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Chapter 9: Just Not Enough Time
"So, what're you doing out here this late?" one of the privates in back asked.
"I needed to walk. It helps me … sleep easier," Lillian half-lied, convincingly enough for Grant to nod. "Find anything?"
"No, but it's not like it matters if I do or don't. Either way it goes, I gotta keep making the rounds until zero two hundred before someone else takes up the job," Grant explained. Lillian's mouth gaped.
"Who's that at the next street, Sarge?" one of the privates asked. Lillian, seeing who it was, ducked, pretending to fix her boot.
"Major Winters," Grant beeped the horn at Winters who smiled and continued his drive down the other direction. As soon as she was sure they had past him, she sat back up. "Alright there Nurse Jenkins?"
"Oh, I just noticed my laces were untied, from my walking probably," Lillian lied.
"Why bother? I'm gonna drop you off at the aid station, so you can go sleep. You'd kick off your boots anyway," Grant commented, shrugging.
"Do you know what can happen if you trip up in these boots? I've seen some pretty nasty face bruises and injuries from that, believe it or not," Lillian said, pointing a finger at him, making the quiet two in the back and Grant laugh. "You laugh now, but mark my words. One of these days, that is bound to happen. You boys may be the paratroopers, but we all have slip-ups."
When Lillian looked back to Grant, she saw his face had dropped, and he slowed the jeep down. The headlights shone on a lone soldier, a private, looking quite confused.
"Wait here," Grant stopped the jeep and got out. As he neared the soldier, Lillian saw bodies lying on the ground.
"Stay here. I need to check to see if any of them are alive," Lillian told the other two soldiers as she quietly climbed out of the jeep. Lillian was concerned—how had this happened and why hadn't it been called in?
"They wouldn't give me any gas. Krauts!" the private yelled. He was drunk. That made things complicated for Lillian and Grant. As soon as the private turned his back though, she quickly went to a German officer and checked his pulse. Grant looked down at her, and she shook her head.
"Go back," he whispered quietly before following the drunken GI.
"I tried to explain," the private went on, seeming angrier than before, "but this fucking lime, he wouldn't listen." Lillian looked at the other two German soldiers and safely assumed that they were dead, by now. "I think he was a major."
"Hey private, we got a problem here," Grant said, seriously and calmly.
"Do you have any gas?" the GI asked, almost innocently.
"Why don't you give me your weapon?" Grant asked, but all in vain as the private turned around.
"I guess I'll use his jeep, uh, I don't think he's gonna be needing it," he replied, and that's when Lillian stood up. They had to stop him. The private walked to the jeep.
"Hold on there a second alright!" Grant called after him. Lillian neared with Grant, but that took the private by surprise.
"KRAUT!"
"No—WAIT!"
The private backed up and fired at her. Lillian fell to the ground, clutching her side, clamping her eyes shut quickly. Grant took out his weapon, but the private bumped into the jeep, and he shot again, hitting Sergeant Grant who fell to the ground.
"Shit! Sarge!" The private took off, and the other two in the jeep ran to the two. "Sergeant Grant! Nurse Jenkins!" Lillian forced herself to open her eyes and push herself back up to a sitting position.
"Nurse Jenkins—are you alright?" One soldier asked, going to her as the other went to Grant.
"I'm fine—just a graze I think," Lillian replied, shaking her head as she stood up. "Get Sergeant Grant into the jeep!" The private nodded, and the two soldiers went to carry Grant into the jeep as Lillian quickly climbed in and got her musette bag and aid kit out. The soldiers placed Grant in Lillian's arms before jumping in. "Get to the aid station—now!"
On the speedy and slightly bumpy ride back, Lillian managed to see that whatever had happened to Grant, she couldn't fix by herself. She couldn't even see the bullet, but there was blood. So, she just wrapped his head and compressed it as best as she could so that the bleeding could stop. About halfway there, Lillian began to really feel the pain in her side. She looked down and saw a circle of blood forming. It's actually not that bad, she thought, sighing in relief. She knew she had to do something about it for the time being and wrapped what was left of her gauze around her stomach. She then grabbed the radio and got hold of Roe.
