Five Minutes More
Dedicated to Dog Tags - who took the time to help the inept.
Disclaimer: No infringement upon the rightful owners of "Combat!" and the characters thereof, is intended. This piece of fan fiction is for enjoyment only, and in no way will the author gain monetary profit from its existence.
"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer."
Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803-1882
He slunk down behind the wall and looked at his watch. They had 10 minutes to get these charges in place and get away from the area before the whole bridge went up. He watched as Caje and Myers worked their set of charges from the middle of the bridge to the far bank. They were just tying off the last of the explosives. In minutes Caje and Meyers should be coming back along the opposite bank to meet the squad at the rendezvous a mile down stream and worlds closer to their lines.
He felt himself shake. He no longer classified his body's behavior as fear. He felt tangible, genuine fear every day, so fear had long lost its novelty. He just called it excitement. Nerves perhaps. Whatever it was, it gave him an edge; perhaps THE edge in staying alive. The coursing of extra adrenalin through his veins caused not only his hands to quiver but caused him to be alert to the little things that helped you stay alive; sounds, smells, shadows.
Midstream he saw Johnson and Carter making their way towards him, stringing their load of charges from mid-span of the bridge to the shore. Their progress seemed slow, glacially making their way beam by beam beneath the structure. He knew each charge needed to be placed. No one big charge would do. Each little charge would take apart a section of the bridge. With enough little charges going off at once, the bridge would be damaged to the point of requiring the Germans to start from scratch to rebuild it. He had learned that working with an expert; a pain in the ass, but an expert. That man had really scared him.
He glanced at his watch again – six minutes left. Six shaky minutes left. Lord he wanted out of here. Johnson and Carter slipped up to him.
"All done Sarge." Carter was so close to Saunders that the sergeant could feel the young mans breath on his ear.
"Good work Carter. You and Johnson get moving to the rendezvous. Pick up Kirby on your way. I'll be right behind you."
Carter looked at him, questioning the wisdom of the plan yet again. "Sarge, one of us should wait with you." Before Carter could go on Saunders lifted a hand signaling him to stop. There was no more time to discuss the plan. They had been through it all a half dozen times already.
"No. Get movin'. Now!"
Saunders didn't need to yell to get his point across. Maybe the fear helped punctuate his order. Even at a whisper Carter knew when he had hit the limit of Saunders patience. Well better Saunders than him, he thought. How the Sarge could stay there alone was beyond him. Carter shook his head. He would never be as brave or as dedicated as Saunders. He just didn't have it in him. Carter gave one more look at the NCO and then pushed Johnson forward.
So far they had been very lucky not to alert the Germans to their presence. Very lucky; very careful; and working under a very dark, moonless sky. That would all change when Saunders hit that detonator. The world would light up from explosions and fire sent sky high. Oh, the Germans would know someone was around then, and Carter didn't want to be anywhere within 10 miles of this stupid little bridge in the middle of nowhere France. Hell, there were bigger bridges in his hometown in Podunk, Indiana than this wooden span.
Saunders began to watch the dial of his watch as the long minute hand ticked off each remaining moment.
Five minutes. Why did they need to blow this bridge at a certain time? Saunders grimaced. If he could go now while he knew the path was clear he would have a much better chance of getting away alive. He didn't like the idea of ending up in a German prison camp for the next several years like the poor lost souls from Bataan in the Philippines. It had been two or three years now that those brave men were stuck in that hellhole.
His body froze as soon as he heard the sounds. His mind processed them quickly as boots in the grass. He'd personally kill Carter if he came back for him! Kill him after he hugged him that is. Saunders was scared. But you couldn't show the guys you were scared, not in front of the men you were told to lead. It just didn't produce good results. What he had learned from his time in Africa and Italy was to follow the guys that didn't seem afraid, but that weren't necessarily too brave. Bravery got you killed. And Saunders didn't want to get killed. He just wanted to complete the job; get these Germans back into Germany and go home!
Three Minutes. The boot noises were not Carter, but a couple of Germans on patrol. He just needed to stay still. He tried to take deep slow breaths and exhale very slowly, very softly. Sometimes it helped him calm the shakes. His squad thought he held his breath so that he wouldn't kill one of them himself when they did something particularly annoying or stupid. Well let them think it was his temper. And he had a reputation for a bad temper. Even Hanley thought that was why Saunders had gotten busted down in rank. Appearance was everything. Wasn't that what his mother had told him?
Sixty seconds. The Krauts had taken their damn time walking by. Just one more minute and then he needed to turn the knob and run like hell. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, shifted his Thompson on his shoulder and tried to stretch his legs just a bit so that they would work and work fast once he turned the knob. He looked around one more time. No Krauts in sight. He looked at the thorny brush where he was planning to disappear. He wanted out and he wanted out NOW.
The knob turned, the bridge seemed to wobble and then a loud "BOOM" ripped the night air as flames reached 50 feet up. But Saunders wasn't watching because he was well into the brush by the time the bridge was airborne. He was no hero. He had done the job they sent him out to do and he was getting out of Dodge fast. Let someone else earn a medal for watching the conflagration.
While it seemed like hours, it took Saunders less than 10 minutes to make the mile distance to the rendezvous.
"Get up! Get moving!" He yelled at a whisper when he distinguished their shapes. Saunders shoved them forward into a run back towards their lines. After another 30 minutes of running he called a stop. They would need to be a bit more careful crossing into their lines to make sure they didn't get shot by their own folks; there were too many green kids pulling sentry duty. Once inside the boundary of their own forces, the squad collapsed.
"Man Sarge I just about crapped my pants when you came running in at the river." Carter tried to laugh; though it was clear the mission shook him.
"Hell Carter," Complained Caje, "we didn't even get chased this time."
"This time?" Carter's face registered shock, fear, and panic. He had been transferred from Item Company to King Company two weeks ago. Command had been shifting him from platoon to platoon for the last month and he was thinking he liked 2nd Platoon. He had been thinking he might want to stay with these guys. But now…? "Y-y-you d-do this a lot?" He squeaked.
Caje laughed. Saunders just smiled. He was still too shaky to do much else. Saunders watched Kirby wince when he saw Saunders take a deep breath and hold it. He knew Kirby was contemplating what he had done wrong to raise his sergeant's ire. Well let him think that, Saunders thought, maybe it'll keep him on his toes.
"Ya gotta be brave, Carter" Caje counseled as he pulled Carter to his feet and sent him towards the mess tent. "You'll get the hang of it. Besides you want to have a couple of medals to send home to the girls, right?"
Saunders said nothing. He pulled himself up, trying to not show just how shaky his legs were.
"Tired Sarge?"
Saunders looked at Kirby. Yeah, Kirby knew nothing. He might suspect, but Kirby didn't want to know that his sergeant was scared. Kirby didn't want to know and Kirby wasn't going to ask.
"Yeah. Long run."
Saunders again breathed deeply and exhaled. He was out of breath. But it had little to do with running the last 30 minutes and everything to do with hoping he hadn't left a skid mark in his shorts from the experience.