#506th Parachute Infantry Regiment

[carbone14]

Le soldat américain Joseph Beyrle du 506th PIR en captivité au Stalag XII-A – Limburg an der Lahn – Allemagne – Juillet 1944

Joseph Beyrle s'engage dans les troupes aéroportées de l'armée américaine en 1942 et est affecté au 506e PIR. En 1943, son régiment est envoyé en Angleterre et intègre la 101e Division aéroportée. Technicien spécialiste en radio et en explosifs, Joseph Beyrle est sélectionné pour effectuer des missions clandestines auprès de la résistance française avant le débarquement.

Dans le nuit du 5 au 6 juin 1944, son C-47 touché par la flak change de trajectoire et les parachutistes sont dispersés autour de la zone d'atterrissage prévue. Isolé, Joseph Beyrle tente de rejoindre son point de ralliement tout en infligeant des pertes aux allemands dont la destruction de la station électrique de Saint-Côme-du-Mont. Il est fait prisonnier par des parachutistes allemands et, déplacé de camp de prisonniers en camp de prisonniers au fur et à mesure de l'avancée des armées alliées avec plusieurs tentatives d'évasion à son actif, il se retrouve au Stalag III-C à Alt Drewitz en Pologne.

Il s'évade du Stalag en direction de l'est au devant de l'armée russe. Après un interrogatoire des russes il est immédiatement enrôlé dans la 1re Armée de tanks de la Garde. Blessé en février 1945, le Maréchal Joukov, découvrant un américain parmi les blessés qu'il visitait, promit à Joseph Beyrle de le rapatrier chez lui.

Considéré comme mort au combat le 10 juin 1944 par l'armée américaine, il est interrogé à l'ambassade des Etats-Unis en union soviétique afin de vérifier l'identité du soldat. Il finit par rentrer chez lui à Muskegon (Michigan) le 21 avril 1945. Joseph Beyrle est le seul américain a avoir combattu à la fois dans l'armée américaine et dans l'Armée rouge.

[historyofguns]

In the article "Training B-17 Flying Fortress Gunners for Masters of the Air" on The Armory Life, Capt. Dale Dye, USMC (Ret), discusses his role as Senior Military Advisor for the Apple TV+ miniseries "Masters of the Air." This miniseries, which aired in 2024, is part of a trilogy following the acclaimed "Band of Brothers" and "The Pacific." The article emphasizes the thorough research conducted on the 8th Air Force and the 100th Heavy Bombardment Group, also known as "The Bloody Hundredth." Capt. Dye highlights the intensive and realistic training given to actors to accurately portray the experiences of B-17 air gunners during World War II, including handling .50-caliber machine guns, adapting to cramped aircraft conditions, and recognizing enemy aircraft. He underscores the importance of highlighting the often-overlooked roles of air gunners to ensure historical accuracy and honor their contributions to the war effort.

[motivateandinspiretoday]

Frank Perconte Words of Wisdom #wisdom...

Frank Perconte was a member of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, in the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army during World War II. He was portrayed by actor James Madio in the HBO miniseries "Band of Brothers," which was based on the book of the same name by Stephen E. Ambrose.

[sgtgrunt0331-3]

On June 5, 1944, two members of the ‘Filthy Thirteen’ with the 101st Airborne Division, Clarence Ware applies war paint to Charles Plauda, before jumping into Normandy.

The Filthy Thirteen was the name given to the 1st Demolition Section of the Regimental Headquarters Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. They were ordered to secure or destroy the bridges over the Douve River during the Normandy Invasion of Europe in June 1944. Half were either killed, wounded or captured, but they accomplished their mission.

This unit was best known for the famous photo which appeared in Stars and Stripes, showing two members wearing Indian-style “mohawks” and applying war paint to one another. The inspiration for this came from unit sergeant Jake McNiece, who was part Choctaw.

[evidenceof]

Source: 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment Scrapbook 20 July 1942 - 4 July 1945

i find it so amusing how, in most group photos in the ETO, they don't bother captioning it with names of the present soliders. then there's this photo of liebgott in eindhoven and the blur of shifty in the background, properly and cheekily captioned.

[greatworldwar2]

• Jake McNiece

James Elbert "Jake" McNiece was a US Army paratrooper in World War II. Private McNiece was a member of the Filthy Thirteen, an elite demolition unit. McNiece practiced in several operations throughout world war 2 with the 101st Airborne Division.

