Hi All,

Thank you for the review, new readers and new follower *hugs*.

Some part of this Chapter are taken from "Parachute Infantry" by David Webster, "Beyond Band of Brothers" by Richard Winters, "Brothers in Battle, Best of Friends" by Bill Guarnere and Babe Heffron, some Tumblr post that I've read sometimes ago (please notify me if you recognize it, I want to put the source here) and some poking through National Archives.

As usual, this chapter is un-beta-ed and since English is not my first language, if you have any ideas or see any mistakes, please poke. I'll really appreciate it.

Oh...Don't forget to leave your review ^_^

Webster

When I reached Haguenau and saw Easy jumping down the truck, I felt good to be back with fellows I knew and could trust. Listening to their chatter in the truck, I felt warm and relaxed inside, like a lost child who has returned to a bright home full of love after wandering in a cold black forest.

But then I realized that the company wasn't what it used to be. They hated me. The guys I knew were either gone or very different from what I remembered.

I was a veteran of D-day and Market-Garden and had been with the regiment since its formation, but now, because I had missed Bastogne, I was treated as a replacement and felt like I was starting all over again.

George has been kind. But I think it's because I was Becca's best friend, he kind of tolerate me. It's very awkward back there in the CP. So I was very relieved when he asked me to follow him to blast this house. That's very thoughtful.

I walked behind George and Becca to the house George was ordered to blast. We reached a park that must be beautiful before the war when George stopped and faced Becca and I.

"Okay. I think this place is private enough. Becca, don't you want to hug Web here?"

Becca looked like she wanted to cry with relief and love and other happy things. She hugged me fiercely and I mouthed "Thank you" to George.

He smiled fondly to us.

"God…Davey…It's good to have you back."

"Me too, Becca. But I don't think the men don't share the same sentiments with you."

"You have to understand, Davey. Bastogne was very hard. It changed people."

"I know. I've read the paper."

"The papers took it mild, Web. The reality was…" George never finished the sentence. He looked grieved. He took a deep breath before added "It's not just pants-shitting level of terror, Web. It's your-friend-shredded-in-front-of-you-and-you-dig-their-remains-with-your-bare-hands level of terror. We're short of ammo, we didn't wear any winter clothing, we're hungry all the time, and we're losing men in alarming rate. That place was hell. Even Becca, who was in the city, got the taste of it. Did you know that she's almost die?"

I feel an ice formed in my stomach.

"Becca? Really? You never said anything in your letters."

She nodded "I was helping the regimental aid station when the Luftwaffe bombed the city. Renee, a nurse, saved me. But she didn't make it."

I felt numb with guilt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't…I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you have your reason for not join us in Bastogne, Web." George said. "But please try to understand the other men too. They feel…betrayed."

"I know." I said weakly. "I know. I've asked Lieutenant Jones to talk to Malark to switch places for the patrol. Malark looked like he needed rest. But it's still Captain Winters' decision."

George smiled "That's good. You did right, Web. Malark had seen action since D-day. And he lost Skip and Penk in Bastogne."

Oh God. "Muck and Penkala?"

George smiled sadly "Yes. Their foxhole got direct hit. Right in front of me. And Buck reached his breaking point when he saw Toye's and Bill's mangled legs. Malark lost most of his closest friends in only days."

That explained the men attitude towards me. They've lost so much.

"I'll do whatever it takes to get their trust back." I assured him.

George chuckled "Ever so dramatic. You should write a book or something. Like Hemingway."

I smiled "That's my plan actually. I want to write a book from soldier's perspective. I want to document the war from the foxhole. Maybe something like a memoir of an Airborne infantryman. Mother asked me to finished college so at least I can be an officer. But I don't want to lead. The air up there is too thin for my liking." I huffed before I added "I am much of an observer. Please be assured I am here for my duty for my country. I will never let my buddy down in combat. But I'll never volunteer for anything…including went AWOL from hospital. I hope…I hope…you understand."

"Just make sure you say and do the right thing in front of the men. They're not as tolerant as me. You're an observer. I know you can figure what's right."

This man, only one year older than me and a reputable jokester, has changed into a mature gentleman. Becca was so lucky to have him. I was happy for them.

