Finding You, Finding Me Page 9

  He waited, tense again, his body thrumming with expectant dread. What happened if there was a call from both platoons? He wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He just had to do what he could.

  All at once, the call rose, this time from Second Platoon’s side of the battlefield. Fear gripped him, pushing him to move faster than before. “Medic!” the throaty voice shouted, bellowing into the night. “Medic!”

  He ran, sliding through the snow and trying to dodge bullets blind. The firefight increased, and he had to drop to his stomach, crawling and scrambling the last ten feet as he headed for the guttural shouting and the continued scream for a medic. As he scrambled nearer, he exhaled, realizing he’d passed Will’s foxhole. It wasn’t Will, not this time.

  Falling face first into the foxhole, Henry rolled to Weaver’s and Edwards’s sides. Edwards was coughing up blood, choking on it as Weaver tried to press down on the two bullet holes in Edwards’s stomach. Henry ripped apart Edwards’s jacket, pushed up his shirt, and rubbed through the flowing blood, searching for the entry holes. He found them, burbling blood, and shouted for Weaver to press down. He had a bandage in one hand and the sulfa in the other, tearing it open with his teeth. Sprinkling the clotting powder onto the wound, he slapped the thick chest bandage onto Edwards’s stomach, pressing down hard, hard enough for Edwards to cough through his gurgling. Hauling Edwards up, Henry scrawled a “1” on his forehead in Edwards’s blood and then motioned for Weaver to help him heft Edwards out of the foxhole.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!” Henry shouted. “Back to the rear!” Like Doyle, they ran with Edwards suspended between them, hands under arms and knees. The troopers kept up a constant barrage of fire, and they ran without tripping this time. Henry cursed Joliet for leaving him alone overnight. He didn’t have a moment to spare, and it was Joliet’s job to call for the jeep ambulance. Protocol said Barr would call for the jeeps whenever they heard the cry for a medic, but in the havoc of battle, Henry couldn’t be sure Barr had heard or that he had been able to make the radio call. Joliet should have confirmed, damn him, but he hadn’t come back.

  Cursing, Henry lowered Edwards down to the snow-covered ground. Weaver knelt next to Edwards, holding him up and helping him cough out the blood in his mouth. “You’ll be fine, asshole,” Weaver was saying. “Doc got you in time. You’ll be fine.” Henry scrambled over the snow, racing for Barr’s hole.

  Crunching tires, sliding on snow and ice, made him freeze, and he tore back to Edwards’s side as the jeep—carrying Joliet—pulled up. The driver waited, huddled down on the side of the car, and shielded from the bullets as Joliet hopped out and grabbed Edwards’s legs. He and Henry pushed Edwards onto the stretcher on the hood, and Joliet headed for the jeep again.

  “The fuck?” Henry shouted. “Where are you going?”

  “Taking him to the aid station.” Joliet wouldn’t meet Henry’s eyes. He tossed his medic bag to Henry one-handed.

  “You’re going to leave me here?” Henry clutched Joliet’s medic bag, nearly empty like his own, in his hands. “You fucker!” He didn’t work well with Joliet, but he’d never thought his fellow medic was a coward. “Coward!” he shouted after the jeep, until his throat was raw, and he was screaming into the night, wordless shrieks as he kicked snow.

  He didn’t hear the footfalls running toward him until one of his men tackled him into the snow. He kicked, struggling, until Giordano’s cursing finally hit him. “Fucking hell,” Giordano spat, “calm the fuck down, Doc. You wanna be shot by the damn Germans?” Giordano was shaking him, finally calming him down, and the two lay on their sides in the snow.

  Henry rolled onto his back, breathing hard. He chucked Joliet’s medic bag into his foxhole.

  “The fuck was all that about?” Giordano lay on his back, too, taking a breather as he rested in the snow. The bullets had finally petered out, and the forest was black and dark once again.

  “Joliet,” Henry said, his voice raw. “He’s hiding in the aid station. Won’t come back on the line.”

  Silence from Giordano. “Mother fucker,” Giordano finally said. He sighed, and Henry could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “You got what you need to do this?”

  To do this. To take care of both platoons, including his lover and the closest friend he’d made in a long while. No, he didn’t think he had what he needed to do this, not at all. Still, he swallowed and forced himself to sit up slowly, resting on his elbows. “I’ll make it work,” he grunted.

  Giordano rolled up too, squatting low. His hand shot out, squeezing Henry’s shoulder, and Henry could see the flash of Giordano’s teeth in the darkness. “Glad you’re here and not ’im,” Giordano said. And without another word, he took off, running back to his foxhole on the line.

  Cursing, Henry slid into his hole. More dirt fell into his jacket, followed by snow, and his helmet was still cold, still pushing against his neck. Adrenaline and anger coursed through him, betrayal at being left alone by his fellow medic. He’d been lucky so far, they all had. Only one casualty in each firefight. That wouldn’t last; he knew it. And when they were really in the thick of things, what then?

  Henry closed his eyes, too angry to think about the rest. Exhaustion, however, claimed him, and he was asleep in moments.

  * * * * *

  Dawn brought more snow and more haze, closing their field of view down to just a foot. Henry could hear coughing, heavy and wet, from the line, and he rolled out into the freezing, soaked morning. Moving carefully, he walked the line, visiting each foxhole and talking to the men.

  Greeted warmly by First Platoon, they smiled as he poked his head into each hole. When had the change occurred, he wondered, staring at their smiles and their warm calls of “Doc!” They tugged him into their holes, and the guys told him about their aching, frigid nights. They handed him more of their rations, and he promised to hit up Barr for another hot meal of slop. Each man slapped him on the back and smiled at him as he headed off, waving and calling out for him to be careful.

  Joliet’s platoon was colder. He hit up Phillips first, telling him about how Joliet had left them all, hiding in the aid station. Phillips took the news with a stiff upper lip and a frozen face, glaring out at the Germans’ line with a deep frown. “Well, Giordano says you’re the best,” he finally said, squinting at Henry. “Guess we’ll see.”

  Henry moved on with barely a curt nod, heading for the squad leaders’ holes. Ramirez and Troy were hunkered down in their holes with the newest members of their squads, the replacements, and they’d let the veterans hole up together. The men greeted the news of Joliet’s departure with silence, turning their glares and their cursing to the Germans instead of to Henry.

  Finally, after seeing to the rest of the platoon and handing off the men’s K rations to Barr, Henry circled back to Will’s hole. Will was at the front, the very front, of the line, and he ran in a low crouch to get to him. Sliding in, Henry felt snow climb up his jacket as he slid in beside Will and Rose, one of the replacements.

  Rose cursed, whirling around, and Will barely managed to grab the barrel of Rose’s rifle before he pointed it at Henry’s face. Henry’s hands flew up, and Will shoved Rose back toward the line. “Point that at the Germans,” he said, frowning. “Keep an eye on the line. I’ve got the rear.” Rose nodded, trembling from the cold, and shivered back into his post overlooking the snow haze.

  Will turned to Henry, apologizing for his squad mate. Henry waved him off and used the cold as an excuse to get closer to Will, sitting right next to him. Will wrapped his arms around Henry immediately, rubbing his back, his arms, and Henry relaxed into his hold for the moment. “Long night,” Will murmured. “Did you get some rest?”

  “A bit.” Henry exhaled hard, still angry. “Joliet is gone.”

  “Gone?” Will froze.

  “He fucked off to the aid station, and he’s not coming back. Dumped his gear on me.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Changing the
subject, Henry scooted closer, trying to get warm. “What did Phillips want last night?”

  “He said when the weather clears up a bit we’re going to try to scout for the German line.”

  “A combat patrol?” Henry frowned, thinking of at least ten different ways that was a horrible idea.

  “Yeah.” Will stroked over his arms, not letting go. “Maybe go on the offensive a bit. Better than sitting and waiting.”

  “It’s a terrible idea,” Henry said. “You know how risky that is?”

  “It’s better than sitting here waiting for them to attack.” Will turned his head, pressing his cold nose into Henry’s ear.

  “If you guys get all chewed up, I don’t have the supplies to fix you.” Henry frowned, turning to Will. He glared at him. “You can’t go trying to get killed.”

  Will tried to smile. “I’m not trying to get killed,” he said. “We’re trying to keep the Germans back.”

  “Could you at least wait until I’ve got more supplies? I barely have any bandages left.” Henry felt his fear clawing at his throat, his desperation rising. Dread pooled inside him. Will couldn’t go on this patrol, not now. None of them could.

  “We won’t get an airdrop until the weather clears.” Will glanced at Rose and then leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Henry’s temple. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that,” Henry grunted, pushing away. He glared at Will and dusted himself off. Will frowned at him, a pleading, sorry look in his eyes.

  “It’s what we have to do,” Will said and sighed.

  Henry heaved himself out of the foxhole. He had to go, had to get away from Will before he did something stupid. He could feel the panic rising in him, the anger, the desperate need to get Will away from this mess. “Gonna go check on Barr,” he said, sliding into a crouch. “Everyone’s hungry.”

  He could feel Will’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look back as he moved off toward Barr’s hidden gully. He couldn’t smell a fire. That didn’t bode well for breakfast.

  Henry tried to breathe deep, tried to control his shaking. It wasn’t the cold that was getting to him. It was the thought of losing Will.

  He shook himself, pulling out of his dreary gloom as he slid down the embankment toward Barr. Barr was cursing, stirring in the K rations Henry had given him in an ammo box with some snow. It looked like sludge, and it was cold. But Barr held it up to Henry, and Henry dipped his finger in to try it. It was almost frozen. “No fire?”

  “No, fuckin’ wood is too wet.” Barr kicked at one of the sodden logs. “Cold food today.”

  It was better than no food. Some of the troopers didn’t have any K rations, and by sharing, everyone got something. “Wanna go give it out?”

  “Yeah, come with me.” Barr motioned for Henry to follow, and Henry shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged after Barr as they made their way down the line.

  Chapter Ten

  The dreary cold never lifted. It only got worse, even wetter as the snow seemed to envelope them in a thick haze of choking white. The men retreated to their holes, huddling together, and Henry burrowed into Joliet’s abandoned hole with the tarp cover. It barely helped, but at least the drizzle and the snowfall wasn’t coming down on top of him. He was still cold, bone cold, and he shivered uncontrollably.

  Sometime in the afternoon, Giordano’s voice called out through the fog. “Doc? Doc, where you at?”

  Henry poked his head out over the tarp, squinting through the falling snow, and tried to call out for Giordano. “He-here,” he shuddered, trying to speak through chattering teeth.

  Giordano shuffled toward him, trying to run in the snowdrifts. “Jesus,” he cursed, sliding down into the tarp-covered hole. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. Why you always gotta be alone, huh?” He grabbed Henry, pulling him close, and wrapped his arms around Henry’s body, rubbing up and down his frigid arms. “The rest of the guys are all in their holes with their battle buddies, or with a whole group. We got the two replacement privates in our hole since it’s so damn cold. Everyone’s trying to share heat but you? Nah, you don’t need nobody.” Giordano snorted but pulled Henry against him tighter. “Why you gotta be stubborn?”

  Henry shook his head and then buried it in Giordano’s chest. “Joliet was supposed to be here,” he chattered.

  Grunting, Giordano nodded. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that. But he’s not here. You should go find a hole to bunk down in. Any of the guys would take you in. You’re a warm body.”

  “You really think they'd take me?” he finally asked.

  “I know they would.” Giordano kept trying to warm Henry up, rubbing at his arms. He wrapped his legs around Henry, pulling him even closer. It was almost as close as he’d ever been with Will. “And Rollins would take you in in a heartbeat.”

  Henry shook his head. “Second Platoon doesn’t know ’bout him,” he chattered. He ignored Giordano’s smirk. “I don’t want to cause problems for him.”

  “So you’ll freeze out here instead? Jesus.” Giordano snorted and shook his head. “Weird priorities you got there. You think Rollins will be happy to hear about what you’re doing?”

  “Can’t distract him.” Henry would never forgive himself if he distracted Will from the Germans, or if being with Will in his hole somehow led to Will’s injury. Best to keep his distance, no matter how much he craved Will and wanted to run to him.

  A heavy sigh came from Giordano. “Well, then get your butt to my hole. It’s a hell of a lot warmer there.” He shook Henry. “Okay?”

  Henry nodded, his teeth still chattering. “Yeah, okay,” he grunted. “Lead the way.”

  They stumbled through the snow, already another foot deep, and clambered back toward Giordano’s hole. It wasn’t too far off the center, but it was further from Will than Henry was comfortable being, and he told himself it was just for the night. Just through the storm. He’d be back in his hole, as close as he dared be, for both good and bad, as soon as he could move again.

  Giordano went headfirst into his foxhole, sliding up to Gillen and two of the replacement privates. Henry followed and four smiles greeted him. They opened their blanket to Henry, and he slid into the center after Giordano fussed and pushed the privates around, making room for their cold bodies in the center of the pile of heat. Hands rubbed over his arms, trying to warm him up, and for the first time since Paris, Henry felt a part of himself relax. Giordano was telling stories, the privates were laughing under their breath, and Gillen was arguing good-naturedly with the platoon sergeant. It was enough, between the warmth and the acceptance, for Henry to fall asleep on Giordano’s shoulder.

  * * * * *

  When he woke, the hole was empty.

  Scrambling, Henry crawled out on his belly, his medic bag slung around his shoulders, and listened. The snow haze was still there, but less thick, and the blizzard had stopped. He still couldn’t see out into the meadow, and couldn’t see the German lines worth a damn, but he could see the holes around him.

  They were empty.

  He ran, tearing back toward the center of their line. It was morning again. Christ, how long had he slept? Stumbling over a covered tree branch, Henry fell face-first into the snow. He scrabbled for his feet, pushing himself forward, and saw shadows just ahead.

  Laughter reached him first, and he started to breathe again. He saw Barr scooping out slop to the troopers and countering their complaints with curses of his own.

  Then, he saw Giordano, studying a map and frowning, and he felt the bottom drop out of his world.

  Frantic, Henry searched the faces of the troopers. Phillips, Will, Rose, Hughler, Anderson. Anyone, anyone he knew from Will’s platoon. He couldn’t find them.

  Running through the snow, Henry nearly bowled Giordano over as he slipped into some powder. Giordano cursed, grabbing his arms to steady him, and growled, “What the hell is your problem, Doc?”

  “Did they go?” Henry grasped Giordano’s arms,
frantic. “Did they already go on that patrol?”

  A small sigh came from Giordano. “Yeah, they did,” he said softly, “and it was supposed to be a secret patrol. So keep your voice down, all right?”

  “They went without a medic!” Henry hissed, grasping Giordano’s jacket in both hands. “They went without me!”

  “Damn right they did!” Giordano shook Henry’s hands off. “’Cause if you get hurt, we’re all fucked. If we lose one of them, even more of them, we can still make it.”

  “I can’t!” Henry hissed again, through gritted teeth. “I can’t!” He was talking about Will, yes, but he was also talking about the others with him. How could he let so many go, so many walk into potential danger, into harm’s way, without someone there to help them, to heal them? His conscience couldn’t let him.

  And his heart refused to consider the possibility of Will being hurt, or worse. He could feel his heart beating, bursting, flying apart in his chest.

  Giordano sighed and reached for Henry, both hands on Henry’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But this is how it goes.” And with that, he moved off.

  Breathing deep, Henry stood in the snowbank, trying to gather his thoughts. His heart was telling him to run, his mind was screaming at him to do something, to save them all, and his body was wearily trying to gather strength. He saw the soldiers laughing together softly, eating their slop.

  His eyes drifted to footprints in the snow leading away from their line, winding through the trees. A small patrol, scouting.

  He took off.

  * * * * *

  Henry moved silently, ducking from tree to tree, tracing the boot prints of the patrol. He couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them, and his only guide was the boot prints he followed. He was well far from the line now, and he’d be lost if he lost the prints. He kept his eyes glued to the trail, dashing from cover to cover, and crept up on the patrol.

  Fog blurred his vision, and he could only see six feet in front of him. This was clearer than the day before, but only just. Damn Will. Damn Phillips. Trying to die, and take others with them. He cursed Will in his mind as he followed his prints, feeling his heart hammer in his chest.