This is the usual disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Combat!. There is no
connection with the show, etc, etc, etc.
A Moment's Decision
"C'mon Doc, please. Just go talk to him." Kirby pleaded with the stubborn medic. He
didn't know how much longer they could take Caje's behavior. He was going to get
somebody killed and Kirby knew it.
"Kirby, I already talked to him. He told me, in no uncertain terms, to get lost! He
doesn't want anybody's help." Doc rubbed at the drying mud on his brow, frustrated
with his failed attempts to get through to their friend. He wanted to help Caje, but he
didn't think the man was ready to receive it.
Looking to Littlejohn and Billy for help, Kirby made a defeated gesture with his arms.
Littlejohn frowned and looked at his feet for a moment, then stared unwaveringly into
Doc's stubborn gaze.
"He may not want help, Doc, but he needs it."
Doc threw his arms into the air and took a step closer to the bigger man. "I'm not a
doctor, and I'm not a chaplain! I'm just a medic. There are some things I simply can't
fix. Why don't one of you go talk to him, huh?"
Billy took a reflexive step back from the fuming medic, having never seen him so angry
before. He risked a glance at Kirby and Littlejohn, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
It never came. They knew the anger wasn't really directed at them. Instead, Kirby made
a calming motion and Littlejohn spoke quietly, but firmly.
"Doc, you're the closest thing to a doctor or chaplain out here. Sarge already tried to talk
to Caje, but no dice. Just try one more time. Please. For all our sakes."
Bowing his head for a moment in utter defeat, Doc sighed. Those three weren't going to
let up until he gave in. He turned to glance at Caje for a moment. He was sitting against
a fallen tree, knees drawn up to his chin, gazing a mile away. Well, what was Caje going
do...hit him again? It was worth one more try. He looked back at the others and a
crooked smile twitched at his mouth for a moment, only to be replaced by a thoughtful
frown. With another sigh, Doc nodded reluctantly. Without another word, he turned
away from the others and walked slowly toward Caje. *Why me?* Doc thought of all who,
since the dawn of man, had looked to the heavens and asked that very question. He
realized how futile it was to ask. The answer was simply...why not?
Littlejohn shared a triumphant smile with Billy and Kirby, then felt a twinge of guilt.
Doc looked like a man walking that last mile. He didn't envy him; Caje had been a bear
for days.
Saunders looked up from his map to see Doc walking slowly in Caje's direction.
Littlejohn, Kirby and Nelson all shared the same odd expression. A strange mixture of
triumph, anticipation and worry. Littlejohn also looked a little guilty. The others must
have finally talked Doc into having a heart-to-heart with Caje. Saunders wished the
medic luck; he'd tried the same thing and had been shot down. More than once. If things
continued as they were, Saunders was going to have to do something with Caje. The man
was becoming a liability...a danger to himself and the others. He just didn't know how
to help Caje. He was wounded in spirit, not body.
Doc quietly sat down next to Caje and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Caje finally
stirred and sighed. "What do you want, Doc?"
Scraping at the mud caking the knees of his trousers, Doc resisted the urge to look at the
other man. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Sighing, Caje tried to pin the medic with a glare, but Doc refused to look at him. "No,
Doc, I wouldn't."
Still avoiding Caje's stare, Doc shrugged. "Mind if I tell you a story?"
Wrapping his arms around his knees, Caje frowned. Doc wasn't going to leave him alone
until he'd had his say, so he figured he better just let the man speak his piece. Then
maybe he'd go away. "Fine, Doc. Say what you have to say, then just leave me alone."
Drawing a calming breath and letting it out again, Doc began speaking in his soft,
drawling way. "When I was twelve years old, my family had a big reunion. Relatives
came from all over and a bunch of them stayed for two weeks at our house that summer.
There must've been about twenty-two of us staying in that small house. I slept with two
of my cousins on a mattress on the kitchen floor. Everywhere I went there was a bunch
of people. I felt like I was suffocating with so many relatives around. My little cousin,
Dickie, was four and he followed me around everywhere. I couldn't get rid of him."
Caje looked up when Doc paused and cleared his throat. As the medic continued, Caje
paid a little more attention. He could tell that this was something Doc never spoke of to
anyone.
"Anyway, one Saturday everyone decided to go down to the lake for a picnic. I didn't
really feel like going. I mean, I'd been surrounded, overwhelmed, by people for a week
and just needed some time alone. Time to just...be by myself and think, ya know? I
faked a bellyache so I could stay home. Dickie cried and pitched a fit, 'cause he wanted
to stay with me, but they took him with them. 'Course, I was glad. I needed a break
from him following me around like a little puppy. Staying home...it was just a moment's
decision. One choice that would stay with me forever."
Doc picked up a small stone and rolled it around in his hands. He didn't really want to
tell the rest of it. The memories were still so strong. Tossing the stone back to the
ground, he continued. "Dickie wandered away when nobody was watching him. He fell
off the dock into the lake...and drowned before anyone realized he was gone."
The images from that day were still so vivid in his mind...
He'd been sitting on the sofa, reading a book he'd gotten from the library the week before
and enjoying the peace and quiet, when the door burst open and people flooded the room.
