At the moment, Doc had his own problems. When they came to a stop, Doc had jumped
from his seat, clamped a hand to his helmet and rolled under the jeep. Now, as a kraut
bullet found its way to yet another tire, he found himself with barely enough room to
move. Sharp little stones were digging into his hands and cheek, and he flinched as more
lead pinged against the sides of the jeep. Turning his head as he caught a whiff of
gasoline, Doc was dismayed to see the trickle of fuel from the penetrated gas tank.
Suddenly, taking refuge under the jeep didn't seem like such a good idea.

Taking refuge in the ditch hadn't been much better. Saunders sized up their situation as
he reloaded...and wasn't encouraged by what he saw. They were thoroughly pinned in
that shallow ditch. There was no way to get from the ditch to effective cover without
getting their heads blown off. Peters was wounded and Doc was missing. Firing off a
few more shots, Saunders slid closer to Littlejohn and waved him over.

Keeping his head down, Littlejohn crawled the short distance between them. "Sarge,
what're we going to do?"

"Give me the radio. Do what you can for Peters and keep firing. Try to make your shots
count...we may need to keep it up for a while."

Grimacing at the poor odds, Littlejohn handed over the radio. Crawling back to Peters,
he nudged Billy to get his attention. "Give me your field kit, quick."

Billy fumbled with the pouch at his belt then thrust the small package into Littlejohn's
hands. "Where's Doc?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him leave the jeep, did you?"

"No. How bad is Peters?" Billy cast the wounded man a quick glance while loading a
new clip.

Catching Billy's eye, Littlejohn gazed back sadly. "Bad."

Opening fire once more, Billy did a mental inventory of his ammo. He didn't like what
he came up with. *I sure hope Sarge gets us reinforcements. Quick.*


"Reinforcements? Where?" Lt. Hanley frowned thoughtfully when the Corporal pointed
out the position on the map.

"Saunders said they were right about here. He says they're pinned down in a ditch and
can't move without being hit. Says he has one wounded and one unaccounted for."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hanley sighed. "Just ONCE I'd like to get accurate
information from S-2. There wasn't supposed to be any enemy activity in that area.
Okay, who's the closest to Saunders?"

The Corporal closed his eyes a moment as he tried to remember who was in that area.
"Sir, Item has a squad over here in the next sector. If they hurry, they can get to Saunders
in about thirty minutes."

"I'm not sure Saunders HAS thirty minutes." Hanley studied the map again and shook his
head. "Okay, it's all we got. Get on the radio and get them some help. Let me know if
you hear anything."

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drawing out their ammo, Saunders and the others didn't fire until fired upon. He kept a
sharp eye on their flanks...if the Germans were going to get the drop on them, that's how
they'd do it. Wiping his face with his jacket sleeve, he tilted his helmet back and turned
his attention to Littlejohn. "How's he doing?"

Trying his best to help Peters, Littlejohn knew it was bad. "I don't think he's gonna
make it, Sarge. I wish Doc was here."

Saunders shook his head and sighed. "I'm not sure there'd be much more that Doc could
do, that you aren't."

Shrugging, Littlejohn fired off a few shots to answer the ones that had ricocheted off the
rock above his head. *Yeah, but at least if Doc was here...this kid's life, and death, would
be in his hands...not mine.*

Due to the flat tires on that side, Doc had a very narrow field of vision in the direction of
the ditch the others had taken cover in. He could just make out the helmeted heads as
they popped up to fire off a quick shot or two. He could count, though, and knew
someone was missing. He just didn't know who it was. It didn't really matter,
whomever it was needed help. He had to get out from under the jeep.

Keeping his head down, Doc slithered sideways until he was facing the higher end of the
vehicle. Pulling with his hands and pushing with his feet, he managed to slide forward
six inches before coming to a stop. He pulled and wriggled, but one of his canteens was
snagged on the jeep's undercarriage. Panic began to build as he tugged frantically to free
himself. More bullets suddenly kicked up the dirt next to the jeep's last tire and Doc's
panic level went up a notch. He struggled for another futile moment then switched
course. Pushing, he slid backward a few inches. Shifting to his right, he tried moving
forward again. This time, he managed to clear the obstacle and crawl to the edge of the
bullet riddled vehicle.

