A Fate Worse Than Death

(This story contains mild Language, Physical Gore and Violence, and uses Terms used from World War 2)

Lieutenant Lyle J Bouck jr is a real Lieutenant that served in World War 2, and this story takes place before and after the Battle of the Bugle (December 16th, 1944 - January 11th, 1945) the true story has been modified & Fictionalized to tell a compelling story

Terms used from World War 2

“See the Chaplin” = Shut Up & stop complaining

“BTO” = Big Time officer, someone who thinks they’re important

“T.S” = Tough Situation

“Grousing” = Complaining

“Fritz” = Derogatory term used to describe the Nazi Army

“Smokes” = Cigarette

December 15th, 1944. Morning

“What’s the plan Lieutenant Lyle?”

Lieutenant Lyle J Bouck jr hosters his rucksack over his shoulders and slings his M1A1 Carbine rifle around his front and takes a smoke from his smoke before answering,

“Not much Private, orders are to stay put and hold the line.”

“But sir,” I say, exasperated, “ We haven't had any contact with the enemy in weeks, we’re running out of supplies, and we’ve got no reinforcements. Shouldn't we at least regroup with the 99th?”

“See the chaplain Private, if we were told to stay put, then we’ll stay put. We are holding a defensive position alongside the 99th infantry division, and are to hold off any fritzs that come our way.” The Lieutenant says as he wipes snow off his helmet.

“And what of reinforcements?” I ask.

Lieutenant Lyle looks dejected for a moment before he shakes his head and a youthful grin appears, “Don’t need 'em. Now go get some breakfast and leave me to smoke.”

I sigh and make my way to the makeshift camp with snow filled trenches, and thinned fabric green tents popped up all over, I see men huddle over fires, some playing cards, sharing smokes, reading the paper from weeks ago, and others sitting by themselves, in deep thought, or meditation, I can’t tell. The breakfast line is short, and I grab my tin of spam, and small cup of joe and head over to my buddies playing go fish, Sergeant Cody Jones, and Private First Class Edward Rasity.

“What’s up man, how’s our B.T.O? Are we finally gonna get out of this T.S?” Cody asks me.

“I wish, but Luentinat says we have to stay put, said we don’t need any extra firepower or manpower, what a nincompoop.” I say, frowning over my bitter coffee. “Lame. Got any nines?” says Ed

“So we’re just gonna sit here freezing our asses all day? Bull Crap, go fish” moans Cody

I agree, but stop grousing it ain't gonna change nothin. I say.

The rest of the day is pretty uneventful. After a command meeting, where we learn that there’s been no movement from the Germans and that Bastone is still secure, we do our dailys, patrol the lines, go over possible strats, and just ate and hang out really. By the time nightfall came around, there was still no info on the Germans, so we all got into our fox holes and tried to get some sleep.

December 16th, 1944. Early Morning

“Get UP! GET UP GET UP THE DAMN FRITZ ARE HERE!!!!!” shouts Lieutenant Lyle as the blood drains from my dark skinned face as I hear bombs crashing down in the snow near my tent of operations, next comes the screams, oh the screams continue to haunt me to this day. I quickly put down my notebook, grab my rifle, check the capsule and hold it at the ready, and rush out to see chaos everywhere, comrades in trenches, trying to find the attackers position, bodies lying everywhere, men with no arms, no legs, screaming as they are dragged by soldiers. The white snow is stained dark red as I run, dodging bombs and mines. A soldier in gray appears in view and I quickly raise and fire, the kickback of the rifle threatening to make me fall and it silences my ears as I see the man in gray go down. I see Cody turn to me from ahead and motions to make my way to him, but as I go he stumbles, clutching his chest and his green uniform goes dark and his hands get red, he falls face forward in the snow and I know he is dead. I stumble, tears building up, diving to the left as a bomb comes down hard on my right. More men in gray appear and I pull a nade off my belt, take the clip out with my teeth and chuck it with all my might. The bomb goes off, and again I’m running, not sure where but anywhere but here. Shots whistle past as I duck under trees and slide over icy rocks, a fellow comrade appears from the snow covered trees in front of me when suddenly he trips over a mine and flies backwards, knocking me into the cold wet snow. As I attempt to push the broken body off me, I see a photo of the man with his family, stained red, it pains me to see that they will never see him again. I push him off and get to my feet, my attackers no longer pursuing me, thinking I’m dead. I push my exhausted legs through the heavy snow, gripping my rifle with grimy, frozen hands.

The sounds of bombs and the screams begin to fade away as I run, and run, and run. I pause, to regather my strength and my mind, I reach for my canatin when a flash of dirt, snow and orange and a sound so loud overwhelm my five senses, I’m knocked back, back into the snow, but this time the blood is my own. As it gets dark I see my rifle feet away with my hand still attached, bones stick out of where my legs once were, and I feel tears falling as I fade into nothingness.

I awake to see the cold grey sky above me along with Ed’s dirt filled face, “He’s awake!” I hear him yell to the others as I feel the snow underneath me, I soon fade back into the darkness. When I come back to focus, I see a soldier with a red cross symbol as he holds the stretcher carrying me and what’s left of my legs. “You're going to be okay, just think about your gal, we’re gonna get your home to her.” He says with a grim smile. I barely heard what he said and Ed is nowhere to be found, but the way I see it, in the snow covered, blood stained, body layered, blown up forest, with chills being sent through the stump of my hand and pain that will certainly return, that this is a fate worse than death. I learned later that we managed to push the Germans out, about 500 of them compared to our small platoon. It was a complete surprise and we had no idea they were coming. Sergeant Cody Jones died and Private First Class Edward Rasity is somewhere with Lieutenant Lyle Bouck, and I never see or hear of them again. I’m told that I’ve been medically discharged from the Army, given $5,000, a rusty old wheelchair, and a handshake, they send me back home to my homestead in Tennessee, where I won’t be able to provide for my wife and two daughters, won’t be able to walk, and will have to live off food that’s worse than what we ate on the front lines. No recognition, no silver star or medel, no parade, no say in the way, just a broken, battered man, with no plan. This is, without a doubt, a fate worse than death.

The End.