| All Combat! Names and indicia are licensed to: ABC entertainment company, and Selmur Productions… I think. Copyright, August 1st, 2004, Jessica A. Worley. Pursuit of the Lost Gun in hand, he’d walked in the rain all night before the clouds seemed to have ‘rained themselves out’ as one of the replacements had put it the week before when torrents of rain came down upon them. With all the thunder and lightning, he could hardly tell what was gunfire and what was not as he stumbled further and further away from his men, dazed from the blow to his head. When daybreak fell, the weary, soaking man took in the unfamiliar terrain around him, and knew he was not where he ought to have been, how far he had wandered exactly, he did not know. The ground here was dry, which seemed almost an impossibility. Sure there was heavy tree cover, but that hadn’t stopped the rain from drenching him mere hours before. The aching bump on his head had caused him to walk along mindlessly, and now he wished he’d paid more attention, throbbing head or not. Conceding to the fact that it might be better to turn around and try to retrace his footsteps, he turned, only to find himself more lost. How was it possible that he didn’t recognize the path he’d just taken? * * * “Move it ya big oaf.” “Gee Billy, I’m really sorry… I swear I couldn’t tell it was you-” “Tell me Littlejohn, do I look like a kraut to you?” The young man, being supported by the squad medic, looked up into his tall friend’s eyes irritably, waiting for an answer, and his friend just looked down at the ground, too ashamed of himself at what he had done. “Aww, forget it, I know it was an accident.” The tall man looked up, and then back down into his wounded friends eyes. “Really? Gee Billy, listen, you just name it, anything you want, and I’ll get it for ya, I swear. Anything, anything at all!” Billy let himself be lowered to the ground by Doc. He knew Littlejohn would never do anything purposefully to hurt him, and he now felt guilty for hollering at him. Already propped up on two elbows, he tried to sit up straighter and said, “Nah, just forget it, like I said. It’s not a bad wound, right Doc?” The medic looked up at him away from the bullet wound on his leg, and said, “Now listen, if you don’t sit still while I fish this bullet out, I’m gonna give you a bigger wound, and I don’t mean in your leg. Understand?” The wounded young man glanced at Doc as he went back to work, searching his pack for any morphine there might have been left, before looking back up at Littlejohn. They’d been in battle for three days, no relief or back up until the night before in the form of mortars, which for the time being, took the krauts off their backs. Billy watched Caje and Kirby walk in through the barn doors behind Littlejohn with the BAR and a crate, just as he said, “I mean it Billy, you just name it and I’ll get ya anything. Hey, listen, I heard there was a grub truck with some good stuff gonna come in with Battalion aid later, what if I was able to scrounge up some Ice cream? Would ya take that?” “I don’t know Little Joh- Ow!” he broke off in the middle of his sentence as Doc pulled the bullet out of his leg, and Littlejohn grimaced at the sight of his friend hurting because of a wound he’d given him. “Serves you right for keepin moving when I told ya not to, now hold still while I bandage it,” the medic scolded him. Unable to watch his friend in pain any longer, Littlejohn took Billy’s half answer as a yes, and headed off through the open barn doors, ignoring Kirby’s statement to Caje, “How do ya like that? He shoots the kid in the leg and thinks a cup of ice cream is gonna make up for it!” “Ah, shut up Kirby,” Billy told them as Doc sprinkled sulfa on his wound and, finally having had enough of Billy’s moving as he talked, pushed him back into the hay. With the radio all shot up from the night before, the splintered squad had no way of getting in contact with the nearest CP and telling them the bad news that neither one of their CO’s could be found. The best thing they had to a contact, was a relayed message they’d sent along with two wounded soldier’s passing through on a stolen kraut motorcycle back to the CP, which was how they found out about the Battalion Aid’s movement, and even then they couldn’t give a detailed message, in case of the two GI’s being wounded krauts. It wouldn’t have been fair to say the 361’st King Company’s 1st squad was in total chaos, because they weren’t without some form of order. Doc was having his run of things, making sure he had plenty of help with the wounded, and Caje and Kirby were in the process of forming a plan to go and look for the Sarge and Lt. “Well did anyone see when they took off?” Caje asked. “Nah, I asked,” Kirby replied, ready to run out into the forest straight away. “What about which direction?” Littlejohn asked. “Now think about it Littlejohn, if we didn’t see when they left, then how could we see which way they went?” Kirby asked, annoyed. “Well it was just a thought,” Littlejohn said, sounding kind of hurt. He still felt extremely bad for having shot his best friend. When he looked down, Caje shot Kirby a look as if to say: give-the-guy-a-break-Kirby. Kirby rolled his eyes. It wasn’t his fault the giant shot Billy. But he said nothing else on the matter anyhow. Littlejohn was his friend too, he was just wound up, and irritated that they weren’t out there looking for the Sarge and Lt, that was all, and as he walked away, he heard Caje telling Littlejohn so. Billy was propped up on his elbows again, watching Littlejohn talking to Caje. He hoped they would include him in the search for Lt. Hanely, and Sergeant Saunders, even with his bullet wound, but didn’t think the mother hen over in the next stall treating Miller would let him go. Then again, he thought to himself, none of them outranked another, and the only thing the Doc could do, was try and physically stop him from going. Figuring, if the Doc saw he could stand on his own, he might let him go off to help, Billy gave a quick look around, and tried to push himself up off the temporary bed of hay… the only problem was, he couldn’t. He’d only managed to get half up, when his strength seemed to give out, and he flopped back down into the hay. Just then, he noticed