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.
I have to admit that it is harder to write for the entire squad than it is for just Saunders and a couple of other characters. It's much harder to give them all meaningful roles. But some stories require everyone to be there. This was one of them. Hope you enjoy. Please consider writing a review at the end. It really helps. Thanks, as always to my veteran live-in critic, and to kirbysbabe. So glad you are on the mend, lady! Get better soon.
FIREWORKS
CHAPTER 1
A single bead of sweat gathered between his eyes, and slowly rolled down until it clung to the tip of his nose and finally fell to the dry grass at his feet. Saunders' brain barely registered it as he scanned the terrain. It was the hottest day he could remember since North Africa. His squad was clustered around the trunk of a single tree, desperately seeking its shade. He had an almost full squad, so they were having difficulty all finding a cooler spot under one tree.
"Billy," Saunders said, looking over at Nelson. "Not too much. We have a ways to go, and it's not going to get any cooler."
Billy stopped mid-drink and brought the canteen down, and capped it. "Sorry, wasn't thinking about it, since we don't know where we're going. How much longer do we have to go to get to wherever we're going?"
Saunders pulled a soggy map from his jacket and said to everyone, "Don't get too comfortable. We're only here for five." He ignored Nelson's question. He'd been ignoring all of their questions for several hours now. But the brass had given strict orders. No one was to know anything, except those who needed to know.
And Saunders had needed to know. He had been in long, secret meetings with more brass than he'd seen in years. Information and orders had come at him from every direction possible. He definitely needed to know. His life and that of his men were all on the line.
But his men had to be kept in the dark. He just had to expect his men to have faith in him. But he was expecting them to trust him with their lives, and that was a heavy weight to bear. The brass may have ordered Saunders to keep his mission quiet, he thought, but they couldn't make him like it. His men deserved to know. He sighed and wiped his forehead with his already sweat-stained sleeve.
He did understand their reasoning, however hard it was for him to swallow. The fewer people who knew anything, the less chance of the krauts getting hold of the information. He looked at the map for what seemed like the hundredth time. They really only had a few more miles left to go, but he couldn't even tell his men that. He had to keep them in the dark. Any small piece of information given up to the krauts could be devastating.
The men were hot and tired, and definitely on edge. The uncertainty of their destination and mission was wearing on their nerves. It didn't help that they'd gone through three small skirmishes in the last two and a half hours. Although his squad had suffered no casualties, he was still worried. Their ammo was running dangerously low. And they were leaving a trail of dead krauts behind them…a trail that led right back to them.
Saunders stood and slowly turned in a circle, scanning the surroundings again. And here we sit in the wide open spaces with one lone tree for cover, he thought. He was willing to bet that most of the sweat soaking his shirt and jacket had nothing to do with the heat.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve again, and ran both hands through his damp and dirty hair. Then he reached down for his helmet.
"Saddle up," he called out to his men. He placed his helmet on his head, and swung his Thompson up into his hands. Sliding the soggy map back into his field jacket, he waved the men forward.
"Caje…point. Head for that tree on the next rise," Saunders motioned forward. "Kirby, rear. Ten feet, everyone." The squad started out once again, trailing ten feet apart behind Caje, fanning out as they walked.
After a couple of minutes, Kirby called out, "Hey, Sarge, when are we gonna find out what the heck we're doing out here? My dogs are barkin'."
Without turning around, Saunders said, "Just keep walking and watch our six. I'll worry about where we're going." His eyes were in constant motion. Just a couple more miles, and they'd be free and clear.
Caje had jogged ahead, and had just reached the small tree topping the rise. The sergeant saw him suddenly stop and freeze, with his Garand held away from his side. Saunders instantly started running past his men, moving forward and motioning for them to stop and get down. His eyes never left the Cajun as he ran to within twenty yards of the man. Caje still hadn't moved. Saunders' adrenalin was pumping as he tightened his grip on the Thompson.
A movement made him swivel, Thompson up and ready. Krauts. Slowly, along the rise, German helmets appeared, one after another.
"Sarge!" Littlejohn yelled. But Saunders held his fist up in the air, never taking his eyes off of the growing line of Germans.
Brockmeyer said in awe, "There's gotta be a whole platoon."
A voice split the quiet. "Surrender, Sergeant. We have your man, here. And if you choose to fight, none of you will survive."
The sergeant turned slightly to look at his men, fanned out and kneeling in the open field. All eyes were on him. He looked into each man's face. Brockmeyer, Littlejohn, Nelson. Kirby, Doc, Johnson. Dunlop, Steller, and Monahan. Each man trusting him to make the decision. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders.
