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.
As was mentioned in the first part of this story, it hasn't been an easy one to write. The constant question is WWSD? What Would Saunders Do? The story concerns an issue that probably faced many sergeants, but this one had to be viewed from Sergeant Saunders' point of view. Tough on the outside but a soldier with a big heart inside. Let me know your thoughts.
WITHDRAWAL
Part 2
CHAPTER 12
Harris stopped dead. He spun to stare at his sergeant. "What do you mean?" he demanded defensively.
Saunders stared back angrily and growled, "You know what I mean! What is it, Benzedrine?"
Leaning forward, the sergeant glared at the private. "I've seen way too much of it for you to think you were hiding it from me. In North Africa the brass were handing it out like it was candy to anyone willing to take it. Pushing it as the magic potion to make you the 'perfect' soldier. Word has it that the Brits and even the krauts are using it to keep driving their soldiers."
He sat back against the wall in silence for a moment, and then added, "War is hell on Earth all by itself. What do you need those wakey-wakey pills for, soldier? Coffee, chocolate and pure adrenalin not enough to keep you going? Those pills are just fake courage in a bottle."
With a grim laugh, he said, "Or in your case, a tobacco tin."
The private looked around like a trapped animal. "You knew all along?"
Saunders waved his arm in disgust. "From the beginning I knew something was up with you. I just hadn't seen it in so long, I didn't recognize it at first. Always tucked away somewhere, dipping into that little tin of yours. Never sleeping. Hardly eating. Lots of confidence and bravado under fire. No fear."
Lightly rubbing his injured wrist, he continued, "Doc told me about your not-so-subtle try for more pills. Don't you have enough in that little tin? Or you just trying to be sure you have a steady supplier? Your old unit probably got tired of dealing with you so they pushed you off onto me, huh? Make you someone else's problem."
Harris was quiet, staring off into space. The silence was palpable between the two soldiers until the private looked back at his sergeant and said sadly, "It's not what you think."
"You trying to tell me that you're not hooked?" Saunders demanded angrily. "Then what's that tin of little white pills for, soldier? You weren't asking about your field jacket earlier because you missed it so much. Or you were cold. You needed that little tin in the jacket pocket."
Harris stood up and began to pace nervously. Stopping, he turned back to his sergeant and repeated, "It's not what you think."
Pacing once again, he continued, "The sergeant in my last unit was a real hard nose. He made everyone in his squad take the pills when we were on the line."
CHAPTER 13
"Made you?" Saunders interrupted angrily. "You could have refused."
Harris shook his head. "You don't understand. At first I did refuse. But then he started putting me out on point on all the most dangerous patrols. If a house or cave needed to be flushed out, I was always the one he'd send in. Alone…with no cover."
With a sarcastic laugh, he added, "It didn't take a genius to realize that he was trying to get rid of me. Everyone knew it."
Pacing again, he continued, "He kept saying that all his men had to be on the same page, working together. That I wasn't fitting in. He even turned most of the squad against me. I only had one friend I could depend on. One."
Looking up into the hole above them, Harris wiped his eyes and said quietly, "I wanted to live…so I finally gave in and took the pills."
The private turned back to his sergeant and laughed again. "The Fighting Fearless. That was us. Sounded great on the surface, but we were a real mess. We'd go weeks straight, taking out krauts left and right. But then we'd all nose dive. Crash and burn. We'd be useless for days at a time."
He started to pace again, but stopped. Putting his hands in his pockets, he leaned against the wall. Staring at his feet, he said, "We were a Sherman tank cutting a wide path through kraut territory. Until the treads fell off."
Harris hesitated, and then choked back tears. "Then my best friend…my only friend…shot himself."
There was silence between the two soldiers once again until Harris looked up at Saunders with tears streaking his cheeks. "That's when I told my sergeant that I wanted out. But he wasn't buying it. He tried putting me into dangerous situations again to get rid of me. He said I was a bad influence on the others…a weak link."
Taking a deep, slow breath, the soldier added, "But this time I wasn't buying it. Figured no matter what, I'd end up dead. So I told him that he'd better watch his own back. I was coming for him, and we'd see who got who first. It really rattled him, and it was pretty tense for awhile."
Harris started to pace again. "I couldn't go to our lieutenant, 'cause he was getting credit for everything we were doing. And the Sarge couldn't say anything to the Lieutenant 'cause he was forcing us to take the bennies. The brass didn't mind at all if you took it voluntarily, but they frowned on soldiers being forced into it. So the Sarge and I finally came to a truce. He worked out arrangements for me to be transferred out."
The private turned to his sergeant and gave a sad smile. "I did some checking first. I didn't want to go from the frying pan into the fire, you know? Your name kept popping up as someone who didn't allow drugs. When I asked Doc about Benzedrine, I was just checking to be sure the rumors were true. When I was sure you and your squad were straight, I told the Sarge that I wanted your unit. Told him he'd better make it happen. He'd had so much success against the krauts that he had some pull with the brass and he got it done."
Looking up at the hole above them again, he added, "I feel bad for the guys I left behind…stuck in that mess. But I had to take care of me."
Both soldiers were quiet until Saunders leaned forward and asked, "So if you wanted to get away from the pills, why'd you bring a full tin of them with you?"
Harris answered sadly, "Because I am hooked. I go nuts without them. I bought as many pills as I could from other guys, and brought them with me in hopes of weaning myself off slowly somehow."
Saunders looked around them and up at the hole. "I hate to tell you, but it looks like you're going to be getting off those wakey-wakey pills cold turkey. It could be a couple of days or more before we're out of here."
