#toccoa georgia

[incognito-princess]

Look what popped up in my social studies lesson today!!!

Copyrights: McGrawHill

[wandering-jana]

Toccoa Falls

Toccoa, Georgia

Sept. 25, 2024

[dontirrigateme]

The view from the top of Currahee

[myhomeofcaina]

McCaysville, Georgia

[todieforimages]

Lone Oak Motel in Toccoa, Georgia was the Final Home of R&B singer Dee Clark

The Lone Oak Motel is an abandoned motel outside of Toccoa, Georgia. Built in 1941, it seems to have been in use until 1921. Tax records indicate it was sold in 2024, so its future is unknown. It could be restored, demolished, or continue to languish. When I researched the motel’s history, I found out it was the final home of the singer Delecta “Dee” Clark (1938-1990), who sang the 1961 hit…

[thephotoregistry]

Toccoa, Georgia

Rob Hann

[floydmtalbert]

“Frolic at the Front”

It’s a festive occasion at the Italian front as the guys and gals drag out a portable phonograph and cut a figurative rug on foreign soil. At left, dancing with Lois Berney of Fallon, Nevada, is PFC Clyde Burgess of Toccoa, Georgia. Dancing at right are Mary Ross Moen of Onawa, Iowa, and Pvt. William Maderra of Rayland, Ohio. The girls are Red Cross workers whose job is to boost the morale of Fifth Army men.

Photo by Bert Brandt, war correspondent for ACME Newspictures, c. 28 November 1943 — © Allison Collection, MacArthur Museum of Arkansas Military History

[wcters]

JUST LET ME BE (CLOSE TO YOU)

pairing: joeseph liebgott x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: four times you question what you two are and the one time you finally figure it out

warnings/contents: angst (we’re dealing with war), kissing, pda, some drug use (cigarettes), alcohol, swearing, weapons, violence

author’s note: no disrespect to the actual veterans or any of the situations described and written here, this is based on the series and the character of joe liebgott. somewhat ib @softguarnere (if you would like me to change it/take it down i will. it’s not really similar but still). if anyone has any tips for writing for band of brothers, please let me know, longest imagine written so far, and a dedication to my boys skip and penkala

You never knew home could be a person . . . until you joined the army and were surrounded by it, by many different people, and the one person you trusted most ━━ Joseph Liebgott. It was unexpected. To outsiders, they wouldn’t even think you two would speak ━━ let alone be friends. Yes, both of you are different in many ways, but you’re also the same in many ways. Skip Muck, one of your other close friends in Easy Company, joked that part of your souls were intertwined and you two would eventually fall in love. In the beginning, you would laugh it off. But you soon realized how true that was.

1. 1942, TOCCOA, GEORGIA

The army was ruthless. You knew that it would be when you joined Easy Company a couple months earlier, but you didn’t expect it to be this bad . . . only because of a certain officer named Sobel. You swear he had it out for all of you, and lots of the men hadn’t done anything bad ━━ that you knew of. Most of the time your weekend passes were revoked for little things such as some dirt on your gun and a stray string (that wasn’t actually there, you checked multiple times), but this weeked you and Joe were lucky to still have yours. You don’t even know how you both managed that, let alone him.

You two were walking hand in hand down the dimly lit street. You were quietly humming a song as you looked at the various stores as you made your way to one of the bars your group frequented. A few other army guys could be seen walking with each other or a local girl hanging on their arm. On any other night you would’ve looked like any other soldier in the soft lights, but you had switched out your uniform for a dress you had hidden in your barracks. You had thought ‘why not? It’ll probably be the last time I get a chance to wear it’ and threw it on with some heels you borrowed from a girl you knew in town with a promise to return them.

The quietness of the street got smaller and smaller as you made you got closer to the bar. “Crowded tonight, huh?” The man beside spoke out loud, swinging your clasped hands. “I think to us it does, but to them it doesn’t.” You joked while letting out a chuckle. Joe did too before grabbing the door of the bar and opening it for you. You mumbled a “thank you” while music filled your ears. “I’ll find us a seat, you get us drinks.” You told Joe as he nodded and you went to search for a booth.

It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, and soon enough you and Joe were chatting and laughing while couples danced around you. Joe looked around as you sipped your beer before he got up out of the booth and lent out a hand to you. “Would you like to dance?” He smiled. You laughed before looking around. “Why not?” You agreed and got up, making your way to the dance floor as a slow song began to play.

While leaned your head on his chest as you danced with couples around you, you couldn’t help but wonder what you two were.

2. 1943, BROOKLYN NAVAL SHIPYARD, NEW YORK

The heat of the boat taking you to England was suffocating with all of the soldiers packed in it, but Joe managed to have an arm around you waist while you two were playing cards with Muck and Bill. You were just an observer, butting out after the third game and got lost every one.

“Jesus Bill! You must be cheating!” Joe yelled as the brunette man placed another card down, Muck agreeing sourly. You laughed at that while stealing the cigarette out of Joe’s mouth and taking a hit. “You’re just sorry losers.” Bill laughed at their faces. “You don’t get to laugh y/n, you quit because you kept losing.” Skip pointed at you as he saw your face. “At least I accepted defeat, asshole.” You could feel the small laugh that came out of Joe’s chest and imagined the smirk that was on his face. “She got you there, Skip.”

They continued playing for a little while, you and Joe taking turns smoking until Bill won again and Skip slammed his cards down onto the cot. “Calm down.” You told him, soft smile on your face. “I am calm, it’s just Bill keeps winning and it’s fucking hot in here,” the man gestured to the people around you,” I don’t know how you two are that close. I swear I’m going to die of overheating and you two are practically cuddling.” You made a face to your friend while Joe laughed and made a comment that you couldn’t hear.

You and Joe were really close, you basically almost on his lap at this point, but you had a reason. The boat was packed, not being much room to move around. You didn’t want to climb up all the way onto your cot, and you wanted to keep talking with your friends. Plus, you and him had to be close ━━ you were sharing a cigarette. “We’re sharing a cigarette.” You shrugged, grabbing the object out of his mouth as he yelled a “hey” as you took it. Skip gave you a look as if to say “that’s bullshit” and got up, going to find Penkala. You looked over to Bill and he looked down at his cards, smirk on his face.

You had a reason to be that close . . . right? Or was it something different?

3. 1944, NORMANDY, FRANCE

The gravel crunched underneath your boots. You had just landed somewhere in Normandy ━━ you weren’t sure, you had missed your DZ ━━ and were now on the lookout to hopefully find Easy Company and not some German looking to end your life. That’s why you had you gun aimed into the distance. Every little breeze that shook the branches had yoy freezing up and darting you eyes, only to figure out it was the wind or some rabbit that looked as scared as you. It made you feel a little less alone.

When another bush shook, this time a little longer than usual, you crouched instead of just freezing up, gun still trained to where the sound was coming from. You waited before slowly moving forward, trying to minimize the sound of the road beneath you. You saw the bottom of a pair of boots and it seemed you were both waiting for the other to speak first. That decision was chosen for you.

“Flash.” “Thunder.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you heard that and then saw the multiple pairs of boots. “Y/n?” Someone called out within the group. You squinted trying to see who it was. “Bill!” You exclaimed in surprise before recognizing the few other people with him: Marlarkey, Wynn, Toye, Lipton, some people from the 82nd Airborne, and Hall, a man not from your company but you recognized him from Able Company. You quietly said your greetings before continuing on your way to try and find your rallying point.

After finding and following a set a train tracks, a situation happened where Bill shot before Winter’s Command, you reprimanding him again and jokingly pushing his head as he called you a “stupid mick” which you laughed at. Now the group was on the road to the rallying point. The whole time you had been thinking about Joe. God, you wished he was still alive. You didn’t know what you were going to do if he wasn’t. When you eventually got to the farm, you heard a familiar voice. You stopped as you saw each other before you began to run and give him a hug.

You could hear the mumblings of the other soldiers, but at that moment, you didn’t care. When you pulled away you grabbed his face. “Joeseph Liebgott, I would’ve killed you if you died.” You laughed with tears in your eyes as you checked him for and scratches and scars. “I wouldn’t dream of it doll.” He laughed too before pulling you back in.

You decided at that moment in time that it didn’t care what you two were, as long as you had him, you didn’t care. As long as you knew he was okay.

4. 1944, ARDENNES FOREST, BELGIUM

All you could see was white: the sky, the ground, even the trees that surrounded you, that partly acted as a wall. You were sick of it. You think you would feel this way for the rest of your life ━━ the look and feel of the freezing chill of the snow and forest. Maybe you would move to somewhere warmer, somewhere where it doesn’t snow and the lowest it would get would be 59 degrees Fahrenheit.

Imagining what you would do in the future always helped you get somewhat through the hard times, though a person was the one thing that was a blanket to you. He had told you he left to talk to Lipton, but he hadn’t been back for awhile.

As if the world hated you having a small moment of what little peace you could have, a light broke through the white sky. A yell of “incoming!” from someone near you, either Skip or Penkala, caused you to sink further into your foxhole, well what you could, and cover your ears as the bombing started. When you heard yelling with words like “c’mon!” and “hurry!” you looked up to see Skip and Penkala yelling out to Luz who was out in the open. “Luz!” You yelled to him, “get over here! It’s closer!” He followed your voice and jumped in, but as soon as you both turned around you saw Skip and Penkala get hit with a shell. You knew they didn’t make it.

It was over as soon as it happened, but you were so distracted with what had happened that you didn’t feel the burning on your side until George had asked you if you were okay. You groaned when you first felt the searing pain and lifted up your coat to see the blood soaking it. “Oh, shit. Medic!” You had been with a piece of flying shrapnel from the shell that hit the two. You didn’t have time to register how one of your best friends were killed before Doc Roe was at your side with Luz holding you so you wouldn’t move too much. “Christ, y/n.” Gene mumbled as he got a look at it before grabbing a bandage and wrapping it the best he could.

You were frozen now ━━ not from the cold, or the wound on your side that would cause you to get taken off, you were frozen with the realization of what just happened. You wanted to cry, scream, do anything, but you just . . . couldn’t. Everything around you was fuzzy and you didn’t register that the shelling stopped and you were being taken out until you saw Joe. Then, tears managed to fall and you started to sob. He was mumbling about how you were going to be okay and everything was fine as he followed you to the Jeep.

When you felt the rumble of the Jeep engine, you grabbed Joe’s hand as tight as you could. “I love you, you shithead.” You laughed as you told him. You didn’t know whether you would see him again, and you wanted him to know how you truly felt about him, and how much he ment to you. He froze for a second before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too. I’ll kill you if you die.”

You laughed one more time as the image of him started to get smaller and smaller as he let go of your hand, slapped the Jeep, and it started to move. You tried to memorize what you could see: his shadow, the way he stands . . . him. You closed your eyes and felt a tear make its way down your face, settling in with the other dry ones.

+1. 1945, BAVARIA, AUSTRIA

The almost-healed wound on your side was a reminder of what you’ve been through, and what you’d missed. You’d been stuck in the hospital since mid December. You attempted to go AWOL multiple times, but you had failed every time.

Your shrapnel scar had ended being worse than Doc Roe thought and you had to be transported to surgery. When you woke up and heard what happened, you immediately wanted to go back and find your company . . . and Joe. You knew you left on a weird note, and wanted to figure it out. That was looming on your mind, along with the grief you finally had time to face. Not really face, more like confront. It was one of the only things you thought about while in there. You hadn’t fully come to terms with it, but you had made some progress.

You had thought about how George was doing, and especially Malarkey. He was Skip and Penkala’s best friend ━━ you were a close second. Bastogne was a horrible place in itself, but having to deal with that while there, to you, was a death wish. You were worried for everyone, the people you left behind.

You had just gotten to Bavaria when you saw Colonel Sink, and he saw you. As one of the very few women in the army, you could say he had a soft spot for you (though you would never say it to his face). You had been told a very uninformative idea of where the airborne was located, but you had been wandering since you got dropped off.

“Sergeant y/n, is that you?” Sink had called out to you as the car stopped. You saluted before you replied with a “yes sir.” “You lookin’ for Easy soldier?” You answered with a yes and conversed for a little bit ━━ mostly about your time in the hospital and what you missed ━━ before he invited you into the Jeep to get a ride up the mountain that looked over you.

That’s where you were know as you made your way up the hill, the familiar rumble of the Jeep underneath you. You couldn’t deny the feeling of excitement and happiness in your stomach as you got closer. You soon heard voices over the engine and on the horizon silhouettes appeared. When the car stopped, you gave a quick thank you, saluted, and made your way to where some of Easy was sitting.

“Having fun without me?” You asked out loud as people turned to you. There were calls of excitement as they saw you and people made their way to greet you, but one of the faces you were looking for was Joe. You eventually saw him getting up from sitting in front of a wheel and you both made eye contact before people split and let there be a clear path to him. You didn’t have to say anything to let him know you were running towards him before jumping on him and giving him a hug. He held you right, as if you were going to leave again, and spinned you around as you both laughed.

He was still holding you, arms around your waist, but had let your feet touch the floor. “Hi.” You smiled. “Hey doll.” Those were the only things said before you lips crashed together and there were cheers from your friends around you. When you parted, your foreheads fell against each other. “I was so worried, I was afraid you weren’t going to come back.” He admitted. “You can’t get rid of me that easy Joe.” You joked before kissing him quickly again and then went on a mission to find Malarkey.

