December 22nd 1944

"Renée!" Claire called for the young Belgian Nurse. She was currently elbow deep in a man's belly trying to plug the artery and save the man's life. Her fingers were currently pinching it. She needed her suture kit to fix it. A medic was holding a flashlight above so that Claire could see what she was doing.

"Renée!" Claire yelled out again.

The Nurse came running back in the back room of the church, holding the surgical kit. Claire was not a surgeon, but she'd seen procedures done enough times and assisted that she could handle it.

"Les pinces, donnes moi les pinces!" (The clamps, give me the clamps!) Claire ordered. Renée reached in the bag and pulled out a set of clamps. Claire then slid them in and clamped down.

"Tiens ça," (Hold this) Claire said and held the handle of the clamps to Renée. The other nurse took them and Claire grabbed the suture kit. She laced the string through the curved needle and started working. She concentrated on her work, despite the sounds of people calling for medics, priests, their mothers, anyone to help them.

She huffed a sigh of relief as the sutures held, she nodded at Renée, who then removed the clamps and put them on the table. Claire stitched up the wound. They moved him back to the main room and laid the soldier down on an empty bunk. She instructed the medic who was holding the light, Carson, to make sure he's still breathing every hour.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

There was not a moment to rest as more wounded off the line kept coming in. The stench of death clung in the air, though at this point Claire was used to it. She'd seen the goriest of wounds and the worst cases of trench foot. Her uniform was a few shades darker from the blood and dirt.

Luckily for her, she had Renée and Anna to help. There was one surgeon as well. She had a few medics and Father Mahoney here. They were overwhelmed. When Claire came in two days ago, there was a steady stream and then it picked up. They had no back up beyond Bastogne, which meant Claire had dozens of patients to keep alive while more came in.

At first, the medics who were already here and the one surgeon did not want her around, much less being the one in charge. Jones started arguing with her when she took the lead on dealing with a patient who had a leg blown off.

"See these bars, Private?" She had asked. He nodded. "That means that I'm the one in charge here. And I'm orderin' you to stand back and let me do my damn job."

His nostrils flared. "Yes ma'am."

Claire hated to pull rank, but the truth is, these men weren't her men which meant they didn't have the same respect she'd gained in Easy. Unfortunately, she did not have the time it took her the first time to earn it.

She was glad to have Anna and Renée here. Anna was a black woman who came to Belgium with her family in 1935. She'd been a nurse in the Congo before coming to Bastogne. When the war broke out, and Belgium was invaded, Anna helped the Allied soldiers. At first, Claire was caught off guard by her. Prior to New Orleans, she hadn't seen very many coloured people. Breaux Bridge wasn't exactly known for diversity. New Orleans, on the other hand, was much more so. She'd never worked alongside a person of colour before. Anna was a remarkable woman and a very gifted nurse.

Renée was the same age as Claire, and a native of Bastogne. She was pretty with clear blue eyes. She came home not long ago in order to take care of her aging parents. When the Allies heard that she was a nurse, they asked her to help. Renée agreed and started to work. The three of them worked well together.

She had four other medics working with her. Alexander Melville could easily be described as a puppy. He bounced around the aid station, always full of energy. He was tall and thin, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was friendly and liked to talk a lot. He told her how he was the third of seven kids. He was from Chicago, Illinois.

Shawn O'Connor was a short ginger, Irishman from Portland, Oregon. He could be loud and abrasive, but always ready to work. He reminded her of Harry Welsh. O'Connor was in his late twenties, the oldest out of them all, except for Wilkes.

William Jones was from a small town just outside of Buffalo, New York. Claire could tell immediately that he came from a family of money. He was a capable medic, but he carried himself with an air of arrogance. Something Claire enjoyed knocking down.

Patrick Carson was a tall, muscular, handsome man from Augusta, Maine. He had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He had a bright shining smile, and a goofy sense of humour. Carson and Melville were the best of friends, reminding her of Muck and Malarkey. It was hard to meet anyone new and not be reminded of her friends.

Herbert Wilkes was in his thirties. He was a surgeon from Milwaukee. He was an attractive man, with dark hair and eyes. For the most part, Wilkes was kind. He knew how beneficial a nurse could be, that didn't mean he liked that she was the one in charge. Despite his position, he was only a second lieutenant. Her rank was still considered 'relative' but with the help of Colonel Sink, she held rank above him. They worked well together despite the animosity at the start.

