Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own anything from Saving Private Ryan. I wouldn't mind owning Matt Damon though ;) lol
Note: All right this might prove to be a lengthy A/N so bear with me. This movie has existed for almost a decade, but I only just watched it a couple months ago. Now I've watched it almost daily for three weeks. That fact alone would have spurred me to write this fic, but it was also because the story appealed to me. This isn't just about the search for one man; it's about a group of guys as close as brothers fighting for each other's lives. But yeah, so anyway.
On another note I would just like to hit a few questions I know will be posed beforehand. I know that during World War II that even if my character managed to get out there as a medical aid, she would not really be allowed to go tracking around France with a squad of military men, however I like the element that a female character brings to the story and...I don't do male character well xD so if you don't like it tough, it's my story and this is how I chose to write it. If you do like it then you're my new favorite person and I luffs you! (tackles you)
Ok well, again I would like to thank TvLuVa for being a good friend and helping me out with these stories. Now read and review!
PS: I have another fanfic I'm seriously working on Four Brother and a Sister and I'm going to wait until I get Chapter 6 and 7 up till I work on this one again, so please review but don't expect another chapter real soon. But you never know with me :) lol
Chapter One: Too Dangerous
An explosion went off only a few yards from him, sending one of the soldiers sideways into the water as he was pushed his way through the surf. Bullets were fired into the water all around him. Dozens of guys had already been killed as they landed. He passed many bodies as he made his way to shore as quickly as possible. The water was already turning rusty in color with all the blood. Another blast went off in the water near him, and he was thrown under water, briefly looking into the dead, staring eyes of one of the fallen. The solider came up screaming and doubled his pace.
Everything seemed to be exploding around him; it was all he could do to keep his balance as he made it to the first barrier, the water just up to his knees now. There were a lot of guys around him, but most fell as their bodies were riddled with bullets, collapsing where they stood. The soldier fell beside others, trying to get as much cover as possible. The noise from the machine guns was deafening. Almost amusedly, he thought of how he had played cops and robbers with his brothers when he was younger, and how much they're miniscule "Bang, bang!"s paled in comparison to this gunfire as bullets continued to whistle past him.
"Move up to the seawall!" someone yelled, and a captain came splashing up not even two yards from where the solider laid, "Move up to the seawall, make way for the others!" Another soldier shouted over the gunfire that he was staying.
"Every inch of this beach has been pre-sighted!" the captain yelled in reply, "You stay here, you're dead men. Now let's go!" He leapt over the barrier, dozens of men following him, and was gone.
Private Sean Ryan continued to lay there, his mind in a whirlwind. His body told him to move but his brain refused to listen. He was suddenly wishing he were home, begging God that this was all a dream. But slowly, he got a hold on reality, and he felt his sanity get thrust back into him forcefully. As memories fleeted through his mind, Sean thought of his brothers, of his mother, of his friends. And he thought of his sister. What she was doing, what she had done, made his stomach turn cold. He had known for weeks, months even, but the truth, the reality of it, hit home right then.
He was on his feet in a hurry. He had to get out of this alive, and then he had to find his sister. He ran in the direction that the captain had run in. All he had to do was get up to that sand rise where everyone else was taking cover. He prayed that he would survive this, so he could save his sister and get her home. He was almost there, and for a few moments he believed her would make it, that God had answered his prayer. And then a bullet passed through his chest and exited out his back within the blink of an eye.
Sean Ryan continued running a few feet and then fell flat in the sand, expelling a few gurgling coughs as he lay there. The pain was so intense it almost felt like there was none. He lay there as the ground around him turned red with his own blood, and all he continued thinking about was his family, and his sister who by the Devil's will had followed him and his other brothers. How and why she did it didn't matter. His vision went in and out, and his mind grew foggy.
He suddenly felt a hand on his back, and a gentle hand turned his head. He looked up into a young face he could barely make out. He was able to see a red cross on the guy's helmet. A medic. Maybe there was hope after all.
