No relief came for Easy the next morning.
Hitler had launched a counteroffensive, they were set for the town of Hagenau to hold the line. It was a low blow, nobody was happy. No one smiled, or even spoke much, while they got onto the back of these trucks, which had no roofs and it was snowing. The weather was miserable, matching their current mood. And they were all beyond exhausted by this point. God, they just needed two nights of full sleep and they'd be fine.
You know, they really could have used Toye's singing by this point.
Murphy stared blankly over at the bench opposite her.
Christ, they had lost too many guys.
They didn't fill up the benches.
Lipton had gotten sick while they were put on reserve. He went to see a medic, who said he had pneumonia. The doctor told him to stay at the aid station, Lipton refused, he was 1st Sargent, couldn't afford to take a day off. The doctor told him to stop by in the morning, they had already left by that point.
Like most days, Murphy worried about Malarkey.
She never asked if he was okay because every time she did he would say; "I'm fine, quit worrying". But he just never gave her the impression that he was in fact, "fine". Sometimes he would smile, and she'd relax but eight times out of ten, that man wasn't smiling.
In this truck, they had Liebgott, Heffron, Malarkey on one side.
Jackson, Murphy, Grant, McClung and Popeye on the other.
There weren't much Toccoa and Holland guys left.
"Murph?" Grant gave her arm a tiny nudge. "Heard anything from Bill or Joe?"
She shook her head, "not yet, no".
"I got a letter from Joe". Malarkey said to them, "they're cutting into his leg again, for the fourth time".
Murphy sighed, "and?"
"Said if it's not successful then…well, you know".
Swallowing, she looked down at her knees.
"I'm not worried". Malarkey said, "he'll be fine".
Silence followed after that.
It was a very quiet journey back to France.
They needed a shower, something hot to eat, new uniforms and Christ – a bed.
Murphy had managed to survive thus far, with just a thin jacket, a scarf and finger-less gloves. She had no idea how she and the others did that. Jackson had lost his winter jacket during Noville. She had a right go at him for ten solid minutes, but he never did try to find another one.
"Murph? You got smokes?"
"Yup – here".
Murphy tossed Heffron a packet of cigarettes.
"Hey, guys!"
What the hell; who was chipper?
Murphy looked around the truck because bloody hell, someone sounded overly-happy.
They were nearing the town, Hagenau. And like most cases, they were relieving another outfit. And they could hear the distant sounds of explosions coming from across the Moder River.
"Some Lieutenant told me to report to 2nd!"
She leaned forwards, wanting to check out who this guy was.
It was probably a replacement, which meant there would be more waiting for them in town. Murphy couldn't be bothered with replacements, no one could. They had all arrived when the war was dying down, just itching to get some combat before it all ended.
But no, this wasn't just some replacement. It was David Webster.
And he smiled, looking at all the faces, giving him a blank stare in return.
It was very awkward.
"Your names Jackson, right?" Webster asked him.
Murphy's eyes flickered towards Jackson.
"That's right". He responded flatly.
"Who's leading the Platoon?"
Murphy didn't know why she was suddenly so defensive.
Why was Webster asking Jackson? Why not someone else?
"Sargent Malarkey is".
"What, not officers?"
Shaking her head, Murphy leaned back against the bench.
Wanker. She thought.
"I guess you didn't here". Liebgott said.
"No, what's that?" Webster asked, voice still light – though, he was no longer smiling.
Liebgott wasn't even looking at him, "they're making Malarkey a Lieutenant. He's on the fast track now".
Murphy raised an eyebrow.
"Really? That's great". Webster mumbled.
"Yeah, isn't it?"
"Yeah".
Webster didn't care, he just wanted on the truck.
Putting his bag in first, he then said; "Jackson, help me up, will you?"
They all shimmied down the bench, making room for Webster.
Murphy's eyes flickered towards Malarkey, who wasn't giving Webster the time of day. He didn't like him, which was fine. Murphy was indifferent. They were all indifferent about Webster. Jackson and Liebgott were the only ones who asked him questions.
"So, uh…you come from the hospital?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah".
Liebgott smirked and looked away, "must have liked that hospital. Cause – uh – we left Holland four months ago".
Webster was back to smiling again, "well, I wasn't there the whole time. There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot-"
"well, I'm sure you tried to bust out and help us in Bastonge, Web".