To fight would be guaranteed suicide, especially being out in the open and with their depleted ammo. But to surrender would mean captivity and interrogation. He'd been down that road before and it wasn't pleasant. Not at all. But he saw no alternative. He'd just have to alter his plans and hope he could get the krauts to cooperate. He dropped his Thompson by his feet and slowly raised his hands.
CHAPTER 2
Having been stripped of all their weapons and possessions, the men were walking in two rows with half the German platoon in front of them, and the other half behind. Brockmeyer was walking just ahead of Saunders. The sergeant called out softly, "Brockmeyer, keep your mouth shut. Got me?"
"Sei ruhig!" a nearby kraut yelled, and jabbed Saunders with his rifle barrel.
But ahead of him, he saw Brockmeyer nod his head and give the thumbs up sign as his arms hung by his side. Saunders' mind was racing. Thinking of the means for escape. Formulating plans and reformulating plans. And working on ways to keep both his men and his information safe. Through all of this, he was still figuring on a way to complete his mission.
After less than a mile, the open terrain gave way to stands of trees, and finally, a farmhouse came into view. Drawing nearer, the men were directed into a small open corral. As Saunders started into the pen, one of the krauts placed his rifle against the sergeant's chest and said, "Nein."
He jerked his head toward the farmhouse. Turning, Saunders made his way to the front steps, his eyes constantly moving, taking in their situation and looking for possibilities. He hesitated at the bottom of the steps until the guard jabbed his back again with the barrel. "Gehen Sie!"
Saunders went up and placed his hand on the doorknob. His heart began to pound. He'd been a guest of the krauts before, and the memories still haunted him. He straightened his back, forced a blank expression on his face, and opened the door.
A lieutenant sat at a kitchen table with maps and papers spread out over every inch of its surface. He spoke to a soldier standing next to him, and the soldier said, "Oberleutnant Fuchs asks you to sit down."
Wordlessly, Saunders walked to the empty chair in front of the table and sat down. There was a brief silence as the lieutenant stared at Saunders, sizing up his enemy.
The two Germans conversed again, with the lieutenant occasionally raising his voice and making angry gestures. Saunders sat quietly and watched the two men.
When their conversation stopped, the soldier said, "My lieutenant wants to know why you are in this area. We have no intelligence concerning any American activity here. He says, the sooner you tell him, the sooner all of you can be shipped to a camp where you will receive food and water and be treated well."
Saunders stared into the eyes of the lieutenant and, after a moment, said, "Saunders. Sergeant. 227 06 22."
The lieutenant gave a loud, angry growl and spoke to one of the two guards on either side of the sergeant. One of the soldiers struck Saunders on the shoulder with his rifle butt, and the sergeant let out a cry of surprise and pain.
"Kommen Sie!" the kraut shouted, and Saunders slowly stood up, holding his injured shoulder. Bending over slightly from the pain, he walked back to the corral. Doc, seeing how his sergeant was walking, pushed through the other men to get to him.
"Let me look at it, Sarge," Doc said, reaching for the man's shoulder.
"It'll be ok. I've had worse," he replied, rubbing the arm. "Brockmeyer!"
CHAPTER 3
Brockmeyer hurried over and stood next to Saunders, who was now leaning on the railing at the front of the corral.
"Did you hear anything?" the Sarge asked, flexing his shoulder.
Brockmeyer nodded, looking around to be sure no krauts were listening nearby. "They're definitely a full platoon. It seems they're waiting here to meet up with a second platoon. Haven't heard why yet, though. So looks like we're going to have lots of company soon. They talked about small patrols they'd sent out earlier. Guess those were the ones we ran into."
Just then a guard came over to them and poked his rifle at them. Brockmeyer and Doc moved away, but Saunders stood his ground, staring at the kraut. As the German held up his rifle, Saunders caught sight of his watch. It was Saunders' watch, which had been taken from him when they were first captured. Saunders studied the soldier. He was big, square jawed, with dull blue eyes and close cropped hair. There was what looked like a knife scar running from his temple down to his jaw line. I'll remember you, kraut, Saunders thought.
The two enemies continued to stare at each other until finally the German smirked, turned and walked away. Saunders continued to watch him, unblinking, as the German went to the far corner of the corral.
The sergeant closed his eyes. He had a mission to complete and his men to protect. He had to keep his head straight and focused, but his mind was just too full.
His thoughts were rolling like tumble weeds in the wind, banging against each other as they rolled. As his mind wandered, this briefly conjured up memories of sitting by the radio, listening to tales of the Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger, he smiled. But his current problems quickly intruded, and his thoughts tumbled on. Far too much for one man to deal with. His mission. The krauts. His men. Escape. And keeping his information safe and away from the Germans. It felt as if he was standing on the outer edge of a vortex, desperately trying to deal with each thought and idea as they all tumbled by.
