Combat! is owned by ABC TV. This story is meant only for the enjoyment of Combat! fans, with no intention to infringe on any copyrights, and no monetary compensation has been received.
If you've read many of my stories, by now you know that I like to explore what's going on in Sergeant Saunders' head as he makes his way through battle torn France. Vic Morrow was extremely good at giving you a glimpse at what Saunders was really feeling and thinking, and I like to carry that over into my stories. Here's my story of a GI trying to do the best for his men and the war, yet knowing that he was being betrayed. Hope you like it.
BETRAYAL
CHAPTER 1
"We've got a problem." Lieutenant Hanley was pacing the tent as Sergeant Saunders stood and patiently watched.
"Isn't this war one big problem?" Saunders replied.
The officer stopped and turned to study his sergeant to see if he was trying to be smart. But the NCO's face was deadly serious as he waited for his lieutenant to explain.
Hanley crossed his arms and nodded. "That's for sure. But the problem I'm talking about is starting to make that problem even bigger…for us at least."
He now had his sergeant's full attention. The soldier's main goal for the past many long months had always been to do everything that he could to shorten the war. Shortening the war meant that everyone could go home sooner. It meant fewer injuries and fewer men dying. It meant peace in France and hopefully…eventually…the entire world.
It made him feel that what he was doing really mattered. And that what ever affected the war really mattered as well. So any problem in his unit that might add to this miserable war…in no matter how small or large a way…was very serious, in is opinion. And then it became Saunders' problem.
Hanley pointed to a crate. "Sit down."
As Saunders sat, he unslung his Thompson from his shoulder and propped it against Hanley's cot. He removed his helmet and dropped it next to his weapon. Leaning forward with an elbow on his knee, he ruffled his hair and waited.
The lieutenant took out his cigarettes and rapped the pack against his other hand. When several cigarettes slipped forward, he offered the pack to his sergeant. Saunders took one and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, then pulled out his own lighter and lit Hanley's cigarette and then his own.
Inhaling deeply while he thought, Hanley finally continued, "Supplies are coming up missing from the company. And I'm not talking about just a few crates of powdered eggs here and there. This is eggs, weapons, ammo, spare parts, and more."
Saunders sat up straight, squinting through the smoke as it curled lazily in front of his face. "That is a problem. How long has it been going on? And why haven't we done something about it?"
"Just a couple of weeks since we've been billeted here," the lieutenant replied. "Whoever's doing it is really good. No one's seen a thing. And he doesn't seem to care if it's day or night. He's done it so gradually and sporadically that it snuck up on us. It may have only been a few weeks, but we're really beginning to feel it now."
"Can't you put guards on all of it?" Saunders asked in frustration.
"We've tried. But we're really short handed. Haven't seen any replacements in a few weeks. You got the last of them. Some men are even pulling double duty, and it's getting rough. Hard to put men on night guard duty, and then expect them to get up and go on a patrol in the morning. And we need guards round the clock. Seems he's not afraid to work in broad daylight."
Hanley started to pace again. "It wouldn't be bad if it was just one tent. But you know, we're talking multiple tents in multiple areas. We can really only spare one man at a time, but he just can't cover all the tents effectively. Bottom line is that we just don't have the manpower to cover all the tents twenty four hours a day."
"How about more supplies? Aren't more trucks due soon?" Saunders asked with growing concern as he took a deep draw on his cigarette.
Hanley shook his head. "Just got word that the supply trucks headed this way were hit by a Stuka on a strafing run. We lost everything. Luckily all three men survived, but were wounded. The trucks and supplies were a complete loss though. Mail jeep came through awhile later and found the men."
The lieutenant sat down and looked at his sergeant. "So we need to figure out who's doing this and shut him down fast."
Saunders nodded. "I agree. But what has all of this got to do with me? What do you expect me to do? This seems like a job for the MP's. I'm not the police, and I'm not a detective. I'm just an NCO."
