ι ηєє∂ уσυ, мσяє тнαη αηуσηє ∂αяℓιηg, уσυ кησω тнαт ι нανє ƒяσм тнє ѕтαят
ѕσ вυιℓ∂ мє υρ, вυттєя¢υρ ∂ση'т вяєαк му нєαят
when ronald speirs took over easy company, he was in new territory. new soliders to lead, new ncos, and to make life more diffic...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ , ¹⁹⁴⁵
♠ ┈┈┈┈ ❁ ┈┈┈┈ ♠
"webster, it's fine!" "it's not fine, let me help you down." david grabbed her waist and set her down gently on the ground. buttercup still hissed, instantly relieving the pressure up off her leg. webster asked if she'd loosened up her boots to try and reduce the strain, because it wouldn't fix the dislocation. "no. i just don't have time to tie laces properly. you know where we are?" "haguenau." "er—where is hag-hen-how?" "france." "right."
webster headed towards the first platoon truck, and the brunette shuffled forwards a little, spying for a mop of fluffy brown. "luz! help a chica up would you?" "ditzy!" george told the driver to stop and hopped down, slipped his arm under hers and helped her hobble towards the truck. "good to see you so soon." "you know i hate the hospital." "yeah? then why you always in one?" "lip says i don't understand what putting myself in danger means." the girl smiled lazily at her best friend and he grinned back. webster had since been dismissed to the second platoon truck.
"c'mon, let's get you up." he helped buttercup get her good foot onto the truck and motioned to popeye. "help her up would you?" he grinned and welcomed the engineer back as she was hauled up onto first platoon's truck. settling herself as comfortably as she could manage, she smiled softly at bull randleman, who was sitting across from her. "hey bull." "hey ditzy." johnny martin leaned forward and patted her knee. it was gentle enough, but she squealed a hijo de puta! in pain. "you should still be in hospital. it's dislocated still." brushing back her hair, the girl shook her head. "no, don't need legs to fix things." "what do you need?" "manos. hands." she wiggled her hands to demonstrate her point. the truck hit a pothole and bounced. the girl squealed again. luz sighed, commenting on doc's future reaction to her ailment. "george, i am absolutely fine." "you are definitely not. but..." he stuck a cigarette between his lips. "but what?" "i'm glad to have you back." "yeah? i know that."
♠ ┈┈┈┈ ❁ ┈┈┈┈ ♠
battalion had been set up in a small house in the middle of the town. she didn't bother to knock, she didn't see any point. besides, her leg was aching and she wanted to sit down. hobbling through the door, she was greeted with a gaggle of men, all up to their own business. "rodriquez!" "captain nixon, sir!" she saluted lazily and wobbled over to him. "what have i missed, huh?" "not much. you feeling better?" "i went...awol," the intelligence officer shook his head with raised brows, and she shrugged at him. "lots of men have gone awol before." "well, go on," he motioned towards the corner of the room, "lip is over here." she ignored his comment. "how are you?" "i'm... i'm fine. why wouldn't i be?" "you smell like alcohol." it was a statement that instantly brought back all the tension from before buttercup had left. nixon gave her a hard stare, and she raised her eyebrows. "i'm just saying."
