As soon as his watch hit 1643, Saunders jumped from cover and opened up with his
Thompson, fully expecting grenades to explode as he did so. It didn't happen. He
suddenly found himself the target of nearly every German in that squad. Throwing
himself behind a fallen tree, the sergeant cursed green recruits who couldn't tell time.
Kirby watched the seconds tick past, trying to catch his breath after his mad dash to get to
the flank in time. As the second hand hit the twelve, Kirby raised his BAR and bolted
from behind the large tree that had given him cover. He didn't get very far before lead
flew all around him. He felt a sharp sting high on his right arm and dove for the meager
protection of some bushes to his left. He lay on the ground, gasping for air. *Holy shit!
Where were the grenades Sarge promised?*
Wondering the same thing, Saunders was trying to come up with another plan. The
welcome sound of explosions had him back on his feet, firing once again. He could hear
the bark of Kirby's BAR, meaning he was up and running as well. As soon as Saunders
was close enough, he reached into his pocket for his last grenade, pulled the pin and
tossed it at the remaining Germans. Clamping a hand to his helmet, he hit the ground as
dirt and twigs landed on and around him, the result of the grenade's detonation. There
were two more quick explosions, compliments of Kirby, then silence.
Cautiously raising his head then climbing to his feet, Saunders began to check for
survivors. He saw Kirby doing the same thing. Leaving the BAR man to the grisly task,
Saunders narrowed his eyes and headed back to McIntyre.
He found Mac talking earnestly with Caje. Storming over, Saunders took a deep breath
in an attempt to regain control of his anger. "Mac! What the hell were you doing? You
nearly got us killed by not throwing those grenades when I told you to!"
Holding up a hand and shaking his head, Mac took a step back. "No, Sarge, now don't
go blaming me. I tried to throw the grenade when I was supposed to, but Caje didn't
realize what I was doing and thought I was gonna get my head blown off, so...he jerked
me back down."
Saunders turned to stare at Caje in bewilderment. "You what? Why did you even risk
leaving your position?"
Horrified by what he'd almost done, however inadvertently, Caje tried to explain why
he'd done what he had. "I'm sorry, Sarge. It...I thought McIntyre could use some help,
so I went over to him. When I saw him raise up like that...I thought he was going to get
himself shot, so I pulled him back down. After Peters...I just...I didn't want anybody
else to get killed, Sarge."
Bowing his head and rubbing a grimy hand over his face, Saunders couldn't believe Caje
had done something like that. He waved for Caje to follow, then walked a short distance
from the others so they could talk privately. "Look, Caje, I know Peters' death hit you
hard, but you can't play guardian angel to those two. They don't need it, and you can't
afford it. You just worry about Caje and let me worry about the others, okay?"
Caje kept a tight rein on his emotions. Giving Saunders a terse nod, his jaws clenched
and his back stiff, Caje returned to the others. He stood off to one side, staring at the
ground.
*The whole squad is coming apart at the seams.* What bothered Saunders the most was
that he didn't know what to do to stop the inevitable. He knew Caje just needed time, but
he didn't know if time was going to be on their side. Sighing in defeat, the sergeant slung
his Thompson over his shoulder and went to find Kirby and Doc.
After the firing had stopped, and after reassuring himself that Caje and the others were
undamaged, Doc went to look for Saunders and Kirby. He hadn't gone far when he saw
Saunders coming towards them. Catching the thunderous look on the sergeant's face,
Doc decided he'd be better off looking for Kirby.
Finding Kirby going from body to body checking for signs of life, Doc waved him off
and checked the last three. He'd known it was useless, but did it anyway out of habit.
Once he'd checked the last body, he looked up to see Kirby lighting a cigarette. When
the BAR man reached down to drop his lighter in his pants pocket, Doc caught the slight
wince. "You okay, Kirby?"
"Huh? Oh, that. It's just a scratch, Doc, nothing to worry about." Kirby removed his
helmet, dropped it to the ground, and used it as a seat. Wiping the sweat from his face,
Kirby removed the Lucky and blew a plume of smoke. "What the heck happened back
there, anyhow?"
