Disclaimer: I own nothing except my character, Emilie Muller. This story is not about the real heroes of Easy, but the actors who portrayed them in Band of Brothers.

Chapter One. Berlin is Calling.

Emilie Muller listened to the echo of her heels as they clicked against the cobblestone street. She was in Berlin. The air smelled exactly as she remembered it, as if there was a storm brewing. The cloudy gray sky hovered over her and she couldn't recall the last time she had seen the sun shine over Germany. It had been almost three years since she had last been home. The architecture was nothing like New York City, which was where she had resided for almost a year. Finally she received a few days in Germany for a mission. Yet, the Americans, who she was supposedly working for, did not know that sending her to Germany meant sending her home. Instead of going on a mission like they assumed, she was actually borrowing the alloted time to visit her mother. It was dangerous since someone might have been sent to follow her, but she couldn't give up the chance to see her mother. Emilie couldn't remember what her mother looked like- her features, her mannerisms. She could only remember her eyes- green, loving, bright.

She could remember a few things about her father. The one thing she always remembered first was how he sent her and her brothers away. She could remember his mouth and how it tightened when he held back a smile, almost as if the thought of being happy or smirking pained him. Because of her father hr two brothers weren't in Berlin and would probably never have the luck to return. The eldest, Erik, was in the United States conducting and planning assaults against the US across the eastern seaboard with a group of elite men and women Germany had sent there. Her younger brother, Charles, was a German soldier at only seventeen. She hadn't heard from him since his fifteenth birthday and she heard rumor from family friends stationed in France that he was in a special division, or possinle an interpreter.

The family was split, each child sent to a place far away from their home in Berlin before they were even considered adults. It was her father's idea and he had told them in a lecture that their duty was to Germany and as a high-ranking official it was his duty to send them to fight for their country. Her mother had cried for days, even as Emilie and her brothers left with their father,her mother's tears had not stopped. Emilie decided long ago crying was the reason she remembered her mother's eyes. As her father pulled her away from her mother's embrace Emilie remembered her sixteen year old eyes glued on the green emeralds that were creating a pool of water.

The Americans gave her three days in Germany...

Three days with her mom. Three days to reconnect over painful separation. Over hurt and distance. As her heels clicked, she turned the corner onto her old street. Emilie's eyes found her house, standing three stories high with intimidation built into its stone. It stood dark, goth-like, as if there were no souls that roamed the halls unless dead. Emilie remembered once when her street was bright, the sun shining lovingly on the rich families. Yet, as she walked towards her house the street was empty. No children, no old men smoking cigars or drinking. Most of the men had transported their families with them when they received their orders from the military. The children were playing in the backyards of concentration camps or bases spread across Europe...

She knocked on the door. She felt a heaviness take hold of her heart as it drowned into her stomach. She was home, but knocking on her door as if she was a stranger.

England, Seven Days Later

Emilie stared up at the man in front of her. His hair was red, maybe blonde, maybe brown. She couldn't tell the exact color of it as his eyes observed her. She could feel him staring through her, trying to inspect as much as he could. His name was Winters and she would be stationed under him.

"A...spy, you say?" He held his helmet underneath his left arm and his fingers were fidgeting. He looked aggravated. The dark haired man, who Emilie noticed drank a lot nodded. He took a swig out of a silver container he pulled out of a pocket and smiled at the man, Winters, who she assumed was his close friend and comrade.

"Yes, a spy. Though it needs to be secretive- she's a translator. Assigned to us, mainly because she's from the motherland herself." The drunk man explained as he twisted on the cap to his container and shoved it into another pocket. Emilie trailed her eyes back to the man who was named after her favorite season. Winters.

She held out her hand and Winters slowly shook it, still staring at her as if he was shocked. He couldn't understand why they'd send a spy, a female spy. Emilie tried to smile warmly. "It is my pleasure to meet you, sir. As it would be my pleasure to be serving alongside your men," Emilie tried to keep her smile from fading, "for the greatest country in the world."

Winters raised an eyebrow and looked at Nixon. He let go of the woman's hand and walked over to his door. The English air smelled like fresh cut grass and it made his nose itch. He wanted to talk to Sink, talk to anyone about why he was forced to let a spy among his men. A spy for who? How did they know she was on their side?

Nixon looked over at his friend who seemed to be lost in thought. They had just received order to deploy and he could feel the stress dripping from Winters. He glanced over at the German girl, who was assigned to be their interpreter while actually conducting top secret missions for the Army. Yet, he was entirely confused why they were being stuck with her. He stared her up and down as she stared back at him. Her eyes were blue and stone-like. He felt her defiance as he looked her over. She was shorter, skinny, and her light brown hair was thrown back into a bun. Her army uniform was decorated with things he didn't know females could get. He smiled as he felt his sips of alcohol hit him.

"So, would you like me to show you around, Miss Muller?"

Emilie smiled warmly as she tried to think of ways she would survive the next few weeks. "Call me, Emilie, I like that a lot more." She followed Nixon into the English sun.

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