Thin Lines

by Queen's Bishop

The squad goes into battle, but behind the lines another struggle is taking place.

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.

Thin Lines

by: Queen's Bishop

[] Indicates German is being spoken.

()()()() Indicates time has passed or the focus of the story has shifted

to a different location or character.

It would be a lead pipe cinch. That's what the brass said. The air corps would soften up the Kraut positions at dawn with low-level carpet bombing. Then the artillery would pound away, blasting everything to smithereens so that by the time the infantry advanced there wouldn't be any place for the remaining Krauts to hide. That's what they said.

But things started to go wrong at the stroke of midnight. It began to cloud up and then to rain; not a lot at first, but the sprinkles turned into a persistent shower and as dawn approached even the lowliest dogface knew that the air corps would be grounded.

But there was still the artillery. The soldiers exchanged glances and nodded knowingly as they waited for the barrage to begin. An intensive display of American fire-power would still be sufficient for the infantry. However, when H-hour plus 30 came and went without the expected shelling, telephones were ringing at Fire Direction Centers all along the line. Somehow, someone had interpreted the air corps being grounded as a postponement of the planned offensive.

At that point, it probably should have been, but it wasn't. The barrage finally began, but it was much shorter and more erratic than originally envisioned, leaving the enemy stunned but far from broken as the order for the ground troops to move out at the original time was given.

All day long both large- and small-scale battles raged as attempts to push forward were met by fierce resistance. The reports flowed into regimental HQs and the on-going situation was constantly reevaluated.

By 1300, based on the latest information, forward momentum had all but ceased. The line still held, but only barely in some spots. Col. Dale issued new orders for the 361st. The Second and Third Battalions had moved out as part of the initial assault while the First was held in reserve. Now, First Battalion was put on two-hour alert and the company COs were called in for a briefing. After which, those captains quickly returned to their own HQs to give battle assignments to their platoon leaders.

Rumors swirled as the soldiers in those First Battalion companies milled around and nervously traded information they didn't have.

"…Andrews was workin' the radio an' he told Dombrowski he heard…" "…the Krauts have broken through at Pont de Milard…" "…ran right over Dog an' Easy in the Third Battalion…" "…cut to ribbons…" "…an' I got that direct from Barker who got it from…"

()()()()()()()()()()

Kirby nervously paced back and forth. His BAR was leaning against a stone wall next to where the Cajun sat. The scout slipped his bayonet back into its scabbard and the small whet stone into the trouser pocket where he kept it. He absent-mindedly drummed his long fingers on his thigh to the beat of Kirby's steps.

"How bad do ya think it's gonna be?" a shaky voice behind them asked.

"Well, I was with the 29th when we took St. Lô. Word is, this is gonna be worse," the reply came.

Caje reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Hey, gimme one of those," the BAR man said as he held out a hand, palm up, and waggled his fingers.

Neither the Cajun, who pulled two cigarettes from the pack and placed them between his lips to light, nor Littlejohn, who ordinarily would have called Kirby a first-class mooch, said anything.

After a moment of silence, Billy asked, "Caje, can I have one, too?"

The Cajun gave him a bemused look, but reached over and passed him one of the lit cigarettes.

Billy took it, hesitated, then placed it between his lips and drew in a lungful of air.

"Billy, you don't smoke." Littlejohn barely got the words out of his mouth before Nelson started to cough and hack, choking on the smoke.

Doc, who was sitting on the ground next to Billy, took the cigarette from his hand, carefully pressed the lit end against the stone wall and slipped it into his shirt pocket. "Let me know if you want it back," he said.

"How can you two and the Sarge smoke?" Nelson wheezed.

"It's an acquired taste. Anyway, it helps calm de nerves," Caje replied.

"That's what I need, calm nerves," Billy managed to say before he had another coughing fit.

"Well, now's not the time to start," Littlejohn admonished his young friend.

"Ah remember when Ah tried to take up chewing," Doc said. All eyes turned to him as he continued. "Mah granpappy and Uncle Cal both chewed and one day they were out on the front porch, sitting in rocking chairs having a chaw. Just rocking and talking to my folks and spitting between their teeth out into the yard." He laughed. "Ah sure was impressed."

"How old was ya?" Kirby asked.

"Oh, eight or nine," Doc replied.

Kirby snorted but Billy leaned forward and asked, "What happened?"

"Well, Ah asked them if Ah could chew, too. My ma said 'No!" but granpappy said, "Oh, let the boy give it a try.' And he gave me a wad." Doc laughed again and shook his head at the memory.

"And…" Billy said.

Doc, with a straight face, replied, "And Ah started to chew. According to what granny told me later, I turned the God-awfullest shade of green and puked up all over Uncle Cal. Granpappy laughed so hard his false teeth went flying outa his mouth and landed in Uncle Cal's lap, right in the middle of all that puke."

The squad, and everyone else within hearing distance roared with laughter. Thoughts of the upcoming battle were vanquished from their minds for a few brief moments. Then Saunders yelled, "ALRIGHT, SADDLE UP," and every soldier was snapped back to reality.

