Punishment of the Innocent (Coller)

[Cpl. Robert Anderson]

Country: Country: Bavaria, Dachau Concentration Camp
Time: April 29, 1945 0900 Hours
Weather: Cloudy, rain fell three hours earlier

Mud sunk under his feet as he trudged on the street. He had no idea how the Shermans were able to keep going without getting stuck. Anderson pondered the thought for a few seconds then pushed it out of his mind. He held his shotgun in his hands with ease and moved the same way. The smell of freshly fallen rain filled his nostrils. The smell reminded him of when he would have to bail hay early in the morning. He hated the job, but for some odd reason, he missed that time. A time when it was more innocent. Then the loud sound of the Sherman running over a rock snapped him out of his thoughts. Then everything was halted.

"Hold up!" One of the tanks commander's yelled. He looked about late thirties and had a bad burn scar on his left cheek. Probably from hot grease when he was working on one of the tanks. "Betty blew a cork!" He said again. A few of the younger men let out a laugh. Anderson stood there and waited for one of his superiors to deal with the situation. One of the older men came over and started speaking with the tank commander. Once they were finished, Robert started walking with the man.

"Sir, requestin' to scout out the p'rimiter." Robert's CO stopped and looked hard at Robert for a second or two. "Okay." He finally said. "Take four men with you and be back at 1030 hours, you got that? We also have a downed allied aircraft exactly 1.3 miles North. Retrieve him, that's an order." He spit out thhe last few words. "Yesir." Robert said clearly and moved away.

Name by name Robert called to men who were privates. " Private Beck, Private Drake," Robert went on as he walked down the line and saw faces. "Private Garnet, Robert said in a loud voice then he stopped as he came across a familiar face. "And Private Paddock! All on me." Robert said loudly in his strong southern accent. He moved about twenty yards from the rest of the men. "A'right, let's get down t' business." He said addressing his squad of four men.

[Deleted]

The world was blurry, twisting images of jagged shreds of metal and blazing fires swam through Sam’s vision. He remained still for a while, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He was feeling a large amount of pressure on his left side, almost as if something where pressing down on him. He closed his eyes as he tried to clear his mind; an image of the clear blue sky flashed though his mind. How did he end up down here from up there? Opening his eyes again he felt a sting on his forehead and lifted his right arm to his head, feeling crusted blood coving his forehead. He must have been out for a while if the blood was congealed already.

As his vision stopped swimming he looked around himself, surprised to see that he was still strapped into the seat of his once proud P-40E fighter. He looked around at the arm like trees that where cradling the battered and broken body of the aircraft like a crying child. The tree’s looked strange, they seemed to be quite horizontal yet they where standing unsupported by anything. Sam let out a wince as he realised why he felt a pressure on his side, its cause he was laying on it. Pinned between the twisted seat and the fuselage with all his weight pressing down on his left side while his arm hung numb out of the shattered cockpit. He tried moving his fingers, and was thankful that no pain accompanied the movement. As fas he could tell, his only injury was a large cut that followed his hairline, he moved his other arm and his legs to test how responsive they where before he tried to pull himself free of the wreckage.

With a lot of twisting and grunting he managed to pull himself out of the pilots seat, he reached up to grab the frame of the cockpit window in order to support himself, but lost his grip on the frame and slipped out of the cockpit, and rather then an easy climb down Sam found himself tumbling head over heels eight feet to the ground, he landed half on his feet and half on his side, slamming into the ground and letting out a cry of pain. He looked down at his leg, a shard of glass protruding from just above his knee. He laid back and put his hands over his head in frustration, as he closed his eyes another image flashed into his mind. Feathers exploding from in front of his propeller, the stick shuddering and warning lights flickering red. He let out a hysterical laugh as he realised why he’d crashed, he’d hit a bird!

He let out a sigh once the laughs had stopped and took a deep breath. Sitting up he glared down at his leg and the large shard of glass jutting out of his leg, almost like it was mocking him, adding insult to injury. He reached down and carefully gripped the glass, ignoring the pain he gritted his teeth and gave it a pull. Another cry of pain was torn from him and he looked down to see the shard of glass still in his leg. It mush have shattered like an arrowhead, with a splinter of glass holding it in his leg. He would need a medic to take it out. With a heavy sigh he got to his feet and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He remembered he’d managed to get a distress call off before hitting the ground, giving his location and heading as quick as he could but he didn’t remember if he got a response. He had no idea if anyone was coming to get him.

