My Honor Flight (14 page)

*

A couple of
days later, we were pushing hard through a village northeast of that chateau. 
The krauts were outnumbered, and we were routing them out of the village.  Our
platoon came through after the initial battle, and we were securing the
buildings.  I walked past a small house, and saw a German lying on the floor with
his feet sticking out the door.  I pointed my rifle at the feet, and then, real
careful, I worked my way closer.

The kraut was
twisted.  He was on his side, stretching for a pistol about twelve inches out
of his reach.  I pulled the rifle in tight to finish him, when I saw his hair,
just like mine.  There couldn’t be another person in this area with that curse.

 “Dieter?” I
whispered.

His trembling
hand stopped reaching for the pistol, and relaxed on the floor.  He breathed
hard.  I didn’t let up my guard.

 “Dieter?” I
asked again, only this time sharply.

 “Da,” he
said, and then something I didn’t understand.  His voice was raspy and tired,
and he gurgled as he breathed.  There was a pool of blood oozing out from under
him.  I was pretty sure it was my twin from that chateau’s creek, but I
couldn’t see his face, and I couldn’t see under him.  He might have a grenade
or a knife.

 “Show me
your hands!” I yelled.  He just lay there breathing.  “Show me your goddamn
hands!” 

By this time,
my ruckus had drawn the attention of a few others.  Tinpan and Harry Trumbull
walked up, guns pointed toward the doorway.

 “What the
hell is goin’ on here?” asked Tin.

 “Nothing,” I
said. “Just back off for a minute.”

 “You got a
live one there?”

 “Yeah.”

Tin stepped
up and looked.  “Well, goddamn.  That much blood, this kraut’s dead.  Nothing
we can do for him.  Let’s move on!”

I looked at
Tin and Trumbull.  “Keep moving along this street.  I’ll be along in a couple
of minutes.”

Tinpan looked
hard at me.  “Jesus, Mack!  You got a taste for watching people die now?”

 “No!”  I
yelled.  “He’s shot to hell.  He’s dying.  Let him be.  I’ll stay here until
he’s gone.”

They looked
at me for a minute, then shrugged. 

 “I don’t see
you in five minutes,” said Tinpan, “then I’m comin’ back here, shootin’
anything that moves.”

I went back
to the doorway and kept the rifle pointed at him.  His head lolled.  He said
something in German again but he was coughing and gurgling worse.  I looked
into the room.  There was no one else there.  Keeping my rifle right on his
head, I stepped forward and stuck a boot under his arm, then rolled him over
with my foot.  He flopped onto his back.  It was Dieter.

He was gut
shot, chest shot, and had one in the shoulder.  He was coughing up blood and it
covered his cheek and his chin.  I was a little shocked at the sight, and
started to pull my rifle away from his face. 

 “Nein,” he
whispered in a straining voice.  He reached his hand toward the barrel of my
rifle.

I pulled the
gun away and kneeled down next to him.  He really was shot to hell.   I reached
into my hip pack and pulled sulfa packs out. 

 “Nein, nein,
nein,” he said gently.  He pointed to my rifle and said something I couldn’t
understand.  I shook my head, trying to indicate that I didn’t understand.  He
sighed hard, tears streaming from his eyes.  He swallowed, and held his hand up
to his head like a gun, and pulled the trigger. 

He wanted me
to kill him.

I pulled
back, and fell back on my ass.  I shuffled away from him on my butt, dragging
my rifle with me.  I shook my head.  I wasn’t going to do it.

I was so
confused at this point.  One thing about me is that if I make a promise, I keep
it.  And I’d promised that if I ever saw this man again, I wouldn’t kill him. 
That is, unless he was trying to kill me.  He laid there in front of me, in
total agony.  When he wasn’t gurgling, he was holding his breath, and his eyes
were squinting hard.  Then he’d stop holding his breath and gasp hard.  The tears
streaked the dirt and blood on his cheeks. 

 “Bitte,” he
whispered.  He was crying. “Bitte, Duglass.”

He was going
to die, there was no question about it.  If I thought he would have had a
chance, I would have walked out of there.  But he didn’t have a chance.  I
sniffled and wiped snot on my sleeve.    Then I wiped tears away with the back
of my hand, and stood up fast.  I took the few steps to him, and positioned my
barrel a few inches from his face. 

 “Jesus,” I
whispered. 

He just
nodded, and winced into a twisted smile. 

 “Bitte,” he
said as reassuringly as he could. 

