Present Day May 25, 1947 Time: 5:45am Location: San Francisco

A shrill ringing bell pierced through the thin fabric of Colleen Brennan's monotonous dreams. With a heavy  hand she silenced the persistent device at her bedside. After the bells stopped thir vibration she let her eyelids float closed once more and listened to the ticking of the clock.

 As a heavy sigh escaped her as she surrendered the battle against the sunny intruder in her room, she pushed back her red hair from her face, and squinted at the bright sunlight.

Something is different... "I'm forgetting something." Quickly she sat up and gasped, caught in the breath, wild strands entered her mouth causing the young woman to gag. 

Scooting out of bed, she fought wtih the comforter as it tangled around her ankle causing her to stumble. The red wood floor glistened as its newly polished surface met the soft skin of her palms. The blanket pooled around her on the floor like an old friend looking a hug and she glared at it realizing that toda was just going to be one of those days. 

In another minute she was out of the bedroom and into the kitchen's sitting room. A young woman sat near the window, moring paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, struggling to read the corner of the paper that kept bending backwards.

Colleen plopped down into the chair across the table from her roommate. "So what's on the menu this morning?" Glancing down, she inspected the green, partly lumpy, partly liquid drink in a tall glass. "A new concoction of yours?" She tapped at the side of the tumbler, her nail made a tingly sound and the substance stayed secure, unbothered by the vibrations.

"Uh huh." Chris's voice was muffled by the coffee mug, she continued to intently study the contents of the news "It's right here." She pointed delicately at the back page where the scrolled title Health & Beauty annouced the creation of some new and disgusting "food". Chris smiled brightly and leaned heavily against the cushioned chair. "Just think, within the next few weeks I could be sitting in this very chair, reading one of your stories. Why, I bet that you'll become famous, carrying on your father's Irish legacy. That is, if you can keep your cool with your new boss. I hear that he is quite a handful."

"A new boss?" Relization once again flooded her face, the tussle with the blanket had made her forget again what made today so different from yesterday. She bounced up and dashed for the door, worried about being late but being releazed that "breakfast" would have to wait for another time. "I'm late, bye!" She would just have to settle for a cookie, what a pity that was. She retrieved her coat and hat from the hanger and ran down the apartment stairs, with Chris following, green streaked, bubbly glass in hand.

"Wait, your drink!"

"Sorry Chris." Colleen scrambled out, coat flying behind her as she made a dash for the ground floor apartment door.

August 13, 1945 Location: Germany Time: 0430

"Sarg! Sergeant Gates! Sir?" At the urgent voice Devon sputtered and attempted to open his eyes as the small amount of watre he had just splashed on his skin drizzled down to his chin. He rubbed the droplets off and shrugged on his coat. Before his eyes fully adjusted the compact presence was directly in front of him.

"Corporal Gracon says that there is some movement in the tall bushes."

"Krauts?" Devon asked rubbing his bloodshot eyes, willing the figure to clear from its blurred state. Droplets clung to his long lashes and the newly risen sun reflected off of them causing Devon continued visual distress. Once everything came into focus he looked down at the short, broad shouldered private standing in front of him.

"We think so, Sir." Private Louis' voice shook as he did a quick bob, making his unbuckled helmet shift sideways.

Devon studied the figure before him. Short. The Private had broad shoulders and was clearly muscular and coveed from head to toe in dirt, his helmet's netting had several tears from past encounters with shrapnel. Dark hair covered his chin and upper neck and the shock of yesterdays' surprise attack, and the fear of a second one, weighed on his shoulders.

"Private..." he said waiting for Louis to look at him. "Don't worry, stay strong, we'll get out of here soon and-"

An unsure smile pulled at the sides of the privates' mouth. " And back home..." he finished, a fragile determination viseably entered his body, "I'll make it, Sir."

Devon turned toward a group of soldiers that were leaning against different trees, and they nodded their respects as he walked by making a beeline for their commanding officer.

"Gates!" Lieutenant McGwailly commanded him to follow with a flick a wrist. "Have you heard anything more about the movement that Gracon claimed he saw?"

"No Sir, I have just been notified, and I am sure that Gracon saw some kind of movement. Whether-"

The Lieutenant raised his hand commanding for silance "I don't think that he saw what he thinks he did."

"Meaning no disrespect sir, Gracon is reliable, and level headed. He's not one to jump to sudden conclusions"

"And I'm supposed to trust your judgment with him on what? It's well known that you to are close, you are obviously biased. This is not a question of the soldier's reliablility. Your opinion is unreliable."

Devon set his jaw. Was this man seriously questioning his loyalty in the faceof a battle because his "friend" gave him the informion? "He is a good soldier and has had the baks of every man he has been placed with."

"Well your opinion may have been accepted and possibly even needed by the Captain, but while I'm in command I do not want it." Shaking his head, he cut with his normal attitude.

