A Mortal Terror

by James R Benn

  “Is this Easy Company?” I asked. “Who’s in charge?”

  “This here’s Fox Company, and you better get your damn head down,” a corporal snapped at me. “If you got further use for it, that is.” That got a laugh.

  “Where is Easy Company?” I stood up, straight as I could. It was crazy, I knew. I’d seen Harding do it a couple of times, taking a chance on stopping a bullet in order to show men he wasn’t afraid and they shouldn’t be either. I didn’t give a damn about morale; I just wanted a straight answer fast. This at least got the corporal’s attention.

  “Down that way, Lieutenant,” he said. “We were supposed to follow them, but we got pinned down. There was supposed to be a smoke screen a long time ago.”

  “Pinned down, my ass! Where’s your officer?”

  “Captain’s right there,” he said, pointing to a medic hunched over a body, bloody compresses scattered on the ground.

  “Jesus,” I said, and wished that hadn’t popped out so loud. I was going to have to do something about morale whether I liked it or not. No one else was left standing. “Lieutenants? Platoon sergeants?”

  “Dead. Mortar round caught them in a huddle, havin’ themselves a powwow. Captain took us this far, then he took one in the chest. The boys and I took a look and figured this was a good place to hunker down.”

  “I’m in command now, Corporal. Get up, we’re heading up to support Easy Company. You,” I said, pointing to a PFC who looked only half scared to death. “You’re my runner. Hightail it back to the village and find Colonel Harding. He’s either at Battalion HQ or in that factory building on the same street. Tell him the advance is stalled and that I’m taking Fox Company forward to locate Easy. You got that?”

  “Harding,” he repeated. “The advance is stalled at this point. Fox going forward to find Easy. Who are you?”

  “Boyle. Now run there and run back here, fast as you can. Go.” I waited for a few long seconds as he stared up at me. If he refused to go, that was it. If I couldn’t get one GI to head back, I sure as hell wasn’t going to get fifty of them to move up.

  “Yes sir,” he said, and was off like a jackrabbit.

  “Corporal, if you’re the ranking noncom, then get your men moving. Follow me.”

  I didn’t look back, and I didn’t try to rouse the men. That was his job, and I had no idea if he was up to it. I crouched low, to show them that I wasn’t completely insane. I heard the rustle of gear, curses, and the sound of boots on the ground. I broke into a trot, and the sound of men following me into the swirling smoke was the sweetest, most terrible sound of my life. Each death would be on my head.

  The sound of mortar fire lessened. The German machine guns slowed their rate of fire, too, sending short bursts into the smoke, hoping for a hit. The crump of explosions ahead of us told me Harding had zeroed in on the hill, which would also make the Krauts keep their heads down. I picked up the pace, figuring the less time upright the better my chances were. Visibility was low, but the track was even and easy to follow.

  It was then that I tripped. A dead GI lay half in the ditch, half on the track. I went sprawling and fell onto another body, but this one was alive. I lifted myself up and called for a medic. There were none with us.

  “Water,” he gasped in a raspy voice. I looked closer, and saw he must have been hit by shrapnel. His jacket was shredded and bloody, and one side of his face was torn and blackened. “Water, please.”

  I unscrewed my canteen and only then did I look at his face; not his wounds, but his face. Steel-rimmed spectacles lay bent and broken by his head. He was a kid, with the same color hair. My hand shook, and I reached for my canteen.

  “Danny?”

  “Water,” the voice said, fainter.

  “Danny!” I poured the water on his face, washing away the blood. His eyes bore into mine, beseeching me.

  “Water.”

  It wasn’t Danny. I rose and ran, as fast as I could. I couldn’t face that wounded kid, I couldn’t admit to my fear, to how I felt in my heart at that moment of mistaken identity. It was a cowardly thing to do, to leave him like that, I knew. I told myself someone else would give him water, somebody would be glad for the excuse to hang back. But it was all a lie. I was afraid, that’s all. Afraid for Danny and maybe even more afraid for myself. If he died out here, I’d carry that guilt forever.

  Now I knew. Now I understood my father. Now I was my father. He’d drummed it into me a million times. Family comes first. The Boyles, then the Boston PD, then Ireland. But family first. That’s what leaving a dead brother on the battlefield does. That’s what finding his brother Frank dead in the trenches of the last war did to him. I felt it in my heart, and it pained me, for all of us.

  If I had been alone, I would have wept. But I wasn’t, so I barked orders to cover my fears. We were too bunched up, so I got the men spread out, advancing straight down the track and on the flanks. I strained for the sound of our own weapons ahead, but there was too much racket. Not being able to see, it seemed as if the noise was on all sides, surrounding us, echoing in the empty air. They had to be dead ahead, I thought, then wished I’d used a different choice of words.

  I felt a breeze at my back. It became a gust, and I could see the smoke drifting past me, coils of misty white churning at my feet, drifting off my shoulders, making for that wooded rise where the enemy waited: their eyes squinted along gun barrels, desperate for a glimpse of us. The cloud cover above had turned dark and swollen, and a salt smell came in with the wind. A storm was brewing, and it was blowing in from behind us, stripping us of the only cover we had.

  “Run!” I yelled. “Run!” I prayed they’d heard me, and knew which way. I looked behind me, and could see far enough to know that whatever was left of Fox Company was still with me, and that the smoke wasn’t. It blew past me, leaving a clear view to the rear, and at a run I could barely keep up with it. If we didn’t find cover or Easy Company, it was going to be a turkey shoot. The guys around me understood, and we all picked up the pace, eyes darting across the revealed landscape, legs pumping, weapons at the ready.

  The disappearing smoke revealed a streambed, fifty yards up. GIs waved us by while they watched the smoke roll on, cresting against the wooded rise, breaking like waves on the shore. Thirty yards to go, then twenty, and I could make out the shape of trees. Ten yards, then three long strides and I leapt into the streambed as the MG42s opened up, shredding the air with their terrible mechanical constancy.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Evans demanded as I rolled out of the foot-deep water and threw myself against the bank. Bullets clipped the ground above us and zinged overhead, sending clumps of earth flying in the fields where we had been. I knew Evans didn’t mean me especially; I wasn’t even sure he recognized me.

  “Evans, it’s me, Billy Boyle. Where’s your company commander?” I ached to ask about Danny but I had to focus on the jam we were in.

  “Dead. Same with the other two platoon leaders. If this stream wasn’t here we’d all be dead. What the hell happened to our support? Why are you here, anyway?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said, answering his last question first and giving him points for even thinking of it right now. “HQ took a direct hit in that barrage, got knocked out. There was no one coordinating the attack or calling in artillery.”

  “We’re supposed to have tank support,” he said.

  “I saw them hit a minefield and take off. I sent a runner back with our position. Maybe he can make it back with orders. You have a radio?”

  “No, not even a walkie-talkie. Your brother’s okay, last I saw anyway.”

  “Thanks,” I said, letting the relief settle in, then pushing it aside. We all still had to get out of this alive. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to ask you—”

  “Jesus, Boyle, there’s a time and place for everything. Just tell me where the Fox Company CO is.”

  “Dead, or near so last I saw. Highest rank left seems to be a corporal.”
/>   “Jesus Christ.”

  “No kidding. You’re in charge, Evans. What’s the situation?”

  “We’ve got good cover right here, couple of hundred yards in either direction. Except for when they drop mortar rounds on us, but they might be running low on ammo. We haven’t been hit too hard for a while. Their big stuff sails right over. With the men you brought, we probably have eighty or so effectives, not counting the walking wounded and litter cases. Father Dare and a medic are set up down a ways, with Louie’s squad.” As if on cue, artillery shells whistled overhead, detonating to our rear, showering us with dirt that rained on our helmets and hunched shoulders.

  “Where does this stream lead?” I asked. It wasn’t much of a stream, at least not this time of year. Damp gravel fell from the banks, littered in places with torn and bloody bandages. But it was deep enough for cover, and for that it was our Garden of Eden.

