(no subject)
So yeah...this is my first post here. I figured I'd post one of my stories. If you guys like it, I'll post some of my other ones.
The title pretty much tells what it's about. It basically tells what was going through Liebgott's head, and how the rest of the company acted toward the Jews, and toward Joe.
Title: Landsberg
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Characters: Joseph Liebgott/David Webster (Nixon, Winters and several others mentioned briefly)
Rating: PG-13 (just angst and a little bit of slashy-ness)
Word Count: 1,524
Disclaimer: Band of Brothers is (obviously not owned by me). Band of Brothers is based on real events and real people. I do not claim to know what was going on in the minds of the Easy Company men. I am not a psychic (contrary to popular belief). I greatly respect the men of Easy Company for what they did, they are my heroes. And I do not mean any disrespect to them.
A/N: Webgott fluffy-ness and angsty!Liebgott
Landsberg
Joe Liebgott followed Major Winters and Captain Nixon as they wandered through the crowd of hungry Jews. The major had sent a small group of men from Easy Company on a patrol of the woods. They came running back with reports of some kind of camp. When the whole company arrived, no one knew quite what to make of it. Winters had called Joe to the front of the group to translate for him. After talking with one of the prisoners, they saw how cruelly these people had been treated. All because they were Jewish. There had been whispers for several weeks that the Germans were finished. Everyone kept saying that the war was almost over. But, why were innocent people still dying? No one seemed to be able to wrap their heads around it, not even the officers.
Joe’s face was pale, his lips tight. He offered quick words of comfort to the emaciated men he passed. He tried to make his voice sound comforting, but he never was good with his emotions. Many of the other soldiers thought he was acting very odd. A pat on the back; a word of comfort, of encouragement; these were all very rare coming from Liebgott. He was always uncaring, cynical, sarcastic. Now they were seeing the slightly more human side of him that only the original men of Easy Company really knew. The replacements had not known him before D-Day, before he watched so many men die. Since then, he had changed.
As Joe walked through the work camp he remained quiet and stone faced, trying not to show too much emotion. If there was anything he had learned in combat, it was to remain composed. His German sounded stiff, almost robotic, even the two officers thought so, and neither of them spoke a word of German. Despite his hard façade he could not wait to get out of there. He could not understand how someone could do this to another human being. It made him sick.
The faces of the other Paratroopers scattered throughout the crowd displayed the same emotions Joe was feeling. Shifty, the company’s best shot, had disgust etched across his young face. Bull, the burly 1st platoon sergeant, was gnawing on the end of his cigar, staring off into space, a kerchief wound tightly around his fingers. Even Luz, the mouth of the company, had nothing to say for once in his life. He pulled a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket and placed one between his lips with shaking fingers, while fishing around in another pocket for his lighter.
Joe was still tailing behind Winters and Nixon, translating small sentences for them here and there. They passed David Webster, the only other German speaking soldier in the company, conversing quietly with one of the Jews. As Joe approached, he could hear small snippets of Webster’s words. His voice was comforting, his eyes glimmered with sensitivity. The German words seemed to flow effortlessly off his tongue. Joe admired his calmness as he handed the man a piece of bread. Webster turned away from him, nodding respectfully at Winters and Nixon as they passed. Joe turned his head away, not wanting Webster to know it was him. But Webster did know. He knew Joe’s build, his swagger; he could pick Joe out of a crowd. And that is what he did.
He reached out and closed his fingers around the left sleeve of Joe’s khaki jacket. Joe kept his eyes focused on the ground over to his right, but Webster soon remedied this problem by stooping slightly and tilting his head to the left.
“Joe, are you alright?” he asked quietly. His hand moved up Joe’s arm, resting on the eagle patch on his shoulder. Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling himself together before glancing up at Webster. Joe’s dark eyes found Webster’s soft ones.
“I’m fine Web,” Joe lied, his eyes never leaving Webster’s gaze.
