Combat! is owned by ABC TV. This story is meant only for the enjoyment of Combat! fans, with no intention to infringe on any copyrights, and no monetary compensation has been received.

Hopefully you are enjoying the Trilogy so far. This particular story is by far and away the longest I've ever written. And as you see, it delves into Saunders' thoughts, feelings and fears. I tried to give a hint at what's really going on under that rough, tough exterior. He's not a cardboard cutout super hero. He's a man who makes mistakes, has hopes and fears, all while he struggles to do his job the best way that he can. Stay with Saunders as he tries to complete his mission. Please leave your review at the end. I do appreciate your thoughts and comments.

A TRILOGY

II. STOLEN IDENTITY

Part 3

CHAPTER 26

With one last glance around outside, and a check of the inside of the tent, Saunders slid under the side of the canvas. It was empty and quiet, but he didn't know how long he'd have before the lieutenant returned. He slipped in a little farther and pushed himself up on his hands to get a better look at the table top. Glinting in the soft glow of the lantern were his dog tags, still where the lieutenant had so casually dropped them.

Quickly standing up in a half crouch, he stepped over to the table and picked up his tags.

"Don't move, Sergeant," a low voice came from the front of the tent.

In the dim light, Saunders could see the German lieutenant pointing his Luger at the NCO's chest. The officer's white shirt was open and his sleeves were rolled up. A white towel was thrown over his shoulder.

As he came slowly toward the sergeant, he said, "You are a very good soldier. How did you escape from being bound hand and foot? I assume, of course, that my man guarding you is dead. Just as well. I would have shot him myself for his incompetence. He's the one who tied you up."

The lieutenant reached out carefully and took the dog tags from the sergeant. Saunders hesitated, but then reluctantly opened his hand and let his tags go when the officer inched the Luger closer to his face.

"But why come back for these?" The officer held the tags up, dangling them by the chain in front of his prisoner.

Saunders watched as they swung back and forth. He looked at the lieutenant. "They're mine," he replied simply.

The officer stared at him in return. "But this is merely your identification. Who cares? Easily replaceable. They're nothing. There must be another reason."

The sergeant was quiet, with his mind searching for a way out. A means to escape once again…with his identification. He continued to silently stare at the lieutenant. He needed those tags.

"Sergeant," the German persisted more forcefully. "No one risks their life for a couple of pieces of worthless metal. No one."

They're worth everything to me, Saunders thought to himself, but he remained stone faced and silent.

The lieutenant yelled in frustration, "Who would care about these? There must be a reason. What is it? Tell me!"

He pointed his Luger between Saunders' eyes. "You are an escaped prisoner. I would have no problem shooting you now, whether or not I get any information from you."

The officer flipped the tags up into his palm and held them out to the American. "Why risk being recaptured just for these? Who cares that much about worthless metal?"

The sergeant was quiet for a long moment, but his mind was still racing. He saw his opening.

He replied softly, as if in defeat, "They're in code."

"Code?" the lieutenant said, confused. Then a look of excitement slowly crossed his face. "Code?"

He couldn't resist. The lieutenant automatically took his eyes off of his prisoner and looked at the dog tags in his palm.

CHAPTER 27

Saunders' hand instantly snaked out and wrenched the Luger from the lieutenant's grasp. The officer balled his other fist up with the tags still in his hand and struck the sergeant hard on the side of his face, driving him to one knee. The Luger fell and bounced away from the two struggling men.

Taking advantage of his higher position, the German wrapped his hands around Saunders' neck. With a satisfied smile, the officer squeezed tightly.

The sergeant tried to break his grip, but couldn't get a strong enough hold as he balanced on one knee. His own dog tags were digging painfully into the side of his neck as the lieutenant tightened his fingers. Saunders' vision was fading in and out.

Letting go of the kraut's wrist with his right hand, he reached behind his back, desperately searching. With a flood of relief, he swung his arm forward and drove the bayonet into the officer's midsection.

A look of shock swept over the lieutenant as he slowly released his grip on his prisoner's neck, sank to his knees and fell on his side. He stared in disbelief at the American. The officer reached down and pulled the bayonet out, but it slipped from his fingers to the grass.

Gulping in air, Saunders sat back on his heels, rubbing his bruised neck gingerly. When his vision had cleared, he took hold of the officer's clenched hand and pried it open. Taking his dog tags, he held them out towards the dying lieutenant.

"I care…they're mine," he said emphatically. He looped the chain over his head. "It's who I am," he said softly to himself.

Catching the glint of metal on the lieutenant's chest, Saunders reached down and picked up the German's oval tag. In his anger, he considered taking it for a moment. But then he dropped it back onto the soldier's chest. As he looked into the officer's eyes, he saw the light slowly fade…and the soldier was gone.

