Hey everyone! I hope you're not too cross with me for taking so long to update. I really wish I could upload new chapters each week, but I'm still stuck on a particular scene in episode 6 and I can't get much writing done during the week... I try to update once every two weeks, though :)
As always, your reviews are a constant source of joy to me, so thank you all very much for leaving your thoughts, emotions and ideas for me to read.
A few days after Guarnere had returned to Easy by going AWOL from the hospital, some more of the wounded returned. And among them was James "Moe" Alley, who had sustained serious injuries from grenade frag during a night patrol on the Island.
He was greeted with loud cheers, slaps on the back and handshakes from his comrades. Grinning, he showed them the doctor's note that dispensed him from wearing a tie. "Turns out having a couple a' holes punched into your neck's great for getting around uniform regulations", he joked.
"It's also a sure-fire way to give me grey hairs", came the familiar voice of his sergeant from the back of the ring of soldiers around him.
The cluster of people parted like the Red Sea, revealing Theresa standing there, arms crossed. The beaming smile and the teasing arch of her left eyebrow softened the sternness of her body language.
He offered her an apologetic shrug. "Sorry Reese."
She waved it off and stepped closer so she could welcome her friend back. Shaking his hand, she fixed him with a serious look and said: "Just try not to scare me like that again, okay?"
Alley smiled and promised. "I'll do my best, Reese", he vowed.
.
The large room right beside the supply office, was used for all sorts of equipment maintenance and repair. Furnished with several tables, benches and chairs – and even two crooked shelves that nobody trusted to deposit anything heavier than a compass on, it was the perfect place for the men and women to chat while they fixed and cleaned their gear.
Ana María whistled an Andrews Sisters' song as she smacked the casing of one of the radios back into place.
Cassandra, who was fiddling with the wonky tripod of her MG – technically Audrey's, but they were a team, so it was hers, too – and wondering why the universe had made sure that she'd be assigned the most stubborn and faulty but impossibly still functional piece of equipment, hummed along.
Setting the fixed radio down and leaning back with a tired groan, Ana María rubbed at her eyes and stretched languidly. "Do you want some coffee?", she asked Cassandra, the words punctuated by a yawn.
The blonde South Dakotan mumbled an indistinct negative around the screwdriver she was holding between her teeth.
Ana María laughed and got to her feet. "Okay. Be right back."
"Mhm."
.
Stepping out into the crisp afternoon air, the diminutive Puerto Rican made her way across the parade ground and ducked into the mess hall, tune still trilling into the air through her teeth. Picking up the cup of fresh coffee, she relished the warmth seeping into her fingers and palms. She took a sip of the watery beverage, waved in thanks to Joe Domingus and turned to leave.
As she crossed to the door, Ana María casually let her gaze glide through the room, noting a group of Easy soldiers – Toccoa veterans – gathered at one of the tables. Luz, hands gesturing as he was no doubt in the middle of one of his stories, leant forward and Ana María nearly bumped into a bench as she did a double-take.
There, behind Luz, laughing at the energetic radio man's tale, was no-one other than Alley.
A big grin broke out on her face. A warm sensation spread in her chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. He was okay, he'd made it back. Dark eyes flicking to the ceiling, Ana María sent a silent, reverent Gracias, Dios to the Heavens.
.
Cassandra slanted her a curious look when the radio op came back with a spring in her step, a spark in her eyes and a glowing smile on her lips. After a moment though, she recognised the smile as the same one Audrey had sported when they had reunited after D-Day.
"Alley is back", Ana María announced, setting the cup of coffee she had been cradling aside.
Cassandra pried a piece of duct tape off her finger tips. "That's great to hear. Catherine mentioned that he was extremely lucky."
Ana María nodded, testing a handful of colourful wires that poked out of the scratched casing of another radio. "Yes", she hummed, the smile still lingering on her face. "He was."
Smiling to herself, Cassandra refocused on her own tinkering.
Training resumed soon enough. The veterans recognised the importance of knowing procedures inside out and being able to perform the most complex manoeuvres and the simplest flicks of the wrist in their sleep. And the new replacements desperately needed the training. They sorely lacked the speed, stamina and routine of the Toccoa veterans and even the second or third batch of replacements had the newbies beat in virtually any skill area.
