Following Orders

Following Orders

Fan fiction written by Rose Schrock (Hazelnut) to honor the ABC Television series Combat!

*This story is dedicated to my friends and mentors Lyne (PFC) Trembley and Nancy (HWC) Lionstorm, two gals that showed me what true support and camaraderie really is. Thanks you two!

A cool gentle breeze fluttered through the trees of the mild French afternoon, but five soldiers stood like stone statues, unaffected by nature's subtle comfort, oblivious to everything but their own personal grief. Not one of them uttered a word; no one knew what to say. Sergeant Chip Saunders, the man who had been a father, friend, and even brother to these men was dead. Dead and gone. His life was over and words, however fluent or beautiful they may be, could not bring the tough war veteran back from the earthen grave again. They all knew that nothing would ever be the same again, no matter how much they would try to cover it up. A cord had been broken; a line had been crossed with the brutal passing of their buddy that only another soldier could truly understand. He had been their Sarge, the one who was invincible and could never fall by a bullet. There had been a sort of magic in that hope. You could always count on the Sarge. But now he was no longer with them, and they would never hear that voice of authority speak another command or give another comfort to a green recruit.

"The Sarge should have never went on that mission alone with just those green recruits."

Kirby's lone remark, one filled with bitterness for how the army operated so inefficiently, shook Lt. Hanley to the core and forced a flood of painful memories to tear at his broken heart. The officer walked away from the shallow grave and moved down the dirt road toward his company headquarters. He really did not have a good reason for going there, but Hanley wanted to get as far away from the place where Saunders died as he possibly could.

As his worn boots slapped against the dirt of the crude pathway called a "road", a spectacle caught his wandering eye for a moment, making him almost forget the tragedy that had befallen his friend. Two German prisoners were standing on the side of a ditch, one talking loudly with his captor and the other severely wounded and moaning with the agony of his injury. From the short distance away, Hanley deducted that the SS German sergeant wanted some kind of help for his man, but the American captain was not in any hurry to oblige him. The SS was a branch of the German service that was hated by many Germans and Americans alike for their notorious reputation of brutality. Truth be told, Gil was not very fond of the SS himself, but the young private seemed to be in torture from his bullet wound. For a moment the German sergeant noticed Hanley, and their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. The sergeant's deep grey eyes pleaded with the officer to speak a word for him on his private's behalf. When the lieutenant refused to heed this silent request, the prisoner resorted to a more outspoken means of begging for aid.

"Lieutenant," The single word was screamed through a hoarse, desperate voice of a man robbed of any human dignity. "Lieutenant, please talk to this captain! My kamerad will die if he does not get an operation from one of your doctors quickly! We have surrendered to your army! Please say something for my soldat!"

For a split second Gil Hanley felt genuine pity for the man. He knew only too well what hurt a man feels when his comrade is going to die. But that sympathy turned almost instantly into blind furry when those terrible images again haunted his mind, still fresh and vivid in detail. It had been the SS then too...

"Saunders." Hanley's chin trembled slightly as the lieutenant bent down over his dying friend.

Finding his sergeant all alone on the floor of the farmhouse had shocked the officer beyond all belief. He had expected Saunders to back long before that, and when he had not returned, Hanley had come looking for him. But never had the Lt. imagined that his noncom would be even half as bad off as this. Saunders was a total mess, his face a bruised and broken mass of flesh, and his eyes black and blue with discoloration. The sergeant's arm was broken and twisted at an odd angle. But the worst of it was the deep whip welts that covered the man's bear chest, pooling blood and mingling with the filth of the floor. Infection was settling in from the deep cuts and Saunder's side was oozing blood from an apparent knife wound. Hanley desperately wanted to help his buddy; he wanted to scream out curses on the SS and plug up all of the life's blood draining from Saunders' body.

"I'll go get Doc." Hanley rose to call for the Medic, who had been standing reverently in the corner, allowing his officer time to talk with the sergeant.

"No." Chip grasped Hanley's arm in a strong grip for his circumstances and loss of blood, but the weakness in Saunders' voice gave away his true condition.