Just as some thoughts seemed to be coming clearer to him, a deep voice broke through. His thoughts faded back into the mists of his mind. He turned. "What was that, Littlejohn?"
"I asked what we're going to do now, Sarge. Any ideas?" Littlejohn asked.
"I'm working on it. Trust me," Saunders replied.
"I do, Sarge. We all do." Littlejohn nodded and went back to the rest of the men.
The sergeant watched as the big man walked away. I hope so, he thought. I certainly hope so.
CHAPTER 4
Saunders had his arms resting on the top rail of the corral. He lowered his head to rest his chin on his fists. Very slowly, ideas were coming together, like pieces of a puzzle. He watched as the afternoon waned. Sunset was late this time of year. Yet it was still brutally hot. He wiped the sweat from his eyes. Looking at his wrist, he realized once again that his watch was on the wrist of the German.
Without lifting his head, he looked over at the German, and he could see his watch on the soldier's wrist. The sergeant stood up straight, and gingerly flexed his sore shoulder. Slowly and casually, he made his way over towards the guard. As he neared, he leaned on the top of the railing again, head on his arms. He glanced sideways with the guard eyeing him warily.
But Saunders caught a glimpse of the time. 1530 hours. A plan was beginning to come together. Hopefully he could get all of them out of there, and he could still complete the mission. Now he just needed to figure out how to set it all into motion. He didn't like any of the options before him.
The farmhouse door opened and the lieutenant and his aide came out, walking straight towards Saunders. The sergeant wiped the sweat from his face and stood straighter. His squad began to gather along the fence around him.
No one spoke for a long moment. Then the aide said, "Sergeant, my lieutenant needs your information now. What is your purpose for being in this area?"
When Saunders gave no reply, the lieutenant and his aide stepped back a few paces and began an intense conversation. The sergeant caught Brockmeyer's eye and jerked his head to call him over. Brockmeyer came closer until he was standing right next to his sergeant.
As he listened, he began to whisper. "They're supposed to leave here to meet up with another platoon soon. But he hasn't said what for yet. The lieutenant wants to know what we're up to, so he can decide if they should divert from their planned mission to go wherever we were going. He figures if we're so deep into German territory, we must be on an important mission. He's hoping any information he gets from you will lead him to a lot of Americans. He's figuring he can set up a trap. He's even talking about a third platoon somewhere, but I don't know where."
Brockmeyer stopped for a second. "Sarge…he said he's prepared to kill all of us if it gets him the information."
"I'll bet he is," Saunders agreed, wiping an arm across his sweaty face. He could see that it was all about to be set into motion, and his gut was wrenching. He felt like he'd just stepped onto a speeding train that was on the verge of running totally out of control. There was only so much he could do to maintain control. The rest was up to the fates.
CHAPTER 5
The two Germans turned and came back to stand in front of Saunders again. The lieutenant spoke to one of the guards, who then opened the corral gate slightly and motioned for the sergeant to come out. Slowly, Saunders made his way out of the gate, wiping his sweating palms on his thighs.
His heart began to pound furiously in his chest, but outwardly he remained impassive. As he reached the lieutenant, he turned to look into the eyes of each of his men, lined up along the railing. They were trusting him to make the decisions. He had made a decision, but it was out of his hands as to how it would all play out.
Suddenly, almost simultaneously, the lieutenant yelled a command, Brockmeyer screamed, "Sarge!", and the guard with the scar fired his rifle point blank at the center of Dunlop's chest. Dunlop flew backwards and landed hard in the dirt.
The squad all yelled and backed up, with the exception of Doc, who ran to kneel down next to Dunlop.
An anxious hush fell over the men. Doc looked at his sergeant and said, "He's dead, Sarge."
Saunders' face remained impassive, but his hands became clenched fists by his sides, knuckles turning white. His eyes remained on Dunlop's lifeless body. More Germans began to gather around the sergeant in anticipation, as the lieutenant spoke to them.
"Sergeant, we will kill each man until you tell us. Or we will just kill you and get the information out of one of your men. We are certain that once you are dead, the others will be more than willing to talk. The lieutenant must know why you're here. Now! What is your mission?" the aide demanded.
All was silent once again. When Saunders remained unmoving, staring at his soldier's body without responding, the two Germans began to talk quietly again. Then the lieutenant barked another command. As Brockmeyer screamed, "Kirby!", the guard on the other end of the corral suddenly reached out and grabbed Kirby. He dragged him half over the fence, with an arm around his neck. Pulling him tight against the railing, he drew his bayonet and held it against the BAR man's neck.
