No Good War

No Good War

Fan fiction by Rose Schrock to honor the ABC TV series Combat!

June 2001

This one's for Vic. May his memory never fade from our hearts.

Cleveland, Ohio. USA

Early May, 1964

"You take that back, Sammy! The boy's chin quivered as he looked up at the big bully. "You just better take that back right now!"

At the age of ten, William Hanley, better known as Willie around the city, was so upset that his entire body shook in anguish. Thin and sickly, he had taken a lot of abuse from the older kids of his block, but today was different. Willie would put up with almost anything except the words that Sammy had yelled to his retreating back.

"Why, Will the Pill?" Sammy sneered. "You gonna hurt me?"

Three years Willie's senior, Sammy was somewhat of a punk wanna-be renegade. His hair hung down past his shoulders, unkempt and greasy for want of a good washing. The only clothes he ever wore were mud-splattered and grass-stained. His messy ways were exactly the opposite of the immaculately dressed Will. Perhaps it was jealously on Sam's part that caused him to pester the other kids mercilessly.

"No." Willie backed down, his steady gaze lowering to his shoes. "I'm not going to try to fight you, Sammy." His tone hardened. "But the truth is what you said is a lie."

"It is not a lie! You just don't know any better. Let me explain it to you, kid." Sammy took on the superior air of a teacher. "You see, Willie, war is a sucker's game. The government uses all kinds of fancy words so that it sounds great, but in the end you just get killed. My brother Todd is almost twenty years old and he told me that he ain't gonna volunteer to join no army. It just ain't smart to go running off to some strange place where you don't know anyone and die for nothing." Sammy's face registered a subtle delight in tormenting Will and dashing his dreams to pieces. "Let me tell you something else, Willie. There is no such thing as a good war and not everybody who lives through a battle is a hero. He's just a lucky sucker."

"My dad was NOT a lucky sucker!" Moisture stung Willie's eyes and threatened to come to the surface, but he furiously wiped at them with a balled fist. "He is a hero. He was an officer, and he led a whole platoon! A whole company! A whole regiment! He is brave and smart and---"

Willie covered his face with his hands after gushing out his defense and exploded into tears. He turned around to hide his emotion from Sammy, but he did not succeed.

"You can stand here and blubber like a baby all day if you want to. It ain't gonna change anything. Your dad is just like you are. You're both blind, old-fashioned suckers and stuffed-shirts to boot."

Will's broken sobbing did nothing to bother Sam's seared conscience.

"That's it, Sammy. I'm sick of you coming around here all the time and picking on my best friend. I gave you my last warning."

Twelve year old Chip Saunders Jr. approached Sammy with rage distorting his features. For one so young, "Chipper" was a very mature child and fiercely loyal to his weaker friend. Any "tough guy" who chose to mess with Willie better watch out or he may end up laying facedown in the dirt.

Before Sammy could come up with a retort, Chipper socked him in the stomach with an iron fist, sending the larger boy to the ground.

"C'mon, Will! Give me some backup here!"

Both boys were now hitting the bully. Sammy gave a loud cry of surprise and dashed down the street to escape the falling blows.

"I guess we showed him." Chipper grinned smugly at his companion.

"Showed who what, Son?"

A stern voice wiped the smile off of Chipper's face. Chip Saunders Sr. placed a hand firmly on his boy's shoulder. "You weren't out brawling again were you?"

Oh, no, Pop. I wasn't out fighting." His sky-blue eyes took on a false innocence. "This mean bully named Sammy was making fun of Will, so I had to stand up for him." Chip Jr. studied his father gravely. "Isn't that what you taught me to do, Dad? To stand up for my buddies?"

The older Saunders had to laugh at his son. That boy was a real charmer. He knew all the right buttons to push when his dad was upset with him.

"Well, I guess you got a point there, Son. Don't go around hunting for trouble and I won't say another word about it."

"Uncle Sarge," Willie's face reflected his inner turmoil. "He said that there is no such thing as a good war."

"I see." Saunders' expression darkened at the remark before he remembered that two pairs of inquiring eyes were watching his every move. "I wouldn't think too much about it, Will. Some guys think they know everything but they're really the stupidest ones of all. They use their mouth to hide their ignorance."

"Oh," The emerald eyes showed relief. "Thanks for listening, Uncle Sarge." Saunders chuckled inwardly at the pet name Willie had chosen for him.

"Why don't you boys head over to my house. I think that Mary might have baked some cookies for you."

"C'mon, Willie! My mom is the best cook in the whole WORLD!" Chipper grabbed his comrade by the arm and pulled him toward the house.

Saunders' phony facade melted as the two boys disappeared into the brick home. The world was changing. A new war had invaded their land, but this conflict was so different from the one forty-five year old Chip had been involved in. The optimism and purpose that had dominated America during World War Two had crumbled into selfishness and greed. Suddenly, being a war veteran was not such a popular claim. Jumbled words rolled through his brain like an out of control avalanche, pounding at his weary mind. One sentence seemed to ring out more clearly than the rest.

"He said that there's no such thing as a good war. No such thing..."

