Bitter, Cold End

Ardennes

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I admit that I'm twisting Floyd Talbert's words to Dick Winters, but I think it makes for an excellent story. Hope you agree. Also, I do not know the exact date when Talbert wrote these words to Winters, all I know is that he wrote them before 1982, when Talbert made his first appearance at an Easy Company Reunion.

Characters are real except for Joan and James—they are my creations, no stealing, please! All other characters are real men, based off of the HBO TV Series, Band of Brothers. I depicted them to the best of my ability and want all to know that I deeply admire those who served in WWII and, in fact, study the subject. My intention with this story is to ask "What if?" not to insult anyone.

Without further ado… here it is.

Chapter One – Wait

I have never discussed these things with anyone on this earth. The things we had are damn near sacred to me… Talbert wrote to his former commander, Dick Winters, unsure what to write next. The reason for writing the letter in the first place was because he had recently decided to face his heartbreak and begin to heal by going to the Easy Company Reunion. The year was 1981. It had been nearly 40 years. "Jesus, has it been that long?" Talbert thought aloud.

He thought he should bring up Corporal Lee to Winters. Talbert knew he would remember—Winters remembered everyone. But he did not know where to start. He pulled his fingers through his dark hair and thought. He thought about the first time he met Lee, but his memories of that were so crowded with Guarnere, Toye, Lipton, Luz, Liebgott, Malarkey and so many other guys. They were all larger-than-life characters, and somehow Lee fit in flawlessly.

How do you explain that, when Lee was so dramatically different? In nearly every way Lee was different. But there was one thing about Lee that clicked with every other man in the company. Lee's heart was in this for the same reasons every other man in the company was. For the man next to you, for being strong enough to carry your brother, for standing alone together.

"Lee was the best soldier I had the privilege to fight beside." Talbert almost put his pen to the paper. He felt that was not the right thing to write. Winters knew how Talbert felt about Lee. They shared a foxhole, obviously Talbert entrusted Lee with his life.

Talbert thought about the first time he saw Lee scared. Truly scared. Scared white and small. Lee was one of the strongest people Talbert knew. Scared, with nothing to do but drown in her own thoughts, Lee sat tall and still. Lee faced fear like no one Talbert had ever seen.

Talbert's pen hovered over the paper. He should have known from the start about Lee. There was a softness in her face and eyes. Talbert wished every day that he'd noticed sooner, that he'd spent just one more day—one more minute—with Joan Eva Lee instead of James Edward Lee.

--

Lee could barely hear the thoughts in her head over the roar of the C-47. The engine and propellers were close by, she could hear a constant and deafening whrr that rattled through the inside of the plane. The engine rumbled steadily, continuously. Maybe she should have felt reassured by the noise, but it crawled inside her ears and pushed against her brain. Lee had a headache. And a stomachache.

Come to think of it, she was suffering from shoulder aches, too. The gear she was wearing was crushing her. She was sure she wouldn't be able to find the strength to stand up and step out of the plane. And if she did, no parachute would be large enough to hold her dead weight. Just thinking about all of her gear made her body scrunch down as if with every item she thought of, she lost a millimeter of height.

Main and reserve parachutes, gas mask and anti-gas supplies, helmet, helmet liner, helmet netting, three "K" and "D" rations with heat tablets and water purification tablets, raincoat, blanket, shaving kit (to keep up with the illusion), mess kit, entrenching tool, .30 cal. 10-pocket cartridge belt, first aid kit, two bandoleers, ammunition, four blocks of TNT, trench knife, bayonet, a cricket, and an M-1 rifle. And under all of that equipment was the usual, burdensome clothing: Crew-neck t-shirt, wool shirt, jump jacket, jump pants and belt, wool socks and jump boots.

She thought momentarily about the gauze that wrapped tightly around her chest and crushed her breasts flat. Lee was used to the discomfort, heat, and itches the gauze created. That was one thing no other man had to carry.

