Crossed Lines by Albert Baker (Claudia) February 2008

(Just fanfic—not for profit)

Lieutenant Hanley’s jeep skirted a large branch in the road as he raced through the French countryside on his way back from ten days of R&R. Any other day, he may have felt relaxed enough to savor the lush scenery, the green rolling hills, the bright blue sky, but not today. Tom Colson and Private Hanson were dead. Saunders, Caje, and Littlejohn were wounded, Saunders seriously. Captain Jampal was talking about possible charges against Saunders. What in the blazes happened?

His mind drifted back to two weeks ago…

Lieutenant Thomas Colson arrived at King Company Headquarters to be briefed on operations there by Hanley, who was about to leave for ten days of well-deserved R&R. Hanley’s green eyes lit up at the sight of his high school buddy and the two quickly embraced, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

“I can’t believe they assigned you temporary duty here! What are the odds?” Hanley smiled widely.

Colson feigned a frown. “Well, Hanley, the brass decided that one of us regular army types should come in and clean up this sloppy platoon while you’re gone.”

Hanley laughed aloud. Colson hadn’t changed a bit. Bright, witty, and competitive, he had spent his entire senior year trying to best Gil in sports, grades, and with the girls. Gil didn’t mind, though; he knew Tom had a rough time at home with a mother who drank too much, and a father who spent most of his time on the road driving truck. When he did lose in a competition with Tom, Gil willingly put up with some excessive displays of conceit from his friend. Thinking back, Hanley was a bit troubled. Why had his bright, ambitious friend not achieved a higher rank after all of his years in the service? Perhaps Tom had found his niche as a lieutenant.

“I’ll try to make some introductions before I leave tomorrow. First Squad just got back, the rest are still on recons. Saunders is their NCO. He’s the best I’ve got. You can depend on him for--.” Lieutenant Hanley stopped in mid-sentence, as the door to the CP opened and Sergeant Saunders walked in. Boots caked with mud and face lined with fatigue, the sergeant stopped in his tracks and straightened his shoulders as he realized another lieutenant was in the room.

“Oh, ‘scuse me, Lieutenant. I just wanted to report in.”

“That’s all right, Saunders. I want you to meet Lieutenant Colson. He’ll be filling in for me during my leave.”

Saunders turned to Lieutenant Colson and nodded. “Glad to meet you, Lieutenant.”

Wearing a slight frown, Colson acknowledged the noncom. “Sergeant.”

Hanley smiled at Saunders. “The lieutenant’s an old friend, by the way. We went to high school together.”

Lighting a cigarette, Saunders offered one to Hanley and Colson. Hanley accepted gratefully, while Colson passed. “I didn’t think you went to high school, Lieutenant. I figured you just skipped that and went straight for the halls of ivy,” the sergeant ribbed.

Hanley rolled his eyes. “No, believe me, Saunders, I needed all the education I could get.”

Bitter memories washed over Colson as he watched the two men’s easy banter.

“Tom...Tom?” Hanley tried to get his distracted friend’s attention.

“Oh, sorry…I guess I was lost in those high school memories.” Colson smiled broadly.

“Well, if things stay quiet, we’ll get a chance to reminisce tonight and catch up on the last decade or so.”

The sergeant finished his cigarette and grabbed his Thompson. “If you don’t need me for anything, Lieutenant, I’m gonna grab some sack time.”

“Sure, Saunders, stop back in the morning before I leave.”

“Right.” The two officers watched the noncom turn and walk away.

“Not much for military courtesy, is he?” Colson stated with disapproval.

Hanley cocked his head slightly, eyes narrowed. “Well, there’s not much use for it out here, Tom. Saunders and I have been together since Omaha Beach.”

“So, he’s a friend?” Colson looked at Hanley accusingly.

A flash of memory shot through Hanley’s brain—Colson’s possessiveness in high school and similar conversations they had had. At the time, Tom practically lived at the Hanley’s and was very protective of his friendship with Gil. Not to be baited, Hanley straightened to his full height and, with a slight smile, said, “He’s a good noncom and I trust him. If you’re smart, you will too.”

Colson pulled out a chair and gestured to Hanley to do the same. “Let’s get down to business so we have time for a few drinks later.”

Hanley nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Continuing his drive back to the war, the lieutenant couldn’t quit thinking about that first meeting with Tom Colson. He stopped the jeep at a crossroads and looked at his map. The recollection of that day and Colson’s words troubled him. Why was Tom so ready to dislike Saunders? The sergeant’s natural confidence was hard to miss. Is it possible that Tom still harbored the same feelings of inadequacy he’d had as a boy? Hanley remembered feeling somewhat relieved when Tom enlisted not long after high school. Gil was preparing to leave for college, but the service seemed the only way out of town for Tom. Now, years later, they’d both ended up in the Army and in the same place. War had a way of making the least likely of things happen.

He stashed the map and swung the steering wheel to the right, heading south.

After all these months of fighting, the memories of his youth seemed distant and faded to Hanley, the pettiness of childhood quarrels, humorous. He wasn’t sure if time and Tom’s war experiences had affected Colson in the same way. Before Hanley left on leave, the hours he spent with Colson had centered on current operations and then downing some bad bourbon while listening to Tom talk about his various assignments since the war began. From all appearances, Tom seemed to be the consummate professional soldier, but when Gil had tried to ask him about the frequent transfers, Colson became the insecure high school boy Gil remembered, unconvincingly passing off the transfers as occurring because of his multitudinous skills and great ability to be flexible.

The Lieutenant was still pondering these issues as he pulled into headquarters. Meeting Corporal Brockmeyer inside, Hanley nodded a quick greeting. He noted a mound of paperwork needing immediate attention, but felt no inclination to sit down and pull out a pen.

“Brockmeyer, get the field hospital and find out if Saunders is conscious.” Corporal Brockmeyer frowned and responded with concern. “I just spoke with the field hospital, Lieutenant. They said Saunders’ condition is listed as stable, but he’s still unconscious.”

