Part 5:Pvt Joseph Lydecker - Forgiveness

by Queen's Bishop

Saunders and Lydecker each face their own demons.

33

No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author.

I want to formally thank and acknowledge the huge contribution of Leslie Backus. Without her time and editing skill, this story would never have seen the light of day. Thanks also to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading and offering encouragement.

Pvt. Joseph Lydecker

by: Queen's Bishop

Part 5: Forgiveness

Dialogue from the episodes "The Volunteer" and "Survival" is quoted.

denotes dialogue in French or German, depending on the character.

Summary of previous chapter: In For a Penny… – When a ninety-day wonder, Lt. Yates, was put in charge of the platoon, Lydecker relied on rule number four. Later, when the squad was captured, he out-foxed the arrogant, sadistic Kraut officer.

"We don't have any X-ray machine, so, Sergeant, grab hold of that bar above your head and I'll see if I can feel if anything's broken," Dr. Bates said.

Saunders was stripped to the waist, standing in the aid station. His entire rib cage was black and blue. Doc had helped him take off his field jacket, shirt and undershirt, as every movement was painful for the NCO.

If Doc had been gentle when he probed the sergeant's ribs in the field, this doctor seemed callous as he pressed and poked the badly bruised areas. Saunders didn't say anything, but the medic could see his knuckles turn white as he tightened his grip on the bar and clenched his teeth. A single tear from his swollen eye ran down his grimy cheek.

The medic asked, "Where's Dr. Catlin?" Dr. Catlin had taken care of Saunders when he was shot by Pvt. Jankowski. And, for Doc's two cents, he certainly was more caring than this physician.

"Catlin? He's on furlough in London, the lucky dog," Bates replied as he continued to press on the sergeant's rib cage.

'Lucky is right,' the doctor thought. 'Otherwise, I wouldn't be here in this hell-hole. It wasn't bad enough that I was dragged by the Army from my nice clean practice in Philadelphia. Now I'm stuck in this aid station for God-only-knows how long where I have to deal with not just the wounds of war, but also the smells.

'That's what really gets to me, the smells…blood and infected wounds, gunpowder, what the soldiers call cordite, urine-soaked pants on young soldiers being brought in after their first day in combat, and manure. Manure on their boots and their knees, their field jackets and their faces. It's as if they purposely crawl through it just to antagonize me.

'God,' he thought, 'get me out of here!'

"Alright, Sergeant, hop up on the table and let me take a look at that eye."

Saunders wasn't about to 'hop up' anywhere, but, with Doc's help, he managed to get up on the table.

The doctor checked his right orbit, cheek bones, nose and jaw for fractures, but found nothing. He looked at the laceration above the patient's right eye. "How many hours ago did this happen?"

"Eight, maybe nine," Doc responded.

"It should have been sutured right away."

"Ah know, but…"

"Was it at least cleaned right away and bandaged?"

"As soon as Ah could."

"Well, it's almost too late to suture, and anyway, I can't do it now because of the swelling. Just keep it clean and bandaged. It should be alright." The doctor chuckled, "I hope the other guys look as bad."

Doc suddenly realized that Bates thought Saunders had been in a barroom brawl. Now, the medic was seeing Lydecker's 'idiot officers' everywhere and he was angry. Before the sergeant could respond, he spat out, "It was the Krauts who worked him over. You'd better check his wrists, too. His hands were tied behind his back while they did it."

"Alright, no need to get testy. I just assumed…"

The doctor cut the gauze wrapped around the sergeant's wrists and saw where the restraints had cut into his skin. He cringed at the thought of it as he cleaned and redressed the torn flesh.

"Look, I want to tape up those ribs as a precaution. Even though I don't feel anything broken, there might be a hairline fracture. But, once I do it, you'll need to keep the tape on and dry for at least three days."

Both Saunders and the medic nodded.

When he was finished, Dr. Bates gave the NCO paperwork for light duty and told him to return in three days. Doc helped him get his shirt on and carried the paperwork and the rest of his clothes. As they came out of the tent, they found Billy still anxiously waiting.

"C'mon, Sarge, let's go home," the medic said.

"Yeah, sure, Doc." He took a wobbly step forward.

The medic grabbed one of the NCO's arms and Billy held the other to help steady him as they began slowly walking back to the cellar where they were billeted.

After Kirby left Saunders, Doc and Nelson at the aid station, he turned the German staff car around and headed back to the platoon CP. He dropped off Caje and Lydecker, along with the papers they had removed from the Kraut officer.

As they continued down the street, Littlejohn suddenly said, "There's Cpl. Brockmeyer."

"HEY, BROCKMEYER," yelled the BAR man, "WHAT DO YA WANT US TO DO WITH THIS KRAUT CAR?"

The corporal, relieved to see that First Squad had returned, didn't even give Kirby a hard time. "Park it somewhere down the street an' leave the keys in it."

Kirby laughed and hollered back as he drove away. "THERE AIN'T NO KEYS. I HAD TO HOT WIRE IT!"

Caje knocked on the door to the CP, not knowing what or whom to expect. He was thankful to see that Lt. Hanley had returned from whatever he had been doing for S-2. The lieutenant at first looked relieved to see someone from First Squad. However, as Caje entered, followed by Lydecker, and the officer's eyes fell on the blood soaked uniform of the young private, he struggled to maintain his professional demeanor. Caje was there to give the report and not Saunders. The concern and question were evident in Hanley's eyes, 'Is that Saunders' blood?'

"Cpl. Brockmeyer filled me in on what Yates did. Where is he?"

"He's dead, Sir. We ran into some Krauts," Caje answered succinctly.

Hanley kept his voice as even as possible as he asked, "And Saunders?"

Caje responded, "Doc took him to de aid station. De Krauts worked him over pretty good. Dey were after de map Lt. Yates was carrying, but de Sarge had given it to Lydecker. All dey got from Saunders was his name, rank and serial number. Pvt. Lydecker convinced de Kraut lieutenant dat de map was hidden where we were captured, and dat he would show him where. Lydecker…"

He turned to look at Joey. For the first time, having left the darkness of night outside, he saw the results of Joey's encounter with the Kraut who had escorted him from the camp to retrieve the map.

"Ah was able to get the jump on one of the Krauts and that's how we got away, Sir."

Lydecker looked at Caje and the scout could see that he didn't want to go into the details. The Cajun gave him a slight nod of understanding.

"So, we not only have de map dat Lt. Yates made notes on, but also all de papers from de Kraut lieutenant. Joey, take off your boot."

Caje handed Hanley the Kraut papers while Lydecker retrieved the map.

"Okay. I'll get all this over to S-2. It might be very helpful. Battalion is going to try to advance the line tomorrow. King Company will be in reserve, so keep the squad close by. I'll look in on Saunders later. Anything else?"

"No, Sir."

"Dismissed."

As the two men left the CP, the Cajun said, "I'm going to de aid station to see how de Sarge is. Joey, you coming?"

"No, Caje. Ah'm…kind of tired. Ah'm going to get cleaned up and then sack out."

"Okay, see you in de morning," Caje watched the young soldier slowly walk away. He stood and pondered Lydecker's response for a moment. 'I would have thought he'd want to see the Sarge, but I guess it has been a long, hard day for the kid.'

Half-way to the aid station, he met Doc, Billy and Saunders. They were soon joined by Littlejohn and Kirby. Once the men had returned to the cellar, the Sarge was asleep almost before his head hit his rolled up blanket.

Littlejohn once again looked at the damage the Krauts had inflicted on his sergeant. If the big, good-hearted private had begun to feel any remorse for having killed the German lieutenant, in that moment, it was erased from his mind.

The Cajun told his comrades what the lieutenant had said about the battle that would start in just a few hours. Then he went outside for a cigarette. In a few moments, he was joined by Nelson.

"Caje," Billy spoke softly, not wishing to be over-heard, "do you think the Sarge was scared when the Krauts were punching and kicking him?" He looked at the ground. "If it'd been me, I think I would've told."

The scout stared up at the star-filled sky and exhaled as he considered how to answer. "Billy, I'm sure de Sarge was scared, but not for de reason you dink. He was scared for us, afraid dat if he told where de map was, dat crazy Kraut lieutenant would kill us all, just like he killed Watkins for no reason. And, do you know what else I dink…If it had been you, and you dought dat if you talked, de rest of us would be killed, you wouldn't have said anyding eider."

It had been a long speech for the scout. Billy sat quietly thinking about what the Cajun had said. "Thanks, Caje." He got up and went inside.

Joey Lydecker had a hard time getting to sleep. He kept playing the day's events over and over in his mind, or at least the part where he looked into the eyes of the Kraut soldier, Hauptmann, just after he had plunged the blade of the jackknife into the big German's neck. After a while, he got up, grabbed his boots, helmet and rifle, and quietly went outside.

Caje waited a few moments before silently following him. The young soldier walked away from where the different squads in the platoon were billeted. When he was out of hearing range, he sat down and softly began to play his harmonica. The scout listened to a few sad songs before returning to the cellar.

Later, when the Cajun was awakened by the sound of artillery fire, he saw that Lydecker's bedroll was still empty.

That morning, as the squad walked down the street to get some breakfast, they saw the lieutenant leaning against the side of the CP, smoking. Nothing had changed; they were still in reserve.

Hanley stared at the battered face of his friend and best NCO. He watched as Saunders gingerly sat down on one of the crates scattered around his makeshift office.

"BROCK…!" he shouted, although it was unnecessary since the corporal was seated behind him at the radio.

"Yes, Sir."

"Go get us some breakfast and make a fresh pot of coffee."

"Yes, Sir." As Brockmeyer stood, he got his first look at Saunders. His hands closed into tight fists and he could feel his arm and chest muscles tense up. "Anything special, Sergeant."

"No, nothing for me…I'm not really hungry." Saunders thought about the French roll Lydecker had brought him when the private came running to catch up with him and Yates. Was that only yesterday?

"What about you, Lieutenant?"

Although he had already eaten, Hanley didn't want to rush his conversation with Saunders. "Get us both whatever they've got."

"Yes, Sir." Brockmeyer left the two men to talk.

