The Recuperated

June 29, D-Day + 23

"Appreciate those standing beside you for better or for worst. Life is short! You'll never know what comes next...the people you take for granted today may turn out to be the only one you need tomorrow."

A supply truck sped through the northern dirt road of the Norman countryside. On the outset of the roads were several MPs hammering signposts indicating that the current route was heading to the city of Cherbourg. As the truck made the last incline before reaching the outskirts of the city, the passengers bore witness to the lush Norman port that was held by the harbor walls, which exited into the English Channel. There the city was, three days after the ferocious fighting, and the city was in great ruin, especially the port area itself.

"Goddamn, and we gotta clean all that shit up," a passenger inside the supply truck grumbled.

"I heard we did as much damage to the port as the Krauts did," another passenger inside gossiped.

"Aw shit, that's a lot of rubble, I bet if I knew how to type I would be in intelligence instead of engineering," a third passenger groaned.

There were ten men inside the supply truck, all eager to leave the confines of the tight truck and stretch their legs and alleviate the numbness of their asses from sitting down for so long. Yet seven of them wore the patches of an engineering regiment, whose new assignment was to repair the Cherbourg port back to working order as soon as possible. The seven engineers grumbled bitterly about their job, clearly not expecting the magnitude of the effort to be this high.

Yet three of the men in the back of the truck were riflemen instead of engineers. And what made these riflemen even more unique were that these three were veterans of the Normandy landings. They bore witness to the whirlwind of machine gun on the beaches, the vast explosions of 88s and mortars upon the sand, the queer stench of salt water and blood wafting together in the chill air. The three riflemen stood as testaments to Able Company's indomitable spirit, for they were the first three wounded men who went AWOL, just to return to their unit.

All three men were wounded on D-Day. Corporal Terry Cavanaugh, of 2nd platoon, was wounded in the back of the shoulder by a mortar round. When Captain MacKay rallied the men on the beach to charge to the shingles, a mortar had crashed behind Terry during their sprint, sending him flying into the sand. What he remembered was the burn-filled tearing of his shoulder, and the bullets kicking the sand up in front of his face, blinding him. But the bitterest memory was watching his units running ahead, leaving him wounded in the sand, unable to contribute to his unit, unable to avenge his friends; feeling the harrowing feeling of failure enveloping him.

Sergeant Rhett Duhaney, of 3rd platoon, had just made it out of his landing craft and took cover behind a beach obstacle. He lost his carbine, his helmet, his ammo webbing; the only thing he was carrying was his floatation device that was torn from a bullet. He knew he had to reach inland and push the men forward, but he heard the sloshing cries of panic from behind him. He turned to see the encumbered Technical Sergeant Crane of 3rd Platoon, being pulled beneath the waves by his own gear. So Duhaney went back in the water and safely dragged Crane to the beach. Right when he laid Crane behind a beach obstacle, a sniper's bullet found its mark, in Duhaney's ass. It felt like he was spanked by a humongous paddle directly on his left ass cheek.

Private First Class Tommy "Smitty" Smits, an 18 year old from Huntington, West Virginia of 1st platoon, made the charge to the shingle with the rest of the company and made the climb up the bluffs in order to neutralize the 88s that were still firing. As he was prepared to enter the trenches, he met the eyes of a German soldier who began firing wildly at Smitty with a pistol. Two bullets hit the young West Virginian. The first one entered his side on the right, two inches above the hip bone, missing organs and bone, a soft wound—in and out. The second bullet however hit Smitty in his right hand, tearing off his right pinky finger entirely.

Before a proper triage center could be established on the beach, the three men along with the other wounded men on D-Day were evacuated back to the transport ships in the English Channel and brought back to hospitals in England. They rested and recuperated somewhat and because their wounds were non-life threatening, they were shipped back to Normandy to return to combat. Yet once on the ship, a meddling rumor began passing by, which stated all veterans of D-Day would be sent to replacement depots instead of returning to their original units to fill in the manpower of random units that needed men the most. Sergeant Duhaney conversed with an officer onboard and discovered the rumored was founded. The three men of Able wasted little time escaping from the replacement depot once they landed back in France and founded a supply truck which was heading to the location of the 29th Division.

