Wonderful Beta's: Laura001, Anonymous1O1, Atman, Aryam150, FandomlyCroft, Minerva300
"The greatest oak was once a little nut who held its ground." - Author Unknown
Chapter Summary: Eve joins the boys.
-Chapter 4-
Eve was up at dawn, after sleeping though the predawn light a whole extra hour. Yawning, she rolled out from under the blankets and dressed in her PT gear. She made her bed with the crisp military lines she'd been drilled in, and then ruined all her hard work by sitting on it.
Today was her first day as an official member of Easy Company. Eve waited for the feeling of bundled nerves to settle, but they didn't. She still couldn't quite believe it. She'd made it. She only spared a moment before she forced herself up, and went to her sink to splash some water on her face.
She wondered if she should have changed into her ODs, but PT gear was more likely. She didn't have time change her mind, because Sobel barged into her billet with a bang.
She moved back to stand at attention before her bed.
He looked her over critically, searching for infractions. Eve held her breath.
After what felt like an age, Sobel nodded.
"Follow me," he said, uncharacteristically blunt and then left.
Eve obeyed.
Down the line of tents and barracks they went, Evelyn keeping one step behind Sobel's easy pace. She tried to keep her attention on Sobel's back, but she couldn't keep her eyes from darting about. She'd never really felt like part of the base due to her segregation.
She tried not to notice how the men they passed stared at her. She could feel their eyes sliding up her waist to her small bosom, and then down to rest on her bum. She fought to keep a blush from her face, tried to pretend she hadn't noticed.
Sobel certainly hadn't. He glared at anyone foolish enough to get in his path and blazed ahead.
He halted, without warning, in front of a particularly noisy billet, and said, "This is where Easy Company's second platoon is housed. You are officially a member of Second Platoon as of today. You've already met your Platoon leader, Lieutenant Winters. He will assign you to a squad. You will follow the chain of command. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Should you fail to maintain this Company's standard of excellence, you will wash out, just like any of the men. Just because you passed your probationary exam, does not make you a paratrooper, merely a candidate just like everyone else. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," she said again.
"Good," he said, then charged into the barracks.
The room immediately fell silent as he strutted down the aisle between beds. Eve, still framed in the doorway, froze where she stood, inwardly shrinking as the occupants stood at attention beside their bunks and stared at her with hostility. The majority of the men were already dressed in their PT gear, but not all of them. Eve refused to be bothered by the multitude of shirtless men glaring at her.
Sobel cleared his throat, eyeing the glaring men. Eve could see Sobel gearing up for a speech and hoped that he might finally let the men get to know her, prayed that he might allow her the courtesy of introducing herself, on her own terms. The hard look on his face indicated otherwise, and Eve's heart sank.
"Easy Company, this is Private Buchanan," he barked, and waved their attention over to her, despite the men already staring at her.
Eve suppressed a sigh. Sobel's gesturing was a completely redundant motion, but she kept her eyes from rolling.
"You will treat her as you would any other member of this unit. She will run with you. She will eat with you. She will train with you. Any concerns you have about her fitness for this unit will be taken up with Colonel Sink. Private Buchanan is one of you now, and you will treat her as such. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir!" The men shouted back in crisp unison.
Eve fought to keep her face composed as her dismay mounted. Rather than make an effort to include her into the group, Sobel had singled her out – isolated her – again. The man didn't even seem to realize he was doing it.
She was doomed to be the pariah of Easy Company.
"Good. You have two minutes to be in PT formation. We're running Currahee."
Eve ducked back out the door, not eager to watch the men get changed, and waited in front of the billet for them to file out. Sobel had gone to the next billet up the road – she could hear him bellowing orders through the wooden walls – before he walked out and went to the next one. Eve wondered for a minute why second platoon's billet was first on the road, but discarded it as unimportant when the soldiers started lining up in formation.
Eve waited until they were just about finished, and then slotted into a row at the back, slightly worried. She'd hauled herself up that God forsaken hill nearly a hundred times in the month she'd been at Camp Toccoa, but this was the first time she would be running with somebody other than Sobel. She hoped she could keep up.
It wasn't until they were just about to head out that she noticed how many glares she was getting for picking the back of the column. Apparently, she'd exhibited some sign of weakness by deciding to stick to the back. Her efforts to blend in were in vain. Instead, she seemed to have given them more cause to dislike her.
She smoothed her face. There was nothing she could do about it now, they were already moving. She'd just have to try the front for the next run, and hope that she could ignore their spite better when it was directed at her back.
