Two American soldiers have taken cover in a foxhole during an offensive in France during ww2.

The enemy fire power is fierce, and they are unable to advance or retreat. Shells are zinging past them like wasps, and errant ricochets unnerve them. Mortar shells explode all around and the two men are sweating lest a shell might land atop of them. As the evening wears on and nerves become frazzled in the stifling heat, one of the men confides that he has to go to the bathroom really bad. "Number 1 or Number 2?" his friend asks. "Number 2." He says. "Well you can't do your business in here. There is no telling how long we'll be trapped in this foxhole before reinforcements arrive to liberate us. So you'll just have to hold it."

Nighttime falls, but the shelling does not let up. With daylight the two men peer outside to discover it would be another long day of hunkering down. As the minutes build into hours the one soldier finally blurts out, "Joe, I just can't hold it any longer. I've gotta go to the bathroom." Joe looks over at his companion who is ashen faced, and visibly sweating: "Well Slim, it appears that you have two choices. Take a crap in here and I shoot you, or go and do it out there and the Germans shoot you. Which will it be?"

"I've been considering that," says Slim. "Do you see that foxhole over yonder?" and he points it out. "I saw a mortar shell land atop of it yesterday and there's been no activity since, so I can safely say the fellas inside won't complain if I use it as a latrine. If you'll cover me, I think I can make it over , do my business, signal you, and then come back under your cover fire."

Joe agrees, and Slim makes a successful dash for the neighboring foxhole while he lays down the cover fire. "Damn if the lucky fool didn't make it," Joe swore. Half an hour passed as Joe waited for the signal from Slim. No Slim. An hour passed. Still no Slim. Two hours. Then Three hours. No Slim. Nightfall arrived and still no signal came from the other foxhole. "I guess Ol' Slim must have caught a bullet after all." He said remorsefully, and turned in for the night.

Come daylight, Joe's eyes were on the neighboring foxhole intently hoping for a signal from his friend. It never came. That day too passed as uneventfully as the one before it, and Joe was convinced Slim was dead. But come the next morning, Joe was amazed to see Slim signaling at him from the neighboring foxhole. Joe signaled back, and laid down a cover fire as Slim made his mad dash back. Diving inside just as a cavalcade of enemy bullets smashed into the sandbags.

"What the hell took you so long over there?" Joe asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Slim.

"Try me." Says Joe.

"Well pard, when I dove into that foxhole. I landed right on top of one of them Red Cross nurses. Her name was Sally, and she must be around nineteen years old, and her with the best figure I've seen on a woman since this war started."

"Damn your luck," says Joe. "What'd you do."

"What do you think?" Slim answered. "I was a man, she was a woman. We have been making sweet. sweet love from that moment on."

"You have been making love this entire time?" Joe asks.

"Damn straight." Slim says.

"Hot damn!" Joe stutters. "Do you suppose she'll be willing to give me a roll in the hay if I was to make a call over to that foxhole myself."

"She's not a woman to turn a man down, that's for sure." Assures Slim.

"Oh boy. Oh boy." Says Joe as sheds his heavy backpack. "You say she has a shapely figure. How is she for looks?"

"You know what pard," Slim answers. "I couldn't rightly say. That damn mortar had taken her head clean off."