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.

This was another difficult story to write. But it answers a nagging question I've had since I first saw the Combat! episode The Furlough. If you haven't seen this episode or don't remember it well, I highly suggest you watch it before reading this story. This picks up exactly where The Furlough ends. Obviously for my story line purposes, this story precedes Saunders meeting and falling for Lieutenant Bette Peters.

In the course of this story, I touch upon series episodes such as Mail Call, The Little Carousel and The Letter, as well as my previous story Death Trap.

We'll look into Sergeant Saunders' head as he comes to terms with unexpected, heart wrenching loss. Let me know your thoughts.

BACK TO LIFE

CHAPTER 1

Sergeant Saunders stared at the fresh pile of dirt with the sorrowful mound of pale white flowers. Fighting back the tears, he stared in stunned silence and disbelief.

One minute a warm light was just beginning to shine through into his gray, war-torn existence. And seemingly the next minute he'd suddenly been cast into the darkest depths of hell.

A lifetime later he looked up and everyone was gone. The Reverend, the other mourners, Mr. Tinsley, Mrs. Davis. Gone. And the children. Paulette, Dolly, Phillip, Andrew, Maggie…and Cynthia. All gone. He'd never felt so lost and alone in his life.

Looking around, he watched as the orphanage bus slowly disappeared down the dusty dirt road. The children's sad faces pressed against the window tore at his heart. Yet he didn't have the strength to even wave a final goodbye. Saunders stared at the grave once again. He didn't want to leave her, but he knew that if he stayed any longer, he'd be on his knees in the dirt.

The sergeant slipped on his cap, straightened his shoulders and walked out of the cemetery, leaving his hopes and dreams behind, buried under six feet of dirt.

CHAPTER 2

Not thinking about where he was going, the sergeant just walked, staring at his boots and trying to hold it all together. Uselessly trying to make sense of it all. It wasn't long before he looked up and found himself at a crossroad. Looking down the three roads before him, he realized that he had absolutely no idea where he was.

His usual strong sense of direction seemed to have melted away with the gentle breeze. He had four directions that he could possibly take, but he knew that turning around and going back the way he'd come was no longer an option.

He stood staring blankly around him for long minutes until he finally heard the faint sound of an engine. The sergeant watched as a dust cloud down the road to his left came closer, slowly revealing a small truck.

When it approached him, the truck stopped in an even bigger cloud of dust. The old rusting vehicle was laden with baskets of fresh vegetables and a few bales of hay, with one lone man up front in the cab.

"Need a lift?" the driver asked, leaning out the open window.

Saunders looked at the three roads in confusion and didn't reply. He had no idea what to say.

"Heading to the train station?" the man prompted him.

Startled, the sergeant nodded. "How'd you know?"

With a smile, the Englishman responded, "Wasn't hard. You're a Yank. Probably on leave, although I have no idea why you picked here instead of London or Paris. Just figured you might be heading back. Lucky guess. Hop in."

Saunders went around the front of the truck to the passenger's side and climbed in.

"Thanks," he said simply, taking off his cap and setting it on his lap. He slid his bag down between his boots.

As the truck started out again, the driver pointed out his window back down the dirt road where the sergeant had just come from.

"Coming from the cemetery?"

Once again Saunders gave the man a startled look.

"Only thing down that way is the cemetery," the Englishman explained in a subdued tone. "Unless you're just out here aimlessly walking for exercise."

The man looked at the American soldier. "And you don't look like you need the exercise. Name's Nigel."

"Saunders," the sergeant replied, glad for the change of subject.

"Well, Sergeant Saunders," Nigel smiled. "You're in luck. I'm going right past the train station."

"Next train to London…" he looked at his watch. "Next one leaves in about thirty-five minutes. You'll be there in plenty of time. Got your ticket yet?"

When Saunders shook his head, Nigel added, "Be sure to remind them about the military discount. They don't always remember to give it to the soldiers. Shame. You should all be riding for free."

With a faint smile, the sergeant said, "Thanks."

The rest of the trip was short and quiet as Saunders sat in silence, staring out the side window as they drove. It seemed that the driver understood his need, and he left him alone.

Before long Nigel said, "Here you go, Sergeant."

CHAPTER 3

Saunders climbed out and looked at the little train station. "Thanks again," he said as he put on his cap and grabbed his bag.

"No," the driver replied. "Thank you. Safe travels, Sergeant Saunders."

