Behind Enemy Lines

Copyright 1996 by: Demented Thinking Productions
In Loving Memory Of: Ted M. Holdren
Based on true accounts of an 82nd Airborne Division Soldier during World War II

Behind Enemy Lines

An  old man, wrought with aching pains and disease sat upon his roomy  screened in porch watching the sun’s violet rays play upon the Saint  John’s River in Jacksonville, Florida as it set slowly. The bright  golden rays leaped and danced bringing to existence a fiery image of  lives past and gone through an old man’s sharp memory. As he quietly  pondered the long, but unforgotten past, water laps the river shore  gently as a small speedboat cruises by displaying girls in bikinis and  guys in shorts.

The  man observes his own wrinkled hands carefully as if they would give  some indication or comfort from his unbearable pain. Flexing them  unconsciously he lets out a deep sigh and surveys the quaint porch with  a detached fascination.

A  gentle breeze blows the new autumn leaves peacefully, scraping the  patio ground as the old man fixes his unblinking gaze on his eldest  grand daughter, Becky. “A man,” he began almost startling the child out  of her chair, “Goes through life wondering if he’s made the right  choices or decisions. He grows up, goes to war, comes home, gets  married, has three lovely children, watches his eldest depart to a  better place in Heaven, gets sicker and then finally dies. Life is  life, and death, well, death is, death, but it’s not so final as  everyone likes to think. Do you understand?”  Becky, surprised the man had said anything at all blinked and replied, “I think so.”

The  elderly man shifted in his seat uncomfortably stealing one more glance  at the uncanny sunset and finally says, “What I mean is, life is a  complicated series of ups and downs and we all do our best to make it  enjoyable, but no one lives forever.” Knowing exactly what he meant  since her own mother passed away 4 years earlier, Becky turned her head  not wanting her grandfather to see her cry. Viewing the spectacular  sunset disappearing quietly behind the St. John’s Bridge a lonely tear  streamed down her right cheek and plopped delicately to the ground  beside her without a sound. Lines creviced deeply in the man’s  weathered face as his brows frowned in dismay.

Deciding  for the time being to drop the sordid subject of death, the man  switched to another one quickly. “Did I ever tell you about the time we  parachuted behind enemy lines in East Germany?” The little girl,  knowing full good and well he had told her many times and memorizing  the story by heart, but wanting deeply to hear it again surprisingly  said, “No grandpa, I don’t think you told me that one.” The man smiled  widely giving off a slight chuckle so much like him the little girl had  to smile herself.

Finding  a comfortable story position his ancient bones creaked and groaned as  he began with a little more enthusiasm. “Well then. I’ll tell ya!”  Clasping his big hands in front of his warm, untimely face he flickered  a smile and narrated, “It was night time and as dark as the ace of  spades. We were flying over West Germany and we were scheduled to drop  at 22:30 hours. The natives were restless; as they say, and everyone  fidgeted with their uniforms, jumping gear, boot laces, or eyeglasses  whichever they had and whatever made them more comfortable. Several of  us rechecked our parachutes and thought about the upcoming jump. Some  prayed. I checked my parachute, ammunition, weapon, and prayed just to  cover all basis. Once I was satisfied everything was ready to go I  fumbled with my boot laces just like the rest of ‘em, saying my silent  prayers for a safe return home.”

The  man gave a little nervous chuckle and continued, “Now, there was this  one fella in our outfit named Brady, I think, hell, I don’t know it  could have been anything, it was a long time ago. Anyway, it was  Brady’s first jump with our outfit. It was his first jump anywhere  except probably out of bed, and he was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin  roof. He must of checked his equipment, oh I’d say at least ten times  and I think he said at least a good dozen prayers.”

The  old man smiled broadly and laughed again remembering Brady’s  nervousness. Clearing his throat he continued, “Time had come for the  jump. Everyone lined up like robots and got ready to plunge into the  uncertain European darkness that came consistent throughout the war.  Everyone except Brady, that is. I don’t know if the man sensed his own  fate to come or if he was just plain scared to death like the rest of  us. Some people just seem to know what’s about to happen and they  become scared and tense as a frog caught in the gig light somewhere  deep in the swamp, but he jumped. So did we all.”

