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A TRILOGY

I. HIGHWIRE

Part 2

CHAPTER 13

Newburg wiped his palms on his thighs and leaned with his back against the wall. He looked up at the box and moved over a couple of inches, then looked up again. Finally satisfied with his position, he then concentrated on getting his feet in a good, solid spot on the uneven surface.

The last thing that they needed was a rock shifting under his feet when he was holding up the other two men. He bent down and moved a smaller, loose rock out of his way. The other three men watched patiently as he prepared.

Their hands rested on their weapons beside them as they glanced around nervously for any signs of the krauts. The town seemed pretty quiet. Except for the two sentries that they saw earlier, the others seemed to be settled in for the night.

Planting his feet firmly, legs apart, Newburg shrugged his shoulders a few times and finally nodded. As the other men came over to him, Newburg bent his knees, locked his fingers together and held his clasped hands out. Show time.

Jones took a deep breath and rubbed his hands on his pants. He put his hands on his friend's shoulders, with one foot in the soldier's locked hands. He tensed; whispered, "Now!" and jumped as Newburg shoved his friend's foot upward. Newburg held onto Jones' calves until he had steadied himself.

Jones used a vine to quickly stabilize himself, and then after a brief moment, he waved. He was standing on his friend's shoulders, leaning forward against the wall…and getting ready for Saunders.

The sergeant wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. This was not practicing against a tree. This was the real thing. Their death-defying act was here. He put that all aside and concentrated.

He'd already taken off his field jacket and shoved his tools deep into his pants pockets. He'd laid the jacket on the rocks next to his Thompson and helmet.

Brockmeyer held the tightly coiled wire out to him. Taking the wire, Saunders slipped it over his head.

Brockmeyer got down on his hands and knees in front of Newburg and adjusted his position. When he gave a quick wave to the sergeant, Saunders wiped his hands on his pants, double-checked his pockets for all the tools, and then put a boot up onto Brockmeyer's back. He pushed himself up quickly to stand up on the soldier, steadying himself against Newburg's shoulders.

Brockmeyer tried to ignore the pain in his knees and hands as the sergeant's weight pressed him hard against the jagged rubble.

Newburg locked and cupped his hands again, higher this time. Saunders rested his foot in Newburg's hands and paused a moment. This is it, he thought. Do or die…Literally.

He grabbed hold of Newburg's shoulders near Jones' boots and gave a big push upward. He caught hold of Jones' equipment belt and used his momentum and Newburg's upward push to get his hands onto Jones' shoulders and one boot on a canteen.

Once the sergeant was off his back, Brockmeyer immediately stood up and turned to grab hold of Saunders' legs to steady him and keep his upward momentum going.

Saunders felt the reassuring grasp of the hands on his calves and under his boots. Looking down quickly, he realized that both Brockmeyer and Newburg were holding him steady.

Feeling more confident, he turned back to look up at the junction box. Keep your eye on the box, he thought. Digging his fingers into Jones' shoulders, he prepared to bring his other leg up to position his boot on the upside down canteen on Jones' belt. Newburg was still holding on to his foot and calf to keep him steady.

Saunders took a deep breath and whispered, "Ok." He tensed and lunged upward, with Newburg pushing him higher. Using his own momentum again, with one fluid movement the canteens became stepping stones up to Jones' shoulders.

Wobbling a bit, his heart was in his throat and he was holding his breath as he reached out for a vine with his right hand. His left hand swept frantically across the cold stones of the wall until he found a spot where the mortar had fallen away. He dug his fingers into the crumbling mortar and steadied himself. Now Jones' was holding onto his calves, helping to steady him.

CHAPTER 14

He did it! He was standing on Jones' shoulders. Saunders slowly rubbed his forehead on the stones to clear off some of the sweat. The cold, damp stones felt good against his sweating skin.

He needed to work fast now, before his muscles began to react to the strain and stress. He didn't want to think about what Jones and Newburg were going through.

Saunders tried not to look down. He knew what waited for him down there if he failed. The sergeant looked around quickly. He saw the tree branch higher up and a few feet away. Brockmeyer had been right. The tree limb would have been too high and far away to do them any good for tapping into the phone lines.

