By Hazelnut,  4 mar. 2000
 

    "Sarge?" The dirty fair-haired man's head snapped up in an instant to the name so often used. His deep blue eyes
focused on the dark Cajun that stood before him. The young PFC from Louisiana had often called him by this title, but the tone of his voice told his sergeant how serious the news was. "The Lieutenant?s asking for you, " Caje stammered, obviously nervous from the long hours of night duty. Giving a quick nod of acknowledgement, he headed down the street to the large chapel at the end of town, which was being used as a temporary command station. Saunders reached for the door nob and then hesitated. It had been only a few days ago since Hanley had been made an officer. Remembering their friendship had almost made him forget his military curtesy. Now with another approach to the door, Saunders raised his right hand slowly and gave a swift knock. No answer. Standing uncomfortably, Saunders gave another try. Again no answer from within. He turned from the door disgusted and irritated. Was this Hanley's way of playing a practical joke? No, it would have fit the character of the smug sergeant of the past to do so, but not the newborn Lt. Hanley. Very carefully, Saunders pushed the door back on its rusty hinges. The old floor let out a creak as the entering noncom?s feet applied the weight. In the right corner of the room, Lt. Joseph Stevens looked up wearily from the dusty floor on which he lay bleeding. The officer's hazel eyes blurred with pain, but he still could recognize the fuzzy image that stood paralyzed in front of him.

   "Saunders" Stevens let out a small weak gasp of unbelief. As Sergeant Saunders faced the wounded man he felt as if a ton of bricks had been dropped on his chest, weighing him down...making it difficult to even breath. Those large brown eyes the Sarge had once knew so well and promised himself to never see again starred straight into his. This time there was no escape.
 
     "Saunders, I though.." The officer was cut off by a coughing fit as his glazed eyes shifted to his draining life's blood. Suddenly, Saunders found himself doing something he had always despised.  "Joe, I never thought..." Saunders found himself cut off as well, but by a sudden sense of reality. Why would a man like Joe Stevens ever want to talk to him again? Images that had haunted the sergeant for many days and countless nights all came flooding back. That long Monday night when...No! Saunders shook himself. He would push those thoughts to the farthest corners of his mind and would never think of them again.

    "Saunders?" His dying friend's pleading words rang out in the chapel and Saunders could no longer hold back the tears.

With his back to Lt. Joe Stevens, Sergeant Chip Saunders began to cry. He just couldn't turn around, not now. Not to show his friend that this battle hardened veteran from Italy had finally cracked into tears. Suddenly, all grew quiet. Saunders closed his eyes in a silent prayer to stop the horrible question he had to face. But his heart told him the truth and his eyes agreed. Jo Stevens was indeed dead. As the realization dawned on the noncom, Saunders hit himself in anger. How could he be so foolish? How could he watch this lieutenant die at his feet? How dumb to not even ask about Hanley's survival or
what had happened here! For all he knew, Hanley's corpse could be lying deep in the forest while he stood looking at nothing. It was one huge mess and Saunders somehow felt responsible.

    "Lieutenant." the command came again, but with even more force and anger. This time the lieutenant rose slowly and
painfully, bracing his back with his left hand. Gilbert Hanley stood face to face with his captor, his height looming over the German soldier. The captain, however, was not easily intimidated. His sharp eyes darkened to the unspoken challenge. This American would talk. He would see to that....

    A small noise in the brush gave him a rush of surprise as the Cajun spun around, gun posed at ready, always prepared for danger. "Take it easy, Caje!" a voice echoed from the shrubs. Caje gave a relieved sigh and his tense muscles relaxed. "Kirby, you crazy klutz, get out of there." Bushes rustled and a few sticks broke as Private Kirby stumbled from his hiding place. "Ah, you're just sore because I got the jump on ya!" he bragged, pulling an unexpected briar from his field jacket. Caje rolled his eyes, unimpressed with his boasting  buddy.  Saunders stood in the clearing as his men gathered around him awaiting orders. The Sarge's eyes only wandered a moment before they rested on the Cajun.

    "Caje, take the point. Kirby, you take the rear. Move out." The soldiers slowly obeyed their commander as Kirby and Caje took their assigned positions. Saunders' blue eyes trailed off into the sunset along the lush green hills. Low clouds drifted framed by the fading sunshine and some singing birds overhead seemed to be the only sign of life. For one sweet, brief moment Chip Saunders felt at peace with the whole world and with himself.

