Last time we gathered together in this space, I was writing something about Nixon's alcohol problem and Webster going off his rocker. A wily private named Janovec found a fine nude filly to ride until dawn, because for a moment, this was HBO's remedy for the Sex and the City hiatus. The final half of the episode dealt with concentration camps, a particularly difficult discovery for Joe Liebgott, who cried both for mankind and his faith. Hitler shot himself in the head and Easy Company got the call to head to Berchtesgaden.
July 1945. We're in Zell Am See, Austria -- a lovely mountainous area where sun glints off clear, placid water, lush green foliage swishes in the breeze, sound engineers lovingly play Assorted Bird Sounds II: The Call of the Titmouse, and hot redheaded men wear tight shorts with jaunty abandon. Dick Winters, embracing the glory of his thighs, strolls down a dirt path clad in navy trunks, a white undershirt, and a towel snaked around his neck. "It was more than three years since Lewis Nixon and I decided to join the paratroopers," he narrates. "More than a year since we'd first gone to war, not knowing what would happen to us, how long we'd be fighting, where we'd end up." Winters pauses on a ledge, staring out at the glorious view and ruminating aloud that he never thought their war experience would take them to such a paradise.
Nixon sneaks up behind Winters and jokes that he heard word of a redheaded Eskimo skulking around the neighborhood. Given the underlying man-love, maybe Nixon meant that as a secret euphemism. "Come to join me for a swim?" Winters asks cheerfully, which elicits a chuckle from the decidedly un-physical Nixon. A mail delivery brought Nixon there: it seems Winters met up with the regimental photographer, and traded him two Lugers for a collection of snapshots from as far back as Toccoa. Winters whips out one photo of himself and Nixon in their uniforms, flashing barely perceptible grins. I want it for my desk. "What do you think you'll do after this?" Nixon wonders. Winters straight-answers that he'll probably get some breakfast, but of course, Nixon was trying to paint a grander picture. Winters reveals that Col. Sink has discussed an Army career with him, but no decisions have been made. "I said I'd think about it," Winters clarifies noncommittally. Nixon raises his eyebrows a bit, then turns away and looks at the ground. He wants to grow old with Dick in a country cottage with two dogs, a vegetable garden full of carrots, and a collection of hugely hilarious penis statues painted to look like celebrities -- and nowhere, but nowhere, does the Army fit into the plan. Tentatively, he asks Winters what he thinks about New Jersey, because there's a job awaiting him at company in Nixon, NJ, called Nixon Nitration Works. "Oddly enough, I know the owners," Nixon snickers. "[They] expect me to make something of myself. Thought I'd drag you with me." The whole time, Nixon barely glances up at his boyfriend, afraid of his burgeoning passion and the warmth spreading in his Army-issue trousers. "Are you offering me a job?" Winters asks, twitching his face into the usual wry, knowing grin, the expression of which he is king. Nixon teases that it hinges on the interview, but based on Winters' résumé, a position with commensurate salary might just open up for him. Here, Winters and Nixon share a long look. The chemistry between them crackles louder and hotter than a blender in the bathtub, and fries me just as thoroughly. If I were a gay man, this scene might be my money shot. "I'll think about it," Winters says slowly. "I really appreciate it." And he does. Nixon awkwardly repeats that Winters should, indeed, give it some thought. "Yeah," Winters says. It's like they've already woken up in each other's sweaty clutches and aren't sure how to handle the subsequent feelings of neediness. Winters stands up and treats the camera to a close-up of his thigh and crotch, because he's totally toying with me. Strutting down the pier, Winters rips off his shirt and leaps into the water just as music crescendos behind him. Shirt. Off. Wet Winters. I have to stop recapping this scene now.
In a voice-over, Winters explains that he couldn't focus on job offers when the war hadn't even officially ended. "I was still getting used to hot showers and morning swims," he tells us, gliding through the water in idyllic Austria.
We flash back to a winding mountain road. Winters explains that Easy Company et al entered Bavaria in early May hoping to capture Berchtesgaden, a small Alpine town the Nazis used as its symbolic headquarters because all of the Third Reich's most powerful people owned houses there. It seems that Hitler, prior to plugging himself with a coward's bullet, ordered the SS to hold fast in Berchtesgaden, using all means -- even guerilla warfare -- to keep the Allies out. A few bored Easy men loiter near their trucks, which sit bumper-to-bumper in the usual military caravan. Webster either reads or writes in his journal; Talbert just watches, and Liebgott leans against a wheel. "The first step [for the SS] was blocking the roads," Winters narrates. An explosion rocks the area; Easy is, bit by bit, blasting its way up the hill. Impatiently, Winters wonders aloud when the engineers were supposed to arrive and assist them. "A half-hour ago," groans Nixon. "We're stuck here until they do, Nix," Winters growls. Nixon grins that he can't exactly blame the SS for protecting the house of their fuhrer. "You'd probably throw a few rocks at us yourself," he notes. Speirs marches over and announces that Easy is ready and willing to find another way up the mountain. "Duly noted," Winters smiles. "I've already recommended you to Col. Sink." Speirs is pumped. "Terrific," he practically bubbles. "Let's go find out where Hitler lived." So he can loot the place right down to the shampoo and Charmin. Winters stops him from proceeding, playing the first-name card and telling "Ron" that Sink doesn't want any unnecessary risks this late in the war -- so, they're going to proceed slowly. "So the French are going to beat us to the Eagle's Nest?" Speirs groans, visions of diamond-crusted champagne flutes dancing out of his head.
Sink arrives in a Jeep, gunning straight past Sgt. Talbert's lips and parking to Winters, Speirs, and Nixon. He smokes. Sink smokes expertly. A few soldiers pile grenades atop a rock pile and bolt away from them, ducking. Sink reveals that he spoke to Gen. LeClerc from the French army; the man whose troops reached Paris first also wants to be the first soldier into Berchtesgaden. A soldier fires his bazooka at the grenade pile, blasting the obstruction. "Told him I understood his point," Sink sighs, then smirks. "Now you fire up 2nd battalion and outflank that French son-of-a-bitch." Winters clearly wants to whoop it up, but contents himself with a demure "yes, sir," while Nixon chuckles gently in the background. Speirs is as delighted as Speirs ever is -- that is to say, his eyes defrost a full degree. Winters tells Speirs that Easy will lead the charge.
So, it seems Easy has indeed found its route into Berchtesgaden. What tipped me off was the parade of Allied Jeeps passing through the town streets. Harry Welsh gazes appreciatively at the enormous white flags of surrender swinging from the rooftops. "Eerie," he says. "Not even any natives." Nixon figures that's because any native to Berchtesgaden can't very well deny being a Nazi; after all, devotion to the Third Reich is practically a residency requirement. Winters muses that he needs a place to put Col. Sink, as if the man is luggage in search of an overhead compartment. Nixon obligingly trucks them right up to the Berchtesgadener Hof, a brick building bedecked in the iconic red, white, and black Swastika flag.