James McNiece was born on May 24th, 1919, in Maysville, Oklahoma, the ninth of ten children born to Eli Hugh and Rebecca McNiece, and of Irish American and Choctaw descent. During the Depression, the family moved to Ponca City, Oklahoma in 1931. In 1939, he graduated from Ponca City High School and went to work in road construction, and then at the Pine Bluff Arsenal, where he gained experience in the use of explosives. McNiece enlisted for military service on September 1st, 1942. He was assigned to the demolition saboteur section of what was then the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment. This section became the Filthy Thirteen, first led by Lieutenant Charles Mellen, who was killed in action on June 6th, 1944, during the Invasion of Normandy. Following Mellen's death, Private McNiece became acting leader of the unit. McNiece is iconically recognized by wearing Native American–style "mohawk" and applying war paint to himself and other members of his unit which, excited the public's interest in this unit. The inspiration for this came from McNiece, who was part Choctaw.

McNiece's deliberate disobedience and disrespect during training prevented him from being promoted past Private when most Paratroopers were promoted to Private First Class after 30 days. McNiece would act as section sergeant and first sergeant through various missions. His first sergeant and company commanders knew he was the man the regiment could count on during combat. McNiece went on to make a total of four wartime combat jumps, the first as part of the Invasion of Normandy in 1944. In the same year he jumped as part of Operation Market Garden in the Netherlands. McNiece would see action again at the Siege of Bastogne, part of the larger Battle of the Bulge. During fighting in the Netherlands, he acted as demolition platoon sergeant. He volunteered for pathfinder training, anticipating he would sit out the rest of the war training in England, but his pathfinder stick was called upon to jump into Bastogne to guide in resupply drops. McNiece received a Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and French Legion of Honor medals for his service and deeds during the war.

His last jump was in 1945, near Prüm in Germany. In recognition of his natural leadership abilities, he ended the war as the acting first sergeant for Headquarters Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment. McNiece would be kicked out of the military in February 1946 after fighting with MP’s. In 1949, McNiece returned to live in Ponca City. He began a 28-year career with the United States Postal Service. His first wife Rosita died in 1952 and, a year later, he married Martha Beam Wonders. They had two sons and a daughter and remained married until his death at age 93.

[shelyue99]

An incomplete list of Lewis Nixon’s roles during the war. ( it’s incomplete because certainly there are more, the following are just what I get from reading Beyond Band of Brothers, the Biggest Brother and Parachute Infantry):

Nix's job titles during the war: Assistant platoon leader of Easy Company - 2d Battalion S-2 (Intelligence Officer)- 506th Regiment S-2 - 2d Battalion S-3 (Operation Officer)

• Briefed the men before the jump

• In Normandy, helped with bringing the TNT to Brécourt Manor to destroy the battery guns, brought the maps Dick found at Brécourt Manor to Utah Beach

• Brought back two Sherman tanks from Utah Beach to help Dick clear the areas and secure the causeway

• Brought up the 81mm mortars from battalion headquarters company to reinforce Easy in Holland

• Made way back to battalion and brought trucks to help with the withdrawal when Easy was pulling back from Nuenen

Though tightly squeezed and under heavy fire, Easy held its ground. The Germans did not enter Nuenen. As the sky drew dark, Winters, badly outnumbered, finally ordered his men to withdraw. A short distance west of the village, a line of American deuce-and-a-half trucks waited for them, as did Lewis Nixon. He had been with Easy when it ran into the Germans. Knowing Winters would need help, he made his way back to battalion and ordered up the trucks.

"Thought maybe you could use a ride," Nixon said to Winters as his friend approached.

• Checked roadblocks with Dick, when Dick checked one direction Nixon checked the other

• Made rounds and checked on men during the night while Dick did the same during the day

One main difference between the two was the hours they kept. Winters was an early riser. He loved getting up early and getting a start on the day. Nixon was a night owl. He did his best work in the afternoon and at night. When they were out on the line, this proved an ideal arrangement. Winters kept tabs on the men during the day; Nixon made the rounds at night. This kept company commanders on their toes because they never knew when one or the other would show up and expect a status report.

•Accompanied Dick on a battalion inspection tour, but because of the urine incident instead they drove to Nijmegen to look for hot showers

Updated: in Holland, Nixon briefed the men and assigned them reconnaissance patrol to confirm the Dutch Underground’s intelligence report, to see whether German troops had moved into the village of Volkel.

• In Bastogne, Nixon acted as a liaison between battalion and regiment to clear confusion and kept the 2d Battalion out of a lot of trouble.

It is difficult to comprehend the confusion that characterized our first night at Bastogne. No one seemed to know where our boundaries lay, nor did anyone understand our precise mission. Since Colonel Strayer remained at regimental headquarters, I ordered Captain Nixon to locate Colonel Sink's command post and to coordinate with Major Hester, the regimental operations officer, to ensure we had our orders correct. Over the next few weeks, Nixon made many trips back to regiment to keep us informed and to ensure we understood our orders and our boundaries with adjacent units. This system worked well and kept 2d Battalion out of a lot of trouble.

