Weeks later, Nora found herself sitting in a dressing room with several other women who chattered happily around her. One of the few things she'd enjoyed about the USO tour so far was the opportunity to be around other women. It had been years since she had been able to make female friends, and she had dearly missed it.

The tour was made up of various talents, from singers, to dance troupes, to comedians and actors. In this flurry of talent and excitement, Nora was often lost, uncertain of her role in the theatrics. The women of the tour, though Nora had trouble relating to them, were nonetheless kind and welcoming. To Nora's surprise, they seemed as fascinated and intimidated by her as she was by them.

Luz hadn't been kidding when he said he sent two letters ahead of her. They had been waiting for her at her first post, and Nora had devoured them immediately to sate the gnawing pit of loneliness that already grew in her stomach. They had brought a smile to her face, as they recounted events that she not only already knew about, but that she had been present for — in one, he went so far as to mention that she was sitting in the room with him as he wrote it.

Ron had since written a couple of letters, and though his form was generally straightforward and formal, there were glimpses of tenderness in them that reminded her of what it felt like to encounter Ronald Speirs in the flesh. Every time she opened them to reread his words and admire the stroke of his handwriting, she remembered the night in Aldbourne when he'd written the letter to Mrs. Meehan for her.

Other letters trickled in from the men, often combined efforts of pages that were passed around so that several men could contribute a line or two. Nora responded promptly to tell them about her new post, particularly the people with whom she now traveled.

Whenever possible, she tried to tuck a couple of autographs from the other performers into the envelope for them to fight over, and she had even sent a couple of photographs of herself dolled up in her victory rolls, dresses, and evening gloves. When she had briefly met Marlene Dietrich, she had run back to her room before a show and scratched a barely legible note to Luz with only the words "Got a penny?", which she sent along with the autographed napkin she'd acquired.

"Nora," one of the women said, pulling a lipstick shade from the caddy on the counter in front of Nora and shoving it into her hands, "we're on in two minutes."

Nora gave the buxom blond a smile and reapplied her lipstick. She had already gone out to speak and make her appearance earlier in the evening, but now she had to go back out for the closing number. At the end of every show, the performers all reassembled on stage to sing a farewell song together. Nora was already notorious for forgetting the motions and the words, but she was learning to fake it and make it look natural.

The men had all promised her that she would adjust, and she was. Slowly but surely, she was adjusting.

Nora tapped her knee anxiously under the table as the radio host next to her chattered in her ear. She tuned into the tapping of her fingers, remembering the morse code she'd learned at Toccoa. She and Skip Muck, who were the top of the class, had spent weeks tapping out messages about the others on the table during mealtime before they were advanced enough to catch on. It drove Perconte nuts — half the time they weren't even spelling out anything of substance, just wanting to ruffle his feathers. Her chest suddenly felt too small for her breath as she remembered Muck and the mischievous look he always seemed to wear. Being removed from Easy was like being removed from the river and placed, instead, with her head held under a faucet. The memories still came, but they were more jarring, and they were largely the difficult ones. Muck and Penkala's death (and its effect on Luz) was one of many.

S, she tapped out on her knee, glancing at the clock. The station was playing a song, and Nora had tuned out the radio host's voice during the break, just wanting the whole thing to be over. She was reminded of the weeks after the patrol, when she'd been forced to speak to all those newspapers and pose for photographs. Media engagements put her just far enough out of her element to be unsettled, and she had seen combat.

As if he had read her thoughts, the radio host zeroed in on her combat experiences when they returned from the break, "So, Nora," he began. Nora itched to correct him - Captain Price - but she refrained, "you were really out there in the muck, in the cold, the whole time?"

"Occasionally, we were able to retreat back to Aldbourne or quarter in some decent places, but yes, wherever the men went, I went."

"In the foxholes?"

"Yes," Nora said, wondering if she needed to define the word wherever for him.

"In the Ardennes?"

Nora nodded, but then, remembering what they told her about verbalizing her answers, she added, "yes."

"That must have been very difficult for you."

