Regrets

The characters of "Combat!" are the property of ABC. This story is copyright 2002 by Figment

Regrets

The two GIs stopped to catch their breath in the shade beneath a large oak. Although the air was still cool in the early April spring, the soldiers were sweating from their headlong race from the enemy. The two of them had crept in behind German lines in the dead of night two days ago and were very successful in their recon mission.

They had mapped the exact position of at least fifteen Tiger tanks along with an entire battalion of German infantry. They were too far from their lines to be able to use the radio to relay the information, so they had to get back within range before the Germans would have time to move.

“How much…further, Sarge?” Kirby gasped between gulps from his canteen.

“About a half mile I figure,” Saunders answered. He removed his camouflage-covered helmet and swiped at his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Running a hand through his mass of thick blond hair, he replaced the helmet and got to his feet.

“Okay, let’s go,” he told the BAR man.

Kirby struggled to his feet to follow his sergeant into a dense stand of trees near the little road they had been following since before dawn.
The brush was so thick that the soldiers’ progress was slowed considerably, and it was absolutely impossible to move quietly.
Without warning they stumbled into a clearing. A small cottage and a barn appeared before them.

Saunders held a hand up to signal a halt and pulled his Thompson sub machine gun around to firing position.
“We’ll bypass it,” the sergeant said as he motioned the private back into the brush.

Before they could reach cover of the bushes, a shot rang out and Saunders cried out and fell.

Kirby reached for his sergeant grabbing his left arm and dragging him to his feet once more. He practically carried Saunders back into the bushes.
As soon as they were hidden behind a large tree, Kirby whirled towards the farmhouse with his BAR raised.
“How bad ya hit, Sarge?” he asked as he scanned the clearing.

“My leg. I don’t think it’s too bad, but I’m gonna have some trouble walking,” Saunders told him.

“Oh, Mon Dieu!” a decidedly feminine voice cried from the house.

Kirby watched as a figure appeared in the doorway. The BAR man rose and stood with open mouth, staring at the young lady before him. She was very pretty, despite the drab gray skirt and peasant’s blouse she wore. Her hair was shoulder length and coal black, thick and wavy. She was slender, yet curvaceous, and she looked to be in her early twenties. She was holding an old hunting rifle high in the air.

“Just stop where you are!” Kirby yelled at her.

She stopped and placed the rifle at her feet.
“I did not realize you were American,” she called. “I am sorry.”

“C’mon, Sarge,” Kirby reached down to slip his right hand beneath Saunders’ arm and pull him up against his right side.

Saunders wrapped his left arm around Kirby’s shoulders and hefted his Tommy gun with his right.
“It may be a trap,” Saunders muttered as Kirby started to walk towards the clearing once more.

Kirby stopped and shouted to the girl, “Come on out where I can see you.”
The young lady quickly stepped from the doorway with her palms held out to signify surrender.

“Check it out, Kirby. I’ll cover you,” Saunders said as he slipped back to the ground.

“Okay, Sarge,” Kirby nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Kirby stepped cautiously from the bushes and approached the woman.
“Are you alone?” he asked as his eyes darted from house to barn and back.

“Yes,” she answered. “I usually hide when someone comes near, but you surprised me and I did not have time. There have been many Boches and I was frightened.”
Her English was very good, though heavily accented. She tried to smile, but she still trembled from fright.

Kirby stepped through the door of the house and made a quick check of the inside. It was one large empty room with a bed, a table, stove, and two wooden chairs. No one else was in sight.
He moved back outside to confront the girl.
“Come and help me,” he ordered as he turned back towards the woods.

She followed him to the bushes to find the soldier she had shot.
“It looks all clear, Sarge,” Kirby announced. “C’mon, let’s get you into the house.”

Between the two of them, Kirby and the woman soon had Saunders inside and sitting in one of the chairs. His left calf was bleeding profusely; the blood had already soaked the pant leg and his left boot on the inside.

