Amazing Beta's: Atman, Laura001, and FandomlyCroft all gave their invaluable time to making this chapter what it is. All the thanks and love to them.

Last Time: Easy Company begins preparing to go to the Pacific even as they enjoy the spoils of victory.

"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged." - Samuel Johnson

Now: Trouble rouses Easy Company in the night.


-Chapter 54-

Eve snapped awake.

Someone was screaming for a medic.

She was out of bed and on her feet immediately, recognizing the tone in his voice, but it had no business here in Austria, not now that the fighting was over.

Someone was dying.

She burst from her room and met Captain Speirs and Doc Roe in the hallway as they converged on two privates hauling a limp body between them. She noticed the dripping red obscuring his facial features and could not even recognize her friend until she heard one of them say, "It's Sergeant Grant!"

Eve and Speirs immediately took over for the frightened replacements, ducking under Grant's shoulders to replace them while Roe darted behind them to get a better look at the wound.

"Get a stretcher," Eve barked at one of the now gawking privates. His panic-stricken face smoothed into a confident nod now that he had a task to occupy himself with.

There was so much blood.

"We need a surgeon," Roe told Speirs.

Eve was busy looking at the man Speirs had replaced, the only witness. "Did you see it?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a swallow. "He was a friendly, an American."

Eve froze for a half a beat as her body registered the shock that someone – a goddamn American for Christ's sake – had shot Grant in the head.

Whoever he was, he was a dead man walking as far as she was concerned.

"We've gotta get him to the aid station," said Roe, having finished tying a quick bandage to the wound with Captain Speirs's assistance.

They moved Grant onto the stretcher the Private had just returned with, practice giving their movements speed and efficiency. Eve wasn't really sure why the stretcher had been in the CP – it couldn't have been anywhere else for the kid to have come back with it so fast – but she'd never been more thankful for misplaced equipment.

Roe started a plasma drip as soon as Grant was horizontal. Finished, he held the bottle aloft and nodded. It was safe to move the man now.

"Don't go anywhere," she ordered, pinning each witness to the spot as she lifted her portion of Grant's stretcher easily, adrenaline giving her strength she wouldn't normally have. She didn't have time to make sure they obeyed.

They used the jeep the replacement's had, strapping the stretcher to the nose and peeling rubber off the tires as they covered the relatively short distance to the warehouse that had been acting as Second Battalion's aid station.

The three made their way inside and set Grant's stretcher on a table.

"Buchanan!" barked Speirs, "Go wake the surgeon."

Eve took off immediately, not even registering Speirs's aggressive tone beyond the worry she could hear underneath.

The air burned her lungs as she ran faster than she ever had before. Time was of the essence. The longer Grant's head wound went untreated, the more likely the brain damage would be irreversible.

She hit the door to the surgeon's quarters with a bang and began pounding on it with all her might. She'd wake the entire damn street if she had to.

"What!" the man barked, opening the door with a snap. He was dressed, but he'd obviously fallen asleep in his clothes. He was trying to scrub sleep out of his eyes.

"Sergeant Grant's been shot, he's at the aid station," she informed him as she tugged him outside by his collar.

Understanding gave him back some dexterity. It took the man no time at all to get his feet under him – a feat that reluctantly impressed Eve – as he followed her at a run.

When they slid into the warehouse come aid station, the plasma drip had already turned red with Grant's blood. Captain Speirs was holding the man's hand. It was the most intimate thing she'd ever witnessed him doing, but he didn't stop.

The terrifying legend of Ronald Speirs had well and truly been put to rest. The men might respect the hell out of him, but they no longer feared that he would shoot them for infractions like drinking, or taking an offered cigarette. Speirs's hands interlocked fingers with Grant's, stroking the back of his hand, letting the man know, in the only way he could, that he was not alone was the final proof of that.

Eve stood out of the way as the surgeon flipped on the light by the table, illuminating the wound as he peeled back Roe's careful bandage.

"Jesus," the surgeon hissed, breaking the tense silence. A cigarette he must've lit while she wasn't paying any attention was dangling between his teeth.

