Hi All,

Sorry for the late updates.

As always, thank you for your messages, reviews, new readers and new follower.

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

"We have to sleep in those?"

Web blurted that out when we arrived in Camp Mourmelon and saw that we have to sleep in large green twelve-man wall tents.

Tents.

Not barracks.

Tents.

In February.

In Europe.

Un-fucking-believable.

We all think the same thing, to be honest, but since aforementioned person has no filter between brain and mouth in regards of obvious things that shouldn't be said and unwanted and/or unnecessary trivia, he's the only one who said that out loud.

Major (finally the universe and US Army have some fucking sense of fairness regarding his workload) Winters patted Web's shoulder (in which made Web's face resembling a very ripe tomato for being caught have a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease) and said "Sorry, Webster. That's all we've got. But at least now we have enough hot showers for everyone."

Ah…ever so positive and fatherly for a person that nicknamed Dick.

"And tonight we had field exercise, Gents. Prepare yourself."

The collective groans that followed were epic.

Yeah so…finally we were pulled off from the front line. It's about damn time! But that didn't mean we're free to rest. Major Winters put a rigorous training regime to integrate us with the new replacements. That's right. We got new babies!

So in general, life's great. So far. We're able to wash away the Eau de Homeless that we've donned for the last two and a half months, we got new babies to trained and/or bullied, we got warm food and steady supply of Lucky Strikes, and we got nearly unlimited access to the hooch, courtesy of the ever resourceful Captain Nixon.

Between the trainings, Joe and I arranged the roster for goldbricking to get out of field exercises. We would take turn to report on sick call in the morning. Speirs would ask the trouble, grunt, and send us to the aid station. There we could get admitted to the hospital for a day. A day of just lying around, reading magazines (and 'magazines'…if you know what I mean). It was easy to pull. We all did it, but never more than twice. Joe and I also provide the excuses for each trip.

"So whose turn is now?" Joe asked me.

"Huh? Oh…um…" I opened my sorry excuse of a notebook and looked on the list. "It's Frank. Hey Maggot! It's your turn now. The excuse is….explosive diarrhea."

Frank whined "Dammit! Can't I have more dignified excuse? Like vertigo or something?"

I scoffed "Dignified? What the hell is dignity and did you ever have any? Skinny already used Vertigo two days ago. Now drag your teeny tiny butt to Captain Speirs and report for sick call or I'll give this opportunity to..." I consulted my list again "Babe."

Frank opened his mouth for another argument but Joe cut it "Or you want to try 'brain damage'? That's the truth anyway."

Frank muttered "Assholes" but he walked towards Captain Speirs's office nevertheless.

"Enjoy you sick leave! May you brush your teeth in peace!" I cheered him heartily. And I got a middle finger salute for that. Jeez…Some people just didn't appreciate my thoughtfulness.

"Luz. Notify the men, there will be a division parade next week. General Eisenhower will come. I want you all prepared." Speirs said.

"Eisenhower, Sir?" IKE! THE FAMOUS IKE!

But that's fucking HUGE!

"Yes. Also General Taylor, Lt. Gen. Morgan, Lt. Gen. Brereton, President Roosevelt's secretary Stephen Early, Maj. Gen. Ridgway, and some others brass."

Holy shit! We will parade before the most brass the men had ever seen!

"Oh…And did you know? Dike is now General Taylor new aide. I just heard this from Captain Nixon."

I gaped for a second or two or maybe five before can formulate an answer "Dumb people usually clustered together, Sir. Strength in number or some shit like that. That's the only logical explanation."

Speirs chuckled "You got that right."

So days after that announcement were full of scrubbed and washed, polished and shined, disassembled, cleaned and reassembled all weapons. Ribbons were dug up and positioned precisely on the blouse. We painted our helmets, stenciled the insignia of the 506th on the side, and when they were dry, we oiled them until they glistened in the sun; Ike would be blinded. We practiced the parade over and over again.

And then the day came.

The officers got us on the parade ground and then we wait.

For three. Fucking. Hours.

After standing under the sun that felt like eternity, Ike and his party finally arrived. We all cursed the Army and its ways.