There was no decent cover on his side of the road, so Doc was going to have to cross over
to the others. Taking a deep breath, he clenched a fist around his medical bag and rolled
out from under the jeep. Jumping to his feet, Doc sprinted around the front of the
vehicle, his eyes on the ditch. He didn't make it.

A hail of bullets tore up the dirt at his feet and one whizzed so close to his face, Doc was
sure he felt the displaced air from it. Coming to a sliding halt, he pivoted and launched
himself back at the jeep. Falling to the ground on the high side, he scrambled back
underneath, panting for breath. *Well, all that accomplished was taking another year off
my life. Now what?*

"Doc!"

Jerking his head up at Saunders' call, Doc winced when his head connected with the
undercarriage, grateful he was wearing a helmet. He had to shout to be heard over the
gunfire. "Sarge?"

"Doc, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just...stuck!"

"Well, stay put! What're you trying to do, get yourself killed?"

"Sarge, who's hit?"

"Peters!"

"How bad?"

There was a hesitation before Saunders answered and Doc knew it was bad. "Don't
worry about it; we're taking care of it. Help's on the way!"

Flinching as more German fire landed near his shelter, Doc shifted a little closer to the
high side. "Sarge! If they get another tire...you're gonna have to lift this jeep off me!"
If it doesn't blow up, first.

"Just stay there, Doc! You poke your head out from under that jeep again and I'll shoot
you myself!"

Resting his cheek on the dirt, Doc sighed....knowing Peters was probably dying while he
was stuck under the jeep with nowhere to go. He hated feeling helpless.

"Sarge!" Littlejohn had already used all their field bandages, but nothing seemed to stem
the flow of Peters' blood. The young man was rapidly running out of time. "Sarge, I've
got two grenades. You want to use them to give Doc some cover so he can get over
here?"

Reloading the Thompson once more, Saunders shook his head. "No way, Littlejohn.
He'd never make it, so I don't want him to even try. I don't know how he made it out
from under the jeep in one piece the first time." Knowing instinctively what was
bothering Littlejohn, Saunders nudged him toward Billy. "Take Nelson and go a few
yards to the right, but keep your head down. Maybe we can spread their fire a little and
keep them off guard long enough to buy us some time. I'll take care of Peters."

Littlejohn nodded in relief. He was grateful to have such a heavy burden taken from his
shoulders. He didn't like having a man's life resting in his hands. Crawling over to
Billy, he grabbed his younger friend by the sleeve and motioned for him to follow.

Watching the two slide a few yards away from him, Saunders spared a moment for
Peters. He knew the wounded man wasn't going to make it. After so much time in this
hell, Saunders knew a dying man when he saw one.

Smiling grimly when Saunders' plan of spreading the enemy's fire worked, Littlejohn
crouched elbow to elbow with Billy, trading shots with the Germans. A short while later,
he heard a shout and turned to see Saunders pointing past them. Littlejohn looked back
to see two Germans trying to sneak up on their right flank. He nudged Billy, who swung
his M-1 toward the two and opened fire. Littlejohn pulled one of his grenades from his
jacket pocket, pulled the pin and lobbed it toward the enemy. Flattening themselves to
the bottom of the ditch, the two Americans waited for the explosion. Smiling in
satisfaction when they heard screaming after the grenade went off, they turned their
attention back to the trees.

Billy shifted his position and glanced over to Sarge and Peters. He then stretched his
neck to peer over the ditch's edge to see the jeep. What a mess they were in.

After what seemed like an eternity, and with their ammo rapidly dwindling to nothing,
the three weary Americans heard more gunfire. Risking a glance, Saunders was relieved
to see the newcomers were their reinforcements. Looking back down at Peters, he knew
help had arrived too late for the wounded man. He was still alive, but the sergeant knew
they'd never get him to an aid station in time.

It didn't take long for the Americans to overpower the Germans, and it was soon over.
Recognizing the tall, lanky sergeant that jogged over to them, Saunders stood and slung
his Thompson over his shoulder. Holding out a hand, he shot the man a grateful look.
"Jacobs, thanks for saving our hides. It was getting pretty serious there for a minute."

