We Happy Few | Band of Brothers

Chapter 41: Scrubbing Down

"No, not anymore Lieutenant." Malarkey reminded the man of why he was there in the first place; to take over as leader of the platoon. Margot was somewhat grateful for this because as much as she enjoyed running things for a little while, she missed being able to sneak off and spend some time alone without worrying if someone was looking for her. 

Jones nodded slowly as the realization hit him. "Right."

The comparison between Jones and Malarkey was shocking, and at first glance, you wouldn't be able to tell that the two men were fighting in the same platoon, in the same war. Jones had a baby face, no stubble at all, wide eyes, a clean uniform, and freshly showered hair. Malarkey, on the other hand, was quite clearly a grown man. His ginger stubble had grown out to a small beard, his eyes were dark and full of exhaustion—both mental and physical—his uniform was a dark brown from all the mud that had been caked on, and his dirty, unkempt, sweaty hair was tucked underneath a toque that just barely covered the tips of his ears. 

Jones' eyes trailed past Malarkey and Margot and settled on the small group of troopers that were gathered close to each other, enjoying their own cups of coffee and sharing a conversation. "So, do you wanna introduce me to the men?"

Margot chuckled a little. She sure as hell didn't feel like playing matchmaker with the boys and she was sure Malarkey didn't either. 

Letting out a loud exhale, Malarkey turned to the platoon members that were in the room. "Well, some are sleeping downstairs, and the rest are right here."

"Couldn't have done it better myself." Margot took another sip of her drink as Jones gave a nod towards Liebgott, Grant, Babe, McClung, and Ramirez. 

Leaning in closer toward Margot and Malarkey, Jones lowered his voice a little. "Sergeants, a patrol's being planned for tonight, 0100 hours, across the river. Regiment wants POWs for interrogation."

As the two Platoon Sergeants and the Lieutenant stepped to the side toward the window to discuss details further, Margot watched out of the corner of her eye as Liebgott and the other men corner Webster by the bunk beds, no doubt trying to pry information out of him about the patrol.

Margot hated leaving her men in the dark but there wasn't much she could do until she knew everything for herself first. 

Turning her attention back to the discussion, Margot listened as Malarkey listed off the sort of firepower that they had, and then what the Germans had. Once his little spiel was done, he pulled out a cigarette and plopped it between his lips. Following his lead, Margot did the same, silently thanking her friend as he used his lighter to light her smoke as well. 

"So, I take it this was already an outpost when you arrived?" Jones asked, his hands clasped in front of his body. He was standing up so straight that Margot's spine ached just looking at him.

Malarkey inhaled the nicotine, let it sit in his lungs for a few seconds, and exhaled before answering. "There were some dogies from the 79th infantry, but they left in a hurry."

"What's the report on enemy activity?"

"Expect some flares. Scattered 88s, snipers during the day, few mortars during the night." Margot leaned against the window frame. "Few mortars during the day," she added, remembering the display she had witnessed not ten minutes earlier.

"Yeah, we dodged some mortars on our way in." Jones turned and gestured toward Webster, who was still surrounded by the others like he held the secret to the universe.

Malarkey didn't even feign being worried or impressed. "Mmm," he hummed before looking through the foggy, dirty window. "They also got some sort of railroad gun back there. Shells about the size of a deuce and a half. Sounds like a freight train when one comes over."