Rumors of War (A Band of Brothers Story)

1: England

"If you go long enough without a bath, even the fleas will leave you alone." – Ernie Pyle

May 1944, London 13:15

It had been nearly three years since I had been in England, and the change that the country had gone through couldn't have been more apparent. Even though I was only taking in the surface as the Private First Class drove me through the city to where I'd been informed days ago I'd be staying, but I could tell things were different. It was in the air, in the people, in the city streets. I had thought many times on my trip back that maybe the people would have looked shabbier than before when I was there during the Blitz, but if anything they looked neater, crisper. The revelation made me wonder what home looked like, how normal every day Americans were fairing. Four years of war didn't look so bad on the British.

They wear the war like a badge of honor.

Despite the uncomfortable seat of the jeep a unfamiliar calm swept over me whiles I chewed on the end of my lit cigarette, looking up to the sky. It was odd not to see it full of Spitfires and Hurricanes engaged in their dogfights with the Luftwaffe, an odd but a good, lovely thing. I took it as a sign that the war was almost over. Even the city, London, seemed less dreary than it had in 1941; the light at the end of the tunnel was in sight. The constant rumors of the invasion, because everyone knew it was going to happen, seemed to do the people well.

The distraction of constant hope.

"We're here ma'am."

Noticing that we had in fact arrived out front of the Savoy Hotel—a place I had never dreamt of staying before—I quickly clamored out of the jeep, slamming the door shut as I shouldered my tattered musette bag. I chucked my half done cigarette into the nearby gutter before reaching into my jacket pocket and pulled out my half gone packer of Lucky Strikes. Without even looking at the PFC I tossed them into the seat as a sign of thanks, as accustom.

"Thanks for the ride, Private. Stay safe."

I hadn't even realized what I had done until I was pushing open the doors of the Savoy Hotel and entering the lobby, my Marine field cap off my head and in my hands. The words and actions had really been automatic—that's what you did in a war zone when someone drove you out of the way but that PFC hadn't seen action and was greener than the highlands, he didn't understand the meaning behind the action. He didn't understand that your last smoke could be, in fact, the last smoke before biting the big one. Now I was out a pack of smokes and some shit was sitting all high and mighty with them.

Heaving a sigh, I made my way through the oversized lobby towards the front desk, dodging military personal with each step. Just like I'd always believed, the inside of the Savoy was beautiful, even with all the war material protecting the interior. There was no denying that the checkered marble tiles under my boots were probably clean enough to eat off of—I could see my own reflection for Pete's sake—and they probably would have been gleaming in the light if sandbags weren't blocking the windows. When I looked up I could spot a few cracks in the molded work (maybe from a bomb dropping too close for comfort?) but there wasn't any time to really take in the room. There were so many people I was being jostled and shoved every which way, I was seeing so much OD green I thought Britain had been invaded by Americans instead of the Germans—everywhere I seemed to look I saw the telltale OD or pink trousers with their matching jackets, garrison caps and overly shinned brass buttons and colorful ribbons. Sure, there were a few Brits sprinkled among the lot but majority were Yanks, it was a hilarious sight considering what the country had looked like the last time I'd been there.

If we're not careful the British just might think this is their country after all.

By the time I made it to the front desk my presence had not gone unnoticed in the sea of pinks and OD trousers. While everyone looked as though they belonged in some Hollywood film and everybody looked like everyone else I stood out like a sore thumb. I became acutely aware of the eyes boring into my back as I dropped my field cap on the counter top and hit the small silver bell for service, leaving my hands free to fidget while I waited.