by Barry Sadler
He swung a heavy boot into the balls of the first attacker, then chopped the maimed one in the neck.
His second mighty kick caught the sagging Bedouin in the throat and then he turned to jump with both heels onto the other's kidneys.
He heard a crack and a horrible scream and turned to see the giant break Tommy's back across his knee. He hurled the small Paddy's broken body at Casca and followed it fast. Casca caught Tommy and held him for a brief moment, the flat of his foot stopping the giant Bedouin in mid rush as it caught him in the belly.
Casca turned and stopped to lower Tommy to the sand and as the Bedouin rushed again, he caught him with a high backward kick that sank his heel deep into the giant's groin. As he turned back his flailing arm struck the Bedouin mightily in the throat, and he grabbed him by his mangled balls with one cruel hand while the other gouged his eyes from their sockets as he slowly cracked the giant's spine across his knee.
He dropped the body to the sand and walked to where the trenching tool lay on the sand. He placed its edge against the writhing Bedouin's throat and slowly leaned on it, exerting more and more pressure as the artery burst in a fountain of red blood, then the spine was severed, and finally the head was separated from the huge body.
He turned to kneel beside Tommy.
The little man seemed even smaller. He grinned up at Casca.
"The old story, Case, a good little one and a good big one."
"Not that good, Tommy, he's dead."
"So am I, General."
"Rubbish, you're good for a lot of fights yet."
Moynihan closed his eyes wearily. "Ye're a good general, Case."'
"That's not such a great trick, Tommy. Generals get lots of help. You're a damned good sergeant."
A crooked grin lifted a corner of Tommy's mouth, one eye opened a slit, and he was gone.
Casca smoothed the eyelids closed and picked up the trenching tool.
He dug long and deep and wide, and laid the two young Israelis, Wardi, and Moynihan side by side.
At the last moment he placed Weintraub's red helmet over Tommy's face.
"To keep the sun out of your eyes, old son."
Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 21 Trench Soldier
World War I. It was mankind’s first taste of modern warfare. And before it ended, most of Europe would turn into a corpse-littered battleground. Thousands would die in the hail of machine-gun fire, by the burning agony of mustard gas, and on the blood-soaked steel of a bayonet. There was no honor or glory for the soldiers who fought in the rat-infested trenches…
And for Casca, there was only the horror of a new kind of war – and a bitter envy for the dead.
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