his rifle aimed at the German’s heart. The German froze and raised his hands, shaking slightly. It was then that Balto saw the red cross on his helmet. He lowered his rifle and swung it onto his back. The German medic backed a few steps away and looked to him for any reaction. Balto just nodded and bent down, lifting the wounded paratrooper onto his back. That done, he turned and began stumbling back the way he’d come.

He had scarcely gone ten steps when he heard a crack, and felt an intense burning in his left thigh. A cry of pain escaped his muzzle and his rifle clattered as it hit the frozen ground. Balto fell against a tree and looked behind him. Smoke curled from the muzzle of a pistol held in the shaking hands of the German medic. Balto could hardly believe his eyes. He had just been shot by a medic! Medics aren’t supposed to be armed, he thought, but suddenly he remembered the medic taking something off his dead comrade. He took the husky’s pistol!

The clacking of a trigger brought him abruptly back to the present. He saw with a sense of humor that the German’s pistol was empty, but he didn’t seem to notice. Balto snatched his fallen rifle with one hand and leveled it at the medic.

“Ho tep,” he said, hoping he’d used the words for leave. When the German didn’t move, he raised his voice, “Va schnell!”

That was enough. The German medic dropped the pistol and took off running into the woods, undoubtedly toward his own lines.

Balto lowered his rifle and used it as a crutch. Slowly, painfully, he began to make his way toward the American lines and safety.

24 December, 1944

Jenna sat with crossed legs on the living room couch with her grandmother. Before her lay her presents, all unwrapped. A pair of romance novels from John, a thick woolen sweater from her grandmother, a glass encased clock from her father, and pearl necklace from her mother.

True, these were wonderful gifts, and Jenna had thanked her parents and grandmother with hugs and presents of her own, but what she really wanted for Christmas she knew no one could give her. Setting aside her cup of tea, she picked up a framed picture from the small table near the tree. Encircled in a white frame was a portrait of a young brown wolf-husky with golden eyes. Jenna held the picture to her chest as tears welled up in her eyes. Her grandmother noticed her tears and put a paw on her shoulder.

“You miss him a lot, don’t you?” she said.

Jenna nodded, wiping away her tears.

“I wish he was here.”

Her grandmother smiled as she pulled a present from beneath one of the pillows and presented it to Jenna.

“Then this might help. Balto’s mother stopped by a few days ago and gave it to me to give to you. She asked that you open it last.”

Jenna glanced at the tag and felt her heart soar.

“It’s from Balto,” she whispered.

“Open it,” her grandmother insisted softly.

Jenna didn’t need to be asked twice. She carefully removed the wrapping paper and found a box and a letter. She unfolded the letter and read.

Jenna,

I found this in a small store in Paris when we were on leave. You would have loved Paris, and I wish you could have seen it. Just know that I’m thinking of you on this Christmas Eve and I wish I was with you. I hope you like the gift, though I think I may have picked the wrong size. Tell you family I wish them a Merry Christmas and peace in the new year.

I love you.

-Balto

Jenna handed the letter to her grandmother and gingerly opened the box. The contents were wrapped many times in tissue paper, and it took Jenna a few moments to remove the several layers, but what she found brought a tear to her eye. Her grandmother saw the gift and smiled warmly.

“Go try it on and come back when you’re done,” she advised.

Jenna nodded and slipped away to her room. A few minutes later, she returned. Her grandmother’s smile widened.

“George, Elaine,” she called, “You must come see this!”

A moment later, Mr. and Mrs. Baker appeared, curious to see what had caused such elation.

Jenna stood before them wearing a beautiful purple silken dress. The short sleeves were laced at the tips, as was the bottom tip of the dress itself. Mrs. Baker gasped in surprise as she examined the dress.

“Who sent you this?” she asked.

“Balto did,” Jenna replied with a smile, “from Paris.”

“What a wonderful young man,” her mother said, “We shall have to invite him for dinner when he returns.”

“Yes we should. He’s long deserved it,” her father added, “Jenna I hope you’ll forgive me for all my misgivings. If you love him, I have no objections.”

“Thank you, father,” Jenna sighed, embracing him, “I just hope he comes home safe.”

Meanwhile, half a world away, Balto raised his tin cup of coffee as he beheld Jenna’s photograph, still wedged under the inner webbing of his steel helmet.

“Here’s to you, Jenna,” he said, downing the steaming liquid.

