Those Who Fought for Us

by D. Allen Henry

  Fig. 7 Depiction of the Allied Counter-Offensive that Led to the End of The Great War

  A torpid hour passed, and then another, the Germans clearly sustaining heavy casualties throughout the course of the morning. Eventually, around mid-day the Germans once again began to retreat. After yet another interminable delay it seemed that the battle had moved onward and, sensing that it was over, Alastair announced, “Ah dinnae kin, boot Ah’ll nae be trapped beneath this steel monster fur anoother minit!” And so saying, he pushed the tank tread aside and began crawling from beneath the tank.

  “I say, don’t do that, Alastair!” Robert commanded, “We’ve no idea what is out there!”

  “Ah dinnae care,” Alastair responded, “Ah’ll die if’n Ah spend anoother minit in here.” By now he was outside but, wisely remaining crouched, he used the tank to provide cover.

  Artillery fire suddenly erupted across the battlefield, and it was apparent to Robert that it was the Germans’ turn to lay down defensive cover against the oncoming Allied army. “Get back inside!” he commanded, “The Germans are shelling the…” but before he could complete his sentence an enormous explosion ripped into the tank and, thrusting it skyward, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air as it struck the ground.

  “Alastair!” he shouted, “Alastair! Are you alright?” But, having been somehow wounded, Alastair was screaming uncontrollably.

  Robert crawled hurriedly from beneath the tank and, peering amidst the slowly settling dust, he spotted Alastair writhing in pain nearby. Crawling to him, he grasped his arm and asked, “Alastair! Where are you hit?”

  Still writhing in pain, Alastair vomited and screamed in agony, “My leg, Robert! Tis my leg. Ah’m trapped beneath the tank! They’ve blown my leg away!”

  The dust now sufficiently clear, Robert frantically surveyed the situation. The impact from the artillery shell had launched the tank sideways, and Alastair had somehow been trapped between the tank and the disconnected tread, his leg completely smashed between the two. It was clear to Robert that there was no way on earth to dislodge him from the vice he lay within. To make matters worse, blood gushed from the wound in his leg, so much so that Robert feared he might quickly perish from loss of blood. Aware that the situation was dire, he stripped off his shirt and, devising a tourniquet, he promptly staunched the flow of blood as best he could.

  Still writhing in agony, Alastair begged, “Robbie, Ah’m dyin’! Leave me be. Gang yerself tae a safe place! Leave me be! Ah’ll be dead in minits.”

  “No!” Robert shouted, “You stay with me, Alastair! You’re not dead yet and, God willing, you shall not die, at least not today. Now bite down on this stick, and say your prayers.” Alastair did as instructed, and for the moment at least, his screams abated.

  The American army was on them within minutes, a company of Yank soldiers racing for cover behind the tank. “Halt here men,” an officer commanded and, seeing Robert crouched beside the tank, he inquired in obvious surprise, “What the…how the hell did a British officer find his way into this battlefield, major?”

  “We escaped, captain. We were prisoners of war. We’ve been trying to get through the lines to the Allies.”

  “Oh, right,” the captain responded perceptively, “We heard you were coming this way. I don’t know how you managed it, but it seems you’ve succeeded, major.”

  Nodding his concurrence, Robert now exclaimed frantically, “Captain, can you help me! Can your men help me get this tank off my friend?”

  The captain surveyed the situation dispassionately and, shrugging his compliance, he murmured callously, “We can try, major, but he looks done for if you ask me.”

  “No! He’s not dead, he’s just resting,” Robert exclaimed and, shoving Alastair briskly, he added, “Alastair, wake up!” At this Alastair opened his eyes, his pallid visage speaking volumes.

  “Captain! Help me!” Robert repeated forcefully, and so saying, he arose and began tugging on the edge of the tank, struggling with all his strength in an attempt to dislodge Alastair from the tank.

  Observing Robert’s stirring but nonetheless fruitless efforts, the captain seemed to have a change of heart, commanding forcefully, “C’mon boys, let’s help this Brit get this tank off his buddy.” And at this the entire platoon of Yanks gathered round the tank, and at the command ‘heave!’ they heaved in unison, managing to lift one edge of the tank just far enough to dislodge Alastair.

  “Oh, God, thank you captain! Thanks Yanks! Thanks ever so much!” Robert exclaimed in evident gratitude.

  “No problem,” the captain responded distractedly, “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a war to fight, major. The medics should be along shortly. You just lie there and keep under cover,” and at this he stepped out from behind the tank and lunged toward the enemy, calling loudly, “C’mon boys, let’s kill us some more Germans!”

  Now focused entirely on one objective, Robert did his best to bandage Alastair’s horribly mangled leg, and within minutes the medics arrived. After two months behind enemy lines, the two were now once again on the side of right.

  U.S. Army Field Hospital – Two Days Later

  Waiting for his friend to come to, Robert knew full well that it would be tough for Alastair when he did so. An hour passed, during which he surveyed the hospital tent surrounding them. The Americans seemed to be quite well equipped. “Stands to reason,” he mumbled to himself, “They’ve not been fighting this war for the past four years. Their equipment is all quite new, and this war is all new to them as well.”

  Noticing a sudden movement, he turned towards the hospital bed and noticed that Alastair was coming to. He abruptly exclaimed, “Alastair! Alastair, can you hear me? It’s Robert! Alastair!”

  Alastair’s eyes fluttered and slowly opened, at which he spluttered, “Elizabeth…my, that was a tasty morsel. Might Ah be havin’ another nibble?”

  Awareness sinking in, Robert commanded, “Alastair! You’re dreaming. It’s Robert. Wake up!”

  At this Alastair opened one eye and murmured, “Reit, Ah was oonly funnin’ ye, Robert. Ye never coods take a joke, ye kin.”

  At this Robert leaned forward and gave Alastair a carefully placed squeeze, gurgling, “Alastair, my best friend in this world, you’re going to make it. Actually, you have to make it. Otherwise, I don’t think that I can.”

  “Och aye, and though Ah’ve lost my leg, ye kin, in the stoatin scheme of things, Ah’d sooner give up a leg than my life.”

  Realization abruptly sweeping over him, Robert exclaimed, “Alastair, we’ve made it. We’re going to survive this war! The Americans have arrived, just when the Allies needed reinforcements. The Germans are in full retreat. We’re going home!”