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His blanket and tarp were missing.
Normally that wouldn’t have been a great cause of concern to the soldier, just curiosity and more than little irritation; but that had been before they reached the Belgian forest. Now, with the temperature well below freezing—and falling all the time—he couldn’t afford to brush off its absence and settle in the empty foxhole with just his jacket to keep him warm. He trusted his men implicitly and knew none of them would have taken them, and he knew by looking around that this was definitely the place where he’d set them up, so then…what had happened since he left to do his rounds?
He shivered, drawing his coat collar as close as he could, before he abruptly turned and started towards the next nearest foxhole, boots crunching snow and ice together underfoot. There wasn’t any point in staring at an empty hole until he froze to death. He’d just crawl in with one of the other men—or in this case—he slid down into the foxhole, lifting the edge of the tarp—Nixon.
“Hey Nix,” he greeted the other man. “Mind sharing?”
Curled up tightly under his own thin blanket, only his red tipped nose poking out, Nixon grunted and blearily pushed his cap up a little. “Why not? Misery enough for both of us.” He said generously making room for his friend beside him. “Well? Hurry up before we both freeze.” He paused thinking about what he just said and how utterly ridiculous it was. “More, I mean.” Nixon corrected with a flash of a grin.
Smiling but not immediately responding, Winters took the space Nixon made for him and tucked the tarp back where it had been, trying to take advantage of what meagre warmth there was in the foxhole. He rubbed his gloved hands together, not willing to risk taking them off to rub together for fear of making them more frozen than they were. “Nix,” he said after a moment, teeth chattering a little from the cold, “Did you hear anything a little while ago?”
“Besides wind? No, can’t say I did.” Nixon rearranged the blanket over the both of them and tugged out his flask from his jacket, gaze more awake and curious as he glanced over at Dick. “Why?”
“My blanket. It’s missing.” Winters rubbed the back of his sleeve against his nose, then again but a little more vigorously to try warming it. “So’s the tarp.”
Raising his eyebrows Nixon took a drink and hummed thoughtfully. “A thief? Right conditions for it, I could use about twenty more blankets and a roaring fire right about now myself, but these men?” He took another drink and offered the flask to Dick. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m doing it,” Winters replied, giving his friend a grin. “I’m sharing yours.”
Nixon pulled back his flask and took another drink. “Yeah, I noticed that.” He said dryly. “I’ll see if I can get you a replacement on my next run.” He frowned and pressed his shoulder a little more against his freezing friend. “Christ, maybe more than one—are you warming up at all? It’s like having a snowman in here with me.”
“You’re one to talk, Nix.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d shared a foxhole after all; normally it was Nix who crawled in, not saying but Winters knowing it was because the intelligence man would rather not dig his own when a readily available one was nearby. It also helped kill the time when you had someone to whisper to during the slow hours.
But in this case, Nixon was right in surmising Winters was having trouble warming up. He had made sure to stop at every foxhole and spoke with every man who wasn’t catching a few stray minutes of sleep, not only to keep their spirits up but to keep an eye on anyone who might need a short trip to the rear before their moods dipped too low. And apparently, he’d spent just a little too long out there, because he was having more than a little trouble feeling his extremities.
Nixon shook his head at him with an exasperated huff, familiarity with his friend’s regard as to the men’s health and wellbeing before his own letting him know exactly why Dick was so cold, and took another drink before screwing the cap back onto his flask and slipping it back into his jacket. “How are the men?” He asked as he shifted and slung an arm across Dick’s shoulders, gloved hand rubbing at his arm in an attempt to speed up the warming process. “Stupid question. What about this thief of yours? Think he’ll strike again?”
“I’m not sure it was a thief,” Winters said thoughtfully. He finally gave in and tugged a glove off with his teeth so he could examine his fingers. It wasn’t exactly well lit under the tarp, but even he could tell his shaking fingers were showing signs of frostbite. He tucked his hand back into the glove before Nixon could see.
But he wasn’t quite fast enough, Nixon frowning as he caught the trembling hand in his own. “How bad?” He questioned moving to use both his hands to chafe Dick’s. “And anyone who takes something that doesn’t belong to them is the dictionary definition of a thief, by the way.”
Winters huffed, then winced as he felt some feeling beginning to creep back into his hand, the action enough to tell Nixon just how bad it had been getting. “Fine, a thief then. But none of these men would do it. So—the question is, who came by here?”
“People running from town? I don’t see how they could’ve gotten this far without being noticed though.” Nixon said absently wondering if there was someone still meandering about in the snow that he could drag down into the foxhole for added body heat. “Anything else taken?”
“Not that I—” Winters cut off, catching the muffled sound of snow crunching underfoot somewhere nearby. He glanced at Nixon, and then reached his semi-warm hand under the blanket for the gun at his side. Once it was safely in hand he half rose so he could peer out from under the tarp.
Nixon peered out at his side, eyes brightening as he caught sight of a soldier who happened to be, what do you know, meandering. More like wobbling at this point. “Harry!”
“Harry? What are y—you doing here?” Winters started to chatter again, even though he hadn’t even been out that long.
Straightening up and snapping off a cheery salute, Harry looked down at them glassy eyed. “Enjoying the incredible view, Captain Winters—did you know it snowed again? Ridiculously fluffy snowflakes that had no business falling here for the third time today.”
“Forget the damn snowflakes and get in here, Harry.” Nixon drew Dick away from the tarp as their other friend nodded agreeably and poured himself down into the foxhole.
Once Nixon had sandwiched Dick in between them and gotten the blanket situated, Harry beamed at them. “Well this is cozy.”
Nixon looked at him in amusement. “Is it.”
“You know I was all the way over in Dog Company before I realized I’d gotten a bit turned around. Turns out all trees look alike.” He licked his lips. “Wish I had a drink.”
“I’m sure you do.” Nixon agreed, relenting after a moment and handing over his flask.
“You see anyone on your way here?” Winters asked after Welsh took a gulp. He reached up, tugging his collar up again that seemed to refuse to stay where he wanted it.
“Mmh? Oh, yes, a nice lieutenant that seemed to be turned around like I was. He had a bottle of wine. Which we drank and then commiserated about the cold. That’s about the time we were found by a sergeant who directed me back here and the lieutenant back to…hmm. What company was he from? Ah well, doesn’t matter. A few guards later and then you two popped out of the ground like some damn moles.” He chuckled at his own joke and took another drink from the flask. “Moles.”
