Kirby made it up to the roof without too much trouble. There was a wide ledge just over the balcony. He'd been able to push off the railing with his feet and get a leg up onto the ledge and from there he rolled up onto the shingles.
The ball was about forty feet away from the balcony, requiring a short walk on the steeply pitched surface. It'd been his own wild hit that had sent it flying up there, so he'd been elected to go get it. The rest of us stood with our hands shielding our eyes, ready to make an effort to catch him if he fell. Realistically though, there wouldn't be much we could do.
Kirby reached the ball and tossed it down, then sat on the ledge at the corner of the roof. I watched him calculate the drop to the ground, then the distance to a lattice that had been built into the side of the house.
"Kirby, climb down. It's your serve!" Caje called.
Kirby contemplated the shortcut idea a little longer then gave up and headed back the way he'd come. He slid a little too fast from the ledge to the balcony, and landed sloppily in the narrow space, but he recovered quickly. His drop from the balcony to the street was smoother and he trotted back over to the impromptu tennis court apparently unharmed.
Kirby collected his racket from Caje, then the lone tennis ball we'd managed to find.
"What'sa score?"
"Love!" Little John called from our side of the 'net'.
"I'm awful fond of you, too, Little John, but that don't tell me who's winnin'." Kirby said, winked, then served the ball.
It landed short and I scrambled to get under it, then shifted sideways to get out of Little John's way. The ball bounced a few feet in front of Caje and he flattened his racket against his thigh to catch the rebound. Little John returned, slamming the ball down and to the left and Kirby dove for it, sending it sailing back before he tripped and rolled off the 'court'.
He was up and back in the game before the next volley. That tennis was his favorite sport to play, and the sport he played in high school, had come as a surprise to all of us. That he was actually a talented player had been a fact we all needed proved. Not only was Kirby winning, he'd started teaching each of us a thing or two about the game.
Each volley had gotten longer, better, and more complicated. The game had gone from a casual batting back and forth of a nearly dead ball, to a structured match. Over the course of the afternoon we'd added boundaries to the court, a ballboy and a score keeper. The last two had left for chow before the match ended. We were volleying for the winning point when Kirby hit the ball onto the roof.
The rematch was a vicious struggle that neither team was willing to surrender.
"Caje, Little John, Kirby, Doc! Chow! Move it!" Saunders shouted from up the street.
The ball was in front of me and I was perfectly situated to pick it up and smash it clean to the right, away from where Caje was ready to receive and just inside the line. I would have won us the game had it not been for Little John shouting back to the sarge. His voice came out loud and irritated and I jumped despite myself. I was a second too late with my swing and instead of going right into that sweet spot, the ball popped out of the court, bounced once, then plunged into an open well.
I turned on the big GI. "Little John!"
He winced and wrinkled his face in apology, then glared at Kirby as he crowed his victory. Caje stood shaking his head and grinning, before he set his racket on the bench where we'd found them.
"Doc!" He called, clapping his hands together before holding them out. I gently tossed my racket, then took Little John's and did the same.
The four of us climbed the street slowly, starting to feel the exertion from the game.
"Who won?" Saunders called, standing at the end of the chow line.
"Kirby and me." Caje called.
"Little John's fault." I added.
"What'd you do?" Saunders asked, looking to the biggest man in the squad.
"I got hungry." Little John said, sending me a guilty look. Caje and Kirby broke into laughter, and we collected tins and utensils from the crate at the head of the chow line before collecting our third hot meal in a row. Saunders brought up the rear, carrying two tins. One for himself and one for Hanley.
The four of us enlisted guys found a spot at the picnic tables that were set out in a corner of the square. A couple of guys from a different part of King company started asking about the game and we relived the highlights around bites of canned mixed fruit, collard greens, cornbread and corned beef.
When we got to the part where we had to admit that the ball was now permanently lost, the interest waned.
"Hey...a buddy of mine in the Navy plays tennis all the time. All we gotta do is talk to the supply sergeant, get us a set of new balls and a net." Kirby said, sounding absolutely confident.
"You remember how long it took to get a football?" Little John asked.
"Yeah but...supply and demand. Everybody plays football. How many guys play tennis?" Kirby asked. "Nobody. So there should be plenty of equipment just layin' around."
"No tennis."
Kirby, Caje and I looked up at the voice delivering the bad news. The supply sergeant had stopped by our table on his way to the cleaning stations.
"What?" Kirby demanded.
"No tennis. We got football, baseball, frisbees, croquette...no tennis."
"Croquette?" All four of us asked at the same time.
"What kinda retiree outfit is this, Sergeant?" Kirby demanded.
"My mother plays croquette." The sergeant insisted.
"What is she...ninety?" Kirby shot back.
The sergeant sneered and muttered something under his breath then stalked off.
"Croquette." Kirby muttered. "Next thing they'll be handin' us horseshoes and bocce balls."
"What's wrong with bocce ball?" I asked, just for the hell of getting on Kirby's nerves.
"Nothin'..." Kirby said after a moment of consideration. "If you like knittin' and stayin' at home nights listening to the radio programs."
"What's wrong with the radio?" Little John asked.
Kirby narrowed his eyes, beginning to catch on to the razzing he was getting. He mumbled something under his breath then went back to his food, tearing the hard square of cornbread into bits and mixing it in with his greens.
Caje, Little John and I shared amused grins, and the conversation shifted back to the game, and solving the problem of not having anymore tennis balls.
"There's a school up the street. They might have sports equipment we could borrow." Caje offered after our ideas had run dry.
"Who we gonna ask?" Kirby asked. "There's no teachers or principals or nothin'. Bet these kids haven't had school for years."
"Maybe we can get permission from the sarge to just...go in." Little John said.
"Go in where?" Saunders asked from behind Little John. He circled the table and sat on the table top, picking at his food.
"Caje wants to see if the local school has tennis balls we can borrow." Kirby said, earning a narrow eyed glare from the southerner.