Harris nodded anxiously. "I know. And I'm already starting to feel it. I'm really scared, Sarge. I've seen what happens to guys who try to quit…and what happened to my best friend."
Saunders answered quietly, "I know. I've seen it all too. And it's not pretty. But if you're serious about this, I'll help you get through it. At least there's no weapons down here."
"Why don't you try to sleep?" the sergeant suggested. "Once you're out you'll probably crash for the whole night. Maybe even tomorrow too. With any luck we'll be out of here before you really start to feel it. When we're out, we'll talk to one of the Docs at the field hospital."
Harris put a fist to his mouth then finally replied, "You know, Sarge, I've faced dozens of krauts with no fear. But I'm always terrified of one thing."
Saunders looked at him questioningly and waited.
Harris continued, "I'm terrified that if I go to sleep, I won't ever wake up again."
Saunders could feel the man's pain. "Don't worry, Harris. I'm right here, and I won't let that happen. I promise."
CHAPTER 14
As the hours dragged by, with sounds of gunfire floating down, the light faded to darkness. Harris sat in the corner on the floor, talking quietly to himself until Saunders only heard silence. The sergeant got up and slowly felt his way around the room in the darkness until his foot kicked Harris' foot. He knelt down, searching for the man's head. Touching the top of the soldier's head, he slid his hand down to his neck and felt for a pulse. It was fast, but steady.
Moving away about six feet, Saunders sat down, leaning back against the wall. He thought about his lighter again, and resisted searching his pockets one more time. How he desperately wanted a cigarette. He smiled in the darkness.
Here he was offering Harris his help and support to kick his benny habit when he had to deal with his own withdrawal symptoms. It was certainly going to become interesting if they didn't get out of that cellar soon. Two irritable, edgy soldiers stuck together in the darkness. At least they wouldn't starve right away.
He sat forward suddenly as the K rations came into his mind. Cigarettes! Getting up, he slowly felt his way over to where he remembered the table was that held the canteens and ration boxes. Touching one of the canteens, he pushed it aside and grabbed a box. He tore it open with his teeth, resisting the urge to use his left hand.
Dumping everything onto the table, he dropped the box and rifled through the contents. He touched a small packet. Cigarettes! Checking the rest of the items, he knew what each was by touch. Meat, biscuits, chocolate, toilet paper, sugar, gum, powdered soup and a can key.
No matches.
Kirby had thrown them down supper units. No matches. Only dinner rats had matches in them. Saunders resisted the urge to curse, took the empty box and filled it with the biscuits, chocolate, sugar cubes and cigarettes.
He didn't bother with the can of meat. He'd never get the can open one handed. And he wasn't about to try to wake Harris up.
Unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, he tucked the box into his open shirt, grabbed a canteen and made his way back to sit down.
Putting the canteen between his knees, he twisted the cap off and drank deeply. Ripping open the biscuits with his teeth, he thought that if he couldn't smoke, at least he could eat.
Barely tasting the biscuits or chocolate, he ripped open a sugar cube and popped it into his mouth. As it slowly dissolved, he tore open the cigarettes and stuck one in the corner of his mouth. Even though he had no matches, just having one in his mouth helped to take the edge off.
Soon afterwards, Saunders finally drifted off to sleep, and all was quiet in the dark cellar. After what seemed like only minutes to the sleeping sergeant, odd noises woke him instantly. He sat up straight and listened intently with the unlit cigarette still in his mouth.
It took him a moment to realize that it was just about dawn. Filtered light was starting to come through the hole above them. And with the light came the sounds. Foreign sounds. Krauts!
Saunders pulled his legs up tight against his chest, threw the cigarette down by his side, and looked over anxiously at Harris. He could see in the dim light that the soldier was still out cold, lying against the wall. Perfect.
Sitting in dead silence, the sergeant stared tensely up at the hole. He was well aware that if a kraut decided to drop a grenade down, there was absolutely no real place to hide. He waited.
He didn't understand much German, but one of the words he recognized instantly now came floating down to him from a soldier above. Granate…grenade.
CHAPTER 15
His heart skipped a beat and rose into his throat. He hastily looked around the gloomy cellar once again, hoping he'd missed some place where they could hide. Their best chance was under the stairway. But the steps were open and offered little protection from lateral shrapnel, and there would be no time for him to drag the sleeping Harris to a safer place anyway.
As he became resigned to whatever his fate would be, he heard, "Nein." There was a long, tense silence, and then the voices and sounds began to fade. Saunders realized that he'd been holding his breath. He let it out forcefully and took another deep breath. Wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve, he looked over at Harris who was practically unconscious on the floor.
He'll never know how close he came to having his biggest fear come true, the sergeant thought. And there was nothing that Saunders could have done to stop it…except throw himself on top of the sleeping man and hope he survived.
How desperately Saunders needed a cigarette. With shaking hands, he fumbled for his tiny pack of cigarettes, pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth.
While contemplating how close they had both come to a messy death, Saunders heard dripping sounds. He looked over at the center of the room and realized that it was beginning to rain. Fat rain drops were starting to fall on the pile of debris.
He stood up and went to a shelf along the far wall where he remembered seeing an unbroken large ceramic bowl lying upside down. Pushing aside a few odd and end household items, he pulled out the bowl and turned it over.
The bottom had been covered in dust and debris, but the inside of the bowl merely had a light coating of dust. He pulled his shirt tail out from his pants and used it to wipe the inside of the bowl.
