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Kit ran to the tall oak tree in his backyard.  The sun was humming and the smell of the next door neighbor’s barbeque made his mouth water.  Normally, he’d stop in and visit with his friends there, but not today.

He arrived at the tree and sat down. He grinned as he panted, his heart beating fast for more reasons than the run.

The package had finally arrived.

“Okay, Grandpa,” he said to himself as he wiped the sweat from his brow.  “Let’s see what you sent me?”

Kit tore back the brown paper wrapping and found a small, black velvet box.

He lifted the box to inspect it.  He had never seen it before, but it seemed very old.  Why had he never noticed it around Grandpa’s place before, he wondered.

When he opened the lid, inside laid an ancient piece of cloth.

Kit paused.  Was that blood on the cloth?  If it was, it had long dried.

He whispered, “What is this?”

Kit’s eye caught on the tossed aside wrapping.  In the paper sat sealed envelope had had missed in his excitement.  Kit closed the box, placed it in his lap, and opened the letter.

It was from Grandpa, but there was no birthday card like he had always received before.

He read.

Dear Kit,

        By now, I hope you’ve seen the piece of cloth.  It doesn’t seem very fancy, but it has a history.
        Here is the story that goes with it:     
        December, 1944.  Ardennes Forest, Belgium.
        We were holding the lines against the Germans.  I was exhausted and hungry.  It was so cold that my eyelids seemed to freeze shut every time I blinked.
        The Germans had been throwing hard artillery at us; we had many casualties.  Soon, I knew, we would be ordered to take Foy.  I wasn’t looking forward to this. I knew the German’s would be expecting us, and that meant more casualties.
        All I wanted was a hot meal, a warm bed and safe sleep.  Instead, I sat in a frozen foxhole, numbly watching the line as white stacks of smoke flew from my mouth with every breath.
        I was twenty years old.
        Night had fallen.  A thick fog rolled in, making visibility next to nothing.  I figured, if a German wanted to sneak through the line, they could just walk right through.
        At my side, my good buddy, Will, complained about the poor visibility.  “They won’t shell us tonight,” Will said, “but I’ll be darned if they can’t just walk right up to us. 
        I squinted into the velvety fog.  I adjusted the machine gun a little to the right and settled back down.
        I said, “They could still shell us, fog or no fog.”
        I didn’t put anything past the Germans.  I knew they meant business, the same as we did.
        Will shook his head.
        “Nah, they’re tired,” he said.  “Same as us.  They won’t shell us blind like this.  If anything, they’ll try to sneak up to the line.”
        Will focused on the fog with every ounce of his energy.
        He added, “It wouldn’t be too hard for us to sneak up on them, either.”
        “We’re freezing and we can’t see,” I complained.
        I turned in alarm at a sound behind us.
        “At ease, soldier.”  First Lieutenant Dalton dropped into the foxhole.  He was a tough guy with solid leadership.  All the men liked him.  I liked him, too.
        He asked, “You men surviving?”
        “Sir, yes, sir.  Enjoying the view,” Will joked.
        I added, “All that’s missing is a nice little patio area over there.”
        First Lieutenant Dalton nodded.  He said, “And maybe a pool off that way?  Weather is perfect for a nightly dip.”
        Will and I had a chuckle.
        Dalton took a deep breath.  “Stay alert, men.  My gut is working hard on me tonight.”
        I looked hard at First Lieutenant Dalton.  When he said his gut was working hard, that meant something bad was going to happen.  Not one time had he ever been wrong.
        I said, “Yes, sir, alert.”
        Will steadied himself.  “Sir, we’re alert.”
        First Lieutenant Dalton patted our shoulders and moved to the next fox hole where Cunningham and Connors were.
        Suddenly, the sound of artillery shells filled the air.
        First Lieutenant Dalton yelled from the fog, “Incoming!”
        I grabbed Will and we threw ourselves to the bottom of our foxhole.  The world exploded over us.  Artillery shells hit and shattered trees, shook the ground with angry eruptions, exploded with thunderous power.
        My body felt like it was shaking apart from the force of the artillery shells.
        My ears rung so loud that I thought they would explode. The shelling lasted for only a few minutes, but when it stopped there were shouts everywhere.
        I heard First Lieutenant yelling, “Medic!”
        Will turned to me.  “Still got all your pieces?”
        I nodded.
        I leaned up and looked around.  Will did the same.
        Out of the fog, came the sound of gunfire.  Will’s body jerked violently.  He grabbed his chest as his body slumped down into the hole.
