Chapter 13
“MacNeil, you’re on point. Let’s go,” Sgt. Murphy said as we set out on a reconnaissance detail a couple of days later.
Rusty looked totally befuddled, unsure of what to do.
“Sir, I can take point,” Johnny spoke up.
“Russo, how many times do I have to tell you to keep that stupid Wop mouth of yours shut? MacNeil’s taking point and that’s that.” He prodded Rusty with the tip of his rifle. “C’mon fuck-tard, let’s go.”
Rusty tentatively stepped forward, moving to the front of our little squad as we started down the road. I moved up until I was almost at his shoulder.
“You’ll be fine, Rusty,” I whispered so that only he could hear. “We’re right here with you. Let’s just keep moving and we’ll be there before you know it.”
“Let him be, Uke,” Murphy said.
“Don’t worry, Rusty, you’ll be fine,” I uttered under my breath before stepping back.
Most of the regiment was engaged in the battle for the town of Caen, about 15 miles south. A number of men were coming back from the front to the base of operations, their lifeless bodies wrapped in sheets or blankets. Many others were seriously injured and required urgent medical care, something the base was able to provide—at least a lot better than what they would have gotten at the front.
With the number of casualties mounting, we knew it was only a matter of time until our platoon was sent to help out at the front. In the meantime, similar to what had happened in the village of Poirier, our squad had been sent out a little further east this time, assigned to do some patrols of some villages and farm communities in those areas.
So we found ourselves trudging down one of the winding country roads of northern France, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. We’d walked about five miles with no activity, the men chatting amongst themselves as they kept their eyes scanning the countryside. I saw Rusty gripping his rifle tightly as he walked at the head of our little group. He looked as jittery as a flea on the skin of a snare drum. I wondered how much longer Murphy was going to leave him out there before putting someone else out front to relieve him.
“Hey Alex,” Johnny said as he stepped up next to me, “Did you ever hear what Murphy did for a job before the army?”
“Besides running for ‘Asshole of the Year’?”
“No, seriously. Have you heard anybody say?”
“No, I never did. That’s an interesting thought, though. What do you think? A minister, maybe?”
This brought a laugh from Johnny. A short distance ahead, the tops of some houses in a small village came into view. A few hundred yards off to the left, through the trees I could see a farmhouse set back a short distance from the road. I could hear the bocking sound from a chicken coop in that direction and saw a few cows peacefully lulling in the field next to the house, their faces nibbling at the grass.
“A minister, that’d be a joke,” said Johnny. “Hey, even better; with that unmistakable warmth he exudes when dealing with immigrants, maybe he’s our Minister of Foreign Affa—”
“Bonjour, Yankee!”
BANG!
My eyes flicked in the direction of the squeaky little voice as a shot rang out. Two little kids, a boy and a girl, had stepped out from behind a tree and called to us. Startled by their words, Rusty had turned and fired without thinking. The little girl dropped to the ground as a spray of blood went up from her shoulder.
“AAAAIIIIEEEEE!” The boy screamed as he turned towards his sister, the shrill sound piercing the air like a knife.
“Oh shit!” Harry said from beside me as he and Johnny tore off towards the two kids.
“CLAIRE! GASTON!” I looked up as a woman emerged from the farmhouse and called for her two children, another young girl behind her. A man came running from behind the house, a shovel in his hand.
“MAMA!” the boy cried out, looking to his mother for help. The family came running, having seen the girl lying on the ground.
Harry reached the little girl first and quickly pulled the first aid kit out of his pack. Although he hadn’t had any real training, Harry was the closest we had to a medic. He wasn’t squeamish at all when it came to dealing with blood and minor injuries, and he seemed to naturally know what to do.
“Johnny, open your canteen,” Harry said as he tore open the sleeve of the little girl’s dress. I could see that the girl was conscious, moaning in pain, looking totally dazed.
“CLAIRE!” the mother said as she dropped to her knees and cradled her daughter’s head in her lap.