Nixon exchanged a glance with Dick and then reached over to reclaim his flask, Harry looking at him regretfully. “Moles, Dick.”
“Moles,” Winters repeated, giving Harry a slight smile and then shook his head to himself. Any other day he would disapprove of the state that Harry found himself in—he thought he’d given him more than enough talks about drinking too much and setting an example for the men—but the redhead seemed cheerful enough and since cheerful dispositions were rare and few between, this time he’d overlook it. “Nobody else, then,” he said, just to clarify.
“Was I supposed to see someone?” Harry looked confused but with his inebriated state it didn’t last long, a smile forming as he leaned conspiratorially towards them. “You know that lieutenant told me a joke I’d never heard before, it had something to do with this man going into a bar—”
“Christ.” Nixon was smiling now too. “Is that the one with the priest?”
“No, I think it was a farmer.” Harry’s brow wrinkled. “Or was it a judge?”
“Not that one again,” Winters murmured, but he didn’t really mean for them to stop, and they both knew it. He frowned to himself as his mind turned back to the mystery of the missing blanket, which he couldn’t seem to put out of his mind despite himself. Even though he was finally beginning to warm between both of his friends, he had a compulsion to stand up again to peek back out, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Before he knew it, that was exactly what he did, inadvertently tugging the blanket off both of them as he peeked back out from under the tarp, mouth still tugged down into a frown.
“You could’ve given us some warning.” Harry said peevishly as he took the abandoned blanket and wrapped it around himself, Nixon moving to Dick’s side and bumping his shoulder.
“You’re not going to catch them, you know.”
“Catch who?” Harry asked curiously.
“The thief,” Winters answered absentmindedly, not seeing anything outside but snow and dead trees with their tops blown off. The snow was beginning to fall again, too. All in all, it painted the same bleak picture they had all been staring at for the last few days. But something didn’t sit right with him all the same, and it bothered him that he couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was just the urge to go on the rounds eating at him, but no—he’d just come back, and besides, he trusted all of the officers and NCOs implicitly and knew they would be keeping an eye on everything without him there to oversee it. It was something else. Something else…
“Thief?”
“Dick, just forget it. You go out hunting for this thief of yours all you’re going to get is more frostbite. Whoever it was is long gone—” Nixon broke off, brows knitting.
“Who’s long gone?” Harry persisted, the alcoholic haze clearing just a bit. “Dick? Nix?”
“Did you see something, Nix?” Winters asked just barely above a whisper, trying to see what made Nixon go silent. Again, his hand found itself drawing the gun he wore at his side.
“…thought I did. Over there by that stump.” Nixon frowned. “Guess it was an animal. See, now you’ve got me poking at shadows. You should get some rest, go back to your sleuthing tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow,” Winters informed him. “Stay here with Harry. I’m going to find out who that is.”
“Of course you are.” Nixon grabbed his blanket from Harry who gave an indignant squawk and tried to snatch back only to be fended off and given a stern look. “Stay, Harry. No wandering into enemy lines.”
“Without a blanket? Might as well find my own foxhole.” Harry muttered not moving. “Where are you going?”
“To poke at shadows.” Nixon draped the blanket over Dick’s shoulders and followed him out of the foxhole, tugging his scarf higher up his face and jamming his hands into his pockets.
Winters debated offering Nixon the blanket back, but knew his friend wouldn’t accept it, so instead hugged it close, keeping one hand on the gun underneath it.
The snow blurred everything together, but he headed in the direction that Nixon had seen movement, trying and failing to keep his boots from making too much nose. Hopefully, the snow was muffling the sound just as well as it was lowering visibility. He glanced over his shoulder once to be sure Nixon was still behind him, then continued forward.
There was no sign of anyone by the tree stump, but when he crouched down to take a look he saw the faint imprint of boots being filled with snow. Not an animal then. He straightened up, knowing the path would disappear sooner than he could follow it, but started off in the general direction that they seemed to go, hoping to catch sight of someone even if their prints disappeared.
It seemed they had been walking for some time before he caught sight of a shadowy form moving just ahead of them. He motioned for Nixon to stop while trying to make out the figure better despite the snow.
Nixon eyed the barely visible form and carefully got his gun out. It might just be a guard making his rounds but the snow made it impossible to tell. Hell, it could be a bear for all they knew. Okay. Not a bear, he conceded. But something.
The figure stopped suddenly, and whether it heard or spotted them, neither knew. Winters went automatically into a crouch, pulling his gun free from under the blanket, flexing a few fingers so they wouldn’t freeze up on him if it came down to it. Abruptly the figure turned, and started to trudge back towards them.
Nixon crouched down beside him, feeling a bit stupid because he had the distinct feeling that the person coming towards them wasn’t their enemy or their thief, but willing to give Dick’s instincts the benefit of the doubt.
The figure continued to grow nearer. Just when Winters was debating on lifting his gun or calling out the passcode of the day rather than wait and see who it was, the figure stopped again, and then ducked behind a nearby tree.
“Apple!” the figure called out gruffly, in a familiar drawl. Winters felt the tension ease a little out of his chest and after shutting his eyes briefly, realizing he’d been about to level his gun at Doc Roe, straightened up.
“Strudel,” he called out in reply. Roe stuck his head out, and then the rest of him followed. He approached the two warily, dark eyes taking in the blanket over Winters’s shoulders, and then Nixon behind him.
“Just out for a stroll.” Nixon supplied with an easy smile, gun back in its holster. “I don’t suppose you were over by our foxholes a moment ago?”
“I was,” Roe said with a nod. “Where I thought yours was, Captain. But there was nothing there.”
“I know,” Winters said grimly.
“You shouldn’t be out like this, sir,” Roe continued, eyes falling to their boots and then gloves, lingering on Nixon, who didn’t even have an extra overcoat like a few of the others had managed to snag. He managed to look disapproving, even though his own face looked somewhat frozen from the cold. “I’ve seen too many cases of frostbite already and the temperature’s dropping again.”
Nixon glanced at Dick pointedly.
Winters pointedly did not look back at him. “Did you see anyone out here?” he asked Roe.