His Uncle Richard was carrying little Dickie. His cousin's body was limp and his face
was blue. The child was soaking wet. His Aunt Betty was screaming and everyone else
was crying. He jumped up from the sofa and looked around in confusion, refusing to
believe what his eyes told him. His baby cousin was dead.
The rest of the day had passed as if it was a dream. It was what happened that evening
that was so engraved in his memory. The women had gathered in the kitchen, trying to
console his aunt. He'd wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Betty, distraught
and needing to find a place to fix blame, but in denial of her own role in her child's death,
turned to the easiest of targets...the twelve-year-old boy standing before her.
"Why weren't you there?! If you'd been with the rest of us, Dickie wouldn't have
drowned! He would have been with you. It's your fault. My child would still be alive if
you'd just been there!" Emotionally spent, she sank to the floor and cried hysterically.
His mother turned to comfort him, but it was too late. The seed of guilt had flown
straight to his sensitive little heart and found fertile soil...where it grew and flourished.
He'd turned and fled the house, not stopping until he'd reached the tree house he and his
cousins had built two summers before. It wasn't until the next afternoon that his father
and Uncle Richard finally found him there...
Doc sighed and rubbed his face wearily. Over the years the sting of guilt had lessened,
but it was always there. It sat hidden, yet ready to spring to life when given the
opportunity. He simply tried not to give it that opportunity.
Glancing up, he was glad to see that Caje was looking back at him with a gleam of
understanding in his troubled dark eyes. Maybe the pain of remembrance would be
worth it.
"Caje, if I could go back and change that one moment in my life...that one moment when
I decided to stay home...I would. Was his drowning my fault? No. Would it have
happened if I'd been there? Probably not. But I can't change the past. Neither can you.
Caje, Peters' death wasn't your fault. However, if your...reckless...actions get one the
guys wounded or killed, it will be your fault. Getting yourself killed won't bring Peters
back. Nothing will. He's gone and there's nothing anyone can do about it."
Climbing to his feet, Doc placed a hand on Caje's shoulder for a moment. "Just think
about it, okay? Nobody blames you. So don't blame yourself." Doc smiled
encouragingly and left to give him time to sort things out. He walked a few feet and
looked up to see Littlejohn, Kirby and Billy looking at him expectantly. Needing some
time to deal with the past, Doc veered away toward the pond.
Saunders watched as Doc left Caje, angling away from the others. Caje seemed
thoughtful and...a little more at peace. Maybe Doc had finally succeeded where the
others had failed. He watched as the medic shoved his hands deep in his pockets and
kicked at a few stones. Now, Doc looked upset. When the other three started to follow,
Saunders raised a hand to stop them. He shook his head, indicating that they should leave
the other two alone for a while. They'd just have to hope that everything worked out.
Kirby kicked the ground in frustration when the Sarge motioned for them to stay put. He
stood with arms akimbo and frowned at Littlejohn. "Great, now Doc's mad and we don't
know if he got through to Caje or not."
Arms folded across his chest, Billy watched as Doc wandered over to the edge of the
nearby pond and stopped. The medic simply stood there, staring into the muddy brown
water. "I don't know about you guys, but I feel kinda bad. I don't know if he helped
Caje or not, but whatever they said...it's upset Doc pretty bad. Maybe we just shoulda
left him alone."
"Left who alone? Caje or Doc?" Littlejohn turned to see what Billy was staring at.
Looking at the others, Billy shrugged. "Both."
Shaking his head, Kirby pointed his finger in Caje's direction. "No way! Caje was
gonna get one of us killed if somebody didn't talk to him. He was getting down right
dangerous. It's worth Doc getting mad if we get the old Caje back. 'Sides, Doc never
stays angry for long, anyway."
Littlejohn held up a hand, trying to calm Kirby down. "Listen, we don't know what they
talked about so, until either one feels like telling us, we'll just have to wait. Sarge gave
us a chance to grab some rest and I suggest we take him up on it. C'mon."
Leading the others, Littlejohn headed over to a shady spot and lowered his big frame to
the slightly damp grass. The other two dropped to the ground next to him. All three lay
back, cradling their heads on their hands. There was nothing else to be done.
Caje sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments after Doc left, then reached into his
jacket pocket and pulled out some paper. Fishing around in the other pockets, he finally
found the small pencil he kept. Noticing that the lead point had broken off, he slipped his
penknife from his pocket and used it to sharpen the tip. When he was satisfied with the
sharpness of the point, he returned the penknife and began to write.
Dad,
I know it's been a week or so since my last letter. Sorry. I hope you haven't been
worrying. I was going to write to you a few days ago, but something happened. I'm fine,
it's not that. Well, it almost was. Wait, let me explain what happened. Have you ever
had a moment in your life that you'd like to change? We make decisions all day, every
day. Most of them innocent choices that don't mean much. But, sometimes, you don't
realize until later that one of those innocent choices has terrible consequences. A
moment's choice that you'd give anything, ANYTHING, to be able to go back and
change. Well, three days ago, I had one of those moments. It didn't seem like a big deal.
