William walked past him and took his position at the range. He balanced his rifle on his bad arm and used his left hand to pull the trigger.

He was off, hitting the outer rim of the target.

John stepped in. “Tom is right. You need to go see a medic. Today. Now.”

He ignored them and switched hands. He pulled the trigger with his bad one.

Almost a bull’s-eye. Even with a bum hand, William was a decent shot.

Malarky was about to take his place on the line when William suddenly fell back in pain. The recoil had been the last straw. He curled up, holding his hand to his chest.

“Easy Company, back to your places,” Sobel barked.

Dick Winters ran over.

“He needs to see a doctor,” Tom offered. “I can drive him.”

Winters patted him on the shoulder. “You do that. There’s a Willys to the right of the range. Take that.”

“I can go with you,” said John.

“You know Sobel’s not going to let both of us go. Shoot your best. Go to Swindon. And have a pint for me.”

*  *  *

The medic’s station in Aldbourne was a brown bricked building, one story tall with a steep roof. It looked like all of the other structures nearby and it could only be identified by the small white sign with black letters indicating what it was. The military was not known for its creativity nor for its architecture. Uniformity and cost were its values. Tom wondered what the British do with these when the war was over. They certainly held none of the charm of the surrounding towns.

He pulled the brake on the Willys Jeep and hopped out, coming around to the other side to help William down. The fog had lifted in the afternoon sun and it had been an easy drive over.

“It’s my hand, not my legs,” William complained. “I can get there on my own.”

“Suit yourself.”

Tom walked closely behind him, though, as they approached the door.

Once in, he saw that it was an orderly space. Few patients were waiting to be seen as Airborne had not yet been in combat and were only experiencing training scrapes. From what he observed, William was in the worst shape, a conclusion agreed upon by the register nurse.

“Private Farlane,” the doctor said after examining him. “You have yourself a broken hand. When did this happen?”

“A few weeks ago.”

The doctor pursed his lips. “I suspect that when you first injured it, there was just a fracture. The bulk of your problem is that you let it go and kept working through it.”

Tom withheld an I told you so.

“Just soldiering on, sir,” William replied. He winced in pain as the doctor began wrapping it.