The woman grabbed a bucket and gently raised the injured leg to rest on its bottom as she turned it upside down before him.

“Who are you?” Saunders asked as he removed an aid kit from his web belt.

“I am Renee Montclair,” she answered without making eye contact with the injured sergeant.

“Do you live here alone?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “My father and brother are away with the Resistance.”

“Here, Sarge, let me take care of that,” Kirby reached for the aid pack and pulled his bayonet from its sheath.

Saunders relinquished the kit and wiped a hand across his face to remove the sweat now hampering his vision. He was struggling to control the pain as Kirby cut away the material around the wound. The bullet had gone clean through just above his boot top and he removed his belt handing it to Kirby to use as a tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

The sergeant winced as Kirby tightened the belt just above his knee.
“Here, hold this, Sarge,” Kirby handed him the end of the belt as he started to open the first aid pack.

“Please, let me help,” Renee said as she reached for the belt.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Kirby looked daggers at her.

“I am so sorry. I thought you were the Boches.” She said quietly.

Kirby quickly sprinkled sulfa powder over the two holes in Saunders’ leg and wrapped a bandage around it.
“This is gonna be tight, Sarge,” He warned as he pulled the ends of the bandage in a tight knot.

Saunders gasped and shuddered once, then relaxed back in the chair as Kirby finished tying off the strips of gauze.
“Go flush out that barn, Kirby, then get back in here fast,” the sergeant’s voice was no more than a whisper.

Kirby uncapped his canteen and handed it to Saunders as he rose and headed out the door.
The sergeant took a long drink and recapped the canteen, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Renee had moved away and was busy stirring something she had cooking on the wood-burning stove. Her back was to the sergeant and he couldn’t help notice how nicely her clothes clung to her youthful figure.

Shaking his head he reminded himself to maintain focus on the matters at hand.
Kirby reappeared in the door of the house and reported that the area was clear.
“Kirby, you have to get these maps back to Command. I’ll stay here and you can pick me up later,” Saunders said as he extended the documents to the private.

“Sarge!” Kirby exclaimed aghast. “I’m not gonna leave ya here!”

“You’ll follow my orders,” Saunders replied. “There’s no time to argue.”

Kirby’s shoulders slumped as he accepted the maps and stowed them carefully inside his own jacket. He glanced over at the young woman standing in front of the stove.

“I don’t trust her, Sarge,” he grumbled just loud enough for the sergeant to hear.

“I’ll be alright. Now take off,” the look on Saunders face told Kirby there was no more argument.

“Okay,” he conceded reluctantly. “Here, you’ll probably need this, Sarge.” He pulled the aid kit from his own web belt and handed it to Saunders.
Kirby turned to stand close to the French girl.
”He better be in good shape when I get back,” he warned her.

“I will take care of him,” she promised as her dark brown eyes met Kirby’s squarely.

“You better,” he warned once more as he headed for the door.
“See ya later, Sarge,” he said as he ducked through the doorway into the late afternoon sunshine.

Saunders waved and pulled a pack of Luckys from his pocket. He placed one between his lips and reached for his lighter. His fingers were slightly shaky and he fumbled the lighter letting it slip to the floor. Before he could bend and retreive it, Renee had picked it up and, spinning the wheel, she offered the fire to the sergeant. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling slowly.
“You speak good English,” he said finally.

“I learned dans l’ecole, uh, at school,” she explained still looking down at the silver lighter she held in her hands.

Saunders reached out and placed his hand on the delicate fingers surrounding his lighter. “I heal quickly,” he spoke softly. “It’s okay.”

Renee lifted her head slowly and tears flooded her eyes and slowly tracked down her cheeks. A faint smile tugged at one corner of her mouth and she released the lighter to step back from him.

“I am very sorry,” she whispered, then turned back to the stove as she wiped the tears with the back of her hand.