Doc knelt next to Kirby and opened his bag. He widened the tears in Kirby's jacket and
sleeve to check for himself the seriousness of the wound. "Well, I'm not real sure. I was
over by Littlejohn and couldn't see much, mostly because he was practically sitting on
me, but from what Mac was yelling a few minutes ago...I'd say it has something to do
with Caje. Mac said something about Caje keeping him from throwing the grenades."
Sprinkling sulfa powder on the small wound, Doc placed some gauze over it then taped it
down. "Well, you were right, Kirby, it's just a scratch. Just nicked ya this time; you
were lucky."
Turning to look the medic in the eye, Kirby frowned. "Yeah, Doc, but what about next
time? What if Caje screws up again? He almost got us killed!"
Closing the flap of his medical bag and snapping it into place, Doc shook his head.
"Now, wait a minute. Kirby, we don't know what really happened down there. I said I
didn't know what happened for sure. Let's not jump to conclusions."
As they both stood and started back toward the rest of the squad, Doc reached out to
snare Kirby's sleeve. "Kirby? Just in case this WAS caused by something Caje
did...don't let him know you were wounded because of it. Okay? I...I don't think he
could take it."
Kirby pointed to the tear in his sleeve. "Well, how do you expect me to hide this?"
"If anybody asks...just say you tripped over something while we were checking the
bodies. Okay?"
Grumbling about all that had happened in the last two days, Kirby shook his head in
disgust. "Well, alright Doc, if you say so. But you'll owe me one. TRIPPED? I'll never
hear the end of it from Littlejohn, mark my words."
"I'll take care of Littlejohn."
"Yeah, well you better. That's all I need, is for that big moose to start riding me."
"You mean, after you've been giving him such a hard time about being 'clumsy'?"
Kirby shot Doc a smile as he ducked under a branch. "Yeah, well, I guess it would be
payback. But we don't have to tell that to Littlejohn."
"Tell what to Littlejohn?"
They both jumped, startled when Saunders stepped around a tree, and shared a brief look
of guilt.
"Jeez, Sarge, you're worse than Caje about sneaking up on people. Give a guy a heart
failure, why not?" Kirby held a hand to his chest, as if to still his pounding heart.
Suppressing a smile, Saunders pushed his helmet back. "You didn't answer my
question...and what happened to your arm?"
Exchanging looks with Doc, Kirby shrugged. "Nothing Sarge. I mean, I just tripped and
fell on something sharp. It's just a scratch, is all."
"Doc?"
"It's nothing, Sarge. He's right; it's just a scratch."
Saunders got the feeling the two were leaving out a few important details, but they just
stared innocently back at him. He opened his mouth to ask the obvious question then
changed his mind. Shaking his head, he just waved his hands. "Never mind. I don't
want to know."
Shrugging, the two fell in step behind Saunders as they picked their way through the
underbrush. When they reached the others, Saunders stopped to examine his map. He'd
need to remember exactly where this spot was, to inform Hanley of the German activity.
As Doc and Kirby walked over, Billy noticed the tear in Kirby's jacket. He wondered
what had happened and, knowing that Kirby usually made sure everyone heard about it
when he was injured, his curiosity finally got the best of him. "Hey, Kirby. What
happened to your arm?"
Annoyed, Kirby glared at Doc. The medic wore a pleading look and Kirby sighed in
resignation. "It's nuthin', Billy. I just tripped on a root and fell on something sharp."
Just as Kirby had suspected, Littlejohn saw that as a golden opportunity for retaliation.
"Well, well, well. Who's clumsy now, Kirby? Can't even check on a few dead Germans
without hurting yourself."
Before Kirby could think of a good comeback, Doc was sidling over to Littlejohn to tell
him what had happened. Littlejohn leaned down to catch the whispered words. Shooting
a glance at Kirby, he turned back to Doc with a look of dismay. "Aw, come on Doc. Do
I have to? He deserves it." The medic whispered a few more words and Littlejohn
sighed in disappointment. "Well, alright, but you owe me one."
Saunders had witnessed the whole exchange, was certain Doc and Kirby were hiding
something and changed his mind about his need to know what was going on. He'd just
have to pull one of them aside and shake the truth out of them. He was in no mood for
subterfuge.
