Disclaimer-You know how it goes-I don't own Band of Brothers, but this story is mine. :)
Chapter 1-Chocolat
I moved through the rows of bloody, broken soldiers and waited for someone to call for me. For now, it seemed, the men were fine. Not fine, I corrected myself. A lot of these men were barely hanging on as they fought to stay alive.
I came across a doctor changing one soldier's dressings. The patient had a gaping wound in his leg, and I looked away. Silently, the doctor handed me the bloody rags and applied fresh ones. I had seen wounds like this before, but I never got used to it. As I made my way to the front of the sanctuary, I saw another soldier being carried in as a medic followed after. I directed them to place the wounded man to the side and out of the way of movement.
"Is he bad?" I asked, glancing over the new patient.
"No-low leg wound. No morphine," the medic replied with a shiver.
I moved to leave when the medic called, "Nurse! Nurse, you got plasma I can-"
"Wait! Please!" I snapped, taking more bloody bandages from another doctor. A lot of men were in worse shape, I figured, and this one could wait a moment. After taking more bandages from Augusta, who was working on a soldier with multiple bullet wounds, I lowered the rags into the boiling pot of water to be cleaned. I brought a bottle of hooch and gave a glass to the paratrooper, stroking his hair. As he sipped, the trooper quipped, "I'm in heaven, Doc."
The medic began to speak, but I cut him off by leading him to the storage room. "This way. I can give you a little, but not a lot."
I gave as much as I could, most of which included bandages made out of sheets from the beds. In my mind it wasn't enough to make a difference, but at least it was something.
"Comment vous appellez-vous?"
"…my name is Renee…"
"My name is Gene. Eugene Roe."
I didn't recognize his accent. "Where are you from?"
"Louisiana. Half Cajun. Et tu? Tu es d'où ?"
"Bastogne..." I unwittingly replied, then caught myself. Bastogne was as far from home as I could get.
I smiled as she watched him run out to go back to the lines. It had been so long since I had talked with someone in my native language. I held a chocolate bar in my hands and told myself it was pointless to get attached to one of them. What would happen if he came in here as wounded as these men are?
My heart skipped a beat as I ran up the stairs and into the sunlight.
"Eugene!" He stopped and turned as I tossed him the chocolate. "Chocolat. Por vou."
I watched as he drove off, then turned to return to work with a smile on my face.
I lit the candle beside my cot and climbed under the green GI blanket. I only had a couple hours to catch up on sleep before I had to be back with the patients. I pulled out my journal, a gift from Papa, and ran my fingers over the leather. I turned to the photos of my family I used to bookmark where I left off. I looked at them every time I opened the journal. The first was of a young couple standing outside a small cottage with their new baby-Mama and Papa. On the back, Renee read, "Gerard and Marguerite Le Maire, with Etienne, 1919". I could never get over how much Etienne grew up to resemble Papa. The next photo showed three children, the back of which read, "Etienne, Renee, and Ila Le Maire, 1926". Etienne was now 7, and already looking mischievous. I looked proud and held my brand new little sister. She was bundled in my arms like a sleeping doll.
I took out my pencil and, just like every day, wrote out how many patients we lost-20 men, 9 of which were gone on arrival. Overall, it wasn't a bad day. There were some days I lost count of the number of men we couldn't help. Before I knew it, my mind strayed to the medic that came in. I gave a half smile, and then simply wrote on the next line "Eugene Roe".
