Sanctuary

Outside the walls of the church the chorus of battle had finally silenced. Two men sat within the once proud structure, which now lay broken and battered from the unrelenting bombings. To each of them it seemed as though the sounds of chaos that rang outside would never end. One sat against the pews, clutching a wound on his bandaged knee while the other remained standing, his gaze focused on the stained glass windows that still laid unbroken. 

“Do you hear that Charlie? Looks like they’ve finally given it up.”

He turned to look at his seated comrade, a curiously cheery smile on his lips that contrasted against the soot and grime that darkened his features. 

    “Quiet at last...” 

Charlie's own voice was hoarse, a product of the pained cries that escaped his throat when the shrapnel first pierced his leg. One moment he was standing beside his squad before being violently thrown through the air, his senses suddenly dominated by the thunderous clap of an explosion only to then be consumed by pain once his body touched the dirt. He regretted now that he had focused only on his own agony since he now knew that men beside him had been much less lucky. 

    Desmond, the squad’s fresh recruit, had only been spared by chance. He had been standing a few paces behind, adjusting one of the straps over the shoulder when he witnessed the explosion in front of him. His legs had carried him towards the blast before his mind could process what had occurred. It was then when he laid eyes upon Charlie’s body, blood pouring from a wound on his leg while pained shouts spilled from his mouth. 

    It was Desmond’s powerful voice that pulled Charlie back to reality from his dazed stupor. Around them the sounds of explosions rang out, threatening to deafen their ears as Desmond explained that they would need to find shelter from the bombing. He spoke of a church they had passed, as he pulled the wounded soldier to his feet, placing an arm beneath his shoulder. Together they moved backward toward safety, reaching the church as the bombs still rang outside. 

    The next thirty minutes had been spent patching up Charlie's wounds while waiting for the bombing to end. They were not alone in their waiting. Across the street, a man breathed heavily, a rifle resting against his shoulder as his attention remained fixed on the entrance to the church. His lips moved slowly, as he whispered a prayer to himself in his native German tongue. Had he not fallen asleep in the bed across the room, he would have been with the rest of his platoon watching the bombing from atop the hill. Instead he had fallen behind, awaking violently to the sounds of the mortars raining from above. It was only when he rushed to the window that he saw the two Americans dash into the ruined church. And, with the bombing completed, he knew it would not be much longer until they made their exit. As he finished the prayer he noticed his breathing had become normal and he lifted the rifle so that the barrel rested against the window. His calm nerves steeled his resolve, and he knew that his presence here was no accident. It was a sign from God. 

    Inside the walls of the church the two soldiers remained silent. Five minutes had passed since the bombing, and they agreed to wait five more to ensure that it would not resume. Charlie flexed his leg, wincing at the pain. Removing the shrapnel from his thigh was a sensation he would not soon forget, although he was thankful now to see it laying on the floor rather than buried in his flesh. The bandage had done its job against the bleeding, although neither man carried anything for the pain. Charlie knew what that would mean, his teeth gritting at the realization. The Germans would be here soon to sweep the town for any survivors. It was likely that the remainder of his own forces was already moving back and taking up defensive positions. They would not be able to make it back, not with his leg in such a sorry shape. 

    A few feet away Desmond had failed to reach the same assessment. His mind was hard at work, and the thought of leaving Charlie behind was not even an option. He was by no means a big man, but he was certain that Charlie would not slow him down much. They would have ample time to escape, but only if they left soon. He opened his mouth to express this thought, only stopping when he saw Charlie’s hand raise to silence him. 

    “Listen kid, I know what you’re gonna say so just save your breath. I’m not gonna be running sprints anytime soon and our boys are at least two clicks back. The Krauts are gonna catch us before the two of us can make it that far.”

A pang of guilt rang out in Charlie’s chest as he looked at the recruit’s face. His words had done nothing to diminish the naive hope in his eyes. 

    “So we hold out here. We both still got our rifles. I say we make those bastards pay for…” 

    “You're not thinking straight. Even if we take a couple with us they’ll swarm us before long. You need to go.” 

Desmond’s face twisted as if insulted by the suggestion. He scoffed, unbuckling the straps to his bag and letting it fall from his shoulders. 

    “I ain’t hearing any of that. All we need to do is drop some weight then…” 

His voice cut off as he heard the sound of the hammer click back. He turned to look at Charlie, his eyes wide as he saw the pistol in his hands with the barrel pointed toward him. 

    “Hey… what the hell you think you’re doing?” 

    “I’m giving you a chance to play the hero. Now get the hell out of here and back to base. You can tell them where I am and if I’m still alive when they get back I’ll let you finish your piece. But if you don’t…” 

Slowly, Charlie turned the pistol and pointed it at the side of his head. The cold steel brought a sickening churn in his stomach which he fought to hide, struggling to keep his expression passive. Desmond's eyes remained fixed on the weapon, his hand shaking as if it were his mind playing tricks. 

    “You can’t be serious.” 

    “I’m not gonna drag us both down. Now I’m gonna count back from ten.”

    “Sir, I…”

    “Ten. Nine. Eight.”

The effort it took to keep his voice steady felt as though it taxed his soul. In reality, fear gripped his heart but his choice had already been made. The boy had already done everything he could to save him, but he wouldn’t let him give his life too. 

    “Seven. Six.”

Desmond’s leg felt like lead. Within him a swirl of emotions struggled to take root in his consciousness, just as he took one step back. For a moment he looked down at his own foot, disbelief in his eyes. Then, he turned and dashed for the door, the sound of Charlie’s quiet counting growing fainter by the moment. As he stood outside he took a moment to let the air fill his lungs. The choice had been made. Now all he could do was run and give the word. 

    Just as he prepared to take his first step he saw a glare out of the corner of his eye that looked as though it came from one of the windows. Before his mind could process what he saw there was a loud crash and he felt himself stumble backward. Desmond stood there, blinking as he turned his head to look at the light. On his chest he felt a sudden warmth that felt odd against the cold of his body. There was another bang, and it was then Desmond felt the first bit of pain. He looked down to see two crimson stains growing on his uniform, one from his chest and the other from his hip. His knees suddenly gave out, and he found himself lying against the cold soil. In his mind he held a faint sense of what was happening. A sniper, two shots. He was going to die. With that he closed his eyes, feeling the darkness consume him as the pain faded away and the cold of the ground grew more distant.