Saunders Challenge
By: Miss Maquis

Sergeant Saunders straightened from his leaning position over his Thompson machine gun. Rolling his neck around and hearing the vertebrae crack, he relieved the tension that had been slowly building. Placing the freshly cleaned and oiled Tommy gun on the empty cot besides him, Saunders leaned back in his chair. It felt good to be able to rest for a while, when the only matter of importance was to clean equipment. Retrieving his crumpled pack of cigarettes from a pocket, Saunders surveyed the room he was in and its other occupants.

Before the war and its destruction had started, the hotel lobby the squad was billeted at had been charming, graceful, and chic. Now, the wallpaper hung in scattered shreds, the rug had been worn to the floorboards, and the brass fixtures were tarnished. Instead of customers filling the lobby, men, gear packs, and rifles were tumbled in and among the few remaining chairs and the army issue cots. A fog of tobacco smoke rose from cigarettes that dangled from nearly every man’s lips.

On the far side of the room, Kirby, wiping down his BAR, was balancing a chair back on two legs while his feet were propped against the battered concierge counter. Close by, Caje had finished cleaning his Garand and was methodically pulling his knife across a sharpening stone. Flanking the hotel’s main entrance were Billy and Littlejohn. Littlejohn had claimed the worn velvet couch, where he sat meticulously repairing a rip in his gear belt. On the other side of the double doors, Billy had commandeered and pushed together two chairs for his abode as he carefully cleaned his gun with grease and rag. Along the next wall, Doc sat in the middle of his cot as he finished restocking his medic bag. The last person in the room was the new replacement, Anderson.

The newest private to join the squad was seated on a shabby chair not far from Saunders. Quickly, Sarge reviewed the facts he had gathered when Anderson arrived on yesterday’s afternoon. He was young, no more than twenty years old, and just out of basic training. While the young man seemed friendly, he was also shy. So intent on cleaning his gun, Anderson didn’t notice the sergeant’s gaze.

Shaking a cigarette out of his pack, Saunders noticed that the private’s hands were shaking slightly as he finished checking the rifle bolt. The kid must be nervous; we are going out on patrol tomorrow. Saunders thought. Holding a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Saunders leaned over to Anderson with the pack extended.

“Cigarette?”

Anderson looked up, gave a slight smile, and accepted the offered smoke. Snapping out his lighter, Saunders held it out and then lit his own.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Anderson truthfully replied after inhaling.

“Everyone here is also,” Sarge assured the new recruit. Rising and moving the Tommy gun off his cot, Saunders settled onto the thin mattress. Contentedly smoking his cigarette he, tried to let his thoughts wander away from the coming day’s mission. Glancing back down at Anderson, he saw the private was mulling over the fact he had been given.

“Thanks Sarge,” Anderson slowly said. He returned to inspecting his rifle with steadier hands.

Saunders closed his eyes and leaned his back against his balled up jacket. “Uh-huh. Get some rest.”