The Black Watch Snipers: Surviving the Impossible -

We were specially trained soldiers from one of Canada’s greatest regiments, the Black Watch. There’s no ordinary blood in my veins. It’s Black Watch blood. We survived impossible odds. We had the highest casualty list of any battalion. We were the best snipers in the battalion. Fewer than 50 of us remained, and among them, four snipers. Funny thing. We’re always the first to go in. The sniper goes out to cause chaos. As long as they’re not shooting at you, you have to keep going. If you’re not accurate, you’re done. You only have one shot. We risked everything to save the world from the Nazis. Often you felt sheer terror. But it had to be done.

It was the summer of 1944, a month after D-Day. The Nazis controlled Europe, and they weren’t giving it up as easily as we’d hoped. As soon as the Black Watch landed, we were sent 20 miles to drive the Germans off Hill 140, but they were waiting for us with everything they had. I don’t know how I survived, but I should have been dead. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget that.

Anyone who tells you they know what’s going on doesn’t know. They’re not telling the truth. What I’m telling you is the truth. You don’t know what’s happening. Your buddies could be killed 30 feet away. You don’t see them. You don’t care about them. You’re only thinking of yourself. I could hear the guns firing shells and bullets flying around me. They were falling like flies on the grass. It was horrifying. Entire companies were finished. Hundreds and hundreds of them just gone. We had only about 20 left. Our first big battle. 300 killed, wounded, or captured. The worst day the regiment ever had. It took another two weeks and nearly a thousand Allied deaths before we finally drove the Germans off that damn hill.

That’s when I left the navy company and transferred to the scout platoon. The commanders asked me to find volunteers for the scout platoon. A sergeant came and said, “I’ll tell you the truth. It’s… it’s dangerous. A scout is someone who goes ahead, checks out the enemy’s position, and fights them if necessary.” The advantage is you won’t have to do guard duty right away. I was in my early twenties. I kind of hated having to fight all day and then guard all night. I’ll join them.

The Germans were on the move, and it was the Canadian Army’s job to chase them. The Black Watch walked north through France. Jimmy Bennett was only 21, a farm boy from the Prairies. He didn’t know it yet, but as scouts, we weren’t like the regular infantry soldiers he’d fought with before. We didn’t have to wear helmets or carry heavy gear. We were snipers and observers. We didn’t fight in the front lines. We fought ahead of them.

“Hey Jimmy, you joined the scouts?” “Yeah.” “You’re crazy.” They couldn’t understand why I was foolish enough to join the snipers. That’s why no one wanted my job. No one offered to take my place. Jimmy was put under my responsibility. He’d seen his share of war at Hill 140, but not the way he’d see it with us.

“I don’t know what they told you, but this isn’t like an infantry company. You’ll actually have to look at your target through the scope. You’ll get used to seeing them alive before you pull the trigger.” His training was the task of our 21-year-old corporal from Montreal, Jim Wilkinson. Without a doubt, he was the best marksman in my platoon. We simply called him “Hawk.” Always Hawk. It was because of the size of my nose, and most people never knew my first name. I hate to brag, but I was one of the best shots in the regiment.

Then there was Mike Brunner, 21, also from Montreal. But Mike was born in Hungary, and he was the only one of us who spoke German. I was a good soldier because I did exactly what they wanted and I listened. I was good at listening. Considering who we were up against, understanding German was very useful, especially on patrols.

Me, I was 26. The old man of the team. At least that’s how the youngsters saw me. He was a big man, broad as an ox and strong as an ox. Dale Sharp was the kind you’d follow anywhere. My home was in Corbeil, Ontario, where I drove a truck for the local distillery. I had two kids. My daughter Dale Jr. and little Teddy. And a third on the way from my light, Zelma Jean. Many reasons to stay home, but this mission had to be done for my family and everyone.

By the end of August, we’d caught up with the Germans. We knew every French town we reached was swarming with those bastards. The trick was to find them and flush them out so our boys could finish them off. That’s the role of the scout platoon we belonged to. We had to enter every village, keep advancing until one of them shot at us. If they missed, fine. If they hit you, you’re done. That’s the kind of work I did.