"What happened to the one you had."
"Doc hit it down a well." Caje said.
"Little John distracted me." I protested.
Little John's eyes went wide and he stared guiltily at the sarge, suddenly to blame for the whole thing.
"I was hungry!" Little John defended.
"You're always hungry." Caje said, grinning.
"Now, Caje, he's a growing boy." Saunders said, patiently. "Growing boys need their greens...so...let's all pitch in." The sarge leaned over and scraped the sickly pile of green mush onto Little John's mostly untouched pile.
"You're right, Sarge. We mustn't be selfish." Kirby agreed, quickly piling his serving on as well.
The look of growing disgust on Little John's face gravitated around the group until it rested on me.
I looked down to my tin, then said, "I like 'em."
Little John gave me a grateful smile, and shoved his tin toward me.
"Eat your veggies, Little John." I said, earning approving chuckles from Caje, Saunders and Kirby.
The smile disappeared and Little John dragged his tin back in front of him. Saunders laughed, and the others went back to their food, grinning.
"What about the ball, Sarge?" Caje asked.
"Won't have time. We've got a new mission starting at 2330. From now til then, I want you guys to get some sack time. We'll be gone a couple days."
"What? Are we taking on the German army by ourselves?" I asked. The late start time alone was peculiar for something that would take longer than the overnight hours.
"Caje, Kirby, Little John and I are supporting a sabotage unit. There's a radar station they've got slated to demolish, but the Germans have been picking them off during the day. They've had every safehouse raided over the past week. They move only at night to keep hidden. The brass wants the radar down, and the underground group wants one last stab at the enemy before they pull out."
I put my head down a bit, and focused on the tin of food, my appetite gone. The night mission had been my first clue, and Saunders' explanation had been the second.
"I'm not going along?" I asked.
Saunders stepped down from his perch on the table. "You're going to report to training in the morning, Doc. We're on our own for this one."
I felt the guys shifting, glancing at each other and me before they were suddenly too interested in their plates.
I took in a breath and forced a laugh through my nose. "That means I could go to that school and hunt down some equipment then, right?"
Saunders snorted softly and pushed food around with his fork. "Yeah. Maybe you can find us some cheerleaders too while you're at it."
"I can manage that. Any special requests?" I asked, keeping up the false cheer.
Caje was the first to look up and he gave me a smile. "Brunette, blue eyes."
"Get me a red head with a whole mess o' curls." Kirby said.
"I'll just take one that's breathing." Little John said, and the laughter came a little easier this time.
"I'll clear it with Hanley, Doc. You guys finish up and hit the hay."
The rest of the meal we managed to revive the high spirits. We started to plan for what would happen after the guys returned, blithely ignoring the odds of their returning in one piece, or even at all. Caje, Kirby and Little John got more and more detailed with the girls they expected me to find and outfit as cheerleaders. By the end of it I was expected to produce Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner and Claudette Colbert. Or something damned close.
The guys headed for the boarding house that had been converted into a temporary barracks and I went to find their gear, packing extra bandages, sulfa and a syrette of morphine each into their first aid pouches. I made sure they had chocolate bars, too, and filled their canteens. It was all I could do this time out.
I went to find Hanley and he told me I had to go talk to the mayor of the town about getting access to the school building. Hanley handed me the address of his residence a few blocks down. I made the trip there and back on foot in under an hour. It was a nice walk, but the mayor hadn't been home.
When I got back I had thought of a few more things I could tuck into the guy's packs without giving them too much to carry. I finished that chore, then went to my bunk and pulled out the crisp, pristine medical textbook that had finally arrived from London. I'd read the first three chapters already, soaking it all up like a sea sponge. Compared to what my medic buddy Bartzfeld was learning, preparing for his medical school entrance exams, this was the most basic course of study available. But it was ten times what the army gave us in the first aid course.
We spent more time on push ups, sit ups and litter bearer drills than we did on human anatomy. A part of me felt like I was breaking the rules, learning about things above my station, but then I argued that the war had to end sometime. When it did, I would need a job. There was no way I could return to the grocery business.
I was preparing for my future, getting better at doing my job, and it hadn't cost the US Army one red cent.
I lay belly down on my bunk, propped up on my elbows and started the fourth chapter. I was knuckle deep in the digestive system when Sarge came in to wake the others. In an hour they were suited up, kitted out, armed and ready.
Saunders ordered them to move out and I followed them to the edge of town. I stood and watched until I couldn't see them anymore, then waited until I couldn't hear them anymore. I turned to walk back through the silent town, taking my time. I stopped every few minutes to look in darkened store windows, or kick at bits of debris piled by the bomb disposal guys when they'd swept through the town. I stood outside the barracks for a long time, one foot up on the first step, hands in my pockets. The weight of going inside alone was too much, so I was putting it off.
The building next to the boarding house had been a cafe. Hanley had turned it into a CP. The lamp had been turned out and I figured he was asleep until I heard him say, "Yeah. I can't sleep either."
I looked up, surprised, and caught sight of a pair of boots, crossed at the ankles, jutting out from the recessed entry of the cafe. I sidled down the street then asked, "Company?"
"Please." Hanley said. He had a lit cigarette between long fingers and he gestured at the concrete step next to him. I sat down, rested my arms on my knees and stared at the bombed out house across the street.
We were quiet for a long minute before Hanley asked, "How many times have they gone out without a medic?"
I drew a breath in, then crossed my arms over each other and set my chin on my sleeves. "Before I joined up, I dunno. Since then...it's been a couple of times. They do ok."
"Couldn't be helped this time."
"I know. I get it." I said. "Moving at night, and meeting up with a bigger group. An extra noncombatant doesn't help much."
Hanley nodded, smoke clouding his face as he breathed out. "You fixed up their med pouches?"
I laughed softly. "I gave 'em extra socks, halazone tablets, aspirins and morphine, too."
Hanley smiled and nodded. "Surprised you didn't write notes for their k-rats."
