Part 4: Pvt Joseph Lydecker - In For a Penny

by Queen's Bishop

Lydecker relies on Rule #4 and his wits.

35

No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author.

I want to formally thank and acknowledge the huge contribution of Leslie Backus. Without her time and editing skill, this story would never have seen the light of day. Thanks also to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading and offering encouragement.

Pvt. Joseph Lydecker

by: Queen's Bishop

Part 4: In For a Penny…

denotes character is speaking German

This story contains a number of small references (bits of dialog and minor incidents) from various episodes of COMBAT!

Summary of the previous chapter, My Brother's Keeper: Pvt. Jankowski's hatred for Saunders and Lydecker led him to try to kill them. Instead, Lydecker killed him in self-defense.

Sgt. Saunders and Pvt. Lydecker were transported back to battalion aid to recuperate. The sergeant used the time to write letters to his family. First, a long, up-beat letter to his mother and sister, Louise…

…one of the young guys in the squad got invited by a French girl to have dinner with her and her family. He wanted to take a gift to the girl, and I remembered how the Brat liked to wear ribbons in her hair, so…

This was followed by a more serious letter to his little brother, Chris…

…I can't believe you're 16 already! I wish I was there to talk to you in person, because there are some things Dad would want you to know…

Finally, he tackled the hardest letter of all, the one to his brother, Robbie, a marine fighting in the Pacific…

...Robbie, you're not alone. Every soldier is afraid, including me. It's normal, no matter how many times you face going into combat…

However, even to his own brother, Saunders hid his most personal terrors. The terrors that caused him to, at times, cry out in the night or awaken in a cold sweat; the ones where members of his squad were killed because of his orders.

With his grandparents and Uncle dead, Joey Lydecker had nobody to write to. So, he spent his time playing requests on the harmonica and trying to figure out the intricacies of poker as he watched the endless card game that took place at the next cot over.

Saunders, like the rest of the wounded soldiers recuperating in the converted chateau, enjoyed the impromptu concerts. And, he was equally impressed by Lydecker's ability to listen to the birds singing in the trees outside the window of their ward and then whistle in imitation of them.

As soon as they had healed sufficiently, the two men were discharged. Waiting for them as they exited their ward was the charge nurse. She handed the discharge papers to the NCO, who thanked her and continued walking.

As Lydecker was about to pass her, she stopped him and said, "Ah've enjoyed listening to you play. It reminded me of mah brother. He played the harmonica."

"Ah'm glad you enjoyed it, Ma'am."

"Ah noticed you liked the biscuits we have at breakfast."

"Yes, Ma'am. They reminded me of home."

"Well, here's a crusty French roll slathered with apple butter that Ah got in a package from mah grandmother. The roll isn't as good as biscuits, but it travels better." She handed the private the roll, wrapped in a handkerchief.

"Thank you, Ma'am. Ah…

"Lydecker, get a move on!"

"Yes, Sergeant…Ah've gotta go, Ma'am. Thanks again."

Joey trotted down the hall to catch up with his sergeant.

The nurse watched the two soldiers turn the corner. 'He's so young…just like Ben was,' she thought. Then, she turned and walked back into the ward.

With trucks constantly transporting supplies up to the front lines, the NCO knew they wouldn't have a very long wait to catch a ride. Still, as they walked out the front door of the chateau, it was a surprise to see a jeep parked in the shade and Littlejohn stretched out, asleep, beside it. They walked over to him, and Saunders nudged the big man's leg with the toe of his boot.

"Littlejohn, what are you doing here?"

Littlejohn opened his eyes with a start and stared up into the sun. "Sarge, is that you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, it's me. I asked you what you're doing here."

While the good-hearted private slowly sat up, he tried to think of how to answer Saunders because he knew he never should have listened to that goldbrick, Kirby. "Well, Sarge, Cpt. Jampel wanted us to drive him to battalion HQ."

"Who's us?"

"Me an' Kirby."

"So, you're waiting for Cpt. Jampel?"

"No…we only had to bring him."

Saunders sighed. His days at battalion aid had done nothing to improve his patience. "Littlejohn, just tell me!"

"Well, Sarge…it was like this…We thought…"

"You an' Kirby came up with this?"

Littlejohn hung his head. He just wasn't good at dancing around the truth, unlike the goldbrick. "Well…maybe it was just Kirby."

"Uh huh."

"Anyway, he thought that as long as Cpt. Jampel didn't say we had to go right back, he would… well…that he would take a walk an' stretch his legs…an' then we'd visit you an' Joey before we headed back."

Lydecker spoke up, "Sergeant, Ah could look around. He couldn't have wandered off too far."

Littlejohn quickly stood and also volunteered. "Yeah, Sarge, I'll look too."

The NCO glared at the big private. "You, stay put! Lydecker, check back in twenty minutes whether you've found him or not."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Saunders pulled out a cigarette and began to pace, occasionally looking at Littlejohn and shaking his head.

Lydecker walked over to several patients who were sitting nearby, smoking and laughing. "Where's the closest place a fella could get a drink and maybe play a little poker?" he asked, keeping his voice down so the sergeant wouldn't hear.

"Well, ya might try 'Renee's'," one of them offered. "It's just down the road a piece."

"Thanks."

"Hey, it looks like that sergeant of yours is pretty steamed. Ya might wanna warn your buddy that he's in a heapa trouble."

"I think he's used to it," Lydecker said with a chuckle as he headed down the road.

Joey stood in the doorway and sighed. 'Renee's' was what would have been called a 'dive' back home. Even at 1100 it was dark and smoke-filled, smelling of spilled wine and sweat. He took a step inside and looked around, but didn't see Kirby.

Then, just as he was about to leave, he heard a piece of a conversation, "…and just where do ya think you're goin'?" and guessed that Kirby was probably on the receiving end of the implied threat. He took a few more steps toward the voices. In the far corner he could make out three soldiers standing with their knuckles pressing down on a table top.

Lydecker took a deep breath. 'In for a penny, in for a pound,' he thought, as he headed toward the table.

"Hey, Kirby," he said in a loud, casual voice, "the Sarge an' the resta the squad are all outside waitin' for ya. Ya better shake a leg!"

Kirby's face appeared from behind the soldier whose back was to Joey. He gave Lydecker a lop-sided grin. "Sorry to hold ya up!" He stood and pocketed his winnings. As they nonchalantly headed for the door, he put his arm around Joey's shoulder. Once they had crossed the threshold, Kirby glanced back and whispered, "Let's go." They broke into an all-out run.

With the sergeant in sight, the BAR man slowed down to catch his breath. "Thanks for comin' to my rescue, kid, but it looks like I'm outa the fryin' pan an' into the fire."

Lydecker remembered that Billy had told him how the sergeant once yelled at him so much it had made his ears bleed. That was how he felt now, and he wasn't even on the receiving end of the dress-down.

Kirby stood before Saunders and seemed to sway, as if he was being battered by the sergeant's words. But, Joey suddenly realized that Pvt. William G. Kirby was, instead, swaying because he was at least two sheets to the wind.

Lydecker looked over at the small group of patients he had spoken to at the beginning of his search and saw that they were grinning. It probably wasn't the first time they had seen a sergeant take a soldier apart and, as long as it wasn't them, why not enjoy it. It certainly broke up the monotony of the day.

When Saunders started to wind down, Kirby opened his mouth to speak. "But, Sarge…"

"SHUT UP, KIRBY! JUST SHUT UP! Give me the keys and get in the back!"

As Kirby pulled the keys from his trouser pocket, his recent winnings also spilled out. He tossed the keys to the NCO and then gave Saunders a goofy grin as he bent over to pick up the bills. The sergeant just glared at him. He turned his attention to Littlejohn, but knew the private would never be able to fit his big frame into the driver's seat.

So instead, Saunders tossed the keys to Lydecker. "Drive!" he ordered.

Lydecker got a stunned look on his face. "But, Sergeant," he said quietly, not wishing to arouse the ire of his already agitated squad leader, "Ah don't have a whole lot of experience driving."

"You don't know how to drive!?"

"Aw, let me drive, Sarge…"

"SHUT UP, KIRBY, AND GET IN THE BACK WITH LITTLEJOHN!"

The sergeant fixed his intense blue eyes on the young soldier. "WELL?"

Lydecker gulped and said, "Yes, Sergeant."

He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The jeep lurched forward and stalled. Kirby moaned in the back seat. Saunders turned around and glared at him.

As quickly as his anger had flared, it subsided. Saunders took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair as he remembered his driving lessons with his brother, Robbie. "Just take your time an' try it again," he said, trying his best to sound calm.

On the third attempt, the jeep successfully moved forward in first gear, but stalled again when Lydecker tried to shift into second. The smokers outside battalion aid were laughing and shouting advice. Joey felt the sweat rolling down his face and his back as he wiped his hands on his trousers. Thankfully, he got the jeep into second gear on the next try.

"Alright," said the NCO, "now, just keep your eyes on the road an' don't run into anything."

With that, the four members of First Squad, Second Platoon, King Company began their journey through the countryside and back to the front lines.

Aside from Saunders telling the private when to shift and to either go faster or slower, there wasn't much conversation. After a bit, Kirby, in spite of his position in the proverbial dog house, decided to break the silence.

"Sarge, there's a couplea things ya should know before ya get back." And, before the sergeant could cut him off, he said, "We got two replacements while ya been gone. Watkins, he's got two left feet, kinda like the big moose here," he grinned at Littlejohn, who scowled back at him, "'cept he's short, an' Maxwell. He's a tall, skinny fella with red hair. He's hardly said "boo" since he arrived. They both been out on patrol twice when Caje took the squad out an' done okay, 'cept for Watkins. He tripped an' dropped his rifle. It discharged an' we thought he'd killed Billy, 'cept the bullet only grazed his helmet." Remembering their recent experience with Jankowski, he hastily added, "'Course, he was real sorry an' kept apologizin' to Billy for the resta the patrol."

The sergeant didn't say anything, so Kirby continued on. "Lt. Hanley left three days ago on some secret mission for S-2 an' we got a replacement, Lt. Yates. He's one of them ninety-day wonders an' he's been makin' life miserable for everyone, 'specially Brockmeyer an' Sgt. Adams."

Kirby paused in his recitation of recent events for a moment before plunging ahead. "An', Sarge, Sgt. Tonelli (a) got killed."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lydecker saw the sergeant tense up. He knew the mess sergeant had been a friend of Saunders.

"Ya see, we was billeted in this village we cleared an' the sergeant was drivin' the jeep up to deliver chow, just like always. There was the usual supply trucks goin' up an' down the same stretch of road, but Tonelli hit a mine. Killed him an' Bates, his helper."

Saunders never said a word, but for the rest of the trip his right hand was a clenched fist.

"SARGE!" Billy jumped up from the crate he was sitting on as the jeep rolled to a slow stop in front of the remains of the house where the squad was currently staying. The rest of the squad members came tumbling out of the cellar and surrounded the jeep to welcome back Saunders and Lydecker.

