Through voice-over, Winters relays that the German garrison was secured shortly thereafter, and Allied men and material were being directed to various inland operations centers. But with most of the 101st Airborne still scattered across Normandy, "success [is] far from certain," Winters says. The troops are given one hour to madly scour village streets for food and supplies before moving south to secure another town.
Gonorrhea & The Gang hide out in the back of a truck, cooking what they can and warming their limbs. Malarkey is manning the mini-bonfire. Winters spots Gonorrhea peeking out of the flaps covering their little kitchen, and strolls over to investigate. "Evening," he says, pleasantly. "Something die in here?" Now, I understand the concept of graveyard humor, but isn't that just a trifle inappropriate given that half the company got wiped out that day? It's sort of like walking into an Overeaters Anonymous meeting and saying, "Is anyone else here craving a Whopper Meal?" Compton quietly asks whether Meehan has been located; Winters exhales slowly and shakes his head regretfully. Gonorrhea somberly notes that, because Meehan is still missing, Winters is the acting CO (whereas before he was the executive officer --the XO) of Easy Company. The news doesn't please Winters, who obviously agrees that it takes a sick bastard to relish a promotion coming under such horrendous circumstances. And speaking of sick bastards, Gonorrhea nods appraisingly at Winters's still-soiled face and hands. Winters reaches for the roving liquor bottle, much to the shock of everyone. "It's been a day of firsts, don't you think?" Winters smiles tiredly, lifting the bottle to his lips. Gonorrhea nods with kindling respect, then takes the booze and takes a pull himself before passing it down the line. "Oh, and Sergeant?" Winters calls to Gonorrhea as he walks away. "I'm not a Quaker." Pause. "He's probably a Mennonite," Gonorrhea reasons. Everyone laughs, because intolerance is truly hilarious and we all need a bit more merry prejudice in our lives.
Nixon spots Winters pacing through camp, and hails him. Apparently, the plans Winters pocketed from the German garrison depict the location of "every Kraut gun in Normandy." Winters is silent and, when pressed, admits his reticence stems from shock at losing a man in combat. "John Hall, a New Yorker," Winters says. War Is Hell Platitude, coming right up: "A good man...'Man.' He wasn't even old enough to buy a beer," Winters broods, handing off his can of food to Nixon and claiming a lack of appetite. As they part, a worried Nixon attempts to soothe Winters's psychological wounds. "I sent that map up to Division," he says. "I think it's going to do some good." Winters barely nods, then turns and walks into solitude.