Claire was on her daily rounds. She was in the new arrivals and examined every single chart. She tucked the bed sheets and did things normal nurses do. She was so used to the constant movement that came from being in the battlefield. This was a drastic change.

She came up to a soldier whose spine had been damaged in an explosion and now he was paralyzed from the waist down. He had dark hair and equally dark brown eyes. Despite the cold and distant look in his eyes, Claire saw a youthful glow. Suddenly the soldier was replaced by Alexander Melville lying on the bed with his middle spewing out blood. He looked at her dead in the eye.

Why didn't you save me? He asked.

I'm sorry.

Claire gripped the clipboard in her hand and stood there stiffly. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. She felt tears pricking her eyes, the air around her got cold. She could hear bombs going off in the distance.

"Nurse Rousseau?"

Claire blinked and suddenly Melville was gone, replaced by the soldier in the bed. She looked over to see Nurse McCain's concerned gaze.

"Is there something I can help you with, Nurse McCain?" Claire asked, keeping her emotions at bay.

"Um… Private Reynolds is reluctant to try the walker. Veronica's been trying to coax him but he won't," she explained.

"I'll be right there," she said before casting one final look at the soldier in the bed.

Her ghosts always found a way to come and haunt her. Dick once told her that in order to be a leader, occasionally there were tough calls to be made. Claire understood that, and in the time she'd made them. But now, when she was away from the fray, she thought about her mistakes. She'd made plenty but Melville was her biggest. She wondered if Dick or Ron felt this way.

Her guilt over his death was enough to swallow her whole. It was her fault he was dead. She thought about his family and about the letter she sent them. She remembered thinking it was enough, but she knew it wasn't.


St. Alban's Military Hospital, Long Island – July 30th 1945

"And she looks at the GI right in the eye and says: 'If you don't take your hand off my ass right this instant, I'll have no choice but to remove it myself… and believe me, it won't be pretty.' Of course the idiot doesn't do it so Tommy elbows him in the nose and breaks it," Leckie recounted as they walked down the hallway. He was making great progress. He was still using a walker but at least he was out of the chair.

Claire laughed at the story. She was lucky, she'd gotten plenty of cat-calls, some groping, but never anything like that. It probably helped that she rarely went anywhere without her men, and perhaps it helped that she kept her hair short. She blended in easier.

"What about you?" He asked her after he finished the story.

"What about me?" She replied confused.

"What's your story?" He specified.

Claire shrugged and continued to help him walk. "There's not much… I went to war, saw some things, and now I'm back."

She thought back to that piece of paper on the Colonel's desk.

"I get it… You don't need to give specifics," he assured. "How'd you get the scars?"

She had the two visible ones on her face, her other three were hidden, though the one on her hairline was barely large enough to show.

"One in France, one in Belgium," she said briefly.

Quinn's insides scattered across the ground as Claire was blown back.

Skip's terrified brown eyes from his foxhole.

"RU –" And then… nothing.

She shook away her memories.

"Did Eleanor have family?" She asked.

Leckie seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Uh… no… she was raised at an orphanage."

Just as she'd thought.

"And the other one? You said Eleanor met her at Guadalcanal," Claire recalled this bit from an earlier conversation.

"Florence? I'm not sure... Why?" Leckie asked.

"No reason."

She was right. What she told Eugene that day in Bastogne, about why she was chosen was true. But she didn't think the war department realized that they would be mourned by their friends. Leckie's recollection of Eleanor proved that. There would always be people who knew, regardless of how much they tried to silence her. It was a comforting thought.

"You got family?" He asked.

She shook her head.

Claire looked down at her watch. She didn't have much time today. They walked back towards his ward.

"Paperwork calling?" Leckie asked.

"I have some work to do before I head off for a few days," she explained.

Claire was given a week long furlough. She thought maybe it was an attempt to make up for screwing her over. She couldn't back out of it.

"You got anything planned?" He asked.

"Making a stop in Chicago for a day and then got a few things to take care of back in New Orleans… after that, nothing" she explained.

"Only a day?" He asked.

"There's something I need to do."

"That's cryptic."

"I have to go. Nurse Reynolds will be here to help you when I'm gone," she explained. "Don't give her too much trouble."

"Me? Never."

Claire bit back a smirk. She had a façade to keep up. To everyone else, she was still the Ice Queen.

"I'll see you when I get back."

"Have fun."

