Sergeant Saunders
lay on his back on top of the stone wall, his eyes closed, his hands behind his head,
enjoying the welcome sunshine that was relaxing his tired body, easing sore muscles. He
was half-asleep, vaguely aware of his men playing cards several feet away. They had
cleaned out this village yesterday and been told to wait here for King Company to arrive
and set up a headquarters and hadn't seen a German in two days. The unusual peace
was most welcome to men that had seen too much fighting, heard too many bombs, and ducked
too many artillery barrages. |
As usual, Littlejohn
and Kirby were bickering about something, but at least so far it was amicable. Caje
was ignoring them while Billy occasionally tried to keep the peace. Not having heard
Doc's voice for awhile, Saunders lazily opened one eye to locate him. He was in the
game, too, just not saying much. Lewis, one of the replacements was on watch, so
they could afford the R & R time. He closed his eye again, his thoughts drifting in
random directions. He was an integral part of the group, but occupied a different
position, halfway between the officers and the rankings. It was lonely sometimes,
and while the guys welcomed him anytime he chose to join them, he still had to hold
himself a bit apart. Part of it was his rank, part of it was his personality. |
Kirby and Littlejohn
were getting a bit less amicable and he was thinking about breaking it up when something
cold and metallic touched his throat at the same time that he heard a low voice in his
ear. |
"Sergeant, I
have a knife at your throat. One of my men is across the street with a gun on your
men. You will tell them to step away from their weapons or they will be shot and
your throat will be cut." |
"What do you
want with us?" Saunders asked softly. "You're too far from your
lines to take us prisoner." |
"We need you and
your men. If you cooperate, you will be freed unharmed. If not, you will be
killed and we will find someone else." |
"I don't seem to
have much choice, do I?" He raised his voice slightly. "Hey guys, I
have a knife at my throat." |
There was instant
silence as the men stared at him incredulously. |
"There is a
German in the building across the street. I've been told to tell you to step away
from your weapons or you will be shot." |
The men looked at
each other, then slowly got to their feet and moved away from their weapons, which had
been lying on the ground beside them. A young German appeared from across the
street, another came down the street pushing Lewis ahead of him. One of them covered the
men while the other tied the men's hands behind them, then tied the men to each other,
just far enough apart for them to walk. Saunders lay still, furious with himself for
not checking on Lewis. He was green and should have been checked on, and now his men
were going to pay for his lapse and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. |
"Sit up slowly,
facing your men." The voice behind him ordered as the knife was removed from
his neck. |
Reluctantly, he did
as he was told. If he attempted anything, his men would be cut down before his
eyes. His hands were pulled behind his back and tied tightly, then he was pushed to
his feet. He and the rest of the squad were herded down the street and out of the
town, heading for the woods a half mile away. None of the three Germans looked to be a day
over eighteen, and they all looked scared, which made them more jumpy and dangerous.
Two of them flanked the helpless men while the third followed with Saunders. The
German on the right flank was forced to walk almost shoulder to shoulder with the
Americans due to the rubble from the artillery barrage that had blanketed the area a few
days ago. He stumbled, falling against Littlejohn, knocking him off balance.
Tied together, the men had no chance and they went down like ten pins, ending up sprawled
in a pile, the German more or less on top. The German behind Saunders burst out
laughing, and even Saunders had to smile at the sight. |
"Damn,
Littlejohn, he's even clumsier than you are!" Kirby complained. "Get
off me, you big ape." |
"Shut up,
Kirby." Littlejohn snapped at him. "I'm trying to get up." |
Laying his weapon out
of possible reach, the German on the left began separating the men and getting them back
on their feet, a task made harder by his laughter. The German who'd fallen, his face
brick red, tried to get Littlejohn upright, but since the American was about twice his
size, he wasn't having much luck. Littlejohn finally shrugged him aside and got to his
feet. Billy, the smallest of the group, had ended up on the bottom, and as the
others moved away, he lay still and quiet. Before Saunders could say anything, the
German behind him had slashed Doc's bindings and motioned him to Billy. Doc was
surprised, but wasted no time bending over the youngster. |
"Doc?"