Lee suddenly felt very hot, cramped, and pained. The weight pressed so heavily on her shoulders that it felt like she was clenching her muscles. And it was constant. She was so overcome with sound and weight and darkness that she couldn't move.

The men sharing the bench were barely moving. Burning, red dots lit up the inside of the C-47. Smoking had become the only comfort to some of the men on the plane. One man balanced himself so that he could lean forward to get a light from a man on the bench opposite to him. "Have a light?" He yelled.

Without comment, the man opposite to him reached in his pocket, pulled out his lighter, and held up a flame. A puff of silver smoke rose from the two.

Another man, at the end of the bench, was praying with his head bowed. His lips were moving and his hands adjusted and readjusted on his rosary that swayed irregularly with the trembling, bellowing plane. Lee wished there was something similar that could take up her own time.

Instead, all Lee had were her thoughts. The first thought that raced into her head was that this was the most terrifying thing she'd ever done. Volunteering for the paratroopers was second only to battle. It was tricky to pose as a man, but being in a camp during basic training made the task doable. Now she would be in battle or a foxhole with no hope for privacy. She would slip. She felt it in her chest. The dread and panic settled into the marrow of her bones, so deep that she felt it would never get out.

The only thing that worked in her favor was that Lee was not the most feminine woman to have walked the earth. Back home, she wore her muddy brown hair long, but usually braided or otherwise restrained. She was not an overly voluptuous woman by any means, in fact she had a masculine appearance. Her shoulders were broad, her breasts were small, her hips were slim, her arms were lean, her legs were strong, her features were not delicate, her lashes were not long, her fingernails were not clean and trim, her stature was not small, her voice was not sweet, her manner was not gentle. Even when she did have long hair and skirts, Lee was never considered gorgeous.

A boy she knew in high school, told her that she had "unconventional beauty." Even though Lee didn't know what "unconventional beauty" was, she feared others would see, would notice, or would question it. Did she have a woman's eyes? Would someone notice she was a woman if they looked into her eyes? And what about her touch? Did she have a soft touch or soft hands? What about her walk? Did she walk gracefully? Lee desperately hoped her heavy boots made her feet fall hard and clumsily like every other soldier.

If Lee were to be caught or suspected, she could be killed. Or worse, she would be court marshaled, thrown out of the paratroopers, and disgraced. Lee considered this, just as the terror of her predicament settled more securely into her bones. In the heat of battle, what if something happened? She was wounded and they had to inspect her, take off her shirt. And they'd find gauze. They would be suspicious, take the gauze off, discover who she really was. She would be dishonored; her wings would be ripped from her, her pants un-tucked from her boots.

In a moment of desperation, Lee hoped that she would be blown to bits in order to avoid such embarrassment, such shame. She could think of no worse fate.

Lee forced her mind off of the danger. It was selfish of her to think her fear was greater than anyone else's. Sure, she had her identity to protect, but she had no concern for her life, like the men around her. She had nothing to lose. Nothing but Jimmy.

Her teeth ground together. Her jaw began to hurt and ache. How can I be this selfish? She demanded of herself silently, angrily. Jimmy—her last remaining relative, her beloved brother, her opposite twin—would have nothing but his studies if she died. He wrote to her almost every day, mailing a week's worth of letters as often as he could. Lee saved every note, every silly doodle, every gum wrapper—and yes, Jimmy did send her little treats. He also sent her a picture of herself before their father died—he said it was to remind her of who she would always be to him. His communication meant everything to her, it was almost as important as sleep and safety was to her now. He reminded her of who she was and who she will always be. Joan Eva Lee. Joanie, as he called her.

The terror eased out of her muscles. Her eyes clung to a spot on the floor between her boots and the boots of the man across from her. "Stay strong, be brave," Lee mouthed the words of encouragement Jimmy had written to her. The words soothed her, more so because they were her brother's words than anything. Truth be told, these were the two things Lee had to remember most, above all else, while she was stuck in an impossible situation.

