Resistance

The characters of "Combat!" belong to ABC. Original characters are the property of the author.
Copyright 2001 by Figment

RESISTANCE

“Don’t ya think one of us oughta try ‘n get through, Sarge?” Caje asked as the three bone-weary soldiers watched a whole German platoon moving in right on top of them.
“We wouldn’t stand a chance.” The sergeant replied with resignation. “We’ll just have to hide the best we can until we can find a way out.”
The three soldiers were returning from an escort mission. They had seen medical supplies safely delivered to the field hospital a few kilometers west of them, and then started back on foot. When Saunders had reported in, he was given another mission.
Since the little village of Beauvin was practically on their route back, they were ordered to check it out for any German activity.
It was deserted when the soldiers arrived. They had flushed it out; Caje, the dark-haired Cajun from Louisiana, and Littlejohn, the tall farm boy that was known throughout the platoon as the gentle giant, covered each other as they checked each building on the main street. Sergeant Saunders checked the perimeter of the village and met the others near the chateau standing stately at the end of the main thorofare.
Saunders had made his report and they were ready to leave the area, when the sound of heavy trucks stopped them in their tracks.
The three of them hid in the chateau, while several large troop carriers full of Germans, three 88 canons, and a staff car pulled into the street in front of them. More German infantrymen came into town from different directions, indicating that they had surrounded the village before entering it.
The three American soldiers were lucky they hadn’t tried to leave any earlier. They would have been caught in the open just outside the village.
Saunders turned from the window, pulling his helmet off and running a hand through his tousled, thick blond hair, and replacing the helmet.
“We need to check this place out before the Krauts get here. They’ll be setting up a headquarters and this is the best spot in town.” He said grimly.
They headed for the back of the huge mansion to find a sufficient hiding place. The rooms were large and spacious. Very little furniture was left. It seems the occupants must have tried to take what they could when they fled the advancing front lines.
They were running out of time and rooms when Littlejohn called softly, “Hey, look at this!”
There was a pantry leading off the kitchen and a door in the back of the small storeroom. When Saunders pushed the door open a flight of stairs was revealed.
“Come on,” he told the others, and they quickly descended the old wooden stairway into a pitch-black cellar.
The light from the open door above barely revealed rows of wine racks and barrels stacked in every corner.
“See if these barrels are empty,” Saunders ordered as he moved to the nearest wooden container. “We’ll have to hide inside the barrels until the Krauts have flushed the place.”
“Sarge, I don’t think I’ll fit,” Littlejohn mused, rubbing his chin in contemplation.
“You’ve got to, Littlejohn. Now get in there,” the sergeant ordered.
The sound of footsteps could now be heard in the house above them. Speed was essential at this point.
Littlejohn eased his large frame into a barrel near the back of the room. Saunders placed the lid over him and tapped it down with the heel of his hand.
“Just keep quiet no matter what, got it?” Saunders said.
“Yeah, Sarge,” Littlejohn agreed.
“Okay, Caje,” Saunders indicated a barrel to the right of Littlejohn’s. “Your turn.”
Caje easily slipped himself inside as Saunders closed the lid over him. Then Saunders grabbed up a lid and crawled into a barrel near the bottom of the stairs, bringing the lid down above him.
The sergeant had barely lowered the lid when the sound of heavy footsteps pounded the wooden stairs. Several Germans entered the cellar poking and searching among the racks, bottles, and barrels that practically filled the cellar to capacity.
It only took a moment for the Krauts to become more interested in what was stored in the bottles than anything else that may be hidden in the gloom.
The Americans could hear at least four different voices laughing and congratulating each other on their valuable find. With the clanking of several bottles, the Germans headed for the stairway once again.
As soon as silence reigned in the dark room, Saunders cautiously lifted the lid on his wooden prison and carefully looked around. Nothing.
He eased the lid to the floor and crawled out bending near Caje’s barrel. “C’mon out, Caje,” he whispered.
Soon Caje joined him and the two of them extricated the huge Littlejohn from his container.
“Stay here. I’ll check it out,” Saunders instructed his men.
Silently climbing the stairs, the sergeant listened intently at the door, which was standing slightly ajar, lending a small, but welcome shaft of light to the dank cellar.
The German soldiers hadn’t gone far. They seemed to be hastily uncorking the bottles they had just liberated, determined to drink as much as they could before their comrades found out about the treasure trove of wine.
Back with his squad, Saunders squatted before them.
“They’ll be drunk soon and we may be able to get by them,” he told them quietly. “One thing’s for sure, we gotta get outta this cellar. They’re sure to be back for more wine.”
“Are we gonna try to take ‘em, Sarge?” Caje asked.
“We’ll just wait and see what develops,” Saunders replied.
They didn’t have to wait long. From the sounds coming through the open cellar door, it was apparent more Krauts had entered the kitchen and they were noisily arguing with their fellow squad members over the coveted bottles of wine.
A strong, authoritative voice bellowed a command and all was quiet for a moment. After a low-pitched conversation, footsteps once again neared the cellar door.
“Back here!” Saunders whispered as he motioned the men behind a pile of barrels and lids in the back corner.
An order was given and a German sergeant lit a lantern hanging near the bottom of the staircase. Light suddenly flooded the cellar.
Saunders could see the enemy soldiers between two of the overturned barrels he was crouched behind.
‘What’s a SS colonel doing here so close to the front lines?’ He thought. ‘I thought they always stayed where it’s safe.’
The German colonel looked around the cellar approvingly and selected a couple bottles from the racks close to where the American soldiers were hidden. Satisfied with his choices, he barked an order and everyone ascended the stairs with the lantern, leaving the GIs alone in the dark once more.
The three men eased out into the open space near the bottom of the stairs.
“I know what you’re thinkin’, Sarge, and you’ll be crazy to try it,” Caje mumbled.
“Yeah, Sarge,” Littlejohn said. “there’s gotta be two dozen Krauts up there around that guy.”
Saunders seemed to be in deep concentration and not heeding the pleas of his fearful men. S2 would be glad to get their hands on that German officer. Now, just how to do it?

