The Phantom Patrol

Combat fan fiction written by Rose Schrock

This story is dedicated to new fan fiction writers Eagle Lady, TXMedic, and Zeal. Thanks for joining our ranks and adding more spice to our lives with your wonderful stories.

In their case, imitation was not the highest form of flattery...

****

Four pairs of gleaming, angry eyes surveyed their surroundings. They moved slowly and glinted from the feeble moonlight of the forest, anticipating their future prey. The eerie glow of a full blue moon played its melody upon each passing face of the patrol, identifying every feature for a brief moment until the shadows again claimed their identity. The first man was an officer, mysterious, attractive, and glowering. He sported only a small .30 caliber carbine for protection, but he stood an intimidating head and shoulders above the other three soldiers. The next man seemed smaller than his actual size in comparison to the leading lieutenant. Thick masses of blond hair struggled to escape his camouflaged helmet, framing a round face with determined blue eyes. The blond soldier was only a buck sergeant, but he carried a Thompson at ready. A Cajun soldier and a Medic followed the two grim leaders. All of these warriors of combat seemed prepared to meet anything or anyone tonight. As a matter of a fact, the rough dogfaces seemed to desire a fight with the enemy. These were definitely not the normal standard issue GI soldiers...

"Halt! Come out and identify yourselves!" The high pitched voice of a young private sliced through the evening chill.

A dirt road unfolded before the group and a jeep, along with three sentries, was stationed right in the middle of the pathway. The lieutenant casually strode out of the forest, authority dripping from every move his body made.

"My name's Lieutenant Hanley, Private, and I'm with the 361st."

"May I ask what company, sir?" The boy gulped uneasily, eyeing the officer's shining gold bars. A single flashlight swept over the patrol before it returned again to the man in charge.

"King Company." The man's emerald eyes sparkled with power, his jaw tensed for action. "I'm from King Company and don't you ever forget it."

Before the kid could reply, all four of the soldiers drew their weapons and opened fire. The blond sergeant took out two of the men with his machine gun, and Hanley shot the questioning private point blank with his carbine. The young man fell to the ground, his eyes wide and filled with the shock of betrayal. Blood oozed from the man's chest and spilled onto the dry grass. For a split second he looked up at the remorseless lieutenant, his straight, lanky frame silhouetted against the moonlight.

"Why---did---you---you--shoot--me?" The jumbled words poured out from an anguished soul.

"Because I enjoyed it. Because men like you deserve to die." Pulling out his .45 handgun, the American lieutenant shot the groaning man again until the cries for mercy no longer came.

Smiling the familiar sneer of a murderer who had thoroughly enjoyed a particularly gruesome kill, the officer waved at his men to board the jeep, who had been busy looting the dead bodies the sergeant had picked off.

"Let's go. We're not here for loot. We got a job to do."

They got into the army issue vehicle and faded into the night, leaving three mangled corpses behind to greet the rising sun.

****

King Company

"Captain, um, Captain Jampel? Are you too busy to talk right now, Sir?" A small, timid looking lieutenant stood in the doorway of the officer's headquarters. His hands shook visibly from strain and his honest hazel eyes radiated sympathy. Captain Jampel groaned. Lieutenant Jonathan Wilkinson was a close friend, and he had always looked this way, carrying that sad, crooked smile, every time he brought bad news. There must be some kind of trouble.

"What is it, Jonathan?" Jampel sighed, all traces of military courtesy hidden from sight. "I don't have the time or the nerves to play games today, so just save me the energy and give it to me straight."

Silence.

"Well, what is it, Jon? I said that I want to know now. What was so all mighty important that you had to come barging in here---"

"Hanley. It's about Hanley, Cap." Wilkinson was sweating heavily and he looked sick. The two lieutenants had been good companions many a day while their squads were out on missions. They had sat quietly together and drank warm cups of coffee, savoring the bitter drink and the chance to fellowship with a fellow platoon leader. Whatever it was, Wilkinson did not want to discuss it, and that made Captain Jampel feel a little queasy himself.

"I don't know how to say this, Cap. I--uh-- oh well, you can read it for yourself. We'll talk about it later, OK?" The lieutenant made a mad dash for the exit before his superior could object. Coward. Jampel frowned at his retreating soldier before he reluctantly picked up the report in the way that a man would handle a poisonous viper.

Captain Jampel read the report.

He wanted to scream.

