Saints and Soldiers

Chapter 8 - Making a Trade

Gould, who was on watch, woke up and scanned the room, looking frantically for their captive.

"Deacon!" he shouted, startled, jumping to his feet. "Where is he?"

Deacon, who was sitting a small table looking over Winley's map, looked at Gould apprehensively. Gunderson had been dozing against the wall. At Gould's alarming tone he woke up and also scanned the room.

"Where's the Kraut, Deacon?" Gould yelled. "You let him go! You let him go, didn't you!" he accused him and charged Deacon, grabbing him by his jacket. The two began to wrestle violently. Deacon shoved Gould hard slamming him against the stone wall.

"No, Deacon!" Gunderson called out, bolting upright." Get off of him!" he grabbed Deacon pulling him away..

"Let's go, right now!" Gould charged Deacon. Gunderson deflected his punch, pushing and holding him against the wall

"Hey! Who had watch, Gould? Who had watch?" he yelled, sticking his face in Gould's.

"I did. But I fell asleep," Gould told him, apologetically.

"Then Deacon didn't let anybody go."

"Yes, I did."

"What?" Gunderson looked at him incredulously.

"Come on, what'd you wanna do, Gundy? Take him with us?"

"No, I wanted to shoot him, remember?" Gould tried to charge him again but Gunderson stopped him.

This time Gunderson grabbed Deacon's jacket. "What the hell were you thinking? he growled.

"I made a trade."

"Rudy told me the weather's pretty much shut down all movement on either side," he explained, with all of the men now looking on. Sitting once again at the table, he pointed to a specific place on Winley's map "And Manhay is in the middle of some of the heaviest fighting right now. So we wouldn't be able to get Winley through anyway. But he also said an unknown number of Germans are making a push towards this little town, ah ... Lyon."

"That's less than six kilometers away," Winley stated, surprised.

"Right. These are our nearest boys. I think we can make it through to them."

"Yeah, sure," Gould scoffed, sarcastically. "Through a fully armed Kraut division." He had been pacing the floor, wanting so badly to get his hands on Deacon. In his eyes, he was an enemy sympathizer, worse than the enemy, itself.

Deacon sighed, clearly upset at Gould's words, but continued to explain. "We sneak through."

Winley listened, liking what he heard, and looked hopefully at Gunderson. Gunderson was considering what Deacon was saying. All of the men, including Gould, were beginning to see the possibility of it working.

"I like it," Gunderson, finally said. "I don't love it -- but I like it.'

"Right, and with a full arsenal of two pistols and two rifles?" Gould spit out. Unfortunately he was right.

"Kendrick, you check the back of that rig." Deacon suggested.

"It's not much but we gotta make it count," Deacon said, as they gathered what weaponry they could find from the half-track. Now each man had a rifle, several rounds of ammo and some confiscated American grenades.

"It's out of gas," Kendrick told Gunderson, referring to the half-track.

"Alright, load up the dead German in the back and run it as far as you can on fumes and ditch it," Gunderson told him. Kendrick nodded.

"What kind of name is Oberon?" Kendrick asked Winley, as they once again moved through the Ardennes Forest.

"It's from Shakespeare. You ever heard of him?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of a name is Shirl?"

"It's short for Shirley."

"Shirley?" Winley questioned, trying ot to laugh.

"Yes, Shirley."

"Don't get me wrong, I … I love the name Shirley. In fact, it's my mother's name."

Kendrick looked back at him and chuckled. This Brit wasn't so bad afterall.

Gould walked beside Deacon, their feet crunching in the snow. He was so angry, it was all he could do to keep from pounding him into the ground. Instead, he stooped to verbal bashing.

"You trying to get us killed?" he accused.

"Is that what you think?" Deacon questioned.

"Marching through enemy lines -- there's no danger there, huh?" he spat the words, hatefully.

"Yeah well, it seemed like the right thing to do."

"We die trying?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Now was his chance for the death blow. "Of course, if someone killed a bunch of innocent women and children, this might be a real great way to make up for it, right?' his words dripped with venom. Deacon's eyes narrowed at Gould, not believing his ears, as hurt, shock and anger swept across his face. "Is that what your little Bible tells you? Huh? Is this your penance?"

He wanted so badly to say something to him. Cut him down with a sharp quip, or a right jab to the jaw. Something. "You know what," he finally said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Pulling the Bible from his pocket, he took out his wife's picture and handed it to him.

"Here."

"What?"

"Take it, I can get another one."

"I don't want your book."

"Really, 'cause with all your questions you seem awful curious." He slipped it back in his pocket and swung off his rifle back around. "Get back in formation," he ordered him and walked away.

Gould sneered and narrowed his eyes at him.