IN HIS IMAGE

The waiting. That was the hardest part. Each minute dragged by like a broken axle on a wagon. You never knew what was out there, waiting to kill you. You sweated. You gulped in what oxygen you could from the acrid, smoky air that enveloped you in a foul curtain. Your muscles quivered and ached, your crouched legs tingled and burned. You could smell death out there, ready to squeeze the blood out of your heart, to leave your body broken on hard foreign soil. But you couldn’t think about that now. You just waited. That was all you could do.

Sergeant Morrow licked his dry lips, his throat parched and swollen shut. He steadied his Thompson sub-machine gun against his rigid knees and pressed his body against the earth, waiting for the signal to counterattack the German position. Sweat oozed from his fair skin, causing his uniform to stick uncomfortably to his body. Licking his lips again, he tasted dust and grit from the air grinding between his teeth. He swiped at his forehead with his sleeve, then glanced at the shiny silver ring on his swollen left hand, the only thing on his body that was clean and beautiful. Bernadette and he were newly engaged, but now he was halfway across the world and caught up in some of the worst fighting on the front lines in France after D-Day.

“Rat tat tat! Ratta-tatta-tat-tat-tat!” The pert chatter of a German machine gun brought the sergeant crashing back into the hellish reality of war. He hugged his Tommy gun to his chest and dropped down to protect himself from the flying lead. Private Simpkins launched over the wall and plunked down beside him, his lean face contorted with anxiety as the battle grew hot. Morrow cleared his raw throat, swallowing hard and sending cool saliva over his parched vocal cords. “Cover me ‘till I get to that busted Jeep! I’m gonna try to get in a couple grenades.” Simpkins nodded wordlessly, flipped off the safety on his rifle, and threw off a salvo of shots. Worming his way towards a pile of bricks, the sergeant waited several seconds, sensing the tension growing in his body. Machine gun fire sputtered and bucked across the torn earth and exploded in a cacophony of hell in front of him, causing him to wince in pain and cover his ears. He had to destroy that machine gun or they would all get slaughtered. Biting the inside of his cheek, he ignored the millions of butterflies crawling in his gut and wriggled forward. Bullets from Simpkins’ rifle whizzed over his head and he silently cursed the soldier’s poor marksmanship.

A shell went whistling over the wall and landed with a dull thud behind the sergeant. He heard a hoarse cry and Simpkins stopped firing. Swallowing a cuss word, Morrow made a flying leap for the nearest foxhole. German bullets shattered the earth and snarled past his head. Please, God, let me make it… he leaped to his feet, pulled the pin from the grenade in his hand and heaved it at the enemy, dropping down on his stomach and covering his bare head with his arms. WHAMMMMM!!!!! The aftershock hit, jarring his bones and causing his teeth to click together. Rocks and chunks of brick pelted his vulnerable body. Something warm came up in his mouth and he spat it out, trying with all his strength to control his roiling stomach. He had done it. He had saved the squad. The hideous gun was silent now.

One by one, the soldiers popped out of their hiding places and cautiously advanced. Morrow staggered to his feet, shook his head vigorously, and picked up his helmet and Thompson. Nausea rippled through him as the extra adrenalin in his bloodstream wore off. Simpkins lay motionless on his side, blood seeping through the sleeve of his jacket. His pale face broke into a weak grin when he saw Morrow. “They- they got me, Sarge. Gosh, I didn’t even see ‘em.”

“Can you walk?”

“Sure, oh sure. Just gimme a minute.” The sergeant extended his free hand and pulled the soldier to his feet, slinging his arm across his back. Slowly the two men limped back towards the shelter of the shelled-out buildings.

Morrow knelt by the soldier’s side and wrapped the wounded arm in a thick gauze bandage; it was bleeding hard but proved to be only a minor flesh wound. He paused and drank heavily from his canteen, then splashed the water over his face. A shadow fell over him; he raised his eyes briefly and was greeted by the tall, muscular form of Lieutenant Harvey. Staggering to his feet, he attempted a weak grin. “That was some fireworks, wasn’t it, sir?”

The officer smiled faintly. His face was strangely pale. “You were remarkable, sergeant. I’ve never seen anyone take out that machine gun like you did. If I didn’t know any better I’d put you in for a silver star.”

Morrow was about to reply when the officer’s body pitched forward. He caught the man quickly and lowered him to the ground, calling out for a medic. Lieutenant Harvey’s chest heaved and his jacket fell open, revealing a dark bloodstain close to his heart. “I’m sorry, sergeant,” he said hoarsely, trying to push Morrow’s hand away. “I didn’t want you to know…”

The sergeant bit his lip hard and shucked off his jacket, covering the wounded man’s body. “Hang in there, sir.” He opened a package of sulfa with his teeth, but the officer stopped him with a weak hand. “Don’t waste your time, Morrow. Just stay here. Talk to me…”

Morrow choked back his feelings and began to talk, not knowing what his words meant, trying to bring comfort to the shattered, bleeding body. His mind was numb, his tongue a burden, his head reeling with thousands of inexpressible emotions. He babbled on, trying to make sense out of his words but not knowing how. The officer’s breath became more shallow, finally tapering off.

The sergeant’s heart began to race. Where was Doc? Why couldn’t he be here to comfort a man in his dying moments? He knew what to say and do. He grasped the pale hand and squeezed it hard, feeling the man’s life spark begin to flicker away. “Don’t go, sir, please. The squad needs you. Think of your wife, think of the men here. You can’t leave us like this.” The dark green eyes began to close.

Morrow began his pleas anew but stopped himself. Now everything was beyond his power. He let go of the warm hand and folded it over the man’s chest. “Rest in peace, Lieutenant. I’ll take care of the squad for you. I’ll do everything in my power to get them through this war. God willing, we’ll meet again after it’s all over.”

