takes place Dec. 8th
"Incoming! Take cover!"
Lipton's shout barely made it to Bill's ears as the shelling started. The men ran for their foxholes as blasts went off around them. Dirt and smoke filled the air, trees burst apart, the ground shook, light blazed through the forest.
"Find some cover! Find a foxhole!"
Bill was already in one, had been busy fortifying it with some branches. Shitty foxhole cover, tree branches, but they did what they could. Malarkey dove in next to him, and the two of them took cover. There was nothing you could do while the bombs landed all around you, reducing the trees to nothing more than toothpicks. And not just the trees, the trees weren't the worst of it.
Eventually, the shelling stopped.
There were screams in the distance. Medic! Medic!
"Maybe we should see if anybody's hit," Malarkey said, slightly breathless.
"Nah, Malark, that's what they want. Krauts'll try to draw us out in the open," Bill replied, scanning the bit of forest he could see. Waiting for the pounding in his ears to stop.
"Stay in your foxholes! Stay in your foxholes!"
Beyond that, someone else was yelling. Bill could barely make it out.
"You hear that?"
Bill listened, focused on the sound of that distant voice. "Is that Joe?"
"Yeah," Malarkey said, "I think that's Joe."
Bill felt his stomach drop. "Stay," he said, he didn't even think about it. He left his gun in the foxhole next to Malarkey before jumping out of the hole and running toward the sound of Joe's voice.
"Stay down! Stay down!"
"I gotta get up..."
There he was, tough as nails Joe Toye, just back from the hospital. His leg had been blown clean off below the knee. Bill didn't pause, he didn't think about how one of his best buddies had just got hit for, what, the third time? He just went to him as fast as his feet would move.
"Shit! Come on, Joe," Bill said, grabbing Joe by his pits. "Come on, buddy." He lifted, started dragging him, using every ounce of strength he could muster. "C'mon. C'mon, pal..."
"You said you'd get back to the States before me," Joe moaned, half out of it, helping as best he could with his good leg.
"You ain't goin' anywhere. You're alright," Bill assured.
"I gotta get my helmet!"
"Forget it."
"I gotta get my helmet!"
"Forget it, Joe!" Bill snapped, knowing the guy was probably in some kinda shock, but needing him to focus on getting to a foxhole, a medic, somewhere that wasn't so out in the open.
The shelling began again. The world around them filled with explosions.
Bill tried to ignore it. He tried to clear his mind, to just keep moving. He had to get Joe to safety. The thing was, no where was safe in that fucking forest.
"C'mon..."
"I gotta get to the hole..."
"C'mon, I gotcha, Joe."
"Come on, come on!" came Buck's voice from behind them. Bill turned his head to look, to make sure it was really him. Seeing him so close, like he was some kind of safety beacon, made Bill want to move faster. "Gono, you're gonna get bombed! Come on! Come on! Move it!"
"Dammit," he cursed, because Joe was just too fucking heavy. Everything was happening so fast, but at the same time he felt like he was moving in slow motion.
"Hold on, I'll be there!" Buck yelled. "I'm gonna help you!"
It was the last thing Bill heard. The bursts were too close, a tree exploded above their heads and everything went black.
Bill didn't remember falling.
He opened his eyes, and there was a moment where everything was still. He heard nothing, he felt nothing, all he could think was 'snow'. It fell, drifted down on him like some kinda fairytale.
And then reality hit. It burned, God the pain. He was on fire, it was like someone had taken a hot poker to him. He was dead, he was dead, he knew he was dead.
"Oh God..."
Bill managed to raise his head, shoved an elbow back to prop himself up a little. The snow was red with blood. His right leg was dangling from his thigh. He was reminded, briefly, of a loose tooth as a child. It had come out, but remained, hanging by a fleshy string from his gums until Henry had unceremoniously yanked it from his mouth. Better to do it fast, kid, better not to think about it or it'll just hurt more, Henry had said, his other hand a soothing presence on the back of Bill's head when he'd yelped.
Somehow the memory of Henry hurt worse than the pain. Bill was good at that, at pushing the pain down, not focusing on it. He let out a gasp and looked around. Joe was nowhere to be seen. Nobody was. The trees were different. It looked untouched. It was like he'd ended up in a whole other part of the forest.
"Fuckin' krauts," he breathed, eyes darting all around.
He couldn't move. He didn't have his gun. For the first time in his life he didn't know what to do.
"Medic!" he called, though in his heart he didn't think his call would be heard.