"So this was why Jon ran out on me." The explanation echoed hollow in the lonely building.

****

The American captain walked briskly to the bombed out building that was serving as a temporary Hanley command center. Anger and fierce hot rage tore at the man's chest, threatening to rip him apart inside. Swinging open the bullet riddled wooden door, Jampel spotted Hanley sleeping across his makeshift desktop. The lieutenant snored softly, the harsh facial lines of fatigue eased by the moment of rest. Gil's thick, dark hair was matted with dried blood and dust, and his angular face was covered with a grisly three-day beard. Compassion for his battle worn officer washed briefly over the captain, that is, until he remembered the reason why Lieutenant Hanley was so exhausted. Then his companion's weary features only added more indignation to Jampel's mind. He looks so innocent sleeping there, the captain mused. Just like the perfect dedicated lieutenant relaxing after a long difficult mission. It's too bad that his whole identity is nothing but a big lie. He doesn't have a single shred of sincerity, decency, or honor.

Another steady snore from the lieutenant jolted Jampel back from his thoughts. Glaring, he gave the dozing officer's shoulder a hard shake.

"Lieutenant Hanley, wake up! I want to have a word with you." Hanley replied to the order by mumbling nonsense and burying his head deeper into his arms.

Despite himself, Jampel had to grin. Not even the perils of war had managed to teach Gil Hanley how to be a light sleeper; the guy slept like a log once he allowed himself space to sleep. How many times Jampel had fought to awaken Hanley he would never know, but today he was not in the mood for anything like this.

Splash!

"I said to get up, Lieutenant. I don't have all day." The captain emptied the entire contents of his canteen on the soldier's head. Hanley sputtered, coughed, and then opened his eyes to view Jampel. Seeing the fuming countenance of his superior officer, Hanley raised an eyebrow in question and cursed under his breath.

"What is it, Captain? I'm not trying to be disrespectful, Sir, but I've been without any sleep for days now. Unless this is top priority could I take a rain check and get back to you later?"

"Well, Hanley, this is---"

"I know, I know, Captain, it's probably just some more paperwork." Hanley interrupted, a 200-whatt smile creeping up the side of his mouth.

"Hey, I'll tell you what, Sir. Why don't you just leave all the tough paperwork with my secretary." Gil chuckled. "You know, Cap, the beautiful blond who works for me? The one with the big---"

Overcome with emotion, Captain Jampel lunged at Gil Hanley. He grabbed the officer by the shirt collar and shoved him up against the wall, perspiration running down the captain’s face.

"Why did you come back here, anyway? Did you think that you and your men could just get by with what you did?" Jampel's eyes filled with contempt as he spat out the hateful, cutting words. "You're nothing more than common trash. Garbage that deserves to be tossed out and burned." The captain's words stung the confused Hanley like a slap on the cheek. Never had the calm captain talked like this to anyone, even a captured enemy prisoner. What Hanley had done to earn the officer's outright disrespect was a mystery to him.

"Captain, I have no idea what has upset you---"

"Like heck you don't, Hanley! What you and your men have done not only reflects badly upon the whole company, it is a disgrace to the word "officer."

"Sir, if you could just explain to me---"

"Explain? Explain to you?" Jampel's face was merely inches from his former friend. He waved a piece of typing paper in the air like a banner.

"OK, if you want me to spell it out for you I will. You have quite a reputation built up, Lieutenant. One that I have not been made aware of until today. They call you and your boys the Phantom Patrol." Jampel paused to let the information sink in, but Hanley only stared incredulously.

"It seems that this Phantom Patrol is made up of traitorous American has-beens." The captain continued. "This talented group of superb soldiers have raised Cain all over France. They use their authentic GI cover to take advantage of real Allied troops and aid the krauts. And that's not all--" Jampel pointed a finger at Hanley's chest, anger distorting his features. "These men are murderers, Hanley. Butchers. They kill, plunder, and destroy whatever they can get their hands on. We've found slaughtered children, raped women, and even mangled bodies of medical aidmen everywhere they've been. And finally, at long last, one of my boys was able to identify the killers."

"And you think that they could be my men and---"

"I don't think, I know. You were all positively identified by a trustworthy source. It was you all right, Gil," Jampel grabbed Hanley's hand and held it up, showcasing the bulky golden ring on his pinky finger. "How many other tall, dark, green-eyed, lieutenants do you see running around with a carbine and a pinky ring? You just don't get it yet, do you? I said you were positively identified. That means that the soldier who spotted your patrol was hidden from sight and had time to really observe your identity. He saw everything, Hanley. Every single dang thing."