CHAPTER 28

Saunders still had a raging headache from being hit with the Luger earlier. Now his cheek and eye along with his neck were all bruised and sore.

But he was alive, which meant that he still had a chance to get out of there. And he had his identity…his confidence was growing.

It had been at least thirty minutes since the three of them had escaped the tent, and no shouts of alarm had broken the silence of the night.

Once the guard or the lieutenant was discovered, however, the camp would be swarming with armed krauts frantically searching for the three Americans.

With luck, he thought, the two soldiers from Love Company were well on their way to getting the map and information back to HQ. The sooner they returned, the better the chances that the train would still be there.

Hopefully, he wouldn't still be there when the shelling started.

The sergeant dragged the German's body over to the cot and lifted the dead soldier. He hastily covered him with a blanket. Maybe it would buy the three of them more time. Even ten minutes could make all the difference.

Looking around, he picked up the bayonet, wiped it across his pant leg and stuck it through the back of his belt. Then he saw the Luger. Scooping it up, he headed for the tent opening.

Saunders stopped short. Tucked in the dark corner of the tent were his helmet, Thompson and haversack. He jammed the Luger into his waistband, grabbed his helmet and put it on. Slipping the haversack over his shoulder, he picked up his Thompson and gripped it tightly with both hands.

The sergeant pulled out the magazine and checked it. And then he smacked it back in place. His confidence had returned.

Sergeant Saunders felt whole again.

He stepped to the lantern and blew out the flame. Pushing the tent flap back slightly, he looked out into the darkness. Then pulling the canvas back a little farther he stuck his head out. Nothing. Crouching low, he slipped out of the tent and into the dark, heading toward the train tracks.

CHAPTER 29

The looming shape of the locomotive was hard to miss, even in the dark. The sergeant headed toward it, watching his surroundings for sentries. Once he touched the rails he stepped between them and, without hesitating, he began to run. At first it was difficult running on the ties in the dark, but he quickly fell into a rhythm and it was soon easier.

When he drew closer to the area where he was first captured, Saunders slowed and started searching. He tried to remember how far from the train he was when he first saw what he now needed. He began to drag his feet back and forth over the railroad ties, making a thorough sweep.

It would be a waste of his precious time if the repair crew had returned and cleaned up after themselves, but he had to try.

Then his boot kicked something hard, and metal bounced off of the metal rail with a loud clang. He stopped and immediately turned back toward the train to see if the noise had aroused any attention. All remained dark and quiet by the train and tents.

When he was confident that his escape hadn't been detected yet, he backtracked a little. Slipping his Thompson over his shoulder, he knelt down in the darkness, feeling around for his objective. His hand touched the cold metal…a railroad spike. He swept his hands around and found the other two.

Quickly jamming the three spikes into his pockets, the sergeant carefully made his way over to the tree line. He remembered that it was difficult to maneuver through there earlier because of the large rocks scattered around. Probably discarded there from when the tracks had first been laid, he thought.

He began to search for one of the rocks…the biggest one that he could comfortably hold. Feeling his way down the tree line on his hands and knees, it didn't take long to find what he needed.

Saunders hefted the rock and decided that it would do nicely. He took off the haversack and opened it. Removing all of the remaining rations, he tossed them down the embankment into the bushes. Useless weight at this point.

He was hungry, but right now the rock was much more important. And he didn't see that there would be any time for food in his near future anyway. He'd have to wait until he returned.

His hands touched on the pack of cigarettes buried in the bottom of the bag, with the matches still tucked in the cellophane. His craving was instant. But he stuffed them into his pocket. He couldn't risk lighting a cigarette. And if there was no time for food, then there certainly was no time for a smoke.

Feeling around in the pack again, he decided that he had enough room. Propping the bag open and upright, Saunders placed the large rock inside and buckled it closed. He'd be carrying it on his back, and he didn't need the rock sliding out to give him another blow to the head. Two jolts to his aching skull were too many already.

He lifted the heavy bag and slung it over the opposite shoulder from his Thompson. Now came the hard part.

CHAPTER 30

Fighting his natural instinct to flee, Saunders made his way back the way that he'd come…toward the train. When he was about fifty yards from it, he got down on his hands and knees in the middle of the track.

Crawling down the center of the rails was laboriously slow and painful as he constantly looked around for any signs of approaching Germans. The whole ordeal was eating up his precious time, but he knew it had to be done.

The rock in the sack was heavy on his back as he crawled. His hands, knees and shins were getting bruised and battered from crawling over railroad ties, rocks and gravel.

Saunders continued to drag his hands over the rails on both sides, stopping as he came to each joint. He moved on in this way until he finally touched what he'd been searching for…a slightly larger gap.

There was a gap between two lengths of the rail where they joined together. He knew that it was there to allow for expansion and contraction in the heat and the cold. But Saunders needed the larger gap for a different reason. He needed a gap large enough to drive a railroad spike down into.

