Archive of Our Own

I Believe You're Going My Way

Lucky .  

Lewis Nixon III had heard that enough in his life but now it landed like a punch to the gut.   Operation Varsity would forever change the meaning of that word for him.

Lucky.

Lucky he was jumpmaster, lucky he had the experience to confidently step out of that plane as soon as the green light came on, lucky he got to watch the plane explode.

As he descended on the drop zone he was lucky enough to have time to reflect on it while he watched the plane blow up.   Floating through the air filled with flak fire, other paratroopers, planes, and gliders,  his eyes remained locked on that damned plane.   Floating above it all, what a poignant statement for his lucky life; he had always been well above it all as a Nixon, hadn’t he?

In Dick’s words, he was from 'a world of wealth and privilege'.  Money was never a concern, the Great Depression didn’t change him for better or worse, he went to the best schools and societal events, every door was open to him as a Nixon and the Nixons were above it all.   The Nixon Nitration Disaster, where the whole damned plant and town blew up, didn’t even touch them.  NOt financially, not physically and not emotionally;  death and destruction in a town of their name and they were above it.   The family was just like that.  Stanhope beat a man with a pipe, got away with it; above the law.   Hell…even he had stayed above all the drunken mishaps, the bullet that almost went into his head in Holland…everything including his fucking plane getting shot down.

And as he prepared to hit the ground, he knew someone would tell him how lucky he was that he got his third jump star by being chosen to go on this mission with the 17th.

Lucky to be alive, lucky that it wasn't him.

Operation Varsity was different from the first two combat jumps since the plan was to have all the airborne troops dropped at once, close to the objective, during daylight within range of allied air and ground support.    That made it easy for Nix to keep moving, join up with the rest of the unit and make it to the DZ quickly. The 17th had combat experience, but this was just their first jump, so he wasn’t with men who were new to combat.

Well a few less men now.

The battle was over in four hours.   A success, with some embarrassing casualties.  Later when he made it back to Division he would learn that the C-46 planes used by the 513th regiment had a flaw that set the plane ablaze if the gas tank was hit.  Nineteen of the seventy-two C46s were hit and the lack of self-sealing gas tanks allowed fuel to consume the planes.  Thirty eight others were heavily damaged.   

Really he was lucky to be in a C-47.  

Some of those guys never had a chance.   

Except his plane got hit and blew up too.

Kind of like Meehan and Stick 66 on D-Day,  how their plane blew up when flak hit the explosives the plane was carrying.  Shit luck.   Or maybe someone should have thought to not make the plane more explosive.

He wasn’t sure how he could write up a report as an observer without being scathing. The guys wouldn’t know, they probably wouldn’t know about the fatal flaws or the cost of this mission or the fact that there were already whispers that the operation didn’t really need to be done.  That they were all too far along in the war for this.   Not the first time he'd heard that recently.  The guys?  Well they’d get the citations and the jump stars and the guilty little sigh of relief after thinking ‘I’m glad it wasn’t me’, but they wouldn’t know what he knew because they weren’t granted access to the upper echelon as an intelligence officer.

They wouldn’t know how bad it was.  They wouldn’t know how very very lucky they were.

Getting home was the only thing on his mind.   He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to have to placate some other division’s officers, he didn’t fucking belong here.  What the hell was he even doing here?   An observer?   An experienced jumpmaster?  A guy who was in intelligence and never shot his gun?  What good was he to any of these guys, other than the one who got to tell their stories that would land in some box of classified reports that nobody cared about.  So he started looking for a ride back to the 101st, doing whatever he could to find a way back to his own lines, back to his own battalion back to the company that meant so much to him he had done everything in his power to stay with it from Toccoa to this shitty field on fire on the Rhine.  

Back to Dick Winters because it should have been someone like him leading these inexperienced guys on their first jump, but Nix was so glad he wasn’t here.  

The battle was over.   The air smelled of jet fuel, gunpowder and burnt everything .  Everything he didn’t want to think of as he passed by wreckage after wreckage of planes filled with men who weren’t so lucky.

It smelled of death.  

God, he wanted a drink.  He wanted to never stop drinking.

The only way to get away would be to catch a ride with any vehicle he could, hitchhiking really.  Oh Dick would be so proud.   Thinking of that was the first time he genuinely felt alive since the plane got hit.   Hey, Dick, guess who hitchhiked back to you?

He saw an empty seat in the front of an ambulance and jogged over.  “Hey, can I hitch a ride back?”

“Sure thing, Captain.”

As he climbed in the ambulance to head to the rear he looked back at the black smoke billowing into the sky, at Death,  and wondered what the hell it was for anymore.

Hitchhiking was the most frustrating way to get anywhere.  It was indirect.  It took you everywhere you didn’t want to go.  It was a great way for strangers to try and engage you in conversation and most of the vehicles heading in the direction he wanted to go were medical. 

Lucky him.  He couldn’t get away from the death or pain.   It was chasing him from the second he stepped out of that fucking plane and still was.   It hadn’t bothered him before.  Not D-Day, not Market Garden, not Bastogne.   He took everything in stride and just kept marching forward.

He looked behind him as someone screamed in the back of the truck.  Burn victim, according to the driver.   

So why now?  Why was the stench of death following him?  Why was it looking back at him when he looked over his shoulder?   Death, mocking him at how lucky he was to carry the dead with him in memories?  Because those kids never got to step out of the damned plane and he was lucky ?  Lucky enough to ask if this was worth their lives?

So he gave up on this hitchhiking bullshit and just commandeered a Jeep and driver and said take me the fuck home.

When he got back to Easy, he saw the stares and questions.  Why was Nixon wearing his harness?  Well, fuck if he didn’t remember he didn’t take it off.   Then there was Sparky looting, sending shit back home to his wife and kid so they could probably sell it.   So much for the “you're already dead” soldier who scared the shit out of everyone in France, now even he was looking ahead to the end.  Looking forward to going home, to a life after war.   Like most of these guys.  Excited they were going to make it, not taking any chances.   A life so many would never get to experience.  

Hell, he couldn’t even be bothered to write to Kathy, the only value he had as a husband and father was that he was loaded. Ha! Lucky girl.   Never have to worry about money or anything, you married a Nixon!  He looked back as his Jeep driver almost hit Speirs, there was a bang of a tray he was carrying hitting the hood, sounding like the gong of a church bell it hit it so hard.   He turned to see Ron’s confusion.  Looked back at someone who used to personify Death, but now the company adored him.   Hell, Ron even managed to chase Death away from Lipton with a bottle of schnapps.  

Ron Speirs, another lucky son of a bitch.    Running out by himself into danger.  Running across Foy twice.  But Easy was lucky to have him.   

Nix looked forward and directed the driver to his billet.  Perhaps it was that last patrol they did in Hageneau that started this.  The senseless loss of life for a couple prisoners, the helplessness of sending men to their deaths for what? A little more glory?

And Operation Varsity was an absolute incredible display of how far the Airborne had come since D-Day, right up until the fucking planes started blowing up before the paratroopers could get out of them.   A display for who?  Their allies? Yeah, probably.  It was a race to take things before Russia did.

He was ready to drink.  In fact by the time he found the bottle he had two drinks.  He had it under control, the plan to wallow in his misery, until Dick came looking for him.

“Nix?”

He just wanted to get home.  To him.   To Dick because they had such an incredible bond that transcended words.  Sometimes they didn’t have to explain themselves, because this was his best friend.   Because, under normal circumstances, he would have opened up with an upbeat story about how he hitchhiked back from this jump just to come home….but the reality was he was surrounded by death and just wanted to get the hell away but Death followed him, Death kept telling him to look back.  

“Nix?”

He could hear how excited Dick was, excited to see him. To see him home. When was the last time Dick sounded that excited?  It had been awhile.   Smiles used to be genuine, now they were just empty.   And as Nix looked at himself in the mirror he had to ask himself what the hell was this for anymore?  God, he looked like shit.   He could wash his face all he wanted but the smell of death wasn’t going to leave his nostrils.  “In here.”

He moved to the bed, sat down and began to take his knife off.  He heard Dick's footsteps, faster than usual.  He was excited.

“You dog. Making combat jumps with the 17th,”  Dick came into the room and grinned.  “While I'm in supply briefings all morning.”

“Yeah, lucky me.”  Nix said as he tossed the knife on the bed.   Lucky.  

“No, congratulations.” Dick grinned.  “You're probably the only man in the 101st with three combat stars over his jump wings.”

Jump wings.  There was a time when that was all they wanted.   Nix started taking off his boots.  “Not bad for someone who's never fired his weapon in combat?”

“Really?” Dick watched him.  Something was off.  

