Déjà Vu by Albert Baker Feb. 2008
(not for profit-just fanfic)
Saunders accepted the fact that he couldn't sleep, but he wanted a quiet place to rest. Try as he may, he hadn't been able to find one. The sound of snoring had become a huge irritation. GIs filled the town like that colony of prairie dogs he saw when he was a kid visiting the Dakotas. Everywhere he turned, they popped up. Worse yet, he knew a lot of the guys. He had to acknowledge them and ask how they were doing, when all he wanted to do was sit alone where it was quiet. Alone and quiet. A place that didn't exist in war.
He decided to head for the river. The weather had moderated, the temperature climbing to a comfortable seventy-something. Once away from the buildings, he could almost imagine himself out in the country back home—almost. He held his Thompson casually but knew he could be ready to fire at a moment's notice. The Thompson had become an extension of him. He felt exposed and vulnerable without it. He imagined that after the war, he would have to work hard to regain a normal gait and stance—the one that he had had before the Thompson. Bennett had brought it up. The whole weapon thing was part of one of their conversations. A grin sneaked into Saunders' thoughts. He and Gus didn't miss a beat. As soon as they saw each other it was like old times. But as kids, they had played at 'cowboys and Indians", not soldiers. Gus's dad wouldn't allow any talk of war and guns. Saunders saw old man Bennett's stern face as he stood on his crutches in Gus's backyard. The stump that was once half of his left leg, hung downward, wrapped in short pants that Gus's mom had cut off and sewn together. Gus's dad fought in the trenches in WWI and had never really left them.
Saunders reached a quiet bend in the river. Looking behind him, he was happy there were no buildings or GIs in sight. Wondering why he had not come here sooner, the anguish of the last few weeks rushed over him and he realized that he hadn't allowed himself to truly look at what had happened. The sergeant settled himself beneath a tree and closed his eyes, his mind tentatively wandering back to his mission with Gus.
Two weeks earlier…
"Saunders, Intelligence is sending one of their men to meet you in St. Mere. He has some information to pass on to the French resistance. You're to hook him up with that Maquis leader you worked with there, Trudeau. The resistance group is still operating out of those caves. You're to take Bennett there and introduce him to Trudeau. With all the leaks in intelligence lately, this was the only way Trudeau would agree to work with us. He trusts you."
"Did you say the intelligence man's name is Bennett?"
Lieutenant Hanley scanned his notes. "It's a Sergeant Bennett."
Saunders eyes narrowed slightly. "What's the first name?"
Hanley looked up at the sergeant. "They didn't say. Why, someone you know?"
Saunders shrugged." Probably not. When do I go?"
"As soon as possible. Bennett is supposed to meet you by the central fountain. You get him to Trudeau and he calls the shots from there. The password is 'déjà vu."
Saunders donned his helmet and turned to leave, saying, "See ya in a couple days. Lieutenant."
"See you, Saunders. And be careful."
The walk to St. Mere was miserable. The rain was cold and constant. Saunders had wanted to replace his ripped rain poncho, but hadn't had the opportunity. The icy water ran down his right shoulder and side, seeping though his jacket and onto his shirt. When he arrived at the edge of own, the rain finally stopped and the noncom angrily flung the poncho off. As it hit the ground, Saunders heard a soft chuckle.
"Well, the war hasn't improved your temper any."
Saunders jerked to his right, Thompson at ready. His eyes widened in amazement as he found himself looking at Gus Bennett. Bennett had backed up with his arms spread out at his sides and his palms open.
"Geez! You handle that thing like it's a third arm, Saunders!"
"Gus?" Saunders grinned, lowered his firearm and slung it over his shoulder before walking to his friend and extending his hand. "I can't believe it's you. When I heard the name Bennett, I wondered, but I thought you were back in England."
"I was. I figured I had it made, and then I got reassigned. We've just been losing too many guys, Saunders."
Both men grew sullen as Bennett gestured toward a vacant building and they moved inside. Saunders studied Bennett closely. The sandy hair showed fringes of grey and the devilish green eyes were dull and sunken. War was not kind to anyone.
"Have you heard from Sally?" Saunders asked as he removed his wet jacket.