"No, Lieutenant, it's no use. Forget it." Chip Saunders resembled a faded old photograph. Once vibrant and full of life, but now torn and without its former glimmer. Seeing him this way was more than Hanley could bear.

"What do you mean forget it, Saunders? You need help---"

"No, Lieutenant," The rugged soldier was fading fast. Gil had to lean down to hear the whispered words.

"Don't you see yet, Lieutenant? I've had it. Don't you think we've both been around long enough to know I'm through? So don't lie to me like I'm a dumb green kid, huh?" The Sarge's face was hard and empty. Then he smiled softly.

"Hey, I always wanted to have a close buddy beside me to talk to before I died. Doc's a good man and everything, but I think we've been through more." Hanley's green eyes registered shock at Chip's open show of friendship. Saunders had always been the quiet one, and although his loyalty was proven by his actions, the soldier had never been the type to express his feelings openly.

"It was the SS, Lieutenant, " Saunders tried to explain, "It seems like they're everywhere and all in a hurry to escape before our guys catch up with them. A squad captured me and they pumped me for information. After a while, I guess they realized that I wasn't giving in, so they just all left."

"Don't talk so much, Sergeant. Shut up for awhile." The words were spoken tenderly as Hanley placed his large hand on Chip's smaller one. The GI was trying to talk too much and with each sentence spoken, Gil sensed that his friend was closer to death's door.

Saunders tried to open his mouth and speak, but only a soft moan escaped. He had used all of his remaining strength to tell his officer about the incident, and to assure him that he had not cracked under the interrogation. Hanley gave him a gulp of water from his canteen.

"I did OK didn't I, Lieutenant?" The fever and loss of blood was affecting Saunders; for a moment Gil felt as if he were holding a punk recruit in his arms.

"Yeah, soldier, you did just fine. Now, be quiet and rest."

Saunders laid his blond head on Hanley's lap and a hint of that old cocky Saunders smile, the one he had used before D-Day, again formed on his lips. The smile the buddies had shared when they were unscathed by the war and everything was fun and games.

"You just better be careful, Sergeant Hanley." Chip's pale blue eyes focused on a long distant memory. "If they catch you trying to sneak off to town they'll bust you right down to buck private."

Saunders looked up at Hanley and gave a small distant laugh.

And then he was gone.

Something broke inside of the officer. Some deep emotion had he had kept dammed up inside every since Omaha Beach busted forth from his heart and he cried. Gil Hanley buried his faced inside of his dead friend's body and cried his heart out. Great gut-wrenching sobs that shook his tall form until he felt his soul would break loose from his body. Tears not only for Saunders, but also for all of the others, and for himself as well. Tears for the innocence that Chip Saunders and Gil Hanley had once shared and what they could have been if this war had not claimed them body and soul. Silently the second squad of King Company stood in the building and looked upon their dead sergeant and weeping lieutenant. And they knew. Nothing would ever be the same again.

"Lieutenant, please do not ignore me!" The German sergeant, who was now near tears as he held out a hand beseechingly toward the American, broke Hanley’s reverie. Lt. Hanley gritted his teeth together and walked on. He hated this German and would not lift a finger to help. Let the kraut suffer the way that Saunders had suffered. Once the sergeant realized that Hanley had no intentions of helping him or his soldier, the SS man let out an animal-like shriek of outrage.

"You are an animal! Have you no pity for a helpless man?"

Hanley turned slowly around to face to man with dead, cold eyes.

"The captain outranks me. I can't say anything to him about how to handle his prisoners. It would be against orders. I am just following orders." Both the German and Hanley realized that this was only an excuse to soothe his already seared conscience. Gil had always been willing to speak up for anyone who was not getting treated justly. But that was before today, and now things were different.

The German fell silent and turned his back on the retreating Hanley. He had given up on his last hope and was now doing everything in his power to comfort his private, while angrily cursing Americans for their behavior.

As the figures faded from view, Gil tried to forget about the whole thing, but he just couldn't shake it from his mind. In his mind's eye, Hanley kept seeing a vision of Saunders looking at him in that fatherly way and shaking his head at his actions.