When Nigel drove away, the soldier walked up the steps onto the station platform. The older woman at the ticket window smiled as he approached, stared at him for a moment, and then her smile faded.

"A ticket to London…please?" Saunders asked.

The sergeant wasn't used to saying 'please' when he wanted something. He knew that getting back into civilian life was going to be awkward for him…if he ever had that chance.

"Here you go, Sergeant," the woman said, handing him a ticket.

"How much?" he asked as he reached for his wallet.

The woman shook her head. "No charge."

When she saw the look of confusion on the soldier's face, she explained softly.

"Boddington isn't a very big town, Sergeant. Everyone here knew and respected Ann. She was a wonderful person. She'll be missed by all of us. And the children. I'm really…sorry."

Saunders could only nod and take the ticket. He turned away before the cracks in his façade began to show. Blinking furiously, he stared blankly at the building across the tracks. He desperately needed to get away from this town. From anyone else who knew Ann.

Focusing his attention down the tracks, the sergeant tried to will the train to come faster.

Minutes dragged by and still he continued to stare down the tracks into the distance. When he was finally rewarded with the sound of the whistle and then the first sight of the plumes of steam, Saunders took in a deep shaky breath in relief. As the train slowed, he was on the stairs before it had come to a complete stop.

Stepping into the car, he looked down the rows of seats dotted with men and women. Walking down a few rows, Saunders chose a seat on the aisle with no one sitting next to him. Across the aisle, an older gentleman looked up from his book and smiled at the American soldier.

The sergeant nodded an acknowledgement…but he didn't return the smile. Sliding his bag onto the overhead rack, Saunders sat down, took off his cap and placed it on the empty seat next to him. He stared out the window to avoid making eye contact with anyone again. And to once again try to will the train to move.

A young woman entered the car with several bundles in her arms. She began walking down the aisle looking for a free seat. Stopping near the American sergeant, she looked from him to the empty seat next to him expectantly. When she got no recognition or reaction from the soldier, she continued down the aisle.

Saunders pulled his lighter from his jacket pocket and searched for his cigarettes. Remembering that he'd smoked the last one just before the funeral, he absent-mindedly began to turn the lighter over and over in his fingers as the train slowly pulled away from the station.

He continued to stare out the window.

CHAPTER 4

Instinctively, the few people around Saunders could tell that the soldier wanted nothing more than to be left alone. His mood seemed to radiate through the train car, and everyone spoke in hushed tones. It wasn't long before the conductor came into the car and began walking down the aisle taking tickets.

Coming up to Saunders' row, he took the man's ticket on the other side and then turned to the American.

"Ticket?" he said and then added cheerily, "Did you have a nice time on furlough, Sergeant?"

When the only response he received was a nod and the ticket, the conductor quickly punched the soldier's ticket and moved on. Once again, Saunders turned his attention to the outside, watching the passing landscape.

While he stared out the window, the sergeant couldn't help but note the drastic changes. As the train made its way slowly toward London, idyllic farms and cottages appeared to melt into crumbling ruins of towns that had been bombed…and then it all seemingly melted back into green pastures and farms once again.

And yet everyone he met or saw seemed to be trying to return to their normal lives. Back to life. It was something that he simply couldn't imagine doing at that moment. He was going back to the Company. Back to his squad as if nothing had happened. The Company…his squad…war. That was his normal. And yet he knew that somehow he had to do it in order to survive.

Suddenly he realized that even though they'd been traveling for a while, the train had yet to pick up speed. Saunders looked at his watch and looked out the window again.

"We have to go slow," the man said from across the aisle as if reading the sergeant's thoughts.

"The engineers have to watch for debris and damage on the tracks. The last air raid was a big one."

The man tucked his finger in his book to hold his place, and then looked at his own watch.

"We won't be in London for at least another hour at this speed."

Glancing out the window, the man asked, "You going back to the front, Sergeant?"

When Saunders nodded, the man added, "You might consider getting off at the next stop coming up. No town there, but there's a large American evacuation hospital and a big supply depot nearby."

The man pointed out the window. "The train stops for medical staff and the like. Ambulances and lorries are constantly running out to the air base from there to pick up wounded…and the dead."

The man paused for a moment and then continued. "You can go all the way to London on the train if you like, but you'll only have to get a ride out to the same air base. If you can hop a ride with one of the vehicles, it'd save you a lot of time."