"There's nothing you can do to save him!" a voice yelled, and the blurry medic was pulled out of Ryan's vision. He tried to sigh, but it came out as a choking cough. It was in the last few seconds of his life he grasped the fact that he was dying, and made a last ditch attempt to save the ones he loved.
God, please protect my brothers, let them live through this. And Brittany, please protect... And then there was nothing but darkness.
The recruiting office looked absolutely monstrous. Its windows glinted with the sunlight, looking like eyes that frowned without a mouth. There were only a few cars parked out in front of the small, wooden building, and it was a good guess that most belonged to the people who did the recruiting inside. It seemed like it was a slow day today.
A young girl of average height stood outside, the blazing Iowa sun beating down on her. She was afraid to enter. After spending the entire day going to the handful of recruiting agencies in the area, she was starting to doubt the possibility of doing what she so desperately wanted to do. This was the last one she would go to. She was tired of being laughed at and sent back out the way she had come.
Just before she took the plunge she almost turned her back and headed home, but she pulled herself back and remained firm. She reminded herself of why she was attempting this, why this was her only option. She took a deep breath, and took the last few steps to the door of the building, and stepped inside. No turning back now.
An air conditioner hummed somewhere, and she immediately felt the sweat on her lithe body cool. Just like the other two she had visited, there were pictures and plaques hanging on the walls, and she was again overcome with the supreme sense of pride that hung in the air. She knew she was doing the right thing. She stepped further into the building, where a man in the military clothing that had become familiar to her sat in a chair behind one of the two desks. She pegged him at about thirty years old.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked as she neared. He didn't sound particularly enthusiastic. More like he was bored.
"Yes," she said, "I'm looking for some information on joining the military?" The sweet politeness in her voice left a bad taste in her mouth, but she was passed the easy part now. The man was sifting through some papers on in his desk, and handed her a small pile.
"Of course," he said with a fake smile, "For you brother? Boyfriend?"
"No, for me." She could have laughed at how quickly that horrid grin left his face, but instead she just braced herself for the laughter, or even annoyance for being bothered with such a pointless inquiry. It ended up being somewhere in the middle.
"You're not serious?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, I am. Is this something I should be joking about?" He blinked at her, as though at a loss for words.
"Miss, I don't think you fully understand what you're asking. We're in the midst of a World War. Even if it was policy for us to allow girls overseas, there would be no place for you out there. Everyday all the men over there run the risk of getting killed. Aside from other things, there is no way you would be allowed into basic training -"
"Because I'm a girl?" she snapped, cutting him off, "I could go as a medic. I'm sure you still need more of those." The guy shook his head.
"It would still be far to dang-"
"Martin, shut up," a stern voice spoke, cutting him off for the second time. Both Martin and the girl turned to see another man standing at the other desk. He looked like he had been standing there for a few minutes, watching but not saying anything. He was older than Martin, probably nearer to forty, and he had a harsher look to him.
"Sir, I was just telling this young lady that-," Martin began, but the other man cut him off.
"I said shut up," he said. Martin shut his mouth looked down at his hands. The girl was still gazing at the older man. He was gazing back at her. He lifted a hand and beckoned her nearer to him. She walked over to him.
"Why?" he asked her as he sat down on the front of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. The nameplate on the desk red Gen. Ron Boeing.
"Why what, sir?" she asked, nervous but determined.
"You want to go overseas, correct? Want to be a medic?" She nodded. "I want to know why?" That was a first for her. None of the other guys had bothered to ask why she wanted to risk her life. They just told her no. She wasn't sure if could really put her reasons into words.
"All of my brothers are over there, sir," she began, her voice only slightly shaky, "I...I'm nothing without them here. I know the chances are slim that I'll see them even if I'm over there, but I'll at least be closer. That's all I want, sir." She took a deep breath and let it out, feeling almost relieved that she had told someone. General Ron Boeing looked at her a moment without saying anything.
"Older or younger?" he asked. It took her a minute to realize he meant her brothers.
