Fallout by Albert Baker (Claudia) 2007

(Follows the Combat! Episode, ‘Carousel’)

Characters aren’t mine. No Profit—Just for Fanfic Fans

The battalion field hospital was set up next to the main Allied supply route three miles outside of the French village where Kirby was injured. It consisted of one large and two smaller tents, surrounded by three trucks holding needed supplies. He lay unmoving on a cot, one of many soldiers wounded by the shelling and scattered firefights in the area. His neck and shoulder throbbed with pain, but he smiled anyway. He was in one piece, and his wounds earned him a couple of weeks of clean sheets and nurses.

A hospital could be heaven on Earth.

A raspy moan came from the curtained area to his right, reminding Kirby that a hospital could also be hell. The private counted his blessings, something he rarely did prior to the war. A complainer by nature, Kirby tended to look at the “down side” of things. The longer he’d been in the ETO, however, the more he began to realize just how lucky he was.

Like this morning.

Kirby remembered the mind-numbing pain as the German 88s pounded the village, and debris rocketed through the air, piercing his flesh. He’d felt the warm blood running down his neck as he lost consciousness, wondering if this was his time to die.

He had awakened to see the sweet face of a young girl, the student nurse, Claudine. With gentleness and skill that belied her tender age, she tended his wounds as he lay on the village street. Sarge and Doc appeared, and Kirby heard Doc say that Kirby was lucky to be alive and that he would have died if the girl hadn’t helped him.

Kirby smiled again. Imagine a young girl like that being around to save my sorry hide.

A commotion at the main entrance to the hospital tent roused Kirby’s attention. Caje walked in supporting Doc. The medic limped along, a wad of bandages covering his right thigh, his face lined with pain and exhaustion from the great effort it took for him to walk on the wounded leg. Directly behind them, two corpsmen carried a litter holding an unconscious sergeant, his blond mane revealing his identity.

Sarge!

Kirby struggled to sit up and catch Caje’s attention. By the time he managed to force himself to a sitting position, a doctor was working on the wounded medic, and the sergeant was whisked off behind the curtained area. Kirby knew Caje would seek him out when he could, and within minutes the Cajun private had maneuvered his way through the sea of cots and was standing next to Kirby, looking tired and worried.

“How ya doin’, Kirby?”

“Caje, what happened?”

Caje sat wearily on the edge of the cot. Removing his helmet, he rubbed his hand over tired eyes as he began to speak.

“There was a report of Krauts outside of town. Sarge, Littlejohn, Henderson, Doc and I went to check it out. We ran into a squad of Germans and Doc got it in his leg from a ricochet. Sarge was alone on our flank. He took a hit to his shoulder. We couldn’t help him. Luckily the girl was there, she…” Caje’s voice trailed off and he frowned and shook his head before starting again. “The bullet is still in him. He lost a lot of blood. They’ve got him in surgery.”

“Well, Sarge’s gonna be okay, ain’t he?”

Caje stood slowly and sighed. “I don’t know, Kirby. I’m gonna go check on Doc. I’ll be back later.”

Watching the worried scout walk over to Doc’s cot, Kirby swallowed back his growing anxiety. Damn it, Caje! Tell me what’s going on!

* * * * * *

“How ya feelin’, Doc?”

Doc squinted as he looked up at Caje. “Like a piece of hot lead went through my leg!”

Caje stared silently at Doc, waiting for the medic to compose himself.

Doc sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Caje. I’ve just had it, is all. That young girl…and seein’ the Sarge like that…I, I’ve just had it.”

Both men glanced over at the curtain to their right.

Inhaling deeply, Doc turned on his side. “It’ll be awhile.”

Caje, lost in his thoughts, said nothing. Sergeant Saunders broke down and cried. The man Caje depended on to keep him sane in this war had broken down when the girl had been killed by the mine. The Cajun scanned the tent, counting the wounded and wondering how many more were on the other side of the curtain.

“Caje, where’s Kirby?” Doc struggled to raise himself high enough to survey the rows of cots surrounding him.

