Kanuro5: Feels great to get another chapter out. Hope you enjoy!

The Officer III

August 9th, D-Day + 64

"Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?'"

2nd Lieutenant Emory Peck of 2nd Platoon cleared his throat as he glanced at the current events from his clipboard in front of his sitting platoon. Able Company was still in the town that Battalion HQ was using after Mortain. They seemed to be more rested, and their usual energy was returning to them. With morale improving, Peck figured that he would relay information about the rest of the world to help morale even more. Though truthfully, he knew most men wouldn't be on the edge of their seat with current event news, but he knew that his men, though rested, couldn't fall to severe boredom.

The men of his platoon were sitting on acquired dining room chairs from the abandoned homes. They were sitting patiently, well, more like slouching in their chairs as they drank their coffee and smoked, their eyes looked disinterested, but they were tuned in with the news that Peck was sharing, even the apathetic Blackwell. Sergeant Duck was the only other man in the platoon standing, he was about five feet away from Lieutenant Peck, moderating the event to allow the officer to get through at a moderate pace.

Peck clicked his tongue as his eyes trailed down the bullet pointed list, "Uh, so, the Marines are close to securing Guam, they pretty much have the Japanese licked."

"Whoopity-Doo for the men in Blue…" Terry smirked with a roll of the eyes.

Some men chuckled at that.

"Lucky bastards, their girls over there are probably topless all the damn time in Guam. Wish we could have some exotic islander girls."

"I don't think they're lucky, Lovett," King stretched, "The Germans surrender, the Japs apparently don't."

"Besides, Lovett, you wouldn't know what to do with a girl even if she was topless in front of you," Saywell snickered.

The other men laughed.

Peck allowed them to interrupt, it lightened the mood and allowed levity among the men. And sometimes, he found their responses humorous.

"The Marines are pushing the Japanese back across the ocean, that's what matters," Duck emphasized. He then gave a knowing look to Peck, asking him to move on.

The officer cleared his throat once more, "Uh… we are now attached to VII Corps."

That revelation elicited soft and monotone cheers. Peck noticed Cunningham leaning over to Saywell and whispering rather loudly, "We were part of a Corps?"

Peck continued, "And since VII Corps is a subordinate of the Third Army, that technically means we are under command of General Patton."

That revelation woke everyone up.

Sergeant Hirsch scrunched his eyes and asked disbelievingly and with caution, "Patton?"

"That's right, Sergeant."

The newer men were murmuring amongst themselves about how exciting it was to be under the command of the most famous American general in the ETO, if not the entire war. The veterans did not totally share their enthusiasm. Hirsch and Blackwell turned pale at the news, and Peck knew why. Hirsch originally served with the 1st Division; Blackwell originally served with the 3rd Division. Both units fought in Sicily and under Patton, Sicily was Patton's finest hour and bloodiest shame.

Both of these senior veterans exchanged looks with one another. Blackwell exhaled through his nose, saying, "Ol' Blood and Guts…"

"Yeah, our blood, his guts," Hirsch sardonically replied.

Camden leaned over to the back of the two veterans, "C'mon, Patton? He can't be that bad, right?"

Both men turned around, Hirsch spoke first, "Don't get me wrong, Camden. He's one of the best generals we got, one of the best I served under… well, not quite, General Terry Allen was great. But Patton knew his shit, was funny as hell too."

Blackwell nodded, "True. No one's a better genius than Patton. But you weren't there in Italy. We got the job done, but the cost wasn't pretty, and it probably didn't have to be that bad."

Saywell lightly smacked Blackwell on the arm, "But it's Patton, though."

"Yeah, I know."

Peck raised his voice, "All right, all right, uh, settle down now, guys. Settle down, please. Uh, so yeah, we'll be under Patton's command. Now let's see here…"

He turned the paper on his clipboard, he skimmed the lines, his eyebrows shot up.

