Read Online Articles of War by Nick Arvin - Free Book Online Page B

“Hi,” he said.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” called the one without the rifle. He had sergeant’s stripes. His helmet was scorched black.
    â€œI got lost,” Heck said. “I don’t know where the others have gone.”
    The one with the rifle muttered something. He lowered his gun but watched Heck skeptically. “All right, come on over,” called the sergeant. “Maybe we can help you find your mama duck.” Heck followed a long, thick wooden beam out across the fallen building, then stepped off the end of it, onto the frame of a fallen doorway, but under his weight the frame turned and there was nothing below. He fell, striking a sequence of hard, unseen objects, and landed on his knees in an ungainly way, twisted to one side. He felt like he had scratched his leg. “Oh, good Christ,” said a voice above, not the sergeant’s. Heck gasped to regain his breath. Dislodged debris rattled around him for several seconds. The sun penetrated the rubble in slivers and needles of light that swirled with dust. Heck slumped against the bricks and wood behind him.
    The sergeant called, “You okay, kid?”
    â€œI’m fine!”
    â€œThat wasn’t pretty.”
    â€œI’m all right.”
    â€œHold on to your socks. We’ll fetch you out.”
    Heck felt embarrassed at the prospect of waiting for a rescue. He peered about. He might be able to climb up to the place where he had fallen in, but it looked precarious and could drop him again. Before him one wall had collapsed against another to form a narrow triangular opening. Possibly there would be some upward access through there. Above, the soldiers were laughing at something. Most likely him.
    He began crawling forward, but soon regretted it. The situation reminded him of the cave in the cliff, and he thought of Claire and felt a guilty confusion. He could not see where he was putting his hands, and probing blindly forward he anticipated, again and again, the sensation of his fingers sinking into a dead man’s mortal wound. The scratch on his leg bothered him. Then, however, he saw light ahead, and he moved faster and faster toward it.
    As he crawled out into the light, he saw before him a staircase, only half-collapsed, which he could easily climb to the street level. It was a very happy surprise. He stood and straightened his shoulders and marched up to the street. He found himself behind the two soldiers he had been talking to—they were moving cautiously across the rubble toward the place where Heck had fallen in. The sergeant, in the lead, had picked up a long piece of wood that he used to probe the rubble. Heck took a moment to gather himself before calling, “Hey. I’m here.”
    The two turned and stared. There was a silence. Heck, discomforted, said, “I crawled out.”
    The sergeant laughed. The man with the rifle grimaced. The sergeant threw his stick aside, and they both started back. When they were nearer, Heck saw that they were filthy, arms and faces gray with grime. The one with the rifle had dark hair and a cauliflower ear and he finally slung his weapon over his shoulder. The sergeant had perhaps a week’s beard and light blue eyes that made a striking contrast against the dirty flesh around them. The top of his helmet was blackened as if it had been turned over and used for a pot. Into the front of his belt was tucked a German Luger. His boots were crusted with what looked like dried blood. “So you think you’re lost?” he said. “Who are you with?”
    â€œTwenty-eighth Division, sir. One hundred and ninth Infantry. But I never found them.”
    â€œYou’re a replacement?”
    â€œYes sir.”
    â€œWell, you found your division. We’re Twenty-eighth Division, Hundred and tenth Infantry. Your unit’s ahead, crossed the river last night. You’re a fucking mess, aren’t you. Is that your blood?”
    Heck