September 14, 1943
1305 Hours
East Slope, Mount San Chirico
Italy
They had returned to die with the company but the killing had already begun.The lieutenant knew he’d made a poor decision. One of many he reflected bitterly. As his jeeps skirted up the highway, he’d taken a shortcut. A road that led nowhere. He’d been told Able Company was on the other side of the mountain but to drive around it would take too much time. Besides, he didn’t know who controlled the roads. They’d been gone too long.Against the backdrop of the grey smoke-filled sky the lieutenant took in the horror of the battlefield. Massive clouds of flies marked the dead while vultures and ravens gorged on the unexpected bounty. Broken, listless soldiers sat in the ditches praying for the end, praying for salvation. But others moved forward towards the smoke and noise of combat. It wasn’t over yet.There was no road leading down the eastern slope. It ended on a flat, rocky plateau where a shattered wooden cross lay strewn across the rocks. It might have been a beautiful place to pray once but not today. Besides, he wasn’t seeking salvation. There was no sense looking for what would never be given.The lieutenant spotted American soldiers on the crest. By God, he was tired. If they’d been German soldiers he would have been dead by now. Perhaps they would know where Able Company was, thought the lieutenant as he led the jeeps to the far rim of the crest where a small group of officers had gathered to watch the battle unfold. For the first time in ages fortune had smiled on him: He knew these soldiers.The lieutenant climbed out of the jeep and made his way towards a short, bull-necked lieutenant colonel with dark tired eyes: his battalion commander.“Sir,” He said as he nodded at him but did not salute. The colonel glanced at the lieutenant, turned and silently counted the soldiers in the jeeps. Some were missing, but he couldn’t remember how many there had been in the beginning. Was it eight? Or ten? He slowly turned his gaze back to the action at the base of the mountain, looking over the lieutenant once again in the process: He’d changed. Gone was his cocky confidence. He didn’t look injured but he was covered in dried blood. He smelled like a slaughterhouse.