'Where to begin?' Hanley pondered his options. He chose, "Lt. Yates…"

Saunders, who had been sitting slouched with his good eye closed and an arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, opened his eye and sat up a bit. "Lydecker called it. He was an idiot…a dangerous idiot. He almost got the entire squad killed," he said angrily.

"And Lydecker?..."

Now it was the sergeant's turn to consider his options. To stall for time, he ran his fingers through his hair. As usual, that action only served to send the golden tuffs into further disarray. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Shaking out two, he offered one to the lieutenant, who had already fished out his lighter. After both cigarettes were lit, the lieutenant inhaled deeply. Saunders tried to take that first satisfying deep breath, but, in his case, it only led to a series of coughs and a further clutching of his rib cage with his free hand. Hanley watched his friend, but knew better than to say anything. After a moment, the pain eased and the NCO visibly relaxed.

"That first breath's a killer," he said, trying to sound casual.

'If Hanley doesn't already know that Lydecker came after me and Yates, bringing the rest of the squad along, against the lieutenant's orders, there's no point in mentioning it,' he thought. So, after another moment, the sergeant said, "Lydecker…the kid had to kill a couple of Krauts up close."

"That's never easy….but, he'll get used to it."

"Yeah…don't we all."

The two men smoked in silence until Brockmeyer returned with breakfast and a fresh pot of coffee.

King Company remained in reserve and, except for guard duty, the squad had a bit of free time. It was, however, nerve-racking. For what seemed like hours there was shelling in the territory they had previously patrolled, as the American 105s and the German 88s traded barrages.

The men caught up on their housekeeping chores of laundry and small sewing jobs, wrote letters home and re-read the ones they had received for the umpteenth time, and cleaned their gear.

Kirby tried to get a poker game going with other members of Second Platoon, but all the men were too jumpy to stay at it for very long. In the end, he paced, making the rest of his squad mates that much more anxious. From time to time, the sergeant sent the BAR man out to run a small errand, just to get him away from their billet.

During all of this, Lydecker was strangely quiet. He barely spoke to the other members of the squad, keeping to himself when he was in the cellar and spending as much time outside, away from the other men, as possible. This didn't go unnoticed, but most of the squad took it as the young soldier's way of coping with the tension of not knowing if or when the company would be sent into battle. The medic, however, thought it might be something else.

When Doc went outside and saw him sitting off by himself, fiddling with the jackknife Caje had slipped him, he walked over and sat beside him. "You doing okay, Joey?" he asked.

"Yeah…sure, Doc. Ah'm fine."

"You gonna give that back to Caje?"

"Yeah…Ah just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"You know, Joey, every man here understands what you're going through, although they don't talk about it."

Joey looked at the medic with disbelief. Nobody knew what he was going through.

Doc could see that Lydecker didn't believe him, so he continued, "Did you ever listen to the squad at night, the mumbling and crying out when they're asleep? All of them do it, even the Sarge. That's the fear, regret and grief coming out. They've all been in battles and hand-to-hand combat and killed someone. It's a terrible thing to have to do, but it's part of fighting this war, of being a soldier, so you have to accept it."

'What does Doc know?' Lydecker thought. 'He's a non-combatant. He's never looked into the eyes of a man he just stabbed and watched the life drain out of him,'

"Sure, Doc. Thanks for the advice." Joey got up and walked away.

By afternoon, when the artillery fell silent, the men looked at each other, knowing that in the stillness, the Americans were trying to push forward and men on both sides were dying. Saunders got up and slowly walked to the lieutenant's office to see if he knew how it was going.

In the end, all of the fighting came to nothing. Neither the position of the Americans nor of the Germans was changed. This, of course, meant that the battle would be engaged again, probably in a few days, after each side had had a chance to catch its breath and assess the carnage.

The next day, although the men of First Squad were no longer in reserve, they had nowhere to go, other than the few streets of the deserted small village.

Lydecker had had another restless night. Finally, in the early afternoon, he went to speak with the lieutenant. After knocking and exchanging salutes, he stood at attention.

"At ease, Private. What can I do for you?"

"Sir, Ah was wondering if Ah could leave town as long as Ah'm back in twenty-four hours."

"Where exactly do you want to go?" the lieutenant asked suspiciously, although he thought Lydecker might want to go back to a previous village where he had had that 'date' with a French girl.

"Sir, Ah just need to get away…by mahself…Ah don't know how to explain it…Ah just need to get away. Ah'll be back by 1400 tomorrow."

"Have you discussed this with Sgt. Saunders?"

Lydecker hesitated. He knew he should have talked to his sergeant first, but Saunders would have asked him questions he couldn't answer, and he was sure the sergeant would never understand how he felt. "No, Sir. He's still recuperating, and Ah didn't want to bother him. Ah'll let him know, if you say it's okay."

Hanley couldn't say why, but he was suddenly concerned about the private. However, since Cpt. Jampel had said it would be another forty-eight hours before they tried again to move forward, he thought perhaps a walk would do the young soldier some good. "Alright, Lydecker. Don't wander too far and make sure you're back by 1400. Dismissed."

After saluting, the private hurried out of the office and returned to the cellar. Nobody was there except Maxwell, the replacement who had come up with Watkins.

"Maxwell, where's the sergeant?"

"Probably lunch. They all left a few minutes ago. I'm headed that way as soon as I finish this letter. Ya wanna go with me?"

Lydecker didn't answer. He picked up his bedroll and tied the ends with a length of rope he had found before he went to see the lieutenant. He slipped his head and one arm through the opening and adjusted the bedroll so it was comfortably positioned down his back.

Maxwell stared at him while he did this. "Whatcha doin'? Where ya goin'?"

Joey put on his helmet and picked up his rifle. "Tell the sergeant that Ah've left town. Ah've checked with the lieutenant and gotten his permission. Ah'll be back by 1400 tomorrow." Lydecker headed for the door.

"Okay, but where ya goin'?"

There was no answer. Lydecker was gone.

Ever since the squad had returned to the village, he had felt like he was suffocating. It was the weight of Hauptmann's body pressing down on his chest, making it more and more difficult to breathe. Getting rid of the blood soaked uniform and scrubbing himself raw hadn't helped. Neither had playing the harmonica or Doc's advice. Now, he headed out of town, back the way the squad had come not that long ago. But, he felt like he was a different person, a person he no longer knew.

He ran at an easy lope, quickly covering the first mile. At that point he left the road, crossing fields and stands of trees that cast inviting shadows of deep shade. Although he could no longer cover the distance as quickly as he had on the road, he still maintained a steady pace. He had no destination in mind, just to get as far away as he could from everything and everybody. If he saw French farmers working in the fields, he avoided them. If he had to cross a path, he made sure nobody else was coming. He didn't think. He just let his legs carry him forward.

Finally, darkness began to settle in around him. He found himself in a small grove of trees. The dark trunks seemed to form a protective wall. He took his bedroll off his back, untied the rope and spread the drop cloth and blanket on the ground. As he lay on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, he looked up through the gaps in the branches at the stars. 'Maybe,' Joey thought, 'maybe now I can breathe.'

One by one the squad members drifted back to the cellar. The last to arrive was Kirby. He was blurry eyed, even though it was only about 2200. The sergeant looked around at his men.

"Anybody seen Lydecker?"

Maxwell spoke up. "Oh, Sarge, I forgot to tell ya. He took off 'bout 1400. He said the lieutenant said it was okay."

"Took off? What do you mean?"

"He took his bedroll an' just left. I asked him, but he wouldn't tell me where he was goin'"

"Sarge, he's been in a bad way these last couple of days," Doc said.

"Yeah," said Kirby, "he's been mopin' around an' not talkin' to nobody."

"Okay. I'm gonna see what the lieutenant knows. If he shows up, don't let him leave."

The sergeant reached to grab his helmet, and winced. Instead of slinging the Thompson over his shoulder, he carried it in his right hand and cradled his ribs with his left. As he left the cellar, Caje walked over to Doc, shaking his head.

"I knew someding was bodering him. He went outside late the oder night and played his harmonica until dawn. Do you know what it is?"

"Well, yesterday he was fiddling with your jackknife. Ah think he's feeling guilty about killing that Kraut."

"Aw, why would he feel bad 'bout that," Kirby said. "If any Kraut deserved to get killed, it was him. You seen the way he was beatin' on the Sarge. He enjoyed it."

Unlike Caje, Kirby hadn't had to kill the enemy at close quarters. "Mon ami, you don't know what it's like to look into de eyes of de man you are killing."

"He's right, Kirby," said Littlejohn solemnly.

"Aw, whadda you know, ya big ox?"

Littlejohn didn't say another word. He didn't regret having killed the Kraut lieutenant, at least not now. But, he didn't know whether it would start to haunt him some dark night when he couldn't get to sleep. Or, more likely, when he got home, if he got home, and had to face his Ma. Would she look at him and see in his eyes what he had done?

Billy knew what his friend was thinking about. "Shut up, Kirby. Just shut up!"

The BAR man thought he might have gone too far. But, it wasn't in his nature to back down, let alone apologize. So instead, he stood his ground and said, "An' who's gonna make me?"

Doc stood and quietly said, "Ah am."

Now Kirby realized he had really stepped over the line. It was one thing to get his squad mates mad at him, even Saunders, but he didn't want to tangle with the soft-spoken medic. The BAR man, and the other members of the squad, had never really seen Doc lose his temper and yet, they all knew they didn't want to be around if he ever did.

Fortunately, the sergeant returned at that moment.

"What'd the lieutenant say?" asked Maxwell.

"Lydecker got permission to leave the town an' he'll be back by 1400."

"Do you think he went AWOL?" the replacement asked, with a bit of dread in his voice.

"No! Joey wouldn't do that," replied Littlejohn.

"Well, if he ain't back by whatever time 1400 is, we'll have to go an' look for him," Kirby exclaimed.

"And just where would we look, mon ami?" asked the bewildered scout. "We don't even know what direction he headed."

"Well, we gotta do somethin'," Kirby responded.

"We wait. That's all we can do," Saunders said.

