Saints and Soldiers
(Disclaimer: I don't own anything, any characters or nothing. I just really like this story. And as stated before I am dedicating this to my friend, My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken. I'm trying to take your suggestions to heart with making better descriptions. I hope they helped. BTW - I used yours you sent me. I couldn't help it, they were so good.)
Chapter 3 - Crucial Information
A fire crackled in a the metal bucket as the Germans relaxed in the shed. One of the German soldiers ate some brown food from a small tin can.
"Ech!" he shook his head in disgust at the foul tasting concoction. It was obvious from his reaction he was not enjoying himself and vigorously discussed it with another German who was trying to talk on a radio using a headset.
Under their feet the four Americans huddled silently in the hole hoping the floor above them would not give way. They covered their faces with their hands to keep the dirt from falling into their eyes and mouths. When Kendrick looked up he saw one of his playing cards sticking through a slat. Gunderson saw him and shook his head no. Reaching up he gingerly pulled it through while the others looked on in horror as they held their breaths. No reaction.
Suddenly the voice on the other end of the radio began shouting as a loud whirring sound, an explosion and a crash could be heard nearby. The radio operator shouted into the headset. Deacon tried to understand their conversation listening closely. Receiving orders the six Germans grabbed their weapons and gear and rushed out of the shed leaving the door open and quickly drove away.
With the clatter of the wooden slats the Americans crawled out of their hiding place spitting and brushing dirt from their faces and uniforms.
"I .. I don't know what they were saying. Deac, what did you get?"
"I couldn't hear 'em very good. Something about the Meuse River and that plane crashin'. Listen!" he held up his hand. Outside they could hear the sound of someone struggling.
Hanging from a tree a uniformed soldier attempted to free himself from a parachute that was caught in the branches.
"Bloody! Come on!" he spoke with a thick British accent. In the moonlight he could see four figures approaching. "Stand back!" he warned trying to reach a pistol. "Not a step closer!"
"I think he's a Kraut," Kendrick said as Deacon prepared to defend them. "I think we should shoot him."
"I've got a gun!" the Brit threatened.
"He's a Brit," Gunderson said. "Kendrick, go help him down."
"Stand back!" the Brit continued to warn them.
As Kendrick approached him Gunderson tried to reason with him. "Alright, just calm down," he raised his hands.
"No!"
"Here we go. Come on," Kendrick said to him as he pushed the release mechanism on the halter. The Brit fell landing on top of Kendrick.
"Get back!" he shouted pulling a pistol from his holster and pressing it against Kendrick's head. Everyone watched in bewilderment, only Deacon taking any ready action.
"Whoa!" Deacon yelled sternly, steadying his rifle and aiming for the Brit's face. The Brit showed no sign of fear; Kendrick was becoming pale.
"Take it easy!" Gunderson called out, pleading with him.
"Drop it!" the Brit demanded, cocking the pistol..
"You drop it!" Deacon demanded back. He was prepared to kill this man.
"Drop it!"
"Keep it down!" Gunderson spoke calmly try to control the situation. He was fearful of being heard by the enemy.. "We're Americans!" he explained holding his hand out hoping to convince the Brit they were allies.
"Prove it!" the Brit demanded.
"What?" Gunderson looked at him incredulous.
"Who's the third president of the United States?"
"Just put the gun down!" Gunderson pleaded.
"Thomas Jefferson!" Gould quickly answered.
"Who's the fourth?"
"Ah … ah, Madison! What's with this guy?" Gould looked at Gunderson shaking his head.
"What's the capital of Vermont?"
"Hartford? Ah,... I …I'm …," Gunderson stumbled uncertain. The Brit pushed the pistol harder against Kendrick's temple.
"Sarge?" Deacon yelled readying to fire. All it would take was one word from Gunderson and the Brit was dead.
"Give me a break! Nobody knows that!" Gould scoffed. "You tell me!"
The Brit blinked, hesitating a moment before making a decision. Uncocking the pistol he pulled it away from Kendrick. "Haven't the foggiest. Sorry, boys," he patted Kendricks shoulder as though he were a long, lost friend. "Where's your command post?" he asked standing up and moving over to Gunderson.
"Used to be that way," Gunderson motioned with his head as he narrowed his eyes. Was this guy serious?.
"Sorry for the trouble. Thank you," the Brit moved in the direction Gunderson had motioned.
As Kendrick got up he mumbles, " Montpelier."
"About how far back?" the Brit asked him.
"About 10 to 15 miles. Soldier, who are you?" Gunderson stuck his face in his. He'd about had enough of this guy.
"Flight Sergeant Oberon Winley, Royal Air Force."
"Oberon?" Kendrick mocked.
"Winley," he answered Kendrick. "Look," he turned back to Gunderson. "I am in possession of some crucial intelligence. I need to get to the nearest command center..."
"Buddy, you must have smashed your head on a limb coming down or somethin'," Kendrick scoffed.
"… or a bloody field phone, at least."
"There are no field phones, and you will keep it down," Gunderson warned him sternly.