Saunders sat silently for a while watching her move from the stove to the table and back several times. It crossed his mind that he hadn’t seen anyone that lovely in a long time. He also realized that the pleasant scene before him took his mind away from the pain and throbbing in his leg. He sat back in the chair, leaned his head back against the wall, enjoying his smoke and seemed to completely forget about the circumstances that landed him here.

Saunders didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until a small soft hand on his hand brought him back to reality. He jumped slightly at the touch and Renee jerked away from him.

“I did not mean to frighten you, Sergent,” she said. “You must eat something.”

She extended a steaming bowl of stew towards him. The tantalizing odor that drifted up with the steam from the bowl reminded Saunders that he hadn’t eaten all day and he was famished.

“Thank you,” he smiled as he accepted the stew. He couldn’t remember when he’d tasted a better meal. He ate fully half of it before he realized it and he stopped to glance at the young woman sitting at the little table in the middle of the room.

“You’re a good cook,” he complimented her.

She smiled and looked down at her bowl, but remained silent.
When he had eaten his fill, Saunders held the bowl in his lap and let his head fall back against the wall again. It was suddenly clear to him that his strength seemed to have waned with the loss of blood.

“Do you want more?” Renee was gently pulling the bowl from his hands.

“Oh, no, thank you,” he straightened to look at her. “I’ve had plenty. It was very good.”

“You are tired,” she stated. “You must lay down and rest.”

“We’re behind enemy lines here. What if Germans show up? I really should stay awake,” he told her.

“I will watch for Boches,” she averred. “I always watch. You must rest.”
She placed the bowl in a basin on the table and returned to place her hand beneath his left arm.

“Just lean on me and I will help you to the bed,” she instructed.
Struggling to his feet, Saunders stood a moment with his right hand on the back of the chair for support as the room seemed to tilt disconcertingly around him.

Renee pulled his left arm across her shoulders and placed her right arm around his waist while placing her left hand against his chest as he swayed. It occurred to him that she smelled really nice, like a fresh spring meadow.

He shook his head and forced himself to stand upright. The sergeant tried not to lean on the frail form beside him, but his leg refused to hold his weight and he stumbled as he tried to take a step. He was surprised at the strength in the small soft arms that were wrapped around him. She maneuvered him the few steps to the bed and pulling the blankets back with her left hand, she eased the soldier down to sit on the edge. She busied herself removing his web belt, jacket and boots, ignoring his protests.

“If the Krauts show up, I’ll need all that,” he argued.

“They will be here close,” she consoled as she dragged the chair next to the bed and placed the items on it. She draped the strap of the Thompson over the back of the chair within easy reach for the wounded man. Then placing her hands on his shoulders, she gently pushed him back against the sheets and soft pillows. He was too tired and weak to protest further, and his head barely touched the pillows before he was asleep.

As the evening progressed, Saunders’ sleep became fitful and a fever developed, drenching him with sweat and dampening the sheets around him.
Renee sat in the chair by the bed and gently sponged his face and neck, trying to ease his suffering. She stubbornly commanded herself not to cry when he moaned softly with the pain in his leg. She told herself she’d be no good to either of them if she did not maintain control of her emotions.

Late in the night the fever brought on chills and the American shook uncontrollably. Renee pulled the blankets over him. She knew she could not stoke the fire in the stove for fear of the Germans seeing the smoke. She was getting very tired, but was determined to resume her vigil by the wounded man’s side. The blankets didn’t seem to be doing the job they should and the soldier shivered constantly.

Desperation started to clutch the woman’s throat and she made a decision. She lifted the blankets and slid in beside the sergeant, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him close to her body to share her warmth with him. This maneuver seemed to help, and it wasn’t long before the shivers calmed and the wounded man fell into a sound sleep. Renee smiled to herself as sleep also overcame her tired frame.

* * *
A beam of sunlight brought the sergeant back to consciousness. His first thoughts were that he’d died and gone to heaven. He was warm and comfortable and lying on real sheets, beneath soft blankets and there was a beautiful woman by his side. Suddenly he realized there was a beautiful woman by his side!