******

France (Twenty years earlier)

Late August, 1944

"Why aren't you asleep yet, Matthews?"

Saunders strolled over lazily to where the new private sat on the wet grass, looking worried with his arms wrapped around folded knees. With the exception of Sergeant Saunders, who had been taking night watch, the soldiers of Second Platoon King Company were all getting their much-needed rest. Even the executive officer, Second-Lieutenant Gil Hanley, lay sprawled out among his men snoring lightly.

"I dunno, Sarge. I guess I'm just too nervous to relax enough to sleep." The boy was probably no older than nineteen, and his frank words betrayed his youth. None of the more experienced soldiers would share their feelings openly with a stranger.

"That's too bad. Want a cigarette?" Saunders held out his already glowing Lucky Strike.

"No thanks, Sarge. I don't smoke. It's a promise that I made to my mom."

Instead of laughing incredulously as most normal GIs would have done, the sergeant only nodded his head before returning the lighted comfort to his mouth. He was used to dealing with immature kids and their unusual statements.

"If it's not too personal, do you want to tell me what it is that has you so worked up that you can't sleep? Sometimes it can help to talk about it." Chip Saunders never shared his own personal anxieties with anyone, but he wanted to see the scared kid calm down.

"A dream." The moonlight danced upon Aaron Matthews' hazel eyes as he observed his leader's reaction. Saunders' face remained void of expression. "Every since I was a little kid, I've always had the same nightmare every night. I'm out in the middle of this huge open field, and a terrible, gruesome battle is raging around me. I can see guys shooting off rounds, getting hit, and falling everywhere, but I feel isolated from their grief. It's like watching actors in a play; things happening everywhere but none of it seems real." Matthews' movements became more animated as he got into describing his feelings.

"Then," He continued, "All of a sudden, this gigantic black figure appears out of the blue and attacks me. I can't make out the enemy's features, or even what country he's from. It's just this big, dark silhouette coming straight at me in slow motion. I try to move, but for some reason, I can't do anything but stare in horror. I notice that the soldier has a shiny bayonet clutched in his right hand and I know he's going to plunge it into my chest. He makes a lunge at me and I feel the point of the blade enter my body. The pain is so terrible that I wake up screaming." By the end of the story, Aaron was sweating and breathing harder than normal.

"It's just a dream, Kid." Saunders gave the boy a sympathetic look as he finally comprehended why the private hated sleeping.

"That's what I've been telling myself over and over, Sarge. Before I got drafted, I never had to worry about it much. But, what reason would a six-year-old boy have for having a dream like that? Maybe it's an omen of what's destined to happen to me over here."

"You shut up that kind of talk!" Saunders snapped. "A dream doesn't mean anything!" His voice softened. "Look, Matthews, I used to have nightmares about boogie monsters hiding underneath my bed or in my closet. Does that mean that they're going to eat me for supper?"

"It's not the same!" Matthews protested, but his argument was loosing power and he knew it. "You didn't dream about the monsters nearly every night of your entire life. And ghosts aren't real. Germans are and they could kill me."

"I'm going to end this conversation now, Matthews." Saunders sighed. "No matter what I tell you, you're always determined to use some twisted logic to believe what you want. So let's just forget it."

"Fine with me." Aaron frowned as he pretended not to care what Saunders thought about him.

"And, Matthews,"

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"I don't ever want to hear about that bayonet dream again. Not now or ever, understand?"

"Sure, Sarge. I understand."

"Good, then it's settled. Get some sleep."

"But, Sarge..."

"I said 'get some sleep', Kid!"

"G'night, Sarge."

"Sweet dreams, Matthews."

"I wish."

******

One Week Later

War is a strange thing, Saunders decided as he wiped a grimy hand over his eyes. One minute everything can be so peaceful, almost like you were back home. But those times were few and fleeting, soon to be replaced with harrowing battles or grueling night patrols. What he was witnessing today made Chip Saunders feel as if he had entered a time machine and traveled back to the bloody havoc of Omaha Beach. Of course the terrain differed from the assault made on Normandy, but the pain, the carnage, and the fear that plagued each soldier was a perfect copy of the June terror on a smaller scale. If there was any plan to this free-for-all slaughter Sergeant Saunders had missed it altogether. All around him he saw officers shouting out orders that no one paid any attention to and the whimpers of the dying left unattended because there were not enough medics to cover the casualties. Saunders blocked out the trauma by firing off his Thompson at anything in a German uniform and shouting out curses of frustration.

Suddenly, above the din of combat, a lone spectacle caught the sergeant's eye, driving a thick, hard knot of dread into the pit of his stomach. Backed up against the edge of a particularly deep foxhole was Matthews. The private's mouth hung open from fear but no sound escaped his parched lips except a low, soft moan as his eyes made contact with his dreaded nightmare. The German corporal, a seasoned veteran covered with grime and dried blood from head to toe, moved menacingly toward his frightened, frozen nemesis. The German noncom held a bayonet in his outstretched hand.

"Please, no! Don't do it! Please!"