Caje had a big grin on his face. "Sergeant, am I glad to see you."

Saunders knew Caje had done a good job taking care of the men while he was recuperating. But, he also knew the Cajun didn't like the responsibility of leadership and so would be glad to return to his preferred position as scout.

"It's good to be back. Nelson, return the jeep to the motor pool." He looked at Lydecker and gave the private a grin. "Lydecker's done enough driving for one day."

"How many pretty nurses did ya meet?" "How was the food?" The returning men were bombarded with questions.

"Lydecker will answer all your questions, but first we have to report in. Where's the CP?" the NCO asked.

Doc stepped forward. "Ah'll show you, Sarge." As they walked along he asked, "How're y'all feeling? That gash on your shoulder looked pretty nasty the last time Ah saw it."

To alleviate the medic's concern, Saunders stopped and stuck his thumb under his shirt collar and pulled it and his field jacket away from his neck. The skin covering the wound was still bright red and looked tender. "It's all healed up, Doc."

"Good. And, Joey, how're you doing?"

Lydecker laughed. "Ah'm fine, Doc. Ah probably could've been discharged two days ago, but Ah liked the clean sheets an' hot food, so Ah didn't make a fuss."

The medic stopped at a storefront and pointed. "That's the CP. Lt. Hanley isn't here. The replacement is Lt. Yates." He looked at Saunders and added, "Good luck."

The sergeant and the private entered the building. But, before they could come to what for Saunders would have to pass for attention and give a salute, the lieutenant looked up from the pile of papers he was working on and sarcastically asked, "Doesn't anyone in this platoon know how to knock?"

Saunders looked at Brockmeyer, who was seated at the radio behind the lieutenant. The corporal shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, Sir. Sgt. Saunders an' Pvt. Lydecker, First Squad, reporting for duty." Saunders handed the lieutenant his and Lydecker's paperwork.

"So, you're Saunders."

The sergeant didn't know what, if anything, he was expected to say, so he just replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Well, I'm glad you're finally back." He made it sound as if the sergeant had been off somewhere goldbricking. When the lieutenant realized he wasn't going to get a response from the NCO, he said, "Dismissed."

Lydecker and Saunders saluted and exited the building.

As they walked away, under his breath, Lydecker said, "Idiot officer."

Caje was a discreet distance from the CP, waiting for the two men to come out. Joey could see that the scout wanted to speak to the sergeant alone, so he just acknowledged the Cajun and continued walking back to join the rest of the squad.

"You met our ninety-day wonder." It was a statement, not a question. "I don't dink he's ever been out in de field, Sarge. Cpt. Jampel has had patrols sent out every day, but Yates never leads one. Den, when we get back, he seems unhappy dat we report having seen few or no Krauts in de sectors we covered."

"What's he want?"

"I don't know," he chuckled. "But, he makes me nervous."

"Lydecker called him an 'idiot officer'."

"De kid is a good judge of character."

"Well, it's only for a few days an' then Hanley will be back."

Both men thought about their recent experience with Jankowski and the havoc he had caused in just a few days, but neither said anything.

"Well, I'm glad you're back." Caje said as he wandered off.

Saunders thought about heading to the jeep the field kitchen had sent up to get something to eat, but decided against it. He knew what he would find, a couple of kitchen helpers who would want to talk to him about what a great guy Tonelli was. It was too soon. He had been back less than an hour and he felt worn out already.

Cpl. Brockmeyer quietly said, "Sarge," while lightly touching the NCO's shoulder.

Saunders was immediately awake and reaching for his Tommy gun.

"Sarge, it's me, Brockmeyer."

"What? Is there a problem?"

"I don't know, Sarge. Lt. Yates wants to see ya pronto with all of your gear. He's got some bug up his ass."

Saunders looked at the corporal and smiled; another member of the Yates fan club. Still, Brockmeyer rarely got involved with the usual grumbling and complaining that permeated any front line unit.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 0500."

"Alright, I'll be right there."

Saunders wiped the sleep from his eyes, stretched and yawned. Over in the corner he heard Billy mumble something in his sleep. He quickly scanned the room, checking on the rest of his men. Except for Littlejohn snoring, all was quiet. Lydecker and Maxwell's bed rolls were empty, but they were on guard duty.

The NCO pulled on his boots, slung the Thompson over his shoulder, grabbed the rest of his gear and quietly left the cellar. Stopping by a partial wall, he put on his helmet and web belt. As he buckled his boots, he couldn't help but notice how still the village was in those remaining minutes of darkness. 'It's the best time of the day,' he thought.

At the CP, he knocked and was told to enter. Lt. Yates was seated behind the desk while Brockmeyer was sitting in the corner, seemingly absorbed in a dog-eared copy of Stars and Stripes. After coming somewhat to attention, Saunders gave a tepid salute which Yates much more enthusiastically returned.

"Sergeant, good of you to join me. You and I are going on one of Cpt. Jampel's little reconnaissance missions."

"I'll get the squad ready. What time do you want to leave, Lieutenant?"

"You misunderstand me. This will be just you and me."

Saunders stared at the lieutenant in disbelief. "With all due respect, Sir, going out by ourselves is asking for trouble."

"Sergeant, I've sent out a number of patrols and each one comes back and tells me that there are no Germans in this area. Therefore, how could we run into trouble?"

"Sir, just because a patrol doesn't run into any Krauts doesn't mean they aren't in the area. It just means the patrol and the Krauts didn't cross paths, or the Krauts didn't want to be seen."

"Yes, that is a possibility…if those patrols actually completed the missions assigned to them."

Brockmeyer raised his eyes from his 'reading' and looked at the sergeant. The corporal could tell that Saunders was working hard to control his temper.

"Sir," the NCO said slowly and quietly, "I assure you that if PFC LeMay and the other squad leaders lead men out on patrol, the squads would've completed their missions. If they reported that there was no Kraut activity, then they didn't see any Krauts."

"Well, then there's nothing to worry about, is there, Sergeant. You have your orders. Be ready to leave in ten minutes. That's all. Dismissed."

Without bothering to salute, Saunders turned on his heel and left the office. Yates went to his sleeping quarters, a small room off the office, to get ready. Brockmeyer took the opportunity to slip out and go after Saunders. He found the sergeant heading for the supply tent.

"Sarge, that guy's a walkin' section eight. What are ya gonna do? It's suicide to go out there without proper back-up."

'What am I going to do?' Saunders pondered the question. 'If all the squads are reporting back that there are no Krauts in the area, then my refusal to carry out a lawful order is insubordination. Hanley, of course, would send out more patrols with different search patterns. But, Hanley isn't here.'

"I'm gonna do as ordered and hope we either don't find any Krauts or, if we do, we manage to get away unseen. Tell Caje to maintain the sentry rotation." Saunders walked away, leaving the corporal standing in the street.

Ten minutes later, the lieutenant and the NCO passed the sentries on the outskirts of town. Pvt. Lydecker watched them go. When they were out of sight, he turned to Maxwell, the replacement who was on guard with him, and said, "Ah'll be right back." He climbed out of the foxhole and walked back into the village, looking for Brockmeyer.

"Corporal, what's going on? Ah just saw Lt. Yates and Sgt. Saunders head out of town."

Ordinarily, Brockmeyer didn't repeat anything he had heard in the CP, and he would have greeted such a question with either a non-answer or a snarl that sent privates who didn't know him scurrying with their tails between their legs. But now, he told Lydecker what he knew because there was nothing he or the young private could do about it, except kick the nearest tire and curse in frustration.

Lydecker considered what Brockmeyer had said and then asked a question to clarify a point. "Cpl. Brockmeyer, you're sure the sergeant wanted to take the squad?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Saunders is no fool. He tried to tell the lieutenant that goin' out alone was just askin' for trouble, but that jackass Yates wouldn't listen."

Brockmeyer might have thought there was nothing he could do, but the private had his rules. And, rule number four clearly told him that when he must decide between obeying his sergeant or an idiot officer, he should follow the sergeant.

"Corporal, you can put me down as AWOL, but Ah'm going after Sgt. Saunders. And, Ah'm gonna try to get the rest of the squad to go with me."

Brockmeyer studied Lydecker. What the private proposed to do was serious, but then, so was ending up dead for no good reason.

"Alright, what do ya want me to do?"

"Get somebody to take over sentry duty for me. And, if the rest of the fellas go with me, their rotations will have to be covered, too."

Lydecker ran down the street and clomped down the steps to the cellar where the rest of First Squad was still asleep.

He yelled, "LISTEN Y'ALL, LT. YATES IS TAKING THE SERGEANT OUT TO LOOK FOR KRAUTS WITHOUT ANY BACK-UP. AH'M HEADED OUT AFTER 'EM TO GIVE SOME COVER. ANY OF Y'ALL WHO WANT TO GO ALONG, C'MON."

Caje kicked Kirby. "Get up! We're moving out, now."

Kirby started to protest, but the Cajun only glared at his friend.

"Alright, all ready. I'm movin'," he grumbled.

Littlejohn stretched and asked sleepily, "Joey, are you sure? That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. It's Lt. Yates," answered Billy as he sat up and started putting on his boots.

Doc didn't say a thing. He just got up and began getting his gear together.

Watkins, the second replacement, watched his squad mates for a moment and then also started to get ready.

"How much time do we have?" asked Caje.

"Ah'm leaving now and Ah'll try to slow them down. Y'all come as quick as you can." With that, Lydecker turned and ran up the stairs. He met Brockmeyer in the street.

"Good luck," the corporal said.

"Point the rest of the fellas in the right direction, okay." The young private took off at a lope in the direction the NCO and the officer had headed.

Although they had a good head start, Joey moved at a pace he could easily maintain and which ate up the distance. It wasn't long before he had the two men in sight. He stopped and suddenly realized that given what Brockmeyer had said, he probably couldn't just walk up to the lieutenant, and say, "Ah'm here in case y'all need cover fire." He had to think of how he was going to handle the pending confrontation with the idiot officer.

Once he had an idea, he took a deep breath and thought, not for the first time in recent days, 'in for a penny, in for a pound.' He unbuckled his boots and removed off his web belt. With his rifle in one hand and the web belt in the other, he took off at a dead run. His only concern was that the sergeant would order him back. If that happened, he would obey.

Saunders heard someone coming and wheeled around with the Thompson ready to fire. He pulled up when he recognized Lydecker. The young soldier ran up to them and immediately bent over, putting his hands on his knees as if to try and catch his breath. The first words out of his mouth surprised the sergeant, who was used to Lydecker's soft southern drawl.

"Oooh WHEE! Ah done thaught Ah'd NEver catch up ta y'all."

The sergeant quickly coughed to cover up his initial startled response. The accent was so thick that if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn he was watching a bad movie with Hollywood's impression of a soldier who had just been dragged out into the sunlight from the deepest, darkest reaches of Appalachia. Lt. Yates, of course, had never heard Lydecker speak, so he heard nothing amiss.