He was leaning against the side of a car, cigarette in his hand. You gave him a tight hug, saying everything you needed to but couldn’t, before parting. You sat and talked while Joe kept a close eye on you.

“Skip was right, y’know.” Malarkey said as he let out some smoke. “What do you mean?” You asked, looking at everyone and the view. “About you and Joe. How your souls are intertwined. I always laughed at it but seeing you two now, he was right.” You blushed and looked down before your eyes met Joe’s and he winked at you.

“I guess so. But hey, never doubt Skip. He always said that. Guess this is a nice payback.” “Guess so.”

You never thought a person could be home, but as you walk in front of the fireplace, your baby girl in your arms, you realize that it could be ━━ that it is. And you are ever so thankful you figured out what you two were.

[privatebullshit]

shut me up [a 5+1 luztoye fic]

summary: the five times joe told george to shut up, and the one time he made him. a/n: mentions of throwing up in the beginning.

—

Currahee Mountain, Camp Toccoa

This wasn't the first time that Joe had to tell George to shut his mouth, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was the catalyst that sparked something new between them. George thought that pushing Joe's buttons was funny, to put it simply. He saw it as a challenge on how far Toye's limits could be stretched.

As Captain Sobel barked at the men of Easy Company to run Currahee again, George saw it as the perfect opportunity to make Joe see red. He was already agitated about the fact that he had to run six miles with two full helpings of army spaghetti feeling like a block in his stomach, and Luz was about to make it significantly worse.

"Hey. Hey, Toye," George says, running next to the now-scowling man.

"Whaddaya want, Luz?" Joe grunts. He looks over at the smaller man and the way his dark hair plasters to his forehead, face damp with sweat as he runs. If he wasn't so damn annoying, maybe Joe would find him cute— maybe.

George's face breaks into his signature grin, eyes crinkling at the irritation in Joe's voice. He lets out an airy laugh, a bit breathless from all the running.

"Just sayin' 'hi.'" Which earns him an eyeroll before continuing, "You look a little sick there, Joe."

Joe almost smacked George upside the head, but his stomach started to churn, making it impossible to do anything but focus on not hurling the contents of his dinner.

"What? Don't tell me you're gonna throw up," George snickers. He gives his friend a light pat on the shoulder.

"Luz, shut up," Joe says through gritted teeth. He didn't have the patience to deal with the jokester's antics, not right now. And if it weren't for this godforsaken mountain and the other men surrounding them, maybe Joe would've shut George up instead.

—

Barracks, Camp Toccoa

Luz hadn't settled down to sleep yet, chattering his bunkmate's ear off late into the night. He was talking about trivial things, not really making any real points or comments that were worth striking a conversation over. Most of the other guys were already snoring, but Joe couldn't sleep peacefully with George's whispering right above him.

"Luz," he grumbles, kicking the bed up top, causing George to shift around.

"Yeah?" George leans over the top bunk, peering down into the dark where he could faintly make out Joe's outline. He could imagine the scowl on Joe's face that would be clear as day if there was a lamp on.

Joe lets out a tired huff, mumbling lowly, "'m tryna sleep here."

He heard George laugh quietly, followed by the sound of feet hitting the ground. Now, George was sitting on the edge of Joe's bunk, apparently looking down on him.

"Ya can't deny that ya like my talkin'," he whispers, bed creaking slightly at the shift in his weight.

"I can, because I don't like it," Joe whispers back bitterly, but he was doing a bad job of having any real bite to his words.

"Come on, Joe. . . I'm not that bad to listen to, right? I mean—"

Joe blindly grabs at the collar of George's shirt, tugging him down closer. George teeters, his weight lurching towards Joe as he plants his hand on his chest to keep himself from falling on him.

He could swear that he heard Joe's breath hitch ever so slightly as the both of them went silent. The hand on his collar slid up the side of his neck and cupped either side of George's jaw.

"If you know what's good for you, you're gonna shut your mouth," Joe hisses, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

George lets out a soft gasp before Joe's hand drops, allowing the other to scamper back to the top bunk— conflicted, but grateful for the way the darkness of the barracks concealed the slight pinkness on his cheeks.

—

Fort Bennington, Georgia

The men of Easy Company were celebrating receiving their jump wings at the pub, spirits high as they drank, joked around, and yelled. Joe leaned on the bar counters, facial expression neutral as he stared at George's back. For some reason, he made mental note of the way George's back curves and twists as he moves, passing out glasses of beer to fellow enlisted men.

A small smirk tugs at Joe's lips, but he quickly drops it when George turns around. He could've sworn he saw George's eyes light up just a bit when he saw him.

"Corporal Toye," George starts, imitating Captain Sobel, earning an exasperated sigh from Joe, "there will be no there will be no leaning in my company. Are those dusty jump wings?"

Joe straightened up and looked down, brushing his thumb over his jump wings to polish them to the best of his abilities.

"How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

George barely got out the last word before Joe gripped his uniform and pulled him in, their faces dangerously close.

"Luz, just give me a drink," he mutters, a slight edge to his voice that left George's mind wandering. Any closer and his lips would be ghosting over his.

Shaking the thought from his mind, George grins as he locks eyes with Joe, eyelashes fluttering slightly, "Hell of an idea, Joe."

Joe's eyes dart down to George's lips for a split second before he released him so he could get his beer. George bends down to get another full glass, handing it to Joe as their fingers brushed for an electrifying moment.

"There ya go," George says a bit softer now.

Joe didn't know why, but he mumbles the words "shut up" before taking a sip of the cold beer.

—

Upottery, England

It was the day before their jump into Normandy and the men were currently packing their leg bags. George watches as Joe lists off all the things they'll have to carry and how it weighs just as much as he does.

"Say, Joe, are ya gonna pack your bag, or keep complainin' about it?" he asks, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses in a few cartons of smokes to the already large pile of items.

Joe turns to look at George, eyes narrowed and warning.

"Shut up before I use the brass knuckles on you instead," he scowls, raising a threatening fist to shake at George.

This earns a loud laugh from George as he walks over to where Joe is standing.

"You're so uptight, hell if I didn't know ya, I'd say you're Captain Sobel's son!" he barks out another laugh, wincing once Joe smacks the side of his head.

"If the Krauts don't get you first, I will," Joe growls.

George gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he steps closer, lowering his voice just enough for Joe to hear, "is that a promise?"

What once was a threat vanishes into thin air as Joe's jaw slacks ever so slightly at George's sudden boldness. He could've been joking around, as usual, but the sultry tone that laced his words mimicked something other than teasing.

Joe clenches his teeth once more, going back to pack his leg bag as George snickers in the background, flooding his mind with thoughts of shutting him up.

—

Mourmelon, France

"Seven Sinners" starring John Wayne and Marlene Dietrich was being projected on the screen that the men were staring at as they enjoyed some rare downtime in France. George couldn't help but say something stupid; it was in his nature.

He lights up a Lucky Strike and wraps his lips around it, inhaling the familiar taste of nicotine and exhaling the smoke.

"Look at me, I’m John Waye. The costume department set me up with these great navy whites, whaddaya think?" he says openly, a bit too loud for the two in front of him.

Joe turns his head and glares at George, "Luz, shut up."

Lipton joins in on silencing him, "I'm trying to watch this."

George simply shrugs, cigarette between his index and middle finger. "I've seen this movie 13 times, okay?"

A scowl flashes over Joe's face, "Well I haven't, so shut up."

The other grins at him again— that stupid, charming grin that Joe wanted to wipe off his face. Joe grumbles and curses George under his breath, letting the image of his smile in his mind get under his skin. God, he could punch him, or kiss him— but he's not quite sure why he thought of that.

Later that day

After being told to return to their barracks and talk to their platoon leaders, George and Joe were some of the last ones to leave the screen room. They walk side by side, George finally silent after the movie was shut off.

"Got a smoke?" Joe asks, looking down at George who's already extending a Lucky Strike to him. He takes it with a soft "thanks," placing it between his lips.

He's quiet as they walk out before he asks another question, "Got a light?"

George smirks and chuckles at Joe, "Ya never stop askin' for things, do ya?"

Joe takes a deep breath, restraining himself as George lifts the flame from his lighter to the tip of the cigarette.

"Why dontcha get your own lighter, Joe?" George asks, pocketing his own as he stops and glances at him.

To be honest, Joe's irritation with George was through the roof, so he grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards an empty barracks. George couldn't even protest before his back was pushed against the wall in the far corner of the room, Joe gripping his uniform with both hands.

"Joe—"

"Shut up," Joe cuts him off. "You never know how to shut up, huh?"

George looks at him with fire in his gaze, opening his mouth to make another snarky comment.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, Joe presses his lips against George's, earning a sharp gasp from the latter.

George brings his arms to snake around Joe's neck, entangling himself in his embrace as Joe lets go of his uniform to cup the back of his head. It was just to make him shut up at first, but after hearing George whine just a little, Joe was determine to make him do it again.

After all, George sounded prettier when pressed against Joe.

[blurredcolour]

Take These Broken Wings

Dick Winters x Enlisted!Unnamed Female OC/Reader

Trapped behind his desk, Dick finds out the unthinkable has happened to the woman he cares about. Now he has to deal with the consequences; first as her commanding officer and then as the man who loves her.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Sexual Assault, Descriptions of OC/Reader Injuries, Discussion of Retaliatory Violence, Gentleman's Agreement Not To Prosecute, Period Specific Ideas about Honor and Protection of Women, PTSD, Weapons, Language, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Because of the sensitive nature of this fic, I chose to write it in the third person but only a nickname is used so it can be read as a reader fic. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within, particularly the Red Devils in this case!

Special Note: Dearest tag list, I have chosen not to tag any of you because this is so wildly different than my usual fics, I just wasn't sure who would want to read it.

Word Count: 4148

-------------------------

October 17, 1944 – Schoonderlogt, Holland

It had never been his intention to fall in love with her. With any of the female paratroopers in the 506th, for that matter. But like the slow erosion of a river carving a new path through bare rock, she had ever so gradually hollowed out a place for herself in his heart until all at once he realized he could not live without her. Of course, if one were to ask her, she fell in love with Dick Winters the first day they met in Toccoa, Georgia, sun scorching their skin, blazing his hair copper – or so she liked to remind him often.

His realization had not come until he’d found her halfway up a tree in Normandy, tangled in the lines of her parachute, desperately trying to slice herself free before she was discovered by enemy troops. The sheer panic he had felt as his mind flooded with all the possible ways he could have lost her that night had only served to drive home how deeply he cared for Peaches. Dick didn’t often use the nickname that Nix had bestowed on her; a nickname born of some sordid adventure involving cans of peaches that he’d decided he’d rather not know about. But he did love the way it made her nose crinkle when he slipped it into their stolen moments together. Moments that were becoming harder and harder to find now that he had been placed in charge of 2nd Battalion.

Several pages being laid on his desk by Zielinski tore Dick out of his inner musings and he lifted his pen to add his signature to the line where his Orderly pointed expectantly. Sink had assured him the paperwork would be ‘nothing to sweat’ but Dick was certainly sweating it now. The call of Nixon’s voice as he came up the stairs was a welcome reprieve from the rapidly multiplying stacks of paper on his desk, something that his friend seemed only too happy to point out.

Dick could only feel envy, mixed with trepidation and a certain amount of helplessness, as Heyliger informed him Operation Pegasus was preparing to launch in a matter of hours and he remained trapped in his combination office and bedroom in the attic. As the pair of them made their way down the stairs and out of the requisitioned farmhouse, Dick looked up from his typewriter once more as he heard Nixon’s bright greeting.

“Hey there Peaches, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Very funny Captain. Lieutenant.” He heard her voice reply and did his best not to grin.

“Zielenski, could you go grab a new box of pencils from the storeroom? It’s going to be a long night.” Dick swallowed, doing his best to come up with an excuse for two minutes alone with her, five if he was lucky.

“Yes, sir.” There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice but thankfully he complied, hustling down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door shut followed by the sound of her jump boots scuffing up the worn wooden steps, grinning as she was startled to find him waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“And here I was thinking I’d surprise you…Who was that?” She glanced back towards the door, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, how’re you feeling about this thing?” He asked softly, taking her hands in his.

“Should be fine, Moose picked mostly people who can swim, the Canadians are nice. That Colonel Dobie sure is handsome.” She teased lightly, lacing her fingers with his.

Despite her teasing tone, Dick still felt a little annoyed at the comment, particularly given the fact that the man was free to swim the river in reconnaissance and join the operation that night while he was a glorified paper pusher.

“Too bad for him I like ‘em tall as a stalk of corn and copper as a penny.” She leaned in to press her lips to his and Dick felt his eyes fall shut, tension that he’d been carrying for hours slowly ebbing from his body.

She pulled back with a soft smile before frowning apologetically. “Sorry my love I got grease paint on you.” She licked her thumb and swiped at his cheek like he was a grubby toddler, and he could not help the broad grin that stretched his features even as he felt his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment she’d only recently begun to use.

“I’ll get it in a moment, Peaches.” He muttered, glancing around to ensure they were still alone before sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close, kissing her soundly. “Be safe out there…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Oh, like run across a field toward two companies of SS by myself?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he pressed his lips together, still able to hear every word of her displeasure at being left behind for the agonizing seconds it took for the red smoke signal to appear.

“Especially that.” He muttered, clearing his throat and taking a step back as he heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly grabbed her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen, passing it to him so he could scrub at his face, hopefully removing all evidence of their interlude.

