Job raised his Colt, racked the slide twice, and squeezed the trigger in rapid succession—only the hammer clicked. He'd emptied the magazine in the heat of the struggle.
"Damn it, of all times!" Job cursed and quickly hurled his empty pistol at the German soldier.The soldier ducked—but in that instant Job hurled his last remaining dagger with deadly accuracy, embedding it in the man's throat. The German staggered, tore out the blade, and collapsed in a fountain of blood, rolling across the ground until he lay still.
With his final weapon cast aside, Job was utterly defenseless. Gritting his teeth, he crawled toward Crane, knelt beside him, and examined the grievous wound in the young sniper's groin. He shook his head, managing a grim smile.
"Christ, that was brutal—cut it clean to the bone. Thank God you didn't sever the artery."
Job retrieved Crane's combat first-aid pack—gauze, disinfectant tablets, improvised bandages—and rummaged through it. From the bottom he pulled a small vial of morphine. He clicked his tongue in surprise. "You ought to be a medic, not a sniper."
He injected Crane with the morphine, then fumbled with the bandages, sweat beading on his forehead as he worked.
"Goddamn it—why is it so damn hard to bandage this place up? Is there a better way to wrap it!"
Crane, conscious now but white with pain, coughed and forced out, "Job… did you… did you ruin my… manhood?"
"No," Job said, exhaling. "It's intact."
"Really? You're not lying?"
"I swear."
Crane would never be the same again. No matter what. A distant rumble of artillery told them the Germans were faltering.
"Stay with me," Job urged. "Listen—those Krauts are breaking. The Captain's pushed them back!"
"Goddamn Germans," Crane rasped. "Job, after all this—do you think they even know we're alive? The Captain might've left us for dead."
Job was silent for a moment, then chuckled. "Crane, remember Omaha Beach? I was sure I'd die before dawn—until I saw Captain Carter . Back then he was only a sergeant."
"A sergeant? And in days he's a captain? Unbelievable."
"Yeah. Lucky bastard," Job laughed, picturing me stepping up when that other lieutenant bit it.
"Luck's fine," Job continued more softly, "but you need the will to live. Without that, you won't last the day."
"That's some wisdom," Crane admitted through gritted teeth. "Doesn't sound like something just anyone would say."
"Beats me—I heard it straight from him."
Crane cracked a weak grin. "Alright—I admit it. I don't want to die."
"That's your business," Job replied, and they shared a weary smile.
Job had earned every ounce of his reputation as an exceptional sniper these days. I still worried for both him and Crane.
"They're either dead or missing," I told Donovan, voice heavy.
"Or prisoners," Joanner whispered.
"If they're POWs, maybe they'll survive," I allowed a flicker of hope. "But right now, we need to regroup and rest. Send out search parties—if there's no sign, list them MIA."
"Yes, sir," Donovan replied.
"And compile the casualty and missing reports, with each squad's after-action summaries,"I pointed to Mark Luca, who was taking over as acting weapons platoon leader in place of Winters.
"Yes, sir!"
With the meeting over, we dispersed. Later, in Herbert's command tent, the colonel clasped my shoulder, regret etched on his face.
"Captain, this operation was my fault. I nearly lost you—and cost us too many men. Forgive me."
"It's war, sir," I said. "You can't predict every move of the enemy."
I pressed him, "What now, Colonel? More sweeps through the jungle?"
Herbert smiled wanly. "Carter, the Red Ball Express is running. The Germans here have withdrawn—you're done. Colonel Langford has summoned you back."
Langford had finally been promoted—but apparently resented sharing command. I frowned. Clécy's jungle still held scattered enemy pockets.
"I'd keep you here," Herbert said, "but your higher-ups have other plans."
"Well, we're soldiers," I shrugged.
"Indeed," he said, pouring two glasses of wine. "To being soldiers—but may we never fight again in the next life."
"Soldiers, yes—but no more war," I toasted, draining my glass. Herbert followed suit.
"Where to next?" I asked, wiping my mouth.
"A major German port," he guessed. "We lack a deep-water harbor for supplies."
I nodded. After Omaha, the Allies had towed two prefabricated harbors—Mulberry A and B—into the Normandy surf. Three days later, the fiercest storm in forty years tore A to pieces and crippled B. With supplies running out, our only choice was to seize Cherbourg's fortified port.
"Securing Clécy clears the path inland," I said. "We'll cut off their retreat and make Cherbourg our supply hub."
"Exactly," Herbert agreed. "You'll soon brief higher command on the assault."
Back with my men, I stood before them. "Brothers, our next mission: capture a port city."
"Which one, sir?" Joanner asked.
"Not confirmed, but likely Cherbourg—the only deep-water harbor we can use to sustain our advance."
"Christ," Donovan spat. "They'll slaughter us there."
"This time we're not alone," I reassured them.
"No—the brass always sends us in first," Donovan muttered.
"Enough!" I slammed my fist on the table. Donovan shrank back.
"War kills every day. You may hate it—but it isn't over. We wear this uniform—and we carry out our duty, no matter what! I hate war as much as you. I want it over. But unless we see this through, none of these sacrifices mean anything. If all goes well, this damned war will be over in a few months"
A sentry burst in, out of breath. "Sir—Job and Crane have returned!"
"What?" I sprang up—and so did everyone else.
"Job and Crane are back?"
"Meeting adjourned—let's go meet them!" I shouted.
I rushed outside to find Job staggering toward me, caked in blood and mud.
"Job—my brother!" I threw my arms around him. "Thank God you're alive. I thought I'd lost you."
"I'm not done with the grim reaper yet," he groaned, wincing under my embrace.
I stepped back. "Where's Crane?"
"Field hospital. His… equipment's shot," Job said quietly.
Silence fell. Many men were wounded, but for a soldier, injuries like that were a life-altering sentence. No one could truly fix that for him.
"May God watch over him," I whispered—and meant it with all my heart.