Hello All! My my my…. So many ideas and theories on the last chapter….
A reminder… dates are important.
And since this is EPOV- a warning… hey- he's in battle. Expect what happens in battle in this one. And maybe tissues?
For those lovelies reading this with your husbands- I love you. And husbands? This one is full of action. Oohrah.
More at the end.
~~oo~~
My feet were numb as we trudged down the road, a long line a weary soldiers on their way to the next big battle. Miles and miles of foreign country passed us, and still we walked. Transports were busy carting supplies to where they were needed.
I couldn't say where I was. Belgium still?
I limped along, head buried into my winter coat so that my chin nestled into the soft edges of her letters. My lips tugged at the corners, wincing only slightly at the cut at the corner of my mouth that hadn't quite healed.
A little pain, a little weariness. All was washed away for a fleeting moment every time I thought of her.
Bella.
What would she be doing now?
Sleeping? What time was it in New York?
It must be late. Or early? I had no idea.
What did she look like when she slept?
Smiling still? Her face relaxed as it rested on my chest while she slumbered?
Would her breath tickle?
I sighed at the thoughts forming in my head. I couldn't allow the distraction.
But I was sure she'd be beautiful there beside me.
My feet shuffled across the gravel and I imagined Bella at work then, reading in a chair beside some solider. I smiled, thinking of her soft smile like the one in my picture. It seemed like forever since I had last heard from her. A few letters just before Christmas I was sure. We had been all over this country, maybe we were in another country by now. But with it came the fact that no one could really track us down.
We hadn't a break in forever it seemed.
I didn't even know what the date was today.
I was pretty sure it was February. Early February.
"Watch your step there, Masen."
I picked up my pace in front of McCarty, smirking at him when he tripped himself. The ruts in the muddy dirt road made it difficult if you didn't pay attention. McCarty swore under his breath and resumed his pace behind me, favoring his injured leg.
"Is it still bothering you?" I asked, nodding to his leg as I fell back in line beside him.
He waved me off nonchalantly.
"Just cold. Makes it stiff," he replied and lit up another cigarette. He offered me his last one but I shook my head, looking off towards the front of the line.
"Where do you think we are?"
"Not in Germany," he grumbled. McCarty had an obsession with reaching Germany so he could singlehandedly finish off Hitler.
If it ended the war sooner….
We were quiet for a long while and walked on, stumbling and cursing now and again in the ruts. Walking was just another way to sleep standing up for most of us now, and we let our minds shut off when we could. If the Germans knew just how tired we were most days when we traveled, it would be the end of us.
We passed a small town, gutted by shells and left to burn. It was the same thing we had seen for several days. It seemed when the Germans backed out in their retreat, they meant to leave nothing of use when they left. Every once in a while we'd see villagers come out. They'd greet us shaking our hands, the old women kissing us on the cheeks.
And the young women. Well, they wanted kisses too. I had learned to say "no, thank you" in three different languages now.
I flicked my cigarette away from me and let out a weary breath.
I missed Bella.
My hand was at my chest again, pushing against the bit of padding there.
Still there.
"You write her again?"
I nodded.
"Did you tell her about the gun shot?"
I looked at him dubiously.
"Did you tell Rosalie about yours?" I shot back, knowing his answer.
He chuckled and shook his head.
"What they don't know will keep them happy," I murmured and patted my pocket, feeling my letters there. There weren't a lot of them. I was finding it harder to write the simple things to her. So much of my time was doing in bad, I had very little to say that was good.
The last thing she needed to know was about a ridiculous gunshot wound in my leg.
It barely hurt anymore, just when we had to march for miles like we had been for the last few days. It would be a reminder of Bastogne, something I would never talk about. We all had scars from that place. Nightmares were the worst, and whenever I dwelled on the pain in my leg, they would come.
So I wouldn't tell her about it.
She'd worry unnecessarily.
Jasper came up from ahead of us and patted me on the shoulder.
