Hello, wow its only been a week (I think. Time is very wibly wobly to me)

First and Foremost, THANK ALL YALL WHO REVIEWED/FAVORITED/FOLLOWED THIS STORY (ESPECIALLY .77 and yui!) ! I WOULD HUG YOU BUT THAT MIGHT BE GOING A LITTLE FAR. And because I was so excited I battled through sleep exhaustion to edit and bring this second chapter to you. It's almost 1,000 words longer than my first!

There will be a note at the end of the chapter, please read it.

Chapter 2

"MEDIC!" Roe sprinted across the exploding battlefield. His chest was tight and his legs were tired, but he kept going. Rock and bullets fell around him, and dust pricked at his dry eyes. He saw the source of the noise. Sisk and Perconte were clustered together. Sisk's leg was coated blood and dirt. His pant leg was torn apart, much like the flesh underneath.

"Move!" Roe yelled at Perconte. "Watch the line!" And Perconte anxiously shoulder his gun, nervously glaring at the empty desert.

Sisk was writhing in pain, cursing all that was holy. Shards of rock stuck out like darts. The blood covered Roe's hands the instant he touched the injury. "It ain't that bad." Roe breathed. His hands were slick as he tried to pull the rock out. Sisk was still gasping for breath.

"Not that bad?" He stuttered. Roe discarded the shards of rock to the side, rubbing disinfectant on the wound. Sisk screamed.

"Jesus, Skinny." Perconte swore. Roe tried not to let Sisk's screams bother him.

"Get a jeep," Roe ordered, opening a bandage. Perconte scrambled for his radio.

The bandage staunched the blood, at least temporarily. Sisk winced and groaned in pain. Roe automatically reached in his pack for one of their precious morphine shots. "No Doc," Sisk shook his head. "I'll make it." Roe nodded and slung his pack over his shoulder.

"Come on Perconte, help me lift him." Perconte struggled to discard his gun. "That jeep on the way?" Perconte assured him it was.

And then Roe was running again, this time carrying another man. Perconte slipped once and sent both Roe and Sisk collapsing to the ground. Sisk's shrieks grated Roe's already shredded nerves.

A jeep was waiting for them at the edge of camp. The driver took Perconte's place and helped Roe hoist Sisk up to the back seat. "Perconte!" Roe commanded as he climbed in after Sisk. "Tell Barton I've gone to Halabjah."

Perconte was still nodding as Roe slammed the door.

"Doc, tell me straight." Sisk gasped as the jeep rattled down the cracked and deserted pavement. "How bad is it?" Roe was crouched in between the front and the back seats and so couldn't clearly see Sisk's face.

"I told you, not that bad." Roe reiterated. The driver was quiet.

"Jesus, Doc." Sisk moaned. Roe checked to see if the bandage was holding.

When they finally arrived to Halabjah, men swung the back door open, pulling Sisks out onto a strecher. "Watch the leg!" Roe commanded as he clambered out. "No drugs."

The town looked spent: buildings were half collapsed, bodies were piled up next to walls, and civilians meandered through clusters soldiers, scared and lost. There was one, large, standing building, extremely old, and bearing a red cross which someone had haphazardly painted on the large door. The soldiers bore the stretcher into the old building, Roe followed.

Once inside, the stench hit him like a punch to the gut, driving all breath from his body. It was like walking upon the massacre sight except multiplied by a million. Blood and rot hung on the air. Roe froze, teetering between falling to his knees and running out of there as fast as he could. Death lingered everywhere. Roe just needed to get away, get away, get away.

But Sisk needed him. The company needed him.

Sisk was out of his hands now, his selfish, scared, subconscious argued. His heart rate picked up, bile rose in his throat. Get away, get away get away. Roe scrambled any semblance of strength to keep him from running. Anything. Any God-given smidge of courage.

Memories of soft hands enclosing his, talk of shared burdens, promises of permanence. He did not have to go through this sickness alone.

And Roe moved.

The vile stench only got worse as Roe descended into the hospital. Roe prayed silently for resolve, and clung to the memories of Claire. He could bear this if she would help him. God help them both.

