The evening sun shone bright on the tall mountain overhead. The gravel on the ground made crunching noises as dozens of shoes hit it in unison. Soft panting of paratroopers echoed through the forest that surrounded the mountain. It was Richard Winters' third day at Camp Toccoa and already he had run this mountain six times. Three miles up, three miles down. The men around him looked up into the sun, as if hoping it might burst and rocket into the Earth, thus ending their misery. Even Dick had to admit, he was exhausted and prayed that the endless running of the past three days would not be the pattern of the boot camp.
At the top of the mountain, known as Currahee, Dick slowed his breathing down while some other men laid down in exhaustion. The sun was setting now, and the wind had a cold note in it, as if threatening the runners with an early autumn. Dick thought of his home in Pennsylvania, with its wide fields and sweet pastures, and he missed it. Although, Georgia was beautiful, all rolling hills and red dirt that dusted through Dick's already red hair while he ran. The setting sun's rays made the hills glisten in hues of orange and violet and maroon. Dick inhaled the sweet summer air, ready to begin the descent down Currahee.
As they jogged down the mountain, the sun set completely, and the men began to chatter just a bit. Dick listened in politely, but felt out of place. Sure, it had only been a few days since he arrived here, but already he had seen friendships formed. None of the few men he befriended at basic training were transferred to Camp Toccoa. Maybe because none of them were dumb enough to join the paratroopers.
Dick glanced around. There was a tough looking dark haired guy he thought was named Bill, Bill something. He couldn't remember the last name. He was funny, with a heavy Philadelphia accent. Dick thought it was funny that he and Bill could be from the same state, yet have almost nothing in common. Dick was quiet, reserved, and observant. He didn't mind being this way, but it made branching out difficult, especially during the first week. Dick may have been twenty-four, but sometimes he still felt like a teenager pretending to be a grown up. He knew he had to hid these insecurities if he wanted to go anywhere in the Army.
Bill hung around with a guy named George Luz, who was probably funnier than Bill, but not as wild. Then there was Skip Muck and Don Malarkey, who had to have gotten to Toccoa before Dick because they seemed thick as thieves already. He didn't feel too bad though, because he noticed lots of guys shuffling to find an empty seat at dinner in the mess hall, and he noticed lots more guys wandering around alone when they were allowed free time. The Army was different than what he thought it would be. It seemed quieter, like the world had been silenced by the grand mountain that stood above the camp.
When Dick got down the mountain they were allowed five minute showers, and he was grateful to wash the red clay from his shoulders, feel the lukewarm water relax his muscles in the Georgia heat. Dick never minded communal showers, and he liked the routine of it. Five minutes, and then out. He knew what to expect.
Once safely tucked away in the barracks with his other soldiers-in-training, Dick thought about his future. He had only just gotten to paratrooper school, but there was a war on. Possibly the most devastating war the world had ever known. Soon he would be thrown into the frontlines. He knew that if he hadn't have voluntarily joined the military then he would have been drafted. He knew that, and yet, he wondered if he had made a mistake by going now. Shouldn't he want to spend every last possible second with his parents and sister? His head said yes, but deep down, Dick knew he had to go right away. He had to believe he was doing something worthwhile. After all, something in him made him choose to join an airborne division and it wasn't just the excellent pay. Dick thought it was something like adventure, or maybe a sense of duty. Something deep inside him spurred him on. Maybe it was something like fate, egging him on, telling him this was his path. Dick rolled around on his small bed, trying to still his mind. The camp was silent, with only the moon for company; the beds were lined up nice and neat. Nobody else seemed to be awake.
Turning around a second time, Dick glimpsed a shadow in the moonlight. In the quiet Dick could hear snickering from close by. Dick sat up. In the window, he saw two dark haired men running by his building. The snickering continued, followed by shushing. Now, Dick wasn't one to snoop, and he certainly didn't care that these guys were getting up to trouble, but he could also feel the curiosity eat at his distracted mind. The two men had stopped by the window closest to Dick. He got up slowly, tiptoeing towards the side door. Nobody else was getting up and Dick couldn't decide if it was because they hadn't heard what he had, or that they were smarter than him and stayed put.
The wood door creaked as Dick pushed on it, but thankfully no one had gotten up to check out the noise. He was only in a white tee shirt and shorts, and it was surprisingly chilly for a late July night. Maybe nature really was threatening an early fall.
Huddled under the window, Dick saw the two blacked haired men, both in tan trousers and white tees. They were obviously trying to hide a liquor bottle behind their backs, but Dick didn't see anyone else around. Dick was far enough away and hidden in the shadows, so he wasn't spotted. One of the men was smaller than the other, more lithe and cat-like. He had serious eyes which were lit up with mischievousness at the moment. The other had thick eyebrows and a mocking smile placed firmly on his face. He had wide shoulders which partially obscured the other man from Dick's sight.
Quietly, the man with the broad shoulders tipped back the bottle of liquor into his mouth, and then passed it to his friend. His friend sat on the ground and gulped down a generous helping. They both looked mildly drunk, and very happy.