Sliding it awkwardly under his right arm, he brought it to the center of the room and looked at the pile of debris. Staring at the pile for a moment, he finally carefully set the bowl on the floor. Pushing the rubble around, he gradually created a fairly flat surface.
He looked up occasionally, trying to locate the exact center of the opening above him. As he worked, the rain drops pelted his face, creating rivulets of dirt streaking down his cheeks. The cold water felt good on his sweating head. Large water droplets clung to his blond hair.
He held his good hand out for a moment until it was soaked, and then he rubbed his face and neck. Wrapping his left arm around the bowl while avoiding his injured wrist, Saunders grabbed it with his right hand. He picked it up carefully and gently placed it on the pile of rubble.
The sergeant leaned in to balance the bowl precariously on the small level area that he'd just created. Looking up again, he shifted the bowl slightly toward him, trying to get it as close to the center of the opening as possible.
They did have the two canteens that Kirby had dropped down to them, but one was almost gone already. If the krauts continued to hold the town, it could be a long while before they were rescued. A long while. Saunders figured that they could go a week or more without food, but only a few days without water.
Why couldn't Kirby at least have given them the breakfast rations? he thought. Breakfast K rats came with halazone tablets. But still no matches, he couldn't help thinking.
CHAPTER 16
Finally satisfied with the bowl's position, Saunders went back to sitting near Harris. The hours dragged by slowly. He periodically looked over at the sleeping figure. He admired the young soldier's determination to get the monkey off his back. But he knew from his experience in both North Africa and Italy that it wasn't going to be easy. He'd seen men run short of pills and go into withdrawal. It could be brutal on both the addict and those around him.
When Harris finally woke up, they were both going to be in for a very long and rough ride.
More time passed as the sergeant continued to sit against the wall, occasionally glancing over at Harris still lying prone on the dirt floor. But mostly he found himself just staring at the jagged hole above them.
He hadn't heard gunfire in a long time, which probably meant that the krauts still controlled the town. The feeling was reinforced by the fact that no one had come to get them out of the cellar. Saunders' gut remained tight even though all seemed quiet.
He knew that just because a couple of soldiers had already checked down in the cellar, it didn't mean that others wouldn't come with a different idea about being sure it was clear. He and Harris wouldn't be out of danger until the GI's took back the town.
Saunders automatically reached for his cigarettes. Looking up, he closed his eyes and banged his head lightly on the wall several times in frustration.
Digging in his pants pocket, he came up with the crushed tiny K rat packet with one remaining cigarette. Pulling out a bent, soggy cigarette that he had saved after holding it in his mouth earlier, the sergeant looked at it in disgust and tossed it in the pile of debris. He crushed the wrapper and threw it in a small pool of mud at the base of the debris.
As he shifted uncomfortably on the dirt floor, he winced in pain. His wrist was throbbing, and both his hip and back were still bruised and aching from his fall down the stairs.
…And he needed a cigarette. A lit one.
Too soon, Harris began to stir, making soft noises as if having bad dreams. Saunders steeled himself. He just knew that he wasn't physically or mentally up for what was coming.
The soldier opened his eyes and sat up suddenly, wide-eyed.
"Take it easy, Harris," the sergeant tried to reassure him. "We're still in the cellar.
As the soldier continued to look around warily, Saunders added, "See? You got a good sleep in, and you woke up again just fine."
Far from fine, he thought to himself. And he wasn't about to tell the soldier how close the man had come to having his worst nightmare come true when the krauts stood above them deciding their fates.
Harris looked up at the hole. "It's raining," he said flatly.
"Yeah," Saunders answered. "Been raining for awhile. Looks like it's not going to stop for quite awhile more. Might even get worse."
The soldier looked around the room with a blank stare. "How long was I out?"
"Almost eighteen hours. You really crashed." Saunders held up the empty K rat box and waved it toward the table. "You hungry? Still some left."
The private shook his head. "I feel kinda sick."
Saunders held up his canteen. "At least drink some water. Maybe it'll help. Go grab the other canteen." Keep him occupied, he thought to himself.
Harris got up and started to make his way to the table when he stopped. Staring at the center of the debris, he asked, "What's that?" Going over to investigate, he reached out for the bowl.
CHAPTER 17
"Don't touch that!" Saunders called out angrily. "It's balancing there pretty precariously. It's collecting rain water."
"What for?" Harris asked, his voice unsteady.
Saunders could tell that the man was out on the edge…but so was Saunders. He replied impatiently, "We may need it, and we can't depend on it raining again any time soon. My canteen is already empty. The bowl's sitting dead center to be sure we're getting only pure rain water. No halazone tablets."
Trying to calm his nerves, Saunders lowered his voice. "Just…don't touch it."
Harris continued to stare at the bowl, and then looked up at the rain dripping down. "It's getting muddy in here," he said while looking at his feet absent mindedly. He returned to his dry corner and slid down the wall to sit in the dirt…the canteen forgotten.
He'd barely been seated when he stood back up again and went up the stairs to the blocked door. He rattled the doorknob and banged on the door with his fist.
"Knock it off!" Saunders hissed as he pushed himself up and limped to the bottom of the stairway. He could feel his anger rising, and he felt like he needed to get it out. Trying to be as quiet as he could, he added, "You want to bring the whole kraut army down on us? It's quiet up there now, but the krauts still control the town."
The sergeant pointed at the door. "Besides, you already tried that, remember? Twice. It's blocked. And Caje told us it's blocked too. Now go sit down."
Saunders could feel that his nerves were on edge. He was dirty, miserable and aching all over. He just needed one lousy cigarette and he knew he'd feel better. He couldn't ever remember going this long without one since he'd started smoking in basic training.