“She’s going to be fine, Mam,” Harry said calmly as he poured water over the bloody wound. From the way the blood had sprayed up when she’d been hit, I thought the bullet had hit her in the shoulder. But when Harry cleaned away the blood, you could see it had hit her in the upper arm, the wound looking not nearly as bad as I originally thought.
The little boy hung on tightly to his father’s leg while his teenage sister stood and stared as her little sister lay sprawled on the ground. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized the kids were only about seven or eight years old. The poor little things had noticed we weren’t German and were only trying to welcome us.
Sam spoke to the mother in his broken French. I was shocked by what I was hearing. He had spoken to us like he was some kind of uncouth bumpkin, but when it came right down to a time like this when we really needed it, I could tell that he was quite fluent. The distressed mother fired back quickly, her face alight with both rage and motherly concern. She spoke quickly, far too quickly for Sam to understand completely, but he seemed to nod at the right places anyway. When he responded, whatever he said did seem to calm her somewhat.
“It looks like the bullet went clean through, thank God,” Harry said as he rolled the little girl over slightly and wiped the back of her arm. The blood was still oozing out, but it looked a hundred times better once he’d cleaned it. “Johnny, tear me some strips of those bandages.”
With Johnny’s help, Harry quickly started swaddling the girl’s arm, the initial bandages quickly turning red. “We’ll just wrap this nice and tight for you, sweetheart,” Harry said calmly as he grabbed another strip of material and started circling it around her skinny little arm.
“Mama,” the little girl said as she looked up at her mother, tears rolling down her cheeks. Hearing her speak and look at her mother with loving eyes made us all sigh with relief.
“Okay,” Harry said as he tied the final bandage tight and sat back on his haunches. “Let’s get her into the house and put a blanket around her. I don’t want her going into shock.”
“Dans la maison, dans la maison,” Sam pointed to the house as Johnny reached down and scooped up the little girl.
As the group moved up to the farmhouse, I turned to see what had happened to Rusty. In the rush to help the little girl, I’d forgotten all about him. He was standing in the road, his rifle hanging limply at his side as he stared at the spot where the little girl had fallen. I could see his whole body quivering, his bottom lip trembling.
Sgt. Murphy turned and stormed in his direction. “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED, MACNEIL?” he roared into Rusty’s face.
Rusty stepped back, frightened to death. “I…..I……,” he stammered.
“YOU STUPID FUCKING RETARD!” Murphy said as he reached across his body and threw a vicious backhand that caught Rusty square on the jaw.
“AAAHH!” Rusty groaned loudly as his head snapped back. He dropped to one knee, his rifle clattering on the road as it fell from his hands. The group of us rushed forward.
“You useless piece of shit,” Murphy said as he launched a kick into Rusty’s midsection. The young man doubled over, coughing and gasping.
“TAKE IT EASY, SARGE!” Bill said as he grabbed the sergeant by the shoulder and pulled him back. Tom grabbed Murphy by the other arm as I raced towards Rusty. I could see Murphy struggling to get loose as I reached down and helped Rusty to his feet.
“
GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” Murphy shrugged out of the grasp of the two men, who stood and blocked his way. He stepped back, huffing and puffing, his face a deep crimson. “Fuck it,” he said under his breath as he turned and strode off towards the farmhouse.
I turned back to Rusty, who was leaning against me, gasping as he tried to get some air back into his lungs. His mouth hung open, spit hanging off his lip and snot running from his nose as he wheezed and coughed. He has a nasty red mark along his jaw where Murphy had hit him, but he seemed to be okay. With the force of that backhand, I was surprised his jaw hadn’t been dislocated.
“Rusty, are you okay?” I asked once his breathing started to slow down a little.
“Alex, I…..I shot her,” he said, tears rolling down his cheeks as he wiped away a snot runner with the back of his hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said, trying to speak to him in a calm soothing voice. “Everybody knows it was an accident; that you didn’t mean it. And it looks like she’s going to be fine. The bullet went clean through her arm. Harry took good care of her.” He looked incredibly sad. I’m sure I would have felt the same if it had been me in his position. “How’s your jaw?”
