The Soldier's Mirror

by Jay Zendrowski

  Chapter 11

  “I can’t believe how many guys got killed today,” Harry said. The four of us were in our tent for the night, lying on our bedrolls, totally exhausted, all of us left with our own thoughts of what we’d seen and been through that day. I knew none of us would ever be the same.

  “It was a frickin’ slaughter, that’s what it was,” replied Chester. We nodded, thinking back on how hairy it had been on the beach, soldiers dropping like targets in a carnival shooting gallery.

  “I think our squad was luckier than most,” I said. “We lost Sid and Riddick. Most of the other units were hit a lot harder than that.”

  “It’s hard to think of what happened to those two and call it ‘lucky’,” Johnny said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of smokes.

  “Oh yeah,” I said as I slipped my hand into my pocket, “I’ve got something for you.”

  “My lighter!” Johnny said, his eyes lighting up as I passed the Zippo back to him. He turned it over and saw the G.R. inscribed on the bottom. “Well, shit on a shoestring. How the hell did you get that?”

  “I knew Riddick always kept his smokes in his front jacket pocket. Before we came up the hill, I reached inside to see if your lighter was there. I figured he wouldn’t need it anymore.”

  “That’s for damn sure. Thanks, brother,” Johnny said as he lit his smoke and flicked the lighter closed with that familiar ‘CLINK’ before slipping it back into his pocket.

  “Did you see it when Riddick got hit? He almost made it to the dune and then ‘BOOM!’” Harry spoke rapidly, the horrific memory pouring out of him. “The next thing I know, I see him spinning through the air before he crashed down right in front of us. I never did see where his head ended up. Just…..just all that blood. I…..I couldn’t help it; I puked right there.”

  “No kidding,” Chester said. “It’s probably best we never did see his head. Something like that could haunt your dreams for years. I’ve seen a lot things on the farm that’d turn your stomach, like the time my uncle got his arm caught in a grain hopper, but I’ve never seen anything like that.” Chester paused for a second and looked at the flap of our tent, making sure nobody was about to come through. “Hey, did you guys see Murphy piss himself?”

  “WHAT?” Harry burst out. “Are you kidding me?” Johnny and I looked at each other, a quiet understanding in our gaze.

  “No,” Chester continued. “When Riddick got hit, Murphy dropped to his knees and pissed himself. I saw the wet stain on his pants.”

  “Holy fuck. I never saw that,” said Harry with an unbelieving shake of his head.

  “What about you guys? You two were right there, you must have seen it,” Chester directed his question to Johnny and me.

  Again we looked at each other, neither one of us wanting to embarrass the man any further, even if he was a righteous prick. But I didn’t want to call Chester a liar, either. “I’m sure he wasn’t the only one who pissed himself today,” I said. “When I saw Riddick like that, I thought I was gonna wet my drawers, too.”

  “Johnny, what you did,” Chester went on, “jumping out there and saving Murphy. Man, you could have got yourself killed trying to save that asshole. Both of you could have. The way he has it in for you two, I thought you would have just let him sit there and take it.”

  I looked at Johnny, who casually shrugged his shoulders before speaking. “You just do what you gotta do. Even though I hate the guy, he’s one of us. He’s on our side.”

  That’s what it all came down to. The bottom line was: whose side were you on? For all the shit Murphy had done to us and put us through, it was hard to believe that when all was said and done, he was on our side, both he and Riddick. Riddick was gone, blown the fuck away by a German shell. Stunned, Murphy had sat there helpless, just waiting for an enemy bullet to cut him in two. If he could be saved, we had to try. I knew Johnny and I would do it all over again. You had to believe the cause you were fighting for was right, no matter who at the top was telling you what to do. You had to believe that doing the right thing was necessary, and if you didn’t believe that, you would lose your own soul for good. Today, we had saved Murphy. Whether that worked out to be for better or worse, I had no goddamned idea. But for now, saving him was enough. I could look in that mirror of mine and not be ashamed of who was looking back at me. As Johnny and I had talked about before, someday Murphy would have to look in that mirror and deal with the person he saw. At least for today, that mirror hadn’t been shattered.