Claire sat behind her desk as Dorothy McCain knocked.

"Nurse McCain, thank you for coming," she said. Dorothy sat in the chair in front of her desk. "I thought we could go over what you'll need to know while I'm gone."

Dorothy was acting head nurse while Claire was on furlough. She was Claire's choice. She explained to her every single detail about the duties Dorothy was undertaking. Of course, she left it in writing, knowing that she would most likely forget. And then, her day was over.

"I have full confidence that you'll be able to handle this, Dorothy."

"I didn't think you knew my first name," she voiced.

"I might keep my distance but that doesn't mean I don't pay attention. I like to separate church and state," Claire explained. It made it easier. She wouldn't have to lie about her story if they didn't talk to her.

"Awfully lonely isn't it?" Dorothy asked.

"Maybe. Have a good week. I'll be back on Friday."


Chicago, Illinois – August 1st 1945

When she left her hotel room, she stood on the side of the road for half an hour before she finally summoned up the courage to hail a taxi.

"Here," she said as the driver pulled up in front of a house with a flag in the front window, a gold star above two black ones. "Thank you."

She paid the driver and started up the walkway. Nervously, she straightened out the skirt of her felt like she was walking with cinderblocks tied to her feet. When she got to the door, Claire hesitated before ringing the doorbell. She looked over again at the flag in the front window, the gold star sticking out like a sore thumb.

This was stupid. She shouldn't have come.

Claire turned to walk away as the door opened. She looked back to see a middle-aged woman with the same brown hair and soft brown eyes she remembered from Bastogne, but she could see the grief etched on the corners.

"Hello?" The woman asked curiously. "Is there something I can help you with, Miss?"

"I..."

"I'm sorry, I've already bought enough warbonds."

"No that isn't why I… I shouldn't have come here," Claire stammered.

"Who are you?" The woman asked.

Claire looked back at the woman, her gaze looked passed the woman and locked on the gold star.

Melville stood there impaled by a beam.

She looked back at the woman, tears springing from her eyes.

"Miss? Are you alright?"

Claire blinked and tried to push back the tears.

"M-My…" She took a deep breath and started up again. "My name is Claire… I knew your son."

Mrs. Melville's hand went to her mouth. "Y-You wrote that letter."

Claire, not trusting the sound of her own voice, nodded.

"I'm sorry I bothered you. I wanted to…"

What did she want? Why exactly had she come here?

"Come inside," Mrs. Melville invited her in. "I have some questions for you."

Claire obliged and followed the woman inside.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Mrs. Melville stated. "Seven… six kids will do that."

The Melville home was cluttered. The walls were covered with pictures. Claire was led into the family room. She saw Mel's military portrait sitting proudly on the mantle with a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart hung up on the frame.

"They awarded it to him for what he did that day."

Claire blinked back her tears.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Why don't you take a seat?" Mrs. Melville said.

Claire nodded and took a seat on the chair parallel to her. Mrs. Melville saw her gaze look past her back to the flag.

"I have two more in the Army," Mrs. Melville stated. "Alexander's brother, John, is in the Navy and his sister, Joanna, is in the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps."

"He mentioned Joanna," Claire stated.

"They were close. Alexander idolized her."

Claire smiled.

"Can I ask… what happened that night?" Mrs. Melville asked.

Claire's smile fell from her lips.

"In your letter… Patrick said you knew. He said you were there. Please… it's all I can think about."

She tried to blink back tears but her it failed miserably.

"I'm sorry," she managed to get out.

"Why are you sorry, dear?" Mrs. Melville questioned.

Because I killed your son.

"It was my fault," Claire tearfully admitted.

And she broke down.

"I never should've… I should've told him to leave… I should've…"

"Slow down," Mrs. Melville told her. She got up from the chair across and sat next to Claire on the couch. She placed one hand comfortingly on her back.

Claire composed herself. And she told her everything. The only detail she spared was the pure brutality of how she found Mel's body. Mrs. Melville retracted the hand from her back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized at the end. "I'm sorry about… everything."

Mrs. Melville stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry."

She had more tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I wish…"

"Please, stop."

This was what she expected.

"I should g…"

"If it's forgiveness you came for…"

"No, that's not…" she drifted off. Why had she come here?

She was crying too. "What happened was not on you."

Claire couldn't find the words.

"I don't pretend to understand why God does the things he does, but I know that it was not your fault," she said. "He admired you. He said so."