Ike drove past the whole division, and then climbed up on a reviewing stand to give a speech. He announced that the division had received a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation, the first time in the history of the Army that an entire division had been so cited, for its performance at Bastogne.

Ike said in his praise: "You were given a marvelous opportunity in Bastogne, and you met every test. ... I am awfully proud of you. With this great honor goes also a certain responsibility. Just as you are the beginning of a new tradition, you must realize, each of you, that from now on, the spotlight will beat on you with particular brilliance. Whenever you say you are a soldier of the 101st Division, everybody, whether it's on the street, in the city, or in the front line, will expect unusual conduct of you. I know that you will meet every test of the future like you met it at Bastogne."

It's the proudest moment of my life.

"You guys better be decent. I'm entering the tent."

Becca entered the tent and welcomed with a chorus of "Becca!" from Frank, "Hi Bec" from Web, "Hallo Hübsche" from Joe (complete with exaggerated smacks of 'Mwah!' on her cheeks), "Hi Chérie" from Roe, variations of "Hey" from the other boys, and an enthusiastic "Princess Becca-Poo!" from me (okay…maybe a little bit overly enthusiastic. But I haven't seen her in weeks with all those trainings and field exercises. So shut up!).

She flicked my forehead with her fingers and growled "You shouldn't be allowed to live. It's against the laws of evolution."

I rubbed my forehead and frowned (and no. I was definitely NOT pouting). It's not actually hurt but the boys were laughing at me, and I have reputation and shit.

"Did you just flick me? That's domestic violence." I grumbled.

"Giorgio…Darling…I'm sorry. I didn't know you have such a delicate feeling."

I huffed "And here I am, once dreaming to marry some pretty-womanly-graceful Princess or whatever the fuck and have some kids, but well…. You're the only skirt in proximity…So…Tag, you're it."

"Aww…look at you, catching on with the insults. I'm so proud of you." And she smiled indulgently and patted my cheek.

Dammit. She's getting wittier.

"Hey Becca…any gossips? Easy join Operation Varsity or not?" Joe cut in. This was one rare time I thankfully acknowledge the existence of Joe Liebgott.

Becca shook her head "Sorry, boys. But the brass gave it to the 17th Division."

The veterans nodded their understanding. The replacements groaned.

One baby replacement, O'Keefe, squeaked "Do you think they will let us to jump to Berlin, Miss?"

Becca smiled "Just call me Becca, kiddo. I don't know, to be honest. But I can assure you, boys, the end of this war is in sight."

The veterans looked very glad. We now believed what they could not believe at Bastogne, that we were going to make it. Safe. More or less intact. It's true that the garrison life was boring, but we resolved not to take any chances that might blow our opportunity to back home safe.

I heard O'Keefe mumbled "I hope I still can make a combat jump."

Frank smacked him on his head and said "Shut your yap, O'Brien."

"It's O'Keefe." The baby said indignantly.

"I don't fucking care." Frank said flatly and continue reading his letters. Whatever said in those letters, Frank looked like he's not happy.

Becca and I exchanged worried glances before she continued "Only Captain Nixon will join Operation Varsity. He'll be an observer. While the rest of us, might be entering Germany using trucks."

Web looked up from his book "I had hoped to make another jump, rather than ride to the front in trucks, which appeals to me more than a prosaic infantry attack against an enemy who knows where you are and when you're coming."

Jesus…this man still did not know what to say and what to keep for himself.

Joe smirked "Well at least you'll experienced tail gate jump, Web. You missed it in Bastogne."

Web's face reddened, realizing his mistakes (and another epic foot-in-mouth case. Good job, Web).

Becca gave Web I'll-straighten-you-out-later glare (Web shrank further to his book) before she said "We'll be entering enemy territory. That means we'll be billeted in German houses. The Army has issued nonfraternization policy with German civilians."

Joe scoffed "Like I want to play house with Krauts."

Joe's undying hatred with the Krauts was well known. But most of us still felt that most of the atrocities we had heard about what the Germans did to the Jews and other minorities were propaganda. Yes, we're fight in the opposing side, but some of the men admired the German soldiers they had fought. We would soon see for ourselves whether all the Germans were Nazis, and if the Nazis were as bad as the Allied press and radio said they were.

