It's been one week, three days, and fourteen hours since I walked her to her barrack, not that I'm counting, but my brain cells decidedly replay over and over again our conversation that night. I saw her from time to time, mostly from afar, but I didn't approach her. I guess I was too scared I blurted out my worries about her being in the front line.

And why the fuck I should worry about her in the first place?! I only know five things about her, anyway. That she had exactly ten freckles on her nose; she wrinkle her nose if she doesn't agree with something; she bites her lower lips when nervous; she smells like lavender and her eyes is actually super dark brown, not black. Yeah…that five things only.

Get a grip, will ya! She's out of your league.

With a huff, I sit up from my bunk and grab my radio and my tools. This piece of shit needs constant maintenance and at least it give me something to do than thinking about fifteen ways to start a conversation with one Rebecca Jones. The other men are polishing their boots, cleaning their rifle or playing poker (a.k.a gossiping).

The semi-peaceful ambiance is ruined by one Italian motherfucker who never fully understands the concept of privacy. He shouts from his bunk, which is on the far side of the barrack.

"Hey George, did ya have a dick-ectomy or sumthin'?"

Huh? The fuck is he talking about? So my only reasonable response is: "Did you pass the English test before enlisting, Bill? Because what the fuck are you asking about?"

"I said…Did ya have a dick-ectomy or sumthin'? First you blatantly flirting with Becca and suddenly you chickening out on her."

Argh! This heinous excuse of a man needs to be eliminated from this earth. PRONTO. The other Easy men are snickering at me. The replacements included. Shit! There goes my 'veteran, hardened by combat and shit' persona I've been imposed to them. I'm tempted to steal a grenade and throw one at them just to minimize the witness of my disgraceful blush.

"Not your fucking business."

"It IS my fucking business if my platoon's radio man is not combat effective since his sorry excuse of a brain cannot stop thinking about one particular broad."

Like fuck. "Sure, Bill. Sure. But is that Sergeant Bill Guarnere who asking? Or Gonorrhea the Gossip Guru?"

He's not answering that, but he walks towards me and then slaps the back of my head.

"Fuck, Bill! What the hell?!"

"I'll give another one if you're not fish your brain outta your asshole."

"Have you heard something that called 'secret', 'private', or 'personal issues', Bill? In a simple language, so you can understand, it's something that you don't want anybody else to know. Exhibit A: the situation when you were shitting in your pants in Carentan, you loose-anused dickhead."

Ha! That teaches him something! Well, okay, Bill was not actually shitting in his pants in Carentan. Just almost, but still….so shut up.

"I did not!"

"Yeah…those majestic and glowing feces in my foxhole is not yours because you only shitting unicorns and roses."

He grabs my collar and drags me outside. I still can hear the men's laugh even when we're outside the barrack.

Bill offers me cigarettes. This is his way to say he's sorry. Although I'm pretty sure he will turn back to his Gossip Santa persona anytime soon.

After several puffs of the smoke, he says "Look, George. Just clear up whatever you have with Becca, okay? We'll jump to Netherland any time soon. I need you 100% effective. If you like her, fucking tell her. Get it out of your system or some shit like that. Although I pity her if you two ended up married and she has to give birth of your demonic offspring."

"I don't have anything with Becca, Bill."

"Yeah…right…I've seen you mooning over her like some fool every time she's in the corner."

"I was just looking at her. How the fuck is that effecting my 'combat effectivenes'? Whatever that is."

"That's not just a look. That's THE look. Believe me. I can tell. It happened with me and Frannie, ya know."

"I pity her…waiting for your ass while she can have better."

Bill chose to ignore it "You have to wing it suavely, George. And when you talk to a woman, you need a solid tactical plan."

"Thank you so fucking much for your unneeded advice and encouragement."

Bill shrugs "You're welcome. At least I know that you're still like girl. I was afraid you've change your preferences into goats."

"Nah…my affair with my neighbor's goat ended three years ago 'cause I cheated with a smaller livestock."

"Smartass"

And he fondly smacks my head again.

"So…you finally found your balls and decided talk to me again, George?"

Okay… Becca is scary as hell when she's mad. She's not yelling like a banshee, but she's got this intensity in her eyes that even can make Joe Liebgott cowering in fear and sucking his thumb. Okay…that is one scary image.

"Yeah…that…sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Jesus! Why women always need reason for everything?

"For acting like an asshole."

"I'm impressed you're able to sum it up in one sentence." She says dryly.

Why you have to be this smart, Becca?

"Glad I still can impress you, Princess."

Thank goodness those eyes are softening a little. But she's still not smiling. Shit! So I should do some groveling here?

"I thought you're different from the other men, George. I thought you will understand me."

"Understanding your reason is not the same with stop worrying about you, Becca."

"Why do you have to worry about me?"

Oh for fuck's sake! Do you want me to declare it on top of the fucking hill or something? Men have some dignity too, you know.

"I've seen my friends die in front of me…okay? And it's not a pretty sight. It gives me nightmares until now. And I really don't want to have you in my nightmare, Becca."

"I see…"

I scratch the back of my head. "Yeah…so…be careful, okay Princess? Just stick with the Colonel like a chewing gum on his shoes or something."

Finally…finally she smiles and says "I will. You too, George. But really? You have to use chewing gum for the analogy?"

And of course when the universe starts to back on its balance, nuisance comes in form of two Italians. What the fuck are they doing here?

"So Mommy and Daddy making up yet?"

"I pity your parents then, Frank. They have my utmost sympathies."

"Now George…Frank and I only meant well. You know, Becca, George here is never fully functional since he met you. So I told him to square it away with ya. I need my radio man 100% combat effective." And he's grinning as if that's the most brilliant idea he ever had.

Oh, well. Shit. Okay. In my head, I'm stabbing myself in the face with a rusty knife. What did I do in my past life so I have to meet these shitacular friends.

Becca looks amused "You guys really need to form a comedy troupe after this war is over. Because I can see diamonds buried in your bullshits."

And how I cannot love a girl with vocabulary like that?

"Guys…if you don't want more damage to your nutsacks, I suggest we get back to our barrack. Good night, Princess. Sorry for these emotionally underdeveloped human beings."

She laughs and I have this urge to bottle it up and keep it for rainy days. I'm so fucked.

"Night, Frog. Night, weird one and weird two"

Frank and Bill' bickering about which one is the weird one and weird two is like a white noise during our walk back to our barrack. And I'm pretty sure I won't have any nightmare tonight.