𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART THIRTY

Been reading Lando Norris fics so I haven't had the time to write ;)

ALSO there is a mention of her being sick and her stomach hurting - I promise this is NOT what you think it is.

Word count; 2,143

Frances

— March 11th, 1945. Sturzelberg, Germany.

Much had changed since France. Easy Company now occupied a town in Sturzelberg, and we had more contact with the world than before. A German post office was now home to general correspondence back to the U.S; butchers and bakers operated as they had done before the war. Like always, men billeted into houses formerly owned by locals, kicked out for the time that we were there. With the President dead, and word of Hitler's health and power declining, many questioned how much longer we would be in the European theatre.

The hour was late, early into the morning, and a downpour shattered against the windows. Since becoming a leader of 1st Platoon, it was rare that I went to bed before 4am, and even rarer to wake up before noon - as was the same with the other officers. They were gathered in the Company HQ, a decently sized townhouse with many rooms for hosting guests, and had invited me a couple hours ago to join. Except, my stomach had been rotting for a few weeks, and finding no other distraction from the sickness, I decided to take up the offer.

I ascended the stairwell, following the voices of intoxicated men. When I reached the top, I wouldn't have known where to go if it wasn't for Nixon wandering out of a chamber, a mission in mind. Not questioning it, I entered the room. There they were, sat around a circular table make of dark oak.

"Why hello, darlin'." Harry simpered, taking a sip from his glass of bourbon.

Spiers, cigarette between his lips as always, raised a brow, too focused on the cards in his hands, only to smile at the sight of me.

My abdomen curling, I responded, "Good evening, gentlemen."

"Is it still evening?" Ron scoffed, looking back at his cards.

Lipton - now a Lieutenant - looked over his shoulder, "Hey, Lieutenant."

"Hey, Lip."

"Come sit." Harry kicked at the chair opposite him.

"Is-"

"Nah, he won't be back," Welsh answered immediately.

I glanced behind me before taking a seat at where Nixon once sat. Cards were piled around the table, alongside empty bottles of whiskey and rum and cartons of cigarettes. I hooked an arm around my lower stomach, the spasms coming in waves.

"Wanna play?"

I don't know who asked it, but after noticing the pieces of cash scattered across the surface, I shook my head.

"I don't gamble I'm afraid."

"What do you do?" Spiers probed absent-mindedly.

My eyes settled on the Captain, questioning if he had noticed what he said. Lipton finished his go, resulting in a curse from Harry. Ron looked up, briefly figuring what he would do for his next turn, until he regarded me.

"It's a good thing." Welsh said. "I've lost too much money to these assholes."

I tittered, tightening my grip on my stomach as a pain thrashed at it.

"Sure you shouldn't be asleep?" This was Spiers again.

"I tried."

Harry placed his cards on the table, a smug look on his face.