He jerked away from her and sat straight up in the bed. His sudden movement frightened the girl to awareness and she screamed before she realized what was happening and kicked out at him. Her kick landed squarely on his wounded leg and he fell back against the sheets with a cry of pain.

Renee placed her hands against her mouth as she scrambled from the bed.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she whimpered as she reached for the cover to check the wound.

Saunders held the blanket tightly around his legs as he stared disbelievingly at her. “Are you sure you’re name ain’t Lucretia?” he asked sarcastically.

She looked at him strangely, then shook her head.
“I am Renee,” she finally managed to blurt out. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Saunders asked her pointedly.

“The night was cold and you were shaking with the fever. It was the only way I could make you warm,” she muttered as she looked at the floor.

“Then we didn’t…I didn’t…” he stuttered awkwardly.

Renee looked up at him for a moment, then it dawned on her what he was trying to say.
“Oh, no, Monsieur!” she cried aghast, her face turning several beautiful shades of crimson.

They both looked away for a moment. Then Renee straightened and brushed the black locks from her face.
“I will make you something to eat, Sergent,” she stated resolutely, as she turned towards the stove.

As she worked to prepare breakfast, Saunders checked his injured leg. It did not seem to suffer any damage from the confrontation, but it was throbbing unbearably. He relaxed back on the pillows and laced his fingers behind his head as he watched Renee move around the room. He smiled to himself as the memory of the waking ran through his mind. He was relieved that he had not done anything unseemly during the night. He reflected that he sure wouldn’t want to sleep through something like that.

Shaking his head and berating himself for such thoughts, Saunders looked for his gear and Tommy gun. Everything rested on the chair within easy reach, and he closed his eyes contentedly and listened as Renee’s soft voice hummed a tantalizingly entrancing tune.

He woke again with Renee’s soft fingers brushing a few wild tresses of blond hair from his forehead.
“Are you hungry?” she asked quietly.

“Famished,” he smiled as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Fam…?” she cocked her head to one side and looked at him quizzically.
“That means I’m hungry,” he explained.

Renee reached behind him and adjusted the pillows so that he could sit back against them, then she handed him a plate of eggs and homemade bread.

“Mmmm, smells delicious,” he told her.
She looked away quickly and smiled. “Thank you,” she said as she started to move away.

Saunders caught her small hand and pulled her back to face him.
“I’m sorry I frightened you this morning,” he stated apologetically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Again, Renee blushed and smiled shyly.
“That is all right, Sergent,” she told him. “I’m sure we were both a bit startled.”

“Yeah,” he grinned at the thought. “By the way, my name is Saunders. Sergeant Chip Saunders.”

“Cheep? I like that,” her accent caused her to mispronounce the name.

“Yeah,” Saunders grinned in spite of himself. “Cheep.”

“When you are finished eating, I will change the bandage on your leg,” she said as she turned and sat down at the table to eat.

The food was tasty, but Saunders found that he did not have much of an appetite. His eggs were barely touched when Renee stood by his bed again, reaching for his plate.

“Was the food not to your liking?” she asked worriedly.

“Oh, no, Renee. The food was great. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was,” Saunders assured her.

“Let us look at that leg now,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed and peeled the blanket back from his legs.

Saunders could tell by the discoloration around the bandage that some infection was beginning to set in. He realized that must have been what had caused the fever during the night. The wound was tender and he could barely withhold a groan as she gently pulled the soiled bandage away, sponging the wounds with water until the gauze fell from the openings.

Renee knew she was hurting him by the tenseness of his muscles. She knew he was not crying out for her sake and her heart went out to him. She washed the leg carefully and breaking the seal on Kirby’s sulfa pack, she sprinkled it over the holes as she had seen Kirby do. Then she wrapped the clean bandage around his leg and tied the ends snugly. He flinched a bit when she tied the knots and she said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he breathed. “You’re doing a wonderful job.”