Saunders asked anxiously. |
"He's okay,
Sarge. He just got the breath squished out of him." |
"Get him on his
feet, medic. We have to keep moving." The German told him. |
Doc helped Billy to
his feet, steadying him for a moment. When the Germans made no attempt to re-tie
Doc's hands, he fell in behind the others as they were herded into the trees. |
"Where are you
taking us?" Saunders asked. |
"Just keep
going, American." |
"What do you
want us for?" He persisted. |
"Be quiet.
We have no wish to harm you or your men, sergeant, but if you don't be quiet, you will
have a sore head." The German told him. |
That was plain
enough, Saunders thought, and kept quiet. They made their way through the woods, his
squad having a hard time of it, tied together as they were though Doc helped whenever he
could. Saunders realized he heard running water, then they were on the banks of a
fast running creek. Upstream and downstream, the creek was wider and slower, but
here where the narrow footbridge was, the water was fast, swirling, and looked deep.
The bridge was barely wide enough for one person, balancing carefully, let alone five men
roped together. Saunders stopped and swung around to face the German behind him. |
"You can't
expect them to cross that tied together. If one slips, they all go. At least
cut them loose from each other." He hesitated. "Please." |
"They can't do
anything to you." Doc added his plea. "They have no weapons.
They can't do anything without endangering the rest of the squad. If you want them
to help you whatever, they aren't going to be much help if they're drowned." |
The soldier thought
for a moment, studying the bridge. |
"Get on your
knees, sergeant." He finally ordered. |
"What?"
Saunders stared at him. |
"You heard
me. On your knees." |
Once Saunders had
complied, the soldier stepped behind him, the muzzle of his gun touching the back of the
sergeant's head. |
"Americans.
We will free you from each other, but leave your hands tied. You will cross the
bridge one at a time. If any of you try anything, your sergeant will be shot in the
head. Is that clear?" |
When he received
affirmative answers from all five men, he gave an order to one of his men, who went down
the line, removing the rope that bound the men together, then he crossed the bridge,
waiting on the other side with his rifle covering the Americans. Lewis crossed
first, slowly and carefully, followed by Caje, then Billy. Kirby was halfway across
when the board under his left foot gave way, pitching him into the water. Forgetting the
rifle behind him, Saunders surged to his feet, shouting Kirby's name. The German
behind him grabbed him by the collar, jerking him back and down. His cry of pain was
drowned out by the yells of the men on both sides crowding the edge of the creek, watching
anxiously. The German
waiting on the first side of the bridge dropped his gun, and ammo belt and dove into the
water. Unable to use his arms, Kirby was helpless against the current and was forced
under several times, not coming back up the last time. Downstream about thirty feet, where
the creek widened and slowed, the German crawled out onto the bank, dragging Kirby's limp
body behind him. |
"Medic!"
He called, then shouted something in German. |
"He says he's
alive. Hurry, Medic." The German in charge urged. |
Needing no second
invitation, Doc ran across the bridge and down the creek bank to Kirby. The German
had him laying on his side and was trying to cut the wet ropes on his wrists, succeeding
just as Doc reached them. The German left with Saunders and Littlejohn reached down,
grabbed the shoulder of Saunders' jacket and pulled him back to his feet. |
"You would have
drowned, Sergeant." |
"He's alive,
Sarge. I can see him moving." Littlejohn said. |
Sighing with relief,
Saunders realized his left wrist hurt fiercely. When he was jerked to the ground,
he'd landed awkwardly and must have sprained it. At least, he hoped it was sprained
and not broken. Either way, it hurt like hell. After a few minutes, Doc and
the German helped Kirby to his feet and back up the creek to the other three squad members
who waited anxiously with their guard. Caje knelt down and Doc lowered Kirby to the
ground, leaning against Caje. |
"Medic, you and
Wexler come help get these two across." |
Wexler, the German
who had remained with the Americans, carefully crossed the bridge again, leaving his
fellow soldier leaning against a tree, breathing hard. Doc followed him more
carefully than he had crossed a few moments ago. He took one of Littlejohn's arms
while Wexler held the other and they crossed cautiously, then Doc came back again and took
a second look at Saunders. His face was slightly pale and filmed with sweat. |
"Sarge?