Littlejohn give a quick, sorry glance in his direction, and took the opportunity to motion him over. Littlejohn, wanting to do whatever his injured friend wanted, hurried over post haste, and knelt down beside him. “What is it Billy?” He propped himself up on his elbows again, and gave another quick look around just to make sure the Doc was busy and wouldn’t hear. “Are you guys going out to look for Sarge and the Lt?” “Yeah, Caje and Kirby’s just tryin to figure out where they might’ve gone off to. They say none of the krauts got near enough to drag em’ off last night, and Kirby reckons they’re together somewhere.” “Yeah, well listen, when you go, I wanna come.” “Oh,” said Littlejohn, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea Billy. Your leg-” “Forget about my leg,” Billy hurried on in a frantic sort of whisper, wanting to finish the conversation before Doc returned to check on him. “Now you said you’d get me anything I wanted, and right now I want you to get me up and out the door without Doc seein so I can help you guys look, understand?” Littlejohn bit his lip. “I don’t know Billy, if Doc wants you to stay here then don’t you think it’s a good idea?” “For the last time, I’m fine already, now are you gonna help me or not? All I’ll need is a walking stick, or hey, I can use my gun…” “And what happens when you’ve got to shoot it?” Both Littlejohn and Billy looked up quickly at Doc, who was standing there with an amused look and grin on his face. “You just gonna fall right over boy. That’s what’s gonna happen if you go out there and try and use that gun for support. Then they’re going to have to drag you all the way back here so I can treat you for more bullet wounds, because you’re going to end up falling where there’s no cover.” “And how do you know?” Billy asked, even though Littlejohn’s look betrayed him, as he silently agreed with Doc. “Common sense Billy, just plain common sense,” the medic said as he leaned against the wooden stall’s wall. “Ok then, what if I can stand on my own? Then can I go?” “Billy, if you could stand on your own then how come you were asking for help? Huh?” Billy looked up at him, a desperate look in his eyes. For some reason this kid wanted to get up on a wounded leg, and go trekking all over the place looking for two guys who were probably already back at the CP, ordering trucks to come and get them. But then he remembered that he himself was just as worried for their two CO’s as Billy must have been. “Alright,” he said, tipping his helmet back a little to see better, “If you can get up on your own, then you can go, but don’t come cryin back to your ol’ family doctor who told ya not to go.” A grin spread across Billy’s face, as if to say: I’ll show them, and he flopped over for another try at standing up. Littlejohn, who had stood up now, moved forward instinctively to help, but Doc threw out a hand to stop him. Billy, now on his hands and knees, reached up to grab part of the stall wall, which was sticking out lower, and used all the strength left in his tired body to pull himself to his feet. A triumphant look on his face, he turned to face his two friends, stood for a second more, and collapsed, into the quick arms of Doc and Littlejohn. “I think you’d better get him a whole lotta ice cream to make up for this one,” Doc told Littlejohn, as they lowered him back to the stall floor. Littlejohn nodded his head in agreement. * * * Sergeant Chip Saunders was thoroughly ready for a shower, a good hot meal, and two good night’s sleep. In an effort to end the battle of the night before a little quicker, he’d attempted to circle around to the other side of the krauts and get them from behind. Unfortunately, he found himself watching three of his men doing it, as he got shot a few steps out of the foxhole, and dragged himself into the trees. It wasn’t a bad wound, yet. Even after two of the German soldiers had chased him further into the forest in the storm, which seemed to reflect the mood of the krauts. Saunders of course, killed them both, but not before finding himself completely lost. With all the thunder and lightning, he couldn’t hear where the fighting was coming from. He couldn’t even hear his own footfalls as he ran, trying to hold his gun, shoot, and not trip and fall all at the same time, which he did anyway in the attempt to turn in mid stride and shoot his two pursuers. Covered in mud, Saunders found a nice uncomfortable looking log that looked halfway dry, and plopped down to sit on it. He needed to put a better bandage on his shoulder now that it was daylight. The night before, he’d only managed to put a shoddy one on his shoulder seeing as how it was so damn dark, with the exception of what he could only assume was either mortars, or lightening lighting up the sky every few seconds. He lay his gun down to rest against the log next to him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it looked as tired as he did. They’d been through a lot of battles together, and as he gave it a warm look, he promised himself that he’d give it a good cleaning just as soon as he got back to the CP or Battalion aid. He used his knife to cut off another strip of his undershirt to use as a bandage, and clumsily used his right hand and teeth to pull it into a knot around his wounded left shoulder. He tried to pull it tighter, and then tie it into a double knot so it’d stay put, but failed. The double knot stayed, but he didn’t think it was tight enough to stop the bleeding, so he just held his right hand tightly against his shoulder. As the lost Sergeant sat there, his mind wandered back to his men. He hoped they had all made it through the battle unscathed, but knew this to be an unlikely possibility. They had been dangerously outnumbered, and if those mortars hadn’t come… The last he’d seen before he jumped out of the fox hole to make their daring attempt, was Lt. Hanely falling backwards into a fox hole near the wood’s edge, and hitting his head against the side, and what he hoped, wasn’t a sharp rock. He and Gil Hanely had been friends since before they hit Omaha beach. At one point in time, they had both even been Sergeants… but Gil’s getting promoted hadn’t put an end to their friendship, and even if it had, he sure would never have wanted to see Hanely