Murphy cleared her throat. The truck suddenly felt very tense.
"I don't know how I would have done that". Webster said.
God, he had to stop smiling. He was pissing them off.
"That's funny". Liebgott said.
It wasn't funny.
"Cause Popeye found a way. So did Alley, right, back in Holland?"
Heffron nodded from beside him.
"And Guarnere… and-"
"yeah, where is Guarnere?" Webster asked. "He still your Platoon Sargent?"
Murphy closed her eyes for a moment.
Well, if Guarnere was here, he'd be leading the Platoon – not Malarkey.
Jackson sighed, "no".
The truck then stopped.
"Let's go!" Someone called from the road.
"He got hit".
Murphy got up, shouldering her rifle.
Webster wasn't smiling anymore, "yeah?"
"Yeah, Bill got hit". Heffron said, while passing him. "Blew his whole leg off".
Murphy jumped down from the truck, landing on muddy grounds.
They all moved down the street, while firing across the river continued.
"Okay, spread out". Malarkey told them all. "Hold along this line 'till I figure out where we're going".
"Sarge?" Webster followed after him.
Swoosh!
A mortar flew right over them, crashing into the building across the street.
While they all covered their heads, Webster dove straight onto the ground.
Well, at least he got his uniform dirty.
Some of the guys found it funny.
Murphy didn't find it funny, not at all. Webster was with them in Veghel, the crossroads battle, his head was still there, he wasn't immune to those shelling's they went through in Bastogne.
"Goddamn idiot". Heffron hissed.
Soon, they were moving up the road.
Malarkey set them up in a house, looking across the river.
A house.
It was a large house; its previous owner was a dentist. His practice was inside the house. And supposedly a Nazi, who'd fled pretty fast when he heard the Americans were coming. They had bunk-beds in the bedrooms, gas burning lamps, a working stove and a half full toilet.
Honestly, they really had it made compared to what they were used to.
"Murph". Malarkey called her over, while he was busy splicing a German field telephone, in order to keep communications with 1st Platoon and CP, who were living like Kings in a huge hotel, apparently. "Come here a second".
Putting her rifle onto the bottom bunk, she walked over to him.
"If he's in our Platoon, he's in your squad".
Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. "Right".
Malarkey didn't look that sorry, "sorry".
"I'm sure".
She opened her eyes, looking down at the telephone.
The whole 506 had done the same with their houses.
They had set a defensive position beside the river, a house for each Platoon. It was almost like living in the roughest neighbourhood. Germans were firing at them, they fired back at them. Street fighting, Guarnere would have loved this.
"This thing working?" Murphy asked, pointing to the phone.
Malarkey shrugged, with a tiny grin. "Give it a go, Murph".
Clearing her throat, she picked up the receiver, placing it onto her ear.
She could only hear crackles, until Malarkey flicked on a switch and turned a few knobs.
There was a high-pitched ringing, Murphy grimaced.
"Jesus – that 'fecking kills. My God, what the fu-"
"who is this?" A voice asked from the other end.
Murphy's eyes widened a little, while she looked at Malarkey.
Placing her hand over the receiver, she said to him.
"Speirs – you talk to him!"
Chuckling quietly, he shook his head. "No, you picked up the phone-"
"you called CP!" Murphy hissed, "you're an arse, Donald Malarkey".
Heffron laughed and took the receiver out of her hands, before putting the phone down.
Malarkey and Murphy looked at him.
"You can't just hang-up on the Captain". She mumbled.
Heffron shrugged, "he won't know".
Some explosions soon came from outside, which caused the ceiling to rattle.
White chalk fell on their already dirty uniforms.
No one dusted it off.
"What the hell was that?" Jackson uttered quietly, looking up at the ceiling.
"Krauts had someone pinned down". Murphy mumbled.
"Good luck to them, huh?" McClung muttered.
"Call up for artillery fire". She said, "we need to strike that side".
"I'll get 1st to do it". Malarkey picked up the phone.
Few minutes later, a swoosh came from above them and the sound of their own shells bombing across the river. And then, Webster entered the room, though he wasn't alone. Lieutenant Hank Jones. Straight out of West-Point. Green and held a certain amount of cockiness. Being cocky was good, being confident was even better but being arrogant – then you're crossing a line.