But, it had been a big deal. He couldn't believe they had just been laughing and playing
poker...with no idea things were about to take a drastic turn. Closing his eyes, Caje
remembered how it all started three days ago...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The squad wandered into the bomb-damaged café, grateful for a few hours' rest. The
guys from 3rd squad trickled in behind them. Tyner, 3rd squad's BAR man, immediately
started taunting Kirby about losing thirty bucks in the poker game several days ago.
Determined to shut the man up, and win back his money, Kirby challenged Tyner to
another game. Tyner quickly agreed, a smirk plastered across his thin face, and two of
his buddies joined in.
Walking over to his own squad, resting any place they could find a spot, Kirby tried to
get somebody to join the game. "Hey Littlejohn, Billy...wanna play poker?"
Littlejohn shook his head with a smile and Billy followed suit. Kirby didn't even get to
ask the question before Doc started shaking his head. Not very hopeful, Kirby turned to
Caje and Peters, the replacement. "What about you guys?"
Peters checked his pockets, looked at his meager finances and reluctantly shook his head.
"Sorry, Kirby, but I best just keep what little money I have."
Surprisingly, after a moment's hesitation, Caje nodded and smiled. "Sure Kirby, I'll
enjoy taking your money. It's been quite a while since the last time."
Shaking his head as he sat at the only table left standing in the small café, Kirby snorted
in amusement. "In your dreams, Caje. I still say the only reason you haven't played
poker since then is 'cause you know that that was a fluke. It'll never happen again."
Laughing softly, Caje took a seat opposite his squadmate. "Never say never, Kirby."
When Sgt. Saunders returned two hours later, the poker game was still in full swing and
Caje had a sizable pile of money in front of him. Tyner and Kirby wore matching looks
of disgust. Saunders shook his head with a smile, imagining the bellyaching Kirby would
be doing later. It seemed a shame to break a winning streak.
"Caje, Littlejohn, Nelson. We've got a patrol to do; we're checking to make sure the
next village has been evacuated. Doc, maybe you should go along, too."
Giving the sergeant a solemn nod, Doc drew his legs under him to stand. Littlejohn and
Billy both gathered their weapons and equipment, watching Caje sweep his winnings
together.
Caje sighed as he scooped up his money. He didn't play cards very often, but he sure
enjoyed putting Kirby in his place. Tyner was just as bad, if not worse, and he'd had fun
knocking the braggart down a peg. He hated to leave the game when he was on a
winning streak.
Watching from his perch on a barrel, Peters smiled at the disappointed look Caje wore.
He stood and grabbed his Garrand, waving at Caje to stay seated. "Hey, Caje, I'll take
the patrol for you if you'll take the next one for me."
Stunned that the replacement would volunteer for a patrol, Caje took a moment to
answer. But, it only took a moment. Caje firmly believed in not looking a gift horse in
the mouth. "Are you serious? That's real good of you, Peters. I'm sure Kirby hopes I'll
say no, but I think I'll take you up on that offer. It's a deal. I'll take your place on the
next patrol."
They shook hands with a smile and Peters followed the others out into the street, slipping
on his battered helmet as he crossed the threshold.
If Caje had only known.
As the others fell into step, Saunders smiled. "Good news, guys. See that jeep over
there? It's ours. We don't have to hoof it this time."
That little piece of good news was greeted with four grateful sighs. Littlejohn, Nelson
and Peters crawled in the back, smiling at their sudden good fortune. Doc stood next to
the driver's side and raised a questioning eyebrow at his sergeant. Saunders smiled and
shook his head. Climbing into the driver's seat, he motioned for the medic to go around
to the other side.
"No way, Doc. I was there the LAST time you drove. Remember?"
Folding himself into the passenger seat, Doc grimaced. "C'mon, Sarge, you know I did
that on purpose. You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?"
"Probably not. I'm not so sure it WAS on purpose." Saunders grinned at Doc's pained
expression.
It was an uneventful drive to the next village. Once there, they fanned out to search for
stragglers or Germans...hoping to find neither. When they made their way to the church,
however, they found about a dozen villagers taking refuge there. All were either too old,
or too sick to walk to the next town. Doc went from one villager to another, checking for
injuries and doing what he could to make them comfortable.
Shaking his head, Saunders rested the butt of his Thompson on his hip. *I shouldn't have
let Caje switch with Peters...I could sure use an interpreter right now.* He motioned for
Littlejohn to bring over the radio. They'd need transportation for the stragglers.
"Here ya go, Sarge." Littlejohn handed over the radio and returned to the window near
the door, keeping a sharp eye open for Germans. For some reason, the village was giving
him the heebie-jeebies.
After apprising Lt. Hanley of the situation, Saunders returned the radio to Littlejohn and
waved at Doc to join him outside.
Handing one of his canteens to a rather skinny old man, Doc followed Saunders over to
the jeep. "What's up, Sarge?"
Saunders leaned a hip against the jeep and tipped his helmet back. "Lt. Hanley is sending
an ambulance and a truck for the stragglers, though it may take several hours. He needs
us to do a quick sweep to the south before returning home. Will those people be okay
until transportation arrives, or do I need to leave you here?"
Looking back at the church thoughtfully, Doc shook his head. "They'll be fine, Sarge.
I'll make sure I leave a full canteen with them, and I've got a couple of chocolate bars in
my bag. I don't think some of these people have eaten in a few days. I bet some of the
other guys are hoarding something, too."
