Honor

Lone Wolf_fanwriter

*Balto, Jenna, and all other Balto characters are the intellectual property of Universal Pictures and Amblin Entertainment.

*This story was partially inspired by the Band of Brothers series created by Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg. This story is not meant to be a historical portrayal, so some parts may stretch the boundaries of reality. The names Winters, Nixen, and Doc Roe are used simply for this story. Any similarities between their portrayed characters and their real life counterparts are purely coincidental and not intended.

*This fan fiction is rated PG-13 for war violence, some blood, and occasional cursing.*

*The song ‘How Do I Live without You’ is copyright to Trisha Yearwood.

*The song ‘No Place That Far’ is copyright to Sara Evens.

Chapter One

A World at War

May 10^th, 1943

Balto looked again at the slip of paper in his hand. Earlier the previous week, he had reported to the local recruiting station and signed a voluntary draft form to enlist in a new branch of the Army called the Paratroopers. It had only taken the doctor five minutes to make his assessment, which was reflected word for word on the slip of paper.

Fit for combat.

It had been only two days after his seventeenth birthday, but he had been anxious to enlist since the day his older brother Jacob had joined the Air Corp in 1942. His mother, however, had not endorsed his enthusiasm to enlist early, and would not sign the form. Even when he had asked her permission only two months earlier, her answer had remained the same: They would not loose all three of their sons to the war.

At this remembrance, Balto recalled the last time he’d seen his oldest brother Tom, on the day after Pearl Harbor. That day, he had joined the Navy in hopes of avenging the over two thousand young men the Japanese had killed. Their mother had made a fuss, but it was her silence afterward that hurt him the most. At 19, he was the oldest of the three, and was already of age when he brought home the form for voluntary draft. His mother had sighed and taken the form from Tom’s outstretched hand.

‘I’ll sign this,’ she had said, ‘on one condition and one condition only…’

Tom had leaned closer, meeting her gaze.

‘That I never, and I mean never, open up the morning paper and find your name on the list in the back.’ She placed yesterday’s paper on the table and rested her finger on a short list that had grown with each passing month. Balto looked and felt his heart tighten. The casualty list.

Tom had nodded, and the next day, he walked into the recruiting office with both signatures.

Balto sighed and shook his head. Since that day, he had only heard from his brothers through his letters, which, although written almost every other day, arrived sporadically. There had come a month once when his mother did not receive a single letter from either of them, and she had become almost frantic with worry. Early the next month, though, they finally received word. Tom had been out on active duty, and had not been able to get any of his letters out. He apologized for this, and promised he would try to let them all know in advance if he would be out of communication. Jacob’s letter arrived two days later. He wrote that he had been involved in intense fighting, and had thus been unable to write. He also promised to keep in touch. Even so, his mother still worried for his and Tom’s safety, and for good reason.

Mounting the stairs and entering his room, Balto left the paper on his dresser and started changing his outfit. Tonight, he wanted the war to be the farthest thing from his mind. It was, after all, his junior prom.

Being a farm boy in ‘Nowhere, Virginia’, he didn’t have a suit like most other guys at the prom were sure to have. What he did have was his father’s dress uniform from the Great War back in 1918. This’ll have to do, he thought, stepping into the brown pants and matching jacket. After checking the golden buttons in the mirror, he eyed his overall appearance.

The brownish-tan fur that went from the tip of his nose all the way down the front of his torso was slightly lighter than his jacket, and the brown fur that coated the rest of his body was slightly darker, so, clothing and all, he comprised three different shades of brown. Not uncommon for a wolf-hybrid. Quite uncommon was his build: tall and lean. It was this, perhaps, at which he sighed. Being taller than many other boys his age had made it easy to lie. He had to be eighteen to join the Army. He was barely seventeen, but what did he care? No one would find out. He also hated being different, and sometimes mocked for it, but tonight, these things, normally so prevalent in his mind, seemed very far away. Without a second glance at the mirror, he snatched the lieutenant’s hat from its perch on his bed pole and descended the stairs feeling like a new person. When he entered the kitchen, his mother stepped back and put a hand to her chest. She had been sure that Balto had joined up as well, but it took only a moment for her to recognize her husband’s old uniform.

“Well,” Balto said, taking a big breath, “how do I look?”

His mother sighed and smiled.

“You look wonderful, dear,” she said, fixing his collar, “You’d make him proud.”

“Thanks mom,” Balto replied, a tear coming to his eyes, “I wish I’d known him.”

“So do I dear,” his mother sighed, “You would have loved him. He certainly loved you.”

They stood in silence for a moment before his mother spoke again.

“How late will you be out?”

“Eleven, I guess,” Balto shrugged, “Maybe midnight?”

“Alright, be safe,” she replied, pressing something into her son’s hand. He looked down in surprise. It was a set of car keys.

“If only just this once,” his mother warned jokingly, “Have fun dear.”

A few minutes later, Balto arrived at his first destination. He stepped out of the car and with a few strides was at the front door of a rather large house compared to his own. He knocked twice on the oak door and then removed his cap respectfully to wait. A few moments later, a short grey female wearing an apron opened the door.

“Yes, what is- Oh, Balto, you scared the life out of me!” she exclaimed, cracking a smile. Balto smiled in response, glad to see Jenna’s grandmother again.

In the summer, he and Jenna would often come to her house after school to pick some of the apples from the trees in her back yard. Both of Jenna’s parents worked until near supper time, so her grandmother would sit in her rocking chair and sew while Balto and Jenna quizzed each other on their homework.

“Hello Ms. Parker, I’m here to pick up Jenna.”

“Yes, of course, of course! Do come in!” she said happily, turning to shout down the hall, “Jenna! There’s a young man here to see you!”

“I’m coming! Just a moment!” came the sweet-voiced reply.

“Well, in the meantime, why don’t you sit down,” said Mrs. Parker, indicating a ready chair at the kitchen table, “Would you like some water?”

“No thank you, Ma’am,” Balto replied, taking his seat, “I’m sure there’ll be drinks at the dance.”

“Suit yourself.” Just then, there came the sound of another car in the driveway, and Mrs. Baker looked out the window. “Oh good, you can meet Jenna's father.”

“Um, we’ve already met,” he murmured.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

Suddenly, the front door opened and Mr. Baker stepped in. He was a tan and brown husky around 40 years of age, but not much taller than Balto. Even so, Balto respectfully stood up and addressed him.

“Good evening, Mr. Baker.”

Mr. Baker, who was still busy hauling a package into the hall, stopped suddenly and turned around to face Balto.

“Oh, so you’re the one,” he snapped.

“Yes sir,” Balto replied, being careful not to say too much for fear of, shall we say, overexciting Mr. Baker. His efforts did little good.

“I come home expecting to meet my daughter’s date and I find you!” Mr. Baker grumbled, “How did you get here so fast? You only got off a half hour ago.”

“I had to hurry, but I managed.”

“George, what are you two talking about?” Ms. Baker interrupted, quite confused.

“This farm boy’s been working part-time at my store for weeks, and he has yet to impress me!” her husband grunted, “You hay-sees are all the same, hard-working, but not cultured at all!”

“George!” Ms. Baker gasped, quite alarmed, “You take that back! Now this fine young man has worked up the courage to ask our daughter out and she said yes. That’s good enough for me!”

“We’ll it isn’t good enough for me!” he replied. Just as he was about to storm out of the room, he stopped again upon noticing, as if for the first time, Balto’s ‘suit.’ Having served in the First World War, Mr. Baker instantly took offense at what most veterans would be proud to see. “And just what do you think you’re doing wearing that uniform?” he demanded.

At the same time, the Baker’s live-in maid, Annie, a stout black female whose short muzzle did not betray her age, though she may have been any age from thirty to fifty, stepped into the entryway. Unbeknownst to those in the kitchen, the wise maid had been listening with some discontent as Mr. Baker had hurled insult upon insult on Balto, and had finally decided to intervene. She covered her entry into this domestic battleground by starting a common question.

“Ms. B, where did you want me to-” She stopped abruptly when she saw Mr. Baker stomping up to Balto until their muzzles almost touched. Balto recoiled slightly, but kept his composure. “Mercy sakes, Mr. Baker, give the boy some respect!” Mr. Baker, however, ignored the maid as Balto began to speak again.

“Mr. Baker, I needed good clothes for tonight and my mother suggested I wear my father’s old uniform,” he said, “I didn’t mean to offend you, but it’s the only thing I can wear.”

“Well, you don’t deserve to wear that uniform, boy,” Mr. Baker fumed, “Now get this through your head: If I ever see you dressed like this again, you won’t ever see my daughter again.”

Balto was shaking. The last threat had struck a deep nerve in him and he lost all will to speak. Mr. Baker noticed this, in addition to the sudden paleness of Balto’s face. He stepped back and nodded, his eyes still burning with anger. As he turned around, though, he came face to face with his mother.

“George, you ought to be ashamed!” she scolded, “Leave the poor boy alone! He’s done nothing to deserve that!”

“The boy’s insulting every man who ever wore that uniform!”

“He’s doing that uniform an honor, wearing it to his junior prom! You know how young boys are these days,” his mother replied, “Look at it! It’s been washed, pressed, and even the buttons have been shined! It’s in pristine condition, unlike yours!” At this, Mr. Baker’s furred cheeks, which were already red with anger, turned purple, and his veins began to show.

“It doesn’t matter how the uniform looks if what’s in it is filthy!” he thundered. Ms. Baker acted as though she had not heard this, crossed her arms, and looked her son straight in the eye.

“You never won an argument with me, and you won’t win this one,” she said in a calm, firm voice, “Jenna is going to the dance with this young man, and he’s going to wear whatever he pleases.” She then gave George Baker the look a mother gives her son when she wishes to say, ‘I have spoken. This argument is over.” Her son, however, was not quite so easily moved this time.

“Mother, that ‘young man’ is a half-breed!” he hissed. Ms. Baker gasped and put her hand over her mouth, but quickly slapped her son for such an insult.

“That’s quite enough out of you! Get out of this room this instant!” she said firmly, pointing to the entryway, “I don’t care where you go; just go somewhere else! You just wait until your wife gets home, boy, you’ll hear from me! Now go!”

