Upon examining its contents, the man who found it decided that due to its explicit homosexual nature, it was a curiosity worth keeping as a secret souvenir of his experiences during the war. Upon his death in 1999, the diary was discovered among his papers by his gay grandson who, in turn, shared it with Ben Boxer. Its final entries, dated in December 1944, are reproduced here.

December 18, 1944
Dear Diary,

We got our orders this morning. Boy, it sure was a surprise! Us fellas thought we'd be in Germany by now showing those Krauts a thing or two, but the Jerrys counterattacked yesterday and threw thirty divisions at us--Sarge says maybe a quarter of a million men across the whole 85-mile Allied front, from southern Belgium to the middle of Luxembourg. Sarge says they're trying to split the Allies in two. He also told us that when we have to fight, we better fight like hell because the Jerrys are killing the prisoners they take. Yesterday, they massacred a bunch of our guys at Malmedy, not far from where we are. Shit, you can't even surrender anymore!

We clustered around the fire last night to keep from freezing in this fucking cold, and Sarge let us listen to Axis Sally on his radio. Boy, was that bitch happy about Hitler's surprise attack! "You're finished, gentlemen," she crowed. "You can't win. Here's some swing music to wish you farewell!" She played several tunes after that.

Sam and Billy jumped up and jitterbugged around the fire together till Sarge told 'em to sit down and keep still. "Some Jerry sniper's gonna get you for sure!" he growled. We sang back at the radio, too, that number where "Hitler's only got one ball, and Himmler's got no balls at all!" I wished Axis Sally could of heard us. She'd know then that we ain't whipped yet.

I'll give her this, though. She's got good taste in music. She ended her show with my favorite song, "The White Cliffs of Dover." I hum that tune all the time. "There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover, tomorrow when the world is free. There'll be joy and laughter and love ever after, just you wait and see." Jeez, it's like it was written for me. "Jimmy will go to sleep in his own little room again." Jimmy! That's me!

Yeah, someday I'll fly like a bluebird out of this hellhole called Europe. God, will that "tomorrow" ever come? I've been fighting my way through France and Belgium since D-Day last June. It feels more like a hundred years. And I haven't seen a bluebird yet.

Oh, I've seen plenty of other stuff, but I think the birds got scared away by the war. Shit! It scares me, too! I've seen our dead guys scattered in the woods and on the streets. I've had to hurry up and then been told to sit down and wait till the cold numbed my balls. I've waded through chow lines and been served up slop for soup. I've been through towns that look like they were mangled in a meat grinder.

Sarge took me aside sort of private-like this morning after he gave the orders to gather our gear and move out in battle formation. He's a crusty old guy as self-reliant as any man I ever knew, but he likes to talk to me. He told me he heard the Jerrys outnumbered us ten to one in this new frontal offensive of theirs and that yesterday our side lost thousands of guys. He put his hand on my knee and looked into my eyes. "None of us lives forever, Jimmy, but I'd like for you to try. Don't want to see anything happen to you."

It gave me a shiver up my spine when he touched me. Made me feel like an apple trembling on the branch of the tree in my yard back home. They say apples don't fall far from the tree. I didn't want Sarge to let go of me at all. I felt safe when he was next to me. I was sure he was immortal. He'd been in the service since World War I. As long as I stayed close to him, nobody could get to me.

I kept so close to him all day today that if he had of stopped real fast, the brakes in my feet would never have kept me from marching right up his ass. Oh, that would of been real nice! I don't even like to put such thoughts in you, Diary. If anybody ever reads you in this man's Army, I would surely be destroyed. But, hell, I could get my ass shot off while I sit here in the snow under a tree waiting for us to move on. So who cares? Anybody can read it after I'm dead! What can they do to me then?

To tell the Gospel truth, I don't know what the problem is. I've never been with a girl and I hope I'm not queer, but when I get next to a man like Sarge something goes wrong with me. Like my scoutmaster when I was a kid. We were out on bivouac for a weekend, and us scouts skinny-dipped in a stream. All of a sudden, the scoutmaster took off his clothes and jumped in, too. I like to died when I saw him nude. My dick rose underwater, and I had to stay in that cold frigging stream while the others horsed around with him naked on the bank. I couldn't let them see me hard, and it wouldn't go down--especially when they took their towels and rubbed him dry. It was a game to them, but serious business for me. I had to swim downstream and run into the woods and jack-off to get that fool thing down. I heard them holler and had to go back before they thought I got drowned.