* * *

The Germans kept up a constant clamor in the kitchen above, drinking, talking, laughing; generally at ease with their partying.
Soon, one by one, the soldiers drifted off to find a place to sleep or to take up an assignment.
Saunders slipped to the pantry door and eased it wide open. At the door to the kitchen, he paused and checked carefully for any remaining Krauts. The kitchen seemed to be empty.
Motioning to his men, the sergeant crept out of the pantry heading for the door leading to the large dining room as he motioned Littlejohn to cover the back door leading out into the rear drive of the massive house.
With Caje on his heels, Saunders sneaked along the wall of the dining room until he came to the door leading to a long, wide hallway. The hallway ran the length of the house from front to back, many doors along its sides. One end opened to the main entry and living area, while the opposite end was just a window overlooking the back of the house.
Saunders motioned Caje to stay where he was and cover him as he moved cautiously down the hallway toward the main entry.
Voices stopped him in mid-stride just before he reached a large elaborately carved wooden door.
Peering into the slightly open portal, Saunders could see the Kraut colonel and three other officers pouring over maps spread across a large teakwood table.
His heart racing, Saunders slid quickly back down the hall towards Caje.
“They’ve made this a major command post,” he whispered to the Cajun as he entered the dining room again.
“Can’t we pull back and call this in?” Caje asked urgently.
“No,” Saunders shook his head. “I saw an American radio being manned in there. They’d hear us. Tell Littlejohn to come on in here.”
“Okay,” Caje nodded and hurried to the kitchen door to beckon the big man.
When they had both joined Saunders, the sergeant moved quietly out into the hallway again with the two soldiers right behind him.
Testing a couple doors, Saunders found one unlocked and eased it open a crack. The room was dark and appeared to be empty.
Motioning the other two to follow, he quietly slipped into the room, waiting for the others to enter, then closing the door and carefully locking it behind him.
They all moved to the opposite side of the room where it was unlikely they could be overheard from the corridor.
“We may not be able to grab that colonel, but maybe, with some luck, we can get our hands on some of those maps.” Saunders said thoughtfully.
“But, Sarge,” Littlejohn pleaded. “We gotta get outta here!”
“We will, Littlejohn,” Saunders assured him. “Just take it easy.”
“Caje, you and Littlejohn need to create a diversion. I’ll try to slip in and grab some documents, then we’ll head for home,” Saunders told them.
Saunders walked to the window absently looking out while he tried to formulate a plan.
He motioned to his two men and they joined him at the window.
“See that barn in the back?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Caje and Littlejohn echoed each other.
“See if the two of you can get to it and set it on fire. Then get out of there and head for the pond we passed on the way in. There’s good brush for cover there. Hide there and wait for me. If I don’t show by daylight, pull back and report all this to Hanley. Any questions?” he studied their now concerned faces.
“What about you, Sarge?” Littlejohn asked. “How will you get out?”
“Don’t worry,” Saunders replied. “I’ll get out. Now, move out.”

