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When the boys got back from Algeria, Helen watched painfully as a few planes didn’t make the return. Her heart sank a little deeper with each count coming too low.
Helen has come to befriend some of those boys, one being Curtis Biddick. He was an obnoxious flirt, but she found it funny, and she knew he did too. It became a bit between them, Curtis doing his best to flirt with Helen, her turning him down every time. It never felt serious, nor threatening, just a jab at each other whenever she shot down his advances, him acting all wounded.
When Curtis didn’t come back, she felt it for the first time; that sense of loss. She’s been sad before, but losing someone she considered a friend was somehow worse than losing her own grandfather. Maybe it was because her grandfather had already lived through his war. He’d reached the age men should die. He’d lived.
She didn’t cry over him. She didn’t think that would do anyone any good. As fewer and fewer planes returned, and the list of KIA or MIA increased, Helen saw the effect it had on the men. She saw the effect it had on their friends. Helen discovered how some men grieved. Some went quiet, others looked for distractions in the form of women (and sometimes other men), some cried (although never in front of anyone else), and some drank.
Major John “Bucky” Egan was of the latter group.
Helen wasn’t too surprised. He’d always been a drinker, she’d seen it, and the talk of the base was often about his antics as a Major who sometimes acted like a private. Still, he was a good leader when it counted, and these boys looked up to him when it mattered.
That’s why she didn’t want anyone to see him the way she found him.
Walking back from the local pub alone wasn’t possibly the smartest decision Helen’s ever made, but she was sad that day. She needed to be alone, and the men knew her, as did the woman. She just needed a chance to breath.
She didn’t plan on going to the pub that night, but her friends had dragged her; their own way of dealing with the loss of the boys fighting for their freedom. Even if they weren’t their boyfriends or husbands of brothers and sons, they still felt it for those who were those to the men. Here, who else would grieve them?
But she’d stayed longer at the pub than her other friends, suddenly finding the appeal to sitting in a loud pub where the noise and drinks could distract a person well enough to forget for a fleeting moment the horrors of the day.
It had been nice while it lasted, but eventually, when the locals began chattering away without the understanding of how Helen felt, she knew she needed to go.
She turned around and didn’t look back.
Helen shivered when the warmth of the body-filled pub left her, and she was met with the frigid English air. She wrapped her coat around herself, walking down the road and away from the pub. There was a cloud of fog on the road, slightly eerie, but nothing Helen couldn’t handle. She knew fog, given growing up in Oregon where the fog was almost impossible to see through in the morning. She walked with a steady pace, her shoes sinking into the dirt road with each step.
Helen cursed when she almost tripped in her short heel, the shoe catching itself in a small divet in the gavel road. She looked around, noting a tree off to the side. She walked over and placed her hand on the bark to keep balance. She leaned back, attempting to take the heel off when a voice startled her so badly, she almost jumped out of her shoes.
“Christ!” she gasped, clutching her chest as a voice behind her made her turn.
“Not Christ,” the voice slurred. “Not even close.”
Helen looked further and saw a silhouette of a man in the fog. The man stood in the middle of the road, a bottle in hand, his hair and army uniform mussed. At first, her heart raced as she was faced with the image of a drunk man. She became aware of who she was, and how dangerous this situation could turn out to be. She narrowed her eyes, recognizing the man nearly immediately, and took a relieved breath.
“Major Egan,” she said with a sigh. Her heart pounded in her ears but she relaxed as she realized it was only the major, drunk, but not to her surprise. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” he slurred, stumbled a bit.
Helen surged forward, one hand grabbing his elbow, the other his shoulder. Bucky stumbled, hand gripping onto her shoulder in response. Major Egan, as tall as he was, slouched so deeply Helen could not make anything on his face.
“Sir?”
Bucky didn’t respond. He took a breath and stood abruptly, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “Sorry, Helen. I’ll be going now.”
Bucky waved his hand, a car key hanging off one finger. Helen’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t drive, not like this. Major Egan made to walk off but Helen took a step in front of him, her shoes no longer of any concern as the man tried to pass her. He seemed surprised by the intrusion but didn’t fight her. Not immediately.
“You shouldn’t drive right now,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Bucky scoffed, waving his hand. “I fly giant metal death traps in the air.”
“Not while drunk,” Helen rebutted, taking the bottle from his grasp with no protest. If he was so drunk that he didn’t even notice or care, Helen was sure the man could not drive.
Bucky swayed again, Helen keeping her hand tight on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice her touch, otherwise, she was sure he’d be protesting more.
The major’s drinking habits were no secret to the base; the other woman often used it as breakroom gossip, some telling fabricated tales of what the man gets up to when he’s not flying the plane. Helen herself has seen the man drunk before, but only at dances when the men were celebrating something, in a pub, always witnessing the hangover the next day while at her cart. But she’s never like this, not when he was stumbling and confused, drinking alone in the middle of a road. It was the drinking habits of an unhealthy man, at least emotionally.