The floor of the building was covered in beds, with injured men in various states of dying. A lucky few had IV's strung on rickety stands next to their cots, but most were simply lying unconscious as nurses tried futile to stop their bleeding. Sisk grimaced, Roe knew it was not from pain.

"Jabir!" A man carrying Sisk yelled. A man in a white shirt and dark pants looked up from another wounded soldier. Roe was more surprised than he should to see a dark Arab face. "Lower leg wound. No drugs." Jabir nodded.

Roe looked around. Supplies. That's what Barton and he needed. This place must have extras. Jabir checked Sisk's bandage and called for someone in Arabic, striding off through the beds and the injured. "Sir!" Roe called after him. "Sir! I need supplies."

"Wait! I will be with your man in a minute!" Jabir turned and all but yelled at Roe.

Roe stopped and obediently went back to Sisk. "What is this, Doc?" He asked looking around in sheer horror and revulsion.

"We have nowhere to go." One of the passing medics said. "Easy?" Roe nodded. "Fox. I just got pulled from my company to help out here when we were pushed back." The man's eyes were glassy, his face pale and gaunt - the true sign of a medic. Without a closing word the man went back to his work.

"Shit." Sisk muttered in awe. Roe said nothing, just held on to the feeling of Claire's hands around his. Supplies. She would be so happy if he brought back supplies.

Jabir reappeared, this time with a woman in a hijab. He was speaking quickly in Arabic to her, Roe waited patiently for him to finish. The woman nodded. "You'll need sutures and compression bandages for some days." Jabir explained to Sisk. "This woman will take care of you." And the woman moved forward. Jabir gestured to Roe, and with that he and Sisk were parted.

"I need bandages, morphine, catheters, any drugs. We're almost out of everything." Roe explained. Jabir was leading him away from the wounded men. "Scissors too."

"There is not much I can spare." Jabir spoke softly as he led Roe into a mostly empty room, boxes gathered against one wall. He placed an empty box in Roe's arms, and filled it with torn scraps of fabric (Jabir told him they were bandages), a bottle of rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide each, tape, and morphine syringes. "Thank you." Roe said gratefully. Jabir nodded and walked off. Roe followed him. "I'm Roe. Where you from?" The question was innocent.

"I live here. I was a dentist, and this was my Mosque." Jabir answered without turning around. Roe looked down at the supplies in his arms, trying to imagine what it must be like to have your home turned into this hell. "You're American?"

"Yes sir." Roe replied. "Louisiana." Jabir stopped to check on a patient.

"Forgive me Roe, I do not know all of your states." His tone wasn't cruel, nor hard. It was just tired.

"Forgive me, I don't know all yours." Roe replied. "Thank you again for the supplies." Jabir turned from his patient to share an exhausted smile with Roe. Roe wondered what he had to smile about.

"You're welcome. Stay safe." He implored. Then Roe left, ascending the stairs out of the sickening room, back to the heat and dust above.

A jeep stood waiting for him. "Are you here for me?" Roe asked and the driver nodded.

The drive back was inauspiciously quiet. Roe had nothing to say, and neither did the driver. The stench of mangled bodies still clung to Roe's clothes. He desperately needed a shower.

In camp, the atmosphere was dark and tense. Roe stared at the men; some sitting, some carrying out perfunctory tasks, many were silent and no one laughed. This wasn't like Easy. Even when they were suffering through hell, Luz was always cracking a joke, Muck was being sarcastic, someone was at least doing something to keep them all from falling into depression.

Roe continued on through the silent camp, each step quickening as the eerie quiet unnerved him. They were like ghosts, silent and grave.

In a desperate push, Roe rushed into the medic tent. Claire was sitting on her cot, fingers laced, eyes blank. He knew the look.

"Barton?" Roe murmured. Now it was his turn to share the load. "Claire?" She didn't move. He set the box down loudly and finally, Claire jumped. She blinked rapidly and reached automatically for her medic bag. "Claire?" Roe whispered again, trying to sound gentle.

"How's Skinny?" She questioned, sinking back into her statuesque position. Roe came over and sat beside her. Fresh blood covered her hands, but she hadn't washed them.