You become numb, hardened. It has to be done. Some people can’t handle that kind of thing. I don’t know. I just pushed it out of my mind and went to do what I was supposed to do.

We made our way along the Channel coast of France to Belgium, to the port of Antwerp, the largest in Western Europe, for a decisive battle. The Allies had already taken the port, but the Germans controlled the Scheldt River. That meant none of our ships could pass from the North Sea. Without food, weapons, and ammunition reaching our men, we were in a bind.

Command headquarters was set up just outside Antwerp. Our scout platoon was called in. On the map, you could see the river. They wanted us to pinpoint where the Germans were positioned. “This is what controls the entrance. We gather as much info as we can and relay it to HQ for their attack.” They couldn’t ask that of new recruits, so the task fell to me and Hawk.

Our orders were to sneak behind enemy lines across the Albert Canal. Joe Nixon, our commander at the time, said, “We have a small boat for you and Dale, but once you’re across, I’ll have to pull the boat back. We can’t risk it falling into German hands. So you’ll have to find your own way back.” “Understood, sir.”

We reached this little cluster of trees. There was a German soldier on guard duty. I told Dale, we have to take care of this guy. I’ll rush him and you stab him. And that’s when everything went wrong. There was a whole platoon of Germans inside having dinner. As he was being stabbed, he let out a loud scream. I told Dale, “You’d better start taking off your boots and some clothes because we have to swim across this Albert Canal.” “I’m staying here.” “Come on. Get up.” We were just trying to survive.

We reached the bank, and surprise, the boat was still there. The rope they used was too short to pull it back. The Lord looks after us.

The next two nights, with more scouting, we began to get a clear picture of where the Germans were positioned along the bank. They were everywhere. Our scout platoon needed reinforcement. Command sent reinforcements, but they weren’t enough. Most of them were just kids who couldn’t even reload a damn weapon, let alone fire one.

That’s when Sandy Russell Sanderson appeared. At that age, you think you’re invincible and you can solve the problem by going and helping. That’s what I wanted to do. “I’m with you, sir.” Sandy was 18 and from Niagara Falls. He’d been trying to volunteer since the war broke out. I had a piece of paper saying I was 18, and I wasn’t yet. It was my brother’s paper. I was caught in the recruitment tent twice. Sandy seemed like the impulsive type. Go here. Go there. Let’s go. He was ready to win the war by himself.

This Corporal Sharp decided to call me in and told me, “Anything Neil asks you to do, do it.” My job was to take these kids, Jimmy Bennett, Sandy Sanderson, and others, and turn them into killing machines. And if they listened to me, they might come home alive.

I was very impressed working with this man. “Take off your helmet. Stay with me.” He was very dedicated in teaching and in his honor in handling things. I’m alive today thanks to what Dale taught me.

What I knew about shooting, I learned back home when I was teaching my little brother Billy. My brother Dale was nine years older than me and was a great hero to me. He was an excellent competitive shooter. He was my role model.

“Alright. Straight ahead. Reference point. The gray building. The window on the left. Third floor.” A sniper quickly learns that the best Nazi target is the highest ranking. If you cut off the snake’s head, the rest of the platoon is blinded. I sometimes trained in German uniform. Infantry wear a white stripe. Artillery wear a red stripe. “What do you see?” “I see a German soldier.” “What is he wearing? What’s his uniform?” “Infantry.” “What’s his rank?” “Junior officer.” “Not bad.” We didn’t want any fool from the infantry companies. He had to be a disciplined man like me.

“Alright. So, use the rifle sling as a rest. Put your arm through it. That’s it.” But spotting Jerry is only half the job. “Deep in the shoulder. Do you see that bottle there? If you can’t aim accurately, you’re dead. Focus on your breathing. You only have one shot. Take a deep breath.” I was skilled with the rifle. “Yes. Let out half the air. I mounted a scope on it. Squeeze the trigger.” You could easily hit a man’s head at 300 yards without effort. “I thought I would, Hawk. Show me again.”

