We Happy Few | Band of Brothers

Chapter 41: Scrubbing Down

The mortars outside peppered the streets of Hagenau, going off one by one, usually missing any real target altogether and serving more as a reminder that somewhere close by, there were still Germans lurking about. Margot watched through the window she was standing in front of as concrete exploded into the air and large chunks scattered throughout the street, causing a few men to scurry and duck for cover. 

At that point, the sound and sight of a mortar was about as natural to the woman as waking up to the sound of birds chirping would be for any normal person. No longer did the high-pitched squeal give her a rush of anxiety or a spike in her blood pressure. When the familiar sound reached her ears, she would throw her hands over her head and calmly watch the sky until the chaos was over. 

"Hey, guys," a voice greeted the room as two pairs of footsteps could be heard on the worn-down wooden flooring. 

Turning away from the window, Margot gave Webster a slight nod before turning her attention to the man behind him. She tried to place him for a few seconds, but unlike the stunt she had pulled with Webster, this time she was sure she had never met the guy. He looked young, really young, but otherwise unphased by the condition of the men around him as if he had been in combat for years, just like the rest of Easy Company.

As Webster tossed his duffle bag up onto the bunk above Liebgott, Margot wandered over to the table in the middle of the room where Malarkey was pouring himself a coffee. Taking note of his Co-Platoon Sergeant, the redheaded mortarman carefully handed the steaming mug to her with a small smile. 

"Thank you." Margot took the drink with both hands, relishing the warmth that spread to her cold, calloused palms before taking a sip and enjoying the feeling it brought her; the feeling of knowing she was truly alive. 

Malarkey then poured himself a cup of the hot caffeine and clinked his mug against Margot's before taking his own first sip. His reaction was much of the same—eyes closed and a flash of relief over his pale face.

"Sergeants, this is Lieutenant Jones. Just assigned to 2nd Platoon," Webster introduced the young-faced man, thoroughly interrupting the wonderful moment the platoon leaders were having with their first cups of coffee in days. 

"Malarkey," Malarkey introduced himself before gesturing to Margot. He knew by the look on her face that she wasn't in the mood for making any new friends at the moment, even if the possible candidate was a Lieutenant. "This is Kessler. We're the Platoon Sergeants." 

In a swift motion, Lieutenant Jones switched his gear to his left arm before extending his right hand out toward Malarkey. "Congratulations on the battlefield commission."

Margot heard Liebgott snicker from where he was standing with the rest of the men and immediately knew that the Jewish cab driver had started spreading some sort of weird rumour to mess with the new guys. Looking over her shoulder, she gave the prankster a sly smirk of approval. "Wow, you've been holding out on me, haven't you, Malark?" She gently smacked Malarkey's arm with the back of her hand.

Malarkey stared down at the Lieutenant's hand, confusion and exhaustion painted on his face. "The what?" He accepted the gesture awkwardly. 

Liebgott let out another snort of amusement, this time catching Webster's attention. "They're making you an officer, no?" Jones inquired.

"Me, no." Malarkey cleared up the confusion as Webster caught onto the joke and rolled his eyes. "You must be thinking of 1st Sergeant Lipton."

Jones looked to Webster, whom he had obviously gotten the wrong information from, before swinging his rifle down from his shoulder and setting it on the table along with his bag. "So, you're without a platoon leader?"