Combat! is owned by ABC TV. This story is meant only for the enjoyment of Combat! fans, with no intention to infringe on any copyrights, and no monetary compensation has been received.
Most of you know this as the standard song everyone sings on New Year's Eve. But its origin is an old Scottish poem by Robert Burns. It roughly translates as 'For the Sake of Old Times.'
It's a story of two friends catching up over a drink or two, their friendship having been a long one, but occasionally a distant one.
So here's my story of two friends closing the distance on their friendship, if even for only a brief time. Hope you enjoy it.
AULD LANG SYNE
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
in days of auld lang syne?
We two have paddled in the stream
from morning sun til dine.
But seas between us broad have roared,
since auld lang syne.
-Robert Burns, 1788
CHAPTER 1
Saunders was cold. Not just sweater weather cold. This was a mind-numbing, bone-chilling cold. He'd known that this was a bad idea, but he also knew that he had to do it. He just needed to work quickly, and hope that he'd survive.
"Bucking for a Section 8?" a familiar voice called out. "I think every soldier in second platoon is betting on when you'll freeze solid. I know I've got my bet down."
Saunders squinted through the stream of soap running down his face. "Couldn't stand myself anymore, Lieutenant. Even the lice didn't want to be around me."
He looked behind the officer to see at least a dozen soldiers hanging out, watching him and laughing. He continued to rinse off as quickly as he could.
"Well, when you're done torturing yourself, I need to go over some things with you," Hanley said as he started to walk away. "You men!" he yelled to the soldiers. "Go find something else to do and let this man freeze to death in peace."
With snorts of laughter, the soldiers slowly dispersed.
"Be there in a few minutes, Lieutenant," the sergeant called out as the officer disappeared with a wave of his hand.
When the last of the soap was finally rinsed from his hair, the NCO turned off the water and quickly grabbed his towel. He immediately began scrubbing his head dry before ice shards began to form in his blond hair.
The morning had started out warm enough, but as the day wore on, the temperature had been dropping like a stone. Saunders had wanted to take a shower first thing that morning when it was warmer, but somehow the day had gotten away from him. They had been on a two day patrol and a lot had to happen to wind it down. Sleep, food, reports, and medical checks on Brockmeyer to be sure that he was going to be ok.
In their entire two days on patrol, they hadn't come in contact with a single kraut. Brockmeyer had lost his footing and slid down onto a rocky area. At first the sergeant worried that the soldier had broken his ankle. But Doc finally declared that it was just twisted or sprained.
Saunders was relieved. The German speaking private was a valuable asset and a good soldier.
So before Saunders knew it, the day had just slipped away from him. The sun had dropped, along with the temperature. Shivering from the icy shower, he tried to get dressed as quickly as possible. His teeth began to chatter.
In spite of the cold, however, he sat and dried his feet, carefully wiping down each toe. They might say that the Army marches on its stomach, but for Saunders it was definitely his feet. Whenever possible, he made sure that his feet were dry and he had clean socks.
He laced his boots and quickly stood up. Leaving his shirt untucked, he put on his field jacket. Not bothering to buckle his boot tops or his belt, he headed toward first squad's bivouac as fast as he could.
The French village that they were billeted in was small. At one time it probably had been considered quaint. After numerous shellings, however, it was now a mere front of half standing, barely recognizable stores and homes.
First squad was in a small house that was missing most of the second floor and part of the back roof. But it was a welcome sight to the weary soldiers when they first made their way into town. Once they had cleared the rubble from the main front room, they discovered a real treasure.
With temperatures dropping each night, their bivouac became the prize location of all of second platoon. It had a huge working fireplace. Something that Saunders was eager to get back to at that moment. He hurried.
CHAPTER 2
"Want some coffee, Sarge?" Kirby asked as he pulled the steaming pot from the edge of the fire. "Just made it fresh."
The NCO was sitting on the hearth, next to Kirby. He was running his fingers through his still damp hair to comb out the snarls. He'd lost his comb at some point the week before. Probably that dip in the river that he'd taken while dodging the krauts, he thought.
If he put in a request with supply, he could be waiting until Berlin fell to get a comb. He'd just have to remember to ask his sister Louise to send him another one when he wrote to her again.