Claire looked at her curiously.

"A few days after the telegram came, Alexander's last letter came," she explained. "If forgiveness is what you came for, you have it. I forgive you for what happened that night."

She broke down again.

"Thank you," Claire blubbered. "Thank you."

"And forgive yourself. Let go of that guilt."

Claire wiped her tears.

She couldn't forgive herself, but knowing Melville's mother forgave her alleviated some of the weight she'd been carrying.


New Orleans, Louisiana – August 4th 1945

After leaving Chicaco, Claire took a bus and then a train ride back to New Orleans. She had planned on coming for two days at the most, mostly to figure out if she still had a place to live after this war was over. She wandered around the familiar streets of the French Quarter. It was strange being back. Everything still looked the same. There were still busker acts on every street corner. Homeless people huddled in the corners in their dirty and tattered clothes. It was a hot summer day, making only the smell of urine worst. She passed apothecary and psychic boutiques. New Orleans was famous for it's superstitions.

"You've seen great darkness haven't you?"

Claire turned around to see an old woman sitting in front of a table wearing a dark purple robe and a matching cap with a long feather sticking out. She had long bony fingers with red painted nails that resembled talons. Her lips were red to match and her wrinkled face painted with makeup. A cheesy crystal ball sat on the table with a deck of tarot cards and some other 'mystical charms'. She resembled every psychic in New Orleans.

"Excuse me?"

"I see it around you… a dark cloud," the woman explained in an exagerrated Cajun accent. "Come, come, Madam LaChance will read your fortune."

"No offence lady, but I've lived in New Orleans long enough to know that you sit there all day and wait for tourists to come by so you can make a quick buck while telling some John or Jane vague predictions," she snapped.

"The war has taken a great deal from you," she vaguely deduced causing Claire to laugh.

"The war's taken a lot from everyone."

She scoffed and then started walking away.

"Skepticism is an unflattering quality on a lady," the psychic yelled after her.

"Yeah, so's being a fraud," Claire loudly replied.

New Orleans hadn't changed at all. But she had.

Claire walked all the way to her old apartment building. As it turned out, her apartment had indeed been rented out. Most of Claire's belongings were being kept in storage with those of the other women. She wasn't the only girl in her building who joined the Army Nurse Corps. They truly had no shame in renting out their apartments right away. Claire collected her box of things, a box filled with her pictures, jewelry, James' flag, and the few dresses she owned and left. She had no idea where she was going to store it until her time in the army was over. Though with so few possessions, she wondered if she would have to.

She checked into a nearby hotel for the night. When the war was over, she would have no home to go back to. It was disheartening but she should've expected it. Tomorrow, she would leave New Orleans and she wasn't sure where she would go next. Bill had suggested last week that she head to Miami beach. Joe, of course, agreed with him.

"Too pale, Russ, get some sun," Joe told her.

She considered going. Maybe the beach would do her some good, the warm sand between her toes, the waves hitting the shores. Last time she was on a beach had been in Brighton with Malarkey, Buck, and Skip. It felt like an eternity ago.

Claire huffed and laid down on her bed, her uniform half taken off. She wished Eugene was here. She wished this war could be over and they would be able to start… start what exactly? She'd told him she loved him. She had yet to receive his response, though she knew that mail would take some time. What would happen when he gets back? What were they supposed to do? Claire always had a vision for her life, but that got all screwed up the day Pearl Harbor was bombed. Now, she wasn't sure what to do, and that terrified her. She hated leaving life to chance. She didn't know her next move. Hell, she didn't even know what she was going to do tomorrow.

Maybe Manhattan, actually see the Statue of Liberty? She could go see a show. Oklahoma was still on Broadway. Maybe spot Frank Sinatra at a bar. She could go to the city that never sleeps and try to do the one thing she hadn't allowed herself to do since coming back, have fun. Do anything, really. Wasn't that the whole point of this stupid leave?

She would go to Manhattan, it was decided. But before, she had one more stop to make.


Breaux Bridge, Louisiana – August 6th 1945

Claire made one more stop before she would take the train back to New York. She decided to spend the remainder of her leave in Manhattan.

Her hometown hadn't changed in the least since she'd left six years ago. She wasn't going to spend the night here. She never did anymore. In fact, she was going to catch the last train from Lafayette back. She wasn't intending to come here, but she felt like she needed to. Claire stopped at the local flower shop. Mme. Lemay still ran the shop. She stood behind the counter.

