One Man's War

by P. M. Kippert

  The guys laughed.

  “You should’ve stayed with the others,” they told him.

  “You’d be in nice sunny England now instead of wet and cold in Italy.”

  “You could be fucking some English cunt instead of humping mud.”

  “You could be in a decent camp instead of a foxhole with fucking Sleepy Ass.”

  “Hey, fuck you,” Marshak said. Then he said to Kafak, “Yeah, you know, buddy, now I hear that story again, I don’t think losing those glasses saved your life at all. I think they fucked your life up royal, and you’re just too much a dumb fuck to realize it.”

  “Yeah,” Kafak said, “well, I’ll weigh it all up after the war.”

  “There you go,” someone said, and laughed.

  Marshak just shook his head, bemused.

  Cole showed up then and greeted the men.

  Marshak said, “Hey, Cap, you wanna hear how a pair of glasses fucked up Kafak’s entire fucking life?”

  “Love to hear it sometime, Sleepy Ass, just not now. I’m here for volunteers.” Each of them shrank down in the hole a little bit more, except for Kafak. He had another story about how volunteering had likely saved his life once as well, so he never shirked from the stuff until he heard what it was about. Cole said, “I’m taking a patrol out tonight. Who’s in?”

  No one spoke up. That was one duty Kafak had never figured to volunteer for.

  Marshak knew it, and just to be an asshole, thinking he was funny, he said, “Kafak’ll go.”

  Kafak didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t say no because he didn’t want to look like a coward, but he wouldn’t say yes because he didn’t want to get himself killed.

  One of the other guys said, “Hey, that’s right. Kafak’s never been on a patrol, have you, buddy?”

  “Kafak’ll go,” the other two guys immediately said, chiming in together and grinning.

  Cole looked at Kafak.

  “Nice friends you got, Kafak.”

  “Yeah, they’re great fucking guys.”

  “What do you say?”

  He couldn’t say no.

  So he said, “Sure, Cap.”

  Cole nodded.

  Then he said, “Good. You and Marshak report to company HQ at oh–seven hundred for orders.”

  “Hey!” Marshak said. “What the fuck? I didn’t volunteer for nothing.”

  “Yours was the first voice I heard when I asked for volunteers, Sleepy Ass. Wasn’t it, boys?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure was.”

  “You’re right, Cap.”

  The others had grins on their faces and didn’t hesitate to throw their comrade under the bus, just as they had done Kafak earlier. It was a game they all played. They found it amusing. But only if the guys they put forward actually came back OK from the patrol. Otherwise, they would feel terrible guilt. Both for putting the dead or wounded soldier in harm’s way as they had and because they were glad, at bottom, it was not them but somebody else.

  Marshak was still complaining.

  He said, “Hell, Cap, I just went on patrol the other day. This ain’t fucking fair. Somebody else oughtta be in the rotation.”

  “Sleepy Ass,” one of the others said, “the last time you went on patrol was three weeks ago. That ain’t just on patrol.”

  “But he’s been sleeping since then,” Kafak said, “so he didn’t realize.”

  They all laughed, and Cole shook his head, amused at them all.

  “You boys enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you two later.”

  Then he left.

  And that was how Kafak ended up going on his first patrol at Anzio.

  5

  Kafak and Marshak reported to company headquarters at the assigned hour. Even though it was dark and things were fairly quiet, they moved through the night in the crouched run that had become a way of life for everyone on that beachhead. In fact, it had a few names all its own. Kafak’s favorite was the Anzio shuffle.

  At HQ, they met the other guys who would go on the patrol. Besides Kafak and Marshak, there were three other privates, Henderson, McElvoy, and Goldstein. Cole was there, and a sergeant as well, but not Collins. Kafak didn’t catch the NCO’s name.

  They were told the mission of the patrol was to capture German prisoners for intelligence purposes. After blackening their faces with burned cork and a few last instructions and words of encouragement from Cole, they were ready to go. They divested themselves of any gear that could make noise.

  “We got an extra Thompson here. Anybody want it?”