He was reluctant to ask his mother. She always worried about him anyway, but when he asked for something so simple as a comb, it only reminded her of what conditions he was living under, and she worried even more.
His sister would just slip one into her next letter to him. In the meantime, he used a little field expediency. Fingers worked fine, and he had them whenever he needed them.
Kirby held out a steaming cup of black coffee. It smelled absolutely wonderful. The sergeant could just imagine the warmth of his hands as they wrapped around the hot tin. And the warmth radiating throughout his body once he took a sip.
"Thanks," Saunders said reluctantly, buckling his boots. "Sounds good. And it smells great. But no time. Have to meet up with the Lieutenant."
Kirby smiled and held the cup out to him invitingly. "You sure? It's nice and hot…and fresh."
The sergeant stood up and quickly tucked his shirt in and tightened his belt. He was still chilled, and would have much preferred some more time warming himself up in front of the fire with a hot cup of coffee in his hand.
Staring at the cup in Kirby's hand, he sighed and finally grabbed the cup. Taking a sip, he savored the heat as it went down. Then he took one more sip and handed the cup back. "Thanks."
The NCO grabbed his helmet and Thompson, and headed out toward Lieutenant Hanley's CP.
CHAPTER 3
"You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?" Saunders asked as he stood in the doorway on the porch of the shell of a house that the officer called his own bivouac and CP. The remains of the small house had no roof over the front half of the building. Its walls were crumbling and windowless. But it sat higher than those around it, being built up over a seven foot deep root cellar.
When first squad had originally flushed it out, they had discovered fresh potatoes, onions, winter squash and turnips still stored in the cellar, along with two unbroken bottles of wine. It had made for a tasty dinner their first night in the town.
For the officer, however, the raised building offered an important higher vantage point. The sergeant stepped inside, feeling odd with no roof over his head. He pulled his field jacket collar up and tightened it around his neck.
The building may have had a tactical advantage, but it had half a roof and no heat. It was just as cold inside as it was outside.
Hanley was standing at a table in the middle of the room looking over several maps. His bedroll was up against the far wall, rolled up and neatly tucked out of the way with his haversack. A corporal sat at a small desk against the same far wall, shuffling papers next to a radio that took up most of the desk top.
"Porter, keep trying to get HQ," the lieutenant called out to the corporal without looking up from his maps.
"Yes, Sir," Porter replied, reaching out for the radio as Saunders stepped into the room to the table of maps.
Saunders could see the corporal's breath as he spoke into the handset. A slight shiver went down the NCO's spine as he thought about getting back to that warm fire. Maybe he'd invite Hanley back to their bivouac for coffee near the fire. He had to be just as cold, staying in this open freezing shell of a house. Because of their ranks, it had been a long time since they'd been able to do anything as just friends.
"What do you think, Saunders?" Hanley asked, still staring at a map.
"Sir?" the sergeant replied in confusion. "About what?"
The officer pointed to an area on the map. "We're here. Not much left of this town, but it's all we've got at the moment. I haven't been able to contact HQ, so we're really flying blind here. No idea where the Germans might be right now. If they know where we are, we could be in really big trouble with no contact with HQ and no support."
Saunders studied the map as the lieutenant spoke. Then he replied, "You're right, Lieutenant. We were out for two days, patrolling the surrounding area and never saw a single kraut. But that doesn't mean that they aren't out there. Just farther out, if they already know we're here. They wouldn't need to get in close."
"They could take their time," he continued," and come at us from a number of different directions. They could come from the north or east and easily overrun us if their forces are strong enough. If they come from the south, we'd have a better chance of seeing them coming with all the open farmland around here." He pointed to the open area due south of the village.
"We would be able to judge their strength and make a decision to hold or retreat pretty quickly. But for just that reason, I can't see them coming from that direction. Too open. Their men would be unnecessarily exposed."
"Think maybe we should be billeted out in the fields instead?" Hanley asked.
Saunders thought of that crackling fire and steaming coffee that were calling to him, as opposed to sleeping in a frozen dark foxhole. But this was about tactical advantage, safety and the war. It was not about creature comforts.
"We could. But either way, we don't have good cover," the NCO answered.
