Hi guys. Once again, the update took way longer than I hoped. I'm really sorry to make you wait, but writer's block really hit me hard and work is still as hectic as ever...
I hope you enjoy the chapter even though it ended up being a bit episodic (transitions were the bane of my existence these past few weeks...)
On another note: I have no idea when the next chapter will be ready. I wish I could say this story will be updated in two weeks or three, but truth is, I just don't know. With work, hobbies, family problems and some minor health issues, my muse is very fickle. Just know that I will update as soon as I can and I'm truly sorry to keep you waiting.
To the paratroopers, Zell am See was paradise. A deep blue lake, a lush green landscape, snowy mountain peaks stretching up into the sky. And since they had suddenly turned from an elite combat unit into a peace time occupation force, their duties were so light that it felt like a holiday. Man the check-points, help out with getting the POWs at the nearby camp sorted and sent back home, the occasional patrol here and there.
They lounged in the sun, swam in the lake, socialised with the willing local girls, made liberal use of the near-endless supply of alcohol and got up to all sorts of mischief when boredom started to creep in.
The officers came up with a number of ways to keep the troops entertained, from field trips to a baseball tournament and other sports competitions, but in the end, it was a news reel that curbed the escalating shenanigans before they got completely out of hand.
Command had made the viewing mandatory for the whole regiment. And seeing the footage from the Battle of Okinawa, was a harsh but necessary reminder that the war might be over in Europe, but it wasn't over in the Pacific. At any point, the brass could push for a drop and then the 101st Airborne would be back on the front lines, halfway across the world and up against a completely different kind of enemy.
It was enough to give the soldiers a reality check and so there were markedly few complaints when Major Winters reinstated regular training to ensure they maintained their fighting fitness. If orders came down for them to move to the Pacific, they would have to be in fighting form and the last batch of replacements, who had never seen combat, needed all the training they could get to catch up.
After VE-Day, a point system had been introduced to determine which soldiers in the ETO would get to return stateside. Points were awarded for months in the service, months spent overseas, for medals and awards, as well as for dependent children under the age of 18 back home. A minimum of 85 points was required to be discharged.
And despite all their achievements and all they had been through in the year they had been in active combat, a large number of Toccoa veterans didn't have enough points.
"Can you believe it?", Perconte griped, shaking his head over his 81 points. "You spend a year slogging through swamps, flooded fields, snow and all sorts of other terrain, spend weeks and weeks in foxholes getting yourself blown six ways to Sunday, get shot at all day every day, and in the end, some desk jockey in London or Washington decides that it's not enough."
Luz gave his friend a flat look and deadpanned: "Welcome to the Army, Frank." As he had never been wounded, he had only been allotted 76 points.
.
A mother of two young children, Catherine had an additional 24 points added to her score, totalling 100 points. She looked at her total and had a hard time swallowing past the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in her throat.
Theresa, who had accepted her own 81 points with resigned indifference, studied her expression and asked softly: "You can go home, can't you?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I have the points."
"Are you gonna take them?"
Catherine sighed, because that was the million-dollar question. "I don't know", she admitted. "I want to, but at the same time, I don't."
She had done her part, had paid her dues in blood, sweat and tears, she had earned the right to go home. But so had the rest of the regiment and yet, so many of her friends were missing at least four, some nine or even more points. Could she really leave them, especially when all the signs pointed towards a redeployment to the Pacific?
On the other hand, she had two children back home who had been without their mother for over two years. A family she missed fiercely. Was it fair to them to stay and continue putting herself in danger, pass up the opportunity to return to them safe and sound?
.
She agonised over her decision for several days, wishing she could just call Roger and talk to him, ask his opinion. But she didn't have that option.
Mia, uncannily perceptive as always, told her one afternoon as they went to grab a late lunch at the mess hall: "Don't worry about us, Mom. We'd be fine without you."
"I know."
"We have many medics. But Gwen and Tommy only have one mom."
Her heart gave a painful pang at that simple statement. It was the truth and she knew it, but she was still torn.
.
Lipton – of course it was Lipton, "Mama Lip", the man who had looked out for everyone except himself since day one – asked her what troubled her and listened with patient empathy as she explained her dilemma. He couldn't take the decision out of her hands, and he said as much with a small, apologetic frown.
"You'll always be a part of Easy. Nobody in this company would blame you if you choose to take the points, Catherine", he assured her, calm and certain. "They'd understand and they wouldn't feel let down." It helped a little, but also made her feel more guilty.
.
