They’d all gone.
He rose and walked back to the German soldier. Something was becoming very clear to Ulster Scarlett.
“Amerikaner! Der Scheint ist fast zu Ende zu sein! Erlaube mir nach Hause zu gehen!”
Lieutenant Scarlett had made up his mind. The situation was perfect! More than perfect—it was extraordinary!
It would take an hour, perhaps longer, for the rest of the Fourteeenth Battalion to reach the area. B Company’s Captain Jenkins was so determined to be a hero he had run hell out of them. Advance! Advance! Advance!
But this was his—Scarlett’s—way out! Maybe they’d jump a rank and make him a captain. Why not? He’d be a hero.
Only he wouldn’t be there.
Scarlett withdrew his revolver and as the German screamed he shot him in the forehead. Then he leapt to the machine gun. He started firing.
First to the rear, then to the right, then to the left.
The crackling, shattering noise echoed throughout the forest. The bullets entering trees thumped with a terrible finality. The sound was overpowering.
And then Scarlett pointed the weapon in the direction of his own men. He pulled the trigger and held it steady, swinging the gun from one flank to the other. Scare the living Jesus out of them! Maybe kill a few!
Who cared?
He was a power of death.
He enjoyed it.
He was entitled to it.
He laughed.
He withdrew his pressed finger and stood up.
He could see the mounds of dirt several hundred yards to the west. Soon he would be miles away and out of it all!
Suddenly he had the feeling he was being watched! Someone was watching him! He withdrew his pistol once again and crouched to the earth.
Snap!
A twig, a branch, a crushed stone!
He crawled on his knees slowly, cautiously into the woods.
Nothing.
He allowed his imagination to take over his reason. The sound was the sound of a tree limb cracked by the machine-gun fire. The sound was the sound of that same limb falling to the ground.
Nothing.
Scarlett retreated, still unsure, to the edge of the woods. He quickly picked up the remains of the dead German’s helmet and began to run back to Company B’s position.
What Ulster Stewart did not know was that he was being watched. He was being watched intently. With incredulity.
A German officer, the blood on his forehead slowly congealing, stood upright hidden from the American by the trunk of a wide pine tree. He had been about to kill the Yank lieutenant—as soon as his enemy left the gun—when he saw the man suddenly turn his fire on his own men. His own troops.
His own troops!
He had the American in his Luger’s sight but he did not wish to kill this man.
Not yet.
For the German officer, the last man of his company in that small forest—left for dead—knew precisely what the American was doing.
It was a classic example under maximum conditions.
An infantry point, a commissioned officer at that, turning his information to his own advantage against his own troops!
He could put himself out of range of combat and get a medal in the bargain!
The German officer would follow this American.
Lieutenant Scarlett was halfway back to Company B’s position when he heard the noise behind him. He flung himself to the ground and slowly turned his body around. He tried to stare through the slightly weaving tall grass.
Nothing.
Or was there nothing?
There was a corpse not twenty feet away—face down. But there were corpses everywhere.
Scarlett didn’t remember this one. He remembered only the faces. He saw only the faces. He didn’t remember.
Why should he?
Corpses everywhere. How could he remember? A single body with its face down. There must be dozens like that. He just didn’t notice them.
He was letting his imagination overwork again! It was dawn.… Animals would come out of the ground, out of the trees.
Maybe.
Nothing moved.
He got up and raced to the mounds of dirt to Company B.
“Scarlett! My God, it’s you!” said the captain, who was crouched in front of the first trench. “You’re lucky we didn’t shoot. We lost Fernald and Otis in the last fire! We couldn’t return it because you were out there!”
Ulster remembered Fernald and Otis.
No loss. Not in exchange for his own escape.
He threw the German helmet he had carried from the forest to the ground. “Now, listen to me. I’ve wiped out one nest, but there are two others. They’re waiting for us. I know where they are and I can get them. But you’ve got to stay put! Down! Fire off to the left in ten minutes after I leave!”
“Where are you going?” asked the captain in consternation.
“Back where I can do some good! Give me ten minutes and then start firing. Keep it up for at least three or four minutes, but for Christ’s sake, shoot left. Don’t kill me. I need the diversion.” He abruptly stopped and before the captain could speak reentered the field.