| :::sigh::: Yeah, yeah, they don't belong to us. Copyright 2004 by Eagle Lady. The Colonel Lieutenant Hanley waved the men behind him down and crouched behind a bush as Saunders moved up beside him. “What is it?” Saunders asked. “Vehicle approaching.” A moment later, a German jeep came around the bend. They watched in disbelief as it failed to straighten out, continuing its curve, and slammed into a tree. The passenger was catapulted forward over the hood, sprawling partially on top of a bush. Hanley exchanged bemused looks with Saunders, then they ran to the jeep. The driver was very dead. They turned their attention to the passenger, who hadn’t moved. Hanley, who reached him first, pulled him over onto his back. His face was scratched and bleeding, and a bruise was already forming on his right forehead. “A colonel?” Saunders glanced at Hanley for confirmation. “Yup. That’s a colonel.” “Nice of him to drop in, huh?” Saunders grinned. “Doc!” Hanley called. “Check him out.” Coming on the run, Doc knelt and examined the colonel. “As far as I can tell, Lieutenant, he isn’t seriously hurt. Nothing broken, and his pupils are equal and reactive, so I don’t think there’s any brain damage. He’s just been knocked out, though he’ll be plenty sore later.” “Okay, let’s get him off the road.” Doc and Kirby, who’d just joined them, picked up the injured man and carried him well off the road. “Search him.” Hanley ordered. A few minutes later, Kirby handed him a map with German positions marked and a small codebook. Hanley studied the map for a moment, then stuffed both items into his jacket. A short time later, the colonel groaned and opened his eyes. He looked up at the Americans standing over him and closed his eyes again. “What happened?” He asked in heavily accented English. “You were in a car accident, Colonel.” Hanley told him. “Accident?” He paused. “My driver?” “He died instantly. You were thrown out.” “So, because the steering failed, I am now a prisoner of war. How humiliating. I would much prefer to be taken on the field of battle.” The colonel actually chuckled. “If it would make you feel better, you can stand up and take a swing a me.” Hanley grinned. “No, thank you. I think my head would fall off.” He said wryly. “Want some aspirin?” Doc asked. “Some what?” “Pain killers.” “Please.” Saunders, who was on one knee beside him, slowly helped him to a sitting position. Doc placed a couple pills in his mouth, then assisted him in drinking from a canteen. “Sergeant.” Hanley jerked his head, and moved away several feet, out of hearing. Leaving the others to guard him, Saunders joined the lieutenant. “Yes, sir?” “I want you and Andrews to take him back. G-2 will want to talk to him. Take these, too.” He handed him the map and book. “Put them in your boot or something so he doesn’t know you have them.” “Yes, sir.” Careful not to rustle the map, the sergeant walked away behind some thick bushes, then sat down. He removed one boot, placed the slim book inside and put the boot back on, walking a few experimental steps. Sitting down again, he folded the map and slid it inside his sock on the other foot. “All clear, sir.” He said as he returned. “Nobody around.” “Alright, sergeant.” Hanley was watching Doc clean the cuts and scratches on the colonel’s face. “I want you and Andrews to take the colonel back to our lines. Can he walk, Doc?” “I think, perhaps, the person you should be asking that of is me.” The colonel said. “Alright, Colonel, I’ll ask you.” Hanley replied. “Can you walk?” “I don’t know. If someone would be good enough to help me up?” Doc took hold of his arm and helped him to his feet. The colonel paled slightly, swaying, then straightened. “Yes, Lieutenant, I believe I can.” “Tie his hands behind him.” Hanley ordered. Kirby did so with enthusiasm, making the colonel wince. Silently, Saunders checked the bonds, loosening them slightly. “Alright, Andrews, let’s go.” With a nod to the lieutenant, he took hold of the colonel’s arm and headed back the way they’d come, Andrews following. When they passed the jeep, the colonel paused, staring at the young driver. “He was a good soldier.” He said soberly. A light tug on his arm got him moving again. They worked their way through the close-growing trees, Saunders holding the colonel’s arm to steady him when he had to step over logs. “Hey, Sarge.” Andrews, a recent member of the squad, said. “What?” “You’re sure bein’ awful nice to him. He’s