Combat! is owned by ABC TV. This story is meant only for the enjoyment of Combat! fans, with no intention to infringe on any copyrights, and no monetary compensation has been received.
Here's another variation on a theme. Please keep in mind that these are all "what if" stories. Our war weary sergeant couldn't possibly go through everything in the stories and episodes and still remain sane…or standing. This story references my stories such as The Plan and The Gift, and episodes like Survival and Hostages. As usual, it isn't necessary to have read or seen them, but it would give you a deeper understanding of what our sergeant is going through. And it was also time to let Doc shine. Let me know what you think.
LOST IN YESTERDAY
CHAPTER 1
The miserable, driving night rain seemed to mirror Sergeant Saunders' mood. They'd been out on patrol for several days, and had accomplished absolutely nothing except that he'd lost two men and Caje was out of commission with an injured hand from their last encounter with the krauts. And he'd discovered that the krauts were farther forward than anyone had thought.
What had started as a routine recon patrol had ended up with his men walking into a hornets nest. Now he was struggling to get them back out…hopefully with no more casualties. Moving at night was their safest option, but they still had a long way to go. But which way was the question that he was trying to answer at the moment.
He'd had to run them deeper into kraut territory to escape the last skirmish. Now they were just on the outer edges of the map that he was working from. He didn't dare go any farther. He had to keep them within the confines of known territory if he hoped to get everyone back.
But he could no longer pull out his map with all the rain, and he was having a hard time finding any familiar landmarks in the dark, the rain and the rolling patches of fog. The landscape seemed totally foreign to him, and he worried that he'd already gone out too far.
Saunders was quickly growing anxious and less confident in success. He didn't even have a compass anymore. He'd lost it when they all had to hit the mud in their last skirmish. At least he still had the map, he thought, even if he couldn't get to it yet.
He finally decided to hunker down and wait the rain out before he took his men beyond known territory. When the rain let up some he could hopefully get a quick look at his map to reorient himself.
"Fan out in two's and hunker down," the sergeant called out to his men. "Keep in sight of one another but stay down and stay quiet until this rain lets up. Doc, you're on me."
His patrol began to break up into pairs. Littlejohn and Nelson found a large tree that they could lean against to rest. The forest floor was heavily carpeted with leaves and pine needles, so it wasn't very muddy. But both soldiers were already so soaked even with their ponchos that it really didn't matter to them. They sat.
Kirby and Caje paired off, with Kirby grabbing Caje's Garand and slinging it over his own shoulder while helping the injured Cajun to sit among a small cluster of rocks.
Brockmeyer and Steller found their own spots just within sight of the others and leaned against young trees as they sat.
Doc knelt next to his sergeant. "Where are we, Sarge?"
Saunders took a quick look around in the darkness and fog. What was he going to say? 'We're just a little bit lost until I can look at the map'? Or maybe 'We're stuck deep behind enemy lines and I'm not quite sure how the heck to get us out'?
His men wouldn't like hearing the hard truth at that moment. Saunders stared off into the rain. The safety of his men was weighing heavily on his shoulders. They were depending on him…they trusted him.
Sometimes that weight was simply too much to bear, especially when he lost someone. It felt like he had failed them. Each death tore away another little piece of his soul. The faces haunted him some nights…Grady Long, Delaney, Howie Parker…so many lost.
The sergeant had to fight to keep his mind from escaping into the comforting thoughts of home and his family. He had to stay here, and stay alert. And he needed to face the harsh reality of their situation…try to get them out of it and back to safety. All of them.
"We're stuck here until the rain lets up," was all he replied to his medic with no further conversation.
Sergeant Saunders and his men remained hunkered down in the rain and dark to wait and watch in silence.
CHAPTER 2
The deluge continued until almost dawn. Saunders' patrol had fallen asleep in spite of the rain. They'd either been on the move or fighting krauts since dawn the previous day, and the men were exhausted. They'd eaten on the fly, but their sergeant had only grabbed a chocolate bar. Nothing else since the previous day. Food wasn't his highest priority at the moment. He didn't think that his stomach would hold anything down anyway.
Saunders was still awake, standing guard over his soldiers. He worried about where they were. He worried about their safety…and about their fast dwindling supply of ammunition. And his concern only grew as the night wore on. Things always look worse at night, he tried to remind himself. But it didn't help.
Staying where they were until he got a landmark reference was their best bet. But with the sun about to rise, staying there until he could see the map would make them visible and vulnerable. Daylight would fast become both their best friend and their worst enemy.
His inability to act was tearing at the sergeant's conscience and every one of his instincts. As the patches of fog slowly dissipated, and the rain eased into a fine mist, Saunders thought about his map. His men were all still asleep and the first rays of light were bringing the forest to life. Fat rain drops were falling from the trees around them, splashing to the forest floor.
Clouds still hung heavy overhead, obscuring the sun, but the sky was definitely lighter. Reaching under his poncho, the sergeant pulled his damp map from his field jacket.
"Figure out where we are yet, Sarge?" came a sleepy question from his half awake medic.
"I'm about to, Doc," Saunders whispered.
Just as he was unfolding the map, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Looking up, he found himself locking stares with a German soldier coming through the trees. The kraut seemed as surprised and caught off guard as Saunders.
"Krauts!" the sergeant screamed as he flipped up his Thompson and let off a short burst to cut the soldier down before the man could raise his rifle or pull back into the trees.
Pushing his now wide awake medic behind a tree, Saunders yelled, "Down!"
Not taking time to stand, Doc quickly crawled and dropped flat behind the tree. Following his medic, Saunders stepped over him with Doc between his boots.