Of course, Brockmeyer would call himself. He had served with Saunders in First Squad. From the look on his face, the corporal was aware that Hanley was worried about more than the sergeant’s wounds. “Okay, Brockmeyer. I want you to get Kirby and Doc over here, on the double.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The old bank building where the squad was bivouacked had been a welcome sight when Kirby returned two days ago. Since Littlejohn and Caje were both wounded, he and Doc had carried Saunders’ litter without relief. The BAR man now sat up on his bedroll, rubbing his still-aching shoulders. Lighting a cigarette, he looked over to the corner of the room, noting that Doc was gone. The medic had barely spoken a word since returning from the mission. Probably hitched a ride back over to the field hospital. Kirby took a drag on his cigarette, as Brockmeyer entered the room.

“Hey, Kirby. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m all right. What’re you here for? Off duty?”

“No. Lieutenant Hanley wants to see you and Doc on the double.”

Kirby jumped to his feet. “Lieutenant Hanley’s back?”

“Yep. Where’s Doc?”

“I’m not sure,” Kirby answered, sliding on his boots. “I think he’s probably over at the field hospital checking on Sarge.”

“Well, I guess you better come without him.”

The two soldiers walked back to the CP, finding Hanley seated at a table. The lieutenant looked up as the men entered, frowning when he noted the medic wasn’t with them. “Where’s Doc?”

Brockmeyer glanced at Kirby and answered. “We’re not sure, Lieutenant, but we think he hitched a ride to the field hospital. I’ll get on the radio and try to locate him.”

“Okay, Brockmeyer. If he is there, tell him to stay put. Gas up my jeep. I’m going over to the field hospital as soon as I’m done questioning Kirby.”

“Questioning’, Lieutenant?” Kirby tried unsuccessfully to hide his nervousness.

Hanley’s face grew serious. “Kirby, there may be charges against Sergeant Saunders. I need to know what happened and why Saunders didn’t follow Lieutenant Colson’s order to stay back from the mission to take out the OP at the mill.”

Kirby stiffened. “You need to ask Saunders that, sir.”

Although Kirby’s answer wasn’t unexpected, the lieutenant felt some irritation at the private’s response. Saunders’ men were exceptionally loyal, but Hanley felt they should know by now he was on Saunders’ side, too.

“Kirby, I can’t ask Saunders anything right now. He’s still unconscious. I’m trying to act quickly in hopes of preventing the charges from being filed. Do you understand, Private?”

Still at attention, Kirby quickly reviewed his options. It wasn’t that he didn’t know this was coming. He’d thought about it for days. He trusted the lieutenant—but Hanley was an officer and had to follow certain rules. Hanley was also Colson’s friend.

“Lieutenant, what do you want to know?”

Hanley sighed as he slid into a chair and motioned toward another chair to Kirby’s right. “Kirby, sit down.”

The private relaxed only slightly.

“I want to know what happened on the mission to the mill.”

Kirby shifted, his head down. He felt his anger rising. Under his breath, he muttered, “It started way before we went out on that patrol.”

Hanley’s eyes narrowed. “Well, then, start at the beginning. What happened after I left?”

Kirby lit up a smoke before recalling the events leading to the ill-fated patrol. “The first week after you left, Company was s’posed to be holdin’ onto the village till we were ready to move up. But instead of Company doing the holdin’, it felt like it was just First Squad…”

The first week following Lieutenant Hanley’s departure was filled with endless recon patrols as King Company protected the American hold on the area around the village and prepared to move forward. Daily “walks” turned into twice a day hikes, often followed by night patrols. It soon became apparent that First Squad was bearing the brunt of the assignments. Sergeant Saunders rotated his men as best he could; trying to give each man time to rest, but for some reason was assigned to lead every patrol himself.

Kirby and Doc stood in the doorway of the damaged bank building the squad was using for sleeping quarters. A small, wiry dog that had ‘adopted’ the squad wagged its tail as it walked from man to man trying to score a morsel of food. “Hey, Fido! Come here!” Kirby coaxed the dog back to him, offering it a piece of cracker. They watched as Saunders, Caje, and the new kid, Hanson, left on another patrol.

“Ain’t that lieutenant ever gonna let us get any rest?”

The dark circles under Doc’s blue eyes illustrated his own lack of sleep. Letting out a heavy sigh, he turned to face the BAR man. “I don’t know, Kirby. Seems like Lieutenant Colson thinks we can keep going forever. Saunders is really gettin’ the worst of it.”

“Well, can’t ya try ‘n talk to ‘im, Doc? Tell ‘im Sarge needs a break. Tell ‘im we ALL do. Man, my feet are killin’ me!”

“Yeah, Doc, you’re a medic, he’d listen to you,” Littlejohn joined in the conversation.

Doc looked down, shaking his head, and then turned to the two men. “I tried talkin’ to him and he laughed at me.”

“He laughed at you, Doc?” Littlejohn asked skeptically.

“Well, I went to Lieutenant Colson and told him I was concerned with the number of patrols that Saunders was bein’ asked to complete. He laughed at me and told me that I was outta line. Then he started gettin’ mad and accused Sarge of sendin’ me. He turned beet red and told me to git out.”

“Hey, I thought Colson was Hanley’s buddy. Why does he have it in for the Sarge?”

“Littlejohn, we don’t know that he has it in for him.”

Kirby jumped in, raising his voice. “Aw, come on, Doc! You don’t see any other noncom havin’ to go out the past two nights plus do day patrols.”

“All right, Kirby.” Doc nodded in agreement. “I’m gonna wait till Sarge gets back and if Colson doesn’t give Saunders some time to rest, I’ll talk to him again.”

Hanley listened intently. Kirby was a complainer, but clearly most of his concern was with unfair treatment of Saunders. Gil wondered if Tom had perceived the loyalty the sergeant commanded from the squad and how he felt about it.

“Did Doc talk to Lieutenant Colson again?”

“No sir. When Sarge came in from that patrol, he was ordered to stay back, and the rest of us ended up goin’ out again with Colson.”

“So Colson gave Saunders a break. He was taking the mission to the mill himself.”

“Yeah sure, Lieutenant, but Colson wasn’t doin’ it outta the goodness of his heart, that’s for sure.”

Lieutenant Hanley rubbed his jaw, contemplating the private’s disturbing words, when Brockmeyer walked in. “Your jeep’s ready, Lieutenant.”

