The Forest, Part Two

(Source)

2Lt Paddock was awakened by something dripping on his face. Something cold. When he opened his eyes it was just before daybreak. Water was dripping from a small branch just over his face. SSgt Graves hadn't been kidding when he said it was going to rain, it had, all night. A wet, drizzling mess. Though the men were somewhat protected by the pine boughs they'd cut and rigged into lean-tos, something that Gammell had suggested, they were still wet. They looked bedraggled and miserable. Kinda like how Paddock felt.

The morning was cold, the lieutenant sat up and noticed that his platoon sergeant wasn't there. But the new company guide, Cpl Jimmy Winston was right there, brewing up some coffee in a pot he'd "organized" from somewhere. It smelled incredible.

"Ya know you're not supposed to use your helmet to heat water?" The lieutenant asked before he'd actually looked at what Winston was doing.

"I know L.T., that's why I'm using your steel pot..."

Paddock sat up and realized in an instant that Winston was pulling his leg. "Why you son of a..."

"Ya want sugar L.T., I got some of that too." The act of Cpl Winston handing a hot mess tin cup of coffee to his lieutenant killed the lieutenant's angry retort.

"Now I know why Baker Company let you go." the lieutenant offered as he took his first sip. It burned his tongue, but it was just what he needed.

"Why's that L.T.?" Cpl Winston had asked for the transfer, his old platoon leader was a martinet, a real pain in the ass. He wondered if Paddock knew that.

"That's an easy answer, Baker Company is a bunch of dumb asses, you're way too smart for that bunch. But you didn't hear that from me." Paddock winked at the platoon guide and asked for some of that sugar, if it really existed.

It did.

"Where the Hell is your lieutenant Staff Sergeant Graves? I wanted to brief him, not you." Captain Alphonse "Tex" Josephson was constantly angry about something. Word in the battalion was that he'd wanted to be in the airborne, but froze on his first training jump, so now he was with the Big Red One. Not the Screaming Eagles not the All Americans.¹

He wasn't actually from El Paso but from a little town in New Mexico not far from El Paso, the town of Chaparral. He insisted that he was from Texas and that his nickname was "Tex." The battalion staff called him "Chaps" behind his back, which annoyed the regimental chaplain to no end.

SSgt Graves wanted to say something which would send him back to being a private, but he restrained himself, being in the Army for seven years had taught him that much. "Second Lieutenant Paddock was up all night checking the outposts, Cap'n, so when the runner came to me, I decided to let the lieutenant sleep. Okay with you? Sir?"

CPT Josephson sensed the disrespect from Paddock's platoon sergeant. He didn't like it but he knew that battalion thought the man walked on water. Word from regiment was that they were looking to commission Graves, apparently the man was that good. In Josephson's eyes, the sergeant was just another jumped up low-life. In the pre-war Army he would still be a private.

He told Graves what battalion had wanted passed down, then dismissed the man. Paddock's platoon was going into company reserve, simple enough, it's not like the man had to make any decisions, he just had to tell Paddock to get his raggedy-assed platoon back to the battalion CP. He would have selected a different platoon for the reserve, but he had to admit, Paddock's men had recently lost a very good sergeant and another good soldier to a damned Nazi sniper in some damned little village. So he lived with the decision. He was an asshole, even he knew that much about himself, but he wasn't an idiot. It was a good decision.

As Paddock finished his coffee he saw SSgt Graves coming up the trail. The man had a smile on his face.

"What's up Sarn't Graves? Somebody shoot old Tex?" As soon as it slipped out of his mouth, he regretted saying that. If it was just him and Graves, that would be okay, but Winston was right there.

"Hey L.T., I'm gonna go see Doc Milbury, I can't hear shit this morning. I think I have an ear infection or something." Cpl Winston was perfectly serious when he said that, though he'd had to choke back a laugh at the thought of SSgt Graves shooting the company C.O., the man was kind of unpopular, but in reality he wasn't that bad a guy. Just pissed off at the world and the Army. Hell, right now who wasn't pissed off at the Army?

"Carry on Jimmy, I hope your hearing gets better soon." 2Lt Paddock knew that Winston had heard him, he also knew that Winston wouldn't say a word about it. What had he done to deserve Graves and Winston? They made his life a whole lot easier than his old platoon sergeant, Draper, and his sycophant Sgt Fortin. Both killed at the same time when the halftrack Fortin was driving had hit a mine. Draper was sitting up front when it happened, they'd both died on the spot.

Graves had been waiting to get a word in when Winston headed down the path, "Yeah L.T., we're going into company reserve for a couple of days. I talked to Top² and he says that we'll pull the duty at battalion. We'll get hot chow, showers, and new uniforms. Maybe the Krauts won't be able to smell us coming from a mile away anymore."

"I dunno Herb, the Krauts smell worse than we do, remember those last prisoners Able Company brought in, poor bastards hadn't seen a bath in months."

"Heck, L.T., hard to stop and wash up when the Big Red One, the Old Reliables and the Third Herd are chasing your ass back to the Fatherland!"

"Heh, there is that. Let's get the men moving, I want to get into a hot shower like ten minutes ago."

"Gotcha L.T., I'll get the ball rolling."

Second Platoon did indeed get fresh uniforms, hot food, and a semi-warm shower. But it felt good enough to the guys who'd been on the line for far too long. McWhorter and Cambridge couldn't figure out why their platoon mates were so happy about the luke warm showers.

"Last night in the rain, rookie, that's our normal way to wash up, ya strip down, soap up, and hope it keeps raining long enough to get the soap off. Damn, you new guys don't have a clue, do ya?" Pvt Jack Leonard, who'd taken over from Ollie as the squad's grenadier, loved picking on the new guys. Until the Cat reminded him that he was almost as new as McWhorter and Cambridge.

"Stow it trumpet boy, at least those kids started as infantry, not in the band."

Leonard blushed and started to say something when Cat said, "It's okay Jack, I'm just messing with you, you're as good an infantryman as anyone. They will be too, if they live long enough. And that's something we should think about. We might need to rely on those two someday, we want to train 'em up right. Okay?"

Leonard nodded and said, "Ya know Cat, they should promote you, you already sound like a sergeant."

PFC Melvin Katz watched Leonard walk back to the chow tent. He shook his head and muttered, "Yup, and I could sure use the extra twenty-four bucks a month, not that there's anything to spend it on out here."

As he said that, it started to rain again. At least now they were under canvas, not sleeping in the open under pine boughs. Being off the line was good, hopefully it lasted long enough to make a difference.






¹ Respectively, the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions..
² Top was the nickname for a unit's first sergeant, often the most senior NCO in a unit. Also known as Top Sergeant or First Sergeant
³ The Old Reliables was a nickname for the 9th Infantry Division, the Third Herd was a nickname for the U.S. Third Armored Division, both of which served in the U.S. VII Corps under Major General J. Lawton Collins ("Lighting Joe") alongside the 1st Infantry Division or Big Red One.