Free My Honor Flight by Dan McCurrigan

move closer to the barn.  I put my
hand on his shoulder as I kept counting.  I got to one-twenty, then figured I’d
wait another one-twenty.  It was an agonizing delay.  I could see the black
shape of Torgeson’s figure lying on the ground.  I knew he was watching me,
waiting. 
     “All right,”
I yelled.  “We got Porter’s last two grenades!  Give us cover while we throw! 
Grenades!”
    None of us
moved.  There were no sounds from the barn. 
     “Fire!” I
yelled, and shot into the air.  Everyone else did the same thing.  There were
no shots from the barn.
    Was Tinpan
playing possum?  Was he dead?  Was he trapped?  I got up on my hands and knees
and strained to listen for sounds from the barn.  I couldn’t hear anything, and
the sounds of gunshots from the farmyard made it hard to hear anything else.
     “Tin! 
Tinpan!  I’m coming in!”  I yelled.  There was no response.
    I looked up
at the window and sighed hard.  I had to give the krauts a reason to shoot.  Then
Tin could see their gun flares and take them out.  I was about to make myself
the easiest target possible.  If there were krauts still alive in the barn,
they would probably kill me.  But if we didn’t do something, Tin would surely
die, and we might not take the barn.  The rest of the platoon could fall.
    It’s an
unnatural act to put yourself in harm’s way.  You find out what you’ve got in
you when you know that you might be dead in a few seconds.  I focused on the
window.  I was fighting self-preservation hard!  I didn’t have much time, and
the ground was sucking my hands down.  I couldn’t get moving!  My body was
fighting me.  I dragged myself to the barn on all fours, and took off my
helmet.  My fingers were thick and numb, not wanting to free the buckle.  I
raised the helmet up to the window sill in trembling hands.  No shots.  I put
my helmet back on, and stood up at the side of the window.  Real quick, I
turned to the window and pulled back.  A single gunshot came from the barn and
I heard the bullet whiz by my face.  Before I could say “Goddamn,” I heard two
more shots from an M1.  It was Tin!  I turned to face the window real quick,
twice more.  Nothing.  Then I faced the window again and fired a round up to
the ceiling.  Nothing.
    Tin wasn’t talking. 
That meant he was either injured, dead, or he didn’t know if there were still
krauts in there.  I stood in front of the window, motionless.  I couldn’t
figure out why I was getting real uncomfortable.  Then I realized that I was
holding my breath.  I forced myself to exhale and start breathing.  There were still
no shots. 
     “I’m coming
in, for real this time!” I yelled.  I put my belly on the window sill and
pivoted over it headfirst into the barn.  I landed on my back, and my feet
followed, thumping into something soft on the ground.  It had to be a body.  I
lay there for a few seconds, straining to hear any movement. 
     “Tin?” I
called.  “Are we clear?”
    I heard a
shuffle to my left, and snapped my rifle in that direction.
     “I reckon
we’re clear,” came the Oklahoman drawl.  “I ain’t heared nothin’ since that
last kraut.”
    He struck a
match, and light filled the barn.  There were bodies everywhere.  I scanned the
whole barn.  I was really nervous about the hayloft, because we hadn’t shot
anything up there.  But nothing moved.  Tinpan found a lantern and set it to
let out just a glimmer of light.
    I stood up
and stuck my head out the window. 
     “All clear!”
I yelled. 
Taft climbed in my window.  Torgeson climbed in his, and then helped Brady
through the window.  He’d been gutshot.  Butler climbed through after Brady.
    The barn was
the picture of destruction.  Dead Germans were everywhere.  One body was
missing an arm.  I’m guessing he tried to throw a grenade back.  Another body
didn’t have a face.  Most of the rest had bloody spots on their uniforms