They'd been so focused on locating Ryan, that actually finding him had taken them all by surprise; simply because they'd just about stood on the man after dealing with a German recon patrol.
The circumstances surrounding Ryan's squad and the man's imminent departure was... difficult, to say the least. Roy understood where kid was coming from – he hadn't done anything special to be sent home where he'd be safe; not when his team would be left fighting off the devil at every turn. But then he also understood where the US Military was coming from. If it'd just been him remaining, all his siblings suddenly gone, he'd want to go home where he could look after his parents and make sure they weren't left childless.
Hell, he wanted to go home now. He wanted to hug his mother, and enjoy a beer with his pa after a long day working their family farm. He wanted to teach his twin brothers how to shoot now that they were fast approaching ten, and teach his fifteen-year-old sister how to throw a punch if any guy tried to get fresh with her without her permission. He wanted to see his infant sister's first steps, hear her first words, take her horse riding for the first time where she held the reins, and see her grow up into the fine, beautiful woman he knew she'd become. But more than anything, he wanted to stand proud at end of the isle of the church as Mary-Anne, his beloved sister and partner-in-crime, got married. Whether it was to Wade or someone else; he wanted to be there for her on her big day. He wanted to be an uncle to all the children she and her other siblings had. Hell, he wanted to get married himself; raise a bunch of kids and remind them every day they were loved, just like his parents had done with him.
And then when it was time, he wanted to grow old and look back on his life, happy and content with all he'd seen and done before greeting God at those pearly white gates and finding everlasting peace.
Instead he was here, in this war-torn hellhole with no sign of leaving it anytime soon. Ryan's stubborn refusal was understandable, but it was also infuriating as hell. It didn't make sense? It didn't make sense?!
This whole goddamn war didn't make sense! You didn't see him disobeying an order from the Chief of Staff for the United States Army, just because he didn't like what was being said!
When Miller and the Sarge came back and told them they were going to stay and help Ryan's squad hold the bridge until support arrived, Roy rolled his eyes and wandered off so he could assess the town and what he'd be working with, because he knew without a doubt that Miller would be looking to him to guide the men on the ground when the enemy came calling.
He needed to have answers for them all when they did, and standing around, listening to the others waffle on about nothing wasn't going to get him any.
Irwin trailed his captain and sergeant as they made their way to one of the houses the airborne lads had stored their weapons in. While he wasn't an infantry-man, even he knew the situation was bad when he got a look at what they had.
Even if he hadn't known, Miller's reaction told Irwin it wasn't good.
"This is... everything," the man who'd earlier introduced himself as Trask admitted, seemingly embarrassed by the meagre supply of weapons they'd amassed. "Two thirty-calibre machine guns; seventeen grenades; eleven Hawkins mines; the two bazookas, but we only got eight rounds left; and assorted small arms. We had a...a sixty-mortar, but an RD round took it out."
He bit his lip. Their company wasn't exactly armed to the teeth, either. They had been when they left Omaha, but the run in they'd had on their way to Neuville meant they'd lost most of it. Between all of the soldiers, there wasn't a lot they had to work with.
"Might as well be spit-wads if they're rollin' us with tanks," Rice, another grizzled paratrooper whose gaunt features spoke of the horrors he'd seen, stated bluntly.
"Which they're sure to do," Miller sighed, sharing a look with the Sarge. Based on the emotions that flit across their faces, Irwin knew they weren't happy with what they were seeing. He wasn't, either.
"Whatcha thinkin', Sir?" Irwin pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against as he followed the pair out into the street. While the other soldiers had been content to wait for their new leader and his orders, he wasn't one for sitting on his ass without a reason – he wanted to know exactly what they were dealing with as the plan was put together so he knew what he needed to prepare for.
That, and walking around helped him take his mind off the constant aching in his side. Horvath had tried to make him sit down when he realised Irwin was trailing them, but the look he'd given their sergeant had apparently been enough to make him lift his hands in acquiescence and leave him to do what he wanted.
"Well... I'm thinking they're going to whip around the flanks," Miller said as he carefully picked his way over the rubble, heading towards the others that were waiting patiently. "Unless we can draw them up this main road here in between these buildings where all the rubble makes a bit of a bottleneck."
"Disable them?" Ryan asked hopefully.
Miller shrugged. "If we can. Make that tank a sixty-tonne roadblock? We do that, we got a fighting chance at their flanks."
"Yes Sir, that's gunna split them up," Henderson agreed. "Don't let them mass anywhere..."
"Hit 'em as hard as we can; one on one, and fall back to the bridge," Miller finished.
Horvath nodded, clearly on board with the plan. Irwin couldn't see any issues with it, himself – but then again, he wasn't a highly trained soldier like the rest of them. "Machine gunner on the move down here and an M-2 up high somewhere, piss a little bad news down on their heads."
"That would be the idea." Miller moved past them all and headed to where Roy was crouching on a pile of rubble, peering through his scope up at the bell tower nearby. Irwin shook his head, fondly. His friend had a strange attraction to high places. "Jackson! If we can, I'd like to get you up in that bell tower." Irwin rolled his eyes; no wonder Roy had an attraction to high places, if people kept putting him in them.
"Yes Sir."
"Give you a little company if you need it."