He looked up and realized that he was just a mere ten yards away from the front of the train. He nervously checked around and down the length of the cars, down toward the other end. The whole area was dark and quiet. It definitely seemed that most of the soldiers were all billeted at the other end. He hoped so.

The sentry that he'd seen smoking earlier was nowhere in sight. His luck seemed to be holding. But he was growing anxious about the passing time. He was starting to be able to barely make out trees and the tracks in the darkness. Dawn would be coming too soon, and he would become a visible and easy target. His time was fast running out.

Pulling the three spikes out from his field jacket, he unslung the heavy haversack and the Thompson. Laying the Thompson by his right knee, he opened the bag and lifted out the large rock.

As he picked up the spikes, he hefted each one and checked them for strength and sharpness. Selecting one, the sergeant found the open gap that he'd chosen, and forced the point of the spike into the gap.

Pressing down with all of his weight until it stood on end by itself, Saunders looked at it with satisfaction. He picked up the rock, searching the darkness again for movement.

Once he started, he knew that there would be no turning back. It would be like telegraphing his position to the enemy. He wouldn't have much time if he ever expected to actually survive the mission.

He held the rock up with both hands and raised it over his head. Driving it down with all of his muscle, he smashed it onto the top of the spike. The impact sent waves of jarring pain up through his arms to his already raging skull.

The ringing of the rock against the metal was frighteningly loud in the night stillness. His fear was growing, and the sergeant wasted no time. With a rhythmic pounding, he continued to hammer away at the spike until his arms ached and he thought that his head would explode.

Saunders stopped suddenly when far back near the end of the train the flood lights began to come on, one by one. He was out of time.

He brought the stone down two more times, even as he glanced nervously at the floodlit train. Finally, he dropped the rock and ran his hand over the spike. It was warm from the friction. He'd managed to drive the spike down about three inches, with another three inches jutting up above the rail. He pulled at the spike to test it. It was wedged in tightly and didn't budge even a fraction of an inch. He smiled grimly with satisfaction.

It was the best that he could hope for. He just hoped that it was good enough. With luck, it would slow the krauts' advance down a little, and give Battalion the time they needed to shell the train or prepare for the attack.

The sergeant took the rock in both hands and tossed it toward the tree line as far as he could. He listened as it hit the ground and rolled into the trees. Hopefully the Germans wouldn't figure out what all of the noise actually was. If they went to wake the lieutenant and discovered his body, the noise that he'd made that had started the entire commotion might soon be forgotten. A dead officer would certainly take precedence over a strange noise.

The longer it took for the krauts to discover what he'd done, the more time for Battalion to act. He dropped the remaining two spikes into the haversack and slung the bag on his back. They just might come in handy.

Picking up his Thompson, he took one last look down the line of railroad cars. Sounds of troop activity and loud voices drifted toward him. They were coming.

Saunders turned and, despite his exhaustion and aches from head to toe, he ran.

CHAPTER 31

Now it was a straight race. A race against time to get as far away as possible before dawn's light exposed him. And a race to stay ahead of his pursuers.

He ran a steady pace in double time, stumbling occasionally in the semi-darkness. He was hungry, thirsty, tired and in pain. And he could really use a cigarette.

But he was free and still alive. And a lot farther along than he honestly had expected. He kept moving, watching for the hill that would eventually take him to the dirt road.

He needed to get over that hill before dawn. Once dawn came, his pace would have to slow down considerably. He'd be dodging from cover to cover to avoid being seen out in the open. They were certainly out looking for him. He'd heard them in the distance behind him.

Saunders didn't know if they were coming because of the noise he'd been making with all of the pounding, or if they had finally discovered the dead lieutenant. He only knew that they were definitely coming.

He had a good head start on the krauts. And if they were truly going to have the train moving out in the early morning, they'd have to break off their pursuit of him soon in order to get back to the train.

As the sky began to lighten, Saunders could just make out the hill farther ahead and off to the right. He was beginning to tire, but he managed to get to the hill and scramble up to the crest before stopping to catch his breath.

He looked back toward the tracks. It was much lighter, and he could see more clearly. And it was growing more dangerous for him. He could no longer see or hear any signs of pursuit, but he was not about to relax.

He was still far behind enemy lines and the krauts could come from anywhere. He also knew that not every kraut in the area would necessarily be getting on that train. And if any nearby patrols were in radio contact with their unit, Saunders was in real trouble.

Most importantly, the sergeant couldn't automatically assume that the two GI's from Love Company would make it back safely with the map and coordinates for the train. He hadn't heard any rifle fire, but they could have been recaptured without a shot.

He had to keep pushing as if they had never gotten through. Saunders was the insurance policy.