"What are you doing Lillian? It's—"
"Grant's been shot." Lillian said, quickly.
"What happened? How is he now?" Roe questioned, his voice changing completely.
"He was shot in the head, but his pulse is there. Weak, but he's still fighting. I can't find or see the bullet—"
"What's your ETA?" Lillian squinted her eyes to see the dimly lit checkpoint entrance.
"About three minutes."
"Okay, we'll be waiting."
"Gene, get the doctor too. I don't know if we can fix this by ourselves."
"Got it." After what seemed like an eternity, they made it up the hill and to the aid station.
"One of you go wake up Captain Speirs, and one of you go get First Sergeant Talbert. They need to know what's going on," Lillian ordered the two who went off quickly. "Eugene!" Lillian called, carrying Grant into the building. Roe and Spina came running down the hallway with a stretcher.
"What's the situation? How the hell did Grant get shot?" Roe asked her as the two hoisted Grant onto the stretcher.
"We were on patrols, and came across a drunken GI in the middle of the road. He mistook me for a German and shot at the both of us." Lillian explained as they ran down the hall to the station.
"You're hit—how bad is it?" Spina asked.
"It's not bad, grazing. It's not bleeding terribly and doesn't hurt—well not much," Lillian reluctantly admitted as they turned into the aid station.
"You should at least let me take a look," Roe said.
"Not until Grant is taken care of, Gene. I won't lose him on the account of another doctor taking care of me," Lillian argued, shaking her head.
"Lillian—"
"No, Gene. Grant first." Roe gave her a look before tossing a clean bandage at her. The three of them quickly transferred Grant to the operating table.
"What's going on?" Talbert asked, coming into the aid station. "Jesus, Grant, what happened?" Talbert quickly neared his friend very worriedly.
"Shot in the head," Spina said.
"Is he gonna be okay?" Talbert asked, nearing Lillian.
"I hope so, we're doing everything we can at the moment," Lillian told him as she unwrapped the dressing, and Roe attached a plasma bottle to Grant.
"What happened?" Speirs boomed, walking in with the doctor.
"Shot in the head, drunken GI," Lillian explained to Speirs who looked furious.
"One of our own?" Talbert asked, taken aback.
"Let me take a look at him," the doctor said, turning on a few more lights, so he could see clearly. "Jesus," he commented.
"What?" Speirs asked the doctor.
"He's not gonna make it," He replied.
"You can't operate on him?" Roe questioned, surprised, at the same time Lillian asked, equally surprised, "You can't do anything, at all? How can you be so sure?"
The doctor shook his head. "Not me. You'd need a brain surgeon, and even if you did, I don't think there's any hope," he explained, taking another drag.
"You—find the shooter. I want him alive," Speirs ordered Talbert before addressing Roe and Lillian, "Help me."
"Where're we going?" Roe asked.
"Going to find a brain surgeon!" With that, the four of them were out the door, carrying Sergeant Grant with them, leaving the doctor to look at the direction they went off in and smoke more.
"He's going to be fine," the German doctor said to them, "Go back to your base."
"We'll send one of our guys over to make sure he's okay and keep watch on him," Speirs said, nodding his head, giving the German doctor a glare. The doctor returned his look.
"That'll be fine, just let me do the surgery before he dies," he said before closing the door on the surgery. The three made their way back to base in practically absolute silence.
"Gene," Lillian said, quietly.
"He's gonna be fine Lillian," Roe assured her quickly, in an attempt to ease all three of their internal worries. As the jeep pulled up to aid station, Roe and Lillian climbed out of the back with Speirs coming with them.
"I didn't mean—" she started to say, but closed her eyes and exhaled, placing a hand on her side.
Roe turned and examined Lillian's state, as if for the first time that night. "Lillian, you alright? You're not lookin' good. You're pale," he said, turning her towards him by the shoulder.