"Uh, just a few days ago, the British have declared that Caen is finally secured."

Only the veterans were vocal on this revelation, the new men were confused.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, sir!" Saywell was speaking up.

Blackwell shook his head in disgust, Hirsch was laughing in disbelief, Terry and King were slack-jawed.

Saywell continued, "You mean the Brits finally took Caen?! After all this damn time?"

"Uh, yes, apparently so."

"Jesus…"

Lovett was sniggering, lightly elbowing King in the arm, "Those posh boys must have been sipping tea the entire time."

Cunningham looked around quizzically, "I don't get it, what's wrong with them taking that place?"

Duck leaned back, "Well, Cunningham, what's wrong is that Caen was the British D-Day objective."

"Wait, what?!"

"Yeah, exactly!" Saywell raised his voice in agreement. "It took them two months just to capture a city that they were supposed to get in a single day. What the hell?"

Peck thought back to all the news he heard about Caen, and he decided to speak up. "Now that's not fair, Saywell. If it took the British that long to take a city, then they must have been against fierce resistance. I don't think you know, but most of the Panzers in France were up around Caen. If it weren't for the British keeping the German armor at bay, we would have run into even fiercer trouble in our sector."

"And all the crap we ran into wasn't fierce, sir?"

"One of the main reasons we got this far inland was because of the British holding Rommel at Caen. Always keep that in mind, Saywell."

"The Lieutenant's right, Mason," Duck said, with an uncharacteristic glare, "don't be badmouthing the British."

"Okay, okay, I got it. I won't say anything… I just thought the Tommies could complete something they were tasked to do the first time…"

Duck sighed, before giving Peck the nod to move on. The officer read the next detail below the news of Caen.

"Oh, here's more good news. Just yesterday, a top Panzer Ace was killed in action by British and Canadian forces."

The platoon clapped their hands and cheered moderately.

"Well, at least the Tommies did something right," Saywell said.

"Wanna bet it was the actual Canadians who took out that Kraut Ace?" Lovett replied.

"Now all we have to do is track down the Ace that tagged the Cap."

"All right, guys, last piece of news here," Peck said. He paused, raised an eyebrow, and read it once more in his mind before finally speaking, "Uh, it seems that US Army is receiving complaints about what is so-called 'fraternization with the local populace'. The Army would like to remind all soldiers that 'maintaining relations with native civilians is crucial but should be limited for sake of personal pleasure'."

The blank-eyed stares of his men told him that such a message went over their heads.

Peck sighed, "GIs are to refrain from getting too friendly with the French… particularly their women…"

"Ooohhh…" many of the platoon said, followed by juvenile laughter.

"Guys, I'm serious. Apparently there has been an exceeding number of altercations between GIs and Frenchmen, with the GIs, uh, being intimate with the daughters, sisters, and wives of the locals. Some French have even shot at soldiers."

"We save them from Jerry, and this is how they repay us?" Lovett laughed.

One of the men spoke up, "So, we can't sample the forbidden French nectar, sir?"

Another asked, "We can't part the French vineyards, sir?"

"Or pluck French grapes, sir?

"Our Yankee snails can't shuck the French Oysters, sir?"

Cunningham raised his hand.

Peck sighed, "You have a serious question, Cunningham?"

"Yes, sir. So, we can't fuck the Frenchies, right?"

Most of the platoon laughed, even Duck was chuckling.

Goddamn it… Peck was fighting laughter, he had to keep a straight face, "In so many words: No."

"But, sir, how can I best comfort myself without female companionship during this horrid war?"

"That is why God gave you two hands, Cunningham."

The platoon roared. Cunningham lowered his head and stared at his boots, as the men around him ribbed the private viciously. Peck felt quite proud. These men were smiling and filled with good spirits, a Platoon Leader's desire.

He placed the clipboard down and clapped his hands, "All right, that's it, men. Well, I just need to speak to the Squad Leaders and Platoon Sergeant. Everyone else dismissed."