God help the man if he got ash in Grant's wound.

"What?" Speirs demanded softly.

The surgeon looked up, something close to pity in his eyes. "He's not gonna make it," he announced, facing Roe. Roe, who understood how difficult the admission was, who after bearing witness to Bastogne, surely knew the odds.

"You can't operate on him?" asked the Cajun softly, disbelief in his voice.

"Not me," he said.

Eve glared at him, arms crossed protectively in front of her, trying to ward off the horror of yet another one of her friends dying, in agony, for no fucking reason. The war was over. Over for Christ's sake.

"You'd need a brain surgeon," he continued, "and even if you had one, I don't think there's any hope." He rubbed at his eyes and moved away, giving up.

Roe's head slumped in denial. Eve closed her eyes in pain.

It was Speirs who rallied, refusing to accept defeat, especially in a fight as important as this.

He sucked in a breath and pointed a finger at Eve. "You find the shooter. I want him alive."

Eve nodded, fire rekindled. Found was a given. Easy Company would hunt Grant's shooter to the ends of the earth. Uninjured, definitely not, but alive she could do.

"Come on," Speirs said moving quickly to the head of the stretcher. "Help me," he demanded. Eve moved just as quickly to the bottom rungs, having anticipated his intention the moment he'd moved. They needed to get Grant back on the jeep.

"What are you doing?" the surgeon questioned.

"We're gonna go find a brain surgeon!" Speirs said, moving quickly.

Roe rounded the table and followed, trying to keep the plasma aloft as they ran out the door.

Eve positioned the stretcher on the hood, and squeezed Grant's hand, sending off a prayer as she got out of the way. Speirs jumped behind the wheel and within seconds, they were off, Roe still hovering like a guardian angel over the man strapped to the hood, holding the plasma that was Grant's lifeline like a beacon of hope.

She watched them disappear into the distance, the only taillights illuminating the deserted street.

Eve exhaled a sigh, letting all of her fear for Grant go, and inhaled deeply, stoking her rage.

She had troops to rally.

XxX

Eve stormed through the barracks, pounding on doors as she passed, demanding everyone get the fuck out of bed right the fuck now.

"Grant's been shot," she greeted the first irritated face. It only took one telling before men, who seemed to have heard it through the cracks in the walls spilled out of their rooms, ready to go beat the shit out of whoever had hurt their friend. The Toccoa guys were first on their feet, as they always were, and started pulling on their gear, trusting her without needing a word of explanation.

"Hey Lieb," she said, pushing her way between him and Popeye, making her way back up the hallway after pounding on the last door, he slid out of her way quickly, falling into line behind her, avenging valkyrie on their way to war.

"I want a Non-Com guarding each roadblock," she said, hurrying through the barracks. Whoever the bastard was, he had a head start. "And at least two men watching every road out of town. Bull," she picked from the pack of men behind her. She'd never needed to wonder whether or not he was at her back, it was just something she could sense even so long after Holland. "Malark," she said, picking her closest ally, clad only in his undershirt but holding his shirt, jacket, and M1 folded over his arm. "You each take a squad and one of these witnesses on a house to house search."

"Can we shoot this bastard on sight?" asked Malarkey, eager for revenge.

"No," she said, spinning to look as many men in the eye as she could, she knew they were likely to accidentally forget if she didn't make this absolutely clear. "Speirs wants him alive. I want him alive."

Solemn nods met this declaration. Eve glared into a few stubborn eyes before their owners bowed to her orders and nodded their acceptance. She prayed that she hadn't just given an order that wouldn't be followed.

"Where's Grant now?" asked Bull as the men filed past Eve, eager to fulfill their role in bringing the bastard to justice.

"They took him to a Kraut hospital," she said, "see if they could drum up any good doctors." Her voice was skeptical. Bull gave her shoulder a heavy-handed clap and rallied his squad.

Eve felt like she'd just unleashed the hounds on a fox hunt.

Now she just had to wait for them to return with their prey.

XxX

It didn't take them long to find him.