"I'm probably dehydrated or tired or something like that. I haven't pulled an all-nighter in a while so that could be the reason …" she trailed off, quietly. Roe knew that just dehydration wasn't going to slow down Lillian, not like this. Lillian began to breathe heavily, and Roe looked to the hand on her side.
"Lillian, let me look at you, alright?"
"Gene, it's not that—" When he removed her hand from her side and tried to look at the injury, she collapsed to the ground and cried out. Lillian clamped her eyes shut in pain.
"Lillian! Are you alright?" Roe asked, kneeling down to her. She wrapped her arm around her stomach and winced.
"Jenkins, what's wrong?" Speirs questioned, kneeling down as well. Lillian's eyes opened and dropped to her hand now covered in vibrant red. Roe quickly helped her sit up and ripped open her jacket with some struggle on Lillian's part.
"Shit," Roe muttered. The bandage wrapped around her stomach was soaked, dripping blood.
"Damnit Jenkins, why didn't you say something earlier?" Speirs demanded, furious that she didn't tell anyone she had been wounded as well.
"I thought—it was just a graze, sir," Lillian explained, with a wince as Roe grabbed her arm and placed it over his shoulder.
"Grazing wound? You were shot?" Speirs questioned, his anger increasing rapidly.
Lillian didn't respond right away. She took a deep breath before saying, "It didn't hurt sir, and there wasn't that much blood, so I just, I just—"
"You should've let me look at you before we left!" Roe said angrily, hoisting Lillian to her feet and making her use his body for support.
"I already told you that I—" Lillian was cut short as she collapsed again. Roe and Speirs barely caught her in time. Webster, who was about to tell Speirs where to find the private from I company who had shot Grant, saw Lillian fall, and he jogged over.
"Nurse Jenkins?" The three heads turned to him as he came over.
"Webster," Speirs walked over to him as Roe tried to get Lillian standing.
"What happened—?" Webster asked.
"Shot, where is he?" Speirs questioned.
"In a house about two miles down, the rest of Easy is headed there now," Webster explained.
"Alright, stay and help Jenkins. I'm going," Speirs explained, walking away as Webster went to help support Lillian on the other side.
"Okay Webster, grab her arm and help me straighten her body. C'mon Lillian, you can do it. Can you walk to the aid station?"
"I'll try Gene," Lillian replied.
"That's alright," Roe assured Lillian, nodding before saying to Webster, "Can you press your hand on her side to stop the bleeding?" Webster couldn't believe this was happening—both Grant and Nurse Jenkins shot? It infuriated him more that it was one of their own that did this to them. Pressing on her wound made him realize that she was losing blood, still, and she was very weak, her body shaking with some of her steps. He didn't see Grant's condition, but if Lillian was this bad, he could only imagine what was wrong with Grant.
"Gene, I can't—"
"It's alright Lillian, it's okay." Roe said, calmly and understandingly.
"I got her, go," Webster said before Roe could say anything, and Roe took off willingly. He called to Spina and a few others as Webster took Lillian into his arms. "Just hold onto me Nurse Jenkins, I got you."
Lillian obliged and held onto his shoulders as Webster positioned himself to pick her up and carry her, wedding style. As soon as he was sure that his hand was still on her wound, he ran to the aid station. He ran as fast as he could, almost wishing that he had trained with Easy from the beginning, always running up Currahee so he would be running faster now. It seemed slow, but before either knew it, Webster carried Lillian into the aid station.
"Put her down here. Spina, get me a shit load of gauze and morphine!" Roe called to him.
Webster laid her down on the operating table and stood back in horrible awe as Roe and Spina ran around and called out to each other. The doctor came in and quickly began to file into place to see what he could do. Webster's eyes moved down to his hands that was stained with blood—Lillian's blood. Almost sick to his stomach, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the aid station, Webster ran out and went back outside. He bent over, feeling something coming up in his throat, but he forced it back down with a hard swallow. He closed his eyes and fell down, sitting and leaning against the wall. Webster took deep and loud breaths to try and calm himself. Since he was so fixed on his emotions, he didn't really pay attention as a jeep pulled up.