I smiled, showing my crooked teeth this time. "Wouldn't want anyone laughing at the wrong moment."
Hanley laughed, then said. "They'll be alright, Doc. Saunders pulled a radio before he left. He can call in if they run into trouble."
Nice as it sounded, we both knew what little that meant. I knew Hanley well enough to recognize the end of the conversation, though, so I stood up.
"Have a good night, Lieutenant." I said.
"Good night, Doc."
I went to my bunk and read my medical book until the words began to blur, then slept fitfully, fighting a recurring nightmare. The jeep came for me at 0730 and I was taken to the closest aide hospital fifteen miles away. We spent the day practicing with tourniquets, splints and a new kind of tape that the army was testing as a temporary way to close open wounds in the field.
Almost seven months before, I had made modifications to my med kit to more safely carry the sharps we were issued. Since then I'd fixed about twenty other bags. The head surgeon at the hospital asked that I spend a few minutes drafting a design for new bags for the medical corps. By the time I returned to the King company barracks, it was past dark.
I checked in with Hanley. No word from the squad. No word from the resistance group.
The following morning Hanley invited me to join him on a brief drive to the front. Things had been quiet but for the occasional shelling. We delivered food and supplies to the units stationed in foxholes and captured bunkers and I had the chance talk to Bartzfeld about the chapter I'd just finished.
We returned to the town at 1230 hours.
"Doc! Little John came back. Hit in the arm. He's in the barracks now." Hanley's aide told me.
I grabbed my bag and hustled to our quarters.
Little John was on his bunk with his back to the wall, legs straddling the mattress. His arm had been bandaged but the sleeve of his coat, and the gauze itself was a mess of blood, dirt and sulfa. Little John was clinging to his canteen, taking tiny sips every few minutes, his eyes shut tight.
I went to his side and peeled back the bandage, peering down at a jagged knife wound.
"How'd you get it, Little John?"
"On guard, this morning. Kraut jumped me." He was shaking, and a hand to his head told me he was feverish.
When I moved his arm to get to the knot on the bandage, he stiffened, the blood draining from his face.
I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the bandage away. The gauze stuck to the wound and I had to mix a saline solution and soak the cloth so that it would come away without loosening the clot. His arm was swollen and red. Infection shouldn't have set in that quickly but it had.
"What did he keep his knife in? The latrine?" I asked.
"Wasn't a knife." Little John said. "Got me with a sickle."
I swore softly, staring at the wound. It would take a ton of sutures to close up, and antibiotics and some heavy duty cleaning to clear up the infection. Not the sort of thing I could do there.
"I need to get you to the hospital. Stay put, Little John." I said. The big man closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.
It took me five minutes to get permission to use Hanley's jeep. I gave Little John some morphine so that I could clean up his arm and get a clean dressing on it, then the aide and I walked him to the vehicle.
I stayed at the hospital until Little John had been cleaned up, stitched up and settled on a cot with an IV in his arm.
I stayed with him until he woke, around 0345. Unlike the others, Little John always woke up fighting. Whether he was aware of being afraid or not his arms and legs were always launched upward and outward when he came out of a drug induced sleep. I'd learned that hearing a familiar voice before he came fully awake helped to minimize the damage he would do. When he started mumbling and rolling his head around, I was there, talking to him.
I had a compress and a canteen of water, and I worked at keeping his face and neck cool while he came around, telling him where he was and why. I made sure the tube for his IV was out of reach and did my best to control that arm until his eyes focused on me.
"Hey, Doc." He said finally, his voice cracking a little.
"Hey, Little John." I said, giving him a bright smile. "You been sleepin' for a couple of hours. How do you feel?"
"Hot…" Little John said. "Tired. My arm…"
I nodded. "That arm's gonna be sore for a while, but we got you fixed up real good."
I watched Little John's eyes shift around the room. The hospital had been located inside a church this time and the main sanctuary housed most of the wounded.
"Are the guys ok? The squad...and Sarge, are they-?"
"Far as I know, Little John. You came back on your own."
Little John nodded. "Sarge said I should try to make it back on my own. Said he thought I had an infection…"
"He was right. Your arm was pretty bad, but you'll be ok now."
In the next ten minutes the conversation circled in and around itself. Little John was able to drink some water and get down a few aspirins. He couldn't tell me much about how the mission had been going other than that the guys were all ok, and the resistance fighters were fanatic zealots. I let Little John talk himself to sleep, then updated his recovery progress with the on duty nurse.
I drove back to the CP as the sun was coming up, tired, but finally free of some of the crushing worry. I got coffee at morning mess then sat with the aide in the radio room for a few hours, dozing. When no word had come in by noon I went to my bunk and passed out. That afternoon a half-dozen medics were called to the front.
A surprise push had started shortly after I'd turned in. It looked like it had been a test raid on our lines to gauge our strength. Hanley, thinking it was also a distraction while the Germans moved up heavy artillery and armor, ordered two small squads to push ahead of the lines and scout the roads to the north and west. Hanley led one squad, and Sgt. Morland led another. I teamed up with a medic named Sawyer, following Hanley's squad into the dense forests that lay north of the CP.
We spent the afternoon climbing hill after hill only to descend through briars and thick brush, then climb back up again. The roads in the area were the easiest going, and the only places that anything but a horse could make any kind of progress. That narrowed down the number of places the Germans could come from. It also made the roads the most concentrated point of enemy fire and attention.
We ran into snipers half a mile from the road. One of the guys took a bullet straight through the heart. He was alive for only a few seconds when I got to him. He'd managed to get his wallet out of his pocket in those few seconds and was trying to open it. I found the picture of his family inside. I put the wallet and his dog tags in my pocket and then we were moving on. Hanley knocked one of the snipers down and the other one fell out of the tree after a burst of machine gun fire split the branch he was sitting on.