"He's going to be alright." Roe informed her. "What happened." Claire sighed.

"Julian's dead." Her voice was monotone, but her hands clenched violently, excess blood oozing from her tight fist.


Barton walked among men, checking for injuries. She looked in vain for the man who had cried for a medic. She had tried to respond to the call, but couldn't find the victim. She had stood in a hail of fire, confused, scared, and guilty, until someone, Shifty Barton learned later, roughly dragged her to safety. Barton was pretty sure some of her stiches were ripped.

The panic she had felt when the cry for a medic had ceased to carry across the battlefield, dwindled. No one had come to her, asking to fill out a causality notice at least.

But the fear and guilt still hung heavy in her heart. Who had it been? Could she have fixed them? Where were they now? How could she had been so cowardly as to not respond?

"Angel?" Someone called over the distance. "Where's Angel?" She responded.

"Yes?" She called back. "I'm here." It was Perconte. "Are you hurt?" Perconte shook his head, but Barton could tell the blood on his pants was fresh. "Who is then?" Unconsciously her hand slipped to her medic pack, ready.

"Skinny. Doc had to take him into town." Perconte shifted nervously. "It looked pretty bad, Angel. Doc kept saying it wasn't that bad, but…" Perconte shook his head.

Barton wanted to crumple. Why did her men keep getting hurt? "I'm sure if Roe thinks it's not that bad, it's not that bad. He's pretty good like that." Barton had a job to reassure, just as much as to heal, and right now she wasn't doing too well at the latter. "Where was the wound?"

"Lower leg. Some rock caught him." Perconte looked a little sick. Barton patted his shoulder. Her stitches pulled painfully at her skin.

"He's going to be fine." Perconte smiled slightly. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, I heard you were asking around for aid kits." He pulled his out and handed it to her. Barton took it gratefully.

"Thank you." Barton nodded. And Perconte was gone, whisked away to complete some other order of business.

Barton ambled through the crowds, asking soldiers if they were injured, and when they answered no, if they still had their aid kits. It kept her mind off of Roe, and how he and Sisk were faring.

"Barton, you're needed up at HQ." The order came from one of the soldiers, Peacock she thought, and Barton followed it immediately.

HQ for Easy Company was nothing more than a tarp thrown up between rock outcroppings with a fold out table, covering in maps and papers. Winters, Nixon, and the other COs, including, miraculously, Dike, stood around the table. "Where's Roe?" Dike asked apprehensively, before anyone else got a chance to speak. Barton frowned. "The senior medic should be the one for this mission."

Commander Dike was the most cowardly man Barton ever knew. Roe had told her that Winters used to be Easy Company's Senior Commanding Officer, until he got promoted for 'bravery and valor' in a mission on the outskirts of Baghdad. Barton selfishly wished he had never been promoted. Winters was an excellent Captain: he related to the men, led by example and not by yelling, and was able to keep the men in line by respect and admiration.

Norman Dike was a horrible commander: he didn't try and communicate to the soldiers under his command, he screeched out bullshit orders as if it made him seem more powerful, and all of the soldiers hated him. Foxhole Norman (as the soldiers had nicknamed him soon after his arrival) ran and hid every time a gun went off.

Just his little comment about wanting a senior medic made her blood boil. Technically she outranked Roe as a fully-fledged doctor and surgeon while Roe was just a medic. Normally these small facts were forgotten; Roe didn't need an M.D. to be one of the finest doctors Barton has ever met. If anyone else had asked for Roe she would have whole-heartedly agreed with them, but when the comment was uttered from Dike's mouth, the words suddenly turned malicious.

"Barton is perfectly qualified for this mission." Winters said stridently. Obviously he didn't like conferring with Dike any more than she.

"I'll do what you need me to, Sir." She said, suppressing the acrid edge to her words.

Winters nodded approvingly. "Where is Roe then?" Nixon broke in. He was the most casual out of the bunch, nonchalantly sipping out of his hip flask. Barton appreciated that.