"There's a drop off station ahead," he said and winked.
I pulled out the small bundle of letters and kept walking, glad to be able to send them out, wishing there might be a chance to get some of hers in return. I knew that was impossible. I just hoped that on the next leave, we'd have them in abundance.
"What's the date, Whitlock?" I asked suddenly, fishing out my pencil from my pocket.
"The tenth I think."
I jotted down the date on the outside of the envelopes, so she'd know when it was sent and nodded to the private taking letters from the troops as they passed him. It was eerily reminiscent of when the chaplain took our letters that first jump.
"When are these going out?" I asked as I handed the letters over to him.
"Today, if the rain holds out. We've established a station about five miles back from where you came," he said, nodding to the men as they passed and handed off their own letters.
I thanked him and fell back in line, amused when McCarty jogged out of line to give the man a few letters. I grinned into my coat and kept walking, sure that Whitlock had done the same earlier.
Looked like the girls would get some mail soon enough.
I imagined Bella's smile again as she had described rushing to her room to read.
It wasn't difficult to imagine that smile.
Every curve of her face was etched in my mind.
And her picture lay tucked in my pocket, close to my heart.
And her letters.
My angel was here to keep me safe.
~~oo~~
"Down! Down down down!"
We scattered into the trenches beside the road, guns at the ready. We could hear the sound of the panzers up ahead, still at a good distance from our current location. I looked around and waited for Lt. Tipton's order. He paused over his own gun and motioned for a small group of us to go on reconnaissance to see how far the tanks were.
The rest of us waited in the wet trenches, my leg aching and my stomach growling from the missed meal from this morning. Sleep had seemed more important at the time. I was beginning to regret it.
A volley of weapon fire off to our left and we were motioned into the trees. I watched McCarty and Whitlock on the opposite side of road disappear and then I too was hidden in the trees. The Lieutenant was crouched near me, whispering to the radio operator our coordinates.
The panzers rumbled closer, and instinctively, we crouched a little lower, wanting to remain hidden. We didn't have the means to attack them; that would have to wait for the squads behind us. We were just the recon wedge.
Half a dozen tanks passed, and a division of German troops behind it before it was safe to move again. I winced at my stiff muscles and slowly stood, following the rest of the men to resume our journey. It was late afternoon now, and hopefully we would find a place to make camp.
We heard the distant tank fire, this time behind us, and Lt. Tipton received a message from the radio man that the group behind us was engaged.
We were on our own.
And all I really wanted was a safe foxhole to sleep.
And maybe eat.
~~oo~~
"Corporal Masen."
I jumped to my feet, my face half shaved and my jacket lying on the ground.
"Yes, sir."
Lt. Tipton regarded the area around my gear and frowned.
"I need you on duty in fifteen minutes. I just sent another patrol out to recon. That is all," he said and turned from me, essentially dismissing me.
I kept my mouth shut and rushed through the last of my shaving, cringing at the cut I knew had sprung up on my jaw. Cleaning up my area double time, I shoved Bella's letters into my breast pocket of my jacket, intent on keeping them close with no time to secure them. Whitlock and McCarty joined me moments later, looking as disheveled as I was.
"Brigadier Tiptoes tell you to stand sentry too?" McCarty grumbled through the ration bar he was chewing.
I finished lacing up my boots and stood.
"Lieutenant Tipton did, yes," I corrected, weary of McCarty's nickname.
The lieutenant was an ass, but he was still our CO. He hadn't been with us long, just a couple weeks since our last batch of CO's kept dying. But he was cocky and had been given our company to command alongside his 82nd men, at least until a new CO was dispatched. It'd be our fourth.
He was green in the field, but hadn't failed us yet.
He was just an insufferable ass when it came to ordering us around. He thought the 82nd men were accepting the riffraff of the 101st. Sometimes the animosity and competitiveness of our squads baffled me.
