The silence in the village was surprising given the amount of heavy artillery present. But, she supposed, in comparison to the battle that had raged earlier, a tornado might have sounded like a whisper. She tried not to heave a sigh as she walked from the house to the barn. The last thing she needed was to be noticed by the Germans. She had heard stories from other villages that many girls her age had been raped. She shuddered just thinking about it.
The barn was dark, but she knew her way around. This had been her home all her life. In fact, that was the reason her father gave for not leaving the village when the war came. Her mother had chosen differently. They had not heard from her since her departure. Sometimes, she wished she had gone with her mother, but she could not leave her father alone. Anyway, she was not afraid.
She tugged the barn door open, and it creaked quietly. She went inside and only made it a few meters before she was grabbed roughly and slammed against a pole with something cold and sharp against her throat. She gasped and let out a small "oof" as her back collided with the wood, but she did not cry out. She stared up at her attacker who was a large man with light eyes and sandy hair. He was also heavily armed, but he was certainly not German. Her heart was thumping in her chest as she met his gaze.
Bull hesitated. It was only a woman. Even so, she had seen him. She could turn him in to the Krauts if she had a mind to. However, he wasn't sure he could live himself if he just slit her throat. He eased the knife away from her and put his finger to his lips. She nodded. There was an awkward moment of silence before they heard the tanks rolling by. They both jumped and he grabbed her and ushered her to the side of the barn where they ducked beneath the window.
As they sat there, she tapped him so lightly on the shoulder he thought if he hadn't been wounded he might not have felt it. He turned and faced her. She pointed to the bloodstain by his shoulder blade. He just gave her a questioning glace.
"Help," she whispered, and he wondered briefly how much English she knew and if she could really help him.
He nodded, and then turned away again. She ripped his uniform shirt open, surprising him a bit, and then he felt her dainty fingers reach inside his wound. He had to bite his lip to keep from yelling, but he grunted, and she stopped for a second.
"It's gonna hurt," he growled under his breath. "Just do it."
She nodded, so he figured she must at least understand him. Her hand started moving again, and this time he swallowed whatever sound he was about to make. Her fingers were small enough to grasp the shrapnel lodged in his muscles, and with a quick yank, she removed it. His eyes watered and he winced as he felt simultaneous relief and more pain. Then hot stickiness began to flow down his back, but that quickly stopped as she retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and placed it on the wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding.
The sharp pain was now a dull ache, which would make his life a whole lot easier, however much longer his life lasted. He was sure how long that would be since he was surrounded by Krauts with only this young Dutch woman for company. He realized she had stopped holding the cloth down. This, for some strange reason, displeased him.
She felt like it was surprising that she was not breathing very hard. Her heart was still hammering, and she had shaken throughout treating the man's wound. She had astonished herself in being able to help him, but she was also relieved. From his English, she gathered that he was American, so she wanted him to get back to his troop and help. She desperately wanted the Americans and the British to drive out the Germans. Part of her was proud. She felt as if she had done her little part in the war effort.
She looked up and realized he was gazing at her. She offered him a nervous smile, which he returned. She noticed that when he was smiling, he was quite handsome. Not that he wasn't handsome before, just very intimidating. But his smile was warm and friendly. She wondered if all Americans were this way or if it was just him. As she thought, she also realized she had never been alone with a man like this before. This was a strange feeling now that she pondered it. She had never even been kissed. She felt her cheeks get warm with embarrassment.
He watched her for several moments before she looked up and smiled at him. Her smile was so unsure, and yet so beautiful, he couldn't help but smile back. She visibly relaxed at this. Then her cheeks flooded with color, and he felt something stir within him. He loved it when women blushed. And she was so fresh and pure and natural it was almost too much. She was really striking in the moonlight with her bright blonde hair in that lazy braid, her blue eyes that had maintained a look of cautious curiosity, and plump lips that smiled at him, and…fuck, he had not been with a woman in so long. The spot on his shoulder where she had touched him itched to feel it again. He shook this off.
"What's your name?" he asked as quietly as possible.
She was surprised that he had spoken. It was so dangerous with all the Germans outside, and yet, he had asked her for her name. She had learned some English in school, but she understood better than she spoke, so she grew nervous at the thought of communicating too much with him.
"Ilse," she replied. Unsure how to ask him, she just pointed at him.
"Bull," he told her, and she blinked.
Had she heard him right? She was pretty sure that was an animal in English. Her brow furrowed with confusion as she looked at him.
