It was only a few hours after they'd left Lieutenant DeWitt and the injured soldiers that Wade, being the eagle-eyed medic he was, spotted a body just beyond a grassy bank.

He'd drawn Millers attention to it with a quiet "Captain" before pointing to where he'd spotted the corpse. Roy and the others were spreading out before Miller gave the signal, well-versed in the art of covert operations.

Roy watched as Miller, Wade, and the Sarge crept forwards to investigate, and it was clear by the way Wade slumped that there was nothing he could do for the soldiers. Given the distinct lack of gunfire since they'd entered the area, they'd probably been there for some time.

Miller and Horvath darted off towards the trees to investigate, and Roy clapped Wade on the shoulder as he crept past. "How bad are they?" He hadn't gotten a good look at them, so he wasn't sure what had taken them down. Around here, it could be anything.

"They've been dead a few days at least," Wade said glumly, crouching between Reiben and Caparzo. Caparzo had been doing surprisingly well since they'd left Neuville. As they'd not had a skirmish since leaving the bombed-out town, he'd had a chance to rest his shoulder and regain some of the colour back in his cheeks, of which Wade had been infinitely pleased. He was still moving the limb carefully, but he'd not let it hold him back. "Based on the way they've fallen, it was something high-powered that took them out."

Reiben let out a low whistle. "Damn, that sucks. Poor bastards."

Given where they were, and the radar site up ahead, Roy figured it was a machine gun. Or perhaps they'd been ambushed and taken out with a B.A.R. Either way, those poor bastards wouldn't have had a painless death.

While they waited for their commanders to rejoin them, he grabbed a packet of jerky from his pocket, taking a strip and biting into it. Perhaps not the most appropriate thing to be eating when there were corpses nearby that looked similar to his food, but he was hungry and the choice was either dried meat, or crackers. One was far more appetising than the other.

"What is it?" Caparzo asked when their leaders returned, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers absentmindedly. "It bad, Sarge?"

"Machine gun," Horvath replied. "Probably MG-42."

The Rangers all grimaced, not needing words to convey what an unfortunate an end those soldiers had met.

Upham, on the other hand, wasn't as familiar with the weapon and the damage it could cause from afar. "Jesus, is that what got those guys?" the interpreter asked quietly. Roy was impressed with the steel in the kid's spine. While he'd gone pale at Wade's machine-gun theory and Sarge's confirmation, he didn't sound shaken like he'd expected.

"Maybe one of them's our boy," Mellish mused hopefully, but Miller's head shake put an end to that train of thought.

"No, their patches are 82nd, so your lucks not that good."

"Yeah, well I don't know how fast the rest of you betties are," Reiben piped up as he looked around their small group. Their captain started removing his gear, and Roy sighed quietly. He'd been with Miller long enough to know what he was thinking, and even if he didn't, the fact he was removing his bulkier gear so he wasn't weighed down was a dead giveaway. "But I'm thinking we detour this way; quick and quiet, and the Krauts will never even know we were here." Miller didn't reply, still de-jocking, and Reiben tried again. "So captain, what I'm trying to say is why don't we just go around the thing?"

"I hear what you're saying, but we can't go around it," Miller said, loosening the ties on his jacket, not bothering to look up.

Roy sucked on the stick of jerky thoughtfully. None of them wanted to go up against a machine gun, given it could rip through them like it did the paratroopers, but Miller wasn't listening. "I'm with Reiben on this one, sir," he tried. He at least had to try. "I mean, we left them '88s."

"For the Air Force," Miller countered, as though it were obvious. Roy stuck his jerky back in his mouth so he didn't spit a retort back. "The Air Force isn't going to spend ordinance on one machine gun."

"Uh, Cap," Mellish tried. "We can still skip it and accomplish our mission. I mean, this isn't our mission. Right, sir?"

"That's what you want to do, Mellish? You just want to leave it here so they can ambush the next company that comes along?"

"No, sir." The pinched expression on Fish's face was easy to read. In fact, looking around their small group, it was obvious no one was happy about this decision. When they'd been assigned to Millers command at Camp Forrest, they'd all agreed that he was someone they could trust with their lives. That he always had their best interests at heart. Roy wasn't sure about the others, but this was the first time he doubted that was still the case. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm simply saying that it seems like an unnecessary risk given our objective, sir."

Miller glared at them all, wrenching his jacket off his shoulders angrily. "Our objective is to win the war!"

