Come back again (sooner than the last time). I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I have already new ideas about the ones to come :)
The only thing I wanted to say is that this chapter - too - will focus only on Dick and Jackson. From the next one, I hope I'll be able to include some more Bill-Joe-Jackson's parts: I really like portraying this friendship.
So...I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!
Please, review and let me know what you think :) besos :*
Market Garden was a trapezist: it was do or die. Dick repeated the plan mentally countless times during the night before the jump. He inquired the Intelligence carefully; Nixon, next to him, kept reassuring him: ''only olds and kids'', he repeated frustrated.
Dick didn't know what to expect from Holland and maybe, considering how long the Germans had been engaged into war, their Intelligence could be perfectly right.
Despite that, for so many reason, Dick knew the next morning jump stood for
that was his first mission as CO, the first time the replacements got to finally see action. He wished he trained them well, he wished he could measure up the target.
Dick barely got to sleep, aware he would've soon regretted his soft and warm bed.
Among all the things he had imagined, he could have not ever thought of seeing such scenario. Orange flags waving out from the houses, all the people in the street singing songs in their language: they were so many that Dick found serious difficulties in making the company move.
''Stay here, I'll search for my source'' Lewis suggested before disappearing in the crowd. Dick nervously tried to watch over his company and to catch eventual snipers but the situation made it impossible. It disturbed him, a lot, seeing such a mess: his men singing, drinking, kissing, screaming. He realized how grateful those people could be seeing in them a glimpse of hope after a long time of oppression and Dick himself could not avoid the pride he felt inside at such gratitude but they were just making their task harder.
''Lipton, call them all!'' Dick ordered, grabbing the Sergeant by his arm.
''I'm trying, sir'' he helplessly replied.
Dick grinned ''Where's Buck? Lieutenant Compton?''
Lipton bit his lips and shrugged sheepishly ''Sir, Lieutenant Compton is right there, taking a photograph with the locals'' he pointed at a group of civilians and American soldiers – his soldiers – not so far from them.
Dick grinned, blatantly vexed, and looked at Lipton's desperate face ''it's okay, Lip. I know you're doing of your best.''
Lipton shrugged. ''Sir, do you want something to eat or to drink?'' he offered innocently. Dick glared at him,huffing angrily ''I'd better call them all, sir.''
''Yeah, you'd better do it'' Dick commanded, following Lipton disappearing fast in the crowd.
''Dick, clock's ticking'' Lewis patted on his shoulder. Luckily, that meant he linked with his source so that they could finally move out. In that moment, a small group of women surrounded them and tossed their arms around their necks and one of them, printed a small kiss on Dicks's lips ''Thank you'', he replied a tad vexed.
''We've got to get to the bridges'' Dick explained to Harry and Buck who grouped around him.
''Captain Winters'' Lieutenant Peacock stepped near them with Sergeant Malarkey ''I succeeded in gathering my platoon, we wait for orders, sir'' he drawled.
''Well done, Lieutenant'' Dick nodded but before he could give any order, another group – or maybe the same – of local girls surrounded them but this time, a tall, brown haired one embraced Jackson tight, kissing him fiercely. As the kiss ended, Jackson's lips were colored of red ''Thank you'' he whispered pleasantly bewildered and, as fast as she appeared, the brunette fleeted away with her friends. Dick was astounded: Jackson didn't show any embarrassment, discomfort. Had he already kissed a girl? Perhaps just to make a show? The picture hit him in the stomach and all he could hear was an undefined amount of voices around him, calling his name.
''Sir, Lieutenant Winters. I'm waiting for your orders'' Peacock urged, staring at him confused.
''We're waiting for Captain Nixon's source to show us the way to the bridges, Lieutenant. I'll let you know when he arrives.''
''Yeah, this way'' Lewis grabbed Dick by his arms and guided him through the crowd before Peacock could reply, with Harry and Buck hardly following them.