"Webster, are you alright?" a concerned voice asked.
He looked up to see Major Winters walking up to him. He had seen Webster under the streetlight on his way up, heading back to base, and Winters was curious and concerned. Winters kneeled down to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Webster pressed his lips together and shook his head. He looked downward, holding his head in hands again. Winters saw his bloody hands and eyed Webster as he looked back up and straight out.
"It's Nurse Jenkins," he said, and Winters' stomach clenched, fear overtaking his body. "She's been shot … I don't even know how or why, but it's bad." Webster looked back at his hands and leaned his head against the wall. Winters then ran as fast as his legs would let him, leaving Webster by himself to wait for the other men to see him like this and question what had happened.
"Roe," Winters boomed, walking in and up to Roe. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded while Roe continued to work with Spina. Winters did a double-take as he saw Lillian's closed eyes as Roe's hand was digging around in her side. He noticed how pale her skin had become, and Winters' eyes widened.
"Drunk GI fired at her and Sergeant Grant while they were on patrols—"
"Patrols? What was she doing on patrols?" Winters questioned, looking back at her and then to Roe. How could he not have seen her when he passed them in his own Jeep?
"Honestly sir, you're askin' the wrong person," Roe replied, shaking his head. "I gave her permission to take a walk, clear her head and make up her mind about somethin', and she comes in a few hours later with Grant, saying that he was shot in the head. Damnit, where the hell is that bullet?" Spina rushed around the aid station, trying to give Roe more light.
"WHERE IS HE?" Speirs roared, ignoring Talbert's question, thoroughly pissed off that he was not in front of the bastard already. He looked to Talbert for an answer, and Talbert was only staring at the door in the corner of the room where Speirs could now hear some of the men. Speirs walked to the door and opened it. The guys parted, so Speirs to take a look at the damage they had inflicted in his absence. "Is this him?"
"It's him. Replacement—I company," Bull explained. Speirs came closer to him, gun in hand, looking hell-bent but completely calm at the same time.
"Where's the weapon?" Speirs asked him. The private, trying to clear his throat of the blood and trying to breathe, shallowly gasped for breath.
"What weapon?" he asked, testily. Speirs raised his gun and pistol-whipped the private's face, causing him to spew more blood. Some of the men looked down. It was different seeing firsthand Speirs become the ruthless soldier the stories made him out to be.
"When you talk to an officer, you say sir," Speirs told him, seriously.
The private didn't answer him, and he simply kept breathing shallowly. Speirs then aimed the gun for his head. Everyone in the room backed up, figuring Speirs was going to blow his head off. For a split second, so did Speirs, until he looked at the private. His hand began to shake. They all saw it, but no one questioned it. A soldier doesn't shoot his own men easily; even if it was Speirs who supposedly killed twenty POWs on the spot, it wasn't easy, no matter what they did to deserve it. Speirs then looked at the butt of his gun, making up his mind. Wiping the blood on his gun and hand on the private's shoulder, he turned around to Talbert.
"Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit," he said and walked out, all of the men watching him.
"Grant's dead?" Talbert asked, calling to him. There was a moment, and all of the men seemed to hold their breath.
"No, Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it," Speirs said, turning back to them and nodding. "It's not him we have to worry about."
"Sir?" Talbert asked, thoroughly confused by the vague statement as Speirs turned to walk out. Speirs stopped and turned back around.
"Jenkins was shot," Speirs explained.
"What happened?" Luz asked, speaking around the cigarette.
"She was with Grant—shot in the side," Speirs replied. "She didn't tell us until she collapsed from blood loss because she thought it was a graze. Before I left, she was being taken to the aid station and alive." Malarkey closed his eyes and exhaled quietly in some relief.
