Birdy

I’ve got a real thing about shorts. I can’t stop myself thinking of all the stupid civilians making those shells and then the morons back at corps shooting them off.
    At seven we’re up out of the holes. It’s just our luck; we’re the point squad of the point platoon of the point company; probably the point battalion of the point regiment of the point division of the whole pointed American army. Harrington’s first scout and Richards is with him. I’m bringing up the rear. This is where I’m supposed to be. It also happens to be where I want to be. That’s not quite true. I want to be almost anywhere else but out on this slanted field.
    We go down the field in close order route march. We look like mad golfers hunched over our clubs, not running, walking fast, everything pulled in, waiting for it. There’s a ground mist coming up from the field and a fog hanging from above. We walk half way down the hill, too far now to go back. If they see us, now’s the time to do it. I’m hoping Harrington’s right and I keep swallowing to hold back my coffee. My ears are thumping. The cold sweat is sticking on the hollow of my back. I have a phosphorous grenade on the end of my rifle and the tear-shaped, dark green, bulbous tip looms in front of me. In my fear, the whole field and the edges of the houses glow in rainbow colors.
    Then it starts. It’s burp guns and some kind of heavy caliber machine gun; then mortars. The tanks must not be there yet. We break into a run. Somebody drops. It’s not Harrington or Richards. It’s Collins. I run past and he’s holding his left shoulder with his right hand. There’s blood. I keep running. One of the replacements falls. He has his hands over his face and he’s rolling down the hill. Then his hands come loose from his face and his arms flop out till they stop his roll. He’s not getting up. I sprint ahead of Morris. Shit, this is going to be a morning! I catch up to Richards and Harrington.
    They’re hunkered down in a gully where the two hills meet, the one we’ve just come down and the one going up to Reuth. There’s water running along the gully. There’re flakes of ice on the mud and sticking to the grass. Richards is looking up over the edge of the hill and Harrington looks around at me. I point back.
    ‘Collins and one of the replacements got it!’
    ‘Shit!’
    Richards doesn’t look back.
    ‘Fuckin’ hill’s covered with fuckin’ mines. Goddamned mashers with wires strung out and shoe mines, too, I’ll bet. Sons-a-bitches!’
    There’s tracers flying over, singing like mad bees. Five stingers you can’t see for every buzzer you can. The rest of the squad’s squatting along the gully now. I look back and see the platoon coming over the hill. It’s going to be a real massacre, the crossroads all over again. We’ve got to do something; mortar’s going to start coming in any minute; we’re for sure under direct observation and when those tanks come up, we’re had. We’ve got to break out; get past the mine field and to the top of the hill. Over the top like WWI, wiping out machine gun nests! I’m thinking all this but I can’t move. I can’t talk. I’m squatting deep in the mud; the cold wetness is cooling where I’m chafed between my legs. I’m shaking and letting myself sink deeper in the mud. I can’t get myself to look around anymore. Harrington stands up.
    ‘The only way is to work up gradually, not go directly through the mines. They’re strung so we’ll trip ’em if we go straight up. It’s the only way!’
    ‘Yeah.’
    Richards doesn’t move. He’s stuck there too. Harrington begins to crawl along the ditch.
    ‘Come on, Al. Let’s you and me try it. We can’t stay here! Shit, we’re all going to get killed!’
    He moves off and I hate him. I follow him. I keep my eyes on the ground looking for mines. Twice, I step over thin wires between mines. I see one of the little pegs for a shoe mine. I get the shakes so bad, I’m stopped in my tracks. I can’t go on. I’m in the open and I can’t make myself go either way. It’s like on top of the gas tank; I’m paralyzed numb. Harrington is picking his way along. I don’t call out. I look back and Richards is gone. I feel alone. I can’t see anybody and I hope nobody can see me. I sink slowly to the ground.
    I don’t know how long I stay like that. I know I should get out my entrenching tool and dig but I can’t make myself do it.
    Then, I see somebody coming over