"Saddle-up! We need to head back. Keep your eyes open, just in case these Germans
have friends. Kirby-point. Littlejohn-rear. Let's go."
Waiting as his men arranged themselves in the straggling line, Saunders fell into step
next to Doc. He knew the medic wouldn't keep a secret from him for long. "So, Doc,
you want to tell me what really happened to Kirby?"
Lifting his eyes from the ground, Doc checked to see how far Caje was. The lanky scout
was walking between Kirby and Norris, far enough ahead that he probably couldn't
overhear their conversation. He gave Saunders a crooked, sheepish grin and hitched the
strap of his medical bag a little higher on his shoulder.
"Sorry, Sarge, I just didn't want Caje to know. I didn't want things to get worse than
they already are. You see, Kirby was nicked when the two of you went for the Germans'
flanks...before Mac finally threw the grenades."
They'd both been lucky. Saunders had known that, but just how close it had been was
suddenly brought into focus. He needed to talk to Caje, but it would have to wait until
they got back. The problem was...he didn't really know what to say.
"Thanks, Doc. I think that would have been the last thing for Caje to hear. I don't know
how you talked Kirby into covering up, though." Saunders knew that particular
goldbrick was notorious for exaggerating every little boo-boo or wound he got.
"Kirby knows Caje wouldn't do something like that if he was thinking clearly. He may
not always show it, but Kirby looks out after the guys in the squad. In his own way."
Doc grinned, knowing the BAR man went out of his way to cultivate the image of the
selfish goldbrick.
"Just don't keep any secrets from me, if it means covering for Caje. We can't afford any
more mistakes like that. Someone could get killed."
Reassured by the serious expression on Doc's face, Saunders dropped back in line. All
the way back to the village, he tried to figure out how to help Caje get past what had
happened to Peters. Unfortunately, when the tired squad reached the shelled buildings of
Thaumiers, Saunders was still unsure.
Caje sat down on the scarred wooden pew and propped his Garrand next to him.
Removing his helmet, he ran a hand through his dark hair and stared up at the ceiling.
The cracked remains of what once was probably a beautiful painting of cherubs and
angels hovered above him. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd chosen this particular spot
to stop and rest, after wandering the streets of Thaumiers for several hours. Although,
after the events of the last two days, it was no wonder he chose to find solace in the
battle-scarred church.
He couldn't understand why he felt so empty after talking to Saunders. He knew the
others were worried about him, but he just couldn't get past Peters' death. It was his
fault. He chose to let Peters take his place, and now the man was gone. Caje couldn't
find anyone else to blame but himself.
To add to that, he'd almost gotten Sarge and Kirby killed. He still didn't have any idea
what had made him do that, except that he didn't want to see another young man die. He
hadn't felt this uncertain or...doubtful...of his combat instincts since he first hit the
beach. The incident with Mac was eroding his confidence, and he had no idea how to
shore it up against the flood of blame and doubt.
As the sun set, the fading light sparkling through the jagged remains of the stained glass
windows, Caje remained in the church, finding some measure of comfort from his
surroundings and apprehensive about rejoining his squad at the café. The news that they
were to go out again tomorrow had left Caje in turmoil.
Stretched out on his cot, hands cradling his head, Saunders lay awake. He listened to the
night sounds as he waited for his last man to return. He could hear the buzzing and
chirping of the nocturnal insects, mixed with the assorted sounds of his sleeping men.
He'd become so used to those particular sounds, he could tell that two were still awake.
He knew one was Littlejohn, from the lack of snoring in that part of the room. He
guessed the other was probably Doc.
The two men, unaware of the vigils being held by the others, each lay waiting for their
squadmate's return. Both were chasing the same question around and around in their
minds. Was there anything more I could have done?
After a long, sleepless night and a lot of fruitless soul-searching, Doc had nothing to
show for it but a headache, a tense neck and burning eyes. Standing and rubbing at his
neck, he looked over to see Littlejohn doing the same. From the weariness in his face,
Doc knew the big private had also stayed awake. If the two of them had worried all
night, he was sure the Sarge had been up, too. It was going to be a long day.
*Man, it's gonna be a long day.* Kirby shifted the BAR's weight and glanced around
warily. He had a strange feeling that something bad was going to happen. They'd been
walking for two hours already and the utter stillness of the woods was eerie. The day
hadn't exactly gotten off to a good start.
