A/N: Hello again dear mates...very sorry for the slow update. My comp has been crashed so...yeah... without further ado...here is Chapter 4. Hope you like it. ^_^
Bree has been thrown to the past for two weeks now. On the plus side, she's slowly getting used to paralyzing terrors and the sight and smell of war. Well…-ish. On the negative side, she definitely will have appointments to the therapist when she gets back to her time.
Easy men try their best to distract her; bless their good hearts, despite their idiosyncrasies. Colonel Sink, Captain Winters and Nixon always keep her busy with administrative tasks in the relative safety of the Battalion Command Post. The boys make turn to visited her at the CP for a chat or two. Or in George's case, it evolved to a thorough discussion about whether the type of a car can be an indication whether the male owner is overcompensating for a certain reproduction appendage. Winters, who accidentally overheard the discussion, turned beet red due to the word 'penis' were thrown casually in said discussion.
Nevertheless, Bree missed home. She missed modern appliances and general convenience that she usually takes for granted. It's like she's experiencing a reverse technology shock. Say goodbye to the magic of touchscreen and voice command (Bree missed SIRI's cold voice so effing much), and enter the world of analog full of lever pulling, switch flipping, button pressing, and dial turning.
She missed her iPod, filled with the obligatory top 40, pretentious indie music, Broadway musicals, and her guilty pleasure of 80's power ballads and corny electronic pops (Soft Cell's Tainted Love is a masterpiece, no matter everyone else think) and 90's boy band (Justin Timberlake's ramen-noodle-hair looked so good back then) & girl band (Bree's inner diva takes the form of Posh Spice) songs. What can she say? Her music taste ranges from 'you need to listen to this' to 'I know, please don't judge me'. Mostly the later.
She missed her computer, especially the autocorrect function (maybe it's karma because she bragged she didn't need this to Colonel Sink?) and the convenience of backspace button. It's a pain in the ass to use the eraser and the eraser shield if she made errors when typing in triplicate carbon copy. She has to go from carbon copy to carbon copy, trying not to get her fingers dirty as she leafed through the carbon papers, and moving and repositioning the eraser shield and eraser for each copy. Also she convinced that the ancient regimental typewriter made her fingers and palm grow additional muscles, if that thing is possible.
This morning, said typewriter decides that it wants to jam its R key. It's stuck and Bree can't un-stuck it. It's super mega suck. (She thinks in rhyme when she stressed out, okay. Sue her.)
She feels that she has a bond with this typewriter within the past week, so she lays her hand on the keyboard and says a few choice words gently.
"Baby….Please don't do this to me. Colonel Sink needs this report ASAP." She pleads to the typewriter.
She tries to unstuck the jammed key again. It doesn't budge.
"I know you want to take a rest, Typee-boo." she pleads again "But Colonel Sink will be arrive in an hour and it'll be super awkward if this report's not finished by then. Come on… You're my BFF. We're going to try again, okay?"
The typewriter doesn't say anything. It's very stoic that way. Meanwhile, a stack of paperwork nearby that she fondly called Leaning Tower of Pain in Her Ass wobbling slightly as if cheerfully mocking her.
The key is still jammed.
Bree knocks her head against the table. She's in that position when George finds her.
"Uh…"George says "Bad time?"
"Hey, George." Her voice is muffled by the table. "Just…you know…trying to give myself a concussion. No big deal."
"Right." Gorge snorts.
"One of the key is stuck again" she sighs.
"Scoot" George says and hip-checks her so she almost fall from the chair.
"You ass…thanks for being such a gentleman, George."
George shrugs "No biggie."
"It's sarcasm."
"I'm fully aware, my dear. Now shut your pretty yap" And he starts to check the typewriter. "It's jammed. Can you see here, Bree? The eraser crumbs and paper dusts are making buildup on the groove between the keys. That's what makes the key jammed."
"But I already use the eraser brush." Bree whines.
"You have to brush it carefully and properly. Which I understand that is very difficult for such a klutz like you." George explains while cleaning the typewriter.
