Chapter Text
“Nobody gets justice. People only get good luck or bad luck.”
– Orson Welles
Snow flurries fell in a discombobulating fashion, the breeze disturbing their carefree flight pattern to the ground. The enlarged flakes joining their many others, the frozen dirt beneath the layers of day old snow receiving a softer powder-like new layer.
A change from the usual wet rain-like snow that had fallen several nights previous, causing a sheen of ice to crop up during the frigid night that was now concealed by the powdered fluff. The fog having thickened now that the snow cascaded down in large quantities, making the line barely visible to those at watch. Squinting didn't help any as it became impossible to see more than three feet in front of oneself by noon. This creating an eerie ghost-like ora to everything around.
Quiet was how many of the veterans would describe the evening as it was rapidly darkening to night. Though to a civilian, it had been anything but quiet. With an occasional machine gun popping off down the line, the enemy flares flying high to shed any light on their positions, and the sporadic yet expected HE mortar rounds whistling above to make instant craters upon impact with the ground or mere splinters out of the trees. But with no attempted advances from the enemy's side, only three barrages during the day and not once had any of the medics been called upon. It was a rather quiet day.
And yet, no one commented as such. The atmosphere made more so uneasy with the sudden decrease than if they were being shelled like normal. Sideways glances were flicked from person to person, weary staring contests with the fog concealed line were unintentionally initiated as if they expected tanks to suddenly burst into the open, and the usual humming chitter of conversing soldiers was nearly non-existent. Only quieted mumbles between foxhole partners.
Not even the solace of night could balm the edginess settled over their humble encampment, however it didn't impede a certain medic from making his rounds to each of the foxholes. It had become a instinctual routine for Doc Roe every night and after every battle. Needing to reassure that no one else had been wounded, even minorly, and to ensure the general health of the men was kept as close to par as he could manage.
Footsteps softly crunching the dirt spotted snow as he jogged in a bent over crouch, Roe swiftly made it from foxhole to foxhole. A few he could slid in next to the pairs sharing the small space, enjoying the warmth provide when he sat next to them.
The ones that had tarps over them were an added bonus in regards to warmth, though a majority of the foxholes, including Captain Winters', weren't deep enough to even accommodate sitting. One would have to lay flat on their belly to gain adequate cover. That didn't stop Roe from crouching lowly at the sides, the front curvature of his left boot would hang slightly over the lip of the small 'hole whilst the other lay folded under him with his knee pressed into the snow, helping him keep his balance and kept him low enough to not be seen easily from the Germans’ side.
Babe soundlessly chuckled to himself as he watched Doc Roe do just that at the edge of the foxhole to his left, a smile stretching his lips thin as he shifted to snuggle closer to the back wall of his own foxhole. The knowledge of his inability to gain anymore warmth didn't stop his body's instinctual attempts to leech every last ounce of heat from his army issued coat and blanket. Thankful to just be off the line watching for the night was enough to make sleeping a little bit easier. His eyes slipped closed before he could stop them, falling into a light sleep.
Until a far too close sounding discharge of a M-1 rang out from his direct right.
Roe expertly crouched beside the edge of Malarkey's and *Ducaine's foxhole, though his presence wasn't anticipated by the replacement situated with Malarkey for the night. The wariness of war and the increased tension brought on by the quiet day had done in the exhausted kid's nerves, thus at suddenly seeing a crouching figure stop outside their 'hole, Ducaine, feeling his eyes widen and his heart began to hammer, flipped his rifle up and fired.
Malarkey had seen nearly every type of wound their way to be had during battle; gaping gunshot wounds, blown off limbs, internals falling out to spill on the ground, bone sticking through skin and even a decapitation once. Nothing could phase him now, not even any of the creative injuries like a gaping hole through the chest where one could see the scenery behind the man through said hole or a body blown completely to bits that fell around the field as the snow itself did.
But seeing Doc Roe drop like a sack of potatoes, the medic's body hitting the frozen snow tainted ground did nothing to lessen the impact nor the sound of it, had him shaken. Little flurries puffed up at his impact, creating too mythical a scene for the gut churning horror at having the medic die before his eyes. Let alone die because of a skittish replacement's mistake.
"Doc!" He hollered, the overwhelming panic and sickening terror leaching into his tone, shoving the now stunned replacement backwards into the foxhole as the boy stammered out a continuous stream of apologies.
Malarkey sprung up out of the 'hole now yelling, "Medic! Spina! Spina!”
All the while his mental thoughts consisted of a steady stream of 'shit! shit! shit!' Intermixed with a sloppy prayer of 'please let Spina be able to do something!'. He physically felt his stomach constrict as he turned Roe over from where he collapsed on his side and saw the alarming amount of red staining the snow.
Swallowing thickly, almost afraid to look at the Doc's face, knowing it was his head that got hit from the position of the crimson covering the snow. Dragging his gaze over to the medic's face, Malarkey was glad to see that the other man's face hadn't been mutilated when the bullet hit.
His inspection didn't get past that as the voice belonging to the company's second medic abruptly exclaimed "Shit!" brought Malarkey's gaze up to Spina, seeing the startled wide eyes. Noting a second later the transformation from a panicked friend to a stoic calm wash over the medic's face.