They'd all run into Caje at breakfast and he, Doc and Littlejohn had eaten their food in
silence. Kirby had broken his bootlace and had to spend over an hour trying to get a new
one. Then they get this lousy patrol, Sarge hadn't cracked a smile, Caje was back at point
and nobody was talking to anybody. *Yep, it's gonna be a long day.*
A sense of relief had settled on Caje when Saunders had sent him to take point when
they'd left Thaumiers, as well as a little of the confidence that had left him a day ago.
His mind still kept wandering to the poker game, though, so he had to constantly pull his
thoughts back to the task at hand.
Saunders wasn't sure he'd done the right thing when he'd put Caje at point, but he knew
a show of confidence would help Caje. He hoped nothing disastrous happened, then
maybe Caje could put the last few days behind him and move on.
Being new, Norris didn't really understand what was going on with the guys in his squad.
He could sense an undercurrent of tension among the veterans and thought the others felt
a sort of...disarray. As if that *something* that held them all together was slipping
away, and no one seemed to know how to stop it. He wondered what Mac thought of the
whole mess.
Walking a few paces behind Norris, Mac wasn't sure what to think. All he knew was, he
was scared. He didn't know what to expect from Caje, and the uncharacteristic silence
from the others gave him the willies. He felt a shiver run up his spine, suddenly feeling
like he had a target painted on his back and a German was taking a bead on him right
then and there. He couldn't shake the morbid thought and hoped it wasn't prophetic.
Lengthening his stride to catch up to Mac, Billy looked to the rear. He could see
Littlejohn keeping pace behind Doc, and wished he knew how to snap his big friend out
of the gloom he'd settled in overnight. He hoped Saunders had an idea how to fix things.
Billy just wished they could go back a few days and start over. He couldn't believe so
much could go wrong in so little time.
Littlejohn saw the wistful look Billy tossed back a moment before and felt bad for
keeping his younger friend at arm's length the last few days. He just had so much to
work out for himself and needed the space. He'd just decided to put the past in the past,
where it belonged, when he felt a tingling sensation between his shoulder blades. He
gave himself a little shake and peered into the trees, gripping his rifle a little tighter. He
couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there. He quickened his steps to close
the gap between himself and Doc.
Rubbing his eyes, unable to get rid of the sandy feel from lack of sleep, Doc heard
Littlejohn come up behind him. He also felt a vague sense of uneasiness, and knew it
was more than just the events of the past few days. His head pounded with every footfall
and he was beginning to wish he hadn't had that breakfast. Doc looked closely at the
shadows as he walked and saw the others all doing the same. It appeared he wasn't the
only one with the heebie-jeebies. He gripped his medical bag tighter, hoping he wouldn't
need it today.
Slowing his pace as the light became brighter with the thinning of the trees, Caje focused
all his attention on the shadows and bushes ahead. He had a feeling they were walking
into something. Instinct or experience...either way, it wasn't to be ignored. Waving an
arm, he motioned for the others to slow down and be alert. Placing each foot slowly,
careful not to step on any leaves or fallen branches, Caje advanced a few yards before
catching a small movement out of the corner of his eye.
"Get down!" Yelling for the others to take cover, Caje threw himself behind a tree as a
German machine gun opened fire from behind a large clump of bushes. Bits of bark flew
over his head as he pressed his cheek to the loamy soil. When the gunfire switched
direction to answer Kirby's BAR, Caje rose to a crouch and opened fire.
When Caje waved his arm, Saunders passed the signal down the line. He tightened his
grip on the Thompson and stepped closer to the trees as the others did the same, the entire
squad seeming to melt into the shadows. As soon as Caje turned and yelled, Saunders
dropped to the ground. The once eerie silence was replaced with the sound of battle, as
seven American weapons and one German machine gun opened fire.
Hearing a yelp of pain, Doc risked exposure to see who'd been hit. Mac was on the
ground behind a tree stump, holding his right arm and grimacing in pain. Doc ducked as
a volley of lead shredded the leaves just above his head. A few bullets buried themselves
in the soft ground, close enough to throw dirt on the medic's hand. He pulled that hand
closer to his body as another round tore at the branches above him. After a long burst
from the BAR, the machine gun once again turned its attention to Kirby.
