The Captain III

July 8, D-Day + 32

"A good boss makes his men realize they have more ability than they think they have so that they consistently do better work than they thought they could"

"Gentleman, this bocage country is killing us. All these hedgerows, four to six feet high and a solid foot or two thick, Germans hitting us from everywhere… We can't advance worth a damn in this region. And every moment we delay, gives the Germans ample time to dig in even more. For the love of God, I hate this damn region, gentleman."

The Army spent nearly a year planning this invasion and no one thought to investigate this bocage just miles away from the beaches… Army intelligence at its finest… thought MacKay irritably.

"But the Army finally developed tank equipment to tear through these hedgerows and let our infantry and armor move in safely. So here's what we're going to do now, gentlemen, we're going to go in there, find the Germans, and kick their asses!"

'Find the Germans'? And 'kick their asses'? Haven't we already been trying to find the Germans and kick their ass? So we're just doing the same thing over again then…

Captain MacKay listened on; his arms crossed at Lieutenant Colonel Liam Lincoln's Battalion debriefing, or more like his five minute rant on the hedgerow country the entire Army Corps was in. It was near mid-July and the Allies should have been in Germany by now. But because the British and Canadians still haven't taken Caen—their D-Day objective—and the American First Army was bogged down in thick hedgerow country, the entire Overlord planned had stalled—considerably. The 29th had seen their share of hedgerow fighting though. The first week in Normandy, they passed the beaches and went inland and smackdab into the earthen and grassy ramparts that hid the Germans and their artillery. They paid a bloody price but pushed through what they thought was the only series of hedgerows in France. MacKay was livid to find out that this current system of hedgerows was the largest ones in France, progress had slowed down to a crawl.

And here was the colonel ranting over this series of labyrinth-like walls made of branches and thick vines. The colonel was a good man and can lay down the plan for a solid operation, but at times, he would seem to be a little too… gung-ho.

By MacKay's side were the Company Commanders of the 1st Battalion, 116th Regiment consisting of Baker, Charlie, and Dog company; who like him were listening in and jotting down all the details in their minds.

There was 1st Lieutenant Devin "Roddy" Rodenhaver from Newport News, Virginia, Commanding Officer of Baker Company. Before Rodenhaver took command, Baker Company had two previous COs. Captain Richard Sandusky, who was severely wounded on D-Day, took three MG42 rounds to the torso; he was treated by the medics and evacuated after the Invasion. Command then fell to 1st Lieutenant Dustin Tripp, Sandusky's Executive Officer, but he was killed by a mortar a few miles outside Cherbourg. The company itself had a reputation of Kraut killing after Cherbourg; it was known as "Brutal Baker". A platoon from Baker was pinned down by a reinforced platoon of Germans. It was Rodenhaver who led his 3rd platoon in a stealthy flanking maneuver and got behind the Germans' rear, and on elevated ground. The American MGs and riflemen ripped into the ranks of the pincered Germans. Many of them fell with screams of agony, they were so close together that when they fell, they began to pile on top of one another. Several Germans tried to flee, others shot their hands in the air to surrender, but Baker was having none of it. Their anger and adrenaline blurred together and they shot all the Germans dead. By the time the battle was over, soldiers from different units gawked in astonishment at the sight and stench from the human pile of Kraut corpses that was nearly four feet high, all done by the men of Baker Company.

Charlie Company's Commanding Officer was Captain Morgan Glick from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Captain Glick was a huge man, towering the other COs at six feet and five inches. He played football for the University of Oklahoma and was an offensive lineman for his final three years. Charlie Company had earned the nickname "Crazy Charlie", when they were attacked by a full company of Germans on June 20th. Charlie Company was dug in on the extreme left flank of the battalion and the company of Germans launched a night attack. German artillery fell on Charlie with MG42s shooting at their flanks; so instead of calling their own artillery, Captain Glick ordered a bayonet charge against the incoming Germans—a true rarity in the ETO. Charlie rose from their positions and ran headlong into the Germans' automatic weapons, vaulting into the Germans' defenses, engaging in vicious hand-to-hand combat. And the Germans retreated and Charlie was hot on their heels, thus gaining the title, "Crazy Charlie."

