Back after a long hiatus. School life etc. etc. whatever. In any case I figured I would write the plot of the Band of Brothers episode, "The Last Patrol," because why not. Nothing but respect to the men of Easy Company. Why can't they be weasels and squirrels and whatever. Please review and especially enjoy. I'll update much more regularly.
0850
February 9, 1945
Town of Hagenau: Alsace, France
Pvt. David Kenyon Webster….
"Thanks for the lift!"
I shouted to the mole driving the jeep as he briefly acknowledged my wave and then proceeded to speed down the road back from whence we had came. Turning, I saw all of the trucks and jeeps and artillery pieces that were slowly trudging their way into the town, Hagenau sounded very German and it had every right to be considering that France and our good friends the Germans swapped the whole area of Lorraine and Alsace after every war. I had a lot of time to read while in the hospital, especially about the war that seemed so far away when I was getting my bandages changed and my sheets cleaned and drinking cocoa.
Not that it wasn't a bad life but I knew I needed to get back to the front, the action and most of all my friends in Company E. It felt good to just walk around and be out. After the hospital came rehabilitation and then I had to sit and complain in the replacement depot with a bunch of gung ho, piss and vinegar kids who wanted nothing more than to shoot at something. I didn't blame them really… the depot was a dreary place of thousands of tents and zero things to do except mope and gripe and hope that you got assigned to a unit before the war ended. At least I knew that was one thing I didn't have to worry about. Kids fresh out of high school 18 and 19 all asked me what combat was like, did it hurt getting shot, what was jumping out of a perfectly good plane like and I responded to the best of my ability. I didn't need to be eloquent.
Terrifying, It hurt, and the most exhilarating thing I've ever done. They didn't teach me that at Harvard.
But I wasn't in Mossflower. I was back! The ground was muddy, filled with slush and sleet but it was a crisp February morning and I didn't mind the weight of my pack and kit bag as I made my way over to the trucks and my friends.
"George Luuzzz!" I called out in a sing song voice, hoping he would launch into one of his many impressions and shoot the shit.
"Webster geeze." Luz turned and gave me a dull eyed stare. The vole's fur was matted and unkempt and he had a cigarette clutched in a perilous angle between his teeth.
"Aww c'mon I haven't been gone that long!" I extended my arms and gave him a quizzical look. I couldn't help it, there were some funny creatures that came in went in the hospital and the depot, but they were no George Luz. It was good to hear him again, even if he looked like shit.
"Geeze, Yes you have," he responded, deadpan and exhausted. I shrugged and waved my paw at him before moving up the row of trucks. George sure looked beat, but it was probably just the long ride into France, and the fact he smelled and probably hadn't changed in weeks. I knew what it was like.
I eyed the row of trucks and vehicles hoping to catch a glimpse of some more Easy company beasts. Sure enough, three trucks away, I saw some from 1st platoon.
"Lookee here what I found!" I aid striding boldly up to the back of the truck. "Hey guys, Hey Sergeant Martin!" I unsung my kit bag from my shoulder and made an attempt to lay it on the back of the truck, before I could try and scramble on board, I heard new voice.
"Whadya want Private." I glanced up and saw the face of a haggard looking otter staring back at me. He was tall and thin and I could tell he was a lieutenant thanks to his helmet, which had lost a lot of color. I eased back off the truck's tailgate and slowly slung my bag back on.
"I'm sorry sir. My name's David Webster. I just got back from the hospital."
"Well good for you," the lieutenant said sarcastically said before turning away. I slowed up and created some distance from the truck. I didn't want to try and get on this new officer's bad side. I tried to make some small talk.
"Where's uhhh Where's the rest of the fellas?"
"This is everybeast." Sergeant Martin replied without giving me a look. Next to him sat Bull Randleman and his massive badger pawns clutched a tiny lighter that was under a cigar he was chomping. I couldn't help but smile at that. Some things never change.
"'Cmon Sergeant Martin, this can't be every beast… Where's Hoobler? Whats he doing?" At this everyone stared at me. Bull stopped trying to light his cigar and stared down at me while Roy Cobb twitched his whiskers. My smile disappeared and my insides sunk. Hoobler must have gotten it. Suddenly I heard the lieutenant's voice again.
"You should report to 2nd platoon Webster, they lost more beasts than we did." He eyed me coolly from his perch on the truck.
'Yeah you heard Lieutenant Foley, head down to 2nd," I quickly turned and saw Cobb glancing down at me, his bushy tail twitching. "They lost more beasts than we did."
