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.

The Trilogy ends with this story of empathy, friendship and determination. As always, I frequently make references to some of my previous stories and even episodes of the series. Here it would be helpful but not necessary if you've seen the episode Survival. And of course, hopefully you've read the previous two stories of the Trilogy.

Enjoy this third and final story. Please leave your comments. They are helpful and appreciated.

A TRILOGY

III. THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

-The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost

CHAPTER 1

The woods were so quiet that Saunders could hear his own heartbeat pulsing in his ear. He looked at the soldiers spread out and dug in on both sides of him.

The men were tense and anxious, but no one dared move in the brittle grass and brush. They had been in an unusual warm, dry spell for awhile, and all of the vegetation was bone dry. The slightest movement could be heard easily in the silence, giving away a soldier's exact position.

Both First and Second platoons were on the eastern front line. The sergeant looked at all of the men again, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth nervously, and adjusted his helmet. His own squad, off to his right, quietly acknowledged him with a brief wave.

They were waiting for word to either hold or advance. Saunders was very worried. Although the open field ahead of them seemed quiet and innocuous, his soldier's instinct was on high alert. He just knew that the krauts were waiting for them. He could almost smell them.

But the brass weren't about to listen to the instincts of an NCO. A runner broke into his thoughts, crawling from behind him as the man weaved his way over through the line of soldiers.

Every movement created crackling and crunching noises in the dry brush, grass and leaves. Soldiers glared at him as he passed by. The runner was bombarded with angry whispers of 'knock it off', 'slow it down', and 'you're gonna get us all killed!'

Spotting Saunders, the soldier made his way over to him. Due to recent casualties, Saunders had been made temporary platoon sergeant for this operation. The sergeant never looked forward to this assignment. It meant that he was responsible for even more lives. Being responsible for just his own squad was sometimes overwhelming. An entire platoon was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

"We're to advance at 1300 hours, Sarge," the runner whispered.

"Where's Hanley?" Saunders asked him.

"About forty or fifty yards over," he pointed toward First platoon. "Both lieutenants are going over last minute stuff I think. They don't look too happy."

Neither am I, the sergeant thought. As the soldier began to leave, Saunders grabbed his arm and whispered, "Go slow and quiet. You're going to get us all killed. Or one of our guys just might kill you." The soldier nodded nervously and crawled slowly and quietly away, eager to get away from the front lines.

Saunders looked at his watch. 1245 hours. He looked on both sides of him again. Two platoons of soldiers, ready to do their jobs. He could practically feel the tension in the air. He was not comfortable with the operation at all.

The sergeant lowered his head to rest his forehead on the large rock that he was hiding behind. He closed his eyes for a moment. He just knew that this was not going to end well. He'd already made his thoughts known to Lieutenant Hanley. That was probably what the two lieutenants had been discussing.

His opinions may have been discussed, but they were obviously dismissed. In the meantime, he had a job to do. He waited.

Finally, from his left he heard Lieutenant Hanley call out just loud enough to be heard, "Move out!"

They had made their final decision. All along the line, the men stood up, keeping low and began to cautiously advance.

Saunders called out quietly to his men, "Keep your eyes open. Stay alert. Stay low…Stay apart."

There wasn't much more that he could do for them now.

CHAPTER 2

Saunders' gut wrenched when the first German rifle fired and the first GI fell. As the enemy fire exploded across the field, the sergeant screamed, "Get down! Get down! Get down!"

Men were dropping all around him and he couldn't tell who was diving for cover and who had been hit. He looked across the field to see scores of Germans rising up to slowly advance on the Americans. To his horror, they kept coming.

There must have been twice as many krauts as they had GI's. When a kraut machine gun nest off to the side opened up, he knew it would be a slaughter.

"Pull back!" he screamed. "Pull back!"

This was definitely not what the brass were expecting. But he was. He fired his Thompson, spraying as many krauts as he could to cover for his men.