The men pour inside the building, passing a bust of Hitler carefully placed in the foreground. Nixon glares at it. Yeah, that'll show him who's boss! Adolf is no Tony Danza, and it's about time the world knew it. A frightened old man spots the American soldiers and tries to flee with what looks like a guest register, but Nixon draws a gun and puts a stop to the getaway. Everyone else filters into the dining room. It's lined with enormous rectangular tables, parked under equally monstrous chandeliers. A man putting away the silver reveals his position by clinking it too loudly; freaked when he spies soldiers, he drops everything and scurries out of the building. He's dressed like a waiter; I'm not wholly sure why the building still needed a waiter, given that the city's entire populace deserted him. And without a tip! It's the ultimate stiffing.
Welsh scampers over to the graceful wooden box in which the silver is stashed. Awed, he rips off his helmet and starts scooping the utensils into it. "Kitty would love this," Welsh gushes. "How many brides get a wedding present from Hitler?" None, and for a good reason. Celebrating a lifelong union with your one true love by giving them Hitler's dinnerware is a lot like birthing an epileptic parrot from your left nostril and teaching it to meow: really, really fucked up. He generously offers to let Winters grab a few pieces. "You know whoever comes in after us is gonna take whatever isn't nailed down," Welsh insists. Smiling, Winters removes his helmet and commences thievery. Intrigued, Speirs walks over and reaches for a knife. "Don't even think about it," snaps Welsh. Speirs is clearly startled, but completely amused. Speirs is a career pillager, an amateur looter's nightmare. Winters giggles.
Speirs moves on, having spied gleaming silver across the room. Pvt. More strolls over and asks Winters for permission to climb the mountain and infiltrate the Eagle's Nest. Winters pauses, then gives Welsh some appropriate security and administrative orders. A ripping noise takes us to Speirs, who has relieved the wall of a Third Reich flag and is rolling it casually, as if it's the most natural sight in the world. He wants to know what role Easy will play in the securing of Berchtesgaden. Smiling, Winters reveals that Easy will ascend through the Obersalzburg to claim the Eagle's Nest. More beams. He loves Winters the best.
"Hi-ho Silver! Currahee!" the men of Easy shout, their cavalcade crawling up the mountain. Some men run, others drive; all are overjoyed at their good luck. Winters exposits for us that Eagle's Nest is a mountaintop stone retreat, eight thousand feet up, accessible by a gold-plated elevator. The Nazi Party built it with its own funds and surprised Hitler with it on his birthday. That's a tough gift to top. A set of those silver pickle forks he saw in the Williams-Sonoma catalogue just won't cut it after a gold-plated elevator. ["I seriously want my own Eagle's Nest, only mine would have a bowling alley and a Frosty machine. Since I can't have that, I guess I'll settle for calling my house 'Eagle's Nest' from now on." -- Wing Chun] Winters dubs it "the crown jewel of the German empire. "And the man was afraid of heights," he muses.
Speirs, Grant, More, and Malarkey, among some others, trickle into a sparsely decorated concrete lounge. The Cello Concerto of Mama Needs a Brand New Set of Swastika Placemats plays as they stand in momentary awe of the stunning vista, then commence scrounging. Speirs kicks over a corpse to make sure the man is dead, then steals his pistol. A cracking pop startles him, but it's just Malarkey opening a bottle of champagne. "Here's to him," Malarkey grins, swigging from the bottle. Champagne trickles down his face. Throwing back his head, Malarkey shakes his wet hair to and fro with sensual abandon, dumping more and more champagne down his saturated and clingy shirt. He licks the bottle and moans. Aw, shit -- I fell asleep again, didn't I?
More curiously flips through a photo album chronicling Hitler's rule. It's a personal record that belonged to the man himself. He sold it on eBay a week later for $40,000 and a penis-shaped cupcake tin.
Nixon, Speirs, and Welsh lounge on Hitler's deck chairs, drunk on Hitler's champagne and trying to remember Hitler's chain of command. They settle on Hitler, then Himmler, then Goering, then Goebbels, but they're too hammered to pronounce anything clearly, and raucous guffaws drown out conversation. Winters and Donnie arrive, smirking. "Hey Adolf," Welsh slurs. "Love your Eagle's Nest." He totters that they made themselves right at home, and love what he's done with the place. Winters doesn't seem to mind that Welsh just called him "Adolf." It's not exactly a term of endearment that's sweeping our fair nation. Welsh engulfs his boss in a huge bear hug. The actor already plays Welsh as a raging horndog; now, his boozed-up Welsh is basically running around drooling with his tongue hanging out. Welsh offers Winters a drink just for the novelty of it, but Winters smiles angelically and announces that he's got news. "All troops stand fast on present positions," he reads. Playfully, Welsh attempt this, and it's pretty funny -- he grins from ear to ear, sways noticeably, and ogles Winters's mouth. "Standing fast," Nixon drones from his seated position. Speirs looks like he wants to vomit immediately. Welsh snorts. "Wanna hear [the news]?" Winters asks. "Mmm hmm," Welsh giggles. "'Mmm hmm'?" mimics Winters, delighted. He slaps Welsh's tipsy shoulder and prods, "Ready for it?" He is. Welsh is so ready for it. He's about three inches away from toppling onto Winters's shoulder and having a quick suckle. "The German army's surrendered," Winters announces. Nixon's hands drop from behind his head as he abruptly sits forward. Welsh's face falls into a stunned stupor. Winters gamely slaps his arm. "I've got a present for you," Winters tells Nixon. "Come on." As Nixon gets up, Welsh embraces Donnie euphorically, dazed, drunk, and not quite able to believe that the war on his front is finally finished.
Winters speeds through the forest while Nixon, clad in suave sunglasses, rides shotgun and cradles a bottle of booze. The vehicle stops in front of a modest cottage that we learn is Hermann Goering's house. "We found it yesterday; had it on double guard ever since," Winters says. "I can vouch for that, sir," chirps an impossibly irrepressible O'Keefe. Winters teases him about being antsy to skip out on his responsibility. "No, there's just so much to see and do here, sir," O'Keefe bubbles innocently. He slaps a skeleton key into Winters's outstretched palm.
