Silent prayers had been answered.
It was on the morning of the twenty-fifth of November that they were informed of being moved out. They were being relieved. The 101st Airborne Division was heading to France for a rest at Mourmelon-Le-Grand, at a camp. After seventy-two days straight on the line, it was the best news they had heard in a long time.
Dallin was so happy to see the back of Holland.
With Toye's help, she was pulled up onto the back of a truck. Dallin hunched in the corner and leaned against the side. The truck had a roof, to keep the rain off them. Dallin gave the roof a tiny glare when reminded of their roofless barn. Jackson found it funny. And once he started laughing, the whole squad were in hysterics. When Malarkey and the mortar squad climbed in the back, they were confused by the laughter.
"What's so funny?"
Shaking his head, Jackson sighed and told him;
"the roof…it's fucking hilarious".
Malarkey grinned;
"you need a rest, Gene".
When the laughter stopped, men quietly started to discuss Operation Market Garden and how it had failed. Dallin wasn't thinking about the operation, she was thinking about hot showers, food and a bed to sleep on. She was thinking about the friends they left in Holland. Dallin thought about Campbell. She could only imagine how happy he'd feel leaving the line. Dallin could almost hear his laughter and see him smile.
She'd never stop missing him.
Looking at her friends, Dallin was thankful to have the ones around her.
Though, not all looked happy with the outcome.
"Operation Market Garden failed". She agreed with them.
Toye looked her way, a tiny frown on his face.
Dallin's lips twitched, creating the smallest of smiles;
"but we didn't fail".
…
Thirty-six hours later and they pulled up into camp. It was dark and drizzly when they arrived. The first look around camp was anything but reassuring. The Germans had used the camp before the Division arrived and Dallin was pretty sure they used it to board horses. Barracks were dusty with hay; walls were hoof kicked. The whole camp smelled musty and rotting. And yet, it was the most beautiful place in the world.
Stowing their gear, men staggered to the showers. Hot water was a welcoming feeling. Dallin grabbed the soap and got to work. The powerful blasts from the showerhead got all the mud and stains off her body and out of her hair. She scrubbed herself brand new. And left the shower feeling like a new woman.
Next, they were served a hot meal.
Roasted chicken, white bread with real butter, steaming vegetables, pie and hot coffee.
It was heaven.
Dallin shovelled the food into her mouth, very quickly. Her stomach had reached its limit after the first few mouthfuls, but she pushed through, knowing her body needed nutrition and energy. The men had the same idea. Mostly every plate was licked clean.
With supper over with, the men headed for bed.
Dallin got to sleep inside a barrack with the other NCO's and they were all mostly Toccoa men. It reminded her of being back in America, inside that dusty barrack in Georgia. Dallin climbed into a bed with a proper mattress, pillows and a blanket. As soon as her head hit the pillow, her eyes started to close. It wasn't even ten and someone had already turned off the lights.
She hoped for a peaceful night.
But Dallin's eyes opened two hours later.
With a small sigh, she slowly sat up and looked around the barrack. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark and once she could see, she found most of the beds to be empty. With a small frown, Dallin wondered where everyone had gone. Fear tugged at the bottom of her gut, thinking they'd left without her. But that fear vanished when she saw Grant stumble back into the barrack.
"Chuck?" Dallin called out quietly, "where is-"
"we're sick". Grant mumbled into his pillow, "we're all shitting and puking".
Her nose twitched;
"oh…".
"Count yourself lucky, Dill". He said weakly, "looks like it ain't hitting you".
"Yes but-"
Dallin was cut off because her stomach suddenly felt very angry.
Frowning, she looked down at her stomach.
Her gut was twisting with nausea and she was hit by a sharp and intense cramp.
Hand going on her stomach, Dallin's eyes widened.
"Fuck". She whispered, sounding urgent.
Shoving the blanket off her body, Dallin jumped down from the bed. She ran to the end of the barrack, yanked open the door and sprinted for the latrines. And soon, she found herself standing in the back of a line. Every man was in the same position. They squirmed while they waited for a stall to open.
"This isn't happening". Dallin thought.
Biting down on her lip, she almost put her teeth threw her skin.
She was sweating.
It felt like she was fighting for her life.
But someone up above must have taken pity on her.