The sniper took off running and we followed him straight to where the Germans had parked a half-dozen vehicles under camouflage netting. Half-tracks, jeeps and a troop carrier. Hanley ordered the medics back and he and his men crawled forward, getting as close to the vehicles as they could before they hit them with grenades. The enemy combatants assigned to the vehicles turned their guns on the guys and the whole squad took off on a hasty retreat back to friendlier lines.
One of the guys took a round through the shoulder and I shoved gauze under the straps of his gear and got him on his feet. Another one tripped and went face first into the briars. For a tense five minutes we were yanking him free of the tangle while under fire, just Sawyer, me and Hanley.
The krauts pushed us until the ground became nearly impassable for them, and they realized how close they were coming to the heavily fortified American lines. Once the foxholes were in sight the guys started to drop like flies, exhausted, dehydrated and starving after a day without any rest or rations. Sawyer and I coaxed them to their feet, shoved chocolate bars into their hands, and pushed them onward until each of them was safely behind the line of fire.
We waited by the jeep, the guys digging into their rations. Sawyer took a pile of gauze and a bottle of alcohol to the guy turned into a pincushion, and I did a better job of bandaging the shoulder wound. We waited until the second patrol returned. If anything, they looked worse than we did.
They'd encountered a river and mud on top of the briars. One of the guys had a twisted ankle, and another had broken his hand. They'd lost two. When Sgt. Morland reported to Hanley he listed three snipers, a tank, half-track and command car on the move. They'd thrown their grenades as well, but the tank was still rolling when they'd been forced to pull out.
"We'll mark the road on the map and request a general shelling. Get your wounded in the truck, and we'll take them back to the hospital."
My focus narrowed to the wounded until we had them in the hands of doctors and nurses back at the church. I checked on Little John, before heading back to the CP. I found Hanley asleep at the desk where he did his paperwork.
It took me a minute to wake him up. When I asked him when he had slept or ate last he couldn't even give me a convincing lie. I went to the mess tent to get a tin full of food and a cup of coffee and sat with Hanley until he'd gone through most of it. I helped him and his aide get through the reports and filed my own after action reports for the past few days. It was late when we were done, but the progress we'd made convinced Hanley that he could sleep for a few hours without the company falling to pieces.
Hanley was dead to the world when Saunders called in around 0230. The guy running the radio was new to the unit, but he was a quick study. He marked Saunders position on the map and jotted down his report in shorthand, moving quickly from one task to the next. His voice was calm and relaxed, and I stayed focused on my medical book, thinking everything was ok with the squad.
I was surprised when the radioman called for me. He handed me the headset he'd been using.
"Hey Doc." Saunders called. "How's Little John?"
"He'll be alright. He made it back ok, and his arm is gonna heal up fine."
"That's great...uh...we got a bit of a problem here, Doc. See, one of the resistance guys...well he isn't a guy, he's a girl."
I blinked and felt an eyebrow crawl up my forehead.
"And it turns out she's having a baby."
I laughed.
"No joke, Doc." Saunders said, then was cut off by the sound of an agonized scream. "She's been screamin' for twenty minutes, and none these guys have a clue what to do about it."
"I hate to break it to you but-" I started to say, then stopped and looked down at the book I'd been reading from. "Hang on."
I flipped to the back, found the index, then went to the chapter on reproduction and childbirth. "Sarge, I'm not trained on this, but I got a book here. If any of those resistance guys know about a midwife they need to send for her right away. Til then I can try to give you some advice."
"Anything, Doc. We've been on the run since this morning, and a couple of the guys want to leave her here and push on because of the noise she's making."
"Well..what about the morphine?" I asked.
"Morphine?"
"I put morphine in your med packs." I said.
"Hang on." Saunders said, and I could hear the scrape of the receiver on cloth. "Caje!" I heard him call, then. "Doc says give her some morphine."
"Then what?" Saunders asked.
I told him to boil water if he could risk a fire, get blankets, jackets or anything warm ready for the baby, and clean the edge of a knife as best as possible to cut the umbilical cord. "You'll need a clip or something to tie off the cord after you cut it."
"That's great for the baby, Doc, but what about the mother?"
"Keep her warm, and keep her comfortable. That may mean helping her stand or even walk around. She may want to sit or squat."
"Squat?" Saunders asked, then the radio went quiet as he relayed the information to Caje. "Ok."
"Labor can last anywhere from a couple of minutes to hours or days. There's no way to know for sure. The book says you can check her progress by measuring her dilation."
"Di-what?"
"Dilation. The opening at the bottom of her cervix."
The radio was quiet for a moment before Saunders asked, "Where's that?"
I explained it, watching the radioman turn green at the description.
"I don't...I don't think they're gonna let me look at that, Doc." Saunders said.
"That's..why you need a midwife." I said. "Maybe if you give those resistance guys the gory details it'll light a fire under their tails."
"Ok. Tell Caje what you told me." Saunders said, and I went through the process again, smirking at the radio operator when he gave in and stepped out of the CP altogether.
Caje had just finished translating when I heard the distinct pop of gunfire. Shouts followed and my smirk disappeared. Caje tried to explain what I already knew was happening but he was cut off. I tried to get them back and called the radioman in for help, but after ten minutes of trying he shook his head at me.
My eyes strayed to the map. I felt the adrenaline seeping into my belly and making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I tried to play it cool, telling the radio man what I'd heard before the guys had been cut off. He jotted it all down.
When he stood up to wake Hanley and give him an update I waited for him to leave the room, then snatched the map and the keys to the jeep. I tucked my book under my arm, grabbed blankets and my medical bag from the barracks and cranked the engine on the jeep.
When it comes to bad ideas, I've had just about all of them. I got lost, ran the jeep into and back out of a ditch, and broke the front driver's side headlight before I got even close to the guys location.