“Pencils sir.” Zielenski held out the box proudly and she raised an eyebrow, introducing herself warmly to the Orderly.

“That’ll be all, Sergeant, good luck out there.”

“Thank you sir, appreciate your time.” She replied smoothly, looking completely unaffected while Dick was very aware of the residual heat in his face.

Dick took his time opening the box, watching her back as she slowly descended out of sight until the door closed shut behind her. Sinking into his chair he submitted himself to another few hours of pointing and signing with his Orderly before sending the boy to bed, peering out his window hopefully when a great ruckus arose from one of the barns out back.

Glancing at his watch to confirm it was nearly 0200, he smiled a little to himself as everything seemed to have gone off alright. Rain drops began to sporadically strike the windowpane before the clouds opened into a steady, driving rain. Dick dropped the curtain with a sigh, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of water striking the roof and rolling off the eaves. It was dangerously tempting to lay his head down on his desk and give in to the heaviness in his eyelids, to allow himself to be lulled to sleep. Shaking himself physically, he turned back to yet another report and began striking the keys of his typewriter with a vengeance, hoping to keep himself awake with the racket.

Dick was just spooling a fresh page into place when Nixon was suddenly hurrying up the stairs, followed by Colonel Dobie himself. Both men were wet as drowned rats, but it was the seriousness of their faces that pulled Dick to his feet immediately, securing the pencil from between his teeth into his fist.

“Dick, you remember Colonel Dobie.”

“Yeah…yeah I do…” He replied slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of a sword dangling over their heads as he waited for them to tell him what was going on.

“Terribly sorry to barge in at such a late hour but I wanted to inform you of this incident personally. Well, incidents more precisely. It appears that one of our men, a Holman from Yorkshire, has been severely beaten by a couple of your men from Easy in retaliation for his attack on one of your female soldiers.”

Dick nodded once as he processed the news, heartrate picking up immediately. There were a total of twenty-seven women in 2nd Battalion, but given that it had been only Easy involved in Pegasus, that narrowed it down to a possible nine, of which just a handful had been chosen for the operation. Dick merely had to glance at Nixon to confirm his worst fear. Peaches.

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pencil in his hand had grown until the wooden object snapped in two.

“I am willing to consider the matter settled and in need of no further action. The man in question will be returned to England and assigned to some menial duty once he recovers from his injuries.” Dobie continued.

“That will take some time?” Dick asked calmly, despite the searing rage he felt rushing through him.

“Your men were thorough, Captain.” The Colonel replied, grimly.

Dick stood there a moment, eyeing an ink stain that had seeped into the wooden desk top while he was refilling his pen, considering. A beating and unpleasant assignment as punishment for heaven knows what the man had inflicted on her. But to demand more formal proceedings would immediately require testimonies and punishments for the men who had taken it upon themselves to defend her honor. He closed his eyes a moment, vision immediately flooded with her smiling face on one of the blissful outings they had enjoyed during their furlough in England. Forcefully setting the image aside, despite the way it wrenched at his heart to do so, he nodded again. If only to save her further pain.

“Agreed.” Dick offered his hand, Colonel Dobie sealing their agreement with a firm handshake.

Dobie turned to shake Nixon’s hand as well before seeing himself out, Dick waiting until he heard the door close before he spoke again. Two questions on the tip of his tongue, two men inside him, warring for dominance. To his dismay, he had to allow the Battalion’s commanding officer to speak first.

“Who are our vigilantes?”

“Martin and Randleman.” Nixon replied, sitting on one of the folding chairs at the small table in the corner with a heavy sigh. “Moose has them downstairs if you want to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Show them up.”

Nixon leveraged himself out of the chair and was halfway across the attic before he suddenly turned back. “She put that can of peaches in Parkes’ footlocker.”

Dick eyed his friend in confusion, the information seeming utterly irrelevant to their current situation until he suddenly remembered one of Sobel’s impromptu barracks inspections back in Toccoa.

“That dumb bastard wouldn’t leave the women in her squad alone, so she planted it there to get him in trouble – never expected him to get thrown out entirely.” Nixon sighed heavily.

“Where is she?” Dick asked quickly, the words almost melding together in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

“Johnny thinks she’s holed up in the supply barn, I’ll find out.” Nixon replied with a frown and Dick nodded silently, muscles of his jaw clenching almost painfully as he clung to the last vestiges of his focus.

He tossed the broken halves of the pencil onto the desk, frowning at the mess of lead on his palm and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, frown deepening at the smudges of grease paint there from her face. He clenched the fabric between his fingers as Moose entered the office followed by a hard-faced Martin and a typically laidback Randleman.

“What happened?” He asked plainly, eyeing them expectantly.

Moose stood off to the side, watching Martin and Randleman exchange a look.

“Don’t all talk at once…” Dick prodded calmly, and Martin turned back to him.

“Bull and I were on our way out of the celebration, wanted to beat the rain and get back to our quarters – didn’t work out. Ran into Peaches as we got around the corner of the building. She looked like hell, roughed up, wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“She just ran, not like her at all, sir.” Randleman chimed in.

“And then that bastard from the Devils, or whatever they call themselves, came around the corner looking all pleased with himself. Adjusting his pants.”

“Knuckles busted up.” Came Randleman’s addition once more.

“Anyway,” Martin continued after a sharp nod of agreement, “it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Dick exhaled a slow, measured breath. “I can appreciate why you both did what you did. Next time, and we can only hope we never have to have this conversation again, bring him to Moose, to me. We have systems in place, alright?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All that said…well done.” Dick said with quiet emphasis, letting his pride and gratitude burn brightly in his gaze. “And you’re both on latrine duty for the next two weeks.” He tacked on because he really had no choice but to punish them.

A pair of smirking salutes was the only response before Moose ushered them out. Dick waited until the count of twenty before sliding the suspenders of his OD pants onto his shoulders, shrugging into his jacket and clapping on his helmet. Grabbing his M1 and flashlight, he quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the persistent deluge toward the supply barn, nearly slamming into Nixon on the way.

“Follow me.” His friend nodded and continued to lead the way, nodding to Liebgott who was standing guard at the door, soaked to the skin.

“Joe.” Dick greeted him, noting the way he had his collar turned up obscuring half his face. The way his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

It easily could have been in an attempt to protect himself against the elements, but Dick also knew Liebgott was the sort of man to never let anything go unanswered and if he was standing out here in the rain, he was surely more involved than anyone was letting on.

“Peaches is in there, sir. Doc Roe tried to help her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. Thought I’d make sure no one bothered her until she was ready.”

“Good thinking.” Dick swallowed.

He ought to press further, ferret out the truth of Liebgott’s involvement, but standing just outside where she was hiding, the other half of him was very much in charge now – wanting nothing more than to throw the door open and charge in. But by the sounds of it, that approach would be quite unwelcome.

“Why don’t you go warm up for a bit, we’ll take a turn.” Nixon said to Liebgott who looked between the pair of them before nodding in return.

“Thanks, sir.” He agreed, glancing back toward the barn once before jogging off into the night.

Dick waited until they were well and truly alone before slowly opening the door, stepping into the dim space, sliding his helmet from his head. The sound of footsteps retreating into the far corner behind crates of supplies drew his attention and he took a slow breath, calling her name softly.

“It’s me. Dick. I’m here to check on you.”

There was a soft, smothered sound and he clenched his fists, keeping his progress gradual and measured, trying not to make any sudden movements or noises to startle her. As he reached the rear of the barn, he rounded a stack of crates and his heart clenched painfully as his eyes fell on her wedged between a few bundles of blankets and sacks of something it was too dark to read the labels of. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, M1 tucked into the crook of her elbow as she eyed him warily in the dark.

Her normally tidy hair was in disarray, and the side of her face that he could see sported a gash across her eyebrow. He took another step closer, the air shuddering from his lungs as she flinched away, pressing tightly into the wall behind her, revealing her split lower lip, the swelling along her left cheekbone, the barely-dried tear tracks on her face.

Dick had never seen her shy away from anything since the day they’d met – not the obstacle course, the rifle range, Currahee, or jumping out of a C-47. For his proximity to garner such a reaction from her felt very much as though she had torn his heart from his breast and stomped it beneath her heel.

Sinking slowly into a crouch, he swallowed before speaking just above a whisper. “Peaches…”

The look of disgust, whether it was at the nickname or at herself – perhaps both, mixed with horror that crossed her face had Dick seriously considering if he had enough time to find Holman before his trip back to England and land a few blows himself. He gently corrected it with her name, teeth grinding together audibly in his skull as she turned her head to the side revealing small knicks at her throat. He’d held her at knife point.

“They’ve already found him. Some of the boys took justice into their own hands, but his superiors know now too.” He tried to reassure her, let her know he was no longer out there, no longer a threat to her.

Dick’s eyes dropped to follow the movement of her fingers as she picked at the torn ends of her nails, several cuts visible on her hands as well. Knowing her she’d probably put up a hell of a fight.

“P–” He stopped himself before he accidentally used the offensive nickname again. “…please you’re hurt. Can I clean you up?” He asked, voice trembling with the emotions he was desperately trying to keep at bay for her sake as he shifted forward onto his knees.

She shook her head violently in response, hugging her limbs tighter to her body, which hadn’t even seemed a possibility until it was done. Dick swallowed painfully, carefully laying his rifle and helmet down on the wooden floor beside him, sitting back on his heels.

“I love you.” He blinked rapidly at the gathering dampness in his eyelashes. “No matter what’s happened, I will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She eyed him skeptically, no words passing between them for a long while. The sound of the persistent rain outside pounding against the roof filled the barn, drowning out the sound of their breathing, until she opened her mouth to speak at last.

“I froze.” She whispered, tone thick with self-loathing as she released her grip on her M1, laying it down beside his before sealing her palm over her mouth.

She began to shake with sobs so ferocious that no sound passed her throat, rendering the smothering effect of her hand unnecessary. Dick felt his heart shatter as he automatically reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and soothe some of her pain. Her repeated aversion to his touch, however, came flooding back and he froze, arms outstretched and aching to hold her, but wanting to respect her wishes.

The feeling of her body colliding with his chest as she launched herself into his arms punched the air from his lungs for several reasons, nearly sending him toppling over backwards with the force of it. Dick’s arms quickly gathered her onto his lap, one hand rubbing along her spine as her strangled sobs soaked his jacket, her hands clutching at him in return.

“You survived, my love.” He whispered against her hair, deciding he really ought to call her that in kind. It was only fitting for it was exactly how he felt. “You did what you had to do to survive in that moment. Please forgive yourself.”

He felt her shift against his sternum, the shudders wracking her body gradually slowing as she took deeper and deeper breaths, sniffling and wiping at her face carefully.

“Who did you have to yell at?” She murmured wetly, peering up at him cautiously.

“Martin and Randleman. Fairly certain Liebgott is somehow involved as well.” Dick replied softly, fighting back the urge to stroke her face. One step at a time – being allowed to hold her would more than suffice for now.

She sniffed. “Johnny must have figured it out first. I couldn’t even come up with a plausible lie I just…ran away from him outside the party…” Her eyes lowered in shame before she sat up slowly, Dick biting back a frown at the barely concealed wince that crossed her features.

“Nix is outside keeping watch. Can I take you back to CP? Get you cleaned up?” He swallowed, really wanting her to allow Roe to look her over but doubting that would be an option.

She looked to him, eyes suddenly wide with the terror of realization. “Oh god Dick, what if I catch something or…wind up pregnant…oh fuck…” Her face began to crumple, and Dick swallowed, quickly cupping her uninjured cheek hoping to startle her out of that train of thought.

As she jumped and looked to him sharply, he apologized gently. “My love, we don’t know if any of those things will happen. Hopefully they won’t, but no matter what comes next, we’re going to face it together.”

“But Dick I’m–”

“Don’t go and say something melodramatic, now. You’re the woman I love and something horrible has been done to you. It doesn’t change who you are to me.” He replied firmly, swallowing as she stared at him startled for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Now I’m taking you to CP and we’re getting you cleaned up, ok?”

“Should I salute you, Captain?” She raised an eyebrow before wincing and restoring her face to a neutral expression.

He felt his cheeks redden, a sure sign that things would some day return back to normal. That the woman he loved was still with him, she just needed a lot of care right now and he was more than happy to provide it. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.” He replied and tried not to smirk as she scoffed slightly in surprise before shifting to her feet slowly.

Dick passed her rifle to her before grabbing his own, rising to his feet and sliding his helmet on his head. He offered his hand to her, swallowing back his sigh of relief as she laced her battered fingers through his and followed him out through the maze of supplies to where Nixon was still waiting in the rain.

“Christ, Peaches…” He breathed when she came into view and Dick shot him a sharp look, trying, too late, to stop him using the nickname.

“Son-of-a-bitch ruined the nickname, Nix. I trust you to come up with a new one.” She sighed, sounding positively exhausted, and Nixon nodded quickly in reply.

“Noted. You sure you’re alright?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“No. But someday, maybe.” She replied honestly and Nixon nodded empathetically as Dick squeezed her hand gently.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” He led the three of them back into the farmhouse, taking her straight to the washroom where he filled the basin with water. “Help or no?”

She paused a moment, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror left behind by the home’s original owners and Dick waited patiently until she turned back to him. “I can do it.” She replied softly and he nodded, closing the door to wait in the hall.

Nixon shuffled by carrying his pillow and Dick raised an eyebrow. “Give her my bed, I’ll take your crappy little cot.” He muttered, making his way to the attic before he even had the chance to reply.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall, thoroughly spent by the events of the day, knowing he’d have to be up in just a few hours to face the rest of the paperwork on his desk.