Hanley rose slowly and donned his helmet. “Kirby, I want you to come along.”

Kirby nodded, “Yessir.”

***********

At the field hospital, Doc sat, lost in thought, at the edge of an empty cot. The large bleached canopy around him billowed from a breeze that was received gratefully by the sweating medical staff. Littlejohn and Caje filled the adjacent cots. Both men had been sleeping soundly through most of their stay. The medic was envious. Initially, his exhaustion had forced him into a restless sleep, but now each time he drifted off, his mind wandered to the mill…and the bodies of the Germans killed by the grenades.

A doctor came out from behind the far curtain and Doc hurried to catch up with him. “Captain Gaines? How is Sergeant Saunders, sir?”

The tall, balding doctor looked at the medic with concern. “I’d say the sergeant might be doing better than you. He’s awake. Why don’t you go see him?”

Doc nodded and walked to Saunders’ bedside. The sergeant was still groggy, but his eyes flickered open as Doc pulled over a chair.

“Hi, Doc. Everybody okay?” The words were slurred and slow.

“They’re okay, Sarge. Littlejohn and Caje are in the next room, asleep. They’ll be able to get outta here in a couple days. Kirby’s back in the village.”

Doc watched as a wave of relief swept across the wounded sergeant’s face.

“You gonna tell me what happened back at that mill, Doc? Last thing I remember is tryin’ to sit up so I could throw some grenades.”

The medic frowned, trying to decide what, and how much, to say. “We got some grenades into the mill. Kirby rigged a litter, and we got you back. You had us pretty worried.”

A puzzled Saunders felt the tension in Doc’s reply. Something wasn’t right. The sergeant wanted to find the right words, but his weakness and exhaustion would not give him the time. He did the best he could. “Thanks for getting me back, Doc. Thanks for getting us all back.” With those words, Saunders drifted back to sleep, leaving the medic in silence.

“Doc?” Lieutenant Hanley’s baritone sounded behind the medic. “How’s Saunders?”

Doc swung around to face the officer and Kirby. “Hi, Lieutenant. Sarge is goin’ to be all right. He was just awake for a few minutes. I think it’s the loss of blood. He’ll be sleepin’ for awhile.”

Hanley looked down at the sergeant, wounded once again. How many times had they replayed this scenario?

“Doc, I need to talk to you, Caje, and Littlejohn.”

“They’re out in the other room.”

On the far side of a formidable line of cots, Caje was sitting up smoking a cigarette and using a washcloth to wipe off the sweat from his face and neck. Littlejohn was awake but still flat on his back, staring up at the top of the tent. Hanley, Doc, and Kirby wove their way through the cots, single-file.

The Cajun scout spotted the group approaching, and his eyes narrowed. “Littlejohn,” he spoke softly without moving his head, “Hanley’s here.” The big private propped himself up on his elbows and turned toward the visitors as they arrived.

“Lieutenant Hanley, you’re back.”

“Littlejohn. Caje.” Hanley looked the two men over as Doc and Kirby stood quietly behind them. “How are you doing?”

“I’ll be gettin’ outta here tomorrow. Caje gets clean sheets for a couple more days.”

“Glad to see you fellas are okay.” Hanley’s expression changed quickly as the easy exchange ended, and the hard questions that everyone knew were coming began.

“I need to ask you about the mission with Lieutenant Colson.”

Caje maintained his poker face while trying to decipher Kirby’s. Littlejohn’s pained expression belied his apprehension. Doc remained in the background deciding which words to chose.

Hanley straightened to his full height and eyed each man. “I’d like the whole story.”

No one answered.

Hanley exhaled with a frown, the squad noting his frustration. “Let’s start with Lieutenant Colson taking the squad out.” The officer’s gaze settled on Doc. “Well, Doc, what about it?”

Doc tilted his head back, eyes closing. “Well, I remember how tired Sarge was when he came back from that last patrol. I was waiting for him…”

A bone-weary Sergeant Saunders walked slowly back to the bank where his men were sleeping. As he approached the bank, a figure emerged from the doorway wearing his familiar medic’s helmet.

“Doc, what’re you doin’ awake?” Saunders stopped and leaned against the doorway frame.

Doc sat down on an old wooden keg across from him. “I wanted to talk to ya, Sarge.”

Saunders slid down the doorframe to a seated position and pulled out a pack of Luckys. Lighting up, he looked over at Doc. “Go ahead, Doc. But I’m tellin’ you right now, we’ve only got about two minutes till I have to go in there and wake everyone up for a mission.”

Doc’s eyes grew wide. “These guys can’t go on like this, and neither can you. Doesn’t Colson know we need some rest? What’s the matter with him? He could send out another squad!” The medic lowered his voice. “Sarge, Colson seems to have somethin’ against you.”

Saunders listened to Doc’s rant and then slowly waved his hand to signal a request for silence. “Doc, when I just went to report in to Colson, I could hear him shouting while I was standing outside the door.”

“Shoutin’ at who?”

“That’s just it, Doc. When I knocked and went in, there was no one there. He was alone. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I just know he’s in charge and he plans on leadin’ the squad to take out a Kraut OP.”

Doc opened his mouth to talk again, stopping himself momentarily as Saunders’ words sunk in. “Did you just say that Colson’s gonna take the squad out?”

Saunders exhaled and nodded. “That’s right, Doc. He’s finally lettin’ me rest while he takes the squad out.”

The astute medic studied Saunders closely. The sergeant was obviously exhausted, but Doc could see the resolve in his eyes.

“What are you gonna do?” Doc’s voice was barely audible.

“I don’t know yet, Doc.” The sergeant stood and ground his cigarette butt into the soil with his boot. “Look, you better check your supplies. I’ll go in and tell the others.”

“All right, Sarge.”

Saunders turned and pushed open the bank’s heavy front door. A chorus of discordant snores greeted him as he walked in. The men of First Squad lay in corners and along walls, each frozen in the unique pose achieved when they collapsed onto their bedrolls in exhaustion. Curled next to Littlejohn’s waist was the small brown dog that had been the squad’s constant companion since they arrived. The sergeant stared into the sea of sleeping men, longing to join them and not wake up until the war had ended. Instead, he sighed heavily and started to nudge gently at sides and booted feet, speaking in a volume just loud enough to wake them.