Caje nodded toward Kirby’s cot.

“Kirby’s over there. He wanted to know what happened. I told him about you and Sarge getting hit, but I didn’t tell him about Claudine.”

Doc looked quizzically at Caje. “Why not?”

Caje’s eyes shifted from side to side.

“He didn’t bring her up and I decided to wait to tell ‘im...he’ll find out soon enough.”

Caje bent over and grasped the medic’s shoulder “I’ve got to report to Lieutenant Hanley now.”

* * * * * *

Hours later, Doc awoke with a start from a dream. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the ceiling of the field hospital, reflecting on his nightmare. He had been walking with the squad through a meadow of flowers. As the sun shone through the clouds, he commented to the Sarge, “It looks like it’s gonna be a beautiful day.” No sooner had he uttered the words, than a mine exploded under Kirby. Doc heard the private’s bloodcurdling cry. As he started to run toward Kirby, another mine exploded under Littlejohn, and then Caje. Doc froze in shock and disbelief. He turned to Saunders and their eyes met. The sergeant’s eyes were glassy. Saunders looked at his boots and then back at Doc. His expression changed from despair to resignation. Staring straight at Doc, Saunders took one more step and a final mine exploded.

Lord in heaven.

Doc rubbed his eyes and looked around. Evening shadows crept over the hospital, and the medic wondered how long he’d been out. He glanced at Kirby’s cot and saw the private staring back at him.

Doc slowly sat up, relieved to see Kirby walking slowly toward him-- he wasn’t too sure if he could put weight on his own leg yet. Kirby crossed the room and plopped himself down on Doc’s cot.

“How ya doin’, Kirby?”

“Pretty good, Doc. How bout yourself? You’ve been sleepin’ a long time.”

“Well, the bullet went clean through. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Doc looked around the room. “You heard anythin’ about the Sarge?”

Kirby nodded toward the curtained area. “Lieutenant Hanley’s in there. He walked in right before ya woke up and ain’t come out yet.”

“There they are.” Littlejohn’s deep voice sounded at the entrance, and he and Caje made their way through the sea of cots, the big private ducking as the tent ceiling sagged down near a side wall.

“What’s the word on the Sarge?”

“Nothin’ yet. Hanley’s in there now.”

Littlejohn looked questioningly at Doc. “Does Hanley know what happened?”

Kirby frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Hanley appeared and walked over to the squad.

“Doc, Kirby, how are you two?”

“We’re fine, Lieutenant,” Doc replied, “but what about the Sarge?”

“They got the bullet out. He’s going to be out of commission for a couple weeks, but he should be okay.”

“Have you talked to him, Lieutenant?” Doc asked hesitantly.

Hanley cocked his head slightly and frowned. “No, he’s still unconscious. Why?”

Doc glanced up at Littlejohn who tightened his lips and looked downward. Caje stood silently, averting his eyes.

Hanley’s gaze moved from Doc to Littlejohn and his expression softened.

“I heard about the girl and the mine.”

Kirby stood abruptly. “What? Would somebody tell me what happened?”

Doc shot a disapproving look at Caje and stepped in. “Take it easy, Kirby. A mine killed Claudine. She was walkin’ back into town with us and she went off to pick some flowers. Somehow she tripped it.”

Kirby sat back down slowly. “She saved my life.”

“She saved the Sarge, too,” Doc added, “He took it pretty hard when she died.”

Hanley studied Doc closely and then turned to Caje and Littlejohn. “You guys seem to have something more on your mind. You want to tell me what it is?”

Littlejohn shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know how the Sarge would feel bout us talkin’ about this here, but he broke down out there when he saw the girl. I’ve never seen the Sarge like that.”

“What do you mean, ‘broke down?” Hanley asked.

Doc took a breath and spoke. “He and the girl’d grown close, It’s not surprising’ that he broke down some…what with having had the morphine and seein’ how the girl had saved ‘im. When we started back, Sarge just passed out. He’d lost a lot of blood and that along with the shock must’ve done him in.”

