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IN COLD BLOOD
Part 2
CHAPTER 12
Saunders looked across to the woods, thinking. "I'll keep him talking awhile, and then we'll slide down to the water. Slow and quiet. If we can get away from shore and make as little noise as possible, we've got a good chance of getting across and getting the heck out of here before he figures out we're gone and comes to try to find us."
Brockmeyer looked at the black water anxiously. "But what about me, Sarge?"
The sergeant reached out to rest his hand reassuringly on the man's shoulder. "I'll get you across. Don't worry, Brock. It'll be ok. We'll make it."
Saunders raised his finger to his lips. "Dusang? You still alive?" he called out to the killer.
"Didn't die of boredom yet, Saunders," came the reply with a laugh. "Unfortunately for you."
Satisfied that the man had remained in the same position, the sergeant whispered, "Take off your boots and tie them around your neck. I'll go in first. Can you float at all?"
Brockmeyer nodded as he unbuckled his boot tops. "Kinda. For awhile anyway."
"Good," Saunders answered. Finally, he thought, a little something for our side. "I'll go in, then you. No noise. We'll get you turned around on your back, and I'll pull you along as I swim. You just need to relax and float. I'll do the work."
Brockmeyer stared at the water. "That's a long way."
"You can do it, Brock," Saunders reassured him as he began to take off his own boots. "I'll get you out of this. I promise." Or die trying, he thought to himself.
The private swiped a quick hand across his mouth and replied, "Ok, I trust you, Sarge. Let's do it."
"Good. You'll be fine, Brock," the sergeant responded. "Just remember to relax. I'll talk to him one more time, and then I'll head straight down to the water. You follow."
Brockmeyer nodded as both men hung their boots around their necks, tied together by the laces.
Turning back to the woods, Saunders called out, "How about we talk, Dusang? We can try to work this out. Let us go and I won't press any charges."
A short laugh came as his reply. "You won't be pressing charges either way, Saunders. And this way, I not only have some fun, but when I return to the unit, I'll get to keep doing it…just like before. Besides, you're my prize. Why would I let you go? I've never killed a sergeant before. I think I'll keep your stripes as a memento. Why would I give all that up?"
After a brief silence, he added, "Sorry, Sarge. But you and Brockmeyer are dead men. Good try though."
CHAPTER 13
The sergeant didn't wait to hear what the killer had to say. As soon as Dusang began speaking, Saunders belly crawled down to the water's edge. Looking over his shoulder to be sure that Brockmeyer was following him, he slid silently into the cold water.
Reaching down into the water, he realized that the bottom fell away very quickly, and within a few feet from shore he already had to tread water. He gave a quick wave to his private.
Brockmeyer lay on the edge of the lake. Hesitating, he wiped his sweating palms in the grass and slipped into the water. Immediately, Saunders grabbed the soldier's collar and shoulder, and turned him over onto his back.
He could feel the man stiffen with fear. Quickly moving close to his ear, the sergeant whispered, "Relax and float, Brock. I've got you. We'll be there before you know it. Just keep your feet up and let me do everything. Concentrate on floating. Don't even move your arms."
Saunders began to swim slowly, making as little noise as possible as he pulled Brockmeyer along while firmly gripping the man's shirt and jacket collars.
Keeping his focus forward, he used the edge of the lake as his guide as it curved around to the opposite side. He needed to go in as straight a line as possible. When he finally lost the water's edge in the darkness, the sergeant used the sliver of the moon straight ahead in the night sky as his guide.
Swimming slowly but steadily, he could feel Brockmeyer gradually beginning to relax.
"You still there, Saunders?" came faintly from the trees. There was no way that the sergeant could answer. It would mean giving away his position. He remained silent as he swam a little more forcefully toward the sliver of moon over the opposite shore.
"Saunders?" Dusang called out again. After a long silence, the soldier continued, "Ah, changing the game to Hide and Seek, I see. That's great, Sarge. I was getting a little bored."