“Sergeant Lipton and Sergeant Guarnere,” Roe answered. He fumbled to pull something out of his bag, and came out with another pair of gloves and socks, which he offered to Winters. “Wear them over your others,” he ordered, “I noticed when I came by yesterday you only had one pair…” He trailed off when he noticed Winters accept the offering with a shaking hand, and he glanced at Nixon and then back at the captain, mentally reassessing who he had assumed would be worse off in the weather.
“See anyone with an extra blanket and tarp? Recently?” Nixon questioned taking away some of the medic’s attention away from Dick who he’d knew rather not have Roe worrying about him. No, Nixon could worry enough for the both of them.
“No, sir,” Roe replied, still giving them both a look as if they had no right to be out there when they were cold, never mind his own condition, with ears and nose red from the cold. “Nobody.”
“…All right. Carry on, Doc,” Winters said giving him a nod, and Roe saluted and then did as he was ordered, glancing back at them once more before trudging out of sight on his way to another foxhole.
“Well. This is going well.” Nixon observed as he took a nip from his flask. “Think we can rule him out.”
“Doc wouldn’t take—” Winters realized Nixon was making fun of him, and then sighed, then stifled a cough. Maybe the cold was just getting to him. “Let’s just go back,” he finally said. “You heard the Doc, and he’s right. You’re freezing to death out here, Lew.” Never mind it was his teeth that were chattering again, damn them.
Nix took another drink and then put his flask away. “Probably. Come on.” He walked closer than he normally would, hoping that some of his body heat would leech over to Dick, his shoulder constantly bumping into his friend’s. Getting sick out here was the icing on top of the hypothermia and frostbite, Roe no doubt ready to give out some well-chosen words for the idiots he’d seen stumbling about in the snow before sending Dick to the rear to recuperate. And wouldn’t the man just love that.
Focusing only on finding his way back to the foxhole where they had left Harry, it took Winters a long moment to realize theirs wasn’t the only sound of boots crunching snow again. He wanted to believe it was Roe coming after them for whatever reason, but the step he could hear was more…hesitant. Like the person walking was unsure of where they were. When he paused to look around though, there was no sign of anyone, and the sound stopped as well. He shook his head, thinking he had only imagined it. He was beginning to feel lucky to have Nixon with him, because otherwise he would begin to feel paranoid.
“Huh.” Nixon looked around. “Funny. Thought I heard something. Damn wind.”
…And there it was, paranoia.
“I thought I heard it too,” Winters murmured, coming once more to a stop. They’d heard about Germans crossing the lines by mistake in bad weather. Perhaps one had done just that and—and what? Taken his blanket and tarp and then ran off with it, without waiting to see where the owner had gone? He frowned at the thought, but didn’t entirely dismiss it. A stray German was more likely than someone from his own side. And when he thought back to the footprint by the tree stump—could it have been from a German boot, not an American one?
There it was again—the slow, steady sound of someone creeping around, just out of sight. Near the foxholes, actually—where they had left Harry.
He was glad he could still feel his fingers enough to hold a gun.
“That wasn’t the wind.” Nixon muttered under his breath as he frowned, feeling jittery again just like before when they crossed paths with Roe. He moved stealthily towards the sound right beside Dick, both of their guns once more in their hands. I’m as bad as he is, he thought as they saw a dark figure forming in the now heavily falling snow. Could just be another soldier wandering around like we are. Like Roe was. Like Harry was. Like—
Winters reached out suddenly and lightly held onto Nixon’s arm, signaling him to stop.
The figure wore a German overcoat.
The soldier was moving slowly from tree to tree, looking around now and then before starting off hesitantly in a random direction, a rifle hanging from a strap over his chest as he stuck his mittened hands into deep pockets.
Nixon stared. Goddamnit, Dick had been right.
“What now?” He whispered as quietly as possible. If that German kept going the way he was, Harry was going to have an unexpected guest drop in.
“...” Winters didn’t answer immediately, shifting his hold on his gun as he searched briefly for the foxhole that their friend was in, heart beating just a little faster when he realized it lay in the direction the German was headed. If they didn’t do something, Harry would be a sitting duck. But who knew if anyone else was prowling around? He couldn’t see any other Germans, but a gunfight was the last thing they needed. And prisoners for intelligence officers like Nixon to question were few…
He did the only thing that seemed logical—he motioned for Nixon to find some cover, and then moved a few yards away, in the opposite direction of where Harry was, careful to be as quiet as humanly possible. He slid behind a tree and lifted his gun, careful to keep as much of himself out of sight as possible, which was difficult given the thin spindly things that grew in the Belgian woods. Then, he took in a deep breath.
“Halt!”
The German turned in surprise at the call, and for a second just stood there, trying to find the person who had called out to him.
“Herkommen!”
Nixon watched with bated breath as the German soldier moved towards Dick’s position, seemingly oblivious to the possible danger of simply following a voice in the woods as he quickened his pace with obvious relief at having found someone.
He was either new to combat or stupid. Or both. Either way Nixon took his chance when it was given to him—the butt of his gun slamming down hard on the man’s helmet, the body crumpling soon after.
Switching his gun to his other hand, Nixon shook his hand out and stared down at the man for a long moment. Crouching, he checked for a pulse before rocking back onto his heels and staring some more. Huh. He’d never knocked someone out before. He watched as snow started to gather on the man’s coat, eyes marking the rise and fall of the unconscious man’s back.
“Nix what in the world—” Winters had joined him at some point, and was now looking at Nixon with a look of combined surprise, wonder, and worry. “What made you do that? I was going to order him to drop the gun.”
“In English? He’d have woken up Harry.” Nixon said absently as he straightened up. “No extra blanket or tarp.”
Winters looked down at the German, noticing what Nixon pointed out was true, then thought to remove the rifle that still was trapped underneath the unconscious man. That done, he checked the soldier for any more weapons before straightening, and clapped a cold hand to Nixon’s shoulder, before he went and tugged off the tarp to the foxhole where they had left Harry.
Inside and blissfully unaware of what had happened, one of Nixon’s ever present bottles of booze held in his arms like a teddy bear, Harry snored and curled into a tighter ball against the chill starting to permeate the foxhole.
Winters smiled and shook his head after seeing the man hadn’t even been bothered by what happened, tugging the tarp back over before he returned to join Nixon. “I’ll get some of the men to take him back where he can be questioned,” he said. “You should get under there with Harry before you freeze more than you are.”