Saunders pushed his helmet back from his forehead and adjusted his Thompson on his shoulder. Looking up at his lieutenant, he added, "In either location, if they shell us first, we're in big trouble."
CHAPTER 4
Hanley nodded grimly. "Anything yet, Porter?"
With handset stuck to his ear, the corporal shook his head. "No, Sir. Nothing."
Saunders reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. Looking at the crumpled pack, he hesitated and then slid them back into his shirt. Hanley watched his sergeant, and then pulled his own pack of cigarettes from his field jacket.
He shook the pack until several cigarettes made their way out. "Getting low?" he asked as he offered the pack to his sergeant.
The NCO reached out, took one of the cigarettes, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "Thanks. Yeah, I've only got two left. Trying to make them last. They're just for an emergency. Who knows when we'll get more. Everyone's pretty much smoked all of theirs, even the ones they've dug out of the rations. We'll have to send someone out soon to plead with the Red Cross for some relief packages."
Hanley smiled as he lit the sergeant's cigarette and then his own. "Hopefully the rest of K Company will catch up to us in the next day or so." He stuffed his pack and lighter back into his side pocket and looked at the map again.
"It would definitely help if we could contact them. I'd really like to know if support will be here soon…or if we're on our own," he added grimly.
Saunders looked at the map as well. "If we get shelled or overrun, this village doesn't offer us much protection. Not much of it left standing. We'd be better off in reinforced foxholes out in the fields. Or we'd have to pull back into the woods." He pointed to where they had originally come from.
"I agree," the Lieutenant replied. "Until we hear from the Company, or if I decide to dig in out in the fields, let's plan on the woods if we have to fall back."
"We'll need to let everyone know. The men are kind of spread out right now," Saunders added.
"Good idea. When you get a chance, let the men know that we can regroup on the cart trail at the edge of the woods if we need to," the officer agreed. "If the rest of K Company catches up to us, they'll probably be coming through there anyway."
Saunders was about to draw on his cigarette when he stopped. He suddenly had an odd sensation of urgency. A shiver went down his spine…and it had nothing to do with the cold.
Glancing out the glassless window, he saw several of his men in the street. Not one to ignore his soldier's instinct, he decided that now was a good time to let the men know. He went to the window frame and leaned carefully on the crumbling sill.
"Littlejohn! Kirby! Caje!" he called out.
The three men stopped and came over, looking up at the NCO.
"Yeah, Sarge?" Caje said, shading his eyes from the setting sun as he looked up at his sergeant.
"You three spread out and let each squad know that if we get shelled or it looks like we're gonna be overrun, everyone needs to get out of here and pull back to the cart trail at the edge of the woods."
"You mean that dirt road we came into town on, Sarge?" Littlejohn asked.
Saunders nodded. "Make sure everyone gets the order. Right now." That sense of urgency traveled down his spine again.
He watched as the three soldiers talked briefly and then headed off in three different directions. Confident that his order would be carried out quickly, he knew that it was one thing less for him to worry about.
He leaned against the crumbling wall, studying the town as he smoked. Not a single building was untouched by the war. He wondered where all the townspeople had gone. How many of them had survived? After a last deep pull on the remains of his cigarette, he crushed it out on the sill. The sergeant tugged his jacket collar tighter around his neck. Can't wait for this cold spell to break, he thought. And to get back to that fireplace and coffee.
As he looked out at the remains of the little village, he froze and stared up into the sky overhead. Turning quickly toward his lieutenant, he shouted, "88's!"
CHAPTER 5
All three soldiers hit the floor as the shells started coming in. Their worst case scenario, Saunders thought. Hopefully his men had time to get to most of the platoon with the order to pull back.
He looked over quickly to see both Hanley and Porter under their tables. The corporal was against the back wall, dragging the radio under the table with him. Hanley, in the middle of the room, reached up to the table top and pulled at the maps.
As one thundering explosion after another came down around them, Saunders hugged the wall, kneeling under the window sill. He thought about making a run for the outside to be sure all of the men had received the order to pull back.
Worrying about anyone trying to hold through it all, he decided to go. As soon as there was a little break, he knew that Hanley and Porter would be making a run for it themselves.
