When I first handed Bunt his M1941 Johnson Rifle, he took it with weak arms. Before our short boot camp, none of us had held a rifle with the intent of using it to take another man's life. Bunt held his rifle in his hands, staring at its brown stock where he would eventually rest it against his shoulder as he turned the world off for Germans who wanted nothing more than to do the same to him.
“Here,” I said to him, handing his Colt 1911 over to him after he strapped the rifle over his shoulder. “It can’t do much from a distance, but if you ever need a back-up plan, this is your life saver.” I put it into his hands and gestured that it goes into the empty holster attached to the left side of his belt.
“I’ve never held so many weapons at once, sir,” he replied back to me after sticking it into his holster that matched the black tint of his sidearms metal. “Is this rifle and pistol and knife and ammo really necessary? I was told this platoon wasn’t going to be engaging in any heavy combat, sir.”
His eyes finally met mine, no longer looking at his weaponry attached to his body. I sighed and knew this kid never had any intention of seeing this war from more than the Homefront. “I hope a time doesn’t come when we find we do need these guns. But unfortunately, those times are already here, we just don’t want to see it that way.” I handed him one last piece of equipment.
“I already have a cantina,” he said to me, holding up his hand to block me from passing it to him.
“I know. This one is for any extra booze we find. It helps you sleep on sleepless nights.” I pushed it into his hands.
“I prefer Crunch bars as a bedtime snack, sir.”
“Then hopefully you will get lucky with our next care package son.” He hadn’t been here for more than two hours, and the sun was already starting to set on his first day. “Why don’t you get settled in. Take your gear to the barracks and get to know your new brothers.”
‘Yes sir,” he said as he nodded his head and headed to the barracks tent in the middle of the camp. He looked back as he reached the tents opening, and again nodded at me. I nodded back this time, and he disappeared into the green tent.
“Say Clay, what exactly is this little group of us supposed to do out here in the woods,” asked Dog, his nose outlined like a pet due to his skin abnormality covering his face. “It’s been almost ten days and we haven’t even heard a gunshot ring through these trees. Wouldn’t we be more helpful to the effort if we actually fought some Germans?”
I was about to tell him our reasoning for holding our place, that we are the flank watch for our French allies, but I hadn’t the chance to respond before Bunt spoke up. “Why do you want to go into the fight. It's nothing but bloodshed beyond this forest. Who truly in their right mind wants to go and kill another person they have never met?” He looked from Dog to me and shook his head. “How could anybody want to march into a shooting zone?”
Dog didn’t respond and his face went cold. He leaned back against the log he propped himself up on and looked to the stars. I don’t know if he was counting them or not, but he gazed at them for a while. “Do you ever wonder what is beyond the parts of the sky we can see. Like, is there anything beyond that black abyss above us?”
Bunt looked up with him. He smiled, something I had not seen any member of my squad do in days. “I think that if you look beyond the stars, you see what you want. Whether it be the heavens above, or the future of your life. I think we can make the unknown what we want it to be.”
Vert and Doyle were also now looking up into the night sky with them, so I joined. Vert asked the group what it was they saw in the sky, although it was hard to make out if that’s really what he asked though his thick accent.
“Well,” Doyle replied, putting his arms around the Frenchman, “I see big breasted women reaching out to me, begging me to join them. Not a husband in sight.” He laughed hard at his own sight, and his French pal let out a chuckle as well.
Vert, smiling, said back to Doyle, “That is interesting, my friend. Because I see them pushing past you to get to me.” Doyle looked him in the eyes with a surprised expression. “Yes, yes. I see it clearly. They shove you aside and jump into my arms.”
Doyle was about to finish a remark about Vert being nothing but a wine drinking French something, but he was cut off by Bunt. “Clay, what do you see, sir?”