More silence as Saunders continued to swim. Then Dusang spoke again, this time a little closer.
"Let the game begin."
CHAPTER 14
Saunders continued to swim, but he couldn't stop nervously scanning the darkness off to his right side for any signs of movement on shore.
The water was cold and his boots, filled with water, were heavy. It was too dark to see how far he still had to go, but he knew that it couldn't be too much farther. He'd been following the moon, so he knew that he was still heading in the right direction.
Slowing momentarily, he switched hands holding Brockmeyer's collars in order to keep from cramping up. He didn't dare ask the soldier how he was doing or try to offer him any encouragement. He already felt like his movements in the water were deafeningly loud. But he couldn't swim any quieter.
Swimming while pulling Brockmeyer was awkward and expending a great deal of energy. Saunders was feeling it. His breathing was becoming more labored, and he fought to keep from choking on the water as he tried to time his breaths with his strokes.
A darker shape began to take form almost in front of him, and he slowed, thinking at first that it could be Dusang waiting for them. His heart began to pound. But with a couple more strokes, the dark shape became clearer…a tree. He was almost there.
Reaching out now with each stroke, Saunders kept feeling for the bottom on the edge of the lake. With one more long stroke, his fingers hit gravel and mud.
As his knee found solid ground, the sergeant began to pull Brockmeyer closer. "We made it, Brock," he whispered.
"Finally!" came that evil voice from the shore.
CHAPTER 15
Saunders was trapped. He needed to get Brockmeyer safely ashore. Until he did, he was defenseless against Dusang.
"Sarge?" Brockmeyer called out anxiously.
"It's ok, Brock," the sergeant tried to reassure him. "Lie still."
As he started to turn the soldier over to let him pull himself onto shore, a rifle butt came from the shadows and struck Brockmeyer on the side of his head. The private's collars were ripped from Saunders' grasp, and the soldier disappeared under the surface.
"Brock!" the sergeant yelled, frantically feeling around in the water.
Dusang laughed. "Let him drown, Saunders. It'll be quick and easy. I really want you anyway. Haven't had a good challenging prey in a long time. C'mon out and play."
Ignoring the man's taunts, Saunders threw off his boots from around his neck. Ducking under the water, he reached out to search in the cold darkness below. The sergeant pushed himself deeper, moving his arms in wide arcs.
When he swung his arms forward, his left hand struck something solid. Instinctively, he grabbed with both hands and was rewarded with an arm and a shoulder. Kicking upward, he quickly broke the surface with a gasp, pulling Brockmeyer's head up with him. He yanked the water-filled boots from around the unconscious soldier's neck, and pulled him to the shore.
Struggling up onto his knees, the sergeant got his hands under both of the private's arms and pulled him halfway up onto land.
"Brock!" Saunders yelled as he turned the soldier onto his side and pounded on his back.
"Forget it, Saunders!" Dusang said irritably as he leaned against a tree, watching and waiting impatiently.
"Just let him die. It'll be a lot easier for everyone. C'mon out here," the killer added with a frown.
Still pounding on the soldier's back, the sergeant was only focused on one thing…saving Brockmeyer. Suddenly, the man coughed loudly and water poured out as he began to choke and gasp for air.
With a flood of relief, Saunders touched the man's head and lowered his own in exhaustion.
"Aw, look what you did, Sarge," Dusang called out in mock disappointment. "Now I gotta kill him all over again."
CHAPTER 16
As he began to get his breathing under control, Saunders looked up at the arrogant killer standing only a few yards away, leaning against a tree in the darkness.
"Shut up, you piece of garbage! Just shut up!" the sergeant spat out angrily, placing a protective hand on Brockmeyer's shaking shoulder.
Dusang took his rifle and leaned it up against the base of the tree, his eyes never leaving Saunders. Reaching behind his back, he pulled out his bayonet.
"Now that's more like it. That's what I want. A real angry sergeant. A real challenge…the thrill of the kill."
He waved the bayonet slightly toward his prey. "No fun if you just give up."