Taking off to find the dirt road, the sergeant kicked it back up to double time. His legs ached and his lungs were burning when he finally ran into the dirt road. As he stopped to get his bearings, he bent over and gasped for air.

At this point he knew that he had to slow down and move under cover alongside the road. He was close to the area where he'd last seen the kraut patrol. His head was pounding with the exertion as he wiped the sweat and blood from one eye. He looked at his hand, and then wiped it on his jacket. Not surprisingly, his head was bleeding once again.

Saunders slowly headed off to find the path to the farm house. It was light, with the sun breaking over the horizon, and he could see the small bridge up ahead. Reaching the bridge, he stopped and listened carefully. Nothing. Once he crossed the bridge and headed down the path, he would be visible and vulnerable to anyone who might be in the farm house.

Taking off his helmet, he leaned against the bridge railing and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. He gingerly touched his cheek. It was still swollen and tender, but he was conscious and moving so he could live with it.

Running a sleeve across his face, he replaced his helmet, tightened his grip on the Thompson and headed over the bridge and down the long path to the farm house.

He was extremely thirsty. Hopefully he'd find a clean source of water at the house. Saunders suddenly tensed and crouched down. There was a faint light glowing in the front room.

CHAPTER 32

Saunders knelt on the ground, motionless. He was halfway down the path, with no cover. He watched and listened for any signs of life. The first birds of the morning were beginning their songs, but the farm house remained still and silent.

The sergeant was halfway there. He could either go forward and investigate or retreat. He continued to kneel silently until he finally rose and cautiously moved toward the farm house. His extreme thirst was driving him forward. He reached the front of the house without incident and slid along the wall to the lighted front window.

Saunders removed his helmet, took a deep breath and inched forward until his good eye could just barely see into the room. It was empty. A lit lantern was sitting on the table. He looked around both inside and out for signs of recent activity, but other than the lantern, everything inside seemed to be in the same disarray as when he last saw it.

Making his way to the front door, he stepped carefully onto the front porch. He slowly turned the doorknob, stepped back and kicked the door open. Throwing himself into the room with Thompson at the ready, he met no resistance. He checked the entire room. Empty. Then he went cautiously and methodically from room to room, checking everything…even under the beds. Nothing.

Saunders went back into the front room to the table and the lantern. For the first time, he noticed that right next to the lantern was a large pitcher and a glass. Under the glass was a note.

Picking up the note, the sergeant held it sideways to catch the lantern light.

"Thought you'd be as thirsty as us. No food.

Directions were great. We'll buy you a beer

when we see you. Sorry we couldn't wait

up for you, but we left the light on.

Thanks,

The 2 Irishmen"

Saunders smiled and read it again. They'd made it this far at least. He could relax just a little. He was looking forward to that beer. He folded the note and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Then after blowing out the lantern, he poured himself a full glass of water. It was warm, but to a thirsty sergeant, it couldn't have tasted any sweeter. When he finished, he poured another and went to the front window.

Saunders leaned on the window sill, looking out as he drank and rested. His eyelids were growing heavy as the hydration and the warmth of the room threatened to lull him to sleep after all of his exertion. He hadn't slept more than three or four hours in the last couple of days, and the bed was tempting him. But he'd learned his lesson from his mistake on the way in. He'd fallen asleep then, and it could have proven to be a fatal mistake.

The sergeant opened his bag and rummaged for a candy bar. They were all gone. The krauts who first captured him must have taken them before handing the bag over to their lieutenant.

He pulled out the two railroad spikes and laughed as dropped them on the table. Remembering that he'd tossed all of his rations to make room for the large rock, he shook his head. Now he wished that he'd kept something…anything. Exhaustion and fear could really mess with the mind, he thought. Another mistake.

Saunders sighed. Instead of food or sleep, he'd just keep pushing himself back toward Allied territory. Going out onto the front porch, he decided that if he couldn't eat or sleep, then at least he could risk a quick smoke to help keep him awake, satisfy his craving and help to tamp down his hunger.

The sergeant pulled his cigarette pack and matches out, grateful that the chocolate thieves had missed them, having been buried under the K rats.

He quickly took one out, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He realized that his last cigarette had been in this very same spot, a million years ago, or so it seemed. And that was only half of a cigarette. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the bent half cigarette from before. He laughed. Guess the krauts didn't need the smoke that badly, he thought.

He tried to appreciate every smoke-filled breath. But by the time that he'd gone through half the cigarette, he was already growing nervous. It was time to move on. He crushed his smoke out on the side of the porch and flipped the butt into the bushes.

The sergeant started to pick up the haversack, but realized that it was empty and useless weight. He heaved it into the bushes and watched it disappear.

Putting on his helmet, Saunders headed out, back toward the Allied lines.

