[Timmay]

Synopsis: The battle of the bulge, through the eyes of a Medic. Expect more of the same, because I'm a simple guy. The names might get confusing, but you pretty much only have to know about MAtt and Speirs. Based on actual events. Band of brothers fans, piss yourselves.



"For Christ's sake, Private! Move on to someone you can help! He's dead!"

Matt had to admit, Tony didn't look very good. Perhaps it was the remains of the 88 shell lodged in his throat and the gurgling caused by it, or possibly because most of his face was covered in splinters from the exploding trees. It didn't seem right, though, just leaving him on the frozen ground.

"Damnit Matt, help another person!"

Matt set the now helpless Tony down and looked at his surroundings. There were two people who were wrecks on the ground, Brian and Rich. Matt looked at the two and hesitated; didn't know who to help next. Brian looked pretty bad, given that his ankle was blown off his leg.

Matt's eye shifted to Rich; he didn't have any detached body parts, but the Germans seemed to have aimed for him while firing there remorsless monstrosities. Matt could see the remnants of a few 88 shells that had exploded around him, and Rich's body seemed to be surrounded by a pinkish snow and blood mix.

Don't worry Brian, your next, thought Matt. "Hey, Private! Help me get this guy up!" Shouted the Medic to no one in particular as he rushed over to the wounded man.

Matt looked at Rich's broken figure. "Hey Rich, how you doin'?" said Matt.

A muffled reply came back from Rich's twisted face. Judging by what he saw, Matt figured Rich had two broken legs and a broken right arm, with various bruises and wounds by the 88 shells.

"Private, help me lift him. Lift by the arms. Try not to let his legs drag on the ground."

Matt and the Private ran as fast as they could further into the woods. Once the explosions and splintered trees became less common, Matt decided to put poor rich down.

"O.K., this is good. Private, I want you," started Matt as he rummaged through his med kit, not finding plasma or morphine. "Shit. Private, stay with Rich. Keep him awake. A jeep is gunna come by here in a few minutes. Tell them to send another jeep for Brian. Go into town with Rich, and get me goddamn supplies. Morphine, plasma, anything and everything a medic needs. And get yourself a hot meal, too. Got all that?"

The Private nodded, and Matt was on his way. Sprinting back to the line, the 88's became more sporadic. Although he couldn't see him through the grounded evergreens, Brian was screaming in pain, only about 100 yards away. Matt shouted into the distance, "I'm coming Brian! Hold on!"


In a matter of 30 seconds, Matt was kneeling over Brian's moaning figure while a few men from 2nd platoon crowded over him. With the speed of a skilled surgeon, Matt got a cloth made of his own uniform and wrapped it around the stub that was left of Brian's ankle. The shell had taken out Brian's leg up to the middle of his calf.

Matt's first concern was that the pain would send Brian into a state of shock, but he seemed to be calming down, breathing regularly, and looking around at the men of 2nd. In truth, he was looking more embarrassed than in pain.

Matt's second fear was assuaged when he realized that the heat of the explosion that took off his leg actually fused the artery in Brian's leg; If that artery was pumping blood, he would quickly die of blood loss. Grant you, a fused artery would cause plenty of problems for the field surgeons in the city, but it made Matt's job easier.

"Anyone have morphine?" One of the 30 men stepped up and handed Matt a tiny needle.

"Here, Matt," Said corporal Wade Jackson.

Brian struggled to his ass and stopped Matt from sticking the syrette into his leg. "No, save it, I'm fine," Brian mumbled.

Matt looked through the crowd, finding the radioman. "Hill, call the jeeps, we can't move Brian."

Hill obeyed, walking away from the men calling for the jeep. Matt looked back at Brian, wishing there was something that would keep his hands busy; they were trembling from fear and panic.


After about 5 minutes, a jeep came picked up Brian, who was sufficiently quieted since the mishap of the 88. It seemed that Rich was also picked up, along with the Private who was going to pick up supplies for Matt. Everything seemed to have cooled down amply enough for everyone to go back into their foxholes and watching the line, making sure no Germans tried to take their position, praying that the 88's stayed quiet. Matt was sitting in his foxhole, scooping snow into his helmet to cool down his head, when Lieutenant Speirs appeared over his foxhole.

"Private, come with me."

