All Things Nice » Band of Brothers

62: Practice

Posey got dismissed from battle clean up early, which was likely because she was covered in her own blood. Being in possession of a nose which was liable to gush, it seemed, was not all bad, though where the blood had now dried all over her face she felt it cracking and itching as she traipsed back to the CP.

After being so close to that final blast of German artillery fire, Posey's legs still felt a little bit weak. Her ears were still ringing and her nose still dripping blood, much less severely now but somehow it was still going. She picked up the pace as a truck carrying wounded skidded past her, presumably on the way to the aid station. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

When she got to the CP - which the enlisted men were known to frequent in the hopes of resting on the hay as opposed to the hard ground outside - she found a group of Second and Third Platoons crowded around a radio. All eyes shot to her the moment she pushed the door open. She had to fight a smile as she thought about what kind of idea the state of her was going to give them about the battle that had just taken place; her face was streaked with blood, from her nose and down her chin all the way up to her hairline where she hadn't been able to keep from rubbing at her eyes or pushing the hair back from her forehead. Her hands were covered in it and so was the front of her ODs, and all this the result of a single nosebleed.

Let them think it was a massacre, though. That would be so much more fun.

In a way, it had been, just not for them. The thought gave her pause and ripped the smile from her face.

"Wells," Guarnere called the second the door had closed behind her. He was on his feet in an instant with Toye and Heffron right behind him. "What the fuck happened? Have you been to see the doc?"

"I'm fine," she told him immediately, and laughed when his face scrunched up in obvious disbelief. "Just a nosebleed. I was really close to one of the last blasts."

"Blasts?" Toye echoed, his voice gravelly and sounding as though he'd just woken up.

The thought of sleep reminded Posey of how tired she was so she nodded before heading for one of the hay stacks in the corner. She propped her rifle up against the wall and dropped her helmet before all but collapsing down onto the hay, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall behind her. Wiping at her nose again, she let out a breathy sigh. "There was artillery fire on both sides. I'm surprised you didn't feel it. It was like an earthquake."

"You need t' get checked out by the doc," Bill insisted, his jaw set.

"What I need is to sleep for about eight years," Posey replied, peeking one eye open at him before relaxing back again. Then both eyes popped open as a thought dawned on her. "Oh!" She reached inside her ODs and pulled Teddy out, scanning him over for blood and dirt. Where before only the back of one of his legs had gotten bloody, now one of his ears was, too. Posey frowned. "My bear," she whined, fiddling at the wet ear, then clamped her mouth shut as she remembered what company she was in; Bill may have known she was a woman but Toye and Heffron certainly didn't.

"Heffron, go get a medic," Bill ordered.

Posey huffed. "I don't need a medic! It's just my nose. You remember back at Toccoa when Popeye got me in hand to hand? It's literally the same as that."

Bill grumbled something under his breath and sent Heffron off anyway. When he was gone, Bill sat down on the stack of hay beside her whilst Toye returned to listening to the radio and whatever reports were coming through on it, departing with the promise to update them on any news.

Posey shot a glance at Bill beside her, who was drawing out a pack of cigarettes ready to light one for a smoke, and smiled to herself. For all she complained about his worrying, she found she rather liked having him around. When that had happened, exactly, she had no idea, for she knew if she had said so to herself back at boot camp she'd have scoffed and rolled her eyes into the next century, but somehow it had become true. Bill Guarnere, she found, was a nice person to be liked by. She liked being liked by him. It was infinitely preferable to being disliked by him, as she had been once upon a time and for a long time at that. Now, though, there was something reassuring about his presence. Something safe. Even when he was swearing and berating her for not looking after herself properly there was still something inherently warm about having him there. Yes, by his side was rather a nice place to be.