Claire was looking in on another patient and sat by his side monitoring his pulse and breathing. She took a deep breath and pushed away her exhaustion. She'd been on her feet and in constant movement since she got here. She'd slept for maybe an hour at the most.

They had little supplies left, rationing everything they had. Instead of morphine, they were giving the men with injuries that weren't as severe alcohol. They cut up sheets to make bandages.

Every time a new soldier came in, Claire always had that sinking feeling that it was one of her boys. A few from Easy Company had come in, but none of them were her friends, which was a great relief. She wondered how they were. She wanted to hear one of Muck's jokes, or hear Toye sing I'll Be Seeing You for the hundredth time. She wanted to give Lew a hard time, and joke around with Malarkey and Bill. And though she was still angry that he kept Henry's secret, she wanted to see Gene to make sure he was alright. She wanted to hear him ask her if she was. She wanted thing to go back to how they were.

She had to know if they were okay. There were hardly any supplies when she left. She had to wonder if they had anything at all. Even here, they were scrounging.

Between the artillery blasts, and the machine gun fire, Gene spent the vast majority of his time scrounging for any supplies. They got hit pretty bad the day before. A replacement lost an arm. They used up two syrettes on him. They were pretty much out of everything now. Gene even lost his scissors.

That morning, he started trudging through the fog in an attempt to get to Third Battalion and get supplies from them, but he lost his way. He came across three frozen German corpses. He was getting close to the enemy line, that turned him around. He walked back towards Easy with his hands tucked in his pockets, though it did not help with the cold. He could see Captain Winters sitting on a fallen tree and shaving. It seemed odd to him, keeping a clean shave when it was a frozen wasteland out here. Winters suddenly dropped the razor.

"Doc, doc, doc," he whispered and kept his hand out to stop Gene. Eugene stopped in his tracks and crouched down. He looked over to see a German soldier relieving himself in the woods.

Winters waited until the man was done before capturing him. Gene got a kraut bandage off the soldier. He stood in the back of the group as General McAuliff and Colonel Sink drove up. He overheard Colonel Strayer and Captain Nixon inform them about the holes in the line, how they had no supplies left. Captain Nixon couldn't find the 501st on their flank. And First Battalion was pulling out of Foy, no back up, which meant a whole lot of shit was heading their way.

Once they left, Eugene followed Captain Winters back to his hole.

"Doc?" He asked.

"Can I scrounge a bandage from your aid kit sir?" He asked.

"How are you fixed?" Winters asked.

"No plasma, couple of bandages, practically no morphine," he explained their situation. "I tried to make my way up to Third Battalion, but I lost my way."

Captain Winters reached in his pack and handed Eugene the bandage he had left.

"If you can't get up to Third, hook up with Doc Ryan, he'll fix you up with what he has to spare," Captain Winters instructed.

"Thanks Captain," he replied.

"Oh, and Eugene, get as much as you can. You're going to need it."

"Captain, have you heard anythin' about Lieutenant Rousseau?" Gene asked. He hadn't heard anything since she went to Bastogne two days before.

"Sorry Doc, I haven't," he told him. "I wouldn't worry about her. If anyone can handle it, it's her."

"Okay, thanks Captain," Eugene said again.

He made it back to the line and found Spina digging in. The medics were moved closer to the line, making it easier for them to get to the wounded. They did a quick transfer of supplies, Roe had a bit more left then he did.

"What? That's it?" Spina asked.

"Yep, that's all we got," he said.

"Tapped out of Russ's supplies?" Spina questioned.

"Yep."

"Shit."

"You know, First Battalion's pulled outta Foy. Heavy casualties," he informed.

"If they're pulling out, why are we still here sittin' on our asses?" Spina asked.

Gene rooted through his musette bag and pulled out the last syrette of morphine. They needed more and fast, otherwise they were in trouble. Gene wondered how many of the guys kept their syrettes from Holland. They needed anything they could get.

"First Sergeant Lipton!" Lieutenant Dike's loud voice caught both Spina and Gene off guard. "What's this, two medics in one hole?"

"Yes sir," Spina answered.

"What's gonna happen to us if you take a hit?" Dike retorted.

Sergeant Lipton came over. It turned out Dike was over by them because he'd gotten lost on the way to his foxhole. Lipton showed him the way back.

"Couillon," He muttered under his breath. Gene didn't think they could do any worse than Captain Sobel.

"I'm gonna see if any of the men still have morphine," Gene told him. "Scrounge up what you can. We're gonna need it."