"And just what do you think you're doing here, Private?" the lieutenant demanded.

"WEEell," Joey looked at the lieutenant, snapped to attention and gave a salute.

Lt. Yates almost went apoplectic. "You don't salute an officer in the field!" he hissed.

"Oh yeah, yer rite. Sorry, Ah done FERgot. But if M/Sgt. WALters done tauld me once, he done tauld me a HUNdr'd times ta make shure Ah SAluted an OFficer." Lydecker turned to the sergeant and added, "an' ta NEver SAlute a SARgeant."

"Alright, but I'll ask you again, what are you doing here?"

"WEEell, M/Sgt. WALters done tauld me Ah was ta stick ta the Sarge like WHATE on RICE. So, here he is an' here Ah be," Joey responded with a grin.

Lydecker didn't know it, but he had just said the magic words. Yates might not have learned much in his ninety days of training, but he had learned to fear master sergeants, possibly because they had quickly caught on to what a poor excuse for an officer he was. He hadn't yet met this M/Sgt. Walters, but he immediately decided he wasn't going to cross him and get on his bad side.

"Very well. Just…just do as you're told."

"Shure thing, LIEUtenant. Jist give me a bit ta git mahself tagether." Lydecker immediately plopped down and started buckling his boots. He glanced down the road, but the squad was not yet in sight. So, when he was finished, he reached into his field jacket and pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief.

"Here, Sarge, Ah done brung ya SOMEthin' fer BREAKfist."

He opened the small parcel. Inside were the two halves of a French roll slathered with apple butter that the charge nurse had given him the day before. Joey had taken the roll with him to eat after he got off sentry duty. He handed Saunders one piece and began eating the other.

"This here BREad's a bit CHEWy, but it shure is good," he said.

The lieutenant looked at the scene with his mouth hanging open.

Lydecker, now with his mouth full, added, "Oh, sorry, LIEUtenant. Ah didn't tote none fer y'all. Ah done thaught ya musta et already, ya bein' an OFficer an' all."

Saunders turned around so the lieutenant couldn't see his face. He was trying to remain stoic, but Lydecker was cracking him up. He finished eating the bread and took a drink from his canteen to wash it down. Only then did he turn back around. Lydecker had gotten to his feet and was putting on his web belt.

"Sarge, do ya want me ta go on out ahead of y'all or would ya druther Ah brung up the rear?"

Saunders looked at Yates, but the lieutenant didn't reply, so Saunders said, "Take the point."

"Yes, Sir…oh, sorry, ya don't say 'Sir' ta a SARgeant." Lydecker sighed and shook his head. "Thare's 'nother thing M/Sgt. WALters keeps havin' ta tell me. Ah'm jist SUpposed ta say 'Yes, SARgeant.' Ain't that rite, Sarge?"

Saunders looked at the private and shook his head. "Yeah, that's right. Now take the point."

"Yes, SARgeant!"

Lydecker started to move out when the three men heard some noise behind them. They all wheeled around, ready to fire, but stopped as the rest of First Squad came into view. Lydecker breathed a small sigh of relief.

Caje had set a fast pace to catch up, but the men slowed to a walk as they approached. The furious lieutenant glared at them. Saunders looked at Lydecker.

"WHAT IN HELL ARE YOU MEN DOING HERE?" hollered Yates.

"WEEell, that thare'd be 'causea me, LIEUtenant," spoke up Lydecker. The just arrived men of First Squad stared at Joey. "Ya see, when Ah seed the Sarge leavin' an' Ah knowed Ah was SUpposed ta foller after him, Ah done thaught the resta the fellas was SUpposed ta come on along, too. So, Ah done tauld 'em ta come on along. An' here thay is." He turned and gave his squad mates a wave and a grin. "Hiya, fellas!"

"AND YOU MEN TOOK ORDERS FROM THIS…THIS…"

"WEEell, Ah'm rite sorry, LIEUtenant. But, Ah shurely thaught it twas what M/Sgt. WALters woulda wanted fer us ta do."

The squad members looked at each other. They knew that 1st Sgt. Walters had been Joey's Drill Sergeant in Basic. Then Doc remembered the rule Joey had told them about idiot officers, and he understood.

"Sorry, Sir. We were sure that it's what M/Sgt. Walters would've wanted us to do," he said.

Billy turned to Littlejohn. "M/Sgt. Walters?" he whispered.

Littlejohn looked at Caje, who gave him a nod. The big man smiled; he got it. "Yes, Sir, like Pvt. Lydecker said, M/Sgt. Walters would've wanted us to come."

Saunders looked at his men. He thought there must be some joke he wasn't in on, but he was nonetheless relieved they had shown up.

"Lieutenant, let's go over the map with Caje. He'll be on point."

Lt. Yates said nothing more about the unexpected arrival of the squad. He pulled a map from inside his field jacket and squatted down. The other two men joined him. Yates had marked off a number of sectors on the map and Caje saw that some of them were areas where he had led First Squad on patrols in the last few days.

"These are all sectors that have supposedly been searched recently," the lieutenant said sarcastically. "I'm interested in this sector," he pointed to an area on the map, "that no patrols have bothered to reconnoiter."

"Sir, squads cover sectors as ordered. If that area wasn't part of the mission, it wouldn't've been covered," Saunders patiently explained.

The logic of the statement appeared to escape the lieutenant. "The squad leaders should have realized the sector hadn't been covered and acted accordingly."

Caje was about to say something, but Saunders looked at him and slightly shook his head.

Saunders said, "Is that where we should head now?"

"Well, obviously, Sergeant."

Caje studied the map for a moment, nodded to his squad leader and the two of them stood. Lt. Yates remained squatted.

"Let's go over the route," he said.

"Caje has it. We're ready to go."

"How could he have it? He only looked at the map for a moment."

"That's all he needs. Are you ready, Sir?"

"Sergeant, you had better be right."

"Alright, saddle up. Caje, take the point. Kirby, the rear. Lydecker, left flank. There's a bit of a ridge coming up, so keep to the high ground."

Lydecker's response of, "Yes, Sergeant," caused Yates to look at him quizzically, but he said nothing to the young soldier.

The squad moved forward for the next two hours without incident. Once they had passed the ridge, Lydecker rejoined the rest of the men and fell in beside Doc. His preferred position, behind and to the left of Saunders, was occupied by Lt. Yates.

After walking in silence for a few minutes, Joey said, "Kirby seems unusually quiet today."

"Yeah, Ah was wondering about that mahself. It's either the presence of the lieutenant or he's still in awe of your performance."

Lydecker gave the medic a small smile but said nothing further on that subject.

Finally, a ten minute break was called. Lydecker was assigned to forward security and Nelson to watch the back trail.

As Joey settled into position to relieve Caje, the scout grinned at him and asked, "Which rule was idiot officers?" as he got up and moved back to join the rest of the squad.

Lt. Yates sat off by himself, making some notes on the map. After waiting a few minutes to see if the officer needed him, the sergeant joined Lydecker, who was crouched behind the remains of a stone wall. Saunders crouched down next to the private and scanned the terrain in front of them.

"What exactly was that all about earlier this morning?"

Joey was quiet for a moment before responding. "Some people think that if a person has a drawl, he must be stupid. And, the more pronounced the drawl, the stupider he is."

Saunders looked at the private in amazement.

"Ah figured he was probably one of them, so Ah just gave him what he expected, that's all."

"Did Brockmeyer send you? He's the only one who knew it was just the two of us."

"No. He just answered mah question when Ah asked what was going on." Joey glanced at Saunders. "He's not real impressed with Lt. Yates."

Saunders didn't respond to that assessment. After a moment, he said, "Alright, but no more playing games. You got it!"

"Yes, Sergeant…but it's not right. Men like him shouldn't be officers."

"It might not be right, Private, but that's how it is. You do as you're told!"

The NCO knew that what the young soldier had said was true, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He just had to try to keep his men alive, one day, one moment at a time until Hanley returned.

By 0900 the day was beginning to heat up. The men were crouched behind another ruined stone wall staring across a clearing at yet another dilapidated farm house. Nothing was moving, not even the air. Lt. Yates studied the building through his binoculars and then put them back in the case without offering them to Saunders.

"Alright, Sergeant, let's move up."

"Caje, you're on me."

"No, Sergeant, the entire squad will move up. There's nobody there."

"Sir, maybe we should just send up a couple of men and take a look."

"I've already looked, Sergeant. Let's go."

Lt. Yates stood and lifted his leg to step over the wall. It was the last movement he ever voluntarily made. Two quick shots rang out and the lieutenant toppled backward to the ground. Doc rushed to his side, but it was obvious there was nothing that could be done for the officer, except close his eyes and remove one of his dog tags.

"Where did those shots come from?" the NCO asked as he reached inside Yates' field jacket, pulled out the map and stuffed it into his own jacket.

"I think they came from the farm house, Sarge," responded Littlejohn.

"Or, maybe the right flank," Billy said, "but I don't see anything."

Saunders signaled the squad to move along the wall to the left.

Before he started to inch forward, Caje looked back at the sergeant. "Looks like de lieutenant finally found his Krauts," he said solemnly.

Kirby made it as far as the corner, but when he started to make his way around the turn, more shots rang out from the left, ricocheting off the rocks ahead of him and those just above his head. He pulled up the BAR and raked the tree line.

"GET OVER THE WALL!" Saunders shouted.

The men scrambled over the short barrier, trying not to make themselves too much of a target. As the soldiers crouched along the 'L' created by the two remaining sections of the wall, the heavy July air filled with Kraut lead. The shots, which seemed to come from all directions, hit the stone wall at odd angles or flew over their heads. Either way, the squad members had difficulty returning fire since to rise up was to risk being caught in the crossfire. Still, the near continuous bark of the BAR and sputter of the Thompson could be heard at both ends of the 'L'.

As suddenly as the firing had started, it abruptly stopped. The sergeant hollered to his men to hold their fire and an eerie calm descended on that small part of war-torn Normandy. After a moment, the silence was broken by a loud baritone voice with hardly a trace of a German accent.

"AMERICANS! YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. SURRENDER AND SAVE YOUR LIVES. YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO DECIDE."

Saunders looked behind them. The farmhouse may or may not be occupied, but to try to cross the clearing was certain death. He had no idea how many enemy soldiers they were facing. The Kraut troops seemed disciplined; none of them had tried to advance and give the Americans easy targets. A quick inventory of the clips and mags of ammo available revealed their dire straits. They couldn't hold out much longer, even if there was some hope of eventually prevailing.

"Alright, you know what to do."

The experienced soldiers began to tear down their weapons. Lydecker and Watkins stared wide-eyed at the activity and then understood, without anyone saying a word.

Lydecker was next to Saunders at the far end of one arm of the 'L.' The sergeant reached into his field jacket and pulled out the map. He leaned toward the private.

In a low voice, he said, "Take off your boot, pull down your sock and put the map under your foot." Lydecker gave his sergeant a questioning look, but started to do as instructed. Saunders explained, "You're less likely to be as carefully searched as I am."