There's a first time for everything. The jump – that was not a first time. Cooperating with the British – that was a first time. Withdrawal was a first time Dick was not so eager to experience. The Operation turned out to be a utter failure. Dick would've brooded later where he did go wrong with the plan, where he could do better. All he could muse about was all they lost that day: all the hopes of those folks, weighting on them, were faded in the Germans' bombing. Staring into distance he could see Eindhoven in fire: it reminded him of the Day of Days, but this time the epilogue was way different, and not on their side. That beacon of hope of being home for Christmas was gone along with all the men he lost on that day: replacements, veterans, Bull. One of his best men, a Toccoa man, Bull Randleman was a rock in all the senses: wise, strong. They didn't find the body so there was still a chance for him. Maybe he was still alive. Dick said a silent pray.
He heard a small group decided to go find him: something he didn't officially authorized but he was damn proud of his brave men; moreover, they were the only chance to find Bull: Colonel Sink would've never accept to risk the lives of an entire company to look for one man, especially after such day.
''Captain Winters'' a voice called in the night. It sounded like a mournful whisper, but it made his lips arch in a peaceful smile.
''Jackson'' he said, never leaving his gaze from the aflame city.
''I heard we're moving out in the morning. I told my men to rest for the night but...they just can't, tonight.''
The day-report was not what Dick expected to hear in that moment and it was the latest thing he needed.
''Are you worried about Bull?''
Dick didn't reply. It was so obvious. He was, he was not. Bull was one of his men, but just a man. He cared a lot – and he didn't care at all.
''I saw you, yesterday'' Dick stated instead, deflecting the inconvenient question ''kissing that woman.''
Jackson huffed callously''She kissed me'' he blurted upset.
''Do you like girls?'' Dick quizzed intrigued.
''What should've I done, uh? I am a man, I thought you had understood that, Dick'' Jackson boomed exasperated.
''It just left me...speechless'' Dick stared at his feet, gasping for words ''We got close, Jackson. I consider you as one of my closest friend. I completely trust you'' Dick said tenderly, finally looking at him: his eyes sparkled in the night ''I forgot about you. About the real you.''
''You don't need to recall the real me. Actually, I don't want you to do it. I know how it heavies on you, keeping it secret. I know how hard you tried to deal with the fact that a woman is fighting a war and she's under your responsibility. For your sake, you'd better forget what you saw'' Jackson said openhearted. God knew how hard for him was speaking those words because he – Jane – wished with all his forces Captain Winters could look at him and see what he really was, see he was a woman. Jane needed to be treated as a woman by him, by Dick Winters: for how long her fantasy wandered away, imagining that in another time, in another place, she was dating Dick Winters in a small and pretty restaurant where they would've enjoyed a good meal and danced till the morning. But that wasn't happening. Jackson knew he was just a man.
''How sad your life is, Jane'' Dick stated, remarking Jackson's real name. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands on his face.
Jackson grimaced ''what...what should that mean, Dick?''
''I mean you've been restraining the real you for such a long time. How can you be happy with yourself?'' Dick inquired almost in a mourn, his cerulean eyes showing an inexplicable vulnerability.
''Where does all this come from?'' Jackson said after a small, unease, silence ''why are you doing this to me?'' he said swallowing hard, struggling to keep the tears and the desperation in his voice.
''I'm not saying anything. I'm just asking you: are there any moment in your life when you can be who you really are? Do you want me to call you Jane?''
Jackson's hands reached for his lips: shuddering, almost unable to keep the tears anymore, he looked agape at Dick ''I don't know where all this comes from but I don't think I deserve any of that'' Jackson stammered with a trembling voice ''and no, I don't want you to call me Jane. I don't want you to call me, Dick'' he added with all his forces, and rushed away from him in the night.
''Jackson!'' Dick cried, feeling the urge to follow him. He didn't make a move.
They were not leaving Holland, but that fact was predictable: they had to contain the bleed. At least, they had houses were to sleep -most of the times at least – hot food, ammos. Now and then, some patrols returned with a wounded, or with a dead body.