As the truck full of men entered Cherbourg, a city that still had some buildings smoking from the battle just three days ago; they were front-seat witnesses to the Allied effort of priority reconstruction. The MPs were waving ongoing traffic to reach their destination. Engineers and MPs were combing through the debris and fixing up the roads filled with potholes. Drivers of supply trucks were arguing with MPs who acted as traffic cops to demand their truck get priority over the roads. French civilians were trying their hardest to continue on with their lives as if the war had never happened. Men and women were walking through the destroyed town square and trying to establish a market amidst the motor pool of Allies bustling through the town. French women were consistently being catcalled by slacking soldiers, and more often than not, Terry Cavanaugh caught several women exchanging hearty kisses with the "heroic" MPs who were off-duty.

In the back, Sergeant Rhett Duhaney was standing on the back of the truck; his wounded ass still made it quite sore to sit. His sight was lost in the hectic city that was trying to rebuild itself. "Looks like we missed quite the fight, eh boys?"

"I know, huh," Private First Class Tommy Smits whistled, "Hope our boys dun gave 'em hell."

Corporal Terry Cavanaugh mused with a smile, "If it's Able Company of course we gave them hell."

"Alright, we're here, all engineers out of the truck!" the driver shouted.

As the engineers hopped out the truck, one of the engineers waved their goodbyes to the riflemen. "Hope y'all find ya buddies, Lord knows y'all eventually need them."

"Thanks, and have fun cleaning up after the Germans, private," Terry replied, as the supply truck drove away.

The supply truck started driving down along the crowded road. Smitty extended both legs out with his now newly acquired leg room and stretched his arms. "Thank God we finally got here, right fellas? An' soon we'll be back wit our outfit."

"Yeah, and no thanks to you, hayseed," Terry quipped as he too stretched out his legs.

"Oh Jeez, Turry!" Smitty whined with a roll of the eyes. "I dun said sawry."

" 'Sorry' wouldn't have helped us if we were going to Caen!" Duhaney growled.

"For the love of God, Smitty. How do you confuse an American transport with a British transport?" Terry asked rhetorically.

"Well I ain't dun never heard a British accen' before, I thought they were from…Chicago or somethun'."

"We were in England for months, dumbass!" Terry barked. "You heard them speak! That excuse is bullshit!"

"Ya know what, Turry? Let's agree to disagree, alright?"

"Why you son of a—"

"Enough!" Duhaney said with a shake of his head. "It's over, alright? Now let's just wait until we get to Able Company."

"Well this is Able Company. You freeloaders get on out," the driver called out back to them.

The men blinked incredulously at one another. They peered out from the trucks, the area was filled with the uniforms of hundreds of infantrymen who were roaming around the urban area trying to find something to kill their time.

"Thanks, buddy." Smitty said to the driver.

The three men jumped out the back of the truck and followed the traffic of men who were walking forward into town.

"See anyone from Able, here?" Sergeant Duhaney asked.

"Uh…nope. Don't see nuthin but—wait I think that's—aw nope. Ain't him, Sarge." Smitty said.

Terry groaned, "God, that driver said this was Able Company, right? Where are they? It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Well we must dun be in the right place, huh. G'on look at 'em patches on these boys, Blue an' Gray, at least they 29th," Smitty replied.

"They are, Smitty," the Sergeant said. "But they could also be a different regiment."

"Hey, Smitty, next time you get chummy with a driver, tell him to drop us off directly at the HQ, huh?" Terry said with a twist of the mouth.

Smitty sighed, "Fine, I will."

"Promise?"

"Yeah I dun promise."

"Pinky promise?"

Smitty covered his missing little finger. "Oh fuck you!"

Terry laughed, as Duhaney groaned, "If you two are done, can we find our company?"

"Yes, Duhaney," the two men replied.