Nix stared at his jump boots as he unlaced them.   Those damned kids were probably so excited and terrified to go on their first combat jump.  Just like they had been.  Excited to do what they trained for, terrified of what awaited them, but anxious to get it over with.  The complexity of those feelings felt like they were from another lifetime.  Normandy, less than a year ago, felt like it was a lifetime ago.  He felt so fucking old, so much like a different person, especially now as he dropped his Corcoran boot to the floor and remembered lacing them up this morning, blousing this trousers and heading to his plane.  Going to get another star on his jump wings, he certainly did think it.    He put his other foot on the bed and began unlacing, thinking about his second jump. Market Garden.   Funny, he should be thinking about that shit show and how it cost them time looking for another way into Germany.   Instead he thought about that hole in his helmet, how he got lucky.  How Dick cradled him, hands everywhere checking to make sure he was okay, the look in his eyes that said he would have been devastated if he lost him.

Of course he laughed it off, wore the helmet with the hole in it and then got drunk off Schnapps in their foxhole that night.     

“Nix?”

He finished taking his boot off and dropped it on the ground.  Looking at them before he got up, remembering how stiff and new they once were and how long it took to break them in.  Now he had lived in the damned things so long walking around without them felt so naked.    Well worn, broken down boots…a reflection of himself.    Worn the fuck out, when did that happen?

He glanced at Dick, looked at his worried face and then down to his oak leaves on his collar.   He had been so happy to give him those, proud of his friend.  So proud of his accomplishments and what a great officer he became and he felt like this was finally the point where he failed him.  Because Dick was proud of him too, proud of him for getting that third combat jump and he wanted to celebrate.   But he wanted to come home and get drunk, because he just didn't know what they were fighting for anymore.   The war was almost over and it didn't feel like winning when the field was filled with black smoke from burning hulls and bodies.  

“Really?  You've never fired your gun in combat?”

“No.” Nix replied.   How lucky.   No death on his hands, at least in the traditional manner.  He snorted.  God, he was going to get so fucking drunk tonight.

“Not even with all the action we've seen?”

“Not a round.”. Nix wondered if that would have helped how he was feeling right now.  He felt helpless.   Did pulling the trigger make you feel more in control?  He stood up, eying a bottle on the table.   What made him feel in control was good Scotch whiskey and the ability to pass the fuck out.  He looked at it, the precious elixir of life, even in war he still had his lifeline to the good old Vat 69.   He stared into it.   Not even war could deprive him of what he wanted.   Lucky bastard.  

“So…”. Dick rubbed his pant leg.  He almost didn't want to ask.  “How'd it go this morning, the jump?”

“It was great.  Fantastic.”. Nix said and smelled it, the black smoke.    He just jumped, he saw the green and went.   Was the plane on fire before or after?  No, he was on a reliable old C-47, it just got shot.   God, he needed to get his facts straight for the observation report.   They needed to burn all those C-46s where they sat.  No, that wasn't fair.   They weren't meant for transporting paratroopers, those planes were meant for something else.  They just burned up and died with the rest of them because someone wanted to show off.   But what took out his plane?  He was going to have to write that report and he needed an answer.  “We took a direct hit over the drop zone.  I got out.  Two others got out.”

“The rest of the boys?”

Nix lifted his glass. “Well they blew up over Germany somewhere.  Boom.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry.”  Dick said and watched him, watched  Nix self-destructing. 

“About what?” Nix asked.   That he was lucky?  He snorted and drank.  Sorry, sorry.   Such a trite little five letter word that he was going to have to type over and over again to the families of those boys in that plane.   I was lucky , sorry your kid wasn’t.

“Well, tough situation for the…”

“Oh, yeah, the boys, yeah.”.  Nix said coldly.   One thing that never got better with the jumps was just wanting to get out of the plane.   Take control back into your hands for your own life, take your chances in the flak riddled sky and before falling into the unknown.  Some of those kids didn't get that chance.  It had to be terrifying.  Maybe the kids that didn’t get out of his plane just blew up.  Quick death?  Was that what he would write?   Sorry your son is dead, but I watched his plane blow up and it was probably over fast.   “It's terrible.”

Dick looked at him.

“Oh, well, wasn't me.” Because I'm lucky.  He took another drink.  Now he was sure of it.   The green light.  The jump.   The jerk of the chute, the disorientation.  The relief of being out of the plane and back in control.  Looking down, looking at the ground and comparing it to the map in his head.  Then the plane blew.  They were over the fucking drop zone.   Green light a minute or two earlier and they would have all gotten out.   

Dick watched him, accustomed to the volatile Nix who would argue for the hell of it and try to pick a fight, he felt helpless knowing there was no way to win this argument while he was like this.     

“You know, the real tragedy is they also lost their CO.”  Nix said and waved his drink at him, curious if this would be the final straw that made Dick leave so he could drink in peace.  “So guess who gets to write all the letters home?"

Dick said nothing as Nix threw an empty bottle in the trash on his way to find one that was full.

"Goddamn nightmare.”  Nix said and it was a statement about everything.   

Dick knew this conversation would go nowhere, especially after Nix left the bedroom to hunt for more Vat.  He had walked past three bottles on the table, bottles were everywhere around here.  He followed Nix who was pouring himself more to drink before he sat down at the table looking like he was just going to surround himself with alcohol and call it a day.   So he changed the subject.  Maybe he could help by getting Nix focused on something else.  “Got a visit from Colonel Sink this morning.”

“And how is the good colonel?”  Nix asked, not really caring.  Sink loaned him out.  Fuck him.

“Concerned.”  Dick said and looked at the volume of alcohol Nix was consuming and knew he wasn’t looking to be conscious for much longer.   Best to get this over with now.  “Still drinking nothing but the Vat 69?”

“Only the finest for Mrs. Nixon's baby boy.”  Nix smiled, and wasn't that the truth!  What the hell was a rich entitled bastard like him doing here?  Didn’t shoot anyone.  Probably stealing some other guy's luck, someone else would have survived that plane exploding if he wasn’t the jumpmaster.  What the hell was he even doing there?   

“That a problem up at regiment?”

“What, this?” Nix looked at his drink.   The problem at regiment was that they were all career military looking at the end of the war and wanting to get as much as they could.   Bragging about the patrols that meant nothing, keeping Easy at the front despite them not being the only guys fighting the war.   The problem was the war wasn’t about winning anymore, it was won, so now it was a race to take what they could and get the promotions and commendations that would not be so easy to come by in peace.  “Is that what he said?  No, I just don't like it up there.”

“Good, so you'll be happy to hear…”  Dick watched him, Nix only cared about getting through that bottle and the next one right now.   And here he had been sweating giving him the news. ”That Sink is transferring you back down to Battalion S-3.”

Good.   Last thing he wanted was to talk about Varsity and how lucky he was to observe his fucking plane explode with almost everyone in it.  “What do you think I should write to these parents, Dick?”

“Hear what I said, Nix? You've been demoted.”

“Yeah, demoted, got you.”  Nix closed his eyes.   Dick cared, he didn't.  He wondered what that shame felt like.  “I don’t know how to tell them their kids never even got out of the plane.”

“You tell them what you always tell them.” Dick felt like Nix’s mood was darkening the already dark room, he could feel it dragging him down.   He looked past a few bottles of Vat 69 to his best friend sitting in an ornate chair that made him look like royalty. “You tell them their sons died as heroes."

“You really still believe that?” Nix scoffed.   Is that what Ron wrote to Jackson’s parents?   Your son died a hero?  God only knew what Sparky wrote, he had cleaned out Easy’s backlog of letters after his promotion by returning a few letters to sender with ‘deceased’ on the envelope before Lip stopped him.  Shit, Lip was probably writing the letters for him now.  He probably wrote something personal, coughing up a lung he’d give some story about Jackson that the family could cherish instead of telling them he walked into his own grenade fragments and died crying.   

“Yeah, I do.” Dick said.  This was a conversation he didn’t want to be having.  It was the kind of thing that sapped away your will to keep going, and they were so close to the end.  He watched Nix’s face as he stupidly asked, “Don't you?”

And all Nix could muster was a look that said ‘I don’t know anything anymore’ before Dick just gave up on him and left him to wallow.  Which would have been great if everyone decided to leave him alone but apparently Sparky was pissed about almost being run over and wanted to make a thing of it.  Lucky him.

“Nix, what’s your fucking problem?” Ron demanded as he came into the room, kicked an empty bottle across the floor and came up to the table.

Nix almost laughed but he drank enough to make the laugh come out sounding pathetic.  “I’m alive.”

