Evelyn's Tale

-Thirty Two-

9th February, 1945

Haguenau was a town that lay on the River Moder across the Rhine. It had a population of twenty thousand people, which was almost four times as many as Carentan. Rubble and a light sprinkling of frozen snow still yet to thaw littered the ground. The sky was grey, casting an almost melancholic light on the crumbling and bullet ridden buildings that were ravaged by war.

After two weeks in reserve travelling one hundred and sixty miles south east from Bastogne, Easy had been sent to hold the line on the south bank of the town. They were relieving the 313th Infantry of the 79th Airborne Division who were being sent elsewhere.

"What have we stopped for now?" Babe was complaining, sticking his head out of the truck to try and get a better look.

"Heffron, get your head back in here before it gets lobbed off your shoulders," Liebgott tutted as Evelyn yanked on the back of his jacket to pull him back properly into the truck.

"Well isn't anyone else fed up of spending hours sitting in this fucking truck, stopping and starting, stopping and starting," Heffron moaned.

"Not as much as we're fed up of listening to you whine about it," Evelyn muttered, blowing her nose on a piece of cloth that now served as a handkerchief.

"I swear to God I better not catch that cold from you," Liebgott grimaced at her.

"I don't have a cold," she glared at him.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Grant chuckled opposite her.

"Just 'cause I have a bit of a runny nose, doesn't mean that I've got a cold," she was adamant. "It's probably just allergies."

"What the heck could you possibly be allergic to?" Grant didn't believe her in the slightest.

"Maybe I'm allergic to you guys," she decided, before letting out a very large sneeze. Grant smirked as though it had proved his very point. "Urgh, I hate you all."

"Hey guys," a voice interrupted.

Evelyn turned her head to look at a face she would recognise anywhere. Even after months, she couldn't forget it. With his baby blue eyes and pearly white teeth, David Webster could easily be a Hollywood movie star. He had the kind of looks that women swooned over. He had the kind of looks of someone that Evelyn always thought she would have swooned over. But one quick glance to the scowling man beside her, who was the complete opposite of Webster in both looks and personality, and she almost grinned. It was funny how things never quite go the way a person imagines them.

"Some Lieutenant told me to report to 2nd," Webster announced, looking almost disappointed by his unenthusiastic reception. "Your name's Jackson, right?"

"That's right," Jackson narrowed his eyes coldly.

"Who's leading the platoon?" Webster asked.

"Sergeant Malarkey is."

"What no officers?" Webster asked in astonishment.

"I guess you didn't hear," Liebgott piped up. "They're making Malarkey a lieutenant. He's on the fast track now."

Evelyn frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but Liebgott discreetly squeezed her knee urging her to keep silent. Opposite her, McClung and Grant were biting back grins.

"Really? That's great." Webster beamed, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being led down the garden path. "Jackson, help me up, will you?"

Reluctantly, and barely hiding his disdain, Jackson moved over and held his arm out for Webster to use to climb up on board the truck.