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Easy Company


June 4th, 1942.
Camp Toccoa, Georgia.

Three lines of men stood at attention, the rigid form shown to superior officers. Eugene Roe watched as a man with the chevron of a Captain slowly paced back and forth, looking at each one of them. He tried his best to keep a straight face but this Captain's pacing was beginning to making him nervous, probably because of the silence they had been in for the past few minutes.
Camp Toccoa was a boot camp, a place to train the Airborne, the radical new idea created by the army. It's tactic was to train men to jump out of airplanes, surrounded by enemy, and fight them deep into their territory. He could still remember the selection as the announcer asked who wanted to volunteer for the airforce, who wanted to join the army, or the navy. Then the guy explaining mentioned the Airborne. Well neither he, nor anybody else knew whatever the hell the Airborne was. So the guy explained it, well, nobody put their hand up.
But it was somewhere, he couldn't remember how it had been brought up, but, he had said you'd earn an extra fifty dollars a month. That was a hundred dollars. He raised his hand.

"Easy Company!" The Captain called out, he stopped pacing, "You've been training for a few days now, but from now on i'm in charge of this company, not Lt. Spiers. My name, is Captain Sobel. Things are going to change. Be sure of that." He quickly started moving across the front line of soldiers, while Eugene tried not to see if he was being inspected when he heard a voice directly next to him. "What's your name, soldier?"
"Cross, James, Sir."
"Cross..." Muttered Sobel, pulling the bayonet knife from the soldier's belt sheathe and inspecting it, "Rust on the blade, Private Cross. Your weekend pass is revoked." Sobel started moving down the line, inspecting some of the men, passing at others.

He came to several names, and each time they had been given explanations as to their faults, and in turn their passes had been revoked. "Owen, Donald. Wire, Elijah. McGinnes, Jeremy. Marcus, Jason." At last, Sobel stopped in front of him, "When did you sew on these chevrons, Private...?"
"Roe, Sir. Eugene. Yesterday, Sir." He replied, at the same time Sobel pulled something off the chevron on his upper arm, and looked at it for a moment. It was a piece of thread.
"Long enough to notice this? Pass revoked."
Bastard. He grit his teeth and swallowed his pride as Sobel marched back to the front and addressed every man in the company, "I won't accept these kind of conditions. Not in this unit. This is not Fox company, or Dog company. This is not Baker company. This, this is Easy company. And it will be the finest in the regiment... Thanks to the infractions of your fellow privates, all weekend passes are revoked. Now, we're running up Currahee."

Another wonderful thing that had never occured to him when he joined the Airborne was Currahee. To be kind, Currahee was a three mile run up what felt like an almost vertical hill. It could have been a cliff, if it so wished. And the only thought that kept him going on these runs was the idea that maybe if he kept at it, and succeeded, he might get the oppertunity to be Sobel's blue-eyed boy for a few days, you know, piss in his morning coffee. He'd double run Currahee for that privaledge and he guessed most everyone else in the Company would as well. They spent 30 minutes running to the top and back that afternoon, and on the way back down it even started raining. Perconte slipped and twisted his ankle but that psycho, Sobel, refused to let me or anyone help him. Currahee, it meant 'We Stand Alone', and that's what we did.

When they finally reached the barracks it was almost nine at night and he was so tired he thought that if he took his boots off they'd never fit back on again. He was lying on his bunk, reading a book and listening to the heavy rain just outside, and there was a window right next to his bunk. Like all the companies on Camp Toccoa, bunks were double and in rows so that the entire company could sleep in a single large room. There was 30 of them, and even though only days had passed he remembered quite a few names. He specifically remembered the names of the men, like him, who had been called out to have their passes revoked. Even though the whole company had lost their passes anyway. There was also Perconte, Guarnere, Webster, and a few others he knew he had heard but hadn't remembered. 30 was too many to remember in a couple of days anyway. Tomorrow they'd be up at the crack of dawn to run Currahee, just like every other day. He wondered when they'd be seeing combat, but he knew that could wait, and so for now, he read his book and listened to the rain and the men moving around and doing things in the dimly lit room.

A smudge of polish. No bigger then a nickel. Jeremy hadnt even seen it, really; he hadnt dared look down when Captain Sobel called him on it. Just stood there and shrunk a little deeper into his uniform as the Captain had taken away his pass.

His boots had been as black as glass, this morning. He'd spit and glossed and buffed until he could see the vague outline of his own reflection in the tips. It'd been perfect; he was proud of his efforts. It must've happened when he put them on; bending down to tighten the laces. Just the merest smudge of black on the left sleave of his jacket...and he was done.

