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.
Hope you've read and enjoyed A Trilogy. I wrote this next story several months ago, but now seemed an appropriate time to publish it. (It actually takes place before Stolen Identity.) Since I weave bits and pieces of other stories into it, it's helpful but not necessary if you've read Fireworks, The Gift, Stolen Identity and The Setup. Just like watching the TV episodes over and over, I feel that reading everyone's stories again and again can bring a better understanding of the meaning, and it always seems that you discover something different with each read. So join our squad now out on one of their 'easy' patrols.
NOT TODAY
CHAPTER 1
Saunders woke up on the wrong side of his bedroll. At least that's the way it seemed to his squad. He'd been in a foul mood all morning from the moment that he'd opened his eyes, and everyone was avoiding him as much as they possibly could as they prepared for another patrol.
"Littlejohn, do we really have to go back right away?" Billy asked anxiously.
"How long does it take to pick up ammo for everyone, Billy?" Littlejohn replied, holding up his haversack. "The patrol will be moving out in an hour. We have to go back sooner or later."
"Well…" Nelson hesitated. "I'd rather go back later than sooner. Can't you think of anything else that needs to be done? Sarge is sure a real bear today."
"Yeah," the big man agreed. "He almost took my head off this morning at breakfast. Told me that I was eating too much just before going out on patrol. I've never had a problem on patrol because I ate too much. He knows that."
Littlejohn looked around and then back towards their bivouac. "Tell you what. We're pretty much ready for the patrol. How about we swing by First platoon and see what they've been up to? Haven't seen some of 'em in awhile now."
Billy's face brightened. "Yeah, that's a great idea!"
They threw their knapsacks filled with ammo over their shoulders and headed off to eat up some time before they had to return to their bivouac. As they neared where First squad was camped, they veered off toward friendly faces.
Sitting by First squad's communal coffee pot were Caje and Kirby.
"Hey," Kirby laughed when he saw them approaching. "I see you're dodging the grizzly's jaws of death, too."
When Littlejohn and Billy sat down, Nelson asked, "Did Sarge go after you, too?"
Caje shook his head. "Nah, when we heard the Sarge chewing out Littlejohn this morning, we made ourselves scarce."
Kirby leaned forward, looking around. "We're no fools. Figured we'd hide out here until we have to get ready for the patrol. It's just checking that same sector again for stray krauts."
"Hopefully it'll be an easy one," Caje added.
"Coffee?" Kirby held up the large coffee pot. "I just made more. First squad said we could make ourselves at home. They'll be back soon."
Billy and Littlejohn both nodded and grabbed a spare mug from the cluster of mugs around the glowing embers.
As Kirby was pouring, a deep voice from behind them called out, "Hey, Shorty. Got a couple of cups left for us? Since it is our coffee."
Littlejohn laughed without turning around and shook his head. "That never gets old for you, does it, Newburg?"
He stood up and shook hands with the only man that he'd ever met who was taller than he was. Littlejohn was 6' 6" and Newburg topped out at 6' 7". Newburg's friend Jones came in at 6' 5".
Newburg laughed and smacked Littlejohn on the arm. "Never!"
"Where have you guys been?" Littlejohn asked. "We haven't seen First squad for awhile now. Thought maybe the krauts got you and shipped you all off to Berlin."
"Captain Jampel has had us out patrolling different sectors," Jones answered as he got both of them cups of coffee. "Haven't hit upon too many krauts though. Just a whole heck of a lot of walking."
"Hey, Jonesy," Kirby laughed, holding up his coffee cup. "That's why they call us foot soldiers."
Groans were followed by laughter around the dying embers. Jones poured Kirby more coffee.
"Seriously, guys," Newburg said, sitting down on a crate. "What brings all of you gentlemen here to our modest abode? They fumigating your bivouac?"
"Maybe they should," Kirby said under his breath.
"Kirby!" Caje frowned.
"Well, something's gotta clear the air there," Kirby replied defensively. "How the heck are we all gonna get through the patrol with Sarge chewing our heads off?"
"Sarge?" Newburg asked incredulously. "Sergeant Saunders?"
"Yeah," Kirby snorted. "Grizzly bear Saunders."
"C'mon, Kirby," Newburg replied skeptically, looking over at Jones. "Sergeant Saunders is the best. You know how we feel about him. That man can do no wrong in our book. He can be tough, but he's always fair."
Jones nodded in agreement. Both Newburg and Jones had once been unwitting pawns in a setup to put Saunders in the hospital. Fortunately they realized it just in time to prevent the plan from turning deadly. Saunders not only forgave them, but he refused to press charges against them. They felt that they owed him a huge debt that they could never repay.
Jones looked at Saunders' squad. "You don't need us telling you what kind of guy the Sarge is. If he's being a bear, then something's going on that he's just not talking about. You know that he's not one to gripe about stuff that's weighing him down. And he cuts you guys slack all the time."
