I am so sorry for dropping off the grid like that. It's been 6 weeks since I last managed to post a chapter and I literally finished this one ten minutes ago... I really hope that from next week on, I'll have more time to write.
Anyways, I hope you are all doing well and that you like the chapter. :)
Lipton startled awake and instantly regretted it. His chest hurt, he ached all over and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. A coughing fit clawed its way up his throat and before he knew it, he was doubled over, hacking up a lung.
"That's a nasty cough you got there, Lip", a voice spoke from his right, its casual tone failing to cover up the concern underneath.
Forcing open gummy eyelids, he looked at Luz. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are", the radioman agreed, insolently cheerful as ever in spite of the pain and exhaustion lining the shadows under his eyes. "And I'm General Eisenhower."
"It's just a cough, Luz", Lipton placated tiredly, burrowing deeper into his jacket. The wind needled unrelentingly through the fabric, leaving nothing but bone-deep cold in its wake.
He was miserable, but so was everybody else. Everyone was cold and weary and he was by far not the only one ill in the company. Lt Shames had a cough that sounded like the bark of that old dog Mr Rickets from the grocery store back home used to have. Ana María was so pale that her complexion was only a few shades tanner than Louise's, who was recovering from losing her voice a second time, and Hendrix shook with fever chills and could hardly keep track of the sporadic trickles of conversation between the men.
.
The dim of lights of a small town appeared in the distance, pulling Lipton out of the hazy trance he'd slipped into. Men began to slide off the trucks, uniform in the way their slouching shoulders tensed as they walked alongside the convoy. No matter how peaceful and calm a place appeared, they knew that danger could spring up at any time. They had learned it the hard way. And coming out of Bastogne, Foy and Noville, they were even more alert and vigilant.
"Where are we?", a replacement asked.
Guth deadpanned: "In France somewhere."
A long-suffering sigh drifted out into the winter air. "What's it matter anyway?" Babe's accent was sharp with irritation. "Whatever this place is called, ya can't pronounce it and ya sure as hell can't spell it."
"Something with 'Saint'", Geraghty got out through a jaw-cracking yawn. "And I think it started with L."
Lipton heaved himself down from the truck, blocking out his body's screaming protest. Thankfully, he – just like every other Toccoa veteran – had more than enough practice in powering through exhaustion, sickness or pain to do what had to be done. He muffled another bout of coughing in his sleeve as he fell into the steady trot of the walking patrol, keeping his stinging eyes open for any signs of trouble.
.
By the time they had reached the town and everyone had located their billets for the night, Lipton was remaining upright out of sheer habit. Lieutenant Speirs had taken one look at him and made it plain that he would get himself checked out by a medic, whether he wanted to or not.
Lip, too exhausted and sick to even hold a proper conversation, had only managed a nod and a fuzzy "Yes sir".
Which was how he found himself sitting at the kitchen table, feeling slightly silly getting clucked over by Madame Sadler, their host for the night, while Lieutenant Speirs had gone to fetch a medic.
A mug of tea appeared in front of him, steam curling above it and a tantalising scent filling his nostrils.
"Das wird Ihnen gut tun, junger Mann", Madame Sadler said with a smile, fully aware of and unbothered by the fact that he couldn't understand her.
Wrapping his hands around the tall mug – the warmth sent a tingle down his spine –, Lipton took a careful sip. The hot liquid soothed his sore throat and loosened the tight knot in his chest a little. He let out a small sigh. "Thank you."
Madame Sadler tsked and waved a hand in a dismissive motion. "Nicht der Rede wert, Monsieur."
.
The front door opened and footsteps sounded against the hardwood floor. Speirs entered the kitchen, nodding approvingly when he saw the steaming mug in Lipton's hands. Stepping aside to lean against the table, he made way for Doc Arricante, who greeted Lipton with a soft smile.
"You have been sick for a while", she said mildly and if he'd felt less out of sorts, Lipton would have laughed because of course she'd noticed.
"A few days."
"Does your cough hurt in your chest?" Mia felt under his jaw, her fingers gentle as they found the swollen nodes.
"Yes."
"Wet or dry?"
"Wet."
As if to corroborate his words, a coughing fit grabbed him under the ribcage and shook him until his stomach hurt and black spots danced in front of his eyes.
Madame Sadler crooned something in the background which made Mia chortle softly. "I don't think I have to ask you if you feel cold or if your muscles…ache", she continued.
Behind her, Speirs snorted.
"No", Lip agreed, amusement lacing his tone.
The young medic hummed and pulled a thermometer from her bag. "I know you have fever", she said, "but I want to know how high."
He shrugged his assent and obediently opened his mouth.
Slipping the thermometer under his tongue, Mia lifted her head when Madame Sadler's spoke to her. "Hier, bitte, ihr habt es nötig", the Alsatian woman said as she pushed a mug of tea into her hands as well.