The sergeant shook his head to clear his reeling mind. He stood off to the side and watched as two medics arrived and gently loaded the body into a battered ambulance truck. He didn’t bother to take his jacket back. It was the least he could do to cover his friend’s torn, naked body.

New recruits always asked you if you ever got used to seeing men die. Morrow wiped his bleeding cheek with a clenched fist. Harvey was just another body in a mattress cover now, loaded onto a truck and forgotten forever. The war would go on, more men would die, and no one would notice the full impact. Morrow winced as he felt the pulse throbbing in his throat. Life became so cheap in war. Hitler didn’t care how many young hearts stopped beating, Patton didn’t understand how unnerving it was to talk to a man one minute and then pick up his remains the next. The world didn’t respect the delicate balance of body and soul that was life, how a man could breathe and think and love and then be reduced to a mangled mess of blood and skin. The sergeant sucked the foul air into his lungs and exhaled sharply. The breath of life that ran through him was something that could not be thrown away. No, it was something you never forgot. No death was ever easy to forget.

Lieutenant Harvey had been a good commander, always understanding and loyal to his men. He always had a smile, a joke, a word of encouragement for every soldier. Now he was simply a heap of blood and tissue, unloving, unseeing, completely useless and dead. What made a man live? What made a person a person and not a lump of flesh and bones?

Shivering in his undershirt despite the humidity in the air, Morrow picked up his Thompson and helmet, wiping the blood off his face with a well-used handkerchief. He choked down the hard lump in his throat, wetting his handkerchief with canteen water and swabbing sweat from his face and neck. How many men would he see killed before this was all over? Would he be in a mattress cover by the end of the day? Would he see the sun set? Would he ever see his family again?

* * * * *

The temperature had climaxed to a scorching 91 degrees by noon on Thursday. The squad had reached a small abandoned farm and was flushing out the outbuildings, looking for any stragglers. The sergeant reached for the canteen at his hip from where he crouched behind a hay bale and lifted it to his cracked lips. Three drops of stale water fell onto his thick, swollen tongue. Dragging himself to his feet, he steadied his heavy Thompson in his arms and crept wearily towards the door of a bombed shed, kicking it open with one blow and hiding in the shadow it made. The room was still; cautiously he stepped into the doorway.

The place was empty save a shelf of cracked dishes and boxes of rubbish. He searched it anyway, looking wherever a German could be and couldn’t possibly be. Beams and piles of brick and rubble were everywhere, covering the floor and poking through the smashed walls. A rusty woodstove stood in one corner, almost blocked off completely by a huge fallen rafter. Morrow paused and ran a hand over his thin stomach, thinking of all the meals that might have been cooked in that very room. Closing his eyes, he continued the fantasy he had dreamt the night before of devouring one of his mother’s homemade meals. He could remember the bubbling meat pies, the succulent sides of pork, the fragrance of chocolate chip cookies and the great satisfaction of topping off a full belly with a bowl of pistachio ice cream. He sighed again and ran a filthy hand across his unshaven face. Hunger nibbled behind his rib cage and he swallowed hard, placing the palm of his hand over his protruding collar bone. And then, the second course…

A strange, soft noise startled him, breaking him out of his daydream. He whirled around, sending bullets slamming into the wall. “Waaahhhhhh!” A high-pitched scream rose to a terrible audacity. Morrow quickly traced it to behind the rusty woodstove. He walked over cautiously, heart pounding, stepping over the fallen beams and chunks of mortar. Kicking away the debris, he uncovered a small figure hunched in the corner. Puzzled, he poked it with the tip of his Thompson barrel. It trembled and shook, alive but covered in so much dirt that he couldn’t quite make out what it was. He took a step closer.

“Go away!” The figure half-stood and scooted further into the corner. Dirty yellow braids stuck out from under a tattered veil of sackcloth. Another wailing cry pierced the air, and Morrow saw the bald head of a crying infant under the ripped cloak. A young girl with a baby? Relief flooded through him and he slowly laid down his gun. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he began in a soft voice, stretching out his arm towards the huddled form of the girl. Jerking forward, she sank her teeth into his fingers.

Morrow yelped and snatched his hand back. “Hey, take it easy, kid!” he stammered, but she emitted a growl and rolled her eyes at him. Rubbing his sore knuckles, he tried again, but she snapped at him. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed in broken English.

Hearing the sergeant’s shots, the squad came rushing to the shed. “Sarge, are you ok? What happened?” Doc sprinted inside. Morrow was crouched on his heels, cradling his hand over his chest. “She just bit me! What the heck’s the matter with her? She’s like a savage animal or something.”

“Who?” Doc peered behind the large cooking apparatus. “She looks pretty scared, sarge. What’d you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything! I tried to help her but she bit me! Watch out, doc, she’s like a wildcat.”

The little medic made an inquiry in French, then in German, after which he got a stream of incomprehensible words from the hunched figure. He shook his head slowly. “What’d she say?” inquired the sergeant.

“I couldn’t catch all of it. She say’s she’s staying right here and neither hell nor Hitler is gonna move her. But I’d put your jacket back on right now, sarge.”

“What for?”

Doc gave him a quiet look. “She thinks you’re trying to rape her.”

Morrow blinked stupidly. “What?”

The medic shrugged. “I dunno, but she ain’t gonna budge unless you improve your manners, sarge. She’s a lady, so start acting like a gentleman around her.”

Blushing, the sergeant backed off, smoothed his ragged undershirt, and tried to make himself look halfway decent. Doc managed to coax the girl out with gentle words; she was emaciated and covered with dirt, while the infant she held wailed sickly. Stick-thin legs and arms poked out in seemingly odd directions from her trembling frame. Morrow felt pity and compassion wash over him. “How old is she, Doc?”

The medic made another inquiry in German, at which he got a sharp reply. “She says that’s none of your business, sarge. Here, help me get her out of here. Take her baby.”