Newburg agreed. "Yeah. Scuttlebutt even says that you slugged him once, Kirby. And I don't seem to remember him ever bringing you up on charges."
Kirby was uncomfortably silent and stared into his coffee mug. He finally replied, "We know all that, guys. But what can we do if he won't talk to us? I mean it. He's a real bear."
Newburg was thoughtful for a moment, and then he answered, "Try some patience. Cut him some slack. He's probably just got a lot on his mind. He'll work it out. He always does. He's the Sarge."
Everyone fell silent until Caje put down his cup, stood up and said, "We'd better get moving. Don't want to be late for patrol."
"Nuh uh, no way am I gonna be late!" Kirby said, jumping up and tossing the last of his coffee into a nearby bush.
The four soldiers said their goodbyes and made their way back to camp. As they approached their bivouac, they all stopped. Sitting by the cold, dead embers of their own coffee fire was the lone figure of their sergeant. With a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, he was cleaning his Thompson.
Kirby took a deep breath and let it out loudly and slowly. "Ok," he whispered anxiously. "…ready or not, here we come."
CHAPTER 2
Saunders had very little sleep the night before. When he first lay down, he fell into a soldier's nightmare, dreaming of Germans. He was walking in total blackness when a huge, fierce kraut loomed up out of the darkness with a gleaming, razor sharp bayonet. With one quick motion, the soldier drove the bayonet deep into the sergeant's heart.
Saunders had awakened with a start, sitting up straight with his heart pounding. He looked around in a panic. All was quiet. His men were sound asleep, snoring softly. No Germans. It was just a bad dream, but a very vivid one.
The sergeant sat for awhile, head resting on his knees as he tried to calm his still pounding heart. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and finally lay back down. Just a bad dream, he repeated to himself.
He soon slipped back into a restless sleep. It wasn't long before another monster of the night arose to consume his dreams. He was standing in a dense forest, all alone and defenseless.
Saunders could feel the dampness of the night air and his own sweat on his skin. He could smell the faint pine scent. He knew that there were Germans all around him in the blackness, but he couldn't see them. He couldn't do anything but stand and wait. Suddenly a bullet came from the darkness, sending him flying backwards. A head shot. Dead.
The sergeant sat bolt upright in his bedroll, gasping for air. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face. His palms were slick. He took a deep breath and held it. He couldn't remember ever having two nightmares in a row. Running his hands through his damp hair, he held them on both sides of his head tightly, as if trying to desperately hold his mind and sanity in.
Saunders took several more deep breaths. They were going on a patrol the next day, and he really needed the sleep. He was aching for a cigarette, but he knew that once he lit up he'd never get back to sleep. He tried clearing his mind. Just a bad dream, he tried to reassure himself. Finally, he shook it off and lay back down again, falling into an uncomfortably fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 3
…Saunders felt himself sliding forward toward an abyss. His stomach dropped as he was being pulled down, yet he was being tugged from both ends at the same time. His fear and panic were overwhelming as he continued to slide despite all his efforts. Huge wide eyes stared up at him from the dark abyss as he was drawn downward.
Slowly his dog tags were slipping out from under his shirt. They slipped free and hung swinging below his chin. Panicking, he could feel the chain sliding over the back of his head. With no hands free, the sergeant lifted his head as high as he could to prevent the chain and tags from slipping away.
Clawing at anything he could reach to try to stop his fall, he felt that somehow his hands were tied. His feet grabbed for some purchase…to no avail.
With a silent scream, Saunders watched his dog tags slip into the blackness below, and then the sergeant slid off after them into oblivion toward those huge, staring and terrifying eyes.
Saunders awoke in the middle of his silent scream. His chest heaved as he fought for air. His shirt was soaked. As his entire body trembled, his heart was jack hammering in his chest. He looked down at his shaking hands, and he realized that he had a fistful of dirt clamped tightly in each hand. He slowly opened his fists and watched as the dirt streamed to the ground.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he reached for his cigarettes. Pulling one out of the pack with his lips, he fished in his pants pocket for his lighter. It wasn't there. His heart rate rose quickly again as he searched every pocket frantically. Nothing. Saunders stood up and looked around on the ground, and then he lifted his bedroll and blanket and shook them. Nothing.
A wave of nausea washed over him and he had to fight to keep from yelling. This wasn't a dream. He was wide awake…and his lighter was gone. His mother's gift…his good luck piece…was gone. The sergeant sat on the rumpled bedroll and found matches in the pocket of his field jacket.
His hands were trembling so badly that he had to rest them on his knees so he could light his cigarette. He inhaled as if it was his last breath. With seemingly hundreds of thoughts and emotions warring in his brain, all that repeatedly bubbled to the surface was…this can't be happening.
Saunders' mind began to race. He'd certainly had nightmares before, but never anything like this. Never. One after another, and each one worse than the last. And they were just so shockingly vivid.