"It was difficult for all of us. Very cold; lots of shelling."

"I'm sure," the host said, "It's hard to picture."

"I don't think anyone who wasn't there can really begin to imagine it," Nora said honestly.

"I mean it's hard to picture you there. Out among the shelling and the bullets and the foxholes."

Nora was silent for a moment as she formulated her response, "yes, well, I wasn't wearing a dress and heels like I am now. You can picture me the same way you'd picture anyone else."

Behind the glass of the recording studio, her advisor, Lana, was giving her a signal that Nora knew from experience meant try to be charming, please. Nora plastered on a fake smile and nodded at the man to continue.

"Now, you are the only woman to serve in your entire battalion, correct? What was it like not having any women to socialize with for the last couple of years?"

"Yes," Nora confirmed, "I certainly missed female company, and I've enjoyed making some new friends on the USO tour. But it wasn't as bad as you'd think. I was certainly never lonely. I was lucky to wind up in such an accepting company of upstanding men. Truly."

"I'm sure that helped. And you faced some hard times. Would you say the Ardennes was the hardest part of your tour with Easy Company?"

"Probably," Nora said, "that, and finding the camps."

The man glanced over the sheet of paper in front of him, as if he was looking for this talking point on the itinerary.

"You're referring to the prison camps that were liberated?"

"Yes, at Landsberg. Well, there have been more. But I was in Landsberg."

"What was that like?"

"It was horrific," Nora said, "I'll see those images until the day I die."

"It was that bad?"

"Whatever you're imagining, I can guarantee it was worse."

The man nodded, "it's unbelievable so much could be happening in Germany without the people being aware of it."

Nora pursed her lips, "unbelievable."

"It's terrible. I'm sure the truth will come out soon enough, when we know more about what happened there," he replied.

I can tell you right now. Nora thought wryly.

"Of course, it goes without saying that war involves seeing a lot of terrible things. I'm sure it isn't any different for a woman."

"There was nothing pretty about it, that's for sure."

"And were you ever put in a position where you had to take a life?"

How many people have you killed? The question wasn't unfamiliar to Nora. She'd been asked several times since she started traveling with the USO, mostly by the other performers and assistants. Nora knew that they probably weren't aware of how personal and inappropriate the question was. Still, it put her in a place she didn't like to be.

Black edges were encroaching on her vision. A gunshot rang out, and the man above her flinched, reacting to it. Nora seized the moment, forcing the muzzle of her own rifle upward, away from herself, and pulled the trigger. The man's head flew back from the impact, and she felt a shocking amount of blood rain down on her as the man went limp. The liquid was thick and hot, like the shame that rose in her chest. She rolled the lifeless body to the side and looked into the man's empty eyes.

She hadn't had much time to think about her D-Day kill until recently. She supposed it was only natural to try and process that now. She just wished she could navigate it with someone other than a radio host.

"Nora?" The host was saying, "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

Nora shook her head, bringing herself back to the present moment, "I was a medic."

His eyebrows furrowed a bit, as if he couldn't understand how this answered the question, and Nora continued.

"We wear a special badge that keeps us from being targeted. We only have firearms for emergencies. In combat situations, we focus on tending to the wounded."

"So you didn't do too much fighting?" The host asked. Nora resented the implication that she'd not been as much a part of the battle as everyone else, but she allowed the assumption, if only to avoid having to answer more questions about killing.

"Not too much."

"Well, it looks like we have time to take a call or two, and we have some people waiting on the line. How about we take a call, Nora?"

"Sure," Nora said, crossing her arms over her stomach and hunching forward to speak into the microphone more clearly. She was ready to make a break for the exit the moment this interview was finished.

"You're on the air," the host said after signaling the switchboard operator to put someone through, "what's your name and your question?"

"My name is George," the voice replied, a bit fuzzy in quality, "I was just wondering if you like musicals, and if so, what's your favorite?"

A small smile pulled at Nora's lips, and her chest immediately expanded in relief, "Probably...Oklahoma," she answered.