* * *

It was long after dark, as the two American soldiers slipped from the chateau window, running at a crouch towards the barn just a few feet away. They made it without being detected.
As they crept inside, they listened carefully for any telltale noises indicating occupancy of any kind. All was quiet. So far, so good.
Caje moved to the back of the barn and glanced out the big double door. The dense forest that surrounded Beauvin was just about ten yards away. They would have to make a dash for it when they started the fire.
Littlejohn was busy scattering as much hay around everywhere as he could, so the fire would spread quickly. The two soldiers decided to start the fire near the front of the barn. If detected quickly, maybe it would distract any notice of movement at the rear.
Setting the fire, they ran for the rear door and beyond as fast as their feet would carry them.
The two of them made the edge of the woods just as an alarm was sounded from several German soldiers on sentry duty.
Caje and Littlejohn crawled into thick brush that grew just a little further into the woods, and hid themselves, keeping their M1s at ready.
Just as they had suspected a sentry ran past them. He had been stationed only a few feet from where they were hidden. During the noise of the first alarm, the sentry had not heard the two soldiers burrowing into the brush, and was unaware of their presence.
As soon as the guard was close to the now-blazing barn, Caje and Littlejohn crawled deeper into the woods until they were able to stand without being noticed. Then they ran as fast as the woods and the dark would let them in what they hoped was the direction of the pond where they would rendezvous with Saunders.

* * *

Saunders watched at the window until he saw the flicker of a fire just inside the barn door, then he crept back to the door to watch the hallway.
As soon as the alarm was raised, a private sped down the corridor and into the room where the officers were gathered. In a few seconds all were rushing for the back door of the chateau.
When they had passed his door, Saunders slowly opened the door and slipped across the hall to peek inside the emptied room. There was a Kraut corporal sitting at the table with the German radio and the American radio.
The corporal’s back was turned to the door and it was easy for Saunders to creep up on him. Just as the soldier started to turn, the sergeant came down hard with the butt of his Thompson sub-machine gun on the back of the unfortunate man’s neck. The neck cracked and the corporal slumped to the floor unmoving.
Saunders immediately turned his attention to the maps spread across the large table in the middle of the room. Gathering as many as he could, he half-folded, half-wadded them and stuffed them inside his jacket, grabbing the rest of them as he moved towards the door.
There were footsteps in the hallway!
Saunders quickly surveyed the room for another escape route.
Two windows faced the southern side of the house’s once elaborate gardens.
The sergeant quickly raised one of them and took a fast check for sentries. It seemed as if the barn fire had attracted attention away from the chateau for the moment.
Saunders crawled through the window, pulling it down behind him, then crept through the overgrown hedges and bushes of the garden until he reached a utility shed built against a stone wall on the perimeter of the chateau property.
Crouching in the shadows of the shed, Saunders contemplated the best route out of there.
The stone wall/fence was about five feet high and seemed to enclose two sides of the property. If he crawled to the other side and stayed close to it, the wall would bring him within a few yards of the forest.
Checking carefully for enemy movements, the sergeant quickly scaled the wall and dropped to the other side, listening for any alarm he may have raised. All of the noise still seemed to be near the now-blazing barn.
At the point where the wall was closest to the woods, Saunders prepared to make his break.
Just as he started his run, the sergeant heard shouts coming from the house. His theft had been discovered.
He managed to reach the edge of the woods just as the grounds around the mansion were suddenly filled with German soldiers. Flashlight beams danced through the darkness, lighting up the gardens and drives surrounding the house.
Saunders did not slow down. He tried to run in the blackness of the dense trees, but soon he tripped on a root and sprawled face first in the rotting leaves, losing his grip on the Tommy gun in the process.
He paused a moment, breathing heavily, and feeling around him for his gun.
A hand snaked around his head and clamped over his mouth as a gun barrel was pressed against the back of his head. What he assumed to be someone’s knee was placed in the middle of his back and an oppressive weight held him firmly to the ground. Saunders didn’t struggle, but held perfectly still.

