At the Utah Beach camp, near the medic tents, a pile of unforms sits in the foreground. We zero in on one with an "Airborne" patch and a sprig of Edelweiss. Um, okay. We did actually get that Blithe was hurt, being as we saw it happen and whatnot. I would take this as an omen of his death, but I peeked ahead, and it isn't. So really, it's just an omen of nudity. Fade to black.
Winters walks up to Welsh, who is reclining against an archway with his eyes closed, sensually sucking on a cigarette. Winters confirms that his leg is a bit stiff and sore, so he's trying to take it easy for a few days. "You should," Welsh sighs. Winters says that Colonel Sink really appreciated Easy Company's holding the line when the others bailed out, and notes that General Taylor -- the 101st Airborne leader -- was also pleased. Welsh groans. "That's why I came to France. To please General Taylor," he says. Winters simply breathes, "Yeah," and looks dejected. Why aren't they proud of this? They're damn brave, and everyone knows it. I suppose they're probably just too exhausted to be proud.
Hospital Tent. Pvt. Gordon, wounded during that second battle, gets the Purple Heart for being hurt in the line of duty. He smiles and poses for a photo. Another man is wheeled in with his head wrapped in gauze; we only see the profile, but we recognize Blithe's stony and vacant blue eyes. "How many does that make?" a recovering soldier asks. Gordon, obviously doing just fine now, pulls up his pillow and places his newest Purple Heart next to two others. "You have no shame," his friend chuckles. "One hole in my shoulder, a second one on my calf and a boil on my shin that has to be lanced," Gordon laughs. His friend points to Blithe. "And he only gets one," he says, sadly. Actually, Gordon's injury is one of my favorite stories from the book (so far): he was bleeding all over the place, but when asked if he was hurt, he said something like, "Oh, I guess, but I really just need this boil lanced, please." So the medic did that first. Gordon tried to go back to Winters and Easy Company, and had to be ordered back to England for recovery.
Cut to a shot of Blithe's bandaged face, expressionless as ever. We see a shot of the same cloudy sky at which he gazed while lost in Normandy. The sky shot transitions us to footage of wacky fun, as Malarkey and his pal More (the book filled in that blank for me) race through the quiet Aldbourne streets in a motorcycle and sidecar. They're elated to be back in England, clean again and safe. It's a joyous frolic. They're blithe in every way Blithe can't be. Malarkey guzzles a beer and giggles as they race past everyone and narrowly escape a collision with a delivery truck. Screeching to a halt, the two men hop out and head for the mess hall.