He'd heared others grumbling, up the long run of that blasted mountain. How in God's green earth was a missed button or a loose thread going to loose the war? The Huns werent holding inspections, for pete's sake.

But Jeremy'd seen a prized boat go straight to the bottom for similar things. A shoddy seam here, a loose rope there... He didnt like the Captain, but some of the bastard's lessons were well-meant.

And others.... Well, when he'd been foolish enough to raise his hand at the lure of an extra 50 bucks - that was a lot of money to a poor New England fisherman - he'd also been foolish enough to answer the recruiting sargent's questions truthfully. And he'd been told only a few days ago that, when the company shipped out, he'd be attending all of their medical needs.

He'd been flabbergasted; his locker now stuffed with manuals and supplies he was to memorize. He'd tried to go to the Captain, to explain his... circumstances. The office door had rung with the man's bellows, and McGinnes was still in the same boat he'd been in. His file still read 'Company Medic'.

"Come on, Perconte, the boot's gotta come off." He murmurs to the man that'd twisted his ankle on the run. He was just as tired as anyone here, but if it was what he had to do, it was what he had to do. This was simple enough that he actualy looked like he knew what he was doing as he wrapped a bandage around his fellow private's leg.

It was a quick enough fix, and he nodded when he was done; heading back to his own bunk. Useing the key on his dogchain to open the footlocker, he pulls out one of many instructions, flops onto the thin mattress, and frowns at the illustrations on how to remove an appendix with nothing but a pocketknife and field dressings.

...Lovely.

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It was never really quiet here. That's what he liked least about the military. It was never quiet. Sometimes he just wanted some peace to sit and think. Still, he had better get used to it. He hadn't been here that long really. His boots were stowed next to his bunk and he was flat on his bunk, trying to relax.

Briefly, when he had first arrived, he had tried to obtain the top bunk, but there were much bigger men here and it seemed that none of them were very happy with him. Private Cross had had a few accidents since he had arrived here and they had not reflected well on the men. He missed home and the simple life where he had been a butcher. Cutting up meat was easy. Training to cut up living men, that was something else.

He sighed to himself, wiggling his toes back to life. The walk had taken a lot out of him and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Back home he was a walker, so he was more accustomed to it than some of the men here, but it was still tough to the extreme. Every day was the same. Another thing he didn't like about the military. They had walked up and down Currahee again and again since he had started here. Though he was hardly one desiring to rush into battle and kill every German he could he had expected something more than walking. At least he wasn't in the trenches.

The trenches scared him. He had heard every story in the book about them. Horrible, decrepit places filled with disease, famine and death. This was, unfortunately, a military life. This meant that it was something he was meant to be accustomed to, but he was scared. He was very scared of where this life would lead him. James Cross had not wanted to join the military. He sighed again.

Knowing he had to get it done sooner or later James sat up and rifled through his equipment. His bayonet knife was, of course, exactly where he had left it. Rust? Rust indeed. Cross could see nothing. He examined it all over, looking for the supposed reason for the removal of his freedom. His weekend pass was important to him. He wanted to get out of here. Perhaps go into town and see the ladies. There were some wonderful ladies in town, all glad to see Easy Company out and about. He wondered briefly if Lydia missed him. Then he spotted the rust. Right at the tip. Sobel was right. That would actually need clearing up. Private Cross had let his team down. He started to chip away at it slowly. That wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all.

Generally, James Cross took a lot of pride in whatever work he was doing. Even work as hard and grueling as this was neccessary and he refused to let anybody down. While the rest of the company shifted and talked, he worked.

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I'll let you die with pride...

Jason sighed, listening to the rain. He was exhausted and couldn't stand without wavering on his feet. He glanced around the room, looking at his fellow men who were doing their own thing, he sat up on his bunk with a book in his hand, Romeo and Juliet,the book's cover said, truth be told, he never read Shakespeare if he could help it, but this time he felt the urge to read it.

The old english language confused him, but he loved the archaic style of the writing. "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? What's in a name..." he whispered to himself, as he read,before he stuck his head under his to the guy underneath him, "so when do you think we'll actually get out of these barracks? I'm starting to get claustrophobic in here and there's plenty of space," He said with a slight smile as he held onto his bunk with one hand and a book with the other.

