Valkyries Chapter One

1
Captain Jackson "Joker" McCraven
We all, at first, gave up. It wasn't like we couldn't handle the situation or anything, but we just thought we had to give up. The whole pickle we were trapped in at that moment was so entangled that there was no rational and imaginable solution percolating in our brains. It was like the whole world just collapsed inward the same way the Hindenburg did, and we were all trapped underneath the rubble caused by the violent crash, pulverized into a mushy red pile of miscellaneous guts and body parts. Someone popped their head out of the murky water for a moment, their face full of pond gunk, and watched a Tiger roll by with a bunch of rough looking Jerries riding on the top. The guys were about seventeen or eighteen, but they were so battle worn that their faces appeared to belong to someone twenty-five or even almost thirty. A tank with the same sort of lot followed that Tiger, and then another came, and another came, and then another. We all were surrounded; I can tell you that for sure. The whole place was just crawling with roaches, and if one of us made a false move, it was back to that camp for all of us, and then to the gallows. I wasn't afraid of being hung, but I was afraid to come back after telling Thomas Hughs I'd get him out of there with a full battalion of soldiers and see his disappointed face as I was brought back at gun point deprived of everything- not even a penny in my pocket. It was that shame I was afraid of, that failure, and I found myself hoping that the guy was dead to prevent it. I hoped that everybody that I had promised to come back for was dead so that I wouldn't have to see them feel the scalding hot sensation of disappointment. I didn't want to save myself from it, though. I deserved every lick of that whip, but those other guys, no. They helped me out when I needed them, and I knew that none of them wouldn't ever forgive me if I was too much of a dumbass to carry out my promise to them. "You son of a bitch!" Hardy Elmer would scream at me as I came onto that stage with the executioner (He'd probably be this big, blonde SS man with a bushy Hitler moustache). "You promised! You promised!" What am I supposed to say then? I'm sorry? I'm sorry that I got caught, and I'm sorry I'm incompetent, and I'm sorry that I failed as a soldier? I'm sorry that I'm a nincompoop who should have his rank shot all of the way back down to Private?

"Sir! Sir!" I heard Winters whisper from behind me. "My hand radio, sir, it's full of water. What are we going to do?" I brought my head up higher out of the water and spun around a little. Frogs began to wriggle around in my pant legs and what felt like a fish flopped around in my uniform jacket. The water was ice cold and smelled like an old fish tank mixed with dirty gym sock and molasses. The chirping of crickets was so loud that it seemed to join this gooky rhythmic tune with the rattle of the tanks as they transported those rough Jerries and the faint weird whining-coughing sound that had started to occur when we all swam into the pond as the Screaming Mimis started up. Winters brought his hand out of the water a little bit, his radio leaking the brownish- green water from its speaker. I swam over to him slowly, grabbed the radio, and then dropped it lightly into the water. It sunk like a Viking's ship during a burial service- slow, grim, and mournful. Maxburry almost hummed Taps as it floated into the abyss, but Redston covered his mouth before anything squirrely happened. Jesus, whenever that guy hummed anything, even something from Sesame Street or some shit like that, something squirrely happened. That's why we called him 'Nutty' all the time. Maxburry always swore that this was a coincidence and that his humming didn't do jack, but all of the rest of us thought that his humming was like an old Injun ritual that summoned the six evil spirits of squirreliness: Luther, Hans, Piggy, Clank, Fred, and our personal favorite, Whore.