"Yeah Webster head two trucks up," this time it was Sergeant Martin, "You'll see em." I looked at every beast in the truck and noticed they all looked at me waiting to leave. I adjusted the strap of my pack and stepped bck out to the side of the motor convoy to try and find second platoon, my mind racing and my spirits lower than when I had first arrived only a few minutes ago. I saw my friends, Joe Liebgott, Babe Heffron and Sergeant Malarkey standing towards the front of the truck, and I set off with a renewed vigor, determined to regain some of my good graces and in turn cheer up my friends.
"Hey guys," I said slowly and carefully, not trying to repeat the process of the previous truck. "Some lieutenant told me to go to second." The occupants of the truck all turned and stared at me, aside from Sergeant Malarkey who continued to stare off over the side and into the distance. No one said a word. I glanced around hoping to hear some kind of greeting but no such luck. Still smiling I found myself staring at the face of a young weasel, who stared back at me, a curl about his lips and his hands clenched around his M1. I spoke again. "You're Jackson right." He was quick to respond and gave a slight nod in doing so.
"That's right." he said, the same look across his face. I kept my smile and remained staring at him.
"Whose leadin the platoon?" Again Jackson was quick to respond and he nodded towards Malarkey.
"Sergeant Malarkey is." Malarkey didn't say or do anything, continuing to just stand and stare out.
"Whattt no officers!" I replied in en disbelief. Surley someone was still leading, maybe Buck Compton or even some replacement lieutenant like Foley.
"I guess you hadn't heard," this time it was Liebgott, his face staring straight ahead. His rat's ears wobbled as he said this and he seemed to shake himself out of a stupor as he spoke.
"No what's that?" I asked, sensing a breakthrough with these guys. Surely they were warming up to me.
"They're making Malarkey a lieutenant, battlefield commission. He's on the fast track now." Liebgott said nodding towards me. I saw the opportunity and smiled broadly to try and assimilate with them further.
"That's great, hey Jackson, help me up will ya." In one motion I dropped my kitbag onto the truck and stepped on the tailgate, reaching up towards Jackson's paw. Slowly, he responded and hoisted me onto the back and shifted to make room. I grasped my rifle in one paw and the side of the truck with the other, losing my balance. It had been a long time since I had ridded one of these. I was still adjusting myself when to my surprise Jackson started talking to me..
"So uh you just come from the hospital," he said casually.
"Up that's right," I nodded back. It seemed like a fair enough question. Perhaps he was just trying to make some small talk as I had done.
"You must have liked that hospital Web, cause we left Holland four months ago." Liebgott said sniffing his nose in my direction. Next to him Babe Heffron scratched his quills and stared at me levelly.
"I wasn't there the whole time," I said, still grinning like a fiend and trying to keep relaxed and cool. "There was rehabilitation afterwards, and then the Replacement Depot. Before I got the chance to explain further Liebgott cut me off
"You could have tried to bust out early and help us out in Bastogne Web." He said, his eyes boring deep into mine, I avoided his gaze and tried my best to steer the conversation away to anything else, but I couldn't think of anything good. Malarkey turned back for a brief second and stared at me, before resuming his task of watching the horizon. I stammered and tried to explain.
"I don't know how I could have done that.." I began. Before I could try and justify myself further, Liebgott again cut me off.
"That's funny" he said again sniffing the cold air and boring into me. "Cause Popeye found a way, and Alley back in Holland." At this he turned to Babe, who nodded quickly in agreement before turning back to me to continue his list.
"And Guarneere,….
"Yeah where is Guarnerre," I said. It was my turn to interrupt. I hadn't expected an interrogation upon my return and wanted to just quickly meld back into the company without any hassle. It didn't look like it was going to well. "He's still your platoon sergeant right?" As I said this, the truck pulled to a stop and the driver motioned for us to dismount. As I reached for my kit bag on the floor, Jackson's voiced hit my ear.
"Naw… he got hit." he said before brushing past me and climbing out the back of the truck. I quickly sat back up and questioned him, my head following his movements.
"Yeah,… really?" I wasn't so sure of myself now.
"Yeah, yeah Bill got hit," said Babe, speaking for the first time, he too was exiting the truck. Just before he hopped off the tailgate, he turned and spoke to me.
"It blew his whole leg off."
"Really," I asked, weakly, no longer smiling and trying to keep up my good natured image. The news hit me hard. First Hoobler, then Guarnerre. Both had been with the company since the beginning. I wondered how many others had gotten it and I simply sat in silence, even after the others had left the truck and headed off down the road. It wasn't until the truck driver honked the horn that I came to and quickly scrambled out of the truck and headed off after the rest.
Suddenly, it didn't feel so great to be back.