The men wasted no time in taking the replacement to the MPs and explaining the incident. They knew Grant was going to be okay, but now it was Lillian they were worrying about. The others that hadn't gone to the MPs jumped back in their jeeps and sped off back to the aid station with Speirs in the lead. Malarkey's heart was racing, and he was quickly being consumed by guilt and rage. If he hadn't gotten into the argument with her, she might've gone back to base with him and not have been shot tonight. Why did he have to argue with her? His feelings for her were only twisting and breaking their friendship. He cursed graphically to himself as he hit the steering wheel in fury. Then he asked himself, why hadn't he punched that son of a bitch harder?
"Hold on a little bit longer Lillian, we got you." Roe encouraged her as he took out the bullet and placed it in a container. "No, you ain't quitting on me now. I can—"
"Roe, stop and look at what's happening to her," the doctor said to him, seriously. "Sure, you got the bullet out, but she's lost a lot of blood. And we don't know how much." Roe dared to look at and examine his hands and the blood on the floor. "She had been up and around for at least an hour and a half. It's impossible to replace in the short span of time." Roe looked back at Lillian's pale face, closed eyes, and shallow breathing.
"Damnit," Roe cursed quietly, closing his eyes and leaning his head down farther.
"What's going on?" Winters asked, coming back in. Spina stood up, almost afraid to speak, but Roe straightened himself and faced Winters, who looked curiously and worriedly between the two medics.
"Sir, she's lost too much blood," he explained, "I'm sorry, but time isn't on our side for this one." Winters' face dropped. Speirs came into the scene, hearing some of what Roe said as he was talking to Talbert.
"How's she doing?" Speirs asked. He looked around at the group of men, and no one responded. "What?"
"She's, uh, lost too much blood, sir," Spina explained, quietly. Speirs' eyes set on Spina as soon as he spoke, but when Spina finished Speirs looked at Roe and Winters who said nothing.
"So, we're just going to leave her on the table to—"
"No one wants to admit to anything, but it's inevitable. She's not going to make it," the doctor said, walking to the sink to wash his hands. Speirs turned around and then looked back at Lillian before leaving the room. He closed the doors of the aid station, so the few remaining were the only ones left inside.
"Captain, how's she doing?" Talbert asked, coming up to Speirs, to which Speirs only shook his head and walked away.
Talbert looked into the aid station to see that the two medics and Winters had moved closer to Lillian, but his eyes dropped to the floor. Some of the men who noticed the company first sergeant's horrified look came to the front to see what was going on. Maybe it was Grant, they thought. As the rest of Easy saw into the aid station windows on the door, a horrible awe washed over them, and they followed in suit, encompassing the area in silence. They saw the amount of blood on the floor and a nurse whom they had come to know and call their friend, lying on an operating table.
After they had their share of looking, they moved away and kept quiet. Malarkey, however, caught onto the silence and pushed through the guys to see what they were looking at, fearing the worst. When he did see it though, Malarkey couldn't believe it at first. He blinked a few times, his mouth agape, and he almost fell back. He felt like his world was being slower and slowing down rapidly, and he thought he was going to get sick. Malarkey did this to her; he let this happen. He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his sweaty hair and closed his eyes in anger, hoping to pass out and forget the raging emotions he was experiencing.
"What the hell's going on?" Nixon asked Speirs as he came in. Speirs moved the two away from the rest of the men.
"Jenkins was shot. Dying on the table as we speak," Speirs explained to which pressed Nixon to move towards the windows and look for himself.
"Shit," Nixon commented. "They can't do anything?"
"Nothing now," Speirs replied, shaking his head.
Winters had moved closer to Lillian, holding her hand in his. He immediately noticed the significant discoloration and feeling of her hand. Compared to hers, his hands seemed to have a tan and were as warm as the Pennsylvania sun in June. He knew that wasn't a good sign, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure.
"Everything's going to be okay," he told her. Winters hated to say it because it wasn't true, but he said it anyway, "It'll be alright." He prayed to God that she could hear him. He prayed to God that she could do or say something, just staying alive a little longer. He slowly rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, so she knew he was still physically there even if she couldn't hear him. He noticed her breathing was rapidly slowing down, even though it was barely there to begin with. Then her hand went limp. After that, there was no more movement from Lillian Jenkins.