"Sir, I just... I don't have a good feeling about this one," Reiben admitted quietly. That was enough to give the captain pause, and Roy prayed it would be enough. Reiben wasn't one to give into his gut instinct – he was known as their door kicker for a reason – so for him to openly admit to a bad feeling should've been enough of a warning sign to at least reconsider the situation.

Hell, they could circle around the damn thing if Miller was that determined to eliminate it. Just please don't let them do a frontal assault.

"Well, when was the last time you felt good about anything?" Miller asked. Their captain was looking at the ground as he said this, and didn't give any of them a chance to reply; getting to his feet and running towards the treeline, leaving them all to watch his retreating back.

"Sarge," Caparzo tried, speaking up for the first time since Millers plan to hit the site became clear. It was understandable, given the precarious ground he already stood on; arguing with Miller when he was clearly riled up would likely result in him being left behind for good.

Horvath sighed tiredly. "Look, I don't like it either, but we have our orders." He stood, and sighed again. "Let's go."

The captain's eyes were firmly trained on their target when they joined him. Roy crouched in front of Miller, his back to the trees and the radar. If Miller wanted to send them to their deaths, the least the man could do was look them in the eye when he did it.

"Alright," Miller started, and Roy sighed, defeated. There went that idea. "Three... Three runners with suppressing fire. Mellish, you hook to the right. I'll go up the middle. Who's going left?"

Silence was the immediate answer, and Miller looked at them, clearly annoyed. "Who's going left?!"

Reiben spat out his gum, but stayed quiet. So did everyone else, because they all knew that the left was the most exposed position.

The position most likely to get someone killed.

"I'll do it," he said quietly. Out of everyone, he was the fastest. It made sense, really, and at the end of the day it was his job to look after his teammates. His brothers. No-one else should be doing the run but him, because he was the only one who stood a chance at surviving it. "I'll go left."

If there was regret in Millers eyes, it was gone in the same breath it appeared. "Alright. Upham, switch off with Jackson, and you linger in the rear. We advance and keep pressure on until he has to change out his barrels."

Roy darted over to the interpreter, and gave Wade a small smile when he realised he was looking at him worriedly. He swapped his gun with the interpreter, ignoring the twinge of regret in his chest that he couldn't take his rifle with him. It would undoubtedly come in handy, but there was no way he could swap between both fast enough for it to make a difference.

"What are you doing, Wade?"

He glanced at Caparzo as he stripped off his outer jacket and gear bags, and found the other man frowning at the medic. Roy frowned too, not from annoyance, but confusion. Then it hit him.

"Woah, no. Corpy's right. You shouldn't be coming with us."

Wade's worry for him turned into an icy glare. "I can run."

"Cap, Caparzo's right," he said instead, turning to the captain. "Wade's the only one capable of treating us if one of us gets shot. He should be staying with Upham."

"I can run!" Wade insisted angrily. Roy rolled his eyes. Couldn't the idiot see that he was the one person they couldn't afford to lose?

"You're the only one who's unarmed, Wade," he shot back. "We know you can run, but we can't lose you on this su-" he cut himself off, about to call it a suicide mission. He bit his tongue, and tried again. "We can't afford to lose you, 'kay?"

"Oh, and Caparzo is the better option, is he?!"

"At least if I get killed this time, it's not because I was being an idiot," Caparzo retorted. "Take those gauze pads outta your ears, Doc. This squad can't lose its only medic. If more than one of us goes down, you're the only one who can save us."

For the first time that day, Miller seemed to be listening. "They're right, Wade. You stay behind with Upham. No arguments." The look on Wade's face made it clear he wanted to continue arguing, but thankfully he didn't. "Now, I think we should be able to hit him from grenade range."

"Maybe I should go up the middle, sir," Horvath said, eliciting a look of disbelief from the captain.

"The way you run? I don't think so."

"Maybe I should go left, sir."

"Maybe you should shut up!" Miller snapped, apparently at the end of his tether. Before anyone else could comment, he was cocking his gun as he prepared to move. "Reiben, base of fire. Mags and clips where you can reach 'em, and extra grenades for the base runners." He paused, then added; "good luck."

"This is such bullshit," Irwin muttered as he took cover behind the dead cow with Upham, watching his teammates like a hawk as they sprinted up the hill, firing as they went. The thud-thud-thud of the MG responded immediately, and the six Rangers scrambled for cover in the nearest foxholes. "I should be with them."

