ETO, Halloween 1944
[(A/N: Thanks to TG for the beta; I promise to figure out those comma thingies (summat tricksy, eh?). Thanks, too, to AB/C for the lend of Levi Mallott from her Christmas 2008 challenge. Not mine, not a sou, just for the love and fun of it, as always.)]
It was a miserable evening, a day before Halloween – cold, damp and drizzly on and off, but Private Emil Gautreaux didn't mind. Not much bothered Emil; he took life as it came and rarely needed more than he had at any given moment. He liked the new group, and he even had a fellow Cajun here in First Squad, Second Platoon, King Company. Can't ask for more t'an dat, can I? He'd grown up on the other side of New Orleans from where Caje had, but they had culture and language in common and it had made the transition from his old unit, which had nearly all been wiped out during a recon patrol, to this new squad a lot easier.
He stamped his feet and glanced at his watch. He had a half-hour more of guard duty. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he had a vivid image of the person he missed the most from home. Chère Marie Levesque. I shoulda asked her to marry me before I came. Ma charmante 'tite, how I wish I was with you.
He was so caught up in the memory of their last dance together that he didn't notice that something was behind him until it was less than a foot or so away. When Emil finally turned and saw it, he had time for one word. "Fifolet!"
# # #
Caje was prowling for his victim, and First Squad was enjoying the chase.
"C'mon, Caje, ol' buddy … you're almost there!" Kirby called encouragement to his friend.
"Keep your voice down, Kirby. You're not helping."
"Aw, shut up, Littlejohn." Kirby retorted. "Hey, Caje. What's taking you so long?"
The scout didn't reply as he closed in on his quarry and made his move. "Got it!" He triumphantly held up the chicken so the rest of the squad could see it.
"Caje, you're the cat's meow for poultry catching!" Kirby laughed. "Yep, here's this chicken, there was that goose in Pontgouin, the duck at St. Denis, and more other chickens than I could ever count."
Littlejohn looked puzzled. "Caje, I wouldn't expect you to know how to chase down a chicken. You didn't grow up on a farm like this one, did you?"
Caje handed Littlejohn the chicken and sat down. "I didn't. But Maman's folks lived out in the country. During Mardi Gras, they'd send us kids out on a courir and guess who got nominated from our family?"
"Coo-ree-eh? What's that?" Billy asked, intrigued.
"A bunch of us, kids and adults, would go around on horses and collect stuff for the town cookpot for the fais do-do, the big Mardi Gras party. When we would get to someone's house, they'd offer us different stuff, but the big thing was when they'd throw out a chicken and tell us we could have it – if we could catch it."
"And that's where you learned?"
"Yeah, Billy, I got pretty good at it after awhile."
Littlejohn laughed. "Yeah, Caje, we noticed. I'll bet –"
He was interrupted by a distant cry and then a terrifying scream. The squad jerked around. Caje and Kirby looked at one another. "Caje, that sounded like –"
"Emil. I know." He grabbed his Garand, and the others followed suit, picking up weapons and gear. The squad ran past the farmhouse CP and toward the picket where each had stood guard that day.
Caje reached the spot first, and after one glimpse of the charred body, he turned back rapidly to stop the others. "Don't – just stay here … you don't want to see t'is."
Doc pushed past them all and stopped in horror. "Oh, Lord …"
Lieutenant Hanley ran up at full speed, ducking around the squad to view the body.
"Doc, what happened?" Hanley asked in hushed tones. "I've never seen anything like it except after a flamethrower attack."
"I don't know, sir." The medic reached for the smoke-blackened dog tags and snapped one off. He was nauseated from the sight, as well as the revolting, overpowering smell, of the body. He caught a look at the scout over Hanley's shoulder. "Caje, I'm sorry. I know you and Emil –"
"Maybe I'm a good person for other Cajuns to stay away from. Being my friend hasn't worked out too well for them, if you've noticed." Caje turned away and walked back towards the CP.
The others exchanged glances. Of those who were in the squad now, only Saunders and Hanley remembered Theo. Then there'd been young Levi Mallott, and now Emil. Hanley caught Doc's eye, and Doc sighed; somehow he'd become the squad's unofficial chaplain, especially with Sarge on furlough. "I'll talk to him, sir."
