𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART THIRTY TWO

It's been a wild ride this one and it's only going to get better.

Word count; 2,019

Frances

We entered the foyer of 1st Platoon's billets, a room much larger than most of what the men had seen and would see in Germany. It was packed full of soldiers, either playing card games or drinking their lives away with booze. Someone had found a gramophone, and with it a selection of Lale Andersen's records. When we first descended into Germany, many thought it would be worse than France and Belgium, but all it was proving was the opposite.

I followed Liebgott into the chamber, who himself followed Perconte, then Luz and Webster. All three men headed for the middle of the room, to a grand table crammed with glasses and bottles of liqour. They immediately found their own fix, all apart from Joe who searched through five bottles before finding one that granted his taste.

"What's so bad about gin?" I asked with a smile.

"It tastes like crap." He poured some of the whiskey he had selected into the back of his throat. "This, on the other hand, this is lovely."

"My Papa always said whiskey tastes like dirty water."

"What was that?" He smirked, pretending not to hear.

I rolled my eyes, spotting Martin in the corner with Randleman, both waving me over instantly.

"You have some fun, okay?" I craved to move a strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'll be over there."

He couldn't respond, too busy on his drink, but trailed after me with his eyes.

"How much have you had to drink, Sergeant?" I questioned Johnny.

"Not near enough." He grinned. "Where you been, darling?"

"Picking up strays." I looked at Perconte and Webster, both who had been challenged to a round of shots.

"Good someone's doing their job." Denver simpered.

"Shut up, Bull." Johnny scorned.

I looked over Randleman's shoulder, a group of men taking turns wearing blindfolds and consequently launching darts at each other.

"Is that safe?"

Both followed my gaze.

"Honey, I don't think they know what safe is." Bull sipped on his glass of bourbon.

"If only the President knew that these were the paratroopers between him and Hitler." Martin scoffed. "Think he'd have a heart attack."

Johnny gulped down the last of his drink, gesturing for Bull's glass before he excused himself to find more. 

Taking his cigar away from his mouth, "Are you watching him?"

I studied his pupils, turning to see where his view sat. Liebgott, alongside many others, were downing their drinks, as if part of a competition to see who could consume the most bottles in a minute.

"Should I be, hon?" I smiled at Bull.

He shrugged. "He'll be fine. I've never once seen him drunk, it's like the alcohol just seeps into his flesh. Doesn't even register it until he passes out."

I recalled the beginning of my time with Easy Company, on the train where he and Heffron - one of his current drinking companions - had drank a beverage from a farmer's girl, and as a result collapsed between the carriages.