Red Bikes and Perpetual Explosions (short story)

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Red Bikes and Perpetual Explosions

As the sun was rising in the east, private Johnson was wondering if he actually had slept even one minute this night. If he would not have trusted that this war would soon be over, he could think the piercing noises and intense flashes would be perpetual. The private sat up and looked at his officer in command a few feet away. The corporal was standing almost in a stagnant position, holding a pair of binoculars scanning the area.
Johnson looked around him and spotted the rest of his comrades. He leaned back on a sand bag and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from one of his many pockets.
“Hey, Sir! Care for a smoke?” he asked like he always does when he is about to light one.
“You mad? Those things’ll kill ya!” Captain Jackson answered, like he always answers, without moving.
Johnson grinned as he lit his and took a deep breath and blew out to let the smoke from the cigarette mix with the foggy air.
“I wouldn’t mind one” the soldier next to him yawned.
“Huh? Didn’t know you smoked, Brown” Johnson answered rather surprised when he realized who was asking.
“After tonight I’d do anything to feel some incentive”
Johnson did not argue the logic. Last night had in fact been the worst night so far.
The two soldiers sat there for a while, just listening to the distant explosions and the vivid lightning. Trying to remember what home felt like or smelled like, even looked like.
“You know” Private Brown started, “when I was a kid, I had this red, shiny, new bicycle, right?”
Johnson could do little but nod.
“Do you know what some ass swipe did?” he carried on, not changing the tone in his voice.
Johnson shrugged.
“Some dirt bag broke the handlebars. Man, I got pissed!”
Johnson gave away a slight grin.
“Do you know what I think about when I shoot one of those Germans?”
The whole conversation suddenly started to sound very odd. Johnson shrugged.
“That same dirt bag who trashed my bike. All of a sudden it’s not that hard to pull the trigger”
Johnson, quite caught of guard by his comrade’s “tip” could not do much but to offer his consensus.

The area where they were positioned was a fairly open area with a lot of hills and valleys. There was no way to see how many troops that could be in the area, since most troops hid in the valleys and most never dared to go up on a hill, scared to get shot. One sound seemed to be getting closer and closer. With all the explosions in the background this squeaking, creaking noise could hardly be distinguished. So as the soldiers of the band still was lying down, resting, waiting for orders, their captain motioned for them to be quiet. He pointed at one of them, telling him to go up the hill, and tell the rest of them what he could see. The one who had been assigned the scouting task was the group’s sniper, and a good one at that, ran, crouching, up the hill and threw himself down when he got to the top. After a few seconds he crawled down a bit and turned back to the group who was waiting for his information. He flashed his hands fast to give away what he had seen silently.
“I see; two Panzer tanks and one Panther tank and around two scores of infantry” his hands flashed quickly.
“Stand by” the Captain flashed back and turned back to the rest of the troops.
“’Aight, how many grenades you all got?”
“What? Sir, didn’t you see Green? We’re outnumbered by more than a double” one of the men said immediately.
“So? We got the high ground. So shut up and give me your grenades!” he retorted with some asperity in his voice. The men finally did what he said. All of their grenades added up to twelve, almost two each.
“’Aight, Brown, I want you to go up where Green is with all of these” he ordered and gave Brown all of the grenades. “When you see the sign you start throwing them at the tanks! Try to get them beneath them.”
“eh, uhm.. ok” was Brown’s natural response while wishing he would never have asked for the special pamphlet at the military office back home in Utah.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Off you go!” The captain had to say and the grenade thrower was off. “The rest, come with me” he said as they all ran to get in front of the enemy caravan and hide in some small bushes and trees. Most of the men were not too thrilled about leaving the comfortable and cushy sandbags. It was a mere matter of time before hell would break loose.

“Damn!” Brown said all of a sudden up on the hill.
“What!?” Green wondered.
“I forgot to ask what the sign was” Brown answered.
“I don’t think it’ll matter.”
“Huh?”
“Well, the Captain has always been affluent in giving understandable orders. You’ll know the sign when you see it”
Brown could not do much but to hope his partner in war was right.
They held their silence, except for their raising heartbeats that felt like it almost could be heard back home to America.

Private Johnson was having a bad feeling about all this. Why would their group of seven even try to win a fire combat against more than a double their number plus three big tanks? He had always known the Captain to be equitable but now his action only seemed reckless. He had not seen any other disparity in his commander’s behaviour except that he had not tried to sleep or rest at all last night. Maybe the explosions and screams of death finally got to him. Maybe he feels like he too wants to die for his country. Then it happened.
The caravan they were waiting for was almost there but all of sudden the tanks stopped. The group could hear German being shouted but couldn’t grasp what it meant. The next thing they saw was Green and Brown up on the hill disappearing in a thick cover of dust and fire. Like that was not enough for the rest of the men to witness, all the grenades that Brown was carrying with him went off at the same time making one huge explosion. Just about twelve times the size of one grenade. No remains of Private Brown or Green could be seen.
The group was paralyzed. Only a few minutes earlier they had been thinking about home and maybe even really believing that they would go back soon. Now they saw themselves an inch from death. They did nothing but stare as the smoke broke away and nothing was remained but thin air and the squeaking sound starting up again.
“Johnson, climb a tree!” The captain ordered, trying to get the men in action again.
Johnson followed orders like a robot, not knowing why or why not. “Start shooting when we do!” He carried on.
The captain had to subsidies him with some ammo and then he started climbing and hid in the green tree top. The rest of the group ran up a few feet ahead and hid behind some bushes in a ditch. No one knew what the plan was, if there even was one.
As the caravan came closing up, some troops marching up front with tanks in the middle and the rest of the troops behind, the captain told his group to get ready and be quiet. The men tried to be silent, but as the caravan came closing in, their heartbeats raised to maximum and some started to feel sick. Was this it? some of them thought. One pulled out his necklace and kissed the cross, asking his god for help. Another started a silent prayer. The caravan was now just below Johnson in the tree as he held his breath.
Johnson felt like a rock. Solid as a mountain, it would take more than orders to get him to move, or shot. The sweat starting pouring as his pulse started to echo through out his whole head. He knew this was it. He felt it. He started to think about home. About the people, the fresh air, the noise, the big park in the summer, the women, the smell. The smell of a woman was something he really did dote. He started thinking about God. Was there really a God? Where was he? Was there a hell, somepla...