Mr. Baker looked from his mother to Balto, who was standing quite still against the wall, and then back to his mother, who by that time had crossed her arms again and had begun to glare at him. Fuming, he turned and walked briskly past Annie and down the hall with clenched fists. He was not yet far enough away to avoid being heard, however, when he growled,

“Stupid half-breed, what does he think he’s doing, wearing that uniform?”

“I think he looks magnificent!” said a young female voice from behind him. Mr. Baker turned around. Jenna had just come from her room and, without so much as a glance toward her father, walked right up to Balto and hugged him. Unknowingly, she had snapped him out of his shocked, frightened trance and brought him back to his usual self. When he snapped out of this trance, he gasped.

For the first time since they met, he thought Jenna more beautiful than she had ever been. Instead of one of her simple, long skirts, she wore a magnificent blue dress that might have been worn by an angel. She had also let her red hair fall past her shoulders; it matched perfectly with what could be seen of the back of her neck. In stark contrast, the front of her face, muzzle, neck, and chest were all of a cream color. All of this beauty combined in one creature can have a starling effect on anyone who sees her, but especially so on one who loves her, as Balto did.

“Jenna,” he said with a sense of awe, “you look…incredible!”

Jenna blushed and smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are.”

“Then, shall we?” Balto asked, indicating the door.

“By all means.” Both teens laughed good-heartedly at their overly-elegant language.

Balto held the door open for Jenna and the two descended the front steps together; two friends, on one special night.

Chapter Two

A Feeling

That evening, Balto and Jenna arrived at their high school just as the dance was starting. Pulling up to the front of the building, he cut the engine and stepped out. Walking around the front of the car, he then opened Jenna’s door and, once she had stepped out, offered her his hand.

The school gym had been converted into a rectangular dance floor with candle-lit tables on all sides, near the walls. At one end stood a small stage. Some couples talked and laughed at their tables while others danced to slow music from an old phonograph on the stage.

“Would you like something to drink, Jenna?”

“It looks like they have lemonade; that sounds good.”

“I’ll get two.”

“Thanks,” Jenna replied, taking a seat at a nearby vacant table, “I’ll wait here.”

No sooner had Balto disappeared into the crowd than a black and white malamute walked up to Jenna.

“Jenna,” he said, “nice to see you here.” Jenna sighed quietly.

“Hello Steele.”

“Care to dance?” he drawled, leaning an elbow on the table.

“Thanks, but I’m here with someone else.”

“Really?” He looked around. “I don’t see anyone.”

“He’s getting us drinks,” Jenna replied, becoming annoyed.

“Is that so?” Steele said with a laugh, sitting down opposite her. He leaned closer and pointed toward the buffet table. “Well then, if he’s getting punch, I’d advise you to have him drink it first.”

Jenna followed his gesture and watched, astonished, as a few boys gathered around the punch bowl began to sway back and forth. She looked at Steele with a gaze that said, “Just what are you trying to pull?” and he grinned.

“A little gift from my friends at the bar downtown,” he explained. Jenna, more than a bit undignified, shook her head.

“We don’t need alcohol to have a good time, Steele,” she growled, raising her voice.

“Shh!” he whispered, glancing frantically around them. Finally satisfied that no one had heard, he leaned toward her. “You got it all wrong, Jenna. I’m having the time of my life, but sometimes things get a little…boring.” He ended with a chuckle, but Jenna just shook her head. Steele cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. “So, who’s the lucky guy that got you?” Jenna just sat and stared past him with a smile on her face. The answer came from behind him.

“Ahem.”

Steele quickly snapped his head around in surprise. Balto stood just behind him, holding two tall glasses filled to the brim.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but you’re in my seat.”

Still staring at Balto in disbelief, Steele got up, and with one last glance at Jenna, walked off. Balto watched him for a moment, and then sat down.

“I see the quarterback has his eyes on you,” he said, handing Jenna her glass.

“Eventually he’ll learn that the world doesn’t revolve around the football team, despite how much he believes the contrary.” Jenna lifted the glass to her lips, but stopped suddenly and examined the glass carefully. This caught Balto’s attention. “Lemonade right?”

“Yep, ice cold. Why?”

Jenna took a drink and then pointed to the buffet table. Balto spotted the same unfortunate boys that Jenna had seen and shook his head.

“The punch has been drugged,” Jenna said with an air of disgust.

“So I see,” Balto replied, “Steele?”

Jenna nodded.

Just then, a tan husky escorting a brown female passed by and Balto, recognizing him immediately, called him over.

“Kaltag! Hey, Kaltag!” The husky turned.

“Balto? Is that you?”

“Come on over. Take a seat!” Balto cried happily, pulling two more chairs up to the table. As Kaltag and his date sat down, Balto leaned toward Jenna. “You don’t mind, do you?” Jenna smiled.

“Of course not.”

“Balto,” Kaltag interrupted, “what kind of suit is that?”

“My dad’s old uniform,” Balto replied, “you know we humble farmers have no use for suits.”

“Too true, too true,” Kaltag remarked with a laugh.

“Laugh while you can,” Balto replied, “Just wait until I get my own uniform. We’ll see who’s laughing then.” Balto and Kaltag burst into laughter, but Jenna took Balto’s hint to heart, and was slower to join in. Balto noticed this, and stopped laughing.

“Jenna, are you alright?” he asked, seeing the slightest pallor of her cheeks.

“Yes, I’m…fine,” she insisted.

“Jen, would you, uh, like to dance?” Balto inquired, standing up and offering her his hand.

“Of course,” she replied, taking his hand.

Balto led her out onto the dance floor and they joined hands. Almost embracing, they began to step and sway with the music playing from the phonograph.

“Balto,” Jenna said, “You said you’d be getting your own uniform… Did you…”

Balto hung his head.

“Yeah, I enlisted a month ago,” he replied softly, “I’m lucky they called me up after the dance.” He paused. “Now I’m wishing I hadn’t signed up at all.”

“Balto, don’t say that,” Jenna said.

“But I mean it Jenna!” Balto whispered, “I never should have joined up. I should have stayed here with you.” He looked her in the eye, and she saw that he was beginning to cry.

“Balto, I’ve know you since we were just kids,” she said soothingly, “And you are the bravest, kindest, most wonderful boy I’ve ever met.” She hugged him tightly. “You go out there, and make us proud of you.”

Just then, the phonograph was stopped, and a senior choir girl began to sing as a saxophone played a slow, jazzed love song. Balto and Jenna took notice, and began to dance slowly along with the music.

How do I get through one night without you?

If I had to live without you, what kind of life would that be?

Oh, love, I need you in my arms need you to hold,

You’re my world my heart my soul

If you ever leave, baby you would take away everything good in my life

There was a short pause, and Jenna and Balto looked deep into each other’s eyes. They embraced as the girl continued to sing.

Without you, there’d be no sun in my sky

There would be no love in my life, there’d be no world left for me

And I, baby I don’t know what I would do, I’d be lost if I lost you

If you ever leave, baby you would take away everything real in my life

And tell me now,

How do I live without you? I want to know.

How do I breathe without you, if you ever go?

How do I ever, ever survive?

How do I, how do I, oh how do I live?

The saxophone played louder, each note ringing deeper and harder in the hearts of the listeners. Balto and Jenna meet each other’s eyes again, and leaned closer to each other until their lips met.

If you ever leave, baby you would take away everything, need you with me

Baby ‘cause you know that you’re everything good in my life

A young man stepped onto stage and joined the girl suddenly. They took a quick breath and poured their heart and soul into the last chorus. Balto and Jenna embraced and kissed again, pouring their feelings into one another.

And tell me now

How do I live without you? I want to know.

How do I live without you, if you ever go?

How do I ever, ever survive?

How do I, how do I, oh how do I live?

How do I live? …Without you…

The couple smiled and bowed to each other.

Balto and Jenna met each other’s eyes for the third time that night and embraced warmly. Jenna rested her head upon his shoulder, and he held her close as they continued to dance.

“I love you Balto,” Jenna whispered.

“I love you, too,” he replied, gently kissing her cheek, “I’ll write to you every day, I promise Jenna.”

“And I’ll write back every day,” she replied, leaning back to look into his deep, golden eyes, “You better come home safe.”

“I will, Jenna,” Balto replied, looking back into Jenna’s bright amber eyes as they filled with tears, “I promise, Jenna. I’ll come back, and then we can pretend I never left at all.”

Later that night, Balto pulled into Jenna’s driveway and walked her to the door with his arm over her shoulder. She didn’t mind at all. When they reached the door, they kissed one last time, and then ascended the front steps together. Balto knocked softly on the door before opening it for Jenna.

He came face to face with Mr. Baker.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” the old husky growled, pointing angrily at the clock on the wall, “Half past eleven. I told you to have her back by ten!”

“Wait, you didn’t-”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me, you half-breed!”

“Papa,” Jenna interrupted, “Leave him alone!”

“You mind your place, young lady,” Mr. Baker replied, turning on his daughter, “Now get in bed. It’s late enough as it is.”

“Papa, please, he’ll be in the service tomorrow!”

“Is that so?” Mr. Baker said, turning back toward Balto, “In that case, you are forbidden to see my daughter as of tomorrow.”

“What?” Jenna exclaimed, “You can’t-”

“I am your father, and I will do what’s best for you,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Balto, who remained standing on the porch, “What? Still standing here? Get lost!”

“What do you have against him now?” Jenna demanded, “I’ve been friends with him for more than seven years!”

“When you were only friends, I tolerated him,” Mr. Baker growled, “And as long as I’m living, that’s as far as your relationship will go with him!”

Jenna stepped back in shock and disbelief with her hand to her chest.

“Jenna,” Balto said, ignoring Mr. Baker for a moment, “I’ll come back, I promise.”

“Not if I can help it,” Mr. Baker growled, marching forward, “Get off my property this instant or I’m calling the police.”

Balto retreated down the front steps and cast one last glance past him at Jenna. She silently mouthed the words: I love you.

Her father turned around, but by that time, Jenna stood motionless. While his attention was diverted, Balto mouthed back the words: I love you too.

“Jenna,” Mr. Baker said, his voice dropping to that of very mild annoyance, “Go on to bed…now. It’s very late.”

