Untitled

Untitled

A Story by KSch
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A story about two soldiers in WWII Germany who meet unexpectedly. I'm stuck for the second ending

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PART ONE -- JAMES

I woke up to find myself hanging from a tree. I searched frantically through the pockets of my pants for my knife. Looking around, I saw that I was in a mostly open field�"except for the thin row of trees that I somehow managed to land in. My haversack was buried underneath the lush waves of uncut grass below me. It must have been around noon; the sun was beating down on my face as I struggled to free myself from the tangled lines of my parachute. After a while, my right hand managed to find the handle of the pocket knife tucked securely inside my boot. While I was cutting myself free, I couldn’t help but notice how eerily peaceful that place was. There was a calming breeze that swept through the air which forced the foliage to sway together in unison. Insects and birds flew freely through the branches of the small stretch of walnut, or oak, trees�"I could never remember which. It was an area that appeared to be undisturbed, but looks can be deceiving. After severing the last line, I dropped gracelessly to the ground below me. The fifteen foot fall was much higher than I anticipated, and the grass, as thick as it looked, did not provide a comfortable landing. I stood up slowly and gathered myself; I checked to see if I had any broken bones to worry about. Thankfully, there were none. I had managed to survive relatively unscathed. I wondered if anyone else had been so “lucky.” After all, there were no signs of any others in this area. It was possible that they found their way to the drop zone as planned, but I didn’t think that was the case. I was pleased to see my helmet lying on the ground beside my haversack. Inside the sack was a standard issue canteen, my father’s compass, a med kit, and my Colt .45 pistol. What I couldn’t find, however, was my rifle. I figured I had lost it somewhere during the jump, and, if that was true, there was a small chance I would be able to find it.

I was somewhere east of where I was supposed to be, thanks to the s**t-for-brains pilot who overshot the drop zone by five to ten miles, which consequently brought the plane closer to enemy lines. I was third, with fifteen soldiers behind me, when our plane began taking fire. The red light immediately switched to green, signaling for the first man in line to jump. I think Davis was his name. He took one step forward, but froze there. Lonnie Timmons was between Davis and me. I can remember Lonnie screaming, “Davis! It’s green, Davis! Jump!”, but Davis wasn’t going anywhere. Lonnie kicked him through the door and immediately followed him into the darkness. When I looked below me, there was only one open parachute. Just as I was about to make my exit, an anti-aircraft round hit the left wing of the plane. Then another. The jolt forced us to the floor. The light was still green. I composed myself as best I could and again made it to the exit. I jumped. My parachute was quick to open; I was spiraling slowly toward the earth. When I looked above me, I discovered that the plane had been replaced by a shooting star streaking through the black night. I must’ve hit the tree a few seconds after that. Even though it was an overcast night, the tracer rounds lit up the sky like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

            So there I was, somewhere in Italy, armed with only a pistol and a compass. I knew from my training that there was an Allied stronghold around five miles northwest of my position, so that’s the direction I went. After ten minutes of walking, the hills in front of me started to remind me of back home. I grew up on a farm just outside of Custer, South Dakota. At that time, there were no more than 1,500 people in the town. There wasn’t much to do in Custer, except on Friday nights in the fall; that’s when the high school football games were played. The whole town closed down on those nights because almost everyone attended the game.  I was the middle linebacker�"the bruiser, and I was good. The team went 13-1 my senior year, with our only loss coming in the State Championship game. I still have a copy of the Custer Post with a front page headline that reads: “Despite Championship Loss, James O’Reilly has Bright Future,” and it was true. In the weeks following the game, I received scholarship offers from Iowa, Penn State, and Ohio State. I chose Ohio State, much to the chagrin of my sweetheart, Carolyn. She said it was too far away. I loved Carolyn. She had burnt blonde hair, almond eyes, and a shy smile that she flashed freely. We were going to get married. I had everything going for me. One day, though, that changed. I stepped through the front door of my house after school to find my father and brother with their arms wrapped tightly around my mother’s shoulders. She was crying. Weeping, actually. There was a small letter lying face down on the table in front of them. A week later, I found myself standing on the side of the road with a backpack. I was waiting for the bus to pick me up, but I wasn’t going to school.

            I began to wonder how much time I had spent walking. Thirty minutes? Maybe it was forty. Whatever it was, I figured I was about halfway there. I was squinting because the sun had fallen far enough to be bothersome. It must have been around two in the afternoon. My boots weighed two pounds each, but they felt like they weighed twenty. My feet were dragging slowly up and down the hills almost as if they were separate from the rest of my body. I rested at the top of a hill. I drank what I had left and put the empty canteen back into my haversack. After a quick check of the compass, I resumed my hike toward salvation. The wind had died down; the air was filled with an unnerving silence. With only a few steps left until I reached the peak of the hill I was climbing, I heard a familiar sound. It was the sound of footsteps; boot steps, in fact. Had I reached the stronghold? I walked faster and reached the crest of the hill.

 

PART TWO �" NILS

I didn’t know if it was safe to move from the cold bricks I was covered in, but I grew tired of waiting. It had been two, maybe three, hours since the fighting had stopped. The town was almost completely silent�"except for the crackling sound that wood makes when it burns.