Leading Nixon down a flight of stairs, Winters unlocks an iron gate and flicks on the light. Nixon rips off his glasses and his face becomes the priceless embodiment of sheer, unadulterated astonishment. What he beholds is the largest wine cellar I've ever seen -- floor-to-ceiling racks of alcohol surrounding an iron tasting table that forms a three-quarter circle. "Ten thousand bottles of the world's finest liquor, wine, and champagne helped Easy Company mark the day the war in Europe came to an end," Winters narrates for us. In scene, he tells a stunned Nixon to help himself to anything he desires. Nixon can't even speak. This is his utopia. This is better than life in New Jersey with Winters. This is better than an orgy. Hell, this is better than college football! No, wait, I've gone too far there. Cheerfully, Winters instructs Nixon to have his pick, and then order each company to take a truckload back to camp. "We're headed for Austria in the morning," Winters exposits. "Don't feel you have to leave anything here for whoever comes ." O'Keefe is stunned that they're leaving. "Happy VE Day," Winters calls out, leaving. O'Keefe is completely confused. That's basically his lot in life -- utter confusion. "Victory in Europe," explains Nixon. He strolls across the hard floor, covered in parts with broken glass, and mumbles, "Happy VE Day." Staring up the length of the enormous liquor rack, Nixon lovingly grabs a bottle. "Instead of an aggressive combat unit, we became an occupation force, and no one wanted to leave Berchtesgaden," Winters narrates. "Until they saw Austria."
Cut to more absolutely breathtaking scenery. The battalion trucks peacefully drive past towns bathed in a golden glow, with majestic mountains poking above pristine valley lakes. Everything is clean, devoid of rubble, merry; even the villagers wave excited salutations. "Wonder if they'll make us run up those, or ski down them," Talbert jokes, recalling the Currahee days. Oh, and he's talking about the mountains, not the village women. It occurs to me that I should clarify that point. The men grin like heroes -- which they are, naturally -- and bask in the warm welcome they receive. "I think the war is over!" Malarkey cheers, looping his arms around two comrades' necks. Three shepherd girls wiggle their chests and coo.
Nixon completes a very macho ascent of some Austrian stairs and notes, "We'll be comfortable here." He's referring to a multi-storey building on the water -- a stunning location for their battalion headquarters and a stark contrast to the broken buildings Easy used in "The Last Patrol," at which time the simple fact of a roof and some walls seemed like Earth's greatest paradise.
Inside an ornate room, two high-ranking German officers stand opposite a seated Winters; one table separates them. Yes, it's time for our favorite segment -- the one in which opposite sides of the conflict see something human in each other and make forced, awkward comments about What Will Happen in their not-so-dissimilar lives. You've seen this type of segment before. It's everywhere. I saw it at the grocery store last week buying Hamburger Helper and some Midol. "I wonder what will happen to us, to people like you and me, when there are finally no more wars to occupy us," Herr Moralizer intones thickly. Winters regards him silently, then orders Herr Moralizer to have his men collect all their weapons and deposit them at the village's church, school, and airfield. Stony-eyed, Herr Moralizer whips out his sidearm and chokes, "Please accept this as my formal surrender, Major. It is better than to lay it on the desk of a clerk." Winters decides not to deprive the man of his weapon, which ignites a respectful glow in the eyes of the German colonel. The men salute each other.
Nixon struts into a makeshift screening room, where soldiers watch news footage of the war in the Pacific. It paints an extremely grim picture of the Okinawa battles, calling the slow progression there "one of the fiercest artillery barrages of the war." Dramatically, the soldiers there are described as showing true grit in the face of a suicidal enemy that's slowly being forced into a retreat. "The going is brutal, the casualties are high," the film tells us, adding that Okinawa "is the big step to victory over Japan." Then, the sly propagandists share that this battle will only be won by "work, war bonds, and heroic sacrifice," but I'm sure not in that order, because we all know that only war bonds can truly win a global battle. Buy today and get a free FDR travel alarm clock.
When the film ends, the men grouchily disperse. Speirs voices what everyone is thinking, asking Winters when the 101st will deploy to Japan. Winters isn't sure yet, and notes that some of the men will have accrued enough points to go home instead of back into battle. "Not many, if their only medal is a Purple Heart," Nixon points out. Winters nods, noting that most of the officers should have enough. "Each of us will have to decide what to do," he says curtly. He then dons his Boss Pants and orders up a grueling regimen of physical training to prepare both the veterans and replacements for a return to action. "They're gonna love you," Nixon smirks.
Bull Randleman, Liebgott, Shifty, Perconte, and Malarkey -- among others -- fan out in the forest, ever so slowly creeping forward with guns raised. Perconte crouches nervously. "What are you crouching for, Perco?" Liebgott teases. "Think the deer's gonna shoot back?" Apparently, they're hunting for some dinner. Bull crabs that they should shut up and let Shifty shoot something tasty; in retaliation, Liebgott suggests that they kill Bull and feed the company for a week. The sight of an enormous buck silences the group, especially once Shifty aims his rifle and delicately massages the trigger. But the deer escapes, and provides fodder for a few barbs about how the Army should be thrilled to get rid of Shifty. "Seems they want me to stay around awhile," Shifty says sadly in his gentle Virginia accent. He needs fifteen more points before qualifying to return home. Malarkey is stunned. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "I thought I had it bad!" Shifty explains that he never got injured, and thus never got a Purple Heart. Funny how his good fortune to skirt injury has become a liability.
Speirs runs Easy Company through a few drills, barking orders in a raspy tone that some voice coach decided is exactly the way military men should speak. It's called "Constipation of the Diaphragm." Speirs finally shares that, because so many veterans lack the eighty-five points required for a discharge, General Taylor has authorized a lottery. Each company will draw one name, and that lucky soldier gets to leave immediately, and with honor. Welsh makes a big show of the drawing while guys like Talbert and Bull hold their breath. "Come on," a guy mumbles, tense. "The winner is...Sgt. Darrell C. Powerrrrrrrrrs," intones Speirs. Bashfully, Shifty hangs his head and blushes. The gang applauds enthusiastically. "That's how it's done, Shifty," Luz cheers. Aw, they're all so happy for him. It's very sweet. I need a hug.
Sgt. Grant congratulates Shifty, but his glee is short-lived, because Speirs then taps his platoon as the crossroads guards for the night. He confirms that the 101st will indeed ship out to Japan eventually, so the requisite training will commence at 0600 hours. One by one, happy expressions fade. In what may be an unprecedented event on cable television, several smiles literally turn completely upside-down. Webster's more cheesed than the state of Wisconsin. Malarkey and his oddly flesh-colored lips look very dismayed.