Roy nodded. "Yes Sir, some company couldn't hurt." His friend rubbed his mouth thoughtfully, and Irwin couldn't help but wonder what was going on in that head of his. "I'd say... ah... a Thirty with about a thousand rounds would be okay."
Miller turned to Henderson, who nodded. "Parker!" he called, grinning a little at the man in question. "Job opportunity."
"Yeah, well it's not the worst idea ever, Captain," Reiben mused as he joined their little group. Horvath stumbled on a loose bit of rubble, and Irwin steadied the man so he didn't face plant on the ground. "It's just everything depends on getting this tank down this main road to knock out, right? So how the hell do you plan on doing that?"
"Reiben's right," Sarge said, sounding distinctly unimpressed that he was agreeing with the Brooklynite on anything. "As our esteemed colleague from the airborne pointed out, what we've got here are a bunch of spit-wads, so how do we stop the tank if we get it to commit?"
Irwin gave Roy a gentle nudge when he came to a standstill beside him, and the sniper gave him a small nudge in return; both of them checking in with the other silently, and confirming they were okay. He stuck his hand out for the bolt Roy was trying to juggle as he reattached his scope, and the sniper gave him a small smile as he handed it over so he could set the scope in the bracket properly. "Give it a Rabbit to chase," Miller said after a thoughtful pause, pointing at the tracked motorcycle. "We could hit the tank in the tracks."
He saw Ryan perk up at that, curiosity piqued, and felt much the same. The bazookas were too valuable to waste right now, and the mines were too much of a risk to use as they couldn't be moved once set, and there was no way to guarantee the tank would go where they wanted it to. They needed something; he just had no idea what.
"Yeah, but with what?" the paratrooper asked.
"We could try a sticky bomb."
There were a few scoffs of laughter at that statement. He looked at his brothers, hoping one of them would know what the captain was on about. Jackson, Mellish, Upham, and Reiben were confused. Horvath and Caparzo, however, were nodding. At least they knew what the hell the captain was on about.
"Sticky bomb, Sir?" Ryan asked, he and Henderson sharing a disbelieving smile.
"Sir, are you making that up?" Henderson added.
"No, it's in the field manual," Miller replied, clearly confused by their reactions. "You can check it out if you want to."
"We seem to be out of field manuals, Sir. Perhaps you can enlighten us."
Nodding in understanding, Miller rolled his shoulders back. "Right. You have some demolition don't you? Some TNT or some Composition B?"
"Yeah, that Sir is the one thing we've got plenty of," Toynbe replied as he stepped forward. They all turned to look at the Private, who seemed unbothered by the sudden attention. "I've got that bridge wired with enough Composition B to blow it twice."
"Alright, you can spare some then." Miller started walking back down the street, and they all followed. Irwin stuck close to Jackson, who in turn was at their captain's right hand. "You take a standard issue G.I. sock, cram it with as much comp B as it can hold, rig up a simple fuse, and you coat the whole thing with axel grease. That way when you throw it, it should stick. It's a bomb that sticks, a sticky bomb. Come up with a better way to knock the tracks off a tank, I'm all ears."
"This is good," Reiben grumbled from somewhere behind them. "Now we got to surrender our socks."
"If blisters is all you suffer in this fight, I'll take it," he told the man, who barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Besides, your socks are probably a bit ripe by now, I'm sure your feet will appreciate the breather."
"Yeah, yeah," Reiben replied, shaking his head. "No complaining. Understood, Doc."
"Good."
Their squad came to a standstill, Ryan beside them. The young soldier seemed uncomfortable, probably on account he wasn't with his own team. The captain seemed to realise this and gave his shoulder a pat. "Go find an area close to Toynbe for us to prepare the bombs, Ryan. I'll be there shortly."
Ryan gave him a relieved smile. "Yes Sir." The paratrooper hurried off, and it was just them once more.
"Alright," Miller said, wasting no time. "Jackson, you're in the bell tower, assuming you can get in there. If not -"
"I've already got a backup nest in mind," the sniper told their leader, who nodded.
"Good. Mellish, I want you on that second Thirty Cal with Henderson. Find a spot that's covered enough you won't be spotted easily, but that you can get out of quickly if needed. Reiben, you're on the Rabbit; I know you like attention, so we'll put you in the limelight."
"Gee thanks, Cap," Reiben drawled, his lips pursed in amused annoyance. Mellish and Jackson didn't bother to hide their snickers, and they were both elbowed harshly, which only made them laugh more.
"You're welcome," Miller replied, smiling at their antics. "Sarge and I will support the paratroopers with the front line attack. Upham, you're running ammo to whoever needs it; it'll most likely be for Mellish and Jackson, but we'll direct you as needed. Caparzo and Wade, I want you both on the other side of the bridge as support -"
"Woah, hang on a sec," Caparzo protested angrily. "Why the fuck am I on the other side of the bridge?!"
"Because you're injured," Miller replied, rolling his eyes as though it were obvious. "I don't want -"
"All due respect, Captain. That's not fucking happening," Caparzo interrupted, and Irwin raised an eyebrow at the fury rolling off the man. This was the first time he could recall seeing him genuinely angry. "Upham can stay on the other side of the bridge, Sir. He's not a soldier, and he ain't going to be any use to us if he freezes out there. No offence, Upham."
