No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author.
Thanks to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading.
Skwörl
by: Queen's Bishop
2020 © Reg. No. TXu 2-235-903
[] Indicates German is being spoken.
()()()() Indicates time has passed or the focus of the story
has changed to another character or location.
The three young men were the best of friends although they hadn't known each other before the war. They had only met when assigned to the same squadron. But, within a matter of days Horst and the two Günters were doing everything together. If Cpl. Seifert saw one, he knew the other two were sure to be close by.
On this particular morning, he had first heard the shooting and then, as he climbed the ridge to investigate, the laughter. Finally, he spotted Soldat Horst Helmann leaning against a tree, his rifle in one hand and a bottle of schnapps in the other. Seifert decided to sneak up on them to see what they were up to.
It was a game they often played when they could escape from the prying eyes of their corporal. They would set up targets quite far away and shot at them, first sober and then continuing their target practice as they consumed whatever alcohol they had confiscated in recent days and managed to keep hidden from Seifert.
Today the friends had wandered to the top of a steep bank that overlooked several fields and beyond them, one of the roads out of St. Michael, the town where they were currently stationed. The road was full of slow-moving civilians who were fleeing because they sensed there would soon be fighting in the streets of their village.
Horst let the empty bottle fall from his hand and plopped down by Günter Buelow. [Which one?] he asked.
Günter Meisel laughed. [Do you see the old woman with the red scarf around her head?]
The three friends shot. They were too drunk to hit anything and too far way to hear the screams of the civilians as they scattered.
[WHAT IN HELL DO YOU THREE THINK YOU ARE DOING? DO I HAVE TO BABYSIT YOU EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY? GET BACK TO TOWN BEFORE I USE YOU FOR TARGET PRACTICE, YOU IDIOTS!] their corporal bellowed, breaking up the game.
()()()()()()()()()()
"How far do we gotta go?" Kirby asked.
Saunders sighed. He had been laying out the next day's mission and had unexpectedly been hit by a steady stream of questions, most coming from the BAR man.
"As far as Cpt. Doane wants to go. He's leading the patrol. We're only along for the ride."
"Are we riding!?" Billy asked excitedly. "You didn't say we were gonna be riding! Are we going by half-track?"
The sergeant sighed again. "That was only a figure of speech, Nelson. We'll be walking. It'll be our job to provide the captain with an escort while he looks for a place to construct a bridge," he said for the third, or was it the fifth time. He'd lost count. "Alright, if there're no more questions, check your gear. We're not expecting any trouble, so a basic load of ammo. Caje, grenades all around."
The Cajun nodded and headed for the door of the billet.
As the squad meeting broke up, Billy said, "Gee, I wish we were riding, don't you, Littlejohn. It would be a nice break from always having to walk."
The big man winked at Doc as he got a dreamy look on his face. "Oh, I don't know, Billy. You can't hear the birds or smell the flowers from a half-track," he said.
"I guess I didn't think about that," the young soldier answered seriously.
"Well, you have to, Billy. It's those little things that make life worth living," Littlejohn responded.
Kirby rolled his eyes. "It's ridin' in a half-track that makes life, period," he said as he stomped over to his bedroll. "Another patrol…it'll probably be rainin'…I can feel my dogs barkin' already…" he mumbled.
Then it was Doc, Billy and Littlejohn's turn to roll their eyes. It was going to be one of those patrols.
A few minutes later, the scout returned carrying a wooden bucket. As he began handing the grenades out, he said, "Sarge, de lieutenant wants to see you in de CP."
The sergeant put down the mag he was loading. He was surprised; after all, he and Hanley had gone over the mission just two hours ago. But, the look on his face didn't betray his feelings as he picked up his helmet and slung the Thompson over his shoulder.
()()()()()()()()()()
"You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?" Saunders asked as he entered the CP.
Hanley was standing with his back to the door. When he turned around, the sergeant could see he was on the radio. Saunders looked over at Brockmeyer, who was seated in the corner. The corporal gave a slight shrug and shake of his head.
Saunders walked over to what the lieutenant was using for a desk. The map of tomorrow's mission was still spread out. His finger traced the route they would be following, a farming road that skirted the village of St. Michael. The brass wanted to know if the road would handle the heavy stuff so they could attack the Krauts from two sides. That was the first half of the mission.
The road ran alongside a creek that would have to be crossed. It wasn't very wide or the water very deep, except after a heavy rain. But the sides were steep, too steep for armor. Although there were several bridges spanning the creek that the local farmers used to transport their produce and carts loaded with hay, those bridges couldn't withstand a tank rolling over them.
Cpt. Doane needed to locate a suitable location for the engineers to quickly construct a bridge. That was the other part of the mission. If he couldn't, all the artillery, tanks and supply trucks would be forced to travel many miles over narrow country roads to make the crossing and then back-track, if the farming road was even usable.
At last. the lieutenant signed off. He turned to Saunders and said, "That was Cpt. Jampel on the horn. There've been several encounters with infiltrators further down the line. Evidently, they speak pretty good English and are wearing American uniforms. They've successfully ambushed a couple of unsuspecting patrols and guard positions."
"Does that affect tomorrow's mission?" the sergeant asked.
"No, I don't think so. But Cpt. Doane might make changes in the morning. Either way, you'll need to be extra cautious because you'll be moving parallel to our own line. With the infiltrators, everyone is going to be on edge. The brass has sent out two sets of code words for tomorrow; in the field, 'Birthday' with a countersign of 'Candles' so we can identify our own units, and at guard posts, 'Kentucky' with a countersign of 'Derby'. That first set is only being given to sergeants and officers." Hanley chuckled and added, "The brass thinks the men might get them mixed up. Anyway, make sure everyone in your squad knows 'Kentucky Derby.'"
"Yes, Sir."
As Saunders walked back to their billet, he mulled over whether or not to let his men know tonight about this new wrinkle. But, after all of the questions he'd previously had to deal with, he decided this new piece of information could wait until morning.
()()()()()()()()()()
In the early morning darkness, Saunders stood outside the billet and smoked, watching the sky to the south light up. The quiet was broken by the faint sound of artillery. If he were home, he would have thought it was a storm. He could still remember being awakened in the night by the rumble of thunder and the crack of lightening. How old had he been when he'd gone to his parent's room to crawl into bed with them where he would be safe? That memory brought a brief smile to his face, that memory of being safe. He crushed out and field stripped the cigarette before going back inside to rouse his squad.
The sleepy men yawned, stretched and scratched before heading for the door. Each one stopped to listen to the now almost continuous sound of shelling as they emerged into the cool darkness.
"Someone's sure catchin' it," Kirby said. "Glad it ain't us."
"Who do you think it is, Sarge?" Billy asked.
"I don't know, maybe Baker or Charlie Company. They're both down that way," Saunders replied.
"Well, I'm glad it ain't us," the BAR man said again. Then he grinned the grin that told the rest of the men to be careful because he had something up his sleeve.
"What?" Littlejohn asked.
"Nothin', ya big moose. I was just thinkin' that with all the fightin' to the south, this should be a nice, quiet day for us."
"And…" Littlejohn cautiously said.
"An' nothin'," Kirby replied.
But, the rest of the men could see the wheels in his head spinning.
Saunders broke up the conversation with a not so gentle reminder that they'd be pulling out at first light.
"Sarge, just one more thing," the BAR man quickly said. "Don't ya think one of us should stay behind today? With the fightin' to the south, Lt. Hanley might need someone to help him move the CP, if he should have to move it. I'd be willin' to do it, to help him I mean."
