Under The Banner ▪ Band Of Brothers

...fall off the world

The day of days had been a long time coming.

Dick had felt the pressure of this jump long before the turbulence of the plane jostled him and his platoon. This moment, the breath tight in his chest and the planes in the V formation suspended in the night sky around them, had been more than three years in the making.

If all went according to plan they would be dropped in the midst of enemy territory and reconvene. Looking around at the troopers' faces, Dick could only offer a bare smile. They were all jostled, in nerves and in body. It would be a few hours, sitting on this long bench, staring at the faces of men he had been training with and had led for nearly three years. This was it, the moment they had been preparing for. When Dick had first enlisted he hadn't pictured being in a plane on his way to Europe. He enlisted out of circumspection, never intending to be in for more than a few years.

They would be up soon, those initial years. Where would Dick be? If all went according to plan, he would join up with the rest of the men. His parachute would deploy, he wouldn't be caught in enemy fire. If all went according to plan, they would have the element of surprise.

Nothing led to this plan, the moment his boots would touch foreign soil under fire that had been a crutch and a goal during the long hours of training, had gone according to plan. The army made a good show of being prepared. This operation had been years in the making but it all was put on hold in a single day. The day of days had been a furtive idea, lost in the fog that had claimed their first attempt at fulfilling destiny.

The night of nights hadn't been that night. It had been too overcast, clouds hanging like the anticipation in the air. Men assembled and gear donned, they had been turned back. No jump. Not that night. They were filed into tents and sat down on rickety folding chairs that trembled in preparation for the shaking of the airplane. The film clattering on the projector hadn't soothed Dick's nerves. He had been told of adrenaline but no one had prepared him for shaking hands and pounding drumbeat in his chest.

And Dick had tried to keep good spirits, tried not to be discouraged. So much rode on the success of this operation. Lieutenants Casmirovna and Samsonova had this as their only chance to return home.

He hadn't seen either of them since the jump had been called off. They must have been lurking in the foggy twilight of the airstrip, somewhere between the tents and the plane's wings. Dick wasn't sure what he was doing, sitting here in this tent, watching some film that he had little interest in. He needed to stand. To move. Sitting was only causing the tension to grow.

Pushing through the flaps of the tent, Dick had tugged on his gloves with a little difficulty. Glancing around, his boots were silent on the soft dirt as he started between rows of tents. Though he hadn't seen him, Dick wasn't surprised to hear Lew's voice from behind a pile of crates.

"I think it's clearing up,"

Dick glanced around. It wasn't.

"You think it's clearing up?"

"No," Dick had said.

"I think it's clearing up," Nixon persisted. Dick didn't say anything, just nodded and adjusted the leather of his gloves. "How are your men?"

"They'll be fine," Dick said. Lieutenant Casmirovna had said they would be ready. Casmirovna, who had been missing for most of the afternoon. Dick was sure that Compton was with her. The two had turned into unlikely companions. Buck's charisma had thawed Casmirovna, though still shy, and she had found another shadow to lurk in.

Nix and Dick had continued towards the causeway. Nix rambled about time zones and drinks, mentioning something about a theatre. Dick didn't really pay attention. He had recalled the letter his penpal back in Lancaster, DeEtta, had written him a letter. He had never replied. Dick was about to jump into Europe, Normandy, if Meehan's calculations and hidden compass had been right, and he hadn't written her back.

"A civilized place for civilized men," Nix said, as they leaned against the hood of a jeep. They both let out a huff of amusement, managing little else. Laughing was too much for this somber atmosphere.

"Shoulda been born earlier, Nix," Dick had said. That thought had been a constant one in his mind. If he had been born earlier, he never would have to face this.

"What and miss all this?" Nix said, flicking open his lighter. "We'll go to Chicago, I'll take you there,"

"Yeah, we'll see," Dick sighed. The sky was heavy with grey, tendrils of fog hanging down among them. He didn't want to be hopeful or plan for anything right now. Not when everything had been so unexpected.

Nix looked like he wanted to say more but his attention was caught by something over Dick's shoulder.

"Hey look," His words were muffled around his cigarette. "There's our little Russian friend."

Zhanna Casmirovna could move without being seen, a trait that was sure to be valuable in the sniper field but it was uncanny among allies. She didn't seem to notice them, though, as Casmirovna slipped through the tents. It seemed she was fixed on one goal.

"Something off about her," Nix said.

Dick nodded. Nixon was always scrutinizing the Russian lieutenants, with more interest then strictly needed for reports. He liked a good puzzle and Casmirovna and Samsonova provided an excellent challenge. Nixon could try to solve it but Dick had a piece that shed more than enough light onto Lieutenant Casmirovna's comfortable shadows. Dick hadn't sought it out, or even tried to solve the puzzle himself.

Though the rattling of the plane made it difficult, Dick slipped his fingers through the webbing to his breast pocket where a length of silver chain curled, like a small snake. Casmirovna had stalked through the tents with that inhuman skill. She glanced over her shoulder, fighting a battle in her body language. Zhanna paused to unlatch something from around her neck.

Dick had never housed more than a polite interest in the Russian snipers' lives. They did their job, served their purpose and followed their orders. He followed his own orders. But Casmirovna's words had stuck with him, her thoughts on orders had pulled at the fraying edges of his mind. "You follow orders until you can't anymore." She had turned the NCOs into a mutiny. Her blue eyes had brightened at the mention of winning a war, sparking with something like gratitude. Casmirovna spoke a different language, the dialect of survival and it had started to rub off on Dick.

He had strapped it close, tied it to his webbing, and carried it with him onto the plane, now rattling around him. Dick didn't consider himself a master of it but he had picked up enough. He had also been around Nixon enough to pick up some nonverbal tricks. Nix was convinced that people could be read, and if watched long enough could leave little pieces of themselves open. Nix had been waiting for the snipers to slip up, for a piece of the women behind the rifles to be revealed. He hadn't paid attention when Casmirovna had let slip, and fall.

Pressed against his beating heart was a Star of David no bigger than Dick's fingernail. Impossibly delicate, it hadn't looked right, sitting there in the dirt where Casmirovna had dropped it after a moment's hesitation. He had waited until Nix had left to pocket the necklace.

If it was important enough for Casmirovna to leave behind after traveling across the world, the night before she would drop back into Europe and return home Dick couldn't leave it in the dirt. A Star of David in the mud.

Leaning his head back against the rattling side of the plane, Dick wanted to close his eyes. They had all spent a long time preparing for this jump. But when the plane jolted to the left and the go light had flickered on, Dick didn't feel as if it was enough time. They made it out of the plane, at least. The night wind whipped Dick in the face, smelling of smoke, fuel exhaust, and sea salt as a sudden weightlessness suspended him in the air. The only thing that pulled him towards the ground was the silver chain in his pocket.

Zhanna Casmirovna had said that the men would be ready when the time came. But would she?