"No kidding? I love Oklahoma!" Luz said, "Do you fancy yourself more of a Laurey or a Curly?"

"Oh, definitely a Curly," Nora said with a laugh. It felt like just yesterday she'd been performing her horrible rendition of The Surrey With the Fringe on Top for the boys. She wished suddenly more than anything that she could go back to that moment.

"That's exactly what I had you pegged for," Luz replied, "Anyway, I just wanted to say that I think what you've done is amazing. The airborne would be lucky to have more women like you."

Nora chewed her lip to keep from smiling. The host seemed to sense that something was being pulled over on him, and he quickly rushed Luz off the call in favor of giving airtime to the next caller. It didn't matter- Luz's mission had been successful, and Nora breezed through the rest of the interview like it was nothing.

Lana was not amused.

"The brass is already calling about this," she told Nora, who sighed. Nora liked Lana, but she worried far too much.

"And what have I done this time?" she asked, picking up one of the complimentary pastries from the backstage snack table and biting into it. She had a show this evening, and then she would be free to retreat into her room, read her mail, and get some sleep.

"We just need to keep the message a little lighter, for morale," Lana insisted, "I'll add a couple of questions to the No Ask list for the next host. No asking about the camps, and no asking about killing."

Nora licked icing off her fingers, and Lana raised an eyebrow as she watched her do it. Nora knew that look. It said you have spent way too much time with men.

"Definitely ban the killing question," Nora agreed, "But why the camps? People should know."

"People don't want to hear about all the traumatizing stuff from a woman. Trust me, it doesn't help your cause."

"Maybe if they would summon me to court to testify, I wouldn't have to mention it on the radio," Nora mumbled.

"These things take time," Lana said gently.

"So what do I talk about until then? The best hairstyles for women in combat?"

"I know it feels like what you're doing is silly," Lana said, "but it makes a difference. Women want to see you and hear you. Being visible makes a difference."

Nora shoved her tongue into her cheek but nodded.

"Now put on a smile and get out there," Lana said, nudging her.

When Nora returned to her quarters for the night (which she shared with several of the other female performers), a letter and a small package from Ron was waiting on her bunk. She grabbed the letter and pushed the package aside, sitting down.

"Someone's got news from The Captain," her blond friend Dorothy called out. Some of the women hooted and hollered, and Nora rolled her eyes, ripping the letter open.

Dear Nora,

I hope that your shows and interviews have been going well. I heard through the grapevine that you can be a real crack-up on stage, and it doesn't surprise me. You've always been funny.

I should start by mentioning that I'm still torn up over that conversation I had with Sink. I never should have let on that you'd be better off somewhere else. I have ample time to regret it now that you're gone, and I have nobody here to help me keep the men in line.

Nora rolled her eyes again. Ron had begun every letter so far with profuse apologies.

Your presence is sorely missed here, and not just by me. Hardly a conversation passes without someone mentioning a joke you've made or telling a story that revolves around you. I can't decide if that makes it harder or easier.

As for the men's training, I've been working to get them into shape for the Pacific. I'm even taking a page out of your old Captain Sobel's book - their workouts are more intensive than they'd like, but I want to give them the best chance possible.

Nora's smile faltered a bit as she read. She wasn't sure how to feel about Ron's decision to lead the men in the Pacific, despite his ability to choose otherwise, except that it wasn't surprising. She couldn't blame him for wanting to stay with the men. She certainly would if she could. But it did mean that she wouldn't be seeing Ronald Speirs for a while, and that gave her room for pause.

I've sent along a gift that I think you'll find useful, though I hope you find no reason to use it. Take care of yourself.

Warm Regards,

Ron

Nora's eyebrows furrowed as she folded the letter and laid it aside. She picked up the package and pulled gingerly at the brown paper, careful to unfurl it without ripping it. A flash of black metal caught her eye as she pulled the paper back, and she gasped softly, covering it back up.

"Trinkets from your lover?" Dorothy asked with a knowing smirk.