As rifle fire erupted from the trees around the fallen German soldier, Saunders heard return fire from his own men. He could only hope that everyone had made it to cover in time. There was no time for a head count.
From the flashes in the gray dawn, Saunders figured that they were dealing with ten or more krauts. And since they were in kraut territory, he could expect that more were soon going to be joining them. He watched as several rifle flashes ceased as his men found their marks.
He knew that they had to get out of there, but he still couldn't look at his map. Even the sun wasn't cooperating. The sky was so overcast and miserably gray that Saunders couldn't tell which way was east or west. At that moment he only knew that again they had to move in the opposite direction of their enemy…even if it meant getting deeper into German territory.
The sergeant waited for a short pause in the firing and then took a quick step out from behind the tree to empty his remaining mag into the area where he'd seen the most muzzle flashes.
He was rewarded with a shout of pain as he stepped back and tossed his empty mag in the brush. Digging into his field jacket to replace it, he quickly did a mental count of his remaining ammo.
Saunders' men were all seasoned soldiers. They had begun to choose their targets carefully, knowing that they still had a long way to go to get back to their unit. Slowly the patrol was picking off the Germans, one by one.
And then there was silence. Nothing. Either they were dead, wounded or had decided to retreat. The patrol waited for several minutes…waiting for their sergeant's next move.
Finally Saunders motioned for his men to split up and flank them to look for any stragglers while he checked on their medic still flat between his boots.
"You ok, Doc?" he asked as he helped the medic up.
"Yeah Sarge, thanks," came the reply as Doc tried to get leaves out of his hair.
Saunders pulled his poncho over his head and fished in his field jacket once again. Nothing. Then he remembered that when the firing had first begun he'd dropped the map. Looking around, he found the crumpled map lying on top of the mud. Picking it up, he wiped it carefully on his jacket sleeve and opened it up.
Knowing that the skirmish would bring more krauts down on them, he quickly tried to find familiar landmarks. They had to get out of there. Now. He looked out quickly at his men searching the trees and brush for any wounded krauts.
Going over the map in the growing brightness, Saunders scanned the surrounding terrain, glancing frequently back down at the paper. Looking up one more time, Saunders realized that he knew where they were. The pieces were all falling into place as he mentally mapped their way back into Allied territory.
It wasn't as bad a situation as he'd originally thought.
"How's it looking, Sarge?" the medic asked, seeing the changed look on his sergeant's face.
Saunders smiled. "Looks good," Saunders replied. "Hopefully we'll be out of kraut territory sooner than I thought."
He suddenly swung right and his adrenalin surged as he caught movement…at the same time that Caje screamed, "Grenade!"
CHAPTER 3
Kirby had caught sight of the injured kraut about to throw a grenade. He'd taken him out with a quick burst from the BAR, but not in time to stop him from releasing it toward their sergeant.
Saunders shoved Doc aside, pushing him back behind the tree again. As he started to follow, the sound of the explosion tore through the morning air. The concussion knocked the sergeant off of his feet and drove him into the tree. His head slammed into the trunk and he dropped hard to the muddy forest floor.
The patrol took cover again until Kirby checked out the rest of the Germans. When he finally gave the all clear, the men stood up cautiously while nervously checking the trees for any more signs of movement.
Silence was beginning to descend on the forest once again when Doc called out, "Sarge is down!"
As the men drew near to their fallen sergeant, Caje looked around and did a quick head count. Everyone was accounted for.
"Littlejohn…Billy, keep a look out," he said, and the two soldiers spread out to cover their patrol.
The Cajun knelt down next to the medic. "How's he look, Doc?"
Doc was already turning his sergeant over. The side of Saunders' head was bathed in blood from a raw gash. His eye and cheek were already beginning to swell and bruise. Blood was running freely from his nose down over his lips and chin.
"He took a heck of a whack against the tree," Doc replied. Looking over the rest of the sergeant, he added, "And it looks like he took some shrapnel in his left arm, but that doesn't seem too serious. Doesn't look like it hit an artery or anything."
The medic inspected the sergeant's head more carefully. "It's his head wound I'm worried about. The concussion from the grenade slammed him into that tree pretty hard. Don't know if anything's broken or how bad his head is."
He touched Saunders' nose lightly. "I don't think his nose is broken anyway."
Caje looked around again nervously. "We can't stay here. More krauts'll be coming. We've got to keep moving…find better cover at least."
As he spoke, Littlejohn ran up to them, "Krauts are coming." He pointed behind him. "Maybe three minutes away in the next pasture."
Kirby quickly slung his BAR over his shoulder and said, "Help me get him up, Brock."
Caje reached down near the BAR man and replied, "I'll do it. I can't shoot anyway. We'll need every weapon we've got."
He grabbed the sergeant's good arm and Brockmeyer pulled Saunders up the rest of the way around his chest. Together they lifted the soldier up.
"Get us out of here, Kirby," Caje said anxiously.
Frantically looking around, Kirby asked, "Which way?"
Caje indicated with his chin. "That way. Away from the krauts. See that rock formation up there on that hill? Head for it. Move!"
Kirby quickly picked up his sergeant's Thompson and helmet. Handing Doc the helmet, he slung the Thompson over his shoulder. Taking the point, he led the men toward the hill, with Nelson bringing up the rear.
No one knew exactly where they were going. They only knew that they had to stay ahead of those krauts.
CHAPTER 4
The patrol moved quickly through the trees as quietly as they could. In obvious pain from his injured hand, Caje was beginning to tire. He needed to stop, but he kept pushing himself.
"Are we close yet?" he finally asked between breaths.