Jackson refused to talk to Dick; on his side, Dick didn't dare to make a try: Jackson's glares every time his stare lingered on him a little longer was a blatant signal he would've not talked to him. Losing a friend – losing him – was hard to deal with: Dick missed their late night talks, his smiles, the way he laughed at him, his tips of wisdom. Lewis remarked his low mood and he really tried to understand what was troubling him but Dick could not tell him about Jackson, about the way he cared about him, or about the reason why they fought. It all stayed in Dick's mind, pinching every day more. As a war wasn't enough to sustain.
It was the fifth of October. Dick was quartered with a bunch of his men in a old farm. He had sent a patrol to check on the line but he didn't expect any action for the night. Jackson was on a bench, cleaning his bayonet. Dick was imbued by guilt and pity: his best friend – Bill Guarnere – was wounded and quartered in a hospital there in Holland; the wound was not so serious and he would've probably returned to the front soon, but that affected Jackson a lot.
Breathing hard, Dick found the courage and joined Jackson on the bench: when he first noticed him, he widened his eyes in astonishment but then he quickly returned to his bayonette, not proffering a word.
''How is Bill doing?'' Dick asked coolly.
''He's fine. He'll heal'' Jackson cut it straight impassively.
''And how are you?''
''I'm fine, Captain.'' he countered grudgingly. Dick was imbued by a sense of guilt and he strove to find the words to say sorry.
''Please, don't fend me off'' he implored vehemently ''that night...it was a mistake. I was dejected, exhausted because of the mission. I had so many things in my mind... I don't know what it took over me. Believe me, I didn't mean to hurt you, Jackson'' he admitted, his voice and his whole body trembling. It was an hard task for his pride to say sorry, especially to one of his men, but Dick knew when it was the right time to make his walls go down; in that moment, he wore his heart on his sleeve and he bet he had never felt so vulnerable in his entire life. Despite that, his admission didn't seem to move Jackson stoic composure: he just stared blankly at him for some seconds and thereafter, he got back to his bayonette.
''What's fun is that I perfectly know what took over you, sir'' Jackson blurted angrily ''you can't stand the truth. You tried to hide it for a while and we got on well together, I admit it. The point is that you are damn sure a woman can't possibly and successfully do what men do. You can't accept it so you can't accept me'' he barked grinning his teeth in range and disappointment ''I'm okay with that, along with the fact you'll keep my secret and won't report me. But I don't want you as a friend. Friends accept you for what you are and they don't try to run you down, they buoy you. I did all this for you countless times but you don't seem to appreciate that'' Jackson added, this time looking at Dick right in his eyes.
Dick looked down regretfully and pensively. Jackson always made his day by cheering him up, looking at him and letting him know that he believed in him. Dick realized how much his words affected him: he belittled him, making him feel different, useless, just because of his sex.
''You are right. I hardly accept what you are. I still can believe it, actually. It's hard, I thought you knew it. Still, I should've never spoken those words to you. It's not that I don't believe in you, Jackson: I really do. You're a great soldier, a great leader, I openly praise your abilities every time I have to. Moreover, you're a good friend, you're actually one of the closest I've ever had. It's against the protocol, being so close to a NCO and you should know that. But for some unknown reason, I really, really need you. I need your friendship to keep fighting this war. ''
''Dick...'' Jackson could not believe his ears. Was the cold-iced-heart Winters really telling him that he mattered in his life? That he was essential? Dick was staring at him: he seemed so vulnerable, with his eyes sparkling in hope. He was so handsome.
''Dick...I don't know what to say.''
''Just tell me you forgive my foolishness'' he replied, his mouth curled in a faint smile, a sign he was recovering his hopes.
''I forgive you, Dick'' Jackson opened in a warm smile, finally leaving his bayonet on the bench.
Dick was bewildered when he realized he had missed that smile to death.''Thank you, Jackson.''
