Elsewhere, the onslaught hasn't abated. As bullets smack the land around him, a minister gives extreme unction to dying men felled on the street. Hoobler is amazed and calls it to Malarkey's attention. "Crazy fools, the Irish," Hoobler says. "You should know." But he's clearly touched.
Upstairs in a captured building, a private named Smokey pokes his gun out of an upstairs window and shoots retreating Germans. Almost all of them go down, tipping into lakes or pitching headfirst onto the grassy knoll. Somehow, amid the carnage, Easy ran out the enemy and claimed Carentan for the Allies. I'm not sure how or where this happened, because it looked like a complete shellacking the whole time, but who am I to argue with history? To have achieved this, they're incredibly brave, probably a little crazy, and damn fine soldiers. Go Easy! Have a slice of provolone on your irony sandwiches!
Winters strolls the street as a white horse approaches. "I'm Sgt. Farnsworth from Able, 501st. I'm here to tell you we got it clear from here all the way to the north of them Krauts, sir," the excited officer says. Winters proudly notes that 506th regiment cleared the southern positions. The Lone Ranger rears his stallion and departs. "Lieutenant Winters! Is it safe to cross now?" a rotund man asks. "We want to move the wounded." Winters half-giggles and swaps amused looks with Nixon, who always seems to be around but never seems to do much except swap amused looks with people. Suddenly, a stray bullet ricochets into Winters's leg; pissed, he limps off-screen and curses his bad luck.
A medic lifts the flattened bullet from just underneath Winters's shin skin. Buck Compton struts in, all swagger and suavity, and grins at Winters. "You gonna be able to stay off it?" he asks, every syllable wrapped in doubt. "Doesn't look that way," Winters sighs. He tells Compton they should expect a counterattack, because Carentan is important to the Germans precisely because the Allies want it so badly. Easy won't be in the village to fight, though, because the battalion wants to head east toward high ground, setting up a defensive position there that blocks the Germans' only point of passage. Compton leaves, having been the Exposition Enabler for plenty long enough. He and his manly gait are needed elsewhere, wherever testosterone is low and chests aren't hairy.
"What's wrong with Blithe?" Winters asks curiously, spotting the private slumped in a corner staring into space. "He can't see," the medic replies, sounding remarkably unconcerned. "So he says." Winters chews on this, then gets up and moseys over to where Blithe sits. "Blithe? It's Lieutenant Winters. What happened?" our hero asks. Blithe is on the verge of tears. "Things, they just kinda went black on me," he whines. Winters waves his hand around to establish that Blithe really can't seem to see a thing. "Take it easy. You're okay, son," Winters smiles sympathetically. "We'll get you outta here and get you back to England." Blithe closes his eyes and fights his rising sobs. "Sir, I didn't want to let anyone down," he chokes. Winters repeats his soothing words and pats Blithe on the arm. Goodness flows freely from every pore on Winters's body, so of course his touch cures Blithe's blindness, and possibly his chronic bacne. "Sir," he says, slowly turning his head toward the lieutenant. "Thank you, sir. I'm okay. I'm okay." Blithe still isn't able to focus completely, but at least he's got sight. "I don't know what happened, but I think I'm okay." His tears dried a trail on his cheeks, which glints in the light as Blithe ambles like a zombie past Winters and over to a rest area. Winters cocks his head a bit and looks pensively after Blithe. You know, it's really decent of Winters to be so caring to this guy, whose hysteria led to the hysterical blindness that could've cost Easy a few more lives. But at this point, as a viewer, it's also refreshing to see abject fear on someone's face, because that's exactly what I'd feel.