“Off and on. Ya need to saddle up.”

The dog started as Littlejohn sat up stiffly, rubbing an eye.

“Sarge? Did you just say, ‘saddle up’?”

Saunders gave Littlejohn a sympathetic gaze before nodding. “Afraid so, Littlejohn. Lieutenant Colson is taking you out on a mission. He’s on his way.”

Kirby sprang to his feet, fueled by a sudden burst of adrenaline. “Sarge, did you just say that Colson was takin’ this patrol?”

“That’s right.” Lieutenant Colson’s voice suddenly boomed from the doorway. “You men need to get up and collect rations and ammo for two days!”

Without further exchange, the men began to gather their gear, each glancing at Saunders questioningly. Colson turned to the men. “There is a German observation post in an old mill downriver. We need to destroy it.” The lieutenant pulled out a map and laid it on the barrel Doc had sat upon. Pointing at the map, Colson explained, “We will take this route through sector Baker. Part of it has not been explored and we may run into Germans at any time. If we do, we will try to avoid contact.”

Colson looked up to see the squad staring back at him with questioning eyes. He turned to Saunders, who was sitting on his bedroll at the back of the room. Colson shouted defiantly, “Fall in! Everybody outside!”

The squad did as ordered and Colson began to pace back and forth in front of them. “I know you’re wondering why I’m leading this mission instead of assigning Sergeant Saunders. The reason is simple. You men deserve the best and you’ll never get it with Saunders.”

A murmur of “what?” and general grumbling caused Colson’s blood to boil. His face reddened as the Cajun stepped forward.

“Permission to speak, Lieutenant.”

Colson flared, “Permission denied! We’ve wasted enough time. Move out!”

Hanley looked at Doc incredulously. “He said that about Saunders?”

Kirby jumped in, loudly, “I told ya, Lieutenant. He wasn’t lettin’ Sarge rest outta the goodness of his heart—he wanted to try to show him up!”

“That’s enough, Kirby! What happened next, Doc?”

“We got ready and moved out…”

The squad moved soundlessly through Baker sector, not so much because of the orders to avoid contact with the enemy, but because they were lost in their thoughts about Colson and the fear of being led to their deaths by a man who was unproven to them and seemed not to be in his right mind. The small dog had followed them from town. At first, Kirby tried to shoo it away, but he soon gave up when his attempts were only met with growling.

Watching Colson’s back as he marched behind the lieutenant, Doc’s frustration with the situation ate at him. If I could only talk to a real doctor about the man’s behavior, maybe I could figure out what’s goin’ on.

Caje, on point, stopped in his tracks and ran back toward the rest of the squad. “Lieutenant, there’s an open area up ahead—perfect place for mines. We could circle it and move through the trees to the north, on the ridge.”

Colson moved to the edge of the clearing and surveyed the area. “No, it will take too long and we don’t know that the area is mined.”

“Lieutenant, you said yourself that the area hasn’t been checked,” Caje persisted.

Colson felt his face redden, as his head began to pound. “I told you we will not go around!” He looked up to see the squad staring at him as Doc approached.

“Lieutenant, are you all right?”

Colson clenched his fists at his side. The medic was challenging him, and the officer answered through gritted teeth. “I’m fine; we’re gonna move out.”

Caje moved back in front of Colson. “Lieutenant, I’ll go ahead and clear a path, just give me a little time.”

“We have no time!” Colson’s voice screeched as the pounding in his head increased. He spotted the dog out of the corner of his eye. Grabbing a small branch from the ground, he waved it at the dog and threw it halfway across the clearing. The dog ran after it despite Littlejohn’s booming, “No!”

The dog was only halfway to the branch when a mine exploded sending parts of the canine’s lifeless body flying into the air.

“Now why did you have to do that?” Littlejohn said in anguish, moving toward Colson. Kirby and Caje planted themselves between the big private and the lieutenant, as Hanson grabbed him from behind.

“Take it easy, Littlejohn, don’t let him git to ya,” Kirby advised under his breath as he stared at Colson, his eyes filled with contempt.

Colson glared back at the men. “That dog should never have been here. Now, get over it and pull out!” The lieutenant swayed slightly as he turned to follow the dog’s path through the minefield. Doc grabbed Colson’s elbow to steady him, but the lieutenant pulled away, rubbing his forehead.

The men stood, unmoving, watching the officer walk unsteadily away. “That guy’s a nut job. He’s gonna get us all killed!”

“Well, Kirby, one thing’s for sure—if there are any Krauts in the area, they know we’re here,” Caje replied, watching the trees behind them.

“We better move,” said Hanson, following Colson’s path through the field.

The squad moved out, catching up with Colson. Caje took the rear, puzzled by the odd sensation that they were being followed; yet no Germans had approached to attack or capture them.

Hanley’s eyes widened. “Lieutenant Colson made the decision to go through the mine field?”

“Yessir, he did,” Doc answered.

“Is that where the Kraut squad killed Hanson?”

Kirby answered, “No, Hanson died later, when we moved closer along the river…”

“So what’re we gonna do?” Kirby whispered to Doc as they marched side by side on a path among the trees leading to the river and their destination, the old mill. Doc shook his head and spoke quickly, under his breath, “I don’t know, Kirby. Colson seems to have some loose screws but I’m no psychiatrist…I can’t say for sure.”

The column came to an abrupt stop as Caje, now back on point, came running through the bushes up ahead, signaling to the others to take cover. The men dove off the path and into the brush, hearing the sound of German voices coming closer. A squad of six German soldiers walked casually along the path. A bespectacled lieutenant was in the middle of the column and as the Germans walked just past the hidden Americans, he raised a hand, signaling a break, and pulled out a ration container. The German squad made themselves comfortable and continued chatting amiably, totally oblivious to the Americans only yards away.

