Kirby shook his head in disbelief. There was Littlejohn, talking to O'Connor about the finer points of farming as if nothing had happened. Well, Kirby was no fool. He knew a jinx when he saw one. He was keeping as far away from the correspondant as humanly possible.

Thinking of the correspondant turned his attention to the man walking beside him. Doc was a picture of abject misery. The medic's split lips were purple with cold, his nose was swelling, and it looked like he was getting a nice pair of shiners. Caje, walking a few steps in front of the pair, didn't look a whole lot better.

"Hey, Doc. You doin' okay?"

The medic shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, seeking for warmth that wasn't there. "Yeah, Kirby. Jus' code. Jus' wanna go do bed ad nod ged up for a bonth."

Kirby laughed quietly. "Yeah, going to bed for a month sounds like a good idea."

Caje slowed his steps to allow Doc and Kirby to catch up to him. He pulled up the collar of his jacket in an effort to block the wind that seemed to find its way down his neck. "Hey, Doc. Is it okay if I have some more aspirin? My wrist is starting to throb."

Doc shook two of the little white pills into Caje's palm, then reached for a canteen. "Wadder?"

"No. I've got plenty." Caje swallowed the chalky tablets in relief. He slipped the canteen back on his belt and frowned at Kirby. "What do you make of this guy? I can't believe his luck; he comes out of that without a scratch, and Doc and I are miserable."

Kirby chuckled mirthlessly, "Did you see the guys from Item? Every one of them had an injury of some sort. Did Doc tell ya what one guy said? He slipped a piece of paper in Doc's pocket that said 'Beware the luck of the Irish'."

Kirby nodded at Caje's look of disbelief. "No, I'm serious. Doc showed it to me. I'm tellin' ya, the guy's a jinx."

Caje shook his head and picked up his pace. "Kirby, I don't believe in those kinds of things. It's just a coincidence, that's all."

"Believe what ya want, but I'm keepin' my distance."

The Cajun ignored him and caught up to Billy.

"Well, Doc, ya can't say as I didn't warn him. But then again, I guess you and Caje already got yours. Billy too, I guess."

Doc just ignored the nervous man's chatter, too intent on his own misery to care.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

"So your farm was mostly produce then?", Cunnigan asked.

O'Connor kept pace with Littlejohn, the two men sharing their childhood memories of growing up on farms. Cunnigan's green eyes danced with amusement at the big private's enthusiasm.

Littlejohn returned the correspondent's smile, happy to find a kindred spirit. Even if the guy did grow up on a dairy farm, instead of a "real" farm like his.

"Yeah. Corn, beans, cabbage. Stuff like that. I have an uncle who sharecrops cotton on a farm in Mississippi. His family has to hand-pick that stuff. Talk about work!"

The two were walking in amiable companionship, deep in conversation, when Cunnigan caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Something darted towards the correspondent, and Cunnigan jumped to his left in surprise. He plowed into Littlejohn, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Get off me, Littlejohn. I can't breath!"

"Well, get your elbow outta my ear!"

Slipping his Thompson over his shoulder, Saunders motioned for Billy to give him a hand. The two men managed to untangle Littlejohn and the correspondent. Littlejohn sat on the ground holding his left knee, wincing in pain.

O'Connor dusted himself off, and appeared to have come out of the mess none the worse for wear. Again.

Saunders removed his camo helmet and slapped it against his thigh. This was turning into a disaster. "Doc!"

The medic jogged over as fast as his aching head would allow. Doc knelt next to Littlejohn and shook his head. This was getting out of hand. "Led be see your dee, Liddlejod."

Wincing, Littlejohn rolled up his trouser leg. The knee was sore and would probably start to swell pretty soon.

Doc poked at the knee, and manipulated the joint until he was satisfied that it wasn't broken. He pulled a bandage roll from his bag, and wrapped the knee to give it support.

"I don' thing id's busded, Sarge. Jus' sprained."

Doc thought to himself that it was a good thing he got new supplies that morning. At this rate, he'd run out of bandages before they could get home.

Holding out his hand, Saunders hauled Littlejohn to his feet. The sergeant watched as the private paced around, testing his knee. Saunders turned a baleful look on O'Connor.

"O'Connor, you watch what you're doing. It was just a rabbit, for cryin' out loud! So far you've managed to half-drown two men and injure Littlejohn, and don't try to tell me you aren't responsible for the cuts on Billy's face. Keep an eye on where you're going, and your mind on the business at hand. You understand me?"

The correspondent nodded his head, looking a little shell shocked.

Four men injured on a simple escort patrol, Saunders thought, and they hadn't even run into any Germans. How was he going to explain it to Hanley? Saunders hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was developing a headache.

"Littlejohn, can you walk okay?"

"Yeah, Sarge. It just hurts a little, but seems to work alright."

"Alright, guys, let's go. And for Pete's sake, watch where you're going!"

Kirby was getting pretty scared now. It was down to him and Sarge. Kirby didn't think even O'Connor was stupid enough to rub his jinx off on the sergeant. That only left himself.

*Oh, man. I'm dead meat.*
___________________________________________________________________________________________

They were almost home, and Kirby was starting to breathe a little easier. Maybe he'd make it after all. He still wasn't going to take any chances, though. Kirby kept his eye on the correspondent, watching the man's every move.

Doc reached out to catch Kirby, when the smaller man tripped over a root and stumbled.

"Kirby, wadch whad you're doin'."