Last but certainly not least was Captain Trent Bishop of Dog Company, a fearless yet reckless officer from Mobile, Alabama. They had the reputation of "The Daring Dogs". It was June 19th, a day after Able had rescued Dog from being encircled back in Monteburg and aided the Red Ball Express. A platoon from Dog Company had found itself encircled again, this time the platoon was close to being overrun and destroyed. Captain Bishop called the platoon sergeant since the platoon leader was already killed, and told the sergeant to order his men to hold on. Bishop then requisitioned several halftracks, jeeps, and supply trucks, then filed most of Dog into the vehicles and drove to the cutoff platoon. The Germans opened fire on the vehicles, but instead of the American vehicles stopping to unload, they kept driving forth through the maddening fire. Bishop ordered his men to drive right through the German line. Men were killed, vehicles careened off the roads once their drivers were shot, but the motorized attacked continued. The vehicles then penetrated the German line, and running over a few Germans in the process and reconnected with the cutoff platoon.

Out of all of them, MacKay was the oldest at 30, and felt every year as he was next to the younger COs. Glick was 27, Bishop was 26, and Rodenhaver was 24. Everybody enlisted in the Army in 1940 and was commissioned as an officer, only MacKay entered the Army as a private in 1934 and worked his way up to officer status. Everyone joked that he was old, and MacKay would brush it off, but seeing how Lieutenant Colonel Lincoln was 36 and his aides were in their early-thirties, maybe MacKay wasn't as young as he thought he was. He thought about Calvin, and then about his men; very few of his fellow soldiers were married, and even fewer had children, let alone those that were already four years old.

The Lieutenant Colonel continued, "This is how we're doing it, gentlemen." His aide laid out a map, "This here is Hill 192, five miles out from Saint-Lô and overlooks the roads that lead to the city. And with all the hedgerows around this bocage country interlocked with this hill here, it makes a formidable defense for those goddamn Germans to slow our advance upon Saint-Lô. The German 352nd is housed on and around the hill and are keen on repelling all assaults. The 2nd Division is trying to take the hill but they're having trouble against stiff German resistance, so our battalion has been detached from the 29th to help out the 2nd. Saint-Lô is only five miles away, but we can't get there unless this hill is taken, gentlemen. Aerial reconnaissance reveals a few 88s, light to medium armor, and some nebelwerfers around the area, so we'll need to be careful with our own armor; but soon we'll be given Sherman bulldozers to crash through the hedges and catch those Jerry sumbitches with their pants around their ankles. We got tough bastards out there and we need to neutralize them. Captain Glick, I'm having Charlie Company take the lead on this one."

"Understood, sir!" said the Captain.

MacKay exhaled with a raised brow, Whew, could have sworn he was going to say Able. I mean, by God, we usually go first. He looked over to Captain Glick and thought, But I hope you can do this, Morgan.

"Captain MacKay, Able Company's going to be on the left; Captain Bishop, your Dogs got the right; and Lieutenant Roddy, your company is in reserve."

"Yes, sir."

"Can Charlie get any artillery or air support, sir?" Captain Glick asked.

"We'll have 105s on standby to blast whatever Kraut armor or defilade you need."

"Sounds good, sir."

"Since Able has the left of the battalion, who's going to be our left flank, sir?" MacKay asked, pointing his finger on the map. "If the 2nd Battalion are coming down from the north, and our 1st Battalion is coming from the west with the entire 29th behind us; then our flanks are going to be exposed to the Germans."

"It will be, John." Lincoln said surely. "The 2nd Battalion is going to be moving up to your left flank to secure it, but they're being bogged down by German resistance two towns behind. They won't come secure it until the 10th."

MacKay's mouth tightened. "So Able needs to hold the extreme left for two days?"

"Yes, you will. But don't worry, John. The 352nd seem keen on holding the position instead of attacking."

If they knew how battered we are, then they could sweep off the hill with their armor and roll up the entire flank and battalion…

"But, you'll just need to hold, John, and secure that flank whatever way you can until 2nd Battalion rolls up. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"I do have good news though. Tomorrow, the regiment is receiving an entire influx of replacements. From what I hear, almost 100 men per battalion."

Glick frowned, "Excuse me, sir. I am to receive 25 brand new men, the day of the attack?"

"Yes you are. Now I understand the concern, but I guarantee that they'll aid in the attack."

MacKay could tell that Glick wasn't very satisfied with the answer. And he didn't blame him for being unsatisfied. Having 25 new men on the day of a major attack, not enough time to get settled in and learn the ropes from the veterans; they would be more a liability than an asset.

"Also, I got more news, gentlemen." The colonel's face dipped discouragingly, "Word came down from G-2 that the Fatherland sent us another problem to deal with." Lincoln motioned to his aide, "Major…"

The major presented a file filled with pictures of a middle-aged German officer in front of a tank. Lincoln explained, "This man, gentlemen, is Captain Joseph Gunter Schultz. He's an elite panzer ace brought in from the Eastern Front, he's apparently earned his medals roasting Russians alive in their tanks. We believe he's now attached to the Panzer Lehr Division and G-2 believes he is operating in this area, not only is he here, but he's in command of a Panzergruppe and most likely has a few Tigers in the field.

The four COs traded puzzling glances with one another.

MacKay spoke first, "Sir, we have to contend with Tigers?"

"Possibly."

"How many Tigers are you exactly talking about when you say, 'a few'?"

"We… have no idea, honestly."

MacKay sucked his bottom lip. It just kept getting better…

"Is he in the town, or lurking in the bocage, sir?" Lieutenant Rodenhaver asked.

"I do not know. We just received news that he is somewhere in the area."

Bishop made a scoffing grunt. "Excuse me, sir? If this man is leading a section of Tigers and other heavy tanks, I would believe aerial recon would have noticed that in the area."

Lincoln exhaled through his nose, "Gentlemen, I understand your questions and frustration, I have many questions myself for Command, but this is all that is available to us for the time being. As soon as we get more intel, you all best believe I will relay it to you."

"Yes sir!" the COs said in unison.

The four COs left the command tent and took a walk, the debriefing still on their lips.

"Looks like you got a lot ahead of you, Morgan." Bishop chuckled, lighting a match for his cigarette.

Glick simply shrugged, "After Omaha, shit, what hasn't been ahead of us."

The other COs shook their heads and grunted in agreement.

"Crazy Charlie has this one covered. With arty support and the 2nd Infantry aiding us, I know my guys can get that hill."

Bishop puffed out smoke from his lips, "Jesus, take a look at that," he pointed to the hill itself in the distance, "Not the biggest hill you've ever seen, isn't it?"

"Since when had France been known for its exotic hills?" Glick remarked.

"Uh, how about the Alps, Morgan?" Bishop retorted.

"That's Switzerland, Trent. And Italy. And I'm pretty sure Austria to boot."

"No, the Alps cover France too! I remember that since grammar school."

Lieutenant Rodenhaver noticed the silent Able Company Captain.

"Captain MacKay, you've been rather quiet."

"Oh, uh, sorry y'all. Just thinking about this whole operation."

"What's wrong with it, sir?"

"Well, Saint-Lô is so close and yet we get reports of a panzer ace within proximity of us. But G-2 has no idea where he is, there's no reports of him within the city where the tanks would have very little mobility, nor in open field to take full advantage of range—guess he'll be a sitting duck to air support and artillery. So just where is the man?"

"Don't know and I'm sure as shit not trying to find out." Glick groaned as he stretched. "Hopefully he'll be another unit's problem."

"I second that," Bishop said.

"We need to get anti-tank weapons and more Shermans for our battalion," MacKay affirmed. "I know we're going to run into more tanks; the deeper we venture into Europe, the more armor we're going to be engaged with."

Lieutenant Roddy sighed, "A Tiger… when are our boys back home going to construct our own super tank or something?"

"Probably not until the next war, Devin." Glick said. "By then we should have flying tanks of death or something that uses rayguns to shoot its enemies. Soon infantry will be obsolete, I bet my bottom dollar on it." He checked his watch and sighed. Glick smiled back at his fellow COs, "Well, I ought to head back to my company. Catch you boys later, hold our flanks good and wish Crazy Charlie the best."

"Take care, Morgan," said MacKay and Rodenhaver.

"Take care of those Krauts for us!" Bishop said after him.

Bishop slapped a fat mosquito on the back of his tanned hand. "Damn bugs," he cursed. "I hate being in Normandy, so damn humid, hedgerows everywhere…" He nodded to MacKay and Rodenhaver and walked away back to his unit, still grumbling, "Goddamn, can't wait until we take Saint-Lô, and then on to Paris and then to Germany and then…"

"Well, it seems like everyone else is leaving," sighed the lieutenant.

"Yeah, guess so, take care, Devin."

"Same to you, sir."

As Rodenhaver left, MacKay's eyes looked upon his First Sergeant, waiting patiently by their jeep.

MacKay gave his trusty sergeant a smirk, "Nice of you to wait for me, Joe."

Conti smirked back, "Of course, I love to wait when you have the keys to the jeep, sir."

MacKay patted his chest and pulled out the keys to the jeep. "Oh, uh… I guess I did." Both men shared a chuckle.

A private approached the Captain with a platter of two sandwiches.

"Here you go, Captain, your two sandwiches, sir."

MacKay nodded with a smile, "Thank you, private."

"What's that, sir?" Conti asked.

"Two sandwiches, both pastrami with cheese and tomato with a dab of mustard. I asked the orderly to make them when I came here."

Conti nodded, "Pastrami, eh? Sounds good."

"It does, and I hope it tastes better. Don't you, Joe?"

"Sir?"

MacKay gave the sandwich to Conti, "Duh, Joe. I got the other one for you."

Boy, was it worth it just to see a smile form on Conti's face, his eyes opening, his mouth near salivating. Conti took the sandwich and bit into it. "My God, never thought I'd taste a hero again!"

MacKay smiled. Being a Captain certainly did have its privileges.

MacKay patted Conti on the back, "C'mon, Joe, you can stuff your face on the way back to Able. I'll drive."

Conti's face was already stuffed, "Mmm, yesh, siir."

Both men hopped in the jeep and MacKay drove off back to Able Company. The wind from the drive was a nice relief during the humidity that hung in the air.

Conti sucked the mustards off his fingers, "So when are we hitting Saint-Lô, sir?"

"As soon as we seize Hill 192."

"And when is Able seizing it?"

"We're not, that honor goes to Crazy Charlie."

Conti laughed in disbelief. "I'm surprised it's not Able this time."

"As am I, but we got two problems that come with it. The first is that we're on the extreme left flank and Dog is on the right but their flank is tied in. We got nothing. The other battalions are supposed to be on our flank but they're held up by the Germans, so we need to tie in our flank somehow."

"Okay. And what's the second problem, sir?"

"The nest of Germans hiding in wait amid the hedgerows surrounding the hill."

"Well that's always been a problem for us."

"Yes, but these guys mean it. True the other Germans didn't want us inland after D-Day, but Saint-Lô is vital to them, I hate to even think what defenses they already have planned for us not to approach them."

Joe scratched his chin, his eyes looking into the sky above, "Empty flank, hidden Germans; seems like another day at the office for Able Company, sir."

"Oh yeah? That would be the case but I forgot to mention, we are to be on the lookout for Joseph Schultz."

"Who?"

"He's a Panzer Ace; apparently Berlin brought him all the way from the Eastern Front to deal with us."

"We got Hitler that scared?"

MacKay looked at him with a lifted brow, "Well tell me this, Joe. What would you call the situation where the Allies open up another front right to your rear?"

"Tuesday."

MacKay shook his head with a smirk. "Also, there's word that's he's operating a Tiger, and he has more..."

"Jeezus Christ…"

"Exactly. This thing can take out four Shermans."

"Wilcox is gonna love this…"

"Hopefully we can get a few Tank Destroyers attached to Able and assist Wilcox when we run into Schultz. Joe, I'll also need you to requisition several bazookas from Battalion for the men."

"Understood, sir. Wait, 'when'? "

"What?"

"You said, 'when'. You were talking about how we need TDs to assist Wilcox 'when' we run into Schultz. Thought you said he was just in the area, sir?"