Ron looked around the room. How the hell did the man get so many bottles of Vat 69?  It was Scotch whiskey, it needed to age, by now the distillery had to be close to being drained of Nixon’s lifeblood.  All of Scotland wasn't big enough to store the vast quantities of alcohol this man was consuming.    “Well, what does your survivor's guilt have to do with me?”

“You were in the road ?”  Nix offered and then offered a drink.

“I don’t drink, you know that.” Ron said.

Except that one time they got him hammered after his promotion and Sparky left looking like his life was ruined.  God, the man had such weird standards.   “Hey, what did you write Jackson’s family? You remember the guy in Hagueneau that we lost on the patrol. Or, uh, Bill Kiehn.   Did you tell their families they died as heroes?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ron asked and Nix poured himself another drink.

Nix giggled, at least Ron wasn’t going to coddle him.  Unlike Dick who made him feel his disappointment like he was some naughty child overflowing the bathtub in order to play with his model yacht.   Wild memory to resurface.   Hell…even then nobody gave a shit, he got praise for being just like Grandpa, only the staff cared he ruined the plaster in the second floor dining room.   “I’m lucky.”

“You’re lucky Dick said he could use your drunk ass for something.”  Ron was about to leave when a bottle got knocked off the table and Nix called out to him.

“Wait. I’m serious.  What did you write?  My whole stick, minus three of us, blew up.  I have some other Captain’s guys to write home about and I haven’t been writing these things.” 

“The plane went down?” Ron clarified.  “Your plane went down?

“Blew. Up.”  Nix said as he made the motions with his hands and Ron searched his face and he narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like that would explain your drinking problem?  No, I wouldn’t dare.  That goes way beyond any of this.”   Ron shrugged.  “I didn’t write them.  Lip wanted to.”

“Good man.”

“The best.”

Nix swallowed hard, because Dick was the best man he had ever met.  He deserved better.  He was his problem now. An S-3.  Operations and training officer for Dick Winters who was going to have to do all that work himself.  Paperwork.  Fucking lucky bastard, Dick would carry him through the rest of the war even if he didn’t get his shit together.   “So, Lip….”

“Watch where you’re going with this.” Ron cautioned.

Nix smiled.  “Is he the reason you changed from Killer Speirs, who everyone was scared to smoke with, to Stealing Sparky who Easy just adores almost as much as Dick Winters?”

“I think it had more to do with letting my hair grow out and forgetting to shave.”  Ron admitted.  He had no idea why Easy took to him so quickly, he blamed Lip.

“Come on Sparky, what happened to the killing machine from Normandy who was already dead ?” Nix tried to mimic his voice but Ron had a way to eliminate emotion from speech he couldn’t master.  “The S-2 who swam across the river in Holland to do god knows what all by himself and got shot in the ass?   How did he go into Bastogne and disappear in those god forsaken exploding trees and come out running in Foy as a goddamn hero?”

“You writing letters home or my biography?” Ron asked and surveyed the bottles again and wondered how much Nix drank to make him so chatty.

“Just trying to get my head around how you were lurking in the darkness scaring the shit out of everyone, whole battalion whispering about you killing unchecked,  and then end up with the guys whispering secrets in your ear.   Lip’s pretty amazing but he didn’t do that to you, for you.”

“Usually when you talk shit you’re holding a hand of cards.  Are you attempting to threaten me into doing your death notices for you?”  Ron asked and wondered if this was why Dick left him in here to drink on his own.

“I am asking how you could look at Death and not keep seeing and smelling it.” Nix asked and realized those words were spoken aloud.

“You don’t fear death as much if you accept it as inevitable. You start letting Death control you when you think it’s behind you.”  Ron said and Nix looked astonished like he was surprised he could answer that.    “What are you really asking me and does it have to do with why you almost ran me over?”

“I wasn’t driving.” Nix said, a dodge of the question that made Ron roll his eyes and turn to leave.   Okay, so maybe this was the one person who wouldn’t judge him or tell a soul what he was going to say.  “I feel Death following me.   I never used to.  Now I see my luck for what it is and that those in my wake are not so lucky.”

“That’s what they used to say about me in Dog. Speirs is lucky, the guy behind him—not so much.”

Nix blinked. Fuck he had heard that before and it never struck him that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t only because Sparky was crazy.  “What changed?”

“I started going alone.”

Nix wanted to bang his head on the table, sometimes talking to Sparky was like pulling fucking teeth.   “Ron, I’m serious.”

“I know you are.  But this isn't about me, it’s about you.  What changed?”

“I…”  Nix looked at the water ring on the table from his glass.  Not his table, but it was a beautiful antique table that somehow survived the war and was now going to have marks on it from a fucking drunk.  What irony.  He looked at Ron who always surprised him when he was interested in talking.  History.  Politics.   Classics.  The guy wasn’t one-dimensional and he was allowing people to find that out now, now that he wasn’t just a killing machine.  BY design, because the war had changed from necessity to something else.   “I don’t know.  Nothing has ever really touched me, especially of the explosion variety.   You’d think, if anything was going to hit me hard, it would have been Meehan’s plane going down instead of some kids I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t have time to think on Meehan, we all had objectives.  Dick took over, flawlessly.   Shit, even I found him rather than my own CO.  You didn’t know those kids, but you were leading them, and this is not D-Day.   We accepted death, it was acceptable to give our lives to see the invasion succeed.   Dying now, what’s it for?”

Nix nodded.   That made sense.   

“Things changed because we might make it through this alive.   We’re trying to get everyone through this alive and we’re fighting our own side to do it.”  Ron said and Nix seemed to be deep in thought now.  “That’s why the lives mean more, because they’re supposed to have a life instead of just finding the place they die.”

“I got demoted.”

“I heard.”

“Dick upset?”

“He cares more about your career than you do.”

“This isn’t my career.”

“Which is why you’re having a hard time at Regiment, isn’t it?”  Ron asked.

Nix smiled.   “You know, you’d scare more people if they knew how fucking smart you were.”

“Not these assholes, not anymore.”  Ron sighed and played with the ornate carvings on the chair.   “Practically tripping over them.”

“You smiled in that convent and they were all converted.”  Nix said, repeating rumors that had been flowing from the mouths of the Easy men since Rachamps.  Not that they didn’t cling to Speirs immediately after Foy, but who could blame them.   They had so many COs taken from them since this started, they knew a good one when they saw him.  “Thanks.”

“Dick has been worried about you.  He practically ran over here as soon as I told him you were back and driving like this was New Jersey.”

“I wasn’t driving.” Nix said.  

“Next time, I shoot the tires out on the damned thing and hit you with my tray.” Ron said and wondered why he bothered coming in here at all.

“Promises, promises.” Nix said and Ron took his leave.   Yeah, he should talk to Dick before reporting to work in the morning but what could he say? Sorry was such a trite little word, held nothing but hollow and empty consolations.

Part of him knew, as he crawled into the nice clean bed in his underwear that he should not have drank that much.  That drinking that hard made him dream; or rather coming off the alcohol, the rebound from that blissful time of no thoughts, would make him dream.  Vivid dreams.  Nightmares.  

And the soft, real bed did not help any.

He dreamt he was home, in Manhattan.   In his grandfather’s old place, where he had overflowed the tub in order to play with his model boat in the flooded bathroom.  He was grown now, though, and more than a little angry at himself for destroying the room downstairs for his little experiment.  God, he was such a brat.   Grandpa and Grandma let him get away with things, his father would have shipped him off to boarding school.   But for now, he was just a kid, playing with a toy boat because Grandpa left him alone with the nanny.  Because it was the day the plant blew up.

Oh.   Ha.  The brain worked in mysterious ways, associating that blown up plane with the disaster that forever marred the family name.   

He was leaving now, because he wasn't a kid anymore and he was a little annoyed with the damage done to the historic house.   Plus he knew he had to get on the road in order to get to Harry’s on time.  Why?  Wedding maybe?  Who knew.  There was a bottle of Vat next to his car keys and he grabbed them all before heading outside….to a Jeep.

Well at least it wasn’t a C-46.

He got in the Jeep and started it, only to hear ‘Going my way?’ and look up to see someone who was definitely not Dick Winters.   It was Tom Meehan ?   Hitchhiking?  In Manhattan?  “Sorry, Tom, I doubt anyone is going to Wilkes-Barre unless Kitty Grogan is involved.”

“I’m from Philly.”  Tom replied.

“Still not going there.”  Nix said and Meehan climbed on the hood of the Jeep.  “Oh Jesus.”

“The Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog.” Meehan said with his deep voice to nobody in particular.

Nix watched as the crowd on the streets stopped to look at him.  Rich people paying attention to a guy in uniform.  Well, he did have a hell of a nice voice and was pretty commanding.