  The next few days were spent in the town of Bernieres-Sur-Mer, setting up a base of operations while the commanding officers attended to the logistics of proceeding with the next phase of the operation. A large percentage of the regiment had been assigned to mover further inland, where the Germans were continuing to put up stubborn resistance. Our company had been ordered to stay where we were and do whatever was necessary to help establish a solid anchor on European soil. Word had come that the landings at the other beaches by the Americans and Brits had been successful as well, although all reported heavy casualties, especially the Yanks at Omaha Beach.

  We helped the medical corps assemble the dead and attend to the wounded. As I watched them, I thanked God for those people who had it in them to do that sort of work. I didn’t have the stomach or nerves for it, that’s for sure. For those that took on those thankless and tiring duties, I had nothing but respect and admiration.

  This morning, we’d been assigned to clean up the debris left behind when a shell had obliterated a few shops on one of the town’s streets near the beachfront. From the smoldering debris, it was pretty obvious it had been done by one of our bombers or artillery shells. The place was an absolute mess; the three shops the bomb had hit had been totally destroyed. The street was littered with crap; bricks, construction materials; just shit everywhere. Fortunately, there had been no one in the buildings. As we worked clearing away the debris, Capt. Crocker and Lt. Shapton walked up, with Sgt. Murphy and two other grunts in tow, one of them a squirrelly-looking little guy.

  “Guys, take a break,” Lt. Shapton said. We gathered around, eyeing up the two new guys.

  “As you know,” Capt. Crocker said, “the entire division lost a number of men during the assault on the beach. These two men lost everybody else in their unit. They’re going to be with us now.” We looked at them solemnly, knowing it must have been tough to lose that many guys you had become close to. “They’re from the East Coast, but we won’t hold that against them.” The captain gave them a little wink as he smiled. “This is Tom Wilkinson, and this is Andy MacNeil.”

  Tom looked pretty serious, nodding quietly when introduced, but MacNeil, squirrel-boy, was a different story altogether. From the instant we met him, the guy never shut up.

  “Andy MacNeil; but everybody calls me Rusty,” he said as he stepped up to George and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Buddy, where are you from?” I looked at him, wondering where the heck that nickname of Rusty had come from; his hair was brown as a mouse.

  “Alright, MacNeil, that’s enough for now,” Capt. Crocker said, “you can save the pleasantries for later.”

  “Yes Sir,” Private MacNeil replied, stepping back into our loosely formed circle.

  “Gentlemen, following the unfortunate demise of Cpl. Riddick, we need a replacement for that position within your squad.” I noticed most of us automatically looked at Sam. He had kind of become our unspoken leader, the one the men looked to whenever someone needed to step forward. Sam had naturally taken on that role, often speaking on our behalf to the officers. “After discussions with Sgt. Murphy, the decision has been made to promote Private Ferguson to the rank of corporal.”

  All eyes immediately shot to Bill, who was as surprised by this decision as the rest of us. Admittedly, Sam was a bit of a smart aleck, but he would have made a good corporal. It didn’t take me long to realize what had happened; this had Murphy’s stamp all over it. I knew that Sam would have stood up to Murphy when nec
essary, for the good of both the whole squad and the individuals within it. But Bill, no, Bill would be the puppet Murphy wanted. Murphy could manipulate him just as I’m sure he had done with Riddick, pulling those strings whenever he felt like it.

  “Congratulations, Bill,” Sam said, stepping forward magnanimously and being the first one to shake the new corporal’s hand.

  “Thanks,” Bill replied, still awestruck by his new status.

  “Yes, congratulations, Corporal Ferguson,” said Capt. Crocker, shaking Bill’s hand as well. “Alright men, let me have your attention. We’ve been given new orders. The Germans are putting up fierce resistance in the town of Caen a short distance to the south. Most of the regiment will be directly engaged in taking part in that battle. As of right now, we will not be with them. Until further notice, our platoon has been assigned to remain here in Bernieres and assist with the ongoing cleanup in this region.”

  “Ah, shit,” I heard Murphy utter under his breath. I noticed that Capt. Crocker seemed to ignore the remark before continuing.

  “I know it’s not the most glamorous assignment, but everyone has to do their part; and right now, this is ours. Depending on how things go at Caen, that could change anytime. We will also be making occasional exploratory reconnaissance missions into some of the surrounding villages. There may still be some small pockets of German resistance; it will be our job to investigate. We’ll actually be undertaking one of those assignments tomorrow. So I want everyone prepared to move out first thing in the morning. Are there any questions?”