Saunders inched a hand up toward the junction box. He desperately wanted to finish as quickly as possible, but he fought the urge to hurry. Sudden movements would literally be his downfall.

Touching the metal box, he slowly opened the small door. His face was close enough that even in the dim light he could see all of the wires. Brockmeyer's diagram took form in his mind, and he compared it to the real box in front of him.

The sergeant's focus now narrowed to his task. While his lower body remained immobile, his upper body was in constant but slow motion. Tools came out and he went to work.

Jones was trying not to move a muscle. Any slight shift could send the Sarge tumbling down onto the jagged rocks below. From Jones' height, a fall like that would be painful. For Saunders, up even higher, it could be serious or fatal.

Newburg was concentrating on his breathing. It helped to clear his mind and to take the focus off of the pain in his shoulders, back, hips and knees. Every bone was starting to feel the intense pressure of almost 400 pounds bearing down on his shoulders and body. They never remained balanced on each other for this long in practice.

Brockmeyer was a bundle of nerves. He desperately wanted to call out to his sergeant to somehow help him. But he bit his lip to stop from speaking. Any distraction could be disastrous.

The private looked around nervously for any signs of the kraut sentries. He was the patrol's only defense at this point. But there was only silence. He tapped his rifle with his boot to reassure himself as he stood waiting with headphones in hand.

Brockmeyer concentrated on staring up at his sergeant while rubbing his sweating palms on his field jacket.

Finally, Saunders whispered, "Coming down," and the private reached out to catch the wire that his sergeant had secured into the line in the junction box. Brockmeyer quickly connected the wire to his headset and put them on. Listening intently, he heard only silence, and for a moment he panicked. What if the krauts weren't communicating this evening? What if all of this risk and effort was for nothing?

But a flood of relief swept over him when he heard a German voice. And then another. He looked up at his sergeant and gave him thumbs up. Now he needed to stay focused and try to remember everything that he heard that could remotely be of any importance. There was no way he could write it all down in the dark. And Lieutenant Hanley didn't want anything written down.

But even as he listened, he never took his eyes off of the man at the top.

CHAPTER 15

Having tapped into the line exactly as Brockmeyer diagramed it, Saunders was satisfied. He made sure that it was secure, and then draped the rest of the wire over the open door. He put away his last tool safely in his pocket and took out a roll of tape.

Slowly pulling a length of tape out, he tore it off with his teeth and taped the wire to the door securely. The last thing that they needed was to have the wire pull loose after he'd already climbed down.

As he rubbed the tape with his thumb to make sure that the tape stayed on, he lost his grip on the roll, and it slipped through his fingers.

His heart skipped a beat in his panic to try to catch the roll. He could imagine the noise that it would make as it landed and bounced around on the debris. But as the tape disappeared below, he heard nothing. Looking down, he saw Brockmeyer, headphones stuck on his head, with his arm outstretched.

With a deep sigh of relief, Saunders realized that Brockmeyer had caught the tape. The soldier held it up, and then tucked it into his field jacket.

Saunders rested his head on the cold stone wall for a brief moment to wait for his heart to stop pounding. He needed his head to be in a good place if he was going to get back down again in one piece without making a lot of noise.

His legs were aching, but he knew that it was worse for Jones, and ten times worse for Newburg. They had never stayed in these positions this long before. He had to get down before their human ladder collapsed.

CHAPTER 16

Newburg's legs were beginning to tremble. His shoulders and back were screaming for relief. Jones' boots were digging into his muscles and bone, and he ached to shift the man's feet just a fraction. He could no longer trick his mind into thinking about something other than the pain in all of his joints and muscles.

He knew that he couldn't keep it all up much longer. He had counted rocks, counted backwards from one hundred…he'd counted everything he could see. He needed to move.

Newburg tried to shift his leg just an inch or so for a stronger base to hopefully stay upright just a little longer. Surely Saunders had to be almost finished.

Like ripples on a pond, however, the movement traveled upward. Jones felt the slight movement and, in turn, automatically shifted ever so slightly to compensate.