Are you okay?" He asked anxiously. |
"Yeah. I'm
fine." |
"What is your
name?" The German asked. |
"Saunders.
Sergeant Saunders." |
"Schmidt.
I'm sorry. I did not intend for anyone to be injured." |
He and Doc took Saunders' arms and made it safely across the bridge, where
Schmidt released the sergeant and crouched in front of Kirby. |
"Are you alright, Private Kirby?" |
Still coughing up
creek water, Kirby just nodded. |
"We can not
afford to delay any longer. We must move on." |
Kirby looked over at
the wet German still leaning against the tree and nodded as Doc helped him to his feet. |
"Danke."
He managed between coughs. |
The German
returned the nod, and motioned for the men to head on into the trees. He led the
way, followed by the Americans, then Wexler and Schmidt. A short time later, they
reached a bombed out building. Leaving Wexler and the other with the Americans,
Schmidt ran ahead to the pile of rubble calling the name Mueller. The Americans
looked at each other, puzzled, as they followed Schmidt. When they reached the
rubble, Wexler called to Schmidt, receiving an affirmative answer. Schmidt returned
to where the Americans stood together, addressing himself to Saunders. |
"Our sergeant is
trapped in the cellar of this place. We need your help to get him out. If you
help us, you will be freed." |
"Sure we
will." Saunders replied, his disbelief evident in his voice. |
"You will just
have to take my word for it, Sergeant." |
"Why can't you
three get him out?" |
"Come look for
yourself." Schmidt invited. |
He turned and led the
way over and through the rubble. After telling his men to stay put, Saunders
followed him, stopping at the edge of a hole in the floor. The area below them was
full of dirt, rocks, and broken beams, eerily lit by sunlight filtering through other,
smaller holes. |
"So where is
he?" Saunders asked. |
"There. He
is caught under that beam. We tried but cannot move it." |
"Is he
alive?" |
"Yes." |
"How badly is he
hurt?" |
"I think he has
a broken leg, but it is hard to tell." |
"If we help you,
that means there will be four more men for us to fight." He said slowly. |
"Do you mean you
won't help us?" The young soldier stared at him in shock. "If that
was you down there, wouldn't your men do anything they could to help you?" |
"Probably.
But that isn't me down there. We are at war, soldier." |
Schmidt stared at him
blankly for a moment, then his face twisted with anger. |
"Now you are
down there!" He shouted as he gave Saunders a shove. |
|
|
Caught totally by
surprise, Saunders flew backwards into the hole. He landed on a pile of dirt and
rocks, then rolled down the slope. He came to rest a few feet away from the trapped
German, who appeared to be unconscious. Saunders rolled onto his side, trying to catch his
breath and ignore the pain in his wrist. The German's eyes opened slowly and he
looked at Saunders, closed and opened his eyes again, staring at him in amazement. |
"You are
American?" He whispered. |
"Yeah." |
"What are you
doing here?" |
"Schmidt." |
"Schmidt?
What do you mean?" |
"He captured my
squad and brought us here." Saunders paused for breath. "He wanted
us to help get you outhe decided if I was down heremy men would help him." |
"He captured
your squad? Alone?" The German asked in disbelief. |
"Schmidt, Wexler
and another soldier. I had a green replacement on watch." |
"Schmidt,
Wexler, and Olbricht? Amazing. What is a 'green' replacement?" |
"New." |
Saunders finally
managed to sit up and looked around. The German sergeant was lying on his back, a
beam lying at an angle from his left thigh to his right ankle. Awkwardly, Saunders
got to his feet and took a cautious step. |
"Do you have any
water?" |
"Yeah." |
"Will you give
me a drink?" |
"No."
Saunders started working his way back up the slope. |
"No?"