Dragging himself to his feet he found a branch that had been snapped off one of the trees that was almost the right hight for a walking stick. Breaking the few smaller twigs off it he leaned on it to see if it would hold his weight. Satisfied with his walking stick he limped over to a rock and plopped down onto it. He had no choice but to wait, he didn’t know where he was, and he wouldn’t get far with the glass in his leg. He looked down at his pistol that hung snugly against his hip and smiled, at least he wasn’t defenceless.

[Cpl. Robert Anderson]

The movement of the squad was quick and quiet. They moved through the forrest, keeping crouched. Robert made his way to the edge of the forrest where he saw in the distance a downed plane. He nudged the closest Private. "Drake, whatya reckon that is thar yonder?" He said in a low voice. "Looks like a plane to me, sir." Robert rolled his eyes. "No really Private. Look past it." He said sarcastically and pointed past the plane. "Looks like...wired fence maybe. I think I see a guard tower." He said with realization. Robert nodded. "That's what I saw. We'll check it out after we get the flyboy outta here." He motioned for the squad to follow him one behind the other. They all did so and moved along the treeline to get parallel with the plane.

A loud shout echoed throughout the empty area. Robert immediately held up a fist signaling for the squad to stop. He strained his ears to listen. Another yell came out. It sounded like it was only a few hundred yards away. "Bingo." Robert said under his breath. He moved quicker, leaving the Privates a bit further behind than before. He stopped and held his fist up again, for the squad to hold. He looked and saw a sitting figure behind a tree. He motioned for the Privates to be silent and to stay there. He made his way towards the sitting figure. When he was about twenty-five yards behind him, he slung his shotgun over his shoulder. He then crouched and picked up a rock. He tossed the rock next to the man, just to get his attention. He then cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered, "Friendly." to identify himself as an ally. He pulled out his knife and moved forward. His knife was in his hand just so if he needed to, he could use it to disarm the man. Shotguns never were really useful for unarming a man and letting them keep their arm that is.

[Deleted]

(OOC: Im sorry if this post seem's... not that great... I'm quite a bit drunk at the moment.)

How embarrassing, downed by a bird hitting the propeller, he would never live it down. From where he was sitting he could see the impact point where the bird had hit and snapped two of the wooded propellers. A plane cant fly if it has nothing to pull it though the air, so with only a single working blade the fighter had lost its forward momentum and dived like a rock towards the earth. Looking at the damage all he could do was shake his head and smile. He would never tell anyone that a bird had dropped his fighter out of the sky, when questioned on his crash he would state that he had been ambushed and shot down by a lone German fighter, and that is where it would end. He would keep the embarrassing secret to himself, he wouldn’t even tell Greg, his best friend who was almost always at his side.

He looked around his surroundings, guessing he would be here for a while before someone showed up to drag his sorry butt out. He was still looking at his plane when something behind it caught his eye, the light from the sun was reflecting of something, like a spider web glowing under the sun. Concentrating on it failed to make out what it was until his vision shifted, the effect was like looking at an optical illusion and suddenly seeing a lamp turn into two faces. The wire fence stood proud and tall, mostly camouflaged by the overgrown scrub and it seemed to melt into the trees. He froze up with the realisation that he had crashed right next to a camp, possibly a German outpost and he found himself wondering how he was still alive and why the Germans hadn’t sent out a search party to investigate the plane. If Sam had been hanging in the cockpit long enough for the blood on his face to dry and go crusty then he had been there long enough for the Germans or whoever was in the camp to come out and check the wreak.

Sam was about to try and move from the tree when a rock landed next to him; startled he reached for his pistol, gripping it tightly. But before he could draw it fully and turn to face the rock thrower a whispered voice carried on the wind reached him and he stopped in mid action, the pistol half raised. He lowered it and looked around for the speaker, spotting a lone trooper advancing up behind him with his knife drawn. Sam gripped his pistol again at the sight of the blade, nodding at the soldier.
“Are you here to rescue me or gut me for Christmas dinner?” He whispered, his pistol held tight but it did not rise. The Allied uniform and English speak convincing him that this solider was not a German, plus a German wouldn’t warn him before sneaking up on him. But the knife still made him nervous, he had heard stories of men going mad out in the woods and deserts and they ended up attacking their own men, believing them to be enemies.
He spotted movement behind the advancing soldier and realised that there was a whole squad of men behind him, hiding in the scrub. Unless the whole group where insane or traitors Sam guessed he was out of trouble, at least for now.

[Cpl. Robert Anderson]

OOC: Even drunk you're a better RPer than me. Rofl!