While Winters hunches over a balcony table and pretends to work very hard, Shifty approaches for a final soft, Southern goodbye. "You know, you was...you was...well, it's been a long time," shy Shifty sputters. Winters nods. We're yanked out of the moment in a poorly chosen edit, swapping instead to a long shot showing that the balcony on which they stand juts out over the cerulean water. It's critical to know that Shifty left on a pretty day in a lovely town -- otherwise, his story wouldn't be complete, and some bonehead like Webster wouldn't be able to write the seminal Ode to Brotherhood, "The Water was Calm When Shifty Buggered Off." Winters politely asks whether Shifty has everything he needs. Small talk ensues. It's all very uncomfortable. No one would accuse Winters of smooth conversation. "Back home, in Virginia," begins Shifty. "Well, I just don't rightly know how I'm gonna explain all this." Winters remains silent, courteously jacking up the discomfort level to notches heretofore un-notched by mankind. "See, I've...I've seen....I've seen..." Shifty tries again, but can't quite get the words out; it seems like he's trying to find the words to describe the intensity of his year in World War II, coupled with a reluctance to leave the only people in the world who truly understand what he endured. It's also possible that he's loath to explain the easy circumstances of his discharge. Winters smiles gently and says, "You're a helluva fine soldier, Shifty. There's nothing more to explain." They salute. And as the adorable, timid Virginia boy strolls out of sight for good, Winters informs us that Shifty's departing truck was hit head-on by a corporal driving drunk. Shifty broke his pelvis and arm, and suffered a concussion, surviving but spending the few months in a handful of hospitals. These guys cannot win. They're like a company of Ziggys.
Winters narrates that Shifty wasn't the only casualty in Austria. We immediately cut to Welsh, so at first I assumed he was a goner; as the scene progressed, though, I realized it was just a stupid transition. For shame, Spanks. Welsh insists to Nixon that he's quitting the Army -- he has the points, so he refuses to risk his life another minute when he could easily return to Kitty and get married. "You think that Kitty hasn't run off with some 4-F by now?" jokes Nixon. Welsh curses at him. Winters strolls over and mildly warns Welsh against paying attention to the jaded Nixon. Again, we cut to a long establishing shot that shows Winters standing jauntily on the stairs while Welsh and Nixon sit and relax on the landing. It's just brief enough that it quashes the scene's energy. Nixon argues that Welsh has been gone three years already, so another three in Tokyo shouldn't be a problem for Kitty -- especially if Welsh doesn't ever tell her that he had the chance to return home early. Welsh, along with everyone else in the entire world, figures this is a totally stupid idea, especially because it's likely that Easy will linger in Austria for several months before the Army gets around to redeploying the division. No, Welsh opts to return home to Wilkes-Barre, PA, to make monkey love to his bride and conceive a few babies in the process. He's far too lusty for war. "You didn't tell him?" Winters asks, arching a brow at Nixon. "I couldn't get him to shut up," snarks Nixon. Addressing Welsh, Nixon explains, pointing to Winters, "Guts and Glory here applied for a transfer." Evidently, the 13th Airborne is poised to head straight for Japan, and Winters wants to get his stint in the Pacific over with as quickly as possible. The first time I heard this, I wanted to rail against the writers for scripting something so totally out-of-character for the man who cherished and championed Easy Company so ardently. I wanted to belly-flop onto the carpet and kick and wail and scream, and bemoan the stupidity of the show; then, I remembered it's a true damn story and that Richard Winters might actually have wanted this. Then, I unclenched my fists, picked up my jaw from its place of honor on the rug, and poured myself a Hard Cider. That really helped. Welsh, though, is as startled as I was. "Are you in on this, too?" he demands of Nixon, who was indeed privy to the plan. "I can't let him go by himself," Nixon protests. "He doesn't know where it is!" And, you're in love with him. It's okay, Nix. We all are. Welsh just can't come to grips with the idea of Dick Winters leaving his men. "They don't need me anymore," Winters insists feebly. Birds loudly chirp in protest.
A high-ranking officer rifles through Winters's file. Eyebrows notes that Winters suffered a leg wound in Normandy, and seems impressed that Winters's record of service stretches back to D-Day. Winters blows off the injury as a minor flesh wound, though he'd likely take the same stoic approach even if, say, his torso had been de-limbed and left to writhe in a forest. Wearing armor. And a tiara. What? It could've happened. I'm just saying he doesn't dwell on his own misfortune. Eyebrows notes that twenty-four men of Easy died on D-Day, and Winters clarifies that seventeen of those dead soldiers were on the company CO's plane, which crashed over Normandy. "So you were given command of the company on D-Day," Eyebrows notes. Winters absently flashes back to his first assignment as acting CO -- capturing the German garrison in "Day of Days," during which he lost his first man and reacted with tightly suppressed grief.
"In Holland, they bumped you up to battalion XO," Eyebrows reads from the file. "Bastards took your company away." Damn right! I loved this subtle acknowledgement from someone in power that it must've been painful for Winters to have been wrenched from a company he loved and led with extreme skill and grace. The line's delivery is also a nod to the fact that Winters himself didn't ask to withdraw from the heat of combat; rather, he was ordered to do so. Winters drifts away again, this time recalling the young, unarmed German boy he killed in "Crossroads," right before Col. Sink awarded him the promotion. "I fired my last shots there," Winters whispers, back in the present with Eyebrows. For his part, Eyebrows can't believe that Winters stayed in Bastogne with his men and endangered himself almost equally, yet never shot his gun after that day in Holland. And, Winters's last shots took someone's life -- that's rather poignant, and retroactively makes sense of his inability to shake the disturbing image of killing that boy. "I can't imagine a tougher test for a leader [than] having to sit through a siege like that under those conditions," sympathizes Eyebrows. Winters humbly replies, "We got through it." He flashes back to the horrific conditions in the Ardennes Forest, with randomly exploding trees, relentless shellings, and frantic scrambles to reach the relative -- and ultimately unreliable -- safety of the foxholes.
Intrigued, Eyebrows asks point-blank why Winters wants to leave his men. Altruistically, Winters explains that he'd like to do as much good as possible in the war; as such, he's needed in the Pacific, where the true fighting is taking place. Eyebrows speculates that Winters wants to run his own division, or perhaps position himself for a prestigious lifelong career in the Army. "Because if you think you need more combat experience to get stars on your helmet, let me tell you something, son -- you've done enough," Eyebrows sighs. Winters appreciates the sentiment, but assures the man that his objective isn't so self-serving. "Major, I took this meeting out of respect for your achievements and for the 101st," Eyebrows begins, leaning back in his chair. This ominous start leads exactly where one might expect -- Winters is denied the transfer, because he's deemed too valuable to the 101st. "Frankly, I think your men have earned the right to keep you around," Eyebrows compliments. Winters stands, somewhat startled to have his request so summarily refused. "Thank you, sir," he manages. Meeting adjourned. All remains right with the world. Seriously, I can't imagine Winters anywhere else, and it's stunning to me that he could conceive of such a thing. I searched for any hidden relief in this scene, but couldn't find any, so I'm left wondering whether Winters ever really, truly wanted the transfer; I prefer to think he didn't.