Lipton hid a smile as Mia's eyes flickered from Madame Sadler to Speirs, who was already holding his own mug, and back to Madame Sadler. "Vielen Dank, Madame", she said, cradling the mug between her hands and taking a tentative sip. "Das ist sehr freundlich von Ihnen."
Madame Sadler reacted the same way as she had before, clicking her tongue and waving it off with a smile. "Keine Ursache, junges Fräulein."
After reassuring herself that her guests had everything they needed for the moment, she left to prepare the bedroom for the weary soldiers.
.
Setting down the mug, Mia plucked the thermometer from Lipton's mouth and angled it into the light of the kitchen lamp. "Hm. Not too bad."
Speirs shifted.
"It's pneumonia", she determined, putting the thermometer away. "I can give you penicillin and something against the fever, and the tea will be good. But mostly, you need to rest."
Lipton nodded, already struggling to keep his eyes open. The warmth of the tea was spreading from his stomach and hands, pushing back the stubborn cold that had lodged itself in his bones.
The brunette medic's deep blue eyes studied him as she sipped her tea before shifting away again. She prepared the dose of penicillin and administered it with her usual precision, the pinprick of the needle quickly lost under the general aches thrumming through Lipton's body. Syringe and vial disappeared back into Mia's bag and she handed Speirs a small tablet package.
"There are two aspirins in here. One before he goes to sleep, the other in six hours if he needs it", she instructed quietly. "If he has trouble breathing, he needs to sit up. Steam helps. And he needs to cough out the…" – her fingers twitched, found her mug as she lost the word – "stuff in his lungs."
She drained the last of her tea. "If you need anything, send someone to come get me. Else I'll check you again in the morning, Lip." The last part was added with a small smile.
Even though his energy was flagging rapidly, his facial muscles easily remembered how to smile back. "Thanks, Doc."
Her head dipped slightly, a strand of dirty hair falling into her forehead and she murmured a soft "Good night, sirs."
"Good night, Doc."
"Night, Mia."
They heard her speak briefly to Madame Sadler in the hallway, her voice a familiar melody flowing to a different cadence. And then, with the door clicking shut behind her, she was gone. The unassuming sense of quiescence her presence brought lingered.
Haguenau was just as dreary and war-marked as any other town Easy had held before. The buildings were in less ruinous condition than those in Bastogne, but the trucks struggled to navigate the streets that were riddled with pot holes left by mortars and the massive shells of a rail gun.
Liebgott grimaced at the pins and needles prickling through his arm. He carefully flexed his fingers, slowly clenching and unclenching them to keep the blood flowing. But he refused to move because that would mean waking Louise. The blonde had fallen asleep against him just over an hour ago, so he sure as hell wasn't going to disrupt the first proper sleep she'd gotten in what felt like fucking years.
Besides, he didn't want her getting sick again. Her voice still hadn't recovered and the fever had only cleared two days ago.
I guess she can count herself lucky, he mused, scowl fading when Babe leaned forward and held out a blanket, gesturing with his chin to the sleeping sniper. He took it with a nod and spread it over the one already tucked around her. Least she's not as sick as Lipton. Or Ana María.
The poor woman had an ear infection that came with constant pain and enough dizziness to make even standing upright a challenge. Because of her vertigo and resulting nausea, she was travelling in one of the jeeps instead of on the back of the trucks with the rest of her platoon.
.
The truck bounced through another pot hole, jostling its passengers. Liebgott glanced down and was pleased to see Louise still asleep. Her head had lolled a little against his shoulder and blood was rushing back into his hand.
"Hey guys!", cried an obnoxiously cheerful voice. The atmosphere shifted instantly, growing stiff and guarded.
Recognition niggled somewhere at the back of Liebgott's mind as he turned to aim a heated glare at the idiot. After a moment that lasted far longer than it should have, the beaming face and voice clicked with a name and annoyance swung into resentment. Webster.
"Some lieutenant told me to report to Second", the man continued, somehow managing to completely miss the tension crackling in the air.
Liebgott grit his teeth, flicking open his lighter with his free hand as he forced down the sudden urge to punch that carefree smile off Webster's clean-shaved face. God, compared to his fresh uniform, theirs looked almost black with the layers upon layers of muck and grime.
Pulling himself up onto the truck, with an extremely reluctant hand up from Jackson, Webster's bright gaze roamed over the seats. His smile dimmed as he caught the burning stares from all the Toccoa men. Turning to Jackson, he wanted to know: "So, who's leading the platoon?"
Liebgott had to consciously dig his fingers into the wooden planks to keep himself from throwing the man off the truck. Louise would understand, of course, even if she had to stop him. But his friend needed the rest, so he went back to fiddling with his lighter.
Hesitating, Jackson glanced at the other men before answering: "Sergeant Fields is."