  Kafak raised his hand immediately.

  “I’ll take it, Sarge,” he said.

  “Ever use one before?”

  “No, Sarge. But it sure seems like it’d be fun.”

  Cole chuckled.

  “A regular all-American boy, huh, Kafak?” Cole said. “Give him the gun, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sergeant handed Kafak the Thompson submachine gun. He didn’t seem to want to; Kafak noted a grudging expression on the NCO’s face. Still, Cole and the sergeant already had tommy guns, and the others all had M1s. None of the others seemed all that interested in the submachine gun. None of them jumped forward like Kafak had done, anyway.

  Cole led them out of the HQ in that low running crouch. They moved forward through the lines until they came to that spread of foxholes farthest forward in the Allied position. These were held by the Third. Cole motioned for the patrol to hit the dirt, and Kafak lay down in the squishy mud with everyone else. Mud covered him from shoulders to boots, front and back. The mud stank. He could barely tell the difference from how he had smelled before he sprawled in it. Everyone stank of filthy mud, sweat, shit, and gunpowder. It got so you didn’t even notice any of that anymore. It was just the way things were. Nowadays, it took a really different smell, a really strong smell, to catch Kafak’s attention.

  Cole hung over the lip of the foxhole and whispered to the machine gun crew posted there. Kafak lay next to him, so he heard it all.

  “We’ll be coming back through this position in a couple of hours,” Cole told the crew. “Don’t shoot at us.”

  “You got the password, Captain?”

  “Yeah. Shrank, right?”

  “That’s it. See you in a while, Cap.”

  “Bet on it.”

  Cole rose up to his crouch once more and hustled off. Kafak followed along with everyone else. The sergeant brought up the rear. Cole led the small group to one of the myriad drainage ditches, and they slid down the mud of the side of the embankment and into the water feetfirst. Kafak strolled along, the third man in line behind Cole and Henderson. Marshak crouched right behind him. The water in the bottom of the ditch reached up to Kafak’s knees.

  “Fuck,” he heard Marshak whisper behind him.

  For a guy Marshak’s size, the water probably ran up to mid-thigh. It had been raining fairly steadily over the last few days. It seemed it was always raining, but it had come down especially bad in the last couple of days. And that rainwater that had gathered in the ditch was cold as well. It felt miserable to Kafak, even through his winter uniform clothing. The coating of mud actually helped to insulate Kafak a little bit. He knew everyone else in the line felt the same way.

  It wasn’t raining now, at least. Kafak thought that a good thing because it would have made the entire patrol more miserable. On the other hand, it might’ve forced the Germans to keep their heads down more, so that would have been all right, too.

  Kafak moved like Cole and Henderson before him, observing them to see how this patrol stuff was done. Kafak held his crouch and moved painstakingly slowly. He understood they didn’t want to rustle the water and make too much noise. He saw one man about to cough place two fingers on his Adam’s apple to stop the action. He’d have to remember that trick. Quiet was the essential thing.

  Marshak said something to Kafak, but it was so under his breath Kafak couldn’t hear the actual words. Only sounds. Before he could even t
hink about turning around and asking Marshak what he’d said, a hiss came down the line from Cole. Kafak knew that meant Marshak should shut up. Kafak left it alone. He kept moving at the snail’s pace they all were using.

  They stayed in the drainage ditch for some time. At some point the water actually lowered to about midcalf for Kafak. He had his shoepac-issued boots, worn some weeks now, the boots they’d been given to combat the trench foot, and the boots kept the cold and muddy water from leaking inside. They had rubber soles, and the rubber continued on up to about the ankles. Above that, they were leather. He had them laced tight with the gaiters pulled tight around them.