Lieutenant Colson lay on his stomach just to the left of Hanson, peering through a bush toward the Germans. He felt a blaze of pain through his forehead as he broke out into a cold sweat. His hands began to shake and his vision blurred. Through the foggy haze that his world had become, he watched the enemy lieutenant jump to his feet and was certain that the man looked at him. When the German shouted an order, Colson knew that the enemy had seen him and would attack; he jumped to his feet and began to fire. Private Hanson reacted as soon as he perceived what Colson was doing. Lunging at the lieutenant, he tried to prevent the officer’s assault. Hanson realized, as a bullet pierced his heart, that his effort had been foolhardy. The Germans began to fire before Colson got off a second shot. Kirby opened up with the BAR, as Littlejohn and Caje moved to flank the Krauts. The well-seasoned German squad expected the Americans’ move. They placed two men to cover each flank, preventing Caje and Littlejohn from ending the firefight. The German lieutenant had been winged by Colson’s shot, but continued to fire and shout out orders to his men.

Doc wormed his way past Hanson’s dead body to Colson, who was lying in the dirt, a bullet having grazed his left bicep. “It doesn’t look too bad, Lieutenant.” Sprinkling sulfa on Colson’s wound, Doc began to apply a bandage. Colson moaned loudly and to the medic’s surprise, passed out. Doc quickly searched the officer for other wounds, but found none.

“Kirby! Can you take the Krauts on the right?” Caje shouted, continuing to fire as he tried to determine a course of action.

“No! I’m penned in! Can you get a grenade in?”

“Not close enough!”

Littlejohn signaled to Caje that he would try to move in closer and began to make his way to the next clump of trees when he was hit in the thigh. Muttering beneath his breath, he managed to drag himself into the safety of the trees while Caje and Kirby fired furiously. Just as the big man reached cover, the blast of an American grenade was followed by cries of terror, and then, the squawk of a Thompson. Doc closed his eyes in relief.

Within seconds, the firefight ended and a gentle breeze cleared the battle’s haze. A camo-covered helmet appeared from the trees and shouts of, “Hey, Sarge, where did you come from?” were heard. Saunders said nothing as his eyes surveyed the squad, quickly assessing each man’s status. His gaze landed on Littlejohn, who was applying pressure to a bloody hole in his left thigh.

“How bad is it?”

Littlejohn winced as he moved his hand to look at the wound. “I don’t think it’s too bad, Sarge.”

“Lemme see.” Saunders helped Littlejohn to a seated position and tore open the wounded man’s pant leg a few inches. “Where’s Doc?”

Kirby and Caje had walked over and were standing by the two men.

“He’s over there. Hanson got hit. I think he’s dead. Lieutenant Colson was hit too.”

Saunders gazed solemnly over to the copse of bushes and could make out the red cross on Doc’s helmet through the foliage. He reached into his web belt and grabbed some sulfa, pouring it on Littlejohn’s wound.

“Thanks, Sarge.”

Pulling out a bandage, he handed it to Kirby, saying, “Here, bandage up his leg. I’m gonna check on Lieutenant Colson. Caje, take security. There are probably more Krauts in the area.”

Littlejohn, Kirby, and Caje watched as the noncom walked slowly over to Doc and Colson. Kirby turned back to finish bandaging Littlejohn’s leg, mumbling, “I wonder what Colson is gonna do when he finds out Sarge followed us.”

Hanley rubbed his hand over his eyes and turned to Doc. “Was Lieutenant Colson seriously wounded?”

“I wasn’t sure at first…”

“Lieutenant? Lieutenant, you all right?” The medic’s familiar voice sounded and Colson slowly opened his eyes.

“What happened?” The raspy sound of his voice surprised him.

Doc reached for a canteen and offered it to the officer, who drank slowly.

“Thanks.”

Putting the canteen down, the medic turned back to Colson. “You passed out, sir.”

The lieutenant frowned, confusion threading through his thoughts. He remembered the firefight and Hanson trying to stop him. “We lose anyone?”

Doc grimaced, his eyes filling with emotion. “Littlejohn has a flesh wound. Hanson is dead.”

Colson stared straight ahead with an empty gaze, not responding to Doc’s words.

“Lieutenant? You okay?”

Sergeant Saunders was staring at him. An inexplicable surge of anger rushed over him. “Sergeant Saunders—why are you here?” Confusion swept across Colson’s face. “And where were you when Hanson died?”

Saunders stood slowly and looked carefully at the lieutenant.

“You have no orders to be here! What do you think you’re doing? You’re trying to undermine my authority and ruin this mission, Saunders!”

Doc watched the lieutenant’s tirade, uncomfortable with his own uncertainty. The medic didn’t know how to help Sarge without possibly making things worse. It was at that moment that Saunders showed him once again why the squad would follow their sergeant anywhere.

“Lieutenant Colson, I believe you’re sick. I followed you because I had to. These are my men, sir.”

Colson continued glaring at the sergeant, neither man giving any ground. “What are you, a doctor now? I don’t care if you’re Gil’s friend or not; I’ll have your head, Saunders!”

Saunders responded, “Yessir, Lieutenant!”

As Colson started to get up, Caje came running over. “Sarge, a Kraut patrol is headed this way!”

Saunders sprang into action. “Doc, can the Lieutenant walk?”

“I think so, Sarge.”

Colson’s face contorted in anger. “Of course I can walk! What are you doing, Saunders! You’re not in charge of this squad!”

“Lieutenant Colson, you’re injured.” Turning back to Caje, Saunders ordered, “Caje, you and Kirby help Littlejohn. Doc, you’re on the lieutenant. Let’s move!”

“So, that’s when Saunders took command. But, Tom’s…I mean Lieutenant Colson’s, injury may not have been serious.”

Caje spoke fervently, “Sergeant Saunders knew that Lieutenant Colson couldn’t complete the mission. We all knew. And we were close to the mill…”

The squad moved awkwardly to the river, Kirby helping Littlejohn, and Doc assisting an angry Lieutenant Colson. Saunders was on point. The sergeant wasn’t certain about the exact location of the mill where the Germans had set up their OP. He knew it had to be north, but how far? Up ahead, he could faintly hear the sound of moving water and could smell the wetness in the air. Suddenly, there were German voices echoing across the water. He signaled the squad to take cover as he cautiously made his way to a thicket along the riverbank. To the east, across the river, he could see the German soldiers stationed at each end of the mill—one alongside the giant stationary waterwheel and the other by the doorway. It was impossible to know how many men were inside. He pulled out his field glasses but there were no windows on the west end of the building to peer through, and no one else ventured outdoors.