Webster walked over to them both.
"Sargent, this is Lieutenant Jones". He said, "just assigned to 2nd Platoon".
"Malarkey, Platoon Sargent".
Jones held out his hand, "congratulations on the battlefield commission".
Murphy's lips broke into a tiny grin. She ducked her head.
A few of the guys behind them snorted.
Confused, Malarkey shook his hand. "The what?"
"They're making you an officer, no?"
Malarkey looked over his shoulder, at the guys who were muffling their laughter.
He shook his head, letting go of the hand shake. "Me, no. You must be thinking of 1st Sargent Lipton".
Murphy pulled a face; what was that?
"My mistake". Jones said, "so, you're without a Platoon leader?"
"No, not anymore Lieutenant".
He gave a tiny nod, "right". Jones said lightly.
There were a few moments of silence, while Malarkey finished off fixing up the phone.
No one wanted to go deaf from that high-pitched screaming from the other end.
"So, you 'wanna introduce me to the men?" Jones asked, giving him a nod.
Malarkey could have sighed, "well, some are sleeping downstairs, and the rest are right here".
Murphy shook her head, God, she loved his enthusiasm today.
"Sargent, a patrol is being planned for tonight, 0100 hours across the river".
Murphy and Malarkey both stared at this kid.
"Regiment wants P.O.W's for interrogation".
Malarkey placed a hand on Murphy's shoulder, while the three of them headed towards the window. Malarkey began to explain what the situation was to Jones. Who had asked moments ago.
"Any mortars?"
"60's outback".
"Any other patrols?"
"Fox Company took one out". Murphy said, "Babe's friend, Sargent Green, he got hit". She told him, "he's dead now".
Clearing his throat, Jones looked back out towards the window.
Her eyes flickered towards the others, who were busy fishing information from Webster.
"I take it this was already an outpost when you arrived?" Jones asked.
Malarkey lit a cigarette and hummed, nodding his head. "There were some dogies from the 79th infantry, but they left in a hurry".
"What's the report on enemy activity?"
"Expect some flares, a few mortars at night". Malarkey replied, "scattered 88's, snipers during the day".
Jones nodded, gesturing towards Webster. "Yeah, we dodged some mortars on our way in".
Malarkey just gave him this blank stare, "hm".
"Dodged some mortars". Jesus Christ.
"They also got some sort of railroad gun back there". Malarkey continued, "shells about the size of a deuce and a half. Sounds like a Freight train when one comes over".
"But they haven't made any attempts to cross the river?"
"No". Malarkey responded quietly. "They have roofs of their heads, sir, just like us. I don't think anybody wants to do anything stupid at this point, right?"
Murphy cleared her throat, "speaking of stupid…the patrol tonight, sir?"
"Right, yes". Jones said, "it comes straight from Colonel Sink. Captain Speirs was told to bring along fifteen men, he has chosen Heffron, McClung and Ramirez from this Platoon".
She sighed.
"So, it's McClung, Heffron and Ramirez". Malarkey repeated.
Jones nodded, "I'll tell them. I just need you to point-"
"listen up!" Malarkey called out to the rest, walking over to them. "Got some bad news". He took off his hat, "there is a patrol set for tonight. And so far, Speirs wants McClung-"
"we know".
"Yeah, we just fucking heard". Heffron muttered.
"Webster here told us".
The phone started to ring, Murphy's eyes widened a bit.
Oh, what if that was Speirs?
"Easy White". Malarkey answered.
While Malarkey continued to talk, Webster looked away from everyone.
They had just ratted him out.
Not a good move. Murphy set them a tiny glare.
"The PX rations just came in". Malarkey told them, "including winter shoe packs".
"Beautiful".
"Yeah, finally, right?"
"Good of 'um". Liebgott said, "now we're in a nice warm house".
"Also". Malarkey added, "we get showers".
Murphy didn't get a chance to show how relieved she was about showers.
Swoosh!
There came a mortar.
"Alright, clear out! Let's move out!" Malarkey hollered.
They all raced out of the room, grabbing their helmets and the likes.
One of the mortars crashed into the building opposite them.
And just like all shelling's, it was loud, and the house could have collapsed.
They raced down into the cellar, hiding under the tables.
Nothing dramatic happened, most of the guys started laughing.