"Skinny got hurt, so Roe took him to Halabjah." Barton answered. Winters grew somber. "Perconte said Roe said he is gonna be alright." She added quickly.

"Good," Winters muttered. "Alright." And his entire posture shifted, back straightened, eyes focused, hands placed behind his back. It made everyone in the group stand taller. "The attack that just occurred was conducted using short range grenade launchers and rifles. That means the Arabs had to have been close while attacking. It's probably why they sent a scout so near our camp. Anyway, we were discussing having a patrol sent out after them, to see if their base is close by as well. And if it is, we can finally start returning fire." The plan sounded so simple. "We wanted a medic to accompany the patrol, but stay out of harm's way. Do you understand?" Winters looked Barton straight in the eye, forcing her to listen. "The patrol shouldn't need you, but I don't want any men lost today."

Barton nodded. "Yes Captain." He turned to Dike.

"I want you to assemble the men, and choose a leader." Winters face tightened as he said this. "Then report back to me the men you've chosen." Dike kept his face controlled but Barton could see the relief in his eyes. The other men deserved a rest – not him.

"Yes Captain." Dike nodded enthusiastically, and saluted before walking out from under the tarp. Barton made to do the same thing.

"Barton, I wanted to speak to you for a second." Winters said. Nixon took the hint and slunk away, squinting into the sunshine.

"Yes sir?" Barton responded. Her fingers gripped the straps of her medic pack tightly. She was nervous about going on patrol, but even more nervous for the men going on patrol. It wasn't a good idea to chase soldiers with grenade launchers back to their home. Her mind churned up images of bodies being blasted apart just as rock had moments before.

"I'm serious about you hanging back. Trail the patrol at a few feet at least. I know you're new to Easy Company, and you might be trying to prove yourself, but we cannot afford to lose a medic." Winters ordered. "Not here. Not anywhere." Barton nodded.

"Yes sir." Barton replied.

"Good, I want to hear that it's done, Corporal. I also noticed neither Roe nor you carry weapons." Barton nodded again.

"I can not speak for Roe sir, but I'm a doctor, not a soldier." Barton answered.

"I want you to start carrying your pistol, both of you." Winters commanded. Barton nodded, although she was terrified of even touching the hand gun they had issued her. "And tell Roe when you see him, that I want to speak to him also."

"Yes, Sir." Barton said for the last time, before saluting and exiting the small patch of shade.

Within five minutes, Barton had collected the spare bandages and supplies into her pack, ready to depart. She secured her helmet on her head, and checked to make sure her fatigues were in check. She looked at the gun lying on the bench.

To her knowledge, neither she nor Roe had fired a shot. They were technically issued rifles as well, but Easy Company couldn't afford to spare any weapons. The handguns were still in their possession by the fact that it is extremely improbable to kill anyone at with any range with a handgun. Not that Barton was a bad shot.

On the contrary, Barton was not a bad shot. Her father had taken her shooting and hunting many times, so she knew her way around a gun. It was the fact that pulling the trigger with the intention of hurt someone, killing someone, was so despicable to her that even touching the gun was hard.

Barton picked up the gun, and placed it gingerly in her holster. Guilt seeped from its unfamiliar weight, as if Barton had already killed someone.

She picked her way to the large circle of men with Martin at its center. Dike was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Angel Face!" Luz called slapping her on the shoulder. Barton had grown used to the stupid nickname, just as most everyone in Easy Company had. Luz liked giving nicknames. She wished however that the name 'Angel' had never caught on. It was better than Skinny, though. "You joining us for this little jaunt?"

"Luz, would I spend any more time with you than I had to, unless I was forced?" Barton replied easily. Unlike the other replacements, the soldiers had generally accepted, and befriended Barton. Medics enjoyed special privileges like that.

"She's got a point." Muck nodded.

"Hey, no one fucking asked you." Luz replied, jokingly. Christenson turned to them and the three grew quiet.

"Tactical Columns, let's go." Martin commanded. Barton took her position at the back. Sweat already started dripping into her eyes and her stiches ached. She noticed one of the recruits, a boy barely out of high school, Julian, took a position near the front eagerly. He had been in the same batch of replacements as her. "Let's move, hurry." Martin ordered, cocking his gun.

