Chapter Text
It felt as if they had been on the move now for years. If not travelling on trucks then on planes, and if not on planes than on boats. And if somehow they didn’t find themselves on any of those three, then walking always proved to be right around the corner. From England to Normandy, to Holland, Bastogne, to Foy—travel was constant and unending, and the men could feel the weariness of it all finally seeping into their bones, if it hadn’t already for most of them. The blood and cold of Foy felt indescribably far away now, but it had been one of the last major battles they fought and every man in Easy would have been hard-pressed to recall any other fight they took part in recently if not Foy.
But there had been other assaults and missions, pushes towards the German-held territory that was shrinking every day. Just the other day Easy—which could not seem to catch a break, despite the fact other companies could also be put towards the same objective—had battled with another German-held town, forced them out and then started on the move almost immediately to relieve another company that had occupied a town along the line. No, Easy wasn’t the only one being pressed so hard—but at times like these, it felt like it.
Right now was a respite from battle, the line of trucks making their way across the landscape filled with weary men who were just waiting for a chance to finally stop and catch rest that didn’t involve bumping shoulders hard with the man sitting next to them every time the truck went over a bump. The weather was freezing, but the tarp covers on the trucks were missing and everyone had to make do with their coats and scarves. They’d been through worse, though, and most men were able to catch some sleep despite the situation they were in.
In fact, the rumble of the engines was almost peaceful, when out of the blue—
Gunfire from the buildings around either side of them.
It was accompanied by a horrible whistling sound in the air, and if the men hadn’t already been climbing off the trucks and throwing themselves into nearby ditches and behind walls, that sound of mortars would have done it. Explosions rocked the street and nearby buildings, destroying what had already been mostly reduced to rubble from the last battle.
First Lieutenant Speirs ducked behind a wall along with the men who had been in his jeep, just barely avoiding being shot on the street. From where he was he could see the ambush had not quite caught Easy off guard—they were short of officers and men, but the veterans of Bastogne were already firing back, and no one—by first glance—had been hit. He couldn’t see any of the sergeants among those who left the trucks, but then Sergeant Malarkey caught his eye, the man taking cover behind a wall across the street. They caught sight of one another and after a quick flurry of gestures between them, Malarkey gave a nod and disappeared along with the men who had gathered alongside him.
“Contact—” Speirs’ order for the new radioman who had dived into the alley with them was cut off by a nearby explosion. “Contact Captain Winters!” he said before another explosion sounded further down the street.
While the radioman made to follow his orders, the other two men in the alley firing back at the enemy, he quickly undid the top of his coat and pulled out his map. It was devoid of markings that could give anything away if it was caught, but he could read it, and what it said quite plainly was that the area they were in—some town with a forgettable name—was supposed to be free of the enemy.
It corresponded with what he’d been told the day before, as well as confirmed with recent intelligence—but he should have known better to trust either in a junction such as this, close to the line where things could change in a heartbeat before information had time to catch up. The Germans were being beat back, but they weren’t defeated and now they were showing they still had some fire left in them. It couldn’t be a full push because that definitely would have made news, but it could still be—
“Sir! I have the Captain on the radio!”
Speirs tucked the map back into his coat, and reaching for the radio in question, trying to calculate how bad of a situation they were in when a bullet suddenly struck the radioman in the center of the chest, the momentum flinging him into Speirs.