Hanley rubbed his jaw. “Lots of things can happen to make a man act out of character when he’s wounded. I suggest you men worry about yourselves and let the doctors worry about Saunders.”

“Yessir!” The response to the lieutenant’s words was automatic, but the looks that passed between the men revealed their misgivings.

* * * * * *

The smell of blood and antiseptic greeted Sergeant Saunders when he awoke twenty-four hours later. His chest and right shoulder felt like they were weighted down by a piece of hot steel. His mouth and throat were dry. He lifted his head slightly to see if there was anyone within earshot, but it was an unnecessary move. Within seconds a nurse was at his side.

“Sergeant, it’s nice to see you awake. Would you like a drink of water?” she asked, pouring water into a glass.

Saunders nodded and drank. As the nurse removed the glass, he tried to sit up, causing a shooting pain through his chest.

“Easy, Sergeant. I will make you more comfortable, but you mustn’t try that again until you’ve given yourself some time to heal. We don’t want any stitches tearing out, do we?”

Saunders eased onto his back and resigned himself to lying still. The nurse tucked some towels under him in strategic places until he felt reasonably comfortable.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” he replied, uttering his first words since waking up.

“Your lieutenant has been by several times to see you, and your wounded squad medic has been asking about you, too. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”

“Could I get a smoke?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sure I can scrounge up one for you. I’ll be right back.”

Saunders stared at the ceiling wishing he could will himself out of the hospital tent and away to a quiet place to be alone. Doc would have spoken with Hanley about what had happened outside of town. He’d let the squad see weakness. It just happened. The pain was still raw and he needed some time to sort it out. His eyes welled up again as he pictured Claudine’s lifeless body lying in the dirt.

Why?

Saunders shook his head. He knew there was no answer to that question. He’d learned that a long time ago.

The nurse reappeared with a pack of Lucky Strikes. “Here you go, sergeant. I’ll be bringing you something more to drink in a while and the Doctor will be back to check on you later.” She adjusted his IV and then nodded at Doc who was limping toward him with the aid of a crutch. “It looks like you’ve got company coming,”

The nurse and the medic passed each other moving in opposite directions and Doc turned to admire her. As he reached Saunders, he awkwardly pulled an empty chair over and sat down.

“How ya doin’, Sarge?”

“I’m fine, Doc. How’s the leg?”

“Well, it’s kinda stiff, but it’s a sight better than it was when I first got here.”

Saunders tried to take out a cigarette.

“Here, Sarge. Lemme help ya with that.” Doc placed a cigarette in Saunders' mouth and lit it for him.

Saunders drew in a long breath. “Thanks, Doc.”

A minute went by without any further conversation. Doc had contemplated what he should say to Saunders. He felt he needed to try to heal the wounds he couldn’t see as well as the ones he could.

“Sarge, how are you really?”

“What do ya mean?”

“Sarge, it’s been a rough few days with Dorfman and Glass dying. Then what happened to the girl…well, it doesn’t get much worse than that.”

Saunders stared at the ceiling. ”No, Doc, it doesn’t get much worse than that.”

“Sarge, if ya need to talk about it, I would be…”

“Forget it, Doc,” Saunders interrupted. “Talkin’ won’t change a thing. Besides, there’s nothin’ to say.”

Doc frowned and started to say more, but stopped himself. The sergeant had moved his forearm up over his eyes. It was a familiar signal that the conversation was over.

* * * * * *

Doc returned to the squad after eight days. During his stay in the hospital, First Squad and the rest of the King Company had been in several skirmishes but made little progress advancing the line. A beaten down barn, the recipient of at least one 105 shell during the American artillery barrage ten days ago, had become the squad’s home.

Studying the men, Doc found Caje seemed a bit quieter than usual, but Doc wasn’t too concerned. Caje had been left in charge. His loyalty to Saunders was unwavering. Littlejohn, except for being anxious for the Sarge to return, was back to business as usual.

It was Henderson who worried Doc. Although he hadn’t been with the squad very long, Henderson had appeared to be fitting in and seemed friendly enough. The man Doc saw now was different. Henderson said little, but when he did speak his words were laced with anger and resentment. Doc decided to wait until they were alone and try talking with him.