I once told him that if that humming continued to summon those spirits, we all were going to dress up like Injun medicine men and dance around a fire. A guard overheard that and warned us that no fires were to be built on the grounds, but I gave him a candy bar and some fags, so he later changed his mind. And as he lit up, the guard told us where the best place to light a fire was. "I think he's tricking us." Zangles said as we walked back to our barrack after that little chat. "Why would a Kraut like that give us the best spots to light a fire? He must be just dying to see you get pulled into the commandant's office and get your ass chewed out like it's made from frankfurters. That guard, man, probably has a thing against you. Yeah, you gave him your fags and candy, but that doesn't mean the guy now likes you because of it. This isn't that TV show, man. This is real life." I nodded and told him that I knew what that guard was up to, that we weren't going to light a fire since the guard overheard us, and that I wasn't going to risk having my men get shot over a stupid joke. Zangles immediately began to experience relief and we walked inside, stripping off our coats and helmets. "But, seriously, you gotta believe me. That guard wanted you to get your ass chewed out." He then said, sitting down at the table. Henderson brought over the coffee pot and began to pour it into our mugs. Maxburry took his usual seat next to mine, and then Winters left the barrack to harass that guard who we had talked to earlier. I watched him from the window as the guy danced the Hokey Pokey and sang a German folk tune. The guard stared at Winters in a dumfounded gaze, appearing to not know what the hell was going on. "That Field Marshal, you know, Werner, he'd probably appreciate that little dance number Saul is doing right now." Zangles said, coming up next to me, a smile plastered upon his ratty face, dark brown eyes glistening like two evil gems. "I miss that guy a whole lot. I knew him for a day before I was sent out into combat. The guy is a genius, but he's real out-there, if you know what I mean. Really eccentric, that Werner. I think all his strangeness, his over excited-ness, and flamboyance, mainly was programmed into him because the guy is modeled after that freaky dumb dude on that TV show. You know the one I'm talking about, Jackie, that dude who's got the bad eyesight but won't wear glasses, so he just shoves a piece of circular glass in-between his cheek and eyebrow. That real funny but real kooky guy with extremely pale skin." I laughed and nodded, remembering seeing that guy. Everybody called him Twig for some reason, but I knew his name wasn't always that. I wanted to ask the guy what his name was, but I was sent out to the USSR before I could even say hi to the man. That was too bad, you know, and I wished that I could have stayed a little longer in Lochbacher before my time was due so I could get to know everybody. But... to be honest, shit is always unfair like that, and a man should not complain about what mother fate barfs up at him. Even if you end up getting your arms and legs amputated or something, don't complain, because that just shows how truly weak you are. That is why I didn't say boo when I was captured, and I didn't tell anybody I didn't belong in that camp. I just bit my lip, buttoned up my attitude, and accepted the fact that I wasn't going to eat a hot meal for a long time.

"Alright, the radio is sunk, and the tanks are gone. Now, let's get out of here!" Bradley insisted as we continued to float in the toxic, gut wrenching water of the pond. I came out of my daze and began to swim my way to the land, two men hanging onto the sides of my belt for support as they too swam through the thick- as- blood water. We reached the bank and heaved ourselves onto the dewy grass, the muck slowly rubbing off from our bellies and onto the ground as we slid. The thing that I thought was a fish fell out of my jacket and it turned out to be a water snake, and I felt lucky that the thing didn't bite me. To be completely honest, I felt like a slimy, gross tad pole. Berny Fifield said he felt like an eel fresh out of the rivers that caused the Great Stink, and when he smelled himself while covered in that pond water, the statement was downright true. The smell was worse than body odor and seemed to blow dead bodies right out of the universe. It would have been a great weapon, that smell, because it burned your nostril hairs and made you have this wacky feeling in your stomach and head. I think the pond was fermenting or something, because it literally gave off fumes. But I didn't want to find out why that pond smelled and felt the way it did. I just wanted to get everybody out of there and to some place that could be called 'safe'. After all, it was my responsibility to take care of my men, and not doing so would basically mean that I was not only a disgraceful leader, but a disgraceful human being as well.

"Sir, if you'll let me ask, where are we?" Perkins said as he let go of the right side of my belt and we all started to wriggle our way towards some cover, keeping our heads down. "How far are we from the camp, sir?" I shrugged my shoulders and led everyone towards an old barn of some sort. Sampson and Hopkins went into a full crouch and sped ahead of us, scouting for enemy soldiers, their machetes at the ready. The two disappeared into the barn and then came out a few moments later with large smiles and were forming the ok symbol with their fingers. The rest of us stood up and quickly ran into the barn, our movements making wet clothes become even more uncomfortable in the crotch area. Perkins waited for all of us to enter the barn and then followed us in, shutting the door. A cow started to moo and then it continued to consume its food as we collapsed onto hay bales and thanked our dead loved ones for guiding us this far. The sounds of tanks started to invade our ears not even a second later, and began to jump around on our eardrums, dancing the foxtrot and singing Westerwald.

