A red winter night

“Medic!”1

The bullets whizzed by, artillery sounded like a drum.  McCollum’s cry spoiled the rhythm of the firing weapons, the song of the war.  The Germans had begun firing unexpectedly in the night.  All men of B Company ran for their freshly dug foxholes, desperate for cover from the explosions and flying shrapnel.  The snow on the ground made running difficult, men fell everywhere, either slipping on the white powder or ducking to hide from the metal that filled the air.  Flashes of light illuminated the winter sky, allowing me to spot McCollum lying in a patch of red snow.2

“Medic!  Where’s the damn medic!?”3

The chaos continued as men still scrambled to their foxholes, caring only for the safety of themselves and the man running, or crawling, next to them.  Already being in a hole myself, I searched for Campisi, the medic that McCollum so desperately called for.  I could see him nowhere, not even when the flashing light of firing artillery and explosions lit the forest.4

“God… Campisi!  Medic!”5

Soldiers of B Company found their holes; men disappeared from the snowy ground.  Soon, the only ones left were those lying in pools of deep red, killed by German bullets and artillery, and McCollum, still screaming, more wildly now, for the medic.  His frantic cries were drawing the attention of the enemy, shells hit more frequently, trees burst into flames and splinters of wood flew through the night air.6

“Medic! Please… medic!”7

I found myself in a half-run half-crawl moving away from cover to where McCollum lay, still yelling, almost pleading, for Campisi.  When I finally reached the wounded private, I dropped down by his side, covered his mouth, and motioned him to be quiet.  He nodded slowly, and, though shaking rather badly, somewhat regained his composure, enough to silence himself.  I slid my hand away from his mouth.  Blood and dirt covered his face, beads of sweat and melted snow dripped from his nose and chin.  Bright blue eyes looked at me, questioned me.8

“Where are you hit, McCollum?”9

“My… leg… sir”10

My hands found the wounded leg, the left.  Flash, the light illuminated what my hand had found; the stump of a leg, red staining the snow, still spilling from the man’s mangled limb.  His left lower calf and foot, with the boot half-torn off, was lying a few feet from our position.  I could not move; I just sat there with my hands covered in McCollum’s warm blood, intently watching the pumping red liquid sink into the white snow.11

“Sergeant?”12

A faint voice brought me back; Campisi stared at me.13

“Help me get him back.”14

Together, the medic, who had finally arrived, and I pulled McCollum back to the nearest foxhole we could find, all the time dodging flying shrapnel and tree branches.  We quickly lay the wounded man inside, then jumped in ourselves.  Campisi, who had been scratched on the face by a passing bullet, dug through his medical bag, frantically searching for the supplies needed to treat McCollum’s wound until he could get back to the hospital, away from the front lines.  There I sat in a hole in the ground, holding the head of a wounded soldier in my lap, attempting in every way possible to comfort him, while watching a medic try desperately to save the soldier’s life.15

“Don’t worry, McCollum, you’re gonna be fine.”16

“Sir…”  A scream of pain.  “God… it hurts…”17

McCollum’s eyes stared into mine, full of terror.  I looked at Campisi, desperately trying to stop the bleeding; attempting to cover the man’s gruesome left stump.  Back to McCollum, his eyes still searched mine, but they had been covered with the film of death, the bright blue had become pale.  His face was cold, his skin white like the snow.18

“Campisi…”19

He gazed at McCollum, realizing we had failed.  McCollum’s wound still contributed red liquid to the growing puddle beneath his wound, dirt, blood, and sweat still dripped from his face.  A hot tear rolled down my cheek as I used two fingers to close the man’s wide, staring eyes.  The bullets still flew overhead, artillery still pounded, men were screaming in agony, as we sat there, paralyzed by the loss.20

“Medic!”21