No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author.
Thanks to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading.
Our I-talian Campaign
2021 © Reg. No. TXu 2-280-049
by: Queen's Bishop
()()()() Indicates time has passed or the focus of the story has shifted
to another location or character.
vvvv Indicates the start or end of a flashback.
Saunders walked away from the billet with the box in his hand. None of the men in the squad said anything as he left. In fact, they averted their eyes. Brockmeyer had warned them.
Although it wasn't like the corporal to divulge information he learned from his position at the CP, in this case, he had broken his own rule. He had told the members of First Squad about the box so they would be prepared.
And so, as Saunders walked away, they exchanged glances and head shakes but didn't bombard him with questions.
A little more than three weeks ago, Grady Long had been killed. Brockmeyer found the box as he went through Long's possessions. That was part of his duties, to make sure nothing 'of a questionable nature' got sent back home to his family when a soldier was killed. However, in this case there was no need for the corporal to open the box and inspect its contents. A note on the lid said 'In the event of my death this is to be given to Sgt. John Saunders, King Company, 361st Regiment.' Saunders's rank and unit had been crossed out and changed several times. Long must have carried the box around for a while and kept tabs on the whereabouts of the sergeant. Brockmeyer delivered the box to Saunders intact, just the way the corporal had left it.
Now, three weeks after Grady Long's death, the sergeant was going to open it.
He walked through a couple of fields, away from the squad's billet and prying eyes before he settled down beneath a large old oak tree. He sat cross-legged and stared at the box, that last remnant of Grady, for a long time. Memories of their time together in Advanced Basic Training and the war flooded his mind. He had seen similar boxes in North Africa when he and Grady had wandered through the bazaars, so Long must have bought it several years ago.
Although this one was much smaller, it still made him think of the cigar box he had kept as a kid. He had filled it with little treasures he found and reminders of momentous events in his life, like the ticket stubs from his first major league baseball game. For a time that box had even held his father's wristwatch until had he grown into it. His had been a box of fond memories. Would Grady's be the same?
With some trepidation, he pulled off the lid and opened the paper that was laying on top. It was a list of names. Saunders recognized a few, like Rozelli, Andrews and Sgt. Perry. They had been members of the 168th Fox Company with him and Grady in North Africa. Others, like Bell and Whitaker were only vague memories and some names he didn't recognize at all. Grady, like him, had seen a lot of death during his time on the front lines in North Africa, Sicily, Italy and France. At the bottom of the paper Grady had written, 'Sometimes, late at night, I hear their voices on the wind.'
Saunders closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Beneath the list were two photographs. One was a posed picture of their company at Advanced Basic Training. That was where he and Grady had met. Every member of the company had gotten one of those. The other was of Grady and himself. It might have been taken that same day; he didn't remember. The two faces staring back at him, both with big goofy grins, were so young. Although it had been taken less than two years ago, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since then.
He set the pictures aside and pulled out something else so he didn't have to look at the most obvious item, a letter with 'CHIP' scrawled on the envelope. It was a coaster from Big Louie's Bar with 'BEST NIGHT EVER Nov. 4, 1942' written on it. That notation, and the attached pink lace garter, made him laugh. He remembered Big Louie's well. They had spent many of their twenty-four passes there, playing poker…and indulging in other recreational activities.
There were two other pictures, one of Grady gazing like a love-sick schoolboy at a laughing dark-haired girl and the other, a close-up of the girl. In that one she was staring at the camera. You could tell she was trying to maintain a serious expression, but the playfulness in her eyes and the slight smile on her lips more than made up for the fact that she wasn't a raving beauty. She was just a normal girl-next-door girl, the kind you take home to meet your mother. Although no names or any other information was written on the backs of the pictures, there was a sealed envelope addressed to Miss Elizabeth Westbrook, Seagate Cottage.
He was sure he had never seen her before or that Grady had ever mentioned that name. From her address he assumed Grady must have met her in England. He studied her picture for a moment, then set those three items aside.
At the bottom of the little box was a medal, the Purple Heart Grady had gotten for the wound he had suffered during the Salerno landing. As Saunders held the medal in his hand, he could again hear the German artillery and feel the cold water splashing over him as they jumped off the landing craft and waded toward the beach. It had been a much smaller invasion than D-Day, but no less dangerous for those going ashore. Grady was hit by shrapnel before they made it to the beach and Saunders had dragged him, unconscious, out of the surf.