"Older. All four of them." The general whistled through his teeth.
"Four? Dang. Do you have any prior medical training?" She managed a smile.
"I have four older brothers, sir. I know a few things." He laughed at that, slapping a hand on his knee a few times.
"Yeah, I bet you do," he said with laughter in his voice. Then he became stern again. He stood up and stared at her for what felt like hours. She could feel him evaluating her, searching her for the right motivation. After a while, he walked over to Martin, who was apparently too stunned to say anything, and grabbed the handful of papers that he had intended to give to the girl. The general walked back over and handed them to her.
"Alright, now listen up. I am leaving for France in three weeks. I'll get you a good medical trainer. If you're not ready by the time I leave, you're not getting over there, and you're not going to keep trying. Is that understood?" She felt a sense of accomplishment so great, she had to suppress the urge to reach out and hug the general. She managed, and nodded.
"Yes, sir," she said, unable to mask the glee in her voice. The general smiled at her. Back over at the other desk, Martin grumbled something under his breath and busied himself with some paperwork.
"Now," the general said, "You got a name, Private?" He seemed to add this last part to annoy his recruiting partner, and it worked.
"Yes, sir. Brittany. Brittany -"
"Ryan," someone said, "Ryan wake up." Their voice sounded so faint so far away.
Slowly, Brittany woke up. She raised her head up and emitted a loud groan, her neck feeling so stiff it almost refused to budge. She stayed in her half-raised position a moment longer, using one hand to massage her neck. When she was able to move without being incapacitated by the pain, she placed a hand on floor where she had been sprawled out upon, and pushed herself into a sitting position. She blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes, waiting for her visions to come into complete focus. She wiped at her mouth where bits of gravel clung to the drool lingering there. Finally, she looked up at the shape looming near her.
"Ryan," it said again, "You need to get up."
"Carver, for the last time it's Brittany," she told him as she began feeling around for her helmet, "We have a Ryan, and if people start calling us both by our last names its going to get mighty confusing. Now what do you want?" Her hand landed on the familiar shape, and Brittany picked the helmet up and placed it on her head. A red cross stood out on the front, in the middle of a white circle.
"Sorry, Brittany," Carver mumbled, "Captain Hamill says you're needed at the infirmary. We just got a guy in with a broken foot." Brittany, suddenly very awake, gingerly got to her feet and arched her back till she heard a satisfying pop.
"Where did the guy come in from?" she asked as the two left the abandoned church and out into the early morning. Brittany shielded her eyes briefly from the invasion of sunlight to her unadjusted pupils, and then lowered her hands a few seconds later. Not for the first time, she looked around her, and almost couldn't remember where she was. Then the answer would come to her, and her face would grow very somber.
Almost all of Neuville was entirely in ruin. The buildings that were still standing had chunks or entire walls missing from them. The streets were litters with concrete boulders and splintered wood. The infirmary was actually just a gutted building that was shielded fairly well from the elements, and provided sufficient cover to its occupants. Brittany carefully stepped over all the debris and then stopped as they reached the edge of the square. Carver waved at a few other soldiers and they jogged over, weapons at the ready. The square, was a very open space, and Brittany was had been instructed many times that she was not to carry a gun around, so she had to be escorted whenever crossing the square.
"Hey, Mac," she greeted one of the soldiers as they moved across the town square as one group. Private McCollum, or "Mac" for short, was one of the soldiers that Brittany had grown friendly with and fond of. The fact that he, along with most of the group, appeared to be fast developing a "thing" for her, was something she ignored most of the time.
"Hey, Britt," Mac replied.
"Do you know anything about this guy with the broken foot? Or why Barton can't handle it?" Whether some of the guys like it or not, Brittany was the best medic out of the two stationed in Neuville, but she knew that Captain Hamill hated to send for her when he knew she was sleeping. Apparently it was well-known that she didn't sleep well.
