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.
This is a story that has nagged at me for a long time, rolling around in the back of my mind. It touches upon PTSD issues, regrets, and good and bad memories that the squad must have had to deal with after the war ended. Hopefully I have dealt with these issues in a sensitive way, exploring some of their thoughts and feelings. As usual, my main focus is Sergeant Saunders. I've tried to be as historically accurate as possible. My apologies to any history buffs if I make an error. My thanks to kirbysbabe again for offering her great editorial skills and encouragement. Enjoy. And be sure to let me know your thoughts in a review.
PEACE
CHAPTER 1
Saunders had never been one for flying. He much preferred boats and trains. He'd hitched a ride on a converted C-47 when he was transferred from North Africa to Italy. And he flew again by transport from Italy to England, but that was flat on his back on a stretcher, tucked in between crates, while recovering from his shrapnel wound. Both times he was tense and nervous, expecting to be blown from the skies at any moment. No, Saunders was definitely a boots on the ground sort of guy. Terra firma. A place he knew well and felt he was in total control. Yet here he was on a gussied up C-47, Pan Am flight 127, halfway across the Atlantic. Thinking about it started to raise his heart rate and anxiety.
"Would you care for something more to drink, Mr. Saunders, before dinner?" His thoughts were interrupted by the pretty, young stewardess, looking trim in her pressed and crisp uniform.
He looked up from the magazine in his lap that had not really been holding his attention anyway. "Yes, a refill, please,' he answered, holding out his glass. "And could I get a couple more post cards?"
Setting his magazine aside, he loosened his tie some more and stretched his legs. As he stared out the window at the passing clouds, he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and took one out between his lips. He started to search for his lighter when a perfectly manicured hand reached in front of him with a lighter, and flicked it. As he inhaled deeply, he accepted the drink from her other hand and said, "Thank you."
Just then the entire plane shuddered and shook. The stewardess grabbed the back of his seat to keep from falling. "Turbulence isn't too bad this trip," she noted. Taking a sip from his drink, he nodded. Turbulence he understood. A natural part of flying through all those clouds. But he still couldn't shake the memories of planes being blown out of clear skies by artillery. Probably the chances were pretty low of that happening this flight, he thought.
"I'll get those post cards for you. Dinner will be out in just a minute," she said as the turbulence subsided and she could walk safely once again.
Saunders reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the post cards that he'd done so far. One was to Bette, of course. She'd been an absolute saint when he first approached her about him taking this trip. It was way beyond what they could afford. It would eat up almost all of their savings. And she knew that, as much as she had always dreamed of seeing Paris, they could barely pay for him to go. Her traveling with him was out of the question. Never mind finding someone to take care of the twins. But she looked into his eyes as he explained his reasoning and knew he had to go. This was the 10th anniversary of Grady Long's death. Her husband was looking for a chance to find meaning…and peace. Some relief from his troubled dreams. Of course she agreed to the trip.
He looked through the other post cards he'd finished. Kirby, Caje, Littlejohn. He had a few more to write, of course. Post cards of apology. He knew he should have spoken to them all beforehand to give them the opportunity to join him. But he didn't want them to feel obligated to go and somehow justify the exorbitant expense. Or even worse, have to say no and feel that they had somehow failed him. No, this was better. Go it alone. Try to make peace with the loss of Grady, all those men lost in countless battles, even with those faceless Germans he'd killed in the name of peace. Make peace with the whole damn war. It still haunted his nights sometimes. He had to somehow try to make peace with it all.
"Need a pen?" the stewardess asked as she handed him more post cards. Saunders realized that he had paused with his hand pulling out his pen when he'd become lost in his thoughts.
He looked up at her with a slight smile, "No…no, just thinking. Is dinner ready? I'm getting hungry." He crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray and picked up his drink.
"Perfect timing," she smiled. "Coming right out."
Saunders put everything aside, gazing out the window at the clouds. He'd have plenty of time to finish all the cards on the train. The plane jerked and shuddered again. He looked at his watch. Another eight hours to go, he sighed.