Caje had crawled forward. “What can you see, Sarge?”

Saunders handed him the glasses. “Not much. Two guards, but I don’t know who’s inside.”

“There’s some cover downriver.”

“I saw that. Okay, we wait until dark and sneak across—try to surprise ‘em.”

Caje hesitated as Saunders turned to move back toward the squad. “Sarge, what’s gonna happen with Colson?”

Saunders’ face did not betray him but Caje detected a slight tone of concern in the sergeant’s voice, along with the usual steely determination. “Look, Caje, you just concentrate on this mission and let me worry about Colson.”

“Sarge, you might get…”

“Forget it, Caje. Now let’s go!”

Returning to the squad, Saunders shared the details of his plan with the men before moving over to check on the Lieutenant who was lying on the ground next to Doc. “How’s he doin’, Doc?” Saunders asked, nodding toward Colson,

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Sergeant!” Colson’s eyes shot open and he glared at Saunders.

“Sorry, Lieutenant, but I thought you were asleep.”

Doc looked nervously from sergeant to lieutenant and back. “The lieutenant has a flesh wound on his arm and possibly a head wound, based on his collapse back there. I don’t see signs of a concussion, but head wounds can be tricky, Sarge.”

“Head wound? I don’t have a head wound!” Colson started to stand, but tumbled back, unable to maintain his balance.

“Take it easy, Lieutenant. The mill is right down the river from us. When it gets dark we’re gonna take it. I’ll leave Doc here with you and we’ll pick you up once it’s secure.”

*******************

As darkness came, the squad prepared their onslaught.

“Littlejohn, with that leg I want you to stay on this side of the river and cover us.”

“But Sarge, my leg’s fine!”

“Knock it off, Littlejohn. You’d only slow us down. I want you to stay on this side directly across from the mill. If there’s more light later, maybe you can give us some cover.”

“Right, Sarge.”

“Caje, Kirby, the three of us will go downriver and cross at the bend where that old tree hangs over the bank. If the moon stays behind those clouds, no one should spot us. Once we get up near the mill, we’ll decide our next move. And Doc.”

“Yup, I know, I’ll be over here looking after the Lieutenant.”

“That’s right. If anything happens to us, you get Littlejohn and Colson back home.” Turning back to the big private, “Give me your grenades.” Saunders handed one grenade each to Caje and Kirby, to add to their supply. “Littlejohn, let me borrow your knife, too. Okay, let’s move out.”

Saunders, Caje, and Kirby crept slowly through the dense brush along the riverbank. One by one they lowered themselves into the muddy, waist-deep water and, spacing themselves five yards apart, waded across the river, weapons held at shoulder height.

Once the men were out of the water, Saunders signaled them to follow him along the riverbank to the mill. When they were within 100 feet of the structure, they stopped at the sound of German voices. The sergeant gestured to Kirby and Caje to stay put as he circled to the right and peered through the foliage at two privates on guard duty. One had approached the other seeking a light for his cigarette. The tallest of the two provided the lighter and they both returned to their posts on the south and east sides of the mill. Saunders judged from the positioning of the two guards that there would be a third guard posted on the north side. Through the dim light of evening, he could not make out anyone guarding the river side of the mill. The building appeared to be right on the water, with little room to position anyone outside by the broken wheel. The only windows were on the south side of the building, on either side of the door. The noncom returned to his men with his report.

“I can see two guards, one to the east and the other up ahead. I’m betting there’s another up to the north. Caje, you circle around and take out anyone on the north end. Kirby, you’ve got the Kraut to the east, I’ll take the one closest. If we’re lucky, we can take ‘em without firing a shot and get close enough to get some grenades into the mill before anyone’s the wiser.”

“Yeah, sure, Sarge…if we’re lucky,” Kirby grumbled under his breath.

“What’s the matter, Kirby? Not feelin’ lucky today?” Caje smiled.

Saunders checked his Thompson and whispered, “Let’s go.”

Hanley scanned the group, frowning. “So, how did Colson die?”

Doc looked at the other witnesses and then Hanley, his gut sick with guilt. “I didn’t see Lieutenant Colson die.”

Hanley frowned. Thoughts of the letter he’d have to write to Tom’s parents—and his own-- had been haunting his thoughts. What would he say? How did Tom die? “You weren’t with him? I thought he was wounded and sick?”

“He was, Lieutenant, and we were waiting across the river from the mill…”

Littlejohn squinted in the darkness, watching for activity by the mill. Doc whispered his name before joining the big man. “What’s Colson doin’ over there, Doc?”

“He’s out. Sleepin’ like a baby. You see anything?”

“Nothin.”

Doc pulled out a pack of chewing gum and offered a stick to Littlejohn.

“Hey! Where’d you get that? I’ve been outta gum for a month.”

“Another medic at the field hospital, when I went there for supplies. He owed me a favor. How’s the leg?”

“I’m okay, Doc.” Littlejohn stuck the gum wrapper in his pocket while again checking the far riverbank for any movement. Seeing nothing, he turned to the medic.

“What do ya think Colson’s gonna do to Sarge, Doc?”

Doc frowned. “I don’t know, Littlejohn. I’m worried ‘bout that myself.”

“Colson’s crazy, Doc! Somebody’s gotta know that. If Sarge hadn’t followed us we coulda died back there when Colson started firing at the squad of Krauts!”

Doc raised his hand to quiet the big private whose whisper was growing louder with emotion. “I know, Littlejohn, but the Army may not buy it. We’ll just have to see how it plays out. Now you better get back to watchin’ or all this talk won’t matter ‘cause we won’t make it back alive. I’m gonna check on the lieutenant.”

Doc walked back to the thick brush where he’d left Colson five minutes earlier. He stopped dead in his tracks as he pushed through some bushes and found Colson awake and pointing an M-1 at him.

