The Spirit of the Corps » Band of Brothers

104: Find Out for Yourself

If Charlie hadn't been coping well after Janovec's death, Webster had been coping terribly. Janovec had been his closest friend, after all. When she first sought Webster out, Charlie found him drunk out of his mind in a bar down the street from the hotel, and he'd been that way every night she'd sought him out since.

Though Charlie and Webster had never quite been friends, it was easier to share the burden of the death of a friend with someone else. Charlie wasn't sure whether she was doing much good in the way of helping Webster but, in his own way, he was helping her. And she thought it an awful shame that it had taken the death of a mutual friend for them to finally, properly talk.

It was entirely by accident that Charlie discovered talking about books made Webster, who she now knew as David, look a little more alive than he did otherwise. Charlie hadn't known they shared a love of literature in common until he had made a bitter reference to War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Since then, most of their conversations had been dominated by discussions about the books they had both read.

"Have you read War of the Worlds?" Charlie asked David as they sat in the bar down the street from the hotel. He'd been excused from weapons training on account of the fact he was in no fit state to shoot a gun, and had just been on the receiving end of a reprimand from Winters which was much harsher than her own had been just days previous. But Charlie knew talking about books would brighten him a little.

"No," David admitted. He was nursing a glass of water instead of liquor at Charlie's request. "I heard you ranting to Perconte about it back in Aldbourne, though."

A small smile tugged at the edges of Charlie's lips at the memory. "He misunderstood the ending," she said. Then she shook her head. "Well, actually, I'm not sure that's fair. He understood what happened but not why that was the way H.G. Wells chose to end the novel - or at least what I understand to be the reason. But he said he liked it otherwise."

"And how's it end?" David wondered.

Charlie smiled wryly. "I'll lend you it. You can find out for yourself."

David made a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement but it was good enough for Charlie. But he didn't make to say anything else, just stared down into his glass of water with eyes a million miles away.

"I think," Charlie said after a pause wherein she fought to find something else to say, "I'd like to be a writer after the war."

"Yeah?" David asked, finally looking up from his glass.

Charlie nodded. "Novels. Or maybe short stories to start with. But I don't know what I'd write about yet."

David made a sweeping gesture to encompass the room around him. He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "What about all this?"

Charlie laughed in reply. "No one would want to read about my exploits during the war. Besides, I don't think I could stomach having to relive everything to write it down. I'd write fiction," she decided. "Maybe romance. I think I might be good at poetry but I've never tried."

"Would you go to college?" David asked, humouring her.

"Maybe." She sighed. "I've already been to college for nursing but maybe I'd be able to convince my parents to let me go again, since they didn't actually have to pay last time." She tilted her head as she gazed back at David sitting across the table from her. "I think I heard some of the men saying you went to Harvard before all this. How was it?"

David snorted a dark laugh and shook his head, then turned his eyes on his water once more. "Well, I never finished," he said with a smile that was half smirk and half grimace.