CHAPTER 2
They landed at Orly Airport only a little behind schedule. Saunders stood up and stretched. He straightened his tie and grabbed his duffle bag, heading for the exit.
He politely thanked the stewardess, and as he approached the front exit, the pilot came out of the open cockpit, looking very official in his uniform, complete with white cap. Saunders thanked him warmly and shook his hand. Walking down the metal stairs to the tarmac of Orly Airport, he was having brief but vivid flashbacks of the war. He could smell the gunpowder, the sweat, the blood and the fear. He looked around nervously to make sure no one was staring at him. Putting his head down, he put on his hat and entered the terminal, trying to push aside his thoughts.
It didn't take long to find a ride to Gare St.-Lazare station, where he bought a ticket to Bayeux with the help of a friendly older gentleman. Once it was known you were American, the French locals couldn't seem to do enough for you. Saunders really wanted to stop awhile in Paris to see the changes and how far along they were on repairing the damage. But that was a luxury that they definitely could not afford. He needed to stick closely to his budget. He did, however, purchase a small metal Eiffel Tower souvenir for Bette. He sighed. The closest that she'll probably ever come to realizing her own little dream. He tucked it into his suit jacket pocket.
The train ride was a three hour trip to Bayeux, and Saunders had every intention of finishing his post cards to the guys. But as the train rolled through towns and small villages and lush green countryside, he found himself totally mesmerized by the scenery sliding past his window. Occasionally, he'd catch his breath when he recognized a village. Once he even caught sight of a farmhouse that he instantly recognized. He smiled as he saw men busily putting a new roof on both the home and the barn. New life was indeed slowly returning to this beautiful country. Just seeing that alone was worth the trip, he thought.
But when they stopped for a short while at Caen, he was stunned at how much had been rebuilt. It was beginning to thrive again with new life as well. Saunders only remembered the absolute total death and destruction. Life does go on. And he had played a small part in it, both the good and the bad. He closed his eyes and before the train had left Caen, he was asleep.
Within a half hour, they arrived in Bayeux. Saunders woke sleepily and rubbed his eyes. He took his duffle bag from the overhead rack and joined the others departing the train. He needed to find a car for hire to finish his journey. In Paris it wasn't hard to find someone who spoke or at least understood some English. Here was a different matter, however. Just as Saunders was becoming frustrated, he heard a friendly voice, "Looking for a hire?" He turned to see an older gentleman with a black cap topping his gray hair. "Heading to the cemetery?" he asked in clear English.
Saunders stared at the man. "How did you know?"
The man laughed, his face becoming crinkled with the effort. "It's not very difficult to figure out, mon ami. By your dress, you are obviously American. And you are alone. Why else would you be here in Bayeux? By your age and the way you carry yourself, I'm sure you were a soldier here."
Saunders smiled and nodded. "You'd make a great detective. I could use you on my force."
The older gentleman laughed and held out his hand. "I am Henri," he said. Saunders took his hand and shook it warmly. "Saunders."
"Come. I will take you to the cemetery. Here is my vehicle," he said, pointing to an old but well maintained car.
"How much?" Saunders asked with uncertainty touching his face.
Henri saw his hesitation. Somehow he knew that this soldier desperately needed to get to that cemetery. "No charge. Free. No American soldier pays today to ride in my vehicle." Saunders started to object, but the man waved his hand and added, "I fought in the Maquis…La Résistance. I fought side by side with the Americans. Very brave men. France can never thank you enough for your service. Please," The old man took off his cap, held it over his heart and swept his free arm towards his car. "It will be my honor."
Saunders didn't want to insult the gentleman, and he had to admit to himself that he welcomed the savings that this afforded him. He smiled broadly, tipped his own hat, and got into the car.
