Free Shrapnel by William Wharton Page B

try not to sleep in the daytime. At nights I know I can’t stay awake, but with the bumpiness of this hole, rocks and everything, I won’t sleep much. I’ll take a look around every time I wake and do another search with the radio.I’m wondering where the French Freedom Fighters are and when they’ll arrive. I assume they know I’m under this uprooted tree. But maybe I’m assuming too much. I build another two rows of rocks along the perimeter of the hole and pack them with dirt. I’m not only better protected from the wind and rain, but I have more space, less rocks to sleep on. I’ve taken the pistol and the canteens along with the webbing belt off and have them in a dry high place, hanging on one of the roots of the tree. I hope I don’t need to use that pistol. I won’t. If Germans find me, I’m just going to give up. I can’t fight off the entire German army myself. I don’t want to even try.
    I work out a regular routine. Every hour I turn on the radio and listen to the Germans talk. I can’t do it for long because I’m afraid of wearing out the battery. Then I eat my K rations at seven in the morning, noon and six at night. I wind the watch while eating my dinner ration.
    The weather lets up some. There are mixed clouds and sometimes a bit of sun shines through. France certainly has lousy weather for June. I haven’t given up hope but I’m thinking about it. I know it would be suicide to try working my way back through the German defences, coming up on them from the rear. Those guys must beas nervous as cats; they wouldn’t even give me a chance to think of surrendering. No, I’m stuck. I should never have gotten into this thing. My only chances are the Americans or British or Canadians breaking through to me, or those phantom French Freedom Fighters coming to my rescue for the radio. There’s nothing to do but wait. I have enough rations for four days, after that, I’ll need to do some thinking. I look down at myself. The jump suit is covered with mud. I look like something from a Flash Gordon movie when he’d go to some other planet in the twenty-fifth century.
    The days go by. Nothing happens. I can hear the artillery pounding away all around me, but nothing much comes where I am. They’ve already pounded this stretch into virtual oblivion. I watch, scan with the radio, eat my rations, cat nap and wind the watch.
    Three days go by. Then, out in front of me, I see some men moving in coming across the field. They have their rifles out and are in combat patrol formation, but running. How long do I wait? I strip off the jump suit to make myself look more like an American soldier. I take off my aviator’s hat which has kept my ears warm. I can see from the helmets these are not Germans,but they don’t look like American troops either. I start yelling in English while I’m still down in my hole. I leave everything including the pistol, the radio and the rations. I come out of the hole with my arms out shouting I’m an American! Don’t shoot! I’m an American!! They stop in their tracks. I stand and slowly walk toward them. They’ve dropped to their stomachs and have their rifles trained on me.
    â€˜Stop right there.’
    I stop.
    One of them comes toward me. I keep my arms over my head. We talk. He speaks English with an English accent, but it turns out they’re Canadian troops. I show him my dog tags. He believes me. I take him forward to my hole.
    â€˜Jesus! You Yanks will try anything. Nobody told us you’d be out here.’
    â€˜French Freedom Fighters were supposed to come and get me, mostly for the radio I have in the hole there. Is there any way you guys can get me back to my outfit in England? I’m running short of rations.’
    We work it out. He advises me to carry the pistol. The chute, jump suit and the remaining rations we leave in there. He asks me all kinds of