Having also heard the sharp cry of pain, Saunders looked to see who was hurt. He
couldn't see very well from his angle, but knew it was Mac. He just didn't know how
bad it was. He saw Doc stick his head up from cover then drop back down when the
machine gun opened up. He felt a sense of deja` vu. Mac was wounded and here they
were...pinned down and unable to help.
"Doc!"
Raising his head up when he heard the yell, Doc squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he
couldn't reach the wounded man and feeling helpless. "Mac! How bad is it?"
"It hurts, Doc! I...I don't know how bad it is."
"Did you use your bandage?"
"Yeah! I...I think it's bleeding a lot, Doc!"
"I can't get to you right now, Mac! Just...stay down and hold on!" Doc dropped his
head on his arm and clenched a fist in frustration. He wished he knew how bad the
wound was. He couldn't let this end up like Peters. He just couldn't.
Saunders' mind raced, coming up with and rapidly discarding ideas, until he finally came
up with a viable plan. There was a small creek running within twenty yards of the
machine gun placement. He and Norris were close enough that they could probably get
to it without being seen. With any luck, they could follow the creek and toss a few
grenades.
He crawled a few feet to his left and tapped Norris on the leg, motioning him to follow.
The two made their way, slowly and carefully, to the edge of the creek and slid down the
side. Careful not make any noise in the shallow water, trying to keep their weapons dry,
Saunders led Norris upstream. Time stretched...seconds turned to minutes, minutes to
hours. Norris rubbed at the sweat beading his upper lip, leaving a streak of mud in its
place.
When he judged they were close enough, Saunders held up his hand for Norris to stop.
He peered over the creek's edge, satisfied when he saw the flash of a German uniform.
Slipping the Thompson on his shoulder, Saunders leaned close to Norris to whisper his
instructions.
"When I get ready, I want you to cover me, but try to keep your head down. Got it?"
"Got it, Sarge."
Giving the young man an encouraging nod, Saunders removed a couple of grenades from
his pockets, leaned his shoulder against the edge and prepared to throw.
Hearing Mac yelling for Doc again, Caje made up his mind. He wasn't going to let the
wounded man just lie there and bleed to death. He finished off his clip, loaded a new
one, and broke from his cover to sprint to Mac's position. He drew the German's fire as
he ran, bullets tearing up the ground near his feet.
"Doc!"
Hearing Mac's panicked yell, Doc raised his head again. "Mac?"
"Doc, it's still bleeding!"
Groaning in frustration, Doc looked for Saunders, only to see that his sergeant was gone.
Hoping that meant he had a plan, the medic made the decision to go to Mac. Pushing
himself into a crouch, Doc waited a moment then stood to run. Unfortunately, he stood
just as Caje ran past and the gunfire that the scout had drawn by his movements tore all
around the medic.
Sliding to the ground next to Mac, Caje returned the Germans' fire. The clip emptied and
ejected and Caje reached for a new one. Before he could load it, he heard two explosions
in the direction of the machine gun nest. The Germans' gunfire ceased and he heard
Saunders' call of cease-fire.
"All clear!"
Sagging against the stump, Caje turned to check on Mac. Taking a look at the bandage,
he smiled in relief. "You didn't tie it tight enough. That's why it was still bleeding
some. You've got to tie these things good and tight if you want to do it right."
A little embarrassed, but grateful for Caje's help, Mac released a shaky sigh. "I was
scared, Caje. I've never been shot before."
"You'll be okay, don't worry about it. See, here comes Doc. He'll take good care of
you."
Caje moved aside to make room for Doc, who dropped to his knees and took a peek
under the bandage. It looked like just a flesh wound. It had bled quite a bit, but nothing
serious. He made sure the bandage was on tight enough and gave Mac two aspirin and a
canteen. When Mac returned the canteen, Doc put it back in its pouch and climbed to his
feet. He tried to keep a lid on his anger, but it still took a few deep breaths before he
could speak calmly.
"It's just a flesh wound, Mac. You'll be fine. If the pain gets worse, I'll give ya
morphine, but I'd rather not until we get back to Thaumiers."