"No!" Saunders screamed instinctively, as he started towards the German. Arms grabbed at him, and he fought with all his strength. But slowly he was taken down by four soldiers, dropped onto his back, and pinned to the dirt. He continued to struggle, teeth and fists clenched tightly.
The sergeant suddenly stopped fighting and lay quietly in the dirt. He closed his eyes, trying to hide his pain. It was supposed to be him, not his men. He had known that this was always a possibility, but now it was his reality. It was a consequence of his plan that he'd have to live with for the rest of his life…if he lived. He desperately needed it to be him. That, he could handle. How he hated this war.
Long moments passed in deadly silence as Saunders, eyes still closed, remained unmoving in the dirt.
CHAPTER 6
The lieutenant finally held his hand up. The soldier still held his arm tightly around Kirby's neck, but he lowered his bayonet. Kirby's eyes were wide, his hands wrapped around the kraut's arm. He said anxiously, "Sarge?"
The German officer was becoming angrier. It was obvious to anyone there, on both sides, that the American sergeant was not going to break, no matter how many of his men died.
The lieutenant smiled and spoke to one of the soldiers who was holding Saunders down. The man grabbed the sergeant roughly and pulled him to his knees. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his bayonet. Taking a handful of Saunders' hair, he yanked his head back and lay the bayonet against his throat.
Inwardly, the sergeant was both terrified and grateful. He'd finally taken the pressure off of his men. Now it was on him. He looked over at Kirby and tried to somehow reassure him. But he only saw terror in the private's eyes.
The knife slid lightly under his chin, and a thin line of blood formed, with tiny rivulets of red making their way slowly down his neck.
It was now or never, he thought.
"Wait!" he called out. The knife was lowered.
"If I talk, will you let us live?"
As the aide translated, the lieutenant smiled and motioned to Kirby's captor. The soldier released the American, and Kirby quickly stepped back away from the railing as he rubbed his neck. Doc went over to him to be sure that he wasn't hurt. The soldier holding the bayonet to Saunders' throat released him as well.
The sergeant remained kneeling, looking from Kirby to Dunlop's still body. Rivulets of blood trickled down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his throat, then spilling over onto his chest and shirt.
"Of course, sergeant," the aide answered. "We have nothing to gain by killing any of you if you tell us what we want to know."
Saunders closed his eyes and said softly, "Alright. Just don't hurt any of us anymore."
CHAPTER 7
Saunders sat back in the dirt. Avoiding the eyes of his men, he rested his elbows on his knees, hung his head down, and locked his hands behind his neck. He remained this way until two soldiers grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet.
The lieutenant spoke briefly with his aide, then the young soldier produced Saunders' still soggy map. He unfolded it and held it out to the sergeant. "The information."
Saunders looked at the map, wiped his eyes, and slowly pointed. "There's a full company moving into this valley tonight at 1930 hours," he said, barely above a whisper.
The aide translated the information, and the lieutenant laughed out loud and clapped his aide on the shoulder. He looked at his watch, and started giving orders. Men began to scramble. One soldier grabbed Saunders' arm and pulled him roughly back to the corral. He opened the gate and pushed the sergeant in, as the rest of his squad parted and drew away from him. The corral was deathly quiet until Saunders finally said, "Doc, get Dunlop's tag."
Doc nodded and went over to kneel next to the dead soldier.
Saunders went over to the railing, observing the krauts' movements. They were all making preparations and talking excitedly.
"Brockmeyer," the sergeant called out.
Brockmeyer looked at the other men and hesitated.
"Brockmeyer!" Saunders loudly commanded again, never once taking his eyes off of the German activity.
Brockmeyer hurried to his sergeant's side.
"What are they saying? Everything. What do you hear?" Saunders demanded, eyes constantly scanning the krauts' movements.
Brockmeyer was quiet, listening, and then he began, "The group over there is talking about everyone going to meet up with the second platoon. The lieutenant is going inside to see if he can call in a third platoon to reinforce their position once they get to the valley. He's worried about taking on an entire company, even if they are surprising them in a trap. The group by the barn is gathering all their munitions. Everything. The group breaking down camp over there is talking about setting up the trap for the Americans. Lots of mortars. They plan to get there ahead of time to dig in and wait."
He looked anxiously at his sergeant. "Sarge, our company will walk into a trap. It'll be a slaughter."
Without answering, the sergeant moved to the corner of the corral, watching the Germans intently. He turned and went back to Brockmeyer. "Anyone talking about us?"