The run up Currahee was hard, as it always was.
Eve had hoped that Sobel would bore of tormenting her now that she was a part of a larger group, and spread his vitriol around. This too was a vain hope, as Sobel honed in on her immediately.
"Different running with men, isn't it Buchanan? Are you ready to go home yet?"
But this time, when she ignored him, he moved on to other people.
"You look tired, Private Perconte!" she heard him tormenting a poor fellow in the column ahead of her. "What's the matter, you can't keep up with Private Buchanan?"
Just like that, the pace increased.
Eve pushed harder to keep up, trying not to resent Sobel even more.
Maybe Sobel's intention had been to prove to the men that she could keep up, that by belittling her, he was proving that she'd received the same harsh treatment as they did to make it this far. But he failed to understand the sheer offense the men took to her presence. She was not one of them, singling her out in any manner just made it clearer to see. So his attempt to integrate her, and create a cohesive unit, fell flat on its face.
And then they started to sing.
Everyone else clearly knew the words, because they all sang along without hesitation, even the ones who were terrible singers. The man next to her probably couldn't have found the right key with both hands and a map, but he sang just as loudly as anyone else.
The songs were easy enough to follow along with. Despite never hearing the songs before, Eve picked them up quickly. They ranged from motivational, to bragging, to bawdy at the drop of a hat. Some were filthy, and she sang along with everyone else, a grin on her face. If only mother could see me now.
Most were call and answer songs, so she didn't stick out too badly, apart from her voice. There was no blending in with the rest of their voices, no anonymity in her singing.
Of course, as soon as she felt like she was getting into the song, it changed out from under her.
And then that God-awful singer deliberately tripped her. She caught herself with a few steps, but she'd broken the rhythm they'd fallen into. It drew Sobel's attention. She endured his vitriol, staring at the mop of hair in front of her and nowhere else.
She ignored the singer's smirk, and kept going.
It would take more than a stumble to get rid of her.
XxX
After a grueling morning of training, where Eve had to watch her every move, and more terrifyingly, everyone around her, she was exhausted.
She'd dodged more "accidental" elbows and "misplaced" feet this morning than she had in her entirety of being at Camp Toccoa.
It was depressingly obvious how much displeasure the men took in her presence.
She was supposed to fight and die for these men, and they for her. How could they ever do that if they didn't even like her? And how were they ever going to like her if they didn't even give her a chance? Eve had never even spoken to any of the men beyond her instructors. She'd never had the occasion.
Training gave way to lessons in the afternoon about all manner of things. These lectures, which had been a welcome reprieve during her probation, were yet another area where she earned scorn from her fellow Easy Company members.
The instructors themselves didn't help matters. They called on her once every fifteen minutes or so to make sure she was paying attention, despite the constant scratch of her pencil as she took diligent notes.
It was frustrating that even in this aspect she was the focus of all the negative attention in the room.
She could do nothing about the teachers but answer their inane questions and study harder, knowing that each class period was going to be full of questions designed to make her look stupid or fail.
"What is the advantage of the high ground?" she was asked.
"The most obvious advantage is the greater sight line the high ground offers, but the high ground also gives most heavy weaponry superior range. It's also a more defensible position." Eve responded.
"Well done, Buchanan. I'm so glad someone decided to do their homework today. Thank you for answering that so eloquently."
Eve blushed, feeling oddly ashamed that she'd done well.
Every time she answered a question correctly, it was overly acknowledged, to varying affect. Sometimes she was placed above the men, a pedestal they should aspire too, and sometimes she felt pandered to, as though the question was so simple, even an infant could have come up with the answer.
His constant attention was like a hammer, driving the nails of the men's hatred deeper until Eve would never be able to pry herself free of them.
On her way out of the classroom, someone jostled her as she got up just hard enough that she went sprawling, her notes flying everywhere and catching her hip on the sharp corner of the desk.
"Fucking brownnoser," the man hissed, and deliberately stamped his boot tread into her papers.
The other men laughed, and hustled out, making sure she was the last person in the room.
Eve sighed and figured she might as well get used to it. Within the day, brownnoser, bookworm, and teacher's pet all became new monikers added to the various other colorful names she was called. She ignored these as deftly as she did the smears on her honor. There was nothing she could do about any of it.
XxX
The mess hall became middle ground. Apparently the members of Easy Company had decided that it was only safe to approach the girl when food could be used as an excuse.
One morning, a man joined Eve in the chow line. He introduced himself as George Luz. He had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and reminded her of a Labrador pup. He had an air about him that put her at ease.