CHAPTER 3
During the half hour drive to the cemetery, both men had talked openly about their service during the war. Henri had survived, but his two brothers and his son had all been killed. With his farm completely destroyed, he and his wife had left the countryside and moved to Bayeux after the war ended. His wife was English, and over the years he had learned to speak it fluently by only conversing in English in their home. His son had learned as well. Henri now made a decent living driving tourists to and from the cemetery. As the horrors and brutality of the war had begun to fade, more tourists and ex-soldiers came every year. His business was constantly increasing. The cemetery was being improved, and buildings, a chapel and a reflecting pool were being added. In another year or two, it would be quite beautiful and many more would come to visit.
Henri finally pulled over and turned off the engine. They sat in silence for a moment and then he turned to Saunders and said softly, "Here you are, my friend. Normandy American Cemetery. Over nine thousand brave American men and even women are in their final resting place here." He got out and went to open Saunders' door.
The ex-soldier hesitated. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the rows and rows of markers, mostly all crosses. He was speechless and overwhelmed. So many, many soldiers. Unbelievable sadness threatened to consume him.
How many of these crosses had he put here under his leadership? Then his thoughts went to some of the faces of the Germans he had killed. Fresh-faced scared teenagers. Older men, probably with wives and children who would never see them again. If they only had a chance to talk to each other, get to know each other as real people, instead of just killing each other… All those faces came in the dark of night to haunt him sometimes. Would this war ever end for him?
"Are you here to honor all the dead, or are you here for someone in particular?" Henri asked, breaking Saunders' concentration.
"I'm looking for someone," Saunders said quietly, staring out again at the thousands and thousands of crosses. He hadn't thought this part through very carefully. How was he ever going to find Grady?
"Come, sergeant," Henri beckoned, tugging on Saunders' elbow. During their drive to the cemetery, talking about the war, Henri learned that the American had been a sergeant. He then insisted on calling him by his rank, since, as he declared, once a sergeant, always a sergeant.
Saunders hesitated, then took his suit jacket off and laid it carefully on the seat. He'd already slept in it on the plane and the train. It was the better of the two suits he owned and he still had to wear it home. He took off his hat and tie and laid them on top of the jacket. Rolling his shirt sleeves up as he walked, he said, "Ok, let's go."
As they walked along the path, Henri explained, "It's all mapped out. Graves registration has accurate records. Come. We will find where your friend is resting."
Once they located Grady's plot on a map, Henri gave Saunders directions to it, but insisted on staying with the car. "Some things a soldier must do alone," he said quietly.
Saunders told him that he should leave. Staying there wasn't making him any money, and he didn't know how long he would be there. But Henri insisted on waiting for him. "Take your time. I understand that this is important to you. You came all the way from America, after all." He smiled and said, "God has the patience of eternity. Surely I can wait awhile for my American sergeant."
CHAPTER 4
Saunders walked towards the tree that he now knew Grady was buried under. His anxiety was rising the closer he came to the tree. What would he do? He'd been thinking about this moment for ten years and yet he'd never actually thought about what he'd do. Or say. Stopping just close enough that he could begin to read the markers, he looked around. It was a beautiful spot. Omaha Beach lay below, with the broad expanse of the English Channel beyond. He stood for a long moment, his mind a total blank as he took in his surroundings. Finally, he walked closer, looking at the names on each cross until he stopped. Grady Long. It listed his name, rank, unit, home state and date of death. Today.
Saunders just kept staring blankly. Then looking around, he squatted down in front of the marker. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. What exactly do you say to a dead friend?
"Hey, Grady," he said finally in a shaky voice. "Nice place you've got here." Blinking furiously, he looked out over the thousands of crosses stretching out together to form a huge cross on the green lawn. So many dead. So many died under my command, he thought.
He reached forward and placed his hands on Grady's marker.
The marble cross was ice cold to his touch. As his eyes welled up with tears that he could no longer hold back, he fell to his knees. A cry came from deep within his soul, and he began to sob from the unbearable pain in his heart.
CHAPTER 5
"Hey, there he is," Kirby said, pointing at the distant figure on his knees by one of the crosses. He started to walk over when Caje grabbed his arm.
