Chapter Text
Before he enlisted, Eugene Roe already knew he wanted to be a medic. After hearing the army liked to train its medics from scratch, he lied on his application and said he had no prior experience. The army wouldn't appreciate the learning he had, anyhow.
He'd gotten what he wanted, because he had the most important attribute of a medic: he weighed less than the other paratroopers. The logic of the army decreed he could therefore jump while carrying more weight. Only the radio men carried more than the medics, so that job had fallen to Luz, who was even smaller than he was.
As soon as training at Camp Toccoa began, Eugene was using his skills, newly acquired and otherwise. The men sprained ankles, broke fingers, lacerated their skin. Their three greatest hardships—boredom, loneliness, and their commanding officer, Captain Sobel—made them susceptible to injury.
Within a few weeks, everyone in Easy company was calling him Doc. The hokey nickname didn't bother him, because it signified acceptance. Everyone had a nickname, except for Lt. Richard Winters of Easy Company, and Lt. Ronald Speirs of Dog.
Thanks to the U.S. Army's organizational conventions, Easy Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment was bookended by the Dog and Fox companies. They played baseball against Dog and Fox. Their barracks were flanked by the Dog and Fox barracks. They ran the three miles up Currahee with Dog ahead of them and Fox behind them. So even if the men of Easy wanted to, they couldn't avoid Lt. Speirs of Dog.
Winters didn't have a nickname because his men respected him too much; Speirs didn't have one because his men were afraid to give him one.
Doc had learned of Speirs's fierce reputation through his fellow paratroopers; personally, he found the lieutenant unfailingly polite. Speirs had even come to Doc's defense once, saying during a baseball game that a player should never be judged by his size, or lack thereof. Just because Speirs didn't have the warmth of Winters didn't mean he was off his head, as his men seemed to think.
Speirs must have a soul, for he sometimes helped the men of Easy get around Sobel's sadistic regime.
Four months after they arrived at Camp Toccoa, they desperately needed a break, but, due to invisible rust on a paratrooper's bayonet, Sobel had, for the tenth week running, revoked weekend passes for the entire company.
Winters was attending a two-week officer training course, so there was no one to talk Malarkey, Luz, Webster, and Liebgott out of leaving the camp on the sly. Doc went along to keep them out of trouble.
Once out of the camp, they met up with men from Dog, who had sane officers—and weekend passes. Speirs was with them. The men of Easy didn't tell the lieutenant their captain had revoked their passes, and he didn't ask.
They piled into two vehicles, Speirs's sedan and an old Ford truck belonging to a Dog Company sergeant, and made the ninety-five mile journey to Atlanta in under two hours. As they drank the night away in the city's taverns, the men of Dog covered for them, keeping their eyes peeled for the MPs patrolling the city's bars.
On the way back to Camp Toccoa, Doc rode up front in Speirs's sedan, as he was the only one other than the lieutenant who didn't stink to high heaven. The rest of the men had overindulged after a long dry spell, so Speirs wouldn't let them into his immaculate sedan. The green-faced paratroopers piled into the back of the Ford instead. At the last minute, Webster was deemed fit enough for the sedan's back seat.
Doc had had wild times in New Orleans as a teenager, so he no longer felt the need to overdo it. Whether Speirs had had wild times in Springfield, Illinois, Doc couldn't guess. He thought Speirs didn't drink to excess because he hated losing control, hated anything that gave someone an edge over him.
Their unauthorized trips to Atlanta became regular enough that the men of Easy called them "raids." Going on a raid kept a man sweet for about two months, before Captain Sobel's paranoia took its toll again.
Speirs had connections; he had gas coupons, and dressed in a new suit, new tie, new silk shirt. He offered to get the men duds if they wanted them, but only Webster and Liebgott took him up on it. Doc was reluctant to put himself in Speirs's debt. Speirs was the kind of man who would always call a marker in. Doc could feel it.
He could feel lots of things from the men. He couldn't talk about any of it, or they would think he was inspired by a bunch of Cajun voodoo. Doc knew it was God.
Before she died, his grandmother, a Cajun faith healer, taught him the prayers she said when she lay hands on someone. They both knew he was her successor; the gift always went from woman to son or grandson, or from man to daughter or granddaughter. His grandmother had no sons, and he was her only grandson. Still, she had wanted him to be sure of the calling, for a traiteur took on the pain of those he healed, giving God room to work in.
He wondered what pain he would feel if he laid his hands on Speirs. He would never find out, as a healer could not advertise. The patient had to ask for help, and Speirs would never ask Doc for anything.
Until March of 1943, the companies of the 506th were at each other's throats, striving to outdo the other. A little of their competitiveness left them when they arrived at Fort Benning for jump training. Each man would be competing against his own fears, not the other men.
Fort Benning was a welcome break, as their training was not overseen by Captain Sobel, who was getting his jump wings, too. Doc could see the captain sweating in the plane.
Like everyone else, Doc had to jump out of a plane five times to get his wings. As he was in a daze during the first jump, the second jump was the worst. The third, fourth, and fifth were fun, except for landing. Later, he would learn to release his pack just before he hit the ground, using it to break his fall.
All of Easy Company got their jump wings. With the entire 506th celebrating under Colonel Sink's nose, even Captain Sobel did not dare to interfere, so the newly minted paratroopers poured out of Fort Benning and into nearby Columbus, turning the whole town into a party, or as much of a party as they could manage during wartime rationing.
