A Picture Album of the Heart
Fan Fiction Based upon the ABC television series COMBAT!
By Rose Schrock (aka, Hazelnut) August 20, 2000
"For all those Veterans who will still remember..."
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Gil, happy 77th Birthday to you!" The happy chorus ended with a flurry of laughter and good-natured ribbing as the group surrounded the guest of honor. Warm rays of golden sunlight peeked through the windows of the modest kitchen making the celebration even more festive. Friends and family alike had gathered together in the small country house to give their best wishes to the aging gentleman. Gil Hanley was seventy-seven years old today but his eyes still sparkled with the same luster and his smile still held that hint of sarcastic amusement. A cake so large that it looked as if it would break down the table sat in front of him and he prepared to blow out the candles among cheers of delight.
"C'mon Grandpa, blow out the candles and make a wish!" Young Alice jumped upon her grandfather's lap and beat him playfully with her fist. "I'm hungry and I want to see you open your presents!"
"Alice! " Her mother chided her gently; "Your grandpa will blow out his candles when he is ready."
"Don't pester her, Sandy." the elderly man grinned, "I know what it's like to be hungry." With one powerful puff of breath, Gil blew out all of the shining candles on the cake. For one brief moment he tried to think of a wish but nothing came to mind. Hanley knew he had everything he ever wanted.
After everyone had eaten their fill, the group gathered in the spacious living room to watch Gil open his mountain of birthday gifts. Each present carried a greeting and was wrapped with tender loving care. The parcels reminded the former officer of the packages he and others like him had received from home during the war. They had meant so much then and sometimes could have made the difference between giving up and pushing forward that extra mile. The first box that those callused hands revealed held a small picture album, intricately decorated and unique in design. All of Gil's loved ones "Ohhh"ed and "Awww"ed in appreciation for thoughtful giver of the book.
"Now you can put all of your memories in the book and look at them forever!" Again little Alice chimed in with a sweet word. As the quiet man softly ran his fingers through the smooth pages, Hanley's mind traveled back to days he would never forget and memories he could never place in this flowery album.. Thoughts of days gone by and people cherished and lost to him for eternity...
**************
(Cleveland, Ohio: The Final Goodbye)
"I am going, Dad. I am going and nothing you can say to me is going to change my mind. I've wanted to be in the army my whole life and all you have ever done is tried to discourage me. I know that you had it hard in the war, but things are different now. Civilized people won't ever try to destroy each other like that again. We're in the age of progress now, Dad, and I am going to go and sign up if you approve of it or not!" Spiteful words cut the afternoon air like a dagger as the tall, young man loomed over his aging father. Beads of sweat shone upon the youth's face as raw anger distorted his face into a hideous mask. He clenched his fist and turned to walk away from the older man, leaving behind all that he had ever known for a brand new way of life.
"You don't know what it's like out there, Gil! Why can't you be more sensible like your brothers? If you had any idea what life was really like, you would be out there getting a decent job and supporting family instead of volunteering to die! That's what your doing you know. When I was a doughboy, we used to laugh at guys like you. But no, you never had any ambition. All you ever cared about was chasing girls and having a good time. Even in college all you ever did was spend all of your time at parties. Big man! Big ladies man! That's what you think you are! Well, you aren't half as wonderful as you think boy, and your mother and I are ashamed of you. I hope I never have to lay eyes on you again."
Those parting words, called out over Mr. Richard Hanley's shoulder, cut Gil deeper than any knife ever could. Tears of rage dripped silently down the dark man's face as his emerald eyes shone with stubborn determination. Right then and there, Gil decided that he would do very well in the army, maybe even make officer, and would come home with his pride intact. Nothing was going to keep him back now and he would show them all! There would be no turning back.
**************
(Military base in America. Hanley's first day as a GI)
"Soldier!"
"Me sir?"
"Yes you, daddy longlegs. What's your name, soldier?"
"Hanley. Private Hanley, sir."
"Private Hanley, what the heck do you think you are doing? Do you think that we have the whole day to stand around and wait for you? Quit messing around and go get your hair cut like the rest of the dogfaces! You got the uniform and the gear, so what's your problem soldier? Are you too much of a ninny to get that perfect hair chopped off? Hey, look at this, we got a mama's boy here men! Get moving Private Mama's Boy before I really get rough!"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"What was that, Mama's Boy? I can't here you! Speak up or are you too shy to do anything other than mumble?"
"YES, DRILL SERGEANT!"
"All right, then get moving, Hanley. And don't come back until you have had all that pretty hair cut off and you are ready to get tough like the other recruits. You gotta be a man here, soldier, and the sooner you learn that the better we're gonna get along!" Sergeant McCaffery gave the lanky private a shove toward the barracks and began to search out another helpless victim from the ranks of newcomers to use as object lessons.
Tears welled up in the private's eyes, but Gil refused to give the army or Sergeant McCaffery the satisfaction of seeing him cry like a child. He felt that he had been done a cruel injustice in being singled out by the NCO. This was all so foreign and strange to him. Surely the drill sergeant knew this and didn't have to ride him so hard right from the start. As Gilbert Hanley felt his thick dark hair being shaved off, he took a quick look into the dirty mirror in front of him and laughed bitterly. The old Gil from the party days was gone and only an impersonal machine of war remained. It was a brutal lesson of war that he would learn many times over during the few months of training. He was not his own any longer. He was part of a unit, a group all striving to reach a goal. But the young private was not thinking of any of that at the time. The boy only hoped fervently that if he ever got a promotion that he would be a lot easier to live with than Drill Sergeant George McCaffery.
**************
(England before D-Day 1944)
The army barracks bustled with the activity of soldiers singing, gambling, resting, and preparing for a night on the town. A small circle of GIs sat on the crude floor of the room, watching three daring souls put their entire monthly pay into a "friendly" game of poker. Two of the three seemed to be up against the other, whispering among themselves and glancing up at their smug, confident competitor. All three of the soldiers were Tech Sergeants, which only added more fire to the game without a rank barrier to overcome with false courtesy. The two sergeants smiled broadly as they laid down their hand for all to see. A Full House. Some of the spectators whistled and hooted with glee, anticipating the reaction from the third NCO. Still undisturbed, Tech Sergeant Gil Hanley revealed his own hand and then gave a half concealed chuckle at the look of utter amazement on the other men's faces.
"Four of a kind. Looks like I got the winning hand this time, Frashier. Now hand over the money."
Frashier and Stenson stood up and looked down at the relaxing Hanley. It was the only time the short, stocky Frashier could remember being above Hanley. He hated that sarcastic grin as much as he detested the wiry Tech Sergeant himself. He was sick of always losing to the smarter Hanley, both on duty and with the ladies. Now it was time for him and Stenson to show the punk who was boss.
"You ain't getting any money from either of us, you cheating brat. If you want to take my money, you're gonna have to fight us both to get it."
Hanley swallowed hard as he measured up the two men he would have to mangle in order to collect his money. Frashier was a pushover, all talk and no fight and easily handled. Stenson however, was another story. Gil Hanley couldn't remember if he ever saw a man that he feared as much as Marty Stenson. Stenson was a good 6 inches taller than Hanley, and much, much bigger. But this was a confrontation that was impossible to get around; a match would come sooner or later. It might as well be now, Hanley decided, and stood shakily to his feet. He had a sick feeling that this was going to hurt a lot.
"What kind of a fight is this? A real man doesn't gang up on another guy with his buddies. A real man faces him one on one. I never thought you were that type, Stenson." A small, blond man stepped into the barracks with a grim frown covering his hardened features. Hanley had seen him once before, but only for a passing moment on the street one Sunday afternoon while on leave. Why would the serious sergeant single him out for protection against Stenson? The man was intimidating in his own way; Gil was somehow certain of the fact that he was a seasoned battle veteran. It was not something you could point out, just a manner of moving and speaking that gave it away.
"Oh hi, Saunders. We're just teaching this green soldier here some army manners." Frashier winked at Saunders and turned once again to Hanley.
"Why's Stenson in on this? You are the guy with the problem against this man. Why don't you do the fighting yourself, Jim? You turned coward on me?" Saunders leaned back on a bunk and leisurely smoked a Lucky Strike while Frashier's face turned a bright shade of crimson.
"That's not fair, Saunders."
"Is it? You'd better be ready to fight your own battles when we land, kid. Remember you aren't exactly a war vet yourself. Why don't you go and get a drink, Stenson, while these two work out their differences?" Stenson shrugged his shoulders and walked out the door, leaving Frashier alone to deal with Tech Sergeant Hanley. Suddenly, Jim Frashier didn't feel much like a fight.
"I'm going to get a drink too, Hanley. Here's the money." The flustered man stumbled out the door, leaving Gil standing stunned with a handful of bills. Second Sergeant Chip Saunders sauntered over to the astounded man and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
"Your name is Hanley, right?"
"Yeah, thanks for saving my butt, Sergeant."
"No problem, I do it all the time. That Frashier's murder. He's started more fights than a gangster has on Saturday night. I like braking up his fun."
"Thanks anyway. Would you like me to buy you a drink?"
"That would be nice. I think we're going to be stationed together. By the way, my name's Saunders."
