House of Gold | Band of Brothers

Chapter 19: Yesterday, All My Troubles Seemed So Far Away

Jumping out of the way of an oncoming motorcycle, Beth placed her palm over the top of her beer bottle to prevent any from spilling. With the smiles on their faces stretching from ear to ear, Malarkey and More laughed loudly as they parked the bike and hopped out of it, More from the driver's seat and Malarkey from the sidecar.

"You drive like a madman, More." Beth took a sip of her cold beer and relished in the taste of something other than hard liquor for a change. "Who let you have that thing anyway?"

Placing a finger over his lips, More motioned for Beth to be quiet as he looked down at the motorcycle and smirked. "What they don't know can't hurt 'em."

"Who is 'they'?" Beth asked as she started making her way back to the large mess hall with her two friends.

Malarkey just shrugged. "Whoever owns the damn thing, I guess."

"I'm pretty sure that bike belongs to the American Army," Beth noted. "America owns it."

"Well, then, what America doesn't know can't hurt it." Malarkey threw an arm around Beth as they found an empty spot at one of the many long picnic tables and joined the rest of their company.

As the three took a seat, Muck let out a low whistle. "Oh, look at you two. A picture-perfect couple. The ginger and the lunatic."

"A romance of the ages," Luz added, to which More nodded in agreement.

Beth rolled her eyes as she planted a friendly kiss on Malarkey's cheek. "You do one crazy thing and suddenly you're labelled a lunatic for life."

"You ran out in front of a tank," Martin said. "That warrants the title of 'lunatic'."

"Yeah, but Welsh went out there too and it was his idea. Why aren't people calling him a lunatic?"

"Oh, they are." Malarkey laughed and slipped his arm off of Beth's shoulders. "Must have something to do with coming from the 82nd."

Beth nodded and took another sip of her beer. "Oh, must be. Guess they just make 'em braver over there, huh?"

"Guess they just make 'em crazier," Guarnere piped up.

The group broke out into laughter, but as Smokey made his way to the front of the room—dawning crutches as he had just returned from the hospital—the mess hall quieted down as he got ready to speak. No one was quite sure what he had to say, but as he stood up there with a mischevious grin on his face, everyone was eager to find out.

"The night of the bayonet," Smokey began as Beth noticed the three purple heart medals pinned to his jacket. "The night was filled with dark and cold, when Sergeant Talbert—the story's told—pulled on his poncho and headed out, to check the lines dressed like a Kraut. Upon a trooper, our hero came, fast asleep, he called his name. 'Oh, Smith! Get up, it's time, to take your turn out on the line.'"

By then everyone was chuckling, both at the poem and the reactions from Talbert and Smith, who had red faces and embarrassed smiles. 

"Private Smith, so very weary, cracked an eye, all red and bleary. Grabbed his rifle, he did not tarry, hearing Floyd but seeing Jerry. 'It's me', cried Tab, 'Don't do it', and yet Smith charged, tout suite, with bayonet. He lunged, he thrust, both high and low, and skewered the boy from Kokomo."

When the poem came to an end, the mess hall erupted with laughter. A few of the replacements who had no idea what the 'Night of the Bayonet' even was, however, were ready to head back to their barracks. Having heard one of the replacement's accent, however, Guarnere stopped the redhead named Edward Heffron and began questioning him about where he grew up; turns out they had lived only a few blocks from each other in Philadelphia.