My Honor Flight (8 page)

Chartelli had
a big mouth and a sense of humor.  But he was a smart son of a gun.  He really knew
how people work.

Jimmy Monahan
was a kid from Philadelphia.  We called him Leprechaun, because he had red hair
and a bright red beard when he didn’t shave.  He was a solid GI.  But he had
problems with sleeping.  We called it sleepwalking, but it was a hell of a lot
more than that.  He would yell and scream at night, just in a terrible panic. 
When we would wake him up, he wouldn’t remember anything about it.  Then he’d
go back to bed and go right to sleep.  Of course, by then we were all wide
awake, because he’d scared us half to death.

This happened
more often since we reached France.  He said that his nightmares were always
worse when he was stressed.  Being in a foreign country and being shot at by
krauts all the time will make you stressed.  So, we saw it almost every night. 
They weren’t nightmares like I had, where I was falling or krauts were
attacking us.  Jimmy would say some really crazy things.  Sometimes something
would be crawling on him, or he’d yell some gibberish that none of us could
understand.  The Company gave him a hard time about it.  Most days at
breakfast, we’d share the stories from the night before.  Jimmy took it OK.  We
got to the point where he’d just shake his head and laugh about it.  There was
nothing else he could do. 

That was all
fine and dandy until we got a little further into France.  There were nights when
we would be camped out right on top of the enemy.  You can imagine what would
happen if someone let out a big scream in the middle of a quiet night, alerting
the Germans to our location.  

We came up
with a solution.  We figured out that he only had his episodes in the first
hour of sleep.  So we’d have two guys sit next to him for an hour after he fell
asleep.  If Jimmy started moving around or making noise, they would wake him
up.  Of course everyone had their own ways of waking Jimmy up.  Kozlowski
seemed to enjoy it the most, because he’d punch Jimmy hard in the gut.  I
thought that was really cruel, since Jimmy wasn’t awake.

Our approach
worked really well for the first few days.  In fact, when we would interrupt
Jimmy’s dreams, he would thank us because he could remember what he was
dreaming.  He told us he dreamed about spiders crawling on him, or someone
holding him down, or someone trying to kill him.  Our system worked great for
three or four nights.  But then Jimmy had one of his more physical episodes. 
He jumped up, screaming immediately, with no warning.  I swear to God he jumped
ten feet from a sleeping position to a full standing position, staring out into
the darkness screaming his head off.  We all bolted up to a sitting position. 

 “Shut him
the hell up,” growled Cap Reynolds.  Cap had a pistol in his hand and was
moving toward the commotion.  He looked out in the darkness, trying to see if
any krauts heard.

 “Jimmy, shut
up, man!” Robertson said in a hoarse whisper, grabbing Jimmy by the shoulder.

 “Them krauts
gonna hear you!”

Jimmy jerked
away and started to yell something.  Robertson popped Jimmy with a hard right
cross on the jaw.  Jimmy’s head snapped to the side and came right back.  He
looked at Robertson with a furrowed brow. 

 “Why’d you
do that for, Tim?”

 “Sorry,
Jimmy, you were yelling pretty good,” whispered Robertson.

Jimmy nodded,
turned, and got back in his bedroll.   He rolled over and was instantly asleep.

 “He wasn’t
awake?” someone asked.

Robertson
shook his head.  “I thought he was, but I don’t know.”

The next
morning, Jimmy complained at breakfast about his face hurting.  We all just
shook our heads.  He didn’t remember a thing. 

Cap Reynolds
shook his head.  “If we don’t stop it, Jimmy, we’re going to have to get you
out of the Company.”

No one wanted
to leave Buzz Company.  I suppose that sounds strange.  None of us wanted to be
on the frontline in a war.  But since we were there, we wanted to be the best
Company there was.  We were Buzz Company!  We got the job done, and we were
proud of our results.  We never bragged about anything—we just always made it a
point to do what we were ordered, and do it well.  If someone had to leave Buzz
Company, that probably meant they couldn’t cut the mustard.  And we knew we all
could cut the mustard.