The private returned to listening. After awhile, he shook his head, but then said, "Wait." He was quiet again. "They're assigning two men to remain here to guard us. The rest are heading out now."
Saunders' hand clamped into a fist and he banged it on the top railing. Just two men, he thought. Perfect. They had a chance.
"Get the men together. We need to talk while the krauts are all busy," he said, still not taking his eyes away from all the activity.
Brockmeyer looked at his sergeant for a long moment, and then went over to bring the men together. When Saunders turned to them, he saw that all eyes were on him. He saw their pain. The sense of betrayal. He could see all of it in their eyes. The pain and anger.
Saunders' heart ached, but there was no time for discussion. And there was little that he could tell them yet anyway.
CHAPTER 8
"We have a chance to get out of here, but I need help," he said, looking at his men.
"You gave up our men. A whole company!" Caje said angrily.
"How could you do that, Sarge?" Billy asked, with a look filled with hurt and disappointment.
"How can we trust anything you say?" Monahan yelled. "You'd give up your own mother to save yourself."
Doc grabbed Monahan's arm. "You don't know the Sarge well enough to say that. He did it to save Kirby, not himself."
Monahan snorted. "Yeah, right. He saved his own neck."
The men continued to grumble, and slowly backed away from their sergeant.
The NCO stepped towards them. "Do you want to get out of here or not? I need help! I can't do this alone."
Kirby took a step towards him defiantly, with all the pain and sense of betrayal written on his face. "You turned your back on an entire company. Our company. A couple hundred GI's. Guys we know."
Saunders was losing his men. He'd never had his squad purposely disobey him. Ignore him. He leaned on the railing and watched as the Germans began to form up.
They were fast running out of time, and he didn't even have a watch to keep track of it. He felt his anger rising towards his men and he wanted to lash out. But he knew he couldn't blame them after what they had witnessed.
The two guards being left to watch over the prisoners came over to the corral. They were wary of all the obvious arguments and shouting among the American soldiers, but they had no idea what they were fighting about. Finally, the soldiers were quiet, but the guards could still feel the tension and anger in the corral.
Saunders stood at the fence, banging the railing with his fist in frustration. He never felt so alone. When he first put his plan together, he knew that this would probably happen. But he didn't know that it would hurt this badly.
Then the sergeant stood straight and steeled himself. Whether they liked it or not, hated him or not, he had a mission to complete. And he was going to save his men.
He went over to Littlejohn, grabbed his arm and motioned with his head. The big man followed Saunders to a corner of the corral, away from the others. He looked back at the rest of the squad, who were all staring at him.
"Littlejohn, you said before that you trust me. Do you still trust me?" Saunders asked earnestly.
Littlejohn hesitated, then nodded, "Yeah, Sarge, I do. I don't know why you did it, but you must have had a reason. You'd never give up anyone to save your own skin."
Saunders clapped Littlejohn on the arm and gave him a grim smile. "We need to get out of here fast. And I need your help."
CHAPTER 9
As the two men were talking, the German platoon slowly made its way out of the farm and down the dirt road, kicking up a trail of dust around them.
When Littlejohn and his sergeant were finished talking, they parted. Littlejohn stopped and looked back at Saunders. "How will I know, Sarge?"
Saunders smiled, "You'll know, Littlejohn, you'll know. Just keep watching me."
As the platoon disappeared, leaving a faint cloud of dust in the air, Saunders eyed the two remaining guards. They were alert and watching their prisoners carefully. The sergeant couldn't wait until they began to let their guard down. They were running out of time. It had to be close to 1630 hours by now. How he wished he had that watch. He caught Doc's eye, and motioned for him to come over to the railing. Doc looked at the other men, and finally went to his sergeant's side. Saunders watched Littlejohn as the big man casually made his way closer to the second kraut.
"Doc, I need to be sick," Saunders said quietly.
"What?" the medic asked quizzically. "I don't get it."
"I need to seem sick. For real. Can't look like I'm faking it. I've only got one shot at this. What do I do?" the sergeant looked at him expectantly.
Doc realized what he was asking, and thought for a moment. Looking at the beads of sweat on his sergeant's forehead, he answered, "Well, it's still really hot out here. You could go with heat stroke."
"What do I need to do?" Saunders asked with a touch of excitement. It just might work.
Doc thought again. "You'd be nauseous, have a bad headache, maybe confused or angry. You'd definitely have labored breathing, sweating, and a pounding heart rate."
Saunders nodded and thought for a long moment. Then he decided. "I'm going to go for it. Can you help me?"
Doc looked at his sergeant. "Not sure exactly what I can do, but I'll try."