a Kraut!” “Yeah, Andrews, he’s a Kraut. He’s also an officer, and he just got thrown out of a jeep and knocked out. His war is over now; there’s no need to rough him up. Suppose you shut up and do your job?” Saunders growled. Surprised by the sergeant’s words, the colonel looked over at him and promptly tripped, the sergeant catching his arm before he fell. “Thank you, sergeant.” “Just watch where you’re going, huh?” They neared the edge of the woods, stopping at the side of a steep ditch with a small rivulet of water in the bottom. Saunders looked up and down, but found no easier place to cross. “Alright, Colonel, go down sideways. I’ll help you, but if you try anything, you’re gonna end up in the water wondering what hit you.” Saunders said. “I have no intention of doing something that may result in a broken leg, Sergeant. See that you don’t fall on me, please.” Turning sideways, the colonel set one foot on the unstable ground, sliding several inches. Planting his feet, Saunders held the colonel’s arm, steadying both of them as they worked their slow and careful way to the bottom, Andrews following them in a shower of dirt and small stones. “May I rest, Sergeant?” “After we get up the other side, Colonel. Let’s go.” It took Saunders and a reluctant Andrews some time to get themselves and the colonel up the other side. Saunders lowered the colonel to the ground, and squatted beside him to give him a drink. The colonel was pale and sweating profusely. “You alright, Colonel?” He asked. “Are you alright, Colonel?” Andrews mimicked angrily. “You gonna hold his little hand, too?” “That’s enough, Andrews!” Saunders snapped. “Shut up and keep your eyes open.” “I’m alright, Sergeant.” The colonel said quietly. “We can rest a few more minutes.” “Help me up, please, Sergeant.” Ignoring Andrews’ furious glare, Saunders pulled the officer to his feet. The colonel leaned into his supporting hold for a few seconds, then straightened and started walking. Knowing how much the German had to be hurting, Saunders had to admire his courage. They kept going, through woods, pastures, streams and over hills until the colonel finally stopped, bracing his legs, head hanging. “I must rest a few minutes, Sergeant.” “Alright. A few more feet, over there by those bushes.” The colonel raised his head, looking at the bushes. Saunders reached for his arm, but the German started walking before contact was made. He reached the bushes and went to his knees, unsuccessfully stifling a moan at the jarring to his aching head. The sergeant eased him the rest of the way to the ground, letting him lay down. While Andrews paced irritably, the colonel closed his eyes with a sigh. Saunders lit a cigarette, glancing at his watch. “How long we gonna wait, Sarge?” Andrews demanded. “As long as I say we do.” Saunders replied mildly. “I don’t understand!” The soldier radiated anger. “Don’t understand what?” “The guys in the squad told me you were the best there was. That you took out an OP by yourself. That you’ve been here so long, you can practically smell the Krauts. And here you are molly-coddling the enemy. What gives?” “You don’t have to understand anything, Private.” Saunders said coldly. “All you have to do is follow orders. You got that?” “But, Sarge…” “I said, you got that?” Saunders snapped, cutting him off. “Yeah, Sergeant. I got it.” He muttered sullenly. Paying no attention to the private’s pacing, Saunders leisurely finished his cigarette, then pushed himself to his feet. “Ready, Colonel?” “No, but let’s go anyway.” The colonel sighed. Chuckling, Saunders helped him to his feet and offered him another drink, which he accepted gratefully. They moved off again, with Andrews in the lead. They’d just crossed another open area and were moving through trees when German soldiers suddenly surrounded them. Andrews jerked his rifle up and was promptly shot in the chest. Saunders stood still, one hand on the colonel’s arm, the Thompson in the other. One of the Germans stepped over Andrews’ body and jerked the Thompson out of Saunders’ hand. Another approached, staring at the colonel’s face. Without warning, he slammed the stock of his rifle into Saunders’ face, knocking him to the ground, then kicked him in the stomach. Barely conscious, the pain in his midsection paralyzing him, Saunders heard the colonel yell something, then the officer was on the ground. In total disbelief, the sergeant realized that the colonel was