𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART FOUR

Hi all CheeryLogan viewers, I am an accomplice of  the writer. Please upvote this and all you talented writers out there, please write some mature watpads for me to read. Lots of Love : esoto356 

Word count; 2,563

Dianne

As I spooned a lump of porridge out from its container, Buck forced my hand away, the ladle nearly dropping into a tray of gravy. Why they had porridge and gravy next to one another, I had no idea. 

My jaw dropped, hand frozen where I once held a spoon.

"Touch that stuff and you'll be shitting yourself all night," He advised, pinching the fabric by my bicep to nudge me along, "This is what you want."

He poured a large scoop of mashed potatoes onto my plate.

I frowned at it, "How is this in any way nutritional, hon?"

"You are asking me that in the middle of a war, doll, think about it. I thought you said you wanted to be a teacher."

"Teachers don't eat mashed potatoes for breakfast."

"They do now."

We carried on along the line. Eventually, I ended up with a tray of potatoes, baked beans and ketchup, with an apple on the side. When we turned in unison, searching for a place to sit, I registered how we were the last to enter the mess. Previously, it was a town hall, which now provided over two hundred seats and tables, all filled with soldiers. American soldiers. A timetable hung beside the entrance to the hall, stating which units were allowed to eat and when.

Buck lead us to a table where Winters and another Lieutenant sat, a few other officers from other detachments next to them. I took the seat at the edge of the table, opposite the Lieutenant, and Compton immediately introduced us; his roomie, Harry Welsh, and Irishman with an even worse temper than Buck's. We started to talk about the countryside - for some reason - Buck's attention torn away by Winters' scowl, when china smashed against the floor, shattering into chuncks of unrepairable porcelain. Our heads darted in the direction of the noise, a face emerging from behind the bar of food (most likely a chef of some kind). Someone had been thrown across a table, taking all the plates of food with him. The culprit wrestled with him, both tossing over and over until they nearly knocked out another departing soldier. Four or five men were on their feet, attempting to split apart the two, with everyone else cheering for a victory.

"What's the matter?" I questioned those around me.

Compton, already back to his food, shrugged, "Some disagreement. Happens all the time."

I regarded Dick, "Shouldn't you do something?"

"First lesson, Lieutenant: chastise in private, praise in public."

I looked back at the commotion, the two still going at it.

"You tell 'em off now, they'll look like fools to the rest of the Company."

Eventually, one of the soldiers was ripped off the other. Only as he stood did I recognise the faces, the eyes unforgettable. The culprit: Guarnere. The victim: Liebgott. On Bill's right hand: Joe Toye. On Liebgott's: Luz. Guarnere, much beefier and stronger, appeared untainted. His opponent, on the other hand, had crimson ooze dripping off of his chin.

"Tell you what, Kennedy, you find a way to punish them and I'll be happy to follow through with it," Buck chuckled, lumps of potato in his cheeks.

I watched Liebgott sit back at his seat, the rest of the men who tried to split them apart still standing as if they couldn't believe it was over - or better yet, they couldn't believe it wasn't going to happen again as soon as they sat down. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) those whose plates were affected belonged to those standing.