* * *

Caje and Littlejohn lay in the bushes beside the pond. In the distance they could hear the commotion their fire had raised at the chateau. In only a few seconds it seemed the noise heightened, and fear made their stomachs churn. There were a few shots fired. Then silence.
“Shouldn’t we go back and help him?” Littlejohn asked pleadingly.
“No,” Caje stated firmly. “Sarge ordered us to wait here until daylight and then get back to Hanley.”
“But he could be in trouble,” Littlejohn knew his orders, but couldn’t seem to overcome his urge to help his sergeant.
“I know, Littlejohn,” Caje soothed. “But, like it or not, we have to do what he said.”
“We left him once before,” Littlejohn spoke defensively. “and you remember how that came out. The sarge nearly died.”
Caje had been thinking the same thing, but he tried to push it from his mind and concentrate on the business at hand.
“Okay,” the Cajun said finally. “we’ll go check around a little when it’s light enough, then we head for home.”
“Right.” Littlejohn agreed.
Daybreak wasn’t too long in coming. As the sky lightened in the east, the two American soldiers eased from their cramped hiding places beneath the brush on the edge of the pond, and turned back towards Beauvin.
“Remember,” Caje placed a hand on Littlejohn’s arm. “The Krauts’re alerted. They’ll be watching close. We get close enough to check around a little, then we’re out of there. Got it?”
“Sure, Caje,” Littlejohn agreed. “I just don’t want to have to say we didn’t try.”
Caje nodded gravely, hoping their search would tell them what had become of their leader.
The Germans had set outposts around the perimeter of the small village, and there were still a few groups searching the neighboring woods for the map thieves of the previous evening.
Caje and Littlejohn were not able to get within a hundred yards of the chateau at the other end of the town.
Unable to get close and in fear of being spotted, the two soldiers gave up and headed in the direction of their own lines.
They hadn’t traveled far through the dense trees before Caje stopped. Littlejohn saw him staring at something on the ground with a look of horror on his thin face.
Fear clenched Littlejohn’s insides as he moved up beside Caje. The Cajun bent and retrieved an American field jacket from the ground. There were two holes in it, one in the back and a larger one in the front, and it was covered with blood. There were three stripes on each sleeve.
Littlejohn paled visibly and dropped to the ground to sit in a defeated gesture.
Caje slowly folded the jacket over and looped it through the back of his web belt. Then reaching down and slipping a hand under Littlejohn’s left arm, he tugged at the larger man, urging him to rise.
“Come on, Littlejohn,” he said softly. “we gotta report to Hanley.”
Littlejohn rose slowly, looking back towards Beauvin. A quiet rage crept across his features and he clenched his fists in defiance.
“I wanna see ‘em die, Caje,” his voice rumbled with anger.
“We will, buddy. We will.” Caje pulled his big friend along as they moved on through the woods.

* * *

Lieutenant Hanley sat on the edge of a wooden table in his command tent holding the bloody field jacket in his hands. ‘Rule number one. Don’t make friends.’ He recalled the advice Caje had given to Kleinschmidt after Morgan had been killed. Some rules were nearly impossible to keep.
The lieutenant had relayed Caje’s report to HQ and now he could hear the 105s pounding the small village of Beauvin in the far distance. His platoon was gathered and ready to move in and attack as soon as the barrage was over. Hanley had placed Caje in charge of Saunders’ squad, and the small group was anxious to move. The sorrow and anger at the loss of their beloved sergeant had their adrenaline pumping, and they were ready to fight.
Hanley laid the jacket aside and picked up his carbine and helmet. ‘This battle’s for you, my friend.’ He thought as he ducked out of the tent and surveyed the grim group before him.
They would hit the village from all sides, hopefully trapping the Germans who weren’t killed by the barrage inside the town.
Upon his signal, everyone moved out, heading for their individual strategic positions.