“What?” he asked innocently, instinctively bringing his hand up and rubbing it along the red mark.
“Your jaw, where the sergeant hit you? Is it okay?”
“The sergeant hit me?”
He looked terrified, like a baby animal trapped in a cage. He must have been so shaken up after shooting the girl that he’d kind of blanked out everything that had just happened. It scared the shit out of me seeing him like this.
“Here, take a drink of this,” I said as I passed him my canteen. He gulped deeply, emptying the canteen in one shot. He passed it back, his hand returning to rub gingerly along his jawline.
“C’mon,” Bill said, “let’s go up to the house and see how the kid is doing.”
While the others walked ahead, I picked up Rusty’s rifle and slung it over my shoulder. “You okay to walk?” I asked.
“Sure.” He looked at me questioningly and then winced as he took a step forward, his hand reaching for his stomach. He’d blocked out the kick the sergeant had given him as well.
“C’mon, lean on me if you need to,” I said. He put his arm over my shoulder and we walked slowly up to the farmhouse. His labored breathing lessened with each step and he walked the last few yards on his own, his hand still pressed against his tender stomach. When we reached the door, he stopped dead in his tracks and just stared at the door, the torn screen waving gently in the breeze.
“Do….do you think it would be alright if I asked to see her?” he said.
“I think that would be okay. Let me go see.”
I went inside and saw the men gathered around a couch in the small house. The girl was lying on the couch, wrapped snugly in a blanket with her mother sitting beside her. Harry was kneeling beside them and I watched as he gave the girl a needle.
“There,” he said as he carefully withdrew the needle from the girl’s uninjured arm. “She should sleep for a while now. It looks like she’s going to be fine.” He turned to Sam. “Tell them to make sure they clean those bandages every day, and watch for any infection. Other than that, I think she should be up and running around in the next few days.”
The family looked from Harry to Sam, who nodded and translated. He pointed to the girl’s arm a number of times and they nodded as Harry passed over some bandages.
“Okay,” a calmed-down Murphy said, “everybody outside. Let’s give the kid some air.”
While the others left, I eased over towards Sam until I stood next to him.
“Sam, could you ask if it’s okay for Rusty to come in and see her?”
He paused for a second as his eyes flicked to the worried family, wondering if it was the right thing to do. He finally reached a decision. “Sure,” he said as he turned to family and spoke once more. He gestured towards the road and seemed to be explaining what had happened, and then I saw him point to the door as he spoke quietly. The husband and wife looked at each other before the mother turned to Sam and gravely nodded.
I went and got Rusty who stepped inside. I could see the sadness in his eyes as he slowly made his way across the room towards the little girl. He knelt down next to her and took her hand. She looked at him timidly, somehow knowing that this was the man who had shot her. Tears rolled down Rusty’s cheek as he took her hand and pressed his forehead against it. The mother’s eyes were brimming with tears as she watched Rusty, and a shimmering trickle rolled down her cheek as she heard him weep.
Different languages meant nothing; words were unnecessary to convey the feeling of intense sorrow Rusty was feeling as he asked for forgiveness. The girl sensed it too, and with the innocence of a child, she drew back her delicate little hand and laid it tenderly on the side of his face. He looked up into her eyes, and as her fingers stroked gently over his cheek, she smiled. I saw the warm feeling of gratitude come over him as he looked into the girl’s forgiving eyes. He turned and delicately kissed the girl’s hand, the simple act of a child’s smile having soothed the pain within both of them.
“Sam,” Rusty said as he reached into his pocket, “tell them I want her to have this.” He drew forth his harmonica, the gift his parents had given him on his tenth birthday.
Sam translated, and the story seemed rather lengthy as he pointed from Rusty to the mouth organ and back again. I heard the words ‘dixieme anniversaire’ in there and knew Sam was relating where the harmonica had come from and how much it meant to Rusty.
“Non, non,” the mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. I could see the compassion in her eyes as she looked at Rusty. She could sense that this innocent young man had never intended to harm her little girl and would have done anything to take back what he had done.