Just as he stood up and adjusted his helmet, a large explosion tore out the side wall. The concussion slammed the sergeant against the wall, driving the side of his face into the stone.
The last remaining sections of the roof groaned and shifted. The NCO could feel the floor beneath his feet vibrating. With a long, loud grinding sound, the floor of the battered house collapsed from beneath them.
CHAPTER 6
Saunders felt his stomach drop with the floor. The roar of the shelling intermingled with the noise of the last of the building coming down around him. Instinctively, he dropped his Thompson and grabbed desperately for the open window frame.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as the floor disintegrated under him. Clinging to the sill, he tried to get a better purchase.
Pulling with all his strength, he managed to get one elbow up and over the sill as small debris continued to rain down around him. Just as he managed to bring his other arm up and over the sill, another shell exploded in the next building. With more debris showering him, Saunders heard a different noise and looked up.
The teetering remains of the roof gave a final shriek of metal and wood colliding, and it began to come down. A chunk of splintered wood smashed Saunders on the shoulder and bounced down his arm.
He yelled with the sharp pain, and his grip loosened. Clinging to the window frame with his good arm, he felt the sill crumbling under his weight.
His helmet dropped off and clattered downward, bouncing around the debris like a pinball from one spot to another, before it disappeared into the rubble.
The sill gave away completely and he slid down the wall, banging his already injured face painfully against the wall.
The NCO knew that the root cellar was only seven feet deep, but his fear was not the height. It was landing hard on sharp or jagged debris. And then being buried alive under everything still raining down…including that roof.
His fear was not unfounded.
CHAPTER 7
Saunders slammed feet first into a slab of flooring, and his right leg slid in between several loose planks. He gasped as the pain shot up his leg. His foot was trapped as pieces of the two buildings landed around him. The sergeant covered his head with both arms, huddled against the stone wall of the cellar.
After what seemed like an eternity of noise and waves of earth shaking vibrations, blessed silence finally filled the dust choked air. Waiting for a few moments of quiet, with echoes of explosions still faintly ringing in his ears, the NCO opened his eyes, squinting through the grit and coughing to clear his lungs.
It seemed that the shelling had definitely stopped. He began to brush the debris from his hair and off of his jacket. When his coughing finally subsided, he took a look around.
Saunders realized that it was a lot darker, with random shafts of sunlight streaking down through the dancing dust. The floor had collapsed into the cellar…and the remaining roof had collapsed down to the first floor, trapping him in a pocket between them both.
Hanley.
His heart jumped, and he struggled to see through the darkness and grit.
"Lieutenant?" he shouted.
Saunders frantically began tossing loose rubble aside, working to free his own foot.
"Hanley?"
The sergeant continued pulling his leg up until it finally slid free. "Hanley?" he repeated anxiously, swinging his legs over and down to the dirt floor. He looked up and around, trying to determine where the officer might have landed.
Putting weight on his right foot, he cried out and fell against the debris. Grimacing, he began to hop awkwardly toward the rough position of where he guessed the lieutenant would be. He stopped and squinted into the gloom. His eyes were starting to get used to the dim light.
Across the room, a bloodied hand was sticking up from the rubble. Grabbing onto beams and other debris for support, Saunders hopped quickly over and began to pull the rubble off of the pile. His heart rate rose, and his breaths came faster as he dug. Throwing aside a plank, he exposed the entire arm…and the stripes of the dead soldier. Corporal Porter. A mixture of pain and relief coursed through him as he rested his forehead on his arm.
"Hanley?" he called out, turning to look around the cellar again. He hobbled back into the center of the room.
"Hanley?"
Hearing a noise, he spun to locate the sound, and caught a glimpse of a board moving slightly. He hopped closer and saw the movement again.
"Hanley!" he yelled again as he began to furiously dig at the rubble. Pain lanced from his shoulder down his arm. He looked at his half-clenched fist and the rivulets of blood between his fingers. Reaching up to his shoulder, he realized that he had a large painful gash in his bicep, with blood seeping through the tear in his field jacket just behind his stripes.
Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and went back to pulling the rubble from the pile.