“Henderson, you feelin’ okay?”

Henderson, sitting on the floor of the barn, fingered some graying straw and shook his head. “Feelin’ okay? Who could be feelin’ okay sittin’ here waitin’ for days on end? And with this sorry bunch!”

“Well, I been with this ‘sorry bunch’ for quite awhile now, and they’re a good men. What’s your beef?”

“My beef is that every man in this squad follows Saunders like he’s some kinda Sergeant York, and it’s gonna get us all killed.”

“What are you talking about, Henderson?”

Henderson stood up, tossing the straw angrily to the ground. “I’m talkin’ about everyone actin’ like nothin’ happened. I’m talkin’ about the man crackin’ up over that girl. I’ve seen it before and I’m not goin’ through it again!”

“Goin’ through what? Just what happened to you, Henderson?”

“I had a NCO crack up on my squad before. Got half the squad killed before they took him off the line. I tell ya, I know what I’m talkin’ about, Doc.”

Doc stared at the angry private, somewhat relieved to finally understand what was troubling him and hoping to reason with him.

“Henderson, Saunders didn’t crack up. Yeah, he was upset. But he had good reason.”

Henderson shook his head in disagreement. “I hope you’re right, Doc, but I don’t think you are. Course, by the time you find that out, we may all be dead.”

* * * * * *

Several days had passed since Doc’s return, but still no orders were received to move out. Caje stood watching the road from under a large old tree in the farmyard. One of its biggest branches had been cracked in the shelling, so that its last six feet hung at a ninety-degree angle to the ground. The PFC tried to imagine what the farm had looked like before the shelling and wondered how long it would take to regain its former beauty. Another cost of war.

Gradually, the sound of a jeep coming his way became more pronounced. Garand in hand, he backed around the tree. As the jeep grew nearer, he heard someone shouting.

“Well heh there, good buddies! Ol’ Kirby’s back and in fine form. Those Krauts’ll be ready to give up any day now!”

Moving out from behind the tree, Caje couldn’t help but smile at his friend. “Kirby, don’t ya know there’s a war on?”

Littlejohn, Henderson, and Doc heard the commotion and came around the side of the barn.

“Kirby, you’re back! Say, how’s the Sarge doin’?” asked Littlejohn.

“He’s doin’ good. They should let ‘im outta there in a few days.”

“Well, Cage, you gotta be happy to hear that. You won’t have ta worry bout keepin’ us in line no more,” Doc said smiling.

“That’s right, Sarge’ll have to try doin’ that again.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Henderson scowled.

Kirby turned to him, frowning. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’ve got to be kiddin!” Henderson shook his head. “I can’t believe you guys. Dorfman and Glass bought it while Saunders was in charge. Then he walks us right into that ambush outside of town and almost gets us all killed. Saunders! Caje was ready to leave me and Littlejohn to fight a squad of Germans alone so he could get morphine to Saunders! Then the girl buys it and Saunders starts bawlin’ like some basket case! When are you guys gonna wake up?”

Kirby and Littlejohn instantly squared off with Henderson, Caje close behind.

“Dorf and Glassman didn’t follow Sarge’s orders. That’s why they bought it!” Kirby shouted at Henderson.

“Yeah and he didn’t lead us into an ambush. He called the feint so we had time to set up,” Littlejohn added.

“And I DIDN”T leave you and Littlejohn, did I, Henderson? So just drop it!”

“Yeah sure. I’ll drop it, Caje. But you just remember. I tried to warn you guys!”

* * * * * *

Four days later, Sergeant Saunders prepared to return to his squad. As he grabbed his camo helmet and Thompson, he heard Doc’s familiar voice.

“Thought ya might like a ride back to the action, Sarge.”

“Hi Doc. I was hopin’ someone would show up, but I wasn’t sure you’d know I was comin' back today.”