hurt. The Sergeant looked down at the ground, and by some miracle, found it to be drier than the log he’d been sitting on. But then again, he reminded himself, the sun had come out, and he’d lost track of the time he’d been sitting there. Saunders found that that seemed to happen a lot when you were wounded. He wondered if that was just a rule of war… when you got shot or stabbed, time passed more quickly? But no, not always… he could remember countless times, laying on a cot in a medic station, bored out of his mind, when time seemed to simply stop. But war was funny that way too… nothing ever had to make sense. A person could go crazy trying to make sense of war, but still, he wasn’t the only one who tried. That was one of the things that he had in common with Lt. Hanely. Although he didn’t show it to a lot of people, he often had trouble making sense of the war, and of the actions men took when fighting it. Saunders let himself sink down to the drier ground, and rest his head on the log. Still holding his shoulder to stop the bleeding, he fell into a long deserved sleep. * * * “Alright, we’re going out on a recon mission Doc. Do you need anybody to stay here with you?” Caje asked the blond medic, who’s face looked just as tired as the other’s after three days of fighting. “No, I don’t think so.” He gave a look back at Billy, who was laying ten feet behind him with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He’d finally given up the fight to go, and conceded to defeat. “Besides,” Doc lowered his voice so that just Caje, Kirby, and Littlejohn could hear, “the kid’s not hurt that bad, he can defend us with Peters if he has to.” Barry Peters was the replacement they’d received a week and a half ago, fresh from training. He was staying to help Doc with the wounded. “Are you sure Doc?” Kirby asked. “Peters?” Barry looked up at Kirby’s remark, but simply looked back down at the wounded soldier he was sitting with. He’d obviously been there long enough to know that Kirby’s remarks were usually nothing personal. “Boy, you’re just batting a hundred today aren’t you Kirby?” Billy said, looking up at him from his stall. Kirby shrugged. “Sorry kid,” he called over to Peters, before turning and walking out the barn door, Littlejohn in tow. Caje and Doc gave each other a look, both knowing what the other meant, and agreeing. Kirby was running on fumes. He hadn’t slept for a day and a half at least, and he was getting more and more irritable. Caje nodded to Doc, silently promising to bring Kirby back alive and in one peace just so Doc could make him go to bed. “Don’t worry Doc, I think we could all use a good sleep once this is over.” And with that, he followed Kirby and Littlejohn’s path, out the barn door. * * * When Sergeant Saunders woke up, his whole left arm was throbbing, but once he opened his eyes, he was fully awake, because it wasn’t the paint that had woken him. There had been a loud snap in the trees behind him. He flipped over onto his stomach and grabbed his rifle, fully alert, and ready to shoot the first kraut to walk through the trees, but he heard no more movement. Had it been an animal? Animal or not, it had gotten his adrenaline pumping. His heart beat so fast, it almost hurt, and he thought the sound alone might give him away. A few more seconds passed again before another loud crack reached his ears, closer this time, and, still using the log for what little cover it gave, he waited with baited breath. If they were krauts, they sure weren’t trying to keep the noise down, breaking twigs and branches all over the place. Another moment hadn’t passed, before Saunders realized that he was hot. Sweat was dripping down his forehead into his eyes, and he blinked furiously to keep them clear. The suspense was killing him, not knowing who was going to jump out at him and start shooting… and he wished they would just walk a little faster and come out into the open already, friend or foe. Then, as if in answer to the Sergeants wants, a figure stepped out from behind a tree, and Saunders was both happy and surprised to see that it was a familiar one. Lt. Hanely looked down at his Sergeant, as surprised as he was to see the other one there. Saunders let out the breath he’d been holding, and lowered his gun. “You look like hell Saunders,” Hanley said, moving forward to help his friend flip over onto his back again. The Sergeant chuckled softly, smiling, “Nice to see you too Lt.” Hanely knelt down to look at the Sergeant’s shoulder, and said, “I take it the other’s aren’t with you? Or at least not Doc anyhow…” “How’d you know?” Saunders asked, playing along, having already guessed the answer. He knew his attempt at taking care of his wound had been a poor one. The Lt. took off his own jacket, pulled out a knife, and began cannibalizing his undershirt to make a proper bandage for his Sergeant’s arm, and after five more minutes, had done so. “Thanks Lt,” Saunders said as Hanley helped him to pull his jacket back on. “Now what about your head?” Hanely looked down at him. Saunders was sitting now, but Hanely was still on his knees, making him a little taller. “How’d you know?” Saunders smiled. “I saw you fall just before the krauts chased me off into the trees.” “Oh, well, I think I’ve got a mild concussion, but I’ll be ok if I can get back to Doc… if I knew where that was,” he added, almost as an afterthought. They looked at each other and laughed, even though the situation hadn’t called for it. “I think we’re in the same boat Lt.” Hanely nodded, “It sure looks that way doesn’t it?” * * * “Damn it! I knew it! I knew it!” Kirby shouted angrily. Caje and Littlejohn didn’t say anything to calm him. They felt the same way. They had traveled back to the spot where the battle had taken place the night before in the hopes of finding tracks, or rather the remnants of ones, but the rain had washed them all away. “Now how the hell are we supposed to find them now?” Kirby asked, turning around to face his other two buddies. Littlejohn shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look into the woods. “Let’s just think a minute, huh?” Caje told them. “Now the last I knew, the Lt. was in the foxhole over there…” he pointed to a deep foxhole with a big muddy rock in it near the edge of the wood, “and