That was it, except for the letter with his name on the envelope. He hesitated, then picked it up and slowly opened it. He pulled the letter out and took one more deep breath before beginning to read.
Chip,
If you're reading this, I'm dead, so this is me speaking to you from the grave. I'll bet you're thinking this is creepy. Boy, I wish I could see the look on your face right now!
Anyways, you remember the pledge we made to each other. If one of us didn't make it back home, the other would visit his family. Even when we made that promise, I knew it would be you who would be traveling to see my folks. I'm not worried about you doing it because you're a man of your word. Give them the medal, but for God's sake, not the garter! (That's my special gift to you, old buddy.) My father always thought I was a ne'er-do-well and Momma that I had a good heart and meant well. Don't you go saying anything to change their opinions!
I'm sure you've looked at the pictures of Beth and seen the letter I wrote to her. Be a pal and mail it. I don't know if it would've worked out for us, but at least now she'll know not to wait for me.
To Saunders that sounded like their romance must have been serious, at least for Grady. If it was for her, too, then the letter would break her heart. But, as Grady had said, at least she would know.
He again stared at the pictures, trying to decide what to do with them. He thought about sending them to Grady's mother, but what good would dwelling on 'what might have been' do her. In the end, he put them with the letter to send to Elizabeth. If she and Grady had been serious, she might contact his mother herself and send along the picture of them together.
Then he picked up Grady's letter and continued reading where he had left off.
And now, the most important thing. Chip, you remember our Italian Campaign…
Saunders closed his eyes. It wasn't difficult for him to conger up memories of their time in Italy. He smiled and softly said, "OUR I-talian Campaign; that's what you always called it." That, Grady had once explained, was to distinguish it from the campaign the U.S. Fifth Army had waged, the landing at Salerno followed by the hard fighting for Monte Cassino and at the Gothic Line in northern Italy.
As he sat there beneath the tree, it all came back to him…
vvvvvvvvvv
The five of us, hunkered down in our rain gear under the tarp, didn't move a muscle as the soldier approached. We were too tired, too cold, and too wet. We were five indistinguishable lumps, just like the ones the replacement soldier had been questioning as he moved through the rendezvous area trying to locate the unit he was supposed to join.
He started to go through the routine once again. "Is this First Platoon, Dog Company?"
None of us lumps moved or said anything. Then, without looking up, I sighed and said, "Yeah, we're First Platoon's Third Squad. You a replacement?"
"Saunders? Is that you?"
It took all of my energy to lift my head and focus my tired eyes on the new man. However, the exhaustion drained away as I jumped to my feet, grinning from ear to ear and gave and received a bear hug. "Grady, you old son of a gun! What are you doing here? I thought you got your ticket punched at Salerno!"
"Aw, that medic didn't know what he was talkin' about. Once I got back to battalion aid, they cleaned me up an' I had almost a week on clean sheets. But since the army isn't gonna win this war without my superior tactical ability, I volunteered to come back."
"Superior tactical ability! You mean like that time in Advanced Basic when you led us in the wrong direction…"
"That was a minor miscalculation..."
I laughed and said, "Minor miscalculation! Are you kidding? We missed the entire war game an' the CO screamed at us for a week!"
"Which made it all worthwhile!" Grady countered with a grin.
"Yeah, I gotta admit, it was pretty funny…Let me introduce you to the rest of the squad an' then I'll take you to the CP. Fellas, this is Long. He's a fair to middling BAR man. That's Bishop an' Alvarez next to him, an'..."
"Hey, just a minute, did you say a fair to middlin' BAR man? Saunders, you're gonna pay for that!"
I laughed again as I tapped the sleeve of my upper arm. "That's CORPORAL Saunders."
"You're kiddin' me! I'm only gone a couple of days an' ya get your stripe back. Geez, pretty soon I'll have to salute ya an' call ya 'Sir!'"
"Not likely. Now pay attention; that guy over there is Morgan an'…"
The final lump came to life and stood, offering his hand to Long. "Remember me?" he asked.
"Cutter! I haven't seen you since we left North Africa. This is great, the three of us back together!" Grady said as he threw his arm over Cutter's shoulder and feigned a punch to his jaw.