I patted Joe's shoulder "We'll entering their country as conquering hero, buddy. Winning the war will increase our sexiness level several notch." I deliberately ignored Becca's snort. "Broads will throw their self to us. And maybe….you'll rescue a nice Jewish girl with superb titties and she'll be forever indebted to you so she'll marry you and give you a bunch of little Liebgotts."

Becca crossed her arm in front of her and glared "So you are targeting a damsel in distress, make her feel indebted to you… so you can get laid? That's low."

I shrugged "I've done worse for less."

Becca shook her head. Resigned. "I'm not even gonna ask"

"So when we start moving?" asked Roe. "I have to prepare some supply. And Babe…you throw that thing to me again, and I will remove your goddam appendix while you sleep." Babe stop mid-throwing paper ball behind Roe and sulkily walked back to his bed.

Becca shrugged. "I don't know the exact schedule. But maybe in April."

"Jesus, I just hope this fucking war will end soon." Frank said gloomily from his bed. "I wanna see Richard. I just missed his 1st Birthday." He's looking at a photo that came with the letter.

The tent went silent with that.

Things I could say about the Germans were that they were efficient, disciplined and hard-working. If I had to make comparison, the Brits were dull, reserved, but supremely brave. The French were slow, ungrateful sometimes, and cunning- indifferent whether they betraying Germans or the Americans. The Dutch were the best; they are wonderful in every ways.

Despite myself, I couldn't help to think that German also the closest thing that felt like home. We stayed in houses with running hot and cold water, electric light, a proper toilet and toilet paper (HALLELUJAH!), and coal for the stove. We get to drink real coffee that didn't taste like horse piss and we can cook food from fresh ingredients that finally won't give us either constipation or explosive diarrhea (just make sure Malarkey didn't do the cooking, and everybody will be happy and healthy).

Non-fraternization policy was proofed impossible to enforce. The first thing the men did when they had spare time was looking for broads. Web's becoming everybody's darling since he's willing to be a translator for the boys. Nobody fool enough to ask for Joe's and Becca's help.

Every morning we take turn to 'scrounging' milk, egg, or any fresh vegetables from neighboring farms or houses. I must be done something extremely bad in my previous live, since I was partnered with Frank for this mission. I mean…we're both city boys. We didn't know shit about harvesting egg or milking cow.

"You grab the hen, I pick the eggs. Easy peasy, George."

"You don't know shit about farm animals. And why the hell I have to be the one who grab the chick. That thing got sharp beak, Frank. Sharp. Yeah. What if it pecks me on my artery? I could die!"

"Jeez…drama queen much, George? 'Sides…You got thicker skin. You'll be okay."

"I hate you."

"Hey cretins! Wait for me!" Becca shouted.

I groaned "If we're cretins, then you're a….a….a simpleton."

"Dammit, Frog. You forgot to drink your coffee this morning? Because that's just lame."

"My brain's still asleep, Princess. And I had to steal some egg with this midget. No. I rephrase that. I have to risk my life holding the chicken, so this midget can freely grab the eggs."

"Your Frog is a drama queen, Becca."

"Tell me about it." She said flatly.

"I had my ups and downs." I snapped and walked to the targeted barn. I faintly heard Frank said "It's like he's menstruating." to Becca that followed by her laugh.

Those little shits!

"By the way…what's the name of this town?" I changed the subject. "I never able to pronounce it correctly. Too many consonant, not enough vowels."

"Maybe you don't have enough brain cells to pronounce it." Frank said.

"What's this? Amateur Comedy Hour: Asshole Edition? It's my duty to insult your brain power, Frank. Not the other way around. That's how the universe works."

Becca chuckled "Finally. You got your mojo back. It's Sturzelberg, by the way."

"You'll have to spell it for me. I want to write it on my letters to Mom. Is that the barn, Frank?"

"I think it is. Come on. Let's get it done. I'm hungry."

Frank and I climb up the ladder to get to the chicken coop. Becca stays on the ground. Cheerleading. The hens clucked noisily because we apparently disturb their nap. Sorry, hen.

"Come on, chicken." I truly didn't know how to address barn animal.