Just then the train whistle blew and they began to slow. Looking out, Saunders could see a scattering of ambulances and supply trucks coming and going. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere. Making a quick decision, the sergeant stood up, picked up his cap and slipped it on. Reaching overhead, he grabbed his bag.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

The man smiled. "Glad to help. Better hurry. The train doesn't stop here for long. Good luck."

Saunders quickly glanced down at his lighter still in his hand. He clutched it tightly for a moment and then tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"Thanks," he repeated as he headed up the aisle and out the door.

CHAPTER 5

Stepping out into the hustle of the soldiers in their vehicles, Saunders instantly felt more at ease. It made him realize how much he'd felt like a fish out of water among civilians. The military and war were all he'd known for three years now.

Waiting for a vehicle returning to the base, the sergeant watched patiently, and finally flagged down a deuce and a half. It rolled to a stop a few yards in front of him.

"Need a lift, Sarge?" the driver called out over his shoulder. "We're headed out to the air base."

With a wave, Saunders replied, "Mind if I hop in the back?"

The passenger door opened and a soldier climbed out. Coming around to the back, he pointed at the sergeant.

"Better go sit up front, Sarge. Wouldn't want you to be sitting back there in your Class A's."

Saunders nodded. "Appreciate it."

As the private jumped up into the back of the truck, the sergeant climbed into the cab, sliding his bag between his boots and taking off his cap. "Thanks."

"No problem," the young driver answered. "My guess is that your furlough is over. Where you heading?"

When the sergeant explained where his unit was, the soldier shook his head.

"Whew, you guys are right up there with those krauts. And here we think we got it tough just because we're dodging kraut bombs once in a while."

Saunders immediately had quick flashes of a destroyed living room and Ann's lifeless body lying under the rubble. He turned to stare out the side window in silence.

As they drove closer to the base, several C-47's came into view, like giant mythical beasts crouching on the tarmac. Drawing nearer, the driver pointed.

"See that corporal out there? The one with the clipboard? He can get you on the right flight. Don't want to end up in North Africa or Italy by mistake."

Saunders gave a grim smile. "Been there. Don't want to go there again."

The driver pulled to a stop and looked over at his passenger. "You already been to North Africa and Italy? Geez, how long you been over here, Sarge?"

"Three years," Saunders replied as he slipped his cap on and grabbed his bag.

"Man," the young soldier said in amazement. "Three years ago, I was just a sophomore in high school. Seems like an entire lifetime ago. Well, good luck. You guys up on the front lines sure have one heck of an important job."

The sergeant climbed out and closed the door. Looking back through the open window, he replied, "Your job is important to those wounded soldiers and their families. And we can't do a thing out on the front lines unless we have a continuous flow of supplies. Everyone's job is important."

Rapping the door with his knuckles, he added, "Thanks for the lift."

CHAPTER 6

With a hand on his cap to keep it from blowing away in the violent wind kicked up by the C-47's, Saunders approached the corporal. Looking up from his paperwork, the soldier tucked the clipboard under his arm and watched the sergeant.

Without waiting for Saunders to say anything, the corporal shouted over the noise of the plane engines.

"Where you headed, Sarge?"

Saunders liked him immediately. No small talk. He never liked small talk much.

When he explained where his unit was located, the corporal asked, "What unit?"

"361st. King Company," the sergeant shouted.

Looking back down at his clipboard, the corporal flipped a page up. Fighting the wind as he held the flapping paper, he nodded.

"Yeah, you're in luck. We got a load of supplies heading in that direction."

He pointed to a plane off to their right, still being loaded. "That one out there. Just check in with the guy with the clipboard."

He held up his own board as the papers fluttered wildly. Saunders nodded, waved a quick thanks, and ran off toward the C-47.

When the sergeant approached the plane and the soldier with the clipboard, the young man shouted, "What unit?"

"361st. King Company," Saunders shouted once again.

Nodding, the soldier pointed to the plane next to them. "You're one lucky G.I. This one's headed in that direction. Hop aboard. Just try not to get run over."

One lucky G.I., Saunders thought as he turned toward the plane. That's me.

Saunders could see men beginning to line up a jeep with the ramps at the open cargo doors. With a quick wave of thanks, he ran up one of the ramps just ahead of the jeep.

"Better park it somewhere," a soldier called out to him as he ran to the top of the ramp. "Once this jeep gets rolling, she ain't gonna stop 'til she's in."