Mueller repeated. "Aiding and abetting the enemy?" |
"I can't give
you a drink." Saunders told him. "My hands are tied behind my back." |
"How did you get
down here?" |
"Schmidt pushed
me." |
"With your hands
tied behind your back?" He demanded angrily. |
Surprised, Saunders
turned to look at him and lost his footing, falling backwards. He couldn't stop the
cry of pain when he landed on his injured wrist. Twisting, he slid and rolled back
down, coming to rest with his back against the German. He lay still, waiting for the
agonizing pain in his wrist to recede. He could feel the German fumbling with his
wrists and gritted his teeth. When the German took hold of his left wrist, he cried
out in pain and tried to pull away. |
"What's wrong
with your arm?" He demanded, immediately releasing him. |
"Sprained
wrist." Saunders panted. |
"Schmidt tied
your hands when you had a sprained wrist?" |
"Happened
later." |
"Try to hold
still, Sergeant. I'm going to untie you." |
Saunders sucked in
his breath as the German started working on the ropes. |
"How long ago
did this happen?" |
"Half hour,
maybe." |
"It is very
swollen. Hang on, this is going to hurt." |
When the ropes
finally fell away, Saunders brought his injured wrist around and cradled it against his
chest, waves of pain rolling up his arm. |
"Thanks."
He mumbled. |
|
"Where's
Sarge?" Caje demanded when Schmidt returned to the other Americans. |
"He went down
into the hole with Sergeant Mueller." |
"What
now?" Doc asked. |
"We wait while
the sergeants decide what will happen." |
|
|
"What is your
name, Sergeant?" Mueller asked after a minute. |
"Saunders." |
"Would you call
Schmidt?" |
Saunders nodded and
squirmed part way up the slope again. |
"Don't tell
me. You hurt your leg." Mueller guessed. |
"Okay, I won't
tell you." He hitched himself up another foot or so. "Schmidt!
Doc!" |
|
"Watch
them." Schmidt told Wexler as he grabbed Doc by the arm, pulling him to the
edge of the hole. "I'm here." He called down. |
"Tell him to
come down." Mueller said. |
"Come down
here. Bring Doc with you." |
A moment later, both
men had landed on the rubble pile, showering Saunders with dirt. Lifting his arm to
protect his eyes unbalanced him and he rolled back down against Mueller, who put out a
hand to catch him. |
"You
alright?" Mueller asked. |
"Yeah.
Just fine." Saunders spit out a mouthful of dirt. |
"Schmidt.
Come here. Carefully." Mueller ordered. |
Schmidt did as he was
told, Doc following him. Mueller glared at Schmidt, then switched his attention to
Doc. |
"You are a
medic?" |
"I am." |
"Take care of
your sergeant." |
"No. Check
him out first, Doc." Saunders waved him away. |
Doc looked from one
to the other, then bent over the German, straightening a moment later. |
"There's nothing
I can do till we get him out of there. What's wrong with you, Sarge?" |
"Left wrist,
right ankle." Saunders lay back against the dirt pile, cradling his wrist. |
Doc reached for the
sergeant's wrist, hesitated, then lifted it very gently. |
"What
happened?" |
"I fell on it
back at the creek." |
"Why didn't you
say something?" |
Saunders didn't
bother to answer, gritting his teeth while Doc wrapped a supporting bandage around his
arm, then checked his ankle. |
"Well, Sarge,
the good news is neither is broken. The bad news is they're both badly
sprained." |
"That
helps." |
"Schmidt, what
did you think you were doing?" Mueller asked in English. |
"We couldn't
lift the beam off you. I brought them here to help." |
"And
afterwards?" |
"I told them
they would be freed." |
"And who gave
you the authority to do that?" |
"When the man in
charge is incapacitated, the next highest ranking takes command. I did what I
thought was best." |
Mueller looked over
at Saunders, who shrugged. |
"So, commander,
what do you plan to do?" Mueller asked tiredly. |
"I was hoping
you would tell me." Schmidt admitted. |
"I'm
incapacitated, remember? You decide." Mueller closed his eyes. |
Schmidt stared at him
for a moment, totally at a loss, then turned to Doc. |
"Can you boost
me back up?" |
"Yeah, I think
so. What're you going to do?" |
"I'm
thinking." |
The two men clambered
back up the slope. Mueller opened his eyes and grinned at Saunders, sergeant to
sergeant. Saunders remembered his earlier request for a drink, and managed to pull
