So this is my first Band of Brothers fanfic, and my first posted fanfic for a long while. I wanted to put it up just to see how it would take. I may or may not continue it, it depends on how it goes and reviews and all that. But yeah. I hope you like it!

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I was bouncing around on my seat in a moving vehicle. The second thing I noticed was all the other bodies crowded around me, bumping and pressing into whoever was sitting beside them.

I started to panic quietly. What was happening? Where was I? Where am I going? This can't be happening again. It can't. 'Please God no not again!' I try to focus but everything was fuzzy. The air was dank and musty. I remembered my breathing; I try to do what the doctor said to do when I began to feel the panic.

Breath in through the nose -2-3-4

Hold -2-3-4

Exhale through the mouth -2-3-4

Wait -2-3-4

I tried to stay still to not draw attention to myself. These men around me were strangers and I didn't know if I could trust them.

In -2-3-4

Hold -2-3-4

Out -2-3-4

Wait -2-3-4

I continued my routine and I felt the panic slowly ebb away, clearing my mind just enough so I could finally think. The more I breath and calm down the more I notice. There was a soft murmur in the vehicle. Men were conversing with each other, some were smoking. I realized that the smoke contributed to the fuzziness of everything. Others were still asleep like I had been minutes ago. I also realized that no one else was panicked, no one was scared. Searching their faces they looked, if I could put a word to it, anxious – nervous yet excited. The more I breathed the easier it was to pick out details. The others in the truck – I could only assume it was a truck – were all men from what I could see. They were also all wearing the same kind of clothes, like a dated army uniform. A quick look down and I saw I'm wearing the same thing. At my feet and the feet of all the other men are drab green duffel bags.

Things slowly start to click together.

'Military, definitely. Army personnel transport. But why the uniforms?' They looked like they belong in World War II. I tried to remember what had lead up to my waking in the truck. I think back but it doesn't make any sense to me. 'I was on leave. I was home. Why am I here? Where is here?' I wanted to ask somebody but given the circumstance I wasn't sure if I should. Everyone else seemed to know what was going on. And if they didn't know where they were going, which I'm betting that they did, then they were comfortable enough not knowing.

Instead of trying to figure it out by myself, and instead of asking, I decide to eavesdrop to try and get intel. I focus on the conversation of the men opposite me.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be some of the toughest training they have to offer. That's why everyone is a volunteer, they didn't want to scare anyone off by forcing it on them I guess," One man said. I looked to his nametag, which stood out white in the soft glow of multiple cigarettes. Tipper it read in bold stitching. The man next to him, a glance at his nametag told me he was Mellet, gave a puff on his own cigarette. "Christ. Do you think all this will be worth the extra fifty they're giving us? I bet they're paying us more because they know we've got to be crazy to actually volunteer."

They both laughed in agreement. More pieces were coming from my fuzzy memory and clicking in ways that shouldn't be possible. There were a few things I knew for sure, however.

1) We were in a military personnel transport truck

2) We were dressed in WWII era uniforms

3) The information regarding pay and volunteering pointed even more towards WWII

4) The information regarding pay and volunteering pointed more specifically toward the paratroopers of that time

5) An Einstein-Rosen bridge may or may not be involved in whatever was going on. Fucking wormholes. But I was willing to suspend my disbelief for the moment.

6) If the aforementioned points were true, I was thoroughly fucked.

'Talk about six impossible things before breakfast' I thought. Looking down at my own nametag in curiosity I sigh in relief when I see the familiar Masters stitched on it. No less than a minute later I felt the truck start to slow down and come to a stop with a jerk. This caused whoever was to my left to push into me and I to push into whoever was on my right. The flap in the rear of the truck was pushed up and the soft light of either dawn or dusk hit our faces. There was an officer staring us down as the tailboard lowered allowing us all to trickle outside. When I hit the ground I finally noticed the stiffness of my apparently brand-spanking-new boots. It was going to be hell to break them in.

"As of right now it is zero-five-hundred hours." The officer's voice carried spectacularly over everyone. They all quieted immediately. "You will have until zero-five-thirty to get to your barracks and unpack your duffel bag. Trunks have been provided to you already. Find your name and you will find your bunk. Find your bunk and you will find the only place you might find solace here at Camp Toccoa. Do you understand?"