"So where are you from?" he asked.
"Virginia." She gave him the easiest answer and picked her favorite of her family's homes.
"No shit? So's Shifty Powers and Popeye over there." He gave a vague gesture to a vague table. "You gotta job back home?"
"No," she said, moving down the line.
"Huh," Luz's eyes turned sly. "Leave behind a sweetheart?"
She shot him a look, acknowledging the dangerous territory. "No."
"Why not?"
"Not really interested in sweethearts, and they're not really interested in me."
"Ah, c'mon. I bet, with a bit of make-up and a bit of soap, you'd clean up real good."
Is this guy serious? Mood suddenly dampened, she moved away from him, unwilling to continue the conversation.
"Hell, I'll take you!" he called after her, much to the amusement of the men, who'd been eavesdropping, and laughed at her.
She retreated to her isolated table, trying to let the encounter slide off her like water off a ducks back. She tried to focus on eating; determined to ignore everyone for the rest of the meal.
It was a silly resolution to make. No sooner had she done so, than Lieutenant Winters slid onto the bench across from her.
She smiled at him, genuinely glad to see him.
"Hello," greeted Winters, "It's good to see you again, trooper. Do you mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full."
Eve blinked; what an odd thing to say. Eve hadn't been with Easy Company a whole day, and even she knew that the men nearly worshipped the ground Lieutenant Winters walked on. He was the perfect juxtaposition to Sobel's petty cruelty. If he asked, she was sure he could find room at any table he wanted.
"Not at all," she said eagerly, her mouth replying without her brain attached. She grimaced; she hadn't meant to say that, or at least not in that tone.
Another tray slid in next to her. She met the dark eyes of Lieutenant Lewis Nixon with a small smile. "Hey, kid," he said.
Eve had often noticed these men in each other's company, but after meeting them both separately, she couldn't see how they had turned into such good friends. Yet, they were nearly joined at the hip. Anywhere Winters went, Nixon was sure to follow, and vice versa, which was odd considering their different temperaments. Winters was as straight laced as it came, and Nixon could give two figs about authority of any kind.
"Hello, sir," she said, as glad to see him as she was to see Winters. These two men had been her only bright spots in an otherwise completely miserable month.
"Finally," said Nixon, settling in, "some seats with elbow room." He stretched out to prove his point. Eve grinned back at him, his smile too infectious to do anything else. "Pass the salt, would ya?"
She did. He gave everything on his plate a liberal coating, even his bread.
Eve dropped her eyes to her plate and began eating like she thought of nothing else, suddenly unsure. She was definitely glad to see these men, but what were they – as officers – doing in the enlisted men's mess hall?
She tried not to shrink under the suspicious glares that had followed the men over to her table and were directed at her.
"While I appreciate the sentiment of you coming over to say hello," she started, still staring down at her plate. "It will win you no favors, sir."
"Buchanan," said Nixon, sharply enough to draw her eyes to his face. "Does it look like we care about what these sons-of-bitches think of us sitting with you?"
"As far as I'm concerned," said Winters, cutting off her retort to Nixon about how he very well should care. "I am exactly where I want to be, and that's really all that matters."
Eve tried not to blush again.
"Don't worry about it, all right?" he asserted. "Now that you're in my Platoon, I want you to know that if you have any problems of any kind," said Winters. His eyes flicked to Luz and the group of guys gathered around him laughing uproariously at his jokes. "Let me know. I'll at least make sure your side is heard."
Eve noticed that he carefully left out what side she would have. She nearly said something about that, when she thought better of it, and gave him only a nod in reply. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried something with serious intent. She was the "easiest" slut in the entire state according to some of these men – and the fragments of newspaper she pretended not to see when they'd been left in front of her barracks – and though no one had really put any effort into accosting her, she wasn't going to put down money that it would never happen.
She also made the deliberate choice not to mention the other petty bullying that was going on. Even if Winters tried to put a stop to it, he would likely just make them more vicious in the attempt.
No, that was something she had to deal with on her own.
"Count me in on that account," said Nixon, bumping her with his shoulder. She ducked her head embarrassed. She hoped she never had to take them up on the offer, but she desperately appreciated it.
She needed all the allies she could get.
"So, are you planning on moving into the barracks?" Winters asked her, exchanging a loaded glance with Nixon.
Eve shrugged and looked up to meet those sharp eyes, noticing the flecks of green in his irises. "I guess. I thought that was the plan, but I've had no orders to do so. I was planning on talking to you about it during free time."