The men lined up to climb into trucks for the ride to the front. As Billy stood next to the medic waiting for his turn he asked, "Doc, was that story true?"

The medic gave a wistful smile and replied, "Billy, there's a thin line between what is remembered and what is invented." He paused and then said, "What you need to know is that Ah never used any tobacco products again, so your cigarette is safe with me."

()()()()()()()()()()

They crawled the last fifty yards as shells from the Kraut 88s burst all around. They could hear their own artillery firing in response, but the fact that each 88 was answered by two or three 105s was of little comfort. Finally, they reached the fox holes originally occupied by Third Battalion troops and now by what was left of Second Battalion's Item Company.

Hanley slid into a hole occupied by the CO and a medic who was tying a bandage around the captain's arm. "I'm Grover, Lieutenant. How many men did you bring with you?"

"Hanley, Sir, 2nd Platoon, King Company. I've got twenty men and a medic. The rest of the company is to our right with Love at the flank. Charlie and Baker are on the left."

"Twenty men, huh." Grover sadly shook his head. "That just about covers my wounded. It beats the hell outa me why the Krauts are throwin' everything they've got into holdin' this lousy, worthless, God-forsaken piece of real estate, but they are. We've been goin' at 'em since about seven this morning with not much to show for all those casualties."

"Sir, I thought we were trying to close the gap between us and the 90th and cut off a German division."

"Yes, of course…That's the big picture, Lieutenant." He scanned the crater-marked field which held the remains of his company. "Small picture…we've taken a hell of a beating."

"Yes, Sir, but my orders are to push forward."

"Right; I got the word. We move out in…" he gave a painful grunt as he moved his arm to look at his watch. "…in twenty-seven minutes. I'm gonna try to get some of my wounded moved back before then. Have your medic give us a hand. We've got them gathered about 150 yards back."

"Yes, Sir, we passed them on our way up. I'm going to check on my men and I'll send my medic back to help."

The lieutenant crawled from foxhole to foxhole giving final orders to the squad leaders and words of encouragement to the men of Second Platoon. When he found the medic, he told him to help with the wounded. "Doc, we move out in about twenty minutes. Do the best you can."

"Yes, Sir." Doc said as he pulled himself out of the foxhole he was sharing with Littlejohn and Nelson. Before he crawled away, he turned his head and said, "Good luck. Ah'll catch up with y'all as quick as Ah can."

The two soldiers kept an eye on his progress until he was out of sight, just to be sure he made it. Only then did they fully turn their attention to the pock-marked field ahead of them. Three minutes later the American artillery unleashed a deafening barrage that continued for a quarter hour, even as the men of the 361st crawled out of their temporary shelters and began to follow the noise forward.

()()()()()()()()()()

Doc crouched down as much as he could and still manage to carry the front end of a stretcher. The sucking breaths of the soldier on the litter drowned out all of the other noises, even as the intensity of the shelling increased dramatically. He was panting by the time they reached the collection area. There, another team took over. While he caught his breath, Doc kept an eye on the litter as it bobbed and swayed on its journey over the churned-up ground. He didn't think the young man he had just helped carry from the battlefield was going to make it.

When he first arrived at the spot where four medics had established the temporary holding area, one of them, his partner in the littler carry, had introduced himself by saying, "I'm Bobby, grab an end." At first Doc had been unsure why Bobby had chosen that particular soldier to carry back when there were several others with severe wounds but a better chance of survival. But, from the way Bobby spoke to the soldier before they started, it was obvious they knew each other.

'Maybe Bobby was assigned to his squad,' the medic had thought. 'Would I have chosen any differently if it were Caje or Billy laying among the wounded and I had to make the decision?'

After an all-too-brief respite, Bobby nodded and the two medics took off running. They zig-zagged across the scarred field although it probably didn't make any difference to a wayward Kraut artillery shell or an American short. When they got back to the holding area, they each pulled another soldier to his feet and draped an arm over their shoulders. They made the trip back to the collection area as quickly as they could.

Doc checked his watch. "If we hurry, Ah think we have time for one more trip," he said.

Bobby nodded in agreement. As they ran back, they met the other medics who had also been moving wounded soldiers to the collection area. They didn't stop, but one called out, "WE'RE GOIN' BACK TO THE LINE ONCE WE DROP THESE GUYS OFF!"

When Doc and Bobby got back, three wounded men remained. One was a litter case and the other two could walk but would need someone to lean on. Doc and Bobby exchanged glances and again checked their watches. It was a hard choice, one that neither of them wanted to make.

"TAKE JONESY. ME AN' WILLIS CAN HELP EACH OTHER," one of the walking wounded shouted to be heard above the barrage.

"OKAY," Bobby yelled. "WE'LL GET HIM BACK AS FAST AS WE CAN AN' MEET YOU GUYS AN' HELP YA THE REST OF THE WAY."