"The rocks are just ahead," Kirby called from point. "Almost there."
"Over this way," the BAR man whispered loudly as he pointed off to the right.
Working their way around the rocks, Caje and Brockmeyer eased their sergeant down in the shelter of the biggest boulder. Dropping the camo helmet by his side, Doc quickly knelt down and opened his med kit.
As he began to clean the soldier's head wound, he saw that his cheek was bruised to a deep purple and blue, and his eye was completely swollen shut.
With Brockmeyer, Billy, Littlejohn and Steller all keeping watch, Caje asked again, "How's he doing, Doc?"
"I just don't know," the medic replied honestly. "It's his head. I'm not a doctor. I don't know how bad it is, but he's still unconscious."
The medic ripped open Saunders' sleeve to inspect his wounded arm. Laying out some sulfa and bandages, he added, "At least I can do something about this."
Looking closely at the wound, he said, "I can see the shrapnel. I'm pretty sure I can get it out. Caje, let me have your bayonet."
The Cajun pulled out his knife and lighter, and holding the flame under the blade, sterilized his bayonet the best he could.
"Here, Doc," he said as he handed it over.
Kirby laid the Thompson next to his sergeant's helmet. "He's still out, huh Doc? That can't be good."
"Well, right now it's good," the medic replied. "I can take the shrapnel out of his arm."
"He gonna wake up soon?" Kirby asked worriedly.
The medic didn't reply as he concentrated on working on the sergeant's wound. Kirby's face scrunched up and he looked away as Doc maneuvered the shrapnel closer to the surface with the bayonet. Grabbing the piece of metal with his fingers, the medic pulled it out.
Kirby looked down and away again with a quiet, "Uh."
Quickly wiping away some blood, Doc sprinkled the sulfa on the wound and then looked up at Caje to hand him the bloody bayonet. As he began to bandage the arm, the medic asked, "You want me to look at your hand again, Caje?"
Caje took the knife, wiped it on his pants and put it back into its scabbard. He looked at his hand. "Nah, it's ok for now. Thanks, Doc."
"So how the heck are we going to get out of here?" Kirby asked.
"I don't know," Caje replied as he shook his head. "I don't have any idea where we are."
Tying off the bandage, Doc had a thought. "The Sarge knows."
"You sure?" Caje asked hopefully. "It didn't seem like he could tell where we were in the dark and rain."
"Just before the krauts hit us," Doc replied, "You guys were all asleep. When I woke up it was starting to get lighter and Sarge was looking at the map. He got interrupted by the krauts, but just before the grenade went off he seemed to recognize something…a landmark of some kind."
The soldiers were silent for a moment until Caje suddenly said, "The map! If the Sarge saw something, then maybe we can figure it out from the map too."
Kneeling down next to his sergeant, the Cajun began to go through Saunders' pockets. Checking the pockets twice, he finally said, "I don't see it anywhere. He must have dropped it when he went down."
"Hey, maybe one of us could go back for it," Kirby offered hopefully.
Caje shook his head. "Not back the way we came. Probably crawling with krauts by now. And that map is probably buried in the mud somewhere."
"What if the Germans got it?" Doc asked anxiously.
"That's ok," Caje reassured the medic. "Nothing on it of importance…to the krauts anyway. Sure important to us."
"Great," Kirby said in frustration as he watched over the Cajun's shoulder. "So what're we gonna do now?"
Caje thought for a moment. "Well, we can't just wander around. Hopefully we can stay put here for awhile until the Sarge wakes up. We've got some decent cover with all these rocks. Once he wakes up he can point us in the right direction."
"Yeah," Kirby countered. "But we're not where the Sarge was when he saw something. We've moved. Suppose he can't see nothing again?"
"Well," Doc replied. "I guess we'll find out when he wakes up."
Just then their sergeant moaned and moved. "He's waking up!" Kirby said excitedly. "He'll get us out of this mess."
Saunders slowly opened his eyes and stared up for a moment at the overcast sky as he struggled to focus his vision. He brought a hand up and wiped some blood from his swollen eye. Wincing in pain, he looked at the blood on his fingers in confusion. Then he saw the three men staring down at him.
"What's going on?" he asked hoarsely. "Who are you?"
CHAPTER 5
Saunders' head felt like it had exploded. He tried opening his eyes, but one eye wasn't cooperating. Blinking furiously to clear his vision, he found himself staring up at a gray, overcast sky. As he rubbed his closed eye to try to clean it, the sergeant winced with the pain. Looking at his hand, he saw his fingers covered in blood.
What was happening? he thought. He was in pain…and very confused. Looking around, he realized that several men were standing over him. No…not just men…soldiers. His confusion turned to alarm.
"What's going on?" he asked hoarsely. "Who are you?"
The three men stared at him silently for a long moment, and then one asked, "Uh, Doc? He ok?"
Doc, Saunders thought. The medic. He looked up at the red cross on the soldier's helmet. The medic was cleaning up the blood on his face.
Ignoring the other man's question, the medic asked quietly, "Hey, Sarge, good to see you're awake. How you feeling?"
Sarge? He called me Sarge, Saunders thought. "What's going on?" he repeated.
He tried sitting up as his confusion quickly shifted from alarm to panic. The medic helped him to sit up and lean against a large rock.
"Who the heck are you?" Saunders asked. "Where is this?"
"Take it easy, Sarge," the medic said calmly. "You had a heck of a wallop against a tree when that kraut threw the grenade."
Kraut? Grenade? His heart began to pound with his rising panic and confusion…and fear. The last thing that he remembered…but he didn't remember. Memories seemed to just fade away as he tried to recall them. Like wisps of smoke in the wind.
