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"I think I'm ready to go back home," LaVern drew her bugle tighter to her chest, eyeing the swarm of men clamoring under the canopy of cigarette smoke.

Her reassuring father held her shoulders and gently nudged her, "C'mon now, you wanted this."

She looked back at him and grimaced, "But they're so big!"

"Warfare is a man's world, Vern." He squeezed her shoulders again, "Don't let them know you're scared."

She stubbornly stomped her heel, "I am not frightened!" LaVern stiffened her lower lip, knowing her father's trick was always to tell her one thing so she would do the opposite.

The stiff fabric of his old service uniform rubbed against the starched floral pattern of her seasonal dress as they embraced. If she was going to be a woman mixed in with all these men, then let them all know. "Bye, papa. Take care of yourself." She gently kissed his clean-shaven cheek and let the fire of her golden eyes meet his.

"The same goes for you," he held her pointed chin firmly. "Don't forget to write us!" He gave her broad shouldered back one last pat as she turned to mingle with her new comrades.

Fondling the horn through the corduroy case, LaVern waved at her father who was fighting back tears. They pushed and shoved her, but the sassy LaVern gave the rowdy men the same treatment. Getting stopped at the bottom of the ramp, a burly man fastened a stiff and white life vest around her neck.

"Ma'am?" he politely tapped her shoulder before she could escape. "You'll need to take off your shoes. The heels could cause sparks, and we don't need that."

"Gotcha," she smiled good-naturedly, pulling off the white shoes from her nude hose.

Holding on firmly to the railing as the careless strangers bumped her, LaVern tugged at the bulky vest. Once she had reached the deck, she gazed around to take in the magnificent sight ahead of her. The towering lady of her great country was watching the skyscraper city before her. Once burning torch held firmly in one jade hand, a tablet grasped in the other. Eyeing the grand statue, LaVern drew her favorite instrument tighter to her chest.

"Who's the broad?" she heard one man whisper curiously to his pal.

She dramatically rolled her eyes as she worked at the knot securing the jacket to her lean neck. "Goddamn it!" she spat out under her breath, feeling wondering eyes on her struggling figure. "Fuck this shit!" she yelled, hurling the life vest to the floorboards.

"If you want to swear like a sailor, you should have joined the Navy," a cold voice sent a shiver down her spine. Spinning around with two shoes and a bugle held in her hands, LaVern's frustrated eyes met with a pair of dark and intimidating ones.

"Sorry, sir. I was, uh, just trying to find the company I'm assigned to." Remembering her manners, LaVern clapped to a firm attention. "Can you direct me towards them? Easy Company? I'm their bugler." She said, gesturing coolly to her bugle.

He looked as her with disbelief painted on his shadowed face. She acted as if she wasn't the old woman here, standing on the deck of a deporting ship with the destination of England to fight in a war. "Uh, some of the men are over there, by the railing." He was so shocked by her distinct courage, Ronald Speirs was completely dumbfounded.

Confidently strolling over to the cluster of men with eagles on their shoulders, the soles of her hosiery caught on the small splinters on the wooden boards.

Timidly tapping the shoulder of a slim faced man, joking with two other guys, LaVern's high voice stuck out like a sore thumb. "This Easy Company?"

A fiery haired soldier's almond shaped eyes grew wide, while the other round faced man winked quickly at her.

The man she had tapped turned to look at what his friends were staring at with such awe. "W-wha…?" His bewildered faced matched his Speirs'. "Hi there, name's Skip Muck."

"What are you doing on here?" the round faced man spluttered out.

Placing on hand on her hip, she argued, "Is that anyway to introduce yourself?"

"Alex. Alex Penkala, and this here is Don Malarkey-"

"Christ, Penk! I can introduce myself!" The redhead offered a freckled hand to her, and LaVern let out a small chuckle.

"Nice to meet you, fellas." She smiled warmly, "Is this Easy Co.? I'm supposed to be their bugler, but between you guys and that scary man over there," she pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. "I'm a little confused."

"That's just Speirs… and did you just say something about a bugler?" Skip questioned, gawking at her.

Grinning, LaVern slid the polished silver from the case. Dowsing her bright smile at their astonishment, she managed to blow out a melody of striking and shrill notes. The entire ship deck immediately slipped into a silence.

"Yes, yes. To extinguish any further questions, I am your bugler and I am a woman… not a broad. We'll set that straight right now."

Setting their Lucky Strikes back in their lips, the men outside of the company returned to their busy chattering as others hurled themselves over the railing to spew. Cocking one square eyebrow at the horrendous sound, LaVern didn't even notice the short, dark-haired puppet like man standing before her.

"Heya, doll face. I'm George Luz, but please call me Georgie." He pulled his white cancer stick from his teeth, holding the moist end to her face.

To all of their surprise, LaVern snatched it up hastily, her lungs yearning to hold the smoke. Speaking through the shared Strike, she played, "I'll be sure to remember that, Georgie." LaVern sealed it with a wink.

"Jeezus, she even smokes," another short man elbowed Skip. Drawing attention to herself with her small concert, the rest of the men from the company had circled around her.

Georgie piped up, "Here's 'Wild' Bill Gonorrhea-"

"Wait, wait…" she held up a finger. "Do you actually have Gonorrhea?"