I sure in hell was never interested in boys or men my age. Of course, around the guys I talk shit about fuckin' girls, but it don't mean a thing, like they say, unless you got that swing. Hehe! I guess if I ever came face to face with a pussy I might curl up and die. Out here on the battlefield, I keep my cover pretty good. Nobody ever sees me take a long look at Sarge when he whips that thing out to pee. I got this way of looking sideways. You'd never know I got my peepers on your dick if I was to pee alongside of you. Well, I wouldn't be looking anyway unless you were like 30, 40 years older than me. Don't know what that is. It ain't got a name, but I don't think it's "queer."

I liked to think sometimes about Sarge going a little farther than just touching my knee. Once,I caught my grandpa taking a nap when grandma was in the back yard. I was about 14, and I went over to their house to bring some aspirin to them when they ran out. I waltzed, and there was my grandpa snoring on the couch in his bathrobe and he had the biggest hard-on I ever saw! You just don't know how it hit me. I mean, in the groin. I got so stiff, and then Grandma came in and yelled at him to wake up and get out of the room. She was so upset she didn't notice what made my pants stick out. I slammed the aspirin bottle on the table and ran out the door. Neither one of them ever mentioned it again to me. What that did was make me realize a man doesn't get too old for sex. God, that made me feel good!

I hate to admit it, but I dreamed about my grandpa after that sometimes, and in the dream I dreamed I was on my belly and he was on top of me with that erection poking around, but I always woke up before anything happened. Now wouldn't that be a terrible thing? With your own grandfather?

There was this other old guy I saw naked last July during the Normandy Breakthrough. Everybody, even officers, had to go in for delousing showers, and I looked over at the officers' section. Lord, it like to blew my brains out of my head! I thought he was Ike--General Eisenhower, that is--whom I fucking adore. But it wasn't. Too much hair. Ike is mostly bald and keeps it crew cut around the sides. I sure do like a man without much hair on top. This guy turned out to be a full-bird colonel I found out later when he got dressed. He did look back at me funny. I thought at the time he was pissed because I had seen his dick. Officers don't like us draftees to get a load of their stuff. Us G.I.s are just sacks of shit to them. But now I look back on it, maybe he was thinking something else.

Hey, look at me! I'm gettin' hard! I'm so horny. Haven't had the strength or energy to beat my meat for a month. Gotta do something about that.

Boy, it's a good thing I write small. Even so, this dang diary ain't gonna last me to the end of the war! Oops! We got orders to move on. Good-bye, Diary. I hope we meet again.

December 24, 1944
Hello, Diary!

It sure is good to see you. We dang well nearly did not meet again. Boy, have I got a story to tell you!

The last time I wrote in you, we were just starting into the Battle of the Bulge. That's what they are calling it now. Here it is Christmas Eve, and the German offensive has opened a bulge some 50 miles into our Allied lines. Sarge heard over the radio that it has forced the biggest mass surrender of American soldiers since Bataan in the Philippines--some 4,000 men in a single day. Maybe there's so many, they've stopped killing the prisoners now. Who knows? Just don't get caught and find out, Sarge says. He only tells this kinda stuff to me.

"You're the smartest banana in the bunch," he said once and goosed me in the balls with his thumb. Oh, Sarge! Do it some more! Hehe! He's afraid such news would upset the other guys. What I know is that he has shared so much of his real self with me in the past week that I will never be the same again. It's been the crowning point of my life. Thank you, Sarge.

OK, Diary, here's the tale.

We've fought long and hard since December 17. I think that maybe before then I was a boy, but now I am a man. I guess that's right and proper. After all, I turned 21 on December 18. Didn't get to write me a happy birthday note in you, old friend, but I have to tell you there wasn't much cause for celebration that day. Oh, no! We lost 14 men, and 5 the next day, and 12 the next and so forth and then yesterday...oh, forgive me! I am crying, my friend!

Yesterday, we lost Sam and Billy! You remember the jitterbugs that night we listened to Axis Sally from Berlin? Well, they were marching just ahead of me, and, Diary, for the first time I have ever seen it, they were holding hands! I had always wondered about those two, to tell the truth. They never would share a foxhole with anybody but each other and so on. I guess yesterday they just decided what the hell. They decided not to hide anymore. I don't think anybody else saw them, not even Sarge because I was the rear guard, and they were close to me.