"N-none taken," the interpreter stuttered, his expression betraying the fact he was relieved Caparzo was pushing for him to be away from the action. "I'm more than happy to swap."
"You said you weren't going to disobey orders."
Caparzo glared at the captain. "I did, Sir; but that's when I thought you'd be reasonable about things. Having Upham run ammo when we all know he's not a front-line man is not a reasonable decision, and will probably get someone killed. I'll run the ammo for Mellish and Jackson. Sir," he tacked on at the end, evidently trying to stay respectful.
Miller stared at the man for a moment, before smiling. "We make it out of this, your ass is running hills for a month, you hear me?"
"Happy to, Sir."
"Good. Alright, Wade and Upham, you're on the other side of the bridge. Wade, you're the only medic we have so I'm not putting you anywhere where we could lose you. Be prepared for casualties, but don't go and get anyone unless the Germans are already dead, or someone brings the wounded to you. We'll tell everyone that if they're hurt, they're to try and get to you, but I don't want you exposed. Upham, you can help Wade." He looked at the two of them pointedly, and Irwin straightened a little from the slouch he'd unconsciously dropped into. "If things go to hell, everyone is dying, or the Germans start winning – I want one of you two to blow the bridge, you hear me? You're our last line of defence to stop the Allies from losing their foothold here. The Germans cannot be allowed to cross that bridge."
Irwin gaped at the man, horrified. Blowing the bridge meant not only cutting himself off from any survivors that might need his help, but cutting him off from his team, too. Yes, he could swim across if he had too to get to them, but it would take time that the wounded wouldn't have.
Not to mention, he wouldn't be able to take half the supplies he needed because the weight could very well drown him. "Sir -"
Miller gave his shoulders a small squeeze, smiling sympathetically. "Wade, listen to me. The Germans cannot get across this bridge. But the only time that will happen is if there's none of us left to fight them off – and if that happens, it means there's nothing you can do for any of us."
"You know we'd do everything in our power to stop that from happening," Mellish added quietly, his expression sombre. "The only thing that'd stop us is if we were dead, Doc. The captain's right. You have to be the one to blow the bridge; do for us what we can't do ourselves."
Irwin swallowed back the bitter taste in the back of his mouth at the thought of losing his brothers. "Then let me stay with you," he begged, uncaring of the tears that stung his eyes. "Don't leave me behind where I can't help."
"Wade," Jackson said quietly, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "If we don't make it out, you have to be the one who tells our families what happened, and that we died trying to protect a kid whose mother had lost everything else. You have to be the one who tells them we love them, okay?"
He looked around his squad. First at Upham, where he saw the same grief in the young interpreter's eyes that he felt at having such a heavy, awful responsibility placed upon his shoulders; knowing that this could be the last time he saw all of his brothers alive.
Then he looked at the others, at Miller and Horvath, at Jackson, Reiben, Mellish, and Caparzo, and saw the quiet resignation on their faces – all of them knowing they likely wouldn't make it out of this, but staying strong for him, even when he knew they shouldn't have to be.
He realised that in a way, it was their last gift to him – them protecting the youngest of their group at their own expense just so he, Upham, and Ryan could go home to live the lives they couldn't, and to ensure their bravery was never forgotten.
Swallowing harshly, he nodded once. Arguing with them wasn't going to get him anywhere, and the least he could do was follow their last wishes, no matter how much it pained him to do so.
"Okay," he replied, voice strong despite the shake that had settled in his bones. "I promise."
Miller nodded, the relief in his eyes clearing to make way for grim determination. "Alright, you all have your orders. Let's move."
"Doc!"
Irwin turned around and wandered over to Mellish and Caparzo who were bent over several ammo boxes nearby. "What's up?" he asked as he joined them, automatically grabbing the box that Mellish thrust at him. "Wait a second, Caparzo's your ammo boy, not me."
"Hilarious, Doc," Caparzo replied, before jerking his head over his shoulder. "It's for Jackson's M-2. There's a couple more clips for his rifle, too. Can you take it to the tower for me?"
He shrugged. He'd been heading that way anyway. "Sure. That all of it?"
Mellish scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. I want to give him more, but it's hard to know how much they'll need, and how much we will. Jackson said a thousand rounds, which this box takes it to, but I don't want to leave him short."
"I already told you I can run it to him if he needs it," Caparzo sighed, and Irwin smirked. Judging by his exasperation, the pair had been arguing about this for a while.
"And I told you that when your fat ass is laden down with ammo, you ain't going to make it up those stairs in time!"
"I'll ask him, shall I?" he asked, bringing a swift end to the argument he could see brewing between the pair. When they looked at him, he rolled his eyes. "I'll ask Jackson if he wants more, to be safe, or if he's happy with what he's got. And, to pre-empt his question, how many rounds do you currently have?"
"Two and a half thousand," Mellish supplied. "Henderson said they might have more; he's trying to confirm that."
He nodded and secured the box in his arms a bit better so it wasn't pressing against his wound. "Alright, I'll be back with you in a minute." Turning on his heel, Irwin picked his way across the street, huffing a laugh when Caparzo and Mellish started bickering the moment his back was turned. He'd long ago learned the pair were close friends, but the way they blew off steam before a fight was to argue. He wasn't sure how it helped them, but it obviously did in some way, hence why they got right back to it the moment he walked away.