Gil Hanley could not think of a single reply to the charges.

"The others with you were discovered as well, so don't even waste your time defending them. They were that Cajun Private Paul Lemay, your Sergeant Saunders, and the Medic you all call 'Doc'. Jampel sighed loudly, his raw fury all spent and overtaken by a keen sense of weariness. "I always thought that you was straight as an arrow, Gil. If I would have known it was all going to end like this I would have shot you in the back on Omaha and saved us both the agony. You let me down, you let the company down, and you let Lieutenant Crowley down the most of all." As Jampel gazed into those cat-like eyes, he remembered that fatal day that Crowley had died. The day that Hanley had made his sober promise, the promise he had now broken without any visible reservations...

"I guess I really got hit, bad, Hanley." Lt. Crowley’s attractive face grimaced from the pain as he attempted a half-hearted grin at his sergeant. Sergeant Hanley had come a long way since London and his officer was proud of what Gil had become under his supervision. In a strange sort of way, Gil Hanley was an extension of the hurting officer.

"Don't talk like that, Lieutenant. You'll be just fine."

Crowley chuckled and shook his head at Hanley's efforts.

"What you always tell those kids when you know they're gonna die won't work on me, Sergeant. You forget that I'm an officer. I've heard every line and lie in the book. It's my business to know. The good Lord knows I've used them often enough myself."

"I could never be half the officer that you are, Lieutenant. Nobody could."

" Yes, you could, Hanley, and you will."

"Never." And for a moment a frightened child replaced the battle veteran. "Not ever like you."

"We both know that I'm not gonna be here much longer so we might as well face the facts. Captain Jampel promised me from the beginning that if anything happened to me he would see to it that you take my place."

"I can't, Sir! I-"

"Don't interrupt me, Hanley!" Crowley was fading fast. His voice grew more urgent, his tone almost hysterical. "I can't go in peace until you promise!"

"Promise what, Sir?"

"That you will do everything in your power to be a good leader to these boys. They're a rough bunch that need a strong hand and kids that need a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. They need a role model, a commander, a father, a coach, and a best friend."

Hanley gulped at the fervent words. "Seems like a tall order. I'm not you, Sir."

"These men don't need me right now, Hanley. I'll be gone and won't be able to help anymore. I know it sounds like a bad cliche', but for me the war is over. They need Lieutenant Hanley not Lieutenant Crowley. Who knows? Maybe some day your time will come to cash in and then you'll pass the bars on to someone else. Just promise that you'll do right by my platoon."

"I promise."

"Good, then it's settled." Crowley’s entire body relaxed, as if a great burden had been lifted. "Don't feel too bad about me, Gil. I'm the lucky one. You're the poor man who has to stay behind and face life. Life and fighting and those muddy foxholes..." Crowley’s body went rigid and life for him was no more.

Gil lifted his head toward the sky, two unchecked tears rolling down his cheeks before his face hardened with purpose.

"I promise!" Hanley screamed at the clouds, as though speaking to the passing spirit of Crowley. "I promise, I Promise, I PROMISE!" The words echoed on the quiet battlefield as they ascended into the heavens.

From a safe distance, Captain Jampel observed the grieving Hanley and heard his war cry-like chants. This would be a valuable officer, Jampel decided with a nod of his head. Hanley had what it would take to make the company proud...

Make the company proud?

"You are nothing but a big joke, Hanley. Lieutenant Crowley would turn over in his grave if he knew what you have done."

"Sir, I have never done ANYTHING that would hurt the lieutenant or make a mockery of the confidence he had placed in me." Hanley all but shouted through gritted teeth.

"Either you are a total Section Eight, Hanley, or you have a twisted view of right, wrong and Lieutenant Crowley, so I will not discuss it with you any further. You and your men are placed under arrest. You will be locked up until the court marshal, and if there is any justice, you will all be executed or imprisoned for life."

Two MPs entered the room at Jampel's command and took away Hanley's guns and bayonet. His hands were handcuffed together and then Jampel waved him out the door. Desperate to redeem himself, Hanley turned to his captain one more time.