“High winds on the drop zone.  No jump tonight.”  Tom announced.

“Just get in the Jeep, would you?” Nix snapped before his Grandpa's neighbors could ask questions and delay his trip.  “I’ll take you as far as I can, but I have to get to Wilkes-Barre today.”

Meehan smiled and jumped down, threw his bag in the back and got in.  “The invasion has been postponed.  We're on a 24-hour stand-down.”

“Thanks, but nobody’s invaded Pennsylvania in years.”  Nix said and offered Meehan a drink.

“No thank you.  I have to write a letter to my wife.”

Always with the letters. Other than communication, letters tended to just be empty babbling.  Nobody knew what to say.   Why was everyone writing letters?  Dick loved writing them to his not-girlfriend.   Mom liked to write him letters about the opera and her friends, and send fluffy slippers. When was the last letter he sent to Kathy?  Well, she could wait because he needed to write other letters for families who lost men today. “Hey, maybe you could write some letters for me?  Not sure what to write home about the boys who didn’t get out of the plane? Any pointers?”

“I wrote a letter to my wife.  Handed it off as I was getting on the plane.  Think she got it before my death notice?”  Tom asked, piercing eyes looking at his driver.

Nix glanced over at him.  Dream Meehan was not going to be helpful, he was going to be depressing.   “Where did you say you were heading?  Grand Central Station?”

“Well Normandy, but I never got there.  Plane took a hit, I was in the back trying to calm a guy down.  Fire swept in, consumed us all before we knew what happened.   Guys jumped out, on fire, I never got that far.   Plane couldn’t crash fast enough, it was a horrible way to die.”

Nix took a drink.  He was aware that this was a dream, the alcohol tasted like it should, Tom thankfully wasn’t spontaneously combusting and they were now on the road in New Jersey.  When the hell did that happen? When did he get out of the city?

“I’ll help with your letters. I’ll tell you what I wrote.”  Tom cleared his throat as he started writing and read as he wrote.  

Okay, he could deal with this.  Meehan was being helpful.   This could be a good dream.   

“Dearest Anne, In a few hours I'm going to take the best company of men in the world into France. We'll give the bastards hell. Strangely, I'm not particularly scared. But in my heart is a terrific longing to hold you in my arms. I love you Sweetheart – forever. Your Tom.”

Well, so much for this being a good dream.   Then they passed a sign for Stanhope, NJ and Nix took another drink.   No reason to give his brain a reason to conjure up his fucking father.  He’d keep Tom here as long as he could.  “So, are you Death or something?   Or just here to guilt me into realizing someone lost a great husband and I’m a shitty one who can’t be bothered to tell my family I’m alive?”

“Just going wherever the train takes me.”

“Why are you stealing Dick’s lines?”  Nix asked and realized he was supposed to drop Tom off at the train station.  Now he was stuck in the Jeep with him until he jumped out or blew up.   

“This is your dream.”

Nix shook his head and put his eyes back on the road.  Not the kind of dream he wanted to be having about Tom Meehan, that’s for sure.   He wasn’t scared though. Worried that Tom was taking Dick’s lines? Maybe.  He was taking Dick’s job, riding shotgun and bantering.  Hitchhiking.   “Hey, is this because you took over Easy and not Dick?  That I could have lost Dick if he had been promoted sooner? Like if Sobel hadn’t pulled that shit with the latrine inspection or Dick just took a few weekends on base?”

“It’s your dream.”

“Well then I wish I was dreaming of Sparky, because I think he’d be more helpful and more inclined to do shit I’d rather be dreaming about.”  Nix huffed and drank again.   “But it’s you.   For a reason.  What reason?”

Tom folded up his letter and put it into an envelope and started to address it to his wife.  “I wasn’t scared either.  I don’t think you’re scared in that sense, I think you’re scared you’re going to lose the people around you.  And they feel like home, more than home ever has.  You don’t want to go home.”

“No, I don’t.  I want the war to be over, so the dying stops, I don’t want to lose my family when it ends.”  Nix said. It wasn't a revelation.  He accepted that.   He looked at the bottle and offered it to Meehan again. “Are you sure?  No drink?  You don’t want to live a little?”

“I had a great life.  I lived.”  Tom said.  “Loved.  I loved her so much, as I was dying I could only think about her.   How I wasn’t going to hold her again, how she’d get the news I was dead and how I was going to make her cry. I wondered if the $10,000 would be enough to take care of her for a while.“

Nix couldn’t relate.   He lived, he did whatever he wanted, but it wasn’t like he did anything important.  He didn’t love his wife, marriage wasn’t really about love in his world, didn’t really feel much about his own son.     If he died, he really only worried about how his Mom would take it, where his dog would end up and….well, Dick.   “So, any chance you want to meet Kitty Grogan? I’m on the road to Harry’s and I don’t know why, bet it’s the wedding.”

Silence.

Nix looked over and Meehan was gone.  His letter remained where he was sitting, addressed and stamped.  His burnt dog tags and a watch lay beside it, stopped at 1:12.  “Well, fuck.”

He capped his Vat bottle and put it on the seat, making sure the letter didn’t blow away.   What the hell was that?  Had Dick told him details about Meehan’s death?   Maybe?  Someone had told him Forrest Guth took pictures of the crash and had figured out it was Meehan’s plane.   Maybe they went through it and got personal effects back to the company somehow?  There was no way anyone had time to get in there or go back.   Maybe Dick wrote Mrs. Meehan?   If the Army Graves Registration people found something would they send it back to her?  That stuff, on the seat?  Shit, that would be horrible.   Charred and mangled dog tags and a cracked watch?  Why was he dreaming about this?   Why was it so detailed?   Was he feeling guilty about not sticking around the battlefield to pick through burning planes to look for things he could send home?

Fuck no .  Under no circumstances did he think sending burnt heirlooms home would make anyone feel better.  Maybe that line ‘They died as heroes’ really was all anyone wanted.   Anything else was too painful.

He was now on some road in Pennsylvania, evident from the road sign– ‘Route 11’.   Not one he was familiar with.    At least in his dream he didn’t have to navigate city traffic, get across North Jersey or deal with finding his way to Harry’s house.   Why was he going to Harry’s house, anyway?  Harry was fine!!  He just got back, had a limp, but Harry was alive and well.  Harry better be fine, he was not going to have Harry die in his dreams if he survived his dumb fucking campfire in a dell.

“Nix?”

He looked around, the Jeep was gone and he was on a Sherman.  The one from Utah beach!  Hell, he knew this memory, he was using a Sherman to pick up Dick in the most insane fashion.  Happy, god was he happy.   They survived, he was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of arriving like some knight in shining armor to help.   It felt so good to remember that, remember the feeling of success and being alive and finding Dick Winters standing there on a street corner.  Seeing Dick alive filled him with so much joy.

“Going my way?”   Dick asked.

Nix looked down at him.  “Hey, that’s my line.”

Dick threw his M-1 up at him and climbed up on the tank.  “I’m the hitchhiker.”

“Yeah you are.”  Nix said and grabbed his friend’s shoulder and squeezed.  “I’m happy to see you.”

“Nix?”

Nix swatted at Dick’s hand as he shook him.   “What’s that for?”

“It’s time to get up.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to throw more piss in your face or are you going to get out of my bed?”

And that woke him from his dream with a horrible fucking hangover and the feeling of Dick’s hand in the small of his back.   He looked up and said, “ What?”

“You’re in my bed?”  Dick sat down next to him.  “With half written letters all over my desk and several empty bottles of Vat in the trash? Your pants are in the doorway and the rest of your clothes in a pile at the base of the bed.”  

“What time is it?”

Dick looked at his watch.  “About 0100.” 

Nix froze.  “1:12?”

“Yes.”  Dick said, impressed. “Actually yes.  I thought you were passed out.”

“I was.  I was dreaming.”  Nix sat up and regretted it, his head was swimming and he wasn't sure what to say about any of it.   He looked down and Dick’s hand had fallen to his thigh.   “Hey, remember that story you told me in Toccoa?  About how you hitchhiked home at some point and some guy in West Virginia put his hand on your thigh and asked if you wanted to have a good time?”

Dick looked at his hand on Nix’s thigh and patted him before taking it back. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.   I don’t think I was clear why I kept asking if you were ‘Going my way?’” Nix admitted.

“Because you were mocking me for hitchhiking?  Read loud and clear.”

“No, because I was hitting on you.”  Nix answered, very aware this was not a dream now as Dick reacted very much like Dick Winters–confused by his gestures of affection.  In his dreams, Dick was a little better at picking up on things.

“Oh.”