Littlejohn and Doc exchanged glances as they smirked and slightly shook their heads. Caje lowered his to hid his smile. Billy's jaw dropped open as he stared, first at Kirby and then at the sergeant.
"Well, I'm sure the lieutenant wouldn't want to deprive you of the opportunity to take a nice, quiet walk in the country, Kirby, but I'll let him know you volunteered to stay behind," Saunders said with just a trace of sarcasm in his voice. Then he headed over to the CP to see if anything had changed overnight. He met Hanley as he emerged from the doorway.
Before the sergeant could say anything, the lieutenant said, "All hell's breaking loose. Cpt. Doane is inside, he'll fill you in. I've got a meeting at HQ." Hanley started walking again, but stopped suddenly and turned around. "Saunders…"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Be careful."
"Always, Lieutenant, always."
With that, Hanley hurried away and Saunders enter the CP to meet Cpt. Doane.
The officer was short and wiry with a tanned face and fingers that darted from position to position on the map spread out on the small table Hanley was using as a desk. He didn't immediately look up, so the sergeant had a moment to consider him.
'Regular Army,' the NCO thought, 'which is why he looks like a piece of old shoe leather…and is probably just as tough.'
Saunders came to a relaxed attention and saluted as he said, "I'm Sgt. Saunders, Sir. My squad will be your escort today."
Cpt. Doane raised his gaze and returned the salute in a perfunctory manner. "Come take a look at this, Sergeant. There's been a shift in the line overnight. The Krauts are putting a lot of pressure on us."
"Yes, Sir. I heard the artillery to the south earlier this morning."
"They're trying to break through here so getting our armor across this creek would allow us to hit their exposed flank." His fingers darted from location to location as he talked. "In the meantime, the rest of the line is shifting to the south to try to blunt the Kraut attack. Even the Limeys are shifting to fill in the gap we're leaving. So, there may be both German and American, and possibly even British, squads in the territory we'll be crossing as everyone reacts to that developing battle. On top of which, the Krauts have been sending out small units of infiltrators. Did Hanley brief you on that?"
"Yes, Sir, last night?"
"Good, so you've got both sets of passwords?"
"Yes, Sir, 'Birthday' an' 'Candles' if we run into another squad in the field an' 'Kentucky' an' 'Derby' for when we get back home."
"Right. However, I wouldn't count on the Limeys knowing the field sign and countersign. And remember, those are only for sergeants and officers. It's hard enough informing every Tom, Dick and Harry of the daily codes without having to worry about them mixing up a second set. By the way, all of the infiltrators we've had reports about are posing as enlisted men so they shouldn't have them either.
"So, given all that, we'll maintain strict radio silence. I don't even want to carry a handy-talkie. It's too much of a temptation. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
"In fact, I want to avoid contact of any kind as much as possible as we make our way along the creek. Once we've reached this point," he indicated a location on the map, "we'll swing away from the road. There's no sense in pushing our luck going back the same way we came. Then we'll make a beeline southeast, to approximately here," again, he pointed to a location on the map, "where the new line is forming.
"Because of the battle shaping up, it's vital the information we gather on this patrol gets back as quickly as possible, regardless of the cost." He paused and stared at Saunders for a moment. "I want that clearly understood, Sergeant. Regardless of the cost."
The sergeant said, "Yes, Sir, I understand." His face didn't betray his thoughts as he mentally ticked off other 'at all costs' missions: storm the beach and establish a lodgment, destroy that bunker, hold the line, take this hill…
"Good. Go get your squad ready and I'll join you momentarily."
Saunders saluted, but Cpt. Doane didn't look up. He remained focused on the map, his fingers again moving along imaginary lines.
()()()()()()()()()()
The squad was milling around outside their billet when Saunders returned. "Alright, listen up," he said. "The sign for today is 'Kentucky' an' the countersign is 'Derby.' Everybody got that, 'Kentucky Derby.' Also, there've been reports of Kraut infiltrators, so when we get back expect the sentries on duty to be nervous. They're libel to shoot first an' ask questions later, so don't forget, 'Kentucky Derby.'"
Although the rest of men just nodded as they continued to do a last-minute check of their gear, Billy looked around nervously.
"What's the matter, Nelson?" Saunders asked.
"Sarge, if we meet some soldiers, how are we gonna know if they're GIs or Kraut infiltrators," Billy asked.
"We ask 'em a question that only an American would know the answer to, like 'Who owned Mrs. O'Leary's cow?'" Kirby quickly responded.
A bewildered Billy slowly repeated the question then said, "Gee, I don't even know the answer to that."
That brought a few chuckles to the previously somber gathering.
Saunders let a brief smile escape his otherwise stoic expression, but ignored the exchange. Instead, he continued on with the briefing. "We need to make time, so as much as possible we'll avoid contact with other patrols. No firing unless I open up. Got it?"
The NCO quickly scanned his men, but nobody made any comment so he said, "Another thing, there's a battle shaping up south of us…"
"Is King Company gonna be involved?" Billy asked.
"Probably not today, Nelson, but the lines are shifting so when we head back, we'll head southeast, not due east. Everybody got that?"
Again, heads nodded.
"Sarge, about me stayin' behind…" Kirby started to say as the rest of the men rolled their eyes.
The sergeant sighed and was about to respond when he heard Cpt. Doane behind him. Instead, he said, "Fall in."
After brief introductions were made, the captain said, "Whenever you're ready, Sergeant. I'll let you know if there's something I need to stop and take a look at."
"Yes, Sir. Alright, saddle up; Caje, take the point." He looked at the BAR man and said, "Kirby… you cover the rear." Saunders gave the scout a nod and signaled the squad to move out.
As they started, a worried Billy whispered, "Littlejohn, suppose somebody challenges me. I don't know who owned Mrs. O'Leary's cow."
The big soldier smiled. "Don't worry, Billy. If that's the question, I'll answer for you."
"Thanks, Littlejohn, you're a real pal."
Kirby mumbled, "I can hear my dogs barkin' already."
()()()()()()()()()()
Cpt. Doane had the squad stop a number of times as he examined both the road and the steep sides of the creek. Each time he made careful notations on his map. After finishing each inspection, he nodded to Saunders and the squad moved out again.
Occasionally the scout spotted another patrol and the NCO signaled his men to take cover. Once, a Kraut squad moved down the road past the hidden Americans. As the captain had instructed, not a shot was fired. The German soldiers never realized how close they had come to death.
As First Squad reassembled, the captain said, "You've got a good bunch of boys here, Sergeant. I was a little concerned when I heard them discussing Mrs. O'Leary's cow, but they know how to handle themselves. Let's move out."
"Yes, Sir," Saunders said. He knew his men well and had never doubted that they would follow orders. He motioned to the Cajun and they continued on with their mission.
()()()()()()()()()()
"I don't think we're ever gonna stop," Kirby quietly complained as he turned around to once again check the back trail.
Littlejohn heard him, but didn't respond. His stomach was growling and he, too, would have liked to take a break so he could get something to eat. But since he didn't want to encourage the BAR man, he continued to ignore the quiet but steady stream of bellyaches.
However, the sergeant, who was making his way down the column of soldiers checking on each of his men, didn't. Not that he said anything, but when Kirby wheeled back around, he was met by an icy stare that quickly shut him up, at least for a while.
()()()()()()()()()()
Doane consulted his map. They had reached the end point he had marked. If they went further, any potential bridge would be within range of Kraut artillery. He signaled the sergeant to head away from the creek.