"And because you're Becca's best buddy, I cannot hate you even though I really reaaally want to beat your rich college ass for not help us in Bastogne. And how the hell you can grow so much chest hair during rehab?"

Nope. I stand corrected. He's still the same menace.

Vest

I've survived Sobel's killer training regime in Toccoa. I even survived D-Day. I didn't know why they assign me to sorting supplies and mails and type morning reports. Even that Becca girl got some action. Well…if you called translator for Krauts PoW interrogation was an action. Damn, that girl must be proficient in thousand languages. I've heard she talked in German, French and some Russian. No wonder Colonel Sink wanted her to be his aide.

But blessed Captain Winters and his kind heart, this night I would be on the patrol. God forbid if it's true the Krauts are finished, I haven't really done anything except clerical jobs. Finally I had something interesting to write for my seven little brothers back home.

Somebody knocked the door. Eugene Jackson grinned at me and waved "Hey Allen…writing letter to your wife?"

"Oh…hey Eugene. Come in. No…it's for my brothers. Captain Winters allowed me to be on this night patrol. So finally I got something interesting to write home."

"Oh good. Me too. Hey..What do you think about our new Lieutenant?"

"He's very young. I don't think Captain Winters will allow him to lead the patrol."

"Who then?"

"I don't know. Malark maybe? Or Grant, Martin? Maybe Mo or Shifty?"

"Yeah…NCOs rule the world…Hey…um…you got letters for me?"

"Let's see" I searched his letters from the pile in front of me "Eugene Jackson…Eugene Jackson….oh here they are. You got two. One from Westmoreland and one from….Aldbourne? You got a lady friend in Aldbourne?"

His face reddened. "Gimme that!"

"Come on...tell me! Who's the lucky broad?!"

"Just some local girl…Jane…she volunteers for the British Red Cross."

"That's very kind of her. So is it serious?"

"I think it is. I mean…maybe after this shits over I will asked her to marry me."

"Jesus! That's serious. Are you sure, Eugene?"

"Asked the man who married when he's only 19."

I grinned. "Touché"

At that point, George Luz entering the APO with a box of…things. "Hiya Vest…Jackson…" He dropped the box in my desk.

"Hey George. Done playing with the big gun?"

"It's awesome! Like shootin' fish in a rain barrel. I haven't had so much fun since I shot my crazy Great Uncle that one time. Anytime you want anybody blasted up, mother–in-law, dumbass officer or blood sucking lawyer, just give me a ring. Asked the Operator for Luz. Even Web looked like Christmas come early." George grinned maniacally.

I scoffed "Hah…I bet he celebrate last Christmas with his butt warmed in England."

"Hey…give that boy some slack, will ya? He's a nice kid albeit a little pretentious. So…you got a box for these things?"

"Captain Speirs?" I asked, unnecessarily.

"Like you know any other man who will need a box for 'saved war artefacts' like these." George answered while putting a cig on his mouth. Jesus, he's smoking like a train.

I chuckled "Okay. I'll find one. Send to same address?"

He nodded "Yep…for the Missus."

Jackson shook his head "I still can't believe there's a woman want to married him. He's creepy and one bad ass motherfucker."

George shrugged "Well, the Missus is a member of ATS, you know…British's WAC. So…yeah…They perfect for each other. I think they will produce some band of warrior babies at some point in the future."

Jackson and I both shuddered at the image.

George blow an impressive amount of smoke before asked "So Captain Winters allow you for tonight's patrol, Vest?"

"Yup. Me, Eugene, and most of 2nd Platoon."

George huffed solemnly "Always 2nd Platoon. Good luck then, Boys. May God protect our sorry asses." And then he left the office with Jackson's and my "Amen."

No one was happy with this patrol. Crossing the Moder River in the middle of the night to snatch Krauts when the war was most likely comes to an end sounded like a suicide mission. Thank goodness Lieutenant Jones agreed to become an observer instead of leading the patrol. Captain Winters ordered Martin to lead. Martin looked pissed off but that's basically his default expression. That little man pissed off on anything.