Christ, she wasn't.
Murphy hated those damn things. Heffron grabbed her arm, pulling her up.
"Come on, Murph. You fucking stink".
When they left the house, white chalk falling off their helmets and jackets. There came on single explosion. And they all stopped, staring off towards the sound.
"Somebody's been hit!"
And just like that, everyone was running down the road.
It was Bill Kiehn.
Alley was with him at the time.
Bill was a Toccoa guy. And he was killed because he was carrying a sack of potatoes.
Wrong place, wrong time.
That's the horrors of war. It's either your day, or it's not.
Christenson was by his body, staring blankly ahead.
Jackson stood at the side, as if guarding them.
He probably was, Murphy figured. He had done it many times before.
Murphy placed a hand on Christenson's shoulder.
"Did you know him well?" Jones asked Webster.
"No…not really".
Christenson lowered his head.
Murphy clenched her jaw, "Web, get lost, would you?"
When Webster and Jones cleared off, Jackson remained on point.
It took him a few more minutes but Christenson finally got up.
And the three of them headed towards the showers.
Portable showers. No sides, just bare asses.
Dam, Murphy was going to have to wait.
Showers for 2nd were going to have to wait anyway because Malarkey soon came over to them, rounding everyone up. They were all present, with a few guys from 1st Platoon standing behind them, all showered and in fresh uniforms.
"Alright, I'm leading this patrol". Malarkey said, "CO wants, Murph, Grant, Liebgott, Wynn, Jackson, Shifty from 3rd Platoon-"
Jackson cursed and walked off.
"And Webster". Malarkey finished.
"They want anyone from 1st?" Cobb asked.
"No".
"Is there anyone they don't want from 2nd?" Liebgott asked, sounding pissed.
"That list sounds like everybody to me". Malarkey remarked, before walking off towards the showers.
The rest stayed there, they couldn't believe it.
"It's always second Platoon". Liebgott said, "I swear to God, if we were down to three guys, they'd still want us for it".
When he walked off, Murphy sighed.
"I can't believe they're 'gonna make Malarkey lead it". Grant said.
"Christ – he only lost his five best friends". Heffron whispered, "what the fuck's he 'gotta live for?"
Rubbing the back of her neck, Murphy turned around, almost bumping onto Cobb.
But his eyes were staring at Webster.
"Been a long time since your last shower, professor?"
Murphy wasn't mad.
Not really, not as much as her friends were.
2nd were picked because 1st were always picked.
Sure, they had lost a lot more than 1st since Bastogne but 1st Platoon got picked for everything. So, Murphy wouldn't let it get to her because if Guarnere had heard them complain, you'd bet he'd raise all kinds of hell on them. Trouble was, he wasn't here, that's why Heffron went to the hospital. If Guarnere was around, he would have stayed. It's true, Heffron told her that.
At the back of their OP, Winters and Speirs were looking across the river.
Murphy figured she'd join them, seeing as she couldn't shower just yet.
And she sneaked up on them, by complete accident.
Murphy was standing there, staring out across the river and Winters looked to his right and soon smiled a little, when he saw her. Shaking his head, he gave her hand a tiny squeeze.
"Okay, Murphy?"
Nodding, she looked up at him. "Showers are – well, I'll wait".
He raised his eyebrows, "oh?"
Murphy smiled, shaking her head. "Sir, we're not discussing the shower situation".
Chuckling, Winters looked back through his binoculars.
"How's the new Lieutenant, Flynn?" Speirs asked her.
Murphy cleared her throat, "oh, fine, sir".
"You know he graduated on D-day?"
She huffed softly, "no, I didn't know that".
They were quiet for a few moments.
"Are the men okay?" Speirs asked.
"Fine, sir". Murphy replied softly, "they'll feel better after a shower and something to eat".
Her eyes looked over at the small village. Mainly farms and houses. Nothing much to it.
"Can you see the three-story building?" Winters asked, "that's the enemy OP, where you'll get your prisoners from".
Murphy tried to find this building. It only took her a few moments.
"Yeah, I see it now". She said quietly. "We're crossing the river with boats?"
"Yeah, we'll have four". He said, "the whole Battalion will be covering your withdrawal".
Murphy sighed quietly, "oh, Malark put Webster in my squad".
"Is that a bad thing?" Winters asked her quietly.