“Joe…” Webster sighed, he knew he was lying. He knew Joe was affected by this more so than the rest of the guys. After all, Joe was Jewish. Webster still remembered that scuffle on the troop ship as they left New York almost two years ago. It started when one of the sergeants called someone a Jew. Joe had jumped him.
Webster took a step closer to Joe and opened his mouth to say something to help calm Joe’s nerves. He was interrupted, however, by Nixon’s sharp call.
“Liebgott!” The two officers had apparently figured out that Joe was missing.
He turned his head slightly in their direction.
“Coming sir,” He turned back to Webster, their eyes locking on each other.
“Web…”
“Go,” Webster told him quietly, nodding in the direction of the two officers. He seemed reluctant to let go. As Joe began to walk away, Webster slowly let his hand slide back down Joe’s arm. He still gripped lightly at the khaki fabric. When his hand reached Joe’s wrist he gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze, and then he was gone. Half of Joe didn’t want to leave Webster, but the other half knew that he was needed.
As he rejoined the officers, Joe was pleased to see that the crowd was beginning to thin out. They were getting closer to the gates. Colonel Sink was waiting for them by his jeep just outside the barbed wire-topped fence. He called Major Winters over to him. Nixon and Winters obliged, but Joe hung back. They began speaking in low voices with another man, someone that Joe did not recognize.
Winters and Nixon had their backs to him, but from the grim expressions on the other men’s faces, he knew that this was not good news. He quickly turned away as Winters and Nixon started back in his direction. Winters touched Joe’s arm lightly and he turned to look at the two officers. They both wore very grim expressions, quite like that of Colonel Sink.
“Joe, we need you to do something for us.” Winters began leading him gently back through the crowd, all the while explaining what had just happened. Nixon remained silent, disgusted, it seemed.
When they finally stopped in the middle of the crowd Joe looked down at the ground, chewing on the inside of his cheek, struggling to stay composed. He let out a small sigh.
“I can’t tell ‘em that, sir,” he said finally, looking up at Nixon.
“You’ve got to Joe,” Winters told him quietly, but firmly. Joe looked at him, trying to think of a way to get out of it. After a few seconds he gave up. He hung is head.
“Yes sir,” he said, almost inaudibly. He looked around him hopelessly, wishing there was another way. All these starving Jews were relying on Easy Company to set them free, and now they had to lock them back up again. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
Joe made his way toward the truck, trying to think of a way to word it. A way to break the news easier and a way to keep himself from falling apart. He put a leg up on the truck and grabbed the side, trying to pull himself up. For once he could not find the strength. He would have rather climbed into a C-47 with all his jump gear on.
Some replacement noticed his struggle and offered him a hand, but Joe refused. He had to do this himself. He could almost feel the weight of his faith on his back as he struggled to pull himself up into the truck. Once he had both feet in the bed, he realized that there was no easy way to tell them.
Joe took a deep breath and stood up straight. He raised his voice, calling their attention to him. As he did this he rested his arms on one of the metal bars the supported the canvas roof of the truck when it was there. He started to tell them that they had to be locked back in the camp. Almost immediately, the Jews began protesting. He tried to explain the reasoning behind it, but his voice cracked, his chin trembled. He watched as the Easy men began herding the Jews back into the camp, just a few feet below him. He swallowed hard between words. He finished the announcement with difficulty, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. The Jews stared up at him, shaking their heads as they were herded past. Their faces were grim, disappointed, broken souls to be locked away again.
Joe hung his head, no longer able to look at them. His arms dropped to his sides and he slowly backed toward the bench on his right. He sat down hard, and then the tears finally came. After all he had seen in Normandy, in Holland, in Bastogne, he never cried. Now in this camp in Landsberg he finally broke down. The truck filled up around him, but Joe just held his head in his hands as warm tears fell from his stinging eyes.