He fumbled for another cigarette and then looked over at the crushed empty pack sitting in a growing puddle. Limping to the table, he grabbed another box and ripped it open with his teeth. Dumping the contents, he grabbed the little four pack of cigarettes and bit the top of the wrapper. Slipping one out between his lips, he could feel his body's reaction.
His nerves were beyond frayed knowing that the Germans could toss in a grenade at any moment and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to protect himself. And he refused to face the possibility of waiting for help that never came if the krauts held the town. He and Harris would slowly die of starvation or dehydration.
It was all hanging over his head like an axe ready to drop at any moment. As if he didn't have enough problems, Harris was now awake and in full withdrawal. Without thinking, Saunders tried to inhale on the unlit cigarette.
The sergeant began to pace but stopped when he saw that Harris was still at the top of the stairs. "Come down, I said!" he hissed again.
Why hadn't Kirby had the sense to throw down a pack of matches? Why hadn't he checked his pockets earlier to realize that his lighter was gone? His lighter was gone. With that thought, he could feel his anxiety rising even higher. Maybe his luck was finally running out.
He began to pace again through the mud that was forming around the pile of debris, occasionally staring up impatiently at the hole as it dripped water.
Throwing his soggy cigarette into the mud, he went over to the table and picked up the biscuits. Ripping it open with his teeth, he stuffed a biscuit into his mouth. It was quickly followed by half the chocolate, and then a sugar cube.
He stuffed the remaining chocolate and biscuits into his pants pocket and looked at the can of meat. Putting the twist key on top of the can, he took the two back to the wall and sat down. The sergeant thought about it for a moment and then turned the can sideways in between his knees, maneuvering it until the tab was upward.
Sliding the tab into the twist key, he began to awkwardly open the can. But holding the can tightly between his knees sent a shooting pain up through his injured hip and back. And when he eased off on the pressure, the can slipped out from his knees.
After several unsuccessful tries, he threw the can under the stairway in frustration. With an angry grunt, he stood up.
Walking to the edge of the pile of rubble, the sergeant looked up again, mentally willing Kirby or Caje…or anyone…to appear. He ran his good hand through his dirty hair, pulled out the remaining chocolate and stuffed it into his mouth.
He'd tried quitting smoking once before, so he knew all the signs. Anxiety, irritability, increased appetite, especially for anything sweet. And now he was starting to get a roaring headache. Just what he needed on top of everything, including krauts and Harris.
The private had finally come down the stairs, avoiding the pacing sergeant. Looking up at the opening again, he cautiously avoided the balancing bowl. Staring at the bowl, he watched as the rain drops pelted the surface of the water like a miniature barrage.
As Saunders had predicted, the rain showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it seemed to be intensifying with occasional flashes of lightning, quickly followed by the booming roll of thunder.
"Think we'll drown in here?" Harris asked casually.
Saunders laughed. "Doubt it. But we're going to get pretty muddy if it doesn't let up soon."
The private reached a hand up into the downpour, careful to avoid the bowl. Then he wiped his wet hand over his sweating and dirty face.
"Feels good," he said quietly.
"Yeah," the sergeant agreed. He'd done it several times himself while he'd been pacing. "At least the rain is probably keeping the krauts away."
They were both quiet until Harris finally asked, "What if they don't ever come back for us?"
"They will," his sergeant answered calmly.
"But what if they can't?" the private insisted. "What if the krauts don't give up the town? What if the Company heads somewhere else? We're just two more expendable soldiers. We could die down here."
Saunders could see and feel Harris' anxiety bubbling up again. "They'll come. Just gotta be patient."
Harris shook his head nervously. "I'm gonna die in here. I know it! I came to you so I wouldn't die!"
The sergeant remained quiet, unsure of how to respond to a man in full withdrawal without setting off his already primed C4. He could only stall for time, hoping that the Company returned before the explosion.
The private began to pace as his voice rose higher and he became more frantic. "Maybe if I yell, the krauts will hear me and take us prisoners. That's better than dying slowly down here, ain't it?"
With eyes wide in panic, Harris darted toward the center of the cellar.
CHAPTER 18
Saunders lunged for the soldier, trying to block him as he struggled to reach the pile of debris. Grabbing the private around the shoulders, the sergeant cried out in pain, having forgotten his injured wrist.
With his weakened hold on the man, he was no match for Harris. The soldier was younger, bigger and stronger. Harris yelled and pushed him away. Saunders stumbled but held onto the private's shirt. Falling backwards, he pulled Harris down on top of him.
Locked together, the two soldiers landed in the water and mud. Saunders released Harris with his one good hand, balled it into a fist and struck the man on the jaw. He knew that he couldn't win with brute strength. He had to try to take him out quickly. But Harris was just too strong…and too crazed.
Harris sat up on top of his sergeant, straddling him and struck him on the side of his forehead. Saunders' vision faded and then returned with flashing lights blurring everything.
Reaching up to grab the private's collar to try to pull him off, Saunders struggled to hang on. But the man easily batted away his arm and hit him square in the face. Pain radiated from Saunders' mouth and nose, and his vision blurred again.
Harris wrapped his hands around his sergeant's throat and began to squeeze. Blood from Saunders' lip and nose slid over Harris' fingers as the man tightened his grip.
The anger-fueled fight between the two soldiers was quickly turning deadly.
Saunders' body bucked under the weight of his attacker, trying to break Harris' grip. He was fast running out of air. He could see in Harris' wide blank eyes that he had lost all sense of reason. The man was drowning in waves of withdrawal…and was going to kill his sergeant.
