"The end of a melody is not its goal: but nonetheless, had the melody not reached its end it would not have reached its goal either. A parable." — Friedrich Nietzsche


Aldbourne, England
15 November 1943

"Well, boys… all things considered, I think that could'a gone a lot worse."

"Harris was transferred out of the Regiment, Gonorrhoea. I mean Ranney was busted to private, for Christ's sake!" Floyd Talbert sighed in frustration, letting his spoon drop with a satisfying 'clank' to the bottom of the tin. He didn't have much of an appetite after their meeting with Sink – none of the men did.

The men were all suffering various levels of guilt after their confrontation with Colonel Sink, the realisation of their actions settling in nicely beside that of the consequences they'd narrowly avoided. Guarnere only shrugged.

"Hey, it's like I said: could'a been worse." Could've been shot dead.

Facing possible execution had seemed much nobler before they'd heard their Colonel utter the words: "I ought to have you all shot." There wasn't an NCO present that didn't hold their breath in that moment. Though, to most of the men, the threat had not been as wounding as being told they were a disgrace to their company. Their deaths still seemed so far away – even then, on the brink of invasion. But, the men were all so young; in their naivety perhaps they believed they were invincible. That proud armour of theirs would be shattered in time, and that day would leave the first chink in the steel.

All that remained to be seen was whether or not it would be worth it.

Emilia had always been a rather insightful kind of person. During her childhood, she would find herself more interested in watching her surroundings rather than taking a more active part in them, and consequently she'd become very perceptive to the environments she found herself in. Whether it was that particular skill that told her something was amiss, or how the entirety of Battalion Staff silenced upon her entrance to the floor, was anyone's guess. One of the secretaries – a young mouse of a girl – scurried toward Emilia as she stood in the invisible spotlight, muttering quickly about Colonel Sink wishing to see her in his office immediately.

That certainly explained it.

The floor dissolved back into its usual chatter once Emilia started toward the office, but she didn't miss how everyone's eyes darted towards her as passed– a walk to the scaffold, it felt like. His office was warm, as always, and the curtains were drawn shut despite the hour. The sun was filtering through the pretty lace confections, decorating the room in a pale and shallow light that carved intricate shadows on the wall. Mornings like that often left her feeling as though she were in a dream, but Emilia knew that it couldn't be. It was all far too pleasant to be any dream of hers.

"I take it you're aware of the present situation with Easy Company." Colonel Sink spoke, pouring himself a glass of liqueur. He looked tired, with shadows beneath his eyes that were not caused by the room's low lighting.

"Yes, sir, I am aware," she said. "As I explained in the report I submitted last night, I did try to talk them out of making that decision, as did Lieutenant Winters when he was made aware, but they were very… adamant in their belief that they were doing the right thing, and wouldn't see reason. It's unfortunate that it had to come to this, Sergeant Harris was a good soldier."

"Mm. And, you were made aware of this when exactly?"

Emilia looked at her hands, folded in her lap. "Th—um…The 12th of November, sir."

"The twelfth? Three days ago?" The Colonel sounded far from pleased, and Emilia flinched at the sharp tone of his voice. "You're telling me that you've known since they made the goddamn plan, and you didn't think it was necessary to speak to me about this embarrassment?"

"I wasn't—strictly speaking—on duty at the time, sir. And more than that, I didn't think it was my place to reveal their plans, as Winters had yet to speak to them and I believed that he would be able to succeed where I had failed. Sir." Emilia spoke quickly and carefully, not wishing to ignite any further anger in the man. She had, admittedly and purposefully, kept the knowledge from him for the simple fact that the Colonel would find out on his own in due time. And, were she being wholly honest, Emilia didn't want to be the bearer of that particular kind of bad news.

Sink regarded her with that unwavering, piercing gaze of his, making the woman feel as though he were trying to mentally dissect her right then and there. She didn't know how the men could stand it.

"I see," he folded his hands on the desk, eyes remaining glued to her. Emilia wanted very much to look away, but forced herself not to. "I take it you informed your superiors about all of this in your last co-ordination with MI6."

"Yes, sir." He grumbled inwardly, and Emilia quickly spoke again before it turned outward. "Sir, th-they are obviously concerned with the development, but… well, they suggested to me a course of action, should you be interested in taking one. You're familiar with the Jump School in Chilton Foliat that's nearly completed, I know, and—well, before I get ahead of myself, they believe this would work best for all parties involved, and I have to say that I agree on the matter. In fact, I had typed up a more formal proposal that I was going to submit today."

"Is that so?" Sink leaned back in the seat, resting his fingers against each other as he studied the woman. He wasn't so blind as to not see the core of the problem in Easy Company – he was a military man, through and through, and he knew the strengths and weaknesses in every man that served under him, Sobel included. But, the best solution to the problem at hand wasn't the easiest and the easiest solution was not the best. At that point, he was open to suggestions. "I'm listening."