Pointing at his rifle against the tree, he added, "Here's a weapon for you, Saunders. All you gotta do is come get it."
Beckoning his prey with his free hand, Dusang taunted, "C'mon, Sarge. Come and get it."
He moved in closer, and Saunders slowly stood up in a slight crouch, with his arms out protectively. He was soaked to the skin and beginning to shiver in the cool night air. His wet socks turned the dirt beneath his feet into slippery mud.
Dusang held the bayonet out toward the sergeant, and even in the black night Saunders could see the dark stains on the finely honed blade. And he knew immediately that he would never be seeing Vittima again…not alive.
"C''mon, Sarge." Dusang taunted. "First you and then I'll have some fun with Brock. Bet he'll be scared to death." The man laughed.
"If he ever wakes up," he continued. "I bashed him pretty hard. He was supposed to drown, but you ruined that. Well, there's still plenty of time. I'll think of something. When you first started taking your evening swim, the sentries came through. So I've got a little while before they swing through this way again. By then it won't matter. I'll be gone. Unless I stick around for fun with Brock."
He laughed and waved the bayonet in the air in front of him. "I'll be gone…and so will you."
Dusang suddenly lunged out, and the bayonet sliced across Saunders' forearm.
Saunders pulled back and automatically grabbed his arm, but quickly moved to defend himself again. Both men slowly maneuvered for a better position, never taking their eyes off of each other.
A pained moan and racking cough came from Brockmeyer, lying right behind Saunders, and the sergeant's concentration was momentarily broken.
Taking advantage of the sergeant's temporary distraction, Dusang quickly lunged forward and swiped the bayonet across his middle. Saunders stepped back, but it wasn't fast enough. The bayonet tore through his field jacket and shirt, finding flesh.
With a shout of pain, Saunders took another small step backwards, but his movements were hampered by Brockmeyer's prone body and the water's edge. He reflexively touched his hand to his belly and without taking his eyes from his attacker, he could feel his fingers wet with blood.
He began to move sideways, trying to get away from the water and to give himself more room to maneuver. The sergeant's heart was pounding as he watched Dusang carefully and weighed his chances of survival.
He knew that he needed to stay focused on the man and his movements. He also knew he couldn't stay on the defensive forever. Wiping the blood from his hand on his pant leg, he took another step to the side. Saunders was extremely aware that Brockmeyer's survival depended on his own.
"Did I ever tell you that I was the top of my boot camp unit for hand to hand?" Dusang smiled as he countered the sergeant's moves with his own.
Like a coiled snake, Saunders' hand suddenly struck out for the bayonet. As he grabbed the soldier's hand, the blade sliced into his palm. Ignoring the sharp, intense pain, he pulled Dusang's hand off to the side and tackled the man.
Both men went down hard into the dirt, with Saunders on top, still holding the bayonet and hand tightly. Locked hand in hand, the two soldiers struggled on the embankment. As they fought for control over the bayonet, the hilt became slick with Saunders' blood.
Freeing up his left hand, Dusang began to pound his fist into the sergeant's side and wounded belly. But Saunders' focus had narrowed to just the bayonet. He needed to get control of that bayonet. Slowly, he was forcing it downward, and with one concentrated and furious stroke, he drove it into Dusang's side.
The killer yelled and stopped striking Saunders. Both hands went to the bayonet, but the sergeant quickly pulled it from the soldier's side. As he went to drive it in again, Dusang held out his two bloody hands and, wide-eyed, cried, "No! I give up! Don't!"
Saunders hesitated, and then sat back on his heels, trying to get his heart and breathing back under control. Dusang lay motionless and quiet, watching intensely as the sergeant slowly stood up.
With the bloody bayonet hanging by his side in his red-slicked shaking hand, Saunders hoarsely whispered angrily, "Did I ever tell you that I was the top of my boot camp unit for hand to hand?...You piece of garbage."
Dusang could see the fury in Saunders' eyes, even in the darkness. As the sergeant raised the bayonet again slightly, the soldier brought up a bloody hand again. "Don't kill me."
