James Benn - A Mortal Terror

“Good place for an observation post,” I said.

“Yeah. Landry and the rest of the company stayed on the main road while Third Platoon hustled up this dirt track. The village had taken an artillery barrage the night before, and we hoped the Jerries got the message and cleared out. When we got there, it was all narrow streets, like switchbacks, heading up to the church. The buildings were real close together, made from white stone, like granite. Solid.”

“Them switchbacks were perfect for an ambush,” Louie said.

“Yeah. It was real quiet at first. Some buildings were piles of rubble. Others were fine. It was hard to tell if they were homes or shops or what. They were all shuttered up. So we keep going, checking out alleyways and side streets, advancing up toward the church. No sign of Germans or civilians.”

“It was hot,” Stump said. “I remember sweating. Hot for November, even in Italy.”

“Hot,” Flint agreed. “We were almost to the church, and it seemed like the Germans might have pulled out after all. There was a set of steps leading up to the road, so we took them, our squad. The others went around the bend in the road, and we went up the steps, figuring to save time.”

“It wasn’t a bad move,” Louie said. Everyone nodded their agreement.

“Then the Krauts opened up. Machine gun in a cellar window, at the head of the steps. They had the road and the steps covered. We lost two guys right away. One, MacMillan, had been with us a while. The other was a replacement, I never got his name.”

“We was pinned down,” Louie said. “Stump and me. Rusty was with us. We had one guy wounded, out in the middle of the street, but we were all holed up in doorways, nowhere to go.”

“We started lobbing grenades,” Flint said. “But they’d miss the window and bounce away. Some of these buildings had real narrow basement windows, and that’s where the Krauts set up. Like a pillbox. The building between us and the Krauts was nothing but rubble, which blocked all the entrances on our side. We couldn’t get at them.”

“Bishop was out in the street, hit pretty bad in the legs,” Gates said. “They left him alone, hoping one of us would try to get to him.”

“We was screwed,” Louie said.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The MG42 stopped,” Flint said. “A few rifle shots, then they were gone. The medics got to Bishop, and we kept going. But now we knew they were probably setting up somewhere between us and the church. Everyone was mad. We wanted to get those bastards. Mac and Bishop, plus that kid-it got us all pissed off. You know how it is, when one minute you’re so scared you just want to get into the deepest hole you can find, and then something happens, your blood’s up, and you’re doing something that might get you killed. It was like that. We moved up, hugging the walls, watching for those basement windows, waiting for shutters to swing open and the MG to open up again.”

“We were all jumpy,” Stump said. “Lots of firing at shadows.”

“Our squad was in the lead,” Flint said. “Cole took point. We were about fifty yards from the church, only one more switchback to go. I was looking at the bell tower, watching for snipers. I heard Cole say something and saw him point to a building at the top of the road. The roof had been caved in, but the rest of it was intact. It had stone steps leading up to the front door, and two small windows with bars on them on either side of the steps.”

“I heard him yell for covering fire,” Gates said.

“Yeah, then everyone started shooting. He ran toward the building, and I followed, shooting and yelling. We were all a little crazed, you know? Cole was screaming about the basement, that he saw movement, and to fire at the windows. I did, and as we got close, he pulled out a WP grenade, one of those new M15 gizmos, you know? And I figure, good idea, even if he misses, some of that Willie Peter will spray into the basement and fix those Krauts good. So he throws, and Jesus, it was a beautiful shot. The windows were a bit high off the ground, which made it a little easier, but it sailed in there perfectly. You saw it, Louie, wasn’t that a shot?”

“Right between the bars,” Louie said. “Cole had a helluva arm.”

“Flint,” Gates said in a low, quiet voice. “Tell Billy what happened.”

“Well, we took cover. You know that stuff flies everywhere and burns like the devil. But when it went in, we moved up, covering the door, figuring Krauts might come spilling out.”

“But there weren’t no Krauts,” Louie said, helping Flint along. I felt the weight of the grenade in my pocket, as well as the weight of what I knew was coming. I thought about the fact that someone had left this grenade on Cole’s desk hours-or minutes-before he’d decided to kill himself.

“No. Smoke was pouring out, and inside was a white-hot glow. We heard screams. We got to the window, and there was this guy, this Italian. He was on fire, his back was blazing. He had a little girl, he must have shielded her from the blast, and he was trying to push her out between the bars, but he couldn’t. Cole grabbed at the girl, but he came up empty. Except for a rag doll she’d been holding.”

“It was a whole family,” Gates said. “Father, mother, couple of kids. They’d evidently taken shelter during the bombardment. When the roof caved in, it blocked the stairs to the basement. They were trapped.”

“Cole just stood there,” Stump said. “Holding that rag doll. And I mean he stood there, looking into that burning basement. We couldn’t move him.”

“We found those Krauts,” Louie said. “They was hightailing it outta the church, four of ’em, makin’ for an olive grove. We’d split up, a squad on either side of the church. Soon as they saw us, it was kamerad, kamerad. But we wasn’t in the mood.”

“What happened with Cole?” I thought about pulling out the grenade and plunking it down on the table, but I didn’t know what that would tell me. If one of these guys put it on Cole’s desk, he might expect it. The rest would think I’d lost it.

“Landry came up with some medics and they checked him out, but he wasn’t wounded. Flint brought him to the aid station, just to give him a rest,” Gates said. “Since he wasn’t hurt, they didn’t know what to do, so Father Dare took over and took care of him for a couple of days. The padre brought him back, and he seemed okay. Quiet, not out of his head or anything. So we think everything is back to normal, that he got over the shock. We’re closer to Mignano now, and the next morning we shove off to occupy another hill. I left Cole’s squad in reserve, but we come up against a farmhouse with a bunch of Krauts holed up in it. I needed Cole to move his squad down an irrigation ditch to get closer, so I send him out. It’s good cover, and they get close, but they stay in the ditch. I crawl down there to see what’s the problem, and everyone’s looking at Cole, waiting for the order. But he won’t move, won’t speak. So I gave the squad to Flint, and we took the farmhouse. No casualties.”

“Did he say why he froze?”

“He said he just couldn’t do it anymore,” Flint said. “He was okay as soon as he got away from the shooting. But he said there was no way he could ever go up on the line again.”

“He wasn’t shaking in his boots or anything. He just said he couldn’t do it no more,” Louie said.

“It wasn’t like some guys who try to talk their way out of it,” Gates said. “He was ready to take whatever the army dished out, but he sure as hell was not going up on the line ever again.”

“Fourteen months, since Fedala,” Stump said. “That’s how long it took. Fourteen months and one morning in Campozillone.”