Saunders looked at each of the men who continued to stare at him. Then another soldier came into his sight.
"Hey, Caje. Are we going to stay here long?" the soldier asked. Then seeing that Saunders was awake and sitting up, he added, "Hey, Sarge. You're awake. That's great. Maybe we'll finally get out of here."
The one called Caje replied, "Not yet, Brock. The Sarge has a little problem. Doc's checking him out."
A little problem? Saunders thought. A little problem? He had no idea where he was…or why. He had a head wound, his arm felt like it was on fire, and he was surrounded by strange soldiers who kept calling him Sarge. This was a huge problem.
Trying to keep his panic under control, he looked at the one called Caje and asked, "Where are we?"
CHAPTER 6
Caje saw the confusion in his sergeant's eyes and he knew that he had to take it slow and easy, but they really needed to know how to get back to Allied territory. They just couldn't risk wandering around aimlessly avoiding krauts. Eventually they'd get cornered by more krauts than they could handle…or run out of ammo.
"We're in kraut territory, remember Sarge?" he replied, trying to gently jog his sergeant's memory.
"Yeah," Kirby chimed in as he used his boot to push the Thompson over next to Saunders' leg. "And we've lost your map. So you're the only one who can get us out of here, Sarge."
Both Caje and Doc gave stern looks at the BAR man. "Not now, Kirby," Doc insisted.
Saunders looked down at the weapon by his side and moved his leg away from it. And then he looked from Caje to the one the medic called Kirby, and then back over at Doc. The medic could see the growing panic in the sergeant's eyes as his blank gaze shifted from one soldier to the next.
"Why don't you all go see how the other guys are doing?" the medic suggested, indicating with his head for them to leave the two of them alone.
Kirby started to speak, but Caje cut him off. "Good idea, Doc. We'll be over with the others. Just let us know if you need us. C'mon Kirby…Brock."
Saunders continued to stare at the three soldiers as they walked away to join the others.
"A little confused, Sarge?" the medic asked him softly. "Guess that wallop you took was even harder than I thought."
Doc opened his kit again. "Mind if I take another look at your head? I'll just clean it up a little."
Saunders nodded his ok, and Doc began to clean the wound again. As the medic worked, the sergeant finally asked, "Why does everyone keep calling me Sarge?"
Doc sat back and stared at his sergeant. "Do you remember where you are at all?"
Saunders hesitated and then shook his head.
"Do you remember why you're here?" the medic continued, trying to narrow down exactly how much memory the sergeant had lost.
Again Saunders shook his head.
"How about your name?" Doc asked hopefully.
"Saunders," the sergeant replied, relieved at remembering something.
"What's the last thing you remember?" the medic asked, pleased that they at least now had a starting point.
Saunders was quiet for a long while as confusion crossed his face again. "I don't know. When I try to think back, everything seems to get jumbled and foggy. It's…it's like trying to grab smoke."
The medic went back to cleaning the wound. "You're in France, Sarge," Doc finally said. "You're a sergeant in the U.S. Army in France."
Saunders shook his head and winced with the pain. "No, you're wrong. I know I'm not in the Army. That can't be."
Doc stared at his sergeant trying to think of how to jog his memory and get him to understand what was going on. And then he smiled. "Look in your pocket."
When the sergeant just stared at him, he repeated, "Go ahead. Just look in your pants pocket."
Hesitating, Saunders finally reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a lighter.
"Look at it," the medic prodded him.
Looking at the metal lighter in his hand, he turned it over. Sergeant Saunders. U.S. Army. He stared at it unblinking.
"Your mother gave it to you," Doc said softly, waiting for his sergeant's reaction.
Saunders was more confused than ever. He remembered the lighter, but he didn't know why. Then a faint memory floated through his mind, and he mentally reached out to grab it.
"Birthday," he finally said as he looked up at the medic.
"Yes!" Doc replied with satisfaction. "Yes! See? You're a sergeant in the U.S. Army."
Saunders' good eye widened as he looked up at the soldier. "But why? Why am I here?"
"We're in the middle of the second world war, fighting the Germans. And right now we're surrounded by a whole bunch of them."
The sergeant could just see the other soldiers about twenty-five yards away talking quietly among themselves as they kept glancing back at him. He felt like he should know them, but it just wouldn't come to him. They were strangers.
"They keep staring at me," the sergeant said as he nervously turned the lighter over and over with his fingers.
"Well, I guess they're a little worried," Doc replied. "You were about to get us out of this mess when a straggler kraut threw a grenade at us. You pushed me out of the way, but you were hit by some shrapnel."
The medic pointed to Saunders' arm. "And the concussion threw you into a tree…and here we are. The guys are hoping you'll remember how to get us out of here."
Those men were depending on him, and he couldn't remember where or why he was here. Or even who those men were. "How long have I been here?" Saunders asked.
"Here in France? Or here in the Army fighting?" Doc asked as he started to put a bandage on the wound.
"In the war," Saunders replied.
"About three years, I think," Doc answered. "You never talk about it much. Longer than the rest of us anyway. I do know that you started out in North Africa, then Italy and now France."
The medic smiled. "I know you've got a Bronze Star. I've seen it."
Saunders tried to take it all in. Three years? Bronze Star? Part of him couldn't believe what he was hearing. But another part trusted this man and believed him. He absent mindedly slipped the lighter back into his pocket.
He'd lost at least three years of his life. Three years.
"What…what's your name?" he finally asked the medic.
Doc smiled a warm, reassuring smile. "Everyone just calls me Doc."