Jenna turned on her heels and went into her room, shutting the door behind her. But rather that go to bed, she parted the shades hanging over her window, and peered out into the driveway just as a pair of headlights turned out onto the street, and a car pulled away. Jenna let the shade fall into place, and fell onto her bed.

Burying her face in her pillow, she began to cry.

Chapter Three

Two Hearts in War

Months passed. Balto wrote to Jenna every day, as he had promised, and every day, Jenna wrote back.

My Dearest Jenna,

I am a paratrooper! I’ve missed you sorely these past weeks, but I’m holding out. I hope you are doing the same. I miss you more than anything, Jenna. Please forgive me for leaving so suddenly. Hopefully, by the time I get back, your father will have warmed up to me at least a little.

Will write again soon.

Balto

4 November 1943

Dearest Balto,

I am so proud of you. Your determination and kind spirit are an inspiration to everyone back here at home. Your mother misses you dearly, and has asked me to pray for your safekeeping. She needn’t worry. I’m already praying that you’ll be home soon. This new school year has been very lonely without you to walk me home from school. I miss those summer days watching the clouds roll by from the trees in my backyard. Every time I go out and lay on the hill by our house I think of you. Please come home safe.

With all my love,

Jenna

5 November 1943

Dearest Jenna,

We are leaving the States tomorrow. For where I cannot say. It will be harder to get a letter out to you, but I will do my very best. Hearing from you is like the voice of an angel. I pray the Lord will watch over you and mother.

Love,

Balto

25 November 1943

Dearest love,

It is wonderful to still hear from you, though not as often. Keep your friends close. Wherever you may be going, I’ll always be with you. Steele has been bothering me for a few weeks now. He seems to think that now that you’re not here, I’m free game. But don’t worry; I’ll be waiting for you when you come home. Steele can’t change my mind.

All my love,

Jenna

13 December 1943

Jenna, my love,

It is such a blessing to hear from you way over here. I’m sure by now you know I’m in Ireland. I hear we’re moving to England soon, but I can’t be sure. I miss you so much, Jenna. I hope you’ll still recognize me when I get back. Thank you for your picture. All my buddies keep asking if you have any sisters, imagine that!

With love,

Balto

17 December 1943

Dearest Balto,

I’m glad to hear your friends liked the picture, though I hope they don’t get any ideas. My heart belongs to you and you alone. It will be a lonely Christmas here without your smiling face. You do remember Christmas, don’t you? Steele hasn’t shown up for school for the past two weeks. I think he’s finally come to terms with you and I. Even so, I do hope he finds someone who loves him as much as I love you.

Please come home safe.

All my love,

Jenna

23 December 1943

Months passed, and the two sweethearts continued their written correspondence. As winter faded into spring, and then summer, though, Balto’s letters became more filled with emotion than ever before. It seemed as though he had perfectly transcribed the pulsing emotions from his heart onto paper. He praised Jenna and everything about her, from her soft eyes and lips to her slender legs. Jenna, flattered beyond compare, began sharing all of her deepest feelings for Balto with him, just as he had done for her.

Then, Balto’s letters suddenly stopped near the beginning of June. Jenna feared the worst, but quietly dismissed her worries, reasoning that Balto had not mentioned deployment, and for a while she believed herself…

…until she saw the headline of the local paper on the morning of June 7^th.

Allies Launch Invasion of Europe

Her heart sank. She knew that Balto was among the brave young men jumping into battle deep behind enemy lines, and immediately redoubled her prayers for his safety.

Please God, march with him and protect him. Bring him home.

12 June, 1944

Balto marched in line with the rest of his fellow paratroopers down a dirt road in France. A few minutes ago, they had passed a sign with the name CARENTAN written on it. Just over the crest of the hill ahead, he could make out rooftops. Hello, Carentan, he thought absent-mindedly. As they neared the town, Balto’s mind wandered to the night of June the fifth, barely a week past.

On that night, he and many hundreds more paratroopers of the 506^th had been dropped deep into occupied France, their overall objective: To make a path for the seaborne troops to arrive on the beaches of Normandy the next morning. The problems had started over the supposed drop zones. The sky had suddenly lit up with anti-aircraft fire, claiming a at least four C-47s, their crews, and most if not all of the paratroopers inside. To make matters worse, some pilots had flown too low or too fast, and the equipment had been physically torn off the paratroopers by the prop blast. Once they hit the ground, most were sparsely armed, some not at all. And yet somehow, the men of Easy Company had managed to regroup by early morning the next day.

The rattle of a machine gun brought Balto out of his recollections. The radio man in front of him broke into a run toward the town, and he followed close behind, not entirely sure why. He and the radioman reached a small shed and flattened themselves against it, glad to be out of the machinegun’s sights.

“Where is everybody?” he shouted to the radioman. The radioman, with his small M1 carbine, was busy trying to suppress the machine gun, and did not appear to hear him. “Where is everybody?” he repeated, louder this time. The radioman immediately snapped his head around and replied just as loudly,

“I have no idea!”

As the radioman returned to his suppression of the MG, Balto cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward the road, where the rest of Easy should have been. Most of the men, however, were lying in the ditches on either side of the road, doing their best to stay as low as possible. Just then, Lieutenant Winters came running down the line, pulling men to their feet and shouting,

“Get up! You’re exposed here! Get up! Move forward!”

One by one, the men got to their feet and started running toward Carentan.

As the rest of Easy Company flooded toward him, Balto left the shelter of the plaster-walled shed and made his way to a small wooden gate, kicking it off its rusted hinges. Taking cover behind the corner of another small house, Balto caught sight of two machine guns in a house overlooking the main road; one on the third floor, and one on the bottom floor. Both were clattering away, sending curtain of steel toward the road. Balto hoped that the firing had claimed no lives.

Nearby, another ‘trooper tossed a grenade toward the lower machinegun in hopes of knocking it out, but the grenade fell short and exploded in the cobble street outside. The gunners ignored the blast and kept firing. The unlucky paratrooper turned toward Balto.

“I need grenades! Toss-”

Before the young man could finish his sentence, he was cut down by a rifle shot, and dropped like a bag of rocks.

“Sniper!” Balto shouted to his comrades advancing from behind him, “One o’clock!” The men took cover, and Balto leaned out around the corner of the house. He immediately spotted the shooter, a German rifleman lying on what looked to be a fire escape for the adjacent warehouse. He raised his M1 and pumped the trigger twice. The German slumped over his rifle and didn’t move.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Balto pulled a grenade from his belt and ran toward the lower machine gun, being careful to stay out of sight until the last moment. A few steps away from the window, he pulled the pin from the grenade. One…two…three… He tossed the grenade, and it arched into the window. Four… The gunners cried out in alarm. Five! And the grenade went off.

Signaling ‘all clear’ to his comrades, Balto swung up his M1 and dashed across the street and up the fire escape. The German rifleman was indeed dead, but Balto was more intent on inspecting his rifle. Suddenly, Lieutenant Winters was shouting at him from below.

“Take out those windows, Balto!”

“Yes sir!” he replied, lifting his rifle. Aiming at the bay windows just below the roofline, Balto emptied his rifle and was reloading when the horrid sound of incoming artillery reached his ears. As each round screeched overhead, it reminded him of a passing freight train, except in this case the train was barreling down on the town of Carentan.

“They’ve got us zeroed!” Winters shouted to the men still in the street below, “Take cover! Find some cover!” The men didn’t need to be told twice. Most scattered into nearby buildings while some pressed themselves against any sturdy wall they could find and stayed there. Balto, in the meantime, pounded down the stairs and made his way to one of the outlying houses on the far side of town. Along the way, most of his comrades reported ‘all clear.’ It seemed as though there was no one remaining to oppose them. Even so, Balto entered the house with his rifle at the ready. Behind him, one of Easy’s two-man machinegun crews entered close behind. Finding no one on the first level, the threesome moved to the upper floor. Balto was relieved to find only empty rooms. As he was about to turn and descend the stairs, he happened to catch sight of retreating grey-clad soldiers out an open window.

“Krauts!” he shouted, running to the window and flinging it wide open. Resting his rifle on the window sill, he began to pick off the retreating Germans just as the machine gun crew set up looking out the window next to him. The steady pounding of the .30 caliber MG sent a wall of lead raining down on the Germans, already bogged down in the nearby swamps. When the firing finally ceased, not a single German moved in the swamp.

Later that day, while the rest of the company stretched out to relax in the town square, Balto took out a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and began to write….

Chapter Four

A First Time for Everything

18 June, 1944

Jenna sighed as she stepped off the bus a little under a mile from her house. On any other Friday, she and Balto would walk side by side down the dirt road, exchanging plans for the weekend, but this week, like so many before, she walked home alone. School was out for the summer, but her thoughts centered on Balto.

The first year since Balto’s departure had passed so quickly, but not without pain. Every day, her heart ached to know that she would not see Balto’s smiling face, nor embrace his tall lean figure. Few at school seemed to notice his absence; only her teachers saw the sorrow hidden in her eyes. It was only at the Christmas dance that Jenna had finally realized that she was the only girl without a date. The rest were too young for service, and with a senior class of only 43, not counting Balto, the rest remained at home. Her friends Dixie and Sylvia had tried to comfort her as she sat watching everyone else dance that evening, but to little avail. Kaltag drove her home, promising her that Balto would pull through for her.

Now as she neared her driveway she spotted Doc, the mailman, coming from the opposite direction. The wise old St. Bernard had served as a medical corpsman in the Great War, and when he returned to the civilian world, his nickname stuck.

“It’s good to see you again, Doc,” Jenna said warmly.

“And you as well, Miss Parker,” Doc replied, doffing his hat to her as they met at the mailbox.

“Any thing for me today?”

Doc opened the pouch slung over his shoulder, plucked a few sealed envelopes out of the midst and closing the cover again. Having been in the postal service for twenty years, Doc never had to replace a ‘plucked’ envelope into his sack. ‘After twenty years, I ought to be doing something right,’ he often reasoned with laughter.

“Let’s see…” he said, flipping through the envelopes, “One for your mother, two business letters for your father, something from your grandmother, and…” He held up the last one with a smile. “…A letter for you, from Private First Class Balto Tyrell.” He held out the letter, and Jenna hugged him gratefully.