"Sir, that doesn't sound too good." Williams said, rubbing his face, staring up at the ceiling. "That doesn't sound good at all. I remember a time like this back in Nam, and I bet you can relate with me on this Captain, when all of the guys in my platoon started hearing-" The door then opened once again and we all sat up, jumping to our feet and getting ready for whoever it was to open up on us. Fatigue and sore bones were forgotten about in a split second. We thankfully found ourselves being stricken with mint flavored peace of mind as an old man came inside the barn with two familiar officers. One was tall and large, but not large in a bad way, with a Major's uniform. He had a little moustache and there was a distinct resemblance to a guy whose name I could not remember present in that man's face. The other officer looked a lot like a vulture and wore a Field Marshal's uniform. He was cleanly shaven and was tall like the Major but was smaller in body size. I, right then and there, knew who those men were. A smile crept up upon my face as we all came up to the two and began to shake their hands, calling out their names and laughing. It was Major Wiedemann and Field Marshal Werner! Oh, this had to be some sort of dream, it just had to be! Things appeared to be just too good to be true!

"Sir, how did you get here?" I asked when my men settled down. "Don't tell me you, a man of your rank, rode all of this way in a tank!" Werner nodded his head, pointing at the riding goggles that were around the headband of his cap. I started to admire him for being one of those guys who just loved to get his hands dirty. We needed more high-ranking men like that, and I wished that all the others would use Werner as a role model figure of some sort. The guy was like Indiana Jones, Roy Rogers, Jim West and Alan Quarterman all wrapped up in a fresh bratwurst casing. He was like the German version of Superman, but instead of being Clark Kent during the day, the Field Marshal was a Krupp steel worker.


"Yes, I came here in a tank. We were heading over to Dannsburg when this man stopped us in the road and told me that you all were hiding in the pond. When he described you to me, Captain, I knew that this was no joke and I had to come investigate." Werner said. "When we get back to town, you all must bathe and come eat dinner at my house. Later I will decide where to put all of your new friends from whatever camp you just came from." I thanked him and we went outside, still bitching and laughing about how fortunate this all was, and that we missed each other. "I only knew you for a day, Zangles, but that was enough for me to feel as though I was your friend, and McCraven, do not think that we are just acquaintances because we only talked for about five minutes. I consider anyone I meet, that I like, to be my friend." The Field Marshal said as we went over to a Sherman in the front. "I guess you can call me personable, in a way."

"Sir, can I ask you a question?" I said. We stopped suddenly and Werner looked at me straight in the eyes, that Gun-Ho grin on his face.

"Yes, Captain?" He said.

"I've been trying to figure out why every Colonel and Field Marshal and General are these stuck up assholes while you're the nicest guy on the planet. How exactly did you end up like that? Why are you such a great guy?" I said, being very upfront.


"Captain, I.... you see..... It's hard to explain....." Werner sputtered out, his face going beet red. "I'm not sure if you'll understand why I am like this...."

"Why not, sir? Just because I was modeled after Forest Gump-"


"Oh, Captain, do not think that I am calling you stupid! No, no! That is not what I was getting at! It's not that at all! The reason why I don't think you would understand is that.... Well, you really haven't talked to the man I was modeled after, and... you don't know how he was before his modification. That is all."


"Who were you modeled after, sir? What was his name before everyone started calling him 'Twig'? Sir, it is all right if you tell me. I won't judge you at all, sir." I said. There was a silence. Werner eyed me with a frightened expression for a moment, paralyzed with embarrassment, his face going a deeper shade of red. I started to realize that this was a touchier subject than I had ever imagined with the Field Marshal. It was like that with another guy who was modeled after a TV character- his name was Michael Flanders, and he was modeled after Randy Hickey. Everybody treated the poor guy like he was an idiot because of it, and when you asked him about the whole modeling thing, Flanders would go just as red in the face and would clam up, not saying a word. I think that guy ended up dying in Moscow.....


"Ehmmmm.... Where to begin, how to explain, is the question." Werner said, his Gun-Ho grin fading into a weak smile meant for a dying man, face starting to fade back to its normal pale. "First, I must explain that there was this show, which you have probably seen due to your timeframe, called Hogan's Heroes. I was modeled after the freaky dumb guy-"


I at that moment remembered the name and the rest of that personality which that guy had, remembering how selfish and haughty toity and brain dead he was. And I understood right then why Major General Richtofen made Werner the way he was. It was to make that sort of polar opposite twin, the angel on one's shoulder, which brought emancipation and hope to soldiers instead of imprisonment..... It was to make a man who looked and sounded and acted like Commandant Klink but was the exact opposite for one reason: to at least give that face some sort of purely angelic and liberating image while the memory of that show still existed...... My stomach twisted while this remembrance and realization hit me in the face and ran me over about seventeen times. "Oh, sir! I understand, sir. I am so sorry, sir, that I asked." Werner stayed silent again and his face went back to that deep red, this time a cherry color, and when I looked over at Wiedemann I noticed that he too had that same color upon his. I didn't mean to cause that shock wave of embarrassment and I was starting to get annoyed with my sometimes rather foolish curiosity. As a child it always bit me in the ass, and that ass biting sadly continued into my manhood, slowly chewing away at my insides as I explored new avenues in the accidental art of making high-ranking officers ashamed of themselves. It was my villainous genial superpower which I could not control and could not get rid of.


I was Bruce Banner and curiosity was the Gamma Rays which gave that poor man the power to turn into the Incredible Hulk, but instead of helping people with that power, I was always accidentally murdering civilians, and everyone in the whole town only viewed me as a monster. Seeing Werner's embarrassment and shame was what seriously gave me that foul label with a nasty image accompanying it; a monster and a terrible person. "Captain, do not form that expression of regret due to my own embarrassment." Werner said after a few more moments of the now rather awkward silence, grabbing my arm even though it was covered in that disgusting brownish-green pond residue. "Please, Captain.... I am completely-" A young Sergeant suddenly called out his name, quickly coming out of his Panther tank. I noticed that this soldier was obscure the moment I set my sights upon the man, and I thought at first that I was seeing things, but I soon figured out I was not imagining anything that I was witnessing. The Sergeant's hair was extremely long, dyed blue and was braided, and he had no helmet on, which allowed anyone to have a full look at that hairstyle. It was the same type of haircut that an Injun would have; shaved down all of the way to the scalp on the sides and slicked back into a braided ponytail on the top. (If my commanding officer saw that Sergeant back in Nam, the kid would have had to shave his whole head in front of everyone else in the squad in some humiliating way.) There was something else very obscure about this young soldier, and it was the earring that dangled effortlessly down from his left ear, which had a long chain with a pure white chicken feather hanging from its bottom link. I began to have a flashback of the time I told Maxburry we were going to do the Injun medicine man dance around the fire, and I absentmindedly started to hum one of his enchanting tunes as Werner conversed with the young Sergeant. Schatz Ach Schatz rattled in my teeth as they spoke to each other for quite some time in German, and then some in English as I was popped in and out of the conversation, and then ended in French when a few Frogs in infantry uniforms joined in on the little chat. The two appeared to be fresh recruits, cleanly shaven and nae in the hellish sectors of war, virgins in the department of combat, bright eyed and bushy tailed kids who have never had to use a gun to kill a man. They were two hesitant boys the Field Marshal could turn into two ballsy men by the time the day was done. "McCraven," Werner said, turning to me when the conversation was coming to a close and that crazy looking Jerry Sergeant with the Injun fashion style walked away jabbering in German at some tank drivers. "You may take your men to a tank in the rear...... Kurt is letting the men know that you will be riding with us...."