"Yeah… Joe, knowing Able's luck—or sometimes lack thereof—we're going to face Schultz and his armored unit. I feel it, Joe. In my bones I feel it. We're going to run into some serious armor in the future."

"And I thought I was the pessimist, sir."

Sir…hmm…

"Joe, I need to ask you something?"

"What is it, sir?"

MacKay chuckled, "How come you don't ever call me 'John" anymore?"

Conti, taken back by the question, stammered, "Uh, wh-what do you mean? Uh, cause you're an officer, of course, and my CO. It'll look bad if I call you by your first name in front of the men."

"I know that, Joe. I'm not saying in front of the men, I mean when we're by ourselves. How come you don't call me, 'John", when we're by ourselves?"

Conti raised his eyebrow; "How come you don't call me, 'Conti' when we're by ourselves?" he fired back.

"Huh, you're right… I don't."

"You don't want to be too formal with me, sir. I understand. But I can't be too personal with you, MacKay. You know that, even in private. I get comfortable doing that and my discipline slips up. You're a Captain, I'm a Sergeant. There's no way these two ranks can ever get too personal, especially in the forms of a Company Commander and a First Sergeant." Conti looked over at him, "Why did you even ask that?"

MacKay sighed as he took a turn, "Just something I noticed, Joe. That's all. I mean, there was a time you know, back home… oh I don't know, but we were like brothers."

Conti grunted, his eyes lowered to his lap, "Boy that was a long time ago, MacKay. That seemed like damn near ancient history."

"Both of us were sergeants, we were thick as thieves, weren't we?"

Conti chuckled, "Yeah we were, by God we were. Those were great times, eh?" Conti's eyes fell on the Norman countryside; the warmth, the green, by God… it all reminded Joe Conti of Fort Riley, Kansas. "And we weren't the only ones, we had a crew with us. MacKay, remember that midget, 'Bunny'?"

MacKay busted out laughing, "Yeah! 'Bunny' Baxter, yeah I do. God, what was his first name? We called him Bunny for so long I forgot his real name."

"Shit, I don't even remember… It started with a "C" right?"

"Charlie, right?"

"No, that ain't it. It was some pansy-ass name, uh… Carl—no that's it, Carley! Carley Baxter. No wonder we gave him the name 'Bunny'."

"I thought it was because he was fast."

"That too. Blew the drill sergeants away during PT for sure whenever he ran, could have been a track star."

"He sure could have. Forgot why he joined the Army back in '34. But man, he was silly."

"He actually did several bunny-hops when we got him drunk off his ass."

MacKay continued to laugh, "Yeah we did! And he sang a song about Alice in Wonderland in a squeaky voice; he was a riot when he was drunk."

"Yeah, and he transferred out of our company back in '41. Goddamn, never did know why. Whatever happened to Bunny…?"

"Oh you didn't know? He's a 2nd Lieutenant now with the 82nd."

Conti snapped his head in a humorous surprise, "Nuh uh! Lil' Bunny ain't no damn paratrooper! That ain't possible."

"Swear to God, he is. He even won a Silver Star for his actions at Anzio."

"My God, I told the lil bastard that he was too short to amount to anything in the Army."

"Well guess he showed you then."

Conti nodded, "Guess the lil munchkin did." His smile returned along with some deep chuckling, "I do know Douglas Carat would have been proud."

"My God, I forgot about 'Carrot'! Christ almighty—" he had to stop to breathe from laugh. "Remember what those two were called when they were together?"

"Yeah I do! Ol 'Bunny and Carrot'," Conti howled with laughter, "Those stupid sons of bitches! Whew, those two were special."

MacKay smiled hard, "Yeah, Carrot was the smarter of the two I'll say."

"By a long shot, damn. What happened to Carrot? He was transferred out back in '40."

"First Lieutenant. He sent me some mail a week before the invasion. Somehow it got through to me; it was dated about a month before."

"Huh… He's an officer too, where's he now?"

"Back in the States training with the 10th Division and he's with Battalion S-3 now."

"Wow, look at that huh? Battalion S-3… Carrot moved up, remember how much he was griping about staff officers?"

"I do. I was just as surprised when I found out. Wonder if he had a choice in the matter."