Saunders stopped and stared at the wounded man lying in the dirt. He tossed the bayonet aside in his anger and frustration, and it slid down the embankment into the black water.
CHAPTER 17
Leaving Dusang lying in the dirt, Saunders stumbled over to Brockmeyer and knelt down next to the unconscious man. He touched the soldier's head lightly.
"Brock?" he said softly.
Saunders leaned over the man and listened to his breathing. It was shallow and irregular, but at least he was still breathing, the sergeant thought.
"He dead yet?" Dusang asked in a strained voice as he lay holding his side.
Saunders' head swung around to glare at the soldier. His anger flared as he stood up suddenly with fists clenched.
Dusang held up a hand and said, "Just asking."
"Shut up. You're lucky you're not dead yet. But that can change," the sergeant spat out.
Dusang shook his head with a faint smile.
"You may be a good soldier, Saunders. But you're no killer. I can see it in your eyes. No thrill of the kill in you," the soldier replied, clutching his side.
The sergeant continued to stare at him a few moments more, and then went back to kneel next to Brockmeyer. While keeping his eye on Dusang, Saunders checked the man's head wound. Brockmeyer was still unconscious, and the sergeant didn't know if it was from almost drowning or from the blow to the head from Dusang's rifle butt.
As Saunders tried to decide his next move, Dusang laughed. In a pained voice and with another choking laugh, the soldier asked, "Have you figured out your problem yet, Saunders?"
The sergeant stared questioningly at the man for a moment, and then it hit him like a sledgehammer. He had a real problem.
CHAPTER 18
"Ah, you figured it out," Dusang continued with a slight smile. "You've got two wounded men. You're not a pack mule, Sarge. Exactly what do you plan to do?"
"I told you to shut up!" Saunders interrupted him, looking from one injured man to the other.
"If you take Brockmeyer, you have to leave me behind," Dusang continued, ignoring the sergeant. "Now that's fine with me, 'cause I'm a survivor. I'll probably find some kindly French farmer who'll take me in and patch me up." He winced with pain as he held his wound tighter.
"But if you want to take me back and get me tossed in the stockade, then you gotta leave Brockmeyer behind to probably die. And if you wait too long to make up your mind, the kraut sentries'll be here soon and you'll have to fight it out with them."
Saunders stiffened. The krauts. He stood up and went to grab the rifle still leaning against the tree. He stood motionless, listening for any movement, straining to see in the darkness. He needed time to think, but time was the one thing he didn't have. Dusang was right. The sentries would probably be coming soon.
Playing on the sergeant's dilemma, Dusang's confidence grew. "Make up your mind yet, Saunders? You can't wait for me to bleed out, not with the krauts on their way. And if you try to hide and leave me, I'll tell the krauts where you are."
He paused to let some of it sink in for the sergeant. "Can't shoot me or those sentries will come running before you can pick poor old Brock up…And they'll have an entire platoon of krauts right on their tails."
Dusang gave a short laugh and coughed. "Now me, I vote for you just leaving me behind. I'll take my chances on finding a nice Frenchman who'll fix me up, give me some nice civilian clothes and send me on my way. A whole country of nice folks just waiting out there for me. Bet I could keep playing the wounded soldier bit and get me a whole heck of a lot of prey. But I guess I don't get a vote, do I?"
Saunders went over to Brockmeyer and knelt down to check his breathing again. Listening quietly to the killer, the sergeant began to clear his head and think.
Take the man back to stand trial and Brockmeyer would probably die or be taken by the krauts. Bring Brockmeyer back, and Dusang would stand a good chance of finding help and eventually murdering his way through France. Wait too long and the sentries would come through…And he didn't even have boots.
As Saunders listened to the man's droning taunts, the sergeant's rage was growing. How could he walk away and leave this monster to continue his unholy killing spree? But how could he just kill a wounded man in cold blood?
He reminded himself that he'd promised Brockmeyer that he'd get him out. And Brockmeyer had put his faith and trust in his sergeant.