"I'm not sure I can do anything about it," confessed Winters.
"So should I talk to Lieutenant Sobel about it then?" asked Eve, already knowing what the answer would be if she did so.
Winters speared a piece of mystery fruit with his fork, but he waited to chew it until Eve had asked her question, giving himself time to mull over his answer. "This might be a problem that you should take directly to Colonel Sink. I think he's the only one who can make that kind of decision."
Eve spent the entirety of three bites considering this thought. It would definitely piss off Sobel if she went so far over his head to complain to Sink. But then, Sink had told her to take up her complaints with him.
She didn't know if she wanted to cash in such a valuable favor on something that might have a firm answer, though.
But this was important. If Eve never moved in with the men, they'd never get used to her. The chances of friendship forming if things remained as they were, with Eve a separate but equal member of Easy Company, diminished with each passing day that they didn't accept her.
Finally, Eve decided that she would take her chances with Sink tomorrow and risk Sobel's wrath. He was already perpetually angry with her. A few more rotations on the bullshit duties list wouldn't make that much difference.
"I will, sir," she finally answered Winters.
"Good," said Winters.
"So," said Nixon after observing Eve take several overburdened bites of food to avoid talking with them to some considerable personal amusement, "how was your first day training with Easy Company?"
Eve slowed her pace and chewed the question over with her shoe-leather tough mystery meat, and then set aside her silverware, appetite suddenly gone.
"I'm behind," she admitted softly to her food, too ashamed to look at these men, who'd been among the first to encourage her. She hadn't even acknowledged the truth of that statement, lest she allow herself to despair at the gap separating her and the men. "I don't know if it's even possible for me to catch up."
Winters and Nixon traded surprised glances.
"Buchanan," said Winters, voice coaxing. "You're not behind."
Eve looked at him, unable to hide her incredulity.
Nixon took over. "Buchanan, you ran Currahee in forty-four minutes. That's six minutes faster than what's required of the men to pass basic training," he said. "Sobel's been taunting the men with your time running that hill since you broke the fifty minute mark in your second week."
Eve slowly met his eyes, face still set with her blatant disbelief.
"Sobel wouldn't have let you stay if you weren't going to run circles around the boys."
Nixon paused dramatically, really waiting for Winters to take a bite of mystery meat, knowing he was too polite to speak with his mouth full, no matter what Nixon said.
"He's a mean son-of-a-bitch. I swear he actually said my ears were dirty yesterday. Damned if he didn't have the same complaint about the next four guys in line before he switched to creased trousers. I had a headmaster just like him once."
Eve tried not to laugh, but Nixon just kept going, kept pushing, and suddenly she couldn't help it, and was sniggering into her palm.
It felt so good to laugh again.
Nixon smiled at Winters, beaming at his triumph, despite his friend's blatant disapproval, the man couldn't argue with the results.
When she sobered, she gave the men a small smile, acknowledging how much she'd needed that. "At least I'm not the only one," she said, a lingering smile twitching her lips upwards.
She couldn't put into words just how relieved she was that Sobel was just a jerk to everyone; he wasn't being malicious specifically towards her.
"No, you're not the only one," said Winters, finally finished with his arduous mouthful, and deftly pulling the conversation back from ragging on Sobel, very conscious of the ever listening ears around them. He gave Nixon another disapproving look for good measure, though he knew his friend would continue to ignore him. "And we probably shouldn't be caught disrespecting our superior officer, Nix," he scolded.
Nixon seemed almost gleeful at the reprimand, but schooled his features into a serious expression – for all of four seconds before Eve's incredulous face broke through his mask and he burst out laughing again.
Winters, also catching the face, laughed as well. Maybe there wasn't much to worry about with Private Buchanan. He thought she'd fit in with the boys rather well, if she stuck it out that long.
He knew she was physically capable of keeping up with the men, but would she be mentally capable of surviving training with them?
Despite her humor, Eve took the words to heart, deciding it made a lot of sense. There was no real value in moaning about the officers. They were there to do a job. Sobel's job was to be an asshole.
She accidentally said as much under her breath – her mouth and brain connecting in a way that usually got her in trouble; and also meant that she was exhausted – and nearly sent Nixon's recently inhaled drink all over Winters. She pounded the Lieutenant on the back so he wouldn't choke and he gave her a face like she'd hung the moon.
"Now you've done it," said Winters, knowing Nixon. "He'll be like a dog with a bone over that one."
"I didn't mean to say that, sir," she said, sheepishly. "My mouth ran away from me. It won't happen again," she promised.
