SquidgeWorld Archive

Title: "Carry On"

Author: TheQueenly1, a.k.a. Darkover

Disclaimer: I do not own "Band of Brothers," the miniseries, and of course neither I nor anyone else own the men upon whom the miniseries was based, as they were and are real people, and very admirable ones. While this story was inspired by some real events, the story itself is pure fiction. No offense is intended, and I sincerely hope none is taken. I am not making any money off of this, so please do not sue.

Rating: FRC. There is no violence or sex, and only a couple of profanities.

Summary: Lipton helps Speirs deal with an issue. This is friendship only, no slash.

Author's Note: This takes place very shortly after the events of my first BoB story, "His Wife." This is intended as a sequel to that story, but it can also be read as a stand-alone. Regardless, please read and review! I live for feedback.

"What do you mean, Captain Speirs is back?" Carwood Lipton demanded.

"Just what I said, Lipâ€"sorryâ€"Lieutenant," replied Sgt. Floyd Talbert, mindful of the recent promotion of the former First Sergeant of Easy Company. "He's in his office. I just came from there."

"He's supposed to be in England," Lipton argued. "He just started a two-week furlough, and he was looking forward to it."

Talbert shrugged. "Dunno what to tell you, sir. Captain Speirs is definitely present and accounted for. Alton More can testify to that, too. Cap'n Speirs was sure tearin' a strip off of him when I went in."

"What for?"

"Some album that was supposed to have Hitler's personal snapshots in it, sir." Talbert looked momentarily thoughtful. "Funny thing about that, Lieutenant. Of course, we all know that ol' Bloodyâ€""

"That's 'Captain Speirs,' Sergeant," Lipton corrected firmly.

"Yes sir. Captain Speirs. We know that he'll loot anything that isn't nailed down, and if it was, he'd prob'ly take the nails, too. But this was different. I kinda got the impression that he really didn't care all that much about the photo album. That wasn't what he was shoutin' about."

"Speirs was shouting?"

"Yes sir. That's a big part of why it was so strange. I mean, Cap'n Speirs isn't as calm and cool as Major Winters, but he's no Lt. Shames, either. What was that Webster said about him once? 'An iron hand in a velvet glove.' Web was quoting somebody, I think. Anyway, that's more Captain Speirs' style. But he was really yellin' at More, saying; 'I don't believe you!' I got the impression that was what was really botherin' him: that he thought More was lying. Like he thought he was bein' deceived, y'know? His last words to More as Alton left his office were; 'You better not be lying to me.'" Talbert shrugged again. "Maybe I'm just imagining things."

Carwood doubted that very much. Floyd Talbert was far from stupid, but he was one of the least fanciful men Lipton had ever met. He owed the injuries he had sustained in the now-infamous "Night of the Bayonet" to the fact that he had never imagined that by donning a German poncho to keep off the rain, and then sneaking up in the pitch blackness of night to tell his foxhole buddy that it was time to relieve him, the buddy just might mistake him for a German. Thus, if Floyd Talbert had seen beyond the surface of an incident, there must have been considerable subtext.

"Anyway," Floyd was going on, "I just wanted to let you know, sir, that I'll be taking over Sgt. Grant's platoon."

"Captain Speirs demoted you?" Lipton asked, amazed. Talbert really had come by their C.O.'s office at a bad time.

"Only because I asked him to, sir. I told him I wanted to be back among the men."

Lipton nodded, familiar with that feeling himself.

"I just wanted to let you know, sir..." Floyd uncharacteristically hesitated. "We... the other noncoms an' meâ€"we know you had to take that battlefield promotion. Hell, nobody deserved promotion more. But you'll always be an honorary sergeant to us."

Lipton could not help smiling. Talbert's words, which sounded vaguely insulting, were actually meant to be a compliment. Floyd Talbert was of the opinionâ€"an opinion with which Carwood Lipton concurredâ€"that noncoms were the backbone of the Army. They were the ones who really ran things. Oh, officers might think *they* were the ones who did, and a wise sergeant would let them go on believing that, but any noncom knew better. He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Sir." Talbert had just saluted him, and Carwood had just acknowledged it, when the door opened and Captain Speirs entered the room. His dark eyes narrowed when he saw Floyd, who instantly came to attention.