"Medic!"
Lipton's shout barely made it to Bill's ears as the shelling started. The men ran for their foxholes as blasts went off around them. Dirt and smoke filled the air, trees burst apart, the ground shook, light blazed through the forest.
"Find some cover! Find a foxhole!"
Bill was already in one, had been busy fortifying it with some branches. Shitty foxhole cover, tree branches, but they did what they could. Malarkey dove in next to him, and the two of them took cover. There was nothing you could do while the bombs landed all around you, reducing the trees to nothing more than toothpicks. And not just the trees, the trees weren't the worst of it.
Eventually, the shelling stopped.
There were screams in the distance. Medic! Medic!
"Maybe we should see if anybody's hit," Malarkey said, slightly breathless.
"Nah, Malark, that's what they want. Krauts'll try to draw us out in the open," Bill replied, scanning the bit of forest he could see. Waiting for the pounding in his ears to stop.
"Stay in your foxholes! Stay in your foxholes!"
Beyond that, someone else was yelling. Bill could barely make it out.
"You hear that?"
Bill listened, focused on the sound of that distant voice. "Is that Joe?"
"Yeah," Malarkey said, "I think that's Joe."
Bill felt his stomach drop. "Stay," he said, he didn't even think about it. He left his gun in the foxhole next to Malarkey before jumping out of the hole and running toward the sound of Joe's voice.
"Stay down! Stay down!"
"I gotta get up..."
There he was, tough as nails Joe Toye, just back from the hospital. His leg had been blown clean off below the knee. Bill didn't pause, he didn't think about how one of his best buddies had just got hit for, what, the third time? He just went to him as fast as his feet would move.
"Shit! Come on, Joe," Bill said, grabbing Joe by his pits. "Come on, buddy." He lifted, started dragging him, using every ounce of strength he could muster. "C'mon. C'mon, pal..."
"You said you'd get back to the States before me," Joe moaned, half out of it, helping as best he could with his good leg.
"You ain't goin' anywhere. You're alright," Bill assured.
"I gotta get my helmet!"
"Forget it."
"I gotta get my helmet!"
"Forget it, Joe!" Bill snapped, knowing the guy was probably in some kinda shock, but needing him to focus on getting to a foxhole, a medic, somewhere that wasn't so out in the open.
The shelling began again. The world around them filled with explosions.
Bill tried to ignore it. He tried to clear his mind, to just keep moving. He had to get Joe to safety. The thing was, no where was safe in that fucking forest.
"C'mon..."
"I gotta get to the hole..."
"C'mon, I gotcha, Joe."
"Come on, come on!" came Buck's voice from behind them. Bill turned his head to look, to make sure it was really him. Seeing him so close, like he was some kind of safety beacon, made Bill want to move faster. "Gono, you're gonna get bombed! Come on! Come on! Move it!"
"Dammit," he cursed, because Joe was just too fucking heavy. Everything was happening so fast, but at the same time he felt like he was moving in slow motion.
"Hold on, I'll be there!" Buck yelled. "I'm gonna help you!"
It was the last thing Bill heard. The bursts were too close, a tree exploded above their heads and everything went black.
Bill didn't remember falling.
He opened his eyes, and there was a moment where everything was still. He heard nothing, he felt nothing, all he could think was 'snow'. It fell, drifted down on him like some kinda fairytale.
And then reality hit. It burned, God the pain. He was on fire, it was like someone had taken a hot poker to him. He was dead, he was dead, he knew he was dead.
"Oh God..."
Bill managed to raise his head, shoved an elbow back to prop himself up a little. The snow was red with blood. His right leg was dangling from his thigh. He was reminded, briefly, of a loose tooth as a child. It had come out, but remained, hanging by a fleshy string from his gums until Henry had unceremoniously yanked it from his mouth. Better to do it fast, kid, better not to think about it or it'll just hurt more, Henry had said, his other hand a soothing presence on the back of Bill's head when he'd yelped.
Somehow the memory of Henry hurt worse than the pain. Bill was good at that, at pushing the pain down, not focusing on it. He let out a gasp and looked around. Joe was nowhere to be seen. Nobody was. The trees were different. It looked untouched. It was like he'd ended up in a whole other part of the forest.
"Fuckin' krauts," he breathed, eyes darting all around.
He couldn't move. He didn't have his gun. For the first time in his life he didn't know what to do.
"Medic!" he called, though in his heart he didn't think his call would be heard.
"Medic!"