Hi there, Stranger. Well, you don't seem to be one of our regular fighting soldiers, so let me introduce myself to you. My full name is Charles M. Saunders and I'm a squad leader in the U.S. Infantry. Some of my folks back home call me "Chip", but around here everyone mostly just addresses me as "Sarge." I've been in combat for quite some time now and you can believe me when I say that I've had my fair share of dangerous adventures. I could tell you stories all day long, some of them so terrible that they'd make your skin crawl, others noble enough to make you cry. Say, if you would like me to, I can tell you the story that I've been thinking about for most of the morning. It's the tale of how a simple, ordinary man was pushed to achieve greatness. This is something so powerful you'll never forget it. Maybe it will even give you nightmares like the ones I've suffered through a thousand times over. I wouldn't want to wish that on anyone. You still wanna here it, Friend? You do? Okay, but remember, you asked for it. I promise you that you'll never be the same person after I'm finished. Well, here it is. Braddock's story starts out like this...

    To be perfectly honest with you, I gotta admit that Private Braddock wasn't much of a soldier. Oh sure, I guess he was decent enough as a buck private, but he just wasn't the type of guy who would want to make a lifetime career out of the army, if you know what I mean. But then again, none of the GIs in our squad were actually anticipating becoming career soldiers anyway. Like I said before, Braddock just wasn't the ideal private to have under your command. He had a reputation for goldbricking that he could never quite shake and the bad part was that everybody in King Company knew about it, from the green recruits right up to the top brass. He liked to put on a big show like he didn't care in front of the other men, but I think that Braddock secretly hated being the soldier nobody wanted around. One time I tried to have a serious talk with him about it, but Braddock waved me off and his expression plainly asked me to mind my own business. Hey, I'm not the pushy type of sergeant, so I never mentioned it again. Sorry that I have to bore you will all this, but I know you'll understand why I filled you in on Braddock's character later on.

    On a very hot morning, it was in late July, my squad went on patrol with Lieutenant Hanley. Hanley is our company platoon leader and my superior officer. He usually likes to stay behind and let me handle the tough patrols unless it became absolutely necessary that he join us. Now I can't remember the reason why he did end up coming along with us, but the point is that he was there. I was the second in command that day and to let you in on a little secret, I hated every second of it. Hanley might be a good officer that really knows his stuff, but I always feel kind of useless when I'm not the one in charge. Ideas keep running through my mind, and I keep finding myself aching to take charge. Everything was going according to plan; it was another routine patrol to scout out the area for kraut activity. The real problem didn't arrive until we got to the minefield.

    I'm ashamed to say this, but I can't even remember if the Germans or we set the mines. My memory's fuzzy and blurred on that account. I suppose I should apologize for all the shaky details, but I think that you'll have to agree with me that it's knowing what happened that counts the most. If you're one of those rare people that is a stickler for details, then you might want to track down Hanley and ask him whatever questions you have. I'm sure that he can answer them all precisely. While I'm on the subject, you'll also have to excuse my poor English. Again, if you want to hear smooth words, talk to my officer. Hanley's the one who has the big college degree. Me, I felt lucky to graduate from high school. Oh gosh, now I'm letting myself get off the story. Now where was I at again? Oh yeah, I couldn't remember who set the mines. Whatever the case, we were definitely not informed of the field's location. We stumbled across it in the worst way possible.

    One of our newest enlisted men, a pleasant enough kid named Jerry Price, made the fatal mistake of stepping on a mine. He was there one minute and gone the next. I don't even think that he had the time to scream before he died. All of the others were shocked silly, and Hanley yelled for us to retreat immediately. Maybe we could have made it back without any more casualties if Braddock hadn't stepped on another mine.

    To make a long, drawn-out story short, all of our guys managed to clear the death trap without any further difficulties to speak of. That is, at least we thought that everybody made it out. Hanley took a headcount and it was at that time we all saw Braddock. He stood like a statue completely alone, his face pinched and drained of color, smack in the center of the open field. Dead center would have been a better choice of words since you could tell by the look on his face Braddock figured, unless a miracle occurred, he would be just that in the near future. The pressure of his body weight upon the device was keeping it from exploding instantly, but certain destruction would follow any moment the private would make. The outcome of the trap was inevitable; the question was not if it would blow but rather when the horror would befall him. Well, you might say that we were stuck between a rock and a hard place. We needed to get back to our lines and report the mine field, but none of us were willing to leave Braddock behind to certain death if by chance a kraut should happen to pass by. I could tell by the deep, look of concentration on the lieutenant's face that he was thinking the exact same thing I was. Heck, I've known Hanley since before Omaha Beach, and he always gets that expression whenever he's stuck with a hard decision without an easy way out. Our eyes met and we both kind of looked at each other for awhile, each hoping that the other one would have a brilliant revelation on how to get the squad out of this mess. And then, like with most sticky situations, things just went from bad to worse.