“Well, Lieutenant Hanley gave me a heads up. He thought you might have a tough time gettin’ a ride back, what with the field hospital bein’ moved to the west. He said he needs to see ya right away. Seems there’s somethin’ big brewin’.”

“Figures,” Saunders said, adjusting the Thompson on his sore shoulder.

“How are ya feelin’, Sarge?” Doc asked, noticing Saunders’ pained movements.

“Oh, you know how it goes, Doc,” Saunders replied as they walked toward the jeep, “Stiff and sore ‘till you’re back in the war.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

Doc slipped behind the wheel and once Saunders was seated, the two men drove east to Hanley’s CP. Doc was pleased to see that Saunders seemed at peace, but decided he still needed to say a few things.

“Sarge, I’ve been wantin’ to tell ya how bad I feel about what happened to Claudine. I know you were fond of her and it hit ya hard, anyone could…”

Saunders cut him off. “Could what, Doc? Break down?”

“Sarge, I just want ya to know you shouldn’t worry about it.”

Saunders stared at the road ahead. “You know my sister, Louise, is ‘bout the same age as Claudine was.”

Doc blinked several times. “I guess I never thought about that, Sarge. Claudine must have reminded ya a lot of Louise.”

“You wouldn’t believe it, Doc. Both stubborn as can be.”

Saunders shook his head, becoming sullen. “Should’ve gone back to town like I told her.”

“But Sarge, if she had, you’d be dead for sure.”

Doc drew in a breath and then spoke again. “Sarge, you’ve said it yourself—some things’re just fate. Thinkin’ maybe if you’d have said this or done that will get ya nowhere.”

“I know that, Doc,” Saunders replied, ending the conversation as the men pulled up to Hanley outside the command post.

* * * * * *

Lieutenant Hanley was standing outside the command post talking with two of his NCOs and wondering if the weather was going to hold up, when Saunders and Doc came riding up. He’d visited Saunders at the hospital twice more since the day the sergeant was brought in, but Saunders had been groggy both times and fallen asleep within minutes.

“Good to have you back, Saunders,” Hanley looked the sergeant over. The other NCOs added their greetings and then the men turned their attention back to Hanley as Doc left to return the jeep to the motor pool.

“Let’s head inside and I’ll bring everyone up to speed.” Hanley led the way into the old dry goods store that served as the CP.

The three NCOs gathered around a makeshift table in the center of the room as Hanley pulled out maps of the area and began the briefing.

“S2 has reported that German tanks are moving toward this forested area west of Chaumont. They are leading a big Kraut push through the woods to the river, trying to drive us to the other side. A battalion of German infantry follows the tanks. Able company is stationed in the woods and Love Company is on their flank, here. Bazooka teams are set up in these fields on the far side of the woods. They will try to stop the tanks there before they get into the trees.”

“Why bazooka teams and not artillery, Lieutenant?” Sergeant Colby asked.

“Our artillery is tied up in a huge battle outside of Toul. We’re stretched very thin, Colby. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”

“So where’s King Company in all this, Lieutenant?” Saunders asked, lighting up a Lucky.

“Our job is to guard the river and make sure the Krauts don’t get to it. If Able and Love Company are unable to hold back the Germans, and those tanks get through, we need to cover the retreat and then blow the bridge.”

The Lieutenant went on to assign the squad positions. “Colby, your squad will be on the left flank, by the bridge. There will be a demolitions man assigned to you. Hopefully, he’ll have nothing to do. McCoy, your squad will take the right flank. If the Krauts try to outmaneuver us, it will most likely be on the right, so stay sharp. Saunders, your squad will be in the center. If there’s any sign that those tanks are breaking through the woods, you cover the retreat and we blow the bridge. Any questions?” Hanley surveyed the NCOs and got no questions, only looks of concern and apprehension.

Saunders broke the silence. “When do we pull out, Lieutenant?”

“Have the men grab some hot chow. We pull out at 0900.”

As the NCOs began filing out, Hanley stopped Saunders.

“Hold on a minute, Saunders.” Hanley pointed at a pot of coffee nearby.

“No thanks, Lieutenant. Coffee is one thing the hospital had plenty of.”