"Hurry up and make your decision, Saunders," Dusang called out smugly. "You know, I'm really disappointed in myself. You two are my first failures. I'm itchin' to make up for it."
His laugh was choked off by a grunt of pain. "Who knows? Maybe we'll meet up again someday, and I'll get another crack at you."
Saunders took a deep breath, laid down the rifle and stood up. He stared out into the darkness for a long moment. His indecision faded as he realized that there was only one answer. He knew what had to be done.
"Make a decision yet, Saunders?" Dusang asked looking up at the sergeant standing next to him. He looked down at his wounded side. "I really need to get moving."
Saunders looked at the unconscious Brockmeyer, and then down at Dusang. He wiped the fresh blood from his sliced palm onto the back of his field jacket.
"Yeah," he answered grimly. "I've made my decision."
CHAPTER 19
The sergeant reached down, grabbed two fists of Dusang's field jacket, and began to drag the soldier toward the water. When the man's head and shoulders were on the edge of the water line next to Brockmeyer's prone body, Dusang looked around worriedly.
"You're right, Dusang," Saunders said, staring at the wounded soldier with flat, dead eyes. "I can't take you, but I can't leave you behind. Can't shoot you or the krauts will hear."
"What are you doing, Saunders?" the soldier asked anxiously. "Wait a moment. You won't kill me. You're not a killer. I've looked in those eyes. It ain't there."
Hesitating for only a brief moment, the sergeant answered grimly, "Look again, Dusang."
Then Saunders grabbed the soldier's jacket and pulled his head and shoulders into the water.
"Go to hell, Dusang," Saunders said through gritted teeth as he drove the soldier's head under water.
The sergeant leaned forward, placing all of his weight on the man's chest, with one knee on his wounded side. Dusang instantly began to struggle, striking Saunders repeatedly on the face and neck.
Saunders flinched with each blow, but as the blood streamed down over his mouth and chin, his grip on the man remained firm. He had never known such hatred for any man before. It felt like he was fighting the Devil himself…and he intended to send him back to where he'd come from.
Dusang's hands wrapped around the sergeant's wrists and his nails dug into Saunders' flesh. The soldier's boots pounded the ground in panic as he thrashed to get free.
But the sergeant squeezed his eyes tightly shut and continued to hold the man down until the struggling hands loosened and slipped away into the water.
And still Saunders held him down. He wanted the killings to end once and for all. He had to be sure. After another long minute, he sat back on his heels and drew a long shaky breath. Wiping the blood from his nose and mouth with the back of his hand, he looked around.
Sliding over, he checked on Brockmeyer. The soldier was still unconscious, but his breathing seemed to be fairly normal. As he went to pull him completely out of the water, he heard voices.
The kraut sentries.
CHAPTER 20
Looking around frantically, he quickly grabbed the rifle. Pushing Dusang's body up with one hand, he slid the rifle under the man with the other hand. Then he slipped into the water and pulled Brockmeyer in with him. Wrapping his arm around the unconscious soldier's neck, he paddled into deeper water, hoping to get out of the krauts' sight in the darkness.
As he treaded water quietly, Saunders tried to control his breathing. There was nothing that he could do about his pounding heart. If the krauts saw them, they'd literally be sitting ducks. With luck, he thought, they'd just pass by not noticing Dusang's body in the darkness.
The voices drew nearer…and stopped. Saunders' heart tried to leap from his chest. He unconsciously held his breath as he waited as motionless as he could get and still keep the two of them above water.
He could just make out shapes and movement on the shore. The voices became louder and more agitated. He didn't need Brockmeyer translating to figure out that they had found the body. They'd be wondering what had happened. The soldier's knife wound was obviously fresh, and his head and shoulders were under water.
Saunders hoped that they didn't discover the rifle and take it, or toss it in the lake. With the bayonet gone, the rifle was his only defense. He could hear them moving about. Probably searching the nearby area, he thought. He tried to mentally will them not to look out onto the lake.