“Dick?” Her soft voice startled him, making him realize he’d actually fallen asleep standing up, for just a moment.

Her lips twitched slightly with a hint of amusement, and he smiled slightly in return, nodding as she looked more herself despite the still-fresh injuries.

“This way.” He offered his hand and led her towards Nixon’s room, gesturing at the bed. “Gift from Lew.”

Her face softened, eyes glistening suddenly, reminding Dick just how fragile she still was. “Where is he sleeping?”

“Attic.”

“Then you need a bed too…” She replied as she crawled onto the mattress, sighing at the softness of the bedding.

“Oh, the floor is fine I…”

“Please hold me.” Her voice was small, her request simple and one that he did not need to hear twice to honor.

He unlaced his boots and removed his outer layers before crawling in with her, letting her curl up against him before sliding his arm around her carefully. “Comfortable?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Very.” She replied sleepily and he allowed himself to drift, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, letting sleep nibble at the edges of his consciousness.

“Dick?” She whispered and he snuffled awake quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Does it smell like pee in here?”

-------------------------

Band of Brothers Masterlist

[bloodstainedsaint]

of sweet teeth and indulgence (dick winters x reader)

summary: just home from the war, you and dick go on an ice cream date :)

word count: 1200+

warnings: domestic & post-war dick, who's also still shy despite an established relationship); fluff, fluff, and more fluff (+ mentions of war i guess but that's like in every fic); and mentions of nix bc he should be a warning in all winters fics lol

notes: inspired by this and this, happy christmas to anyone who celebrates 🎄 this is my present to you !!

“(Y/N), are you ready yet?” Dick called from downstairs. You were taking some time to doll yourself up, putting your hair in a trendy style, wearing makeup and accessories, donning a nice dress and heels — things that you haven't done for three years on account of your service in the war. While you wanted to dress up for Dick, this was also for you. You took a final look in the mirror and found someone you hadn't seen in years looking back.

“Coming, Dick!” you responded, almost losing your footing coming down the stairs due to your excitement (and the unfamiliarity of heels compared to the sturdy boots you'd become accustomed to).

Dick watched with wonder in his eyes and a smile upturning his lips; he thought you looked like an angel coming down from heaven.

Mistaking his expression as teasing at your expense, you lightly smacked his chest with your purse, a grin of your own gracing your face. “You could've helped me with my hair, you know.”

“No, you…” he started, his face turning the color of his hair as he cast his gaze off to the side, “...just look stunning.”

Heat rising to your cheeks, you decided it was your turn to soak in the other's appearance. It was much different than the fatigues and officer uniforms that you’d been admiring him in ever since you met him at Camp Toccoa, but you'd be lying if you said seeing him in a suit and tie didn't similarly drive you crazy.

You tenderly took his face in your hands and guided his eyes back to you, whispering, “You look handsome as well, Dick.” You brought him closer to give him a short, sweet kiss that made his heart stop beating in his chest.

He pulled away and gave you a quick peck on your forehead before offering you his arm. You gladly accepted it, and the two of you walked together to his car. His hand gently rested on your thigh as he drove, the radio playing swing music.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you took your eyes away from the window where you’d been watching trees pass by, their leaves falling to the ground in vibrant displays of red, orange, and yellow.

“Ice cream,” he said simply, a playful smile on his face and a quick glance to you.

You rolled your eyes with an incredulous look. “Yes, I know we’re getting ice cream. I was asking where.”

“Well, Nix recommended this one place. We’re going to see if Raritan’s ice cream is up to snuff.”

It really astounded you how much of a sweet tooth the man next to you had; even in autumn when the weather was chillier he couldn't turn ice cream down. You bet he could go for ice cream during a winter as harsh as Bastogne’s was, where his nose and ears had flushed cherry red and his face had become pale.

You smirked. “Of course. Because why would Nix ever lie to you?”

“Because he knows not to mess with me about ice cream.”

-

Dick helped you out of the car when you arrived and took your hand as the two of you walked inside. The interior popped out at you: checkered floor and a counter with a row of colorful stools across from the ice cream holders and soda fountains. Dick had said that the ice cream parlors (if one could call them that) were much more modest in the camps and forts he’d trained in prior to Georgia; in Europe, ice cream was hard to find at all — which was why his face lit up with joy at the selection of frozen treats.

Watching your lover, a usually private man, positively beam and hold your hand tighter in his as he led the two of you to the counter brought a smile to your face. He ordered one of his favorites: not plain vanilla, as one might think of someone like him, but cookies and cream, while you decided to go for a pumpkin pie flavor to match the autumn mood. Dick, being Dick, paid for both of them and took you outside to walk along a path shaded by grand trees on either side.

As you walked by his side, hand in hand, your conversations went wherever your mind took you. There was much to talk about now that the war was over and not occupying all of your time.

“How’s Lewis?” you said, having gotten to the ice cream cone.

“Doing better,” Dick said with a sigh, “though sometimes he still comes drunk or hungover to work. One time he showed up and asked if we were married yet.”

You raised your eyebrow. “Are you sure he wasn't sober? That seems like something he’d say sober.”

“Drunk as a skunk. But the promise I made then hasn't changed; we’re going to find a small, quiet corner of the world together and get married there.”

Imagining a ring adorning both his and your ring fingers someday, you squeezed his hand. “You’re a man of your word, Dick; I don't doubt you for a second.” You blissfully sighed and gazed at the sky, reminiscing about all of the stolen kisses and fleeting moments the two of you shared during the war. “We did so much sneaking around back then, but the whole of E Company knew anyway. D’ya think it was me helping with you shave during the Bulge that gave it away?”

He chuckled, a sound that only you and a few others had the pleasure of hearing often. “Nix will always remind us that he knew first and that he was the one who got us together. The sneaking around was just for us to look good around Sobel and everyone outside of Easy.”

“Couldn't have him knowing that his XO was running around with a subordinate,” you said, bumping his shoulder. “If only he could see us now, going on an ice cream date and planning to get married. Might shock him more than your request to be court-martialed.”

Finished with his ice cream, he sighed and said, “I've missed this.”

You turned to him with a simper. “What, ice cream?”

He smiled as he shook his head. “No, walking with you like we did whenever we got the chance to get away.”

“We have all the time in the world now for that and anything you want to do.” You slowed your walk to a stop and fully faced him. “This is our reward.”

Your eyes caught something on his lip, so you leaned in to kiss him, which he gladly indulged you in. Barely pulling away, your lips ghosting his, you said, “You had some ice cream on your lip, Major.”

“You know, ice cream’s not the only thing I’ve missed.” He brought his hand to the back of your head and kissed you unabashedly, realizing and taking advantage of the fact that finally no one was watching. Giggling into the kiss, you tasted not only the sugar of the ice cream but also the bittersweetness from years of yearning for one another. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer, deepening the kiss, and all of the time lost during the war was made up in that one moment.

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @sweetxvanixlla

[sheletlune]

Lewis Nixon's Eulogy by Dick Winters

From the USAHEC archive (emphasis are mine):

I first met Lewis Nixon at Officer Candidate School, Fort Benning, Georgia, in April, 1942.

We both volunteered for the parachute troops in August, 1942 and we were both assigned to Co. E, 2nd Bn., 506th Parachute Infantry at Camp Toombs, Toccoa, Georgia.

We were together for the rest of World War II.

I have many memories of Lewis in combat.

1) On D-day I was involved in a fight to take over a battery of 105mm. cannon, firing on Utah Beach. During the battle Lewis went down Causeway #2 to the beachhead and brought back the first two tanks to come ashore at Utah Beach. He brought them to me to help finish off the battle.

From that point on, it seemed that every time I was committed to a fight, I found Nixon walking beside me.

2) In Holland, on September 17th, 1944, Operation Market Garden, right after the jump, Lewis was by my side as we approached the bridge at Son. The Germans blew the bridge and rocks and pieces of timber fell all around us.

3) On September 22, 191m, Company E was sent out as an advance party to secure Uden, a small town along Hell’s Highway.

I had only 80 men. We were cut off and surrounded. Nixon was with me.

Together, we went up a church tower for better observation of the battle. As we huddled behind the parapet, under the big church bell, a German evidently spotted us and sent a bullet to ring the bell over our heads. We literally jumped down the stairs in about two strides.

4) On September 25, 1944, the Germans cut Hell’s Highway again, this time south of Veghel. Nixon was again beside me as we crossed a big field to relieve the roadblock. In the middle of the field we came under machine gun fire from German Royal Tiger tanks and troops from the 6th German Parachute Regt.

As we hit the dirt, Nixon had a bullet hit the front of his helmet at such an angle that it just grazed his forehead, never breaking the skin, leaving only a brown mark on his forehead, before exiting through the side of his helmet.

l happened to look his way as he took off his helmet, looked at it and smiled. He refused to keep that helmet as a souvenir.

5) On October 5, 1944, in Holland, after a particularly hard fight, again, it was Nixon checking up on me to see how I was doing. It was Nixon who gave me his canteen when I asked for a drink of water - yes, the canteen was full of water - not Vat 69!

6) At Bastogne he had his name drawn out of the hat in a lottery that would have given him a 30 day leave in the States.

He refused the offer, saying he wanted to stay with the outfit on the line. How do you explain that kind of dedication? That kind of dedication is never talked about by the men, but it is never forgotten. At that time we were very short on men and officers, especially good , proven officers.

7) Nixon was moved from the 2nd Bn staff 'to the 506th Regimental staff as S-3, Plans and Training Officer. He was a key man in keeping the regiment together during the biggest battle of World War II at Bastogne.

8) On March 24, 1945, in Operation Varsity, the 17th Airborne jumped across the Rhine as the big push started to cross the Rhine River and go for Berlin. Lewis made that jump as an advisor. The plane he was in was shot down. As jumpmaster, he and three other men made it out before the plane crashed.

9) We were together every step of the way from D—Day to Berchtesgaden, May 8th, V-E Day.

Lewis Nixon was the best combat officer that I had the opportunity to work with under fire. He never at any time showed fear, and during the toughest times he could always think under fire. Very few men can think while under fire; very few men can remain poised under an artillery concentration.

Lewis always trusted me. While we were in training, before combat, Lewis hid his entire inventory of Vat 69 in my footlocker, under the tray holding my socks, beneath my underwear and sweaters. What greater trust, what greater honor could I ask for than to be trusted with his precious inventory of Vat 69?

While sharing all those days and experiences in training and in combat, we also shared our memories of our families, our school days, of our growing up, of our friends at home.

I felt as though I knew his mother, his father, his sister. I knew all about his grandparents on both sides of the family. He had a excellent heritage from both sides. He had been sent to excellent schools, and an Ivy League College. He had great wealth, was good-looking, had an excellent vocabulary, was very well-spoken; he was very well—read, smart, and had a good sense of humor. He had all the ingredients one could ask for to make a happy life - except one factor - LOVE!

Until Lewis met and married Grace he had never found or experienced true love.

It was only after his marriage to Grace that he found true happiness, peace within himself.

Together they travelled to just about every corner of the world; they shared many wonderful experiences together.

Grace demonstrated her love over these past years through her care for Lewis. Without the love and care-of Grace, Lewis would have died many, many years ago.

Whenever Grace would talk to me on the telephone, or write me a letter or a Christmas card, the message was always the same.

"Lewis is so brave; he never complains, he always has a smile for me whenever I come into his room — and that just makes it all worthwhile." I am sure those words are familiar to all of you here today.

I am also sure that all of you will agree with me when I say that with that smile Lewis gave Grace each day, it was his way of saying:

Thank you, Grace, for your care.

Thank you, Grace, for your patience in these trying times..

Thank you, Grace, for being faithful and understanding.

Thank you, Grace, for your love.

[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.

[balladofthe101st]

Skip Muck and Alex Penkala | 3x10, 5x10, 6x10, 7x10

While training under Captain Herbert Sobel, Skip befriended Don Malarkey, as they were in the same mortar squad. After physical training at Camp Toccoa, Skip went to Fort Benning, Georgia, for jump training. Skip Muck became close friends with Don and eventually met Alex Penkala who joined Easy Company at Fort Bragg. The trio were best of friends.

After being pulled off the line, Easy Company returned to France, where they were transported to Bastogne, Belgium to fight in the Battle of the Bulge. On January 10, 1945 Skip Muck and his friend Alex Penkala were killed from a direct hit in their foxhole from German artillery just outside the Belgian town of Foy. Skip Muck was just 22 years old and Alex Penkala died at the age of 20.

[weekendpassrevoked]

Easy's Songbird - Chapter 14 *new*

authors note: for you who have already read the original chapter 14, this is the new version. you can refer to the masterlist on my tumblr to see what is old and new.

please enjoy this monstrosity of a chapter. i hope you all catch a major plot reveal from one of the characters, teehee :3

Fort Benning, Georgia, December 10th, 1942

The days following their historic march had been a blur of recovery and preparation. Isabella's feet, treated with antibiotics and properly bandaged, were finally beginning to heal. Her voice had returned as well, though it still carried a slight rasp that she assured Gene would fade in time.

The respite had been brief but necessary. Colonel Sink had granted the battalion forty-eight hours of complete rest after their arrival, followed by three days of light duty—just enough time for blisters to scab over and muscles to recover from their ordeal.

Isabella sat on her bunk, carefully applying fresh bandages to her healing feet. The barracks at Fort Benning were nearly identical to those at Toccoa, but somehow they felt different. Maybe it was the knowledge that they were one step closer to deployment, or perhaps it was simply the change of scenery after months in one place.

"Looking better," Gene commented as he passed by, medical bag in hand. He'd been making regular rounds through the barracks, checking on the men whose feet had suffered the worst during the march. He had insisted she rest after she had begun following him on his rounds, saying that she had done enough.

"Almost human again," she replied with a small smile.

Gene nodded approvingly. "Good timing. Jump training starts tomorrow."

Isabella felt a flutter of nervous anticipation in her stomach. Five jumps. In three months they would have to show they’re capable of five successful jumps to earn their wings. After everything they'd endured to get here, it was hard to believe they were finally reaching this milestone.

"Mail call!" The shout came from outside, followed by the appearance of a clerk at the barracks door with a stack of letters.

Isabella's name was called several times, and she found herself with a small pile of envelopes—one from her parents, one from Maya, one from Cameron, and surprisingly, one bearing an official War Department seal.

She opened the official letter first, curiosity winning out over her desire for news from home.

“Office of the Secretary of War 

Washington, D.C. 

December 5th, 1942,

To Corporal Isabella M. Vega 

506th Parachute Infantry Regiment 

Fort Benning, Georgia

Subject: Project Blitz Status Report and Authorization

Corporal Vega,

Following extensive observation and review of your performance during training at Camp Toccoa and the subsequent regimental march to Fort Benning, I am pleased to inform you that Project Blitz has been authorized to continue through the next phase of training.

The joint committee formed to evaluate this initiative has determined that you have demonstrated the physical capability, technical proficiency, and psychological fortitude necessary for continued participation in airborne training. Your completion of the 118-mile march was particularly noted as evidence of your ability to endure extreme physical demands alongside male counterparts.

However, the committee has also determined that Project Blitz will not be expanded at this time. You will remain the sole participant in the program until further notice. This decision is not a reflection on your performance, but rather a cautious approach to what remains an experimental initiative.

Upon successful completion of jump training and receipt of your parachutist badge, further evaluation will determine your status for overseas deployment with the 506th Regiment.

The progress of Project Blitz continues to be followed with great interest at the highest levels of the War Department. Your conduct and performance remain under observation.

Respectfully, 

Col. James R. Marshall 

War Department Special Projects Division”

Isabella exhaled slowly, digesting the information. The project would continue—that was the good news. She hadn't failed, hadn't given them any reason to pull her from training. But she would remain alone, the only woman in a combat unit for the foreseeable future.

Part of her had hoped, perhaps naively, that her success might open the door for others. That Sina or other women who would sign up to train would join her. But the War Department was moving cautiously, treating her as the exception rather than the beginning of a trend.

"Bad news?" Gene asked, noticing her expression.

She handed him the letter. "Not bad. Just... lonely."

Gene scanned the contents, his face neutral. When he finished, he passed it back with a slight nod. "They're just covering themselves. You should know best that bureaucrats don't like risk."

"Yeah," she agreed, tucking the letter away. "I just thought maybe..."

"That you wouldn't be the only one anymore," Gene finished for her.

She nodded, unable to articulate the strange mix of pride and isolation she felt. Being the first, the only one, came with a weight she hadn't fully appreciated when she'd signed up.

"Well," Gene said after a moment, "guess you'll just have to be so good they can't ignore the evidence."

Isabella smiled despite herself. "That's the plan."

Turning to the letters from home, she opened Maya's first, eager for news of Anzu and Taiga.

“いさ,

I hope this letter finds you well. We were all so relieved to hear you arrived safely at Fort Benning after your long march. Your father explained to us what an achievement this was, how no American soldiers had done such a thing before. We are all bursting with pride, though I must confess when I think of you walking so far in the cold, my heart aches a little too.

Anzu has started school and loves it beyond measure. Her teacher says she is the quickest learner in the class and has already skipped ahead in reading. She tells everyone her auntie Isa is a soldier who jumps from planes. The other children don't always believe her, but she defends you fiercely!

Taiga is walking now—or perhaps "running" is more accurate. He is into everything, climbing furniture, pulling books from shelves, and generally creating the kind of chaos only a toddler can manage. He has started saying "Isa" when we show him your picture, which makes Anzu very jealous that it was one of his first words.

Things here remain challenging at times. There was an incident at the market last week—someone refused to serve me—but your mother stepped in with such fury that the entire store fell silent. She told them that while her daughter-in-law shopped for her family, her daughter was marching across Georgia to defend their freedom to be ignorant if they chose. No one has troubled me since.

Michel Alejandro writes when he can and our usual phone calls have dwindled, his letters are short and tell us little of what he's actually doing. Reading between the lines, I believe things in the Pacific are very difficult. He asks about you in every letter. I think it comforts him to know you are safe in training rather than already overseas.

I have included another drawing from Anzu. She insists it shows you jumping from a plane, though I think you'll agree the artistic interpretation is... creative.

Be safe, Isa. We all miss you terribly and count the days until you return to us.

With all my love,

Maya (Anzu and Taiga)”

Isabella smiled at the enclosed drawing—a stick figure with long brown hair falling from what appeared to be a blue rectangle, with a massive circle above that was presumably supposed to be a parachute. The stick figure wore an enormous smile and held what looked like a rifle, which amused Isabella given that she wouldn't actually be armed during jumps.

‘Cheeky Anzu’

She carefully folded the letter and drawing, tucking them into her journal for safekeeping before opening Cameron's letter.

“Birdie,

Heard through the grapevine you just marched your ass all the way to Benning. 118 miles? Jesus Christ, Isa. You just love making the rest of us look bad. My CO mentioned it during morning formation, though he conveniently left out that there was a WOMAN involved. Bet that would've shut some of these guys up.

Training here is winding down. We're shipping out soon, probably heading to England from what I can gather. The rumors are flying, but nobody knows anything for sure. Half the guys think we'll be home by Easter, which is obviously bullshit. The other half are convinced we're all going to die the minute we hit the continent. The truth's probably somewhere in between, as usual.

Billy caught pneumonia and got sent to the hospital. They say he'll recover, but he'll miss deployment, which has him more pissed than sick. Jamie's been made a squad leader, which has gone straight to his head. Eli's the same as always—quiet, watchful, steady. You'd like him, I think. Reminds me a bit of your friend Gene from your letters. He likes to stick with me and has become quite useful when I write songs.

Anyway, they're working us hard, getting us ready for whatever's coming. I miss home, but I'm ready for this. Ready to do my part. I know you understand that better than anyone.

Mama mentioned you're starting jump training in her last letter. Try not to break your neck, yeah? I did not drag your ass out of that creek when you were eight just for you to die jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.

Your Lucky Charm, 

Cameron”

Isabella smiled, shaking her head slightly. Cameron's letters always managed to make her feel like he was right there beside her, his voice as clear in her mind as if he were speaking aloud.

She makes a mental note to ask him more about this Eli character. Seeing how much he mentions him in his letters worries her slightly considering Cameron’s…’background’.

‘Best not push if I know what’s best for all of us.’

Setting Cameron's letter aside, she opened the one from her parents, finding her mother's neat handwriting covering several pages.

“Dearest Isabella,

Your father and I were overjoyed to receive your last letter and to hear of your success in the march to Fort Benning. Your father has been telling everyone at church about it, showing the newspaper article that mentioned the 506th's achievement (though it sadly did not name you specifically).

We are well, though the house feels empty without you and the boys. Your father spends more time working these days, I think just to keep his hands busy. I have started teaching art classes at the community center, including a special session for wives and mothers of servicemen. This helps me pass the time without you here. We paint and talk and support each other—it helps to share the worry with others who understand.

Lucas wrote to us recently that he has completed his pilot training and has happily been assigned to a bomber crew, though I’m sure he’s already told you. He says the B-17 is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, which I find slightly concerning given how he used to talk about Marjorie Wilson from down the street. He sent a photograph, which I've enclosed. He looks so handsome in his uniform—you all do. My children, serving their country. I am proud and terrified in equal measure. He states that you should ‘take the pick of the lot’ from the picture. I think he’s desperate to set you up with someone. I’m curious to see who you’d like best as well…”

Isabella pauses, face red from embarrassment.

‘I’m hundreds of miles away from both of them and yet they’re still teasing me. Incredible.’

“Maya and the children are managing as best they can. Your father has been taking Anzu fishing, which she adores. She follows him around the house asking questions about everything, just as you used to do. Sometimes when I see them together, I am reminded so much of you at that age that my heart aches.

We received a very unexpected letter last week—from Colonel Sink! He wrote to tell us how well you are doing and how much you have contributed to your unit. I must say, your father was quite impressed, and I believe they may have begun a correspondence of their own after Colonel Sink sent his first letter back in May. Military men, always finding each other.

I pray for you every day, my darling girl. For your safety, your strength, and your spirit. I know God is watching over you, but a mother's worry never ceases.

Jump safely, write often, and know that you are loved beyond measure.

All my love, 

Mama

P.S. Your father insists I include his note, though I warned him you have more important things to do than read his ramblings about military matters.”

Isabella snorted and turned to the second page, where her father's bold handwriting took over:

“Isabellita,

I won't waste your time with lengthy sentiments—your mother covers that ground thoroughly enough for both of us. I will simply say this: I am proud. More proud than I have words to express.

Colonel Sink's letters are unexpected but deeply appreciated. He speaks highly of your conduct, your capabilities, and your character. From one military man to another, I recognize the weight of such praise—it is not given lightly or without cause.

He mentioned your marksmanship in particular. It seems those Sunday afternoons at the lake when you were a girl were not wasted after all. Though I suspect you won't be carrying a weapon in your medical role, it pleases me to know you could defend yourself if necessary.

Jump training begins soon from what I understand. Trust your instructors, trust your equipment, and above all, trust yourself. The fear never completely disappears—even after hundreds of jumps—but you learn to use it, to let it sharpen your focus rather than dull it.

Your brothers in arms are lucky to have you watching over them. As was I, to have you watching over our home all these years.

Con orgullo, 

Papá”

Isabella felt a lump form in her throat as she finished reading. Her father had never been one for flowery expressions of emotion, making his words all the more powerful. And the fact that Sink had written to them—had taken the time to share her progress with her family—touched her deeply.

She grabs the remaining photo from the inside of the envelope and is faced with a black-and-white replica of Lucas’s crew. Her heart fills with pride at his wide smile. Personally, she couldn’t be happier that he had managed to achieve his dreams and she couldn’t be more grateful to him for being the one to push her to sign up. Without him, she wouldn’t be here. 

Scanning over the picture, she sees a tall handsome man standing to Lucas’s left and her eyebrows shoot up.

‘Jesus Christ they’re fucking identical!’

Turning the photo over, she spotted Lucas’s messy scrawl labeling the names:

She glanced at the others, scanning the names.

"Lucas ‘Ace’ Smith – Front row, second from right."

"Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven – Left of me.”

Isabella snorted.

"John “Bucky” Egan – Right of me. You two would probably get along too well."

"Harry Crosby – Back row, left side. Resident navigator and professional worrier."

"Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal – Back row, right side. Only guy who actually enjoys flying into enemy fire."

Classic Lucas. Of course he’d befriend a guy who flies toward bullets for fun.

She studied the men in the picture again, narrowing her eyes as she took them in one by one.

Lucas? Obviously an idiot.

Cleven? Good-looking. But way too similar to Lucas for her comfort.

Egan? Trouble. She could already tell. That cocky smirk? The relaxed stance? Yeah, definitely a problem.

Crosby? He looked like he was constantly thinking about five different worst-case scenarios at once. She felt like she’d like him.

Rosenthal? Handsome, but crazy. She could see it in his eyes.

A sigh left her lips, exasperated but fond.

‘Lucas, you absolute menace.’

Because of course he’d surround himself with a bunch of men who probably caused mayhem wherever they went.

She rubbed her temples, sighing again.

At this rate, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to write them back or throttle Lucas to death.

Her moment of reflection was interrupted by the sound of boots approaching. She looked up to find Lieutenant Winters standing in the doorway of the barracks.

"Corporal Vega," he greeted with a nod. "Captain Sobel would like to see you in his office."

Isabella felt a flicker of concern. Summons from Sobel rarely brought good news. "Yes, sir. Right away."

She quickly tucked her letters into her footlocker and followed Winters across the base to the administrative building where the officers had their quarters and offices.

"Any idea what this is about, sir?" she asked as they walked.

Winters shook his head slightly. "You know Captain Sobel keeps his own counsel, Corporal." After a pause, he added, "But he received a report from the War Department this morning."

That didn't exactly ease her mind.

When they arrived at Sobel's office, Winters knocked sharply on the door.

"Enter," came the clipped response.

Winters opened the door, ushering Isabella in before him. "Corporal Vega reporting as ordered, sir."

Sobel sat behind his desk, several papers spread before him. He looked up, his expression unreadable as always.

"That will be all, Lieutenant," he said, dismissing Winters with a wave of his hand.

Winters hesitated for just a moment, glancing at Isabella before nodding. "Sir." He departed, closing the door behind him.

Isabella stood at attention, waiting. Sobel studied her for an uncomfortably long moment before speaking.

"At ease, Corporal."

She shifted to parade rest, eyes fixed forward.

Sobel picked up a document from his desk. "I've received the War Department's assessment of Project Blitz following the march to Benning." He paused, as if expecting her to respond.

"Yes, sir," she said when it became clear he was waiting.