As he approached the bell tower he looked up, squinting against the sun, and spotted Jackson quickly, although his back was to the opening. He whistled to get his attention, and the sniper turned around, looking for the source.
When he looked down, Irwin held up the ammo box. Roy gave him a thumbs up. "I'll come down, hang on!" he called before disappearing from view.
Irwin wandered over to the entrance to the tower and leaned against the wall as he waited, carefully poking at his side.
By some miracle, Jackson's stitches had held up, and despite a little seepage there didn't seem to be any sign of infection. He'd been checking the wound every hour or so, cleaning it and coating the area in sulfa as needed, but for the most part, it was doing well.
"Hey, Wade," Jackson said, the sound of boots on stone heralding his arrival. "Got my ammo?"
"Sure do." He handed the box over, rolling out his shoulders once he'd offloaded his burden. It didn't look it, but it was damn heavy. "Corpy said there's a couple of clips for your rifle, too."
Jackson opened the lid, grabbed said clips, and slid them into his pockets. "Better to have too much than not enough."
He nodded, because it brought him to his next question. "Fish wants to know if you want any more belts for the M-2. They've got about fifteen hundred more bullets than you, and Henderson may have more. He's worried you might be short of ammo."
"Is that what they were arguing about?" Jackson asked, snorting when he nodded. "Course they were. I could hear them from up there, I just didn't know what they were bleatin' on about."
He smirked. "Does them arguing surprise you?"
"Not at all."
"Me either." He rubbed his hands on his thighs, suddenly uncertain. "So, you want any more? Corpy reckons he'd be able to get more to you, but those stairs might be a problem if you need it quickly."
Roy shook his head. "Nah, we should be good. We're just backup up there. Fish has got the harder job."
"No you're not! You can cover more areas up there," he argued. "You're not just backup, Roy." He wasn't sure why Jackson's blatant downplay of his importance in this fight bothered him, but it did. "Running out of ammo could get you killed!"
Clearly bemused by his outburst, Jackson took him completely by surprise when the sniper pulled him into a hug. "Relax, Doc," he laughed, ruffling his hair. "Parker and I are probably some of the safest on the field. Those Germans don't have a hope in hell of reaching us, and we can rain hellfire down on them. It's all good, I promise."
Irwin returned the hug, simply because the offered comfort was too good to pass up. "You better be," he grumbled, swiping at his eyes. "You're my friend, Jackson. I don't want to lose you. And I know Mary-Anne doesn't want to lose you, either."
Roy pulled back and placed his hands on his shoulders, his expression serious. "About that. Um… do me a favour?"
He nodded, both upset and resigned by what he knew was coming. "Anything."
"If something does happen to me, take care of my family, okay?" Roy hesitated, and Irwin fought down the urge to scream. This wasn't fair. It wasn't! "I've got a letter; got it finished last night when we bunked down." The letter was handed over, and Irwin tucked it into a pocket where he knew it'd be safe. "Tell 'em... just tell 'em I love 'em, and I'm sorry I didn't make it home."
He nodded silently, too afraid to open his mouth lest he start swearing about how unfair this whole blasted situation was, and didn't stop.
"There's no expectation that you and Mary-Anne become anything more'n friends, but look after her for me, yeah? She and I were closest in age and I just... I hate the thought of her cryin' over my sorry ass." Roy scratched the back of his head, shrugging a little. It was as though someone had told him he should be embarrassed about the fact he cared about his sister; that instead he should be indifferent about what his death would do to her, and was trying to conform to such an idiotic notion.
But he knew how much Roy loved his sister, because she loved him just as much, and had told him so when they were getting to know one another. "She'll need a friend she can talk to that understands what she's lost. I know you and the other lads could all be that shoulder she needs, but I'd appreciate it if it was you." He nodded again, hoping his face was conveying what his mouth could not. "Thanks for being the best friend a guy could ask for, Irwin," the sniper added quietly. "I promise I'm going to see you after all this, but... ah hell..." he sagged into the second hug Roy pulled him into, and hugged him back just as fiercely. "Thanks, Wade."
"Survive, you asshole," he ordered around a thick tongue. "Just... survive."
Roy pulled back and gave him a wink; the earlier vulnerability gone. "Will do. See you on the flip side, Doc."
With one final smile, Roy disappeared back inside the bell tower. Irwin waited until the footsteps faded before turning back the way he'd come to pass on the Jackson's message, his fingers toying with his friend's letter in the pocket where it would stay until he could return it.
The battle was loud.
Surprisingly, it hadn't started that way. Not like it had at Omaha, where the waves had slapped the sides of the ships as they arrived into Normandy, then again against the sides of the Higgins Boats as they motored their way to the shore. Between the sounds of the waves and the creaking metal of the boats, there had been the vomiting, and the praying, and the half-hearted chatter – all of which had failed to cover the sound of artillery shells hitting the coastline they were on their way to assault.
Then there'd been the groaning of the ramps opening, and the screams of men as they were cut down by the machine guns on the cliff; the bullets pinging off the metal and far too close for comfort for those lucky enough to avoid them.
