Toy Soldier » Band of Brothers

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟶

𝙼𝙰𝚈 - 𝙰𝚄𝙶𝚄𝚂𝚃, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟹

At the end of May, the men of Easy packed up their duffles and joined the other companies of the 506th for a train ride to Sturgis, Kentucky. They marched out into the countryside and pitched pup tents, dug straddle trenches for latrines, and ate the Army's favorite meal for troops in the field, creamed chipped beef on toast, universally known as SOS, or Shit on a Shingle.

In late July, once the training exercises were completed and they received a commendation from Major General William C. Lee, Easy moved from Sturgis to Camp Breckinridge, Kentucky, where they were meant to encounter luxuries such as proper barracks and hot showers. 

Unfortunately for the men of Easy company, the camp was overflowing, and once again it was the little pup tents for sleeping quarters, and the ground for a mattress. However, by some a rare stroke of luck, most of the men got ten-day furloughs, and shortly after they reported back, the entire division took trains to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. 

It was immediately obvious that Bragg was a prep area, as the division prepared to ship overseas. The food was better; there were beds in barracks with hot showers and other improvements. But the real giveaway was a total re-outfitting. The men got new clothes, new weapons, new gear. They spent their days on the firing range, sighting in the rifles and machine-guns. 

In mid-August, the orders to move out came once more, and the men assembled outside of their barracks, throwing their duffles onto the trucks waiting to take them to the trains. Tommy sat on top of her duffle, surrounded by Toye, Popeye, Cobb, and Shifty. 

"Shut up, Cobb." Toye grouched, rolling his eyes.

"Eh, you gotta admit it." Cobb reasoned, not affected by Toyes grumbling, "He's got no chance. Either the Krauts will get him, or one of us." 

"Who? Sobel?" Liebgott asked, crouching down next to Tommy.

Shifty fiddled with his fingers, watching the exchange with a worried expression, "He screwed up one maneuver."

"Well, you know, I'm always fumblin' with grenades." Liebgott grinned, "It would be easy if one went off by accident."

"Mind fumblin' one in your own direction?" Tommy muttered, grinning when she heard Popeye and Toye snicker. Liebgott glared at her, but Tommy simply rolled her eyes.

"Well, now, they must have put him in charge for a reason." Shifty tried to reason, but everyone turned to him with varying looks of incredulity.

Sobel had proved himself adept at nothing more than screwing up in the field. Begrudgingly, Tommy was willing to admit that Sobels hellish training regimen had its merits— the men were at the top of their physical condition. However, it was impossible to say the same thing about their CO in the field. Whatever small, tiny, infinitesimal inkling of respect a handful of Easy company men still had for their CO, quickly disappeared as soon as they were put in a simulated combat situation.

"Yeah, cause the army wouldn't make a mistake, right, Shift?" Liebgott questioned, sarcasm practically dripping through his words.

"Well that just ain't true. They let you in, didn't they?" Tommy said with all her usual false innocents. As Liebgott put her into a headlock,  she noticed Sergeant Lipton glancing back at their little group with a worried face.

 Once they transferred from the trucks into the train and somewhat settled down, Tommy, Liebgott, Talbert, Malarkey, Hoobler, and Skip began betting over which way the trains would head, north toward New York and then Europe or the Mediterranean, or west toward California and then the Pacific.

"I'm just sayin', what use would the airborne be in the Pacific?" Hoobler asked, as Tommy wrote down the bets for each option in her sketchbook. So far only her and Talbert had bet on Europe, while the others were convinced they were heading for the islands.

"The same use as in Europe, I'd imagine." Tommy deadpanned, as she added Liebgotts name to the roster under the Pacific. 

The rest of the ride went over in a similair fashion. The men had no idea where they were headed, and as soldiers usually do, quickly engaged in gambling to pass the time and get their minds off the inevitable. 

Tommy watched, sketching the scene as she usually would. Her mind was blank and completely concentrated on the task at hand, which offered a pleasant distraction from the foreboding thoughts usually plaguing her subconscious.

She was broken out of here reverie when Toye slipped into the empty complex of seats next to her. 

"Whatcha doin' there, Test?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder to glance at the drawing. 

"Jerkin' off." Tommy replied, without any thought. It had become a habit — the crass and confrontational nature of her words. Though, she couldn't say it was much different than what she was before starting this charade. It was simply the way she had always been.

"Real funny, Test." Toye deadpanned, though it was easy to hear the smile in his voice. 

Tommy liked Toye. The guy was like Pittsburg-made steel, which felt rather fitting since he was from Pennsylvania.

"What did you do before comin' here?" Toye asked, settling comfortably next to his small friend.

Tommy hummed thoughtfully, poking the corner of her lips with her pencil, "I worked in a munitions plant. Puttin' together .42s and such." 

"Munitions factory?" Toye whistled, "That explains why you're such a good shot."

But Tommy shook her head, "Nah. My Da was a sniper in Gerneral Haller's Blue Army. He was even awarded the Virtuti Militari after the Polish-Bolshevik war. Highest Polish war honour, that is. Never quite got over that thrill, so I got to tag along for plenty hunts." She tried not to dwell on the bitter anger that swelled in the pit of her stomach at the mention of her father. 

It was true, prior to her mothers passing off the Spanish Flue, they were a happy family. Her father would take her hunting, disregarding the traditional rules deeming it a mans sport, in favour of spending time with his only child. And she was a phenomenal shot, from the very first time he put the flobert in her small hands, her natural talent flourishing under her fathers tutelage. 

But then her mother passed, right after they escaped to America in 1939, and her father turned bitter and resentful. He lost not only himself to the drink, but also his daughter, and subconsciously Tommy hoped he would loose his life to it as well.

"That explains the aim then." Toye mused, "Must be the Polak in you."

Tommy scoffed and rolled her eyes, "How 'bout ya, Joe?"

"Well, my mother and father both grew up in Ireland, then came to America," he told her, "When I was a kid, my father used to say 'Joey. You're Irish. You have two choices. You work in the coal mines or you become a cop.' That's it."

"Thats it?"

"'That's it. You're too young to be a cop, so it's off to the mines.'" Joe said, smiling sadly, "I remember the priest coming to talk to him about me going back to school. He shooed him off. I was a coal miner. That was that." he paused, "I was fifteen, Test. Fuckin' Fifteen."

"Same age I was when I started workin' at the factory."

"Only you still got to got to school." That's when Tommy understood. She couldn't rightly tell Toye she somewhat understood his predicament— in the army at sixteen, but she could understand where he was coming from. At least somewhat. "I had to quit. Football coaches were drooling over me but I couldn't play. I never learned to write. Never learned to talk good like you guys with the big words and stuff..."

Tommy didn't quite know what to say, so she did the only thing she knew how. She laid her small hand on his broad shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly, before offering what she hoped was a less threatening variant of her usual, troublemaker grin, "Well, ya got one thing on me."

"And what is that?"

"No football coaches were droolin' after me, thats for sure."

Toye nodded with a snort, "That's for sure."