THe Sargeant's face hardened, how dare he has the gull to pull the Captian into it, queastioning and dishonoring him the day after his death. The truth was that the Captain had never needed his voice on anything. Every decision he had ever ade was purely his own leadership and wisedom. But he was also a man that listened and valued the concerns of his platoon. There had been very few times when some of the men and the Captain did not fully agree; when those times arose, if time allowed he would weigh and consider the options, but in the end it would br his final word that held true.

There was just something... trecherous about McGwailly that made him think that just maybe... Devon quickly dismissed the thought. Even 

As the three walked through the small group of men and toward a hill where the Corporal Gracon stood keeping watch, Gates glanced around. Soldiers sat or stood in clusters of two or three, and he, not for the first time, but the hundredth, studied these men. His comrades, that had seen and lived through one nightmare after another. Each would lay down his battered body and broken life for the other. Several looked at Devon, the one they now respected as their leader.

With Lieutenant McGwailly's transfer in only two weeks before, he had not yet witnessed the horrors the others had. Because of this, and his questionable behavior about the Germans, trust towards him amongst the men left much to be desired. And in war, trust is what leadership is built on.

All of them had nicked helmets from the shrapnel of exploded bombs, and blood stains on their hands, faces and uniforms. And only a very select few didn't have bloodshot eyes from the lack of sleep and the strain of night watch.

In these tired and worn beings, Devon saw the faces of those loved and cherished. He saw freedom. These were not ordinary men. Through all the chaos, they were strong. They were heroes, they were brave. Not because they did not have any fear: they were all afraid. But because they didn't allow that fear to engulf them.

Devon gazed into the faces of the soldiers. A few read letters that were weeks, some months old. Many tears had been shed over these memory-filled notes written by the tender hand of a mother, sister, wife, or girlfriend. From the youngest Private to Sargent Devon Gates, they all understood their purpose, their reason why they were here. To fight, not just for any country, their country. The Christian morals of their Fore Fathers, and the things they believed in. A realization suddenly occurred to Devon. An area of land didn't make America, America. The men surrounding him did. Every one of the war weary faces was America! And any other soldier who would lay down his life to save his country and the country of those he fought along side of. He couldn't think of any one of these men-

Lieutenant McGwailly turned and frowned, looking hard at the man of thought standing beside him. "Germans," He announced in a critical voice. "most definitely. But, probably nothing more than a simple patrol ."

"May I?" Receiving a nod of approval from the other officer, he held out his hand and the set of binoculars was given to him. Lifting them to his eyes and squinting against the rising sun, he observed the magnified land.

Germans combed the ground to the east. Like they are looking for something.... Or someone. But how could they possibly know that we are here?

By this time there was a line of soldiers forming beside him; as Devon slid the binoculars to his side, Gracon stepped forward. "Sarg?"

"Well-" Devon started, lowering the glasses.

"It is only a patrol," Lieutenant McGwailly announced to seemingly finalize his point. Then he turned on his heel and marched away.

"Man, doesn't he ever walk?" Louis wondered.

Bruiser stared at their Sergeant. Frowning, he crossed his arms, his muscles rippling at this slow movement.

Ignoring Louis's question, Gracon pushed Devon for the answer to his and Bruiser's own silent one. "Sarg?"

"Do as he says." He paced off, turned and walked back to them; shaking his head as he looked at them. "He is our commanding officer."

"But Sir, we can all see that their not just on any old patrol. And even a bunch of soldiers on patrol are dangerous, although they are just Goons. But-"

Devon held up his hand, he already knew what he was about to say. "'A soldier is a soldier no matter his orders.'" Remembering the Captain's warning about not underestimating your opponents was like a knife slicing through his heart. He observed the men before him. They were sights to behold. Each from different backgrounds, and of different sizes. Completely opposite individuals but they did have two things in common: the passion to save their country, and the guts that it took to succeed.

Bruiser reached up and scratched the scruffy beard that clung to his sun-beaten face. He spoke in his deep and normally unheard voice. "I don't like 'im." He nodded toward where the Lieutenant stood. The youngest soldier, Fisher, blinked an agreement and began to fidget.

"Well it doesn't matter whether or not we like him. He is our commanding officer and we have to obey him. That is an order." A scowl formed on Devon's face.

"Sir," Bruiser began, "Those Krauts are looking for us and if-"

"Keep your eyes peeled, ears open..." Sergeant Gates looked in the direction of the Germans and the sunrise. "and guns ready... Go."

As Bruiser strode off, Private Louis jogged to keep up with the high school Fullback's long strides.

"What's up? You were sure were talking a lot back there. I mean ya know, for you, and there's not even a dame near, or within a hundred miles of this place. So what's running through that overly used brain of yours?"

"You talk too much," Bruiser declared, glaring down at the small Noise-maker.

"Hey, I'm an Italian from the big NYC. What d'you expect."