"Fair enough, Doc. See what you can drag out of the others."
Giving Saunders a Cheshire grin, Doc jogged back to the church. He decided to hit
Littlejohn up for rations first. He knew the big-hearted private would hand it over, and
then Billy would follow suit. "Hey, Littlejohn. You got any rations on you? We're
leaving these people here to be picked up later."
Just as he'd thought, Littlejohn handed over a box of rations, albeit a little slowly.
"Thanks, Littlejohn. Where's Billy?"
Jerking his head toward the stairs, Littlejohn smiled. He knew Billy had been hoarding
chocolate for weeks. He'd mumbled something about GI brownies. "He's up in the
steeple, Doc. Oh, and don't let him tell you he doesn't have anything."
Smiling broadly, Doc gave his big friend a slap on the back. "Thanks. I'll make him
give 'til it hurts." He made his way carefully up the stairs and stopped just below the
landing. "Billy! It's just me, so don't shoot."
Doc climbed the last few steps to see Billy turning back to the window. "We're going to
be leaving in a few minutes. Lt. Hanley's sending some vehicles to pick these people up,
but they're gonna be here for a while. You got any rations on you? I already got some
from Littlejohn." Doc knew that would get him.
Bowing his head with a heavy sigh, Billy pulled chocolate bars from every pocket. When
he finally handed over the last one, Doc held eight bars in his hands. He stared at the
cache of sweets in astonishment. "Geez, Billy. What were you planning to do with all
this chocolate?"
Billy shrugged and went back to keeping a lookout. "Doesn't really matter, now. I was
gonna try to make something, but I'll have to start all over again, I guess."
"Tell you what, Billy. I'll give you every chocolate bar I get, 'til I pay ya back for these.
Okay?"
"You'd really do that, Doc?"
Smiling ruefully, Doc slipped the chocolate into his pockets. "Sure. I hardly ever get to
actually eat one, anyway. I always end up giving them away to somebody. You
know...DPs or wounded. I think I've almost forgotten what chocolate tastes like.
Thanks, Billy."
He thumped back down the stairs to look for Peters and realized he hadn't gotten
anything from Saunders. "Littlejohn, where's Peters?"
"In the back."
"Thanks." Doc passed out what he'd already gathered, adding his own two bars from his
bag. He found Peters sitting on a table, between the back door and a large window.
"Hey, Peters, we're leaving soon. Got any rations I can give to the villagers?"
Fishing around in his pockets, Peters was surprised to find a box of rations in his jacket.
"Well, what d'ya know? I actually do have something. Catch." He tossed the box to
Doc, who caught it and slipped it in a pocket. "So, what's the scoop, Doc? We headin'
home or what?"
"No. Lt. Hanley wants us to do a quick sweep on our way back. Sarge'll give a yell
when we're ready to go. At least we don't have to walk."
Peters chuckled and stretched his lanky frame. "Amen to that, brother."
After passing Peters' box of rations to a thin woman, crippled with arthritis, Doc went
back out to find Saunders. He found the sergeant sitting in the jeep, going over a map.
"Hey, Sarge. I forgot to get your rations."
His eyes never leaving the map, Saunders dipped a hand in his jacket, pulled out a box
and handed it to Doc. "Go tell the others to come on out. We need to go ahead and get
out of here."
"Will do, Sarge. Oh, thanks for the rations."
Saunders flapped a hand and returned to perusing the map. Doc went back to the church
and delivered the last box of rations. Catching Littlejohn's eye, he gestured to the door.
"Sarge says to go on out to the jeep. We're leaving."
Walking over to the bottom of the stairs, Littlejohn gave a shout. "Billy! Come on
down; we're leaving!" When he heard an answering shout from above, he nodded in
satisfaction and went outside. Doc made sure the canteen he left behind was full and
followed Littlejohn out to the jeep.
Having heard Littlejohn's bellow, Peters took one last glance out the window and
followed the others outside. He joined Littlejohn in the back and they both shifted to
make room for Billy when he climbed in.
Once everyone was settled, Saunders put the jeep in gear and turned back the way they'd
come. Making a left turn at the intersection outside the village, he headed them in a
southerly direction. They saw nothing but trees, hills and dirt roads.
It was after Saunders turned the jeep toward home that all hell broke loose.
They came over a hill, the road narrowing when it entered a tree-shrouded area, and had
barely gone ten yards before the sound of gunfire assaulted them. The bullets thumping
into the sides of the jeep seemed to come from everywhere and Saunders nearly lost
control of it when two of the tires blew out.
Bringing the jeep to a sliding stop, Saunders grabbed his Thompson and dove from his
seat. "Take cover!"
As the others scrambled for cover on the side of the road, Peters was hit and went down.
Littlejohn grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him to safety in the shallow ditch
bordering the narrow road. Billy slid in right next to him. Sarge ended up a few feet
away, his Thompson already answering the Germans' gunfire. Littlejohn spared a quick
glance around before opening fire himself. Doc was nowhere to be seen. Ducking as
bullets kicked up the dirt in front of him, Littlejohn took a quick moment to check on
Peters. The wounds looked pretty bad, but all he had was his meager field bandage.
