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.
This story was very difficult to write. Started a year ago, it has been continually evolving. The notebooks…two…are convoluted and almost unreadable at this point. It wasn't a given that it would ever see the light of day. This is NOT a story that would have ever become an episode in the series. But maybe it should have. Let me know your thoughts.
WITHDRAWAL
CHAPTER 1
The young soldier jumped down from the back of the truck. He looked around the street, and then reached into the truck to pull his duffle bag off. Banging the side of the truck, he waved into the driver's side view mirror. The driver waved back through the window, and the truck drove away in a cloud of dust.
GI's were swarming everywhere in the village. Each soldier was seemingly busy with his own assigned task. The Company had only recently taken the town and everyone was busily settling in until they received the order to move forward once again. Looking down the street, the young soldier carried his duffle over to a soldier sitting on the steps of a nearby abandoned barber shop.
He studied the man silently. When he received no acknowledgement, he asked, "Hey, do you know where Second platoon, First squad is?"
The seated soldier was barefoot, cleaning dried caked-on mud from his boots. Wet dripping socks hung over the iron railing next to him. He had close cropped hair with signs of a receding hairline.
Shirtless, the soldier dug into the buckles and the edges of the boot soles with his bayonet. His dog tags clinked together as he worked. He wasn't a big man. Average height, slender and wiry...all muscle. A bent unlit cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth.
Without looking up from his task, the soldier pointed his bayonet over his shoulder. "You found it."
Then he stopped cleaning and looked up at the young man. "You a replacement?"
When the soldier nodded in reply, the veteran soldier yelled over his shoulder, "Hey, Sarge! Good news! They finally sent us some fresh blood!"
In a short moment a blond sergeant appeared in the doorway. He too was average height, lean and muscular, but with a slightly bigger build and weight than the seated soldier.
The sergeant rested an arm against the door jamb. His ice blue eyes studied the young man from the faded dirty duffle bag on his shoulder, his scruffy hair and all the way down to his worn, muddy boots.
The three remained quiet while the sergeant completed his inspection. The new soldier stood in uncomfortable silence, acutely aware of the attention.
The sergeant had just had a run of fresh green recruits, and he'd lost every one of them to injury or death. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get them ready for war fast enough. Basic training was just that…basic. It never really prepared them for the reality and the brutality of war. He hadn't been looking forward to another recruit.
He finally spoke. "Good to see you're not another green recruit, Harris. C'mon in."
While the soldier's eyes widened in surprise, the man on the stairs leaned sideways against the railing to let him pass. The young man followed the sergeant into the cool, dim barber shop. The sergeant turned to inspect the private again.
The young soldier was tall, maybe a little over six feet. He had coal black hair and deep, dark eyes. He had needed a shave, a shower and a haircut several days ago. Even though he was obviously young, he was powerfully built…there was certainly no baby fat left on his large frame.
The sergeant sat in one of the two barber chairs. "Welcome to my office, Harris. Have a seat."
The young private dropped his duffle and sat in the other chair, eyeing his new sergeant warily. He dropped his helmet on the floor and leaned his rifle against the cabinet near his helmet.
The two sat for a moment as the sergeant continued to look him over.
CHAPTER 2
Swiveling his chair to directly face the new replacement, the sergeant asked, "How old are you?"
The young man was a little aggravated. How old? he thought. How about glad to have you? And he knows my name already. He was starting to think that he'd made a mistake.
"Just turned twenty-two," he replied.
After another brief silence the private asked anxiously, "How'd you know who I am and that I wasn't green? Did you get word about me already?"
The sergeant watched him for a moment longer, noting the soldier's discomfort. "No paperwork yet. Hair cut, worn boots and duffle. The way you wear your helmet, tuck in your shirt, carry your rifle. You had to have been around awhile."
He pointed to the duffle bag. "Your name's on it, remember?"
"How long you been in? A year?" the sergeant asked, still studying the soldier. There was something…he just couldn't place it yet.
The private nodded. "I enlisted right after finishing college. Just turned twenty-one."