Still resting his head against the cold stones, Saunders felt the unexpected shift beneath him. As he tried to adjust his stance, he felt himself going off balance. He resisted the instant urge to grasp the junction box door for fear of ripping the wire loose.

Instead, he grabbed for a nearby vine. But it pulled away from the wall, disintegrating in his hands.

CHAPTER 17

As hard as all three soldiers tried, they each came to the same fatal realization that gravity was going to win the battle. Newburg held on tighter to Jones' legs, trying to help him steady himself. But there wasn't much that Jones could do for Saunders. That slight movement at the bottom had been magnified by the time it had reached the top.

When Saunders knew that he'd lost the fight, he looked around frantically for any solution that didn't involve crashing to the jagged debris below. Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of the overhanging tree limb a few feet above and behind him. Without thinking twice, he made his decision and launched himself from Jones' shoulders.

Pushing off against a shoulder with one foot and against the wall with the other foot, Saunders shot backwards into the air. Twisting himself around in midair, he reached out desperately for the tree limb.

If he missed, he figured that he'd be no more or less dead than if he'd just fallen straight down on his back. Face up or face down…he'd be just as dead. The tree was his best shot for survival. His only shot.

His mind focused on the limb as his hands stretched out. Both hands hit the limb, but only his right caught hold. His left hand slipped off, and Saunders was swinging from the branch, more than twenty feet above the rocks, by one hand.

CHAPTER 18

Brockmeyer could see the future and it wasn't pretty. Jones was wobbling, and Saunders was teetering on the brink of disaster as he grasped desperately at the vines on the wall, trying to stay on Jones' shoulders.

The private continued to listen in on the kraut communications as he was ordered, but he wanted to help. Even though he knew it would be suicide to be standing under his sergeant when he fell, he wanted to help him somehow.

Just as he stood up, Brockmeyer watched awestruck as his sergeant launched himself backwards toward the tree limb, twisted in midair, and latched onto the limb with one hand. The private stopped and stared up at Saunders as the soldier swung back and forth. Then he heard a loud whisper from Newburg, "Brock! Help us!'

The spell was broken, and Brockmeyer took a few quick steps over to the two remaining, struggling soldiers. He made it just in time to catch Jones as he slid off of Newburg's shoulders. Both Newburg and Brockmeyer caught him and eased him down to the rocks.

Brockmeyer quickly turned away, with both hands against his ears, listening intently. The krauts were now talking troop strength.

Ignoring the roaring pain in every muscle and bone, Newburg stumbled toward Saunders.

"Brock! Keep listening!" he whispered. Looking over quickly at Brockmeyer, Newburg realized that he needn't have bothered to remind the radioman. Brockmeyer was staring at his boots, totally focused on the German transmissions.

Newburg and Jones positioned themselves under the dangling sergeant. They looked at each other and both nodded. They automatically knew what each had to do.

"Sarge!" Newburg whispered just loudly enough for the sergeant to hear. "You need to swing and flip yourself so you fall flat on your back. We'll catch you. We can't catch you if you come down feet first." He paused to let that all register.

"Can you do it?" he asked. "We gotta hurry and get out of here."

The sergeant was struggling to get his left hand onto the limb before his right hand gave way. No one spoke or moved as Saunders repeatedly reached up to grab the limb. The only sound was that of the soldier's hoarse breathing.

Finally, his hand caught hold. He hung unmoving for a moment and then began to swing himself back and forth, preparing to drop on his back toward the rocks below.

CHAPTER 19

With the headset still on his ears as he continued listening, Brockmeyer now stood watch with his rifle ready. They were beginning to make noise.

Newburg and Jones faced each other, positioning themselves under the sergeant as they braced themselves.

With everything that had just occurred, Brockmeyer marveled at how relatively quiet it had been and still was. But he knew that it wouldn't last. The sentries may be bored, but they were soldiers. They would come to investigate unusual noises.

His hands tightened around his rifle as he scanned the area for movement.