"No, Kirby, not now. We've got to wait." Caje replied.
"What for? That's the Sarge. C'mon."
"Kirby, open your eyes," Caje said. "Look at him. The last thing he needs right now is to have us two barging in on him. He needs to be alone right now. Give him time. This is what he came all this way for, and he needs to get it all out. And he's got to do it by himself."
Kirby looked at the sergeant again, looked down at his feet and then out into the Channel. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But it's got to be really tearing him apart. Wish we could help is all."
Caje smiled. "He'll be ok. Just needs time. And we're here for him."
The two men stood quietly waiting in the shade of a tree, patiently giving their sergeant the privacy he needed. Neither would take out a cigarette, in respect for their sacred surroundings. So they just waited silently, lost in their own wars within.
Quite awhile had passed when Caje finally pointed. "Look, Kirby."
In the distance they could see Saunders sit back on his heels, turn and move over to sit leaning against the tree. "Now we can go," Caje said softly.
They slowly walked together across the open field, through rows and rows of stark white crosses. Hesitating at one that had a star on top of a post, they looked at each other and continued walking. Both paused a distance away from their sergeant, unsure of exactly how to approach him.
CHAPTER 6
Saunders was spent. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped behind his neck, his head hanging down. An occasional sound of deep sadness broke the silence. A sniffle, a sharp intake of breath, a pain laden sigh. Finally, he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, and as he was wiping his nose, he caught sight of two men standing at a discreet distance watching him. His defensive alarm bells sounded, mixed with his embarrassment. But then familiarity took hold and he cocked his head as if to see better. Wiping the remaining tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, he looked again, squinting.
"Caje? Kirby?"
The two walked towards him awkwardly. He was very confused. Was he so distraught that he was hallucinating friendly faces? They seemed real.
"Sarge," Caje said softly, holding out his hand in friendship.
Saunders, still confused, looked up and took Caje's hand tentatively and shook it, his own hand still wet with tears. He repeated with Kirby, looking back and forth at both of them. Wiping his face one more time, he put his handkerchief back into his pocket. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "How did you know where I was?"
Caje sat down on the grass and Kirby followed his lead. The three ex-soldiers formed a triangle under the tree.
"Bette called me last week," Caje admitted. "She was worried about you. She didn't want you to go through this alone. Why didn't you call us? You know we would have come."
Saunders shook his head. "No, I couldn't do that. I know you guys. You'd feel obligated to come. It's a huge expense. And then you'd have to take time off from work, too. I couldn't ask you to do that."
"Well, we're here," Kirby said firmly. It became silent as the three looked at the grass, the Channel…everywhere except at each other.
Kirby broke the silence finally. "Really nice place here, and Grady got a beautiful spot. Great view." He paused and looked at Saunders. "But how'd he ever get here, if you don't mind me asking? Grady made it through Omaha Beach without a scratch."
Saunders stared out over the Channel. He reached down and picked a dandelion and twirled it between his fingers.
"Long story," he replied, as he looked up at his two friends. He paused, then began, "Grady was an orphan. His parents died when he was really young. He was adopted by an older couple who both died as well, just before he joined the Army. He was only 19 then. Once we became friends, I didn't realize it, but he put in a change on his records, making me his next of kin. After he was killed, the Army contacted me to ask whether he was to be shipped home to be buried in his home town, or be buried here in France. It actually wasn't a hard decision to make, which is why I think he made me his next of kin. Grady had always talked about how beautiful he thought France was. He wanted to return here after the war to help rebuild what he felt he had also helped to destroy."
"I put in a special request for this cemetery because it's kind of where it all started for us. Since he already had a couple purple hearts and a silver star, they honored my request. They exhumed him from the temporary grave we gave him by the church and brought him here." Saunders looked up at the tree and out to the water. "Gave him a nice spot, too."
"Funny thing though," Saunders smiled sadly. "Grady was Jewish." He pointed to the cross. "It never occurred to me to tell them that. He never had it put on his dog tags, since Jews were warned not to advertise their religion, going into Nazi held territory."