Ultimately, it was Captain Speirs who gave her the necessary push.
"Wilson, what are you still doing here?", he asked her, blunt and to the point as always. "You have the points, why haven't you put in for your transfer back home?"
She floundered. "Sir, I- it just doesn't feel right, skipping off stateside when the company's likely going to be deployed to the Pacific."
"Don't you miss your family?"
"Of course I do!", she protested hotly.
"Then why would you trade your chance to go home to them for more blood, death and misery? You've seen the reels, it's a whole different war over there."
She looked away.
Speirs sighed and leaned forward. "Your loyalty to the company, to the men, is commendable, Catherine", he said, voice having lost some of its forcefulness. "But now, you should focus on your family. Your children have been waiting for their mother to come home for two years. If you go to the PTO…"
"I might never come home", she finished, running a hand through her hair. "I understand."
.
And so, Catherine took the points and soon had her marching orders. Practically the whole company came to see her off. It was an emotional farewell, full of hugs and well-wishes and she couldn't hold back a few tears, but true to Lip's prediction, nobody resented her for her decision.
"You earned it, Mom", Talbert said as he hugged her and made her promise to write as soon as she got home.
"Glad at least some of us get to go home", Skinny agreed.
Bull told her: "Give your kids a coupl'a hugs from us."
"That's right, hugs from their Uncles and Aunts", Malarkey called excitedly, which made her both laugh and cry.
Climbing into the jeep that was going to take her to the train station, she looked at the faces of her friends, her brothers and sisters in all the ways that mattered, committed their smiles to memory.
"You all mean so much to me", she said, voice wobbling as her gaze travelled from veteran to veteran. "More than I can put into words. I love you and I'm going to miss every single one of you."
An overwhelming chorus of "We love you too" and "We're gonna miss you, Mom" answered her and she gave them a tearful smile.
The jeep pulled out and she twisted in her seat to wave. Once they were out of sight, she wiped her cheeks, cleared her throat and turned her eyes onto the road ahead. The rest of her tears would have to wait until she was alone in a room somewhere.
The only other woman in the regiment who had enough points was Louise. She had been awarded a Bronze star for her participation in the Brécourt Manor assault on D-Day and with a Purple Heart and the combat infantryman badge, she surpassed the limit by 1 point.
Her choice had been far easier than Catherine's. Almost instantly, she had decided that she wouldn't go home unless the war was well and truly over. She wasn't keen on fighting in the Pacific, but if Easy was going to be sent there, that's where she would go too.
Cognisant of the fact that many Normandy veterans still did not have enough points for a discharge, General Taylor came up with the idea of holding a lottery on the anniversary of D-Day, to send home one man from each company.
After finishing the parade drills and listening to their CO make a short speech, Dog Company stood quietly as the lots were mixed in a helmet and one strip of paper was pulled out.
"For Dog Company, the winner is: serial number 12689235, Technician 5th Grade Esther I. Bowman!"
Esther was too dumbstruck to react, even as the men around her cheered and whooped. Is this a dream? Am I dreaming? In her stupor, she missed the knowing looks and conspiratorial smiles traded by a handful of Toccoa veterans among the officers and a few select NCOs.
"Way to go, Esther!" Steve Kapopoulos, one of her best friends in the company and only other Toccoa veteran in her squad, broke parade rest to clap her on the back.
Not a dream then, she determined. But she still had a hard time believing it.
.
As soon as the official ceremony was over, Dog Company swarmed around her. The initial shock had morphed into giddiness and she laughed as they drew her into hugs and patted her shoulder and back, congratulating her on her luck. She was going home.
"Damn, Bowman, any chance you can smuggle me home with you?", Lipinski joked.
The thrill and joy thrumming in her body cooled and she had to hold on to her smile before it slipped. She was going home, while the rest of them had to stay.
Gnazzo snarked: "You couldn't fit in a suitcase if you tried; your mouth's too big!"
Pushing away the frisson of guilt, Esther giggled at the banter and accepted the well-wishes and proclamations of "You deserve it, good on you!". However, she made a conscious effort to curb her excitement as she got everything in order before her return to the States. Her friends and comrades were happy for her, but she didn't want to rub it in that she got to leave and they didn't.
.
Saying goodbye was hard, but the guys made it easier for her. Their jokes and teasing lightened the atmosphere just enough without detracting from their genuinely warm sentiments as they bid her farewell, wished her all the best, declared that they'd look her up when they got home.