"They've authorized your continued participation through jump training." He set the paper down, leaning back slightly in his chair. "They specifically noted your performance during the march."

Isabella remained silent, unsure where this was headed.

"Lieutenant Winters also included a note in his report about your…contributions to company morale."

She felt a flicker of unease. Was he about to reprimand her for singing during the march?

Sobel's expression remained inscrutable. "While I do not typically endorse such... unconventional approaches, I cannot deny the results. Easy Company maintained the highest completion rate of any company in the battalion during the march."

It took every ounce of Isabella's military bearing not to let her surprise show on her face. Was this... praise? From Sobel?

"Thank you, sir," she strangled out, completely out of her depth. 

‘There is no way in hell this man is complimenting me right now.’

"Don't misunderstand me, Corporal," Sobel continued, his tone sharpening. "I still believe Project Blitz is an unnecessary distraction from our primary mission. The battlefield is no place for women, regardless of individual capabilities."

Ah, there it was. The familiar Sobel.

"However," he continued, "as long as the War Department insists on continuing this experiment, I will ensure that you receive the same training—and the same scrutiny—as every other soldier under my command."

"Yes, sir."

Sobel stood, walking around his desk to stand directly in front of her. "Jump training begins at 0600 tomorrow. You’ll complete the five jumps to earn your wings with the rest of the company. The standards will not be lowered, the requirements will not be altered, and there will be no special accommodations."

"I wouldn't expect any, sir."

He studied her for a moment longer, then gave a curt nod. "That's all, Corporal. Dismissed."

"Sir." Isabella saluted, turned on her heel, and exited the office.

Outside, she found Winters waiting, his expression mildly curious. "Everything alright, Corporal?"

She nodded, still processing the strange encounter. "Yes, sir. I think Captain Sobel just... complimented me. Sort of."

Winters' eyebrows rose slightly. "Did he now?"

"In his own way," she clarified. "He acknowledged that Easy Company performed well during the march."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Winters' mouth. "High praise indeed."

As they walked back toward the barracks, Isabella's mind turned to the challenge ahead. Five jumps. Five leaps into empty air, with nothing but a pack of silk between her and a very hard landing. After the road they'd traveled to get here—both literally and figuratively—this was the final hurdle before they could truly call themselves paratroopers.

"Nervous?" Winters asked, seeming to read her thoughts.

Isabella considered the question carefully. "Yes, sir," she admitted. "But ready, too."

Winters nodded approvingly. "That's the right attitude, Vega. A little fear keeps you sharp." He paused, then added, "The men are looking to you, you know. After the march, after seeing what you're capable of... you've earned their respect. They'll be watching to see how you handle the jumps."

The weight of those words settled on her shoulders, heavy but not unwelcome. She had proven herself during the march, and had shown that she belonged among them. Now she just had to prove it again, in the air this time.

"I understand."

When they reached the barracks, Winters left her with a nod and continued on toward the officers' quarters. Inside, Isabella found the men engaged in their usual pre-training rituals—checking equipment, sharing rumors about what to expect, boasting about their lack of fear while simultaneously betraying their nervousness in a hundred small ways.

"There she is," Luz called when he spotted her. "What did Sobel want? To congratulate you on your lovely singing voice?"

Isabella snorted, dropping onto her bunk. "Not exactly."

"Let me guess," Liebgott drawled. "He reminded you that paratroopers don't sing."

"Actually," she said, still somewhat bemused by the encounter, "he acknowledged that Easy had the highest completion rate during the march. And that my 'contributions' might have had something to do with it."

This was met with stunned silence.

"Holy shit," Skip finally said. "Did Hell freeze over while we were marching?"

"Maybe Sobel's been replaced by an impostor," Penkala suggested, only half-joking.

"Or maybe," Gene said quietly from his spot nearby, "even Sobel can't argue with results."

Isabella shrugged, leaning back against her pillow. "Either way, it doesn't change anything. Jump training starts tomorrow, same for all of us."

The mention of jump training seemed to refocus the men, their banter turning to speculation about what they'd face the next day.

"I heard they make you stand in the door for like five minutes before they let you jump," Malarkey said, eyes wide. "Just to see if you'll panic."

"That's bullshit," Guarnere dismissed. "They don't have time for that kind of crap. It's in, out, down. Simple as that."

"My cousin did jump training last year," Penkala chimed in. "Said the hardest part is remembering to count while you're falling. If you don't count right, you don't know when to expect the chute to open, and you can panic."

"One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand," Skip recited, mimicking the jump cadence they'd been taught in ground training. "And if you hit 'five thousand' without feeling that jerk, you're probably about to become a Penkala-shaped hole in the ground."

"Very funny," Penkala muttered.

Isabella listened to their chatter, feeling the same mix of anticipation and nerves they all were experiencing. Five jumps. Five chances to prove herself. Five steps closer to becoming a true paratrooper.

As night fell and the barracks gradually quieted, she found herself unable to sleep. Her mind kept replaying the day's events—the letters from home, Sobel's reluctant acknowledgment, Winters' words about the men looking to her. So much had changed since she'd first arrived at Toccoa, since that first night in a barracks full of men who'd viewed her with everything from curiosity to outright hostility.

Now, somehow, she had found her place among them. Had earned their respect not just as a medic, but as a soldier, a comrade, one of them.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to fail or succeed. But for tonight, for this moment, Isabella allowed herself to feel a quiet pride in how far she'd come.

Five jumps to go.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jump training was not as hard as she had imagined. Not by a long shot. 

Easy Company had lucked out compared to the rest of the battalion. Since they were so physically fit they had been allowed to completely skip over the physical training portion of jump training (much to everyone's relief.)

The first couple of weeks were very familiar; mock door drills, parachute landing falls, and mock airplane exits. All things they had started covering at Toccoa. By the time mid-January hit they began covering new things; the 250 foot tower and combat equipment training. 

Isabella found the full equipment jumps the hardest. While she had the advantage of not having a rifle while jumping, she instead was subject to ridiculous amounts of medical supplies weighing her down. She consistently had the wind knocked out of her and she had begun waking up with large purple bruises on her body. 

Now, Isabella wasn’t unfamiliar with her body being covered in scrapes and bruises. She had been a very active child growing up and the farm didn’t help with this. Her favorite injury was when one of the donkey’s bit her behind and she had to explain to her mother some days later after she had seen her changing that ‘No mom, I did not have a sexual escapade. My ass got bit by an ass.’ Despite this, Isabella was starting to worry about the significant amount of dark splotches on her body and the men were starting to notice too.

Initially, she brushed off their concern with a smirk and a quip. "You boys jealous? Looks like I'm the only one around here tough enough to take a real beating." But despite her bravado, she had quietly started padding certain areas with extra fabric and bandages. Her ribs protested with every deep breath, and each hard landing made her bite down on curses she usually shouted without hesitation.

It hurt. A lot.

It wasn't until the 250-foot tower that Isabella truly felt the sting of dread. She had watched countless others suspended helplessly in the harness, waiting for that merciless snap of the cable releasing them into open air. But being strapped in herself, high above the earth, Isabella felt her heart stutter in her chest.

She dangled, suspended, staring straight ahead into the vast emptiness. She clenched her fists, swallowing back the lump forming in her throat. “Perfect. Just perfect,” she muttered shakily. “Just what I always wanted—to be a human yo-yo.”

“Ready?” came the instructor’s taunting voice from far below.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Isabella shot back, though the bravado in her voice felt thin even to her own ears.

‘Liar’

When the latch released, she dropped sharply, her stomach leaping into her throat, pulse hammering wildly. For a fraction of a second, panic overwhelmed her—but then the harness caught smoothly, swinging her into a controlled glide. A startled laugh escaped her lips, caught somewhere between relief and exhilaration.

"Okay," she admitted breathlessly once her feet hit solid ground again, "that wasn't... totally awful."

The men erupted into a hearty cheer, and Luz slapped her on the back, nearly knocking her off balance. "See, Birdie? Nothing to it!"

She glared up at the tower, heart still racing. "Sure. If falling to your near-death counts as 'nothing,' Luz."

It’s during this time Isabella also finds herself running into a certain Dog Company lieutenant more than usual. 

One day, Isabella was resting against a large pine tree, a habit she found herself doing quite often since their arrival at Benning. As she enjoys the warm sun through the leaves, she feels a presence besides her. The presence doesn’t speak and she doesn’t open her eyes, the both of them still. 

Curiously, she finally props an eye open and finds herself faced with Lieutenant Speirs. Usually, she would stand up and greet him accordingly, but it was Sunday and her day off and she just couldn’t find it in herself to actually care.

Sighing, she finally makes the first move. “Sir.”

Speirs answers her blatantly, humor shining through what should’ve been actual concern. “You dying, Vega?”

She smirked sleepily. “Nope. Just thinking.”

Speirs raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Mhm!”

“What’s got you thinking so hard?”

She closes her eyes again, in a teasing mood. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Silence stretches until she cracks an eye open again, looking up at him. “If you sit with me, I’ll tell you.”

Much to her surprise, he seems to consider her offer.  “Really?”

She nodded, tapping the empty patch of grass beside her. “Yup. But only if you sit.”

He lowers himself onto the grass beside her, arms resting on his knees as he glances over.

“Well?” he prompted. “I’m here.”

She grins triumphantly. “Good. Now I gotta come up with something worth sharing.”

Speirs scoffed. “You mean you didn’t have anything in mind?”

She hummed, stretching her arms behind her head. “Nope!”

He shook his head, smirking. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Well, think of it this way sir. At least now you have changed your routine!”

"You always sit out here like this?" he asked.

She hummed, tipping her head back slightly. "Only when I can get away with it."

He raised an eyebrow. "You trying to go AWOL, Vega?"

She laughed softly. "Nah, sir. Just takin’ advantage of the quiet."

“I’m surprised you don’t have that journal with you.”

She snorts. “Who says I don’t?”

His brow quirks. “I think you owe me a look considering you tricked me into sitting with you.”

Surprised, her face flushes. She lets out a breathy laugh, unsure of the strange feeling in her chest. 

"Oh, that's how we're playing this?"

Speirs smirked, arms still resting loosely over his knees. "Fair's fair, Vega."

Huffing, she tilted her head at him in mock thoughtfulness. "So, let me get this straight—you think me convincing you to take a break means I owe you somethin'?"

He nodded once, completely unfazed.

She groaned, running a hand over her face before pointing at him. "Just because you’re curious about my journal doesn't mean you get to see it."

His smirk widened slightly. "That so?"

"Yes, sir. That is so." She crossed her arms, grinning now, her initial flustered reaction disappearing just as quickly as it came. "Some things should remain a mystery."

Speirs tilted his head. "You always this secretive?"

"You always this nosy?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Only when something's worth knowing."

And with that, Isabella found herself a new friend in her journey to the war. Quite an unexpected one at that. Their conversation had continued with them playing a crude version of twenty questions, trying to learn more about each other in order for Speirs to somehow get a glimpse of her journal.

She finds it funny that everyone wanted to see it; Winters, Nixon, Second Platoon, and now Speirs.

‘Weirdos.’

As their mock training continued and time trailed on, her birthday slowly but surely crept up. Isabella is not proud to admit it, but she had completely forgotten about it.

Back home, birthday’s weren’t a major event. Mama, Maya, and herself would make a cake (Anzu too once she came into the picture), and the whole family would sneak into your room at the time you were born and wake you up by singing happy birthday. They’d hand the gifts to whoever was a year older, be it a card or something they had saved up to buy, and then the day would go by and they would go out to a restaurant of the birthday-person's choice for dinner and that would be it. The kids and Cameron specifically liked this tradition the most since they were, in her opinion, the least mature in the family. 

While she enjoyed it when she was a child, the spectacle had begun to lose its shine as she grew and Isabella had begun to think of her birthday as any other day. Usual traditions like quinceañeras and sweet sixteens hadn’t been done at her insistence because she didn’t want the family spending so much on something so materialistic, instead asking for the money they would have used to be given to her. 

The last good birthday Isabella remembers, is funnily enough, her seventeenth. The day before she left her family behind for Toccoa. Not because she was leaving but because it had marked a new chapter in her life that irrefutably turned her into a better person.  

The week of February 24th had arrived and Isabella had noticed the platoon acting strangely around her; which said a lot considering they were strange already. As the days rolled along, the men got jumpier and much more fidgety when she approached their bunks, like they didn’t want her around. 

Frankly, it stung.

She finally confronted Liebgott after catching him whispering conspiratorially with Luz and Gene behind the barracks. "Alright, spill. What the hell is going on? You two are acting like teenagers plotting a prank."

Luz sputtered, looking at Gene for help, who quickly found something fascinating about the ground.

"Absolutely nothing," Gene murmured, kicking dirt awkwardly.

Isabella narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You three are terrible liars, you know."

She didn't press further, deciding she probably didn't want to know anyway.

It wasn’t until the morning of the 24th that she realized why they were acting like that.

She slept snuggly in her bed, Teddy wrapped tightly in her arms. Her dreams were comfortably vague, drifting somewhere between the farm fields of home and the Georgia skies she'd come to know so intimately.

A muffled voice hissed softly somewhere near her bunk. "Alright, on three, guys."

She frowned slightly, still half asleep, wondering distantly if she was still dreaming.

"One... two..."

Her eyes fluttered open just in time for—

"THREE!"