  When Capt. Crocker asked if there were any questions, you knew not to ask anything unless it was critically important. This had become ingrained since the early days of boot camp. Obviously, Rusty hadn’t heard that was the way things worked.

  “Sir,” he spoke up.

  “Yes, Private?”

  “Are we going to get to kill some Krauts, Sir?”

  The rest of us looked at him like he was a turd we’d just stepped on.

  “Well, Private,” the captain continued, “that’s not our primary objective, but if the situation warrants it, then that may very well become necessary.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Rusty snapped out, a big smile on his face. The rest of us looked around at each other, wondering what the hell this guy was all about.

  “Alright then. Sgt. Murphy, have your men ready to move at O-900 tomorrow.”

  “Yes Sir,” Murphy replied with a smart salute before the captain and lieutenant moved off to the next unit. “Wilkinson, MacNeil, you’ll be bunking with these two.” He pointed to Sam and George. “Now, everyone get back to your duties. We’ll be assembling after chow tomorrow morning. Ferguson, you come with me.” Murphy trundled off, his new corporal following behind like a little puppy.

  With our little meeting over, we went back to slinging the junk into piles.

  “So MacNeil, what was that shit all about?” Sam said.

  “Rusty, call me Rusty.”

  “Okay, Rusty. Well, what was that all about?”

  “What?” he asked, totally naïve as to what Sam was talking about.

  “That shit about wanting to kill the Jerrys.”

  “Rusty,” the other new guy, Tom, stepped up and interrupted their conversation. “I think I’m gonna need a sledge hammer here to break up that big chunk of wall. Do you think you could go ask those guys over there if we could borrow theirs for a little while?”

  “Sure Tom,” Rusty replied keenly as he jogged towards another group of guys working further down the street.

  Once he was out of earshot, Tom spoke to the rest of us. “I want to ask you guys to go a little easy on Rusty.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Sam.

  “He’s a nice kid. He means well and he’ll do anything for you. But, well, how can I put this. Let’s just say he’s one tater short of a full meal.”

  “You mean he’s—”

  “He’s just a little slow, is all. I’m not even sure how he even got into the army; but he’s here. He talks a lot. Damn kid’ll say anything that pops into his head. That thing he said about killing the Krauts, that’s probably something he heard somewhere and figured it was the right thing to ask. He never really thinks about anything before it comes out of his mouth.”

  We looked down the street to where Rusty was profusely thanking a guy for letting him use the sledge. He started jogging back towards us, a big smile on his face. By the looks of that smile, you’d think we’d just won the war.

  “So anyway,” Tom continued, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give him a hard time. Like I said, he’ll do anything to help you guys; he just doesn’t understand things sometimes.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Sam replied, as usual speaking for all of us.

  “Rusty, thanks for getting that. Let’s go over here and take care of this thing.” Tom gave us a little nod of thanks before stepping away, Rusty on his heels.

  We set off on foot the next day; the whole frickin’ platoon. Sixty-two weary souls trudging warily down the country roads of Normandy. At least it was sunny. The bright warm weather lifted everyone’s spirits, especially Rusty.

  “See that farm we just passed? That looks just like my cousin’s farm. We used to go there all the time when I was a kid. Everybody called the kids the ‘Double D’s’. There was Donna Durnin, Dave Durnin, Dale Durnin and Dougie Durnin. Dougie was the youngest, and everybody used to call him Red Rangy, ‘cause he had this eczema all over his face, plus he used to take a rangy every time he got mad. Dave was the same age as me. One time, we were playing tag with a bunch of other kids, and Dave started teasing Dougie. He was just pestering his little brother to beat the band. Man, did Dougie ever get mad. You could just see him steaming as Dave went on and on ragging at him. Dougie’s scaly face got redder than a baboon’s ass. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He comes flying at Dave, who sticks his hand out and puts it on Dougie’s head. Dougie’s just a wailing away, yelling at the top of his lungs with his fists flying every which way while his big brother is holding him at arm’s length, laughing his ass off. Man, we just about killed ourselves over that one. That was just about the funniest thing I ever did see.”