The group moved out, Martin, Babe, and Julian at the lead, Barton and Peacock at the back. No one spoke as they crept down the rock face to the desert floor. Martin seemed to know where he was going, which made Barton feel slightly reassured.

The tension grew with every second. She waited, nervously, for the gun shot, the cry of pain, the brief light, a bang, and the shattering of a life. And it came all too quickly.

Barton could only hear the ear splitting sound of guns and the shouts of men as they drew back and surged forward in a confusing wave. Martin yelled for covering fire. No medic was called, but Barton sprinted to the front. She stood there stunned at the sight of Julian before Bull violently pulled her to the ground. The brief look Barton had got was enough to ensure nightmares that night.

Julian was gasping, choking on his own blood. The bullet was lodged fatally, in his throat. He pawed at them, silently pleading for them to come save him. Barton swallowed hard. Bullets flew in the space between their little protective outcropping and Julian. He would die alone.

Babe was trying his best to reassure Julian, but the fevered crack to his voice negated his calming words.

She couldn't just sit there and listen to him gasp and wheeze. She had to do something – she had to.

Barton started moving towards Julian, crouched low, ready to sprint out, ready for the bullets to stop flying for just a second. And when they did she would –

"Barton, stay DOWN!" Martin yelled at her. She turned her head slightly. "Fall back!" He ordered. Barton took one last look at Julian.

She had never been that close with the boy. She was almost five years his senior, and despite having gone through basic training with him, the distance created by their ranks as medic and soldier made each only casual acquaintances. But somehow this only made his impending death harder to bear.

Next to her Babe was still shouting reassuring words as he inched slowly back. "LETS GO!" Martin commanded once more, and the pair took off after the patrol.

There was another casualty besides Julian, a man shot in the side. Barton set herself quickly to work, trying to ignore the rattling breaths of Julian that still echoed in her ears.

The wound was superficial: it bleed a lot but wasn't deep, the only possibly troublesome thing was the placement, right about the man's left hip. He was moaning terribly as Barton applied the bandage, hand staunching the blood flow for the moment. "Hold this here!" She instructed, and one of the men complied. She dug through her pack for morphine, the man kept moaning.

Once she found the needle she started tearing off his shirt, throwing the now useless body armor aside and exposing the flesh of his shoulder. Steadily, she sunk the needle into his skin and pressed the plunger. She returned to the bandage, tying it securely as someone called for a litter. In a way she was glad she had something to keep her mind busy with. It kept the thoughts of Julian at bay.

Barton jogged beside the stretcher as it carried the wounded man away. She wanted to ensure she didn't lose two lives today. She kept checking his breathing, making sure it was even, not gasping. It calmed her that he was.

But when the patient was gone, ferried away, nothing could block the traumatic memories from sweeping over her. Julian bleeding out, hand clamped around his neck, fingers stained red.

In a daze Barton walked back to her and Roe's tent. Mechanically she took off her body armor. She should fill out a causality form but her hands were shaking too much. So she sat, lost in gory thought until Roe came in.


Roe didn't say anything for a moment. "What happened?" And Claire reiterated the gruesome story briefly. Barton could feel the welcomed numbness encase her heart and body. She couldn't move if she wanted to, and she didn't. Barton didn't care if she died in that spot, at least she would never have to see another person die.

"Claire," Roe whispered, but Barton didn't respond. It was as if she heard him through a pane of glass - there but separate from her. "Claire?" He gently touched her shoulder and shook her. His touch felt distant, all she felt was blood seeping through her fingers. "Have you eaten today?" She wasn't hungry. How could she be? "Come on, at least wash your hands." Barton didn't want to move.

Finally Roe got tired and lifted her from her sitting position. Barton blinked as she was lifted into the air and set back down on the ground. Solid ground, with Eugene Roe right in front of her. He was standing upright, he was managing. So could she.

With great effort Barton pushed back the numbness, letting the life back into her body. Her stomach pinched with hunger. She glanced down at her crimson hands, she did need to wash them. "Come on, it'll be alright. I'm here." Eugene was ducking his head slightly so he could look Barton in the eyes.