All the training in the world can only take you so far. “Where are we going, Dale?” “You’ll know when we get there. Stay quiet.” He takes me far away from our men. Lying along the river. “Alright, Sanderson, take off your helmet. Get ready to aim. At your twelve o’clock. Find the broken tree.” We weren’t there to shoot bottles or paper targets. There’s Jerry on the other side of the river. “Get ready to aim, Sanderson. Look through the scope. Sanderson.” You don’t know how a person will react until you experience it. “Alright. Don’t worry about the other person. Your only concern is the one target. It’s either him or you. Breathe slowly.” Your hand stiffens as if paralyzed, and your fingers move very slowly and you squeeze the trigger. It’s like squeezing an orange. Calmly and slowly. And you see that poor soul fall. And you know that was my first target. It’s sad to say, but we have to get used to this. It’s a necessity.

“Stop counting now. Stop after the first one. It’s a dirty war we didn’t start, but we had to fight it. So you have to do the job. Sanderson, we’re leaving.” “Alright.” Glad to have you, Sandy. We’ve got our team. The closest thing to family we might have here. Let’s go.

We were sent to the town of Walcheim, just over a mile from the front. Jerry had just been driven out. For four years, the people here had been oppressed and starved to death, but now they were finally free. That’s when we encountered something we never expected to see in the hell of this war. Ice cream. The man who ran the place hadn’t seen milk in three years. Then he found this farmer and his cow somewhere. Now he was getting milk by smuggling. So yes, food was important because the Germans were confiscating everything. So they had to improvise here. Oh yes, we slept in ice cream and soda.

Black Watch. Black Watch. Black Watch. Black Watch. Little kids would come and they were starving to death. It was terrible. They grew thinner and thinner day by day and there was nothing that could be done. When the Germans withdrew from this place, they looted these poor people completely. Took everything. That reminded us why we were here. To crush Hitler and set the world right for these children and my children.

You put your left hand in, your left hand out, you put your left hand in, and you shake the boat. Do the dance and turn around. That’s the gist of it. We liberated part of France in Belgium. Now we were heading to Holland. It was time to drive the Germans out of the Scheldt and open the port. We were going to fight on flat, waterlogged ground. Getting in and out alive was very difficult. Our scout patrols became more important and more dangerous than ever. We had to go out and bring back all the information, trucks, vehicles, weapons, anything you see. We worked in the dark, often in the dark. We had different clothes. We wore different jackets. Green camouflage. You just have to hope for the best and wish you come out of it. You don’t expect to live long.

“Have you cleared the factory, boys?” “Empty. Empty.” “Alright. We’re ready to move.” “You guys, get out of the truck. We’re on a mission called a listening patrol. Get close to the enemy and stay in a concealed position.” And you never know from one minute to the next what will happen. Going out on a listening patrol was utterly miserable. You don’t know if you’re walking into a hell of fire. The goal was to find their headquarters. There we’d uncover our best information. But getting there was another story. Pure suicide.

Listen at the windows for the number of voices. Any mention of weapons or places. “We have a major and a first officer.” “I didn’t hear much, actually. He’s… he’s leaving now. From the back. Go.” We walk along the road very quietly, and we’ll see if we can hear them, then sneak up and capture one. “Betty, this is a good spot. Go get the brother.” You always had two grenades hanging on your belt, brother. You get close enough and say “Halt,” and either he stops or he stays stretched out on the ground dead. You don’t just ask him to come, he won’t come. They won’t come here just because you ask them to. You have to take him back with you for interrogation.

England in a pig hunt. In mid-October, we were working around the clock, sniping and patrolling, preparing for the big battle at the Scheldt. We were utterly exhausted. The only thing that kept us going was each other. You form very close friendships. “Alright, let’s go.” You face the same risks, hardships, and losses. “Alright, Jimmy, wait here.” I’m a nervous person, but Michael Brunner was always trying to calm me down. Take a deep breath. Because he was a calm-nerved comrade. You go out into the field, and often you’re very scared. “Go. You’re in the best position. The road is safe.” Even in just one bad situation, you become attached to each other. And that was my case with Jim Bennett. He’s the best man in the world. But that’s the nature of war.

