The Complete Collection. William Wharton

in the sidewalk; I know I’m not being careful enough. I’m numb in my mind. I get to the top of the hill.

      There’s a grove of trees over to the right. The whole platoon is there. I see Richards. They’re all digging in like crazy. Richards comes running to me.

      ‘Where the fuck’ve you been? We’re going to be pulling out of here and going into the town in a couple minutes! There’re tanks up there! Who the hell has the tank grenades?’

      ‘Harrington got it back there; shoe mine.’

      ‘Shit! Christ, we’ve got to get outta here. Who the hell’s got the tank grenades?’

      ‘One of the replacements had them. He’s back on the hill.’

      ‘Christ! What a fucking mess! We need bazookas! Mortars getting closer and we’re fucked if those tanks find us! Where-in-hell’s the Lieutenant?’

      Richards is dashing back and forth saying these things. He’s at least as scared as I am but he thinks of things to do. He runs back to the others. I flop on the ground there and hold onto it. I’m going to stay right there. I’m ready to take it all, whatever comes. Let the tanks blast away; let the krauts take me prisoner; give me a court-martial, dishonorable discharge. I’m ready for it all. I’m dead; out of it. I’m not thinking these things out loud but that’s the way it is. I’m past even being scared; past everything. I only want it all to stop.

      Then Richards stands up and waves his arms in the ‘let’s go’ signal. Everybody stops digging and gets up. I watch myself get up with them. I’m not thinking anymore. I’m just doing it. I’d make a great lemming. They start over the ridge, Richards first, then Vance and Scanlan, then the other replacement, then me. There are other guys who fall in behind. The whole thing is screwed up.

      We go about fifty yards and one of the mortars comes in close. We all hit the ground. When we get up, the replacement turns, looks back, then runs past me down the hill. He’s going to hit a mine for sure.

      We go on some more. Still no tanks. Maybe Richards is wrong. My mind is starting to work again. Then it comes fast, no sound. Direct fire, eighty-eight. I’m on the ground; the ground socks my guts. I don’t even hear the motors. Dirt is coming down everywhere. I put up my head and it comes again. The ground thumps under me but I’m still all right. I’m enjoying not caring much; it makes it all so much easier. I feel separate, like at a movie of a war.

      Somebody’s yelling he’s hit. It’s Vance. He runs past holding his helmet out in his hand. Blood’s flowing. A piece of shrapnel has pinned his hand onto his helmet. I hear a moan in front of me. I look. Scanlan turns his face to me. He’s screaming. It doesn’t look like Scanlan, it’s a death head; bare skull starting to ooze blood.

      ‘I’m hit! My eyes! I can’t see! Help me, somebody!’

      He stands up and wobbles toward me. He can’t see because his whole face’s been wiped off and pulled to one side like a mask. The flesh is hanging over one eye and the other eye is hanging over the bone socket onto his cheek. His nose and upper lip are gone. I can see his teeth sticking into his gums. Some of the teeth are broken and pushed in. I crawl up to him, grab him by the legs and pull him down.

      ‘Don’t touch your face! You’re hit in the face!’

      Scanlan sits on the ground, still holding onto his rifle. I squat in front of him, grab the skin of his face and try to wrap it across into place again. It feels like rubber and is shrunken so it doesn’t fit. I get the nose centered and tell Scanlan to hold onto the end of the flap while I undo my aid kit. For a second, I actually don’t know where my aid kit is. I’m yelling for help but nobody’s behind me anymore and Richards is still on the ground up ahead. I yell again but he doesn’t move.

      I take off Scanlan’s aid kit and get out the bandage. I’m scared more stuff is going to come in, but my hands are steady. I wrap the bandage tight around Scanlan’s head and tie it in the back. Scanlan’s having a hard time breathing. He keeps swallowing the blood but more and more blood is leaking out everywhere. The hell with the wound tablets; I’m getting Scanlan back and turning myself in! My mind is working slowly but clearly; I don’t feel like me.

      I tell Scanlan to drop his rifle. He isn’t talking anymore, only moaning deeply. He takes off his left glove and there are two fingers in the middle missing. Blood’s pumping out of there, too. I grab his wrist tight, pull him to his feet and start running him back. He’s going to pass out soon and I can’t carry him. I might pass out myself any minute. I’m feeling very empty-eared. Scanlan pulls away from me. He goes back and picks up the glove he just pulled off, the one with the fingers in it. He holds it with his good hand. Jesus Christ! What’s he thinking of?!

      Somehow, we get through the mines. This time I go around farther to the right. I only see two masher wires. I’m having a hard time believing in mines anyway. When Harrington got it, it’s as if he defused all of them for me. I have the feeling I could even step on one and it wouldn’t go off. That’s how far gone I am.

      We get back to the edge of the wood and there’s Lucessi, the first sergeant. He yells at me.

      ‘Who is that? Where the hell’re you going?’

      I stop and turn Scanlan toward him. He’s my ticket out of hell. It’s lousy, but that’s the way it is. I’m trying to ride Scanlan all the way back to a medic tent.

      ‘I’m taking Scanlan back, Sarge. He’s hurt bad!’

      Lucessi can see that. He can also see I’m scared shitless. He knows what I’m doing. Why the hell should I care what Lucessi thinks anyway? He’s just another fucking wop, even if he is first sergeant. Lucessi is checking Scanlan. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t maybe just make a run for it up to the woods. Lucessi isn’t going to shoot me or anything.

      ‘Where’s Richards? Where’s the second platoon? Where’s your squad? What the fuck’s going on up there?’

      ‘Richards says tanks are coming up. He needs bazookas. There’re no anti-tank grenades.’

      ‘Yeah, and where in hell’s Richards?’

      Lucessi is trying to pull the bandage smooth over Scanlan’s face. I’m still holding onto Scanlan’s wrist.

      ‘He’s up there past the trees. He’s on the ground there where Scanlan got hit. I yelled but he didn’t answer or move.’

      That’s how my mind’s working. It’s only then I let myself know that Richards is hit. Richards has had it. Richards got it. I don’t even like Richards, but the shakes start coming. I want to get away, anywhere away. I’m not only running back now; I’m running away. I have a hard time keeping my feet still. But, I’m afraid of Lucessi. I could probably beat the shit out of him one-handed; but I’m afraid. I’m waiting for a chance to run away, hide in the ground, starve to death, anything, just disappear, be alone. I’m still holding onto Scanlan’s wrist to stop the bleeding and he’s fucking around with the glove in his other hand. He pulls something out of the glove and wipes it on his pants. It’s a wedding ring. He puts it in his pocket. Lucessi’s watching me.

      ‘You get the hell back there, Columbato. If Richards is hit, you’re in charge of the squad. The way things’re going, maybe the whole damned platoon. What a fuck-up. I’ll take Scanlan. I’ll get the bazooka and anti-tank grenades sent up. Now, you haul ass up there!’

      He’s already redoing the company organization chart. He’s moving slips of colored paper around in his mind. I hand Scanlan to him and he squeezes the wrist. Blood is dripping from Scanlan’s face all over his field jacket. Lucessi turns and runs Scanlan back toward the woods.

      I’m alone again. I know I’m only going up to the trees and hide. I’ll jump in one of those slit trenches the squad was digging. I’ll lie up there and wait till things settle down. Then, maybe I’ll sneak my way back into France, travel at night, find some French family I can hide with. I’m quietly going crazy right out there in the open.

      I get across the field