Hanley stood back up and began to pace again. "So far we've kept this pretty low key. And you're right. Ordinarily we'd have just handed it over to the MP's. The problem is that right now we don't know who to trust. Our two MP's are both fairly new. For all we know, it could be one of them running this operation."
The lieutenant sat on the edge of the table. "If we trust the wrong person, then this guy just stops, and we never catch him. And I'm positive that he'll do it again somewhere else. We want to find him and lock him away for a long, long time. Captain Jampel wants this guy's head. He's betraying the whole company."
Standing up, Hanley took his cigarette from the corner of his mouth. "So it comes down to using someone that we can trust…I trust you."
He took one last draw on his cigarette and crushed it out on the tent pole. Dropping it in the grass, he turned to his sergeant. "And Captain Jampel trusts you. You're closer to the men. And not just your own squad. Everyone likes and respects you."
Hanley stopped and stared at his sergeant. Saunders was watching him, oblivious to the compliments, waiting for his lieutenant to finish.
"We think that if you quietly talked to various men in the Company…men you feel that you can trust…then you might come up with a lead." He looked at his sergeant hopefully.
Saunders thought for a long moment and nodded. He stood up and reached down for his Thompson and helmet.
"Anything else, Lieutenant?" he asked.
Hanley shook his head. "Just help us root this guy out. I'll take you off of any other duties for today and see how it goes. Try to get us some leads on who this guy is."
The sergeant dropped the stub of his cigarette in the grass and crushed it under his boot. Slinging the weapon over his shoulder and tucking his helmet under his arm, Saunders said, "I can do that. I'll get on it right away."
CHAPTER 2
Saunders wasn't wasting any time. He began making rounds of the camp immediately. Walking down along the tents, he absent mindedly pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Looking at the pack for a moment, he finally tucked it back into his pocket.
Checking his watch, he saw that he had some time. Lunch was in its early stages of preparation. He made his way around to the back of the mess tent, where several men were busily beginning their meal preparations.
The food smelled wonderful to his growling stomach, but Saunders was there for a different purpose. He headed toward the heavy set man in the stained white apron.
The sergeant waited until the man finished slicing a large onion. Never surprise a man with a sharp knife, he thought.
"Hash, you got a second?" he finally called out.
The man glanced up from his work, looked around his kitchen, and laid the knife on the board next to the pile of onions. Wiping his hands on his apron, he yelled out some orders to the other men, and walked over to Saunders.
Wiping his hands again, he held one out and the sergeant shook it. "Hey, Sarge, you know me. I'm always busy. But you're welcome to a second or two. Come to complain about my chow? It's not even cooked yet. I didn't kill anyone at breakfast, did I?" The cook smiled and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Saunders laughed. "Not yet. But it sure seems like you've been trying real hard."
The cook snorted a laugh. "You here to be the first in line to taste test today's menu then?"
The NCO shook his head. "No, it smells pretty good, but I actually have something else kind of serious to talk to you about."
Continuing in a quiet voice, the sergeant looked around. "Need to talk to you privately and confidentially. Got a minute? And a place that we can talk?"
Recognizing the seriousness of the visit, Hash jerked his head and walked to a smaller tent nearby. As the sergeant followed the cook in, he could see a cot, a single chair, and a table which was covered in paperwork. Two half-filled coffee cups held all the papers in place, with crumpled papers and several stacked boxes littering the ground around the table. The cook sat on the cot and motioned for Saunders to take the chair.
"Shoot," he said as the sergeant sat down. Saunders took off his helmet and held it on his lap.
Rubbing a hand through his hair, he began, "The camp has had some thefts that are beginning to have some serious effects. Do you know anything about it? Have you noticed it here?"
Hash nodded. "Yeah, didn't know about any other thefts, but they're getting to me, too. Thought it was just my stuff. You know, soldiers looking to make a quick buck selling some food on the black market to the civilians. A lot of my supplies are on the kitchen truck, which I can lock up. But everything that came through on the last supply trucks a couple weeks ago…that stuff is all stored in the supply tents. Meats, flour, eggs have all been disappearing."