Once Lydecker was ready, the sergeant addressed his men. "Remember, name, rank and serial number. Nothing else, just name, rank and serial number. Doc, open a bandage."

Saunders waved the white dressing in the air before cautiously standing. His men raised their hands as they stood. The Germans swarmed out of the woods from three sides, with another two coming out of the farmhouse and standing in front of it. In the midst of the Krauts was a tall, broad-shouldered, aristocratic-looking officer.

"A wise decision, Sergeant. Now, let us see what kind of vermin we have caught in our little trap. Take off their ammunition belts and helmets. Search them for any weapons and their pockets for any papers.

The men were roughly pulled away from the wall. Their web belts were removed and their helmets cast aside. They were spun around as multiple hands felt over their bodies seeking any hidden weapons. Their field jackets were pulled off and searched for maps and papers, but nothing of military importance was found. Watches and rings were yanked off wrists and fingers. Cigarettes and lighters were removed from shirt pockets as well as a compass from the pocket of the NCO. When the search was completed, their jackets were thrown back at them and the men put them on.

Thoroughly search the lieutenant.

Two Kraut soldiers walked back to where the lieutenant's body lay. They removed his uniform and boots and thoroughly searched them, casting each item of clothing aside when they were finished with it. The search yielded only rings and a watch, which they pocketed, and one photograph of a pretty girl. When it was handed to him, the officer looked at the picture and sneered. He tore it in half and tossed it away. He walked over to Saunders.

"Why don't I find a map on either the lieutenant or you, Sergeant?"

Saunders didn't reply.

Sit the rest of them down and guard them. You three, he indicated three of his men, thoroughly search the sergeant.

The rest of the Germans knew what was coming and settled in to enjoy the show.

The squad members were forced to the ground and three Krauts with bayonets attached to their rifles stood guard. The three soldiers chosen by their officer began circling the sergeant. The first Kraut threw a punch which Saunders easily avoided. He took several steps back.

The sergeant had watched the Krauts strip search the lieutenant, so he was prepared to be man-handled, but he hadn't anticipated being attacked. When he glanced at the Krauts who were watching, he thought they were placing bets, perhaps on how long he would last or who would throw the punch that knocked him out. He decided he might as well go down fighting.

The first Kraut again closed and telegraphed the punch he was going to throw. Saunders responded with a well-placed right to the soldier's jaw. The second Kraut punched him in the kidney, sending him staggering. The squad members started to get to their feet, but were met with bayonets and rifle butts.

The first Kraut, now more cautious, circled around. Saunders tracked him out of the corner of his eye. The third Kraut, who had, up to this point, just been watching, hunched over and charged at the sergeant like a bull. The NCO again deftly stepped aside and, clasping his hands together, brought them down with all the strength he could muster onto the back of the head of the attacker. The man collapsed, unconscious, at the sergeant's feet.

This enraged the German soldiers who were spectators. Four of them dropped their rifles and started toward Saunders.

NO! hollered the officer. Get back. Where is your sense of sportsmanship? He has won, fair and square.

The soldiers stepped back and Saunders turned to face the remaining two fighters.

ATTENTION!

The two fighters suddenly stopped their advance and snapped to attention.

"Sergeant, I must apologize. I meant for my men to remove your uniform so I might confirm that you do not have a map or other vital information hidden on your person. My soldiers, however, misinterpreted my order. If you would be so kind, please remove your clothing. Otherwise, I am afraid this disgusting spectacle must continue until you are beaten unconscious."

"Well, if that's all you wanted, all you had to do was ask."

"Of course. We are civilized men."

The NCO took off his field jacket and handed it to one of the soldiers he had been fighting. He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off and handed it to the other.

"Boots, trousers and undergarments, too, if you do not mind."

"Not at all."

Saunders got undressed, handing each article of clothing over as he took it off. A Kraut sergeant carefully inspected the clothing before dropping it into a pile. When he was finished, he turned to the officer.

There is nothing here, Sir.

Very well. "You may get dressed, Sergeant."

The officer turned and walked off a short distance, staring at the horizon while Saunders put his clothes back on. As he was zipping up his field jacket, the German officer turned back toward the Americans. He seemed to have made up his mind.

The lieutenant looked at the fighter who was still sprawled unconscious on the ground. He walked over, pulled his Luger from its holster and shot the man in the head. The Americans gasped. The German soldiers clenched their jaws and looked straight ahead. It was, to the squad, an unspoken warning that no mercy would be shown…to anyone.

Lutz, bind the sergeant's hands tightly behind his back.

The German sergeant pulled out a length of cord and walked over to Saunders. He yanked the NCO's arms behind his back until he saw the American's shoulder blades respond to the pressure. When he was satisfied with his work, he reported back to his commanding officer.

Very well. Heinrich and Mueller, you will stay here with your men, just in case some more Americans show up. Use the same tactics. If no more Americans appear, return to camp by 1400 tomorrow.

Yes, Sir, both sergeants responded.

Lutz, you and your squad will return to camp with me. Pick up the prisoners' belts and remove the ammunition and bayonets. Put the belts and the medic's bag in the staff car. Then, get the prisoners moving.

The Americans were pushed with rifle butts to start walking. As Saunders started to step forward, one of the Krauts who had been in the fight stuck his leg out and tripped the sergeant. Without his arms free to cushion the fall, the best the NCO could do was to twist his body so he hit the ground on his left shoulder instead of face first. The Kraut leaned over, ostensibly to help the sergeant to his feet, but instead he kicked the downed man in the ribs. The rest of the squad, surrounded by Krauts with fixed bayonets, stood by helplessly. The German officer didn't say a word until after the kick had been delivered, although a thin smile played across his lips.

Let the Americans help their sergeant up.

The guards moved back from the squad and they rushed to Saunders. Doc and Caje helped him up. Doc felt his ribs. The sergeant winced, but there didn't appear to be anything broken. He looked at his men and saw the concern in their faces.

"Alright, settle down. Don't let him rattle you."

Watkins, his voice trembling, said "Well, I don't mind sayin' that he's gettin' to me. Did ya see how he shot his own man?"

The rest of the men nodded, but nobody responded.

"Lydecker, what did he say to the sergeants?" Saunders quietly asked.

"He told them to stay put with their squads in case more of our guys show up. They're supposed to return to some camp by 1400 tomorrow. And Sergeant, when we first surrendered, he called us vermin."

Saunders didn't react, but he wondered if that meant anything. "Okay…and Lydecker, don't let them know you understand German, if you can help it."

"Yes, Sergeant."

The Krauts prodded the men to move.

It was hot walking down the road. The sweat ran down their backs and chests in little rivulets. The staff car speed ahead and then slowed down, waiting for the captured soldiers and their guards to catch up. This kicked up dust the men had to pass through, adding to their misery. Their faces were soon covered with a congealed mixture of sweat and grime.

The squad members were constantly wiping their eyes on the sleeves of their field jackets. But, since Saunders' hands were tied behind his back, he was unable to perform that simple maneuver. Doc, aware of the sergeant's predicament, pulled out his handkerchief. With it in hand, the medic did his best to wipe the NCO's eyes whenever he took care of his own.

Watkins stumbled repeatedly. As Kirby had said, he seemed to have two left feet. Billy tried to steady the replacement, but his own growing fatigue made the job more and more difficult. Eventually, Watkins tripped and Nelson was unable to catch him before he fell to the ground.

"Sorry, Watkins."

"It's okay, Billy. I just need to rest for a minute."

But, there was no rest. The guards prodded Watkins to his feet and the push forward continued. Finally, after another hour, a halt was called. As ordered by the officer, the squad, except for the sergeant, was herded to a shady spot beneath a grove of trees and forced to sit down. Their web belts were thrown to them. The men grabbed at them and thirstily drank from their canteens.

The sergeant was left standing in the sun. Kirby tried to take an opened canteen to Saunders, but he was shoved back down by one of the guards. His loud protests drew the attention of all of the Krauts.

Caje made sure their captors were momentarily focused on the BAR man and not looking at him before he carefully opened the first aid pouch on his web belt. He slipped the small jackknife he kept there to cut fabric away from bullet wounds into the pocket of his field jacket.

When the men had finished drinking, the web belts were collected and returned to the staff car. The prisoners were prodded to their feet and, on the lieutenant's order, pushed to form a line.

The officer stood in front of them. He signaled one of the guards to come to him. Which of the Americans fell?

It was the short man standing on the end, Sir.

The officer began to pace in front of the prisoners. He continued pacing, then walked to the side of the Americans and paced behind them. As he turned to make the trek back, he pulled out his Luger. When he passed behind Watkins, he lifted the gun and shot the soldier in the back of the head. Watkins crumpled to the ground, dead.

His squad mates jumped back and yelled in horror. The officer calmly replaced the pistol and stood in front of the shocked Americans. His face betrayed no emotion. The squad members stared at the lifeless body of a soldier who had been killed for no apparent reason. There were no words that could explain what had just happened.

The guards prodded them forward. As before, a leg was extended to trip the NCO, but this time he stepped aside. The movement, while avoiding the trip, didn't stop him from receiving a rifle butt to the abdomen, doubling him over as he gave a small cry of pain.

The German officer delivered an order in a monotone. Let the Americans help their sergeant. He appears to be in distress.

Once again, the guards moved away from the squad and they were able to go to Saunders' side to assist him.

They trudged along until they reached a small outpost with sentries guarding the road. If the squad had been in 'no-man's-land' before, they realized they were now entering Kraut territory.

It was another hour of walking before they finally reached a camp by a river. The officer gave a series of orders and then retired to his tent, followed by his aide. The squad, minus their leader, was once again herded to a shady spot and pushed to the ground. Their canteens were tossed to them. The sergeant was left to bake in the hot sun several yards away.

Caje was on his haunches, about to jump one of the guards. But, the sergeant shook his head and the scout settled back to a sitting position. He and Kirby exchanged glances. Saunders didn't know how much longer he would be able to restrain the two men from making a move that would end in one or both of them being killed.

After a half hour, the officer emerged from his tent. He had changed his tunic and his hair looked freshly combed. The aide carried a chair and placed it in the shade. The officer sat down. Saunders was in front of him, to his right, and the rest of the squad was to his left. He looked with contempt from one American soldier to the next.

"My name is Lt. von Dietz. I was educated in your country, at Harvard University, and I speak perfect English, so you will have no difficulty in understanding me. There are a few matters which I wish to clarify." He was holding a pair of gloves and he slapped them against his thigh as he looked off into the distance. Finally, he fastened his gaze on the NCO.

"First, there is the matter of the map. You must have had one when you started your patrol. Where is it, Sergeant?"

"Saunders, Sergeant, 227…06…22."

The officer again slapped the gloves against his thigh. The soldier who had battered the NCO on the road to the camp walked up to the sergeant and delivered a blow to his face, sending him staggering backwards.