"I'm Saunders," the sergeant replied automatically without thinking.
Doc gave a little laugh. "I know. But we all call you Sarge. Hope that's ok with you."
Saunders smiled just as Kirby called out in a loud whisper, "Hey, Doc. Can we talk to you?"
CHAPTER 7
"Here," Doc said, handing Saunders his canteen. "Have some water. I'll just be a minute and then I'll finish cleaning you up."
Saunders took the canteen with a quiet, "Thanks" as the medic went to join Kirby and the other men.
"How is he, Doc?" Caje asked in a quiet but concerned voice.
"He remember anything yet?" Kirby asked anxiously.
"I don't know," the medic replied. "That hit on his head seems to have wiped out a lot of his memory."
"That hit on the head didn't wipe out where the heck we are, did it?" Kirby added hopefully.
The medic looked at the men as they waited for his answer. "Sarge doesn't even remember where he is or why."
"You mean he doesn't remember being on this patrol?" Caje asked in disbelief.
Doc shook his head. "He doesn't even remember being in a war in France. And he doesn't remember any of us either. He took a real serious wallop."
The soldiers stared at their medic in stunned disbelief and silence.
"What are we gonna do?" Billy finally asked in barely above a whisper. "We can't sit here forever. The krauts'll find us."
As the others murmured their agreement, Caje said, "Well, we sure can't just head off in any old direction. We could end up walking into a kraut CP. At least here in these rocks we've got some good solid cover. If only the sun would break through all those clouds. It's just so overcast that I can't tell where east is yet."
"Let me go finish cleaning him up," Doc said hopefully as he got up. "Maybe once he's feeling a little better the shock'll wear off and things'll start coming back to him. He remembered getting the lighter from his mom for his birthday. Maybe if I keep working at it everything'll start coming back to him."
Doc went back and sat down next to Saunders. He felt the bridge of the soldier's nose carefully. "At least your nose isn't broken." He smiled. "That's a little something."
As he went back to finishing cleaning Saunders' face, he asked, "How's your eye? Must hurt."
"Not as much as my head," the sergeant replied as he went to automatically reach up to his head. Wincing with pain, he held his injured arm.
Seeing his sergeant's reaction, the medic explained, "You took some shrapnel in your arm. It's not too bad. I got it out while you were unconscious."
Doc looked in his med kit and pulled out a bottle. "Here…a few aspirin might help."
"Help me remember?" Saunders asked, taking the pills and washing them down with a large swallow from the canteen.
The medic smiled. "No…sorry. But maybe if your head doesn't hurt so much, it'll help clear your mind and things'll start coming back to you."
Saunders closed his eyes for a long moment and then looked over at the waiting soldiers. "What are their names?"
Doc looked out at the men. "You mean your squad?"
My squad, the sergeant thought. I'm in the middle of a world war in France, we're surrounded by the enemy, and I have a squad depending on me to get them out of this mess. And I don't even know their names. I'm trapped in a nightmare, he thought grimly. Hopefully I'll wake up before it's too late.
"Well," Doc continued, "You know which ones are Kirby and Caje, right?"
Saunders nodded. "And the one on the left is Brock."
"It's Brockmeyer, but most everyone just calls him Brock," Doc replied with a smile. "Brockmeyer's kind of a mouthful."
Pointing, he added, "The big guy is Littlejohn."
Seeing his sergeant smile, he said, "Not so little, is he? The young one next to him is Billy Nelson. And the last one out there is Steller. He's the newest to the squad."
"Caje, Kirby, Brockmeyer, Littlejohn, Billy and Steller," Saunders repeated. "They seem like they know what they're doing."
"They're the best," the medic answered with a smile. "They've had a great sergeant to learn from."
Saunders was quiet again for awhile. "Have I done ok?" he asked hesitantly, afraid to hear the answer.
Doc's smile grew bigger. "Sarge, you're probably the best NCO in the whole dang Company. Just ask any of those soldiers over there."
Saunders closed his eyes in relief.
At that moment, Steller whispered loudly, "Krauts!"
CHAPTER 8
Saunders' heart rate jumped, reacting to an instinct that he didn't know existed. He looked around at the men who he was depending on for protection. Yet somewhere deep inside of him, he knew that they were depending on him.
The medic put a finger to his lips and pushed the sergeant down flat on the ground. The Thompson was right next to Saunders' head, but he pulled away. His mind was screaming, 'I hate guns!'
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a voice called out, 'Pick it up!' His hand started to reach out, but then it stopped, and he closed his eyes.
The soldiers were all deathly quiet as they lay frozen behind the rocks. A feint rustling in the trees about thirty yards away became louder until four German soldiers made their way into the open. They seemed alert, but it didn't appear that they were searching for the Americans. They appeared to be on a routine patrol.
As Saunders lay on the ground, he could hear the Germans coming closer, and he began to have flashes of firefights with the sounds and smells lingering in his brain. Sudden images of fire flared up and he could feel the unbelievable pain of being burned. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out.
When flashes of being beaten, kicked and interrogated filled his head, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly…and he began to sweat. His shaking hands clenched into hardened fists as he waited for what seemed an eternity. He desperately needed to scream. Instead, he curled into a tight ball, waiting for it all to just go away.
After many long minutes, Caje finally whispered, "All clear."
Doc sat up and looked around. He put a hand on his sergeant's shoulder and the soldier flinched.
"It's ok, Sarge," the medic whispered. "You can sit up. But we have to keep our voices down." Doc knew that they shouldn't be talking at all with krauts everywhere. But he also knew that if he couldn't draw the sergeant out and get him to remember everything, then none of them would be making it out of there.