Not that it was entirely their fault. They simply hadn't had the time to hone and consolidate their skills to the same degree since the Army, desperate to refill its depleted ranks, constantly shortened the paratrooper training. No matter how hard the men trained, it was nothing short of delusional to compress a two-year course into a paltry few months and expect the same results. Despite the addition of the newest new kids, however, Easy remained at only 65 % fighting strength.
The company had undergone major reorganisation and as such, it took nearly a week before each man and woman could consistently remember their platoon and squad number again. The only ones that were spared from the confusion were the medics and Louise, who technically was a member of 2nd platoon, but as a sniper often had individual assignments.
.
Babe cursed under his breath as his M1 misfired for the second time since he had gotten into position at the shooting range. "Goddamn piece of shit", he muttered, yanking the slide back to clear the chamber before pulling out the magazine as well.
Unable to see what was causing the problem, he cleaned the chamber and slid the magazine back in. He chambered a round, settled back into his stance and took a breath.
The next time his rifle only emitted a tired click instead of the appropriate bang!, Babe let out another string of swearwords and set about troubleshooting. He racked the slide back and cleared the chambered round.
"Aha!", he made. The cartridge showed only a shallow indentation on the primer. "Great."
Heaving a weary sigh of annoyance, he took out the magazine, got up and stepped away from the shooting stands. "Fuck."
.
"Trouble?", Louise asked when the redhead joined her at the tables they used to disassemble, clean and reassemble their guns. Her hands didn't pause in their motions putting together the freshly greased breech block of a replacement's supposedly broken rifle while she raised her head to look at him.
"Yeah", Babe groused, setting his rifle down with a clunk. "Keeps misfiring." He showed her the cartridge.
The sniper cast a glance at the shallow indentation on the primer and said: "Looks like an issue with the firing pin."
He nodded. "'s what I thought, too." Muttering a few more choice words about the quality of his rifle, he began taking the thing apart.
Chuckling at Babe's unhappy grumbling, Louise finished putting together the rifle she had been repairing and held it out to the replacement that had watched her work with awe in his eyes, standing awkwardly next to the table.
"Here", she said. "Next time, don't skimp on the grease."
He nodded dutifully: "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am" and scampered off to get some more target practice.
.
A despairing groan from next to her had Louise arching an eyebrow. Babe held up two thin, cylindrical pieces of metal.
The Brit grimaced. "That explains why your rifle misfired", she commented.
The firing pin had broken clean in half as soon as Babe had extricated it. "Yeah, no shit", he huffed with a scowl. "How the fuck did this happen?"
Louise shrugged, wiping her hands on a rag. "Made by the lowest bidder", was her response.
Dropping the useless firing pin onto the table, Babe uttered a displeased grunt and said: "Guess I'll go to the armoury and get a new one."
"Don't lose it!", she jokingly called after him, laughing when he disgruntledly flipped her the bird.
.
It had become a running joke among the veterans to say "Don't lose your firing pin". While it was solid advice, the joke had developed after a baby-faced replacement named Eskinson had managed to lose the firing pin to his M1 carbine while cleaning it.
Sergeant Kiehn had looked at the kid with an expression that practically screamed 'So?' and had told him "Well then find it" in the flattest 'well, duh' tone.
With Captain Winters promoted to Battalion XO and Lieutenant Heyliger still in the hospital, Easy had received a new commanding officer in the form of Lieutenant Norman Dike, sent down from Division HQ. He was a stickler for the rules and his insistence on close-order drills didn't exactly endear him to the company either. Spending hours and hours marching rank and file up and down the parade ground, presenting arms and about-facing to death was one way to disgruntle even the most even-tempered of the men and women.
But they had immediately (after only a day under his so-called leadership) learned not to trust the man, in combat or otherwise. Dike was about as good a leader as he was a soldier. Meaning a bad one.
Or rather, he wasn't a leader at all. Nobody knew just where he went, but more often than not, he was nowhere to be found.
Not when they were in reserve, stationed in some town or another.
Not when they were in the field, digging in for a night.
And especially not when they were fighting.