The men of the platoon stood and started going off their separate ways. The ones that were left with Peck were Duck, Hirsch, and the Acting Squad Leaders: Corporals Terry and Blackwell.

Peck stowed away the smile and got down to business, "All right, I won't make this long. Just be up front with me, what do we need for our platoon?"

Sergeant Hirsch was the first to speak, "More men, sir. Do we know when we are getting replacements?"

"No, we don't."

"There's only sixteen of us in the entire platoon."

"I know, Hirsch."

Blackwell growled to himself before speaking, "With our luck, we'll go into action again before we even hit twenty."

Peck sighed, "With our luck… Conti's working on it. We should get new men soon. When? I don't know. Okay, then, what else?

"Ammo, sir," Duck said. "Since coming here, we got some, but it's not enough for prolonged action. We all have about one grenade apiece and the men with Garands only have four clips, and carbines have three."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know, Hudson. Now what about the Thompsons?"

Terry raised his hand, "I only got three clips, sir."

"All right, I'll try to get us some. Now food, are we all squared up on rations?"

The men nodded, and Duck spoke up again, "Since McHale got his kitchen, he and his boys provided us our rations in 5-in-1s. That guy and his team are amazing to get all that food squared in such short time."

"Good to hear. You guys caught up on your sleep yet?"

Terry was snickering, but it sounded bitter, "It's amazing, sir. We were resting off the line well for a few days, then we are in Mortain for one day, and I felt like I ain't sleep for a year. I'm still trying to catch up on sleep."

Peck sucked his teeth softly, "I know the feeling." Even after resting on a bed for the past two days, he still felt tired when he woke. It is something he realized since coming to France within the first two weeks of combat: you never feel fully rested; you are just less tired. "We're not going to do any drills today. At 1300, we'll meet again to discuss radio and map coordination for artillery, especially to acquaint the newer men who came in before Mortain. All right, I'm going to meet with the other Platoon Leaders, if you have a question, then ask Sergeant Hudson, and he'll ask me. 2nd Platoon, dismissed."

With his men dismissed, Peck turned to his next duty, his role as a senior lieutenant among the replacement officers. His watch read 0940, he told them to meet with him at 0945 in front of the red home with the tables outside the entrance. He sat in a chair and slumped backwards with closed eyes. He wanted to think about home and his Aunt Dolores, but his mind rebelled against his wishes, and only replayed the fighting that he saw at Mortain. He opened his eyes, the taste of his mouth suddenly grew foul, and a wave of exhaustion had blanketed him. The longer he was over here, the harder it was to close his eyes and drift away.

"Waiting for us long, sir?"

2nd Lieutenant Pollard of 1st Platoon and 2nd Lieutenant Ekland of 3rd Platoon arrived at the same time. Pollard was carrying a cup of coffee, while Ekland had half of a lit cigar between his teeth. Peck checked his watch, 0945 on the dot, it was nice that these two were punctual.

"Five minutes, ain't that big, I was drifting off anyhow. C'mon and take a seat."

The two men did so, Ekland was looking around, "So, it's just us? I thought Conti would be here as well."

"No, he's back in his billet trying to get more organized, I called this just for the three of us."

"All right then, so, what are we going to pow-wow about, sir?" Pollard turned to him.

Peck chuckled briefly, "You don't need to say, 'sir'. We're all seconds here."

Ekland took out the cigar from his mouth and exhaled a plume of smoke, "Maybe, sir, but you're the X.O, that already makes you high up there on the chain. And there's no way that I'm not going to say 'sir' to Conti."

"Same here," Peck laughed. "Conti will always be 'sir' to me. But, anyway, I came to ask you guys what is it that your platoons need?"

Pollard looked at Ekland before speaking, "So, Peck, do you know when we're getting more guys?"

Ekland was nodding, "Yeah, my platoon is bare, we only got thirteen, including me. Pollard at least has twenty."