Nix's greatest contribution to the successful defense of Bastogne was serving as a liaison between battalion and regimental headquarters. No man contributed more to keeping the regiment together during the ensuing battle. Nixon performed exceeding well in interpreting regimental orders and coordinating operational support while I positioned myself close to the forward edge of the battle area.

To give you an idea how dedicated Nixon was to the 506th PIR, at Bastogne he had his name drawn from a hat in a lottery that would have given him a thirty-day leave to the United States. Nix refused the offer, saying he wanted to stay with the outfit on the line. How do you explain that kind of dedication? Such devotion is never discussed by the men, but it is never forgotten. At the time, the 506th PIR was very short of men and officers, especially good, proven officers.

The young German Winters captured wasn't the only one confused. Officers on the line were often uncertain about their responsibilities and instructions. Not the least of these befuddled men was Strayer himself.

After attending briefings at regimental or division HQ, Strayer would gather his battalion staff around him and fill them in. Unfortunately, Winters often found Strayer's information vague and confusing. He cast questioning glances at Nixon, who would respond by rolling his eyes. After these briefings, Nixon would walk back to regiment to meet with Major Hester for clarification.

"Strayer had no goddamn idea what he was supposed to do," Winters said sixty years later. "But there's more than one way of skinning a cat, and the system Nixon and I had worked. Nixon did a good job. He kept 2nd Battalion out of a lot of trouble."

• Bitching with Dick about the brass and the army

"You know what this is, don't you," Winters told Nixon after receiving the orders. "Taylor's finally back and now he has to show off for Eisenhower." "Yeah," Nixon replied. "He probably figures we've just been sitting on our asses back there in Bastogne, and now he expects us to go out and kick German butt."

Winters' awareness of Taylor's return was based on firsthand experience. Shortly after the commanding general's arrival, after the siege of Bastogne had been broken, Taylor had visited his men in the field.

While inspecting 2nd Battalion's front, he strode briskly along the line with Winters and the other officers trailing along behind. Finishing, he turned to Winters and said, "Watch those woods in front of you." Then he left. Winters' jaw dropped, then he turned to Nixon.

"'Watch those woods in front of you'? " he said. "What the hell did he think we've been doing while he was back in Washington?"

Now that the men were no longer living outside in the ice and snow, the army saw fit to ship them sixty-one hundred pairs of winter shoepacs, arctic socks, felt insoles and six thousand yards of white cloth, enough to make two thousand snowsuits.

"Oh my, how we could have used them six weeks ago at Bastogne," Winters said to Nixon as he looked at the stacks of cold-weather gear his men no longer needed.

"Guess we should be glad we got them at all," Nixon said wryly. "They could have shipped them to the Pacific."

• Accompanied and drove around with Dick on various occasions in Germany/Austria, including inspecting German surrendered troops, the weapons, the mess hall, etc.

• Being Dick’s close friend, confidant, companion,emotional support person, the one Dick could talk to and unburden himself

As different in temperament as Nixon and I were, he was the one man to whom I could talk. He provided an outlet that allowed me to unburden myself as a combat leader.

[pfctipper]

Kind of fascinated by this little section in one of Dick’s books:

Our OCS class graduated on July 2, 1942 […] Following lunch at the officers club, we were free to go our own way, though few of us had actual assignments. Nixon was assigned duty at Fort Ord, California, and attached to the military police unit on post. With no immediate openings in the paratroopers, I returned to Camp Croft to train another contingent that had recently arrived. As an officer I didn’t last long at Croft: about five weeks to be exact, before receiving orders to report to the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, at Camp Toombs, Georgia […] Following a brief leave, I arrived in Toccoa in mid-August. Disembarking from the Southern Railway train adjacent to the Toccoa Coffin Factory, Lewis Nixon and I were directed to board an army truck for “Camp Toombs” - Richard Winters and Cole C. Kingseed, Beyond Band of Brothers: The War Memoirs of Major Dick Winters (2006)

Camp Croft is in South Carolina and Fort Ord is in California. I don’t know much about the USA rail system, or how involved the army would have been in coordinating their travel, but regardless of whether Dick was travelling from South Carolina or wherever he was on leave - how likely is it that they’d end up on the exact same train into Toccoa? Maybe something they’d either planned themselves, or they’d departed from the same place (maybe Nix had leave too?)- or a coincidental train/station reunion after five weeks apart? Who knows, but very sweet that he makes a point of highlighting that the two of them (and only the two of them?) arrived together anyway.

[bellewintersroe]

Ron Speirs x ArmyNurse! OC.

Margaret ‘Maggie’ Emerson, an army nurse attached to the 506th parachute infantry regiment, finds herself growing closer to her company’s captain, Ronald Speirs. With war drawing to an end, a side to the mystery that is Captain Speirs is revealed. Both Maggie and Ron have a difficult time resisting their attraction to one another.