It left the Oregonian feeling relieved Spina was, too , brilliant at his job, only second to Roe; but each of them held the trust of every man within second battalion. Thus he had no reverses over sliding to the side to allow Spina room to work, remaining close enough to help if necessary but giving Spina space.
Immediately Malarkey shifted away from Gene's side to allow Spina, who was quickly moving towards them once more, to crash to his knees beside the downed medic. Hands already flying into position at the pulse point on Doc's wrist and a hand on his chest, an unconscious need for a secondary check to ensure his first findings weren't wrong.
"Is he... ?" The tiny wavering voice of the replacement called up from the depth of the foxhole behind them.
It sounded as if the kid was nearly in tears, but at the moment there was little sympathy for him as worry and fear for their trusted medic -and brother in arms- clouded any capacity for other emotions.
Though it was then that Malarkey caught sight of the extent of unrest the incident had created. Every man with a foxhole within proximity of the commotion was peering over the edges of them, occupants stared at the scene before them. Expression beyond that of stunned, not yet comprehending they could have just lost the man who was responsible for saving their hides ten times over.
It was Captain Winters, with Captain Nixon and First Sergeant Lipton hot on his heels, who broke the spell as he came trotting over to their position, his own M-1 in hand though it was long forgotten as he took in the scene for himself. Only pausing for a moment before too crouching near them.
"He's still breathing and his pulse is strong." Spina finally spoke, having taken an extra moment to relish in the feeling of a steady pulse beneath his fingers in utter relief. Feeling as if he needed to check his own pulse now, since this incident had nearly given him a heart attack, and still damn well might, at running up to find Roe deathly still with blood clinging to his all - too pale features and staining the snow a horrid shade of carmine.
The collectively huffed sighs at hearing that news resounded loudly in the strangely silent area. A huge weight seeming to lift about the tension strung along the atmosphere.
Now Sergeant Lipton worked to get the men's focus back onto the line or onto other things, wanting to give some form of privacy to the medics, and they needed the watch to keep vigilant anyway, not distractedly gawking. Though the helmets of the replacements were slapped and harshly ordered them to 'keep an eye on the goddamn line', the veterans returned to glancing over at the scene. Concern and curiosity spurring the action.
Spina, now able to think without the underlying thoughts of 'my partner is dead. I couldn't do anything to save him. He's dead, he's dead.', quickly dug his hands into his medical bag. Pulling out a sulfa packet, tearing it open with his teeth as his hands were too stiff with cold to properly rip it open, and gingerly poured the powdery contents along the gash lining the side of Roe's left temple after turning his head gently to the opposite side.
A sharp hiss from the downed medic penetrated the air once the sulfa made contact.
"'Gene? 'Gene, can you hear me?" Spina immediately questioned, leaning further over his patient to look at Roe’s face, whilst his hand waved the two Captains and Malarkey away to give the wounded medic some air, "You with us, partner?"
A low groan was the only answer Spina received as Roe's expression scrunched up in pain; brow furrowing, nose wrinkling and lips pulling down in a frown, and his hand moving up to find the source of it. Though Spina beat him to it, snatching the wandering hand by the wrist.
"Leave it be, 'Gene. I gotta bandage it, okay?" Spina's spoke slowly yet not patronisingly, practice from talking with tons of stubborn troopers had perfected it, as he slowly released Roe's hand.
Making sure the the disoriented medic wouldn't reach for it again; thankfully, Roe’s hand fell back down against his chest, "Good. Now can you open your eyes for me ?"
Roe had yet to and the threat of him falling back unconscious loomed heavily, than the threat of coma lay just beyond that.
It was a simple request, Roe knew that, even asked it of several soldiers when trying to keep them awake as well. Though it seemed like an impossible feat at the moment. With his head slapping his senses repeatedly with intensely pulsating pain, it'd be a relief to let himself drop off into the completely unaware blackness of unconsciousness. But a nagging voice of reason, one trained relentlessly from since he's been chosen as a medic through all the battles where his resolve had been tested in keeping the men in his care alive to the best of his ability, tried to remind him of something. Something dangerous about falling asleep right now.
"Eugene?" Spina called again, though his tone now sounded strained, stressed and Roe felt a sudden sting on the lower side of his face punctuated by another calling of his name.
A sluggish realisation that he'd been slapped was supplied a tad too slowly as the sting renewed a moment later.
"Quelle." Roe mumbled, tongue feeling weighted thus bringing out his accent with more heft and causing Spina to wonder if that was a whimsical muttering or an actual word.
Spina knew Roe slipped back and forth between English and French so fluidly that had he not know better he’d have figured Roe to be a French native. Having asked Roe about it before revealed his partner to be half - Cajun, thus Spina found out Roe grew up speaking both French and English, which accounted for his fluidity between the two. Yet that knowledge did little to help the able bodied medic at the moment, since he didn't understand a lick of French, no matter how many times Roe tried to teach him simple words.
"He said 'what?'." Someone supplied, though Spina nor anyone within the tiny close circle around the downed medic looked up to identify who’d spoken up.
“Need you to open them eyes of yours." Tone set purposefully light and amused, Spina hoped to rouse the groggy medic and ease a bit of the thickly lingering tension settled around them.
After a moment, Roe was able to drag his eyelids up, slits revealing dark irises that stared unfocused-like up at Spina and blearily tried to identify the three other shapes lingering just outside of his swimming vision. Details were futile to depict, edges of his sight still a dull grey and the images taken in wouldn't remain stationary. The effect made him dizzy.