Saunders clung to the limb, swinging his feet. His hands were being scraped raw on the rough bark. His arms felt like they were being pulled out of their shoulder sockets. But he hung on for one more big swing to bring his legs up. His heart was pounding and he was having a hard time getting enough air.

The sergeant was about to take a huge leap of faith. He had to trust that the two soldiers below him would catch him, preventing him from crashing onto the rocks below.

Well, he thought, if this is it for me, then just make it quick. Saunders brought his boots up…and opened his hands.

CHAPTER 20

The fall seemed an eternity, but within mere seconds he was landing in the arms of the two waiting soldiers. All three ended up on the rocks, which was painful, but almost laughably so considering the alternative.

Surprisingly, they had made very little noise. But it was by no means a silent landing. They all laid on the debris for a short moment, until Brockmeyer broke the silence.

"You guys ok?" he whispered.

Saunders tilted his head back to look up at Brockmeyer standing behind him. His heart was pounding and his muscles were twitching.

"Alive," he replied. "You still listening?"

"Yeah," the private responded. "Great stuff. Just wish I could write it all down."

"You just gotta keep it in your head," Saunders said. "We'll do the rest." He sat up carefully, rubbing his raw palms together gingerly. Standing up, he reached for his helmet and field jacket.

As he slipped into his jacket, he looked at Newburg and Jones. "Ok?"

Newburg stood up, giving thumbs up. He put on his helmet and grabbed his rifle.

Jones was still lying on the rubble with his eyes closed. Just as Saunders began to worry, a smile grew on the private's face, and he waved a hand. Newburg helped him up, and he picked up his things.

Saunders turned to Brockmeyer. "You got enough? We made a bit of noise just now. We've got to get out of here. Someone's bound to come and investigate no matter how bored they are. They're not going to take the chance that we're just local civilians."

He nestled the Thompson in the crook of his arm, with his finger on the trigger. He looked around anxiously.

"I've got plenty," Brockmeyer whispered as he took off the headphones. "Right now they're just talking about unimportant stuff."

"Ok," Saunders quickly said to all of them. "Remember, we protect Brockmeyer. He needs to get back or all of this was for nothing. Brock, you keep moving, no matter what." All three men nodded their understanding.

As they started back, a noise behind them broke the silence. And then…"Amerikaner!" A bullet tore a chunk from the stone wall near Brockmeyer's head.

CHAPTER 21

Saunders spun quickly and let off a short burst with his Thompson, taking down the two curious sentries who had come to investigate the slight disturbance.

"Move!" he screamed, pushing Brockmeyer ahead of him back the way they'd come in.

No longer caring about the noise that they made, the four men ran over the ragged rocks. Newburg and Jones were out front, and Saunders was bringing up the rear, with the three of them protecting Brockmeyer in the middle.

The sergeant ran with the Thompson in his left hand. His right hand was dragging along the buildings to help him keep his balance on the rough debris. He wasn't looking at his feet. He was looking behind him as he ran, watching for krauts.

He heard Newburg and Jones both firing ahead of him as more Germans came after them. Saunders realized that they were almost to the last building on the edge of the village. If they could make it across the short open field, once into the woods he knew that they had a good chance of losing them in the darkness of the forest.

Newburg broke past the last building and entered the open field. Brockmeyer was right behind him, with Jones close on his tail. As Saunders ran to catch up, rapid fire stitched the ground next to him. If the kraut fired again, the sergeant knew that it would be heading straight for Brockmeyer, who was out in the open at the moment.
Before he could react, the German fired again. Understanding the situation, Jones instantly stepped sideways right behind Brockmeyer…and into the field of fire. The soldier fell hard, face down on the ground.

Saunders was already spinning around, firing a long burst. Taking down two more krauts, he screamed, "Man down!" and tried to help Jones up. But the soldier was just too big.

Jones moaned and whispered, "Don't leave me."

As Saunders bent to try once again to help his man, he looked up to see another German taking aim as he ran toward them. Before he could bring up his Thompson, he heard gunfire, and the kraut dropped. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Go, Sarge! I've got him!" Newburg yelled.

Newburg dropped his rifle and bent down to his prone friend.

