"In times of war, you do what you must, become what you must. Some embrace it, some try to resist it, and others abuse it. I am guilty of all three."
Virginia Carroll has been fighting her whole life, against herself and against what she is drawn to...
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Carentan seemed empty.
Like a ghost town, windows half opened with curtains fluttering like ghosts in the breeze. Half-shelled buildings hung onto life. It seemed empty. Seemed, being the keyword. Underneath the surface, like an undisturbed lake, rippled something just below. Something that prowled in the murky depths, winding and twisting around any exposed limbs. I had always been afraid of water where I couldn't see what lay beneath. The fear of not knowing was worse than seeing the frightful creatures I imagined.
Something far worse than a childhood monster lay beneath Carentan, or rather, inside of it. Those houses only looked empty. Those rooftops only seemed deserted. And those streets masqueraded as barren.
I crouched next to Nixon behind a clump of weeds and peered over the embankment. We, the three platoons of Easy Company, were huddled behind a small slope and tucked into the tall grass that surrounded it, waiting for orders. Something didn't feel right. My gut was telling me something, warning me of something but I knew no one would listen to my instinct.
While my standing with the men had risen, they acknowledged me with a few long stares now thanks to Guarnere's begrudging alliance, I was far from a valued and trusted member of Easy Company. Would that ever be a possibility? Probably not but I could remain optimistic, couldn't I? And what proved your loyalty like throwing flaming explosives into enemy lines?
I turned to Nixon, whispering in his ear. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"Dick knows what he's doing," he said, his dark eyes heavy on the ginger lieutenant's movements among the hidden groups of men, instructing their next movements. The sun was warm on our backs and turned his hair into a kind of spun gold. He looked angelic, which explained why Nixon was looking at him like he had just fallen from heaven.
I wasn't worried about Winters leading them astray. I knew Winters wasn't pulling his own strings.
"Send me first," I said. "I can scout. It'll give us an idea for what we are dealing with and then Lt. Winters can send in his men."
I had already tried this plead with Sink who, while impressed with my work with the outpost, was just amusing me then. I had been handed a toy and told to go play, to pacify me so they could really fulfill their mission. I didn't have a mission, other than return to the OSS alive. And that would be difficult to do if my escort company was shot to pieces. I didn't need to be pacified, I needed to do something.
Nixon looked over at me, his brown eyes studying my face intently. I hoped he realized what I was feeling, the gut feeling that something was going terribly wrong. If he did, he recognized it too late or recognized that he had no power in this situation. The puppetmaster had already wrenched the strings, sending Winters's shout to cut through the air.
"Go!"
I watched as the 1st platoon flooded into the main road that led to the town and almost immediately the firing began. Gone was the illusion of emptiness in those streets. Bullets and I watched as they scattered like field mice, trying to find cover and some failing, falling to the ground.
