A few notes to help understand some things in this chapter:

Mary serves with the SOE, the Special Operations Executive, that worked on many secret mission throughout WWII. Soul correctly guesses that Mary is in Normandy in chapter 1. The SOE worked together with the French resistance to help with the success of D-Day.

Dear John letter: a letter from a wife or sweetheart at home telling someone serving overseas that she was getting a divorce or breaking off the relationship

12-16-1944: Battle of the Bulge

"Auld Lang Syne": traditional New Year's song

"In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons." ~ Herodotus

July 22, 1944

He could have gone without the rain in London that evening. In the doorway of the pub, Soul tried to swipe the water out of his hair, off his rain coat, anything to keep the bar stools dry. He plopped down on a stool and tried to take some pounds out of his pockets. His hands were still trembling.

The familiar sound of heels clicking behind him caught his attention. He turned to find Mary, her hair once again pulled up in a perfect bun. Everything was as the night they had first met. "Glad to see you again," she said to him with a genuine smile. "I've heard wonderful things about the operation."

"Your mission go well, too?"

She nodded. "Yes. I can't say more, but it was a definite success." His hands caught her gaze. "You're shaking."

Staring down at his hands, he rubbed the back of one with the thumb of the other. "Yeah… Haven't stopped since D-Day. Is that normal?"

Gently placing a hand on his, she replied, "Yes. My first mission with the SOE had me shaking for the longest time. It's nothing to be ashamed of, really. I would be concerned if you came back happier than you had left." His face remained grave. She retracted her hand from him, slowly laying both of her hands in her lap. "I'm… sorry. I'm afraid I've never been very good at jokes."

The two sat in silence for a moment. When he finally chose to speak, Soul could not believe that the shaky voice coming from him was his own. "I don't think I was cut out for this…" He stared at her out of the corner of his eye. "I knew what I was getting myself into, but… I killed people, Mary. Actual humans beings, not just some animals."

She sighed wearily. "Your hands weren't meant for killing. But it is a necessity of war. We all do things we aren't proud of, things we'd rather forget. But we do them, because we hope it will bring us closer to peace. You understand me, Evans?" Reluctantly, he nodded. "Good. So, what would you be doing if you were not here? What were those hands of yours really made for?"

It took him some time to figure out the best answer to her question before answering, "Distracting." Her head tilted to the side, her expression asking him to elaborate. "If I wasn't here, I'd be playing piano back in Connecticut. Letting people get lost in the music, helping them forget their troubles. Being a distraction. But I figured actually ending people's troubles would be better than just helping them forget them."

She nodded in understanding. "You said… you said you live in Connecticut?"

"Yeah, New Haven, why?"

Reaching past him for a napkin on the counter, she asked the bartender for a pen. Quickly, she scribbled out an address, tearing the napkin in half. "Here, write your address down," she explained, pushing the blank piece and pen toward him. "That way we can write to each other, once we're back where we belong. We can be penpals. And you can tell me all about your concerts." Mary smiled warmly at him, sliding her address facedown over to him.

Soul returned the smile, hands finally steady as he picked up the pen to write.

…

November 17, 1944

As summer came to an end and autumn slowly turned into winter, Soul and Mary kept to their routine. They would each go away on their own missions, sometimes not seeing each other for days on end. But eventually they would find each other, be it on the base or the pub. Only particularly difficult days found them in the pub. Soul observed that these meetings at the pub consisted solely of her comforting him, never the other way around. He did not understand how the woman managed to keep herself so together all the time. Surely her missions were taxing on her as well?

But she never let on if they were. Mary had only a few different faces: her standard no-nonsense face, her sparkling smile, or her empathetic gaze. He also noted how she had gotten good at tracking him. No matter where he hid in town, she somehow managed to find him.

That particular day, she found him chuckling over a letter in hand in the mess hall after weeks of being away on her own mission. A smile tugged at Mary's lips. "You look like a child at Christmas." He jolted at her words, shuffling the paper in his hands so the writing was obscured from her. "A sweetheart from back home?"

Soul laughed. "No, my friend. We met in Savannah when I enlisted. He was about ready to enlist, really nervous. Finally followed me to Europe I guess." He waved the letter around. "I'm not like Ford who gets Dear John letters from his girl."

"So you don't have a girl waiting for you?"

He leaned back in his seat, scratching the back of his head. "Well… Not really. Broke it off before I enlisted."

"You didn't want to worry her." She took a seat next to him.

Nodding, he asked, "What about you? Got a man here?"

Mary laughed through her nose. "No, no. I've never exactly been the romantic type - not that any men found me attractive anyway. Many feel inferior to a woman who could most likely beat them in an armwrestling match." They both laughed at her words. Catching her breath, her gaze lowered to the floor. "Would you… go find her again? Once the war is over?"

He leaned on his knees and sighed. "Probably not. War's s'posed to change you, you know? I may not be the man she wants anymore when this is all said and done."