The men continued on their trek through the bustling city and were fortunate to have their eyes on the sight of two Able men. And who was to be their first sight but none other than Captain MacKay and Sergeant Conti, who were walking towards them without helmets while lost in conversation. The three recuperated men looked at one another and smiled. They walked forward to the two leaders of Able, overhearing some of the conversation.

"A V-2? Are they sure?" Conti said with his faced scrunched.

"Sounds like it. G-2 says these things have been tested for years but are now finally operational. Long-ranged guided rockets apparently that can strike from countries away. They say it can make the Blitz seem like child's play."

Conti looked to the ground and imagined the destruction. "Jeezus…"

"Yeah. The Army is already sending a unit over to the facility to destroy it. I hear something from the higher-ups, you may be getting something big. You finding those plans saved a lot of civilian lives, Conti."

Conti lit a Chesterfield, and chuckled in amusement, "I've saved a lot of things before in my life, sir, but never civilians."

The three soldiers smiled at their leaders, Smitty was the first one to speak. "Hey Cap, Top; we dun made it back to the company!"

"Cavanaugh? Duhaney? Smits? You're—" a smile grew on the CO's face as he walked over to them, "Welcome back, boys. Glad to see you all are walking tall."

The three men smirked with a shuffle of the feet and lighthearted chuckling, as they shook the hands of their Captain. Sergeant Duhaney said, "Aw hell, sir, Krauts can't keep us down in the hospital."

"Yeah, and apparently neither can the doctors either," Conti said with a raised eyebrow. "Y'all bums should be restin' up."

"We did," said Terry, "In fact we were so rested that they we were going to go back in action next week."

"But…" Duhaney continued, "Through a replacement depot. We ain't doing that, sir. We're Able Company, I would rather fight with boys who survived Omaha then fight with any other unit, sir."

"Daaaaaamn straight," Smitty said with a baby face smile.

"Ditto," Terry said.

The Captain peered down at Smitty's hand, "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Smits, but can you fight with only nine fingers?"

Smitty raised his hand and examined his missing pinky, "It don't be botherun' me no how, sir. I can still hold a rifle, toss a grenade," Smitty broke out a wide smile, "Hell, sir, I can still jerk off with this right hand o'mine."

Sergeant Duhaney slapped Smitty in the back of the helmet. MacKay sucked his teeth awkwardly with a roll of the eyes. Conti just shook his head and mumbled, "Kids…"

Terry cleared his throat, "Uh, anyway, we got good news for you, sir. We met several other Able men in the hospital. Brisbane, Bachman, Sandy, Adams; they're planning on breaking out soon to rejoin us."

MacKay couldn't help but grin, "That's good to hear, we need all the men we can get. But if they're still wounded, then they need to stay at the hospital. Hell, you three should have stayed until you all were 100%."

"With respect, sir, we ain't about that healing til you a hundred percent," Terry said. "We wait that long and our papers are stamped to another unit. We ain't leaving, Able, sir."

"They all got spunk, I'll give 'em that," Conti said, peering at MacKay with amused eyes.

"That they do. What do you say, First Sergeant, should we allow them back in the company or send them back to the hospital?"

Conti took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled smoke through a crusty grin, "Aw shit…we have so many crazy bastards already, what's three more going to do to Able?"

The three returning soldiers nodded their heads agreeably and smiled, "Thanks, First Sergeant."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…just don't get hit again, don't wan'cha bastards even more broken."

Terry's eyes roamed around the blasted out city and the engineers' attempt to rebuild it. "I gotta apologize, sir and Top, that we were absent from this…fun-time outing."

"Yes, Corporal, it was certainly 'fun', yes it was…" the Captain said with an exhale, placing his hands on his waist. "It was hard but we did it. We took Cherbourg about three days ago. After that, the Colonel says the entire regiment is having a full week of rest off the front line."

Conti chuckled, "What's better, we don't have to clean up this mess, that's what the engineers are doing."

"Hmm, well sitting in the sun in a destroy city doesn't seem like R&R." Terry commented.

"After the shit we've been through, fightin' Jerry non-stop day in-and-out since the beaches, this right here, is as best as it gets. And I sure as shit am takin' advantage of it." Conti replied. "And y'all should to, now get out of here and visit the men."

"So sir, do you know where are the platoons?"

"Yes. 3rd platoon is just down the street, 1st platoon is behind them to the left, and 2nd platoon is even further down the line passed the bend in the road. I'm sure they'll get a kick out seeing you all again. Take care, men."

"Yes, sir." The three men nodded.

Their nerves were jittering, all three of them had no idea what to feel at this moment. Elation that they were going to see their friends again, or twinges of fear that maybe after nearly a month, their friends had forgotten them? Whatever spectrum of emotion that the three of them landed on, now or never they were going to be reunited.

The three entered the area of 3rd platoon and found the soldiers exhibiting behavior they haven't seen the company do since they were in England. Actually relaxing without a care in the world. The men were lounging around, playing cards, sunbathing, shooting dice, eating, reading either bibles or attempting to read French books, playing basketball with a makeshift hoop and just generally resting around the debris in an attempt to recover several weeks of sleep.

The first men that noticed the returning vets were Duffy and Ruby of 2nd squad. The hillbilly Duffy was giving Ruby an actually decent haircut, using sheers he borrowed from a French girl to clip off parts of Ruby's bright flaming hair. As Duffy tossed off patches of clipped hair, he brought his head up and saw the three men approaching. He initially brought his head back down to return to cutting hair, but it shot up again as his brain finally registered who he saw.

"While I dun be a son of a dirty name! If it ain't lil' Smitty, Terry, and Sergeant Duhaney!"

Ruby snapped over to the three returning companions and broke out his pearly white smile, "Holy crap! Welcome back, guys!"

The commotion attracted the other men of 3rd platoon and before the three men knew, they were all surrounded by their gregarious comrades who began patting them on their backs and telling bawdy jokes almost immediately.

Badmouth walked up to Duhaney with a smile and whistled, "Fuck me. Damn Duhaney, its great seeing your ass around here again, Sarge! Shit, I thought the Krauts had sent you back to the fucking states!"

"And here I thought the Krauts would have cleaned your mouth out with soap by now."

Technical Sergeant Crane walked up towards the returning men, chomping a large cigar in the left side of his mouth. He took out the cigar and exhaled smoke, his stoic expression glued on the recuperated soldiers. His eyes fell on Duhaney, and Duhaney's fell on Crane.

"You going to stand there like an asshat or are you going to say hello?" Duhaney said emotionlessly.

"I rather say hello to Hitler before saying hello to you, ya wide-eyed bastard." Crane retorted.

The platoon began softly chuckling amongst themselves. The two sergeants continued to stare at one another. Crane made the first move. He wiped the sweat from his brow and seized Duhaney in a massive bearhug. Duhaney began patting Crane on the back. Both men were laughing as was the rest of the platoon.

"Oh it's good that you're back, Rhett!" Crane said as he released him.

"Oh it's good to be back, Lloyd! Beats that damn hospital." Duhaney's eyes trailed back to Terry and Smitty. "At least I had some Able men to keep me company."

Crane finally noticed the other two and gave them a subtle nod, "Cavanaugh. Smits. Glad you two are back and are alright. Hope you two kept Rhett sane back there in that hospital."

"More like those bozos were driving me insane, I swear to God." Duhaney explained in a bitter tone, but he couldn't hide his smirk.

"Aw don'cha act like you was absent from all that grab-assun' with them nurses, Sarge!" Smitty giggled with a goofy face, "Sarge here was givun' some sweet TLC to the women in white, weren't ya?"

The platoon all oohed as one and began ribbing the red-faced Sergeant. Terry was laughing hard, his face was stuck in a grin as his eyes fell from face-to-face of the men he was ready to die for. By God it's great to be back with Able!

Crane couldn't help but guffaw, "Even with a bullet in him, he's still trying to get some. Always Able!"

"Always Able!" the entire platoon repeated.

" 'Always Able?' The hell is that?" Duhaney asked.

"That's our new battle cry, Rhett!" Crane explained. "Kudos to Sergeant Conti for coining it. Able Company is also being sent out first to do everything, and even when we are sent out, we always accomplish the objective."