"So I would stay in Austria for the time being, waiting for orders and trying to watch over soldiers who had no enemy to fight," Winters shares. This narration takes us into a lush green field, at the end of which stands a modest cottage surrounded by sheep. Liebgott narrows his eyes. These aren't just sheep. They're Danger Sheep. "Lieb, I fucking hate this," complains Webster. He's pouting in the front seat of the Jeep while Liebgott glares at the cottage. "They fingered him," argues Liebgott. "He was in the fucking room, Web. One of those Polacks at the slave camp says this is the guy." But he can't give specifics. Liebgott is venting, hoping he's found a target for his ire at the atrocities committed against the Jewish people; Webster prefers to be a pacifist and not invite Trouble to run up his dress. Liebgott grouchily hops out of the car and murderously strides toward the house. "Is this a personal thing, Joe?" pants Webster, jogging to catch his friend. "Does Major Winters know?" Liebgott doesn't give a damn. He's convinced that this cottage's owner could be tied to a concentration camp, and therefore, he deserves to be extinguished. "It's a goddamn order," he seethes. In the book, Speirs gave the order for Liebgott, Sisk, and a chap called Moone to interrogate the man; that's not made totally clear here. Webster clings to the innocent-until-proven-guilty mantra. "Were you at Landsberg?" Liebgott hisses quietly. "Think he's a soldier like you and me? An innocent German officer? Where the hell have you been for the past three years?"
Liebgott charges into the cabin and screams in German at the portly resident. Webster and Sisk secure the place while Liebgott menacingly advances upon the man. "Come here, old man," he growls. More German that I don't understand; I think Liebgott is trying to interrogate him about the prison camps, but it's probable that his line of questioning is less than impartial. "Don't fucking lie to me!" he screams. "See what you did to my fucking people!" The man protests, "Nein, nein!" Disgusted, Webster storms out, unable to watch Liebgott fly off the handle and threaten the man with his gun. He lights up and smokes tensely. "He's guilty," Sisk whispers over Webster's shoulder. "Liebgott says so." Webster grimaces. A gunshot cracks through the air, and the cabin owner staggers out the front door, grabbing a bleeding neck wound and running limply toward the hills. Liebgott bursts out behind him and tries to kill him, but he's out of bullets. "Shoot him!" he screams at Webster, who flatly refuses. Just as it seems the hurt German might escape, a bullet tears through his chest, felling him with an inglorious thud. Webster whirls to see Sisk lowering his smoking weapon.
The trio drives back to camp stone-faced. "Officers don't run," Liebgott spits, still insisting that if the man had been a soldier just like them, he wouldn't have fled so guiltily. Webster disagrees. "The war's over," he notes. "Anybody would run." Damn right.
"Summer in this alpine paradise should've been a welcome relief, especially now we were at peace with the Germans," Winters narrates. "But everyone wanted to go home." This transitions us to the crossroads checkpoint, at which Allied soldiers control the flow of traffic in and out of the region. A much older soldier from Mannheim chats idly with Pvt. Janovec, the Strumpet Humper from last time. The banter is unremarkable but for the phrase, "Russia is not desirable," which struck me funny somehow but for an undefined reason. Janovec is duly impressed that the man survived both World Wars, then leaves the cozy chat long enough to wave through a truckload of German soldiers. He salutes them respectfully just as Webster pulls up to relieve him. "Don't salute the Germans!" Webster scolds him, amused. Janovec giggles that he gets a kick out of it, especially now that his rage has been redirected toward the Japanese. Webster delivers his lines with a cigarette hanging stiffly from his lips. You can practically see the thought-bubble pop above his head: "You're Danny Zuko. Be the Zuko. Live the Zuko." Alas, Webster looks like he'd be more comfortable conversing with a bayonet between his teeth. Janovec complains about having only seventy-five points of the possible 85, then bounds happily to the Jeep bound for the barracks. Webster, having been prodded for the information, yells that he's got eighty-one points. Janovec snickers. "That's just not good enough," he jokes as the Jeep speeds away.
Webster busies himself in finding a ride for a lone traveler, finally settling on yanking the luggage from an upscale family's back seat and foisting the Munich-bound man upon the complaining people. Meanwhile, a barrel drops out of the back of a supply truck, dropping in front of Janovec's Jeep and causing a horrible crash. Webster's head snaps up when he hears the accident; scared, he sprints toward the smoking wreckage. "Oh, Jesus," he sputters, freaked. When Winters arrives at the ambulance, Janovec is already dead. Webster mournfully reveals that the lively kid was a mere ten points shy of discharge.
"The enemy had surrendered, but somehow" soldiers kept dying, Winters's narration tells us as we see regret in his eyes. He notes the stunning unfairness of it all -- men who served bravely and with distinction since as far back as Normandy still could not return home, all due to an arcane point system. It certainly seems sadistic to punish people for successfully dodging bullets. "What [the soldiers] did have plenty of were weapons, alcohol, and too much time on their hands," Winters informs us. Late at night, Sgt. Grant carts around a handful of soldiers while telling a merry tale of ol' Gonorrhea's D-Day landing -- but, like everything else, it ends sadly when Grant rehashes the circumstances of Gonorrhea's departure from the front lines. I really miss him, too, which says a lot because you can't imagine how tiresome it is to type the word "gonorrhea" over and over until my fingers feel like they've caught it. As I reminisce about Gonorrhea, though, Sgt. Grant notices a commotion up ahead and idles the Jeep, hopping out to investigate.
A man lies dead on the ground; another staggers down the road, drunk off his tree. Grant offers help. "They wouldn't give me any gas," slurs the man, frenetically waving a pistol. "I tried to explain; this fucking Limey wouldn't listen. I think he was a major." So, it sounds like he shot an Allied officer; I'm no expert on the military, but my best guess is that murdering a major constitutes a tiny breach of protocol. Grant gently tries to coax the man's gun away, but the pistol goes off in a moment of fury and a bullet smacks the top left portion of Grant's skull. Determined to sign his own death warrant, the culprit hops into the dead major's Jeep and hightails it away into the night. "Sarge!" screams one of Grant's men. "He's hit!" Look, this is it, okay? I've had it. I can't take any more of these guys getting mortally wounded or killed. So the time it happens, I'm going to switch the channel and start recapping whatever's on TNN.
Speirs, barely concealing his fear, learns from the battalion doctor that Grant probably won't live much longer unless a brain surgeon operates on his head. As opposed to the brain surgeons who perform vasectomies. Grabbing Talbert, Speirs orders him to root out the bastard who felled Grant. "I want him alive," Speirs growls dangerously.