Eve had established a base of operations in the CP, filtering reports from the patrols doggedly searching for the man who'd shot Grant. She didn't turn away anyone willing to help– and there were several men from all over the 506 who came forward to help them run down the bastard who'd shot Grant – but this was Easy Company business, she warned them. Toccoa business. Everyone else should just stay the hell out of their way once they'd found him.

A part of her ached to be a part of the search as well, but she knew that she was far more use here coordinating than she'd be as an extra body in the field.

It took less than three hours before she got word that he'd been found by Bull, Malarkey, and Christenson's squad.

Not bad for the guy having a four hour head start and a jeep full of gas.

When the private was finally dragged before her, he was smiling. Smiling. As though nothing was wrong in his world.

She could smell the drink on him from five feet away. She wondered if he could even feel the black eye she saw rising on his brow.

Eve shot a glare at Malarkey, conveying her displeasure – they all wanted revenge, roughing him before everyone else was recalled seemed unfair – but he met it resolutely, unwilling to be ashamed that the man had acquired a few dents on their way back to the CP.

She supposed she should be grateful that he'd made it back alive at all.

Malarkey yanked on the man's uniform, showing her the insignia on his arm.

He's one of us, she realized. A Screaming Eagle from the 506 had turned traitor and shot her friend in the head.

"Who is this?" she asked, speaking over the insignificant prisoner's head, eyes lingering on the eagle patch on his shoulder.

"Replacement," announced Malarkey. "Item Company."

Suddenly, the betrayal made a horrible kind of sense. After Bastogne, Item had been down to only 25 guys in the whole Company. Most of what was left were replacements come in since then. She could imagine that Item was just one big powder keg, bound to explode sometime. It was this Private's bad luck to have picked an Easy Company man, a Toccoa veteran no less, to explode on. It was his folly, and from the set of Speirs's shoulders as he'd run off to find a surgeon, his doom.

He was never going to get another chance to hurt any more of her friends. She would kill this snake in their den before his poison stole more of her friends from her.

"And the witnesses identified him?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"There is no doubt?" she asked, needing to be sure.

"None," affirmed Christenson.

Eve took a deep breath, not sure what to do with the man now that she had him. A large part of her wanted to hit him until the knot of fear in her chest loosened, until she knew Grant's fate.

One thing she knew with certainty, if Grant died, the replacement would follow.

"He was caught raping an Austrian woman."

Eve's eyes shot to Malarkey, who gave the barest nod. She closed her eyes and tried to compose herself through another tide of rage.

The man was lucky he was still alive at all, she realized, forgiving her men for giving him the black eye he'd deserved.

"Tie him up," she ordered, tilting her head to the room just off the main entry, ironically the same room they'd been showing newsreels of the Pacific a few days ago. "I want a double guard on this piece of shit at all times."

The men nodded. Bull and Christenson, who had the captive replacement firmly secured between them, dragged him into the room.

"Spread the word that he's been found," she ordered. Malarkey picked five men and sent them off. None of them were original Toccoa guys. Those who stayed behind watched Eve, waiting for instructions.

She did not order them to stay away from the prisoner, or try to ensure his safety in any way. Winters once told her never to issue orders she wasn't sure would be followed. She'd taken the advice to heart.

He deserves it, a tiny voice in her heart protested. He deserves it for shooting Grant, for killing my friend.

"Speirs will come here when he has news," she reminded them. "He'll want to talk to the bastard. Keep him alive until then. Luz, you have the first watch on the door. I am going to get a deck of cards before I join you. It's going to be a long night."

The soldiers glanced at her, but were at least smart enough to wait until her back was turned to join Bull and Christenson in the room with the prisoner. And if, as she walked by the door, she heard a yelp of pain, well she imagined the man had just fallen down somehow while tied to the chair and left them to it.

Hours later, Eve was still beating Luz at cards, but couldn't remember what game they were playing for the life of her. She could barely focus, ears keen on the sounds of the beating from just beyond the door, trying to gauge how much of the pummeling the man would be able to withstand.