When Speirs gave you an order, you better hope that you follow it. Apparently, he once shot one of his own men, just for being drunk and refusing to go onto a patrol. He also supposedly killed 20 German POWs on D-Day, but the most amazing part is he killed them after he gave them smokes. Matt looked at Speirs. He believed the rumors. The Lieutenant had that "look."

"Well, Private, are you coming?"

"Oh. Sorry. Yes sir," Matt stammered as he climbed out of his foxhole.

The pair walked far enough to make sure they were out of earshot from the other men, and Speirs gave Matt a stern look.

"Private, what the hell happened?" Speirs asked without raising his voice.

Matt was confused. What did Speirs mean? Did he do something bad? As if he could read his mind, Speirs started, "Today, why did you hesitate? Why didn't you just pick a man to help and get to it? And why didn't you try to keep Private Vich alive? He was clearly dead after the 88 shell exploded by him."

"Oh," said a relieved but surprised Matt. "I couldn't decide who needed more help, Rich or Brian. And I figured I could have saved Tony."

"For Christ sake, use their last names. And it shouldn't have taken you an entire minute to decide who to help. They were both in bad shape, so you should have just gone to the person closer to you. But you didn't. You went to the person who was farther away. What the hell was that?"

Now absolutely humiliated and down heartened, Matt looked at the ground, giving it a "It won't happen again, sir..." and was left to stew in his own guilt as Speirs marched away.


Nothing happened for about a day, and Matt got his supplies. According to the Private, Rich would never walk right again, but he would live. Brian, on the other hand, suffered a mistake by a novice medic at the aid station, and died when the artery Matt was so worried about was cut. War is hell.

Matt was ordered to go over to Easy company to see if they needed any help. Matt seriously doubted they needed his support; the Medic they had, Doc Roe, was one of the best he had ever seen, although he always had this bizarreness to him.

After a short walk over to Easy and a weak welcome by Lieutenant Compton and First Sergeant Lipton, Matt went looking for Roe, who was relaxing in his foxhole.

"Hey there, Doc Roe! You got everything covered over here?" Matt questioned as he knelt down next to the Doc.

"Hey there, Private. How is everything?"

That stung. Here Matt was, calling the Roe by his last name, and Roe didn't return the tiny courtesy; he was just "Private." Not Matt, not even Doc. Just Private.

"You need help?" Matt immediately asked; he knew the answer, and there was no reason to lengthen the visit with meaningless conversation.


Roe nodded as he drained his canteen. "Ya. Do you have..." Roe checked his kit. Matt took a peek into his bag. It was almost completely empty. "Jesus, do you have anything? Plasma, bandages, syrettes? Oh, and scissors, you got those?"

Matt shook his head. "I can give you some morphine, but that's it. I need the plasma, and I barely have enough bandages for my own guys; I've been using parts of my uniform."

"Scissors? I can't find a pair."

Matt shook his head again, but this time the Earth moved with him.

"Oh shit!" Roe hissed, to which someone in another foxhole replied, "88s!"

The 88s that crashed near Roe's foxhole rocked the land. It was truly incredible to watch. It was amazing to see a small piece of metal make a giant evergreen explode.

Through the rubble and scrap, the word "Medic!" was thrown into the air. Matt, who was just ripped into Roe's foxhole by the Medic himself, struggled to get up. Roe put his hand on Matt's shoulder, preventing him from getting up. "I got this handled. You go back to D company."

"You got it. Here, morphine," said Matt as he tossed Roe a syrette. Matt got up after Roe was gone and ran towards D company.


Things weren't as bad as he expected when he got back on the line, but Speirs was pissed.

"Private! Get to helping!" He bellowed over the 88s.

The problem was, work as a medic is hard if no one is really injured. Only PFC London was growling in pain. He had his hand right hand over his left bicep. Matt ran over to him, where he cursed as his face contorted with anger and hurt.

"Hand off your arm. Let me see it."

The wound wasn't nearly as bad as London was playing it up to be. As far as Matt could see, the blast just ripped some skin off. It wasn't even bad enough for morphine. Matt got out one of the last bandages he had and prepared to wrap it around the wound when London stopped him.

"Don't worry Doc, I'm fine. It's nothing. Don't call a jeep."

Matt looked at him with a smirk. "Don't worry; it's not bad enough..."



"Matt, get your ass over here," Speirs said.

