The mess tent is relatively empty. It is mid-morning, and the bulk of the breakfast crowd has left for their duties, while the lunch press is not due for a couple more hours. In the make shift kitchens behind the tent, the cooks are hard at work. Various smells, some more appetising than others waft through the air. The noises of the kitchen – the clatter of pots and pans, the chatter of the cooks – mix with the ever present buzz of the camp.

Seated at a bench at the back of the tent, is Eugene Roe. He is eating a bowl of stew with little enthusiasm and enjoying a moment of quiet after a night of ambulance duty.

Neither are going to stay with him for very long.

Because Roe is nearly done with his stew, and two of America's finest have just made appearances of their own.

"Heard you gave Winters and Welsh the third degree, Doc."

Uninvited, Bill Guarnere claims the space on the bench to Roe's left.

"I gotta to say," Babe Heffron adds as he drops into the space on Roe's right, "I never pegged you as a swearing man. Guess still waters run deep, eh, Bill?"

"Damn straight," Guarnere grins, and spoons a mouthful of greasy mess hall stew into his mouth. He grimaces. "Say, there's no protocol for dealing with upset stomachs, is there, Doc?"

Roe can feel the blush creeping up his neck.

"It was a mistake," he says, keeping his eyes on his own bowl of stew. "I shouldn'ta said what I did to 'em."

"Still… Gotta hand it to you, Doc – there're a lot of guys who'll remember their first aid protocols a whole lot better now." Guarnere jabs his spoon in Roe's direction with the authority of a man stating a fact.

"Yeah," Heffron grins broadly, "They're not ready to risk how pissed you'll be if they forget."

Roe mutters something noncommittal in response, and drains the remainder of his stew in one go. He takes his leave of Heffron and Guarnere, saying that he has duties at the aid post.

It's partially true. He is planning on finding out how the story of Heyliger's shooting has managed to spread so quickly in the two days since it happened. Guarnere and Heffron are not the first to bring it up as a joke.

A short walk through Easy Company's camp – a patchwork of buildings that the Americans have commandeered for the war effort from the Dutch and tents – and Roe is at the company aid post.

He is not in luck. Pepping isn't there.

But, members of the day shift are, and they send Roe along to what passes as an Allied 'recreation hall' in war torn Holland. In reality, it is just another house, minimally damaged by shelling – the walls are chipped in some places, but at least all of them are still standing. The men don't complain too loudly – for now, they are just glad to have some place to be apart from their beds when they are off duty.

Within, on the first floor of the house, there is a pool table, another table and a set of chairs for loungers and loiterers, as well as a small bookcase with titles in English and board games. And then there were the playing cards – they were ubiquitous. The bedrooms on the second floor and the attic have been turned into billets for some of the more sound sleepers in the regiment.

When Roe enters the rec hall, there are at least three card games going. There is also a cluster of men around the pool table. The air is choked with cigarette smoke and the smells of unwashed bodies. Raucous laughter and rough voices make the small hall feel even smaller.

But, this time, Roe is in luck.

Striking two birds with one stone, he places one hand on Douglas's left shoulder, and one hand on Pepping's right shoulder.

The two men had been watching the pool game, calling out helpful and not-so helpful comments to the players. Both just about jump out of their skins when Roe gets their attention.

He is unrepentant.

"Geeze, Gene…" Douglas says, "You gave me a heart attack."

"Yeah," grumbles Pepping, "What're you doing sneaking around, for?"

"I wanta have a word with you two – someplace quieter."

'Someplace quieter' turns out to be the outside of the rec hall. Pepping, Douglas and Roe are standing huddled in a tight knot, a private conference.

Roe jumps right in.

"How'd that story about Heyliger getting shot get out?"

Pepping and Douglas trade looks.

Douglas had not been present in the ambulance when the night team had gone to attend to Heyliger. He had been keeping an eye on Heyliger's shooter. Pepping, on the other hand, had witnessed everything, as had Sarge.

"I told Doug what happened," Pepping starts.

"And I might have told a person or two in the day crew," continues Douglas.

And talk flew around the men like flies around a pile of rotting garbage. Roe didn't need to ask about Sarge's reaction to the entire episode – even if Sarge had kept his opinions to himself, the story would have already had plenty of impetus.

Roe exhales heavily. He reaches into his trouser pocket, produces a pack of cigarettes and shakes one loose. After Douglas supplies the lighter, Roe takes a long, deep pull of smoke.

"Everythin', OK, Gene?" Pepping asks.

Weighing his words, Roe is slow to begin.

"I saw Guarnere and Heffron in the mess tent. They joked about how I yelled at Winters and Welsh," he says as last.

"So what? It's Bill and Ed," Douglas smiles. "Joking's what they do."

"They weren't the first… And if the boys are talkin' about it, chances are that Lt. Winters and Lt. Welsh know about the story, too," Roe says.

"I should hope so," Douglas quips, "They were there."

Pepping elbows Douglas in the ribs. "I don't think it's the facts that 'Gene's worried about, you dummy."

"Yeah…" Roe takes another long pull from his cigarette.

Winters and Welsh had not shown themselves to be petty in their dealings with their men. On the contrary, they were fair, and just about universally well respected.

However, the tone of some of the variations in the Heyliger shooting story had been fairly… irreverent. It might wound a man's pride, hearing some of those stories. And who knew for sure how a man whose pride had been wounded would act?

"You ain't worried that Winters and Welsh are gonna pull a Sobel on you, are you?" eyes narrowing, Pepping jabs the sharp question at Roe.

"Kinda. Don't want 'em thinkin' that I'm disrespectin' 'em."

In hindsight, it would have been better if he had held his tongue on that night. Even if the sentiments behind them had held any grain of truth, they were not words that needed to be said in quite that way to anyone.

Least of all, to one's superiors.

Winters and Welsh had not summoned him to see them in person, and Roe had not been handed any demerits second hand, by written order. They probably had bigger problems than a loose lipped soldier.

There was a war on, after all.

Still, Roe didn't relish the idea of their retribution. When it came. If it came.

"You know…" Douglas fishes around in his pockets and produces a cigarette of his own. He rolls it in and out of his fingers thoughtfully. "My mum always said that it's best to grab a bull by the horns."

"Eh?"

"I'm thinking… If you went to apologize to them, or something, it might not seem so bad."

Sometimes, Douglas isn't the hulking dummy that he makes himself out to be.

Author's Note:

The events of this story are set a couple of days after 1st Lt. Heyliger is shot by one of his own men near Lt. Welsh's command post (CP), as it appears in Episode 5 – Crossroads of Band of Brothers.

I've taken liberties in describing the event in prose and may not have stayed completely true to canon. This is entirely a work of fiction – apart from the men whose names I have borrowed. No disrespect was intended in the way they have been characterised.