"Is that Claire Rousseau I see?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yes it is," she replied. "Hello, Madame Lemay."

"My goodness, look at how you've grown!" Mme. Lemay admired. "You look so much like your mother. How mature you look in that uniform."

"Thank you," she said.

"I haven't seen you in years," Mme. Lemay pointed out.

Not since her son broke her heart.

"Can I get three roses?"

"Yes, yes, of course…" she said and left the counter to get the roses from a vase. "So, where have you been? Last I heard you were a nurse in New Orleans. Did you join the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps?" Claire forgot how nosy everyone in this town was.

"No. I'm working at a military hospital in Long Island," she explained. "I'm just here for a couple of hours before I head back. My leave is ending soon."

"An army nurse?" Mme. Lemay asked impressed. "How proud your parents would be. I know how proud I am of my Phillip."

Phillip, her former boyfriend. He'd been in the war too. Of course he had.

"He was with the tank battalion… wounded in Germany," she explained. "He should be released from the hospital soon."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Claire replied sincerely. "I know things didn't end well between Phillip and I, but he's a decent man."

"Phillip had a lot of growing up to do when you were together. After you left for school, he turned over a new leaf. He's married now to Mae White," she explained. Claire remembered Mae. She was sweet. Not the kind of person she expected Phillip Lemay to end up with. "After James… most of our boys didn't wait to be drafted, they enlisted. Phillip didn't wait. He admired your brother greatly."

Claire almost laughed. Phillip and James never got along, especially towards the end of their relationship. She had a distinct memory of James fighting Phillip after Claire found out he'd been cheating on her.

"Your brother… he was well loved here."

She already knew that. Claire swallowed the lump in her throat.

"How much?" She asked in a tight voice.

"Oh no… What you nurses do can never be repaid, this is the least I can do."

"Thank you, Madame Lemay," she said. "Would you give Phillip my best?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Don't be a stranger. Come back any time. I know everyone'd love to see you."

Claire nodded, took the roses and then walked out of the shop. She walked the familiar path to the cemetery. Her family's graves were all next to each other. Her parents were buried together, of course, and James's cross was next to theirs. His body was still trapped in the USS Arizona. She tried not to think about that.

She lay two roses in front of her parents graves. She stood at the front of James's cross. Someone had clearly been taking care of it. She lay the rose down on the grass in front of the cross and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I know it's been a while since I've been here," she spoke. "I've been… away. I'm still away… technically."

This was stupid.

"I don't know if you can hear me… I'm not sure I have it in me enough to believe in Heaven or God now, but if you are there, if you are watching over me, I hope that what I've done has made you all proud," she spoke to the stone. "I miss you every day."

She hadn't intended to stay any longer. She simply wanted to lay the roses down and leave. She had to catch her train.

"Claire?" The same voice she'd heard in Mourmelon almost a year ago.

She looked up at the sky.

"Really?" She asked James. "Why is it that you keep popping up?"

She turned around to see Henry standing there in brown slacks and a white button down. He walked with a cane.

"I live here," he responded.

"What happened to you?" She asked.

"Artillery shell hit a bit too close, sent me flying back and smashed through a window," he explained. "I've only been home a few weeks."

"I'm glad you're okay," she told him.

"I come by every day," he said. "I make sure his stone is clean… I know last time you saw me didn't end well. I get it, I caught you off guard. I just... I'm sorry Claire. I'm sorry about what happened."

She took a deep breath. "Eugene told me what you did."

Henry tensed up.

"Why did you do it?" She asked.

"For you," he replied.

Claire scoffed.

"You didn't do it for me," she told him harshly. "You did it for you. Do you have any idea what that was like? I'd made my peace with James's death! I was getting over it. But then I found out that what I thought happened was a lie. It was like losing him all over again."

"You're right," he told her. "I was selfish. I understand if you hate me."

Claire pursed her lips. After the camp she didn't hate anyone anymore. She could see the wait he carried on his shoulders. Claire knew how she could give him some solace; the same way Mrs. Melville did.

"I forgive you," she said, "for what happened that day."

A smile spread across Henry's face.

"How long are you in town for? I know ma would love to see you. Could you stay…"

She had to cut him off.

"Henry, I can't see you anymore," she admitted.

