"War is not an adventure. It is a disease. It is like typhus."

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

IV

THERE WILL BE HUNS

David gave a last look at the sky before he entered the command tent. It was heavy with low clouds, rain falling irregularly all over the landscape. Air support would be out of the question until it started to clear, maybe later in the morning accordingly to the weather forecast. With the Allies deprived of their greatest asset, it was the perfect opportunity for the Germans to try and do something concerning the unyielding advance of the American troops around Leipzig.

Even in defeat the Jerry was as obstinate as ever, David thought, guaranteeing the Allies would have to fight for every centimeter of land.

"Ah, Captain Blake!" Colonel Jeremy Kay greeted David as he entered. "It's good to see you."

The British officer looked at the commander of the US Army's 117th Armored Regiment, nicknamed "Saunders". The man was born in Kuna, in the state of Idaho, and had a tall and athletic build, sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He actually had the laid back and hands-down attitude David had always associated with the Yanks, although reality had come to prove him that people were as different as they came, independently of their country of origin.

For some reason Kay simply fitted rather well in the said stereotype. He was also a proud father of a young lady, and David even had the opportunity to see a picture of her once, surprised that she had the same eyes and hair of her father, but a feminine grace that was surely her mother's. It was evident that the colonel missed his family dearly, but, like everyone there, he was committed and eager to see the European campaign through to the end. To defeat Fascism and, who knows, open the path for something good to come out from all of that madness.

"I am so very sorry for not coming by earlier, colonel," David replied, "but I was redacting my reports when I noticed the commotion."

The colonel nodded at him. One of his aides used the moment to come up to him and deliver a report.

"One of the patrols stumbled upon some Kraut scouts." Kay said to David while he read the paper. "We're still trying to see if it was some kind of preparation for a counter-attack, or intelligence gathering for later."

"I would say the Jerry will try something today. They won't have another chance like this anytime soon." David shrugged. "This weather makes you think if God isn't a bloody Jerry Himself."

"Who knows?" The colonel said somewhat dismissively as he joined two of his tactical officers over the map in the center of the room. "And while you're around, feel free to give any of your famed tactical advices. They've helped before."

"Certainly, sir." David pointed with the mug in his hand to the stove near the entrance. "May I?"

The Americans turned at him, Kay quickly realizing his intent.

"Knock yourself out." He told him before returning is attention to the map.

Very calmly, David went to the stove. He filled the mug with some water from his canteen and started heating it.

"So, good colonel, any idea when will the main assault commence?" David asked while he waited for the water to heat.

There was a wait of a minute or so, while Kay discussed with his officers. But he hadn't ignored the British liaison. Once his aides stopped talking to think their situation through, Kay turned to David.

"Once we have encircled the city. Meanwhile, we hold this flank."

And so it was. The main Allied advance in Central Germany was focused on two main targets: Leipzig to the south, and Dessau, further north. That meant that there was a respectable gap in the space between both advances, through which the enemy could try to move and do something to thwart the Americans. Of course, they were desperately outnumbered in that fight, but that wouldn't stop them from trying.

Guessing the water was hot enough already, David switched the stove off. Then he took a small tea bag from his breast pocket and started dipping it in the mug.

"Do you always walk around with one of those?" One of the colonel's tactical officers asked David.

"You know, laddie," he replied, a smirk on his face, "black tea works better for me than coffee."

The young American lieutenant chuckled and glanced again at the map. One of his colleagues, a young man who David didn't remember having seen before, looked at the British liaison with a skeptic gaze.

"So, this is the guy they say conquered Caen?" he asked the officer who'd spoken before.

"And Carpiquet," the other officer replied, "and even helped the Scottish Engineers in Hill 112 when they got surrounded." He finally raised his eyes to meet his younger comrade's. "Drove there in a Jeep, and reached the Scots the same time the Krauts did." And then he turned towards David. "Isn't that so?"

David was now grinning openly. It always amused him when he listened to the other troops talking about his combats in the dreadful campaign to take Caen. He did other things after that, of course, everyone did, but the fact that an inexperienced lieutenant, like he was at the time, managed to successfully command so many important fights in such a short amount of time had left an impression.

He'd always tried not to let it go to his head, anyway. He'd seen how others failed when they started to believe in their own invincibility. Market Garden had been especially traumatic in that regard. Even so he had to admit that combat appealed to him in a very innate level. Of course, he knew better than allowing others to realize that.

"That's how the tale goes, yes." He replied to the American lieutenant's question. "I was just doing my job."

"We all are." Colonel Kay declared, putting an end to the small talk. The discussion regarding the disposition of troops and how they could expand the perimeter continued afterwards, although the skeptical young lieutenant kept measuring David for a while longer, unconvinced. The British officer wasn't overly worried with what others could think of him, as long as the higher-ups believed he could do his job, so he decided to concern himself with more immediate problems.