"What are you doing here, Talbert? I told you to report to Lt. Peacock."

"On my way, sir." Floyd saluted Speirs, who returned it disinterestedly, his mind clearly already on something else. Having been dismissed, Talbert swiftly retreated.

Lipton saw that Speirs was carrying two bottles of wine. The captain crossed to the table at which the officers played their poker games, placed the bottles on it, and spoke to Lipton without looking at him. "Care to join me in a drink, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," Carwood answered, mildly surprised. Easy Company's new C.O. was not exactly antisocial, but he did not normally seek out the company of others, unless you counted the weekly poker game.

"There's a corkscrew on the sideboard over there. Nixon keeps it around to open his Vat 69."

Lipton retrieved it and brought it over to the table. "What is the occasion, sir?"

Speirs turned his head and regarded him, dark eyes glittering. "The occasion, Lieutenant, is that I would like to become blind, stinking drunk. Unfortunately, since I'm the company C.O., that isn't feasible, so I probably shouldn't do my drinking alone."

Lipton went still. "I see, sir."

"I doubt it. Open these bottles."

After only a momentary struggle with the corkscrew, Lipton did so. They sat down. Lipton passed the bottles over to Speirs, who had produced two drinking glasses from somewhere. The captain filled the first one to the brim, then tried to slide it across to Carwood, who shook his head.

"About half a glass is more than enough for me, sir."

"Suit yourself," Speirs replied shortly, taking back the filled glass for himself. He poured enough wine in the second to fill it halfway, and then gave that to the lieutenant.
"Here. I'd hoped to be drinking whiskey, but there isn't a drop of it in the town. Nixon's doing, I suppose, or maybe Welsh's." Without hesitation, he tossed back almost half the contents of his glass.

Lipton only sipped his, and was amazed; it was not the poor quality stuff he had expected, but the finest wine he had ever tasted. Not that he had tasted much. Until very recently he had been as much a teetotaler as Winters. He figured that as long as he drank alcohol only for the taste, and not for other reasons, he should be all right. "This wine is excellent, sir. Where did you find it?"

Speirs, in the act of taking out a pack of cigarettes, eyed him. "At the liquor store in town. Where else?" Suddenly, he thrust the pack at Lipton. "Care for a smoke?"

Lipton met his superior officer's unblinking stare, wondering if the man was trying to intimidate him. "Yes sir," he replied evenly, taking a cigarette. "I believe I will."

Speirs lit Carwood's cigarette, and then his own. The captain placed an ashtray between them, and then spoke abruptly. "You don't have to call me 'sir.' There's just the two of us here."

His tone was somewhat less antagonistic, and Lipton recognized it for what it was: an attempt to make it clear that Speirs was aware of the thoughts that must have been going through Lipton's head, and that his offer of a cigarette had been nothing more than a willingness to share tobacco. Lipton wondered what the hell was going on here. Speirs seemed to radiate anger, but not because of anything Lipton or any other man in Easy had done.

"All right." They both drank some more, Speirs considerably more than Lipton. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Carwood studied the man across from him. "Is there something on your mind?" he asked quietly.

"Should there be?"

"Yes sir. I'd say so. You said you felt like getting blind, stinking drunk, and that's not like you."

"How do you know what I'm like, Lipton?" Speirs asked, draining his glass.

"You know how it is, sir. When you live with a man under appalling conditionsâ€"I'd say Bastogne certainly qualifiedâ€"and go through combat with him, you get closer than you ever have to anyone in civilian life. You get to know him better than your own family, better than your wifeâ€""

The empty glass was slammed down on the table so hard Carwood was amazed it didn't crack, and Speirs was glaring at him. The captain's eyes did not appear entirely sane as he said in a harsh, furious voice; "Is that your idea of a joke, Lipton?"

Carwood went very still; for the first time, he seriously believed that the "stories" about Speirs might actually be true. "I don't understand, sir," he said carefully.

Their gazes remained locked for a moment, and Speirs apparently saw something there that made him realize Lipton was not mocking him. When he relaxed fractionally and muttered, "I thought I told you not to call me 'sir,'" Carwood knew the crisis had passed.

