This one is also crap. And it's not historically accurate. The Americans won the battle of Noville and Foy.
***


“Move out!”

It’s never a nice sound, that order. Whenever we ‘move out’, something bad is bound to happen. This time it was no exception. We packed up our weapons and trudged on through the ankle deep snow.

Our commander, Captain Winters, told me that we’d be heading for Noville. Or was it Foy? I can’t remember much now.

So we marched. All the way until morning we marched. Maybe the cold got to Captain Winter’s head, I don’t know, but quite madly he told us to attack. Right there and then, in broad daylight. I wondered if he was mad, I really did. Never done that before. But he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled slightly.

I had no choice but to tell the men. There were groans; the men obviously didn’t want to go back into combat after all that it had wrought. Still, it was an order, so like good little boys they moved out.

And so we struggled through the snow, in broad daylight, in full view of the Germans. I still don’t know why Winters asked us to do so. In my opinion, we should’ve gone under the cover of darkness, so that the Krauts wouldn’t be able to spot us that easily.

“Rat-a-tat-tat!” the stutter of the German machine guns interrupted my thoughts and made the men dive for cover. Which wasn’t a very good thing to do seeing as they dived into ankle deep snow instead. And diving into snow headfirst, unless intentional, isn’t a very fun thing to do.

Amazingly, miraculously, the whole company made it to the town without a single casualty. Or so I thought. There were two men cut down in the snow. We never recovered their bodies.

The new commander, the one that had replaced Winters as head of E Company, told us to fan out. Which was pretty smart for him, considering the fact that he had never offered a helpful suggestion before. Maybe Winters listened to me after all.

***

The cold, lonely figure jumped suddenly as his ex-commander [looking very Rudolph-y with a red nose] walked past.

“Yes, Sergeant?” asked the Captain, amused at the Sergeant’s sheepish expression.
“Well, sir, I know this is unorthodox and all, but it’s about Dyke.”

Winters’ expression hardened immediately. “What about him?” he asked, perhaps a little too sharply.

The Sergeant shifted uncomfortably under his battalion commander’s intense gaze. “Well, sir, the boys are a bit uncomfortable with him leading us, sir. We’d really like to have you back,” he mumbled, suddenly finding the ground rather interesting.

Winters laughed. “So would I, Sergeant,” he said, smiling crookedly. “So would I.”

The Sergeant looked up hopefully, his face brightening. “Really, sir? So will you be coming back?”

The man’s cynicism returned and he chuckled bitterly. “I wish I could. Field commanders get so much more experience and action. The only thing staff officers do is coop themselves in some dark hole and sign papers.”

“I bet Dyke would like that,” the Sergeant muttered darkly, more to himself than to Winters. “Foxhole Norman’s useless.”

Winters pretended not to hear the remark. “Just keep in mind he’s your superior in rank to you,” he said lightly, although privately he would rather the Sergeant be of a higher rank than Dyke. He sighed. “Tell you what. I’ll try and drill it into that noggin of his what he’s supposed to do tomorrow.

His Sergeant smiled happily, the bright expression on his face returning. “Thanks a lot, sir!” he hurried off, presumably to tell the others. The Captain watched him go, smiling a little sadly.

***

“Sergeant! Hey, Sarge!” a voice shook me from my reverie. To my horror I realized I had been standing there, stock still, in the middle of the road for a few minutes. It was a miracle the Krauts hadn’t gunned me down yet. Quickly I ran zig-zag towards the nearest cover, avoiding the shells and machine guns as best as I could.

Maybe Winters didn’t succeed with the briefing. Dyke had gone completely insane and was telling the men to stop their advance. Incredulously I yelled at him, “But we’ve got to keep moving!”

He was in a state of shell shock, I think, because he didn’t dare move. There were people all around him, a radioman telling him Winters was on the line, a Corporal urging him to move…I looked him in the eye and shook him hard. “Sir! We can’t just stay here! We’re sitting ducks!”

He didn’t even reply. Can you believe that? The nerve of the idiot! Our men were getting slaughtered in the snow, hiding there like big bright targets for the Krauts to shoot, and Dyke here was telling us to stay where we were?

Later, I heard about how angry Winters was. He was watching us and was yelling, “You’ve got to keep moving, damnit! Go forward!” My sentiments exactly. He even grabbed a weapon and started out for us. But he was Battalion X.O. and he couldn’t risk his life like that, as Colonel Sink reminded him.

And so, this was where Speirs came in.

***

Ronald Speirs was a nice guy…as long as you didn’t get on his bad side, that was. He was your typical company commander – brazen, smart, rugged. Respected and yet feared because of his ‘exploits’.