The cook leaned forward and looked at Saunders. "Didn't think too much about it until a few days ago. Now that those last two deuce and a halfs were taken out before they got here with more supplies, I'm beginning to run short on some stuff. Got worried last night about spices, condiments…that kind of stuff. Food'll be inedible without it. So I pulled it all into my tent." He pointed to the boxes stacked and scattered around the tent.
"I tried to get the brass to have it guarded, but they're more worried about ammo. Hey, the Army marches on its stomach, ya know? Food is important, too."
Saunders nodded. "My two chow hounds, Littlejohn and Kirby, would certainly agree with you on that one."
"Those two sure can pack it away, can't they?" Hash laughed. "You think they'd look like me." He patted his substantial stomach.
Saunders laughed. "But what about C rats or K rats? Those are easy to grab. Any missing?"
The cook shrugged. "Dunno. Not my department. Have to talk to someone in supply, I guess."
The sergeant shook his head. "I can only talk to men I trust, and who can keep it quiet." He smiled. "Like you. Right now I don't really know anyone in supply well enough, so I can't trust them."
Hash thought for a moment, and then said, "Sanchez. Carlos Sanchez. He's in supply. A really good guy. Very religious. Very honest. I'm sure you could trust him to keep an eye out and keep quiet too."
Saunders smiled, stood up and held out his hand again. As they shook, he said, "Thanks, Hash. I'll talk to him. Your word is good enough for me."
"How come you're looking into this, Sarge? What about the MP's?" Hash asked.
Saunders hesitated and then replied, "The MP's have been pretty busy lately. Had some free time, so I offered to help out. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this all between the two of us. I don't want anyone knowing that I'm looking into this. If you hear anything that you think I can use, let me know. I want to shut this guy down."
As the sergeant left the tent, Hash called out, "Will do."
CHAPTER 3
Saunders followed up his conversation with the cook by talking to Sparks Hendricks in the motor pool. As he suspected, various parts for different vehicles had disappeared, along with some tools.
The mechanic wiped his greasy hands on a rag and walked around the jeep to get a couple of tools as he spoke with the sergeant.
"Didn't know anyone else was having problems. I get kinda buried in my work, ya know?" The mechanic held up his greasy rag. "I can't do much about the parts that disappear, but all my tools are now being kept in one tent, and I sleep there. When I'm not there, I have Charlie, my helper, stand guard and try to do some paperwork."
The soldier waved a wrench. "It makes me mad to have to waste Charlie's time sitting in a tent, but I gotta do it. This thief will grab stuff day or night if it's not nailed down. We lose our tools, then all our vehicles are gonna grind to a halt. Then maybe the brass will pay attention to me."
As with the cook, Saunders asked him to keep his ear to the ground for the slightest bit of information or even a rumor. And to keep it all quiet.
He walked out of the tent and paused to take a deep breath. He was growing very angry. Putting all of the separate pieces together, he was seeing the true scope of the problem. The sergeant was angry at the thief, but he was even angrier with the brass for dragging their feet.
This was fast becoming extremely serious and potentially dangerous. He headed directly to the main supply tent.
"Carlos isn't here, Sarge," a private said as he sat at a table amid mounds of paperwork. "I think he might have headed over to mess."
Adjusting his Thompson on his shoulder, Saunders replied, "Thanks," and headed to mess.
Standing in front of the mess tent, the sergeant looked over the men. It didn't occur to him that he didn't know what the soldier looked like. Catching the cook's eye, Saunders shrugged his shoulders and pointed. Hash looked at him a moment and then nodded. He looked over the eating soldiers and pointed to a young man at the end of a table.
Grabbing some coffee, Saunders sat down next to Sanchez. "Carlos Sanchez?" he asked.