"That wasn't right, Lieutenant. One bad apple doesn't make a whole bunch. You can't loose your own dignity because of this war." That's exactly what Saunders would have told him. Hanley knew it. He would have stood right up to captain and politely demanded medical help for the German. Saunders would have helped no matter what because that was the way Chip was. But a Saunders PPT was NOT what the officer wanted at the time being. He wanted to taste revenge on the SS for what happened and did not want any regrets about it either.

"What I need is a mission. I need to go to HQ and get something to do by myself so I can get away from everyone and forget about it." Hanley muttered to himself and jogged to reach headquarters more quickly. That's what he would do. A long lonely mission would be just fine.

******

A couple of hours later, Hanley had his mission. He was to take some information to a local resistance group and get back as soon as possible. Captain Jampel had warned him that with all the SS activity that the mission would be very dangerous, but the officer assured him that he wanted it all the same. Jampel sensed Hanley's eagerness to get away by himself, and judging from the toll the death of Hanley's sergeant had taken on the lieutenant, perhaps solitude was just what the doctor ordered.

Birds chirped pleasantly and the twigs from tree branches cracked under his feet as Gil moved through the brush of the forest. All he could hear was his own breathing and the soothing sounds of Mother Nature. What a relief from the usual sounds of Kirby's bucking, and the stupid questions asked by green privates! It was too bad that the officer was so troubled or he might have enjoyed this mission very much.

Reaching a bend on the beaten path where he was supposed to rendezvous with the French leader of the underground, Hanley immediately spied the man. He was short and squat, with a small mustache and graying dark hair. The man seemed uneasy and he held the look of a coward. Hanley had seen this look on many men in his time, shifting eyes and trembling hands. The lieutenant wondered how a man such as this could survive in the resistance where a man was required to have nerves of steel. Ah he approached the man, Hanley slung his carbine over his shoulder and reached for the map he was to give the man.

"The day is very warm." Hanley uttered the first sentence in the code of recognition.

"Yes, but it may turn cold tonight." The reply satisfied the officer and he handed the man the map.

Instantly the stocky "Frenchman" drew a pistol and pointed it at Hanley's heart.

"Drop your weapons, Lieutenant." His voice grew low and menacing.

Hanley dropped his carbine and .45, and placed his hands behind his head.

******

Hanley was taken to a building about a mile from where he was captured. An entire SS platoon occupied the area and they were keeping guard of about thirty American soldiers, all of them young privates. The Americans were sitting in rows on the grass, some of them whispering conversations to one another and casting curious glances at their bored captors. Lt. Hanley was taken inside of a building, bound, and left all to himself. Gil realized that he probably would not be interrogated because the Germans already had taken his map with all they wanted written right on it. Somehow the SS had found their connection and killed him off or else the man had just been a collaborator all the time. Gil wondered why he had been separated from the rest as he looked out the broken window at the privates outside. He felt a surge of compassion for those scared kids. When he had been their age, Gil had been still in high school thinking about girls and having fun. These boys had to worry about survival every day and they would have to grow up fast if they wanted to see manhood.

The Next Day

The Germans were preparing to move out. They had heard rumors that the Americans were heading their way, and the SS platoon did not want to be captured by an invading company or two. The captain screamed orders at the other Germans as the few vehicles were being loaded. From inside the building, Hanley paced back and forth wondering how the krauts expected to transport over thirty POWs without a truck. The captain jumped into the jeep and drove off, leaving his men behind and all the bewildered prisoners. For a short space of time, the whole world went silent. The people stood stock-still like a paused movie screen, the huddled prisoners and the German guards. Suddenly, Gil Hanley knew in the pit of his stomach what was going to happen here today. He tried to shout but he stood, watching with a horrible fascination and unable to say one word. In an instant, the stillness erupted into madness. The SS stood with their Schmeissers and started blasting, the shells raining down upon the helpless Americans.