The two tumbled hard into the street, and the lieutenant was still getting to his feet when there was a harsh cry in German to his left—in a flash his sidearm was out and he fired without thinking, striking the German soldier coming at him from a nearby open door right in the head. His rifle had fallen and he was reaching for it when more bullets peppered his position—he couldn’t chance going for it and so didn’t, instead tugging on the back of the radioman’s coat to drag him out of the line of fire when the unfortunate man was struck again in the head. Germans, from the upper window—Easy men were firing back at them but Speirs was still compelled to abandon the dead man in favor of ducking into the nearest building for cover. The thin door was splintered almost immediately by rifle fire but the wall by the window held, and he shifted his grip on the pistol as he stood with his back pressed against it, grimacing as he considered his next move. He had to get to the backup radio and find Lipton to get the rest of the company organi—
Something moved in the corner of his vision and he fired as the soldier came towards him—or rather, pulled on the trigger and had nothing happen as the Kraut dived into him, swinging the butt of his rifle in his face—he barely managed to move out of the way, but the edge of the damned thing still clipped the corner of his jaw, throwing him back into the wall, ears ringing from the strike. He dropped the pistol and drew the knife on his belt out as the German came at him again, this time with the bayonet he’d taken from his own belt—
The scuffle was short but intense, and they knocked into the ruined chairs and tables in the half-empty building as they fought, but Speirs had just gotten the upper hand and was stabbing down at the man pinned beneath him when a shadow fell over him and—
Something hard and unyielding collided with his head. It could have been a two by four, or it could have been a steel pipe, but either way the world went grey immediately and he wasn’t even aware of falling hard into the ground until his vision swam back into focus. The German he’d pinned down had been stabbed despite his comrade’s efforts and he was gasping like a fish to Speirs’ left, but his comrade was standing over him, about to bring the rifle butt down again when there was a howl and Speirs just had time to curl into a ball as the building exploded.
He didn’t know how long he lay there underneath the smoldering rubble, the ringing in his ears blotting out everything, but sounds slowly began to filter back, distant and echoing as if at the end of the tunnel. Men, shouting for one another and the sharp bursts of gunfire—the battle was still raging. It felt like he’d been laying there for hours but it couldn’t have been much longer than minute. He tried to sit up but something heavy pinned him down, and when he lifted his head—he found the body of the dead German sprawled over him. He shoved the corpse off with some difficulty and then pushed himself up onto his elbow, groggy but able to tell they were still alone—the battle was raging further down the street, and no one, apparently, had seen him.
He managed to struggle up to his feet—only to immediately stagger against a broken piece of rubble before falling to all fours, unable to keep from being sick all over the floor. That ringing in his ears seemed to grow momentarily and he reached up a hand, shaking his head roughly to get rid of it. Oddly enough the shaking seemed to work, and he got back to his feet shakily.
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant?” A soldier whose name he couldn’t place appeared suddenly at his elbow. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Speirs glanced down at himself, at the blood that covered his uniform. He had no idea where it came from until his gaze fell to the dead German. “Not mine,” he said shortly. He shook his head again when the ringing tried to creep up on him. “Where’s—where’s…the first sergeant?” he asked, and the soldier, looking away, didn’t notice the confused look that crept over Speirs’ face as he tried to recall the name of said first sergeant only to come up with a blank.
“Sarge is this way sir—”
The soldier started climbing over the rubble and then out where the door used to be, and after a delayed moment, Speirs moved to follow him, shaking his head again.
As they got out of the building and moving up the street, a voice called out to them from behind the cover of a wall. “Hey! Get over here! Come on, hurry it up! Sniper!” Sergeant Martin shouted at them, a few of his men already crouched behind him. “Get out of the open!”
A mortar exploding up the street had all the men reflexively tense, Martin turning his attention back to the street ahead.
The soldier Speirs was following obeyed the sergeant’s command immediately, speeding up and practically diving behind the wall. Speirs tripped but managed to keep going, and dived in with them, wincing when the movement made his vision swim.
Sparing his C.O. a glance, Martin frowned. “You okay, sir?”
Speirs turned to look at him, and after a delayed moment nodded his head. “I’m fine. Where’s—what’s the situation?” he asked.
Martin’s frown deepened but he tersely explained. “We got cut off from first platoon by mortars. There’s some kraut holed up somewhere up the street, Malarkey and his guys are trying to knock him out. We’re stuck here until he does.”
“Malarkey,” Speirs repeated to himself. He wrinkled his brow trying to place the name, turning away from Martin to look back out across the street, but he turned back after a few seconds. “Have you seen—” He flinched at the sound of a single shot being fired and then continued, “Have you seen the radioman?”