"Good," came the reply. "We can use you. Where'd you come from?" It was obvious that the sergeant wasn't interested in the soldier's home town.
The young man shifted uncomfortably. It did not go unnoticed. "Fox Company, Third platoon, Second squad."
The sergeant looked at him a moment and then asked bluntly, "So what are you doing here? Why the transfer?"
Returning his gaze, the soldier replied, "Personal reasons."
Another long, silent pause. "You in trouble?"
The young man shook his head, and the sergeant nodded. That was good enough for him…for the moment. He knew that there was baggage hidden there somewhere. It would come out sooner or later. The interview was over.
"Sergeant Saunders," he finally said.
The young soldier was confused at first, but then replied, "Private Harris. Samuel Harris."
"I know," the sergeant reminded him. Then he added, "The welcoming committee out on the front stoop is Kirby."
"Yo!" came a call from the open doorway.
"Careful. He's got good ears. Lousy feet though," Saunders smiled.
A loud laugh quickly followed from the doorway. "They're both just fine."
"This room is our wash room," Saunders explained as he got up from the chair. "Kirby's our BAR man, but he's also good at finding the best places to bivouac. Two sinks. Cold water only, but at least we have the luxury of clean water."
"And a mirror." He pointed to the large mirror behind the sinks. A jagged crack ran through it diagonally, but it was still clinging to the wall.
The sergeant walked into the second room without a word. Harris paused to stare at the soldier's back, and then scooped up his things and followed.
"This here's our sleeping quarters. If you can find yourself a spot, it's yours." Saunders smiled.
Harris looked at all of the bedrolls and personal effects scattered about the room like a giant jigsaw puzzle. He saw an open spot against the far wall and stepped over everything to carefully work his way toward it.
"Just a warning," Saunders called out to him from the doorway as the private stopped at the open spot. "You'll be right next to Littlejohn. He's a snorer."
Harris smiled. "No problem. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper." He wasn't about to tell his sergeant that he rarely slept at all. And when he finally did fall asleep, he crashed so far down that artillery barely woke him.
"The rest of the squad should be back soon. Make yourself at home." And the sergeant left.
The private watched him leave and then leaned his duffle and rifle against the wall. He knelt down and laid out his bedroll. Looking around to be sure that he was alone, Harris reached into the side pocket of his field jacket and took out a worn Lucky Strike tobacco tin.
Opening it, he took one of the many tiny little white pills and quickly popped it in his mouth. Stuffing the tin back into his jacket, he went out to sit on the stoop next to Kirby.
CHAPTER 3
The rest of the squad soon returned, and introductions were made as they all gathered around the front steps. Still sitting on the steps, Kirby had begun to dub his boots while they talked. Saunders noted that Harris seemed to pay particular attention to Doc.
As everyone broke up and went inside, Harris stopped the medic. "Good to see the squad has a medic."
"Your old squad didn't?" Doc asked him.
Harris shook his head. "Our sergeant was the dispenser of medicine and medical attention out in the field."
Saunders stood in the doorway and watched as Harris talked, and he noticed that a change seemed to come over him when he talked about his previous sergeant.
"How was your old sergeant?" Saunders called out, trying to see what kind of a reaction he'd get.
"He was ok, I guess," Harris replied cautiously. Nothing more.
There it was again…the hesitation. A definite reticence. Saunders got the feeling that the private's previous sergeant was not his favorite person. But he didn't seem to want to talk about it any further.
Not long after mess, most of the men began to prepare for a patrol set for the next morning. They soon started to call it an early night.
Harris was confused. "What's happening?" he asked, looking around at everyone settling in or going into the front room to wash up.
"What's happening is the Sandman's coming," Kirby laughed as he slipped under his blanket.
"Gotta hit the hay, Harris," Caje advised as he took off his field jacket. "We've got a patrol."
"And you're invited," Saunders smiled, waiting to blow out the single lantern in the room.
When the private remained sitting on his bedroll, leaning against the wall, the sergeant asked, "Going to sleep, Harris? 0530 hours comes mighty early."