protecting him with his own body. The colonel spoke rapidly for several minutes, then his men were lifting him off of Saunders and freeing his hands. Saunders was rolled onto his stomach, and his hands tied behind his back, tight enough to make him grunt with pain. The colonel snapped out an order and the ropes were loosened, then Saunders was hauled to his feet. “Sergeant? Can you understand what I’m saying?” “Yeah.” Saunders shook his head to clear it, blood dripping from the gash on his cheekbone. “Where are the map and book?” “What map?” “The map and book I had before the jeep crashed. The map and book I no longer have.” “I don’t know anything about a map.” One of the soldiers stepped forward and backhanded Saunders across the face, knocking him to the ground again. He lay where he’d fallen, his eyes on the colonel. He said nothing, but the contempt was obvious in his eyes. The colonel said something to the soldier that made his eyes widen in surprise and sent him back a step. Two of the soldiers stepped around the colonel and took Saunders’ arms, setting him back on his feet. “The map, sergeant.” “I don’t know anything about a map, Colonel. Either you dropped it or the lieutenant has it.” Saunders shook his head, grimacing at the resulting pain. “It appears that our positions have reversed, Sergeant. You are now my prisoner.” “It appears that way, Colonel.” “Search him.” The colonel ordered. The Germans were less than gentle in their search, jerking him from side to side, ripping his shirt open. All they came up with was a partial pack of cigarettes, a lighter, some francs, and a picture of a young girl, all of which they handed to the colonel. He gazed at the picture of the girl for several minutes, then looked up at Saunders, whose jaw was set in anger. “She is much too old to be your daughter, and much too young to be your wife or girlfriend. Your sister, perhaps?” Saunders said nothing, again shaking his head to clear it, staggering slightly. The colonel kept the cigarettes but returned the lighter and the picture to Saunders’ pocket. “So you don’t have the map, Sergeant. Why would your lieutenant keep the map and the book, sending me back without them?” “You’d have to ask him, Colonel.” Saunders turned his head and spit out a mouthful of blood, then turned back and met the colonel’s gaze unflinchingly. “Watch him carefully.” The colonel ordered, moving several feet away to talk with his men. His head and stomach throbbing, Saunders took a step sideways to lean his shoulder against a tree. His guard jerked him upright, away from the tree. Dizzy, Saunders staggered, bumping into the rifle the guard held. The guard swung the rifle, the butt catching Saunders between the shoulder blades, knocking him to his knees. He started to bring one foot up, trying to get back to his feet, but overbalanced and fell to the ground on his side. Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, he stayed where he was, closing his eyes against the vertigo and pain that swept over him. He could hear the colonel talking, then everything was quiet. He opened his eyes to find that at least an hour had passed, judging by the position of the sun. He was still lying on his side on the ground under the tree. The colonel lay a few feet away, apparently asleep. The German soldiers were scattered around, some sitting, some standing. Saunders tried to sit up, but the combination of sore stomach and back muscles made that impossible. The nearest soldier reached down, grabbed the shoulder of his jacket and pulled him up to a sitting position, dragging him backwards to lean against a tree. “He alright?” Saunders asked, nodding at the colonel. “He is sleeping.” Saunders leaned back against the tree, his tongue probing a loose tooth. He spent a few minutes wondering if they would kill him here, or take him back as a prisoner. Considering that he couldn’t think of one good reason for them to take him back, he figured they’d just shoot him here. He also wondered what would happen if he asked for a drink. He decided against it, settling for trying to free his hands without success. About half an hour later, the colonel stirred and opened his eyes, sitting up after a moment. He got to his feet, walked over and squatted beside the sergeant. “How long have you been awake?” “Half hour, maybe.” “Want a drink?” “Yeah, I want a drink.” Saunders said slowly. The colonel held out his hand and the soldier gave him his canteen. The colonel held it for Saunders to drink, ignoring the stares of the soldiers. “Thanks.” “Where was your lieutenant going, Sergeant?” “Saunders. Sergeant. 