Conti smirked, "Prolly no, he would have been kickin' and screamin' like a headless chicken."

MacKay suddenly snickered, "Speaking of kicking and screaming… Joe, remember Vinnie Cardonni?"

"Christ, don't I ever. He was the first of us to make Sergeant. That lanky bastard was a hell of a scrapper."

"Yeah he was, pretty sure he knocked you on your ass."

Conti's eyes went sharp and he pointed his finger in MacKay's face, "Nearly!" he quickly corrected his captain, "He nearly knocked me on my ass!"

"Not how I recalled it, Joe," MacKay continue to snicker.

"No he didn't!"

MacKay smiled, "He socked you on your left with that swift One-Two."

"That ain't how it happened!"

"And you were out like a light."

"And I'm tellin' ya, that ain't how it happened, Joh—"

His eyes perked up, "Did you just call me, 'John'?"

Conti softly growled, "That ain't how it happened, Captain. I coulda broken that bastard in half like a friggin' almond biscotti if I wanted ta."

"Yeah… But you didn't."

Conti growled louder before looking out to the side of the road. "Whatever…"

The Captain continued laughing, "Jesus… Now Vinnie, I don't know what happened to him. Do you?"

"…"

"Joe?"

"He's dead."

"Wha— oh…"

"Yeah."

"Shit… what happened?"

"Well, when everyone was transferred to different units, Vinnie got commissioned to an officer as well. God knows how that skinny gavone got that commission. But y'know 'bout those army regs…"

MacKay sucked his bottom lip, "Yeah, all new officers are immediately transferred out of their original units."

"Right, and he went to the 3rd Battalion of a different regiment. He was still in the Big Red One with me and I occasionally saw him in Africa. But uh… yeah that's when we were in Kasserine Pass and… I was wounded and I heard that he was killed. The gavone held the line for his men to fall back and he was killed, and got himself the DSC… Christ, that bastard was always a scrapper…"

"Yeah… he was…"

"Jeezus… look at us, MacKay… what happened to the Old Army? Those were the good times. All of us were NCOs, we were in the same unit, America was at peace, we were still in our 20s, now look at us… we're all older and all scattered across the world. Some of us are even buried around the world."

"Yep, such is the way of the Old Army. It dissolves and becomes the New Army."

Conti sighed, "Yeah… that it does. Hmm, noticed a pattern there, all of our chums made officer, but me."

"Yeah, you're right. What's wrong, Joe? Not bitter are you?"

"Hell no, quite the opposite in fact. I'm an NCO for life. Don't never want to be no officer."

MacKay shrugged with a smirk, "I don't know, Joe, I think you'll make a fine officer."

"Yeah right, sir."

"I'm serious, I know you will, you're a great leader and I think you can do more as an officer than you can as a First Sergeant."

"The day I get a commission is the day I put a bullet through my friggin' skull, mark my words, sir."

MacKay sighed and pulled the jeep along the side of the road.

"Uh, why did we stop? We're almost to Able Company, sir." Conti said.

"I know, but, Joe… I need to tell you something."

"Yeah?"

"I was going to surprise you when it came, but… Now seems like the best time to do it."

"To doooooooooo… what exactly?"

MacKay exhaled. "Well, Joe… After your actions at Cherbourg, I put you in for a battlefield commission and Colonel Rivers approved it. It should be official in a few days. You can kiss enlisted life goodbye, First Sergeant. Can't wait to see you with that gold bar, Lieutenant Conti."

John expected that reaction. That near statue-like stiffness. Conti's mouth fell slowly, his eyes looking out into space for miles. Conti closed his mouth with a quaking inhale. He looked to the sky and exhaled, then turned back to MacKay. "You son of a bitch…"

"Joe, I know—"

"You son of a bitch."

"You have what it takes to be an officer, Joe."

The grizzled face of the sergeant contorted in fury, "You son of a bitch!"

He stormed out of the jeep and walked a few feet away, seething. MacKay exited the jeep and went after. "Joe, hear me out—"

"What the hell, MacKay?! Why the hell— God, why?!"

"You're a leader, Joe!"

"I was already a leader as the First Sergeant!"