The men all looked to me now, none speaking. I looked up, and their heads followed to the bright, stary sky. Some of the lights were bright. Some were but a faint distant bulb that seemed to fade in and out. Then I saw. “I see five men who are far from home. They miss their families and friends. Life has seemed to change for them. Nothing is normal now. They sleep on cots that sit inches above a freshly thawed forest floor. It's quiet where they are, but the silence seems scarier than tank fire and screaming of broken bodies. It’s enough to drive them mad, but they don’t lose themselves, because they have each other. Soon, they will be back to their own respective homes, but still together in a way.” I looked back to the fire that separates me from them. “That is what I see, for us all.”
Nobody spoke. Vert and Dog shook their heads in agreement. This was not how our lives were supposed to be, and it is not how any life should come to an end. The only one at the fire who didn’t now look to the ground, was Bunt. His brown eyes reflected orange flames. He said only one thing. “Thank you, sir.”
Vert opened his cantina and took a swig of the whiskey he had in it. His face rejected its taste. “Oh no no. How is it you Americans drink this stuff. It has no sweetness.” He handed the container to Doyle, who swigged it and smiled. “Savage,” he said to him with a returning smile.
The cantina had been passed around the fire, reaching Bunt, who waved it past him. “No thank you,” he told Dog who now held it in his hands confused.
“What's the matter,” Dog asked him, looking down into the liquid as if it contained large bugs in it. “It’s just whiskey.”
“Yes,” Bunt agreed. “I don’t drink. I don’t care for the taste.”
Vert jumped in quick. “You see, it tastes like shit.” He pointed his index finger at the young boy. “Wine is so much better my friend. It tastes like sweet kisses from the finer things in life.”
Bunt smiled at Vert but assured him that it wasn’t just whiskey he didn’t care for. “It’s just one of those things I don’t really care for.” He chuckled, “I guess this makes me the odd one of the group now.”
Doyle responded, “What makes you think that you are just now being the weird one?”
“Doyle,” I spoke up, using my commanding tone. “Why don’t you do a perimeter check. After your done we can settle in for the night.”
“Of course,” he said, standing up, rifle in hands. The black metal reflected the orange glow that was slowly retreating into nothing. His brown muddy boots clomped away as he disappeared with the night at the edge of camp.
Bunt met my eyes across the weakening fire. “He was just playing, sir.”
“This is not the time to be disrespecting one another,” I said to him, looking from face to face. “Let that be known to us all.”
The others nodded again, not rebuttaling. Bunt still held his eyes to me. “Yes sir.” Then we all began to move ourselves to the sleeping tent.
I was about to stomp the fire out, when Doyle shouted “Hey,” and rushing feet could be heard moving past us in the edge of the darkness. “Intruders,” he shouted. “Two!”
Everybody held their rifles close to their shoulders, barrels pointed away from them. “Defensive positions men,” I commanded them. “Stay tight, and vigilant.” The four of us were back-to-back, Doyle was not spotted, and had gone silent. “Move towards the sound of where we last heard his voice,” but be quiet.”
We began a slow sweep in the direction of his voice, into the darkness. “Shoot on sight,” asked Dog.
“No,” I told them. “We don’t know if these are fleeing civilians. So far, we haven’t been shot at, so I'm not sure if this is an attack or spies. Whatever the case, we don’t want to fire our guns if we don’t have to.” We moved a few more feet, reaching the darkness that surrounds the edge of camp. “Vert, Dog, you two move that way. Find Doyle. Bunt, with me.”
We split, the others moving into the darkness where we last heard Doyle. Bunt and I began moving into the darkness that we heard the running coming from. It sounded only like one pair of feet, but Doyle shouted that there was two of them.
Bunt and I moved about 15 feet beyond the camp perimeter, with quiet steps. No fast steps, no speaking, no light. Bunt, behind me, tapped my shoulder. I turned to him, and he signaled to a large tree five feet ahead of us. Poking barely around the corner, was grey fabric from what looked to be the bottom edge of a coat. I nodded to him, and we began to separate, moving to each side of the tree to ambush the almost hidden person.