"No, no, 'Gene! Keep them open!"
He hadn't realised he'd even closed them, the haziness clouding his mental capacities and awareness. Opening them once more, Roe was immediately grappled by the dizziness accompanying the action and he hadn't even moved yet, but feeling the unnatural fatigue pulling at his consciousness, keeping them open now meant the difference between him falling into a deep -possibly forever- sleep and living to doctor another day.
"There ya go. Just keep 'em open for me, yeah?" Spina glanced at Malarkey, still unmoved from his kneeling position beside him, the meaning behind the look wasn't lost simply because the second medic didn't verbally voice his 'order'. It greatly enhanced its importance. Keep him talking.
"Hey, Doc." The sergeant called, waiting to gain the currently dull gaze of Roe's and hopefully his attention before he began speaking, through his mind wasn't coming up with much to converse about. Thus he spoke the first thoughts that came, whilst Spina finished sprinkling the wound with sulfa, "How you holding up? You took quite a hit, huh?"
Roe made a motion to nod, but winced at the subtle movement, head feeling like it may very well be the next thing to explode in these woods. Too caught up in the intense wave of nauseating pain and dizziness, he missed the concernedly warned, "Don't move, Doc." though moving anything at the moment was the last thing Roe wanted to consider. If he couldn't sleep then hopefully they at least would leave him still, despite the chilling wetness of melting snow underneath him was soaking through his ODs.
"Quoi- What happened?" Roe began in French before his brain supplied the information that the soldier he was answering didn't speak any French, outside of possibly a few key phrases, and he corrected himself, tone coloured with more confusion than anything else.
His memory of the time before he woke up to a disorienting painful headache and people hovering over him was nearly nonexistent, though he was sure he would have remembered if a barrage had occurred. He wouldn't forget him being called to help another, would he?
"Is anyone hurt?" Now worried, Roe shuffled to get his hands at his side, palms digging into the snow as he attempted to push himself up, but the intensity of the dizziness had him wavering and unable to resist the hurried hands that sternly pushed him back down, one remaining on his chest to ensure he wouldn't try to sit up again.
Though the spinning effect left him more pale than usual and fighting past the sudden churning of his stomach, still he managed to hear several voices speak up at once; a mash up of "Dammit, 'Gene!", "Stay down, Doc!", "Easy, no one else is hurt.", "We're all good, Doc. It's only you who took the hit."
Groaning was all Roe could do in response, aside from give in to the firm hand keeping him pinned. The sudden vocal volume too loud for him, his headache spiking sharply, and the sudden pressure against the wound from a bandage Spina had now tied around the wound along with the tilting to better access the bandages end ties on the other side of his head, finally did in Roe tolerance. Stomach roiling, Roe swallowed thickly as his pallor turned a vague grey colour and his eye squeezed shut, brow furrowing.
Malarkey opened his mouth to try again at keeping Doc talking, especially since his eyes had slid close again. Though the steady hand he had against the medic's chest was roughly shoved away by Spina, who then quickly gripped the front of Roe's jacket and hauled him over onto his side. Not a moment too soon before the concussed medic's stomach rebelled and he began heaving onto the snow, much to the increased worry of those around. A definite concussion, bad from their perspectives.
A weakly mumbled "Sorry." came from Roe afterwards. Spina merely telling him they'd both seen worse and patting his back softly as Roe coughed several times before helping him lay back down.
Immediately, Spina asked "Did someone call a jeep? He'll need stitches." while he pulled out a lighter from his pocket, flipping the cover open and striking his thumb against the igniter twice before the spark hit creating the little flame that wavered severely in the breeze.
The sound of Captain Nixon ordering a jeep be sent to their location from Luz's communication unit in the background was a welcomed sound as Spina checked Roe's pupil reaction.
"C'mon, you know the drill, Doc. Look at the light." The secondary medic spoke mostly to keep the weaning attention of his partner on him, keeping up with the light tone for reasons of easing the tense concern that lay thicker than the fog around their camp and hoping it get a rise out of Doc's absent dry wit.
Noting the small wince Roe gave at the minimal brightness of the faltering flame and how sluggish the left side pupil was in constricting against the light, had Spina confirming the diagnosis of a concussion.
He said as much aloud, wanting to put to ease any worries over the Doc dying before their eyes. Even if Roe wasn't completely out of danger of coma or other complications later on, now they knew the steps in which to help prevent any of that.
"Jeep's enroute." Captain Nixon slid back down into a crouch next to Captain Winters, leaning in closer, his fore-shoulder brushing against Winters' as he spoke, "Should be here real quick."
Spina just nodded and had Malarkey help him steady Roe whilst they half carried him to the jeep once it arrived. Captain Winters helping the pair lift his lean frame onto the hood mounted stretcher. Roe mumbling a quiet, "You stole my seat." when Spina explained that their wouldn't be room for him to actually sit in the jeep and not harm the condition of his head anymore. The answer of Roe's had spurred relieved chuckles of laughter from the one's assisting and a thin smile from Roe himself at his success in making them laugh, despite the worry he'd unintentionally caused.