Peck was sighing, "I understand, I know. I'm sure Conti is on top of that. Hopefully we'll get some new men before we see some action."

"God, I hope so," Pollard exhaled after drinking his coffee, "Fischer told me of the drive up to Cherbourg, how they lost a lot of men. He mentioned 2nd Platoon only had nine guys in it."

"Get out of here, really?" Ekland asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah, that's true, it was like that when I arrived at Cherbourg," Peck affirmed. "Hudson was just promoted to Sergeant, but he was a Corporal who was leading that platoon at the time… oh, and speaking of which… you two have been here for a little bit, and you both survived your first taste of combat. So, how do you feel about your Platoon Sergeants?"

"Sergeant Duhaney has been helpful with me," Ekland told them.

"And Staff Sergeant Fischer has been good to me as well, kind of blunt, but he's been helping me out. No problem."

"That's good to hear from the both of you. I can't stress enough how good it is to have a reliable Platoon Sergeant who you can rely on. Don't act too proud around them, and don't forget to show humility."

"Anything else that we should know, Peck?"

"Actually, yes. Conti had ordered me to collect your commendations for your men to be decorated. How is that going?"

Pollard and Ekland turned their heads to one another as if a comedic duo. "Uh, you see, I…" Ekland was rolling on.

But Pollard cut in, "I'm still deciding, if I could, I would want all of my boys to be decorated."

Peck chuckled hoarsely, "Yeah, I know. Trust me on that."

"So, what do you suggest, Peck?"

The senior lieutenant rubbed his jaw, "Hmm, I'm recommending three of my guys, and I recommend that you do the same. Also, if you plan on one of your men getting decorated, always strive for the decoration one level above for what you intend to get. In that case, the Bigwig Brass may downgrade it to the one you intended, instead of the one you didn't intend."

"Who are you recommending, Peck?"

"Sergeant Hirsch, Corporal Lovett, and Corporal Blackwell."

Ekland puffed on his cigar and exhaled, "So, what did those three do?"

"Hirsch and Blackwell were the men who really led the counterattack, Hirsch even saved Camden, who was stuck underneath a dead body. And as we pushed the Germans off the hill, the Germans threw a grenade into our trench and Lovett dived on top of it, he didn't even hesitate. Fortunately, the grenade was a dud and didn't go off until we threw it back."

The junior officers gaped at the story.

"That's what those three men did," Peck concluded

"Wow, after hearing that, I don't know who to recommend…" Pollard muttered.

"Don't force it if you don't personally know, ask your Platoon Sergeant. I did that with Duck, and he recommended me Blackwell."

"So why not the Big One?" Ekland asked.

"If you want a car and expect to get one, do you ask your parents for the most expensive one on the lot?"

"I see your point."

"Yep. It's never good to overstep, or they won't take it seriously. Also, I heard a soldier from 3rd Platoon was getting his upgraded posthumously a while back ago, don't want to step over that."

"Thanks, Peck, that really helps," Ekland smiled gently.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, you've been great in helping us out," Pollard added.

Emory Peck made a noise of pride, "Hey, it's nothing, I'm glad to help you guys out."

After the meeting with the two lieutenants was finished, Peck turned to his last duty for the morning, speaking with his Commanding Officer in his billeted residence. To add on to his responsibilities as a Platoon Leader, Peck was also the Executive Officer of Able Company.

Like most things in the Army, he was learning on the job in this role. He had only been the Executive Officer for a day and a half, then he was wounded in action with shrapnel in the leg, and then on the same day, his C.O. was killed. He didn't hear about it until six hours after they patched him up, and then they told him that Conti was going to be the new Commanding Officer of Able Company.

Technically, Peck was the most senior officer in Able, since he arrived with the unit at Cherbourg, while Conti was still the First Sergeant at the time. But hearing this news about Conti was absolutely fine by him. He was certainly happy being the Executive Officer instead of the Company Commander. But he realized how quickly men could be taken out in war, and he wondered when his time would come when he would take the reins of Able Company, if or when it came to it.