“Lieutenant Colson? It’s …it’s me, Doc.” The medic’s voice was soft and measured, but the slight quaking could not be fully disguised.

Colson’s head hung down slightly, his hair disheveled, his shoulders stooped. The officer’s eyes were wide and fearful. “You’re helping him take my men.”

Doc’s eyes darted from side to side, trying to determine an escape route. The only course with cover lay behind him. He had to either make a break for it, or try to disarm Colson head on.

“Lieutenant, no one is takin’ your men away from you. It’s just that you’re sick, Sir. The Sarge…all of us, we just want to get you back safely.”

“Get me back?” Colson appeared bewildered. “I can’t go back! We have a mission!”

As Doc decided to make his move, there was a sudden movement and snap of a branch behind him as a doe ran from her hiding place. Startled, he turned away for only seconds, but when he turned back, Colson was nowhere in sight.

The medic’s face displayed his feelings of guilt over what happened, as well as his sympathy for Hanley over the loss of his friend. Littlejohn’s deep voice joined in. “We followed him across the river. By the time we got to Kirby’s position, Colson was already dead.”

Hanley’s eyes moved slowly to Caje and Kirby. “What did Colson do when he got across the river?”

Caje answered, “Once we got across the river, Sarge gave us our orders to take the mill…”

Caje circled wide to the east before moving north, hoping to avoid the German posted on the east side of the mill. As he swung back to the west, he moved warily, watching for any sign or movement to indicate the position of another guard. The brush became dense and it was difficult even for the graceful scout to move soundlessly. Gazing through a thicket of bushes, he spotted another guard. The large, white-haired German stood next to an outcropping of rock, Schmeisser in hand. Caje edged back behind the bushes to plan his strategy.

Kirby kept his eyes fixed on the Kraut guard to the east of the mill. He waited to make his move, wanting to be certain that Caje had swung around the perimeter and would not get hit by any friendly fire should things go wrong. Placing the BAR on the ground beneath a large oak, he pulled out his knife and snuck up behind the German. The private couldn’t believe his luck. The German leaned his rifle against the frame of the old mill and pulled out what appeared to be a letter. The distraction made it easy for the American to creep up behind his enemy and end his life with one quick thrust before pulling the body out of sight.

Sergeant Saunders also waited to give time for Caje to make his way to the north side of the mill. He pulled out Littlejohn’s knife and began to move toward the guard’s position, watching the doorway to the mill. The guard had moved to the fencepost west of the door. He would have to get as close as possible without being seen, and then jump the man quickly. Moving from cover to cover, he was almost to the edge of the bushes when Lieutenant Colson shouted, “Saunders!”

The German closest to Caje ran forward as he heard Colson’s shout and Caje quickly made his move, stabbing the big man in the side before the guard knew what was happening. An M-1 fired and then several Schmeissers opened up as Caje ran back toward the others.

From his position, Kirby turned to see Colson walk out of the trees and aim his M-1 at the mill. He began running toward him as the lieutenant shouted, “Saunders!” and Kirby witnessed Colson taking aim at the noncom. Kirby opened his mouth to shout a warning, but was too late. Colson fired and Saunders’ body twisted in a half turn before falling to the ground. The German guard blasted Colson with his Schmeisser, virtually cutting the lieutenant in half, while a German sergeant and two other privates appeared at the windows of the mill, firing wildly. Kirby opened up on the guard who had killed Colson, taking him down as he tried to make his way to the door of the mill.

Caje could hear the steady fire of the BAR as he came around the side of the mill. The Cajun positioned himself on the flank and opened up, trying to take some of the pressure off of Kirby, who barely managed to keep the Germans at the windows pinned down.

The BAR man’s heart pounded as he watched Saunders’ barely visible form upon the ground. He turned with a start at the sound of branches snapping behind him and pulled up just in time, recognizing Doc and Littlejohn. The big private took position next to Kirby and began to fire.

Doc’s eyes surveyed the scene and could make out only Caje. “Kirby, have you seen Colson?”

Without pausing his fire, Kirby shouted back, “He’s dead! He shot Sarge! I don’t know if he killed ‘im or not!”

Littlejohn stopped firing for a moment at Kirby’s words.

Doc felt his stomach drop. How could this be? “Where is Saunders, Kirby?”

“He’s on the ground, over by the mill, Doc. On the river side!”

The medic grabbed his pack and turned to leave.

“Wait Doc!” Kirby’s words went unheeded as Doc disappeared into the night.

Caje was growing impatient and worried. He hadn’t heard Saunders’ Thompson fire. He knew Littlejohn had crossed the river with Doc and he’d heard Kirby shout “Wait Doc!” He knew Doc was going to help someone, but who? Saunders or Colson? He decided to try to break to the right and get closer. One of them needed to get a grenade in. He grasped his Garand tightly and sprang into a sprint, only to be hit on the leg and flung back into the bushes.

Slowly, Hanley stood and scanned the men of the squad. Tom shot Saunders! He could’ve gotten them all killed. Surprised that he had no doubts about the squads’ story, the lieutenant wondered why it was so easy to believe. Had he known all along Tom was unstable? Again, Hanley turned to Doc. “You were making your way to Saunders?”

“Yessir. I had to try to get to him…”

Doc moved around to the back of the mill and into the river, making his way slowly along the shoreline to the waterwheel. The huge wooden wheel was cracked in several places. Large slivers of soggy wood stuck out to the side and Doc was thankful the it wasn’t moving. He carefully held onto the wheel, using it to pull himself toward the fallen sergeant’s position. As the water grew deeper, Doc struggled to keep his medical bag above water. The clouds had moved away from the moon and the added light made the task easier, but Doc realized the risk of being seen increased with the moonlight. His efforts intensified until he climbed up the riverbank, dropping to his stomach as he reached the crest. Over the top of the crest, he saw the sergeant on the ground. He also saw the dark pool of blood forming next to Saunders’ side and the slight movement of the noncom’s head. That was all the impetus the medic needed; he began crawling quickly to the wounded man’s side. Halfway there, Doc perceived movement from the flank and saw Caje making his move. The Cajun’s swift, graceful run stopped suddenly as a bullet hit his thigh and he dropped roughly into some bushes.