He'd seen that the soldier was reacting to something, and hopefully it was something that was jogging his memory, or maybe the medic could help him remember.
Saunders sat up slowly and looked around. He leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes, trying to get his heart rate down and all the disturbing images out of his head. His jaw and fists were still tightly clenched.
The medic noted the sweat that had broken out on his sergeant's forehead. "You ok?" he asked worriedly. He leaned over to check the shrapnel wound for signs of infection.
At the medic's touch, Saunders opened his eyes. "What's wrong with me?" he finally asked quietly.
"You just lost a little memory with that wallop to your head," Doc reassured him. "It'll come back. You'll see."
Saunders stared at the soldier for a moment and then said barely above a whisper, "I…saw things…in my head." Then he stared out at the trees. "Soldiers shooting, explosions."
He hesitated, almost afraid to say it out loud. "I saw fire…getting burned. And…a German soldier beating me. Did all this really happen?"
Doc nodded. "You got trapped in a fire once. And you were captured and interrogated once. Kirby and I got you free, but you were in pretty bad shape."
The medic became concerned for his sergeant's state of mind and tried to steer his thoughts in a different direction. "This is good, see? Some things are starting to come back to you. Try to see what else you can remember."
Saunders nodded, but he wasn't so sure that he wanted to remember if it was more of the same.
CHAPTER 9
"You remember your family, right?" Doc asked hopefully.
Familiar ground, Saunders thought. This was something that he could handle. "Mom, Joey, Chris and Louise," he replied.
"You know where they all are right now?" the medic asked, unsure of the answer that he'd get.
"Home in Cleveland…Illinois. 2366 Riverview," the sergeant answered.
"Your mom and Louise are home," Doc said, watching him for his reaction. "But Joey's a Marine in the Pacific fighting the Japanese. And Chris is in the Army somewhere here in France."
Saunders smiled. "No, that can't be. Chris is just a kid. He's just going into high school."
Doc shook his head. "You've been in the war for three years now. Chris was seventeen when he joined not too long ago."
"But that means mom and Louise are alone. How are they getting by?" Saunders said with a worried look.
"All three of you guys have been sending money home," Doc reassured him. "You told me only a few days ago that they were doing ok. Your mom even got a part time job now that Louise is older."
The medic decided to push a little further. "How about Lieutenant Hanley? Remember him?"
Saunders thought for a moment as flashes of faded pictures came and went. He blinked a few times to see more clearly, but they disappeared.
"Tall?" he answered tentatively.
The medic grinned. "Yeah, there you go. He's tall. See? Little things are coming back."
Very little things, Saunders thought to himself. And not fast enough if he wanted to save these soldiers.
Both sat in silence for awhile before the medic finally worked up the courage to ask, "Do you know who Bette is?"
Saunders had a quick flash of turquoise eyes and a laugh…and then it was gone. "I don't know…maybe."
He looked at his left hand and then back up at the medic. "Am I married?"
Doc shook his head and smiled. "No, but I think it'll be a good possibility after the war."
Saunders was relieved. Not because he didn't want to be married. But what kind of man would he be to not even remember his own wife? "Who is she? Is Bette a girl back home?"
Again Doc shook his head. "Bette Peters…Lieutenant Bette Peters. She's an Army nurse. You first met when she was taking care of you in the field hospital."
Saunders was anxious and confused. He had a woman in his life and he could hardly remember anything about her. Turquoise eyes and a wonderful laugh.
The sergeant looked away into the trees again. He had a million questions, but all of it was fast becoming more than he could deal with at once. He needed time…which these men didn't have.
It was as if he'd fallen asleep three years ago and just woke up. He wanted to just go to sleep and somehow wake up again to find everything back to normal. But he didn't even know what 'normal' was anymore.
Saunders looked at the medic. "Kirby said that I'm the only one who can get all of you out of here."
Doc nodded. "We've been stuck behind enemy lines for awhile, what with the rain, the dark…and all the krauts. But you finally figured out where we were and you were just about to get us out of here when the grenade went off and you got hurt. And somewhere along the way as we were trying to get to a safer place, we lost the map."
"So I'm the only one who knows the way out…except I don't know," Saunders said grimly.
"You still know," the medic answered him hopefully. "It's in there. It'll come back. You'll see. You just can't force it."
"Hey Doc?" Caje whispered as he approached the two men. "Can I see you?"
CHAPTER 10
The medic patted his sergeant on the shoulder and went over to the other soldier.
"Are you getting anywhere, Doc?" Caje asked anxiously as Kirby came up next to him.
Doc nodded. "He's remembered bits and pieces. Some firefights. He remembered the tough stuff. Getting burned. Getting taken prisoner."
"That's great!" Kirby whispered excitedly. "Did he say anything about how to get us out of this hornets nest?"
"Kirby, he's only remembered little flashes of things," the medic replied.
"Yeah, well, he needs to remember some big flashes of things real soon," Kirby added.
"You just can't push this thing," Doc said. "He doesn't even really remember Bette."
"Whoa!" Billy exclaimed as he listened while on guard. "That's really not remembering."
"How soon do you think it'll be, Doc?" Kirby asked. "I mean just a guess."
"I don't know," Doc answered in frustration. "I'm not a doctor. Could be a few minutes…a few days…or maybe never."
"Never?" Kirby asked with wide-eyed shock.
"I just can't tell," the medic insisted. "Maybe if we were back to our unit, a doctor would have a better idea of what to do, but…"
"But we can't get back to our unit without the Sarge getting his memory back," Caje finished grimly.
"All I can do is keep trying," Doc offered. "He's remembered a little so far. Maybe with some prodding he'll remember more."