Willis and the soldier who had made the proposal started to get up. Doc and Bobby helped them to their feet before turning their attention to Jonesy. What little caution they had shown on their first trip was long gone as they rushed to get the soldier on the litter to the collection area. Time was running out. The attack would begin at any moment and their services would been needed elsewhere.

The soldiers the other medics had transported were still waiting when they arrived with Jonesy. They quickly set the litter down next to them and began the return trip. They met the two remaining walking wounded, who had made painfully slow progress, about two-thirds of the way back. Doc and Bobby each took one and, draping an arm over their shoulders, headed back to the collection area.

They hadn't gone very far when the soldier Doc was helping, he said his name was Jasper, stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Sorry," he said. "Mah legs feel so heavy Ah can hardly take a step."

Doc yelled over to Bobby. "Y'ALL GO ON AHEAD. JASPER AND AH WILL REST HERE FOR JUST A BIT."

And that was how Doc sent Bobby and Willis to their deaths.

Suddenly, the Kraut shelling increased. They had probably been conserving their ammo for when the American attack began. And just as suddenly, a shell exploded in the field. The concussive force of the blast knocked Doc off his feet, but Bobby and Cal never had a chance. In the end, it didn't matter if it was a 'friendly' short or an off-target Kraut 88. Either way, Bobby and the wounded soldier were dead.

"Wait here," Doc said to Jasper. He got up and slowly approached the two mangled bodies. There was nothing he could do for either of them, but still, he was drawn to the spot where they lay. He stood looking down at what only moments before had been two young men.

Doc had been at this long enough to have seen soldiers killed in every way imaginable, both instantaneously and slowly. Yet, for some reason, looking at what was left of Bobby, someone he had known for less than twenty minutes, shook him to his very core.

"Dear Lord, how much longer?" he quietly asked as tears filled his eyes and made tracks down his dirty cheeks. Jasper said, "I'm ready," but the words were so faint that they made no impression on Doc. He stood over the bodies as the sounds of the raging battle receded from his consciousness.

'If Jasper hadn't stumbled…If I hadn't told Bobby and Cal not to wait for us…' he thought.

Of course, he had witnessed it many times before, the seemingly innocent, inconsequential action or decision that resulted in a soldier crossing the thin boundary separating life from death.

"MEDIC, ARE YOU GONNA HELP ME OR NOT?" Jasper yelled, finally shaking Doc out of his stupor.

He returned to the wounded soldier and helped him to his feet. Doc tightened his grip on Jasper's wrist and as the two men continued across the field to the collection area, the medic didn't look back.

When they arrived, Doc was surprised to see Jonesy and the other two wounded men still there waiting. He eased Jasper to the ground and gazed anxiously down the path for the medics who would transport the wounded on the next leg of their journey to an aid station. He was torn between his desire to return to his comrades in First Squad who were at that very moment battling their way forward and his duty to these wounded men. In the end, the immediate needs of the men already wounded in battle outweighed the potential suffering.

But just sitting and waiting accomplished nothing. So, after a quick check of the five soldiers to be sure there were no tourniquets that needed to be loosened, morphine that needed to be administered or anything else that required immediate attention, he announced he was going to head further back to look for the medics who should be getting the men to ambulances and aid stations.

As he trotted along the path that had been created by all of the soldiers who had moved forward throughout the day, he reviewed the list of the four basic ways to die he had mentally compiled shortly after arriving at the front lines. The first was to be shot in the head or heart. Doc thought that was the best way to go. It was so quick that there was no suffering involved. One instant you're alive and the next you're not.

The second-best way was to gradually bleed to death. You might know you're dying, but death comes slowly and peacefully, almost like you're falling asleep. The third best way to get killed was to be Hoovered, that's what the men called it. At first, he hadn't understood what the term was referring to since nobody back home owned one of those modern rug sweepers. But once it was explained to him how they worked, he could picture a gigantic Hoover vacuum cleaner (1) sucking up soldiers and ripping their bodies apart, just like Bobby's had been. It might look gruesome to those who found the remains, but Doc figured it was a quick way to go.

By far the worst way to die was to receive an agonizing mortal wound that didn't kill you immediately. He had been with such soldiers on the battlefield and no amount of morphine could ease their pain. In their more lucid moments, they would beg for someone to shot them, to put an end to their agony. Doc had never given in to his desire to stop their suffering, at least not yet. However, he had witnessed a few soldiers who, while bawling like babies, had ended a buddy's ordeal.

Up ahead the medic spotted the roof of an ambulance and then the entire vehicle came into view. Suddenly he was leery, wondering why it was just sitting there. He slowed to a walk as he scanned his surroundings for any indication that something was amiss. There was no sign of life so he continued to cautiously approach. Then he spotted them, two young men with the red cross brassards on their arms that indicated they were medics, sitting cross-legged in the tall grass off to the side.

"Hey, what are y'all doing?" Doc asked, startling the two soldiers. "There're wounded men up ahead at the collection area. Aren't y'all supposed to be moving them to this ambulance?"