"All right, this one got some, George. You, uh…you grab the chicken and I'm gonna grab the eggs."

I suppressed the urge to spat 'brilliant strategy, Sherlock!' So instead I said "Great. Fine. I'll just grab her by the foot. Come on, Chicken. If this thing bites me, Frank, I swear I'll shoot it."

At that moment, a German girl was entering the barn and gaped at the sight of two G.I.s struggling with chickens. Ah…Good! I can ask her to barter the eggs and maybe some fresh milk with chocolate and cigarettes.

"Guten tag, Fraulein." I said cheerily. What? I can be nice to woman.

The German girl answered nervously "Guten tag." I saw Becca frowned at me. Dammit. She could help with translation here. But the German girl bolted out the barn.

"Hold on!" I shouted. I throw the chicken and start to ran after her. Becca looked livid. What the hell was wrong with her?

I can hear Frank shouted "Come on, George!"

I ran after the German girl and finally catch her on another barn with cows in it. Oh this is great. Thank God, I brought enough chocolate and cigarettes to be bartered. "Hold on a second! Come on, I just wanna talk to you." I didn't understand why this girl was afraid of me. I mean….my face was not that scary, was it?

"Ich verstehen nicht." She said.

Dammit, Becca. Where were you when I need a translator? So I took out my chocolate and offered it to her. "Here, look what I got. Chocolate bar. Huh? You like that? You like chocolate?"

She took it hastily. Frank and Becca were entering the barn. Frank with a helmet full of eggs on his hand and Becca with her arms crossed in front of her.

Frank said "Luz, why don't you leave her alone?"

Wait…did he just call me Luz? What the fuck? "Frank, why don't you leave me alone, okay? Becca, a little help here?"

Becca nostril literally flared. She looked murderous. Frank looked uncomfortable. What the hell with these people? I ignored them. Fine. I'd get the eggs and milk for myself.

I talked to the German girl again "You don't like chocolate either. How about this? Cigarettes. Camel."

The German girl picked the cigarettes. Good!

"You like that, huh?" I smiled. Try to make her comfortable.

"Luz!" Frank shouted.

Dammit.

"Frank, please. Why don't you go make your omelet!"

Becca harrumphed at this and stormed out the barn. Frank followed her after he said "Well, you're not getting any of my eggs, blockhead."

Ha! We'll see. After this, I'll get more eggs AND fresh milk.

But it turned out, gesturing milking cow can be interpreted into something lewd. Talk about lost in translation. So instead of getting more eggs and milk I got a healthy smack from the Fraulein. Jesus…those arms were strong.

"Hey, Frank! Becca! Hold up."

They keep walking. Ignoring me. Jeez…What's with these people?

"Perc! Princess! Jesus, come on!"

Both of them glared at me. "What?!" I asked. Confused.

A jeep drove pass through us, with Captain Nixon in it. He should be with the 17th division in Operation Varsity.

"That Captain Nixon?" I asked.

"I think so." Frank said.

"What the hell's he doing in his harness?"

"I don't know. Maybe we've jump to Berlin and the war is over."

"Yeah, huh?"

Becca walked in silence. I nudged her "Princess, you okay?"

She just glared.

Frank asked "So, what happened? No dice with the Fraulein?"

I rubbed my face "No dice. She smacked me in the mouth."

Frank snorted.

Becca made a cynical laugh "What? Brunhilda and her décolletage turned down the Mighty Manly George Luz?"

I sputtered "What the..? Brunhilda? Well if you stay long enough, you could help me translating so she didn't mistake my gesture of milking the cow with something dirty."

She stopped "Wait…what?"

I sighed "I tried to barter my cigarettes with eggs and milk. But since you weren't there and I didn't understand German, I was gesturing milking cow and apparently she took it wrong. So she smacked me."

Becca blushed in…was that embarrassment? "Oh…I thought…" she said timidly "I thought you want to…seduce her."

"Are you crazy?! Why the hell I want to do that?"

Becca didn't answer that. She just smiled shyly and curled her hand on mine.

Frank mumbled "Idiots."

Yeah…maybe I was. I lose my cigarettes to Brunhilda after all.

Don't forget to leave your review ^_^