"Get back to the road! Get to the road! Stay left! Left road!" he yelled to remind everyone. He threw his empty mag on the ground and quickly replaced it as he gradually withdrew.

He heard an echo of 'Get to the road' come from somewhere in the middle of First platoon.

The sergeant needed to get the men back through the small wooded area and over to the dirt road. Once there, it was a straight shot for them to follow it back to safer territory with deeper cover. They could make a stand back there and hold the line, or even regroup and try to turn it around.

The only problem would be for them to remember to stay on the left road when they hit the fork. If in their panic someone forgot and went to the right, it would eventually curve and lead them back into kraut territory.

Saunders looked around quickly and saw Kirby behind a tree stump firing his BAR full bore, covering men who were pulling back around him. Many of them were wounded or carrying the wounded. Kirby was running through magazine after magazine. At the rate he was firing, Saunders knew that he'd be out of ammo very soon.

He yelled over to the BAR man. "Kirby! Back to the fork in the road. Get everyone to stay to the left! No one goes to the right! No one! Double time!"

Kirby nodded, looked around quickly, and then took off running hunched low, passing man after man in a straight run for the road. Men stumbled and ran through the trees, turning periodically to fire at the slowly advancing Germans.

Saunders watched, and then lay down cover fire until he felt that most of the men were out of the field and into the trees. Then he began to pull back himself while continuing to cover. He was very conscious of how much ammo he still had left.

First and Second platoons were retreating as one. He saw someone half carrying Lieutenant Hanley, who was alive and moving but obviously in pain. He didn't see First platoon's lieutenant anywhere, but he saw Newburg and Jones giving cover fire for their unit.

As Saunders continued to slowly retreat, he yelled, "Newburg! Jones! Pull back!"

Jones went first with Newburg about twenty yards behind him. The sergeant replaced his mag quickly and gave them cover. All three hit the edge of the road, with Jones heading down the road first. As he neared the fork, the soldier next to him went down, and Jones quickly slung his rifle and pulled the wounded man up over his shoulder. He continued toward Kirby, who was still directing the last of the men to take the left fork.

Moving behind Jones and Newburg, Saunders headed toward the fork in the road. He stepped behind a last tree to cover the few men still retreating on the road. Just when Saunders turned to head to the fork, he saw that Kirby was occupied with helping Jones and the wounded soldier.

And he also saw that Newburg, busily firing while moving backwards, stepped to the side…and took the right fork.

CHAPTER 3

"Newburg!" Saunders shouted, but the rifle fire and the confusion of men screaming drowned him out. Keeping low, he ran toward the fork. Just when the sergeant reached where the two roads diverged, Newburg disappeared around a bend in the road.

Conflicting thoughts raced through Saunders' head. If he stayed with his platoon, Newburg's chances of survival were slim to none. He'd inevitably head right back into kraut territory. And even if he eventually realized his error, turning back wasn't an option with the krauts overrunning their position. He'd be cut off.

Saunders knew that he couldn't leave Newburg out there on his own. He knew what the soldier would be feeling once it hit him that he was cut off.

As the last retreating man ran past him, the sergeant shouted, "Kirby! Get out of here! Make sure the platoon gets back. You know the way."

Kirby looked at his sergeant blankly. "What are you gonna do, Sarge?"

"I'm going after Newburg," the sergeant replied, and he was heading down the right fork before he'd even finished his sentence.

Although he knew that the brass could have him court martialed for abandoning his platoon, Saunders also knew that he was doing what he needed to do. His platoon would get back ok. Those who survived the initial engagement had all made it back down the road. And as long as Hanley was still alive and alert, they'd have good leadership with Kirby backing him up.

But Newburg needed him right now, even if the soldier was in First platoon and not one of his men. And Saunders knew that Jones would soon realize that Newburg was missing. It would take five men to keep Newburg's friend from coming after him. Hopefully if the private knew that Saunders was with Newburg, he'd feel that his friend would be ok…Newburg wouldn't be alone.