“Please, I really want her to have it,” Rusty continued. “I….I might not make it out of this war alive, and I want her to take care of it for me, to love it as much as I do.” He held it out towards the little girl as Sam translated.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, the mother nodded, knowing that Rusty needed to do this to ease his guilt. Rusty gently pressed it into the little girl’s hand; her soft smile of thanks lighting up the whole room. She brought the harmonica to her mouth and blew.
HMMMMMMM……
The warm sound settled over us as her delicate breath flowed through the instrument. She drew it back and looked at Rusty, a big smile spreading over her face. He smiled back, reached forward and gently smoothed back her hair before getting to his feet. The mother drew the blanket up around her daughter again as the little girl pulled the prized harmonica beneath the cover. She smiled at Rusty once more and her eyes closed as she drifted off to sleep, the needle Harry had given her doing its work.
The rest of us quietly left the room, joining the others who had gathered outside. Rusty stuck close to me, keeping a wary distance from the sergeant.
“Well, how is she?” George asked.
“I think she’s going to be fine,” Harry said. “It looks like a pretty clean wound, and as long as there isn’t any infection, there shouldn’t be any problem. She just needs some rest right now. With a little kid like that, she should be up and running around in no time.”
“That’s good,” said Sgt. Murphy. “For MacNeil’s sake, I think it best if we just forget about everything that happened here today.” He paused as he looked around at all of us. I’m sure that what he was actually thinking was that it was in his own best interest if we all forgot about what had happened. I’m sure he wasn’t too keen on Capt. Crocker finding out about what he had done to Rusty. “So, is everybody clear?” he said as he looked around at everyone once more. “We’re just gonna pretend this unfortunate little episode never happened.”
“Yes Sir.” A chorus of agreements answered.
“Alright, l think we all need a break.”
We moved into the shade of a big tree behind the house as
the husband came out with the teenage daughter. She carried two big loaves of bread cradled in her arms.
“Monsieur,” the man said as he spoke to Sam. The man gestured to the loaves of bread and then nodded to Sgt. Murphy, who he could tell was in charge of our little group.
“For our help in fighting the Germans,” Sam said as he turned to the sergeant, “he has only these two loaves of bread to offer. He said he would be grateful if you would accept them.”
I watched as Murphy looked past the man to the young girl holding the bread. He had that same look in his eyes that he’d had when he was eying up that young girl in the tavern. My eyes flicked over and I saw Johnny watching Murphy closely as well.
Murphy walked over close to the girl who handed him one of the loaves with an innocent little smile on her face. He smiled back at her, that sick smile of his that just sent a chill down my spine. He brought the bread to his nose and inhaled the warm yeasty smell. He stepped closer to the girl and I watched as he breathed deeply once more, searching for her scent like an animal in heat.
“Thank him,” Murphy said to Sam, “but tell him we know how difficult things are for them and we don’t want to take their food.”
As Sam translated, I watched closely as Murphy handed the loaf back to the girl, setting it on top of the other one she was holding to her chest. As he released the bread, I saw his hand trail deftly over her budding young breast, with only the material of her simple farm dress separating his fingers from what was lying beneath. As his hand moved away, I saw her flush, wondering if what had just happened had been intentional or if she was just imagining it. I looked over at Johnny, who had seen the same thing. We both knew it had been no accident.
“Tell him we thank him for his offer,” Murphy continued, “but let him know it would be fine if his daughter here helped us fill our canteens from their well.”
“No need to trouble them, Sir,” Johnny said as he hopped to his feet. “I’ll take care of it. C’mon guys, pass over your canteens.” He spoke quickly and moved from one guy to the next as he gathered the canteens, not even letting Murphy get a chance to interrupt him.
Sam spoke again to the Frenchman and pointed to the well. The man nodded before he and the rattled teenage girl disappeared back into the house. A disgruntled look appeared on Murphy’s face as he watched Johnny collect the canteens.
