Evelyn's Tale

-Twenty Seven-

"I look like shit, but thanks all the same Tab," she smiled, stretching out her legs and getting comfortable. "Now quit flirting with me and get digging."

"Slave driver."

"I heard that."

... ... ...

Half an hour later, the three of them sat in the foxhole sharing a half cup of coffee as they sighed contentedly. Around them, everyone else was either digging or having a few moments of rest just as they were. In the quiet still of the afternoon, a single gunshot suddenly rang out. Grant, Tab and Evelyn ducked down and glanced at one another. Hands on their weapons, Tab and Grant poised themselves for an incoming attack, while Evelyn swallowed nervously. The Germans didn't usually give prior warning to a shelling. They usually just launched an offensive as a surprise.

"What was that?" Tab asked quietly, daring to peer out from over the top of the foxhole.

"Not sure," Grant shrugged, looking equally as confused. "Sniper maybe?"

"Medic!"

Evelyn was out of the foxhole without so much as a farewell. When she reached the location of the cries, she was shocked to see Donald Hoobler lying on the ground, writhing in agony. He was as white as a sheet. Even his lips were pale. Eugene was already kneeling beside him, ripping open his trouser leg and dealing with the wound.

"Gene, where do you want me?" she asked, pushing through to the front of the small crowd that had gathered.

"Blankets," Eugene said, his scissors in his mouth. "Get him warm. You think it was a German leg, Hoob?"

Hoobler was in so much pain that even if he had heard Eugene's attempt at a joke, he didn't show any reaction to it. He was squirming and groaning. As Buck and Lipton carefully wrapped him up in a spare blanket and a couple of coats, his body began to shake and his teeth chatter. Eugene looked up and met Evelyn's eye, and a silent understanding passed between them. Immediately she began rubbing his arms vigorously, trying to stimulate the blood flow and warmth around him.

It was no use. There was so much blood. Evelyn could see that Eugene was struggling to find the artery. She didn't think she could have done any better. The blood was just pouring out, like the quiet yet rapid bubbling of a stream. Meanwhile, Hoobler was thrashing about frantically. Perco had run off to flag down a jeep. Lipton and Buck were talking to him, trying to reassure him that he was going to be alright. Evelyn continued rubbing his arms, all the while her gaze was fixed on Eugene.

Beneath her arms, she felt Hoobler jerk and then stop moving. She didn't need to look up to know that Hoobler was gone. She didn't want to look up. She didn't want to see another good man dead. But Hoobler deserved that respect. His youthful face, usually so joyful and full of smiles, was pinched and pained. His resting expression a reflection of the unfair and premature death he had suffered. What a cruel waste of young life with so much left to experience. And what an awful way to die. Every death was awful, but there was perhaps almost a comfort for those mothers and fathers back home who knew that their sons' lives were lost fighting for their country. Their deaths had been part of something bigger than themselves. It wasn't much of a consolation, if any at all, but it gave them something to feel proud of. To know that their child hadn't died in vain. But Hoobler had died in vain. He hadn't died in a blaze of glory, but instead by his own carelessness. For as long as anyone could remember, Hoobler had gone on about wanting to get himself a luger. He had finally gotten his wish and it had been the thing to kill him.

"Doc," Compton said. Eugene must have noticed the sudden stillness of his patient, but he continued to work on him. "Doc!"

With a sigh, Eugene threw down the clamps in his hand and sat back on his heels. As Buck covered Hoobler's face, they all looked at one another. They had been through this countless times, yet it never became any easier to deal with. But here on the front line, there was no time to mourn for a dead comrade. One day, the ones who made it out of this war alive would be able to spend the rest of their lives grieving for those friends they had lost, but for now life had to go on.