"Stay strong, be brave," Lee mouthed this twice, three, four times. Her eyes were shut, meditation took over.

The man on her left nudged her roughly. Lee looked towards him and searched for a face behind a heavy, metal helmet and dark paint. She knew it was Tab for two reasons. One, she entered the plane behind him. Two, she knew his outline, his shadow, his manner of walking, how hard he nudges, and his care in noticing his neighbor.

"Scared?" Tab yelled over the roar of the plane. He had leaned close to her to make it easier to hear, but it was still difficult. Lee read his lips in the dim plane better than she heard him.

"No." Lee yelled back. It was a lie. But Lee was used to lying. Her sitting next to him was a lie. She was scared out of her wits and her mind was absolutely crowded with thoughts and fears—so many that it was impossible to keep shoving them out of her head.

Tab nodded, shrugged his shoulders. "You keep saying things." He yelled again.

Lee did nothing. He was referring to her mouthing the words of encouragement that her brother wrote to her. The only thing that was putting her at ease at the moment. She yelled, "Just something my sister wrote." Another lie. She didn't have a sister. But in principle, it was true. Her "sister" was Jimmy. They made the switch but only one of them had to live it. Since James Edward Lee was supposed to be on this plane, that meant Joan Eva Lee was at home, writing Jimmy letters.

"Yeah?" Tab was nervous. His hands were trapped between his knees and even though the C-47 was whrring and shifting and humming and rattling, Tab was still trying to talk. "What she say?" He yelled into the darkness, into the area between Lee's helmet, which was drooping to her eyebrows, and her parachutes, bandoleers, and jump jacket. He would have been able to see the tension, the fear in Lee's face, even though it was coated with dark green and black paint.

"Stay strong," Lee yelled back, "be brave."

"I'll jump to that." Tab leaned away again, stared at the other side of the plane above the heads of the men that sat across from them.

Lee found her spot on the floor and stared at it as if a hole would appear that would take her back to 1942, before she joined the paratroopers.

--

An explosion outside of the body of the plane shook her to the core. It was a deafening blast that sounded like splitting metal, an angry fire, and then a disturbing stop to an engine. A neighbor C-47 had been hit and was going down. Every man sitting in the plane knew it. No one said a word, but they all looked up. Their eyes were stricken with fear, doubt. Would they make it out of the plane? To the ground?

The red light turned on, the doors slid open with the sounds of oiled metal on metal.

The jumpmaster, Winters, stood, shouted "Stand up!" and motioned with his hands for anyone who couldn't hear his voice over the whr of the plane. Every man stood up without a moment's hesitation. "Hook up!" He commanded next, making another motion. As if controlled by some outside force, they hooked their parachutes to the cord.

Winters began the countdown. It was time to jump.

Moments passed before Tab patted the side of her right shoulder, where the least amount of gear was touching to be sure she'd feel it. "Fourteen okay!" She shouted and patted the arm of the man in front of her. It was automatic. As if she'd been doing this every day of her life, as natural as scratching when you have an itch.

The red light switched to green. "Go!" Winters yelled and stepped into the night. Lee saw lights streaking through the air and then catch fire amongst gray clouds.

Somehow, Lee heard the voice of her brother when they were children, "Joanie! What are you doing up there? You could fall!" He had scolded her this way one morning at the park. Jimmy had always been afraid of heights, but not Joanie. She'd climbed a tree, following a butterfly that had flown away from her and floated into the leaves. Lee remembered that she laughed and said to him, "I'm not afraid of nothin'!"

She wished she felt the same now.

She wished she could rewind to that day again. She had always been brave because her brother was always there to catch her. But Jimmy wasn't here. He was thousands of miles away. A sea separated them.

It was her turn. Without hesitation, outside of her childhood memory, Lee stepped into a sky filled with fire, bullets, parachutes, clouds of smoke, explosions, turbulent winds caused by planes, and blackness in between.