4

Title: "Memorial"

Author: Darkover

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own "Band of Brothers," the miniseries. I do not own the men upon whom the series was based, as they were and are real people, whom I greatly respect and admire. No offense is intended, and I fervently hope none is taken. This is a work of fiction. No money is being made from it, so please do not sue.

Characters: Mike Ranney, OC

Summary: Many years after the war, Mike Ranney explains something important to his grandson.

~oo0oo~

It was a perfect summer evening, and Mike Ranney, formerly of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Division, U.S. Army, was enjoying the warm weather as he sat on his front porch. In the house behind him were his wife and grown children, still chatting and tidying up after the Sunday dinner they had all shared. As he got older, Ranney found himself appreciating warm weather more and more. Of course, that was nothing new. He had preferred summer to winter ever since Bastogne.

The thought of that long cruel siege made him feel cold in spite of the temperature, and it made him remember all of his old friends—no, his brothers—of Easy Company. He also recalled that he was still in the middle of writing a letter to Dick Winters. He thought about going inside to finish up the letter so that he could mail it first thing tomorrow, but the sunshine was so beautiful, and the calls of his grandchildren to each other as they played together in the backyard was so pleasant, that he decided to remain where he was for awhile longer.

Ranney was just enjoying the rhythm of the porch swing when he noticed someone had joined him. His five-year-old grandson stood on the porch, gazing at him with unusual solemnity. Ranney smiled. "Hello, Billy. Come to join me?"

"Yes, Grandpa." The little boy climbed up onto the swing. For a moment, grandfather and grandson rocked together in silence. Ranney thought about asking the boy why he was not playing out back with the others, but he had the feeling that there was something the child wanted to say. Billy was his youngest grandchild, quieter and more perceptive than the others, at least in Ranney's opinion.

"Daddy said we won't be able to come back here until Memorial Day," Billy said at last. "Grandpa, what's Memorial Day?"

Not *when,* but *what,* Ranney thought, surprised. Out loud he said; "It's a day set aside to honor the people who fought—" *And sometimes died,* he thought—"fought and sometimes…gave their lives in defense of our country." He felt his throat constrict as he thought of all those fine young men, friends and brothers, who had not come home. He turned the last few choked words into a cough.

"You fought in the war, didn't you, Grandpa? The Big War?"

"Memorial Day is for the veterans of all America's wars, Billy, but yes, I fought in World War II." Ranney took a deep breath. "So did a lot of others."

The five-year-old was looking at him intently. "Grandpa, was you a hero in the war?"

"Me?" For a moment, Ranney did not know what to say. *I was just a man doing a job. I did my duty, did what I was trained to do.* Mike Ranney did not consider himself a hero. But neither did he want to disparage the sacrifices he and his brothers of Easy Company, and many others, made to win that war. They had protected their country and saved civilization. But how could he explain such a thing to one so young? Billy was intelligent and unusually perceptive for a five-year-old, but how could such a momentous thing be put in terms that a child could understand?

His little grandson was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

"No," Mike Ranney, formerly of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, said at last. "But I served in a company of heroes."