Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.

Long ago, before the war had started and everything had changed, the subject of French victories had been something of a running gag between Eleanor and her London friends. 'What French victories?' they would joke, largely erroneously yet never too bothered by it, 'There is no such thing. The only outcome to a fight the frogs know is defeat.'

When Germany had overrun the continent the laughter had ceased. Hundreds of men had been ferried across the channel to fight on lands that already held so many of their countrymen's remains and France's suffering was no longer amusing to the ones who had been left behind. The whole city had been permeated with a strained sense of anticipation as its inhabitants waited, anxiously, for news of their loved ones abroad.

Eleanor had first realized that something was wrong with the British Expedition Force when the war-time media machine that was the BBC had begun to drop in offhanded references about 'strategic withdrawals' in their daily reports. The nurses and orderlies of the Royal Free Hospital had paid it little heed for the most part, their faith in their government immutable, but there had been whispers and mumblings amongst the doctors - especially the older ones - that had made her feel uneasy. Regardless, life had carried on much as it had before then: the same routines, the same long days and sore feet by the end of them. It wasn't until the sudden frenzy of late May that anyone could even begin to grasp how badly things were going for the British army.

The first wave of casualties coming in from Dunkirk had been harrowing. Eleanor had never seen so much blood and gore and sheer wretchedness at once, and it had taken all of her fortitude not to break down right in the middle of the madness. Wherever she had gone there had been men crying for their mothers, grasping at her sleeves in desperate pleas for help and comfort, their eyes too white and too wide and their innocence lost forever. The stains on her lab coat had been so severe she had thrown it out rather than attempt to wash it.

By the end of that awful day the chairman of the hospital had told his assembled staff that they were to expect more of the same very soon. He had requested they all continue to perform as admirably as they'd done over the past twenty-four hours; a backhanded compliment if ever there was one, perhaps, but the British did not do sentimentality-even, or perhaps especially, in the face of acute adversity. The most they might fall back on in times like those were two age old traditions: one was tea, and the other was song.

And so Eleanor, having changed into a clean lab coat, had wandered the darkened halls of the wards to hand out whatever tea and chocolate she'd been able to scrounge. Walking around with only the dim light of an old lamp and the pitter-patter of her own footsteps to accompany her had been somewhat surreal, but she had been glad of any little solace she could give to the men and the strange hush that had settled over the hospital had been an undeniable relief. It beat the ceaseless clamor and screams from before.

(She had tried not to think about those soldiers who were still stuck in France or those who had not returned at all-she hadn't succeeded much at all.)

Not until well past midnight had she finally been able to settle down by a young private's bedside, holding his hand as he struggled to sleep. "We need to go back," he had muttered feverishly, "Miss, we've got to go back. Those poor people..." She had hushed him gently, stroking his brow in what she had hoped was a reassuring gesture. At the far end of the room someone had begun to sing quietly, other voices soon joining in as they had recognized the beloved hymn.

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide...

Eleanor, heavy-hearted and exhausted, had squeezed the private's hand. "We'll go back," she had whispered hoarsely, "We will return." The boy had sighed, calming at last. Eleanor had closed her eyes.

"And we will win."

"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away..." Eleanor sang, cradling the blue-bound Book of Common Prayer in her equally blue-tinged hands. She had forgotten quite how cold churches could be, especially at this time of year, nor could she remember the last time she had attended a service for her own sake rather than a cover's. Peter's wedding, probably, she thought bitterly, hastily shifting her focus back to the melodious lilt of the choir and the peaceful faces of the congregation. This had to be the only place left within the entirety of Aldbourne that did not bear some sign of the Americans' stay. No, wait - she squinted her eyes a little to get a better look at the lone figure at the far end of the pews - never mind. Apparently nothing was sacred anymore. Though the man was quiet, respectful, his uniform stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of civilian Sunday-best.

She looked down at the dark green of her skirt. So does mine, to be fair. Breathing in deeply she resumed her singing, voice mingling in with those of the others.

"Change and decay all around I see, o Thou who changest not, abide with me."

Stepping out into the churchyard after the end of the service, Eleanor closed her eyes and breathed in the damp morning air. I could really do with some tea right now, she thought, smiling. Eggs Benedict. Maybe a crumpet or two with some jam. Pulling up the collar of her coat against the unforgiving wind, she knew all too well that it was wishful thinking; all that would be waiting for her upon her return to base was the slop that passed as food around the US military. She glanced at her watch - general issue, like the rest of her - and saw she had a little while left before she would have to head back. One of the elderly locals tipped his hat at her as he passed her by, smiling when she saluted him benignly in return. Charmed by his unfailing politeness, Eleanor let her eyes follow him as he headed out towards the village green.

