BOB Fanfic
Shit. i seem to have ficced. i did promise myself i'd only do this in private for myself and never let them see the light of day.
*shifty eyes*
I blame the fandom,
but yeah.
Band Of Brothers. Gen. George Luz in Hagenau.
Slight warning - no discernible ending or start. this is one of my major faults when writing /apologies
short. word count just over 500
Webster had finally closed his mouth long enough to cover him while he demolished the house across the rhine (with three expertly placed bazooka rounds if he does say so himself), so George sent Web back to wherever his group was staying with a chocolate bar for Leibgott.
It wasnt what Lieb needed, but George didnt have World Peace and a horrible fiery death for every Nazi in his coat pocket. Maybe a Hershey bar would tide him over long enough not to slug Web in the face. He wasnt a bad kid, just a little too wide eyed and innocent this far in.
Grant stops him on his way back, slings a thick wool blanket over George's neck. It sits heavily, uncomfortably, against the bazooka already balancing on his shoulder.
They grin at each other, exchange words that mean 'thanks for the blanket' - ' thanks for telling me about the half-hollowed out house with the fancy silver candlesticks that go nicely with the rest of the loot that Speirs is accumulating.'
Grant's a good guy, and like him, didnt care much for the stuff everyone seemed dead on keen to hoard.
Hell, even the luger George had gotten from Malark, he'd given that to the tall dark Clancy with a german bayonet in his stomach.
George didnt want stuff to remind he'd been here.
Besides Grant did seem to like keeping Speirs happy and George had been happy to oblige; Speirs in a good mood and an extra blanket to make the stiff settee that Lip was commanding from softer for a couple of candlesticks seemed like an even trade to him.
He sees Babe and Malarkey lining up for the showers, all of their colour looks like its been pulled out of them, like Buck when he came back after Holland.
He wishes he had something for Malark, but the last thing he'd given him was the tiny piece of twisted metal in place of his two best friends.
Yeah, George was sure he never wanted to do that again.
But there was that letter from one of the guys, bloody in the snow, recovering in Paris, said he'd met up with Buck, even played ball with the guy. That had to be a good thing to pass along.
He lost his five best friends, what the fucks he got to live for?
George takes a second look, a 'Hey Gonnorhea give the guy a break' on the tip of his tongue before he realises it's Babe speaking. Its not his stance, his voice or the steel in his eyes. Or maybe it is now. George doesnt know how he feels about that, sometimes its like seeing double, WildBill from the corner your eye.
Yet he finds himsely telling Joe Toye stories, WildBill stories, Muck and Penk and their mortar team stories to wide eyed replacements, guys who hadnt seen Bastogne and Foy, guys like Hashey who seemed to hero worship the Toccoa boys.
He tells them quietly and off handedly, but hears them retold for days, weeks, with gusto and pride amongst the newer guys, some of them never even met the guys in the stories, but all of them are full of awe and respect for these mythic easy men.
It feels to George like maybe theyre here, instead of bloodying the snow in those damned woods.
Lifts the dull ache in him, like Perco grinning from the doorway stealing chocolate and making George feel taller just by being there.
*shifty eyes*
I blame the fandom,
but yeah.
Band Of Brothers. Gen. George Luz in Hagenau.
Slight warning - no discernible ending or start. this is one of my major faults when writing /apologies
short. word count just over 500
Webster had finally closed his mouth long enough to cover him while he demolished the house across the rhine (with three expertly placed bazooka rounds if he does say so himself), so George sent Web back to wherever his group was staying with a chocolate bar for Leibgott.
It wasnt what Lieb needed, but George didnt have World Peace and a horrible fiery death for every Nazi in his coat pocket. Maybe a Hershey bar would tide him over long enough not to slug Web in the face. He wasnt a bad kid, just a little too wide eyed and innocent this far in.
Grant stops him on his way back, slings a thick wool blanket over George's neck. It sits heavily, uncomfortably, against the bazooka already balancing on his shoulder.
They grin at each other, exchange words that mean 'thanks for the blanket' - ' thanks for telling me about the half-hollowed out house with the fancy silver candlesticks that go nicely with the rest of the loot that Speirs is accumulating.'
Grant's a good guy, and like him, didnt care much for the stuff everyone seemed dead on keen to hoard.
Hell, even the luger George had gotten from Malark, he'd given that to the tall dark Clancy with a german bayonet in his stomach.
George didnt want stuff to remind he'd been here.
Besides Grant did seem to like keeping Speirs happy and George had been happy to oblige; Speirs in a good mood and an extra blanket to make the stiff settee that Lip was commanding from softer for a couple of candlesticks seemed like an even trade to him.
He sees Babe and Malarkey lining up for the showers, all of their colour looks like its been pulled out of them, like Buck when he came back after Holland.
He wishes he had something for Malark, but the last thing he'd given him was the tiny piece of twisted metal in place of his two best friends.
Yeah, George was sure he never wanted to do that again.
But there was that letter from one of the guys, bloody in the snow, recovering in Paris, said he'd met up with Buck, even played ball with the guy. That had to be a good thing to pass along.
He lost his five best friends, what the fucks he got to live for?
George takes a second look, a 'Hey Gonnorhea give the guy a break' on the tip of his tongue before he realises it's Babe speaking. Its not his stance, his voice or the steel in his eyes. Or maybe it is now. George doesnt know how he feels about that, sometimes its like seeing double, WildBill from the corner your eye.
Yet he finds himsely telling Joe Toye stories, WildBill stories, Muck and Penk and their mortar team stories to wide eyed replacements, guys who hadnt seen Bastogne and Foy, guys like Hashey who seemed to hero worship the Toccoa boys.
He tells them quietly and off handedly, but hears them retold for days, weeks, with gusto and pride amongst the newer guys, some of them never even met the guys in the stories, but all of them are full of awe and respect for these mythic easy men.
It feels to George like maybe theyre here, instead of bloodying the snow in those damned woods.
Lifts the dull ache in him, like Perco grinning from the doorway stealing chocolate and making George feel taller just by being there.