CHAPTER 8
After removing several planks of wood, Saunders came to a large section of boards still nailed together. He turned his back toward one end, and ducked under it. Slowly pushing upward, he began to heave it with his shoulders. His injured arm and shoulder were screaming, but the boards were gradually moving off to one side. When he'd run out of room to move, he eased it down again.
Turning around, he could just see the officer's head. The NCO began to clear the loose debris from around the lieutenant's head and shoulders. As he worked, Hanley opened his eyes and looked at him.
He's alive, Saunders thought, and he began to clear away the rubble even more furiously, but now cautious about hurting the man. Very quickly the sergeant had removed almost everything from the officer's upper body. But from the waist down, Hanley was completely buried under a heavy slab of flooring.
"Hanley, can you hear me? Are you ok?" Saunders asked as he cleaned some of the loose dirt and dust from the lieutenant's face.
The officer blinked rapidly, and slowly brought one hand up to wipe his eyes. He weakly pushed at the slab of flooring with his other hand.
Well, Saunders thought, at least his arms still work. "You ok?" he repeated as he knelt next to the officer. The NCO thought that he looked pretty good, considering what he'd just been through. Just a few cuts here and there. But the biggest worry was what had happened hidden beneath the slab of wood.
"I think I'm ok," Hanley answered quietly. "You're a mess though."
The sergeant's hand automatically went to his face. His fingers came away with a mixture of dirt and blood. For the first time he realized that he had a gash over one eye, and his cheek was severely bruised and swelling.
He gave a short laugh and sat down next to the officer. "Guess that shower was a waste of time, huh?"
The lieutenant smiled. "Froze your butt off for nothing. Bet you won't do that again."
"Hopefully I get a chance to do it again," Saunders replied as he wiped his eye under the cut.
Hanley tried to look around. "How's Porter? Corporal Porter?"
Saunders shook his head. "Didn't make it. He's buried in the rubble against the wall. That's where it came down the heaviest."
Hanley remained quiet.
"Doesn't look like we're going anywhere anytime soon," the NCO said, looking up and around them.
"What happened? It's pretty dark," Hanley asked.
"From the looks of it, I'd say the roof caved in." Saunders rubbed his shoulder lightly, trying to avoid his bicep.
"The floor collapsed, dropping us into the root cellar here, and then what was left of the roof came down on top of us. We would have been pancakes if it hadn't been for the support beams and shelving down here." He pointed at the still standing beams on both sides of them and the heavy storage shelves.
"Looks like we're in a pocket. I see light coming through here and there. Maybe there's a way out." The NCO didn't mention that he wasn't going to be getting Hanley out of there without a lot of help.
He pushed himself up and slowly limped around, looking up into the shafts of fading sunlight.
"Sun's going down," he called out to the lieutenant as he walked around. And it's going to be getting even colder, he thought to himself.
As he limped, his foot hit something metal. Looking down, he saw his Thompson, covered in dirt and debris. He picked it up and wiped it as best as he could on his pant leg. At least we've got some protection, he thought. Just holding it made him feel more confident. He felt in his field jacket. Two magazines. Better than nothing.
CHAPTER 9
Saunders slung the weapon over his good shoulder and limped back to the officer lying on the dirt floor. He eased himself down next to him, wincing with the pain.
"You ok?" Hanley asked worriedly.
The NCO laughed. "This coming from the man stuck under half a house."
"I'm basically ok, I think," the lieutenant replied. "I'm sore, especially my back. But I can feel my legs and toes. I'm pretty much just stuck under here. Feels like one foot is caught under something. You, however, look like you've been through a war."
The sergeant laughed out loud and wiped more blood from his eye. "I have."
"You know what I mean," Hanley continued. "You're limping really badly. Your face looks like you went two rounds with Joe Louis. And you really need to check that arm. From the looks of it, I'd say you'd better clean it up soon and get a bandage on it before you bleed to death."
The officer gestured toward the NCO's injured arm. "Then who'll I have around to talk to?"
Saunders looked down and realized that almost his entire sleeve was soaked deep red. He watched his breath forming wispy clouds as he sat and thought. Finally, with a sigh, he began to take off his field jacket, gingerly sliding it down over his injured arm. He knew that Hanley was right. If he was going to be good for anything, he needed to clean up the wound and get the bleeding under control. But he was just so cold.