Once the squad had covered about a quarter of a mile, the captain moved up beside Saunders and said, "Have your man on point find a place to rest."
Saunders jogged ahead, and together with the scout, selected a shady spot with good cover for the much-anticipated break.
As the squad settled in, the captain joined Saunders at the forward security position. He pulled out his map and opened it on the ground in front of them so the sergeant could see. Once again, his fingers darted from position to position as he talked. "I figure we're here. As soon as you're ready, we'll head for home, moving southeast until we reach the road, which should be about here, then we'll cross the creek."
Saunders nodded as he studied the map. Doane's tiny, barely decipherable notes lined the route they had traveled.
The officer saw him looking. "It's my own shorthand to jog my memory," he said with a smile. "From an engineering point of view, there're only two locations that are adequate, here and here." Once again, his fingers danced across the map. "But I'm sure you saw that for yourself. However, sometimes the brass has other ideas and we have to make due. That's what all this scribbling is for."
"Yes, Sir," Saunders replied. "I'll go over the route with Caje. We'll be ready to pull out in ten minutes."
"Good, Sergeant. Have him move right along. I want to be back by mid-afternoon."
The captain rejoined the rest of the squad. The scout took that as his cue to move up to where Saunders was keeping watch. The sergeant pulled out his map and the two of them studied the route they would soon be traveling.
()()()()()()()()()()
Soldat Kluck adjusted the focus on the binoculars, checking just to be sure that what he thought he saw was real. [Corporal, Cpl. Seifert, at three o'clock, there's an American patrol and it includes a captain.]
[A captain!] Seifert took the binoculars and stared at the Americans in the distance. [I wonder what he is doing with them.]
Siefert continued to observe the Americans until he was confident of the direction they were headed. [Hurry! We'll get ahead of them and set up an ambush,] he told his waiting squad.
()()()()()()()()()()
The German corporal looked at the clearing and raised his hand. It was just as he had remembered it. [The Americans will come through here,] he declared. [Keep away from the mud, you idiot!] he said sharply to Soldat Hutier. [Circle around the pond and dig in on the other side of the stone wall. Kluck, move further down the wall and keep an eye on our left flank. Everyone keep down and be quiet. They won't keep us waiting for very long.]
While they waited, Seifert thought about the American captain. 'If I could capture him, it might mean a promotion.' The corporal smiled and quietly said, "Sgt. Seifert."
()()()()()()()()()()
Caje crouched down as he scanned the clearing ahead. He didn't like what he saw.
There was a small farm pond directly ahead and beyond it one of the ever-present stone walls that defined fields and marked property lines throughout the countryside. The wall skirted the base of a small knoll and continued running in the direction they were headed. The vegetation all around the pond had long ago been trampled by animals coming for a drink, leaving only a muddy ring around the water. But now the war had come to this part of France and the ring bore no trace of any hoofprints. The animals had either been slaughtered for food or moved to a safer location.
Off to the left a stand of trees, like the one the squad was currently occupying, had been cut down. The stumps had not yet been pulled out and the logs were haphazardly laying around, ready to be hauled away for firewood. Beyond the stumps, more fields broken only by occasional stands of trees. Directly to the right was another large empty field which offered little in the way of cover.
Saunders moved up and took a knee by his side. "What do you think?" he asked as he surveyed the scene.
"It's a good place for an ambush. Dat's what I dink. What do you want to do?"
"Pull back an' I'll talk to the captain."
As the sergeant laid out the situation to Doane, the captain studied his map, shaking his head. When Saunders was finished, the captain said, "It's probably nothing. We've passed a dozen places that were more likely spots for an ambush. If we backtrack, that's valuable time we can't afford to lose."
"We could go around. It would take us a little out of our way but…"
Doane didn't give the NCO time to finish. He had made up his mind. He looked at Saunders and said, "Check it out. If it is an ambush, draw them away from us."
The sergeant was surprised but kept his face impassive. Although it wasn't the way he would have handled the situation, he said, "Yes, Sir." At the CP the captain had told him 'at all costs' and this was what he had meant. It was a life or two lost here if there was an ambush against all of the lives that would be saved if they got the information back quickly so the armor could get across the creek. And, by doing it Doane's way, if shots brought more Krauts to the scene, at least the captain and the rest of the squad would be gone.
Saunders joined his men and said, "Alright, listen up. There's a clearing ahead that looks like a good place for an ambush. Kirby, you're on me. We'll circle around the field an' work our way down the stone wall to check it out. It's probably nothing, but if it's a trap, we'll draw them off an' the rest of you continue on."
From the looks on their faces he could tell his men didn't liked the arithmetic (1).
Littlejohn glanced over at Cpt. Doane before he quietly said, "Sarge, what about you and Kirby? Shouldn't we…"
"No, you complete the mission. As soon as we've pulled the Krauts away, Kirby an' I will lose them an' make our way back to our lines. Any other questions?"
The men weren't very happy but could do nothing more than mumble their discontent. There was no more discussion.
Saunders and the BAR man began making their way around the perimeter of the large empty field. When they reached the stone wall, they stepped over it and, crouching low, moved along it in the direction of the pond.
They had covered about three-quarters of the distance when suddenly, ahead of them, lay a German soldier. However, instead of guarding his squad's flank, his attention was focused on the clearing as he watched and waited for the unsuspecting Americans to attempt to cross.
Saunders turned and signaled Kirby to back up. They stopped when they had retreated about fifty yards. The NCO pointed to himself and the knoll. The BAR man nodded in understanding. When Saunders opened up, he would, too, and the chase would be on.
The sergeant slipped away and Kirby moved back until he again spotted the Kraut. As he waited, for Saunders to get into position, he looked around and planned his escape route.
()()()()()()()()()()
Cpt. Doane was crouched beside Caje. He was getting antsy; this was taking too long. However, the delay told the Cajun that it was a Kraut ambush. Otherwise, the Sarge would have signaled them to come ahead. He looked back at his comrades. They, too, realized that Saunders and Kirby must have spotted something. They moved forward and took up positions on either side of him. He quietly said, "Hold your fire."
()()()()()()()()()()
From his vantage point, Saunders counted seven men sitting or lying behind the wall. He couldn't see the one they had originally spotted so that made eight. There could be more; if one was watching the left flank, there might also be one on the right.
He drew in a breath and held it as he pulled the Tommy gun's trigger, firing a long burst and sweeping the Krauts spread out below him. He thought he'd hit two of them.
Upon hearing the Thompson, Kirby opened fire, but his angle on the prone Kraut wasn't good and his shots burrowed into the ground in front of the enemy soldier or ricocheted off the stone wall. When he was sure the Kraut had spotted him, he took off running.
()()()()()()()()()()
The Germans were taken completely by surprise. The remaining five men sought cover from the assailant behind them and watched as he moved along the top of the knoll. Kluck, who was positioned further down the wall, shouted and Cpl. Seifert knew that at least two of the enemy patrol had circled behind them. The rest could be anywhere. However, they probably had a rendezvous location; if he could learn where that was, he still might be able to capture the captain and earn a promotion.
"Hutier," he ordered, "join Kluck and go after that one. Try to get him alive. The rest of you, follow me."
Soldat Hutier began moving down the stone wall. When he reached Kluck, he told him what they were supposed to do. Kluck pointed in the direction the American with the BAR had gone and the two men began their pursuit.
In the meantime, Siefert signaled his remaining three men to spread out and begin moving cautiously up the knoll.