    A patrol of krauts appeared on the opposite side of the minefield. They stopped short when they saw Braddock standing there and our patrol guarding him. The kraut officer, a sly-looking lieutenant, had a few words with his men before calling to us over the expanse. One thing I actually can recall clearly is what the German officer yelled at us.

    "Americans, I see that your man is in a very dangerous situation, yes?" He pointed at Braddock, directing his cocky smile at Lieutenant Hanley. "I am feeling very generous today, so I tell you what I will do. If you will throw down your weapons and surrender without delay, I shall order my men not to shoot your private on site. But, if you instead choose to fight, he (meaning Braddock) shall be the first to fall."

    A silence filled with dread greeted the German's demands. The kraut had Hanley over a barrel, and the stinkin' part about it was that he knew it. The chances of Braddock coming out of the field alive were zero to none, but no leader wants the cold-blooded killing of a friend on his conscience haunting his memory forever.

    "It is your decision, American officer. What do you choose? Death for your kamerad? That is a very wise thing to decide upon, placing the good of your soldiers over one man's meager life. But, what about him? He is the one who will have to suffer."

    It's amazing how I can still remember sentence for sentence exactly what that kraut said that long ago. I watched helplessly as Hanley's eyes rose to meet Braddock's terrified ones; then he threw down his carbine in disgust, almost as if he was taking out his inner frustrations on whatever happened to be in his reach.

    "Don't shoot!" Hanley called flatly, and I could feel my heart sinking at the hopelessness in his voice. "My men and I will put down our weapons and surrender to you."

    The German lieutenant's face lit up with amusement, and it made me hopping mad. I knew what he was so dang happy about; he had made a sizable capture without any struggles or casualties at all. We were a bunch of stupid suckers to trust those krauts, but had I been in Hanley's shoes, I probably would have buckled to the commands too.  Lieutenant Hanley, his features still visibly troubled, turned to us with a stern gaze.

    "Alright, you know what to do." One by one, every member of our patrol obeyed and dropped their weapons with only a little reluctance. My Thompson hit the ground last, and I shuddered at the sound that the impact made upon the dry earth. Oh yes, it's all coming back to me now. I can see it, I can see every last minute detail.

    "Don't do it, Lieutenant. I'm not worth it."

    All of our heads spun around to gape at Braddock. This was the first time that the unfortunate soldier had tried to say anything to us, and as far as I'm concerned, the only unselfish statement the guy had ever made. Braddock's whole being changed in those short seconds while we all studied him; his body shook with the special convictions I could feel he was holding inside. A transformation took place in the spirit of the man that I could never explain. Maybe if I had gotten a better education or was a philosopher of human nature I would be able to put it into words, but I can't. Something almost supernatural took place in the soul of Private Braddock, and it fueled his next action that made Braddock a legend in King Company.

    Braddock stepped off the mine.

   Yes, I repeat it, he walked off the mine as calmly as a person would take a stroll in the park on a Sunday afternoon. Oh, Friend, I wish that you could feel what I'm feeling as I relate the story to you. I don't even care that tears are streaming down my cheeks, that the tough sergeant is crying in front of you. You may cry a few tears too out of sympathy and the emotion of the tragedy, but you don't see, not really. A civilian can never understand the fiercely beautiful events that happen in a war. The split second that the explosion rang out, all of the squad members grabbed their weapons and began firing. It didn't take long to kill the Germans because our buddy's example pushed us on to win.

    Only after the last kraut fell, did we finally allow our dammed up sorrow to break through and gush freely out. Each soldier reacted in his own way, some cursing, others crying while the strongest stared off into space with stone silence. I'll never forget Lieutenant Hanley's tribute to the dead private. He stood like a war monument, tall, strong, and proud as the smoke from the mine swirled around his straight profile. Slowly he raised his hand to his brow in a respectful salute. That is the only time I have ever seen my officer salute a fallen soldier whose rank did not supersede his own. A lengthy speech was not needed; Hanley's one gesture told of his undying admiration.

    Now I know what honor is all about. Private Braddock, the champion goof-off of King Company, taught it to me. I don't think that it's a lesson I'll be forgetting anytime soon. Every time that I hear Braddock's name spoken I will remember what he did that day for our squad. But I have not yet heard a single man voice the private's name aloud since his passing. I guess the memories are still too fresh for them too. Glory is strange thing. A man can perform one fine deed and that is the only act of his entire life that anyone will mention again. Braddock's legend of self-sacrifice became sacred overnight and nobody will ever dare to criticize him or the legacy he left behind. I only wish that he could have found another way to change the company's opinion of him without committing noble suicide. I have so many questions to ask him right now. Was it worth it, Braddock? Was immortality better than a long, complete life? The answers refuse to come.

                                                                             *****

       Story copyright by Rose Schrock

      All rights reserved   April 25, 2001