Spina leant forward in his seat, not really sitting more of semi-crouching to kept a hand on Roe's upper arm as the jeep bounced unevenly down the dirt road headed towards the town of Bastogne. Wanting to ensure Roe remained awake as well as to keep the disoriented man grounded to something, uncertain how the effects of the concussion would further scramble the medic's state of mind. His remaining somewhat aware while at camp could change, Spina had seen a man with a concussion before go from being slightly groggy to completely unresponsive within an hour then dead in the next two.
Bleeding into the brain was what the surgeon had said, saying nothing could have been done as the brain became too bruised and compressed by the blood for it to function properly even if they got the man to a brain surgeon. The idea of that happening to 'Gene had Spina gripping the other medic's arm a bit more firmly, now needing to ground himself in knowing 'Gene wasn't like that. His pupils weren't blown nor had one been larger than the other like that man who'd died from a brain bleed.
Roe groaned lowly when the jeep hit a practically rough dip then incline within a pace of each other, thus jarring the passengers and causing Roe's head to smack the hood. Eliciting a pain that had his vision blurring more so and the dull grayness of its edges to darken to black as it crept inward, narrowing his field of sight and having his eyes roll backwards.
"Almost there, 'Gene. Stay with me. Almost there." Came Spina's voice from somewhere he couldn't see, but the worry laced tone had Roe blinking rapidly in hopes of clearing it and the fatigue pulling at him to see what had his partner on that degree of an edge.
The jeep sliding in the puddled street a multitude of feet from the entrance to the Church-turned-Aid Station. Spina jumping out of the passenger seat the moment the jeep's momentum halted, moving expertly around the hood to haul Roe off the stretcher. His attempts at being gentle about it were futile as any movement sent 'Gene's vision swimming and his surroundings were spinning. Roe's knees gave out, unable to orient himself with his concussion playing Hell with his balance.
Luckily, Spina's hold on the other medic was strong, only having to dip once to pull Roe's arm over his shoulders and tighten the grip his hand around the lean man's waist. Another medic from an entirely different company jogged over to assist him, bringing up the other side and helping to drag a half-conscious Roe into the Church.
"Eugene!" A decidedly feminine and French accented voice called out as Spina and the unknown medic dragged an unsteady Roe down the stairway into the main room of the Church.
Roe's head lulled to the side, white bandage now sporting a pale crimson stain from where the wound was bleeding through. Drying blood coated his right ear and had track marks lining down the side of his pale face, some even matting a few clumps in his dark coloured hair. It made for a worse sight than it was.
Spina glancing over to the young woman, who came directly up to them and took over in assisting him in helping move Roe towards the side of the main lobby, where they kept a majority of the supplies and the pots of boiling water to wash, and sterilise, the bandages they reused. It offered a bit of privacy and immediate access to their supplies.
"What has happened to him?" She asked, sounding more worried than a mere nurse inquiring after the extent of a patient's injuries, though Spina didn't linger on the implications too long before answering.
"Took a bullet across the side of his head." Spina explained, plainly. Not needing to soften reality, going by what he saw in the other room, the nurse was well aware of how ugly wounds could get.
And frankly, he just wanted Roe stitched up quickly so he could be that much closer to being on the mend.
The pair sat Roe down on a bench, Spina having to keep a hand on the Doc's upper arm to ensure he stayed upright enough for them to properly treat the gash. The French nurse reaching forward with deft hands to untie and peel the bandage back, revealing a lengthy laceration that sliced through the surprisingly thick, for how short it was, black hair along his temporal bone, only a centimeter or two from missing the top of his ear.
"It needs stitches." She spoke after surveying the wound for a moment, gaze acutely keen from having to visually examine many wounds of many types.
It was a gaze that held a look similar to that of the Doc's, Spina noted offhandedly when he had turned to tell her he already knew it needed stitches that's why he'd brought him here, but at seeing that particular look, it silenced any words he had.
"Renée?" Came the quietly mumbled name from Roe, his tone sounding still disoriented, yet less dull than when Spina was having him answer questions prior to the ride over.
It was a welcomed and promising change, though had Spina mentally questioning who this young woman was further.
"Oui." Renée answered in French, a shadow of a smile upturning a single corner of her lips at hearing Eugene address her, "Quelle peine avez-vous obtenu dans?"
Whilst Spina was lost in the sudden switch to French, Roe smiled faintly at whatever had been said, his gaze still distant but his repeated blinking and squinting spoke of his attempts at wanting to focus. Him adding a quiet, "Pas très sûr." after several moments of trying, settling on the bleary blue haze of Renee's headscarf as a point of reference.
"C'est bien. Il ne est pas mauvais." She replied, brushing her fingers through the hair along the uninjured side of Roe's head.
His posture relaxing in some of it's pain and stress induced rigidity, him instinctively leaning into her touch as his eyelids drooped in relief, "Rester éveillé, Eugene."
Roe compiled, his eyes still half-lidded but he wouldn't let them fall anymore. Her small smile lengthened minorly before she slowly relinquished her hand from his hair to turn towards the bench with the box holding the needle already tied to the cord-like wire thread that they substituted for actual suturing thread.
Spina tilted Roe's head over to gain a better angle for stitching the impressive cut, but the slight movement triggered another bout of world tipping dizziness. Even slamming his eyes shut had no effect in decreasing the whirling feeling, nor the return of Renée's hand to the side of his face stopped it.