At that, some of the men shuffled over to their own bedrolls while others drifted outside for a final smoke before turning in.

"What do you dink, Doc?" asked the Cajun.

"Ah think killing that Kraut is eating him up."

It was still dark when Lydecker awoke. He was hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, and he hadn't brought any food with him. Uncle had once told him that the Indians of his tribe would fast as a way of purifying themselves. That had sounded like a good idea to the young soldier when he first decided to leave the village on his own. However, now he wasn't so sure. He sat cross-legged on his bedroll. 'Well, it's time,' he thought.

"Heavenly Father…"

In-between sobs of remorse, Lydecker spoke of killing the German soldier Hauptmann, and of taking the lives of the two sentries, not in battle but in a surprise attack without them even knowing what was happening. He didn't speak of the shocking death of Pvt. Watkins or the beating his sergeant had endured. He didn't want to offer justifications for any of the slayings; he thought of his training, 'No Excuses, Sir!' He had taken three lives in exchange for his own and the lives of his squad mates. Who was he to have judged who should live and who should die? So, all he could do was pray and ask for forgiveness.

By the time he finished, the first rays of the sun were breaking over the tops of the trees in the east, pushing the darkness away and changing the sky from black to a light pink and then to pale blue. Joey knew it wasn't a miracle or even a sign that he had been forgiven. He didn't need a sign. He had faith, and he knew God had absolved him as soon as he had asked for forgiveness.

But, although he felt better, the darkness within him hadn't completely lifted. In fact, almost as soon as he got his bedroll tied up and slung across his back, he again felt the suffocating presence of Hauptmann starting to weigh him down.

He drank all the water remaining in his canteen. Then, putting on his helmet and slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he started back the way he had come. Other than the direction, he didn't recognize any landmarks. Yesterday he had traveled without real awareness of his surroundings. So now, he just walked. He came to a path. Had he crossed this path yesterday? He didn't remember.

But, as he stepped out from an overgrown field, he came face-to-face with a tired old Frenchman leading an equally tired old horse. The horse was pulling a cart half-filled with branches the old man had been collecting. Perched on the load of kindling was a little girl. They looked at him and he could see the fear in the child's eyes.

'She knows I'm a murderer,' he thought.

With apprehension in her voice, the little girl said a single word, "Boche!"

Jeanette, don't be afraid. He's an American.

The little girl climbed down from the cart and stood behind the old man, peeking around his leg to look at Lydecker.

Soldier, are you lost? You must be hungry. Come, we were just going to stop and have something to eat. You must join us.

The old man reached into the cart and pulled out a bundle. He carried it over to the side of the path, picked a spot under a large old tree and eased himself down. He opened the bundle and spread out the cloth, revealing a metal cup, a bottle of wine, some bread and a wedge of cheese. The child sat close beside him and he waved to the soldier to join them. Lydecker walked over and sat down on the grass across from the old man. He took off his helmet and laid his rifle on the ground next to him. The Frenchman opened the bottle of wine, took a swallow and offered it to the soldier. Lydecker shook his head. He pulled out his canteen, unscrewed the cap and turned it upside down.

What does he doing, Grandfather?

I think he wants water. Go get the bucket from the side of the cart.

But, that's for Hector.

Hector won't mind. We'll get him some more when we get to the stream.

The child jumped up and ran to the cart. Even with both hands tightly gripping the rope handle, she struggled to lift the bucket off its hook on the cart. Lydecker stood, walked to her side and lifted the pail off the hook. He carried it back to the shade of the tree, setting it down in front of the Frenchman.

The old man took the lid off the bucket and gestured to the soldier for his canteen. When Lydecker handed it to him, he plunged it into the water. The three of them listened to the gurgle as water ran into the canteen. The child laughed at the sound, which brought smiles to the men's faces. When it was full, the Frenchman handed the canteen back to Lydecker. He picked up the metal cup, filled it half full with water and added some of the wine before handing it to the little girl. She took several gulps and then smiled at the soldier.

Take the bucket to Hector and give him a drink.

Jeanette set her cup down and jumped up. She started to lift the pail, and Lydecker again got up to help her. She took his free hand and led him to the horse. She indicated for him to put the bucket down, and the horse drank thirstily.

His name is Hector. He's a wonderful horse, so handsome. She stroked the horse's muzzle and it nickered softly. We had to hide him from the Boche so they wouldn't eat him. You can pet him if you like.

She pulled Lydecker's hand over, and he also gently scratched the horse's muzzle. Again, Hector nickered.

See, he likes you.

She took his hand again and led him, skipping, back to the old man. While they were gone, he had broken the bread into three chunks and cut up the wedge of cheese. He handed the soldier the largest piece of both. Lydecker tried to give them back, but the Frenchman pushed his hand away. He gave the little girl bread and cheese and then began eating his own pieces. The old man washed his meal down with swallows of wine, the child with her diluted drink, and Lydecker with sips from his canteen.

When they finished, the little girl gathered up the cloth, her cup and the wine bottle and carried them back to the cart. Lydecker stood and then helped the old man to his feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill which he tried to give to the old man.

No, I didn't feed you for money. I did it because I'm a patriot.

Lydecker didn't know what he had said, but he heard the pride in the old man's voice. He patted his pockets to see if he had anything else to offer. Feeling something, he reached into one and pulled out a forgotten half-eaten chocolate bar. When he indicated that it was for the child, the Frenchman smiled and nodded his approval.

Jeanette, come here.

The little girl rejoined the men, and Lydecker gave her the candy. She beamed and giggled with joy. Lydecker offered his hand and the old man grasped it with both of his.

The American said, "Merci."

The Frenchman replied, Thank you, soldier. And, go with God.

While the little girl climbed back up onto the pile of branches, the old man picked up the bucket and hung it on the hook on the side of the cart. He walked to the front and, standing beside the horse, spoke softly to the animal. The cart began to move slowly forward. The little girl twisted around and waved good-bye to the soldier.

Joey watched them for a few minutes before continuing on his journey. He was breathing easier.

Once he reached the road, Lydecker again broke into a lope which he maintained until the town was in sight. Even from a distance, he could see Kirby pacing while he waited and watched the road, just like when Joey had first joined the squad. The BAR man spotted him and left his look-out position.

'He probably went to tell the rest of the fellas,' the young soldier thought. As he entered the town, he tried to take a couple of deep breaths before heading for the house where First Squad was billeted, but he was unable to fill his lungs. The feeling of being suffocated by Hauptmann had returned.

Kirby entered the cellar and announced, "Hey, I just seen Joey comin' up the road."

"I was sure he'd gone AWOL," Maxwell said with surprise.

"Not ol' Lydecker. I wasn't worried a bit," replied Kirby, striking a cocky pose. "I knew he'd be back right when he was supposed to be."

"Kirby, you're so full of it," said Littlejohn.

"Aw, shut up, ya big ape."

Saunders sighed. "Alright, shut up both of you. An' don't jump all over Lydecker when he gets here."

"Okay, Sarge." "Yeah, Sarge." "We won't, Sarge," came the chorus of replies.

Several minutes later, Joey entered the cellar. He took off his helmet and looked around. The entire squad was there, but they all seemed too preoccupied with other tasks to notice him. He walked over to Saunders.

The NCO gave him an appraising look. "You okay, Lydecker?"

"Yes, Sergeant. Ah just…needed to get away."

"Well, you cut it pretty close getting back."

"Yes, Sergeant. Ah don't have a watch anymore."

"Talk to Cpl. Brockmeyer. Maybe he can wrangle another one for you."

"Joey, if ya'll stake me, I could win one in a poker game for ya," offered the BAR man.

His squad mates rolled their eyes.

Lydecker said a polite, "Thanks, Kirby, but Ah'll do like the sergeant suggested." He turned back to Saunders. "And, Sergeant, your eye is looking pretty good."

"Yeah, another day or two an' it'll be back to normal."

'Not likely,' thought Doc.

The swelling had gone down enough for the sergeant to see the world through a slit on that side of his face. However, the doctor had retaped his ribs, so he wasn't yet released for active duty. But, all in all, Sanders was feeling much better, especially now that he had all of his men back. And, he thought he would be ready to lead them when the next big push came.

After a hot supper of some concoction that was brought up to the line from the mess kitchen with the all-encompassing name of 'stew,' the squad returned to the cellar and busied themselves reading, writing letters or filling cartridges and mags with ammo. Since the sun was still shining brightly, keeping the evening pleasantly warm, Caje sat outside. He pulled out his whetstone and began working on the blade of his bayonet.

Lydecker stood in the doorway watching him for several minutes. It was the same thing the Cajun had been doing the first time Joey had seen him. Finally, the young soldier walked over and sat on an upside down bucket near the scout. Neither of them spoke. Eventually, Lydecker pulled out the jackknife Caje had slipped him and began to fiddle with it.

After a bit, the scout asked, "Did you get absolution?"

Lydecker stared at the ground for a moment before quietly answering, "God always forgives."

"And what about you, did you forgive yourself?"

Joey looked questioningly at him.

"Let me tell you someding dat happened before you joined de squad. We were trying to retake a village…fighting street to street, house to house…machine guns firing, grenades exploding…guys, bod ours and deirs, being killed and wounded."

The Cajun paused, as he thought back to that chaotic day. "A Kraut had just taken a shot at me and I returned fire, killing him. Den, in de building behind where he had been, I saw movement in one of de windows…I dought it was anoder Kraut, so I lobed in a grenade….It was a Frenchman…he had come into town looking for our help for his wife. She had been shot by de Krauts…..I killed him…I made deir child, a little girl, an orphan (1)."

Lydecker thought about the little girl, Jeanette, he had met earlier in the day. She had been with an old man, not her parents.

Caje looked away for a moment before he continued. "It really tore me up…It didn't matter dat he shouldn't have been dere, dat it was an accident….I killed him…Do you understand?"

"How did you…"

The scout held up his bayonet and inspected the blade. He ran it across the whetstone a few more times. "In de end, I had to forgive myself. I was doing de best I could to save my life and de lives of de rest of de guys in de squad…It shouldn't have happened, but it did…It still hurts…It probably always will …but I've forgiven myself…It's de only way you can go on…

"Joey, de folks back home, dey don't know what it's like…De officers, sitting behind de lines, telling us to take dis village or hold dat piece of ground, dey don't know, not really…..

