Finding You, Finding Me by Bailey Queen

Author:Bailey Queen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, lgbt, historical, war, gay romance, ww2
Publisher: NineStar Press

Chapter Eight

The bad news came the next day, when everyone was getting back to base and settling in, relaying stories of conquests and their night on the town. Will and Henry slipped in early in the morning, and no one asked where they’d gone off to.

Except Giordano. The platoon sergeant plopped down on Henry’s cot and pushed his face into Henry’s, grinning a mile-wide, up-to-no-good grin. “So,” he started. “You get lucky last night?”

Henry kicked him, shoving him in the hip right off of his cot. Sputtering, Giordano clambered to his feet and glared, but caught the smile Henry was trying to hide. “Ah ha!” Giordano shoved his finger in Henry’s face. “I told you he was good for ya!”

Henry slapped his finger away, but his smile grew. Giordano left, smirking and whistling, heading out to bark at the other troopers.

It was the intel sergeants who interrupted everything, marching in and ordering eyes forward.

“The Germans have broken through in the forest of Ardennes, overwhelming the Fourth Infantry Division and the Twenty-eighth Infantry Division. The Hundred and First is being sent in to hold the line and push the Germans back. Get your gear and report to your assigned units.”

Amidst the groans and grumbles and curses, Henry found Will through the crowd. Their eyes locked together, and the familiar ache that came from going into another battle together, close, but so far apart, sank deep. They’d survived this far. Could they survive again? When would their luck run out?

* * * * *

The Division moved that evening, loading the men into trucks and driving through the night. The trip was long, the men crammed into troop transports stretched out in a long column, extending from Belgium to France. Will rode with his platoon, Henry and Giordano together with their own. Henry sat next to Giordano and tried to sleep through the drive.

It got colder, much colder, as the drive went on. They had scrambled for winter weather gear—sweaters, scarves, gloves, socks, anything and everything they could get their hands on. They scrambled for rations, for ammo. Word spread quickly that there wasn’t a guarantee of a resupply, not soon, anyway.

Henry had spent the afternoon scrounging and stealing medical supplies—extra field kits, extra bandages, extra everything. He felt like he didn’t have enough.

Snow started to fall as they kept climbing, kept driving. Men huddled together, sharing cigarettes and body heat. The grumbling began and tapered, then began again.

Finally, they arrived, hours and hours after they had left the low country of France. Trucks parked in rows as troopers clambered out, some pissing, some smoking. The officers joined the general, the division commander, near his jeep, huddling over a map of the area. The sign at the crossroads said Bastogne.

Henry spotted Will in the crowd, as Will was searching for Henry. There were too many men milling about, too many troopers, and the noise of diesel engines mixed with the shouts of the squad leaders. Henry watched as Will, now a full squad leader with his new rank, called his men to him.

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