My Honor Flight (9 page)

I nodded. 
“We asked him questions and he answered.  His eyes were open.  He didn’t talk
about lizards or anything.  He looked awake.”

Cap looked us
over for a minute, then nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  You handled it correctly.  No
one is out at night in this area right now, unless it’s krauts.  We’ll need to
change how we handle Jimmy at night.”

In the end,
we decided the cow was probably still edible, but we couldn’t risk the smell of
a barbecue this close to the enemy, so we had to leave it in the field.  That
seemed to make the whole incident even worse, because we had all the meat we could
eat right there, and we couldn’t have any.

A couple of
days later we reached a field HQ.  Jimmy was transferred out, sent to a supply
outfit away from the frontlines.  It was emotional for all of us, because no
one had left Buzz Company before unless they were injured or dead.  Jimmy cried
as we left.  He didn’t want to be left behind.  He said he wanted to be there
to finish what we started.

We were on a
patrol out in the country, north of a city called Flers, when we heard a woman
scream.  This was a new experience for us.  Up until that time, we had only
seen combat and re-supplies.  No civilians.  They hunkered down whenever we
were around.

We were
walking along a dirt road.  Krauts were on the move back to the East, and we
were assigned to flush out any German camps.  The road in that area was
tree-lined, and we saw a lane to the right.  Cap sent Pavelchek and Crimmins
into the trees to see what was going on.  I always liked Crimmins.  He was from
California, and he had a real dry sense of humor.  He was easy to be with,
because he never got too agitated or anything.  But this time, he and Pavelchek
came back real excited.

 “Krauts! 
And they’re holding a family at gunpoint in front of their house!”

 “How many?”
asked Cap.

 “Two holding
the family.  Three walked into the house.”

 “Only five?”

 “That’s all
we saw,” said Crimmins, shrugging.

 “Hmm.  Five
seems mighty light to me, boys.  You sure there aren’t more in the house, or in
the trees?” Cap leaned back, looking down the road in both directions.

 “Could be,
Cap, but we only saw the five,” said Pavelchek.

Cap looked
around at us.  “Bead up!  Five pairs of shooters, five callers.  Shooters:
Anderson and Cooper, Kozlowski and McIntire, Pavelchek and Crimmins, Mackinack
and Gunderson, Trumbull and Peters.  Callers:  Chartelli, Morelli, Torgeson,
Butler, and Moore.  Everyone else, guard our flanks to make sure we don’t have
any visitors from the sides.”  

Cap had spent
a lot of time training us on a technique he called Beading Up.  I think he
invented it, because I never heard of anyone else using it.  It was a useful
technique when we could ambush the enemy.  Depending on the number of enemies,
anywhere from one to five groups would be assigned a target.  That’s where the
term “Bead up” came from.  We would line up our gun-sight beads on the target.  Fewer
enemies, then more shooters per target.  Then there would be a “caller” for
each group of shooters.  The caller would watch the commanding officer and
relay commands to the shooters.  The commanding officer would use hand signals
to tell the callers to “wait” (raised hand, open palm), “get ready” (raised
hand in a fist), or “fire” (throw fist to the ground).  He could also signal “abort”
(like cutting his throat with his thumb), or “fall back” (raise both hands in a
beckoning motion).

 “Beading up”
worked great in places where we had to be silent, because the callers would
watch Cap, and then whisper the commands to his shooters.  If the shooters saw
something that required a change in the plan, they would call out “shot”
(meaning they had a shot and wanted to take it), “help” (need more shooters),
or “fall back” (meaning we were going to be overrun).  The caller would give a
hand signal back to the commander, who could react accordingly.

As long as we
maintained line-of-sight between the callers and Cap, we could line up a pretty
good set of guns and have everyone shoot at the same time.  We’d never used the
technique in combat before, but we’d practiced it a hundred times back in
England. 

 “Pavelchek,
how long is the tree line?” asked Cap.

 “Twenty,
thirty yards, easy,” said Pavelchek.  “Lots of cover.  Won’t be a problem at
all.”

 “All right. 
Shooters, split up about four yards apart and get into position.”

We crouched
and worked our way through the brush, which was thick with weeds and brambles. 
It was a pain in the ass!  Our uniforms snagged on thorns and we had to yank
away from the bushes without making any noise.  Gunderson and I found a decent
spot where we could rest on one knee in the brush.  I looked to the left, and
saw the five callers talking with Cap.  Then Butler made his way to us.