"Something like that," Nora said, not even bothering to be embarrassed by the implication. She peeked again at the item inside the wrapping and smiled. Ron could've gotten into a lot of trouble sending a German Luger to her here. They had taken away her pistol when she transferred to the USO, insisting that, since she wouldn't need it, it would better serve elsewhere. Ron must have copped this one off a surrendering German officer and stashed it. As much she hated his sticky fingers, she couldn't bring herself to be indignant about the gift. She took a moment to admire the pistol. She ran her hand over the handle, and then pulled it back suddenly when an image of Hoobler flashed in her mind. The helpless look in his eyes as he faded away. The pumping of his pulse under her hands as she attempted to keep the blood at bay.

She was beginning to think that this damn war would never leave her in peace.

Nora was on the radio again two days later.

This host was also a man, though much gentler than the last, by Nora's estimation. He had asked her some of the boilerplate questions about femininity, but seemed willing and prepared to move on whenever she didn't like one of his questions. His questions, for the most part, showed more thought and care than anyone she'd previously met with, and this emboldened her.

"What piece of the war do you feel you'll take home with you and hold onto the longest?" He asked her.

"Definitely the memory of the men I served with," Nora said, earning a nod from the man, "both alive and dead."

He didn't say anything, so Nora continued.

"Many of the friends I made won't be returning to their families, and my deepest desire is for their people to know how amazing they were to me. To all of us.

The man nodded again with rapt attention, urging her to continue.

"Let's see, there was Sgt. Skip Muck and PFC Alex Penkala. They were pure sunshine in a bottle. Nobody could order up a change in mood quite like Skip and Penk. Then there's Corporal Donald Hoobler. Several wounded, like Lt. Buck Compton, Sgt. Joe Toye, and Sgt. Bill Guarnere, whom we call 'Wild Bill'. All good men."

"How did you manage to get out of the war unscathed?"

"Oh," Nora said, pulled from her reverie, "Well, I didn't. I took a bullet in the shoulder at Foy."

She wanted to say more - how the physical wounds she'd endured were nothing compared to the mental and emotional traumas she was just beginning to unpack. The things she'd witnessed. No, she certainly had not made it out unscathed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," The man said, "And are you feeling better?"

Of course she was feeling better. Did he really think she'd show up to an interview with a bullet hole in her shoulder? Nora kept this thought to herself, wanting to keep the easy back-and-forth she'd established with him.

"Yes," she said simply, before pivoting, "the other thing that was particularly difficult was liberating the camp in Landsberg and seeing the atrocities that took place there."

Nora heard a light knocking on the viewing window and glanced at the sound room to see Lana giving her a questioning look. She had put this on the No Ask list. Nora ignored her advisor and looked back at the host, who seemed unfazed by the change in topic.

"Yes, I've seen some of the news coming out now about these camps. They sound like an absolute horror."

"They were. We can't imagine. I can't even imagine, and I was there," Nora said, "and the worst part is, the prosecution of the men responsible hasn't even begun."

"That's surprising. I suppose they have most in custody, but it may take some time to sort out all of the evidence and understand exactly what happened."

"The evidence isn't the problem," Nora said, reaching into the satchel she'd brought with her and pulling out a stack of pages. The host glanced curiously at her but allowed her to continue, "we know exactly who benefited from the persecution of the people in those camps, and they should be held accountable."

"What's that you've got with you?" The host prompted.

"It's a copy of the ledger from the Berchtesgaden Hof Hotel, where Hitler's guests stayed on business," Nora answered. Lana now appeared to be arguing with the man who operated the soundboard, and Nora hoped he wouldn't cut off her microphone. He seemed as interested in the ledger as the man sitting in front of her.

"Why do you have it?" He asked.

"It's just a copy," she assured him, "but I made it myself from the original, which I turned over to the U.S. Army several weeks ago. I still haven't been contacted about testifying in a trial against any of these individuals."

"And why do you carry it with you?"

"Because…" Nora struggled to find the words, "this happened. And people need to know. I don't want to take the chance that this goes unknown."