I ended up turning this in to my English teacher and she gave it an A. But you guys are the real critics. Please comment. Constructive criticism is apreciated.
The title pretty much tells what it's about. It basically tells what was going through Liebgott's head, and how the rest of the company acted toward the Jews, and toward Joe.
Title: Landsberg
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Characters: Joseph Liebgott/David Webster (Nixon, Winters and several others mentioned briefly)
Rating: PG-13 (just angst and a little bit of slashy-ness)
Word Count: 1,524
Disclaimer: Band of Brothers is (obviously not owned by me). Band of Brothers is based on real events and real people. I do not claim to know what was going on in the minds of the Easy Company men. I am not a psychic (contrary to popular belief). I greatly respect the men of Easy Company for what they did, they are my heroes. And I do not mean any disrespect to them.
A/N: Webgott fluffy-ness and angsty!Liebgott
Landsberg
Joe Liebgott followed Major Winters and Captain Nixon as they wandered through the crowd of hungry Jews. The major had sent a small group of men from Easy Company on a patrol of the woods. They came running back with reports of some kind of camp. When the whole company arrived, no one knew quite what to make of it. Winters had called Joe to the front of the group to translate for him. After talking with one of the prisoners, they saw how cruelly these people had been treated. All because they were Jewish. There had been whispers for several weeks that the Germans were finished. Everyone kept saying that the war was almost over. But, why were innocent people still dying? No one seemed to be able to wrap their heads around it, not even the officers.
Joe’s face was pale, his lips tight. He offered quick words of comfort to the emaciated men he passed. He tried to make his voice sound comforting, but he never was good with his emotions. Many of the other soldiers thought he was acting very odd. A pat on the back; a word of comfort, of encouragement; these were all very rare coming from Liebgott. He was always uncaring, cynical, sarcastic. Now they were seeing the slightly more human side of him that only the original men of Easy Company really knew. The replacements had not known him before D-Day, before he watched so many men die. Since then, he had changed.
As Joe walked through the work camp he remained quiet and stone faced, trying not to show too much emotion. If there was anything he had learned in combat, it was to remain composed. His German sounded stiff, almost robotic, even the two officers thought so, and neither of them spoke a word of German. Despite his hard façade he could not wait to get out of there. He could not understand how someone could do this to another human being. It made him sick.
The faces of the other Paratroopers scattered throughout the crowd displayed the same emotions Joe was feeling. Shifty, the company’s best shot, had disgust etched across his young face. Bull, the burly 1st platoon sergeant, was gnawing on the end of his cigar, staring off into space, a kerchief wound tightly around his fingers. Even Luz, the mouth of the company, had nothing to say for once in his life. He pulled a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket and placed one between his lips with shaking fingers, while fishing around in another pocket for his lighter.
Joe was still tailing behind Winters and Nixon, translating small sentences for them here and there. They passed David Webster, the only other German speaking soldier in the company, conversing quietly with one of the Jews. As Joe approached, he could hear small snippets of Webster’s words. His voice was comforting, his eyes glimmered with sensitivity. The German words seemed to flow effortlessly off his tongue. Joe admired his calmness as he handed the man a piece of bread. Webster turned away from him, nodding respectfully at Winters and Nixon as they passed. Joe turned his head away, not wanting Webster to know it was him. But Webster did know. He knew Joe’s build, his swagger; he could pick Joe out of a crowd. And that is what he did.
He reached out and closed his fingers around the left sleeve of Joe’s khaki jacket. Joe kept his eyes focused on the ground over to his right, but Webster soon remedied this problem by stooping slightly and tilting his head to the left.
“Joe, are you alright?” he asked quietly. His hand moved up Joe’s arm, resting on the eagle patch on his shoulder. Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling himself together before glancing up at Webster. Joe’s dark eyes found Webster’s soft ones.
“I’m fine Web,” Joe lied, his eyes never leaving Webster’s gaze.