the Sarge was in the one over there,” he pointed to one thirty feet in front of it and a little to the left. “No,” said Littlejohn, having been watching Caje. “The Sarge was following Kirby, Peters and me to go out and try and get around to the back of the krauts.” Kirby’s face seemed to relax a little bit as he got an idea. “Do you suppose he might have ended up trying to go way around or something… like into the forest?” They all looked at each other for a second before Caje said, “It’s worth a shot. Let’s go.” “Think they found anything yet?” Billy asked Doc. He was on his side now, and the other patients asleep, Peters outside standing guard, Doc was sitting with Billy, ready to doze off. “They’re probably just getting back to were we fought last night. Don’t worry, they’ll find them. Either that or Saunders and Hanely will find their way back on their own.” Billy looked down. He knew that Doc was probably right, but he still couldn’t help but worry. His leg gave a sudden shooting pain, and he scrunched his eyes shut. Doc noticed and moved forward a small bit to take a look. “I wish I had some morphine to give you Billy.” “Don’t worry about it,” he told him, the pain having eased just as suddenly as it had started. He opened his eyes again to see the worried look of Doc. He supposed it was Doc’s job to look worried for his patients. It was his responsibility to keep them alive until they could get to a MASH and get their more serious injuries taken care of, but the thought left Billy’s mind, just like the pain had left his leg, quickly. Doc looked concerned for him because he was his friend, not his medic. With this comforting thought, Billy lay back down on his back and as soon as he had done so, fell asleep almost instantly. * * * Saunders looked around to his left. That had been the direction from which he came. Gil had already said he didn’t remember the path that led him to Saunders, and that worried him. Even he knew, that if the Lt. was having trouble remembering things that just happened, it wasn’t a good sign. The Sergeant looked back over at his friend. He was paler then he had been five minutes before. “Lt?” he asked. “Lt?” Hanley wasn’t paying attention. He had that look on his face that told Saunders he might be sick. Saunders knew it well. It happened to him damn near every time a medic or doctor gave him morphine for an injury. Just an added incentive not to get injured he figured. “Lt?” he tried again, “Hey, hey Gil!” he said a little louder. The use of his first name brought him around. He hadn’t been called Gil for a long time. When he looked over to see who had called his name though, relief spread over his face to find that it was only Chip. Chip, he thought. He hadn’t even called his best friend that for ages it seemed. “Are you alright Lt?” Saunders asked him. Hanley nodded, wishing he hadn’t done so. It only seemed to make him light headed. His stomach gave a sudden jolt as the world seemed to tilt back and forth, and it took every thing he could muster not to lose his lunch, had he had any that was. He didn’t want to do that, especially not in front of Saunders. There it was again. Now that he thought about it, it seemed odd to call him Saunders, or Sergeant all the time. Hanley wondered if it felt odd for Saunders… Chip, to call him Lt. all the time. “Are you sure you’re all right?” his Sergeant asked him. Making the same mistake twice was a bad idea, but Hanley did it anyway in nodding his head. He didn’t want to open his mouth, for fear of what would come out if he did. No, not here, he kept telling himself, closing his eyes for a second so the world would stop spinning. “Oh no you don’t,” he heard Chip say, as if from a distance. “You can’t go to sleep with a concussion. Open your eyes… hey! Gil, open your eyes!” Hanley was jolted awake, his eyes suddenly open. Had he actually dozed off? He didn’t know, but he was extremely glad to find that the trees around them had stopped spinning. “You’ve got to stay awake… that’s an order,” Saunders told him. Hanley looked over at the other man. “Chip… did you just give me an order?” Saunders was hoping he wouldn’t have caught that, but smiled now that he did. “That’s right Lt, I gave you an order. Stay awake or I’m going to shoot you.” Gil laughed, and Saunders was happy to see it. “You wouldn’t do that Sergeant,” Hanley told him. “Oh yeah? Why not?” he asked. “Because you need me to change that dressing on your arm soon, and you know it.” “Exactly,” said Saunders, “that’s why you have to stay awake. And you need me to keep you awake, and then lead you out of here.” They both laughed for a moment, and then Hanley said, “Just like I said before, we’re in the same boat now.” Saunders looked over at him. “Stealing my words, friend… just like always.” * * * “Hey Kirby?” “What?” Littlejohn stepped over a tree root, before he asked in his continued whisper, “Do you think Billy’s ok?” “Yeah, yeah he’ll be ok. Don’t worry about it.” Caje looked back at Kirby, surprised. The way he’d been snapping at people, and making remarks all day, he didn’t expect him to comfort Littlejohn. Maybe it was just because they were actually out doing something to find the Sarge and Lt. now, instead of just sitting around. They’d been gone for a couple of hours now, still no sign of tracks in the mud but their own, and no sign of krauts. “Hey Caje,” Kirby whispered a few minutes later. “Yeah?” “Suppose we come out this far for nothin?” “What do you mean?” “He means like if they went the other way,” Littlejohn said for Kirby. “Then I guess we’ll have to go back and pick a different direction,” Caje told them. “But they could have gone all night. They could be a long ways from here and we wouldn’t know it if we turned back now.” They stopped jogging along in their half crouched fashion. They hadn’t wanted to take a chance and end up getting their head’s shot off by a couple of kraut stragglers. The three of them knelt, and Kirby asked, “So what do you want to do?” Caje knew Kirby must have been too tired to argue. For the past week, something had been eating at him, and all he felt like doing was doing things his way. Littlejohn seemed to have been thinking along the same lines as Caje, because they gave each other a look like the one Caje and Doc had