What was happening to him? he thought. Was he losing his mind? Was he going to end up going home with a Section 8? On top of it all, his lighter was gone. He drew deeply on his cigarette with a long shaky breath, and closed his eyes. He could still see those huge staring eyes. How could he ever forget them? And his tags were gone.
In a panic, Saunders reached into his shirt and pulled his dog tags out. Clenching them tightly in his fist, he felt a small bit of relief. Then he caught his breath. What if this was an omen? A prediction of the future? His future.
It was just so damn real. He felt every moment of it right down to his soul. The sergeant didn't really believe in omens, but…before the war he'd never believed in luck either.
As dawn broke, Saunders was sitting on his rumpled bedroll, lighting up his fifth cigarette. Still thinking. Too afraid to lie back down.
The sergeant was now thoroughly convinced that this would be his last patrol.
CHAPTER 4
Their sergeant seemed surprisingly quiet and subdued to the squad when they first entered camp. He looked up briefly as his men approached and started to silently gather their gear for the patrol. Then Saunders turned his attention back to his weapon.
Littlejohn passed out everyone's ammo, and then stopped as he stared into the bottom of the knapsack. He hesitated but finally looked over at his sergeant and said, "Sarge?"
Saunders stopped putting his Thompson back together and looked up, silently acknowledging the private.
Littlejohn continued, a little nervously, "You had me draw ammo for six of us, but we're only five. Who's the sixth man?"
The sergeant finished working on his weapon and smacked the magazine in. "He's a green recruit. Tim Jeffries. I got the paperwork on him last night. Should be here any moment. The truck pulled in with replacements a little while ago."
Saunders stood up, slung the Thompson over his shoulder and started putting extra mags into his jacket.
There was no further conversation as everyone finished getting themselves ready. The soldiers could almost see the gray cloud hanging over their sergeant as he sat back down and relaced his boots.
Each man knew that this was not going to be the usual patrol. They finished their tasks in silence.
CHAPTER 5
The gangly teenager loped toward First squad, holding onto his helmet. Breathlessly, he asked, "Am I too late?"
"For what?" Nelson asked.
"For the patrol. I was told to hurry up 'cause the squad was going on a patrol," the private replied, looking around at the soldiers.
The men looked at each other. Kirby smirked and answered, "We're still here, ain't we?"
The young recruit seemed confused until Saunders finally said, "You Jeffries?"
The private nodded. "Private Tim Jeffries, reporting for duty, Sir." He tried for an awkward salute while still holding onto all of his gear.
Saunders tossed his cigarette into the dead fire. Without even looking up at the soldier, he said flatly, "You don't salute a noncom, Jeffries. And you don't call me sir. They stop teaching that in basic?"
"Sorry," Jeffries apologized. "No, they taught that, but I'm just kinda nervous."
The sergeant turned to his men and pointed. "This here is Caje, Littlejohn, Kirby and Nelson." Each man made a slight wave in recognition as their names were called. "There's a few others, but they're not here right now, and they aren't coming with us."
The sergeant continued, "No time for you to settle in. We're heading out on that patrol. Might as well get your feet wet. Throw your gear anywhere for now."
Saunders looked at his men. "This may not seem like a rough patrol. We're just trying to root out the last of any stragglers in this sector. May not sound like much, but you need to stay alert. Solitary soldiers who haven't retreated or surrendered are hard core. Finding a few stray krauts in the entire sector is a lot harder than finding a platoon. And it's a lot more dangerous."
He paused, and added, "Take it seriously."
Take it seriously, Saunders thought. He'd taken it so seriously that he'd written final goodbye letters to his mother, sister Louise and his two brothers Chris and Joey. He'd also written one to his friend Syd Thomas, to Bette, and one to his friend and superior officer, Lieutenant Hanley.
He'd left them in his haversack with his other few personal possessions. The deep gut wrenching panic from the night before had finally passed, but the nagging fear still lingered. And now a deeper sadness was growing and spreading. His lighter was gone, and he had a sinking horrible feeling that his luck had run out and that his nightmares were going to become reality.
All of his hopes for his own future were fading. He straightened up. He still had a job to do, he thought. Flipping his Thompson off of his shoulder, he squared his shoulders and said, "Let's move out."
CHAPTER 6
The first hour was uneventful and quiet. No one was eager to speak, as their sergeant's mood had quickly set the tone for the patrol. Saunders was periodically sniping at them for little things. Walking too close together. Not paying enough attention to their surroundings. Talking too loudly.
The men reflected his mood and stayed quiet. A haze of gloom descended over the entire squad. Even Jeffries noted the subdued mood and kept quiet.
Caje was on point, followed by Littlejohn, Nelson and Kirby. Saunders had decided to bring up the rear right behind Jeffries. Keep an eye on the kid, he thought. Maybe he'll be one of the lucky ones who lives to have a future.