Morrow held out his arms as Doc slipped the infant into them. He winced at the thin face and protruding ribs, lifting up the soiled blanket to determine the gender. Poor kid. I hope he lives. He cradled it gently to his chest as it emitted a soft moan. It’s okay, kid. I won’t let anything hurt you.

“Say Doc, did she ever feed this kid? I don’t think it weighs six pounds.”

“I can’t feed him! My milk is no good!” The girl covered her face with her dirty hands and wept. Morrow bit his lip as the squad tittered behind him and turned to them. “All right, you guys, get outta here. Finish recon, then rustle up some grub.”

Mumbling, the men scattered, but Private Hogan trotted up to Morrow and fixed him with a wavering glance, nervously running a finger over the baby’s head. “She’s kinda pretty, isn’t she, sarge? I’m sure she’ll look even better when she’s all cleaned up. You think you could loan her out a few nights? I’m sure the guys would be willing to pay and you and I could split the profit.”

The sergeant jerked the child away from the sordid hands. “Get the hell out of here, you no-good wolf. Is that all you can think about now? No wonder you’ve been a private all your life; if anyone ever promoted you, you would have busted yourself down within a week. Now get out of here before I kick your spine between your shoulder blades.” Wincing under the sharp words, the soldier itched nervously at his armpit and scampered off.

After turning the girl and her baby over to Doc for medical treatment, Morrow wandered around the property until he found a reasonably soft spot in the grass behind the bombed-out farmhouse. Rigging his pack for a pillow, he stretched out on his back and closed his eyes, allowing the sweat on his eyelashes to drip in beads down his face. Barely a minute had passed and he was asleep, dreaming of Bernadette, who was waiting patiently for him at home.

* * * * *

Morrow limped back into camp around eight in the morning. Hunger and fatigue had caused him to oversleep; now everyone was awake and the powdered coffee was ready. He seated himself at a sputtering campfire and obtained a steaming cupful of the watery, weak brew. He drank it slowly; it hurt his empty stomach. Retching, he tossed the rest of it away and shuffled down to the Aid Station tent where Doc was filling plasma bottles in the front.

“How is she?”

“How’s who?”

“Stop the kidding around, Doc. I’m not in a good mood.”

The medic blinked for a second. “Oh, Liesl. She’s OK. How’d you sleep?”

Morrow leaned his arm against the tent pole. “Is that her name?”

Doc chuckled and continued to fill the clear glass bottles. “Yes, that’s her name, all right. She’s a German refugee, in case you haven’t figured that out yet. She came here all the way from across the Rhine.”

“Can I see her?”

“No, not yet. She’s asleep.”

“What happened to her, Doc? Why is she such a savage little brat?”

The medic paused for a second. “Well, I haven’t figured it all out yet. She won’t talk much to me either. But as far as I know, she was attacked a while back by an American soldier and it hasn’t ever left her.”

The sergeant blinked his blue eyes. “That’s too bad. That the kid, then?”

“Yeah, she couldn’t stand the war anymore, so she left the Fatherland and tried to come to freedom. But she got harassed in a French village on the border by a deserter and the kid is the result. She’s at a dead end now, I guess.”

“Well, she sure hasn’t come very far if she’s with the Americans again.”

“Perhaps not, but if I were you I’d stay out of her way for a bit. I guess it was a sergeant that attacked her or some guy with blond hair, because she quakes at the sight of your shadow.”

“Well, try to make her understand that I’m not gonna hurt her, will you?”

“I’ll try, but no guarantees. Now scram, get something to eat. You look like you could use a good meal or two.”

Morrow snorted in disdain and rubbed a hand over his stubbly, unshaven face. “Could I ever! Say, you got anything in that magic bag of yours for a sore stomach?’

Doc rooted around for a few seconds in his medic’s pack and came up with a handful of green and white striped candies. “Love candy, I believe. It might help. You love food, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?” The sergeant scooped up a few and popped them into his mouth. “Thanks, Doc. Don’t worry, I could never fall in love with you.”

“Same to you, Sarge. Just don’t romance with General Patton. I hear he’s coming to the front lines to boost the morale.”

“Oh yeah? Tell him to bring some K Rations.”

Crunching his candy into little bits between his strong jaws, Morrow went down to the creek bank and stripped off his tattered sergeant’s jacket. Sliding into the cold spring, he grabbed a handful of sand and worked it into his scalp and skin, scrubbing off all the sweat and blood that had become part of him. Memories flooded back to him of the many hours he had spent in the farm pond back home. Closing his eyes, he let his mind take him back over the Atlantic to the small homestead in Cleveland. Several catfish nibbled at his bare toes and water bugs skated blithely over the water’s surface, but as he reached out to grab them they darted out of his hands. He held his breath and went under again, feeling the smooth rocks at the bottom against his feet. It was lovely being alone and isolated from the war.

Finally young sergeant stretched out on the bank, letting the warm sunshine dry his body. He gazed at himself from where his image was reflected on the quivering mirror surface of the creek, calling to mind the old tale of Narcissus and how he had died enthralled with himself at the water’s edge. He had a nice face, he decided, combing his fingers through his tousled hair in a vain attempt to smooth it down. He wasn’t handsome but he had rugged features. He stretched his arms and scooped up a handful of water, rinsing his mouth and spitting it out in a spray of crystal droplets.

Suddenly he made a face; the water tasted strongly of soap. He looked up and saw two French girls squatting on the opposite bank while washing their laundry, giggling at him sprawled naked on the rocks. Blushing a deep red behind his ears, he grabbed his clothes and hurried off to finish his toiletries elsewhere.

* * * *

The sergeant was just preparing to write a long-overdue letter to his folks when a crashing noise in the thick underbrush roused him. Startled, he grabbed up his Thompson, heart pounding in his throat. “Stop right there! What’s the password?” He held his breath, then shouted, “Apple!”