What he needed was Doc's medical bag. And Doc.
connection with the show, etc, etc, etc.
A Moment's Decision
"C'mon Doc, please. Just go talk to him." Kirby pleaded with the stubborn medic. He
didn't know how much longer they could take Caje's behavior. He was going to get
somebody killed and Kirby knew it.
"Kirby, I already talked to him. He told me, in no uncertain terms, to get lost! He
doesn't want anybody's help." Doc rubbed at the drying mud on his brow, frustrated
with his failed attempts to get through to their friend. He wanted to help Caje, but he
didn't think the man was ready to receive it.
Looking to Littlejohn and Billy for help, Kirby made a defeated gesture with his arms.
Littlejohn frowned and looked at his feet for a moment, then stared unwaveringly into
Doc's stubborn gaze.
"He may not want help, Doc, but he needs it."
Doc threw his arms into the air and took a step closer to the bigger man. "I'm not a
doctor, and I'm not a chaplain! I'm just a medic. There are some things I simply can't
fix. Why don't one of you go talk to him, huh?"
Billy took a reflexive step back from the fuming medic, having never seen him so angry
before. He risked a glance at Kirby and Littlejohn, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
It never came. They knew the anger wasn't really directed at them. Instead, Kirby made
a calming motion and Littlejohn spoke quietly, but firmly.
"Doc, you're the closest thing to a doctor or chaplain out here. Sarge already tried to talk
to Caje, but no dice. Just try one more time. Please. For all our sakes."
Bowing his head for a moment in utter defeat, Doc sighed. Those three weren't going to
let up until he gave in. He turned to glance at Caje for a moment. He was sitting against
a fallen tree, knees drawn up to his chin, gazing a mile away. Well, what was Caje going
do...hit him again? It was worth one more try. He looked back at the others and a
crooked smile twitched at his mouth for a moment, only to be replaced by a thoughtful
frown. With another sigh, Doc nodded reluctantly. Without another word, he turned
away from the others and walked slowly toward Caje. *Why me?* Doc thought of all who,
since the dawn of man, had looked to the heavens and asked that very question. He
realized how futile it was to ask. The answer was simply...why not?
Littlejohn shared a triumphant smile with Billy and Kirby, then felt a twinge of guilt.
Doc looked like a man walking that last mile. He didn't envy him; Caje had been a bear
for days.
Saunders looked up from his map to see Doc walking slowly in Caje's direction.
Littlejohn, Kirby and Nelson all shared the same odd expression. A strange mixture of
triumph, anticipation and worry. Littlejohn also looked a little guilty. The others must
have finally talked Doc into having a heart-to-heart with Caje. Saunders wished the
medic luck; he'd tried the same thing and had been shot down. More than once. If things
continued as they were, Saunders was going to have to do something with Caje. The man
was becoming a liability...a danger to himself and the others. He just didn't know how
to help Caje. He was wounded in spirit, not body.
Doc quietly sat down next to Caje and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Caje finally
stirred and sighed. "What do you want, Doc?"
Scraping at the mud caking the knees of his trousers, Doc resisted the urge to look at the
other man. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Sighing, Caje tried to pin the medic with a glare, but Doc refused to look at him. "No,
Doc, I wouldn't."
Still avoiding Caje's stare, Doc shrugged. "Mind if I tell you a story?"
Wrapping his arms around his knees, Caje frowned. Doc wasn't going to leave him alone
until he'd had his say, so he figured he better just let the man speak his piece. Then
maybe he'd go away. "Fine, Doc. Say what you have to say, then just leave me alone."
Drawing a calming breath and letting it out again, Doc began speaking in his soft,
drawling way. "When I was twelve years old, my family had a big reunion. Relatives
came from all over and a bunch of them stayed for two weeks at our house that summer.
There must've been about twenty-two of us staying in that small house. I slept with two
of my cousins on a mattress on the kitchen floor. Everywhere I went there was a bunch
of people. I felt like I was suffocating with so many relatives around. My little cousin,
Dickie, was four and he followed me around everywhere. I couldn't get rid of him."
Caje looked up when Doc paused and cleared his throat. As the medic continued, Caje
paid a little more attention. He could tell that this was something Doc never spoke of to
anyone.
"Anyway, one Saturday everyone decided to go down to the lake for a picnic. I didn't
really feel like going. I mean, I'd been surrounded, overwhelmed, by people for a week
and just needed some time alone. Time to just...be by myself and think, ya know? I
faked a bellyache so I could stay home. Dickie cried and pitched a fit, 'cause he wanted
to stay with me, but they took him with them. 'Course, I was glad. I needed a break
from him following me around like a little puppy. Staying home...it was just a moment's
decision. One choice that would stay with me forever."
Doc picked up a small stone and rolled it around in his hands. He didn't really want to
tell the rest of it. The memories were still so strong. Tossing the stone back to the
ground, he continued. "Dickie wandered away when nobody was watching him. He fell
off the dock into the lake...and drowned before anyone realized he was gone."
The images from that day were still so vivid in his mind...
He'd been sitting on the sofa, reading a book he'd gotten from the library the week before
and enjoying the peace and quiet, when the door burst open and people flooded the room.