Jesus Christ. Matt just couldn't get a break. "Yes sir..."

Matt expected Speirs to take him far into the woods again to lecture him. Instead, he just took him a few feet from the foxhole.

"Better, Matt. Much better. You didn't hesitate. You knew right where to go. You did good. Keep it up."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, sir." said a shocked Matt to the clearly unhappy Speirs (Why he was unhappy, God only knows).

"Go check up on Corporal Mohr. He was limping after the artillery strike. I told him to see you, but I'm guessing he never did."

"Yes sir. I'll see how he is."


"Mohr, what's with your leg?" Matt grunted as he climbed into Mohr's foxhole.

"Doing just fine, Doc..."

"I never asked how you were; I asked what's with your leg."

Matt looked at Mohr. He looked O.K., with the exception of a small hole on his clothes' left thigh, along with some discolor in the cloth around the rip. It seemed to be stained in blood.

"What happened? Why are you limping? And what's with the hole in your trousers?"

Matt, remembering a trick from Basic, leaned over to Mohr and slapped his leg, right next to the hole. Mohr winced.

Matt gave Mohr a "C'mon, I can help" look and said "What happened? What's wrong?"

Sighing, Mohr got his two index fingers, put them in the rip, and opened it further. In it was a chipped piece of wood about an inch deep in his skin. He was still bleeding.

"It was the 88, right?"

"Yeah. It blew up a tree next to the foxhole I was in. It fell on it, and, I dunno, a broken branch or something went into my leg. No one saw it, and I didn't want to be a nuisance."


"Jesus man, that's not smart. Look at this, its still bleeding." Matt stopped talking so he could think. A terrible thought entered his brain. "Wait, Mohr. How long ago was the bombardment?"

"I'd say... 20 minutes ago."

"Christ." Matt's though became blatantly obvious. "Do you have a history of Hemophilia?"

Mohr gave him a long, blank, confused stare. Matt got out his last bandage and wiggled out the timber from Mohr's leg.

"When you were younger, did you bleed a long time when you got cut?"

Mohr nodded as Matt stuck a syrette in his leg, just above the wound.

"O.K., we need to get you off of the line."

Mohr was shocked and angry at this suggestion.

"What the-" Matt cut Mohr off.

"Mohr, if you have a history of Hemophilia, you could bleed a trenchworth with a little wound like this."

"I'm not going off the line Matt. No matter what you say, I'm not-"

Mohr was cut short by a shell, which exploded outside of the foxhole. Matt, who could hear ringing in his ear, shook of his shell-shock and looked at Mohr.

"Mohr! Mohr! Are you O.K.!?"

Truth is, Mohr couldn't hear him, because the shell cut half of his face off. Matt was saved by the artillery by Mohr's body. It's hard to be killed by shrapnel if someone blocks your way.

Matt waited in the foxhole as trees willingly exploded around him until he heard the familiar cry of "Medic!" before rushing out of the foxhole. Why get yourself killed before anyone needs you? It was Brogotti who called for help. Matt got out of the hole and sprinted towards the sound.

"Agghh! Help! Medic! Doc! Aggh! Help!"

Brogotti was in his foxhole with a halo of blood around his head, augmented by the white snow.


"Jesus, Brogotti, hold on!"

Brogotti was shaking and moaning in his foxhole. He didn't look good; blood covered his face and was still flowing with no intention of stopping. He no longer had his left arm, and his front, all that Matt could see anyways, was peppered with tree and little remorseless pieces of metal. His right hand was covering his eyes.

"Brogotti, I'm here, man! I gotcha."

Matt started pulling the big chunks of wood stuck in Brogotti's torso with one hand while sticking the poor soldier with two shots of morphine.

"I'm here buddy. Don't worry. You're gonna be fine."



The 88s stopped, and for the first time, Matt felt completely alone. The only other sound was Brogotti's groans and the creaking of the trees, or what remained of them. Matt had taken out most of the splinters, and Brogotti was sufficiently anesthetized. Brogotti's worst injury was his missing arm, which would have to be amputated from the elbow. Brogotti would also be blind because of the shrapnel. Matt assumed a piece of timber mixed with rocks lodged themselves into Brogotti's eyes and he blinked them in.