"I hate it when you're sassier than me."
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
"Asshole." Bree slaps the back of his head fondly. "Arrrgh…I miss my computer."
"What's that?"
"It's…uh…this electronic device that can help you compute, processing and storing data. More or less." How the hell she explains the complexity of modern computer.
"I'll pretend I understand." George says flatly "Here…done."
"Thank you, George. You're a life saver. So…what are you doing here? You don't mind we chat while I type this?" Bree says, pointing the Leaning Tower of Pain in Her Ass.
"Do your thing. I just want to know if you have any new gossip."
"Well…most likely you guys will be sent again to a city called…uh…Haguenau."
"The fuck?! Why?! We deserve to be sent back to Camp Mourmellon for some rest. We've been in the front line for two months in a row, for fuck's sake!"
"Hey…Don't kill the messenger….or gossiper…I just know from our esteemed Battalion Commander that the Nazi made their last offensive strike and make a hole on Alsace front line. You guys have to fill the gaps."
"God dammit. Sometimes it's a curse to be the best company in the ETO."
"Well…on the bright side, the newspaper back home called you guys The Battered Bastards of Bastogne. So it looks like the Army wants to utilize your badassery to the fullest."
George sighs "They know we've already battered but still they send us to another front line. The Army and their way of thinking."
"Are you guys gonna be okay?" Bree says warily.
"Don't worry, Bree. We're gonna be okay; we've volunteered for this anyway. We're the elite of the whole Army. The regular troops envied us because of our boots, the extra bucks we made and the prestige we had. We'll bitch and moan and plan imaginative ways to kill General Taylor, but we will get our job done."
Bree smiles softly "I hope you guys can meet my sister, Jane. She really admires your generation. I bet she's gonna fangirling over Captain Winters, because that's what always happened when she got to interview world war two veterans."
"Yeah." George chuckles "Do you miss your sister?"
"Oh George..." Bree sighs and sags on her chair. "Everyday. It's just two of us, you know. Our parents passed away since I was in high school. Jane was already twenty, so she immediately became my legal guardian. Thank God, because otherwise, I'd have to stay with Aunt Gertrude. She's as horrible as her name. It's just me and Jane against the world, since then. She even protected me from the bullies in my high school. Man, those boys were nasty; hiding their man pain behind copious amount of hair gel, overcompensating car and being super douchetastic. And Jane whooped their collective asses accordingly." Bree smiles sadly at the memory. "My sister is my knight in shining armor. I don't' know whether I'm dead or not in my time, but Jane must be devastated. She's alone. I just wanna to go home, George."
George hugs her "Yeah…I miss my family too, Bree. Alas, here we are, doing our best to kick Hitler right in his pasty white Aryan ass for doing an excellent job by being an asshole. I can even picture his gravestone already. Here lies Adolf Hitler; Professional Asshole. "
Bree snorts inelegantly "Why are we talking a lot about ass this evening? And leave it to George Luz to cheer everybody up even in the most distressed moment. Thank you, George."
George shuffled her hair "Anything to make you smile again, Princess. Now…the distressed damsel has been helped, the gossip has been gathered….Now I have to go to spread said gossip. See you later, Bree."
"Bye, George. Say hi to the boys for me." Bree waves at him and go back to type the report again.
Ten minutes later, the S key is stuck.
Bree's shout of "GOD DAMMIT!" can be heard five tents away. The Leaning Tower of Pain in Her Ass sways cheerfully.
They travel to Haguenau in a convoy of jeeps and trucks. The roads are slippery and dangerous, so the trucks proceed very slowly, almost in walking pace. Bree has to see several men jumped off the truck to take pee and catch up to reboard the trucks without difficulty. The sight is comical because the men wore layered uniform (it's mid-January, in freaking Europe) that consist of baggy pants, OD pants, long underwear, and OD colored underwear (Bree definitely DOES NOT take a peek to know the color of said underwear. It's said in a report somewhere), all without zipper. And sometimes the men still wearing gloves.
