Christmas 1945

Big, wet snowflakes fell from the sky, turning the roads into a slushy mess. People, bundled up in scarves and winter coats, hurried by with their last-minute Christmas parcels. The city of London was still devastated by war and scarcity still plagued the nation, but it would be a happy Christmas anyway. There was a lot to celebrate.

The war was over.

Gathered together in a cozy pub not far from Intelligence headquarters, five soldiers raised their glasses in a toast. After months of debriefings, they had finally received orders to head home. In two days, the Americans would be on a ship, sailing off to New York where they would have one final goodbye before heading to their own destinations throughout the country.

LeBeau had already been back to Paris, helping to rebuild his war-weary home. But he had forgone hearth and home for one more Christmas—he had a lifetime to spend Christmas with his family, but this was possibly the last chance he had to see all his friends together in one place for the holidays. There were too many miles separating them, too much work waiting at home, and too little money to travel as often as he wished.

Newkirk, of course, was already home. And though he would never tell his friends, it terrified him. He didn't know what to do with himself. He knew he couldn't go back to his old ways, but he didn't know where the new Peter Newkirk fit into things. So, despite how annoying they were, he welcomed the intelligence meetings because the men who asked him the repetitive questions at least saw him as noble and good. And he wasn't eager to lose that image—an image that he, himself, was fooled into believing.

Kinch also viewed his return to civilian life with trepidation. He didn't know what kind of reception he would get back home—from his family, from his country. He did know he had never had such a close group of friends—men with whom he shared mutual respect and camaraderie. And it was likely he would never see at least two of them again in person.

Conversely, Carter was chomping at the bit to get home. This would be his fourth Christmas away and that was far too many for him. He had everything planned out, he told his friends with great enthusiasm. He hid his fears from them—fear that he had changed too much. Seen too much. That darkness lurked in his heart and skeletons of past horrors haunted his dreams. Hidden in the background of his future of a wife and kids and the white picket fence was a grim reaper, reminding him of the destruction he was responsible for.

Hogan knew his journey home would be but a short reprieve from war. There was another one looming on the horizon, and no doubt he would once again be called upon to stave off worldwide destruction. Intelligence was already planting the seeds for his return to Germany, but this time to face a new enemy. He would be a legitimate spy, and there would be no Geneva Convention to hide behind. This was quite possibly the last Christmas he would spend with his men—and considering how dangerous the life of a spy was, it might just be his last Christmas, period.

But every man pushed aside their gloomy thoughts. There was still one Christmas left for them, and they intended to enjoy it. So they sang and drank and swapped stories long into the night.

"Fellas," Colonel Hogan said, "it sounds crazy, but we had some good times. Just goes to show it doesn't matter where you are, it matters who you're with. And, I'll tell you, you're the best group of men a commander could ask for. Thank you all."

"Aw shucks, Colonel," Carter replied.

"I'm blushing," Newkirk joked.

"Well, you're tops in my books, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Oui. We should all thank you, Colonel Hogan," LeBeau said. He raised his glass. "To le colonel!"

"To the colonel," the others said in unison.

"Thanks, fellas," Hogan replied. "And… to the member of our team who isn't here to celebrate with us."

"To Olsen!"

They settled back down in their seats and sat in silence, each thinking about all they had lost and all they had gained from their years together. And none wanted to think about what they would yet lose over the course of the next few days.

"Boy, do you guys remember when Schultz delivered all those letters last Christmas?" Carter said, trying to dispel the melancholy mood. "There were so many, I almost forgot I wasn't home!"

"I remember," Newkirk said. And then, with a small smile, he added, "That was a good Christmas."

"I remember that feast LeBeau made," Kinch said. "Say, where did you get those pheasants, anyway?"

"Oh ho, a good chef guards his suppliers jealously, Kinch! I will never tell!" LeBeau replied.

"Say, remember that fake Christmas we had for General Schmidt!" Hogan laughed.

"Oh yeah," Kinch chuckled. "We convinced him he had shackle-itis."

"Blimey, I nearly forgot about that!" Newkirk grinned.

"I didn't! Boy, it was the first time I thought the Colonel was completely crazy!" Carter exclaimed.

"But not the last time!" LeBeau laughed.

"Not by a long shot," Kinch agreed.

"Genius comes in many forms," Hogan said, tipping his nose in the air. But then he grinned. "Aw, heck, there were times I thought I was completely crazy!" He and his men shared a laugh.

"You know… this is our last Christmas together," Carter said, voicing what everyone knew but didn't want to admit. "It's kind of strange, don't you think?"

"Oui, very strange," LeBeau said.

"Yeah, we're all going home soon," Kinch said.

They were silent until Carter once again spoke up. "Say, I know! Why don't we get together again for Christmas. Say, five years from now? Yeah, we'll have a five year reunion, right here in this very pub. What do you say, fellas?"

"Right good idea, Andrew," Newkirk said.

"Sure, why not?" Kinch said.

"Formidable!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"I'm game," Hogan said.

"Okay, so it's settled. No matter where we are, no matter what we're doing, we'll drop everything and meet here on Christmas, 1950!" Carter declared.

They all agreed, even though they knew the chances were slim. But it made the idea of parting so much easier to bear.

"Christmas, 1950," they all echoed.

It was time to go. The hour was late and they were the only ones left in the pub. But that didn't stop Carter from one last farewell.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot," he started to sing.

LeBeau joined him, "And never brought to mind?"

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot," Kinch added his rich voice to the duo, "and auld lang syne."

And even though Newkirk and Hogan couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, they joined in as well. "For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne."

"I don't know when we'll see each other again," Hogan said quietly. "But until then… Merry Christmas to you all."

"Merry Christmas."

The men embraced each other, hugging and shaking hands. And then they went out into the cold winter's night, each going their separate ways.