The following is my answer to the challenge of 'cold'. I had an idea in mind, but it really didn't come together until I read Moonshadow's entry "Cold". Her chilling story tells of Mick remembering those left behind, fallen on the battlefield so many years ago. My story goes back to that time, to a place where war raged and peace was a dream not yet realized.
A/N - This is a sad story, but one that tries to convey what it must have been like for those who fought in Ardennes' frozen trenches. Please, do not read if you feel it will upset you.
As always, the characters are not mine, but from time to time, I learn from them.
A Cold Day in Hell
The Ardennes Region of France – December 24, 1944
Cold…..so cold…it’s like living in a damned freezer……
The sentry moved stiffly along the snow covered trench, one of many who kept watch on this holiest of nights. Unlike Bethlehem’s first Christmas eve, here, there was no joyous anticipation of salvation and certainly no peace. Perhaps out of deference for the holiday, the relentless shelling had finally ceased, giving the tired and wounded on both sides a few hours of much needed, albeit temporary respite.
A dense cloud cover shrouded the waxing moon’s meager light, an indication the weather wouldn’t be clearing any time soon, bringing more cold, more snow, more misery to those already overwhelmed. Worse, without moonlight, any night movement would be difficult to detect, making a sentry’s job even tougher. As tired as they all were, they knew they had to stay alert; close your eyes without someone watching your back, and you might never open them again.
Scanning the length of the trench, Mick could see others keeping watch as well. Ray was somewhere up the line a bit, never too far away from his life-long friend. In between, their comrades huddled together, resting in whatever way they could. The lucky ones would catch a couple hours of sleep, while others would pass the time talking about what loved ones were doing back home. Mick’s own thoughts turned to the midnight church service his family would attend, their prayers for their son offered along with those of so many others. Later Christmas day, they’d gather at his parents’ home and exchange the few presents the austerity of war would allow. His seat at the dinner table would remain empty, a reminder to all that a loved one was absent, yet not forgotten.
Growing up in southern California, Mick had often dreamed of waking up to a white Christmas only to be perpetually disappointed. Palm trees were poor substitutes for the snow covered spruces he’d seen as a child in books and later in movies. After enduring weeks of Europe’s harsh winter weather, though, Mick longed for a warm LA Christmas, palm trees and all.
If I ever get out of this alive, I never want to see snow again. I’d give anything to be home now, walking on the beach, feeling the sun on my face, just being warm again. I’d give even more to be free of the stench of blood, the sight of the dead and dying. I want to live.
Being so cold and scared made Mick appreciate things he’d previously taken for granted; a roof over his head, a comfortable bed, a woman’s soft, warm body nestled against his own. That last thought only made his aching loneliness worse and he quickly shifted his attention back to the task at hand. Christ, what he wouldn’t give for a smoke right now! He’d burned through the last of his days ago, yet still found himself craving the momentary comfort they gave him.
Shivering now, Mick’s breath fogged as he blew on his cold-stiffened fingers. His watch was nearly over, and he was looking forward to catching a few hours of sleep, to closing his eyes and leaving this frozen nightmare behind. It seemed an eternity ago that he and Ray had shipped out together, not really knowing what they were getting into or how long they’d be away. As far as Mick was concerned, they’d been gone far too long, and thoughts of returning home to friends and family were all that kept him going. Ray had a wife waiting for him, an enviable incentive for his friend to stay alive. When Mick got home, he'd would find a good, loving woman like Lila, settle down and have a houseful of kids. He’d seen enough of the world in the last few months to know he’d never want to leave home again.
His watch over, the tired medic trudged over to a sleeping comrade. The kid was from southern Texas and found the cold even more unbearable than Mick did. At 18, Eddie was young, too young to face the horror of war. He’d shipped over five months ago and between the harsh winter conditions and his own terror, Eddie had lost 20 pounds he couldn’t afford. He should be home tending to whatever chores his mother had for him, sweating under he hot Texas sun, not here, freezing on this field of death. Even though they were only a few years older, Mick and Ray had ‘adopted’ Eddie, trying to ease his time on the battlefield, hoping to get him back to Texas safe and sane.
Mick found Eddie curled up on the frozen ground, covered by the remnants Mick’s army-issue blanket as well as his own. Normally, Mick would have found sleeping on snow impossible, but he learned quickly that when you’re exhausted, you can sleep almost anywhere. As gently as he could, Mick tried to wake his sleeping comrade.
“Hey, Eddie! Wake up!! You’re on watch.”
The huddled mass never moved.
Mick crouched down, willing his frozen fingers to unwrap from his gun. Grasping the boy's shoulder, he shook him gently.
“Eddie? Come on man, I’m beat. I just need a couple of hours of shut-eye. Time to rise and shine.”
Still, there was no response from the sleeping form.
“Eddie?” Mick shook a little harder, his gut clenching as Eddie’s frost covered eyes remained shut. Hesitantly pulling the worn glove from his hand, Mick rolled his companion over and checked for a pulse.
There wasn’t one.
Whether cold, fear or both had taken this young life, Mick couldn’t tell. In the end, it didn’t matter. Eddie was gone and would never see the Texas plains again. His mother's blue star would turn to gold, yet her broken heart would never mend.
When the sun rose in a few hours, he’d take care of Eddie. For now, Mick just collapsed beside his comrade, feeling his tears fall for a kid he’d known only a few months, yet one he knew he’d never forget. Wrapping himself in his blanket, Mick sought comfort in the angel’s message that first Christmas eve.
‘Peace on Earth to men of good will.’
Eddie had found peace, but paid a terrible price. As exhaustion finally claimed him, Mick silently prayed that no one else would have to.
- you may not have intended it, but I found this is an incredibly moving anti-war statement. The darned futility of it all. 
Where I live, snow is inevitable in the winter, and I find myself less willing or capable of dealing with it. Thinking back to the conditions during the Battle of the Bulge, men on both sides endured ungodly cold and snow for weeks on end and had no choice but to deal with it. Some, like Eddie, couldn't, and over a period of time their lives were slowly drained from them and death was the only release. 
It wasn't really intended to be anti-war, but having lived through a few, perhaps my own feelings about the futility of it all colored the work. It is ironic, though, that having survived such conditions, Mick loses his life not on a field of battle, but in the on the bridal bed.