Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

Riley moved closer to the others, heard more of the bickering, another argument between the sergeant and Killian. Goolsby was there now, the smaller man pushing himself into the fray, a scolding as harsh as the young lieutenant dare offer. Killian backed away, Welch still bowed up, Goolsby’s hand on his chest. Riley moved more quickly, thought, Careful, Lieutenant. He’s got an idiot’s temper sometimes. Hate to see him end up in the brig.

Riley watched Welch march off, sitting down on an old wooden box. He moved closer, studied Welch’s stare, knew not to push too hard.

“Hey, Sarge. What’s up?”

“What the hell do you want? That Irish son of a bitch needs to stuff his skivvies in his mouth. Sometimes I just don’t need to hear a load of bitching about nothing at all.”

Riley stared out, said, “There’s supplies coming in like mad. Maybe some decent food. New winter clothing, maybe other stuff that’ll do us some good.”

Welch looked up at him, squinted slightly. “Your face looks like you been sleeping on needles.”

Riley put a hand on the rawness of his cheeks. “Ice, I guess. Last night, that was rough. Felt like needles. Feels good to get somewhere we can just sit.”

“I don’t want to sit. I want to shove my bayonet into Charlie Chink’s guts. It’s been two weeks and all we’ve done is march. I bet he’s out there. Laughing his ass off. Old Homer thinks so. The new battalion chief does, too. Colonel Lockwood. Has his binoculars up to his eyeballs every time I see him. Jumpy as hell.”

“Haven’t met the man.”

Welch pulled out the canteen, sloshed a drink in his mouth, spit it out. “Squat little guy. Short like Old Homer, but round everywhere. If it wasn’t for the uniform, you’d think he was mayor of Munchkinland.”

Riley laughed.

The wind came in a new burst, swirling around him, dust driven into his face again, grinding at his eyes. He turned away, one hand up on his face, blinking hard.

“Damn it all. How much of this is enough?”

Welch said nothing, and he heard a new voice, the kid.

“Hey, Sarge. Hey, Pete. What’s all the equipment doing out there? They been at it all night. A lot of work, for sure.”

Riley cleared his eyes, saw Morelli staring out toward the rumbles of the heavy equipment. “Airstrip, maybe. They want supplies brought in, maybe it’s better to do it by air.”

Welch turned that way, said, “Nah. They’re not building an airstrip to bring stuff in. It’s to take stuff out. Wounded. We’re a long damn way from any hospital. We ain’t done with the enemy, and where there’s enemy there’s wounded.”

Riley realized Welch was probably right. Beside him, Morelli said, “I love that big stuff. Used to play with all kinds of tractors and stuff when I was a kid.”

The words inspired a memory in Riley, a Christmas present, a very small version of the dozers he saw now. He let that go, had no energy for Morelli’s good cheer.

They stood silently for a long moment, the heavy equipment holding their attention, and now, another new voice, Lieutenant McCarthy.

“Listen up! There’s mail! That six-by behind those tents. Don’t get lost. We’re still waiting for orders to dig in.”

The men reacted with a sudden explosion of energy, a wave rolling quickly that way. Riley watched for a few seconds, and Welch said, “Well, let’s go. It’s been two weeks. Ought to be something worth getting.”

Morelli didn’t hesitate, joined the flow, and Welch looked at Riley.

“You got a bug up your ass? It’s mail, for God’s sake.”

Riley shrugged.

“So, go on. At least one of your fifteen girlfriends might have written you.”

“What about you? What the hell’s wrong?”

Welch’s voice softened, the sergeant knowing Riley’s moods. Riley said, “Not sure. Just been thinking about things. You remember Levinson, in Baker Company? We went through boot with him. Okinawa, too.”

“Yeah, I think. He the one who went nutso? He never came back, did he?”

Riley pictured the man in his mind, the screaming tantrum that ended only when the MPs wrestled away his bayonet.

“Nope. He got one of those damn awful letters. His wife just ended their marriage, just like that. Hell of a thing to do in a letter. I guess she couldn’t take being alone. Or she got bored. It just ripped his guts out.”

“Maybe she found some stateside stud. He’s better off. Probably in some comfy nuthouse somewhere. What’s that got to do with…now?”

He looked at Welch, shivered, had kept the thoughts away as long as he could. “I’m scared as hell Ruthie’s gonna do that. Always have been. Every time I’m in the field, I think she’s starting to hate me just a little bit more. Hell, she’s got a four-year-old to handle. He’s a load, too. She needs help. Maybe some other stateside stud .”

Welch stared hard at him, said, “You’re an asshole. That woman is as feisty and full of vinegar as anyone I know. When I met her, I thought, Oh, she’s cute. Tiny little thing, a stiff breeze’ll blow her over. Hell, then I saw her get mad. She’s like some kind of she-wolf, protecting her den. I guaran-damn-tee you, she’s sitting at home making lists of your chores, your projects, all the things you need to do when you get home. And all the things that little boy needs from nobody else but his dad. And I bet she’s writing you a letter every damn day. They’ll need another truck just to haul your crap. Let me tell you something, Private. You got lucky, and so did she. I seen it plain as day. And she knows it. You better damn well remember it. I’d write her myself, tell her you’re down in the dumps, except she might kick my ass for telling her.”

“Or I might.”

Riley smiled now, and Welch stood, his hand going up to Riley’s shoulder.

“Listen. My girlfriends, yeah, they’re great. Some real knockouts. I might even see one or two of them when this is over. But, Pete, you’ve got a home waiting for you. I’ve been in that home. I’ve seen her look at you. You’re it . Now get the hell over there and grab a pile of her letters.”

He could tell Welch was waiting for him to move.

“Not sure where this came from, Hamp. Just happened all of a sudden. I thought of Levinson, how he came apart. Scares me. We’re so damn far away.”

“So, you’re scared. Me, too. Miserable, cold as hell. You know all that talk about being home for Christmas? They could be right. The Chinks have backed away, and maybe they’re backing off all the way to China. Look around you, right here, those big guns, that squad of tanks that rolled through. If Charlie Chink’s paying attention, he can see it all. And they got families, too. And, from what I’ve seen, crappy-assed shoes. This war might be over and we just don’t know it yet.”

Riley scanned the horizon, one massive hill to the east. He looked at Welch now, saw the concern still on his friend’s face. Riley forced a smile.

“It’s the army brass that’s telling us about Christmas. You ever know the army to get anything right?”

Welch slapped him on the back, gave a small push. “Just go read your damn mail. Then you can read mine. I won’t remember what half those broads look like. Then you can tell me who’s got the better deal.”

Riley moved forward, the cold stiffness in his toes slowing him, a slight stagger to his steps. He saw the kid, carrying a long, thin package, beaming smile, more smiles on the faces of the others. Killian came toward them now, another package, his voice loud, boisterous.

“I knew it! You just wait till you see this! I asked, and she came through!”

Killian moved on by, Riley looking at the truck, two men up in the back, handing out the parcels to a pair of men below, names calling out. Riley hesitated, saw only packages, and Welch moved ahead, said, “What you got for Sergeant Welch?”