()()()()()()()()()()
Saunders wanted to be sure the Krauts followed him. He moved slowly across the top of the knoll, giving them a good look. Once he was sure they were coming after him, he began his descent. He didn't want to get so far ahead that they gave up and returned to search for the rest of the squad. On the other hand, he wanted to be far enough away that he could lose them when the opportunity presented itself. As he made his way down, he scanned the countryside ahead, looking for anything that might provide him with the chance to give them the slip.
()()()()()()()()()()
The rest of First Squad watched as the Germans left the safety of the stone wall and began moving up the knoll after the sergeant.
"C'mon," Caje said. "Let's head for de wall and get dem." He came out from his hiding place and began to move toward the clearing, with Billy and Littlejohn right behind him.
"NO! Get back here," Cpt. Doane commanded. "We don't have time to go chasing after them. We stick to the original plan, Saunders and Kirby draw them off and we complete the mission."
"But, Sir, we can…"
Before Littlejohn could protest any further, Doane said, "I'm giving you men an order. We wait here until they've cleared the top, then we move out."
Nelson, Littlejohn, Doc and Caje exchanging glances. None of them was pleased, but they reluctantly changed direction, returning to the cover they had just vacated.
()()()()()()()()()()
Kirby glanced behind him and saw two Krauts on his tail. Up ahead was an uprooted tree. It would provide good cover, so he decided to wait there for his pursuers and try to at least even the odds. If he failed to do that, the Krauts would still have to circle around the fallen tree. That would delay them long enough for him to again put some distance between himself and them. He ducked beneath the trunk of the tree and then moved down it until he could stand looking over it, hidden in the still-green foliage. And there he waited.
The two German soldiers approached. They were moving faster than he had been, but they suddenly slowed. They could no longer see him. One pointed at the fallen tree and they separated, moving in opposite directions to circle it. First one and then the other momentarily disappeared from view as they moved from tree to tree.
Kirby held his fire, waiting for just the right moment when they were both out in the open. In that instant, he blasted one and then quickly shifted the BAR in time to fire at the second man as he frantically dove for cover.
Ever so cautiously, Kirby moved back down the trunk and circled the root ball to check on the first Kraut. The German lay motionless about ten yards away. Kirby waited for him to move, but when he didn't, the BAR man finally crept over to the prone figure, all the time keeping an eye on where the second Kraut had disappeared. A quick check confirmed that this one was dead. He decided to settle behind a near-by tree which gave him a better angle on the hiding place of his remaining pursuer. Again, he waited, not knowing if he had hit that man or not.
()()()()()()()()()()
Saunders looked back and saw the first of the Krauts appear at the top of the knoll and he picked up his pace. He was still clearly visible to them as he headed for what looked like, from a distance, a number of lush green fields. Besides tall vegetation, he was hoping he would find irrigation ditches and culverts. He took one last look back to see how close they were.
()()()()()()()()()()
"Alright, let's go," Doane ordered as the last of the Krauts they had been watching climb the knoll disappeared over the top.
The scout assumed his position at the front, followed by Cpt. Doane, Littlejohn and Doc. Nelson hung back to cover the rear. He turned around to scan behind them.
As he performed the same dance Kirby usually did to ensure the safety of the squad, Billy tried to sort out his feelings. He knew the information the captain carried was important, that it might even save lives. But, doggone-it, if Lt. Hanley were here instead of Cpt. Doane, he was sure the lieutenant would have moved up on that Kraut patrol once they had left the protection of the stone wall. Hanley wouldn't have let two squad members needlessly risk their lives once they had succeeded in drawing the Krauts out of position. Which officer was right? His heart gave him one answer but was it the right one? Littlejohn…
The remnants of the squad had traveled only about half a mile when shots interrupted Billy's musings.
()()()()()()()()()()
'How long should I wait?' Kirby wondered.
He looked at his watch and decided to stay put for five more minutes. If the Kraut hadn't done anything by then, he would begin moving up.
When he next looked at his watch, only two minutes and thirty-seven seconds had passed. He decided that was close enough to five minutes so he moved slightly to his left. But then he immediately pulled back.
'I've got a better idea,' he thought.
He bent over, picked up a rock and tossed it about twenty feet. When it hit the ground, the unseen Kraut fired three shots in rapid succession. The BAR man breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close, too close. He stared at the area where he thought the Kraut was hiding and tried to decide what to do next.
()()()()()()()()()()
Cpl. Seifert stopped for a moment to watch the retreating American. Günter Buelow was closest to him. [Which of you is the best shot when you're sober?] he asked.
[Horst is, Corporal,] the soldat replied.
[Helmann, take the shot. Try not to kill him.]
Horst grinned. [I will try, Corporal.]
[I wager twenty marks that you miss completely,] Günter Meisel said with a laugh.
[This will be the easiest twenty marks I ever made,] Helmann responded as he quickly lay down and pulled the rifle butt snuggly against his shoulder. He took aim at the fleeing American and held his breath.
Suddenly, the American turned and looked in his direction.
Horst squeezed the trigger and an instant later the enemy soldier stumbled and fell.
The two Günters let out shouts of triumph. They rushed over to Helmann and grabbed his arms to pull him up. Once he was on his feet, they slapped him on the back.
Horst grinned as he accepted their congratulations. Then he turned to Meisel and held out his hand.
Günter pulled the bills from his wallet and handed them over. [It was worth it,] he said with a bit of awe in his voice. [Did you see the way he fell!? What a shot…]
[HELMANN, MEISEL, BUELOW, ON THE DOUBLE!] their corporal bellowed. He was already well on his way to the downed American.
()()()()()()()()()()
Caje got a shot off before he was hit.
The Kraut patrol was as surprised as the Americans were. Men on both sides dove for cover as they exchanged fire. It might have been a stalemate, except Nelson had been lagging behind and hadn't been spotted. He worked his way around until he was close enough to lob in a grenade. The remaining German didn't like the odds and withdrew, firing as he went. Billy and Littlejohn followed, but gave up the chase when the Kraut disappeared into a tangle of underbrush. They returned to see how badly the Cajun was wounded.
Doc had pulled the scout over to a tree. He was leaning back against it, a cigarette held tightly between his lips to stifle the sounds of pain that would otherwise have escaped, as Doc worked on his leg. Cpt. Doane stood off to one side, his face betraying no emotion.
The medic turned to him and said, "It's not too bad, Captain, but we're going to need a litter."
Doane frowned. "No," he slowly said, "he stays. We'll send someone back for him."
Littlejohn and Billy stared at the officer in disbelief.
The medic stood, his face a mixture of disbelief and anger. "Ah know the information you've gathered is important, Sir, but you can't leave a wounded man out here alone."
"Sir, I'll stay here with Caje," the big private said. "I'll try to get him back while you, Billy and Doc continue on."
"I said we're leaving. That's an order, now get moving," the captain replied.
"But…" Nelson started to say.
"I'll be alright. De sooner you get going, de sooner you'll be back," the Cajun said.
"Littlejohn, you and Billy go on with the captain. I'll stay with Caje," Doc said. His jaw was clenched and his usually compassionate eyes were nothing but slits. Billy, Caje and Littlejohn had seen that look before, three-quarters mule and one-quarter avenging angel. It was the look that would almost always caused the Sarge to reconsider his options.
Cpt. Doane, however, didn't change his mind. He glared at the medic and said, "If you stay, I'll have you up on charges for insubordination," in a low, menacing voice. Then he turned and walked away.
Doc gave Littlejohn and Billy a nod and said, "Y'all go on. We'll be all right."
The two privates reluctantly fell in behind the captain.
The medic again squatted beside the Cajun. "Is this a good place to wait or should we move?" he calmly asked.