The door slammed: Liebgott and Boyle carried Alley's harmless and bloodshed body; in a second, everybody was on him.
''Where happened?'' Dick asked.
''At the crossroads.''
''Sometimes, what we get it's not what we need, Lew'' he huffed after Lewis' last try to wheedle something out of him. He could not deflect him to notice something was troubling him. Lew knew there was something, he tried to guess, but he still hadn't gleaned it. Dick had no intention of talking about it with him, or with anyone else. He let his pain grow silently, fighting off the emptiness that was imbuing him, devouring every single cell. Lewis once described him like a man with no flaws, no vices, no sense of humor.
There were vices, flaws. Pride – Dick mused – was essential for a leader: showing off his uncertainties would've been perilous for his men whose lives depended on his choice. Instead, stillness and a good dose of self-confidence reassured the men.
It was a vice, too.
War was beginning to affect everyone. Lewis drank even more: Dick could tell it by the numerous times he came to his office to refill his flask. Harry Welsh increased the number of letters he wrote to his fiancée. The general audacity and cockiness was replaced by cautiousness and by the harsh awareness that no one was expendable, they all were cannon fodder. The smell of death was stuck in their nostrils, almost each men of the Company could at least count one time he had his hands dirtied by the blood of one of his closest friend. Since the moral was starting to collapse, Dick could not be affected.
What he did had to be a secret.
Above all, what would've Lewis thought about him, if he had known? How would've he looked at Dick? The mere thought of Lewis, staring at him reluctantly, disgusted, made him shudder.
Lewis shrugged helplessly ''what I'm saying is that you should try to seem thankful, at least. I don't want to see you like this, anymore.''
''I try, I really try, Lewis'' Dick huffed, looking at him somberly.
''Okay. I'd better check on Dobbey. Good luck with your report, Dick.''
When Lewis got out, Dick took a long breathe and returned to stare at the sheet of paper in front of him: ''5th October.''
Lewis Nixon was the Intelligence Officer, and a good one. He actually didn't recognize any praise on him but that was what Sink repeated proudly. Lewis started to underestimate his abilities since the moment he could not read his best friend's mind anymore. He gleaned it was about his very last mission, when he found him crouched on the ground, staring blankly at the field in front of him where countless dead bodied would've laid forever.
The fact Dick would've not talked to him hurt him even more. Lewis lighted himself a cigarette, prancing on his way to the Regimental HQ when he caught up the sight of Jackson Malarkey and Joe Toye,jerking and trading a bottle of whine. He decided to make a detour.
''Sergeant, Corporal'' he saluted to get their attention and jerked his chin towards Jackson ''Malarkey, can I have a word?''
''Yes, sir'' he countered promptly, saluting his friends and following the Captain from behind. Lewis handed him a cigarette which he refused.
''Listen, Sergeant, Captain Winters is having some troubles with his report'' Lewis exposited, not sure about where he wanted to go.
Jackson looked at him questioningly ''Well...I'm sorry sir. How can I help?'' he offered sheepishly and unconvincingly.
''There's something he can't remember'' Lewis added, still not knowing what he was doing. He only figured out that somehow, the Sergeant could enlight him about Dick's awkward behavior: he was there, next to him; actually, he was always there. Lewis snorted at the thought while Jackson was still looking at him quizzically ''Sir, I don't know what I can do about it.''
''What happened, exactly?''
''I think you already know what happened, sir. Well, it happened what always does: we found them, we killed them – a lot of them -, we conquered. Moreover, I don't think I should be the one to ask about that. Lieutenant Peacock was there, too. You should inquire him, sir.''
Lewis grinned imperceptibly: damn, how much he hated that man! Relentlessly wandering around Dick, always wearing that coolly smile on his face. Who the hell he thought he was? And now, he dared to talk to him with such disrespect, keeping what he knew about his best friend from him.
''Yeah, sure. You can go'' Lewis blurted and turned away, ready to get where he was meant to be.