"Thank you." She looked back at him, surprised to find his eyes were gray just like hers. His face was angular and handsome as well. That thought surprised her more than his eyes.

For the first time in a long time she felt safe, almost happy. No thoughts of blood and guts crossed her mind; it was consumed by Eugene. "You did the same for me." Eugene replied. His soft accent soothed her frayed nerves. Barton smiled slightly, and Roe returned it. He still had his hands on her shoulders.

"Let's go, someone will need something." Barton suggested, distrusting the warm spike in her heart. She had no reason to feel so good.

"You need a meal." Roe said. His hands dropped to his side.

"And you need sleep." Barton countered. He bit his lip. "Winter's wants to talk to you."

Roe nodded. "Will you walk with me?" He offered. It was a ploy to get her up and moving, he didn't want to risk her sinking into that listless staring again.

Barton nodded and got up. "I wanted to see Babe." She put on her fatigues, and slung her medic pack over her shoulder. "He was Julian's tent mate." Barton could only imagine the pain he was going through.

They walked out of the tent together. "What does Winters' want?"

Barton tapped her holster. Roe was shocked to see the gun, for the first time, in the usually empty space. "He wants us to start carrying it."

Roe touched his own empty holster. He didn't like guns, never could he convince himself to actually draw it, let alone click the safety off. The thought of causing destructive pain on another human being was too unimaginable and too irreconcilable.

"Are you?" Roe asked. Barton shook her head.

"It's not even loaded." Barton responded. They stopped talking as they saw the circle of men, sitting under the shade of a tarp. Winters was among them, sharing in the silence. Both felt as if they were intruding on something private. This was a soldier's mourning, medics were expected to accept death and move on. Barton and Roe both joined the fringe of the circle, but stayed removed. They didn't belong here.

The vigil broke when Martin got up and walked away. He of course was taking Julian's death hard, any leader would. Babe sat next to Shifty who had his arm around him. Babe gazed at the ground, hollow and empty.

Barton sat down besides Babe. Roe watched from his own secluded spot. He watched Barton pat Heffron's arm. He said something. Claire rubbed her hand along his bicep. He could see her mouth moving, speaking soft and gentle words. Roe knew from experience that just her presence would calm Heffron down.

"Roe," He heard Winter's voice behind him. "Can you follow me please?"

Barton noticed when Roe left with Winters. She wished he would stay, just knowing he was there made her feel calm. But Heffron needed her and Winters needed Roe.

"What's that sound?" Shifty asked standing up and squaring his helmet onto his head. Barton perked up her ears but could hear nothing. But Shifty was good like that.

"Shifty, you can't fucking hear-" then a soft droning filled the air. An airplane. In the distance shapes formed, and sped towards them. All around her men stood to watch the plane's approach, hopeful yet afraid.

Then every radio exploded into chatter. English chatter. Buck rushed towards one, and began to talk. "Easy Company Base Camp."

"Easy Company, this is Commander Patton. Heard you folk could use some help." Some of the men cheered. Buck grinned.

"On the contrary Commander, we don't need any help, but we are damn glad you're here." Barton smiled. Reinforcements, supplies, safety. It was all here. Things were beginning to look up.

Shifty started to laugh, and even Heffron cracked a smile.

And that is when the first bomb dropped.


Wow, that was a poor ending. I'm sorry

In other news, you might have noticed that this chapter was long (in my standards anyway). So I need some help with that.

WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO UPDATE MORE FREQUENTLY WITH SHORTER CHAPTERS OR LESS OFTEN WITH CHAPTERS MORE LIKE THIS LENGTH/LONGER?

If you would be so kind as to leave me a review/PM me your opinion it would help a sista out yo.

I won't do that again I'm sorry

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I hope this was a good experience for you! Please leave a review if you are so inclined or just continue looking for an update! You really are magic.

And if there is any grammar/spelling mistakes or just poor writing. PLEASE POINT IT OUT FOR ME! I only edited this once, so I could publish it quickly. So there is a great chance of me fucking up somewhere.