"I can't help it, Doc. He's gonna get me, I know it. I gotta be ready for him."

Caje shook his head in disbelief. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, laughing. "Kirby, you are way too paranoid. It's just a bunch of accidents. A coincidence. We're just having a bad day, nothing else."

"Accidents?! What about what happened to you and Doc?"

"What about it? Billy pulled Doc under when he lost his balance yesterday, and you didn't call Billy a jinx."

"Billy's just clumsy; he's not a jinx. This guy's a jinx. Mark my words." Kirby shifted his BAR and gripped it tighter, as if for security.

Doc was trying hard not to sneeze, but he could feel it tickling the back of his throat. Trying to take his mind off it, he threw in his two cents. "Kirby, you gotta worry aboud you, more dan O'Codder. You keeb tribbing over sduff 'cause you don' loog where you're goin'."

Kirby turned to Caje with a puzzled look.

Caje chuckled and slapped Doc on the back. "What he said was, you need to worry about yourself. You're so busy worrying about what O'Connor might do, that you keep tripping over everything. The only person who's going to cause you harm is Kirby."

Kirby shook his head and waved an arm at the pair. "That's bunk; you guys are nuts! I know what I know."

Chuckling as Kirby jogged to catch up to Billy, Caje nudged Doc. "What do you want to bet that goldbrick hurts himself before we can get back?"

The two men shared a laugh and picked up their pace.

The closer the squad got to camp, the more paranoid Kirby became. He suddenly snapped to attention, realizing he'd lost sight of the correspondent. Kirby whipped his head around to check behind him. Geez, the LAST place he wanted O'Connor was behind him.

Only Doc and Caje walked behind him, so Kirby jerked his head back to the front. The next thing he knew he was flat on his back, staring up into the laughing faces of Caje and Doc.

"I tode you, Kirby."

"Yeah, Kirby. Doc told you it would happen. You were so busy looking for Cunnigan, you didn't see that nice big tree branch right in front of you. Serves you right."

Kirby moaned and felt his head for damage. He found a little stickiness and what he was certain was going to be a goose egg eventually.

A third face joined the other two as Saunders hovered over Kirby's head. The BAR man felt more than a little stupid.

Doc leaned down and helped Kirby stand. The medic checked Kirby's pupils, then cleaned and bandaged the jagged cut on the smaller man's brow.

"How bany fidgers do you see, Kirby?"

"Two."

"He's nod hurd thad bad, Sarge."

Doc handed Kirby some aspirin and a canteen. The medic started to return the aspirin bottle to his bag then, thinking better of it, he handed Caje two of the little white pills. He then took two himself. At the rate they were going, Doc would have to have the bottle refilled soon.

Removing his helmet, Saunders ran a hand through his damp, blond hair. He started to say something to Kirby, then gave up. He simply shook his head, replaced his helmet, and made a defeated gesture.

"Let's go, before something else happens."

The weary sergeant had never seen a more ragged squad than the one that marched its way into the village an hour later.

*I should have volunteered the squad for that suicide mission this morning when I had the chance. I think we'd have been better off.*
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Lt. Hanley was making his way through a seemingly endless pile of paperwork, when Sgt. Saunders stepped through the door. A tall redheaded man followed behind the sergeant.

Hanley stood and extended his hand to the newcomer. "O'Connor, I presume."

The correspondent shook the lieutenant's hand with enthusiasm. "Cunnigan O'Connor, Lieutenant. I'm to spend a few weeks with your platoon."

Clearing his voice, Saunders interrupted, "Excuse me, Lieutenant. If you don't need me for anything, I need to go check on my men at the aid station."

Lt. Hanley raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was supposed to have been an easy escort patrol. "Was someone injured, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, who?"

Staring pointedly at the correspondent, Saunders frowned. "All of them, sir."

Stunned, Hanley leaned forward intently. There hadn't been any reports of Germans in that area. "You mean ALL of them?! What on earth happened?"

Holding up his hand, Saunders counted the injuries off on his fingers.

"Billy's face was scratched up when 'someone' snapped branches back at him. He may have scratched an eye. Doc got bashed in the nose, then half-drowned, trying to get O'Connor's foot unstuck in the river. Caje broke his wrist, and nearly drowned, trying to help Doc. Littlejohn sprained his knee when O'Connor, scared by a rabbit, knocked him down."

Hanley frowned when Saunders stopped. There was one man missing.

"And Kirby?"

The disgusted sergeant rolled his eyes. "Kirby got so paranoid that something was going to happen to HIM, that he wasn't watching where he was going. Knocked himself silly on a tree branch."

"You're kidding?"

Saunders sighed in defeat. "No, Lieutenant, I'm not kidding."

The lieutenant dropped back into his chair. Five men injured. Great, he thought, more paperwork for him to fill out. Hanley's voice stopped Saunders as he turned to leave.

"Wait, Sergeant. I need to assign O'Connor to a squad. How about if he hangs out with you and your men?"

Holding up a hand, Saunders glared balefully at his Lieutenant. "No sir. I think my men and I have had all we can take."

Without another word, the sergeant slipped his helmet on his head and stepped outside.

Lt. Hanley stared after the departing Saunders, puzzled. This was so unlike the sturdy sergeant. He shook his head and smiled at the new correspondent. "So, O'Connor, how did you manage to avoid being injured, too?"

Cunnigan smiled, his green eyes sparkling. "The luck of the Irish, Lieutenant. Must be the luck of the Irish."

Finis