Caje looked around. "Over dere," he pointed. "It's good cover."
()()()()()()()()()()
Saunders was lying face down in the dirt where he had fallen, struggling to maintain consciousness. His left shoulder was on fire. He didn't know if he had passed out when he was hit or how long ago that had been. He lifted his head and could see the green fields. All he knew was that he had to make it to those fields, even if he had to crawl.
He spotted the Thompson, laying just beyond his fingertips. He stretched out his right arm to reach it and suddenly a Jack boot was pressing down on his forearm. Jack boots now blocked his view of the green fields.
[Good, he's alive. Buelow, ask him where he is supposed to meet the rest of his squad,] Seifert said.
Günter Buelow cleared his throat and thought back to the English he had learned at the Gymnasium. "Herr Sergeant, where are you to gather with your men?"
"Saunders…Sergeant…227 06 22."
[He gave his name, rank and serial number, Corporal,] Buelow said.
[Ask him what his mission was and why there was a captain with him,] Seifert replied.
"Herr Sergeant, what is your assignment? Why does a captain travel with you?"
"Saunders…Sergeant…227 06 22."
[He gave…]
[I heard him,] Seifert angrily replied. A promotion, that only moments before had seemed within his grasp, was slipping away. He looked over at Meisel who still stood with his foot pinning the American's arm to the ground. Seifert put his foot on the enemy's left shoulder blade, and pressed down.
Saunders cried out in pain.
[Buelow, ask him again,] the German corporal said.
Before Günter could get a word out, another voice yelled, [DON'T SHOOT! OPERATION FALCON! I'M OBERLEUTNANT MALTZ!]
Saunders craned his neck to look in the direction the voice was coming from. Something wasn't right, but before he could focus on what it was, Seifert pressed down again with his foot. The NCO screamed in pain and passed out.
[Well, well, well, what have we here?] Maltz exclaimed with a smile.
Seifert withdrew his foot from the American's back to stand at attention as he explained. [Sir, we spotted a patrol led by a captain not far from the creek. We trailed them to a nearby clearing and set up an ambush. Unfortunately, they did not walk into our trap. However, as you see, we have captured this sergeant. He can tell us where he was to rendezvous with the rest of the patrol and what their mission was.]
[I see. You have done well, Corporal, but I have another use for this prisoner.]
[But…] Seifert started to complain however, with a look from Oberleutnant Maltz, the protest died in his throat.
Maltz pulled out a notepad and the stub of a pencil. [Give me your name and unit designation. I shall see that you receive full credit.]
Seifert provided the requested information and Maltz wrote it down, checking to make sure he had the spelling correct before he put the pad back in his breast pocket as he said, [Very well, Corporal, continue on with your patrol.]
Seifert signaled Horst and the two Günters to move out.
Once they were a few meters away, Meisel quietly said, [I don't think…]
[Shut up,] the corporal hissed. [We still have the one Kluck and Hutier went after.] He hurried his men back toward the knoll.
Once the patrol was well on its way, Maltz took the pad out of his pocket, ripped out the page with Seifert's information and tore it into little pieces which he let the breeze scatter.
()()()()()()()()()()
Kirby picked up another stone and tossed it. Once again, the Kraut fired at the sound it made when it landed. It was a stalemate. Neither man could move without the other taking a shot. They could both stay where they were until it was dark and then each would try to sneak up on the other. Kirby figured that made the odds fifty-fifty. Or, they could wait until reinforcements arrived. The BAR man also figured the odds of any reinforcements being Americans were a million to one.
He picked up another stone and tossed it into the air, playing catch with it as he pondered his predicament. Suddenly, he got another idea. He picked up a half dozen more stones and tossed them all to his left. As the Kraut opened fire on the rocks, he moved to his right and dove into the depression left by the root ball. He crawled up to the tangle of exposed roots and then over to the opposite side of the crater.
'Okay,' he thought. 'I drew the Krauts away like I was supposed to. Now it's time to make it back to our lines.'
He cautiously climbed out of the hole, then crouched down and quietly slipped away, knowing the downed tree blocked the view of his adversary.
()()()()()()()()()()
Doc checked Caje's wound. Even with a tourniquet it was still bleeding, not a lot, but enough to be worrisome. He didn't think Littlejohn and Billy would return before sometime the following day. Then they would still have to get the scout back. If the bleeding continued, Doc feared Caje might not last that long.
As if he were reading the medic's mind, the Cajun said, "Doc, I dink it would be better if we headed for de road. If I lean on you, I can make it, and we'll have a better chance of meeting up wid anoder patrol."
Doc again pulled Caje to his feet. With the scout leaning heavily on him, the two men slowly began making their way back to the road. They had to take a circuitous route, going around open fields and sticking to the overgrown ones and groves of trees that offered good cover. Even though they stopped to rest numerous times, the trek was exhausting for both men. It took them several hours, but at last they reached their objective.
"Let's cross over and go a little bit down de creek bank. We'll be able to see de road and if a Kraut patrol comes, we can move furder down to hide. If it looks like it's an American patrol, we'll have to take a chance dat dey're not infiltrators," the Cajun said.
The medic nodded and helped the scout travel the final few yards to the stream's bank. They hid beneath the boughs of an old evergreen tree that was half-way down to the water's edge. Caje closed his eyes as Doc checked the bandage. It was once again soaked through with blood. If help didn't arrive soon, the medic knew he would be making the walk back to their lines by himself.
"You rest for a while. Ah'll take the first watch," he said.
Caje didn't respond.
Doc took off his field jacket and covered the scout. Then he crawled back up the side of the bank and looked hopefully in both directions.
()()()()()()()()()()
Cpt. Doane stopped and pulled out his map while Littlejohn and Billy kept watch. The three men hadn't spoken since leaving the scout and the medic behind. Billy wanted to talk to Littlejohn, but he was having even more trouble than before sorting out his feelings, let along putting them into words. And besides, he didn't want the captain to overhear their conversation.
As for Littlejohn, he had no difficulty deciding how he felt. It had not been right to leave Saunders and Kirby to fend for themselves nor to desert Caje and Doc. The captain might have to worry about 'the big picture,' but he didn't. He had been brought up to know right from wrong, not the ends justify the means, and what the captain was doing was just plain wrong.
The officer folded his map and stuffed it back into the breast pocket of his shirt. "Alright, let's go. Follow me," he said as he started walking.
Doane passed Littlejohn without breaking stride as the big man waited for Billy to catch up.
()()()()()()()()()()
"Tuck, I think he's coming around."
Saunders heard the words, but they sounded far away. His eyelids fluttered a bit more as he struggled to regain consciousness.
"Take it easy, Sergeant. You're back among friends."
Saunders turned his head toward that voice and the speaker's face gradually came into focus. He looked around. He was lying on a grassy patch in the shade, but the green fields were no longer in view.
"Sarge, I'm Cpl. Tucker, but everyone calls me Tuck. That's Lee and Catlin and the big guy over there is Theodore Bellingham the Third." He chuckled and added, "We just call him 'Bear'."
Someone laughed and said, "You know, like in Teddy Bear."
"I'm Saunders," the still groggy sergeant said.
"We know…we looked at your dog tags once we killed off the Krauts who were holding you," Tucker replied. "Would you like some water?"
The sergeant nodded then grimaced and groaned as one of the men lifted his head and shoulders.
"Careful, you big Bear," Tucker said.
"Oh, sorry, Sarge," a voice in his ear said.
Saunders drank thirstily as Tucker tilted the canteen to his lips. When he was finished drinking, Bear eased him back to the ground.