 “OK, gentlemen,
our target will be the second kraut out of the house.  Number two.  Get it?” 

We both
nodded.  I looked to the right and saw the remaining callers talking to their
shooters, and then I glanced back at Cap.  His eyes were fixed on the clearing
in front of us.  His right arm was bent at the elbow and his open palm faced
everyone.  I rested my elbow on one knee, and aimed my rifle at the house’s
door.  Then I shifted my gaze to the scene in front of us.

There was a
pretty woman standing in front of the house, clutching two kids.  A boy and a
girl, both probably somewhere between six and ten years old.  A man was on his
knees a few yards away from them with his arms raised.  The husband.

The krauts
were having a real good time.  One had a rifle trained on the man’s face from
about three feet away.  The other grabbed the woman by the shoulder
and was talking to her in
German.  The krauts were both laughing and talking to each other in German.

Then the one kraut
grabbed the woman by the back of the neck, and pulled her to him.  He kissed
her hard even though she struggled.  After a long kiss, he let go of her and
she pushed away with both hands, spitting and cursing in French.  The Germans
laughed even more.

I was furious! 
I’d been through plenty of combat by then and knew what to expect.  But this
was a civilian, and a woman.  She should have been off limits, and it pissed me
off.

“Shot,”
Gunderson and I said in unison.

 “Wait,”
replied Butler.  The kisser wasn’t our target, but I really wanted to shoot
him.  A few minutes later, the kisser beckoned to the woman again, and she
pushed her children behind her to protect them.  She didn’t move.  She just
looked down at the ground.  He walked up to her and grabbed the neckline of her
dress and yanked on it.  Her dress ripped open, exposing her undergarments.

 “Shot!” I
called again.  So did Gunderson.  I heard Trumbull to my left call “shot” as
well. 

 “Wait!”
responded Butler.  His eyes were on Cap, so he didn’t know what was going on. 
I kept my gun sight right on the kisser’s throat.  I figured if I missed up or
down, he’d be dead.  I was a pretty decent shot.  I knew Gunderson would take
the chest shot, because he wasn’t as accurate as me.

Gunderson
turned his head to Butler.  “Let us take the goddamn shot, and we’ll take our
target too!”

Butler hissed
through clenched teeth. “You know the drill.  Now shut your fucking mouth, and
wait for the command!”

The woman had
stepped away and held the pieces of her dress together with one hand.  I give
her credit.  She wasn’t timid and sorrowful.  She was full of vinegar!   She
was shaking her other fist at the kisser, and spitting at him, and saying
something in French that I’m pretty sure meant he better not do anything else. 
The kisser let out a big raucous laugh and took another step toward her, but
just then the three Germans in the house stepped out.

I put my sight
on the second kraut as he stepped out of the house.  “Shot!” Gunderson and I
both whispered.

 “Wait,”
replied Butler.  He was calmer now.

The Germans
talked for a while.  The three from the house had bags on their shoulders.  Stolen
food and valuables.  After a few minutes of conversation, the three Germans from
the house started to walk away.  The kraut guarding the husband started walking
away backward, with his gun still trained on the husband.  The kisser looked at
the woman, said something in German, and then in one smooth movement, pulled
his pistol and shot the little boy.  The boy spun around from the impact and
dropped.

We were stunned! 
“Shot!” I called.  I had Number Two’s head in my sights, and I wanted to take
the shot and then turn to the kisser.  I wanted to kill that monster.

 “Wait!”
replied Butler. 

I badly
wanted to say “Son of a bitch!  What are we waiting for?”  But I couldn’t take
my sight off of my target.  I wondered what Cap was looking at.  What was he
waiting for?  I started counting Number Two’s steps.  Five.  Ten.  Twelve.

 “Ready!”
called Butler.

 “Thank
Christ!” I thought, and matched my rifle to Number Two’s cadence.

 “Fire!”

Gunderson and
I shot in unison, and Number Two dropped immediately.  We fired twice more on
his body.  Then I wheeled my gun around, looking for the kisser.  He was
motionless on the ground.  I was frustrated.  I wanted to deliver justice. 

 “Wait!”
called Butler. 

We ceased
fire and panned our sights over the scene, looking for movement.

Cap called
out, “Left flanking team, take the house!”

Six guys
spilled out from the tree line and charged the house.  The woman cradled the
boy’s head in her lap.  She wailed and spoke in French.  The husband was on his
knees next to his wife, and held his daughter, who was crying into his
shoulder.