The two jumped to their feet and glanced nervously at each other and then at the dirt the toes of their boots were digging up. One of them finally said, "Look, we ain't goin' up there. It's too close to the fightin'. We're rear echelon orderlies. You bring 'em here an' we'll drive 'em back. That's what we're supposed to do. Nobody said we had to go fetch 'em."

Doc didn't know whether to laugh or explode in rage at these two scared kids who were hiding behind rules set up by someone far from a battlefield. He didn't think shaming or yelling would work so he tried to appeal to their sense of fair play. He calmly said, "Ah understand, but y'all got to help me out. Ah'm by mahself and there are five wounded soldiers up ahead, two of them on stretchers. Ah can't get them back here by mahself."

One of the rear echelon orderlies bit his lower lip but said nothing. The other thought for a moment and then asked, "How far is it?"

"Not far at all. We can get them all back in about ten minutes. That's all Ah'm asking for, just ten minutes of your help."

The lip-biter shook his head and replied, "You can go if you want to, Albert, but not me."

Doc's eyes pleaded with Albert, but the young man slowly shook his head.

There was nothing more he could do. The medic, who had just seen two other young men blown to pieces, didn't have the authority to issue an order. With a sigh of resignation, he quietly said, "Give me the keys."

"There're in the ignition," the lip-biter replied.

"Whatcha gonna do?" Albert asked.

"Ah can't get them down here by mahself, so Ah'm gonna drive up and get them," Doc replied.

"An' leave us here?" the lip-biter whined.

"You can come with me or not. It's up to you," Doc said as he headed for the cab of the ambulance. Neither of the two rear echelon orderlies made a move to join him or to try to stop him as he slowly drove away.

The trampled path back wasn't smooth, but he only had to avoid two craters. When he reached the collection area, he was surprised that it wasn't overflowing with wounded soldiers. From the sound of things, a ferocious battle was taking place. However, only the five were there, and when he checked them, he found that one of the litter cases had died. To his surprise, it wasn't the most seriously wounded of the two. But the medic had also seen that before. One soldier would fight to stay alive while another gave up and succumbed to a lesser wound.

With the assistance of Jasper and the two other walking wounded, he managed to get the remaining litter case onto the bed of the ambulance. He scrambled aboard and pulled the unconscious man forward and then helped the other three soldiers climb in.

Doc walked half-way back through the pock-marked fields to ensure that more wounded weren't coming, but he didn't see a living soul. And, when he didn't see the remains of Bobby or Cal either, he momentarily panicked.

'They weren't dead!' he thought. 'I stood over them, but I didn't check. They've crawled into a crater.'

Then he thought they were calling for him, "MEDIC, MEDIC!"

He was about to dash from crater to crater to look for them when grim reality stopped him. They weren't calling for him; they were both too badly damaged to still be alive. He shook his head in dismay. "Ah must be going crazy," he said aloud. Then he remembered what he had said to Billy earlier in the morning, about the thin line between what is remembered and what is invented.

'There's another thin line,' he thought, 'between what we see and what we want to see."

After a final sweep of the fields, Doc returned to the vehicle and the four waiting men. He drove back to where he had encountered the ambulance, but the two privates were gone. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. He had counted on them driving the wounded men the rest of the way to the aid station so he would be able to return to Second Platoon, but now he had no choice but to continue on.

He passed the field where King Company was gathered before moving out and he was beginning to think he had missed a turn when the farm that had been converted into an aid station came into view. Another ambulance was leaving just as he pulled into the yard in front of the barn. Two medics and a nurse ran to the back of his vehicle and flung open the doors before it had even come to a complete stop.

As Doc stepped out of the cab, one of the medics shouted, "HE'S ONLY GOT FOUR!" which seemed to Doc like an odd comment for someone to make.

A female voice from inside the barn replied, "ALRIGHT, THAT MIGHT BE THE LAST ONE SO GET ALL OF THE REST OF THESE MEN IN IT!"

Doc started walking toward the barn door. The nurse and the other two medics passed him as they ran into the building. While he stood in the doorway, the two medics picked up a stretcher and the nurse helped a wounded soldier to his feet. Everyone brushed by him, heading for the ambulance. Another walking wounded hobbled past him and slowly made his way across the yard. The three medical personnel quickly returned and helped him climb into the already crowded vehicle. Something was going on. Doc couldn't figure it out but his instincts told him that whatever it was, it was bad.

Over in the corner of the barn another nurse was gathering supplies. Doc headed for her. "Miss, could you tell me what's going on. Ah just brought in four wounded men and Ah need to get back to mah outfit."

The nurse asked, "Are you talking to me, soldier?" as she spun around.

Doc immediately came to attention and saluted. "Sorry, Ma'am. Ah didn't realize…

"Yes, yes, yes, it happens all the time. I'm Maj. O'Dwyer. Who are you and why are you still here? Only Cutter, Robinson and Lt. Mallory should be left."

"Ah'm Pfc. Dunbar (2), Ma'am. Ah drove the ambulance that just came in. Ah thought Ah'd ride back with the medics y'all are sending to pick up more wounded. Ah've got to get back to mah unit."