"Lieutenant Conti?" he called in.

"Peck, that you?" came the crusty voice.

"Yes, sir. I'm coming in, I got some coffee if you want."

"I need somethin' stronger, Peck."

"Let me ask the men, pretty sure they can make it Irish."

"Nah, it's fine. Lemme get a sip."

Peck noticed piles of paper scattered haphazardly along the C.O's desk, next to them were three cigarettes in an ashtray, one of them was still lit. The helmetless Company Commander was behind the desk, his brow wrinkled in thought as he read a piece of manila paper, the years aplenty were evidence on his face.

Peck placed the coffee in front of Conti, "Hope I didn't break your concentration, sir."

Conti exhaled in a high pitch, "I oughta thank ya for breakin' it. I can't stand thinkin' this hard." He folded the manila paper and placed it in front of him.

"Mind if I ask what you were thinking so hard about?"

The old lieutenant sipped the coffee, "Just some business the Commanding Officer needs ta take care of, that's all."

"Understood."

"So, what have ya been up to, Peck?"

"I spoke with my boys in my platoon, and I spoke with Pollard and Ekland."

"Yeah, what they say?"

"The same thing that I'm going to ask you."

Conti sighed, "More men?"

Peck nodded, "More men."

"I know. I put in a request for replacements. I just hope that they hurry the hell up before we march on ta fight."

"And when is that looking like, sir?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Three days, tops."

"Oh boy."

"Yeah."

"I thought we would be priority in getting replacements within the battalion, sir?"

"Technically, no. That privilege goes to Charlie Company."

"Oh, yeah… how many do they have now?"

"Last time I spoke wit O'Leary, he told me they had around a hundred and five."

Peck's head was bobbing slowly, "Not bad for them, and yet we have seventy men… and we are considered secondary?"

"Welcome to the Army, Peck."

Peck sighed.

"So, how are those commendations coming, Peck?"

Peck rifled through his pockets, "Here's a paper with my guys and their actions: Hirsch, Blackwell, and Lovett."

Conti gave a surprised chuckle as he received the list, "Blackwell? Really? I thought ya couldn't stand him?"

"I can't, but he got the job done that night, and he didn't hesitate."

"Lovett, hmm? I can understand his commendation. And Hirsch, Sergeant Chip-On-His-Shoulder?"

"Yeah, he's mellowed out somewhat since I put Blackwell to be his combat buddy. Both of them were instrumental in our counterattack on that hill."

"Good job pairin' Blackwell wit him."

"Actually, sir, that was Sergeant Hudson's idea."

Conti grunted humorously.

"What is it, sir?" Peck asked.

"Humility, along with givin' credit to your NCO. I don't see that often in junior officers, keep that attitude, Peck."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, what about Pollard and Ekland? Where are their commendations?"

"I reminded them, and I told them to provide them by 1500."

"Good."

"Also, sir, earlier this morning, Corporal Troy recommended Corporal Conrad for a commendation."

"Really? What did Troy say exactly?"

"He said that Conrad repeatedly ran all across the hill that night, the other replacement medics were in the aid station. Conrad even fought off two Germans who entered the aid station."

"Yeah, I remember Crane mention that ta me."

"Also, sir, Conrad ran close enough to the enemy to retrieve the wounded that he took a light wound in the leg, and personally went after Troy after he got hit by a tank shell."

"Thanks, Peck. I'll add Conrad to that list. I also got other men I can add to that as well."

Conti promptly scribbled the names onto the sheet.

The grizzled lieutenant leaned back in his chair, "What else do I need to do?" he asked somewhat to himself aloud.

"Uh, how are those letters coming, sir?"

Conti sucked his teeth as he shook his head.

"Not one?"