A flash of what? concern? shock? pity? crossed Webster's face. Liebgott scowled at him – as did Babe, he noted with no small amount of satisfaction – and Webster wisely didn't give voice to his thoughts, instead choosing to ask: "What, no officers?"
And boy was Liebgott glad that Louise was asleep because the loss of Maxine and Frances was still a sore topic and she wouldn't have taken this reminder well. "I guess you didn't hear", he said, deciding that while he couldn't punch the guy, he could still have some fun. "They're making Malarkey a lieutenant. He's on the fast track now."
"Really?" Webster lit up at the gossip, eagerly looking at him. "That's terrific!" Then a confused frown dropped over his face and he wondered: "But why have Louise lead the platoon if they're giving Malarkey a commission? No offense to her."
Rolling his eyes, Liebgott offered a one-sided shrug, nodding his head in agreement when Babe sniped: "How should we know? It's the Army, it ain't supposed to make sense."
.
Jackson's attempt to change topics before tempers reached their boiling point backfired when he asked if Webster had come from the hospital.
"Must've liked it there", Liebgott said, false innocence clashing with bitterness. "Cause we left Holland four months ago."
"Well I wasn't there the whole time", Webster explained, once more missing the glaring disdain rolling off the veteran soldiers. "There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot."
Babe scoffed.
"Yeah, you sure didn't bust out and try and help us in Bastogne, Web." Liebgott's tone was still measured, but scathing.
Everyone on the truck –Webster excluded – knew that the only reason he wasn't tearing into the clueless Private was his consideration for Louise, who hadn't so much as stirred.
Finally picking up on the hostility, Webster smiled in an attempt to ease the tension. "I don't know how I would have done that."
"Funny, because Popeye found a way. So did Alley, right?" Liebgott looked at Babe, who bobbed his head in solemn confirmation. "Back in Holland. And Guarnere–"
"–yeah where is Guarnere?", Webster broke in, looking around. "Is he still your platoon sergeant?" He chuckled. "Him and Maxine?"
Heavy silence was the initial response. Liebgott, usually the first to have a snappy retort ready, stared at Webster in dumbfounded disbelief. Babe suddenly found the floor very interesting. Grant's jaw tightened, a grim look turning his amiable features dark. Even Jackson, who hadn't been with the outfit for that long, was thrown by the question.
Soldiers with even a modicum of field experience didn't ask about the people that weren't there. Or if they did, they approached one person on the down-low, somebody that wasn't incredibly close to whoever wasn't there anymore.
"No." Jackson's voice was hard as a slap, shattering the stunned hush. "They got hit", he added, just as the truck jerked to a halt.
Louise's eyes snapped open as soon as the truck stopped and she was on her feet even before Liebgott had jumped down from the tailgate. "Alright, that's our stop, gentlemen", she called, voice gravelly with sleep.
Boots hitting the pavement, she eyed Liebgott, who was shooting a particularly deep glower back towards the truck bed. Just then, she heard Babe snarl behind her and wheeled around, baffled by the sheer rage in his tone.
"Yeah! Yeah, Bill got hit! Blew his whole leg off!"
Frowning at the soldier Babe had shouted at, recognition hit her after a few seconds, understanding following right after with the force of a deuce-and-a-half. No wonder everyone was in such a foul mood.
"Heffron!", she called, drawing his furious attention towards her. "Let's go."
He hopped down without further complaint, practically vibrating with anger. She gave him a pat on the shoulder and he mustered a terse nod. Then, without missing a beat, she spurred the rest of the platoon into motion. "Right, gents, down you get. Webster, no time for wool-gathering, come on."
.
Malarkey came to stand beside her. "Any idea where we're supposed to go?"
"Um..." Louise scrubbed a hand down her face in an effort to shake the fatigue stinging in her eyes. "Yeah. OP 2…" She recited the directions, which were thankfully simple enough.
"Sarge?", Webster's voice rang out behind them.
She pulled in a breath and rolled her eyes, muttering: "Please Lord, grant me the strength not to shoot him."
Malarkey snorted.
"Sarge?", Webster called again, catching up to them.
A muscle in her jaw tensed. "What is it?"
"You see, well, um, the thing is–"
"Whole sentences, Webster, ten words or less."
He stuttered, her slate glare putting him off-balance. Louise could already feel a headache building behind her eyes. Had he always been this annoying?
Piping up before the blonde bit Webster's head off, Malarkey explained that Webster didn't know whether he'd be assigned to 1st or 2nd platoon.
With monumental effort, Louise swallowed all the remarks burning on her tongue and gave a jerky nod. "Right. Malarkey, get the guys situated in our billet. Webster, with me." She didn't wait to see if he followed her.
.