CHAPTER 33

Progress was slow going, once again moving in broad daylight. Saunders didn't know how he was possibly going to catch the ride waiting for him at the rendezvous point. But if the two soldiers had made it back, the ride might no longer be there for him anyway. Their map and information would become top priority. Saunders would become just a footnote to the story.

In broad daylight, hurrying just wasn't an option for him. He was forced to take it slowly, especially going through open terrain. Farmland and pastures were deadly liabilities for him.

When he had first started the mission, it had taken him most of the evening to work his way to the farm house. But that had been when he could move faster under the cover of darkness. Now in the bright daylight it could take twice as long on the way back. At the rate that he was moving, it would definitely be the middle of the night by the time he reached the rendezvous point.

He didn't hold out any hope for a reception committee. Without the ride, he was fast resigning himself to an additional two or three hours of walking. He thought about how great it would be to find a soft, secure spot to curl up and just sleep for the rest of the night. But he knew that he had to keep moving.

Thinking about a stress-free night's sleep, Saunders in his weariness almost stepped out of the bushes and into an open field without checking the area first. At the last moment, he caught himself, stopped and pulled back.

Almost immediately he heard voices. German voices. Lots of them, and they were getting closer. He quickly knelt down between two thick bushes in a hedgerow on the edge of the field, and he waited, silent and immobile.

In his total exhaustion he'd almost made a fatal mistake.

CHAPTER 34

Saunders didn't move a muscle. He was barely breathing, even though his heart was now beating so fast that his lungs were screaming for more oxygen. Almost a dozen krauts were coming through the field, heading directly toward him. It appeared to be a routine patrol that might be heading back to the train.

None of them seemed overly concerned about a possible enemy encounter. They were in their own territory after all. They obviously hadn't gotten any word about the escaped American prisoners or the dead lieutenant.

The closer they came, the higher the sergeant's heart rate climbed. His head was throbbing again, but still he never moved…Like a statue frozen in time. The soldiers were so close as they passed that Saunders could hear them breathing as they waded through the tall grass.

He could smell their sweat as they went by. A sudden wave of panic came over him. What if they could smell him? He had to use every ounce of self-control to overcome his natural instinct to flee. His grip tightened on the Thompson.

A soldier brushed against the bush that he was hiding near. The sergeant closed his eyes and held his breath. There was no way that he could win a fight with almost a dozen krauts.

Another kraut followed closely behind, casually pushing some of the branches out of his way. Saunders thought for sure that the man would surely look down and see him crouched below. But the soldiers continued on, laughing and talking, oblivious to how close they had all come to their enemy.

Saunders had just begun to relax a little when he heard another voice calling out from behind the others.

"Warte auf!" the soldier yelled as he hurried to catch up, trying to light his cigarette as he walked.

He crumpled his empty pack and threw it into the bushes as he passed by.

When the balled up cigarette pack struck the sergeant on the shoulder it felt like an electric current coursing through his body. He flinched, but remained quiet with his eyes shut tightly. He thought that his heart would surely stop.

Long after the last of their voices faded into the distance, Saunders remained perfectly still. Then he finally sat back in the grass, wiping a hand across his mouth, trying to calm his nausea. He had come all this way and accomplished an almost impossible mission. He didn't want to get caught now. Not now.

CHAPTER 35

After his heart rate had returned to normal, and his hands had stopped shaking, he stood up, checked the area and continued on his way back. Hours later, ducking from tree to bush, the sergeant had seen no more signs of kraut patrols. But he wouldn't breathe easy until he hit the rendezvous point.

It was well after midnight as he neared his destination. He was bone weary, thirsty and extremely hungry. His head was pounding with every step. And he was very late.

The thought of two or three more hours of walking to get back to his unit was overwhelming. As hungry and thirsty as he was, he needed the sleep more, but he had to keep going.

Hearing voices up ahead in the darkness, Saunders froze again. His hyper vigilance had been sharply honed over the last few days, and especially after his close encounter with the krauts in the field. Listening in the stillness of the night, he realized with relief that he could make out words. Americans.

Moving forward cautiously through the trees, he could just see the silhouette of two men in a jeep, sitting on the dirt road. As he started forward, one of the men suddenly raised a rifle toward him. He came to a sudden halt, and his heart almost stopped.

After days of hell, eluding and escaping from the krauts, he now faced being shot by friendly fire.

"Batman," he heard a familiar voice call out to him in the darkness.

CHAPTER 36

"Aw heck, Caje," Kirby immediately interrupted, squinting into the night. "Put that rifle down. Look! It's the Sarge! Hey, Sarge!" He climbed out of the jeep and ran toward his sergeant, with Caje following closely behind him.

Saunders, as weary as he was, couldn't help calling out, "What if it wasn't me, Kirby? You'd be a dead man. You should have waited for my countersign."