Matthews dropped his rifle like a small, defenseless child and placed both of his hands over his heart. The small gesture of vulnerability that would have melted even the hardest of hearts had little visible impact upon the Nazi's resolve. Pure hatred oozed from every fiber of the corporal’s being. The German raised his heavily muscled harm for the kill.

Saunders watched the scene as if he were watching a motion picture being played out in slow motion. Each and every last detail of the moment engraved itself into his mind's memory; stored horror to be pondered over and understood on a later day when the initial shock would wear off. Hundreds of similar happenings were taking place all around him, but Chip Saunders could only see Aaron Matthews and the distant dream that had become a reality. The silver tip of the weapon gleamed as the late afternoon sun cast an eerie glow across its blade.

For a spilt second Matthews' eyes roamed away from his approaching doom and made contact with his sergeant's. The two sets of eyes locked in a common understanding of the coming end.

I told you so, Sarge. The dark brown eyes accused. You should have listened to me.

The clear blue eyes held no response. There was no answer to give.

The bayonet found its intended target and Aaron slumped forward screaming, a warm crimson flow erupting from his mortal wound. Aaron Matthews screamed and screamed and screamed...But this time he was not going to wake up. This time the piercing pain was all too real.

*******

Back to Cleveland, Ohio USA

Early May 1964

Chip Saunders and Gil Hanley lounged lazily on the porch swing of Chip's house, as the evening shadows grew longer. They held icy glasses of lemon scented tea in their hands and munched on Mary Saunders' famous chocolate chip cookies. Gil gave a contented sigh as he leaned back to enjoy the beauty of the setting sun. The two friends had kept up their nightly tradition of sunset watching faithfully every day since the end of the war. It gave the two ex-servicemen the opportunity to relax after the close of each difficult day and a good buddy to chat with or recall past memories. This evening, however, Saunders was even more withdrawn than normal.

"Hey, Saunders, are you alright? Or should I go call your personal nurse? I have a feeling that Mary would be happy to nurture a poor, distracted trooper back to normal." Hanley gave Saunders a firm shake. It was a strange practice, but as close as the two men were, neither one of them ever seemed to adapt to using the other man's first name. Strict rules of military protocol had been ground into their subconscious during their months of training and old habits proved difficult to break.

The nudge from Gil seemed to clear Chip's head.

"Yeah, I'm fine.... Just remembering that's all."

"Well, you'd better snap out of it fast or we're going to miss out on that new war series that our kids are so crazy about." Hanley stood to his feet as he glanced down at his wristwatch. “As a matter of fact, it’s probably on right now. Let’s go. The boys will skin us alive if we aren’t there.”

"Some show." Saunders grunted, reluctant to move from his position or to again seal up the ghosts of his past. " Too much glamour and not enough guts, I say. What do those people know about fighting a war anyway? What do they know about being scared half to death? Probably never spent a lonely, tired day in their entire lives. Never saw a real war. Much less a war like ours."

"C'mon, Saunders, give those guys a little slack, okay?" Hanley grinned his familiar, easy smile. "I mean, they gotta water it down a little don't they? Do you really want Chipper to see what happened exactly the way we saw it? We sure weren’t prepared, so you know he wouldn’t be ready. I think it's pretty good myself."

"It's not too bad I guess." Saunders conceded as the men walked into the house.

They made it into the living room just in time to hear the ending strains of the theme song. Will sat on the floor with the battered helmet of a lieutenant tilted sideways on his head. Chipper was crouched behind him swinging a metal Thompson sub-machine gun around like a baton. The stars of the popular series marched onto the screen; the boys cheered. As the plot of the program progressed, Will and Chipper alternately clapped and groaned as their favorite characters faced trials and triumphs alike in war-torn France.

Saunders chuckled as he made himself comfortable on the worn sofa. He enjoyed seeing the light in his son’s eyes while he watched his favorite show. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes matched those of Saunders’ wife, Mary. Only Mary never came into the room while the war series was playing, neither did she encourage her son with his curiosity about combat. She had been a nurse during the conflict in France and Mary often told Chipper that she never wanted to see a wounded soldier hurting or hear his cries for mercy ever again. Chip’s face again grew serious as he watched a young recruit getting a curt dressing-down from his infuriated leader. The boy's features were hauntingly similar to Matthews'.

"No such thing as a good war." He muttered. Will had forgotten the words spoken by the kid city bully but Chip could not wipe them out of his thoughts.

Hanley studied Saunders a moment before his green eyes registered understanding. He had heard the story.

"No, Saunders, there's no such thing as a good war." He confirmed softly. Then his gaze swept over to the television screen and the image of soldiers fighting for their lives. "But there was a good cause. And that cause was worth fighting...or dying for."

The former sergeant saw the television squad crawl up a steep hill toward the simulated bunkers while their lieutenant watched their progress. The officer's features mirrored grit and determination. Filth covered his army issue fatigues and grief shone in his moist eyes. The men were battle weary but brave nevertheless. They fought on. For a cause they fought one. And many died. Most of the kids never made it off that fatal hill.

Chip’s stern mouth broke out into a knowing grin. He understood the fictional program because it was not make believe to him. He had been there.

What Hanley said was true. It made good sense and Saunders had to agree.

*******