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Back home in Virginia, when a little luck and a working rifle sometimes were the difference between dinner and going to bed hungry, Shifty's pop had ingrained in him the importance of taking care of one's rifle. With training completed, everything prepared, and nothing to occupy him during the twenty-four hour stand-down, Shifty sits outside his tent and disassembles his M-1 onto a blanket as the sun sets over the British hills.

As he works over the trigger casing with a rag a pair of jumpboots stops in front of him. "You couldn't focus on the movie none neither?" Popeye asks, plopping down to sit next to Shifty in the grass.

"Naw," Shifty shakes his head. "Dad always sat on the porch and cleaned his hunting rifles when he got to thinking too loud. I know my chute's packed fine but I figured going over my rifle once more can't hurt. Sure don't want it jamming up on me tomorrow."

"Way you shoot that thing half the Krauts'll be dead before you even hit ground."

"Maybe." There is an audible click as the casing slides back in place and his attention shifts to ensuring the hammer can move smoothly. He knows he's a good shot, but he's tired of the others talking like he's so much better. "There's plenty of squirrels back home that I've missed. I don't hit everything."

Popeye tugs at the grass, idly pulling up blade after blade. "Bet those hills are full of squirrels don't know how lucky they are you can't get at 'em," Popeye nods toward the rolling country, currently bathed in red from the setting sun. "Wish we could go out there right now. Give us something to do."

Shifty looks up, noticing how much nervous energy Popeye is radiating. "Guess people are pretty antsy tonight, huh?"

"Yeah. Walking over here I passed a game of football, two craps games and a wrestling match. No one wants to really think." Shifty understand all too well. The stand-down had taken troopers, previously busy with non-stop preparations, and given them twenty-four hours with nothing to do but think that for the first time they would fall from the sky and try to shoot strangers before getting shot themselves.

As Shifty assembles the final pieces of his rifle Popeye looks up and nods to the man passing by. "Hey there, Sergeant Lipton."

"Hey boys. Either of you seen Sergeant Guarnere anywhere?"

"He was out behind the latrines a bit ago. Looked hoping mad 'bout something so I didn't want to bother him none."

"Thanks, Popeye."

"Sho thing, Lip," Popeye nods and Shifty watches his fingers twine around even more helpless blades of grass. As the sergeant turns to leave Popeye calls out quietly, "Hey Lip, you nervous?"

Lipton turns back and squats down in front of the boys from Virginia. Shifty focuses intently on an invisible speck of dirt on the barrel but all his attention is on Lipton's answer. "A little. But the way I see it, those Krauts didn't spend months double-timing Currahee, and they've gotten lazy sitting there eating French cheese. Army's done everything they can to make us ready and now it's our turn to show the world what it means to be a paratrooper. When we land they aren't going to know what hit 'em."

"Right Sergeant!" Popeye grins. "We're gonna give 'em a night to remember."

Lipton smiles, shaking his head a bit. "You doing okay there Shifty?"

Shifty lifts the rifle up, props it to his shoulder and squints at the sight, pointing towards the far off hills. Satisfied with the balance, he looks at Lipton. "I am now."

"You boys stay out of trouble tonight. I'm gonna go try to find Bill."

Shifty carries his M-1 and cleaning equipment inside, carefully stowing it under his cot and comes back out where Popeye is waiting.

"Wanna go see if the mess tent has any of that ice cream left?"

Halfway there they hear a commotion and see several troopers running towards it. Beckoning to Shifty, Popeye takes off towards the noise.

There's a crowd gathered so big Shifty can't see what's in the middle but he can hear shouts and the unmistakable thud of a landed punch. Popeye taps the shoulder of a trooper bouncing on his toes near the back. "Hey Ma-lark, what's going on over there?" he calls out.

Malarkey turns, grinning. "Gonorrhea and Liebgott are fighting again. Bill shouted something as he walked by Joe's tent and Joe flew out, fists swinging!"

"My money's on Lieb. He's got a longer reach -- if he can just keep Bill at a distance," Muck announces, turning away from the crowd.

Malarkey grabs the cigarette behind Skip's ear, batting away Skip's feeble attempt to steal it back. "I think you're wrong there, Skip. I saw Bill stalking around earlier looking ready to kill anyone. Too bad we didn't jump tonight -- one look at him and the entire German army'd surrender." He turns around at sudden loud shouts from the crowd. "What happened?"

"Toye tried to stop them and Bill punched him in the gut," Penkala announces, standing on his toes to see over the heads. Malarkey bounces a bit, trying to see the action. Shifty stuffs his hands into his pockets and kicks at a rock in the ground. There'll be fighting soon enough -- he doesn't need more now.

