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It was numbing, in a way that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures, to sit and while away the hours cleaning his weapon or reinforcing his cover. Lip appreciated those moments of quiet but being still too long left his feet like blocks of ice. That was when he’d make his rounds and visit with the company to take stock of the men. It was a good chance to get his blood flowing again. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
“First Sergeant.”
He whirled, hand going to unsling his rifle, but stopped, body recognizing the lack of threat before his brain caught up. He knew that face, identified it immediately from the two years in Toccoa. Hell’s bells, the man was quiet. It was no wonder even the men of Easy told ghost stories about him. “Lieutenant Speirs,” he returned easily, relaxing — as much as any of them could in that godforsaken place. He shoved his hands back in his pockets to keep them out of the cutting wind.
“Enjoying a walk, First Sergeant Lipton?”
“Ah, yes, sir,” he said, surprised that Speirs knew his name. He’d never had cause to interact with him directly. He studied the man but couldn’t see what caused so much fear and awe in the men. Speirs’s eyes were maybe a little too focused, too intent as they studied him, but that didn’t frighten Lip. “Checking in with the men, sir,” he added at the prolonged silence.
In those bright eyes he saw an inflexible will to do what needed to be done and he found himself standing straighter, spine uncurling as though Speirs had braced him up by the sheer force of his presence. Speirs watched him a moment longer and finally those lips curled ever-so-slightly, pleased. “Keep up the good work,” he said, cool and unrushed as he was in everything. And then the man known as The Killer of Dog disappeared back into the flurry of snow as though he’d never been.
Lipton couldn’t stop the disbelieving shake of his head — nor the tiny glow of admiration. Maybe Speirs had done the things which were rumored, maybe not, but in that moment Lip’s only thought was that he was a damned good soldier and he wished, pointlessly, that he had a leader like Speirs. A man who would look at him instead of through him, and say things like “good work.” Someone who would smile and help buttress his lagging spirits when his energy was low. Lipton tried his best to keep a hopeful outlook for Easy, but the fact of the matter was that they had no leader and the men knew it. Felt it. Those men had enough to worry about without Lip adding his own doubts and fears, so he kept his own council.
He wondered though, what it would be like to have someone to talk to when things became too much, a person on whom to lean. Winters had Nixon and Welsh. Probably Nixon more than anyone, really. And the men all had someone. A friend. A brother. For Lip, it might have been Buck, but Lieutenant Compton wasn't the same man he’d been at the start of the war, and he wasn’t an option anymore anyway, so it was a moot point.
“You frozen, Lip?” Grant called, lips curved in amusement as he spotted Lip, still standing in the same place.
“I’m not sure I’d be able to tell,” he replied honestly and Grant grunted in agreement. He watched Grant try to light a cigarette, hands shaking so bad he nearly set his eyelashes on fire instead. “Here.” He took the lighter and held the flame steady, hands cupped to protect the tiny light.
Grant nodded thanks and took his lighter back. Together they watched the encroaching darkness, both shaking where they stood. “Was I having a waking nightmare or did I actually see Speirs coming through here a second ago?”
Lipton quirked a grin, quickly hidden, and decided he wouldn’t share his interaction with the lieutenant of Dog. Grant would either be disappointed by how perfectly unremarkable it had been, or it would get twisted and mangled through repetition and gain a life of its own. Suddenly Speirs would be made out to have shot a hundred prisoners while threatening Lipton never to speak a word. No, Lip would keep it for himself and take out the memory to look at again when he needed fortification.
“He was passing through,” is all he said and didn’t meet Grant’s questioning gaze. “I better go find Lieutenant Dike. See you, Grant.”
The next time he spoke to Speirs was while they were pinned by German artillery as they attempted to take Foy. And for that short time in which Speirs led Easy, Lip found himself asking again, praying again to whatever entity might listen. Please, please, please.
Later that day, he got the news. Because Lieutenant Dike had failed in his duties during a decisive battle, he had been removed from his post; Lieutenant Ronald Speirs had been promoted and was to be Easy Company’s newest C.O.
Lip held his breath even as he quietly rejoiced along with the men, hoping against hope that this one would last. That this time would be different. Any uneasiness the men might have felt at having Speirs as their officer evaporated under sheer gratitude. They would again have a competent man in charge.
Lip felt a weight ease off him. He could practically see Speirs take it from him and shoulder the burden with ease. Lip could breathe and could genuinely smile again rather than putting on a show for his men.
Speirs walked to him, papers tucked under one arm. “First Sergeant Lipton, how are the lungs?”
Lip blinked, surprised that Speirs not only knew about his pneumonia, but that he bothered to say anything at all. As much as Speirs and Winters were like day and night, in one thing — the most important thing — they were alike. They both cared about their men. It amused Lip to watch Easy slowly figuring that out. He nodded to Speris, taking another puff of his cigarette, wondering at the turns the world took. He never would have imagined back in Toccoa that one day he’d be so grateful for Ronald Speirs. “Not so bad today, sir.”
Speirs glanced at the cigarette. “Didn’t the doc say no smoking?”
Lip winced. There were some downsides to Speirs caring about his men. “Well,” he hedged. He held out as long as he could, taking two more puffs of the stick before Speirs’s steady, silent judgment made him groan and hand it over. “Fine. One of us may as well enjoy it.”
Speirs grinned, placing the cigarette between his own lips. “Thank you, First Sergeant.” He patted Lip’s back. “Good job getting the men taken care of.” He held his hand there a second longer, its firm strength seeming to seep into Carwood, buoying up his spirits. The captain pulled a chocolate bar from his jacket. “For the cigarette,” he murmured and walked away, leaving Lip suffused with warmth. It was becoming a habit for him.
The night was illuminated by a brilliant moon and Lip had no trouble picking his way toward Battalion C.P. after checking up on his boys. It was bitterly cold, but he’d wanted to stretch his legs, and anyway the hotel where C.P. was stationed had a functioning fireplace that they occasionally made use of. It would be warm, the flames throwing cheery shadows on the blasted walls.
“Enjoying a walk, First Sergeant Lipton?”
Lip stopped, grinning, gazing into the shadows which were darker in the space between the houses, deeper. The glow of a cigarette burned in the night, but it didn’t do much to dispel that darkness. That was fine, he didn’t need the light to know that voice, that bulk. He could make out the curve of a shoulder, the hints of the waves of the man’s brown hair -- no helmet then. “Sir,” he greeted, his heart suddenly lighter. A smile played on his lips. “I’m done with my walk. Are you heading back to C.P.?”
Likely not. It was clear Speirs was on a cigarette break. There were times the man would separate himself from the others and would rebuff any and all attempts at camaraderie. “In a minute.” The captain moved out of the shadows, the glow of the moon lighting on him. “Why aren’t you resting, First Sergeant?”
The wind kicked up and raked them with its icy claws, though neither man paid it much attention. The cold was much more manageable here than it had been in Bastogne, particularly with a roof over their heads and mostly full bellies. “Just wanted to check on the boys first, sir.”
Speirs studied him, trying to see into his head, trying to glean all his secrets. Maybe he could. Lip let him look -- he didn’t have much to hide. Speirs huffed lightly before grinning. “Well, since you’re all done with that, mind if I walk with you to C.P.?”
He moved closer as he spoke and Lip met him. “I’d like that, sir.”
The rest of the walk didn’t feel quite so cold.