"C'mon, let's head over to the CP an' get you squared away. Sgt. Evans should be back soon an' we'll be heading out again." I shook my head and said, "Grady Long, I still can't believe you're here."
()()()()()()()()()()
The next two days were just like the previous one, wet and chilly with only rare sightings of Krauts in the distance. However, the line didn't move. It was as if the brass didn't know what the Germans were up to and therefore what they should be doing in response.
Long's third day with the squad began with the same routine. We headed out before dawn, covering more territory than either of our prior patrols, but with no better results. We didn't have any trouble until we turned around and were heading for home. We were making our way down a rocky slope. Morgan was on point and Bishop and I were on the flanks.
Grady, with his BAR, was bringing up the rear, doing the familiar dance of turning around to make sure our back trail was clear while he took a backward step or two. The quiet was broken when he gave a startled yelp and tumbled to the ground. The rest of us threw ourselves down, sure that he had been hit by a far-away sniper since there had been no sound of a shot.
"It's okay. I tripped is all," he said as he started to rise. But after a single step he sat back down, grimacing as he let out a groan and grabbed his ankle.
"What's the matter?" Sgt. Evans asked as he went back and squatted at Grady's side.
Long sighed and said, "I musta twisted my ankle, Sarge."
We all gathered around as Evans unlaced the BAR man's legging and then removed his boot. He scowled at the gawkers and said, "Crimmy, ain't none of ya got a lick of common sense? Cutter an' Morgan, take security. The rest of ya, don't bunch up."
Bishop and Alvarez moved away, but I took a knee and remained.
"It don't look too bad," the sergeant said as he examined the ankle. "It's not swellin' up or turnin' black an' blue, anyway. Stand up an' see if ya can put any weight on it."
Grady did as instructed, hobbling forward for a couple of steps.
"Sarge, whether Long limps along or we carry him, it's gonna be slow going. It's quiet enough. There's no reason for all of us to stay out in this crappy weather with him," I said.
"You volunteerin' for somethin', Saunders?" Evans asked.
"Yeah. Why don't you an' the rest of the squad head for home an' I'll stay with him while he limps back."
"Does anybody care what I think?" Long interjected.
"NO!" both Evans and I responded in unison.
Evans took time to ponder my suggestion. It had been quiet for the last four and a half patrols so maybe Long didn't need the whole squad to cover him while he hobbled back to our lines. And, it would be good for the rest of the men to get out of the wet and cold as quick as possible. In the end, he agreed. "Alright, I'll leave Morgan…"
"It's not necessary, Sarge. We can find our way back without the scout," I said, which made Grady chuckle.
Again, Evans went over the pros and cons before pulling out his map and saying, "You take the map. We didn't see nothin' so I didn't mark any coordinates." He unfolded it and after moving his finger back and forth across it several times, he settled on a position and said, "We're here."
I studied the map for a moment, noting the location of the bombed-out artillery emplacement where we had taken a break before heading for home, the river that flowed off to the left, and most importantly, the location of our lines.
Grady, who was looking over my shoulder, furrowed his brow and asked, "An' where's home?"
Evans stared at him in astonishment while I rolled my eyes.
"Don't worry, Sarge, I can read the map and I know which way to go," I said. I was confident but Grady snorted as he shook his head.
Evans rethought his decision for a moment, then nodded and said, "Bishop, go get Cutter. We're movin' out." He gave Long and me the once over before saying, "I'll see you two later on this evenin'." With that he signaled Alvarez and they headed out.
()()()()()()()()()()
"Hey, Chip, let's take a break. I'm bushed."
"Yeah, okay. We've been at it for a while."
We wanted a secluded place to rest but had to settle for a dip in the ground where a large tree had once stood. The field we'd had been moving through had been planted with unharvested wheat so the dip wasn't visible when the field was scanned from even a short distance away.
Grady should have kept his boot on and the laces tight to keep his ankle from swelling, but he wanted to see if things were getting worse. So, he leaned over, untied the laces and pulled the boot and sock off. The ankle didn't look any different than it had when Sgt. Evans had inspected it, which probably explained why Grady's limping hadn't gotten any worse.
"Well, in my expert opinion, I'm cured," he announced.
"Good. Now stay down an' don't make any noise. I'm gonna take a look around."