  As soon as he’d finish a story like that, Rusty would start in on another one. I soon lost track of the number of relatives he had, each one seeming to be crazier than the one before. His stories did make us smile though, I have to admit that. He had an innocence about him that was, I don’t know, ‘sweet’ I guess would be the right word. It was hard to picture this innocent young boy harming a soul. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world, and unfortunately, he seemed to trust everyone. I hoped his naivete wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

  From what Tom had told us, most of their unit had been wiped out when a mortar shell launched from the beach landed right in their LCA. The whole thing had capsized well out from the beach. Most had died from the direct shell hit while a number had become trapped beneath the capsized LCA. Tom and Rusty had been lucky enough to have been thrown out into the sea, away from the heavy craft. Of the thirty-two aboard the LCA, they were the only ones to end up making it to shore alive. Exhausted and nearly drowned, they’d collapsed on the beach while the fighting continued above them. Having been under the care of medics who pumped the water out of their lungs, they’d seen no action at all that day, while the rest of us had had our first real baptism into the horrible realities of war.

  When I thought about how naive Rusty seemed, I wondered how he’d react if he actually came face to face with a German. Hell, I didn’t know how I’d react. After what Tom had told us about Rusty, we all kind of had a soft spot for him; I could see it on the faces of the others. We all liked him, well, nearly all of us.

  “MacNeil, would you shut the fuck up,” Sgt. Murphy finally said after another of Rusty’s little narratives.

  “Yes Sir, sorry Sir.”

  “I’ll bet you two smokes Rusty doesn’t last eight minutes before he says something,”
I said under my breath to Johnny.

  “I’ve got five minutes,” he replied. “Whoever is closer wins, okay?”

  “Okay, you’re on.” We both checked out watches.

  I ended up passing over two darts to my Italian friend; it was less than four minutes later before we heard Rusty say to George, “Hey Buddy, what size boots do you wear? My brother, he’s got huge feet. He looks like he’s wearing snowshoes. You shoulda seen this time………”

  It was funny to see Murphy shake his head in resignation; putting his glory stompers into overdrive and walking ahead, safely out of earshot of our jabbering little friend. I wasn’t surprised to see his new buddy, Cpl. Bill “Kiss-Ass” Ferguson right on his heels.

  For the next few days, we continued little exploratory trips in the villages around Bernieres without coming across any Germans. From what the happy people in the villages we went through told us, it became apparent they were retreating, having left after the Allied troops that had preceded us came through town.

  At each spot we stopped, we’d help the villagers in any way we could, sometimes assisting with some clean-up, sometimes attending to their sick or wounded. Capt. Crocker said performing these duties were the orders we’d been given. Everyone had to do their part, we’d been told. And while other members of the regiment were fighting further forward, our job was to help the people of France take back their homes. The work needed to be done, and the people we helped were sincerely grateful for our efforts.

  In the evening, we’d head back to our tents at the temporary base in Bernieres and settle in for the night, with each of us taking turns on patrol. It always seemed that under Murphy’s scheduling, Johnny and I always seemed to draw the worst shifts possible.

  Rusty continued to entertain us with his non-stop chatter and endless stories. He also proved to be quite the musician, if you actually wanted to call a harmonica an instrument. He’d pull that sucker out of his pack and launch into a tune at the drop of a hat. He said it had been a present from his parents on his tenth birthday. He’d never let it out of his sight since.

  “Men, we’ve had reports of enemy activity in a few of the villages to the southeast we haven’t been to yet,” Capt. Crocker said as he addressed the whole platoon the next morning. “We’ve been assigned to approach those locations cautiously and see what we can find out. My guess is that like everywhere else we’ve been so far, the Germans will have left before we get to these places. We’re going to split into our individual squads and each take one of these locations. We’ll reconnoitre back here this evening. Squad leaders, come with me.”

  “Do you think we’re finally going to see some action?” Rusty asked excitedly.

  “I sure as hell hope not,” Johnny said. “I’d be happy to go home without seeing one more lousy Kraut.”

  “Alright men, listen up,” Sgt. Murphy said as he walked up to us a few minutes later. “We’re heading to the village of Poirier, about five miles from here. Apparently there’s a big old church there and not much else.” He looked at us with that sick smirk on his face, the one that had been there when he and Riddick had knocked Johnny and me to the ground behind the tavern. The same smirk I wanted to slap to kingdom come. “Maybe the Jerrys’ll be in that church. If they are there, it’ll probably be a good thing they’re praying. They might just end up meeting their maker. Now let’s go.”