"'m sick." Roe mumbled, pulling away from the hands touching him to lean to the side, pallor paling severely to an almost grey tinge.
Dropping the suturing set off to the side and quickly moving to snatch a basin from the bench behind her, dumping the towels it held onto the benchtop, Renée held it for the ailing medic's as he heaved over it. Bringing up mere bile after the previous episode back at the camp nearly emptied his stomach of any content, still the nausea persisted along with the dizziness accompanying the pulsing pain within his head. Dry heaves replaced the retching quickly.
Renée using her other hand to pick up the bandage she's removed from the wound to take the clean side and wipe it along Roe's forehead, where blood from the cut had trickled down the side of his head to run along his forehead and intermix with the collecting sweat there. Then pressing the thick gauze to the still bleeding cut again, stemming the flow whilst Roe coughed and spit twice.
Spina held onto Roe's shoulders, supporting the other medic's weight, then, once the heaving had ceased, pulled him back slowly from the half bent over position to sit up once more so they could tend to the laceration. It having began to began a bit heavier with the straining of vomiting and removal of the pressure bandage.
"Désolé." 'Gene whispered, voice hoarse and distant, his energy already drained from the concussion but the added exertion was quickly eating away at his reserves and making the nothingness unconsciousness offered more tempting.
"Stay with us, 'Gene." Spina voice was distant, like he was hearing the other medic through a long tunnel. The last he heard was the odd echoing effect of two voices calling out, "Eugene!".
...
The revving sound of a jeep approaching the outskirts of their entrenched line had several heads peeking over the lip of their foxholes. Curiosity and concern driving their motives.
News of the doc’s injury having spread throughout second battalion; even Dog and Fox had heard about someone shooting one of their own medics in a fit of panic. The “panic” bit the only thing keeping everyone outside of Easy company from thinking it might have been Speirs. For Lieutenant Speirs didn’t panic. Didn’t stop the rumour mill from conjuring unique twists to the tale. Ones that’d no doubt would circulate around before making their way back to Easy.
It was Captain Winters who left the sanctity of his cover to meet the lone medic half way. Expression grim on his too pale face, the cold sapped the appearance of life out of all of them but it was the anxiety over seeing Private Spina return alone that’d sunk any flutterings of optimism on Roe’s condition. Preparing for the worst, the Captain paused before the medic.
"How's Roe?" The question left Winter’s mouth the moment they were within conversing range.
Sighing in frustration, it shouldn't have been 'Gene, Spina glanced from the ground up to his Captain, "He's alive, sir, but it's bad. Couldn't keep him conscious. Time’ll tell if there’s bleeding on the inside."
Winters' lips pressed into a thin line, guilt of the injustice of it eating at him despite there having been nothing he could have done to prevent it, before they parted, "And what are the chances there is?"
Spina bit his lower lips, worrying the flesh between his teeth, “It didn’t look good. One pupil was larger than the other and he was pretty out of it by the time we got him to the Aid Station, but Gene’s strong and we got him there quick. Honestly, sir, it could go either way.”
Nodding, Winters digested the information with a heavy heart, unwilling to let hope blossom but not yet ready to give into mourning in disrespect for their medic’s strength. A delicate balance. One that he’d yet to master, one he longed to but hadn’t, despite time and time again faced with battle and the loss of men. He prayed Roe wouldn’t be the latest casualty to wrong place, wrong time ; bad luck.
“Keep me posted of any developments.” The Captain merely stated, trusting Spina’s observations and the reality of it that they truly wouldn’t know until it went one way or the other.
"Of course, sir."
Winters offered a small sympathetic smile with a single nod then turned to walk back to the CP, Spina spotting Captain Nixon just outside and two other figures within. Thus Spina was left to his own thoughts as he wanted, giving him time to wallow a slight before he’d be the sole medic to answer the call in the next barrage, facing the battlefield was of little problem but facing it without Doc Roe didn’t seem right. If anything happened to Gene, he’d be the most senior medic on the field; out of all of second battalion. It wasn’t a responsibility he wanted, not like this. Gene had been with Easy since the beginning, when the men called out for medic they wanted Doc Roe; Toccoa approved and company accepted. Not some South Philly replacement.
“Hey, hey, Spina !”
The medic in question turned to see Private Heffron waving him over, though no smile nor warmth was held within his gestures. With his brow furrowed and he frown creasing his features, the other south Philly boy oozed disquiet. Spins paused, then turned to back trace his steps towards Heffron’s foxhole. Crouching along the edge of it once he reached it to hear what the other had to say.
“Hey, I heard what happened to Gene.” Heffron’s greeting fell flat as the rest of his sentence was spoken, his concern outweighing pleasantries at the moment, “He okay?”
“He took quite a hit, Babe.” Spina started off, not wanting to give false hope yet knowing it truly could go either way for Roe given his condition, “If he wakes up in the next twenty - four hours then yeah I'd say his chances are good, but until then we don't know.”
“Jesus Christ.” Heffron huffed, glancing towards the bottom of his foxhole, gaze clouded at the gravity of Easy’s primary medic’s injuries.
“Hey, scoot over.” Spina chimed in after several moments of silence, forcefully making Heffron move to make room for his form to slide into the foxhole next to him. “Only fair you share your foxhole for awhile.”
