It was Christmas Eve, but the holiday season was the farthest thing from Hanley's mind.
Orders that needed to be looked over and signed, the biggest Kraut offensive since 1940 staring the Allies down the the throat, and a CP that became colder as the night dragged on effectively cut any ideas of celebration or holiday cheer in two.
Rubbing his eyes, Hanley leaned back in his chair, arms folded, lost in thoughts that dropped deeper and deeper into depression. Johnson, who was usually around to answer the radio and file paperwork when they had a semi-permanent post like this one, had taken off, muttering something about having a letter to write and Hanley hadn't tried to stop him. This evening might be the last chance any of them had to relax for a long time.
With all these worries pressing down on him, he'd forgotten what it was to sit back and let the war go on without him, even if it were only for a few minutes.
He sighed and went back to the never-ending piles of paperwork.
Another request for leave from Kirby. Hanley sighed and denied it with a quick scrawl of his signature. None of them would be getting any passes for some time. He hoped those who were lucky enough to get twenty-four hours free this Christmas were enjoying those passes, for the sake of all the men who were waiting here and at other temporary bases along the front.
The front. Hanley shook his head. Everything had happened so fast, the Krauts pushing through the lines, that these outposts had been thrown together in just a few hours. As it was, they were hanging on by a thread and he expected retreat or reinforcements any day, almost any hour. With that hanging over them, there was little to contribute to the Christmas spirit.
He'd finish up this paperwork, leave it for Johnson to file in the morning, and then get some sleep. Even if most of the men partied tonight, someone had to be awake and alert enough to give orders when morning came around.
Still-
There was a knock on the door, and then it opened, sending a gust of freezing air billowing into the room.
Saunders followed close on its heels, knocking slushy snow of his boots before walking across the floor and holding out a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. "Merry Christmas, lieutenant."
Hanley stood and took one of the glasses. "Where on earth did you get all this, Saunders?" he said, unwilling to question a miracle – he hadn't thought to see wine again for a long time – but curious all the same. More than curious. Almost incredulous.
"One of the guys from First Squad smuggled this and couple others like it all the way from that last little town we stopped at. Took all the fudge I had to get it." Saunders grinned. "Didn't have anyone else to share it with. How about it, lieutenant?"
Hanley nodded and held out his glass for Saunders to fill. Paperwork could wait.
"Merry Christmas, Saunders."
Saunders lifted his glass. "Merry Christmas, lieutenant."
And, in that brief moment, it was.