Finding You, Finding Me Read online

  Gillen nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Doc, where’s your rifle?” Giordano glared at his empty hands.

  “I gave it away when we dug in. I’m not on the line.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not going on a scouting or supply mission without one. Go get Acevedo’s rifle. He’s on the machine gun. Tell him I said so.”

  Nodding, Henry jogged to Acevedo’s hole and grabbed the rifle, checking the magazine. It was only a third full, but he knew they didn’t have any more ammo anyway. Acevedo waved at him, not caring about the rifle theft, and he waved and jogged back to Gillen.

  Something in his stomach churned, and he hoped it wasn't the last time he saw Acevedo. He shook his head, trying to scatter the doom and gloom that had settled inside him, seemingly permanent.

  “All right, you’re both set.” Giordano shook his head again. “I don’t like this. Get back here fast, all right?”

  Nodding, Henry and Gillen headed out, moving as fast and as quietly as they could through the snow. They didn’t speak, watching the trees and the gloomy snow mist and for any sign of G Company instead.

  “Hey,” Gillen said after a long while, breathing hard. “Know what today is?”

  “No.”

  “Christmas Eve.” Gillen smiled at Henry, all red cheeks, flushed face, and bright eyes, and for a moment, the simple delight in Gillen’s eyes struck Henry. There they were, on the edge of death, and Gillen looked like a kid waiting up for Santa.

  Smirking, Henry let himself chuckle. “Well, what did you ask for for Christmas?”

  “Oh, a warm dry bed, a change of socks, a long jacket, some gloves, a scarf, maybe some bullets, you know.” Gillen laughed again. “The basics. How about you?”

  Silence. Henry swallowed. “How about an end to this war?”

  “Yeah,” Gillen said slowly. “That’d be good too.”

  * * * * *

  They got lost but finally found G Company entirely by accident. After running from German bullets—they had wandered too close to the German line—Gillen stepped right into a foxhole manned by a G Company private. Squawking in outrage, the private had just barely managed not to shoot them both.

  The Germans were on top of G Company, though, hammering them hard, and Gillen and Henry raced through their position, trying to find their medic. Instead, they found another sergeant, filling in for the dead doc, grumpy and blood-covered as he struggled to save one of his own squad mates.

  Bullets zinged by, flying through the lines, and Henry heard the order go out for G Company to fall back. Shocked, he and Gillen stared at each other from their cover behind a tree trunk. G Company was leaving? Pulling back? Giving up?

  Henry did what he could, helping the sergeant working as a medic in the midst of their withdrawal. Another jeep ambulance came screeching up, and Henry helped haul the wounded soldier to the litter.

  “Sergeant, please. You have to spare some supplies. Please, we’re down to nothing.”

  The sergeant wasn’t pleased. “We’re evacuating, Doc,” he grumbled. “Getting the hell out of here. You can have whatever you can hold, but the Germans will be on you before you can move. Hop up here; we’ll drive you back to regiment.” The sergeant held out his hand.

  Henry shook his head, taking a step back. “We’ll take your supplies. Thanks.” And with that, he turned and raced back to the sergeant’s hole, grabbing scattered packets of bandages, sulfa, and the two bottles of plasma he saw. It wasn’t enough, but it was more than he had.

  Gillen came running through the bullet-pocked snow with a handful of uniform jackets. Henry frowned. “The hell is that?”

  “From the dead.” Gillen shifted his load. “C’mon, we have to go, now!” They could hear German now, angry sounds shouting through the trees. G Company was running through the woods, firing back at the Germans as they retreated, and Henry and Gillen took off to the right, heading back for their lines. Bullets flew behind them.

  “I don’t think they saw us!” Gillen shouted.

  The zip-zing of a bullet slicing by Henry’s helmet told him otherwise. “Keep running!” he shouted back. Bullets whipped by him, slamming into snow-packed dirt and tree trunks, sending splinters and wood shrapnel in every direction. Henry covered his head with his arms and plowed on, ignoring the scratching burn of wood slicing into his jacket, into his skin. Gillen kept pace, running ahead of him, and they both completely missed the fallen tree trunk that sent them flying through the air.

