Beneath The Armor | Band Of Brothers

Chapter 8: The pass

A sharp crack echoed through the clearing, followed by the distinct sound of wood splitting a second later.

Elizabeth whistled appreciatively as Shifty hit a target 400 yards away, dead center. His precision was nothing short of impressive, even by her standards. She shook her head with a wry smirk, marveling at the clean shot.

"Hell of a shot, Shifty." She called, lowering her own rifle to give him a nod of acknowledgment.

Shifty Powers simply tipped his cap, his usual modest smile in place. "Just lucky, I reckon."

The two sharpshooters had been training together on the rifle range under the careful guidance of Sergeant Logan for the past week. Their shared time out here, honing their skills, had fostered a quiet but mutual respect.

Their practice had moved beyond the standard M1 Garands they were used to. In their hands now was the M1903 Springfield—a bolt-action rifle with an extended range, perfect for sharpshooters. The extra precision afforded by its long-range scope made the shots all the more satisfying, and Elizabeth could feel the difference.

She took a breath, steadying her body as she sighted down the scope. The wind was minimal, a faint breeze brushing against her cheek, but at 400 yards, even the slightest gust could throw a shot off course. She made a quick mental calculation and adjusted her aim slightly. Her finger squeezed the trigger slowly, evenly.

Crack

The recoil pushed her shoulder back as the bullet flew, cutting through the air. A heartbeat later, the wood splintered, and Elizabeth's shot landed just left of the center.

Shifty whistled back this time. "Nice one. Damn close."

She lowered the rifle, giving a self-satisfied smirk. "I'll get it dead center next time."

Sergeant Logan strode over, his eyes flicking between their targets and the rifles in their hands. He was a man of few words, but his silent approval was worth more than any praise.

"Not bad, both of you." He said gruffly, his gaze settling on Elizabeth's target. "But don't get comfortable. We're upping it to 450 yards tomorrow."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the challenge, but inside she felt the familiar thrill of competition. She nodded, already anticipating the next round.

~~~

Elizabeth was fairly certain she was the only person in Easy Company who wasn't thrilled about their very first weekend pass. As it turned out, Colonel Sink had found out about the spaghetti incident and ordered Sobel to let them all keep their weekend passes. Their first one in the three months they'd been at Camp Taccoa.

The sprits of the men were high as they reached Friday night, talking about their plans for the evening. Some were heading into town for some drinks while others were dreaming about the pretty ladies they'd whoo. The mood was lighter than it had been in weeks, like a collective sigh of relief after weeks of tension. Elizabeth, however, couldn't quite share in their enthusiasm.

Being just nineteen and a girl at that, she hadn't drank any alcohol. Ever. Elizabeth knew that if she went, she would inevitably be peer-pressured into drinking by George or some other guy and she couldn't let herself get even the slightest bit drunk. Too much depended on her being sober, vigilant. One slip up, one wrong thing to say and her secret would be out.

She sat on the edge of her bunk, fingers idly tracing the stitching on her duffle bag as she listened to the excited chatter around her.

"First weekend pass, can you believe it?" Malarkey grinned as he passed her, already halfway out the door. He was dressed in his dress greens and his hair was combed neatly. "You coming with us? We're hitting the pub in town."