One thing you should do if your mission involved crossing a body of water, was to make sure that you can swim. And if you can't, mention it to your squad leader. Sisk seemingly forgot this simple rule and nearly jeopardize the entire patrol when his rubber boat turned over. We're lucky the Krauts didn't fire at us considering the ruckus of one skinny person could make.

The order was simple: get some Krauts prisoners. All we need to do was cross the river, snatched the Krauts, destroy their outpost using a time delay explosive (Web's job), and withdraw to our side of the river with the PoW while the whole battalion covering for us. The first part was relatively success, with the exception of Skinny's incident. It's when we execute the second phase that the hell broke loose.

It's Jackson.

He took his own grenade fragment from the enemy OP.

Right in front of me.

I panicked.

So far I've been the relative safety of clerical jobs. Seeing blood of my friend that just this afternoon talked about his girlfriend in Aldbourne, made me frozen in shock.

The withdrawal afterward felt like in haze. Ramirez and I drag Jackson to our rubber boat. Jackson repeatedly said "I don't wanna die." His voice was gurgling. The shrapnel had hit his throat.

And he's crying.

The only thing I could say was "You're okay, Jackson…you're gonna be okay."

With sheer dumb luck, we made it into our side. Bullets flying above us.

And for an unexplainable reason, Doc Roe was not waiting for us on the side of the river.

We brought Jackson to the nearest basement.

Popeye dragged the Krauts prisoners to the back of the room.

We put Jackson on the table. McClung went to Company CP to report while Martin went for Doc Roe.

Jackson gasping painfully on the table. Gurgling. Wheezing. Crying.

"I can't do this…I can't do this" I found myself muttered.

The fucking Kraut prisoners couldn't shut their mouth even though Webster repeatedly ordered them to shut the fuck up.

And then we heard explosion from the house above us. The Krauts from the other side of the river showering us with their arties.

GOD DAMN IT!

I only saw red when I unconsciously lashed out to the Krauts prisoners "You think you're running this war?!"

I felt someone yanked and pinned me to the wall and hold on my wrist. It's Lieutenant Jones. I realized was holding my side arm. I didn't even remember when I took it from my holster.

He yelled "What do you think you're doing?! We're not gonna get more prisoners because you killed one!" When I kept trashing to get off of him. He said more softly "Private! Listen to me, Private!"

"He's gonna die!" I heard myself said. I could feel my tears on my face.

"It's gonna be okay…it's gonna be okay" he said

My knees finally gave out and I sat on the crates beside me, watching the men try to calm Jackson. It didn't work. Jackson kept trashing and said "I don't wanna die"

When Doc Roe came, he immediately checked for Jackson's vital. His soothing voice finally made Jackson calm.

What Doc's saw made him ordered the men to move Jackson. That made Jackson panic again. He sobbed "I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!"

Doc frantically tried to calm him "It's okay, Jackson. You're all right."

That's when Jackson started to make sound like he's choked. "God! Oh, my God!"

Doc's shouting now "Jackson! You're not gonna die! I need you to hang on!"

Jackson was gurgling.

Doc's shouting again "Jackson!"

And then silent.

No. Nonononono. Please no.

Doc looked defeated. He looked up to Babe and shook his head.

Dear, God…No.

I couldn't hold back my tears and sobbed.

Lieutenant Jones's hand was shaking and gripping my shoulder.

Martin took a blanket from Skinny's shoulder and covered Jackson's body with it.

Nobody said a word.

Later in the morning, in the same office I talked to Jackson the day before about his girlfriend he planned to married, I wrote the report of last night patrol

Results :

Two German prisoners.

Casualties :

Pvt. Eugene E. Jackson ASN: 13011296 Westmoreland, PA KIA

Winters

I gave the Colonel a successful patrol.

Successful.

Was Jackson's death worth it? Two German prisoners with questionable value of information on the price of one young man in his twenties who was only want to go home.

And the Colonel wanted another one.

Speirs had the men mustered for the second patrol.

With the same roster.

Mostly.

"Captain, Sir."

I looked up "Yes, Becca. What can I do for you?"

"The official order for tonight patrol from the Colonel, Sir" She gave me a slip of paper "But I'm sure he's already ordered you in person about it."