Caje and his sergeant had gone over the map carefully, and it had been decided that they would be very methodical. Saunders had divided the sector into smaller sections, and they would be clearing it section by section. Since Caje was on point, he carried the map.
As they reached each section, the men fanned out in a ragged line, going slowly through brush and around trees. Jeffries was straying farther and farther away from Kirby, leaving a growing gap between them. The sergeant was getting concerned that they could be missing someone hiding in the brush between the two soldiers.
Not wanting to call out to the private in the silence, Saunders started toward the young soldier to bring him back to a better position. But just as Jeffries stepped past a tree, the sergeant caught a flash of movement near the soldier.
Too close to use his Thompson, Saunders ran the short distance. There was no way that he could shoot without hitting Jeffries.
Reaching out, he grabbed the soldier's arm and yanked him away from the tree. The kraut's bayonet just missed the young soldier's chest, but now it was headed for Saunders.
In the sergeant's mind it was all moving in slow motion, but everything was actually happening very quickly. In such close quarters, he had no choice. He dropped the Thompson and grabbed the kraut's arm to fend off the knife. Managing to push the bayonet away from his chest, Saunders shouted as the blade slashed through his field jacket on his upper arm.
Ignoring the sudden pain, Saunders grabbed the soldier's throat with his injured arm and slammed the man into the tree. As the rest of the squad came running, the sergeant turned the bayonet and drove it into the soldier's chest. With a loud cry, the German slid down the tree to the ground, upright against the tree.
The men had come with weapons ready, but the whole fight was over within seconds. Saunders turned to check on Jeffries to be sure he was ok when he suddenly froze. His heart started to pound and unnatural waves of fear began to take over.
Saunders was looking straight into those huge, blank staring eyes of his nightmare.
CHAPTER 7
The sergeant stood and stared at Jeffries. The young recruit was obviously terrified. The very first German he comes across and he's almost killed by him. His eyes were wide with fear, still standing where his sergeant had pushed him. His knuckles were white as his hands gripped his rifle in a vice grip.
The two men looked into each other's eyes silently until Jeffries finally said, "Thanks, Sarge."
Saunders blinked several times and looked away from those eyes. He took a few shaky deep breaths to try to slow his heart rate.
"You ok, Jeffries?" he asked softly as he looked around at the surrounding area…anywhere except those eyes.
It felt like he was staring death in the face. Regaining some composure, Saunders said, "You need to stay close to the man next to you. They can slip through those gaps."
"Sarge?" Billy called out, holding up a German walkie-talkie.
Saunders looked at it grimly. "Where there's one kraut with that, there's probably more. Everyone stay alert. Let's keep going."
From behind him, Saunders heard Kirby say, "Sarge?" He turned to see the soldier pointing at the sergeant's arm. Saunders looked down at his field jacket sleeve, slashed and soaked in blood. He'd totally forgotten about it.
"Let me get a bandage on it," Kirby offered, pointing at a large rock for his sergeant to sit down.
"It'll be fine," Saunders replied numbly. He desperately just wanted to get the patrol over with.
"No, Sarge, it won't," Caje said in a firm and concerned voice. "It's still bleeding. You could pass out on us." He pointed to the rock as well.
The sergeant hesitated, but finally relented. He scooped up his Thompson and sat on the rock. Dropping his helmet by his feet, he propped the Thompson against the rock.
"Littlejohn, Billy," he called out. "Keep an eye out for krauts. You too, Jeffries. This shouldn't take long."
Kirby helped him slide his jacket and shirt off of his arm while Caje pulled out his sulfa and bandage.
The bayonet had sliced across his bicep, although it hadn't cut too deeply. The pain that had been numbed by the shock of seeing those eyes of his nightmare was reawakening. Saunders closed his eyes as Caje poured water on the wound from his canteen and took a closer look at it.
"Doesn't look too bad. Not deep at all," he confirmed. Saunders nodded silently.
When Caje finished, Kirby helped his sergeant get back into his shirt and field jacket. After tucking in his shirt, Saunders picked up his helmet and Thompson.
He glanced over at Jeffries, and he could feel the anxiety rising again. But he quickly forced it back down, smothering it with his call of duty.
"Let's move out."
CHAPTER 8
They resumed their search pattern, with Jeffries paying closer attention to where Kirby and their sergeant were on either side of him. Section after section was cleared with no sign of any other krauts. But after their last encounter, the tension was high and the men were hyper alert.
When they were almost through, Littlejohn asked tentatively, "Think we have time to eat something, Sarge? We can make it quick."
Saunders looked at his watch. He really wanted to keep moving and get back to the unit. Get the day over with and be lying on his bedroll. But they had been at it for most of the day, and he knew that the men were hungry.
He glanced around at the stand of trees that they'd been searching through. Good a spot as any, he thought.
"Grab something quick. With any luck we'll be back by dinner."
While everyone was busy opening cans, Saunders was staring blankly into the woods. He was trying to process the overwhelming feeling that he was living his nightmare. He was still having a difficult time looking at Jeffries. If the private glanced over at him, the sergeant quickly looked away.
