Alrighty, I've been anxious to post this for months now! Welcome to Amber's first attempt at Resonance Bang! I'm definitely participating if the fandom does this again next year. Big thanks to my Resbang partner for this fic, tilliquoi, and her marvelous artwork!

Now before we get into the fic, I have a few notes for this chapter to help with understanding:

Soul is a corporal serving in the Eighth Air Force

Devil's piano: Machine gun.

6-6-1944: D-Day

"To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace." ~ George Washington

May 14, 1944

He swiped a hand over the remains of his white mop of hair. Staring into the open trunk before him, he felt a lump form in his throat. This had been his choice to begin with. With how famous the Evans family was, he could have easily avoided the draft and spent his time plinking out short melodies for the drunks back home in Connecticut. He thought back to Wes who had begged him not to go. It was his duty. How could he go on living in the lap of luxury as a pianist while the rest of the men went off to lay down their lives to stop the bullies of this world? His brother could not understand. It was fine.

Soul would make him understand. His initial determination flared again, dissolving any anxiety he once held about his new assignment.

The young soldier eyed the record peeking out from underneath his new aviation uniforms: some sort of swing music his brother had thought would be good as a parting gift. He considered taking it to England with him even if he knew he would not listen to it. Its only purpose was to remind him of home. He reached hesitantly towards it as one of his comrades bounded over to him. Hastily shuffling his uniforms to cover the record, he looked up at the man. Blake Barrett stood next to his seat clad in a wife beater that best showed off his newly acquired star tattoo.

"Heard the good news! Congratulations are in order!" his friend beamed, slapping a hand on his back. "Can I buy you a drink tonight?"

"'Not really looking forward to being hungover while flying over the Atlantic," Soul chuckled, closing the trunk.

"C'mon! One drink never killed anyone! Besides, we can find you a dame while we're out having a good time!" Blake elbowed him in the shoulder, winking suggestively.

"No point in finding a girl if I'm leaving the very next morning."

"Isn't that the perfect time to find a girl?" The loud soldier was given a blank look in response. "Yeah yeah, I know how you are, I get it. Still though, one drink on me. C'mon, buddy! I don't know when I'll see you again!"

He sighed in defeat and rose from his chair. "Fine, you win. But only one drink, you understand?"

…

May 15, 1944

He would never fly after a night of drinking ever again, nor would he let Blake ever take him out for 'just one drink' ever again. His head hurt, but since departing from base, the butterflies in his stomach had bothered him far more. Soul had never left the country before then. Going to England had been a dream of Wes' for the longest time. A dream that his younger brother was now living out in his stead. Soul could not help but feel a bit guilty. He would have to bring a memento for his brother upon his return.

After a sleepless trip across the Atlantic, he and the other recruits grabbed their bags and stepped onto foreign soil. Sopping wet foreign soil. Soul stared up into the dark sky as the rain washed over him. He had heard it often rained in London, but he had not been expecting it to so soon upon his arrival. The other men in his company started wolf-whistling, making comments about "not knowing dames would be on the base". Brought back to Earth, he looked to see what they were talking about and met a pair of green eyes.

They belonged to a beautiful young woman who walked across the landing strip. An umbrella in her hand shielded her straw-colored updo from the rain. She paid the other men no mind, instead remaining fixated on Soul until finally following a man with a clipboard and disappearing out of view. He had never been the kind of man to believe too readily in destiny, but somehow he knew that it had much more in store for them than just a chance meeting.

As they made their way toward their new barracks, the men continued to talk about the woman they had seen. She had been dressed in a woman's uniform. Could she be a soldier? A few of the men scoffed at the idea. After all, it was not a woman's place to be on the battlefront, Although he disagreed with what they said, Soul did not voice his opinion. It would only fall on deaf ears anyway - this his was sure of.

…

He sighed and slumped into one of the bar stools at a nearby pub, newly-exchanged pounds clinking in his pocket. Flying an ocean away to their new home-away-from-home had not deterred their commanding officer from putting them through their usual, rigorous training. Soul was soaked to the bone and exhausted. He began reaching into his pocket for some money before he was interrupted.

"Mind if I take this seat?" a voice like drizzled honey and English countryside asked him. He looked up and found himself staring back into familiar eyes. "You're the soldier from this morning, correct? If it's no trouble, may I sit next to you?" All he could do was nod and watch as she gracefully took her seat. As the bartender made his way towards them, she said, "I'll have whatever he is having, plus the bill."