Harris looked over at his new sergeant. "Guess I'm still keyed up with my changeover. I'll just sit for awhile."
Saunders stared at him for a moment, and finally said, "Suit yourself. Just be rested and up by 0530."
"No problem," Harris replied.
Saunders studied him for a minute more and then blew out the lantern.
CHAPTER 4
At 0515 hours, Saunders' eyes opened. His internal alarm clock rarely failed him. He yawned, stretched and ruffled his hair with both hands. Looking around at his sleeping men, his eyes stopped on Harris' bedroll. It was empty. He looked around the room again. No Harris.
He got up quietly, not wanting to rob his men of those precious extra fifteen minutes of sleep. Weaving a path around the bedrolls, he made his way to the front room. No Harris. Hearing a noise out front, the sergeant headed toward the open doorway.
Out on the front steps in the dim morning light, the private was just finishing cleaning his rifle. As he smacked the last piece into place, he heard the movement behind him and quickly swiveled around. His empty rifle was pointed straight at his sergeant's chest.
Saunders stopped. "Don't ever point that rifle at me, soldier, unless you intend to use it."
Harris quickly pulled his weapon up and said, "Sorry, Sarge."
The sergeant stared at him in deadly silence until his anger faded. Finally, he leaned against the door jamb. "Couldn't sleep?" He took out his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Sliding a cigarette out between his lips, he lit it.
Harris looked up at him from the step. "I slept a little. Guess I'm anxious about going out on a patrol."
Saunders studied the man intently. "You've been at this for a year. Longer than most of the other guys. Wouldn't think another patrol would bother you one bit."
He paused and when he got no response, he added, "Anything else going on I should know about?"
Harris stared blankly at his rifle for a moment, and then answered. "No, nothing's going on. I'm fine."
Saunders nodded. In due time. He looked at his watch. "I'll go get the others up. We'll grab some breakfast and clean up. Then we can head out. Sooner we go, the sooner we get back. This one's going to take awhile."
The sergeant went inside, hesitated, and turned back in time to see Harris remove a tin from his field jacket pocket. He continued to watch silently as the young private took out a small white pill, popped it into his mouth, and quickly shoved the tin back into his field jacket.
Saunders went to the doorway to the second room and leaned on the door jamb. With a brief glance back to the front steps, he turned and went in to wake up his men.
CHAPTER 5
"This is an area recon." Saunders opened his map and spread it out on the small porch of the barber shop. His men gathered around, leaning over the railings on either side.
"The brass are looking to move forward again soon, so they need information on how far they can safely advance before any possible engagement. Right now it's totally unknown territory out there, so we'll also be mapping the terrain as we go."
He pointed to an area and drew a circle with his finger. "It's only five to eight miles in, but it's mostly woods, mixed with open farm land. No towns, unless we hit small hamlets not even listed on regular maps."
The sergeant looked up at each of his men. "We don't want the krauts to know we're there if we can help it, so it's going to be slow going. I need all eyes open and ready for anything."
As he folded up the map and tucked it into his field jacket, he added, "Remember…our objective is mostly to map the terrain and to see how far we've pushed the krauts back. It's not a patrol to engage the enemy. We're going in for a look-see, and then getting the heck out of there. So no shooting unless we're shot at first."
"Questions?" He looked around as everyone shook their heads. Grabbing the binoculars nearby on the stoop, he said, "Let's move out."
The morning was clear and warm with the birds in full song. Saunders had chosen six men plus their medic for the patrol. Hopefully there would be no need for Doc, but going into unknown territory, he wanted to be prepared.
His men filed by, heading out of town. With Caje on point, the sergeant had Littlejohn covering the rear. Harris, Nelson, Kirby and Brockmeyer filled out the patrol. Saunders stepped into the middle of the line as it went by, right near Doc.
Once they reached the uncharted terrain, Saunders moved up with Caje to begin mapping the area. The patrol's movements slowed as Caje and Saunders worked together. The others fanned out in silence to cover them.
Harris was walking closer to the rear, but he slowly maneuvered to be right next to Doc. Casually and quietly he asked, "Hey, Doc, you don't have a little Benzedrine, do you? I didn't get much sleep last night, and I could sure use something to keep me going." He studied the medic's reaction carefully.
Doc shook his head. "Nothing stronger than aspirin. Sorry. I do have morphine in case someone gets wounded though. Sarge won't allow anything else in the squad."
The medic smiled. "Except an occasional bottle of French wine that the guys might liberate. Will an aspirin help?"
Harris laughed. "Nah, I'll be ok." I'll be just fine, he thought to himself as he slipped back in line.
CHAPTER 6
When the patrol had reached the outer perimeter of the sector, Saunders heard faint sounds and immediately waved for his men to stop. Slowly making his way to the edge of the woods, he lay on the ground, pushed aside a low bush and slid forward.
He brought up his binoculars and focused them on the activity in the distance. Germans. Lots of them. Soldiers making obvious preparations to move out. He quickly pulled out his pencil and map, and began making notes in the margins. Strength and size of their army. Supply trucks and other vehicles. No tanks, he noted. And he couldn't tell from that distance and the dust if the krauts actually had 88's or not.
But they were definitely preparing to move out. Making some final notations and pinpointing it all on the map, he slid backwards until he could safely stand up in the dense woods.
Loping back through the trees to his waiting men, Saunders decided that he had more than enough information.
"Alright," he said quietly to the patrol. "Let's get out of here. Looks like we might be in for a fight pretty soon. We need to get back fast."
His men stood and followed him as he ran past them, leading the way. On the way into the sector that morning they'd moved slowly and covered a lot of ground as they mapped the terrain. Now Saunders was traveling in double time, following as straight a path as possible.
There was no time to waste mapping the rest of the sector. There was a town full of GI's who needed time to dig in and prepare for an imminent attack. Or withdraw. Any advance by the Germans might be preceded by a barrage. They had to warn the Company.
The sergeant was cutting through terrain that they hadn't covered yet, trying to shave as much time as possible off of their return. As they approached the crest of a hill, his BAR man shouted from the rear.
"Krauts!" And the BAR erupted.
Everyone dove over the hill, rolling down the other side, scrambling for cover just as the Germans began firing.
CHAPTER 7
"Kirby! How many?" Saunders yelled.
"Six!" Kirby replied from behind a tree as a schmeisser chattered, tearing up the ground around him and slamming into the tree trunk.
Saunders' thoughts were racing. They were pinned down. In order to get away, they'd have to leave what little cover they had. And they certainly couldn't go back up the hill. The krauts controlled the high ground. His men couldn't move.
The sergeant suddenly saw Harris break from cover to run off to their right, away from the Germans along their only blind side. He had a good head start before he came into their field of vision and they opened fire. Dirt kicked up around Harris just as he made it into a stand of trees, a good hundred and fifty yards away.
What the heck? Saunders thought as he tried to give Harris cover. Was he trying to run away? Whatever his reason for running, the sergeant still continued to give him cover.
The schmeisser swung toward Saunders and Harris was quickly forgotten. At that moment the sergeant needed to figure a way out of the situation. But for the life of him he couldn't see one yet.
Saunders knew that he had to somehow concentrate on taking out the krauts. But they had the definite advantage of higher ground and better cover. If it wasn't for the muzzle flashes, he wouldn't have been able to tell where they were.
Peering out from his cover to find a target, he heard the distinctive shot of an M1 Garand coming from far off to his right. Almost instantly, the German with the schmeisser fell through the bushes and slid face first down the hill toward the patrol.
Another shot, and another kraut quickly followed the first as he slid down the hill. Saunders looked over to his right. It had to be Harris. When a third shot rang out and a third kraut fell, the sergeant quickly located Harris out a hundred and fifty yards or more, up in a tree.
The private was picking off the Germans one by one. But if Saunders could locate him, so could the krauts. Just after a fourth German dropped, the remaining two krauts finally located Harris' position and began to return fire, spraying the tree blindly.
