re What a Way to Win a War
a/n: this is based on tallsunshine12's tale, and picks up on Newkirk's scenes. Tallsunshine writes for several series centred on WW 2, and has an eye for vivid detail in scene and action, and for the toll combat takes on even minor characters. I strongly recommend having a look:-)
Thanks to Deepbluethinking for checking if this flows ok:-)
The relative warmth of his bunk seems a world away;
Far from the chill of the forest at night.
He'll steal precious time that they need to reach sanctuary,
By luring the foe from the path of their flight.
He flexes his fingers, now raw semi-icicles,
Tenses each muscle, prepares to spring out,
Dismisses the urge to move softly and silently;
It goes against training to blunder about.
~0~
He's wet, and he's cold and he's utterly miserable;
He stumbles through ditches, and thin layers of ice.
He's the prey of a focused, implacable predator,
This role, self-appointed; he didn't think twice.
His friend, and that far too young girl from the underground
Matter far more than his possible fate.
He can still see LeBeau shake his head, then reluctantly
Head for the camp without further debate.
~0~
He's one step ahead of patrols, knows they're tracking him,
Pulls out his pistol, a 45 Colt.
He pictures the donor, and smiles at the memory…
Snow drags him out of the past with a jolt.
It falls from the sky, closing in like the enemy;
He shivers; a harsh, unforgiving embrace.
Fatigue slows each step, saps resolve, flattens energy;
It takes all he has to continue the chase.
~0~
He rests, hears a scuffling through brush, knows the origin;
A brace of SS guards, coats heavy with snow.
He's a prize worth a night of discomfort and misery,
No choice but to wait, chilled bone-deep, till they go.
The damp seeps from waterlogged soil…boots no barrier;
He struggles to grip, to hold steady his gun.
Not long now till roll call, he notes apprehensively,
If muscles knot tight, stiffen up, he can't run…
~0~
A cat and mouse game; hide and seek played repeatedly…
By chance, luck or judgement, he's one step ahead,
Till daylight betrays him; three shots fired effectively,
Nail where he is; bring dismay and cold dread.
Two choices; give in, face Gestapo in Hamelburg,
Or use every round of his Colt to fight back.
He knows far too well, the unthinkable consequence…
The soft falling snow muffles each bullet's crack.
~0~
It's over…outgunned and outnumbered, pinned helplessly,
Cuffed, then pushed roughly, spine jars against tree.
He yells out in English, swears loudly, instinctively;
He knows all to well just how bad things could be.
A Schmeisser is raised to his head, he breathes shallowly,
But will not spill secrets, he's braced for the shot…
The weapon is lowered, he senses uncertainty;
His captors don't know the way out…let 'em rot…
~0~
Their progress is slow, round in circles, meandering.
A tree branch, one stumbles; the chance to resist;
He tackles the other, his brain working rapidly,
Hands cuffed together, a metal edged fist.
Both men rendered helpless, out cold; retrieved weaponry;
Cuffs are unlocked and applied to his foe.
The key's within reach, two more deaths can't be justified;
It's hard enough leaving them here in the snow.
~0~
The guns are disabled, he frets, almost panicking;
He knows that it's late, from the weak morning sun.
He's reaching the end of his strength, no capacity
Left to get safely to camp, his task done.
Two shots stop him right in his tracks, drive anxiety;
He blinks, the ground rises and falls, and trees sway.
Cold sweat chills his brow, as his heart beats too rapidly;
A branch to support him, no choice but to stay.
~0~
He's vaguely aware of men's voices, a cardinal
Chirping away…but it doesn't belong.
Confusion…a dream that he's now in America…
He curses the voices, the bird and its song,
Till sense filters through, makes the call understandable;
A sign from the guv'nor, a call from his friends.
A flurry of movement, a thankful reunion;
The point when his long and eventful night ends.
~0~
The fate of those guards, who pursued him relentlessly,
Defined by those shots which he heard as he fled.
The act might be deemed to be tidy and practical,
But family and friends are left mourning their dead.…
He thinks of those men, of hushed figures approaching them,
Doing their duty, so more won't be lost.
Two shots to dispatch them with ruthless efficiency;
A terrible war, with a terrible cost…
~0~