  Every step he took, Kafak sank into the bottom of the ditch, into the mud hidden there. He never lifted his foot above the surface, just moved it along slowly within the cold, standing, silt-filled water. No plopping sounds. Fewer splashing noises. Cole finally led them out of the ditch and alongside some tall rocks. He gathered the men there and indicated a short rest, time to catch their breath. They’d gone miles already. Seemed like it to Kafak, anyway. After less than a minute, Cole led them on again. There wasn’t much cover. Kafak saw Cole was leading them to another group of rocks about forty yards away. Kafak prayed the Germans didn’t send up a flare just then. They’d all be sitting ducks, though they were spread far enough apart that no single burst could take them all.

  Once they had all spread along those rocks, Cole motioned them forward once again. No rest this time. They moved at a walking pace, crouched low, keeping their eyes peeled. There was a little less than half a moon and some stars, so Kafak could see pretty well. His eyes had long ago adjusted to the dark. He looked at shadows and outlines, making sure they looked right. Making sure they didn’t move. He didn’t see anything. His adrenaline had been pounding inside him at the HQ and during the start of the mission. Now, though, now they were doing it, had been out here for a while, now he could control his movements and, he hoped, his reactions.

  They used the pockmarks pounded into the land by the bombs of both armies. They moved from cover to cover as much as possible. Any depression in the ground would do. Kafak wondered if they were just patrolling aimlessly. He wondered if the captain was just hoping to run across some Germans. Or maybe Cole was just out going through the motions, hoping not to run into any Germans. Kafak didn’t know and couldn’t figure it. He just moved along with the rest of the patrol, ducking into holes and ditches and behind raised ground and rocks whenever he could. Once in a while they found some tall weeds or the remnants of a tree. Kafak thought it something like a game of musical chairs. You kept moving from one piece of cover to the next, hoping you would reach it before the music stopped. Before the firing started, in other words.

  Finally, Kafak saw what Cole was up to. He understood. In the distance, a good one hundred yards away, he spotted a farmhouse. Or what was left of it. Maybe two-thirds of the place still stood, though the barn had been completely demolished. A chicken coop stood off to one side of the house. Once the farmhouse had been sighted, Cole motioned for them to spread out in a skirmish line for their approach. They leapfrogged from rock to depression to shell crater to abandoned foxhole. They were about twenty yards from the farmhouse when Cole signaled for them to stop and hit the dirt. He waved Kafak to his side.

  “Bob,” he said, surprising Kafak. Kafak didn’t figure Cole even knew his first name. He supposed it one more example of how officers knew your name better the closer you got to the front. And here, tonight, they were well beyond the front. So he reckoned that was where Bob came from. “Here’s what I need you to do. Get to that farmhouse. See if you can hear or see anyone there. If you do, fire a few shots, and we’ll come to your support right away. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kafak said.

  “Handle it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Look. Approach from the side where the barn used to be. The foundation there will offer you some decent cover. Then get to that side wall that’s still standing.”

  “Got you, Cap.”

  “Good. Go on then. We’ll be listening. Watch your ass, Bob.”

  “Bet on that, sir,” Kafak said.

  He smiled but didn’t really feel it. It just seemed the thing to do. From movies he’d seen. Things he’d read. He felt afraid but not to any degree that kept him from doing what he had been ordered to do. He kept telling himself: This is what you’ve been trained for, Kafak, this is it, just do what they fucking trained you to do.

  Kafak moved at a running crouch the fifteen yards to the outer stones of the barn’s foundation. All that was left standing of the structure. He paused there a moment, gathering himself. He peered over the edge of the stones.

  The farmhouse was dark. Soundless. He couldn’t hear anything coming from it, but he saw it had a small roof, and if the Germans were anything like the Americans then they used it for protection from the cold and the rain. Buildings back at the beachhead were all overcrowded by soldiers. Anyone who could force a spot in one for their rest took it. Kafak never did. To him, a structure meant a target. Why not bomb a building and get plenty of the enemy instead of dropping your shell on empty ground where you might or might not get a single trooper laid out for the night? It only made sense to Kafak, so he avoided buildings on Anzio like the plague. He wondered if the Germans thought the same way, and hoped they did. That would mean this farmhouse would be empty.