His Uncle Richard was carrying little Dickie. His cousin's body was limp and his face
was blue. The child was soaking wet. His Aunt Betty was screaming and everyone else
was crying. He jumped up from the sofa and looked around in confusion, refusing to
believe what his eyes told him. His baby cousin was dead.
The rest of the day had passed as if it was a dream. It was what happened that evening
that was so engraved in his memory. The women had gathered in the kitchen, trying to
console his aunt. He'd wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Betty, distraught
and needing to find a place to fix blame, but in denial of her own role in her child's death,
turned to the easiest of targets...the twelve-year-old boy standing before her.
"Why weren't you there?! If you'd been with the rest of us, Dickie wouldn't have
drowned! He would have been with you. It's your fault. My child would still be alive if
you'd just been there!" Emotionally spent, she sank to the floor and cried hysterically.
His mother turned to comfort him, but it was too late. The seed of guilt had flown
straight to his sensitive little heart and found fertile soil...where it grew and flourished.
He'd turned and fled the house, not stopping until he'd reached the tree house he and his
cousins had built two summers before. It wasn't until the next afternoon that his father
and Uncle Richard finally found him there...
Doc sighed and rubbed his face wearily. Over the years the sting of guilt had lessened,
but it was always there. It sat hidden, yet ready to spring to life when given the
opportunity. He simply tried not to give it that opportunity.
Glancing up, he was glad to see that Caje was looking back at him with a gleam of
understanding in his troubled dark eyes. Maybe the pain of remembrance would be
worth it.
"Caje, if I could go back and change that one moment in my life...that one moment when
I decided to stay home...I would. Was his drowning my fault? No. Would it have
happened if I'd been there? Probably not. But I can't change the past. Neither can you.
Caje, Peters' death wasn't your fault. However, if your...reckless...actions get one the
guys wounded or killed, it will be your fault. Getting yourself killed won't bring Peters
back. Nothing will. He's gone and there's nothing anyone can do about it."
Climbing to his feet, Doc placed a hand on Caje's shoulder for a moment. "Just think
about it, okay? Nobody blames you. So don't blame yourself." Doc smiled
encouragingly and left to give him time to sort things out. He walked a few feet and
looked up to see Littlejohn, Kirby and Billy looking at him expectantly. Needing some
time to deal with the past, Doc veered away toward the pond.
Saunders watched as Doc left Caje, angling away from the others. Caje seemed
thoughtful and...a little more at peace. Maybe Doc had finally succeeded where the
others had failed. He watched as the medic shoved his hands deep in his pockets and
kicked at a few stones. Now, Doc looked upset. When the other three started to follow,
Saunders raised a hand to stop them. He shook his head, indicating that they should leave
the other two alone for a while. They'd just have to hope that everything worked out.
Kirby kicked the ground in frustration when the Sarge motioned for them to stay put. He
stood with arms akimbo and frowned at Littlejohn. "Great, now Doc's mad and we don't
know if he got through to Caje or not."
Arms folded across his chest, Billy watched as Doc wandered over to the edge of the
nearby pond and stopped. The medic simply stood there, staring into the muddy brown
water. "I don't know about you guys, but I feel kinda bad. I don't know if he helped
Caje or not, but whatever they said...it's upset Doc pretty bad. Maybe we just shoulda
left him alone."
"Left who alone? Caje or Doc?" Littlejohn turned to see what Billy was staring at.
Looking at the others, Billy shrugged. "Both."
Shaking his head, Kirby pointed his finger in Caje's direction. "No way! Caje was
gonna get one of us killed if somebody didn't talk to him. He was getting down right
dangerous. It's worth Doc getting mad if we get the old Caje back. 'Sides, Doc never
stays angry for long, anyway."
Littlejohn held up a hand, trying to calm Kirby down. "Listen, we don't know what they
talked about so, until either one feels like telling us, we'll just have to wait. Sarge gave
us a chance to grab some rest and I suggest we take him up on it. C'mon."
Leading the others, Littlejohn headed over to a shady spot and lowered his big frame to
the slightly damp grass. The other two dropped to the ground next to him. All three lay
back, cradling their heads on their hands. There was nothing else to be done.
Caje sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments after Doc left, then reached into his
jacket pocket and pulled out some paper. Fishing around in the other pockets, he finally
found the small pencil he kept. Noticing that the lead point had broken off, he slipped his
penknife from his pocket and used it to sharpen the tip. When he was satisfied with the
sharpness of the point, he returned the penknife and began to write.
Dad,
I know it's been a week or so since my last letter. Sorry. I hope you haven't been
worrying. I was going to write to you a few days ago, but something happened. I'm fine,
it's not that. Well, it almost was. Wait, let me explain what happened. Have you ever
had a moment in your life that you'd like to change? We make decisions all day, every
day. Most of them innocent choices that don't mean much. But, sometimes, you don't
realize until later that one of those innocent choices has terrible consequences. A
moment's choice that you'd give anything, ANYTHING, to be able to go back and
change. Well, three days ago, I had one of those moments. It didn't seem like a big deal.
But, it had been a big deal. He couldn't believe they had just been laughing and playing
poker...with no idea things were about to take a drastic turn. Closing his eyes, Caje
remembered how it all started three days ago...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The squad wandered into the bomb-damaged café, grateful for a few hours' rest. The
guys from 3rd squad trickled in behind them. Tyner, 3rd squad's BAR man, immediately
started taunting Kirby about losing thirty bucks in the poker game several days ago.
