trees and snow. Finally, Tom turned and got the attention of one of the machine gunners.

“Cover me!” he shouted, “I’ve got to get to Sarge!”

“Are you crazy?” the husky replied.

“Just cover me!”

Tom got down into the prone position and cradled his rifle in his arms, preparing to make his way to where Balto lay. As he inched away from the protection of the fallen tree, though, the Germans turned their fire on him. Snow flew as bullets laced the ground around him, compelling him to retreat. Yet even as he withdrew, his eyes remained fixed on his fallen sergeant.

“Sarge!” he cried in desperation, “Sarge! Can you here me, Sarge?”

Suddenly, there was a whoosh, and white light shot up into the sky. It seemed to hang in mid air for a moment, and then began to drift slowly down; a parachute flare. The clearing was suddenly flooded with pure white light, and the squad, peering through the fog, could see the faces of their enemy across the clearing. No sooner did the small squad perceive who was firing at them than small explosions started going off in the clearing, sending shards of shrapnel in all directions.

“Shit! Mortars!” one of the riflemen shouted, pointing out into the clearing.

The small squad watched in horror as round after round burst only feet from their fallen sergeant, who was motioning frantically to them. With one hand, he clutched his chest, and with the other, he waved and pointed behind them. As they continued to stare uncomprehendingly, he mouthed the words: Go back!

Suddenly, one of the mortar rounds exploded next to him, flinging him into the air and slamming him back down on his chest, where he lay, unmoving.

Just then, the mortar rounds began dropping less than fifty yards behind the small squad. All eyes turned to the BAR gunner. Only a lance-corporal, he was suddenly their leader.

“What now?” someone shouted above the exploding mortar rounds, “We can’t stay here! They’ve got us bracketed!”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” the BAR gunner cried in a panic, “I need to think!”

“You better think fast, Mac, or we’re dead!”

The lance-corporal, breathing heavily and sweating, finally shouted,

“Fall back! Fall back!”

“What about Sarge?” Tom demanded, “We have to get Sarge!”

“Tom, he’s lost,” one of the rifleman shouted over the din of battle, “We can’t stay here!”

“We can’t just leave him for dead!”

“He’s dead already!” the BAR gunner shouted desperately, “Get up and fall back. We’re moving back to our lines. Go!”

Reluctantly, Tom glanced one last time at Balto, who remained unmoving less than forty feet away, and started running back the way he’d come. One by one, the rest of the squad followed suite, firing as they withdrew.

Across the clearing, the Germans also withdrew, and the mortar rounds stopped falling. Silence returned to the clearing. And all that remained was all that remained. A life truly desired, and sorely missed. A life slowly bleeding away into the snow.

Jenna twirled happily in her purple silken dress, dancing away the remaining hours before she would cast herself off to dreamland. Six o’clock was not all that early for dinner, and her family soon sat down to a Christmas feast. Turkey, stuffing, vegetables, and gravy adorned the table. Jenna ate slowly, trying not to think about where Balto might be, but with little success.

After dinner, she bid her parents and grandmother good night and went off to her room. Shedding her silken dress in favor of a nightgown, she then climbed into bed. She turned on her bedside lamp and opened the bottom drawer of her night stand. Removing a stack of Balto’s letters, she began to read.

A few hours later, she replaced Balto’s letters in the drawer and curled up to sleep…

Chapter Seven

The Medal

“You what?” Roe shouted, in disbelief of what he’d just been told.

“We didn’t have no choice,” the lance-corporal defended, “They had us pinned down. We had to get out of there!”

“You idiot!” Roe shouted, “Never leave a man behind, no matter what the cost!” The squad looked at their feet, too full of shame to meet the medic’s gaze. “And what’s worse, since you left him there, if he was alive he’s been taken prisoner! And guess who has to write a letter to his girl back home now because of your lack of intelligence?” Roe angrily held up Balto’s photo of Jenna. No one spoke for a long time. Finally, Tom raised his head.

“We could go back and get him,” he suggested, “Maybe he’s still there.”

Doc Roe, who was still filled with a mix of rage and grief, looked at Tom and nodded shakily.

“Yes, there’s always that chance,” he stammered, “Tom, come with me. The rest of you, stay here.”

“Doc,” the lance-corporal stuttered, “you can’t-”

“After your performance today, Riggs,” Roe growled, “I wouldn’t be saying anything. You cannot give orders to me. There is a wounded man out there and I am damn-well not going to loose him.”

