A tribute written by Amy Schrock.
For Mr. Rick Jason of Combat! May his memory live on.
"Talk!" The word was cold and demanding
as another powerful blow smashed into the Noncom's jaw, driving him to the ground.
The sergeant's eyes were steady on his enemy ; his words were firm and more
clear than ever before.
"Saunders. Sergeant. 227-0622."
The German turned. Saunders closed
his eyes and waited for another strike but it did not come. Saunders slowly
opened his eyes again to see the German with a huge smile on his face. His eyes
looked wild, and his voice sounded as if he were Satan himself. The German threw
back his head and sent out a laugh that would shake even the bravest of men.
"So, you think that you have won the
victory? Well, we shall wait and see how much you will talk when it is your
friend sitting in that chair." The captain turned and snarled to his guards.
"Take him away!"
Hands roughly shoved Saunders' bleeding
shoulder as he was pushed into the cellar where his lieutenant was being held.
Silence returned to the musty room as the guards marched back to the main floor.
"Lieutenant, I didn't tell them anything."
"Yeah, I knew you wouldn't."
"Lieutenant, he said that they're going
to work on you next. I-I don't know if I can keep my mouth shut." For a brief
moment the tough sergeant was gone and then he pulled himself together. "Did
I find that pistol I told you about?"
Hanley tossed the weapon across the
floor, disgusted.
"Yeah, one bullet. Only one lousy bullet
against all of them."
Saunders looked down at what would have
been their last chance.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I guess I let us
both down."
Saunders, listen to me. I haven't let you
down, and you haven't let me down. The only thing we are going to let down
is the United States Army if we talk. And if we have to give our lives for it,
then we picked a heck of a thing to die for."
Saunders smiled, but inside he was still unsure.
Could he do it?
******
"Get up!" The sergeant moaned as the heel
of a German boot kicked painfully into his side. Dragging Saunders to his feet,
they carried him back up the stairs to the captain's interrogation room. Hanley
watched his NCO from the bottom of the staircase. He was not ready. Hanley somehow
knew that his companion would give them the information out of their deep friendship
for each other. It was almost more than he could bare.
Hanley let his eyes drift past
the broken wine bottles to the small handgun that lay hidden behind the stairs.
"One lousy bullet." He repeated.
Making his way over to the dusty wooden
staircase, Gil could hear the clomping of German boots coming for him.
"This is for your honor, Saunders."
Hanley closed his eyes and shoved
the cold barrel of the .45 Colt to his head. Through the dark of the night a
single shot echoed loudly and then everything grew quiet.