The Lost Bradbury by Ray Bradbury Read Free Book Online Page A

voice.
    But there was so much noise he couldn’t be sure.
    He saw the expression on the faces of the four Germans who operated the machine-gun farther up the hill. Their faces were pale under their desert tan, drawn tight and wild, their mouths open, their eyes wide.
    They pointed their gun straight at him and cut loose.
    “Missed me!”
    An artillery shell from over the hill whistled down and landed thirty feet away.
    Johnny catapulted himself. “Close! But not close enough!”
    Two of the Germans broke, ran from the nest, yelling crazy words. The other two clung to the gun, white faced, pouring lead at Johnny.
    Johnny shot them.
    He let the other two go. He didn’t want to shoot them in the back. He sat down and rested in the machine-gun nest and waited for the rest of his unit to catch up to him.
    He watched the Americans pop up like jack-in-the-boxes all along the base of the hill and come running.
    * * * *
    In about three minutes Eddie Smith came stumbling into the nest. His face was full of the same look that the Germans had had on their faces. He yelled at Johnny. He grabbed him and pawed him and looked him over.
    “Johnny!” he cried. “Johnny, you’re all right, you’re not hit!”
    Johnny thought that was a funny thing to say. “Heck no,” replied, Johnny, “I told you I’d be all right.”
    Smith’s jaw dropped. “But I saw artillery shells drop near you, and that machine-gun fire—”
    Johnny scowled. “Hey, Private Smith, look at your hand.”
    Ed’s hand was red. Shrapnel, lodged in the wrist, had drawn a quick flow of blood.
    “You should have ducked, Private Smith. Darn, I keep telling you, but you never believe me.”
    Eddie Smith gave him one of those looks. “You can’t duck bullets, Johnny.”
    Johnny laughed. It was the sound of a kid laughing. The sound of a kid who knows very well the routine of war, and how it comes and goes. Johnny laughed.
    “They didn’t argue with me, Private Smith,” he said, quietly. “None of them argued. That was funny. All the other kids used to argue about it.”
    “What other kids, Johnny?”
    “Oh, you know. The other kids. At the creek, back home. We’d always argue as to who was shot and as to who was dead. But just now, when I said Bang, you’re dead, these guys played the game right along. Not one of them argued. They didn’t any of them say, “Bang, I got you first. You’re dead!” No. They let me be the winner all the time. In the old days they used to argue so much—”
    “Did they?”
    “Sure.”
    “What was it, now, that you said to them, Johnny. Did you actually say, ‘BANG, you’re dead’?”
    “Sure.”
    “And they didn’t argue?”
    “No. Isn’t that swell of them. Next time I think it’s only fair I play dead.”
    “No,” snapped Smith. He swallowed and wiped sweat off his face. “No, don’t do that, Johnny. You—you just go on like you been going.” He swallowed again. “Now, about this business of your ducking those bullets, about them missing you….”
    “Sure they did. Sure I did.”
    * * * *
    Smith’s hands trembled.
    Johnny Choir looked at him. “What’s wrong, Private?”
    “Nothing. Just—excitement. And I was just wondering.”
    “What?”
    “Just wondering how old you are, Johnny.”
    “Me. I’m ten, going on eleven.” Johnny stopped and flushed guiltily. “No. What’s wrong with me? I’m eighteen, going on nineteen.”
    Johnny looked at the bodies of the German soldiers.
    “Tell them to get up now, Private Smith.”
    “Huh?”
    “Tell them to get up. They can get up now if they want to.”
    “Yeah, well—you see, Johnny. That is. Uh. Look, Johnny, they’ll get up after we leave. Yeah, that’s it. After we leave. It’s against the—rules—for them to get up now. They want to rest awhile. Yeah—rest.”
    “Oh.”
    “See here, Johnny. I wanna tell you something right now!”
    “What?”
    Smith licked his lips and moved his feet and swallowed and cursed softly. “Oh,