Even when you return to your lines, you’re never completely safe. We were returning and had to pass through the lines of the M.V. Mason was one of us, a French-speaking regiment from Montreal. But we still needed a password to get through the security checkpoint. “Hey, don’t shoot.” The password changed every night. That night’s password was “steam box.” “Steamer.” “Mm, suitcase.” Ah, the man says “steamer.” And you have to shout “box.” If you don’t shout “box,” you could be killed on the spot. “Steamer.” “It’s mm, wow. Luggage, suitcases.” We couldn’t remember the damn word “box.” Without the password, we were dead. “We’re Black Watch. We’re Black Watch. Black Watch.” “Are you kidding me, boy? Huh? Show me the feather, boy.” You always carried your badge inside your sniper jacket. It’s your means of identification. No one else has it. “Yeah, the feather. Come closer. Here’s the feather, boy. Look, Mason, this is our feather. Black Watch. Black Watch men. Old Black Watch. The password is ‘box.'” “Huh? You can pass. You can pass.” I thought you were going to shoot us. But if we’d known what was waiting around the corner, none of us would have been laughing.

Black Friday was about to hit us. The Germans were positioned just outside the Dutch town of Woensdrecht. They were on an embankment about half a mile from our position across open ground. It was like a funnel. High ground on one side, high ground on the other. The Black Watch was sent to fight, but this time the scout platoon had to go too. Reinforcements were still inexperienced, so we called everyone up. They were just former artillerymen, drivers, cooks, everything. We taught them how to use a weapon. And we taught them to keep their heads down too. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Moving through water and mud was slow, which messed up our timing. The whole countryside was flooded because the Germans had bombed the dikes and opened them. Once we finally arrived, we waited for what seemed like an eternity. We were supposed to go in at 5:30 a.m. And when it was time to move across that big open damn field, it was 6:30 and light had broken. The first threads of dawn. There’s a big difference between the last darkness and the first light. You can see everything moving.

We went out there and it was a massacre. We were facing German paratroopers and they fought with incredible ferocity. Every time we moved, we were hit with mortar shells or rifle fire. We were stuck in no man’s land. Men were falling everywhere. I wondered: am I dreaming or is this real? How will I get out of this mess? It was another black day for the Black Watch. Thanks to the mortar platoon that filled the field with smoke, the five of us managed to survive. But most weren’t so lucky. Dozens dying around us. There was nothing we could do. It’s painful. It’s painful when you can’t help someone and you know for certain their escape route has just been cut off. Our second worst day ever, losing 100 men there.

Now we were furious. We raised the tempo of the fight a notch or two. Wherever the Germans wanted to fight, we fought them. We kept pressing them harder and harder. We intensified our sniper patrols. Our men fought bravely. We retook the town. One flooded field after another, one small town after another. It was a feeling you could almost taste. Hitler’s luck was finally running out. With every Dutch town we liberated, we collected prisoners and picked up extra souvenirs. And as we advanced, I found the swastika. It was a small souvenir of the war, a simple trophy. “Are you enjoying your time?” And your confidence grows more. And you show it off a bit too. After everything we’d been through, you can’t blame us for wanting to humiliate them.

Somehow, the war had to end. It’s really unfortunate that only one of us would be there to witness it. We moved northwest toward the Dutch town of Goest. We needed to know if it was safe to bring the battalion in. Were there still any Germans wandering around? That’s when we sent Hawk. I was the first Allied soldier to enter Goest. I was on patrol, a lone patrol all by myself. It was a very strange day. I remember everything about the war, everything. And the liberation. On liberation day, a man came to Colossus I didn’t know and he was wearing something on his head. That was the first Canadian soldier I saw. This man raised his hands in the air and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m Dutch.” And he said, “The Germans just left. We drove the Germans out of the city that had lived for four years under the dirty Nazi boot.”