Returning the handshake, Jacobs took a look around at Saunders' men, seeing Billy and
Littlejohn both hovering over Peters. "No problem, I'm just paying back a debt. Got any
more wounded besides this guy?"

"No, just Peters." He crouched next to the wounded man and winced at the fresh blood
seeping through the bandages. "Doc! It's all clear; Peters need you!" When he didn't
get a response, he stood and looked around. Doc wasn't there.

Startled when he heard the additional gunfire, Doc's heart jumped to his throat. He was
sure the new arrivals were more Germans, and he and the others were all about to be
killed or captured. He worried about the rest of his squad, out in the open in that ditch.
After several long, tension-filled moments, he was relieved to hear the shout of "all
clear".

Pulling forward, he felt himself get snagged again on something. Knowing what to do
this time, he slid backward and shifted. That didn't work. Reaching to his belt, he
managed to unclasp it, scraping his knuckles on the road. When he pulled forward
again...he was still stuck. It hadn't been the canteens this time, but his jacket. It
must've caught on something. After sliding every which way, trying to get loose, Doc gave up
and reached under his chest to undo the zipper. He struggled for a few minutes and was
about to panic, when the catch on the zipper finally parted. He tried wriggling out of the
jacket, but there was no room to maneuver. He was good and stuck.

"Sarge!"

Hearing the muffled, panicked shout, everyone turned toward the jeep. Jacobs raised his
eyebrows in surprise when Saunders ran over to the right side of the vehicle and knelt to
look underneath.

Saunders found himself peering into Doc's dirt streaked face, the medic's blue eyes
staring frantically back. "What's the matter, Doc?"

"I'm stuck! I can't get my jacket loose."

"Can't you just slip out of the jacket?"

"I tried that, but there's not enough ROOM!"

Hearing the frustration in Doc's voice, Saunders knew the medic had tried everything.
Standing, he motioned for Littlejohn to help. They both knelt and reached under the jeep.
"Doc, reach out and we'll pull." They each grasped an arm, locking their hands on Doc's
wrists.

Adjusting his weight, Saunders leaned back. "Okay, guys, on three. One. Two. Three!"
He and Littlejohn gave a mighty pull, heard a ripping sound and Doc shot from under the
jeep like a cork from a bottle. Stumbling, Saunders and Littlejohn somehow kept from
falling at the sudden release. Doc scrambled to his feet, gave his sergeant a grateful look
and darted across the road to Peters.

Dumping his bag next to the wounded man, Doc dropped to his knees...and knew
instinctively that he was too late. He did his best, though. When he was ready, the others
threw together a litter and gently placed Peters on it for the trip back to the village.
Despite everyone's best efforts...it wasn't enough. The young soldier stopped breathing
just as the village came into view.

Standing just outside the aid station, Lt. Hanley and Sgt. Saunders shared concerned
glances. Littlejohn, Billy and Doc huddled together dispiritedly. You couldn't find a
more ragged looking trio. Littlejohn and Doc were both stained with Peters' blood and
Billy was covered in dirt, slouching wearily. Doc's jacket was in tatters as a result of his
confinement under the jeep, and was liberally splattered with gasoline to boot. The three
stood shoulder to shoulder, as if unable to stand without the support of the others.

"Saunders, what happened?"

Lighting a Lucky Strike, Saunders shook his head in disbelief. "We were on our way
back and ran into an ambush. The jeep took some hits, blowing out a couple tires. We
all bailed out and took cover. Doc rolled under the jeep and the rest of us ended up in a
ditch. Peters got it. We did the best we could, but he was hurt too bad and Doc couldn't
get to us. I don't think he could've done anything anyway; Peters was just hit too badly."

Hanley crossed his arms in frustration, knowing it all could have been prevented if they'd
had accurate information from S-2. "Saunders, I'm giving you and your squad 24 hours
before you have to go back out on patrol. Make sure those guys get some sleep; they
look like hell."