A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the line. Startled by the contact, Dallin looked up and saw Toye. Her squad leader. He had come to rescue her, once again. Dallin almost sagged in relief. Almost. Her legs worked overtime to keep up with Toye. He looked a little less pale than Dallin, he must have already gotten sick.
Toye quickly took her into another block of latrines, which didn't have a line. He pushed Dallin into a stall and closed the door for her. She fumbled with her trousers, yanked them down and started to heave. Toye grimaced;
"just…you'll be fine, kid".
She felt miserable.
It was absolute hell.
When just hours ago, Dallin thought the camp was heaven. She was now back in hell again with some bout of food poisoning kicking her ass. For ten minutes, she could do nothing to control her body. And once those ten minutes were up, Dallin raised her head.
Breathing heavily, she croaked;
"Joe?"
Toye was still there;
"yeah, kid? You alright?"
"There's…it's all over the floor".
"Don't worry about it". Toye assured her, "you done?"
"Think…so".
"Alright, come out". He said, "rinse your mouth out, we'll get you back to bed".
Dallin stumbled out of the stall and Toye chuckled sadly.
Hand going on her shoulder, he led her to the sinks;
"don't swallow any, alright? Just in case you ain't done".
Dallin almost whimpered;
"I will not…do that again".
Toye turned on the tap and Dallin rinsed her mouth out with cold water.
It was a slow and painful walk back to barracks, but she was happy to get back into bed. Under the covers, she ignored the shivers and chills raking her body and Dallin easily fell back asleep. The 2nd Platoon NCO barrack had settled down for sleep once again.
Dallin was only sleeping for half an hour when she suddenly sat up.
Vomit rushed up to her throat.
And she leaned over the bed, letting out round two.
"Sonofabitch". Toye hissed.
He got out of bed and rushed over to help her.
"Christ, kid". He murmured, "couldn't make it?"
Dallin couldn't answer. She was too busy bringing up the rest of her supper.
Toye sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her back.
It didn't go on for as long.
Dallin spat out the taste in her mouth and whispered;
"it's…on the floor, Joe".
"Yeah, I know that". Toye tried not to raise his voice, "its… it's not your fault, alright?"
She nodded weakly.
Sighing, Toye brought out a napkin and wiped her mouth and nose;
"lay back down…I'll sort this mess out".
"Thank you". Dallin croaked.
Toye tucked the blanket under her chin and pressed his hand on her forehead.
"You're burning up real nice". He mumbled with a frown.
His only response from Dallin was a small hum.
Hand leaving her forehead, Toye got up and searched for something to clean up the mess on the floor with. Their barrack wasn't the only one suffering from supper. Everyone in Easy was sick. In fact, mostly everyone in the Regiment was suffering the same fate.
Toye cleaned up the mess and placed a wet flannel on Dallin's forehead.
Feeling the cold cloth, she opened her eyes.
Toye smiled small;
"we're all 'gonna need another shower, kid".
She huffed out a weak laugh;
"that was…fucking…disgusting".
"Yup". He agreed through a sigh, "worst is over now, kid. Rest up".
For the next two days, Easy rested. Medics gave them medicine for the cramps, but they were no longer rushing back and forth for the latrines. After forty-eight hours of bed rest, the men were up and grinning. It was like seeing light at the end of a tunnel. Dallin was so happy not to feel sick anymore. But she wasn't rushing to stuff her face with food.
They were given light duties. On their fourth day, they all went out for a small run. And they did some marching but everyone above the enlisted didn't push them for much else. No one felt like doing much of anything. However, what they did want to do was cut loose and have some fun.
On the 1st of December, the whole Company bustled into Rheims. They rushed into the first bar they found and ordered up rounds and rounds of beer and hard liquor. A shot of cognac, some vodka and wine too. Dallin pushed down many shots of vodka with Grant and Toye. It was like being back in America again. Because jokers from the 82nd were also inside the bar, guzzling down beers and chasing women. Only, the 82nd started shouting insults towards Easy.
Drunk, with pent-up anger, Easy yelled back.
And soon, a massive fight broke out.
Women screamed and ran out of the bar.
The bartender took cover.
While the two outfits crashed bottles, tossed over tables and threw in punches.
Dallin got her knuckles bruised and bloodied.
She cracked a few noses, cut some lip.
