𝙷𝙱𝙾 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜

A Moment In Haguenau | Eugene Roe

this was a piece i wrote for a history project. information included was researched, and this takes place in the middle of the events from the battle of the bulge. it focuses more on some of the casualties that Eugene dealt with (gordon, guarnere, toye in specific). little bit of baberoe at the end if you squint. descriptions of blood, wounds, and toye and guarnere's leg wounds.

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Eugene Roe walked out of the crumbling building in a daze, wiping his bloodied hands off on his pants. Another mission gone wrong, another man lost. Poor Eugene Jackson was only 23 when he breathed his last on the dusty floor of the basement, surrounded by friends who could do nothing but watch helplessly as the medics tried to patch him up. The man--no, boy. He was only a boy! So young, thrust into something horrid called war, barely having even seen a life well-lived.

Eugene headed towards his temporary housing in Haguenau with a tired sigh, his fingers fumbling in his pockets for a cigarette and his lighter. How his hands were so steady when tending to a bleeding man but so shaky when doing the simplest of things was beyond him, but he liked to laugh about it. Eugene watched the sky and the buildings as he walked. The crumbling structures reminded him of the exploded trees in the Bois Jacques. It reminded him of the constant barrages of artillery. It reminded him of the displays of how human ingenuity was capable of making such destructive things. Eugene hoped he'd never have to face war again. He'd seen enough war for a lifetime, especially as a combat medic.

His mind flashed back to 2nd Battalion's time in the Bois Jacques. Easy had lost many beloved men since arriving in Bastogne, men that would never get to see the war's end. He could hear those mortars exploding around him, the trees splintering apart, debris and snow flying in every direction. He could even hear the screams for a medic, if he really listened...those cries would never leave his head. Eugene knew he would remember them until his dying breath...

What a great way to spend Christmas Eve. Being shot at and ducking artillery rounds...really makes for a great way to spend one's holiday, huh? Easy Company had barely been in the Bois Jacques for a week; they'd arrived on December 19 and spent the past five days in supremely cold weather with barely enough to support themselves. Bullets whizzed around Eugene and Walter "Smokey" Gordon on the ground before him. Trees exploded from artillery fire. Eugene just kept his head low and continued working on bandaging the wound and administering what he could with his limited supplies.

Dealing with trench foot or frostbite was a walk in the park. He'd take dealing with soldiers wrapping their feet in burlap and having their feet be too tender to even lace their boots up any day. He'd take soldiers with respiratory problems. He'd even take scrounging for morphine syrettes and medical supplies any day.

It was the psychological wounds that Eugene didn't know how to fix. Battle fatigue was very real, and very prevalent. It was a miracle how the men of 2nd Battalion were able to even last this long with almost no ammunition, not enough winter clothing, and not enough food and other essential supplies, all while dealing with exhaustion.

"You're gonna be okay, alright, Smokey?" Eugene reassured his friend, hurriedly bandaging the wounds. Smokey was paralyzed, but Eugene had to keep his fellow soldier's morale up. But whether it was more for Smokey or more for himself, he couldn't tell. "You're gonna be just fine, alright? You'll be up and running in no time."

"I can't--I--I can't feel my arm."

Eugene nodded. "I know, I know. But I'm gonna fix you up, okay? I'm gonna fix you up and then we'll get you to an aid station."

Supplies would come sooner than expected, however, on the day after Christmas. Medical supplies, food, ammunition...those supplies came a day late for Don Hoobler, though; he had sadly gotten his hands on a Luger that turned out to be his downfall. The poor man had the pistol go off and sever the main artery in his leg. At least Smokey was able to be among the first evacuated out. Thank God for small victories.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Eugene found himself at the front steps of his temporary housing. When had he gotten there? He paused for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should sit or keep walking. He settled for sitting down on the steps and staring out at the sludgy mess on the streets. Leaning his head back against the support beam on the porch, Eugene pulled off his helmet and closed his eyes, letting the smoke of the cigarette drift around him and warm his face a little. His mind drifted back again. What a difference Haguenau was from the stark white snow in the forest.

New Year's Day, straight off the bat, heavy German air attacks. January second, Joe Toye was hit and sent to the aid station. The man didn't even stay a whole 24 hours; he was seen hours later, mingling with his men. Joe's good luck would run out the next day, though. Bill Guarnere would meet the same fate.

"Hey, Joe. How's the leg?"

"Jesus Christ, what's a guy gotta do to get killed around here?" Joe grumble-grunted as Eugene worked on patching up Joe's leg--er, what was left of it, anyway: a mangled stump just below the knee. Eugene chuckled, fingers nimbly wrapping the bandages around the bleeding wound. He glanced over at Guarnere, propped up against a tree, grimacing in pain and breathing heavily. He turned his head the other way when he heard other medics coming up with a stretcher.

"Guarnere, how ya holdin' up?"

"Just fine, Doc." he grit through his teeth. "Doin' just fine."

"Good." Eugene gestured to Guarnere. "Here, take this man here."

The medics picked him up and hoisted him onto the stretcher. Bill left one last comment to Joe as he was carried off.

"Hey, Joe, I told ya I'd beat ya back to the States."

Joe waved off the remark. "Yeah, yeah."

Eugene's eyes flickered open. Lieutenant Buck Compton would also be sent off the line that day. Something in him broke, seeing his two best friends with their legs mangled like that. Eugene couldn't do anything about psychological wounds, though he wished he could help. Lieutenant Compton was a good man, and a good leader. He was missed greatly, and his, Toye, and Guarnere's absences were sorely felt in the company.

"Hey, Doc, you okay?"

Eugene blinked, looking towards the sound of the voice. He was greeted with the concerned face of Edward "Babe" Heffron.

"You okay, Gene? You seem a little...out of it."

"Yeah..." Eugene trailed off. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"Come on, let's getcha somewhere warm. I think Liebgott got a pot of coffee brewing..."

Eugene grabbed the extended hand his friend held out, brushing off loose snow that had fallen on him. He smiled gratefully at Babe as he was guided inside his partially damaged housing. Eugene felt Babe's hand on the small of his back as he walked. Babe's touch said: You're doing great, now relax a bit and let me take care of you. It was a nice grounding point, like an anchor, reassuring him that he would be okay, that everything would be okay, no matter what.

Eugene's mind wandered through Bastogne again, and then through the assault on Foy as Babe sat him down on a bed, gently easing a mug of coffee into his hands. The war raged on outside the crumbling walls. The war raged on inside the head of every man Eugene helped patch up. He would never forget the wounds and medical problems he had been and would be dealing with. The cries for a medic wouldn't end, not for a while. But at least for now, he had a cup of coffee and a moment of peace.