Renee stood up and pulled the blankets back over his legs.
“You rest now,” she ordered emphatically. “I must gather firewood and check for Boches.”

Saunders looked at her oddly. This frail, beautiful lady was picking up a rifle and walking out to possible danger without batting an eye. His admiration for her was growing. Or was it something else?

Pushing these silly thoughts aside, Saunders berated himself and turned his mind to the war that still raged somewhere beyond the walls of this wonderful haven of peace he’d found. And besides, she’s the one who put him here in the first place! He should be angry, not thankful.

He pushed the soft blankets aside reluctantly and eased his legs over the side of the bed. Moving slowly, he reached for his boots and dragged them to him. He was sweating again by the time he had them laced and buckled and his breath was coming in gasps. He realized he would have to get back to a hospital soon. He didn’t want to take the chance of losing a leg to gangrene. He donned his field jacket, reached for his web belt and was fumbling with the latch when Renee entered the front door with an armload of wood.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “You should not be up. You are ill.”

“I’m okay,” Saunders stated. “I have to try and get back to my lines.”

“But they will come for you,” Renee insisted. “You must rest.”

Saunders finally got the belt latched around him and reached for his Thompson. Renee dropped the wood in a box by the stove and strode over to stand before him. When he reached for the weapon, she grabbed it first and pulled it out of his reach.

Exhausted, Saunders looked up into her determined face.
“You cannot even sit up straight. How do you think you will get to your lines?” she asked.

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“C’mon, gimme my gun,” he pleaded.

A noise outside stopped them both cold.
Renee pushed the Thompson into Saunders’ hands and ran to the window to peek around the frame.
“Boches!” she whispered loudly. “Come with me.”
She was suddenly back beside Saunders dragging him up from the bed. They clumsily stumbled across the floor towards the table. Saunders grabbed the back of a chair for support as Renee slipped away from him and lifted one edge of the wooden table. The table lifted, as did several boards beneath it revealing a cleverly hidden flight of stairs.

“Hurry!” she urged as she took the sergeant’s arm and steered him towards the opening.

He sat down and scooted himself down the stairs as quickly as possible with the frightened woman close behind. She pulled a rope attached to the floorboards and the opening closed leaving them in total darkness. Saunders sat still as Renee scooted down the stairs to sit beside him.

“There is a place to hide down here,” she said as she pulled gently on his arm to urge him forward.

He placed his hand over hers and let her lead him through the pitch-blackness to a spot against a cool stone wall. She tugged him down and they sat huddled together and listening for noises above them.

They didn’t have to wait long. The door of the house was slammed open and several voices shouted at each other in German. One of them seemed exceptionally agitated and was apparently barking orders to the others.

Renee sat trembling with fear close to Saunders’ side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her head against his chest, holding her tightly to him. It crossed his mind how wonderful her hair smelled and how good it felt to hold her close.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he pushed Renee to the dirt floor of the cellar and threw himself across her body just as a grenade exploded with a tremendous bang above them. Boards and debris fell around them.

Saunders sat up, pulling Renee back against him, shielding her with his hands and body. The house above them was now on fire. The heat penetrated what was left of the floor and smoke threatened to choke the breath from them. Renee cried out and tried to break free of Saunders’ grasp, but he held her firmly and tried to calm her.

“We have to stay still,” he whispered to her. “The house is on fire. We can’t leave yet.”

Renee sobbed against his chest and clung to him like a child. He stroked her hair and spoke softly to her to try to belay her fears.
The fire burned quickly and soon died down, but the heat and smoke still penetrated to the cellar, bringing a great deal of discomfort to its occupants. Large cracks appeared in the boards above them where the grenade had decimated the floor of the house. This allowed a certain amount of sunshine to filter into the cellar and lend welcome light to the stranded couple. A light breeze had picked up and it was not long before much of the smoke was blown away from the area and they coughed and gasped as wisps of fresh air permeated the gloom.