  Soaring, they tumbled down a snowy embankment, rolling in a heap to the bottom of a gulch. Bullets whizzed by overhead, an angry German shouting behind them. Gillen didn’t move, frozen under a patch of snow. Henry held out his hand, telling him to stay still, hoping the Germans wouldn’t see them.

  Buried from sight under the snow and brambles in the gulch, they could just see each other’s position. On the embankment where they’d tripped, they heard the crunching of boots on snow and faint cursing in German.

  Then they heard the slide of a rifle, and Henry swallowed, closing his eyes. If the German sprayed the gulch, he’d hit them. He’d die, Gillen would die, and they’d never be found. He’d let everyone down, leaving them without a medic. And he’d have let Will down in the worst way. Dying, all alone, and having dismissed him so easily that morning at chow. What was it Will said he wanted? To see Henry’s smile.

  Henry felt like he hadn’t smiled since Paris. He turned the memory over in his mind, listening to the German’s boots crunching in the snow. A slow smile spread over his face, remembering Will’s eyes, the sound of his laughter, the taste of his lips. I love you, Henry thought. God, I love you.

  “Kommen jetzt hier!” echoed through the trees. “Schnell! Schnell!”

  Cursing, the German turned and snow crunched under his boot heels as he ran back to the German forces. His footsteps faded until the forest was quiet again, and the sounds of the German line were far and away, bullets fading into the distance.

  Henry let his head fall back, sighing hard. He saw Gillen rest his forehead on the ground where he’d landed on his stomach. Neither of them moved for a long time.

  * * * * *

  It took hours to find their trail, and by then, the snow had started to fall again. They were chasing daylight and fading boot prints by the time they found their way, stumbling and shivering and just trying to get back to their lines in one piece. At one point, Henry thought for sure they had turned around and were about to step right into Kraut lines or step through a German foxhole cover. But they kept pushing onward, and slowly, the trees started to look familiar again.

  When they finally broke into their section of the forest, the sun was starting to set and darkness had already plunged the woods into a dim gloom. Henry took the spare jackets from Gillen and told him to report in to Giordano while he dropped them off at his foxhole. He dumped them in carelessly, covered the pile with his blanket, and then headed for Giordano’s hole as well.

  Gillen was already under the shared blanket, trying to warm up while Giordano bitched him out for taking so long. Henry poked his head under the cover.

  “Doc!” Giordano slapped his helmet, smiling wide. “Did you get what you needed? You better have, ’cause you ain’t going anywhere else ever again.”

  “Did something happen?” Henry swallowed hard. He didn’t want to leave the troops behind for so long, but he needed those supplies.

  “Nah, it was quiet today. Boring.” Giordano frowned. “Don’t know what’s going on, but the Germans didn’t do anything today. You missed a visit from the colonel though. Germans wanted us to surrender. Ha!” He grinned, shaking his head. “The general told him ‘Nuts!’”

  Henry chuckled, smiling at the open friendliness of the hole. “Everything good then?” He felt part of him relax, a curl uncoil in the base of his spine.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. People still coughing, people still bitching about the cold, but nothing new.” Giordano waved at him. “You wanna bunk down in here tonight?
Or you gonna find your own hole to crawl into?” A smirk on Giordano’s face told Henry just what he thought Henry was up to.

  Henry smirked right back. “Nah,” he said. “I’m going to find my own place tonight.” He reached out, cuffing Giordano on the helmet, the first time he’d ever done so. “Merry Christmas, Sergeant.” And with that, he pushed himself up and scooted off into the snow.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Doc!” Giordano called after him.

  As Henry passed the foxholes, he heard quiet laughter, soft snoring, and the low drum of the troopers talking. Someone offered to share a lemon snow cone made from the snow and the lemon powder in their rations. Another was telling a ribald story from their leave in Paris. He grinned again, listening to the troopers, and kicked a burst of snow into the air. It was okay, at least for the moment.

  Finding Will’s hole was easy. He slid down, sliding on his backside into the foxhole between Rose and Will. Rose glanced at him, then back at the line, keeping watch while Will slept.

  “He didn’t sleep last night,” Rose said, nodding toward Will. “He was pretty freaked out today, too. Don’t know why. But I told him I’d keep first watch. He swore he wouldn’t sleep.” Rose snorted, sharing a look with Henry.

  “I’m glad he did,” Henry said softly. Settling in, he curled himself against Will’s side and slid under the blanket, pulling it over the both of them. He tucked his face into the crook of Will’s neck, pressing a tiny kiss to the exposed skin he could find. Their helmet’s clanged together, soft and light, and Will shifted, startled awake.

  Will’s hands grabbed on to Henry’s arms, pulling him tighter to his side. “Am I dreaming?” Will mumbled.

  “Yeah, you’re dreaming.” Henry kissed his neck again, nuzzling his skin. “Merry Christmas.”

  Will smiled, a pleased, content rumble purring from his body. “Just what I wanted,” he murmured. Rolling, Will tucked himself closer to Henry, pulling their bodies as close as humanly possible with helmets and clothes on. Henry felt Will’s body slide alongside his, their legs fitting together. “Was worried about you,” Will said, pitched just for Henry to hear.

  Out of the corner of Henry’s eye, he saw Rose glancing back at them, trying not to stare. “I had to get more supplies.”

  “Did you get what you needed?” Henry nodded, pressing his nose against Will’s cheek. “Good.” He felt Will’s hands stroke up his back, one arm curled around his shoulders. “You staying?”

  “Yeah.” Henry threw one leg over Will’s, curling up under the blanket. “I’m staying.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Christmas morning dawned with artillery shelling.

  The fog had lifted again, not enough for planes, but enough to see the German lines and for them to see the Americans. Behind the German lines, they could see small tanks mobilizing through the trees, brought in through clear-cut lanes and heading right for them.

  Frantic tension hung in the air as the troopers waited in their foxholes, watching the approaching tanks. Lines of Germans marched next to the tanks, arrogantly striding into the meadow.

  Henry could feel the anxiety in the back of his throat, weighted heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t swallow, and he watched from behind the lines, crouched low, right in the middle, and waited for the firefight to begin.

  He’d slept in Will’s arms for half the night and then curled up with Rose when Will woke to take over watching the line. He thought Rose would hesitate to curl up with him, but he’d burrowed in as tightly as Will had, curling into Henry’s body heat and burying his face in Henry’s neck. He just didn’t kiss it like Will had. Will smiled at him when he blearily tried to stay awake, but he’d fallen asleep as Rose’s warmth settled against his body.

  When the artillery shells exploded overhead, he’d woken instantly, coming awake and curling for cover with Will and Rose. In between the barrages, he’d crawled out on his belly, sliding back toward the center line, listening for the cries of “Medic!” He hadn’t heard any, not yet, but the artillery had stopped right as the tanks rolled out of the tree line.

  “How are we supposed to repel that?” one of the troopers shouted.

  “Shut your mouth!” Giordano shouted back from his own hole. “Hold your fucking fire! Wait to shoot until you have a kill shot!”

  Henry heard Ramirez repeat Giordano’s orders down the line to Second Platoon, minus the cursing. Troopers cursed, fidgeting in their holes as the tanks moved closer, as the Germans advanced with grins on their faces and rifles held low and ready.

  Henry kept his eyes on the tanks, slowly churning up the snow in the empty meadow. Fuck, he hated being right. He’d told Will the Germans would come back with stronger firepower. Now they had tanks. The guys would be lucky to get through this, and so much of that rested on his shoulders. His hands gripped tight on the strap of his medic bag, squeezing and squeezing as he catalogued what supplies he had. Bandages, some plasma, a few more syrettes. He was supposed to tear up the jackets and make more bandages, but he’d gone to sleep instead. He prayed his indulgence wouldn’t spell disaster for one of the guys.

  The tanks rumbled forward, and Henry heard the first shot ring out from First Platoon's line, somewhere near Giordano, if not Giordano himself. One of the Germans marching near the first of three tanks fell to the ground, knocked down by the bullet. His comrades leapt behind the tank, dragging their wounded friend with them and took cover behind the hulking mass of metal.

  “Shoot at the tracks!” Giordano bellowed, and shots rang out, bullets flying toward the tread of the tanks. The tanks responded, firing booming shells into the forest behind them.

  Trees exploded, coming apart in arm-sized splinters and sending shrapnel flying in every direction. Henry ducked, covering his head, and felt the shards fly past him. Branches from above toppled from the creaking, broken trunks, and snow dropped in thick patches from the suddenly disappearing boughs. One of the limbs crashed down toward Henry, and he was covered in the wispy tendrils of pine needles as the branch landed on his right.

  He could hear the shouts of the Germans as they took fire from their line, heard their curses, then the heavy slide of the reloaded tank munitions and the whine of the barrel as the tank gunner adjusted his targeting.

  Inhaling deep, Henry held his breath as the forest seemed to crystalize around him, as time seemed to slow. He could hear Giordano shouting, and Ramirez, their words muddled. He could see the bullets flying from the line, the sparks of fire exploding from every man’s rifle. He saw Acevedo’s shoulders shake and roll with the rattle from the machine gun.

  He saw the Germans fire, saw the tank shudder and recoil. Saw the flame erupt from the barrel, and the shell soar through the air.

  Saw it head toward the line.

  Henry was running before the shell hit, slamming into their lines in a place all too familiar to him.

  His blood ran cold when he heard the cry go up, heard the blood-curdling shout of “Medic!”

  Will.

  Tearing through the snow, blindingly dodging bullets, Henry raced to Will’s foxhole. He slid on the snow, dove to his stomach, and crawled the last few feet. He could see a helmet lying boneless against the back of Will’s foxhole, seemingly lifeless.

  He tumbled into the foxhole and grabbed the victim, stealing himself to look.

  Henry’s eyes found Rose’s half-lidded pair, blurry with shock and anguish. Will’s voice hit him then, shouting over the din of battle next to Henry. “…took the shrapnel from the impact in his side!”

  Shaking himself, Henry finally saw the shredded remnants of Rose’s right side. Shell fragments stuck out of his ribs, and a chunk of his body was missing. Bones and blood poured from him, and Henry knew, with a sickening certainty, that he couldn’t save him.

  “He jumped on top of me,” Will said, his eyes wide as he tried to stymie the flow of blood from Rose’s blown-away side.

  “He saved your life.” Henry reached for his morphine, pulling out two syrett
es. He bit the tips off and spat. “Rose, I’m going to take the pain away, okay?” Leaning close, Henry pushed his ear close to Rose’s mouth, trying to listen to the trooper’s last words. He felt Will grab Rose's free hand, squeezing tight. Blood was soaking his jacket, and he could feel the sticky warmth seeping through, but he didn’t move.

  “Thanks, Doc,” Rose murmured, shaking. “You’re good,” he exhaled. A ragged inhale, trying to breathe, and Henry shoved the first syrette into Rose’s neck. He saw Rose go limp, saw the relief flash over his face. “Ah, thanks, Doc,” he mumbled again, letting his eyes slide closed.

  Henry slid the second syrette into Rose’s neck, blacking out the trooper and letting him drift on painless waves for his final moments. Beneath his hands, Rose went slack, and he exhaled his last breath in a long sigh.

  Leaning back on his heels, Henry avoided Will’s gaze. He could hear Will’s ragged breathing, his harsh pants, and then Will was firing on the Germans, bellowing his rage as he unloaded at the tanks, at the German soldiers, at the entire world that had just taken his man.

  The Germans were still assaulting, still firing, and Henry heard the cry of “Medic!” after only another moment. Scrambling, he hauled himself out of Will’s foxhole and ran off.

  This time, he looked back at Will before he jumped to his feet, but Will didn’t look at him.

  The next victim was in First Platoon--Reilly, one of the privates who had jumped with them all on D-Day. A veteran, not a replacement. He took a bullet through his shoulder, close to his neck, but he’d live. Henry poured sulfa in the wound and bandaged him up, and then was on to the next screaming foxhole. Next up, Second Platoon and McConnell, one of the replacements after D-Day but before Carentan. He had two bullets in his leg. They’d bounced off something and ricocheted into his hole. Henry tightened a tourniquet on his leg when he couldn’t stop the bleeding, slapping a bandage onto the wound and tying it down tight.