Ignoring the pain, Saunders desperately reached out with his injured left hand, while his right hand repeatedly struck Harris in the head, pain lancing through his hand with every blow.
Snap out of it! he screamed to himself as his left hand searched frantically for anything that he could use as a weapon.
His fingertips swept over a piece of wood leaning against the pile of rubble. He grabbed for it, but couldn't quite get his fingers around it. Making a quick lunge toward it, he failed to catch hold of it, but his efforts managed to dislodge it and knock it loose. The pile began to crumble and the delicate balance was disrupted. The large bowl of rain water began to teeter.
Slowly the bowl tipped to one side, and the ice cold rain water, quickly followed by the bowl itself, fell onto the crazed soldier's back. Both men were drenched in the cold water as the bowl smashed.
Harris shouted and sat up suddenly, releasing his grip on his sergeant's neck. His withdrawal-fueled rage was broken, and he looked around blankly, trying to fathom what had just attacked him. And then as if seeing him for the first time, he looked down in horror at his sergeant beneath him.
Saunders was gasping for air, taking huge gulps in between coughing fits. Blood covered his mouth and chin, streaming down his neck. He fought for air as he swallowed blood.
Realizing what he'd just done, the young soldier stood up unsteadily in the mud and looked around in a panic for a way to run, or someplace to hide. As Saunders lay in the mud, Harris withdrew to his dry corner and slid to the dirt floor. Curling up in a tight ball, he tried to block out his past…and his future.
CHAPTER 19
Time passed. No one moved.
Slowly, Saunders' raspy breathing began to even out, and he lay quietly looking up at the graying sky. He finally rolled over onto his side, oblivious to the mud oozing across his cheek and mixing with the blood as it snaked into his mouth.
He gradually sat up and spat out the mud and the blood. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he reached up to check the side of his head where Harris had struck him. His hand came away with more mud and blood.
The soldier had belted him a good one, opening a large cut over Saunders' eye. Sitting up, he could feel the wet oozing down his face, joining that already on his neck.
On top of it all, his left wrist was more swollen than ever, and it felt like it was on fire. His neck and throat were painfully sore, and he still had a raging headache. Now his right hand was killing him too.
And more than he could ever remember…he needed a cigarette. Saunders was so tired of this war with all of its physical, mental and emotional destruction.
Steadying himself, the sergeant gradually pulled himself onto his knees, clutching his injured wrist to his chest. He stared over in the dim light at the barely visible figure huddled in the corner, curled into a tight fetal ball.
What was this war doing? It seemed to be sheer madness to him. He hung his head wearily for a long moment.
With a deep breath, he slowly stood upright, wavering slightly. Looking up into the driving rain and lightning flashes above him, he reached out to the pile of debris and climbed unsteadily onto the rubble and stood in the center at the top.
Spreading his arms, the sergeant lifted his face to the pelting rain. Each drop was almost painful, yet it was also welcome. He stood with open, raised arms as the cold driving rain washed away the mud, the blood, the pain…and the war.
For a brief, precious moment in time, Sergeant Saunders was cleansed.
CHAPTER 20
The two men remained in their own silent worlds for a long while until Saunders slowly climbed down and looked over at the still curled up soldier.
"Harris?" he said hoarsely.
Soaked to the skin and still dripping, he made his way over to Harris' corner. Leaning against the wall, he slid down to sit next to the young man. "Harris?" he repeated.
He heard a muffled reply, and leaned closer to the soldier. "What?" the sergeant asked wearily. "Can't hear you."
Harris lifted his head a little. "I'm sorry. I can't believe I did that. You should have me court martialed. I'm so sorry." He buried his head in his arms again.
Saunders reached out and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Forget it," he said quietly. "I know it's not you. I've seen it before. It's the drugs. I was just as mad at you, and all I'm craving is a damn cigarette."
He smiled and closed his eyes. It was dark again. Another day gone. But he knew that his men would come back. He knew it. Wiping at the cut over his eye, he looked at his hand. Still bleeding some. Really should be bandaged.
He snorted a laugh and dropped both hands into his lap, wincing at the pain in his injured wrist. Licking some fresh blood from his mouth, he touched his lower lip gingerly.
The two soldiers sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts and withdrawn into his own world. As the darkness swallowed them once again, totally exhausted, they both fell asleep.
CHAPTER 21
Saunders' eyes shot open and his heart rate instantly doubled. He sat bolt upright and leaned forward, listening. Gunfire. Small arms. Standing up while holding his injured arm close to his stomach, he rushed to the center of the cellar. Ignoring his aching muscles and hip, he climbed onto the pile of debris.
The sergeant listened intently, bringing up an imaginary map of the town in his head. GI's were returning and advancing slowly toward them. The Company was taking back the town.
"Harris!" he called out. "Harris! Wake up!"
The young soldier stirred and slowly sat up. "What is it, Sarge?" he asked groggily.
"They're back! Our Company's back!" the sergeant exclaimed.
The private scrambled to his feet and ran to the rubble pile. Both stared up intently at the hole above.
Sounds of gunfire and grenades continued for what seemed like a lifetime to the two anxious soldiers. They were so close now. As the gunfire became more sporadic, their anxiety grew. By the time that the fighting above had pretty much ceased, it was daylight. Both Saunders and Harris were pacing nervously as they wondered which side had taken control.
After what seemed like days to the two men, the sergeant caught a flash of movement above him and heard a familiar voice.
"Yo! You still down there?" Kirby's concerned face popped into view.