“Thanks, Doc,” she said, turning toward her house.

“Anytime, Miss Parker,” he replied, waving as he continued down the road.

When Jenna entered her home, she was not surprised to find it empty, relieved rather. She set the mail on the kitchen table, and took her letter with her to her room. After replacing her school books on the top shelf of her bookcase, where they would remain for the next two months, she lay on her bed, rolled onto her stomach, opened the letter, and began to read.

My Dearest Jenna,

It is so wonderful to here from you, now more than ever. It seems that each day is longer than the rest. Will I ever get home to you? I hope that you are doing alright at home, and I wish I was with you…

Two pages later, Jenna smiled and kissed his signature. Pulling open the bottom drawer of her bed stand, she carefully placed the letter on top off the many others already resting safely inside. Pulling open the top drawer, she removed a sheet of paper and a pencil…

17 September, 1944

Across the sea, the sun shone down upon an advancing column of tanks and trucks advancing along a road connecting the Dutch towns of Eindhoven and Venghel. American paratroopers of the 101^st Airborne Division rode ‘topside’ on several British-manned Sherman tanks. Aside from the grinding of gears and tank tracks, the surrounding countryside was quiet. Birds flew high overhead, seemingly trying to compete with the giant man-made birds that soared thousands of feet above them.

Men ridding the tanks chatted casually, trying to out-impress each other with wild tales of emerging victorious after battling hundreds of Germans alone.

Thank God for Shermans, Balto thought, patting the steely beast’s turret. Easy Company, aided by a few British Sherman tanks, was moving toward Arnhem, where British paratroopers were being compressed into an ever-shrinking pocket of resistance. The first step toward Arnhem was just down the road.

As the tanks rumbled down the road with the men of Easy Company riding on top, the town came slowly into view. To Balto and the others, it resembled every town they’d assaulted and taken in the last three months, and they expected the same result.

Just then, the small column of tanks and men ground to a halt, and a man carrying binoculars dashed out from among the rest of the troops. The men of Easy lucky enough to be riding atop the Shermans watched in confusion as the sergeant ran out and finally stopped about forty yards ahead, scanning the town with his binoculars.

“What the heck’s he doing?” one of the tankers asked, peering through the sun’s glare at the sergeant.

“I don’t know,” one of the men of Easy replied, turning to Balto, “Hey Balto, get his attention.”

Balto nodded, and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Hey sergeant,” he said.

The sergeant lowered his binoculars and half turned toward them before the rifle round struck him in the chest.

The men riding on the tanks leapt down to the ground as the cry for a medic was echoed down the column. As he scanned the woods running parallel to the road, Balto sighted something moving swiftly through the trees.

“Halftrack!” he shouted, raising his rifle.

Out of the woods rushed a German personnel carrier, a pair of wheels in the front, a pair of tracks similar to those of a tank in the back. As it sped along the tree line, its occupants fired their rifles and submachine guns toward the convoy. Most of the rounds bounced harmlessly off the thick metal sides of the Sherman tanks. As the last of the men found safety behind the Shermans, the lead tank brought its 75 millimeter gun to bear on the halftrack and fired one shot. The halftrack exploded, and all firing from within immediately ceased.

Meanwhile, a medic rushed past Balto and skidded to a stop next to the badly wounded sergeant on the road. He pulled the man as far off the road as he could, and was reaching into his pack when a round struck him in the leg. Balto stared in disbelief.

They shot a medic! They shot a freakin’ medic!

“Corporal!” someone cried from behind him.

Balto, still dazed with shock, turned to see Lieutenant Winters running toward him.

“Tyrell, on me!” Winters shouted, passing him at a run, “Everyone on me! Move up!”

Instinct took over, and Balto leapt to his feet. As he rushed past the two wounded men, Balto glanced back to see a second medic tending to them both.

Moments later, he and the rest of the company advanced warily into the small German town. A church bell rang ominously somewhere beyond their sight, but the town was quiet. No Germans, Balto thought as he looked around. A relieved smile crossed his face, but quickly faded as he advanced further into the town behind Winters. No civilians either… What kind of town-?

Suddenly, a machine gun clattered, and the whole town seemed to erupt with muzzle flashes and the pounding of automatic fire…

Jenna sealed the envelope and set it on her nightstand. She would mail it later that night. She lay back on her bed and closed her eyes, allowing her mind to wander freely…

Suddenly, she was walking down her street, and it was snowing. As the silvery-white flakes drifted all around her not one landed on her, and strangely she did not feel cold. Then, as if from the air itself, Balto’s voice echoed in her ears.

I promise, Jenna. I’ll come back, and then we can pretend I never left at all.

She looked quickly around for the source of his voice, and noticed it came from woods off to her right. Puzzled, she was about to continue down the road when the voice called to her. She followed the calls into the woods. Just then, a rifle shot rang out in the silent forest, and Jenna leapt behind a tree in terror. Then, just as quickly as it had left, silence returned to the woods. She looked over her shoulder toward where the street should have been, and found to her shock that it was no longer there. Turning back toward the forest, she saw that the tree she was hiding behind had been violently severed just above her head. She stumbled back in shock, and saw that most of the trees around her were the same. What had been the tops of the trees was scattered in pieces across the snowy ground.

Off in the distance, there came the horrible sound of battle. Weapons firing, explosions rocking the ground, men crying out in pain and shock. Jenna pressed herself against the same tree for support, and was contemplating hiding there forever when she spotted a hole in the ground just thirty feet away. She left her tree and sprinted toward it. The world seemed to slow itself around her; each step she took seemed to take forever. When she was within a stone’s throw of the hole, a figure rose out of it, and looked back at her. She stopped in her tracks and starred. The young man was a soldier, no a paratrooper, of the United States, but she was not yet close enough to see his face.

“Go back,” the figure said, pointing in the direction from which Jenna had just come, “It’s not safe for you here. Go back, now.”

Just then, another, more authoritative voice rose above the fading din of battle.

“Easy Company, move out!”

Jenna looked toward the voice, and in the distance she saw more figures, similarly clad in olive-drab uniforms, moving deeper into the forest. She turned back toward the young man and found him out of the hole and jogging in the same direction.

“Wait!” she cried, trying to run after him. He stopped and looked back at her.

“Go back!” he shouted, “You can’t stay here!”

Suddenly, the air filled with an unearthly roaring shriek unlike anything Jenna had ever heard. She dropped to the ground with her hands clasped over her ears. Just then, a voice cried out, barely audible above the roar,

“Incoming!”

Jenna looked up toward the paratrooper, but her eyes only managed to take in his legs before the explosion. As the fire rushed over her, she felt as though the very air around her was being sucked away. More explosions went off in the forest around her, sending wooden shards slicing through the air toward the ground. Then, just as quickly as it had come, all of the explosions, the horrible shrieking, everything faded away into silence. After a few moments, she hurriedly got to her feet and glanced around, terrified that the explosions would come again, but the never did. Finally, she turned toward the young paratrooper…or at least where he had been. Now, all that remained was a charred hole in the ground, and a few meters away a helmet. In disbelief, she stumbled toward it.

I don’t believe it, her mind screamed, It was my fault, he wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t stopped him!

She collapsed beside the helmet and, extending a trembling hand, pulled it toward her. She absent-mindedly glanced at the inside of the helmet and shrieked in terror. For stuck under the webbing of the helmet was her picture, which she had signed ‘To my love, Jenna.’ It was stained with blood.

“Oh my God, no!” she cried, pressing the bloodied helmet to her chest. Her cries softened into despairing sobs as she realized who the paratrooper had been. “Balto…”

Jenna woke with a start, clutching her pillow in terror until she realized it had all been a horrible dream. She sobbed in relief and silently began to pray for Balto’s protection.

Balto found himself crouching low behind a short stone wall, and for a moment was not sure why, until the thudding of bullets against the other side reminded him. There were others crouching on either side of him, and though they were only wishing to prolong their life, Balto felt as though they were looking to him for guidance.

What the hell am I doing, he asked himself, I’m no good sitting here! Time to lead by example!

With that thought, he leapt over the stone wall and sprinted up to the next one. The small stone fences separating the yards of different houses made excellent cover, and Balto took full advantage of them. Moving up yard by yard, fence by fence, he finally spotted the machine gun nest that had been harassing Easy Company all through the assault. The two-man crew and their gun were perched on the roof of a three-story house, and partially hidden behind a sort of decorative wall in the middle, but despite their overseeing view of the town, they failed to spot Balto, just under forty yards away. Just then, Winters appeared beside him and shook his shoulder.

“Tyrell, you got a rifle grenade?”

“Yes sir!” he replied, producing the rounded-off tube from his jacket.

“Use it!” Winters ordered. Balto nodded, and fixed the grenade to the tip of his rifle. “MG nest, one o’clock high. Nail it!”

Balto propped his M1 rifle against the fence and angled it toward the two-man machine gun crew. He pulled the trigger, and the grenade sailed through the air. A moment later, it found its mark, and the machine gun fire ceased.

Suddenly, at least fifty Germans rounded the corner of a house barely twenty yards away, and immediately opened fire on the Balto and Lt. Winters.

“Come on Tyrell, move!” Winters shouted, physically dragging Balto to his feet and pulling him the first few steps in their flight. Balto half-turned and fired off the last three rounds in his clip, killing at least two Germans, but that was not nearly enough. He turned back and kept running for all he was worth, finally finding shelter behind another stone fence with Winters.

There he finally reloaded his rifle and began firing back at the onrushing Germans. Winters joined him, blasting away with his Thompson submachine gun. Their fire cut down numerous Germans, but as the distance between the two groups shortened, it finally became clear that there would be no victory for Easy. Winters caught the attention of a sergeant further down along the fence, and shouted,

“Pass it down the line: Fall back!”

At first, Balto didn’t want to believe his ears, but little by little, as more Easy ‘troopers flooded past him toward the American lines outside the town. Balto kept firing until he was among the last few remaining behind. Signaling the other remaining ‘troopers, mostly new replacements, he turned and started running back toward American lines, with the rest close behind.

