| The characters of "Combat!" are the property of ABC. Copyright 2002 by Figment Wishes Kirby stretched and scratched his head as he reached for his cigarettes. The night had been quiet for a change and he’d slept well. It gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know that despite the war, he’d made it to another birthday. The small French village they were using for a base camp had people and shops open for business and the last two days had been a little easier having a place like this to come back to after a long day’s fighting. “Good morning, Kirby,” Caje rolled from his cot and proceeded to make a pot of coffee. “Happy birthday, OLD man.” “It’s not the age, my friend. It’s the mileage,” Kirby grinned as he stood and strode over to the wood-burning stove to watch Caje work. “Ya gonna make a birthday wish?” Caje raised an eyebrow at his wiry friend. “Huh, I intend to make a bunch of ‘em, but I don’t expect to get any results,” Kirby informed the Cajun. “Okay, let’s have ‘em,” Caje prodded. “Well, the first one is: I don’t want to go chasing Germans today.” Kirby grinned as he sat on a convenient chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Good luck on that one, buddy. If wishin’ helps, I’ll make that wish with ya,” Caje agreed. “Oh, rats!” Kirby exclaimed as he looked around the room. “What is it?” Caje asked. “Sarge isn’t here. That means he’s over at the CP getting another assignment for us,” Kirby frowned. “Maybe he’s just out looking for a nice birthday present for ya,” Caje smiled. “Huh!” Kirby shook his head and watched the other members of the squad slowly start coming to life. They were all tired and slow to leave what little comfort they were able to find in the dark, cool cellar the First Squad had commandeered for a barracks. After coffee, cigarettes, and a few snide comments about Kirby’s age and origin, the squad climbed the stairs to the warm sunshine that now bathed the small hamlet. The soldiers found a few comfortable spots to relax in the sun and wait for their leader to arrive with orders. They didn’t have to wait long. Sergeant Saunders walked up to them with his Thompson sub machine gun slung over his right shoulder and his battered old camouflage-covered helmet tucked under his left arm. All of his squad members straightened to give him their full attention as he approached. “Looks like you guys got a break this morning,” Saunders spoke around a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Don’t stray too far and don’t get into trouble. You’ve got a day off.” “Whoo Ha!” Kirby yipped. “That takes care of my first wish, Caje, ole buddy.” Caje smiled and slapped Kirby on the shoulder. “Keep wishin’, Kirby. Looks like this is your day,” the Cajun laughed. “Yeah, you’re right, Caje,” Kirby looked pensive for a moment. “Now I wish I had somethin’ to eat.” “That reminds me,” Saunders continued. “Chow trucks finally showed up last night. There’s hot breakfast near the CP for anyone interested.” The blond sergeant grinned as the men gave a collective cheer and headed for the Command Post. When breakfast was finished, the entire squad returned to the cellar to square away their belongings before checking out what recreational facilities the small town may have to offer. “You may just have to turn it in to ordinance and get another one,” Littlejohn frowned at Billy’s seemingly useless efforts to unjam his rifle. It had jammed twice during the last engagement with nearly disastrous results. The last time it had jammed the battle was over, so he had decided to work on it when he returned to camp. “Maybe you’re right, pal,” Nelson worked at the bolt a time or two then set it aside. Kirby, who had been watching the young private’s fruitless efforts, strolled over and picked up the stubborn weapon. “I’ll take a look at it for ya, kid,” he spoke with a confident air. “Thank’s, Kirb,” Billy smiled at the lanky BAR man. “C’mon, Billy,” Kirby urged. “Let’s go out in the sunshine where I can see what I’m doin’.” “Okay,” Nelson agreed as he and Littlejohn stood to follow him up the stairs. “Sunshine sounds good,” Caje shoved his gear beneath his cot and turned to Doc. “Wanna go soak some up?” The medic looked up at the Cajun and nodded, “I’ll be there in a minute. I just wanna finish packin’ my medical bag.” “Okay,” Caje smiled and headed for the stairs. The scout stepped into the bright warmth of the spring morning once more and found a convenient step to perch himself on and watch the intense operations on the jammed Garand. Kirby was not known for patience and was soon muttering under his breath and trying to jerk the jammed bolt back into position. He had the stock resting on his knee with the barrel pointed skyward as he worked, but it seemed the harder he worked, the more stubborn the weapon became. Saunders appeared once more and watched the proceedings for a moment, then scratching the back of his head and donning his helmet, he turned away from the group. “Where ya goin’, Sarge?” Nelson stopped his squad leader. “I gotta take Rowe’s bunch out for a short recon. You guys relax and I’ll see ya later,” Saunders informed them. “But, Sarge,” Littlejohn called after him. “We’re gonna go to that little bistro over on the main street and have a birthday party for Kirby a little later. We thought you’d join us.” “Sorry, guys,” Saunders shook his head. “You have fun. Save me a beer.” He grinned as he turned his back on them once more. “I wish the sarge didn’t have to leave,” Kirby said as he pulled the rifle down and angrily slapped the bolt one last time, deciding to give up on it and get on with his birthday. The bolt suddenly jumped loose and the weapon fired, making everyone present jump in surprise. “Kirby!” Littlejohn roared. “Are you crazy? Look what you’ve done!” Kirby stopped starring incredulously at the rifle and glanced towards where the big man was pointing. Saunders, who was walking away from them one minute, now lay on the paving stones, face down and unmoving. Caje was the first to reach the sergeant and he knelt beside him as Doc appeared from the cellar door and ran in their direction. Kirby slowly walked over to stand above his downed leader. He could see a small hole in the center of the man’s back. His eyes were transfixed in horror as Doc gently rolled the sergeant over. The exit wound looked as if Sarge’s whole chest had been blown away. He could see fragments of rib bones through the blood and mangled flesh. The sergeant’s blue eyes stared sightlessly straight at Kirby. There was no accusation, no anger, no pain, no life. Nelson looked up at the BAR man. “Looks like you got another wish granted, Kirby.” He said accusingly. Kirby placed both hands over his eyes and screamed. The scream echoed eerily throughout the small confines of the dark cellar. Kirby was sitting up on his cot; sweat pouring from his forehead and his breathing was coming in gasping gulps. Everyone was visibly shaken by the BAR man’s outburst in the early morning darkness, and Caje, who was sleeping next to him, lit a cigarette and extended it to his friend. Kirby quickly looked around the room until his eyes fell on his sergeant. Saunders was propped up on one elbow, watching him concernedly. Kirby accepted the cigarette and dropped back down on the cot as his breathing began to slow and his hammering heart started dropping back to normal. A dream! It was just a dream! Everyone stretched back out on their beds intent on continuing their violently disturbed rest. Caje was unsure what to say to his friend at that moment, so he stood and strode over to the stove to prepare a pot of coffee. Kirby rose and followed the Cajun, plopping down in an old wooden rocking chair near the stove. Caje smiled at him and said, “Good mornin’, Kirby. Happy birthday, old man. Ya gonna make a wish?” Kirby turned to look at Saunders, who had rolled over on his cot turning his back to them. He shuddered as he looked at the Cajun. “No way, Caje,” he said softly. “I ain’t makin’ no wishes today!” END |
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