“I feel like we went through all the stages of friendship, dating, round the clock keeping the kids alive in the snow, proposal and now we’re at the point where you divorce me for being a worthless drunk.”  Nix laughed.   He could confess things like this to Dick and he’d still be oblivious to the fact he meant it.   

“This is why you’re in my bed?” Dick asked.

“That’s why I started out in your bed.  I wanted to apologize, tell you I am going to write those letters like a good boy, lie about being okay,  and promise that I’ll show up for work on time tomorrow.  Now I had a dream that makes me wonder why Tom Meehan is haunting me.   I think he wants me to feel bad about never sending letters to my wife?  Or maybe that I lived and he died?  Or that I could have lost you in that plane if you took over Easy earlier.   I don’t know what’s going on, other than I feel like death is suddenly visible to me.”

“You’re rambling.”  Dick said but it was good to have this Nix back, the Nix that was like a wet angry cat looking to scratch anyone close was never his favorite.

“I’m afraid I’ll forget all this if I put my head back down on your pillow. “ Nix rubbed his face with his hands.  “God, Dick, I went to sleep on your pillow.   It smells like you.”

“Now it smells like you because you drank so much Vat 69 it is leaking out of your pores.” Dick wasn't exaggerating but Nix laughed.

“Tom Meehan came to me in a dream and told me about his last letter to his wife, which I could not know about, and then left his burnt dog tags and watch on the seat of the Jeep I was driving.   His watch was frozen at 1:12”  Nix looked at him.  “How the hell did I know that?  Did I just make that up?”

“No, I made an effort to collect his things for his wife.  Due to the nature of how damaged it was, I chose to not send it home.  The plane burned for three days, there wasn’t much left.” Dick informed him.

“But the watch?” Nix asked.

“Yeah.”  Dick said.  “I don’t know how it survived the fire, but there was a watch recovered.”

“Did you tell me about this?”  Nix asked, not unaccustomed to picking up small details for later.

“No.”  Dick shook his head.  “I don’t want to talk with you about these things, Nix.   You’re who I look forward to coming back to, talking with and laughing with.  I basically want to leave work at work, if that doesn’t sound too domestic.  I want to be a person with you and not a soldier.”

“Fuck.”  Nix said.  “Maybe I read into it for the guys when they developed Guth’s pictures.   There were reports his plane took heavy flak fire, was making a landing and hit a hedgerow and exploded.  Another that the flak fire ignited explosives on board.   God, in my dream he told me the plane was on fire.  Am I just using what I saw today to finally get answers for what happened to him?”

“What happened today, Nix?” Dick asked softly.

“I came home and a bunch of other guys didn’t.”

“We’re a long way from home, Lew.”

He looked at him in the glow of the small lamp and he looked so soft, like the harden lines of war, his position and his frustrations were suddenly not there at the hour of 1 something o’clock in his bed, where his drunk stupid friend was realizing that he stopped thinking of anywhere but Dick Winter’s side as home a long time ago.   “You’re home.”

“No, I’m in Europe.” Dick slapped his leg.  “You have to wake up Nix, you’re not dreaming anymore.”

“Dick Winters, you are home to me .   You and this worn out company of men are home.”

“What happened today, Lew?”

“I’ve been more thankful that you were not dead than that I was alive.”  Nix admitted.  

“I wasn’t there.” Dick reminded him.

“If you had your choice you would have been.”  Nix said.  “That’s why I didn’t tell you I was going, if you knew, you probably would have volunteered.  I guess hearing you be excited about that third combat jump just made me react badly.   God, it could have been you .   You would have adopted those kids from the 17th like you do everyone, like that kid in Normandy, and just tried to save them.   Meehan could have got out of the plane if he didn’t go back to console some guy who was losing it, maybe he could have gotten out like I did.”

“Nix, I’m having a hard time following you here.” Dick said and put his hand on his friend's shoulder to ground him, assure him this was not a dream.

“Shit, Dick.  I’m in love with you and have been since OCS and I don’t want you to die.”  Nix admitted. 

“I’m still confused as to what Tom Meehan has to do with this?” Dick cocked his head and Nix reacted to him not reacting.

“Really, that’s what you say to that ?” Nix spat  “I tell you I love you, you are my home, and you just ask why the Ghost of Tom Meehan wants to be picked up as a hitchhiker in my dream?”

“It’s better than ‘I know’?”  Dick offered.

“You knew ?” Nix looked at him incredulously.  

“Lew, I think everyone knows.”

“Oh.”  Nix said.  Well, that he knew but didn't think Dick was aware of.  Despite Harry mentioning it all the time.   “I just thought you were oblivious.”

“Lew, I..” Nix kissed him, a soft kiss.  Light, warm, relieved.   “You said you were flirting with me the entire time ?”

“I was.  I just didn’t realize you knew.” Nix laughed.  “Shit, Dick, you should play poker with us.”

“Even Sink noticed.  Said you might as well stay in Battalion with me since that was where he always found you.” Dick frowned.  “I realized we were close, I just thought that ‘going my way’ thing was our thing . Inside joke.  I didn’t realize you were flirting.  I think I needed you too much to look too closely at what we were...beyond close.”

“I didn’t think you noticed any of it.  You’re exceptionally dense where flirting, dating and the like are concerned.  That poor girl you’re pen pals with really does think you’re in love with her.  I don’t understand how you can say you know I’m in love with you, yet not understand I was flirting?”  Nix would have convinced himself he was still dreaming if he didn’t have a hangover and Dick wasn’t being so calm about all this.  “You know what, I do.  It’s just you.  It’s why I love you.”

“I’m painfully aware of what you mean to me.”  Dick said.  “It took me a while to wade through what you told me this morning because you were so combative it didn’t register.  God Lew, you almost died.  Again.  You told me the rest of the plane died and you didn’t care and that is your way-  deflection, diversion, drinking.  It took me a while to realize I almost lost you.”

“Ron told you I almost died, didn’t he?”  Nix knew it.  Knew Mr. No-remorse-No humanity-Only Bullets! was a soft-hearted shithead who was probably betting on this with Harry.

“Yes, pretty much just like that.” Dick nodded.

“He’s direct.” 

“And Harry compounded that with something…”

“In line with the fact that he thought we were married since the very first time he saw us together.” Nix smiled as he nodded.   “Well, I guess Meehan saw it too.  I hope I’m your sleeping beauty who you just need to kiss to chase the ghosts away, but I bet I close my eyes and he’s waiting.”

“Lew. You almost died again.” Dick said and pulled him into a hug that said it would have changed him forever if he lost him.  Then he wanted more and pulled back, tilted Lew’s chin up and kissed him.  Lew kissed him back, tongue and all.   He put his head against Lew’s when he stopped because his mouth tasted like smoke and Scotch he licked off the floor.  “You need a shower, you smell and taste awful.”

“ Jesus Christ Richard, this is why you’re still single.”

“You?  Yes.”

“Oh don’t blame me for that.”  Nix said and wrapped his arms around him and fell back into the bed, pulling Dick back with him.  Of course they’d just fall back into place like they always did.   It was their relationship, just easy and agreeable when Lewis Nixon III wasn’t trying to ruin it.  He could understand why Dick didn't want to look at it too close, it would have made things harder.   “I’m still worried about Ghost Meehan.”

“Is this like that ghost cart you convinced David Webster you heard in Normandy?” Dick asked, settling into Nix’s arms and feeling him laugh.

“Oh that?  Well... that was kind of easy, I mean he writes everything down.”  Nix sighed.  “Fucking Harvard.  Should know better than to trust someone from Yale.”

“In my school our only rivalry was the Thanksgiving football game.” Dick hummed.

“Jock.”

“Lew, are you going to be okay?”  Dick asked shifting around to look him in the eye. “I know you get fired up about tactics, but this is something else.”

“I guess we’ll find out when I fall asleep again.”

“In my bed?”

“Well, obviously.   You just confessed your love for me.  You want me to get washed up, obviously you’re wanting to fuck me, and truth be told I know you’re a cuddler." Nix smiled and then winced. "And this hangover is killing me.”

“You drank that much ?”

“Think it’s wearing off.  I don’t dream when drunk, I dream after the drunk wears off a little.”

“Dream about Tom Meehan.”

Nix grinned.   Leave it to Dick to get jealous.  “I mean, he was hot.  He even stood on my Jeep in the dream.   Damn that voice too.   Maybe I just have a thing for Easy Company COs.”

“Ron will be thrilled to hear it.”

“No he won’t.  Not unless he gets to spank me with that silver tray I dented.  And I’d be into that if I didn’t think he’d smack my ass back to my childhood.”    Nix said and got that huff of annoyance Dick could never control.

“Lew.”

“Dick.”

“I really need you to shower and change these sheets.”  Dick said and pulled away from him.   

“I don’t just smell like Scotch and cigarettes, do I?” Nix realized he never cleaned up after the jump.

“No.”

“I smell like Death.”

“I would not put it that way.” Dick said, but it was not a pleasant smell.

“Shower it is.” Nix crawled over him and looked back, “Coming?”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t drown.”

Showering with Dick in that clawfoot bathtub was close and intimate enough they probably didn’t need more than proximity to jerk each other off.   It was odd how easy this was, the first kisses, the shower where Dick shampooed bits of battle out of his hair, the caresses of loving hands and a bar of soap, it was warm water and warmth of intimacy.   It would have been nice to have energy to do something more, but by the time the water was shut off and a towel was drying him off he was ready to crash.

“Let me change the sheets.”

“Let’s just use my room.”

“Your room is in another house.”

“My room is the one next to yours, I put my shit in it so it looked like I slept somewhere other than your bed.”  Nix admitted.  

And thankful nobody was sharing Dick’s billet or needing anything from the Battalion CO as Nix was too tired to care he was walking naked through the house.  Dick, however, got into something to sleep in and picked up Nix’s clothes along the way.  By the time he caught up with him, Nix was face first in the pillow.

“Plenty of room here, Dick.” Nix patted the bed as he rolled over to make room.  “I’m having nightmares, you should sleep with me.  Keep me safe.  Safe from the hands of your predecessor.”

“I’m not sure how I’m going to handle you dreaming about other men while you’re in bed with me.”  Dick admitted and looked him over.  “In bed with me, naked.”

“Ghost man, Ghost Meehan.  Ghost who didn’t help me write my letters.”  Nix said and Dick got into bed and Nix wrapped his arms around him and sighed contentedly.  “What the hell does he want?”

Dick wove his fingers through Lew’s and pulled his hand up to his lips and placed a light kiss on his knuckles.   “Maybe he wants you to see how much you mean to me.  That I would have suffered your loss until the day I died if you didn’t come home.”

Nix kissed his neck and squeezed him.  Maybe.  Hopefully.   

Nope.

Sleep came quickly, rare for him at 0200, but he was clean, comfortable and spooning Dick Winters.  Which didn't stop Meehan from showing up.

“Tom,”  Nix said as he started the Jeep somewhere in Pennsylvania after getting gas and noticed the man appeared on his hood again.   The man who was not going to write his letters or help him figure out why he was going to Harry’s.   “You’re going to make Dick jealous.  It's bad enough I passed out next to him when normally I would have been all over him, worse when I close my eyes and see you.”

“You’re not done with me.” Tom explained.

Nix sighed.   Clearly Meehan standing on the Jeep at Upottery really left a mark on him.  It was a cool move and the guy really did command attention.  Or, perhaps, it was his part in the invasion briefing?  That level of competency really was a breath of fresh air after Sobel.  “I confessed my love to Dick Winters thinking that was why you were haunting me, but apparently that wasn’t it.”

“I’m glad the men had him.”

“Me too.”  Nix said and waved at the seat, ”Want to get in or am I supposed to drive with you as a hood ornament?”

“The Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog.”  Meehan said, the gas station attendant stopping to look at him.

“No jump tonight.”  Nix said it along with him.  Maybe that was something?  “So, our first jump was delayed and the next two I did were during the day?  Am I supposed to remember something in England? Am I supposed to remember what happened when the jump was delayed and Dick and I talked about going to Chicago.   How he looked at me and took my breath away.  How I wasn’t worried until then, until I saw someone I wanted to spoil and take to see the world, that I realized war could take him from me before I had the chance? ”

Meehan turned and stepped on the window to get into his seat.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to step on that…” Nix said but Meehan just stepped one foot on the window, then the next on the seat and then jumped down in the back seat.   “I guess if you’re a ghost you don’t have to worry.”

“What changed?”

“With you?” Nix asked.

“With you.”

“I’m naked in bed with Dick Winters, I am exhausted and hungover, and I’m dreaming about you. Still.   What hasn’t changed is you.”  Nix said and started to drive.  He was tired.   Tired in reality translated to tired in dreams, apparently.  “Maybe I'm just tired of trying to decode this.”

“Your first jump was in fog, fear and uncertainty.   The next two were in daylight and came with experience.   Yet you were more concerned with the last two than the first.”  Tom observed.  

“Well yeah, Market Garden was doomed from the beginning.  Any time the intelligence says, ‘only old men and kids’ you know it’s bullshit.   The DZ was good, not coming down into field of certain death was an improvement.  Varsity….should have been our best.  You should have seen those guys from the 17th, they were finally going to be real paratroopers with a real combat jump, you know?  It was only one regiment outfitted with the C-46s, I don’t know why I’m so angry about it.   It’s not like we didn’t have our share of experimental gear in Normandy, and I didn’t plan the damned jump, there was nothing I could do.”

“You’re looking back and seeing those faces in your plane.   It was a C-47, you’re losing sight of what was your responsibility and you should be focusing on those men.  Those men who were in your stick.”  Meehan said and stretched out in the back seat.

“Still don’t know what to write to their families.”  Nix said and glanced over his shoulder at him.  “Looking back at Death, over my shoulder, funny .   I know that, my brain can stop spitting that back out at me.”

“It’s your dream.  Your brain is like this.”

“Yeah, as I am painfully aware.  It’s why I drink.  Only thing that shuts it down for a little relief.”  Nix turned back around and realized they were now parked in front of a church.  The sigh on the lawn said Welsh-Grogan wedding.  “Well, shit.  We are at Harry’s wedding.”

“Harry’s wedding.” Meehan repeated with a smile and slapped him on the shoulder and got out.  He was in his Class A’s, medals on his chest, and holding a gift.  "We've been hearing about this since England."

Nix looked at the church– big, beautiful and white.  A spire with a bell in it, red roof, and three arched doorways.  The bell was ringing, just a single ‘dong’ which sounded like the noise the silver tray made when his Jeep almost ran over Sparky.  He looked down at himself dressed in a suit.   Of course this was after the war.   They were stateside and Harry was getting married.   He looked up at Tom, “Where’s Dick?  He’s Harry’s best man. Has to be.”

“Actually he’s not Catholic so there is a very good chance he’s not allowed to be.”

“Where is he?”  Nix rolled his eyes, Catholics and their rules.  He was getting a little worried he wasn’t met at the curb by Dick, chastising him for being late or just downright excited the day of days was here.  Then he looked up and all of Easy was coming through those doors, down the stairs, throwing rice and Hershey bars, Lucky Strikes and condoms.  Tab, for fucks sake.   Harry was limping down the stairs, Kitty was wearing a flowing dress made of Harry’s reserve chute.  Nix smiled, he did like how you knew things like that in dreams.  Then his smile faded as he felt himself frozen in the Jeep, just an observer, and watching a wedding he was too late for.   

An observer.   God, he hated his brain sometimes.  

Nix took a deep breath.  Okay, there was something here. Something he was supposed to see and understand.   He was here with Meehan, who was dead, nice of him to still come.   Couldn’t blame him, they had all heard so much about Kitty Grogan he’d probably attend as a ghost just to see if she was real.  

Harry.  Harry was alive but limping. He wasn’t limping that much in reality, so the limping was to remind him he was wounded.   Wounded in a dell.    God, that brought back memories of him screaming, the cries, the sobs.   When Harry came back to them in Hageneau he had apologized for it, a weird thing to say he was sorry for, but losing his composure was something nagging on him.   He confessed that his first thoughts were that he was never going to see Kitty again.   Never make it back to her.   

Oh.

“So, you and Harry have these great women you want to get home to.  That’s where the pain and fear really comes from, losing this life with them.  Never seeing them again, knowing the grief they’ll carry with them for life.  Kathy probably doesn’t even check the papers to see if I’m on the killed list.”

Tom climbed up on the hood again.  He wolf-whistled and clapped, smiling and cheering for the new couple.  “Look at them!  He won.  He got back to her!”

Nix rolled his eyes.  What the hell was with this guy and the damned hood of the Jeep?   He looked past him to the crowd, Harry not seeing him and only seeing Kitty, well that was expected.   The rest of Easy…well that made him uneasy.   Not a single one looked over at them and Tom was a very hard guy to ignore.   Nix looked through the crowd, searching, searching for a familiar red-headed who always caught his eye.  So, rationally, Dick just hadn’t appeared yet.

And then someone came out of the church and Nix grinned.   Dick was lagging behind, in his class As looking fine as hell.   He was paused under the arch of the doorway, just like that photo he took in Schoonderlogt, Holland.  Instead of a helmet he was carrying a bouquet.  Nix laughed.  “Dick! That’s supposed to be for the ladies!”