The city of Haguenau lay astride the Moder River. Easy is stationed on the south bank, while the Germans hold the north bank. Both sides had artillery support, so sometimes the Germans shelled the US and the US will reply in kind.
On the positive side (Bree can't help to think that Easy men always find something positive in this humongous clusterfuck), this will be the first time they will live indoors on the firing line. The Platoons are spread into several building with telephone system, bunks, gas lamps and working stove. George and Joe manly cried (a single tear fell down on their cheeks) and hugged each other when they found a functioning toilet. Joe, Gene and Babe fights over the bunk bed, while Malark can only sighs contemplating why his friends acting like six graders on a field trip.
Bree stays with the officers in a house that feels like a palace after slumming for weeks in a makeshift tent. She got a room for herself and she too shed a single tear when she saw a real bed and a working en-suit shower. She immediately set out to clean up her room.
She's working happily while belting out demanding what men really wants, what they really really want, when Captain Speirs suddenly materialized at her door.
"What the hell are you singing?"
"SHIT! Omigod, Sir! Creepy much?!"
"Well…you'd hear me walking if you're not crowing …whatever you're singing."
"Fyi…" Bree says indignantly. She needs to stand up for Spice Girl's dignity. "It's one of my favorite songs from my favorite girl band, Sir. Wannabe by the Spice Girls. It's a classic. Well…at least in my time."
Speirs snorts "Spice Girls? What's the name of its member? Cilantro?"
"Ha ha. You're funny. " Bree deadpans "And cilantro is technically an herb, not a spice. Now, the seed of cilantro plant, Coriander, is a spice. But I don't think you scared me to death just to discuss the difference between herbs and spices. So I gonna shut my mouth right about now." Bree rambles.
Speirs raises one of his eyebrows. "You're so talkative."
"I prefer the term loquacious." Bree grins.
"Semantics."
Bree sighs in defeat. "What can I do for you, Sir?"
"Sergeant Lipton is sick. Doc Roe said it's pneumonia. But he insists to sleep on the floor, in his sleeping bag because the other bunks at 1st Platoon's house are occupied. I want you to ask Luz to drag Lipton to this house so he can sleep in a bed or a couch. And then I want you to talk sense to said Sergeant, to stop working and take some rest."
"Have you said all this to Sergeant Lipton using your trade mark Glare of Doom, Alpha Voice or Menacing Pose?"
"I have. The combo of those three, in fact. But he's a stubborn motherfucker. I just don't want him to get worse. He's a good combat leader. Easy need him."
"All right. I'll talk to him."
"Good. Also find some extra blanket or maybe warm food for Lipton. And I heard there's new supply of cigarettes and Hershey bars. I want Luz to secure some for Easy before the rear echelon can hoard them."
"Aaw….you actually a big marshmallow under that creepy and growly facade, aren't you? You really care about your boys. Hah! You are part werewolf part marshmallow! Oh...don't give me that Glare, Sir. It won't work for me."
"You make me starting to question my reputation as a badass leader, right now." Speirs pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Don't worry, Sir. Your fluffy secret is safe with me."
The big house where Bree stay is serves as Officer's Quarter, Battalion HQ and Easy Company CP. As Captain Winter's aide, her 'office' is in the living room with a piano and a grandfather clock. She's typing a supply report (sitting in a real chair! With cushion!) when Captain Winter and Captain Nixon entering the room.
"Bree, have you seen Captain Speirs?"
"Last time I saw him is an hour ago, Captain Winters. Morning, Captain Nixon."
"I've told you, Bree. Call me Nix. Or Lewis. Or Lew. You're technically a civilian and I've adopt you as my sister." Nixon says magnanimously.
Bree rolls her eyes "Yeah…that's very generous of you, adopt a time-traveling, stray puppy like me. But I'm Captain Winter's aide, this is still office hour and we're technically at Battalion HQ."
Nixon grumbles at that.
"Do you have any news from the regiment, Bree?" Winters says.
"In this folder, Sir. Colonel Sink's runner gave these thirty minutes ago."