I sighed "Thank you, Becca."

She hesitated for a while before she said "Permission to speak, Sir? But I have to ask you to keep this for yourself."

I nodded "Granted."

"The Colonel…he's getting too elated about last night patrol. Also his friend, Colonel Harper from Glider Regiment, come to visit. And...um…some amount alcohol was involved. I think he…he want to brag." She lowered her head guiltily. "He's a good commander, Sir. But, in my opinion, the order didn't make sense. No need to risk another life when the war is almost over."

I sighed "I understand, Becca. I have the same opinion."

"I know you cannot disobey direct order. But can you think of something, Sir?"

"I was considering some alternatives, to be honest."

She started to smile, somewhat wickedly, which looked exactly like Luz's smirk when he wanted to start trouble. Brace yourself, Winters. "So, Sir. What if, hypothetically, you don't have to do the patrol and there's someone in the regiment who, hypothetically, will help you to make a false report for the Colonel, for example: myself. Hypothetically, will it work?"

I smiled "Hypothetically, the men should sleep on their billet tonight and make them promise not to leave their billet until morning."

"Why you two talking like scientists? Hypothetical and all?" Lewis sneaked in…as usual. Becca startled and mumbling something about cow bells.

"Nothing, Lew. Becca here just give me some ideas that might make me disobey direct order."

"I thought that's my job." Lewis looked betrayed.

Malarkey

So the second patrol never happened. Captain Nixon and Becca wrote up a bogus report, and regiment never got wise.

We're moving off the line the day after.

Finally.

I've served more consecutive time on the front line than any other Easy men.

I've seen my friends died.

I've seen my friends reached their breaking point.

I was exhausted.

Maybe I was destined to be the last man standing? I don't know it'll be a gift or a curse.

I felt someone tap my shoulder. "You okay there, Malark?" George stood beside me, holding two cups of coffee. He offered me one.

"Not sure, George." I took one cup and use it to warm my cold hands.

"I missed your red hair." George has this penchant for random thoughts.

I chuckled "Yeah…apparently being the last man standing did that to my hair color."

George smiled. Sadly.

We stood in silence for a while before I was able to speak again. "Why am I still alive, George? Why me? Skip got Faye. Penk got 12 brothers and sisters who need him back home."

George shrugged. "As cliché as it may sound, but I believe God has plans for us."

I scoffed "What plan? For being a hollowed man that every day in his remaining live will remember how his friends shredded in pieces…how his friends broken down beyond repar?"

George looked at me and said carefully "Is that how you want to remember them? In shredded pieces? In their lowest point? Because I want to remember Skip for his jokes about mango, naked native girls and flamingo and his silly devotion for Faye. I want to remember Penk for his witty remarks and his annoyance every time Skip smooching Faye's picture. I want to remember Bill and his hilarious sexcapades and finally paid the price by pissing needles. I want to remember Toye and his precious brass-knuckles and his loyalty to the point of idiocy for his buddies. I want to remember Buck as the poster boy of Aryan perfection. Hell…I even want to remember Web's habit of sprouting unnecessary and unwanted trivia. That boy is like a walking dictionary. And I want to remember you, Malark, as the dumbass Mick who groping dead Krauts, looking for Luger in Brecourt. "

I managed to smile a little.

"Try to remember them in their finest moment, Malark. And tell people back home that we had fought alongside the bravest men on earth. That's the least we can do for those who never came home."

"War is hell." I mumbled.

"And we'll keep going. At least we won't fear the real one because we've already lived in one." George smile kindly and then he said "Babe said to me once…that the men who went to war and never walked back through their mother's front door, they're the hero. They went to fight to their country and they died doing right. Everyone should know that."

"Babe said that?"

"Yup…amazing huh? Our Ginger Baby has grown up."

I nodded.

He drank his coffee and patted my back. "Now…I want you to go find Randleman and stand next to him."

"Huh? What for?" I frowned. I should have been used to his habit of suddenly changed a subject, but this was the strangest ever.

"So I can call you two Sergeant Bullshits." He grinned like a loon.

Even though that's the corniest joke I've ever heard, that's how George Luz made me laugh for the first time since Bastogne.