There was a conglomeration of voices that replied 'okay' and 'yeah' and a few who actually said 'yes sir.' I had to hold myself back from yelling out 'Yes, Sir' as loud as I was expected to. As soon as he said "Toccoa" I knew where I was, but more importantly I knew when I was. And it was not looking good for me. It was dangerous to stand out right now.

"When you reply to someone it's "Yes, Sir" get used to it. If you're from California "Yes, Sir." If you're from Philadelphia "Yes, Sir." Not "yeah" "yup" "okay," I know it's okay. Now do you understand?"

This time I was more comfortable yelling out "Yes, Sir," as was everyone else. Nothing like a chewing out two minutes in to get you at least somewhat straight. "We are so fucked," I heard the man next to me mutter to himself as we started walking. A quick glance at his nametag had me almost tripping. Luz. As the final pieces clicked into place in my head I had to agree with him. But I changed a pronoun. "We" aren't so fucked. "I" am so fucked. Einstein-fucking-Rosen bridge is right on the money apparently.

Walking over to the barracks was the easy part. Figuring out which one I belonged was… also surprising easy. 'Easy. Ha. Is it too early to start making puns?' I asked myself. I decided no. If this was really happening, if I was really going to be a part of one of the most famous regiments - one of the most famous companies - in Army history then I was going to make the most of it. That is, as long as I'm not actually in a coma and this is all in my head. But I had a feeling it wasn't. Anyway, the first barrack I walked into and searched had a trunk with my name on it in front of a bed in the corner. Along with my name was also my rank. 'Private? I've never been a private.' It was strange for me to even see it; I was a First Lieutenant last time I checked. As I began to empty my duffel into the trunk more men started to trickle in. I would like to say I recognized about half of them by their faces alone.

Liebgott, Lipton, Luz, Malarkey, Martin, Muck, Perconte, Talbert, Tipper, and Toye.

Back in West Point – the reason I was unfamiliar with being a private – some of the other cadets and I would have this tradition of watching the miniseries Band of Brothers every year together on every on-campus holiday. Labor Day, Columbus Day, Veterans Day, hell even Presidents Day. Which is why I could recognize these men by their faces. They looked like the actors who portrayed their namesake. I confess, I was confused. Was I actually in the past or was I in the show? Was I in both? I decided not to bother with figuring it out. I was rolling with the punches at this point.

I continued transferring the contents of my duffel to my trunk and saw everyone else doing the same. I noticed Malarkey occupied the bunk beside mine. It was the most surreal moment I had been through since the incident. I could feel my back pull as I thought about it. But I pushed that thought to the back of my head and focused on making my things immaculately organized in my trunk.

I had just finished when someone called out "Hey guys, look at that." Tipper, I recognized, was standing on his bunk looking out the windows that ran above the lockers. Everyone moved over to my side of the barrack to also stand on bunks and look out. "I'll bet that when we finish the training program here, the last thing they'll make us do will be to climb to the top of that mountain." Currahee stood proud, dominating the landscape. Some of the other men agreed with Tipper and moved back to their own bunk. I voiced my, let's call it an opinion, on the matter.

"I doubt it," everyone turned towards me. "I bet they'll make us run it before the week is out." I knew they would.

"Oh yeah," It was Liebgott who spoke up. "What makes you say that, uh," he glanced at my trunk. "Masters?"

I shrugged. "Drew. Call me Drew. And it's just a feeling. I don't see why they wouldn't take advantage of it for training while they can."

He was about to reply when the door burst open and the infamous Lieutenant Sobel came bounding in blowing a whistle. "FALL IN!" he yelled. I was standing at attention at the foot of my bed in a second. Everyone else scrambled to do the same, all of them startled by the unexpected intrusion. But I had long since been trained to react with due haste in situations like this. Sobel stared us down like he was a predator and we were the prey. He stalked up and down the line of bunks, pausing every so often to try and intimidate a certain person. I was one of those people. He stood in front of me but I kept my face straight and my eyes forward, not even the slightest bit bothered by his presence. He looked down his hooked nose at me, willing me to mess up. But I wouldn't. When he paced back to the door he turned to address us. "Change into your PT uniform. That mountain on your doorstep is three miles to the top and three miles to the bottom. We're running it. You have two minutes to fall in outside." He left, slamming the door behind him.