Winters takes the folder and starts reading. He groans shortly after "Oh for the love of…We got a replacement officer, Lew. Fresh from the West Point. He should be arrived today. And apparently, we'll have another patrol this night."
Nixon sigh "Let's just hope this new baby doesn't too eager for some action. Do you hear what happened on D Company's patrol last night? Replacement lieutenant blew his foot off. Also fresh from West Point. That boy had to come back empty-handed."
"I can feel this war is nearing to the end" Winters says thoughtfully "We don't need this action-seeker new-recruits to bumbling around and create unnecessary risk for our veteran soldiers." He exhales tiredly, rubbing his forehead, before he continues "Walk with me, Lew. We need to make plan for tonight's patrol. Stay inside, Bree. There are German snipers out there."
Nixon nods and follows Winters leaving Bree alone again in the living room. But not long after, George comes in with a very pale Lipton.
"Will you just stop being a workaholic, right now?! You're sick, for fuck sake!" George snaps at Lipton who walks weakly, clutching some papers.
"I feel useless if I'm not doing anything, George." Lipton says slowly.
"Gah!" George raises his hands in defeat "Bree…you talk sense to this…this…overly responsible person. I'm going to look for a blanket and find someone to prepare a room for him. And you, Mister Clifford Carwood Lipton..yeah…I'm using your full name at the risk of sounding like an overbearing Jewish Mom…sleep on that couch and don't you dare move your ass from it."
And then he left Bree and Lipton, grumbling under his breath.
"He did sound like an overbearing Jewish Mom" Bree chuckles, helping Lipton to sit down on the couch.
Lipton laughs weakly "Thanks, Bree. Yeah…That's George Luz for you. He comes from a big family, so he used to taking care of other."
Bree smiles "How are you, Lip?"
"Feeling cold. Still got a fever. But not as bad as yesterday. Doc managed to give me some new drug called…um…Penicillin?"
"Oh yeah...Penicillin. It's still used in my time as antibiotic, you know. I don't know it begin to be used in this war."
"Doc said that basically it's still in human trial phase. But the war needs safer and more effective antibiotics, so the government pushes the production of it."
"My sister told me that this war is a time when huge advances were made in medicine and medical practices. I remember she mentioned about morphine as pain killer, blood transfusion and quinine for malaria among other things. I was not really listening back then. I was not really interested in history." Bree says sheepishly.
"Well at least there's something good come out from this war." Lipton says.
"Don't think too much, Lip. You have to rest. We all worried about you. You've done enough in Bastogne. It's about time we're taking care of you." Bree says.
"But I want to do something. And it's just paperwork." Lipton stays stubbornly.
"But you're not resting. The only way you can be with the boys again, is by making a full recovery. And you'll get that if you're fully resting." Bree says.
"Listen to the wise woman, Lip." George enters the room again with a pile of blanket, pillows and boxes of new supplies (Bree has to commend George's resourcefulness). He's followed by Vest a.k.a The Mail Guy and Captain Speirs. Vest is carrying a box full of shiny stuffs that most likely are Speirs' "discovery" of the day.
Bree grins "Newest haul, Sir?"
"Gotta feed the pregnant Missus back in England." Speirs says flatly. He put his other treasure to Vest's box, while Vest resignedly holds the increasingly heavy box.
"Lift your ass for a moment, Lip. Remove your damp shawl and coat, put them over there, then go back here, and lie down. You can hold a pen, right? Supply office needs you to sign some papers." George says to Lipton.
"I'm just having pneumonia, George. Not being invalid." Lipton gets up and removes his shawl and coat while George arranges the blanket and pillow on the couch.
"After you room's ready, I order you to sleep in a real bed, in a real bedroom, Sergeant." Speirs says sharply to Lipton.
"Uh…Yes, Sir. In a minute. Just after signing the papers George just say."
"Bree, drag him if you have too." Speirs says firmly.
Bree smiles "Will do, Sir." while Lipton rolls his eyes.
