The Complete Collection. William WhartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
My ears are thumping. The cold sweat is sticking on the hollow of my back. I have a phosphorous grenade on the end of my rifle and the tear-shaped, dark green, bulbous tip looms in front of me. In my fear, the whole field and the edges of the houses glow in rainbow colors.
Then it starts. It’s burp guns and some kind of heavy caliber machine gun; then mortars. The tanks must not be there yet. We break into a run. Somebody drops. It’s not Harrington or Richards. It’s Collins. I run past and he’s holding his left shoulder with his right hand. There’s blood. I keep running. One of the replacements falls. He has his hands over his face and he’s rolling down the hill. Then his hands come loose from his face and his arms flop out till they stop his roll. He’s not getting up. I sprint ahead of Morris. Shit, this is going to be a morning! I catch up to Richards and Harrington.
They’re hunkered down in a gully where the two hills meet, the one we’ve just come down and the one going up to Reuth. There’s water running along the gully. There’re flakes of ice on the mud and sticking to the grass. Richards is looking up over the edge of the hill and Harrington looks around at me. I point back.
‘Collins and one of the replacements got it!’
‘Shit!’
Richards doesn’t look back.
‘Fuckin’ hill’s covered with fuckin’ mines. Goddamned mashers with wires strung out and shoe mines, too, I’ll bet. Sons-a-bitches!’
There’s tracers flying over, singing like mad bees. Five stingers you can’t see for every buzzer you can. The rest of the squad’s squatting along the gully now. I look back and see the platoon coming over the hill. It’s going to be a real massacre, the crossroads all over again. We’ve got to do something; mortar’s going to start coming in any minute; we’re for sure under direct observation and when those tanks come up, we’re had. We’ve got to break out; get past the mine field and to the top of the hill. Over the top like WWI, wiping out machine gun nests! I’m thinking all this but I can’t move. I can’t talk. I’m squatting deep in the mud; the cold wetness is cooling where I’m chafed between my legs. I’m shaking and letting myself sink deeper in the mud. I can’t get myself to look around anymore. Harrington stands up.
‘The only way is to work up gradually, not go directly through the mines. They’re strung so we’ll trip ’em if we go straight up. It’s the only way!’
‘Yeah.’
Richards doesn’t move. He’s stuck there too. Harrington begins to crawl along the ditch.
‘Come on, Al. Let’s you and me try it. We can’t stay here! Shit, we’re all going to get killed!’
He moves off and I hate him. I follow him. I keep my eyes on the ground looking for mines. Twice, I step over thin wires between mines. I see one of the little pegs for a shoe mine. I get the shakes so bad, I’m stopped in my tracks. I can’t go on. I’m in the open and I can’t make myself go either way. It’s like on top of the gas tank; I’m paralyzed numb. Harrington is picking his way along. I don’t call out. I look back and Richards is gone. I feel alone. I can’t see anybody and I hope nobody can see me. I sink slowly to the ground.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. I know I should get out my entrenching tool and dig but I can’t make myself do it.
Then, I see somebody coming over the brow of the hill toward me. I scrunch lower. At first it’s just silhouettes, then I see the field green of a kraut soldier. Shaking, I bring my rifle to my cheek and feel for the trigger through my gloves. I pull and nothing happens. They keep coming. I push off the safety and pull again. There’s a tremendous kick. Only then, I remember I still have that phosphorous grenade on the rifle. It hits one of the soldiers and explodes with a flash.
‘Who the hell is that? Hold your fuckin’ fire.’
It’s Richards and he’s brushing madly at a kraut. I rush up the hill, forgetting the mines. I get there and help brush phosphorous off the kraut. He’s sitting on the ground. The phosphorous is like pieces of fire that burn through everything. The kraut is screaming and we brush madly to get all the pieces off. He peels off his overcoat and jacket, there’s a dark red spot on his side where the grenade hit.
‘What the fuck you doing back here? You’re supposed to be with Harrington. I’m using this fucker to pick a path through these fuckin’ mines for the rest of the platoon to get through. You get your ass after Harrington. Tell him to meet up with us at the pine trees just over the hill.’
I start going around the hill in the direction Harrington was going. Now, some mortar is coming in. I think one hits just over the hill in front of me, but then from the flash, I know it isn’t mortar. I start hurrying. I’m stepping over mine wires and past shoe mine triggers like I’m playing hopscotch. I don’t get it. A few minutes ago I couldn’t make myself move.
Harrington’s sitting on the ground. He’s holding onto his knee and rocking back and forth. His rifle’s on the ground beside him. He’s screaming!
‘My God, my God! Mother of God! Mother! My leg!! Oh my God!’
I drop beside him. His face is green. Blood is spurting out between his hands from his knee! I almost vomit when I see it. The bottom part of his leg, below the knee, is hanging by a piece of flesh. Jagged bones stick out from shrunken flesh. The other leg has fragments of shrapnel sticking through the cloth, through the boot, into the flesh. Harrington looks at me and his eyes are black holes.
‘Holy God! I’m bleeding to death! Stop it! Help me, Al! Jesus Christ, help me!’
My hands are shaking but I get my belt off. I wrap it tight where Harrington’s squeezing. I pull it taut and try to make it hold. My fingers are slippery with blood. I get the friction bar of the brass buckle to catch. Harrington lets go with his hands and there’s only a trickle. I take off my aid kit and pull out the bandage. I put the pad over the stump end and wrap the strings above the belt. I take out my canteen and make Harrington take the wound tablets. I’d forgotten the sulfa and try lifting the bandage to scatter it inside. Somehow, I’m making it. Harrington is leaning back on his hands and looking down at his leg hanging there cocked sidewise. The shoe’s been completely blown off and you can see the bones where the flesh is flayed away.
I’m afraid to pull any of the shrapnel pieces out of the other leg. Harrington’s sinking into shock fast. His face is completely white and he’s crying. The hell with Richards; I’m going after a medic. They’re probably all hanging back in the woods. I still haven’t said anything to Harrington. I try to steady my voice.
‘Don’t move! I’ll go get a medic!’
Harrington nods his head. He’s biting his lower lip and holding onto the leg that isn’t blown off. I carefully prop the stump of his other leg onto his helmet. I drive his rifle, barrel first, into the ground so the medics can find him. I look once more at Harrington and start back down the hill.
Jesus, the whole field is solid mines! I’m going against the lines of mines and stepping over one wire after another. I’m amazed I can do it. Maybe I’ve gotten past something in myself. About twenty yards down the hill, I look around to orient myself for bringing the medics back. Harrington lifts one hand; he’s been watching me. I wave and start down the hill again. I haven’t gone three steps when there’s a tremendous explosion. I look back and see Harrington’s limp body in the air. It twists once, then hits the ground with a bounce. I run back, jumping over mines and wires.
He’s torn in half. I can see through his stomach. There’s not a mark on his face and he’s already dead. His intestines glisten and slide in the last gushings of blood. I turn my head and throw up.
There’s no excuse to go back now. I get down on my knees carefully. Harrington must’ve had a shoe mine behind him, between his arms, all the time. He probably just lay back on it. I’m absolutely gripped with fear again.
I don’t know how long I stay there beside Harrington. It could’ve been two minutes or even twenty. My mind is going back and forth, not wanting to work.