The road stretched out in either direction as far as his bleary eyes could see.

Henny got out, retrieving his weapon from the rusty floorboard of the jeep. He smiled at J.D. as he slipped around the vehicle, his hand trailing on the hood.

Henny joined...the others.

They were all there, staring at the poor excuse for a human being that sat, staring right back at the apparitions.

Each and every face J.D. remembered in his nightmares but...he realized now that they hadn’t been nightmares. Not at all. Well, in the sense that...

J.D. ran his hand over his face, surprised to see his fingers shake tremulously.

It had been his own morbid guilt making it seem that...

They hadn’t been trying to waste him. They hadn’t been trying to take him out.

J.D. stared at Captain Reese. The dark intelligent eyes held a hint of humor. If there was some damned joke these guys were sharing, J.D. didn’t get the punch line.

The Captain nodded imperceptivity. He was an honorable man who led by example. He had understood that rank meant nothing out on the Front Lines. That taking orders from a lowly Sergeant just might save one of his men’s lives... if that Non-Com had seen more combat situations and actions.

J.D. had liked the guy from the start.

Captain Richard Reese left behind a beautiful young widow with two small children. A five-year-old, Angie, who was the spitting image of her mother and twelve-year-old Millie who was just beginning to notice boys.

Grace had bought Millie her first grown-up dress and shoes for her thirteenth birthday.

J.D. had a ‘thank you’ note hanging on his refrigerator from the little girl, which he treasured.

J.D. still kept in touch with Elise. He sent her money on a monthly basis. It was hard going without Rick around.

William ‘Bill’ Franklins. The guy was from the South. His accent had been the butt of many a joke in the unit.

J.D. always liked him, deep down. He had tried not to show it.

Franklins was leaning on a large branch. The guy could find branches in the middle of a desert.

He always walked with some support. He reminded J.D. of some prophet of old, always spouting some verse from the Bible. Give the guy a robe and he could have been Moses with that beard he had grown.

Bill had a bad habit of removing his helmet to scratch the back of his head when something baffled him. Bill’s younger brother, Mike, had just missed the draft.

The kid had found work in the Cotton Mill in Sikeston, Missouri. He could help out on William Senior’s farm now. Mike was proud to do so.

Bill’s wife, Kathy, had just remarried but she had waited two years. Bill wouldn’t begrudge her a life without him.

J.D. had made sure her intended was a stand-up guy. Kathy was a good woman. J.D. liked her very much.

He had stood up at the wedding, having given the bride away.

Grace had said how hot J.D. looked in his full-dress uniform.

Francis ‘Frankie’ Cullen. One major pain in the ass. The joker that was always sneaking out to meet some dame and getting the rest of the Company in deep shit.

But, when the chips were down, Frankie was the guy who you could always count on, whether in a bar fight or being held down by machine gun fire in enemy territory.

Frankie was a loner though. He professed to have no family. Claimed he was an orphan left on the steps of St. Matthews one dark and rainy night.

Frankie was also an expert and habitual liar.

Frankie had a sister, but she wasn’t exactly someone a guy could bring home to Mom and Pop.

J.D. took life as it came. Frankie and Shelia had no parental guidance, none. They made it the best way they knew how. Who was to judge? Not J.D. certainly.

J.D. had tried to set the young woman up in a better way of life, but she had already been hooked by drugs and a sense of self-loathing that continued to put her on a path of destruction.

J.D. bailed her out when it was necessary, dried her out on occasion and beat the hell out of any pimps who came her way but still...he sensed all his efforts were for naught.

Shelia had taken Frankie’s death hard. Real hard.

Christopher Marucci. The firstborn son of a huge Italian family. Chris’ brother Benjamin had been stationed in the Pacific. The family lost both sons within two months of each other.

Chris was the ladies’ man of the group. He was one damned handsome man, and he knew it but down deep, he was a sentimental slob that believed in love at first sight.

J.D. gained five pounds every time he visited Marucci’s home. Mama Julie was one damned fine cook!