"Captain, you know I'm not guilty! If I was a lunatic wouldn't I have tired to jump you back when we were all alone? Would I have tried to run away? Be reasonable, Sir!" The lieutenant called over his shoulder.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Hanley." Captain Jampel turned his face away from the man's pleas for understanding." Get out of my sight."

****

Like Hanley, Saunders, Caje, and Doc were rounded up and all four of the men were tossed into a French building barred with a heavy wooden latch. MPs stood guard outside of the makeshift prison. Gossip ran wild. By the next day all of King Company had heard about how Hanley and Saunders were a part of infamous Phantom Patrol. Needless to say, Kirby had a fit at the news, right along with Billy and Littlejohn.

"What are they, crazy? They all gotta be Section Eight at headquarters!"

"It's supposed to be Lt. Hanley, the Sarge, Caje, and Doc that are the crazy ones, remember." Littlejohn tried to calm down his buddy, who was pacing back and forth, waving his arms wildly in the air.

"You know they didn't do it, Littlejohn." Kirby's glare put the bigger man in his place.

"I know, I know it, Kirby." The private sighed. "But we're gonna have to get some solid proof or the guys aren't gonna stand a chance at the court marshal. I hear that Captain Jampel has vowed, in words I don't care to repeat, to ' nail the lieutenant's hide to the wall.'"

"What can we come up with that fast anyway, Kirby?" Billy's high, squeaky voice rose an octave higher from the excitement. "The witnesses have identified all of them. What can you say to that? They all got bad eyes and need glasses?"

"Rumors, Billy, scuttlebutt. You know how talk runs all over this camp. Maybe those witnesses never even really saw anything at all."

"Maybe." Billy's voice sounded flat with unbelief at Kirby's optimism. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see at the trial."

Nobody talked for a few long minutes.

"No!" Kirby's sudden outburst made the other two men jump. "If the guys get taken to trial, they're all gonna be goners. They won’t stand a chance. I can feel it."

"Like the time you said you could feel that you was going to die if you went up that hill again?"

"I'm not teasing around, Littlejohn, I'm serious! Do you want Hanley and all our friends to end up in some stockade or even maybe dead?"

"You're building up to something big, Kirby, so why don't you just save us all the effort and tell me what we're gonna have to do."

"Well, it's takin' a real big chance, Littlejohn, but it's what we're gonna have to do. There ain't no way around it." The BAR man looked out of the cottage door to make sure that there was not anyone in sight. Content that they were all alone, he rubbed his hands together and began to whisper.

Understanding and then fear played across Billy and Littlejohn's faces.

"Kirby, I'm gonna go call the Captain. You're the one who is Section Eight around here."

"Fine, just fine with me, Littlejohn old buddy. Go right ahead and betray all your closest friends. Forget about bucking the brass. Forget about it all. I'll just go and try to help the guys out all by myself."

"You can count me in, Kirby. I'd do anything for the Sarge." Billy placed his hand on top of Kirby's. "In this squad, nobody has to face a problem alone."

"Love me, love my sergeant." Murmured the large private, putting his mammoth right hand on top of Billy's.

Kirby grinned at his two companions. "All for one and one for all! Let's go save our buddies."

****

"Settle down, Lieutenant. You'll wear yourself out, Sir. Here, do you want a smoke?" Caje held out a lit cigarette but the officer made no move to accept the gift. Being confined in the stuffy building had begun to weigh heavily on all their nerves, but Hanley was taking the arrest the worst of all.

"How can I settle down, Caje? Didn't you hear what I told you? Don't you know what we're up against?" Hanley spat on the floor before running his fingers through his thick, dark hair.

"Listen, Lieutenant, all the brass already thinks we're loony. You're going to make us all look worse if you don't pull yourself together." Saunders reached up from his position on the floor to grab Hanley and pull him down beside him. "Sit down for a while, Sir."

"You're right, as always, Saunders." Hanley plopped down hard on the dirty floorboards as he expelled a long breath of air. "It's just been hard, lately. Too many of them. Too many dang memories." The strong smell of smoke hung in the air as the four men passed around cigarettes, hoping to find comfort in the glowing Lucky Strikes.

Night: 2400 Hours

Crash! Muffled sounds interrupted the stillness of the night and awoke the sleeping Saunders. The room of the "prison" was pitch black, offering no explanation for the sudden noises. Springing to his feet, the blond sergeant almost tripped on the still sleeping Hanley.

"Saunders, what going on?" The lieutenant hissed, feeling around to locate his noncom in the small room.