"Yes sir." Saunders gave him a tired salute and walked over to the others. He was
grateful for the 24 hours. Something was definitely bothering those three...something
beyond Peters' death. He just didn't know what. "Let's go, guys. Time to catch some
sleep."

Littlejohn and Doc walked side by side, neither looking at the other. Billy cast them
furtive glances, wishing he knew what to say. He knew they both felt some guilt about
what happened, even though neither one could've done anything different. Then, there
was Caje.

Caje. Doc couldn't seem to pull his mind away from it. What if it had been Caje? It was
supposed to have been Caje. If the two hadn't switched, it might've been his friend
under that blanket. Doc wondered if he would have tried harder if it had been Caje.
Would it have made a difference? He knew the answer to that was no. That disturbed
him even more...knowing that he wouldn't have been able to save his friend.

His mind more or less traveling the same circles, Littlejohn began to drag his feet the
closer they got to the little café. He hated knowing how close they had come to losing
Caje. He, too, wondered if he would have done more if it had been Caje wounded,
instead of Peters. Would he have tried just a little harder? He didn't know...and that was
tearing him up inside.

Looking up from their still ongoing poker game, Caje started to welcome Peters back and
offer to share his winnings. The smile on his face fell when he got a good look at the
men standing just inside the door. Peters was missing, and Caje knew by the looks on
Doc's and Littlejohn's faces that the man was dead. His world suddenly seemed to spin
out of control.

Standing so quickly that his chair toppled over, Caje looked from one to the other,
silently begging them to deny what he knew was true. Kirby and Tyner shared a brief
look of sadness. Since no one else was going to venture to ask the question, Kirby
cleared his throat. "Sarge, what happened to Peters?"

Dusting off a crate in the corner, Saunders rested his Thompson against the wall and sat
down. Removing his helmet and running his fingers through his damp, tangled hair, he
kept a watchful eye on Caje as he told the others what happened.

Halfway through the story, Nelson wandered over and slid down against the wall to sit on
the floor, resting his arms on his knees. He, too, watched Caje's reactions during the
story. This was not going to be easy for him.

Caje couldn't believe it. All they did was switch patrols. Nothing was supposed to
happen. It was just supposed to be a quick trip to the next village to make sure it had
been evacuated; that was all. Caje looked at his pile of winnings on the table. Blood
money. That was how he thought of it. Unable to contain all the emotions running
rampant through his mind, Caje lashed out.

"Why didn't you do something to help him, Littlejohn? If he was right there next to you,
why couldn't you keep him alive?"

Momentarily stunned, Littlejohn took a step back. Neither he nor Doc had ventured
much past the door when they'd entered the little café. "Now, wait a minute. Caje, I did
the best I could. I used all the bandages we had. We needed Doc's bag, but he was
pinned down. We did our best!"

Closing the gap between them, Caje stood toe-to-toe with the bigger man. "Your best
wasn't good enough, was it?"

Saunders jumped from his crate to separate them, but Doc was closer. He placed a hand
to Caje's shoulder and tried to reason with him. "Caje, you don't mean that."

Knocking the medic's hand aside, Caje turned on him next. "Don't tell me what I mean.
Where the hell were you during all this? Just hiding under the jeep while Peters bled to
death?"

"Caje!" Saunders took a step forward to put a stop to Caje's accusations, but Doc held up
a hand. Seeing a look of understanding in the medic's face, he made the decision to trust
Doc's instincts. For now, anyway.

Littlejohn gave Caje an angry shove. "Stop blaming everybody! There was nothing Doc
could do. You weren't there..." He broke off in surprise when Caje swung his fist.

Having stepped forward at precisely the wrong moment, to try to separate the two, Doc
caught the blow intended for Littlejohn and fell to the floor. When Saunders and
Littlejohn sprang forward to restrain Caje, the medic waved a hand for them to back off.
"It's okay, Sarge. Let him get it out."

Narrowing his eyes angrily, Saunders kept his grip on Caje's arm. "What, it's not enough
that you're beating yourself up over this? You're going to let Caje get in a few blows?"

Gently feeling the split lip with his tongue, Doc shook his head. "He didn't mean it and
you know it. Let him go, Sarge. Please."