"Nah, that's just his nickname," Luz continued down the line, not even concerned a woman had just openly spoken about an SDT. "This is Bull," an enormous man grinned politely down at her through his cigar. "And that skinny little guy over there is Liebgott, and he's shooting the shit with Johnny Martin."

Two hands wrapped around her shoulders, and a head popped beside hers. "We thank you for your tour, Luz, but I have to steal her."

"Aww, c'mon Lieutenant Winters! I ain't done yet!" Luz argued. LaVern could practically hear Sissy scolding him for saying 'ain't'.

She turned around to find a slender redhead with icy blue eyes smiling warmly at her. "Colonel Sink needs to meet with you, Miss Claiborne."

"Until next time, boys," she playfully waved as the handsome officer led her away.

She heard Bill's thick Philly accent bicker, "Really, the Quaker of all people gets her to himself?" Holding down a giggle as Winters held open a door, LaVern squinted through the steam that dimmed the auburn light of the steam room. After minutes of the taunting sound of clicking meters and steam pelting her legs, they finally neared a door with 'HQ' painted on the glass.

"Here she is, Colonel," Winters spoke, holding the door open for her. The white-haired man with a mustache to match stood from his desk. Winters stood at attention to the raised officer, and the clueless LaVern mirrored his action.

"Dismissed," Sink nodded to the Lieutenant and directed his attention solely to the woman before him.

"Here, sit down," he warmly gestured towards a large leather armchair.

Running her hands down the back of her legs to smooth out her dress, LaVern instinctively crossed her legs. She blushed violently as both her and the Colonel at the same time realized she was still barefoot.

"I apologize, sir. A man at the ramp told me they could cause sparks?"

"Oh, nonsense! Put 'em back on, dear."

Relaxing her shoulders with how comfortable she was growing, LaVern slipped her shoes back on her feet that were now covered in runs.

"How were the men? They are the best I have, so I have high expectations."

Placing a thoughtful finger on her chin, she tried to remember their names, "Oh, they were great. That George Luz was rather comical, and Bull was a giant. Malarkey was very polite, and excuse my language, but Speirs scared the hell out of me, sir!"

Sink let out a hearty laugh, holding his abdomen. LaVern's face glowed; pleased she had made him laugh. "Ohh, yes. He has a tendency of scaring people. How are you feeling? Do you have any questions Private Claiborne?"

"I feel fine, a little shaky because of all the commotion, but I'll be fine. I do have a few questions though, sir."

"Let me have 'em."

"Well, this is the Airborne, so how will I acquire the necessary training to become a paratrooper? What will my schedule be for bugling? Will I be asked to fight at all, or will I stay off of the line? Where are my quarters? And, where is this ship even headed?" She blew out a puff of air through her painted lips.

"To start, the ship will port in England and there you will earn your Jump Wings. Lewis Nixon will be your jump instructor." He noticed her worried face, "Yes, another name to remember. As for bugling, we will need a call to wake the men up and another at night. The Airborne's position in this war is still young, so I do not know when you will be required on the line. You will, though, have a weapon on your person at all times for multiple reasons, LaVern. You will stay in the officer's quarters until we reach England; until the men get used to you." He sucked in a breath, too. "Does that answer everything?"

She beamed, "Yes, sir, it does."

"Good then." He laced his fingers together and placed them in his lap. "It is dark out now, so you should go get yourself acquainted. The officer's quarters are down the hallway and to the right. We have some small sized uniforms in there for you to wear. Sorry, you can't wear a dress."

She lightly sighed, "As expected, sir." She gave him a handshake over the desk before standing. LaVern gave him a confident salute before turning towards the door. Her feet and shins ached from all of the traveling and bustling and she yearned for the feel of a bed beneath her.

Tearing his tense right hand from his forehead, Sink remembered to say something else, "Oh, and LaVern?"

"Yes, sir?" She faced him again, holding her fingers around the doorknob.

"I can already tell the men will need you. War is hell, and they'll need a bright soul like yours to keep 'em going. You play that horn, and I guarantee they'll be the happiest company in the 101st." He gently smiled, "You remember that."

Pressing her lips together, LaVern nodded, "I will, sir. Goodnight and thank you, sir."

Entering the cold hallway, Vern hugged her own torso. Sink's words coursed through her busy mind as she searched for her quarters. Never in her life had she ever been told she was 'needed' and it made butterflies swarm her emotions.

Locating the correct entrance, LaVern quietly opened the door to find the dark room empty. Slapping a shivering hand against the wall, she searched for a light switch. A lone dangling light bulb swung from the ceiling in time with the smooth rocking of the ship beneath her. She saw all of the cots were nice and neat, with one in particular with clothes sprawled around the footlocker. Green bottles of Scottish whiskey, Vat69 was on an unmade bed. Setting down her beloved bugle on the only unclaimed cot left, LaVern snatched up a bottle of half-empty whiskey.

"Congratulations to me," she said dryly, taking a swig of the burning booze. The warmth tingled her chest as she stripped down and pulled on the olive drab sleeping shirt and pants. She had never liked the feel of pants around her legs, but knew she would have to get used to it.

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