Winters didn't seem too offended, though, despite his earlier comment about disrespecting officers. If anything, the look on his face was somewhat relieved.
"Just be cautious," he ordered, thinking that perhaps she had enough spunk to weather it out after all.
"Yes, sir," she agreed.
Nixon gathered himself. "No, seriously," he said, casting back to the point he'd been interrupted while making. "I had a headmaster just like Sobel. He's pushing us to be better because we hate him. We improve to spite him."
"I suppose I wouldn't have improved so much if I didn't want to prove him wrong," she admitted, swirling her fork through a brown sauce that might have been gravy once.
"That's the spirit," said Winters. "Just hang tough."
Eve caught Nix rolling his eyes and wondered what that was about. Sadly, she'd finished eating though and noticed that most of the guys were putting their trays away.
She'd somehow managed to actually make it through a meal.
"Hey, Dick," said Nix and tapped his watch. "Sorry, Buchanan," the Lieutenant directed at her as he and Winters gathered their plates and got up to go. "Sobel wants us in the barracks in ten minutes. If we're a minute early, he'll call us five minutes late."
"It was nice talking with you," she said and stood up too. It was probably the most pleasant meal she'd had since she'd left home. "Thank you for eating with me," she said.
Eve hurried away before she could see the pity on Winters's face.
Looks like I'm back to eating alone, she thought as she handed her tray over. Probably for the best. I wouldn't want to start some rumors. I like them both too much to drag them down with me.
Recognizing that her thoughts were completely useless and melancholy, she shoved them away and went to barracks. She had no time for melancholy.
She had work to do.
XxX
The next morning, she went to the barber and paid him to cut off her hair. She'd specifically asked for a military regulation cut. Her hair had been getting in her face for way too long, and now that she was in the paratrooper training, she couldn't have it in her way.
Her next stop was Colonel Sink's office.
"Did you speak with your CO about this?" he said, preempting her question.
"Sir, I believe I was instructed to come to you if I felt I was being mistreated in any way," she said, knowing it was a trigger phrase to make him think the worst. He needed to know that she was serious.
His face fell in disappointment, and a bit of pity as he searched her tired eyes for signs of trauma. "Oh." He shut the door to his office. "Alright, Private, I want names, I want specific grievances."
"Permission to speak frankly, sir?" He nodded. "It's you, sir. It started the moment I came here."
His brow wrinkled in confusion. "If I behaved in some way to suggest –"
"No, sir," she said. "It's the double standard, the separate quarters. I mean, you pulled out my chair and offered me a drink when I first got here, sir. I managed to survive probation, didn't I? If that's so, I'd like to be with the men, sir. How am I ever going to fit in with these guys if you've got me set up as an outcast?"
"I see your point," he said after a long moment digesting the thought. "It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable."
"I know that, sir," she said. "It's why I brought the matter straight to you."
She just wanted to be treated the same. That meant moving in with the men and sooner rather than later.
"I appreciate it. In the future, I would appreciate if you'd continue to do the same. You might regret this, but we'll do it your way Private. Move into the barracks before reveille tomorrow."
She smiled at him. "Thank you, sir."
"Dismissed."
She saluted him and left, a little disappointed that he hadn't mentioned her haircut.
XxX
"Oh, no, what's she doing here!" cried Private Parks as he saw her come through the door.
"Hey, Lip? Shift? Roe? Anybody wanna trade beds with me?" he announced waking up the still groggy troopers who watched as Eve dumped her army issued stuff sack into the footlocker at the base of her new bed.
"Jesus, calm down, hotshot," said Luz. "I'll trade ya."
Eve shot him a glance. He gave her an innocent smile she would believe more on a bank robber's face and ignored him, apprehension twisting her gut. She knew that face, too guileless to be innocent. She'd need to keep a closer eye on Luz. She wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep with him so close, so obviously threatening.
He gave her a more real smile, obviously reading her apprehension. It loosened something in her as she remembered her first impression of him.
Maybe he wasn't so bad? Maybe she'd give him a chance. If he proved to be just like everyone else in this Godforsaken unit, well, then she'd have learned her lesson.
She wasn't here to make friends. She was here to do her duty and do it to the best of her ability.
But it would be nice not to be quite so lonely.
XxX
Her move to the men's barracks came with hiccups, but she dealt with them, mindful that she wouldn't have the luxury of privacy in a warzone.