exchanged earlier that day. Kirby saw it and asked, “What?” “Well,” said Caje, not wanting to tell him what he’d been thinking about, “I think we should continue on this way for a few more hours at least, and then we’ll take a slightly different path back. We might find them then, and if we don’t, they might already be back with Doc and the others.” There was silence for a moment as the three of them thought about it. “And if they’re not there?” Kirby asked. “Then we get a good night’s sleep and set out in a different direction in the morning from were we last saw them last night.” Under all the grime and dirt of battle that was on Kirby’s face, Caje and Littlejohn could see his expression lighten slightly. Perhaps it had been the suggestion of sleep that had done it. Either way, it had worked, because Kirby nodded, and said, “Alright, let’s go.” Caje nodded too, and they rose again, moving off to look for signs of their lost friends. * * * Hanley had only found Saunders, by some stroke of luck, an hour and a half before, and as the time continued to pass, he was finding it harder and harder to stay awake. Sergeant Saunders would have very much liked to sleep, but knew he couldn’t. Not if he was going to keep Hanley awake… alive. “Lt, open your eyes.” Chip’s voice was becoming distant again. He had closed his eyes to keep the world from spinning and becoming blurred. He didn’t want to open his eyes and find himself upside down, even though he knew that wasn’t possible, as he was sitting on the hard dirt covered ground. “Lt. Lt. You have to open your eyes. Wake up, Damn it wake up!” This time it was only because he got slapped across the face a couple of times that he came out of his slumber. “I’m awake Sergeant, I’m awake,” he said slowly, eyes still closed. “I don’t care, open your eyes or you’re going to go back to sleep whether you think you can help it or not.” Hanley didn’t do what he was told. “Gil, I’m giving you a direct order. Open your eyes, now.” “You can’t give me orders Chip.” “Maybe not as a superior officer, but as your friend I can, and I’m doing it now.” He opened his eyes to look into the blue eyes of his friend, still standing in front of him from when he’d had to slap him awake. “You think you can ‘eh?” he asked. “You know it,” said Saunders, a smile coming over his dirty face. He stood there for a moment more, just to make sure the Lt. wasn’t going to close his eyes again, and then sat back down, his arm throbbing horribly. If he wasn’t so prone to getting sick when he took it, he might have wanted morphine right about now. “How’s your arm Sergeant?” Hanley asked him, giving Saunders the impression, not for the first time, that his friend could read minds. “It hurts like a son-of-a-” Hanley smiled. “Sergeant…” “Yeah Lt?” He looked over at the dirty face of the other man, who again, had his eyes closed. But if he was talking, then he wasn’t asleep at least. “Sergeant,” he continued, “just don’t get too accustomed to giving me orders, ok?” “Sure Lt, sure.” * * * He took his helmet off for a second to scratch his shaggy brown hair covered head. He’d only been there for a week and a half, and already his new haircut had gone all to hell. He replaced his helmet, and picked his gun back up from where he’d set it down against the wall of the wooden barn. It had been nearly four hours since the three veterans from their squad had left in search of their commanding officers, and there was still no sign of their return. The young man wondered just how far their CO’s could have gotten in a night, and wondered if the three men would think of that in their search. Even though he didn’t know Saunders or Hanley that well, having only been there such a short time, he could tell they were good men who cared about the men under their command. He wished he could have gone and helped in the search, but took his duty to standing guard there, without a fight. On the second day after he’d arrived, they’d gotten into a bad firefight. He and Billy had been pinned down by half a dozen krauts, when suddenly two men jumped into their foxhole, risking their necks, and evening up the odds a bit. Those two were Saunders and Hanley. They had saved his and Billy’s skins, and they all knew it. Guns were firing. Smoke billowed over their head, and rain pounded down on them. Someone shouted for a medic behind him, and he crawled out of the safety of his own foxhole to run, and jump into another one. A shell exploded near by, and the blast knocked another man into their foxhole. “Medic!” somebody shouted next to him, not realizing that he was already there. He turned, the boy who had shouted couldn’t see him, but knew somebody needed help, because he was lying on top of his legs, unmoving. The medic pushed the lifeless body of the other boy off of the wounded soldier. Neither one of them could have been over 18. He turned again, having no time to comfort the blinded soldier, and tore open the other wounded man’s shirt to assess the damage. Half his stomach was gone, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was only a medic with minor medical supplies in a bag, running from foxhole to foxhole, doing what little he could. There was another explosion, and he awoke with a start. His eyes were open immediately. He let out a sigh of relief to find that he was still sitting on the floor of the barn, next to a sleeping Billy, not in the battle that had taken place more than a week before. They had lost six men from their platoon that day. He had saved countless others, but still, six young men had died, and it hurt him to know that. He had gone searching for the blinded boy once the battle was over, wanting to check on him, but was sorry to find him. He lay dead, just outside of the foxhole Doc had found him in. He was lying next to another wounded soldier from their platoon, still alive. He’d been screaming, half his leg gone, and the other boy, blinded by the blast of an explosion, crawled out to help him in any way he could. Doc did all he could for the other boy before another medic and soldier came to help and carry him away, while he sat there on his knees, half in shock, half in sorrow. War was a sad thing, and he knew that going in, but to see what he had, was a hard thing to bounce back from. He’d