((sorry for the short post, I haven't got enough time to write a long length one at the moment))

He wanted to be a pilot. He had tried to go to the office, drove all the way to Atlanta to do it. Don had never ever been to Atlanta, so it wasn't a shock when he instantly got lost upon entry. He must have took his father's truck up and down every street in Atlanta, never bothering to ask for directions from any of the locals. Truth be told, he was too scared. The city dwellers might have been from another country, he didn't recognize them at all. They wore clean suits. Sharply dressed with a neat tie and a hat. Pressed pants and clean black shoes. They filled the restaurants with the thick smoke of cigarettes and cigars. Sipping on alcohol, it was barely past noon. They carried black or brown briefcases, filled with lord knows what. Don wasn't an illiterate man, per-say. He could read a newspaper just fine. Some of the old books eluded him. He was good at reading technical stuff though, he needed to for his job. He fixed radios. The only fixer in the county, and good at his trade. Speedy but ever so through, Don did his business honestly. He rarely wronged or hurt anybody. And ironically, he was joining the military.

Don parked his truck on the side of the street and turned it off. He couldn't find it and for all he knew, there might have not been an office at all. He sat with his head resting on the steering wheel for lord know how long. He couldn't go home. What was he going to tell his dad. “Sorry Dad, I couldn't find the recruiter for the army, I guess I'm not going.” He almost cried. His tears receded after he heard a knock on window. Don popped up, startled. He man had a green uniform and a big, bright smile. And with a hand outstretched he looked straight at Don and asked him to “talk to him for a minute”.

The next thing Don knew he was in some god forsaken army camp in some remote part of the state. This place too, was full of strangers. Don found it humorous that his situation had not improved at all. There were airplanes here, but Don was shocked to discover that he wouldn't get to fly one at all. In fact, he was required to do the opposite. They told him it was a good idea to jump out of the plane. For the first time, he began to question the outcome of the war. What worse, Don made the mistake of telling them that he worked on radios. They issued him a radio and told him to memorize the thing “inside and fucking out” on his “own fucking time”. He planned to on the weekend. However, all passes have been revoked. Now he sat on his bunk trying to decipher some bureaucratic radio manual. Nuts.

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OOC: I've waited as long as i could but i'm not waiting any longer, anyone who has not posted but had been accepted in the rp, is no longer able to post. Sorry, but i want to continue the story with members who can keep up. Again, sorry.
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They had been training for months now, Sobel always on their heels. They spent one morning vomiting as they ran up Currahee. They'd been told that they had been given an afternoon of light class study because of the heavy rain, even given spaghetti. Well, it wasn't really spaghetti. Spaghetti isn't orange sauce with army noodles. But they ate it all the same, in fact, we ate so much that when Sobel rushed in and announced a change of orders several of the men puked on the spot. They marched up that hill, but they still lost a couple of people that day, it was a turning point for Easy Company. They lost 4 men, just packed up their things and were transferred out of the Airborne.

It was a hard thing to watch, but there was nothing we could do. Combat training began. They were knelt in a long line while a CO walked back and forth behind them, while each of them fired a thompson rifle over and over at the targets until their clips were empty and they had to reload. Eugene found he was a decent shot, while a lot of the men found it difficult. One man though, Shifty, he was an amazing shot. And the only man to hit the 'head' section of the target. The closest he had gotten was shooting a piece just outside the area, probably an ear he said to himself, smiling. He reloaded his empty rifle and started firing again.

He had made a lot of friends in the Company but none better than the men in the 1st Platoon with him, namely Do, Cross, Marcus and Doc. He looked to his left and right and saw them firing their rifles and he wondered what was going through their heads as they fired.
The thing that stood out most about combat training happened just a few days later, they were in a forest for hours, each Platoon seperated and charged with capturing each other. Just an exercise but everybody took it very seriously, no more so than Captain Sobel. However, we discovered something that day in the woods that he didn't think he could ever forget.
"O-okay, so the, uh..." Sobel turned the map around and looked at it again, "So the, uh, the..." He pointed at a section of the map, "We're here and, then, our objective..."
"Here, Sir." Pointed Marcus, as Eugene exchanged a worried glance with him.

In combat, Sobel got jumpy. He'd get jumpy and you'd get killed. In an operational sense, anyway. Though he knew he and the other men of Easy all agreed that following Captain Sobel into combat was not on their objectives, there were a couple of CO's they agreed would be better but all agreed the best they could hope for was Winters. Lt. Winters was a confident red-haired man, and a leader. They all trusted him, most of them liked him. He stopped thinking about all these things and tried not to burn their dinner, they were sat inside the back of a truck with a small burner cooking a pot full of stew, of course, doing it inside because of light discipline. Their training was going to be over soon, and that meant combat.