She just prayed that they didn't take it too far. A voice in the back of her mind nagged that she should go stop it before it got worse. Another voice nagged her to go join them, to hit him until he understood what pain was. She squashed it all and remained firmly in her seat.

She couldn't go in there. Couldn't be caught doing something so against the rules despite how much she wanted to. Another part of her was revolted. It was a beating, nothing else, not revenge or justice. And she should stop it – stop the guys from losing even this bit of themselves – but she couldn't.

No one would ever convince her that the man wasn't getting exactly what he deserved. The witnesses had further described the scene they'd found. The Private had shot two of his fellows and a British Major before turning his gun on Grant and then going off to rape someone.

He had to be taught a lesson.

It was some kind of cosmic joke that Grant had survived a year of the bloodiest combat in history, only to be shot in the head during peacetime. By his own side, too, for God's sake.

She prayed Grant was still alive, but the knot in her gut told her otherwise. She'd seen far too many men die from far less severe wounds. That shithead had shot Grant to kill him, and she'd never forgive him for that.

"I don't know who's taking the bigger beating, me or him," joked Luz. She could tell he was worried.

Sure she was winning, but she wasn't wiping the floor with him, and she'd just misplayed. Eve never misplayed at cards. He'd actually managed to win the hand.

"Wanna play a different game?" he proposed, half distracted by a particularly loud howl from beyond the door.

Eve gave him an uncomfortable grin and shook her head. "No, same game," she said. "Just deal."

XxX

Luz watched Eve, taking in the steel in her spine and the ice in her eyes, and almost decided to go in and join in on the beating himself, but he didn't know if he could do it – if he could follow through in good conscience and not take it too far. He knew he could go in there if he asked. Eve would let him go into that room without sanction or protest.

But she'd asked him to guard the door.

Luz slapped the cards together in a rough approximation of a shuffle, getting as much noise out of the cards as he could to drown out the slamming of fists and his own indecision.

Eve shot the room a quick look at a particularly loud groan of pain and increasing volume from the guys egging the hitter on. Stoically, she grabbed her cards off the table as he passed them to her, and started organizing her hand.

"You all right?" she asked while Luz deliberated over his hand.

"Yeah, I'm all right," he shot back, offended.

"Do you want to go in there and join them?" she asked, uncanny in her dead on assumption of what was eating him.

He thought about it and decided – "No." He felt ashamed. Like he was letting Grant down by not taking revenge on his killer. "Do you?"

Eve played a card, and did not answer. "I should go put a stop to it, before they kill him. I would if I thought they'd be willing to listen."

"They'd listen to you, Ev," Luz declared.

She looked at him. "Perhaps. But perhaps I'd just end up joining them instead."

Before they could continue the argument, the door to the parlor opened with a bang. There stood Speirs, an avenging angel coming to sow his wrath, pistol drawn at his side. "Where is he?" he growled.

Eve was on her feet, instinctively placing herself between Speirs and his goal. The finely honed control she'd always admired him for was completely absent. He crossed the room in three quick strides, and Eve wondered for a moment if he was going to turn his gun on her.

She wasn't going to let him in that room like this. Not when he was too angry to think about what he was doing.

"How's Grant?" asked Luz, unable to contain himself. "Is he okay?"

"WHERE IS HE?" Speirs screamed.

Speirs looked into her eyes, something close to satisfaction in them as he took in the sounds of the men wailing on the shooter. She could see his rage, bubbling over, but also his iron control.

Satisfied, Eve nodded to the sealed room, where the sounds had dulled, and got out of his way.

Speirs burst into the room, his demanding presence so powerful that it sliced through the overwhelming rage clouding the room. The mob her friends had become quelled in the wake of his stare. This man commanded their respect.

They drew back from the pariah, unashamed of themselves, and waited for Speirs to pass judgment on the villain.

"This him?" Speirs demanded.

"That's him alright," confirmed Bull. "Replacement, I Company."

Eve, who'd followed Speirs to the door, winced at the rage her captain suddenly exuded.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Speirs, his voice all the more deadly for its calm.