It was then that she noticed a rusty old gate at the side of the church and her curiosity was piqued. Deciding that she could afford to dawdle around for a spell she headed towards it, the bells still tolling overhead. She could see the cemetery through the iron lattice now that she drew closer; even in a town as small as Aldbourne there were a good deal too many fresh graves and flowers within the modest enclosure. Jaw clenching in sympathy, Eleanor unlocked the gate and strolled in, turning back to close it with a noisy squeak-only to look up again and see the soldier from the church sitting on one of the stone benches, trying and failing not to stare at her.

He wasn't classically handsome, as such, his hair a shocking shade of ginger and his small mouth barely balanced by a mildly weak chin; yet somehow, in some odd way, he was a very good looking man indeed. There was an aloof sense of dignity and something she couldn't quite put her finger on to him, like she was only seeing a projection of what he wanted her to see. It puzzled her a little. If nothing else his posture was so tense and upright she almost suspected him of having a stick up his-

She shook her head mentally. Damn Yanks with their vulgar mouths.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, hand still on the cold iron latch, "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to disturb-"

The soldier - a lieutenant, from the look of his insignia - stood up hastily as she started to leave, halting her in her tracks. "No, no, it's all right," he assured her, the deep undertone to his smooth voice reaffirming her belief that she wasn't seeing all there was to this man, "You, uh..."

He coughed, eyes darting sideways briefly before turning towards her again. Her lips quirked up in bemusement. Was he actually shy? She was just a nurse, not the bloody Queen of Sheba.

"You were in the church before, weren't you?" he finished at last, hands clasped behind his back. She nodded, surprised he had noticed her at all-let alone remembered. It seemed she had not been the only one studying her surroundings.

"I was," she said, tilting her head a little as she studied him, "I didn't expect to see any of the paratroopers there."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Not a lot of us go." Clear blue eyes met her own. "Dick Winters."

Holding out her hand, she noticed the faint blush rising between his freckles when he shook it swiftly. Christ, he really is shy. "Eleanor Fairfax," she said, tucking her hands into her sleeves with a frown, curiosity getting the better of her once more. "So why did you go?"

"Honestly?" he asked, and she raised her eyebrows in a gesture that said yes, honestly, "I was looking for some peace and quiet."

Well, that was fair enough. She doubted anyone could find any kind of true solitude around the base and, as far as she was aware, Sunday was the one day of the week the men had off. The church was probably the only place in a ten mile radius the lieutenant could go to without being disturbed by his colleagues. Unsure if his remark had been a veiled request for her to leave, she inclined her head towards the exit.

"If you want me to go..."

"No, please," he said, a little too quickly, "Stay."

"All right."

Silence. Eleanor bit her lip and was about to speak up to break the uncomfortable lull in conversation when he did. "I thought the ANC unit wasn't meant to arrive until later today."

"It isn't. I came early to set things up," she explained, realizing he was the first Yank besides Lewis Nixon who seemed to know why she was in town and not ogle her with incredulity over it. Interesting. I wonder how he got to be so well informed.

"You're their CO?"

Commanding officer. She hadn't thought of herself like that until then; she had led people in various capacities, certainly, and some of the maquis had called her capitaine, but there had never really been an official title to go with her duties in France. How could there have been? She smiled, surprisingly pleased with the distinction. I could get used to it.

"I suppose I am. What about you?"

"I'm a platoon leader in Easy Company."

Easy again! What is it with these men?

"I met one of your colleagues yesterday-a Harry Welsh?"

For some reason Winters' thin brows knotted at the mention of her new friend's name. "Really?" He sounded concerned, though she couldn't for the life of her fathom why he would be. She had liked Welsh, and quite a lot at that. What on earth did Winters think him capable of, bearing in mind she had only met the man the day before?

"Really," she echoed, fighting the urge to laugh out loud at his utterly undue apprehension, "Don't worry, he's charming."

Winters looked unimpressed. "That's what worries me."

Oh, ye of little faith. Of all the things a guy can fret about...

"You've been with your unit for a while, then?" she asked, determined to change the topic lest she get Welsh into trouble somehow. Her current company seemed like he might just be the type of person to stir it up; she was seriously reconsidering that previous notion of a stick...