As  he shifted his position to a more comfortable spot since nothing seemed  comfortable to him anymore, the old man sighed aloud and whistled at  nothing in particular, “Did you know I was in the 82nd  Airborne Division, Becky?” Becky stared at the man blankly for a moment  pondering this information carefully and finally answered with  excitement, “Yes sir!” The old man smiled and nodded ruffling his grand  daughter’s hair, “Yep! I jumped all over the world, but no jump would  compare or compete with that one. Hell, I even jumped in Africa where  the Desert Fox, Rummel, holed up with his troops, but still there was  no comparison. Well, as I said, time had come to jump. Our Lieutenant  gave the direct order to go and I’ll be damned if he didn’t actually  fling poor Brady out the plane first. The Lieutenant was a damned fool  and Brady was a good man. Anyway, just like the rest, I waited my turn  for the big push out into the unknowing darkness and when it came it  was as surprising as it was the first time the lieutenant shoved me out  of the small door into the night air. The total shock of diving through  midair more or less against your own free will as wind drove hard  through your eardrums until your head felt like it was afire with the  pain is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy and I never care to  see it or do it again. Why people jump out of a perfectly good, flyable  airplane for fun is beyond me.”

The  old man fell silent casting his gaze across the black river at the now  twinkling lights lining the opposite shore. The sun had long fallen  away into blank darkness and the crickets sang and chirped a tune only  the insects shared at night. Frogs rang their plea boldly with their  own version of the cacophony as mosquitoes flew feverishly about  landing on anything that could possibly satisfy their hunger. The man  swatted a lone mosquito biting his lower forearm in a quick, unthinking  motion before he spoke quietly again. “Yep. There’s a definite surge of  adrenalin when a man plunges 20,000 feet out of a moving airplane.”

Ruffling  Becky’s hair affectionately, the old man took up his story where he  left off, “Well, as usual in the military, things did not go one  hundred percent according to plan. The supplies we needed were dropped  before we jumped and for all I know they could still be looking for  them to this day. One thing’s for certain, we never saw hide nor hair  of them. In a very odd way it makes a man wonder if they were dropped  at all. It makes you think that some high and mighty pilot back on that  bucket of nuts and bolts you just flung yourself from for God, country,  and mankind is sitting there in his warm cockpit flying away in the  night sky with a candid camera crew laughing hysterically watching us  below search for something that obviously wasn’t there in the first  place. That was the first to many, many clues as to how this particular  jump was going to be. The second clue was young, handsome Brady. That  kid had a wife and a 3-month-old daughter back home in Oregon. He  showed everyone their picture and held it like a talisman day in and  day out. Both were widowed that fatal night. I had the unfortunate  displeasure of finding Brady’s broken body. You see, his landing wasn’t  as easy as the rest of ours were. He found the one sturdy tree in the  whole German countryside left still standing. It broke his fall and  unfortunately his neck with it. He was tangled up in a twisted mess  when I found him. It made me sick to my stomach staring into his dark,  pleading eyes, knowing there was nothing I or anyone could do for him.  I cut him down as quietly as possible and hid him well under some brush  to cover our tracks. I closed his eyes, said a silent prayer for him  and made a mental note to write Mrs. Brady when I got myself out of  this mess. I’ll never erase his face from my memory as long as I live.  He was so damned scared to jump, and he died just as scared. It was  painless and quick for Brady, and that’s the only good thing about it,  some were not that lucky. I still see his terrified face before I go to  sleep at night and the first thing when I wake in the morning. I’ve  often wondered over the years how Mrs. Brady held up through it all,  but I guess like many other World War II widows, she went home to her  mother and grieved her tragic loss. Brady was such a family man, always  holding the picture of his wife and daughter before going to sleep.  He’d look at them for what seemed like hours without moving. He loved  them, God, and his country dearly. It was a real shame, a real shame.”