    "Sarge, krauts!" Caje whispered from the front of the line of traveling GIs. The men immediately dropped to their
stomachs at the warning. Saunders crawled past his men and finally reached where the scout lay in the tall grass. Rolling over, the sergeant grabbed the pair of field glasses that hung from his neck. He wiped the lenses with the palm of his hand and carefully raised them to his face. Four well-armed Germans stood in front of a small bunker. A regular fortress, Saunders groaned. They had, as Hanley would have put it, the whole enchilada. He lowered the glasses and turned back to Caje.

    " I'm going in for a closer look to see if they got Hanley. If I'm not back here in four minutes, move out." Caje began to protest and then changed his mind with an obedient nod. He knew better than to try to argue with his stubborn friend once he had his mind made up to do something. The dark haired private watched soberly as the other man started toward the bunker. He would hold his breathe and hope for the best. Caje respected the judgement of the battle veteran and would wait for him. But it would not be easy.

    Sergeant Saunders crept toward the secluded bunker. He had almost reached his destination when the sound of approaching death stopped him in his tracks. The all too familiar whine of an American shell sounded as it hit the dry ground, sending rocks and debris flying in all directions. The Americans were dropping their deadly shells, ignorant of the fact that they were endangering the life of one of their soldiers. It was all too dangerous and Saunders decided to leave. As he turned to go, something caught his eye and grabbed his attention. Lt. Hanley lay on the ground outside of the bunker. He must have stumbled out in the confusion, Saunders noted. He certainly had not been there minutes before. The officers hands were bound together and his uniform torn in many places, revealing several deep cuts and a bleeding bullet wound. Hanley's eyes were closed completely; he was probably unconscious, the sergeant decided. Running to Hanley with all of his reserved strength, Saunders grasped the blood splattered field jacket and pulled his officer to a nearby crater that had been created by the blasts. Anger ran through the already passionate Chip as he examined the fruit of the German methods of "questioning" covering Hanley's body. He cut the officer's bonds with a quick thrust of a bayonet and tried his best to assess the damage between the incoming shells of the barrage. The bullet wound in itself was not bad, but the continual heavy bleeding would have to stop. One last explosion finished the shelling, at least for the time being. Saunders lifted his head slowly at the horror that lay on top of him. Rubble and branches lay piled thick on the exit from their protection. They were trapped inside of the crater! The thought sank deep into the pit of the noncom's stomach as he battled desperately to get out. It seemed to Saunders that the entire world had caved in right over his head. A deep, painful moan drew his attention once again to the dark man who shared his prison. Hanley's body trembled from anguish as he lay groaning clutching his shoulder wound with a battered hand that now resembled a bloody piece of raw meat. Saunders' hands fell deeply into his pockets, searching for any comfort that a cigarette might bring. His fingers found only the soft material of his field jacket and he turned back to Hanley in disgust.

    "Saunders, " the officers usually bright eyes were dull and unfocused, "Where are we?"  The lieutenant sat up a little, supporting himself with his good arm. Chip would rather have died than gave his friend the answer to that question, but he knew that Gil would never let the matter rest without information. "We're trapped in here, Lieutenant. I tried to find a safe place to go when a barrage began. I guess I chose the wrong place. I seem to have a gift for doing that." Saunders put in the last line with a sarcastic smile. Hanley understood how serious the situation was and smiled his best smile back. It was the same old 200-watt smile on the outside, but it lacked the depth that usually made his noncom grin back.

    "Don't feel too bad about it, Saunders. After all, look at me. I chose the wrong sergeant and almost got myself killed on Omaha." The intended crack did not get the desired effect from Chip, and the two men fell silent.

    Another heart piercing scream from Gil Hanley tore Chip Saunders apart. The men had been in this hole of torment for an eternity. Hanley's face was covered in sweat and a high temperature transformed his clear complexion like the hand of death leaving its fatal mark.
 
 

    Crimson blood flowed freely down the officer's feeble hands, leaving a thick sweet stench in the small shelter. Saunders' eyes widened in horror as he backed away from his friend. "Don't do it, Lt. Stevens!" Saunders pleaded as a cold sweat ran down his forehead. The loss of oxygen in the small crater and the pressure had brought back that dreaded memory like a revisiting spirit from the past. As he remembered were he was, Chip looked down at the dirt, now ashamed and embarrassed. Guilt clawed at his heart and he longed to spit it out like a foul tasting drink.
 
 

    "Lt., I did it." Lt. Hanley looked up with disbelief. Had his sergeant finally cracked? " What did you do, Saunders?" Hanley asked, feeling as if he were asking to penetrate into his noncom's soul. Chip took a deep breath and began to tell his nightmare...
 