"I hate to ask you this, Sergeant, but like they always say, you can't be too careful." Tucker paused, then said, "Birthday."
Saunders gave a sigh of relief as he responded, "Candles." He was back among friends.
Tuck grinned as he nodded to the other men. "Sarge, do you want to try sitting up? We can move you so you're leaning against a tree."
When Saunders said, "Yeah, let's give it a try," he was gently manhandled and maneuvered until he was sitting at the base of a tree. He closed his eyes for a few moments to let the pain in his shoulder die down. Once it was under control, he opened his eyes and got his first real look at the men whose names the corporal had rattled off and who had probably saved his life. Tucker, of course, had the strips on his sleeve.
"You're Bear, I assume," he said to the big man who grinned and nodded in response. He looked at the other two and asked, "Who's Lee an' who's Catlin?"
"Sergeant, I'm Catlin," the taller of the two soldiers said, "and he's Lee."
"An' who's on security?"
Tucker looked a bit startled at the question but quickly recovered. "Lee, Bear, go!" he ordered. He sat down cross-legged near Saunders and hung his head. "Sorry, Sarge. Sgt. Fletcher was killed earlier and…well, losing him, it's been rough on us."
Saunders was going to tell Tucker that he was the NCO and he had a responsibility to the remaining men in his squad but thought better of it. Instead, he asked, "What happened?"
The corporal replied, "We left this morning and everything was routine until we came upon another patrol. We thought they were Americans and Sgt. Fletcher said 'Birthday,' like I just did with you. But, instead of giving the counter-sign, they opened up on us and the sergeant and Andy, I mean Pvt. Marsh, were killed. The rest of us managed to get away."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "Later we came upon a Kraut patrol. There were four of them. We didn't even know they had you. They spotted us and opened up, but we got them. When we went to check the bodies, that's when we found you. We thought there might be more Krauts around so Bear hoisted you over his shoulder and we took off. That's about it."
Tucker looked around, as if suddenly nervous. "Sergeant, if you're up to it, I think we should head back. We could make a litter…"
"I can walk," Saunders said.
"Alright, if you're sure. Catlin, go get Bear and Lee. Tell them we're moving out."
Tuck stood and offered the sergeant his hand, pulling Saunders to his feet. Once the sergeant was steady, the corporal bent and picked up his helmet and the Thompson. He handed the helmet to Saunders but said, "Let me carry this for you."
"Thanks," Saunders replied. "Could you zip up and button my jacket about half-way?"
"Sure, Sarge. We opened it up so we could bandage your shoulder."
When Tucker finished, Saunders gingerly raised his lower arm and slipped it inside the jacket, taking a bit of the weight off his wounded shoulder.
"Ready, Sarge?" the corporal asked. When Saunders nodded, Tuck said, "Catlin, stick with the sergeant and help him if he needs it." Then, with a flick of his wrist he signaled the five men to move out.
()()()()()()()()()()
The captain was checking to his left, right and straight ahead for threats. He wasn't looking for the danger that resided at ground level directly in front of him. His boot snagged a trip wire and the grenade it was attached to exploded.
After a minute, Billy sat up. He was dazed and couldn't figure out why he was even on the ground. He had been following Littlejohn and suddenly he was face down in the dirt and his pal and the captain had both vanished.
"Littlejohn…Littlejohn," he called, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
The moan came from behind him. It slowly dawned on him that the big private was in back of him because he had turned around to check their back trail when...when what? He crawled on his hands and knees over to where Littlejohn lay on his side.
"Littlejohn, are you okay? What happened?" the young soldier asked as he started examining his pal for signs of injury.
"Yeah, I think so. Just give me a minute." He gave a little moan as he rolled onto his back.
"No, you're not okay. You're bleeding. Let me take a look; just lay still."
Billy opened Littlejohn's field jacket to find the big man's shirt soaked with blood. Nelson suddenly felt light-headed.
'If only Doc was with us, he would take care it. I don't think I can,' he thought.
"Funny, it doesn't hurt," Littlejohn said.
"That's because you're probably goin' into shock. Be still," Billy managed to say.
"Use your bayonet and slice my shirt open. Then use the material to wipe away the blood so you can see how bad it is."
Billy took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. He knew what to do; he was just scared of what he would find.
When the bayonet scrapped against the side of the scabbard as he pulled it out, he stopped to inspect the weapon. The edge of the blade was shiny. Caje had sharpened it for him only three days ago in exchange for Nelson sewing up a tear in the knee of his trousers. Billy hadn't thought it was a fair trade as his sewing skills were mediocre at best, but the Cajun hadn't minded. He said he found making the rhythmic movement of pulling the bayonet blade across the whet stone relaxing.
Nelson shuddered. He asked himself why he was thinking about that swap. But he knew why. The longer he delayed finding out the extent of Littlejohn's wound, the longer he could put off having to face his pal with the truth. Because he knew when he cut the shirt open, he would see his friend's guts spilling out.
()()()()()()()()()()
Doc thought about going down the bank to check on the Cajun, but he was afraid that if he left his hiding place, he wouldn't be able to return without making a ruckus should some soldiers suddenly appear. Besides, what more could he do for the scout except watch him slowly bleed to death.
He continued to intently stare, first in one direction and then in the other, willing help to miraculous appear.
And then it did.
The first thing he saw was a little cloud of dust and as he watched, a small group of civilians slowly made their way toward him. They were fleeing the town of St. Michael ahead of the pending battle, using the little-traveled road to reach the safety of the American lines. The medic impatiently waited until they were about ten yards from him before he came out of hiding. His unexpected appearance combined with his bloody uniform and hands caused the group to stop and recoil in fright.
"Please, Ah'm an American doctor," he said, pointing to brassard on his arm and his helmet. "Ah need your help. Does anyone speak English?"
Empty eyes stared at him for a moment, then the people resumed their journey, moving around him with their heads bowed. He followed after them for a few steps, even grabbing at the sleeve of one man in desperation. But the man pulled his arm away and continued on. Doc stood in the middle of the dirt road watching them go. He had never felt so dejected. Their act of heartlessness shattered his faith in the goodness of people. He was so despondent he couldn't even make excuses for them. They might not have understood his words, but surely someone must have realized he needed help.
His chin sagged to his chest. It was more than he could bear. He wanted to scream, but what good would it do; it wouldn't change anything for Caje. He slowly turned back around and when he did, he came face to face with an old couple standing beside a dogcart and waiting expectantly. Doc stepped aside so they could pass, but they didn't move. He looked at them and they stared back at him. He suddenly realized they were the answer to his prayer.
"Thank you…thank you. Ah'll get my friend. Thank you," he managed to say before rushing over to the bank and down to where the Cajun lay.
"C'mon Caje, Ah got you a ride. Let's go, buddy."
He somehow managed to get the scout most of the way up the bank. The old man helped him the last bit and together they got Caje folded into the little cart. When the woman covered him with a duvet the Cajun spoke a few mumbled words of thanks to her.
As soon as Caje was settled, Doc picked up one of the cart's shafts and the old pair lifted the other. Together they began their walk toward the American lines and what all four of them hoped was safety.
()()()()()()()()()()
They had been walking for about an hour. To take his mind off the sharp stab of pain in his shoulder every time he took a step, Saunders first thought about the mission and then how it had ended for him. There was something he felt he needed to recall, but it kept eluding him.
When the squad reached the steep bank of a long-dry stream Catlin interrupted his recollections by saying, "Sergeant, if you put your arm over my shoulder, I can help you down."