Jones and Newburg were best friends. They were also both exceptionally tall. Jones was the shorter one at 6' 5". Newburg topped out at 6'7", and both were powerfully built. But they had more in common than just height.

They had become almost inseparable ever since they'd learned that each of them had a terrifying fear of dying alone, lost and forgotten. Both understood and accepted the very real possibility of not surviving the war. They just couldn't handle the thought of being totally alone if it happened.

So they had come to an agreement to be each other's insurance policy, ensuring that dying alone wouldn't happen to either of them. But now they'd been separated during the firefight.

Saunders understood these two soldiers, because he had his own fears to deal with. He always hid them well, especially from his men. It was his own business. And he needed them to believe in his strength and confidence if he was to help get them through the war alive.

But many nights he woke up in a cold sweat, having spent time wrestling with his own demons. He knew exactly what Newburg would be going through once he realized that he was alone and cut off. The sergeant intended to be there for him.

He pushed on, trying to catch up with the fast-moving soldier. Finally getting a glimpse of the man ahead of him, Saunders shouted, "Newburg! Stop!" At first nothing happened. But when the sergeant repeated himself as he ran, he saw the soldier stop and turn around. Saunders slowed, grateful to catch a breath.

When he was about to call out again, he watched in shock as Newburg raised his rifle toward him and fired.

CHAPTER 4

With no time to react, Saunders could only flinch as Newburg pulled the trigger. The sergeant heard noise behind him and turned to see a German splayed out on the road. He didn't take even a moment to think about it. He bolted toward Newburg and shouted, "Go! Go!" Where there was one kraut, there were probably more.

Newburg didn't hesitate. Both soldiers ran. Saunders knew that they had to get off of the road soon or face even more krauts ahead of them. But he needed time to think.

He also knew that he had to be careful with his ammo now. He'd already burned through most of it in the earlier fire fight. Even if they broke free from pursuit, he still had to figure out where they were and somehow get them back onto the right road. Meanwhile, they could run into any number of krauts between where they were and where they needed to be.

He looked back just as two more soldiers came into view. The sergeant spun, ducked low and let off a short burst with his Thompson. As he fired, both Germans were returning fire when they went down. Turning to run once again, Saunders saw Newburg sprawled in the dirt ahead of him.

As he ran toward the downed soldier, Newburg struggled to sit up. A look of fear flooded Newburg's face as he held his side, now blooming red.

"Can you get up?" Saunders asked the big man, nervously looking back down the road past the dead soldiers. "We've got to keep moving."

With Saunders' help, Newburg labored to his feet. He awkwardly draped an arm over the shorter sergeant's shoulder, and the two continued unsteadily until Saunders heard voices shouting behind them. More Germans.

They must have come upon the dead soldiers, Saunders thought. And now they'd be coming for them. He looked around quickly.

"C'mon," he said, leading Newburg off of the road. Bringing the two of them into thick brush and undergrowth, he sat the soldier down against a tree. He knelt next to him, barely peering out through the leaves and vines, and waited.

CHAPTER 5

A moment later, four German soldiers went running past them and down the road. Saunders held his breath for what seemed like a lifetime, waiting for them to backtrack, or for more soldiers to pour down the road searching for them. But all remained quiet. It seemed to be just those four searching…for now.

The sergeant looked at Newburg, who was taking out his sulfa and bandage with shaky hands. Newburg looked up and held the sulfa with a questioning look. Saunders understood and nodded. It was ok to make a little noise. Newburg tore the packet open with his teeth.

The sergeant took it from him, opened the soldier's jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Pouring the sulfa onto the man's wounded side, he looked around again.

"We can't stay on the road," he whispered as he worked. "We have to go through the woods. If we keep heading due west, we should eventually hit the road back to our unit."

Saunders was trying to remember the map that they'd gone over in the meeting that morning. He cursed the fact that he hadn't paid much attention to this particular sector. He'd never expected to need it. Picturing the map in his mind, he slowly began to mentally piece it together. With no compass, he'd have to follow the sun.