"B-But… you said…"

"I know, and I do forgive you… but… I can't look at you and not see him. And it's a constant reminder that you're here and he isn't."

She felt the traitorous tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm glad that you made it through the war. I am… but I can't keep being reminded. I'm sorry, Henry. I wish you a long life full of joy," she told him. "Goodbye."

She walked passed him. Maybe it was cruel what she did, but it was what she needed to do. She was no Mrs. Melville. She forgave, but she couldn't forget. Not as long as he was in her life.

"Claire, wait," he pleaded. "Please… don't do this."

"I have to catch my train."

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked.

"Do what he would want you to do, Henry. Live your life because he doesn't get to," Claire told him before finally walking away.


St. Alban's Hospital, Long Island New York - August 10th 1945

Claire walked from her room to her office. It was her first day back from her leave. Her trip to Manhattan had been nice. She ended up going to see Oklahoma. But her nights alone in her motel room reminded her that she really didn't like going on leave by herself anymore.

The air was buzzing about the bombs that had obliterated two Japanese cities. One dropped on the 6th and the other dropped yesterday. No one had ever seen anything like it before. Two whole cities of people. Hadn't there been enough innocent dead? She thought about all the civilian casualties of war. She never ceased to be amazed at the lengths humans will go to destroy each other.

Claire found Dorothy in her office.

"Surrendering to the paperwork yet?" Claire asked when she stepped in the room. "How did this week go?"

"Fine. Ingrid got Corporal Stephens up and moving," she informed. "But besides that, nothing."

"Thank you for handling everything, Dorothy."

"No big deal," Dorothy told her. "Doing your job, I think I get why you separate Church and State as you said."

"Oh?" Claire asked.

"Uh-huh, I don't know everything… but I do know most of us have been together here for years. We're family," she explained. "It's hard coming into that, so I understand."

It wasn't exactly her reasoning, but Claire most definitely appreciated it.

"I think if you'd let your guard down, you'd like us. I think we could be friends," Dorothy continued.

"I should get to work," Claire told her.

"Oh, I left your mail in the top desk drawer," Dorothy informed her.

She got mail?

Dorothy left the room and Claire reclaimed her desk. She opened the drawer and saw there was a letter inside. She held it in her hand, and considered opening it right then and there but she looked at the time and decided to do it later.

Being back around the patients put her at ease. Claire was a nurse through and through. That much she knew.

She finally ended up in Leckie's ward. She spotted him sitting in the wheelchair while talking to Corporal Coppola in the bed next to him. He smiled at her.

"You're back," he said.

"So it seems," she replied. "Hope you didn't miss me too much while I was gone."

"Nurse Haskill isn't as good a conversationalist as you are. How was it?"

Claire thought about it for a moment. "Enlightening."

"Not going to elaborate?" He asked.

"I just came by to check in. I have a lovely stack of paperwork waiting for me in my office. We'll pick it back up tomorrow," she added. He didn't press her for more information.

"Welcome back Nurse Rousseau."

She spent the rest of her afternoon buried in paperwork. When she craved a mental break, Claire pulled the letter out of her pocket. She opened it and read every word. It was from Eugene. Even if he hadn't signed his name at the bottom she would've known.

He spent the first half updating her on what was happening with her boys, which she was grateful for as she hadn't heard from them in a while. Apparently, Malarkey was transferred to Paris to be a consultant for an air exhibition, and Lip was transferred to Battalion HQ.

Then, she saw it. Those three words written towards the bottom of the page. She smiled at them, her fears and doubts in her mind about him were gone the moment she read the words 'I love you.'

She hated not being there with him. He was stuck, constantly waiting for a jump that may or may not happen. It was an endless purgatory and she wished she could be there with him. Or better yet, she wished he was back here with her. He wanted to get married, he'd said so in the letter. When he was back and when they were both released from the army, they would start a life together.

What if he doesn't make it back?

She couldn't think like that. He would come back. He promised her.

For the first time in a long time, Claire felt completely and utterly helpless. It was like being in that hospital in England. She was completely useless to help them. She wanted Eugene back here where it's safe. Or she wanted to be in the danger with him so she could keep him safe.

Claire tucked the letter back in her pocket and started to work again. He would make it back. She had to keep telling herself that.

"Look at you go," Claire complimented as Leckie walked with cane for the first time. "You'll be out of here in no time."

"Can we take a break?" Leckie asked. She was pushing him more now because she knew he could handle it.

