When We Were Soldiers, chapter 3
December 20th, 1943
Rheims, France
Resistance-Occupied Territory
Robert shivered in the chill of the winter morning.
He had woken up early to the voice of an angel, it seemed. It floated over his way. A masculine voice, but with the tinge of innocence and longing that it almost brought tears to Robert's eyes. It reminded him of his home in New Jersey, and his own father, who was a veteran of World War I, and his mother constantly staring out the window, waiting for him to come home. And the sounds of his drums, beating out a tattoo of war, hopes and shattered dreams and lives.
"'Never coming home, never coming home...'--that's good, let me write that down..."
He peeked out of the trench that he and Frances had dug, and saw Captain Gerard hunched over a notebook, furiously scribbling away. Way was an expert at sneaking, but had allowed Robert to catch him at an intimate moment. He turned around swiftly, surveying Robert (who had flinched at the action), then turned back to his notebook. Without turning away once more, he spoke.
"You did not hear anything, First Class Medic Robert Bryar. Nothing at all." Robert gulped and nodded feverishly, running a hand shakily through his hair before replacing his helmet as the sun crept over the trees sheltering them.
-----
"Captain Way, sir?"
"Yes?"
They were hiking. Hiking farther south in order to report on enemy movements and how much they had truly conquered. It was a four day scout, and then they would return in time for a Christmas banquet. Ray was the one who had spoken, his frizzy red hair poking out haphazardly from under his helmet. Frank snickered, then was silent.
"D'ya know what the performance for the Christmas banquet is gonna be?"
Captain Way laughed, and spun around, halting the procession. He smiled, which looked sort of malicious. "In fact, I do..." he trailed off. He suddenly turned to Michael and placed a hand on his shoulder. "My brother plays a bass," he announced, and turned back to the group. "Any of you play guitar?"
Immediately, Ray and Frances stuck their hands up.
Gerard grinned. He clapped his hands together. "Good! Now, I guess that leaves drums, and I have written a part," he advanced on Robert, "especially fitting for a drummer."
Robert shook his head. "Sir, I don't play drums." Gerard's eyes widened. "Then we'll have to teach you somehow...hmm, I don't play drums...oh!" He snapped his fingers. "I will have Fifth Company Frank Edwin Wright teach you. He's a Corporal." Feeling accomplished, he turned to march once again, but was stopped by an inquiring Frances.
"But sir...who will sing?"
Gerard turned to him, a knowing smile on his face.
"Time will tell."
-----
A small field lay out in front of the quintet. It looked harmless enough, which is what Frances thought and blazed out in front of the others. On the other side was a small area of dense forest.
Immediately, multiple shots rang out and Frances ducked along with the others.
"SHIT!"
A voice from the nearby forest sounded out. "Halt! Who goes there?" It wasn't German sounding, and Frances turned to Captain Way, a mixture of fear, confusion and anger in his eyes. Gerard merely smiled.
"You asshole, Pritchard, you almost shot up my sniper."
A laugh sounded from the forest, and several soldiers in American fatigues emerged from the forest. Their leader was a slung-back tall and skinny invididual with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth lazily. His blonde hair stuck out from under his helmet as his blue eyes sought out Way, and found him. They clasped eachother like old friends, which is what they were. Both were deployed at Haiwaii during Pearl Harbor.
"Sorry, Way, I thought it was a filthly Nazi."
The Fifth Company under the command of Major Michael Pritchard met the Third Company under the command of Captain Gerard Way.
"Hi, I'm Frances Iero. Second Lieutenant and sniper for the Fifth Company."
"It's good to meet you. Joseph Armstrong, First Class Private for the Third Company."
"First Class Medic Robert Bryar. It's good to see some of our own out here."
"Nice to meet you! Corporal Frank Wright at your service. I'm also the demolition-rockets man."
Robert smiled back at the grinning man in front of him, his mischevious blue eyes making him seem capable of demolishing something in the blink of an eye with his bare hands, even. He shook the offered hand, wondering if this man was as highly noted as Gerard made him out to be.
But in the bushes from where the Fifth Company had come from, a pair of blue eyes watched them. His uniform wasn't like theirs. His language wasn't like theirs.
"Dieses ist die guten Nachrichten zum Berichten zurück zu meinem Führer*," he muttered, his eyes skirting over the Americans. "Hitler ist erfreut**."
His name was Quinn. And he was a German spy.
((*This is good news to report back to my leader.))