“Someone’s got to keep an eye on Hans here.” Nixon countered, gun held loosely by his side, a contemplative look still on his face. “How’s Harry? Sleeping it off?”
“Didn’t even bat an eyelash.”
If they could say the same. Winters almost wished someone was already there to handle the prisoners so both of them could go back into the warmth of the foxhole and forget they had ever left it. Almost as if someone was listening to his thoughts, they could hear the sound of approaching steps coming up to their right. He turned, wary that it could be another German, but this time the sound of the trudging was familiar.
“Sirs?” Sergeant Lipton stopped in surprise, eyes going from frostbitten faces to the body at their feet.
“Sergeant, just the man we needed to see.” Nixon smiled pleasantly at him, gun going back into its holster.
“Looks like you were doing just fine without me, sir.” The sergeant noted with a wry look.
“We have a present for HQ. Don’t think it’ll be worth much, but it’s worth a shot. Think you can have it delivered for us? Captain Winters is about to fall over.”
“I can see that.” Lipton felt colder just looking at the slightly swaying man. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Winters said with a nod of the head. He was going to protest the comment about his falling over anytime soon, but couldn’t really find it in himself to, especially in front of Lipton, who knew crap when he heard it. Instead he gave Nixon a look—the man looked more frozen than he felt—and simply gestured towards the foxhole they had abandoned earlier, before pausing as a thought crossed his mind. “Lipton?”
“Yessir?” Lipton paused and straightened up from starting to drag the man away, mind already on what else needed to be done after the kraut was seen to. He was going to have to get some of the men combing the woods again, the gaps in their lines were getting ridiculous at this point. And he’d have to look for Dike again. Not that it’d do much good, but he should be informed about this. And he had to find Roe and make sure he spent some time in a foxhole otherwise they were going to be down a medic.
“Did you see anyone—come this way earlier?” Winters asked. He knew Lipton made the rounds—probably more than any of them—and was no doubt tired himself, but the question was still nagging at the back of his mind, even if he did manage to tuck it away now and then.
“Roe, earlier.” And then he’d stopped to talk to Buck and just like that, the medic vanished. Maybe he was with Babe or Spina. “Something the matter, sir?”
“A thief.” Nixon supplied, rubbing his hands together. “Took off with Captain Winters’ blanket and tarp.”
“None of the men would do that.” Lipton said immediately. “We’re all freezing our asses off, but nobody’d take another man’s blanket, especially the CO’s.”
Winters smiled at the assertion that he full-heartedly shared. There weren’t many men like the ones that came from Easy Company. And there weren’t any soldiers like Carwood Lipton. He knew the men, like himself, relied on the NCO more than Dike. If only Winters could figure out a way to get rid of the officer in question…but that was a problem to stew on at a different time.
“I know, Lip,” he said. “Forget about it. And take care of yourself out here.”
“Yessir.” Lipton had no intention of forgetting it, while he could trust the men of Easy implicitly, the same couldn’t be said for the other companies camped out beside them. He’d asked around. Discreetly. And find the Captain another blanket. “You should get out of the wind, sir, the snow is picking up.”
“Is it?” Nixon squinted lazily up at the sky. “Couldn’t tell.”
Lipton held back a smile. “Trust me on that one, sir.” Nodding to them he returned to his task of whisking the kraut away to be questioned.
Winters tugged on Nixon’s arm, motioning they both return to the foxhole now that the German was being taken away. Pulling away the tarp revealed Harry still hadn’t woken despite the conversation that went on near him. The addition of two frozen men and the chill would probably change that, Winters thought, as he climbed into the hole once more.
Settling himself at Dick’s side and nudging a sleepily protesting Harry into place beside him so that once more they were on either side of Dick, Nixon got out a cigarette and lit it up, Harry already snoring again and seemingly oblivious to the cold killing the warmth in the foxhole. It was amazing what a good drink could do, Nixon thought as he blew smoke towards the branches providing a roof for his foxhole.
Winters unwrapped the blanket from around himself, making sure Harry was covered, and then Nixon. He actually imagined he could feel some heat pouring off the drunken man, but whether or not it was just that—imagined—he couldn’t exactly tell. Regardless of Harry’s condition, he took one of Nixon’s hands silently and shoved the extra pair of socks Roe had given him into it.
“Just what I always wanted.” Nixon deadpanned as he refused to accept them, hand drawn back and tucked under his armpit as he took another drag on his cigarette.
“Your hands are shaking worse than mine now, Nix,” Winters said patiently. He was tugging on the extra pair of gloves over the ones he already wore, then tucked them under his coat in an attempt to warm them.
“Are they?” Nix asked carelessly. “You’d think it was cold out. Don’t forget to put the socks on.”
“Nix—” Winters sighed, knowing his friend’s stubbornness. Then leaned closer to him, in an attempt to share some of the warmth he was now sure was coming from Harry. Perhaps they should have sat with the redhead between them. “Give me your hand,” he ordered.
Nixon took another drag of his cigarette and looked at his friend in amusement. “Trust me, Dick, I look colder than I feel. Now stop moving around just when it stops feeling like a goddamn icebox in here.”
“I’m not kidding, Nix. Give me your hand.”
Giving in to his friend’s relentless determination, Nixon held out his hand. “I probably should have asked this earlier, but are you sure you didn’t just misplace your blanket and tarp? You’ve barely slept the past few days.” He pointed out.
“I didn’t misplace it,” Winters replied patiently, as he tugged off Nixon’s cold glove and proceeded to chafe his frozen hand much as Nix had done for him earlier. It would have worked better had his own hands been warm, but it was getting there. He could tell himself that, anyway. “Someone took it when I was on a round.”
“The wind blew it away?” Nixon guessed, grinning.
Winters smiled despite himself. “No. But I’m starting to think it might have picked itself up and walked away.”
“Stranger things have happened.” Nixon agreed.
Harry snuffled in his sleep, head resting heavily against Dick’s shoulder.
“You know, I still think it was someone from town. If the kraut got this far, who knows who else could’ve done the exact same thing.” Nixon blew out more smoke. “What I can’t figure out is why someone would only steal the blanket and the tarp.”
“And why they’d take mine, and not yours,” Winters said, glancing at Harry. The man was beginning to drool a little, but he didn’t have the heart to knock him off, especially since he was the only real source of warmth so far.
“That’s easy.” The corner of Nixon’s mouth tugged upwards. “Unlike you, I was actually using mine.”