The men of Easy Company were hustled out of the town and quickly loaded on to the convoy’s trucks to leave. As he climbed into one of the last trucks, Balto passed Lt. Winters and Lt. Nixen, Winters’ close friend, and managed to catch the end of their conversation. Winters shook his head and said,

“I don’t like retreating.”

Chapter Five

The Coming Storm

21 November, 1944

Since Jenna had graduated high school the previous spring and was not looking at colleges until the following year she spent the majority of her free time lending her help to Balto’s mother as well as her own parents and grandmother. Every morning, she rose at the crack of dawn and started her chores; she was always finished by the time her parents got up an hour later. With a kiss on both of their cheeks, Jenna left early each day for her job as a waitress at a restaurant in town.

The little town of Spring Falls, around which Balto’s mother and several farmers had established their homes and farm land, was so small it was barely worth mentioning on a road map, and only then because it was along the road to Richmond from Tennessee. The Rose, one of Spring Falls’ two restaurants, was a cozy little place where boys would often took their dates to dinner for only a few days’ pay, and where fathers would treat their families once or twice a year.

For Jenna, The Rose was a place she could talk openly, not that she couldn’t back home, but among the costumers she felt she could get an honest opinion on anything she said. John, the cook and owner of The Rose, often chatted with her about her correspondence with Balto while at the same time laughing at his own love life. A short Irishman in his mid-thirties, John O’Brian was always ready with a smile and ‘How’ve you been?’ to cheer anyone up, but especially Jenna. That day seemed no different than all the others as Jenna arrived at The Rose to begin her shift.

“Well, Miss Parker,” came a voice from the kitchen, “any word from your love? Is he well?”

Jenna suddenly thought back to earlier that morning. She had forgotten to put her letter in the mailbox. It was still on her nightstand.

“Yes, John,” Jenna replied, nodding to the cook as she finished tying on her small apron, “He’s alive and well.”

“Which is more than you could say for most of the people he met over there, aye?”

Jenna stopped in her tracks. In all the time Balto had been gone, she had not once imagined, even for a second, that he would kill anyone. She tried to picture him leveling his rifle at a German soldier and pulling the trigger. Tried, but couldn’t.

“Jenna? What do you think?” John asked, mindful of her silence.

“Yeah,” Jenna said softly, “I guess you could say that.”

20 December, 1944

Something wasn’t right. Balto could sense it, almost smell it, in the air. In less than two days, the entire division had been moved from Paris to Bastogne, a remote town somewhere in Belgium. Though the sky was clear and a full moon hung among the stars the night before, their convoy of over 300 trucks rolled with its headlights on, a very risky endeavor. If the Luftwaffe had decided to show up, we would have been sitting ducks, Balto thought, but the fog means they can’t send any planes up. He thought for a moment and sighed, But neither can we.

Just two short weeks ago, Easy Company had finally had time to regroup and relax behind the front lines. Then the Germans had smashed through the Ardennes forest and beaten the American armies there into submission and retreat. The 101^st had been sent forward again, and after days of bitter fighting through Noville, they reached the town of Bastogne.

Now, he struggled against frostbite to dig himself a foxhole among the trees outside of Bastogne, facing the nearest town, Foy. Digging into the snowy ground was harder than anything he had ever done before. More than the snow and ice on top of it, the dirt itself seemed to be frozen solid. Once the hole was dug, Balto set his shovel down and withdrew a small hatchet from the pack he carried and began hacking off the branches of a nearby tree. The bark and branches fell quickly under his blows, and he soon had a suitable cover for his foxhole. Exhausted, he sank into his hole and leaned his rifle beside him. After covering half of the hole, he reached into his inner coat pocket and withdrew an envelope sent from Spring Falls, Virginia. As he opened the letter, he noticed it was stained with teardrops.

Dearest Balto,

Has it now been two Christmases since I’ve seen you? The time must seem to fly so fast, but here at home, it drags on as slowly as ever. Please, please, stay safe. Even if I were to see you only for a moment, it would be enough, but I can’t imagine living on without you. You have my heart, my love, my very soul. There is no way that I can fully express to you how much I love and care for you. I look at your picture and wonder if you will be the same on the day you finally return. There is no place I wouldn’t go just to see you. I miss you so much.

All my love,

Jenna

Balto set the letter aside and took off his helmet. Holding it in his hands, Balto gazed upon an old photograph of Jenna fixed under the webbed lining of his helmet. Though the image had begun to fade, he could still sense her amber eyes hidden among the black and white. He found his eyes filling with tears as he stared longingly at her image, and quickly tried to brush them away as one of his squad mates approached him.

“Hey Sergeant, you okay there?” asked a robust tan husky, crouching down near the foxhole.

“Yeah, Tom,” Balto lied, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of one of his best friends.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Tom’s eyes fell on the picture in his sergeant’s helmet.

“What a looker,” he whistled, “You never said you had a girl back home.”

“That’s right,” Balto replied, replacing the helmet on his head, “It’s a bad idea. If you let slip that you’ve got a girl, your men start thinking you’re a softie, and then they walk all over you.”

“Oh,” Tom sighed, “But you know we’d never do anything like that.”

“Just the same, it’s best that we keep this between us,” Balto

“Alright,” Tom replied, turning to walk on, “Colonel Winters says the krauts will be coming today. Do think he’s right?”

“No, Tom, I know he’s right,” Balto replied, “You better get back to your hole.”

“Sure thing Sarge,” Tom said with grin.

Balto slid Jenna’s letter back into his pocket and withdrew another folded sheet of paper. This letter was one he had just been starting when the commanding officer had walked into the movie theatre and informed the division of their deployment. He had quickly folded it and stuffed it into his pocket with Jenna’s letter and had not withdrawn it again until just now.

Dearest Jenna,

Thank you for your unyielding devotion and love. If I never come home, please take comfort in knowing that you were the very best thing that ever happened to me. As I march into harm’s way, your love follows, cradling me in its gentle caring arms. As long as we are one in soul, nothing can tear us apart.

Balto stopped reading. That was as far as he had gotten. For a long moment, he was unsure of what else to write, but suddenly he took out Jenna’s letter again and scanned it for one line that stuck out above everything else: There is no place I wouldn’t go just to see you. Inspiration hit him, and he started to write, using the stock of his rifle as a desk.

I can’t imagine, any greater fear,

Than waking up, without you here,

And though the sun, would still shine on,

My whole world, would all be gone, but not for long.

If I had to run, if I had to crawl,

If I had to swim a hundred rivers, just to climb a thousand walls

Always know that I would find a way, to get to where you are,

There’s, no place, that far.

It wouldn’t matter, why we’re apart,

The lonely miles, for two stubborn hearts,

And nothing short, of God above,

Could turn me away, from your love,

I need you that much.

If I had to run, if I had to crawl,

If I had to swim a hundred rivers, just to climb a thousand walls,

Always know that I would find a way, to get to where you are,

There’s, no place, that far.

-Balto

As he carefully replaced the letter in his pocket, he became aware of another small package he was carrying in his breast pocket. A small velvet covered box rested in its own pocket. He began to dream of what he would first say to Jenna when…he stopped himself…if he got home.

Suddenly, the air filled with a roaring shriek not unfamiliar to the men of Easy Company, and before the call went out the shells began to land. All at once, fire and dirt burst all around him.

“Cover!” someone shouted, “Cover! Find cover!”

At that moment, Balto spotted a new recruit, a thin red husky by the name of Benjamin Young, if he remembered correctly. Ben was dashing to and fro among the trees in a sort of demented, terrified dance. He would run in one direction until a shell burst in front of him and then turn and run another direction, only to have another shell land in his path. Finally, exhausted and completely terrified, he sank to his knees and covered his head with his hands. Balto heard him reciting the Jewish prayer for the dead.

Balto leapt from his foxhole and quickly dragged the young husky to it. As he was about to follow suit, Balto spotted more figures running frantically among the shell bursts; more recruits. All thoughts of Jenna disappeared, and warrior instinct took over. Snatching up his rifle, he sprinted in their direction and physically dragged two to an empty foxhole. Further off, he noticed three others, and headed toward them. By then, his ears were immensely sore from the roaring explosions, and his nose had begun to bleed from the thunderous concussions. All around him, young men in foxholes called out to him to take cover, but he either didn’t hear them or ignored them. Considering the shells that were continuing to fall throughout the woods, it was probably the former reason.

One of the boys in the foxholes was Tom. He watched with a sense of awe as Balto ran, mostly unscathed, through such a barrage that it seemed impossible to raise one’s head above ground level without being struck. Tom followed his sergeant with his eyes as he dodged each burst and continued toward the three unfortunate ‘troopers. He was now convinced that Balto had the protection of God. No one could go though that and live, he thought.

Balto, meanwhile, was within a stone’s throw of the three recruits when a shell landed a less than two feet from the one on the right. He felt an intense burning in his shoulder and saw a piece of shrapnel wedged in it. He yanked it out and turned to the three recruits. The two on the left were untouched, but the one on the right was face down in the snow and bleeding profusely from his left leg, which had been severed at the knee. Bits of shrapnel had also lodged themselves in the young man’s right ankle and torso.

Though shells continued to fall all about, Balto lifted the wounded man on his back and lead the others to an unused foxhole.

“Stay here,” he bellowed, barely making himself heard over the roar of the shelling.

The recruits gladly dove into the hole and curled deep down inside it.

That done, Balto turned and started running as best he could back the way he’d come. Though the man on his back weighed at least 140 pounds, Balto felt no difference. He ran on, side-stepping more clumsily now whenever a shell landed nearby. Finally, he spotted the red-cross-emblazoned helmet of Doc Roe and carried the wounded man to him. Doc Roe looked up in surprise when Balto appeared over his hole. He quickly yanked Balto down. In the instant they met each others eyes; Balto wondered how Roe had been surviving here. The tan malamute had lived in Georgia before the war, and had likely never even seen snow. Now, here he was, freezing in the cold but only concerned for others.

“Christ, Sergeant,” Roe shouted, “you trying to get yourself killed?”

“He’s wounded, badly,” Balto shouted, setting the young man down in the hole, “Can you help him?”

“I could try, but I got no morphine,” Roe replied, equally loud, but almost a whisper over the shelling. Balto reached into his trousers and took out his personal first aid kit.