"I'm here, Jonesy. I won't leave you, Buddy," he reassured Jones as he grabbed the man's arm and hauled him up to his knees.

"I'm here," he said again, ducking down and pulling him up over his shoulder.

Saunders could see that Brockmeyer had just made the tree line. "Keep going, Brock!" the sergeant screamed. He scooped up Newburg's rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

Carrying the heavy soldier, Newburg was managing as fast as he could. Saunders was running backwards next to them, watching their backs.

Four more krauts were coming down the middle of the main street through town, but they hadn't even reached the last buildings yet. Saunders fired a long burst to slow them down. He knew that the odds were pretty slim that he'd hit any one of them at that distance in the dark. But it got them to drop to the ground and stop shooting for a brief moment. It gave them more time to get to the trees.

Just before entering the tree line, the sergeant pulled out the empty mag and threw it in the grass as he ran. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a full mag, popped it in and smacked the bottom to be sure it was set. He entered the trees only seconds behind Newburg and Jones.

CHAPTER 22

The patrol crashed through the trees and the brush for a minute while Saunders pushed to the front to lead the way. "Keep watching our backs, Brock. But try to stay in front of Newburg."

Remembering landmarks from their previous patrol and from studying the map, Saunders veered off to the left. He knew that there was a narrow gully there, hidden by a stand of older growth trees.

He slowed down in the darkness, not wanting to find the gully by stepping into it accidentally. When he knew that he was close, he slid his boot forward until the ground dropped away abruptly.

"In the gully," he whispered. "Careful."

Brockmeyer jumped down the couple of feet and reached up to help Newburg. Saunders jumped down, and both men grabbed hold of Jones to take the weight off of Newburg's shoulders. The four soldiers lay down, huddled together in the gully. Remaining motionless, they each struggled to control their ragged breathing.

They waited in silence, listening to the crashing sounds of the krauts drawing nearer. From the different voices and sounds, Saunders figured that they had eight to ten Germans chasing them. Probably more on the way, he thought. With luck, his patrol would be well away before they discovered that the Americans had tapped into their communications.

As most of the enemy veered off to the right, the sergeant started to breathe a little easier. Then he heard footsteps rustling the leaves and snapping twigs on the ground. One of them was coming closer.

The sergeant rested his hand briefly on Brockmeyer's and Newburg's heads to signal for them to stay down and stay silent. With every footstep drawing nearer, Saunders' heart rate increased.

He slowly drew his bayonet and sat up in a half crouch, waiting. The German was so close that he could hear him breathing. Saunders held his breath. Just as the kraut came to the edge of the gully, Saunders sprung up and grabbed the soldier's jacket and pulled him down.

Brockmeyer reached out and wrenched the kraut's rifle away as Saunders drove the bayonet deep into flesh. A low strangled sound escaped from the soldier.

The sergeant quietly lowered the body the rest of the way into the gully. As the four men waited, they listened carefully for any sounds of alarm. Nothing.

The noises of their pursuers faded, but still they waited. Finally, Saunders signaled the all clear, and stood up to look around. Newburg checked Jones' wound. The back of his left shoulder was drenched in blood. He checked his friend's front. No exit wound. The bullet was still in there.

As he started to lift Jones up again, Brockmeyer helped to get the wounded soldier up onto the rim of the gully. The three of them managed to get him up and onto Newburg's shoulders once again.

Jones barely whispered, "Don't leave me."

Newburg touched his friend's head and replied, "Don't worry, Jonesy. We're all getting out of this together. We'll get you to a doc soon. Hang on…I've got you."

With Brockmeyer in the lead, the four soldiers headed back to their unit.

CHAPTER 23

As the patrol made its way into camp, Kirby and Caje were the first to catch sight of them. Both men ran to the four soldiers, but before they could even say anything, Saunders barked, "Help Newburg get to the field hospital."

Without any questions, the two quickly took hold of the wounded soldier and pulled him off of the exhausted Newburg. Together the three of them managed to carry Jones toward the hospital.

Saunders watched for a second to be sure that they could handle the large man, and then he pushed Brockmeyer's shoulder.