It happened as the sun went down. Sam drifted a few feet off the road to take a leak, so Billy and I slowed down. One shot rang out. We looked back at Sam. He was standing there, one hand on his cock, still pissing, and the other hand on his chest. He looked so stricken, like he'd had a heart attack. Then he dropped to his knees and pitched forward, his face buried in the snow.

Billy went crazy. "Oh, Sam, my Sam, my baby, my Sam, oh God don't let it be! Take me!" He ran toward him, and then another shot struck Billy to the ground. I took cover behind a tree. Billy kept crawling till he got to Sam. Sam was still alive when Billy reached him and turned his head and gave him the most beautiful smile. Billy's face moved close to Sam's. He put his arm across him, and they kissed. Their lips were still locked together when a German 88 artillery shell zoomed in and blew them to smithereens.

I was so struck with horror I threw all caution to the wind and jumped up and ran like hell with bullets zipping past me. I was carrying my M-1 and four extra bandoliers of ammunition over my shoulder. All of a sudden all the bandoliers slipped off and dropped to the ground. At that moment a barrage of German 88s opened up on us and a huge German Panzer rolled out of the woods. I had no chance to retrieve my ammo from the snow, and by now the combined German firepower was knocking my guys over like bowling pins.

I felt a sharp bite on my leg and fell just as Sarge burst through the barrage, snatched me by the arm and dragged me stumbling behind him like a rag doll, zigzagging around barbed wire barricades, crashing through fences and over two hills in hip-deep snow. It seemed like neither of us ever touched the ground.

At last I heard him shout: "Hang on, kid! I see a barn ahead!" He pushed me inside and slammed the door. I lay on a heap of straw. It was dark in there. The only sounds were our gasps for breath. I felt Sarge at my side.

"Were you hit bad, Jimmy?" he panted, his strong hands frisking my body gently to check it out for wounds.

"I don't think so," I said. "I've got a burning sensation at the back of my left calf."

His hands felt in the region. "It's just a graze," he said, "probably more from the heat of the bullet than from the bullet itself. You won't have more than a bruise, thank God!" His voice was filled with relief.

So I was OK. I thought of Sam and Billy. I told Sarge more or less how they died. I left out the kissing part. He remained silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice wavered. "Did they...were they...close together...when they...died?"

I could only assume that question indicated he knew they had been lovers. I spilled it out: "They died in each other's arms. They were kissing, Sarge. They were kissing when the 88 blew them up."

He sighed in the darkness. "Let me check around outside," he said. "See if there are any Krauts. I think we're the only survivors from our unit."

He left. He was gone for a long time. I started to worry. Was he coming back? I reached for my M-1, and then it dawned on me that I had not picked up my bandoliers. Did I have any ammo left? I felt around in my pockets. I had four rounds. I remembered that when Sarge rescued me, he had lost his bandoliers, too. If any Jerrys showed up, we were doomed.

He came in then. I decided not to tell him about the ammo. Maybe in the morning we could go back and find the bandoliers in the snow. Exhausted from terror, sorrow and our escape over the hills, I fell into dreamless sleep.

When I woke up, there was daylight creeping though the walls of the barn. I looked around. Sarge was gone. I noted that the structure had been lived in. Many things were scattered around. Who knew what people may have taken refuge here? Worried about Sarge, I got up and peered out the door. There was heavy fog. I couldn't see more than 20 feet away. The fog had brought some relief from the cold, snowy air. By comparison with the days before, it was almost warm.

Then I saw Sarge about 10 feet away standing next to a wooden basin or trough filled with water. He was wiping himself clean with a wet cloth. I nearly went into shock. All he had on was a cap he had found somewhere. No heavy helmet for a change. Otherwise, he was stark naked. The moment was too personal for me to speak. I really didn't know what to say, and I confess I had an overriding desire to enjoy every delicious moment of his nudity that I could, without his knowing I was watching.

He finished his sponge bath and sat down on a bench alongside the barn. His cock was a beauty, and it was hard from rubbing it with the cloth. He spread his legs and fondled it. It seemed to me that he was working it up for masturbation. His face took on a dreamy look. Yes, old Sarge was jacking-off!