((**Hitler will be pleased.))
Rheims, France
Resistance-Occupied Territory
Robert shivered in the chill of the winter morning.
He had woken up early to the voice of an angel, it seemed. It floated over his way. A masculine voice, but with the tinge of innocence and longing that it almost brought tears to Robert's eyes. It reminded him of his home in New Jersey, and his own father, who was a veteran of World War I, and his mother constantly staring out the window, waiting for him to come home. And the sounds of his drums, beating out a tattoo of war, hopes and shattered dreams and lives.
"'Never coming home, never coming home...'--that's good, let me write that down..."
He peeked out of the trench that he and Frances had dug, and saw Captain Gerard hunched over a notebook, furiously scribbling away. Way was an expert at sneaking, but had allowed Robert to catch him at an intimate moment. He turned around swiftly, surveying Robert (who had flinched at the action), then turned back to his notebook. Without turning away once more, he spoke.
"You did not hear anything, First Class Medic Robert Bryar. Nothing at all." Robert gulped and nodded feverishly, running a hand shakily through his hair before replacing his helmet as the sun crept over the trees sheltering them.
-----
"Captain Way, sir?"
"Yes?"
They were hiking. Hiking farther south in order to report on enemy movements and how much they had truly conquered. It was a four day scout, and then they would return in time for a Christmas banquet. Ray was the one who had spoken, his frizzy red hair poking out haphazardly from under his helmet. Frank snickered, then was silent.
"D'ya know what the performance for the Christmas banquet is gonna be?"
Captain Way laughed, and spun around, halting the procession. He smiled, which looked sort of malicious. "In fact, I do..." he trailed off. He suddenly turned to Michael and placed a hand on his shoulder. "My brother plays a bass," he announced, and turned back to the group. "Any of you play guitar?"
Immediately, Ray and Frances stuck their hands up.
Gerard grinned. He clapped his hands together. "Good! Now, I guess that leaves drums, and I have written a part," he advanced on Robert, "especially fitting for a drummer."
Robert shook his head. "Sir, I don't play drums." Gerard's eyes widened. "Then we'll have to teach you somehow...hmm, I don't play drums...oh!" He snapped his fingers. "I will have Fifth Company Frank Edwin Wright teach you. He's a Corporal." Feeling accomplished, he turned to march once again, but was stopped by an inquiring Frances.
"But sir...who will sing?"
Gerard turned to him, a knowing smile on his face.
"Time will tell."
-----
A small field lay out in front of the quintet. It looked harmless enough, which is what Frances thought and blazed out in front of the others. On the other side was a small area of dense forest.
Immediately, multiple shots rang out and Frances ducked along with the others.
"SHIT!"
A voice from the nearby forest sounded out. "Halt! Who goes there?" It wasn't German sounding, and Frances turned to Captain Way, a mixture of fear, confusion and anger in his eyes. Gerard merely smiled.
"You asshole, Pritchard, you almost shot up my sniper."
A laugh sounded from the forest, and several soldiers in American fatigues emerged from the forest. Their leader was a slung-back tall and skinny invididual with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth lazily. His blonde hair stuck out from under his helmet as his blue eyes sought out Way, and found him. They clasped eachother like old friends, which is what they were. Both were deployed at Haiwaii during Pearl Harbor.
"Sorry, Way, I thought it was a filthly Nazi."
The Fifth Company under the command of Major Michael Pritchard met the Third Company under the command of Captain Gerard Way.
"Hi, I'm Frances Iero. Second Lieutenant and sniper for the Fifth Company."
"It's good to meet you. Joseph Armstrong, First Class Private for the Third Company."
"First Class Medic Robert Bryar. It's good to see some of our own out here."
"Nice to meet you! Corporal Frank Wright at your service. I'm also the demolition-rockets man."
Robert smiled back at the grinning man in front of him, his mischevious blue eyes making him seem capable of demolishing something in the blink of an eye with his bare hands, even. He shook the offered hand, wondering if this man was as highly noted as Gerard made him out to be.
But in the bushes from where the Fifth Company had come from, a pair of blue eyes watched them. His uniform wasn't like theirs. His language wasn't like theirs.
"Dieses ist die guten Nachrichten zum Berichten zurück zu meinem Führer*," he muttered, his eyes skirting over the Americans. "Hitler ist erfreut**."
His name was Quinn. And he was a German spy.
((*This is good news to report back to my leader.))
((**Hitler will be pleased.))