But, even with the private's assistance, the descent was difficult. Each step was agony as both men struggled to keep their balance. Once they reached the bottom, Tucker suggested they stop for a rest and Saunders nodded in grateful agreement. They moved up the dry creek bed to a spot that offered better cover and Catlin eased the sergeant down so he could sit leaning against a tree. Then he and Lee took security, although they didn't move off very far.
Tucker took a look at the bandage covering Saunders' wound. "Fresh blood," he announced. "Bear, do you have another bandage in your first aid kit?" Together, the two men tightly tied the new dressing.
They had just finished when everyone heard a rustling in the leaves off to their right. Bear immediately pushed Saunders over and threw himself on top him, protecting him with his body.
Weapons were raised and everyone anxiously looked in the direction of the noise. Then Lee chuckled and announced, "All clear; it was only a skwörl!"
The relief was palpable as the men lowered their rifles.
Bear rolled off the sergeant and, as he helped Saunders sit up, he said, "Sorry, Sarge. I hope I wasn't too rough with you. It could have been Germans," he grinned and continued, "but Lee said it was only a skwörl."
()()()()()()()()()()
Littlejohn's shirt had already been cut across his belly by a piece of shrapnel. How deep had it penetrated Billy wondered as he bit his lower lip and slit the sides of the shirt with his bayonet. When he was finished, he wadded up the material and said a silent prayer as he began to wipe the blood away.
He almost laughed out loud when he gazed at his friend's bare abdomen. The metal fragment must have come whizzing by from the left because for most of its journey it only broke the skin enough to make it bleed, but that was all. On the right side, there was a gouge about a quarter inch deep but only about an inch long. The shirt, pressed against his skin, had absorbed what blood there was, making the wound look so much worse than it actually was.
"Where's your undershirt?" Billy asked.
"I washed it out last night and it wasn't dry yet. Why?" the big man replied.
"Oh, nothing," Nelson said as he sprinkled sulfa on the cut. "Sit up so I can get this bandage tied."
With the bandage securely in place, Littlejohn asked, "How's Cpt. Doane?"
Billy hadn't given the captain any thought at all. The two men stood and together they approached the still form.
Littlejohn felt for a pulse. "He's still alive," he whispered.
"I wonder if he'd want us to take the map and leave him like he left the Sarge and Kirby and Caje?" Nelson asked.
Littlejohn wanted to say, "What's good for the goose is good for the gander," as he stared at the unconscious officer. But, after a moment, he looked at Billy and, shaking his head, he said, "He might, but when I get home after this war is over, I want to be able to sleep at night and I couldn't if we left him. And Billy, neither could you. Help me pull him back. We'll have to go around in case there're more booby traps ahead. Then you start making a litter and I'll see if there's anything I can do for him."
When the men had completed their tasks, they lay the unconscious officer on their field jackets and picked up the ends of the saplings.
"Littlejohn," Billy said, "you could never be an officer," as they began walking toward the American lines.
()()()()()()()()()()
It wasn't until they had climbed up the opposite bank of the dry stream bed that the oddity of what he had heard struck Saunders. He knew he had good hearing, but he also knew he wasn't at his sharpest. The squad continued walking as he rolled it over in his mind until at last, he came to a decision.
"Hey, Catlin, Bear had me on the ground an' was smothering me so fast, I was still dealing with the pain in my shoulder so I didn't catch what he said when he told me what caused the noise back there," he said.
"It was only a skwörl," Catlin replied with a laugh.
Saunders shook his head and chuckled. "I guess we're all on edge," he said. Then he added, "Boy, that Bear can really move," and Catlin gave him a grin.
The sergeant walked on in silence, repeating the word he had heard over and over to himself. Not one but at least three of the squad members had the same peculiar pronunciation. During his time in the Army, he had been thrown together with men from all over the country. Although squirrels were rarely the topic of conversation, he had heard it pronounced slightly differently depending on regional dialects. However, those speech traits had always carried over into other words. He hadn't heard any discernable dialect from any of these men.
Nevertheless, he wasn't quite ready to conclude that he was walking along with a bunch of German infiltrators just because they couldn't pronounce 'squirrel.' After all, Kirby could easily convince Billy that he was saying a word wrong and Littlejohn might just go along with the gag.
'Besides, it doesn't make any sense,' he though. 'If they are infiltrators, why haven't they killed me?' Then he suddenly remembered Thurber, the tall red-headed Texan from Third Squad (2). 'Thurber was on guard duty and he let me and the squad pass without the countersign because he recognized me.'
Saunders gave an ironic smile when he realized that if they were infiltrators, he, especially wounded, was their ticket to getting past the sentries and behind the American lines where they could do all kinds of damage. He had, after all, already given them one of the day's countersigns.
"Are you all right, Sarge?" the corporal, who had turned around and was looking at him, asked.
"Yeah, Tucker, I'm fine. I was just thinking about how lucky I am that you fellas came along when you did an' rescued me."
()()()()()()()()()()
"Littlejohn," Billy panted, "I've gotta stop. My shoulders are killing me."
The captain might have been a small man, but lugging the litter over the rough terrain with nobody to switch off with was taking its toll.
"Head for those bushes to the right. They'll at least give us some cover," Littlejohn replied.
They carefully set the litter down, trying hard not to jar its occupant needlessly.
When the big private began checking the wounds to see if he needed to add more bandages, he suddenly looked up. "Billy," he whispered, "I think he's dead."
Nelson learned over and pressed his ear against the captain's chest. There was no heartbeat or breathing sounds. "I think you're right. What do we do now?"
"Now, we take the map and go."
"And leave him here? He's a captain! Shouldn't we…"
"No, he's not a captain anymore." Littlejohn replied as he leaned over and removed at dog tag. Then he reached into the officer's shirt pocket and took out the map. "I hope someone back at HQ can read all these little squiggles," he said as he stuffed it into his own pocket. "Help me roll him off the litter so I can get my field jacket."
They gingerly rolled the captain onto his side and pulled the litter out. As Littlejohn unbuttoned his field jacket he asked, "Aren't you gonna get yours?"
Billy took another look at Doane, shivered, and forcefully shook his head.
Once he had his jacket on, Littlejohn asked, "Are you ready or do you want to rest a while longer?"
"No. Let's get outa here."
()()()()()()()()()()
As he put one foot in front of the other, Saunders tried to come up with a way to determine if he was walking with friends or with foes. However, everything he thought of fell apart on closer examination.
He thought about trying to escape, but he had no weapons. The Krauts who had shot him had pulled off his web belt and Tucker was carrying the Thompson. And, since he was now leaning on Catlin to stay upright, even if he managed to get away, he wouldn't make it more than fifty feet before they caught up with him. Then, all they would have to do was knock him out and carry him the rest of the way, right past the sentries.
A small grove was ahead. Tucker sent Bear and Lee to check it out. When they signaled all clear, the rest of the men moved up and the corporal called another halt. After getting Saunders settled, Catlin pulled out his canteen and took a long drink.
"You got any water left?" the sergeant asked.
"Oh, sorry, Sarge, I just drained it. Hey, Lee, do you have any water left for the sergeant?"
Lee walked over and handed Saunders his canteen. Then he sat down and pulled his foot up, showing the worn sole of his boot. "Hey, Sarge, what do you think my chances are of getting a new pair of boots?" he asked.
Saunders looked at the boot. The sole was almost worn through and the seams holding the leather upper together were frayed, and in some spots ripped open. But it wasn't the poor condition of the footwear that struck him; it was the sudden recollection of what he had seen just before he passed out…he had seen boots.