So the next night,
I was the lucky bastard who had Monahan watch detail, with Franklin.  Franklin
was from a town near Columbus, Ohio.  We got along real good because we were
both Midwesterners.  So me and Franklin were just sitting there, waiting for
the hour to pass so we could go to bed.  Suddenly Jimmy rolled over onto his
belly, laid there bolt-straight, and stared off into the distance.

 “Jimmy!”
both Franklin and I whispered.  “Wake up!”

 “Shut the hell
up!” he whispered back.  “There are krauts out there!”

 “No shit!”
said Franklin.  “You think we’re here on fuckin’ vacation?”

 “Shut up!”
whispered Jimmy.  “Get me my gun!”

I eyed
Franklin.  Jimmy wasn’t allowed to carry firearms at night, because we didn’t
want him shooting anyone he thought was a giant spider or something.  I looked
at Franklin as if to say, “Do you think he’s really awake?”

Franklin knew
what I was thinking.  “Where are we, Jimmy?” he asked.

 “We’re in
the fucking country and we’re about to get shot by fucking krauts!” He was
really getting agitated.  “If I can’t have a gun, YOU shoot them!  But stay
down!”

I crouched
down.  Jimmy sure sounded awake. 

 “Where are
they, Jimmy?” I asked. “Point at ’em.”

 “Right THERE.”
 He stabbed his finger toward a pasture, just over a wooden rail fence.

 “OK, just
shut up so we can listen,” I said. 

We all stayed
motionless, and I just barely heard a rustling in the nearby field.  It was a
warm summer night.  Really humid, I remember.  Mosquitoes were biting.  There
was heavy cloud cover, so we couldn’t see very well.  It felt like it might
rain.  I was straining to filter out the sounds of insects and frogs.  Then I
heard that rustling again.  Someone really was in the field. 

I sighed and
looked at Franklin.  I tilted my head toward the noise, indicating I thought we
should go check it out.  He nodded.  We both got down on our bellies and
crawled under the railing of the fence.  We made a huge mistake right there. 
Not only did we leave Jimmy alone, we didn’t wake anyone up to cover for us. 
We lay there for a few minutes in the weeds, listening.  There was definitely
someone there—they would move just a little bit every couple of minutes.  We
couldn’t tell if they were moving closer or passing the camp.

Franklin moved
next to me.  “We need backup,” he whispered.  I nodded, but I’m sure he didn’t
see it. 

 “I’ll head
back to the camp,” I said.  Then I slowly crawled backwards through weeds and
the fence toward the camp.  I reached Petey and shook him awake.

 “Gather the Company
real quiet.  We got krauts on us but they don’t know we are here.”

 “OK,” he
whispered.  He was real raspy, like he was panicked.

 “Franklin’s
in the field. I’m going back to help,” I said.  I pointed to our entry point to
the field.  “Watch where I go in.  Don’t shoot me and Franklin.”

 “OK,”
whispered Petey again, still raspy.

I crawled
back, and climbed into the field at the fence line again.  If Franklin had
moved, we could end up shooting each other!

I got to our
original spot, and Franklin was gone.  I didn’t know what to do.  If I moved,
he might think I was a kraut and shoot me.  If he moved, the same could happen
to him.  I pondered on this for a few minutes, not moving.  Finally I decided I
needed to call him.  I figured Buzz Company was loaded up in camp, so they were
ready for a fight.

 “Franklin?”
I called out in the quietest whisper I could muster.

Nothing.

 “Franklin?”
I whispered a little louder.  Something rustled to my left.  It startled me
because it was much louder than I expected.  I wheeled my rifle around to point
it in the direction of the noise, but before I could turn it all the way, it
smacked into something hard.

 “Goddamn!”
whispered Franklin.  I’d hit him in the face with the barrel of my rifle.  “I’m
right fucking here!”

 “Where are
the krauts?” I asked.

I felt
Franklin’s hand reach my shoulder, then my ear.  He pulled my head closer to
him.  “Maybe thirty feet, straight ahead.  What should we do?”  Something
dripped on my cheek, right below my ear.  He was bleeding from getting hit in
the face.