Hanley’s eyes narrowed. “So how are you feeling?”

“A little stiff, but okay.”

“I’m sorry about the girl, Saunders.” He further scrutinized Saunders as he offered him another cigarette.

Saunders nodded and lit up the Lucky. “So am I, Lieutenant… so am I.”

Inhaling deeply, Saunders looked briefly at Hanley and then hoisted his Thompson onto his shoulder. “If that’s all, Lieutenant, I’d like to get back to the squad.”

Hanley nodded. “That’s all, sergeant…and good luck.”

“You too, sir.” He turned and headed out of the CP.

* * * * * *

Sergeant Saunders walked out to the barn to find his squad. The late morning air held a chill and the sergeant flipped up the collar of his field jacket to block the cool breeze. The movement made him wince at the sudden pain in his sore shoulder. Still, walking outside felt good, and was much preferred to the confines of the field hospital tent. As Saunders neared the ruins of the barn, he whistled to signal his arrival. It was only seconds before Littlejohn’s huge form appeared from behind a battered wall to greet him.

“Sarge! Good to have ya back!”

Kirby, Caje and Doc soon emerged, with Henderson lingering behind them.

Saunders looked the squad over, relieved to see everyone rested and in one piece. “Good to be back. We’re heading in to get some hot chow and then we’ve gotta move out.”

The squad moved in unison, grabbing their gear and falling into line with their sergeant for the walk toward town.

“So what’s up, Sarge? I’ve been tellin’ these guys there was a big Kraut push comin’. I’m right, ain’t I?”

“Yeah Kirby, you’re right. The whole platoon is moving out. We’ve gotta cover Love and Able Company and hope they stop a bunch of Kraut tanks before they run over us.”

“Well, at least they’re gonna feed us first.”

“Uh, Sarge, did you just say ‘a bunch of Kraut tanks?”

“Yup. A bunch of Kraut tanks. It’s gonna be rough, Doc,” Saunders answered, as they arrived at the food wagon. “Okay everybody, eat up and then pick up rations and ammo.”

* * * * * *

Three hours later, First Squad dug in in the fields west of Chaumont. Waiting for hours in foxholes, the men grew tense, restless, and finally silent. In the quiet, the sound of machine gun fire and bazookas began as a whisper in the distance, but grew louder and louder. German artillery started pouring in east of the squad, followed by a brief silence and then a flurry of small arms fire. Lieutenant Hanley was on the radio to Love Company when Sergeant McCoy called in.

“They broke through! We’re being overrun! Can’t hold! Can’t hold!”

“Pull back! Get your men outta there!”

“Saunders! The Krauts are breaking through! Cover the retreat! I’m gonna tell Colby to get ready to blow the bridge!”

Saunders signaled the squad to follow while making his way to the other side of the field. As they moved forward, soldier after soldier met them, moving across the field in the opposite direction. They took cover behind some fallen branches close to the tree line, listening for the humming of the approaching Royal Tiger tanks.

The German infantry and tanks continued moving forward. Sergeant Saunders grabbed a wide-eyed private from the stream of GIs pouring out of the forest. The young soldier had no weapon.

“They’re breakin’ through, Sarge. We can’t stop ‘em!”

“Where’s your unit, soldier?”

“I don’t know. Half was killed by the artillery. We could hear the tanks comin’. Everyone started yellin’, ‘Pull back!’ I just ran, Sarge. I gotta find my squad leader.”

Saunders released the youngster. “All right private. Just tell me. Are there a lot more GIs still up ahead?”

“No Sarge. I don’t think so. At least not live ones.”

“Okay soldier, take off.”

Saunders and his squad looked back over the field behind them. Fog was beginning to drift in, making the scene surreal. Scores of wounded soldiers, clinging to fellow GIs, limped over the field.

“Littlejohn, radio Hanley!” Saunders ordered.

Littlejohn removed the radio from his back and began the familiar chant—“King Two, this is White Rook. King Two, this is White Rook, come in King Two!”

“It’s no good, Sarge. No one’s answering.”