"Ah, perhaps that is too difficult a question to begin with. Very well, what is your unit?"

"Saunders, Sergeant, 227…06…22."

Once again the gloves were slapped and once again Saunders was punched, this time in the ribs.

"What is your mission? Why were you searching in the area where you were captured?"

Saunders didn't respond and the punch to his face sent him reeling. He went down to one knee, closed his eyes and shook his head to clear away the fog that was threatening to envelop him.

"Once again, what is your mission? What are you doing here?"

The sergeant still didn't answer and again received blows to his face and ribs. His eye was beginning to swell shut and he could taste the blood from a split lip. He looked at the Kraut officer, but didn't give the man the satisfaction of seeing the toll the punches were taking. He thought about all the ways to answer the question, 'what am I doing here.'

##########

Louise, slamming the door behind her, bounded down the porch steps.

"YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO PLAY BALL WITH THE HOUSE AS A BACKSTOP!" she yelled at her brothers.

Even though it was winter, the three brothers were practicing their baseball skills in the back yard. Chip was hitting pop flies to his younger siblings, Robbie and Chris, so they could work on their fielding and not get rusty over the long months until spring. After fielding the ball, the younger boys would toss it back to their big brother. Therein lay the danger. Robbie's tosses were on target, but Chris, only thirteen, sometimes lost control and the ball would go flying. It was convenient to have the house behind him when that happened. But, Chip also knew the risks. He had replaced more than one broken window over the years.

The boys paid no attention to their baby sister, so Louise ran into the yard, put her hands on her hips and wagged her finger at them. "You're gonna be in biiiig trouble if you break a window in the middle of winter. Besides, Momma wants you to come in for dinner."

"Well, Brat, why didn't you say that in the first place?" Chip said. "Okay fellas, that's it for today. Toss the ball here, Chris."

Chris wound up and let it rip. The ball sailed over Chip's head and his upward reaching hand. All four cringed, expecting to hear the sound of shattering glass. Instead, there was a harmless 'thud' as the ball hit the window sill of their mother's bedroom window.

"You're soooo lucky, Goon!"

"Don't I know it!" Chip grinned at his little sister and then took off after her, chasing her across the yard, up the porch steps and into the kitchen as she screamed and giggled with delight. He stopped to give his mother a peck on the cheek.

"Mmmm, something smells good," he said as he lifted the lid of the bubbling spaghetti sauce and breathed deeply of the aroma.

Grace Saunders had started making the sauce Saturday afternoon using a recipe Mrs. Penetta had given her, and now the pungent aroma filled the house. "Put that lid back down! You boys, wash up. Louise, please finish setting the table. Chip, would you turn on the Crosley (b)? I don't want to miss the Philharmonic."

"Sure, Mom, but it won't be on for another forty minutes." Chip tuned the radio to the CBS station that would broadcast the music program his mother always listened to on Sunday afternoons.

After the usual splashing and minor shoving at the sink, the family settled down at the dining room table for Sunday dinner. The talk was boisterous as the boys teased their sister and each other. Occasionally, Mrs. Saunders reminded one of her children about their table manners. Usually it was talking with their mouth full, but sometimes the little rhyme 'Robbie, Robbie, strong and able, get your elbows off the table,' was recited, filling in the name of the culprit and bringing forth another round of teasing. In the background the radio broadcast of "The World Today" hardly penetrated the animated conversation.

However, a lull at the table occurred just as the announcer said, "We interrupt this regularly scheduled program with this special announcement." The hush from the family's conversation continued as they listened. "An Army lumber transport has been torpedoed by a Japanese war ship near the Hawaiian Islands. More details at your regularly scheduled news program."

Chip and his mother exchanged glances, but neither said anything. At times they had discussed the ongoing conflicts in the world, at night after the kids had gone to bed. However, their quiet talks were usually about family finances, although lately Chris' behavior at school had taken center stage. It was hard to keep up with world events when day-to-day life was sometimes a challenge.

"What does that mean, Momma?" Louise looked to her mother for some reassurance.

"It's nothing, Brat. Don't worry about it." Chip responded.

"Yeah," said Chris, "Japan better watch out or we're gonna show 'em who's boss."

"Christopher, don't talk like that," his mother replied sharply.

"Yes, Ma'am, but it's true."

"We don't know what happened, so let's reserve our judgment until we do. Now, please eat your dinner so you can get the dishes done before my program starts."

Previously, Chip would have enjoyed a quiet afternoon with the family, listening to the music with his mother and perhaps helping his younger siblings with their homework. But, that was before. Lately he had been eating quickly and then leaving to meet Carol Ann Simpson. They had been going together more or less seriously for almost a year. Everyone was expecting him to ask her father for her hand any day now. However, today he lingered in the parlor, listening to the radio.

At 2pm, the New York Philharmonic Society program came on and Grace settled down with a pile of socks to darn as she listened to the music. The two youngest children went upstairs to finish their homework, and Robbie left to go to a matinee with a group of his friends. At 2:24 there was an intermission and the news of the torpedoing of the Army transport was repeated, but no further details were provided.

Chip stood and got his coat from the closet. "Mom, I'm going over to Carol Ann's," he said as he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Don't wait up for me."

"Alright dear; just remember, tomorrow's a work day, so don't be too late," she responded with a smile.

Chip stood on the porch for a few moments. He tried to think about the future, his future. Everything had seemed so clear just that morning. Like Louise, he wondered what the torpedoing of the Army transport meant.

**********.

On Sunday afternoons, Carol Ann and Chip liked to stroll hand-in-hand through the park and then head downtown to window shop. They would talk and share private jokes without their families hanging on every word they exchanged. They were looking forward to the start of the Christmas season; looking at the decorations in the store windows would only add to their quiet enjoyment.

But, this afternoon Chip didn't want to stray too far from a radio. After a quick turn around the park, they returned to the Simpson home and sat in the parlor playing Parcheesi with Carol Ann's parents and listening to the radio for more news about what was happening in far-away Hawaii.

Over the course of the evening, there was news telling of a bombing raid on the naval base. But, the reports were conflicting, so it was hard to understand exactly what had occurred. Finally, at 9:30 came the announcement that President Roosevelt would address a joint session of Congress on Monday. Soon afterward, Chip got up to leave. He said good-night to the family and Carol Ann's father walked him to the door. Mr. Simpson grabbed his coat and followed Chip outside. The two men went down the front walk and stopped when they reached the sidewalk.

Mr. Simpson cleared his throat. "Chip, Mrs. Simpson and I are very fond of you, and under other circumstances we'd be happy to welcome you into our family, if you and Carol Ann decided to get married." He paused and looked down at his feet before continuing. "But, son, this attack means war and, of course, you'll be joining up to do your patriotic duty. It just wouldn't be fair to Carol Ann to marry her now, or to expect her to wait for you. I know how much you care for her, so I'm sure you agree."

Chip was quiet for a moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had picked up from his father and which he often unconsciously did when he wanted to stall for time. "Yes, Sir," he finally said, "I understand." He shook the hand Mr. Simpson offered.

As he slowly walked home, Chip pondered the sudden turn of events. Did what was happening in Hawaii really mean war? Should he enlist? Was it the right thing to do? What about his family…and Carol Ann? He continued walking, trying to sort out his future.

His mother was still sitting in the parlor with the pile of socks, but it was only a pretense that she was darning. The radio was turned off and the house was very still.

"Mom, is everything alright? Where are the kids?"

"They've gone to bed. I think Robbie is reading in his room. How was your date?"

"It was fine. We mostly listened to the news on the radio."

"Chip, you just got a letter from Charlie, didn't you? I can't seem to recall where he's stationed."

Chip hadn't thought about his cousin all evening. Charlie, two years his senior, had enlisted in the Navy almost four years ago. Chip had thought about going in with him – Charlie had said they'd have a great time together and it would have meant a steady paycheck – but, in the end, Chip couldn't leave his family. Robbie, the next oldest, was only sixteen at the time and still in high school. So, Charlie had gone off by himself, sending Chip occasional letters relating all of his adventures.

"I don't remember either. I'll go get his last letter."

Chip went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He returned a few minutes later with three envelopes. He sat down on the davenport beside his mother, opened the latest letter and scanned its contents. It was all about how Charlie and his shipmates had gotten tattoos on their last shore leave. Chip smiled, remembering that Charlie had ended by writing, '…but don't tell my Mom.'

The letter before that one described his new posting, to Pearl Harbor, near Honolulu, Hawaii aboard the U.S.S. Oklahoma. Chip blanched.

"Mom, he's in Hawaii on board the Oklahoma."

"I thought he was, but I wasn't sure," his mother said softly.

Grace got up and slowly walked over to the telephone. She rang up her sister-in-law, Ruth. The women had remained close friends, even after the deaths of their husbands. Grace spoke quietly for a long time. When she finally hung up, she returned to the davenport and sat down by her son.

"She hasn't heard anything. There's nothing she can do but wait," was all she said.

Chip thought about his cousin. He and Charlie had been inseparable growing up. They looked like brothers, the same unruly blonde hair and blue eyes. Aunt Ruth always said that Saunders boys all looked alike, her husband, John, and his younger brother, Chip's father, Charles, Chip, Charlie, Robbie, and even Louise, except, of course, she was a girl. Joey had looked like a Saunders, too. Only Chris broke the mold. His father used to joke that gypsies must have left him on the doorstep.

Thinking about Charlie resolved one of the questions that had been running through his mind. "Mom, the President is gonna speak tomorrow. If this is war, I'm going to enlist."

Grace looked at her son. They were close, so from previous conversations, he imagined what was going through her mind.

'He's twenty-two…he looks like he's only sixteen. He's old enough to make his own decision… he doesn't understand the consequences of that decision. So many young men I knew served in the Great War…some, like my brother-in-law, didn't come home. Going off to fight is something men do…women, filled with dread each time there's a knock at the front door, can only stay home and wait.'

"...And Robbie, will he enlist, too?" Chip saw the fear in her eyes.

"No! l'll tell him he has to stay an' look after you an' the kids. He'll want to go, but I'll make him promise. One of us going will be enough."

"And Carol Ann?"

Chip looked away. "Her father doesn't want me to propose or ask her to wait. He says it wouldn't be fair to her, an' I guess he's right."

Both Chip and his mother went to bed that night thinking about what the next day would bring; Grace, full of fear, and Chip, full of uncertainty.

Chip and Robbie walked to the bus stop together. They were early, having skipped breakfast to make sure they had some time to talk away from the prying ears of their two younger siblings.

"Look, Robbie, the President's speaking today. If war's declared, I'll be enlisting. You need to promise me here an' now that you'll stay an' look after Mom an' the kids."

"No, I'm gonna enlist, too."

"That would leave Mom without a man in the house. Chris is only thirteen. He's too young."

"You were only twelve when you took over the responsibility."

"That was different an' you know it. I didn't have a choice."

"But I want to go an' fight, too. If I don't go now, I won't get the chance."