Heffron allowed a smile to curve his lips upwards at hearing that. Glad to have the company as his foxhole had felt overly large and empty since Julian’s death. Thus he didn't mind squishing up against the wall of his foxhole to make room for the medic, easing back once Spina found a comfortable spot to sit shoulder to shoulder with Easy’s lone medic.
Thought drifting back along that line of thinking, drawing up memories from before the war, back home, had Heffron speaking up again after several minutes of quiet , “Hey, Ralph?”
“Yeah?” Spina angled his head to face Heffron, sniffing lightly against his runny nose from the ever present chill that clung to the air and everything it touched.
Heffron paused a moment, uncertain exactly how to express his next question, “When Gene wakes up, will he still be Gene?”
Spins threw the other trooper a curious look, “Whatcha mean?”
“Well, when a neighbor friend of mine back in Philly took a baseball to the side of the head, was out for three days.” Heffron explained, giving context to his query, “When he did wake up, he wasn't him. Wasn't the same. Y’know, in the head, was different.”
Spina licked at his chapped lips, understanding now what Heffron's meaning was and trying to think of a good way to explain it without dashing or elating hope, “The brain’s a tricky organ, Babe, and I'm no doctor. I've seen heads take a lot of damage and be fine, same with the opposite. But I know Gene, and he's a tough s.o.b for all his soft talk and polite manners.”
Heffron chuckled, having both seen and heard stories of Easy’s quiet medic take on negligent superiors without fear, “Yeah, that's true.”
“You bet it is. You remember in Holland when Doc sliced his leg and kept going.” Spina reminded, shaking his head lightly at the memory.
“Yeah, you're right.” Heffron outright grinned, “Doc doesn't give up on any of us, so why give up on him, right?”
“Exactly.” Spina nodded, feeling his own sense of hope rising, despite his previous intentions.
“Thanks, Spina.” Heffron settled deeper into his coat in a futile attempt to ward off the ever encroaching cold, more so content now with Spina’s pep talk.
The medic merely nodded, lips pressed thin as he turned to watch the line right along with Heffron. Uncertain if his words would be of more harm than good if Roe didn't recover fully, or at all.
No less than five minutes later the at ease silence that spread between the pair was broken. First Sergeant Carwood Liption trotting up to the foxhole’s edge, crouching with a sincere yet apologetic smile. Meaning the news or orders he would have to give would be less than pleasant, better than his flat smile or pursed one, but still had Heffron and Spina bracing for bad.
“Hey, boys.” Lipton greeted, nodding to each of them but his gaze staying on the medic, “Spina, the replacement, John Ducaine, that caused the ruckus this morning isn't doing so hot. Mind checking on him?”
“That's what I'm here for.” Spina answered, trying seem unaffected by all that occurred and that he was ironically alone in a Company of men, a single medic with none to relate with Roe at the aid station.
“Yeah boy.” Lipton smirked, but offered a hand up to the medic, keeping low but still able to help pull the shorter man up and onto his feet.
“Thanks. Now show me to the kid?” Spina adjusted his medical bag along his shoulder as he followed Lipton back several foxhole, away from the forward line.
“Captain Winters said that Ducaine could come be a runner for him, get him off the line for a bit.” Lipton relaid as they walked, keeping his voice low but audible to the medic that followed closely, “I tried to offer it but I think he needs to hear from you on how Roe is and then ask him again.”
“All right. I'll see what I can do.” Unable to promise that he could fix the kid as mental issues were always touchy at any given time, but he'd definitely try his best to help.
Lipton patted Spina’s shoulder, “That's all I ask.”
Given the situation combined with the frigid elements , everyone's try at their best was all anyone could ask.
...
Few hours after Spina returned to his own foxhole, his pensive thoughts were interrupted by the soft crunch of footfalls on the fallen snow next to his foxhole. Glancing up he realised it was Skip Muck crouching beside the outer edge of his foxhole.
"Hey." Muck called in a soft greeting, much more subdued than his usual boisterous nature.
Spina straightened a slight, turning more so to face the other as he was addressed, "Hey, what can I do for you?”
"Doc's religious right? Heard him saying prayers before." Muck twirled his rosary between his fingers before continuing, "Think you could give his to him? Even if he's not awake, just put it in his pocket or something?"
Spina blinked, before reaching out for the proffered item. Nimble fingers clasping the treasured rosary, he'd seen Muck clutch it quite often when stressed or in thought.
"Yeah, he is.” Spina answered, still a bit stunned at the generous offer, “I'll be sure to lend it to him."
"Lend?" Muck asked, thinking he'd be parting with it for good as he was gifting it to their missing medic.
"Well, c'mon, it's not like he'd leave me alone to look after you all.” Spina pitched his voice a slight louder at noting a few peering eyes about, unintentionally eavesdropping, “That's just cruel!"
This pulled a laugh from Muck, uplighting a bit of the doubt that'd settle a slight too heavily given the atmosphere today.
"Nice to know you think so highly of us." Came a call that belonged to one George Luz, who's foxhole was situated closest to the pair.
"Ah, he's just being polite in saying us because he didn't want to call you out, Luz." Muck shot back, a grin pulling up the corners of his lips.
This brought snickers up from several listening men within their foxholes, succeeding in what the medic and two sergeants had been shooting for, so to speak. A bit of lifting of morale.