Hanley nodded slowly. "I'll get Graves Registration out here as fast as possible."
# # #
After Graves Registration left, Lieutenant Hanley moved the picket location. Littlejohn was out in the still twilight, keeping watch. He had about twenty minutes before Kirby relieved him and while he was tired, he forced himself to stay alert and tried hard not to think about Emil or to wonder how it had happened.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He turned to look, alert at once. Without warning, his eyes blanked out and he began daydreaming about what he'd do if the war ended. He wanted to expand his family's farm and try some new farming techniques the extension agent had been discussing before he got drafted. Then there were always the new hybrids the seed salesmen kept trying to push, new breeds of cows and poultry – maybe I can hire Caje to come keep 'em in line for me. He grinned at the thought of the agile, lethal Cajun scout as a poultry farmer.
Wonder what the land's like here? The farmer-turned-soldier walked forward a little ways, poking the toe of his boot into the loose dirt, bending to pull a clump of vegetation up and look at the roots and feel and smell the soil. Abruptly, his right foot slipped out from under him, and he slid down a small slope hip-deep into what his suddenly-alert mind recognized as quicksand.
Littlejohn tried to get his breathing under control and looked around for something, anything, to hold on to. Struggling just makes it worse, that's what Pa always said. He tried to stretch out, tried to float as he had as a boy on Old Man's Haftmeyer's swimming hole, but he only succeeded in sinking further into the bog.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a faint blue light. "Hey! Hey, you! I need some help here!" The light bobbed for a moment and started towards him.
"Hey, Littlejohn! What the heck –" It was Kirby.
The light moved away, but Littlejohn, distracted by the BAR man, didn't notice.
"Kirby! Thank goodness. Help me outta this, will you? Get a branch or something for me to keep myself from sinking any more."
"Yeah, yeah. But I gotta get some help. I'll never get you out myself." The BAR man dragged over a small tree that had been uprooted by an artillery blast. He wedged one end under some rocks and swung the other out to Littlejohn. "Hang on, Littlejohn. Will you be all right until I can get back?"
"Yeah, now that I got this to hold on to. But don't take too long."
"I won't."
Before long, Kirby had returned with the other squad members in tow as well as Lieutenant Hanley.
"I didn't know you knew you anything about quicksand, Lieutenant." Littlejohn's tone was quizzical.
Hanley's reply was filled with grim humor. "Take it from me, Littlejohn. This is one area where I have considerable experience."
Working together, the squad and the lieutenant managed to get Littlejohn onto dry land. In the meantime, Littlejohn had forgotten all about the light and the implied help that hadn't come.
# # #
Kirby stood on watch, staying far away from the impromptu fence the others had rigged with a couple of stakes and a rope to block off the quicksand. The BAR man was puzzled. Granted, Littlejohn wasn't the most agile or adept of men, but he surely would have had more experience as a farmer than Kirby as a city dweller in quicksand and such things. I can't believe he wouldn't have noticed it – what could he have been thinking about?
A light blinked ahead of him, and he raised the BAR. As he walked toward it, he was unexpectedly distracted by unsought memories of his mom and family; of his friends back in Chicago and the life he'd have to return to when the war ended. He was sick of fighting, for all his bravado with the others – he did his best for Sarge and the squad, but the initial excitement of fighting, having the BAR after Grady and Delaney were gone, was long since past. Now it was just a weary slog from day to day lightened by friendship and the time spent away from the line. I used to think a day without some kind of excitement was a day wasted, but now … getting home and living a quiet life will do me just fine.
Kirby's shoulder, wounded in the confrontation with Hausmann at the winery, twinged and he came to himself, about to take a step. He felt something hard against the sole of his boot and stopped mid-motion. When he looked under his foot from the side, he thought he saw the top of a land mine. Did I step down enough to arm it? He thought frantically, trying to remember if he'd heard the tell-tale click in the still of the cool night.