"Glad to meet you, Saunders."
"Likewise, Hanley."
The two Americans extended hands and shook heartily. Little did Sergeant Hanley realize, but that greeting was only the beginning of a long friendship. A friendship that was to be overshadowed by war, hate, and untold grief, but still a strong friendship nonetheless. A camaraderie that would only grow more special and refined by the heat applied to it. But, like in all things, Gil Hanley couldn't see into the future. Sometimes life can get rough. Sometimes a buddy is the only thing that can see you through...
**************
(France 1944: A German held basement of a farmhouse used to hold prisoners of the SS. Hanley’s first time captured: Hell on earth.)
Nothing of beauty could penetrate the total darkness of the musty basement. Fear hung in the air thick as smoke from a mortar shell. Newly promoted Second Lieutenant Gil Hanley slumped against the cold, stone wall and wondered how he had ever managed to get himself into such a horrible place as this. When the officer had joined up with the US Infantry, he never dreamed in a million years that this one terrible thing would ever happen to him. Gil had always assumed that the only soldiers who got captured by the enemy were either incompetent or too daring. But it had happened to him and now he was stuck. I'll bet that kraut captain thinks that he made a real catch, Hanley groaned inwardly, Only an officer for two weeks and now a POW. An SS POW at that. I hope I can hold out on them. A firm hand touching his shoulder in a stern grip interrupted Gil’s stormy thoughts.
Sergeant Saunders looked up at his friend and superior officer as the lieutenant studied him with his eyes. Both of the men knew what couldn't be said: that they cared for each other and would die rather than give those lousy Germans the information they wanted.
"Americana Leutnant, Come!" Short fragments of poor English screamed from hoarse voices poured from the open door of the wine cellar.
"What about my sergeant?" Hanley rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing at Saunders for moral support.
"Americana Sergeant, Come!"
Saunders grinned at his officer, "Must be the only English those krauts know."
"Let's go up there before they change their mind. I don't want to go up there alone." Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Saunders' smile faded into the cellar as the two GIs slowly walked up the stone stairway. Reaching the top floor of the farmhouse, two military looking German soldiers herded Hanley and Saunders to the middle of the main room, where the SS captain sat calmly smoking a cigarette. The captain was unlike any other kraut that Gil had ever encountered before; he put on a congenial air with smiles and charm, but it didn't take a genius to realize that this officer meant business. All of the horror stories told about the SS Nazis and their treatment of helpless prisoners suddenly seemed very disturbing to the inexperienced American lieutenant.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope that your stay has not been too unpleasant?"
In deep contrast to the other German privates, the captain spoke English perfectly, almost too perfectly, and it reminded Hanley of the professors he had sat under in college. The voice of the kraut officer seemed to suit him very well; it was suave, relaxed to the ear, but also held a note of angry sarcasm. All in all, the German reminded Gil of the stereotype evil villain from a motion picture show.
"Anyway, gentlemen, "the captain continued, "I will not, as you Americans so vividly put it, 'beat around the bush.' I want information regarding your position, Lieutenant, and I will not give up until you give me what I am after." The captain turned to Saunders, his expression almost begging the sergeant to cooperate.
"Sergeant, you seem to be a man of principle, please explain to your officer that it is useless to resist and it will only bring misery to you both." Saunders turned slowly to face his friend and lieutenant, strict as a father regarding his son.
"No matter what he says, no matter what he does, never give the captain anything, Lieutenant. I trust you and I know that you will always do the right thing."
"I won't, Saunders." Hanley's voice almost broke from the emotional intensity of the moment. "No matter what--" His sentence was brutally interrupted by a German soldier, who roughly pushed the officer to the floor.
Hanley fell face first upon the wood of the floorboards, the impact almost knocking him unconscious. Before he could get his bearings, the same kraut that pushed Hanley down grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into a worn chair. At the curt nod from the captain, the German private grabbed the dark American's wrists and jerked them behind the back of the chair, wrenching Hanley's shoulder painfully out of place. Gil winced as the private tightly bound his hands together with a piece of thick, coarse rope from the barn outside.
Suddenly the friendly, affable captain turned into a raging monster as he paced back and forth in front of Hanley, like an enraged lion inspecting its future prey. Saunders stood behind his buddy, resting a gentle hand upon his shoulder in a subtle act of comfort. That tiny gesture caught the roaming eye of the captain, and he screamed out like a wounded animal.
"When I'm through with your lieutenant, nothing you can do is going to help him! He will talk or he will die!" Only silence greeted the furious German and added fuel to the blazing fire within.
**************
Two Hours Later...