"So…Always Able." Terry said as if he received an epiphany.

"Got that right," Ruby said, patting him on the back. The platoon broke out in a laugh.

"Hey, Lloyd, where's Dice? I wanna see that luck-kissing son of a bitch." Duhaney roared with laughter, "He didn't think I would be back, he owes me some serious money. Where is he, Lloyd?"

"The hospital, Rhett. He's not coming back."

"H-He is? The hell happened?"

"Took a sniper round to the head. But the scrawny bastard was lucky as he's always been. The bullet didn't go through his skull all the way. The way I hear it, he got some head surgery and ain't coming back."

Terry and Smitty blinked incredulously at one another. Duhaney exhaled and looked around at his platoon and started counting off the men in his head.

He spoke softer, "Seems like a lot of fellas won't be coming back…"

"Well…you did," Crane said with a fragile smile, "You, Terry, and Smitty came back. So, it's not impossible. Come on, Rhett, we need things discuss things with the rest of the boys."

And Sergeant Duhaney left with 3rd platoon, but not before looking over his shoulder and nodding with a smile to Terry and Smitty, who looked on with proud smiles at a man being once again reunited with his family. Now it was their turn.

1st Platoon was not that far off and Smitty was getting so excited it looked like he was practically skipping as he was moving closer. That bumpkin is acting like he's a kid at the candy store and I don't blame him, Terry amusingly thought to himself. He would be happy too once he reunited with his platoon, he felt elated that he was going to see Sergeant Vasner, Davey Boy, and Leech again. Oh the fun they would have in these French towns with these mademoiselles!

But one lingering thought that creaked in the back of his mind was Duhaney's earlier comment, "Seems like a lot of fellas won't be coming back…" Terry wondered how many men of 1st and 2nd platoon wouldn't be here when he saw them…

The two men walked into the area of 1st platoon, and once again they paid a sight of the soldiers lounging around, smoking, playing cards, reading, and cleaning their weapons. Terry was amused at this repeated behavior of resting infantrymen, but Smitty was too excited to even notice. He looked at Terry as if he was ten years old and received a car for his birthday and began powerwalking to his platoon.

Resting on the hood of an MP's jeep, Private First Class Miguel Santiago, Able Company's number one scrounger, happened to look up by chance and was the first one to noticed Smitty and Terry approaching. Santiago broke out a smile, "I'll be damned, if it ain't Smitty!"

Smitty chortled goofily and jogged to Santiago, "Oh I dun missed ya, ya thievin' bastard!" They hugged each other and soon 1st platoon began to gather around them.

Sergeant Roland Fischer made his way front and center, sipping on some civilian-brewed coffee, "Welcome back, little Smitty." He broke a coarse smile, "What? The fresh sheets, warm beds, and sexy nurses ain't good enough for you?"

"Nothun' ain't ever good enough then returnun' back to Able!"

Fischer shook his head and chuckled gutturally, "Always Able."

"Always Able," everyone replied.

Corporal Hernandez came out of a house, pulling up his pants and zipping his fly. Terry looked up at the building, and spotted a woman hanging out of the roof dangling a cigarette from her lips, a lovely rose-colored dressed that draped half off of her shoulder.

"Hope we didn't interrupt anything, Hernandez," Terry smirked to him.

Hernandez wrapped his tan arms around Terry and Smitty. "Hell nah, just finishing some sloppy seconds, nothing special. What about you Smitty, you got some ass over at that hospital?"

The men of 1st platoon began whistling and oohing. Private Adair snorted, "Only ass Smitty be playing with is his own." 1st Platoon broke out into mild laughter.

Smitty laughed with them too. "Them nurses don't mess around, I tried stickun' my finguh up them an' this is what happened." Smitty held his mutilated hand out, showing it off to his friends like a badge of honor.

"Golly, must be lucky the Krauts didn't blow your whole hand off," Merrill commented.

"I know, they dun had scary accuracy up there on that beach," Smitty replied.

"Jesus Christ, Smitty, you came back with a missing finger? Man, that took balls, I gotta hand it to you." Santiago commented with a grin.