1245323.” “Where is the map?” “I don’t know, Colonel.” “What is your unit?” “Saunders. Sergeant. 1245323.” With a sigh, the colonel rose to his feet and motioned to his men, who hauled Saunders to his feet, holding his arms. “You ever hear of the Geneva Convention, Colonel?” “I have to retrieve that map, Sergeant. If you don’t have it, then your lieutenant must have it. Therefore, I must know where he is.” “I can’t tell you that.” “Do you think we could beat it out of you?” The colonel asked conversationally. “I’d like to think not. I’d also rather you didn’t try.” “You treated me very well, Sergeant. I would rather not do this, but I have to have that map.” The colonel said regretfully. Saunders said nothing, simply staring at the colonel. A soldier joined them in response to the colonel’s hand signal, handing his rifle to a fellow soldier. The colonel studied the American standing in front of him. “Where was your lieutenant going?” The sergeant shook his head slowly, dreading what he knew was coming. The German soldier slapped him across the face, twice, hard enough that his captors nearly lost their grip on him. Saunders caught the colonel’s eyes, surprised at the genuine regret he saw there. “Sergeant?” “No.” The soldier hit him in the stomach. Their hold on his arms kept him from falling when his knees buckled under him. They waited while he gasped for air, hanging in his captor’s grasp. When his breathing finally eased, they pulled him back upright. “Sergeant, do not do this to yourself. Answer my questions.” “I can’t – tell you – what I – don’t know.” He panted. “You know where the lieutenant was going.” Saunders remained silent. The soldier stepped forward and hit him with a closed fist several times. The American’s head rocked under the blows as his body went slack in the soldier’s grasp. At the colonel’s nod, they lowered him to the ground on his side where he lay still and quiet. The colonel stared down at the battered body, remembering the sergeant’s support when the medic gave him the pain pills; his loosening of the ropes on his wrists; the moment given to honor his driver; the sergeant helping him over fallen logs; his assistance in crossing the ditch; his words to the soldier who lay dead a few feet away; the rest given him; the drink the sergeant gave him. The Geneva Convention of which the American had so calmly reminded him required none of those acts. They were all acts of humanity from one human being to another, freely given. Suddenly, the colonel hated the war, what it did to men, and what they did to each other. Knowing his men would not understand, and would think him weak, he turned and ordered them to head north, assuring them he would catch up; that he wanted to speak to the American again before he killed him. Reluctantly, the men did as they were ordered, leaving the colonel standing between the two Americans. The colonel waited a few minutes, then followed the men to be sure they were actually leaving. Returning to the sergeant, he knelt at his side and removed the ropes on his wrists, wincing at the raw furrows left behind. He rolled the man onto his back, then lifted his head and shoulders, cradling him in his arms when he started to choke on the blood running down his throat. Awkwardly searching his pockets, he found a handkerchief and wetted it with water from the sergeant’s canteen. He wiped the blood and sweat from the man’s face, allowing a little water to trickle into his mouth. The American lay quietly in his arms, his head resting against the colonel’s shoulder, reminding him of the many times he’d held his sleeping son when he was young. The boy was gone now, killed in this terrible war. The boy’s mother was gone too, of a broken heart at the loss of her only child. Holding the injured American, the colonel let his mind wander back over the years to memories of his family and happier times. Saunders woke slowly, aware first of the all-encompassing pain filling his body. He didn’t move, aware of almost complete silence, aware of the sound of someone close to him breathing. Gradually he realized that his hands were no longer bound behind him and that he was lying on the ground, supported in someone’s arms. Puzzled, he forced his eyes open, stunned to realize that it was the