Once the last of the blackened water had slithered down his throat, he turned his attention to the meager rations laid out before him. A prepackaged chicken entrée, a tin of green beans, cocoa and lemon powders, a bar of chocolate, and caramels. He popped the chicken in his mouth and let it thaw for a few moments before chewing and swallowing it. The tin of green beans opened neatly to the blade of his bayonet, and he devoured the contents. He then downed the cocoa powder directly from the package and stuffed the caramels and chocolate into his pockets.

Slowly, he replaced his helmet on his head and rose to his feet. Instantly, a searing pain shot up his left leg; a painful reminder of his close encounter with the German medic. He gritted his teeth and lowered his rifle, using it as a temporary crutch to get out of his foxhole. A moment later, the pain began to subside, so he lifted his rifle and stumbled forward again. The new company first sergeant had called a meeting.

Along the way, he passed the foxhole of Doc Roe.

“Sarge,” Roe called after him, “you really shouldn’t be-”

“I know, Doc,” Balto interrupted, not looking back, “but this is necessary.”

“C’mon Sarge, ever since I let you leave the aid station, you’ve been going harder than ever before.”

“I know, Doc, but I am a sergeant,” Balto replied, finally looking back, “I have to keep an eye on my men. Especially you.”

“Just humor me and take it easy, will you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, when you’re not thinking about your girl, eh Sarge?”

Balto stopped in his tracks and turned around.

“What?”

“Your girl, Jenna,” Roe said with a smile, “What, you think I didn’t hear you talking in your sleep last night?”

“No, I didn’t,” Balto admitted, “I’ve never talked in my sleep before.”

“Aw, who cares? Your secret’s safe with me, Sarge,” Roe said.

“Thanks Doc,” Balto said, turning to keep walking. Just then, he stopped and turned around. Despite the throbbing of his leg, he sat down beside the foxhole. “Doc, can you do something for me?”

“What, saving your life wasn’t enough?” Roe joked.

“Hey, I found you, not vise-versa,” Balto replied, “I could have dropped unconscious at any time along the way, and you would’ve never found me.”

The two huskies laughed.

“But yeah,” Roe said finally, “I guess I owe you a favor or two. What do you need? And don’t say morphine.”

“Not morphine, that’s for the seriously wounded,” Balto said.

“Well then what’s that?” Roe pointed to Balto’s bandaged leg.

“A scratch.”

“Alright, Sarge, what do you need?”

Balto removed his helmet and revealed Jenna’s photograph.

“If I get killed, write to her,” he pleaded, “The address is on the back.”

“Sarge, I…” Roe responded, avoiding Balto’s eyes, “I don’t think I could do that.”

“Please do it, Eugene. For me.”

There was a long moment of silence between them.

“Alright Sarge,” Roe said finally, accepting the picture from Balto’s outstretched hand, “If it’ll make you feel better, I will. But don’t get yourself shot!”

“I don’t intend to, but it’s really not my choice,” Balto replied, looking to the sky, “Our lives are so short. And only he decides when and where it stops.”

Balto put his helmet back on and stood up.

“Take care Sarge,” Roe called as Balto limped toward the meeting point.

“I will, Doc.”

Late that night, Balto led a patrol to test the enemy’s lines. They expected very little contact, so they packed light; only water and ammunition. The patrol comprised ten men: Balto as patrol leader, six riflemen, Tom among them, a two-man machinegun crew, and a heavy rifleman armed with a Browning automatic rifle or BAR. A fog had rolled in, so the squad set out in tight formation so as not to loose sight of one another. After walking for a few minutes, the squad came to a small clearing, and it was here that they stopped. Balto motioned for the rest of the huskies to take cover behind a large fallen tree, which they did, while he surveyed their surroundings.

“Shouldn’t we keep moving, Sarge?” Tom asked.

“No,” Balto replied flatly, “I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. We should have run into something by now.” He took one last look around and stood up. “Stay put. I’ll be back.” With that, he advanced warily into the clearing.

Just then, the roar of a machine gun shattered the eerie silence, and Balto fell backward in a spray of red mist. Simultaneously, more muzzle flashes appeared all along the opposite tree line, flickering like a thousand candles against the supreme darkness of night. The small squad ducked down as bullets thudded repeatedly against the fallen tree. Tom peered out into the clearing and saw his sergeant lying face up in the snow. A small pool of blood grew around him as he clutched at his chest. As Tom stared in shock at his fallen leader, the others in the squad turned their weapons on the distant muzzle flashes and fired. Bullets zinged through the air and thudded into the surrounding trees and snow.