The lieutenant had said, “Remember, there must be absolutely no noise. If we encounter any of the devils, use your bayonet. “
A sensation of prickly cold transversed from the back of my neck to the end of my spinal column. Use your bayonet. The thought of those 10 inches of cold, blue steel always gave me that jellified backbone feeling. I recalled the grueling hours of drilling with that weapon. Growl when you thrust, they said, growl like a wild animal. Keep the bayonet pointed at your opponent’s neck and growl. I growled all right. Hour after hour, day after day, until my vocal cords became raw and I got so good that I was given an expert’s badge. Expert with the bayonet I was, but I knew that if anyone came at me with one I would drop my piece and run.
I reached a small clearing that I didn’t remember patrolling before. It was then that I saw him standing silently in the shadow of a tree not 40 feet away. He hadn’t seen me. I stepped backward and trod on a dry branch. His head jerked in my direction. I just stood there, wondering why he didn’t shoot. Charlie, I had been told, usually avoided face-to-face encounters. He must have seen how frightened I was. He advanced slowly, bayonet pointed at my throat, his mouth snarling. Growl. Why don’t you growl like a wild animal? That will throw fear into him. Damn you, growl. Growl, fool.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He was about five yards from me and I knew he would make a thrust. He took two fast steps and made a long thrust. Instinctively I parried left, and came up with a vertical butt stroke that caught him on the jaw. He dropped his rifle and collapsed, lying on his back with my blade at his throat. Blood trickled from his mouth but he was still conscious. His eyes were wide and pleading. He didn’t look like a devil that way. Use your bayonet, they had said. Finish him quickly.
I couldn’t. It was too much to ask, murder. Cold blooded murder. I had never killed anything larger than a spider in my life. I had no quarrel with this particular guy. Should I kill him just because he was on one side and I on the other? It was crazy. I thought of the lieutenant, dead, perhaps. Lying in his own blood, killed by this devil or one like him. Kill him or be killed.
I could feel the sweat in the palms of my hands. Suddenly, my head cleared. I opened my mouth and growled. Growled like a crazed, starved beast. I growled, and made the lunge.
William West is the pen name of an army veteran who spent forty years as a high school teacher.