"Robbie, this isn't some kid's game. This is serious. Soldiers get killed in war."

"I know….I just…"

"Look, if this lasts more than a couple of months, you'll probably be called up anyway. But, I need you to stay home until that happens. I need to know that I can count on you. Now, promise me!"

"Okay, okay. I'll take over an' try to be as good a big brother as you are."

Chip threw his arm over Robbie's shoulder and gave him a nuggie on the back of his head. "Just be someone Mom can depend on. That's all you have to do."

The cross-town bus arrived. The brothers hopped on and headed to work.

At 11:25 all work in the furniture shop ceased as the lathes and saws were turned off. The men gathered around the radio Mr. Doyle, the owner, had brought out of his office and hooked up at the front of the work floor.

At 11:30, the announcer said, "…the next voice they heard will be that of the President of the United States, Mr. Franklin D. Roosevelt, speaking to a joint session of Congress in Washington, D.C."

The shop was deadly quiet.

"Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan…I ask that Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of WAR has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire." (c)

When the speech was over, the shop filled with anxious voices as all the men seemed to be talking at once. Mr. Doyle came to the front of the room. He walked with a pronounced limp, having lost a leg in the Great War. The workers fell silent.

"Boys, any of you who are going to enlist can leave now. I'll punch you out at the end of your shift."

Chip Saunders and two other young men picked up their lunch boxes and headed for the door. Mr. Doyle was there to shake their hands as they left the building.

Chip was late getting home that night. It had taken him hours to finally reach the recruiting office as the line of men, which snaked down the block and around the corner, had crept forward ever so slowly. He was tired when he finally arrived at the front walk. He saw his mother sitting on the porch, in the cold, waiting for him. He sat down beside her.

"Mom…"

"I know."

She began to cry. Chip put his arm around her shoulder and held her tightly against his chest.

"Don't worry," he whispered, "I'll be alright."

Three weeks later the letter arrived from the Department of the Army telling him where and when to report. Mrs. Grace Saunders put a large blue star in the parlor window. On that same day, Mrs. Ruth Saunders put a gold star in her parlor window. She had finally received official notice that Seaman 2nd Class Charles L. Saunders (d), her only child, was one of the 429 men who had lost their lives aboard the U.S.S. Oklahoma on December 7, 1941.

##########

Saunders turned his head so he could see his men. He knew them so well. Caje might appear unemotional, but he was seething with rage. Billy was working hard to hide his fear. All of them were looking to him for some signal as to what they should do. All, that is, except Lydecker. He was looking at the officer, studying him. The sergeant wondered what was going through the young soldier's mind. He could only hope that none of them tried anything stupid. The guards held their bayoneted rifles close to the squad members' chests, keeping them seated on the ground. Right now, there was nothing he could do and there was nothing his men could do, either. They had to be patient and wait until the time was right. He gave them a barely perceptible shake of his head.

He struggled to his feet, turned to face his tormentor and repeated, "Saunders, Sergeant, 227…06…22."

The officer looked at the sergeant and sneered. "You are making this so difficult. These are easy questions. Why do you not just tell me what I want to know and we can cease all of this barbarous activity. Why are you being so stubborn, so foolish? Tell me the name of your commanding officer."

The NCO said nothing for a moment and then repeated, "Saunders, Sergeant, 227…06…22."

"Sergeant, Sergeant, Sergeant. You are trying my patience." Again

This time the punch sent him to the ground and it was followed by another vicious kick to the ribs. Saunders felt the blood running down his cheek from the cut over his eye and he tasted the blood flowing over his lips from his bloody nose. He fought to maintain consciousness. It made no sense. This lieutenant wasn't from the SS, just a regular infantry officer in the Wehrmacht.

Then, suddenly, the sergeant understood. He had been trying to make sense of a situation where none existed. The lieutenant's reference to them as vermin, the execution of his own soldier and then of Watkins, the beating and abuse he had suffered, the officer's bragging about his education and his perfect English – it was all part of a demonstration of his own superiority…and his desire to eliminate those who had shown themselves to be inferior. He realized how it was going to end for him, regardless of whether he answered the questions or not.

Lydecker had come to pretty much the same conclusion. He had been stunned by the execution of Watkins, who had been standing right next to him. At first, he thought it was just a random display of cruelty, a 'there but for the grace of God…' act, but why had the Kraut lieutenant killed his own soldier? That man had been shown to be inferior when he was knocked unconscious by the sergeant. Watkins had fallen down. He was inferior to his squad mates. Lydecker looked at his sergeant. With the next punch or the one after that, Saunders would be knocked out. Would the sergeant then receive a bullet to the head? Who would the lieutenant pick next?

Saunders struggled to his feet. He staggered as he tried to gain his balance.

"Once again, Sergeant, what is your unit?"

The words were slurred, "Saunders…Sergeant…"

'In for a penny, in for a pound,' Lydecker decided. He waved his raised hand and spoke loudly in the thick Southern drawl the squad had been introduced to that morning. "Ah know the ANswer ta that QUEStion! Ah know the ANswer!"

The officer cringed at hearing the private speak. He stood and walked toward Lydecker. Saunders vigorously shook his head, trying to get the private to stop. The game he was playing this time was going to get him killed.

Lt. von Dietz unconsciously slapped his gloves against his thigh as he thought, 'Who is this idiot private who doesn't even know how to speak his own language? Obviously, he is the result of inferior breeding.'

The officer signaled the nearest guard to prod the American to his feet. "So, you are a representative of the great American army. What is your name, soldier?"

"Joey…Joey LYdecker…PRIvate Joey LYdecker. Y'all's an OFficer, rite?"

"Yes, I am a lieutenant. Lt. von Dietz."

"Oh. Sorry, LIEUtenant. M/Sgt. WALters done tauld me that Ah's SUpposed ta SAlute ya 'cause y'all's an OFficer." Lydecker came to attention and gave a very proper salute, except for the big grin on his face.

The officer returned the salute. He stroked his chin. He would dearly like to rip that foolish grin off the private's face, but perhaps he could get something useful from the idiot before he killed him. He looked over at the sergeant. That man had dropped to his knees. His head was bowed with his chin resting on his chest. He knew he would get nothing from the sergeant, so that little game could wait. He returned his gaze to the private.

"Tell me, Private, what unit are you from?"

"WEEell, that thare's an easy one. FIRST Squad!" he replied with enthusiasm. He turned to his squad mates, "Ain't that rite fellas, FIRST Squad, A-NUMber one 'cause we're the best!"

The stunned men just shook their heads. Although they recognized the accent and his reference to M/Sgt. Walters from earlier in the day, they couldn't figure out what Lydecker was trying to do. They stole looks at their sergeant, but he appeared to be dazed and barely conscious.

"Joey," Caje whispered, "don't say anoder word."

"Aw, it's alrite, Caje. Ah know the ANswers. Don't y'all worry."

Lydecker turned back to look at the lieutenant, still with a big grin on his face.

"First Squad you say. And what other designation does your unit have?"

"DESig…what?" Lydecker said as he crinkled his nose like there was a bad smell in the air.

"What other names or numbers does your unit have?"

"Oooh. Ya mean like Third PLAtoon?"

"Yes, exactly. And what else?"

"WEEell…we're in J COMpany. That thare's J fer Jig. That's some kinda DAYance, but Ah don't know how ta DAYance it. Ah can square DAYance an' POlka some, but Ah shurely don't know how ta jig." Again Joey turned to his squad mates. "Does anya y'all know how ta jig?"

Once again, all he got were looks of astonishment.

"And your regiment?"

Joey looked at the officer, still with that big foolish grin on his face. He responded, "WEEell, we're the 208th. The FIGHTin' two-oh-eight. Yes Sirree, that's us, the FIGHTin' two-oh-eight."

Von Dietz looked skeptical. "I don't believe I have heard of the 208th Regiment. How long have you been in France?"

"Only a couplea weeks."

The lieutenant turned to his aide. He says they are from the 208th Regiment and have only been in France for a few weeks. Call headquarters and report that.

By this time, the lieutenant was convinced he was dealing with an imbecile who would tell him whatever he asked.

"And now, Pvt. Lydecker, who is your commanding officer?"

"WEEell," pointing to the battered NCO, "that'd be the Sarge over yonder, SARgeant SAUNders."

"And who does Sgt. Saunders report to?"

"WEEell, that'd be M/Sgt. WALters. He's the one what has ta keep remindin' me ta SAlute OFficers."

"Yes. He sounds like a very competent Master Sergeant. And who does he report to?"

"WEEell now, Ah don't ritely know. It twas LIEUtenant Yates, but y'all done kilt him, so Ah don't ritely know."

"When he was alive, who did Lt. Yates report to?

"Ya mean the HEAD honcho?"

"Head honcho? Oh, the person in charge. Exactly, who is the head honcho?"

Lydecker gave the lieutenant another big grin, just like a third grader who could answer the teacher's toughest question.

"WEEell, that'd be GENeral EIsenHOwer." Joey again turned to his squad mates. "Hey fellas, did y'all know that EIsenHOwer's a KRAUT name."

Von Dietz winced at the use of that derogatory term.

"Yup, we're bein' led by a KRAUT." He turned back to the lieutenant, chuckling at his joke. "He coulda been y'all's GENeral. Ain't that a HOOT."

"Yes, it is extremely amusing, Pvt. Lydecker. What about the officers between Lt. Yates and Gen. Eisenhower?"

"Ya mean all them IDiot OFficers. Ah don't know NUTin' 'bout 'em."

That seemed logical to von Dietz. It was amazing to him that this stupid soldier even knew who Gen. Eisenhower was.

The rest of the squad still didn't know what Joey was planning, but with the reference to 'idiot officers' they knew they had to play along and be ready to act.

"Alright. Now tell me, what were you doing in this area when you were captured?"

"We was on PAtrol."

"Yes, but what was your mission?"

"We was PAtrolin'. Ya know, ya walk around an' ya look around."

"Yes, but what exactly were you looking for?"

"Dang if Ah know. The LIEUtenant musta knowed, but y'all done kilt him."

"Yes, we have already established that. How did you know where to patrol?"

'Now,' Lydecker thought, 'time to bait the hook.'

"It musta been on the map."

The lieutenant's eyes lit up. 'Aha!' he thought. 'I must carefully lead this imbecile to divulge its location.'

"How do you know there was a map?"

"'Cause the LIEUtenant an' the SARgeant was lookin' at it."

"And did you get a look at it?"

"Me? No Sirree," Joey laughed. "Ah'm just a little ol' PRIvate."

"Then how do you know it was a map?"

Lydecker paused and scrunched up his face as if he were pondering the question. "WEEell, thay'd look at that thare piece a PAper, an' then the SARgeant would take out his COMpass, an' then we'd head off in 'nother DIrection. Don't y'all think it was a map thay was lookin' at?"

Von Dietz smiled at the private. 'This imbecile is proving to be most useful,' he thought.

"And where is the map now? The sergeant doesn't have it?"