Spina sighed, and Roe cursed to himself. Spina then slowly left the room and opened the doors. When the men of Easy saw the look on his face, some just sat down, partially to shock, partially to weariness. There wasn't supposed to be any more death. Europe was done; they won this battle. Why were they still dying? They were supposed to be going home, seeing their families again after years of deployment. They were not supposed to go back with a letter saying they died as heroes when really, their deaths weren't supposed to have happened at all. Spina then went back inside to start cleaning up.
Malarkey looked away from everyone. He felt frozen, paralyzed, and numb. It was similar to when he found out Muck and Penkala had been blown to bits, but this felt different. He didn't want to say it hurt more, but it did in a way. Malarkey couldn't exactly explain or place why he was feeling the way he was feeling. He did feel guilty for feeling worse about Lillian's death than Muck and Penkala's, who had been his best friends. The two guys had brought him some sanity, made him feel human, and he had fun with them. Then Bastogne came, and they were taken away from him. It was like he was smoking a cigarette—smoking a goddamn Lucky Strike. Then someone ripped it from his mouth, and the sharp, pungent intake of cold air stung his mouth and hurt. The hurt lingered a while, but Lillian had come and life seemed a little bit better. She saved him, and now she too was gone. Even worse, it was all, entirely his fault.
Winters exhaled shakily through his nose and slowly and gingerly placed Lillian's hand back on the table. He took one more look at her—pretty sure that if he stayed any longer, the façade he was wearing would break—before he walked out of the aid station. Not being sure if he could handle facing the men right now, never mind speaking, Winters walked off before any of the men could say anything to him. Nixon saw the look on his face, and he took off after his best friend.
Starting with Talbert, the men of Easy filed into the room. Roe was still sitting there at Lillian's side and Spina was standing right behind him when the men walked toward the table. Roe only looked up at them before looking away again as they moved closer. Most of the men cursed to themselves. They saw dried bloodstains covering at least half of her left side. They saw her true paleness in the lights that surrounded the table. Some puts hands to their mouths in disgust and horror while others looked away.
"Jesus Christ," Luz commented.
Speirs looked at her body again, and he exhaled angrily through his nose, letting his shoulders drop noticeably. They were all tired of death. The war was supposed to be finished in Europe. There weren't supposed to be any more casualties. Speirs slowly walked away from the men before he kicked a table on his way out. The men, still in shock and maybe they thought it would be out of respect, stayed a bit longer, gathered around the woman that lay on the operating table.
Nixon's head swiveled in all directions of any open door, and as soon as he found one, he ran down that hallway. It took him a while to find Winters. Nixon would've passed right by him if Winters had not vomited. Nixon hesitantly and quietly pushed the door open. His face dropped, and Nixon stood in horrible awe for a moment before he could actually formulate anything. There was so much Nixon could say and had to say, but he just couldn't. His heart wrenched in pain and went out to his broken friend. He had been suspecting it for a while now, and Winters' state confirmed it. Winters loved Lillian. It explained a lot. The incident at Landsberg, at the very least. He wouldn't've become that upset if one of the men had refused to tell him. He wouldn't've persisted Joe about finding out what was passed between the German man and Lillian. The stares, the different tone of voice, the choice of words, and the actions he took because of, around, and to her along; for Christ's sake, he danced with her. It made sense. Nixon finally decided to make his presence known.
"Dick."
Richard Winters leaned over a sink, practically his whole body shaking. Even in his somewhat baggy pants, Nixon could see Winters' knees wobbling, threatening to collapse from under him. Winters held on the rim of the sink, his knuckles white. He was breathing heavily and loudly, his mouth gaping. Sweat and salty tears were dripping down his gauntly face. His blue irises were wide, and red lines of stress ran through the white of his eyes. For once, in this whole war, Nixon saw Winters look like he was ready to have a breakdown. Winters closed his eyes, tilting his head back up to make it straight, but he shook his head and brought it back down, closer to the sink.
"I can't do it Nix."
"Can't do what Dick? You don't have to go any—" Nixon began to assure, shaking his head.