"Alright. Move out of the way, boys. Break it up!" come shouts from behind and Shifty is relieved to see Buck Compton charge forward. The gathered troopers part before him to reveal two men in O.D.s -- the taller, skinnier one with his arms wrapped around the shorter one, who is kicking blindly backwards. As Buck nears one of Bill's kicks collides with Joe's shin and they both fall to the ground. Buck reaches down and grabs Bill's collar, pulling him off Joe and Lipton arrives to hold back Liebgott.

Buck gives Bill a little shake. "What the hell you doing, Bill? You two get yourselves hurt and can't jump tomorrow and I'll personally throw you out of the planes without parachutes. Save it for the Germans, goddamnit!"

Both men glare at each other a minute before Liebgott spits at Bill's feet and stalks back into his tent. Bill struggles in Buck's grasp but to Shifty he looks unsure whether he actually wants to break free. Lipton takes Bill's arm and as they walk past Shifty can just catch Lipton saying something about Father Maloney.

"Whaddya think got into Bill?" Popeye wonders.

Shifty shrugs, "Reckon he just got himself wound up and ready to jump and needed some way to burn off that energy. Dunno why Lip thinks Father Maloney would help." Shifty had gone to Maloney's service before the jump was called off. He isn't Catholic, but he figured extra praying couldn't hurt anything.

"What are we supposed to do tonight?" Malarkey wonders around Skip's cigarette. "We got everything ready yesterday, we can't go out to the pub, and I'm sure not sleeping anytime soon."

"I'm gonna go write Faye."

"Aw, Skip, you already wrote her twice today and three times yesterday!"

"See, Penk, that's why I have a girl and you don't. I remember to write mine. Anyway, don't want her forgetting about me while we're in France."

"You really think she isn't on the banks of the Niagara right now with some 4-F?" Malarkey asks, grinning at Skip. "Probably in that same spot you always talk about taking her -- with some picnic lunch they've forgotten to eat because they're kissing too much?" He ducks the first punch Muck throws at him but can't avoid the full tackle. The two wrestle on the ground a minute until Skip has Malarkey pinned. "Okay, okay, I give, I give! I'm sure Faye is pining for you right now. Go write her already."

Popeye nudges Shifty in the ribs. "C'mon, lets go see if that ice cream still exists."

Penkala and Malarkey follow them to the mess tent which sadly lacks ice cream. They grab hot cups of coffee and join Tipper, Perconte and Luz at a nearby table.

"C'mon, Luz, you can't be serious."

"Certainly am, Frank. If I'm lying, may I never see another pretty girl again."

"Wouldn't matter, none of them look at you anyway."

Malarkey squeezes in between Perconte and Luz. "What tall tale is he telling tonight?"

"Bozo claims he once caught a shark -- just fishing off the pier in Rhode Island."

Penkala looks skeptically at Luz, "How big? Wouldn't it just bite through your line?"

Luz grins a minute and lights a new cigarette. Then he carefully holds up his hands about eight inches apart, wincing when Frank punches him in the arm. Shifty can't help but smile into his coffee at the story.

"What about you, Shifty?" Tipper asks. "You must have all sorts of exciting hunting stories."

"Well, I dunno," Shifty fidgets with his coffee cup. "We was mostly just hunting for whatever Ma could put on the table. Weren't too many scary animals left -- Pop said when he was a kid you'd see bear sometime, but I never did."

"C'mon, Shift, you gotta have something. It's a long night to spend just on fish stories."

"Well. We had a lot o' hunting dogs but the best was this big ole coon dog named Red. Always seemed to find something when we let his nose lead us. Protected my brother and me like we was puppies. This one time Cody threw a rock at a badger and the thing charged us -- they can be real fierce -- and Red just jumped in front of it and wrestled it down. He got pretty scratched up but Ma cooked badger that night."

"And now he's probably stretched out on your porch back home and you gotta go hunting without him, huh?"

Shifty shakes his head quietly. "He got shot -- first time we took my brother out hunting. Had to put him down"

There's a long silence and then an awkward cough from Perconte. Luz manages to start a conversation up again but Shifty isn't interested. After a while he exuses himself and heads back to his tent. Walking back he can practically hear the camp buzzing with nervous energy and the troopers trying to ignore it. He tries hard to block it -- pretend tomorrow is just another hunt. Worrying now isn't going to make it any different.

****

Smokey pushes Alley into the plane ahead of him and starts climbing the ladder himself, thankful to Burgess pushing him from behind. He sits next to Alley near the door and they arrange the pieces of their machine gun -- Smokey has the gun itself and Alley the stand -- so other troopers won't trip over it. Across the aisle is a sea of black-painted faces, all with the same vacant expression lost halfway between excitement and fear.

Smokey had gotten airsick the first, second, and third time he'd ever flown in a plane -- the first three jumps they'd done at Fort Benning. By the fourth trip there was nothing left to come up but he still felt his stomach trying to heave. So when Meehan had come by to wish them luck, with Doc Roe tailing him and passing out airsickness pills, Alley had turned and grinned at him, "Too bad they didn't have these for you a year ago."