“Which one?”
“Which one?” Speirs repeated again, and then he scowled. “I don’t know. Whichever one. I have to contact—” He paused, struggling to think of the company, and then didn’t finish when another shot was fired and he flinched instinctively.
Sharply instructing one of his men to go find a radio, Martin moved from his cover just enough to let off a spray of rifle fire towards the last known position of the sniper and ducked back, another bullet sending plaster chips flying by his head.
There was another shot and then nothing, Martin peeking out around the side of the building just in time to see Malarkey waving the a-ok at him.
“Street’s clear—let’s move! And check every inch of those goddamn houses!” Martin snapped already moving forward, gun at the ready.
Speirs started to follow after them, mind telling him he should be at the front of the platoon, a rifle in hand, but then he stopped just short of leaving cover when he realized he didn’t even have a rifle, let alone a pistol or knife. After hesitating, he went out anyway, looking around groggily, blinking against the sun in the sky before his gaze went more to the street than the skyline. Some of the trucks had been hit by the mortars—it would be awhile before they were able to clear it and keep going. Behind the trucks, he could see more members of Easy coming out of buildings as they finished clearing them.
“Lieutenant!” He turned at the call, finding Babe Heffron coming towards him, the extra radio over his shoulder. “You need this, sir? And—oh, what happened to you, sir? There’s blood everywhere! Hit somewhere?” He was on the verge of calling for a medic when Speirs shook his head.
“No. Not—it’s not mine. Radio?”
“Right here. Sir.” Heffron turned so Speirs could reach the radio on his back and held out the mouthpiece, looking like he wanted to be out with the rest of the men clearing the buildings instead of standing there. Speirs didn’t oblige him though, and instead just stood there looking at him. Heffron shifted after a moment, wondering if he’d done something wrong to warrant the dark gaze just staring at him. Stories from Malarkey came to mind about how Speirs treated soldiers who didn’t do their job properly and he shivered. “Did—oh, I’m sorry sir, who did you want me to raise for you?” This is why he preferred leaving playing radioman to people like Luz!
“…Oh. Yes. Company—the commander.”
“Company commander?” Babe furrowed his brow, joining Speirs in looking unsure of himself. “That’s…you, sir. You mean Captain Winters?” A nod. “Okay sir.”
It took almost no time at all to connect with the captain in question, but Speirs took his sweet time to respond into the mouthpiece. Babe didn’t pay much attention to the conversation, instead on the verge of asking if he could just shift the radio off his shoulders and join the others already far up the street when there was a low howl in the air of a falling mortar—goddammit, he’d taken the pause to mean the other platoon had already gotten rid of the pesky Germans firing them—
He was making back for the cover by the wall and more than surprised when Speirs abruptly knocked into him, practically flinging the both of them into cover. Babe instinctively wrapped an arm over his head and kept himself pressed tight to the ground—the ground trembled as the mortar exploded, but nothing hit him, and he tried to lift his head, only to find a body covering him. He coughed nervously, and the lieutenant sat up sheepishly, freeing him.
“Are you okay, soldier?” Speirs asked, in a voice that sounded distinctly un-Speirs like. Babe stared at him, stuttering out a surprised reply.
“Y—yes. Yes sir, I’m okay. But you—” He couldn’t stop himself. “Are you, sir?”
“…What do you mean?” Speirs asked. He rose without waiting for a reply, and Babe watched him go before realizing the radio had been damaged when they crashed to the ground. “Sir, wait, you never—finished…”
Speirs was already gone.
Taking cover by a pile of rubble as more kraut mortars rained down on them, Liebgott was glad when there was the sound of a terrific explosion up ahead, a lull in the mortars giving him hope that first had managed to wipe out the Germans determined to blast them all out of fucking existence.
