[ HP ] A Prompt about World War 2

`` What are you looking at grandpa?'' asked little Brandon as he approached his grandfather. 
 
 `` An old picture... Just an old picture,'' said the Arty. It was of him and his friends back during the war. 
 
 Though by now he was an old man, he remembered that day well. It still haunted him. He had was there at the Anzio bridgehead when the Tigers broke free. He and his regiment fought through Italy and took part in two assaults on the winter line. He remembered that many of his friends had died, but at the time the picture was taken the front was calming down. 
 
 He was in a small Italian town with his closest army buddies. They had been given a break from their duties to go into town. 
 
 `` Damn, I could get used to a place like this. This place makes Georgia look like a real hell hole,'' said Tom as he walked down the street. 
 
 `` your telling me. These people love us! Back home we're just dirty little Negroes, but here we're a novelty!'' said Clarence as he threw a cigarette butt on the ground. 
 
 An Italian woman approached they, slightly blushing. She held a camera in her hand. She stopped feet in front of the men. 
 
 `` Ciao,'' she said staring at the ground smiling. With a thick Italian accent she continued `` Can I have a picture of you men?'' 
 
 Arty beamed. Clarence was right. Back home, this woman would have avoided them. Things seemed better in Europe. 
 
 The men came together, backs to a wall. They all stared into the camera until they heard a click. The woman thanked them and went on down the street. 
 
 they had moved twenty feet when the ground shook. Arty fell over. A mortar had landed where they had been standing for the picture. Arty tried to stand up, but could n't. He nervously looked back to see his legs torn apart by shrapnel. He began to crawl towards cover. He had to go over the bloody pulp of a body that he believed was Clarence. Another shell landed close to the same spot. Tom and the other survivors screamed in pain. Arty could do nothing but wait and hope he would n't bleed out before help came. 
 
 There was a pause in the shelling. The dust settled and Arty saw the full scale of what was happening. Blood was everywhere on the ground. Tom's arm was five feet away from the rest of him. He screamed in pain. The other men who were not instantly killed had begun to quiet down, having accepted that the were to die and slowly succumbed to death. 
 
 Tom, however, was very much alive and begging for help. Arty made a choice; he could not let his friend die. 
 Arty scrambled back to the street to help his friend. The mortars had silenced. That's when Arty heard the German mutters and the unforgettable noise of jackboots on the stone roads. 
 
 Arty got Tom on his back and made his way back to the only cover he could see. Tom was crying and incoherently speaking. As Arty was mere feet from the cover, Tom said `` If I die, it's not your fault. You came back for me. That's what matt-'' 
 
 Tom's last words where cut short by the crack through the air. Arty felt warm liquid trickle down his neck. He wiped his face of the skull fragments and continued to cover. The rest was a blur. The Germans were pushed back. Some Canadian medics got him on a stretcher. As he was carried away, the Italian lady ran out, gave him the roll of film with tears in her eyes. She whispered'Dio benedica' and then he blacked out. 
 
 `` Grandpa? Are you okay?'' whispered Brandon. 
 
 `` I'm fine. Just give me a moment,'' Arty said quietly looking into the picture. After a few seconds, he set down the picture. He got up and looked to his grandson. His bright innocent eyes pulled him out of his memories. 
 
 `` Let's play a game,'' Arty said. 
 
 `` I would like that!'' said Brandon as he ran for the door. Arty smiled and followed as fast as his old, crippled legs could carry him. 
 
 Edit: Format