"What would you like me to call you?" he asked, deciding not to make any further assumptions.

Speirs lifted the bottle and offered Lipton more wine as if nothing had happened. When Carwood shook his head at the offer, Speirs refilled his own glass and spoke again, sounding merely irritated. "I'd prefer that you stick with 'Ron.' I've heard the nicknames the others have for me: 'Sparky' among the officers, 'Bloody' among the enlisted men. For different reasons, it's difficult to say which is worse." He drank, and Lipton felt an unusual vibe coming from his commanding officer. The anger was still there, but there seemed to be a strange element of sadness mingled with it.

"They just don't know you, that's all," Carwood protested. "Most of the men Easy is comprised of now are occupation troops, not combat veterans. They're replacements. They haven't had the experience with you that the rest of us have. They didn't see you run through MG fire on D-Day and destroy one of the German guns at Brecourt, and they didn't see you come to Easy's rescue when Norman Dike fell apart. They don't know anything about you, other than that you're our commanding officer." He took a breath and repeated; "They just don't know you."

"And you do, Lieutenant?" The dark eyes were unreadable.

"I know enough," Carwood asserted. "I've seen you in combat, not least of all on the day we took Foy." Speirs leaned forward slightly to refill his glass; Carwood held up a hand and said quickly; "No thanks, I've had enough."

Speirs shrugged and drank. Apparently he could hold his liquor as well as Captain Nixon. "I just did what I was ordered and trained to do, Lipton. Any of us would have."

"Captain, with all due respect, if anyone would have done, Major Winters wouldn't have had to order you out there in the first place. You took over because Lieutenant Dike fouled up." He took a sip of his wine, feeling the liquid burn its way down his throat. It was a strange but not unpleasant sensation. Like his cigarette smoking, drinking was a habit Carwood had only recently acquired. "That wasn't exactly what I was referring to, anyway. Any officer might have taken over on Major Winters' orders. But only a real leader would have come back to us after making contact with I company, the way you did. If I don't know anything else about you, I know that you are an excellent combat officer." He took a deep breath and added; "Moreover, I know that regardless of what your reputation might be, you're a good man. If you weren't, you would have made me sleep on the floor that night I was so ill."

They both knew the incident to which he referred. Once when he and Speirs had commandeered a house for the night, a house that turned out to have only one single bed, Speirs had ordered Lipton, seriously ill with pneumonia, to take the bed. Lipton, still the First Sergeant of Easy Company at the time, protested that, as the officer, Speirs was entitled to the bed; he, Lipton, would sleep on the floor. Speirs had answered shortly; "You're sick," in a tone that indicated discussion was at an end. Carwood had a restful night's sleep, while Easy's new C.O. slept on the floor that night. Other than Winters, Lipton was uncertain if there was any other officer who would have done such a thing.

"Well." Speirs took a deep drag from his cigarette, and then released the smoke forcefully through his nose, like a dragon. His face was still expressionless, and between the cloud of smoke and the lengthening of the shadows as the daylight faded, Carwood could not see his eyes. "It's a good thing you're not normally a drinking man, Lipton. Alcohol makes you loquacious."

Carwood wondered if the other man was mocking him. "The wine is very good," he said, not sure what else to say.

Speirs shrugged. "The owner claimed it was the finest vintage left available in the shop. For what I paid for it, it should be." He smiled sardonically at the look that flashed briefly over Carwood's face. "I didn't steal it, Lipton. I bought it."

"I didn't sayâ€"" Carwood began.

"You didn't have to." Speirs ground out his cigarette. "Not that your assumption was unreasonable. I've looted my way through every country we've invaded." He sighed and shrugged. "All in the past, now. It's not necessary any more." He drained his glass.

"What do you mean?" Carwood asked, finding this night's conversation to be nearly as surreal as the one he had once had with Norman Dike, albeit in a different way.

Speirs picked up the last of the wine and gazed at it for a moment. "For this, I have to be a little drunker." He took a long pull directly from the bottle. "I went to see my wife," he said at last. "I have a wife in England, and an infant son. You knew that, didn't you?"