The medic’s eyes darted from Caje to Saunders. Kirby and Littlejohn increased their fire. Doc moved forward to the sergeant.

“Sarge?”

“Doc? Doc, what are you doin’ here? Tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

The medic began to rip apart Saunders’ shirt to expose the wound. Frowning at what he saw, he pulled out sulfa powder and bandages and began to apply them. “I’m doin’ my job, Sarge. Now you just lay still. You’re bleedin’ bad.”

Saunders groaned as Doc applied pressure on the wound.

Doc reached into his rucksack. “I’m gonna give you some morphine.”

“Wait, Doc! Listen to me. I saw Caje get hit. I think he’s out of it.”

“I know, Sarge.”

“Where’s Littlejohn?”

“He came over with me after Colson took off on us.”

Saunders winced at Colson’s name. “What happened to Colson, Doc?”

Doc looked at the sergeant’s worried face. “He’s dead, Sarge. The Krauts got him after he shot you.” Saunders’ eyes slowly widened as he realized what Doc had told him.

“Sarge, I gotta get you outtta here. You’re gonna need the morphine.”

“Doc, Littlejohn is wounded. He and Kirby can’t take this building by themselves. The Krauts have too much firepower. I have to get these grenades in there.” Saunders gestured to the bulge in his jacket pocket created by two grenades.

“Sarge, if you try to move you’re just gonna open the wound up more.”

“If I don’t, we all might die, Doc. Help me.”

The medic suddenly stopped relaying the story to the Lieutenant, even though the events that followed rolled through his mind in a vicious torrent. Kirby took over, the BAR man grinning slightly. “I sure was happy to hear those grenades explode. I thought Sarge was dead and we were gonna hafta leave Doc…”

“Littlejohn, we’ve got to grab Caje and get outta here!” the BAR man shouted.

“We can’t just leave Sarge and Doc, Kirby!”

“We don’t even know if the Sarge is alive. I’m almost outta ammo. It’s no good. We gotta leave now!”

Kirby swung around to face Littlejohn as two grenade blasts in quick succession catapulted shards of wood and debris high into the air. A billow of smoke by the mill cleared, and Kirby checked out the building, finding no survivors. The BAR man darted back out of the mill door, planning to look for his wounded friends. Littlejohn limped forward under his own power, and Caje appeared, moving unsteadily out of the woods, his left hand pressing on the bleeding wound on his thigh. Both were looking toward the west end of the mill. Kirby spun to check things out and caught sight of Doc, crouched down next to an unconscious Saunders.

“Doc! He still alive?” Kirby asked anxiously after running over to the two men. When the medic didn’t respond, Kirby assumed the worst. “Doc?” Kirby shook the medic’s shoulder slightly and stared down at the sergeant. An unintentional gasp emitted from the private as he witnessed the sergeant’s chest rise and fall. “Hey, Sarge’s alive! I thought he bought it for sure this time, Doc. I can’t believe that loony lieutenant! I would’ve blasted Colson myself if the Krauts hadn’t done it for me.”

Littlejohn and Caje soon joined the others, the big private easing Caje onto the ground. Caje gasped as he began to tear back his pant leg near his wound, but his sole concern was for the sergeant. “How bad is he, Doc?”

Suddenly aware of the group around him, Doc turned, his face and demeanor intense, but somehow distant. “The Sarge has lost a lot of blood, but I think he’ll be okay if we git ‘im back right away.” Noticing the Cajun’s leg, the medic blinked and spoke again, slowly, “Caje, you better let me look at that wound.” Doc slid over to Caje and began to clean and bandage his leg.

Kirby started looking around for something to make a litter with. “Wow, look at this place. It’s a good thing Sarge got those grenades in before he passed out or we’d all be waitin’ around for the graves registration guys!”

Doc looked up, startled. “What?”

“You might not have been able to see it from here, Doc, but we were in a bad way. Kirby and I are about out of ammo. If Sarge hadn’t gotten those grenades in, well, like Kirby said, we probably wouldn’t’ve made it,” Littlejohn added.

Doc turned his face away. “Oh, yeah…sure.”

Kirby finished rigging up a litter and dragged it over. “Here ya go, Doc. You think these other two can make it back?”

“Well, if we take it easy.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it,” Caje and Littlejohn both chimed in.

As the bedraggled group rose to leave, Doc walked back to the mill door and peered in. Tear-filled eyes swept over the carnage that two grenades could create.

“Hey, Doc. There ain’t no point in checkin’ in there. Those guys are beyond doctorin’.”

Kirby’s comment was crude but accurate. Doc rubbed his hands across his face to remove any sign of his anguish, before turning to pick up the litter and move out for home with the squad.

“We had about run outta ideas when Sarge threw the grenades in and ended it,” Littlejohn concluded.

Doc could feel his stomach tighten. Would Hanley ask anymore?

“All right. That’s all I need to ask for now.” Hanley’s voice was quiet, tired.

Caje straightened and faced the officer. “Lieutenant, is Saunders going to face charges for not following Lieutenant Colson’s order to stay back?”

Hanley looked the Cajun in the eyes. “I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s likely.”

“But, Lieutenant!” A chorus of voices spoke at once in protest.

Hanley held up his hand to silence them. “Look, I don’t control what the Brass does. If charges are filed, you men can expect to be called to testify.”

With those words, Hanley turned and walked out, leaving the three enlisted men glancing over at the doorway to the other room where their sergeant lay sleeping.

******************

Gil Hanley drove a jeep back to his headquarters, grateful to be alone with his thoughts. Tom Colson had been a friend for a long time, but Gil realized he had never really trusted him…not like he trusted Saunders. Hanley had learned from the stress of war what real trust was. As a kid, Colson was always trying to prove himself, but always falling short. He was someone who would have seen Saunders as a natural leader—and felt threatened by it. If he had been sick, either physically or mentally, he could have lost it. Hanley recognized that this was why he had no doubts about the squad’s story or Saunders’ motivation.

When the lieutenant arrived at his quarters, Brockmeyer greeted him with an envelope. It was addressed to Captain Jampal but resealed and forwarded to Hanley. The lieutenant ripped it open and found a letter from London, and also a note from