She chanced a glance his way before replying, "I'm sure you will be the man some lucky woman wants when you return."

Soul's ears began to burn at her words. He was still not used to receiving compliments from the woman. Muttering a "thanks" to her, he stuffed the letter in his pocket to reread later.

...

December 16, 1944

While in the deepest sleep he had had since arriving in Europe, Blake rolled over on his cot, burying himself deeper into his blankets. Winter in the Ardennes forests was far colder than he had anticipated, but it was nothing he could not handle. He was dreaming about the day he and Soul had met in Savannah, Georgia, before he had even enlisted, until the scream of an artillery shell was heard. He jolted up in bed, throwing the blankets off of him.

"The Germans are attacking! Hurry!" a soldier shouted as he ran through the barracks, waking all the men. Blake scrambled to find his uniform and threw it on, heading for the weaponry.

Trusty Enfield in hand, he made his way through the trees until he was stopped in his tracks. A whole line of German tanks reached the edge of the forest, mowing down trees and lobbing shells into the fray. A few foot soldiers shot at him, making him duck for cover behind a fallen log. Taking a deep breath, he peeked out of his hiding spot and shot blindly. They were all misses. Reloading his rifle, he quickly lifted his gaze to search for his comrades. Many fell to the freezing ground.

Once again, Blake left the safety of the tree to fire. The enemy was advancing quickly. He opened fire, injuring a couple of German soldiers and killing one instantly. As he turned to reload once more, he felt a sudden sharp sensation in his chest.

He had been shot.

The force of the shot pushed him to his knees. One hand shakily holding his rifle, he brushed the bloody exit wound with his free hand. He began to feel light-headed, falling over face-first into the snow. Soldiers raced by him as he watched helplessly from the ground. The world around him began to blur. The wound in his chest throbbed with every strained breath as blood stained the pure white snow. While the battle raged around him, he was left there to die. The shots and cries around him faded away. He no longer had the strength to keep his eyes open. "Sorry, buddy…" Blake whispered.

And the world went dark and silent.

...

December 31, 1944

The city echoed with a chorus of voices, "Auld Lang Syne" filling the crisp winter air. Those not singing along shared their resolutions, their hopes, their dreams for the new year with each other.

Mary pushed her way through a crowd of soldiers, trying to find where Soul had gone. Just the day before, he had asked to spend New Year's with her, to which she had blushed and agreed immediately - men who asked to spend any day with her were few and far between.

There were only a few minutes till midnight, and she had still had no luck in finding the pilot. His comrades would have been a great help to her if they were not so busy enjoying the festivities. Feeling slightly dejected, she checked the last place she could think to find him: the barracks.

"Evans? Are you here?" her voice echoed in the empty barracks as she weaved through bunks before finally spotting his familiar white hair. "I've been looking all over for you, Evans. Don't you know it's rude to leave a woman... waiting…" She trailed off as she realized he was sitting with his face in his hands. A few stray pieces of paper sat next to him on the mattress. Mary eyed him carefully, as if she were in the presence of a wild animal that might strike should she make a wrong move, and slowly reached for the letter. Her hands shook as she brought the words closer to read. Her heart sunk, and she brought a hand to her mouth. Tears stung her eyes, and for the first time, she heard Soul sob quietly on his bunk. Her gaze returned to the soldier.

"He's dead… my best friend…" he croaked, snatching the letter from her hands. "I didn't even get to say goodbye. He told me he was in Europe, but I never wrote back, or went to see him…" He crumpled the paper in his hands, beating his forehead with his fists.

Mary sat down next to him, carefully taking his hands in her own. "Soul… You couldn't-"

He ripped them away from her. "Don't tell me there was nothing I could do! Don't you think I know that?! I know I couldn't have done anything and that it isn't my fault, but it doesn't make the pain any less real!"

Staring into her lap, she whispered an apology. Just then, the clock struck midnight, Big Ben's chiming joining another verse of "Auld Lang Syne". "Happy New Year…" she murmured, a single tear falling down her cheek as she got up to leave. A hand on her wrist stopped her.

"Don't go…" he pleaded, staring at the floor. "Don't leave me alone… I'm sorry…"

She turned to him and watched tears stream down his face. It was the first time she had ever seen a man cry out of despair. Returning to her seat, she carefully wrapped her arms around his frame. She ran her hand through his short, snowy hair, shushing as he sobbed. "It's okay to cry," she assured him. "No one would blame you…"

"We never should've come here," he cried, trembling in her arms. "Blake and I, we never should've come! I'd still be home if it wasn't for those damn Japs! I wouldn't have enlisted and encouraged Blake! And he wouldn't have died!"

Mary's hand stopped stroking his hair, her body frozen. With his face buried in the crook of her neck, he could not see her brows furrow in a combination of frustration and pity. She leaned to rest her chin on his head and continued to to comfort him, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking.