Yes, it has been nearly a month since updating. Yes, I am going away for two weeks again. Do I care? No.
Word count; 2,515
Dianne
The men gathered twenty minutes before the scheduled brief, most loitering outside before making their way into the tent and settling down on the wooden benches. It was the most I had seen of them at one time; not even the descent from the train station seemed this vast. According to Lewis, the entirety of 2nd Battalion had passed through the shelter (him forced to attend each gathering because he worked at Battalion) as well as 1st - over five companies of soldiers. Each company was given forty-five minutes to deliver their orders, now being Easy's turn. And so, as an Intelligence Officer, I waited up front with Lewis, both of us watching the men take their seats and Winters prepare his introduction.
"Can you see the men?"
Nixon was referring to those who would accompany me in my mission, looking towards a part of the crowd as if that is where they would be.
"With respect, Captain, I don't know what half the men look like."
He gave me a look, which I reciprocated; how was I the dumb one here? Even those of the men I happened to be acquainted with - Malarkey, Randleman and Powers - were no where to be seen.
"That's my point," He almost ignored my remark. "Where are they?"
I rolled my eyes, "If you wanted me to go look for them, hon, all you had to do was ask."
"And have you bite my head off?" He finally looked at me. "Like you just did?"
"You are my superior."
"And I've been given orders to treat you not like a damn orderly."
I shrugged, glancing over the men. Nixon let out an exhale, his hand detesting the absence of a bottle neck.
"So do you want me to or not?"
He stared at me, pupils set dead straight on mine.
"Or do I have to get him involved?" I indicated with my eyes to behind me.
"Lieutenant Kennedy," He hated the thought of Winters' involvement. "Please may you go see where Sergeants Randleman, Malarkey and Corporals Sisk and Powers are. Or do you want me to say please again?"
I flashed a smile, tugging at the bottom of my combat jacket before moving off. Luckily, the crowd didn't notice my disappearance, too enthralled with their own conversations.
Truth be told, some part of me knew what to expect when I emerged outside and turned the corner, but another part was surprised; why, when we are in the middle of a war, is this the standard? Maybe, after all, that was why the U.S. Military had to render Operation Judy - they were too sick and tired of incompetent men carrying out an ineffectual job.
Before me, a group of five or six men stood around another on the ground, almost circling him. None had realised of my presence and continued the conversation as if I wasn't there.
"Hey, Johnny, give me a goddamn break, okay?" Liebgott - the man on the ground - piped up.
"No, Joe, I'm not going to give you a goddamn break. You think this is acceptable? Why the shit do you think this is acceptable?"
"You're not helping, Martin." A much, much wiser voice interjected, a medic's voice.
"You know it's not smart to be playing the blame game now, John," Shifty commented.
"Why the shit are you all on his side?"
"We're not on his side, or your side for that matter, there are no sides." Malarkey settled. "Stupid or not, he's one of us and he will be until he's splattered all over Europe. No point ripping him apart until we get to that point, is there?"
Liebgott buried his head into his hands, "Oh shit."
"What?"
"What? What is it?"
They all inquired the same probe, only for Joe's head to lift up, slowly, and peer between the legs of those in front of him. His view landed on me. Each man turned.
"You all have some where to be, gentlemen." I said calmly.
My gaze crossed with Martin's, the only 'responsible' viewpoint I seemed to care for.
Seeing his wariness, I swallowed, "Two minutes, okay? Make it three and I'll have it so you're scrubbing the ceilings of the aircrafts."
John smiled briefly, as did Malarkey for a short second. I didn't even bother to look at Joe. When I returned to Nixon, explaining that the NCOs would be along shortly, it wasn't long after that they did appear, waltzing in one long line. At the very end, two of them - Shifty and Eugene - carried a man between them, afraid his legs would give in and he'd have to crawl to his seat. Martin, annoyed but incorporating his instinct to parent, to be the bigger person and protect his comrades, followed on behind, making sure the casualty didn't trip over or drop anything. Despite his frustration, he would help Liebgott no matter what - that was something about Johnny that no-one could replace, or even comprehend.
The group sat at the very back row, the only space available. Then, without a second to lose, Winters began.