The young soldier had just put a forkful of food in his mouth. He turned to look at the sergeant sitting next to him. A look of worry crossed the soldier's face as he hurriedly chewed his food and swallowed.
"Yeah, Sarge, that's me. Did I do something wrong?"
Saunders shook his head and replied, "No, nothing like that. I'd like to talk to you when you're done eating. Just a few questions."
The young soldier was obviously relieved. Then he stared at the sergeant for a minute. "Saunders, right? Second platoon, first squad?"
Saunders nodded.
"Sure, Sarge, what is it you want to talk about?" The soldier stuffed another forkful of food in his mouth.
Saunders looked at the men around them. "I'd prefer it a little more private." He took a sip of his coffee, looking at the man over the rim of his cup.
Sanchez looked around and nodded. "I have to get back to the supply tents pretty soon. We can talk while we walk. Or wait until we get to my tent. Give me a sec." He got up and scraped his plate into a barrel and left the dish on a pile of others.
Saunders stood up and went to put his cup with the other dirty dishes. Looking around, he caught the cook's eye. Hash gave the sergeant thumbs up.
As the two men left mess together, Saunders realized that there was no one around them, so he began to speak quietly. "I've been told that I can trust you."
The young man looked confused. "For what? What do I need to do?"
While they walked, Saunders explained the situation, constantly looking around for prying eyes and ears.
"No, nothing missing in the way of C rats or K rats," Sanchez replied to the sergeant's questions.
But the soldier confirmed that in general, the issue of stolen items was quickly becoming serious. Especially ammo, after the last supply trucks were destroyed. Sanchez had tried to contain the thefts himself, but it was beyond his limited capabilities. He'd informed the brass, but other than an occasional guard, nothing seemed to be getting done to resolve the problem.
Patrols were still going out almost every day, and he was beginning to ration what each soldier received. If Saunders had thought the issue was serious before, now he considered it to be deadly. Soldiers were going out with insufficient weapons and ammunition. The brass should have stopped it immediately. Typical bureaucracy that weeks later they were only starting to address the problem.
By the time they had reached Sanchez's tent, Saunders had the soldier's agreement to keep an eye open for anything unusual…and to keep it quiet. The sergeant thanked the clerk and left. He really wanted to catch this guy.
CHAPTER 4
The rugged looking soldier watched from the side of a tent as the sergeant shook Sanchez's hand and left. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek, thinking.
He had been suspicious when he first saw Saunders go into Hanley's tent and stay so long. The patrol for the next day was already set. The two soldiers had no real reason that he could see to have such a long private conversation.
Being more than a little paranoid, he'd followed the sergeant when he left the tent. Saunders went to mess, but didn't eat. Instead, he pulled the cook inside a tent for another private conversation. Then he went off to the motor pool to talk to some grease monkey. And then he made a point of cornering the supply clerk at mess, but again he ate nothing himself.
So he wasn't being paranoid, he thought. Saunders was definitely poking around about the missing supplies.
He turned away and lit a cigarette to hide his face as the sergeant walked by. Leaning against a jeep, the soldier blew out a thin stream of smoke as he thought about what to do.
He'd had a couple of great weeks with free reins. No one had put up a major stink about missing supplies. He was making a bundle with no problems. But now he had Saunders on his tail.
Why weren't the brass putting the MP's on it? He knew that it would take the brass awhile to move on the missing items, but he thoroughly expected that he'd eventually be up against the MP's.
He'd rather face the MP's than Saunders. The man was totally honest and completely committed to his job and the Army. A regular boy scout. And he was also a real bull dog. When he latched onto something, he didn't let go until he was satisfied.
This was too good an operation to abandon because of just one man. But the man was definitely going to be a problem. He put his cigarette out on the fender of the jeep and flicked it onto the grass.
Then he went after the sergeant.
CHAPTER 5
Saunders made his way over to first platoon, and found first squad easily. He just had to follow the smell of fresh brewed coffee. As he walked into the campsite, two men stood up and acknowledged him.