Hernandez smacked Santiago upside the head. The comment gave the platoon a good chuckle.

Smitty himself chuckled awkwardly, "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Adair smiled and nudged a few of his buddies beside him, "You need to try these new Hershey bars, Smitty. They're finger-lickin' good!"

The men started chuckling louder.

Smitty's smile began to slowly fade, "Okay, okay y'all…"

"Hmm," Sergeant Fischer said, "Those nurses must have given you something good, Smitty. You seem different. I…just can't put my finger on it…"

"Oh y'all go on and shut the hell up, fellas!" Smitty exclaimed red-faced.

The men broke out in raucous laughter. Fischer patted the young man on the back, "Welcome back, Smitty. C'mon and let's get you situated here."

"Thanks, Sergeant. If ya don't mind, where dun Anderson head off to, he here?"

"Anderson, took some shrapnel in the arm a few days ago, he's resting up at the aid station and should be back soon."

"Oh, well that's alright then. Don't mattuh much then, but what 'bout ol' Josiah?"

"Oh…" The request caught the Sergeant off-guard, "Well, Arken isn't coming back most likely, a mortar got him and tore his arm off. Last time I checked, he's still alive, but he won't be returning."

"Oh, I see…" said the West Virginian kid, "I nevuh dun told 'em that I…well, shit…now that I look closuh at y'all, y'all do seem ratha…empty."

The smiles around them began to disappear. Hernandez spoke, "We…did lose a lot of guys, but we're still kicking, hell you should see the number of Germans we put six feet under. We're Able Company, we bounce back."

"Damn right," Fischer agreed. "C'mon Smitty, let's go."

"Excuse me, Sarge," Terry interjected, "Mind telling me where 2nd platoon is?"

"Right, they're past the bend to the right, further on down. Can't miss it."

"Thanks, Fischer. So long, fellas, I'm gonna pop on in with my platoon."

Terry patted Smitty on the back and left the men of 1st platoon. Before he went too far, Private Merrill came calling after him.

"Terry, wait up!"

"Oh hey, Merrill, what is it?"

"So you're heading off to see 2nd platoon?"

"Yeah, what's the matter?"

Merrill began softly biting his lower lip and glued his eyes to dirt before looking back up, "Well, you see, Terry…uh, 2nd Platoon …they—uh, they lost the most men. So uh, yeah…"

"Oh, I uh, I see…thanks Merrill. Appreciate it."

Both men shook each other's hands and left for their own destination. Once again, Terry felt alone. He tried to cheer up, he remember the audacious love Duhaney and Smitty felt when they returned, he knew he would get the same love in return from his platoon. But the gnawing sensation of Merrill's words kept resonating within him.

'Lost the most men.' Oh hell, what did I fucking miss? With each step forward, his stomach churned tighter, as he closed the distance, a small portion of him began to regret coming back.

After passing the bend, the first man that Terry spotted was Duck, casually smoking on a barrel as his eyes roamed the sky in a daydream. He then noticed the other seven men lounging around, doing the same time-killing activities that the 1st and 3rd platoon were doing as well. A large smile crawled on his face; these were his boys, his second family. And then, the smile began to recede. He finally noticed that there were only 8 men around. 'Lost the most men.' No, it couldn't have been this extreme.

He placed his pack on the ground and crept behind the smoking Duck and whispered, "Hope you brought enough to share."

Duck spun around with a smirk, rising to his feet extending his arms out to hug him. "Terry!"

Both of the corporals hugged each other with a chuckle "Great to see you again, Duck!"

"Jesus, Terry, I thought they had you shipped off the beaches after Omaha."

"Aw hell, Duck, I ain't leaving France without making sure you can at least piss in a straight line, first."

"Hey…I'm a big boy now; I can piss in a straight line, thank you very much. I can even do it without pulling my trousers down."

Both men hugged each other again with a fit of laughter. Duck patted Terry on the back and motioned for him to follow.

"Jesus, Terry, it's great you're back! Oh the boys are going to get a kick out of this! Hey 2nd Platoon gather round. Ol' Terry is back from the hospital."