Kirby looked at the cross. "Well, if you told them, I'm sure they'd change it." He remembered the star that he and Caje had passed.
Saunders shook his head. "No, it's fine. Grady wouldn't mind. And I wouldn't feel right disturbing anything right now." He stood up. "Want to go for a walk?"
Kirby and Caje stood and touched the marble cross reverently. Saunders placed both hands on the cross and stood silently for a long moment. Then he picked up a small stone and placed it on the cross. He gently patted the marker, and the three men headed towards the sea.
CHAPTER 7
They walked slowly, reading crosses as they went. Saunders said, "Did you know Teddy Roosevelt's son is buried here?"
Kirby shook his head, then stopped. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to a particular cross.
It read, 'Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God.'
Caje touched the marker and made the sign of the cross on his chest. "This is a soldier they were never able to identify," he said softly.
Staring at the cross, Kirby replied, "Somewhere back home there's a mother who will never find peace."
After a moment of contemplation, they continued towards the edge of the cliff in silence.
Walking the path leading to the beach, Saunders said, "I saw some stairs over here. I think they go down to the beach." At the top of the long flight of stairs to the water below, all three men hesitated. Their faces were filled with emotion. For Kirby and Caje, this had been the start of their war. For the veteran Saunders, this was the start of their friendships and the loss of others. This is where his nightmares all began.
Finally, Saunders took a deep breath and almost whispered, "C'mon." And the three ex-soldiers began to slowly descend into their pasts.
CHAPTER 8
Saunders stopped on the last stair. Looking up and down the beach, he took a deep, nervous breath and stepped onto the sand. With each footstep towards the water line, waves of memories washed over him. The noise, the smoke, the smells, the screams. The blood. He stopped and stared out to the horizon and ran both hands through his hair. Remembering Kirby and Caje, he turned to see how they were handling it. Both were also staring at the horizon with tears welling up in their eyes.
"Do you hear it?...Do you see it?" Kirby asked, wiping his eyes.
"Yes," came soft replies from both Caje and Saunders.
Saunders put his hand on Kirby's shoulder. "You ok?" he asked. Kirby nodded. "Caje?" he asked. The Cajun also nodded, running the back of his hand across his eyes. After assuring himself that his friends were both alright, he said, "Let's walk."
They started walking silently along the water line. A few young couples were strolling ahead of them, hand in hand. The scene before the three men was totally incongruous with the war going on in their heads. Where the young couples saw rusting debris in the water here and there, these veterans saw battle ready equipment, killing machines. Where the young saw remnants of concrete buildings, overgrown with weeds, these warriors saw enemy bunkers spewing death and destruction. As the couples admired the beautiful white sand, the ex-soldiers saw the dead and dying lying on blood soaked sand.
How could they ever begin to explain what they saw and experienced to someone who never knew the horrors of war? These men rarely discussed their experiences with friends and family back home. They needed to protect them from it all. It was a lot to bear.
The three of them walked the length of the beach several times, never speaking. Occasionally, they would stop to look out over the water, seeing waves of ships filling the horizon, and thousands of men wading onto the beaches. They never realized how big the entire stretch of beaches was. When they landed here that day in June, their world was small. They were focused on their own platoon, their own squad, their lieutenant, their sergeant, their fellow soldiers and friends. They were focused on staying alive.
Finally, Saunders took a deep breath and slowly released it. He looked at his two friends, who seemed as spent as he was. Putting an arm over both Kirby's and Caje's shoulders, he said, "I guess soon we all need to talk to each other about this." Both men nodded in agreement. "But I think this is about as much as we can handle for today. Right now I think it's about time we returned to the living. What do you say? Beer's on me." His friends looked at each other, laughed and nodded.
"I'll drink to that," Kirby grinned.
Saunders cuffed the back of Kirby's head as they started back up the steps. Back to life.