Then it had been more screaming, more gun fire, more bombing, more screaming, more begging, more praying – all with the stench of blood and death in his mouth and nose, and the roar of those fighting back in his ears.
Here, amongst the ruins of Ramelle it had started on the soft, delicate voice of Edith Piaf, singing of her lost lover. There was the odd crackle of flames, and the quiet chatter of soldiers as they passed the time; Reiben regaling them with a story from home – one that had made him blush furiously at how descriptive the Brooklynite was being about an older woman he knew – and Miller talking quietly with Ryan a few meters away, but it had otherwise been silent.
But then the creaking, groaning, rolling thunder that signalled the approach of tanks had shaken them all from the stupor they'd fallen into as they waited, and the peace they'd all managed to find dissipated like smoke in the wind.
The record whizzedout as the needle was removed. Wood clattered as boots knocked the debris about. Leather, cloth, and metal all creaked and rattled as soldiers ran to their positions. The engine of the Rabbit kicked to life, carrying one of his brothers towards the enemy to act as bait. A machine gun was primed as another brother took shelter in an ambush position, while another waited in the wings to help; and while he hadn't heard it, he knew there'd been the cocking of a rifle from the brother high above him.
When the Germans arrived, all hell broke loose. It was bloody, and dusty, and filled with screams and yells that Irwin couldn't block out no matter how hard he tried.
He'd taken refuge in a semi-destroyed house right beside the bridge, putting him as close to the detonator and his teammates as he could safely get while his supplies were in the house behind it so they weren't at risk of being destroyed by a stray shell. He and Upham were watching the battle from the second floor, hidden amongst the rubble so they didn't become targets for an eagle-eyed Kraut should one get too close to the bridge. Not that they would; the Rangers and the Paratroopers were too good to let that happen.
They saw the squads take out the tank's tracks as planned, but their elation was cut short when they watched the tank's barrel swivel around and fire on a building. Irwin's heart lodged itself in his throat when he thought he heard Reiben yelling right before the explosion, and was left with the horrified realisation that they may have just lost the loudmouthed gunman.
Horror-filled expletives left their lips when those same soldiers that took out the tank were ripped to pieces by the distinctive thud-thud-thudthat signalled a FLAK gun. "Fuck!" he spat, fingers clamping tightly on the windowsill, the already damaged mortar breaking away with ease. "Fuck!"
"What is it?!" Upham asked, sounding utterly terrified. "What happened?"
"A FLAK Twenty-Mil," he replied, willing the dust to clear faster so he could see what was happening. "Those bullets turn people into mincemeat!"
"Oh, God."
The screams started. The gunfire didn't let up. The constant cracks of the M-2's echoed through the streets. The bang of a sniper rifle ripped through the air.
Irwin couldn't see anything, and he was desperate to get down there so he could.
And then... finally... he did see something.
He saw the bell tower erupt in a cloud of dust and debris as an artillery shell hit the side of it.
"NO!" He screamed, horrified, as the boom echoed through the air. Nonono...
"Wade!" Upham yelled, colliding heavily with him as he tackled him to the floor. "You... you can't go out there!"
The interpreter was openly crying, but Irwin didn't care. Jackson was up there. His brother, his best friend. He had to get to him. He had to get to him! "Let me go!"
"Jackson wouldn't want you getting yourself killed for him!" Upham argued, pinning him to the ground. Irwin growled, because despite the interpreter's slight stature, he was heavier than he looked. "Wade, please! We can't lose you too!"
The fight went out of him, leaving him a limp, panting mess. He nodded, waiting for Upham to get off him before he stood up and went back to the window to hold vigil. "You better be okay, you asshole," he snarled quietly, stinging eyes on Jackson's nest that was now half destroyed. "You promised."
He swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. "You promised."
When the P-51's roared overhead, Irwin went sprinting out from his shelter and across the bridge towards the small group gathered around the captain. "Move!" he ordered, taking a second to thank whoever was watching over them that Reiben was alive before throwing himself on the ground beside Miller, sterilised hands carefully pulling bloodied ones away so he could get a better look. "Okay," he said after assessing the wounds, more to himself than anyone else. "It's not too bad."
"Is he going to live?" Ryan asked tearfully. Given there was almost no one from the paratrooper's squad walking around, it looked like the man had lost most, if not all, of his unit and was sticking close to the people he had left. Irwin winced in sympathy, and nodded. "Yeah, he should -"
"Doc!"
He whipped his head around and cursed when he saw Mellish and Caparzo half carrying, half dragging the Sarge towards him. "Ryan, put some pressure on his side. Yeah, like that." He clapped his captain on the shoulder and gave him a small smile. "I'll be back in a sec, okay? I just need to see what kind of trouble Sarge got himself into."
When Miller waved him off, grimacing as he shifted, Irwin stood and hurried over to his next patient. "Easy, now," he said as the two Rangers lowered the wounded man to the ground. "How're you doin', Sarge?"
"Fucking Kraut threw his helmet at me; can you believe it?!"
Irwin barked a surprised laugh as he tugged Horvath's jacket off his shoulders and handed it to Reiben who was hovering at nearby. He gave the Brooklynite a quick look over, and discovered that while he was covered in dust and blood and looked like he'd been through hell, he was thankfully no worse for wear. "Oh yeah? What'd you do?"