It was understandable that they'd be confused and nervous. He was himself, and he knew what had happened. He was sure that they were wondering how the soldier ended up there dead…and who did it? It seemed that their conversation quickly turned into an argument. Probably about what they should do next, he thought.
Saunders guessed that they decided to leave the body and report back to their lieutenant, since their voices slowly faded away. He waited a minute to be sure that they weren't coming right back, and then he began to swim back to shore.
The clock was ticking. He had to get Brockmeyer out of there before an entire platoon of krauts came to investigate.
CHAPTER 21
Saunders dragged Brockmeyer ashore and quickly checked him to be sure that he was still breathing. Turning to Dusang, he rolled the body over and pulled the rifle from beneath him.
He started to push the body into the water, but he stopped. When the krauts returned, they'd expect to find a dead GI. If he was missing, it would set off even more alarm bells, and they'd begin searching in earnest.
As he double checked the rifle, he paused and looked at the body again. He went through the man's utility belt, pulling out a couple of extra clips for the rifle and his sulfa and bandage. Everything Saunders and Brockmeyer had was either soaked or lost.
The sergeant leaned over to the water's edge again and dipped his injured hand in the water to clean off the blood. Then quickly ripping open the sulfa packet, he spilled the powder on his wet palm. Tearing the bandage open with his teeth, he carefully wrapped his hand and tied it off awkwardly using his teeth again.
Looking at the cut on his forearm, Saunders didn't think that it looked too bad at all. The bleeding had almost stopped already. He opened his field jacket and pulled his shirt tails out of his pants to get a look at his stomach.
The blade had sliced across his abdomen through his jacket and shirt in a series of four cuts. Three were pretty superficial, but he could tell that the fourth cut had sliced through some muscle and was still bleeding. The sergeant looked at his bandaged hand. Should have saved some of the sulfa, he thought. But it was too late for that, and there wasn't much else that he could do about it now, so he pulled his shirt down and quickly forgot about it.
His hand was what hurt the most, and he'd taken care of it as best as he could. He wiped his nose and mouth again and looked at his hand. Not too much blood, he noted. He snuffled up some remaining blood and that was soon forgotten as well.
Turning back to Brockmeyer, he stepped on a rock and winced in pain. He looked down at his still wet socks. Saunders quickly sat down and began to unbuckle Dusang's boots.
CHAPTER 22
Barely jamming his foot into the boot, the sergeant realized that they were about a half size too small. He couldn't even use Brockmeyer's boots because his were also at the bottom of the lake.
Sighing, he tied the laces as tightly as he comfortably could, but couldn't get the tops buckled without cutting off the circulation to his feet. He decided to leave the tops unbuckled.
Standing up, he got a feel for the fit. He looked at Dusang's bootless body. That would certainly give the krauts one more thing to wonder about. But he had no choice. He needed boots. Hopefully they wouldn't remember if the GI had boots on or not.
He looked at the unbuckled boots and sighed again. They'd have to do. There was just no way that he'd make it back without boots.
Brockmeyer gave a soft moan and Saunders dropped to one knee next to him. "Brock? Can you hear me? Hold on. I'll get you back."
Picking up the rifle, he slung it over his shoulder and stuffed the extra clips into his jacket pocket.
"Let's get you out of here before the krauts come back," Saunders said as he grabbed Brockmeyer's arm and pulled him up. Hoisting the soldier onto his shoulders, the sergeant shifted the weight a few times until it was evenly distributed across his shoulders.
Closing his eyes momentarily, he pictured his mental map of the area. As sketchy as it was, he knew that he had enough information to get them back to the farmhouse, even in the dark.
He took a couple of steps, stopped and looked down at his boots. As if he didn't have enough problems, he now had to worry about the buckles on his boots jingling as he walked. He needed to get as far away from the krauts as fast as he could before they heard his boot buckles clinking with every step.
It was going to be a long five miles.
