𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART NINE

Currently writing this (and half of the last chapter) while I'm in Cambodia for seventeen days. I'm on a bus to Siem Riep right now and all I can think of is Dianne and Liebgott, my loves. I've been reading the Band of Brothers book for the hundredth time and it's reminded me how Lieb is literally 30. Also, I am practically making up their ranks at the moment as these characters hardly get enough screen time where I can see their rank slides during Episode 4.

Word count; 2,582

Dianne

I changed into my uniform in the tent I had fallen alseep in, using a string and some safety pins to adjust Toye's trousers to my size. As I began to work on tying my left boot, a gaggle of soldiers passed by outside, the sun already half way over the horizon. Afterwards, I expected birdsong or at least the sway of boughs, but nothing came. Nothing but a voice, nasal-lined and filled with a hoarseness from the remnants of slumber.

Help!

I darted my head to the tent entrance, unsure if my hearing had fooled me. Then it came again, even more clear.

Help! Medic!

More boots ran past. Lifting the shelter flap out of the way with my forearm, I peered out of the tent. A group of five or six men were crowded by the entrance of another tent, heads bent to see inside. Instinct pushed me towards the scene, a navigator in my blood making my heart throb.

It was only as I stood a metre away from the commotion that I remembered why the area seemed so familiar; this was where Joe and Babe had settled in their intoxicated state. Slightly trembling, I cleared my throat, the group of men turning their heads. None were a part of Easy Company, nor the 101st Airborne at all, and each stirred at the sight of me. One noticed my rank and saluted, the rest copying in a sort of wariness. I returned the gesture, recalling parts of my protocol which insisted I only communicate with those in my division. Luckily, I didn't need to ask for them to step aside.

Inside, Liebgott lay on the floor, silently gurgling. Heffron, crouched beside him, looked up.

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant," He slurred, "God, I don't know what to do, where's the medic!"

My heart pounded, more than I ever thought it would. Memories flashed through my mind, small recollections from the manor where I had to act like a nurse because there weren't enough for each patient after the D-Day inflations. I remembered the first day I had met Melvin Russel, who a couple days later asked me out to dinner, and how he was in the same position; flat on his bed, choking on his own vomit because the bandages wouldn't allow him to move. The only difference here was the fact that Liebgott was too unconscious to do anything about it - Melvin almost saw death with how alive he was.

"Help me, Heffron," I knelt down rapidly, digging my hands beneath Joe.

I nearly sprained a wrist trying to push Melvin on my own.

"Over that way, okay, hon?"

Babe nodded excessively, and together we pushed Liebgott away from us, allowing puke to spew from his mouth. Behind us, the men grimaced and groaned. Unknowingly, my hand was rubbing Liebgott's back, hoping he would throw up more. Heffron, unable to go any longer, gagged into his shoulder, shooting upwards and heading for the door.

"What's going on in here?"

At that, another wave of vomit fell from Joe's lips, coughs forcing him into consciousness.

"It's okay, hon, it's okay," I kept rubbing his back.

"Uh... Lieutenant?" A figure hovered behind me.