The replacement struggled to breathe through the blood clogging his throat, still gushing from a badly broken nose, struggled to lie and deny his crime. "What weapon?" he asked, defiantly.

Speirs pistol-whipped him right across the jaw before Eve even saw him move.

"When you talk to an officer, you say 'sir'," Speirs instructed, voice as sharp as a blade.

No one moved. Eve could scarcely breathe. Speirs was going to kill the man, right here, right now, and none of them were going to stop him.

The cocking of the gun rang throughout the room, the only sound other than the struggled breath of the replacement. Eve was certain men miles away could hear it; it resonated so loud in her soul. Her heart sank, certain that Grant was dead, that they'd been too late in getting to the surgeon.

Speirs took aim. Gun level with the Replacement's nose, Speirs let the man feel the impending doom of his own death.

Eve saw Malarkey close his eyes in resignation – unwilling to bear witness to more death, and yet unwilling to be the voice to speak up against it because it was so deserved. Liebgott, by contrast, kept his eyes wide open, willing to face the man's death.

Eve watched Speirs.

Speirs was the judge, jury, and executioner for Easy. Just as his word was law in combat, too would they accept it in this matter. If Speirs pulled the trigger, no one here would sanction him for it, or breathe a word about it after.

She wondered if this was the moment she'd see him snap. If he'd lose the firmly held control she'd always admired him for and react in the way he was famous for in the rumors that still circulated about him.

Many of the men in the room looked away, unable to watch the kid die, seated and unarmed, beaten, after seeing so many of their friends die. It seemed like such a poor trade, this piece of shit for Grant. Killing him wouldn't bring Grant back, it wouldn't even make her feel better, Eve knew. She looked at the replacement, really seeing for the first time that he was just a kid, a kid who'd done several unforgivable things, but perhaps not a malicious villain.

The longer Speirs waited to pull the trigger, the weaker his resolve became. His hand started to shake minutely as he grappled with the question of whether or not the man deserved to die by his bullet. If he deserved to die here, in front of Easy Company, with no further atonement for his crimes than what they'd managed in just a short working over. Despite the beating, the man was still in fairly good shape. He still had all his teeth and fingernails. He had not been tortured. He'd been beaten.

It was no less than he deserved. But if Speirs handed him over to the MPs, death by firing squad awaited the man. No less could be done for an American private who'd shot a British major.

Spiers glanced at his hand, willing it to stop shaking and noticed the blood that had got on it. Probably from when he'd struck the man.

He pulled the gun away from the kid's forehead, considering it for a moment before he wiped it on the kid's already bloodied shirt with disgust.

The private gave a sobbing laugh of relief, still just barely too drunk to break down in tears but sobbing nonetheless. Speirs removed his hat and put the safety back on the gun, turning away.

"Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit," he growled as he moved to exit the room.

"Grant's dead?" Eve asked as he left, her lilting voice piercing the stillness of the room, speaking for everyone.

"No," he answered. "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it."

Eve's head fell to her chest as she offered thanks to God. She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and breathed for the first time in five hours, relieved that she would not have another friend to bury when she got home. She knew Speirs had only spared the replacement because Grant had lived and she respected him all the more for his self-restraint.

She watched Speirs tuck his gun away and leave, his figure still tightly wound with unreleased stress.

Bull put a shovel-sized hand on her shoulder as she sagged. She put a hand across her eyes to hide the tears she could feel welling there. When she looked up a moment later, eyes clear, she found the attention of the room was once again on her.

"You heard the man," she said. "Take him to the MPs. Any of them have any questions, send them to me."

With that, she followed Speirs. She would be damned if he was going to be forced to write the report for this as well, but if she wanted to beat him to it, she'd need to get it done tonight.

"Hey, tough guy," said Liebgott somewhere behind her. "On your feet. Come on, move!"

She left them to it, glad it was over.

The next morning, just after dawn, Sink strode into company HQ.

Eve, who had not managed to sleep at all the night before, was in the same chair to meet him that she'd been in to meet Speirs. For the second time she watched a man she greatly admired, storm into the room, rage lining his face.