''Captain Nixon!''
Lewis cracked his neck ''What is it, Sergeant?''
''When are you going to debrief us on Operation Pegasus?''
''It's none of your business, Sergeant.''
How he hated that guy.
Lewis hedged purposefully on the details about Operation Pegasus, at least about the strategic ones: the ones Dick really cared to know. He thought it was out of spite because he refused to tell him what was crossing his mind. Whether it was for that, Dick thought it was unfair from Lewis: he was the Battalion XO, he had the right to know.
Dick knew he wasn't about to sleep until he got news from E Company so he decided to just keep working on his reports. He betted Zilinsky – his orderly – already hated him for making him stay up late.
When peeking out from his window he saw a queue of soldiers wearing red hats, he knew the mission was successfully completed. He smiled proudly when he heard his men making a toss with the British to their victory. He considered joining the party but he knew he would've not been at ease: it was not his place anymore.
Shrugging, he walked away from the window, ready to finally catch some sleep when he heard a knock on his door.
''Enter'' he ordered, hoping Nixon and his bacon sandwich would've entered but, instead, a staggering Jackson Malarkey pranced over him.
''Captain Winters!'' he exclaimed ''Lieutenant Hey-Hey—Hey...The new one is a smartass!''
Dick chuckled amused ''Guess Operation Pegasus was a success.''
''Yeah! We saved those British asses.'' Dick could not fight the incoming laughs at that. When Lewis got drunk he became really pensive, sullen: he scared him, sometimes. On the other hand, Jackson looked so funny, staggering here and there in his room, staring agape at everything and wearing a satisfied smile.
''Why don't you come back to the party, though?''
''Nah, I wanted to check on you. Captain Nixon told me you had some troubles with your report, that you could not remember something and that I could be useful. Did you recall what you forgot, sir? About the fifth October?'' Jackson said sighing. Dick looked at him questioningly, agape: had Lewis really done those things? Dick had never told him anything: in fact, he did remember everything about that day.
''Yeah, I remember now.''
''Good to hear it, sir!'' Jackson sketched a toss and walked over Dick's desk, collapsing on the chair ''you know, sir, Dick. You were a lion, that day. I was speechless. You left all of us speechless. I can't find the words to describe your braveness. You're an hell of a man!'' Jackson stammered, staring blankly at some undefined point in front of him. They had never talked about that day.
Dick shrugged, dejected, unable to reply. He hadn't felt like a lion.
''Richard Lion-Heart! Do you know him?'' Jackson quizzed, seemingly very interested in knowing the answer.
''Yes, I do.'' Dick hoped Jackson would've not turned out with a comparison between him and the good king because he didn't deserve it. Instead, Jackson kept on staring blankly into space.
''You should go to sleep, Jackson. It's late.''
''Not now, mum'' he demurred snorting ''I wanted to see you, I haven't seen you in a while, Dick.''
Dick was leaning against the wall, staring at the man in his room: even though he had just got back from a mission he didn't seem to be tired. He wore an angelic, peaceful smile and he was enlightened by the candles in his room. Dick relaxed at just the view.
''Did you miss me?'' Dick asked, stealing a glance at him.
''Of course I did!'' Jackson exclaimed clapping his hands on his knees and quickly standing, almost losing his balance and staggered towards Dick ''you are my best friend, Dick. I really, really love you.''
Dick was taking aback from such revelation: it made his stomach twisting, a shudder ran through his whole body. He automatically bent down his head a bit to look closer at Jackson: he still wore that smile so Dick reminded himself that it was the booze talking, not him.
''You're drunk'' he stated almost in a mourn, sounding inexplicably disappointed.