This is my new slow burn mini-series. I’m not sure how many parts this will include but I’m excited to write, hope you enjoy!

Maggie tugged off her headscarf, hands trembling, scrubbed raw as she sat herself outside the make-do field hospital. The casualties in Austria weren’t half as bad as she’d witnessed in places like Normandy or Bastogne. But every now and then somebody would slip through the cracks, and she’d loose track of time caring for them. In this circumstance an older German officer, no SS uniform, an emotional man. When she offered him powdered milk he cried.

The older man didn’t survive the surgery she assisted in. Her promotion to a surgical nurse had come with its downfalls. He’d bled out internally, right in front of her, she felt so out of her depth watching the surgeons practically give up. Maggie felt guilty for becoming all bleary eyed. It was understandable when they were knee deep in war and casualties, but right now it was a breeze compared to that.

“Nurse?” A gentle voice rung out just as her head dropped. Maggie straightened her back, swallowing harshly. “Captain Speirs.” She offered him a polite nod.

“Are you ok?” He blinked back to her, overtly aware of how her bottom lip quivered when she looked back to him. Truthfully, Ron didn’t like seeing any woman cry. At least not her. His professionalism remained in tack throughout the war, and it would continue to do so- but there was something about the nurse who sat before him that made him want to… soften.

“I’m- I’m good, sir.” She searched for the words, forcing a weak smile that Ron could read anywhere. He rummaged in his pocket, pulling the pack of Camel’s out and offering her a cigarette.

“Thank you, sir.” She weakly muttered as he sat down besides her with a breathy groan, pulling out the lighter. Her hands lifted, shielding the wind not-so-well. Ron muttered to himself, raising his other hand to cover hers. When he lit the end, he accidentally allowed his gaze to run over her downcast gaze. “It’s the end of the war.” He commented, blunter than it intended to. Surely everything should be improving?

She let out a soft laugh, inhaling on the cigarette. “For now.” Deployment to Pacific somehow seemed even more terrifying knowing what was coming. When she entered Normandy she was somewhat clueless to everything she’d see- that was somewhat grateful for that or she would’ve never jumped off that boat onto the sandy beaches.

Ron turned, jaw clenched as he sat beside her quietly. Obviously in a need of comfort he didn’t know what else to provide, he somewhat panicked she wouldn’t like her Captain being there, that he made her uneasy or intimidated. Maggie didn’t mind. She turned her head, looking over his dark features. He was well groomed, he even smelt good, a handsome man- painstakingly handsome. For her own good, she turned away.

“In off duty now- I’m not just… taking a break.” Becoming acutely aware that it actually was Captain Speirs, she informed him rather quickly.

“Even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with that.” He made sure to assure, knowing how tirelessly the nurses worked.

“What time did you start?”

“4.”

“This afternoon?”

“No.”

Ron glanced at her, mouth slightly agape. He was ready to protest her hard working before realising it wouldn’t be the smartest idea.

“I’ll walk you back.” She was a little surprised at his words. She knew he was only offering to be polite, but it was his way of effectively saying ‘home time’.

“Sir, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Ron spoke without thinking first, their eyes meeting. When they did, she instinctively followed him, legs feeling like jelly from the long day she’d been on them. Was it that or the fact Captain Ronald Speirs was walking her back?

After a brief moment of comfortable silence, Ron spoke again. “S’ a long day for you… how’d ya lose track of time, exactly?” He muttered, cigarette between his lips as he lit it effortlessly.

“Surgery. We were operating on a German officer.” Ron glimpsed at her again, wondering if she thought it was a good or bad thing. “Yeah, he died, so…” her shoe kicked against a slightly bigger rock below, used to her combat boots, she didn’t expect to stub her toe, wincing silently at her clumsy move.

“I’m sorry.” Ron muttered, an odd sense of relief running through her. Nobody else had been so bothered that this man lost his life, purely because he was German. It didn’t mean he wasn’t still a human.

“Why?” She asked, instinctively wanting to know why he, an American officer cared. “Well I don’t think anyone wants to see anybody dying anymore.”

“The surgeons didn’t seem so bothered.”

“What?”

“The surgeons.” She paused, looking up to the man before her. “They don’t care what a nurse has to say, not when it comes to a German.” Ron paused, watching her beginning to walk again. His brows winced together slightly and he slowly followed her, inhaling on his cigarette.

“Want me to speak to them?” He offered. “No, thank you. You shouldn’t have to ask for humanity in a surgeon of all people. I mean he even cried over powdered milk for Christ sake.”

“Who?”