He was just starting to straighten up when he caught sight of the figure breaking cover and heading for the front and first. “Who the hell?” He muttered, breaking off from the others to go warn the guy off—there could still be another sniper around and that guy was just asking for it. “Hey!” As the man jumped and turned to look at him, Liebgott’s step faltered. “Oh. Lieutenant Speirs—didn’t recognize you. You should keep low—could be more snipers. Sir.”
Speirs shook his head—not to Liebgott, the man realized, but as if to rid himself of some sound in his ears, like some men did after getting too close to a mortar. “Right…the snipers,” he muttered, glancing around the street before turning back to Liebgott. “Trooper, have you seen—” He trailed off, looking unsure of himself. “The first sergeant…?”
Liebgott frowned. Shouldn’t he know? Hell, shouldn’t he be up there with First? “Er—he’s up there.” Liebgott gestured with his rifle towards First’s last position. “With the rest of First. Sir, you doing okay?”
“Fine,” Speirs said with a small shrug. He didn’t seem to realize, or didn’t care at all, that there was blood covering him. At least it didn’t seem to be his. He did reach up a hand though, as if to rub his temple, but then stopped, his arm going back to his side. He started to move in the direction Liebgott pointed out, and then faltered, coming to a halt, the whole street suddenly looking the exact same. He turned back to Liebgott, expression blank. “Which way?”
Liebgott stared at him, for the first time thinking that maybe some of that blood spilled all over the lieutenant was actually his and not some kraut bastard. “Sir, are you hurt?” He asked bluntly.
“I—I didn’t think I was hit,” Speirs said slowly, looking down at himself again, fingers plucking at the damp fabric. He seemed lost in thought for a moment but then abruptly straightened, and said more firmly, “I wasn’t hit. The Germans were. I’m fine. Now just tell me where Dog’s first sergeant is!”
“Sir, this is Easy!” Liebgott burst out louder than he intended, now getting more than just a little concerned about his C.O. who must’ve gotten hit on the head or something. “MEDIC!” He yelled over his shoulder. “Sir, why don’t you just come over here, sit down for a little while—”
“No…I…” Speirs shook his head to get rid of the damned ringing in his ears, not reacting at first as Liebgott neared him, the man’s hands raised as if to help him sit down—but then abruptly the man’s hands was too close to him—and the lieutenant lashed out without even thinking, fist catching the man right on the chin.
Taken by surprise, Liebgott landed hard on his ass, momentarily stunned by the force behind the blow, eyes round in shock.
Speirs stood over him, a look of panic turning to one of surprise as if he had no clue how the soldier suddenly ended up on the ground next to him. He looked at his hands, finding them both shaking, and then back at Liebgott. “I—I’m sorry I wasn’t—I—I don’t know why—” He turned, hearing footsteps running in their direction, and then without even thinking, just took off the other way, slipping between some ruined buildings.
Scrabbling up onto his feet, Liebgott gave chase, ignoring the throbbing on his jaw and determinedly keeping Speirs in his view. “Lieutenant! Wait!”
Roe, who had been nearing them with his medical pack at the ready, slid to a halt when he saw the lieutenant disappearing around the corner, Liebgott not far behind him, and no injured men to be found. Then he abruptly kept running after them, because people did not call lightly for a medic without desperately needing help.
Speirs slid on some ice and snow that had been building between in the alley he ran into and he tripped and fell, sliding a few feet before he scrambled back up and kept running, hands covering his ears when he heard a sharp sound of a gun being fired, the echo practically blasting through his ears—he had to get away, had to find—had to find someone, he’d been looking for someone before everything started—he’d been trying to make a plan, a plan to get out, to get out, to get out!
He could hear someone giving chase but didn’t turn to look, the ringing and pounding in his ears too loud to make out what they were shouting. He saw another alley just ahead and he took it without thinking, running smack into a trooper who was turning to look into the alley when he heard noises coming from it.