The NCO answered, "Try to help me make it look real. And try to draw the kraut closer to me. He's going to be wary, but somehow we need to get him to come over. I need him close."
Doc nodded and stepped back with the other men. Saunders began to pace, catching the eye of the nearby scar faced kraut. Suddenly, he became very still, leaning heavily on the top railing. He jerked both hands to his head and gave a sharp, painful yell.
Both guards became alert and watched him carefully as their hands tensed on their weapons. The American sergeant began to breathe rapidly, raggedly and loudly. After a few moments, he began to talk in whispers, softly at first, then growing louder and more agitated, as if arguing with an unseen opponent. His arm went to his stomach in what looked like tremendous pain, as he barely hung onto the railing. Saunders didn't have to fake the sweat, or the pounding heart that was threatening to tear itself free from his chest.
If this didn't work, there was no plan B. The closest kraut continued to eye him cautiously, but kept his distance.
Realizing the situation, Doc came rushing over as Saunders' breathing became even more uneven and labored. "Help him!" he shouted to the guard. "He needs water, and he has to get out of the sun. He needs to lie down. Now!"
The German remained at a wary distance, uncomprehending. It didn't look like it was going to work, Saunders thought. The kraut just didn't understand. He hadn't thought about that.
Brockmeyer watched the scene unfold from among the group of men, who were gathered near the back fence. Not knowing if his sergeant was truly ill, or just faking, Brockmeyer took no chances. Either way, it was obvious that Saunders needed help. He suddenly stepped forward and yelled, "Die Sonne…Wasser…Heiß!"
Saunders almost cried out in appreciation to his two men. He wasn't alone. The NCO continued his charade with renewed fervor. He was going to make this work.
Now, the German understood. The prisoners had been out in the sun all day. But what should he do? He didn't want to help the American, but what if the soldier died? How could he explain that to his lieutenant? He wavered a bit more, then finally slung his rifle over his shoulder and yelled to the other guard. The second soldier nodded and stood straighter, more alert for any trouble.
The scar faced kraut removed his canteen, and opened it. He cautiously approached Saunders, who was now groaning and just barely clinging to the railing, leaning with his head down. The American didn't look well at all, the German soldier thought.
CHAPTER 10
As soon as the German touched Saunders' arm, the sergeant exploded into action, striking like a coiled snake. He grabbed the kraut's jacket, and pulled him forwards, off balance. He scrambled up onto the lowest railing to be above the man. Reaching quickly around the soldier's neck, he pulled up, straining to lift the guard off of the ground, dangling by his neck.
At the same time, Littlejohn reached over the railing to the second guard, who was raising his rifle and aiming it towards Saunders. Seizing the rifle in both hands, Littlejohn wrenched it away from the German. He quickly swung it back, and caught the man on his jaw. The guard staggered backwards and collapsed in the dirt. The rifle flew from Littlejohn's hands and landed next to the unconscious or dead kraut.
Saunders tightened his hold on the scar faced German, ignoring the blows that the struggling soldier was delivering to his head and face. Soon the blows were weaker, and finally stopped. The sergeant held on awhile longer before dropping his body to the ground. Saunders ran a trembling hand through his hair. Wiping the blood from his nose from the kraut's struggling blows, he climbed down off of the railing.
That's for Dunlop, he thought to himself.
"Move out!" he yelled to his men as he reached to open the gate. Both he and Littlejohn went to the bodies to scoop up their rifles lying in the dirt. The men were following Saunders when, about fifty yards out, he suddenly stopped.
"Wait one," he called out and ran back to the corral. He knelt next to the scar faced German he had killed and, grabbing his arm, pulled off his wristwatch. He ran back to his squad while putting on the watch.
"We had to stop so he could get his stinking watch," Kirby said angrily.
Littlejohn came over next to the BAR man. "You gotta have faith in the Sarge, Kirby. You gotta trust him."
"Trust him? He gave up our whole company to that kraut! We all heard him." Kirby yelled in reply. "A lot of my friends are going to die because of what he did."
"He broke us loose from the krauts, didn't he?" Caje asked.
"You mean he got himself out. We're just along for the ride. A whole company!" Kirby replied bitterly.
As Saunders ran up to them, Kirby asked sharply, "Where we going?"
The sergeant kept moving past them and didn't reply. He knew that not explaining was only fueling their anger towards him, but he couldn't tell them anything. Not yet. As he ran, he looked at his watch. Almost 1700 hours. They'd have to hurry. When he'd run another 50 yards, he realized that he was alone. He turned back towards his men.
Littlejohn was coming up behind him, but the rest stood watching him, unsure of what to do or what to believe. Saunders stopped and stared at his men. Waiting. Silent.