"Now I'm hurt. This true, Spina?” Luz asked, mock hurt colouring his tone as he sent a pout their way.
“Naw, of course not, Luz.” Spina hollered back, tone a slight too innocent sounding to be truthful, if anything it would be indulgent at best.
“Ah yeah, I feel real special now, don't I? Real loved.” Luz deadpanned, flicking his spent cigarette out of his foxhole in the direction of Muck and Spina.
“We still love ya, George!” Came tandem voices farther along the line, it sounding a lot like Malarkey and Hoobler.
“Thank you! See, someone appreciates me.” Luz called back before addressing the other two again, whilst a choir of chuckles rose and fell around them.
Yet the good humoured peace was short lived when the high pitched whistle of HE mortar rounds split the air and the resounding warning of incoming soon followed by earth quaking impacts of the sounds striking home. Everyone diving back into their foxholes, Spina reaching up to snatch Muck just as the other went to dive into the medic’s foxhole. Each ending up in a tangle of one another, fighting a moment to deprecate themselves.
"MEDIC!"
The cry went up almost instantly after the first few shells impacted the ground, sending up dirt and burning pieces of pin sized metal that showered around the landscape to blacken the snow and crater the earth. Nearly as instantly as the call went out, Spina was out of the foxhole and racing towards the cry's direction before Muck had a chance to say anything about it. Crouching low, mindful of the still falling mortar rounds, the medic sprinted towards a downed tree for cover before springing up to duck up against a still upright one and so on as he made his way towards the wounded man.
"MEDIC!"
Flopping himself to flat the ground, belly first with his hands clasping tightly to his helmet, out of battle born instinct when a shell exploded a mere twenty-five feet from his position, Spina prayed every syrette remained intact. Their glass encased needles broken easily in this kind of chill and once that was cracked there useless unless injected right away. Again the call for medic went up and so did Spina, clambering to his feet with practiced ease and setting out at a run once more.
"I got ya!" The medic's voice was more reassuring than any words Alley had ever heard, especially as the man snatched at his belt and pulled him towards a foxhole whilst the barrage continued. Having been caught just outside his 'hole when shrapnel was blown into his leg. Now he could safely thank the Lord his leg was still in one piece and didn't look to have anything wrong but a chunk of metal sticking out from it.
Though since hindsight is always 20/20, perhaps he should have waited a bit longer before offering his thanks in silent prayer.
Alarmingly close whistling sound of an a approaching round had Spina bodily throwing himself over Alley as the round came crashing down and exploding ten feet from the pair of them. Though Alley was near dizzy now from blood loss and the second skull rattling explosion, he felt Easy's lone medic raise up and begin pulling him again until they reached the relative safety of the foxhole.
Immediately, Spina felt at Alley’s leg; tearing at the tattered fabric of his ODs to expose the wound. Scissors, after finally being extracted from his medical bag, being utilised to cut away the rest of the pant leg and reveal a long slice of shrapnel embedded in the Sergeant's lower leg. Thin, sluggish rivulets of blood seeped from the edges where skin met metal.
Paying little heed to the continuing barrage going on around them, Spina remained focused on the task at hand; removing the shrapnel from Alley’s leg. Sliding his hands into his medical bag that lay slung at his side, the medic pulled out his scissors and a bandage, having it at the ready to contain the bleeding once he extracted the splinter of foreign material. Ducking instinctively against another close proximity impact and shower of a tree burst, bending forward over the sergeant's leg to protect his work area. Then setting to work at cutting away the rest of the red sodden pant leg, gaining access to the wound site.
“Looks like a clean hit, you're going to be fine.” Spina spoke up, needing to reassure the fidgeting trooper, knowing any wound frightened every man no matter the rank, and saying it wasn't as bad as it looked eased any panic.
Snatching a morphine syrette from his bag, Spina pulled the glass casing off to shove the wire downwards to expose the needle and stick it into the meat of Alley’s opposite leg. Squeezing the casing to release the pain medication, feeling the Sergeant relax under the effects ( or more so the knowledge the pain would soon be dulled ) before setting back to grip the shard and pull it from the flesh. A slight sucking sound accompanied the motion, blood leaking from the wound at a slow pace; merely beading up between the severed flesh and muscles. Meaning no major blood vessels had been him.
“No arteries were hit, buddy. Looking better every second.” Spina continued to speak, keeping up a lighter tone as he pressed a bandages to the bleeding wound and tied it tight.
“MEDIC!”
Another call for aid shot through the air, causing Spina’s head to snap up towards the direction of the call. Knowing Roe wasn't here to assist in multiple casualties that cropped up during extensive enemy fire. Thus twisting around towards Moe’s foxhole, Spina yelled out against the backdrop noise of a continued bombardment.
“Moore! Need you to keep an eye on Alley!” Spina turned to pin the empty syrette to Alley’s jacket sleeve, hauling himself out of the foxhole over to Moore’s, “Got it?”
“Yep!” Moore hollered back, still keeping low but having an eye on Alley’s foxhole to ensure the drugged sergeant stayed put, “I’ll bring him back once this ends!”
“Thanks!” Spina called back, already turning to sprint towards a repeated shout for him.
Another ear splitting explosion and a fray of blown of dirt following his run through the wood. The ever present cold fog swallowing his form whilst another shout for him sprang into the air.