"Hey, Sarge," Newburg called out, "Did you just feel like slumming it or something? What brings you here?"
Jones held out a cup. "Coffee? I just made it, so it's good. You know that if the Burg had made it, your toes would curl up."
Saunders took the cup and tasted it. He nodded. "You're right. I've tasted Newburg's coffee. It took me a few days to recover," he said, laughing.
Newburg laughed good naturedly and asked, "So other than insulting my coffee making skills, what really brings you to the Big One-One?"
Saunders waded right in, telling the two what was happening with the Company's supplies.
"And you want us to keep our eyes and ears open," Jones replied when the sergeant had finished.
Saunders nodded and looked up at the two soldiers. "You two will be good for coming at it from a different angle."
Both Jones and Newburg laughed. Newburg looked down at the sergeant. Saunders was average height, but Jones was six feet five inches, and Newburg topped out at six feet seven.
"You can say that again," Jones chuckled.
"Anything for you, Sarge, you know that," Newburg added. "We're on it. If we see anything shady, we'll come get you."
Newburg and Jones had once both been unwittingly involved in a setup that almost turned fatal for Saunders. He never pressed charges against the two soldiers, and they knew that they owed him a huge debt.
Saunders was satisfied for the moment. He had men he could trust keeping their eyes on the problem. He didn't know if any of his contacts would pay off, but they couldn't hurt. The more eyes on the problem that he could trust, the better. If this didn't get results in a day or so, his next step would be to get soldiers like Jones and Newburg to 'volunteer' to keep unofficial watch over some of the tents in their spare time.
As he headed back to where his own squad was bivouacked, he never noticed the soldier watching from a short distance away.
CHAPTER 6
Lately, when not on patrol, the men of first squad took advantage of their rare free time and did a lot of nothing. When Saunders returned, most of his squad were napping, cleaning their weapons, or dubbing their boots. Writing letters home was always a big part of their free time as well.
Unlike other squads that were down a few men, Saunders had a dozen. He'd received the last two replacements before they'd stopped coming in.
The sergeant grabbed his cup by his bedroll and poured himself some coffee from their ever present pot. He sat on an empty crate.
Kirby looked up from the letter he was writing. "Haven't seen you in hours, Sarge. Thought maybe you got bored to death and was lying somewhere in the sunshine. Or maybe you got smart and went AWOL and headed into town."
Saunders smiled and took a sip of the steaming coffee. "Been visiting old friends. Once we're on the move again, I probably won't get much chance." Trying to change the subject, he asked, "Who you writing?"
"My uncle," Kirby replied. "Still thinking about going into business with him, opening a bowling alley. It's something I could do easy. Been sending money home to save up."
The sergeant nodded. "I keep telling you it's something you'd be great at. Maybe you'll end up the King of Chicago bowling alleys."
Kirby laughed and went back to writing.
At that moment, Brockmeyer and Steller came into camp, arguing heatedly. Brockmeyer shouted, "How can they run out of ammo? Didn't anyone tell them we're in the middle of a war? Now men are dying because of it?"
Saunders looked up. Their conversation had his full attention.
"Who's dead?" he asked.
"One of the guys in first platoon. I knew him," Brockmeyer replied angrily. "They went out on patrol this morning with hardly any ammo. They got into a firefight and one of the guys ran out of ammo."
The private started to get a cup of coffee, and then stood up again. "How can the Company send men out with no ammo, Sarge? It's murder!"
Steller added, "Supply told them we're running low and they gotta make it last until the next truck can get through. Is that true, Sarge? Aren't we due soon for a patrol? What's going to happen to us? We can't go out there with no ammo."
Saunders was seething inside. Now men were dying because of the thefts. And still the brass were dragging their feet, expecting him to solve the problem. He was determined to figure this out and put a stop to it quickly. But outwardly he tried to stay calm.
"Before we go on patrol, I'll talk to supply," he told them, taking a sip of his coffee.
As the soldiers continued their discussion, two of the newest squad members approached and listened in. One bent down for coffee and said, "This'll all blow over when the next supply truck comes through. Hey, it's a war. Stuff like this probably happens all the time. Just another Army snafu."
"Easy for you to say, Mallen. You're not the dead guy in first platoon," Caje replied.
"But we'll be getting more supplies soon," the second soldier added hopefully.
Billy stopped cleaning his rifle and looked up at the man. "Olson, didn't you hear? Our supply trucks were blown off the road by a Stuka. Who knows when the next truck's coming?"
Olson looked worried. He glanced over at Mallen, but the soldier was busily poking the coffee fire with a stick while he sipped his coffee.
Mallen said calmly, "Everything will be fine." And he continued to poke at the fire, staring into his coffee cup.
CHAPTER 7
"Everything won't be fine!" Olson said later as he and Mallen were walking together toward the latrine. As they passed a supply tent, Mallen slowed and looked in. Olson could practically see the dollar signs in the man's eyes.
"No more, Mallen. Enough! Guys are getting killed now."
"Shut up!" hissed Mallen, looking around. "You want everyone to hear you?" He pulled Olson between two tents and over to the tree line.
"We've got a great thing going here. Don't blow it now," he whispered angrily.
Olson lowered his voice. "We need to stop. This has to stop."
Mallen shook his head. "I have no intention of stopping. We'll be fine. We just need to be more careful about what we take and when. We'll lay off the ammo for awhile and you'll see, things will die down."
The soldier lit a cigarette and looked around again. "The French around here are eager to buy what we can get for them. Food, ammo, grenades, whatever we can lay our hands on. They haven't turned down anything yet. Heck, maybe I'll start taking orders for things. That way we'll know we can get top dollar for exactly what they're looking for."
"I got mixed up in this with you because I thought it might help out the locals a little," Olson replied. "I felt sorry for them. We come in and tear their towns apart, and then leave them to bury their dead and clean up the mess. It didn't seem like much of a big deal if some eggs or flour went missing once in awhile. And the locals really seemed to appreciate it. Now it's too much. This isn't just flour anymore. And we're shorting our own guys."
Olson stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around nervously. "What if the French are selling it to the Germans? I don't want to be helping out no krauts, Mallen. I'm no traitor," Olson whined.
"Relax. It's not going to the krauts. Just the Frenchies. Trust me," Mallen insisted.
"Yeah? Well, what the heck do the French locals need with all those parts for a jeep or a deuce and a half? Answer me that one, Mallen."
Mallen didn't bother to respond, partly because they both knew the answer. The more they walked and talked, the angrier Mallen became.
When they had first started the operation almost two weeks previously, he'd needed Olson as a lookout and to help scope out the tents with him. And he needed help lugging the crates to the French in the middle of the night. But now Mallen knew exactly where everything was in each tent. And nabbing supplies was becoming pretty sporadic. He could easily handle it by himself if he really needed to.
Olson was fast becoming a liability…and he'd have to do something about that soon.
CHAPTER 8
Saunders had watched the interaction earlier between Mallen and Olson around the fire. As he drank his coffee, the sergeant's eyes went back and forth between the two soldiers. Mallen was cool…even cold, with not a hint of guilt. But Olson was definitely nervous, constantly glancing around at the other men.
The sergeant decided that he'd have to keep an eye on Olson. Maybe Mallen too. But Mallen didn't seem very concerned about the whole matter. He certainly wasn't reacting like Olson. Both had only been with the squad for a short while. They had come in about the same time as the thefts started, however.
He couldn't believe it. Someone from his own squad? But he couldn't pin it on anyone yet. He had to have proof.
Saunders decided that another visit to first platoon was in order. He needed advice from someone he could trust. He wished he could talk to his own men, but he knew it wouldn't be smart to involve them.