"You better write the minute you're stateside", Sergeant Caracea told her, his stern tone tempered by the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "Or we're all gonna storm your parents' place to make sure you're alright."
She grinned, not doubting for a second that they would make good on that promise. "I will."
"Good." He pulled her into a hug, then shook her hand. "Now get the hell outta here, Bowman, before command change their mind and decide to keep you here after all."
With a snort, she saluted him and stubbornly didn't think on how she might see him or any of her friends for the last time today.
Towards the end of June, Louise, Liebgott, Webster and Skinny were sent to find a Nazi Commandant who had been in charge of a concentration camp. According to an informant, the man lived in a cabin in the mountains, not too far from Zell am See.
They found him easily enough. They questioned him, didn't believe his stammered denials for a second. He kept reiterating that he'd just been following orders. With a snarl, Liebgott punched him across the face. Louise, highest ranking in their four-man squad, let it happen but set him to do a sweep of the small abode before he could escalate any further.
"Webster, tell him to stop snivelling. He won't get any sympathy from us and his wailing is giving me a headache", she said, glacial gaze fixed on the man who had been part of an unspeakably heinous operation.
Webster dutifully translated, acrid disdain in every syllable.
They searched the cabin and while Webster and Skinny were outside, the man seized the chance and made a run for it.
"Shoot him!", Liebgott shouted even as he aimed his service pistol at the fleeing figure and pulled the trigger. The bullet missed, as did the next one. "Shoot him!"
Webster made no move to comply, staring wide-eyed at Liebgott and shaking his head. Behind them, Skinny brought up his rifle, hesitated since any sudden move from the two men in front of him could bring them into his line of fire. He pulled a face, took a few steps to the side so he'd have a clear shot.
"Fucking shoot him!" Liebgott's voice pitched with rage and he swung around to glare at Webster. "He's getting away!"
The report of an M1 Garand rent the air. The fugitive jerked, fell and did not get up again.
Three heads swivelled.
Louise, standing in the soft shadows a few feet from the cabin's entrance, lowered her rifle. Without taking her eyes off the unmoving lump in the distance, she instructed quietly: "Skinny, Liebgott, make sure he's dead." He should be, from where she'd sighted the shot, but moving targets were unpredictable by nature, so it never hurt to double-check.
Skinny muttered an acknowledgement and they headed up the gentle incline, leaving her and Webster standing in hollow, grim silence.
.
"Why did you do it?"
Puzzled, she looked at Webster. "What do you mean, why did I do it?"
"He was unarmed. Why did you kill him?"
"He was trying to escape."
"Maybe, but you shouldn't have shot him in the back."
"Oh really?" She raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, would you have had me do instead? Let him run and hide and never answer for his crimes?"
He frowned. "You call shooting him in the back justice?", he questioned, judgement clear in his voice.
Her jaw set, lips pressing together into a thin line, she ground out: "He deserved it." A fact which they both knew to be true, but apparently, Webster was intent on arguing if his recalcitrant expression was anything to go by. "He was a horrible man, Webster. Hundreds, thousands suffered because of him."
"It wasn't our decision to make."
She scoffed and shook her head. "Get off your high horse, Webster. You've killed people, too."
"Of course, it's war. I killed enemy soldiers."
"Right", she said, sarcasm drawing the short word to three times its usual length. "I should have let this man live, but you're telling me that every single one of those soldiers we've killed deserved to die by virtue of wearing enemy colours? I don't claim to have the moral high ground here, Web, but neither can you."
"No, that's not what–", he began indignantly before interrupting himself and changing tack, "Well, a lot of them probably didn't deserve to die. Or even most of them. And yeah, maybe that man deserved it, but it's still murder."
Louise sighed and looked at him, face eerily calm and eyes dark. "Let's face it, Webster, what's one more bastard on my body count?"
In that moment, it hit him that he didn't know how many kills, confirmed or not, she actually had.
.
The ride back into town was tense and silent. Webster hadn't said another word since Louise had ended their debate, Skinny was lost in thought and Liebgott had a deep scowl etched on his face as he steered the jeep down the serpentine roads. With the hatred and pain that had festered inside him since Landsberg boiling up to the surface, she wondered if he was angry that it hadn't been his shot that killed the commandant. If he was angry with her for taking what he might have seen as his chance at revenge.
Hauling herself out of the jeep, Louise reminded Webster that he was expected at the checkpoint in ten minutes, then told Skinny and Liebgott to find some chow. "I'll be along after I've reported to Captain Speirs."