Looking around quickly, the sergeant stepped over several small crates to get to the bench near a window. Sitting down, he tucked his bag securely between his boots and noted that the bay seemed to be almost full already.

He watched with fascination as eight or nine soldiers moved the jeep up the ramps and slowly maneuvered it sideways. Before he knew it, the jeep was not only in place, but men were piling more crates inside it on the seats and floorboards.

"Ever use one of these?" someone yelled over the noise.

Saunders looked up to see a soldier holding a parachute.

Shaking his head, the sergeant answered him with a smile, "Never tried it."

"I highly recommend using one in case we have to ditch," the soldier laughed. "Probably be a much better outcome."

Holding the parachute out, he said, "You just slip your arms through these straps with the chute on your back. Clip it here. Then bring this one up between your legs and buckle these two smaller straps around each leg."

He held up the strap. "That part is really important, Sarge. It's all important. Otherwise, you'll have a tendency to fall a heck of a lot faster than your chute."

Saunders smiled. "Got it."

The soldier replied with a grin, "Good. After you work up the courage to take that giant leap of faith into the wild blue yonder, you just pull this here ring. Don't forget to pull the ring."

"Here you go," he added, dropping the parachute on the bench next to the sergeant.

"You're an official paratrooper now. Don't say I never gave you anything." He laughed again.

Turning toward the cockpit, the soldier suddenly stopped and turned back. "What's your name?"

"Saunders," the sergeant replied simply.

The soldier nodded. "Saunders. Ok, Sergeant Saunders. I'll add you to our roster…just in case."

Turning back to the cockpit once again, he threw over his shoulder, "Hang on. As soon as they tie down the jeep we'll be taking off. Next stop… France."

CHAPTER 7

The two hours of flight time were not kind to Sergeant Saunders. He was extremely tired and flashes of Ann kept returning. He hadn't slept much in the last couple of days. As soon as he closed his eyes the nightmares kept returning. After Ann died, he'd busied himself clearing debris from the orphanage while Mr. Tinsley made the funeral arrangements for his only child.

Saunders had kept himself busy up until now, and thankfully his mind had been occupied. But two hours of nothing but engine drone had freed his thoughts to escape back to Boddington. Sleep was simply out of the question. The gray cloud of depression enveloped him once again.

The children's laughter…Ann's smile…filled his brain, no matter how hard he fought to keep them at bay. When his eyes started to brim with tears, he quickly brushed them away with the back of his hand and looked around him self-consciously.

He was alone. Leaning his head back against the fuselage wall, the sergeant closed his eyes and let the plane's heavy vibrations reverberate through his skull. Trying desperately to drive out his thoughts, one kept echoing back to him.

He was alone.

"Almost there, Sarge," came a shout from the cockpit. "We're about to land. Hang on."

Hang on, Saunders thought with a silent laugh as he tightened his boots around his bag and grabbed a bar behind him.

He was barely hanging on.

CHAPTER 8

The landing was relatively smooth for a stripped down, loaded C-47. When the plane finally came to a stop, Saunders stood up just as the cargo doors were being opened. Stepping to the edge, he waited patiently for the ramps to be put up, and then he came down before the crew began to unload.

Standing out of their way on the tarmac, the sergeant looked around at all of the waiting empty supply trucks…and the full ambulances. A fuel truck was already hooking up to refuel the plane for its return trip to England.

Someday…Saunders thought. Someday that plane will sit idle, or become a civilian passenger plane once again. And all those trucks…and ambulances won't be needed.

Someday. But not today.

The sergeant looked around again. He quickly found another soldier with a clipboard and headed over to him. Before Saunders could say anything, the soldier spotted him coming, held his clipboard tightly against his chest and called out over the roaring engine noise.

"Need a lift?"

"Guess I'm not the first, huh?" Saunders answered loudly with a faint smile.

"Nope," the soldier said, watching his men wrestling with removing the jeep. "Won't be the last either. What unit?"

"361st. King Company," the sergeant answered simply.

Pointing at two nearby deuce and a halfs, the soldier said, "Take your pick. Both of those are going to Item and King Companies when they're loaded."

With a quick wave, Saunders headed to the nearest truck. Several men stood watching and waiting as the jeep slowly rolled down the ramps, still piled with crates.

Feeling rather useless, the sergeant placed his bag on the hood of the truck and propped his cap on top of it. Taking off his jacket, he folded it and neatly draped it over his cap and bag.

