Pitschen ma en gamba - Small, but powerful [A Band of Brothers Story]

Alcohol, Weapons and too much Time

A/N: This chapter was a tough one, too. The first time I watched this part of the episode, I started crying and probably forgot to breathe for a bit...

Not even two weeks later, disaster struck once more.

That night, Ella had offered to ride with Chuck as he delivered a pair of replacements to a road block to relieve the guards on duty. She was in the passenger seat and the two Privates sitting in the back. Grant was currently telling them a story about good old Bill Guarnere.

She chuckled, the picture crystal-clear in front of her inner eye. Man, I miss him, she thought. She had exchanged several letters with both him and Toye ever since they had written her from the hospital. They were home now and Bill had gotten married to his sweetheart, Frannie.

'Wish you could have been there, all of you', the letter had said. 'but we couldn't wait. Still, as soon as you're back in the States – and don't you forget to send note, lil' lady – you'll come visit us. No argument. You don't wanna disappoint Frannie if ya know what's good for ya.'

"All of a sudden", Chuck's voice drew her out of her musings, "from out of nowhere, a guy jumps out of the hedgerow..."

The ranking medic snickered. She had heard the story before, quite a few times. It was a classic "Wild Bill"-story, one of many. But the company's favourite was the one where he and Liebgott had gotten into a fight on the troop ship and then gotten scolded like schoolboys by a fondly exasperated, but actually more incredulous than annoyed Ella.

"...shoves a trench knife up against his throat and screams: 'Whose side are you on?'", Grant finished with a laugh.

The girl giggled, trading an amused glance with her friend when one of the privates admitted: "I don't get it."

Grant explained: "It's D-Day. Second platoon's own Bill Guarnere, Old Gonorrhoea himself. Just landed in Normandy and wound up like I don't know what." He shook his head, grinning. "'Whose side are you on?' What a fucking character."

***

The brunette sat up a little as she saw two jeeps standing at the side of the road. One of them still had its headlights on. A slight crease appeared between her eyebrows and she felt Grant's gaze dart over to her. He hadn't missed the shift in her demeanour, not after years of relying on each other's instincts.

"What happened to him?", the other private asked, regaining her attention. Her heart gave a twinge, but it was nowhere near as agonising as it had once been.

"Got his leg blown off in Bastogne", she replied, voice trailing off a bit towards the end because she zeroed in on the scene before them.

Her trained eye immediately registered that the three men lying prone on the ground were neither moving nor – as far as she could tell from the distance – breathing. A disturbingly huge amount of blood was glistening in the light. Oh Scheisse.

Chuck stopped the jeep. The two Toccoa veterans held an entire silent communication in a short glance.

"Wait here", he instructed, getting out.

Ella watched tensely as he approached the only man still standing. In the glaring shine of the headlights, she could identify him as an American paratrooper. He was unsteady on his feet, stumbling and swaying and worst of all, he had a gun in his hand.

"You okay, mac? You need some help?", Grant asked.

The soldier chuckled and the sound of it raised several red flags, the ranking medic stealthily reaching for her knife.