Determined to shut the man up, and win back his money, Kirby challenged Tyner to
another game. Tyner quickly agreed, a smirk plastered across his thin face, and two of
his buddies joined in.
Walking over to his own squad, resting any place they could find a spot, Kirby tried to
get somebody to join the game. "Hey Littlejohn, Billy...wanna play poker?"
Littlejohn shook his head with a smile and Billy followed suit. Kirby didn't even get to
ask the question before Doc started shaking his head. Not very hopeful, Kirby turned to
Caje and Peters, the replacement. "What about you guys?"
Peters checked his pockets, looked at his meager finances and reluctantly shook his head.
"Sorry, Kirby, but I best just keep what little money I have."
Surprisingly, after a moment's hesitation, Caje nodded and smiled. "Sure Kirby, I'll
enjoy taking your money. It's been quite a while since the last time."
Shaking his head as he sat at the only table left standing in the small café, Kirby snorted
in amusement. "In your dreams, Caje. I still say the only reason you haven't played
poker since then is 'cause you know that that was a fluke. It'll never happen again."
Laughing softly, Caje took a seat opposite his squadmate. "Never say never, Kirby."
When Sgt. Saunders returned two hours later, the poker game was still in full swing and
Caje had a sizable pile of money in front of him. Tyner and Kirby wore matching looks
of disgust. Saunders shook his head with a smile, imagining the bellyaching Kirby would
be doing later. It seemed a shame to break a winning streak.
"Caje, Littlejohn, Nelson. We've got a patrol to do; we're checking to make sure the
next village has been evacuated. Doc, maybe you should go along, too."
Giving the sergeant a solemn nod, Doc drew his legs under him to stand. Littlejohn and
Billy both gathered their weapons and equipment, watching Caje sweep his winnings
together.
Caje sighed as he scooped up his money. He didn't play cards very often, but he sure
enjoyed putting Kirby in his place. Tyner was just as bad, if not worse, and he'd had fun
knocking the braggart down a peg. He hated to leave the game when he was on a
winning streak.
Watching from his perch on a barrel, Peters smiled at the disappointed look Caje wore.
He stood and grabbed his Garrand, waving at Caje to stay seated. "Hey, Caje, I'll take
the patrol for you if you'll take the next one for me."
Stunned that the replacement would volunteer for a patrol, Caje took a moment to
answer. But, it only took a moment. Caje firmly believed in not looking a gift horse in
the mouth. "Are you serious? That's real good of you, Peters. I'm sure Kirby hopes I'll
say no, but I think I'll take you up on that offer. It's a deal. I'll take your place on the
next patrol."
They shook hands with a smile and Peters followed the others out into the street, slipping
on his battered helmet as he crossed the threshold.
If Caje had only known.
As the others fell into step, Saunders smiled. "Good news, guys. See that jeep over
there? It's ours. We don't have to hoof it this time."
That little piece of good news was greeted with four grateful sighs. Littlejohn, Nelson
and Peters crawled in the back, smiling at their sudden good fortune. Doc stood next to
the driver's side and raised a questioning eyebrow at his sergeant. Saunders smiled and
shook his head. Climbing into the driver's seat, he motioned for the medic to go around
to the other side.
"No way, Doc. I was there the LAST time you drove. Remember?"
Folding himself into the passenger seat, Doc grimaced. "C'mon, Sarge, you know I did
that on purpose. You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?"
"Probably not. I'm not so sure it WAS on purpose." Saunders grinned at Doc's pained
expression.
It was an uneventful drive to the next village. Once there, they fanned out to search for
stragglers or Germans...hoping to find neither. When they made their way to the church,
however, they found about a dozen villagers taking refuge there. All were either too old,
or too sick to walk to the next town. Doc went from one villager to another, checking for
injuries and doing what he could to make them comfortable.
Shaking his head, Saunders rested the butt of his Thompson on his hip. *I shouldn't have
let Caje switch with Peters...I could sure use an interpreter right now.* He motioned for
Littlejohn to bring over the radio. They'd need transportation for the stragglers.
"Here ya go, Sarge." Littlejohn handed over the radio and returned to the window near
the door, keeping a sharp eye open for Germans. For some reason, the village was giving
him the heebie-jeebies.
After apprising Lt. Hanley of the situation, Saunders returned the radio to Littlejohn and
waved at Doc to join him outside.
Handing one of his canteens to a rather skinny old man, Doc followed Saunders over to
the jeep. "What's up, Sarge?"
Saunders leaned a hip against the jeep and tipped his helmet back. "Lt. Hanley is sending
an ambulance and a truck for the stragglers, though it may take several hours. He needs
us to do a quick sweep to the south before returning home. Will those people be okay
until transportation arrives, or do I need to leave you here?"
Looking back at the church thoughtfully, Doc shook his head. "They'll be fine, Sarge.
I'll make sure I leave a full canteen with them, and I've got a couple of chocolate bars in
my bag. I don't think some of these people have eaten in a few days. I bet some of the
other guys are hoarding something, too."
