All Things Nice » Band of Brothers

21: Wings

When Colonel Sink pinned Posey's jump wings on her chest, right over her heart, she felt a warmth of pride spread across her body, blossoming out from the tiny metal badge. Once again she couldn't help but feel delirious in the knowledge that she'd done it. She'd gotten her jump wings. What had once seemed a mammoth task had been conquered. She was closer to home than she had been since being evacuated - or she felt it, at least.

"Congratulations, private," the colonel told her in his deep Southern drawl. He offered her a nod and a polite smile before moving on to the next private stood at attention in the long line of paratroopers getting their jump wings today. The energy in the room was electric, the air seeming to vibrate with the enthusiasm oozing off of its occupants.

Posey absolutely could not wait to tell Mrs. Daniels. She'd only written her a letter the previous day but this seemed like something notable enough to warrant a letter of its own.

Whilst her dress uniform was hot, scratchy, and heavy, Posey felt as light as a feather as she followed the men of her platoon to the bar on base as soon as the ceremony had finished. Men were cheering into the darkness, as night was still falling incredibly prematurely even now, patting each other firmly on backs and flinging their arms around shoulders. As they all bundled in, Posey thought they looked drunk already, but then again she thought she probably looked much the same to an outsider.

She was squashed in between Skip and Malarkey, two arms slung across her shoulders and two mouths shouting gibberish directly into her ears. She didn't altogether mind too much, though; she felt warm and accepted and welcome. She felt seen. True, they may not have known who she really was, but who was she really, anyway? Did the person she'd been before bootcamp even exist anymore? Where was the line between who she was pretending to be and who she really was?

At that moment, as the three of them turned sideways in order to get through the door without untangling themselves from each other, she found it difficult to believe they didn't know who she was deep down. They'd all seen each other at their worst. Whether they knew she was a girl or not was irrelevant. They knew her, she decided, and she knew them. And perhaps that was all that friendship was, really; knowing, seeing, accepting. She felt immensely grateful to the entirety of her new group of friends for having offered her all three of those privileges as readily as she'd offered them back.

For the entirety of Easy Company, it seemed, it was beers all around. As she followed a now-independent Malarkey and Skip to a table already full-to-bursting with Second Platoon men, she even caught sight of a few of the officers milling about. Lieutenant Winters, of course, did not have a beer - there was a rumour going around, likely started by either Luz or Guarnere, that he was a Quaker, which apparently meant he didn't drink alcohol at all ever - but Lieutenant Nixon, formerly of First Platoon and now an intelligence officer, did. He was stood right beside Winters with a beer of his own, though he was also drinking out of a flask every now and then.

Posey found herself pushed into a chair between the two who had flanked her all night, and once the three of them were seated she found out why.

"Duckie," began Malarkey with a seriousness he very rarely possessed, "we've been training you up for this for a long time now."

Skip nodded when Posey turned to look at him. "It's time for the student to become the teacher."

Posey looked between the two mischief-makers and knew just from looking at their matching grins. "I'm telling you," she began, laughing to herself, "I won't be able to beat you in a drinking competition! I'm flattered you think I would, but I won't!"

"Aw, come on, Duckie," Skip crooned, ruffling her hair. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I think you're forgetting a pretty important detail."

"Yeah?" she asked with considerable scepticism. "What's that?"