Author's note: Yes, I can't think up a more creative name for the title. Here's Chapter 7, yet another continuation of this fanfic.

Legal junk: I don't own Hey Arnold, but Nickelodeon does and Mr. Craig Bartlett created it. But this fic belongs to me. Clear? Good.

Chapter 7: The Continuation Part II

Though he had read all the letters over and over, Arnold couldn't help but to go through them again repeatedly because almost of it was so interesting. Grandpa gave some very interesting and excellent points during the course of his stay in Europe, and grandma, being the informative person she was, did her best to explain to grandpa all the activities she made throughout the wartime period. But, he couldn't help but to notice that some of them were incredibly mushy and didn't have any significant points, so he put them aside and saved his notes for some the more important ones.

He sometimes wondered that whether he should continue on reading those letters, because he felt that he was, one way or another, invading his grandparents' privacy. But he shrugged it off. Grandpa had already told him that he was at liberty to use the letters as a reference, and he rightfully did so. There was one that caught his attention, namely this one – since it was about the Battle of the Bulge, which was the one where grandpa told him a bogus story that he single-handedly defeated the German Army.

December 18th 1944,

Dearest Gertrude,

I am now in -------, somewhere in France I believe. Now it looks like not only the Germans are our enemy, but Mother Nature seems to have her share of contributing to our misery as well. It's very cold here, as the temperature reaches an all time low, in the minuses, I think. Still, I keep on going, even though this standoff is driving me crazy. Watching the frontlines is sure tedious; just imagine that you're looking at a blank space on end, in a foxhole that provides little cover, and in a freezing winter without any warm clothing. They said the supplies are coming eventually. I am hoping that what they're saying is true, so I can deliver this letter to you – not to mention I can finally get some real grub, rather than these stale rations I'm eating.

Even though it has been months since D-Day, I still feel the stinging pain at my shoulder whenever I lift my arm up. It really annoys me and it really drags my concentration down because I'm minding the pain more than the frontlines itself. Before I got out from the hospital the doc said due to the wounds, I could head back to the States, but I rejected the offer. Now I'm feeling really stupid because I turned the offer down. Call me crazy, but I wish I could get shot again so I have a reason for them to send me back.

Yesterday, the Captain said that they need a volunteer who is willing to go incognito to help them with a secret operation. Something about Cham delivery, I think. Nobody volunteered yet, and I myself am considering it… well, maybe I should go. Not that I running from the frontlines or anything, I just feel that I should go help something other than involving guns and shooting people. On the plus side, it's good to have a drive in French countryside and admire the beautiful landscape – and to forget about the war for a while.

"Wow, so grandpa didn't lie at all. He did deliver those bad Chams…" Arnold said believingly. "I wonder his story about that French girl and the barn house incident was also true…" he paused at his words, "nah…" he shrugged the validity off.

I'm glad to hear that Mitzy finally decided to move back into the house and together with the family again. Mom must've been worried sick about her, because in my parents' letter they told me ever since she left home, she never writes to them at all. Even though I never care much about her wellbeing ever since that incident when we were kids, I'm glad that she's finally made the decision to come back home. Although we hate each other, she's my sister, we will always have that sibling bond of love, no matter how much loathsome and bitterness we have for each other. By the way, don't tell her that I wrote this.

Keep writing to me my love, and pray for my safety. And I believe by the time this letter reaches your hands, Christmas is already over. So in closure, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

With love,

Phil.

"It was a miracle that Grandpa got through that ordeal. What a guy." Arnold said to himself in amazement as he typed something on his computer. "Now where's the reply to this letter…" Arnold wondered as he searched the table. He found it near a stack of books.

February 1st 1945,

Dearest Phil,

I'm sorry I didn't reply to you sooner. Last Christmas was the bleakest Christmas in my life ever because I received the news that I dreaded the most: my brother Craig was missing in action. We received the War Department's telegram just a day after Christmas, and just as soon as I informed my mother, she collapsed to the floor and she's now in Intensive Care at the hospital. The doctor said that she's going to be fine, but that's what they always say anyway. Dad got back when he learned that mom got admitted back to the hospital, but when dad found out that his only son was lost he was in utter disbelief. But only after I showed him the telegram, he finally caved in to the truth.

"Man, it sure would be nice to get to know granduncle Craig, if he was still here today…"

Somehow inside me I feel that he's still alive. He must've forgot to report back to his Captain or something. Knowing him, he can be so forgetful sometimes, and that's the only thing I can't stand about him. If he were captured and being held as prisoner, I hope our boys will come to his rescue and save him. I just hope my worst fear won't come true. Still, I won't give up hope. I know him better than anyone else, and believe me, he's going to come back.