"WE'RE ALL LOADED AND READY TO GO!" a voice from outside yelled.

The major shouted back, "ALRIGHT, YOU AND CUTTER GO. LT. MALLORY WILL COME WITH ME!" Both she and Doc listened for a moment as the ambulance pulled away. Then she turned her attention back to Doc. "You're with a frontline unit?"

"Yes, Ma'am, the 361st, King Company's, Second Platoon."

"Well, Pfc. Dunbar, you're now assigned to be my driver."

"But, Ma'am, Ah've got to get back to mah unit," Doc insisted.

"Well, you'll have to walk then. The ambulance you drove here has just left and the only other vehicle is my jeep." She let that sink in for a moment and then said, "Lt. Mallory, this is Pfc. Dunbar. He'll be coming with us."

Doc turned as she approached. "Nice to meet you, Dunbar," she sweetly said.

Doc immediately liked her. If there ever was an 'all-American-girl-next-door' it was the rosy cheeked, dark haired young woman who stood before him. He smiled and replied, "Nice to meet you, too, Miss…er, Ma'am."

"Call her Mallory and me O'Dwyer. Now that we've all been formally introduced, let's get the hell outa here. Maybe you haven't heard, Dunbar, but there are orders to pull back all along the line. The Krauts have broken through. They ran right over…"

Doc instantly sucked in his breath.

"…some company..."

His mouth was suddenly dry. "Was it King Company?" he asked, trying to keep the dread that was flooding his mind out of his voice.

"I don't know…I don't think so…"

Doc remained motionless, his jaw clenched, as he tried to remember the companies that were on either side of King Company. He missed what the major said next, not paying attention until O'Dwyer said, "Well, don't just stand there, Dunbar, shake a leg."

The major marched off. Mallory gave him another sweet smile and followed after her. Doc hesitated for a moment then hurried to catch up.

The major had almost reached the door when she stopped and turned around. "Oh, I forgot the intake report."

"I'll get it, Ma'am. Where is it?" Mallory asked.

"On the top of that stack of empty crates. Do you see it?"

"Oh, yes, here it is."

O'Dwyer wheeled back around, spinning right into a German lieutenant who had unexpectedly materialized in the doorway. She didn't immediately realize it was a Kraut for she said, "I beg your pardon. I didn't see you."

The German gave her a sly smile and said, "There is no need to apologize, Frau."

The major took a step back before stiffening her spine and jutting out her chin. "It's MAJOR, Lieutenant," she spat out.

"Of course, Major," he responded sarcastically.

Behind them, Mallory and Doc stood, slack-jawed, wide-eyed and rooted in place.

"And don't they teach military courtesy in the German army?" O'Dwyer asked caustically.

"Of course, Major." The lieutenant saluted extravagantly. "I am Lt. Merwitz, and you are?"

"O'Dwyer." She turned slightly. "And that is my aide, Lt. Mallory, and my driver, Pfc. Dunbar. As you can see, we are all non-combatants, so if you'll excuse us….Dunbar, bring my jeep around."

"Corpsman, if I were you, I would stay right where I am," the Kraut said. He held out his hand to O'Dwyer and said, "The keys, Major."

Just then another Kraut appeared in the doorway. [Nobody around, Sir. We did find a jeep behind the barn.]

[Ja, here are the keys. Bring it around front.] He turned to address O'Dwyer. "As you were saying, Major, it is time for us to leave. The corpsman will walk with my men. You and Lt. Mallory will ride with me."

"No, Pfc. Dunbar goes with us. He can drive." O'Dwyer replied icily.

Lt. Merwitz snorted but said, "As you wish, Major."

For a brief moment, Doc couldn't figure out why the major was insisting that he, an enlisted man, should ride in the jeep with the officers, but then it dawned on him that O'Dwyer probably didn't want Mallory and herself alone with a couple of German men, officers or not. But, if they tried something, how was he supposed to defend their honor without any weapons? Unless…

Lt. Mallory was still looking a bit stunned, glancing nervously from him to the major, as if waiting for one of them to explain the situation to her. Doc reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the cigarette he had taken from Billy not that long ago.

He cautiously took her hand and gave it a squeeze, slipping her the cigarette as he quietly said, "Lieutenant, when Ah signal you, stick the whole thing in your mouth and chew."

She again glanced at him, this time with an even more bewildered expression on her face, but she moved her hand away from his and put it into the pocket of her trousers.

The arrival of a jeep in the front yard of the barn ended all further discussion.

"Major, you will sit in front. The lieutenant and I will sit in back. You, driver, will sit on the back of the back seat between us. Now move!"

The Americans got into the jeep while Lt. Merwitz issued a series of orders to his men. For a moment, Doc, perched precariously on the back of the back seat, thought Maj. O'Dwyer was going to slide behind the steering wheel and attempt to commandeer the vehicle. Although she might have briefly toyed with the idea, the former American aid station was now swarming with Germans and that escape plan was quickly abandoned.

