We're Not In Europe Anymore...

July 3, 1944

Somewhere in the French countryside...

Lee wiped his forehead of sweat as he lay on the mound of earth from which the large thick hedgerows grew. His rifle lay on the top of the mound where the hedges started, barrel through the leaves, a small pair of reconnaissance binoculars sitting next to it. He shook the sweat from his hand before bringing the binoculars to his eyes, scouting the open field beyond the hedge for enemy movement. Nothing. As it had been for some time now. More sweat replaced what he wiped. Lee had never minded the summer, hell, it was much cooler here in France than the summers back home, but he hated this damned humidity. Laying there for a few more minutes he tried to ignore the sweat rolling down his face by focusing on his task, but when it started to run into his eyes he forced his arm up to wipe away at his face with his sleeve.

"You okay there?" A voice asked him.

Lee rubbed away the stinging and glared beside him, where Davis was lying next to him, aiming down his scope. They only had one pair of binoculars, but Davis’s sniper scope worked just as well.

"Yeah, it's just this damn humidity that's killing me." Lee replied.

Davis didn't take his focus away from his scope, "Rain will do that."

Lee sniffed, "True. But that doesn't make it any less annoying." He wiped again, then turned his attention to his rifle.

"Just try not to think about it, we're all damn ugly out here, but you just got to get used to it, so stop bitching about it."

Lee glared at Davis for a moment, whose slender face was slick with sweat, and whose large, forward chin—that almost looked out of place on his slender face—glistened in the sun. He never took his hazelnut eyes away from the scope. Lee shook his head with a smirk.

"I'll try."

Davis's nod was barely noticeable.

Sometime later, the sound of chunking of equipment and footfalls caught their attention, Davis finally looking away from the scope lens.

Willis came down and crouched next to them, "Anything?" he asked.

Lee shook his head, "Not a single trace of the Germans."

"Good. Cause the Lieutenant just called for everyone to meet back with him for new orders. We'll be moving out in a bit."

“Are we finally moving up with the rest?” Lee asked.

Willis shrugged, “I’m not sure, he didn’t say. But it’s likely.”

They nodded, "You go on. We'll be right behind you." Davis told him, already moving to grab his pouches and knapsack.

"Well alright, meet you back there." Willis got back on his feet and moved through the small field behind them and disappeared behind another hedgerow.

It didn't take the two long to get their gear and get moving back to camp. It was less than a five-minute jog through a few fields before they made it back to their temporary encampment, a small abandoned farmhouse that had been left behind as the front moved East from the Channel. It was structurally sound, despite one of the walls being blown to hell, but it worked. The fields around it had a few craters that showed evidence of artillery strikes, though why they would fire on a small family farm no-one knew. Out front were a few of their fellow platoon members, conversing mostly, one of them smoking.

They moved in through a broken door on their side—they had come to face the side of the house—and were greeted with the smell of soot and body odor. They entered through the doorway into a kitchen. It wasn't much: a table, some chairs, a counter, and a brick cooking place, the shutters over the blown-out window swayed lightly in the wind.

“Hey Davis, Lee, good to see you too made it back." They turned to Johnson. He was looking over his gear while sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall.

"Johnson." Davis nodded his presence, "Just got back, hear the Lieutenant got new orders for us. You know where he's at?"

Johnson answered, "In the main room, just down the hall." He flicked his head to the hallway that lead to the other rooms of the house. Davis headed there.

"He brief any of you yet?" Lee asked him.

"No. He hasn't called for any of us yet, I don’t think."

"Hmm." Lee approached the small water outlet next to the counters; one of the rarer things to find was running water, out in the French countryside. He wet his face and savored the coolness it brought, rinsing away the sweat.

Johnson continued cleaning his kit.

Lee leaned against the counters and drank from his canteen, watching Johnson's small hands wipe at some grime on his Garand. He was a small man, skinny and lean.

"Did you spot anything out there?" He asked running the rag along the wood.

"If we did, you think I would be sitting here chatting?"