It has been nearly two months now since mom got admitted, but her condition has neither deteriorate nor improving. The doctor said that her illness seems to contribute to the pain as well. And I am very worried about her. I'm not surprised that the fact dad has been by her side all the time ever since she was admitted into the hospital. He must be cursing to himself on why he didn't get home earlier, even though I have called and wrote him many times to come back. Strangely, though I hate to admit, I do feel a little bit sorry him.

Call me crazy too because back over here in the United States, things have gone very laid-back as of late. A year ago, we would've got fired if we were slacking off our job, but now, even the supervisor seems to slack from time to time and the warships aren't being ordered as much. Stores are promoting discounts, people are frolicking at the park and the streets, and the war news isn't' being updated as much as it used to. Are we winning? Is the war going to end soon? Will we be able to go about with our usual lives like before the war started and finally live in peace time?

I hope that it is and will be a realization, because I'm eager to see you again, my love. Again, I apologize for not replying to you sooner. I will pray for your safety Phil, and take it easy with the secret mission, and be safe!

Yours lovingly,

Gertrude.

Arnold yawned just as soon as he finished reading the letter. He looked at the alarm clock, "Holy crap, it's way past my bedtime…" he put the letter down, saved his worksheet and switched the monitor off but let the computer on (He was downloading something). He then got up from his seat, stretched his body out and walked to his bed. He grabbed the remote from the shelf and turned the lights off. He placed the remote back again in its original place, closed his eyes and a few minutes later, he fell asleep.

He was at the very back of the landing craft, a small boat that looked like a roofless rectangular transport that could carry some 20 men in it. He could smell the seawater from the deck, the feel of the breezy wind rushing across his face, see the bleak, somber cloudy weather and hear the sounds of exploding shells at the shore and the boat's surroundings. There were also dozens of similar looking boats heading to the same destination – Omaha Beach; one of Normandy's landing points. Back again inside Arnold's boat, there were dozens of men in military gear in front of him, and all of them look extremely tense, worried and scared. It was either the boat ride or the fear that made some of them puke and vomited their guts out. He looked at himself, he was also wearing military garb and holding a rifle, wrapped in plastic. He gazed at the person next to him, who looked very familiar to him.

The person greeted him with a smile, "hey there, short-man. Fancy meeting you here." It was his grandfather, looking much younger, possibly in his twenties.

"Grandpa?" Arnold said quizzically.

"Darn tootin'. So you're in this predicament too, huh?"

He could only stare at his grandfather relentlessly. "I… I…"

"Hush now, the Captain is giving orders." His grandfather cut him off as he pointed to a person in the middle of the boat.

"Alright fellas, listen up. Just as soon as we land, I want all of you to find cover from the machine gun fire, but do not scatter. Stay long enough to keep yourself alive, and wait for my orders soon after." The captain ordered, and most all of the soldiers nodded at it.

"Do as the Captain said, and you're going to get outta this alive, and steer clear away from the open unless you are ordered to storm the shingle. Keep the sand out of your weapons." The Sergeant interjected.

"See ya on the beach Arnold," grandpa said as he patted his back. Arnold could smile weakly and nervously at him.

"Ten seconds everyone!" the coxswain shouted. "May God be with you!" The engine throttled down and the boat slowed nearly to a halt. Everybody inside the boat was bracing for the worst. The whistle was blown, and the door opened and it made a way for the soldiers to storm the beach. But just as soon as the door opened, bullets started to rain the boat, killing almost every man at the front.

"TO THE SIDE!! JUMP!!" the Captain shouted immediately as he climbed the side of the boat and jumped into the sea.

"Whaddaya waiting for Arnold? Jump!" Grandpa said as he too jumped out from the landing craft. Arnold himself didn't know why, but he was too reluctant to follow him, as he looked at grandpa came back up to the surface and gasped for air.

"Come on, Arnold, jump!!" His grandfather shouted as he spitted some saltwater out from his mouth. But still Arnold stayed put.

"Arnold! Arnold!! "

"Arnold…? Arnold?" a knock at the door was heard, with someone calling him.

Still feeling very sleepy, Arnold forced himself to wake up. The knock at the door was still there and the voice continuously called him.

"Oh, man… it was just a dream…stupid movie."

"Arnold? Son, wake up. Up and atom."

It sounded like his father. He sat at his bed for a while, staring at the floor blankly with his eyes nearly closed. He dabbed the shelf in searching for the remote, found it and turned the lights on. With the lights on and shining on him, he rubbed his eyes to make himself more alert. Woozily, he got up from his bed and walked over to the door to answer it.

"Dad…? It's…" he turned his head to the alarm clock, "…2:30 am in the morning. What's going on?" he said with eyes half-closed.

"I just got a call from the boarding house - grandpa's sick. We're going to the hospital." Miles replied worriedly.

Arnold was shocked, his eyes widened and he stared disbelievingly at his father.

"Oh no…"

Hmm... it's a cliffhanger! See you on the next chapter. And as always - if you see any mistakes, please point it out.