his canteen out, handing it to Mueller, who accepted it gratefully. He took a long
drink, then returned it. Saunders started to put it back on his belt, changed his
mind and set it where Mueller could reach it. |
|
|
Schmidt climbed out
of the hole and returned to the others, who were waiting impatiently. |
"Will you help
us get the sergeants out?" He asked Caje. |
"Did you leave
us a choice?" Caje replied. |
"I will untie
your hands, then we will go down and see what can be done." |
He went down the
line, untying their hands as he explained to Wexler and Olbricht what was happening. |
|
|
Saunders crawled out
of the way of sliding debris when he heard the men coming, handing Mueller his helmet to
protect his head. A moment later, seven men were standing around the two sergeants. |
"Where's
Kirby?" Saunders demanded. "Is he okay?" |
"We left him up
there. He's still a little shaky." Caje answered. |
"He is
injured?" Mueller asked. |
"He almost
drowned. Olbricht pulled him out of a creek." Saunders told him. |
"I can't wait to
hear the whole story." Mueller sighed, closing his eyes again. |
"Well,
Schmidt?" Caje looked across at him. "What do you have in
mind?" |
"We have to get
the beam off of him. We tried but couldn't move it." |
"Did you check
to make sure both ends are clear?" Littlejohn asked. |
"Clear?" |
"You know, free
to move." He looked at Schmidt's expression and sighed. "I would
guess that you didn't." |
Turning, he followed
the long beam to the corner and started tossing debris aside, the others joining him while
Saunders sat near Mueller to watch. |
"Sergeant
Saunders?" Mueller said quietly. |
"Yeah?" |
"Do you
sometimes feel like a school teacher?" |
"A school
teacher?" Saunders turned to look at him questioningly. |
"Sometimes
teaching, sometimes wondering what happened?" |
"Yeah."
Saunders had to chuckle. "Sometimes. Lately it seems like I spend more
time wondering what happened." |
They fell silent,
watching as the Germans and Americans worked together clearing the rubble away from the
end of the beam. When the end was cleared, Littlejohn stood staring down at it
thoughtfully. |
"Hey
Sarge?" |
"Yeah?" |
"Wouldn't happen
to have a spare grenade on you, would you?" |
Saunders jaw dropped
open as he stared at the big man, then he slowly shook his head. |
"No, Littlejohn,
no grenades." |
"Oh, well, guess
we'll have to do it the hard way." He grinned at Saunders, pleased to have
gotten the desired reaction. |
"He was
joking?" Mueller asked. |
"I sure hope
so." Saunders replied. |
"Let me have
your gun, Schmidt." Littlejohn held out a massive hand. |
"No."
Schmidt backed up a step. |
"Schmidt, I
don't need a gun to kill you." Littlejohn rumbled. "All I gotta do
is swat you one. You got an axe? A hatchet? I didn't think so.
Gimme the gun." |
"Come on,
Schmidt. Wexler and what's-his-name still have their guns." Caje told
him. |
Reluctantly,
Schmidt handed his rifle to Littlejohn. |
"Ok, everybody
get back. Sarge, you better duck down. I'm not sure what's gonna go
flying." |
The Americans all
moved over to Sarge, Doc and Nelson positioning themselves between the Sarge and
Littlejohn while Wexler crouched over Mueller. |
"Here goes
nothing." Littlejohn grinned at them, then fired a burst at the end of the
beam, checked the result and fired another burst. "Okay, guys, come on back.
Billy, go holler at Kirby, let him know it's okay." |
While Billy clambered
up the slope, the others joined Littlejohn, who was busying studying the beam. |
"First thing we
gotta do is clear that area so we can move the beam without falling over something." |
The men looked at the
area he indicated, then at each other. The area, about twenty feet by fifteen, was
full of broken rocks, bricks, lumber, and dirt. |
"Well, let's get
started." Caje pulled his jacket off and tossed it to Saunders. He'd
noticed that the sergeant had started shivering, now that the area he sat in was no longer
in the sun. As the other jackets started landing around them, Doc, who had stayed
with the injured men, tucked them around Mueller and draped them over Saunders' shoulders
and legs. Billy slid back down and the men set up an assembly line of sorts, passing
the rubble along the line to dump it off to the side. |
"Hey down
there!" Kirby called softly from the edge of the hole. |
"Yeah?"