When they reluctantly released their hold, Caje felt the anger pour out of him...leaving
him feeling empty. Unable to stand the stares from his fellow soldiers, he walked over to
retrieve his Garand then slipped silently out the door. Littlejohn's words were ringing in
his ears like an accusation. *You weren't there.* He should have been.

Reaching out, Saunders gave Doc a hand up from the floor. "Want to tell me what that
was all about?"

Shrugging, Doc smiled ruefully and instantly regretted it as he felt the split lip pull. "Bad
timing? He didn't mean any of it, Sarge. We can't even begin to imagine what he's
thinking. Just give him time."

Time. Well, Saunders had given Caje time and it didn't seem to have helped. The
sergeant never would've believed his squad could fall apart in one day, but the evidence
was right in front of him. The 24 hours Hanley had given them was up and they were due
to go out on patrol...and for the first time, Saunders didn't know if he could rely on his
men.

Returning just in time for the patrol, Caje looked like he hadn't slept in that 24-hour
period. He kept to himself and wouldn't even look at the others. He leaned against the
wall of the café and stared at his feet, his shoulders slumped as if bowed under a heavy
weight.

The two new replacements, McIntyre and Norris, stood quietly talking to Nelson. The
two kept casting surreptitious glances at the others and appeared a little uneasy. Saunders
couldn't blame them...it wasn't much to inspire confidence. The two men who would
normally be taking the green recruits under their wings were also keeping themselves
apart.

Pretending to be cleaning his M-1, Littlejohn sat on a barrel by the door. He stared off
into space and had been rubbing the same spot for over ten minutes. He, too, looked like
he'd had a sleepless night. Every now and again he'd cast a glance at Doc, his expression
unreadable.

Nodding his head once in a while at whatever Kirby was bending his ear about, Doc
counted the supplies in his medical bag. So far, Doc had lost count half a dozen times
and Saunders didn't think it was Kirby that was distracting the medic. He watched as
Kirby stopped his rant and waited for a response. When he didn't receive one, the wiry
BAR man sighed. Shaking his head, he wandered over to join his sergeant.

"Sarge, can't you do something? I gotta bad feeling about today."

Saunders shifted his weight and rested the butt of his Thompson on his hip. Tilting back
his helmet, he frowned. He had a bad feeling, too, but wasn't going to tell that to Kirby.
"You just watch out for Kirby. The others know their job and will snap out of it."
Hopefully.

"Yeah, well, if you say so, Sarge." Muttering under his breath, Kirby walked over to join
Nelson and the replacements. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Billy and shook
his head. He didn't have any idea how to fix what Peters' death had broken.

"Saddle up! C-Kirby, you have the point." With the man's state of mind at the moment,
Saunders was a little hesitant in putting Caje at point. "Nelson, you take the rear. Mac,
Norris, you guys just keep your eyes open, your heads down and don't shoot unless I tell
you to."

Kirby led them out of the village, Littlejohn and Saunders following behind. Mac and
Norris arranged themselves between Saunders and Caje, both wondering if the squad's
silence was a bad omen.

Walking behind Caje, Doc waited for a good time to try to talk to him. He wanted to tell
Caje that he didn't hold anything against him for what had happened the night before.
Doc knew the words and actions stemmed from guilt and denial. He didn't want to wait
too long, or things could get worse.

They'd been walking for over an hour when Doc finally picked up his pace to catch up
with Caje. Keeping step, Doc reached out to touch Caje's arm to get his attention. The
medic was a little taken aback by the glare he received. "Um, want to talk about what
happened?"

Lengthening his stride in answer to Doc's question, Caje frowned when the medic simply
walked faster to keep up. "No, I don't want to talk about what happened. Leave me
alone." If he expected that to deter the medic, he was disappointed.

When Doc didn't take the hint and drop back, Caje sighed in annoyance. He just really
wanted to be alone at the moment. "Look, Doc, I'm sorry I hit you. I was aiming at
Littlejohn."

"I know you didn't mean to hit me and I think you really didn't want to hit Littlejohn,
either. You were just angry and upset. I know you probably think it's somehow your
fault, because you two switched, but it's not."