"Sure. Just got a letter last week. She's good—working in the factory south of town. "Sally the riveter."
The two friends laughed softly, both veterans aware the war was waiting right outside the door.
"How bout you? You heard from your mom and brothers? And what about the brat? "
"They're all fine. Louise is in high school. Chris enlisted."
Bennett frowned. "Enlisted. Well, I guess they would've drafted him soon anyway."
Saunders nodded. "So, what is this important information you gotta get to Trudeau?"
"The resistance has been working with us on disrupting German supply shipments. We've got intelligence information regarding dates and routes that I need to give him."
"Sounds like we better get movin'. The Maquis are hiding out in a network of caves outside of town. I'll take you there and introduce you to Trudeau. I worked with him a week or so ago. He's a good man."
"All right, Saunders. Lead on."
The two soldiers made their way out of town and to the hills where the Maquis were hiding. The sun had appeared and the temperature rose at midday. After thirty minutes at a constant jog, they took a break on a hillside with particularly dense brush.
Bennett pulled out his canteen. "Hey, Saunders, what ever happened to that other guy at the train station? The one from your outfit. What was his name? Oh I know—Grady, Grady Long."
Saunders looked down at his dirt-covered boots. Grady. I'd forgotten that Gus had met him that day at the station.He pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
"He bought it about two weeks after Omaha Beach."
Bennett froze momentarily and studied his friend's face. "Sorry, Saunders. I had a good buddy buy it about a week after we landed. His name was Jenkins. He was just a kid but we hit it off, ya know? Damn landmine."
Taking a final puff, Saunders stashed the butt in his pocket and stood. "We better keep going. It's about a half mile ahead."
"Hey, how are you gonna find these guys in a bunch of caves?" Bennett asked while capping his canteen.
Saunders grinned. "You already forgot who used to ditch you in those caves along the river at home?"
"You never really ditched me, ya know. I just let you think you did."
"Sure, Gus." Saunders shook his head remembering what a stubborn kid Gus had been—almost as stubborn as Saunders.
"We won't have to find Trudeau. He'll find us."
After another shorter walk, the two sergeants stopped at an opening among a large pile of boulders. Looking up the hillside, the source of the pile could be seen in a thick out-cropping of rock with a missing wedge.
"We wait here," Saunders announced as he moved out of the sun to the shade of the tallest boulder.
After only fifteen minutes, a group of five Frenchmen had the Americans surrounded, their firearms raised. A tall, dark-haired man appeared from behind the boulders and smiled at Saunders. "Sergeant, I heard we would be meeting again.
Saunders squinted into the sunlight. "Hello Trudeau. This is Sergeant Bennett from intelligence. He's got some information for you."
"All right. Come with me and we'll talk."
Saunders and Bennett followed the Frenchman into the caves to a room with sparse furnishings: a few makeshift chairs, an old tabletop placed over two crates, and a pile of firearms and ammunition.
"Nice place you have here, Trudeau," Bennett grinned at the Frenchman.
Trudeau lifted his chin and smiled smugly. Reaching behind one of the crates under the table, he pulled out a bottle of wine. Uncorking it, he took a swig and offered it to Bennett.
"We French are noted for our hospitality."
Gus eagerly took a drink and passed the bottle before getting down to business. Saunders watched Bennett and Trudeau as they discussed strategy and studied the maps Bennett had brought along. He was struck by Gus's thoroughness and control. Who would have believed that Gus would end up doing this? Who would have thought the two of us would end up here?
After an hour's conference, Trudeau gathered his notes and the maps from Bennett as he called for two of his men. He handed the two the information and instructed them in French before they departed. Noticing the American's questioning stares, he explained, "I have all the information in here." He pointed to his head. "I am sending it to my second in command so that we both have it. In this line of work, it is best to insure that the information is not lost before it can be put to good use."
"Makes sense," Gus answered. "If you don't mind, I'd like to wait until nightfall before we leave."
"Of course. We can rest and have a little more wine."
The time to sundown passed quickly and the Americans said goodbye and good luck to the Maquis. The sky began to blacken early as dark clouds moved in. Thunder rumbled above them as they prepared to leave, the vibrations making the cave walls shake. Soon the sound of rain arose. Saunders pulled on his torn poncho.