“The German officer, he cried over powdered milk that I gave him.” Maggie spoke on a sigh before continuing. “You know the-the young ones don’t even crack a wince in pain, they refuse morphine, but the older ones they’re softer, they cry easier. I don’t understand it, sir.” She broke off in a slight tangent.

“Hitlers Youth.” Ron rasped in response to her words. He’d seen it, the ruthlessness of the young men he came so close to. On the lines they were fearless, tough, almost untouchable- “Brainwashed.” Maggie sighed, staring up to the night sky above. She’d finished his train of thought.

“Uh huh.” Ron agreed and she turned to him again, realising who she was with, telling her story to. That’s your Captain. Maggie stood up straighter again, averting her gaze. “Sorry sir, I shouldn’t be rambling to you.”

“It’s Margaret right?” He avoided her nonsense apology and spoke up, almost feeling a little nervous. A genuine smile finally cracked on her face, Ron was confused to hear her laugh. “Maggie. I forget Margaret’s even my name.” She mocked herself.

“Maggie.” Ron corrected, feeling his eyes scan over her shorter frame. Truthfully he’d seen her around, she was beautiful, there was no denying, caring, loyal, courageous- Ron knew all this but he’d never been close to the nurses, often working elsewhere towards the front of the lines. It wasn’t until he was promoted to Easy Company and they entered Germany and Austria did he begin working closer with them.

Maggie smiled again, looking back to the area ahead as they drew closer to where she was staying. Stealing another glance, she felt her heart jump from nerves seeing he was doing the same thing. “I’m just staying over there, that building on the right.” She babbled what felt like nonsense.

Ron nodded, scoping out the quiet area. “Probably not as nice as where you are.” Maggie added, wringing her headscarf between her hands. “Looks nice to me.” Speirs commented as they grew closer to where she was bunked.

“Thank you for walking me back, sir, I appreciate it.” She nodded, feet hitting the concrete below. Maggie felt her cheeks warm as they slowed to a full stop, she inhaled another puff of her cigarette, seeing him watch the faint smoke cloud swirl into the air above her.

Ron opened his mouth, eyes landed back on hers. She was stood so politely, a little shyly, he watched as she toyed her hands around the blue fabric in her hands. For the second time, he worried he made her nervous, scared as they walked back together in the night. That was the last thing he wanted, especially with her.

“If the surgeons give you anymore trouble, let me know.” He watched the corners of her lips pick up further.

“Thank you sir.” He offered her a smile as she turned back to where she was staying. “Ron…” he muttered, voice barely audible.

“Sorry, sir?” She spun back around. Ron felt his chest tighten and he swallowed thickly. “Just call me Ron.”

Nodding, she offered him a gentle grin, “okay. G’night, Ron.” Hearing the name fall from her lips had him smiling. Maggie wasn’t sure if she’d even heard of Captain Speirs smile before, never mind seen it. He nodded and she hesitantly headed back inside, putting out the cigarette before she closed the door behind her.

“Evening.” She nodded to the men guarding the house, they both appeared young, just replacements. “Evening, ma’m.” When she arrived to the apartment she shared with two other nurses they both jumped from the window giddily.

“Captain Speirs is outside.” Nora turned around in surprise as Maggie’s head lifted, placing her bag to one side on the kitchen tabletop.

“Yeah?” She gently responded. “Uh huh, we saw you talking to him. What were you getting, a lecture about entering the Eagles nest?”

“Or was it that you got completely fried when we were up there.” The second girl, Janet snickered deviously.

“No! And no! Everybody else was just as sauced- thank you very much, Janet!” Maggie sassed, taking her cardigan off and placing it into the laundry basket. “He walked me back. He’s actually really nice.” Maggie defended.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing the dirty with Captain Speirs out of everybody?” Nora’s brows raised. “Oh my god, Maggie!” Janet bounced.

“No! I’ve barely spoke to him apart from tonight!” She glanced back out of the window, watching Captain Speirs slip back inside his own billeted house across the square. She pursed her lips, smiling a little before looking back up to the girls.

“Well he is a total dreamboat, a little scary, Mag’s, but whatever floats your boat.” Nora shrugged. “It’s scary how nice he is.” Maggie muttered, captivated by the interaction she had. He almost made her forget about the terrible day she’d just had.

Maggie had always lived in fantasy land, before the war that was. She found herself daydreaming often, thinking about boys. She was used to the attention of lots of boys, both back home and throughout the war- but Captain Speirs was different. He was a man, she hadn’t felt so… gooey inside since she was a teenager, pre-war. Somehow he made all that excitement come back, it was fascinating.

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Why did I decide to become a medic? Well, I wasn’t sure if I could actually shoot somebody. I knew I could defend myself; I knew that if I had to shoot somebody I would.

They gave us all these tests, and through these tests they picked guys for different things. It was really an honor to be picked as a medic.