I reached the side of the tree first, and was pounced on by an unarmed man, struggling to overpower me. He succeeded, and held my rifle against my throat, pushing it down. The cold metal of it weighed down heavy, and it stopped the air from making its way into my lungs. I couldn’t call for help and could only see the angry eyes of an unknown man who was taking my life from me with my own weapon. I don’t remember seeing anything beyond his eyes, unsympathetic and full of hate. He seemed sure I wasn’t going anywhere special after he finished me off.
The unknown man changed his demeanor quick though, with his eyes going wide and his strength imminently fading away from the force that held my rifle to my throat. He stood up, dark red, crimson blood beginning to pour from his mouth. With him standing over me now, I kicked his left knee hard, and he fell to the damp ground, revealing Bunt standing wide eyed and shocked behind him. His knife was lodged into the man's back, deep into the skin. The man no longer moving or breathing.
I quickly caught my breath and rose to my feet. Bunt did not meet my eyes, as his stayed locked onto the knife he just lodged into this unnamed man's back. “Bunt,” I said to him, low voice to stay silent. “Bunt look at me.” He still stood frozen like the now motionless body in front of him. I leaned down and pulled the blade from its warm body, blood now oozing out from the puncture. “Bunt, look at me right now,” I commanded him, pushing the knife back into his hands after wiping it on my pants, staining them with a streak of red.
“I..I...I killed him,” he sputtered, looking only to me for a brief glance. “I stabbed him in the back.” He looked at the knife in his hands. “I just reacted when I saw him over you.”
I put myself in front of him, blocking his view from the dead man. I looked him in his eyes, and he finally locked his with mine. “Listen to me right now Bunt,” I told him low and direct. “You had no choice. It was either you did what you had to do, or he would have killed me and then you.” I paused, letting him take in what I just told him. “There was nothing that could have changed what just happened. There was no other way.” I shook his shoulders, making him snap back to the ground he stood on. “Bunt. Bunt do you understand me?”
Doyle followed me from the Barracks to the Amory, still trying to present his case. “Clay I just don’t see the reason to pack up camp and relocate. We captured the other spy so they couldn’t have found our location. For God's sake, they didn’t even have walkies or weapons,” he recited to me for the third time now. “Are you not overreacting?”
I answered him my reasoning for the third time. “Those men were here to keep tabs on us. They clearly had no firearms because they could not risk the noise. We don’t know how long they have been watching us, but when they do not check in with whoever the hell sent them here, an army of Germans may come marching through these trees. We are not staying and that is finial.” I bent down to the ground to begin packing up the materials we used to keep our guns clean.
“Clay please just stop and think. If we are not here when they come to possibly confront us, what are they going to do? Say forget about it and march back to base?” His face said he wanted to challenge me, but his eyes had trouble meeting mine. “They will search every inch of this forest until they find us. Have you not heard of the savages these Krauts have become? Look at the bruise on your throat.”
“I am alive dammit.” A beam of sweat moved from the side of my forehead, getting colder as it made its way down the side of my face in the chilled air. “I would like to keep us all alive. Staying here will not help me achieve that.”
“Bullshit,” shouted Doyle.
I stopped packing up grease for the guns and rose back to my feet. “What did you just say to me boy.” My body now faced him.
Doyle had his body ready to run the opposite direction, to sprint away from me in the event I decided to draw my revolver and shoot him down for speaking to me like that. I thought he just might, but then he squared himself with me. Stepping a foot closer, speaking directly to me, no studder, back straight to reach my height. “I said bullshit. This. Moving to a new location for the safety of us all. If you really wanted to keep us safe from harm's way, then march us back to the nearest base and request we all be relieved of duty.”
I kept my face straight. “You know I cannot do that.”
“Can’t take us home.” He stepped back and laughed. “But you can move us to a new location for the same shit to happen again. Probably worse. Ever heard of an eye for an eye?” He was shaking his head, now riled up more than I had seen him before. “No, I think I get it now. This is about the kid. What? He stabbed someone and now because he feels sad, we need to move ourselves far away from it? All you do is shield that kid from the world. Look around us Clay,” he started shouting. “This world doesn’t give a Damn about what we feel.”