As he walked to first platoon, he observed the soldiers around him. Hard to believe that any one of them could be the thief. He didn't feel like he was making much progress, and he was getting frustrated.
He found Newburg and Jones in their usual spots when not out on patrol…relaxing around the coffee pot. They were alone.
"If any coffee goes missing, I'll know who to suspect," Saunders said as he reached down for a clean cup nearby and began to pour himself some coffee.
Newburg looked over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. "Not us. Cook gives us all we want. He knows we're growing boys. We need our java."
Jones smiled. "Burg made the coffee."
Saunders grimaced as he took a sip and put the cup down.
"What's up?" Jones asked laughing. "We haven't heard a single rumor yet. It's only been a couple hours. Burg and I were thinking of taking a stroll around a few tents soon."
Saunders shook his head. "Right now I'm not looking for rumors. I'm looking for a solid recommendation. An MP. I really need to get an MP involved, no matter what the brass have to say."
Newburg thought for a moment. "You gonna drink that?" he asked the sergeant, pointing to the coffee cup. When Saunders shook his head, Newburg reached over for it and poured the remaining coffee into his own cup.
Then the tall soldier continued, "Well, the Company only has two right now. Adams and Burns." He laughed. "I keep telling Jonesy that they really need to get an MP named Cooper. Then you could say, 'better mind your ABC's."
"It's P's and Q's, Burg," Jones interrupted.
"Well I learned it as ABC's," Newburg argued.
"Guys?" Saunders stopped them, holding up a hand. "An MP that I can trust? Remember? I don't care what his name is."
"Oh, yeah, right," Newburg replied. "Don't know much about Adams. But Burns is an okay guy. Came out of Fort Custer as a replacement a month or two ago. Young but good. Goes by the book, but he's not a real hard nose, you know? Real gung ho Army."
Saunders laughed. "Gung ho. My brother Joey's a Marine in the Pacific. So I know what that means."
Jones nodded. "Semper Fi. My brother's a jarhead too."
Saunders smiled and pointed to him. "And I know that one now too."
He went to pick up his coffee cup, but remembering it was empty, he put it down. Newburg held out the coffee pot, but Saunders just shook his head. He doubted that it had gotten any better.
"So you think I can trust this Burns?" he asked.
Newburg and Jones both looked at each other and nodded. The sergeant put his empty cup by the fire and stood up.
"Good enough for me. Thanks." Both soldiers gave a slight wave as Saunders started to leave.
Turning back, the sergeant said, "Burg, give it up and just let Jones make the coffee."
CHAPTER 9
Asking around, Saunders finally found Burns grabbing dinner. The sergeant had missed lunch and his stomach was growling. He got in line for food, and then found an empty place next to the MP. Not many soldiers chose to sit next to an MP.
"Hey, Burns," he said as he sat down. Burns looked at him, trying to remember if he knew this blond sergeant.
"Saunders," the NCO volunteered. "Second platoon, first squad."
The MP's face lit up with recognition. "Yeah, hey, Sarge. I've heard good things about you guys. A few more squads like yours and we'll be in Berlin before you know it. You've got a rambunctious BAR man I've met a time or two, but nothing serious. Likes the ladies."
The soldier took another bite of food and looked at the sergeant. "So what can I do for you? No one sits with me unless they want me for something."
Saunders smiled. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Privately."
Burns looked at him for a moment and then nodded. "Eat up."
After dinner they began to walk along the outskirts of camp. When Saunders had laid out the details of the thefts, he was careful to omit any of his suspicions about Olson and possibly Mallen. He didn't want any rumors started on his word. Nor did he want to bring down the MP's on them if they were innocent. He had to have proof.
Burns listened carefully as the sergeant spoke, and then responded, "Adams and I have been pretty busy lately with the usual fights and card cheating. Had to haul back an AWOL from town yesterday. Took me most of the day to track him down and get him back here. But no one's mentioned anything to either of us about supply thefts."