The whining yowl of a mortar shell cut through the air. Louise hitched up her shoulders in case any debris flew their way, but she didn't bother taking cover since it wouldn't hit anywhere too close. The shell zoomed overhead and landed behind the wall across the street.
Casting a cursory glance around, she raised an eyebrow at Webster scrambling to his feet, dirty slush dripping from his formerly pristine ODs.
"What's the matter, Webster? Nervous in the service?", Malarkey teased, a chortle in his tone.
Quirking a smile because it was good to hear Malarkey's humour return, Louise sighed. "Webster, if you're done inspecting the pavement…"
Walking away, she caught the grin spreading on Malarkey's face before he turned around to summon the rest of their meagrely numbered platoon.
.
"Is Captain Winters still leading Easy?"
Louise privately wondered whether Webster was being deliberately obtuse. The man had gone to Harvard; he was supposed to be one of America's best and brightest. "He's Battalion CO", she answered begrudgingly, keeping her eyes firmly on the building that served as their CP in an attempt to hold onto the tattered remnants of her self-control.
"Then who's leading the company?"
"Captain Speirs."
"Speirs… Speirs?! Speirs from Dog Company?"
Webster's tone could only be described as flabbergasted, with a side of horror. Louise hid a smirk of devilish delight and nodded her head. "The one and only."
Was it wrong that she enjoyed his discomfort a little too much? She couldn't have cared less if she'd tried. She was weeks past caring about the feelings of a lazy rich boy who never did anything more than the absolute minimum. Serves him right, she thought bitterly. Lazes about in a bloody hospital for 4 months while the rest of us are fighting in the forest from Hell.
Walking into the CP, Louise was hit with a sudden, disorienting feeling of being back in her childhood home – or rather, in a neglected and decaying version of it. The décor and furnishing of the front room, though covered in dust and the marks of war, were lavish and expensive. Light filtered in through grimy windows, painting the whole room a dull grey.
For a moment, she was sure that if she walked up the stairs, she'd find a long hallway with a faded green carpet and a bedroom with a too large bed and a crooked lamp. Then, the familiar scent of cheap cigarettes, mixed with sweat and gunpowder, filled her nose and pulled her back to reality.
There was a piano in the corner, the traces in the dirt on the floorboards telling her that it hadn't been in that place originally. She walked past it, hearing Webster trail behind her. Slate-grey eyes passed Vest fussing around with supplies and fell onto Luz near the formerly ostentatious, burgundy couch in the middle of the room, conversing with Lipton in low voices while the First Sergeant shrugged out of his webbing.
Leaving Webster to his own devices, Louise headed over to them. Lipton had a small and genuine, if worn, smile for her and she asked: "How are you feeling, sir?"
The look he gave her was tired. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh. No offense, Sarge, but you look like shit."
"Charming as always, Fields", he retorted with a fond eyeroll.
Luz motioned towards her in agreement, dry amusement accompanying the exasperation in his voice. "See? Now let's get you settled on this piece of luxury horror. Mia said you need to take it easy."
Lipton clearly felt worse than he wanted to admit, because he didn't offer any protest, shedding the last of his gear and sinking down into the couch cushions with a groan.
"That's better", Luz said with a pleased nod.
Remembering the actual reason why she had come to the CP in the first place, Louise asked: "Luz, have you seen Mia?"
"Uh, yeah, she's with Ana María. Should be back soon to check on Lip." The last part was mainly directed at the First Sergeant, light ribbing to cover up the underlying concern.
Lip just smiled and shook his head, having apparently resigned himself to his fate.
Louise dipped her head in thanks and the radioman ambled off to see to his countless duties. He'd somehow ended up doubling as a supply officer at some point during their time in the Ardennes and as such, he now had his hands full cataloguing the latest shipments and trying to stretch the supplies to make them last as long as possible.
.
Speculatively eyeing the edge of the couch, Louise decided against sitting down. If she did, she'd probably never get up again. So she perched herself on the armrest of the beat-up piece of furniture, dropped her helmet onto the surprisingly soft cushions and raked long fingers through her greasy hair, watching dispassionately as dirty strands tumbled out of her braid.
Luz returned, a cigarette between his lips. Upon noticing Webster lingering in the doorway, he called: "Hey, look who it is!" He made it sound like the other man had been gone for years.
It certainly felt like it, Louise thought bitterly.
Handing over a report, Luz joked: "Nice digs, huh, Lip?"
"Yeah", Lipton replied with an absent quirk of his mouth, eyes skimming the pages.
The door opened and Louise perked up at the sound of familiar footsteps against the hardwood floor. Lifting her head, she saw Mia step around Webster – who was still standing there uselessly –, balancing a supply box on her hip, on top of which lay–
"Oh, now would you look at that, Lip!", Luz cried gleefully, "she's brought you a blanket. It must be love."
Louise laughed while Lipton half-heartedly swatted at the radioman.
