All Things Nice » Band of Brothers

12: Buddies

"Luz, go back to sleep." Presumably, Malarkey's words were accompanied by an eyeroll - if, that was, his eyes were even open at all.

"You'll be a radioman, Luz," Posey chimed in. She rolled over in bed to find him standing in the centre of the room dressed in his PT gear, seeming to be grinning at the world. Posey couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him stood there in his socks, staring at the ceiling whilst everyone tried to hang onto sleep around him.

"You think?" Luz asked, turning to look at her. He was still grinning, though now his eyebrows were raised.

"For sure," Posey replied, shuffling around until she was comfortable. "Big mouth like yours, they'll snap you right up. Who else can talk so loud they'll be heard in a warzone?"

"You," Guarnere grumbled from the other side of the room. "Will the pair of ya go the fuck back to sleep?"

"Oh, I take it back," Posey said. She turned back to Luz and shared a grin with him. "Guarnere's got a big enough mouth. Maybe he'll be a radioman too."

"Shut your fuckin' trap, Wells, 'fore I shut it for you."

"What would that entail, exactly?"

"Luz, Wells, Guarno," Toye cut in, "go the fuck back to sleep."

"Aw, come on, Joe," Luz crooned, sauntering over to stand at the foot of Toye's bed. "Aren't you even a little curious what you'll get?"

"No," Toye replied flatly.

"Alrighty then."

Posey admired Luz's ability to smile at everything. He was a happy soul. She thought she might even consider him her closest friend in boot camp - they'd seemed to bond over their shared and unspoken possession of contraband.

"Well, Duckie," Luz continued. He spared a moment to giggle at the nickname he'd given her, which seemed to never lose its comedic appeal from his perspective, before going on, "I think you're missing out a key loud-mouthed individual."

"Do you so?" Posey replied, quirking a brow.

"Yeah," Luz said matter-of-factly. "See, I know for sure there ain't anyone in this platoon - hell, even in this whole damn company - that speaks louder or more often than Second Platoon's own Eugene Roe."

Posey couldn't see Roe from where she was laying but she would've bet any money that he had flushed bright red. He was paler, even, than her, and that was saying something. A whole lot shyer, too; Luz's sarcasm was dripping.

"Aw, Luz, leave the man alone," Posey replied, poorly concealing her grin. "He can't help that he's got a lot to say."

"You two are awful," Malarkey cut in. "Go to sleep."

"Y'know," Luz began, undeterred, "I think I'd make a great medic."

"Really?" Posey asked around a yawn.

"Sure," Luz replied. He added no more.

"Well -" Posey began, and was cut briskly off.

"Another fuckin' word out of either of you and you'll regret it, so help me God." Though Posey couldn't see him, the voice unmistakably belonged to Johnny Martin.

Posey giggled into her pillow and listened to Luz's footsteps presumably retreating back to his bunk.

"You got it, Johnny," he said, his grin audible in his words. "Ain't that right, Duckie?"

"Not a peep," Posey promised, attempting to conceal her smile. The barracks fell back into silence the moment she finished speaking.

Posey took the time to contemplate what designation all of them might actually receive. The possible options that she knew of were rifleman, mortarman, medic, radioman, and machine gunner, though she was sure there were more. She was hoping to be assigned rifleman. She had no idea whether she was good enough with a gun but there was a lot less responsibility associated with being a rifleman than there was with being something like a medic. Plus, there were more of them - she wouldn't be putting anyone in a bind or putting the company at risk by leaving when they got to England if she was a rifleman. If they picked her for a medic, on the other hand, she knew it would be disastrous. She didn't know how many people would be chosen as medics but she knew they would be far fewer in number than riflemen. She wouldn't be able to leave as easily if she was a medic. No, she needed to be a rifleman. She could only hope her marksmanship would end up proving her worthy of the title to whoever was responsible for dishing out these designations.