The family were trying to go on in the face of insurmountable odds. All J.D. could do was offer sincere platitudes. He had never felt so helpless and useless. Nothing was going to heal that family but time and then...maybe not even that.

And last but not least. Henry ‘Henny’ Watson.

What could you say about Henny? Henny had a sister too. A real looker. If you liked seventeen-year-old juniors still in high school.

Jennifer Watson had a major crush on J.D. McGinnis. J.D. was flattered, of course. What man would not be. Jen was a cute kid and once those braces were removed, J.D. was sure he’d have to kill one of the many suitors the pretty girl would attract.

A shame the boy would have to die so young, but J.D. had promised to look out for Jennifer. Which pissed her off royally sometimes.

Henny hailed from New York City, with all the brash and swagger of a big city boy. If the Marines hadn’t nailed his ass, Henny was sure he would be back in the States running the ‘44th Street’ gang by now.

Like J.D., the man had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks but unlike his counterpart, Henny never wanted ‘out’. He always intended to go ‘up’... In the ranks of the people who ran the South Side of the city.

Old Joe Morano had taken Henny under his wing at an early age. Joe often said, Henny had a natural feel for the business.

J.D. didn’t think the old guy was talking about the salvage place which served as a front for all the illegal activities the South Side organization was into.

The first time J.D. had to fire his weapon; he had hit the target he aimed for. He puked for three days straight.

Henny had his first kill on the second mission the squad drew. After the fire fight had ended, Henny had walked over to the young Italian soldier’s body which lay so still and quiet after the noise of the weapons’ fire. He looked at the kid for a few seconds, took a smoke and moved on.

Captain Reese had taken the time to seek him out. To ask if everything was okay. Reese genuinely cared about his people. It wasn’t easy to take a life even in war.

“Hey, the guy would have ‘oft’ me, right?” Henny shrugged the concern away. “Why wouldn’t I be okay, Cap?”

Captain Reese nodded. What else could the guy have done.

“Well, there you have it then. It’s a mean world out there. A guy has to survive. Am I right?” Henny wanted to know.

Everyone had to agree, it was a sound statement of fact.

That was Henry Watson. But a more loyal, devoted friend, a guy couldn’t ask for. Just don’t cross the guy.

J.D. had seen Henny at other times though. Like the time he literally gave the shirt, well...the jacket, off his back to a young Infantry kid who was clearly, bleeding out.

The kid was shaking like a leaf from the blood loss, sure but more so, fear. Fear of dying. Fear of dying alone, far away from people he loved.

His entire Company was gone. One had only to look around to see the young bodies strewn out over the rubble of the buildings of one of the nameless town’s J.D’s units had to clear.

Looked like these kids had met with hard resistance from the Krauts.

The kid knew. Henny knew. J.D knew. But there was nothing their medic could do. So, Henny sat with the kid, lit the guy a cig, tried to keep him warm by giving over the jacket. A useless gesture in itself granted, but a guy did what he could.

Henny let the kid talk about his mom. He had a kid brother back home, he said, in a little old town just outside Lubbock, Texas. J.D. had forgotten the name.

The young man’s dad was a Staff Sergeant stationed in Scotland, training the new recruits. He was proud of his dad. His Father would have been proud of his son in the end, because the kid died without a whimper.

Henny had retrieved his jacket from the boy’s clutched fingers, collected the tags, fixed the bayonet and hung the helmet. A ritual they knew all too well. No one knew if the helmet belonged to the kid, but it was a marker.

The ‘Ghouls’ would see it. They would get the kid back to his mom and brother...and old man.

It’s all the kid had asked. That and a last bit of chocolate. The request had brought a grin to Henny’s face. “Don’t let em leave me here. I wanna go home, okay?”

“It’s ok, man.” Captain Reese knew better than to refer to the ‘kid’ as ’kid. The young boy had paid his dues. He was a man now, even though his age belied the title.

“The ‘Ghouls’ are following up. We’re clearing a path. They will be here soon. I promise. We’ll get you back.” The kid seemed better and then...he died.

It was a winter’s day in late November.