Mia just smiled and shook her head. Depositing her load beside the couch, she took off her helmet and carelessly dropped it next to the box, her blue eyes ghosting over Louise's scowl before focusing on Lipton.
"How's Ana María?", he asked.
"Better. I told her to come here so she can sleep."
Lipton nodded his approval. "That's good."
Rounding the couch, Luz picked up the blanket and spread it over the First Sergeant, who had returned his attention to the report in his hand.
.
Webster finally seemed to come out of whatever dazed stupor he'd been in before and stepped forward. "Sergeant Lipton", he said, taking in the ratty blanket at Lip's ragged appearance. "You feeling alright?" He paused as he saw Mia pluck a thermometer from Lipton's mouth. "Are you sick?"
The muscles in Louise's jaw clenched. No, Webster, he just loves lying around while everyone else is busy.
"Wie kommst du denn auf die Idee?", Mia murmured under her breath, the flat sarcasm in her tone making it obvious to Louise that her friend found the question just as stupid as she did.
"He's got pneumonia", Luz explained bluntly, delivering the news with a dismissive shrug as he lingered an extra moment to fuss with the blanket.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Luz brushed it off. "Eh, what're you sorry about? He's alive, on a couch, with a goddamn blanket. Snug as a bug."
Louise huffed. A moment later, she was doubled over in a fit of rattling coughs that nearly knocked her off her perch. She dismissed the looks of concern that prickled on her skin with a wave of her hand.
"Oh, right", she rasped as the coughing subsided, remembering why Webster was even in this room, "Lip, Webster doesn't know which platoon he's with. He used to be with First, but Foley sent him to us."
The First Sergeant studied her, a silent question in his illness-bright eyes. She stared right back, knowing that the displeasure and utmost reluctance to have Webster in 2nd platoon showed on her face.
.
Luz broke the frozen moment by tapping Mia on the shoulder and whispering something to her, motioning to the adjacent room with a thumb. She nodded and got up, pausing briefly to pick up the supply crate before following the radioman.
"Have a seat Webster", Lip said with a tired sigh, flapping the report at the hovering man so he'd sit down. "We'll get you situated." Then he looked at Louise and added: "And you, Fields, sit down properly before you fall off the damn couch."
She glared at him. "I'll have you know, my equilibrium is perfectly fine." Still, since she didn't want Lip to strain himself even more, she slid off the armrest and sank into the surprisingly soft cushions. Immediately, her eyelids grew heavy. Stay awake!, she admonished herself, rubbing at her eyes. She wouldn't, under no circumstances, fall asleep right in the middle of the CP.
Webster seated himself on the piano chair in the corner, missing the annoyed look he got from Vest. After a few beats of silence, he shifted awkwardly and asked: "How long have you, uh, been sick?"
It took her a significant amount of self-control, but Louise managed to turn her groan into a deep breath. If he carried on like that, she'd end up eviscerating him before the day was out.
"Long enough", was Lipton's weary response, accompanied by a resigned shrug.
"Does… is anyone else sick?"
Louise opened her mouth to snap at him, but was beaten to the punch.
"Everyone is sick", Mia said as she walked back into the room, the quiet frankness of her words highlighted by her accent. "And those who aren't were already." She dropped a pack of cigarettes into Louise's lap before going over to help Vest with the supplies.
Torn between grinning and frowning, Louise settled for stowing the smokes in a pocket. The sound of coughing had her craning her neck and from the corner of her eyes, she caught Lipton's expression pinching with faint surprise and concern. Mia was sick, too. The realisation was enough to make a spool of dread coil in her stomach, considering what had happened the last time the younger woman had been ill.
Pushing to her feet – it would keep her from falling asleep on that couch –, Louise ignored the dumb, wide-eyed look Webster was giving Mia and went over to her friend. "He looks terrible", she remarked sotto voce, eyeing the First Sergeant on the beat-up couch. "How is he?"
The brunette shrugged, accepting the forms Vest handed her in passing. "Pneumonia is not licking sugar. He's not over the hill yet, but he's getting better."
"That's good to hear." She cleared her throat, countered the assessing look with a small smile. "I'm fine. You, however, are not."
Mia's deep blue gaze flickered up to her, the picture of guileless innocence ruined by the redness lining her eyes, the thick dark rings under them and the greyish-gaunt pallor of her face.
Letting out a huff, Louise insisted: "I mean it, you look nearly as awful as Lip and don't tell me that cough comes from all the dust around here. Get some sleep, would you?"
"As soon as I can talk Lipton into getting some."
Louise fixed her with an insistent, half-threatening stare. "See that you do."
With a distracted nod, Mia tucked the papers into her jacket and left the room again with a soft promise of bringing back coffee.
.
The door opened again to let in a young, very clean looking lieutenant. "Is this the company CP for Easy?", he asked wearily.