“Are you all right, Major?” Helem asked.
Bucky gained some balance, enough that Helen loosened her grip but did not let go of his shoulder out of fear he would run off if given the chance.
He swung his hand, as if there was still a bottle in it. Helen assumed he knew the feeling well enough to imagine there was.
“I’m great,” he said, the sarcasm in his voice almost painful. “Better than some of those guys.”
He waved vaguely away, to the sky, to Germany, to the world beyond them. Helen followed his gaze, looking longingly at the sky. She’d spent many hours staring at that sky, hoping and praying these boys came back all in one piece. Her wishes weren’t always answered, but when they were, it was a blessing. Today didn’t feel like a blessing.
She thought of Curtis. She knew he and Bucky were friends, close as men could be on a base like this. She knew losing Curtis was tough for a lot of the men; he was a leader, a friend, someone who’d fight a Brit and create stories for them to tell for the rest of their lives.
She watched Bucky with a sadness usually reserved for family. He was grieving in his own way, and although Helen didn’t necessarily agree with how, who was she to judge how a person dealt with the loss of a friend?
Helen sighed sadly. Bucky had leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he took a breath; drunk and tired, Bucky had stopped resisting any attempt Helen made to keep him from walking away. Helen rubbed a hand on his back, noticing but not mentioning the way he shook slightly. She’s sure if she was a man, any of the other boys on base, he wouldn’t be obliged to just rest there as someone witnessed him like this.
“It’s alright,” she said softly, unsure what about. Maybe everything. It didn’t matter, she thought Bucky needed to hear it. “You’ll be all right.”
Bucky took a breath, his body shaking one last time before he stood up. His eyes were glassy, not looking at anything in particular. “I need to go back.”
Helen hesitated. She still didn’t like the state he was in. He swayed in place. Eyes not blinking evenly. She looked at his hand, where his keys still remained.
Without thinking, Helen grabbed them from his hand with luckily, no protest. Bucky simply followed where his keys went, looking at Helen with a blank expression, like he’d given up and accepted he wasn’t going to get them back from her.
Smart boy, Helen thought.
“Where’s your jeep?” she asked.
“I can drive us back,” he said, ignoring her question.
Helen smiled softly. She was glad even in his drunken state, he had the gentlemanly respect to not just leave her here in the middle of the road.
“I don’t think so, Major.” She smiled, but the major looked at her unconvinced. She sighed, lowering her voice. “Please, let me do this one thing.”
Bucky took a breath, seeming like he was going to argue. After a moment where neither backed down, Bucky finally gave in.
“Alright. Lead the way, Miss Helen.”
The jeep wasn’t too far. A few minutes' walk before they arrived at the vehicle, although it should have taken only around one minute. Helen had been supporting some of Bucky’s weight, preventing the man from stumbling over. His drunkenness seemed to take over as Helen provided support, her shoes now making it even more difficult to maneuver him and herself toward the keep. Once there, she opened the door as Bucky got into the passenger seat, Helen situating herself on the driver's side.
She’d driven her father's car back home plenty of times; she’d never technically gotten her license, but she could drive just fine. The jeep was a little different than what she was used to, but she prided herself on being adaptable.
Driving wasn’t difficult; getting Bucky to direct her was the tough part. He’d almost fallen asleep before she could get him to wherever his barracks were. She had to pinch his side just to keep him from passing out and potentially falling out of the vehicle.
When they did reach his barracks, she realized she wouldn’t be able to go in and help. She’ll have to hope someone was awake and willing to assist the drunk major. She sighed, hopeful but knowing likely he’d just plop on his bed and pass out without properly taking care of himself.
Helen wished she could do more. Bringing the major here was the best she could do.
At the barracks, Helen again supported some of his weight towards the door. When Bucky didn’t open the door himself, Helen racked her knuckles on the door, loud enough not to wake every person in the building, hopefully just the man closest to the door.
She didn’t need to wait long; she’d barely taken her hand away from the door when it was opened and in front of her stood a blond man who, based on the bags under his eyes, looked like he really needed to sleep.
Major Buck Cleven looked from Helen to Bucky, back to Helen. There were a dozen questions on his face, which disappeared the second Bucky stumbled forward, almost taking Helen down with him.
“Woah, there,” Buck said, slinging Bucky’s arm onto his shoulder in such a fluid motion Helen thought it had to have been practiced. Buck placed his hand firmly on his chest to keep Bucky standing and freeing Helen of the heavy man.
“Hey there, Buck,” Bucky slurred, smiling brightly at the blond man.
If Bucky wasn’t so drunk, and Buck so concerned, Helen would have thought the moment sweet.
Helen felt like she could finally breathe when she saw it was Buck, knowing purely based on tales and observation, that if anyone would take care of Bucky in this state without judgment, it was Buck.
“You smell like a bar,” Buck said, annoyance in his voice but a fondness there as well. Buck looked him over for any visible injuries. Helen didn’t blame him; the way they came in, leaning on Helen like he’d run a marathon after falling down a mountain.