He'd been inclined to agree then, but now he isn't so sure. He could swear his head is floating three feet above his neck and he is beginning to worry the pills will leave him disoriented on the ground.

The engines start up -- sending a roaring vibration through the plane and making Smokey's teeth chatter. Soon they speed down the runway and Smokey feels the now-familiar stomach-dropping sensation of take off. As the plane circles around to join the formation and head towards France, Smokey succumbs to the pills, closes his eyes, and lets his mind wander.

He meets his buddies in a diner on one of those rare Mississippi February nights where the cold makes everything feel brittle enough to snap in two. Most of them have already enlisted and are counting the weeks or months until they head out for boot camp -- Phil to fly for the Air Force, Dusty and James for the Navy, and Danny is using three years of pre-med schooling to join the Army Medical Corps. But Smokey has so far encountered rejections at every attempt.

He manages to choke back his news through a burger and fries but when the milkshakes arrive he can't hold it in anymore. Idly drawing a parachute into the frost on the window he asks, "You guys ever hear of the paratroops?"

James looks at him. "Yeah. They're the crazy people the army is convincing to jump out of airplanes."

"I saw an article about them," Dusty adds, punctuating his words with a fry. "they get an extra $50 a month."

James scoffs, "Take more than that to convince me. What kind of fool would do that? It's tantamount to suicide."

Smokey just smiles and leans back in the booth, arms behind his head.

Phil looks up from his shake and his eyes widen. "You?"

Smokey nods, grinning at the shocked looks all around.

James can't restrain a laugh. "The Navy and Marines wouldn't take you but the airborne will? They don't care if you can't tell red from green?"

"Well…" says Smokey, playing with the salt packets, "I weaseled my way around that part."

"Didn't you not even try the Air Force cause you were afraid of flying?"

"Did you tell them how you can barely walk down the street without tripping over your own feet?"

"You know you won't be able to carry your poetry books into combat with you, right?"

He's endured this ribbing since the Marines first rejected him and his patience has worn thin. "Look, they accepted me and I can do it. I'll show you -- while you're stuck in the hold of some damp ship I'll be jumping from the sky and fighting with the best."

Danny speaks up for the first time, "We know you can do it, Walt. Just take care of yourself and write lots of poems to share with us when we all get back."

In Toccoa, Sobel seemed so determined to prove his friends right he almost wondered if they'd written him. Everything Smokey did was wrong -- from folding the corners in his sheets to cleaning his M-1 to jumping from practice platforms. He was sent up Currahee alone more often than any other trooper. He still isn't sure how he squeaked by, but knows no small part is due to the other guys.

Now, in the air over the English Channel he begins to doubt. Maybe he shouldn't have made it through Toccoa. Maybe his friends were right and he doesn't have what it takes for this.

When the first flak hits and the plane veers sharply Smokey's eyes snap open and Alley grabs his webbing when he almost falls off the bench. He shoots a nervous smile to Alley who shakes his head at him and shouts, "I was wondering when you'd wake up. You must sleep through anything."

"I think it's those damn airsick pills," Smokey shouts back, shaking his head as though it'll make the cotton fall out his ears.

The plane makes a sudden turn to the right and picks up speed as flak audibly bounces off the belly. "Jesus!" Alley shouts. "Can we get outta this death trap already?"

Smokey looks to their jumpmaster who is tapping a nervous rhythm onto the butt of his M-1. He's a new lieutenant who began assisting third platoon only a few weeks ago and they have yet to get a real feel for him. But he seems good enough and Smokey figures it doesn't matter much since anyone -- well, almost anyone, he hears James prod -- can tell when a light turns green. And once a trooper hits the ground he's on his own.

The call of "Stand up! Hook up!" can barely be heard over the din and Smokey joins the other troopers in stumbling and falling over each other as they attach the ripcords of their chutes to the static line above. He feels Alley behind him tugging at the straps around him and a minute later there is tap on his shoulder and he can just make out a "Six okay!"

Burgess's straps ahead of him are fine so he taps the man on the shoulder, shouting "Five okay!" as loud as he can. He catches a glimpse out the door and the ground looks too close and like it's going by too quickly. Another round of flak bounces them and he's falling, hanging mostly from the static line before Alley shoves him back up. Suddenly all he wants is off the plane. A wave of panic starts in his toes, working it's way slowly up and he's thankful for the press of bodies holding him upright. He doesn't want to die. And more than that, he doesn't want to die in this flying tin can.

Just as he feels his nerves about to collapse the light shining on the lieutenant's helmet changes and he follows the four men in front of him into the sky over France.

****

The shock from the prop blast takes Talbert's breath away and by the time he pulls air back into his lungs his leg bag is long gone, plummeting through tracer-laden skies to the darkness below. He'd been a little disappointed when the box Vest handed him yesterday didn't contain condoms but now, with his M-1 disappeared in that bag somewhere, he pats the side-arm gratefully, reassuring himself it's still there. He's likely to find a Kraut to use the six-shooter on long before he finds any French girls and time to spare.

A burst illuminates the ground below him and he sees a trooper hit the ground and keep going until just a parachute floats on what must be water. "Shit," he mumbles, frantically searching for a high point to the flooded fields, pulling hard on his risers in a desperate attempt to slow down and steer. Looking ahead briefly he actually sees the Normandy coast and wonders if all the guys got out of the plane before it got over the ocean. Then he realizes just how far he must be from the drop zone.

The ground, or murky water, or whatever it is, comes up fast and Tab takes a deep breath which he almost loses as his boots hit the icy water. Just as his head submerges his feet hit something solid, sending a jolt up his spine. He fights through a maze of rope, reaches his jump knife, and cuts himself free. Struggling to the surface, he manages one gasp of air before he sinks again, tangled in the cord and sodden parachute pulling him down.

Frantic now, with the taste of cold muddy water filling his mouth and pushing into his nose, Tab struggles, clawing at the ropes and his gear weighing him down. Just as he's sure he's going to drown before he gets a chance to fight it falls away and he kicks up to take a sweet breath of air. He picks a random direction, aiming for what looks to be the closest trees and starts half swimming, half kicking off the bottom.

At one point a flare is fired and he sinks so only his nose and eyes are above water, sure any movement will catch attention. He sees another trooper 20 yards away still moving and a machine gun opens up. There's the smallest of startled gurgles and the trooper disappears below the surface and never comes up.

Talbert sits there, feeling the cold creep into his bones long after the light slowly fades. Every nerve in his body is stretched taut -- feeling ghostly hands reach for him through the water - and he clenches every muscle to keep from jerking and drawing German fire.

In his head he can hear an old man chuckle and whisper, "What have you gotten yourself into now, Floyd?"

If he's been good his mother lets him go to the VFW post down the road on Sunday afternoons. Floyd loves to sit and listen to the stories and especially to hold all the souvenirs brought back from the Phillipines or the trenches of Europe. He likes Old Shep best. Shep has done it all and has a story for everything.

On the leave after getting their jumpwings -- his last trip home -- Tab walks into the post Sunday afternoon in his Class A's with newly sewn sergeants stripes on his sleeve and shiny jump wings on his breast. They greet him with smiles, pats on the back and, for the first time, mugs of beer. Then they pile him under with well wishes and advice -- how to act, what to do on leave, where to find the best souvenirs.

When it's time to leave Shep meets him at the door and grabs his sleeve. Shep has been unusually quiet all afternoon, sitting in the shadows. Now he leans forwards and whispers in Tab's ear before backing up and throwing Tab a salute. He'll never forget that face -- mouth grim and watery good eye with the glass one skewed slightly off center, arthritic hand shaking slightly as it presses against the lined forehead.

The flare is long gone and he's starting to tremble -- a condition he convinces himself is entirely due to cold. He finds his legs, stretches his arms, and strikes out again to dry land.

The bushes provide small shelter and he lies gasping, thinking this must be how drowned rats feel when he hears footsteps approaching. He pulls out the six-shooter and silently curses at the small river that runs from the barrel. His hand is halfway to his jumpknife when he remembers he dropped it in the water somewhere and he freezes as the footsteps stop.

A rifle barrel points into the bushes and a voice Talbert has never been happier to hear whispers, "Flash?"

"Thunder!" Talbert says, a little too loud, startling the other trooper, "Shifty, it's me, Tab!"

"Ssshhhh!" Shifty holds a finger in front of smiling lips. "You want all of France to know you're here?"

"Sorry. Guess I'm just excited to see someone else from our plane. You seen anyone else?"

"Coupla' guys floating facedown over there," Shifty points back the direction he came. "Didn't check to see who they were. Otherwise, no one till you. I was lucky -- landed just at the edge, only got my boots wet."

Talbert nods. "Any idea where we are?"

"Well, I hope this is France. But I don't think we're anywhere near the drop zone."

"Okay," Talbert takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's the sergeant here. "Let's try to find some landmarks and figure out where we are."

*****

"Always has to be me," Smokey mutters to himself, kicking at a branch in disgust. He'd tried cutting himself free but dropped his knife by the third cord so all that was left was to hang from the tree and hope a paratrooper found him before the krauts did. His leg bag taunts him from the safety of the ground and he kicks again, only succeeding in making himself spin in a slow circle.

Approaching footsteps make him freeze and play dead and his heart pounds so loudly in his ears he is sure they can hear it in Berlin. Two pairs of steps approach, one barely audible, the other squelching slightly as though the boots are full of water. They stop below and in the barest patch of moonlight Smokey can make out American uniforms and calls out "Don't shoot! I mean, flash!"

One of them jumps a bit and they both look up. "That you Smokey?"

"Tab! Sure is. Can you get me down here?"

Smokey can see Talbert confer with the other trooper, who hands him a knife and Talbert turns to the tree.

"Okay, Smokey," he whispers up. "You just hang tight. Shifty's gonna play guard and I'll climb up and cut you out."

Smokey watches the top of Tab's helmet as he circles the tree, picking the best route up. He grabs a low branch, swings himself up, and is reaching for the next one when Shifty whispers urgently, "Tab! Don't move."

Shifty holds his hand up slightly, while silently bringing his M-1 up to his shoulder. Beneath him Talbert freezes and Smokey practically stops breathing and starts reciting "Ohgod ohgod ohgod" over and over in his head.

Slowly and silently Shifty raises his rifle and sights down the barrel towards the tree line. He stands still as a statue for what seems like an eternity. Then, as a burst of machine gun fire burps nearby there is a single muzzle flash from Shifty's rifle and a bang at once loud enough to ring in Smokey's ears and yet quiet enough to be eaten by the sounds of the night.

They wait minutes longer before Shifty quietly nods his head and lowers his rifle. Talbert scampers up the tree and comes level to Smokey's face. "Okay Smokey, hold onto that branch and I'll figure these ropes out."

One by one the ropes twang and yield to Shifty's jump knife. When the few remaining ropes can't hold his weight, gravity takes over and Smokey slips down, losing his grip on the branch overhead. He tumbles, grabbing at branches which slow but don't stop his fall and hits the ground hard. At least he doesn't break his legs. Sobel would be proud. Talbert shimmies down to land lightly next to him as Smokey opens up his leg bag.

"See you ain't got a rifle, Sarge," he comments, handing Tab an M-1. "Want this one?"

"Thanks, Smokey. But aren't you a machine gunner? What do you have this for?"

Smokey shrugs, rounding up rations, extra ammo and spare socks. "Alley found a couple. Figured a spare couldn't hurt. What happened to yours anyway?"

"Was in my leg bag. Lost everything in it when it snapped from the chute. Hey Shifty -- didn't you lose your bag too? How'd you keep your rifle?

"Wasn't gonna trust my rifle to no leg bag," Shifty smiles. Smokey looks up and sees Shifty shuffling his feet, looking agitated. "You guys stay here, I gotta check on something."

"No problem, Shifty," Smokey says, standing up. "Take whatever you need Tab. I sure can't carry all of it." As Tab rummages, Smokey hefts the machine gun onto his shoulder, wondering how long he'll be carrying it tonight.

*****

Shifty leaves Talbert and Smokey hunting through Smokey's leg bag and walks towards the bushes where he was sure he'd seen -- and shot -- the German. Inside he's praying over and over that it wasn't a paratrooper, or even that it wasn't anyone at all and he won't find a body. His shoulder has the familiar ache from bracing against the butt of a rifle and in his mind's eye he sees over and over the helmet silhouetted in the moonlight slowly fall over.

He parts the bushes with his rifle to reveal a German soldier lying face up, staring blindly at the stars overhead. He looks into the soldier's eyes and shivers.

Early August the summer he is thirteen his dad promises a special hunting trip so Shifty can try for his first Buck. But Cody has been on their cases all week to take him with -- arguing that Shifty got to hunt when he was eight and it isn't fair until Pop finally relents.

Shifty sets out that morning seething that the special trip has now been usurped as Cody's first hunting trip -- rabbits instead of deer and bratty little brothers instead of just him, Dad, and the woods. He is sure Cody will be too loud, too poor a shot, too excitable and too annoying and they'll come back with nothing but frayed nerves. So they set out with Pop and Cody walking ahead and Shifty trailing behind dragging all the stormclouds a thirteen year old can muster. Red kept runs back and forth, urging Shifty to join the others but he won't give that easily.

When they get close to a warren, Cody miraculously quiets down and lets Red stalk in to scare up the rabbits. He starts firing wildly the second there is furry movement and Shifty, in desperation that his brother will get game and he won't, starts too. In his anger he doesn't take time to aim, but just shoots at the nest.

After a minute the worst howl in the world started up and they rushed forward to find Red with a shotgun blast to the ribs. Prey forgotten, they carry the dog home and lay him in the shade. Back in the house Cody runs to his room, sobbing uncontrollably. Pop pulls out his pistol and carefully loads a single shot.

Feeling panic, Shifty drags on his pop's arm, "You're not gonna use that on Red, are ya? He'll be okay, right?"

Pop just looks at Shifty with ancient eyes and shakes his head. Shifty looks at him, fighting the urge to kick, to scream, to run off crying like Cody, and instead holds out his hand and says quietly, "Let me do it."