The "X" on the map was indicating a set of small farm buildings at the top of a rise. I could just see them outlined against the sky. One of the buildings was on fire, and there were flashes of small arms going off, like lightning bugs in a field. I drove the jeep off the road and under the low hanging branches of a willow tree. I took the keys, knowing it was the only thing I could do to secure the jeep and render it useless to the enemy. I grabbed the supplies I'd brought and took off along the ridge, advancing a little at a time.
I listened and watched, and crept forward at a snail's pace, drawing a mental map of the field of battle. I spotted men running away from the farmhouse and waited until I had picked out the outline of an american helmet. I bent low and charged across the back of the ridgeline, coming up on the farmhouse from the rear. A small chicken house was burning itself to ash, the fire itself blocked from view by a large barn. I crouched by the edge of the porch and waited, spotting a few dead German infantrymen in the farmyard.
I heard weak cries of pain coming from inside the house, definitely the voice of a woman. I started to stand, ready to vault the railing of the porch and duck into the house. Before I could move I heard running footsteps. They slowed, then stopped, and I heard heavy breathing and the rattle of a gun. At first I thought the guy had seen me and was creeping up on my hiding spot. I was backing away from the corner of the porch, ready to run toward the barn when the approaching soldier gave a groan and collapsed.
I crept forward on hands and knees until I could see around to the front of the house. It was a GI. His helmet had come off and I could tell from the hair line that it was Kirby. I scanned the front yard, then crawled forward on my elbows until I could reach his head and shoulders. I checked his pulse, then ran my hand over his shoulders and chest looking for wounds.
He started to come back around when I found the patch of blood on his side. I got my hands under his armpits and dragged him back around the corner, then ran back for his helmet and gun. I had his shirt open, sulfa down and the bandage out by the time his eyes opened. He was hurting from the start. He tried to put his hands down to touch the wound but I batted them away, knowing they were filthy.
I got the bandage in place and was feeding one end of the strap under his back when Kirby started fighting my arms.
"Kirby, cut it out, I'm trying to help." I whispered harshly, finally catching the edge of the strap and pulling it out, up and over. I tied the knot over top of the wound for the added pressure, then ran my hands down his legs to be sure there wasn't something else wrong.
I had one hand resting on the knife in Kirby's boot when I felt the cold ring of steel hit the back of my neck. Kirby was looking at me, and at the man behind me, his eyes wide with fear. I heard the German command for "stand" and I looked down to my hand, knowing what was under it.
The kraut shoved my shoulder and ordered me to stand up again. I pretended he'd shoved me harder than he had and fell down against Kirby's legs to hide my pulling the knife free. I tucked the blade along the underside of my arm and raised the other hand up to show I was cooperating. I got my feet under me, then turned hard and fast, sweeping the blade of the knife toward the German's belly. My other hand went up to swipe at the barrel of the gun, pointing the muzzle away from me as it went off.
The Kraut stopped my hand, the end of the knife inches from his belly. We strained against each other, the war suddenly reduced to a skirmish of muscles and brute strength. He was taller and bigger than me, but I lifted, carried and supported full grown men everyday. The Kraut had to drop his gun to free up his other hand. We both tried to get both hands on the knife first and I started leaning forward, trying to push him away from the shelter of the porch and into the open.
He backed up a step, then another, and I shifted my weight, making it my goal to push him away from cover. Maybe Caje or Saunders would see us and I could duck away for them to open fire on the guy. Or take him prisoner since he'd dropped his gun.
The last voice I expected to hear was Kirby. "Doc...I got him covered." He said, panting hard behind me.
The Kraut looked up at the voice, saw the gun and relaxed his hands. Like an idiot, I automatically did the same. The minute he felt me release my hold, his hand came down and closed around mine. He bent my fingers up and back, a hard and fast move that felt like he was trying to rip them off. I screamed, and whipped my hand away, keeping the other around the handle of the knife. Both of the Kraut's hands focused on my knife hand and I heard Kirby scream, "Doc, get down."
My hand was still attached, but the rest of me dropped low to the ground. I heard Kirby open up and felt the vibration of the bullets as they hit the Kraut's chest. He jerked with each impact, then leaned forward and collapsed on top of me.
I knew the moment he died. I felt his hand seize then release, and jerked my hand and the knife out of his grasp before I kicked his body to the side and crawled away from him. For a long minute I didn't know if I was hurt or not. I crawled back to Kirby and carefully slid the knife back into its place.
Kirby wanted to sit up and I helped shift him so that he could lean back against the porch. I looked over the bandage before I heard a pair of boots approaching at a run. Kirby and I looked up as Saunders and Caje rounded the corner.
"Doc!" Saunders said, looking to the dead german in the yard, then back to me. "How'd you get here?"
"Jeep." I said. I heard his arms come down against his chest and could imagine the miffed look he was giving me. I ignored it, buttoning Kirby's shirt and jacket up. His eyes were focused on me, and every couple of seconds his hand would come out and fiddle with some part of my uniform.
"How's Kirby?" Saunders asked next.
"Hit in the side. He's not too bad, but I should get him back." I said then looked down to where Kirby had found a hole that went through to skin. The front of my uniform looked like the rags the guys sometimes used to camouflage their helmets. In our struggle the blade of the knife had come close to my belly countless times judging by the holes, but hadn't once pierced skin.
All of us looked up when we heard the woman scream.
"Where's the jeep, Doc?" Saunders asked.
"Up the hill under a willow." I said, digging for the key. I handed it off to the sarge, then grabbed my bag and started onto the porch.
"Caje, I'm gonna get the jeep and get Kirby loaded. Help Doc with the woman."
"Got it." Caje confirmed before the sarge took off at a sprint.
Caje charged into the house ahead of me and led the way through the dark hallways to a closet under the staircase. It was the only room on the main floor without windows, so it was the only room where they had lit a lantern. A crowd of smoking men stood outside the closet, looking nervous. I ducked into the narrow space and found the young woman sitting up, her legs spread but shielded from view by her skirt. She was pushing down at her belly and straining so hard that she had burst a blood vessel on her face. A streaky bruise had already started to form on her cheek.