    Corporal Saunders gazed up from his hiding place to look upon his young lieutenant. The short Lt. Stevens stood in the clearing waiting to give the signal for action. A still, cold, and crisp night was perfect for the attack and Saunders was ready for it. His eyes fastened upon the small package of cigarettes tucked in the breast pocket of his field jacket. The soldier started to reach for one, but his conscience told him to stop. Any smoke would be a signal to krauts that may be in the area. Why this green officer would take a whole platoon into this place to be slaughtered for no good reason was beyond Corporal Saunders. Joseph Stevens was still a little wet behind the ears, but Saunders decided that, though inexperienced, Lt. Stevens was the kind of a man that had what it would take to survive the war. A lot of grit and determination shined in those deep eyes almost hidden by a sweet boy's face. With his hands tightly gripping hi rifle, the corporal made his way to the silent officer. Saunders noticed that the lieutenant's eyes echoed his own inner fears. This was only his second day of combat, and it did not take a genius to know that Saunders was scared. A blast interrupted the thoughts as a line of bullets flew past Chip and tore into the lieutenant's shoulder, throwing him down to the ground on top of two already dead GIs. As Corporal Saunders started toward his commander, the sound of an incoming German tank filled him with terror. He turned to run, but a voice held him there. The voice of Lt. Stevens. "Corporal. Corporal Saunders, please help me. Don't leave me here now. I can't make it alone." All of the officer's dignity escaped him as his pleading eyes begged Chip for compassion. Saunders had never felt so alone and helpless; his heart told him to stay, but his body rebelled. With one final look into Lt. Steven's desperate face, Corporal Chip Saunders turned and ran....

    Sergeant Saunders? eye focused back on Lt. Gil Hanley's stunned face.
 
    "Yes, Lieutenant, I ran. I ran through that forest never looking, never wanting to look back. I collapsed and I just wanted to die. When the medics found me after the battle, they found a half-crazy man turned from a boy to a killer. I guess I knew that I could never run away from myself forever. So, I just had to stop trying." A moment of silence filled the small hole. " It's no use, Lieutenant." Saunders' voice echoed in the darkness and the sound of it frightened him. "I tried and tried to dig us out, but I'm all used up and oxygen comes high in here."
 
    "Maybe you're right." Hanley's hoarse, exhausted voice trailed off into Saunders' thoughts. It was bad enough for himto give up, but now Saunders had persuaded his friend to want to die as well. Chip had never before known a time when Lt. Hanley had not been there with an optimistic word. Saunders started to speak to Hanley, until he noticed that his officer's eyes were closed, and he knew. Gil Hanley was waiting to die and nothing short of a miracle would bring him back from the dead. After what seemed like days, Chip felt his own eyes growing heavy. "No!" He whispered to himself. "Don't sleep." But his struggling proved in vain. Sergeant Saunders drifted off to sleep.

    "Hey!" A loud voice startled Saunders back to his senses as small stones and metal scraps tumbled from the ceiling of his prison, sliding down his back and into his helmet. It felt like eternity had passed since the accident of fate had trapped him here, and Saunders had almost been sure that he was dead. Other voices now joined the other, chattering about something he could not make out past the thick wall that separated him from freedom. Looking up, Chip saw a GI boot stuck in the debris that covered his hole, pulling to get loose. The shoe finally pulled free of the hold, leaving a small hole in the rubble. A small gust of wind blew into the shelter, bringing it back to life again. The sergeant took a deep breath of the precious life giving oxygen and looked up toward the source.

    "Jones," chided an American voice,"Only you could get stuck in a pile of rubble. Now get over here!"  Americans! The word brought tears to Saunders' eyes as it came from his lips. "Help! I'm an American and I'm trapped in the debris!" All was silent for a moment. "We'll come and get you." A voice answered at last. Saunders felt a genuine smile grow across his face for the first time since he had been trapped. His body held hope, hope to carry on. Putting his hands over his face to shield the falling stones, Saunders could see more and more light making it's way into the darkness. A dirty hand reached down into the hole and pulled him out, the sun dazzling him with its sudden brightness.

    "Good to see you Sergeant. We heard that you were gone." Saunders said nothing but slowly began to walk away. Suddenly, he felt a feeble but desperate hand clutching to his right arm. Looking down, he found himself gazing into the deep green eyes of Lt. Gil Hanley.
 
    "Don't leave me, Saunders." The officer whispered.
 
    "No." Saunders smiled. "Not again. Not ever."