"Since the regiment got formed at Toccoa, yes." Finally, she had found something that this serious lieutenant had in common with his fellow officers: an obvious devotion to his men. Something about his comment nagged at the back of her mind, however-Toccoa... she had heard that name before, half-whispered on the streets of London by some of the early arrivals from the States, always accompanied by a certain sense of reverence and awe. Hadn't there been some kind of march that the troopers stationed there had taken part in? Maybe they had broken a record or some such?

Then, suddenly, she remembered-and all of the previous night's shouts of "Currahee!" promptly made sense.

"You were one of the hard-nosed bastards they ran up that mountain?"

The look of surprise on his face told her she had guessed right. Perhaps there was some truth to the reputation the regiment worked so hard to cultivate after all.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

She shrugged. "This is the army, Mr Jones," she quipped, "Rumors get around pretty quick."

There's also no way we're getting into the reasons for my stay in London just yet, thank you very much.

"I had no idea the 506th was stationed in Georgia, though."

"We were." Winters looked up at the sky distractedly, noticing the looming clouds. He unfolded his hands and moved towards her. "I think there's rain coming. Let me take you back to base."

She was undeniably affronted by that. Right, because I couldn't possibly make it back by myself!

"That's all right," she said, just the slightest bit terse, "I'm sure you wouldn't want to spend your day off in barracks."

He very obviously didn't catch on to the undercurrent of forewarning in her voice. "No, I insist," he said, holding out his arm to her.

Oh, for fuck's sake! At least Welsh, for all his unnecessary gallantry, had been unassuming about escorting her home-not to mention a good deal less awkward. He had just gotten up when she did, helped her into her coat and walked back with her, wishing her a good night before heading over to his own quarters. No fuss, no overbearing patronization. The whole matter had never so much as been discussed. Winters, on the contrary, seemed intent on forcing his chivalry on her despite it being barely midday. She knew he meant well - really, she did - but his apparent assumption that she couldn't even return to the camp by herself irritated her to no end.

Around them, the birds chirped and the trees rustled. Between them, silence stretched on once again.

Eleanor never thought she would have been glad to see the bland buildings of the base, but she was. It felt like the walk back had gone on forever and her earlier annoyance had lingered throughout; overprotectiveness, she decided, was definitely not high up on her list of favorite character traits-and Lieutenant Uptight seemed to have plenty of it.

She found herself looking for a way out, for some reason to leave. It was horribly unkind of her, she knew, but she had to get away before she lost her patience altogether and snapped at him. Surely the latter would be worse. To her relief an opportunity for escape soon presented itself in the form of Lewis Nixon, sitting by himself on the steps of the officer's mess facility. "Hey! You two!" he called, rising from his seat and sauntering over. Eleanor, smiling, untangled herself from Winters' arm.

"Lieutenant," she greeted, unaware of the redhead's eyes following her as she slipped away from him, "How are you this fine morning?"

Nixon's grin was nothing short of roguish. "Better now that you're here." He turned to Winters with a nod. "Dick. How was church?"

"Fine," the taller man answered curtly, gaze lingering on their female companion, "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

They watched him set off, Eleanor shaking her head lightly as she leaned against one of the jeeps parked alongside the building. Nixon, coming up beside her, shot her a look as he unhooked his hip flask from his belt. "So," he said, unscrewing the cap, "I see you have met the illustrious Dick Winters."

The nurse chuckled and crossed her arms across her chest. Illustrious. Right. "Seems like I have." Glancing at the ornate flask in Nixon's hand, she arched an eyebrow. The smell of alcohol was incredibly pungent and entirely unmistakeable. "Isn't it a little early for that?"

Nixon smirked. "Always happy hour somewhere." He lifted the container towards her in a faint mockery of a toast. "Here's to you."

Bit of a drinker, aren't we, Eleanor thought, seeing him gulp down the liquid without flinching in the slightest. His kind of background, it's got to be a family thing.

She was about to ask him about it when she noticed two trucks rumbling onto the compound, covers concealing whoever was in them even if the big red crosses painted on the sides didn't make it hard to guess. "I suppose that's my cue," she sighed, pushing herself off the hood of the jeep and giving Nixon a brief smile. "Duty calls."

"Yeah," he nodded, scrutinizing her much like he had the evening before, "Give 'em hell."

She smirked at him darkly. "You know I will," she shot back, waving absentmindedly as she wandered off in the direction of the infirmary. A shortcut through the barracks allowed her to reach it before the transport vehicles did and, as she'd anticipated, she found Captain Scott waiting for her by the entrance.

