We All Fall Down

By CP

All characters are property of Selmur Productions and ABC, with the exception of my original characters. No copyright infringement intended.

The lack of response angered him. How could the sergeant remain quiet? A sadistic smile curled the lips of the officer as he placed the lit candle back in its holder on the table. And they said the Amerikaners were stupid. This one wasn't stupid; he could see it in the man's eyes. Yes, before this night was over, he would talk. He would tell him everything he wanted to know about the movement and placement of the Allied troops.

Leutnant Eberhardt watched as the sergeant struggled to steady his breathing. He had to give this man his due. He'd withstood far more interrogation than the other GI earlier today. That one had been a weakling, hardly worthy of his time. He'd been more than willing to talk, but the information had proved to be worthless. And the American had paid with his life for wasting Eberhardt's time.

"Sergeant, I am losing my patience." Eberhardt took a cigarette from the American's pack of Lucky Strikes. He lifted the candle to light it, noticing that the soldier's eyes followed the movement. "This will all end if you will just give me the information I need."

Trying to shut out the searing pain, Saunders drew slow, shallow breaths. He could still feel the heat from the flame on his stomach. He wouldn't break. He couldn't. Too many lives depended on his silence.

"Go to hell." The words were barely a whisper.

Saunders' head snapped back from the force of the blow. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, but he said nothing else.

Gathering the front of Saunders' shirt in his hand, the Kraut officer moved close to his face. "Now listen to me, you filthy American pig. I've had enough of your insolence. Tell me where your troops are headed, or I'll tear you apart with my bare hands. Verstehen Sie?"

Cool blue eyes met watery ones, but Saunders remained silent. Releasing the garment, Eberhardt stepped back. Staring at the noncom, he held his cigarette to Saunders' arm, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. Receiving no reaction, he threw the butt to the floor, seething.

A timid knock sounded at the door. The lieutenant was well known for his violent temper, and the young private didn’t wish to experience it firsthand.

“Yes, what is it?” Eberhardt snapped.

Quickly opening the door, the soldier saluted the officer before delivering the message. “Sir, the Hauptmann wishes to speak with you.”

Eberhardt scowled at the youth, unhappy at having his interrogation interrupted. Giving Saunders one last hard glare, he picked up his gloves and while donning them whispered to the American, “We will continue our discussion momentarily.” Crossing to the door, he left the room.

Drawing a deep, bracing breath, Saunders surveyed the room. His gaze lit briefly on the candle still burning on the desk. He dismissed that idea, realizing that even if he could somehow maneuver over to it, the flame would extinguish when he knocked it to the floor. A small tendril of smoke caught his eye, wafting up from the floor between his feet. The Kraut’s cigarette was still burning. A quick look at the door, and he slid from the chair, taking care to not crush the glowing ember.

Struggling to lay down so he could get hold of the butt, Saunders heard a noise at the window. He steadied his breathing and closed his eyes.

“Damnit!”

Saunders had never been so glad to hear that expletive in his life. Lifting his head, he called to the man climbing so gracefully through the open window. “Hsst. Over here.”

Brown eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest on the prone noncom. Kirby walked over to where Sarge lay, careful to avoid any loose boards, and thankful for the rugs covering the wood floor.

Kneeling beside his sergeant, Kirby cut the ropes from Saunders’ wrists. Helping Sarge stand, they started for the window, only to hear the Kraut coming back to the room.

Saunders quickly sat back down in the chair, holding his hands behind his back as if they were still lashed. Kirby took cover behind the door. The young private who had delivered the message to Eberhardt earlier entered the door first. As he walked past Kirby’s position, he never saw the BAR man swing the stock of the rifle until it was too late. He hit the floor with a muffled thud.

Eberhardt came back in the room, and seeing his soldier on the floor, turned to the chair where Saunders sat, hands still tied behind him. He approached the sergeant slowly. When he reached the chair, Eberhardt grabbed a handful of blond hair, jerking Saunders’ head back. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you sergeant?” He shoved Saunders’ head forward, then reached for the pack of cigarettes on the desk.

Slipping Kirby’s bayonet out of his sleeve, Saunders lunged. He threw his arm around the Kraut’s throat, and pushed the blade against the officer’s neck. “Keep quiet,” he growled in the man’s ear, “or you’ll find out just how clever I am.”

He pulled the Kraut over to the window, waiting as Kirby climbed out, then motioning for the lieutenant to follow him. Saunders jumped down to the ground, resuming his hold on the officer. “Which way?” he asked Kirby as they rounded the building.

Then all hell broke loose. Mortars riddled the sleeping quarters, screams of the wounded piercing the air. Snipers eliminated the guards on the towers, the dead bodies falling in macabre swan dives to the ground below. Eberhardt hesitated for a second, only to be shoved forward by Saunders. One by one, charges set earlier on the vehicles in the motor pool were detonated. The explosions rocked the compound.

Caje and Littlejohn came running toward the trio, Doc close on their heels. “This way!” Caje shouted to be heard over the cacophony of the artillery. They were headed out of the compound, when a bullet caught Kirby in the shoulder. Littlejohn caught him before he hit the ground. Half carrying, half dragging the wiry soldier, he kept up with the rest.

Once they were clear of the gate, Caje motioned to someone or something ahead. The rumble of the deuce-and-a-half was sweet music to the weary men. Lieutenant Hanley jumped down from the driver’s seat, helping Littlejohn lift Kirby into the back. Doc scrambled up behind the wounded man, rifling through his bag for sulfa and bandages as he went.

Hanley raised an eyebrow at the officer still in Saunders’ grip. A slight grin flitted across the noncom’s face as he handed the prisoner over to Caje and Littlejohn, before climbing up in the back of the truck to check on Kirby. Hanley followed the sergeant up into the truck, settling on the bench beside him.

Littlejohn waited as the prisoner was seated in the truck bed next to the cab, then joined Hanley and Sarge. He laid his rifle across his legs, but never took his eyes from the Kraut who was staring intently at the blond sergeant across from where he sat. If Saunders noticed this, he gave no indication as his main concern now was Kirby. “How is he, Doc?”

The medic looked up from his work, and smiled at Sarge. “He’s gonna be fine, it’s just a flesh wound.” Kirby grunted as Doc tightened the bandage around his shoulder. “No million dollar wound this time.”

The weary sergeant nodded and smiled at the two men in front of him. Leaning his head back against the tarp, he closed his eyes. The engine rumbled once more as Caje shifted into gear and started back to their lines.

They were almost home when the big truck slowed, then stopped. Sarge reached for his Thompson, then realized that Eberhardt had destroyed it. The sound of a familiar voice caused the sergeant to relax a bit.

“Password,“ came the challenge.

There was relief in Caje’s voice as he replied, “Losers cry deal.” The truck moved forward once more, finally reaching the small village where King Company was currently billeted.

Caje pulled the big truck up to the aid tent, and Littlejohn climbed out of the back, helping Kirby inside with Doc following along behind them. Hanley climbed down next, and waited while Saunders eased himself to the ground.

“You’d better get checked out yourself, Sergeant.” Lieutenant Hanley spoke to the noncom. “Looks like you had a pretty rough time of it.”

Saunders put a hand to his temple, feeling dried blood there. “I’m okay, Lieutenant.” As Sarge lowered his arm, he smirked at the burns that Eberhardt had given him earlier. “Just another roll in the clover.”

A smile touched the officer’s mouth, relief filling his eyes. Saunders would be fine.

“Caje, bring the prisoner.” Hanley looked at the German officer walking in front of the scout. In a somber voice he addressed the Kraut, “There are some people inside who would like a few words with you.”

End.