Then a young soldier entering the room. Compared to the Homeless Chic appearance the Easy men donned these days, this man is squeaky clean, freshly shaved and not smelly. He has a Disney Prince look, fluffy hair and all, but he's a little subdued. Like he's trying to make himself small. He nods to everyone in the room. And if he's surprised to see a woman in the room, he doesn't show it. Speirs and Vest stare at him but not saying anything.
"Send these to England and then meet me at the house with a red door. Bring a bigger box." Speirs says to Vest and they left the house into separate directions completely ignoring the new man.
Talk about awkward.
"Heeey…Look who it is?" George grins to the new man, cigarette dangling on his mouth, while giving Lipton some papers. But his grin has some edge on it. He then says to Lipton, pointing to the pile of blanket and pillow on the table "Nice dig, huh, Lip?"
"Yeah" Lipton groans.
"Sergeant Lipton?" The man says. Well, he must be not a new recruit since he already knows Lipton.
"Hey look what I found." George brings a thick blanket and starts to cocoon Lipton tightly with the blanket. "There you go."
"Feeling all right?" The man asks Lipton again.
"He's got pneumonia" George says.
"l'm sorry" the man says.
"Why?" George smirks and then continues sarcastically "He's alive, he's got a couch, a goddamn blanket. He's snug as a bug." He then walks back to the table to sort his stuffs from the supply office.
The man apparently realizes George's tone. He swallows before he says to Lipton "Sgt. Malarkey said to check if l should be in 2nd Platoon."
"Have a seat, Webster." Lipton says weakly from the couch "We'll get you situated."
The man, Webster, sits in the chair beside the coach. "Um..so..uh…How long have you been sick?"
Lipton sighs "Long enough."
Bree snorts "Why do you have to be so stubborn, Lip?"
Lipton smiles weakly "I just want to be useful."
Webster looks down guiltily. There's must be something with this man.
"Oh I forgot to introduce you" George shouts from his table. "Webster, that woman is Briana Sullivan or Bree. You touch her, I cut you dick off. Bree, that is David Webster or College boy. He left Easy when he got nicked on his leg in Netherland. How long ago is that, Web? Two? Three? Four months ago? Boy, I never thought that teeny weeny wound will took that long to heal. You missed all the fun in Bastogne. Some of us didn't survive that fucking hell hole, you see."
Oh...so that's the problem. Easy men has this penchant of went AWOL from hospital. As long as their hand can carry the gun, no matter they wound is not fully healed, they'll do anything to get back to their unit to fight along their friends. This Webster guy possibly follows through all the procedure required to be cleared from hospital. Bree can understand George's (and possibly the rest of Easy men) resentment, because they needed all the help back then in Bastogne.
Webster shifts awkwardly on his seat. Lipton glares at George, while George mouthed what? and shrugs innocently.
Bree clears her throat, and says "Um…so…uh…Webster…nice to meet you. Where did you study?"
Webster looks relieved someone's finally act civil to him "Harvard, Miss. I study Literature."
"Please, call me Bree. If you're in college, why you're not joining that officer school? What's it called, Lip?"
"OCS. Officer Candidate School." Lipton says.
"Uh…I don't think I have that leadership quality, Mi..uh…Bree." Webster says.
George scoffs "Yeah. I wonder what kind of leader that would leave his men just because he got a minor wound on his leg."
George is saved from Bree's signature slap on the head because another man entering the room. He's as clean as Webster, but he got an Officer insignia in uniform. This must be the new Lieutenant.
"ls this the company CP for Easy?" The man says formally.
"Yes, Sir." Lipton says, trying to sit up.
"As you were." The man says "Lt. Jones looking for Capt. Speirs." Wow…his talk and demeanor is very text book-y
"He's on his way, Sir. Why don't you sit down?" Lipton says and then asks George "Can you get me coffee? Want coffee, Lieutenant?"
"No, thank you." Jones says "Good Morning, Miss."
Well, at least he's polite, unlike Dike the Troglodyte.
"Good morning, Sir. I'm Briana Sullivan. Captain Winter's aide."
"Please to meet you." He smiles politely. He obviously wants to know why there's a civilian woman in WAC uniform in this office, but he refrains himself from asking further.