IC:Robert saw the man grip his sidearm. Robert smiled. Flyboys. Always jumpy when they ain't in a cockpit. The pilot strained to see him and the look of realization dawned on the man's face. “Are you here to rescue me or gut me for Christmas dinner?” The pilot asked as Robert came closer. Robert finally made it out to him and crouched in front of him. "Well, that depends on what you did wrong?" He smirked and looked over his shoulder. He could see, now about 200 yards out, that there were faces, people starting to crowd the fence. Oh my... Robert realized what the fenced in area was. A concentration camp.

Robert looked in the direction for a few seconds, then turned his attention to the pilot. He put his knife back in his sheath and looked at the man's leg. Not gonna be walkin' on his own. "Aight, put your pistol away. I'ma have t' carry you." He said as he tried to assess the best way to pick up his wounded ally. He saw the shards in the man's leg. Honestly, Robert had seen much worse. The Pacific was hell to say the least. Men being decapitated in front of him. Having their guts ripped open by katanas and wooden shrapnel. He even witnessed a man who had had his arm cut off by a banzai runner with a katana. Robert was able to repay the Jap by blowing his head completely off with his shotgun.

Robert finally came to the conclusion that he was going to have to carry him fireman style for the whole two miles back to base.

[Deleted]

(OOC: Hey! Do not put yourself down like that you’re doing well. Everything takes time and practice and you’re better then a fair few others.)

Sam lowered his pistol as the soldier came up and crouched in front of him, he couldn’t tell if the man was joking about gutting him. The soldier seemed to have other matters pressing on his mind though and he kept looking over towards the wire fence, Sam from his position Sam couldn’t see the guard tower but after focusing his vision for a moment he could make out the faces of people staring back at them. James wasn’t use to seeing the effects of the war from this level, and the dirty tortured faces of the prisoners shocked him. He had been informed of the concentration camps that had been found in scattered areas of liberated Europe, but he had never believed he would ever see one.

There hadn’t been any hints of a concentration camp being in the area and he found himself wondering how he had missed it from the air. How could the mass amount of aired patrols have missed the camp? Perhaps it had been well camouflaged from aerial discovery, and the guards must have left the area, or where busy with something else. But an aircraft crashing 200 yards from a fixed position is bound to get noticed, the prisoners had noticed it so it was safe to assume that any guards in the camp would have noticed too. A mild panic started to race though Sam, but he fought to suppress it knowing that the soldiers here would be able to protect him, they had bigger and better guns and could do more damage to an enemy force then Sam could with his pistol.

He nodded at the soldier as he told him to put away his pistol, “I should be able to walk mate, just not unsupported.” He motioned to his walking stick that he’d used to get himself over to his current position. He picked it up and started to lift himself to his feet, awkwardly he managed to get up but he was leaning heavily on the stick, his other hand hanging close to his pistol. Now that he was standing he could see the guard tower now, it was very well camouflaged and even being this close it seemed to blend in with the surrounding trees and scrub. No wonder it hadn’t been spotted by the patrols, the roof of the tower looked like it had fused with the canopy of the trees. Anyone passing over would have thought the camp was just a clearing and continued on their way, unaware of the human suffering going on below them.

He could tell the soldier wanted to carry him out, but even though a bird had downed him he still had some pride, though as he continued to bleed that pride was slowly draining away from him. He started taking a few steps towards the squad of men who where still hiding a little further back, each step was painful and caused a little more blood to pour out from behind the glass. He knew he was hurt and would have to be carried, but he didn’t like to admit it.

[Cpl. Robert Anderson]

"Yeah...you see 'em too. We's gonna get 'em out, whether HQ wants us to 'r not. But yer gonna go see a medic." Robert said as he took one of his old bandanas out of his pocket and tied it around the pilot's thigh to restrict the blood flow. "Hope it ain't too loose. I didn't sign up fer a field surgeon." He said jokingly.

“I should be able to walk mate, just not unsupported.” the pilot said as he motioned for a stick that was a few feet away. Robert went to the stick and picked it up. He started walking back and spoke. "Looks like those pigs just left 'em here." He said nodding to the camp. Robert let the man walk a few steps on his own. He kept an eye on the leg, then after the first five or so steps that was it. "A'ight buddy. Yer gonna have to at least lemme help ya." He said. Robert was normally a cold and brutal person. But when it came to wounded comrades, he couldn't help but care. He slung the man's arm over his neck and helped him walk. "By the way, name's Anderson. Robert Anderson." He said as they moved towards the forrest. Once they made it to the edge he spoke to the Privates. "We gotta get him back to a medic." They all nodded, knowing the obvious. "What about the camp?" asked Garnet. "After we drop him off, we're gonna ask permission to go liberate it." "What if they deny it?" Robert became grim. "They ain't damning my soul."

