A Fight for Survival

A Night Divided

June 12th, 1944 - Carentan, France

The remnants of Easy Company were scattered amongst the skeletal remains of buildings, catching what little rest they could. The air, thick with the smell of dust and cordite, buzzed with the insistent whine of mosquitoes. "Berlin by Christmas, that's how I see it," More's voice boomed, a touch too loud in the stillness. He was hunched in the shadow of a crumbling wall, his face obscured by the upturned collar of his raincoat. A cigarette dangled from his lips, sending plumes of smoke into the twilight. "You're full of it, More," Malarkey scoffed good-naturedly.

He, Blithe, Penkala, David and Muck were huddled together against the cool stone of a bombed-out building, their faces lit by the flickering flame of More's Zippo as he lit another cigarette. They shared a meager meal of German black bread and Limburger cheese squeezed directly from the tube. "Hoo-eey! This Kraut cheese stinks," Muck complained, though he continued to eat. "Bread's stale, too," Penkala added, echoing the sentiment. "Yessir, the way we came in here and took over...don't seem Jerry's got too much fight left in him," More insisted, undeterred by the criticism of their foraged meal. "Hey, More, just don't get hit in the face when Jerry throws in the sponge," Malarkey quipped, drawing a chuckle from the group. "Mark my words, Berlin by Christmas," More declared again, his voice full of unwavering optimism.

A chilling voice cut through the air, silencing the laughter. "Enjoy it while it lasts." Speirs. Blithe, his youthful face pale in the fading light, leaned forward. "Which prisoners?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "On D-Day," Muck explained, lowering his voice to match Blithe's hushed tone. "Speirs comes across these Kraut prisoners digging a hole or something, under guard and all. Breaks out a pack of smokes and hands 'em out." "Even gives 'em a light," Penkala added, his voice barely audible.Muck continued, his tone taking on a conspiratorial air. "Then all of a sudden, he swings up his Thompson and hoses 'em..." "I mean, hoo-eey! Gives 'em smokes first?" Muck exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's why I don't believe he really did it." "I heard he didn't do it," Penkala countered, unwilling to believe the rumors about the Lieutenant. "And the guy who did only shot them in the legs..."

"Remember that first night on D-Day?" Perconte chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. "When Lieutenant McMahon snuck up on us in the dark?" "Don't remind me," Malarkey groaned. "Nearly jumped out of my skin." "You were easy," David chimed in, a grin spreading across his face. "LB practically wet himself." "Hey!" , David who had been listening in, feigned offense. "I did not!" More, who had been unusually quiet, cleared his throat. "Speaking of Lieutenant McMahon, did you hear about Lieutenant Nelson?" "What, the Kraut-wrestling match?" Malarkey chuckled. "Heard she pinned him down and shaved his head before he even knew what hit him." "Shaved his head?" Blithe looked up from cleaning his rifle, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You sure it wasn't Lieutenant McMahon? She's always been quick with a blade."

"Nah, this was all Nelson," Perconte insisted. "Heard she wrestled him to the ground then pinned him and slit his throat ." "Wrestled?" David raised an eyebrow. "Seems a bit excessive, even for Lieutenant Nelson." "Excessive?" More scoffed. "Have you seen the woman? She's so short that she can slip right through your legs, She probably got him on the ground in seconds." "Okay, now that's just ridiculous," David said, though a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Lieutenant Nelson is tough, no doubt, but she's not a monster." "He's right," Toye added, nodding in agreement. "She's a Hunter. They care for their own." "Like a mama bear protecting her cubs," More said, his voice full of admiration. "More like a mother hen with a flock of clueless chicks," Malarkey quipped, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Despite the lighthearted banter, a sense of respect permeated the air. They might joke about their lieutenants, but the men of Easy Company knew they were lucky to have them. Lieutenant Nelson, the fiery redhead with a sniper's aim, and Lieutenant McMahon, the quiet but fierce intelligence officer, were more than just leaders. They were their protectors, their confidantes, their Hunters. And in the chaos and brutality of war, that kind of unwavering loyalty was something to be cherished.