Doc's words hit a sensitive nerve and Caje swung around to grab the medic by the jacket.
"Look, I said I didn't want to talk about it! Go preach to someone else, because I don't
want to hear it." He released Doc with a little shove and strode past Saunders, who'd
stopped when he heard the angry outburst.

Seeing the shocked look on Doc's face, Saunders sighed inwardly. This was going to get
worse before it got better. He could feel it. When the medic gave himself a little shake
and resumed walking, Saunders waited to let Doc catch up to him. "What was that all
about?"

Giving a small shrug, Doc laughed mirthlessly. "I'm not sure, to tell you the truth. I just
thought Caje might like to talk about it, that's all. Get it off his chest, you know? Yeah,
REAL bright idea. I said the wrong thing, I guess, and now I've just made things worse."

"No, you've got the right idea, Doc. I guess Caje just needs more time, maybe. Let's
give him some time to work through it on his own. If he doesn't, I'll talk to him myself."

"Sure, Sarge. All I keep doing is making him mad."

Saunders gave the medic a slap on the back and picked up his pace to shorten the gap
between himself and Caje. He thought maybe it was a good idea to keep an eye on the
troubled man.

They had neared the far end of the area they were out to patrol, when they stumbled
across a squad of Germans. Unfortunately, the Germans saw them first. Hitting the
ground as bullets suddenly tore through the leaves and branches around him, Saunders
did a quick inventory of his men. He couldn't see everyone from his position, but he
could hear the weapons of the ones who were missing.

One of the replacements, McIntyre, had landed a few feet away. He was returning the
Germans' fire, but when he turned to look at the sergeant, Saunders could see the fear in
the young man's eyes. Making a few quick decisions, he slid closer to McIntyre. "Mac,
stay here and keep firing." He passed Mac two grenades and crouched, ready to run.
"Give me five minutes to get over on their left flank, then throw those grenades. Got it?"

Swallowing his fear, Mac gave Saunders a short nod and raised his M-1 to give the
sergeant cover fire. Glancing at his watch when Saunders broke cover, he opened fire.

Circling around and coming up behind Kirby, Saunders tapped the BAR man on the
helmet. "Kirby, think you can make it over to their right flank by 1643?"

Peering at his watch, Kirby frowned thoughtfully. "I think so, Sarge. Whatchya got in
mind?"

"I'll be on the left flank. At 1643, Mac's going to lob a few grenades to draw their fire.
You and I will come in and hit them on the flanks and hopefully end this thing."

"You got it, Sarge." Without another word, Kirby slipped from cover and darted for the
right flank. Saunders headed for the left, ducking as the Germans picked up his
movements.

Unaware of his sergeant's plan, Caje looked around for the new replacements. He could
see Mac a couple yards to his right, but Norris was out of his line of sight. Feeling an
overwhelming urge to protect the new members of the squad, Caje hesitated a moment
then crawled over to join Mac behind a large stone.

"How you holding up, Mac?"

Stopping to look at his watch, Mac nodded distractedly. "I'm doing okay, Caje." He
loaded a new clip and kept firing. He suddenly felt a little more confident since Caje had
joined him. Glancing at his watch, he counted down the seconds in his head. With five
seconds left, Mac reached inside his jacket and removed the two grenades. Rising to his
knees, he prepared to pull the pin.

Seeing the young man get to his knees, sticking his head above cover, Caje grabbed
Mac's jacket and pulled him to the ground. He leaned down to hiss in his ear, "Keep
your head down! You trying to get killed?"

Struggling to get Caje to release his grip, Mac hastily tried to explain. "No, I'm supposed
to..."

"You're supposed to keep your head down and stay alive, is what you're supposed to
do."

Both men looked up when the distinct sounds of the Thompson and BAR opened up from
opposite directions. The Germans turned all their firepower on the two soldiers sneaking
up on their flanks.

Looking at Caje with wild eyes, Mac shouted above the noise. "That's what I was trying
to tell you. I was supposed to throw these grenades to give the Sarge cover!"

*What have I done?* Snatching the grenades from Mac's hands, Caje pulled the pins and
threw them at the Germans...hoping he wasn't too late.