'Now, dangle the bait in front of him,' thought Joey.

Lydecker leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice. "That's 'cause he hid it," he said conspiratorially.

"He hid it. Back at the wall where you were captured?"

"Yup."

"And do you know where he hid it?"

"Yup."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause Ah seed him do it. Ya see, y'all was SHOOTin' an' the resta the fellas was SHOOTin', but Ah was watchin' the SARgeant, 'cause that's what M/Sgt. WALters done tauld me ta do, watch the SARgeant an' do like he done. But, he wasn't SHOOTin'. So Ah didn't neither. Ah watched he hide that thare map."

"And could you find it?"

Lydecker knew he had to be very careful. He was sure he had his fish nibbling the bait and he didn't want to scare him off. He just needed to get the hook set in his mouth so he could yank the line and reel him in.

"Ya mean, could Ah go back ta that thare wall an' tote it on back here ta y'all?"

"Yes, exactly."

"WEEell, I could…if y'all stayed rite here so's Ah'd know where ta find ya."

"Oh, I would send someone with you so you would not get lost. Could you leave now?"

'Easy, now, nice an' easy. Let him come to you,' Joey thought.

"WEEell, that'd DEpend."

"Depend on what?"

"WEEell, a couplea things. Firstly, y'all gotta stop BEATin' on the SARgeant 'cause I done tauld ya EVERYthin' ya wanted ta know. Secondly, ya gotta let the other fellas bring 'im on inta the shade so's Doc can tend ta him. An' ta do that, 'course Doc's gonna need his SATchel. An' lastly, ya gotta leave the resta the fellas alone an' not start ta BEATin' on none a them neither."

"If I agree to those three things now, how do you know I will not go back on my promise as soon as you are out of sight." There was that thin smile again.

Now, everything depended on whether Lydecker had read this idiot officer correctly, that he was driven by his arrogance and his need to prove his superiority to everyone else.

"WEEell, Ah guess it's kinda like mah GRANpappy used ta say. All them FANcy clothes an' FINE talk don't make a fella a GENtleman if he don't keep his word. It just makes 'im a WORTHless SCOUNdrel in FANcy clothes."

Lydecker maintained the big grin on his face, but his heart was pounding.

The officer looked with contempt at the disgusting private. All of the Americans had heard the conversation and were staring at him. Even if he killed them all right now, the stain would linger. Some of his own men understood enough English to have followed what had been said. He would not be ridiculed behind his back. He would keep his word, at least until the map was in his hands.

"Very well, I agree to your terms. You have my word as an officer…and a gentleman."

'GOT YA!' Joey thought.

Lutz, remove the bindings from the sergeant and let the Americans tend to him. Bring the medic his bag.

But, Sir…

The lieutenant wheeled around, and took a menacing step toward Lutz. ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY ORDERS?

No, Sir! The sergeant issued the orders to the rest of the soldiers, and they scurried to carry them out.

Lydecker listened closely to the exchange to be sure he had managed to reel the lieutenant in. He breathed a small sigh of relief. 'Now, Ah just have to figure out how Ah'm gonna get away from whoever goes with me,' he thought.

One of the Krauts cut the bindings that held Saunders' wrists tightly behind his back. There was a quiet moan as his hands were freed and his arms fell limply to his sides. The rest of the squad members hurried to him. Littlejohn knelt down and gently lifted the NCO and carried him into the shade, laying him in the cool grass. Doc lifted his head and poured a bit of water onto his lips, then held the canteen as the sergeant struggled to take a swallow.

"Just take a little, Sarge. Ah'll give you more in a minute."

A Kraut was approaching the men with Doc's rucksack. Billy jumped up and grabbed it from him. Kirby and Caje massaged the sergeant's shoulders and arms, trying to get the circulation flowing again. Doc handed the canteen to Littlejohn.

"Lift his head and give him just a sip at a time. Make sure he doesn't choke."

"Okay, Doc."

Doc softly talked to Saunders, explaining what he was going to do before he started to examine the sergeant's ribs. He opened the sergeant's field jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled up the NCO's undershirt, exposing the massive bruising on both sides of his chest. Saunders recoiled and groaned as Doc ran his hands over the black-and-blue area.

Lydecker walked over and stood at Doc's side. "How is he, Doc?" he quietly asked.

"Ah'm not feeling anything broken, but he needs X-rays to be sure and to see if any of his ribs are cracked."

Suddenly, Caje leaped from his crouched position, knocking Joey down and falling on top of him.

"YOU DIRTY LITTLE TRAITOR. HOW COULD YOU GIVE ALL DAT INFORMATION TO DE KRAUTS!" he yelled.

As a shocked Lydecker reached up to pull the Cajun's hands from the lapels of his field jacket, the scout slipped him the jackknife.

Just before two Krauts arrived to pull him off the private, Caje whispered, "Go for de droat."

Lydecker slipped the knife into his pocket. He scrambled to get up and then backed away from his squad mates, returning to where the lieutenant stood watching.

"It seems your friends are not happy with you," the officer said.

"Yup, thay do seem a mite PEEved."

"But, we still have an agreement, do we not?"

Lydecker looked at the lieutenant and grinned. "Ah am a MAN a mah word!"

"Very well. You can get started." Hauptmann, come here.

The big Kraut who had been hitting the sergeant lumbered over to where von Dietz and Lydecker were standing.

"This is Hauptmann. He will accompany you."

"Does he talk AMERican?"

"No, he does not speak English. He is only going along to…protect you."

Lydecker turned to the Kraut and offered his hand, saying slowly, "Mah…name…is…Joey. What…is…your…name?"

"His name is Hauptmann," von Dietz said.

The lieutenant turned to the soldier. Accompany this American private back to the wall where they were captured. He will get a map that is hidden there. See that no harm comes to him until you have the map. Then, kill him. Return with Sgt. Heinrich when he leads the rest of the platoon back tomorrow.

Yes, Sir.

The big Kraut was practically salivating as he looked at Joey. He was like a dog that had just been given a new toy to play with, and Lydecker was the toy.

Lydecker knew where he stood. He and the lieutenant were both gentlemen…up to a point.

"LIEUtenant, can we take a couplea CANteens with us. It's still POWerful hot."

"Of course." Get a full canteen for the private, then get started.

Hauptmann trudged off and returned with a full canteen on a web belt which he handed to Lydecker.

"You should make it back to the wall before dark. Stay there with the rest of my men and return with them tomorrow," the officer said.

"Okay, LIEUtenant." Joey stood at attention and saluted. "WEEell, let's go, HOWman."

The two men started back down the road they had traveled earlier in the day. The young soldier saw one guard off to the right, lounging midway between the river and the road. He figured there was probably another one in the same position on the other side of the camp. As they moved away, First Squad could still hear Joey talking.

"HOWman, why don't we sing a song? It'd shure help ta pass the time. Y'all kin pick."

There was no response from the Kraut.

"Okay, Ah'll pick. Y'all kin join on in when yer ready." And, Joey started singing…

Hauptmann gave the private a shove and yelled, QUIET!

The men of First Squad continued to stare down the road long after Lydecker had passed from view.

Saunders had passed out before Doc finished working on him. After assessing his ribs, the medic treated the NCO's wrists with sulfa powder where the cord had cut into the skin and wrapped them with gauze. He cleaned the cuts on his face and bandaged them. The sergeant's right eye was swollen shut, but neither his nose nor his cheek bones appeared to be broken. Once Doc finished his work, he, Billy, and Littlejohn dozed, while Caje and Kirby sat, watching and waiting, as the sun continued to move toward the horizon.

Three hours later the sergeant awoke. Doc and Littlejohn helped him to sit up with his back against a tree. He drank his fill of water and would have liked a smoke, but all of their cigarettes had been confiscated by the Krauts. The men talked in low voices.

"What do you think is happening with Joey?" asked Billy.

"He's gotta kill that big dumb Kraut." Kirby replied. "Do ya think he can do it?"

Littlejohn slowly shook his head. "I don't know. How long is the blade on that jackknife you slipped him, Caje?"

"It's only about two inches. I told him to go for de droat."

"If he's not back before the Krauts that were left at the wall return at 1400, we'll know he didn't make it," Saunders said.

"What time's that, Sarge?" asked the BAR man.

"Two pm tomorrow afternoon, Kirby."

The medic sighed. "That's a long time to have to wait."

The conversation came to a halt with the approach of two Krauts, one with a loaf of hard black bread and a sausage, and the other with a pail of water and a ladle. Doc, leery of drinking the river water, put the few remaining halazone tablets he had in his rucksack into the pail before the thirsty men passed the ladle around.

As darkness enveloped the camp, Caje and Kirby settled down to try and get some rest while Littlejohn and Nelson kept watch.

Billy again quietly asked, "What do you think is happening with Joey?"

This time, there was no conversation.

Lydecker knew he had to make his move before they reached the outpost they had passed earlier in the afternoon. Besides the Krauts on guard at the road, he didn't know how many others might be on patrol nearby, so he didn't want to risk having to travel too great a distance to get back to the squad. Therefore, once they had walked about a mile, he began looking for a spot in the road where there was clear visibility in both directions. He didn't want to risk any Krauts coming around a curve just as he made his move against Hauptmann. Within a few minutes the surroundings opened up.

He reached for the canteen and took a long drink. The time had come to put the plan he had come up with into motion. He stood in the middle of the road and bent over, wrapping his arms around his belly. He began to moan.

"HOWman, Ah ain't feelin' so good. Ah done think Ah'm gonna puke."

Hauptmann, of course, had no idea what he had said, but from the American's actions, he thought he might be ill. His orders had been to see that no harm came to this soldier until after he had retrieved the map, so he didn't interfere as the private, still moaning, staggered off the road and sat down in the tall grass. Hauptmann followed and stood over him at his right shoulder.

What's the matter? Are you ill?

Since he was right-handed, Joey wanted to get the Kraut on his left side. He rolled to his right, onto his hands and knees with his head sagging between his arms. Hauptmann sidestepped and was now standing directly over him. He was unable to see when Lydecker lifted his right hand.

Joey stuck his fingers down his throat until he regurgitated the water he had just drunk in Hauptmann's direction. That caused the Kraut to step back and walk slowly around to Lydecker's left side.

While the Kraut moved, Joey reached into his pocket and pulled out the jackknife. He sat back so he was on his knees, but bent over holding his belly with both his hands. As he continued to moan, he quickly opened the pocketknife and then pulled his hand up his sleeve to hide the blade.

He was ready, and Hauptmann was in the right position. Joey fell to the ground and rolled over so he was lying on his back. He closed his eyes until they were just slits.

'Come on, Hauptmann,' he thought, 'kneel down and see how Ah'm doing.' Lydecker moaned and waited.

Hauptmann stood for what seemed a long time, looking down at the American and listening to him moan. At last, he dropped to one knee and bent over the young man.

I will carry you back to camp since you are ill.