I nodded, we shook hands, and then I followed that crazy blue haired Injun Jerry, Kurt. My men walked behind me like scared school children and I tended to look back at them and laugh as they peered up at the tank gunners and drivers who had popped out to see what the hell was going on with these dazed and frightened expressions. The two Frogs came with us and conversed with Pierre Laurent, our French sniper and tailor from WWII, and seemed to get along with each other quite well. They conversed in their liquid, off sounding gibberish, pointing at the surroundings and then at me, and then back at the tanks and men, then back at me again. I hoped that those men were saying good things, and Fawset picked up on that as he strode next to me in his jaunty prance of a walk. He began to translate as Laurent complimented me and explained to the Frogs that I was a great leader, and in his mind, a great man. I couldn't help but smile at this, and his words made me feel like a million bucks. "Sir, we all think that about you. Laurent is not the only one who has bragged like that. A couple of weeks ago, Colonel Spiegel.... He was talking to some General or something back at camp and he... was bragging about how you handled us and the war...." Fawset said when Laurent switched the subject. I wasn't surprised about that. Not at all. Spiegel and I liked each other, and I respected him, and he respected me. We never argued and I tended to visit his quarters for coffee and biscuits. People called me the 'Commandant's pet' all of the time for it, but I didn't really mind that.
"He was the reason for why I wanted to stay, but I knew we had to leave." I said as we got on top of a British Crocodile. The driver shook my hand when I got situated onto the top, then the gunner did the same. The two then shook Fawset's hand, but he got more of a personable reaction than I did, since the guy was British and so were the men operating the tank. All you could hear for five minutes was 'old chap', 'blimey', 'wanker', and other wacky British terms as they chatted away with each other. I sat back and found the whole thing to be entertainment for the afternoon.


"Did you say goodbye to the Old Man before we left?" Fawset asked when the British version of bitching was done and everybody was all situated. "Did the Old Man cry?" I took off my helmet, pulled out a picture from the pocket that used to hold my lighter, and handed it to him. The soldier eyed the picture for a moment and said, "This is a photograph of all of us the first day we went into that camp. Douglas Sanders took that picture with his little red Kodak camera..." Fawset then handed it back to me, wiping tears off his face. He didn't appear ashamed to be crying over that heartwarming memory, though. The guy just smiled as he wiped away his tears and gave me his usual wink. It was a wink that I would always find myself, and only myself, receiving during stressful situations that we shared together, no matter where all of us were. It was a symbol of hope, a pillar that spewed out a beautiful blueish- purple positive and confident light, and was a stimulant powerful enough to be illegal.


"No, he was hard, hard like rock. Spiegel gave me that when I said goodbye to him last night. The Colonel told me it would be the only way I could remember him, because giving me a lock of that beautiful black hair of his would be creepy." I said, putting back on my helmet. "I'm going to miss that guy. What do you think would happen to him, Arthur, if...? Let's just say, the camp gets liberated or something. What would happen to Spiegel? I mean, he never hurt anybody, and the guy was a docile teddy bear...." Fawset didn't say anything for a moment, his blue eyes going dull and watery, and that meant only one thing: a death sentence. A death sentence for my best friend, the person I trusted the most, the person that was like a brother to me. He was my captor, but we shared a strong brotherly, comrade love that deteriorated, even pulverized our differences, and we were joined at the hip like two twins. We were sewn together at the heart and soul with a needle made with our metals of honor and a spool of thread which had been made of a durable and invincible material that originated from invisible silk worms that fed tirelessly off of our constantly combining blood. Killing Spiegel would inevitably kill me as well, because my soul was his and his soul was mine; our souls turned completely Communist and there was no possible way anyone could split us up.