The Kraut driver opened the hood of the jeep and, with the help of other soldiers, draped a Nazi flag over it. When they slammed the hood down, enough of the flag caught to hold it in place.

Before climbing in the back seat, the Kraut lieutenant stood beside the major, smiled and mockingly said, "Frau, thank you for the use of your jeep. It will allow me to personally escort you to our headquarters before rejoining my men."

Doc couldn't see her face, but he did see her shoulder muscles tighten beneath her uniform.

Once Merwitz was settled beside Lt. Mallory, the Kraut driver slid his rifle between the side of the jeep and his seat, climbed in and started the engine. With a command from the German officer, the jeep started moving slowly down the road.

The medic recognized the route they were taking; they were moving parallel to what had been the American lines before units had begun moving around in anticipation of the battle. But he couldn't understand what was happening. Although the major had said that the Krauts had broken through, he couldn't believe they had penetrated this far already. Then, suddenly, the jeep slowed down for a checkpoint. Once through it, Merwitz stood. He held onto the back of Maj. O'Dwyer's seat and waved his other arm in the air. German soldiers appeared on both sides of the road to greet him and cheer.

Beyond the soldiers were a number of tanks tucked in amongst the trees, tanks that had no business being anywhere near this location, breakthrough or not. Doc shook his head as if trying to awaken from a bad dream, a dream that made no sense. He wasn't a military man, but even he could tell that something was wrong, very wrong. Some captain or major or colonel had to know about these enemy troops before it was too late, before they attacked from behind. He, O'Dwyer and Mallory had to escape, and not just so they didn't spend the rest of the war in a POW camp.

Then he remembered that very soon they would be coming to a bridge. The squad had come upon it during an early reconnaissance patrol of the area. When Saunders reported it, Lt. Hanley had said that the Germans, in their retreat, must have neglected to blow it up.

'Maybe they didn't forget to destroy it. Maybe they left it intact for a reason,' he thought. 'Anyway, that bridge is as good a place as any to try to escape.'

Once they passed another checkpoint and were beyond the amassed German troops, he nudged Lt. Mallory with his knee. When she gazed up at him, he let go of the seat back he had been clutching, covered his mouth with his hand and gave a little cough. He hoped she got the message.

Mallory stared at him for a moment. Then her eyes open wider and she, too, gave a little cough before reaching into the pocket of her trousers for her handkerchief. A moment later her jaw began to move as she chewed on the cigarette butt.

Doc prayed that there was some truth in the old family tale.

The bridge came into sight and Mallory continued to chew. When she next glanced up at Doc, he could tell that she was in distress. By the time they started to cross the bridge, Mallory was looking left and right in desperation. Finally, she couldn't contain the vile liquid any longer. She spewed it out, all over the front of Lt. Merwitz and into his lap. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

The Kraut gave a scream of disgust…

The driver slammed on the brakes and even though the jeep was moving slowly, if Doc hadn't been holding on, he would have been thrown into the front seat…

Lt. Mallory bolted from the vehicle and ran to the railing of the bridge. She barely made it before she vomited again...

Maj. O'Dwyer jumped out of the jeep and ran to her side, unaware of what had caused the disturbance but immediately recognizing that the younger woman was ill…

Merwitz climbed out the other side of the jeep as he continued to yell. The driver rushed to him and pulled out his handkerchief. He began to frantically try to wipe the puke from the front of the officer's tunic...

Doc stayed put as the two dramas played out on either side of the jeep until Merwitz gingerly unhooked his cartridge belt and let it fall to the ground. Once the medic saw that the Kraut officer was unarmed, he vaulted over the back of the front seat and pulled the driver's rifle from where it had been stored. Before he was tapped to be a medic, Doc had completed Basic Training just like any other soldier, so he wasn't a novice when it came to handling the weapon.

"Y'all raise your hands and back up against the railing," he ordered.

The Germans were unaware that the situation had reversed itself and the driver continued trying to clean up the officer's tunic while Merwitz batted at his hands as he attempted to unbutton and remove the garment.

Doc repeated his order, this time more forcefully. "Y'ALL RAISE YOUR HANDS AND BACK UP AGAINST THE RAILING!"

That caught O'Dwyer's attention. She stopped rubbing Mallory's back and speaking soothingly to her. It took her only a moment to grasp how things had changed. "Pfc. Dunbar, what would you like me to do?" she asked.

Without taking his eyes off his two prisoners, Doc replied, "Ma'am, if you could get the Lugar from the lieutenant's cartridge belt, that would be helpful."

As a nurse with many years of experience, the major never flinched as she picked up the soiled cartridge belt and removed the weapon. She carried the belt to the side of the bridge and tossed it over. Then took the handkerchief Doc offered and expertly disassembled and quickly cleaned the Lugar.

By this time Mallory had joined her and although her face was ashen, she had sufficiently recovered to give Doc a weak smile.

