Dottie returned to her original conversation. “And there you have it, Gladys. Just because your head is in the clouds over Oliver doesn’t mean that every friendship between a man and a woman has to be anything more than that.”

“My head is not in the clouds over Oliver, no matter what you two girls have been dreaming up. I’m just saying that this boy clearly, let’s say, holds Margaret in high regard.”

“As he should,” Dottie confirmed. “And he seems to think the same of his friends too. How nice for the three of them to have been assigned together. From what John tells me in his letters, he thinks he’s bunking with the best two guys in the 101st Airborne.”

“Still,” Gladys continued, waving the paper in the air. “It’s not inconceivable that a romance could bloom on these flimsy little pages. Am I wrong?” She held them up to the light, and indeed, they were quite translucent. “Wow,” she said. “Let’s hope this friendship—or whatever you’re calling it—is built on something stronger than these. I couldn’t blow my nose on paper like this.”

“Don’t be crass, Gladys,” Dottie admonished. “You know that they have to be light because of the cost of air mail.”

Margaret shifted in her seat, eager to deflect the direction of the conversation. “I, for one, think Gladys is stalling from answering the more important question.”

“Which is?” Gladys raised her eyebrows.

“Are you or are you not going out with Oliver on Friday?”

“For a woman in a weakened condition, you sure are unrelenting.”

“I learned from the best.”

Gladys folded the letter and gave it back to Margaret. “Margaret, tell our friend that I’m not the sort to have a man lead the dance.”

Margaret grinned. “If the right one comes along, you just might.”

Dottie threw her hands in the air. “Hot off the presses! The Sock ’Em Club to welcome Oliver on Friday night! Check out the evening edition for details.”

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The weather was too foggy for a jump, so some company commanders let their men have the day off to explore the town of Swindon. Others ordered their men to perform maintenance on Littlecote. But not Easy Company. Sobel saw it as a matter of pride that his troops worked longer, harder hours than anyone else.

So despite not being able to see two feet in front of them, William, John, Tom, and the rest of the company endured a ten-mile march through Hungerford. Full gear. One canteen to last for the day.

“Because water is for weenies,” John said halfway in, paraphrasing various forms of misery that Sobel seemed to enjoy putting them through.

“I’m hunger ford a sirloin steak right now,” William joked.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Is it too late to exchange roommates?”