𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART SIXTEEN

Published three chapters of this in a row. You're welcome.

Word count; 2,472

Frances

— October 15th, 1944. Fort Benning, Georgia.

Taking the can of cherry sweets out of my handbag, I popped one into my mouth, offering one to the woman next to me. We were in a reception room, the only other one present being the lady behind the desk, typing away. The day was particularly cold, grey clouds covering the sky, the grass still frosted from the night before.

"Miss Kennedy." She stood up. "The Colonel is ready to see you now."

I smiled to the woman beside me, a snoozing newborn lying in her arms, a head full of fluffy blonde locks. Darcy, she had said. Bright blue eyes. I wasn't as stilled as I would've been a month before.

The receptionist knocked on the door, announced my name and slammed it shut once I had passed the threshold. Much larger than the reception, the room had dark oak walls, paintings of previous generals and the like dotted around them. At the centre; a wooden desk, just as dark as the walls, neatly cluttered with pens, photographs, notepads. Colonel Erlander sat behind it. He finished jotting something down and stood up.

"Lieutenant." He grinned, revealing pure white teeth. "Can I offer you a drink?"

I smiled warmly; he was just like Nixon, already gulping down the bourbon despite the early hours of the morning.

"Please." I answered; never reject a drink from the Colonel, Holloway said once.

He stepped off to a cabinet, popping open a crystal flask and pouring the contents into a glass. Squatting to reach a lower cabinet, he revealed another bottle, dashing another glass full. He returned.

"Booze-free," He commented, handing over the second glass.

I bobbed my head. We clinked the glasses together.

"Take a seat." He said, doing so as well.

I obeyed. He threw the entirety of his drink to the back of his mouth and briefly scratched his beard.

"So," He leaned into his chair, intertwining his fingers to rest on his lower abdomen. "Talk to me, Kennedy."

"Sir?" I nearly choked on my drink.

He chucked roughly. "How are you?"

"As well as I can be, sir." I answered warily.

He chuckled again, just as hoarse, "I know when you're lying, Lieutenant."

Cheeks rosying, I chimed, "I am. I am fine."

Still doubting my response, he probed further, "How was the trip?"

"Long." I replied. "I wasn't alone, luckily."

"Ah," He smiled genuinely, a sort of pride around him. "What's his name?"

"Sir-"

"C'mon, Dianne, you can tell me."

"Patrick Russel." I stated. "Medical Corps, assigned to an Infantry Company for D-Day."

"A military man." He said approvingly. "Where is he?"

"Finding a friend."

"Hm." He sat forward, scribbling something down on his notebook. 

I tried to squint at what he wrote, but the language was undecipherable.

"Alas," The Colonel threw his pen down. "I'm surprised that you haven't asked about the 101st."