But those fists hit her just as hard.
They all went crazy that night.
She wasn't sure what ended the fight, but Dallin was tossed over Bull's shoulder and he carried her out of the bar. Someone ended up grabbing her arm and the Company took off into a run. The Military Police had caught wind of the fight and Easy were on the run.
It was the most fun she'd had in ages.
But more fun awaited Dallin.
…
Another weekend pass was granted to her.
This time, for Paris.
When leaving the office, Dallin spotted Shifty, Popeye and McClung. With a shrug, she headed over to them and asked;
"Paris?"
"We sure do". Shifty grinned, "you 'wanna come with us?"
Nodding, Dallin stuffed her pass into her pocket. They packed a duffel bag each and took the first train into the city. Having never seen the city before, Dallin was just as eager as her friends. But of course, it was going to be another bender. When they arrived in the city, they didn't do much sightseeing. The four of them swaggered into the first crowded pub they laid eyes on. Elbowing their way to the bar, they slapped their money down and ordered a round of beer.
Big band music pounded throughout the smokey room. The rafters were truly swinging. They could tell it was going to be a good night. McClung dragged over a few young French women. He picked one for himself and left Shifty and Popeye to fight over the other two. Dallin finished off her bottle of beer and like Popeye, she tossed the empty bottle over her shoulder.
More beers slid down the bar.
Dallin caught the next one, opened it up with her teeth and sucked it down.
Shifty had eight empty beer bottles in front of him.
McClung had seven.
Dallin and Popeye had none.
Once she finished the other bottle, she threw it over her shoulder.
Behind them, a bunch of guys from the Navy were yelling. They yelled at the waitress, hollered at the wall, screamed at anyone they felt like. But Dallin was drunk, she hardly noticed, and she wasn't fully aware of what she was doing. She was following Popeye's lead, thinking the French liked to throw their bottles over their shoulders. As far as Dallin knew, she was following some weird country tradition.
Shifty turned to his side and looked at Popeye and Dallin.
He noticed all their empty bottles were gone;
"whatduya got going?"
Popeye sniffed;
"Goddamn Navy jokers". He waved his hand nonchalantly and flung another empty bottle over his shoulders.
Shifty looked at Dallin;
"and you, Dill?"
Shrugging, she slurred;
"yeah…".
And flung a bottle over her shoulder.
Popeye grinned;
"she's turning into me".
Shifty raised his eyebrow with a smile;
"that ain't good".
Because Popeye was known to be ornery. It was good-natured orneriness, but Popeye had a powerful streak of misbehaving in him. And he decided to drag Dallin down to his "jokers" side. Only, she was completely clueless.
"Shit, you two". McClung glanced at them, "you been doing that long? I reckon it's about to get warm in here".
While Popeye grinned, Dallin pulled a face;
"no…I feel okay, Earl".
Five Navy guys soon walked up behind them.
Dallin couldn't piece together why they looked mad and had their fists clenched.
"Paratroopers, huh?" One said. He cracked his knuckles and made a fist. Another, his neck as thick as a man's thigh, started working his jaw as if he was about to say something smart. He didn't get very far before Popeye hauled off and punched him on the nose.
Dallin's eyes widened a little.
Shifty grabbed her arm and they all scrambled.
A guy went for Shifty's chin. He pushed Dallin to the side, and he blocked his fist and hit him in the stomach. The man doubled over and before Shifty could grab Dallin, someone caught him in the ear. Shifty squished his fist against the nearest Navy guys' eye. He heaved backwards while someone caught him and shoved him forward. Shifty pushed him off, ducked, sprung up, walloped another man in the head, then ducked again. Only this time, Shifty was too slow. A fist caught him above the eye.
Stumbling back, Shifty grabbed Dallin and pulled her down with him.
Taking her hand, they crawled across the floor. The whole bar was fighting now. Beer glasses sailed over their heads. Almost like shells and bullets. A man soon thudded next to them; he was out cold. Dallin stayed behind Shifty, while he peered around the corner of an overturned table.
Popeye crouched under a table across from them and grinned.
He offered a wry saluted.
Shifty looked behind him at Dallin;
"come on, Dill!"
The pair of them crawled over to Popeye.
With the three of them now under the table, Shifty asked them both loudly;
"just wondering! How many bottles did you toss at those Navy boys before they figured out who was throwing them?!"