"Like your drill sergeant said, you have to do your duty and dat means sometimes doing dings dat are horrible just to survive…We do de best we can…you have to forgive yourself."

Joey was quiet, thinking about all the Cajun had said. Then he handed the jackknife back to the scout. "Thanks, Caje," he said softly as he got up and walked back to the house.

With sunset, the daytime bustle of the town disappeared. The men of First Squad were all in the cellar. Kirby was trying to organize a poker game, but not having any luck.

"Hey, Joey," Billy said, "why don't you play something?"

"Yeah, Joey," echoed Littlejohn. "That would be okay, wouldn't it, Sarge, if we went outside and Joey played?"

"Sure, as long as he plays The Wabash Cannonball."

"You got it, Sergeant," Lydecker answered, giving the NCO a grin.

Billy, Littlejohn and Joey went outside. The rest of the men came out one by one, along with soldiers from other squads as, once again, the songs of home filled the air. Sometime between The Wabash Cannonball and Oh Shenandoah, the weight that had been crushing Lydecker's chest disappeared.

Brockmeyer came to get Saunders just before dawn for a meeting with the lieutenant. Hanley informed him that the squad would be going out on reconnaissance that morning.

"What time?"

"0600."

"What sector do you want us to patrol?"

"Not you, Sergeant. I'll be leading the squad. You just have them ready to go."

"But, Lieutenant…"

"No buts, Sergeant. You haven't been released for active duty yet. Stay here at the CP with Brockmeyer and monitor the radio. Second Squad should be calling in when they reach their objective. Relay the information to company and pass on any change in orders."

Saunders looked over the lieutenant's shoulder and saw Brockmeyer grinning at him. The sergeant scowled and left the CP muttering to himself.

It turned out to be a miserable patrol, not because of the Krauts, but because of the weather. A front, bringing high winds and torrential rain, moved in during the late morning, and stalled over the contested battlefield. For the next two days, if it wasn't raining cats and dogs, everything was hidden by a heavy fog. Patrols went out all along the line, but if there were any Germans out there, the combatants could have passed within yards of each other and not even been aware of the other's existence.

The only positive development, as far as First Squad was concerned, was that after three days of slogging along in wet boots and eating water-logged K-rations, their sergeant was released for active duty.

Lt. Hanley put down the coffee cup he was holding and leaned over the map, pointing out their objectives to his squad leaders.

"First Squad, you'll cover sectors George and Peter. Second Squad, you've got How and Queen. Third Squad, sectors Item and Roger. HQ only wants to know if the Krauts have made any big moves during the last few days, so avoid a fight, if you can. At 0200, the day after tomorrow, our artillery will open up along phase line green, through George-How-Item in our area, and walk their fire forward toward the Kraut lines. But, they'll also target specific positions based on the information you bring back. Any questions?"

"That's a lot of territory to have to cover, Lieutenant."

"S-2 isn't looking for in-depth reconnaissance, just any signs of major Kraut activity. You've patrolled these sectors before, so check the obvious places."

"What time do we move out?"

"0500. This weather is supposed to clear by mid-morning."

"How far does Battalion plan on advancing?"

"Up to phase line red, your furthest reconnaissance points. Any more questions?...Well, if not, you're dismissed."

The three NCOs were grim-faced as they left the CP. With the front finally breaking up, the big push was back on. For over a week the forward advance had ground to a halt. Now, the brass wanted to break the stalemate. The Krauts had had a chance to bring up reserves while both sides waited out the storm, so everyone expected heavy fighting. It was going to be rough.

The lieutenant didn't have to say it. If anything went wrong and they had problems getting back, they would be caught in their own artillery fire.

Saunders pondered the mission as he slowly walked back to the house where the squad was waiting. As he entered the cellar, his men looked at him, anticipating what they all knew was coming.

"Alright, listen up. Second Platoon is gonna scout out the advance for the company. We'll move out at 0500. Any questions?"

"Sarge, how much ground are we gonna cover?" asked Billy.

"Two sectors."

"Two sectors!" Littlejohn exclaimed. "Sarge, that's a lot."

"We're only there to look, not to fight, so it shouldn't be a problem; just a quick in an' out."

Kirby stood. "Unless we run into trouble. Sarge, how come we always gotta get these crummy jobs?"

Saunders sighed. "Kirby, shut up. Caje an' Kirby, double basic load of ammo, Nelson, grenades, Lydecker, rations for a day. Doc, whatever you need. That's it. Get some sleep."

As they headed down the street, Kirby's voice could still be heard in the cellar.

"Caje, if we ain't expectin' trouble, how come a double basic load of ammo? That's what I wanna know."

"Listen, mon ami, why don't you do like de Sarge said and shut up?"

"Yeah, but…"

Saunders didn't hear the rest of the conversation. In truth, he wasn't feeling comfortable with the mission. Too much time had passed since they had a good fix on Kraut positions. If they had moved up reinforcements during the storm, the squad could be walking into a lot more than they could handle.

The three squads departed just after sunrise. The sky was still lead gray, but the torrents of rain had turned into a drizzle. The men welcomed the dampness as it muffled their footsteps. Of course, it also hid those of the enemy.

The terrain First Squad had to cover was, for the most part, gently undulating farmland, or at least what had once been farmland. Now, the fields were covered with brush and high weeds, as well as destroyed or abandoned war equipment and craters from the previous battle.

Interspersed among the fields had been woodlands, sometimes dense, other times only the size of a small lot. But, those woods had been severely damaged by the shelling. Individual trees, large and small, had been uprooted and toppled. Many other trees had been splintered in two, leaving stumps taller than a man. Their tops were either scattered on the ground like pick-up-sticks or caught by the stumps as they fell, creating a strange, new canopy. Only a few trees appeared to be undamaged, and they stood like lonely sentinels amid the destruction.

Littlejohn surveyed the devastated land with dismay. He hoped the fields his family so lovingly tended never suffered such a fate.

Lydecker looked at the rolling landscape and shook his head. "Ah'll bet this used to look like the Shenandoah Valley," he sadly said to nobody in particular.

Billy was walking behind him. "Is that where you're from?"

"Yeah, near the Blue Ridge. Real pretty country."

The sergeant broke up the conversation. "Lydecker, left flank. Nelson, take the right."

"Yes, Sergeant."

The two soldiers moved off to the flanks. As usual, Saunders had positioned Caje at point and Kirby as the rear guard.

Their reconnaissance through George sector was uneventful. Caje spotted one Kraut patrol in the distance. He and the sergeant watched them disappear into the underbrush and noted that they, too, were nervously looking around.

Ordinarily, Saunders would have signaled a break after about two hours, but since the men seemed anxious to get the mission over with, they continued to push forward.

By late morning they were making their way through Peter sector. Saunders moved ahead and told the scout to find a spot for a break and to have something to eat. Even Kirby was quiet as they sat and rested. The sergeant kept three men on security the entire time, rotating them after about ten minutes.

It was shortly after taking over for Maxwell that Littlejohn spotted some Germans moving toward them. The men pulled back further into the woods that lined the field the Krauts were crossing. The sergeant watched the Krauts through his binoculars. It wasn't just a squad on a reconnaissance patrol. It was a full platoon carrying two heavy machine guns and a panzerfaust.

Once they had passed, Saunders told the squad to remain where they were while he and Caje cautiously followed the Germans. They stayed far enough back to avoid being seen, but still close enough so they would notice if any of the Krauts split off. After about a half mile, the platoon stopped and began to dig in along the crest of one of the undulations the squad had circled not that long ago. After noting the position on his map, the NCO and the scout returned to their waiting comrades.

"Can we go home now, Sarge?" asked Maxwell eagerly. Like Kirby, he had nervously changed his position every five minutes while the two men were gone.

Saunders took off his helmet and wiped his arm across his sweaty brow. "Not until we complete the mission. Saddle up."

The squad crossed paths with two more Kraut platoons who were moving up. Each time, the sergeant and the scout back-tracked to learn the locations of the machine gun nests they were establishing. Both platoons sought out slight elevations on roughly the same line and then dug in. It seemed to Saunders they were setting up a defensive perimeter in preparation for their own push forward.

When they returned to the squad after the latest deviation from their planned route, Caje told the men, "It looks like de whole German Army is moving up."

The back-tracking had eaten up more time than Saunders would have liked, so when they spotted yet another platoon headed in the same general direction, he let it go without following it. The NCO had seen enough.

They finally made it to the end of Peter sector and the sergeant signaled the scout and the flank guards back in so they could take a short break before heading for home. Maxwell and Kirby were just moving forward to take security as the rest of the men began pulling out their canteens when suddenly, everyone froze. They had heard something in the distance.

"Tanks!" said the sergeant. "Caje, you're on me."

They quickly moved past Maxwell and Kirby. As the four men headed up a small rise, Krauts unexpectedly appeared at its top.

"HIT IT!" Saunders yelled as he and Caje opened fire.

"GRENADE!" yelled the scout as the potato masher flew over his head.

The grenade landed near Maxwell, sending shrapnel ripping through his body. Doc could see the look of surprise on his face just before he crumpled to the ground. A piece of shrapnel tore into Kirby's side. He let out a cry of pain as he, too, fell. Nelson, Littlejohn and Lydecker fired and advanced behind Caje and the Sarge until they crested the little rise.

It was over in a matter of seconds. There had been just a few soldiers, who now lay dead at the feet of the Americans. They had probably been scouting the flank for the rest of the infantry and the half dozen tanks moving across a far field almost parallel to the squad's route. But, already a squad of Krauts was running toward them.

The men quickly returned to where Doc was working on Kirby.

"Maxwell?" the sergeant asked.

The medic shook his head.

"How's Kirby?"

"Well, he's not walking out of here, Sarge. We'll need a litter."

Saunders quickly assessed the situation, looked at his men and gave his orders. "Caje, take the map and get Kirby home. Tell the lieutenant about the tanks. Littlejohn, the BAR. Lydecker, you're on me. We'll try to draw them off. Now move out."