Saunders rolled his shoulders and stood a little straighter. He needed to keep it together to get through this patrol…unless he wasn't going to get through it.
"Not hungry?" Billy asked, startling his sergeant out of his thoughts.
Nelson was standing in front of him holding out an opened can. "I've got some mystery meat here. You want it?"
Saunders shook his head. "Thanks." He didn't think anything would stay on his stomach at that point.
Nelson turned toward the other men and gave a slight shrug. They were all watching their sergeant as he leaned against a tree, staring out blankly. They knew that something was definitely wrong, and that it wasn't just the near miss with the kraut. But all that they could do was wait.
The soldiers nervously worked on finishing their food. Each man was impatient to have the patrol over.
"Another five minutes and we'll head out again to finish up. Just a couple more small sections and we'll be done," Saunders said as if reading their minds.
Going over to Caje, he said, "Let's see the map." Caje reached into his jacket, pulled the map out and spread it on the ground. As they both looked it over, Saunders pointed.
"We've cleared all this. Only these two sections left. But they're closest to kraut territory, so we need to be careful."
He looked up at all the other men. "Did everyone hear that?" All the men nodded in quiet response.
Kirby said, "Got it. Who's on point?"
"I'll go for these last sections," Saunders replied, thinking to himself that out front he wouldn't have to look at Jeffries.
"We'll fan out again and work just like before. Don't get too far apart from each other, and be thorough. Let's go." He folded the map and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
They headed out with Saunders on point. Kirby was behind him, followed by Littlejohn, Jeffries and Caje. Nelson was covering the rear.
The next section was small…but it was basically an open field. Seemingly the easiest to clear, it was also the most dangerous.
Saunders stopped and listened carefully for any movement or human sounds. Nothing but birds singing and insects humming. Scanning the surrounding area, he cautiously took a step out into the open field.
Instantly a shot rang out.
CHAPTER 9
Saunders' head snapped back and he slammed into a tree, and then dropped to the ground. All of the men hit the dirt. Littlejohn reach out and grabbed his sergeant's arm. Careful not to expose himself, he pulled the unconscious man back under the cover of the trees.
"Does anyone see him?" Caje asked nervously.
"Nothing," Billy answered.
"No," Kirby responded, squinting up at the treetops over the opposite side of the clearing. Scanning the area, his head suddenly swung back and he stared at one particular spot. He watched and waited until he saw a slight movement again, and a dark shadow of something in the trees. Something big.
He swung the BAR up and let loose a short burst. Branches were chewed up and the tree rustled violently as the sniper fell to the ground. The entire squad continued searching the area, unmoving, but the trees remained still and the birds began to sing again.
"Sarge," Caje said suddenly, and they all turned to the prone figure lying next to Littlejohn.
"Is he dead?" Jeffries asked hesitantly.
Littlejohn was on his knees next to his sergeant. "No, he's alive."
"Where's he hit? How bad?" Caje asked anxiously.
Littlejohn reached over Saunders and picked up the camo helmet. He held it out and stuck a finger through a hole in the very top of the helmet.
"Mon dieu," Caje whispered softly.
"Look," Littlejohn pointed at Saunders' head.
Kirby shook his head. "No…no. I can't."
"No, really, c'mere and look," Littlejohn said, still pointing.
The four other men slowly moved closer, not eager to see their sergeant's head wound.
"Look!" Littlejohn repeated, a little more forcefully. He reached out to the blond head and gently parted his hair down to his scalp. They could see a red, raw crease with just a few small drops of blood.
"Oh, wow," Billy declared with a huge sigh of relief. "It barely touched him."
"Geez," Kirby said softly as he leaned forward to look at it. "So why's he out cold?" he asked skeptically. "That wound couldn't have done that, could it?"
Littlejohn shook his head. "Nah. It's not even bleeding. I think he hit his head against the tree when he was knocked off his feet. Sure is out."
"So what do we do?" Billy asked. "He could be out for hours. Should we carry him back?"
"Then we won't be able to finish the patrol," Kirby replied with a snort. "Do you want to face him when he finally comes around and finds out that all of this was for nothing 'cause we didn't do our jobs?"
"Maybe some water," Caje suggested, agreeing with Kirby. He unclipped his canteen and opened it. "Kirby, give me your bandage. Billy, Jeffries, keep a look out. We don't need any more krauts sneaking up on us. The first one was probably a spotter for the sniper, but maybe not. Someone else could still be out there."
Kirby pulled out his bandage and ripped it open. He handed it over to the Cajun, who poured water on it and ran it across their sergeant's forehead.
After several minutes, Saunders' eyes slowly opened. He blinked a few times, staring blankly at the overhead branches. Suddenly he sat up with a start and, disoriented, began frantically searching for his
Thompson.
