Ardennes Forest
Alex crunched through the snow towards his Company’s position. A man’s abrasive criticism echoing through the rows of frozen pines. By the time Alex got there, just one paratrooper was standing in the mist. He caught sight of Captain Lane stomping off in the direction of CP. Alex shivered more from the stab of anger then cold.
Lieutenant Ralph Burbank sighed, rubbing his face with his burlap wrapped hands. The men were desperate in their attempts to stave off the cold. Anything to make due in the freezing temperatures.
“Ralph!” Alex called out in a hoarse shout.
The man whipped around. Ralph Burbank was shorter than both Alex and Port. A Chicago native, he had thick knuckles and ruddy sideburns. Despite his rough exterior, the men liked him. Alex liked him for that matter.
“What was that?”
Ralph smirked, “The Fuhrer giving us his orders.”
Alex grimaced. He’d heard the men grumbling that Lane could give Hitler a run for his money. He hadn’t seen anything to argue the contrary. As second in command in the Company, he had to work often with Lane. It was not a position he relished.
“What is it now?”
“Combat patrol.”
“Another? Didn’t your platoon just go on one?”
Ralph dug the toe of his boot into the slush, “Lost a man too.”
“Why on earth are they sending your men in for another?”
“Battalion needs information on enemy positions. The problem is they keep on sending us into German lines without any direction. We’re clueless.”
Alex’s stomach growled so loud that the other man could hear it. Ralph snickered. Alex wrapped his field jacket tighter around him and tried to ignore the bite of hunger in his gut. He had only eaten a cold cake of navy beans and cornmeal that day. At least the cold kept his mind off food most days.
“Still no sign of new supplies?” Ralph asked.
Alex shook his head, “We’re surrounded, haven’t you heard?”
“Yeah, but ain’t that just the way we like it?” Ralph gave a wry grin and spit into the snow.
Alex got word of the patrol later. Burbank had returned to his foxhole. Two of his men had not. One dead and another was wounded, Corporal Eddie Hawkins from Mississippi. The other men called him Smooch but he didn’t know why. No matter where he was from, Hawkins wasn’t going to see home for a while. Not until they broke free from the ruined Belgian city.
Word for another patrol came from Battalion. The patrols were necessary for sure. The allied forces hadn’t been doing it enough along the lines in early December. Their lack of intelligence led to the surprise German attack on the 16th.
After he found Lane, Alex was reluctant to give him the orders, “Battalion is calling for another patrol.”
Lane was hunkered down in his foxhole, arms tight across his chest, “I’m not surprised. We haven’t gotten anything of use yet.”
Alex leaned over on his knees, “So who are you considering?”
Lane ran a gloved hand over his chin with a shrug, “I’ll talk to Burbank. I’m thinking second platoon.”
Clenching his fists, Alex’s breath misted in front of his face as he scanned the eerie wood. Lane was threatened by Burbank and his popularity with the men. Clearly he was using this as a means to beat him into submission.
“Captain, don’t you think-“
“Think what? We have a job to do, McKay. None of us are happy with what is going on here,” Lane rose from his foxhole and stepped out onto the icy ground, “You know it as well as I do, Chief.”
Alex stood up, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. Some of the other men called had him ‘chief’ but it had always been in jest. The Irish were called Micks, the southerners were hayseeds, no one was safe from a little jibbing. But the way Lane said it sounded different. It was the kind of tone that would have started a fight for Alex when he was a teenager.
But he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He was fighting a war against a far greater enemy than Burk Lane and all his petty insecurities. For all he knew, Lane saw Alex as a threat too. He just wasn’t worth it.
Alex exhaled heavily, “I’ll be the one to tell him.”
As night fell, the cold became all encompassing. Alex couldn’t feel his fingertips as he leafed through his Bible. Port snored in the foxhole next to him, lulled to sleep by his flask. The sounds of the enemy line just across the way banished sleep for Alex.
Tucked underneath a covering of thick brush, he’d light a match for as long as he dared. The glow would last long enough for him to catch only a few words. But between the familiar feel of the pages to his numb fingertips and those scant verses, it helped.
Burk Lane didn’t care about his men but Alex did. He couldn’t stop thinking about Hayseed on D-Day lying in a puddle of blood and petals. They had taken other casualties on that day of days but the death of the boy from Alabama haunted him. Alex felt responsible. Now there they were in the valley of the shadow of death once again.
Peace crept back into his heart as he read and prayed. Even if he could only do so much, God could do so much more. I labored more abundantly than they all: yet not I but the grace of God which was with me. Anything he did for his men was purely by the grace of God. As it wasn’t to Alex’s glory when things when right, it wasn’t on his head when they went wrong. God’s Grace covered those sins.
Alex submitted what had happened on D-Day to God and asked for healing. A quietness washed over his spirit and finally he was able to catch a few hours of sleep. He awoke to a mortar attack but found that God had given him the strength to fight another day.
#
Edith had heard the legends of the Christmas Truce during the Great War. Christmas Day combat between the trenches had halted and enemy soldiers exchanged gifts. So the rumors said.
400 million American soldiers were on the Western front in 1944. Edith had a feeling that none of them would be wishing any Nazi troops a Froehliche Weinachten. Especially none of the men surrounded in Bastogne.
"What's merry about all this, you ask?" Samantha read aloud as she pranced towards Edith's desk. She peered over the paper with a dry expression, "Yes. That's exactly what I'm thinking. Thank you, General McAuliffe. It's been a pleasure."
Edith shook her head, reaching out as Samantha handed her a fresh cup of coffee.
"Samantha, the commentary can wait. Please just give me the gist."
Edith eased back in her chair, cradling the mug with both hands. Heaving a small sigh, Samantha brought the paper to eye level and skimmed the sheet.
"Apparently General McAuliffe's response to the German commander's demand for surrender was rather short."
"How short?"
Samantha snorted, "All he said was 'Nuts'."
"Nuts?"
"Yes, nuts. I'm guessing there would be a few choice gestures that could have accompanied that as well." Samantha cleared her throat. "According to the General, the boys on the front lines are giving us a worthy Christmas present with their service. In fact, they are privileged to do so."
"I wonder how well Division is eating tonight compared with the men holding the line." Edith murmured. She rested the lip of the mug to her mouth but didn't drink. "Christmas eve dinner in Bastogne. Can you imagine?"
Samantha's eyes grew distant as she stared at the only news they had received on the 101st. Her lips parted in thought. Samantha wasn't reading anymore. Edith could only assume she was thinking of the curly headed Corporal from Mississippi.
"That's enough from the General, I think." Edith lifted a hand towards her with a half-smile. "We have a few more things to finish up around here before we can leave tonight."
Folding the sheet, Samantha handed it over to her boss. Edith gave her a reassuring nod. After attempting a faint grin, Samantha trudged over to her desk.
Edith tore open the top right drawer on her desk and shoved the Christmas greeting into the back. She had a job to do. The last thing she needed to be focusing on was the plight of the 101st. The newspapers lauded the unit as the 'Battered Bastards of the Bastion of Bastogne'. She wondered how much the 4F who conjured that slogan had been paid.
Turning back to her work, Edith took a sip of her coffee. She tasted chocolate and glanced over at Samantha. The young woman grinned as she typed out a memo.
"I broke up a Hershey bar that Smooch gave me before he left and put it in our cups to melt." She glanced over, "I thought we could use something sweet."
Edith gave a breathy laugh, swirling the cup as she stared down into the light steam coming off the beverage. The snow fall outside picked up and shushed against the glass pane like silk. The men’s supplies had been so meager when they left camp for the front line one week earlier. There she sat tucked into the relative safety of Mourmelon. Meanwhile the men endured relentless attacks in the dead of winter. Even medical supplies and most of their doctors couldn't get through the German onslaught. She wondered what Alex had to say about the General's cheery Christmas greeting.
She set down the cup and cranked a blank piece of paper into her typewriter. Thinking of Alex McKay was a waste of time considering what was happening in the world. She had work to do. She shoved him into the back of her mind. Punching the keys, she fired out a report for Division's most recent paper shortage.
It was the day after Christmas that General Patton's third army broke the line. The entrapped 101st was finally on friendly ground again. The route was now clear for the evacuation of the wounded and supplies could be shipped into the bereft paratroopers.
"Perhaps, they will be brought back to Mourmelon." Samantha had ventured after bringing in the news on the wings of fresh snow.
Edith's gaze trailed down to Samantha's galoshes. A puddle of fast melting ice pooled around her toes. She bit her lip and tapped her pencil on the desk, "We can only hope."
It depended on how many soldiers they had to spare on the regained line. Whatever Eisenhower had in mind for the Allied troops' next move, it would have to be impressive. What they had suffered from Hitler’s surprise attack had to count for something.
The next morning, a skinny orderly from regiment shuffled in from the cold. He strut up to Edith's desk and held out a small envelope.
"From the Colonel." He sniffed, thrusting his reddened fingers in his pockets after she took it.
"You may go." Edith nodded.
After letting him out, Samantha paced towards her. She waited for the word, resting her hands on a chair that was cattycorner to Edith's desk. Without a look, Edith rose and swiveled towards the window. Night had already fallen hard and it was only 4:30 in the afternoon.
"Colonel Dixon has received special permission for me to travel to the Bastogne area with the new wave of supplies being shipped in." Edith announced, tucking the note back into its envelope.
Samantha shifted and scoffed, "Your own father is calling you to the front?"
A faint grin played at the corner of her mouth. "He said supply officers aren’t up to the task all alone and need another set of eyes. He doesn't trust anyone else.”
Despite the fact that she had hungered for such confidence from her father for so long, she was hesitant. This was the first time she would be close to combat. She wasn’t a nurse, it was something she had never experienced. It left her conflicted.
"You are going to have to hold down the fort here while I'm gone." She turned back to Samantha. The girl's strained expression was pale. It disturbed her. "I have complete faith that you will perform your duty to the best of your ability, Sergeant."
Samantha nodded, the tension around her mouth loosening. "As I have complete faith in you, Lieutenant. I will keep things tidy for when you return, I promise."
Edith swallowed with a faint smile. "I will be leaving tomorrow with the first supply convoy out following General Taylor. I think I will leave early this afternoon to get some things ready. Will you be okay?"
"Will you?"
Edith straightened her posture and met Samantha's concerned glance. "I'm going to have to be."
Samantha turned back to her desk with a shrug. Edith gathered her things from her desk, taking the necessary papers. Her mind wandered back to McAuliffe’s Christmas greeting. It was still shoved into the back of the desk drawer. Edith’s hand hovered before she jerked the drawer open and dragged out the paper.
She read it again and allowed herself to think of Alex for just one moment. Her attraction to him had come on like a wildfire, it frightened her. She didn’t trust men anymore since her affair with Bentley. In all honesty, she didn’t trust herself either in romantic entanglements.
Her eyes drifted up and she realized the paper had pulled her mother’s New Testament into the light. She snatched up the book and tucked it into her pocket without a second thought. Her mother always said people only turned to God when things got bad, not when they were going good. Edith wondered if it really mattered when someone turned to God. The point was they were reaching for Him just the same.
Not that she was ready to make that leap. She had to earn that right all over again.
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