An off-key but enthusiastic chorus of voices erupted into "Happy Birthday," startling Isabella upright. She clutched Teddy to her chest protectively, staring wide-eyed at the grinning, slightly guilty-looking faces of Luz, Liebgott, Gene, Skip, and most of the platoon crowding around her bed.

"What the hell—" Isabella started, her voice raspy from sleep and confusion. But before she could finish her protest, Luz proudly presented her with a hastily wrapped gift made from old newspapers.

"Happy birthday, Doc," Luz announced cheerfully, thrusting the badly wrapped parcel into her hands.

She stared at the gift, bewildered, and then back up at the men. "How'd you—?"

"Figured someone had to remember, right?" Gene muttered softly, rubbing the back of his neck, a shy grin tugging at his mouth.

Isabella's surprise slowly melted into a gentle warmth as she tore away the newspaper wrapping. Inside, she found a makeshift card with "Happy Birthday Doc Birdie!" scrawled across the front. Opening it, Isabella found notes from the men—silly stories, happy memories they'd shared, each note making her smile wider.

As she read, her bed dipped slightly. Looking up, she found Liebgott beside her, holding a smaller box.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Since it's your eighteenth and all, we thought you deserved something special."

Isabella took the box gently, watching the platoon's anxious faces. "You guys are unbelievable," she murmured softly, heart swelling with warmth.

"Just open it already," Liebgott said impatiently, nudging her lightly.

She laughed softly, shaking her head, feeling unexpectedly emotional. Closing her eyes briefly, Isabella opened the box.

Inside, she finds a silver necklace with a small red bird charm hanging in the middle. Her eyes fill with tears as she carefully removes the necklace from its box, overwhelmed. 

“Oh, you guys…” Isabella whispered, voice tight with emotion as she gently cradled the delicate necklace. The little red bird shimmered softly in the early morning sunlight filtering through the barracks window.

“It's a bird. You know, 'cause you're our Birdie,” Luz offered, grinning sheepishly as if the joke needed explaining.

Isabella laughed softly through her tears, wiping them away quickly. “I got that part, Luz.”

“Well, put it on already!” Malarkey encouraged, nudging her lightly in the shoulder. “We wanna see how it looks.”

Gene stepped forward shyly, holding out his hand. “Here, let me help.”

She handed him the necklace, and with surprising care for his large hands, Gene gently clasped it around her neck. Stepping back, he offered her a small, proud smile. “Suits you, Doc.”

She touched the little bird gently, eyes meeting those of her platoon. “Thank you. Really.”

Liebgott coughed awkwardly, trying to hide the redness of his ears. “Alright, enough of the mushy stuff. Now, who's ready for breakfast?”

A laugh rippled through the men, breaking the tender moment and returning the barracks to their usual comfortable chaos.

But as Isabella stood and joined her friends, fingers still brushing the small charm at her throat, she realized just how much this little bird—and these strange, infuriating, wonderful men—meant to her.

At breakfast, she’s given well wishes by Winters and Nixon who, much to her surprise, had also remembered her birthday.

“How’s it feel to be eighteen, kid?” Nixon asked lightly, sipping his coffee with a teasing grin.

Isabella shrugged, poking at her breakfast with a smirk. “Honestly? Exactly the same as seventeen.”

Winters chuckled quietly, eyes kind as always. “Enjoy it, Doc. You'll wish you were eighteen again someday.”

Nixon scoffed good-naturedly. “Speak for yourself, Dick. Personally, I wouldn’t relive eighteen if you paid me.”

Isabella giggled, happy beyond belief.

After breakfast, Isabella was leaving the mess hall when she heard a familiar voice behind her, firm yet unmistakably warm.

"Corporal Vega."

She turned quickly, posture immediately straightening. "Colonel Sink, sir."

Sink approached her with his usual quiet authority, though there was a hint of amusement lingering in his steady gaze.

"Eighteen today, isn't it?" he asked knowingly. Isabella blinked in surprise. "Seems like only yesterday you arrived at Toccoa. You've come a long way in a year."

Warmth bloomed in her chest at his words. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

He gave a slight nod, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "There's something for you at headquarters. Looks like your family didn't forget either."

Her eyes widened, excitement sparking within her. "Thank you, sir. I'll go right away."

Sink smiled faintly, dismissing her with a casual wave. Isabella turned quickly, practically jogging to headquarters in her eagerness.

When she returned to her bunk, the package rested in her hands—her mother's familiar handwriting scrawled neatly across the box.

“What is it, Birdie?” Luz asked, curiously looking over from his bunk.

“It’s a package from home!” she replied eagerly.

Many of the men crowded around, equally curious to see what her family had sent.

Carefully unwrapping it, she revealed a stack of letters bound neatly together, Each envelope was carefully labeled in handwriting she instantly recognized: Mama’s looping letters, Cameron’s dramatic calligraphy, Lucas’s messy scrawl, Sina’s flowing print, and Darren’s distinctive print. Beneath the letters, tucked safely within packing paper, lay gifts that made her heart swell.

Art supplies—pencils, a fresh set of charcoal sticks, colorful pastels—things they knew she loved but hadn't been able to enjoy since she left home. Next to these were two books she'd mentioned wanting to read, their covers worn gently from handling, likely passed down or carefully found second-hand. Nestled securely at the bottom was a small tin filled with homemade cookies, slightly misshapen and crumbled but smelling wonderfully of home.

Lastly, a delicate velvet pouch, a tiny paper bag, and a tin with a red bow caught her attention. Inside, a pair of beautiful earrings gleamed up at her. Isabella carefully lifted the earrings from their pouch, breath catching softly. They were delicate porcelain studs, rimmed with intricate gold filigree, each one painted with a tiny, gentle pink rose. She immediately recognized them—they looked just like the ones Mama wore on special occasions, a pair she had admired since childhood. Her throat tightened at the thoughtfulness behind such a simple, beautiful gift.

Tearfully, she unwraps the red bow from the tin, opening. Cosmetics—a small bowl of cream rouge, pink and red lipstick, and eyeshadow. Sina’s doing, undoubtedly; she always teased Isabella about not indulging enough in simple pleasures. Isabella couldn’t imagine how much it must’ve cost her to buy.

She peeks into the paper bag, already knowing what was inside. A light pink omamori from Maya. She gave her one every year and yet it never failed to have her beam with joy. She decided against taking it out of the bag, not wanting the men to ask questions.

“Jesus Birdie, they sent you a whole store.” Liebgott exclaimed, sitting on the ground next to her bunk.

She laughs, still overwhelmed at the gifts. “It’s not a whole store, Lieb. Quit being dramatic.”

Carefully, she puts everything back and grabs the stack of envelopes, eager to read them.

“Alright boys, should I read my letters in order to satisfy your curiosity or should I let you suffer in your boredom?” Isabella said cheekily. 

“Don’t be mean, Birdie!” Malarkey shouted. “We’ve been so nice to you!”

“It’s my birthday,” she started. “I can be as mean as I wanna.”

Taking pity on them, she opens the first letter, ready to read it aloud. Cameron’s.

“Dear Birdie,

Happy eighteenth! Can't believe my big sister is officially an adult now. Though let's be honest—you've been more mature than the rest of us since forever. Still, it's a milestone worth celebrating, so consider this letter my official toast to you. Sorry I can't be there to sing off-key and steal icing from your cake like usual.

The boys send you their regards. Billy especially. He’s quite upset he can’t sign off on the letter since he’s stuck in the hospital but at least the thought counts. Billy says that I've told him so much about you that he feels like he knows you already. I think the two of you would get along wonderfully if you ever get to meet.

Jamie has gotten into another fight (unsurprisingly).  He got into another fight last week defending some new kid who was getting hassled. Got a black eye and busted knuckles for his trouble, but the kid's now following him around like a lost puppy. His recent promotion to squad leader has him strutting around like a peacock—we can barely fit his head through doorways. 

In regards to your last letter, I would like to answer truthfully about Eli. Yes. But, I want to assure you that I will not act upon these feelings. Your worry is unwarranted and I want you to breathe easy. No one knows.

So there it is—eighteen years. Who would've thought that scrawny little girl who used to boss me around would grow up to be making history? I'm proud of you, Isa. More than I can say in a letter.

Try not to do anything I wouldn't do. (Which, let's be honest, leaves your options pretty open.)

Please enjoy the picture. I can’t let Lucas outshine me. Let me know how your birthday went, I can’t wait to hear it.

Your Lucky Charm and his gang of miscreants, 

Cameron, Billy, Jamie, and Eli

(P.S You better send your own picture. Unfair you get to see all of us and we have to stay guessing!)”

The men laugh as she reads, always open to hearing what sarcasm Cameron has in store in his letters. Isabella makes sure to jump over the part about Eli. They don’t need to know about any of that.

She carefully lifted Cameron’s photo, smiling brightly at the image. Cameron stood proudly at the center, his familiar cheeky grin brighter than ever, flanked by Billy, Eli, and Jamie. Each of the boys wore their uniforms proudly, their arms slung over each other's shoulders. Isabella felt a rush of affection at seeing their camaraderie captured so vividly—exactly as Cameron had described.

"That's your little brother?" Luz asked curiously, peering over her shoulder. "Looks like trouble runs in the family."

"Oh, you have no idea," Isabella laughed. "Trouble practically follows Cameron wherever he goes."

She carefully set aside Cameron’s letter and opened Lucas’s next.

“Hiya Birdie!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE SISTER!

Eighteen! A real adult now, though between you and me, you've been the most grown-up of all of us for years. Hope you're celebrating properly, even if it's just stealing an extra dessert from the mess hall. Remember how we used to sneak those extra slices of Mama's cake on birthdays? Good times.

Life in the wild blue yonder is just as crazy as you'd expect. Since my last letter, we have been sent to England (as you can see from the return address) and we’ve begun doing our part for the war. The 100th Bomb Group, aka 'The Bloody Hundredth.' Cheerful name, right? But honestly, I couldn't have landed with a better bunch of lunatics.

Bucky is as insufferable as usual, constantly asking if you’re single despite my threats of turning him into a bloody pulp. I told him you'd eat him alive. He said, and I quote, 'Sounds like my kind of gal.' Consider yourself warned.

Buck (God bless him) has been running behind Bucky like a headless chicken trying to keep him in line. He's the most level-headed sonofabitch I've ever met. Reminds me of Michel Alejandro, honestly—calm under pressure, voice never raises, but when he gives an order, you jump to it without thinking. He's got this way of looking at you that makes you feel like he can see right through all your bullshit. You two would get along like a house on fire.

Crosby honestly worries me, the man cannot catch a break. I've appointed myself his unofficial therapist, which means I listen to him catastrophize for hours, then tell him to take a deep breath and have a drink. Total brainiac. I think him and Michel Alejandro would probably get along best, they’ve both got that ‘I’m super smart but instead of helping me it makes me go nuts’ kind of thing going on.

I need you to talk some sense into Rosie because this man is a Harvard Law graduate who could be making a fortune back home, but instead chooses to fly straight into flak because, and these are his exact words, 'It seemed like the right thing to do.’ He’s fucking nuts and doesn’t believe me. Terrifies me, if I'm being honest. But if anyone's going to get us through this war in one piece, it's Rosie. He’s just as batshit as you considering you’re willing to jump out of a moving plane but that’s a you thing.

They all send their birthday wishes, by the way. They've heard so much about you they feel like they know you. Bucky says to tell you he's saving you a dance when we all get home. (I told him not to hold his breath.) Buck says happy birthday, and that any sister of mine must have the patience of a saint. Harry calculated the exact odds of our respective deployments crossing paths (depressingly low), and Rosie just smiled that calm smile of his and said he hopes your birthday brings you joy in the midst of all this chaos.

I hope you enjoyed the picture I sent to Mama, your reply has yet to show up if you’ve sent one. You can do whatever you want with it, although knowing you you’d probably burn it in a fire considering why I sent it. 

I wish I could be there to celebrate with you properly. Remember your sixteenth, when we snuck out to that dance hall and I pretended to be your chaperone? Then spent the whole night teaching you to jitterbug while scaring off any boy who came within ten feet of you? Good times.

You're making history, Isa. First woman paratrooper. When this is all over, they'll be writing books about you. Just make sure they get all the good parts right, okay?

Stay safe up there in the sky. That's my territory, you know? So mind the weather and don't forget to enjoy the view on the way down.

With all my love and pride, 

Your favorite Ace,

Lucas.’

P.S. By the way, the boys are taking bets on which one of them you'd like best based on the photo. Bucky's sure it's him because of his 'devilish charm.' If you write back, please tell me it's Harry just to watch Bucky's ego deflate a bit. I'll split my winnings with you."

The platoon erupted in laughter, clearly entertained by Lucas's vivid descriptions of his crewmates.

"Your brother sure knows how to pick 'em," Malarkey laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Sounds like he's having fun up there."

"Too much fun," Isabella said fondly, shaking her head. "It's worrying, actually."

"Which one’s Lucas in that picture you showed us before?" Luz asked curiously. "The smug-looking blond one in the middle?"

"That's him," Isabella chuckled, rolling her eyes. "He's always been a little too confident for his own good."

She placed Lucas’s letter gently aside and picked up Sina’s next, recognizing her familiar neat script immediately. Carefully opening it, Isabella began to read aloud once more:

"My dearest Isabellita,

Happy 18th birthday, mi querida! I can hardly believe my little friend is officially an adult now. It seems like just yesterday we were playing with your dolls on your front porch, and now you're jumping out of airplanes and making history. If someone had told me then that my sweet, quiet Isabella would become the first woman paratrooper, I might have laughed—but now? Now I know there's nothing you can't do.