With all his strength, Lydecker swung his right arm up, plunging the knife into the side of the Kraut's neck, just above the collar of his tunic. He pulled the blade forward. Bright red blood immediately erupted from the wound, shooting into the air like a geyser, while darker blood gushed down Hauptmann's chest and onto the private's field jacket.

His face was only inches from Joey's. The young soldier could see his eyes change from being startled to being enraged to being dead. The German fell over Lydecker's chest, pinning him to the ground.

Joey cried out in horror, and then he did have to puke. He pushed on the body until he could lift his shoulders off the ground. He turned his head and vomited, then sank back down to the ground and closed his eyes. "Oh God, oh God, what have Ah done?" he whispered. "Will You ever forgive me?"

After he had calmed down, Lydecker continued rocking the body back and forth as he slowly squirmed out from beneath it. Finally free, he rinsed his mouth out. Mentally, if not physically exhausted, Joey sat down and tried to get his thoughts together. He tried not to look down at his blood-soaked field jacket. Instead, as if it would also erase the image of the gruesome killing from his mind, he slowly and carefully cleaned the blade of Caje's jackknife.

When he was finished, he began the hard work of rolling the body further back from the road. He searched it for weapons, taking Hauptmann's Schmeisser, bayonet, and two 'potato masher' grenades. Once he was certain he had everything, he covered the body with a few branches.

Only then did he start thinking about how he was going to free his comrades. When he had a plan, he made a final check to be sure the body was well hidden and that he had all of Hauptmann's weapons. At last, Pvt. Lydecker headed back to the Kraut camp and his waiting squad mates.

He stayed off the road, instead traveling cautiously through the woods where he made use of all the skills he had learned as a boy. He reached the camp in time to see Doc and Littlejohn help Saunders sit up against the tree. After locating the second sentry, he sat back, watching and waiting.

He wanted to strike after the guards had been changed so that, as he attended to his next grisly tasks, he wouldn't be interrupted by that rotation. Joey watched as the Krauts who were off-duty eat their dinner. He watched as food was brought to the squad, and as new sentries took up their positions and the guards were changed.

Still, he waited. Darkness descended and activity in the camp slowly died down. There was another rotation of the guards, and those not on duty arranged their bed rolls around the small fire they had used to heat their coffee. The officer and his aide were secluded in the tent.

The sentry on the same side of the camp as the Americans sat on a tree stump and pulled out a cigarette. Lydecker crept up behind him. The Kraut lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. When he was exhaling, the private put a hand over his mouth, pushed the bayonet up under his rib cage and quietly lowered the body to the ground.

Moving stealthily, Joey inched his way toward the squad until he was sure the sergeant would be able to hear him. As had made his way back to the camp, he had considered how he would let his comrades know he had returned. He thought he had come up with the safest method.

Now, he whistled one of the bird songs he had imitated when he and Saunders had been in the hospital. Although it was dark, he was positive he saw the NCO's blonde head of hair lift up in recognition after the third time he whistled the little song. He silently slipped away.

It took Saunders a moment first to hear the bird song and then to recognize it. Lydecker had returned. He lifted his head, smiling to himself.

He nudged Caje. "Lydecker's back. Tell the rest of the men to get ready," he whispered.

The message passed quietly from man to man and they prepared to finally go on the offensive.

After about ten minutes, Kirby stretched, gave a yawn and stood. He gave another yawn and stretched again as he slowly walked toward the guard who was furthest away.

"Hey, ya got a cigarette?" he asked.

The guard turned his bayoneted rifle toward the American. Get back with the others and sit down.

Kirby squatted down. "Look, alls I want is a cigarette. Ya know…zigaretta."

Caje changed the position of his lean, sinewy body until, like a cat, he was ready to pounce on the nearest Kraut. Billy and Littlejohn exchanged glances and focused on the middle guard.

Joey moved carefully around to the other side of the camp. He found the second sentry staring at the black river, lost in his own thoughts. Moving slowly and quietly until he was behind him, Lydecker once again covered the sentry's mouth as he plunged the bayonet up under the man's ribs. After lowering him to the ground, he crept toward the sleeping Krauts. He hoped his squad mates were ready. When he was close enough to reach the remains of their fire, he twisted the cap on the potato masher and lobbed it into the embers.

The explosion send shrapnel flying into the sleeping men and their screams punctuated the air. As the three guards turned toward their comrades, Kirby and Caje instantly attacked the two end ones while Littlejohn and Billy rushing the third guard. Doc roughly pushed Saunders to the ground and threw himself on top of the sergeant.

Gunfire erupted from the vicinity of the campfire. It was returned first by Lydecker with the Schmeisser he had taken off Hauptmann, and then by the rifles Kirby, Caje and Billy took off the guards. Caje yelled for Littlejohn and Doc to stay down as the three Americans took cover and continued to engage the Krauts, firing at the soldiers illuminated by the scattered embers that had ignited their bed rolls. Littlejohn moved to the side, away from the gunfire, and began to circle around and behind the encampment.

The lieutenant and his aide emerged from their tent and von Dietz shouted orders to his men. But, there was little that could be done. Their backs were to the river and the initial moments of the engagement had been decisive. The aide, seeing how things were going, started to run away. Von Dietz raised the Luger and shot him in the back. That turned out to be one of the last shots fired in the skirmish.

Littlejohn had reached the tent. He moved up behind the lieutenant, wrapping his long arms around the officer's chest and pinning von Dietz's arms to his sides. If before the big private had picked Saunders up and carried him as if he were a fragile China doll, now he exerted his full strength. He squeezed for the senseless killing of Watkins, and for the brutality that had been visited upon his sergeant. He continued to squeeze long after any fight remained in the lieutenant.

"Littlejohn, you can let him go. He's dead," Billy said quietly, touching the big man's arm.

Littlejohn looked at his friend, suddenly seeing him where before he had seen only red. He released his grip and von Dietz fell to the ground like a sack of dirty laundry.

Doc rolled off Saunders. The NCO's eye was closed and his jaw was locked in a grimace of pain.

"Sarge, are you alright?

"Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me. Give me a minute."

Caje and Kirby joined Joey as he started to check the Krauts. When they were satisfied there were no survivors, they hurried over to where Littlejohn and Billy stood looking down at the dead officer.

"C'mon, let's get the Sarge an' get the hell outa here," the BAR man said.

Caje nodded and they headed for the trees where Doc sat beside the sergeant. "How's he doing, Doc?" the Cajun asked.

Saunders replied, "I'm okay. Is everyone else alright?"

"Yes, Sergeant. We're all okay," Joey said.

Saunders opened his eye and looked up at the young soldier. "Lydecker, you took a big risk. I oughta throw the book at you."

"Not so big, Sergeant. Just like before, Ah only gave him what he expected." In the darkness, his blood-soaked field jacket went unnoticed.

Kirby was practically jumping up and down with nervous energy. "Yeah, well, I think we oughta get goin'."

"Kirby's right. Help me up," the NCO said.

Doc and Lydecker helped Saunders to sit and then to stand. He swayed even as Doc maintained a firm grip on his arm. The other men looked at the medic and he shook his head.

Caje started to walk away to try and find some saplings for a litter, but then he remembered the staff car. "Kirby, come wid me. Let's see if we can get dat staff car running."

The two men trotted back to the tent, stepping over the dead officer, to reach the vehicle.

Kirby gave his friend a little smile. "This," he said as he reached under the steering wheel, "is right up my alley," and he proceeded to hot wire the staff car.

When it roared to life, Kirby drove it over to where the rest of the men were waiting. He grinned and asked, "Hey, Joey, ya wanna drive?"

Lydecker was embarrassed and answered, "Ah…no thanks, Kirby," much to the amusement of the rest of the squad.

Doc helped Saunders into the back seat and sat down beside him. The sergeant watched as his men started to climb into the vehicle.

"Wait. Pick up some of those Kraut helmets. They might fool the sentries at the perimeter long enough for us to get close to them. And, get all of the papers from the tent and off the lieutenant and his aide."

With helmets and papers collected, Littlejohn squeezed into the back next to the Sarge. Kirby got in the driver's seat while Caje sat next to him, riding shotgun.

"Joey an' me can ride on the running boards, if Kirby doesn't drive like a maniac," Billy said.

Once everyone had their helmets on and their weapons secured, Kirby maneuvered the staff car out to the road to begin the drive back to their lines. Before they reached the outpost, Nelson and Lydecker jumped down and circled around behind the guards. As Saunders had predicted, the distinctive silhouettes of the German helmets allowed the BAR man to drive almost up to the sentries before an alarm was raised. Caje and Littlejohn in the vehicle and the two soldiers on the flanks opened fire as Kirby drove the staff car through the barrier.

After picking up their comrades, First Squad continued their drive. The road swung wide of the farm and stone wall where the squad had been captured and then veered in the direction of home.

As they got closer to their own lines, Saunders said to Lydecker, "You still have the map, don't you?"

"Yes, Sergeant, safe and sound."

"You mean Joey had it the whole time!" exclaimed Billy. "Weren't you afraid that Kraut lieutenant was gonna search you, once you started talking to him?"

"Nah, he never would've given the map to one of his soldiers to carry, so he couldn't believe the sergeant would've given it to me."

"Joey, remind me never to play poker with ya, 'cause ya sure are a good liar," Kirby said with a laugh.

"It wasn't all a lie. Ah was in Company J of the Fightin' 208, when Ah was in Basic."

Doc chuckled. "Ah guess our little ol' country boy put one over on that Kraut officer."

"Like I said, don't let me play poker with ol' Joey!"

"Lydecker, you come with me when I report in. I don't know what notes Yates made on the map, but S-2 might want to take a look at it. Kirby, drop us off at the CP," Saunders ordered.

Doc immediately spoke up, "No, Kirby, drop the Sarge an' me off at the Aid Station. He needs to have those ribs looked at. Caje an' Joey can report in."

"KIRBY!…" the NCO started to speak.

"Sorry, Sarge, but right now I figure Doc is more likely to be able to deck me than you are," replied Kirby.

Saunders shook his head. "It's getting so you men don't do a thing I tell you to do."

"Blame it on ol' Lydecker. He's just a bad influence on us," Kirby said with a grin.

(a) Sgt. Tonelli was a character in 'Pvt. Joseph Lydecker, Part 2: Family.'

(b) The Crosley was a popular brand of 'parlor' radios in the 1920s and 30s. The company closed in the 1950s.

(c) Historical Note: The news of the attack on Pearl Harbor, from the initial report of the torpedoing of the Army lumber transport during the broadcast of "The World Today" to President Roosevelt's speech, is an accurate (though condensed) chronology of events. All times are Central Standard Time.

(c) Historical Note: Seaman 2nd Class Charles L. Saunders was a real person. He perished, along with 428 of his shipmates when Japanese torpedoes destroyed the U.S.S. Oklahoma on December 7, 1941 at Pearl Harbor. (This reference is not meant, in any way, to diminish the sacrifice made by him or any of the other service members who perished on that day. Rather, it is to remind us that real men and women took part in those events.)