House of Gold | Band of Brothers

Chapter 7: Arm Her With a Fighting Heart

Ben couldn't remember how long he and the rest of Easy Company had been on the train, exactly. All he knew was that as soon as he had boarded he set his sights on whatever scenery was out the window and hadn't peeled his eyes away since. It could have been two hours or it could have been twenty minutes; he really didn't know and he really didn't care.

Although it appeared as though Ben was simply enjoying the view, he wasn't actually paying attention to anything on the other side of the window. He was looking, but he wasn't seeing. Instead of the trees and American countryside, Ben saw Beth's face; or more accurately, the look on her face as he and the men had pulled out of Camp Mackall, leaving her behind.

Ben kept playing everything over again in his head. He should have done something sooner—a lot sooner. He should have fought harder to stay behind with Beth, he should have spoken to someone when she was court-martialed, and more importantly, he should have noticed something was wrong before anything bad had happened.

Ben hadn't been ignorant to the way Beth had changed in the weeks leading up to her demotion and transfer, but he was so close to his promotion to Lieutenant that he didn't want to do anything rash. At that moment, sitting on the train to God knows where, Ben deeply regretted his selfishness. 

"New York City, troop ship, England." Nixon plopped down next to Ben, pulling him from his self-induced trance.

Blinking a few times, Ben turned to look at the newcomer. "What?"

"New York City, troop ship, England," he repeated, laying out their current travel destinations. "We're invading Europe, my friends. Fortress Europa."

Retrieving a flask from his coat pocket, Nixon held it out to Winters. "Since when do I drink?" Winters stared down at the offering, refusing to take it.

Nixon smirked and took a swig. "If I thought you'd drink it, I wouldn't offer it to you." He offered some to Ben as well, but he declined too. 

Peering down at the letter he was writing, Winters sighed. "Nix, what are you gonna do when you get into combat?"

Nixon scoffed. "Oh, I have every confidence in my scrounging abilities. And I have a case of Vat 69 hidden in your footlocker."

Winters chuckled but his smile faded fast. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah."

It was no secret that Nixon loved to drink—his drink of choice, of course, being Vat 69. Ben and Winters had both been a little skeptical of it in the beginning, but thus far the man had shown outstanding control and had never let the alcohol interfere with his job.

As the train jolted rather forcefully, Harry, who had been sleeping across from Ben, began to stir. "Morning." Nixon held the flask out to him.

Accepting the drink happily, Harry grinned. "This could turn into a real nice trip." He then looked to Ben and noticed his sombre expression. "Still no word from Beth?"

Ben shook his head. "No, and I know that in many cases no news is good news, but I don't think this is one of those cases. She's probably so pissed I left without her."

"She told you to go, remember?" Harry said. "From what I remember, she's a resilient little one. She'll be fine."

"Yes," Winters agreed. "And you, on the other hand, still have a job—here, with the men. Don't forget that."

Ben exhaled and let his muscles relax. "You're right."

"Of course, we're right." Harry took one last swig from Nixon's flask before handing it back. "You need to get out a little more. Stop worrying so much about things that don't even affect you. Have some fun while the getting's good."