The Lieutenant then greets Webster "What platoon are you in?"
"We're about to find that out." Webster says.
They don't have to wait for a long time because Speirs is back again with Vest. He brings a beautiful desk clock and a book; another finding of the day, apparently.
Lipton tries to sit up "Captain Speirs, sir. This is Lieutenant Jones."
Said Lieutenant himself is stand at attention immediately. His perfect posture screams I'm a greenie! loudly. Speirs ignores the Lieutenant and snaps at Lipton "Will you go back and sack out? There's beds with fresh sheets."
Lipton sighs "l will, sir. Just trying to make myself useful, sir."
Speirs glares at Bree as if it's her fault that Lipton was born as the most responsible person in the whole world.
Bree raises her hands in a gesture of I've done everything, he's just too stubborn. Speirs mumbles something about "God damn workaholic" and directs Vest to "inventory" his new treasures.
"Listen up." Captain Winters enters the room, followed by Nixon, and everyone stand at attention (well, except Lipton, even though he's trying to sit more straight), but not as rigid as the new Lieutenant. "Regiment wants patrol for prisoners."
At Speirs' frowns, Nixon adds "This one comes from Colonel Sink, so it's not my idea."
"The river is the line of resistance." Winters continues, "We have to cross it. There's a three-story building on the enemy side. lt's occupied. You can have 15 men. Think hard about who you want to lead. You'll need a scout, a translator. The battalion's on covering fire."
"When?" Speirs asks.
"Tonight." Winters says "01 00."
Speirs nods "Yes, sir."
"Speirs, l want this to be safe." Winters stresses
"Don't take chances on those men," Nixon cautions Speirs. "We're too far along for that."
"Speirs," Winters says "I wanna discuss who might go." And they start hushed discussion about the roster for tonight patrol while Nixon finally notices the new Lieutenant.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"Lieutenant Jones, Sir." Jones says, posture still rigid.
Nixon grins "Right, our West Pointer."
Jones looks stiff, uncomfortable. "Yes, Sir." He says. He's very much aware that he's being treated as a newbie
"When did you graduate?" Nixon asks again.
"June 6, Sir."
Nixon gasps "June 6? Of last year?"
"D-Day, yes, Sir." Jones says uneasily.
Nixon laughs sarcastically "All right, don't get hurt."
Jones frowns (Bree can commiserate. Nobody wants to be treated like a child) and he addressed Captain Winters "Sir, l'd like to volunteer for the patrol."
Winters considers him briefly, but then goes right on talking to Speirs (which is rude!) "Speirs, talks to you in an hour." He then left the house again followed by Nixon.
Still ignoring Jones (Bree has this urges to hugs this new Lieutenant for the blatant cold-shoulder treatment), Speirs discuses with Lipton about the patrol "We're short on officers. You think a non-com could lead this?"
"l can think of a few possibilities." Lipton says.
"Martin? Malarkey? Grant?"
"Most of the NCOs could use a rest."
"Captain." Jones tries again "Request permission to go."
"There's your answer." Lipton says to Speirs.
"No." Speirs says flatly. "You don't have any experience."
Bree levels a defcon three scowl at Speirs. Speirs raises this one eyebrow.
Bree puts her hands in her hips. Speir's other eyebrows joins the first.
Her scowl increases into defcon two.
Speirs caves in.
"Report to 2nd Platoon." He says to Jones. Well, at least Jones being assigned to a Platoon that desperately needs an Officer. He can ease some of Malarkey's burden.
Jones replies with resignation "Yes, Sir."
"Tell Heffron, Ramirez and McClung they're going." Speirs orders.
"Yes, Sir." Jones nods.
Feeling ignored, Webster pops up (Bree almost forget he is there. He keeps silent when Winters explaining the patrol) and introduces himself, trying to explain his situation, but Speirs doesn't much care and dispatches him to 2nd Platoon as well.
