Winters breaks the mood by calling for Welsh, who vacates his spot. Blithe promptly spits on it, but he doesn't look motivated by spite. He might've just needed to rid himself of water. But it cracked me up, regardless. It's odd, disrespectful yet funny, and gross, because Martin's going to come back and park his ass right on top of Blithe's loogie, and that will be so soothing.
"The Germans only left one company to defend Carentan," Winters whispers as he walks with Welsh. "The rest pulled out last night." Welsh curses that he knew the enemy ceded Carentan too easily. Who is he kidding? Christina Aguilera is easy. That last joke was, in fact, easy. But bodies piled up, blood gushed, and one man's leg flying through the air...that shit's at least on the intermediate level. Winters says the enemy troops regrouped south of Carentan and may have been doubling back for the counterattack when Easy ran smack into them. As he dishes strategy, Welsh shoots affectionate glances at Winters. I think we're rapidly approaching naughty time. "They want the town back, and we're in their way," Winters concludes. "If they don't come before then, we're attacking [at] first light at 0530."
Official business complete, Welsh now regards Winters with interest. "Not much of a limp," he says, his gaze slithering down to Winters's leg. "I'll survive," Winters replies blithely. "How is it?" persists Welsh, who honestly looks like he'd suck the hurt from his shin if Winters let him. And to head off some of the hate mail, no, I'm not claming the real Welsh felt this way -- just that this actor makes it look like Welsh is really, really horny. Winters looks exasperated. "Hurts," he says, amused but also annoyed that someone's asking him to admit he has a weakness. Welsh smiles. "War is hell," he says cheerfully, disappearing toward the foxholes.
A guy named Smith snoozes in his hole. Creeping up to him, Talbert -- clad in his stolen German poncho -- taps Smith's helmet with his gun and whispers, "Come on, Smith, get up, it's your watch!" Smith slowly rouses himself, then looks up at the source of the noise and sees only a shadowy figure wearing enemy garb and holding a pistol. Smith freaks, grabs his bayonet, and pokes the man twice in the belly. Talbert screams. Liebgott, completely alive (yay!) and bent on helping the wounded, restrains Smith. "What the hell are you doing?" Liebgott yells. "That's Talbert!" Smith finally clears the fog from his brain and stares at the wounded Talbert's face, his own now awash with horror. He sputters apologies. "He looked like a Kraut!" Smith insists. A medic comes to the aid of the not-fatally-hurt Talbert.