She'd taken care of changing by simple prejudice of wearing her bra to bed. The tight fabric was never completely comfortable, but she couldn't just bear all in front of the men. After a few initial moments of awkwardness, mostly ogling and the occasional "check it out fellas!" when her shirt came off, she mostly kept them at bay by the brisk, efficient way she switched from her PT to her ODs. She kept her personal hygiene secret as was proper, the only indication of her monthly gift being an increase in her chocolate consumption.
The attempts to get rid of her quickly intensified after her move. It was nothing obvious, and nothing overly time consuming, but all of it was horribly tedious.
On field maneuvers, she often woke up to find equipment missing from her pack. It was gone just long enough to make her look stupid in front of Sobel or Winters or whoever was leading the mission, but reappeared afterwards.
No one wanted to carry someone else's gear with so much of their own to haul already.
She eventually took to hiding her rations on her body, or she would wake up without any. It was getting better, in fits and starts, as she proved that she wasn't there to flake out on duty. She volunteered for the shit duties no one wanted, especially if it meant time isolated from the guys. They left her to dig her foxholes alone, pitch a tent alone, start a fire alone, but with each task she accomplished competently, she gained allies. Not friends, and certainly not companions, but guys who weren't completely opposed to her staying anymore, which was far better off than she had been even a week ago.
She heard the men whispering at night in the barracks. They were afraid. Afraid she'd freeze in combat and get them killed.
"She's a dame, for Christ's sake! Who's to say she won't swoon at the first sight of blood, huh? Or freeze up and get herself fucking shot?" she heard someone ask the room at large. Honestly, she was afraid of freezing too, but couldn't they say the same for any of the men?
And the notion that she'd faint at the sight of blood was one of the most hilarious things she'd ever heard. She had never heard something so ridiculously Victorian in all her life. She'd lost any and all squeamishness about blood by the time she was fifteen. Any girl who lived past puberty did so. The notion that grown women fainted at the sight of blood; it was enough to make her giggle.
She could do nothing about any of it but endure.
They would accept her one way or another, but they would have to try a lot harder to get her to wash out. They would have to carry her cold, dead carcass out the gates before she'd ever give in or give up. And they could all go to hell if they thought otherwise.
George Luz seemed to be the exception. More often than not, he chose to sit next to her in class making jokes to lighten the atmosphere. Many a time Luz had the entire class in stitches, teachers included.
Eve never heard rumors about what he'd done to make the others stop tormenting her in class, which was in a way scarier than if she had.
Though Luz never ate meals with her, he still managed to pop up whenever she had punishment duty. Occasionally, he'd help her along, which she appreciated. His sometimes inane chatter kept boredom at bay, at least.
Outside of class, he seemed determined to get to know her. He quizzed her about her family, her friends, and her childhood. She gave the information freely, but frowned once she realized that it was not reciprocal. He hardly shared anything with her. Why, she couldn't be sure, but it gradually began to bother her. She tried to let it go, not let it worry her, but it stayed in the back of her mind. She never mentioned it though, wary of upsetting her only companion.
She might almost call him her friend.
XxX
"Today," Sobel announced to the entirety of Easy Company one Friday morning, "we will begin the most critical phase of your training. Until this point, killing the enemy was completely theoretical. Today, we're going to put it into practice. Live ammunition, gentlemen," he said, daring Eve to protest the pronoun. "Let's get to work."
"Basics are simple," said the regular Army NCO instructor. "You will aim and fire your weapon at the target until you can reliably hit the center nine out of ten shots. Once you've mastered this basic course, we'll move on to more difficult targets.
"Get on the firing line, and assume position."
Evelyn allowed herself to be jostled to the end of the line, too excited to care.
She was thrilled to finally get a crack at something she was actually good at, for a change.
She'd missed shooting.
After weeks of disassembling and reassembling her M1, and performing routine maintenance, she had already fallen in love with her gun. It was not her beloved rifle from home, but each quirk she found endeared her to the weapon all the more. It wasn't perfect, but it was hers, and they'd get along together just fine.
When she got her first live clip, she popped it into the base of the M1 and lined up the sight. She adjusted her stance for the weight of the gun, anticipating the recoil. Breathed. And squeezed.
Just to the right of center. She adjusted.
She squeezed again. Perfect.
She went through the entire clip, each shot taking less time than the last, until the empty clip popped out of the gun with a 'ping' and bounced away.
She looked at the target, satisfied.
Then, something made her look down the row.
There was only one other target that looked like hers; the man responsible was looking right back at her.
He gave her a friendly smile.
Unsure, she nodded in acknowledgement and took a new cartridge, determined to get as much shooting in as possible before Sobel realized how much fun she was having and found some reason to take it away from her.
