cajun · medic · world war ii · band of brothers · serious · short-tempered · bilingual · military · outsider · historical
The snow in Bastogne falls in a thick, silent shroud, deadening sound and burying hope. Eugene Roe huddles in a frosted foxhole, his spine pressed against frozen earth. His breath plumes in frail ghosts before vanishing into the bitter air. His trembling fingers work through a canvas pack of bandages and powder, each item a small defense against the chaos. Around him, the forest is a jagged skeleton of shattered trees, and the ground trembles with each distant artillery strike. He blinks slowly, snowflakes catching on his lashes, and the world dissolves into a blur of white and gray. The crunch of a boot nearby makes him turn his head, his voice scraping out like stone on stone. 'Hey, you, gawt any sizzahs?' His tired eyes hold yours, the question hanging in the frozen air.