Brothers In Arms- Hell-s Highway Today

Jake nodded. He pulled out a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes, lit two, and handed one to Billy. They smoked in silence as the rain washed the battlefield clean.

“They’re all kids,” Jake said, his voice breaking for just a second. Then he hardened again. “And we’re the only ones who can stop this. On me. Now.” Brothers In Arms- Hell-s Highway

When it was over, the field was quiet except for the rain and the moans of the dying. Billy leaned against the smoldering tank, hands shaking. Jake walked over, a fresh gash on his cheek, his uniform torn. Jake nodded

“No, no, no—” Billy tried to scramble out of the ditch, but Jake grabbed his harness and yanked him back. “They’re all kids,” Jake said, his voice breaking

The rumble of Allied trucks came from the south at last—the corridor still open, barely. Billy pushed off from the tank, adjusted his helmet, and fell in beside Jake. They walked together down the endless, muddy road, two brothers in arms, with the ghosts of a hundred more marching silently behind them.

They ran, boots slipping in the slop, as machine-gun fire stitched the ground behind them. Billy dove headfirst into the drainage ditch, landing hard on his shoulder. Jake landed next to him, then Private Donnelly, then Corporal Hayes. But the kid—Private First Class Eddie Raynor, just eighteen, from Kansas—was still in the open.