CHAPTER 9
As they approached the road, Caje said, "There's a great little bar and inn just over in Colleville-sur-Mer that Kirby and I found. It's only about a mile away. Nice day. We can walk it in no time.
Saunders laughed and shook his head. "I'm done walking the roads of France, Caje. Why don't we ride?" Just then they came up to Henri, waiting patiently sitting on the fender of his car.
"Henri, how about some free beer?" Saunders laughed.
Henri jumped off the fender with a big smile. "Where to, Sergeant?"
Caje and Kirby looked very confused, so Saunders introduced them all. "Meet Henri, my new friend. Henri was with the Maquis during the war. He's a driver for hire now. But he refuses to take my money. So I'll just have to pay my way in free beer and dinner. Henri, meet Caje and Kirby, old squad members with the 361st. They all shook hands warmly, and Caje smiled, "Bonjour, mon ami."
"Ah, gathering your forces, eh, Sergeant?" Henri laughed.
Kirby rubbed his hands together and said, "Yeah, Henri, and it's about time for a frontal assault on a keg or two. Let's move out!"
Everyone laughed and jumped into the car for the quick ride to Colleville-sur-Mer.
CHAPTER 10
Stepping out of the car, Saunders went to put his jacket on, and remembered the post cards. He took them out, looked at them, and handed one to Kirby. "Here, I was going to send you a post card from Paris, but I might as well just give it to you."
Kirby opened his mouth and stared. Then he shook his head and handed it back. "Nah, mail it to me. I never get nothing but bills. I'll have something to smile about, getting a post card from Paris." He grinned as Saunders shook his head and laughed.
Caje had already gone into the little bar ahead of them. Kirby held the door and Saunders went into the dark interior that was filled with wonderful smells of food and beer. Sounds of raucous laughter floated out around him. As his eyes adjusted, a look of puzzlement crossed his face. But very quickly a broad grin replaced it.
"Hey, it's the Sarge! About time, Sarge. Billy's driving me crazy with his questions," Littlejohn laughed.
"I am?" Billy said quizzically.
"See? There's a question," Littlejohn replied, laughing again.
Then the room was filled with laughter and conversation once again. Saunders put his arms out, speechless, his eyes welling up. He turned to Caje with a questioning look.
"Do you think any of us would let you go it alone? We're your squad and your friends. We'll always have your back, Sarge. Besides, I think we all needed this."
Saunders took the back of Caje's head in his hand and shook it a little, with a silent look of gratitude. Then began the round of handshakes and bear hugs. Littlejohn, Billy, Doc and Brockmeyer, along with Kirby and Caje. He couldn't believe it. He hadn't seen some of them in several years.
"You guys are something else!" Saunders laughed.
Just then the door opened and in stepped a tall, lean figure. "Am I too late for a beer?" asked Hanley.
A loud cheer rose from the squad as Hanley reached a hand out to Saunders, but was pulled in for a welcome bear hug and a pounding on his back.
With an arm around Hanley's shoulders, Saunders shouted, "Hail, hail, the gang's all here!"
Doc held up a hand slightly and said, "Well, not exactly, Sarge. We came across a lonesome straggler and felt really sorry for him, so we invited him into our squad. Hope you don't mind."
Saunders' questioning look was replaced by shock and then sheer delight as a face peered around from behind Littlejohn. The face shone with a big, goofy grin.
"Thomas!" Saunders yelled. Everyone broke out with laughter and hoots, but the room slowly became quiet.
The two men hugged and pounded each others backs. But then Saunders stepped back, with his hands on Thomas' shoulders. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him as tears rolled down his face.
Thomas was his closest friend in the military besides Grady Long and Hanley. Saunders had been wounded saving Thomas' life while in Italy. Then Saunders was shipped to England with 2nd platoon, 1st squad, and Thomas went stateside and home from his wounds. After the war, they had remained close. But life seemed to intrude, and they hadn't seen each other in almost five years.