And he got no answer.  Which was a first.  From the very first moment they met, Dick Winters was focused on him and him alone.  He’d hear him before he spoke, they’d find each other in a crowd or even during an invasion, there was nothing that got between them…

“Except Death.”  Meehan said as he turned and squatted down and looked at Nix over the window.  

Nix stopped breathing, shocked.    Was Meehan… Death?  Was Dick dead…no he was there at the church standing alone. Stand alone together.  Watching over Easy but alone.   Watching his men leave, watching them go on to live their happy lives in peace.  He was standing there alone, holding the bouquet?  “I’m not here.”

“Dying is easy, living with death is hard.  Dying takes a life, but Death takes lives.”  Meehan said.

“I didn’t make it out of the plane?”  Nix asked.  No….what he had with Dick was real.  The kisses. The shower.  They were in bed together.    The prospect of being dead really didn’t bother him like it should.   His first thoughts went to Dick, Dick getting the notice he died.  Not knowing the details of his death, just a simple ‘He died a hero’ and having nothing left of him but his footlocker, a billet full of empty Vat69 bottles and a letter that had to be written home to a family that probably didn’t care if he came home or not.   Mom would care, it would kill Mom.  

“Nix?”

He looked over at the church, Dick still standing there not really engaging with anyone.  Holding flowers that looked like they were less for a bride and more…like Edelweiss.  Nix swallowed hard.  “Jesus Christ.”

“You’ve been by his side from the beginning, and you’ve made a lot of promises along the way.” Meehan reminded him.  

“We’ll go to Chicago.” Nix said softly.  

“Lew?!”

He kept hearing his name but it wasn’t coming out of Dick’s mouth.   Instead he watched Dick pull dog tags out from his shirt, two sets.  It was a dream so Nix knew the details from this far away.   One set was normal, steel and had a little bit of shine from wearing against skin– the other was mangled, charred and damaged.   Just like Meehan’s had been.  He knew those were his as Dick placed a kiss to them before letting them fall to his chest.  Then he walked off towards the church cemetery.  “Oh fuck.”

Tom held out his hand for him, “Going my way?”

Nix stared at him.  No.  No he wasn’t going to die and leave Dick to pick up the pieces.  He wasn’t dead.  

“Lew! Wake up.”

Nix’s eyes opened as he was shaken awake, the light came on, reminding him of his hangover.  There was a beautiful glow around Dick Winters when he leaned back over him to cradle his head and put his hand on his chest.  Just like Holland, when he almost got shot through the head.  Holland where he took that photo under the arch.   Holland where he didn’t kiss those girls because the only one he wanted to kiss was Dick Winters who kissed better than he expected.

“Lew? Are you alright?”

The light was like a halo.  Maybe he was just unaware of some brain damage and the aura in his vision and his head hurting was an indication of something other than Dick’s angelic status.   “Am I alright?”

Dick brushed wet hair back off Nix’s brow, hair wet because of sweat and not because it was washed a few hours ago.  “Lew, I’m not sure.  You were talking in your sleep, you don’t do that.”

“But I’m not dead, right?”  Nix asked and remembered this, remembering Dick forgetting everything in Holland to damned near hold him in the middle of the road in front of everyone because he almost died.  Yeah, no wonder everyone knew.  God, how the hell did he not know how much Dick loved him?

“You’re alive, this isn’t a dream.”

“God, I’m naked and in bed with you holding me like this and all I can think of is my nightmares.”  Nix sat up and Dick didn’t really let go of him.  

“Meehan again?”

“I drove him to Harry’s wedding.   Except, I think, it was the ‘We didn’t make it out of the plane’ club.  You were there and you…” Nix looked at him and saw it.   Saw the fear of something being not right, the feeling of losing someone even though they were right in front of you.  “I guess you were still carrying me around, my worthless ass can’t do my job and then I got killed and you carried me with you.”

“I would.” Dick said.  “Lew, I would have been devastated if you had been killed.  You are the one loss that I can not stand to think about.”

“I think Tom Meehan wants us to get married.”

Dick gave him the look he always did when he was amazed at how smooth Lewis Nixon could be at sliding away from the weight of the situation and covering his retreat with sarcasm.

“I am here, right?” Nix looked down at his dog tags and they were just as they should be- steel and unmarred by explosions or otherwise.   “I’m not leaving you at the altar by blowing up over Germany?”

“You’re alive and already married.”

“Yeah,”  Nix said and flopped back down into bed.  He looked up at Dick.  “I barely think of her and I never stop thinking about you.”

“That really doesn’t help me feel better about kissing you.”

“I don’t think I want to go back to sleep.” Nix said and Dick laid back down with him.  He looked at him, mere inches from his face, just like they had been in so many foxholes across Europe.  “Maybe I should write those letters now.”

“I’ll help.”

“It's my job, I was supposed to get them home and this is how I do it.”  Nix said and leaned over the little bit he needed and kissed Dick.  Really kissed him, a kiss filled with relief he was still beside him, promises he made to take him places, and a thank you for putting up with his bullshit.   “You are always writing in your diary to get thoughts out of your head, maybe I need to stop carrying these guys around and let them go home.”

“I hope so.” Dick said, not entirely convinced that was what Nix was struggling with.

Thomas Meehan drove him to the bottle, or at least that was what he told Dick.   He hoped he wasn't supposed to drive him to Philly in order to be free of this ghost.  Every time he closed his eyes, there was Tom, standing on the damned Jeep. Death looking down at him.

The letters to the families of the boys from the 17th were written and mailed.   He had told Dick he was enamored with him.    He wrote his observations for Varsity and gave them to Sink.   He let Ron win at poker to pay him for his advice and meddling.   He wrote Kathy a short note saying he survived a jump. He wrote Mom a longer letter knowing his absence was hardest on her.     

Yet every night Meehan showed up and Dick woke him up to save him from his nightmares.

He was at the point where not knowing what Meehan, or rather his stupid overactive brain,  was trying to tell him was making him not want to sleep.  Not sleeping was making him cranky, running out of Vat was making that worse.  He scoured every house looking for something to shut his mind down so he didn’t dream.   Dick didn’t even try to stop him, he saw it was driving him mad, he wanted to see him get some kind of peace however he could and unfortunately it was with fucking Schnapps.

The truth was his luck ran out in Germany, there was no Vat 69.

During the day, he worked like a good little S-3.  Did the job, gave the informational meetings in the mornings, all the tedious operational stuff that was required.  He wanted to do the job properly for Dick.  At night he played poker after Dick went to bed, started drinking, then kept drinking enough to shut out Tom and his booming voice and his stupid smile as he looked down at him while standing on the hood of the Jeep.

When he hit rock bottom, when he was tearing apart his footlocker for just one last drop of Vat, he overheard the guys talking.  Guys he was supposed to be playing poker with.  Guys he thought of as family.

“I can't believe we're not gonna drop into Berlin.”

“No shit.”

“Ike's gonna let the Russkies have it.”  

“Russkies.” 

Nix rubbed his eyes and threw an empty bottle back in his footlocker.   

“Let me tell you something:  This war is not about fighting anymore. It's about who gets what.”

Nix stopped, Ron coming in again with the devastating and simple statements.   Meehan was probably haunting him because he truly believed men like him died as heroes, now the tides of war had shifted.   Shifted into something so familiar to him, the grab for land and power.   From doing the right thing, sacrificing yourself for a cause, to it being a sacrifice of men to make others rich.  

Those boys blowing up in his plane were his version of those workers dying in the Nixon Nitration Disaster.   Letters, financial compensation, lives lost…but just the cost of doing business.   He could remember getting upset because what would have happened if Grandpa was at work when it blew up?  Fuck Dad, the Jersey Devil himself would have probably walked out unscathed, but Grandpa had always been good to him and proud.  Another instance of  'Oh well, wasn’t me but look at all this damned paperwork!'  

And Nix sat down on the floor and stared at his footlocker, filled with army issue uniforms and remembered why he joined the army.   Yeah, Grandpa died and the months after his death changed things.   He didn’t want to be around the factory when Stanhope was left unchecked, he didn’t care about Yale because that was someone else’s dream.  He enlisted, because that was a way to find out who he was away from the name, money and family.  Be around real people.

The people who had just been names on a personnel report or on a list of those killed in action.  People like the guys around the table playing poker, people who made his life rich and real.