Doc and Billy carried the unconscious Kirby while Littlejohn picked up the BAR. The men followed the Cajun deeper into the underbrush. They hugged the ground, trying to make themselves as small and invisible as possible.

The sergeant and Lydecker moved back to the crest. The Kraut squad had already reached the nearest field, more than half-way to their position.

"You ready?"

Lydecker gulped and then looked at his squad leader with determination. "Yes, Sergeant."

Saunders fired a short burst from the Thompson to get the Krauts' attention. Lydecker took careful aim and fired a single shot, hitting one member of the advancing enemy squad. The rest of the Germans spotted the Americans and opened fire as the sergeant and the private took off to the left, away from their hidden comrades.

They leapfrogged each other. First the sergeant stopped to fire a short burst as Lydecker continued to run. Then the private would stop and fire a few quick rounds while Saunders moved ahead. They kept the Krauts in sight; or rather they made sure the Krauts could see them. If the Germans closed too much, Lydecker would take careful aim and pick off the lead man. That tended to discourage them, but they didn't give up the chase.

The Krauts didn't bother to stop and aim, instead they fired as they ran. However, eventually, luck ran out for the Americans. Saunders was hit in the thigh. His cry of pain caused Joey to return to his squad leader's side. Lydecker aimed and picked off another German. He pulled Saunders to his feet. The NCO draped his arm over Joey's shoulder and the private grabbed his wrist. The sergeant clutched the Thompson tightly with his free hand and the two men took off in a limping three-legged run as fast as they could. They made it to the tree line of one of the denser devastated wooded areas. Lydecker steered the sergeant around the fallen tree tops, deep into the gloom created by the odd canopy until he reached a large rock. He settled the sergeant behind it and then crouched next to him.

The rest of the squad members listened to the sound of the Sarge's Tommy gun and Joey's rifle. The return fire by the Krauts came from further away, but was more intense than that of their two comrades. The men were torn by their desire to assist their squad mates and Saunders' orders to get Kirby the medical care he required and complete the mission.

After several minutes, the firing had moved far enough away that Caje cautiously crept forward, returning to their original position. He slithered up to the crest of the rise and surveyed the scene. The remainder of the Kraut infantry and the tanks had continued to move forward. The squad that had come to engage them was nowhere in sight. He quickly returned to his comrades.

The Cajun told Littlejohn and Billy to put together a litter while Doc tended to Kirby and he kept guard. The medic examined the wound, applied pressure to try to stop the bleeding, and liberally sprinkled on sulfa powder. Caje helped him tie a bandage around his friend's abdomen, but it was quickly soaked through with blood. Doc applied more pressure and then another bandage. That seemed to stop the bleeding, at least for the time being. Billy and Littlejohn returned with the litter and the men gently lifted Kirby onto it. He gave a low moan, but otherwise showed no sign of regaining consciousness.

"Are you gonna give him morphine?" Billy asked the medic, his voice full of concern.

"As long as he's unconscious he should be okay. Let's get going and Ah'll see how he does."

Littlejohn lengthened the strap on the BAR so it hung more comfortably across his shoulder and chest. Caje took the lead. Billy and Doc followed with the litter, and the big private brought up the rear.

The scout maintained a steady pace, but the group stopped frequently to rotate litter-bearers and for Doc to check on Kirby. They also had to repeatedly hide in the underbrush, fade into the woods, or change direction as more and more Krauts were moving up for an attack on the American lines. Each time, once the danger had passed, they picked up the litter and trudged on.

Finally, sometime after 0100, they staggered up to a sentry outpost and relative safety.

I got one! exclaimed the young German private. Did you see? He fell.

Yes, I saw, responded his sergeant.

The sergeant was having trouble pulling enough air into his lungs and didn't know how much longer he could maintain the pace. They had been running all out since they had seen their comrades fall at the crest of the rise.

Of his original squad, only four members remained. One of the Americans was a good shot. He felt no anger or hatred for that American, only admiration for his marksmanship. If his own soldiers followed the American's example, perhaps four of them wouldn't be dead or wounded.

As he watched the Americans move into the woods, the sergeant heard a groan. He turned and saw Mueller fall to his knees, his face flushed and sweaty from the exertion. Klein stopped beside him and bent over with his hands on his knees.

We can't go on without a rest, Sergeant, he panted.

Very well. Stay here until you catch your breath, then head back. Report to Lt. Neumann that Dietrich and I are still chasing the Americans.

Alright, Sergeant. Good luck!

Let's go, Dietrich, but slow down. It will be difficult to see in the woods, and I don't want to be surprised.

Dietrich, taking part in his first action, didn't want to slow down. He wanted to charge in after the Americans. He was excited from the chase, the adrenalin pumping through his veins. This was how he had imagined the war would be, the valiant German soldiers chasing the Americans all of the way back to the beach where they had landed. He was glad to finally be a part of the Fatherland's war effort.

Saunders looked at his thigh. "Give me your bayonet. Keep watch while I take care of this."

The sergeant made a cut in the fabric of his trousers, opening a gap over the wound on the outside of his right thigh, followed by a second cut across the bullet hole and toward the back of his leg. He pulled out the sulfa and bandages from his first aid kit and applied pressure. When the bleeding had stopped, he dressed the wounds, pulling the ends of the bandages as tightly as he could before tying them together.

"You see anything?" he quietly asked the private.

"No, nothing. How's the leg?"

Saunders' assessment of his wounds was based on what he had learned from personal experience. It was a shallow through-and-through, so the bone wasn't broken and he didn't have to worry about the bullet being lodged in his leg. That was good. No bright red blood was spurting out uncontrollably. That was good. Pressure had stopped the bleeding from both the entrance and exit wounds. That was good. It hurt like hell. That was to be expected.

"Not bad. We'll wait a while longer to be sure they've given up the chase."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Saunders figured they might be able to make it back to their lines before the barrage started. He could lean on Lydecker. There was still time.

After another ten minutes without seeing anything, Joey looked down at the NCO.

"Sergeant, Ah think they gave up. Do you want to try standing and maybe start back?"

"Yeah, give me a hand."

Lydecker slung his rifle over his shoulder and reached down with both hands. He pulled as Saunders pushed off with his good leg. Once he was standing, the NCO leaned his shoulder against the tall stump of a broken tree, keeping all of his weight on his left leg.

The sergeant closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Give me a minute," he said.

Joey took off his helmet and set it on the rock as he wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve. He pulled his canteen from its pouch, unscrewed the cap, and was just about to raise it to his lips when he heard a noise. He dropped the canteen and wheeled around, pulling the rifle from his shoulder and into firing position in one fluid motion.

Dietrich, go slowly. Look all around.

But, Sergeant, they're getting away.

One of them is wounded. They won't be traveling very fast. Move slowly and quietly.

The sergeant, unlike the hot-headed young private, was an experience soldier. He hadn't survived this long by taking foolish risks. They continued moving into the woods. At times the sergeant couldn't see more than half a dozen meters ahead. Then the line of sight would open up because of uprooted trees. They had just reached such an opening when he spotted the back of one of the Americans. Before he could tell Dietrich to hold his fire until they knew where the other enemy soldier was, the private had lifted his rifle. The American swung around, ready to fire. Dietrich's shot hit him and he took a staggering step back before continuing to fall backward to the ground.

You should have waited. Where's the other one?

I don't see him. He probably ran off, leaving his wounded comrade. Let's check this one. If he has a watch or rings, I want them. I shot him, so they should be mine. He started to move forward.

The sergeant grabbed the private's arm. Wait. Just look around for a minute. Let's be sure.

Satisfied that the other American was not in the area, the two Germans began making their way over and around the downed trees toward the spot where the soldier had fallen.

The bullet hit Joey. He stumbled backward into the sergeant and both of them toppled over a fallen tree top.

Saunders yanked his legs out from under Lydecker and pulled the Thompson off his shoulder. Clutching the weapon, he crawled slowly down the length of the shattered tree top. He could see the two Krauts talking and looking around. But, because they weren't taking advantage of any cover, he realized they hadn't seen him. They began to slowly move toward where Lydecker had fallen.

He waited patiently for them to get within range. Finally, when they were close enough, Saunders rose up...

Too late, the Kraut sergeant saw movement behind the branches. Dietrich never saw it, so intent was he on claiming the spoils of war.

…and raked the Krauts with a long burst from his Tommy gun.

The Kraut sergeant was dead before he hit the ground. Dietrich was shot several times and also fell where he stood. His last thought was, 'This isn't how it's supposed to be.'

Saunders struggled to get to his feet. He limped over to the bodies, checking to make sure they were both dead. He dreaded the walk back to Lydecker, sure that he would find the young soldier dead as well.

However, Joey gave a small moan as Saunders placed his hand on the private's shoulder. He checked the wound. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed his side. After getting out Lydecker's first aid supplies, the sergeant applied pressure and the bleeding quickly stopped. Then he dressed the wound.

But, Lydecker was still unconscious. There had only been the one shot from the Krauts, so the NCO felt the back of the private's head. When he pulled his hand back, blood was on his fingers. He rolled Joey onto his side and saw the rock as well as the cut and developing goose egg on the back of the kid's head.

Satisfied that Lydecker had just hit his head when he fell, Saunders limped back to the dead Germans and searched them for any first aid supplies. The Kraut sergeant had two field dressings and the private contributed one, all of which he added to his own depleted first aid kit.

'We'll need all the water we can get,' he thought as he pulled the water skins off the dead soldiers.

When he was finished, he returned to Lydecker and sat down beside him. He cleaned the head wound and used one of the Kraut dressings to bandage it. Then he picked up the canteen Joey had dropped, filled it with water from a Kraut water skin and slipped it back onto Joey's web belt. He filled his own canteen with what was left in the skin.

When Lydecker awoke, it was already evening. He saw the sergeant sitting against a tree with his helmet tilted down, apparently dozing. But, as soon as he started to move, Saunders pushed his helmet back and was at his side.

"How're you feeling?"

"Like Ah got run over by a deuce-and-a-half. What happened? Did Ah get shot?"