“Cobbler!” came the reply. “Don’t shoot, Sarge! It’s Hogan.” Morrow lowered his weapon, breathing a sigh of relief. “Don’t do that again, soldier. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

The soldier came trotting into view, hiding something behind his back. “No hard feelings, Sarge. I got a little something.”

Morrow stared at him suspiciously. Hogan was known as the squad dog robber and goldbrick. He was lazy, selfish, and thought only of himself. Eventually the men had learned to put up with him, but Morrow had learned never to trust the short, pudgy soldier.

Displaying a grin wider than the Bering Strait, the private revealed four boxes of K Rations. “And look at this!” With a flourish of triumph he whisked out a small bottle of cheap French wine. “Voila! Let’s eat!”

The sergeant’s hollow blue eyes lit up when they saw the food but instantly sobered. “Where’d you get these, Hogan?”

Hogan grinned again, shifting from one foot to the other. “Aw, c’mon Sarge, a guy’s gotta eat! You’s just as hungry as me!”

“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Spill it.”

“Who cares where I got ‘em? It’s food, ain’t it?”

The young sergeant felt his stomach twist into a tight, painful knot. More that anything else he wanted to eat those rations. He needed them, his whole starved body pleaded for them. Would it really matter? Gripping the corpulent private by the slack of his jacket, he brought their faces close together.

“Now listen, soldier. I want to know where you got all this. I’ve learned through this whole damned war never to trust guys like you, and even now when we’re all starving like animals I still never will. Why’d you bring these to me, huh? The whole squad is starving too, or don’t you know that? Now spill it or you’ll be on charges for stolen property!”

“Aw Sarge…”

“Give!” Morrow gave the jacket another sharp twist, causing the soldier to cry in pain. “All right, lemme go! I-I got ‘em from this girl at the Aid Station. Doc gave her all this good food, and, well, I was hungry. She wasn’t lookin’ so I took a few. She was fussing with her kid and I thought she wouldn’t notice.”

Morrow’s eyes flashed like a stormy sky. “You stole food from a young mother refugee?” Hogan nodded, scowling miserably.

The sergeant sighed. Some people were so heartless. “Go on, get out of here before I have you reported.”

Hogan swallowed uncomfortably. “Can- can I have the rations back?”

“GO!” Morrow gestured menacingly with his Thompson. The private scampered off.

Grasping the stolen food in his hands, Morrow wondered how war could make people so selfish. Clambering to his feet, he gathered the rations in his arms and headed back towards the Aid Station tent. Doc was nowhere in sight. Morrow pulled his jacket over his bare shoulders and took a deep breath, ducking his head and entering under the low tent flap.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he noticed a small, hunched figure lying on an old army blanket. It was Liesl, holding her baby close while it nursed. Doc had given her a bath and clean new clothes, and even though she was still very thin it made the sergeant’s heart beat fast to look at her. She was sound asleep; Morrow knew better than to awake her. Leaving the rations on the floor beside the blanket, he turned to go, but his foot struck an empty mess tin and the noise it made was enough to wake the dead.

Her eyes snapped open, wide with terror, beholding the huge, hunched figure of the man in the flickering light of the kerosene lantern. Slowly her mouth opened, but not a sound came out. She stared deep into the dark blue eyes of the man before her. He was tall and very strong, but he was not using his strength against her. His eyes were large and mysterious, but they were not cruel.

Morrow summoned up his gentlest voice. “Hello,” he whispered. “I just wanted to bring these back to you. One of my men stole them and I want to apologize.”

She kept staring. His voice was soft and deep, but not harsh, like the other Americans. He wasn’t talking to her the way those other men had… not even looking at her like they did. His expression was one of kindness.

Slowly Morrow approached her and laid his large, rough hand on her forehead to check for a temperature. She shrank back from his touch; he waited a few seconds and tried again. Her face felt warm and soft under his hand. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said gently. “Doc told me all about you. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a terrible way. No one here is going to lay a hand on you. Do you understand?”

Her eyes stared at him and he looked down at the tiny child, feeling a great pain well up inside him. He thought of Bernadette, waiting at home for him, and how much he wanted to raise a family with her. A sudden tear blurred his vision. Blindly he reached out and touched the baby’s soft head; a tiny hand flicked out and wrapped around his finger. He squeezed it gently and placed his hand close to the teeny mouth, his fingers accidentally brushing flesh that he knew was not the child’s…

Instantly the girl was on her feet, grasping the baby tightly and screaming out hateful words at him. With a pang of regret Morrow realized that he had gone too far. He held up his hand and slowly backed away from her, trying to reassure her with soft words. Doc rushed in and nearly slammed into him. “For God’s sake, Jim! What the heck did you do to her?” He went over to the girl and quickly hushed her sobs with a few soft words uttered in German. When he raised his face to Morrow it was twisted with anger. “How many times have I gotta tell you to stay away from her, sarge? She still thinks you’re trying to take advantage of her. Why can’t you just leave her alone?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her!” Morrow shot back, his own husky voice choked with fury. “I woke her up by accident. You know I wouldn’t do anything to her!”

The medic opened his mouth again but snapped it shut instantly. “Let’s stop fighting like kids, Jim. C’mon, she’s OK now, I think. Let’s go out and talk it over.” Wrapping the sobbing girl in the blanket and laying her down gently in the corner of the tent, he took Morrow by the elbow and guided him outside. Once out into the bright daylight, both men’s tempers cooled considerably.

Morrow was the first to speak. “I’m sorry, doc. I just thought I could help her out a little. Right after you left Hogan stole that food you’d given her to eat. He was stupid enough to bring it to me first, so I returned to her. I didn’t mean to frighten her, doc, honestly I didn’t. I just lost my mind a little, that’s all.”

“What do you mean, lost your mind?”

Morrow sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. “I just kept thinking about ‘Nadette and how much I miss her…I haven’t seen a woman in these parts for about three months. She looked so pretty just lying there with her baby--I just couldn’t help but touch her. I guess she thought that it was starting all over.”