Matt's chief problem was his lack of bandages. He once again resorted to using his own uniform to cover all the serious injuries. By the time the jeep came, Matt almost had no cover from the elements; his shirt had been transformed into makeshift bandages. Everyone else was okay, however, and when the artillery stopped, they were all just happy they had their lives. They knew nothing of the wounded comrade crying on the ground.

"You're gunna be O.K. Brogotti. Your gunna be O.K." were Matt's parting words to the poor man as he was hoisted onto the jeep's hood.



"Where's Speirs?"

Matt was standing over a foxhole of 3 men.

Sergeant Smith was the first to respond. "Excuse me, good sir, but please knock first before entering my threshold." Matt and the other two men laughed "Why don't you try his foxhole?"

"I did. He isn't there."

One of the men, Private Doyle, snorted. "Jesus doc," He said as Matt walked away from the hole. "Do I look like his biographer? I don't know where he is."


Matt marched around looking for Speirs. He needed to talk to him. He had a problem.

"Hey guys, where is Speirs?" Matt said as he approached another hole of men.

A cold voice came from behind Matt. "Right behind you, Private. Your Lieutenant is behind you."

Matt spun around to see Speirs glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I need to talk."

"Well then, Private, talk to me."

Matt looked into the hole where the men were looking up, interested in what the Medic had to say to the Lieutenant. "Sir, it's private."

"Alright Private, follow me."

The two men walked in an eerie silence over to Speirs's foxhole and jumped in.

"Yes, Matt."

Matt was amazed. Speirs used his first name.

"Sir, I just can't do this. I need to go off the line."

"What the hell? Continue."

"Sir, I have to stop this. This lying. It hurts. All I do is lie. I don't do anything special. All I do is natural instinct. I just I put a fuckin needle in someone and then do what I can to stop bleeding. Shit, most of the time I can't even do that. Do you know what I learned at basic? Huh? I learned how to lie to someone. I learned how to say 'Don't worry, you'll be fine.' I'm fuckin useless! And I hat having to lie to my friends! You saw Brogotti! He was hopeless. And there I was, lying to him. 'Don't worry Brogotti. You're O.K. Oh, you can't see? Don't worry. You're O.K. We can fix that.' I can't do it anymore. It's to fuckin... I can't do it. I'm done."

Matt was crying, and his tears froze in the cold as they ran down his face. Speirs just gave Matt a hard, unreadable look.

"Well, Speirs! Huh!"

"Matt I know. It's hard. I had to look at Private Brogotti to. But you calmed him down. And if that's what it takes, then that's what you have to do."

Speirs walked off, leaving Matt in the foxhole.

Matt was about to get out of his foxhole when Speirs turned his head and said, "Bravery is being afraid, but not letting anyone else know."

[Tahn]

Gj, you captured the WWII genre great with your simplicity. Maybe a little lengthy, others great job bud

[Ferris]

Alright then, lets get stuck in:

First-off, its not such a great original idea. Band of Brothers it is =)

I'm certain that the matter-of-fact way you have written this keeps it clear cut and decisive, but I would personally prefer to see a little more description to the emotions that should be flying around the place. I could not help but feel distanced a little too much.

Also, the dialog involved, I thought it was a little bit flat. There was very little face to face chat that could have made this piece a little more life-like. A short description of a facial expression can do wonders in a conversation like these shown.

"Mohr, if you have a history of Hemophilia, you could breed to death from a little wound like this." - Nice, I'd like to go that way if I had to!

There are a few more mistakes, mainly spelling I think, but I will let you proof read it.

I'd suggest you go through it and add a few metaphors. They don't have to be complicated ones, but certainly a few basic ones could add a little more life to this piece easily.

Good so far, let me know when you have made a few changes!

Ferris

[Timmay]

ive never been good with writting emotion.

chances are, i wont touch this for a while kuz it was the only story i posted that i had time to think about. im a much better spontanious writter; i think that "statistics" (d-day + 3 story) was one of my better pieces of crap cuz i wrote it outta sheer bordness.

read statistics for better quality writting; expect similar stuff, kuz war is boring. keep in mind tho, this is third person; im observing not doing the action.

[Gurdit]

I liked it.
You made a few grammatical errors here and there, I thought, but on the whole, it's a very interesting read.
I myself have not read a lot of war-based stories or seen too many movies or TV shows about war, so I'm not bored of them (yet).

But just one thing... why is it titled "Bulge"?

[Timmay]

battle of the bulge