He felt the slamming and ripping in his leg at the same time, the jacketed bullet hammering and shredding as he fell. Seventeen days!, he thought, I was so close!
The thunderous pounding of mortars and cannons faded as Lt. Reynolds crashed into a muddy pit, gasping for breath as his leg went from numb to blazing pain. His helmet rolled off and despite the agony, Reynolds scrambled after it. Training served for something. Rolling over on his back, the clammy squishy mud trickling under his shirt, Reynolds looked at his leg. The wound looked horrible, splattered with blood and dirt. Gingerly, barely breathing, he probed around the holes. No fracture. Reynolds looked around and couldn’t see any of his squad members, only some distant tanks rumbling eastward. The smell of cordite was almost gone.
 |
| Amidst the horrors of war, some things will always defy explanation. |
With a small motion, he tested his leg. The bolt of pain made him grit his teeth, but he knew that he could at least crawl closer to his lines. Another quick scan let Reynolds know the coast was clear, and with a quick gasp, he rolled over, rifle at the prone-ready position. No targets. No friendlies, either. Slowly, he thought, Keep the leg from bleeding out. He crawled for several minutes, his leg becoming a roaring wave of pain. Yard by yard, he moved closer to where he knew his men would find him.
Reynolds felt the steps before he heard them. Boots squelching the frigid mud, two, maybe three soldiers. He froze. The steps squelched closer. Germans! Two of them, ragged uniforms caked with mud. Reynolds shifted his weight to fire, but the movement caused such agony he barely stayed conscious, his rifle drooping into the clinging mud. The movement caught the eye of a German soldier, who grunted a warning. Both soldiers separated and crouched, their long-barreled rifles steady on the target.
Snipers, cursed Reynolds silently. One of them shot me. The tableau held for several seconds, the two Germans pointing their guns at the fallen lieutenant. Reynolds barely breathed, aware that not even pretending he was dead could save him now. Slowly, one of the Germans lowered his weapon. He peered closely at Reynolds, his grizzled, unshaven face displaying a weariness beyond time. Then, as if erased by magic, the weariness faded into a smile. He turned to his companion and uttered a liquid stream of syllables, pointing at Reynolds, then at his rifle. The other soldier stood up, stepped closer to Reynolds, then shook his head. The first soldier stood up and walked next to Reynolds, rifle held casually in the crook of his arm. He pointed to Reynolds’ left leg: There. And the smile grew even bigger.
The second soldier grunted, shook his head and spat into the mud, away from Reynolds. He looked disgusted as he dug into a shirt pocket and withdrew some bank notes. He slapped them into his companion’s hand as Reynolds watched the scene in wonderment. The paid-off soldier laughed and tucked the money into his own shirt pocket. Glancing down at Reynolds, he pointed to his own rifle and said slowly “Five…hundred…yards.” Then he thumped his chest with his thumb. The other soldier snorted a curse, to which the first soldier laughed.
Tipping his helmet, the successful sniper walked away. Reynolds watched as the two enemy soldiers slogged through the mud, heading northeast, talking energetically. He started to breathe again then stopped as he saw the sniper turn and run back towards him. Reynolds tried to clear the rifle barrel, but a short word from the German stopped him. The sniper was holding out some of the money, clearly offering it to Reynolds, but staying out of arm’s reach. He prompted Reynolds to take it, smiling sheepishly. As the lieutenant reached for the money, he asked “Why?”
Releasing the money, the German soldier shrugged and replied “You helped?” He shrugged again, laughing softly, then executed a snappily-precise salute, turned and jogged away to catch up to his comrade.
Reynolds slumped back, the limp bank notes crumpled in his hand. Seventeen days ‘til I go home, he thought again. I hope I can buy some cigarettes with this…
Announcing December 2011 Edition of "20 in 5"
Besides "Wages of War" and 19 other great stories, please buy the inaugural ebook edition of "20 in 5."
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