Doc answered. |
"Somebody's
comin. Can't tell who it is." |
"Help him down
here." Schmidt ordered, catching up his rifle. "Stay down here and
be very quiet. Wexler, Olbricht, commen sie heir." |
Littlejohn guided
Kirby down, then the Americans moved back away from the hole, Caje and Doc half carrying
Saunders. They hunkered down against the wall, Kirby sitting down next to Saunders. |
"You okay?" Saunders whispered. |
"Yeah. You?" He asked, looking at the bandages on Saunders' wrist
and ankle. |
"Yeah." |
Voices drifted down to them, speaking in German. Hardly breathing, they
listened intently. Ten long minutes the conversation above them went on, then it was
quiet. Mueller caught Caje's eye and motioned him over. Silently, the Cajun
slipped over and crouched by his side, listening to Mueller whisper, then he returned to
the squad. |
"Mueller said
Schmidt told the patrol that his sergeant had ordered them to wait here. The patrol
wanted them to go with 'em, but Schmidt insisted they had to wait here. The patrol
asked how long, Schmidt said till the sergeant came back. The patrol asked about
food, Schmidt said they didn't have any. The patrol said one of them could come and
get food and bring it back. Schmidt finally agreed and sent Olbricht. Mueller
said Olbricht would not tell them we were here." He told them softly. |
"I hope he's
right." Littlejohn grimaced. |
"Should we start
work again?" Nelson asked. |
"Yeah, go ahead,
just do it quietly." Saunders answered. |
"What's going
on?" Kirby asked. |
After Saunders
explained, Kirby pushed himself to his feet and joined the others. By the time the
three Germans returned, they had the area almost cleared. Littlejohn and Caje
approached Saunders, who was sitting against the wall with his eyes closed, picked him up
and carried him to the other side of the room. The eight men spread out along the
beam and grabbed hold. |
"Okay, on 3,
lift it and haul it over there. Ready?" Littlejohn said. |
When he received
affirmatives, he counted to three, and the beam was slowly moved to the side. Once
it cleared the German sergeant, he told them to drop it. The heavy beam thumped to
the floor, the men holding their breath as more dirt and rocks fell into the hole.
When all had settled, Doc hurried over to Mueller, who was unconscious, the rest of the
men gathering around. |
"I don't see
how, but nothing is broken. He's badly bruised and won't be walking around for
awhile, but he should be ok." |
"How do we get
him out of here, Doc?" Caje asked. |
"Quickly, while
he's still unconscious. Some of you go back up and we'll just manhandle him up and
out." |
Schmidt, Wexler,
Lewis, Nelson, and Kirby climbed back out, aided by the others, then they hauled Mueller
up to the hole and managed to lift him high enough for the men up top to reach him.
The pressure on the dirt and rock slope was too much for the unstable pile and it started
to slide, rocks bouncing down to the floor of the cellar. Olbricht saw Saunders
trying to move out of the way and flung himself down the pile, shoving Saunders back and
covering him with his own body. When the dust settled and the others got to their
feet, they stumbled across the room to find Olbricht and Saunders buried nearly to their
hips. Saunders appeared to be unconscious and Olbricht was spitting out a mouthful
of dirt, both of them covered with a thick layer of dust. |
"Get 'em
out!" Caje ordered, digging frantically at the dirt. |
"Watch out for
Sarge's leg." Doc warned. |
A few minutes later,
the men had cleared away the dirt and helped Olbricht, who appeared to be uninjured, to
his feet. Doc bent over Saunders, working mostly by feel, until Olbricht handed him
a flashlight. |
"Doc?"
Caje asked anxiously. |
"He's got a bump
on the head. The weight of that dirt on his hand and ankle didn't help. Can we get
him out that hole?" |
"I don't know,
Doc. The pile of rubble isn't as high now." |
"I can do
it." Littlejohn assured him, gauging the distance. "The rest of you
guys bring him up to me, and stay together, will you?" |
He carefully climbed
back up to the point, stopping now and then to settle a loose rock, waiting while the
other four carried Saunders up to him. |
"Kirby!"