"Fucking threw mine at him!"
They all laughed at Horvath's obvious indignation. "What happened?" he asked as he started inspecting the Sergeant's back. There were two large chunks of flesh missing that were somewhat deep, but no entry wounds as he'd feared. By the looks of things, Horvath had turned and avoided being shot through the back. "These are all superficial, all things considered."
"They don't feel superficial," Horvath grumbled around a pained breath. "Kraut snuck up on me after I used a bazooka to take out that tank. Would've bit the dust if it hadn't been for Mellish, Caparzo, and Henderson finding me when they did."
Irwin looked up, surprised. Sure enough, when he turned around, he spotted Corporal Henderson sitting next to Ryan, his arm slung around his shoulders while Miller talked quietly to them both. The man must've walked past when he had his back turned, because he certainly hadn't been there a second ago.
He was glad for Henderson's presence, because it meant Ryan had at least one person from his Company still with him.
"It was after that, that German prick threw his helmet at me. Who the fuck throws their helmet at someone?!"
"You're going to be talking about that at your retirement party," he laughed, before addressing the rest of his squad, not bothering to turn around. "How're the rest of you doing?" Getting Horvath patched up so he could get to Jackson was his main priority, right then. But he wouldn't go until he knew the others were all okay, too.
"Bumps, bruises, cuts," Mellish replied, sounding bored. "Nothing we can't handle, Doc."
"Fine." He finished irrigating the Sarge's wounds and dithered over whether to sew them shut. He could do, but the longer he spent on the ground, the longer it would take him to get to the tower, and he'd already delayed enough as it was.
"Anyone need a medic?!"
This time, Irwin looked over his shoulder, sagging in relief when he saw a group of paratroopers running towards them. They must've been part of the company who'd swooped in to their rescue. "Here!"
A man ran up to him, and they shook hands. "Name's Pierce. What've we got?"
"Superficial wounds that need sewing shut, here," he told the medic. "And a couple bullet wounds on the Cap there. Nothing too serious, but I'd appreciate it if you could handle it – I've got another man who needs help further in."
Pierce nodded. "You want me to find you when I'm done?"
"No thanks, I got it."
Pierce took over, and Irwin pushed to his feet, but came to a sudden stop when Miller called out to him. "Wade, where're you going?"
He turned to face the captain, squaring his shoulders as he said; "I'm going after Jackson." The grief that filled Miller's eyes was like a punch to the gut, but he stood resolute. "I'm not leaving him there, Sir. He could still be alive."
"I..." Miller seemed to sag, but he didn't argue. "Bring him home," he said instead. "Take the others with you, if you need them."
"We wouldn't be anywhere else," Reiben said, falling into step at Irwin's left. Mellish, Caparzo, and – surprisingly – Upham came up to his right. "Let's go boys."
The trip to the tower was silent. The three soldiers were on alert in case there were any Germans lingering about, while he and Upham stayed between them, but they thankfully went unchallenged. There'd been one or two still alive, but they were too far gone to save, and for the first time in his life, Irwin didn't bother to help.
His focus was solely on the tower that by some miracle, still stood. It could have collapsed in on itself when it'd been fired upon, leaving nothing for them to find and his hope utterly destroyed, but it was still mostly intact.
"Alright, easy now fellas," Reiben said, having unconsciously taken the lead when they reached the entrance. "This could be unstable, so let's take it slow."
Irwin fell into step behind Reiben, while Mellish and Upham moved behind him, and Caparzo took position at the rear; the long, thick coil of rope he'd found on their way over wound around his shoulder to be used to get the sniper down if he couldn't do it himself.
It was slow going, both from navigating the narrow stairs that seemed to go forever, and the fact that the tower wasn't as solid as it had appeared from the outside; cracks decorating the wall and the odd shower of dust coming down whenever someone stepped too heavily.
There was an unpleasant smell in the air that grew the higher they climbed. When they neared the top, Reiben stopped, his shoulders hunching around his ears. Irwin was about to ask him what he was doing, when he realised why the smell was so familiar.
Burnt flesh.
He fought back the sudden urge to vomit, knowing full well what it meant. When he felt like he could speak without losing the meagre contents of his stomach, he said in a shaky, breathless voice; "I'm not leaving him here."
Reiben nodded once at the confirmation he still wanted to go on, and continued climbing those last few steps.
A wooden door that was filled with holes and hanging off its hinges blocked their way, and with a bit of careful shoving, Reiben got it open enough they could pass through. They filed into the room silently, and Irwin bit back a curse when he realised that his hope, as slim as it had been, had been for nothing.
Parker was closest to the entryway. The man was facedown, and what he could see of his body was broken and badly burned. Still, he couldn't just assume he was gone – his duty as a medic told him he had to check.
Crouching next to him, Irwin rolled Parker onto his side; but one look at his chest confirmed the man was gone. Even if he'd been alive, it wouldn't have been for long; the damage too severe.
Muttering a quiet prayer for the fallen paratrooper, he pushed to his feet and made his way to the rubble that was piled heavily against what remained of the wall with a heavy heart. Without needing to say a word, the others stepped in to help him move the debris – and as expected, yet as desperately hoped otherwise, they found Jackson buried underneath.