  The squad was eerily silent as we moved out; even Rusty kept his mouth shut. We’d been in a number of villages along the way so far, but at no time had we had word of any possible enemy activity. This time seemed different, and everyone else was feeling it, too.

  We didn’t see any of the residents moving about as we got closer to Poirier. It had become customary to see the inhabitants out on the streets once the Germans had left. We spotted the tall tower of an old church and moved silently in that direction. As we got closer, word came down from Sam at the front of our little squad to move off the road. Under cover of an apple orchard, we moved forward in single file. Sgt. Murphy pointed to a rocky hilltop a short distance in front of us. Hunching over, we silently climbed the hill until we were able to peer over the top of the rocky outcropping.

  “What are they doing?” Rusty asked as we spotted some Germans outside the church.

  “Ssssshhh!” Murphy hushed.

  The orchard we were in continued down from the hilltop before it ended at the edge of the dusty road on this side of the church. There were two vehicles parked just off the road next to the old gray building. One was a truck with a tarpaulin covering the rear, while the other appeared to be a staff car of some sort. There were two officers talking near the back of the truck, one of them holding a clipboard. Two soldiers stood on guard a short distance away. As we watched, another soldier came up some stairs through one of those storm doors leading to the basement of the church. He was carrying a large rectangular wooden crate. It was a pretty decent size, but not very thick. He put it in the back of the truck and went back down the stairs, passing a second soldier carrying a similar crate on his way out.

  “Gimme those field glasses,” Murphy said to Bill. He peered through the binoculars as we watched this little loading operation continue, the same two soldiers bringing out one crate after another.

  “What the fuck?” Murphy said under his breath.

  “What is it?” Bill asked.

  “Those two officers; they’re SS. What the hell are they doing here?”

  I looked back as one of the officers stepped over and looked in the back of the truck. You could see some different insignia on the points of their collars, but you couldn’t make it out with the naked eye.

  “Evans,” Murphy turned and spoke to Chester. “Do you think you can take out that closest guard from here?”

  “No problem, Sir.” Chester said as he unslung his sniper rifle from his shoulder.

  “Alright, listen up,” Murphy said as he knelt in the middle of us. “It looks like we’ve got six of them to deal with—the two officers, the two guys loading those crates, and the two guards. Ferguson, you take DuPree, Thompson and Russo and move up the right flank. MacNeil, Nuzurka, Gallagher and Wilkinson; you four come with me. We’re heading left to that big elm over there.”

  He pointed to a huge tree near the edge of the orchard. There was a mass of scrub vegetation between the big tree and the road; the hedge-like growth would provide perfect coverage. I noticed similar cover over on the right side where the other guys would be going.

  “Evans, you should be able to see that big elm from here, right?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Alright, when I give you the signal, I want you to take out that guard closest to the road.” Chester nodded. Murphy turned to Bill and the other guys huddled next to him. “Once you hear that first shot, you guys try and take out that second guard. With the two guards down, we should be able to get on top of the others before they even figure out what’s going on.” He looked around to make sure we were all on the same wavelength. “Okay guys, let’s go. When it’s all done, I’ll meet you in the church. We’ll say a little prayer for Herr Hitler.”

  We moved back down the little hill the way we came, leaving Chester on his own. Our group of five headed left with Murphy in the lead while the other four headed to the right. We made our way quietly through the orchard, making sure we were out of sight from the road. A couple of minutes later we were huddled behind the massive elm.

  “Wilkinson, Gallagher, you two get down on your guts and crawl up under that hedge,” the sergeant said as he pointed to the line of scrub about twenty yards ahead of us. Through the dense foliage we could see the Germans. The two soldiers were still bringing those slim wooden boxes from the basement of the church while the two officers were now standing near the front of the truck talking, low guttural German tones drifting to us through the still air. Tom and Harry eased themselves down and crab-walked the short distance over to the leafy brush until they were barely discernable, even from our spot behind them. Once they we
re in position, Harry looked back and gave Murphy the thumbs-up.