"They've been in there awhile," Lewis Nixon spoke, blowing out smoke as he sat behind his typewriter. He was watching the door to Sink's office intently, thinking if he squinted hard enough he'd be able to see what was going on behind the oak doors. The S-3 had taken a personal interest in the drama surrounding Easy Company, for reasons that went without saying, and still held the slightest bit of hope that something would be worked out that would work in favour with his friend, Dick.

"Well, he's not yelling anymore," said Harry Welsh, sitting on the edge of Nixon's desk as he lit his own cigarette. "I'd take that as a good sign."

Just as he finished speaking, the doors swung open and Emilia exited the room. Nixon had to give it to her, if she was irked at all by everyone's eyes on her, she gave no sign of it. He reckoned that it must be difficult for a woman to be in the position she was in, surrounded by a bunch of men who couldn't look at her without imagining an apron where her uniform was.

Harry scoffed lightly, flicking some ash off his fingernail. "Like a short man,"

Nixon gave him a look. "What?"

"They're supposed to look like short men in those uniforms," he explained further, shaking his head. "Why doesn't she? Looks like a damn pin-up for God's sake, on those posters plastered all over London. Huh… I wonder what Kitty would look—…" Nixon coughed abruptly to cut him off, straightening up in his seat as Emilia came towards them.

"Hello, boys." Emilia greeted the two with a smile that looked only slightly forced.

"Hah. Pretty chipper for just being put through the ringer there, eh, Rösner?" Harry said, waggling his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes, "You make it sound worse than it was."

"I don't have to make it sound like anything considering the whole building heard him going off—"

"In any case," Emilia pressed on, fixing Harry with a glare that elicited an amusing giggle from the man. "It's all resolved now – or it will be soon, with any luck. Nixon, are you familiar with Lieutenant Meehan from Baker Company, by any chance?"

Nixon leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil between his fingers. "I'm vaguely familiar with him," his eyes narrowed on the woman, noticing the slight shift in her expression – she looked scheming, almost. "Why…?"

"Would you mind introducing us?"

"I can only speculate, sir…" Captain Sobel appeared to be nervous, fidgeting in his seat and staring wide-eyed at both Strayer and Sink, reminiscent of a child walking on eggshells. Emilia found it difficult to watch. "Most of the men would never do this. But, I believe that just a few of the sergeants may have felt their loyalty lay more to the platoon than the company as a whole, Sir."

"And these few sergeants convinced all the other NCO's in your company to turn in their stripes?" Sink looked sceptical, and Sobel looked panicked.

"As staff sergeants, they have a great amount of influence, Sir. But, as I say, the rest are good men. I know them. I—I can work with them."

Colonel Sink was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, regarding the man carefully as both Strayer and Emilia silently watched. The meeting with Sobel had been called after Emilia's interview with Meehan, all done rather quickly and efficiently, with all that remained being Sobel's ultimate reassignment. Sink had been hesitant at first with the prospect, though he'd admitted to Emilia that he had been considering it himself after the actions of Easy's non-coms.

The fire crackled in the uneasy silence, and Sink straightened up his stance before speaking again: "This drama with Winters has been an unpleasant distraction, Herbert. However, your command of Easy Company has been exemplary."

Sobel was caught off guard. "Th—Thank you, sir."

"In fact, aside from the actions of a few of your non-coms, I truly believe that you've fielded one of the finest companies of soldiers that I've ever seen. And, I'm not the only one who thinks that, as a matter of fact, you've caught the attention of quite a few officials." The colonel poured himself a glass of whiskey, and another for Sobel.

He'd set up the stage very well, leaving Sobel looking quite pleased with himself at the praises, all to soften the upcoming blow. After handing Sobel the glass, Sink turned toward Emilia and motioned for her to speak. She hadn't been expecting that, though it made sense that Sink would want to pass off the blow to her – Sobel would think it was her idea rather than Sink's – which, technically speaking, it was – and any resentment would be dealt to her rather than the Colonel.

A clever move, indeed.

She cleared her throat. "Captain Sobel, division has established a parachute jump training school in the village of Chilton Foliat. Their main objective is training doctors, chaplains, and other vital non-infantry types to qualify as paratroopers for the invasion. The only issue is that they've been unable to secure anyone to lead the programme thus far, but we believe that there are few others than yourself that would be qualified to command such a school."

Sobel blinked at Emilia, and looked to Sink. "Sir?"

"I'm reassigning you to Chilton Foliat."

"I'm losing Easy Company?"