CHAPTER 11
Slowly, Doc followed Littlejohn. Then Brockmeyer broke ranks, with Billy close behind. And soon, the rest followed. Caje looked back at Kirby, who stood alone, hurt and angry.
"Coming, Kirby?" he called out.
Saunders turned and began to run again. Either the men would follow or they wouldn't. But he desperately needed to know if all of this deception and pain was worth it. As he ran, he wished he'd remembered to take the krauts' canteens as well as their weapons. Looking back quickly, he noted Kirby finally bringing up the rear.
The sun was lower now, but the air was no cooler. And still they ran. Saunders looked around. They still had about six miles to cover. Although his map was gone, he had studied it so many times that he could have drawn it in his sleep. He headed towards the last ridge line on the horizon, which he knew overlooked the valley.
The sergeant continued to check his watch as they ran. They'd make it.
They hit the ridge line with a few minutes to spare. When he finally stopped, everyone was breathing hard. Saunders went right to the crest and looked down expectantly into the valley below. After a minute, the men stood quietly, watching the sun sink lower. They were each wondering what they were doing, but everyone was afraid to ask.
Kirby finally broke the silence. "Is this the valley?" he asked, looking down to the lush valley floor.
They could see the Germans digging in below them, preparing for their trap. Their numbers had increased. A second and third platoon had indeed joined them.
The shadows were lengthening, and dusk was creeping in. Kirby stepped closer to his sergeant, his fists clenching tightly.
As his eyes filled with rage and tears, Kirby yelled, "Is this where they're all going to die? What? You brought us here to watch?"
CHAPTER 12
"Bastard!" he finally screamed. He swung his fist, striking Saunders square in the face. He yelled again, "You gave up K Company! Hundreds of our men. Our buddies!"
Littlejohn grabbed Kirby's arms and held him back from attacking their sergeant any further.
Doc yelled, "Kirby!" He couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
Saunders staggered backwards with the blow, but managed to stay on his feet. Blood flowed from both his nose and mouth, already trailing down his neck to his chest. He shook his head, blinking back tears of pain. But the sergeant remained stone faced and silent.
He stared at his BAR man, and then at the rest of his men. They were all filled with obvious pain and anger. He hoped that he didn't lose them. But the deepest cut of all was Kirby.
Kirby…a soldier he'd trusted with his life. Kirby thought that he was a traitor. Saunders squared his shoulders. No, he wasn't going to give up on them yet.
The sergeant began to pace silently, occasionally wiping blood from his face and looking at his watch. His men all stood quietly, beginning to question their sergeant's sanity.
Time passed, with no one daring to speak. Saunders looked at his watch again. It was time. Now he was finally free.
He wiped the blood and sweat from his face once again with the back of his hand. Looking at his men, the sergeant said, "Sit down."
When no one moved, Saunders made a threatening step forward, fists balled tightly. He pointed to the ground, and said loudly and sternly, "I said sit down!"
He held their eyes with his look that could bore through steel. One by one, they all sat down. Not surprisingly, Kirby was the last man standing, but he too, finally sat down.
Saunders glanced at his watch again to be sure, then wiped the fresh blood from his face.
"Alright," he began. "I know this has been hard on everyone…"
Kirby interrupted angrily, "Not as hard as it was on Dunlop. It wasn't you that took that bullet."
Saunders felt the other men staring in collective agreement. He looked directly at Kirby and answered, "I deserve that, Kirby. Dunlop was one of my men, and I failed to keep him safe. But I'd go through it again if I had to. And I'd take that bullet myself if I had to."
He paused to look out over the valley of krauts far below. "I've been under orders and sworn to secrecy for this mission." He glanced at his watch once again, to note the time.
"I'm now free to talk to you about it." He looked up at his still angry squad. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I was given no choice. Part of our mission was to scout this sector for German activity. HQ heard rumors of several platoons here, but no verification. We were to report back by 1900 hours. We couldn't use a radio and take the chance of krauts listening in. If they didn't hear from us by 1900, they would assume we had encountered the German platoons. Our second, but most important mission, was to lure the kraut platoons into the valley, if at all physically possible."
"But why?" asked Doc, intently listening to everything Saunders was saying. "We've condemned our whole company to being slaughtered in a kraut trap. They're down there right now, just waiting."
"It's not a company, Doc. The entire battalion is headed this way, and Lieutenant Colonel Ellington let me know in no uncertain terms that no one was to know about any part of this mission."
Saunders paused, then continued, "And they'll be here at 2000 hours, not 1930, whether they heard from us or not. If we didn't return, their assumption was that we were all dead or captured. But on the chance that we'd succeeded in somehow maneuvering the krauts here, their intent was to lay down an artillery barrage ahead of their entry into the valley. Either way, they couldn't take the chance of actually walking into a trap. They're laying in a barrage."