Lipton confirmed, gratefully aborting his attempt to rise when the new arrival waved it off with a quick "as you were."
"Lieutenant Jones", the lieutenant said by way of introduction, "looking for Captain Speirs?"
Louise's eyebrows kicked up. This was going to be their newest officer? This kid with an over-stuffed duffle, oversized helmet and immaculate fatigues? The guy was so new, he practically squeaked.
Assuring the painfully green lieutenant that the CO was on his way, Lip invited him to have a seat. The kid opted to stand by the fireplace instead, staying out of everyone's way.
.
Mia returned with two cups of coffee. Offering one to Louise, who took a large sip of the scalding hot liquid without batting an eyelash, she handed the remaining cup to Lipton, along with a murmured reminder that he should get some rest.
He had the good sense to look chastised, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stall forever. Still, before he could even think about resting, he had to get the two new guys – or, well, one new guy and Webster – settled.
Noticing Jones staring at Mia with an expression of bashful shock, he asked: "Would you like some coffee, sir?"
The lieutenant startled out of his reverie. "Oh, uh, no thank you."
"Alright." Giving Mia a grateful smile, Lipton sipped his coffee and hid his amusement in the cup as he watched their resident sniper push her cup of coffee at Mia.
Captain Speirs breezed into the room with an arm full of loot. Ignoring Lipton's attempt at introducing the green-as-grass lieutenant who had snapped to rigid attention, he scowled at his First Sergeant and exclaimed around his cigarette: "Lipton, for Christ's sake! Will you go back in the back and sack out?" He gestured in frustrated incredulity, not breaking his stride as he carried his loot over to Vest. "There's some beds back there with fresh sheets."
Mia, undoubtedly the person who was closest to Speirs, smiled to herself. There was concern underneath the sharp glare Speirs aimed at the First Sergeant when he replied: "I will, sir. Just trying to be useful", deep enough that it would go unnoticed by those that didn't know Speirs.
It was no surprise to her. Speirs cared for the men under his command, in his own way. Besides, it was common knowledge in Easy company that Lipton was Speirs' right-hand man in all but rank.
The smile dropped off her face like a flower pot off a balcony when Captains Winters and Nixon entered, their battalion commander drawing everybody's attention to him by announcing that regiment wanted a patrol for prisoners. Next to her, Louise stiffened and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the cup in her hands.
They traded a look, exhausted dismay weighing down their shoulders and cinching iron bands around their stomachs.
"This one comes straight from Colonel Sink", Nixon added with a frown, "so it's not my idea."
While not a soldier, Mia knew just as well as every other veteran present what that meant. And judging by the look on Winters' face as he stepped further into the room, he knew that they knew.
"Since the river is the main line of resistance", he continued, managing to convey his reluctance and displeasure despite his tone being perfectly matter-of-fact, "we will have to cross it to get to them."
Dread, worry and anxiety washed through her in a cold, prickling wave before resignation took hold.
.
Speirs' undivided attention was on Winters as he asked: "What do we need to do?"
"There's a three-storey building on the enemy side, up the embankment. We know it's occupied. You can have fifteen men. Think very hard who you want to lead the patrol. You'll need a lead scout, a translator…"
Next to Mia, Louise shifted ever so slightly out of her stillness.
At a small nod from Speirs, Winters let the list taper off, trusting him to handle it. "I've got the entire battalion on covering fire", he added.
"When?"
"Tonight, 0100."
"Yes sir", Speirs acknowledged, gaze trailing downwards as he considered who to pick for the mission.
"Speirs?"
He looked up again, waiting expectantly for what Winters had to say.
"I want this one to be as fool-proof and as safe as possible", the redheaded captain impressed.
.
From her vantage point, Mia couldn't see his face, but she was quite sure it showed the same grim concern that ghosted through their CO's expression. He might be battalion commander, but everyone knew Winters would always be Easy Company at heart.
Nixon agreed. "Yeah, don't take any chances on this one. We're too far along for that."
A tiny, derisive noise came from Louise and when Winters and Speirs moved to a corner to discuss who to send on the patrol, movement returned to the room.
Vest came over with a stack of paperwork, handing it to Mia. She sorted through the forms while he took care to pack Speirs' loot into boxes and Louise muttered about under her breath fool's errands and self-aggrandising muckamucks who were seeking to pander their already overinflated egos.
"These are for Spina", Mia told Vest, motioning to a pile of requisition forms. "He should be at the aid station."
"Gotcha, Doc."
Luz bustled in from the adjacent room, distracting her from listening to Nixon size up the new lieutenant. He handed her a small package, a slightly bemused expression on his face. "A runner from F Co. just dropped this off. Said something about owing you a favour?"
Her eyes lit up. "Thanks, Luz. It's-"
She didn't manage to get out the rest of the explanation before a bout of coughing rose in her chest. She curled in on herself and muffled the sound in the crook of her elbow, missing the flash of alarm crossing Luz' features or the worried looks that were exchanged in the room.
