On the Nature of Daylight
PROLOGUE
...
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sharp words cut across the air, made thick by tension, and his hand wrapped tight about her arm. She tried to pull away, but it was to little avail – he was stronger than she was, and no amount of pulling or pushing could change that fact. He was a soldier in every sense of the word, and if there were no war he still would be, for it was in his nature; one could use a pistol as a paperweight, but it would remain just as deadly no matter. "You're going to get yourself killed. Is that what you want?"
"What I want is for you to let me go." Came her reply, a simple slip of tongue spilling harsher notions than intended. In the broader sense of the question, she had little idea what she wanted – was it death, or rectification? Or, perhaps, with one came the other. But, in that moment, there was no time to lend her thoughts to theories, for all around shells were exploding and death, death, death.
"Let me go," she pleaded again, desperation slipping into a voice that had once held such strength.
The tight grip lessened, but only marginally and out of the mere worry he had in hurting her – hurting her was not his intention, but neither was it to let her leave. "I won't," he responded at length, pulling her so her face was inches from his own. "I'd sooner take a bullet myself than watch you run out into open fire. Are you mad?"
"I'm not going to die," she retorted, only half believing the words. "I'm leaving, and you're not going to stop me." The words were accentuated with another pull from his grasp, but it did little more than accent her words. In her grief she'd gone mad, and it seemed a small price to pay: a few moments of physical pain to end years upon years of emotional. In her haste, should be struck down… why, there was little protest to the idea. The future looked so bleak, and fear had taken grasp on her heart for the first time since she'd left Poland – she no longer recognised herself.
"You wouldn't make it out of here, let alone another thousand kilometres on your own." He shot back, wanting to at least pierce the wall she'd built up. "And if they catch you? You'd be shot—"
"Don't—"
"You'd leave the men?" He asked, effectively knocking all the fight from her already weary bones, and all it had taken were four words. Four words, and she was rendered completely speechless. A look of satisfaction flashed across his dark eyes, and at long last, he released the grip on her arm – it felt colder in his hand's absence, and her hand rose instinctively to rub where it had been. He remained close to her, studying her conflicted features before speaking once more: "Go on. Make your choice then, Emilia. I'm not going to stop you."
...
Happy Veteran's Day to all who have fought for their countries, and to those who continue to do so.
Author's Note: I'm a sucker for mysterious prologues, what can I say? I know none of this makes sense, but please rest assured that it will all come together soon. I'll be posting the first chapter immediately after this, in fact. More to the point of this author's note, however, I've read some pretty amazing stories on here and they inspired me to take a shot at writing for both an era I love, and a story that never ceases to move me. I'd like to give special thanks to user finnobhair for encouraging me to write this in the first place, so thank you very much!
Disclaimer: I have nothing but respect for the men of the 506th, and in writing this story I wish only to broaden my creative horizons, not claim ownership over the true heroes in any way, shape, or form. Thank you for reading!