Briskly, Talbert gathers the men. He relays Speirs's orders that an NCO should guard each roadblock, with two men watching all roads leading out of town. Bull and Malarkey will each cull together a squad and comb camp for witnesses, performing house-to-house searches if necessary.
Speirs impatiently raps on a neighborhood door. "Open up," he demands. The startled older man balks when Speirs forces the door open and brandishes a weapon. "Come with me," he orders. The man stalls. "Get in the Jeep," Speirs insists, grabbing him and dragging him closer to the car. "If you're going to shoot me, shoot me," pleads the man. "If you're not, put the gun away." Speirs shoves him into the street again, at which point the man notices Grant's body lying in the back of the car. "He was shot in the head," Roe explains. It seems Speirs has scared up the only brain surgeon in town, which is mighty resourceful of him. Unless he found a phone book,or a copy of the script that said, "Bang on the door on stage three." It's all very convenient that Hitler kept a brain specialist in Berchtesgaden. Having spotted blood gushing freely from a head wound, the doctor deduces that Grant is the injured man and peeks at the injury. "If you want him to live, you'll help me," urges the man. "First, by putting the gun away." Reluctantly, Speirs lowers his weapon. The doc then demands to be the driver, and Speirs lets him. Speirs's worry about Grant is adorable -- if the doctor wanted nothing but to put cream cheese on Speirs's nipple, I think Speirs would make it happen.
Talbert and Luz play poker in a lobby area, trying to ignore the sounds of bloody murder emanating from a room behind them. That settles it -- they must be in Vegas. Luz groans as Talbert wins the hand. "I don't know who's taking a bigger beating, me or him," Luz grouses good-naturedly, gesturing to the Smackdown arena. We hear groans and grunts and vicious punches, and the crackle of fresh whoop-ass cans being popped open and dumped into someone's unfortunate lap. Talbert stiffens, visibly unhappy. He's one notch above the other NCOs, so I assume he's holding back because of rank. "You all right?" Luz asks. "You want to join in?" Talbert grumps that he should be in there stopping the brutality. The antithesis of "Stop the Brutality" enters just then -- Speirs, in full authoritative mode and itching to sting the skin of another man. He's hungry. "Where is he?" Speirs asks. He repeats it twice more with mounting fury, uninterested in Talbert's attempts to deflect him with questions about Grant's welfare. "WHERE IS HE?" screams Speirs, rage seeping from every pore and forming a big puddle of wrath at his feet. Talbert nods toward the door.
Speirs shoves through the throng of soldiers and faces off against Grant's shooter; the wrecked man is strapped to a chair. His mouth is clogged with pasty blood and his eyes are barely open. He gasps for breath, but can't find any. Bull informs us that the culprit is an Item Company replacement. "Where's your weapon?" Speirs seethes through pursed lips. The broken kid defiantly stares up and Speirs and sasses, "What weapon?" Like lightning, Speirs's gun-toting arm shoots out and rockets across the man's face. A huge chunk of blood, tissue, and teeth flies out of the kid's mouth; some of the soldiers recoil a tad. Suddenly, everyone seems grossed out, especially Perconte. Beatings just aren't as funny when they're administered by a man with a reputation of evil. No, no, who am I kidding -- beatings are always funny. Those guys are just wusses. The image of fury, Speirs points his pistol right at the replacement's head and steels himself for the impact of the shot. Speirs's gun cocks. I totally chose those words on purpose. The palpable tension thickens as men like Malarkey close their eyes and back away from the sitting corpse. But Speirs never fires his weapon, staring down the chump instead before growling, "Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit." As Speirs angrily flounces out, someone asks whether Grant is dead. "Nope," Speirs answers. "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it." Luz smiles, relieved. Liebgott escorts the quivering mass of pulp outside.
The day, Speirs grills More about Hitler's personal photo albums. "So you looked at 'em but didn't take 'em?" Speirs asks, annoyed. More insists he didn't take the books. Speirs doesn't believe him, but Talbert interrupts the confrontation, and Speirs has to let it slide. "I'll be watching you," Speirs spits at More. "You'd better not be lying to me." More turns and exits with a smug smirk on his face. Clearly, he lied through his teeth. Clearly, on the inside, More is running around in a circle waving the snapshots and whooping and wiggling his ass in Speirs's face. I'm not sure why the albums are an issue for Speirs -- he's probably just pissed that someone else snagged them first.
Peeved, Speirs turns his attention to Talbert. "Sir, if it's not going to put you in too much of a bind, I'd like to resign as Company 1st Sergeant," he blurts, relieved just to get out the words. "If I had my choice...I miss being back amongst the men." Speirs gruffly acknowledges this. "I guess you've earned the right to demote yourself," he says. The expression on Speirs's face is classic. He's baffled out of his gourd, and suddenly wants nothing more than to crawl back into the gourd-womb and curl up with a cup of coffee and some relaxing Dostoevsky. But first, he sends Talbert to replace Sgt. Grant, reporting to Lt. Peacock. Delighted, Talbert salutes his boss. "Let me know if he gives you any trouble," Speirs mutters. God, this actor is good -- it's so obvious he respects Talbert's action enormously despite not fully agreeing with it, and he even manages to imbue his words with traces of affection even as his character tries desperately to maintain the façade of disaffected remove. Speirs, it seems, is as attached to Easy as Winters was. He is Easy. Ooh, I wish that was true. Talbert starts to leave, then pauses to ask whether Speirs has made his decision. "Yeah, I did," Speirs sighs.
"Anything else on your mind?" Winters asks. He and Speirs casually stroll through the encampment. Speirs broaches the subject of Easy. "I know Easy Company's going to need a CO post-war -- somebody to hold their hands, keep them from killing each other," he says, a tinge of humor in his words. "It had better be somebody who knows what they're doing." Winters nods, interested. Amused, even. Speirs adds that it's thoroughly irresponsible to leave Easy in the wrong hands, because the company is a valuable military resource. "I couldn't agree more," Winters grins. He hops inside a Jeep and swivels to face his well-chosen replacement as Easy CO. "So you've decided to stay in the Army?" he asks, obviously delighted but containing the depth of his emotion. Speirs nods. He will stay with Easy. Winters praises the decision and leaves, a grinning and gleeful Speirs standing in the Jeep's wake. Go Speirs! Rock on with your Easy self.
