Toy Soldiers

The two enlisted men crouched behind the broken wall. It was almost dawn, and while the small village looked deserted, they both knew better. Looks could be deceiving, and that deception could be deadly.

Caje motioned for Kirby to go up the left side of the street while he checked the other side. Moving quickly and quietly up the sidewalk, they were almost to the end of the street when Kirby saw movement in the candy shop to his right. Signaling Caje, he crept into the building. The barrage the day before had blown the door into kindling, stacked neatly in a little pyramid, as if waiting for someone to set a match to it for warmth or a cup of hot coffee.

“Hande hoche!” The quavering voice belied the ramrod straight posture of the young boy pointing the rifle at Kirby. Startled for a moment, Kirby grinned at the child. “Anh, don’t you “handy hoke” me, kid. I ain’t no Kraut.”

“I mean it, monsieur!” The boy tightened his grip on the rifle. “Put your hands up!” Kirby reached for the rifle, thinking how the child reminded him of the toy soldiers in that play his Ma used to take them to see at Christmas. But the rifle in the hands of this toy soldier wasn’t made of wood, and when it fired, the bullets were definitely real. The BAR man ducked as one of them hit the facing of the absent door behind him.

Hearing the gunshot, Caje ran into the shop, stopping when he saw a little boy holding a still-smoking rifle, and Kirby wide-eyed and ticked off on the floor. Forgetting everything but his friend, Caje strode forward, taking the gun from him. What are you doing? the scout admonished the boy. You could’ve killed him.

“The kid speaks English, Caje.” Kirby said, as he stood, wiping the dirt from his uniform. “Heh, he thinks I’m a lousy Kraut.” The two GIs looked at the child in front of them. His clothes were too big for him, and they were well worn, to say the least. His arms hugged a body that was far too thin, shivering in the cold morning air.

Caje saw the wariness in the child’s eyes, and it caught him by surprise. No child should suffer as this one obviously had. He thought back to his own childhood in the bayou. Carefree days running and playing with Theo. Staying out until the fireflies lit the night sky, then crawling in bed and counting the hours til Papa took him for a boat ride down the river.

Dark eyes met hazel ones, a battle of wills starting to take shape. Raising one long, slender finger, he gestured for the child to wait, as he pulled a box of rations from his web belt with his other hand. Holding it up for the child to see, he tore the top off, shaking the contents out into his hand. Seeing the food, the boy looked up at Kirby, then back to Caje, before snatching a tin of cheese and holding it close to him. He backed away to the corner, still eyeing the two men, as if trying to make sense of why they were helping him.

Taking another tin from the box, Caje opened it, sliding it across the floor to him. The child eyed it suspiciously before reaching out and grabbing it as well. Shooting a glare at Kirby, he dipped two grubby fingers into the tin, lifting the ham to his mouth. In a matter of seconds, the tin was empty.

Pulling the last clean shirt from his pack, the Cajun motioned for the boy to come over to him. Draping it around his shoulders, Caje buttoned the garment. “It’s okay.” Caje said in a soft voice. “We’re Americans, we’ll help you.” He rolled the sleeves up on the slender arms, smiling at the boy as he did. “I’m Caje and this is Kirby.”

The moan of a Kraut .88 startled all three occupants of the room. Kirby lunged for the cover of the candy counter. Caje reached for the child, but fell short when the shell hit the back of the building. The structure moaned in protest as the barrage continued. When the attack ended, an eerie quiet settled on the shop. Caje lifted himself off the floor, looking first for Kirby, then for the boy.

“Kirby?” He coughed, trying to get some of the dust out of his throat. “You okay?” A cloud of dust rose in the air as Kirby clawed his way from under some fallen shelves. “I’m just dandy,” The BAR man called in a sarcastic voice from the side of the shop. “Never been better.”

A whimper reached his ears, coming from the direction of the corner where the child had been before the attack. Scrambling over to the corner, Caje pulled the debris from the corner, tossing it aside. “Kirby, help me.” The other soldier limped over to help the scout. In a matter of minutes, they had cleared the corner. Caje knelt and gathered the boy into his lap. Taking his canteen, he let a few drops fall on the child’s lips.

Caje stood, lifting the child in his arms. A cry of pain came from the little one. Looking the child over, Caje noticed that his left leg hung at an odd angle, and was beginning to swell.

“Kirby, we gotta get him back to Doc, fast.” The Cajun started for the door.

“Wait.” Kirby walked over to him. Taking off his jacket, he pulled his sweater over his head, wrapping it around the boy. At the questioning look from his friend, he just shrugged and shouldered the BAR.

The walk back to the American lines was uneventful, and soon they were in Lieutenant Hanley’s office, having been told that’s where they could find Doc. The aid man took the boy from Caje, laying him gently on the lieutenant’s desk. The little boy stirred in his sleep, calling out for his mother. Caje pulled a chair over to the desk, speaking to the child in quiet, comforting tones, that soon calmed the boy.

Doc motioned for the scout to move away from the desk. “Caje, there’s not much I can do but immobilize his leg, it’s a pretty bad break. He needs to go to the hospital.”

Caje nodded, and started to gather the boy in his arms again, but the medic stopped him. He walked over to the corner, taking hold of a litter and bringing it back to Hanley’s desk. Together, the two privates placed the child onto the litter, and were just leaving when Littlejohn and Billy came in the door.