Renee was now still, but did not make any effort to pull herself away from Saunders’ clutch. She seemed to be content to rest there in his strong arms for a while.

Saunders placed a finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his. Looking deeply into her dark eyes he placed his mouth on hers in a passionate kiss, almost surprised to find the kiss being returned whole-heartedly.

Renee placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself away gently. She looked down and brushed her hair back behind her ears, while embarassedly straightening her clothing.

“Renee?” Saunders whispered tentatively.

She turned back to him and placed a finger on her lips.
“Shhh…” she warned. “The Boches are still around.”

He reached out and wrapped a hand around her small wrist and pulled her to him.

She turned around to place her back against him as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. They sat this way until they could no longer hear enemy voices above and around them. Neither one of them was eager to make the first move to separate, but soon Renee resolutely slipped from his grasp and made her way to another corner of the cellar.

When she came back, she knelt beside Saunders with a bottle of water in her hands. They opened it and drank greedily. The heat had sapped their strength and energy.

“Renee, I didn’t mean to…” Saunders began.

Renee placed a finger to his lips cutting him short.
“It is all right. You are a lonely soldier. I guess I have been lonely as well…” this time it was Saunders who stopped her.

“You’re a beautiful, brave woman, and I wish we could be together always,” the sergeant told her softly.
“But I’m a soldier and this may be the only time we have together,” he thought that sounded real stupid and he wondered why he felt like a nervous schoolboy.

Renee smiled as she reached out taking his face in both her hands.
“I have learned that there are no tomorrows. If we lose today, we will never get it back.” She said sadly.

Saunders pulled her close and buried his face in her soft black hair as she laid her head against his chest.
Pain, exhaustion, fear, and tension combined to reduce the huddled couple to sleep.

When Renee woke she smiled happily to herself as she felt the warm, strong body pressing against hers. But something wasn’t right! Saunders chest was extremely hot and his arms had dropped loosely over her back. His breathing was light and shallow.

She sat up and his arms fell to his sides, but he didn’t move.
“Sergent!” she called.

She placed a hand on his forehead only to find a burning fever. Quickly, she tore a piece of cloth from the hem of her skirt and dampened it from the bottle of water. She bathed his face and neck, but he didn’t stir. He was completely unconscious. Darkness was falling and the air was beginning to cool. Embers from the charred house held a certain amount of warmth in the cellar.

Renee pulled the unconscious sergeant over into her lap and continued to apply the cool cloth to his face and neck. Tears ran down her cheeks as she remembered it was all her fault. She also realized and finally admitted to herself that she had found something precious and she didn’t want to lose him. She was in love. This thought shocked her, but galvanized her will to keep him alive.

All through the long, cold night Renee held his head in her lap and bathed his face and neck while talking softly to him, encouraging him to hang on; to live. When morning finally spread its soft rays of sunshine across the burned-out house, Renee stretched her stiff muscles and opened her eyes.

She was suddenly shocked to find that she had fallen asleep. She looked down at the blond head in her lap and terror gripped her insides. He was a pasty white and his breathing seemed to have stopped.

“NON! oh, non,” she sobbed as she wrapped an arm around his head and pulled it to her breast. She sat there rocking him back and forth and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Renee?” Saunders strained voice emanated from her bosom.

She released her hold and let his head drop back into her lap as she went from sobbing to laughing through her tears. She took his face in her hands and kissed it all over.

“Hold…hold on,” he stuttered too weak to pull away from her.

“I thought you were dead!” she sobbed.

Saunders slowly raised a hand to grasp her small fingers laying across his chest. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he smiled weakly.

“I don’t want to get rid of you; ever,” she exclaimed.

“Renee?” a familiar voice called from somewhere above them.

“It’s Kirby!” Saunders tried to sit up, but was too weak and fell back into Renee’s lap as she placed a soft hand on his shoulder to hold him still.

“We are here!” she called loudly. “Monsieur Kirby, we are down here in the cellar!”

