Half Sick of Shadows » Band of Brothers [2]

44: A House on Fire

"We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." - Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore

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I tend to spend a lot of my time writing out my confessions. I think it's doing me some good - trying to remember instead of forget but doing it in a way that feels like I'm in control, as though I'm a writer crafting characters and plot as opposed to the person experiencing it. Writing it in the third person and past tense helps a lot, too, and even though the writing makes the memories feel more vivid it also helps me lock them away a little bit in my mind.

The Americans are training a lot these days, preparing for their eventual deployment to the Pacific. No one knows when that will be which only makes waking up each day that bit more nerve-wracking because I'm always wondering whether today will be the day they're sent away, or the day I am. They should get a little bit more forewarning though; it's us that are at risk of a last minute deployment.

Any time the yanks aren't training I try to spend with them, as do the others. Where Tom and I have always been close with them, during my time in interrogation Martin and Will apparently grew close with them too; experiencing combat together will do that to people. I've heard brief stories and anecdotes about Bastogne and what happened there but I think Bastogne for them is the equivalent of what interrogation is for me, and I don't want to push them into telling me anything that's only going to upset them.

Our next update from HQ comes, conveniently, when all four of us are sitting in one of the bigger hotel rooms allocated to four of the men to share. It has a large living-space type area and two bedrooms which branch out off of it but we all fit comfortably into the main area. Will's playing poker with Chuck, Floyd, Malark, Popeye, and Frank, and seems to be winning, too (though I don't know the first thing about poker) whilst Martin and Johnny (Martin squared, if you will) seem to be content bitching about something or other. Tom is sitting with Liebgott, Skinny, and Alton More telling them all about the 'progress' he's making with Carlotta-who-works-in-the-lobby, whilst I sit with Gene, George, Babe, and Spina and we're all discussing whether the European or Pacific front is worse.

"From a spy's perspective," I begin to offer my tuppence, and giggle when George jokingly groans, "European is worse. I'm not even sure if they have spies in the Pacific but I think being stuck in the Gestapo HQ with only a watch and a lock-pick is maybe the worst kind of mission anyone can be sent on."

"You're shittin' me," Babe says, half-shocked and half-enthralled. "You've been to the Gestapo HQ?"

"Yeah, many times," I reply, laughing. "It's in Paris. Or, well, it was. It's in Berlin now but when I was breaking and entering it was in Paris."

"I hate that I have no fuckin' idea whether you're lyin'," Spina says, which makes me laugh because I absolutely am not.

Before I can reply, however, Will jumps to his feet and shouts, "Jules!"

"What?" I call back but then I hear it for myself; the radio static that signifies we're about to receive a message. "Oh, no."

"Shit," Tom says from the other sofa. When I look to Martin he's rubbing a hand down his face.

I hop to my feet as well and grab Will's radio off of the floor. He sweeps the poker table clear, to the soundtrack of the other men's protests, but we pay them no mind; we have very little time to get our act together.

Will puts on his headphones and takes a seat whilst I kneel on the floor beside the table, pencil poised against paper and ready to translate whatever we receive.