King Company was enjoying a little R-and-R away from the front lines being held by the Nazis. Sgt. "Chip" Saunders was going over the map and plans for the next offensive with Second Lt. Gil Hanley.
As for the rest of King Company, PFC Paul "Caje" LeMay, PFC William G. Kirby, PFC "Littlejohn", and "Doc", they were sharing some delicious liberated wine, as well as some fresh food, both of which had not been enjoyed for quite some time while out in the field.
"This is savoureux," Caje said in his always precent French accent, prehaps a little more prevalent today than usual, when out in the field fighting Nazis. "Tres' savoureux. Huh?"
"You've got that right, Caje," said Littlejohn, as his much larger frame hovered over the delictable food he was consuming, along with everyone else from King Company. "Tres' whatever this stuff is."
"Littlejohn," chimed in, with a mouthful of food and wine, Kirby, "you ain't just whistling Dixie."
Doc, usually quite settled with himself, and not given to a grandiose manner of speaking, added, "Kirby, you and Littlejohn and Caje better enjoy the hell out of this now, because by tomorrow we'll all be up to our asses in combat."
"Don't worry, Doc," Kirby said for Caje and Littlejohn, "we will!"
Meantime, back in the HQ tent, where Sgt. Saunders and Lt. Hanley were conversing over a map of an area dozens of miles in all directions...
"So we're gonna head to the East," Sgt. Saunders said succinctly, making certain he understood the plan for King Company. "Where we're supposed to track Nazi movements, and radio the information back here."
"That's right," answered Lt. Hanley. "You're not to attempt to fight them, unless you're given no choice. Recon of the area puts the number of Nazis to be too significant for a small company to successfully engage. If you do have to engage them, you'll have to do so while heading to the West, and away from the enemy. Understood, Sergeant?"
"Understood, Lieutenant," responded, with a stern expression on the face beneath the camouflage helment. "Will we be taking along some fresh recruits, so we're not so outnumbered?"
"Yes," Lt. Hanley nodded. "You'll have three. Here's the paperwork with their names. Good hunting, Sergeant."
Lt. Hanley saluted, loosely, which caused Sgt. Saunders to salute, also loosely, back.
Exiting the HQ tent, Sgt. Saunders stepped a few feet to his right, where several PFCs were standing, looking like frightened fodder for the Nazis, and read out the names in a tone meant to convey his authority over them all.
"PFC Leonard Dawson..."
"Here, sir!" promptly responded Dawson with a stiff salute.
Ignoring the salute, Sgt. Saunders continued...
"PFC Derrick Stevens..."
"Present, Sergeant, sir!" came another prompt response from Stevens, who also stiffly saluted in vain.
"...and PFC Martin Hillberg."
"Yes, sir, Segeant, sir!" this last PFC seemed a little too eager to respond to Sgt. Saunders, also saluting, but stiffer and for a longer time than Stevens and Dawson. There was almost a glow about him, and his dark eyes almost gleamed.
Sgt. Saunders would soon find that Hillberg held him in a potentially dangerous hero worship, due to all that King Company, under the direct leadership of the sergeant, had been known, by many in the Army, currently on active duty throughout the rural areas of France.
As for Hillberg, he was just happy to be, finally, a part of the relatively famous, for many in the Army heading to the front for the first time, King Company.
And his hero worship would only grow as they headed out, on foot, for the region where Nazis were holed up.
Whether Sgt. Saunders liked it or not.