        I grabbed the machine gun and threw my eyes into the fog.  I saw flashes of gunfire in the haze and opened fire.  I wanted to check on Will, but knew if I didn’t defend the line we would both be dead.
        First Lieutenant Dalton jumped into the fox hole.  He checked Will then threw himself into a firing position and gave fire.
        “He’s hurt,” First Lieutenant yelled at me.  “Get him to the medic!”
        I stopped firing, grabbed Will, and pulled him out of the foxhole.
        With an urgent prayer, I threw my buddy over my shoulder and yelled for our medic, Doc Bossley.
        Somehow, through the gunfire, I heard Doc Bossley give me an, “Over here!”
        I ran Will to him.  Doc Bossley was working on Connors, who had a bad piece of artillery in his leg.  The blood came out of him in gushes.
        I put Will down.
        “Chest wound!” I yelled then ran for my foxhole to First Lieutenant Dalton.
        But before I could make it to my foxhole, the German’s threw more artillery at us.  A shell exploded close to me, throwing my violently against a tree.
        I blacked out.
        I don’t know how long I lied there unconscious.  When I woke up, the sound of gunfire still hung in the air.  My ears rang violently.
        Somewhere, someone shouted, “Hold the line!  Hold the line!”
        I sat up carefully.  My body was a live wire of fresh, excruciating pain the likes I hope never to feel again.
        My eyes went to my legs. I expected they were blown off.  When I saw my feet and legs still attached, I said a prayer of thanks to the Lord.
        The taste of blood filled my mouth.  I reached touched my forehead and felt a deep gash where the blood came flowing out.
        My hand then went to my check, which was dangling from my face.  I didn’t know how badly I was hurt; neither did I have the time.
        A shadowy figure appeared before me: a German soldier.  The German had a rifle trained on me.  He said something in his language.  Then in what I caught was French.
        “American,” I said through gritted teeth and raw anguish.
        The German asked in hurried, broken English, “You are hurt, yes?”
        I nodded. “Yes,” I said, blood pouring from my mouth.  I spit to get rid of it.
        The German soldier glanced at my wounds then said, “I could kill you, yes?”
        I nodded again. “You could.”
        Then the German did something that changed my life forever.  He shouldered his rifle and crouched beside me.
        He asked, “What is your age?”
        He took a cloth from his pocket and pressed it against my forehead.  Pain soared through my head.
        “Today I… turned twenty.”  I spit more blood out of my mouth.  “My birthday.”
        The German laughed, finding something funny.
        He said, “You are my age!”
        I didn’t know what to say, especially to a German soldier who seemed to be helping me.  So I said, “Fancy that.”
        The German continued to press the wound on my head as he said, “Before the war, I was at University.  Studying to be scholar, but…”  He shrugged.  “I was forced to fight.  You?”
        “Worked on the trains.”
        The German seemed delighted by this.  “Vunderbar!  And family?”
        “Wife.  And a… little girl.”
        “Yes.”  He pointed to himself.  “Twin girls.”
        “Nice.”
        The German looked around.  He stood.
        The other soldier said, “I let you live tonight, you do good things, yes?  Someday you remember me, yes?”
        I stared at the German.  “Yeah,” I said.  “Sure.”
        The German looked down at me. “Politics make men enemies on battlefield, yes?  Men not naturally enemies. Remember that, yes?”
        I nodded my head.  “Yes.”
        The German soldier seemed exhausted.  He spoke quickly. “Someday, you remember me.  Someday, you not hate me as enemy.”
        The German patted my hand.  Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he vanished back into the fog, into the sound of gunfire.
        A few minutes later, First Lieutenant Dalton found me.  He and Cunningham from the foxhole next to mine carried me to the medic.  They took me off the front line and sent me to a med station, so they could patch me up.  I had lost a great deal of blood.  They said that I was lucky to be alive.
        That night, men died and men lived on both sides.  But for my twentieth birthday, I was given the gift of life from the most unlikely source.
        Grandson, you turn fourteen today.  On your birthday, take this piece of old cloth.  Treasure it as a reminder: war isn’t as grand an adventure as you think.
        In war, men live and die.  At times, men get so tired of killing that they hunger to give mercy.
        I pass this secret on to you with love.

Yours,
Grandpa

Kit stared at the old cloth covered with his grandpa’s long-dried blood. The summer heat buzzed all around him but all he could feel was the frozen winter air of the Ardennes Forest.

Kit thought back to the packages beginnings, when he had asked Grandpa to send stories of his adventures in the war. Instead, for his birthday, he received truth.