"No, Lew … I can't stand." Winters explained, quietly.
Nixon stood there, befuddled for a moment before striding over to his friend and caught him in the nick of time. Winters' body went limp as Nixon took the fall into the wall. The two men slid down the wall to sit on the floor. It wasn't until Nixon had his arms around his friend that he realized how badly Winters was shaking. This was scaring him.
Winters was supposed to be the man who always kept his composure. Winters was the man who one of the few that shaved on a regular basis and made sure that he did. He was the man that would be the ears that would listen to whatever you had to say. He was the one who held his own in difficult situations, no matter who or what was involved and at stake. Nixon wasn't sure of what to do or what to say. So, he thought of only one thing.
"It's alright," Nixon said, nodding his head. "It'll be … alright." Winters clamped his eyes shut and held his face in hands. He began to sob. Nixon moved himself and his arms, so that he could hug and comfort his friend in a more comfortable position. Because he had a feeling they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
The following morning was quiet and solemn. After the news spread to the rest of Easy, and the other companies heard of it, Clara Johnson soon found out as well. While mourning her friend privately, she decided that the best way to honor Lillian was to tell Winters about Lillian's feelings, and in order to do that, Clara needed to give him something as well. Something she knew that Lillian had kept with her secretly throughout this entire war, to prove that what Clara was saying was in fact true. As soon as she found him in Easy's CP, she walked up to him determinedly.
"Lieutenant Johnson, something I can do for you?" Winters asked, eyeing her serious expression and the box she was holding in her hand.
"Sir, if I may speak freely," Clara began, which Winters nodded to let her continue. She handed in a wooden box. "I need to tell you that Lillian would've wanted you to have this. And sir, if you don't read or look at any of its contents, you are raising an army against you." This was when Clara's voice became louder, more passionate, and angrier by the second, taking Winters off-guard,
"Because sir, Lillian had the respect and honor not to tell you this because we're still in a war, but as her friend, I have taken on the duty to tell you what she couldn't tell you."
"Lieutenant," Winters gritted through his teeth, making her check herself, "what are you getting at?"
"Major Winters, Lillian loved you with every fiber of her being and with every ounce of her blood," Clara said, deadly and loud enough for those not already eavesdropping in on the conversation to hear.
The men turned to Winters to see his reaction, and Malarkey's head slowly lifted from its bowed state. Those words hit both men, so hard and painfully that it was impossible for them to hide their true emotions. Winters' hands began to shake and tighten around the box, and his eyes were welling with tears before he walked to his office without a word. Malarkey slowly rose from his chair and went down a hallway and into a different room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Then whatever was in that room was tossed, overturned or thrown with a rage so furious that it could've been heard a mile away, and once Malarkey had finished his rage, tears came forth like a floodgate. Winters sat in his room looking at the letters, pictures, and knick-knacks that were kept in this box, but one particular picture struck him. It was of the last time they were in Pennsylvania together, at the charity banquet. He slowly searched through his inside pocket and grabbed the matching photo.
"Jesus, you think we were watching a play," George Luz commented, taking a drag after both men and the nurse in Dog company had disappeared.
"Are you kidding me George? A fucking play?" Frank Perconte asked angrily, turning to him. "Malark's going down the goddamn drain, and Major Winters just got told that a dead woman loved him. What the hell is wrong with you?" Luz gave a strange look.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Luz asked, surprised by his behavior.
"Nurse Lil's dead, and this is how you're acting?"
"Why are you so wound up about it Frank? I mean, it's bad I know, but still—" Luz and Perconte both stood up from their seats.
"She was a friend of mine George, and yours last I recall," Perconte told him, which Luz gave him a look for. "Why aren't you wound up about it?" And with that, Perconte left, quickly followed by Luz, who looked pissed off that he said what he said out loud, even though it was meant to brighten the dark mood.
Joe Liebgott leaned back in his seat more and massaged his face. He didn't get much sleep due to Webster getting up every other hour. Why, Liebgott didn't honestly have a clue. All he could remember is that water was running, from the sink in the bathroom. He looked to see what Webster was doing; Liebgott sat up straighter.