Tears blurring his vision, Irwin continued to free his friend; but the more he uncovered, the more he knew there was nothing to be done, and the more his heart broke at the loss he'd suffered. That they'd all suffered.
"Fucking hell, Bumpkin," Reiben croaked hoarsely. A quick look confirmed the suspected tears were making their way down the Brooklynite's cheeks. "Why the fuck didn't you get outta here when you had the chance?"
Irwin shuffled forward, hands hovering over his friend's body, too scared to touch. Jackson was badly burned on his right side; his arm was missing, and what remained of his leg was a charred, pulpy mess. His blond hair, which had been short yet plentiful just hours prior was now black and patchy, the strands breaking away at the slightest touch. The most heart wrenching sight was those alarmingly blue eyes were now dull, lifeless, and unseeing.
He bit down on his lip, hard, as he pulled Jackson onto his lap, the tears tracking freely down his face. "You bastard," he sobbed. "You said you were safe. You said you were coming back."
The others crouched next to him, their own faces shiny with tears as they huddled close and rested a hand on their fallen comrade, offering comfort to one another through their presence and shared grief.
A clatter broke through their quiet mourning, and Irwin turned to see Upham carefully pushing the barrel of the M-2 away with his foot, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the attention suddenly on him.
Mellish crawled over to the weapon, brow furrowed, and started inspecting the gun. Then he started looking around the room, his movements frantic, and Irwin leaned over his friend's body protectively when the man suddenly roared and kicked a chunk of concrete out of the tower.
"They ran outta ammo!" his brother yelled in disbelief, hands burying themselves in his hair. "They ran outta fucking ammo! I knew he should've had more! I – FUCK!"
"Hey!" Caparzo pulled Mellish into a fierce hug, taking the blows from Fish's fists silently as he let his friend vent his rage. "This isn't on you. This isn't on him. This is on those Krauts, okay?"
"I shoulda made him take more ammo," Mellish growled, his shoulders trembling, his face hidden from everyone by the other man's bulk. "If I had -"
"If you had, we coulda been the ones killed, instead."
"I hate to be the one to say it -"
"Then don't," Mellish growled, glaring at the interpreter who'd dared speak.
"- But I think Jackson knew what he was doing," Upham finished quietly despite the warning, his voice steady and back straight despite his evident distress. Irwin clenched his teeth against the fresh wave of grief and anger at the suggestion, but his hands remained gentle where they rested on the still chest. "He had to have known the tower wouldn't stay safe forever, not with tanks around. He could have displaced, but he chose not to. He gave his life so everyone else had a chance at going home."
"Goddamn martyr," Reiben muttered, swiping a hand across his eyes. He took a deep breath, then another, evidently trying to ground himself. "What do we do now?"
"We can't leave him here," Caparzo replied, fetching the coil of rope he'd left near the door. "This place might put him closer to God, but I don't want to leave him where someone else could find him. He deserves better than that."
Irwin nodded, wiping the tears off his cheeks as he tried to arrange his thoughts into some semblance of order. It was hard to believe that only a couple of hours before, Roy had been standing in front of him, alive and well and joking about their brothers arguing, and now his body was lying lifeless in his lap. Gently, he closed Jackson's eyes, before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. "I'll look out for them, like I promised," he whispered quietly, uncaring of who heard him. Just as long as Jackson did, wherever he was in heaven. "I'll make sure they know you sacrificed yourself to protect us."
Upham and Mellish made their way back down the tower so they could receive the bodies of their fallen comrades, while he, Reiben, and Caparzo secured Parker in the rope sling they fashioned and lowered him to the ground, followed by Jackson once the paratrooper had been untied.
Once Mellish confirmed the sniper was safely with them, Caparzo tossed his end of the rope out of the opening, its services no longer required. Irwin collected Jackson's rifle, the weapon blackened and chipped but miraculously in one piece, and after confirming there was nothing left in the tower that was worth taking by anyone searching up there in the future, the trio made their way back down the stairs; Reiben and Caparzo once again bracketing him, for which he was grateful.
When they made it outside, Irwin paused; looking at the entrance he'd just passed through. Only a short time ago, he'd stood in this very spot, with Jackson opposite him, and the sniper asking him to tell his family he loved them if he didn't make it back.
Had he known it would happen the way it did? Had Jackson known there was little chance for him to make it out? Had he stayed deliberately as Upham had suggested, or had he been taken by surprise by the tank as he did his best to protect his teammates from above?
There were so many questions, so many what if's running through his mind that he missed his name being called until a hand settled on his shoulder.
Irwin spun around, and found himself face to face with Reiben. "What?"
Reiben gave him a small, understanding smile. "We were talking about what to do with them. Do we bury them here? Take 'em to the Cap? What do you think?"
He looked around, soot and mortar the only thing he could see, and had his answer immediately. "We'll take them to the bridge. There's nowhere nice here, and we can bury them with the others in a field on the outskirts, at least. Or get their bodies home, if it's an option. The Captain and Sarge deserve to say their goodbyes, at least, and we'll... uh... we'll go from there."