"Let's get you to Lieutenant Hanley while you can still remember everything."

Hanley had heard the commotion and came to the tent opening to see what was happening. Seeing Brockmeyer and Saunders coming toward him, he realized that it was only half the patrol.

"Trouble?" he called out to his sergeant.

"One casualty," Saunders replied as he drew closer. "Jones took one in the shoulder. They're at the field hospital now."

"Was it worth it?" Hanley asked as the two soldiers followed him into his tent.

"Yes, Sir," Brockmeyer replied.

"You think you remember it all?" the officer asked.

Brockmeyer nodded. "I've been repeating it all to myself over and over to keep it fresh in my mind." He pointed to his head.

The lieutenant held up a finger and went to the tent opening. "Garrett! Get in here, and bring paper and pencil. On the double!"

In less than a minute a young private rushed into the tent with pencil and notepad. "Yes, Sir?"

"Garrett takes short hand," Hanley said. He turned to the young soldier.

"Brockmeyer here is going to start rattling off some very important information. I need you to get it all. If he's going too fast, ask him to slow down. I don't want you to miss any of it. Not one word. Is that clear, soldier?"

The private nodded and sat down at the table. "Yes, Sir."

He looked at Brockmeyer expectantly and said, "I'm ready when you are."

CHAPTER 24

Leaving Brockmeyer reporting to Hanley, Saunders headed to the field hospital. He didn't need to ask anyone which tent was the OR. He headed straight to the tent where Newburg was sitting off to the side, cross-legged on the ground, with his head in his hands.

Saunders stopped. If the soldier was asleep, he didn't want to wake him. They'd all been through a lot, and now Newburg's best friend was on the operating table. The sergeant turned to leave when he heard, "It's ok, I'm awake, Sarge."

The sergeant turned back to see the man looking up at him. The private pointed to the grass beside him. "Sit down?"

Saunders flipped his Thompson off his shoulder, sat down next to the soldier, and lay his weapon by his hip. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. He could see the worried look on the man's face in the reflected glow from the lights inside the tent.

"How's he doing?" Saunders asked.

Newburg shrugged. "No one's come out yet. Maybe no news is good news, huh?"

Neither man spoke for a long while. Newburg was picking at the buckle on one of his boots. He finally said, "I know Jonesy and I joke a lot. We're good friends. But it all goes deeper than just us both being so tall."

He hesitated for a moment and then went on. "Out on patrols and then sitting around waiting for our next orders, we had lots of time to talk. We found out that we both have more than height in common."

Newburg looked at Saunders. "It may sound a bit crazy, but …" He played with his boot buckle again as Saunders remained silent just listening.

"We're both afraid of dying alone. No…not afraid. Terrified."

"We're not afraid of the dying part," Newburg continued. "When you're getting shot at on a regular basis, you learn to live with death or you go nuts out here. You just do what you have to do, and don't think about it."

He looked at Saunders and gave a small laugh. "Guess I don't need to tell you that."

The soldier pulled at his boot buckle. "But we're both terrified of being alone if and when it happens. Being left behind out there somewhere…alone. Even worse, no one ever comes back to find you. Your family ends up burying an empty coffin.

Just the idea of it makes me sweat." He held up a now trembling hand. "See what I mean?"

He looked at the sergeant. "So we made sort of a pact. If either of us got hurt, the other would stick by him, no matter what…Even if it meant that we both died together. And if one of us dies, then the other would be sure to bring his body back. Or he'd stay with him if he had to."

Newburg looked over at Saunders. "We're kind of each other's insurance policy."

"When Jonesy got shot," he continued, "there was no way I'd have left him. I knew the terror that he was going through. I could feel it myself, right down to my soul."

The soldier looked over his shoulder at the tent. "That's why I won't leave him now. I'd be in that operating tent right now standing next to him if they'd let me."

Saunders said nothing. They waited in silence together…waiting for the news.

CHAPTER 25

Over two hours later, a doctor finally came out of the tent, taking off his cap and mask. He arched his back, stretching. Both Newburg and Saunders stood up expectantly.

