Chapter 20

Padre Wilson located my rucksack, which had been separated from the others in the Regiment. My belongings were being documented and prepared for shipping home to my parents. He handed me two English to Dutch dictionaries.

“Try not to wear out the words, I love you, when you memorize them,” he joked.

“I won’t,” I smiled.

“What’s her name?”

“Lana Van Den Muir.”

As the days went by, my leg healed more. The 48th Highlanders were part of the Division the attacked and liberated Apeldoorn, then on to take on the Germans at Vaassen.

I was lying on my bed reading a magazine when a shadow covered me. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Sarg, you’re supposed to be dead!”

I looked from the magazine to see Private Orton standing there, his left arm in a sling.

I was up in an instant, shaking Orton’s right hand and a gentle hug. “Tell me about the 48th!”

“First of all, Sarg, how the hell are you still alive?”

“Can you fill me in on the details? I don’t remember much, except for a large explosion.”

“You remember we were doing patrols west of Deventer when we came under German attack. We split on both sides of the road, taking cover in the ditch and tree line. I know you radioed for tank support. The Germans started launching grenades and mortors at us and one landed right beside Private Ferguson, killing him instantly. The explosion knocked you flat, knocking off your helmet. I found you sprawled out in the ditch.”

“You looked a mess, your face and chest covered in blood, your guts hanging out, and a bone sticking out of your head just above the ear. I saw a long piece of bone sticking out of your right leg. I didn’t know if it was yours or Fergie’s. There wasn’t much left of Fergie after the explosion.”

“The Doc came to you, checked for a pulse and opened an eye. You sure looked dead, at least to me and Doc. God, you looked a mess. I didn’t have time to mourn you as we had to deal with the Germans. I patted your shoulder, said goodbye, and continued the fight.”

“After the skirmish ended, the burial detail arrived and dug tree shallow graves and started yours, when they came under enemy fire. The Sergeant reported that he tore off half of your dog tag and left. They returned several hours later to bury you, but your body was gone.”

“I remember hearing a horse and wagon approaching on the road. I used what little strength I had left to throw some dirt onto the road. I guess that startled their horses and it stopped. I was rescued by a Dutch family who took me with them and tended to my wounds and kept me safe from the Germans.”

“What happened to your arm?” I asked.

“I took a piece of shrapnel. I’m lucky compared to many I see in here.”

“I know what you are saying.”

We talked on and off the next several days as I wondered what would become of me. I walked more and more, now leaving the crutches behind and using a cane to aid my steps. I was shown exercises to do that would help to strengthen my calf muscle.

As a collective group, we were all listening to any news about the war. The Allies were now attacking the Germans on German soil. The push westward had the Canadians liberating smaller villages and towns, then Rotterdam, The Hague, and Amsterdam. The Germans surrendered on May 5th. The Netherlands was finally liberated.