The Beardless Warriors by Richard Matheson

Author:Richard Matheson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

“SERGEANT COOLEY!”

Halfway up the tree-hooded slope, the sergeant stopped walking and turned around. Hackermeyer saw a surprised smile appear on Cooley’s lips and, suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to laugh. A guttural sound trembled in his throat as he started up the slope beside the German. He barely restrained himself from waving.

Cooley waited, hands fisted on his hips, smiling and nodding. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as Hackermeyer reached him.

“Hi,” said Hackermeyer.

Cooley glanced over at the German, then back again. “You do get around, don’t you?” he said.

The ends of Hackermeyer’s lips twitched upward in a nervous smile. “I got a Krau—a German,” he said.

“Caught him yourself?”

Hackermeyer nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

“Has he been searched?”

“Yeah, some—some sergeant did.”

Cooley smiled at him again and shook his head. “Hackermeyer,” he said.

Hackermeyer swallowed. “Yeah?”

Cooley slapped his shoulder. “Glad to see you, son,” he said.

Hackermeyer couldn’t loosen the stricture in his throat. He looked at Cooley intently, wanting to tell the sergeant how glad he was to be back. Cooley was looking around the slope.

“Why don’t you dig in behind that fallen tree over there?” said Cooley, turning back. “You’ll be alone, I’m afraid. Fearfeather’s already dug in with Guthrie and I’m with Bernie.”

Hackermeyer felt an added swell of pleasure.

“Where are they?” he asked. He was pleased to know they were alive.

“The boys are over there,” said Cooley, pointing.

Hackermeyer saw, beneath the shadow of a pine tree, two helmeted heads just above the ground surface. Good old Fearfeather, he thought. Good old Guthrie. How marvelous that they were still alive.

He turned back as Cooley patted his arm. “Better get to it, son,” Cooley told him.

“How come we’re—digging in here?” Hackermeyer asked. He felt as if he wanted to talk and talk with Cooley.

“We’re expecting an attack,” said Cooley. “We don’t know when it’s coming but we’re sure it will. You better get your gear.”

Hackermeyer shivered. “Oh,” he said. “Well—” He stared blankly at the sergeant.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I—I don’t have any,” said Hackermeyer. “I mean—”

“Nothing?”

Hackermeyer swallowed hard. “Well,” he said, “I had to—see, I had to leave it.” He felt his stomach churning. “See, I was—”

“Okay, okay.” Cooley patted his arm. “Don’t get rattled. It happens to the best of them. I’ll scrape up something for you. You can use Lippincott’s M1.”

Hackermeyer’s mouth opened. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Is—is he—?”

“No, just wounded. Come on, we’d better get you his rifle now. You’ll be needing it. The rest, I’ll get later.” Cooley gestured once and the German nodded.

They started up the slope, the German ahead of them. Everywhere Hackermeyer looked, men were digging in.

“Expecting an attack, hanh?” he said.

“It’ll come,” said Cooley. “Tonight. Tomorrow morning.”

Hackermeyer nodded, conscious of a mounting disappointment. He’d gone through so much. Yet nothing was changed, nothing was improved.

“The Kraut came with you even though you didn’t have a gun?” asked Cooley.

Hackermeyer cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “He was—glad to come.” He could feel the exhilaration fading rapidly now. It was like a light going dim.

“Where you been?” asked Cooley.

“Oh, I—fell down that hill,” Hackermeyer answered.

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