Without Claire around, Gene was the one who stepped up. He did the same thing back in Holland after she got wounded. Still, he needed her around. Even just two days, and he could feel the long strain of being hungry, freezing, and terrified. No one slept for long. It was too cold. No matter how hard any of them tried, they couldn't get warm. Eugene had never been as cold and miserable in his life. He missed his best friend, his mom, his home… anything that wasn't here.

After Claire had been wounded in Holland, it didn't strike him until the next day how much of a constant she'd been. There were little things she would do that when she wasn't around he missed. Like how she would hum while she would work, never in the intense moments but after things would settle down, though Gene didn't think she even realized she was doing it. When she came back and she, Gene, and Spina were working at the aid station one day and she began humming quietly. Gene remembered Spina muttering to him, asking what song it was.

"My Blue Heaven." He recognized the tune. It was her favourite.

Little things like that he missed most about her. He thought about that night back in Holland where he talked about Mary and she talked about her parents. Until that night in Mourmelon, he couldn't understand why she only talked about them every once in a while.

Eugene went from foxhole to foxhole asking for morphine. Most of the men had used it up in Holland, or they were lying but Gene wasn't going to go through their stuff. Sergeant Guarnere had a urinary tract infection, but Eugene had nothing to treat it. He doubted that even the Aid Station in Bastogne had any penicillin to spare.

"He's gone," Claire told O'Connor. "Move onto someone you can help."

Claire looked down at the corpse of the dead soldier and closed his eyes. His chest had been blown open by a grenade. It was a miracle he lasted as long as he did. The boy was probably fresh out of the States. He was much too young to be dead in this frozen wasteland. Claire collected his tag and wrote his name, Frederick Green, in her book.

"Melville, O'Connor," she ordered two medics nearby. "Grab a stretcher and take him outside. We need the space."

"Yes, ma'am."

In the last hour, they'd lost four men. They were all hanging on by a thread when they came in. Frederick Green had been the last one. Just before he died, a priest came by and gave him his last rites. Claire waited until the priest came by after a soldier died to clear out the space. They left the bodies outside in front of the church because there was no other place to put them. It wasn't respectful, but they had no other choice.

"Lieutenant, we got another one!" O'Connor yelled out.

"Bring him over here!" She ordered as she led them to the right side of the church in a room where they cleaned the bandages. The soldier was bleeding heavily from his side. "Where's his tag?"

O'Connor handed it to her. The soldier had gotten hit in the side by a piece of shrapnel. He'd been given one syrette of morphine. The bandage was seeping with blood. The soldier had an ashy colour to his skin. He was losing too much blood.

"Melville, get plasma and bandages," Claire ordered. Melville ran to the supply room. "O'Connor, keep his legs elevated."

C'mon God, give us this one.

They had to change the bandage and slow the bleeding down so he wouldn't go in shock. O'Connor propped his legs up.

"Melville!" She barked. The young medic came darting back into the room, a few bandages and a bottle of precious plasma in his hand.

"We gotta do this fast. O'Connor, get that plasma goin'." O'Connor started tapping on the soldier's arm to make a vein appear. "Melville, when I say go, I'm gonna need you to hold him up so I can tie the bandage."

Once the plasma was in, and O'Connor holding it, Claire undid the old bandage and tossed it to the side. They would most likely be able to clean it and reuse it later.

"Go!" Claire ordered. Melville lifted the soldier up by his shoulders. Blood was pouring out of the man's wound. She made quick work to tie the bandage around his torso. Melville put the soldier back down on his back. "Let's move him to the empty cot. Make him comfortable."

"Yes, ma'am," they both replied.

"I'll take his legs, Melville, his top half and O'Connor keep holding the plasma. On three. One, two, three." They hoisted the soldier up in the air and carefully carried him back to the main room. They laid him down on the empty cot and Claire grabbed one of the metal poles to hook up the plasma.

"Melville, O'Connor, wake Carson and Jones, it's your turn to rotate for sleep," she said.

"Ma'am, when do you sleep?" Melville asked.

She'd been avoiding sleep. Sleep and rest gave her time to think and that was the last thing she wanted to do. But, she was barely able to stay standing. She knew she needed sleep. Otherwise, what good would she be?

"Tell Carson and Jones to wake me in three hours."

She could run on three hours. She laid a blanket on the ground near the altar of the church and laid another one on top of herself. She used her coat as a pillow, finding little use for it indoors. She let her men have the cots. Honestly, at this point, sleeping on the ground made for a nice break from a foxhole. Here, she had a roof over her head and that was enough.

