Birdy

hollowed-out bit of a hole. I don’t want to dig.
    Then it starts. It’s one-five-five; ours. Somebody must’ve given these trees as coordinates and called in division or corp artillery. I jump up and start running madly along the hill toward Reuth. The ground is bouncing and pieces of dirt fly around and thump into me. It’s hitting me in the face as I run, like running through a hailstorm or riding a bicycle behind a truckload of gravel. Then I feel something pull on my left arm and spin me around. I look down and there’s a small hole, shaped like an acorn, on the right side of my left wrist. A drop of blood is oozing slowly out of the hole. It’s dark red. I stop in the middle of the field and stare at it. I close my fist and the little finger stays stiff out. I turn over my hand and there’s no exit hole on the other side. Something breaks inside me and I’m crying. I can go back. I can go to a hospital and be operated on! I can talk to doctors, tell them I’m finished! The war is over!
    Another shell hits to the left and I’m knocked down. My ears are ringing and when I wipe my face, my hand comes away wet with blood. I feel all over my face but there’s nothing except where the dirt and pebbles have made little cuts. I start running again. I run till I come to a road on the outskirts of Reuth. I still haven’t seen anybody. I can hear small arms fire up ahead in the town. I see a hole dug on the side of the road. I’ll climb in there and wait till some medic comes for me. I have all the time in the world; the war’s over. Alfonso Columbato is going home as awounded war hero. I hear another shell coming so I run forward and jump in the hole.
    The war isn’t over! There’re two krauts in the hole! I land right on top of them! They struggle out from under me and put their hands on top of their heads. I lean back in the hole and try to cover them with my rifle. I’m scared shitless and they’re smiling at me. The whole thing is crazy. They want me to end the war for them, too. Here we are, three guys in a hole, bucking for civilian.
    One’s an old guy, over forty; the other can’t be sixteen. Neither of them has a helmet, just field caps. They keep smiling at me. They’re glad I’m not killing them. I’m glad they’re there, now I have two excuses to go back. I’ll be the wounded war hero coming in with prisoners captured in hand-to-hand combat. Maybe this is the way all heroes are made.
    Then the stomping one-five-five starts creeping up the hill. Somebody’s changing the coordinates and marching it right up. The whole world seems to be coming down on us. One hits less than ten yards away and the walls of the hole begin crumbling. I feel panic. Here I am so close and now I’m going to get killed for nothing. I lean back and point my rifle at the krauts. I signal them to get up out of the hole. They’re not smiling now, they don’t want to go. I’m getting out of there and I’m taking them with me. I want to end the war for them and I’m going to be a big war hero on top of it all.
    They won’t move. I drive my rifle barrel into the ribs of the older guy and yell at him to get out. He jabbers away but he starts climbing and the young one follows him. They leave their rifles and keep their hands on top of their heads. I point with my rifle toward the trees. If anybody were actually looking, it really would look like some kind of war scene with the bloody hero forcing his prisoners back to the lines. I smile to show them that I’m on their side but I’m too scared to bring off a real smile. They have to trust me; we can’t hole up there with that heavy stuff coming in.
    We go about thirty yards down the road toward the trees whenall sorts of shit comes down on us. This time it’s kraut artillery, not tanks; this is big. The two krauts hit the dirt, still with their hands on top of their heads. I’m sprawled behind them. The whole world is rocking. We’ve got to get the hell down to the woods and in a hurry. We’re going to be massacred if we stay out here in the open. I’m yelling for them to get up and get moving. They can’t hear me, they can’t understand me, and they wouldn’t move if they did. They push their heads deeper into the dirt. I could’ve just left them there and I should’ve. But I’ve got myself convinced I want these prisoners and I also think I know what’s best for them.
    I squeeze off a shot over the head of the older guy. He turns around and looks