Half Sick of Shadows » Band of Brothers [2]

35: Hope is Incurable

"Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable haemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed." - David Mitchell, Slade House

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It's not long before we begin to move out of Landsberg. At some point or other I figure Tom must have told whoever's in charge of the company now about my presence because I've been given a set of paratrooper ODs again. I can't say I'm sad to see that nurse's uniform go; it was uncomfortable, and the thought that it once belonged to another spy who likely isn't alive anymore is unsettling in a way I can't even begin to express.

The four of us are supposed to be spread out across the troop trucks but Tom sticks by me for the journey again. I think he's worried that some of the men might pry about what happened if I'm left alone, and he knows as well as I do that those are questions I'm not ready to answer. In all honesty, I don't know whether I'll ever be able to answer them.

Will has my confessions tucked safely into his briefcase radio. I haven't looked at them since Tom used them to try to show me that I didn't actually 'confess' anything and I don't want to. Even though he insists I didn't tell the Nazis anything useful, it still makes my stomach turn to think of all that I did say. I try not to think about it.

I'm tucked between Tom and the side of the truck just like last time as we wait to leave, and I take the opportunity to look around at the town. It's bustling with activity with all of the soldiers moving out - not just Easy Company but Dog and Fox, too, I'm told. The enlisted men load into the vehicles seemingly at their leisure.

I don't turn to look at who's travelling with us and instead try to distract myself with watching the sky. It's a vibrant blue, only punctuated by a few stray clouds here and there. At the present moment one of these such clouds is concealing the sun so it's not too terribly bright out, either. Seeing the sky and feeling the sun on my skin are luxuries I don't think I'll ever take for granted again.

I'm not sure how much time has passed before I hear the resounding bang of the back doors of the open-topped vehicle being slammed closed. The noise makes me flinch so violently Tom rests a hand on my shoulder to steady me, and I hate that I'm so jumpy now. The sounds of doors slamming open and closed, of footsteps that are too loud and fast, even shouting voices, can get to me. I send Tom what I hope is a reassuring smile but he doesn't look convinced. To make sure I'm not surprised like that again I turn back around in my seat and face the bench opposite me. I find Joe Liebgott staring back at me.

"Hi," I say quietly, because I realise I haven't actually seen him yet since being back.

He musters a nod and a tiny smile. That smug smirk I've always associated with him is nowhere to be found. "Long time no see," he says.

"Yeah." I pause a moment, contemplating whether to ask. Eventually, I decide that it's perhaps better to check up on him and have him be irritated with me than to have him suffer in silence. So, tentatively, I ask, "Wie geht's?"

He seems mildly surprised, perhaps at the German as opposed to the question, but I know he speaks the language because Tom told me. I thought perhaps he'd be more willing to answer if he knew the other men couldn't understand him.

Joe watches me carefully for a few moments before finally replying, "Mir geht's gut. Und dir?"

I shrug. "Ja. Gut." I wait a beat before continuing. "Ich will dich nicht stören, aber wenn du mit jemandem sprechen willst, bin ich hier. Wenn du das willst."

I think, from the tiny smile that quirks up his lips, he appreciates the offer. In my current state I know that I don't really feel like talking and I think it's probably much the same for him but I want him to know that I would be there to listen if he ever decides he wants to talk.