“Here,” he shouted, “Take mine. I don’t intend to get wounded.”

Doc Roe nodded and set to work on the young man.

Balto leapt from the hole and ran full out through the barrage until he saw his foxhole. Diving headfirst into it, he came down almost on top of Ben Young. Quickly dragging the rest of himself in, Balto hunched down as low as he could and made room for Ben. Ben, still terrified, clung to Balto like a child. Balto held the boy close and tried to comfort him.

“We’ll make it, Ben,” Balto replied, “We’ll make it.”

The young husky just clung to him and cried.

21 December, 1944

That night, as usual, Mr. Baker arrived home before his daughter, and after parking his car, he went to the mailbox, withdrew its contents, and entered his home. As he set down his briefcase, he flipped though the many letters and bills that he held. Bill, letter for my mother, letter for my wife, bill, bill, letter for…Jenna? What’s this? George Baker set aside the rest of the mail without a second glance and turned Jenna’s letter over many times, examining it as though he had never seen an envelope before. Just then, his eyes fell upon the sending address. Scratched in pencil was the name Balto Tyrell.

George immediately felt a deep anger rising up inside him. How long had his daughter been writing to Balto? Hadn’t he explicitly forbid her to do so? And what exactly were they talking about? Curiosity engulfed him and he tore open the envelope. The letter was dated the 5^th of December.

Jenna, my love,

I must tell you now just how much you really mean to me. Over here, when it gets rough, all I have to do is picture your face and the war seems to melt away. Your amber eyes burn into my soul, and many nights I dream of holding you once more. I hope that-

Mr. Baker crumpled the paper in his hands and made to throw it into the trash can. But suddenly, he stopped. If Jenna were to even glance inside, she would see the letter and suspect him. He snatched the letter from the trash and crammed it back into the envelope.

Just then, he heard footsteps outside, and saw in a glance that it was Jenna. He quickly stuffed the envelope into his coat pocket and began casually sorting through the discarded mail as Jenna walked in.

“Hello dad,” she called happily, “Have a good day?”

“If busy is good, then yes,” he replied.

“Anything for me?” she inquired, motioning to the mail in his hands.

“Not today, dear,” he said, setting the bills and letters aside and opening his briefcase, “Are you expecting a letter from someone?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I’m expecting a letter from Balto.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Baker chuckled, “Almost two years have passed, and he isn’t dead yet?”

Jenna’s eyes flashed with anger, and she walked within inches of her father before she spoke.

“If you really hate him that much, then talk to someone else, because I won’t listen,” she said, “I don’t care what you think of him, and I refuse to abandon him.”

Jenna turned and walked down the hall into her room.

Her father stood speechless in disbelief. He glanced shamefully at the crumpled letter in his pocket. He couldn’t tell her now. She would just have to wait for the next letter. It will come, he assured himself, and after all, he’s been writing to her for well over a year now, what’s there to stop him from continuing?

Chapter Six

The Fallen

23 December, 1944

It had been three days since Easy Company had arrived in Bastogne, and already men were being treated for trench foot due to extreme cold and frostbite. Yet even though they would likely loose their feet in consequence, everyone insisted that they would stay on the line until the siege was lifted. The 101^st had been moved further out, and though everyone could tell their line was stretched far too thin, they prepared for the coming assault.

As the sun rose over the desolate winter wasteland, Balto glanced around his foxhole at the other men and wondered if he looked as bad as them. The huskies’ faces were sunken and their fur was covered in ice. Most stared expectantly out into the clearing that stood as the unofficial ‘no-man’s land’ separating them from the Germans.

Today, Balto thought, the attack will come.

Absent-mindedly, he removed his helmet and gazed wishfully at Jenna’s photograph. He hoped she would get his letter soon, but he knew that it would be at least three days before there was even a chance of that. He put his helmet back on.

Less than an hour later, the attack came.

First came the halftracks and the infantry. All along the line, rifles cracked and machine guns clattered, sending a wall of steel toward the Germans, who replied back likewise. Bullets laced the ground and grenades exploded sporadically, sending shards of metal slicing through the air and any person unfortunate enough to be nearby. Within moments, the cry for a medic was heard shouted in both German and English as Americans and Germans alike fell to each others’ fire.

Balto stood in his foxhole firing his rifle at the oncoming Germans when a medic rushed past him and dove onto his belly in the snow. Inch by inch, the medic crawled out toward a wounded husky about thirty feet out into the clearing. He reached the casualty without incident, but as he began to drag the wounded husky back, Balto saw a German rise out of a shell hole and aim at the medic.

“Doc, look out!” Balto shouted, leveling his rifle at the German and firing. Balto saw the German’s muzzle flash an instant before his bullet found it’s mark in the German’s head. The medic dropped to the ground. “No!” Balto cried, leaping from his foxhole and skidding to a stop beside the medic. “Doc! Doc! Get up!” He lifted the medic by the shoulders, and only then did he see the bullet hole his helmet.

Just then, two Germans appeared and fired point black at him. As bullets whizzed past and thudded into the ground around him, Balto raised his rifle and expended his last two rounds, nailing both Germans in the head. He then tossed his rifle back toward his foxhole and dragged the two casualties, the wounded ‘trooper and the dead medic, into it. Once they were all safely sheltered from enemy fire, Balto opened the medic’s bag and began tending to the wounded husky.

He was bleeding heavily from a bullet hole in his leg, but Balto quickly tied a tourniquet around the wound, and within moments the blood had stopped flowing. The husky, who had been unconscious from blood loss, shook his head and gazed up at Balto though bleary eyes.

“Sarge?” he murmured, “Am I going to die?”

“You’re gonna be just fine, pal, just fine,” Balto replied, lifting the husky to his feet, “C’mon, you’re getting off the line now.”

“Aaaa! My leg!” the husky whimpered.

“It’ll be fine, son,” Balto insisted, “C’mon, don’t look at it! Look ahead.”

Just then, a jeep screeched to a halt in front of them, and Balto hailed the driver. Within a minute, the wounded husky was strapped to a stretcher on the front hood.

“Thanks, Sarge,” he whispered, giving him the thumbs-up.

“Thank me later,” Balto replied, turning to the driver, “Get him to the aid station fast. That leg needs attention.”

“Yes sir!”

The jeep roared to life and sped off.

Hours later, the sun had already set as Balto snapped awake in his foxhole. The dead medic had been buried, and his supplies distributed to Doc Roe and the rest. Now, all that remained was a small brown spot of dried blood in the snow.

Across the frozen land, Balto could hear someone crying. The wind howled among the trees, muffling the whimpering every few moments, but each time when the wind died down the cries continued. Finally, Balto climbed out of his foxhole and moved toward the source of the sound.

He found the paratrooper more than half a mile away, well beyond the American lines. As he prepared to lift the young husky onto his back, a whispered voice reached his ears. A German voice. He swung his rifle up and advanced warily to a clump of bushes nearby. Cautiously, he peered through the foliage and spotted two figures by a tree. One lay on his back, and the other reached down, plucked something from the fallen one’s belt, and placed it in his pocket. Just as Balto leveled his rifle at the German, he moved, and stepped through the bushes of to Balto’s left.

Balto watched as the German looked long and hard at the wounded paratrooper, perhaps noticing him for the first time. Finally, the German approached him, and Balto stepped out of his hiding spot, 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. 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 3^rd.”

“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 enough to read the message for herself, began to cry, and covered her muzzle to muffle the sobs. She buried her face in her father’s shoulder; he raised his eyes to the heavens as if to ask: Why?

“It’s not true, it can’t be true,” Jenna whimpered, “I just got a letter from him today!” She pulled the letter from her pocket and everyone looked in surprise. In the upper left corner was written:

Corpsman Roe

24 December

For Sgt. Balto Tyrell

No one spoke. Finally, Jenna opened the envelope with trembling hands. Inside was a letter written slowly and deliberately on faded sheet of paper. To overcome with emotion to speak, she handed it to her father, who read it aloud:

Miss Jenna Parker,

In case that you have not yet received word, I regret to inform you that your dear friend Balto has been killed in the line of duty. I cannot say exactly how he died, but in dying he saved the lives of many fellow soldiers. He was a magnificent soldier and an example for all of us in Easy Company. I cannot even begin to comprehend the tremendous loss you must now feel, and will not try to comfort you, seeing how I do not know what it’s like to loose someone so very close to your heart. Just know that Balto thought often of you, and is undoubtedly watching over you at this moment. You have my deepest and most heartfelt sympathy. I pray that God may comfort you in this time of pain and sorrow.

Corpsman Eugene Roe

Easy Company

Long before her father ever finished the letter, Jenna had broken down into deep sobs and collapsed into her mother’s arms. As her chest heaved with sob after heart-wrenching sob, her father regretted more and more everything he’d ever said against his daughter’s love for Balto. Now too full of despair to even speak, the five moved into the living room and sat down. Jenna clung to her mother, crying still, as she would for many hours.

In the hall, the grand father clock struck twelve. No one even noticed.

7 January, 1945, one week later

Among the falling snow in the fields outside Bastogne, Doc Roe was warming his hands by the first fire he’d seen in weeks. It was pathetically small, but more than enough to do the job.

Suddenly, his ears perked up at the cry for a medic. Cold forgotten, he leapt from his foxhole and dashed across the frozen ground, dodging trees and bushes as the cries rang louder and louder in his ears. Finally, he came upon a group of soldiers huddled around a figure lying on the ground.

“Move, move,” Roe cried, pushing aside the huskies to see the casualty.

His clothes were covered with snow and torn in several places. Across his chest was a series of bandages browned with dried blood. When Roe looked to identify him, he found the task nearly impossible. The husky’s face was so covered in blood and dirt that he resembled no soldier he’d ever seen before. Stranger still, the male’s dog tags were missing. Even so, by the patch on his soldier, Roe knew the man was a paratrooper of Easy Company. Casting his own feelings aside, Roe put his head to the husky’s chest and cursed himself.

“Sweet Jesus, this man’s still alive!” he cried.

“But he ain’t bleeding,” one of the surrounding paratroopers said.

“Shut up and give me a hand here,” Roe demanded, wedging his hands under the husky, “We have to get this guy to an aid station or something quick!”

