The Spirit of the Corps » Band of Brothers

85: The Ghosts

The nurses only managed to get two days in Paris, but that was enough for all of them. As a group, the five of them spent their time there soaking up the atmosphere, shopping, and eating every bit of good food they could find, and by the time they returned to Mourmelon they were all carrying with them a new lease of life.

Some part of Charlie's soul resided in Paris, she was sure of it, and she hoped desperately to return at some point - and for longer this time, too.

Being back in Mourmelon and back to the monotony of formally having to work and yet having no work to do made the days fly by. Out on the line each day felt like a month and yet here, when they were soaking up all of the luxuries of civilian life they'd longed for for months, time rushed past, each hour seeming to end just as soon as it had begun.

Charlie could only hope each day brought them closer to the end of the war, but then again, what would she do afterwards? She'd go home and be far away from all of her friends and she'd have no job anymore, and she'd be expected to find a husband. None of that sounded at all appealing. If only they could all stay here forever, or go back to Aldbourne and all live out the rest of their lives there, all together. That was a selfish desire, she knew, for so many of the men wanted desperately to go back home, as did Mabs, but she couldn't help but long for the days they'd spent back in that rural English village, how fun and easy they'd been and how much sense everything had made to her back then.

Charlie was overwhelmed by her nostalgia for that time in her life, stolen from her with no chance of it ever being returned, as she made her way to the building which currently contained their post office. 

The previous night she had sat down to write a letter to Trigger and his Dutch parents, thanking them for the picture and attaching one of her and Floyd in turn, as requested, so Trigger would remember their faces. Floyd had helped her compose the letter and had then taken it to the replacement who knew Dutch so he could translate it, but not before complaining about giving away the photograph they'd chosen; it had been his idea to attach this one, if she remembered correctly - one of the two of them dancing together in Aldbourne - but now that it came down to it he lamented not wanting to part with it.

In the end, Floyd won out, and they picked a different picture of the two of them - a photograph of them in Normandy, from sometime when they were in Carentan, which Floyd had reasoned made more sense to send because Trigger would remember them looking like that, a little less healthy and a little less clean, and wearing their ODs.

Hearing this, Charlie had rolled her eyes but complied with his wishes, too exasperated to argue or simply unable to say no to him, she didn't altogether want to know which, and extracted the picture he'd chosen - one which had a twin almost identical right next to it in the photo album, anyway, so they wouldn't miss it much.

Floyd had returned the following morning with the translated letter and they'd put it, along with the photograph, into an envelope and addressed it using the address they'd been given in the last letter from the Dutch couple. Then Floyd had gone to work, attempting to whip fresh-faced replacements into shape, and Charlie had started making her way over to the post office.

Vest was behind the desk, and Charlie hadn't spoken to him, or indeed seen much of him, since the night of the patrol in Haguenau. She tried not to hold a grudge against him, for she knew that had been his first bit of combat and it had had a dire result, but even still, when she met his eyes she felt herself stiffen. He'd said some horrible things in the heat of the moment, and while she was glad he seemed much better now, she couldn't bring herself to forgive and forget quite yet.

"I have a letter to send," she told him by way of greeting, and held up the envelope to show him.

Vest nodded with a tight-lipped smile. "Parents?" he asked, a way to make conversation.