While still thinking about the map, the sergeant took the bandage, opened it, and tucked it into the man's shirt, pressing it against the wound. He picked up the wrappers and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. He didn't want to leave any obvious signs that they were there. Or that one of them was wounded.

Not much that he could do about the blood, however. Hopefully the krauts didn't pick up on it. He rubbed the dirt with his hand, trying to cover the drops of red.

"We need to move out. Can you make it?" Saunders asked.

"I've got to, don't I?" Newburg replied as he slowly and painfully got to his feet with the sergeant's help while he pushed against the tree with his shoulder.

Leaning heavily on the sergeant, Newburg nodded and they started walking through the brush as they headed west. It was slow going at first, with the bushes thick around them. Vines and tree roots on the ground threatened to trip both of them up.

Coming across an animal path made walking a little easier. It was heading in their direction, and Saunders remembered why as another section of his mental map of the area fell into place.

Somewhere between them and the road ahead was a small stream. Animals must have worn the path into the brush as they made their way to the water. But he didn't know exactly how close to the stream they were. The road they had just come off of had taken them quite a ways away from the road that they needed to be on.

They were moving steadily…but very slowly. Once those four krauts realized that the Americans had somehow eluded them, they would either give up the chase or backtrack to look for them.

Saunders worried about the enemy coming up behind them and following the blood trail. Even if the krauts couldn't pick up their trail, they must know that the GI's would be heading west toward Allied lines. It would be easy for them to enter the brush and just head west. They could move faster and catch up fairly quickly.

The sergeant kept looking back nervously as they inched forward. The difference in their heights made the going even more difficult as he struggled to help Newburg while avoiding touching the man's wounded side.

Hearing a rustling a fair distance behind them, Saunders looked back to just barely catch a glimpse of several German soldiers pushing their way through the dry, brittle brush. Fortunately, they hadn't discovered the animal trail yet. And so far they obviously had not seen the two Americans either. Their luck was holding.

But he knew that they would catch sight of them in mere seconds. He and Newburg were out in the open with no trees or large bush next to them. There was not enough time to avoid being seen. And they would never outrun them.

Making an instant decision, Saunders let go of Newburg, turned and fired.

CHAPTER 6

Newburg immediately collapsed in a heap on the ground. As Saunders fired, he made out four soldiers. Probably the four who had passed them earlier, he thought. They must have realized that the Americans had hidden. They hadn't given up the chase. Instead, they'd backtracked to look for them.

Two of them were hit and dropped when he fired the Thompson. The other two ducked behind cover. The sergeant left Newburg on the ground and dashed to the closest larger tree just as the krauts returned fire. He had much better cover than the Germans, who were caught in a stand of very young saplings.

They were still a good distance away. If he had been alone, the sergeant could have easily outrun them or outmaneuvered them. But he still had Newburg to worry about.

He took a quick look over at the wounded soldier. Newburg was lying on his side in the tall grass, with eyes wide and breathing heavily in obvious pain. But he was alive.

The remaining two Germans had stopped firing, and Saunders watched closely to be sure that neither was trying to flank him. Suddenly one stepped out quickly and threw a grenade. Saunders instinctively knew that they were nowhere near range for the grenade to be effective, but he took advantage of it and stepped out to fire at the exposed German.

Just as he took the step, the grenade exploded and the second soldier fired. As Saunders saw the first kraut go down, his own leg went out from under him and he stumbled down onto his knees with a searing pain in the side of his thigh.

Looking up, he saw the second kraut advancing on him, about to fire again. He swung the Thompson up quickly and fired. The soldier disappeared in the dry grass.

Saunders waited. Nothing. No movement, no sounds. He struggled to his feet and looked warily across the grass to where each of the krauts had gone down. He moved forward cautiously with his Thompson ready.