Claire helped Leckie over to a nearby bench. He was cringing in pain.

"I can get a chair and we can wheel you back," she offered.

"No, it's okay. Can we just… sit for a while?" He requested.

"Of course," she agreed.

"What was it like jumping out of the plane?" He asked.

Claire stiffened.

"C'mon, I told you everything about what happened to me… you gotta give me something," he pleaded.

"You haven't told me everything," she retorted. He still hadn't told her about Pelelieu.

Leckie stayed quiet for a while. Claire was about to call it a day when Leckie finally opened his mouth.

"It was hot… one-hundred-fifteen degrees hot. We didn't have any water. Chuckler was missing and Hoosier got hit…" he started in a quiet voice.

Claire listened intently as he told the story of that day. She thought knowing what happened would make it easier somehow, but it didn't. Hearing every grim detail made it all the more real that this woman she'd gotten to know, not only through letters but through Leckie's stories, was gone.

By the end, she could see the tears in his eyes. They stayed quiet for a long time before Claire finally said something.

"Have you ever been on a really big roller coaster?" Claire asked. Leckie looked at her curiously. She had to give him something. "That moment when you go over the big dip and drop… all of a sudden it sort of feels like you're flying? That's kind of what it's like to jump out of a plane. For a few seconds, you're freefalling, and it's the most terrifying but incredible feeling in the world. When I'd drop, it felt like I was free."

Leckie urged her to continue.

She thought about that paper on the Colonel's desk… but Leckie already knew who she was. Surely, he was an exception.

"At least, that's how it felt in training, or when no one was shooting at you," she continued. "Dropping into Normandy, not so much. It was our 'baptism into battle'. I remember the plane ride there. For two hours, all you could hear were the engines, and then, it was like the sky was exploding. It was like everything was on fire... I was last out, guy in my stick got hit, he lived. But we were going too fast. I had this huge bag tied to my leg full of supplies and the shock of the fall ripped it right off.

"Around me, guys were getting shot and killed still in the air. I couldn't do anything but pray that I would make it to the ground. I landed in a river. I can still taste the water. I cut myself out, lost most of my supplies, and swam to safety. Well, as safe as you can be in occupied France."

Normandy was Hell. She hadn't even gotten to Carentan or the man she killed. Nor had she talked about Holland or Belgium or Germany. How would she ever bring herself to talk about Bastogne or Lansberg?

"The drop into Holland was a lot better… but that's for another day," she told him. "I have to get to work. I do have other patients." In fact, she had an entire list of patients that needed a little pushing. She wanted to interact more with the patients. She had Dorothy make her a list while she was on leave. "Think you can move?"

"Mhm," he replied.

She helped him up and they slowly walked back to his ward.

"It's good that you're getting out of that office," he told her. "You look happier when you're in the wards. Even if you try to look like you're not."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm not hiding anything?" She suggested. She'd been at a loss since arriving here. She couldn't find the love for her job she had before.

"Pfft," he scoffed. "I see it in your eyes, Nurse Rousseau, you live for this shit. That's where you and Elle differ. She didn't want to be a nurse, she ended up there. You, it's who you are, and you're great at it."

She smiled at him.

"Thank you, for telling me about Pelelieu," she told him. "And… I'm sorry that you lost her."

"Thank you for telling me about Normandy… to be honest, I didn't give a shit about the war in Europe."

"To be honest, I didn't really give a shit about the Pacific. All that mattered to me was keeping my boys safe and alive," she countered. "We all had our own wars to fight."

"Still fighting," he corrected.

"Still fighting," she agreed.


I hope you liked this chapter! Just so you know, the form Claire had to sign is something I got from an actual historical thing. When the attack on Pearl Harbor happened, at the same time the Japanese attacked other US army bases in Guam, Wake, Midway and The Philippine Islands. In the Phillippine's over 60 nurses were taken as POWs for three years. They endured starvation, and terrible brutality from the Japanese. However, every single one of them made it out alive. But, upon their return home, they had to sign confidentiality forms which meant they were not allowed to talk about what happened to them because they would lose army benefits.

These women were heroes and we cannot let their story be forgotten.

Also, the title of this chapter is reference to a song called When We Were Soldiers. It's been covered by a number of people. I have the Trocadero version. It's beautiful and haunting.

Thank you to all those who reviewed. Let me know what you thought of the chapter.