Her exhaustion caught up with her. The second she laid her head down on the makeshift pillow, she fell asleep.

Claire was bouncing around the aid station from person to person, they'd only lost two men that night. Renée was helping her triage some of the new arrivals. Anna was patching up a man who had a large gaping hole in his side.

The top level was saved for walking wounded. The bottom level was for priority cases. The surgeon, Wilkes, was almost constantly working, until Claire would drag him away. She had to pull rank on him a few times, but it didn't bother her as much. If it got him to listen, she'd do it. They needed their surgeon to be alert.

Because they had no way out of Bastogne, the wounded couldn't be evacuated. They were running short on space and supplies. It was to a point where the walking wounded were helping them. A few of the villagers began volunteering to help as well. They cut up most of the sheets for bandages.

Claire and Melville were working on a soldier who had a gunshot wound in his side and a leg that was almost entirely blown off. It was dangling by some muscle and tissue. It would need to be amputated, and luckily, Claire was well-versed in that surgery. Wilkes was busy trying to fix a soldier's chest that had been blown open.

"Melville, tie the tourniquet," she ordered.

He did as he was told. Carson was helping too since they needed someone to monitor the anesthesia. They injected the soldier with the anesthesia and he fell asleep. It wasn't a long procedure, thankfully.

They had to get the rest of the leg off before they could bandage it up. She used the saw from the amputation kit Wilkes had and got to work. They had plasma going and a very precious supply of blood for transfusion. They only ever used it in surgery, and their supplies were dwindling. It was to a point where Claire had begun asking soldiers for volunteers to donate. Luckily, many were more than happy to do it.

"Bandages," she said and put the saw down. She'd made the amputation a few inches above the knee where Wilkes had instructed her to. They bandaged up the stump and disposed of the severed limb.

"Carson, keep monitoring him until he wakes up. Melville, you're with me," she instructed.

"Yes, ma'am," they said in unison. Melville followed Claire out of the room.

"You know, you remind me of someone," Melville voiced.

"I do?" Claire wondered.

"Yeah, my older sister Jo," he said. "She's bossy too."

"Bossy?" Claire questioned. Melville seemed to realize what he'd said and he started stammering.

"N-Not in a bad way," he stammered. "I just… I mean… Oh God…"

Claire, taking pity on the boy, started laughing. "Quit while you're behind, kid."

"I didn't mean it the way it came out," Melville repeated. "I meant that my sister is the oldest and my mom's not really around all that much since she works as a maid because my dad can't hold down a job. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Claire smirked. "Yeah, but it's entertainin' watching you stumble."

"My point is, there's no one I admire more than my sister Jo because she is the strongest person I know, and you remind me of her," he concluded. "I've never met another woman who could make a guy cower with one look like you can. Thought only Jo could."

Claire felt flattered by the sentiment. "Thank you, Melville, now c'mon, we got plenty of work to do."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was not a moment where Claire's hands weren't covered in blood. She was exhausted, hungry, and in need of a shower. Claire ate enough to get by. She made sure her patients and her team had food. Emotionally, it was draining constantly watching men slowly and painfully die, and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.

There were cases of battle fatigue. Which meant that on top of being a nurse to the physically wounded, she also needed to help the emotionally scarred. She watched her medics, making sure they didn't suffer the same way. Whenever she saw it coming, Claire got them out of there. She would send them out of the hospital to gather more sheets and blankets from the locals. There were always signs of someone getting battle fatigue. They would have that far away stare, not seeing anything, then they would take off their helmet, let it fall, and then ruffle their hair.

Claire was re-bandaging a soldier's stump. The most difficult part was keeping infection down. She knew infection could kill as brutally as a bullet. Keeping wounds clean and sulfa were the only way to prevent it.

"No, no, here, put him here," she heard Renée instruct. Claire kept to her work. Renée would come get her if it was bad. The soldier she was re-bandaging had woken up once again. He was groaning and moaning in pain. Claire grabbed some alcohol and gave him a glass to help dull the pain.

"You got a smoke?" He asked her while grunting in pain.

Claire reached into her breast pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes. She handed him one and lit it.

"What's your name, soldier?" She asked.

"McCoy, ma'am, William," he introduced himself.

"Well, William, you're gonna be fine," she assured him. "Gonna get you outta here soon as we can."

"Thanks, Doc," he replied. Claire gave him a small reassuring smile before getting up.

