Toy Soldier » Band of Brothers

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝟼

𝙽𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟸

By the end of November, basic training had been completed. Every man in the company had mastered his own specialty, be it mortars, machine-guns, rifles, communications, field dressings, and the rest. Each man was capable of handling any job in the platoon, at least in a rudimentary fashion. Each private knew the duties of a corporal and sergeant and was prepared to take over if necessary. Each one who made it through Toccoa had been harassed almost to the point of rebellion.

A day or so before leaving Toccoa, Colonel Sink read an article in the Reader's Digest that said a Japanese Army battalion had set a world record for marching endurance by covering 100 miles down the Malayan Peninsula in seventy two hours.

"My men can do better than that," Sink declared. As Strayer's 2nd Battalion had trained the hardest, Sink picked it to prove his point. The 1st Battalion took the train to Fort Benning, the 3rd took the train to Atlanta, but the 2nd marched.

At 0700, December 1, Dog, Easy, Fox, and battalion HQ companies set out, each man wearing all his gear and carrying his weapon. That was bad enough for the riflemen like Tommy, but terrible for those like Malarkey in the mortar squad or Gordon, who carried a machine-gun. The route Strayer chose was 118 miles long, 98 miles of that on back-country, unpaved roads.

The weather was miserable, with freezing rain, some snow, and thus slippery, muddy roads. As soon as the men stepped out from their barracks for the last time they were pelted with cold rain, but there was little more they could do then hunker down, and try to stop the droplets from getting under their jacket collars.

They sloshed and fell in the red mud and cursed and damned and counted the minutes before the next break. They marched through the day, through twilight, into the dark.

The rain and snow stopped, and instead a cold, biting wind came up. Tommy could feel the chill settling deep in his bones as he marched at the right most column in formation, with Martin by his side.

Tommy was much smaller than the other men, and even after the strenuous, no, hellish exercise regiment he had been subjected too under Sobels command had done little to make the boy bulk up. In fact, it had the opposite effect, of slimming down the already skinny boy even further, and no matter how much extra food the others vehemently shoveled onto his plate, he simply couldn't keep up with his own metabolism.

"You good, Testy?" Martin hissed, keeping his eyes ahead. As part of the exercise, Sobel had put them on temporary light and sound discipline which meant they were not allowed to talk and not allowed to smoke.

"Peachy." Tommy responded, tightening his fists by his side.

By 2300 hours the battalion had covered 40 miles. Strayer picked the campsite, a bare, windswept hill devoid of trees or bushes or windbreaks of any kind. The temperature dipped into the low 20s.

"Come on," Tommy urged Lieb, and the two quickly pitched up their pup tent, settling inside for a moment of rest. By the time word came around that the chow was ready, Tommy had practically seized up from the cold, but begrudgingly crawled out of the tent to accept the meager rations.

The men were issued bread smeared with butter and jam, as they couldn't get the field stoves started.

"Hey, Testy?" Lieb asked quietly. It was late at night and both had become strangely too exhausted to fall asleep. They huddled next to each other, forgoing any discomfort at the closeness and gratefully preserving what little body heat they had left between the two of them.

"Hmmmm?"

"Do you think Bennings gonna be any better?"

"Whaddya mean, Lieb?" Tommy whispered, shifting slightly when a draft caught the back of his collar and cooled the already frigid skin.