I took a deep
breath, held it, closed my eyes, and fired.  I never looked at the body.  I
turned and walked to the opposite side of the room and sat in the corner,
bawling.

Sure enough,
a couple of minutes later, I heard that Oklahoma drawl. 

 “Mack, you
in there?” called Tinpan.

 “Yeah!” I
yelled, but I know I sounded upset.  Tin picked up on it.

 “Mack, are
you in trouble in there?” Tin yelled real loud now.  He was going to attract
more from the platoon.  I didn’t want them seeing me like this. 

 “Everything’s
fine, I’m coming!” I yelled.  I wiped away the tears as best I could, scrambled
to my feet, and walked out of the building, stepping over the body in the
doorway.  Tin and I locked eyes.  I had to look a mess.  He gave me a quizzical
look.  I just shook my head and waved down the street, indicating we need to
get going.

That night, I
could tell some of the guys were worried about me.  We had kind of a code of
conduct when one of us was down.  We’d walk by and ask something simple like
“You need anything?” or just “OK?”  A couple of the fellas did that, and I told
them I was all right, just didn’t want to talk.  That was okay in Buzz
Company.  We couldn’t stay up all the time.  We all had our down times.  And that
was one of my worst down times during the war.

We kept
pushing east for the next four or five weeks, occasionally engaging in combat. 
The stress wasn’t as intense as the Normandy campaign.  We were still sharp,
but we encountered fewer casualties, and the krauts were on the run.  They were
easier to fight.

You remember
that first story I told you?  About Chartelli saving the day at the bridge?  After
that fight, we got a few days of R&R in some town close by.  As the platoons
assembled to leave, Jerry Donovan and Petey were staring each other down. 
Donovan was one of the replacements from the Fresh Meat gang who arrived with Stankowski. 

They were
eyeballing each other real hard, standing maybe six inches apart, not moving at
all.

 “What’s
going on here?” asked Lou Robinson.  He was a freckled kid out of Pittsburgh. 
I always remember him because he lost his right pinkie in battle later in
Belgium.  Didn’t blink an eye—wrapped it and kept fighting.  He was a tough kid,
despite gaining the nickname Pinky.

They didn’t
say a word.  They just stared at each other nose-to-nose.

We all heard
Lou, so we gathered around.  Petey and I always had each other’s back, and this
looked like trouble.  But it was one on one, so I wasn’t going to get in the
middle.

They stood
there, frozen, for maybe five minutes.  People all around would ask what was
happening, and neither one of them would answer.  And they wouldn’t move.  It
was a mystery to us.

Cap walked up
and saw that something was going on.  “Ten-hut!” he yelled.  We all snapped to
attention.  All of us, except Petey and Donovan.

 “As you
were,” said Cap as he walked right up to Petey and Donovan. 

 “What’s
going on here, boys?”

Silence,
again.

Cap pursed
his lips and sucked on his teeth, making a little squeaking sound.  “If you
boys have an issue here, we’re going to resolve it right now.  Or else you’re
going to get your asses to work.”

Donovan
talked through clenched teeth.  “You gonna tell him, or am I?”

 “It wasn’t
me,” said Petey.

 “You’re a
fucking liar.  Ed Brady and me both seen you.”

 “Seen him
what?” asked Cap.

 “He raped a
girl,” said Donovan.

I was
stunned!  And I was pissed that someone could possibly accuse Petey of
something like that.  I stepped forward.  “That’s bullshit!”  I blurted out.

Petey and
Donovan started grabbing and shoving each other.  Cap got in the middle of them,
and a bunch of guys pulled them apart.  They were both yelling at each other,
cussing and threatening.

 “What
happened?” asked Cap.

 “Me and
Brady had been in the tavern.  We were heading back for bed last night.  We
heard a scream, so we went to check it out.  We saw a girl getting raped in an alley.”

 “Then what
happened?” asked Cap.

 “We yelled,
saying we were gonna kick the guy’s ass.  Anderson stood up real quick, then took
off running down the alley.  We stopped to help the girl.  She didn’t speak any
English, so we escorted her to her family’s house.  Christ, I bet she was only
sixteen.”

 “Petey, this
true?” asked Cap.

 “Nope.”

 “That’s
bullshit,” said Donovan.  “Brady and me both seen him.  Brady will tell you. 
And we know where the girl lives.”

Cap stood
there, rubbing his chin.  He looked around the room.  “Pavelchek.  Find Brady,
get him in here now.”

