One Soldier Out Of Many
This story starts when the 101st is holding Bastogne and runs until the end of the war; It focuses mainly on Janovec, but there are other characters involved also. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!
He can't remember when he's ever been so cold in his life. He turns from where has been watching the line and heads to the foxhole he has been sharing with Luz, hoping he can bum some smokes off George.
His boots crunch loudly through the snow and he shivers so loudly he swears the others can hear him coming a mile away.
Reaching the edge of the shelter, Janovec reaches down and pulls back the edge of the heavy snow covered tarp that covers the opening of the hole. Unslinging his M-1, he lowers himself into the ground.
"Hey, there, Janovec; how're ya doin'," comes Luz's voice out of the semi-darkness.
"Bout the same as everyone else, I suppose. Tired, hungry, freezin' my ass off, but other than that, guess I'm doin' pretty damn good."
George snorts.
"Yeah, tell me about it. I'm so cold, I can't feel my damn feet. 'Keep movin,' Doc says. Yeah, that's just what I'm gonna do, go for a little stroll through the goddamn woods so that Krauts can use my ass for target practice. Nope, I'm happy right here."
"Maybe they aren't watchin' us that closely," he muses.
"Whatever. Either way, I plan on staying in this foxhole long as I can. You know, 'out of sight, out of mind?' Maybe that'll work with these bastards.
Now it's Janovec's turn to laugh.
"Hey, George, got any smokes? I'm all out."
"Eh, let me see," he replies, digging through his pockets with numb fingers and pulling out two cigarettes, one of which he passes to the man next to him.
Janovec pulls out his lighter and lights both the cigarettes, taking a deep pull on his and enjoying the warmth of the smoke as it fills his aching lungs.
He never used to smoke, back in the states that is. But now that he's here, thousands of miles away from friends and family, the familiar smell of tobacco smoke brings back warm memories of home and growing up; makes him think of times when the world seemed safe and he lived in ignorance, knowing nothing of war.
Him and George sit in silence for a while, listening to the sound of sporadic MG fire coming from the far side of the line.
They're all tired, he thinks to himself. Both them and the Germans. All they want to do is finish the war and go home, away from death, away from destruction, away from the sorrow and pain of combat.
He misses his folks the most, he supposes, seeing as how he doesn't have a girl to return home to. At times, he thinks of the sad look his Ma had on her face as he told her goodbye, the way his dad shook his hand and told him he was proud of what he was doing. The memories are all he has now, and he uses them best he can; they help keep him warm at night. He can't wait til he gets back and can start adding good memories that'll hopefully cancel out some of the horrific ones he's recently acquired.
A single flare brings him back to the present. Looking up at the night sky, he watches it slowly fizzle out into nothingness. It doesn't take long after the darkness sets in for the shelling to start up.
SHHhhhhh BOom
SHHhhhhh BOom
The ground shakes as shells land all around them. He hears men cry out around him, hears the sound of boots desperately scrambling for cover.
Out of everything he has seen in the war so far, he hates these moments the most. He hates having to cower in a hole while the enemy pins them down and slowly picks them off, one by one. It would be much easier, he thinks, if there was something he could shoot back at, someway he could release all the tension and fear that has built up inside him. But you can't shoot at artillery fire and no one ever said war would be easy, so he just hunkers deeper into his hole and waits for it to end.