[Deleted]

(OOC: Sorry for the late reply, been busy and unmotivated)

The bandage hung loosely from Sam’s leg but the shard of glass prevented it from slipping off, Sam looked down at it in disappointment. Thankfully he wasn’t a foot solider, cause this wound would probably give him a nasty limp for a while. He struggled to keep himself upright with his stick but the further he walked the less strength he had in him. He was almost grateful when the solider came over and helped him. Sam wasn’t a large guy, but he still didn’t want to put too much of his weight on the man. He hated being a burden.

He looked back at the wire fence and at the faces that where just visible though the scrub. They where clearly suffering from starvation, their eyes where wide and glassy and their skin pulled tight over their bones giving them a skeletal look, like the walking dead they seemed to shuffle about with no real purpose other then to keep moving. He turned away from them, it was lucky that bird had struck the propeller when it did, otherwise this concentration camp might never have been found. Still, he would never admit to the bird.

The solider introduced himself and Sam let out a little laugh, what a way to meet people, being carried out of a pile of twisted metal and burning fuel. He let out a small grunt of pain as he put a bit too much weight on his wounded leg before answering. “Sam Coller, thanks for the help Robert. He looked at the other soldiers as they approached. He remained silent as their commander issued out his orders. He was a bit worried about being left behind with a medic, even though he was a pilot he wanted to go back and help get the prisoners out of the camp.

[Cpl. Robert Anderson]

“Sam Coller, thanks for the help Robert." said the pilot. "What I signed up fer." Robert said somewhat sarcastically and jokingly. Robert didn't want to turn around to look at the camp. He knew what he would see. He had seen pictures of places like this before. A camera man had been to another camp and shown a few members of the 3ID what it looked like before he was forced to leave. The pictures reminded him of lifeless men, women, and children. They all seemed to be somewhere in between life and death. It made Robert sick, and furious.

Robert helped the man to the perimeter of the camp where he yelled for a medic. A medic immediately came and helped Coller sit. Robert spotted a Major that he had never seen before. Robert guessed he had been the other Majors replacement. He approached him as he was just ending his conversation with a Lietenant. Robert didn't waste any time. "Sir, we r'covered th' pilot but thar's somethin' else." The Major didn't take note of himself not being saluted. "Well, tell me son. Speak freely." The Major said. Robert had only met one other Major in his life that wasn't full of himself and that was Major Patterson. "Well, sir, Me and a few Privates saw a...a...camp. Like a concentration camp." The Major blinked a few times. He then yeled out to a nearby soldier. "Find out how much rations we have and how much water." He then looked back at Robert. "Corporal, good job on the pilot. Now, prepare yourself for what you see in the next few hours." Robert saluted and sreplied. "Sir, might I request that me and my squad be tha first t' open tha gates?" The Major smiled. "Knock yourself out Corporal."

[Deleted]

The trip back to Roberts platoon seemed to take forever and was silent in conversation; Sam believed the silence was due to the discovery of the camp. His leg wasn’t hurting too bad by the time they reached friendly units; Robert handed Sam over to the medic easily and took off to find an officer. Sam limped over to a seat and eased himself down so the medic could get a look at his leg. Before the medic had even touched the spike of glass he jabbed a needle of morphine into Sam’s leg, almost immediately the pain disappeared and was replaced with a numb ache. Then the Medic went to work, pulling small tools out of his kit as he prepared to work his magic.

He cut open the fabric of Sam’s pants so he could see the wound properly and cleaned the area with water, looking at the damage for a moment the medic seemed to have a lost look on his face, as if he didn’t know what to do or was bored with the situation. Without even looking at his kit he reached in and took out a small blade and began probing the skin around the glass with his free hand. With the same blank look he took hold of the glass and pressed the blade against the skin and pressed into it, blood flowed up around the blade as it sunk deeper and suddenly stopped. Swapping the blade with a pair of tweezers the medic pushed the tips into the new cut and let the tweezers spread the skin, opening the wound while he pulled at the glass witch slid out of Sam’s leg with little resistance. On the end of the glass had broken like an arrow head, meaning that with the field surgery removing the glass would have caused more damage if it had of just been pulled out. Sam had watched the whole operation with mild interest.

The medic was stitching him up as people started running around, some were carrying supplies for the prisoners of the camp they had found. Sam looked at the medic for a moment ‘Can I go too?’ The medic nodded and pointed to a medical truck. ‘You can ride in there, I’ll be needed at the camp anyway.’ He helped Sam up and half carried him over to the truck, loading him in before rushing off to prepare himself for what was to come.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Anderson - 7

Coller - 8

-JT