Without another word, Roe started running in the direction the squad had returned, with Tom following close behind.

A few minutes later, they two arrived at the same fallen log and peered out into the clearing. Their hearts sank; all that remained to be seen was a patch of dried blood. Balto was gone.

The next morning, Tom visited Doc Roe in his foxhole. The two sat for a long time without speaking. Roe withdrew the picture Balto had given him and showed it to Tom. Both thought of how his Jenna would react to the loss of the male who likely meant the world to her.

“I should have just gone and risked it,” Ben whispered sadly, “I might have made it to him.”

“You did what you could, Tom,” Roe replied, wiping tears from his eyes, “I guess I should start that letter.”

31 December, 1944, one week later

Jenna moved slowly among the tables, refilling empty glasses and handing out checks. Thankfully, there were few customers, and those that were there were gradually leaving. She glanced at the clock. 8:30; half an hour from closing time.

As she handed John the last few checks, he rang up the totals and handed her the change.

“Jenna, as soon as you hand those out, you can leave,” he said, “I’ll close up here.”

“Are you sure, John?”

“Positive,” he replied, “You’ve worked hard this week. Do me a favor and take a break. I’ll see you on the 3rd.”

“Thanks John,” Jenna said with a smile. She quickly handed out the change and checks and then bid the restaurant good night to begin her trip home.

Immediately, she was dowsed in a never-ending sheet of rain, and she quickly opened her umbrella. The streets of Spring Falls glowed with the light of street lamps reflecting off the rain as she made her way home. After a quarter of an hour, she arrived at her mailbox, and removed a few letters. At a glance, she saw that one of them was from Europe, and smiled. With that done, she moved down the road and knocked on the door of Mrs. Tyrell. Balto’s mother had invited her and her parents and grandmother over for New Year’s Eve. Moments later, Mrs. Tyrell appeared at the door.

“Jenna, come in, please,” she said sweetly, “We were afraid you wouldn’t make it in time.”

“Thank you Mrs. Tyrell,” Jenna replied, extending her arm, “Here’s your mail.”

“What a sweet girl you are,” Mrs. Tyrell remarked, hanging up Jenna’s coat, “Go on into the dining room, your parents and grandmother are waiting.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Jenna walked into the dining room and sat down across from her parents. She handed them their separate pieces of mail, but kept the letter for her. Mrs. Tyrell appeared a moment later with five glasses of champagne.

“To the new year!” she proclaimed, raising her glass, “May all our boys come home safely.”

“Here, here,” Mr. Baker exclaimed.

The five then downed their champagne. For the next three hours, they sat and talked happily. As the time approached midnight, Mrs. Tyrell stood up, taking everyone’s glasses.

“Does anyone want more?”

No one did.

She disappeared into the kitchen, and the rest resumed talking. Moments later, though, there was the sound of glass breaking, and everyone rushed into the kitchen. A glass lay shattered on the floor, but Mrs. Tyrell made no attempt to clean it up. Nor did anyone else. Everyone’s attention was riveted on what she held in her hand; a Western Union telegram.

Everyone held their breath as Mrs. Tyrell, hands shaking terribly, unfolded the message. Her eyes darted across the page, and she cried out, falling against the counter. Mr. Baker rushed forward to support her, and took the paper from her trembling hands. Jenna and her mother and grandmother came forward to comfort Mrs. Tyrell as Mr. Baker read the telegram to himself. The breath caught in his lungs and he looked at Jenna, who met his gaze. Mrs. Baker and Jenna’s grandmother also looked to him, but Jenna was the first to speak.

“W-What does it say,” she whispered.

Mr. Baker looked in confusion from the telegraph to Jenna, not wanting to read it aloud for fear of saddening the grieving Mrs. Tyrell more. It was she, however, who sensed this, and spoke up.

“Read it,” she sobbed, leaning against the counter.

Mr. Baker took a shaky breath and began to read.

Dear Mrs. Tyrell,

We regret to inform you that your son Balto is missing in action. I understand your deep want to know as much as possible, but given the circumstances I am afraid that there is very little I can tell you. Your son died heroically in the defense of the oppressed people of Europe, and for that they, and all the people of this nation, are forever grateful. For his self sacrifice, he has been chosen to receive the Silver Star and the Purple Heart. Please accept my deepest condolences in this time of sorrow, for nothing can assuage the anguish of a lost loved one. May God watch over you and your family.

George C. Marshall

-Chief of Staff of the Army

Jenna, who had moved close