Kirby looked at his sergeant sheepishly, and then he laughed. "You're a walking countersign, Sarge. No one walks like you. I can tell it's you even in the dark…Heck, I just did!"

"What are you guys doing here?" Saunders asked, deciding to change the subject.

"We're waiting for you, Sarge," Caje replied. "We knew you'd make it back. Lieutenant Hanley asked for volunteers to sit out here. We don't know what you've been doing, but we figured it should be us to bring you back."

"How long have you two been here? I'm late," the sergeant said.

"About five hours now. My butt's sore. And I think I've worn a path around the jeep." Kirby smiled. "But like Caje said, we knew you'd be back."

As the three soldiers walked back to the jeep in the darkness, Saunders asked hopefully, "Do you have any water?"

Caje reached into the back seat. "We thought you'd be thirsty."

He grabbed a full canteen and handed it to his sergeant.

Saunders opened it quickly and took a long drink, savoring the warm liquid with his eyes closed.

"That ain't all," Kirby added. "We saw all those chocolate bars that the Lieutenant gave you when you left. Figured man can't live by chocolate alone, ya know? So we asked cook to make something. Once he knew it was for you, he took leftover meatloaf and made you a big sandwich."

Kirby pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. "He drew the line at puttin' a big bow on it for you though."

Saunders' eyes widened, even as he continued to drink. He reached out for the package and handed the canteen back to Caje. Ripping open the paper, he could feel his stomach growling in anticipation.

"At this point I'd have settled for chocolate bars," their sergeant replied as he took a big bite of the sandwich. Climbing into the jeep, he continued working on his food.

After swallowing a large bite, he asked, "Did the two GI's make it back here?"

Surprised that he knew, Caje nodded, "Yeah, someone picked them up and brought them to Lieutenant Hanley before we came out here to wait for you. The Lieutenant must have got something really important from them because he took off for HQ right away. As soon as he came back he asked for someone to come out and wait for you. And now we've all been put on alert to be ready to move out at any time. Things are moving pretty fast."

"You shoulda seen everyone in Love Company when those two guys of theirs showed up," Kirby laughed. "They all thought for sure that they were dead and gone. They're probably still partying."

Unspoken was Kirby's own relief that their sergeant had returned as well. And he knew that the feeling would be shared by the rest of the squad once they discovered that he was back.

Before Saunders had finished his sandwich, he said "Let's move out. I've got to talk to the Lieutenant myself."

Kirby climbed into the back of the jeep. As the sergeant finished the canteen, Caje drove them down the dark dirt road back to their unit.

CHAPTER 37

Driving into their billet, the occasional firelight and lanterns made it easier for everyone to see their arrival. The rest of first squad came running over to the jeep before it stopped.

"It's Sarge!" and "Hey, Sarge!" filled the night as the men crowded around.

"Boy, are we glad to see you back, Sarge," Littlejohn called out.

When the three soldiers climbed out of the jeep, Saunders leaned against the jeep in his exhaustion and took off his helmet.

Kirby's eyes went wide with alarm. "Hey, you're hurt. Hey, Doc! C'mere. Sarge's hurt!"

The sergeant's hand automatically went to his head and came away with both fresh and dried blood.

Doc pushed through the others and reached up to examine his sergeant's head. In the glow of the surrounding light, he could see that the entire side of the man's head was caked with blood. In the matted, red-stained blond hair, he found the nasty gash.

"Looks like you might need some stitches, Sarge," Doc said. "And your eye doesn't look great either."

"I'll have it looked at later, Doc. Had a run in with a kraut lieutenant," the sergeant replied.

"Since you're here, I guess we know who won," Kirby smiled.

"Right now I really need to see the Lieutenant," Saunders responded as he handed Caje his helmet and Thompson. "Make sure all of you are ready to move out. It could be any time."

He stepped over to a nearby bedroll and picked up a canteen. Holding it up, he looked at his men. "Ok if I take this?"

Billy smiled with a small wave, "Sure, Sarge. Go ahead."

Nodding his thanks, Saunders uncapped the canteen and took long drinks as he walked to the Lieutenant's tent.

CHAPTER 38

Hanley was standing in front of his tent, waiting for his NCO. When he had heard the jeep pull in with all the commotion coming from first squad's bivouac, he knew it could only mean one thing. Their sergeant had returned.

The Lieutenant had received the information that Saunders had given the two soldiers from Love Company. But he was concerned when Saunders wasn't with them. And his concern turned to dread as the hours crawled by with no sign of him.

The relief that Hanley felt was quickly replaced by alarm as Saunders stepped out of the shadows and into the nearby light. He was dirty, which was certainly to be expected. But one cheek and eye were bruised and swollen, and the entire opposite side of his head was a mixture of dried and fresh blood, which was oozing through his matted blond hair.