I immediately turned to retrieve shorts from my trunk. I stripped off my jacket and was grateful I was already wearing a white shirt because honestly I wasn't even thinking about that. It would be something to worry about later when I wasn't under a time constraint. A quick feel and I discovered bandages under the shirt. 'I hardly had to worry about this before.' Stripping off my pants I quickly pulled my shorts over the army issued boxers I was wearing. Convenience was on my side this morning. I was one of the first ones done and slipped into the role I knew as a Lieutenant. "Come on men, hurry up! You have one minute to get outside – Let's go, let's go! Move it!" Inspired by my words, or freaked out that a "private" was taking charge inside the barrack, they dressed faster and high-tailed it out the door. I made sure I was the last one out, falling in the back of the block they had made with a few moments to spare. I saw the other barracks that contained Easy members were also out and ready in block formation.

Sobel came around the corner in his own PT uniform and looked almost taken aback when he saw everyone was there. He stalked to the front of the block and lead us to the base of the mountain. "You will follow my lead. You will take the exact path that I take. I will not allow shortcuts to be taken in my company." He turned and started running up the path and we diligently followed. It was grueling pace for the first time running. Grueling for most anyway. This was a hard pace to keep for me only because I was slowing down to not completely over take everyone. My conditioned legs and determination begged me to go faster. I probably could have made this run in the fifty minutes Easy would eventually be able to do. This also wasn't my first time running this mountain. Memories of when I was sixteen and my dad taking me here surfaced in my mind.

I had cried when I made it to the top and touched the stone for the first time. I cried for all the men who had done it before. For all the men who could no longer do it. I cried for the bravery they held when facing what they had to for their country. They were more than men, they were hero's. So I cried for them and all they went through.

And now as I run beside the men I had only dreamed of becoming like, I felt the urge to cry again. But I didn't. I wanted to be brave like them so I would be.

"Hey, Masters," someone called from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Luz.

"I told you, call me Drew," I corrected him.

He sped up a little to run beside me. He was panting harshly while I was only winded. We were almost at the top. "Drew. How did you know we were gonna be running this god-forsaken mountain?" he asked, clearly struggling to get the words out. "Are you psychic or something?"

I huffed out a laugh. "Or something," I said to answer his question.

As we got farther to the top the path became thinner; everyone had to get in a single file line to fit. When I finally got to the top I was one of the first ones to touch the stone. It was a great feeling to do it again. The run back down the mountain was leaps and bounds easier. There was small talk between the men and me. Some from my own barrack like Malarkey, Muck, and Luz were introduced as Don, Skip, and George. Some from other barracks like Randleman and Guarnere were introduced as Bull and Bill.

At the bottom of Currahee we were instructed to fall in and wait at attention until everyone had arrived. It had to have been at the least another half hour before everyone was accounted for. Everyone who had just arrived was still breathing heavily. Those who had a chance to cool down while waiting were breathing steady again.

Sobel, of course, yelled at us for our incompetence. "Two hours. It took two hours for everyone to make it back. That is not acceptable! Do I have a bunch of weaklings in my company!? I will not tolerate scrawny men who will only drag Easy down! Tell me now if you can't handle it. We'll send you back home so you can cry to your mommies about how hard being a paratrooper was!" He went on for another minute until he ordered us to fall out for breakfast.

When we got into the mess hall there were men from the other companies already there. It didn't seem like they had a morning run; they were still dressed in in what they arrived in. They were probably lucky enough to have had a morning lecture. Needless to say we drew attention to ourselves, meandering through the door later than everyone else, dressed for PT and already sweating through our clothes. Ignoring them we filed toward the cooks, grabbed a tray, and waited for food to be slopped on our plates. Coffee accompanied the potato looking patty… thing, as well as toast and eggs. We snagged the last few empty tables and immediately stared chowing down, conversations forgotten in our hunger. It might not have been the kind of breakfast I was used to but I never left good food to waste. Everything was gone from my plate in ten minutes.

After breakfast we were ordered to change back into our ODs. Those of us in Easy were finally given our introduction lecture. It wasn't anything too serious. They gave us a rundown of what was expected of us, what was going to happen training wise, and then a warning of if we fail anything at any point we will be kicked out of the paratrooper program and we couldn't come back. Basic stuff. It took about another two hours to complete.