"Sh-h-h-h! I heard something outside, Lieutenant." Saunders whispered sharply back.

Now all four of the men were wide-awake and beginning to panic. What if the krauts attacked? What would they fight back with?

Without a single hint or warning, the door was suddenly shoved open from the outside. Now the soldiers knew something was terribly wrong. Light from the brilliant moon flooded from the opening and cast a light upon the confused men. The Americans squinted, unable to believe what their eyes said was before them.

"Kirby? What the----" Saunders choked out incredulously, rushing forward to meet the invaders. "Billy! Littlejohn!"

"What's happening, Kirby?" Hanley asked briskly, the first one to collect himself.

"Well, Lieutenant, we all just decided to bust you guys out." Kirby looked down guiltily at his feet, refusing to meet the taller man's eyes. "We thought that you wouldn't get a fair trial so we could break you out until we can all prove that you're all innocent."

"Oh, you did, did you? Kirby, you just can't go around ‘breaking out’ people under military custody."

"The lieutenant's right, Kirby." Saunders shook his head at his private's ignorance. "Now we're really going to look guilty. And not only that, but now you three are in trouble too." He pointed at Littlejohn, Billy, and Kirby.

"Oh well, let's not talk about something we can't change, OK? We gotta get out of here before someone comes."

"And where exactly did you have in mind that we go, Kirby? Paris? Berlin?" Hanley was still seething over his man's big blunder. "Do you want us to go running out in the woods without even a gun? And we can't hide forever."

"No, Lieutenant." Kirby spoke slowly, as if he were explaining something to someone much younger than he was. "I want us to go out into the forest until we can find out what's going on and prove that you're loyal soldiers. Some of the guys and me scrounged up enough weapons for all of us. I got my BAR, Littlejohn and Billy has their M1s, we got M1s for you and Caje, and a .45 for the Sarge. That way we'll all be armed in case we run into any krauts."

"Or some of our own people who might want to take a shot at us."

All of the others exchanged a look behind their leader's back. What was the matter with him, anyway? It was not like Hanley at all to buck and complain so much.

"Uh, Kirby makes sense, Lieutenant. We can't stay here, not now. If we get caught here like this, nobody is going to believe us. We'll all be court marshaled for certain. Maybe if we can prove our innocence, though, we'll at least have a chance. C'mon, let's go while we can." Saunders reached for his gun and headed for the door.

"No." Hanley folded his arms across his chest and glowered down at them all. "You can all leave if you want to. I won't try to stop you, but I'm staying right here." Pain shot through every vein in Gil's body. "They think I let Lt. Crowley down, and I'm not going to give them the satisfaction now by running away from my accusers. I'm going to face them down like a man."

All the men let out a collective sigh. When had the lieutenant become so all fire dang stubborn anyway? They all walked out into the street and waited for the lieutenant to give in and come with them. But he stayed inside.

"Is he serious, Sarge? Is the lieutenant really going stay there and take a bum rap all by himself?"

"I guess so, Kirby." Saunders glanced hopefully at the door, but no movement or sound came from within the building.

"He's crazy, Sarge! The lieutenant's not thinking clearly. As soon as they find us all gone, they're gonna string him up for sure!"

"Well, it's his business. Let's go." Saunders made it all of five steps before he stopped short, took off his helmet, ran his hand through his blond hair, and turned around facing Littlejohn.

"Go get him, Littlejohn."

"What do you mean, Sarge?"

"I mean go get Hanley. Go and drag him out kicking and screaming if you have too. It's for his own good." A faint smile etched its way across the veteran's mouth. "He can't do nothing to you, anyway, Littlejohn. We're all up for court marshal remember?"

"OK, Sarge, I'll be right back." A broad grin matched Saunders' own.

"And, Littlejohn."

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"Don't listen to him, huh? He'll thank you for it someday."

A short time later, the large PFC rejoined the squad with the unconscious form of Lt. Hanley draped across his massive shoulder.

"I had to knock him out, Sarge. He didn't leave me any choice" Littlejohn explained sheepishly. "I heard somebody coming down the street and the lieutenant kept making so much noise. We just had to get out of there."

"At least we got him out." Saunders checked the lump on the officer's head. "Lt. Hanley's going to be sore when he wakes up."

"And in more ways than one." Billy added softly.

The group headed into the brush of the French countryside, searching for some answers before the dawn would arrive. Then every able bodied man in King Company would probably be out in a full-scale manhunt for the escaped prisoners.