only sat there for a minute before Saunders walked up behind him, and placed his hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Doc,” he told him gently, “there’s nothing you could have done.” He’d let himself be pulled up and steered away, before he went back to help the other’s wounded, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still visit that battle in his nightmares. Doc shook his head to bring himself out of it. He lived in that battle in his dreams, he didn’t need to think about it when he was awake. He stretched miserably, and looked around. He had only assumed that Billy was still there in front of him when he looked to his right and saw the hay on the ground, but now he saw that he wasn’t. “Billy?” he called, jumping up as quickly as he could with all his sore muscles. He turned and walked out of the stall to look in the others. Three of the other wounded were there, their chests rising and falling heavily as they slept, but no Billy. He didn’t see him in the rest of the barn either, so he jogged to the door and pushed it open. Relief swept over him as he saw Billy standing there, Peters holding him up, watching green US army trucks pulling in on the road around them. “Billy,” he said. Both Billy and Peters looked around to him. “Oh, hiya Doc! Sorry I came out, but I heard the trucks and wanted to make sure they were ours, and you looked so peaceful sleeping there.” Doc didn’t correct him, but didn’t scold him for leaving either. He was just happy to see Battalion Aid pulling in, and to see that Billy hadn’t wandered off somewhere else and passed out or something. They watched as a truck pulled up in front of them a second later, and a tall man with Corporal’s stripes jumped out of the passenger side. “Hey, who’s in charge here?” he asked. The three men standing by the barn door looked at each other and shrugged, and Peters asked, “Who wants to tell ‘em?” The corporal looked confused, but then Doc stepped forward to explain the situation. * * * It seemed like every muscle and bone in his body ached from laying there on the hard ground. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but found the sky starting to lose it’s light when he opened his eyes. Then he remembered where he was. Saunders jumped up and looked around to his Lt, who was also sleeping, his chest rising and falling. Silently he cursed himself for falling asleep and having let Gil do the same. “C’mon Gil, wake up. Wake up, c’mon, open you’re eyes,” he said, starting to panic. The other man didn’t wake. He ignored the stabbing pains in his shoulder and grabbed his Lt. by the jacket, trying to shake him awake. “Wake up, you have to wake up damn it!” It wasn’t working. Saunders was breathing heavily now, his adrenaline pumping again. He could yell at the Lt. until he was hoarse in the throat and blue in the face, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He fell back onto his hind end, and tried to think, but before he could do anything else, a beautiful sound met his ears that he hadn’t heard before. Water. Running water. He jumped to his feet again and listened hard, it was coming from his left. He ran, almost tripping in his hurry to find the stream, and went right through some heavy bushes. Around thick tree trunks, through more bushes, and there it was. A small stream. He ran right into it, and, thinking quickly, he took the dirty helmet off his head and thrust it into the cool water, letting it fill halfway, before he turned and ran back to where Hanley was laying. He didn’t waste any time in throwing the contents of the helmet on the sleeping man’s face, which brought him sputtering, to a conscious state. Hanley sat up, taking deep gasps for breath as if he were drowning. Saunders threw the helmet aside and knelt down beside him again. “It’s alright Lt, it’s just a little water.” Hanley opened his eyes and looked at his friend. “What did you have to throw that much on me for?” “Just to make sure you were awake, that’s all,” he told him, smiling. He helped the Lt. sit up, and Hanley looked at him again. “You’re lucky I’m so damn nice or I might’ve court marshaled you when we got back.” “Yeah, guess I am,” Saunders said, just happy his mistake in falling asleep hadn’t cost his friend his life. Hanley shook his head violently, trying to get the water off, and it sprayed Saunders, just like a wet dog after a bath. They sat there for another moment before Hanley said, “Is the water clean enough to drink?” “Looked like it.” “Good.” Saunders stood up, ready to lead the way back to the stream, but found his friend still sitting when he looked back down at him. “Well don’t expect me to bring it to you. I’m not leaving you here alone to fall asleep again.” Hanley nodded in agreement after a few seconds, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, finding it a dizzying and unpleasant experience. As they walked, Saunders tried to remember the last map he’d seen. He remembered seeing other streams, but he was sure they were in the opposite direction, on the other side of the battlefield. It was less than a minute’s walk to the stream, and when they got there, they both knelt and drank deep of the water, letting the cool liquid run down their parched throats. Saunders took advantage of the water to wash his face, neck and hands as well. One would have thought that in the heavy rain of the night before, that the dirt and grime on the back of their necks might have been washed away at least, but then one would have been wrong. Saunders drank another cupped handful of water again after his hands were as clean as he could get them without soap, and fell back onto his backside. Hanley was still on his haunches drinking the cool life savor and splashing some of it on his face in an attempt to keep him awake. When he was done, he sat down like Saunders had, but found it to be a mistake. The Sergeant saw it in Hanley’s face. As soon as he’d sat down his face went pale, and he swayed a little. It looked like the Lt was going to lose the battle to keep his last meal. “Lt?” Saunders asked uncertainly, not knowing what he could do to help. But it was too late. Gil was already running off in the opposite direction and behind some bushes to their right. Saunders closed his eyes and tried not to listen. He