I stepped to him, to bring his attention back to my point. “The world doesn’t care I know, but I do. I don’t want anyone else here to feel what Bunt is going through.”
Doyle looked amused at the thought of what I told him. “He killed one person who couldn’t even speak English and was about to kill you.” A smile grew on his face, like this conversation had turned into one big joke he was about to deliver the punchline on. “I stopped counting the third month I was on the field. I, however, did not lose my mind and become a liability.”
I pointed my finger to the ground, shouting “this is not about how many people we can kill and not feel anything about!”
“Then what is it! What makes Billy Bunt so special that he gets the special treatment,” demanded Doyle.
“The kid is nineteen and never even killed an animal before a month ago. He lived in some small town in the middle of Kansas. He knows more about barbeque sauce than the specific cartridges used in the .30 caliber rifle hanging on his shoulder,” I professed to Doyle. “This is not the world he wanted to live in. I am a military man. I served my time to be in this position because I wanted to, but he did not. Can you imagine if I told you to put a bullet in a person you do not know, because another person told them to do the same to you? That is what he feels. This is not his life, and I don’t know why we wanted it to be part of ours as well.” I stopped and sighed. “I’m doing this for his sake, because if I don’t, then it will destroy him before he has built anything to destroy. Do you understand?”
Doyle stood straight, contemplating what to say or do. He went to open his mouth but closed it before he could speak. His breathing was heavy, holding down what he truly wanted to say. A quick huff escaped his nostrils, and then he turned his body and marched off.
Six hours later, we had set up a new camp in the forest. Bunt still had not spoken about what happened the night before and would go on to keep it only to himself.
The casket was not open. Bunt's parents did not want their son remembered as a broken face with a hole in the side of it. I hadn’t actually seen his body, but it was something I wasn’t a stranger to. His mother cried, holding onto her husband's arm and wetting it with tears of pain. Beside his father, who consoled his wife and rubbed her back with the palm of his hand, was his sister. She looked to be an early teen, although the black made her seem older. She moved away from her parents to the casket, placing a hand on it.
I walked to the casket, and placed my hand on the sleek cold wood and gave it some of my warmth. She looked up at me, and eyed my blues decorated with pins and stars. “Who are you,” she asked me, not moving her hand from her brother's casket.
“I was your brother's commander in the army,” I told her. “My name is Johathan.”
“My name is Cassy,” she said. Cassy looked back to the casket she held onto. “Why did my brother have to go?”
I inhaled a deep breath and took my hand away from her brother. I faced her and kneeled down to where she stood. “You brother taught me something,” I told her. “Nothing is ever really gone, so long as you look for it.”
“Billy told you about the stars, didn’t he,” she asked. Her face was coming to a small smile.
I met her smile with one of my own and said “of course he did. Sometimes I thought he was a star, he shined so bright.”
“I wish he was still shining,” she said, looking down at her shiny black dress shoes.
“Cassy, you of all people know how to see your brother again. He taught you long before he taught me to look past the stars.” Her face lit up, reflecting the same shine her brother would beam out.
A voice behind us broke us apart. “Cassy, go see your Aunt Donna.” Her father was coming to us, her mother still teary holding onto his arm.
“Yes daddy,” she said, scampering to see Aunt Donna.
I rose to my feet, extending my arm out to shake his hand. “Hello Mr. Bunt, I am-”
“I know who the hell you are,” he said to me. “You're the man who commanded my son to be a killer for some war he shouldn’t have ever been a part of.”
His mother stepped in, tears coming down faster. “You killed my boy. You and your army drove him to shoot himself. He was my baby boy, and you took him from me,” she tried slapping my chest as she flailed herself at me, Mr. Bunt pulling her back.
“Honey, please,” he said, holding her in his arms. “I think you should go sir.”
“Of course,” I told him. I began to walk past them to the exit but said one last thing. “Your son was no fighter, and that’s why I liked him. He saw the world in a better light, one so many only see darkness in anymore.” I felt a tear coming to my eye. “I broke your boy, and I am sorry.”
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