"Littlejohn?" I whispered frantically in the darkness, pushing hard on his broad shoulder. A deadly silence swept across the room as I sat listening for what may seem like any sign of life. "Littlejohn?" I repeated, "You can't  die!" You're my only friend over here. You just..." My tears choked my sentence and sent me coughing as I sat praying, hoping that somehow through a miracle or just plain luck that this gentle man would live. Running my hands across his pale face, I let my fingers drop to his heart and gave a relieved sigh to find his chest still rising and falling in a struggle to stay among the living. It had been about an hour since we had been separated from the rest of the squad, but it felt like days. To my great despair, his wound seemed to grow larger by the minute. Every since I had joined the squad as a green recruit, this man had been so kind to me. His eyes, his actions, but most of all his forgiving and understanding smile, had reminded me so much of my older brother and had helped to sustain me during the first few brutal days of combat. He couldn't, he wouldn't die!

    Trying to rid my mind of any trace of anguish, I tried to mend his wounds in an useless effort to stop the bleeding. Suddenly, voices broke the dark solitude. With an almost animal instinct I lept to my feet, gun at ready. A small stream of sweat trickled from my brow as I pressed my back on the sidewall, allowing myself to lean on the strong foundation. My eyes straining to see past the darkness, my heart felt as if it would burst in two as I spotted three silhouettes making their way toward me in the cool night air. Krauts! The barn door opened with a sharp creak of the rusty hinges, and a large German soldier with steel rimmed glasses stepped in. I remember the glasses because they framed a pair of the coldest grey eyes I had ever seen. Hear a shuffle, the German spun around to face me. Backed into the wall and helpless from fear, I closed my eyes and waited for the blast that would steal my life.

    The shot never came. I slowly opened my eyes to see Littlejohn. He lay battered and bleeding on top of the German, resisting, giving up the very last of his precious life's blood to save his friend. As I watched in horror, the soldier grabbed Littlejohn's jacket collar roughly and, with one quick thrust of his wrist, drove a bayonet into my buddy's shaking body.

    A cold rage swept over me as I watched the enemy drop my lifeless friend. Before I knew what was happening I found myself raking the German's body with my rifle. Other shots joined my own and I numbly saw the other two Germans fall to their knees dead.

    Sergeant Saunders looked from behind his cover, eyes fixed upon the barn. With a signal to Caje, he and the other men made their way cautiously toward the shelter. Saunders kicked open the barn door, Thomson at ready, ever alert for any signs of danger. "Sarge, don't shoot. That new replacement is in here." Caje warned. The sergeant instantly lowered his weapon and walked over to the spot where I sat. "You..." His voice trailed off into silence as he noticed the tears streaming down my face. Littlejohn's dark bloodstained my cheeks and forehead as I cradled his motionless body in my arms. I didn't care if the other guys laughed at me for my tears or not. Looking up at them, I discovered that they were all sobbing as well. The sympathy and sorrow from my fellow soldiers only deepened my own sense of loss, and I began to cry harder. For a short moment in time, in that solitary French barn, even the toughest of veterans laid aside all manly pride to mourn the passing of the sweetest soul I had ever known. A soldier who had saved my life without a single thought for his own safety. A man who had died as he had lived, a sacrifice of love for his fellow man.
 
 
    We all love and miss you, Dick.
"No greater love hath a man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
                                                        (John 15:13 Holy Bible)