Women of War - A Band of Brothers Story

Mail Call Again

A/N: Since I haven't yet managed to figure out how to bridge the gap between The Last Patrol and Why We Fight, I decided to do another mail call chapter. The feedback I got on the last one was generally quite positive and I really enjoyed getting into each character's head and trying to write in their voices. It's a good exercise for me and I don't have to keep you folks waiting for another couple of weeks until my muse comes up with an idea for the beginning of the next chapter...

I hope you're all doing okay and I'm looking forward to reading your thoughts on the chapter and how the story's going to continue.

Dear Sam

You might not have had time to respond to my last letter (or it hasn't even reached you yet), but I promised to write whenever I am away from the front lines, so here we are.

Let me start off by saying that I am fine. My shoulder has mostly healed and only twinges a bit once in a while. I returned to my unit in early February and now, we've finally been taken off the line again. The last couple of months have been brutal. The cold, the fog, the fighting, the lack of supplies... all of it. We were miserable and it only got worse the longer it went on and when I came back, I felt almost guilty for having clean ODs.

I miss you very much, big brother. And Ma and Pa. Heck, right now, I'd even be happy to see Cousin Ned! But I count myself lucky to be back with Easy Company. You mentioned once that it sounds like I gained another family in the Army. It's true, some of the men and women in this regiment have become like siblings to me, brothers and sisters in arms. I don't have to words to explain the bond I feel with them, but I know you understand. I'm sure you feel the same way about some of your comrades.

Have you heard from Nana lately? Her last letter reached me just before I left the hospital. I wonder what Aunt Amelia was thinking, suggesting Nana move into a retirement home. Nana isn't 20 anymore, that's true, but she's still as active as she was ten years ago – at least that's what Ma has been telling me. I'm surprised Nana didn't chase Aunt Amelia out with her carpet beater like she did with that insolent Mr Millbank.

I have to go now, before the guys drag me to the mess hall. For a bunch of grown men they can sure act like kids sometimes. But I love them anyways.

Be safe, dear brother, and don't forget which way is up.

Your sister

Reese

***

Dear Mom

Sorry for the late reply to your last letter. I received it over a month ago, but haven't found the time to write back before now. We were pulled off the front lines a few days ago and I have never been so happy to sleep on a hard Army bunk with a squishy pillow.

You have surely heard about the Battle of the Bulge by now – or that they are calling our regiment the Battered Bastards of Bastogne. Well, the moniker is certainly true. We are battered and sick and starved and sleep-deprived, but we are alive. Some of us, that is.

We lost so many, Mom. New kids fresh out of basic training, Toccoa veterans with medals and citations. So many good friends. Esther was wounded in the leg and I had to haul her several miles through the snow. I'm still missing about twenty minutes from that day. I remember bringing her to Easy's CP, I remember Lt Lloyd calling for a jeep. The next thing I know is Maxine sitting next to me, talking to me in an empty CP tent. I suppose I panicked. I don't understand it, Mom, but I haven't had the urge or courage to really think about it. Maybe some day we can talk it through. You'll surely have some helpful insights. You always do.