Winters gave a huff of amusement but didn’t answer, taking advantage of Nixon having the cigarette in his mouth to take his other hand, now try warming that one up.
Perhaps if he had stayed put instead of doing the rounds, he could have saved himself some trouble. But…in the long run, he’d rather know the men were doing all right than have a blanket. Like Nixon pointed out, he could get always get another. Who cared what happened to the old one?
…Well he did, a little.
“Do you think maybe…” He trailed off, not entirely sure if he wanted to finish the thought. “Never mind.”
Nixon looked at him curiously. “What, Dick?” His eyes turned mischievous, smile widening into a grin before he schooled his face into something less amused. “Forest spirits? Ghosts, maybe?” At Dick’s red face, the man’s gaze refusing to meet his, Nixon’s smile faded abruptly his eyebrows raising incredulously. “Dick? Do you—?”
“No,” his friend answered—maybe a little too quickly. He glanced briefly at Nixon, and then shrugged a little. “No,” he repeated, a little surer of himself this time. “No, that’s ridiculous…” He turned his head, as if to check on Harry. “…Right?”
“Right.” Nixon agreed, gaze turning thoughtful as he scanned his friend’s face. He paused, freeing one of his hands to stub out his cigarette. “…did you see something?” He asked carefully.
“…It’s snowing, Lew, and we’ve been up here a few days,” Winters said after a moment.
“So you did see something. What was it?”
“Nothing,” his friend replied. But he knew Nixon wouldn’t just let him leave it at that—the silence was practically begging him to speak, so he finally turned back to him, blue eyes meeting brown. “When I was on my way back, I thought…for just a second…that maybe…” He paused, glancing at Harry before looking back. “Promise me you’ll keep it between us, Nix.”
“You, me, and Harry.” Nixon joked before sobering and giving Dick a look. “Come on, it’s me, Dick. Look, I’ll even cross my heart and hope to die.” He added playfully though his gaze remained serious. “What did you see?”
“…I saw something moving. Between the trees.” Winters paused, a distant look coming into his eyes. “I didn’t know who it was at first, but I knew a few of the men were moving back and forth, like Lip, Roe…so I kept going. But when I started to get close to it, I just…this…weird feeling came over me. So I stopped. To watch it.” He was starting to shiver again, but didn’t seem to be aware of it, and his voice dropped lower, teeth beginning to chatter again. “And it crossed, right on the path ahead of me, Nix. Just a few yards ahead of me. But I couldn’t see it clearly. All I knew was that it wasn’t human. It couldn’t have been.”
“Could’ve been an animal.” Nixon suggested even though he knew it wasn’t likely. Animals hadn’t exactly been fond of all the humans invading their home, most of them fleeing. Still…it had to have been an animal. He frowned, Dick’s eerie faraway look giving him a spooky feeling. “When did you say this was? When we were looking for your thief? I didn’t see anything.”
“No.” Winters blinked a few times, seeming to pull himself from his musing. “Just before I found my foxhole. That’s where it came from.” He was silent for a moment, and then shifted a little as if to make himself more comfortable. Hard to do with your knees pulled up close and two bodies pressed in on either side, but for once he was glad to have company so close. “You’re right, Nix. It was probably just an animal. A…fox or something, and I was too tired to see it.”
Nixon quietly tugged on his gloves, eyes on the tarp covering the entrance of the foxhole.
For a few minutes there was silence, only broken by Harry’s soft snores and the chattering of Dick’s teeth, and then Nixon coughed and fiddled with his pack of cigarettes and lighter. “Dick?” He whispered, half hoping the man had fallen asleep and hadn’t heard him.
Winters opened his eyes, turning to look at his friend. “…What is it, Nix?”
“Nothing really, just…” Nixon lit a cigarette and took a drag before continuing, a sheepish expression on his face. “Nothing. Go to sleep.”
Winters frowned a little, brow furrowing as he tried to read his friend’s expression. “Go on, Nix, tell me.”
Debating on it for a moment, Nixon finally gave in with a sigh. “I’ve just been hanging around you too much, Dick, that’s all. You’re not the only one that hasn’t been able to get some goddamn sleep in this hell hole.” He hesitated. “Before you came and woke me up…I heard…voices, I don’t know, I thought I was dreaming, but then it got so cold…and quiet. So quiet…almost as if no one else was around for miles. Made my skin crawl.” He hunched a little more as he spoke, the end of his cigarette flaring orange in the dim light of the foxhole as he took a nervous drag. He gave Dick an unconvincing smile. “Just a dream. Nightmare almost. Go on and tell me I’m crazy.”
“…” Winters just looked at him, and then turned to stare at the earthen wall across from him. “…You aren’t crazy, Nix.” He tried to shrug, but then remembered Harry on his shoulder, and aborted the movement, settling on looking back at Nixon, trying to smile. “It’s just like you said. We’ve been up too long.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Nixon agreed lightly, trying to shake off the tightness between his shoulder blades and the urge to peer past the flap to see if anything was suddenly lurking out in the snow. “What would forest spirits want with a blanket and tarp anyway? We’ve should’ve just followed Harry. Or I should’ve, still can, actually.” Digging out his flask from his jacket, he took a bracing drink. “Sure you won’t have a drink? You’re sure. Had to ask. It’s practically a tradition at this point.”
Winters did smile for real this time, but it faded about as fast as it came as he glanced up at the tarp covering their heads. One hand went to the gun at his side, just so he could be sure it was there, but oddly enough it wasn’t that much of a reassurance anymore. Once again he was glad to not be alone his foxhole.
He stiffened suddenly.
“…Nix,” he whispered urgently, despite the fact they were right next to one another.
“What?” Nixon whispered back, tensing. “You hear something?”
“I thought I did,” Winters replied. He was loathe to stand up and take a look though. For the first time in his life, he would rather just sit there and not move at all instead of investigating the source.
“…” Nixon looked over at Dick with confusion. “Aren’t we going to go look? Could be another German out there.”
“…Could be.” But it wasn’t. Somehow, he just knew it wasn’t. Maybe it was the chill that seemed right back into him despite the warmth of both men by his side, but he—just—knew. He grabbed onto Nixon’s arm instinctively, as if Lewis Nixon of all people was going to bound to his feet to take a look. “Just…leave it.”