"How is he, Doc? Is he going to make it?" Newburg asked anxiously.

The doctor turned to both of them. "He's hanging in there. Strong as an ox. The bullet tore through a lot of muscle, but fortunately for him he has a lot of muscle. Nicked a bone, but otherwise it just plowed through soft tissue. He should be fine. Be awhile though."

Obvious relief flooded Newburg's face. "Can I see him?"

"He'll be out for hours. Why don't you just hit the sack and check on him in the morning?" the doctor replied.

Newburg answered anxiously, "I really need to watch him." Embarrassed and nervous, the big man looked at his feet.

"Oh, no," the doctor said. "That'd be against our hospital regulations. No unauthorized personnel until the patient's out of danger and awake."

Saunders could see the rising stress and near panic on Newburg's face. The sergeant looked at the doctor.

"Doc, we just came off of an important mission. Jones in there has some vital information we need. I'd really appreciate it if Newburg here could stay with him until he wakes up, so we can get that info from him right away. He won't bother him."

"I won't bother him, Doc," the soldier repeated hopefully. "I promise." The doctor thought for a moment, and then replied, "Well, if it's that important, I guess we can arrange that. Just give us a few minutes to get him settled in a bed and get his IV's in. We'll get you a chair, soldier. Just don't wake him. Let him come around on his own." The doctor turned and went back in the tent.

"Thanks, Sarge," Newburg said with relief and appreciation. "Jonesy and I already owe you so much. You've got a lifetime of favors coming to you. We've said it before…just ask."

Saunders smiled. "And I've said it before; you two don't owe me anything. Just tell him I hope he gets up and out of there soon. You guys did a great job tonight. Couldn't have done it without you."

The sergeant picked up his Thompson and helmet. "You two will have some good stories to tell about the Flying Wallendas and the krauts. Should get you lots of free beers."

Newburg laughed. "That's for sure."

Just then the doctor came out and said, "He's all settled in. You can come in now."

Newburg turned to go in, then stopped to look back at Saunders. "Thanks again, Sarge."

The sergeant gave a silent wave and walked into the night.

CHAPTER 26

Dawn broke clear and warm. As Saunders began to shave, the rest of his squad was heading toward the showers.

"Hey, it's one of the Flying Wallendas!" Kirby yelled. "Can I have your autograph?"

They all gathered around their sergeant. "Heard you do a great trapeze act, Sarge," Caje laughed.

Saunders gave a stern look at Brockmeyer, who became nervous under the steely gaze.

"Well that was just crazy the way you launched yourself onto that limb, Sarge," Brockmeyer said defensively. "I had to tell them that part at least."

"Did you really climb all the way on top of both Newburg and Jones? That's really high!" Billy asked incredulously.

Saunders waved them all away. "You guys better hit those showers before the rest of camp gets up. Go on. We'll talk about it at breakfast."

"Hey, guys," Kirby said. "I heard that Jones is awake and doing great. What say after breakfast we all go see if we can sneak in his tent and razz him and Newburg a little?"

"We can bring Burg breakfast. Bet he's really starved," Billy added.

Amid jokes and laughter, first squad headed to the showers.

Saunders went back to shaving, with his shirt and field jacket hanging on a nearby tree limb. He looked into the cracked mirror that had been hastily taped to a higher branch on the same dead tree.

Staring at himself, he thought about everything that Newburg had told him. Their terror of the very real possibility of dying alone and being forgotten.

Each man out on the front lines lived with his own private terrors. Fear of death. Fear of being captured. Fear of being mutilated, or losing a limb. Or going home a cripple. Fear of being lost…forgotten. He looked out over the billet of soldiers…even fear of heights.

Each man walked his own highwire…that fine balancing act of doing his job and staying alive and in one piece. And trying to hang on to his sanity.

Saunders looked at his reflection in the mirror again. Taking his dog tags in one hand, he looked down at them. He slid his hand up and down the silver beaded chain.

Then, squeezing his hand tightly and securely around his tags, he tucked them safely inside his undershirt and finished shaving.

THE END

The Trilogy continues with the second story, Stolen Identity.