When O'Dwyer was finished, she said, "We can't stay here in the middle of this bridge. There are obviously Germans further down the road as well as the ones we passed on the way here. Our best bet is to leave the jeep and proceed on foot."

"But Major, in which direction?" Mallory asked.

Before she could respond, Doc said, "Ma'am, Ah've got to get back and warn mah CO. If you and Lt. Mallory want to strike out on foot, Ah'll take these two and try to bluff mah way back the way we came."

"Bluff your way…" The major gave a slight smile as she eyed the two Germans, still standing against the railing with their hands raise. "An excellent idea, Dunbar. At least we will know the way to go to find the good guys. Lt. Merwitz, tell the driver to take off his cartridge belt and tunic." The German officer glared at her but repeated the order. The driver complied while Doc kept the rifle trained on them.

The major next told Mallory to get the driver's bayonet. Once O'Dwyer had it, she paused for a moment as she thought through her plan, then she continued, "Lt. Merwitz, tell the driver we are going to tie him up and leave him on the far side of the bridge."

When Merwitz finished talking, she raised the Lugar and pointed it at him as she said, "Dunbar, you take care of that."

Doc handed the rifle to Mallory. He bound the driver's hands behind his back and marched him down the bridge to the far side where he finished tying him up. When he returned, Merwitz was sitting in the back seat of the jeep.

"Good, now Dunbar, put on the driver's tunic, helmet and cartridge belt. You'll drive. Lt. Mallory, you'll sit in the front seat," the major said.

Once Doc was dressed, O'Dwyer told him to take the rifle and cover the Kraut while she removed all of the bullets from the Lugar. Then she handed the empty weapon to the German officer and said, "Merwitz, you're going to pretend to have us covered with the Lugar. I'm going to be seated beside you with the bayonet. Lieutenant, I'm a trained surgical nurse. If you try anything funny, if you even twitch or raise an eyebrow, I'll know exactly where to stick the blade. And believe me when I say that I won't hesitate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Merwitz blanched, either from anger or from fright, but said nothing.

"Lieutenant, I want you to answer me so I know you understand what is going to happen if you so much as raise your little finger." The major spoke the words as if she had spent most of her career chewing up junior officers.

"Yes, I understand." Merwitz sullenly answered.

"Manners, Lieutenant, manners."

"Yes, Major, I understand."

When the jeep was loaded and they were ready to go, O'Dwyer again addressed the German. "Lieutenant, if anyone asks, you are returning to your unit to pick up a clean tunic. Do you understand?"

Merwitz glared at her and said, "Yes, Major, I understand."

"Good. Dunbar, let's go."

Doc tucked the rifle in between the driver's seat and the side of the jeep, started the engine and they headed back the way they had come. The major sat close to the lieutenant with the bayonet beneath her forearm, its point lightly pressed against his side. They passed through the German checkpoints without incident. When they reached the barn, formerly the site of the American aid station, Merwitz didn't deviate from the new script the major had given him. He explained that the American soldier who had been sitting on the back of the back seat had tragically fallen off and been killed. Doc kept his head bowed as this news was greeted with laughter and cheers. The lieutenant further stated that he had returned so he could scout ahead to be able to relay a more detailed report to his superiors.

A sergeant stepped forward, saluted, and from his gestures seemed to suggest that he and his men would accompany the lieutenant. The major pushed the tip of the bayonet forward ever so slightly and blood begin to trickle down Merwitz 's side. He gruffly rejected the offer and ordered the driver to proceed, an order which Doc gladly obeyed.

Nobody said a word as Doc continued to drive, following the same route he had traveled several hours ago. The only differences were that the sun was now low in the sky and, as they approached the spot where the ambulance had been parked, all was relatively quiet. Only occasional artillery fire in the distance gave any indication that the battle was not yet over. He continued to creep forward, steering the jeep around the shell craters, until he reached the collection area. Surprisingly, no wounded soldiers were waiting.

"Major, Ah'd best go on alone. Y'all can wait here. Ah'm sure Cpt. Jampel or one of the other officers will send someone back to escort y'all to safety," he said.

O'Dwyer agreed, but before he left, she had Doc remove the Nazi flag from the hood of the jeep and, with Lt. Mallory's help, tear it into strips which she and Mallory used to tie up Merwitz.

Once he was secured, Doc started walking rapidly across the first field. He couldn't get over how quiet it was. There were few sounds of the battle. Whether the Americans had successfully pushed the Krauts back or been overrun, it seemed strange that the battle had completely faded away.

But it hadn't faded away. New craters were spontaneously erupting; the shells were falling, but exploding without a sound. Or maybe there was just so much noise he couldn't distinguish one sound from another anymore.

Doc turned around to give his two companions a good-bye wave. As he raised his hand, the jeep, along with Maj. O'Dwyer and Lt. Mallory, was hit by a shell and suddenly disintegrated. "NO!" he shouted, but he couldn't even hear his own voice. It didn't matter. They had crossed the thin line between life and death. He had left them, thinking they would be safe, but forgetting that in this war there was no safe place.

