Catch Her If You Can | Band of Brothers

XXI. June 24th, 1944. Carentan, Normandy. France.

June 24th, 1944. Carentan, Normandy. France.

Carentan still held the scars of war, but it was quiet now. Georgia picked her way around the cinderblocks and bricks that littered the street. The dust had long since settled, but she still felt like there was a German soldier waiting behind every corner.

The 506th had moved back into the town to hold the line until they could be sent back to England - God only knew when that would be. General Taylor had said they'd be relieved after three or so days, but that had clearly been wishful thinking. Georgia sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow. She'd found herself pulled every which way between her duties as an intelligence officer and being paraded around by Colonel Sink. He was quite eager to show off his combat seasoned S-2 to the commanders of other parachute infantry regiments.

Now, Georgia was walking towards the nurses' tents with a small bowl of vanilla ice cream she'd stolen from the mess a few minutes earlier. Her foot caught on a small pile of rubble and she nearly tripped and fell.

She uttered a phrase no southern belle would ever dream of saying, steadied herself, then continued on.

Georgia slipped in when the nurse on duty was looking the other way and made a beeline straight for a redheaded paratrooper staring dejectedly at the ceiling.

The tent was barren, and smelled of morphine and death. Olive drab canvas muted the early afternoon sunlight and made Dick and Georgia's hair appear duller than usual.

"Good afternoon, Dick!" Georgia said as she plopped down on the edge of his hospital cot.

"Afternoon," he said, pushing himself up into a seated position. He was laying on top of the covers with his hands folded over his chest. His bad calf was propped up on two pillows at the foot of the cot.  "Is that ice cream?"

Georgia nodded and held out the bowl to him. He bent down and retrieved the spoon from his mess kit and sighed happily as he started eating.

"Where'd you get it?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," Georgia said as she glanced around. It was nice enough for a combat hospital, better than most of their other accommodations in Normandy. Dick finished the ice cream soon enough and smiled at Georgia.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. Any word on when they plan on letting you out of here?"

"Any day now, so I've heard."

"That's good. Talbert's back causing trouble and we need somebody to reign him in."

"Why is that my job?"

"Because, you're his CO, Red," said Georgia.

Sighing, Dick rolled his eyes.

"Fair enough, I suppose," Dick said.

"Precisely. Now, I'm going to leave before one of these nurses realizes I shouldn't be here."

"You snuck in?" Dick asked, brow furrowed.

"Of course I did! Now go on, look wounded."

"You're out of your mind, Red," Dick muttered. However, he leaned back on his elbows and hid the ice cream bowl under his cot.

Georgia smiled at the nickname and left. Dick watched her until she slipped out of sight, then slumped back down.

The late June sun blinded Georgia for a moment after the soft darkness of the tent. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she walked back to her billet six streets over, near the other side of Carentan. It was a modest two-story house that she shared with Hester and Matheson, who had each claimed a room on the first floor. Georgia walked in and shut the door.

"I'm back!"

Hester emerged from his room and leaned against the door frame, his blond hair falling into his face.

"Alright," Hester said, "Matheson's in a meeting with Sink, so it's just me and you. You need anything?"

"No, thank you," Georgia said.

Hester nodded and returned to his room, leaving the door ajar. Georgia walked upstairs, her jumps boots thumping against the stairs. Her room was first on the right, with floral wallpaper. It faced west, which ensured that Georgia could soak up every last possible bit of daylight there was. Now, the room was bathed in the golden light streaming through the window and reflected off the mirror. She'd constructed herself a makeshift vanity by stacking ammunition boxes next to the floor-length mirror and placing a chair she'd carried up the stairs in front of that. Sat atop the boxes was that god-awful lipstick the Army had issued her and two spare packs of Lucky Strikes.

Georgia sat in her chair straight-backed and looked at her reflection. She could see a tall pine tree standing alone through the open window at her back. Her gaze shifted back onto herself. Her upper chest was pale in comparison to her neck, which had become tan after hours spent outside in the sun. She shrugged off her jump jacket and saw something similar on her arms. Her mother had called this type of tan a farmer's tan once, and Georgia smiled bitterly.

Farming was peaceful.

With a sigh, Georgia leaned forward and put her elbows on her thighs. Her brown eyes looked dead, and her once smooth face was littered with freckles. The cut on her arm from D-Day had healed partially to an ugly brown scab that would be all too noticeable in a French evening gown.

Georgia stood and shoved the chair back violently. She grabbed the quilt off the foot of the bed and hung it over the mirror. Her lipstick and cigarettes clattered to the floor, and she tossed them on the desk beside the window.

Movement caught her eye, but it was only the pine tree, still swaying softly in the breeze. Georgia clenched her fists and threw herself down onto the bed.

She wanted to feel like she had before jumping into Normandy. She'd lost something that night, something she couldn't get back. It wasn't innocence, for she'd never had that to begin with.

Georgia turned back to the pine tree. It stood strong and lonesome.

Georgia tugged her hair loose from its updo, and tangled red curls cascaded down her back. She let her feet carry her to the windowsill, and hopped up onto it. She sat with her brown jump boots knocking against one side of the window and her back up against the other. She exhaled long and slow, and let her eyes slip closed.

Georgia kept telling herself she wanted to feel like she had back in England, but truth be told, she wasn't very sure who that was. Wasn't sure who she was.

Georgia Fenley, Airborne officer.

Georgia Fenley, Norfolk debutante.

Friend.

Lover.

Liar.

Every single one rang true like a bell. Secrets slid around them like snakes in the grass, waiting to bite her and drag her down. The only way to escape them was to keep running and to avoid looking back.