“What? But—”
“Shh!” Winters wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring up at the tarp, his whole body tense, ears straining to hear any sound. After a few heartbeats his grip eased on Nixon’s arm. “It’s gone.”
About to question just who was gone, Nixon suddenly felt like ice water was flowing through his veins, that eerie silence from his dream invading reality—the foxhole suddenly seeming too small and too big at the same time, only the sudden tightening grip on his arm bringing back noise in a rush that made his head hurt. Dazed, he looked over at Dick’s concerned face. “I—I need to get a new foxhole.” He managed to say, teeth suddenly chattering. “Goddamn Belgium. Christ.”
Squeezing Nixon’s arm reassuringly, Winters made sure Nixon was himself again before he turned his gaze back to the tarp, and then at Harry, and then back at Nixon.
“You know…there’s a few empty foxholes closer to Easy and Dog, Nix.”
Taking another drink with a faintly trembling hand, Nixon shook his head. “And leave Harry alone with my booze? No, thanks.”
Winters managed to huff a laugh, dispelling some of that cold feeling that lingered in his chest. Not enough of it, but some.
“I sort of meant we’d take Harry with us.”
“I’d rather take the booze.”
“That too, then.”
Winters was kidding about crawling out of their now almost-on-the-verge-of-warm foxhole…almost, but at the same time, not kidding at all. All the officers were encouraged to stay a little further back from the front lines than the rest of the men and it wasn’t a bad position to be in. But there were some occasions when staying in the same place wasn’t possible or desired, and this was one of them.
“Wait, you’re serious?” Nixon took another drink and then stowed his flask away as he continued smoking. “It’s a nice sentiment, but think about those damn fat snowflakes Harry was talking about. And now think about trudging through them to go to an abandoned foxhole that we’d probably have to shovel out again. Granted, this foxhole isn’t much, but at least it’s starting to warm up again. A bit. It’s better than outside.”
Well, when Nixon put it like that… Winters sighed and leaned his head back against the cold earth behind him, the intense desire to leave the foxhole fading somewhat as Nixon’s voice of reason once more kept him grounded. Maybe the tiredness and hearing noises was just another sign of battlefield stress and exhaustion, nothing more. “…You’re right, Nix. Guess I’m just getting a little skittish.”
Nixon grunted noncommittedly and continued smoking, eyes closed to avoid looking at the tent flap that seemed to be staring at him. “I thought it would take more.” He said apropos nothing.
Winters didn’t answer him. He closed his eyes, and tried to take advantage of the quiet and the warmth to sleep. His attempt lasted about a minute before his eyes were open once more and he was watching the tarp above them intensely, unconsciously tensing before he forced himself to relax. There wasn’t anything out there. Nothing but snow, trees, and a few hundred feet away, some of the men from Easy, and a few thousand feet further from them, the German army waiting for their chance to push them out. Nothing else, especially not—what had Nixon called it? Wood spirits? Especially not those, or ghosts.
“Knocking someone out like that.” Nixon clarified for no one, his eyes cracking open as he felt Dick stiffen beside him, frowning a bit as he saw his tight expression. Pressing a little closer to his side, Nixon fumbled to get the blanket stretched properly over the three of them, Harry unintentionally hogging it in his sleep. “Guy went down like a ton of bricks anyway so I guess it doesn’t matter. Just thought it’d take more.” He continued conversationally, not expecting an answer but hoping to bring Dick down from high alert.
Winters continued to stare at the tarp, and then frowned and furrowed his brow, turning to look back at Nixon, taking a moment to figure out what he had been talking about. “How’s your hand?” he finally asked.
“Cold.”
“Bruised?”
“I used the gun to hit the kraut, not my hand. I did pass basic training.” Nixon responded, mouth quirking up in faint amusement.
A rare grin crossed over Winter’s features. “Nix, you never fail to remind me why you’re the intelligence officer.”
Grinning back, pleased at getting Dick back to his old self, his own muscles relaxing as the atmosphere turned familiar rather than charged with some otherworldly strangeness, Nixon settled down more comfortably and lazily finished his cigarette.
“Nix?” Winters closed his eyes once more, reaching up a hand to tug up his collar before his arm moved back underneath the warmth of the blanket. “You ever wish you could just sleep through things like Harry?”
Nixon thought about it, stubbing out his cigarette and fishing out his flask again. “Sometimes, maybe. You?”
“Yes. Like today.”
Nixon nodded, taking a contemplative drink followed by another before he spoke again, voice quiet.
“Dick? You think it’ll come back?”
Winters shifted a little, perhaps to get more comfortable, but mostly to put a reassuring hand on Nixon’s arm. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
Nixon nodded again. “Good.” He paused and then reluctantly asked the question that had been nagging at him ever since the thing had left. “What’d it take?”
“Hmm?” Winters did open his eyes for that, giving his friend a questioning look.
“Well, the first time, it took your blanket and tarp. So it must’ve taken something this time too.” Nixon looked over at the flap. “What’d it take…”
Winters hadn’t even considered that. He straightened immediately, heart beating a little faster as he scanned their confined surroundings. The most important things were still there—Nixon. Harry, the blanket, the tarp…
“I don’t see anything missing,” he said. “Do you…?”
Realizing what his friend was doing, Nixon was quick to put an end to his worries. “Dick, stop, I didn’t mean something in here, I don’t think our friend is the people type, I meant over at your foxhole or someplace close. Christ, if I thought it was in here—” Nixon stopped himself there, he’d just gotten himself out of the rabbit hole, he had no goddamn intention of falling back in. “I was only wondering—”
The foxhole flap was yanked open, both men startling and Dick instantly drawing his gun at the ready.
“Uh, sorry, sirs, didn’t mean to surprise you.” Lipton apologized, equally as startled at having a gun drawn on him. “Found an extra blanket, Captain, thought you could use it.” He proffered the rolled up blanket.
Winters blinked, looking first at Lipton then the blanket, his racing heart beginning to slow down to a reasonable pace again. He realized he was still holding the gun, and he sheepishly returned the gun to where it belonged at his side, and then took the blanket awkwardly. “Thank you, Lip. I appreciate it.”
The sergeant nodded in acknowledgement, gaze flicking back and forth between the two men, Nixon doing his best to look his usual nonchalant self, which failed if Lipton’s increase in worry was anything to go by. “Is there anything the matter, sir?” He asked, brow wrinkled with concern. “I have the men closing up those gaps in our lines as best they can and they’re all on the lookout for any more kraut stragglers. And I found Doc Roe, so if you need him, I can have him up here in less than a minute.”
