James Benn - A Mortal Terror

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.