What remained of Lt. Gilbert Hanley looked up wearily from the chair. Whip welts, bruises, cuts, and swelling turned the once attractive face into a mess of battered flesh.
During the past few hours, Gil had in turn cried, groaned, screamed, laughed, and even pleaded with the Germans, but he had not given in. Perhaps he had lost his dignity, but he would never surrender the information to the enemy. He had been broken, but he had not cracked. Suddenly the futility of the entire situation struck the prisoner harder than any German ever could. Here he was, a dying prisoner in a foreign land, and nobody even cared. His parents were ashamed of him and now nothing else even mattered. Everything else dulled in comparison.
"All right, "Hanley's voice gurgled from a throat filling with blood, "You win. You can-you can have it. You can have it all."
"Now you are being sensible, Lieutenant." Pleasure filled the captain's face as he leaned forward to collect his prize.
"No, Lt. Hanley, don't do it to yourself." That soft firm voice of his NCO friend stopped Hanley dead in his tracks.
"It doesn't matter, Saunders. Nobody cares." Gil tried to relate his feelings of sorrow and resentment over what he couldn't explain.
"Shut up, Sergeant. Let the lieutenant tell me what I want to know. Then I shall leave him in peace."
"Will you really? Don't listen sir. I care. You hear me Hanley? I care about you. Remember London? Remember the hill we took? Remember D-Day? Do you seriously believe that I don't care? Darn it, listen to me now, Hanley. I care!"
"GET THIS MAN OUT OF HERE." Two German guards grabbed Saunders and pushed him to the basement below. With a smirk on his face, Captain Schumann turned to look upon his tattered prisoner. The prisoner he had broken for good and would now talk. Hanley sat up in the chair as dignified as he possibly could under the circumstances. He knew what he had to do.
"Hanley. Rank - Second Lieutenant. Serial number-012177705." (Thanks, Saunders. Thanks for being there for me when nobody else cared.)
**************
(A chapel in America, 1945, home after the war.)
"By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. Therefore, what God has joined together let no man put asunder. You may kiss the bride." The radiant couple at the altar joined hands and closed their eyes, sharing in a long, passionate kiss. A very noisy crowd of friends and loved ones pushed forward to the front of the church, each wanting to be the first to congratulate the gorgeous bride and her striking husband. One man, very short in stature, yelled loudly to be heard over the others.
"Hey Hanley, since when did you ever get lucky enough to find yourself a girl? I can't believe you went and 'tied the knot' on me!" The beaming bridegroom spun around to shake the hand of his dear war buddy.
"Saunders, Sergeant Saunders, how did you ever get here? Surely I didn't invite you here!" Gil teased, winking at his young bride.
"I know you didn't, because you were afraid that Annette would end up falling in love with me instead. I always outranked you with the ladies, even in France!"
"I suppose you thought you had to outrank me in something since you were such a terrible excuse for a GI and couldn't make officer and---"
"Excuse me you two, would you please stop pestering each other?" Annette looped her arm through her husbands, shaking her head at their immaturity. "I for one would like to go and cut our wedding cake." Saunders and Hanley looked at each other sheepishly; Hanley gave Annette a military "Yes Ma'am!" and they made their way to the reception hall.
As the three stepped into the room, a hush fell over the gathering. It was time for the wedding toasts. As the tradition, the bridegroom stepped up first. Hanley raised his crystal glass. "I would like to make a special toast tonight for my lovely bride Annette, who I was lucky enough to meet in Paris, and to my companion of many years, Sergeant Saunders!" Chip held up his hand to quiet the people from clapping.
"We've had a lot of hard times together," Saunders said solemnly, "But I am happy today to share in some joy instead. May our lives be fulfilling and filled with joy from now on. To joy and life."
"To joy and life." Echoed the dedication in the fancy wedding hall.
**************
"Gil! Gil, wake up dear all of your guests are gone." Hanley's head jerked up to see the familiar face of his Annette. "Darling, you must have fallen asleep after you opened your presents. Nobody wanted to wake you so they all left. You looked like you were a hundred miles away. Are you alright, dear?" Gil shook himself and sat up, the memories of his life flashing before him.
"Yes, I'm-I'm fine. It must be old age that makes me fall asleep so easily. I was just thinking is all."
"Yes," Annette's voice softened as she sat down beside him, "It's good to remember once in a while. Good memories or bad?"
"Both. Life is that way I suppose. Times were pretty bad, but they always got better. Anyway, I'm glad I have you always, Annette. Would you like to take a walk before bedtime?" The elderly couple rose to go out, but before they did Gil gave the picture album one final look and chuckled. With a memory like his, who needed to paste pictures to recall the past? Nothing could make him forget.