Free Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II by Douglas W. Jacobson Page B

in blood. He took a deep breath and crawled on, moving cautiously to avoid the thrashing hooves of desperate horses in their last moments of life.
    Above the dull cacophony of whinnies and nickers, human groans and sobbing, Jan heard a sharp cry for help. He followed the sound to a young trooper struggling to free his foot from under a horse. Jan crawled up to him and shoved his arms under the massive, bloody animal, gripping the boy’s ankle. Suddenly the wounded horse snorted and tossed its head. The trooper screamed in pain. Jan pulled on the boy’s leg, but the horse thrashed again, threatening to roll over the panic-stricken trooper. Jan leaned his forehead against the horse’s sweat-soaked back, gagging on the stench of blood and urine. He closed his eyes, waiting a moment for the animal to settle down.
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    Douglas W. Jacobson
    Then he slowly withdrew his arms from the boy’s ankle, stood up and removed his revolver from the holster. He took a long breath then placed the barrel of the gun against the horse’s head and pulled the trigger.
    The horse jerked then quivered before a long sigh of exhaling breath. Jan reached under the animal and again gripped the wide-eyed trooper’s ankle.
    “Now, pull,” he said. The trooper grunted and jerked his foot free.
    Jan held the boy’s bare foot and ankle, moving it slowly back and forth. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said to the lad who was sweating profusely and bit-ing his lower lip. “Follow me and stay low.”
    They crawled off and found another trooper lying face down, dead, then another, groaning and clutching his head. The blood oozed through the boy’s fi ngers, and he rolled his eyes toward Jan, silently pleading for help. Jan swallowed hard and patted the boy’s leg. Half his skull was gone. He would be dead in a few minutes.
    Up ahead there was movement, shadows of horses and riders gathering, beyond the range of the machine guns. Other shadows rose from the meadow, men running and hobbling toward the group.
    Jan stood up and looked at the young trooper. “Can you stand? We’ve got to get out of here.”
    The boy struggled to his feet and limped forward. “I’ll make it.”
    Jan put his arm around him and they trudged through the tall grass toward the assembling group. As they got closer, Jan spotted Kapitan Peracki dismounting, and shouted, “Lech! Send a rider to get the artillery squadron!”
    Peracki turned toward him, startled. “Jan, thank God. Yes, right away.”
    “And tell them we’ll need wagons for the wounded.”
    Peracki nodded and hustled off.
    Jan moved into the midst of the assembled troopers, pressing his hands to his head, rubbing his temples. The pain was easing. He glanced around the group, spotted Bartkowicz, then looked for Stefan but didn’t see him or anyone else from First Squadron. He stepped over to a medic pulling supplies out of a cart and said, “Pick out ten men to help you. Spread out and stay low. They’ll have snipers so just try to help anyone you can fi nd within about a hundred meters but don’t go in any closer. We can’t afford to lose anyone else now.”
    Peracki returned as the medic selected men and handed out supplies. “Have you seen anyone from First Squadron?” Jan asked.
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    Peracki shook his head. “We veered off to the right when the shooting started, and I saw them heading toward the river. I doubt they made it to the bridge.”
    Jan nodded and glanced back toward the town. They were at least a kilometer away. “For now, organize the rest of these men in a defense perimeter with rifl es and bayonets. As soon as the artillery gets here we’re going in on foot.”
    Peracki turned away, shouting orders.
    Jan looked over the meadow. In the moonlight he could make out the shapes of horses but it was too dark to see the men he knew were out there.
    He glanced at his watch. It was a little before 0400. Less than an hour ago the regiment had stood on the other side of