"Lower leg wound, no morphine." Claire stopped at the familiar voice.

She walked towards the voice and saw Eugene standing there, his back to her, but she knew it was him. Renée poured a glass of whiskey for Sisk, who was lying on the table.

"Nurse, you got plasma? I can…" Renée cut him off.

"Wait, please," she said.

"It's alright, Renée, I can help him," she told the young nurse.

Eugene turned around and she saw the dark circles around his eyes. The last time they spoke was when he told her about James.

"Merci," Renée told her gratefully before she headed off back to work.

"Gene, follow me," she told him.

There was a bit of awkwardness between them.

"Why ain't any of these men been evacuated?" He asked her as they walked to the supply closet in the back.

He didn't know. They were trying to keep it from the enlisted men, keep morale from dropping too low, but that was foolish now.

"We're surrounded," she explained while she grabbed supplies. "This is the end of the line."

She handed him a box and filled it with bandages, syrettes of morphine, sulfa powder and tablets.

"Are those sheets?" He asked.

"Yeah, for bandages."

"You got any plasma?" He asked.

"I can only give you a bottle," she told him. "We're scrounging here too."

She knew that plasma was dire on the battlefield.

"Thanks."

The awkwardness only thickened.

"How…" She started.

"I…" He said at the same time.

They stopped.

"You go first," Claire told him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shoulda told you."

"Yes," she agreed. "You should've. Why didn't you?"

That was the part that bothered her the most. The 'Why'.

"I didn't know how," he admitted. "I told him he shoulda told you the truth."

"Eugene, I'm not mad at you," she assured him. "Henry should've told me, not you… but I'm… well not glad that you told me, but it's better that I know the truth and not some story."

There was a small smile on his lips but it didn't reach his eyes.

"How are you with…?" He drifted off.

"I'm dealing," she told him. Well, she was trying too. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

"And the rest of the guys? We lose anybody?" She asked.

"Not anyone that wouldn't have come through here," he replied. "They're okay. Tired… cold… hungry. Are you okay?"

"Mhm. I'm fine."

She was exhausted, constantly surrounded by death, but besides that she was fine.

"Oh, before I forget," Eugene said as he slipped something off his neck. "This is yours."

He put it in her hand. She felt the familiar grooves in her hand. Tears pricked her eyes. To Eugene, this probably was not as big a deal as it was for her. He didn't know the significance of what he'd given her.

"W-Where did you find this?" She asked. "I thought I lost it."

"You oughta clean out your bag more," he stated.

This whole time? It was at the bottom of her bag? How could she not have known?

She put it around her neck. She felt better.

"Who's the nurse?" He asked. Claire looked over and saw Renée bandaging a soldier.

Claire smiled at him.

"Her name's Renée. She volunteered to help," Claire explained. "And, just in case you were wondering… she ain't married."

Eugene flushed, Claire laughed. "I… I should get back to the line."

Her smile dropped. "Eugene… Thank you for finding this," she said. "And please… look after yourself."

She couldn't lose him too.

"Tell my boys I say hi."

He nodded before turning to walk away.

"And Gene… be safe out there."

"Aren't I always?" He asked.

"Yeah, just like I am," she replied sarcastically. He smiled at her before turning and walking away.

When he was gone, Claire let out a breath to compose herself. She couldn't focus on Easy Company, on Eugene Roe, no matter how much she hated being away. She had a duty here to the wounded. This was what she came to do, to help people. That's what she needed to remind herself of constantly.

Claire walked out and saw Gene talking to Renée briefly and walked out. She saw Renée smile and a few moments after Gene walked out, the young nurse walked out with a bar of chocolate in hand. Claire's lips twitched and she shook her head and kept going about her work.

Claire went over and checked on Sisk. She liked Sisk, he was a good man. She'd known him since Toccoa. He was there when she got wounded in Holland. He tried to pull her back. He was a good soldier, smart.

"How's it goin' Sisk?" She asked. He was still drinking his booze.

"Been better, Russ. Booze helps," he told her.

"Don't it always?"

"Pretty nurses help to."

Claire laughed. "Yes they do. I'm gonna take a look at your wound, that alright?"

He nodded. Claire went over to his leg and undid the bandage. She pulled out the tweezers from her kit. Gene got out the big chunks, those were the priority. Claire apologized as she poked at the wound and removed any pieces that might be remaining.

"Jesus, you always this delicate?" Sisk whined as Claire tugged at a piece of tree burst embedded deep in his leg.