"I'm going to miss that overstuffed Kraut. He was cute- in a chubby German Colonel kind of way. Yeah, sir, I guess you're right, he really was a big docile teddy bear." Perkins confessed, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Maybe you might see him again, sir, out there on the front. Maybe he might come lookin' for ya. Maybe he might bring his assistant with him too, that skinny pale bastard who always came by and gave us extra rations. What was his name? Dietrich? Heinrich? It was somethin' with a 'rich' at the end."


I looked back at Perkins and said, "It was Gunter, Perkins. His name was Major Edward Gunter. I think the 'rich' guy you are thinking about is Captain Hans Von Richter." I laughed and shook my head. "I know what you're going to say: 'All Germans are the same'. Well, no, they are all not the same, and Spiegel is living and breathing proof of that. Werner is too, and so is Wiedemann." There was a silence. We all watched as all of the high ranking officers chatted down on the ground with a few lower ranking men, the two of them sporting American uniforms but did not have the same division patches on their sleeves. One man, a young Corporal, had an orange and blue patch with a picture of a bull dog's head in the center of it. At the top of the patch was a 'W' with the number nine under it. This was a patch for Werner's 9th infantry division, and I had the same patch on my sleeve. The other man, a Private, had a red and green patch with a picture of an eagle in the center of it. On the top was that same 'W' with the number twenty-four under it. This was a man from one of Werner's Luftwaffe divisions. They both spoke fluent German to the officers and had well trained accents. I then started to feel that I had to learn German so I could understand what was going on at every second, since every part of a conversation between soldiers is important.


"Don't worry, sir, everything will be alright. I'm sure Spiegel will come out of this war without lying in a casket." Fawset said after a while of translating the German to us. "The Old Man always lands on his feet. And, besides, who would kill of a cute little Kraut like that? That would be like killing Winnie the Pooh. You'd have to be a cold hearted person to kill big old Kraut Winnie the Pooh and his best mate, the anorexic version of Piglet." {


"I don't think what counts for the allies, or the Gestapo, really cares about who they kill." I said. "They just shoot people and move on..... And don't ask questions later. Real smash and grab, I tell you."


"Aw, sir, you gotta look on the bright side of things!" Maxburry cooed out.


"Yeah! You gotta ride with it, sir. You gotta think like Ramsey, sir!" Sampson said.


"Ramsey was a retard. He shot himself by accident while cleaning his pistol, you dolt!" Fawset said.

"Yeah, but he was a real happy guy, now wasn't he?" Hopkins said. "Died with a smile on his face, our Ramsey."


That real crazy looking Jerry came up onto our tank and opened the hatch. He handed the driver a few pieces of paper and then closed back up the hatch, whistling some song that was by the Andrew Sisters, acting more like an American soldier than a Jerry.
Hopkins grabbed at his pant leg and said, "You sure do look a lot like Werner. Are you his son or something?" Kurt shook his head and explained that the Field Marshal was sort of his uncle and that his father was the man that Werner was modeled after. We all didn't comment at that and accepted it as true facts- the kid had the same hooked nose, the long face, the thin lips and dark eyes. There was no way he could have been lying to us.


"Sergeant, when are we going to get moving?" I asked.



Kurt shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me. He seemed to be a pretty happy-go-lucky kid who just lived
day by day and enjoyed being in the moment. Guys like that normally did rather well in the war I was in, and I don't mean Nam, I mean that weird mixed-match war full of different soldiers from different timeframes. The war that made no sense but people still found themselves being enthusiastic about it even though the score was unknown and the reasons were unknown on both sides- whatever those sides were. "I...really dunno." The Sergeant said, and then jumped off the tank. We watched him walk off and then begin to chatter with two other Jerries down on the ground. They passed the kid rations and I think a bottle of beer, chatting in their gibberish and laughing. The high-ranking officers and the two Americans soon joined them but did not eat or drink. They just laughed with the men and showed pictures of their family members to each other. This whole thing lasted for about three or four minutes, and then they dismantled. Werner came over to our tank and ordered me and my second in command to come down for a moment. Fawset and I jumped to the ground and came over to him, adjusting our trousers and fixing our wedgies that had occurred while sliding off the top.


The Field Marshal then informed us of some rather disturbing news that I never thought I would have to deal with in my entire life: zombies were popping up around the area and four men needed to go ahead and find the spot which had become a map. I had seen horror flicks with those little turds in them, and I was familiar with their cravings, but I never knew that the undead was a real threat to the world. "I'm trying not to get my men riled up, because none of them have dealt with zombies before." Werner said, sweat running down the side of his face, eyes wide and fearful. "That is why I am willing to go, and I know that I can trust you two in this situation." Fawset asked about who the fourth man would be. The answer to that was, "You and McCraven have to choose the fourth man. One of your men has to step up and help us. If not, we are doomed. Do you understand me?" We both nodded and then went back to the tank. I wasn't really sure how to explain this at first. I tried to come up with something, but my brain didn't want to function. It just froze up and glitched like an old computer that hadn't been used in a few years, or like my grandma's hip when she hadn't moved from her chair in a few minutes. Fawset broke the ice and told the men that something extraordinary had happened, and that extraordinary thing was far from anything that could be considered fathomable. I then figured out what I wanted to say.



"Men," I said, my feet not allowing my legs to move any closer to the tank. "Men, I need to call upon one of you for help. I need one of you to step up and help Fawset and myself... kill an enemy that you have never encountered before. One word: zombies." All of the men made a sound of utter disgust and began to hack loogies and cough. They bitched and moaned for several moments until Werner screamed at them to shut up. The men went silent and hung their heads, now willing to listen with fearful respect. I then continued. "Now, who is willing to help us? Anyone? Williams, how about you? You are a tough fighter, and you are from my war." Sergeant Scotty 'Duff' Williams peered down at me, and then at Werner, and then back at me, thought for a moment, lit one of his stolen cigars, then nodded. He then jumped off of the tank and came over to us, the foul smell of cigar smoke playing Twister with my lungs. I knew that dangerous old Duff would come through and man up for us, because that guy wasn't one of those panzy, candy assed want-to-be soldiers. Williams was a soldier's soldier, a real GI Joe, a true war hero of his time. He was so bad-ass that everybody treated the man like he was Mr. T.


"Well, look at that." Williams said as he shook Werner's hand. "A cracker who looks just like the Commandant. Ol' Blood and Guts."



"Oh, Sergeant, I never noticed that you are modeled after Kinch!" The Field Marshal said, nervously smiling. "This is going to be... interesting." The two men let go and, I guess, admired each other in a way. I had never met anyone else who had been modeled after a Forest Gump character, and I didn't want to ruin anything.... So, I just watched in silence and observed as the two sized each other up, asking questions like, 'are you dumber than a doornail?' and 'are you good with electronics?'. This didn't go on for very long and then Werner set his sights upon Fawset. "And there is your Colonel Crittenden, Williams." He said. All three of them started to laugh and quickly joked around with each other, then got down to business. I asked where Wiedemann had gone as soon as everyone had settled down and were serious enough to give me a flat out answer. I was assured that he was standing by one of the tanks up in the front with Kurt and those two other soldiers, but I wasn't sure if that had changed within a few moments, so I looked behind me and scanned the area. The Major was, in fact, doing what I was told he was doing. Muscles unwound themselves from the stiff pretzel that had started to mold itself together in my neck and various other parts of my body out of fear, the adrenaline acting as this sort clear glue that kept it all together and smelled of Lysol.



"Sir, how are we going to leave the area without making a scene?" Fawset asked after Werner got done with his pep talk filled to the brim with assurance. "We can't tell them that we are leaving them behind, it would be disturbing for the other soldiers if we just disappeared-"



"Don't worry about that. I already told Wiedemann that he must tell the others where we went." The Field Marshal said, starting to wander over to a few crates which had been set on the ground. He slid open the lid on one of them and took out a British Sten, inspecting it thoroughly. That man inspected everything he saw or came into contact with thoroughly, and that was a life saving habit in many hazardous situations.