"You can do more, Joe. I know it! Your quality as a leader isn't just relegated to an NCO, but as an officer."

Conti's glare hardened. "And you didn't say shit. You went behind my back? You didn't even come to talk to me with this man-to-man!"

"That's right, I didn't. Because I knew you wouldn't talk about this!"

"Goddamn right I won't. Shit, forget this, I'll just refuse."

"Paperwork's already been signed, Joe. You're going to get the commission."

"The hell I am!"

MacKay scoffed, "The hell is your problem, Joe? Stop acting like a child, you're a soldier for Christ's sake!"

"I'm an NCO for life, I ain't got the mettle to be no officer. I spent so many years in the Old Army as a sergeant and by God I'm gonna stay a sergeant in the New Army."

"I thought I was going to stay a sergeant too until someone saw potential in me and raised me to a Captain. Damn it, Joe! Stop being so damn stubborn about this."

"It's not me, John! I'm not an officer, I'm not like you!"

"What the hell do you mean?"

"I'm not you, John! I don't have your character. You have the will to do what is necessary to send your men out knowing they will get killed. You excel in tactics and are able to get your men through any situation that we run across. You're compassionate yet stern and I know the men view you as a pleasant, caring father. And this is a path that you can take that I can't. I'm the bitch stepmother to those men, when I walk around them, they grumble and are put on edge. I'm not married, I don't have a son, I don't come from money, and I don't have your book smarts. You can become a bird colonel one day! This can be your career; you were born to lead men! But me? An officer? I don't want a career in the military."

"Being a lieutenant doesn't mean you have to be in the Army for life. I know I'm not striving towards it. What? You think I love this job, killing people and making decision knowing that others will die, and you just have to fucking accept that?! I detest this. I detest the feeling of sending boys to their death and writing letters to their families of how I failed. I detest this but I know I have to do it because all of these boys count on me to get them home. Some of them have families, some of them don't, some of them have a life back home, some of them don't; but it's my job to make sure that no matter happens, they have a future during a time a peace. Once this war is over, I'm done with the Army. I just want to go back to D.C. and stay with Mary and Calvin."

It seemed to John that Joe finally realized what he was saying. Joe inhaled then exhaled and grunted cantankerously. He took out a Chesterfield and leaned back against the hood of the jeep.

"Joe, you really think I'm a perfect officer? Me?"

As the tip was lit, Joe dragged on the cigarette.

The Captain chuckled weakly, "And here I thought you were a realist, Joe. I'm the perfect officer? Ha! Based on what? My family, my upbringing, my rapport with the men and the staff officers? Or is it the tactics that I plan and put into action? If I was perfect, none of our men would have died, Joe. You know that damn well. Besides, there isn't such thing as a perfect officer. Especially in the Old Army. Remember back in '38, Lieutenant Bell? The dummy couldn't find a snowball in a blizzard."

Joe snickered from the comment. MacKay continued, "Then there was Major Sewell, he was so incompetent that I'm sure our colonel shipped his ass to Alaska or something. And there then was Lieutenant McEwen, Lieutenant White, Captain Holt, Captain Argos—"

"Yeah, I get it, I get it."

"My point being, for every one good officer, there's like five bad ones. You know that ratio's pretty true." MacKay's smile seemed to be bordering on pride and arrogance, "And I have to believe that I qualify as a good officer, Joe, but I'm not perfect. Listen to me, Joe, you don't have to worry about being the perfect officer, just worry about being a good soldier.

"And as to my combat prowess, Joe, you're just as good as me. I heard from 2nd platoon after Cherbourg, you led about 11 men in a direct assault against near 40 Germans entrenched in defensive positions and a tank and took only one casualty which was a wounded man. I heard you even charged the tank to stop it from rolling over Pappas and even had your men destroyed the tank with no artillery or heavy weapons. You have shown excellent strategy and tactics and I know you can be a combat platoon leader."

Joe's eyes looked to the sky, his cigarette resting between his fingers. He grunted lowly before putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

MacKay chuckled, "What the hell, Joe? This ain't like you, acting all naïve and childish… What's going on, man? C'mon now, tell me, Joe."

"John, do you remember Marcus, Gordon, 'Sparky', and 'Fish?"