"Web?" David Webster was staring, wide-eyed at his shaking hands. "Hey, Web." He shook Webster to look up at him. "What's wrong with you? You're hands are clean,"
"No, they're not." Webster shook his head before leaning down, hiding his face in hands. "They're not."
"Why the hell not? You washed them enough last night—"
"Joe,"
"Did you have fun in there or something?"
"Joe,"
"Waking me up every other fucking hour,"
"Joe I thought I had blood on my hands!" Webster yelled angrily at him. That took Liebgott by surprise. Webster hesitated a moment before looking down at his hands again.
"Do you wanna know where I was when you guys were beating that goddamn piece of shit of a replacement? Do you?" Webster stared straight into Liebgott's eyes, "I carried her to the aid station." Liebgott's expression faltered.
"She was bleeding, so much, and I carried, I ran her to the fucking aid station. You saw how much blood there was," Webster stood up and glared at Liebgott. "Do you know what it's like to have a dying friend's blood on your hands?" Webster then stormed out of the room, and Liebgott, with an angry sigh, followed him.
"Hey, Doc?" Eugene Roe turned around, really not wanting to deal with anyone today. However, his eyes widened in horror at Don Malarkey's bleeding hand. Malarkey looked rather complacent or calm about his bleeding hand, which worried Roe more.
"Jesus Christ, what the hell—sit down—Spina, get me some water!" Roe called to Spina as he ushered Malarkey to one of the tables and made him sit on it. He carefully took Malarkey's hand, and Malarkey winced as Roe looked at it. Spina came over with a bowl of water, and Roe placed Malarkey's hand in, making Malarkey curse and wince. After a few times in and out of the water, the bleeding had practically stopped, and the clear water had now turned a bright red. Roe then saw the small diagonal cuts along his knuckles and on the back of his palm.
"Malarkey, what the hell did you do to yourself?" Roe asked, putting gel on Malarkey's hand.
"… Punched a mirror, along with a lot of furniture," he replied, wincing as Roe spread the gel.
"Why? You tryin' to kill yourself or somethin'?" Roe asked, unraveling gauze.
"I don't know," Malarkey answered as he watched Roe wrap his hand up.
"That's one hell of an answer," Roe muttered, shaking his head.
"I just feel like … I don't know. Someone up there hates me," Malarkey pointed upward, which Roe only glanced at him for before Malarkey explained further, "They want to torment me by killing off everyone that I fucking care about. Muck, Penkala, now … Lillian, except I probably deserve it. Cause I did kill her,"
"You shot her, did you?" Roe asked angrily, not liking that he brought up Lillian.
"No, I … lov-liked her, and because of my goddamn feelings, I argued with her about the damn transfer, and she wandered off—"
"Is this why you're coming in like this? You're angry at yourself because you think you killed her?" Roe asked, angrily.
"No, my hand is fucked up because I tore a room apart because Lillian … loved Winters. And they might've had a wonderful, fucking relationship if I hadn't argued with her—"
"Are you serious? Just because you argued with her, doesn't mean anything!" Roe yelled at him. Spina looked back-and-forth between them concernedly, and he decided to intervene.
"Roe, calm down,"
"Stay outta this Spina! You didn't kill her Malarkey. Stop thinking you did," Roe told him furiously, both Malarkey and Roe glaring at one another. "If anyone 'killed' her besides the goddamn replacement, it was me."
"Roe!"
"I knew she had the wound when she came in with Grant, and I didn't examine her," Roe explained, shaking his head. His voice quieted, and Roe hesitated on continuing. Malarkey's expression faltered slightly as Spina came closer. "I should've examined her … then, I got angry with her because she didn't know how bad her wound was. I got angry with her, and …" Roe gulped, closing his eyes for a moment, "I shouldn't've. How could she have known if she hadn't been worrying about herself to begin with?" Roe shook his head with an angry sigh, "How could she have known if she was being a goddamned nurse?"
The End