“Fuck! Can’t you tell where you’re go—” Skinny flushed the moment he saw who had collided with him. He scrambled to his feet and helped up the man immediately, recoiling when he realized the lieutenant was drenched in blood. “Sir! I—I mean I’m sorry sir, I wasn’t—are you injured—?”
“Get your hands off me!”
Skinny obeyed immediately, and Speirs straightened himself, taking a step back as if he didn’t want Skinny near him. The soldier frowned, noticing the lieutenant was shaking, and he kept grimacing as he put a hand up to his head, lurching unsteadily as if someone hit him. Something was wrong with him, Skinny realized almost immediately.
“I’m sorry, sir—I’ll just call for a medic, okay?” Skinny tried to sound calm and collected, like Spina and Roe, but obviously it didn’t work because Speirs was still backing away from him. “It’s okay, everything’s fine—it just looks like a lot of blood but if you sit down—”
Putting on a burst of speed, Liebgott caught up with the lieutenant and started to grab hold of his arm before he hastily rethought that idea, his jaw giving a warning twinge. “Sir—” He said breathlessly, one hand raised in a placating gesture. “Just stay here, all right? Just stay here. You’re hurt, gotta have a medic look after you, all right?”
“No…no…have to…” Speirs said breathlessly, chest still heaving from his run even though now he wasn’t running, “Have to get out…” He looked away from both of them, gaze searching his surroundings for something neither of them could see.
“Get out? Sure, lieutenant, we’ll get you out, sir,” Skinny said nervously. He glanced at Liebgott. “What’s wrong with him, Lieb?”
The whisper was audible to all three men, but Speirs didn’t seem to hear. He only looked up when Roe suddenly joined the other two men, the medic coming to an abrupt halt, not even breathless from his run. “Who’s hurt?” he demanded.
“The lieutenant.” Liebgott said practically shoving Roe at the confused man. “Got his head busted up or something, he’s not making any fucking sense at all. Jesus, he was looking for Dog company, doc—he’s messed up.”
Speirs stumbled back when Roe moved towards him, only to discover a wall at his back. He froze, fingers slowly tightening into fists, eyes darting from Liebgott and Skinny to Roe, who was slowly opening his bag. His eyes lingered on the open space to his left.
“Sir, if you’d sit down,” the medic said quietly, drawing his attention back to him. “Nobody here’s going to hurt you, lieutenant. I just need to take a look at your head.”
“No…” Speirs shook his head, unwittingly making the pounding worse. He winced, raising a hand to his ear. “No…!”
“Sir, all due respect, you might not be thinking too clearly. Could be you were hit by one of the mortars?”
Speirs flinched, paling as he shook his head.
“A bullet then,” Roe suggested carefully. Again, another shake of the head.
“Then I guess I’d better look just to make sure you didn’t catch a piece of shrapnel,” said the medic, drawing closer. Speirs was practically pressing himself flat against the wall. “It’ll be okay, sir, if you just let me take a look—” And get close enough to administer a sedative, the medic thought.
Seeing the desperate look in Speirs’ eyes, a look he’d had just before he’d popped him one right on the chin, Liebgott hurriedly snagged Roe’s arm and stopped him from getting any closer. “Watch it, doc, he’s like a cornered animal, you know what I mean?” He muttered so that only Roe could hear him. He didn’t exactly want it known that he’d let his guard down enough to get clobbered. “You get too close—” He trailed off pointedly, eyeing the lieutenant warily.
“I can’t help him if I can’t see anything,” Roe whispered back, but he took a few more steps back just so that Speirs didn’t do anything he’d regret when his head was on straight. “Maybe if—”
Speirs took the opportunity of them moving back to bolt for it.
“Fuck!” Liebgott growled as he dashed after him again. Goddamn stupid lieutenant!
Skinny and Roe were right behind him, the former closer and almost managing to grab onto Speirs’ coat—he didn’t know what he’d do when he had hold of it—but he just missed, and instead tripped and slid in the snow, grumbling as he picked himself back up and followed after the others.
“Goddamn lieutenant… Wait—!”