Caje told the woman who I was without prompting and she looked up, panic and pain bathing her face with sweat and tears.
"Caje, I need water. Cold or hot doesn't matter." I said and he disappeared for only a second before he was back with a ceramic basin. I scrubbed my hands and arms as quickly as I could then guided the girl onto her back. She rolled onto her side automatically and I swallowed hard, then looked to the part of a woman that I'd only seen a handful of times before. It took a minute to figure out what I was looking for, but when I found it I could see something very similar to the diagrams in the book.
I wiped my hands and tore my jacket open, yanking the book out of where I'd tucked it on the move. For a second Caje and I stared at the tears and holes in the cover of the book. Then I plunked the book down on the floor, found the dogeared pages I'd marked before and started telling the girl what was going on with her labor.
Caje translated as quickly as I spoke, and after a few phrases I had her full attention. Before long she was nodding or shaking her head to my questions, a willing participant.
"She's not in real labor." I told Caje. "Not yet. She's feelin' the pains but she shouldn't be pushing. She's just tearing herself up inside. When the next pain comes, she needs to breathe hard through it, but not push."
"Not push?" Caje asked, confused.
"She'll know what you mean, Caje, just tell her."
Caje nodded and translated and after a moment the girl nodded. We went through two contractions together before Saunders ran into the house.
"Can she move?"
"She's weak, we'll have to carry her, but she can travel." I said.
"Ok..Doc, you're taking Kirby and the girl in the jeep. The rest of us will follow on foot. We'll stick together for now, but if something happens, you take off in the jeep. No questions, no hesitation. Got it?"
I pushed my lips together, not liking it, but I nodded.
"Good." Saunders said. Then we were on the move.
For three miles I drove the jeep at a walking pace, one hand behind me in the grasp of the girl as she breathed through her contractions. Kirby was slumped in the passenger seat beside me, his hand stretched behind him as well. When her pains got so great that she was grinding our knuckles together I told Saunders we had to stop.
She gave birth there on the road, surrounded by sweating, dirty and bloody men.
The baby was a girl and she was tiny. She started crying right away and when her mother offered a breast, the baby started to suckle without qualms. We covered the tiny family with blankets and returned to the road, traveling well past noon so that we could accommodate those on foot, and stay together. A mile from the CP I pulled the jeep out ahead. The slow pace had eaten up the gas, and Kirby was getting feverish.
We rolled up to the hospital on fumes. I left the engine running and it died before I could get Kirby on his feet. The mother and baby became the instant focus of the attention of the nurses on duty. Kirby was conscious enough to grouse about being ignored.
The docs started his treatment right away and I promised him I would stay until he was out of surgery. The girl was examined by the doc before the nurses took her and the baby. They cleaned her up, gave her new clothes and food. They found a woman in the village who had clothes small enough for the baby and the nurses washed everything before they diapered and dressed the little one. I went out to get some gas for the jeep, and move it out of the way.
When I came back the nurses told me the young mother wanted to see me. None of them spoke French and she didn't speak English, but the smile on her face when she offered to have me hold the baby for a bit spoke volumes.
She pointed to herself and said, "Emily."
Then she pointed at me.
I told her my name and she made a face. She pointed to the nurse that was folding the baby's new clothes and I said, "Nancy."
She pointed at the nurse bending over Little John and I said, "Mary."
We went through each one of the nurses, Emily listening to and discarding their names with a wrinkle of her nose. Finally I pointed at her chest and said, "Emily." Then I gently touched the blanket wrapped baby and said, "Emily."
Emily Jr. it was.
I was shooed away after that so that Emily and her baby could rest. Kirby came out of surgery and I was there when he woke up. He was groggy and confused, but he asked the same questions Little John had. Once I had him convinced that everyone, including the new baby, were just fine, he fell asleep.
I climbed into the jeep, sore, tired, hungry and knowing that I was at least moderately in trouble. I drove it back to the CP and parked it. I remembered the damaged headlight as I walked by it and grunted at myself.
When I walked into the radio room the conversation cut off and Saunders and Hanley both stared at me. Neither of them looked happy.
I took my helmet off, then approached the table quietly and put the keys down. I stood back a step or two and fiddled with the chin straps, then flexed my hand, staring at the redness and bruises. Then I was tracing the outline of the red crosses in the white circles.
"Report, private." Hanley said. A second later I heard the snap of a lighter closing and smelled fresh smoke in the room. I straightened and stared at the wall behind him.
"Private Kirby is out of surgery and doing well. They pulled a slug out of his abdomen. Little John is recovering and should be released in another day or so. The woman and baby are healthy and being cared for." I ground to a halt then added. "It's a girl." Then, "Six pounds, two ounces."
I looked to the ground and said, "Her name is Emily. Junior."
"Congratulations." Hanley said.
I blinked and looked up, confused. He was smirking at me. So was Saunders.
"As for the jeep-"
"I'm sorry for taking it sir, but the call came in last night while you were asleep. They were under fire and they had that woman in labor. I knew I had to do somethin' about it. I figured it was only riskin' me and I had that map." Then I realized that I hadn't seen the map since I'd arrived at the farm. I patted my jacket and coat, then scrambled out to the jeep, terrified that I might have left vital information somewhere on the road.
I found the map in the footwell of the passenger side of the jeep. It was covered with Kirby's muddy bootprints, but it was there.
I snatched it up and ran back inside, handing Hanley the map.
"It's dirty, sir, sorry about that but-"
"Doc." Hanley said, putting his hand up. "Saunders said you got into it with a kraut. Are you ok?"
I looked down at my torn up uniform then looked up and nodded. "I'm...I'm tired and hungry, sir, but yes. I'm...I'm ok."
"Good. Now as to the jeep-"
"I broke a headlight." Hanley's eyes widened. "And ran it into a ditch. And it ran out of gas. But I just drove it over here, and it works just fine."
Both of us looked up at Saunders when we heard the squeak. He had his hand clamped hard over his lips, desperately trying to stifle the noises coming out of his mouth.
"Sergeant Saunders, do you need to step outside?" Hanley asked.
Chip sucked a hard breath in and lowered his hand, fighting the smile on his face. "No, sir. I'm fine, sir."
"Doc. About the jeep-" This time Hanley interrupted himself, putting a hand up to stop me. "You know that you took it without permission, entered a combat area without permission and stole a map...clearly." Hanley said, looking down at the muddy mess. "Given the way things turned out, your actions were correct and necessary. I think you underestimated the risk to yourself and to the others. This isn't the first time you've done this sort of thing, either."
I dropped my gaze and nodded, feeling my heart rate spike.
"As a private, this sort of behavior is seen as wild and impulsive." Hanley said. "Had you been an officer it would have been seen as a commendable action showing initiative, courage, autonomy and strong moral character. Now, you may have decided that you have the experience to make these decisions and take on these missions by yourself. I'm asking you to let the army make that decision too before you try this again."
Hanley was a smart man. I'd always known he was a smart man. I'd seen his gift for leadership and diplomacy a few times, in the field and behind the lines. I'd sometimes wondered why it was that Hanley had been promoted, but not Saunders. Both were brave men, gifted at leading their men, and confident on the field.
Now I saw the difference. I couldn't imagine what I'd just heard ever coming out of Saunders' mouth. He too was an intelligent man, but he rarely worked with an open palm. He was the closed fist. Together Hanley and Saunders were a powerful leadership team because of the differences in their approaches.
"Understood, Private." Hanley said, softly.
I nodded. "Understood, sir. Thank you, sir." I said.
Hanley straightened then leaned back in his seat with a sigh. He looked up at Saunders with a glare that said he hadn't been any help at all then waved his hand at us both. "Get out. Get some chow."
We both murmured "yes sirs" then headed out of the building.
That night I slept long and hard. The nightmares returned, with fresh new twists that involved Nazis with knives. When I woke it was past reveille. I found Caje and Saunders packing supplies, including explosives into the back of a troop truck. I pitched in, groggily, and they explained that they were headed back out once it was dark.
"We had to detour and head back when Emily went into labor. We never got to the radar station." Saunders said.
"Sarge, me, Claude and Berett are going to go out tonight to blow it." Caje said.
"Hanley said you can come with us if you're up to it. But you're to stay with the truck." Saunders added.
"I'm up for it." I said quickly, rubbing my empty belly. I had a few hours to eat and get my medkit together. Once the truck was loaded I put my hands to getting myself ready. By evening I was perched up on the driver's seat, the medical book under my butt on the seat, my bag at my side. Saunders rode with me up front and the rest of the guys rode in the back.
A few miles from the CP the dark sky started to flicker with light. Saunders had me pull off the road and we watched the light show, deciding if it was artillery fire, a bomb drop or lightning. When a cold wind pushed through the trees over our heads and rain started to patter down on the truck, we decided on lightning.
We pushed on ahead into a storm that dumped gallons of rain on the road, turning it quickly into slick mud. The road dipped at one point, falling below the level of a small stream that had overrun it's banks with the heavy rainfall. We made it across, going slowly.
"That's gonna be impassable on the way back if this storm keeps up." Saunders said. The comment haunted us for another ten miles before the road ahead of us dropped away. There should have been a bridge. There was only a narrow strip of stone on our side of the road. A chunk like a giant bite had been taken out of the structure, and a 10-foot trunk of a tree was pressed into the gap, vibrating and beating against what remained of the bridge.
Saunders told me to park the truck off the road in the cover of some trees and told the guys to unload. In the scant shelter of the canvas covered back Caje and the two frenchmen loaded up with the explosives and supplies while Saunders watched the bridge and the road ahead. He opened a storage box on the side of the bed and pulled a length of rope out, pacing to the bridge and testing the first few feet of what remained of the stone surface.
He came back at a light jog and told me to pull the truck up again, guiding me to park it a few feet from the gaping hole. He tied the rope to the front bumper.
"Soon as we're across, Doc, you back this truck up into that copse of trees and you wait. We'll need your help getting back across, especially if this bridge washes out the rest of the way. You wait til daylight. At 0630, if we're not back, you book it." Saunders waited a second before he said, "Understood."
I nodded.
"Doc."
"I understand, I understand." I said. "I'll do it, Sarge."
Saunders nodded. "Ok, guys, let's go."
I stood at the bumper of the truck watching them cross the bridge one at a time. When Saunders, the last one in line, had made it safely to the other side, I dragged the rope back, untied it from the bumper, and climbed into the truck. I backed it into the trees and shut down the engine. I sat staring at the dark hill across the river, right back to the pressure in my chest and the worry that ate at every part of my brain.
I rolled the windows down so that I could hear and tried to doze a few times, but my brain was too keyed up. I opened the medical book and sat reading about the circulatory system, jumping at every noise I heard over the pound of the rain. Once, each hour, I stepped down out of the truck and walked it's perimeter, looking and listening. The rain finally let up around 0500. By then I couldn't read anymore.
I tied the rope to the front bumper and looped the length of it over one of the front mirrors, then paced around the truck, endlessly checking my watch. At least once I had to stare at the second hand to make sure the battery hadn't died.
0600 came and went.
At 0620 I started to climb into the truck, leaving the rope where it was. I was sick to my stomach and scared for the guys, determined to prove myself capable of following orders. I was also thinking of every lie I could tell the sarge when he found me still sitting in the truck past 0630.
At 0654 the guys came charging down the hill on the opposite side of the river bank. I turned the truck engine over and drove out onto the road, then clambered out and unhooked the rope. It took a couple of tosses to get it across the length of the bridge. Saunders and one of the frenchmen were the first to come across and they came together, the sarge supporting the smaller man.
As he passed me Saunders ordered, "Get behind the wheel. Get ready." I scrambled to climb up into the driver's seat, stomping down on the brake and the clutch, ready to throw the truck into reverse.
The second frenchman crossed on his own and Caje took up the rear, constantly looking over his shoulder. When he got to the truck he bent to slice the rope free of the front fender, his head still popping up, over and over, to check the hill. The krauts came a second after Caje cut the rope free. He stepped out in front of the truck and sprayed the road, forcing the germans to the ground, then jumped up onto the step outside the passenger side door and held onto the mirror.
"Go, go, go!"
There wasn't time to turn around. I threw the truck into reverse and we started backing up the road. Once we were over the hill there would be time, and cover, to get us going in the right direction. The germans took shooting positions and started peppering the bridge, the tree trunk, the road and the truck with bullets.
A round hit the windshield high and to the right and I ducked, but kept my foot on the gas. Caje kept up his answering fire until his gun was empty, then jumped from the truck to reload, backing up the hill as he continued to fire.
We made it over the hill and I started to shimmy the truck back and forth on the narrow strip of gravel. Saunders leapt out of the back, tripped, then scrambled up the hill to support Caje's retreat. They came back down the hill together, slipping and sliding but keeping their feet under them.
Both jumped into the back of the truck and I waited until I heard a hand pounding on the wall near my head before I started us forward.
It would take the germans time to get across the bridge. By the time they had crossed we were far enough away that without a vehicle of their own they couldn't hope to hit us.
I drove hard and fast, knowing there was at least one wounded man in the back. The wash out in the road was rough but the truck made it over and we made better and better time the closer we got to the CP.
I was surprised when I pulled up and saw ambulances, medics and rows of men on cots being treated. The hospital had moved up, and the front line was advancing.
Hanley met us at the truck and helped unload the wounded frenchman, then directed the rest of us into the radio room to report. I stood in the corner, hugging my helmet, suddenly too tired to do more than drift. Saunders had grabbed a seat and his canteen, pulling his helmet off to ruffle his hair. Caje stood to the side, leaning with his foot up on a chair, soaked through and shivering quietly.
I ducked out of the radio room, too tired to manage more than a slow walk. I went to the barracks but found that it was now a hospital ward on one end, and a surgery on the other. I went back out to the street and stared around me until I spotted a pile of blankets. I grabbed four and walked them back to the radio room.
I unfolded one of them and draped it over Caje's shoulders, then handed another to Saunders, and another to the Frenchman. I wasn't cold, but I pulled the last one around my chest and went back to my corner, practically asleep on my feet.
I remember parts of the conversation. The mission had been successful with one casualty. The radar station was confirmed destroyed and they'd taken out an ammo dump stored in the same building. The front was advancing and we would soon have the additional support of bombers now that the radar station was kaput. Commendations all around, hurray and hurrah to all the brave GIs.
I smirked to myself at my own internal sarcasm, waiting for Hanley to tell us we were dismissed, then explain where we were supposed to go to sleep.
"Unfortunately I can't give you guys any time to sack out. The hospital moved in this morning and we're being pushed ahead to a town across the river. As soon as your squad is up to full strength you'll be back on the lines. Until then we'll need your help setting up the new CP."
"What about Doc?" Saunders asked and I did my best to force my eyes open a little wider.
"I imagine he'll be needed here." Hanley said, then actually looked up. He sighed softly and nodded. "I'm positive he'll be needed here."
Saunders and Hanley exchanged a look and I caught a smirk from Caje before Hanley said, "Doc. Go report to the hospital."
I started to push away from the wall and aimed for the door. Saunders stopped me with a soft, "Wait a minute."
He walked to the door and lit a cigarette in transit before he reached down to my hand and pulled my wrist up into the light coming from outside. He looked at my watch, making a point of inspecting it closely. He pulled it up to his ear and nodded when he heard the steady ticking.
"Saunders?" Hanley asked.
"Sorry, sir. I just...wanted to make sure Doc's watch was still working." The sarge looked at me, blowing smoke in a steady stream out of his mouth before he smiled softly. "I thought it might've stopped out there, cause of the rain."
I cleared my throat and carefully put my helmet on my head. I looked at my watch and thought for a moment then said, "You know, it's a British watch, Sarge. I think it stops every once in a while for tea."
"That must be it." Saunders said, his eyes dancing. "You should requisition an American watch, so that it doesn't happen again."
"I should." I said. "I'll do that right away." I added. Sarge cupped my shoulder and shoved me lightly out the door. Before the door closed Caje had followed me down the steps. We stood on the street in the warm sun, each of us lighting a cigarette and enjoying the taste of fresh tobacco, newly alight.
"The frenchmen.." Caje said, "Thought you would be gone. They wanted to give up to the germans, especially after Berett was injured. But the Sarge kept telling them, "He'll be there. He'll be there.""
Caje smiled at me and his hand came down on my helmet, waggling my head around. "I've never been so happy to see this stupid helmet in my life." He grinned. His eyes were suddenly wet, but he was grinning hard at me and I knew exactly how he felt.
I'm good at waiting, I thought. I wait all damn day. I've waited my way through a war. I wait for men to get wounded, for men to get through surgery, for men to recover. I wait for supplies that sometimes never come, and ambulances and troop trucks. I wait for the guys to get back from missions, and wait for the pressure in my chest to ease once they've made it back alive. I'm the army's official hurry up and wait man.
"I had nothin' else to do." I said, finally, shrugging. Caje threw his arm around me and we walked together toward the hospital, the conversation shifting eventually to whether or not I had managed to find tennis balls, or secure the cheerleaders.
Later that afternoon, while I was waiting for access to a shower, leafing through the medical book that was beginning to look as war torn as my uniform, I found a phrase that made me smile.
"In cases of possible injury to the spine it is recommended that those giving medical aide should refrain from moving the person, so long as they are away from immediate danger. It is best to wait, in this case, rather than make haste, and in so doing, cause greater harm. Remember the Oath. Never do harm."