Walking to the group of waiting soldiers, Saunders rolled up his sleeves. When the men began to form a line to pass boxes out and up into the supply trucks, the sergeant stepped in between two soldiers, grabbed boxes and began to pass them along.

CHAPTER 9

As the man next to him turned to hand off a crate to Saunders, he said in surprise, "You're gonna ruin those Class A's, Sarge. You really wanna do this?"

Taking the crate and swinging it around to pass it off to the next man, the sergeant replied, "I'm almost back to my unit. The uniform'll be fine. I need the exercise. Been a week on leave. Got too soft."

He smiled faintly. "Gotta get back in shape."

Handing the sergeant another crate, the soldier replied, "Suit yourself. We can always use the extra hands."

Saunders continued passing supplies, grateful for the mindless labor that kept him busy. The busier he was, the less he remembered. He was going to be back on the front soon, responsible for the lives of his men. He needed his head to be back on the war effort.

When the last of the crates were stowed in the trucks, the back gates were lifted and locked.

One soldier said, "Thanks, Sarge. Why don't you grab your stuff and hop in the cab. This is my truck, and I'm heading straight out to King Company after I drop some supplies and mail at Item."

"Sounds good," Saunders replied as he brushed himself off, rolled down his sleeves, took his jacket and slipped it back on. Tossing his bag into the cab, he climbed in. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Running his fingers through his sweaty hair, he decided against putting on his cap, and instead rested it in his lap.

As the driver started the engine and put it in gear, he yelled, "You two all set back there?"

When he heard a banging on the back of the cab, he headed out with the second truck close behind.

"Gonna be a long haul, Sarge," the driver said, looking over at Saunders. "Ok by me if you sack out for a while. You must be tired after all that R&R."

The soldier laughed. "The name's Ben."

The sergeant smiled in spite of the numerous flashbacks to his R&R.

"Saunders," was his only reply.

He had no intention of closing his eyes in spite of his lack of sleep for the last couple of days. He leaned back and turned his head to stare out the side window, hoping that Ben would think he was asleep and leave him alone.

The soldier was a likeable enough guy, but Saunders was never very good with idle chatter. And he knew that their conversation would inevitably get around to what he did on furlough.

Saunders silently watched the trees go by, trying to keep his mind a blank slate. Time dragged by slowly. With the drone of the engine, the sergeant found himself fighting to keep his eyes open. The last thing he wanted at that point was to wake up screaming next to this soldier.

He'd broken down once in front of his own men, unable to contain his grief over the death of a young French nurse who had just saved his life. But that was with his own men, who he trusted with his life. As likeable as Ben was, he was still a stranger. Saunders continued to fight the lure of sleep.

Suddenly he was instantly wide awake as an explosion directly in front of them rocked the truck.

CHAPTER 10

The driver automatically slammed on the brakes as Saunders braced himself, nerves on edge with the rush of adrenaline.

"Move! Move!" he shouted. "Don't stop! Get this thing moving!"

Ben immediately floored the gas as another explosion blew several nearby trees apart, sending shattered branches slamming against the canvas side of the truck and the door of the cab. Saunders instinctively ducked.

"Faster!" the sergeant yelled, looking in the side mirror to be sure the second truck was following suit and still in one piece.

Triggered by the explosions, Saunders' brain was overloaded with thoughts exploding inside his head. The bomb shelter. The living room in ruins. Ann's lifeless body. But the overriding thought that pushed all else aside was his instinct for survival.

"Keep going!" he yelled. "Once we're over that rise up ahead, we should be ok. They're firing by guesswork right now. Just taking pot shots at us. If they can't see us anymore, they'll probably quit."

Gripping the wheel tightly, Ben hunched forward and dodged another round. "Yeah, if we make it over that rise."

"We'll make it," Saunders encouraged the young soldier. "Just keep pushing it. Keep them from getting a target they can zero in on."

When both trucks finally crested the hill, the sergeant looked around at the terrain. He pointed down the road and off to their right.

"See that grove of trees? Just beyond it looks like there's a small clearing. Pull in there."

As the sergeant predicted, the shelling soon ended. When both of the trucks pulled over and stopped, Saunders and Ben got out.

"You alright?" the sergeant asked the shaking driver.

When Ben nodded wordlessly, Saunders said with a slight wave, "C'mon. Let's check the others."

Both soldiers went back to check on the other men in both trucks.

"Everyone ok?" the sergeant asked the two men in the back of the first truck.