Limping, he moved from soldier to soldier, checking each one to be sure they were dead. He didn't need any more surprises. As it was, the sounds of the gunfire might bring more krauts down on them.

He turned and made his way slowly back toward Newburg, who was still prone in the grass. Seeing that Newburg was moving, Saunders limped back to the lone tree and leaned against it. Checking his thigh, he could see that a bullet had plowed a furrow across the side, almost near his hip.

But besides the blood and the searing pain, it didn't seem life threatening. It looked to have chewed up some muscle. He'd live if he didn't slowly bleed to death…or if another kraut didn't get him.

He pulled out a bandage, tore it open and hurriedly tied it tightly around his leg over the wound.

"Newburg? How're you doing?" he asked as he worked.

The soldier groaned in response and managed to roll onto his back. "I'm still here." He looked over and saw the sergeant's bloody leg. "You hit?"

"Just a crease," Saunders replied. "It'll be ok."

"You get 'em all?" Newburg asked, wincing.

"Yeah, but all that gunfire might bring more," the sergeant replied as he wiped the blood from his hands onto his good pant leg.

"How're we ever going to do this, Sarge?" Newburg asked worriedly. "I don't think I can walk much more. I really need to rest."

Newburg stared up at the trees as both remained silent. Finally the soldier said quietly with a blank expression, "Maybe you'd better just leave me and go for help."

Saunders realized what it must have taken for Newburg to work up the courage to say that. "I'll get you out, Burg. We'll make it," the sergeant said reassuringly. "Slow and easy. I'm not leaving you."

"Sarge," Newburg replied, looking up with obvious pain in his eyes. "I know what you're doing. Thanks. But you don't have to stay with me. The agreement to stick together is between Jonesy and me. I'll understand if you go. You can make better time without me." His hand slid to his wounded side and he winced again.

Saunders was about to reply when he froze. His heart leapt into his throat as a terrifying memory suddenly engulfed him. He looked around in sheer panic. Smoke!

CHAPTER 7

There was a wisp of smoke rising lazily from where the grenade had exploded, roughly half way between Saunders and the krauts' position. He started to limp toward it to crush it out when a small flame suddenly leapt up and immediately grew larger.

The panic twisted his chest into a knot. He looked around him. They were right in the middle of a small field of very dry brush and tall grass.

They had to get out of there. Fast.

"Newburg! You gotta get up!" Saunders shouted anxiously, quickly limping back to the wounded man. "There's a fire!"

Newburg's head came up, his eyes wide. "Help me," he said, holding up his arm.

Saunders pulled, but the man was just too big and heavy. Newburg shook his head and said fearfully, "I can't make it. Leave me. Go!"

The sergeant looked back at the smoke. Flames were quickly dancing higher, devouring the dried brush and grass around it. His heart was pounding heavily against his chest.

Flashes of memories flooded his brain. Flames. Smoke. The agonizing pain. Alone and helpless in a barn. And the screams for help that never came.

Saunders looked from Newburg to the growing, leaping flames. Every fiber of his being shouted, 'Run!'

But part of his brain knew that he could never leave this wounded soldier to that same fate. His heart felt like it would explode from his chest.

Kneeling down, he shoved his Thompson at Newburg. "Hang on to this and roll onto your side!"

Newburg gave him a questioning look, but took the Thompson. Then he suddenly realized what the sergeant was going to do. "You'll never do it, Sarge. Leave me and get out of here!"

"Shut up! Get onto your side!" Saunders commanded, pulling the man forward. His breathing was faster now, his body desperate for air. Sweat rolled down his back as he looked once more in utter fear at the advancing flames. He was fighting the sheer terror with everything he had.

The sergeant turned his back to the soldier and grabbed the man's thigh.

"Leave me! Get out!" Newburg pleaded.

"I said shut up! Give me your arm, and hang on to that damn Thompson!" Saunders replied.

He grabbed Newburg's arm and pulled him up onto his shoulders as he leaned forward. Focusing his mind, he began to lift upward.