 “Platoon’s
awake.  They know we are in here.  They got flashlights.  If we fire a shot,
they’ll shine over here.”

 “Yeah, but
the krauts will see our guns flash.”

 “How about
we just sit and wait?”

 “Sounds
better,” whispered Franklin.  We went quiet.

But about a
minute later, the rustling started up, and it wasn’t just a little movement. 
It was constant.  The krauts were on the move, and right toward us!

We were
laying on our bellies in the field, in total darkness.  The rustling sounded
like thunder!  And we could tell it was getting closer.  We aimed our weapons
toward the noise. 

 “Fire!”
yelled Franklin.

We both
started shooting, spraying rifle fire left, center and right.  When the clips
emptied, we pulled our sidearms and kept shooting.  A couple of flashlights
came on in the camp, and they pointed them over our heads.  At least we could
see a little bit into the field.  No one was standing there.  We stopped
shooting.  I was panting hard from the adrenaline, and I held my breath so I
could hear any telltale rustling.  But my pulse was loud in my ears and I
couldn’t hear anything.  I exhaled and tried to breathe quickly to recover my
wind.

 “Mackinack? 
Franklin?  You boys OK?” called Cap Reynolds.

We didn’t
know if we should answer, in case there were krauts lying down like us.   I
fired the last two rounds in my pistol into the dark plants in the field, and
we crawled out backwards toward camp.

Everyone in
the company was in defensive positions.  We belly-crawled to Cap.

 “How many?”
he asked.

 “We don’t
know,” I said.  “In the weeds, it’s completely dark.”

 “We’ll wait
until daylight and then attack the field.  You two have seen enough of the
field tonight—take perimeter patrol in the back.”

No one got to
sleep that night.  The rest of the night was quiet.  At dawn, Cap assembled us
to take the field.  We entered the field in three groups of four, and the rest
of the company spread out along both sides of the perimeter.  All of a sudden McIntire
called out.

 “Clear!”  He
stood up in the field.

 “What the hell
are you doing?” called Cap.  “Field’s not clear until you cover it all!”

McIntire
looked back at Cap and casually saluted him.  “Yes sir!  But we got the bad guy
here, sir.  He ain’t going nowhere!” 

Morelli was
in McIntire’s group—of course.  He slung his rifle on his shoulder, the barrel
facing the ground.  He was chewing on a piece of long grass stem.  “He’s right
Cap, we’re clear.  Hey Mackinack,  you and Franklin peppered this guy!”

We slowly
stood up, looking around the rest of the field.  “How do you know we’re clear?”
I asked.

 “Who saw
this guy?” asked Morelli.

 “Monahan,”
Franklin said.

McIntire
nodded.  “Well, that explains it.”

 “Explains
what?” I asked.

 “Look for
yourself,” said Morelli, gesturing to the ground.  “We had to wake Monahan up
last night in all the excitement.  He didn’t see shit last night.”

We looked
down to find a dead cow.

 “Well, I
give you credit for good shootin,’” said Morelli. “But goddamn.  We coulda had
STEAK today.”

 “Or milk
this morning.” McIntire pointed at the udder. 

 “Damn boys,”
said Morelli.  “You couldn’t even shoot a BOY cow?”

We’d been
attacked by a milk cow.  Franklin and I both cussed and glared over at Monahan,
who was standing at the perimeter, blinking innocently.  McIntire and Morelli were
cackling away, and I know I was blushing.

 “The great
Buzz Company cow killers!” called out Chartelli.

 “No cow
breaches our perimeter, not when you got the Midwestern dream team on the
scene!” yelled Morelli.

 “But you
know what?” yelled McIntire to everyone.  “We coulda had us STEAK!” 

The rest of
the platoon was already tending to our camp, preparing for breakfast.  There
was a lot of debate about how long a cow could be dead before it wasn’t edible
anymore.  Franklin and I walked up to Cap.  We were both looking down, sure we
were going to get chewed.

Cap was
standing with his arms crossed, looking at the field. 

 “You boys
got something to say?”

 “Cap,” said
Franklin.  “We swear to God that Jimmy was acting like he was awake!”