"Sure, Corporal. An' while you're lookin', see if ya can find a horse or a cow or a goat for me to ride."
I chuckled and shook my head as I left. Grady could always find a way to lighten up even the most serious situation.
And, a few minutes later, it was serious. His sock was only half on and he was reaching for the BAR as I came in all hunched over and moving fast. I slid down the side of the dip like I was stealing second base. "Krauts!" I hissed.
We lay there, side by side, weapons at the ready, waiting for the enemy to stumble upon us. We could hear footsteps, a bit of laughter and a few conversations as the Krauts moved through the field, coming closer and closer to the dip. And then, the sounds began to fade as they moved away. They had skirted the dip but not found it. We both breathed sighs of relief and Grady grinned.
"So, the ankle's okay?" I asked as I continued to stare in the direction the Krauts were traveling.
Grady didn't like the way that sounded so he furrowed his brow and asked, "Why?"
Then it was my turn to grin. "Get your boot back on 'cause we're gonna follow those Krauts an' see what they're up to, that's why."
"ARE YOU…" I grimaced and Grady lowered his voice. "…nuts?"
"Look, it's why we've been going out on reconnaissance patrols the last three days…"
"…an' you're either buckin' for a promotion or a section eight," Grady said as he pulled on his sock and boot. "Just remember to make me your driver when you're a general," he added as he picked up the BAR and fell in beside me.
We moved like two young lions on the prowl, our senses on high alert, our muscles taut and ready to react to the slightest provocation. Gone was the light-hearted banter that characterized our friendship. In fact, no words were spoken; none were necessary. The occasional gesture, glance or nod was all the communication we needed.
Following the Krauts turned out to be easier than either of us had thought it would be. Unlike us, they weren't being at all cautious or wary. They moved with the arrogant belief that they still controlled Italy. The noise they made allowed us to tail them without having to risk keeping too close or to fear losing them. That, in itself, made us nervous.
It became obvious that the Germans were following the same route our squad had taken earlier that day on our patrol. It was as if we had been under surveillance the entire time. That thought made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I had the strange sensation that even now we were being watched. A quick glance at Grady, who was nervously looking around, confirmed that he had the same bad feeling.
We were nearing the bombed-out artillery emplacement. It was where the squad had turned around to head for home and would be a natural spot for the Krauts to take a breather. I dropped my right hand, touching the handle of my bayonet and then signaled Grady to move off to the left. He nodded his understanding and we split up.
Nothing happened. However, although no unseen adversary appeared, the feeling that he was out there remained.
As the sun continued to move toward the horizon, we fell into a routine. After we reunited momentarily, one of us would side-step behind a tree or a bush and crouch to watch and wait for any trailing Germans.
On my turns, I concentrated on listening for a twig to snap or a branch that had been pushed aside to swing back into position. But there was nothing except the usual sounds of annoying insects and unseen animals moving around in the late afternoon. Still, I waited until I was afraid if I stayed any longer, I would lose Grady and the Germans we were following. Then I would move as quietly and as quickly as I could, hoping the Krauts hadn't made any sudden turns, until I met up again with Grady. A few moments later, he would slip away to wait, but with the same results.
We were about to once again repeat the process when unexpectedly, the noise the Krauts had been making as they advanced through the countryside stopped. We froze. Up ahead there were shouts and then instead of the sound of men tramping away from us, they were headed back toward us.
"They're onto us! Grady, you go that way," I said as I pointed off to the right. "Head back to that bombed out artillery emplacement an' wait until dawn. If one of us isn't back by then…"
"Okay, we meet up at dawn," Grady repeated as he began to move away.
"An' Grady…"
He turned back.
I grinned. "Don't go in the wrong direction."
He snorted and picked up his pace, disappearing among the trees.
As soon as he was out of sight, I selected a branch and broke it in two creating a loud 'SNAP!' I didn't know what I was going to do to lose the Krauts, but I thought it would be better if more of them were looking for me than for Grady. After all, I was the NCO…and Grady had a bum ankle…and he had only been out of battalion aid for a few days…and he was my best friend.