''No, no'' Jackson urged to reply, tossing his hands on Dick's shoulders ''Listen, I know it might sound like a mock since I have said the same thing to Bill, Joe, my brother, your orderly out there and to a British Private but now I really mean it: I love you, Dick'' he exposited. The expression on his face hadn't changed at all, he was still staggering on his place, struggling to stand and grabbing at Dick's shoulders as he was his anchor. Dick bit his lips edgily, gasping for air, knowing it was still the alcohol talking but he didn't care. He didn't care anymore because it was just all too right: the light, how close he was. From his sight, Dick could finally catch every single line of Jackson's beautiful face: his features were tender, pronounced, his cheeks aflame, his brown-green eyes sparkling and his short hair all messed up, with some sweated red locks on his forehead; his lips were as red as his hair and they looked so soft, so sweet.
Dick took Jackson in his arms, selfishly pulling him on his body and caught his lips with his. Jackson couldn't figure out what was happening until the moment Dick's tongue found his way to his mouth, fighting against his. Dick kissed him fiercely, passionately while pressing against him, his hands floating on Jackson's back, caressing and pulling. Jackson felt his lips burning under his kiss when Dick elicited a moan, gripping his lips tight. When Dick reached for his breasts, Jackson stepped away.
Dick seemed he had just waken up, peering around confusedly; thereafter, his stare lingered on Jackson who was still just a few feet away from him. Dick run nervously his hands over his face.
''Jackson, I'm sorry, I'm very sorry'' he whined regretfully.
''You are...sorry?'' Jackson blurted stealing him a dejected glace ''what does that even mean, Dick?''
''I didn't want to-''
''You didn't want to kiss me, Dick?'' Jackson barked with widened eyes meeting Dick's mortified stare ''Listen, for both of us, we won't talk about it anymore. Okay? Or we will fight again and God knows I don't need any of that'' Jackson stated, furiously ''and I won't call you a queer, because that's what you are. I'm leaving'' Jackson promptly grabbed the bottle of wine he carried with him from Dick's desk, swallowed a long gulp and rushed away from the room, leaving Dick crouched on the ground.
''Where the hell is Ja-Ja-Jack''
''Jackson, my brother'' Don helped a smashed Joe Toye recalling his best friend's name.
''Yeah!You share the same surname!'' Joe exclaimed, visibly proud of his geniality.
''I don't know'' Don shrugged, taking a gulp from his pint ''he might be by Winters, I guess'' Don offered quirking a wry smile which Joe didn't intended.
''Good! I'll join them and we'll throw a party for Winters, too! He damn do deserve a party!'' exclaimed broadly an enthusiastic Joe, getting to his feet but losing a bit his balance in the act.
Don looked reluctantly at him ''I don't think so, Toye. You can barely stand on your feet.''
''I'm fine! I'm a big man!'' Joe demurred, beating his fist on his chest.
''Alright, gorilla, you're a big man but you have more booze floating in your veins than blood.''
''And who are you? My medic?'' Joe boomed and stepped away from the table ''see ya later, Malarkey number two!'' Joe waved a salute and pranced toward the door. Don shrugged, frowned ''number two?'' he said to himself.
Winters' office was not far from the farm where they had quartered but Joe found himself falling destructively on the ground, dirtying his uniform with the wet mud.
When he finally reached Winters' door, his sight was caught up by the two frames inside, which he peeked from the large window.
Jackson was dangerously close to the Captain but Joe could hardly adjust his eyes to glean what was happening: he walked even closer to the window.
Gaping, Joe felt to the ground ruinously, disgusted. Hardly trying to get on his feet again, he make haste to run away from there.
What was he supposed to do about it? Why the hell now? Joe Toye felt all his world collapsing. How would've he coped with it?
Why the hell did Bill have to stay in the goddman hospital? He was alone with a disgusting, unbelievable truth painted of red hair, hands tangled, lips colliding. It was shameful.
Joe writhed in frustration. The booze was starting to lose its effects, Joe was recovering his senses. He could catch the clouds covering the sky, sign it was nearly about to rain. He had nowhere to go, no one to talk to: just an unsustainable reality which he didn't want to face alone.
He had lost both his friends. He was alone.