colonel who held him. He was even more amazed to find the man staring into the distance with silent tears running down his face. He started to move, trying to stifle the groan of pain. Startled, the colonel glanced down at him and wiped at his tears unselfconsciously. “Sergeant Saunders. I was thinking of my wife and son, both killed by this war.” Unable to think of anything to say, Saunders lay still, watching him. “I sent my men away so they would not witness the act of a sentimental old man. You remind me of my son, Sergeant, although he was younger than you are. He was a good man, strong yet gentle. Like his mother. Ah, she was a beautiful woman, the light of my life. A part of me died with her. The war has taken all I held dear, and nearly took away any humanity I had left.” While he talked, the colonel resumed sponging the blood from the sergeant’s face, smiling at the baffled expression. “I don’t expect you to understand, Saunders. I’m not quite sure that I do. This morning, my only thought was to kill as many Americans as I could. Then I met you. You did not treat me as a hated enemy. You treated me as a human being. I could be shot for what I am about to do, but I could not live with myself if I did not. Being the man that you are, I have no doubt that we could beat you to death before you gave us any information. I do not want your death on my conscience, Sergeant. I truly regret what I have done to you, and if possible, I would take you to your lines. However, that is not possible.” He stopped speaking, helping Saunders drink from the canteen, then gently lowered him to the ground. Totally bewildered, the sergeant watched as the colonel rose to his feet and began constructing a crude shelter under a nearby evergreen. He layered soft pine branches on the ground close to the base of the tree, intertwining other branches to conceal the nest-like bowl he’d made. The colonel removed the canteen from Andrews’ body, placing it and Saunders’ canteen within the bowl. Returning to the sergeant, the colonel gently moved him to the bed of branches, moving the canteens close beside him. “You can understand me, can’t you, Sergeant?” “No, but I can hear you.” Saunders admitted. “I’m leaving you here, alive, with water. I will rejoin my men and we will go in search of your lieutenant and my map, neither of which I expect to find. You will rest here until you are strong enough to return to your own lines. I am glad to have met you, Sergeant Saunders. You reminded me that we are, in spite of the war, human.” Backing out of the shelter, the colonel concealed the entrance, backed off a step or two and saluted him, then turned on his heel and walked away without looking back. Saunders stared after him, then lay back and drifted into sleep. He woke to the sound of voices. American voices. Kirby’s voice. “Lieutenant! It’s Andrews.” “Any sign of Saunders?” “No, sir.” Saunders tried to sit up and failed. He tried to call for help, but all that came out was a croak. “Maybe he went on. We’ll keep going.” He heard Hanley say. Desperately afraid that they would leave him, Saunders jackknifed his body, trying to reach the concealing branches. He tried to yell for Kirby. Neither try succeeded and he fell back again, too weak and exhausted to move again. “Lieutenant!” Caje called. “Wait. I thought I heard something.” A moment later, one of the concealing branches was torn away and the Cajun was framed in the opening, staring at the sergeant, who was watching him through half-closed eyes. “Lieutenant! I found him!” Caje yelled. Hanley forced his way past the branches, dropping to his knees at the sergeant’s side. “Saunders!” Hanley stared at the bruised and battered face of his friend. “Colonel’s gone.” He mumbled. “Map, book in my boot.” “Doc!” Caje hollered over his shoulder. Just as Doc reached his side, his eyes drifted shut and his head rolled into Caje’s hand, laid against his cheek. “Gimme some room.” Doc demanded, waving the others back. A few minutes later, he stepped out of the shelter, joining the others who were waiting anxiously. “He got beat up pretty good, Lieutenant, but he should be alright. There’s nothing broken, just bruised up good.” “Alright. Make a litter and we’ll get him home.” “What do you think happened, Lieutenant?” Doc asked from inside the shelter. “I have no idea, Doc, but it should make an interesting story.” The End |
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