Kirby was having trouble balancing. He tried to look again, but in the moonless night, he couldn't make out enough to know what kind of trouble he was in. Suddenly, to his right, a light appeared, strong, but not quite strong enough. He shielded his eyes and tried not to lose his night vision. "Nelson, is that you? Need you to help me out, kid. I got a situation here."
"Kirby?" Billy's voice came from behind him. "What's wrong?"
"Billy?" Kirby was nearly startled off his position. "Where'd you come from? I thought you was over there." He pointed to the right, but the light was gone.
"Nope. I'm right here."
"Oh. Well, help me out, quick. I'm think I'm standing on a land mine. You gotta check and see if is and if I armed it … see if you can get a pin in it. If not, get outta here. Get the lieutenant or Caje quick as you can."
Billy swallowed hard. "Ok." He pulled out a flashlight. "Good thing I brought this. Only, do you have a cotter pin? I don't think I do."
"First see if you need it."
Billy took out his bayonet and tested the ground next to Kirby's foot. There were no more mines in the immediate vicinity. He eased down on one knee and shone the flashlight on the mine. "Ok, Kirby. I think I can get a pin in. Give me one." He took it from Kirby and paused a moment to still his trembling hand. Carefully, he pushed the pin in the opening and heaved a sigh in relief as it went all the way through. Billy looked up at his squad mate. "Got it."
"Just let's be sure. You get up and get back. No point in taking us both out."
"Kirby – "
"Just do it, Billy." Kirby voice was firm.
The younger man moved back slowly, and, when he was far enough away, Kirby lifted his foot. After a long moment, both soldiers started breathing again. Kirby unsheathed his bayonet and knelt to dig out the mine. "I'll tell the lieutenant when I get back. He needs to move the picket again."
Billy wiped the sweat from his forehead. "For such a quiet sector, we sure have had our share of accidents."
"Yeah, well you be careful. They say these things go in threes, but don't you go takin' no chances."
# # #
Exasperated, Hanley had come out to review the situation again. This time, the squad fanned out carefully and tested the ground for mines with bayonets and knives. Caje, as acting squad leader, came back to the lieutenant with a report. "It's clear, sir. We've marked out the area we checked."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Stake your life on it?" Hanley persisted.
"Yes, sir, literally. I'm next on watch after Nelson, sir."
Hanley rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, Caje. I know you wouldn't report 'all clear' unless it was. Take the men back and get some rest."
"Yes, sir." Caje rounded up Littlejohn, Kirby and McCall and headed back to the bivouac area.
"Nelson, keep alert." Hanley surveyed the area. "I don't want to have to write any more letters any time soon."
"Yes, sir!"
# # #
To say Billy Nelson was jumpy was to understate the situation. He knew that anything could happen, and all of them had seen strange things in combat or even just on patrol, but Emil's death, and Littlejohn and Kirby's potentially fatal accidents, combined to set every one of Billy's nerves jangling.
Anyone observing the young GI would have seen his eyes glaze over and a sad expression cover his face. He began thinking of Evelyn, who he had not received a letter from in some time. Had Mike Arnold sweet-talked her into forgetting him? Darned 4F jerk! His eyes aren't bad – it's his father's political connections that kept him out of the war!
The dark, overcast night was suddenly illuminated by a blue ball of light not ten feet in front of Billy and perhaps twenty feet in the air, slowly growing larger and brighter. Billy, deep in his own thoughts, didn't see it. It wasn't until it was nearly too late that he awoke to the realization that he stood out like a statue to anyone within a 100-yard radius – including a German separated from his unit, who had been likewise dreaming – of glory and medals – and who was pleased to take advantage of the sudden appearance of this Amerikaner target.
Caje was on his way to relieve Billy when he heard a single shot. He raced to the picket position, just in time to see Billy fall and a Kraut soldier rush forward to finish him off. The scout stopped instantly and shouted to distract the German, who brought up his rifle to aim it at the scout. Caje used his characteristic speed to drop the enemy soldier before he could fire again. "Billy!"
Sliding to a halt by his squad mate, Caje didn't realize for a moment how unnatural the light shining on the two of them was. He looked up and his eyes widened. "Fifolet!" He crossed himself instinctively, and the light faded and withdrew.
