helpless feeling mirrored by Doc. Sighing, the sergeant bowed his head for a moment. “Alright, we’re heading back to Thaumiers. I’ve got one wounded man and another I can’t rely on right now. I need to get this position back to Lt. Hanley, anyway. I’ll decide what to do about Caje when we get back.”

Gathering the others, Saunders took the point and turned them back in the direction of the village. After about an hour, the sergeant glanced back to check on Mac. Seeing the man’s pallor, he decided to call a break. The area had cleared a little and a small pond bordered the west side.

“We’re taking a break. Find some shade and get some rest.”

After settling Mac in a shady spot, with Norris keeping an eye on him, Doc joined Nelson, Littlejohn and Kirby in a heated debate. Saunders was left to contemplate his dilemma as Caje wandered off by himself and sat down next to a fallen tree.

Shifting his back against the tree, Caje glanced over what he’d written.

So, that’s what happened, Dad. I think I’m going to be okay now, but I still feel some guilt about the whole thing. I know I didn’t really cause Peters’ death, but I did put the events into motion that eventually led to his getting killed. What Doc said was right, though. Peters is dead and nobody can do anything to change that. I guess one death is more than enough. I’m going to let Peters go, and stop torturing myself over what happened. I guess I’ll always carry the memories with me, but life goes on. Thankfully, life does go on. Your loving son, Paul.

Satisfied, Caje smiled sadly and folded the paper. He slipped the pencil and paper back into his jacket pocket and stood, stretching to ease the soreness from his arms. He glanced around at the others, then headed over to talk to Saunders. It was like a new day…a beginning. He felt the warmth of the sun on his back, smelled the pond’s musty water, heard the distant call of birds…and was grateful. He would probably always carry some measure of guilt, but thanks to the perseverance of his friends…that weight was now bearable. He could move on.

END

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This story was loosely based on something that happened to my maternal grandfather in Germany during WWII. If not for the last minute switching of shifts with a buddy, my grandfather would have been shot and killed while guarding a plane. He carried the guilt of that man’s death for the rest of his life.