“Okay, Littlejohn, forget it.”

Off to their right, Saunders spotted a bazooka being carried by a dazed soldier with an obvious head wound.

Saunders ran over and took the bazooka, sending the soldier on his way.

“Kirby, Caje, Littlejohn, Henderson, dig in. Doc, you stay low.”

The astounded privates looked at their sergeant.

“But Sarge, we gotta get outta here!” Kirby shouted. “Them tanks will be comin’ through any minute.”

“We have orders to cover the retreat, Kirby. Doc, help us dig in, and then take off and find Hanley. Tell him we’ll give cover as long as we can and meet him on the other side of the river.”

Henderson’s voice screeched above the others as he faced the sergeant. “Saunders, you’re gonna get us all killed! We gotta get outta the way of those tanks. We’re no match for ‘em!”

“I gave you an order, Henderson. Now DIG IN!” Saunders growled, maintaining a steely glare that convinced Henderson to back off.

Caje started digging, never taking his eyes off the tree line. “What are ya plannin’ to do, Sarge?”

“He’s plannin’ on getting’ us all killed,” Henderson whined.

Saunders shot a look at Henderson, eyes narrowed. “Someone’s gotta slow down those tanks so our wounded have a chance to make it back.”

Kirby frowned, but kept digging. Soon the men had reasonable cover.

Surveying the area with his binoculars, the sergeant decided it was clear enough for Doc to leave. “Okay. We lay low until the tanks pass, and then we’ll try to hit one or two with the bazooka. Doc, you think you can get over to Hanley on your own?”

Doc opened his mouth to protest, but Saunders, reading the medic’s expression, cut him off.

“Look, Doc, there’re a lot of wounded men back there who need your help more than we do, and we’ve gotta let Hanley know what we’re doin’.”

“Sure Sarge, I can make it.” Doc grabbed his gear and rose to leave. He looked at each squad member.

“Good luck, you guys. I’ll see ya later.”

“See ya later, Doc.”

The men watched as the medic disappeared into the fog.

“Sarge, how we gonna get outta here once we take out the tanks?” Littlejohn asked.

“It’s gettin’ darker and the fog is gettin’ thicker. If we’re lucky, we can make it to the trees and double back to our lines.”

“Yeah, if we’re lucky,” Henderson muttered.

* * * * * *

Saunders, Caje, Littlejohn, Henderson and Kirby nestled into their three foxholes, bazooka ready. Watchful eyes studied the opening in the tree line the tanks were expected to use. The rumbling of the tanks grew steadily louder and soon their dark silhouettes emerged from the forest. Three tanks clamored out of the woods making the ground vibrate, and coming so close to the hiding soldiers that they swore they could touch them.

Kirby shuddered and found himself uncharacteristically whispering, “God, help us.”

As the last tank passed, Saunders signaled his men to be ready to take out the tank crew. Bracing the bazooka against the rim of the foxhole, Saunders set his sights on the lead tank and fired.

BOOM!

The shot disabled the lead tank and blocked the second in line. Kirby let lose with the BAR and effectively eliminated the tank crew on the ground. Caje then reloaded Saunders’ bazooka, and Saunders moved out onto the field another 50 feet, taking aim at the second tank.

BOOM!

Saunders surprised himself with a second direct hit. The third tank was now hopelessly blocked by the other two. Kirby and Caje hammered away at the second tank crew. Saunders grabbed the bazooka shells from Littlejohn, as he moved back to his foxhole. Signaling the squad to move into the woods, Saunders loaded the bazooka and fired toward the third tank. This time he missed his intended target. Shaking his head in frustration, he dropped the bazooka and ran toward the safety of the trees. As he reached the tree line, the German tank fired a direct hit on the American’s foxhole. The impact sent Saunders flying forward into a tree, his head smashing into its trunk. Dazed and bleeding, Saunders slid to the ground. Littlejohn turned just in time to see his sergeant hit the tree, and ran back to help. Scooping Saunders up off the ground, Littlejohn wrapped his arm around the stunned man and dragged him into the forest.