The little medic nodded and bit his lip. “It’s a terrible thing that a girl so young had to get hurt like that. She’ll probably never marry because of it, and be afraid of men all her life. I know your intentions are good, Jim, but she’s just too wary and frightened now to be befriended, especially by a man like you. Let’s face it; she’s a pretty little thing. But just lay off it for now, OK?”

The sergeant bit his lip and nodded slowly. “Doc, don’t you understand? I just want her to trust me, that’s all.”

The little medic patted his friend’s shoulder gently. “Yes, Jim, I do understand, a great deal more than you think. I was married once, to the loveliest woman in the whole world. She was kind and loving, she could cook, she was everything I ever wanted and needed. But then of course, it ended.” His voice dropped slightly, and he sighed. “I haven’t been near that street where she was hit since. I hate the sight of cars, even to this day. Even riding in a jeep makes me get all sick inside. I never forgave the feller that was speeding and killed her. I went almost crazy since I wanted revenge. Yes, Jim, I understand how you feel. We all need a woman worth dying for, and mine certainly was. That’s why I’m over here now. I was too old to be drafted, so I volunteered. If I get it, then at least I’ll be with her again, up there.”

He lifted his sad brown eyes to the cobalt blue sky above them. “Over here in this war-torn hell, a woman’s the only thing you have to keep you goin’. Just knowing that there’s a loyal girl waiting for you at home a thousand miles away is enough to strengthen even the most cowardly of men. I hope your girl is worth dying for, too.”

“I’m sorry, doc.” Morrow returned the hand on his shoulder. “I’ll remember. I love Bernadette more than anything on this earth, and I know that she’s there at home and waiting patiently for me until I get back. Be it in a box or in one piece I don’t know, but I’d give anything to see her face right now.”

Doc smiled. “You haven’t told me much about her.”

Morrow’s soft blue eyes glowed as he spoke. “She’s the most beautiful thing in the world to me. She has thick brown curls and gorgeous green eyes. She’s tall and slim and has the most beautiful figure you’d ever want to see on a woman. She knows that, too.” He grinned a little. “She’s a very proud, independent person. That’s why I love her. In fact, she asked me to marry her first. If it had been the other way I think we’d still be dating.” The sergeant sighed again and twisted his hands into fists.

Doc smiled. “All right, we’ve talked enough. I’ve gotta get chow started now. You’d better come have some, too. You want to keep that fine physique of yours in shape for your girl, right? No one likes a skinny sergeant!”

Morrow grinned and ran a hand across his thin stomach. “Right, doc. I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * * * *

The next morning after breakfast and morning procedures were over, Morrow sat down in a bombed bakery and brought out pencil and paper to write a letter to his fiancé. His stomach was pained with hunger and his skin itched insanely with lice, but he wrote that he was clean, healthy, well-fed and missed her home cooking. Fifteen minutes later the manuscript appeared like so:

Saturday, March 18, 1945

My darling Bernadette- I can’t even begin to tell you how much your letters mean to me over here. The war is still bad in these parts of France, but I think I’m starting to get over it and not be so afraid. Mostly, I’m afraid of losing you. Please keep writing, and send me a picture of yourself. I don’t want to forget what you look like, and I’ve seen so many terrible things over here that I need a ray of sunshine to look at every day and treasure like I treasure you. I really miss your green apple pie and I wish you could send me some of it in your next care package. (Here the sergeant remembered that he hadn’t received a care package from her for months and wondered why). I could really use a couple packs of gum, six pairs of socks and a bottle of soap because one of the men in my squad stole my last bottle; he denied it but I still know that he did. The food here really isn’t too bad although you could beat it any day. So far I haven’t suffered at all for want of anything except to see your face again. Don’t worry, I am not in any danger.

Morrow had barely lifted his pencil from the page when he heard the familiar sound of whining plane engines in the distance. He perked his ears and listened intently; they did not sound like American. His body ached and protested; he turned his attention back to his letter, but just then an ear-splitting cry from a nearby sentry brought him stumbling to his feet in terror. “Air Raid! Air Raid! Take cover!” The sirens began wailing and screaming while soldiers and medics scrambled for shelter. Morrow hurried for the safety of the blackout shelter that had been rigged just yesterday, clutching his letter tightly in his hand and leaving his pencil in the dirt. Already he could feel the vibrations in the ground and hear the deafening crescendo of the shock waves as the bombs began to fall. A sudden blast knocked him to his knees; stunned, he clambered to his feet and continued to rush. All at once a terrible fear struck him deep in his stomach- Doc and Liesl. They were unprotected in the First Aid tent; he had to help them before the bombs hit that area of the compound.

Struggling to a standing position and gulping down his terror, Morrow took off like a shot towards the Aid Station tent, dodging shells and intermittently throwing himself headlong in the dirt to protect himself from blasts of shrapnel. The noise was incredible and intense pain throbbed in his head with every explosion. At last he saw the front flap of the tent and dove through the translucent wall of dust, nearly smacking into Doc as he was helping a soldier on crutches. “Where’s Liesl?” the sergeant hollered between shell blasts to the medic. “She’s still in there. I’ll get her!” Doc stumbled and fell as another detonation nearly blew him off his feet.

The tent poles rattled dangerously. “She’ll smother in there if that thing collapses!” Morrow yelled, feeling his vocal cords straining as he fought to be heard. Doc shot him a desperate glance. “Take this guy, I’m going in there after her!” He transferred the wounded man’s arm to the sergeant’s own back and vanished in the smoke. Morrow hastily transported the soldier to the blackout shelter and came hurrying back. The bombs were getting worse and his head was splitting with pain. Doc was nowhere to be seen.

Morrow fought his was through the collapsing tent canvas and found his friend burdened with Liesl, trying to carry her outside but being unable to do so to her hysteric convulsions. Doc was small and the girl was too much for him to handle. “Take her, sergeant!”