The  fragile man shook his head sadly back and forth before he continued  with a sigh, “Well, ole Brady wasn’t the only causality, there were  many others throughout the time of the war. Some just like ‘em, some  different. By the time we figured out the supplies had not landed any  where nearby the Sergeant informed us we were just as lost as the  supplies were. To make matters worse, we were four miles off course and  four miles behind enemy lines in the heart of East Germany. Murphy’s  law, I guess. If it can go wrong, it probably will. And everything  about that night in particular went wrong. Along with venomous snakes  and deadly insects we had to be on the lookout for armed and dangerous  Nazi troops. Sometimes I think it was better that Brady met his fate  before we found out our location. Death might have been better for him.  I don’t think he would of made it through the long hike back to fight,  but there’s no way of knowing for sure.”

“We  took immediate cover in a thicket of bushes nearby completely equipped  with thorns and brambles. I don’t know what kind of bushes they were, I  didn’t ask. It was pitch black and you couldn’t see your hand in front  of your face. Shells and magazines ripped through the warm night air  from all sides of us in the distance.”

“Oddly  enough a man could hear various forms of wildlife with all the noise in  the background voicing its pleas in the embezzlement of unwanted sounds  in every direction. Some friendly. Some not so friendly. Crickets,  insects of all kinds and things much larger I didn’t care to come into  contact with stirred all about us. It could be downright deafening and  would make your skin crawl if you had even the slightest idea what kind  of animals peered out at you through the inky darkness watching and  waiting. Sometimes, hell most of the time, we had had to sleep on  bedrolls under the stars at night. One morning I awoke to an unwanted  visitor in the bag with me. If someone hadn’t of told me to be careful  when I got out of the bag in the morning I would of died long before  this jump. I had to slowly and carefully peel back my bedroll to reveal  poisonous snakes more than once the four years I was at war. Snakes  take liberty at your feet in the bedroll because they seek warmth. It  scared me to death. My heart felt like a sledgehammer beating on bare  metal as I quickly flipped him 20 yards away with the barrel of my  riffle. Before you put your boots on in the morning when we were in the  desert you had to turn them upside down and shake out the scorpions or  any other critters that stowed away in the night. Yep. That’s defiantly  where my heart problems started I think.”

Becky,  wide-eyed and astonished, swallowed hard. She couldn’t imagine waking  up every morning shaking her bed and shoes out before moving. The  ancient man grinned broadly portraying perfectly lined dentures and  turned his head to the side so his only grand daughter would not see  him giggling at her amazed look. “What kind of snake was it, grandpa?”  Becky asked meekly. “Now,” the old man countered, “I don’t rightly know  and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask the slithery fella either. All I  know is I didn’t like him curling up beside me uninvited.”

Waving  his hand in the air diligently signifying enough questions and getting  back to the business at hand, the man tweaked Becky’s nose and  continued his story while the little girl laughed happily. “There was  some confusion to begin with,” he began again, “The sarge looked like a  man possessed trying to pinpoint our exact location. It’s not easy  giving the obvious fact that there were no road signs telling us  exactly where we were, but ole sarge was really good at finding out our  exact location by examining the lay of the land. As a matter of fact, I  believe he was one of the few men of the world that rarely got lost. I  doubt if any woman sat in the passenger seat of his car asking him if  they were lost or just taking some absurd detour. Ole sarge would of  found his way out of Fort Knox on a wing and a prayer. I never saw him  lost and I suppose the man had never been lost a day in his life. Well,  it took ole sarge about ten minutes to pinpoint our location. He knew  exactly where we were and he knew exactly how to go from there. Sarge  informed us that we had to walk (or hike as he put it) west 4 miles to  meet the drop spot. Everyone moaned silently including me. He  instructed us not to talk and not to light any cigarettes.” The little  girl looked puzzled, “But why, grandpa?”