"Where's Speirs?" he demanded, glaring down at her.

Eve didn't even think about lying. "Up on the second floor, sir."

Sink didn't spare her a second more before he turned and went up the stairs to get the facts from Speirs.

She waited anxiously for the better part of an hour, dreaming up increasingly grave punishments Sink could be raining down on Speirs. But when the Colonel came down, he walked right by her, without saying a word.

It didn't take long for Speirs to come down after Sink left.

"How'd it go?" Eve asked.

"Pretty rough."

"What did he say?"

"He said I should've shot the son of a bitch."

Eve laughed in relief.

It was remarkable that he hadn't. Speirs was not a man who cared about summary action. He did what he felt was right and did it without hesitation or remorse. Maybe there had been doubt in his mind that the man had been the shooter. Eve had been convinced. The men who'd found him and escorted him back to HQ had been convinced. And yet, none of the men in the company had tried to kill him. Every man in that room had killed people before, often with their bare hands, and during that situation, their blood had been up, their anger deep and cold.

And for that matter, Speirs was not the only man who'd had the chance to shoot the coward. Grant had the opportunity in the initial encounter. The men who'd retrieved him could have shot him on the spot. Every single man in the room beating him bloody could've done it while she was sitting outside. She could've done it herself when he was brought before her.

But out of an entire company, all of them armed, not a single one had tried to kill that man. Every last one of them had wanted to, but no one had.

Maybe she wasn't the only one who'd had enough of killing.

Eve was anticipating some kind of fallout, but after Sink's visit there was surprisingly little news about the I Company Replacement. She didn't much care, especially once she got news that Grant had managed to defy the odds and might make a full recovery.

She'd also received a letter from Jackson, who said he was recovering well in an English hospital. He'd already been relieved of duty and was a free man once more. He wrote that he was thinking of traveling to see the Company in Austria soon, maybe even tour Europe a bit before getting on a boat for home.

Eve wrote back, promising to find him a bed if he made it, and filled it with news from the Company.

Luz had taken a page from Guarnere's book and fell off a motorcycle. He hurt his arm, but it wasn't serious. Sergeant Alley got drunk again, and was busted down. Lieutenant Lipton had just left for a furlough to Scotland, and Speirs was leaving for his own furlough to England to visit his wife and baby. Shifty had been on his way home when a drunk driver hit him in a head on collision and he flew from the truck, fracturing his skull and was hospitalized. She briefly outlined the incident with Grant.

"By the way," she wrote, ending the letter. "You can wear your 'Presidential Unit Citation' ribbon and Oak Leaf Cluster on it no matter what outfit you're in. You earned it."

XxX

Eve walked through Easy's deserted HQ, composing the conversation she was planning to have with Speirs in her head.

She'd heard through the grapevine that Speirs was planning to stay with Easy Company when they got drafted to the Pacific. Sink had offered her a commission only hours ago, but she had several concerns about starting over in a different Company. No matter where she was placed, Eve would have to gain the respect of the men she'd be working with all over again. Having an officer who had experience handling situations regarding her gender in direct command of her was the best-case scenario. If she had to start all over, without Speirs's backing, she would probably decline the commission. But if he was willing to keep her with him...

None of that even mattered if the rumors weren't true.

Caught in her own swirling thoughts, Eve didn't even notice Speirs bellowing as she knocked twice on the door perfunctorily and went in.

She stopped short when she realized that she'd interrupted the Captain dressing down Alton More about missing Hitler paraphernalia. He paused to catch his breath and turned his attention to her.

Eve shifted, feeling off balance. She didn't like watching people being reprimanded. It was a common occurrence in the army that she'd gotten used to it, but she didn't think she'd ever like it.

Nervously, she nodded at the Captain, apologetic for interrupting, and relaxed when Speirs responded in kind. She could hear a company outside the open windows counting off in PT drills, jumping jacks, if she wasn't mistaken. She planned to use the noise to tune out whatever else Speirs had to say.