"Just grazed. Two of the Krauts followed us into the woods. You hit your head when you fell."

"Sorry, Ah should've been more careful." Joey slowly sat up and felt the back of his head.

"All the rain the past few days muffled their steps. They just snuck up on us," the sergeant said. "Here," he handed Lydecker the second water skin, "take a good long drink."

When Joey was through, the NCO finished off the Kraut canteen. Saunders picked up Lydecker's rifle and handed it and the bayonet to him. With a grimace, the private struggled to stand as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He grabbed his helmet from the rock and then once again reached down and offered a hand to Saunders, pulling the sergeant to his feet. The NCO put his arm over Lydecker's shoulder and Joey grabbed his wrist.

They took their first tentative steps. "Okay, soldier, let's go home," the sergeant said.

For Saunders, every step with his right foot sent pain racing down his leg to his ankle and up into his hip. He couldn't tell if he had started bleeding again and he didn't want to stop and check. 'Just keep moving,' he repeated over and over to himself.

Joey helped his sergeant as best he could. All the while he continued to experience waves of dizziness.

The two men had to constantly hid and change direction to avoid being seen by the Krauts.

Gradually the NCO's energy flagged and he began to trip and drag his foot. Then he would rally and make it another hundred yards or so before the process repeated itself. Finally, he stopped.

"Lydecker, let's rest for a minute. There might be a stone wall when we reach the end of this field." The NCO didn't want to sit all the way down on the ground for fear he wouldn't be able to get back up.

It was a struggle, but they finally made it to a wall. Joey checked the sergeant's thigh and, after applying pressure to stop the bleeding, Saunders handed him a Kraut bandage.

"How's your head?" the sergeant asked.

Lydecker gingerly reached under his helmet and gave a grimace. "Ah've got a doozy of a headache, but Ah'll live.

They both drank thirstily from their canteens and rested while Saunders pondered their options.

If those two Krauts hadn't caught them, they might have made it back before the barrage, but now, at twilight, not a chance. When the artillery opened up, Saunders didn't want to be caught in the woods where they would be in danger not only from the exploding shells, but also from wood splinters as what was left of the trees was ripped apart.

However, out in the open they'd need a foxhole and would be more visible to the Krauts. Even if they could dig one deep enough with only the bayonet and their helmets, he didn't think he would be able to get himself out of it, even with Lydecker's help.

He looked over at the private. The kid had his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. Saunders figured he was fighting the nausea and dizziness that often accompanied a knock on the head. He didn't know how much more either of them could take. He struggled to his feet.

"C'mon, Joey. Let's get moving."

The sergeant had never called him Joey before. Lydecker looked up into Saunders' intense blue eyes and saw the grim determination that would be needed if they were going to survive. He stood and the two men resumed their slow, painful journey.

At last Saunders found what he had been looking for, a large up-rooted tree on the very edge of a wooded area. The depression in the earth the roots had left when they were forcibly yanked from the ground was fairly deep, with a downward slope until it ran into what was left of the gigantic root ball.

The NCO told Lydecker to use his bayonet to hack off some branches from the tree. In the meantime, he slid down the incline. Using his helmet to scoop out the loose dirt, he made the hole against the root ball long enough and wide enough for both men to lie down.

Joey dragged the branches to the edge of the incline and started pushing them down toward Saunders. He was just about ready to head down himself when they heard the first rumble of artillery fire. It was 0200; the battle was beginning. Lydecker slid down to join the NCO.

"What now, Sergeant?"

"Take another drink an' then we hunker down for the rest of the night."

As they drank, the shelling already seemed to be coming closer, although Saunders knew it would be a while before it reached them.

"Lydecker, get over as close as you can to the root ball and lie down so you're comfortable. Pull your helmet down over your eyes."

Once Joey was situated, Saunders pulled the branches over them as he positioned himself on his side so there was no pressure on his wounded thigh. He lay against the private, protecting him with his own body as much as possible. After he tilted his helmet over his eyes and pulled the Thompson in close, he spoke to the young soldier.

"Lydecker, after the barrage, these branches should camouflage us enough so that any Krauts passing by won't see us. If you hear German voices, you need to be quiet an' keep still."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"But, if you hear English, make a ruckus," he said with a little chuckle.

"Yes, Sergeant."

They listened as the shelling slowly 'walked' toward them. Saunders knew that King Company should be moving up behind the barrage and, hopefully, if they survived the night, the Krauts would have retreated beyond their position. Although they each tried to remain alert, eventually either from fatigue, or pain, or blood loss, or a combination of all three, the two soldiers passed out.

Neither heard the shrieks of the 105s and the explosions surrounding them as the shells pounded the fields and woods, nor the ensuing battle.

##########

"Sergeant, are you awake?" Lydecker asked softly.

"Yeah…Yeah, I'm awake," I replied groggily.

"Ah've been listening for about half an hour. It seems quiet."

I listen, too. Lydecker was right, it is quiet, eerily so.

"I'll check it out. Stay here."

I drag myself out from under the branches and then slowly up the incline, gripping the Thompson, until I can just see over the rim of our make-shift foxhole. There are no signs of movement, so I pull myself up a little higher. Now I can see the craters where artillery shells had exploded. On the other side of the field is a Kraut tank, still smoldering. Between my position and the tank, I spot fallen soldiers from both sides, but there is no movement and no noise.

I look down at the private. "Our guys made it past this point. We'll continue back and run into the rear guard mopping up and medics."

Lydecker struggles to make his way up the side of depression.

"How's your head," I ask.

The kid bit his lip and then said, "Ah'll manage."

Once we are out, I lean against the fallen tree and Lydecker uses the last of the bandages on my thigh wounds. We drink the last of the water and eat some crackers I had in a pocket of my field jacket.

When we finish, I drape my arm over his shoulder and we resume walking. This time, however, we keep close to the edge of the woods, on the lookout for any sign of troops in the fields. If they are American we will call to them. If they aren't, we will slip into the woods. We make slow progress, with no immediate salvation in sight.

But, it isn't long before Joey stops. "Sergeant, mah head is killing me. Ah can't go on."

"Put your arm across my shoulder. You can make it."

We continue on, with me supporting more and more of Joey's weight, adding not only to my own physical pain, but my mental anguish.

I mumble, "Please stand up, Joey. Please stand up…I'll get ya home kid, but ya gotta stand up. Ya gotta help me. I can't do it alone. Please, kid, please stand up."

#####

I snuck a quick peek at the big clock hanging above the front door of Martin's Hardware Store. Only ten more minutes and it would be noon. I smiled to myself. It was going to be a great day.

"Chip, it's almost closing time," called Mr. Martin. "Finish stocking that shelf and let's call it a day."

"Yes, Sir."

I didn't rush. I carefully finished the job and returned the excess boxes of nails and screws to their proper place in the storeroom. Then I grabbed the broom and did a quick sweep of the aisles and the front of the store. When I finished, I went up to the counter where Mr. Martin was waiting.

"You boys practicing this afternoon for the big game?"

"Yes, Sir. We're gonna be ready for those Wheaton Grocery Wild Cats."

"I know you will. You boys make me proud when I see 'Martin's Hardware Store' on the back of your shirts. You're the best team I've ever sponsored."

"Thanks, Mr. Martin. We won't let you down."

"Well, let's settle up for the week." Mr. Martin always went through the same routine, listing the hours I had worked and counting out my pay. "One hour after school, Monday through Friday. That's fifty cents. Four hours on Saturday. That's forty cents. Here you go Chip, ninety cents."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Martin."

I carefully put the money into my trouser pocket. This, plus my paper route let me give $1.40 to Mom each week, money that was sorely needed to help support the family since Dad's death almost two years ago. I turned to leave when Mr. Martin called me back.

"Chip, you've been doing a really good job for me. I know you give all your pay to your mother, so here's an extra dime, just for you."

"Gosh thanks, Mr. Martin! That's sure swell of you."

A whole dime! I thought about what I could do with this sudden windfall. 'Maybe I could get barber poles (2) for my brothers and sister. I'd like to get something really special for Mom, but what? Everything is so expensive.' Then it came to me. 'A bar of Camay soap (3) is only six cents and it's "the soap for beautiful woman!" That would be perfect!'

"Thanks again, Mr. Martin!" I ran out the door and down the street toward home.

Ordinarily I would have my bike, but Robbie was using it today. My younger brother wanted to ride the paper route during the day. He said it would be easier to learn it that way. Once Robbie had the route down so he didn't miss any customers, I planned on turning it over to him.

Then I would see if I could switch my time at the hardware store from late afternoon to early morning. I didn't think Mr. Martin would mind if I stocked the shelves and swept up before the store opened instead of after it closed. That way, I could get a job at the grocery store after school. I was sure Mom would approve, as long as I kept my grades up.

The thing was, I wanted to try out for the Junior Varsity baseball team this year. If I made the team, I would have to work after practice. Mom might not like that. But, I probably wouldn't make the team. Even though I give 110%, I'm just not as athletic as some of the other guys.

All those thoughts were running through my head as I raced home.

Robbie was in the side yard tinkering with the bike. "Chip, I can't get the chain back on."

I stopped and showed my brother how to slip the chain back over the cogs. I almost wiped my greasy hands on my trousers when I finished, but caught myself just in time. I left my brother and bolted up the porch steps, yanking the kitchen door open with my greasy hand. I didn't bother to close it as I ran into the house.

"MOM, I'M HOME!" I yelled.

Mom would have my lunch ready, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. Then, the rest of the afternoon would be mine.

"MOM, I'M HOME! MOM!" I yelled again as I stopped in the kitchen to wash my hands.

"Momma's not here," said Joey, younger brother number two.

"Well, where is she, Runt?"

"She had to do an error for the church. She took Chris an' Louise with her an' you're s'posed to watch me 'til she gets back."

"That's errand, not error, Runt, and I can't watch you 'cause the guys are coming to get me for practice. The big game's tomorrow!"