Caje and Kirby held him back. "Whoa, whoa, Sarge. It's ok," Caje assured him. "The kraut's dead. Kirby got him. Take it easy."
The two soldiers helped their sergeant to sit up and lean against the tree. Saunders reached up to feel the knot on his head where he'd hit the tree. "What happened?" he asked groggily.
Kirby reached over and grabbed the camo helmet, holding it out to him. The BAR man stuck his finger through the furrow at the very top of the helmet.
Wiggling his finger, he said, "Can't come any closer than this, Sarge. Your luck is flying as high as a kite. When we get back you should find yourself a crap game. You'll be a rich man."
Kirby smiled as he handed his sergeant the helmet. Saunders stared at it, reaching up to touch the stinging crease on the top of his head. Then fingering the hole in his helmet, he felt his pulse quicken.
He was trapped in his own worst nightmare.
CHAPTER 10
Saunders desperately wanted to be anywhere else except there. He was intensely confused. He knew that he had to hold himself together for the patrol, for his men…for his sanity. But his emotions were warring inside him, and he could barely think straight.
When they'd left that morning for the patrol, he had practically resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to return. Now he'd survived two thirds of his nightmares.
Were the fates taunting him? Toying with his life? But then he thought, Well, I guess it makes sense. In his nightmares he'd died three times. In reality he could only die once.
So the runaway freight train was still thundering down the tracks…straight toward him. It just hadn't arrived yet. He felt the resignation settling in and taking hold again.
But he remembered that he still had a job to do, and he wasn't one to leave things unfinished. He saw each of his men looking at him expectantly. He must be driving them crazy, he thought. That morning he'd been so rattled by his nightmares that he took it out on some of his men. Now, in spite of his erratic behavior and mood all day, there they were. Patiently waiting for him to pull himself together.
They were ready to do their jobs. First he had to do his job. He gingerly put his helmet on his head and stood up. Picking up his Thompson, Saunders looked at his men.
"Let's finish this."
As he stepped out slowly into the clearing and began to make his way to the trees across the pasture, his men fell in, fanning out as they each entered the clearing.
Kirby slipped a little closer to Caje and whispered, "Man, the Sarge sure is taking this well. Almost gets killed twice and he just brushes it off. Nerves of steel."
Caje nodded, "I'd be going crazy. But we're almost done. Hopefully we won't hit any more krauts."
The two soldiers fell silent as the men followed their sergeant to finish their patrol.
CHAPTER 11
The last of the smaller sections were cleared without any more German opposition. They'd completed their patrol, but Saunders wasn't about to relax. The day wasn't over yet, but a glimmer of hope was beginning to shine. Perhaps it had all been a coincidence. Just bad dreams from eating lousy Army food, and nothing more.
Soon he'd be back lying on his bedroll feeling foolish…But it had been so vivid. He'd never had nightmares so real. He could still recall it all, even now, as if he was right back in the middle of it again.
He tried shaking it all off. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, he thought. He'd just have to stay alert…and stay on this roller coaster to the end of the ride.
As they finished, Saunders could feel the tension in his gut beginning to fade. Even the squad's mood was a little lighter, once again reflecting the gradual change in their sergeant's mood. Knowing that they were in a kraut-free sector helped to put everyone more at ease.
For the first time during the entire patrol, they began to talk and joke. Jeffries was already starting to fit in, joking with Kirby and Billy. The kid was ok, Saunders thought. Without all the fear filling the young soldier's eyes, the sergeant could look at him again without having to turn away.
They broke from the woods, walking along a high ridge line, with only about a mile left to get back to their unit. With Caje on point, the sergeant was comfortable bringing up the rear, right behind Jeffries.
As they crested the ridge, Jeffries turned back to speak to his sergeant when he stumbled over a rock. Saunders ran forward to grab him, but he only caught air. Jeffries was sliding down the steep slope of the ridge, feet first and on his belly, toward the lip of the ravine. The young soldier grabbed at anything he could reach.
Just when he slipped over the edge, he managed to catch hold of an exposed tree root. Clinging desperately to the root, he screamed for help.
Without thinking, Saunders threw down his helmet and Thompson and started to follow Jeffries down, trying to control his descent. If he went slowly enough, he thought, he could stop himself at the bottom of the slope where there was a small ledge.
With boots sliding on the loose gravel, the sergeant reached the ledge and cautiously lay flat on his belly while hooking his right boot around a protruding tree root behind him. When he reached out to grab Jeffries' arms, the soldier let go of the root with one hand and latched onto one of Saunders' arms.
"Don't let go of that root, Jeffries," Saunders told him. "Hang on. I'll try to bring you up. Keep hold of that root."
As the sergeant was talking, the young man looked up at him. Saunders froze, and it seemed as if his heart had risen into his throat. He was staring once again into those huge eyes of his nightmare. They seemed to grow even larger the more he stared at them.
He looked away.
