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pair. He should have been home in bed, warm and waiting for college to start, but instead he’d enlisted, and now here he was, in freezing temperature, laying in a cold hole in the ground, waiting for a man from another country to come try to kill him.
    “Christ. It’s cold as a witch’s tit.” Fahey stated the obvious.
    “What do we do now? I don’t see any movement. Should we go out there?”
    “If Sarge don’t say scout, we don’t scout. If you see a guy in a metal helmet don’t look like ours, you lay into him,” Fahey said.
    Grillo shivered. His gut was done up in a knot so tight he thought he was going to pass out. He inhaled and exhaled, but for some reason his head got foggy and stars danced before his eyes.
    “I don’t feel good, can’t see,” Grillo muttered.
    “Big dummy. Don’t suck in so much air. That’s just fear getting to you. You’re in the damn 101st airborne. You’re here to chew lead and kill Krauts. Now get it together. Just curl up and take some deep breaths. Think about a pretty girl taking off her dress, that always done it for me,” Fahey said.
    Another twig snapped, and Grillo was sure he heard something brushing through the snow.
    “Oh Christ, they’re coming for us,” Grillo said.
    He followed Fahey’s advice and slipped into the foxhole. He took slow breaths, and thought about Louise. They’d had one night together before he’d shipped out. She had been shy, and slipped out of her clothes in the dark.
    Then, warm and soft, Louise had slid into bed with him and let him work at her garters until he'd peeled the stockings off her long, smooth legs.
    He tried to picture her big puff of blonde curls while she lay beneath him, but his thoughts kept getting interrupted by images of Germans coming out of the mist.
    “Contact,” Fahey said and fired.
    The M1 boomed next to Grillo.
    He pushed his panic aside, sucked in a deep breath, and rolled to his stomach with his M1 ready and prepared to fire. He aimed at a vague white shape and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Then he remembered the safety and flicked it forward.
    “Contact. Contact!” Fahey yelled and fired again. “Christ. My sight's off or something.”
    Grillo steadied his aim, centered the sights, and fired twice. Around him, the men of Baker company ran toward their location. Sergeant Pierce arrived first and dropped next to Fahey. He bore a Thompson submachine gun in one hand, his helmet in the other, and a pair of pineapples from each shoulder strap. The grenades bounced against his chest as he hit the dirt. Pierce lifted his weapon and scanned the forest.
    Grillo sucked in a breath and swore quietly.
    “Where?” Sargent Pierce asked.
    “Grillo popped his cherry. Kraut dropped like a rock just beyond that fallen log,” Fahey said, and pointed north.
    “Any more?” Sarge plopped his helmet on his head and left the straps hanging around his cheeks. He hadn’t had a shave in days, and looked rough around the edges. Dirt coated the front of his jacket, and was smeared on his face like camouflage.
    “Don’t know. Krauts didn’t send a telegraph,” Fahey said.
    “Okay, wiseass, got a job opportunity for you. Since you’re so smart today, why don’t you and Grillo go take a look?” Sarge said.
    “Oh, Jesus, Sarge. I just got warm, here,” Fahey complained.
    “If you’re warm, you’re the only one, Fahey,” Sarge said.
    “Uh, fellas?” Grillo said.
    The figure he’d shot twice got up on all fours. The enemy struggled to rise and then came to his feet. He had a pistol in one hand, but he didn’t lift it. The shape was a good hundred feet away, but Grillo wasn’t able to get a good look at the soldier’s face.
    “Thought you killed him, Grillo,” Fahey said and tossed his smoking cigarette butt to the ground.
    “I got it,” Sarge said.
    “Wait, Sarge. He’s been whining ‘bout his first kill,” Fahey said.
    “Fine. You two take care of that Kraut, and then I want a patrol out