~ Ed Pepping (one of three original Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division medics. During the war there were 142 medics with the 506th, counting replacements.)

[landinrris]

In which Lando's an infantryman and Carlos is a medic who practices self-destruction in the form of isolation. Tags: Vague un-named character death, vague depictions of violence, 2k word drabble

The medics of Lando’s company are a sort of enigma all their own. Stand-offish, isolated, avoidant—not wanting to get too close to the rest of the men. On the one hand, Lando understands. Treating fallen men is hard enough as it is, let alone the issues should that man be a friend.

And there are so many casualties—of course, the medics aren’t going to enmesh themselves in the pockets of camaraderie that form within the platoons like the rest of them.

Some of the medics are friendlier than others. Of the two medics in Lando’s company, one is slightly warmer than the other—more willing to joke around a bit. The other one though… the one with thick dark hair and permanently wide eyes… the one who sits on the outskirts of every group and stuffs his hands as far into his jacket pockets as he can get them to protect them from the cold... Lando wants to know him.

Carlos Sainz, Medic, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division.

Carlos is one of the original men from the company who has somehow never been injured. He’s someone Lando has looked up to as if he were a god—as if he were invincible, made possible by the fact that he’d trained for two years before ever stepping foot back in Europe.

In the six months since being with the company, Lando’s only spoken to him a handful of times. Even when they were back in England awaiting their next set of orders, he’d kept to himself, only exchanging full sentences with the other medics.

Now, ever since they’ve been holed up in the snowy hellscape outside Bastogne, Carlos has taken his solitude to a new level.

Lando still watches Carlos in awe as he flits around the snowy ground between their foxholes, cheeks red from the cold and nose rubbed raw, like a deer—every footstep as light as the last. He practically blends into the environment with his light green-grey fatigues and helmet covered in a steady layer of snow and frost. His back might as well be permanently hunched from trying to keep a low profile. He must be what the army had in mind when they thought of their boys out here fighting the good fight.

As the weeks wear on though, Lando watches Carlos’ temper grow thinner like everyone else’s. He loses his scissors and spends an hour jumping between foxholes trying to filch some off another guy. He asks Lando for his and any spare morphine he has twice, not remembering he’d already done so.

Lando blows up on him for that—for the audacity to not remember such a recent conversation when there are so few of them. Is he that forgettable that Carlos can’t tell him apart from someone else? As if Lando is a brand-new replacement and not someone who’s been around through advances and retreats alike.

When Lando’s holed up in his own foxhole with an actual new replacement, a young kid who’s still wet behind the ears, his resentment toward Carlos dissipates. They’re undersupplied out here, barely any food or ammunition, let alone medical supplies. They’re quite literally surrounded by the enemy on all sides—remembering who he last asked for supplies is probably the last thing on Carlos’ mind.

And still, Lando can’t help but complain to some of the others about it. They let him, probably because it helps to take everyone’s mind off the borderline inhumane conditions. Besides, it isn’t like there’s much else to do while they wait for another assault to begin.

And then the kid from Lando’s foxhole takes a shot to the neck on a patrol he insists on taking the lead on.

It happens so fast. One second, the only noise is their boots crunching in the snow and the next, the air around them is filled with the cracking of bullets and splintering tree bark. Everyone around him drops to the ground and behind the nearby trees. They’re pinned for several seconds before the sergeant they’re following gathers his thoughts and throws out commands.

Lando tries to get to the kid, to get a bandage on him to stop the bleeding, but the constant barrage of bullets fired in their direction prevents him. The other soldiers attempt to lay down cover fire for Lando to get to him, but even that doesn’t work. He tries and he tries—yells himself hoarse for the kid to stop moving so the enemy soldiers will stop shooting long enough to save him.

Nameless hands hold Lando back by the shoulders and eventually pull him up and away when it’s clear they’re not going to win this.

Lando continues to scream until he has to put his feet under him and move himself back towards their line. And then, through it all is a figure perched on the ground against the trunk of a tree watching in the direction they’re running from.

It’s Carlos, looking like the angel of death himself—dark clothes against the white expanse of their world. The church was wrong when they said Hell was hot. Hell is frozen ground and six inches of packed snow. Hell is tree bursts and bullets. Hell is the kid from his foxhole lying in the snow and turning it red.

It’s not even like Lando was overly close to the kid. He was a replacement, someone who had no idea what he was getting into and whose first foray was the Ardennes Forest in winter. He’d only been here for a few weeks, Lando and him only having a few meaningful conversations that didn’t amount to much in the end. And now he’s gone, and Lando can’t even do the one thing he promised by getting his things from him.

Lando keeps going because he has to, but the weight hangs heavy on his mind for the rest of the day. This isn’t his first casualty. Hell, he didn’t expect the kid to last very long anyway given what they were currently up against, but they were supposed to have at least a bit more room to move.