Present Day, San Francisco

Her heels clicked loudly on the cement walks. The city was alive, and becoming more so every minute. Business men in sharp black and gray suits made their way, suitcases in hand, through the bustling San Francisco streets, as taxis and personnel automobiles bravely faced the morning rush.

As she approached a solid glass door, she hesitated, staring at her own reflection. Tan hat, white blouse, light brown skirt, simply tailored coat, leather purse and gloves.

Good. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her watch "6:24, an improper time for man or beast." Placing a hand on the door knob, she twisted it and lurched forward, only to be met with the sound of the door hitting its lock. Much like an anxious dog hitting the end of its leash. She was late already and now she was locked out. She pushed again, receiving the same results. Stepping back, she tried to think of what to do.

Suddenly, and out of nowhere, a high voice dripping with a New Jersey accent pierced through the door and met her ears. "Just a minute!"

She then noticed a woman half jogging and half prancing toward the door, the key ring draped securely over a finger. Her severely curly, bleach blond hair bounced energetically around the girl's heart shaped face. The shining blue eyes were accentuated by a white scarf and red sweater. As she reached the other side of the door she waved through the glass; it consisted of each long, red nailed finger touching the palm of her hand. This scene was completed with a wide, bright smile.

When her hand went down, Colleen heard an answer to prayer, the sound of the bolt sliding aside and the door opening. "Hello, can I help you?"

The question seemed odd to Colleen and it caught her slightly off guard. "Um, yes, you see, I'm the new reporter Mr. White hired-"

The smile fell. "You'd better get in here. The Chief is awfully mad."

"I'm sorry that I'm so late."

"Well, I'm sure he'll understand." A faint, unsure smile played at her mouth, as she tried to reassure her new colleague.

Although Colleen had a nagging suspicion that the encouragement wasn't just for her sake.

August 13 1945 Location: Germany. Time: 06:00 aka 6:00am

Sergeant Gates briskly walked past all of the soldiers without giving any of them a second notice. He was a man on a mission. And everyone of them knew exactly what that mission was. So none were alarmed by the fact that he was walking out of camp.

"Hey Fisher, look, the Sarg is going off again. With the way that he is acting you might want to practice up on your German," Gracon suggested, as he cut a piece of dried jerky with a knife that had been used for anything from digging out bullets to cleaning nails. He changed positions from lying on his back to his side.

Fisher sat erect. "What do you mean by that?" His voice had become defensive.

"Oh you know when the Sarg walks out of camp it means that he's worried."

"Oh, if that's all you meant." He slowly leaned against the tree behind him.

"That's all." Gracon pulled back hands raised in surrender and frowned. "Are you OK?"

Fisher stood. "Yeah, I'm just going to go for a walk, ya know, air my head."

"OK."

Devon found a quiet and peaceful place, yards away from the encampment of troops. Slowly he sank to his knees and lifted his face to the sky, breathing in deeply, and slowly letting it out.

The forest's dark green under growth was thick and trees gathered in close, so one could only see clearly a few yards. The light green canopy spread above, and fractions of sunlight shown through; casting themselves upon the floor.

"Lord," Devon whispered. "Give us wisdom to-" He shook his head, knowing that ceremony and bright speech wasn't necessary "Oh, God." His heart tender to all of the soldiers families and their constant worry, he prayed urgently. "Keep us safe Lord, and let us go home soon. I trust you. Jesus' name, Amen"

Minutes passed as Devon silently praised his Savior.

He flinched and opened his eyes. Someone is watching me.

Slowly he edged his eyes around the forest. There was a flash of deep blue, but as fast as it had appeared, it vanished. Devon hesitated. Was that a bird or just my imagination? Quickly he stood and walked in the opposite direction of the camp. If anyone was watching him he hoped to lead them away from camp, even at the risk of his own life. He heard nothing but his own footsteps, and neither was any movement seen except a few leaves that flitted to the ground. The wind that blew chilled him as a few more leaves flowed to the floor and settled. It was completely quiet and yet he still felt that someone was watching his every move.

"Sarg?"

Devon slung around and began to draw his pistol. "Private Louis!" he exclaimed.

"Sir, it's your watch. We would of came to get you earlier but we had to draw straws to get a volunteer."

A frown of confusion formed on Devon's face.

Seeming to understand, Louis explained. "You see, we've decided that it's your God that has been watching our backs. He seems to listen to you, so when you go off we don't like to disturb you." A sheepish smile came to his boyish and dirty face. "That's why we had to draw straws."

Devon smiled to himself. When he had first been assigned to this platoon, they disliked even the thought of having a "religious" soldier with them. But now, to hear that the people that he had been trying to reach had actually agreed and admitted that He was real and had kept them safe - was a huge breakthrough.

"Come on." He put a brotherly hand on Louis's shoulder.

Off in the distance a dog howled and a bird sung its morning songs.