"You really think that'll do you any good?" Bennett chuckled.
"Wise guy," Saunders quipped, as he strode past his friend, out into the rain.
Sometime within the next two minutes, the thunder from the storm mixed with the ungodly sound of German 88s plummeting from the sky and smashing into the earth. Saunders and Bennett were still among the boulders as a shell hit the area by Trudeau's cave. The Americans held onto their helmets, as the entire hillside appeared to flatten upon itself. Bennett shouted, "No!" and began to run back toward the place where the cave had been. He made it only 5 yards when another shell hit, the shrapnel slicing through his left leg like a machete, detaching it at the knee. Saunders lifted himself off the ground where the impact had tossed him, and scrambled to Gus. The rain came down in a deluge, creating a river of blood from Gus' left side. Seeing the horrific damage to his friend's leg, Saunders undid his belt and created a tourniquet. Regaining full consciousness, Gus lifted himself up on his elbows to see the source of his incredible pain. Saunders watched his childhood friend turn white, and in the flashes of lightning and shelling, he saw, for the briefest moment, the face of Gus's father.
Satisfied that he had stemmed the bleeding as much as possible, Saunders threw his body over Bennett's, protecting the wounded man from the flying chips of rock that had mixed with the rain. The barrage lasted for ten minutes, but for the two sergeants it seemed like an eternity. When the end finally came, Saunders found it hard to move; so tense were his muscles from the ordeal that they no longer wanted to obey him. Slowly, he relaxed enough to pull himself upright and look down at Gus. Bennett's eyes opened and he groaned in pain.
"Take it easy, Gus. I'm gonna get you home."
"Chip…you gotta leave me."
"No way, Gus. I'm takin' you back."
"No! You gotta leave me. I don't wanna live like this!"
Saunders stared into Bennett's face, checking to see if what he had heard was accurate.
"Please. Let me die!" Bennett shouted.
A surge of anger swept over Saunders and mixed with the pity he had for Gus.
"Shut up, Bennett! Not another word!"
With that, Sergeant Saunders pulled Gus up onto his back and began their journey home.
Two weeks later…
Saunders opened his eyes to the sound of a duck splashing in the river. As kids, Gus and I used to play hooky to go swimming. He remembered how Bennett had refused to talk to him when they got back. Gus wouldn't even look him in the eye.
A figure appeared in the distance. It wasn't long before the sergeant recognized Doc's determined stride.
"Hey, Sarge! The mail came in and ya got a letter."
Saunders stood and stretched his arms. "Thanks, Doc."
"Hanley wanted me to let ya know that we're movin' out tomorrow. He wants to see you before 1800."
"Okay, Doc," Saunders answered as he took the letter.
Sensing Saunders mood, Doc said, "Take it easy, Sarge," and turned to walk back into town. He'd seen the letter was from Bennett and hoped it would serve to ease the sergeant's mind.
Sergeant Saunders opened the envelope and, leaning back against the tree, began to read.
Chip,
I'm at a Paris hospital. The people here are great and they say they'll be shipping me home in a few weeks. Our unit captain stopped in and saw me. He said that Trudeau's men took out two German supply convoys based on the information we gave to them. Trudeau didn't make it. I guess we both knew that.
I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I was pretty angry. I knew it was wrong of me to ask you to leave me. Thanks for getting me back. I've already talked to some guys who have lost limbs and are making it. I'm going to be all right. I wrote to Sally and I know she will stick by me.
There were some kids in here yesterday. They were supposed to cheer us wounded guys up. The boys all wanted to hear what we did in the war. I couldn't help but think of my dad and how he hated to talk about it. I finally get it. I couldn't feel right about telling stories of what I've done. The real stories about the war belong to the guys that don't make it--guys like Trudeau, and Jenkins, and Grady Long.
I have to finish this because mail pick-up is here. You take care of yourself, Saunders. When you get home, make sure you stop in and see me. We'll have a beer and toast those guys that never made it back.
Gus
Saunders folded the letter and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Gus would be okay. The realization brought him the peace he had hoped for. The sergeant walked to town to check in with Hanley. Afterwards, he'd join First Squad in their billet and get some sleep before moving out.
END