****

Hanley regained his senses as they were walking through the forest. He then spent an hour giving Saunders and Littlejohn the dressing down of their lives before begrudgingly admitting that they had done the right thing. Searching for the truth proved to be a difficult task because none of the squad knew what they were looking for. After hours of finding absolutely nothing, Caje tripped over something and fell flat on his face.

"What is it, Caje?" Billy was the first man to reach the Cajun. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." Caje got back to his feet and reached for Kirby's flashlight. "I think it's a dead body."

The dim light brushed over the object. The soldiers all shared a huge group gasp.

"It's me!" Doc's southern drawl grew even deeper by his strong emotion. "I must be going crazy because that guy looks exactly like me!"

Sure enough, the man was a dead ringer for Doc. Contrary to Caje's judgement however, he was not dead, only sleeping and worn ragged from fatigue. The soldier not only looked like Doc, but he was wearing the uniform of a GI Medic that was almost a perfect copy of Doc's own.

"I think we're all seeing the same mirage." Saunders murmured to no one in particular.

"Gosh, that old saying must be true. There really is a double for everyone. I can't believe it! He is me!" Doc reached down to shake the dozing look alike. "Hey, Mac, wake up!"

The man replied by muttering a few slurred phrases in German.

"German!" Doc reared back from the man as if he had just seen a ghost. "He's a kraut!"

"Something is definitely up, and I think we're starting to find out who framed us." Hanley turned to Kirby. "Tie him up, Kirby, and we'll question him as soon as he gets up. This soldier is too exhausted to help us any now."

Morning was still a distance off, so a couple of US flashlights served as their only available light. The Americans could hardly see each other, only hear the distinctive voices. While waiting for his private to bind the German imposter, Hanley took a few steps back and fumbled for a smoke in the shadows. His hands found the package and next he began looking for a lighter in the pocket of his field jacket. Suddenly, without any given warning, a hand snaked out of the bushes and fastened over the lieutenant's mouth, jerking him backward into the foliage. The officer gave a gasp of surprise and dropped his cigarettes as his helmet clattered to the ground. Hanley fought to locate the trigger of his weapon, but strong arms pinned his hands behind his back. He was turned around in time to feel the sharp tip of a bayonet pressing into the nape of his neck.

"Be quiet, Lieutenant, and we will not kill you." Hanley was pulled far away from his squad and he left only his helmet and an unopened package of cigarettes behind.

****

"Lieutenant, I'm finished." Kirby called back to the place in the shadows were his friend had once been. "The kraut's still not awake yet. Do you want me to get him up so we can ask questions or wait a little while?"

"Lieutenant, are you there, Sir?" The private asked more urgently when he did not hear an answer to his previous spoken sentences.

Still no answer.

"Lieutenant?" Kirby finally shined his flashlight in the direction Hanley had taken.

The officer leaned against a tree, smoking contentedly and looking at nothing in particular.

"Lieutenant, did you hear what I said?" Concern shone upon Kirby's startled features.

"Yes, I heard everything you told me, Private. Just leave the man alone. He'll talk when he's ready and not before." Hanley snapped as if he were angry with Kirby for interrupting his thoughts.

"Yessir." The American studied his superior curiously. "Are you OK, Lieutenant?"

"Of course I'm OK, Private. Now just get the heck off my back."

Now all of the squad was looking at each other. Lieutenant Hanley was acting like a complete stranger.

"Maybe he's still mad because we made him come with us." Billy guessed when Littlejohn gave him a look.

"Maybe." Littlejohn whispered back. "But he's sure not acting like himself."

Saunders moved over to where the German slept and then let his gaze travel to where Hanley stood relaxing. He looked the officer over with suspicion clouding his light blue eyes and turning his mouth down at the corners in a large, pronounced frown.

"Lieutenant, we need to get the German to talk now. It's getting close to daybreak and we're going to run out of time if we don't hurry." The sergeant tried to explain, gesturing at the fading moon to make his point.

"No, we wait!" The officer's face contorted with anger and flushed with rage. "I'm tired of you all trying to push me around! I'm in charge here and I say we wait!"