“Hey, where’d ya find the kid?” Billy asked, as Doc and Caje hurried past. “I’ll tell you about him later, Nelson.” Caje answered. “We’ve gotta get him to the aid tent now.”

Littlejohn turned at the sound of footsteps behind him. “Watch it, ya big magilla.” Kirby propped the BAR beside the door, then searched in his pocket for a cigarette. “You almost knocked my head off, and I’ve had enough close calls for one day.”

“What are you talking about, Kirby?” Asked Billy. “And where’d the kid come from?”

Kirby dropped down to the ground, settling in before he answered Billy’s question. “Me and Caje were on our way back from Easy Company, and we got to this little town.” He took a drag off his smoke, then went on. “We were checking it out, when I saw something in one of the buildings. I went in, and that kid dang near shot me. Thought I was a stinkin’ Kraut.”

Kirby tossed the butt of his cigarette away. “Then we got shelled, and the kid got hurt. Caje carried him back here so Doc could take a look at ‘im, and now I’m going to hit the hay for a little shuteye, if you don’t mind. I’m beat.” He stood and picked up the BAR. “You gents have a nice day.”

Giving a mock salute, he sauntered down the street.

Billy and Littlejohn sat in silence, taking in what Kirby had just told them, and a plan started to form in Billy’s mind. “Hey, Littlejohn.” He nudged the taller private in the ribs. “Know what we should do?”

“You should stop poking me in the side, for one thing, Billy,” he said with a chuckle. Billy pulled a face at this, wanting to tell his buddy what he was thinking. “Okay, Billy, I give. What should we do?”

“Well, I was thinking. It’s Christmas and all, and well, that kid, he ain’t got a family or anything.” Billy got more excited as he explained his plan to Littlejohn.

Saunders walked into the bivouac area, tossing his gear on his cot. Rubbing tired eyes, he thought how good a hot bath and a hot meal sounded to him right now. Hanley had busted his hump since the week before, and he was just plain tired. A commotion from the other side of the room pulled him from his ruminations. Heaving a weary sigh, he gave up the idea of a couple hours sleep, and went to see what the problem was this time.

Walking over and standing beside Doc, he saw the cause of the ruckus. Billy and Kirby were arguing over a box of fudge that Littlejohn’s mom had sent him last week.

“C’mon, Billy. The kid can’t eat all that candy. Save some for the rest of us.” Kirby was pulling at the box, but Sarge noticed that it was only half-hearted on his part.

“Awright, knock it off you two. What’s your beef here, Kirby?” Saunders scowled at the private, who was now holding the box of candy. “Doesn’t that belong to Littlejohn?” Billy jumped up off the cot, his face lit with childlike exuberance. “Sarge! There’s a kid in the aid tent, and we’re, well, I mean, all of us, we’re gonna fix him up a care package.”

Saunders looked at Doc, who merely grinned and shrugged his shoulders at the sergeant. He wasn’t going to be any help here, that was for sure. “Just what makes this kid any different from any of the others we’ve run across, Billy?” The noncom looked at the young soldier.

“Gee, Sarge. I’m not sure.” Billy searched for an answer to Sarge’s question. “I guess because it’s Christmas and he doesn’t have a family?”

Saunders shook his head and went back to his bunk. Moving his gear to the floor, he stretched out and closed his eyes, but didn’t fall asleep right away. Turning over, he watched as his men took some of the fudge and placed it in a clean sock. Hope that wasn’t one of Kirby’s socks, he thought with a quiet chuckle. Doc was wrapping something in an old newspaper, but he couldn’t see what it was from where he lay.

Closing his eyes once more, he thought of home. Mom would be busy decorating the house, and the Brat would be trying to find her gifts, but Mom was an expert at hiding them, usually in plain sight.

He reached over and picked up his pack. Louise had been trying to learn how to crochet before he left for the war. Seems she was paying attention when Mom was showing her how. The scarf was pretty nice.

“Hey, Doc.” The medic turned around. “Yeah, Sarge?” Saunders motioned for him to come over to the bunk. “Put this in for the kid.” Doc nodded and smiled at the exhausted noncom. “Will do, Sarge.”

Caje came running in the door. “He’s awake, and the doctors say that he’ll be just fine.” The scout saw the packages and the sock with the candy, and a huge grin split his face. “Here.” He pulled several chocolate bars from his jacket. “Add these.”

After making sure that everything was wrapped and ready, the squad made their way to the aid tent. Caje led them to the boy’s bed, sitting on the edge and explaining to him what was happening. The child looked up at the soldiers gathered around him, and gave a hesitant smile.

One by one, the men filed past the bed, handing the boy their gift. He accepted each one with a nod or a quietly murmured “Merci”. When the last man had walked away, Saunders stood at the foot of the bed.

“Caje,” He spoke to his scout. “Tell him that there’s a family coming to pick him up in a few hours. He’ll be just fine.” The Cajun nodded, and translated this to the child. The boy looked up at the sergeant, and gave him a grateful smile. “Merci, monsieur.” He said in a small voice. “Joyeux Noel.”

Saunders smiled as he placed the camo helmet back on his head, laying a gentle hand on the child’s cheek before walking out of the tent.

“Yeah. Merry Christmas to you too, kid.”

End.