Snapshot: November 1950: Benton
by Gilda Lily

The cold didn't bother him as it did the Americans. Or at least some of the Americans. Fraser flexed his fingers. Still in good shape. His acute hearing was listening for sounds of enemy activity. This close to the Yalu, it didn't hurt to be prepared. Yes, prepared. A lack of preparation by the advising troops had cost dearly. He closed his eyes as the images of dead soldiers and civilians crowded his brain. Ruined villages. Raw sewage running through the streets of Seoul. The smell of death everywhere. He shuddered.

It hurt most not to be able to help. Oh, the U.N. had doctors and nurses over here, but there were so many refugees! Uprooted from their ancestral homes, these people were bewildered and terrified. Fraser only wished that he could help.

The frigid wind blew again. He glanced down the line of hunkered men. Fraser was very aware of the man sitting only scant inches away from him. This loud, brash Yankee has stolen his heart. He loved the man's grace, the way he moved, the incredible green of his eyes. And he had a heart of gold. Fraser was certain of it. Oh, how he wanted to ravish the delicious body under all that fleece-lined coat and khaki. How he wanted to be a true liaison and show just how they could conduct Canadian/American, um, relations. No doubt that Ray would be highly offended if he knew. Americans could be quite prudish, especially the men. He had to be very careful. He treasured the relationship that they had built up over the months since that Sunday morning in Seoul and the first wave of invaders had come. So much blood, so much heartache in the months since. Heartache.

"Um, Benny?"

Fraser turned. "What?"

Ray gave him a nervous smile. "I..."

"What did you call me?"

Frowning, Ray said, "Benny."

In a whisper-soft tone, Fraser said, "No one's ever called me by a nickname before."

"Yeah, well, this one fits."

Fraser...no, Benny...turned back to his assigned task, his heart racing in his chest, a smile on his face.

End