"Where'd you expect us to be?" Saunders asked, looking up in relief.
"Well, heck, you're the Sarge. Figured maybe you'd piled all the junk up and just climbed out by now. Or maybe did your Flying Wallenda act again, you know? Anyway, you guys ok?"
Then the soldier looked down more closely at his sergeant. "Whoa, Sarge, you alright?" he asked with eyes wide in surprise.
Saunders looked up, his hair matted and his face caked with remnants of dried and fresh blood. The side of his head was an ugly purple, and his lip was split and swollen.
The sergeant simply answered, "I tripped."
Kirby smirked. "Some 'trip'. I've sure been on that train before!"
Just then Caje's face popped into view next to Kirby.
"What happened, Caje?" the sergeant asked, glad to change the subject.
"We did it, Sarge," the Cajun replied. "We've pretty much cleared the town of krauts except for a few snipers out on the other end of town. We've been trying to get them, but they're really dug in."
Holding up a coil of rope, he added, "Now we can get you out."
"Uh, oh," Kirby said, looking over his shoulder. "Gotta go. The Lieutenant's calling me. Glad you guys are ok."
And Kirby disappeared. Caje called down, "Hold on." And the Cajun disappeared as well. After several long, tense minutes, Saunders began to get anxious. Harris was pacing again.
Caje appeared suddenly and said, "Heads up!" as he threw down the rope. "I tied the other end off on a beam up here. You can climb up."
Harris grabbed the rope and held it out to his sergeant. Saunders raised his left arm with the swollen, bruised wrist.
"I don't think so."
The private stared at the rope in his hand for a few seconds, and then turned back to Saunders. "Ok, I'll climb up. Make a loop and toss it down. You slip it around you, and Caje and I'll pull you up. Sound good?"
Saunders nodded. "That'll work."
CHAPTER 22
It didn't take long for Harris to shinny up the rope, grab solid wood, and swing himself onto the debris around the hole. He pulled the rope back up, tied a sliding knot, and made an adjustable loop.
"Coming down," the soldier called out as he dropped the line down into the hole.
Saunders grabbed the loop as it came down, and brought it over his head and under his arms. Tightening the loop around his chest, he waved to Caje.
Harris took hold of the line and braced his foot against a beam as he prepared to haul their sergeant up. When he felt secure, he nodded to Caje. "Ok, Caje. I'm set."
"Here goes, Sarge," the Cajun called out as he added his strength to the line.
Saunders gradually lifted up, spinning slowly as he rose. Suddenly a bullet plowed into the beam next to Harris' head. He flinched and yelled, "What the heck?"
The rope slipped from his fingers and Caje immediately felt the entire weight fall into his hands. With the rope burning through his fingers, the Cajun managed to slow their sergeant's abrupt descent until Harris recovered and grabbed the line back.
Saunders' heart jumped as he dropped, and he instantly prepared to hit the debris below him. Jerking to a stop a foot above the rubble, he spun wildly and began to swing.
Another shot rang out and pinged just over Harris' head, but this time he held onto the line, ducking lower. While keeping their heads down, the two soldiers slowly pulled their sergeant back up.
When Saunders' head appeared, he reached up with his good hand. Harris tightened his grip and braced himself.
"Pull him up, Caje. I've got the rope."
The Cajun let go of the rope, and after double checking that Harris could hold it, he grabbed the sergeant's arm and then his belt to pull him the rest of the way out.
Saunders lay face down for a few seconds, and then rolled over and sat up with his legs dangling back down into the hole.
"What happened?" he asked the two soldiers.
"Snipers," Caje replied. "Like I said, there's a few of them dug in up high at the end of the street. They keep moving around and no one seems to be able to get to them. They shoot at anything they can see."
Harris looked out around the town. "Where are they now, Caje?"
Caje pointed. "Those buildings. Not the tallest, but I guess they got cornered there when the krauts pulled out. They seem to work together and keep moving from room to room when they can. We can't get up there 'cause the stairways are barricaded. If they hear anyone trying to clear them, they shoot down the stairwell. Shot a couple of our guys already. One wounded in the stairwell and two out on the street. Can't even get a medic out to the wounded. The snipers are using them as bait."
Harris looked around again, and his gaze stopped on the church steeple. "Give me your Garand and a spare clip, Caje."
CHAPTER 23
The Cajun looked from Saunders to Harris and back again. "Sarge?" he finally said.
Saunders looked at Harris. "Once you start shooting, they'll locate you. They could pick you off. We've just been through a lot. You sure you're up for this?"
The sergeant glanced over at Caje and added, "You know what you're doing?"
Harris looked determined. "Of course I know what I'm doing!"
Recognizing his own tension, he took a deep breath. He could see the look of doubt and concern in his sergeant's eyes.
With another deep breath, he added calmly, "Look, Sarge, I'm ok. I'm a little shaky, I'll be ok once I settle in. This isn't tobacco tin courage. I do know what I'm doing. Just give me the rifle and a clip."
Still seeing concern in Saunders' eyes, he continued. "If those krauts are really trained snipers, they're probably using Gewehr 43's with Zeiss sights. I know their range, and I know the krauts are usually pretty good. I may not be a trained sniper myself, but I do know what I'm doing. I'll be careful."
He waited expectantly for his sergeant's decision.
Saunders stared at him for a long, silent minute, and then said, "Give it to him, Caje."
The Cajun handed Harris his rifle and pulled out three spare clips. As he held the clips out, the private only took one of them. Caje looked at him questioningly.
"You said there's three snipers?" Harris asked and Caje nodded.