Each man looked over at their sergeant for a moment, and then Doc returned to the soldier's side.
CHAPTER 11
Saunders closed his eyes again and tapped his head gently against the rock a few times as he thought. He was in a war, and he had a squad. A squad whose very lives depended on him getting his memory back. And his mind at that point was pretty much a blank slate for the last three years.
He found it easy to let his mind slip back to home. Cleveland, Illinois. And time spent on the Rock River with his brothers. Stress free days swimming, boating and fishing. Lazing in the sun on a warm summer's weekend.
The sergeant sat up straighter and dragged himself back to the present. He looked at the soldiers again, trying to remember them. They seemed familiar, but when he concentrated on it, the feelings slipped away.
It was like trying to remember an elusive dream. The images seemed so vivid at first, until he looked directly at them…and then they were gone.
Saunders' stomach ached, and he realized that he was hungry. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd last eaten anything. But he didn't feel like he had the right to ask for something. He opened the canteen and took another long drink of water.
Doc returned and sat next to him. "How's your head?"
Saunders touched the bandage lightly. "Feels a little better. Guess the aspirin helped." He looked at the bandage on his arm. "Doc, are they angry?"
The medic was confused. "The men? Why would they be angry? You mean because you can't remember? Sarge, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. Heck, you probably saved my life."
Doc checked his sergeant's arm. "It'll all come back. You just need time."
But we don't have time, Saunders thought as he looked over at the other men all grouped by the far rocks. Think, Saunders, think.
The medic broke into his thoughts, asking casually, "Hey, Sarge, what's your serial number?"
Without thinking, the sergeant replied, "227 06 22." And then he sat straighter and his eyes widened. He looked at the medic.
Doc smiled. "See? Just give it time."
CHAPTER 12
Kirby came over to the two soldiers and knelt down next to his sergeant. Picking up the camo helmet, he held it out. "Here, Sarge. Better put this on. One head wound is enough. Get another one and you might not remember what planet you're on." He grinned as his sergeant took the helmet and gingerly put it on over his bandage.
"Thanks, Kirby," Saunders replied.
"Here," the BAR man said, picking up the Thompson. Holding it out, he added, "We get more krauts coming around, we'll need the firepower. Especially since Caje has a bum wing."
Saunders hesitated, and then shook his head. "No, sorry. I hate guns."
Kirby looked at his sergeant in amazement. "What? Are you kidding? Do you know how many…?"
"Kirby!" Doc interrupted. "Just leave it there, ok? Why don't you go check on the other guys?" The medic glared at the BAR man.
Kirby looked from the medic to his sergeant. "Ok, Doc." He put the Thompson down next to Saunders' leg and went back to the other soldiers.
Doc could see the confusion…and pain on his sergeant's face. They were both quiet until finally Saunders whispered, "Doc? I've killed people, haven't I?"
The medic remained quiet. He knew that the answer would be painful, but he also knew that he had to be honest with the man.
"We're at war, Sarge. The Germans are trying to take over the world. They shoot at us, we shoot back."
He hesitated. What more could he say? "It's war."
"We," Saunders countered. "We shoot back. You don't."
The medic looked at his hands. "I've killed," he answered softly as his hands balled into tight fists.
Saunders looked at him incredulously. "But you're a medic. Why?"
"I had no choice," Doc replied. "A kraut was going to kill you. He'd already shot you. He was going to kill us both."
Saunders stared off into the trees, then leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes, trying to absorb it all. So much had happened in three years. Already what little he knew felt like it was almost more than he could bear.
Finally he looked over at the soldiers together among the rocks, standing guard. Kirby, Caje, Littlejohn, Billy, Steller, Brockmeyer…and Doc. He still didn't remember them. He felt that he barely knew them. But somewhere deep inside he knew that he'd kill if he had to in order to keep them safe.
The sergeant looked down and touched the Thompson lightly. Somewhere inside him, the soldier…Sergeant Saunders…was trying to come back.
CHAPTER 13
All remained quiet as Saunders closed his eyes again, trying to bring up more memories. And then he heard something that stabbed at his animal instinct for survival.
"Hände hoche!" He instantly tensed and ducked down.
Steller began to raise his rifle when a shot rang out from the trees and he dropped to the ground among the rocks. Doc started to get up, but Saunders grabbed him and pushed him back into the dirt. The sergeant put a finger to his lips as he continued to watch the scene unfold.
Slowly he pulled his feet in behind the rock, out of the line of sight of the German soldiers who had appeared from the woods with rifles trained on his men.
"Lass deine Waffen fallen!" one shouted.
Brockmeyer threw down his rifle and raised his hands. "They want us to drop our weapons."
One by one the men slowly dropped their weapons and raised their hands. Steller groaned and rolled onto his side.
Good, Saunders thought with relief as he watched. He's still alive. Reflexively, the sergeant slowly slid the Thompson closer to him and picked it up without thinking. He put his hand on Doc's back and patted him gently to reassure him and to tell him to stay put.
And then he gradually crawled over the medic to get to the far side of the rock that they were both hiding behind. None of the Germans knew yet that the two soldiers were back there, and Saunders intended to keep it that way.
The sergeant lay flat on the ground and took off his helmet. And then he slowly slid his head out until one eye…his one good eye…peered out at the Germans, assessing the situation.
CHAPTER 14
Then Saunders pulled back as flashes of scenes, people, thoughts and emotions began to crash against each other in his brain. His head wound was pounding with waves of pain.