The sun was beginning to fall. The bright orange and blue of the sky created a misleading majesty that stole my thoughts away from the chaos that took place on the small streets of this town just a few hours before. As I stepped over the lifeless body of a man I had just met earlier in the day, I realized that the rest of my unit had fled to the north. Their boot prints made a path to the west of where I was standing. I decided to follow the trail until I caught up with everyone else. There was a small general store on the outskirts of the town that had a few supplies I thought I would need. Since the town was almost completely abandoned, I didn’t think it would be a problem if I borrowed some things. I stepped over the wood that blocked the sunken doorway. After filling my canteen, I started to sort through some of the random items on the floor of the shop. I stumbled across a few interesting things; there was a small statue and a leather-bound book. As I dug deeper, I saw that there were a few toys underneath the other things. There was a toy train. It appeared to be hand painted. I reached my hand deeper into the scrap pile, and I felt something soft and furry. I pulled out a miniature, hand-sewn teddy bear. It reminded me of my daughter.

            Elsie was young, but she knew that we couldn’t afford many presents on her birthday.

Even buying one present was difficult. She understood that gifts were not as important as maintaining the family farm. For most of her birthdays she got clothes or shoes. We gave her the things she needed, but this past year I saved a little extra so I could buy her something else. I didn’t have much, but I had enough to buy her a stuffed animal. I wrapped the teddy bear and hid it with the rest of her presents. When she finally tore the thin sheet of paper off her stuffed animal, she let out a smile that was unparalleled by any that I had ever seen.  Every day after that, Elsie and her bear were inseparable.

            I left the store, feeling sicker than when I had entered, and headed west. There was no indication of any German line ahead, but I figured that was because my comrades attempted to leave as little of a trace as possible to the direction they were heading. I walked past the edge of the town into the rolling hills. The sun started to inch toward a knoll behind me. The further I walked, the more distracted I became. The hills reminded me of hiking with my granddad as child. The birds brought back memories of hunting with my uncle. The forest, however, reminded me of something much worse.

It was a cool night. There were no stars in the sky, and the woods next to our home were completely silent. We had just sat down for supper when we heard a light patter on the door. I assumed it was a stray animal of some sort. The sound became louder. Subtle tapping shifted to pounding. I rose from my chair and approached the door. When I looked back toward the table, I saw that that curiosity had overwhelmed my wife and daughter. They were standing together. Carla was behind Elsie with one hand on each of Elsie’s shoulders. I gripped the knob with my right hand. I turned it slowly. I had only planned to open the door just enough to see who was standing on the porch, but as soon as I cracked it open I felt a sharp pain on my forehead. I was knocked unconscious by the blow.

I forced myself to think about something else. I had been walking for fifteen or twenty minutes at that point, and the town was just a small shadow behind me. I was beginning to worry that I might have been walking in the wrong direction, but I figured it was too late to turn around. The longer I walked, the more difficult it became to not flash back to that night.

When I woke up, my house was completely silent. I was groggy. My forehead ached. I crawled to the kitchen table and pulled myself up with a chair. My voice was weak as I called my wife’s name. There was no response. I walked toward the living room and called out again. Still nothing. I opened my mouth to shout, but could not manage a sound. Lying on the wood floor was Carla’s body. I kneeled next to her and tried to wake her up. She didn’t stir. I picked her limp body up off the floor and moved her to a chair. It was the chair closest to the window, her favorite place to sit on a night like this. She would sit there for hours, just staring off into the woods. The moonlight would transform her fair blond hair into locks of shimmering gold. That night, however, there was no moonlight. Not that I can remember anyway. No, it was not Carla that occupied that chair. She was wilted, just a shell of the woman I loved. It was then that I realized she would never breathe again�"never smile at me again. I was in too much shock to believe it. I yelled for Elsie, but she didn’t come. I panicked. I knocked over the end table on the way to her room. Her door was open. My feet stopped short of the end of Elsie’s bed. I collapsed. On the ground beside me was the lifeless body of my daughter. My hands were covered in the most vivid red that I had ever seen. The image of Elsie’s expressionless face was forever burned into my mind. Her eyes were open. I closed them. That night my world ended. My thoughts were interrupted by the last thing I had ever expected to see.

 

 

JAMES

We stared at each other for what was probably ten seconds, but it felt like years. My fingers fumbled through my haversack in search of my pistol. When I found it, I gripped the handle and aimed at his chest. He didn’t move. I’m not even sure he blinked. There was something off about this guy. He was sad. His eyes were depressed. They had a subtle gloom. It was almost as if his irises had no color. There was a darkness about him that I couldn’t figure out. I moved my index finger over the cold steel of the trigger and applied a light pressure. My sights were still set on the target in front of me. He still didn’t reach for his weapon. He didn’t reach for anything. It seemed as if he wanted me to shoot. I was about to say something when he finally took a step back. Then he took another. I don’t think he was afraid.  He turned his back to me and began to walk in the direction he had come from. I raised my gun, with my finger still on the trigger, closed one eye and took aim. He was still walking slowly, an easy shot for even an unskilled soldier. I took a deep breath and steadied my pistol. I exhaled. I put the weapon back in my bag and watched this man walk until I couldn’t see him anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NILS

© 2011 KSch


Author's Note

KSch
What direction should I go for Nils' ending? Should I scrap the idea completely?

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Added on March 23, 2011
Last Updated on March 23, 2011

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