“No. There’s no need, sergeant,” Winters said quickly, glancing at Nixon—a mistake, he realized belatedly, as Lipton was watching them very carefully. In all likelihood, he had already decided something was wrong, hence his offer to find Roe for them, but the last thing Winters wanted was his most dependable sergeant concerned with their welfare when his attention was needed on the men of Easy.
“Earlier it sounded like something was moving out there, Lip,” he started to explain, in an effort to put his sergeant at ease. “We didn’t see anything.” Because we didn’t look, Winters did not add. “It must have been the wind but since that German had been here…” He left the rest unsaid.
Lipton relaxed. “Oh. Yeah, I thought I saw something move near here. Must’ve been an animal. I guess some are getting brave enough to come near all these foxholes. Well, I’d better get going, letting all the cold in, sorry about that. Sirs.” Nodding to them, the sergeant straightened up, the foxhole flap closing and boots crunching away on fresh snow.
Nixon stared, that creepy sensation starting up between his shoulder blades again as he spoke to his friend without looking away from the tarp, voice even and hand steady as he dug out his flask absently. “Dick, please tell me I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard.”
“…” Winters sat unmoving, staring up at the space where Lipton had been a moment ago, still holding the rolled up blanket in one cold hand and making no move to unroll it. He turned silently to look at Nixon.
“He saw it too,” was all he said.
“He saw something.” Nixon corrected reaching over and tucking a precious bottle of Vat 69 into his jacket. “We don’t know what he saw. Like he said it could’ve been an animal.” He stared at Dick who stared right back. “…okay, fine. Yeah, he saw—whatever the hell it was, which we all saw because of stress. Probably. Right? It was all the stress? Dick?”
Winters knew Nixon wanted him to agree with him, and knew if he did just that, they’d both settle back down and maybe fall asleep. Maybe even catch a few hours of said sleep before Nixon had to head back and Winters did another round of the companies.
But he couldn’t.
He held Nixon’s gaze for a moment longer, hesitating to answer—then glanced at the tarp, which at this point almost seemed to be mocking them. Abruptly he started to shift his stiff body into position so he could stand. “Well, thanks for sharing the foxhole, Lew—”
“Christ, Dick.” Nixon huffed and rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. And I just shaved this morning, he thought vaguely as he got up to his feet and took his pack and blanket with him. Dick’s lack of confirmation was confirmation of itself—it just confirmed the wrong thing and made Nixon want to get as far away from here as was humanly possible. “Wait—Harry. Harry!” He shook the still somehow asleep man’s shoulder impatiently. “Jesus, he sleeps like the dead.” Nixon muttered. “Harry, get up!”
“Wsht?” Harry mumbled eloquently, eyes opening groggily and looking up at Nixon in confusion. “Eh?”
“Come on, bring the bottle with you.”
With Nixon’s help, Harry swayed up onto his feet his confusion growing. “What? What happened? Where are we going?” He slurred out, still half asleep and very drunk.
“I’d say hell, but we all know we’re already there.” Nixon grinned sharply pushing Harry out first into the snow before following along behind and ignoring the man’s cursing, eyes warily taking in the snow and the soldiers flitting back and forth among the trees. Looking for krauts. Not strange fairy wood creatures.
Winters stopped by his foxhole to grab his pack and kit—the only things that had been left behind—and then paused long enough to hand the blanket Lipton had given him to the stumbling Harry, feeling a little bad for having pushed him unceremoniously off his shoulder when he climbed out—and then proceeded to lead the way to the foxholes he had mentioned earlier, hands tucked in his pockets and collar up to cut some of the wind.
He nodded to a few of the men they passed—more than one giving the group a confused look but electing to say nothing other than a ‘hello, Captain Winters’ as he trudged on.
Finally, he reached the area he had been searching for, a neat little rise between the trees which was frozen over and almost unmarked by mortar fire—almost, since a few shallow craters here and there and blown off tree branches were still present. Between the trees and craters, there were also three abandoned foxholes. One was barely wide enough to fit one man—blood still stained the area where the previous occupant had been. The second was slightly deeper, and since it bore no trace of blood or anything else unsavory, Winters gladly claimed it for his own without looking at the third.
A few steps behind, Nixon taking the time to get the tarp off his foxhole and just managing to stop a still cursing Harry from falling into an occupied foxhole, the other two men crowded into Winters’ new lodging and maneuvered about as best they could until they were once more on either side of Winters, blankets spread across them under the tarp Nixon couldn’t be bothered to put up properly.
“Are either of you going to tell me why we left a perfectly warm foxhole to come here?” Harry finally asked, looking at the two men expectantly.
“Strategical reasons, Harry,” Winters replied, shutting his eyes and not even bothering with a more complex answer.
“Strategical reasons.” Harry echoed. “Okay…such as?”
“We found a kraut a few yards from our position.” Nixon rubbed his hands together attempting to regain the little bit of warmth he’d had before they’d trekked through the snow.
“You could have told me instead of having me make snow angels.” Harry reproached them with bad grace, face still red and pinched from falling face first into the aforementioned snow. “Christ, a kraut. And I didn’t hear a thing. You shoot him?”
“No. Used my gun. The butt.” Nixon clarified when Harry started to speak. “Guy went down like a sack of potatoes.”
“All those gaps in the line.” Harry shook his head, eyes already slipping closed again as the matter of their sudden move was resolved to his satisfaction. “All those goddamn gaps…”
Winters opened an eye as he felt pressure on his shoulder, and he smiled upon finding Harry was once more making himself comfortable as though he’d never left. He turned his head back, reaching up a hand under the blanket to tug up his collar a little, then frowned thoughtfully and pulled out the pair of socks he had shoved into a pocket. They made a decent enough neck warmer. He’d have to thank Roe again next time he saw him.
“You know,” he said sleepily to Nixon, “one of us should have told someone where to find us since we moved.”
“So go tell them.” Nixon dug out his cigarettes, briefly lamented how few there were and then lit one up.
Winters sighed inwardly, but then figuring it would be irresponsible not to, starting to reluctantly tug the blanket off himself so he could go find someone to inform the company officers where he could now be found.