Webster trudged off with a nod. Skinny patted her on the shoulder and tugged Liebgott along when he dithered a moment, looking caught between snapping at her and giving her a hug. Not in the mood to puzzle over that just yet, Louise went to the CP and stood in the CO's office a few minutes later, delivering her report.
.
"… he made a run for it while Liebgott and I were searching the cabin. Liebgott fired his pistol at him, but missed, so I shot him."
Speirs had listened to her account in focused silence. Once she was finished, he asked: "Was he armed?"
"No, sir."
"He confessed?"
"Not at first. Then he claimed he'd only been following orders." Her scowl communicated eloquently enough what she thought of that defence.
His lip briefly curled in disgust. "Alright. Anything else?"
She mentally reviewed her report, then shook her head. "No sir, that's all."
Dismissed, Louise left the CP and turned down the road to the mess hall. She needed coffee. Pushing through the door, she scanned the room for Skinny and Liebgott. She spotted them at a table off to the side, Skinny half-heartedly shovelling food into his mouth, Liebgott mostly pushing his around on the plate.
Grabbing herself a big cup of coffee and picking up a plate of food, she dropped into the empty seat next to Skinny and prodded the stuff that was supposed to be powdered eggs but might as well have been beef stew.
She caught Skinny's gaze, silently asked if he was alright. He dipped his head in an affirmative and went back to eating. For a good while, the only sounds at their table the clinking and scraping of cutlery against their plates and the occasional clunk of a mug getting set down on the table.
Skinny finished first, gathered his dishes and wandered off. Louise barely acknowledged his departure, listlessly poking at her food with her head propped up on one hand. The look on Webster's face when he'd confronted her, the condemnation in his tone as he all but called her a murderer to her face made her think.
She didn't regret firing that shot and she didn't particularly care that the man had been unarmed; he had committed unspeakable crimes and cited orders as a way to shirk responsibility. But she had killed her share of men too, without hesitation and mostly without much remorse – it was her job and when the enemy shot at her, she shot back. Did that make her a bad person, a monster, too?
"Louise? Hey, you in there?" Fingers clicked in front of her face.
Startled, she jerked her head up. Her fork dropped from her fingers, missed the plate and landed on the table with a dull clatter.
"Huh?" She collected her scattered thoughts and looked at Liebgott. "Did you say something?"
He scrutinised her, a furrow between his brows as he pointed out: "You've been staring at the same spot for two minutes."
"Oh." Her usual verbosity failed her. "I guess."
His frown deepened. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I don't know. Yeah. Maybe. Never mind." Frustrated from feeling so off-kilter, she shook her head and picked up her fork again.
.
After a couple of bites of eggs that tasted like sawdust, she raised her head again to see Liebgott still studying her. "What?", she asked, a bit harsher than necessary.
"Why did Webster ask Skinny how many sniper kills you have?"
She sighed. "Because he got all high and mighty about me shooting that Nazi asshole, wanted to argue morals, so I told him it doesn't make much of a difference to my body count."
"Morals? Fuck, that bastard died quick, which is a hell of a lot better than he deserved."
Louise shrugged, not in the mood for a debate.
He mistook her silence for either disapproval or doubt because he opened his mouth to launch into a tirade, when she stopped him with a placating hand.
"Joe, it's over and done", she said, pushing her plate away. "You wanted to kill him, I did, one less monster on this Earth. End of story."
"Yeah, then why d'you look like someone stole your puppy?"
"Because I've killed a lot of men in this war, many from a long distance, and it has never really bothered me and– it just made me think."
A beat passed, her sharp, defensive words ringing in both their ears.
Then Louise heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that", she murmured. "I guess Webster got under my skin more than I expected."
Liebgott nodded and after a moment, his lopsided smirk made an appearance. "Want me to punch him for you?", he offered, only half joking.
Chuckling softly, she shook her head and got up. "Gonna find some chocolate and head down to the lake. You coming?"
"Let's go. But there better be Hershey bars."
"You and your Hershey bars", she teased.
.
The remaining occupants of the mess hall just shook their heads at them as the pair left, bickering cheerfully about food.
"Ya know", one man commented to his neighbour, "you'd think they're married."
Laughter rippled through their group.
"They bicker and fuss like an old married couple", another soldier agreed, "but Christ, I don't know any couple that fights like they do. The insults they're trading… if I didn't know better, I'd say Fields and Liebgott hate each other."
"Oh yeah, but cross one and the other's gonna murder you."
The first man grinned. "Like I said: you might think they're married."