 “This is
bullshit, Cap,” said Petey.  “I wasn’t even out last night.   Besides, if it
was an alley, how could they see?  It’s darker than shit in alleys here.”

Cap turned to
Donovan.  “How could you tell it was Petey in a dark alley?”

 “Cap, we
been together for months.  We’ve faced death together, we’ve walked for a
couple hundred miles, we’ve all slept and ate together.  I can spot every
member of this platoon.  We all can.”

Cap nodded.  “Petey,
anyone here that can prove you didn’t go out last night?”

 “Yeah,” said
Pete.  “Me and Mack were playing cards all night.”

I snapped my
head toward Pete.  He was lying.

 “That true,
Mack?” asked Cap.

I stared at
Pete.  I couldn’t say anything.  Our eyes met, and I saw the truth in those
eyes.  Not only was he lying, he really did rape that girl.  Now he was not
only guilty of a crime, but he was sucking me into it as well.

His eyes
narrowed as he stared back.  He was begging me to lie for him.  In those few
split seconds I fought with myself.  This man had saved my life!  We were
brothers.  We loved each other.  Thick and thin.  That’s what we always said. 
Have each other’s back through thick and thin.

 “Uhh...” I
started to say, trying to figure out what to do.

 “Mack wasn’t
with him,” said Trumbull.  “Mack can’t lie for shit.”  Trumbull could read
everyone.

 “I wasn’t
going to try to lie,” I said.  “I just can’t believe...  Jesus, Pete!  Why?”  I
had tears in my eyes.

When Petey
saw my reaction, he teared up too.  “I’m sorry, Mack.  I’m sorry!  Cap, I did
it.  Mack didn’t have anything to do with it.  I was hoping he’d cover for me.”

 “So, you did
it?” asked Cap.

Pete looked
down, nodded.  “I was drunk.  We were having a good time.  I thought she wanted
to.  Then after we started...  Well, she started screaming like hell.  I think
it was a trap to get a GI in trouble.”
“So you didn’t force yourself on her?” asked Cap.

Petey shook
his head, still looking down.  Cap squinted at Petey for what felt like a
minute of silence, then looked over at Trumbull.  Trumbull shook his head. 

 “Anderson, I
think you’re lying to me.”

Petey looked
up, and a tear trickled down one cheek.  “Cap, please.  I didn’t rape her.  We
were both interested.”

Cap took a
deep breath.  “We’re not going to leave now until morning.  I’m going to talk
to Brady, and the girl.  Anderson, you are restricted to this camp until told
otherwise.”

The story
didn’t turn out well.  Brady confirmed that he thought it was Pete in the alley. 
When they found the girl, the left side of her face was bruised up real bad,
and there were fingertip bruises on her throat.  I saw her.  She limped too.  Someone
had roughed her up.  Petey insisted that the whole thing was consensual.  He
said she didn’t have any bruises when he was with her, and she was setting him
up.  Cap set up a lineup of five men from the platoon, all about the same
size.  When the girl came in, she got real emotional when she identified Pete. 
She broke down bawling, and had to be helped away.  Her mother screamed and
spit at Petey.  She had to be held back by a couple of men.

Cap had
orders, and we had to keep moving.  He took statements from all three men, and
with the help of a translator, he took the girl’s statement.  Then he made me
make a statement about not being with Petey that night.  Cap was going to wait
until we got to our next field HQ to figure out how to handle it.  In the
meantime, we had to keep moving.

There was a
stain on Buzz Company now.  We all used to talk about how we were fighting the
good fight.  We considered ourselves heroes.  Even with Gunderson, and then Cunningham’s
odd behavior, we were there to beat the Nazis.  I thought we were above the dark
side of human nature.  But Petey proved we weren’t.  Yeah, he was drunk, but
even so, it never should have happened.  He wasn’t the man I thought he was,
and I wanted nothing to do with him.  Ever again.  Even though I would be dead
if it wasn’t for him.

I wasn’t
alone.  The whole platoon avoided Pete.  When we would pair up, his partners
wouldn’t talk to him, unless it was required for the job at hand.

Two days
later, we got into nasty fight in another village.  We got through it with
minimal casualties.  We didn’t lose anyone, just had one guy take a flesh wound
in the shoulder.  So we were all feeling pretty good about ourselves when we
turned in that night.  Petey had taken to sleeping away from the rest of the
men, because it was icy as hell when he tried to hang out with us.  That night
we slept on the floor in a tavern in the village.  I noticed that Petey laid
down early, up against a wall toward the back of the room.  I was glad, because
I didn’t want to have to talk to him.