  “Alright, you two. Get those guns in position,” Murphy said to me and Rusty. My heart was racing as I leaned against the side of the tree and brought my rifle to my shoulder. I noticed Rusty took the same position on the other side of the big trunk.

  “C’mon Evans, make this shot good,” Murphy muttered under his breath as he raised his arm above his head to give Chester the signal. I turned and set my eye on the sights of my gun as I took a deep breath and tried to control my speeding heart. I never saw the sergeant give the signal, but in the next instant, I knew Chester had gotten it.

  BLAM!

  The head of the guard standing by the truck jerked backwards as Chester’s bullet penetrated his skull, a massive hole appearing in his cheek. Like a marionette on its strings, he seemed to hang suspended for second before he dropped like a stone.

  Gunfire rang out from the other side of the orchard and I saw the other guard drop to his stomach and start firing back in that direction. The two officers dropped down behind the truck as we started firing from our side.

  Loud German voices barked out and within seconds I saw four more German soldiers come around the corner of the church; two firing in our direction, while the other two ran towards the other end of the church where their comrade was under fire from Bill’s unit.

  “Jesus Christ, where did they come from?” I heard Sgt. Murphy say.

  ZING!

  I instinctively pulled back behind the tree as a bullet whizzed by. Rusty was already there, leaning as hard into the tree as he could get, his body shaking like a leaf. Murphy had taken his place at the other side of the tree, firing his rifle.

  An engine roared to life as I spun back and brought my rifle up once more. The truck they’d been loading lurched forward. I noticed one of the officers driving while the other was crouched down next to him in the passenger seat, firing a handgun at us through the open window. As the truck started to pull away, I took aim at the driver’s head and fired.

  CHINK!

  A gouge appeared in the top edge of the hood of the truck as my bullet hit and ricocheted away. The truck started to gain speed as I fired again. A useless tear appeared in the fabric canopy covering the rear of the truck as my bullet passed clean through, a good two yards behind the driver’s window.

  “Damn!” I said to myself as the truck started to pull further away. I raised my gun once more—

  THUNK!

  The solid blow of a bullet smashing into the elm shook the air mere inches away. Pieces of bark blew in every direction, slivers lashing the right side of my face. I pulled back behind the tree once more, raising my hand to the tingling wooden spines embedded in my right cheek. My hand came away dripping scarlet and I could feel the warmth of blood running down my cheek, but I knew I was okay. I looked down and saw Rusty huddled behind the tree, clutching his rifle against his chest, tears streaming down his face.

  “Show yourself, you fuckers!” Murphy said as he continued to fire from his spot on the other side of the tree.

  I looked past him. The two soldiers who’d been loading the boxes had retrieved their rifles and were firing back as well. As one raised his head over the steps leading to the basement, I saw it disappear in a red misty cloud as one of Chester’s bullets hit home once more. I noticed another dead body on the ground further out, having been taken out by Bill’s guys at some point.

  Another German was partially sheltered as he knelt behind a protruding brick wall along the face of the church. The wall was protecting him from Bill’s men, but he was partially visible from our vantage point.

  “That’s it, you bastard,” Sgt. Murphy said softly. “Just keep firing……just like……” BANG! His rifle spoke and I saw the German drop.

  Harry and Tom were exchanging gunfire with the two soldiers crouching behind the staff car. Sgt. Murphy and I spun in that direction and added our two rifles to the conflict. With a hail of bullets smashing into the vehicle and whizzing past them, the two men ducked fully behind the bullet-riddled car. Under our covering fire, I saw Harry pull the pin on a grenade, leap to his feet and toss it in their direction before diving to the ground and jamming his helmet onto his head.

  BOOM!

  The grenade had landed perfectly just on the other side of the vehicle, taking out the two men instantly as the whole side of the car blew in. The sound drew the attention of the remaining men. As they turned to look, I heard the tell-tale sound of Chester’s powerful rifle from behind me and saw a massive explosion in one man’s chest.

  Repetitive blasts of gunfire came from the area off to the right and I saw a body slump forward from behind a bush on the church yard. The guns stopped, the last of the Germans now lying lifeless on the ground.

  “Let’s move,” Sgt. Murphy said as we rapidly made our way forward.