"Okay, Doc, it's not so bad right now. I think I'll be okay. I was, uh, just a little scared."
Nodding stiffly, Doc went in search of the sergeant. Kirby and Littlejohn were fast on his
heels.
Catching up with the medic and grabbing him by the arm, Kirby pulled him to a stop.
"Doc, what's the matter? What happened?"
Still trying to control his mounting anger, Doc gestured to himself. "You see any new
holes in my clothes, Kirby?"
Taking a quick look, Kirby noticed several holes, but didn't understand the significance.
"Yeah. So?"
"So?! So, they weren't there until Caje left his position to go running like a
madman...right past me as I was about to go over to Mac!"
Kirby stood a moment, a look of confusion on his face. Littlejohn rolled his eyes and
gave the smaller man a nudge. "Think, Kirby. Caje drew the Germans' fire when he ran
from cover and if he ran right past Doc, then that machine gun was pointed right at him."
"Oh! Oh, wow. You hit, Doc?"
"No, but I can't believe it. Two bullets went right through my jacket and one through my
pants leg...and not one of them hit anything but cloth."
"Boy, you gotta be about the luckiest son-of-a-gun alive." Kirby shook his head and
looked back at Caje, who was talking Mac. "What're you gonna do?"
Doc sighed, the anger rapidly being replaced with weariness. "I don't know. I mean,
Caje should know better than to do something like that...drawing fire toward someone
else's position. But, I know what motivated him. I felt it myself."
Seeing Doc hesitate, Littlejohn prodded him to continue. "But...?"
"BUT, Sarge told me not to keep secrets to cover up for Caje."
"And I meant it."
Kirby jumped and started to bring the BAR up, but let it rest on its strap again. "Jeez,
Sarge, I told you not to sneak up on people like that."
A smile twitched at the corner of Saunders' lips. "Well, Kirby, how else am I supposed
to find out what's going on around here?"
Pulling Doc aside, Saunders rested his arms on his Thompson and frowned. "I heard
most of it. Doc, I don't know what else to do to get through to him."
Saunders saw his own helpless feeling mirrored by Doc. Sighing, the sergeant bowed his
head for a moment. "Alright, we're heading back to Thaumiers. I've got one wounded
man and another I can't rely on right now. I need to get this position back to Lt. Hanley,
anyway. I'll decide what to do about Caje when we get back."
Gathering the others, Saunders took the point and turned them back in the direction of the
village. After about an hour, the sergeant glanced back to check on Mac. Seeing the
man's pallor, he decided to call a break. The area had cleared a little and a small pond
bordered the west side.
"We're taking a break. Find some shade and get some rest."
After settling Mac in a shady spot, with Norris keeping an eye on him, Doc joined
Nelson, Littlejohn and Kirby in a heated debate. Saunders was left to contemplate his
dilemma as Caje wandered off by himself and sat down next to a fallen tree.
Shifting his back against the tree, Caje glanced over what he'd written.
[So, that's what happened, Dad. I think I'm going to be okay now, but I still feel some
guilt about the whole thing. I know I didn't really cause Peters' death, but I did put the
events into motion that eventually led to his getting killed. What Doc said was right,
though. Peters is dead and nobody can do anything to change that. I guess one death is
more than enough. I'm going to let Peters go, and stop torturing myself over what
happened. I guess I'll always carry the memories with me, but life goes on. Thankfully,
life does go on. Your loving son, Paul.]
Satisfied, Caje smiled sadly and folded the paper. He slipped the pencil and paper back
into his jacket pocket and stood, stretching to ease the soreness from his arms. He
glanced around at the others, then headed over to talk to Saunders. It was like a new
day...a beginning. He felt the warmth of the sun on his back, smelled the pond's musty
water, heard the distant call of birds...and was grateful. He would probably always carry
some measure of guilt, but thanks to the perseverance of his friends...that weight was
now bearable. He could move on.
END
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This story was loosely based on something that happened to my maternal grandfather in
Germany during WWII. If not for the last minute switching of shifts with a buddy, my
grandfather would have been shot and killed while guarding a plane. He carried the
guilt of that man's death for the rest of his life.