Stand up! he screamed in his mind. Stand up or die!

Slowly, shakily, he lifted Newburg draped over his shoulders. When he had both legs under him and his knees locked, he steadied himself for a moment.

Then he began to slowly walk away from the flames, moving shakily along the animal path. His knees and hips were threatening to collapse him, but he kept going. He needed to get to the stream before the fire caught up to them.

Saunders could hear the dry grass and brush crackling as they were consumed by the advancing flames. The smoke was starting to drift slowly toward them.

Keep moving or die! he screamed over and over to himself as he took one shaky step after another.

CHAPTER 8

When he felt that he couldn't take one more step, Saunders whispered, "One more." He took a slow, faltering step. Then again in a quivering, raspy voice, "One…more."

Draped across the sergeant's shoulders, Newburg tried to speak. "Sarge…"

"Shut…up!" Saunders interrupted with a strained, hoarse whisper. "Just…shut…up!"

Sweat stung the sergeant's eyes as he blinked rapidly to try to clear them. With his hands locked tightly around Newburg's thigh and wrist, Saunders took another shaky step and looked up to see the swirling, inviting stream only about ten yards away.

Those ten yards seemed as long as Wrigley Field to him. Well, he thought, I'm not with the Chicago Bears, but I can damn well make it ten yards to the goal of staying alive.

He gritted his teeth, held on tighter and moved slowly forward, ever closer to the water's edge. His thigh was burning like it had already caught on fire. Glancing down quickly, he saw the bandage still in place. But it was soaked deep red, as was his pant leg down to his knee. Right now it was the least of his worries.

It was growing hotter on his lower back and legs as the flames crept closer. The crackling and popping of the grass and brush spurred him forward.

Don't think about the fire, he said to himself. Think about the water. The life-saving water. He could feel even more adrenalin flooding his body.

A rabbit suddenly skittered past him, running toward the safety of the stream. Outrun by a bunny, he thought. Come on, Saunders. Don't be outrun by a rabbit! What kind of football hero gets outrun by a bunny rabbit?

With one last push and a few more steps, the sergeant finally reached the dirt embankment. He slid forward, twisting and dropping hard on his hip into the water. Saunders screamed as pain lanced from his wounded thigh and traveled up his spine.

Newburg tilted backwards and Saunders, still clinging to him tightly, tumbled backwards with him. Both splashed into the cold water together.

The flames were now right at the edge of the dirt embankment, and the heat was intense. But the fire's advance had stopped. Still holding on to Newburg's wrist and leg, Saunders laughed out loud in relief.

The sergeant shouted, "Touchdown!" just as he went under.

CHAPTER 9

Letting go of Newburg, Saunders came up for air, coughing and spitting water. He turned to see that the wounded soldier was completely submerged beneath him. Even though the stream was only about a foot deep, Newburg was too weak to sit up…especially with Saunders lying on top of him.

The sergeant slid over and reached into the fast-moving water. He grabbed Newburg's jacket with both hands and pulled him up. The soldier broke from the water, gasping for air.

Coughing and choking, Newburg laughed as he spit out a mouthful of water. Saunders held him upright by his jacket and leaned the soldier against his own shoulder to keep him from sliding back under the water. Newburg laughed again and coughed.

"What's so funny, Burg?" the sergeant asked testily as he felt the last ounce of energy drain from his tired body, and his legs began to shake under the water.

"We barely outran that fire." He wiped the water from his face.

The fire had stopped just short of the dirt embankment. With no wind in the air, it was unable to jump the stream. And with no more fuel available, it was slowly burning itself out along the grass line at the top of the embankment.

"I can't believe you just did that," Newburg replied after coughing up more water." I outweigh you by a good sixty pounds, Sarge."

Saunders looked at him and blinked a few times. "Now you tell me." He looked around and over to the opposite side of the stream. As he wiped his face again, he thought about his mental map of the area.