# # #
"Caje?"
The scout looked up from changing his uniform. "Doc. How is Billy?"
"He'll be all right, but they're coming to take him back to Battalion. He lost a lot of blood. Good work, carryin' him back here all by yourself."
Caje shrugged, eyes hooded. "Doc, do you believe in things that, well, people don't normally believe in?"
"Like what?"
"Like in the bayous of Louisiana, we have these things called fifolet."
"Fee-fo-lay?"
"More or less. It's from feu foulais, compressed fire. They're supposed to be spirits, bad ones, that look like balls of light. They distract you by making you think of things you really want, and then they either kill you outright – like Emil – or lead you into some kind of situation where you get killed. Some people believe they guard treasure."
Doc looked thoughtful. "Sounds like the Spook Light over southern Missouri way, or the things my cousin, who lives up in Moccasin CreekValley in the Ozarks, calls 'gold lights'. They're supposed to hover over gold ore deposits, guarding them from the unworthy by cursin' them if they try to take the ore."
Caje rubbed his eyes. "I thought of it when Emil died. I had a cousin who didn't believe in the fifolet and he went out to prove there wasn't anything to it. They found him - just like Emil. But this isn't the bayou and, well, anyway, I didn't much believe in it myself. Then, when Billy got shot, I saw it. A ball of blue light."
"I saw a light, too." Kirby came into the shelter they were sharing. "I forgot about it until I just now heard you talking."
"So did I. At least that's what I think I saw." They all jumped; everyone had forgotten Littlejohn was in the hut, sleeping.
The squad was silent for a moment.
"Out of the blue, I was thinking about going home and farming," Littlejohn continued. "I wasn't really paying attention. Then after I slid into the quicksand, there was a light. It disappeared when Kirby showed up – I think."
"I was thinking about home, about my ma and sister and brother," Kirby added. "Then when my foot hit the landmine, there was a light to my right. But Billy came up behind me, so I know it wasn't him. Then it went away, as far as I know. I kinda had other things to think about."
"We'll never know what Emil was distracted by, and we'll have to wait to ask Billy, if he'll talk about it when he comes back," Doc said.
Caje squared his shoulders. "It doesn't matter, does it? Even if we're right, how do I tell Lieutenant Hanley we'd better move away from this area before someone else gets hurt or killed? He's not going to believe me. I'm not sure I believe me!"
"You'd be surprised what I'd believe." The voice came from the dark outside the door. Lieutenant Hanley stepped in. "Or at least what I won't altogether discount. We just got orders from Captain Jampel to move forward to Longuenoë. Frankly, given everything that's happened, I'll be glad to leave here – whatever that light was that you all saw." He paused. "Be ready to move out within the hour. Unless you'd rather wait until morning?"
Caje replied for them all. "No, sir!"
# # #
The squad assembled and was prepared to move out in record time. Hanley took the point and set Caje to cover the rear. The Lieutenant said, wryly, "You're the only one that thing came in contact with that it apparently couldn't touch – consider it insurance."
Caje nodded and swallowed hard. As they left the perimeter of the area they'd been holding, he turned back to look. The fifolet was hovering just above the treetops, pulsing … almost as if it was laughing at us. He moved to catch up with Kirby, just ahead of him. I don't think it would hurt if I hurried things along a little. Certainementpas!
In the wake of the squad's departure, the fifolet faded to nothing and waited. Through the long years, it had learned patience; there would always be other prey.
# # #
Second Squad, Love Company settled into the bivouac.
Sergeant Apthorpe got his squad's attention. "You guys better take advantage and rest. Martin, you got first watch. Lieutenant set the picket out by some charred grass that way about twenty yards. Then, Jones, Cellini and Dickenson. Two-hour intervals."
"Hey, Martin! You hear the scuttlebutt about what happened to King Company here?" Cellini asked.
"Nah. But you don't want to believe everything you hear!"
"Keep your mind on the watch, Martin." Apthorpe waved him on. "There's nothing out there to distract you, so you got no excuse."
"No problem, Sarge. I'll get on like a house afire. You'll see."