They ended up at a night club that still showed its speakeasy origins. It was a rabbit warren of small rooms, twisting hallways, and plenty of back exits.
Captain Sobel was not with them, thank Jesus. Sobel had probably told himself it would undermine his authority to fraternize with Easy Company, when the truth was he was uncomfortable around the men in social situations.
When Lt. Lew Nixon offered Doc some of his personal stock of brandy, Doc decided to have a taste. He preferred wine, but there was no longer any to be had from Nazi-occupied France.
Everyone was drinking except for Lt. Winters, who never drank. Guarnere thought it was because Winters was a Quaker. Doc, though, could feel their lieutenant's sobriety had nothing to do with religion. Winters didn't need the false sense of well-being that liquor provided; he had an inner calm that no amount of brandy could instill in someone like Nixon, who was flailing through life—even if he was flailing with style.
Winters was drinking tea, which someone had poured into a beer glass for him, so it looked like a dark ale.
Doc resolved to make his way over to Winters to congratulate him. Winters came to him first.
"Congratulations, Eugene," Winters said. He raised his tea in a toast.
Doc wondered if it would be safe to call his lieutenant Richard. He decided it wasn't.
"Thank you, sir."
They shook hands, and Doc was reminded that Winters had the best handshake of any man he had ever known. Winters held on just a bit too long, as if he hated to let go, and he stared right into your eyes, as if he cared about you.
In the crowded rooms, the already loud paratroopers got louder. Nixon came over and refilled Doc's glass.
"Did you hear yet? The Colonel is giving us all a ten-day furlough. New York City, here I come!" Nixon said.
Nixon, who'd had plenty of his own brandy, began to embrace everyone in Easy company, starting with Doc and Winters. The hugging broke out like a fever, even among the civilians, young women and old men, who were celebrating with them.
All the men of Easy were in dress uniform, wearing their wings proudly. The people of Columbus were already treating them like heroes. They were the first U.S. Army paratroopers, the new weapon that would break the back of the Nazi army. Hitler had the SS; they were better. They would win the war because they had God on their side. Doc could feel it. Any other outcome was unthinkable.
He saw Speirs get hugged by Nixon. No one else hugged Speirs, though Winters thumped him on the back. Doc didn't feel sorry for Speirs; the lieutenant had been singled out by God, given the gifts of a warrior. When they went into battle, Speirs would be their shining strength, and Winters would be their shining light.
After thinking that, Doc knew he was drunk. He was thinking like his grandmother, as if the forces of good against evil, light against darkness, were visible in their daily lives.
Doc struggled inwardly as Speirs walked towards him. Should he hug the lieutenant? Looking at Speirs, he thought no.
They shook hands while Doc hid his discomfort; Speirs didn't know his grip was painful. He was oblivious of others' suffering, because he put no store in his own suffering.
"I see Lew has been plying you with liquor," Speirs said.
"He's plying everyone with liquor," Doc said. "Especially himself."
Speirs smiled, reminding Doc that he almost never saw the lieutenant smile.
Speirs said, "When we leave this joint, come to me if you don't have a ride. It's a long walk back."
They both smiled at that; ten miles wasn't a long walk for any of them. Sobel's idea of a good time was twelve miles with a full pack every Friday night.
Doc could have gotten a ride from someone else, but when he saw Speirs alone in his sedan, he realized Speirs was the least likely to end up in a ditch that night. It was a short trip, anyway, just twenty minutes or so.
After he got in Speirs's car, they didn't talk. Doc found the silence oppressive. It was the first time he had ridden alone with Speirs. The '41 Chevrolet seemed as huge and empty as a church, so Doc decided to sing.
They were on a two lane highway, going south along the Chattahoochee River. It was pitch dark except for the car's headlights. As Doc sang, the trees rushed past, keeping rhythm for him.
"There's nothing small about your voice, Eugene," Speirs said.
Doc lost the tune as his skin was suddenly drenched with sweat. He could feel gooseflesh breaking out all over his body.
It was as certain as sunrise: Speirs was going to kill him, bury him in the woods in a hole in the ground. Years would pass, and the trees would creep in and sprout from his bones.
Is this what the other men felt around Speirs, that the lieutenant would do them harm casually and without remorse? Doc at last knew the men were right. Why hadn't he felt it before? Speirs was different from everyone else.
Speirs steered the sedan off the highway and into a thicket. The car, fancy like everything else Speirs owned, automatically leveled itself when he parked it and switched off the headlights, leaving the engine running.
When Speirs lunged at him with all the speed he had, Doc was sure the lieutenant was going to kill him, just for singing.
Speirs kissed him instead, and Doc was more relieved than shocked. He knew such men were commoner than people liked to think. In New Orleans, he'd seen men dressed as women, and their "gentlemen friends."
When Speirs gave him a chance to breathe, Doc said, "I like ladies."
He said it even though he hadn't proved it yet. He hadn't met a woman strong enough for him to love. All he'd known were girls, and he didn't want a girl. He wanted a lady.
Speirs took his hands off Doc, put his hands back on the steering wheel, and stared out through the windshield at the darkness. The sedan's engine rumbled quietly, like a great thinking beast.
"It's all right, Eugene," Speirs said. He switched on the headlights and eased the car back onto the highway. They were in Fort Benning ten minutes later.
And Speirs was all right.
Until they went to war.