It was a very large tree.
It was mostly dead, but none the less, it was large, and that is where
he hid, with his rifle, a few snacks and canteen. No one had called a truce, nobody stopped
fighting, it was just that Sargent Dan Porter had had enough. He was done.
No longer would he point his gun at anyone and shoot. He had tucked himself into that hollowed out
tree and there he would stay.
With his eyes squinched closed he tried to remain perfectly
still. Even his breathing was kept as
quiet as he could make it. He didn’t
wish to be shot, nor did he care to shoot anyone. He wanted, with all his might, to be back
home. He wanted to be a little boy
again, complaining about his chores, whining about his sister. He even thought about being back in school,
sitting in those stupid little desks, and lugging his books from class to
class. Where did that time go, he
wondered. It all went by so fast, and
now here he was wedged into this tree, hiding from the war, hoping it would all
just go away.
At least when nightfall came, he would be able to sit
down. Even if his feet stuck out a
little, no one would see them at night.
For now, however, he just stood motionless, squeezing his rifle close
into his chest, and hoping the nearby sounds he was hearing were heading away
from him. He knew if the enemy found him
they would shoot him, but if his own men discovered him hiding he would be
tried as a deserter and then shot.
Either way – it wasn’t looking too good for the Sargent.
Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one to hear people
making their way through the woods, for someone lobbed a hand grenade and it
exploded not far from the tree he was using for shelter. The blast scared him, and he jumped but
didn’t yell. He could hear the soldiers
fall and one of them was moaning in pain.
His tree shook but nothing penetrated the wood. His first thought was to get himself out of
the tree he had wedged himself into and check on the wounded man. Maybe there was something he could do to stop
the bleeding. He stood perfectly still,
listening, waiting. Would there be a
second grenade? His ears were still
ringing from the blast and for just a moment he thought the moaning had
stopped. He was wrong. He still heard it, and it was close, maybe just
on the other side of his tree.
As he stood there frozen in fear, he began to wonder which
uniform he’d find on the downed soldier.
Would it be someone he knew?
Maybe even someone who would recognize him. Maybe it was the other side. It’s very possible the enemy had been
following him, saw him duck into this tree and just before they got to him, the
grenade took them out.
It had been long enough.
It didn’t seem likely there would be a second grenade, but should he risk
stepping out of hiding to help some guy who could very well be the enemy? Maybe the guy was already dead. He didn’t hear the moaning anymore. Maybe he should just stay put. What kind of person am I? Can I really let someone bleed to death who
is lying just a few feet away? I doubt I
could live with myself. For the rest of
my life I’d think about nothing else.
Being afraid of war is one thing but this was something else altogether.
Even though it was not yet dark, the Sargent turned a little
sideways and squeezed himself out of the tree.
Just to his right lay the body of the soldier. It was not a uniform he was familiar with. He knelt down and gently rolled the body
over. He was still alive but barely
breathing. The Sargent was surprised to
see how young the kid was. There was way
too much blood on the uniform to be able to tell the exact location of the
wound, but he couldn’t risk ripping open the guy’s clothes, not while they were
out in the open. Who knew who was watching,
or if this guy would suddenly wake up and start yelling. On the other hand, he knew he had to do
something if he was going to try to save him.
The distant gunfire had not let up, and occasional
explosions rocked the countryside. What
am I doing? I’m not a medic. Even if I expose the wound – then what? Direct pressure, how long can I keep that up? There isn’t going to be a Calvary riding over
the hill to rescue us. This isn’t the
movies. I should get back into my tree
and wait until dark. But as the Sargent
was thinking of retreating back into hiding, the young soldier opened his
eyes. Now Sargent Dan was face to face
with this person. The kid looked scared,
even more scared than the Sargent.
Neither said anything. Then
something happened. Unconsciously the Sargent
made a facial expression, as if to say, I’m sorry this happened to you. At that moment tears rolled down the cheeks
of the young soldier. They both just
knew they were not enemies; they were simply people. People who had been put into a situation
neither wanted but couldn’t get out of.
Dan Porter’s grandson had hung on every word. The ladies were still clearing off the dining
table and fussing in the kitchen as Dan wrapped up his story. But the grandson wanted to hear what happened
next. He climbed up on his grandfather’s
lap and then slid off, landing on the sofa cushion next to him.
“Finish it Grandpa.
What happened?”
Dan looked into the face of his grandson, smiled and said, “Well,
as you can see, I got out of that tree.”
“But what happened to the dying soldier?
“Some day I’ll tell you the story of your Uncle Todd. He isn’t really your Uncle but I’m guessing
you’ll like the story.”
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