…
“How is he?” Spina asked, stepping towards the nurse who sat beside Roe’s cot, wiping down his face with a clean cloth.
A bowl of red tinged water lay on the ground with a rust hinted white rag in it, and a spotless bandage lay wrapped around Roe’s head. She must have changed his bandages and was now ensuring he was comfortable. Unless infection set in while Spina was away.
“He sleeps still, but no fits and no infection has come.” Renee answered, her ever present accent doing nothing to dispel the tender affection colouring her words.
Relief washed over Spina, some of his anxiety leaving him ( but none of his worry ) at the news. Counting the small blessings is sometimes all you can do.
“I'll take whatever good news I can.” Spina huffed, humourless smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, glancing from the Belgian nurse to his inert partner on a cot.
“He is strong. This will not break him.” The nurse encouraged, turning away only when she heard her name being called, glancing at Spina one last time, she spoke softly, “Sit with him one moment? Maybe he can hear you, maybe not, but try?”
Spina watched her go, standing a moment to process her parting words. Never having given much thought to if unconscious patients could derive comfort from another’s spoken words or presence, it wasn't exactly something gone over in boot camp nor had Spina’s idle thoughts of late drift towards anything other than needed supplies. Perhaps, an occasional thought to home when his own morale took hit after hit the last few days. But it seemed worth a shot if it'd help Roe any, even a possibility of it made it worthy of trying.
Wasn't as if anyone would think him odd doing so. Every wound man situated in the church turned Aid Station was looking for some form of comfort, of pain relief; of both the physical and mental anguish. Thus Spina held no reservations as he knelt beside the cot Roe laid, hand on his arm to signify he was actually here.
“Hey, buddy. Not sure you can hear me, but wantcha to know Easy’s doing fine. I'm keeping an eye on them.” Spina cleared his throat, it feeling oddly tight, forcing a half smile to curve his lips, “But that's no excuse to just lay around, sleeping. We, me included, want ya to come back to us. Babe’s worried. Hell, I think even Cobb asked after how you were. Can ya believe that?”
Roe remained unresponsive, face still passive in sleep and frame still.
Spina sighed, rubbing his other hand down his face, it dropping before he remembered something, “Oh! I almost forgot, but don't tell Skip.”
Reaching into his chest pocket, Spina pulled out the carved rosary of Muck’s to gently intertwine it with Roe’s fingers, the rosary cross coming to rest between gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. The South Philly medic ensuring it was secure yet not tight nor would it be hindered by any movement show the other aid men have to move Roe while Spina was with the company.
“There.” He proclaimed after he was finished, looking to Roe’s sleeping features with a broad grin of his own, it tempered but not diminished at that, “Skip sent it. Cause, y’know, you're always praying and he thought it'd help. I promised him it was on loan though, so get better and bring it back to him.”
Spina ended with a bright smile that slowly lost its light at realising Roe wouldn't wake up to his rambling or the sincere gift. No groggy awakening for Spina to quip at as he’d fight to keep Roe on the cot until he was cleared, promising to update the medic as the nurse looked him over and would declare him fit. But it seemed that would remain a distant hope since Roe remained unconscious, pale and placid.
Leaning forward to rest his forehead against Roe’s shoulder, almost an instinctive action when needing strength; to lean against one of your brothers. And Spina wasn't sure which of them was trying to encourage the other now, he'd came to talk Roe back towards consciousness but yet drawing comfort from the simple gesture. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine they were in a foxhole, huddle together for warmth while Doc slept and Spina kept watch.
Strangled cries of a man struggling through the pains of his wound interrupted the private moment, shattering Spina’s moment of fallacy. Reality seeping in once more, reminding him of his friend’s condition and the weight that now lay on his shoulders. And solely his.
Sitting with Roe a few moments more, silently reciting a prayer he'd heard his father say while at his uncle’s bedside while his uncle fought through illness. It'd intrigued him at the time and thus when he asked about it, his father had taken him to his study to explain the different prayers that could be said. Many for many different reasons. His father further told him that prayers for others mattered most, and he'd been reciting a prayer met to ask God’s assistance in healing a loved one or friend.
Even though God didn't seem to present out here; in the field, on the battlefield or in here; with the wounded and sick. Spina still believed, there was a reason for everything that happened, and while Roe would make an excellent angel, he was still needed here. He was sure of it, for Roe patched so many up and defied the enemy's’ attempts to knock him flat, and still kept going. This wouldn't break him. Couldn't break him. He still had work to do here on Earth.
Sniffing harshly, Spina stood quickly, to pat Roe’s shoulder as he hoarsely spoke, “I better get back to Easy. Who knows what sorta hell they got into while I was dropping off Alley. Who's going to be okay by the way. Rest up. You'll need it once your back.”
Nodding to the kind nurse, signalling that he was leaving, and offering a parting smile of understanding, Spina trotted up the stone steps towards the exit. Shoving his hands into his pockets to ward off the chill as long as possible, hoping to hitch a ride back to the line from one of the MPs moving about outside. It'd be faster than walking.
Though he remained oddly numb to either option. He didn't care. So long as he got back with the men. He'd find one way or another to get back there. No matter how crazy it sounded. He would wade through the tide of death alone. To carry the responsibility of keeping each man alive and healthy as he could, willing to take the weight in full until his partner returned.
And forever more, if his partner didn't.
TBC