As the patrol tried to give the soldier cover, Saunders could just make out Harris swinging to grab a branch with one arm. As he dangled briefly by one hand, his rifle fell to the ground below. Harris soon followed. Even out at that distance, the sergeant thought that he could still hear the thud.
Turning back to the skirmish, he saw Caje and Kirby finish off the last two Germans who were trying to run. Saunders quickly rose up and ran to Harris' position, fearing the worst. As he crested the hill where the tree stood, he looked around for Harris' body. Nothing but his Garand lying in the tall grass.
Then he heard laughter. Laughter? Following the sound, he discovered Harris spread eagle down at the base of the hill. He ran down and knelt next to him. At least he was still alive.
"Harris?" he said as he knelt down.
The private lay in the tall grass on the lower side of the hill with his eyes closed. Suddenly he opened his eyes and laughed again. What the hell? the sergeant thought in confusion.
Harris groaned and slowly sat up. "Whew, that was one heck of a ride!" He chuckled and looked up to see the confusion on his sergeant's face.
"I'm ok, Sarge. One of the krauts that shot back at me managed to hit near the branch I was on. It ricocheted and clipped my boot heel."
He held up his left foot and showed the sergeant a chunk missing from the heel of his boot. "Pushed my leg right off the branch and took me with it. I grabbed onto another limb but couldn't hang on. Down I went, hit the slick grass on the slope and slid straight down the hill. Just like Alice down the rabbit hole."
He laughed again. "Man, is my butt sore."
"I'm glad you're ok," Saunders told him. "But what the heck did you think you were doing?" he added angrily. "There's no room for a cowboy in this squad, Harris. We work together. What made you think you were going to take out an entire kraut patrol all by yourself?"
Harris realized how angry his sergeant was. "I knew that we couldn't get good shots from where we were down the hill. The patrol was pinned down," Harris began to explain. "I saw that there was a tree out here that had a clear view of the krauts' position. Of all of the guys in our patrol, I had the best cover. So I ran for it. Shinnied up the tree and took 'em out. Simple."
"Simple?" Saunders growled. "You exposed yourself to enemy fire to take a chance you could maybe hit them all from that distance out?"
Harris looked at his sergeant and answered seriously. "Sergeant, I easily fire expert with the M1 Garand at five hundred meters. Give me an M1C with an M73 scope and I double that to one thousand meters."
The soldier pulled some grass from his hair. "I could have taken all those krauts with no problem if that one hadn't chipped my boot heel with a lucky wild shot. That wasn't even close to one hundred fifty meters."
Smiling, he added, "Could have practically taken them all out with my eyes closed."
Saunders looked at the soldier incredulously. He was still staring wordlessly at the young man sitting next to him when the rest of the patrol came running up to them.
"That was some shooting," Caje said as he reached the two men.
"You're really good," Billy added.
"Saved our butts," Brockmeyer agreed as everyone gathered around the two men.
Saunders stood up. "We've stirred the pot now. They know we're here. Got to get moving or we'll have more krauts than we can handle coming down on us. Caje, take the point. Everyone keep your eyes open. Fan out. Double time. Let's get back in one piece."
As the men began to move out, Saunders offered his hand to the still seated Harris, who smiled and took it. The sergeant pulled him up and asked, "You ok to make it back?"
Harris retrieved his helmet and rifle. "I'm fine. I might run kinda funny, but I'll make it."
Watching Harris run to catch up to the rest of the men, Saunders knew that he'd have to confront the soldier at some point soon. And he knew that it wasn't going to be easy. But now was not the time.
CHAPTER 8
The remainder of their way back was tense, but quick and uneventful. Once the patrol had returned with the map and information, the Company was buzzing with activity, mostly preparing for the possible barrage.
They couldn't be sure if the Germans that Saunders had seen were actually heading for the town or planning a barrage, but Captain Jampel wanted to be prepared. He had no artillery available himself to throw at the krauts' position.