Nixon stopped him. “You were supposed to ignore me.” He said as he got up and clambered over the edge of the foxhole. “Don’t forget to leave a forwarding address next time.” He added, mouth quirking upwards as he headed off in the snow.
“I thought you were an intelligence officer,” Winters almost called after him, but instead he just smiled and tugged up more of the blanket over himself and Harry.
Not for the first time he was glad to know Lewis Nixon, and gladder still that the man was someone he could consider a close friend. There weren’t many people who would have believed he saw anything out there in the frozen woods, and fewer people yet who would have switched from a warm foxhole to a cold one because of a ‘feeling’.
He sighed, nestling just a little deeper in the blankets, feeling the exhaustion finally starting to fade away…
Harry shifted next to him. “What’s that sound?” He mumbled, eyes blinking open slowly. “Like voices…where’d Nixon go? Let all the cold air in.” He complained tugging his bit of blanket higher around his chin. “For chrissakes.”
Winters opened his eyes. He slowly turned to look at Welsh.
“What did you say?”
“I said where the hell did Nix go?”
“No—before that. What sound—what voices?”
Harry gave him a perplexed look. “What do you mean what voices? Can’t you hear them?” He listened hard for a moment and then shrugged. “Gone now anyway.” He shivered. “Fucking snow. I’m freezing my ass off—here, give me a little more blanket.”
Freezing. Hearing voices…
Winters absentmindedly pushed more of the blanket at Harry, then looked up at the edge of their foxhole. He knew better—and yet, he rose a little to peek out all the same.
Nothing.
Or wait…closer inspection of what had looked like an ordinary boot print revealed a narrow indentation with three claw like appendages digging down into the packed down snow, the outline fuzzy like it would be on a furry animal.
Behind him Harry tugged all the blankets around himself and took a few good drinks from the bottle he’d lifted from Nixon’s foxhole, relishing the burn as it slid down and settling back into his little designated corner of the hole, Nixon and Winters forgotten in lieu of returning once more to dreamland.
Winters stared at the print for a long time, until he finally realized he couldn’t feel his face anymore.
He slid back down to where he had been sitting next to Harry, shivering and trembling, unconsciously rubbing his hands together even though he couldn’t feel them.
He’d tell himself it was because of the cold.
He really, really wished it was because of the cold.
Snow crunched underfoot, Nixon dropping down into the foxhole a moment later, face pale and teeth chattering. “Hey.” He frowned, noting how Harry had somehow gotten both the blankets and the strange look on Dick’s face. Redistributing the blankets and settling himself down next to his friend, Nixon hesitated and then looked over at Dick questioningly. “Something happen when I was gone?”
He debated telling him. He really did—but instead he looked at Nixon, shook his head a little, and settled as far into the warmth of the blankets as he could, glad to have Harry on one side, and Nixon on the other. He shut his eyes, determined to keep them closed this time—no matter what happened.
“No,” he said. “Not a thing.”
Nixon continued to look at him for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Okay. I didn’t either.”
Something dropped onto Dick’s knees.
It was a blanket and tarp.
He didn’t jerk back, but Winters suddenly was very aware of how the earthen wall felt behind him. He stared down at the two missing items—well, not missing anymore—but made absolutely no move to pick them up, or even touch them.
“Where—” He had a little trouble finding his voice. “Where did--?”
“Outside. Along with this.” Nixon pulled out a tin of rations and tossed it onto the blanket. “It always takes something.” He mused. “And apparently brings them back. Make a note, Dick, not a fromage fan.” He joked flatly, eyes looking at the edge of the foxhole where he could just see a line of daylight. “I didn’t see anything. Not a damn thing.” His eyes flicked to Dick. “Just like you.”
“…Lew?” Winters finally reached a hand out from underneath the blanket to pick up the cold tin, the cold practically leeching through his gloves. It was real then. Not just his imagination, or dream or—nightmare. “…If I were to tell you it found us here, too…”
“But you didn’t see anything, Dick.” Nixon reminded him smoothly, face determined. Whatever this—creature—was obviously wasn’t malevolent, or was really bad at it, and besides a few creepy feelings, what had it really done? Maybe if they didn’t keep drawing attention to it, the thing would just up and leave for some different humans more prone to panicking. Which Nixon certainly wasn’t doing. Again. Just like he wasn’t changing foxholes. Again. Let the goddamn chips fall where they may, he wasn’t losing a foot to frostbite to avoid a creature which seemed able to find them anyway. “And I didn’t see anything. There’s nothing to see.”
Winters considered what his friend said while staring at the edge of the foxhole. Then he let the tin drop by his foot, and he pushed it away until it couldn’t touch him anymore. The once-missing blanket he spread silently over the three of them, followed by the tarp.
Then he settled as far down into that protective mound as he could, and shut his eyes tightly, willing sleep to claim him.
“You’re right, Nix,” he said for the third time that morning, his voice muffled. “It must have been my imagination.”
Nixon nodded and pulled out his flask that was on its last legs. “Just my imagination.” He agreed quietly, pressing his shoulder a little more against Dick, reassured by the faint warmth he could feel coming off of him. The odd feeling of being out of place and alone slowly dissipated with the constant reminder that his friend was nearby and safe, Nixon’s eyelids growing heavier and heavier until they finally closed, his head slumping against the dirt wall as his breathing evened out.
On the other side of their encampment, a shivering soldier nudged his companion urgently.
“Huh?” Sergeant Guarnere opened his eyes with a frown, turning to see Malarkey scanning their surroundings with a pinched look on his cold features. “What’s wrong?”
“Thought I heard voices.”
Guarnere straightened up and tilted his head, shifting his hold on his rifle. He listened carefully. “…I don’t hear nothing.”
“They were there a minute ago—Jesus, it’s cold.”
“No shit,” the other man snorted, settling back down. He should have dug in with Babe. “Cold in the goddamn fucking snow… Quit bothering me and get some shuteye.”
Malarkey scowled at his companion and tugged his blanket more firmly around his shoulders, muttering to himself as he peered out of the foxhole, rubbing his icy hands together vigorously in an attempt to warm them.
Going unnoticed by the solider only looking for krauts skulking in the snow-swept landscape, a trail of fresh prints in the snow—not quite animal, not quite human—got covered by a fresh layer of falling snow, disappearing within seconds.
…If they were ever there in the first place.