Bree can see that Jones and Webster are treated as replacements. And they don't get any respect from the veterans. As soon as Jones and Webser leave for OP 2, Bree confronts George, Lipton and Speirs and says "You guys are petty as fuck."
They have the decency to look a little bit ashamed.
"So that's why my ass cheeks are not symmetrical"
"That's life-changing information, George."
"I know you like my ass, Bree. They even make this unflattering olive drab uniform looks good."
Bree makes a gaging sound accordingly. Vest throws a Hersey Bar to his head.
"So back to our topic," George continues "That black Nazi outfit is the sexiest military uniform to ever existed. Evil aside, I'd join just for the outfit."
George, Bree and Vest are taking inventory of the rations at the CP. And also gossiping. Or more accurately comparing the fashion supremacy of Nazi uniform (because apparently it was designed by Hugo Fucking Boss) that somehow expands to how George's butt cheeks were not symmetrical since circa high school era.
"I still can't believe Hugo Boss designed the uniforms though." Bree says. "It means that even the members of Hitler Youth are also decked out in Boss wear. It's like teaching children an early lesson in looking good whilst beating up minorities. Yeesh..." Bree shudders before she continues "In my time, Boss is like a staple fashion brand for every yuppie. Yuppie is shorts for young, urban, professional, by the way. No yuppie's wardrobe is complete without their standard Hugo Boss suit, Hugo Boss dress shirt, Hugo Boss tie, Hugo Boss sunglasses, Hugo Boss cologne, Hugo Boss man-thong and Hugo Boss socks to stuff the thong."
"What is a man-thong?" Vest asks.
"It's man's undies so skimpy that on the back side, the material covering the ass cheeks has completely disintegrated leaving only the elastic band remaining. When exposed, the view from behind, to unwitting observer, appears like the wearer is sporting a dental floss on his ass. It's as nasty as plumber's crack, in my opinion."
It took several seconds for the boys to imagine it before they sprint to the bathroom to throw up.
"That's fucking gross, Bree!" George snaps when he and Vest back from their visit to the bathroom. Vest, innocent boy that he is, looks pale.
"My brain's scarred for life, Bree. How could you." Vest whines.
Bree cackles gleefully "You'll survive, Vest."
"Ugh…I just gonna go to Sergeant Lipton's room. He'll help me bleached this imagery from by brain." Vest says.
"Vest is not even legal to drink alcohol." George grouses when Vest is no longer in hearing distance. "You're an evil evil woman."
"Yeah…it keeps me up all night." Bree says cheerfully.
"What's keep you up all night, Princess?" Johnny Martin asks, entering the room with Roy Cobb. Martin is having a serious case of resting-bitch-face, but he's actually fluffy at heart. Cobb, on the other hand, is a jerktastic little shit. Bree doesn't like Cobb.
"Maybe she's fancying herself surrounded by us tough men? Ya know what I mean?" Cobb sneers, wiggling his eyebrows. See? Jerktastic. Little. Shit.
"Yeah…your mama told me it'll be truly satisfying to be surrounded by tough men. She talked about it like an expert." Bree says calmly. In another world, she would do the Z Snap thing right in his face.
"Shut your yap, Cobb. I believe your mama taught you how to speak nicely to a lady." Martin says, trying to hide his grins. "Hey George, I hear Webster is back."
"Yep. He's back. Squeaky clean, smells good, fluffy hair and as handsome as Price Charming. I swear to God he's growing more chest hair during rehab." George says.
Martin snorts "That rich ass college boy."
"I'm sure he's got his reasons." Bree says.
"Yeah…I bet chicken shit is one of it. What you got there, George?" Martin says.
"Rations. Hershey bars, Juicy Fruits, Lucky Strikes. You know…the essentials."
"O my God! Chocolate? Last time I eat chocolate is in Mourmelon." Martin sighs.
"Johnny, you're breaking my heart." George says dryly.
"Come on, George. Give me, l don't know…one...five bars?"
"Here" George throws him something "Juicy Fruit. Happy?" Martin is honest to God pouting.
"Movement report" Vest says to George when he's reentering the room "First Sergeant Lipton wants you to shoot into a house."