Just then, the sergeant heard a familiar sound overhead. Everyone looked up. "And it's due in just about…now."
CHAPTER 13
At that moment, the skies above and the valley below lit up like the Fourth of July, with a heavy barrage. The men sat high above it all, staring in disbelief at the vivid images. Teeth rattling sounds and vibrations reverberated through the valley.
Kirby looked over at his sergeant with a mixture of shame and pain. The two continued to stare at each other until Saunders finally nodded and smiled. Then the BAR man visibly relaxed and nodded in return.
Kirby leaned over to Billy, who sat next to him on the grass. "Hey, Nelson, you don't have a spare Schlitz and a hot dog, do you?" He looked at his sergeant and smiled.
Billy stared at the BAR man like he'd lost his mind.
"Just my luck. Best fireworks in town, and me without a beer," Kirby laughed and slapped Billy on the back.
The barrage was intense, and it saturated the entire valley. The men could see the silhouettes of soldiers in the glare of the explosions as three German platoons were trapped in the valley.
When the shelling finally slowed and stopped, the American patrol actually applauded.
Caje said, "There's three kraut platoons we'll never have to fight!"
Saunders was standing to the side, watching the dying fires and smoke, when Kirby came up to him hesitantly. "Sarge?"
CHAPTER 14
Saunders was craving a cigarette, but the krauts had taken them. "Yes, Kirby?" The sergeant wiped his face again with the back of his hand, and snuffed some blood up his nose. He stuck his hands in his pockets.
Kirby was nervous, looking everywhere except into his sergeant's eyes. Saunders' face flickered and glowed in the dying barrage as he waited patiently for Kirby to continue speaking.
"I don't know how else to say this, except…I'm sorry. I should never have doubted you. Littlejohn knew. He knew you'd never sell out to the krauts. I was just too stupid."
Saunders looked at him for a moment. "Kind of hard not to doubt with everything that was going on. I had to make it all look real for the krauts to believe me. And I couldn't tell any of you anything."
The sergeant gave a grim, sad smile. "Guess I did a really good job of making it believable." He gingerly touched his still bleeding nose and mouth.
Saunders continued. "Kirby, I don't blame you. Any of you. I had to keep you in the dark the whole way, and it wasn't fair to expect you to follow me blindly."
"No…no," Kirby interrupted. "I was wrong to doubt you after everything this squad's been through. You even saved my life, but I was too pigheaded to realize it. That kraut sure as heck would have sliced me ear to ear. I could be dead just like Dunlop."
The sergeant shook his head. "It could have just as easily been you instead of Dunlop. Or any of you. I'd hoped that they'd start on me. But I knew that one of you being the first they went after was a real possibility. A possibility that I had to accept, no matter which one of you they chose."
"It was just Dunlop's bad luck to be standing where he was. I hate that Dunlop was killed, but he was the catalyst that set everything into motion that brought us here." He pointed down to the decimated platoons and valley.
"I intend to give him the credit that he's due, giving his life to save an entire battalion of fellow soldiers."
Kirby was quiet, and then he looked his sergeant in the eye. "What's going to happen to me?"
"What do you mean?" Saunders asked.
"You know," Kirby replied anxiously. "I hit an NCO…God, I hit you!" he added with a painful look.
Saunders tenderly touched his swollen face again and smiled. "More like walloped me. Good to know you still have it. But I sure wish you hadn't hit me right where the kraut had pounded on me."
The silence surrounded them once again. The quiet voices of the rest of the squad came drifting in.
"There's no need for this to go any further," the sergeant finally said.
"But why? And there's eight guys sitting over there. Can't believe it won't come out somehow."
Saunders sighed. "Kirby, everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to admit it. And yours was an honest one. You were going on the only information you had, which didn't look good for me. Remember, you were willing to die yourself to save a company of men. You're a good man. And the best BAR man in the Army. Hate to have to train another one all over again." He smiled, and placed a hand on Kirby's shoulder.
"You may have lost faith in me, Kirby. But I never lost faith in you. Don't worry about it. I'll deal with it."
Before Kirby could say anything more, Saunders slipped his arm around the soldier's shoulder, and called out to the rest of the squad.
"It's just about time for our guys to ride into what's left of the valley, charging in on their white horses. Let's go be their welcoming committee and clean up crew." He unslung the kraut's rifle and held it out.
They all laughed as they followed their sergeant and BAR man down into the smoking valley, and to greet the advancing battalion.
THE END