Harvey responded without thinking, “Looks like your boys got hit when they landed as well.”
The Captain didn’t look impressed, he answered Clarke directly and somewhat impatiently.
“Where are they?”
“Follow me, I’ll take you to them,” answered Clarke.
The private led the men to a group of tree stumps close to the tree line, there the bodies of three Americans were sprawled out on the ground. Bending down the men examined the bodies for evidence of what had happened. The first was that of a paratrooper, similar to the body discovered near the building. The dead man was still holding his rifle yet his body was covered in scores of minor wounds as though he had been struck many times with sharp objects, perhaps falling through the woodland canopy. Smith pointed out the wounds to the hands and neck, there were multiple punctures on the exposed flesh and presumably significant bleeding as the body was drenched in blood. The second man was also an American paratrooper, this one was different though. He was unarmed and had significant blood dripping from around his mouth. There were obvious bullet wounds in his arms, chest and throat. These two men had definitely died from different causes.
The Captain spoke first.
“I don’t get it. I know these men, good paratroopers from my unit. They were disciplined and knew their objectives. Why would they do this?”
Lieutenant Harvey explained, “I don’t understand it either, it looks like this one turned on the others,” he pointed to the body full of gunshots, “he isn’t carrying a weapon but his hands and face are covered in blood.”
“Couldn’t that just be from a face injury? The blood on his hands could be from any injury,” Smith said.
I don’t think so,” answered Harvey, his medical mind kicking in, “look at this.”
He lifted the man’s hands, examining the fingernails.
“His fingernails are broken and bloody, it looks like he used his hands to strike and claw somebody or something. There’s blood under the nails.”
“Yeah, look at this one,” said Clarke.
The dead man had gouges across his face, there were obvious markings from finger nails across the cheek and throat.
“It looks like he must have attacked this guy,” he continued.
Harvey stood up, scanning the scene. “What about the third body?”
Clarke moved over, examining the man, it didn’t take long for an answer.
“Same as the other one, Sir. He’s got blood on his hands and mouth and looks like gunshots killed him.”
“Strange, very strange,” muttered Harvey to himself. He turned to the Captain. “Any ideas?”
“Maybe…” Captain Scott thought for a moment.
“So, in your opinion the two unarmed men inflicted injuries on this guy with their mouths and hands?”
Harvey looked a little bemused, “Yes, it does sound a little odd but the evidence does support teeth and nail based injuries to the arms, throat and hands of the other dead man.”
“Could an animal have done this after they died?” asked Captain Scott.
I don’t think so; for starters the wounds are very, very recent. Second, the position of this group suggests to me that these two men attacked the other in hand to hand combat. They mortally wounded him with the throat wound here,” he pointed to the gash in the man’s throat.
“I would suggest that he was still able to drive them back with his weapon but then died from his wounds.”
The group said nothing for a moment. Smith broke the silence.
“Has his weapon been fired?”
“Good point,” said the Captain as he lowered himself to the dead man and checked his M1 carbine. He released the magazine and checked the breech. “Yeah, he used this alright, the mag is empty,” he smelt the barrel, “and the gun has been fired.”
The Captain looked confused, he spoke to the men, “Anymore bodies?”
They split up to look around. The three bodies had been found in a tight group around the tree stumps and the ground around it was a series of open trails through the small wooded area. The undergrowth was quite thick and could easily conceal something unless examined carefully. After the previous firefights the soldiers were careful not to dislodge anything or trigger any traps. Setting off a mine or booby trap was one of their worst nightmares, especially this far behind enemy lines. Help wasn’t a luxury airborne soldiers could expect. Clarke spotted the trail first, “Sarge, there’s a blood trail here!”
Smith looked towards Clarke then cocked his Sten gun. The two officers also drew their pistols, cocking them and then followed Smith. The blood trail continued a good twenty yards before disappearing into a series of large bushes on the edge of the wood.
“Cover me,” spoke Sergeant Smith as he pulled the foliage aside to look inside. At first he could see nothing, he moved closer.
Lieutenant Harvey could hear something, “What is that?”
The sound was like a ghost whispering to the men softly in the night. He kept quiet whilst he listened intently. He turned to Smith.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“Yeah, sounded like somebody saying “help me” to me,” said Smith.
Smith placed his left hand on the bushes only for a bloodied hand to reach out. The voice called out again though this time more clearly, “help me!” it cried. Clarke shouted, “Fuck, Sarge!”
The two officers pointed their pistols into the bush but refrained from firing. Smith also refused to fire though out of choice or shock, who only knew. Clarke stepped forward and opened up the vegetation to help Smith withdraw the man. As Clarke and Smith pulled the man out it was immediately clear that he was another of the American paratroopers. This man had several bloodied bandages around his leg, as well as blood patches across his torso. The man was conscious, though obviously in a great deal of pain. Captain Scott knelt down to the man, “What’s your name son?”
“Martinez, Sir,” the wounded man replied.
He coughed then added, “Corporal Martinez, 101st Airborne.”
Lieutenant Harvey responded, “Another one of yours, Captain?”
He lowered himself, checking on the man’s wounds.
“Kind of, same division, not the same unit thought. Looks like this drop is going to shit,” answered the Captain.
Harvey checked the wounded man’s limbs then throat.
“No sign of the injuries that the other man sustained, apart from his leg.”
The officer started to redress the wounds as blood was seeping through them.
“What happened to your leg?” asked Captain Scott.
Corporal Martinez coughed again, then tried to lift himself to a sitting position. Clarke helped him and put him up against the nearby tree.
“O’Brian bit me in the damned leg,” he said, somewhat hysterically.
“Bit you?” asked Harvey.
“Yeah, me and Tony were looking for survivors when we found two of our guys back there.”
He pointed in the direction the men had found the other bodies. Martinez looked a strange combination of confused and surprised.
“There was something weird about them, really weird,” he added.
“What do you mean?” asked Harvey.
“Well, for starters they were staggering around, like they were drunk or something. We spoke to them but they just stumbled over to us. We thought maybe they were just messing with us, but then the one grabbed Tony and starting biting him in the goddamned throat!”
“What the fuck!” exclaimed Clarke, taken aback by the story.
Captain Scott interrupted Clarke, “Keep your damned voice down man!”
The Captain moved to Martinez and beckoned him to continue his account. The other soldiers crept forward, now all intrigued by what he had to say.