"The war effort needs you elsewhere, Captain," Strayer said, "We're putting a lot of faith in you to carry this assignment out."

Sobel ignored him, pleading eyes remaining on the Colonel alone. He looked as though he were just betrayed by his only ally in the world. Maybe he had been.

"Permission to speak, Sir?"

"Granted."

"Is—…Who will be replacing me?"

Emilia assumed he wanted to ask whether or no it would be Winters that took his place, and what pity she'd felt momentarily for the man fled her conscious in favour of irritation. Was it impossible for the man to let go of that rivalry for even one day? She assumed not. Such prideful creatures, these men were.

"Lieutenant Meehan from Baker Company is the senior officer, and Sweeney from Able will be coming in as XO. You can trust Easy in his hands; he's a damn good man. You can trust Agent Rösner's judgement, too. She already discussed the situation with him, and he's more than ready to take on the company." He gripped Sobel on the shoulder, in a last effort for consolation. "Good luck in Chilton Foliat, son. Don't let us down, now."

Sobel swallowed, failing to conceal his disappointment. "No, sir."

Ronald Speirs was walking up the steps of Company CP, a bundle of reports tucked between his arm and torso. Delivering paperwork was a job much more suitable for runners and orderly's, but the hour was late and he wasn't entirely opposed to the walk. The day hadn't been strenuous in training, as poor weather had interfered with prior plans, and Ron found himself restless and desperate for a bit of exercise – even if it was just a simple walk. A door being opened caught his attention just as he delivered the reports to Lewis Nixon, and they both turned to see the nearing figure of Captain Sobel, leaving Colonel Sink's office.

It wasn't exactly an oddity, seeing the Captain there, but there was something in his expression that Ron found strikingly different. The authority he carried himself with was missing from his stature, and while Sobel was nowhere near a little man, he somehow resembled a small private in the way that he walked – unsure, upset, and lost.

Ron saluted when Sobel neared him, though Nixon did not, but the gesture was not returned. He turned his head to watch the other man leave, utterly bothered at the lack of tact, but ultimately indifferent. Sobel wasn't his commanding officer, therefore the man's piss-poor attitude was not his problem.

"Lieutenant Speirs," a soft voice came from behind, and Ron turned to see Emilia standing beside him. "Nixon. Did Captain Sobel pass through this way?" That was odd. Had she meant to follow him?

Lewis nodded, "I take it there was a reason for the grimace on his face."

Emilia shifted uncomfortably, looking almost guilty. "There was…" They'll find out soon, anyway. "It's been decided that Captain Sobel will be reassigned to Chilton Foliat. Lieutenant Meehan will be taking his place,"

Nixon let out a low whistle. "Is he going to tell the men?"

"I doubt it."

"You must be pleased, ma'am," Speirs said.

Something in his tone bothered her. "What do you mean? I'm not pleased." She knew what he meant, and was surprised that she didn't feel at least a little relief at the situation. In truth, Emilia had gone into the meeting expecting to feel some bout of triumph at seeing Sobel lose Easy Company, but left the situation with an unwelcome amount of understanding. "It was necessary."

"Necessary, ma'am? You make it sound like you had a personal part in it."

"I might have. I have a personal part in a lot of things that go on within this battalion, not that it's any business of yours." Neither Nixon nor Speirs replied, and Emilia sighed. "I'm sure you'd like to inform Winters that he's back with 1st platoon, Lieutenant Nixon."

He perked up. "Of course,"

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Alright, now be honest with me. Am I dreaming? I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Hell, Luz," Bull chuckled. "If you're dreaming about all of us in your down time, then I hate to break it to you, but you're dreams are fuckin' shit and I hope you wake up soon." Shifty snorted, bringing a hand up to muffle his reaction to the man's statement.

"Sobel gone…" Toye said carefully, wrapping his head around the statement.

"Welsh mentioned somethin' about Miss Rösner havin' somethin' to do with it," Shifty said, falling back on his cot with a dreamy kind of sigh.

"If that's true, I'm askin' her to marry me." Luz muttered with a cigarette between his lips. "Honeymoon in Berlin, eh, boys? You're all invited."

Webster spoke next, folding the letter he'd been writing into his pocket. "The Sobel Era has come to an end… Luz is right. It's almost too good to be true,"

"Almost?" Liebgott repeated, "How's it almost too good?"

"Yeah…" Malarkey frowned, "Yeah. I mean we got Meehan commanding, Winters back with first platoon, Sobel gone, beautiful women on our side, Evans no longer smug, Sobel gone... did I mention that one already?"

Guarnere shrugged. "Eh, I'll say it one more time for good measure: Sobel gone."

Malarkey continued: "How does it get any better than this? It's already too good to be true in my books,"

"Last I checked we're still dropping on Europe – Sobel or no Sobel. Can't have it all,"

There was a collective groan at his words.