"Bull?" she repeated, putting her still-stained fingers on either side of her head like horns and shooting him a questioning look.
He had to stifle a laugh when her face screwed up in confusion at his name. When she made the bull horns with her hands it was almost too much. He nodded to answer her question.
"Yes," he chuckled, and mimicked her hand motion. "Bull."
Her brows retreated back up her forehead and she seemed satisfied, but still a little weirded out. It made sense. There was probably nobody in Holland named "Bull."
"Ilse," he repeated, and she looked at him. "That's pretty."
She smiled again. He extended his hand to her, and she took it.
"It's nice to meet you," he said.
"Nice to meet you," she returned slowly, as if she had to think about every word. Her accent was thick, but her voice was pleasant.
She placed her hand on his shoulder again. Her touch was warm and soft.
"Beter?" she asked.
He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded an awful lot like "better" so that's what he was gonna go with.
"Ja," he replied, unsure if that was affirmation in Dutch. "Beter."
She made to pull her hand away, but he stopped her, placing his hand atop hers. They locked eyes for a long moment, drawing closer to one another, neither of them wanting to break the contact. His other hand cupped her face, and then he was kissing her.
She had never really had any fantasies about her first kiss, but she had certainly not expected it to be in the barn with an American stranger as they hid from the German soldiers. She tried to go off what he was doing, and she feared her inexperience might be showing when he stopped at and looked at her for a long time. However, he said nothing and then continued.
When they heard voices, they stopped. He jumped up, got her to her feet and they retreated to the back of the barn. He had her kneel down and they waited together in absolute silence now. He got up and went by the side of the barn to watch the Germans. She wished he had stayed with her but there was no good in wishing. The Germans looked around briefly with their flashlights, talking and laughing, and all but one decided that was enough and departed. The last one noticed blood on the ground. He stopped and knelt down to inspect it. She peeked out from behind a stall to watch. The German looked up and turned about, so she returned to her hiding spot, but she made a grave mistake. Her hand hit a pail, and made a small clang. The German stopped in his tracks and she squeezed her eyes shut, inwardly scolding herself.
"Hallo?" the German called. "Hallo, ist da Jemand?"
He said it again, and she felt her stomach drop. He kept calling out and she was thankful for the sound of the planes overhead because they drowned him out to anyone outside. When the planes were loudest, she peered out again and saw that Bull was in full on combat with the German, but they were not firing their weapons. They fought with their rifles like staffs, only Bull had the bayonet at the end. She watched them until Bull finally stabbed the German, who dropped to the ground with a cry. Bull stabbed him again for good measure and then looked back at her.
It was so very strange to her that he could look like a completely different man now that she had watched him kill someone. When they locked eyes, he was hostile and hard, his jaw set and blood smeared across his face.
He only held her gaze for so long before he tore the blade from the Kraut's body and then went to close the door again. When he approached her, he helped her up. She gazed up at him, half horrified, half impressed. He led her to the back door of the barn.
"Go," he instructed.
She shook her head.
"You've got to go," he insisted, but again, she refused.
Damn this girl, he thought, but something about her determined gaze struck him. Of course, he didn't really want her to go – he had quite enjoyed kissing her – but she couldn't stay. He had to bury the Kraut and then get the fuck out of here. With a sigh, he left her by the door and dragged the Kraut into a stall and began burying him beneath the hay. To his astonishment, she joined him. She did not notice his surprised look, and together they hid the man as well as they could.
When they were finished, he went back over to the window and sat down beneath it. She followed and knelt down in front of him. She reached her hand out toward his face, and carefully began wiping the blood off with her sweater sleeve. He closed his eyes to her touch. In almost no time at all, she became still and then her lips were on his once again. This time, he did not hesitate in kissing her full on.
She had never had feelings like this before. She felt as if something was building up in her lower belly, like a knot that needed unraveling. She coiled her arms around his neck and adjusted herself so that she was sitting on his lap; one leg on either side of his hips. His arms linked around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. They kissed like this until it was too much to take.
There in the darkness he made love to her. Somewhere between the gasps and sighs and sweat and thrusts, she let go of her innocence. She knew she would have no regrets about this. He was gentle and attentive, while stimulating enough that she felt like she melted in his arms. He kissed her through most of it, although she couldn't be sure if it was just to kiss her or to keep her quiet. She was happy with a combination of both. Either way, she enjoyed kissing him. She enjoyed riding him. She enjoyed everything about experiencing him.