CHAPTER 12
Saunders had an almost overwhelming urge to let go…to send his nightmare crashing to the rocks below. But his heart reminded him that he was not clinging to a horrible monster that had sprung to life from the depths of his worst dreams. He was trying to save a young green recruit from a certain death.
Suddenly the root that Jeffries was clinging to with one hand started to pull loose, with dirt and rock sliding off of the edge as the root broke completely free from the earth. He let go and quickly grabbed his sergeant's other arm.
Now all of the young soldier's weight was being carried by the sergeant. Saunders instantly felt the weight and strain pulling at his shoulders and threatening to tear him loose from his already precarious foothold on his own root.
He immediately tensed his leg and foot to keep his boot entwined with the root, hoping that his root didn't suffer the same fate as Jeffries'.
"Sarge, help me!" the boy screamed.
Saunders was hanging on with everything he had. But he couldn't last too much longer. If he let go, he could save himself. But he knew that he'd never be able to live with it. He had to try to save the young soldier.
"Jeffries, listen. You need to pull yourself up. Climb up over me."
The terrified private was looking down below his dangling legs to the rocks below. Saunders was hanging half off of the edge himself, staring down at the same rocks.
"Jeffries, listen to me. Stop looking down. Tim…Tim."
When he got no response, he yelled, "Look at me!" To no avail. Finally the sergeant growled, "Private Jeffries, I gave you a direct order! Look…at…me!"
The private looked up.
"Good," Saunders said in silent relief. "Now keep looking at me. And listen. You've got to pull yourself up over me. And you need to do it now before I can't hold you any longer. You hear me, soldier?"
Jeffries nodded.
"Then do it, soldier. Now! That's an order!"
Slowly Jeffries reached up above Saunders' elbow and clung to his bicep. He dug his fingers in tightly and dragged himself up. When he repeated it with his other hand, pain shot through the sergeant's arm and up to his skull. Jeffries' fingers were digging into his knife wound, tearing it open again.
Saunders yelled, but kept his grip on the root with his boot. It was now the only thing keeping the two men alive. Jeffries reached higher, digging into the sergeant's armpits. Trying to block the pain, Saunders spread his arms wider and flexed his biceps to give the private better purchase.
The soldier's chest slid up to the back of the sergeant's head and neck, forcing his head downward. Saunders had no choice but to stare at the deadly rocks below. He could feel his dog tags slowly sliding out from under his shirt. He pressed his head upward against Jeffries to prevent the tags from moving any farther.
Jeffries was slowly working his way up Saunders' body, but the sergeant could feel that his right foot was weakening. It was carrying all of the weight for both men and feeling the intense strain. If his leg muscles cramped up, it would be over for them.
"Left leg up!" Saunders managed to yell.
Jeffries heard the order and obeyed, bending his left knee upward. Saunders caught the heel of the soldier's boot in his hand and tried to push. He didn't have enough leverage, but he could at least hold on and give Jeffries something to push against.
The sergeant tried not to look down as he took the man's boot heel in both hands and began pushing with everything he had. His right leg was beginning to tremble, and he knew that he couldn't do it much longer. Hopefully, he thought, the kid would make it before his own leg gave out and he plunged face first to the rocks below.
As his dog tags dangled against his chin, he screamed, "Move!"
When Saunders' knew his boot was slipping, he suddenly felt Jeffries' weight disappear. At first he panicked that the kid had somehow fallen, but he saw no broken body below. Heard no screams. The kid had made it.
Saunders' hands scrambled for purchase, but he could only grab loose dirt and rocks near the crumbling edge. It looked like that nightmare was going to come true. He had no way out of this.
CHAPTER 13
As his boot slipped free from the root, Saunders felt himself being prevented somehow from going over the edge. And then he realized that strong hands had him by the belt and were slowly dragging him backwards, away from oblivion. He quickly used his hands to help push himself farther from the edge.
When he felt himself completely on solid level ground, the sergeant rolled over to see Kirby sitting next to him with a mixture of worry and fear spread across his face.
Saunders lay on his back trying to ease the slamming of his heart against his chest. His right calf was cramping up in pain. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his temples into his damp, blond hair.
The sergeant stared up at the now darkening sky. The first star twinkled above him as the monsters of his nightmares faded into the gathering darkness. That roaring freight train had just passed him by, he thought wearily.
He reached to his chest to brush his hand reassuringly across his dog tags, and then slipped them back into his shirt.
"You ok, Sarge?" Kirby asked anxiously. Saunders could only give a half-hearted wave.
After a short while, Caje called down, "You both ok?"
Kirby looked up at the waiting soldiers above them. "Yeah, give us a minute."
Looking over at his sergeant, Kirby said, "Man that was close, Sarge. You were almost a goner."
As he listened to Jeffries throwing up nearby, Saunders closed his eyes and whispered to himself, "Not today."
CHAPTER 14
When it sounded like Jeffries was feeling a little better, Saunders rolled up onto his feet. He offered Kirby a hand, saying softly, "Thanks."