War is strange. One day you bury your best friends. The next day you liberate hundreds of complete strangers. They’re truly happy to finally be rid of the Germans. My mother screamed, “Here are the liberators, here are the liberators.” We’ve become free. We’ve become free. Even flags appeared on the fronts of houses we hadn’t seen in four and a half years. It’s incredible. I can barely tell it without feeling that emotion again. You can’t believe how much the Dutch appreciated what the Canadians did for them. These girls came. I said, “Mike, you speak Dutch.” He said, “Yes.” I said, “This is a nice girl. Tell her I love her. I love her.” “Good.”

From Goest, we headed east toward the German border. We knew that if this war didn’t end by Christmas, we’d have to invade Germany and crush the enemy in his own lair. But the winter of ’44 was brutal. Bitter cold, Canadian cold. Everyone was utterly exhausted. To make a final push into Germany, the Black Watch needed to regain its strength. Command billeted us in a small Dutch town called Kwaak, a few miles from the German border. The Germans were on one side of the Maas River, we were on the other. Staying with local residents was a nice break after sleeping on the ground.

When we were in Kwaak, Jim and I ended up in the home of a very elderly couple. They slept in the basement, while we lucky ones slept in their bedrooms. Every morning we woke up, our boots were polished and greased and everything. She washed our shirts at night and hung them to dry completely. When we woke in the morning, our shirts were washed and dry. During the ten months I spent on the front lines, that was the only time I slept in a bed.

It was Christmas, and for the first time in a long time, we felt almost normal. There was a café in Kwaak run by a middle-aged woman with two daughters. I always loved girls. But I won’t go into that. Jimmy, you know, was trying to tell her different things and I kind of had to translate for him. Whatever he said, I wasn’t going to translate it. I always considered him the Dean Martin type; dark and handsome. He’d always say, “Why do you get all the girls?” He’d just met the girl and already told her “I love you.”

I was young then. My dear little family, I hope you’re all well and not causing too much trouble. I bet you tire your mother out all the time. Be obedient for your father, and when I come home, we’ll have a lot of fun. My dear John, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year with all the love in my heart. Dale.

Kwaak was a fairly safe place, but the Nazi bastards never forgot that the war wasn’t over. So we thought we’d remind them we were here too. They and Sandy were on this hill. We were working together that day. “There’s nothing there. The Germans are somewhere out here. They’re just hiding. Oh my God, look at that, a German. That bastard is watching us, Jim. He’s aiming right at Sandy. Keep your head down.” I killed them completely or finished them off. I thanked them. Thanked them very gratefully. “Sorry, Tat. Sorry.” We took care of each other. That’s how we survived.

Orders came from command to prepare for the push into Germany. But they asked our platoon first to scout ahead to see what we could find. Dale Sharp and I were tasked with seeing if we could get information, like capturing a prisoner or prisoners. We reached a farmyard that was actually on the German side. I saw a body. We got closer and closer and it didn’t move. Nothing. I was about to put my hand on it. “No, it might be booby-trapped.” Oh, they’d booby-trap their own mothers if they had the chance. And at that moment we saw them. Two Germans. I said, “Dale, we’ll kill one and take the other prisoner.” “Alright.” On the count of three. Just one problem with that plan. One, two. Bang. I was hit in the right leg. And took the second in my kneecap. I said, I said I can’t move, Dale. I said I’m done. Dale managed to take out those two guys from behind. He carried me like a sack of potatoes. Neil said, “Don’t worry.” He saved my life when he carried me across the valley. “You’re doing well, Hawk. You’re doing well. They’ll get you back to the doctor.” My leg was dangling. The bone was broken. “Hey, Dale. Thanks, buddy. Take care of the boys. Goodbye, Hawk.” He saved my life. A wonderful man. For Hawk, the war was over. He was lucky. At least he was going home. For the rest of the Black Watch, they had to return to the fight.

In February 1945, we crossed into Germany. Goddamn Germany. It was no longer about liberating anyone. Now it was time for revenge. Payback. You’re damn right. Payback. They started this and someone had to pay. We watched the engineers advance, demolishing houses with bulldozers and blowing them up completely. It wasn’t nice, but it was necessary. It was necessary. They had to be talented. But in this Reichswald forest, the enemy had the advantage of terrain. There were booby traps, landmines, and machine-gun nests. Our job was to pave the way for our boys. They were having difficulty advancing the infantry company. And every time they appeared at the edge of the company, the enemy opened up with a hail of machine-gun fire. My job was to take out the machine gun and put a bullet in the damn operator. I could tell he was going to wipe out the infantry company. The company men started moving and he opened up with about five or six rounds. I was fully ready. I aimed my weapon right over his right ear. No mercy. You can’t show it anymore.