"Only for you," she replied. "Take it this way, once I'm done pokin', I'll get you some hot chow."

"Can the pretty nurse feed it to me?" He asked.

"Keep it in your pants, Skinny," she joked. She hadn't realized that she used Sisk's nickname until after she did it. Claire poured some more sulfa on his leg and put a new bandage on. "Now, I'm gonna see about gettin' you some food."

"Thanks."

Claire sent Melville, Carson, and some of the walking wounded to help get the food down to the patients who couldn't get it for themselves. She hadn't left the main room for more than a few minutes since she got here. She needed to catch her breath, breathe some fresh air.

"Jones, I'm steppin' outside for some air," she told him. "Come get me if there's a problem."

"Sure thing, ma'am."

"Oh, and make sure y'all get some food, alright?"

"Of course."

Claire walked up the steps and out of the church. The fresh air felt good in her lungs. It was still daylight; she hadn't seen much of the sun since she got to Bastogne. The pit where Claire spent her time did not have much in the way of natural lighting. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the daylight.

She took a smoke from her pack of cigarettes and put it to her lips and lit it. She inhaled deeply. The medallion around her neck, she couldn't help but wonder how Henry got it. In moments alone, she couldn't stop thinking about James. She'd been so busy the last few days, she hadn't had much time to think.

Her hands turned red in the cold. Claire could hear the artillery far away. She prayed it wasn't aimed at her company. She reached in her other pocket and pulled out the small leather bound journal. She leafed through the pages, only to find that once again, it was full. The last five pages were names of soldiers that had died over the last few days. She wrote them down again on a separate page to give Colonel Sink every night.

She reached in the other breast pocket and found the small notebook she found on the German soldier's body all the way back in Normandy. Hard to believe she still had the thing. She sighed and opened to the blank page. She wasn't sure what day it was anymore but she knew it had to be close to Christmas. She started writing, describing everything that happened over the last four days.

The longer she let her mind stew, the more scenarios she came up with. She would never truly know what happened that day, and that was the part that hurt and frustrated her the most. She spent three years dealing. She'd begun to make some peace with it.

"Claire?"

She looked over to see Renée coming towards her with a mess kit that held some food.

"Melville asked if I could bring this for you."

She had a thick French accent when she spoke. Claire put out her cigarette, put the journal back in her breast pocket, and took the bowl of now lukewarm stew.

"Merci," Claire thanked her. She took a bite of the beans. They were warm which was nice since she was starting to freeze. Renée was still standing there. "Is there something else?"

"The medic who was here earlier, Eugene, you know him?" Renée asked.

"Yeah, he's my friend. Why d'you ask?" She replied.

"Curious," was all she said.

"He's a good man. One of the best I know," Claire added. "And I happen to know that he's not with anyone."

She blushed. Claire smiled.

"It's alright, Renée. It's just us girls. Sit down. They can handle it without us for a few minutes."

Renée sat down on the steps next to her.

"He seems kind, but…"

"But what?" Claire asked.

"How can I think about that when there's so much death around us?" Renée asked. "When

there's so much pain and suffering?"

"What you do for the men… you've got a gift."

She had a comforting presence about her.

Renée shook her head. "After this, I never want to fix another wounded man again. It's like working in a butcher's shop."

"But you're savin' people," Claire countered. "Ain't that enough?"

"They are in pain."

"It reminds them that they're alive," Claire retorted. She thought about James dying alone in the belly of the Arizona.

"Not when they spend their days crying out for their mothers or God to take it away," Renée argued.

"Ain't that what life is… pain?" She countered. Even if he was in pain, he'd be alive. She would still have him.

"It's more than that. There must be more. To live a life in pain, is not living at all."

"I'm sure a lot of men down there would disagree with you."

"You must have suffered greatly to see the world like that," Renée deduced. Claire remained quiet. "I hope, if you live, that you find joy."

Renée got up after that and went back inside.

I thought maybe I should give you a bit of a longer chapter this time. Most of the time when I decide what's a 'chapter' it mostly goes with the story I want to tell in that particular chapter.

The references I made to pop culture: My Blue Heaven is by Gene Austin. It was a popular song from 1927. I'll Be Seeing You is originally by Sammy Fain but was later covered by multiple artists including Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra.

Chapter Title reference: SNAFU was military slang for Situation Normal All Fucked (or Fouled if they were feeling polite) Up. I felt like it was the perfect way to describe the siege of Bastogne.

I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought!