Mark Frost - The Second Objective

“You’re someplace now.”

“You guys know how to handle yourselves. You’ve seen the hellfire and brimstone, am I right?”

Bernie looked at him. “I’ve seen a few things.”

“You probably went through basic, too. They hardly gave us any training. Then they stick us out here, saying we won’t even see any action? I don’t even have the right socks.”

Charlie smiled and slowly shook his head. With his unlined face and wide eyes, he seemed eerily matter-of-fact about their predicament. Bernie felt an urgent impulse to get away from him.

“You got a girl back home, Jimmy?”

“No, not really. You?”

“Ann Marie Possler. Real sweet kid. I got a letter from her the other day. Finally wrote her back last night.” He took an envelope out of his jacket, smiling as he looked at it. “She’s in Queens. I’d like you to get this to her.”

“Just keep your head down, you’ll be okay.”

“I’m going to die today.”

Bernie didn’t know what to say, but the hollow look on Charlie’s face put a chill through him. Maybe he knows. Maybe he’s right.

“See, a guy like Bobby Dugan”-Charlie pointed at the wounded soldier across the room-“he catches some shrapnel today, falls all to pieces? He’s gonna grow old and die in bed.” He nodded at two more of his men. “Rodney and Patchett. They’re not gonna see home again either.”

“Come on, knock it off, how could you know that?”

“I’ve heard the words of the Prophet. Even a heart of stone can be turned into a heart of flesh, if you don’t reject the teaching. The new covenant will be unbreakable. It will be written on the heart. Redemption is at hand.”

Charlie held the envelope out to him. Bernie saw the madness in his eyes.

“Say but the word, cleanse your soul of sin, and you shall be healed, and you shall have new life,” said Charlie, and then without changing expression: “Just make sure this gets into the mail for me, okay?”

“Sure thing, Charlie.” Bernie took the letter and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You got a Bible, Jimmy?”

“Not on me.”

“I’d like you to have mine. Here, take it.”

“Why don’t you hang on to it.”

“You mail the letter,” said Charlie, lying back down on his bedroll. “I got a good feeling about you.”

Bernie walked away from him and stood by the door, trying to shake the kid’s voice out of his head. When Von Leinsdorf finished at the table, he joined Bernie outside for a smoke. The air was dead still, a frozen pool. They moved out of earshot from the cabin. A thick fog crept in and snow fell silently around them.

“Have you talked to these guys?” whispered Bernie. “At least one of ’em’s a fucking lunatic.”

Von Leinsdorf looked at his watch. “We have to be somewhere in a few hours.”

“Where, for what?”

“To pick up something we need.”

“Is this about the bridge, or the other thing?”

Von Leinsdorf glared at him. “The other thing. And they’re not coming with us.”

“Leave ’ em here. Tell ’em we’re going for help-”

“I’m not asking for suggestions.” Von Leinsdorf loaded a fresh clip into his pistol.

“So wave down one of our patrols, identify ourselves-we’ve got signals for that, right? Let ’em surrender.”

Von Leinsdorf chambered a round. “You’re getting sentimental on me, Brooklyn.”

“Look, they don’t have any idea who we are or what we’re doing. What can they say that could give us any trouble? You don’t have to kill them.”

“If you’re not willing to help, I’ll do it myself.”

They heard the cabin door swing open behind them. One of the riflemen walked outside to take a piss. Von Leinsdorf raised the gun on instinct. The man in his sights wasn’t looking their way and gave no indication that he knew they were there. Bernie stepped between Von Leinsdorf and the target.

“I need to know what the fuck we’re doing here,” whispered Bernie. “What are we picking up?”

“Security passes. From the Abwehr .”

Bernie’s heart jumped at the mention of the German secret intelligence organization. “Why didn’t they give ’em to us before we left?”

“They were supposed to be with that fat woman the night we came across. They’ll be there now.”

“What the fuck do we need ’em for?”

“I can’t tell you any more,” said Von Leinsdorf. “Are you going to help or wait out here?”

“We can’t shoot ’em. What if there’s a patrol in the area?”

Von Leinsdorf answered by taking the silencer out and screwing it on the pistol.

Bernie saw the rifleman go back inside. “At least let ’em fall asleep first. It’ll be easier then.”

“Not if there’s two of us.” Von Leinsdorf saw the look on his face and relented. “All right. We’ll wait till they’re asleep.”

Bernie followed him back inside. He told the soldier at the window to catch some rest, that he’d take the last watch. The American joined his friends on the floor. Three were already sleeping; the other two were playing cards by the light of the lantern. Bernie looked at Von Leinsdorf. Both men lit cigarettes and waited.

As snow accumulated outside, the fog reduced their field of vision to less than twenty yards, a white void surrounding the cottage. The first hint of dawn was in the sky before the soldiers finally turned off the lamp and lay down. Von Leinsdorf drew his pistol and signaled Bernie. Bernie picked up a rifle sitting by the door and looked down at Charlie Decker lying asleep at his feet.

You could shoot Von Leinsdorf instead, he thought.

No. Not without knowing what his mission was first. But he couldn’t shoot these GIs either.

Von Leinsdorf pointed his pistol at the first man’s head. Bernie heard something outside and waved his hand to stop him. He cracked open the window and gestured Von Leinsdorf over.

The faint sputter of motorized diesels. Moments later, they both heard faint shouts coming toward them in the distance. Charlie Decker woke when he heard the voices and saw Bernie and Von Leinsdorf at the window.

“Who is it?” asked Charlie. “Who’s out there?”

Von Leinsdorf gestured urgently for quiet. They waited. More shouts, closer, then the squeak of footsteps running in the snow outside. A few isolated gunshots, then bursts of automatic fire. The rest of the soldiers woke in the room behind them. Then came the unmistakable grinding of heavy gears. Bernie recognized the distinctive rumble; German tanks were moving their way.

“They’re ours,” said Bernie to Von Leinsdorf, before he could censor himself.

Thinking he meant Americans, Charlie Decker threw open the front door and ran outside before Bernie could stop him.

“Hey! Hey, guys! Hey, we’re Americans! We’re over here!”

From somewhere in the fog a stream of.50 bullets chunked across the front of the cabin, cutting down Charlie Decker at the door, ripping open his chest. He fell back through the doorway, dead before he hit the floor at Bernie’s feet. Everyone inside scrambled for cover. Bernie looked down at Decker, a faint smile on the kid’s face, as his eyes glassed over.

Moments later, GIs slashed out of the fog right in front of the cabin, a platoon in headlong retreat, most without weapons, running for their lives. A tank shell hit the cottage with a massive, dull thud, but didn’t detonate, a hissing dud, the tip of its nose poking out between logs. At the sight of it, two of the riflemen broke out the back door, out of their heads with fear. Heavier gunfire erupted, bullets piercing the wattled walls of the building. Screams issued from behind the building.