There were silent nods, and after a bit of searching for ways to transport the pair, they managed to find some tarpaulin amongst the ruins of a nearby shop. After cutting it into two pieces, Reiben and Mellish carried Parker's body between them, while he and Caparzo took Jackson's; Upham leading their small procession back through the streets.
When they reached the bridge, Miller and Horvath were waiting for them, expressions grim, which turned to grief when they got confirmation that they'd lost their sniper.
Miller's arm was slung around Horvath's shoulder as they walked up to them, and they set their burdens on the ground; Reiben and Mellish putting Parker a little off to the side for Ryan and Henderson who were limping towards them.
"Oh hell," Miller said, dropping to his knees next to the sniper and placing a gentle hand on Jackson's chest. Irwin had to look away lest he start crying again. "Ah kid, I'm so sorry."
"We couldn't leave him up there, Cap," Mellish said quietly. "It wasn't right."
Miller nodded. "You boys did the right thing." He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and bowed his head. "He deserves a proper burial. I just... I need a moment before I start thinking about that, okay?" When they all nodded, Miller got to his feet with Reiben's help and staggered away; Horvath following after muttering his own "I'm sorry, kid," to Jackson.
The sun broke free from the clouds it had taken refuge behind for most of the day. There was no comfort to be found in its heat, the warmth unable to pierce the chill that had set in at the loss of one of their own. It did, however, strike the chain around Roy's neck; resulting in a soft glint that peeked through the remains of his jacket. Irwin crouched beside the sniper, deft fingers pulling the chain free from its confines.
He ran his thumb over Jackson's dog tags before taking the breakaway one for his family, but fiddled with the cross uncertainly.
"Take it," Reiben growled. Irwin looked up at the man, and found grief looking back at him. "Take his cross. God clearly wasn't watchin' over Jackson up there, man. He just..." Reiben's face scrunched in devastated frustration. "He just abandoned him."
"I don't think he did. I think God's been watching over us this whole time through Jackson," Caparzo said quietly, and they all looked at him. When he realised the attention was on him, Caparzo straightened a little. "Back in Neuville, that guardian angel I mentioned? It was Jackson. If it wasn't for him taking out that sniper, we'da all been dead. Then at the radar site, he volunteered to take the left flank, knowing he'd probably die, but he did it anyway to protect us. Then here, he was watching over all of us, giving us instructions so we knew where the enemy was at all times. What I'm trying to say, is that maybe God was watching over us all, through Jackson, and when that tank aimed at him, God didn't protect him because he decided it was time for Jackson to return home."
While it was fanciful notion, Irwin decided he also liked it a lot, because Caparzo was right. Jackson had been watching out for them, in his own way, right from the start; their own guardian angel they were all too blind to see until it was too late.
He gave his brother a smile and a nod, before taking the cross from the chain, ears pricking to the sound of approaching footsteps. "Roy would've wanted his sister to have it," he told them all, tucking both the tag and the cross into the pocket that held his brother's final words. "He would've wanted it with someone who would look after it for him."
Turning, he realised it wasn't Miller and Horvath, but Ryan and Henderson. "I'm so sorry," the Private whispered, eyes wide and filled with tears as he stared down at the burnt remains of their teammate. "I'm... I'm so sorry."
"Yeah," he sighed quietly, the weight of the world becoming heavier as reality finally started to set in. "We are too."
When the word came from the higher ups that Ryan would be going home by himself, Captain Miller's squad kicked up such a fuss about all the shit they'd been put through to make sure he was safe, only to be told they weren't allowed to go with him to ensure he actually made it, that Command agreed they could accompany Ryan home on temporary leave to shut them all up.
Suffering through several weeks being shipbound had been worth the opportunity to set foot on American soil once more; and once they'd delivered Private James Francis Ryan to his mother in Iowa as they'd promised, they hit the road once more, this time heading to Tennessee to complete their true mission.
Irwin knew where the Jackson farm was, thanks to the letter that he'd kept close by ever since Ramelle, and it was with a heavy heart that they booked out a jeep from Camp Forrest where they'd been stationed and he directed Mellish to their door.
They'd managed to get the military to agree that they'd be the ones to deliver the news to the family; wanting it to come from them, rather than a priest and an unknown man in uniform.
Given what their sniper had sacrificed, Roy's parents and siblings deserved that much.
It had been like a knife to the gut when Mary-Anne appeared at the door as they pulled up; looking as beautiful as she had the last time Irwin seen her as she came to greet the new arrivals.
It had been like a knife to the heart when Mary-Anne's excited face fell when she realised who was missing from their group as they climbed out, faces sombre; her tears spilling from her eyes and heartbroken sobs ripping free.
Ignoring the others, Irwin had sprinted the short distance up the stairs and pulled her into his arms, praying that she wouldn't push him away like he feared. Roy must've been watching over him, as Mary-Anne fell against him, begging him to tell her it wasn't true.
Gods, he wished he could.
"I'm so sorry, honey," he whispered in her ear, hooking his chin over her shoulder and stroking her back slowly. Mr and Mrs Jackson joined them, their younger children close on their heels, and took one look at the scene in front of them before breaking down, themselves. "I'm so sorry."
The rest of the squad joined them at the door, and helped the grieving family to their feet so they could help them inside, ready to tell them the story of Private Roy Jackson, and how he saved them all in the war.