Acting on an instinctive impulse, I stepped out of the barn quietly and sidled toward him so he would not know that I had come out. I was irresistibly drawn to him as if he were a magnet. A lot of things passed through my mind at that moment, Diary. I knew I was in love with him as I never could be with any woman or any other man. I had never felt such torturous burning in my mind, my heart or my loins. I knew it was love.

Another thing I thought of then was that we were the only survivors of our unit. We had been spared. Why, but for each other?

I also thought of Sam and Billy. They went out like a light, together forever.

"Sarge," I said. "Don't waste it. Give to me." Another 30 divisions of German soldiers could not have stopped me from saying those words.

"I thought you were asleep, son," he said, "but I'm glad you found me like this. I stayed outside so long last night because I couldn't stop weeping for Sam and Billy, and then it came to me that I was also weeping for you and me. We may be next, and we may go out without even a kiss. I love you, lad. I always have. When you first joined the unit, I ached for you, and since then I've been frightened you might die, or I would, before I could tell you what I feel for you. What do you feel for me?"

I was standing in front of him now. "I feel everything a man can feel for someone he desperately loves. Things I have never felt before. Who knows how much time we have? I don't want to hold back anymore. Now may be our only time."

I leaned down and took his penis into my mouth. What a wonderful sensation! He stroked my cheeks and breathed a long, deep sigh before lifting my head away.

"There's another way for me to get inside you, Jimmy, if you're willing to handle a little pain."

"Anything," I said, "as long as it's with you."

We went back into the barn.

"Shed your battle fatigues and bend over that table," he ordered me, "and spread the cheeks of your ass. I'm going to put on my undershirt and fatigue shirt. The chill is getting to this old man."

I did all that, then lay on the hard surface on my belly, wondering what could be next. I had heard the term "sodomite" and knew a guy could somehow rape another man, but I wasn't sure what it involved. When I had thought of Sarge and the other older men I had fantasized over in my life, it was sort of cuddly and warm. I wanted to be kissed and held close. I wanted them to wrap around me with their arms and legs. I knew about blowjobs. Guys were always joking around about that. They called queers "cocksuckers." Wasn't much mystery in that.

"It's OK, Sarge," I said over my shoulder, "whatever you're going to do."

He was spitting on his fingers. He inserted them between the cheeks of my ass. I tensed up. It was a reflex. He stopped probing and started kissing my backside.

"Wait a minute, Sarge," I protested. "Maybe I should take a shit first. Also, I ain't clean. I've had nothing but sponge baths out of my helmet for a month with these cruddy battle fatigues still on! I know I stink."

"Quiet, soldier! You're under my command." He was gruff, but although I couldn't see his face, I knew there was a smile on it. "Last night while you were sleeping, I took down your pants and gave you a scrub. I had to be careful. You got hard. I didn't want, like you said to me outside, to waste the good stuff alone! As for taking a shit, we've been on D-rations for two weeks! There ain't much in your belly to shit! K-rations give you a load, but only the generals and other top brass fart the Big K in combat when they drive by us dogfaces and fan the breeze with their royal waves. That ain't gasoline you smell from the ass of their jeeps! Don't worry about it, Jimmy. Old Dad here can handle a little shit on his dick. Just settle down and enjoy the ride. I'm the best bronco buster you ever met."

He kissed and licked my buns and gave them a few sharp slaps that hurt at first, but after awhile, my ass got sort of numb. Finally, he whispered in a choked-up, sexy voice, "I think my teddy bear is ready now. Turn over on your back, Jimmy. Show Daddy you can take it like a man."

I rolled over. His cock was standing hard. Mine was, too. I had a good idea of what was happening, now. I shook like a leaf when he lifted my legs and moved in closer to press his sweet dick against mine! With a slight change in the words and meaning of Winston Churchill's famous remark, this was our finest hour.

He looked down at me with tears in his eyes. "We owe this moment to Sam and Billy. They came to me when they first realized they were in love. They didn't know what to do. They were afraid if the others found out they would be targeted as queers and maybe shot by their own comrades on patrol. I have seen that happen myself in the trenches back in World War I.

"I told them to keep it to themselves and not be obvious, and I would do what I could to help. I covered for them many times, and sent them out on patrols where I knew they would be safe and could be alone and do what they wanted to do. Do you know what Sam told me one day about you? He said Jimmy loves you, Sarge--don't let him get away. Sam was a wise old owl for a man of 32. His Billy was only 24. I knew after he had shared his observation with me that I had to protect you and find a way to be with you like this."

I got tearful, too. "Now is the hour, Sarge. I'm ready. Let's make love."

Sarge bent over and kissed me on the lips, then asked me to rub my spit on his throbbing tool. He raised back up and slipped it in. One quick gasp from me, and he was in as far as he could go. His cock was so hot it felt like a goddam poker up my ass, but my innards wrapped around it like a mother's arms when her only son comes home. I wished to God my butt could swallow him whole and keep him inside me for the rest of my days.

"Up Hershey Highway," Sarge grinned. "Does it hurt?"

"No, Sarge, I think we were made for each other."

"Think of the biggest turd you ever shit," he said, "and push like that from inside while I keep shoving in. That will open up your sphincter and make the fucking feel real good. Here we go, baby. Daddy's gonna take you for a ride."

He sure did, Diary. With my pecker creaming pre-cum like never before, I slid back and forth on the tabletop thanking God I wasn't in a bed. I'd have cracked my noggin on the headboard and scrambled my brains for breakfast! Jeez, it felt so good! He never let up, just kept pounding away, and I did like he said, pushing down from inside. His balls were flopping on my ass. His hands wrapped around my ankles and spread my legs wide apart.

My dick bounced against my belly like a rubber ball.

"Play with it," I begged him. "Make me cum."

I grabbed my ankles, and he took my dick in both hands and rolled it between them real fast the way we used to make fire with a stick in the Scouts. It was an unbelievable sensation. I expected the crackle of sparks, but it was cum that boiled out of my guts. It shot out like a barrage of 88-shells, spraying above both of us and raining back down. No sooner had I emptied my well than the ecstasy hit him, too.

"Give it to me, hotshot!" I yelled.

His cumming was like another artillery barrage.

It's a wonder we came through it alive. He slipped out and fell over me panting. With his strong arms tightly wrapped around me, he covered my face with kisses. Our chests and bellies slid against each other, coated with gooey cum. Our dicks were still draining semen. It was the only sex I've ever had with anything except my hand, but I swear, Diary, it just can't get any better than that, not when there's as much love between the partners as between Sarge and me.

I guess I was so exhausted, and happy to be in his arms, that I fell asleep as if that barn was in heaven instead of hell.

A couple of hours later, I woke up. Sarge was gone. So were his battle fatigues and his M-1. I wondered why he didn't wake me. I dressed in uniform, too, stepped outside and took a look around. The fog was lifting, but neither Sarge nor anyone was in sight. I could hear shelling in the distance, but I couldn't tell where.

That's when I decided to fill you in on everything, Diary, to tell you all these things before it gets dark.

Now that I've done that, I'm not sure what to do next. Wait for Sarge, I guess, and be ready to go back to war. Meanwhile, I'll rub some dirt on my face for camouflage. I'll look like that cartoon character "Sad Sack" in The Army Weekly. But call me "Happy Sack" today!

Jeez! I dang near forgot this is Christmas Eve! Tomorrow's Christmas Day! I sure got the best Christmas present of my life today from my own Santy Claus! What a celebration Sarge and me will have tonight!

So long, Diary! May we meet again!

Later on Christmas Eve,
December 24, 1944
Dear Diary,

I don't have much time. Sarge came back. He said he left when the fog began to lift to see if the way was clear for us to get to the Allied side. He ran into a pocket of Jerrys on the other side of the hill. He used up all his ammo. They chased him back here. He thought he'd lost them in the dark. He thought he was home free, but one of the bastards saw him head for the barn and shot him down as he came in the door.

He's been hurt bad, Diary. He can't walk, and his fatigues are soaked with blood. We're surrounded by Germans, Diary, but we won't go down without a fight.

Hey, Diary, it's dark outside, but there's plenty of light in here. They've set fire to the barn. They've lit our Christmas tree, Diary! Sarge and me are gonna have our celebration after all! I'm gonna drag him out the door with me. Damned if I'll let the Krauts burn my man alive!

You're going with us, too, Diary. I'm gonna toss you to the side. Maybe someone will find you someday in the barnyard and read you and find out what happened here.