His frequent disappearing acts earned him the less-than-flattering nickname "Foxhole Norman". And even the greenest of replacements were irked by their CO's ineptitude. Because they already had experience in dealing with unsuited (or downright useless) leaders, the Toccoa guys mostly just shrugged and picked up the slack.
They were just glad to have a good XO, a number of competent platoon leaders and NCOs that they trusted with their lives.
.
Though the Toccoa veterans unanimously agreed that Dike was still better than Sobel. Sobel had yelled at them, belittled them, tried and failed to lead them in the field, invented infractions and dished out punishments at every turn. Compared to that, Dike was relatively tame. Annoying and useless, sure, but not petty, vindictive and unnecessarily cruel.
Maxine, who had spent basically all of her childhood and formative years around diplomats, politicians and other members of high society, was well-versed in recognising who would make good on their word and who was all talk. It had taken her all of 14 minutes in the man's presence to come to the conclusion that Dike fell into the latter category. But not wanting to let herself be prejudiced, she had kept quiet and adopted a wait-and-see stance towards their most recent CO.
Which she had abandoned halfway through the first day in favour of preparing for the worst while hoping for the best. That lasted another few hours before Maxine was absolutely certain that she couldn't expect any leadership from Lt Norman Dike.
All it took was a casual conversation with the other officers to reassure the Washingtonian that she wasn't alone with her opinion.
So when Jessica passionately vented her anger and frustration about Dike's staggering level of incompetence, Maxine knew what to do and say without having to worry about being out of line or putting words into her fellow lieutenants' mouths.
.
"Jess", she began, catching the blonde's attention quite easily. "Take a deep breath and sit down."
Turning to the other members of the company, all showing various levels of agitation and annoyance, she had them do the same. They complied, some more reluctantly than others, but without complaint.
Satisfied that nobody would explode and end up doing something they'd regret, Maxine regarded the motley crew around her. "I'm going to say this once and only once", she said firmly, slowly enunciating each word to make sure they all understood the gravity of her statement. "I don't want to hear of any insubordination or stupid actions that'll get you in hot water with the brass. Am I clear?"
Nods, mumbles of "Yes Ma'am" and "Gotcha, Max".
She allowed herself a small smile. "Good. Because I know how you guys feel and I understand your frustration. I've never been too fond of close-order drills myself."
Knowing grins and snorts from the veterans, chuckles and surprised looks from the new kids.
.
Maxine looked at the men and women she had fought alongside with for more than two years now and asked: "How did we deal with Sobel?"
Confused glances were shot her way. Frances, realising her friend's intention behind the seemingly left-field question, grinned and leant back in her seat.
"Mutiny?", came the puzzled response from Perconte.
Jessica's frown curved into a wicked smirk. "You suggesting a repeat performance, Max?"
"No", the lieutenant replied succinctly, shaking her head. "We dealt with Sobel by sticking together, trusting our NCOs and our officers", she reminded them. "Remember how Winters always did his best to stand up for us? How he interpreted Sobel's vague orders just right to make sure we'd reach our objective? How we could - and still can - trust people like Lipton, Guarnere, Theresa and Louise to suggest the best strategies?"
Shame-faced nods greeted her and Maxine smiled, glad to see understanding filtering into their eyes. "We're paratroopers", she finished her speech. "We deal with whatever gets thrown our way."
Frances couldn't help herself and asked, feigning innocence: "So we're not gonna stage another appendix surgery?"
The veterans burst into laughter at the memory while the replacements looked extremely bewildered and also mildly alarmed.
Giggling, Maxine shook her head. "No, Frances, hate to disappoint you. And we're not gonna get Luz to imitate Major Horton either."
Their resident jokester pretended to be crest-fallen and drawled in an uncanny rendition of the good major's voice: "Well now that's just a cryin' shame, Lady Lloyd."
.
When she left the billets a few minutes later, it was to the lively sounds of the replacements begging the veterans to elaborate on those events Maxine had mentioned.
"Whaddaya mean, you faked taking out that guy's appendix?!", Babe could be heard asking, Philly accent sharp and pronounced in his incredulity.
Maxine laughed quietly and went to find Lipton.