He sadly turned away and continued walking across the field, but as he entered the second one, he was once again draw to the spot where Bobby and Cal had died. But the closer he got, the slower his progress. He was suddenly so tired; he could hardly lift his foot to take another step forward. He was close to the spot but couldn't go on without a rest. He dropped to his knees and then lay down.

And that was where a detail from Graves Registration found him the next day as they scoured the fields and forests searching for the fallen.

()()()()()()()()()()

The tired, dirty, unshaven sergeant, helmet tucked between his arm and his side and Thompson slung over his shoulder, had accompanied three wounded men, including Lt. Hanley, to Battalion Aid. As he walked toward the exit, a familiar voice came drifting out of a ward. When he scanned the crowed room, there, sitting on the side of a bed talking to a wounded GI, was Doc. Although the medic appeared unharmed, the words coming out of his mouth led Saunders to waylay the first physician to come out of the room.

"Doctor, the medic in this ward, how is he?" Saunders asked.

"Do you know him, Sergeant?" the doctor responded.

"Yes, Sir. He's assigned to my platoon. He's been missing for three days. He was helping to move some wounded men and when he didn't come back…well, we all assumed he'd been wounded or killed."

"He's been here for the last two days. A Graves Registration unit found him and brought him in. Physically, as you can see, he's fine. He's just…confused. A concussion will do that sometimes."

"A concussion?"

"That's what we assume. He was found in a field full of craters. We think he was knocked out by a shell blast. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

The two men moved from the busy hallway to a quiet corner.

()()()()()()()()()()

"SARGE! It's good to see you!" Doc exclaimed. But this was followed by a much more subdued, "So, they got you, too. Ah tried to get back to warn y'all but Ah just couldn't make it. What about the rest of the fellas? Are they all right? Did the Krauts get all of you?"

"We're all okay, Doc. The lieutenant got hit in the leg, but it's not serious. Third squad got chewed up a bit. Morgan was killed, but other than a couple of flesh wounds, everyone else is fine. We weren't able to close the gap with the 90th and the Krauts escaped. We've been rounding up stragglers for the last two days."

"No, the Krauts broke through. They must have hooked up with the ones behind the lines…"

"Doc, do you remember before we moved up, all the rumors that were flying around? How the Krauts had broken through at Pont de Milard and run over Dog an' Easy in the Third Battalion?"

"Yes…"

"Well, that's all they were, just rumors. We held all along the line. An' Doc, do you remember the story you told Billy about when you were a kid and your grandfather gave you some chewing tobacco?"

"Yes…"

"An' do you remember moving wounded soldiers back. You had to cross a couple of fields…" Doc nodded. "…an' there was a lot of shelling?" Doc nodded again. "Well, you got knocked out by one of those shells."

Saunders signaled the doctor to come closer. The medic immediately tensed up.

"Doc, this is Dr. Merwitz. He's an American doctor, not a Kraut. He thinks all the things you heard before we moved up an' all the things you heard when they brought you here to Battalion Aid have gotten jumbled up in you head."

The medic stared at him, trying to integrate what he was hearing from someone he trusted into what he had experienced.

"Pfc. Dunbar, when you arrived you were drifting in and out of consciousness. You heard names and snatches of conversations. I believe your mind combined those with what you heard right before your concussion and built a story around them," Dr. Merwitz said.

A confused and distressed Doc searched the two men's faces. "You mean it was all a dream? Bobby getting killed and the nurses, Lt. Mallory and Maj. O'Dwyer, none of that happened?"

Dr. Merwitz hesitated before quietly saying, "When the men from Graves Registration found you, there were two other soldiers and a medic in the same area. I don't know their names…"

Doc bowed his head and whispered, "Bobby…the medic's name was Bobby." When he raised his head, he seemed on the brink of tears. "And Lt. Mallory and Maj. O'Dwyer?"

The noise in the ward had gradually tapered as the wounded soldiers and nurses halted their own conversations and leaned in to hear the doctor and the sergeant talking to the medic. Now, the only sound was a squeaky cart passing in the hallway.

Again, Dr. Merwitz paused. Then he stated, "Three days ago, in the late afternoon, the major and the lieutenant were in a truck that was transporting supplies to set up another aid station." He drew in a deep breath before continuing. "The truck was hit and they were both killed."

There was a collective gasp from the ward audience followed by a babble of voices putting forth theories of how the medic could have known the names and fates of the two nurses.

"You okay, Doc?" Saunders quietly asked.

The medic didn't reply. He was thinking about the thin line he had momentarily crossed.

()()()()()()()()()()

()()()()()()()()()()

1. Although the first upright vacuum cleaner was invented in 1908 by James Spangler, it wasn't until William Henry Hoover (no relation to President Herbert Hoover or F.B.I. Director J. Edgar Hoover) purchased the patent and made a number of improvements that the cleaner began to be successful. By 1936, the Hoover Model 150 was the symbol of the modern machine age in America.

2. Doc's name, James Alvin Dunbar, is from "Gay Paree," a story previously posted by the author.