He'll never know, but some voice inside him whispers that it is his fault, his shot that hit Red and his job to end it. And somehow, Pop knows. So Shifty goes out, gun heavier in his hand than anything he's ever carried.

He finds Red on his side in the shade and can just see his lungs pumping furiously through the hole in his ribs. The dog looks at the gun in his hand with knowing eyes, and turns away to slowly, painfully, drag himself towards the undergrowth.

Shifty can't do it. He puts the gun down and sits next to Red, stroking his head and talking to him until, just after sundown, Red looks at him with forgiving eyes, places his head in Shifty's lap, and shudders out his last breath. Red's body cools disturbingly fast but his eyes never close, however many times Shifty tries to shove the lids shut. Even as he, dad and Cody shovel dirt over him, Red keeps staring out with blank, lifeless orbs.

"Hey Shifty, what'd you find?" Smokey comes up behind him. Seeing the neat hole in the soldier's forehead he clamps Shifty on the back. "Oh, wow, nice shot!"

"Yeah. Guess so."

Tab eagerly squats down and rifles through the soldier's pockets, taking something shiny from one of them. "C'mon, Shifty, don't you want some souvenirs to show off?" Shifty just shakes his head. He knows if he touches the body it will be stiff and unnaturally cold. He can't tear his gaze from the soldier's eyes -- as lifeless as Red's had been but instead of a shadow of forgiveness and peace they only betray surprise.

A shiver runs up his spine when Smokey puts a warm hand on his shoulder. "Hey Shifty, you okay?"

"Just never shot someone before. Didn't think it would be so…easy is all."

Talbert stands up next to him. "He would have killed all of us if you hadn't. C'mon, Smokey saw a sign back there says Ste Martin-de-Varreville. Do you remember that name from the maps?"

Shifty shakes his head, still looking at the soldier's eyes. They all freeze and crouch down at the sound of approaching footsteps and voices.

"Whaddya see Shift?" Talbert whispers in his ear.

Shifty squints at the approaching figures. Once he makes out the familiar American helmets, with hearts on them rather than the spades of the 506th, he calls out "flash" and is gratified to hear a reply of "thunder."

Five troopers step through the bushes and they shake hands with the strangers also wearing screaming eagles on their shoulders.

One of the five, a lieutenant asks them "Which company you with?"

"E company, 506th"

"506th?" the lieutenant shakes his head. "Did they ever drop you guys in the wrong place. This is the 502nd's drop zone. No matter, why don't you come work with us until you can find your unit? We can use all the men we can find."

*****

The 502nn had been ordered to clear a battery at Ste Martin-de-Varreville but when they arrived, they found the battery long gone and town emptied of Germans. Joyous French men and women -- most still in nightclothes -- welcomed the paratroopers with food, wine and glowing smiles. The French women were pretty and Talbert briefly hoped they might stay awhile, but the third battalion commander rounded them up to go secure two of the northern causeways to Utah beach.

The commander, Lt. Col. Cole, took half the men to one causeway and sent the other half, including the refugees from the 506th, with the H company commander to secure the one further north. Their causeway was captured with only mild resistance, and none in the area Talbert was sent to. Now he lies on his belly in the French dirt and wonders when he'll finally get to fire his M-1. Rumors of fiercer fighting, and even a bayonet charge, at the other causeway do nothing to soothe his restlessness. To his right Smokey is starting to look sleepy behind his machine gun and on his left Shifty is reserved and calm as ever but Talbert feels ready to squirm right out of his boots.

It is a welcome relief when the lieutenant they'd met earlier comes by. "French resistance says there's two Howitzers a few fields over with a clear shot to the beach. Captain Higgins wants me and Lt. Baker to take a patrol to check it out and neutralize whatever we find. You boys wanna come along?" Talbert is on his feet, M-1 over his shoulder before the lieutenant finishes talking. Shifty rises too, and Smokey only a split second slower.

After striping themselves of any extra gear, the twelve men sneak through the hedgerows in the grey, predawn light. Smokey and another machine gunner are left slightly behind to offer covering fire. Soon he can hear the booms of the Howitzers ahead and wonders what they're firing at until an answering, unmistakably U.S. Navy, shell screams overhead. With a thrill that raises every hair on his body Talbert realizes the invasion has truly started.

A frantic motion from the lieutenant sends all the men onto their bellies and Talbert peers through the undergrowth, just barely able to make out German soldiers moving in the bushes. The guns must have been moved in recently because the Germans have yet to build adequate cover. Talbert, Shifty and 3 other privates follow Lt. Baker towards the left of the guns in an agonizingly slow belly crawl while the rest head to the right.

Lt. Baker signals for grenades and they all count down and throw at the clump of Germans together. The series of concussive explosions and screams that follow evelope Tab and for a minute he loses himself in the chaos. He joins the rest in shooting towards the Krauts who are returning fire from meager cover behind the guns. Pausing to reload his magazine, Talbert looks down to see the lieutenant raise a shaky, blood-covered hand towards his face. The front of his shirt is quickly becoming drenched with blood.

Talbert mutters "Oh, shit," and drops his M-1, fumbling at the aid kit in his belt for the biggest bandage he can find. "I got you lieutenant. You're gonna be okay."

The lieutenant's face is pale behind his warpaint and his fingers leave a smear of red on his cheek. As Talbert clumsily rips open his shirt and slaps a bandage on the erupting wound, wondering how the hell he's supposed to tie it off, the Lieutenant grabs his arm. "Don't worry about me. Make sure we get the gun," he gasps.

"Sarge!" Talbert looks into the wide of eyes of a private whose name he doesn't know. The soldier's eyes only widen when he sees the lieutenant. "What are we gonna do?"

Talbert closes his eyes, frantically trying to think between the bullets whizzing past his ears and bile rising in his throat. When he opens them again the entire clearing looks different -- lain out like a game board and suddenly he has to tell the pieces how to move. "Alright. You," he points to the soldier looking down at him who looks ready to throw up, "hold this bandage here good and tight. Keep talking to him."

"You two attack from there, Shifty and I will go from over here," he tells the other two. "Remember, the boys on the beach are depending on us to neutralize that gun."

Shifty follows him through the brush and they both fire off shots at German helmets ahead. As they get closer the firing dies down and they reach the gun to find only dead and dying Germans. "Okay, Shifty, help me find something to blow the gun with."

They stuff the gun with a few potato mashers and one of the other soldiers hands him some TNT. As they're getting ready to light it, Talbert sees fabric sticking from a German pack and reaches down to pull out a fully camouflaged German poncho. His own poncho was lost with his leg bag and he happily bundles up his first souvenir before diving for cover as the gun is blown.

The lieutenant is still hanging on and they carefully carry him back to where the machine gunners are waiting to cover their retreat. Flush with his first combat and actual proof that he does deserve the stripes on his sleeve, is capable of leading men in combat, Talbert begins to feel like he is walking on air, invincible.

****

Smokey keeps his gun pointed on the clearing long after the sound of distant shots fade. As far as he is from the action, his stomach is still one mass of butterflies. A group of soldiers emerges from the bushes, carrying a man with a bandage tied around his middle. Smokey is mildly ashamed at the relief he feels seeing Talbert and Shifty walking strongly among the men. Seconds later the Captain's squad, bringing wounded of their own, appears and Talbert and Shifty volunteer to stay with Smokey and cover the backs of the men from the 502nd.

Smokey turns to Talbert, "What was it like?"

Talbert grins at him, "It was loud. But if all the Krauts are that easy to defeat, we'll be dancing in Berlin by Christmas. Plus, I got me this Kraut poncho." He proudly displays it to Smokey who gives an appropriately admiring whistle.

"Hey Tab," Smokey asks. "Think we can see Utah beach from other there." he points towards the top of some bluffs. He'd been imagining the beaches ever since Meehan briefed them on the invasion and has been hoping to see what is surely a once in a lifetime sight.

Talbert and Shifty exchange a look and begin crawling forward and Smokey follows them after slinging the machine gun onto his back. Smokey wiggles up beside Shifty and slowly raises his head to witness the most awesome thing he's ever seen. Boats stretch as far as he can see -- more than he thought could ever exist - and below him thousands of tiny soldiers, like ants, struggle through the sand. He watches the lines of water-logged uniforms wind around barriers and more emerge from transport ships every minute.

Smokey whistles long and low. "Damn." He almost wishes Christenson were here to draw this, because no poem Smokey could ever write would do it justice.

"No kidding," Talbert says next to him. "Way I see it, ain't nothing can stop us from sweeping all the way into Berlin and kicking Hitler in the ass."

They all drop their heads as there is a sudden series of shots to their right. Far below Smokey imagines he can see little soldier-ants falling to the sand. Talbert looks up and motions the other two to follow him.

Crawling belly-down towards the stand of trees Smokey takes a deep breath when he finally sees the camouflaged German pillbox with the end of a machine gun just sticking out the single opening. Tab motions for Smokey to ready a grenade and Shifty to cover them before pulling out his own grenade.

Heart pounding Smokey follows Talbert's belly-crawl towards the pillbox and nearly jumps out of his boots when the gun fires again. He closes his eyes and counts slowly in his head "One thousand, two thousand…" until the gun stops and Tab taps him on the shoulder. They crawl forward, pull the pins and Tab holds up three fingers, lowering each one slowly before they toss the grenades in the hole and roll to the side. The explosion is deafening and Smokey clamps his hands over his ears. One wounded German comes partway out the pillbox before Shifty hits him and he hangs over the edge, rifle and bayonet hanging from his hand.

Smokey follows Talbert to the opening of the pillbox and looks in, wondering how anyone can stand to spend so much time in such a tiny space. Talbert immediately reaches in to inspect the items on the German's belt when Smokey sees movement from the corner of his eye. A German with blood flowing down the side of his head is lunging towards Talbert with a knife in his hand. Without even thinking Smokey bends to grab the rifle hanging from the dead Kraut's hand and swings it forward to impale the German as he lunges toward Talbert.

Talbert jumps back from the near miss. "Wow. Thanks, Smokey."

Smokey looks at the gun is his hands, the front half of which disappears into the Kraut soldier's stomach and wonders how he did it. Maybe all the training had paid off. "No problem, Tab," he mutters. "Now can we get out of here?"

*****

They've already helped the first stream of infantry off Utah beach and spent all afternoon guarding a causeway the Krauts never try to retake. As night sets in a batch of newly arrived 502nd troopers takes over guard duty and they head back to town for a few hours rest.

Shifty sits next to Smokey in the choir loft of Ste Martin-de-Varreville's chapel. The sanctuary below has been converted into a makeshift aid station and in one roped-off area the regimental surgeons who have made it this far work furiously. All of the front pews are lined with wounded who lie deathly quiet as the ancient wood soaks up their blood. The only sound that reaches the choir balcony is the soft scuff of the medics' boots as they move among the wounded with morphine, bandages, and worried faces.

Shifty finds Talbert's helmet as he confers with a medic and then kneels beside a wounded man who must be Lt. Baker. Tab talks to the man briefly and then makes his way to the back of the church and Shifty listens to the old wood creek under his jumpboots as he climbs.

"Here," Talbert says, handing small cardboard boxes to Shifty and Smokey. "There was a pile at the back."

Shifty takes the K ration and opens the box, pulling out some flat biscuits and a can labeled "meat product." He's surprised to hear his stomach growl at the food, so unappetizing back at Toccoa, until he realizes he hasn't eaten in twenty-four hours.

Down below he notices a priest walking down the aisle. The priest looks jarringly out of place in his own church -- wearing black and red robes surrounded by soldiers in olive drab who only wearing red where it leaks from wounds. Shifty follows his white hair, bereft of helmet, as it bobs slowly towards the front, stopping occasionally to comfort a wounded man, and finally reaches the organ. The man's hands move tentatively at first, as though it's been too long since he's worked the keys and he slowly urges a quiet, solemn tune from the dusty pipes.

Shifty pops a biscuit into his mouth and leans back in the wooden seat. With a sigh, Smokey reclines next to him. "Well, Shifty, we survived our first day. Wonder how the rest of Easy's doing?"

Shifty shrugs. Time has expanded in funny ways. Only yesterday he was thirteen years old and the hunting dog who raised him was dying in his lap. But the mess tent conversation feels forever and another world ago. He longs to hear Popeye's familiar Virginia drawl or see Muck and Malarkey's playful tussling again, but a part of him wonders how real the memories are. All that he knows right now is the cracker in his mouth, the hard bench underneath him, the organ music in his ears, and the rifle butt digging into his hips.

"Bet they're off winning medals somewhere," Talbert comments, leaning against the balcony. "That or finding some mountain to run up."

Smokey laughs. "Yep. Off being big damn heroes somewhere."

When Talbert doesn't reply Shifty looks up to see him starring at something a million miles away through the stained class window. "Tab? What is it?"

After a second, Talbert looks down. "Nothing. Just something an old soldier back home told me before we shipped out. He told me, 'Don't be a hero, Floyd. Heroes have a nasty habit of coming back dead. Just go be the best soldier you can -- that's enough.'"

"You boys did just that," Shifty turns to see Captain Higgins, the H company commander, appear behind them. "Wanted to thank you boys for your help today. We really needed you -- especially taking that gun." He leans against the balcony and Shifty realizes they never told anyone about the pillbox. "We've gotten reports that your battalion is gathering around Vierville. We've got enough of our own guys assembled that we should be able to hold the causeways. Once you're rested, why don't you head out and try to find your company?"

Talbert looks at Shifty and Smokey before nodding to the captain. "Yes sir. It was a pleasure serving with you sir." They exchange salutes and as he leaves Shifty looks at his two companions. There's something older about them. A day ago they were nervous rookies, but those twenty-four hours have turned them into something else -- not quite seasoned veterans, but no longer inexperienced. Smokey had proven himself a more than capable soldier, despite all the faults Sobel managed to uncover. And Talbert had kept men calm and organized in the heat of battle. And as for Shifty himself, he's learned that triggers work about the same whatever the gun is pointing at and that isn't the important part.

The captain pauses at the top of the stairs and turns back to them briefly. "You boys did a damn fine job today. Your company'll be lucky to have you back."