I left the kitchen and raced up the stairs to my bedroom, stretching to take the steps two at a time. I quickly changed into an old pair of dungarees and a less than clean shirt I pulled from under my bed. I carefully removed my pay from the trouser pocket and put it into the tin box I kept in the top drawer of my bureau. The extra dime I slipped into the front pocket of my dungarees. I grabbed my glove and returned to the stairs, sliding down the banister. Joey was waiting for me when I hopped off and he followed me into the kitchen.

"Momma said you an' Robbie are s'posed to watch me!" he declared.

"Well, then let Robbie do it."

"I CAN'T," yelled Robbie from the yard. "I'VE BEEN WATCHING HIM SINCE MOMMA LEFT AN' I'M READY TO RIDE THE PAPER ROUTE. IT'S YOUR TURN TO WATCH THE RUNT!"

"C'MON, ROBBIE! YOU KNOW I GOTTA GO TO PRACTICE," I yelled back.

I really tried hard not to complain. I was the oldest, so I tried to always act mature, but this wasn't fair. Mom knew how important the big game was to me. Just this once, couldn't I go with the guys without having one of the kids tagging along?

I saw the note Mom had left. It said she would be back no later than 12:15. It was already 12:25.

I opened the icebox and took out a bottle of milk. My sandwich was lying on the counter, cut diagonally, just the way I liked it. I crammed half of one side into my mouth and picked up the milk bottle, taking a big swig to wash the sandwich down.

"Momma says you're not s'posed to drink from the bottle. I'm gonna tell!"

"You do, Runt, an' I won't buy you any candy with the dime Mr. Martin gave me." I pulled the shiny coin out of my pocket and showed it to Joey.

"Wow! Mr. Martin give ya that!"

"Yup, an' I was gonna buy you a barber pole, but maybe now I won't."

"I won't tell, Chip, honest."

"Well, see that you don't, ya little runt."

I finished the rest of my sandwich and half of the quart of milk. It was 12:30. The guys should be coming. I left the milk on the counter and headed outside to wait for my friends. Robbie was still in the yard, fooling with the chain. Down the street I saw my teammates coming.

"Look, Robbie, the guys are here. Mom should be home any minute. Just stay until she comes an' watch the Runt."

"But you said…"

"Just do it, Robbie. I gotta go."

"Chip, I wanna go with you."

"No, Runt. Stay home."

I ran across the street to join my friends. They were already talking about the game against the Wheaton Grocery Wild Cats and how "we were gonna beat the pants off 'em." I fell in beside Tommy, my best friend. Tommy gave me a shove and we threw feigned punches at each other. Matt, our pitcher and the best athlete on the team, was tossing the ball in the air and then turning to catch it behind his back. Pete, Davey and Bobby made up the rest of the group.

We crossed Walnut Street and continued our boisterous chatter and horseplay as we walked down Grove. Halfway to the next corner, Matt again tossed the ball in the air and turned to catch it behind his back.

"Hey, Chip, your little brother is followin' us."

I turned around and saw Joey, a grin on his face, as he ran to catch up with his big brother. I looked at my friends and sighed in annoyance. They were always teasing me about being a nursemaid, even Tommy, and here was Joey, tagging along, again.

"Joey, what're you doing here? Go on home."

"I wanna stay with you."

"I told you to stay home. Go on back. You're always taggin' after me. I told you to stay home." I muttered to myself, "Why do I always have to take care of you!?"

"Please, Chip…"

I looked at my friends; they were grinning. I squatted down to talk to my little brother so the guys couldn't hear. "Look, Runt, if you go home, I'll play a game of checkers with you tonight."

"Five games!"

"Three games. Now, go!home!"

I momentarily thought about walking back with the Runt, but the guys were watching and waiting.

"C'mon nursemaid, you're holdin' us up," one of them said, and the rest of the fellas all laughed.

"Yeah, nursemaid, c'mon!" Tommy said.

Joey turned around and ran down the sidewalk, headed for home. I gave a sheepish grin as I rejoined my friends. We continued walking toward the ball field. A moment later, we heard the screech of tires. The guys all turned and looked at me. I felt my heart fall to the pit of my stomach as I dropped my glove and ran back toward the corner.

Lying in the middle of the street was Joey. A few people had already gathered.

"You all saw it. He ran right in front of me…I couldn't stop…You all saw…"

"Poor little boy…" "Somebody should've been watching him…"

I ran to Joey's side and knelt, putting my hands on his little shoulders.

"Please get up. Please, Joey…You're gonna be alright...Please get up, Joey…Please get up…I'll get ya home…It's gonna be fine…But ya gotta get up, ya gotta help me…I can't do it alone…Please get up… C'mon, Joey…I'll get ya home…I'll get ya home…"

"That must be his brother…" "They look just alike…" "Poor kid…"

A policeman arrived. He gently put his hands under my armpits and lifted me so I was standing over the body of my brother. I looked up at the officer, tears streaming down my cheeks. I looked toward the corner where my friends should be, but they had all disappeared.

"It's okay, son. We'll take care of him. Let's get you home," the policeman said sympathetically.

But, all I could hear was my father's soft voice telling me, "…Being a man means taking care of your family…" and all I could think of was Joey's crumpled body and the promise I had broken.

#####

Lydecker is unconscious. The only thing that keeps him from falling to the ground is my grip on the wrist that is draped over my shoulder. I stop and look around. There is no place to sit him down.

"Typical France, never a stone wall around when you want one," I chuckle grimly to myself. If I lay him on the ground, I know I will never be able to get him up. I close my eyes.

"It's gonna be fine…I'll get ya home, Joey."

I tighten my grip on Joey's wrist as I turn to face him. I crouch down and release my hold so he falls into my shoulder as I slip my right arm behind his knees. Then, grunting with the effort, I straighten up. I sway slightly, but regain my balance. I shift his position a bit, moving him higher on my shoulder so his head falls forward instead of lolling off to the side.

Carrying Joey as if he is a small child, I take a half step forward then drag my right leg…half step …drag…half step…drag…

"It's gonna be fine…I'll get ya home, Joey."

#####

Finally, I spot some soldiers. I holler, "MEDIC!…MEDIC!" but my call for help sounds faint, even to me.

The soldiers look up, bringing their rifles to bear. But, instead of firing, the cry is again raised, this time loud and strong, "MEDIC!…MEDIC!"

Two men take Joey from my arms and lay him on the ground.

A medic bends over him. "He's alive…get a litter."

I stand, swaying slightly, my face grimy with sweat and dirt, staring down at my brother's crumpled body.

The medic moves from him to me. "Sit down, Sergeant, and let me take a look at that leg." He rips my pant leg open and cuts off the dirty bandage, exposing the swollen, discolored and bloody thigh.

I look at the medic. "Joey?"

"He's gonna be okay, Sergeant. Ya got him home. Just relax, we'll take it from here."

Tears fill my eyes as I whisper, "I got him home, Daddy. I got Joey home an' he's gonna be fine."

##########

When Lydecker awoke, the sun was already filtering through the leaves on the branches that covered the two men. He froze in place, afraid to move. He listened, but heard nothing other than the ragged breathing and occasional mumbling of his sergeant. No artillery, no small arms fire, no voices. He lay quietly until he felt Saunders start to stir.

"Sergeant, are you awake?"

"Yeah," came the groggy reply. Saunders shook his head and blinked several times, trying to clear his mind. 'Shit!' he thought, 'Another damn dream about Joey. Well, at least this one had a good ending.'

"It's real quiet…Ah'm gonna take a look."

Joey gripped his rifle and crawled over the sergeant, eliciting a sharp inhalation of breath from the NCO as his leg brushed Saunders' wounded thigh. At the lip of their make-shift foxhole he carefully lifted his head and looked around. The remnants of the battle littered the field, but there was no apparent movement.

"What do you see," Saunders quietly asked.

"There's some bodies…ours an' theirs…Ah can make out a tank across the field…It's facing toward our lines, so it might be theirs, but there's smoke coming out of it…Ah don't see any movement anywhere."

Saunders dragged himself up the slope. He surveyed the damage for several minutes as he considered their options. The silence was eerie when compared to how loud it must have been earlier. He had expected to see soldiers, from one side or the other, but hopefully Americans, combing through the remnants of the combat, looking for survivors. The lack of them told him that although the fighting was over in this small portion of the battlefield, it still raged somewhere. All the mop-up troops were probably engaged there. That meant they were still on their own.

The NCO gave a weary sigh. "Alright, let's get out of this hole."

Lydecker helped his sergeant up and they moved to the trunk of the up-rooted tree. Saunders leaned against it as the private checked his thigh. Blood was still oozing from the wounds. The NCO handed him the last of the Kraut bandages and Joey applied pressure, trying to stop the bleeding. Then he tied the dressing as tightly as he could.

"How's your head?" Saunders asked.

Joey touched the goose egg and winced a little. "It would be alright if mah helmet didn't keep knocking against it," he replied with a little smile.

Saunders pulled out his canteen and drained it. "Go over to a couple of those bodies an' get their first aid supplies an' their canteens."

Lydecker hesitated, not much liking the idea of robbing the dead.

As if the sergeant had read his mind, he said, "If it was you lying there, would you care?"

Joey shook his head and set out on his grim task. He pulled the canteen off the first soldier he came to and then rolled the man over. He gave a gasp and stumbled backward. Saunders immediately raised the Tommy gun, but held his fire as Lydecker returned to the corpse and removed the bandages and sulfa, stuffing them into his own first aid pouch. He moved on to a second soldier and repeated the process before returning to the sergeant.

"You okay?" Saunders asked.

"It was the private who was on sentry duty when we returned from mah first mission, remember. Ah didn't think it would be anybody Ah knew."

'Thurber, the tall, red-headed Texan from Third Squad,' the sergeant thought. 'Our own platoon; I wonder who else is lying out there.'

The NCO took the offered supplies and replaced his empty canteen with a full one.

"Lydecker, help me get over by that stump so I can sit down an' lean back against it. Then, head for our lines. Keep to the tree line where you can so you can move into the woods if you spot any Krauts. When you make it, send help back for me."

Rule number three, 'When a sergeant gives an order, you obey it immediately, no questions asked,' flashed through Joey's mind, but he dismissed it. "Sergeant, Ah think we'd best stick together. Mah head's really hurting and Ah don't think Ah can find mah way back alone."