Gathering herself, she smiled away his concern. "It's just a cough, George."
He looked doubtful, but relented after making her promise to get some rest as soon as she could. "A strong wind could knock you over", he teased, only half-joking.
Louise smothered a laugh while Mia chuckled and the three of them shared a grin as they remembered that particular conversation, which had involved an elderly pubkeeper first mistaking her for a boy and then needing quite a bit of convincing to believe that she really was old enough to drink (at least in Britain).
Winters and Nixon turned to leave when Lieutenant Jones stepped forward, requesting: "Sir? I'd like to volunteer for the patrol?"
All eyes were on them, tension ratcheting up. Louise curbed the impulsive response that threatened to hiss past her teeth, biting her tongue to keep silent. Nixon said not to take any chances, so obviously the greenest lieutenant in all of Holland should lead it.
Winters dismissed the kid without a word and Louise would have laughed if she hadn't understood why he did it. He couldn't tell him no without an explanation and he didn't want to belittle him, especially since Jones' acting platoon sergeant and superior were both in the room.
"Speirs?", Winters called instead, looking over to where Easy's CO was quietly conferring with Lipton, leaning over the back of the couch. "Talk to you in an hour?"
Speirs nodded, confirming with a simple "Yep" before returning to his conversation.
.
Louise drained the dregs of her coffee and pushed back from the piano. She should get back to her platoon.
"We're short on officers", she heard Speirs say as she went to pick up her helmet, which was still lying abandoned next to the couch. "Do you think a non-com could lead this?"
"I could think of a few possibilities", Lipton replied.
Bending down to scoop up her helmet, Louise felt the speculative glances of Speirs and Lipton. She met them head on and declared: "Malarkey's out of the question."
It didn't take a genius to guess that he would be at the top of the list. He was a good leader, solid in combat and the guys in Second had the most experience in this type of thing. Still, she wasn't going to let them make Malarkey run a mission where so much could go wrong. Not now, not after all he'd lost in Bastogne.
Lipton pursed his lips in a way she'd seen many times over the past month, namely whenever the subject of Norman Dike had come up. It was his tell that he privately agreed their situation was a steaming pile of horseshit but that he couldn't say so out loud. "Louise", he began before trailing off.
She ignored him and continued, tamping down on her aggravation: "All due respect, sir, Sergeant Malarkey is in no state to lead a church choir, much less a patrol across the bloody river. There's a reason I've been put in charge of Second Platoon and it certainly wasn't for shits and giggles."
Speirs shook his head. "You don't have the necessary experience."
"Fair enough", she argued back without missing a beat, "but there are others who do."
His jaw worked grimly and he exhaled an explosive breath. "What about Martin?" He turned to Lipton. "Or Grant?"
"Honestly, sir, most of the NCOs could use a rest", Lipton offered tiredly, the end coming out strangled as a coughing fit took hold. He bent double, horrible sounds ripping from his throat, and it was Speirs' hand on his shoulder that kept him from tumbling off the couch.
Mia materialised next to them, producing a clean handkerchief from thin air and pressing it into Lip's hand.
.
"Captain?"
Speirs' head snapped up when Jones' voice cut through Lipton's gradually ebbing coughs and Louise knew that the only things saving the lieutenant from being decimated apart from his iron control were his concern over Lipton and Mia's calming presence. Still, the fury in Speirs' glare was cold enough to burn.
The kid gulped – well, at least he's got some sense –, but ploughed on. "Request permission to go on patrol?"
Scratch that. He's got more balls than brains.
In an obvious bid to keep his temper in check, Speirs stayed silent for a long moment, glancing to Mia, who looked at him with simple understanding as she helped Lipton settle into a comfortable, more propped-up position.
Turning back to the Lieutenant, he replied sharply: "No, you don't have any experience. Report to Second Platoon."
Jones couldn't hide his disappointment, neither on his face nor in his voice, as he accepted the decision. "Yes sir."
Considering the matter closed, Speirs then addressed Louise. "Fields."
"Sir?"
"You're going", he announced, direct as usual. "Long distance and perimeter cover will be essential."
She nodded, having expected this pretty much since Winters had outlined the plan for the patrol. "I figured as much." A sniper meant either her or Shifty and since she had more experience in stealth missions like these, the choice had been obvious to her from the start.
Speirs gave her an appraising nod and continued: "Since you're adamant about Malarkey sitting this one out: Martin or Grant?"
Bastard. Part of her wanted to curse him for putting this on her while the rest of her was simply grateful that he'd listened and that Malarkey wouldn't have to shoulder this responsibility. She looked towards Lipton, who gave her an encouraging smile. Bolstered by his support, she took the plunge. "Martin. He's got more experience and several of the guys in Second have been under his command at some point."