He called. |
"Yeah?" |
"Sarge is
unconscious. I'm going to hand him up to you, then boost the other guys. Ok?" |
"How are you
planning to get out?" |
"I'll think of
something. You ready?" |
"Yeah." |
When the others
reached him with Saunders, Littlejohn placed one hand between Saunders' shoulder blades,
the other on his hips and lifted the limp body up over his head while Caje and Doc
steadied him. Laying on their stomachs at the edge of the hole, Kirby and Schmidt
grabbed his jacket and belt, pulling him up while Lewis and Wexler held on to them to
prevent them from falling in. Once they had him up, they carried him over to lie
next to Mueller, who was still unconscious, then hurried back to the hole. One by
one, Littlejohn boosted the others up and out, then stood studying the edge of the
hole. He couldn't reach it without jumping, and he knew if he jumped and missed, the
whole pile he was standing on could slide and bury him. |
"You plannin' on
waiting out the war down there?" Caje called down to him. |
"No food or
water? No, thanks." Littlejohn grinned up at him. |
"I got an
idea." Kirby announced. |
"I'm afraid to
ask what it is." Littlejohn groaned. |
"Where's that
rope you had us tied with?" Kirby rolled over to look at Schmidt. |
"Wexler?
Go get it." |
A few moments later,
the end of the rope snaked down in front of Littlejohn. |
"You got it tied
to something up there?" He asked. |
"Billy's holding
it." Kirby grinned. |
"What?"
Littlejohn gaped up at him. |
"Relax.
It's secure. Can you climb up or not?" |
Littlejohn gave the
rope a tug, then reached up as high as he could and started hauling himself up hand over
hand. His head had just cleared the hole when the rope started to fray. Kirby
seized the big man's arm hard enough to make him grunt, hanging on tightly. |
"Help
me!" He yelled. |
Hands grabbed his
ankles and belt while others reached past him to grasp Littlejohn, finally managing to
pull him onto solid ground. They all lay sprawled in the dust, panting for breath,
weak with relief. |
"Thanks, Kirby,
guys." Littlejohn finally gasped. |
Doc crawled over to
the sergeants, finding both of them coming around. Saunders started to sit up, lying
back with a groan, his good hand going to his head. |
"What
happened?" He mumbled. |
"The dirt pile
slid again. Olbricht shoved you out of the way and threw himself on top of
you. You hit your head on something and knocked yourself out. Lay still and
rest." |
"Olbricht did
that?" Saunders and Mueller asked simultaneously. |
"You two been
practicing that act?" Doc grinned, looking from one to the other. |
"It comes with
being a sergeant." Saunders grunted. |
Schmidt joined them,
squatting between the two injured men. |
"We will make
litters for the two of you. We will go to our lines, and the Americans will return
to the village, I assume?" He said. |
"Unless there's
a bar closer." Saunders grinned faintly. "I could use a drink." |
"Sorry, no
alcohol with a concussion, Sarge." Doc told him. |
Schmidt grinned at
both sergeants, then left, returning shortly with the rest of the men and two makeshift
stretchers. He and Doc carefully lifted the injured men onto the stretchers, Wexler
and Olbricht picking up Mueller, Caje and Kirby squatting by Saunders. |
"Americansthank
you for getting me out of that cellar." Mueller told them. |
"Schmidt, tell
Olbricht thank you for protecting me down there." Saunders said. |
Schmidt did so,
Olbricht nodded to Saunders, then the Germans simply walked away, leaving the Americans
surprised and relieved. |
"I didn't think
they'd do it." Nelson marveled. |
"Like Sarge
says, there's no rules in war." Littlejohn commented. |
"I can
walk. I don't need this thing." Saunders said irritably. |
"Sarge, you
can't put any weight on that foot." Doc protested. |
"Caje.
Help me up." Saunders snapped. |
Caje looked at Doc,
shrugged helplessly, and took Saunders good arm, pulling him to a sitting position.