New York is still as overwhelming and wonderful as when I first arrived. The WAVES keep us busy from dawn till dusk, but I've found a family here among the chaos. I wish you could meet them all! They've heard so much about you they feel like they know you already.

As you know, Maggie has been teaching me to be more... assertive, shall we say? Last week she convinced me to sneak out past curfew to see a jazz band. We almost got caught, and while I was having heart palpitations, she just winked at the MP and somehow talked our way out of trouble. You'd either love her immediately or be thoroughly scandalized—perhaps both! She's the one who picked out the cosmetics for you. She insists every woman should have "war paint" for special occasions, even if that occasion is just making it through another day.

Helen reminds me so much of you sometimes—that quiet strength, always putting others first. She's the one who helped me find those books for you; her brother owns a bookshop and sent them when she asked. She wants me to tell you that she’s so excited to hear about what you’re doing! I think she enjoys knowing that things might change for women in the near future but I also think she gets a kick out of worrying for people she hasn’t met yet.

As you might recall, Tess is brilliant with numbers—they have her working in code-breaking now, though of course she can't tell us details. She stayed up three nights in a row helping me craft the perfect birthday card for you, insisting that "our paratrooper sister deserves the best." She says that if you ever have any problems with your math studies then you’re more than welcome to ask her via letter.

They all send their love and birthday wishes, by the way. Maggie says any woman brave enough to jump out of planes deserves at least a proper lipstick. Helen packed the cookies herself (though I can't promise they survived the journey intact). And Tess included a little note in Spanish—just between you two. They insisted on sending a photo of us out in the town after Mama told us about Lucas’s…friend exposition.

I miss you terribly, Isabellita. Sometimes at night I look out at the New York skyline and wonder if you're looking at the same stars, wherever you are. Are you scared about the jumps? I would be terrified, but I know you—your quiet courage has always been your greatest strength. You never needed to be loud to be brave.

I hear rumors sometimes, whispers about where they might send us once training is complete. The war seems to be shifting, though details are scarce. Whatever happens, whatever oceans separate us, know that you're always in my heart.

I hope your birthday brings you a moment of joy amidst all the chaos. I hope your fellow soldiers celebrate you properly. And I hope, more than anything, that this time next year we'll be celebrating together again, this horrible war nothing but a memory.

Until then, I remain, as always, Your loving friend, 

Sina Navarro

P.S. Darren sends his love too. His letters are rare these days, but he mentioned he's sent something separately for your birthday. Has it arrived yet? He's as mysterious as ever about his Marine training, but he did say, and I quote, "At least Isa's got proper equipment. They're sending us to the Pacific with rifles older than our grandfathers." Classic Darren, always the optimist!

P.P.S. Have you met anyone special yet? Maggie insists I ask. She says wartime romances are the most passionate. (I told her you're too sensible for such things, but she just winked and said, "The quiet ones always surprise you." Whatever that means!)"

Isabella rolled her eyes, setting Sina’s letter aside with care before reaching for the enclosed photograph. Sina stood confidently in the middle of the group, her dark hair elegantly styled, a bright smile on her face. Maggie leaned casually on her shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief, while Helen stood with quiet pride beside them. Tess, clearly the shortest of the bunch, was mid-laugh, caught in a candid moment, her joy unmistakable. Isabella felt a pang of longing—these women had become Sina’s family, much like Easy Company had become hers.

“Oooh let us take a peek Birdie!” Luz cries, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She pushes him off, huffing. “I am not going to let you try to get with these girls, Luz!”

“Come on, Birdie!” Luz pouted dramatically. “I promise I’ll be respectful.”

Malarkey snorted. “That's funny.”

Isabella shot Luz a pointed look, holding the photo protectively to her chest. “Absolutely not. Knowing you, you’d fall in love with all of them at once.”

“Worth a shot,” Luz said with a defeated sigh, raising his hands innocently. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“Oh, I definitely can,” Isabella teased, carefully tucking Sina’s photograph back into its envelope before picking up Darren’s letter next. The platoon leaned forward eagerly, ready for whatever entertaining commentary would surely follow.

"Isabella,

Happy birthday. Eighteen. Official adult now. Congratulations.

Sorry for the brevity and the messy handwriting. Writing this from a foxhole in Guadalcanal. Not exactly the Ritz.

They don't tell you about the rain in the Pacific. Or the mud. Or the smell. Or how every goddamn thing that crawls or flies seems determined to either bite you or give you some new disease. But I'm alive. I think living in Florida in such similar conditions has somehow prepared me for whatever the hell this is.

Made some connections in my unit. Not friends exactly—not sure that's what you call people you might die alongside. But something close.

There's Leckie—Robert Leckie. Everyone calls him Lucky or Peaches. Writer type, always scribbling in a journal when he's not bitching about something. Smart as hell, reads poetry, quotes stuff none of us understand. You'd probably like him. He reminds me of you sometimes—way too thoughtful for his own good. Writes letters to some girl back home he barely knows. He’s a hopeless romantic underneath all that cynicism.

Then there's Runner—Wilbur Conley. Buffalo guy (you’d call him a yank), talks faster than anyone I've ever met. Always has a story or a joke, even when we're soaked through and starving. Somehow keeps our spirits up when things go to shit. Which is often.

Chuckler—Lew Juergens. Big guy, laugh you can hear across the island. Heart to match. The kind of Marine who'd give you his last ration even while complaining about it. Mother hen of our little group, always checking on everyone.

And Hoosier—Bill Smith. Quiet, tough as nails. Indiana farm boy who doesn't say much, but when he does, it matters. Good shot, better friend. Solid in a fight. The kind of guy you want next to you when the shooting starts. You both have the same amount of patience, which is to say none. You’d like him the most out of all of these idiots.

They all said to wish you happy birthday when I mentioned I was writing. They've heard enough about you to be curious. Leckie said any friend of mine who jumps out of planes for fun must be "either magnificent or certifiable." I told him probably both.

The harmonica is from me. Found it in Melbourne before we shipped out. Remembered you used to play when we were kids. It's small enough to take with you, even when you deploy. Music's always been your thing. Might help to have some of it with you over there.

Don't tell Sina, but the Pacific is bad, Isabella. Worse than they're saying back home. The Japs don't surrender, and neither do we.  Makes for a special kind of hell. If they send you to Europe, count yourself lucky.

Stay alive. Keep your head down and your wits sharp. Don’t expect any pictures because I don’t have the time or the energy to keep up with whatever weird game Lucas and the others have going on. And happy damn birthday.

Rook.

P.S. Leckie wrote you a line of poetry on the back of this letter. Said it reminded him of what I told him about you. Don't get any ideas—he writes poetry for everyone. Man's obsessed with words and himself.”

Isabella turns to the second page curiously, unsure of what she’d find.

"To the paratrooper friend of our taciturn comrade:

Happy birthday from a rain-soaked corner of hell.

'Hope' is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -

(Dickinson understood something about courage, I think.)

Your friend speaks of you rarely, but when he does, it's with a quiet admiration that even the deluge here cannot dampen. He played one of your songs on a quiet night—something about home and waiting. The music lingered in our foxhole long after the notes faded.

May your landings always be soft, your voice remain clear, and your courage never waver.

Robert Leckie

1st Marine Division"

Isabella’s eyebrows furrow, confused. “What the fuck?”

The platoon stared at her silently for a moment before Luz broke the quiet with a low whistle.

"Damn, Birdie. You've got Marines writing poetry about you now?" he teased, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You must really make an impression."

Isabella flushed, waving Luz off hastily. "It’s not like that. You heard this Leckie guy just writes poetry to pass the time."

"Sure," Liebgott said with an exaggerated wink. "Nothing says boredom like comparing someone to 'hope.'"

Malarkey elbowed Liebgott playfully, grinning. "Hey, maybe Doc here's got herself a Marine admirer."

"Absolutely not," Isabella insisted, rolling her eyes as she tucked the letter away carefully, trying to ignore her still-warm cheeks. "He doesn't even know me. Plus, Darren said he’s writing to another girl anyway, it’s just a nice birthday gift."

Luz leaned in dramatically. "Oh, but maybe he wants to know you."

"Keep talking, Luz, and the next letter will be your eulogy," she warned, though she was smiling despite herself.

The men laughed good-naturedly, but eventually settled enough for Isabella to gently pick up the small, neatly wrapped harmonica from Darren. Her heart tightened with warm nostalgia at the sight of it, fingertips tracing its familiar shape. She smiled quietly, remembering warm Florida nights, Darren beside her on the porch, patiently listening to her songs drifting gently into the night air.

Darren, for all this nonchalance and cynicism, was incredibly loyal to his friends. To know that he remembered not only her birthday but to get her a gift while he was obviously suffering made her more than happy.

“Alright, next one!”

She carefully picks up the final letter, her mother’s pretty handwriting on the front of the envelope. 

“Isabella, 

Happy eighteenth birthday. How impossible it feels to write those words—I still vividly remember the tiny baby who clung so fiercely to my finger, the little girl who insisted she could climb any tree, and the brave young woman who confidently marched off to change history. We miss you every moment of every day.

Your father is well, though he worries constantly, as do we all. He spends extra time on the farm helping Mr.Jean next door, telling himself the hard work helps with his nerves, but I catch him pausing often, looking toward the sky, wondering if somewhere you might be doing the same.

Lucas and Cameron write to us often, though Lucas’s letters are few and far between with his new assignment overseas. Cameron’s letters are always long and detailed, filled with stories of his comrades that make us both laugh and worry equally. Sina and Darren both wrote as well—Sina from her exciting life in New York and Darren from the harshness of his deployment. It’s heartwarming to see how deeply you're loved by those around you. They make sure to keep us as updated as they do you. 

Enclosed are a few things we thought might make your days brighter. The earrings are a small reminder that home is always close, no matter how far you travel. Please wear them and think of us. The art supplies are from everyone—we hope they bring you comfort and joy in moments of quiet.

Most importantly, never forget how proud we are of you, Isabella. No matter where you go or what you face, we are with you always. Keep your head high, your heart brave, and remember to look after yourself as fiercely as you look after others. You were named after two strong women for a reason, never forget it.

Te queremos mucho, hija querida. 

Mama and Papa”

Isabella's eyes shimmered with tears, her throat tight as she finished reading. The barracks had grown quiet, the usual banter replaced with gentle understanding.

"You alright, Birdie?" Gene asked softly.

She nodded slowly, a soft smile forming despite her watery eyes. "Yeah. I just miss them a lot."

“What’d your mom mean by the name thing?” Liebgott spoke up curiously.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Isabella beams. “Well. As you know, my brother was named after my father. Unfortunately, by the time I was born my family had yet to find a name for me. My father wanted to keep the tradition and name me after my mom but my mom hated it. Instead, she and my brother decided to name me after Queen Isabella the First of Castile and the Virgin Mary. Isabella Maria.”

Luz let out a low whistle, nodding appreciatively. "Named after a queen and the Virgin Mary? Damn, Birdie, no wonder you turned out so fierce."

Isabella laughed softly, feeling lighter already. "Mama always joked that they set me up with impossible standards."

Skip spoke up from his bunk, eager to learn more about her. “So what’d they name your brother after?”

She snorts. “Michel after my father and Alejandro which is the Spanish equivalent of Alexander for Alexander the Great.”

Malarkey let out a playful groan. "So, let me get this straight. You’re named after a queen and the Virgin Mary, and your brother’s named after your dad and Alexander the Great?"

"Pretty much," Isabella said, grinning. "My family isn't exactly subtle."

Luz threw his hands up dramatically. "Well, great! How are the rest of us supposed to compete with that?"

"You don't," Isabella shot back with a smirk. "But don't worry, Luz. I'm sure your family named you after someone special too—maybe the town troublemaker?"

Luz clutched his chest in mock offense. "Birdie, you wound me."

The barracks filled with laughter again, the atmosphere relaxed and warm. Isabella carefully tucked her letters away, reminding herself to read Maya’s letter later when she was alone.

That evening at dinner, Isabella is sung happy birthday by Easy Company and presented with a tiny cake made of dry cookies from their field rations and peaches from the kitchen. She’s too happy to tell them that she hates peaches. They don’t need to know that.

"Make a wish, Doc!" Malarkey urged enthusiastically.

Isabella laughed softly, leaning over the makeshift cake. "Trust me, boys, if this wish comes true, we're all getting home in one piece."

She blew out the small candle they’d scrounged up from god-knows-where, and the men erupted in cheers, clapping and whistling loudly enough to turn heads across the mess hall. Isabella smiled warmly, heart feeling impossibly full.

"Alright, Birdie, dig in," Luz encouraged, looking rather proud of their culinary creation.

She took a cautious bite, forcing herself not to grimace at the sweetness of the peaches. "Delicious," she lied, smiling brightly despite herself.

The men cheered again, slapping each other on the back and passing around the leftover cookies. Watching their laughter and camaraderie, Isabella decided she could manage peaches for one night—especially if it meant sharing this moment with them.

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translations: いさ-Isa, Con orgullo-With pride, Te queremos mucho, hija querida-We love you a lot beloved daughter.

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taglist: @malarkgirlypop, @darling-heffron

[hanniewinnix]

LT Richard Winters (far left) performing training at Fort Benning, Georgia before assignment to 506th PIR, Camp Toccoa, GA, October 4, 1942. (Picture from Lancaster (PA) Sunday News, October 1942.