"I'm sure it will turn into a good thing".
"Captain Winters?"
The three of them turned around.
"About the patrol". Jones said, "I feel that I should go on the patrol, sir. I know I could use the experience".
Winters was quiet for a few moments.
"Denied. Anything else?"
"You're not 'gonna lead that patrol, Lieutenant Jones". Speirs added.
The three of them turned back around, Jones took a step forward.
"Permission to speak, sir".
Winters lips twitched; he couldn't believe this guy.
He turned back to face him again, "go on, Lieutenant".
"It looks like Sargent Malarkey could use a break, sir". Jones said.
Murphy frowned, slowly turning to face him.
"I've discussed it with him, and he said that he did not mind if I took his place on the patrol".
"That was nice of him". Winters said, a hint of amusement and sarcasm in his voice.
Vest soon walked up behind Jones.
"Captain Winters".
"Yes". Winters looked at Vest now.
"I'd really like to be on that patrol, sir". He said, "if it's true the Krauts are finished, I haven't really done anything except deliver mail and type morning reports".
Winters nodded, "absolutely".
Vest smiled small, "thank you, Captain".
Winters leaned back towards Speirs, "he's got a point about Sargent Malarkey".
Speirs looked at Jones, "yeah, a point".
"Fine, you can go". He said, after a few moments. "There'll be a briefing, CP 1700".
Jones nodded, "yes, sir".
"So, who do you have in mind leading this thing, if not Malarkey?" Speirs asked, once Jones and Vest had cleared off.
Crossing his arms, Winters looked back across the river.
He had a couple in mind. Two Sargent's came to mind, and one officer.
One Sargent was Martin, of course, he was great out in combat.
And of course, Foley came to mind.
Jones would not be leading this patrol, that was for certain.
He looked at Murphy. She had done a similar patrol. In fact, Murphy had done many patrols regarding prisoners. Just not ones with crossing a river but she was on Operation Pegasus. But like Malarkey, Murphy had been on every important objective and mission since D-day. Brecourt, Carentan, Neunen, Veghal, Uden, the Island, Bastogne, the patrol in Bastogne, Foy – every single one.
But she did lack experience with handling fifteen men.
Murphy was only used to three or four.
"Sargent Martin will lead". He said, "and Murphy? You'll be second in command".
"I'm not offended that you picked Johnny, sir". She said to him, "he's used to more guys, I'm only used to my squad".
Winters smiled a little, "well, you're an expert on prisoner snatches".
"That's very true".
They both chuckled.
Speirs pulled a face, shaking his head.
"Why doesn't Flynn just lead?"
Murphy cleared her throat, "I'm not-"
"we're bringing along two new faces". He said, "Flynn could use the experience".
They both looked at her.
Murphy rubbed her lips together, shaking her head.
"Johnny would be better, sir". She said, "I'll make sure the prisoners are secured and no one gets left behind".
"Good idea". Winters approved, giving her hand a squeeze again. "Now, go get a shower".
…
Malarkey was waiting by the showers, smoking a cigarette.
"There you are".
Murphy put down her rifle and helmet, "you were waiting for me?"
"Yup". Malarkey said, "new uniform and towels in there".
Nodding, she stepped inside.
"And Murph?"
"Yeah?"
Malarkey gave her a tiny smile, "take your time".
Murphy turned on the pipes, stripped off her clothes and got under the warm water.
Bloody hell, she almost collapsed.
She could have done too, that water was such a strong force of relief.
And the soap, it smelt like a garden of fresh roses.
Murphy tried to scrub away Bastonge, those woods, the gore, the snow, the death.
No amount of washing could get rid of Bastogne.
After her hair was washed, Murphy ended up sitting down, water still washing over her.
It had turned cold, she didn't know.
So cold. Like she was back in those woods again, freezing.
Her eyes glazed over, she was staring at Guarnere and Toye again.
She could see Hughes, cradled in her arms.
And she could see blood, puddles and rivers of blood, rushing towards her.
Heart now in her throat, Murphy soon turned cold.
When the red touched her toe, she screamed and scooted into the corner.
"Murph!" Malarkey yelled, running into the shower room.
Shaking her head, Murphy snapped out of it.
"Sorry, thought I – never mind".
Get a grip, you stupid mick!