Haguenau. The winter was a bitter cold, but not the way Bastogne was. Here, you got to climb into a somewhat warm bed, hot food, and got even hotter showers.

Everyone was different after leaving Bastogne. Quieter. Especially Babe Heffron.

Eyes trained on the river, the sun barely risen, knowing Germans were just on the other side, you heard the quiet scrape of boots behind you. “You should get some rest, you know.” Babe says from behind you, before appearing at the tailing beside you.

You turn, eyes following him as he digs in his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. “You’ve barely slept since Bastogne.” he notes, exhaling the smoke. All you can do is sigh at his words, and bum off his cigarette for a moment, head swirling.