Unbuttoning his shirt with a shiver, he slid his arm out to get a better look at it. He knew that the gash must have come from the chunk of wood that had hit his shoulder and bounced down his arm. The jagged gash was toward the back of his bicep, and he was having a hard time seeing it clearly.
In the dim light he could just make out a splinter of wood embedded in the wound. No wonder it hurt so much, he thought, as he reached back to pull it out. Tugging on the splinter, he gasped and stopped pulling. His eyes clenched tightly as he waited for the pain to subside.
"Wrong angle," the lieutenant said as he watched.
"No kidding," Saunders replied through gritted teeth.
Hanley held out his hand. "C'mere. I can get it."
The sergeant shifted so that his bare arm was closer to the officer.
"It's still gonna hurt," Hanley said just as he yanked the splinter out.
The NCO let out a loud yell and sat up straight, eyes wide. When the lieutenant held out the bloody piece of wood, Saunders took it and looked at it.
"You could have warned me, Hanley," the sergeant grumbled, flexing the fingers of his wounded arm.
"I did," the officer laughed.
"Well, next time you yank a chunk of wood out of me, Hanley, just try to give me more than a half second warning to prepare. My reflexes are a little slow these days," Saunders growled.
Hanley smiled. "That's good to hear."
As the sergeant pulled out his bandage and sulfa, he asked, "What's good to hear? Me screaming in pain?"
The lieutenant laughed again. "No. 'Hanley.' Good to hear you call me 'Hanley.' "
CHAPTER 10
Saunders suddenly realized what he'd been saying. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he apologized.
Hanley stopped him. "Don't be. No one's here. It's good to know we're still friends. Gets a little lonely at the top." He reached out and took the sulfa from his friend, and began to sprinkle it on the sergeant's wound.
"We've had a close friendship since you first shipped over to England. But when I made lieutenant, it really changed things, didn't it?" he asked. He reached out for the bandage. Saunders tore it open with his teeth and handed it to him.
"I really miss just being able to talk…as friends. Army makes that pretty hard to do." The officer opened the bandage and stopped.
"Guess you have the same issue with Bette, huh?" he asked.
"Yeah, I do have to dance around a bit when we meet with others around. Calling her ma'am and occasionally having to salute is pretty strange," Saunders admitted, smiling.
"She ever pull rank on you?" the lieutenant asked as he tied the bandage in place.
Saunders smiled again. "Just once during an argument. But she spent the whole next day apologizing. Hasn't happened since."
Hanley looked at him. "How come you never tried for a promotion? With your record and your time served, you'd have made lieutenant easy. Should have made it before me."
The sergeant was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with the bandage wrapper. Finally, he replied, "They offered it to me. I turned it down. The extra money to send home would have been good. But I'd have to leave my men. Maybe even leave K Company. I feel a certain…responsibility. To pull the best out of them…but try to keep them alive."
He crumpled the wrapper and tossed it onto a pile of rubble. "Don't say it. Mother hen. I've heard it before."
"Nothing wrong with that," Hanley replied. "It's admirable. Means you're not only a good soldier…it means you're a good human being."
Saunders slid the bloodied shirt sleeve gingerly over his arm and pulled the shirt back on. He shivered, feeling that the temperature was still dropping. He couldn't button his shirt up fast enough.
"You really like her, don't you?" Hanley asked.
"You mean Bette?" Saunders replied.
The lieutenant nodded. "I mean, a lot more than just a steady date."
Buttoning his shirt sleeves, the NCO smiled. "You mean do I love her? It's ok. You can say it. Yeah, I do. She's an amazing woman. I think I loved her the moment I opened my eyes in the hospital and first saw her. Those turquoise eyes pulled me in. But her laugh is what really got me. It's just so…real. I could sit and listen to her laugh for hours. It's like she completes my life, you know?"
Saunders wiped some of the drying blood off of his hand onto his pant leg. Looking at his hand, he asked quietly, "You ever feel that way about anyone, Hanley?"
CHAPTER 11
The officer stared at the debris above him. "No," he replied softly. "Never. I envy you, Saunders." He ran a hand through his gritty hair. "If I don't make it through this war, I'll never get a chance to have what you've got. Really scares me sometimes."