"Hey, Cross, pass me that, that," Eugene pointed at the salt on the other side of the pot and took it with a nod when it was passed to him, "Hey, i don't know about you guys but Sobel is a fuckin' hayseed." He said, laughing and stirring the pot.
"What chance has he got, if the jerries don't get him, we do." Guarnere added, laughing.
"Yeah." Eugene tasted the stew, "Okay, okay, so i think it's almost done."
"What the hell's that smell? Jesus." Marcus muttered.
"Ah, shut up, Marcus, it tastes fine." Eugene took the man's cup and filled it with the stew and did the same for everyone else, they all started to eat. Just at that moment the front flap of the tent opened up and Lt. Winters stuck his head through.

"Evenin', Sir." Eugene nodded at him.
"Evening, men." The man replied, smiling at all of them, "What the...?" He said, smelling the air, his face scrunching up, "What is that, what died?" He frowned.
"It's Doc's ass," Do said, laughing. They all laughed.
"Speak for yourself." Doc replied. Eugene offered his cup to the Lt. who took a sip and gave it back. He wrapped his hands around the cup to warm them, "So what are we doing then, Lt? Someone in 2nd Platoon told me he knows where we're landing."
"Yes, i only found out myself a few hours ago." Winters looked at each of the men and sighed, telling them at this point wouldn't matter, they'd find out soon enough. "It's Normandy."
"Normandy?" Eugene muttered, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it with a match.

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Jason spluttered some of his stew when he heard Normandy mentioned, "Please tell me you're not serious right?" he asked nervously, his hands shaking as he tried to strady himself.

He looked at the others who were around him, wondering why they weren't as nervous as he was. He didn't know why he had joined, stupid family traditions as he put it. He did enjoy being with the company, he had a few friends in the group. He looked at them all, his nervousness apparent.

"We're gonna get fucking killed if we go there, those bastard Nazi's put a shitload of defences up from what I've heard," he said after a moment, as he placed his cup down to stop him from spilling it everywhere. "They're like bloody Cockroaches, step on one and a whole load explode from the fucker."

"Normandy?" McGinnes repeated, just as increadulous as the others. Wide-eyed at the lieutenant, he shakes his head slowly and sets down his cup of stew; appetite lost.

"But....If..."

His thoughts were just as incomplete as his words, and he looks back down, deep in thought, wringing his chilled hands.

"...When?"

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Listening quietly as the older men talked about the news winters had just revealed he sighed to himself. No one could blame a single one of them for being afraid, Normandy right now is probably the most dangerous place in the world to be and they were going to be dropped in the middle of it all. Truth be told he even felt a bit unerved by the news, but he didn't dwell to on it to much. It's like his dad had told him before he left. "You think too much son and I can almost garrauntee you'll be shot." Needless to say he believed every word of it. His father had been a WWI veteran, he had seen the horrors and dangers of war, and never once did he talk about it. Nor did most of the people he asked, he just figured it was to traumatic. Not once in his life though did he figure he would end up in one himself, it had suprised him very much to hear that things were heating up but war didn't seem likely. Eventualy there was a choice he had to make, but that being said he wasn't absolutely sure what he was thinking when he joined the army let lone the paratroopers. All the same though when his friends answered the call he had as well. Still had he not gone he might be back at home helping his dad back in New Orleans with his construction company.

Funny how life works...

If he were to join a company though he glad it was this one for a sole reason, for all his incompetence Sobel was going to have them ready by the time they reached combat. Turner hoped to god though he would not be leading them in the field though; if he did it was almost certain to be a slaughter. He was probably the only CO that Joel even had a problem with. How ever at this point in time there was really nothing any of could do about. If they even mentioned the idea of having him removed from his position the most likely of scenarios would be them being court-martialed or worse, definitely not the best idea from his stand point.

Joel took a minute to look around at his squad, which in his opinion were the most reliable men in the platoon. Sure he didn't know them very well, but it was just a feeling that he could trust these guys with his life. He looked over at Roe who he was the wring leader of the men in the truck. He seemed to take the news a bit better than the rest of them which made Turner feel a bit better that they had some good leaders in easy. He looked at the rest of his squad members whos names really didn't stick out to him, there were a few though: such as Cross, McGinnes, and Jason(Whose last name slipped his mind)but other than that he couldn't really remember. Hell he even had a hard time remembering their Sgts. name. He figured he mione as well add his two cents into the conversation so he spoke up.

"I figure it won't be too long at this point, but don't worry about it now just relax."