Equipment, supplies and noncombatant personnel were being pulled back to a safer location. Soldiers were finding places to dig in to ride out the barrage and defend the town.
Across from the barber shop, Saunders had found an empty damaged store with a large, deep cellar. There were no windows below. Just a doorway leading up to the store above. If the shelling was too heavy, it would be a safer place for his men to ride it out if they weren't going to withdraw.
While the rest of the squad were gathering their belongings and fortifying places to dig in, Saunders and Harris were working on clearing rubble from the front of the cellar door for a quick withdrawal from the street if necessary. Captain Jampel had ordered that the town be kept out of enemy hands at all costs.
'At all costs,' Saunders thought bitterly as he worked. Sounded good on paper, but these were men not numbers on paper. Hopefully the krauts that he saw would not even head in this direction. But if they did, the sergeant wanted a backup plan to protect his men.
The two soldiers worked quickly, tossing debris aside to clear the doorway. Saunders took off his field jacket and dropped it on the front steps next to their weapons, utility belts and helmets. It had been a long time since his last cigarette, and he was feeling it. He would have liked to have stopped for one, but he knew that time was running short.
He looked at his watch. The sergeant was getting nervous. If the krauts he saw were heading toward the town, something had to happen soon. The Germans were really scrambling from what he'd observed. And now they knew that the Americans were aware of their position. They had to have heard all the shooting. And found their dead patrol.
Rolling up his shirt sleeves, Saunders said, "We've got to move it. I've got a feeling we're running out of time."
Harris nodded, took off his field jacket and went out to drop it next to his gear. Rolling up his sleeves as well, he returned to his sergeant's side, tossing bricks, wood and other debris aside to clear the pathway to the cellar door.
Caje called in from the doorway, "The rest of the men are back, Sarge. You need help?"
Continuing his work, Saunders called over his shoulder. "Almost done. Get everyone dug in. We'll be there in a few more minutes."
As the two soldiers were clearing the last of the debris from right in front of the doorway, the sergeant froze and looked up. A moment later Harris heard it too.
"88's!" Saunders screamed. "Hit it!"
CHAPTER 9
The sergeant pushed Harris toward the cellar door as he shoved a plank of wood aside with his boot. They both reached the door just as the first shell exploded beyond their position on the far end of town. When the second shell came in, Harris was already through the doorway with Saunders right behind him.
When the next shell hit, the sergeant was in the doorway himself. The explosion collapsed the entire front room of the store, slamming the door shut hard on his back.
The door protected him from the flying debris, but it knocked him off balance and he fell against the stairway wall. Beginning to tumble down the stairs, Saunders instinctively reached out to grab for the railing to try to stop his fall. His left hand gripped the railing just as his body flipped forward. As his body twisted, pain lanced through the sergeant's wrist and traveled up his arm.
With a cry of pain, he lost his grip, but he'd managed to stop his tumbling descent. Sliding feet first down the stairs, he landed on his back at the bottom.
As Saunders lay dazed, Harris rushed over, grabbed his sergeant's arm and dragged him under the stairs. Harris pulled Saunders' legs under the stairway just as another shell exploded above them, raining chunks of stone and wood down into the center of the cellar.
The private protected his sergeant the best he could as the barrage continued. Soon he noticed that the rest of the shells seemed to be concentrated on the far end of town.
Saunders tried to sit up, but Harris stopped him. "Stay down, Sarge. We're under the stairway. Think we're ok for now."
As his head and vision began to clear, the sergeant looked around to check out their situation. Harris was right. The stairway was the best protection he could see through the dust and darkness.
Each man listened quietly, waiting for the barrage to end, and hoping that another shell didn't land nearby. When the last shell exploded near the edge of town and all that remained was the dust and silence, both soldiers continued to wait in silence. Finally, Saunders visibly relaxed and looked around. Dust and dirt still floated in the air around him, and he began to wipe the dirt from his eyes. Letting out a cry of pain, he held his left wrist.
"Did you break it?" Harris asked.
The sergeant sat up and flexed his fingers gingerly as he grimaced. He shook his head. "No, I think I just sprained it. Doesn't feel like it's broken. Sure hurts though."
Trying to move, he groaned, "So does the rest of me."
"You sure took a bad tumble down those stairs," the private replied.
They sat for a few moments until Saunders said matter of factly, "Guess they had 88's."
Harris looked at him in confusion. "Huh?"
"The krauts," Saunders explained as he looked his wrist over in the dim dusty light. "When I first saw them preparing to advance, I figured they might hit us with a barrage. Just couldn't make out if they had 88's or not. Too much dust flying."
"Guess they did," he added.
"Guess they did," Harris repeated with a slight smile.
He helped his sergeant to stand up. Saunders shook the dirt out of his hair while gingerly holding his left arm protectively against his chest. Both came out from under the stairway and began to inspect their situation. It didn't look good.
CHAPTER 10
"Door's blocked," Harris called from the top of the stairs. Making his way back down, he saw his sergeant standing on a pile of rubble in the middle of the cellar, staring up at a large ragged hole. Harris looked up. In between the piles of debris above them, rays of light shone down through the center of the hole.
"Must have taken the building apart up there," Saunders noted while still looking up. He pointed with his right hand. "I can see daylight."
Harris asked, "How are we going to get out of here?"
Saunders climbed down carefully from the little uneven pile of debris and began to look around. "The squad knows we're here. They'll come looking for us when it's clear up there."
Harris looked doubtful. "You sound sure of that."
The sergeant stopped and looked at the private. "I am."
He continued his inspection of the entire cellar. "We could be in here for quite awhile. The krauts will probably be moving in on us now that the barrage has ended. If we can't hold the town, we'll have to withdraw, no matter what the Captain would prefer."
A worried look came over Harris' face. "How long do you think? A few hours?"
Saunders brushed the dirt off of a rickety old stool and carefully sat down, testing its strength and his aching muscles. He stared up at the soldier, watching for his reaction. "Could be days."
Harris seemed on the verge of panic. "Days? Days? You sure?"
The sergeant flexed his fingers gingerly and nodded. "I've done this before."
At that moment they heard a faint voice yelling from the top of the stairs. "Sarge? You in there?"
Saunders limped up the stairs and yelled, "Caje! We're here. Can you get us out?"
"Not from here," came the reply. "This'll take forever to clear out."
"Can you get to the room above us?" the sergeant called back. "There's a hole. We can see daylight."
"Wait one," Caje yelled and was gone.
Saunders went back down to the center of the room, climbed on the pile of rubble, and looked up. Several minutes went by as the two soldiers stood patiently staring up into the daylight.
"You two ok?" they heard as Caje's head appeared above them.
"Yeah," the sergeant answered. "Hurt my wrist, but I don't think anything's broken. Did everyone make it through the barrage ok? Any casualties?"
"Our squad's ok," the Cajun replied. "But the Company lost two men, and we've got some injured. It was pretty heavy."
"Can you get us out?" the sergeant asked.
Caje shook his head. "Not right now. We've been ordered to pull whoever's still here back. They think we might get hit with another barrage, so we're pulling back until we can regroup and Captain Jampel decides what to do. Sounds like maybe tomorrow. I sent Kirby for some rations and water. Hopefully he can scrounge enough up to hold both of you until we get back."
The Cajun looked up at something. "He's here."
Kirby's head appeared, and he smiled. "Hey Sarge. Man, I'm glad to see you guys in one piece. You had us worried there when we saw this building get hit. Twice! Boy you two are sure lucky."
Caje interrupted him. "We've gotta go. The Lieutenant'll be looking for us. Toss him everything you got."
The BAR man began to drop six boxes of K rations, one after another, down to Harris, who caught them and stuffed them into his partially unbuttoned shirt.
"Careful. Here's two canteens coming down. Don't want to be up on charges for clocking my NCO." Kirby laughed and carefully dropped the two full canteens, and Harris caught one in each hand.
Harris called up to the two soldiers, "Did either of you see my field jacket?"
Kirby shook his head. "Haven't seen it. Where'd you leave it?"
"Over the railing on the front steps," Harris replied.
Caje laughed. "There aren't any more front steps. Not much of the whole building left. We did find your Thompson, Sarge. One piece, anyway. No signs of anything else."
Harris' face was filled with obvious worry. Saunders watched the young man's reactions. Maybe even some fear, he thought.
"Once we leave, the krauts will be swarming this town," Caje continued. "So be sure to stay off in the shadows. When you move out of the light, we can't see a thing from up here. You should be safe in case someone checks down there."
"Just as long as no one decides to drop a grenade in your lap to be sure," Kirby added.
"Thanks," Saunders replied. He didn't need to be reminded.
Kirby tapped Caje's arm. "We gotta go now. Billy just said that the krauts are starting to move in."
Caje looked down. "Don't worry, Sarge. We'll be back."
And the two friendly faces were gone.
It was quiet for a long time as both Saunders and Harris let their situation sink in. Saunders looked at the rickety stool and opted instead to go over to a wall and sit down on the floor.
He reached for his pack of cigarettes and stopped. But his cigarette pack and lighter were in his field jacket…which was on the railing that no longer existed. It was now probably scattered in bits and pieces all over the street. Saunders felt a deep ache…his lighter was gone. He double checked his pants pockets to be sure.
Sighing in his anger and frustration, Saunders looked around. He had to let it go and concentrate on the here and now. They had a big problem, and he still had Harris to deal with.
He began to study Harris more closely. The private was obviously distraught, and Saunders was pretty sure why.
All the signs were there in him, Saunders thought as he watched the young soldier pacing like a caged lion, still holding the two canteens with his shirt full of K rations.
Anxiety, fidgeting, sleeplessness, restlessness. Saunders wasn't looking forward to what he knew would soon follow: anger, short temper and aggression.
The sergeant looked at his watch and sighed again. It was going to be a long wait.
CHAPTER 11
Harris finally looked around and found a small table against the opposite wall from where Saunders was sitting. He wiped off the dirt and loose debris with his shirt sleeve and put the two canteens down. Pulling out the ration boxes from his shirt, one by one he stacked them next to the canteens.
"Well, at least we won't starve," he said to his sergeant. Looking around nervously, he went over to the staircase and climbed to the closed door. Trying the doorknob, he rattled it when it didn't budge. The private leaned against the door and rammed it repeatedly with his shoulder.
"You already tried that, remember?" Saunders said, resting his injured wrist in his lap. "And Caje told us that the whole building above us is pretty much a big pile of rubble. We're just going to have to wait it out." The sergeant sat calmly watching all of Harris' reactions.
Harris came down the stairs, rapping his fist on the railing as he walked. He went straight to the small pile of debris in the center of the room and climbed on top of it. He stared up at the hole, a good ten or fifteen feet above him, and then stretched an arm upward.
Reading his thoughts, Saunders said, "Too high up. Nothing to climb on."
Harris looked over at him. "Maybe if one of us climbed on the other's shoulders."
The sergeant laughed. "And balance on top of a pile of unstable rubble? I'm a GI, not an acrobat." He wasn't about to admit that he'd done that before. He already had an injured arm, an aching back and a sore hip. He wasn't going to press his luck. He'd wait for his men to return.
Harris climbed down from the debris and replied anxiously, "Maybe if we yelled, someone might hear us and throw down a rope."
The sergeant sat forward and said angrily, "No yelling! The only ones who might be out there right now are krauts, and they aren't going to be throwing us down any ropes. It'll more than likely be a grenade."
The private began to pace again, looking up every once in awhile to stare at the taunting sunlit hole above them.
The sergeant quietly continued to watch the soldier pace until he finally said, "Harris?"
Harris stopped and glared at him. "What?"
Saunders looked deep into the young soldier's eyes and asked in almost a whisper, "How long have you had that monkey on your back?"
TO BE CONTINUED