"Fair enough, Doc. See what you can drag out of the others."
Giving Saunders a Cheshire grin, Doc jogged back to the church. He decided to hit
Littlejohn up for rations first. He knew the big-hearted private would hand it over, and
then Billy would follow suit. "Hey, Littlejohn. You got any rations on you? We're
leaving these people here to be picked up later."
Just as he'd thought, Littlejohn handed over a box of rations, albeit a little slowly.
"Thanks, Littlejohn. Where's Billy?"
Jerking his head toward the stairs, Littlejohn smiled. He knew Billy had been hoarding
chocolate for weeks. He'd mumbled something about GI brownies. "He's up in the
steeple, Doc. Oh, and don't let him tell you he doesn't have anything."
Smiling broadly, Doc gave his big friend a slap on the back. "Thanks. I'll make him
give 'til it hurts." He made his way carefully up the stairs and stopped just below the
landing. "Billy! It's just me, so don't shoot."
Doc climbed the last few steps to see Billy turning back to the window. "We're going to
be leaving in a few minutes. Lt. Hanley's sending some vehicles to pick these people up,
but they're gonna be here for a while. You got any rations on you? I already got some
from Littlejohn." Doc knew that would get him.
Bowing his head with a heavy sigh, Billy pulled chocolate bars from every pocket. When
he finally handed over the last one, Doc held eight bars in his hands. He stared at the
cache of sweets in astonishment. "Geez, Billy. What were you planning to do with all
this chocolate?"
Billy shrugged and went back to keeping a lookout. "Doesn't really matter, now. I was
gonna try to make something, but I'll have to start all over again, I guess."
"Tell you what, Billy. I'll give you every chocolate bar I get, 'til I pay ya back for these.
Okay?"
"You'd really do that, Doc?"
Smiling ruefully, Doc slipped the chocolate into his pockets. "Sure. I hardly ever get to
actually eat one, anyway. I always end up giving them away to somebody. You
know...DPs or wounded. I think I've almost forgotten what chocolate tastes like.
Thanks, Billy."
He thumped back down the stairs to look for Peters and realized he hadn't gotten
anything from Saunders. "Littlejohn, where's Peters?"
"In the back."
"Thanks." Doc passed out what he'd already gathered, adding his own two bars from his
bag. He found Peters sitting on a table, between the back door and a large window.
"Hey, Peters, we're leaving soon. Got any rations I can give to the villagers?"
Fishing around in his pockets, Peters was surprised to find a box of rations in his jacket.
"Well, what d'ya know? I actually do have something. Catch." He tossed the box to
Doc, who caught it and slipped it in a pocket. "So, what's the scoop, Doc? We headin'
home or what?"
"No. Lt. Hanley wants us to do a quick sweep on our way back. Sarge'll give a yell
when we're ready to go. At least we don't have to walk."
Peters chuckled and stretched his lanky frame. "Amen to that, brother."
After passing Peters' box of rations to a thin woman, crippled with arthritis, Doc went
back out to find Saunders. He found the sergeant sitting in the jeep, going over a map.
"Hey, Sarge. I forgot to get your rations."
His eyes never leaving the map, Saunders dipped a hand in his jacket, pulled out a box
and handed it to Doc. "Go tell the others to come on out. We need to go ahead and get
out of here."
"Will do, Sarge. Oh, thanks for the rations."
Saunders flapped a hand and returned to perusing the map. Doc went back to the church
and delivered the last box of rations. Catching Littlejohn's eye, he gestured to the door.
"Sarge says to go on out to the jeep. We're leaving."
Walking over to the bottom of the stairs, Littlejohn gave a shout. "Billy! Come on
down; we're leaving!" When he heard an answering shout from above, he nodded in
satisfaction and went outside. Doc made sure the canteen he left behind was full and
followed Littlejohn out to the jeep.
Having heard Littlejohn's bellow, Peters took one last glance out the window and
followed the others outside. He joined Littlejohn in the back and they both shifted to
make room for Billy when he climbed in.
Once everyone was settled, Saunders put the jeep in gear and turned back the way they'd
come. Making a left turn at the intersection outside the village, he headed them in a
southerly direction. They saw nothing but trees, hills and dirt roads.
It was after Saunders turned the jeep toward home that all hell broke loose.
They came over a hill, the road narrowing when it entered a tree-shrouded area, and had
barely gone ten yards before the sound of gunfire assaulted them. The bullets thumping
into the sides of the jeep seemed to come from everywhere and Saunders nearly lost
control of it when two of the tires blew out.
Bringing the jeep to a sliding stop, Saunders grabbed his Thompson and dove from his
seat. "Take cover!"
As the others scrambled for cover on the side of the road, Peters was hit and went down.
Littlejohn grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him to safety in the shallow ditch
bordering the narrow road. Billy slid in right next to him. Sarge ended up a few feet
away, his Thompson already answering the Germans' gunfire. Littlejohn spared a quick
glance around before opening fire himself. Doc was nowhere to be seen. Ducking as
bullets kicked up the dirt in front of him, Littlejohn took a quick moment to check on
Peters. The wounds looked pretty bad, but all he had was his meager field bandage.
What he needed was Doc's medical bag. And Doc.