CHAPTER 23
The five miles back to their unit was slow and tortuous. Barely fifty yards away from the lake, Saunders had to stop. He could hear kraut voices again. Lots of them. And if he could hear them, they might be able to hear his buckles.
He took a slow step and stopped, listening. Then he took another and stopped. And another. He continued at the agonizingly slow pace until he could finally hear the voices fading as they searched in a different area. His shoulders were already beginning to ache because of the exaggeratedly slow pace, but he picked up his pace and kept moving.
By the time Saunders made it back to their billet, the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky over the trees. He'd stopped every half mile or so to rest, give his feet a break and to check on Brockmeyer.
The sergeant was tired, thirsty and hungry. His feet were aching and he knew that they were blistered. The wound on his belly was on fire, and the bandage on his hand was soaked red. But he still smiled…they were going to make it.
Saunders was surprised and briefly confused when the first tents appeared ahead of him, surrounding the farmhouse and the barn. But then they became a very welcome sight. The Company had caught up to them.
His own squad was the first to see him limping toward them with Brockmeyer draped over his shoulders.
"Sarge, what happened?" Caje asked as he ran up to him.
"Where's Dusang and Vittima? They dead?" Kirby asked as he came up behind Caje.
As others came, they helped bring the still unconscious Brockmeyer down from their sergeant's shoulders.
Doc looked around quickly and said, "Billy, go tell the Lieutenant that the Sarge is back, and then bring a stretcher."
Saunders dropped to the grass next to Brockmeyer. "Doc, can you see what's wrong with Brock? He got hit with a rifle butt, and he's been out for a long time. When he got hit, he went under water for a short while too."
The sergeant worked at pulling the boots off of his swollen, blistered feet.
Looking at the tents, he asked, "Do we have a medical unit?" He managed to get one foot free.
"Yeah," the medic replied as he checked the unconscious soldier over. "They came with the Company."
Examining the bloody gash on the side of Brockmeyer's head, he added, "He's breathing ok. And he isn't coughing up anything, so I don't think it's from the water. Probably the concussion. But I can't tell how bad it is. The doctor'll know better. I could look at you though, until the stretcher gets here."
The medic pointed to the sergeant's various wounds as the soldier sat shivering in the grass. "You look like you could use some help yourself."
At that moment, Lieutenant Hanley ran up to them, breaking into their conversation. He looked at his two injured men and asked, "What happened?"
Saunders hesitated, looking at his squad, and then just said, "Kraut patrol."
Right behind the Lieutenant, Billy came running with the litter, and Littlejohn and Caje picked Brockmeyer up and set him on it. Doc grabbed the unconscious man's dangling arm and placed it across the soldier's chest.
Hanley looked at the other men. "Go with them," he said. "I want to talk to Saunders."
Hanley watched and waited until all the men had left, and then he knelt next to his sergeant. "Ok, so what really happened?"
CHAPTER 24
Saunders noted the doubt in his lieutenant's tone. What could Hanley possibly know, he thought. The Lieutenant seemed to know something. But Saunders was hesitant to tell the entire truth. How could he explain that he'd killed an unarmed, wounded GI in cold blood?
True, he thought, the man definitely deserved it. Saunders hadn't seen any other choice. But it certainly wasn't something that he was proud of. And he didn't know how it would sound by the time it made its way up the chain of command.
"A firefight with the krauts didn't do this," Hanley said skeptically, pointing to his sergeant's wounds.
Saunders shook his head. "We never fired a shot. Krauts never even saw us." Except for Dusang's dead body, he thought to himself. He rubbed his sore feet gingerly with his good hand.
Hanley stared at his sergeant for a long moment, and then said in a low voice, "It was Dusang, wasn't it?"
Saunders looked up, startled. He stared back at his lieutenant without a word.
"It was!" Hanley confirmed his own suspicion.
"How did you know?" Saunders asked, confused.
Hanley ran a hand through his hair. "I got word back from HQ. Dusang had been transferred twice before this. It seems that a few times that he went on small patrols, he was somehow the only one who made it back. The men considered him bad luck and eventually refused to go out with him on patrol. Some were even willing to risk court martial for disobeying a direct command."