His face went white and he closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness, not protesting
when Caje gently lowered him back down. Kirby and Lewis quickly grabbed the ends of
the stretcher and picked it up. Caje and Doc lead the way, followed by Kirby and
Lewis, while Littlejohn and Nelson brought up the rear. Saunders remained awake, but
appeared content to lie still, occasionally opening his eyes. When they reached the
narrow footbridge, they stopped to rest. |
"How we gonna
get him across that?" Kirby asked. "I don't think it will hold three
of us." |
"Easy."
Littlejohn grinned from where he was kneeling beside the sergeant to give him a drink of
water. "You guys go on across. Then I'll toss him across and you catch
him." |
Saunders choked on
the water he was trying to swallow and sat up, coughing. The abrupt change in
position brought on a wave of dizziness and nausea and he was promptly sick. Aghast
at the unintended result of his teasing, the big man supported Saunders till he was
finished, then gently wiped his face. Sick, hurting, and exhausted, the sergeant lay
back against the support of Littlejohn's arms, his eyes closed. Careful not to jar
him, Littlejohn gathered him in his arms as though he were a small child and got to his
feet. Motioning with his head for the others to follow him, he moved up the creek
till he reached the wider, shallower part, then waded across, the others following
him. Once across, he gently laid the injured man back on the stretcher and picked up
one end while Caje took the other. When they finally reached the village again, they
found Lieutenant Hanley waiting for them. At the sight of the sergeant, who was
sleeping, his anger was replaced with concern. |
"What
happened?" He demanded. |
"Kirby, Lewis,
you tell him while we get Sarge settled." Caje said. |
|
Saunders opened his
eyes slowly, hoping the dizziness had passed. Thankfully, it had, and he found Kirby
sitting on the ground next to the blankets he lay on. He tried to speak, but it came
out an unintelligible croak. Kirby glanced over and broke into a grin. |
"How ya feelin',
Sarge?" |
"Water." |
"Sure." |
With a gentleness and
patience Saunders didn't know Kirby possessed, the soldier slid a hand under his head and
slowly and carefully lifted him enough to drink, then just as carefully lowered him back
down. |
"Where is
everybody?" Saunders realized it was dead quiet. |
"Out on
patrol. I stayed behind to keep an eye on you. You've been asleep for, uh,
fourteen hours." |
"Fourteen
hours?" |
"Yep. Doc
said it's okay, though. Said it's the concussion along with the sprains." |
"How bad is
it?" |
"Doc said the
ankle isn't too bad, a few days rest should be enough, but the wrist is badly
sprained. The Lieutenant said something about keeping you home doing paperwork for a
couple weeks." Kirby grinned, handing him a lit cigarette. "They
should be back any time now. The Lieutenant's been checking on you every couple
hours." |
"Kirby?" |
"Yeah,
Sarge?" |
"Think you could
find me something to eat?" |
"Sure. Be
back in a few minutes." |
|
|
Startled by the sound
of a sneeze, Saunders opened his eyes to find the Lieutenant just lowering himself to the
ground at his side. |
"Hi,
Lieutenant." Saunders grinned at him. |
"Hi
yourself. How you feeling?" |
"Hungry.
Where's Kirby? I asked him to get me something to eat." |
"That was four
hours ago, Saunders." Hanley chuckled. "Think you can stay awake
long enough to eat this time?" |
"Yeah." |
"Kirby!"
Hanley yelled. "He's awake." |
"On my
way." Kirby called back. |
Much to Saunders
surprise and pleasure, Kirby appeared a moment later with a plate of hot chow and a cup of
steaming coffee. After Hanley helped him sit up, Kirby set the tin plate on a fold
of blanket in Saunders' lap, then disappeared again. |
"Anything
interesting happen while I was napping?" Saunders asked. |
"Nope. We
put the war on hold for you." He laughed at the look Saunders gave him.
"No, Sergeant, everything is status quo. Neither side managed to accomplish
anything in the last two days. Get yourself some rest. I'll be by later." |
"Yes, sir." |
Hanley hauled himself
to his feet and clapped his friend on the shoulder as he left. |
|
The End
Story Copyright Mary Wright. All Rights Reserved.
Read more Dogface Tales by Mary:
The CombatFan web site thanks Mary (aka "EagleLady") for letting
us share these fan fiction stories on this web site.
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