* * *

Saunders was pulled from the ground and backed against a tree, with a gun barrel in his chest. He couldn’t see his attackers in the dark, but something told him they weren’t German.
“Be quiet, Monsieur,” a voice whispered from the darkness. “We will help you.”
Saunders released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and his shoulders slumped with relief.
He could see the shadowy figures of two men, obviously Frenchmen. The shorter of the two spoke to him in heavily accented English.
“Give me your coat, American,” the Frenchman pleaded.
Confused, Saunders hesitated.
“Hurry,” the man urged. “My friend will wear your jacket and lead the Germans in another direction, while we go this way.”
Saunders unfastened his web belt and slid out of his jacket, grasping the maps and stuffing them inside his shirt, then replacing his web belt, he handed the jacket to the taller man.
Saunders’ Thompson and camo helmet were shoved into his hands and the men separated. They hadn’t gone but a few paces when shots were being fired towards them. Saunders and the man with him dropped to the ground.
The sergeant brought his Tommy gun up to firing position, but a hand on top of it stopped him.
“The Boches are shooting at Pierre,” the man whispered. “They don’t know we are here. Let us get away, now.”
Reluctantly, Saunders followed the Frenchman, crawling as close to the ground as they could until they were far enough into the brush to rise to a crouch and move on.
They heard the firing stop and loud German shouts coming from the spot where the other Frenchman had disappeared. Both of them knew that Pierre was either hit or captured.
They kept moving as quickly as they could until the voices were barely heard on the still night air.
“I need to get to the road west of Beauvin” Saunders told the Frenchman.
“We cannot reach the road from here. Many Boches have moved in between here and the road.” The older man explained. “My name is Sean. I am with the Resistance. I will help you get back to your lines, Sergent.”
Hoping that his men would follow his orders and report to Hanley after daybreak, Saunders resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t reach them right now, and turned to follow Sean’s retreating back.
They traveled for a safe distance from the village, then stopped near an old railroad track that was overgrown and apparently unused for many years.
“We will wait for Pierre here,” Sean explained. “Then we will show you a safe route back to your people.”
“Thank you,” Saunders nodded. “Are there many of you out here?”
“No, Monsieur,” the Frenchman shook his head. “The Germans captured or killed seven of our group, leaving only myself and Pierre in this area. We do whatever we can to aid the Allies and defeat the German oppressors, Sergent.”
The sergeant sat in silence for a while thinking of all the citizens who had given their lives freely to aid the war effort and liberate their country. So many innocent lives lost. But that was one of the many thoughts that Saunders denied himself, and he forced himself to think of getting the maps back to HQ as soon as possible. It was getting daylight now, and he was anxious to return to his own lines.
There was a noise in the brush to their right, and the two men quickly turned their weapons in that direction.
Pierre staggered from the bushes and collapsed a few feet from them. He clutched his chest which was covered with blood, and he was gasping for breath.
Sean bent over him as he tried to whisper between breaths. Soon he slumped against the ground and his breath came no more.
Sean slowly closed the dead man’s eyes and waited in silence for a moment before turning to the sergeant.
“Pierre tried to lead the Bosche away, but he was shot. He tried crawling, but the epaulet strap of your jacket caught on a branch stopping him. He had to leave the jacket behind. They did not find him, and he made it back here. He will go no further.” Sean said sadly as he rose from the ground. “We must go now, Sergent.”
Saunders nodded as the old Frenchman moved away without a backward glance at his dead friend. The French had learned to turn and move on, just as the warring soldiers had learned to do.
Before they had gotten very far, the two men could hear artillery opening up on the village they had vacated the night before.
“105s. That’s our stuff.” Saunders mused as he listened closely.
“Your army is attacking Beauvin.” Sean averred.
“Yeah,” Saunders said. “They’ll probably be moving in under the barrage. We might as well head back the way we came. We might just run right into my company.”
“That is reasonable,” Sean agreed, turning back in an easterly direction.

* * *

Lieutenant Hanley’s platoon was in position. One squad spread out on each side of the small village creating an ever-tightening net around the beleaguered Germans. Soon firing broke out as the fleeing enemy ran directly into the waiting fire of King Company’s Second Platoon. The Krauts fought desperately to escape, just as the Americans fought equally desperately to prevent them from doing so.
Caje brought his squad up from the back of the chateau. Caje, Littlejohn, Kirby, and Billy Nelson vented their rage as the Krauts stormed their position. It seemed as soon as one line of Germans went down, another took their place. The fighting went on through the morning.
Doc was busy tying off a bandage around a flesh wound on Caje’s lower leg when Nelson brought the radio to the Cajun. “Lieutenant on the horn, Caje,” he announced.
“White Rook here. Over,” Caje said into the mouthpiece, remembering the many times Saunders had said those words. It just didn’t seem right, his not being there.
“Bring your line up. We’re moving into the village. Over.” Hanley’s orders were terse and uncompromising.
“Roger that. Out.” Caje answered.
Getting the squad’s attention, the Cajun motioned to move out.
He stood and tested his weight on the injured leg. There was some pain, but he was able to stand. Shrugging off Doc’s protests, Caje joined the squad and pressed forward. There was little resistance now, and the men reached the chateau quickly.
Surrounding the house, Caje motioned for Kirby and Littlejohn to flush the building while the others gave cover. After a quick inspection, and the surrender of three trembling, young Kraut soldiers, Caje’s squad moved toward the main street of Beauvin.

