TDTLBU Chapter Fifty-Five

"Schnell! Schnell!" 

Ronnie, Ken, and Sam marched in single file line through the front door of the farmhouse while Sandy followed, barking orders in mixed German and English. They had been searched and disarmed, and Sandy had informed them in his strange broken English that they were to be shipped off to prison camp. A jeep was waiting outside the door, its front and sides decorated with huge black swastikas. Their confiscated weapons had been piled under the front seat. It was like something from a nightmare. 

"Verdamnt Amerikanisch!" Sandy yelled, shoving the barrel of his rifle against Sam's back. "Schnell!" he cried as Sam stumbled, falling against Ken.

"He's gone loco," Sam hissed under his breath as he regained his balance. "Off his rocker. Knew war made men crazy but didn't know it could turn a good Yank into a Nazi."

"Halt die klappe!" Sandy swung his fist as if he was going to hit Sam, but he didn't. Sam had no idea what "halt die klappe" meant, but he wasn't about to ask. He clenched his teeth together and followed the others as they climbed into the jeep. He hadn't noticed Sandy's hands shaking as he gripped his rifle, nor how pale his face was under all his freckles. 

Sandy stepped back as all three of his comrades squeezed into the back seat of the jeep. He never lowered his rifle, nor took his eyes off of them as he spoke to the lieutenant. He shook his head as the lieutenant gestured towards his men, who were now lounging on the porch of the farmhouse. A few clipped orders and a German private stepped forward, saluting. He climbed into the front passenger seat of the jeep, turning to point his gun at the captured men in the back. Sandy was gesturing wildly as if explaining something and the lieutenant pulled a map from his pocket, tracing a route with his finger. Sandy nodded and saluted, then slipped into the driver's seat and started the jeep. 

"What's goin' on?" Ken whispered to Ronnie, eyeing the German private warily. Ronnie shook his head, pressing his lips tight together in a silent warning to keep quiet. Sandy was driving away from the farmhouse now and the Germans were just standing there and watching them. Except for the one holding the gun in their faces. 

How long they drove on in silence, nobody knew. Sandy never said a word and the German beside him was just as quiet. The men in the back were too confused and startled to speak. It must have been an hour or more before Sandy parked the jeep in a clearing. Without warning, he jumped to his feet and tossed his helmet in the air with a wild whoop. 

"Get 'im boys, and it's back to camp for us, riding in style! And you, Kraut, are a prisoner of the Army of the United States of America! Boy, does it feel good to say that!"

Sam and Ken simply stared, their mouths hanging open. But Ronnie, grinning, reached forward and yanked the rifle out of the surprised German's hands. He passed it to Sam and jumped out of the jeep. Ken pulled himself into action and helped Ronnie drag the German down from his perch. Bewildered at the sudden change of events, he didn't even struggle as they tied his hands and shoved him in the back, Ronnie taking the front seat.

"Dammit, Sandy, you idiot, what the heck was all that?" Sam exploded, his face as red as his hair. Ken threw his head back, roaring with laughter. Sandy dropped down in his seat, grinning crazily. 

"Sorry for gettin' rough with ya, Carrots," he shrugged, all trace of the German accent gone from his voice. He was laughing too, laughing in sheer relief.  "And sorry if I scared you guys, didn't know what else to do. Never been so scared myself in all my life, 'cept when we stormed the beach."

"Y'never said you could speak Hitler gibberish," Sam snapped, still angry.

"Good grief, pal, cool off," Sandy groaned.  "It's called German and don't insult a perfectly good language by labeling it with that nut's name. It was around for hundreds of years before he was born and how dare he ruin what used to be a fine country!" He shook his fist in the direction of Germany.

"You're still scaring me," Sam retorted as Sandy turned the jeep back on. "Let Ronnie drive, I don't think I trust you anymore."

"Give him a break," Ronnie glared at Sam. "He likely just saved your ungrateful life. 'Sides, I don't wanna drive." He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. "C'mon, Sandy, let's get outta here."

"What on earth did you say to that Kraut back there?" Ken demanded. "I coulda sworn you were going Benedict Arnold on us, you were a little too convincing."

"Told 'im I was a German spy that had managed to infiltrate the American army. Orders from Rommel himself. Said I needed a jeep so I could get back to headquarters ASAP and report vital information. He offered to take charge of you guys, but I said I might as well take you along, get ya shipped off to prison camp. That's more or less it."

"But how d'ya know German?!" Sam cried.

"Easy," Sandy grinned. "My mom is full-blooded German. Met my dad during the Great War and came back to America with him. She never learned more than a few words of English, so we mostly speak German 'round the house. I kept all that a secret cuz of the war. Never thought it'd come in handy."

"Well, Sandy, on behalf of those two ungrateful wretches and me," Ronnie grinned. "Thanks for saving our skins. You played your part well and I'm glad you did, else we'd all be on our way to a real prison camp right now. If I ever get the chance to return the favor, believe me, I will."

✯✯✯

Letter from Katie to Emma

July 7th, 1944

Hello, Dear Sis, wherever you are!!

I’m still here in jolly old England, taking care of all the boys who came back missing arms and legs, poor things. Come to think of it, England isn’t very jolly anymore. 

But you won’t believe this. One of the soldiers I’ve been doing therapy with, he lost his leg on Omaha… you won’t believe who he is. It’s Mac Scott, sis, the very same Mac Scott that Ronnie and Josh kept mentioning in their letters. You know, Cat. The one with the scar over his eye. And I have to admit, they never did him justice in those letters. He’s handsome, Emma. I mean… devastatingly handsome. Like the kind of handsome that makes you feel like you’re going to just curl up and die when he smiles at you.

I’m crazy, aren’t I? What right have I to be swooning over some random soldier I only just met? It doesn’t mean anything, believe me, Emma. Never mind that he’s handsome and sweet and funny and… and wonderful… he’s… not Jerry. And he never will be.

No one will ever take Jerry’s place.