Found
He woke with a start. He was surrounded by men. Americans, he thought, but wasn't sure. He knew he was feverish, maybe even delirious. He stared up at them but said nothing. Too much trouble, and after that last encounter with a group of men. Well, best say nothing. So, when they asked questions, he remained mute. He heard, but the effort to understand was more than he could spend. He only moaned when they moved him to work on his wounds. When someone handled him a bit roughly as they started to tend his wounds, he groaned. It still hurt so much, but then, he became light-headed.
Pain receded. He felt detached and remote from everything, as if he was watching the soldiers patch someone else up. He heard conversations, but the sounds made no sense. He could feel his head rest against the pillow of a soldier's lap as they worked on his wounds. He could feel, but it seemed so distant. When a soldier put something in his hand, and made a motion to eat, it was too hard, too much effort to lift his arm. They put it to his lips to encourage him to open his mouth and eat, but he just turned his head away. Only when he was offered a drink of water from a canteen, could he force his lips open and sip a bit. Even that took more effort than he had energy.
Far away he heard the rumble of a voice and tried to listen. He didn't understand a word. Faint surprise as he felt himself lifted and manipulated between two. Two? His mind searched for the word. Soldiers, he practically saw that word floating in front of his eyes.
Someone is talking to me. Focus. The squad's sergeant spoke slowly and directly to him. He tried to concentrate, rather unsuccessfully it seemed, on each word, but nothing made sense. Still, he tried to at least stay awake. "Soldier, two of my men are going to take you back to an aid station. It's a pretty good hike, more than three miles, but we need to get you some real help. They'll walk you back. I can't spare enough men to carry you in a litter. Sorry." The sergeant sighed. He didn't think the soldier comprehended what he'd just said. Then to the two that would help him back, "Good luck. Don't waste a lot of time getting there. He looks like he doesn't have much of it left. We'll be in this sector for a few more hours. When you drop him off, just go back home and wait for us. If there's hot chow there, you might as well take advantage of it first." "And," he said, looking at one of the two soldiers, "you need to translate what I said, in case he is a German."
The sergeant thought he'd picked the perfect men for the job. Both sturdy young men, that though new to the front, knew how to handle themselves. Neither were city slickers. They were good in the field, knew how to read terrain and were alert to non-natural noises. They'd hunted, knew how to track, hide, be still, and be patient. They were careful with their words, and didn't talk about missions after the fact. He figured they wouldn't gossip about this one either. They got along well together. And they cared. They wouldn't abandon this soldier, regardless of friend or foe, not because he'd ordered them to, but because it was the right thing to do. They'd get him back safely.
"Alright. Saddle up."
With those last few words, the NCO sent the trio on their way.
The soldier, with his two escorts, stumbled away. With what part of his brain that still thought, he hoped they were headed home. He didn't need another diversion, away from completing his mission. At least he was with brother soldiers, men who knew war, who would care, who would somehow get word back to his family regardless of which side he was headed for.
Once in motion, the pain would come back, sometimes tolerable, but often nearly blinding. Just keep going, one foot in front of the other, with lots of assistance from his human crutches. Thankfully for the soldier, he made most of the journey unaware.