"Sir," she saluted him, steadfastly ignoring his sour expression. He returned the gesture, allowing her to ease her stance only to press a clipboard into her hands.

"These are the names and basic details of your unit," he announced, not bothering to waste any time on small talk, "Get them settled in and briefed on basic procedures. You'll start your training tomorrow."

Gee, he couldn't have given this to me a little sooner? There's fifty-odd names on here...

"Yes sir," she said obediently, snapping off another salute as he turned to direct the trucks to their proper places. They ground to a halt just outside the building, the drivers jumping out their seats to give the passengers a hand down. Eleanor, slowly backing up the steps, felt a pang of discomfort at the sea of fresh faces and naively excited smiles that spilled from the deuces.

Let the work begin, then.

A little while and a lot of checked names later she was staring at those same fresh faces from the safety of a half-open door, watching them buzz around the infirmary like a chattering, giggling crowd of schoolgirls. Good God, what have I gotten myself into. Pulling her jacket straight she walked inside, mildly satisfied when someone - one of the older girls, a sensible looking thing with dark curls and a sharp nose - called out a ten-hut when she noticed the lieutenant's entrance. Eager eyes turned to her as they stood to attention, some a little clumsily, others more satisfactory. At least the army had had the good sense to teach them basic military etiquette.

"At ease," Eleanor called, taking her spot in front of the assembled crowd and taking a moment to survey them. They wore the same type of uniform she did, the same caps and badges, but she imagined she must look very different to them already. It was hard to imagine she had ever been this green around the ears.

"Ladies, welcome to Aldbourne. I'm your commanding officer, Lieutenant Fairfax."

Pausing briefly, she took a bracing breath and considered what to say next. The army, in all its wisdom, had at long last decided to give its nurses at least a part of the same basic training their male employees went through. Sadly that decision had come too late for these girls; while they were all qualified nurses and had no doubt been instructed in how to run a ward and sort through the vast amount of paperwork that came with the daily management of any hospital, she doubted they knew much beyond that. Getting them ready for what they would face in Europe would be a long haul, and one she had no intention of sugarcoating for them.

"I know you've all had your training," she began, hands steady around the clipboard Scott had thrust at her earlier, "But believe me when I say you're a long way from home here. Most of what you know will prove utterly useless in combat. As of tomorrow, you're starting anew."

There was a ripple of whispers through the crowd, but a quick raise of her eyebrows was all it took to silence them. She could do nothing to stop the bewildered glances most girls were exchanging with their neighbors, however, and carried on unfazed instead.

"You'll be taught how to march, how to shoot, how to dig foxholes and function under fire. You will learn how to stitch up wounds-" it's frankly preposterous most of you don't know how to already, "How to improvise tourniquets, and how to saw off a leg should the occasion call for it. You will be living and breathing drills and discipline, and under no circumstances are you to disgrace this unit through any improper conduct with the men of the regiment."

Sink's warning ran through her mind all too clearly. I cannot permit distractions to the discipline around here, lieutenant. She wasn't about to let him be proved right. She would sooner put chastity belts on every single one of her unit than allow them to embarrass her in any way.

"I expect you back in barracks at 21:30 each day, unless specified otherwise. Lights out is at 22:00. Breakfast is served every morning at 06:00 after PT. Regulation clothing and conduct is to be observed at all times. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a hushed, collective "Yes ma'am." Most of the girls looked terrified by now and Eleanor was torn between gratification and remorse at the sight of it. She would have to be strict to get them anywhere near ready for deployment - she would not, could not let them make the same mistakes she had; they had to learn - but she did not want to end up with a reputation similar to that of Easy Company's dreaded CO either. Finding the right balance would be a damn fine line to tread.

Christ, they were all so young. How on earth could they have known what they were getting themselves into-even if it was just the nursing they'd signed up for?

"Good," she nodded slowly, softening a little and allowing a small smile, "I will be your worst enemy and your best friend from this point onwards, but don't expect me to go easy on you. The Germans won't."

Suppressing a sigh, she lowered the clipboard to her side and looked at her team candidly. "This is war, ladies, and if you want to live you'll listen to what I have to say."

Some nodded. Others winced. Words of a well-known hymn echoed through the fog of her memories.

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings;
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea-
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus abide with me.

Eleanor Fairfax, ANC lieutenant, pondered the future in silence as her unit saluted her.

"Dismissed."