Saunders looked at the young soldier. He knew the kid could find his way back with his eyes closed. "Okay, Joey, we'll give it a try an' see how far we get."

Initially there had been some conversation between the two soldiers, but for the last half hour neither had said a word. Lydecker's head was pounding and Saunders' leg had gone from shooting pain with each step to numbness. He was dragging the useless limb and shifting more and more of his weight onto Joey in the process.

Finally, the private said, "Sergeant, let's take a break. You're bleeding again."

They hobbled over to a large rock and Lydecker eased the NCO down. He removed the blood-soaked bandage and put pressure on the wounds before applying sulfa and a fresh dressing. Saunders took a long drink and passed the canteen to the young soldier. Joey shook his head. He had been feeling more and more nauseous and he knew if he took a drink, it would only be worse.

"Look, Lydecker, you've done the best you can. Now, you've got to continue on alone."

"Sergeant, honest, Ah can't. Mah head's hurting so bad that Ah can hardly see straight. Maybe we should just wait here."

Saunders considered their predicament for a moment. The kid must have hit his head harder than he had originally thought and his leg…He didn't know how the battle was going, so there was still the chance the Krauts would be the ones who found them if they waited. He didn't relish falling into their hands wounded. And, how long could they wait without medical attention, another hour, another day?

"Okay, we'll give it one more try. Maybe together we can make it. Hang your helmet from your bayonet. That might help your head. An' I'll do the looking around. You just watch where you're putting your feet. It's gonna be fine…we'll make it home, Joey"

Sgt. Cole and what was left of First Platoon Charlie Company had collapsed under what was left of a grove of trees. His platoon had held Charlie Company's left flank next to King Company as they advanced behind the artillery. The sergeant considered himself lucky. Only two men from his squad had been wounded and they would both return to fight another day. They had finally been pulled out of action, replaced by Dog Company. Once the men ate their K-rations, they would begin mopping up and then hold a forward position until the line was straightened.

Cole had just finished lighting a cigarette when the soldier on security called to him. He swung his rifle off his shoulder as he crouched and moved up to the guard. An instant later, the cigarette fell from his lips as he yelled, "MEDIC!…MEDIC!" and took off running.

When the Charlie Company men reach the two soldiers, the sergeant gently removed Saunders' arm from Lydecker's shoulder. The medic held the other one as they laid him down.

"Sergeant, what outfit ya with?" Cole asked.

"Outfit…King Company…361st."

"Bates, get on the horn an' notify King Company that we got two of their men."

Lydecker sank to his knees beside his sergeant. He closed his eyes and, holding his aching head, weakly said, "Sergeant, we made it home, just like you said we would."

"Yeah, Joey, we finally made it home." Saunders closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

The initial battle turned into almost two weeks of continuous fighting, pushing back the Krauts where they had broken through and cleaning out defensive positions where machine gun nests maintained a commanding field of fire. But, at last the brutal struggle was over and the Americans were able to straighten their lines, tend to their wounded and count their dead. It had been a costly battle, for both sides. The only consolation for the Americans was that they had once again been able to move closer to a final victory, if only by a mile or two.

King Company was in the thick of the fighting for much of that week as the company was sent back in to plug a hole in the line after the initial assault. The remaining men of Second Platoon's First Squad had had little time to think about the fate of their wounded comrades. Although Lydecker had returned, he was still on light duty.

Now, at last, another company had leap-frogged over them and Lt. Hanley was told to set up a CP in a farm near a small French village whose name he would forget as soon as they moved forward again.

The men of First Squad entered the barn, too tired to do anything but take off their packs and collapse where they stood. So, it was a surprise when a familiar silhouette appeared in the open door.

"WILLIAM G. KIRBY IS BACK AN' YOU LUCKY BUMS GOT HIM," the BAR man shouted.

All the bone-weariness was momentarily forgotten as the men jumped up to surround their comrade with boisterous greetings.

"How are you doing, mon ami?" Caje asked. "I might have known you'd wait until de fighting was done before you showed up," he added with a laugh.

"Kirby, you sure you're ready to come back?" Doc asked.

"Well, ya know, they can't keep ol' Kirby down for long."

"Were you back at battalion aid?" asked Billy.

"Yeah. Ya should see all the nurses there. There was this one…"

"Never mind that," Littlejohn said impatiently. "Did you see the Sarge? That's where he's supposed to be."

"Yeah, I seen him, but only the last two days. He was out of it when he was brought in an' I couldn't get in to see him. Course, I wasn't so good myself at first."

"How's he doing?" asked the medic.

"Aw, Doc, I ain't no medic. He was conscious an' talkin' the last time I seen 'im." Kirby laughed. "He thought he'd get released with me, but he ain't even been allowed outta bed yet."

Having satisfied themselves that their NCO was on the mend, and with Kirby back in the fold, the men returned to their most pressing need, sleep.

The next day Doc and Joey headed back to battalion aid with the hope that Lydecker would be released to active duty and that they would be able to see their sergeant for themselves.

The medic and the young soldier walked in the front door of the converted girls school and took off their helmets as they looked around. They saw a private sitting behind a desk that was shoved into a corner of the small lobby and decided to start there to find out where Saunders was located.

"He's…" the clerk leafed through his notebook, "upstairs, room 215."

"Thanks, buddy."

They climbed the stairs and walked down the hall until they found Room 215. It had been a classroom, but now fourteen cots were crammed into the space, seven along opposite walls with an aisle down the middle. In each cot was a soldier with a leg wound. However, it wasn't hard for them to spot the Sarge; they would recognize that mop of golden hair anywhere.

They quietly approached. Saunders appeared to have fallen asleep while reading. His eyes were closed and his right arm was thrown casually over his head. In his left hand he clutched a book. All of the tension was gone from his face, and, once again, Doc remembered how young the Sarge really was. 'But,' he thought, 'aren't we all.'

They looked around for chairs and, not finding any, were about to leave when they heard his familiar voice.

"Doc, is that you?" followed by the concern, "Is everyone alright?"

"Yeah, Sarge. Everyone's fine. We just got off the line and Ah brought Joey in to get released for active duty."

The sergeant looked around, spotted Lydecker and acknowledged his presence. "What about Kirby?"

"Oh, he's fine. He got discharged and came back yesterday."

Saunders chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I know that. There's a chair behind the door. Get it so I can sit up. I'm getting tired of lying on my backside."

Joey fetched the chair.

Doc looked skeptical. "Kirby said you weren't allowed out of bed."

Saunders pushed aside the blanket and started to swing his legs over the side of the cot when an older nurse, tall and with a no-nonsense appearance, materialized in the doorway holding a tray of bandages, rolls of gauze, and tape.

"AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? Don't you DARE put that foot down on the floor! I haven't nursed you for the past two week to see you throw away all my hard work. GET BACK INTO BED!"

The sergeant actually blushed. "Yes, Ma'am."

The nurse strode toward the three soldiers, turning her gaze to Doc, "And you call yourself a medic, standing there watching!"

"Ah…well, Ah…"

"He's not to put any weight on that leg…understand!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

With that, she whirled around, marched down the aisle and began changing the bandage on another wounded soldier.

Doc turned to his sergeant and was surprised to see him grinning.

"She takes a little getting used to," Saunders said.

Doc fell into the chair Joey had brought, like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. Saunders laughed.

"You okay, Doc? Maybe you should lie down."

Doc shook himself. "Nah, Ah'm fine. Is she always like that?"

"Yeah, pretty much. She's got a lot of men to keep in line…Joey, how's your head?"

"It's okay now, Sergeant. No more headaches."

Doc thought the two men might want to talk in private, so he said, "Ah'm gonna get some supplies. Ah'll be back in a bit."

Once Doc had left, Saunders quietly said, "I remember us walking, but the rest is a little hazy. What happened?"

Joey pulled the chair a little closer and sat down. "We walked until some soldiers from Charlie Company found us."

"But, how did you manage? You were hurt yourself an' I wasn't any help."

"Actually, Sergeant, you were. You kept saying, 'It's gonna be fine…we'll make it home, Joey,' and other things to encourage me. Even though mah head was really hurting and Ah was so nauseous and dizzy that Ah couldn't even think straight, hearing that kept me going."

Neither man spoke for a moment. Then Lydecker added, "It's funny, but sometimes Ah thought you were talking to somebody else, but we were the only ones there, so Ah know Ah imagined it. Ah was pretty out of it."

Saunders didn't know which Joey he had talked to, and in the end, it didn't matter. The sergeant looked at the young soldier. "Yeah, I guess we both were. But, we managed to get back…an' that's not a dream."

When the medic returned, the three soldiers talked for a few minutes about the recent action. The two visitors were getting ready to leave when Saunders handed Joey the book he had been reading.

"I just finished this. It's a good story…I think you'd like it."

Joey grinned. "Thanks, Sergeant."

"Well, Joey, let's go find a doctor and get you back on active duty," the medic said.

After saying good-bye to Saunders and getting Lydecker's paperwork signed, the two men burst through the front doors of the temporary hospital into a beautiful early summer day.

"How did you think the Sarge looked?" asked Doc as they stood for a moment on the steps enjoying the sunshine.

"He looked good. A little pale, but well rested."

"Yeah, he seemed at peace," Doc replied.

"At peace? With what?" asked Joey.

The medic chuckled. "Ah don't know why Ah said that. You're right, he looked well rested."

(1) 'No Trumpets No Drums' from season two of "Combat!"

(2) In the early 1930's, a penny would buy a stick of hard candy at the drug store. This striped candy, known as barber poles, candy sticks, or stick candy, depending on the part of the country where it was being sold, wasn't wrapped, but instead was kept in glass jars with lids, usually by the cash register. The sticks were four to seven inches long and a quarter to a half an inch in diameter. They came in a variety of flavors, depending on the color of the stripe.

(3) Camay, a scented hand and body soap, was introduced in 1926 by Procter & Gamble. While most of the soap of that era was colored to hide impurities, Camay was white. It was marketed as 'the soap for beautiful women.'