"Do you happen to have some sugar?" David asked when he realized he'd forgotten his own. The colonel told him to check the smaller table in the other side of the tent. Fortunately there were some small packs over there, and he took one to mix in his tea. The result was a pleasant, lukewarm, drink.

He didn't have much time to savor the tea, though. A series of loud detonations in the distance alerted everyone in the tent. David placed his mug over the table and followed the others to the outside. There was a pair of smoke columns rising in the distance, and the personnel in the command post was already rushing back and forth, getting ready for the impeding battle.

"And so it begins." David murmured, almost solemnly.

Beside him, Colonel Kay looked at the grey sky above.

"At least we still have our artillery…"

On the other hand, David was starting to hitch inside. Battle was at hand, and somewhere up ahead there were men about to face death. The wild instincts inside him were now demanding for him to go where he could do some good. He turned to the colonel.

"Sir?" David straightened, assuming parade position. Kay glanced at him, taking no time realizing what he was asking for with such a simple question. He'd seen that kind of attitude several times before, mostly coming from green men, too eager to have their first taste of combat. Rarely did it come from seasoned veterans. Such men could be of two types: those who were dangerous to their comrades, and those who were deadly to the enemy.

And he knew exactly of which kind David was.

"Go." He told him. "Just don't take any stupid risks."

David saluted and immediately walked away, searching for a transport. A jeep was parked not far from the command tent, its driver, a young black soldier, stood against the side of the vehicle, looking at the distant columns of smoke.

"Private," David called him to attention. The man took the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth and saluted, "what's your name?"

"Freeman, sir." The driver replied.

"Private Freeman, I need you and your vehicle."

David sat on the passenger's seat while Freeman got the driver's. He turned the engine on, making a pleasant purr come out from under the hood.

"Where to, sir?"

Without saying a word, David pointed to the distant pillars of smoke. Freeman let his jaw drop a little, his expression clearly saying 'not again!'

"Shall we?" David insisted.

"Yes, sir." The private replied, much less enthusiastic this time.

The jeep leaped forward, running through the hills, right into the thick of it. It took it just a couple minutes to get to the frontline. Interestingly enough, and to Freeman's relief, not much seemed to be happening.

Curious, but suddenly feeling very cautious, David told the driver the park the jeep several meters behind the pair of Sherman tanks standing on the top of the hill, overlooking the landscape. He walked to the space between both armored beasts, taking the time to check if the perimeter was mounted adequately around them. It did seem so. The American captain knew what he was doing.

"Ah, Captain Blake," he saluted when he saw the British liaison approaching his mount. The man was assuming the usual armor commander's pose, half of his body out of the command hatch, binoculars in his hands, "to what do we owe the honor?"

"The colonel believes the Jerry is up to something, Captain O'Neil." David replied, putting his hands in his pockets. "I came by to check on the frontline."

"The Jerry is always up to something. That's what he does."

David nodded before those words, again checking his surroundings.

"What happened thus far, captain?" He asked. The American officer didn't reply immediately, instead observing the horizon, a task that was next to impossible under the constant curtains of rain.

"They've pounded us with some light artillery and a couple infantry squads. Can't really place where the main thrust will take place..." He glanced down to David. "But we're spread well enough to react to anything they might throw at us."

"Assuming you see it coming…" David's muttering was barely audible, and O'Neil was certainly trying to grasp what he'd said when one of his men called for him.

"Sir! We have a tank coming from the northeast!" He was a young radio-operator with freckles in his pale face, carrying the heavy communications equipment on his back, and probably receiving the information from some other unit up to the north.

"Kraut?" O'Neil was once again peering at the distance with the binoculars, but yet another curtain of rain fell over the hillside, soaking everyone there and negating him any chance of confirming the sight.

"They don't know."

"How do they don't know?"

The young man hesitated, while he listened to the radio chatter, covering the headphone with his mouth to protect it from the rain. Meanwhile O'Neil went inside the tank for a moment, probably to say something to his crew, maybe ask the radio-operator of the vehicle to double-check the information. When he peeked through the hatch again, the radio-operator infantryman had some news for him.

"The guys up north say it's a Lee."

"A Lee?" Now both O'Neil and David were confused. "We haven't been using those in a while."

Meanwhile the rain started to clear, eventually stopping for a couple minutes. The American captain used the respite to check the surroundings. On the other hand, David started to feel even more uneasy. There was something familiar in there.

"Oh, I see it. Is it alone?" O'Neil lowered his binoculars and leaned to talk to the radio-operator standing beside the tank to tell him something. David didn't listened because at that moment his brain made the connection to the conversation he had with Alvin that night, the adrenaline rush rocketing through his body.

"O'Neil!" He yelled. "Destroy it!"

Too late.

In very next instant the Sherman was engulfed by a thundering fireball, and David was pushed into the air as though he were grabbed by a giant invisible hand. He had a moment of weightless confusion, and then, with a plunk, he felt the blissful embrace of oblivion.