The nod he gave her was thoughtful, more to confirm that he'd heard her than anything else. "Noted. Briefing at 1700. Tell… Heffron, Ramirez and McClung they're going."
"Yes sir." Shifting her helmet to her other hand, she retrieved her rifle, eager to get back to her guys and hopefully grab a snatch of sleep. Loath as she was to admit it, she still hadn't quite recovered from that second bout of flu.
.
Clearing his throat, Lipton spoke up: "Sir, this is ah, Private Webster-"
Louise grimaced, having completely forgotten about Webster.
"Sir, I'm Private Webster from 1st platoon", the man blurted, stepping forward.
She rolled her eyes, just barely containing the groan building in her throat. Either he had a death wish – which she sincerely doubted – or he was really that stupid. He'd heard the rumours about Speirs, so why would he go and irritate him? Besides, everyone in Easy knew that the only person who could get away with interrupting a conversation between Speirs and Lipton was Mia. Anyone else just got glared into the ground, at the very least.
"I just got back from the hospital", Webster said, "and, uh, Lieutenant Foley told me to go to Second, but-"
"Fine! Second!", Speirs snapped with a sharp gesture, clearly out of patience. He looked to Louise and instructed: "Take Webster here and the lieutenant to Second's position. OP2."
She pulled a face, but held her tongue. Complaining to the CO that she didn't want the obnoxious man in her platoon was a level of petty she wouldn't stoop down to, especially not with Speirs as mad as he already was. Giving a terse nod, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and went to introduce herself to her new platoon leader.
"Sergeant Louise Fields, sir." She held out her hand. "I'm acting platoon sergeant of 2nd platoon."
He shook her hand with a firm grip and said: "Good to meet you."
Louise left it at a nod, which he didn't seem to mind as he went back to gearing up.
"Why are you acting platoon sergeant?", Webster wanted to know.
Granted, it was a valid question, but his sheer presence annoyed her already, so her reply might have been a tad sharped than absolutely necessary. "Because Malark needed a break and I had seniority over him."
For Jones' benefit, she added: "Sergeant Malarkey will take over as platoon sergeant once we're off the line."
.
With a smile for Mia and a wave to Luz' cheerful call of "Mind the mortars!", Louise led the two new additions to Second platoon out of the CP. Briskly heading down the road, she mulled over the prisoner snatch, wondering who else Speirs would send.
She tried not to feel guilty for throwing Martin under the proverbial bus. But there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that she'd let Malarkey lead this one. Too much could go wrong and like she'd said, there was a reason she'd been made platoon sergeant ad interim.
And between Martin and Grant, Martin had more experience in leading combat patrols like these, what with having to pick up Peacock's slack ever since Holland…
She knew she'd made the right choice, but it didn't mean she had to like it.
Hurrying to keep up with Sergeant Fields' confident strides, Lieutenant Jones tried to make sense of what he'd seen and heard in the last few minutes. He'd heard of Easy Company, of course. Their exploits had been the subject of discussion at West Point multiple times, same as the share of women in the second battalion of the 506 PIR. So when he'd been given his assignment, he'd been elated, if slightly apprehensive.
Now, he was mainly confused.
Sergeant Fields had been easy to spot, her blond hair and sharp eyes standing out bright in the drab surroundings. Still, if it hadn't been for her long hair, he wouldn't have recognised her that quickly. Rationally, he shouldn't have been surprised to see the woman just as grimy and worn down as the soldiers he'd passed on his way to the CP. And yet he was, because he had expected her to stand out amidst the men like the WACs and nurses did.
Then, a medic – thin and hair a tousled mess of non-regulation length – had entered with coffee and it had taken him far too long to realise that he was looking at Easy's female medic. Dirty face and dirtier clothes, it hadn't been until she'd talked to the ill First Sergeant that he'd recognised T-4 Arricante.
The next shock had come when Captain Speirs had entered. Nobody had bothered to observe military curtesy. Nobody had sprung to their feet to stand at attention and salute their CO, in spite of proper procedure demanding it.
He'd thought the man would be furious, had expected a harsh rebuke to follow his opening words of "Lipton, for Christ's sake!" Instead, Speirs had practically ordered the First Sergeant to get some sleep.
He'd tried to volunteer for the patrol, not once, but twice, and had been shut down both times, dismissed without so much as a moment of consideration. Yet when Sergeant Fields had spoken out of turn, disrespecting her captain's authority by bluntly forbidding him to assign Sergeant Malarkey the lead for the patrol, it had been tolerated, accepted even.
If he'd dared do anything like that in basic training, he'd have been written up for insubordination. Or worse…
Easy Company was certainly different from what he'd experienced and while he was nervous and feeling very much like the outsider he was, he was also excited. He would certainly learn a lot from this posting.