All Things Nice » Band of Brothers

60: Island

The following days saw Easy Company under near-constant fire. German heavy artillery and aircraft fire rained down on them at all hours of the day as they worked to defend the town of Veghel. Posey, curled up tightly in her foxhole with Bill, was reminded starkly of the Blitz and running to the bomb shelter in her old garden for cover. This time, however, there was no bomb shelter, there was only the hole she'd helped to dig in the ground and whatever semblance of safety Bill could offer her when the ground around them was torn apart. 

Posey listened to the town's civilians shriek and wail and pray, and knew exactly how they were feeling. It was heart-wrenching to listen to someone else's home get destroyed in the same way hers had, as though because she'd escaped the collapse of her own home she was now being forced to experience what it would've been like through someone else's eyes.

Easy, camped out in their foxholes, were not without their own casualties. Under such an intense barrage, escaping entirely unscathed would have been a miracle. A great many of their men had been wounded and taken to the nearest field hospital, and a few replacements had been killed, too. After Market Garden they really couldn't afford any more losses but the war did to them what it was wont to do, and that was take. In Posey's experience, war could be counted upon to do one thing perfectly: ask everything of you, everything, even when you had nothing to give in the first place.

When backup came and a counterattack could be staged, Easy was finally relieved. The entire 101st was put under the command of the British XII Corps, which didn't bode well after all that had transpired the last time they were under British command, but the Brits were even harder pressed for troops than the Americans were after Market Garden. The division was transferred somewhere north of the front line in Holland to an area called the Island.

With First Battalion in reserve and all of the casualties sustained since being in Holland, the line was spread immensely thin. So thin that foxholes were dug connecting to one another and to the outposts, all of which had been set up strategically in areas deemed most likely to be infiltrated by the Germans. Their positions were harshly reminiscent of the trenches of the Great War. They made Posey think, albeit reluctantly, of her father, who had been a soldier in those trenches. She wondered what he'd say if he knew his daughter was currently sat in one, clutching her sniper rifle as close to her chest as her teddy bear.

Her foxhole buddy - or trench buddy, as it were - for the evening was one Edward Heffron. The pair of them were on watch, gazing out across the stretch of field that, she supposed, served as their own makeshift no man's land as the light of day faded around them.

They sat in a companionable silence and had done for a while, their eyes on the horizon and concentrated on picking out enemy activity. Heffron's elbow nudged her side as he dug a hand into one of his pockets. Posey knew what he was about to ask even before he'd drawn the pack out.

"I don't smoke," she told him softly, just as he opened his mouth to offer. When she glanced over, his eyebrows were raised, likely surprised at how easily she'd predicted his next words. "Thank you, though."

"You don't smoke, huh?" Heffron repeated, the makings of a grin on his face. Posey rolled her eyes good-naturedly and turned back to watch the line. "Not even after spendin' a night stranded surrounded by krauts?"

Posey chuckled softly under her breath, giving a small shake of her head that made her helmet rattle. "Nope. Not even then." She spared a second glance over at him and shrugged one shoulder. "I have my reasons."

"Yeah?" Heffron challenged. "What are they?"

"Hm..." Posey hummed, pretending to consider the question. Her eyes wandered skyward, taking in the blue as it slowly crept into the pale orange of evening. "I'm not sure we're there yet, Heffron."