Much later, Roe stood in front of Colonel Winters outside of a Red Cross tent.

“And you don’t even know who he is?” Winters asked, baffled.

“That’s correct, sir,” Roe replied.

Winters nodded.

“Come with me.”

The two moved inside the tent and Winters examined the husky from head to toe, noting the prevalence of dried blood, but also the lack of new blood.

“How’s he doing, doc?” Winters asked the surgeon bending over him.

“Well, I got the bullet fragment out,” the surgeon replied, motioning to a bandaged wound just above the husky’s left eye, “He’ll have one hell of a headache, but I think he’ll make it. Lucky for him he was such a good doctor.”

“Excuse me?” Roe said, cocking his head.

“Well, these two bandaged wounds you indicated earlier are mostly healed. This guy managed to pull the bullet out and keep himself from bleeding to death for more than a week.”

“How in God’s name can we loose a man for a week and not notice?” Winters demanded of Roe.

“I don’t know sir, I…” Roe suddenly looked at the husky’s shoulder. “…Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Winters asked.

“I know who he is, sir,” Roe replied, pointing to the husky’s shoulder.

On it was the patch of a sergeant.

In Spring Falls, Jenna was just arriving at The Rose for her first day back on the job. For several days since she’d first received Eugene Roe’s letter, she had sunk into deep grief and sorrow, but she was slowly coming to terms with the loss of Balto. Even so, it would be a long time before she could speak of him without bursting into tears. The ceremony had been the largest reason for her sadness.

Two days past, she had accompanied Mrs. Tyrell to the nearly empty school auditorium, where a somber ceremony had been held in memory of Balto. More than three quarters of the town’s residents showed up. As an honor guard, fully clad in the Army dress uniform, stood by her side, Mrs. Tyrell accepted a folded American flag from an Army commander. Jenna watched from a chair in the front row. The commander then produced two boxes from his case, and handed the first the honor guard, who opened it. Inside was a small heart-shaped medal; the Purple Heart. Mrs. Tyrell nodded sadly and the honor guard closed the case. The commander opened the second, slightly larger box himself, revealing a golden medal in the shape of a five-point star.

“In lieu of the evidence and testimony passed down from his fellow soldiers and company commander, and by the President’s recommendation, I posthumously award your son with the Medal of Honor,” he said solemnly, “For conspicuous gallantry above and beyond the call of duty in service to his country. Mrs. Tyrell, please accept this humble measure of thanks from a grateful nation for the loss that you have endured.”

Her hands trembling, Mrs. Tyrell reached out and feebly took the box in her hands. Gingerly, she removed the medal and draped it carefully over the flag. She then held out her free hand for the other box, which the honor guard respectfully gave to her. With that, she turned to the commander and said,

“I can’t accept these.”

Before the shocked commander could speak, she turned around.

“Jenna,” she said softly, stepping from the stage, “You keep these. You deserve them much more than I do.”

Jenna rose to her feet and hesitantly accepted the flag and medals. Tears filling her eyes, she whispered her thanks and sat down, overwhelmed by emotion. Mrs. Tyrell sat down beside her.

As she entered The Rose, she felt everyone’s eyes on her. Balto had been the only resident of their small town to enlist, and now that he was gone word of her relationship with her had slowly come to light, making her the center of attention. Though it may have crossed many a male’s mind, however, no one made any advances on her; she was grateful for their silent respect. Even John remained quiet and simply doffed his hat to her as she entered. As she tied on her apron, though, he motioned to her, and she came up to the counter.

“Miss Parker, I’m truly sorry for your loss, and I pray you’ll find comfort,” he said, “Just know that we’re here for you if you ever need us.” He motioned around the restaurant, and there was a loud murmur of agreement. Jenna blushed. As she moved from table to table, the patrons smiled reassuringly at her, and she managed to smile back.

Chapter Eight

All for the Sake of Love

23 January, 1945, sixteen days later

In the early morning hours, a slender figure made her way down the street in Spring Falls, Virginia. Jenna, sheltered by her umbrella from the rain, walked slowly up to The Rose. It was empty, and the doors were locked, but the covered benches on either side of the door were a welcome refuge from the rain. She gladly sat down and leaned back to close her eyes. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Instead, she had lain awake for many hours, thinking back to her times with Balto, long before the war. She remembered just as if it were yesterday…

It was summer, barely three years ago. Jenna ran through the orchard, followed closely by Balto. They were both laughing happily. Soon, they came to a small hill on the far side of the apple trees. Atop the hill stood a young oak tree casting shade enough for two. While Jenna lay down in the shade, Balto climbed a nearby apple tree and picked an apple for each of them. After handing Jenna hers, he sat down beside her and began to eat.

“You know,” he said, “These apples aren’t half-bad.”

“Do you think so?” Jenna replied, “I think they’re too hard.”

“No, they’re just perfect.”

Jenna stood up and twirled about in the sunlight, letting the golden rays fall on her face. She didn’t notice Balto watching until he spoke.

“Wow…” he murmured softly.

Jenna heard him and stopped to face him.

“What is it?” she asked.

Balto was at a loss for words. Before him Jenna stood bathed in glorious sunlight. The golden beams danced around her entire figure except her head, where the backdrop of the sun created a sort of glowing halo just above her ears.

“You look beautiful,” he finally managed to say.

Jenna blushed.
“Thank you.” Just then, she turned her eyes to the sky. “Look,” she said, “that cloud looks like a dog.”

Balto looked up.

“I don’t see it.”

“Here,” Jenna persisted, lying down next to him, “look again.”

Balto lay down and looked up again.

“Hey, you’re right. I see it.” He pointed to another cloud. “That one looks like a bird.”

“And that one looks like a house,” Jenna laughed, pointing to another.

“And that one looks like…” Balto stopped and looked again. “Like a…”

“A heart?” Jenna inquired, following Balto’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Balto admitted, looking over at her. She looked back and smiled.

Jenna sighed as the memory faded. The small secluded hill where they had lain and watched clouds would have been perfect for other things as well, but all throughout the recent years of their friendship, Balto had never even hinted at any thing of the sort. Now, Jenna wished he had. What she couldn’t have seen back then was suddenly so clear. She had been in love with Balto for years without even knowing it. But now, none of that mattered.

Just then, she spotted John crossing the street, and she stood up and met him at the door.

“Good day to you, Miss Parker,” he said.

“Good morning, John,” she replied.

The day passed quickly, and before long the usual dinner crowd began to arrive. For some odd reason, more people arrived than ever before, and the small restaurant was soon swamped with customers. Jenna moved quickly among the tables and booths, taking and delivering orders as usual as John called out the number of the next prepared meal to her.

“31, Miss Parker.”

“I’ll be right there,” she replied, handing a couple their drinks.

She then returned to the small counter by the kitchen and plucked the two platters from it. As she turned away, she failed to hear the ringing of the bell hung over the door. She was just setting the platters of food in front of their respective customers when John called out,

“Jenna…”

“I got the order John,” she insisted, scribbling down the orders for another table.

“Jenna, there’s some one here to see you,” John persisted, barely hiding the quivering in his voice.

“I’m coming, John,” she replied, turning around, “Who is-”

She gasped in disbelief and put a hand over her mouth.

Less than ten feet away from her was Balto.

His uniform looked faded and soiled, and he looked as though he hadn’t had a decent night’s rest for many days, but still he smiled at her. He limped slightly as he approached her, and she took notice of a bandage over his left eye, but she remained silent as they stood face to face.

“Hey Jenna,” he said softly.

Jenna reached out feebly and touched his uniform, as though believing she would feel nothing but air. Then she moved her hand up to his cheek, and felt warm fur. This was no illusion.

“You’re alive,” she whispered.

“Much to my surprise, yes,” he replied with a trace of humor.

“Your eye…” she said softly, feeling the dried blood at the edge of the loosely held cotton bandage.

“The doctor said a bit of shrapnel cut the nerve,” Balto said, feeling around the bandage as though testing it, “But it may yet be usable to me.”

Jenna let out a sob and embraced him, burying her eyes in his faded uniform. Balto put his arms around her and held her close, shushing her sobs and running his fingers through her hair.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Jenna whispered, “We got a telegram that said you were dead.”

“It’s alright, Jen, I’m here now,” he said soothingly, “You know there’s no place I wouldn’t go to be where you are.”

Jenna raised her eyes to meet his loving gaze with her own.

“I knew you’d come back,” she said, disregarding the tears streaming down her face, “I prayed every day.”

As they held each other close, they looked deep into each other’s eyes. Jenna smiled hopefully, and Balto returned the gesture. Then, the last space between them vanished and they kissed. Between their locked lips, they poured out their feelings for each other and emptied themselves of all the terrible emotions that had been bottled up for two long years. After a long, cherished moment of bliss, they both slowly pulled apart and then embraced one another. As they found solace in each other’s arms, they were abruptly awakened from their state of bliss by the sound of clapping. Both opened their eyes in surprise.

John had stepped out from behind the counter and stood a few feet away, pounding his hands together and smiling. A couple at a nearby table stood up and joined him. Then a small family stood up. Then another, and another. All around them, citizens and customers alike stood and cheered them in thunderous applause.

Balto and Jenna cast their eyes around the restaurant and smiled happily.

“Have you seen anyone else?” Jenna inquired, turning to Balto, who shook his head.

“No one. I came here first.”

“Oh, your poor mother must see you!” Jenna insisted, “You have no idea what she’s endured.”

“What’s happened?” Balto demanded, “Is she ill?”

“No, worse,” Jenna said, “Since she heard you were dead, she’s been terribly miserable.”

“Then I need to see her!” Balto declared, turning to John, “John, Jenna will be taking the day off, if you have no objection.”

John shook his head.

“Go on, get out of ‘ere you two lovebirds,” he laughed, “I can ‘andle this old place tonight. Go on, beat it.”

“Thanks John,” Jenna called as she and Balto disappeared out the door.

Mrs. Tyrell had just finished preparing her dinner; potatoes, vegetables, and even a loaf of bread carefully crafted from days of wheat rations. After placing the food on the table, she took out a plate and fork for herself and sat down. Directly across from herself was another place already made for another guest, but no one else was to arrive for dinner, in fact, Mrs. Tyrell had never expected anyone. She ate alone, but at every meal, she left the same plate, fork, and glass sitting across from her.