By the first week of April, we’d chased the Germans across the Rhine and pushed north back into Holland near the town of Lorin. We set up camp near their main line just outside the town. We could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. We had these Nazi bastards completely cornered where we wanted them. But sometimes it’s just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Oh, the door burst open and two men came in carrying someone who turned out to be Dale Sharp. I’m sorry, Mike. I’ve been hit badly by shrapnel. Help me here. Press. I need to… I’m bleeding a lot.” The medic asked me to hold something and put his intestines back in. They were kind of out of his belly. I was scared. I didn’t know if Dale Sharp would live or die. “Brunner, the colonel wants you now. Double time.” That’s when Mike was called away. My field medical card listed his injury as evisceration. All I knew was that it wasn’t good.

Things weren’t going well for Mike and Jimmy either. They were about to walk right into an ambush. There were still thousands of Germans trapped there. “I was hit in the chest. Move, move, move, move. Everybody go. We all started running. Mike and…” “He fired again. I was hit in the back of the head once. A piece of my ear and a piece of my skull flew off. Mike, he’s been hit in the head. What just happened? I’m going to die. No, you’ll be fine.” I could taste blood coming out of my mouth and nose and knew the bullet had pierced my lung. I’m going to die. I know it. “Hold on. Hold on. Hey. Hey.” A jeep came. “Ro. Hey. Hey. It was a Red Cross jeep. This is my friend. He’s been hit in the chest and in the head. Help us.” “No use, son. He’s gone.” “You’re a medic. Do something.” “There’s nothing I can do.” And I said, “Damn you, the man is wounded, do something.” “If you care about your safety, you’ll put him in your jeep.” I think he definitely got shot. “Alright, Jimmy. They’re coming. They’re coming. Stay with us.” I just hoped he’d stay alive until we reached the doctor. That was all I could think about. Those two days were the worst of my life. And I seem to have cried most of the night, but I don’t remember anything about it. I guess it just shocked me. Ah, that was the first time I cried over anything. Three of us were hit and out of action. Only Mike and Sandy were left standing.

The Black Watch headed north to Groningen to eliminate the remaining Germans. By then they were desperate, like a wild animal cornered, and more dangerous than ever. They had retreated somewhere. So I was called in, find them for us. We want to know what, what, and who, and how many, Sandy. Everything. There are no forces of ours over there. I’m alone on that side of town. Now there’s no movement in the streets. “Raise your hands or I’ll shoot.” Suddenly, a German soldier appeared. I estimated about 20, maybe a little more, about 20 or 25. “Alright boys, bring the Bren guns forward. Let’s go.” And I was swearing. Bring that machine gun over there. Put the Bren gun there. You guys go in that direction. And I was shouting at imaginary troops. I want two columns. One on the left, one on the right. And you guys in the back. There’s no one there. I’m alone in the middle of that street. “Bring up the carriers. Bring up the carriers.” I was completely bluffing. “Drop your weapons.” And I thought, are they going to buy it now? “Let’s go.” They put their weapons on the ground. “Face the wall. Hands up against the wall. Let’s go. Let’s go.” Something in the notes that reminds Canada of its best for heaven’s sake. “Keep moving. Let’s go.” I made them line up in three columns in the street. “Let’s go. Move.” Oh, yes. Two days later, we drove the last stinking German out of Groningen. For Sandy, it was time to celebrate, and he found just the right thing. “It’s a ’33 wine. Want some?” But the party didn’t last long. He paid the price. I ended up in the British General Hospital 109 in Dover, Belgium. “Are you ready to have it because the damn wine was poisoned?” It was laced with poison. The Germans left it behind and I was the only fool who drank it.

