THANKS AGAIN FOR THE FANTASTIC REVIEWS!
ALSO, PLEASE CHECK OUT THE VERY FIRST STORY FROM ONE OF MY AWESOME READERS, LJVS, CALLED "AN UNCONVENTIONAL SOLDIER" ~ SHE'S OFF TO A GREAT START, AND IT IS SO IMPORTANT FOR US TO ENCOURAGE AND CULTIVATE EACH OTHER'S CREATIVITY!
ENJOY THE NEXT CHAPTER OF "BELIEVER" !
** BULL POV **
I pushed through the Normandy countryside with one picture in my head. I found friends, fought enemies, and walked through fields that were knee deep in water, wreckage, and the fallen from both sides of the fight. Still, one thought pushed me. Somewhere, there was a pair of warm blue eyes scanning a sea of bedraggled paratroopers, looking for my face in the crowd. At least I hoped that there was.
The alternative was not something that I wanted to consider, but it surrounded me at every turn. Twisted, charred metal told the tales of some of the earliest 506th casualties, men who had never even made it through the door of the plane. I saw her face on every ruined body. Every time I saw some petite young soul, mortally wounded and hanging from a tree, my whole being went cold.
It was at one such bone-chilling moment that I very nearly lost the opportunity to ever hold her again which, despite my current position in the middle of the European theater of war, was all that I could really think about. I'd come across another body lying face down in the wet earth. I was still alone at the time and, in the darkness, I could tell only that there was a Screaming Eagle patch on the arm of a slightly built paratrooper. I needed to know. Hands quivering, I reached down to turn the remains over and drew back blood-covered fingers. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I had to allow it to pass before I could look down at the lifeless face. It wasn't her. It wasn't my Blue.
My relief was cut short though, when there was a rustling nearby that startled me out of my distracted state. I clicked my cricket. Silence. I provided the "flash" code. This time, I heard voices but not the "thunder" response I'd hoped for. They were speaking German, they were searching for me, and they were close. Having fixed my bayonet the moment I'd hit the ground, I was ready for them when they launched their attack. Some of the guys found me like that, standing stock-still over two bayoneted Germans and staring down at the body of a young American who could have just as easily been my girl as any of the fresh-faced youngsters I'd seen robbed of their futures.
At the urging of the others, I left the fallen kid behind and kept moving forward, now hyper-alert and high on adrenalin from my near-ambush. I resolved to push all thoughts that Christina was anything but alive to the back of my mind. Distraction wasn't an option because I couldn't protect her if I got myself killed. At last, our group reached the assembly area, already awash with the rumblings about planes that had gone down and people that were missing, including the entire Company HQ. I began searching the crowd of familiar and semi-familiar faces for my Blue.
"Perco!"
"Bull! Hey! Good to see ya. Check out my collection," he grinned, flashing an arm full of watches.
"That's great. Hey, have you seen Christina yet?"
"Uh, yeah. Last I saw her; Bill had taken her to the aid station, but…"
Aid station? Bill took her to the aid station? I didn't wait around to hear the rest, pushing my way in the direction that Frank had pointed until I stepped through a doorway. The scene took my breath. Bloodied paratroopers stretched from wall to wall. Doc, clearly tired but ever-determined, was walking among them doing what he could. Still, I didn't see her. Noticing my search, Gene made his way over to me.
"She's resting in here," he informed, leading me into another room.
Her eyes were closed. From the waist up, she wore only her brassiere, and one side of her body looked as though she'd been beaten. One boot lay on the floor, and her ankle, clearly swollen, had been wrapped in a bandage. But the part that truly terrified me was the blood. She was covered in it. The shirt that had been put aside. Her trousers. Her hands and arms. There were even traces of it on her face. My heart started to pound.
"Oh my God! Doc, what the hell happened to my Blue?"
She turned to look up at me just as he answered, "That's not hers. She was helping here. She's not that bad. Some bruised, maybe cracked, ribs and a sprained ankle from the jump."
Relieved to see her eyes open, I wanted to hug her but stopped short when I looked at her ribs again. Sensing my hesitation, she sat up and reached out to take my hand, pulling until I gently wrapped my arms around her. With her head resting on my chest again, I felt like I'd been given back my lungs. I released a long breath and pressed my lips into her hair.
"I'm sorry I scared you. I know I look like a mess."
"Are you kidding? Baby Blue, you're here. You're alive. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
** CHRISTINA POV **
When I saw him standing there, alive and unhurt, it wouldn't have mattered if every bone in my body were broken. I needed to hug him. I needed to know that he was real and not some exhaustion-induced hallucination. I needed his arms around me more than I needed to not be in pain.
The unexpected tenderness coming from this giant bear of a man was one of the things that I loved most about him. The way his arms held me, firm but gentle, as though he were holding a piece of fragile china. I buried my face in his chest and breathed him in, smelling the mud, the sweat, the blood, and underneath it all, the distinct masculinity and familiar, comforting scent that had enveloped me as I drifted to sleep for so many nights. Something that was purely Denver.
"I'm not hurting you, am I baby?"
"Only if you let go."
"Don't worry, Blue. I've got you."
We sat there for a long while just holding each other. His fingertips lightly stroked the bare skin along my spine and it was both comforting in its gentleness and maddening in the way my nerves were set aflame. I knew that he could feel the goosebumps and I looked up, meeting his eyes. They flickered with the same embers that had smoldered as we stood on the runway before the jump, which seemed so long ago now. His thumb caressed my jaw and I could feel heat pooling in the pit of my stomach as I remembered the way his lips had brushed mine when he kissed my cheek. Had that only been a day ago?
A cry of pain from one of the wounded snapped us reluctantly back to reality, and he helped me pull my shirt back on over my battered ribs. I was able to pull the boot over my bandaged ankle, but lacing and tying it proved excruciating now that the adrenalin borne out of survival instinct had worn off. I stood, deciding to leave it untied for the time being, and hobbled toward the door. I'd made it only a few steps when Bull, arms folded across his chest and watching me in amusement, let out a low laugh at my struggle.
"Come here, stubborn ass," he ordered, lifting me into his arms. I protested, but he just wrapped my legs around his waist, slipping one hand down to shamelessly cup my ass under the pretense of holding me in place. I looked up in surprise at this unusually forward display, but he just winked at me and my insides melted. "I told you, baby. I've got you."
** BULL POV **
Being away from her in the endless hours between boarding the plane and now, wondering when… and if… I would find her safe, had been more than enough to convince me that I'd never again feel right without her. When I first looked at her in that aid station, what I really saw was my hope for the future lying vulnerable and unprotected. Okay, so maybe my hand on her ass wasn't exactly subtle, but neither would have been sitting her back down on that table and kissing her breathless and that was what I really wanted to do once I realized that she was okay. Her eyes showed surprise, but when I winked at her, they also held something else, something that gave me the hope that I'd get my chance one day.
D-Day would not be that day, nor would any day in the month that followed. The relief that we'd been promised after "three days and three nights of hard fightin'" didn't come. Winters took over Easy Company in the absence of Lieutenant Meehan, and we pushed forward through Normandy, taking Carentan and engaging in brutal battles along the hedgerows that saw many of our friends wounded or killed. Instead of holding Christina, I found myself carrying men who were full of holes or missing limbs.
Despite all of the mental preparation for war and its atrocities, nothing could have readied me for the intense, gut-wrenching discomfort that came with watching this blue-eyed piece of my heart run through explosions and gunfire to treat the wounded. It was hell, made even worse by those stretches of time when she was out of my sight altogether. Moments when the noises that surrounded me seemed to creep in and echo in my ears, like now, playing a nighttime waiting game with the Krauts just across the field. I could hear a commotion, and a voice that sounded like Talbert's was crying out in pain. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew that if someone were wounded, in all likelihood my Blue wouldn't be far away. I both admired and hated that.
It took every ounce of my common sense and willpower to stay put when every beat of my heart screamed at me to go find her, wrap her up in my arms, and tuck her away some place safe until this war was over. My hand slipped unconsciously across the breast pocket where I had tucked her picture before the jump and I closed my eyes in silent prayer. Somewhere in the foxholes and hedgerows, cloaked in inky darkness, was my whole world and nothing weighed on my mind more than the knowledge that I could not protect her.
** CHRISTINA POV **
"Seriously, Smith, kid… you need to get ahold of yourself or you're never going to make it," I chided gently as Roe and I worked on Talbert's bayonet wounds.
I was pissed, but the private's face was so pale he was almost see-through and his eyes were damp from the ass-chewing that Liebgott had already given, and renewed every few minutes as Talbert continued to groan. Fortunately for Talbert, and for Smith, the two jabs he'd managed with his bayonet had not gone especially deep and, provided they didn't get infected, Tab would recover nicely. When I mentioned this, he only sighed and grumbled.
"Damned nervous kids out here stabbing before they even look. I mean, since when would a Kraut address you in English, by your damned name?"
I understood his point to some degree, until I noticed that he was wearing that stupid German poncho he'd been parading around as a trophy. Jeez. He'd probably come to wake the kid up from a dead sleep, behind enemy lines, and dressed like the damned enemy.
"Really, Tab? What in the hell were you thinking sneaking up on the jumpy little bastard dressed like a damned Kraut anyway? I'd have stabbed you just for being stupid!"
Joe laughed, but Tab just whined, "Come on, BG. Gimme a break. I'm wounded here."
"You'll live. Just stop moving around. Walking around in the dark, dressed like a damned Kraut. What a story."
"You're gonna tell the guys?"
"Oh, you bet your handsome, skewered Kokomo ass I'm tellin' 'em. If I don't, Joe will."
"Damn right," Joe confirmed quickly, and even Tab had to laugh a little in spite of the pain.
It was oddly calming to take care of Talbert's bayonet wounds because, although they were serious, he was alert, talking, and in fairly good shape considering his situation. After seeing so much death that I couldn't prevent, it felt good to be able to help a friend in his moment of need. That feeling lasted until they carried Floyd away. Then, as we made our way back to the line, Joe put voice to the thought I'd been trying desperately to avoid.
"Do you ever worry that, one of these times, it's gonna be Bull?"