The Captain turned back to More. "I'll be watching you," he said. "You're dismissed." More begrudgingly straightened into attention and saluted the Captain sharply.

"You better not be lying to me!" Speirs snapped at Alton's back as the man left. Eve caught his smirk out of the corner of her eye, all the confirmation that she needed to know that More was absolutely lying to Speirs.

From the way Speirs sat heavily on his desk once the door had closed, he knew it too.

"What?" he said, voice still frustrated even as he turned his full attention on Eve.

"Sir," she said. "I was wondering whether or not you'd made a decision about staying on?"

"Oh?" he said, puzzled. "Yes, I have."

She nodded, but didn't press for what that decision was at the moment, "I was wondering," she said, then reconsidered and changed tactics. "Colonel Sink has offered me a commission, if I decide to stay in the army. I was hoping to get your advice, sir."

"What's the commission?"

"First Lieutenant," she answered with a rueful smile, "I'd be starting at the bottom again."

"You want to stay in the army?" he asked with some skepticism.

Eve sighed. Trust Spiers to cut to the point. "I don't know. I think I'd like to travel around a bit, if we ever get back home, but I've worked too hard to earn a place in the army to squander the chance at a career."

"Sounds to me like you have your answer, then."

"I'm not so sure," she said. "I've got a bit more thinking to do, but –." He waited for her to gather the courage she needed to say: "I was wondering if you'd sponsor me, sir, if I do decide to stick with the Army?"

He was staring at her. Nervous he was about to say no, she began to babble, "I'm going to be starting from scratch no matter what and it'll be nearly impossible for the men to respect me if I don't have a commander who knows I'm capable and will stick up for me. You know me sir and I know you. I don't think I'll ever find a commander I'd rather follow through hell."

He chuckled, disparagingly, "Not even Winters?"

Eve stared at him, wondering if he was teasing her, or testing her.

"Winters is a fantastic combat leader, no doubt about it, but you are the one I've worked with, sir. Frankly, I'd rather it be you." She met his eyes. "If I do decide to stay with the military, and I'm not saying I've decided to do it yet, but if I do, I'd like to follow you, sir, wherever it is you plan to go."

XxX

Speirs stared at Buchanan, somewhat baffled by the respect he'd gained from her. He'd seen this woman constantly struggle in Toccoa, pushed down even by the guys she called friends now, and get back up swinging each time. She'd managed to survive everything the war pushed at her. She'd more than earned her position as First Sergeant. He'd just done his best to do right by her and all the other men of Easy Company. It was humbling to know that through it all, she respected him enough to stick with him, even if, privately, he didn't think she was really planning on staying with the army.

Eve had a lot of political clout now. With the fame she'd accumulated from deciding to stay with the men, rather than bow to public opinion to return home during Bastogne, she'd earned the right in the minds of the brass to make her own way in the Army – as evidenced by Sink offering her a commission in the first place. But he had no doubt that Evelyn Buchanan was capable of doing whatever she desired.

Speirs didn't even need to think about his answer. "You're too valuable an asset to waste, Lieutenant Buchanan," he said, using her new rank deliberately. "If you decide to stay with the Army, I'd welcome the help."

"Thank you, sir," she said with a grin. She gave him a sharp salute before turning to leave.

"Oh," he said, catching her before she left the room, "Would you send Talbert up? I'm thinking of having him take over Grant's platoon."

"I think he'd like that, sir," she said with a smile and strode out the door.

He chuckled as she left. Buchanan never ceased to surprise him.

Unconsciously, his mind drifted back to the letter he'd received from his wife. Her late husband was apparently not as dead as the British Army had claimed he was, and had made his way home as a POW now that the war had ended. From what she described, in a vague way, he was unable to work due to the condition he'd been released in. It was heavily implied that he'd been in a camp similar to Landsberg. Speirs didn't really know what to do about that. But it had made staying in the army a far clearer choice than returning to a tattered life as a civilian. He certainly wouldn't be returning to England any time soon.

He just hoped Buchanan wasn't staying for a similar reason.

-End Chapter-


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