This is a Christmas Challenge entry from the "Combat!" fanfiction site! Hope you enjoy it!
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Chip Saunders turned up the collar of his field jacket and hunkered down into its meager warmth; the gesture having little effect. The frigid winter wind still managed to finagle its way through the lightweight fabric, past the GI shirt and the undershirt beneath to chill the sergeant to the bone. At least he could still shiver. That was something at least.
Only days before Christmas and Saunders had only just now given it any thought. He wished he'd saved up some of his smokes to pass out among the squad, but his stash of Luckys had been gone for a week now. Being cold was one thing; being without tobacco when you'd come to rely on it, to tame the shakes, take the edge off hunger, and a dozen other reasons, was suffering in its worst form, that and the loneliness. He'd never get used to missing home, and at Christmas….
Shaking off the cold and thoughts of cigarettes and family, Saunders got to his feet. He felt stiff all over, but a brisk walk to check on his squad, two men to each foxhole hacked out of the frozen ground, would work out the kinks.
"Sergeant!"
The voice belonged to Lieutenant Hanley. Saunders turned to greet the officer.
"Yes, sir. What's up?"
Hanley grinned. It actually looked as though the expression physically hurt, which it probably did. Like the rest of King Company, the lieutenant's lips were badly chapped and split by the dry cold. Saunders hesitated to return the smile. He liked to keep pain to a minimum. But when Hanley handed him a package, a Christmas package by the looks of the paper beneath the torn outer covering, the sergeant forgot the possibility of pain and a rare grin lit his features. Thoughts of home returned.
"Thanks…thanks, Lieutenant, but I thought no mail was getting through…how?"
"Don't ask me about miracles, Saunders. That's the chaplain's forte. I'm just the delivery boy." Hanley turned to leave. "But Sergeant, if there's cookies in that package…"
Saunders nodded. "You'll be first in line, Lieutenant."
Saunders walked back to his foxhole, but couldn't bring himself to settle down into the small dark pit. Instead, he sat on a log at the hole's edge and looked, really looked, at the package. The outer wrapping had been badly damaged in transit; all that remained legible was Saunders name, rank and serial number, and King Company.
"Must be from Mom," he figured aloud before carefully unwrapping the package. He took his time, undoing each knot in the string which secured the brown paper, working each piece of cellophane tape free of the red and green Christmas paper beneath. A great gust of bitterly cold wind caused him to pause just as he'd gotten the smallish box opened. The wind caused his eyes to water and it was several moments before he was able to proceed with his package.
There was no note inside and no card. But inside the box was yet another box. Saunders opened this and was shocked at its contents. It was a man's watch, but not just a watch. It was a Waltham, not gold, and not silver, but having it meant more to Chip Saunders than almost any other gift he might've received. The watch had belonged to Grady Long! He would've recognized it anywhere, even without turning it over to read the scripted initials engraved on the back. GPL, the P standing for Philip. Grady had been so proud of that watch. It had belonged to Grady's Dad and the young BAR man had valued it above rubies. Saunders had been the one to remove the Waltham from Grady's wrist after his death, to be returned home with Long's other possessions.
Tears stung Saunders' eyes, but this time they weren't caused by the biting cold, but by this touching gift and his realization of how much he still missed Grady, dead these many long months.
He searched again through the wrapping, even taking the watch out of the box and checking behind it for a note, for something to tell him who might have sent him so precious a gift.
"Lookin' for this, Sarge?"
Kirby's voice, coming as it did from out of nowhere, startled Saunders. He swore under his breath, but caught himself before actually getting mad at the private. It wasn't Kirby's fault Saunders was too preoccupied to hear his approach. In fact, he thought of thanking Kirby for snapping him out of his dangerous reverie. In the middle of a war zone was not the place to suddenly become deaf and dumb.
Kirby held out a small slip of folded paper, grinning as if he'd just found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. "Wind musta blowed it away."
Saunders reached out a shaky hand to take the proffered bit. "Yeah, Kirby, I was lookin' for that. Thanks."
Kirby just stood there, still grinning from ear to ear. Saunders raised an eyebrow. "Do anything for you, Private?"
"Uh, gee, no, Sarge. Um, I'll just let you alone so's you can read your letter an' all."
Saunders waited a moment until Kirby walked off before turning his attention back to the note.
Dear Chip, I hope you don't mind if I call you, Chip. Grady told us so much about you, what a good sergeant you were and what a fine friend to him. I know Grady would have wanted you to have his father's watch. Please accept it with love. Stay safe, Chip. God bless and Merry Christmas. Mrs. Olivia Long.
Removing his old watch from his wrist, Saunders fastened Grady Long's in place. Suddenly, the cold's effects were negligible and even the loneliness seemed less hurtful. Warmth spread through Saunders, warmth having nothing to do with woolen socks or a winter coat, but which was just as physically affecting. He smiled.
"Merry Christmas, Grady," he whispered. "And thanks."