"Yeah, Lee, I'm sure the lieutenant will requisition a new pair for you," he said absentmindedly.
The sergeant took a long swallow, leaned back against the tree where Catlin had eased him down, and closed his eyes so he could have a few moments of undisturbed reflection. Now he remembered what had been nagging at him.
'I was lying face down in the dirt. One Kraut had pinned my right arm with his foot while another stepped down on my wounded shoulder. Then I heard voices approaching, German voices. I craned my neck to see how many more there were but all I could see was their boots…American boots…just before the Kraut pressed down again on my shoulder and I passed out.'
"Saunders, are you alright?" Tucker said.
"Yeah, I'm just resting my eyes," the sergeant replied.
"We can still make a litter," the corporal offered.
"No, thanks. If Catlin doesn't mind me leaning on him, I'll make it."
'No litter,' he thought. 'I need to feel the pain of each step to maintain consciousness. I have to be awake when we reach the sentries.'
"Well, whenever you're ready we can pull out. I think we're getting close."
()()()()()()()()()()
Doc recognized where they were and stopped. The dirt road turned away from the creek at this point. In the morning, the squad had walked through the field that was straight ahead to the place where he now stood. The old couple would turn and continue following the road. That meant he and Caje would have to make it the rest of the way on their own if they wanted to head directly for the American lines.
Which way should they go? He knew the platoon, the whole line, was shifting. Saunders had said to head southeast. If they went through the field, they might go needlessly out of their way. He looked at the creek. The banks were steep here; it would be hard to get the Cajun across. He thought about continuing on with the old couple. They would join up with other refugees and perhaps a doctor would be among them. However, he would be a doctor without any provisions. Caje needed a hospital, a transfusion.
The medic was still trying to decide what to do when the old woman softly said, "Monsieur le doctor." He looked at her and then in the direction she was discretely pointing. Men were coming out of the underbrush and walking toward them with their rifles raised. They looked like GIs, but the Sarge had also said there had been reports of infiltrators.
"Caje, if you're conscious, don't move," he quietly said.
"Why? What is it?"
"There might be some trouble. Just keep still."
Doc raised his hands and stepped away from the cart. "Ah'm a medic," he said. "Ah'm glad to see y'all. Ah got separated from my squad and Ah'm trying to make it back to our lines. I'm with the 361st." He looked at the old couple and added, "Ah was just helping these folks with their cart."
The men continued coming toward them, still not saying a word. As they got closer, Doc tried to find some telltale sign of their true allegiance. But they looked like any other squad of GIs coming back from a patrol, tired, dirty…and nervous.
Then a voice in the back said, "Hey, Ah know you. You're the medic with King Company's Second Platoon. Remember me…Kilmer? You was workin' at the aid station when Ah was brought in. Ah'd only just been assigned to the Second Platoon when Ah got hit by a piece of shrapnel. Boy howdy, Ah was sure Ah was a goner, but you said Ah'd be fine. You stayed with me until they shipped me back to battalion aid, remember?"
Doc looked at the soldier but didn't recognize him. His was just another young face to the medic and anymore, they all seemed to blur together. Still, he said, "Yeah, sure, Kilmer. Ah remember you. How you doin'?"
With that, everyone relaxed. Within a short time, the squad had built a litter and Caje was loaded on it. He said thank-you and good-bye to the old couple as the squad started walking toward the creek.
The medic tried to press what little money he was carrying into the woman's hand but she smiled and shook her head. She and the old man picked up the shafts of the dogcart and continued down the dusty road. Doc stood watching them for a moment, reflecting on how the kindness he had shown to Kilmer had come back to him ten-fold. "Amen," was all he could think to say, but that was enough. Then, with a smile on his face, he hurried to catch up to the rest of the soldiers.
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Billy and Littlejohn came to attention and saluted.
The second lieutenant returned their salute and asked, "Alright, who are you, what's your outfit and what's your story? You're a little bloody, soldier. Are you okay?"
Littlejohn looked down at the dried blood on his field jacket. He had forgotten all about the shrapnel slicing across his abdomen. "Yes, Sir, I'm fine. It's mostly someone else's blood. I'm Pfc. Littlejohn and this is Pvt. Nelson. We're with the 361st, King Company, Second Platoon, Sir. We were sent out this morning with Cpt. Doane…"
"He was an engineer, but he got killed by shrapnel from a booby trap," Billy chimed in.
"Anyway, Sir, he wanted to get this map back." The big private pulled the folded map from his breast pocket and handed it to the lieutenant. "He said it was important."
The officer took the paper and looked briefly at the notes scribbled all over it. "Alright, the kitchen jeep is around here somewhere. Get yourselves something to eat while I take care of this. Then I'll see about getting you boys home."
The two soldiers, dirty, tired and hungry, saluted and left the tent. They were grateful for the chance to rest and get something to eat, but also anxious to return home and convince Lt. Hanley to send out a patrol to find their comrades.
()()()()()()()()()()
Hanley put down the receiver. Five of the men who had left on this morning's patrol were now accounted for. Only two, Saunders and Kirby, were still missing. He wondered if he would ever know their fates.
()()()()()()()()()()
As they walked along, Saunders decided it was most likely the opposite of what Tucker said. He and his men probably came upon an American patrol whose sergeant had challenged them with the sign, 'Birthday.' The unsuspecting Americans had been killed as the response. That was how Tucker, as a corporal, got the code word. But, even with the countersign the sergeant had given them, unless they ran into another American patrol, it wouldn't do the infiltrators any good.
He was so tired, but he couldn't ask Tucker to stop and rest. He needed the jolt of pain he felt each time his left foot hit the ground to keep him alert. He mustn't stop…he mustn't pass out…
()()()()()()()()()()
"HALT! WHO GOES THERE? STAND AND BE RECOGNIZED!" an unseen voice called out.
The squad stopped. Saunders looked at Catlin. The soldier returned his glance with a relaxed and confident smile.
A private appeared and stated the sign, "KENTUCKY!"
Tucker started to reply, "CAN…" but stopped mid-word. He turned around and stared at Saunders, a quizzical expression on his face.
It was the ultimate test and the corporal had failed. Every soldier who had been sent out that morning would have known that the countersign was 'Derby.'
Saunders yelled, "KRAUTS!" as he pushed Catlin away and threw himself to the ground.
()()()()()()()()()()
The sergeant awoke with a monstrous headache and a metallic taste in his mouth, the aftermath, he knew, of having received morphine. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. His right wrist was tied to the frame of the cot and a lieutenant was dozing in a near-by chair.
When the NCO tried to sit up, the officer yawned and said, "Take it easy, Sergeant, you're among friends…"
'Among friends," Saunders thought. 'Where have I heard that before!?'
"…They had to tie your hand down because you kept trying to pull out your IV. I'm Lt. Gibbons from S-2 and I need to ask you a few questions."
He gave the officer an icy stare and said, "If you don't mind, Sir, before you ask me anything, say 'I saw a squirrel.'"
()()()()()()()()()()
()()()()()()()()()()
Note to Readers: And what happened to Kirby, you may be wondering. His journey home was documented in "The Masquers," from season 5 of Combat!
1. Reference to "The Long Wait" from season 3 of Combat!
2. Reference to 'Pvt. Joseph Lydecker, Part 2 – Family' previously posted by Queen's Bishop.
Author's Note: 'Squirrel' is a word that even Germans with excellent English have trouble pronouncing. Search for "Germans saying squirrel" on YouTube for examples or Google it for explanations of why it is such a challenge for Germans to say.