  “To the left it loops around the woods. To the right to turns south, back to our lines. But we’d be exposed for about three hundred yards. They’d chew us up. And with this wind, more smoke wouldn’t last long enough to give us cover.”

  “Okay, watch for the runner. I’m going to check on the wounded.” We both knew I meant Danny. I duckwalked in the cold water until I found Father Dare. He’d found a bit of flat, dry ground next to the bank, and he and a medic were patching guys up as best they could.

  “Lieutenant Boyle, was that you who brought the cavalry?” Father Dare asked, as he wound a bandage around the thigh of a GI who grimaced as he did. Once again, I had to wonder, could a murderer soothe the wounded and then kill the living?

  “Jeez, Father, can’t you give me some morphine? The pain is killing me,” the GI said through clenched teeth.

  “I could, but then when we get out of here, it might take two fellows to carry you. You’ll have to hang on, son. I’m sure the lieutenant here is bringing good news, aren’t you, Boyle?”

  “Sure. Fox Company’s here and we’re back in contact with headquarters. They’ll be in touch soon. Hang in there,” I said, patting the wounded man on the shoulder.

  “Easy for you to say,” he gasped, but I saw relief flicker across his face. I hoped I wasn’t talking through my helmet.

  “Shrapnel,” Father Dare whispered as we turned away. “Too deep, otherwise I’d cut it out myself. How bad are things, really?”

  I told him what happened to headquarters and about Harding taking over, and the losses Fox Company had taken trying to get to them.

  “If we’d made this push yesterday, we might have had a chance. But now the Germans are dug in on every piece of high ground within a mile,” he said.

  “Yeah, and they seemed to know we were coming. They dropped artillery right on the village and the approach road this morning, caught everyone with their pants down.”

  “It’s a real FUBAR situation,” Father Dare said, then pointed. “He’s down that way, Boyle. Hasn’t done anything stupid, so he may be all right.”

  I thanked him, and went down on my hands and knees until I ran into Louie, leaning against the bank and smoking a cigar, his feet in the water.

  “Hey, Louie,” I said.

  “It’s Louie Walla from Walla Walla,” he said, with a smile.

  “Having fun out here, Louie?”

  “Walla from Walla Walla,” he finished for me.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, why not? I’m down to my last stogie, the Krauts got the high ground, what am I gonna do, cry? Not me. I figure this here cigar will drive ’em crazy. Krauts got lousy tobacco, you know? This is my secret weapon.” He blew a plume of smoke straight up, letting the stiff breeze take it straight to the Germans.

  “We got them right where we want them, Louie Walla from Walla Walla. Where’s Danny?”

  “Right behind that clump of bushes. Kid ain’t half bad for a college boy.” He went on puffing, oddly serene, especially compared to how sullen he’d been the last time I saw him.

  “Billy!” Danny said, nearly jumping up when he saw me. Charlie Colorado put a stop to that with one hand on his shoulder.

  “How’s it going, kid?”

  “Charlie says he’s been in worse spots,” Danny said. He leaned against the gravelly bank, loose sand and stones giving way and tumbling down to his boots. His hands gripped his M1, knuckles turning white. He looked away from me, digging his helmet into the earth as if he wanted to burrow into it.

  “Don’t worry, Danny,” I said. “Everyone’s scared. But we’ll get out of this, believe me.”

  “I’m not scared. Well, maybe I am, who wouldn’t be?”

  “Right,” I said, sensing that I was missing something.

  “Danny is a good shot. He is a warrior today,” Charlie said.

  “I killed a man, Billy.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. There were no words for this moment. Sure, that was what we were here for. Kill or be killed and all that. But when it was your little brother bearing the burden of death, words seemed useless. But I felt I had to come up with something. “The real test is not living or dying, kid. It’s killing and living.”

  “It felt strange,” Danny said. “Like I should have felt worse about it. But then I felt bad that I didn’t.”

  “It was his time to die, not yours,” Charlie said. “Usen gave you good eyes and a steady hand. He would not want you to turn away from his gifts.”

  “When did this happen?” I liked it that Usen was watching out for Danny, but I needed to know what was going on in the here and now.