MacKay turned his head, placing his hands on his waist. "Yeah, I do…" Marcus Stancher and Gordon Hill, I still remember hearing how they were killed in Italy back in '43... And after Pearl Harbor, 'Sparky' and 'Fish' were transferred to the Pacific...

Conti exhaled a puff of smoke and scratched the stubble on his cheeks. "Fuck… everyone we know is either dead or scattered throughout the world. Marcus, Gordon, Sparky, Fish, Bunny, Carrot, Vinnie, You… Jeezus—I can't even… John, during '35 to '39, those were one of the best years of my life. We were all together as NCOs and we had heaps of fun together. You guys did more for me and were there for me more than my own family… Then Hitler invaded Poland and the world began to change, everyone moving up and leaving. One-by-one they all began to leave until I was the only one left... Once again, I was alone."

MacKay walked beside him and leaned back against the Jeep. "Oh… I… didn't know you felt that way, Joe…"

Conti dragged on his smoke.

"Sorry, I never told you about this, Joe. I—I thought…"

"John… You gave me this knowing that I would leave Able."

"I did."

"Who would be replacing me as First Sergeant?"

"Lloyd Crane from 3rd Platoon, I know he can do it. The man led 3rd platoon by himself without an officer all the way towards Cherbourg."

Conti began nodding, "Yeah, Crane will do."

A silence grew between them. Conti finished his cigarette and flicked it into the grass. "I hated my life, so much. So many shitty situations were crapped down on me when I was growing up and I made some shitty choices in the past. Even when I was with my Ma or one of my wives, I still felt… it was just me against the world, y'know? But joining the Army, meeting the eight of you guys, I felt like I had a true family… I was a goddamn idiot back then. For the love of Mary," he began to chuckle bitterly, "I actually believe that all nine of us would be in the same company when war broke out and we would all be fighting together… Goddamn, Joe, you're a fucking moron…"

"Joe, c'mon, don't get so bummed out man."

"Of course I'm fuckin' bummed. I… I'm leaving Able, and my last buddy."

"What are you talking about? I'm the only buddy you have in Able."

"I know."

"Oh."

"But why, John? I could have stayed with Able and been the backbone of the company. Especially if you're not here. I need to tell the other NCOs and platoon leaders what you want and to be in your confidence. So why? Why did you pick me to be an officer."

MacKay stared into the veteran's grey eyes, they were beseeching, fragile. "I, just followed my gut. I just know that you are supposed to be leading others in a higher capacity. I know it."

Conti shook his head with a crooked smile, another period of silence grew between them. He suddenly began to laugh.

"Wh-What's so funny, Joe?"

"Jeezus, guess you're not the perfect officer. Cause that was a shit answer."

"I know, but it's the truth."

"I guess it is. But y'know what that tells me?"

"What?"

"That honesty is bullshit. From now on, I'm gonna be a lyin' officer from now on."

MacKay smirked, "Then how are the men going to respect you then?"

"Oh they ain't, neither will my COs, hey with any luck, maybe they'll bust me down to private?"

The Captain shook his head with a snicker. Conti laughing began to ebb away until he sighed, "I guess there's no way to stop this, is there?"

"No way."

"I see."

"I'm sorry, Joe."

"I am too, but… shit, I'm pathetic, getting all sentimental and emotional, gah! I feel like I want to vomit… I'll be fine, sir. I still have a little while with Able, don't I?"

"Of course you do."

Conti grunted. "Maybe being an officer… won't be that bad."

"It won't, Joe. And when you leave, you'll always be a part of Able. C'mon, Joe, you gave us our battle cry, Always Able." MacKay held out his forearm in the air to Conti and smiled.

Conti grinned, "Always Able." And pounded MacKay's forearm with his own.

"Come on, Conti." MacKay stood up from the jeep and patted him on the arm, "The men are waiting."

"Yes, sir. On it. By the way, I expect a better answer later on, sir."

"Fine, you'll get it, eventually."

Conti hopped in. MacKay smirked, "Ready to go, Lieutenant?"

The Captain could have sworn he saw half a grin emerge on Conti's face, "Don't push it, sir."