As she portioned her vegetables and bread, she glanced across the table and sighed sadly. Though she ate alone, she always felt as though she were joined by some spiritual being. Many times she had even dreamt it so. Each time, sat at her table eating when there came the slow tread of boots on the hardwood floor. She would glance up, and there would stand a paratrooper, dressed in his combat fatigues. He was not vivid and colorful, but rather he seemed drawn in black and white, like in the newsreels, and very faded and blurry. And each time, she soldier spirit would sit down across from her, but when he raised his face to look at her, she would always awaken.

Just then, she heard a knock at her door. Setting her dish aside, she rose from the table and went to the door. Without a thought of seeing who it was through the window, she threw it open. When she looked up, though, she stood in shock. She had expected Jenna, or her mother or father, but she was not prepared to see her own lost son.

“Mom…” Balto said with a smile as he stepped closer.

As soon as he stood on even ground with her, she suddenly realized how tall he’d grown. Before he’d left, Balto had been just as tall as his mother, but now he’d had grown taller still.

His mother embraced him lovingly, tears flowing from her eyes.

“Oh Balto, my boy…” she said, hugging him tightly, “I’m so happy to see you again. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, mother,” Balto replied, hugging her back.

“Well, let’s not just stand out here,” she said, straightening herself, “I’ve made dinner, and there’s plenty for all three of us.”

02 September, 1945, eight months later

Balto and Jenna came out of the movie theatre laughing happily, walking hand-in-hand. The cool evening air swirled around their feet as they made their way down the street. They had not gone ten paces when they passed a poster made from a month-old newspaper that read: WAR ENDS! Balto glanced at it and smiled. A lot had happened in the 8 months he’d been back.

On May 7^th, under relentless pressure from the US and British troops on the West and the Russians in the East, Germany surrendered, ending the war in Europe.

On August 14^th, after the indescribable destruction of Nagasaki and Hiroshima by US atomic bombs, Japan also surrenders, bringing World War II to an end on all fronts.

Never had Balto or Jenna seen such jubilation from the citizens of their small town. People filled the streets to greet military convoys as they rumbled through town, undoubtedly heading for the many bases from which they originated. In no time, the entire United States armed forces would be recalled to the States, awaited by elated crowds and euphoric families.

No different was the greeting held for Balto. As the only representative of Spring Falls in the war, he was made the center of attention as news came back about his unit’s action in Europe. Old veterans asked about his combat experiences, and young boys asked for his autograph. In less than a week after returning home, Balto had become a celebrity. Even though the fame had faded as the days passed by, rarely came a day when he was not stopped on the street to share some tale from his time at war. Though he was always courteous and answered any questions, Balto was glad to be left to his own. He much preferred to spend time with Jenna.

Such was the case of their trip to the movies, and their dinner at The Rose. John watched with noted satisfaction as they ate happily.

Once they had finished, Balto paid the bill and he and Jenna left. However, he stopped Jenna just outside the doors. Through the glass, John and a few customers watched as Balto took her hand and knelt before her. Then, much to their surprise, Balto pulled a small velvet case from his front pocket and opened it. The twinkle of the ring paled in comparison to Jenna’s eyes, shimmering with tears. She threw her arms around Balto and held him close as he stood up. The customers cheered and applauded, and Balto and Jenna smiled. Balto slipped the ring onto Jenna’s finger and they set off down the street. As they made their way past the lit-up stores and homes, Jenna walked on Balto’s right, and for good reason; the only thing that hadn’t changed since he’d returned was his eyesight.

The doctor he’d visited had removed the bandaged and shone a light in the eye. Balto didn’t so much as twitch. The doctor had shaken his head and offered him a patch. Balto had stood up and left without another word. Jenna had met him at the door and when he sadly shook his head, she had done her best to comfort him. As the days passed, he had become more and more used to his current vision.

She and Balto finally passed the residential area and were nearing the small business section of town when out of an alley sprang a figure cloaked in shadows. Before Balto could react, the figure landed an uppercut to his jaw and bashed his good eye with a hard metal something. He then felt a blow to his stomach and the next thing he knew he was thrown into a pile of boxes, which partially collapsed onto him. Clutching his eye with one hand, he looked up and froze.

He was staring down the barrel of a .38 revolver.

Even so, his attention quickly focused on the figure holding it, who had just stepped into the light. Aiming his gun at Balto with one hand and using Jenna as a human shield with the other was Steele. Balto hardly recognized him. His black and white fur was horribly unkempt, and he wore a tattered brown jacket. But despite his outer appearance, Balto could tell that Steele’s muscles had not weakened at all; if anything, they had grown. Above everything else, though, he noticed that the malamute’s normally piercing black eyes were blood-shot and red.

“Steele, you’re drunk,” Balto said cautiously as he shoved a box off his legs, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, wolf-dog,” Steele growled, “I know exactly what I’m doing. Move another muscle and I’ll be the last thing you ever see!”

Balto nodded slowly, glancing at Jenna. She was breathing faster, but didn’t move for fear of Balto’s life as well as her own. Balto reached into his uniform pocket and Steele tensed up. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Balto revealed a gold watch. Steele furrowed his brow.

“What’re you doing, wolfie? Trying to see how much time you got left? I’ll tell you now, it ain’t much!” He jerked his head in confusion when Balto held it out to him.

“Take it,” Balto pleaded, “It’s worth at least a hundred dollars.”

Steele swatted the watch from Balto’s hand.

“I don’t want your stupid watch!”

“Then what do you want?” Balto demanded.

“The one thing I’ve never had,” Steele replied, turning to Jenna. He leaned toward her and pressed his lips to hers. Jenna squirmed and slapped him hard across the face for it. Steele looked at her in shock; suddenly he noticed the sparkling ring on her finger. His eyes narrowed in rage. “You’re going to regret that,” he said, cocking the pistol and leveling it at Balto’s head. Balto’s eyes widened in horror.

“No!” Jenna screamed, pushing Steele’s arm aside just as the gun went off.

The bullet meant for Balto’s head instead found purchase in his shoulder. Balto cried out in pain and gritted his teeth. Steele, outraged at his miss, threw Jenna down on top of him and leveled the gun at them both.

“You won’t be mine, Jenna?” he growled, “Then die together!”

Balto pulled Jenna behind him as Steele cocked the pistol again. Just as he was about to fire, though, a voice came from out in the street.

“Hey, what’s going-?”

Steele half-turned his head and looked. In the street, a man in a trench coat and hat stood with his mouth agape at the scene before him. Steele turned his gun on the bystander, but in that moment, he was knocked off his feet by a blow to the ribs. Balto leapt onto the drunken Steele and twisted his hand, causing him to drop the gun he held. As Steele recovered and began to grapple with him, Balto shouted,

“Run Jenna, run!”

Jenna leapt to her feet and ran into the waiting arms of the man in the street.

“Jesus, lady, are you alright?” he said.

“The police!” she cried to a few others gathering around, “Someone get the police!”

Several young men turned and ran up the street toward the police station. In the meantime, Balto was beginning to loose the fight because of his decreased vision.

“Hey, shouldn’t we help him?” demanded a young high school student standing nearby.

“We better try,” said the first bystander, still holding a terrified Jenna.

Just then, one of the fighters, be it Balto or Steele, took hold of the revolver as they tumbled back and forth on the ground. As the onlookers approached, ready to fight, the revolver went off. The bullet sailed harmlessly overhead, but it was enough to convince the would-be assistants to back off. The ground was quickly becoming red from the blood from Balto’s gunshot wound.

Suddenly, the fight turned deadly when Steele bashed Balto against the brick wall of one of the buildings and held him there. As he tried to bring his revolver to bear, though, Balto took hold of his arm and used all his strength to keep the gun pointing away. But even so, with his wounded shoulder, Balto could not fully resist, and slowly but surely Steele was winning. Every moment, the gun turned closer…until Balto found himself looking down the barrel. Steele grinned.

BOOM! The sound of a gunshot echoed through the street, and Balto opened his eyes in surprise, shocked to be alive. Steele lay fallen before him, blood flowing from a hole in his chest. Within moments, the envious malamute lay dead in the alley. A police officer lowered his pistol and approached Balto.

“You alright, son?” the aged veteran asked, suddenly noticing the gun wound, “C’mon, we gotta get you to a hospital.”

Jenna ran forward and embraced Balto, sobbing in relief.

Epilogue

16 September, 1945, two weeks later

“Do you, Balto Tyrell, take Jenna Parker to be your wedded wife, to love and to hold, to honor and cherish, ‘till death do you part?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Jenna Parker, take Balto Tyrell to be your wedded husband, to love and to hold, to honor and cherish, ‘till death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife,” the preacher said, turning to Balto, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Balto turned and lifted the silken veil from Jenna’s face. Her amber eyes shone with happiness as they met his golden ones in a loving gaze. They leaned closer and kissed gently as the audience clapped and cheered. Among the crowd were Balto’s mother, and Jenna’s parents and grandmother. Kaltag stood proudly as Balto’s best man, and John held the door for the newly-weds.

Outside the front doors of the church, however, the two lovers came face to face with a much unexpected surprise. Before them both stood at least twenty men dressed similarly in the uniform of US paratroopers. Each had the Screaming Eagle of the 101^st on his shoulder. A young private was the first to step forward.

“C’mon Sarge, don’t act so surprised,” he said, “You didn’t think you could get married without us being there to see it! After all, a picture may be worth a thousand words, but nothing’s better than meeting the girl in person.” With that, he bowed to Jenna, who bushed and smiled.

A medic stepped forward next.

“How you doing, Sarge?” Doc Roe inquired, “What’s with the gunshot wound? Did a kraut follow you home or something?”

The small assembly burst into laughter.

“God, it’s good to see you all again,” Balto replied, “But why come see me? Don’t you all have wives or families? Or lives?”

“Not right now,” Roe replied, “We’re at your command.”

“Well then, in that case, you’re all ordered to attend dinner at my place,” Balto replied, “It’s time my mom and I showed you how we ‘poor’ farmers eat!”

The End