The  man stared out at the stars reflecting in the night sky and glanced at  the moonlight dripping across the river in streams before answering  quietly. His face and demeanor duplicated a serious tone frightening  Becky slightly. “The Germans.” He said solemnly. Becky gazed at him for  a long moment in total disbelief. “If a man,” her grandfather said  seriously, “Lit a cigarette or talked it would give away the position  of the entire company. The Germans would see the flicker of the lighter  or hear a voice and fire everything they had in our general direction  killing everyone.” Becky pondered this information carefully and looked  back into her grandfather’s warm, sensitive face. Sighing, the old man  continued, “We grabbed our gear, what we had that is, and began walking  to the west. We were in the midst of a heavy forest and it became  increasingly difficult to move through the underbrush silently. As  tough as it was, we somehow made it without a hitch. As we stepped into  a clearing all hell broke loose. Gunfire rained through the trees  sprinkling chaos everywhere it landed and hit the man next to me  directly in the heart killing him instantly. His name was, Sanderson, I  believe. He fell dead right at my feet and I hardly had time to think.  I hit the ground pulling the other man next to me down as quickly as I  possibly could. No one moved, breathed or spoke for what seemed like  hours. The problem was we didn’t know for sure if the whole freaking  German army waited on the other side of the clearing or if it was one  lonely man strayed from his outfit cold and alone. Silence bated the  heavy night air and finally we could hear the sniper running away from  us through the underbrush on the other side. We knew he was alone, but  we also knew there would be more close by. We waited, oh; it must have  been at least ten minutes before regrouping. We had to get out of  there, and fast, so we took a hasty turn south and moved swiftly  through the thick forest again. We knew we were getting closer to the  front line and we were a little more tense than usual. I could feel the  hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up at attention  prickling my skin and I broke out into a cold sweat even though it felt  like it was 20 degrees. I’ll tell ya, you haven’t seen or smelled fear  until you’ve been put into a situation like that. All the other men  around me knew it too. It’s the kind of fear you go to bed at night  thinking of and you sleep with one eye open and one eye closed. You  wake up in the morning stiff and felling as though you didn’t sleep a  wink the night before. Yep, no fear like that fear. Yep.”

The  old man paused glancing thoughtfully over the blackened water. Waves  gently lapped the shore and a mullet answered with a splash of its own  somewhere near the pine pier. Becky’s bright blue eyes cut through the  darkness and she urged, “Go on, grandpa!” The old man looked at his  grand daughter lovingly and asked, “Oh! You want me to finish the  story, do you?” Becky laughed in spite of herself heartily and retorted  quickly, “Of course I do!” The man ruffled Becky’s head of blonde hair  vigorously and said, “Well, if you say so. Well, when ole serge deemed  we had gone far enough south we turned west again and headed toward our  original destination. We were supposed to hit a small German armory at  the front line. I guess I can tell ya that, makes no difference now.  Sarge made us fall out to rest while he calculated our distance. We had  already gone 5 miles including the 2-mile detour south through the  woods. Sarge told us we were just about there. We had to quickly hit  the place and get out before the Germans had time to retaliate. We were  supposed to meet a chopper at 05:30 hours in a clearing about a mile  away from the armory. It would safely bring us back to an English Air  Force base just outside of London. We rested for 15-20 minutes. It  seemed to fly by. Things always seem that way when they are good, but  when it’s bad it seems to take forever. We had roughly a mile to go, so  we gathered our gear and got started again. After a good 45 minutes of  twisting and turning through the thicket we snuck up on the armory and  the sarge did his usual quick calculations. He figured there were four  guards on foot with dogs and two in the tower. There was 15-20 of us so  we had it covered. I was in charge of throwing the grenades into the  armory blowing it up. Four others quietly took out the guards and their  trusting companions while five others ran in and threw the grenades  into the small armory. We had one fella who was a damn good sniper shot  stationed in a tree just in case. He took out the two in the tower with  speed and the accuracy of a rattlesnake. Everything blew up and the  entire squad hauled buggy for cover in the woods. There must have been  one German soldier caught inside the tin building because I heard the  most unbelievably pathetic cry of pain, I think I’ve ever heard in my  life. When a man experiences pain like that he always tends to sound  like a wild animal caught in a trap rather than a man. It was a  high-pitched, piercing scream and very final. It sent chills down my  spine. We met up with our helicopter on time and flew safely to much  more friendly ground. I’ll never forget that jump as long as I live.  Yep. Not in a million years.” The old man yawned and stretched.  Standing he turned to face Becky and advised, “It’s past your bed time  little lady.” Becky blinked and mumbled, “I love you, grandpa. Your  stories are so neat.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek and scampered  off to bed. He watched her go as if it was the last time and whispered,  “I love you too. I only wish you knew really how much.”

The  tired old man retired for the evening to his own bed and never regained  consciousness the next morning. But, as Becky went through her life,  she always did know just how much he really did love her.