Half Sick of Shadows » Band of Brothers [2]

40: And Never a Saint

"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony."
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

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The majority of the journey to Austria is spent in silence. For the most part I think a lot of people are nursing some rather rotten hangovers but I think some of the men are also contemplating what's next for them now that the war's over. More specifically, whether or not they'll be sent to fight the war in the Pacific. The thought makes my stomach turn, not because I'm worried I'll be sent there - I'm almost certain my part in all of this is done now - but because they could be. Gene could be. And if something happened I don't know if I could take it.

I look down instinctively to check the time on my watch before realising I don't have one anymore. Instead all I'm met with is the prominent scarring from where I was once tied up by my wrists. I wonder whether the scarring will ever disappear or whether it'll always be obvious I was imprisoned.

Tentatively, I graze my fingers along the scar, tracing the circumference of my left wrist. It doesn't hurt - not physically, anyway, but I've come to realise that I have good days and bad days where moving forwards from my days in interrogation is concerned. I've had a few good days so it seems I'm due a few bad ones. The memories like to remind me that they're still there and still very much visceral after a period of contentedness.

For my part, my hangover isn't too bad - Gene's influence, naturally. But instead of my head aching, it's my heart. I said to Tom I'd be alright to go in a separate truck to him and the others but maybe I was too hasty with that decision.

But then again I'll need to start becoming independent again soon. I won't always have them there. The thought makes me infinitely sadder but it's true; now that the war in Europe is over our days together are numbered.

Instinctively, I turn to seek any of them out on the truck behind and then the truck in front of the one I'm in. I find Will, fast asleep on the one behind, which calms me slightly, but the others aren't in sight. I slump back in my seat, trying to breathe deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Martin taught me. I don't know why I feel so trapped all of a sudden.

I'm also starting to feel quite hot - too hot - so I undo the first few buttons on my ODs and pull one side down so it's hanging off of my shoulder. Feeling the breeze on the exposed skin there, where I'm only wearing a small undershirt underneath, brings instant relief. I feel my shoulders relax slightly.

"How'd you get those?"

The voice makes me jolt in place and I look up to find Babe watching me curiously. He must see from my face that I don't understand what he means for he gestures, somewhat gingerly, to where my ODs have now exposed my collarbone.

"I mean the scars," he explains. He sounds somewhat guilty. I get the impression he didn't really mean to ask, or that he asked without thinking, but there's no way to take it back now. I see him open his mouth, likely to say I don't have to answer, but I cut him off.

"Soldering iron," I answer quietly. Maybe talking about it to someone I don't know all that well might help. Maybe. I'm not sure. Worth a try.

"Really?" he asks, eyebrows crashing down instead of hopping up as I'd expected.

I nod and subconsciously run my fingers along the three thin, parallel scars that crawl across my collar bone, reaching for my left shoulder.

"Was that the worst?" Babe questions tentatively.