"No. We would be off to kill some krauts."

Lee smirked.

They sat around for a while. Lee drank from the cool reserve of water that the faucet provided for him. Johnson hummed a tune as he worked.

"Hey you two, Lieutenant’s giving the brief!" Davis called down from the hall.

Lee and Johnson followed him back to where all the men were situated in what was once a family room. The windows were of course blown out, and some of the furniture and other pieces of fragile belongings were scattered around. In the middle of the room was a small table with equipment thrown about it, as well as a small tactical map. Lieutenant Castillo, an average sized man with a gaunt face, and tired eyes, was standing over it. With him was Private Grauer, their field communication’s officer. He was young, and the newest edition to the group. His field radio was laid on the table.

"Alright people, let's make this quick. I just got word from Rodgers that the regiments are on the move again, and you know we have our orders. Rodger's men have already started moving along to the meet-up point for the Division, so we need to catch up to watch the flank." He pointed down to the map. "Vessel is little more than thirty miles North-east of here, and so long as we don't run into any opposition, we should make it there before tomorrow while we move up through the country. Private Grauer will let us know if any of the other platoons run into any major resistance, and if they do, we will have to change course to relieve them if necessary. Any questions?"

He was answered with the shakes of heads.

Castillo nodded, "Good. You all know the routine, grab your gear and let’s move!"

The group dispersed.

The rain began to fall again on the second hour of marching. It was a heavy rain that fell cold and hard onto the Earth below. After some time, the rain took its toll on the landscape, muddying the ground the men trudged forward on, making the march much more exhausting than it was otherwise want to be.

They now came upon more hedgerows; of which they had not seen many in the last hour as they moved through the rolling farms and hills of France. They had broken away from the maze of hedges a while ago and had turned to marching through the open farmlands where maneuvering was easier. They came to regret that decision when the rain started falling en masse. But thankfully, the fields gave them an almost disturbing lack of enemy resistance.

The hedges they came to were just as long and just as thick as those they’d had to move through awhile back, which came with the feeling of familiarity to the troops. Despite this, they were still just as unwelcoming and nerve-wrecking as such a sight had always been. At least for someone like Lee. He moved his gaze down the long line of hedges carefully, watching for anything that might be moving, though the task proved harder as the sheet of falling rain blinded him from anything that could possibly be moving on the other side, watching them as they slowly pushed towards the line. A few of the men were conversing over the howling of the rain.

Private Garcia grumbled, “For the love of…I wish this damn rain would have just stayed put. We could have been to Vessel by now if we weren’t caught in this shit.”

“Oh, quite your bellyaching would ya’ now? We know it sucks, but be glad it’s cool rain, and not the heavy hot stuff. Besides, we don’t exactly smell like the gifts of spring. I’m happy to get a nice rinse. Can’t remember the last time I had a nice shower. I think it was back on the ship, last I recall.” Corporal Herrera said.

Garcia rolled his eyes.

“We’ll take a rest before moving along again, by the looks of things, we might just have to enter the rows again if we want to beeline it for Vessel.” Castillo shouted back as he pulled his sunken foot out of the clingy, muddy, earth.

They eventually made it to the side of the hedges and the men caught their breaths. Corporal Madison poked his head through the thick hedge. It wasn’t a solid road as he had hoped. But it was what he expected, another open field between the hedge lines. He couldn’t see far due to the blanket of thick, misty rain, but he could make out the shell craters that littered it, a ruined two-story barn, an actual farm house, and a tree line. He pulled his head back through the hedge.

“Anything, Madison?” Castillo asked.

“Another field, sir. This one was shelled to shit. There’s a barn to the left side, a window facing us, a house on the right side, and what looked like a small wood on the far end. I didn’t see any Germans, sir.”

Castillo nodded, “Good. No krauts in the field. What about the barn? Or the house?”

“I couldn’t tell sir, they’re both about fifty yards out I’d say. Not far. But I can barely see right now. Damn rain.”