When both were spent, she dismounted and then snuggled into his side as he put an arm around her shoulder. The Germans would be gone in the morning, and that would not be long now. He kissed the top of her head and then ran his hand through her long hair. She wondered when it had fallen loose, and closed her eyes comfortably.
"Ilse," he spoke, and she looked up at him.
"Hm?"
"Are you okay?"
She just stared at him for several moments before kissing him softly.
"Beter," she said when they broke apart.
He smirked to himself as she settled back down next to him.
"Bull," she said suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"Bedankt," she told him.
"Thanks? For what?" he wondered.
She pointed to where the Kraut was buried. He shrugged.
"Oh that? I was just doing my job there, baby, there's no need to thank me," he said. "Although, I ain't never been rewarded like that before."
He laughed to himself. She smiled, but he could tell she did not fully understand him. It had been easy when they were asking simple questions with one word answers, but he should have expected that jokes might go over her head. Not to mention his dialect wasn't one she was likely to be familiar with. He made a mental note to learn more Dutch. Maybe then, if he ever saw her again, he might be able to have a real conversation with her. He doubted that very much, but it was kind of nice to think about.
He watched her resting against him. Her pale skin still glowed with sweat and the moonlight peeking through the boards of the barn illuminated it. He had not realized how exposed she was during the act, but he noticed now. He reached forward to grab her sweater and wrapped it around her shoulders covering her again. She offered him a grateful smile as she pulled it around her.
All too soon, dawn was upon them. The sun peaked over the horizon, and it was as if reality had struck him across the face. He had so much to think about now, and yet all he wanted to do was sit here with this girl in his arms. He even thought about one more round before he had to go, but knew it was impossible. He looked down at her only to meet her eyes. She knew it too. He nudged her and they stood up together. She pulled her dress back up over her shoulders and adjusted her sweater again. She made no attempt to fix her hair though. He took her hand, and they exited the barn.
When they got outside, they walked toward one of the ditches. When they got there, she let out a gasp and held him tight. Bull was speechless as he knelt down beside the dead man and groped around for his dog tags. He retrieved them and tucked one into his pocket.
"Friend?" she asked.
"Yeah," he answered. "His name was Miller."
She was unsure what to say, so she only rubbed his back comfortingly. They both looked up when they heard the crunch of gravel that indicated a vehicle headed their way. He held his rifle up, so she guessed he knew them. If they were German, he probably would have shot at them. She gazed at him until the vehicle pulled over to pick him up. Then he looked back at her.
"Come along," he said. "We could keep you safe."
She glanced back at the barn and her house. She imagined what it might be like to take him up on his offer – to leave this village and never look back, to escape the war and suffering. She thought of her father who would be alone.
"I am sorry," she replied. "My father."
"This place isn't safe," he insisted. "Your father can come too."
She shook her head. "He no will come. He stays here."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "I am not afraid. I will be like Bull." She made the horns with her fingers again, and he smiled.
His offer was appealing, but she could not let him convince her to go. Then he did something that surprised her. He removed his dog tags from around his neck and put them on her.
"There," he said. "Something to remember me by."
She took his face in her hands again and kissed him hard, ignoring the jeering and whooping from the soldiers in the car. When they broke apart they held each other's gaze for a long time. She felt her eyes begin to fill with hot tears and she mentally berated herself. She barely knew this man, why should she weep for him? But she couldn't stop. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his hand.
"Well, I won't be forgettin' that," he said. He placed another soft peck on her lips. "Goodbye."
"Vaarwel," she returned.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, placed one more kiss on her forehead, and then jumped in the vehicle which carried him away. She watched him go until they disappeared into the woods. Another tear fell from her cheek and hit the soil. She stared at the spot where he disappeared for what felt like hours, unable to stop the streaming down her cheeks. She questioned her decision, her mind showing her everything she could have done if she had gone with him.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around to see her father, whose expression was mingled with concern and questions. He asked nothing of her when he saw her face wet with tears, he only pulled her into a tight embrace. With an arm around her shoulders, he led her back into the house. As they passed the barn, she wondered if she would ever be able to enter it again.
"Bull!" called Johnny Martin as the vehicle pulled up to Easy Company. Everyone was happy to see him, and he learned that several members of his squad had gone back for him, refusing to believe he was dead. He joked that he never did like them much.
As he got into the jeep with the other wounded men, he recalled someone once saying that war is hell. He once agreed. Now he thought there was no way that could be true. Not with angels like Ilse around.