Suddenly Dick had no idea why he was out here. What was he going to do, waltz up and take a swig? Dick didn't even like drinking. He certainly wasn't going to report them, although he probably should have. So, Dick swiveled back towards the door and slowly inched it open to go back inside—
"Hey!" an all too familiar voice rang out through the hills. Dick froze. "We will find you, and your punishment will last for the rest of your days here, if you are lucky enough to stay!" It was Captain Sobel, the toughest captain at the camp. Dick rolled his eyes momentarily, before realizing he could get in trouble just for being outside this late.
The two boys on the ground scrambled back to a crouching position, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. They shuffled closer to Dick, looking for a way inside the barracks. Dick nervously shifted on his feet, not knowing when Sobel was going to jump out.
"Where are they?" Sobel seemed to yell to no one in particular. When Dick turned back to the boys, he realized they had pushed past him and were going through the door to his barrack. If they noticed him, they didn't make any indication of it, and Dick jumped back inside after them.
Too scared to see where the boys went, Dick jumped back into bed as he heard the runaways twist and turn through the rows and rows of beds. As he threw his blanket over him, he glanced at the front door, where he saw one of the men looking back at him, just for a second. It was the man with the broad shoulders, his smile clever, and one cheek dimpling slightly. Dick stared at him until he turned around and went out the door. Dick stared at the blackness after he had left. Men were stirring in their beds as they heard the wooden doors bang shut. Dick did nothing though, he didn't tell what he saw, he only turned onto his stomach, thrilled slightly by the mysterious soldiers he had seen.
The next morning was the worst morning of Dick's young life. They had been woken up at five in the morning, an hour earlier than usual, and marched to the mess hall for a piece of bread and water. Captain Sobel had barely said anything except to bark out orders. Dick knew something was up though, and everyone who slept in his barrack knew it too.
After their so-called meal, they were brought to the bottom of Currahee, with the beginnings of dawn breaking the skyline. Dick was in the first row of Easy Company, and he glanced around at the others. Sobel was marching up the rows, his face cold and stern in the morning light. Dick had the sick feeling that his legs were about to get the workout of a lifetime before he even went to war.
Sobel addressed the company. "As you may know by now, two among you decided last night that running Currahee twice a day is not enough," he paused and motioned for someone to step forward, "these two, Ronald Speirs and Lewis Nixon, have acted like foolish children in the night, stealing booze and then running away from a direct order to halt." Sobel watched as the offenders, Speirs and Nixon, stepped in front of the company.
There was a collective tensing of muscles as irritation seeped through the crowd. Speirs, the slighter figure, stared out, emotionless, but Nixon had his head down, either hungover or embarrassed, Dick couldn't tell.
"So, Easy Company, we will be running Currahee, all day today, and all day tomorrow, only stopping for water," Sobel paced back and forth, "but I wouldn't drink too much, since we will not be stopping for bathroom breaks." Sobel almost seemed to be enjoying this.
Nixon and Speirs were marched to the front and began running before anyone else. Dick watched Nixon ahead of him. It occurred to Dick that he had probably earned the hate of everyone here. Dick however, thought it was funny that the two boys hunched together drinking in the middle of the night, though he himself would never do it. Nixon ran slower than Speirs, but he had a nice gait and he didn't slip on the gravel. Dick started with the other men, who by now were fuming with rage.
That night, when the company was finally allowed to stop running, and after everyone had hurriedly gone to the bathroom, Dick lie awake in his cot, again, thinking of home. He saw the small lake by his house with a small row boat tied to the dock. He thought he could smell the trees and feel the soft grass beneath his bare feet. Strangely though, he didn't miss it.
"You're Winters right?" A voice came from behind Dick and he sat up quickly. It was Nixon, and he was sitting on top of Dick's footlocker in front of his bed.
"Yeah, and you're Nixon." Dick stared at Nixon's dark eyes.
"Lewis."
"I know. Everyone knows who you are" Dick didn't mean his words to sound so harsh, but he did just spend the entire day running up a mountain because of him.
Lewis' eyes sparked with laughter, "Yes, sir, I know," he took a swig from his canteen. Dick didn't really know why Nixon was talking to him. Dick wasn't even sure if Nixon knew he saw them last night. "What were you doing up last night then?" Never mind, guess he knows. Dick swallowed and his throat felt dry. Maybe Nixon thought Dick had ratted them out.
"I saw you and Speirs, so I went to check it out." It was the truth.
"And did Sobel come and talk to you?" Nixon's voice didn't sound angry.
"No." Dick looked steadily back at Lewis. He did a once over of Dick and Dick suddenly shivered. He nodded his head once, accepting Dick's answer. Lewis hauled himself off the footlocker and smiled at Dick. Dick was slightly annoyed at Nixon, who didn't seem concerned that he had made his entire company suffer. He only cared about what Sobel had heard.
"Can I go to sleep now, Nix?" Dick ground out. He shot an irritated glance upwards, his normally neutral face shifting with emotion. Nixon smirked then, his dimple coming into view again. He leaned down right next to Dick, his mouth inches from Dick's ear.
"Sorry I made you run, Winters." Lewis Nixon breathed out. Before Dick could do anything, before he could register the blush on his face, Nixon was gone, out the door and on his way to his bed.