More of the paratroopers form the other company start to work their way back into the CP with the sounds of conversation, laughter, and general bullshiting fill the air once most are in the mess line. SoS is on the menu again for the evening and most of the men groan about it. Traditional army food you know.
One of the men, a large radio on his back, plops his gear down close to where the new recruits are at. He gives them a glance slightly before pulling out a pack of Lucky Strikes and taps it on his palm. "You boys new?" he asks dryly.
"No shit?" the man says as he makes a funny face. "You hear that, Shifty? Man says the Germans gave them a welcome."
Shifty glances over from where he's droping his own gear a couple of steps away carefully watching the new guys before nodding his head. When he speaks his tone is slow and southern. "Rightly guess they're gonna do that t' everyone, Luz."
Pffting the radioman places a cigarette between his lips allowing it to dangle slightly. "Yeah well. Welcome to Holland- home of the pretty Dutch girls, SS troops, and ever present rain."
With his shoulder taken care of after they'd gotten Harrison to the CP and taken care of himself, Alex had taken the time to go through the pockets of the uniform and get the details of the kid he'd pulled the uniform off.
Daniel Evans.
He drilled that into his head as he poked at the mess kit and the food he'd picked up from his earlier trip through the chow line.
One of the men that manages to slowly make their way back to the CP is a medic- scrawnier than most of the men around him and hanging back slightly. Dukeman's body had been returned during the night and most of the men had only received trivial cuts or wounds. Webster had to be the worst so far form their section of the dike.
It's easy to pick out a bloody uniform within the group. Call it a medic's sixth sense to know when something isn't entirely right. So slowly the man wearing the red cross brassard on his left arm makes his way to where Alex sits. "You okay, kid?" he asks in a thick cajun drawl.
The medic accepts the hand with blood and dirt stained fingers. "Eugene Roe though most call me Gene. You new?"
Crouching down the boots don't even make a squeek for they are worn in like most of the footware of the paratroopers. With a raised eyebrow the medic looks to the shoulder then back to Evans. Sure Gene knows the other guys at the aid station are capable men, but if this Daniel was a new Easy man then it was his buisness to know as well.
Al is polite to the men he encounters, but he doesn't go out of his way to be social. He's tired, he's confused, and he's got a lot on his mind, so he's back into soldier mode as he waits for his chow, and finds a place to eat.
While he eats, he looks through the papers he'd taken from the man whose uniform he was wearing. A worn, crumpled letter from home, a picture of a woman, a prayer card. His name is Salvatore Giordano, he's from New York, he's got a kid sister named Marie who misses him and a grandmother who wants to know if he'd gotten the birthday card she'd sent him. He feels strange reading it, like he's invading someone's privacy, but for the time being it's his life.
He wonders idly what has happened to him. Why he's back in time, why he's so much younger now, whether this is a leap and if so, where Sam is.
Comments 33
Alright. It's obvious that we're in 1944 if I remember my history right. Now, how did I get back here and how do I get back to the Bar?
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One of the men, a large radio on his back, plops his gear down close to where the new recruits are at. He gives them a glance slightly before pulling out a pack of Lucky Strikes and taps it on his palm. "You boys new?" he asks dryly.
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Shifty glances over from where he's droping his own gear a couple of steps away carefully watching the new guys before nodding his head. When he speaks his tone is slow and southern. "Rightly guess they're gonna do that t' everyone, Luz."
Pffting the radioman places a cigarette between his lips allowing it to dangle slightly. "Yeah well. Welcome to Holland- home of the pretty Dutch girls, SS troops, and ever present rain."
Reply
Daniel Evans.
He drilled that into his head as he poked at the mess kit and the food he'd picked up from his earlier trip through the chow line.
Watching as everyone trickled back in.
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It's easy to pick out a bloody uniform within the group. Call it a medic's sixth sense to know when something isn't entirely right. So slowly the man wearing the red cross brassard on his left arm makes his way to where Alex sits. "You okay, kid?" he asks in a thick cajun drawl.
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"Ah, yeah, just a scratch. Bastard missed 'cause whoever was drivin' the damn jeep hit a pothole."
He swallows a little and then reaches up to offer a hand. "Evans. Daniel Evans. I ain't quite sure where I'm supposed to be..."
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Crouching down the boots don't even make a squeek for they are worn in like most of the footware of the paratroopers. With a raised eyebrow the medic looks to the shoulder then back to Evans. Sure Gene knows the other guys at the aid station are capable men, but if this Daniel was a new Easy man then it was his buisness to know as well.
Reply
While he eats, he looks through the papers he'd taken from the man whose uniform he was wearing. A worn, crumpled letter from home, a picture of a woman, a prayer card. His name is Salvatore Giordano, he's from New York, he's got a kid sister named Marie who misses him and a grandmother who wants to know if he'd gotten the birthday card she'd sent him. He feels strange reading it, like he's invading someone's privacy, but for the time being it's his life.
He wonders idly what has happened to him. Why he's back in time, why he's so much younger now, whether this is a leap and if so, where Sam is.
Reply
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