"C'mon in," the Lieutenant said calmly, going back into his tent. Taking another sip of water, the sergeant followed him in.

"Sit down," Hanley said, pointing to a chair next to his small table.

Saunders sat down wearily. He wiped the sweat from his good eye and rubbed a hand across the four day start of a beard.

Hanley went to the tent opening, looked around, and finally called out, "Taylor! Get over to the field hospital and have one of the doctors come here with his med kit. Tell him we have a man here with a head wound."

Saunders called out, "That's ok, Lieutenant. I'll just go there when we're through here."

Ignoring his sergeant's remarks, Hanley went to the other chair and sat down.

"Glad to have you back. Your squad's been worried. I figured that if you didn't tell them anything when you left, then you didn't want them to know. But it hasn't been easy on them." He didn't mention how difficult it had been on him as well.

"That was a lucky break for us that you ran across those two soldiers from Love Company. They told me how you got loose and helped them escape." Hanley smiled. "Getting to be an expert at that, aren't you, Sergeant?"

Without waiting for an answer, the officer added, "How come you didn't come back with them?"

Saunders unconsciously touched his chest. After a moment, he looked at his lieutenant and just said, "I had something else that I needed to do."

Hanley and Saunders exchanged silent looks. Recognizing the implications, Hanley simply nodded and changed the subject.

"Your information on the map was quite detailed. A little hard to read by the end, but we figured it out."

"Yeah," the sergeant smiled. "It was getting pretty dark and I didn't think it would be wise to turn a light on."

"You have anything to add?" Hanley asked. "The soldiers told me about the second engine."

Saunders took another sip of water and nodded. "The krauts were pretty much ready to go. If the brass already laid down concentrated fire on the coordinates I gave you, they may have missed them. I tried to slow 'em down a bit, but I don't know how great a job I did. Pretty rushed. Are we going to be moving forward soon? That train might be getting closer."

Hanley smiled, resting his elbow on the table. "A lot of hours have gone by since you gave those two soldiers the map. They made it back in half the time that you did."

Saunders took another sip of water. "They were traveling mostly at night. By the time I got started it was getting pretty light out and I had to dodge a few krauts."

The officer nodded. "They said that they never encountered another kraut, so they had no delays."

He looked at his sergeant for a moment and then added, "And they didn't get waylaid by anything else."

When Saunders didn't respond, Hanley continued, "HQ took your information and ran with it. Laid down fire for a quarter mile around your coordinates. Took a chance and sent a spotter plane right afterwards. They didn't meet any resistance this time. The brass figured that we'd be lucky to hit part of the train if it moved out already, but we were spot on. The train surprisingly hadn't moved."

Saunders looked at the officer with a faint smile and took another sip of water. It worked, he thought to himself. Damn! It actually worked.

Hanley was about to press him further on the subject when a voice interrupted them from the tent opening. "Lieutenant? You have a wounded man here?"

A doctor stood at the opening with his medical bag in hand. The lieutenant acknowledged the officer and waved him in, pointing at Saunders.

"Ah," the doctor said, taking a look at his patient. Without another word, he put his bag on the table, opened it and got to work.

"No, really…" the sergeant began to protest.

"Quiet!" the doctor replied sternly as he pushed the matted blond hair away from the wound.

"Yes, Sir," Saunders answered quietly, wisely choosing not to argue further with the officer.

"Anyway," Hanley began, picking up where he'd left off, "The spotter plane didn't see a lot left of activity around the train. Their own munitions must have really helped to fuel the destruction. He said that it looked like anyone still alive must have pulled back."

He paused as he watched the doctor work. "Battalion's sending in a platoon to do some recon and clean up before we move the rest of us forward. I figure we have another day or two before we'll have to move out."

He smiled as his sergeant winced while the doctor worked. "Lots of time for you to rest up before your next patrol."

Saunders looked at his lieutenant with alarm, starting to stand up.

"Sit still!" the doctor barked.

As the sergeant slowly sat back down, Hanley laughed. "Just kidding. I want you to take it easy until we head out. Then we'll keep you on light duty for a few more days."

Saunders glared at him silently.

Finally, the doctor closed his bag and said, "Best I can do for now. I want to see you tomorrow morning though. If I don't like the looks of it, I'll probably put in some stitches. Looks like you've had stitches before. Head keep getting in the way of things, Sergeant? Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

When Saunders gave him a doubtful look, the doctor said sternly, "That's an order, Sergeant. Right after breakfast. That's a nasty pistol whipping you took."

Before Saunders could speak, the doctor interrupted him. "Don't try to deny it or make light of it. I'm a military battlefield physician, not a first year intern in some cushy hospital stateside. I've stitched up a few of those. I'm sure you've got a rip roaring headache, too."