The MP stopped walking and looked at the sergeant. "How come? That's our job."
Saunders didn't want to come out and say that the brass didn't trust them. But he didn't want to outright lie to the man either.
"Have to ask the brass," was all that he said.
"How come you're asking all the questions? How'd you get involved in all of this?" the MP queried.
Saunders hesitated, knowing he was getting into murkier waters now. Still skirting the question, he answered, "I'm angry that anyone could steal from their fellow soldiers. I take that personally. So I thought I'd check around."
He wasn't really lying, he thought. It was all true.
"Well, I haven't heard anything, but I'll definitely keep my eyes and ears open for it now. I'll watch the tents more carefully. Check for the same faces popping up around them. If I see anything, I'll let you know."
He looked at the sergeant. "I expect you to do the same thing, Sarge."
"You got it," Saunders replied. He checked his watch. It would be getting dark soon. Time for his own private recon patrol.
CHAPTER 10
Camp was settling down for the night. One by one the small coffee fires were extinguished. Any men with early morning patrols were already asleep.
As all of the conversations faded, the crickets and other sounds of the night began to take control of the darkness. A sliver of a moon rose in the night sky, joined by a myriad of stars.
First squad had drawn a patrol, and Saunders had already chosen five men. So most of his squad was asleep as well, with the exception of two soldiers…but the sergeant wasn't there to notice.
The numerous supply tents were all being guarded by just one soldier. He made his rounds punctually between the tents, which made it quite easy for Olson to time his visit to the food stores.
Checking to be sure there were no other guards or soldiers nearby, he slipped quietly into the dark tent and pulled the flap closed behind him. Searching the stacks of cartons in the dark, he felt a large case.
He lit a match to double check the contents and quickly blew it out. Mallen always prided himself on being able to tell the contents by the feel and location of the carton. But Olson still needed to check.
Coffee. Grabbing the case, he got down on his knees near the edge of the tent. Lifting the side of the tent, he slowly backed out while watching the tent opening. The soldier nervously listened for sounds of movement or alarm. Nothing. If he stayed on his schedule, the guard wouldn't be back for at least another five minutes. Plenty of time to get into the woods with his carton.
"Going somewhere, Olson?"
The private stood up quickly and spun around. Although it was almost pitch black, he didn't need light to know who was speaking to him. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Saunders.
"Figured it had to be you," Saunders said angrily. "Shouldn't be lighting matches when you're in the middle of stealing from your fellow soldiers, Olson."
The sergeant held his Thompson aimed directly at the man's chest.
"You looked awfully worried earlier when we were talking about the shortages. How could you do it, Olson? Taking food and ammo from the Company. How could you so easily betray your fellow soldiers? Your own squad?"
The sergeant was growing angrier by the minute. "And for what? A few lousy bucks?"
In a panic, the soldier looked around for a way out. Where could he possibly run? he thought. His sergeant had caught him red handed. He tried to think of an excuse…any excuse…no matter how feeble.
Before Olson could reply, he caught a flash of movement behind the sergeant. Mallen's rifle butt connected with Saunders' skull, and the NCO dropped almost soundlessly face down between the tents. His Thompson bounced off the side of the tent and slid down next to him.
Olson looked at Mallen with a mixture of both panic and relief in his eyes. "You killed him!" he said in a low hoarse voice.
Mallen stepped over Saunders' prone body and grabbed his partner's arm, pulling him towards the woods.
"I hope so. And you'd better hope so too, Olson. He saw you. C'mon. We've got to get out of here before the guard comes around again."
Looking down at the unconscious soldier, Mallen added, "Maybe I should take care of this matter before we go."
As he raised his rifle over the sergeant's head, someone yelled, "Hey! Hold up there!"
Mallen pushed Olson in front of him, and they made their way into the dark woods, leaving Saunders face down in the dirt.
TO BE CONTINUED