Now there was no point in trying to move stealthily; I started to run, dodging tree limbs and jumping over small bushes. I didn't bother to turn around to see how close they were. The fact that I could hear them told me they were too close. I didn't have any idea how I could lose them, except to try to keep ahead of them until it got dark and then maybe I could give them the slip.
vvvvvvvvvv
Saunders paused in his recollection of their I-talian Campaign to ponder what had happened next. One moment he had been running for his life without a clue of how he was going to get away and the next minute a crazy thought had popped into his head.
Out of the blue, he clearly visualized a cover of Western Story Magazine (1) just as if he had seen it only the previous day. His mother always referred to the magazine as 'that penny dreadful' on those occasions his father brought an issue home for him and Robbie. But those magazines were wonderful, full of exciting 'true' stories of the old west.
The cover announced that inside was the gripping tale of John Colter (2). He remembered the story well; he and Robbie had sat cross-legged on the floor at their father's feet, enthralled as he read aloud about the mountain man who had been chased by Indians and how he had gotten away by jumping into a river and staying underwater, breathing through a hollow reed until the Indians gave up their search for him.
'I guess it's like Gram always said when she was teaching me to play poker,' he thought. 'Don't question where those gut-feelings come from, just trust them.'
With that in mind, he returned to his memory of their I-talian Campaign.
vvvvvvvvvv
I didn't know where that 'out-of-the-blue' image of a magazine cover had come from and I didn't have time to think about it. I changed direction and headed for the river, hoping to find someplace to hide until it got dark.
The river was running high from all of the rain. I slid down the bank and into murky water up to my chest. The autumn cold instantly sucked my breath away and I stood for a moment shivering even though I didn't have a moment to spare.
There was no time to try to make it to the other side or even back up the bank and away from the river. The Krauts chasing me would soon be there. A few larger branches drifted by, but latching onto one of them and trying to float downstream seemed too obvious.
My mind was racing. 'Think, think, think…if I were leading the Krauts, what would I tell my men to do…Split up and work your way along the bank in both directions looking for where he had gone into the water and then where he had gotten out.'
Where I had entered the river was easy to spot. I began making my way along the bank, looking for I didn't know what. But then a cluster of trees caught my eye. The ground beneath them had been eroded away and they were hanging suspended over the water. From the top of the bank, I doubted it was obvious that there was little left anchoring them to land. At my level, I could just make out the exposed roots beneath the surface of the muddy water. I took a deep breath and ducked under, using the roots to pull myself further into the underwater cavity the erosion had created.
I was staying as close to the surface as possible, hoping to find an air pocket. At what seemed like the last moment, I reached a spot where the soil between two large roots had been washed away and light was shining into the water. I twisted my body and pressed my face against the opening. Even as I sucked in the fresh air, water splashed over my face and out of the hole as the river continued its relentless undercutting of the bank.
The ongoing rush of water muffled the enemy's approach to the top of the bank, but the guttural sound of orders being shouted told me they had arrived. As long as they stayed on top, I was fairly certain I would be safe.
I had only a limited view, the tree trunk behind me and the river in front. A few more branches drifted by and the Krauts opened fire, peppering them and the water around them. It was a good thing I hadn't tried to use a branch to make my escape.
()()()()()()()()()()
The reflection of the half-moon slowly slid down the river. Since the rifle fire hours ago all had been quiet. Of course, my pursuers could be silently waiting at the top of the bank for me to show myself, but that was a chance I had to take. I took a deep breath and ducked under the water, again pulling myself along by the roots of the overhanging trees. When I was clear of them, I cautiously stood and inspected the bank in both directions. There was no sign of the Krauts so I climbed out of the water, took a moment to get my bearings, and began the trek back to the bombed-out artillery emplacement.
()()()()()()()()()()
"How's your ankle?" I asked as I snuck up on Grady. He almost jumped out of his skin.
When he recovered, he said, "I'd nearly given ya up for dead an' here ya come waltzed in lookin' like a drown rat an' all ya got to say is 'How's your ankle?' Saunders, ya never cease to amaze me. Where ya been? I hear shots hours ago an' I was sure they got ya. That was a stupid thing to do, snappin' that branch." He paused to take a breath, then started taking off his field jacket.
"What in hell are you doing?"
"Like I said, ya look like a drown rat. Here, take off your jacket an' shirt an' put this on."
