Friend Or Foe

It had only been about three hours, but to Herman, it felt like a lifetime. The pungent aroma of the mildew-laden boards beneath him made him restless and forced him to check his rifle over once more to ensure it was ready. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, his body’s insistence that the October air was not as cold as his visible breath led on. He had been given orders to find all officers and take them out as quickly as possible. Colonel Wilck had been strong in his assurances that the enemy advance would break without officer leadership. Herman, however, knew better; he didn’t make Master Sergeant in three years without knowing the enemy. But he took his place in the bell tower, orders in hand, and waited.

Herman wiped his nose with the sleeve of his trench coat and closed his eyes, head back, taking in a deep breath of the cool, crisp autumn air. A slight breeze had kicked up underneath the overcast sky, the noise of it in his ears nearly masking the sound of booted feet in the abandoned street below. He wished that he could remove his trench coat, it was uncomfortable holding the rifle still with the restriction of it; but he also knew that one shiver while aiming could give away his position and his target would be missed. He did remove his helmet, though, the cool air focusing his mind on the task at hand as his sweat evaporated like smoke.

Ducking under the iron bell, Herman slowly laid down, the tang of gunpowder replacing the mildew odor in his nose. He checked the chamber to verify a round was locked in and put his eye to the scope. He knew the enemy was trying to tread carefully and quietly, but he could identify the sound of boot heels a kilometer away. Adjusting the scope, Herman saw the green uniforms, the unkempt facial hair, and the sharp eyes waiting to spot the enemy. Three chevrons above and three rockers below told Herman that he had found the company sergeant; he needed to find the captain or lieutenant. But before he could move his scope from the sergeant, he saw him make the motion towards the bell tower, they were expecting a sniper. He had to be quick.

There! he thought to himself. The double vertical bars meant that his target was found. Herman steeled his nerves and settled his breathing. Enemy or not, he was still killing another human being, and it wracked the nerves like nothing else. The need to vomit after every kill was gotten over about a year ago, but the feeling was always there. He followed the helmet through the scope, and trained his sight down just a hair to see the face… He froze.

Ernie?! Herman’s family had moved to a small town in eastern Pennsylvania in 1923. His father had known many fellow Germans who had done the same after the Great War and chose to join them after being fed up with the Weimar. Herman’s mother was pregnant with him at the time, and his father felt that the leadership of the fatherland was a detriment to his burgeoning family. Herman and Ernie were best friends, and the two of them were well known in the tri-borough area for being kind and notorious. All Herman knew was America, he loved his country. But, on his 18th birthday, he knew that he would never be allowed to be an American. His birthday was on December 7th, and when Pearl Harbor was attacked, his father had told his family that it was time to return to Germany and fight for her. There had been a loud argument between Herman and his father, but it ended abruptly when his father had him staring down the barrel of his rifle. He would fight for Germany, or he would die. Herman’s family left the United States without telling a soul, and he had not seen Ernie since. Now Ernie was his target…

The cold of the steel barrel was keen on Herman’s now sweaty palm. The memories flooded his mind. Through his tears, he had only one thought, Either Ernie dies for being the enemy, or I die for being a traitor. There was Ernie, just as he had remembered him, though a little older and war-worn. Herman sighted the crosshairs at Ernie’s temples, holding it there as his friend peeked around the corner of the building and back again. It was repeated enough that Herman felt the timing and put his finger to the trigger.

Four… Three… Two… Herman counted down, and as he approached ‘one’, he closed his eyes and turned away from the scope. As his finger applied pressure to the trigger, the building beneath him shook violently. He had not heard the propeller approaching, so focused was he on his target, and the fear of killing his best friend. The P-41’s bomb landed on the far side of the church, and the concussion wave pushed the bell tower to the ground. The rifle had fired in the midst of the explosion, the bullet hitting nothing but stone a block down from the church. Herman, though, found himself enveloped in brick walls, and as he and the bell tower approached the ground, he could feel his bones being crushed and broken.

He came to at the piercing pain in both of his legs. Miraculously, Herman found his upper half inside the bell, which had protected him from the several thousand pounds of bricks, except for his right arm. His hand felt the cool of the outside air, and then the warmth of another hand.

“Hold on, soldier,” said a voice from outside the rubble. Then the light got brighter, and he knew they were digging him out.

The time crawled, but eventually Herman was free. “Herm?” came Ernie’s raspy voice.

“You know this Kraut, Cap?”

“He’s my best friend…” and Herman felt the grasping hand tighten.