XxX
Sobel had the nasty habit of making them wander around in the pitch dark for no apparent reason other than he could. His favorite was making them march twelve miles every Friday night, in full gear.
She'd done night marches on her probation, but now she wasn't marching around in full gear by herself. It was much easier to fall into a consistent pace when everyone else was walking to the same rhythm.
It meant that she wasn't walking nearly as fast as she had before, but they still made rather remarkable time. If the men were half as tired as Eve felt, she was amazed they were all still upright and walking straight.
She didn't put it past the fellow who'd walked right into the ditch to have been sleep walking, though.
Tonight, Sobel caught poor Christenson – handsome enough fellow from first platoon with shocking blue eyes and a towering height that made toting his heavy caliber machine gun easier – out for being stupid enough drink from his canteen. As punishment for drinking water when he wasn't supposed to, Sobel ordered the man repeat all twelve miles of the march as punishment.
After what was already a long, exhausting day spent training Eve was just grateful that Sobel hadn't decided to focus his sharp attention on her tonight. One miserable march per night was enough, thanks.
She knew Christenson had it worse, what with having to tote the .30 caliber machine gun along with him. It was a lot of extra weight to haul. She was infinitely grateful that she was a rifleman, and not a part of the mortar or heavy gunners' squads.
He probably wouldn't be back tonight, and if he was, then he'd probably only get an hour or so of sleep before they had inspection tomorrow morning.
Eve took a moment to consider going with the man. On the one hand, it would be a good show of solidarity, and perhaps a good way to finally make a friend.
But Eve didn't know Christenson, and didn't know how he felt about her. She wasn't sure her company would be welcome, even if she did offer it. Her mind turned to what the other men might think of her volunteering to go with Christenson alone – and the vicious talk that might spark because of it. She had enough to deal with when the rumors of her amorous relations were unfounded.
The fear of rumors cropping up combined with the thought of going through tomorrow on virtually no sleep to force her back into the barracks.
No one else had decided to go with Christenson either.
Eve collapsed on her bed and decided not to think about it anymore. She was continuously exhausted, and more often than not fell into her bunk after changing without thinking about the fact that men surrounded her.
While unfriendly during the day, at night they left her alone, acting like her corner of the barracks didn't even exist, which was fine. They had a weird truce about sleep. She trusted them not to do anything to her while she was sleeping, and they lived up to the expectations hidden in that trust and never did, not even for a prank that they might have done on another new guy.
She got enough shit for being a woman during the day that they were all too tired to fuss with it at night. And anyway it didn't really seem right to torment her in her bunk. If she cried silently into her pillow at night, it was no more than any other man did, and was just as respectfully ignored.
This distance was the only mild respite she had from the men, and she was wholeheartedly grateful for it.
Exhaustion permeated the room. Men from other platoons filtered through, finding separated friends and joining together for some very subdued relaxation activities. Many of the men were too exhausted to move once they'd sprawled out on their beds, some managed to flip through magazines they weren't supposed to have and gossip with their friends about the contents. Some gabbed while they were polishing their boots. Most of them were smoking – everybody always seemed to be smoking. And then there were those too tired to do any of that, too tired to do anything at all but to converse about their lives before all this.
Eve always tried to ignore those stories. It was easy enough to tune it out and focus, since there was no real motivation for any sort of the rowdiness the men usually exhibited during the day. The soft hum of conversation was easily tuned out as she took apart her M1, meticulously cleaning it now that it had seen some action.
"Miss Buchanan?" said a soft voice from next to her bed.
Eve jumped, hand flying to her chest, still holding the cloth she was using to wipe down the stock of the gun.
There was a man standing next to her bed. He'd crossed the no-man's-land around her and invaded her territory to loom over her, making her feel small and vulnerable.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the intruder. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask where you learned to shoot like that? You're really good, near as good as my pa I'd reckon, and he's the best shot I've ever seen."
Eve wondered how she could answer that without sounding condescending. "You have me at a disadvantage," she said instead of answering the question. "You know my name, but you're not from my platoon."
"Oh, I'm Darrell Powers, call me Shifty. I'm from Third Platoon. I just came over here to visit with my buddies." He waved over to a knot of young men sitting on Luz's bed shining their shoes. They didn't seem to have noticed Shifty's absence just yet, but that wouldn't last.
"My father taught me as a girl. I used to go hunting all the time back home."
"Oh yeah?" said Shifty, looking excited. "What kinda gun you got?"
Eve described her rifle with far too much fondness. "You're not a bad shot yourself, you know?" she pointed out, feeling like she was stating the obvious even when the kid blushed and acted like he didn't know what she was talking about. "Where'd you learn?"
"My pa taught me," said Shifty. "Got so good I knocked a dime outta the air once. I lost the dime though."
"That's rough," she said. "It would have been some kind of lucky token."
"Yeah, I-"
"Hey Shift! What're you doing over there?" called a redhead – Malarkey if she wasn't mistaken.
He beamed at the room at large, who'd noticed his proximity to the girl with some skepticism and quieted to a whispered hush that didn't bode well for either of them.
"You'd better go," she said quietly, before he could answer. "It was nice talking to you."
"You too, ma'am," he said.
"My name's Eve, or Buchanan if you insist; not ma'am. Ma'am makes me feel old," she said, quoting one of Grandmamma Buchanan's favorite sayings.
"Yes, Miss Evelyn," he said, grinning so endearingly that she couldn't help the smile she gave him back. He must've read the humor she'd tried to put in the statement.
"Don't you worry about them," he reassured as he left her. "They'll come around."
He rejoined his friends who then proceeded to welcome him back with exaggerated talk as though he'd been away on some grand quest.
Eve went back to her gun. He's a nice kid, she thought. Maybe a little naïve.
But still, if he was coming over to talk to her, maybe she had made some progress.
Two hours later, the lights had been turned off, and everyone was tucked away in their racks, willing themselves to sleep before dawn snuck up on them.
"Buchanan?" called Luz, a mere hissing whisper in the night.
Eve, on the edge of sleep, ignored him, certain he was up to nothing good.
"Buchanan? Hey, Ev? You awake?" he repeated a little louder.
She stayed still. Maybe he'd go away and she'd find the sleep that was dancing on the edge of her brain. She was exhausted, but there was still a smattering of the other men in her barracks still chattering quietly.
They'd been relatively polite about it, especially when someone told them to pipe down, never Eve, but being men, and young men at that, there were several times when they forgot themselves and got too loud.
It was aggravating, but Eve knew better than to turn around and show them that she was listening, much less scold them for being up so damn late. Inspection was bright and early tomorrow, and Eve had been trying to absorb these few hours of sleep to no avail thanks to her rowdy roommates who hadn't even had the decency to dim the lights before they spent the last two hours bitching about Sobel and the Army. If Eve had wanted to listen to useless chatter, she would have had similar luck at a sewing circle at home listening to old biddies bickering over politics.
And since when did he call her "Ev"?
"I think she's asleep," said Luz, obviously addressing the room at large.
"Finally!" said Liebgott.
She heard a gentle rustling that indicated that they were shuffling around the room.
"Alright," Luz said, an organizer calling a meeting to order. "Parks, you lose, fork it over."
"You too, Guarnere!" called Martin.
"Yeah, yeah," the Italian grumbled. "Well, put me down for this Thursday, then."
"Sure," said Luz, "How much?"
"Five dollars."
Someone whistled. That's a lot of money,Eve thought. I wonder what they're betting on?
"Alright, so that's Guarnere for this week, five dollars," he said.
"Can you believe this broad's still fucking here?" someone grumbled.
"Nope," said Luz, "that's why we're bettin'. My money's on her washing out before we even get assigned to squads."
"Actual dates only, Luz, you know the rules, you fucking made them."
Eve felt her eyes widen and her brain shut down as pain lanced her heart. Oh.
So much for having a friend.
She sank deeper into her pillow and struggled not to cry. Stupid, she thought, so irrevocably stupid for thinking she'd made progress with the men.
She heaved a quiet sigh that nearly traitorously turned into a sob. She repressed it ruthlessly. Now was not a good time to wallow in having been so ruthlessly fooled.
Had she really been so desperate that she'd latched onto the first kindness? The first insincere offer of friendship to be had?
Any kinship she'd felt with George Luz was ashes in the breeze. She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep.
When reveille was called the next morning, Eve felt like she'd just closed her eyes for a second. With a quiet groan, she pulled herself from bed.
"Hey, Buchanan," said Luz with a smile.
She could hear the scorn in his voice now, and ignored him, pulling on her ODs as though he'd never spoken.
"What, not feeling like talking this morning?"
Eve gave him a look, knowing her feelings were too raw to be hidden.
Strangely, he backed off and went to bother someone else.
Eve finished getting ready, and spent the rest of the day on her own, enduring the bullying with a stony face and an iced-over heart. She'd show them all.
-End Chapter-
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