There were rumors going around, see. Speirs expected iron discipline from his men, like all parachute infantry commanders. He once issued an order for his men to “ignore every drink along the way”. Nothing happened…until he met a drunken N.C.O. Rumor has it that he court-martialed him on the spot. And if you thought that was bad, think again. The N.C.O. talked back to him. Without a word, without hesitation, Speirs drew his pistol and put a bullet between his eyes.

Scoff if you will, but from that day no one ever saw the N.C.O. again.

Another time, when we dropped into Normandy, Speirs grabbed a pack of cigarettes from our old platoon leader, Buck Compton. He then set off towards the nearby POW “camp”; it was, apparently, his turn to guard. According to the soldier who had been there, Speirs told him to “run along” while he distributed cigarettes to the POWs. He even offered to light their cigarettes. As the soldier was walking away, he heard a burst of machine gun fire. Intrigued, yet dreading what he would see, the soldier turned around. Speirs was striding towards him, mouth set in a grim smile, gun smoking.

The soldier couldn’t see any movement from the camp anymore.

***

As it was, Winters now saw Lieutenant Speirs right in front of him. “Speirs! Get yourself over here!” he bellowed, feeling rather angry at Dyke. “Get into that mess, relieve Dyke, take over the company.” Without saying anything, he gave an obedient nod and ran towards us.
The boys were amazed to see him running, dodging artillery shells, missing Kraut bullets, just running towards us. An artillery shell landed right in front of him and we feared the worst. By God, were we amazed as he jumped right past the hole and continued. He never got hit once – it was as if his life was blessed.

Soon he reached us. Breathless, he managed to tell Dyke, “I’m taking over,” before doubling over and catching his breath. Once he did that, he yelled at the astonished soldiers, “KEEP MOVING, BOYS! YOU AREN’T GONNA TAKE FOY JUST STANDING THERE!”

The boys seemed amused, almost relieved at having a good commander again. They immediately tried to press on, struggling through the tightly packed snow. Speirs and I, being the senior officer and N.C.O. respectively, continued yelling encouragements as we trudged towards the next house.

“Where’s Item?” Speirs yelled at me over the din.

“I think they’re over there, sir!” I yelled back, gesturing vaguely towards our north. “But we can’t get there. 1st platoon’s already stretched out and they’re being pinned down by a sniper, along with second. I think he’s in that building over there, the one with the roof caved in.”

Speirs looked at the direction in which my finger was pointing. “Right. I want mortar fire on that building until he’s gone, and when he’s gone, I want the platoons to move.” Turning to the boys he yelled, “Hurry up, then! We haven’t got all day!”

We raced towards yet another building. Item was a long way off, about the same distance we were from HQ. The sniper had been annihilated but the men were still taking a lot of time to get there.

“I think Item’s behind that low wall, sir,” I said, pointing into the distance. “We need to link up with them.”

“You’re right, stay here,” Speirs said in one breath, slapped me on the shoulder and before I knew what he was doing, ran. He started running towards that wall far, far away.

At first the Germans didn't shoot at him. I think they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. But that wasn't the really amazing thing. The amazing thing was that, after he hooked up with I Company…

He came back.

***

The orders were to pull back. The idiot Germans were just too strong. We would attack again tomorrow, they said. But no excuse would excuse what we were doing – retreating.

“I don’t like retreating,” I told my friend later. “Never retreated before.” Besides during one little Operation called Market-Garden, anyway.

He shrugged. “Hey, first time for everything.”

Although we were told to retreat, I still did something stupid. The day’s events couldn’t get any worse than what it already was, what with all the retreating. But I was wrong. It got all but worse after that. Especially since I was almost left to die in the snow.

See, as we were retreating, a sniper shot three men. I decided to try and draw him out, to kill him once and for all. With a rookie sniper [just shipped in two months ago] I set off towards the building.

“On the count of three, I’ll start running, and he’ll probably aim for me. When he does, aim and snipe him. Got it?”

The replacement, looking rather scared at being in the company of such a mad man.

“Right. Ready? 1…2…3!”

Perhaps he was too slow. Perhaps I was too fast. But whatever the case, I was shot by the sniper. Right in the throat. I was gagging, choking on my own blood. The recruit was still there, standing stock still, staring at me as I reached out towards him, trying to say something. Then he took off, leaving me behind, lying on the ground, the snow around me turning red with my blood.

I don’t know how I survived. The rookie never came back. Maybe he was too shocked by the sight of me with my throat all shot up, I don’t know. The fact remained that he never came back.

I guess I was just plain stupid. I mean, we were already pulling out. All the soldiers were gone, so the sniper didn’t pose any threat. But those three men he shot had been good men. What’s more, they had been retreating. He had shot three good men in cold blood. And that didn’t seem fair.