"So, some of us would stay by choice," Winters narrates. "But others were stuck here unless we could find excuses to send them away." The recipient of one such action is Malarkey. We see him walking apace with Major Winters, listening raptly to the description of his new gig working as a technical advisor to an exhibition of equipment and material used by the airborne divisions. Winters drives home the point that it's up to Malarkey to make sure "they" get it right. "Sorry it's not a more hospitable location," Winters teases. Malarkey chuckles. "No, sir, Paris is just fine," he nods. "If you need me to go...." Winters insists that they absolutely do need Malarkey to go. It's a sweet scene. Winters obviously did whatever he could to give his men interesting assignments that got them out of active service. "I don't think we'll see you back here any time soon," Winters says, smiling. Malarkey promises not to let him down, then salutes his superior officer. Ignoring the gesture, Winters holds out his hand to shake his friend's. Clearly touched, Malarkey slowly meets the gesture, and I start to slobber all over the television.
Once Malarkey departs, Donnie is . He's so very pleasant-looking, what with his thin and sensible hair, his mild manner, and his relaxed grin. I'd say Clan Wahlberg defied just about everyone's expectations. I mean, who figured either one of the kids would win serious acting roles, much less critical acclaim? Sure, "Cover Girl" was a killer tune, but I think his role in this series might surpass it on Donnie's résumé. Unless they recorded an acoustic version. Winters starts out with a rueful gaze, informing Donnie that soldiers who receive battlefield commissions -- vaulting them from NCO ranks and erasing the "N" -- aren't usually allowed to remain in the same company because of the perception that other non-coms wouldn't show him the proper degree of respect. "It's a good theory," Donnie says politely. He knew this was coming, but still looks like Winters smacked him in the gut with Hitler's photo albums. "It's an idiotic theory, especially in your case," Winters grins. He announces that Donnie has been promoted to battalion HQ, which is darling of him because it keeps Donnie more or less with Easy Company. "I can think of few better [assignments], sir," glows Donnie. He wants to smooch Winters, he's so grateful. Get in line, Donnie -- it winds around the nation and ends somewhere in Idaho. Mischievously, Winters orders Donnie to join him at the airfield because a certain German general is a trifle pissed at having to surrender to Pvt. Babe Heffron of South Philly. "He thinks it's beneath his stature," smirks Winters. Donnie loves it. "I thought 2nd Lt. [Donnie] from West Virginia could soothe his ruffled feathers," Winters adds. Donnie wonders whether this is the sort of gig he can come to expect as part of battalion administration. "Yeah," Winters admits. "When we're not sunning ourselves by the lake." Aw. Donnie's so glowy. If Winters isn't careful, he'll have a string of boyfriends that's longer than the equator.
A gaggle of Easy men arrive at the airfield to watch the German officer surrender. In clipped tones, the general begs Donnie for a minute to address his troops. "That would be fine, General," Donnie says respectfully. Meanwhile, Winters, perched like a stud in his Jeep, spots Ross marching across the field. They make brief eye contact, and Ross keeps walking with nary a gesture of respect. Winters barks, "We salute the rank, not the man." Sickened, Captain Ross turns and half-heartedly salutes Major Winters, a man who got at least four promotions in the course of the series (to 1st Lt., to Captain, to battalion XO, and to Major) compared to Ross's one. If Ross had pepper spray, I swear he'd use it to melt his own eyes if it meant never having to salute Dick Winters again. Liebgott and Nixon watch this with barely hidden satisfaction. Nixon shakes his head in disbelief. Winters just wears a sunny expression, because he won.
As the German general begins his speech, Liebgott translates at Winters's bidding. I'll copy the whole thing: "Men, it's been a long war, it's been a tough war. You have fought bravely, proudly, for your country. You are a special group. We have found in one another a bond that only exists in combat, among brothers of shared foxholes, [who] held each other in dire moments, who've seen death and suffered together. I am proud to have served with each and every one of you. May you serve long and happy lives of peace." His words, syllabic anvils all, penetrate the men, who seem awed by the man's class, regal stature, and meaningful speech. Donnie's head turns almost instinctively toward his Easy comrades, as though he senses that the oration applies just as aptly to their shared experience. The enemy soldiers seem vulnerable, cut and scraped and bleeding just as the Allies were. Winters stares into space, moved and pensive and totally psyched that the war is ending and he can return to America, the land of opportunity, and the freedom to unite graham crackers and cake frosting.
And we're back in Lake Homoerotica II: The Awakening of Richard Winters. Our hero drips with sun-kissed water droplets. Nixon waits for him, perched on the edge of the pier and lovingly ogling a photograph of their youthful selves. In it, they're wearing physical-training gear and crouching on the ground. It's the type of photo that says, "Uh, well, he just dropped his, uh, pencil, and we both bent down to get it, and then our heads bumped together, sir, and uh, that's all we were doing. Our fingers weren't touching on purpose." Nixon can't believe how innocent they seem. "What the hell happened to them?" he wonders. Winters stands waist-deep in water and gazes affectionately at his boyfriend. "New Jersey, huh?" he asks. Nixon nods and reiterates his wish that Winters consider the job. "Yeah, I am," Winters says. "You awake yet?" Nixon snickers. "Awake? It's time to go to bed!" he giggles, standing. Then, in a fit of impulsiveness matched in predictability only by the outcome of a Tic-Tac-Toe game, Nixon leaps crazily off the pier and into the water, never taking off his clothes. That wacky man. He bathes himself in the soothing waters of man-love, home at last after a year of cold denial and bad oatmeal.
Then, we're treated to a slow-motion softball game, lovingly filmed to show off the cast. Buck Compton throws off the catcher's mask and backs up to catch a pop-up, looking as strapping and sensational as ever. "Buck Compton came back to see the Company to let us know he was all right," Winters tells us. Compton became a prosecuting attorney in Los Angeles, famously convicting Sirhan Sirhan of the murder of Robert Kennedy. He later served on the California Court of Appeals. Webster became a writer for The Wall Street Journal and The Saturday Evening Post. And, incongruously, Winters chirps that Webster later wrote a book about sharks. Maybe that's deeply symbolic of his career in journalism. Apparently, though, Webster went out to sea alone in 1961 and never returned. That's incredibly sad; it makes me vaguely uneasy to know he wrote about sharks and then died on the cruel waters he probably studied. Gulp. Replacement Garcia swings -- uh, he put on a bit of weight in Austria, I think. He doesn't merit a mention here, sadly. Johnny Martin makes a catch, at which point we learn he returned to his job on the railroad, then started his own construction company and splits his residency between Arizona and Montana. Martin throws to Luz; Winters shares that George lived out his days as a handyman in Providence, Rhode Island. "As a testament to his character, 1600 people attended his funeral in 1998." Okay, that, coupled with the gorgeous shot of the actor, totally had my lip trembling. I'm not sure 1600 people even know that I'm alive.