"Then this is all I'll need," he replied. Harris pulled out the rifle's clip, checked to be sure that it was full, and snapped it back in.
He pointed to Caje's helmet. "Mind if I borrow that?"
Caje smiled, took off his helmet and handed it to the soldier. "Be my guest."
Harris nodded at the two men, and keeping low, he picked his way out onto the street. When he stepped out onto the street, he examined the full damage to the store above the cellar that they had been trapped in for so long. There was very little left standing. He realized how lucky they'd both been.
As he surveyed the damage in the street, he could see that he was invisible from the snipers' points of view. Several buildings blocked a direct line of sight.
Heading toward the church, Harris stopped when a glint of reflected light caught his eye in the rubble out in the street. He walked over and bent down. Brushing aside some loose debris, he picked up a battered Lucky Strike tobacco tin.
Harris stared at the tin. And then clenching the tin tightly in his fist, he ran toward the church.
Sergeant Saunders stood by the ruins of the store front and silently watched him go.
CHAPTER 24
With the rifle slung over his shoulder, Harris climbed the long stairway to the top of the church bell tower. It would afford him an excellent view of the entire town. If it weren't for the snipers, he knew that the Company would already be setting up an observation post there.
Reaching the top stair, he looked around. The tower was relatively unscathed, considering all of the fighting and the barrage. He began to quickly but methodically examine the view from each opening.
Being careful not to offer the Germans any more of a target than necessary, he moved from opening to opening, checking for other possible snipers. Once he was fairly confident that the three on the other end of town were the only ones, Harris found his own spot where he could see straight down the main street to where Caje had said that the krauts were holed up.
Harris propped the rifle against the stone wall under the opening. Kneeling down, he could just see out over the sill. Perfect. As he started to pick up the rifle, he paused and then reached into his pants pocket to pull out the tobacco tin. He stared at the metal tin, turning it over in his hand.
"Looking for some of that tobacco tin courage?" came the all too familiar voice.
Harris looked up to see Saunders at the top of the stairway, leaning heavily against the wall.
"You've just gone through a couple of days of hell," Saunders said quietly. "Do you really want to stop now? All of that would have been for nothing. You're better than that, Sam. You deserve better than that. Don't throw it all away now by going back down that rabbit hole again. Keep the monkey off your back. You can do it. I'll help you."
They both stared at each other until the sergeant added firmly, "You've got a job to do, soldier. Do it. Do your job."
CHAPTER 25
Harris continued to stare at his sergeant until he looked down at the tin of little white pills that had given him such amazing confidence and courage for so many months. They had helped make the war bearable, and kept the nightmares at bay.
But he knew that his sergeant was right. It was a false sense of courage and confidence. If he was ever going to get through the war…through life…he had to learn how to deal with it all on his own terms.
He wasn't out of that rabbit hole yet, but he'd seen daylight down in that cellar. He could almost taste it that he was getting close. Harris leaned his head against the cold stones while thoughts and emotions collided in his brain.
The young soldier squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he tried to think. Saunders watched him intently and silently. The soldier's future was in his own hands now.
Harris opened his eyes, quickly stood up, drew back his arm and threw the tin far out into the street. It arced downward, crashing and bouncing on the rubble and cobblestones until it burst open. The scattering of little white pills began to fade away into the large puddles of cleansing rain water.
Scooping up the Garand, Harris settled on one knee and began to locate his targets. Having a sill certainly made it easier. His nerves hadn't completely calmed and he was still nauseous. But now his own natural adrenalin was beginning to surge and take over.
He searched the windows on the far side of town until he saw a slight movement. Taking a deep breath, the soldier calmly took aim and sighted his target. When he saw the movement again, he didn't hesitate. He squeezed the trigger.
The first German went down quickly, never knowing what had hit him. But now the other two snipers were cautious, knowing that they had a formidable adversary. Harris had lost the element of surprise. Although they didn't actually know where he was, the obvious location was the church steeple.
As Harris located the second sniper, a chunk of stone flew off of the wall near his head, followed quickly by the sound of rifle fire. They had located him as well. Still kneeling, he moved his head slightly sideways until only his left eye could see out of the opening, just above the sill. He slid the rifle barrel forward slowly, resting on the sill in the corner of the opening.
Harris waited, focusing on a window in the tallest building…he waited. As soon as he saw a hint of movement, Harris squeezed the trigger. The man's weapon slid out the window, followed by the sniper as he tumbled head first into the street below.
The soldier quickly pulled back behind the wall as several bullets came his way from the last sniper. One tore into the wall behind him. Another shot went through the open window and out the other side of the tower. He could hear its whisper of death as it passed close to his head.
Harris knew that the third sniper was going to be the most difficult, but he'd known that from the beginning. The sniper would be more cautious. His senses would be razor sharp as his instinct for survival and his adrenalin kicked in.
Staying tucked back against the wall, Harris looked up at his sergeant who was still at the top of the stairs pressed against the wall, silently watching and waiting. Wordlessly, Saunders nodded to him.
Harris peeked out quickly at where he suspected the last sniper was dug in. He caught a fleeting glimpse of movement, and then he drew back just as quickly. He had his target as long as the man didn't move.
Rifle in hand, he slowly stood up, sliding flat against the wall. He steadied himself, raised the Garand, closed his eyes, and mentally pictured exactly where the last sniper would appear.
Taking several, slow deep breaths, Harris stepped full out into the opening. His body filled the frame, becoming an instant and irresistible target. A split second later Harris fired as the German came out from hiding, unable to pass up such a tempting stupid target.