The sergeant reluctantly nodded. The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle. Opening it, he shook out two pills. "Here. It'll help with that. And help you sleep, too."

He reached out to touch the dark purple rectangular-shaped bruise on the side of Saunders' neck. "And I'm looking forward to hearing how you got that. Tomorrow morning, soldier. Don't make me send someone looking for you."

"Yes, Sir," the sergeant agreed, resigned to the order. He didn't think that he'd need help getting to sleep, but he could sure use something for the raging headache. He took the pills and swallowed them down with a sip from the canteen.

Before the doctor could even leave the tent, fatigue was washing over Saunders, and his eyes were beginning to close.

"Saunders," Hanley said quietly.

The sergeant's head snapped up. "Yes, Sir?" He rubbed his eye and sat up straighter.

"Go get some sleep before I have to get some men to carry you out of here." Hanley waved his hand slightly toward the tent opening. "Go on. You've definitely earned it."

CHAPTER 39

"What do ya think?" Littlejohn asked as the men sat around the small fire.

Caje leaned forward to take a cigarette that Kirby was offering him. As he lit it, he replied, "I don't know. He was gone three or four days."

"He went out alone too," Kirby added. "And he came back a mess. So he wasn't on no pleasure trip. Did you see that head wound? And that shiner? And his neck looks like King Kong tried to choke him to death. That sure wasn't no picnic."

"No one ever tells us nothing," Billy complained.

Just then their sergeant appeared out of the darkness. Without speaking, he went straight to his bedroll. Everyone was quiet as he stopped and looked at his neat pile of possessions just as he'd left them, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

His men sat quietly around the fire, watching him. Finally, Brockmeyer said nervously, "Hey, Sarge. Welcome back."

Saunders turned and looked at all of them. He could see all of the questions in their eyes, but he was simply too tired for any of the answers.

"You saw a doctor, huh?" Doc asked, pointing to the sergeant's head.

Saunders touched the bandage on his head as if noticing it for the first time. He nodded.

Conversation faltered as they all watched him slip his lighter back into his pocket and pick up the letters from the top of the pile. Saunders stood looking down at them for a long while, then wiped quickly at his eyes and slid the stack of letters into his jacket. Pushing the rest of his possessions aside, he began to unroll and lay out his bedroll.

The sergeant noticed that Caje had placed his Thompson and helmet next to his things. He looked at Caje and nodded in acknowledgement. The Cajun gave a slight wave in return. The sergeant lay down, resting his arm across his forehead. He was still hungry and thirsty…and desperately needed a shower and a shave. And he could sure use a smoke. But he was simply too tired to even move.

His men took this as their cue to leave their sergeant alone. They all got up and silently walked away as a group. Once out of earshot, they began to talk softly.

"You think he's ok?" Billy asked anxiously.

"Sure, he's just tired," Caje replied.

"He's the Sarge. He'll be ok," Brockmeyer added.

"Doesn't look ok," Littlejohn said.

"He needs a lot of rest…and time," Doc answered.

Kirby jumped in, "Hey, guys. Why don't we head over to Love Company? They're down by the river. I'm sure they're still partying. See if we can find those two guys who came out of the woods before the Sarge. Maybe they can tell us something. What d'ya say?"

Everyone agreed that it would be the best way to get information without bothering their sergeant. They headed off together into the night towards the river.

CHAPTER 40

As tired as he was, Saunders couldn't seem to fall asleep. Almost four stressful days of memories kept flashing through his mind. From wrestling with the decision to take the mission, to walking out of the trees and coming face to face with Caje's Garand.

His emotions as well as his heart rate had been bounced around like a yo-yo. A deep air of melancholy descended over him like a heavy blanket. He knew that it was just a reaction to the constant stress, tension and imminent danger. But that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

He sighed and began to tap his helmet while he lay there on his side, staring blankly into the night. As he shifted, his dog tags slipped from under his shirt and clinked together onto the dirt next to his bedroll.

He picked them up and held them in the palm of his hand. Reflected fire light danced over the silver beaded chain. Maybe tomorrow he'd write home, he thought. A different letter than the one that they might have received if his mission had had a different outcome.

He stared at the tags for a long while, and then the sergeant sighed again and sat up. He yawned and ruffled his hair.

Then he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, took one and lit it with his lighter. Rubbing his thumb over the engraving on his lighter, he smiled, clenched the lighter tightly for a moment and stuck it back in his pocket.

Inhaling deeply, he looked at his small pile of possessions. Reaching over, the sergeant picked up his book and found a V-mail sheet. Rummaging through his pockets, he took out a pencil. He gave a short laugh. Something the chocolate thieves didn't steal.

The NCO turned sideways toward the fire light. With the book in his lap, paper on top, and dog tags dangling and clinking together as he leaned forward, Sergeant Saunders stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and wrote, "Dear Mom…"

THE END