"Yeah, I guess so," one of the men said shakily. They both appeared rattled, but unhurt.

Saunders said, "Stay there," and went to the back of the second truck. Ben was already bandaging a soldier's bloody arm.

"How bad is it?" the sergeant asked.

"Piece of shrapnel's still in there," Ben replied as he tied off the bandage. "But he'll be alright until we can get to a doc at Item Company. Everyone else ok?"

Saunders nodded and looked around. They were relatively safe out of sight of the mortars, but he was still nervous. They could possibly be sending troops out on foot.

"Where the heck did they come from?" Ben asked anxiously. "This is supposed to be Allied territory."

"Guess the Germans didn't get that memo," Saunders replied as he absent-mindedly checked his pockets for cigarettes. None.

"How'd you know they'd quit shelling us?" Ben asked, staring at his shaking hands.

"Small infantry mortars. GrW34's from the sounds of them," Saunders answered. "And only a couple of them. Probably just digging in."

"As long as we kept going they had a hard time getting a fix on us," the sergeant added. "They were just firing as we passed them. But we really need to keep moving. You got any weapons?"

Saunders felt totally vulnerable with no weapon.

Ben nodded. "We're all armed. But what good's that gonna do against mortars?"

"Where there's mortars, there's krauts. And where there's one kraut there's probably lots more. They might send a patrol out here to see if they hit anything," the sergeant answered.

"How long you been out here?" he asked, looking at the other soldiers.

"Just a week," Ben admitted. "We were stationed on the other end of the supply route just outside London before this."

Saunders nodded his understanding. "C'mon. Let's get moving."

CHAPTER 11

Saunders had made a mental note of where they were attacked. It could be that the krauts had just sent in a couple of mortars to harass the Allies. But it could be very serious if the krauts were moving in strength to try to cut the Battalion off from its supplies. At the very least those mortars would be a thorn in the Battalion's side if not dealt with.

"You said you've got a weapon?" the sergeant asked, looking around the cab.

Ben nodded as he drove. "Rifle. Under the seat."

Saunders reached down and pulled it out. Checking the clip, he instantly felt more at ease. Holding it in his lap as they rode, he kept a watchful eye out on both sides of the trucks.

Riding in tense silence, Saunders realized that thoughts of Ann and Boddington had disappeared once again, driven out by fear and adrenaline. But he knew that he'd have to come to terms with his grief somehow on his own. He couldn't depend on the Germans to keep his pain at bay.

The stop at Item Company was only long enough to drop their supplies and mail, along with the wounded soldier. While the men were unloading, Saunders reported to the Captain concerning the mortar attack they'd encountered on the way in.

"How many mortars do you think there were?" the Captain asked with concern.

Thinking carefully, the sergeant replied, "No more than two. Unless they had more that they just didn't use. Regular GrW34's."

"Troops?" a Lieutenant asked.

The sergeant shook his head. "Didn't see a single soldier. When the first shell hit, we got out of there as fast as we could."

Leaning back from the map, the Captain looked at his lieutenants. "Jacobs, take your platoon and check it out. Be prepared for anything, but I'd say from the sounds of it they aren't dug in too deep there yet. Bring a radio. If you need support, let us know and I'll send in Calandrelli's platoon."

Turning to Saunders, he added, "That'll be all, Sergeant. If we need anything else we'll contact Lieutenant…Hanley was it?"

"Yes, Sir," the sergeant responded. "King Company."

With the meeting over, Saunders returned to the supply trucks. Ben was leaning against his truck as the other soldiers lounged in the shade of the deuce and a half.

"Thanks for waiting," Saunders said as Ben held out his pack of cigarettes.

When the sergeant took one, Ben lit it.

Saunders inhaled deeply, feeling some of the tension already beginning to fade. His last cigarette was just before the funeral, and he was really feeling it. He resisted the strong urge to ask the soldier if he could keep the whole pack.

"Waiting for you is the least I could do," Ben replied. "You really saved our butts out there. If I'd stopped, both trucks would have been sitting ducks."

Leaning back against the truck again, he lit his own cigarette. "Besides, I figured we needed a break after almost getting blown to bits. You need more time, or you ready to go?"

"I'm done here," the sergeant replied. "If they still need me, they know where to find me."

Ben stood straight and stretched. "Let's get this wagon train back on the road then. Back to the war."

Back to the war…back to life, Saunders thought as he climbed back into the truck.

TO BE CONTINUED