The host nodded, seemingly at a loss for words.

Nora cleared her throat and began to read the names on the top page.

The host glanced at his producer with an excited but uncertain look that screamed can we do this?

Nora continued to read until her microphone was cut.

When Lana told her that Colonel Sink was on the line, waiting to speak to her, Nora was torn between excitement and dread. On the one hand, talking to Colonel Sink was as close to normal as she'd probably get right now, but on the other hand, this would be less like talking and more like scolding.

"Hello?" She asked after Lana led her to the private booth where performers could make and receive calls.

"Price, you've got some damn nerve," Sink began, wasting no time, "Do you have any idea what kind of shit you stepped into?"

"I take it you heard my interview."

"Just because you aren't in my regiment anymore doesn't mean you can mouth off, Captain."

"Sorry, sir."

"Those records are evidence in a private investigation, Price. What the hell were you thinking?"

"That the investigation should be accountable to the public?" Nora responded, her voice coming out mousier than she intended. She tacked on another "sir," for good measure.

"You're still a soldier in this man's army. You can't just do whatever you please. You do what your advisor tells you."

"Understood, sir."

"You're lucky they asked me to call and put the fear of God into you instead of giving you a court martial."

Nora's lips turned up at that, but she didn't dare let on. She could almost picture his moustache twitching the way it always did when he was reprimanding someone.

"You're damn lucky," Sink continued, "if it weren't for the timing, they'd likely be on your tail."

"The timing?" Nora repeated, eyebrows furrowing. Sink sighed, and the line went quiet for a moment as he considered his next words.

"I don't suppose it matters now," he said, "The talks in Japan are apparently going better than expected. Word is, we'll be getting the news some time in the next few days. But that's for your ears only, Price."

"Yes, sir," Nora said. Her head felt like it was full of radio static, "so...this is it? No Pacific?"

"Looks that way," Sink said. Even delivering good news, his tone was gruff, "Now am I going to hear any more about you bucking orders?"

"No, sir," Nora said absently. She was looking all around her as if she expected the people nearby to begin celebrating with her, though she was the only one who knew.

"Good. Now get back to your post and act like a damn professional."

"Wait, sir," Nora hurried, snapping out of it, "if what you said is true, I need to get back to Zell Am See. Can't you put in a request or something? Get me transferred back?"

"Does now seem like a good time to make demands of me?" Sink replied.

"No, sir, but-"

"Stay put, and do your job, Price. We'll all be home soon enough."

"Lana, I need a list of every company passing through here and heading South," Nora said, rushing back in the direction of her quarters as her advisor hurried alongside her.

"What for?" Lana asked.

"I need to send something to Zell Am See, and the post won't be fast enough," Nora replied, "Please?"

She stopped and turned to Lana when they reached the door, and Lana seemed to be searching her eyes. It was a strange request, and she knew it.

"Alright," Lana said, finally, "Give me an hour."

"Thank you."

When Lana returned successful, Nora embraced her tightly before pulling the list from her hand and looking it over. Her bag was laying open on her bed, and she had changed into her old fatigues. It felt like it had been years since she'd worn them, and decades since she'd worn them clean.

"Do you need me to deliver that to one of the supply soldiers with a note?" Lana asked as she eyed Nora's bag with uncertainty. The other women Nora roomed with were out at a meet-and-greet, and Nora was thankful for the privacy.

"No, I'll go," she said simply, stuffing a few more of her belongings into the rucksack. The air grew thick with tension, and Nora could tell from the way Lana watched her that she was catching on.

"There's a show tonight," Lana said warily.

"I know."

"Nora, what are you doing?"

Nora closed her rucksack and slung it over one shoulder before turning to the woman.

"Lana, I'm not doing the show tonight," She said, communicating a plea with her eyes. Lana was quiet for a long moment.

"That's probably for the best," she said finally, "You look a little ill, anyway."

Nora smiled, hugging her tight.

"Thank you."

Tonight, Captain Nora Price was going AWOL.