Deftly Morrow scooped the writhing girl into his strong arms and kicked his way out of the collapsing structure. Dust and rocks fell on him and galled his vision. Liesl squirmed and screamed in his arms; he tightened his hold on her to a near death-grip. Running as fast as he could with such a burden, he made his way towards the blackout shelter. Too soon a shell detonated several feet away from them. Morrow threw the girl down and covered her with his body, clenching his teeth as the shock waves pulsed through the ground. His legs were weak and his stomach twisted convulsively inside of him. With his last bit of strength he gathered Liesl in his arms again and fought his way towards the bomb shelter. She was no longer screaming and kicking; rather, she was clinging to him and crying softly into his chest. He gently lowered her inside the concrete structure and slipped in after her, realizing with a pang of sickness that her baby was nowhere to be seen.

A few minutes later Doc slid in beside him, his face stained with mud and covered with deep scrapes. “Where’s the kid?” Morrow screamed over the wailing noise of the shells. He noticed the drawn, haggard look on Doc’s face and dreaded an answer. “One of those 88’s spread out a lot of shrapnel. I tried to save the kid, but it was too late. There was nothing I could do.”

Liesl didn’t seem to notice what was going on, but continued to sob as the bombs raged and slammed into the earth. Morrow realized that his ears were bleeding from the shock waves but he didn’t try to staunch the blood. His heart was too heavy, heavy with sickness and hatred for war. He fingered the remains of his letter, which had been clutched in his palm throughout the entire ordeal. It had been torn in half and spattered with mud, the only legible part being the six words: I am not in any danger.

* * * *

After cleaning up the wrecked compound and helping Doc bandage the wounded men, Morrow’s body ached with exhaustion and hunger. The whole day had crawled by and it was only just after noon, but he crawled into his rough wooden bunk and stripped off his shirt, hoping that sleep would make him forget his hunger. Despite the lull in the warm atmosphere of the barracks, he couldn’t fall asleep. Something was bothering him in the back of his mind, and he knew that it was Liesl.

Morrow rolled over on his stomach, shifting his pillow underneath his chest. It was terrible how the young girl had suffered during the war, having been forced to leave her country and then being attacked by allied soldiers who were supposed to be her friends. The sergeant chewed his lip thoughtfully, running a calloused hand over his unshaven face. He was very fond of Liesl, more fond than he would have ever imagined.

Maybe he should talk to Doc. The little medic was an experienced soldier and he knew what to do in situations like this, plus he was Liesl’s best friend. Yes, he would talk to Doc. He would put him on the right path. Even though Morrow was a squad leader he still needed a little moral support every now and then.

The sergeant left the barracks and shuffled over to the Aid Station. Doc was there as always, rolling up bandages for his medic’s pack. His lined face broke into a grin as he saw Morrow advancing towards him. “Can’t sleep? Sorry, I’m all out of sleeping pills. Took ‘em all myself,” he chuckled. Morrow sat down heavily on am empty box of rations. “Doc, can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” The little medic placed the last of his bandages into his pack and snapped it shut. “What is it? Dear John letter? Stubbed toe? Did your mother send you some indigestible fruitcake?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s about Liesl.”

“Well, what about her? She’s okay now, if that’s what you want to know.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m worried about her future. She doesn’t have anywhere to go now. Germany won’t take her any more than France.” His tone softened a little as he continued. “I care a lot about her, Doc. What happened to her just isn’t fair.”

Doc scratched his neck, itching at a louse in his worn woolen collar. “Yes, it’s horrible what war can do to shatter young people’s lives.”

Morrow stared at his friend with his intense blue eyes. “Doc, there’s got to be something we can do for her. We can’t take her with us when we finally pull out of here and I don’t want to leave her with Civil Affairs. She needs her family. She’s a young girl with a lot of potential.”

Doc looked at the Sergeant thoughtfully for a long time. “What are you proposing to do?” The young soldier kicked his leg against the hard wood of the packing box, making a dull thumping sound. “Maybe I could contact her parents and get them together again somehow.”

The medic placed his hands on his knees. “That’d be kind of hard to do. There are hundreds of German refugees out there under her last name.”

Morrow folded his arms across his chest, flicking his unruly hair out of his eyes. “Has she told you anything about them?”

“Well, I guess they’re still in Germany if they’re not dead.”

Morrow felt hope rising. “That’s it, then! They’re probably traveling on foot, if they even are traveling. They can’t have gotten very far; they’re possibly still trying to get out of the country. We could locate them easy. It’s just if S-2 will let us go that far.”

The medic sighed. “Yes, that’s a big factor. All that work for one civilian. And there’s probably hundreds of thousands more out there just like her.”

“Will you help me do it?”

Doc looked for a long time into his friend’s marbled blue eyes. “Anything, Sergeant,” he said softly. “You’re my best friend and I’ll help you in every way I can.”

* * * * *

The next day the sergeant awoke early and ate a meager breakfast of hardtack biscuit dunked in bitter black coffee. Good coffee beans had run out a long time ago, so now the soldiers used ground-up acorns filtered through hard creek water as a substitute. The taste was anything but palatable and he only drank it to keep himself awake, although he was sure that it did more than that to the inside of his stomach. He washed his face under the rusty water pump in the barnyard and sauntered off towards the direction of Headquarters. The GHQ was located in an old bombed-out bakery on the main drag of town and would have the information he would need to locate Liesl’s parents.

The sergeant timidly lifted the green Army blanket that served as a door and stalked inside, smelling the rank mustiness of wet wool and rotting leather. Lieutenant Andrews was sitting at a three-legged table and conversing earnestly with another officer on a hand-crank field radio. Morrow unshouldered his Thompson and set it down carefully next to a stack of papers. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Sergeant,” the officer mumbled in his deep voice.