So I stupidly got a rookie sniper to go along with me. That was my second mistake. I should’ve taken a veteran, an excellent shot, like Shifty Powers. He wouldn’t have let me down. Best crackshot in the regiment, he was. But no, I had to be stupid and grab the rookie. I guess I thought it would be a good experience for him…which is rubbish thinking.
The world started to spin slowly. The sunlight started to grow dimmer. Or was it my eyes? I must’ve been there for ages. My hands were numb from the cold.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was a figure standing over me, saying in a very familiar voice, “Are you crazy?”

***

Somehow, they carted me off to hospital. Two weeks after I was brought in, I was evacuated to England to recuperate. Thankfully I made a fast recovery and was back with the boys by March 1945.

By God, it has never felt so good to be with your friends again. The boys were absolutely delighted to have me back. On the first day, I don’t know how many excited shouts of “Look, it’s the First Sergeant!” I heard.

One night, we were sitting around in the bedroom of a house in Germany. We were reminiscing, and the inevitable subject of my rescue came up.

“Say, boys, who brought me back?” I inquired, desperate to know who my mysterious rescuer was. I could’ve sworn I knew from the voice, but I had to be sure.

The men looked around carefully before replying in unison, “Speirs.”

I knew it. I just knew it. But I was as good as dead then. Why did he risk incurring the wrath of his seniors for going against orders, risk the chances of getting shot before he could reach me, just to save me?

“Sergeant? A word?”

The voice appeared out of nowhere, making us jump. It was Speirs, skulking in the shadow of the doorway. The boys made hasty excuses and left us alone.

Suddenly, the fact that I was alone with Ronald Speirs made me think of the rumors again. Was he going to shoot me? Apprehensively I inched away just a bit.

Speirs, noting this, sat down where Bill Guarnere had been sitting a few moments ago. He sighed. “You want to know, don’t you.” Not a question, a statement. “Know what, sir?” I asked carefully, knowing full well that both of us knew what he was talking about.

“The rumors about me. You want to know if they’re true. Tell you what. These stories…the guy who tells you says they heard it from someone who was there. But then when you ask that person, they say that they heard it from someone who was there. I bet a few hundred years ago you’d hear French troops gossiping about how Napoleon supposedly poisoned French soldiers suffering from the plague.”

To tell the truth, I was a bit intrigued. “Well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Napoleon deny it.”

Speirs winked at me. “Well, maybe that's because Napoleon knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole French Army.”

He had a point there. I quickly changed the topic, not wanting to be embarrassed. “Sir, those rumors…we – the boys – aren’t really concerned about them. We’re just glad to have you as our C.O., to have a good leader again.”

Speirs then did something strange. He laughed. His laughter echoed around the small room as he offered me a small smile.

“Actually, from what I've heard, they've always had one. I've been told there's always been one man they could count on. He led them into the Bois Jacques, held them together during the Kraut shelling, encouraged them to keep going. Every day, he kept their spirits up, kept the men focused, gave 'em direction. Boy, do I respect that guy.”

I was absolutely confused. Who was he? I mean, Winters fit the bill perfectly, but he was in battalion HQ now. He couldn’t have lead the men no matter how much he wanted to. So if it wasn’t Winters, who was it?

Speirs took one look at my dazed expression and chuckled. “You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

“You,” he said simply. “I’m talking about you. You’ve always given the men support, held them together in dire moments, stuck with them through thick and thin, kept them going regardless of everything, helped them succeed against all odds. You’ve done an excellent job, First Sergeant, a better job than any man could ever hope to do. Speaking of which, that reminds me. You’re not going to be a first sergeant anymore, I’m afraid.”

I was shocked. Was Speirs demoting me? “Why’s that, sir?” I asked.

“Well, we had a battlefield commission thing coming our way. Winters put you through and Colonel Sink agreed immediately. You’ll get official notice in a few days time.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I had best get back to Battalion before it disappears.” He sighed theatrically, forcing a small smile from me. “With all this Kraut shelling, you never know. See you around, Lieutenant.” He clapped me on the shoulder and walked off, leaving me stunned.

Later, I got my commission. As a 2nd Lieutenant I was officially discharged from the Army. And not a moment too soon, I might add. The war was ending and I wanted nothing more but to go home.

But even though I went home, even though I didn’t see my men until 10 years down the road, even though we were no longer together as a unit, we still remained bonded, bonded by a strong bond that would withstand everything, including the test of time. And we always remained together, no matter what. We were always supporting each other, helping one another through everything.

And above all, although we weren’t blood related, the bond we had forged during the years, the bond that had kept us together, the bond that had withstood everything through all these years, would bring us closer than anyone ever could be. It made us, in every sense of the word…

Brothers.

Finis