"S'not very often someone buys me a drink," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"You… intrigued me earlier," she replied. Her face was set with a serious expression, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked him over, measuring him up. She must have found him acceptable for a moment later she waved her hand carelessly and said, "Please, order whatever you'd like."

"Eh, just water for now, thanks." He waited for the bartender to return with two waters and leave them before continuing his conversation with the woman. "I intrigued you, huh?"

She carefully moved a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Your comrades don't seem to know how to act like gentlemen in the presence of a woman." She paused, tossing a glance his way. "You, however, do."

"Well it isn't every day that they meet a pretty dame." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, woman," he corrected.

"Thank you for the compliment." She took a small sip of water before turning back to him. "I don't believe I've introduced myself. Agent Mary Albarn." She extended a hand to him, trying to look as terribly professional as possible.

Taking it, he replied, "Corporal Soul Evans, US Army Air Force."

"A curious pilot with an even more curious name..." She returned to her glass. "You must be here for Overlord."

"You know about the operation?"

"Perhaps more than you do." Mary watched him out of the corner of her eyes. "Sorry to change the subject, but why didn't you join in with your men? When they were talking about me."

He looked at her in confusion a moment before answering, "Because everyone plays an important role in this war. Isn't just a man's war. You have just as much right as anyone to be here."

For the first time since he had met her, she smiled at him. "I'm glad you feel that way." She slid a couple of pounds toward him and pushed herself away from the bar. "Feel free to have whatever you'd like. Good luck in Overlord. I hope… to speak with you again soon, Corporal."

He nodded at her. "Likewise."

Flashing him a lackluster smile, Mary minced her way to the door. Soul kept his focus on the heels of her shoes as he watched her leave. Once the bar door shut behind her, he returned to the coins before him. He smirked. Enlisting may have been the greatest decision he had ever made.

…

June 6, 1944

Throughout the entire flight, Soul hoped his copilot could not see his hands trembling. He had been trained for this operation, he had been certain he was ready. But as the shores of Normandy grew ever closer, he was beginning to doubt himself. The plan itself was simple: lob a few bombs into enemy territory, help the land troops move in, and take back a good portion of France. But war tended to complicate things.

Even things as simple as a beautiful British woman.

Having not seen her since the night at the pub, he had not been able to shake Mary's parting words from his thoughts. While he was definitely interested in seeing her again, was she truly interested as well? She had not gone out of her way to see him since that night. He shook his head, clearing Mary from his thoughts. He had a mission to fly, and he knew it would only go well if she was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Hangin' in there, Mac?" his copilot asked, face straight and focused on the skies ahead.

While still better than the day before, the clouds were still ominously dark, only making Soul's anxiety about the operation worse. His only comfort was that he was not stuck in the rough seas below. There was a reason he was an airman and not a seaman. "Everything's jake," he replied.

"Baloney!" It was the first time his copilot had turned to him since take-off. "I seen your hands shakin' for a while now."

Soul shook his head slightly, chuckling. "Thought I was hiding it pretty well."

The other man patted his arm a moment. "Ain't no reason to be nervous. We'll be in and gone before them crouts know what hit 'em."

Willing his hands to stop shaking, Soul sighed and focused on the shore slowly making its way beneath them. His thoughts drifted back to Mary once more. Agent Mary Albarn. He had to wonder if she was a secret agent or something. What if she was in Normandy, helping the French Resistance?

The first bomb was released.

Through the low cloud cover, the pilot was able to make out the silhouettes of the other bombers as the blasts of the bombs illuminated the night. He wondered how many they had dropped on the unsuspecting shoreline since midnight hit. Behind them, the British and American navies came ever closer to the shore, firing off their own rounds. Was it already that far into the operation? It all seemed to happen so fast for him. It was not long before the bombers were finished and now dropping parachuters instead of bombs. He watched them sail down towards the ground, safe in the air for a moment before hitting the dirt and coming face-to-face with the enemy.

It hit him all at once that the enemy had been down there the entire time. That he had dropped bombs on people, real live people. Back home in the States, he had been trained to take down "the enemy". There were hardly any pictures, any proof that the enemy were humans. To him, they were nothing more than words on a page. Just a concept, not real. He felt sick suddenly. He should not have been there. He destroyed people! People with families, friends, dreams! No amount of preparation could have prepared him for his sudden realization.

Enlisting was most definitely not the greatest decision he had ever made.

His copilot noticed his hands trembling even more than before. "Stay strong, Mac. If this is your first flight out here, it'll only get worse for ya."