  “Not long ago,” Danny said. “Flint found a gully that leads up to the hill. We crawled up it and got an angle on the machine gun crew. They were firing into the smoke and didn’t see us. I lined up a shot and took it. I got the gunner, saw his helmet fly off. Then they started throwing grenades, and we had to get back.”

  “Why Flint? Louie’s your squad leader.”

  “Louie is dead,” Charlie said.

  “No he isn’t, I just talked to him.”

  “Louie is dead,” he repeated. “He knows it is his time, and he is waiting. He is dead.”

  “He is acting strange,” Danny said. “Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

  “He knows he is free of this earth,” Charlie said.

  “But why—” I didn’t get a chance to finish. Stump crawled up to us, hugging the embankment.

  “Sorry to interrupt the reunion, boys. Billy, that runner you sent made it back.”

  “How’d he get through?”

  “He said a Colonel Harding turned him right around, sent him up the streambed in the other direction. Come on.”

  Danny and I shook hands, putting on a good show for everyone watching, saying “See ya later” like we’d meet up at Kirby’s for a beer. I followed Stump. The odd shot rang out from above, but it had turned quiet. I figured the Krauts knew they had us pinned good. If I were in their shoes, I’d hustle up some reinforcements before nightfall, when we had a better chance of pulling out in the dark. Until then, I’d conserve my ammo, just like they were doing.

  The PFC was with Evans and Flint, and they were all checking watches. Flint gave a curt nod as he set his watch, all business.

  “Boyle,” Evans said. “We’re moving out in fifteen.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked the PFC. Evans was doing all right, but I wanted to hear exactly what Harding had planned, and this kid was the only one with a clue.

  “Kawulicz, Lieutenant. Robert Kawulicz. But they call me Bobby K, on account of the Polack name.”

  “Okay, Bobby K, I’m going to tell Colonel Harding it’s time for corporal’s stripes as soon as we get back. Now tell me what he said to you.”

  “He told me that if I could get to you, I could bring you back. He pointed me down that streambed, and sent a few smoke rounds in. The wind didn’t take it like it did above ground. I stayed low, had to crawl in a few places, but they never saw me.”

  “Good work, Bobby K. You ready to lead us back?”r />
  “Sure as hell don’t want to stay here,” he said.

  “Okay, the smoke is going to hit all over, but mainly on the streambed,” Evans said. “So the Germans won’t know what we’re up to. Stump, go tell Father Dare to get the wounded up front. We don’t have much time.”

  “That’s why the wounded should be at the tail of the column,” I said, hating how easily the words came.

  “No, we have to take care of the wounded, especially the litter cases,” Evans said. “That’s an order. I’m in command here, not you, Boyle.”

  “Billy’s right,” Flint said. Stump nodded his agreement. “The wounded will go as fast as they can, which is slower than the rest of us. Put them up front and you slow down eighty or so men. Say someone drops a litter, and everyone has to wait. The wind could kick up even worse, and suck the smoke right out of that streambed. Then we’re all dead men.”

  “Put the wounded in the rear, they’ll make it out almost as quick,” Stump said. “Without endangering everyone else.”

  Evans was silent. He was new to the mathematics of war.

  “Time’s wasting,” Flint said.

  “Okay, Okay. Bobby, you’re our scout. Flint, take him up front. Have Louie’s squad close behind you. Keep an eye on him. Boyle, will you help the medic and Father Dare with the wounded?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” Evans was learning fast. Why risk one of your own men as tail-end Charlie?

  “Send Louie up front, okay?” Flint said. I nodded and crawled off.

  “We going back already?” Louie asked when I told him the plan. “I ain’t finished my cigar.”

  “Train’s leaving the station, Louie Walla from Walla Walla. Take care of my kid brother, okay?”

  “My days of takin’ care of people are over,” Louie said.

  “That’s a sergeant’s job, isn’t it?”

  “In this war, a sergeant’s job is to get killed or go crazy. Rusty took care of all of us, and look what happened to him. I’m next, I know it.”