He had been above it all.  And oddly enough his luck had carried him this far and left him unscathed.   Now it felt too familiar, lives spent to buy more property, more power.  And his little foray into the real world, generic uniforms and shitty rations, made him so much more aware of the impact of a loss of a life.   It was why those letters just seemed so shallow, 'sorry for your loss but he died a hero.'  The loss was still a loss.   Death took away more than one life, and the value of those lives was diminished somehow.  Lives forever altered, futures extinguished.

But why was Death following him?  Had his luck run out?  Now that he truly cared for someone and saw his loss would have an impact beyond how the inheritance was divided up, was he suddenly aware of the weight of his actions?  He so flippantly brushed off Death in Holland, although it hit him later in that foxhole with Dick how lucky he had been, while he was drowning his feelings in Schnapps.

Fucking Schnapps.

He left the bedroom and saw the guys around the table, waiting on him to come back:  Harry, Ron and Lip.  Three guys who had become family along the way and then there was Dick who was so much more.   He cared about these guys, he loved Dick, he hated that their lives were whittled down from the cost of doing the right thing to the price paid for territory; from liberation and saving the world, to a rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight.

It was why Death was watching with him, because lives had weight now.   Lives like Dick Winters’s, a great man and a great leader, recognized but not enough.  Held back by his lack of West Point ring.   His own life was worth millions, but that never meant a damned thing until Dick Winters looked at him like he was priceless.   So now Death was a passenger beside him because suddenly it was the fog that hung over them all to make it to the end and not just be a sacrifice.

“Deal me out.”  He heard himself saying as he walked by them all to find a damned drink.

When things couldn’t get much worse, he lost his dog to his wife.  Or rather his marriage burned up. No, he lost the dog in the divorce and let everyone know about it.  God, taking the dog was a cheap shot.  She knew exactly how much he loved that dog.  Gave him something different to be pissed about, which was…well it didn’t help.   Dick just looked at him with those sad eyes of his that said he was embarrassing himself.   He kept checking on him though, never gave up on him.   Not even when he woke him up because he was dreaming about another guy.

What the hell did Meehan want?   Was Death just following him and waiting for him to go mad?  Ruin whatever the hell he and Dick were doing, which wasn't sex because he was always exhausted and Dick thought he might be having a mental breakdown.  It was funny, really, finally getting what he wanted, something he couldn't buy, someone who would be devastated if he died and he was spending his nights driving a dead guy around in a Jeep.  Alive but not living, poetic.  He should feed that line to Webster about the ghost cart, but that part of him died somewhere before Bastogne.  

Bastogne.   Where he chose Death, because Dick was there.  Instead of using his luck…instead of using his name, he chose Dick Winters.   Death had been there longer than he realized, or rather cared to acknowledge.  He was just allowing himself to look at him now.

He never had dreams like this, something that was recurrent and evolved.   Was this just how it was going to be?   Death following him around, in his dreams, making him live with what was lost.  What the hell was any of this for anymore?  

And then one day the world absolutely stopped.  The day they found that camp and every man of Easy Company was shown exactly what they were fighting for.  

Nix had been thinking he smelled Death and felt him behind him in the seat of a Jeep, but Death was in Landsburg.   Like a fog of hopelessness, hate and inhumanity, Death was in Landsburg and would forever haunt that place because of the horrible things man contrived to do their fellow man.

He stopped drinking himself to sleep, hell he didn’t sleep.   He drove to that camp, and at least Tom didn’t appear or else he would have known he was crazy.  Or maybe he would have been thankful for it, because if Meehan was in the Jeep it meant this was all a nightmare in his own head and not one in reality.

No Meehan was gone now.    Maybe he was just there until Nix’s faith was restored in what they were doing.   Instead of driving around in his dreams, he drove to that camp again.  There was no reason he should be out there in the woods, they were moving out soon and he didn’t need to keep checking on the place to see if it went anywhere.   He went anyway, compelled by something deep within him looking for answers.   When he arrived, he refused to cover his nose and took in the sights, smells and horrors because there was something there that shouldn’t be looked away from.  That should never be forgotten.  That would be carried with him until the day he died and remembered every time someone whispered ‘Never again’.  The camp…evidence that the Nazi’s tried to erase people ….erase what they did when they retreated….that was not nearly as appalling as those who lived nearby and had to smell it.  Had to know it was there.  Had to know the people working there.   Had to see the thousands of people moved here to be exterminated.

Here was Death and he would look it straight in the eye and remember what they were fighting for.  It breathed new life into him, in a way he wasn’t expecting, a purpose he didn’t understand he lost somewhere along the way;  somewhere in the sky watching those men never make it out of their plane, or maybe before that when men were dying for worthless intel or sacks of potatoes.   

This.  This was why they were here.  This was what was worth their lives.   

He went back to his billet and looked at Dick, and saw the same realization on his face.   The reports had been coming from places so much worse, of places hidden in the woods of Germany while the Nazis took the war to their neighboring countries.  “Death wasn’t who I thought it was.   Death was ahead of us the entire time and so much worse than lost lives.   I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

“It does.” Dick said and went to him and realized he smelled of the camp, but hugged him anyway.   

“I drink to forget, drink to not think, finally I see something I don’t think anyone should forget even if it haunts us.”

“I know.”

“Going to be rough, not sure anyone back home really is going to understand anything we went through.   Going to be just us, just like it has been since Toccoa.   Standing alone together.”

“Yeah.” Dick said.

“They died as heroes, Dick.”  Nix choked out a sob and was crying before he realized it and he clung to him.  “Anyone who came here to try and stop this, even if they didn’t know.  Meehan, those boys in the plane, everyone we lost along the way.   You were right, I just saw the loss and it not being justified and now…God, I don’t know if they’re lucky that they never had to see this and ask if we could have got here sooner.”

“Not our question to ask, Lew.”  Dick said and his own tears he had been holding back flowed.  

“And that fucker killed himself before anyone could make him pay for this.” Nix said and pulled away, getting himself back together, wiping his eyes.   “How the hell can anyone tell themselves these atrocities are justified.  How the fuck do you not stand your ground if you believe this was right?   They knew it was wrong, they ignored it, they tried to destroy the evidence when we were coming and they ran and that son of a bitch killed himself before we could make him pay.   Hitler kills himself like a coward and orders his men to just keep fighting?  God…”

“God had nothing to do with it, Nix.”

“I wish I had your faith.”  Nix said.

“You’re finding yours again, your faith in what we’re doing.”  Dick said softly.  “Maybe I lost it a little too.   Maybe that’s why I lied about that patrol, because I lost faith in command and I would not betray those who had faith in me.”

“Yeah.”  Nix said and wiped his eyes.  He wanted to be angry, but with the news Hitler was dead, it all deflated.   He was overcome with the feeling of loss, the weight of everything that had been destroyed; all the lives lost, everything, for the inevitable defeat of the man who caused it all and he just shot himself to escape paying for it.   “I need to find a shower.”

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Going my way?”  Nix laughed a little, the laughter that came after tears that felt like a betrayal of emotions.

“Yeah.”  Dick said and put his hand on his shoulder.  “I am.  Wherever you take me.”

“Even if it’s New Jersey?”

“Even if it’s New Jersey.”

Meehan moved on.  Maybe it was because Nix finally admitted these guys were heroes, maybe it was because there was finally a reason for his sacrifice.   Or maybe he just found someone else’s Jeep to stand on.  He made an impact that was for sure, he wasn’t going to forget Tom Meehan anytime soon.

Or maybe it was because he finally picked up the hitchhiker he had been after since OCS.   One who apparently didn’t mind when he put his hand on his thigh while driving.  Well, unless Harry was in the back seat.

“God, I thought Luz was bad about the grab-ass.” Harry drawled from the back seat as Nix drove their Jeep into town.

Dick politely put Nix’s hand back on the shifter as they drove into Berchtesgaden.   

“Hey Harry?”  Nix asked and looked behind him instead of watching the road.  “Can Dick be your best man if he’s not Catholic?”

“Uh…”  Harry thought about it.  “I never thought about it but since I’m not marrying him I don’t think it matters if he’s Protestant.”

“Dick, you might want to convert just in case.”  Nix said and patted Dick’s thigh.

“Nix, you might want to watch where you’re driving if we even want to consider making it to Harry’s wedding.”  Dick said and Nix grinned.  “If you run over Ron again, I think Lip will shoot you.”

Nix laughed and looked in the back seat anyway, looked at Harry who had survived his brush with death.   A new passenger, one who was very much alive and needed to get home to an amazing life with an amazing girl wearing an old parachute.  He returned his eyes to the road.  Dick was beside him, he was beside Dick where he belonged.   They were going to see this thing through and make sure as many men saw home as possible.

Death was behind them all and it was their responsibility to keep him there until it was their time to meet him face to face.