As the squad moved deeper into the woods, the sound of bullets whistling by their heads and the sting of flying bits of tree bark hitting their faces, subsided. The fog continued to thicken as the men moved unsteadily towards what they hoped were the American lines.

“Littlejohn, you can let go. I can walk.” Saunders struggled to get free of Littlejohn’s arm as the squad came to an outcropping of rocks and decided to hold up and try to get their bearings. A rustle of leaves on their left flank drew their attention. Firearms rose in unison as a figure emerged from the bushes.

“Doc?”

The winded medic came slowly toward the squad.

“Boy, am I glad I found you guys.”

“Doc, what are ya doin’ here? I told ya to go back and find Hanley.”

“I tried to, Sarge, but I couldn’t make it. The Germans were in between me and the river, so I hadda turn back and try ‘n find you guys.”

Saunders shook his head. “All right Doc.”

“Sarge, you better let me take a look at your head. You’re bleeding pretty good.”

“Okay, just clean it up and put a bandage on, so I can see.”

“Well I don’t think any of us are gonna to be seein’ much for a while with this fog,” Doc added as he wound a bandage around the sergeant’s head.

Littlejohn stretched his right arm to relieve some of the tightness caused by carrying the sergeant. “Reminds me of one night on my Uncle Joe’s farm. The fog was so thick ya couldn’t see your hands right in front of your face. Lasted all night, too.”

Kirby rolled his eyes. “Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, don’t even know where our lines are and he’s tellin’ stories bout nights on the farm.”

Ignoring Kirby’s grumbling, Saunders stood up, swaying slightly. “We’re gonna have to find a place to hide out until this fog lifts enough to make our way out of here. Caje, take a look around to see if you can find anything—but don’t go far. The rest of us’ll sit tight.”

“Okay, Sarge.” Caje donned his beret and began moving along the rocks, disappearing soundlessly into the fog.

“Sarge, do ya have any idea where our lines are?”

“It’s hard to say, Littlejohn. We know the platoon planned to move back across the river. When we can see, our best bet is to double back and get across.”

“But Sarge, with all the noise from them tanks, I couldn’t hear if we blew the bridge. What if the Krauts crossed the river, too?”

Saunders turned to answer, as a shot rang out.

The bullet buzzed past Saunders’ head and was followed by several more. Saunders, Henderson, and Littlejohn raised their weapons and returned fire into the fog, aiming at the brief flashes of light made by enemy weapons as they fired. Kirby gasped in pain and shock as he was hit and fell to the ground.

“Doc!”

The squad provided covering fire as Doc grabbed Kirby’s field jacket and the group moved around the rocks. Suddenly, a hand gripped Littlejohn’s elbow and lead the big private off to his right.

“Sarge, it’s Caje!” Littlejohn yelled urgently.

Saunders came into view, holding his index finger to his mouth. Caje pointed to the right and Saunders nodded in understanding.

The sergeant brought up the rear as Caje led them to a hiding place. The gunfire ended, as the Germans were unable to determine exactly where the American squad was located.

* * * * * *

The opening to the cave was relatively narrow. Caje had found it through sheer luck. Feeling his way along the outcropping of rocks at the base of the hill, he almost fell forward as his arm extended into empty space. He and Saunders moved into the opening. They took a chance and lit their lighters, discovering that about six feet inward the cave began to widen gradually until a large room appeared. The air was damp and chilly; the only sound a constant drip of water hitting the floor to the right. Moving along the cave walls on either side of the entrance, Saunders found another small room to the left, with no tunnels going out. Caje quickly ascertained that there were no other rooms or tunnels on his side, only a large crack in the ceiling where water dripped in slowly from the ground above. As he walked back toward the sergeant, he noticed some white letters on the cave wall—JL & MC—surrounded by the fading outline of a heart. Caje smiled, remembering the carved initials he had once made in an oak tree back home. Deciding the cave was a safe refuge, Saunders slid back outside and signaled the others to go in, helping Doc with Kirby. The squad moved carefully to the far side of the la