“Alright, we need to check them just in case. Miller, take your men up to the barn. Clear it if you need too.” Miller nodded, “Sergeant Moore, keep a hold here in case we need some support.”

“Yes sir.” Moore replied.

“I’ll take the house. If you find Germans, you know the drill. If you’re clear, wait for the others to signal before moving out of there, just in case. Squad Two on me!” The men broke off to their own squadrons of five men each. They all removed their heavy excess equipment belts and knapsacks and placed them in piles according to their squad and person.

Lee was in Squad One under Sergeant Miller, with him was Davis, Grauer, and Corporal Summers. After falling in on Miller, they cautiously began moving towards the barn house. Moving around the large impact craters and the mounds of earth around them. They watched the window with their breath held, ready to move.

No gunfire.

Castillo took his team forward, trekking forward twenty yards to their right. Miller followed up with them and made it to the front of the worn barn without any difficulty, one of its large double doors creaking as they swayed on their hinges.

Summers carefully pushed the loose door open with a hand and brought his rifle forward.

They crept into the poorly lit room. The air was thick with the particles of hay, dust and dirt that floated around, visible in the few streams of light that entered from outside. The floor was dirt and hardened mud, and there was a rank stench of manure and old wood. They stepped into the larger chamber where mounds of hay and a few stalls where live-stock had been kept lined the walls. They scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary in a ruined hay barn, such as German soldiers.

Lee followed up the group in the rear, scanning around and poking through a few hay mounds. In doing so, he noticed the ladder that the others must have missed somehow. He turned to alert the Sergeant. But the crack of a gun went off and echoed through the empty barn.

Summers found a bullet in the back of his head.

There was the sound of distant gunfire, followed by the blast of an explosion

Lee looked to Summers as his corpse fell forward into the dirt, brain matter and blood pooling under him. He didn’t realize that Miller was firing his Thompson at some unseen enemy until the thump of a body falling next to him broke his trance. He looked to the body to see it was a young Wehrmacht trooper covered in hay, a rifle still in his hands as blood pooled around him.

“Holy shit.” Lee breathed as he recovered himself.

The gunfire had ceased.

Grauer moved to check Summers, though he knew he they could do little for him. Davis proceeded to check the hay platform, patting Lee on the back before going up the rickety ladder. Miller said nothing but moved to the other end of the barn to check the stalls. Lee felt sick as he stared on at Summer’s corpse.

The platoon was gathered in the field between the two buildings they had just liberated from German control. They all stared down at the two mounds of dirt where Summers and Corporal Madison were buried. Paying their respects. Madison had been killed by a grenade, his legs dismembered, he bled out. Down a-ways, six other dirt mounds held the enemy.

“We lost two good men today, may their sacrifice not be in vain. And may God have mercy on them.” Castillo mumbled his usual short speech before stuffing their dog tags in one of his pouches. He turned away to face his men. “We still have some twenty miles to march people, and a small forest in our way and I would like to get a move on before it gets dark. Pay your respects and meet me in the house.” He said before walking into the ruined house. The silence lingered for some time as they stared at the mounds.

Moore was the first to join Castillo in the house, followed by Miller, with them being the most experienced they had lost many men before. The rest followed shortly after.

Davis stopped when he noticed Lee still looking before where Summers was buried. “Hey. We’re moving on. Come on.” Davis said.

Lee shook his head, “Son of a bitch Dave, I was supposed to take rear, I should have checked above. We even saw the window before we crept up to the damn place.”

Davis put a hand on his shoulder, “Nothing shot at us then, we didn’t really think too much of it because of it. Hell, I glanced back up there, I saw the ladder when we walked in. I didn’t see anything so I didn’t call it out. It wasn’t anyone’s fault he’s dead but the bullet that killed him and the kraut that shot it. Don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ve seen men die in front of us. But it’s war Lee, it happens.”

Lee exhaled through his nose, “I know Dave. Hell, we're soldiers, I shouldn't be feeling like this. But fuck I know I could have done something about it. I honestly didn’t know Summers all that well, but I know him and Brown were pretty damn good friends. I know he’s probably hurting.”