There was an awkward silence until Saunders wiped his eyes, grabbed both Hanley and Thomas and shouted, "Where's the beer?" Amid the laughter, pitchers of beer were passed around, along with boards of cheeses, sausage and bread. Saunders went to introduce his new friend Henri, but realized that he was already trading war stories with the squad.
Sitting next to him, Hanley took a sip of his beer and looked at Saunders. "The twins must be getting big now. Their birthdays are coming soon. I'll have to send them their gifts. What are they going to be, five?"
Saunders, having just popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth, only nodded.
Kirby, overhearing the conversation, said, "Well, you going to show us their pictures or do I have to boost your wallet myself?"
Saunders smiled and reached for his wallet, pulling out two pictures. As the pictures went around, Billy said, "Wow, look at those blue eyes and the blond mops. Definitely Saunders kids."
Kirby looked up from one of the pictures, "Was there a doubt?"
Caje hit him on the shoulder, "Kirby!"
Doc took the picture from Billy and said, "I know your son is named Grady, in memory of Grady Long. But what's your daughter's name again? I haven't seen her since she was two."
Thomas interrupted him, "Sydney!" He beamed with pride as he took the picture from Kirby and held it up. Pointing to himself, he said, "And one Sydney Thomas is her godfather." Then he thought for a moment and added, "And I've been an absent one, shirking my godfatherly duties. But I'll be remedying that soon." Saunders smiled and received a dose of Thomas' goofy grin in return.
Kirby said, "Hey, what about the Lieutenant?"
Saunders looked back at him and replied, "Well, Kirby, I didn't think naming my little girl 'Gil' would have gone over too well with my wife. I had a tough enough time getting 'Sydney' approved."
"But I am little Grady's godfather, Kirby," Hanley smiled.
Kirby looked at Saunders and added, "Then you and Bette just need to keep going until you get another boy then. Gotta have a 'Gil'." This elicited groans and more laughter, followed by another round of beers.
Others began to pull out pictures of their families as well, and soon there were pictures everywhere.
Kirby looked up and shouted, "Hey, Littlejohn, where's your pictures? I was expecting to see pictures of baby cows or something."
"Calves, Kirby," Saunders laughed.
Kirby looked at him blankly. "Yeah, them too."
Renewed laughter filled the room, along with talk of wives, children and hopes and dreams for the future.
CHAPTER 11
As the hours flew by, Saunders became quieter. Hanley, noticing how subdued his friend had become, leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "White Rook, this is Checkmate King 2, come in White Rook." When Saunders smiled, Hanley asked, "Problem?"
Remaining quiet, Saunders took a sip of his beer and looked down at the table. Then he finally spoke, "Yeah, kind of. This has just been great getting together with everyone again. We haven't all been together at one time in almost ten years. But I have to catch a train soon or I'll miss my plane home. I really hate having to leave everyone."
"Well then, I guess it pays to have your brilliant lieutenant around. It seems that your orders have been changed, soldier. You'll be laying over here in Colleville-sur-Mer until Friday. Everything's been changed already. And I've even cleared it with the Brigadier General at home. Bette's fine with it. In fact, she's actually the instigator in all of it."
"No, I couldn't…" Saunders began, trying to figure a way to politely say that he couldn't afford to stay any longer.
Picking up on his friend's awkwardness, Hanley added, "And don't worry about the cost. The innkeeper has offered us five free rooms for the duration, complete with breakfast and dinner. Seems that the American forces arrived here just in the nick of time to save his entire family and his inn from the Germans back then. He had three young daughters to worry about. Turns out that he remembers it was the 361st that came to their rescue. What luck for us, hey, Sergeant?"
Kirby, pitcher in hand, came up to refill their mugs. "The barkeep just keeps saying 'Viva les Américains' over and over. Who knew it would pay off one day being with the 361st? Hey, Brock, more beer?" Kirby held up the pitcher towards Brockmeyer.
"Nein," Brockmeyer laughed.
"Whoa, Brockmeyer," Kirby whispered loudly. "Ixnay with the ermangay, know what I mean? Don't want to kill the golden goose!"
