Pitschen ma en gamba - Small, but powerful [A Band of Brothers Story]

Mourmelon-le-Grand

Guiding her three-quarters asleep friend towards their tent, she helped him take off his satchel, jacket and boots. Then, she watched with fond amusement as the Cajun collapsed in a boneless heap on the bunk, already fast asleep when she tugged the blanket over him.

Shuffling to her own bunk, she toed off her boots. Her satchel was placed next to them. Slumping down, she marvelled the feeling of real sheets, a luxury she had last had in Aldbourne, months ago. Smiling to herself, the girl crawled into bed and closed her eyes, not even bothering to pull up the covers.

***

Ella woke up the next day and was momentarily disoriented, confused by the soft, clean pillow under her head. Was she still dreaming? There weren't any pillows in foxholes.

Pinching herself, the brunette blinked a few times. No, the pillow was still there, as was the roof over her head and the bunks to both her sides. Her tired brain finally decided to remind her that they had been pulled off the line yesterday.

Mourmelon. Tönt wia Murmeltier.

She frowned. Obviously, one night of actual deep, uninterrupted sleep wasn't enough to stop the odd, random thoughts that popped into her mind when she was exhausted.

Rubbing her eyes, the brunette sat up and stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of a warm bed just a bit longer. It was quiet, except for the men's steady breathing and occasional snores.

"Mornin'", a sleep-filled voice croaked on her left.

"Morning", she greeted a bleary-eyed Skip, whose hair was sticking up in about 14 different directions.

He yawned widely and scratched at a spot on his neck.

Chuckling, Ella got up and dressed, washed her face in the sink and walked over to the mess hall. Just as she was leaving, the lumps under some of the blankets began to stir.

Grabbing her tray, she sat down at an empty table and slowly began to eat. Turns out that it wasn't morning anymore, but more like 1315. Not that she cared. The young medic decided that it was well within her rights to sleep late after weeks and weeks of being on 24-hour duty and stand-by.

Slowly, a few men from Easy Company came trickling in, all looking less than 100 percent awake.

Babe flopped down onto a seat across from her and hid a jaw-cracking yawn behind a hand. Shifty was cradling his cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. Ella was poking at her food, pushing it around more than actually eating. Malarkey, blinking blearily, slid in next to her and started stealing bits from her plate. She let him.

After a good ten minutes, coffee and food began to take effect and idle conversation was struck up, a lightness settling over the table that could never be there in the field.

***

The mail caught up with them the same day. Sitting on her bunk, the girl read her letters from home, one after the other. Isabel talked about work at the hospital, about the acquaintances she made, about her life in general. The last letter, though, was a bit different.

My charina Ella

It has now been almost two months since I have last heard from you. You know I worry about you and I do so every day, but lately, it has been more difficult. I keep waiting for Pat to come to my door, holding the latest casualty list in her hand. Every morning when I see the Western Union boy make his rounds, I can't help but wonder if there is a telegram addressed to me in his bag.