I once heard someone say that war is hell. They are wrong. War is worse than hell; hell only punishes the guilty while war punishes the innocent as well.
War turns even the most honorable of men into creatures of evil. I know this firsthand. I never considered myself a particularly harsh man before, but now the things I see every day, the things I must do in order to keep those I love safe… it has made me into a man I am not proud of. Were my father still alive I would be ashamed to stand before him.
There is no honor in the way we are fighting this war. All are victims of our leaders' greed and ambition. It takes fewer struggles every day to resist the urge to do right and this worries me. Will there come a time when I care not for others but instead only for myself and my circumstances?
It seems strange to find that the men I feel are most honorable are those I am destined to fight against. The Americans and their British sergeant have proven themselves over and over again to be more trustworthy and kind than those of my own regiment.
This past mission was one that showed just how compassionate those men are. It started out the way these things usually do. I was temporarily assigned to a captain from the coast who wanted to learn more of the inland fighting techniques - Captain Bruener. He is an arrogant man, cruel and eager to rise above his rank. I did not look forward to our time together.
We intercepted a communication for the patrol that instructed them to rendezvous with a convoy and Bruener could hardly wait to attack them. We waited for them to pass our hiding place, and then struck. The Jeeps are much faster than our tanks and even the half tracks, the Americans are superb drivers and they could have outdistanced us if they had not decided instead to take cover in the ruins of a nearby villa.
The half track carrying Captain Bruener became stuck in an wadi; I continued the pursuit without him.
In the midst of all the gunfire a woman ran out of the ruins screaming and crying that her child had fallen down a well. I heard Troy shouting at his men to cease fire and I commanded my men to do the same.
It tore at my nerves to wait, to act as though I were unaffected by the woman's shrill cries when I wanted nothing more than to rush to the aid of the child. It seemed to take forever for Troy to suggest a truce, something that I had wanted to say but I knew that if I had, someone would report it back to Berlin.
Troy and I walked slowly to the well and I have seldom been so anxious. I did not fear that the Americans would shoot me, rather that this group of men that I now commanded might get excited and start a fire fight. I ordered the men to put down their weapons and they did not hesitate, apparently Captain Bruener had taught them well about obeying an officer's commands.
Troy's men also obeyed him, though they were more hesitant about abandoning their machine guns.
Troy needed a rope and I recalled that there was one in the trunk of my vehicle. Troy sent his driver to accompany my man to the truck, a move that at the time I did not appreciate. Troy's mistrust of me, however misplaced proved to be fortuitous; I had forgotten that there was a pistol strapped down next to the coil of rope. When we heard the gunshot Troy and I raced back to the truck to find our men struggling for control of the weapon. I grabbed Max and Troy got his man, Hitchcock. Max explained that when the American had seen the gun and glared at him, he feared that Hitchcock would take it and shoot him, so he grabbed the weapon and they fought. I explained this to Troy who took the pistol and threw it far out into the sand.
Back at the well, we dropped the rope over a beam and lowered Hitchcock down to the little girl who had somehow managed to fall on a tiny piece of wood wedged into the side of the well. Hitchcock dropped his flashlight and Troy sent one of his other men back to their Jeep for another one.
Minutes later we heard a single rifle shot, and then Captain Bruener shouted. I knew that things were going to get much more dangerous now.
When the jeep mounted fifty began to pound out its lethal beat all the men had took cover leaving only the sergeants to hold the line for their comrade in the well. I shouted for them to cease fire, to remember what we were trying to do here. Bruener had reined in his men and demanded an explanation.
I told Bruener that we were trying to save the little girl in the well, that I had called a truce. Bruener agreed but only if Troy's man in the Jeep abandoned the gun. Troy ordered the one called Tully to step down and he did. We went back to work and soon the child was in her mother's arms.
Bruener called for the Rat Patrol to surrender to him but I shouted to Bruener, telling him that I had given my word. Bruener resisted, threatening to tell Berlin of my actions. There was nothing I could do and I think that Troy could see that.
A grenade went off and the 50 caliber was being fired again. Being unarmed, I took cover.
The jeeps drove off, still firing. When the gunfire ceased Bruener and all his men were dead. There was no one left to tell Berlin of my truce with the Rat Patrol.
I could hear the woman singing a soft lullaby.
I found a child's toy in the dust at my feet, picked it up and cleaned it as thoroughly as I could. It reminded me of one that had belonged to my youngest brother. I gave it back to the woman, and then walked to the abandoned vehicles. It would be a long and lonely drive back but I would have plenty of time to decide what I would tell my superiors.