Entangled Hearts

Chapter 32

It was in the middle of August in 1918. John had not seen Gene since in early June for he had been wounded in a battle near the Belleau Wood. A few days after the marines had mowed down hordes of gray-clad enemies with perfect marksmanship. John had been rushed to an emergency hospital at that time, later he was moved to the base hospital in Brest, where his wounds were being treated daily.

John lay on his cot with its snowy white sheets and cases, looking at the murky sky, it had been weeks since he had seen a sunshiny day. He wondered where his comrade was and if he were still safe. He closed his eyes and could see it all again- the battlefield and the way he happened to get hurt.

They had ridden from the railroad to the front in a chugging, rattling bus. He could again see the poor tired and hungry refugees slowly mobbing in the opposite direction along the road, in an attempt to flee from the German's rapidly advancing lines. There were old men and women with hoary hair, and small children, riding in hand carts and on the backs of donkeys. Some were trudging along with sticks in their hands, driving a cow or nanny goat before them. They carried oddly shaped bundles, containing food and personal belongings. Their faces and tattered clothing were covered with white dust that was whirled upon them by the rumbling truck and busses that were rolling along the road toward the enemy's line.

He remembered how stiff and tired his limbs felt from riding, but the machine guns were advancing and the artillery must make ready to "hold the lines." That night, his company had slept in a field of unharvested wheat. He was so tired then, he could have slept on a pile of rocks without them feeling hard, he was sure. Lying there, looking up into the blackness of the night, before he dropped off to sleep, he heard the uneven purr of an aeroplane somewhere overhead. He knew that sound came from no other than an enemy plane, for only the motors of the German planes made that particular sound. For a few seconds, his muscles were tense, he wondered if a bomb would be dropped down on them where they lay. Soon, the purr faded away in the distance and his eyes closed in sleep until near dawn.

The Germans had placed machine gun nests in every place of advantage in the Belleau Wood, which was a jungle of heavy foliage, vines, and short underbrush. Orders had been given to clear out the German nests. It was on the morning of June 6, just before daybreak that the fighting began, outside the main woods. John was lying in a shell hole and in another not far away was Gene, between them and back of them lay scores of dead and dying comrades that had been fired upon from hidden German guns. John remembered how he had clutched his rifle tightly in his hands. At his feet nestled a bag of hand grenades. "Plurp!" A bullet whizzed over him, missing his head by mere inches. Another and still another hummed by. John peered over the edge of the hole and tried to make out where the shots were coming from. They were from somewhere in the nearby thicket, but just exactly where he could not tell. Gene fired a shot from his hiding place, to attract the attention of the Heines. John knew his chance and he crawled like a furry green caterpillar from one hole to the next toward the clump of brush not far from him. He dragged the bag of bombs with him while Gene kept the Germans interested.

Again, John found protection and fired toward the nest to give Gene a rest and a chance to advance, John saw a rustle in the trees not far from him. He drew a hand grenade out of the bag and raised his arm to throw it into the German nest. A German in the nest saw him and fired his Mauser in his direction just as the bomb lit in the clump of trees. John remembered the horrible pain in his arm and shoulder. If the German's aim had been sure, John would have been killed instead of being wounded. Gene went into the trees and finished the job the hand grenade had started then came back to John and bound up his wounded arm. He carried John's pack and gun, and together they started back to find the rest of their company, for they were the only two left of their platoon. As they went stumbling along over the shell-torn ground, passing the dead comrades, they came upon a familiar figure. John shuddered at the thought of seeing Squatty lying there in a pool of red that had once been the lifestream in his veins.