On May 5, 1945, 19 days after Sandy drank the spoiled wine, Germany finally surrendered. Now the lucky ones were going home. But not me. I was never going home. “I’m not ashamed of my tears. He was a good man. A good man. Many good men went, but Dale Sharp was an exception. Oh, I want to cry. Yes. It’s so tragic. I can’t tell you more about him. Yes. Near his mustache. That’s where this came from. I revered… I revered Dale. Yes, sir.” I remember my mother was very sad. Ah, crying a lot. I felt empty after realizing what had happened. I think I literally wandered for a few days as if in a fog. I didn’t know if I was coming or going, or what was happening to me. I was very disturbed inside at the thought that I would never see him again. I try to do good for my father because my father is my hero. I’ve never been to Holland before. It’s one of the most important things in my life. I’ve always wanted to be here and see this. I never thought I would. Once I touch his gravestone, maybe I’ll feel a really strong connection. I will be dead. You’ve always been my hero. Sorry you died so young. I’ve grown old enough to be your grandfather now. Rest in peace.

Death is close to me. The day after the war ended, I had the greatest fright of my life. There were supposed to be some Canadian soldiers held by German forces who might not have known the war was over. I hope these men know death awaits me. But I remember I prayed, I don’t know in what language I prayed, but I prayed and all I could think was that I had been lucky. I’ve lived my nine lives. And now I’m going to meet my end. An end imminent. I started screaming, “The war is over.” Ah, death lurks and you know I’m really waving that white flag. There was no response. “Hello.” You could see what looked like a campfire there, and that was it. A big sigh of relief. I raised the flag. I slowly made my way back to the carriers, to their home town of Montreal.

The Canadian Black Watch returned to a hero’s welcome. When the war ended, I was very happy. The famous Royal Highland Regiment suffered the highest casualties of any Canadian unit on the Western Front. I was glad I survived it. It was a relief. The killing was over. The nurses came and gave us all a bottle of Younger’s beer. When the war ended, I knew it was the end of the line. I didn’t jump for joy, and I couldn’t get out of bed; I was in a hospital in England when I returned home. My family never asked me what happened over there, and I never told them. I never told them. I had a knife with a long blade, an automatic knife, you know. I took it out and threw it into the ground and buried it. I had a brother who was only 7 or 8 or 10 years old. I didn’t want those kids to find that knife. They didn’t even know what war was. I’m glad I was able to tell someone what had been bottled up inside me all my life. Oh, Sandy. You rascal. The Black Watch is my life. Come here, you little rascal. There’s no ordinary blood in my veins. It’s Black Watch blood. It’s been a long time, Sandy. Hell. How are you, Mike? Oh my God. Good to see him. Overall, the best thing that ever happened to me was being assigned to the Black Watch. Just being alive. Sandy, I’m very proud to be Black Watch. Good to see you, buddy. I mean, as long as you wake up alive. Yeah, we’re still alive. What old rascals we are. We’re very proud. And here we are. We’re still here. Damn. Old rascals. End every conversation, every phone call. I love you, Jim. And I love you too. Thank you. But I really wish Dale and Jimmy Bennett were with us. I love that man. We kept each other alive and did our job. We did our job and I’m very proud of it. Not bad for an old drunk. Good. Just wait for the rest of the guys. Do you know these? I’ll take this rifle; it’s exactly like the one I used. Oh, wonderful. Thank you. Yeah, I hit the target. Four out of five. Aim. Aim. Good morning. Aim. Aim.

The years passed, but the bond remained. Every August, the survivors gathered in Montreal, their laughter echoing through the Legion hall. “We’re still here, you old rascals,” Sandy would say, raising a glass. Mike would nod, his eyes distant. Jimmy’s chair stayed empty, but his spirit lingered.

At the Dutch cemetery, Dale’s daughter knelt by the white cross. She traced his name, tears falling. “You’re my hero, Dad. Always were.” The wind carried the sound of children playing in the liberation day parade.

Back home, I polished my old scope. The war was over, but the memories never faded. We did our job. We kept each other alive. That was enough.

What about you—have you ever had a bond that war couldn’t break?