Staff Sergeant Eddy fumbled in his ammo pouch, a standard bandoleer that was filled in all but two pouches with cigarettes. He cursed as his partially frozen fingers dropped one of his “heaters” into the heavy snow, thinking back to earlier that day. It was a fog-choked morning when early, around 5:30ish the familiar thump of 88's went on for about an hour, causing the Forward Operating Base to stir with activity. An hour later a pale faced corporal, half dressed and wild-eyed, threw open the door and warned of thousands of krauts and armor pouring over the line. The major told him to calm down but he wasn't any of it and he bolted away from the now perceptible sounds of fighting. The FOB erupted into chaos, they were barely stocked as it was, and could probably manage a few squads, but not fully equipped battalions with armor to boot. The on hand ammunition was passed out, one clip in the chamber for each person and one more in reserve, NCO's like Eddy and COs got an extra clip or two, he filled his empty pouches with the only supplies left: cigarettes and the dreaded D rations. They heard the low growl of a King Tiger and sprinted out of the FOB before they heard the Krauts and their guns shouting at our heels, kicking up snow and frozen dirt. I had run into the thick Belgian forest his M1 in one hand and helmet in the other. It was in this sprint he ran into a group of stragglers from the line; a cook, a supply clerk, an infantryman and a medic. Sergio “Surge” Balleseros was a cook on the line, but he was seen as a invaluable in the eyes of his comrades because of his ability to transform rations into meals, so valuable in fact that he had been assigned to the line with a well connected major. Paul “Paulie” Middleton was a corporal who had been in charge of a rations depot a half-mile from the line. He and the rest of the non combat personal were told to fall back to form a defensive line but he had stayed back to watch a company of SS regulars, the real stuck up “elites”, tear into crates of rations like a pack of rabid dogs. PFC Wallace A. Jenkins was a greenhorn sent in as a replacement and today was his first day of battle, so far his entire combat experience was cowering in a latrine during the initial barrage and running in the opposite direction of kraut armor, without his gun or any supplies. Finally was Anthony “doc” Dinozzo, a medic who had not seen any combat experience and possessed the shakiest pair of hands in the service. Eddy received a look of scorn from Surge as he flicked open his Zippo and brought it to the end of his heater, inhaling with satisfied sigh.
“Hey you're gonna give us away to the Krauts! Snuff that thing before we have a company of German regulars comin' down on us!” spat Surge. He took a deep breath appreciating the warmth of the heater in contrast to the cold night air.
“Listen mac, I sure ain't gonna have no corporal tell what to do an' I certainly ain't gonna have no one tell me to put out my heater, German, American, or ot'erwise!”.
Surge opened his mouth to object before the distinct sounds of German voices approaching caused him and the rest of the squad to drop low. Eddy cursed under his breath and snuffed out his heater, slipping it back into its pack. Eddy motioned the group forward behind a windblown snow bank. Approaching was nine men, six wore the distinctive gear of Kraut regulars, however the other three were clad in US MP gear and they appeared to be prisoners however they didn't appear to be bound in any way.
“Awlright, I don't like MPs anymore then the next guy so I'm gonna put it up to a vote, who wants to save these fellas?” whispered Eddy. His question was met with four nods of approval.
“Okay boys pass around whatevah rounds you've got” Eddy handed his .45 sidearm to Jenkins “try not to hurt yer self rook.” The private gulped and nodded taking a position next to the rest of the squad. The men lay in wait as the patrol approached laughing and passing around the unmistakable contents of C rations, laughing as their comrade spat out a mouthful of a D ration. The patrol was ten meters from the squad when they opened fire dropping the three closest soldiers and sending the other three running while the MPs hit the deck. Eddy squeezed off several rounds before hitting a dud, quickly racking the slide to eject the impotent round. In the confusion the squad had lost sight of one of the survivors, he maneuvered behind the men before receiving a magazine full of .45 caliber slugs from an over excited private.
“Christ Jenkins, nice job and all but ease of the tiggah a lil' wouldn't ya?” Shouted Eddy, dropping one of the two remaining enemies with a vicious shot through the neck. Paulie grabbed a grenade from the dead soldier behind him and pitched it, landing it at the final survivors feet.
“Helluva toss Paulie, where'd yah learn tah toss like that?” whistled Eddy.
“I was the pitcher for my team in the Little League, my dad was a college hotshot an' though I should learn to 'throw like pops'.” Chuckled Paulie.
“Heyah boys, happy to see us?” said Eddy with a smile, handing one of the MPs, a first lieutenant, one of the fallen German's MP 40's. “Care for an MP, MP?” chuckled Eddy.
“Thanks,” said the MP racking the slide, “you boys all alone out here?”
“Yeah were a mixed sort, I'm first Sergeant Eddy, that’s Surge, he's a cook, Paulie the clerk, Jenkins the Private First class-kicker, and Tony our top surgeon.” The lieutenant turned to his men and barked “Keep the Sergeant and medic, kill the rest.”, leveling his gun at Eddy. The two spies emptied their magazines into Jenkins, Paulie and Surge before reloading and turning them to Eddy and Doc. Eddy stood their shocked as the Lieutenant shouted something in German. One of the spies advanced on him and hit him square in the forehead with the butt of his submachine gun. Eddy watched a small crimson river snake down his hooked nose into the snow before fading into unconsciousness.