“Let me give you a hand,” I said as I started collecting the metal containers from the other guys Johnny hadn’t gotten to.
“Did you see that?” I said as I held one canteen beneath the spout while he pumped the handle.
“Oh yeah,” Johnny replied.
“Murphy had that same look in his eyes that he had with that girl back at Finnegan’s.”
“He’s just a fucking pig. I hope we move on out of here in a few minutes. I don’t trust the guy around young girls like that. Away from any laws that he knows, who knows what the hell might happen.”
I nodded as we continued to fill the canteens. When we returned, the guys were slouched down under the shade of the tree, most of them enjoying a smoke.
“Where’s the sergeant?” Johnny asked as we passed back the canteens.
“I think he said he was gonna take a look in that barn they’ve got over there and see what kind of animals they’ve got,” Chester said as he flung his hand in the direction of a little barn they had on the other side of the house from where the well was. That’s why we hadn’t seen him.
“That girl that brought out the bread, did you see her at all?”
“Naw, I don’t think so.”
“I saw her come out of the house carrying some kind of basket,” Harry said. “I think she was headed over that way too before the sarge left.” Harry nodded towards the barn as well.
“Oh shit,” Johnny said under his breath. He looked at the barn and started in that direction.
“Johnny! Do you want me to come with you?” I asked.
“No, just stay here. I’ve got this,” he said as he strode off towards the barn.
I nervously watched as he stepped between the open barn doors. At the same time, I heard a raucous bocking coming from the chicken coop that was set off a short distance from the barn.
“Oh shit,” I thought to myself as I instinctively started towards the coop. Harry had said the girl had been carrying a basket. In all likelihood, she’d been sent out to gather the eggs. I walked rapidly to the ramshackle structure as my heart started racing anxiously.
“You’re a pretty little thing.” I heard Murphy’s sickening voice come from inside just as I stepped in front of the open door. My body blocked out most of the light entering the little structure as I looked inside. The girl was leaning against one side of the little corridor running along the center of the coop, the basket clutched tightly in her hands. Murphy had his hand on her arm. As the shadow cast by my body fell on the wooden planks of the floor, they both looked at me. The girl’s eyes were alive with fear while Murphy’s head snapped in the direction of the door, having been caught once more. He quickly drew back his hand from the girl and faced me aggressively.
“What do you want, Uke? You’re supposed to be taking a break.”
The girl leaned against the shelves of noisy chickens; her body shaking like a leaf. I’m sure she was wondering if I was some additional hell sent to terrorize her.
“Sir, we’re all ready to move out, Sir,” I said flatly, my heart racing like a runaway steam engine.
“In a few minutes, Private. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said sternly, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
“No Sir. We’re ready to go now, Sir.” I steeled myself for whatever might happen, but I had no intention of leaving this girl alone with him.
Sensing her chance, the girl dropped the basket and rushed past him, almost knocking me over as she flew by me. I could see him steaming as he looked at her run back into the farmhouse, his sordid plans ruined by us once more.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” he said as he strode purposely past me, shoving me aside.
“Alright, let’s move out,” Murphy instructed as he got back to the rest of the guys, who groaned in complaint. “NOW!” His roar at their dissent had them jumping to their feet as he moved off towards the road, getting as much distance between himself and the farmhouse as quickly as possible. I’m sure he didn’t want the father coming out after him with a shotgun. We could possibly explain Rusty having shot the girl accidentally, but if Murphy had to explain why he’d had to kill an innocent French farmer, that was something I’m sure he didn’t want to face.
“What happened?” Johnny said as he came running up and joined us. “He wasn’t in the barn.”
“He was just in the outhouse taking a leak,” I said.
With Johnny’s temper when it came to Murphy, I figured it was best that he not know what had happened, at least for now. No sense in throwing gas on a fire. I had a feeling that if things kept up, and if the war didn’t kill us first, there was going to be a confrontation between the two of them at some point. It was also possible that both of them would end up in the stockade—Johnny for theft of the painting and Murphy for assault, or, as I thought about the young farm girl, something much worse.