Terry was grinning ear-to-ear as the platoon formed around him as if he was a celebrity. It was Rawlings and Hannigan that came to him first and slapped him on the back with rowdy fits of laughter. Lovett gave him a friendly pound in his chest. Saywell tossed Terry an apple and smiled hard; accenting his newly grown mustache that Terry couldn't recall he had prior to D-Day. The sun shined brightly off of Hefferman's bald held as he stood to greet Terry. And Terry shook hands with the translator, King, who was busy smacking on a thick wad of gum. And last, and certainly least, came Blackwell, sauntering carefree over to the commotion; a sharp grin painting his face. God, it's great to be back with 2nd platoon!

Only thing was, he saw nobody from his old squad, 2nd Squad. '2nd Platoon lost the most men…' Maybe they were gathered somewhere else close by? 'Lost the most men…' Maybe they're still… 'Lost.' Maybe…

Terry stopped smiling and puts on an awkward face to ask, "Glad to see most of 1st Squad here, now where's Sergeant Vasner and 2nd Squad?"

And just like that, the smiles that surrounded him faded into uncomfortable silence. Duck bit his lip and placed both hands on his hips. Terry felt the goosebumps rising on his arms. The images of his squadmates flashed in his mind.

"Oh Jesus…they—all of them?" Terry asked. He instantly regretted voicing the question, he dared not hear the answer.

"Yeah, Terry. I'm sorry, man..." Surprisingly, the sympathies came from Blackwell of all people. The once permanent mask of derangement that had been the soldier's face had melted into a sullen frown and soft, concerned eyes that incredibly seemed sincere.

"You…You're serious?" Terry asked.

Blackwell's eyes did not change. He nodded softly, seemingly teemed with regret.

The back of Terry's throat dried up, he rubbed his face with the back of his hand. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, the same pain he remembered feeling when he came home from school and his parents told him his dog was killed by a milk truck. The faces of his squad mates stayed in his head.

"What happened to Vasner?"

"He got it the day after the landing…sniper." Duck reluctantly answered.

Oh man…Sarge…

"What about Davey Boy?"

"Potato masher…" Saywell answered uncomfortably.

Goddamn it…

"Leech?"

The men exchanged awkward glances at one another. King cleared his throat, "He…He, uh, we're not sure…"

"The hell does that mean?"

Duck clarified, "We believed he was captured by the Krauts. He, Georgie, and Hammond…were on OP duty one night about two weeks ago. The Krauts attacked further down the line in force and hit Baker Company. Able didn't receive one German. In the morning, all three of them were gone, weapons and equipment too. We…never saw them again."

Just like that. He returned to a hollow family.

"So, where's everyone else? Hmm? Where's Lieutenant Croons? Staff Sergeant Tolliver? What about Jacobs, Sousa, Ryan, Pappas? Where are—"

"Terry…" King's voice was so fragile.

Everyone around him was eyeing the dirt, except Blackwell, who was peering at him with distanced eyes.

"So…this is…uh, this is—" the words seemed too painful for Terry to say, "This is all of 2nd platoon, eh? No L-T, no sergeants, just you, Duck. You in charge?"

"Yeah…I am…but we're glad you're back with us, Terry."

Back to what? "Yeah, I guess, so. So this the new norm for us, this squad-size platoon?"

Blackwell shook his head. "Not for long, we're getting replacements soon to fill in the bodie…empty ranks. We'll probably get them within a few days."

"Th-That's good…that's good…"

"Hey," Blackwell placed his palm on Terry's shoulder; it was weightless as a falling leaf. "You can't dwell on it, Cavanaugh. "You can't."

"Easier said than done, Blackwell."

"I know, trust me I know, kid."

And with that, Blackwell turned around and walked away.

"Hey, Terry," it was Lovett, who pounded him softly in the chest. He gave the returning soldier a gentle, yet encouraging smile. "I know it's different, but we're glad you returned, Terry. Welcome back, man."

"Yeah…thanks…" Welcome back…the words were taunting him with demonic bitterness.