As the kids will one day say, you only live once.

"What the hell," you say with a grin. "Let's ride this tiger!"

"That's the stuff!" Perkins exclaims! "C'mon, this way..."

Moving carefully, the two of you leave your more cumbersome gear in your barracks and then carefully slip out a gap in the fence and hurry toward French soil. You move at a light jog until you're well away from the trenches...you don't want to end up shot. But once you're out on the dirt road that leads to the nearest town, you slow to an amble and chat with Perkins. He's one of your closest friends, here - a Yankee from Vermont who's a bit of a free spirit, not really suited to Army life. Not that either of you had much choice in the matter.

"I'm tellin' you, Allen, when we're back in the US I'll take you up to Burlington," Perkins is saying. "You gotta see the Green Mountains, the way the sun hits Lake Champlain. It's the best sight in the world!"

You chuckle. "I'll come, but only if you agree to come with me and see some _real _mountains back home. They don't call it 'Montana' fer nothin', you know."

"Huh. We'll see about that. Hey hey! There it is."

The building Perkins leads you to is a large, low-slung, half-timbered building, one that's clearly stood alongside this road for years. Though the windows are mostly blacked out, warm light and the sound of chatter spills out the door, which is slightly ajar. Curious, you follow Perkins as he pulls the door open and makes his way inside.

The ground floor of the building makes it clear that it's always been a pub or an inn of some kind. Behind the bar, a French waiter with rolled-up sleeves is polishing glasses, while men and a few women sit around at tables talking, laughing, and playing cards. There's a slight dip in the volume when you two enter and they see your uniforms, but it resumes quickly - American soldiers are a not-uncommon sight in these parts.

You and Perkins make your way to the bar and he flags down the bartender. "Hey fella. Got any beer?"

The bartender shrugs. "I do," he says, in confident but accented French. "But the wine is better."

Perkins makes a face. "Not much of a wine guy. Gimme a beer for me and my friend."

The bartender nods, and returns a moment later with two small glasses of foamy, yellow liquid. Not much of a drink - and when you toast Perkins and take a sip you discover it's not much of a beer, either - but then, it's a war zone. You can't get **** on base at all. Then again, you can't get it legally at home, either, so you're used to sneaking around when you want a drink. You and Perkins sip and watch the crowd.

"See, what'd I tell ya?" Perkins asks. "Good to be around real people - not just the other men an' officers. And some of the people are pretty good-looking, too...including, hello there..."

Two young French women have wandered up to you, drinks in hand. One is a tall, leggy blonde with dark eyebrows, the other a shorter, slightly fuller-figured brunette. The blonde smiles broadly, speaking to you both with an even thicker French accent than the bartender's: "Bonjour, monsieurs! Are you maybe...American soldiers?"

"That's right, honey," Perkins says affably, grinning as he leans back on the bar and plays the little game. "Red-blooded American men here to fight off the damned Germans."

"Oh, thank you monsieurs. We are ever so grateful that you and your country come to help us in France. We are needing, how you say...? Strong men. Like you! Where are you from, in America?"

"Vermont."

"Vermont!" the blonde exclaims theatrically. "I have a cousin who live in Vermont."

"Is that so?" Perkins asks with a laugh.

"Yes yes. My cousin Charlotte. She tell me it is very beautiful there. However she is tres triste - very sad - because all the men are gone." The blonde moves up next to the bar, quite close to Perkins, taking a sip of her drink. "You mind if I...give you a hug? For Charlotte. She would want to say thank you, too."

"Well, sure, honey."

"Ah, hooray!" Putting her drink down on the bar, the blonde woman gaily throws her arms around Perkins. It's a quick hug, but you see the way she presses her chest into him - and the way his hand drops down to her ass. Meanwhile, the brunette girl has moved around to you, and puts a hand on your bicep with an apparently shy smile.

"I am Colette, and this is Yvonne," the blonde says as Perkins releases her. She takes another quick drink. "We both live nearby. Both our fathers and Yvonne's brother are gone to fight in the trenches. It is so sad. But seeing you, it made us happy. I said to Yvonne, 'There are good American men. Strong and proud, here to fight for us.' We are so thankful." She leans in toward the two of you and lowers her voice. "We have a little room upstairs, Yvonne and me. Just us...if you like, we take you up there and show you how thankful we are. Would be our pleasure. And maybe you give us a gift to remember our American boys with? Yes? You are both very handsome...and now it feels like we might die any day. So we like to make nice American boys feel good. I like you, and Yvonne likes you...she does not speak much English, poor Yvonne...but she says she likes you."

Yvonne smiles and strokes your arm. You can feel yourself getting hard at her touch. You haven't been with a woman since you convinced Missy Owen to give you a pity fuck in her pa's barn the night before you left for the Army. And Yvonne's pretty, with a short, curly brown hair and what looks like a nice curvy figure under her dress...

"What d'you say, pal?" Perkins asks, clearly amused but also excited. "Why don't we go let these little ladies express their thanks?" He lowers his voice. "I got some dough if that's a problem, no worries."