Again the sniper's weapon clattered to the street below, and the man disappeared from view except for a lifeless arm draped over the window sill.
After a long moment of silence, shouts and cheers could be heard faintly from the other end of the street. GI's began to cautiously come out of hiding, and two medics ran out into the street to tend to the wounded. It was over.
CHAPTER 27
Saunders could see Harris visibly relax as the soldier lowered the rifle.
"Done?" he asked softly.
Harris gave a faint smile and nodded, "Done."
With no further conversation, the sergeant turned to begin slowly walking back down the stairs. Leaning heavily on the wall, he favored his injured hip as he held his left arm protectively against his chest. Harris was right behind him, watching the sergeant carefully.
As they came out of the darkness of the church and into the light of day, the rest of the squad came running toward them and gathered around.
"You did it, Harris," Caje said smiling, slapping the soldier on the back.
Harris held out the Garand to the man. "Thanks." Handing over his helmet, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the extra clip. "Didn't need it."
Billy came running up the street shouting, "Lieutenant Hanley wants everyone back right away to help set up the HQ. Says now that the snipers are gone we gotta get moving."
He took a few catch up breaths then added, "And Sarge, he said to tell you that he's glad you and Harris made it out of the cellar ok, but he wants to see you ASAP. Another patrol, I think. Wants to find out how far the krauts withdrew. And he wants to hear about how those snipers got taken out."
Saunders looked at his men. "Ok, you heard Billy. Everyone move out. I'll catch up to you after I talk to the Lieutenant. Start getting yourself ready for that patrol."
As the men walked away, still talking about the snipers, Saunders turned to Harris.
"Did a great job up there, soldier. And you did it clean."
"And I'm gonna try to stay that way, Sarge," Harris replied. "Have to admit I was pretty shaky up there. Had a hard time keeping it together and staying focused."
The soldier gave his sergeant an anxious look. "I don't know what would have happened if you weren't there. Guess I've still got a long way to go."
"You need help, you know where to find it," Saunders replied. "Maybe when we're all settled in you might go over to the field hospital and talk to one of the Docs."
Harris nodded. "I think that would help. Need all the help I can get."
Saunders pointed down the street. "Go catch up with your squad. We'll talk more about this later."
As Harris trotted down the cobblestones to join the others, Saunders watched him go, and thought of what the private had gone through. And what he still had ahead of him. But he had confidence that the soldier would give it his best to get through it. Harris seemed to be determined.
The sergeant knew that not many of the men he'd seen in North Africa were strong enough to go through withdrawal and come out clean on the other side. Especially not in the middle of a war.
Saunders suddenly realized that Caje was still standing nearby. He looked at the soldier questioningly.
Caje held out his hand. "Found this in the street on the way over here." His lighter. "It's a little scratched."
Saunders took it and turned it over in his hand. A jagged scratch ran across the back, almost as if it was underlining his name. Sergeant Saunders.
He gripped it tightly in his fist. "Thanks," was all he could say.
Looking at each other for a long moment, Caje finally asked, "How're you doing, Sarge?"
When his sergeant didn't reply, the Cajun continued, "Must have been tough being trapped in that cellar for days, just the two of you."
He looked at the sergeant's bruised forehead and split lip. "Bet you're glad that's over with."
It became obvious that Saunders was not going to talk about any of it, so Caje asked, "You gonna be ok to head up a patrol?"
His sergeant finally smiled, "Heck, no." He held up his injured swollen wrist. "It's all yours. Better come with me to see the Lieutenant."
As they began to walk together down the street, picking their way through the rubble, Caje absent mindedly took out his cigarettes. Eyeing the soldier intently, Saunders lit the man's cigarette with his lighter.
Seeing the look in his sergeant's eyes, the Cajun asked, "Want one?"
Trying not to show his need, Saunders nodded, quickly took one and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he momentarily closed his eyes with a faint look of sadness. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he looked at it briefly and then stuck it back in.
Inhaling deeply once more, Sergeant Saunders said, "Let's see what Lieutenant Hanley wants."
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Drug use was prevalent during WWII with the Germans using an estimated 200 million Pervitin tablets (an early version of
crystal meth). They also laced chocolate with Pervitin and chewing gum with cocaine. Hitler himself used a cocktail mix of oxycodone and speed.
After discovering a cache of Pervitin in a downed German
fighter plane, the Allies followed suit, developing Benzedrine (also an amphetamine). The Pentagon handed out almost 500 million tablets in the course of the war.
Amphetamines heightened aggression, improved both
confidence and morale, offset fatigue, creating very little need or desire for sleep for days at a time. It deadened the effects of shell shock (PTSD), giving a soldier a sense of fearlessness with an absence of the drive for self-preservation.
Medical staff on both sides handed out the drugs regularly.
The Germans defeated the British at Dunkirk with massive usage of drugs. Wehrmacht soldiers were able to march twenty two miles per day for ten consecutive days while fighting and carrying sixty pound packs. All while consuming Pervitin.
At the second Battle of El Alamein in North Africa, British General Montgomery gave out 100,000 Benzedrine tablets. The British Armored Tank Brigade received double the normal dosage. The tanks charged German positions in a virtual suicide run, suffering 80% casualties.
General Eisenhower himself ordered half a million tablets for his soldiers when they landed in North Africa in 1942.
It is estimated that more than 15% of American soldiers took
Benzedrine on a regular basis.
For additional information the following are recommended:
-The research paper, "Blood, Meth and Tears: The Super Soldier of WWII."
- PBS documentary, "Secrets of the Dead: World War Speed."