* * *

Saunders and the Frenchman quickly came across the road leading to the village via the chateau property. They found the going easier and were soon trotting down the side of the dusty road, warily watching for retreating Germans.
Before they had a chance to duck out of sight, a car sped around a curve, bearing down on them.
Saunders, responding immediately, dropped to one knee and fired a short burst from the Thompson, Sean joining him with the old field rifle he had taken from a dead German.
The car swerved crazily, then left the road, centering a large oak. There were four men in the vehicle. The driver was killed instantly, but the other three jumped from the wrecked staff car and started firing as they hit the ground.
Saunders was close enough to the woods that he slipped behind a tree and kept firing. Sean flattened himself in the shallow ditch beside the road firing as he could.
“Sean!” Saunders called to the Frenchman. “Keep their heads down. I’ll try to flank ‘em!”
Sean signaled his acknowledgement and continued firing.
Saunders lowered himself to the ground crawling through the brush until he was out of sight of the Germans. Running at a crouch, he crossed the road well below the battling soldiers. He made it to the other side without being noticed.
From there it was easy for the sergeant to slip up behind the Germans.
Firing a round into the air, Saunders quickly adjusted the aim of the Thompson to cover the enemy soldiers.
“Hande Hoche!” he called. “Hands up!”
The German lieutenant whirled bringing his rifle to bear on the American. Saunders dropped him with a quick burst, then leveled the gun on the SS colonel and the sergeant who were carefully lowering their weapons and raising their hands above their heads.
“All clear!” Saunders shouted to Sean. There was no answer.
The sergeant motioned to the two Germans to rise and walk towards the road.
Fearful of what he would find, Saunders glanced into the ditch where the old French Resistance fighter had been hiding. It was empty.
Quickly looking around, yet keeping a close eye on his prisoners, Saunders realized that Sean was gone.
Saunders smiled sadly to himself. He was aware that one of the reasons that the Resistance was so effective was its anonymity. Sean had just disappeared back into the woods he had materialized from to continue his fight for freedom.
Saunders ordered the Germans to lace their fingers behind their heads and start walking back towards Beauvin.

* * *

Lieutenant Hanley’s platoon was cleaning up. The conflict was over and they herded sixteen scared Kraut prisoners into the middle of the main street.
As Fourth Squad was flushing the town for any stragglers, the first, second, and third squads were milling around the prisoners; searching them and taking care of any wounds they might have suffered.
“Lieutenant! Look!” young Nelson called from his guard position near the chateau. He was pointing down the dusty road and seemed to be uncontrollably excited.
Hanley and several others immediately brought their weapons to bear on the road.
Then the rifles were lowered and a collective cheer went up as they all recognized the familiar camouflage-covered helmet of Sergeant Saunders.
The lieutenant stood and stared in disbelief. Not only was Saunders alive, but he was sweeping up the refuse that almost slipped away from them. A wide grin spread across his face as he rose to greet his missing friend.
The prisoners were made to join their fellow soldiers in the street as the first squad gathered around their lost leader.
After a round of handshakes, backslapping, laughter, and ribbing, Saunders finally turned to his lieutenant.
“Sorry I missed the party, Lieutenant, but I managed to come away with the door prize,” he said as he handed the pile of maps to his CO.
Hanley smiled then raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It’s a long story, Lieutenant,” Saunders said tiredly. “I had some help. I’ll tell you about it on the way back to the Command Post, if that’s okay, sir.”
“It’s good to have you back, Sergeant,” Hanley’s simple statement mirrored what everyone was feeling.
Saunders just smiled and tilted his helmet back from his eyes. It was good to be back.

END