| The characters of “Combat!” are the property of ABC, yadda, yadda, yadda. This is in response to a challenge on the writers’ list. Doc has a choice…take a pass for RR, or go out on patrol with the squad. Copyright 2004 by Mel
In Good Company It was a string of bad luck. Just a string of bad luck, that was all. It would end soon. It had to. Only most bad luck didn't result in so much loss of life. It seemed every wounded soldier he laid his hands on...didn't make it to the aid station. It was enough to make a man question his existence. Not that it was his choice to be there in the first place. This war hadn't been his idea, that was for dang sure. But it happened and he was here. And boys were dying. He knew they were looking at him, could feel the weight of their worry. He didn't have the energy look up from his plate of congealing eggs, much less to offer a smile of reassurance. He was sure even Kirby was beginning to fear for his sanity. Ironic. He heard the shuffle of boots as someone walked over to their table in the stuffy mess tent. As the quiet voice began detailing yet another dangerous mission, something about an enemy officer, he recognized the newcomer as their sergeant. There was a rustle of paper as Saunders opened a map and the clinking of cheap tin plates as the others made room for it on the tabletop. The voice droned on in the background while he struggled to care about what was coming. Struggled to keep the fear of losing another squadmate, maybe even a friend, from overwhelming him. More rustling as the map was refolded and put away. More clinking and grumbling as the small group of soldiers climbed wearily to their feet and stepped over the bench to gather up their equipment. And it occurred to him that maybe he should've been paying more attention. "Doc?" The voice was over his shoulder now, and more quiet. Sympathy? Worry? Fear? "Sarge." Prying his eyes from the soggy yellow mess on his plate, he looked up into the exhausted eyes of his sergeant. They all needed rest. "I missed most of that. When do we leave?" It was a different piece of paper that Saunders pulled from his jacket pocket this time, and passed it to him. "We leave in half an hour. Your ride is ready now." "My ride?" "Week's furlough in England, Doc. You've earned a vacation." How, by losing a dozen kids in one week? And what about the squad, going out on a mission without a medic? But he was so tired. Just so tired. He reached out to take the precious paperwork, trying to still the trembling of his hand. Tucking the papers into his own jacket pocket, Doc grabbed his bag and ducked his head to avoid Saunders' penetrating gaze. He hesitated at the grip on his arm. "Doc..." Nodding his head, not sure what he was acknowledging, he made eye contact and attempted the reassuring smile he hadn't the energy for earlier. "Yeah, I know." Knowing he hadn't quite managed the smile, he shrugged wearily and made his exit. Lifting the tent flap, he blinked in the sudden brightness. Sure enough, a jeep was waiting for him. His duffle bag was already sitting in the back. Exchanging a few words, he climbed into the passenger seat. He only glanced back once as they pulled a way, catching a glimpse of Kirby who watched the jeep as it passed. A pang of guilt managed to surface above all the other emotions that had been bombarding him for days. With a sigh, he pressed a few fingers to his brow in an attempt to massage away a lingering headache. He felt like he going AWOL. Slouching in his seat, the noise of the jeep’s engine ringing in his ears, he struggled with his choices. How could he pass up a furlough? To England, even? He's be nuts to pass up such a chance. Kirby'd kill for such an opportunity. Caje, too. And he could sleep. In a real bed. Have a hot shower with real soap. Go a whole week without having a boy's lifeblood running through his fingers. Less than twenty minutes into the trip, he felt tenser than before instead of less. He couldn't help but laugh softly at himself. "Turn around." "Come again?" The driver's surprise wasn't unexpected. "Take me back. It was a mistake. I was supposed to go out on patrol." Disbelief tinged the driver's words as he shrugged and slowed down to swing them back in the direction from which they'd come. "It's your funeral, buddy." Hopefully not. He could see the squad leaving the village when they pulled to a stop. Leaving the driver instructions on where to dump the duffle, he grabbed his medical bag and ran to catch up to his squad. Littlejohn was the first to see him, a smile lighting up his face. One by one the others stopped and turned around. Saunders shifted his weight, resting the Thompson on his hip and arching an eyebrow. Shrugging, the smile less an effort as before, he answered the unasked question. "What can I say, Sarge? I'm crazy as a loon." Kirby snickered and slapped him on the back. "Well, at least you're in good company." That he was. END |
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