Muck sighed, "Always gotta rain on the parade, Web."

A few days later…

The passing days saw Sobel's permanent exit from Aldbourne, and a shift in the atmosphere surrounding Easy Company. The men were undoubtedly pleased with the arrangement, as were the higher-ups, already seeing the benefits of having new leadership in the men's performance. Emilia, herself, was oddly conflicted about it all, however – ironic, considering the part she had played in the removal. But, it was hard to dislike someone once one understood them better, and in the time following Sobel's exit, she'd started to understand the man more. Sure, he'd been rude to her, but most men were. Captain Sobel wasn't tasked with winning any popularity contests within the 506th, nor was it necessary for him to be anything more than a fixed point for his men. His job had been simple: to chisel soldiers out of mere men, and he'd succeeded in that.

He'd had a poor attitude, and he wasn't fair with his leadership or exemplary in the field, but it went without saying that Easy Company meant a lot to him. And it was no longer his, which was faulted to no one other than himself, truly, but Emilia still felt guilt over the matter. It was that guilt mingled with other thoughts and memories that drew her to the empty shooting range that evening, figuring a bit of practise would put her mind off things for at least a little while.

"Where did you learn how to shoot?"

The voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"What?"

Ron's lips twitched as he almost allowed a smile, though instead settled for a stern frown. "Where did you learn how to shoot a gun? I thought girls like you were brought up with sewing machines, ma'am, not target practise."

"Oh," Emilia spoke quietly, growing a little nervous suddenly. How could she put it simply without revealing too much? "When I was younger I—well, my father taught my brother, and my brother taught me."

"Ah,"

She hadn't even fired a shot yet, and didn't feel inclined to do so while the lieutenant lurked. But Emilia lowered the pistol after a moment, suddenly registering the accompanying comment. "Wait—sewing machine…? I'm sorry, do you think learning how to sew is some sort of rite of passage for a woman?" The lieutenant didn't reply, and Emilia had the distinct impression that he'd said it merely to get a rise out of her. Bastard. It had worked.

He scoffed quietly at her words, "You're holding it wrong,"

"Sorry?"

"The pistol," he clarified, "You're holding it wrong. I would have assumed you'd know something so basic, ma'am," Lieutenant Speirs was, without a doubt, trying to wind her up. For his part, and despite the animosity it likely caused, Ron found that he somewhat enjoyed taunting the woman, goading a reaction from her usually collected self.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Lieutenant?"

"No, ma'am," Ron loaded his rifle, "Have you ever fired one before?"

She exhaled sharply, finding the sound of his voice reminiscent to that of fingernails on chalkboard. Emilia didn't want to think about the last times she'd fired a gun, she just wanted to fire one in peace – a strange desire, oxymoronic. "Of course I have."

He took aim of the targets in the distance – a few empty bottles – and fired his rifle once, then twice, and a third time before lowering it. He missed once, but shattered the other two. "You should be holding it firmly, and your thumbs shouldn't be cr—"

"Boże," Emilia cut him off with exasperation, unwilling to listen to another self-righteous word. Turning to face the bottle that he'd missed, she lifted her right hand and, quite quickly and on her first attempt, shot it right off it's place on the log. She was much more pleased with herself than she ought to have been, and looked back at the Lieutenant with a satisfied smirk on her face.

She wasn't expecting the smirk to be returned.

A small shudder raced down her spine.

"Good shot," he said, nodding toward her in parting.

He began to walk away toward the main road, leaving her simmering and confused behind him. It was curious to her, how she always felt some odd and lasting emotion after their interactions, and odder still that she didn't seem to know a thing about him outside his rank and name. "Lieutenant Speirs?" She called out impulsively, not even sure what it was she wanted to say to him. He gave no reply, but turned back toward her. Emilia grasped for words for a moment, but settled with a simple question:

"Where did you learn how to shoot a gun?"

Ron smiled.


Short chapter! I know I said this would be posted soon, so I'm very sorry that it wasn't as soon as I would have liked! I had some distractions, but the next chapter has already been started and hopefully I can have it up by the end of the week. This chapter was originally gonna be a bit longer, but I figured that not everyone is as fond as long chapters as I am! One more thing: I'd just like you all to try and think of Sobel as less of a villain and more of a complex man, which he was (I hope I've made it clear in my writing that he's not a villain). I've seen a lot of works and posts that paint him out to be quite the evil person, and he wasn't. He may not have been the best man, but he certainly wasn't the worst, so please think him with respect! He helped make Easy Company what we all have come to admire.

Please, please, please read and review! Honestly, reviews motivate me to write a lot quicker than none do :)xx