Morrow nodded and began to look around. A kerosene lantern flickered as it hung from the ceiling, projecting the Sergeant’s shadow on the cracked plaster wall. Pigeons chittered in the rafters outside and the dry French wind whispered through the room, swirling the dust and dirt that had collected on the floor and windowsills. The room was empty except for boxes of grenades and landmines and some old broken furniture. Morrow stalked over to a corner of the room and noticed a mother cat with her kittens in an old soap box. “Hey there,” he said softly, reaching out and gently seizing a small grey tabby. “You’re bigger than all your brothers and sisters. I’ll bet you’re the toughest, too.”

“Sergeant?” I need to talk to you for a second.” The officer turned in his chair and fixed his intense eyes on the young soldier. His craggy face softened a bit as he noticed the kitten. “Cute little thing, isn’t he?” he commented as the small feline neatly sharpened its claws on the sergeant’s jacket. Morrow nodded, stumbling to his feet and blushing a little. “Yes, sir.”

Lieutenant Andrews sat back and folded his hands on the weather-beaten desk. “I was just talking with the big brass on the squawkbox. The Generals have planned a big push into Germany and its no small potatoes either; there’s going to be lots of tanks, halftracks and troops. Even the Marines might get involved.” He paused, either for effect or because he noticed the deathly pallor that had seeped into Morrow’s tan face. “Of course, this battalion has been called into action to help. We’re going to go in by glider this time, like we’ve never done before, with air support and the whole nine yards. Cigarette, sergeant? You look a little pale.”

“No thank you, sir.” Morrow clutched the kitten tighter, raw fear settling into his gut.

“Well, that’s basically what I wanted to tell you. I trust you’ll keep it all very hush-hush- we don’t want the krauts getting any big rumors just yet. Let ‘em wonder about it for a bit while the storm brews, is what I say.”

“S-sir, may I make a comment?”

“Why certainly, sergeant. What seems to be on your mind?”

“Sir, I-I…” Morrow was at a loss for words. “Sir, I’ve been in this Army a long time.”

“Yes, sergeant, I am well aware of your records.”

“Well sir, I’ve never been on a assignment like this. I don’t think the squad is cut for the mission.”

The officer smiled coyly. “Don’t worry, sergeant, I will assure you that your men will receive all the proper training before the assault occurs.”

Morrow gulped and nervously squeezed the kitten, which emitted a soft mew. “Well, you see, sir, I’m going to be married and-and…”

“Spit it out, soldier. I haven’t got all day.”

“You see sir, I don’t want to get killed,” Morrow blurted out, blushing and feeling very childish but not being able to help it.

Lieutenant Andrews threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Is that all, sergeant? An experienced vet like you worried about getting his block knocked off? You’re only twenty-five if I recall your records right.”

“Yes sir, but--”

The officer straightened his back in the chair, but his face was friendly. “No need to worry about that, sergeant. I already have it all arranged. I pulled a few strings with some of the big brass, and we all agree that a seasoned dogface like you would be too valuable to have your guts spilled in a crashing glider. So you’re going to stay right here at the base and help train the 90-day wonders as they come in. There’ll be a lot of them, you know.”

The words hit Morrow like bullets in his chest. “Me, sir? But I’m not that valuable.”

“Well, it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Kicking your feet back in a nice, safe American base while the rest of the company is getting their heads blown off in some foreign country? I’d gladly switch places with you any day.”

“But what about my squad?”

“They’ll get another sergeant to lead them, don’t worry. I’ve been getting a lot of complaints about you anyway, especially from a certain Private Hogan.”

The young soldier cleared his throat. “But sir, I can’t believe this is all happening so soon. I mean, I’ve been with my squad since D-Day and we’re a tight-knit group. I know them like the back of my hand and they know me just as well. It’d be pretty hard for me to be separated from them, sir.”

The officer folded his hands over his stomach and glanced up at the tall sergeant. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much, soldier. Talk to them about it, break the news gently. They’ll get over it, I’m sure. You’re dismissed.”

Morrow saluted sharply. “Thank you, sir.” He left the building quickly so that the officer could not see his wet blue eyes.

* * * * *

It didn’t matter if Morrow had kept his mouth shut or not; the rumors were hot in the 361^st Infantry Division. Some anonymous GI had spread the dope over a poker game back at GHQ and now the word was popping like flapjacks in a hot skillet. The Generals were conversing in the War Department. Supplies and manpower were being stocked up. The telegraph lines were smoking with furiously tapped messages between submarines and battleships, tanks and planes, soldiers and non-combatants. There was no doubt about it-- there was going to be a big push somewhere along the front lines soon.

The news was topical and spread like wildfire. It troubled Sergeant Morrow. All his men had been issued new boots, fresh uniforms, and rifles still hot from the steel mills. The supply trucks had caught up at last and he was starting to put on weight again. His squad could enjoy all the creature comforts a moving Army could get; hot meals, showers, proper medical attention, and liquor. Life was good for a while, but he didn’t fool himself. Morrow was a smart soldier and he knew that whatever was going to happen would be big, and that his squad would be smack in the middle of it.

Meetings dragged on far into the night, all of which the young sergeant was forced to attend. All the rumors had been true; they were going to Germany as part of a big assault over the Rhine River in a surprise counterattack to catch the Germans off-guard. It was a huge operation, including tanks, planes, airborne troops, halftracks, and artillery. Morrow was nervous; to take part in a full-fledged assault seemed like more than he could handle. Captain Radley of Company F came by later that day to talk with him and several other squad leaders in a commander meeting that lasted far into the night. They reviewed maps, discussed attacking strategies, and voiced their opinions as much as they dared.

