They Don’t Have to Know

A Creative Short Story

The cold was biting at my lips and ears. I had already lost feeling in my feet.

The crater formed by a mortar shell had become my home for the last few days in these woods. The air was full snow and wind. There was too much to see past 10 feet in all directions. When I first found this hole, I crouched for hours, maybe even a day, ready to fight anyone who advanced towards me. Now, though, everything around me had become a routine. Gunfire, screams, artillery firing, more people screaming, “Medic!”

Now I more or less just sat in my crater waiting for whatever God had in store for me to happen. I had come into this battle with a group of men that I loved and would do anything for, but now, I have no idea where any of them are. The intense assault from the Germans had sent us scattering. I hoped for the best, though. Glancing around, I had to think of the blood and limbs that were scattered in some areas nearby as just part of the environment. “Those aren’t anybody’s. They’re not even really there,” I thought. That was the only thing I could think to keep from shaking.

Then I heard it. Crunching snow coming louder and louder.

I gritted my teeth and, almost instinctively, whirled around to aim my rifle at the noise. My finger was already beginning to pull at the trigger, but then I recognized the figure through the snow.

“If it ain’t the damn golden haired boy of the 2nd infantry division! Put that gun down!” he said as he slid into my foxhole and embraced me.

It was Barton, one of the boys I had come into this frozen-over hell with.

“It’s good to see ya, Bart. I ain’t want to say it but I think I was startin’ to lose my wits… You with the rest of the boys?” I said, hoping I could regroup with my division and save myself from the nightmare that was this clearing.

“Yeah I just came this way from a bunch of ’em. John’s real fucked up, though. You seen a medic ‘round here?”

“Haven’t seen any… Last time I heard someone call for a medic was that ways, though. If they managed to grab one, he’s probably still there.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go lookin’ for one, then. Ervin, get the hell outta here and go find the boys. They’re over that ways. Half a mile or so.”

Barton pointed in the direction that he creeped towards me from. I nodded, patted him on the back, and starting walking that way. I turned for a moment to watch Barton disappear into the white, snowy air.

I trudged on. Hoping to warm up next to some of my best friends soon. I walked for a few minutes just waiting for blood to run back into my feet.

I stopped for a moment. The wind had seemed to stop blowing so hard. There was a more peaceful silence in the air.

Then, I was hit from behind by something blunt. I fell to the ground.

I turned myself over to see a German soldier get on his knees to continue his assault on me. He was breathing hard. I felt too numb to try and fight back. I was still so painfully cold on ever end of my body and the blow to my neck had shocked me silly. He cupped his hands around my neck and put his weight over me while I began to scramble to attack his face and arms.

Then, I woke up coughing.

The smell of pound cake was in the air. After my coughing fit, I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath to relax. “I’m back,” I thought. My home of Moultrie, Georgia- the quietest and simplest place on Earth. Just then, I noticed my little girl, Gina, was standing near me, watching.

“What were you dreamin’ about, papa?” she asked. She had always asked so many questions about everything. She was a bright, young girl.

I thought back to my fight in those woods in Europe. I thought about the friends I had lost and gained. I thought about how I did everything just to get back and tell my children amazing stories about my adventures. After all, it is history and my children should know everything that my division did to stop that terrible force.

“Nothin’, baby,” I replied. It almost physically hurt me to hold back so many words. “Has mama finished makin’ that cake? It smells good! Go ask her for me, will ya?”

“Okay!” she squealed, happy to be given a task that would help her father.

She was too smart and had too bright of a future. I did not know what she was going to grow up to do, yet, but I would be surprised if Moultrie could keep her confined. I always knew once I got home that it would be better for them, my family, to focus on living their lives instead of pondering about the dark tales I brought from Europe.

They don’t have to know.