The men were still and silent while Hanley threw a fit and sputtered out line after line of insults at Saunders. Never had the squad seen their lieutenant so upset with his friend; they had disagreed before but they had never watched him blow up and scold Saunders right in their presence. It was rotten for morale and a stupid play for a capable leader to make. Any gripes that Hanley had held with his sergeant before had always been settled quietly between them all alone. Gil Hanley hated making a scene in front of his privates and this outburst was not like him at all.

"Lieutenant." Caje's voice stopped Hanley's fury. "Why are you carrying that carbine?" The Cajun's tone was hard, accusing, and bitter.

"What are you talking about, Private?" Hanley's glare switched from Saunders to Caje, daring the man to say another word.

"Where did you get that carbine, Sir? Kirby gave you an M1. Where is it at, Sir?” Defiance radiated from Caje's body as he tensed to defend himself from the Hanley barrage of outrage that was sure to come.

"What? I--uh--I always carry this carbine. I never had a M1. The carbine is my weapon, you know that. The private never gave me a rifle. You must be mistaken." Hanley sputtered nervously.

"You're right, Lieutenant. Kirby never gave you a M1, but he did give Lt. Hanley one." Caje held up an officer's helmet and a new package of cigarettes and turned to address Saunders. "I found these over in the bushes, Sarge. I don't know what happened or who this guy is, but he's not the lieutenant."

"You're exactly correct, American. It's too bad for you that you are also too slow." The officer pointed his weapon at his unsuspecting enemy. "Drop your weapons now."

"Would you explain what is going on here?" Saunders demanded as he obeyed the order.

"I suppose that since you will all be taking the blame for my genius, I can at least let you know how I have defeated you with my own ingenuity." The German gloated, a cocky smile filling his thin face. "You see, I do not know how it happened, but it happened all the same. You could call it an accident, a mishap, whatever you like. But it just so happened that my men and I are perfect copies of your Lt. Hanley and your squad. One of my snipers discovered this while he was spying on you and he reported it to me immediately. We decided to let you all live because we could do more harm to the Americans if they were confused about our identity. I took it upon myself to study Hanley and to copy his every move, and my men did the same with you. It was a brilliant plan, yes? Perhaps I should---"

The German's bragging died as Saunders attacked him, knocking the small weapon out of the imposter's reach. Grabbing the smug officer, Saunders hit him again and again, until thin trickles of blood oozed out of his nose and mouth, mingling together in a pool of crimson. Still infuriated, Chip grabbed the German's shirt collar and pulled him to his feet, and shook him until his teeth rattled.

"Alright," Pure murder gleamed in Saunders' eyes as he clutched his prisoner. "Where's Hanley?"

"As you Americans say it, 'wouldn’t you like to know!' But I shall not tell you."

"I said WHERE'S LT. HANLEY!" Saunders had no patience for the cruel fake.

"And I answered that I would not tell you."

Slap. Saunders smacked the German with the back of his hand and then kicked him in the side. The Geneva Convention did not apply to this reputation destroyer and heartless killer. This man was annoying and Saunders was madder than heck. Blow after blow fell until the enemy was a mess. The others made no move to help or stop their sergeant as he refused to give up beating the German until he gave in.

"I will tell you." For all of his big talking, the Hanley imposter was a man who could not take pain. "Your officer was taken by my men. He may be dead right now or he may be yet alive. I left them no orders as to how to treat the lieutenant. They went that way." The German pointed a mangled hand in the direction they had taken.

"Let's go," Saunders dropped the man with no more attention than he would give a rag doll. "Kirby, you stay behind with the two prisoners and Doc. The rest of us are going to go get Hanley. We got a story to tell Captain Jampel that's going to blow his mind."

****

Two small beads of sweat formed on Lt. Gil Hanley's face as he desperately tried to free his hands from the tight ropes that held him captive. The night was waning fast, and the dawn soon approaching, changing the dark ink blue sky to a rosy pink. Not a single word had been spoken to him since these German infiltrators had taken him and his mind was still reeling from the shock. The man he had encountered in the night had looked just like himself! Even in the dim moonlight Gil had been able to see the resemblance. But, it had been more than just a passing likeness. Much, much more. Hanley had gaped as those familiar emerald eyes bored into his own. It had been like looking at his reflection in the water or a mirror; the image was distorted and backward, but identical nevertheless. And the others, the soldiers who were guarding him now, looked exactly like statues of Caje and Saunders. But cold, stone statues was all they were. Although these living human being were molded out of the same clay as his friends, Hanley was certain that these men were never worth half what his companions were under fire. Loyalty, friendship, and even love itself seemed meaningless to them. They were only machines, machines that would hurt and yes, even kill him if the officer attempted to escape. His meager life was of no importance to them.

"C'mon, Lieutenant, we're moving." The Saunders imposter nodded his head in the direction of the rising sun. "We don't want your men catching up to us." He sneered. "Then again, with our lieutenant taking care of them, they might have all bought it by now." The German sergeant had spent so much time playing American that slang rolled freely off his tongue, unlike the proper English normally spoken by foreigners.

Hanley's throat felt dry and parched as he rose to his feet. Seeing this German was just like looking at Saunders. He could barely stand how evil the man was and had to keep reminding himself that the sadistic soldier was not his best friend.

"Let's go, Lieutenant. We don't have all day."

Contrary to the sergeant's words, Hanley had a hunch that not only was his men alive, but they had found the switch and would be coming for him soon. If he left with these Germans, it was a possibility that they could never catch up with him. So, in a moment of decision, the lieutenant decided to again become the stubborn unshakable Lt. Hanley that he had been the night before with Saunders. They would have to either kill him or carry him out because Gil was not going to go on his own will.

"What's the matter with you, lieutenant? I said let's get going!" Hanley did not even grace the sergeant's order with a remark. Gil simply stood like a rock, jutted out his chin, and looked right through him.

"You either move your legs, or I'll move them for you." The shorter man stood on his tiptoes to look the officer right in the eye. He waved his fist in Hanley's face, but the taller man would not even give him the time of day.

"You can't play around me with, Lieutenant. I might look just like a GI, talk like a GI, but I have the patience of an SS German sergeant. NOW FOR THE LAST TIME, MOVE!"

"No." Hanley's single word set off the already boiling German's temper and he attacked the American with a vengeance. The sergeant punched him in the stomach and then kicked Hanley in the legs, causing him to fall down against a tree. Again and again the soldier's blows fell upon the officer, but the German was not going to let up one little bit.

"You've had it, Lieutenant. I'm sick of your uppity ways and your stupid games. I'll hit you until you're either dead or you give in. I don't really care one way or the other." To add an exclamation point to his statement, the German raised his Thompson to strike the helpless prisoner.

"You're wrong, German. You're the one who's had it." Saunders, Caje, Littlejohn, and Billy came into view with their weapons pointed at the two imposters. "Your lieutenant has already surrendered and I advise you do the same thing. Throw down your guns and put your hands up or we might just start shooting." Saunders' demeanor hardened as he glanced over at the beaten Hanley.

True SS soldiers to the end, the Germans did not want to give up without a fight. The sergeant and private attempted to attack the Americans, but they di not even have a chance. Before they could get off a single shot, Caje took care of them both. Standing over one of the dead men, Caje stared in awe at his double.

"Hey, I just killed myself." He grinned.

"That's very funny, Caje. Now could someone please help me over here." Hanley's voice sounded gruff, but his genuine happiness matched Caje's own.

Littlejohn cut the officer free and helped him to get up.

"Let's go home." Hanley said, and the relief he felt in his heart was reflected on each face of the squad.

As the men walked back in the mid-morning warmth to rejoin Doc and Kirby, Hanley wondered what the captain would say. It would take a lot of explaining to sort out the mess, but in the end Gil knew that he would get back his reputation. Captain Jampel would be humiliated at his accusations, and he would apologize. He would be sorry for his lack of faith in Hanley and for his spiteful words about disgracing Lt. Crowley. Jampel owed at least that to heal their bruised friendship. Gil took a deep breath of the air and gazed up at the aqua-blue sky with its fluffy white clouds. Somewhere he was certain that Lt. Crowley was watching over him, that his leader had always believed in him and was proud of his Sergeant Hanley. No, it was not Sergeant Hanley anymore. He was Lieutenant Hanley and today he had reclaimed his stolen honor. He closed his eyes, but Gil could still feel the heat of the sun warming his face. Hard times would come again, that much was inevitable. Dark days bringing death, sorrow, and destruction would again invade his world. War had a way of always catching up with a soldier. But Hanley would still bask in the comforting, golden sunshine of this day for a long, long time. Somwhere Lt. Crowley was smiling. And that assurance made Hanley want to smile too.

"It's a great day to be alive." Gil sighed softly, and he meant it with all of his heart.

****

*Story copyright by Rose Schrock

April 11, 2001