Heart rending screams filled the air as the soldier fell like a stack of playing cards. The kids lay on the forest floor, most of them dead but a few crying out and still writhing in pain from a badly aimed shell. Without a word, the Germans finished off the prisoners who were still moaning and then everything again grew silent. And it was over. Just like that it was finished. Thirty American kids were wiped out in two minutes because they couldn't all be moved without a chance of escape. The bodies lay piled in heaps, some of them on top of one another. The stiff body of a Medic probably not more than seventeen was holding the form of another kid. He had probably died while trying to save one of his buddies.

It was inconceivable. Unthinkable. Utterly disgusting.

Hanley vomited. He turned from the window and vomited all over the floor of the home. His stomach churned and wrenched at the sight, trying to get the filth he had seen out of his system but not working. His body shook and he vomited until he was weak from the exhaustion of his efforts. Never had he seen anything like this. Never.

His bodily reactions to the slaughter were crudely interrupted by the sound of jackboots coming toward him. The door swung open and a tall German soldier stood grimly there. It was the sergeant! Hanley's parched throat choked out one word.

"Why?" Gil really did not give a darn how the kraut escaped and got back to his men. It did not matter. All that Hanley could think about was those dead boys and the mass execution.

It took the German about a minute before he recognized Hanley, and when he did, his mouth formed into a thin line of anger.

"Because I had to, Lieutenant. Because this time it was I who was following orders."

"Orders." The accusation rang clear in Hanley's baritone.

"Yes, orders. My men were all following orders then as I must follow them now. Come, Lieutenant, we are going outside."

It was then that Gilbert Hanley knew that he was going to join his men. He was going to die.

The sergeant's eyes showed nothing as they prodded the American to where the kids had been shot. He shoved the bound Hanley to his knees and pointed the handgun at the officer's chest. He took careful aim.

"I shall kill you quickly, Lieutenant, which is more than you did for my private. I will spare you the agony of a slow death like the one suffered by my kamerad."

"Like the one suffered by my comrade." Gil echoed softly.

Understanding dawned upon the German and he sighed with resignation.

"War turns us into animals, Lieutenant. All of us."

Then Sergeant Frans Wagner fired.

Violent pain seized Hanley and the tall man looked up at the blue sky.

"No!" Hanley screamed, not as much from the burning in his abdomen he felt as from the thought of what he had not done. How he had refused to help a poor hurt German kid that needed him. He had let the war change him the way it had never been able to change his best friend.

"Saunders." His last word. Second Lieutenant Gil Hanley was gone.

******

"Oh God in heaven." The words spoken were a prayer, not a curse, as the Medic stared in awe upon the mangled corpses. "They're just kids."

Kirby, Caje, and Littlejohn followed Doc, some gaping in shock and others cursing the krauts. Suddenly, Kirby stopped short and gave a strangled cry.

"What is it, Kirby?" Caje walked over to where the short man stood, hand placed over his mouth.

Hanley's body lay on the ground among all the privates. A large bullet hole in his chest was stained with dried blood and his large emerald eyes, flicked with golden brown highlights, looked up at the fading evening sun.

Doc reached down to check for pulse, but they all knew it was not necessary. When his fingers touched the hem of Gil's jacket, Kirby slapped the hand away.

"No, dang it! Don't touch him!" Kirby hefted the officer's limp body over his shoulder. "I'm takin' him back to where we buried the Sarge. I think --I think he'd want us to bury him there." Kirby's voice cracked and he walked away with his fallen lieutenant. The others trailed solemnly behind. Their leaders were dead. They would get a new lieutenant and sergeant, ones they would not know and would not know them. The men would follow their orders, and they would make Hanley and the Sarge proud. But it was over. The joy was gone and all the men could feel it. No longer would they see the tall, dark officer drink his coffee and talk calmly to their dependable cigarette smoking Sarge. It was just all over and there was nothing more to say.

As Caje watched Hanley's body disappear into the sunset he thought of what Captain Jampel might say and smiled sadly.

"At least the lieutenant died the way he would have wanted." Private Paul Lemay mused. "He died doing his duty and obeying orders."

******