Amid the laughter, Littlejohn called out, "Hey, Sarge. Billy and I have been talking. St. Lo is only about 45 minutes from here. What say after breakfast tomorrow we all go out on patrol and do some reminiscing at St. Lo? We just need a ride."
Henri, who had been enjoying the beer and conversation with his new found friends, chimed in, "A ride? No problem. My car holds five and my cousin has an old German staff car that can take even more. We would be honored to drive all of you. We supply the cars, you supply the beer."
"I'll drink to that!" Kirby shouted, holding up his glass.
CHAPTER 12
The reunion lasted well into the early hours of morning. Once everyone began to wind down, Kirby said, "So what are we doing about beds? Just give me a soft rug and I'll be fine. It'd sure beat a foxhole or a lumpy pile of rocks."
Doc smiled and said, "You're in luck, Kirby. Each room has two beds. We can pair up. How about you and Caje take a room? I can go with Brockmeyer, and Billy and Littlejohn can share a room."
Kirby thought for a moment. "Wait a minute. There's nine of us. So who gets the extra room all to himself?"
Everyone looked at Hanley, who smiled, cocked his head and held his arms out. "Rank has its privileges."
Saunders laughed and put his arm around Thomas' shoulders. "Guess that leaves us two old soldiers, Thomas. Your snoring improved any over the years?"
"Sure enough, Sarge. It's definitely a lot louder now!" he replied as his goofy grin spread across his face.
Saunders became quiet and thoughtful. Finally, he stood up, glass in hand. He cleared his throat nervously and spoke loudly, "Guys? Everyone?"
The room quickly quieted to a hush. Saunders raised his glass and looked around. "This doesn't come easy for me. Never has. But I need to say it…Thank you. Thank you for being here for me. I mean it. It really means a lot to me. You were here for me when I really needed you, and I didn't even know I needed you guys. And you've always been there, watching my back. Watching each others' six."
The room was in dead silence until Kirby said softly, "We'd go to hell and back for you, Sarge."
"Hear, hear!" came quiet replies around the room.
"To friendship!" Hanley toasted, raising his glass.
Saunders raised his glass, pausing to regain his composure. Finally, he said, "To friends. To those who have gone on before us, to those who share our journey now, and to future friends." He smiled warmly at Henri, who grinned broadly in return.
"To friends!" everyone shouted.
CHAPTER 13
As their evening ended, they made their way up to their rooms. Kirby slipped next to Saunders. "Hey, Sarge, hope you don't mind, but we're flying home together. We're flying into Idlewild with a changeover to O'Hare. Lucky guy, Butch O'Hare was, getting a whole airport named after him, huh?"
Saunders placed a hand on Kirby's shoulder and replied, "Well, win the Medal of Honor and you too can have an airport named after you. Kirby International."
Kirby waived a hand, "Oh no, my Medal of Honor days are over. Let the young bucks have that privilege."
As Kirby started into his room with Caje, Saunders stopped and said, "Kirby?"
His friend turned and said, "Yeah, Sarge?"
"I'm glad we're flying home together. It's a long flight and I welcome the company. It would be my honor to fly with the best BAR man in the whole damn U.S. Army."
Kirby beamed and gave a thumbs up. "Night, Sarge."
Saunders waived 'good night' and followed Thomas to their room. Once they'd settled in, Saunders lay in the dark, staring at the moon shining down through the window. He'd traveled over 4000 miles to find some meaning in it all. Maybe end the nightmares and find some peace. He felt that today he might have made some peace with Grady and even the many men who fought and died under his command. Perhaps he'd made some progress. And maybe now their ghosts would be at rest and no longer haunt his nights.
And meaning? The true meaning lay in all the rooms around him. These men had fought together, bled together, depended on each other and watched each others' backs. Theirs was a solid bond of friendship forged in fire. Out of all the death and destruction came hope. New life. And peace.
"Night, Sarge," yawned Thomas through the darkness.
Saunders smiled. "Night, Thomas. Peaceful dreams."
THE END