The other medic, Max, lets Lando huddle up in his foxhole and not talk about it later that night. He can’t bear to be alone right now much less go back to his own hole. Max lets him crawl under the tarp and raises the thin army-issued blanket so Lando can get closer. It’s not much, but it’s a warm body—another living person who understands the horrors of what they’re going through.

If Lando were in a better mood and capable of coherent thought, he’d remark upon Carlos sliding his way into the foxhole an hour or two later, a relieved sigh on his lips. The thought that he’d been looking for Lando of all people is surprising. Carlos doesn’t talk to anyone but the other medic. Why is he looking for him?

Carlos doesn’t leave though, nor does he say anything to Max. Instead, he proceeds to hold a thinly wrapped chocolate bar out to him with hands shaking from the cold, a thick and low, “For you. Please eat it, Lando,” that leaves Lando speechless.

Lando looks at Carlos wearily, the gesture unexpected. The words seep into Lando’s bones and fill him with an unsettling warmth for how simple they are. His mother would be appalled to know he doesn’t say thank you, but his voice doesn’t work. All he can do is reach out and bite off a chunk, letting the sweetness melt over his tongue.

Carlos gives him this gift, shifts closer to him whether out of desire or coldness, and Lando can’t help but think this is some sort of new leaf they’re turning over.

Nothing truly changes around them after that night. The enemy still shells their location every day or so, the snow keeps falling, they remain surrounded. And yet, Lando lets himself gravitate to Carlos where he hadn’t before. What’s more—Carlos doesn’t try to stop him.

It’s unsettling how easily Carlos lets him in.

More and more men Lando had once thought were invincible start to fall, some from minor wounds and others from more serious ones. He can see the way Carlos’ hands start to shake more and more—the way Carlos loses some of the lightness in his steps. Lando has to pull him out of his foxhole once when someone’s yelling for a medic and Carlos is sitting there frozen while the sky explodes above them.

In the quiet aftermath, once everyone has calmed down and the silence is so thick it threatens to suffocate Lando, he finds and sits with Carlos. The sheer presence of the other man is enough to settle Lando’s nerves, the wordless presence Carlos offers acting like a balm to his soul. Maybe it helps to be next to the one person he’d trust to save his life.

Still, Carlos continues to pull back from chiming in on the group around him. He sits farther away, as if his very presence is a curse against the company, destined to bring violence and death upon them. Lando takes extra helpings of their meals and watery coffee over to him and sits perched on his own helmet. He half thinks he’s hallucinating, but Lando swears he sees Carlos’ shoulders relax a few inches when he’s nearby.

Not everything is downhill though. Sometimes, Lando can see remnants of the Carlos from the early days of this campaign. One afternoon, he jogs up to where Lando’s huddled at the edge of the line with two other guys in his characteristic little half-hunch. He asks some inane question with the authority of someone who’s on a mission—one that all three of them answer negatively, and then he’s gone again. The exchange leaves Lando with a fond smile on his face while the other two men seem lost.

“What?” Lando asks when he notices them looking at him.

“You don’t think it’s odd that you’re the only person he talks to, it seems like? Apart from Verstappen.”

Lando shrugs, unsure of how to respond even if it’s true. It’s not like he’s done anything significant to break Carlos from his shell. They’ve still barely talked. And really, the only thing Lando can think of is that he’s no longer letting Carlos use the demons in his head as a means to drive people away. Despite how hard he tries, Lando’s going to be there, and Carlos seems to have accepted that.

He gets a step further on a miraculously sunny afternoon seated in a foxhole at the edge of their line. Carlos crawls from the edge of the tree line and practically pours himself in next to Lando, shoving their shoulders together in unspoken fondness. They have to be quiet out here so close to the enemy, but Lando doesn’t mind.

He looks over just as a sunbeam is catching Carlos’ face and lighting up his eyes for the first time in weeks. The low-hanging clouds full of snow are gone, and in their place is the most beautiful shade of amber Lando thinks he’s ever seen. He swears he stops breathing, embarrassingly obvious even when he should be twice as discreet as he normally would be.

Carlos doesn’t look away though. “What are you looking at?” he asks instead.

Lando should deflect, maybe turn it into some sort of jibe, but he’s so caught off guard that all his normal excuses dry up. It takes more energy than it should to utter out the barely-there, “Nothing, I just… nothing.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at Carlos’ lips before it’s gone. “Maybe you should watch the line then.” His hand brushes against Lando’s where he’s gripping his rifle and doesn’t move away.

Lando’s stomach lurches but he finds it in himself to roll his eyes anyway. “God, you’re annoying.”

The quiet laughter is enough to sustain Lando for weeks.