  I reached down and pulled Rusty to his feet, all but dragging him along behind me. Harry and Tom scrambled up and joined us as we rushed across the street. I saw Bill and his men coming from the other side as we quietly eased around the side of the smoking car. One man was dead, but the other lay gasping, blood oozing from his mouth. Sgt. Murphy surveyed the situation, kicked the man’s gun out of reach and moved off to the other bodies. We stayed where we were, watching the man gasping and trembling, his fearful eyes looking to us pleadingly as he started to beg for help in German, his raspy voice barely audible. A minute later, the sergeant returned, the rest of the men following close behind. At the same time, Chester came running from his spot on the hilltop.

  “Are the others all dead?” I asked.

  “Yeah. What the fuck happened to you?” Sam replied as he looked at my bloody face.

  “I’m okay. The tree next to me got the worst of it.” I drew my hand across my dripping cheek and wiped it on my pants.

  “Where’s MacNeil?” Sgt. Murphy said as he stared icily down at the dying German. No one answered, but we all looked at Rusty, who was still weeping. Hearing his name, he wiped the dripping snot off his nose and tried to stand straighter, but his body was still shaking like a leaf. Murphy slowly looked up until his cold eyes rested on the trembling young man. He stepped over to Rusty and grabbed him firmly by the shoulder. “Get the fuck over here.” He pulled Rusty forcefully, dragging him over until he stood right over the bleeding German. He pulled Rusty’s gun out of his shaking hands and jammed the butt into the boy’s shoulder until he was pointing it right at the man lying at his feet. Murphy grabbed Rusty’s hand and put it on the trigger before stepping back.

  “There, you said you wanted to kill a Kraut; now’s your chance.” Rusty stood there quivering, the rifle barrel wavering randomly over the pleading German.

  “I….I can’t,” Rusty said as tears streamed down his face.

  “YOU DIDN’T HAVE THE GUTS TO SHOOT BEFORE, YOU FUCKING RETARD!” Murphy yelled in Rusty’s face. “WELL, THERE’S NOBODY SHOOTING BACK AT YOU NOW, SO THIS SHOULD MAKE IT EASIER FOR YOU TO PULL THAT TRIGGER.”

  “Sir, I don’t think—” Johnny started to say.

  “SHUT THE FUCK UP, RUSSO!” Murphy all but exploded in Johnny’s face, his face brilliant crimson with anger. He turned his attention back to Rusty as Johnny instinctively backed down. The brief interruption did seem to cool Murphy down, if even only a little. “Now listen, you fucking moron; this asshole is going to die anyways, so you’ll just be putting him out of his misery.”

  Rusty looked down at the dying man, the German’s lips moving as blood bubbled in his throat, tears streaming down both their faces. “I…..I can’t,” Rusty said again.

  Murphy shook his head in disgust, reached forward and put his finger over the top of Rusty’s finger that was on the trigger. Before we knew it, Murphy closed his finger over Rusty’s and blew a hole in the middle of the dying man’s skull. We all stepped back, our eyes wide with shock. Rusty stared at the smoking rifle in his hands, his whole body shaking.

  “There you go, you goddamned fuck-tard,” Murph
y said as he drew his hand away and stepped back. “Now you can tell all those inbred brothers and sisters of yours how you killed the enemy. You’ll be a big fucking hero.”

  The sergeant strolled over towards the church. We all looked at each other, wondering if we had really seen what had happened. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had pissed himself on the beach a short time ago. We trailed after him, a teary and dazed Rusty slowly pulling up the rear.

  “What have we got here?” the sergeant asked. “What the hell were those SS guys doing here? Russo, go downstairs and see what the fuck those guys were carrying up.”

  I noticed the clipboard the one officer had been holding lying on the ground. I bent down to pick it up. I couldn’t read or speak German, but I did recognize a couple of names written on the list before me. “Sir, I think you should take a look at this,” I said as I passed Murphy the clipboard.

  “There’s this one and seven more of those crates down there, Sir,” Johnny said as he came back up the stairs, one of the slim wooden crates in his hand. “Do you want me to open it?”

  “Just hold on there, Russo,” the sergeant said as his eyes scanned down over the clipboard. “Nuzurka, give me that phone.”

  I turned around as Murphy pulled the communicating device out of the small pack on my back.

  “Capt. Crocker,” Murphy said once he got through, “this is Sgt. Murphy over here in Poirier. Sir, I think there’s something you need to see.”