"Should we shoot him now, Sarge?" Kendrick growled.
"Shut up!" Gunderson scolded him. He was on the edge. "Winley, where were you are going?"
"I was intended to fly back to Manhay."
"Really? Well, we've had a bit of bad luck ourselves. A Panzer division went on a spoiling expedition and we are now behind enemy lines."
"What I've got isn't about some spoiling expedition. This is a major a German offensive."
The only good thing the Germans did for them was to leave the fire burning in the metal bucket. The five soldiers huddled around it for warmth as Winley explained his mission.
"After the Germans attacked, we were ordered to fly an emergency re-con mission to collect electronic intelligence. We were flying under some -- some cloud cover and … and snapped some rather revealing photos. But by the time we realized what we had, a German fighter had shot us down."
"So you need to get to intelligence," Gunderson finalized.
"Yes, and it's damn critical we get there as soon as possible," he stressed as he lifted the brown cover on a notepad that revealed a map and he went on to explain. "They've punched through all along here," he pointed on the map, "right where we're thinnest."
"Why would they do that? If they punch through here they're exposing their flanks."
"That's right. Unless, of course, they hurry and make it to the Meuse River and cross over."
"I don't get it," Kendrick puzzled.
"Well, if they cross the Meuse River," Gunderson understood, "they can turn and take Leige. I went through there on my way in. It's got one of the biggest ammo dumps I've ever seen there."
"It's one of the largest in Europe," Winley added.
"And if the Krauts take Leige they take the ammo dump." Gunderson nodded.
"Or we have to destroy it. Either way it's a straight shot for them to take back Antwerp."
Kendrick picked up Winley's notebook and tried to read it. "What's this? This ain't German."
"Thank you," Winley snatched the papers out of his hand as though he were a naughty little boy. "We've got to get these to intelligence before the Germans cross the Meuse River," he emphasised.
"It's over 20 miles," Gould scoffed.
"Yes, as the crow flies," Winley answered. He was getting perturbed with these Yanks.
"We're supposed to out run an entire Panzer division - on foot?" Gould added sarcastically, shaking his head.
Gunderson looked over the map for a moment. "You know, we could follow this rail line along here and cut through here," he moved his finger along the map, "short cut 'em here." He looked at the men. "Could save a lot of troops".
Their priorities had changed. Previously their only concern was surviving the war. Now it was getting Winley to the Americans with this vital information. Each man accessed this and nodded. It didn't take much more convincing that they would be doing the right thing.
And so they headed out across the frozen countryside. All there was to look at was snow, trees and the back of the guy in front of them, but onward they moved. The deep snow made the going hard and difficult. At times the drifts were thigh deep as they struggled slowly forward.
After a few miles Deacon, who was leading them, stopped; hearing it again; the mysterious whispering. It was coming from every where and nowhere. Scanning the trees he tried to find its origin. Gould was behind him and also stopped, confused but heard nothing, not even the wind.
"Hey," he moved up to Deacon. This would be a good opportunity to for him to access him and give him an idea of Deacon's mental state. "Where'd you learn to speak German?" Deacon looked puzzled. "Your German, where'd you pick it up?"
"Oh, in Berlin," he answered.
"What were you doing there? Going to school or something?"
Deacon looked at him. This would be where he would get teased if they were kids and the sting of being bullied was still sharp. "I was a missionary."
"That must have been neat," Gould spoke caustically. He hated Germans and anyone or anything having to do with them. "Hanging out with a bunch of Krauts talking about God. How is Adolph?" he narrowed his eyes as his mouth curled in a sneer.
"I loved it," Deacon looked at him sincerely. "It was the best time in my life."
Gould frowned as he looked at Deacon. He could not imagine anyone enjoying the company of Germans Disgusted he spat on the ground and he walked away giving Deacon a hard look.
Shortly they came across a stream that ran cold clean water. This would give them an opportunity to rest. Gunderson filled his canteen and took a drink.
Winley leaned against a tree and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up he took a deep drag. Kendrick sat by Deacon counting his cards when he saw Winley blow out the smoke.
"I need a smoke," he said and moved over by Winley. The two of them had gotten off to a bad start so he tried to make amends. "Sooo … Winley," he sounding a tad bit over friendly. "Where'd you say you were from exactly?" He couldn't keep his eyes off of the cigarette.
Winley looked at him, unimpressed. "What is it, Kendrick? You want one of my fags, is that it?" he asked raising an eyebrow.
"Well, uh …That's … Hmm," he stumbled over his words. With a sigh of defeat he said, "Forget I asked."
"No problem." Even though the Americans were Allies for the most part he was unimpressed with them, especially the big ignorant Southerner, Kendrick.
Gould and Gunderson sat side by side. He could see the stress in both of their faces and his medical training made him alert to potential health problems. "How long since you and Deacon slept?"
"Me - two days. Him - three or four."
"You know, the longer he goes without sleep, the more he's going to lose it."
Gunderson couldn't believe his ears. Gould had no idea of what Deacon had been through. "Thank you," he barked at him giving him a look of disgust.