Rumors of War (A Band of Brothers Story)

4: Sharp

"Even Achilles was only as strong as his heel." – House of Cards (2014)

Once Colonel Sink dismissed me, I was escorted by a rather squirrely Sergeant Evans to where I'd be staying at until the Big Show. It was a beautiful home, off set on the outer part of Aldbourne, made of brick, covered in thick ivy I didn't know the name of with a small garden I saw from when I'd knock on the door. It was cute and quaint, what I'd come to expect from the British. I'd come to find out the home belonged to a Mrs. Lydia Hartigan, a waif of a woman with skin that reminded me of Snow White, with rich blond hair and brown eyes. The Germans had taken her husband prisoner during Dunkirk while her son was newly enlisted in the R.A.F., and her daughter was a nurse.

All alone she was glad for the company, and incredibly sweet.

"Your things were delivered late yesterday," Lydia commented as she led me up the stairs, "I had those boys put everything in Sarah's room, I thought that would be more appropriate than George's."

"That's fine."—I wasn't picky—"Just, thank you again for taking me in Mrs. Hartigan, I know you didn't have too."

"Think nothing of it," She waved me off while pushing open a bedroom door. "I'm simply glad they'll be someone else here, if it's only for a while. Now, the bathroom is down the hall just here..."

The bedroom was a pale shade of iliac, the curtains of yellowing lace with the wartime blackout curtains covered the open window, and with the same dark worn wooden floors that ran in the rest of the house. Even if Lydia hadn't told me the bedroom belonged to her daughter, it would have been easy to guess. The furniture was all whitewashed, the walls covered in a mismatch of framed photographs, a bedside table with a lamp, and a vanity that looked like she'd back any moment, make up and hair brush set out on a mirror tray.

It was so homely it made my chest ache.

"I didn't know if you need a nightgown, but I put one of Sarah's out on the bed for you."—I did, I was pretty sure there wasn't one in my luggage—"And I know it's only 3:30 but I'll start dinner soon, I'll cook something special."

I shook my head, turning to her. "Please, don't do anything special on the account of me, I think I'd just like to rest, is that alright?"

Her face softened. "Of course, dear. Just remember, breakfast will be around 8am."

And then she slipped from the room, shutting the door softly behind her, leaving me alone. I tossed my mussette bag onto the bed, then flopped down myself, sprawling face down in the bedding. I must have laid there for a good ten minutes, sinking to the peace and quiet and soft mattress, before I felt the need to move again. Forcing myself up, I began the process of removing my grime-covered boots. Once they were off, I put them flush against the bed but still well within reach.

Field habits never die.

I hadn't even fallen back onto the bed when the shouts floated up through the open window, effectively breaking the peace and quiet I'd been bubbled in. Frowning, I pushed myself off the bed, hissing at the chill that snaked up my spine when my feet hit the floor as I made my way towards the window. Pushing back the curtains, I leaned out the window, my weight on my elbows as I slouched to get a good look. Since the house was on the edge of the village, the view was fantastic: rolling pastures and English woods.

"Aw, come Skip, you gotta catch the ball for us to have a chance!"

"Yeah, yeah Don, but I don't see you catching anything..."

Unsurprisingly, in the field next door, a handful of troopers—maybe ten at the most—were trying to play some sort of game of football. From the sound of it though, it didn't seem to be turning out how they would have hoped. I couldn't help but wonder, were the two I met earlier, Frank and Bill, down there too?