The young sergeant remained silent and thoughtful throughout the entire event, his intense blue eyes never leaving the Captain’s pointer as he traced it along rivers and roads on the wall map, raising his soft, husky voice only to ask an occasional question. When it was all over the officer looked at the dozen or so men with an expression of confidence. “I trust you’ll give it all you’ve got. Don’t think this is just another hubba-hubba screwed up army operation, because it isn’t. This could be the last big push of the war. So try not to underestimate all this. We need all the help we can get.” The squad muttered a response and the Captain went on. “So let us fight for our God and our country. Good luck to you all.”

The Captain’s words brought no comfort to Morrow. All the roads and rivers and attack routs were reeling in his brain and giving him an enormous headache. Fear, excitement, and sheer terror tingled right behind his belt buckle. He tried not to be too edgy for the squad’s sake, which still didn’t know that he wouldn’t be there for them. He was too nervous to eat, even though he wasn’t even going into combat. Something deep in his heart told him that when he came out of this whole operation, he wouldn’t be the same.

By the next day most of Morrow’s excitement had been smote with impatience and apprehensiveness. Long and tedious sessions of training had left his muscles aching and his young body weak and exhausted. He’d crawled through trenches, shot at least one hundred different rifles, tackled other men in mock hand-to-hand combat, fired mortars and rifle grenades and suffered through First Aid training. He knew all of it a thousand times over, it was what had kept him alive this long into the war. “For cryin’ out loud, don’t they know we’ve been in this Army already?” groaned Private Hummel to the Sergeant as they sat through a very long explanation on how to fire a bazooka. Morrow forced himself to smile a little for morale’s sake despite the gnawing sensation in his stomach as the lunch hour slipped by without the slightest hope of a much-needed break to eat. “Easy, Jack. It’ll end eventually.” He added under his breath, “I hope.”

Some of the training was new and exciting however, and as they climbed into a rickety-looking glider and strapped themselves into the bucket seats, Morrow felt his blood quicken and throb in his veins.

The glider was an airplane-like structure that seemed to be made out of orange crates with olive-drab bedsheets stretched over the wood and reinforced steel. Gliders had no engines of their own and were very lightweight, designed to carry troops and supplies deep into enemy territory without alerting the Germans with noisy engines. They were pulled two at a time by twin-tow cables attached to C47 two-engine airplanes. The gliders were drawn through the air and the cables released when they were a mile or so short of the intended DZ, or Drop Zone. Then the big planes would veer off and the gliders, men and all, would soar silently over the enemy terrain and land, hopefully gently and on target.

It was a risky business. There was always anti-aircraft fire and horrific turbulence, and the supplies that they carried had to be lashed down exactly right to the floor of the glider to balance out the wings and body. The sergeant grimaced as he pressed the palm of his hand against the loose, floppy material. He had never been in a glider before but he knew that the flimsy fabric would offer no protection against German flack. If you weren’t shot down by it, then you either crash-landed or drifted off into the wrong drop zone and were wiped out by the Germans, who could easily pick you off with a good barrage of artillery. Even if things went well, sometimes you were scattered so thin that you weren’t able to join up with the rest of your company, and then it was every man for himself against Hitler’s blitzkrieg.

Morrow felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. Even though this was just a practice run and they weren’t even leaving the ground, he could sense the fear gripping his body and squeezing out his courage. He shook stray curls out of his eyes and tried not to think about the future. It wouldn’t do to get scared about something he wasn’t even going to take much of a part in.

* * * * *

It was 48 hours before the attack was scheduled. Morrow was driven to exhaustion and had a bad cold that spread to his sinuses. Doc had ordered him to rest, but new troops arrived by the truckload every day and he spent many long hours teaching them the basics of Air and Ground combat so they would be prepared for the assault. Now his weakened body was worn down by leading hundreds of mock patrols, his voice hoarse from yelling orders, his shoulders sore from demonstrating how to throw the new grenades that had been issued especially for the invasion. Rumors were flying that the Germans already knew about the whole thing and had troops and artillery waiting to mow them down when they finally crossed the Rhine. Special measures were being taken to prepare the green soldiers for the added dangers of flack and emergency bailout procedures. Morrow groaned and swiped at his leaking nose with a well-used handkerchief. It was a bit before dawn and he was lying awake in his tent, rolled up in his army sleeping bag but too tense to sleep. The whole day he had been scheming at a half-baked plan…

That’s it! He jumped up suddenly, almost waking the soldier next to him, and dashed out of the tent into the dark of the night wearing only his skivvies. “Doc! Doc!” He burst into his friend’s tent and jostled the medic awake. “I got it, doc! I have it! It’s perfect!”

The medic nearly had a heart attack. “What in the deuce, Jim… are you drunk?”

“No, I have it! Listen to me! We can get Liesl back to Germany this very morning!”

The medic threw the half-naked sergeant a peculiar look. “What in Sam Hill are you talkin’ about? We can’t get Liesl to Germany. We’d have to take her in on a glider and regulations won’t allow that.”

“Not if they don’t know about it. Hear me out, doc, I got it all planned. This is what we’ll do. There’s a Jeep in glider Number 17, which is my squad’s glider. They’ll have a bunch of tarps and supplies in the back of it. We can smuggle Liesl under those the whole way there and no one will ever know. D’you get what I’m saying?”

Doc was wide awake now. “You’re crazy! You’ll never get away with that. They’ll bust you right down to Buck Private and court-martial you. It’s not worth the risk, Jim, you may as well forget it. Now I want you to take these pills here an’ go back to bed. That cold’s worse than I thought.”

Morrow grasped his friend’s arm, leaving red marks in the flesh from his strong fingers. “Oh please, doc, hear me out. You don’t understand. We can’t just leave her with Civil Affairs. That would kill her. She needs her family just like you and I! I’m fond of her, doc, we both are and you know it. Think of what it would mean to her.”

Doc’s face grew very serious. “You’re risking your stripes, Jim,” he said in a low voice. “You’ll have to go with her in the glider and take full responsibility for her, and you’re in no condition to fly with that sinus infection.”

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