"If I remember, we only have about one hundred yards or so to get to the road. Once there, maybe someone will see us."

The sergeant looked at Newburg. "How're you doing? Think you can walk?" Saunders could see that the man was visibly weaker.

Newburg shook his head. "I can't even sit up without leaning on you. Just leave me here. The cold water feels good. I just need to rest up a bit."

Saunders struggled to stand up while holding onto the soldier to keep him from slipping under the water. The sergeant's legs were like rubber. "We got to get out of this water. It feels good because it's cold and it's numbing your wound. But if we both stay here, we'll bleed to death."

He tried lifting the soldier upright, but neither of them had the strength necessary to do it. Instead, Saunders pulled the man, grabbing him under the arm with one hand and taking hold of his jacket collar with the other. Working his way slowly through the water, he dragged Newburg to the opposite bank. Thankfully it wasn't a very wide stream, the dry weather having made it even narrower.

Saunders managed to maneuver the soldier up the steep embankment leaving only his lower legs still immersed in the cold water. Exhausted, the sergeant dropped to the dirt beside the wounded man.

CHAPTER 10

Saunders looked at Newburg questioningly and then looked around them.

"Where's my Thompson?" he asked, taking another look around them.

Newburg, lying in the dirt with his eyes closed, replied, "I let go of it when I went under in the stream."

"I told you to hang on to it," the sergeant said angrily.

"Well, when I went under and started to drown with you piled on top of me, I kind of forgot about it," Newburg answered, opening one eye to look at the sergeant.

Saunders grunted and pushed himself upright. Slipping down the embankment, he waded unsteadily back into the stream. Sliding his feet around on the bottom bed, he finally kicked something. He reached down and almost toppled over, but managed to catch himself.

When he was sure that he wouldn't tip over, he slowly dipped his hand into the cold water, felt around and pulled out his soaked Thompson.

Limping back to the embankment, the sergeant threw himself down and lay next to the private, with the dripping Thompson across his chest. Neither spoke for a long while. Finally, Saunders raised the Thompson a little and looked at it.

"You know, if any more krauts come along, we're probably both dead men," he said wearily.

Newburg looked over at him. "I feel pretty dead already."

Saunders brought himself up onto one elbow. "Well, the krauts'll make sure you're really dead."

The sergeant looked at his Thompson again. "I don't know if this thing'll fire or not."

Wiping the dirt from his hand, he adjusted the bloody and wet bandage on his thigh.

"How could you go down the wrong road, Burg? Weren't you listening at our briefing this morning? Not enough coffee?"

Newburg waved a hand weakly. "I was a little busy at that moment, being chased and shot at by a horde of krauts, you know? Just forgot."

"Jones was being chased and shot at," Saunders countered. "And he was lugging a wounded soldier. I didn't see him go down the wrong road."

"Well, Jonesy may be smarter than me, but I make better coffee," Newburg replied grumpily.

Saunders snorted, "No you don't."

The sergeant looked around and then glanced up at the embankment behind them. Wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, he said seriously, "We gotta keep moving. C'mon, Burg, we've got to."

"How?" Newburg asked honestly. "You planning to just pick me up and carry me again?"

Saunders gave a quick laugh, rolled over and pushed himself up. He stared up the embankment. "I'm gonna go see how far the road is. Be right back."

Newburg's eyes went wide, and Saunders could see the panic begin to take him over.

"Don't worry. I'm coming back," he reassured the anxious soldier. "I didn't just go through all of that only to leave you here. I'm going to get you back if I have to drag your butt all the way there."

The sergeant smiled at the man. "Here," he said, holding out his still dripping weapon. "I'll leave you my Thompson."

"It's soaking wet," Newburg replied, not comforted in the least.

"I don't expect you to shoot it," Saunders said with a smile. "It's your insurance policy with me. I may not want to come back for your sorry butt, but I'll definitely come back for my Thompson."

Newburg laughed and reached out to take the weapon. "Deal."

TO BE CONTINUED