“I told you they were here, Lieutenant!” Kirby’s voice drifted down to them.

“Be careful,” Lieutenant Hanley’s voice warned. “That floor may give way. It’s almost burned through.”

“Renee, is Saunders with you?” Kirby called out.

“Yes, but he is sick, too weak to stand,” she called back.

“Just hang on. We’ll get to ya,” Kirby told her.

Soon they could hear the sounds of men moving cautiously on the precarious boards above them.
“Lift the table,” Renee called to them. “There is a stairway beneath the table.”

In a moment the table/trap door lifted spilling sunshine into the dank cellar.
Renee covered her eyes for a moment as Saunders closed his eyes and turned his face against her soft stomach. She held his head close to her as three American soldiers descended the stairway.

Doc was first to reach them, kneeling beside Saunders, he first checked his pulse, then immediately administered a shot of morphine. The sergeant relaxed and Renee reluctantly released her hold on him as Doc and Kirby placed him on a stretcher and tied him to it.

A very tall dark-haired officer held a hand out for Renee. She accepted the hand and stood, still watching the pale inert form on the stretcher as she stood.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be alright,” Doc assured them as he and Kirby started carrying the stretcher towards the stairs.

“Looks like you and the sergeant had a pretty rough night,” the lieutenant smiled at the soot-covered face of the young lady.

She looked up at Hanley and a tear escaped to find its way down her already tear-streaked cheeks.
“He will live?” she asked shakily.

“Of course he will,” the officer reached out and caught her arm as she fainted from sheer release and exhaustion. Hanley easily scooped her into his arms and carried her up into the sunshine.

* * *

When Saunders woke he knew he was in a field hospital even before he opened his eyes. He could hear moans and groans of the wounded and could smell the blood, antiseptic, and a myriad of other smells all connected with a front-line aid station. He slowly opened his eyes to find Renee sitting in a chair beside his cot. She was drinking a cup of coffee and talking softly with Lieutenant Hanley, who squatted in front of her with his back to the sergeant.

Saunders tried to speak, but his throat was too dry and no sound would come out. He lifted a hand and let it fall on the lieutenant’s shoulder. Startled, Hanley jumped and turned, causing Saunders’ hand to fall beside the cot. Hanley lifted the hand and folded it back across the sergeant’s stomach.

“Welcome back, Saunders,” the lieutenant smiled as he stood up, towering over the sergeant’s cot.

Saunders smiled and extended his hand to Renee, who took it in both of hers and kissed it softly.

Hanley rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll talk to ya later, sergeant.” And he turned to leave the tent.

Renee moved to her knees beside Saunders and kissed him gently on the lips. He smiled and placed a hand in her hair drawing her head towards him and returned the kiss.

He tried to speak to her, but his voice was lost in a cough. Renee picked up a cup of water beside his cot and gently raised his head to let him drink.

“Thanks,” he nodded as she laid his head back on the wool blanket that served as a pillow.

Renee smiled. “I am glad you woke up before I have to leave.”

“Where are you goin’?” Saunders frowned.

“I am going to Paris to live with my cousin. She has a job for me there.” Renee watched his reaction to this, not wanting to upset him any more.

“Renee,” he whispered earnestly. “Will you wait for me?”

“We have already been through hell together. Why wouldn’t I wait for you?” she smiled as she brushed the blond hair from his forehead.

“I have regrets, Renee,” he confided in her softly. “Regrets of relationships I never committed to; out of fear of losing, fear of commitment, or just…fear.”
His voice faltered a bit. “I don’t want any regrets with you. I love you.”

“And I love you, too, Cheep,” she whispered in his ear. “Kirby gave me an address to write to you. I will write often,” she promised.

“Good,” he smiled as he gently touched her cheek. “And stay away from Kirby. He’s trouble.”

She laughed and the lilting sound thrilled him to the core.
“Stay safe for me,” she said as she stood to leave.

“I will. I promise,” he told her.

END