"With that new bazooka?"
"Yup."
"Nice" George grins maniacally (because apparently, blowing house with a bazooka is George's childhood dream). But his grin is short-lived because Martin and Coob keep begging him for chocolate bars.
"There's not enough!" George fends them off.
But then, enter Joe Liebgott shouting "Ooo…Hershey bars!" like a five years old that he is.
"Jesus!" George groans. Bree pats his head in commiseration.
"Who they for?"
"Not you."
"One bar." Because Joe is as pushy as a toddler in regards of chocolate.
George finally loses his shit "No! There's not enough to go around!"
'I got wounded ass' is now Frank's tagline.
Yup…Easy's resident midget ("I'd prefer Vertically Challenged, thank you very much!" "How about Mentally-Defective Simpleton?" And Frank head butts George.) is back, AWOL from the hospital as per tradition, and he use the sentence in every opportunity he got.
"But I got wounded ass." Frank whines for the twenty third times. Yeah. Bree counts.
"You said that shit one more time, and I'll decapitate you with my rusty bayonet." Joe spat.
"The fuck you're still upset for?" Frank pouts. "You won't cross the river for tonight's patrol. You'll only provide covering fire from this side."
"Yup. You should give a fruit basket as a thank you gift to Webster for that." Bree adds.
"Okay. One: That unnecessary patrol will still happen. So there's still potential for casualties. Two: I'd rather get shot in the ass on that blasted patrol than thank Webster."
"He talked to Captain Speirs so only one translator can join that patrol. And Speirs choose him." Bree explains.
Joe snorts "Are you sure he's not actually wanted to spare himself?"
Well…if he put it like that.
"Just give Webster a chance, Joe." Gene says calmly form his bunk bed. He's writing inventory report for Regimental Aid Station. "He's feeling bad already."
"Listen to our beloved Saint Eugene, Joe." Bree smirks at Gene's red face when he hears the compliment.
Joe huffs petulantly "I'll try, okay. In the name of unit cohesiveness. You want me to smack your teeth with my M1, Frank? I know SAT words, you dipshit. I read books."
"Comics" Frank corrects.
"Oh, fuck you, Frank. Anywho...Doc…another thing that bugs me…Why you're not coming with us? It's like a bad omen, you know. Every time you're not joining the patrol, there's shit happened." He then looks around for Babe and when he is sure that Babe is not in the room, he continues "Remember Julian at Bastogne? Babe is never the same rainbow kid after Julian died."
Gene sighs "We all different after Bastogne. It was hell. And I want to go with you guys, but I have to help Doctor Kent at Regimental Aid Station."
"So no Medic backup whatsoever on this side and on the patrol itself?" Frank asks "That's a big risk."
"That's the order though" Gene sigh. "But I'll be standing by at the Aid Station."
Joe nods even though it's clear that he's still not satisfied with the situation. But since when Easy got it in easy way? Pun definitely intended.
The solemnity of the situation is ruined because on whatever planet George must actually be from, it appears "I swear one of my balls has gotten bigger that the other," is an appropriate greeting when he's entering the room.
"FUCK'S SAKE…" Joe snaps "Put them away, you fucking crazy Portuguese!"
"I don't have them out, Joe. Sheesh…There's a lady in the room and I still have manners, 'kay. Hey Doc, what do you think this is?" George says nonchalantly and pointing his general crotch area.
Gene legitimately hit his forehead repeatedly with his reports, look up to the ceiling as if screaming internally 'what is my life?' like a Tumblr girl, and takes several deep breaths before answers "As long as you don't pissing needles or have some fever, I think it's kinda normal for you, George."
"Obviously" Bree says in Severus Snape's extremely disdainful voice.
"You shameless motherfucker" Frank mumbles.
George shrugs innocently.
A/N: So..that's Ch 4. I hope it's worth the wait. And as usual, since English is not my native language and i have no beta reader, please bear with me if you found any mistakes. So please read, poke me if you find some mistakes and don't forget to leave your review. Cheers ^_^