Lipton nodded. Speirs had not mentioned them often, so seldom that Carwood doubted if many of the men in Easy, officers or enlisted, were aware of their existence. It was not that Speirs was secretive about it. It was more as if he regarded his wife and child as something precious, not for casual discussion. He had spoken of them occasionally, the first time when a maudlin Harry Welsh was bemoaning his separation from Kitty Grogan. Lewis Nixon also knew, and if Nixon knew, it was a given that Winters did; but Carwood was not certain if anyone else in the company was even aware that Speirs was married.

"I should say, I had a wife. Past tense." This statement was followed by another, equally long pull from the bottle.

Lipton felt considerable dread. Oh, no. Not this close to the end of the war. "Ron, she isn't..."

"What?" Speirs stared at him. "Oh, no. No, no, no. She's not dead. No. She was a widow. It was her husband who was dead, or supposed to be. He isn't." Again, he drank.
Seeing Lipton's puzzled frown, he elaborated; "She wasn't a widow. Her first husband's still alive. I found that out when I went back to England on furlough. He walked out of the bedroom while I was there." As Carwood gazed at him, dumbfounded, Speirs took yet another long swallow from the bottle. "That's why I was doing so much looting, you see," he explained, with a rather sad earnestness. "She was living hand-to-mouth on a widow's pension when I met her. I didn't want that to happen to her again, especially when there was a baby to think about." He continued to drink, his words coming a little slower. "Soldiers don't make much money. I wanted her and the baby to be provided for, especially if I died. Those things were valuable. She could sell them. I wanted..." Speirs lifted the bottle to his lips one final time, realized there was no more wine left, and sighed. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice barely audible, and Carwood knew he was not referring to the wine.

"I'm so sorry," Lipton said, meaning it, feeling helpless in the face of such pain. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?" Speirs looked at Lipton as if the latter were the one who was drunk. "I'm going to stay in the Army, of course. Easy needs someone to take care of them. My wife doesn't. She's chosen him over me. She probably never loved me. There's nothing for me anywhere but here."

"What about your son?"

"What about him?" Speirs said, with a kind of bitter sadness. "I'm a soldier. I can't take care of an infant. A baby belongs with its mother. Besides, even if I could, I can't take the baby away from her. Not after everything she's been through..." Speirs let his last words trail off as he lowered his head into his hands. "Oh, Christ," he whispered, his voice ragged and so low as to be barely audible. "Getting shot didn't hurt as much as this."

Lipton was momentarily silent, deeply shaken and sympathetic. He rose from his chair, crossed to Speirs, who had not moved, and placed an arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you to bed," he said gently.

Speirs slowly raised his head, looked at Lipton glassily for a moment, and then slowly got to his feet. He shook off Lipton's supportive arm and made his way unsteadily out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom. Once there, he did not lie down on the bed so much as he collapsed on it. Lipton, following him inside, waited a moment until he was certain Speirs had fallen asleep, and then carefully unlaced and removed the other man's jump boots. He covered Speirs with a blanket, and remained a moment longer, looking compassionately down at the other man's exhausted form.

"Tomorrow is another day, Captain," he murmured.

Lipton then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * * * *

The following morning, an astute observer might have noticed that Speirs' eyes were a bit redder than usual, his responses a little more abrupt. Otherwise, he still seemed to be the same stoical, indestructible soldier he had always been. His conduct and manner toward Lipton were the same as always, and he neither mentioned nor in any way alluded to their drinking or their conversation of the night before. Nevertheless, Lipton sought out Winters to suggest that the battalion commander might want to talk to Easy's C.O.

"What about?" Winters asked.

"I think you'll find he has something important to say to you, sir."

Winters studied Lipton for a moment, and then nodded.

* * * * *

"...So you've decided to stay in the Army?" Winters asked Speirs.

"Yes. I'm going to stay with the men."

Winters smiled, knowing that Speirs, for all his seeming harshness, loved the men of Easy Company every bit as much as he himself did. "Well, I'm glad to hear it," he said with the utmost sincerity, knowing that this would be the best thing for both the men and for Ronald Speirs. "Carry on."