Conti sighed to himself, "Now I know how he felt."

"Sir?"

"No, I haven't gotten to the Mortain ones yet. Christ… after Hebecrevon, it took me four days to get through those."

"Yeah, I can imagine, sir." Peck spotted the manila paper on the table that Conti had in his hand earlier. It looked to be a death notification with extensive writing on it.

"Oh, that's not true, sir, you got one done over here." Peck picked it up and noticed how it was creased and slightly crumbled. "But you may have to recopy this on better paper, it's quite crinkled." Peck opened it up fully and started reading.

Conti turned to him quickly, "Wait, Peck, don't read that!"

It was too late. Emory Peck had always been a speedy reader. He had already read the first paragraph.

"Dear Mary, I got your letter. I never expected you to write to me but thanks. I really appreciate it. I won't ever forget your words. And I'm sorry that I couldn't live up to them. I'm sorry that John was killed. I was next to him when it happened. It happened before I could blink. He didn't feel any pain, he was the same John that we both knew and loved. I'm sorry that I couldn't bring him back to you."

"Wait, sir, is this the Captain's letter?"

He gently took the paper from his XO's fingers, "Yeah."

"You didn't finish it?"

Conti placed the letter down, his voice was hoarse, "No. And that was my third draft…"

"Oh…"

Conti drank from his coffee before slumping back into his chair.

Peck scratched his neck, "I… uh… I guess 'Mary' is his wife."

"She is."

Peck exhaled uneasily and took a seat on a desk adjacent to Conti. "I'm sorry, Conti, we all knew how close you two were… if you want, I could write it for you."

"No, it has to be me…"

"Well, I could still transcribe it for you. You just speak and I write so it—"

"No, it has to be me. All the way…"

"Gotcha."

A silence grew between them. Peck remembered MacKay as that big brother mentor any man would have been blessed to have. He was patient and understanding, willing to help out when he could. And yet he held all the officers to a standard, and he would tell you if you were reaching your potential and where you were falling short. This whole company revolved around MacKay, and he's been gone for the past two weeks. It still felt fresh.

Conti finished his coffee; the cup clattered as he placed it on the desk in front of him. "I think this is the hardest thing I ever had ta do, Peck. I don't know how ta tell her about him."

"How about the truth?"

He sucked his teeth and inhaled through his nose.

Peck continued, "Conti, if you are as close to his family as I believe you are, then you know she deserves the truth, despite how hard it is for you."

"Have they ever told ya how ya would write a death letter?"

Peck nodded, "They told us that it would be like writing a business letter to an organization, professional yet personable."

" 'Professional yet personable'," Conti scoffed lightly at that. "Yeah, yeah that works for the standard men and soldiers, but what about…" he inhaled through his nostrils again. "I don't know, Peck, I don't know."

"Sir, it's not my place to say this, but… I…" his voice was soft, "I think you need to finish this letter, today, sir. Now. For Mrs. McKay, and their son. You knew them better than I ever would, they rather hear the explanations from you, rather than just the War Department, don't you think so?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Tell you what, Conti. Give me a handful of the names for Mortain, and I'll have their letters written by the end of the day."

"No, ya ain't have ta do all of that, Peck."

"Allow me to, sir. It lets you concentrate on the Captain's letter, and if you need someone to proofread it, I'm always available. Besides, my job is to ease the C.O's burdens, so…" he shrugged with a smirk.

Part of Conti's mouth draped low, he stared at his X.O for a moment. Conti cleared his throat before retrieving the list of names of those that died, before handing it over to Peck.

Peck took the list with a respectful smile.

Conti was still looking at him, "How old are ya, Emory?"

"I'm 24, sir. I'll be 25, in four days."

The grizzled veteran nodded gingerly, his eyes were trained on the young man's face, he enunciated every syllable, "You've grown since Cherbourg. You keep on doing your job, son."

Peck stood taller, "Thank you, sir. I will."