The flanking
team came out of the house.  “All clear in the house!” someone called.

 “Check the
krauts!” called Cap.

The flanking
team split up and each walked toward a German.  Robertson walked to the family
and knelt next to them, examining the boy.

I saw
movement in the corner of my eye.  The kisser was alive!  Just as Franklin got
to him, he raised a pistol, and shot Franklin point-blank in the chest. 
Franklin dropped immediately.

The flanking
team all turned their weapons on the kisser and fired.  There were a half dozen
shots from us shooters in the trees.  I was one of the shooters.  The body
shook from the impacts of all the shots.

 “Shooters,
secure the clearing!”  yelled Cap.  He was mad as hell!  He charged out of the
tree line and ran straight to Franklin.  The rest of the flanking team was
already there.  Franklin was dead.

The boy,
however, was alive!  He’d taken a round in the shoulder.  He would live.  After
we had walked the perimeter, we came back to Franklin.  Buzz Company was
standing in a circle around the body, Cap, Kozlowski, and McIntire.

 “What the
fuck happened here?” bellowed Cap.  His normal calm voice was gone, and veins
bulged from his neck and forehead.  He was really red!

Kozlowski and
McIntire looked at each other, then back at Cap.  “We wanted to teach this
asshole a lesson.  We shot him in the legs so we could take him prisoner and—”

 “Teach him a
lesson?” shouted Cap as he paced in front of the two men.  “So how did that lesson
work for him?  How did that work for Franklin?”  Cap pointed at Franklin’s
body.  Then he got right in Kozlowski’s face.  “What do you think, you dumb son
of a bitch?  Do you think Franklin enjoyed that lesson?  Do you think that
kraut learned anything?”

Kozlowski was
visibly shaking.  Tears were streaming down his eyes.  He held his temples with
his fingertips.  McIntire was crying, too—actually bawling. 

 “Goddamn,”
said Cap, turning away and kicking at the dirt.  “Goddamn.”

There was a
long silence.  Maybe five minutes.  Cap paced back and forth, staring at the
ground.  Robertson and Torgeson worked on the boy, but the rest of us stood in
that circle, watching Cap, Kozlowski, and McIntire.  It was real awkward.  We
didn’t know if we should be tending to Franklin’s body or waiting for more
orders. 

Cap looked up
at Kozlowski and McIntire again.  His eyes were misty.  That was a shock,
because I’d never seen Cap get emotional.  But his voice didn’t crack or
anything.  His voice was back to that normal calm, deep tone.

 “You men
disobeyed direct orders.  As a result of that, you caused one of my men to be
killed.” 

 “God DAMN
it,” he said.  He paused again, then looked around at all of us in the circle. 
“This ain’t no game, boys.  This ain’t no school where we are teaching krauts
lessons.  We are here to kill the enemy before they kill us.  It’s as simple as
that.  If you think you are going to be some kind of hero, tell me now, so I
can get your ass out of my company!”

No one said
anything.  I looked down at the ground.  I was pretty tight with Franklin and I
was starting to mist up myself.

Cap bent over
and pulled the letter out of Franklin’s coat.  “This is Brady’s letter.  Who’s
got Franklin’s?” 

Peters
stepped forward, holding Franklin’s leather square.  Cap waved him forward. 
“Trade me.”

Cap exchanged
Brady’s letter for Franklin’s, and then walked up to Kozlowski.  He slapped the
letter hard in Kozlowski’s chest.  “Take this letter.”

Kozlowski
raised a trembling hand and pulled the letter from Cap’s hand.

 “You pull
this square out every day and look at it until we mail it.  And you remember
how YOU killed Mike Franklin here today!  You remember that for your whole
life!” Cap said.  He looked at McIntire.  “By the time we reach our next Field
HQ, I’ll decide if you two will be court-martialed and discharged.  Meanwhile,
you two are responsible for getting Franklin back to the outpost so he can be
sent home.  Everyone gather up, let’s head out.”

We were all
really surprised that Kozlowski and McIntire didn’t get discharged or
court-martialed.  We never heard details about it, and neither of them talked
about it.  But Franklin’s death stained us.  It was our platoon’s first death
that could have been easily avoided.  We would talk about how from now on, we
take the shot, and we shoot to kill.  No hesitation, no thinking.  Kill or be
killed.