The BAR man gave a slight wave of acknowledgement and took his hand. Both men helped the young private to his feet. Finding a gentler slope back to the top, Kirby led the soldiers as they cautiously climbed off of the ledge and back up to the crest, with Saunders bringing up the rear.
Littlejohn offered each man a hand as they neared the top. When Saunders reached the crest, Littlejohn smiled and held his hand out. Saunders hesitated, returned the smile and then took his hand.
As the squad stood quietly for a moment, the sergeant looked down the slope to the edge of the ravine and the rocks below. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Sarge?" his thoughts were interrupted by Billy, who was holding out the sergeant's helmet and Thompson.
Saunders reached out and took the helmet. Quickly glancing at the top of his helmet, he slipped it on his head. Then accepting the Thompson, he looked it over, smacked the magazine and slung the weapon over his shoulder.
Looking over at Jeffries, the sergeant could see that the young soldier was pale and still obviously quite shaken. His eyes were still wide, but they didn't affect Saunders any more. The nightmare was over.
Jeffries was covered in dirt from his slide face down on the slope.
"You're a mess, soldier," Saunders said gruffly.
Everyone looked at each other expecting their sergeant to chew him out. As Jeffries began a stammered apology, Saunders put a hand on his shoulder.
"You look like a regular GI," he added with a smile, cuffing the young man lightly behind his head. "That was good work back there, soldier. You held it together, listened to me and followed orders."
Jeffries grinned and stood a little straighter. "Thanks, Sarge."
Saunders returned the smile. "Just next time watch where you put your feet."
As the other soldiers laughed in relief, Saunders said, "Ok, we're done here. Let's move out. Jeffries, take the point."
CHAPTER 15
After a cold shower, Saunders was feeling much better. He quickly examined all his various bruises. The kraut bayonet wound was still raw, but beginning to close up again. He could see and feel every spot and practically see the fingerprints where Jeffries' fingers had dug into his skin and muscles, desperately clinging to life.
The soreness was the sergeant's grim reminder of his own brush with death. Reaching into his knapsack for his only clean undershirt, he touched the small stack of letters that he'd written just that morning.
He pulled out the letter to his mother. It was one letter that he hoped that she would never have a chance to read. He started to throw it into the fire, but stopped. Staring at it for a moment, he finally tucked it back inside with the others.
As he slipped on his undershirt, Kirby came over and sat near the fire. "Second squad's getting a poker game started. I'm heading over there. Want to join? With your luck today, you're bound to clean up."
Putting on his shirt, the sergeant smiled and replied, "Maybe I'll come watch."
They walked together as he buttoned his shirt sleeves.
Tucking in the shirt, Saunders said, "Thanks for coming down to save my butt today, Kirby."
The BAR man knew that it had not come easy for his sergeant to say that. "Purely selfish reasons," Kirby answered with a big grin. "We've worked too hard breaking you in, Sarge. Wouldn't want to have to train a new NCO all over again."
Saunders laughed and shook his head as they neared the poker game.
"C'mon, Kirby. We're waiting to take your money," one soldier called out as he shuffled the cards.
Four crates were pushed together as their table, with four men seated around it. Kirby sat down, looking at the other men. "What's the game?"
The dealer answered as he continued to shuffle, "Five card draw." As the soldier began to deal the cards, a young private came running up to them.
"Hey, Sarge, I've been looking for you everywhere."
Saunders recognized the soldier as Lieutenant Hanley's radio man. "You found me. What's up, Waters?"
Reaching into his pocket, Waters replied, "Lieutenant Hanley sent me. You left this when you and the Lieutenant were going over the maps for the patrol. He said it was important that I make sure you get this back."
Saunders held out his hand and his heart jumped when he took his lighter back. Trying to keep his excitement out of his voice, he merely said, "Thanks."
The young private looked at him with undisguised curiosity. But when the sergeant offered no explanation, he gave a slight wave and left.
As Saunders ran his thumb over the U.S. Army emblem on his lighter, one of the poker players called out, "Hey, Sarge. Room for one more. C'mon."
The sergeant started to shake his head, but stopped. He slipped his lighter into his shirt pocket with his cigarettes and smiled. Stepping to their table, he pulled an extra crate over. As he sat down, Kirby got up and dropped his cards on the table.
The dealer looked up at him. "Kirby, where ya going?"
"I'm out. I know when to fold," he smiled, looking at his sergeant.
The four men looked back and forth between the two as the dealer shook his head and began to deal again. He glanced up at the NCO while continuing to deal the table.
"Heard you just about bought the big one a few times out there today, Sarge."
Saunders picked up his cards and fanned them out. Keeping his best straight poker face, he rearranged his cards so his aces and kings were together. Taking his cigarettes and lighter from his shirt pocket and laying them on the table, he touched his lighter briefly.
"Not today…not today."
THE END