The officer pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to his sergeant.
As he lit both of their cigarettes, he continued, "When things got that out of control, they transferred him out, and pushed him onto another unit…without bothering to explain. No one had any real proof, and no one wanted to be the ones to accuse him of anything without proof. So the left hand didn't know what the right was doing. I finally forced it out of everyone and put the pieces together. Just too many dead GI's in his wake. The soldier was more than just plain bad luck."
Saunders looked at his blood-soaked bandaged hand. "A little late, but yeah, he was definitely more than just bad luck. When Brockmeyer and I went to check out the krauts we'd come across, I think Dusang might have killed Vittima. Don't know for sure…no body. But I don't doubt he did it. As much as told me."
The sergeant wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve, and lay back in the grass, looking up at the lightening sky and the disappearing stars. He drew deeply on his cigarette and watched the smoke curling upwards in the still air.
"Then he came after Brockmeyer and me," he continued. "He maneuvered our weapons away from us, knocked Brock out and almost drowned him."
Saunders couldn't bring himself to tell Hanley the whole bitter truth. "He and I fought. I won."
"What happened with the krauts?" Hanley asked.
The sergeant gave a quick laugh. "Nothing. It was a platoon, just passing through. They were pulling back to their company about ten miles away when one of their vehicles broke down. Just stopped to make repairs. Should be gone by now."
He looked over at the officer. "They found Dusang's body though. It might have confused them and slowed them down, but before Brockmeyer was hurt he said that they were definitely pulling back."
"I was about to send out another patrol to look for you when you showed up," Hanley replied.
Both men sat in silence until the officer said, "We need to get all this down in detail."
"Can we do it later, Lieutenant?" Saunders asked, sitting up. He wasn't eager to go into any details. "Right now I'd like to go see how Brockmeyer is doing."
Hanley nodded, and both men stood up. Putting a hand on his sergeant's shoulder, the officer said, "Let me know how he's doing. And get yourself checked out, too, while you're there."
With a nod, the sergeant flipped his cigarette into the dirt. Limping gingerly toward the hospital tent in his stocking feet, his hunger and thirst were forgotten.
CHAPTER 25
Saunders smiled when Brockmeyer finally opened his eyes. "Hey Brock, how're you feeling?"
The soldier put a hand to his bandaged head and looked around the tent.
"Where are we?" he asked in confusion.
Saunders looked up at the tent above them. "The Company caught up to us. We're in the field hospital just outside the farmhouse."
"We made it back?" the private said with a smile.
The sergeant cocked his head, returning the smile. "Told you I'd get you back, didn't I?"
He held out an apple as he took a bite out of another one. "Want an apple? Kirby found an orchard out behind the barn."
Brockmeyer shook his head. "No thanks."
Then a worried look swept over the soldier. "What about Dusang?"
Saunders held up his newly stitched and bandaged hand. "We had a bit of a tussle…he lost."
"Dead?" the soldier asked hopefully.
When his sergeant nodded, obvious relief flooded Brockmeyer's face. "I'm glad. He was one scary SOB. The Devil himself."
The soldier fell quiet for a moment, and then asked, "How could he do it, Sarge? Kill his own men. He didn't seem to care who he killed. It's bad enough that we have to be out here killing Germans. But at least they're the enemy…they're trying to kill us. We were a part of the guy's own squad."
The soldier looked directly into Saunders' eyes for a long moment. "What kind of a person can look an unarmed man in the eye and just kill him in cold blood? How can a man possibly live with himself?"
Saunders looked down uncomfortably as he finished chewing his apple. He dropped the apple core at his feet and stared at his own two hands as he sat quietly for a long moment.
The sergeant looked at the red, raw gashes in his wrists where Dusang's nails had dug into his flesh, trying desperately to cling to life.
Saunders replied softly, "I don't know, Brock…I don't know."
THE END