I was shivering, so I didn't argue with him. I told him about hiding in the river, but not about how I came up with the idea. He wouldn't have believed It anyway and I only half-believed it myself. When I finished with my tale, I asked him how he had gotten away.
"Well, I'd only gone about a hundred yards when I heard what sounded like a large branch snappin' an' I froze. It puzzled me for a moment, but then it dawned on me that you'd broken the branch on purpose to draw the Krauts in your direction. I was about to turn back or to break one myself, but that wasn't what ya wanted me to do. You've always been better at 'war games' than me an' I figured you were just tryin' to even the odds for our escape. So, I kept movin', even though, like I said, it was a damn stupid thing to do.
"I could hear a few Krauts comin' in my general direction. I thought about waitin' and ambushin' one or two of them, but if I fired the BAR, I'd soon have more trouble than I could handle. So, I tried a different tactic. While the Krauts were still out of sight, I picked out a likely tree, one with large branches that would conceal me if I lay real still. I climbed up as far as I could an' then I waited. I figured when it got dark, I'd be able to give them the slip.
"Anyways, it wasn't long before I was lookin' down on two Krauts as they slowly made their way towards my tree. One of them called to another one, so at least three were after me. They passed right under me an' I seen the way they were headed. When it was good an' dark, I climbed down an' picked a different route, but not too much off course.
"Chip, you're right about one thing an' one thing only. I do have a poor sense of direction so if I got myself turned around, I would've ended up waltzin' into the Kraut lines for sure."
I chuckled and quietly said, "How does it feel to finally admit one of your short-comings?"
"That's the only one I got, buddy boy," he said with a laugh. "Otherwise, I'm a born warrior."
I snorted and replied, "You're a born something all right, but I don't think it's a warrior."
"Hey, don't ya think it's funny that I went up a tree an' you went under one. That must mean somethin'."
"Yeah, well, while you're figuring it out, what do you say we head for home? Sgt. Evans is gonna have our hides as it is."
"You're right about that. All this traipsin' around in the dark an' nothin' to show for it."
vvvvvvvvvv
Saunders shook his head. They reported what they had learned, that the Krauts seemed to be regrouping, but that they hadn't found their location. Sgt. Evans was annoyed, but also glad they both made it back. The next day the Germans hit them hard and they were just barely able to hold the line. He was wounded and ended up being evacuated to England to recover…and to be available to take part in the D-Day invasion of France.
That was it, their I-talian Campaign. Grady often talked about it, like it held some special significance to him, but to Saunders it had only been a minor incident in the long war. He returned to the letter.
…well, that's when I realized you were more than a friend or war-time buddy to me. I didn't have a brother growing up and I was always jealous when you talked about yours. (I probably shouldn't have been, since I had you beat hands down in both the good-looks and charm departments, but that's another story.)
Anyways, when I was sitting in that tree and I heard that volley of rifle shots, I was sure they'd caught up with you. I wanted to scream out my rage. But I didn't. I knew it wouldn't help you and it wasn't what you would have wanted. After all, you broke that branch to give me a chance to get away. Anyways, that's how I felt. So, I remained quiet and still, clinging to that tree limb and waiting for dark, and all the time feeling sick, like my guts had been ripped out. That's when I realized what you were to me – the brother I never had. It's not something two guys would talk about, but I wanted you to know that's what you meant to me.
So, Chip, if I got killed saving you, don't feel bad about it. It's the way I would have chosen to go, saving my brother.
Grady
Saunders' hands were shaking by the time he finished the letter. And, as he wiped his eyes he quietly said, "God damn you, Grady Long, God damn you."
()()()()()()()()()()
()()()()()()()()()()
1. Western Story Magazine (1919-1949) was the first of many pulp magazines that featured Western fiction. It published the work of many well-known Western authors, the most famous being Max Brand (the pen name of Frederick Schiller Faust) who authored a number of books set in the west (Destry Rides Again, etc.) as well as the original Doctor Kildare series. The magazine sold for a dime.
2. John Colter was a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition. He is generally regarded to be the first Mountain Man, spending months alone in the area now comprising the Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. However, he is most famous for his footrace and eventual escape from pursuing Blackfeet Indians. (Author's Note: Wikipedia has him making his escape by diving into a river and hiding inside a beaver lodge. The version of the story I learned was that he was able to remain underwater by breathing through a hollow reed.)