[ww2yaoi]

I returned to Littlecote with a start when the lieutenant ended his list abruptly with a private named Zoltz. For a few seconds the Regiment stood sad and silent in the lovely Wiltshire dale under the big, white, summer clouds that were so peaceful and eternal, and then, before we could start coughing and shifting our feet, Chaplain McGee stepped to the front of the reviewing stand and said, “Let us pray. We will read aloud the 506th Parachute Infantry prayer that is printed on your program sheets.” We had been handed these programs as we marched onto the field. The prayer, a fine example of the Gott mit Uns spirit of the paratroops, was written by Lt. James G. Morton. “Almighty God,” we began, “we kneel to Thee and ask to be the instrument of Thy fury in smiting the evil forces that have visited death, misery, and debasement on the people of the earth. We humbly face Thee with true penitence for all our sins, for which we do most earnestly seek Thy forgiveness. Help us to dedicate ourselves completely to Thee. Be with us, God, when we leap from our planes in the dark abyss and descend in parachutes into the midst of enemy fire. Give us iron will and stark courage as we spring from the harnesses of our parachutes to seize arms for battle. “The legions of evil are many, Father; grace our arms to meet and defeat them in Thy name and in the name of the freedom and dignity of man. Keep us firm in our faith and resolution, and guide us that we may not dishonor our high mission or fail in our sacred duties. Let our enemies who have lived by the sword turn from their violence lest they perish by the sword. Help us to serve Thee gallantly and to be humble in victory.” There was a pause and then through the still, warm air came the clear notes of a lone bugle playing “Taps”: When your last Day is past, Some bright star From afar O'er your grave, Watch will keep. While you sleep With the brave. The Regiment said, “Amen,” and lifted their heads. “Call your battalions to attention!” the adjutant shouted. Colonel Strayer spun on his heel and threw back his shoulders. “BaTALLYOWN... tenSHUN!” We straightened our backs, raised our heads, clicked our boots together, slapped our hands to our sides. The band began to play “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” and the 1st Battalion went by. We wheeled about and followed them off the field. The Invasion was over, the memorial service had ended. In Normandy, the dead lay forever silent in the dappled-green parachutes that had carried them to earth. We were ready to go again, because we could only go forward, never back. Somebody had to do it. We were not ashamed of the task. We were the infantry, the Queen of Battles. The truck drivers could do their part and get our battle stars, the manufacturers could get rich on cost-plus-10-percent and shout that wars are won by production, but we knew that nothing was solved and nothing accomplished until the infantry had killed the enemy and driven him from his ground. And so we went forward, one regiment, filled up with replacements, the dead as fine and strong a part of us as the living men, so fresh and new, who had come to take their place. 

David Kenyon Webster, Parachute Infantry, pg. 67-68

[jonberry555]

Band of Brothers COMPLETE REVIEW | COMPILATION

Band of Brothers is a 2001 American war drama miniseries about Easy Company (of 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, assigned to the 101st Airborne Division) based on historian Stephen E. Ambrose's 1992 non-fiction book of the same name. It was created by Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks for HBO. This video is a compilation of my individuals reviews for each episode.

[motivateandinspiretoday]

Lynn D. "Buck" Compton Words of Wisdom ...

Lynn D. "Buck" Compton was a World War II veteran who served as a Second Lieutenant in Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. He was also a prominent figure in the HBO miniseries "Band of Brothers," based on Stephen E. Ambrose's book. Compton was known for his courage and leadership during the war, as well as his contributions to the legal profession after returning home.

[sgtgrunt0331-3]

On June 5, 1944, two members of the ‘Filthy Thirteen’ with the 101st Airborne Division, Clarence Ware applies war paint to Charles Plauda, before jumping into Normandy.

The Filthy Thirteen was the name given to the 1st Demolition Section of the Regimental Headquarters Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. They were ordered to secure or destroy the bridges over the Douve River during the Normandy Invasion of Europe in June 1944. Half were either killed, wounded or captured, but they accomplished their mission.

This unit was best known for the famous photo which appeared in Stars and Stripes, showing two members wearing Indian-style “mohawks” and applying war paint to one another. The inspiration for this came from unit sergeant Jake McNiece, who was part Choctaw.

[gaysails]

stop posting about richard nixon tricky dick i stg

Richard Milhous Nixon (January 9, 1913 – April 22, 1994) was the 37th president of the United States, serving from 1969 to 1974.

Richard Davis Winters (January 21, 1918 – January 2, 2011) was a United States Army officer who served as a paratrooper in "Easy Company" of the 506th Infantry Regiment within the 101st Airborne Division during World War II.

Lewis Nixon III (September 30, 1918 – January 11, 1995)[1] was a United States Army officer who, during World War II, served at the company, battalion, and regimental level with the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division.