He squeezed his eye tightly shut, and then blinked furiously to clear his mind and vision. He tried to fight all of it, push it back down, but it was like holding back the tide in a storm. He finally gave in and let everything flood into his brain at once, even as it threatened to overwhelm his senses.
Struggling furiously to keep from screaming, Saunders felt like he was drowning in memories. But through all of the pain and raw emotions, the sergeant remembered what he needed to do.
He pushed through the noise and confusion in his head, and focused his attention on the krauts…and his squad. His squad.
The Germans had all come warily out from the woods. Five of them stayed a short distance away, with their weapons trained on the GI's. One kraut had slung his rifle over his shoulder and was just beginning to strip the sergeant's men of their weapons and possessions.
Saunders waited. His grip tightened on the now familiar Thompson. Gradually he rose up onto his knees and shifted his position so that he could stand up easily when he was ready.
Saunders waited. He tapped his finger lightly on the cold metal of his weapon, waiting for the five krauts to let their guard down slightly now that the Americans were all disarmed. And he needed the lone kraut to step a little farther away from his men.
He finally decided that he wouldn't be able to take out the lone kraut. The soldier was still in the middle of the squad. He'd have to depend on his men to deal with him.
But the other five would be his responsibility. As he watched and waited, all of his memories began to fall into place, like pieces of a huge jigsaw puzzle dropping from the sky and slamming into their right spots. In an almost blinding flash, the entire puzzle came together and Sergeant Saunders was whole again.
When two of the krauts lowered their rifles slightly, Saunders stood up.
CHAPTER 15
Saunders took no chances. He emptied the entire magazine, dropping all five Germans. Closest to the lone German, Brockmeyer and Nelson grabbed the kraut and pulled him to the ground. Brockmeyer's hands were wrapped around the soldier's throat when his sergeant yelled, "Don't kill him, Brock!"
The private immediately released his hands and sat back on his heels. Terrified, the young German rubbed his neck and stared up at his captors. Billy slipped the rifle from the soldier's shoulder and, handing it off to Brockmeyer, he began to search their new prisoner.
As he pulled out various objects, there were calls of "That's mine," and "Me, Billy."
Nelson quickly returned all of the stolen items back to their rightful owners. After searching the man one more time for weapons or remaining items, he stood up and pulled the German to his feet.
"What do we do with him, Sarge?" Caje asked as he slipped his own watch back on his wrist.
As Kirby was doing the same, he suddenly looked at his sergeant. "Hey! Hey! Sarge, you're back!"
Without replying, Saunders looked at all of his men. His men. "Billy, tie the kraut up. Maybe the brass can get something useful out of him. Kirby…Brockmeyer, help Steller up."
At the same time, the sergeant was helping their medic up from the ground. "You ok, Doc?"
Picking up his med kit, the medic nodded, "Let me help Steller."
"No time," Saunders replied as he scooped up his helmet and fit it gingerly on his head over the bandage.
"We just made a lot of noise. This place is going to be swarming with more krauts than we know what to do with in a couple of minutes."
As Kirby helped Steller to his feet, he asked hopefully, "You remember how to get us out of here, Sarge? See anything familiar?"
Saunders nodded and smiled. "We've been sitting in the middle of it. This cluster of rocks is in direct line with the woods over there and that hill up there." He pointed in both directions.
"We'll hit the beginning of Allied territory in about two to three miles after we go over that hill," he said as the men gathered up their weapons. "Once we're over that hill we keep going straight, roughly following a stream. Cross a little footbridge and we'll be in Allied territory."
He looked at each of his men. "You got all that?"
They looked at each other and then nodded. "Good," he smiled. "Just in case something happens again, I don't want to hear any complaints that you can't find your way back."
"Brockmeyer, let our prisoner know that he'll be treated fairly. But if we run into any krauts and he gives us the slightest trouble, I'll shoot him myself."
Brockmeyer spoke rapidly to the young German and the soldier replied, nodding his head vigorously. "He said he won't give us any trouble, Sarge."
Saunders nodded. "Littlejohn, take the point. You remember where you're going?"
Littlejohn held up a hand as he moved out front. "Got it, Sarge."
"Doc, stay with Steller," their sergeant said. "I'll see if we can find a safe place to stop along the way so you can check his wound and stop the bleeding. Otherwise, he's going to have to wait until we're in Allied territory."
"Ok," the medic replied. "From what I can see, it seems like just a flesh wound. I think he can make it 'til we're out of kraut territory."
The medic looked at his sergeant, checking him out with concern. "How about you, Sarge? You alright?"
Saunders smiled. "I'm good, Doc…and thanks."
As the men began to form up and move out, Saunders held back to bring up the rear. He watched each man as they filed past him.
Stepping in line behind Nelson, he called out, "Twenty yards between you. Don't bunch up."
As he walked, Saunders pulled the empty magazine from his Thompson and threw it into the grass. Digging into his field jacket, he pulled out his last full mag and slammed it into place. "Give me an ammo check," he called up to the others.
Their sergeant listened as each man called out their remaining ammo. Not much left, the sergeant thought as they walked. Just two or three more miles. But that could be a long, long walk with no ammo. They'd have to be really careful.
He lightly touched the bandage on his head and then very gently rubbed his still swollen eye. It was beginning to itch. Looking at each of his men down the line, he gave silent thanks to be back. It wasn't where he preferred to be in his life. But he knew that it was where he had to be at that moment.
Right then it suddenly got brighter around him, and the sergeant looked up to see the sun breaking through the clouds. With a slight smile he adjusted his helmet.
He looked at his men again. His men. His squad.
"I said spread out! Don't bunch up!" Sergeant Saunders called out sternly…and then he smiled.
THE END