knew his Lt would be embarrassed, though it was nothing he could have helped. Hell, Saunders had done the same thing a month ago in a hospital tent after a nasty shot of morphine for an injury to his leg. He let a few seconds pass before he stood and slowly walked down the stream. The least the man deserved was some privacy, but Saunders had to make sure he was ok. Luckily, he found the Lt walking slowly back toward him a few seconds later, still pale. “Ok Lt?” he asked. “Yeah,” he said, sounding as if his throat was sore. “Yeah, fine.” He didn’t look at his Sergeant as he spoke. They walked back to their spot on the bank where the Lt’s helmet still lay, and sat down again. It was better to sit there by the small stream where they had some partial bush cover, then back in the open where they had been before. At least this way they wouldn’t have to getup every time they wanted a drink. “Isn’t anything to be ashamed about Lt,” Saunders told him, “Happened to me plenty of times.” Hanley nodded. “I know.” Saunders gave him a look out of the corner of his eyes. Hanley’d been there the last time it’d happened to him. He gave a short laugh. “I remember when you got the Captain’s shoes square on that last night of leave back in basic.” Hanley gave him the same look he’d just got from Saunders. “I thought he’d throw you in the brig,” Saunders said, chuckling. “So did I. I thought I’d had it,” Hanley told him. He started to laugh too. “Boy, you should have seen the look on you’re face… do you remember what he said?” Hanley nodded, and put on a mock voice, deeper then his own, “All right Sergeant, now you know how many drinks you can have before you puke on your CO’s shoes. Remember that.” Both of the men laughed even harder, and for some reason this seemed to make Hanley feel a little better. * * * “You know, forget the krauts.” “What?” Caje asked, looking over at Kirby. “Yeah, that’s right, just forget about them. Let’s just start yelling: Hey! Hey Sarge! Lt!” “You’re crazy, you know that Kirby,” Littlejohn told him, “just plain crazy.” “Certifiable,” Kirby said. He was tired. They all were. They’d decided to just spend the night in the woods. It was almost dark, and they hadn’t turned back. “I bet Battalion Aid’s there by now,” Caje said after a few minutes. They were looking for a nice covered spot to sit down. “Yeah,” said Littlejohn, “with food.” He looked down. He’d forgotten about his promise to Billy to get him some ice cream if the chow truck had any. It was supposed to be a special shipment of it or something, just for the troops, but he was sure it’d be gone by now if the truck had got there. “I wish we would’ve thought to bring some food,” Kirby said at Littlejohn’s remark. “What food?” Caje asked. “There was hardly enough left for the wounded.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Kirby told him as they walked. Caje stopped for a moment, and Kirby walked right into him, having been looking at the ground. Littlejohn, also having been watching the ground, walked into Kirby, and made a Caje, Kirby, Littlejohn sandwich as the three of them fell face forward. “Hey! Watch it you two!” Caje said a little more loudly then he should have, considering the circumstances. Kirby shot Littlejohn a look that told him to watch where he was going, and Littlejohn just shrugged. As they were trying to untangle themselves from each other’s limbs, Kirby asked, “Hey Caje, why’d ya have to stop so suddenly like that anyway?” “I heard something,” he told them. Both Littlejohn and Kirby stopped struggle instantly, looking at Caje for a description of just what he had heard. Caje looked back at them at the sudden lack of muttering and movement. “What?” “You heard something and we’re back here shouting!?” Kirby asked him angrily. “No, nothing like that,” Caje told them, starting to chuckle. “I thought I heard water, that’s all. Nothing to panic about.” “Oh,” Kirby said, nodding. They stopped talking and listened. Caje was right, Kirby and Littlejohn heard it too. “I say-we- go have ourselves-a drink,” Kirby said as he struggled to get free. “That’s why I stopped to listen,” Caje said. They finally managed to stand up and recollect their rifles and helmets that had fallen or been dropped, and began walking towards the sound of running water. There was still a little light left, and it looked like they had at least 45 minutes before it became totally dark. “Boy I’m glad there were no krauts around to hear you two and shoot us!” Kirby told Caje and Littlejohn as they reached the water. “Us!?” Caje asked, “It was you and Littlejohn doing all the loud talking.” He knelt down to drink some of the cool fresh water. “Hey, don’t include me in on that,” Littlejohn said, getting down on his hands and knees to drink, “Kirby started it.” Kirby looked down at the both of them, wondering if he was so tired he couldn’t think of one last wise crack to make about the both of them. “Well if you had’a been looking where ya were going and hadn’t bumped into me Littlejohn then none of that back there would have happened.” Littlejohn and Caje looked up at him, and then at each other. Then they reached up and grabbed Kirby by the collar, pulling him down and into the water. “Whaaa!” He shouted as he fell in. He was too quick for them though and grabbed onto their jackets, pulling them in with him. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter how much noise they made anymore. They were too tired, and having too much fun to care. It was like they’d found something they hadn’t been looking for as the three of them laughed and splashed each other and pushed each other under the shallow water. They had found a little fun and a small refuge in a place where there shouldn’t have been any. Hanley slowly dipped his cupped hand back down into the water for another drink. He wasn’t going to take the chance of losing any other ingested contents again, not today. When he was finished, he sat back down and looked over at his Sergeant. Saunders was sitting with his back to a tree. He looked tired, and it looked to Hanley like he himself was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He didn’t blame him. He knew the Sergeant out of duty and friendship only, was trying to stay awake, and that he was already mad at himself for falling asleep once before, though he’d not told the Lt. Saunders looked over at Hanley, and noticed his Lt. taking his turn to look worried in good stride. “Alright Sergeant?” Hanley asked him. Saunders nodded and then let his head fall back to rest against the tree again. “Yeah, what about you Lt?” There was a moment of silence as he thought. “Staying awake through the night will be rough. I only managed it before because I was walking.” Saunders sighed, and Hanley knew he understood. It looked like they were both going to end up asleep if they didn’t start walking and at least try to find their way back, but Saunders didn’t look like he was up to it. He was sweating, and Hanley knew he probably had a fever since it wasn’t warm out. Hanley looked back down at the water for a moment, wishing they at least had a canteen with them to take some water along on the journey, before he looked back up at the sudden movement from his left. Saunders, already having been holding his gun, had sat bolt upright, his ears strained. He looked over to see if the Lt. had heard it too, and by the look on his face, he had. “What do you make of it?” The Sergeant asked him. “Sounds like… splashing water and voices,” Hanley told him, his hand slowly moving over the spot where he knew his own gun lay. He didn’t have the desire to turn his head and watch what he was doing because he knew what might happen. There was silence again as they strained their ears to listen. It was coming from some distance off, and they knew whoever it was had to be shouting and laughing pretty loud to be heard. Finally they both let out a sigh of relief as they heard a familiar voice shout, “Hey! Watch it Caje!” Hanley and Saunders looked at each other and smiled. That was Kirby. They just hoped the krauts hadn’t heard it too. Hanley slowly got to his feet, and pulled Saunders to his. “Alright, let’s go,” he said. Most of the stream was only two feet deep, and most of the bank was covered in shrubs. It had been pure luck that Hanley and Saunders had found a clear patch of dirt to sit and stretch out on, but now they left it to wade out into the stream, and follow the bends in it to find Kirby and Caje, though it sounded like there were more with them. Walking seemed to help Hanley a little, but it didn’t seem to be doing his Sergeant any good, so Hanley found himself letting Saunders lean on him for support as they walked. Finally, the shouting, laughing and splashing got loud enough to tell them that they were just around the next bend, and, sure enough, when they turned the shallow corner, there they were. Caje, Kirby, and Littlejohn, laughing and pushing each other under the water. It took the three playing men a few moments to realize their two CO’s were there a few feet in front of them, no longer lost, but finally Caje noticed them, and, soaking wet, stood straight up. Kirby noticed, followed by Littlejohn, and they stood too, the smiles fading slightly from their faces. Kirby wondered how much trouble they’d be in for the noise they’d made in their small bit of fun. “Uh, hiya Sarge, Lt,” Littlejohn said. Saunders nodded. He and Hanley were still taking in the sight of their men. “Are you three lost?” Hanley asked sternly. Caje and Kirby looked at each other. “N-no sir,” Kirby told them. “We, we thought you two were.” It surprised the three of them to suddenly see Hanley and Saunders smile. “You three are beautiful then,” Saunders told them, “just beautiful.” Hanley started to laugh, and so did the rest of them at the Sergeants remarks. It was almost dark now. After a moment or two, Littlejohn turned to Kirby and said, “Hey Kirby.” “Yeah?” Littlejohn pointed to the Sergeant and Lt. “I found them.” “Oh you!” Kirby jumped up onto Littlejohn and they both toppled over into the water, laughing again. They walked most of the night, taking frequent breaks, before they finally reached the edge of the wood, and met two soldiers standing guard for Battalion Aid. “Hey, where’d you guys come from?” They asked as Kirby and Caje walked out first, Sarge’s arms around their necks, followed by Littlejohn helping the Lt. along. “Recon mission,” Kirby said as he passed. “Hey, you guys can’t get through without the password!” one of the young men shouted. Both of the two boys looked to only be 18. “You guys just moved in, we don’t know the password,” Littlejohn said, pushing his way through. Littlejohn’s size seemed to intimidate the two young guards, and they let them pass with no more said. Doc was pacing back and forth. It was nearly five in the morning, and there had still been no sign of them until… “Hey! Where have you guys been!?” Doc shouted as he ran over to help. “How’d you find ‘em?” Saunders, so tired now that he felt he was no better than dead weight, managed to say, “We found them. They were making so much noise I’m surprised the whole war didn’t come out to take a look.” Doc laughed, just happy to see the squad all in one place again. The rest of the squad, with exception of Peter’s, was in one of the medical tents. “I see we won,” Hanley said, noticing the rest of the Battalion Aid tents and trucks. “We sure did Lt.” It was Billy, again standing, only this time right outside the medical tent. “Billy!” Littlejohn shouted, almost forgetting about the Lt he was helping, to run over to his best friend. “Oh kid, you are pushin it,” Doc told him, laughing anyway. They got them inside the tent and got Saunders and Hanley onto two empty cots, and Billy back onto his own. Doc immediately moved over to a table and took up a needle full of morphine to give to the Sarge, but he saw him coming, and waved him away. “No, no morphine.” “But, doesn’t it hurt?” Doc asked him. “Of course.” Doc lowered his arm. “Boy, I don’t know what it is with this squad! Between the Sergeant not wanting morphine, Billy not stayin still and keepin tryin to get up to go on the mission, and the rest of ya always giving me grief about treating you when you’re hurt…” Hanley and Saunders looked over at each other and smiled as Doc continued his rant about how they must all like to be in pain, and how nobody listens to their good ol’ family doctor. It was good to be back. Yes, it was definitely good to be back. End |
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