Chapter 1

I wrote this during Maths so please don't really expect it to be good. I know it sucks, but at least leave some constructive criticisms. But I'm a bit volatile and hot headed so don't be afraid, either, if I swear to come after you with a excecutioner's axe and shout something about decapitation. I appreciate Reviews, really. It's my first time writing a fanfic excluding the poetic stuff so try not to go hard on me. I mean, I'm only eleven! No offence to those Popeye Wynn lovers out there, I just portrayed him as a bit of a scaredy cat 'cause I felt it needed some comic relief. Like I said, no offence to anyone. I hope you guys'll enjoy it. I worked hard on this. Yes, fifteen minutes is considered working very hard.

Disclaimer: Yeah, disclaimers. Who could live without 'em. I don't own anybody in this story – not yet, anyway. I don't want to offend anyone with what I write so if I make a mistake, please tell me so that I can change it. Can you change what you've written? I hope so.

Rated: Well, this story's gonna get wackier and more romantically inclined which I can tell you is gonna be one helluva fiasco seeing I've never written romance stories before, and I'm only starting now since I can see almost every story here's got at least a bit of romance, and there's a teensy bit of swearing, I'm gonna rate it…um…I dunno, K+ for now. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The Longest Day

It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather should we thank God that such men lived.

-General George S. Patton

Bursts of gunfire. Screams of the stricken. And the eternal silence of death.

Donald Malarkey gripped his M1 tightly staring with disbelief and utter confusion at the disaster that this was turning out to be. He had gone into France with trepidation, hesitancy and fear, but at least he had some confidence that the large scale operation would succeed. After looking at the giant invasion armada, who wouldn't?

All his courage and confidence at the beginning had now been dispelled by fear and wide eyed amazement at the scene before him.

Don could only stare in horror and morbid fascination as paratroopers coming down got shot down or sucked into the raging, hungry fires. Although he didn't know it, he was staring at the village of Ste. Mere Eglise, and F Company of the 82nd had just accidentally parachuted to their doom.

Pulling away from the terrible sight Don heard a rustle of leaves. Immediately cautious and alert he clicked his cricket and whispered "Flash!" softly.

No answer.

All his danger bells ringing, Don stuck his M1 – which he, being from the mortar squad with no real weapon had taken from a dead trooper – in front of him while pushing aside the bushes tentatively. A dark shape materialized in front of him and Don, white faced, gun pointed at the man's chest, said, "Don't move!"

The man whirled around. "Jesus, Malark, don't shoot!" he muttered feverishly. With a start Don realized that the mysterious figure was his pal, Bill Guarnere, from the same outfit as he was.

"Bloody hell! Why didn't you click the goddamn cricket or just answer me?" hissed Don angrily. The excitement had gone and the adrenalin had stopped flowing through his body.

His friend's sheepish smile told Malarkey what he wanted to know. "I lost the cricket part of the cricket. Besides, I didn't even hear you," Bill said, grinning. "I was transfixed by the…" It was just too difficult to describe, so Bill let the subject drop.

With a noncommittal grunt Don signaled Bill to follow him even though the latter was senior in rank. Bill willingly followed Don, trudging through the dense foliage off the main road and slushing through the flooded areas.

As they waded through they passed some floating bodies. Their different uniforms helped tell the two soldiers whether they were American or German.

Pulling up a dead trooper with a familiar Screaming Eagle shoulder patch Bill glanced disbelievingly at his face.

"Jesus, Don, c'mere. Looks like ol' Cooper bought it," he remarked, voice clear of emotion except a hint of surprise. In war there was no time to mourn anyone. Wars could not be won without fighting. Inevitably friends get killed. You have to resign yourself to the fact that you and your buddies are probably going to die.

Not wanting to stare at the dead man – who a few hours ago had been smiling and talking as if he had not a care in the world – Don motioned Bill to stop staring and continue walking. With a shrug Bill dropped Cooper – splosh! – into the water and followed Don.

A sudden burst of gunfire came from their right, making both men instinctively duck. Don forgot that he was in a flooded area and came up for air quickly. Besides him he could see Bill doing the same.

"Bloody hell!" yelled Malarkey over the noise. "Must've been that splash that tipped 'em off!" he sent a withering glare in Bill's direction.

"Alright! Alright," said Bill, raising his hands in mock surrender. Another burst of gunfire sent Bill diving.

Since they were pretty close to the shore Don beckoned to Bill and both of them crept towards land. There they got down into prone position and leopard crawled until they were sure the machine gun was no longer on them.

5 minutes later Don had outstripped Bill and was staring back at him. "C'mon!" he began, but got no further because he had collided with a solid figure. Both went sprawling and Bill jammed his Thompson into the second man's face, shouting, "Stick 'em up!"

"Thunder! Thunder!" yelled the man frantically, his hands shooting up into the air at the sight of Bill's weapon. Bill snickered then stopped as he stared disbelievingly at his comrade's face. "Golly, that you, Pop?" he asked inquisitively, positive that it was his friend Popeye Wynn. "I never knew you were that scared of me."

Trying to look dignified again, Popeye said, "Just, y'know, bein' cautious." He looked down, then back at Bill again, and added, "Oh, and just for the record, I did not piss in my pants."