“‘Pub,” Bucky corrected, popping the ‘p’.
Buch hummed in response, tightening his hold on Bucky. “How much did he have to drink?” Buck asked, eyes never leaving Bucky.
It took Helen a moment to realize he was talking to her. “I have no clue. I found him in the road like this. Didn’t think he should drive, so…”
Helen raised the keys still in her hand. Buck nodded, understanding and appearing grateful. Bucky, through his drunkenness, chuckled and squeezed Buck’s face with his free hand. Buck, like it was part of a routine, allowed it and indulged his drunk friend.
“Like a worried motha’,” Bucky drawled.
“You’re mother would be happy for it,” Buck replied. He turned to Helen, looking at her for the first time since they’d arrived in this unconventional way.
“I’ll take him in. I can drive you back if you're willing to wait a couple of minutes?”
Helen stood surprised. She wrapped her coat around herself, relieved to find Buck here to help make sure the major didn’t just pass out the second his head met a pillow. She had no reservations to leave immediately, so she nodded her head, grateful.
“Thank you, Major.”
Buck nodded, tightening his hand around Bucky as he guided him inside the barracks. Helen turned, laughing to herself when she heard Bucky mumble something incoherent to Helen’s ears, but what Buck must have understood as he muttered, “I know, Bucky,” in a way Helen could only describe as fond.
Helen turned around, breathing as she stared at the moon. It was bright tonight, presenting them with some light that Helen wasn’t sure represented the night well, given their losses.
Helen considered the losses some of her own. Each man that went down, she felt, in some way. Everyone did. It’s why whenever she was able to help any of them, in any way, she felt a sense of accomplishment some might consider not that vital in the long run of this war.
Helen didn’t need to wait long until the door behind her opened, revealing Buck quietly exiting, throwing on his sheepskin jacket over his sleeping top. He looked far less put together than Helen was used to seeing him, but she guessed it he looked better than Bucky had.
They were silent as he walked with her to the abandoned jeep. She handed him the keys as she got in the passenger's seat, happy to not drive on the gravel road.
Buck started up the jeep with much more ease than Helen had, like it was second nature. She’d seen him drive this car around with Bucky, usually Buck sitting in the seat she currently occupied. The thought of Bucky made her think back to earlier, how drunk and disoriented he’d been. It made her sad, to think about him stumbling around alone like that, and God forbid driving in such a state. She was glad he found her when he did.
“How is he?” Helen asked, breaking the comfortable silence between herself and the major.
Buck took a moment to respond. “I’ve seen him worse off.”
Helen didn’t think about the implications of that sentence. She hummed to herself.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the woman’s barracks, a girl and her friend stumbling inside as they pulled up. Helen gathered the shoes she’d kicked off, putting them back on her feet thus sealing the uncomfortableness of the short walk back to her bed.
“Helen.”
Helen looked up, just finishing putting on the last shoe. Her eyes met Buck’s, and she wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. He looked so unlike the major she knew him as, and someone much younger, of less power. It made her feel like, well, his equal.
“Thank you,” he finally said, smiling at her. “For getting him back in one peace.”
Helen wasn’t sure what to think at the moment. She had received thanks from the men before, but usually quickly and fleeting, a response for handing them a drink they’d forget the taste of the moment they were in the air. For small acts of service she couldn’t possibly consider tangible in their lives.
This felt different. She felt Buck’s sincerity in the statement and the way he maintained eye contact with her. If she knew anything about Gale “Buck” Cleven, it’s that he meant what he said.
“You’re welcome,” Helen replied, giving him her best smile. “Make sure Major Egan has plenty of coffee in the morning. Bring him by my cart.”
Buck smiled, huffing out a laugh as he nodded his head. “I’ll make sure of that, ma’am.”
Helen smiled once more, opening the jeep door and walking the distance towards the building. She turned around once, waving at Buck, the man waving back.
It was only once she closed the door and was inside the building did she hear the sound of the jeep rolling away, off in the distance until it was nothing but a memory.
Helen plopped off her shoes and lay on her bed, not bothering to change just yet. She said a silent prayer for the majors, not for tonight, where she knew one would be sleeping soundly and wake up with a spitting head, but for the day ahead of them where they’d be in the sky and facing the world intent on taking them down.
Helen fell asleep that night feeling ever so slightly more accomplished, knowing she could, at the very least, make that at least one gets home safe, even if his own enemy was his simple vice.
The next day, Helen and Buck shared a knowing look as Bucky took the coffee from her hand while barely opening his eyes, nursing a headache. She chuckled to herself as Buck raised his eyebrows, the memories of the night before coming back to her like a train.
She chuckled as the two majors walked away, Buck’s hand resting on Bucky’s shoulder as the pair walked together, hip-to-hip, as they always were.
Helen smiled to herself, glad that at least they could find comfort in one another. It was a beautiful thing she hoped they never lost.