Popeye shrugged;
"every Goddamn one!"
Figures squalled near the door. All was a bustle as uniformed military police burst their way into the bar and started busting heads, blowing whistles, breaking guys apart. McClung soon came into view. Shifty ducked his head up just as McClung levelled his last man then crouched down to Shifty, Popeye and Dallin.
"We'd better make a run for it". He said.
"Peach of an idea!" Shifty agreed.
Licking her bottom lip, Dallin announced to them;
"I need to pee!"
"You can piss on the street!" McClung said, reaching for her arm, "we've 'gotta go!"
Getting on their feet, they pushed their way out of the bar and ran down the streets of Paris. They ran three or four blocks away from the bar before deeming it safe. Shifty's eye began to swell, Popeye bled from a gash on his cheek and McClung asked for a tissue to wipe his bloodied knuckles.
Staring at the three of them, Dallin giggled;
"you are all…crazy!"
"Hey, thanks". Popeye tossed his arm around her shoulders, "for coming along…we really showed those jokers, huh?"
Dropping the tissue, McClung asked;
"anyone seriously hurt?"
"No…we're fine, Earl". Shifty replied.
"Good. Let's get some grub. I'm starving".
Dallin didn't think the night could get any wilder.
But she was wrong.
…
Come near the fanciest restaurant in the whole of Paris, McClung swung the door open, a cigarette between his lips. Leading the way, they followed McClung to a booth by the window and sat down. The soldiers around them sipped cocktails, dressed in their neatly pressed uniforms with girls at their tables. None of them was from the Navy, thankfully.
Feeling something brush up against her leg, Dallin looked down.
Frowning, she reached down and picked up a cat.
Setting the cat on the table, it meowed and rubbed its fluffy head against her hand.
"The fuck…". Popeye pulled a face.
Soon, a cat jumped up and settled down on Shifty's lap.
With a tiny smile, he scratched its furry belly. The cat stretched out with a purr.
A starchy looking man dressed in a black suit sidled over and jabbered at them in French. He was a waiter. He balanced his bowtie between his finger and thumb. Then, McClung looked at him and roared;
"food!"
The waiter turned his nose up in the air and stormed off.
They shrugged.
But Dallin asked;
"but…food?"
"Be right back". Popeye mumbled.
He left the table and went on a mission to find more booze.
Popeye returned with four bottles of wine. With one bottle each, they poured themselves big tumblers, kicked back on their chairs and put their feet up. Dallin liked being around the cats. It was calming. She had one on her lap, one on the table in front of her and one lying by her boots.
The waiter soon hurried back over. One of his arms was bent in a crook, with a towel wrapped over that arm. He snapped off the towel with a mighty fuss, whipped their table clean and stiffly walked back to the kitchen with a loud snorty sniff.
"What a joker". Popeye said, his boots were still on the table, "some fancy joint this is – they can't even keep out the cats".
Knocking back another glass of wine, Dallin missed the table.
The glass shattered on the ground.
Popeye, McClung and Shifty started laughing.
"God…she's too drunk". McClung said, "we've 'gotta get some food in her belly".
Soon, the uppity waiter strode back. He waved his arms at them again, slobbering all the while in French. He sounded mad. Dallin wasn't sure why. McClung raised his hand like a Sergeant slows down his troops;
"yeah, we got it". He said to the waiter, "but where's our Goddamn food?"
The waiter crossed his arms, tapped his foot. He wasn't moving.
Shaking her head, Dallin slurred;
"we're too…working-class…".
"I reckon this fella wants us to leave". Shifty said.
"I reckon we've had enough of this joker". Popeye told them.
Popeye scooped up the nearest cat and, before anyone could blink, he threw the cat into the waiter's face. The cat shrieked. So did the waiter. He ran, yelling around the restaurant while the cat landed on his feet. Laughing, Shifty and McClung pulled Dallin onto her feet. The four of them opened up the door, where the cat calmly slid outside.
Letting the door slam behind them, Shifty said;
"I think getting out of a joint like that was a smart move for the cat".
Barking out a laugh, Dallin jumped up onto his back.
He laughed and held her steady.
Shaking his head with a grin, McClung said;
"right…let's get some fucking food and head back to base".