The two men sat in silence for a long moment.
"You'll make it. You've made it this far," Saunders finally replied.
The officer laughed. "Saunders, what are you talking about? We'll be lucky to even get out of this cellar, never mind make it through the rest of this damn war."
Hanley studied his friend's face. "You gonna marry her when this is all over?"
Saunders rubbed the stubble on his chin. It's not stubble anymore, he thought. Haven't shaved in four or five days. Working on a beard now. He thought long and carefully about his friend's question.
"We really haven't talked about it," the sergeant finally admitted. "Guess we're afraid it will jinx one or both of us making it through."
"So you worry about not surviving this stinking war, too," Hanley replied.
The NCO wiped his hand on his pant leg again. "Who doesn't? I'm scared every day, Hanley. Every single day. Really wears you down after awhile."
"You've been through a lot already," the lieutenant replied. "I started this mess on D-Day. You'd already been through North Africa and Italy. I always respected that. I depended on your experience when we hit Omaha Beach."
He hesitated, and then added, "You never did tell me how you got that Bronze Star."
Ignoring his friend's last remark, the NCO started to put on his field jacket but stopped. He stood up and made his way over to the largest opening above them.
CHAPTER 12
Looking up, Saunders asked, "I wonder if maybe the krauts have taken the town? Or maybe the platoon is regrouping and coming back soon? Or maybe the rest of K Company finally caught up to us? Or maybe everyone's gonna just walk away from this town?"
He turned and looked back at the prone officer. "What do you think, Hanley?"
Turning his head back to see his friend better, the lieutenant replied, "I think that's a lot of 'maybe's.' If the krauts take the town, I guess we're both dead. If our men take it back, we've got a chance if anyone bothers to look for us."
Saunders limped back and eased himself down, grimacing and rubbing his leg. "They'll look for us. My men won't rest until they find us…one way or another. Knowing Kirby, he won't let them."
He reached over to his field jacket and fumbled in his pocket. Taking out his crumpled pack of remaining cigarettes, he pulled the last two out and handed one to his lieutenant. Then he crushed the empty pack and tossed it into the nearby pile of debris.
"Thought these were your emergency smokes," Hanley said as he took the cigarette.
Saunders glanced at the piles of debris in the cellar and laughed. "Look around you. I think this counts as an emergency, Hanley."
Lighting both cigarettes with his lighter, he inhaled deeply. He knew that it would be his last one for quite awhile.
"I've got more," Hanley said, reaching down to his pocket…that was under the debris. "But I can't get to them," he added.
Saunders smiled. Sticking the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he pulled his pant leg up to look at his injured ankle.
Hanley looked at the sergeant's leg. "It looks pretty swollen. Why don't you take the boot off?"
The NCO shook his head and lowered his pant leg. "If I do that, I'll never get the boot back on." He smiled grimly.
The soldier's smile faded when he saw the officer shiver and wrap his arms around himself. Saunders picked up his field jacket, leaned over and covered Hanley's chest, tucking the sides under him.
"Wait," Hanley said, starting to pull his arms free. "You need this jacket. It's cold in here."
"I know," Saunders replied. "That's why I'm giving it to you." He tucked the sides back in again. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I can walk around to keep warm. You're lying in the dirt."
"Besides," he smiled, "if you freeze to death, then who'll I have around to talk to?"
Saunders took another draw on his cigarette and asked, "What're your plans for when this is over? Assuming you make it home in one piece. Gonna stay in the Army?"
The lieutenant rolled his cigarette into the corner of his mouth. "No, I don't think so. Maybe go back to see if I can get my old job back. Hadn't really thought that far ahead. How about you?"
Saunders shook his head. "When my hitch is up, I'm done. I've had enough of soldiering already. Don't think I'll go back to my old job either. Didn't like it the first time around. I think it's time for something new. A brand new start."
The NCO reached over to take the cigarette from his friend's mouth. "Done?" he asked.
When Hanley nodded, the sergeant flipped the glowing stub into the dirt and debris. As he tucked the jacket tighter around Hanley's sides, he felt his friend shudder.
It was definitely colder, and now almost completely dark. Saunders sighed and pulled his shirt collar up.
It was going to be a long night.
TO BE CONTINUED