In the middle
of the night, I awoke to the sound of a raspy breath. 

 “Mack?”  It
was Petey.

 “What?” I
said with the harshest tone I could muster.  I didn’t want to be around him,
and I sure as hell wasn’t happy he woke me up in the middle of the night.

 “Can you
call Thumper for me?” he gasped.  “I’m nearly dead.”

I twisted my
head around to look at him, trying to focus my sleepy eyes in the darkness, but
they wouldn’t lock on to him.  It was too dark.  I could just hear him
breathing real hard.  And I could tell by his straining voice that something
really was wrong.

I rolled over
and stood up, feeling my way to a lamp on the wall.  I flicked it on.  There
was a chorus of grumbles as some of the men rolled away from the light,
covering their heads.  Then I looked down at Petey.  He was lying on the floor,
holding his side.  Between his bedroll and mine, for some fifteen feet, was a
swath of blood, showing where he had dragged himself to me.

 “Jesus!” I
yelled. “Medic!”

A bunch of
the guys reacted, jumping up and grabbing their weapons.  I ran to Pete.  I
pulled his blood-soaked hand away from his body.  He was gut-shot. 

 “Fuck!” I
said.  I put his hand back on the wound, and then interlaced my fingers with
his and pushed hard.  “Get a goddamn medic!  NOW!”  I yelled.

 “Bunyan went
to get a medic,” someone said.

Petey grinned
through a wince.  “It don’t matter, Mack.  It’s too late for that.  I just want
Thumper.”

Thumper was Ted
Phillips.  He was real religious.  That type of person who pushes his religion
on everyone around him. 

 “I’m here,”
said Thumper.

 “Thumper,
can God give me forgiveness?”

 “Yeah,
Petey.  Sure.  God forgives everyone if they accept Jesus Christ.”

There was a
pause as Petey swallowed and gasped a few short breaths.

 “How do I go
about doing that?”

 “Well, I
don’t know,” said Thumper.

Petey shook
his head in exasperation.  “Come on, man.  I thought you knew all this God
stuff.”

Thumper
looked up at the ring of men surrounding Petey.  He shrugged, and made a face
indicating he didn’t know what to do.

 “Get your Bible.” 
Cap pushed his way through the circle of men.  “Find the best passage you can
on salvation.  Do it fast.”

Thumper ran
to his pack.

 “Mack?” said
Petey.

 “Yeah, Pete,
what is it?”

 “I need you
to know something.  I raped that girl.  I did it.”

No one said
anything.

 “But I want
you to know it wasn’t ME that did it, Mack.  This war turned me into something
I ain’t.  I never lied before.  I never broke any laws.  And I sure as hell
wouldn’t hurt a girl like that.  It was the worst moment in my life.  I’m a
fucking monster.  This place turned me into a fucking monster.  I just want to
be like I was back home.”

 “Pete, you
ain’t a monster.  Listen to me!  We got a medic coming, and we’ll get you
patched up.  We’ll get through this!”

 “I don’t
blame you for hating me for it.  I do too.  I just want you to know that I
never would have let you down.  I never would have deserted you in battle.  I
would always be there for you, just like back when we were pinned down with
them missiles.”

 “I know,
Pete.  I’ll always be there for you too.  I’m sorry I treated you cold.”

He shook his
head.  “Just tell the men that for me, will ya?”  He couldn’t see that everyone
was standing around him. 

I looked up
at the men.  They were all nodding, most with tears in their eyes. 

 “I’ll tell ’em,
Pete.  But tell ’em yourself in the morning.”

His eyes
started to roll and he was having trouble staying awake.  “Just... get...
Thumper.”

Thumper slid
in next to Pete’s head, and read some passage out of the Bible.  I didn’t hear it. 
I just squeezed Pete’s hand real hard and pushed on that wound.  I’d be damned
if he was going to die like this. 

Thumper got
through his verse, and the medic came running in.  Just as he started working
on the wound, Petey died. 

As near as we
could figure, Pete had taken a shot during the fight with the krauts that day. 
He didn’t tell anyone.  We think he wanted to die—the gut shot was bad, but if he’d
had it treated, he probably could have survived.  So he spent his last few
hours in agony, torturing himself, knowing he was killing himself.  Some said
it was self-inflicted.  But I think if that were true, he would have blown his
own head off.  I’d bet money that he stood up during the battle to expose
himself to German gunfire.