Each row disassembled after the Captain concluded, those who Nixon asked to remain (for the brief of Objective Curio) staying in their seats, uneasy with the thought of being told off, that they had committed an infraction and couldn't go back to their accommodations to gamble away the nerves of tomorrow's jump. At the very back, Martin replaced Shifty's position as Liebgott's crutch, the Corporal shoving both him and the medic away, claiming he was fine, given that he had a cigarette in his mouth and could stand up on his own - despite his head lolling at every chance it had. After more, short-lasted contends, they all waddled away.
"Gather in, gather in," Nixon told the twelve men, each following his order, "We only have," He glanced at his watch, "Eight minutes. So we'll make this quick."
Winters stepped down from the platform, patting Lewis on the shoulder, muttering something else, before heading outside.
"You lucky men have been selected to participate in a mission orchestrated by the U.S. Army and yours truly," He glanced at me.
For the next eight minutes, he explained as he had to me those few days before. We were to infiltrate the Kraut's intelligence burrow, find the map which shows the position of every Tiger I in north western Holland, as well as a blueprint with who-knows-what on it. Each of the men had as much caution as I had; how was any of this possible? Even the man - Lewis - who had been Easy's reliable IO for months couldn't gather enough assurance to even make this mission sound attemptable. He tried to do his best, supplying what the blueprint looks like, leaving out how it may not even be in the burrow at all - as he had previously mentioned to me. But, somewhat luckily, he didn't see the irresolute regards of the men looking back at him. He saw soldiers, the men he always had. Only I could notice the uncertainty; in their heads they were waiting to walk out the tent and converse with one another about how we're just another couple of officers, sending soldiers into a death trap. Except this time, I'd be there right with them.
"We will have another brief once in Holland and closer to the objective. Just thought you men should know what's happening."
Then, without a second to lose, they departed, keen to get on with the orders Winters had given them.
"They're a chirpy bunch, aren't they?"
I looked at Nixon briefly, the officers from Fox Company making their way into the shelter. Shifty nearly bumped into one on his exit, having to apologise profusely before moving on. No afterthought in mind, I hurried after him.
"Corporal Powers," I beckoned once outside, loud enough for him to notice but quiet enough not to cause a scene.
Shifty whipped around, smiling warmly at the sight of me, "Yes, ma'am?"
I adjusted my headdress slightly, having put it on in haste.
"Can you be honest with me, hon?"
"Why, of course," He beamed, cheeks rosy.
"Did you get any of that?"
It took him a second to realise - or maybe he was just thinking through his answer. "Half of it. Maybe three-quatres. It's good we'll get another when we're there. And at least we know why you're here, now."
"Okay," I nodded. "I was just expecting some sort of reaction, I guess,"
He almost stirred, "Well, that's just how it is."
I smiled gently, unsure how to answer. He asked if he was dismissed and I agreed, unable to fathom any other reply.
The situation repeated itself, somewhat; I lay in my cot - the one from the night before as I had yet to be assigned an actual one - tossing and turning, mind clouded with a foreign dream. A figure reaches for me as I shiver, whether from the cold or fear. For a second, I see it pet my shoulder, fingers circling from my collarbone, up to my earlobe and across my temple. Then, as it aims to trail farther, I toss again, eyes flickering in slumber. The figure, now an individual and not my imagination, froze. A panic rose in my centre, shoving through my veins until it reached my mind and I jolted forward, a need to clarify if what I had seen was real. Nothing was there apart from darkness. Only, like earlier that morning, cigarette smoke hung in the air. On the floor sat a cigarette, half-done and burning away. Instinct stood me up, no bother to put on boots, and I peered outside, hoping inside that no-one was there and it was just a part of the dream. Glaring at my watch, it was only nine o'clock.
I slid into my boots, fastening them rapidly and stuffing on my combat jacket. Glimpsing over my shoulder with every other step, I followed the pathway I remembered, the route to the mess tent and where the Market Garden brief was given.
Too crowded by the thought of being followed, I didn't see the collection of men in between tents - the one to the right being Toye's squad's. They were puffing on cigarettes, chatting about this and that, trying not to give in to tomorrow's nerves. Except, one had spotted me. Perceiving my distress, he stepped into the aisle of tents, beckoning my name.
"Lieutenant? That you?"
I shot around, gladdened by the familiar voice, "Everything all right, hon?"
"Was going to ask you the same thing," He slowly took the cigarette out of his mouth.
His companion, Guarnere, moved into the aisle too, having stomped on his own burn.
"I'm fine," I grinned, heart racing.
"You sure?" Toye probed.
I swallowed, glancing down the dark alleyway of a shelter to my left.
"Want a smoke?"
"She doesn't smoke, dumbass." Guarnere remarked, shoving Toye's shoulderblade.
"Shut up, Bill," He returned to me. "Come here."
My legs moved before I could think, my mind comforted by this welcomed presence.
"Where you headin'?"
"I don't know,"
Guarnere tried to whisper something into his ear but Toye dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
"What's going on?"
I wondered if I should lie, but the words came out first: "Just had a bad dream."
"You were asleep?" He said automatically, then adding (more sensibly), "What was it about?"
"Uhm," I gulped, "That someone was in my tent."
"I see," He sounded unfazed; he had been in my tent once, too, given it was theirs before it was mine.
"And they were touching me."
Another slow inhale of his cigarette. Guarnere flicked his gaze between us both, suddenly concerned.
"But it felt real. And when I woke up, I swear I saw someone, but no-one was there. Though, a cigarette was on the ground, still burning and-"
"You don't smoke," Bill muttered, completing my sentence.
"Not in my sleep neither, no," I was smiling uncontrollably. "It's just shaken me real bad."
Toye turned slightly, looking at Bill. I had not seen a belief like this before and I felt relieved; my word had value, it wasn't to be dismissed. Before I knew it, we were back by my tent, staring into the fabric walls.
"You stay here," Toye said, having relit another cigarette.
Bill and I watched him go inside, only for him to notice my shivering and ask if I was cold.
"All right," I answered, still smiling.
"Did you, uh," He began. "Nevermind."
I gazed into his pupils, aware he wanted to say something but thought otherwise, a rift between us ever since we first met.
"Bill," Joe called.
He prompted for me to go in, not wanting to leave me outside. I led Guarnere into the tent, Toye stood in the centre of it. Bill's eyebrows raised, his lips almost curling into a grimace.
"Smell that?"
"Chesterfields." Bill snorted, "Smells like shit."
"Chesterfields?"
"Cheap cigarettes. Must've ran out of the ratpack ones." Joe looked around.
"And you don't smoke?"
"Never have." I answered Bill.
"Huh," Toye clicked his tongue, "No cigarette though,"
My jaw dropped slightly, the dread digging deeper into my stomach. Whoever left it had retrieved it, perhaps fearing that this is what would happen.
"Hey, Lieutenant," Toye spoke with his burn hanging between his lips. "You're fluent with protocol, right? Trousers and shit,"
I almost rolled my eyes, "Yes, Sergeant."
"Tell me, then," He nodded at Guarnere, who somehow knew what words would come out of his lips. "What's the protocol on sleeping arrangements? Given that you were left to defend for yourself in the first place, it seems,"
"When in a FOB, I must have my own room, or if not available, a corner. That's about all the U.S. Army could care for."
"Well, good we're not in a FOB currently."
"If you mean to say I will share quarters with your men, I don't believe the C.O. will be happy with that."
"I don't give a shit about what Captain Winters thinks. Sooner or later it's bound to happen. Ever heard of a foxhole?"
"It was most likely nothing," I shrugged, still clasping my arms over my torso.
"Well, was it something or not?" Guarnere interrogated. "Because if we're supposed to trust you, your word is a part of that. Don't go back on it."
"So which is it?" Toye raised a brow.
The memory of a cigarette falling from a man's lips shot through my head. This was the reason I was in the American Army. My memory.
"Where were you planning, hon?"
Satisfied, Toye led us back out of the tent. After that, I wouldn't stop shivering, not until both soldiers explained to Martin the story and Johnny - being himself, of course - offered me his own cot and to stand guard the whole night so I could sleep. To think we were to jump the day after that, too.