"We was with us before you even got assigned to our little group, I knew him well. Most of us did except for you, Johnson and Grauer. Hell, even Madison was with us for awhile." Davis sighed, “The one main thing the Army told us not to do, and this is why.”

Lee turned to him, “What are you talking about?”

“The one thing we’re not supposed to do Lee, is care about each other. It's not an actually rule of coarse, but I know my commander reminded us more than once about that. But damn, no matter what you do, it happens anyways.” He gave him a warm smile.

Lee smirked, “Well, it’s good to have a few friends when you’re trying to dodge bullets, they can be pretty helpful.”

Davis patted him on the shoulder a few times, “Come on. We don’t want the whole mission held up by two over emotional soldiers crying their eyes out.” He said sarcastically. They both saluted their fallen comrades before heading towards the house. Lee gave the graves of the dead Germans a quick glance before shaking his head.

They moved on.

Castillo glanced at his watch, 5:23 PM.

The wood the men stood before was made up of many thin trunked, broad-leafed trees. They were densely packed together, though. ‘The perfect ambush spot’, many of the men thought. It was indeed, the perfect place to hide. Men, guns, nests, bunkers, tanks. Anything could be in there. Or nothing at all. No-one could possibly know.

Castillo and Grauer were knelt down with the field radio and a tactical map. The rest of the men waited for orders, and took the time to rest and unwind by smoking and chatting. Some had started a game of cards.

"I raise. One gum." Moore said. They were not really betting at the moment, lest, not physically. But every man made a mental note of who owed who. The pot was currently 2 cigarettes, plus a piece of gum.

"Fold." Willis said.

Wilson scowled at Moore, "Fold."

"Call." Johnson said. Not knowing the loss he just committed too.

He showed his hand, a three of a kind with tens. He was alright at cards, but was new to playing with the sergeant, his experience lacking.

Moore nodded holding his poker face, "Not a bad hand kid." He showed his own hand. A full house.

"Son of a bitch." Johnson muttered.

Lee listened in to their game as he drew a sketch of the landscape he was facing, vast open farmlands, hedges seen in the distance along with the farm they had fought through. Davis sat along side him, watching.

After some time, Castillo stepped forward, his usual expressionless face scanning the men under him.

“Alright people, form up on me. Rodger’s group is caught up assisting James’s company in a little mess they got themselves into tailing some scattered remnants of a company part of the German 921st that was fleeing away. Probably towards Vessel. So they haven’t matched our coverage yet. But we have orders to head in anyway for the purpose of scouting the area out.”

“Wait, we’re going in there alone, without any chance of support if we need it?” Miller said, “We’ll be sitting ducks out there if we run into anything bigger than a company.”

“Yes, I see your concern Sergeant. But word is the Germans are on a full retreat East, Vessel apparently got shelled to shit and the Germans cleared out already, and the regiments are behind us by a few miles.”

Corporal Brown spoke up, “They may be retreatin’ but that doesn’t mean they didn’t leave behind a little something in our way.”

“I expect nothing less. We saw that by the few ones we just KIA-ed. But I doubt they would leave anything behind that’s big enough to fight elsewhere. The enemy is desperate elsewhere at this point; they won’t leave tanks to idle around in a small wood waiting for something to pass by.” He peered into the trees. “Besides, from the look of the trees here, this thing might be too much for armor to move through. Machine guns are still a possibility though.” Each of the men shared a look with the man next to him. “Orders are orders. Simple as that. Now gear up and buddy up. I want twenty feet between pairs, and move quietly. Spot something, get down immediately and signal the pairs next to you. We'll deal with the problems as they come.” He placed his helmet back on his head, covering his black short hair, and walked over to Grauer, who was packing up his large field radio to go on his back. The men geared up and found their wing-man, then made their way into the wood. Every man suddenly felt his stomach drop and a chill rush down their spine.