We all fought alongside one another in the end. No sense feeling like one was better than the other.
Even if we were better than the 82nd.
"We'll take the east side, you got the west?" Whitlock asked.
I nodded absently and secured my weapon, turning away from them to start my shift.
The distant gunfire suggested it was going to be a long day.
~~oo~~
Another barrage of shells and I was ducking down deeper into my foxhole. It was late, middle of the night.
The explosions were blinding if you looked at them directly, and lit up in stark relief the battered landscape we were attempting to take from the Germans. We had been entrenched for two long days, going on the third miserable day. No relief in sight. Just as it always seemed of late.
My uniform was soaked through, even with the foul weather gear. My feet were numb again and the ache in my leg was unbearable. I moved to stretch it out again, causing the Lieutenant to stir from his fitful sleep.
"What is it?" he said groggily. "Is it time for my shift?"
"Sorry, sir. No," I whispered. "Just needed to stretch."
He grunted and tipped his helmet back over his eyes.
How he could sleep in the cold and the shells going off…
Truth was we could sleep through anything at this point. Every part of me was exhausted. I slept for an hour here, an hour there. I readily agreed to night watch. Sleeping at night was much harder now. Especially in the winter here.
I hated the cold. It felt cold enough to snow, and that would only serve to make things worse. It was nearly impossible to keep warm in a foxhole in the snow. And the idea of dying here from the snow made me think again of Bella. I shook my head to rid myself of the thought and corresponding images.
I wouldn't go that way.
All those dead bodies we had found of the Germans in Bastogne, frozen into their holes forever.
No.
It wouldn't snow. Rain I could deal with.
I would stay alive through this.
The Lieutenant mumbled in his sleep and I let out a soft breath, watching the air mist before me. I wondered if he had anyone at home that made him want to live. A girl back home.
A wife?
I had never asked.
We weren't that close.
He was just my CO, and had by my luck ended up in my foxhole.
Ordered me to be on guard first shift of the night and had fallen asleep.
I'd sleep at sunrise.
I hoped.
~~oo~~
"Eat quickly, Corporal. And I doubt you'll get a shave in this morning. Too damn cold anyway," Lieutenant Tipton said as he crawled out of the hole. He looked rumpled in his shirt, tossing his jacket down to splash water on his face from his helmet. His dark beard was starting to take over his face. I don't know how he put up with the itching. But I guess it kept him warm. He certainly had enough hair sprouting from his shirt to make me think he was more bear than man.
I grabbed my gun, laying it just outside the hole so I could climb out.
The gunfire had progressively gotten closer in the night, but now it was deathly silent.
I stiffly crawled out, knowing if I didn't relieve myself now, I wouldn't have a chance again for a long time. The sun was just beginning to break over the horizon as I slipped into the shelter of some nearby bushes, assuring what little privacy I could for my morning ritual. I had forgotten what it was like back home.
Plumbing.
God, I missed it.
Toilets. Showers. A hot bath.
I missed all the things from back home.
A steak.
Potatoes that weren't powdered.
Eggs. Real honest to goodness eggs.
Bacon.
And not soup. I was sick of soup.
But hot water. Damn I missed fresh hot water.
I was bent over my helmet daydreaming of a hot bath, peeling off my jacket so that I could wash the dirt away when it happened.
Eerie quiet was broken by a noise so loud I couldn't think from the concussion of it.
Thrown onto my stomach, I felt the ground shake under me; felt bits of debris hit me forcefully from behind. On my hands and knees I crawled towards the foxhole, my eyes burning from the dirt and gunpowder making it difficult to make out in the haze.
Tipton sat awkwardly beside our foxhole, his eyes wide and mouth open in what looked like a scream, but I couldn't hear anything for the ringing in my ears. He blinked and his mouth moved, his eyes growing wider as he reached for me, grabbing at me in desperation. His mouth moved again, the veins in his neck straining so I knew he must have been screaming.
I couldn't hear. I blinked, thinking that would help me to hear and felt the bits of dirt mix in with the moisture in my eyes.
I struggled to stand, trying to help pull the Lieutenant up as I did so. He wouldn't move though, too heavy. His hand tightened in my shirt, gripping hard and tugging, threatening to pull me down again.
Into the foxhole.
Probably safer.
Why hadn't I thought of that?
The ground shook again. Everything burst apart around me in a spray of dirt and debris.
Tipton's hand tore away from me as I flew backward; ripping away at my shirt he had clung so hard. The cold air of the morning was lost on my naked skin as the heat of the explosion washed past me in a suffocating wave.
Pain rocketed through my bad leg and up through my spine when I landed. I was blinded for a moment from all the dirt. I scrambled on the ground, knowing somewhere close my helmet had been there.
My gun.
Need my gun.
I felt the helmet first and put it on in a rush, trying to find my gun in the debris. But my eyes were burning from the heat and the dirt and the acrid smell of burning.
It was then that my hands came back wet. I wiped at my eyes, thinking it was the water that had spilled from my helmet, but the more I wiped away the harder it was to see.
Everything was murky brown and red.
I tried to cry out, felt it in my burning throat, but I couldn't hear. Blinking hard I felt bits of metal in the ground. I grabbed at it and prayed it was my gun.
Needed to get in the hole.
My lips tasted like blood.
I must have been hit.
Was I bleeding?
My body was numb.
"Lieutenant!" I screamed.
I think. No sound.
Crawling through broken twigs and mud.
Where was the hole?
Shelter. Need shelter.
On my hands and knees, fingers cutting into the small pieces of metal I held in my hand, finding the chain.
My tags?
When did they come off? Felt at my bare chest and winced at the pain there. But no metal. No chain.
The blast must have blown them off of me.
I slipped them into my pants, too frantic to put them on and dragged myself towards what I thought was the hole for cover.
And found a leg. I patted it to see if the Lieutenant was beside me.
Couldn't find the rest of him.
Found the mud was thick.
Where was the goddamn hole?
Had to find cover. My gun.
My jacket.
My jacket. Letters. Bella.
Bella's letters.
Screaming at the top of my lungs.
Where is it!
And the exploding flash of light, too brilliant in my clogged eyes.
And I was thrown.
Almost felt like being airborne that first night. Weightless and helpless.
Except I knew. No chute.
Too close to the ground.
Velocity without a properly inflated chute would cause for a hard landing.
Roll, soldier. Roll and…
White hot flashing pain. Crashing. Tumbling. Impact.
Bel-
~~oo~~
AN: Digging my own foxhole as quickly as I can.
Now you all knew it would come to something like this… But as I promised the gals over in the FB foxhole- Edward will have all his limbs intact. And I won't mess with the face…..much. You explain the crooked smile! Smirk
Happy to answer questions as you have them…
Short history time here… Panzers- Panzers were the German tanks in WW2- German technology was amazingly advanced and the Panzer tanks were hardy machines. Germans knew how to build their machinery and it wasn't just Mercedes Benz… Many labor camps (outfitted with forced labor and able bodies from the concentration camps) manufactured these machines of war- the missiles, the bullets, the guns, the tanks. Every bit of blood sweat and tears went into German engineering for war. Hitler's engineers worked tirelessly for new innovations to beat their enemy. If you got hit with a panzer shell, chances are you didn't come away from it. They packed a punch.
But what Hitler and his Generals were starting to realize- especially with Bastogne and the Battle of the Bulge- was that the Allied forces were a hardy bunch. Those men from the 101st especially. They'd take it and take it and take it, and still come out fighting…
I this may be the last EPOV. He's whispering to me to do one more… we'll see. He can be so damn insistent!
I'll have another chapter in a few days.
Hang in there folks… say it with me now- HEA… HEA….HEA…
MWAH!
steph