After the lecture it was back into our PT gear. We were separated into our platoons and sent off for calisthenics. This is what I was actually looking forward to. I could excel at this, I trained myself to go above and beyond what was expected of me. There was another reason I didn't mind this, and his name was Richard Winters. While I already knew his reputation as the man everyone looked up to and admired – he was the heart of Easy – I felt honored to witness his work in person. 'But is this really in person? Am I actually here?' I found myself once again ignoring the nagging in my head. I fell too easily into my military mindset and focused on the warm-ups. We started with jumping jacks. We were in sync for the most part. After that was push-ups with our hands a little more than shoulder width apart. Winter's told us to do as many as we could to the same cadence and drop out when we got to our max. Some of the scrawnier guys went to 10, some went to 15 or 20. The men who dropped out encouraged those who were still going. At 30 I was the last one going. The guys who knew me were cheering the loudest.

"Alright Drew!" That was Luz.

"Keep it going Masters." That was Lip.

I stopped at 40, ten short of my normal max I can make in two minutes. I still didn't want to stand out too much but I also wanted to dominate. I was conflicted to say the least.

When I got off the ground a few men clapped me on the back. "Nicely done, Private," Winters called to me. I looked over at him and nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

When Winters called us back to formation we did squats. Then it was back on the ground for sit-ups. This time after 40 I was the last one going, the men encouraging me again. I stopped at 50, 15 short of my max in two minutes. The cadence forced me to slow down but I didn't mind, I was still determined to be the last one going. I knew the guys could see a challenge in me and I was going to play their game until I won. Up off the ground we did in-place lunges and moved to an area with pull-up bars set up.

Pull-ups were the bane of my existence. Even though I could do more than the average expected of me I still hated that I couldn't do more. I hated how much more I had to work to get where I am. The main reason I'm as good as I am was because I worked harder out of spite. I wanted to prove a point. And I'll be damned if I wasn't going to do it now too. There were only five bars set up so everyone filed into a line behind them. I was 6th in line for the bar in the middle. The guys in front of me got an average between 5 and 8. When it was my turn I jumped up and proceeded to max myself out at 13. I made it a personal goal to do 16 by the end of Camp Toccoa.

When everyone was done we finally took a short water break.

"You have one minute to drink water and rest. We will be finishing with eight count push-ups," Winters called out to us. I pulled out my canteen and drank about a quarter of it in ten seconds. I used to the rest of the minute we were allotted to stretch out my limbs as much as I could.

Now I don't know if eight count push-ups had changed by the time I got to basic the first time, but we were doing burpees. We started standing straight up, fell into a crouch with our hands on the ground, pushed our legs out so our bodies were in a push-up position, did a single push-up, pulled our legs back so we were crouching again, and then jumped up so we left the ground and finished standing straight up again. Definitely a burpee.

With calisthenics done for the day we were given time to cool down and get lunch. "I want you all to rest while you can," Lieutenant Winters started. "We will meet by the obstacle course in thirty minutes. Fall out." We did so. Lunch was not as rushed as breakfast was. I took my time eating and conversation flowed easily between us.

Bill, who was sitting across from me, was the first to mention my performance. "Ay Drew, 'at was insane what ya did out there. Howdja do that many of all that jawn?"

I swallowed my mouthful of food before I answered. "Years of training, Bill. Years of training."

"Yea, but how?"

I smirked at him. "Trying to figure out how to get ahead of me South Philly? Don't think I didn't notice you trying to keep up during sit-ups."

He smirked back at me. "So what if I am?"

I actually laughed at him this time. He seemed to take it the wrong way until I waved him off. "It's just something you gotta work up to. I can't tell you how long it took to be able to do all that. And if I'm being honest with y'all, I was pulling my punches. I coulda done more, and faster too."

"There's no way!" I heard someone a little down the table exclaim. I hadn't realized practically the whole table was listening. A glance down the line showed me it was Talbert, looking at me like I was crazy.

"It's true," I nodded. "I can do 50 push-ups and 65 sit-ups in two minutes each. Though I do max out my pull-ups at 13."

The table was quiet.

"Christ, it's like you were bred for this."

"You would be right if you weren't wrong. This is just what I decided I wanted to excel at."

Conversation after that turned to more introductions and tossing ideas around of what the rest of basic was going to be like. If what we had done already was only half of the first day then it was going to be insane. Everyone came to one consensus at least: we were crazy to have volunteered for this.

We had all finished our lunches and converged at the obstacle course where we were greeted once again by Lieutenant Sobel. "Listen up men!" he shouted. "I want you all to take a good hard look here because this course is about to become your best friend."

It was a difficult course, I'll give it that, but not the worst I'd done. We had to high-knee through ropes while trying not to fall on our faces, run over beams two feet off the ground without losing our balance, crawl through wooden tunnels that splintered the shit out of our hands and roll out the other side, get over a 10-foot wall without assistance, and crawl under barbed wire. Sobel made us run it again two more times before he was satisfied with our exhaustion. And then he made us run it a one more time just for his sadistic pleasure. No breaks were given. The only rest we got was when we were waiting in line, and we weren't allowed water until after the 3rd time through.

I wasn't surprised when we didn't get time to recuperate before moving to an open part of the grounds for the next task. This time we were learning the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Again it was something I was already familiar with, but re-learning something was never a big deal to me. Who knows, I might even learn something new. Sobel was there only to pair us up with our combat partner before he left and another officer took his place to teach. It was obvious, however, that Sobel gave no thought or regard to height, weight, or stature of the partners he assigned. They weren't all bad though – I had been paired with Skip Muck. We were both some of the smaller people here. (Needless to say we got to know each other). But for people like the Joe's, Toye and Liebgott who were paired together, it didn't make any sense. The officer in charge was at least competent in teaching. He pulled Winters and demonstrated various punches and blocks, going through what our stance should be like and how to not over extend or generally punch wrong. He went around correcting people in a way that actually helped. I decided I liked this officer. I hoped he was always the one who taught hand-to-hand.

The six hours between lunch and dinner seemed more like twelve to the men. If the sun wasn't still in the sky they would've believed that hand-to-hand had taken the rest of the day. Though we had only done two exercises, 1800 hours came around later than anyone was expecting. It was again time for us to simultaneously stuff our faces and fight off exhaustion before finding out what the evening held for us. The half hour we got was also some of the only time we had to rest our bodies.

The entirety of Easy company was called together in the evening for close order drills. We learned how to stand at attention or at ease, how to salute properly to the front, left, or right, how to make a one-quarter or one-half turn or an about face, and how to dress left or right. None of this was in sync as a company but it was a good start. I was willing to bet that everyone would have it down within the week.

By the time Easy was done for the day it was 2200 hours. After doing drill for the last four hours most of the men were walking sluggishly back to the barracks. I heard them talk about being glad they could finally get a shower. I wanted to tell them that the exhaustion they felt and the stink they smelled and the sweat they were drenched in was as bad as it gets but I realized that doing so would bring about more questions than I was willing to answer. Instead of following the men to the showers I flopped onto my bunk and waited them out. It would be easier for everyone this way.

It was about half an hour later that everyone from my barrack came back. It was maybe ten minutes after then that they had all fallen asleep from exhaustion. I waited another twenty minutes before I slipped off my bunk and fetched my towel, soap, and a change of clothes from my trunk as quietly as I could. I snuck out of my barrack and walked down to the showers, looking over my shoulder every once in a while to make sure I wasn't being followed. I didn't even need to. No one was outside when they could be asleep inside, especially this late. Even so, I still checked the whole of the showers to make sure no one else was in with me. No one was.

I walked down to the furthest shower stall. They may have had a dividing wall but there was no curtain, so I made sure I had enough warning time should anyone else come in.

Stripping down I was finally able to unwrap my chest and breath unrestrained. My breasts were sensitive where the bandages had rubbed against them. Stepping under the spray of lukewarm water I began to wash the essentials: hair (which I was grateful I kept buzzed), chest, armpits, lower back, between the legs, and feet. Because I had the showers to myself I took a little extra time to wash the rest of my body too. It almost felt like a luxury to do so, I usually never did. All in all, it took maybe six minutes. After I dried off I re-wrapped my chest and put on the clean shirt, boxers, and OD pants I brought with me.

My trek back to my barrack was as uninterrupted as it was going to the showers. I stuffed my dirty clothes into my laundry bag and quietly slipped back into my bunk. I fell asleep confident that whole day was some figment of my imagination and when I wake up in the morning everything will be back to normal.

It wasn't.

There ya'll go. Please, please, please review! I want to know if you guys like it and if it's worth continuing. I really actually enjoy honest, constructive criticism on my works.

See you later?