Eugene Roe is up , literally -- he's batting. After a life as a construction contracter, Roe died in Louisiana in 1998. Perconte returned to Chicago and "worked a postal route as a mailman," as though he could somehow work the postal route as a bagel chef, or a male prostitute. Perconte slides toward the base, but Liebgott merrily calls him out. I love Liebgott. I'm so, so glad he survived my recaps -- narrowly, but still successfully. He did indeed return to his cab company in San Francisco. Fortunately, he didn't embark upon a career as a baseball umpire, because Perconte was totally safe and everyone knows it. "Bull Randleman was one of the best soldiers I ever had," Winters chirps as the big man hulks up to the plate and swings a bat into position. His typical cigar stub dangles from his lips. "He went into the earth-moving business in Arkansas. He's still there." Yay! Anyone up for a road trip? Bull swings and we pretend he hit the ball. There's something incredibly moving about the modest post-war lives of men who performed with such extraordinary heroism during battle. Winters shares that Alton More returned home to Wyoming with a wicked souvenir -- Hitler's personal photo albums. Heh. I knew it. But he died in a 1958 car accident. "Talbert -- we all lost touch with in civilian life," Winters notes with regret. "Until he showed up at a reunion before his death in 1981." He exposits that everyone chose a unique path for himself -- like Donnie, who lived in North Carolina and became a glassmaking executive in charge of global factories. That's pretty cool, actually. Donnie applauds the game while wearing a tank top, which does fabulous things for his shoulders. I didn't know he was so...broad. "Harry Welsh!" Winters exclaims as we see the man beside Donnie. "He married Kitty Grogan and became an administrator for the Wilkes-Barre, Penn., school system." Ronald Speirs, we learn, stayed in the Army through Korea, then retired to Germany in 1958 to serve as governor of Spandau Prison. He was a lieutenant colonel. Buck smiles. I don't know why, but he's there, and he's grinning, and it warms my cynical heart.
Winters and Nixon stroll toward the gang. "Easy Company!" barks Speirs. "School circle!" The gang jogs toward Winters. "President Truman received unconditional surrender from the Japanese," he relays. "The war's over." It was D-Day-plus-434 for Easy Company when World War II finally ended, and the men's expressions show varying degrees of surprise at the sudden finality of it all. "Regardless of points, medals, or wounds, each man in the 101st Airborne would be going home," Winters narrates. "Each of us would be forever connected by our shared experience, and each would have to rejoin the world as best he could." Everyone cheers, delighted at the good news. Winters and Nixon watch the men sprint back to the barracks. "Lewis Nixon had tough times after the war," Winters tells us. Apparently, he divorced several women before finding Mrs. Right -- an angel named Grace, who married him in 1956 and gave Nixon the happy life he always craved and deserved. "My friend Lew died in 1995," Winters says sadly. If anyone doubts the ineptitude of Webster-as-narrator, they should juxtapose episodes eight and ten. Damian Lewis infuses his words with so much more care, turning ordinary sentences into nuggets of light emotion, never overstated and never tossed off like boring voice-over work. During this last scene, you can feel how much Winters respects each and every man of which he speaks, especially Welsh and Nixon, and even Bull Randleman. Sorry to harp on Eion Bailey yet again, but I'm sort of stunned that the production crew let him get away with being so lackluster during his special episode.
Finally, we learn The Fate of Dick Winters. It seems he accepted Nixon's job offer, serving as personnel manager at Nixon Nitration until the Army recruited him in 1950 to train officers and rangers. "I chose not to go to Korea," he reveals. "I'd had enough of war." Winters settled down in Hershey, PA, living on a tiny farm on peaceful land -- which he swore he'd do back in "Day of Days." Bless the man for being consistent. "Not a day goes by that I do not think of the men I served with, who never got to enjoy the world without war." And with that, we have our final glimpse of Winters, Nixon, and their merry, unified band of brothers. Oh, don't roll your eyes -- you knew that was coming. But what about Grant? I want to know how he recovered from that pesky bullet that sliced into his brain. And Malarkey! Where's he?
It's our last Veteranapalooza -- this time, with names. The first man is Dick Winters himself, who -- for those of you who've seen other episodes and wonder what came from him -- wears glasses. I think Winters is the only one who did have specs. "It's a very unusual feeling," he shares. "A very unusual happening and it's a very unusual bonding." He's framed against trees blowing in the breeze, which is strange because every other interview took place indoors. It feels like they went back to him at a later date for further comment. Carwood Lipton -- no longer Donnie -- appears . He's cute and old. God, I don't know how else to describe him! That won't be very helpful. "We knew that we could depend on each other," Lipton says. "And so we were a close-knit group." Don Malarkey is , oddly omitted from the "where are they now" segment -- presumably because he'd been sent to Paris and wasn't present for the baseball-game scene. "Just brave," Malarkey begins. "So brave, it was unbelievable. And I don't know anybody that I admire more than Bill Guarnere [Gonorrhea] and Joe Toye, and...uh...they were very, very special." He chokes up. Aw.
"I'm just one part of the big war," a sweet old man says. "That's all. One little part. And I'm proud to be a part of it." The man is Guarnere himself, and the actor playing ol' Gonorrhea totally nailed the accent. They sound absolutely identical, and that's either a credit to him or to casting; probably both. "Sometimes it makes me cry," he whispers. The real Babe Heffron is up . "The real men -- the real heroes -- are the fellas that are still buried over there and those that came home to be buried," he says. I feel bad saying this, but that line sounded...well, pre-written. Maybe he was just nervous and stiff in front of the cameras, and that's why it came off like a recitation. Shifty, a mustachioed man in a plaid shirt, explains in lilting tones, "Seems like you figured that you thought you could do just about anything," he says awkwardly. "And after the war was over...why, you lost a lot of that, or at least I did. I lost all that confidence." And we sort of saw it start to happen in his earlier scene with Winters. Good synergy there between the documentary portion and the show's script. Johnny Martin shows up . "We was hoping to stay alive, that's all," he sputters, wiping his face to keep from crying. Lipton returns for a nice, long quote. "Henry the Fifth was talking to his men," he begins. "He said, 'From this day to the ending of the world, we in it shall be remembered. We lucky few, we band of brothers, for he who today sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.'" That was a great choice, but come on -- do we really think Lipton carried that quote around with him throughout his life, memorizing it and spitting it out during these interviews? It would be nice, but I don't buy it. Too convenient. Reeks of Stephen Ambrose. But I should point out that I never read the last chapters, so it's entirely possible Ambrose waxes rhapsodic about how Lipton quoted Shakespeare and it inspired the book's title.
Apropos of everything, Winters gets the last line. He recalls a letter that Mike Ranney wrote to him; Ranney recalled his grandson asking, "Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?" Ranney said, "No, but I served in a company of heroes." This final anecdote awakens Winters's sadness, and we fade to black on the image of his emotion-filled face.