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 forus. 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.
Once in the tall grass, Scarlett sprung from one German corpse to another, grabbing the helmets off the lifeless heads. After he had five helmets, he lay on the ground and waited for the firing to commence.
The captain did his part. One would have thought they were back at Château-Thierry. In four minutes the firing stopped.
Scarlett rose and ran back to his company’s lines. As he appeared with the helmets in his hand, the men broke into spontaneous cheers. Even the captain, whose resentment disappeared with his newfound admiration, joined his men.
“God damn it to hell, Scarlett! That was the bravest act I’ve seen in the war!”
“Not so fast,” Scarlett demurred with a humility not in evidence before. “We’re clear in front and on the left flank, but a couple of Krauts ran off to the right. I’m going after them.”
“You don’t have to. Let ’em go. You’ve done enough.” Captain Jenkins revised his opinion of Ulster Scarlett. The young lieutenant had met his challenge.
“If you don’t mind, sir, I don’t think I have.”
“What do you mean?”
“My brother.… Rolly was his name. The Krauts got him eight months ago. Let me go after them and you take the ground.”
Ulster Scarlett disappeared back into the field.
He knew exactly where he was going.
A few minutes later the American Lieutenant crouched by a large rock in his tiny island of stone and weeds. He waited for B Company to start its assault on the forest of pines. He leaned against the hard surface and looked up at the sky.
Then it came.
The men shouted to give themselves a touch more courage in the conceivable event they met the retreating enemy. Sporadic shots rang out. Several fingers were nervous. As the company reached the forest, a shattering volley from a score of rifles could be heard.
They were firing at dead men, thought Ulster
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 forus. 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.
Once in the tall grass, Scarlett sprung from one German corpse to another, grabbing the helmets off the lifeless heads. After he had five helmets, he lay on the ground and waited for the firing to commence.
The captain did his part. One would have thought they were back at Château-Thierry. In four minutes the firing stopped.
Scarlett rose and ran back to his company’s lines. As he appeared with the helmets in his hand, the men broke into spontaneous cheers. Even the captain, whose resentment disappeared with his newfound admiration, joined his men.
“God damn it to hell, Scarlett! That was the bravest act I’ve seen in the war!”
“Not so fast,” Scarlett demurred with a humility not in evidence before. “We’re clear in front and on the left flank, but a couple of Krauts ran off to the right. I’m going after them.”
“You don’t have to. Let ’em go. You’ve done enough.” Captain Jenkins revised his opinion of Ulster Scarlett. The young lieutenant had met his challenge.
“If you don’t mind, sir, I don’t think I have.”
“What do you mean?”
“My brother.… Rolly was his name. The Krauts got him eight months ago. Let me go after them and you take the ground.”
Ulster Scarlett disappeared back into the field.
He knew exactly where he was going.
A few minutes later the American Lieutenant crouched by a large rock in his tiny island of stone and weeds. He waited for B Company to start its assault on the forest of pines. He leaned against the hard surface and looked up at the sky.
Then it came.
The men shouted to give themselves a touch more courage in the conceivable event they met the retreating enemy. Sporadic shots rang out. Several fingers were nervous. As the company reached the forest, a shattering volley from a score of rifles could be heard.
They were firing at dead men, thought Ulster
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