"Nope." He paused to scan the area as they passed the middle of the square, and then motioned for them to continue. "The captain just told Carver to go get you, even if you were asleep. My guess is there's something about this guy he wants to talk to you about." That had been her guess too.
"Yeah, but what?" asked Brittany thoughtfully. Mac only shrugged in response as they reached the other side of the square and everyone dispersed, leaving only Mac and Brittany to walk to the makeshift hospital wing.
Only two other soldiers were currently being bandaged and treated when the two arrived, not including the mysterious guy with the broken foot. Barton, the other medic, was currently checking up on one of the guys, Gorman, who had suffered a gunshot wound to his side. The bullet had broken through about an inch of skin, but the soldier was none the worse for wear. The other guy, Adams, Brittany was worried about, but she wouldn't let on about that yet. His gunshot wound had been a through-and-through, but it had taken them a long time to stop the bleeding, and infection seemed imminent. Brittany squatted down next to him before continuing.
"How you doing, buddy?" she asked gently, gently pressing her fingers around the bandages. The flesh felt unnaturally soft and mushy, and the wound was developing a pungent odor. Adams, who spent most of his time sleeping, groggily opened his eyes.
"Right as rain," he said in a mumbling voice. Brittany smiled at him, trying hard to show her sadness, and then stood back up. Captain Hamill was waiting for her, standing next to an unfamiliar guy who was on the ground wincing.
"Reporting as ordered, Captain," she said instantly as she stopped in front of them, standing at attention. She had been taught military protocol by the guy who had gotten her out here, and she intended to follow it.
"At ease," Captain Hamill said, and then gestured a hand at the guy on the ground, " Brittany, I would like you to meet Private Jason Walton." Brittany was on her knees already, pulling some bandages out of her pack, and carefully examining the guy's foot. It looked like an impact wound.
"He dropped in with the 101st." Well, that explained the foot. "Charlie Company, 506." Brittany froze in what she was doing, her hands inches away from wrapping the foot in gauze. She tilted her head up and looked at the captain. He stared back at her and nodded. She looked back down to the ground and let out a big breath. She started wrapping the guy's foot, her thoughts a blur.
"Is there something wrong with my company?" Jason Walton asked sarcastically through his pain as Brittany continued wrapping the bandaging around his foot. Slowly recovering from the mental impact, Brittany raised her head to eye level with him and gave a small smile.
"My brother was part of the same outfit, Baker Company," she told him, returning her attention to what she was doing.
"Really?" the guy replied, "What was his name?" She finished tying the bandage of, and sat back on her heels.
"James Francis Ryan." He thought about that a moment, and then shook his head.
"No, sorry, don't know him. They had the same rally point as us though." Brittany kept her face as neutral as she could, but inside she felt like her heart would pound out of her chest. Her emotions raced through joy, relief, and excitement before deciding to just mix together into an overwhelming bliss. She forced it all down, knowing that if she was going to get all emotional over this, now was not the time to do it. She stood up, thinking about going back to the church where she could be alone for at least a few minutes, but that plan was interrupted.
"Goddamn it!" she heard Barton shout behind her. Brittany turned to see him trying to hold Gorman still to change his bandages. She rolled her eyes. Over and over again she had told Barton that Gorman squirmed and to tell her when his bandages needed to be changed so they could do it together, but of course he didn't listen. She walked over and bent down to help him. He seemed to glare at her, but he let her help.
Later, Brittany trudged back to the church and sat down on the cold floor. She closed her blue eyes and leaned against destroyed pew. Guard duties had been posted for the rest of the day and through the night, Gorman's bandages had been successfully changed, and she finally had time to think. The entire point of her doing all she could to get over here to France was so she could possibly see her brothers again. Now, she had the information needed to search out one of them, and yet somehow she wasn't as excited as she had been earlier. Earlier the shock of it all had overshadowed her last memory of the youngest of her older brothers. She didn't want to see him. She couldn't. Besides, none of the soldiers here could be spares, so how would she even get to the rally point...