He showed us how to load the clip and work the safety. Then he handed each of us the ammunition. “Now remember, sirs, even though it’ll be only blanks out there, don’t shoot ’em off straight at anyone’s face. You can still get burned or worse if you’re too close. Any questions? Sirs?”
There weren’t, and we found the Home Guard troops and followed them into position. A slight rise in the heath led to trenches dug in the wet soil, with tree trunks laid in front of them. Two old retired Matilda tanks sat just out in front, unoccupied and surrounded by sandbags. The commandos were going to blow them up to make a good show before they assaulted our position. In front of us were gently rolling fields of tall grass and beyond that another small rise with a clump of trees. I guessed the Norwegians must be grouped behind there since there were no troops in sight. There were umpires on both sides of the field who would determine when one side or the other could advance or retreat. Since we were playing the bad guys, I guessed they were just window dressing.
Off to the side by the road were benches and chairs for the king and his officers. I could see Harding and Cosgrove standing behind the king. Harding was scanning the fields with his binoculars. Suddenly a referee’s loud voice from behind shouted, “Helmets on! The exercise has begun.”
We strapped on our helmets and I thought how crazy it was that I was all dressed up as a British soldier, playing a German, firing blanks at Norwegians. We knelt to take up positions with our rifles resting on the logs and pointing toward the woods. The damp ooze soaked through my trousers and I shivered, the warmth of the sweet tea just a memory now. I glanced over at Harding and saw him scan the field again. He passed over us and trained his binoculars on one of the small rises of land-a hillock, I guess it would be called-in front of us. What was he looking at?
Then I saw it. The grass was moving. Here and there I could make out a few crawling shapes, camouflaged with grasses. They must have sneaked forward behind the hillocks and were now crawling out in the relative open, very slowly. Everyone’s eyes were trained on the woods, where we expected the opposing force to come from. I tapped Kaz on the shoulder.
“Is that something moving over there?” I pointed. Birkeland, on my left, leaned forward to see for himself. Kaz squinted through his thick glasses.
“Yes! They’re here, in front of us!” he yelled as loud as he could and then fired his rifle. It almost knocked him over but he held on, worked the bolt, and tightened his grip for the next shot. He hung on to that one, and kept the rifle at his shoulder as he worked the bolt. All up and down our line the Home Guard began shooting and the noise quickly became deafening. Kaz was grinning up at me and Birkeland was enjoying himself too, playing soldier out here in the fields. It was kinda fun, I thought, in spite of myself. I smiled at Kaz and gave him a thumbs-up, as conversation was impossible with the high-powered crack of rifle fire snapping at our eardrums.
Some of the crawling figures stood up to throw smoke grenades. I could see the rest of the Norwegian force coming out of the woods at a trot, hoping to link up with the commandos who were now returning our fire. The umpires were holding them back-a bit of unexpected victory for us. But through the smoke I could see several of the forward commandos rush up to the Matilda tanks, and then scurry back, diving and rolling to cover. Seconds later, twin explosions wracked the air as smoke and flames blossomed from the tanks. That did it. The umpires signaled all the commandos forward, and gave us the signal to move out or surrender. Kaz was loading his last clip, and I had to tell him it was time to sound retreat. I tapped him on the shoulder and cupped my hand around my mouth to yell as the firing from the commandos drew closer and louder.
“Time to go, Kaz-”
Something exploded in my face and cut me off, sound and shock stunning me. I dropped to the ground, put my hands to my face, and felt blood dripping between my fingers. I was still breathing, but the thought kept going through my mind that I had been shot. Not possible, I told myself. They’re using blanks, aren’t they? My face stung like a hundred bee stings. Birkeland and Kaz bent over me as the commandos swarmed over our position, jumping up on the log and vaulting over us, chasing the rest of the retreating Jerries like avenging angels. One of them stood on the log and let loose a burst from his Sten submachine gun, hot shell casings cascading over us. One landed on the back of my neck and added insult to injury.
“Move, you idiot!” I could hear Birkeland yelling.
“Billy, Billy! Are you all right?” I could hear Kaz, too, but couldn’t see him. I touched my eyes, hoping to find they were still there. Intact. They were. I wiped away blood and said a little prayer of thanks that I could see.
“What happened?” No one answered, no one seemed to know. I recognized Jens Iversen as he pushed away the men gathering around me. He took my head in his hands and turned it, checking my eyes and neck.
“You’ve got splinters in your face. Forehead and left side, mostly. It doesn’t look too bad, actually, just a lot of bleeding.” That sounded bad enough to me. He took a handkerchief and started cleaning away the blood around my eyes.
“Look at this.” Birkeland stood by the tree trunk where I had been positioned next to him. There was a ragged bullet hole near the top, and wood splinters were protruding from the gouge it had left.
“A live round,” said Jens, stunned. “Someone must’ve loaded a live round accidentally. Another inch higher and you would have been a dead man.” I tended to think that another inch lower and I wouldn’t be bleeding like a stuck pig, but hell, I didn’t sneeze at being alive.
They half carried me off to a first-aid tent where Jens took over and pulled out several large splinters with a tweezers. “Nothing a first-year medical student can’t handle,” he said. “I’m glad to have the practice.” He poured on some disinfectant that hurt worse than the splinters, then cleaned the remaining blood off my face.
“You’re very lucky, you know.” Anders stood by the half-open tent flap, eyeing my wounds. “Lucky to still have your eyesight.”
“If I was really lucky, Major, this wouldn’t have happened at all.”
Anders gave a rueful laugh as the tent flap was flung open and Rolf joined the crowd, full of apologies. He stood in front of me, wringing his hands like an abject schoolboy. It was odd, seeing this large, powerful man, his head scraping the top of the tent, almost cringing.
“ Jeg er slik trist, gjorde hvordan dette skjer?” Rolf said, looking back and forth between Jens and me.
“We don’t know how it happened, Rolf. Slow down and speak English,” Jens said as he pulled another splinter out of my forehead.
“Lieutenant Boyle, I don’t know how this could’ve happened! All of our weapons were checked and then loaded with blank rounds. I am trist
… very sorry. I can only think a rifle had a round in the chamber that was unaccountably missed.”
“Unaccountably,” I agreed. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be playing any more war games today.”
“We are all sorry,” said Jens. “It would have been so ungracious to shoot one of our own Allies!” They all laughed. It hurt when I did. A joke is supposed to relieve the tension, but when I got up to leave and brushed past Anders, he looked grim. I wondered why. I wondered why everyone else had been full of apologies and concerns, and he had sounded like he was issuing a warning. Or a threat. I didn’t know anything except my head really hurt, and I wished it was only a hangover.
An hour later I was lying on my bed and Daphne was dabbing my cuts with a warm washcloth, making cooing sounds and telling me everything was going to be all right. That made almost getting a bullet in the forehead worthwhile. Kaz paced back and forth in my small room nerved up from the exercise and the shooting, while Major Harding leaned against the wall and tried to look concerned. What a picture.