  His newly acquired tommy gun stuck out in front of him, Kafak circled the low wall. Reaching its edge closest to the house, he gathered himself once more, then dashed the few yards to the wall. The still-standing wall. He pushed his back hard against the rough stone of it. He waited. He listened.

  He heard nothing.

  Just his own breathing.

  He quieted that down and listened some more.

  Still nothing.

  A window, its glass shattered out, cut the wall about five feet from where he stood. He eased toward it, careful with each step. He didn’t want to make any noise. He didn’t want to alert anyone if they were in that farmhouse. He crept along the wall until he came to the window, then paused, took a breath, held it, listened.

  Nothing.

  He slowly eased an eye around the side of the window to look within the house.

  It was dark. Empty. Everything inside had been tossed around, beaten to hell. Most of the furniture had been used to make a fire at some point or another. But there was no fire now. No Germans, either.

  Kafak let his breath out slowly. The place was deserted. He felt glad of it. He evened out his breathing, figuring that the thing to do now was to circle the house and see if there was anything else to note. He doubted it. Still, he kept careful. The tension still had him wound tight. He ducked beneath the window ledge. Just in case, he thought. Just in case. Then he crept along the wall toward the rear of the building.

  He had closed on it, maybe ten feet from the back corner of the farmhouse, when he heard something. He stopped still. He gulped his breath. He listened. He listened as hard as he had ever listened in his entire life. Then he heard it again.

  He thought it sounded like someone saying “Americush.” Or maybe it was “Americanush.”

  He frowned. He thought he heard it again. He recognized they had to be Germans speaking, and if they were speaking about Americans, then that likely meant they knew he and the guys were around.

  Kafak figured he’d better do something. After all, that’s what he’d been sent here for. He lifted the barrel of the Thompson into the air and pulled the trigger.

  A click sounded in the quiet night.

  Nothing else.

  Shit!

  Kafak heard movement at the back of the house, around the corner. He whirled around and ran for where he had left his comrades. Behind him he heard the Germans. They were shouting now. He figured they were shouting at him. He kept running. The guys opened up, and bullets whizzed around him. Now everybody was shouting to their own guys, the Germans and the Americans. Kafak kept runni
ng straight so his own patrol wouldn’t hit him. He hoped the Germans didn’t open up, because running straight made him a ripe target for them.

  He saw Cole and leaped into the shell crater right beside him. He rolled over, breathing heavily.

  “Fuck!” he said through his ragged breath. “Son of a bitch fuck!”

  “What happened, Bob?” Cole said.

  Everyone else was firing at the farmhouse. They saw Germans running everywhere, but all of them had been behind the building, not inside it.

  “This fucking gun jammed,” he said.

  “Did you try to fire it?”

  “Yeah. Like you said. I heard a couple Krauts whispering. I was going to fire to alert you guys. Then it jammed.”

  “Here let me see.”

  Kafak handed over the gun.

  He said, “That goddamned click was so fucking loud, I figure they heard it in fucking Rome.”

  It felt that way, anyhow, to him. Rome was dozens of miles away, but that click was loud in the quiet night. It gave him away. Made him a sitting duck. Sure, he thought, all the way to fucking Rome.

  Cole cleared the gun and handed it back.

  “Here,” he said. Then he smiled. “You run pretty good.”

  “Think I just set a fucking record for the fucking twenty-yard dash.”

  “Think you did, all right,” Cole smiled.

  “Probably stand for a good long while, too.”

  Cole laughed, then started firing again at the farmhouse where the Germans had taken cover.

  “How many you see?” he said, shouting over the combat.

  “I heard at least two. Didn’t see any.”

  Kafak started firing his own tommy gun. Now it worked, he found he liked it.

  “Sergeant!” Cole said. “Anybody! We got a count on the enemy?”

  “I’d say ’bout eight of ’em, sir. Three or four moved inside the house, another two are flat on the ground between the house and that chicken coop. A couple more dropped into the ruins of that barn.”

  “Sounds like we might get some prisoners tonight after all.”

  “We’re gonna have to take ’em fast, sir.”