Chapter Text
The new Commander of Easy Company was beaten down by flu, just after they entering Haguenau.
Sergeant Martin was the first to figure it out. When Captain Winters was briefing about the “nominally” occurred second patrol, Martin stopped Speirs to report Cobb’s drinking problem. Speirs looked pale and tired, as if he’d stayed up all night. But Martin knew it wasn’t the case. Even after the most stressful battle, he had never seen Speirs looking so tired.
No matter how the rumors sprat, their new CO was undeniably a good leader. He truly cared about his fellow soldier, so they cared about him as well. Now the worst battle was close to end, the last thing they wanted to see was losing another good CO. So after they were dismissed, Martin came to Winters to talk about his worry.
“I’m worried about Captain Speirs, sir. He coughs a lot, sometimes has a runny nose, and he is less concentrated than usual. I think he gets a bad flu.”
Winters nodded in agreement. “Yes Martin, I noticed that as well. Don’t worry, I will ask a medic to check about that right now.”
After Martin left, Nixon asked in curiosity. “I heard from D Company that Speirs never asked for a medic even when he got injured, as if calling for help would undermine his tough guy image. Do you think you are charming enough to persuade our tough guy to accept your advice and be a good patient?”
Winters smirked. “No I don’t. But we have doc Roe in Easy Company.”
Later that night, Winters called Speirs to come to the Battalion office. Speirs was pale and tired as he had been previously in the afternoon. After some brief talking about moving off line tomorrow, Winters asked.
“You look pale, Ron. What’s wrong?”
Nothing wrong, sir.
Speirs intended to say so, but a sudden cough interrupted his reply. Winters frowned in worry and disagreement.
”Go and see a medic.” Ordered Winters, “Nix will take care of the patrol report, you can have some rest tonight.”
“I’m fine.” Speirs insisted, “I don’t need a medic.”
Winters looked back at Nixon, who was typing their “fiction report” behind his desk, and received his “I told you so” gesture.
Just then the door was opened, in came doc Roe. He looked around and asked slightly confused when seeing no one injured: “You called me, sir?”
“Yes, Eugene.” Said Winters, dragging Speirs forward, “We think Lieutenant Speirs needs your help.”
Speirs opened his mouth and tried to refuse, the Captain gave him a “shut up and obey” glance. He thought he’d better obey exactly what Winters had said. His instinct told him an angry Winters is more dangerous than an entire SS company. Therefore he just moved forward, unbuttoned his shirt to let doc Roe check his pulse and body temperature.
Doc put his hand on Speirs’ forehead, frowning at the burning skin he had touched.
“You get a high fever, sir. How long have you been sick?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a week or so. Nothing serious.” Said Speirs impatiently, trying to stop doc with his “cold-blooded killer stare”, just like he used to do when he was in D Company. Unfortunately, had he known doc Roe better, he would have never done that.
Doc Roe stopped his checking process and looked straightly at Speirs, anger was burning in his dark eyes.
“Nothing serious? Do you know severe flu like this can be fatal if not taken proper treatment? You are an officer, a grown-up. You ought to take care of yourself!”
Speirs was shocked. Before today he had thought doc Roe was gentle and harmless and was unable to shout at anybody that loud, now he should change his comment. Doc Roe was a paratrooper before being pointed as a medic. He was strong and tough, just like the rest of them.
Winters and Nixon had already left the room before both of them noticed, leaving private space for Speirs to bear doc’s anger. He was situated onto the sofa. Roe poured out a glass of water and stuffed it into his hand.
“Drink this and have some rest. I’ll try to find some medicine for you.” Roe said firmly, still looking angry, “If it doesn’t turn better tomorrow, I’ll transfer you to a hospital.”
“Forget about that, I won’t go.” Speirs frowned at Roe’s over-reacting, getting up again, “A leader should never lie down uselessly in hospital while his men fighting outside.”
That’s the reason why he had never called a medic when injured. He figured out from D-Day that he needed his men to fear him, consider him the toughest and bravest in their company, so that they would obey his order without any doubt, follow him wherever he went, so that he could lead them to victory. He didn’t care about whether they liked him or not, it was the cost he was willing to pay.
Roe looked at him for a long time; he sighed and held Speirs’ hand.
“I appreciate your endeavor of protecting Easy Company, and leading us to victory; but your health is equally important to us. After all the sufferings and deaths we finally get a good CO, we don’t want to lose him because of flu, that’s far too stupid.”
He pushed Speirs’ shoulder to lie him down on the sofa, gave him a warm blanket.
“Just lie down and sleep, I promise you will be fine tomorrow.”
Speirs had heard that doc’s words and touch had magical power because he had inherited this from his grandma, a Traiteur. He never really believed rumors like this, but now, with doc holding his hand firmly, he figured out those soldiers never exaggerated a single word about doc’s incredible magic.
“Do you need anything else, sir?”
No reply came from their flu-beaten CO, so Roe asked again. Speirs dragged Roe’s hand and put it on his eyes. The cool soft palm eased his fever-burned eyelids. A magical power flowed over him, all those tense and tiredness he had been baring since D-Day were washed away. He felt safe and calm and sleepy.
“Stay.”
He murmured, and then fell into a sound sleep.