“Joe…” Webster sighed, he knew he was lying. He knew Joe was affected by this more so than the rest of the guys. After all, Joe was Jewish. Webster still remembered that scuffle on the troop ship as they left New York almost two years ago. It started when one of the sergeants called someone a Jew. Joe had jumped him.
Webster took a step closer to Joe and opened his mouth to say something to help calm Joe’s nerves. He was interrupted, however, by Nixon’s sharp call.
“Liebgott!” The two officers had apparently figured out that Joe was missing.
He turned his head slightly in their direction.
“Coming sir,” He turned back to Webster, their eyes locking on each other.
“Web…”
“Go,” Webster told him quietly, nodding in the direction of the two officers. He seemed reluctant to let go. As Joe began to walk away, Webster slowly let his hand slide back down Joe’s arm. He still gripped lightly at the khaki fabric. When his hand reached Joe’s wrist he gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze, and then he was gone. Half of Joe didn’t want to leave Webster, but the other half knew that he was needed.
As he rejoined the officers, Joe was pleased to see that the crowd was beginning to thin out. They were getting closer to the gates. Colonel Sink was waiting for them by his jeep just outside the barbed wire-topped fence. He called Major Winters over to him. Nixon and Winters obliged, but Joe hung back. They began speaking in low voices with another man, someone that Joe did not recognize.
Winters and Nixon had their backs to him, but from the grim expressions on the other men’s faces, he knew that this was not good news. He quickly turned away as Winters and Nixon started back in his direction. Winters touched Joe’s arm lightly and he turned to look at the two officers. They both wore very grim expressions, quite like that of Colonel Sink.
“Joe, we need you to do something for us.” Winters began leading him gently back through the crowd, all the while explaining what had just happened. Nixon remained silent, disgusted, it seemed.
When they finally stopped in the middle of the crowd Joe looked down at the ground, chewing on the inside of his cheek, struggling to stay composed. He let out a small sigh.
“I can’t tell ‘em that, sir,” he said finally, looking up at Nixon.
“You’ve got to Joe,” Winters told him quietly, but firmly. Joe looked at him, trying to think of a way to get out of it. After a few seconds he gave up. He hung is head.
“Yes sir,” he said, almost inaudibly. He looked around him hopelessly, wishing there was another way. All these starving Jews were relying on Easy Company to set them free, and now they had to lock them back up again. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
Joe made his way toward the truck, trying to think of a way to word it. A way to break the news easier and a way to keep himself from falling apart. He put a leg up on the truck and grabbed the side, trying to pull himself up. For once he could not find the strength. He would have rather climbed into a C-47 with all his jump gear on.
Some replacement noticed his struggle and offered him a hand, but Joe refused. He had to do this himself. He could almost feel the weight of his faith on his back as he struggled to pull himself up into the truck. Once he had both feet in the bed, he realized that there was no easy way to tell them.
Joe took a deep breath and stood up straight. He raised his voice, calling their attention to him. As he did this he rested his arms on one of the metal bars the supported the canvas roof of the truck when it was there. He started to tell them that they had to be locked back in the camp. Almost immediately, the Jews began protesting. He tried to explain the reasoning behind it, but his voice cracked, his chin trembled. He watched as the Easy men began herding the Jews back into the camp, just a few feet below him. He swallowed hard between words. He finished the announcement with difficulty, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. The Jews stared up at him, shaking their heads as they were herded past. Their faces were grim, disappointed, broken souls to be locked away again.
Joe hung his head, no longer able to look at them. His arms dropped to his sides and he slowly backed toward the bench on his right. He sat down hard, and then the tears finally came. After all he had seen in Normandy, in Holland, in Bastogne, he never cried. Now in this camp in Landsberg he finally broke down. The truck filled up around him, but Joe just held his head in his hands as warm tears fell from his stinging eyes.
I ended up turning this in to my English teacher and she gave it an A. But you guys are the real critics. Please comment. Constructive criticism is apreciated.