The only reply he got was Upham's panicked breathing in his ear. Rolling his eyes, Irwin turned to the interpreter and snatched Jackson's scope off the man. "Give me that."

"Hey," Upham grumbled. "I was -"

"I know what you were doing," he snapped, lifting the scope to his eye so he could get a better look at what was happening.

Miller and Reiben were making steady progress up the centre, using the foxholes and dead farm animals for cover every few feet. It was slow going, but they were getting closer. Caparzo was thankfully keeping pace with Jackson, the pair making faster progress up the left-hand side of the hill than the others – but it meant they were exposed far longer than he was comfortable with. Mellish and Horvath were shooting their way up the hill on the right; thankfully the safest of the three pairs due to the MG's placement, and the sandbags surrounding it making it harder for the krauts to get a line on them.

It was still a loud, aggressive battle – and he'd been forced to stay in the rear, out of harm's way, because he was useless in a fight.

"What's going on?" Upham asked, sounding frantic. "Are they okay?"

"So far," he replied tightly. There was a yell, and he turned the scope back to the middle; watching Miller toss a grenade high in the air at the gun emplacement. Unfortunately, one of the German's grabbed it and lobbed it back, which forced Miller and Reiben to scatter seconds before it exploded.

There was another explosion to the left, and he flinched – even as he searched desperately for his two brothers. He couldn't see them through all the smoke and dirt that had been thrown into the air, and his attention was taken by the multiple explosions that were occurring right at the top of the hill; the Rangers and Germans lobbing grenades back and forth quickly.

The gunfire didn't let up once during the assault – in fact, when the explosions faded it was the only thing that remained.

But even that faded too, the flash of the muzzles thankfully solely on their side.

"Hill's clear!" Horvath yelled, his voice faint on account of the distance. Irwin started grabbing his bags, praying he didn't have to get up there quickly. Upham took the scope back and held it tightly against his chest. "Four down and dead!"

"Copy!" Miller replied. "Sound off!"

"All good!" Horvath yelled.

"Fine, sir!" Reiben added.

"Good here!" Mellish replied.

There was no other call, and Irwin's breath caught in his chest. No. Gods, no. Please. He took off at a sprint, uncaring that he'd left Upham behind. The man had a gun if he needed to protect himself. Right now, his wounded teammates – please let that be all they are – needed him more.

"Doc! Get up here!" Miller yelled, picking his way across the pock-marked landscape to where Jackson and Caparzo had last been. Irwin grit his teeth and picked up the pace.

He reached them the same moment Miller did.

The smoke was still heavy in the air as he came across Caparzo sprawled half on top of Jackson; both of them facedown and unmoving. "Jesus," he muttered, eyes scanning Caparzo's back for injury and finding nothing as he threw himself on the ground beside him. The thunder of multiple boots heralded the arrival of the others, and Mellish handed his gun to Horvath before joining him on the ground.

"Christ almighty, he's a big bastard," Mellish groaned as they carefully rolled Caparzo over. "Where's he...uh, hit?" The last word pitched up a notch in question, and rightfully so. There was no significant patches of blood, or signs of any serious injury on Caparzo at all, as a matter of fact. Just surface wounds.

Frowning, Irwin pressed his fingers to Caparzo's throat. "He's got a pulse, and it's strong." Miller was carefully rolling Jackson over, and Irwin noted the same lack of serious injuries. After confirming Jackson also had a pulse, he sat back on his haunches and dug through one of his bags. "I think they're just unconscious."

"Sleeping on the job," Reiben muttered, but it was clear by the way his shoulders slumped that he was relieved. "Fucking typical."

Irwin found his bottle of smelling salts, and unscrewed the lid before waving it under Caparzo's nose. The groan he elicited was instant. "Sweet Jesus," Caparzo groaned, hands clamping his helmet as he quickly came around. "The hell was that?"

"The explosion, or the salts?" he asked, pressing lightly at the man's shoulder to keep him flat until he could check him over properly.

"The salts. They fucking reek."

"That's kinda the point." He crawled over to Jackson and did the same to him. There was a slight delay, but then his friend grunted as he started to rouse.

Caparzo cracked his eyes open, and frowned when he realised he was on the ground for the second time in three days. "The hell am I doing down here?"

"Having an afternoon nap, apparently." Reiben's retort was as dry as the desert, but it helped alleviate their mood. The Brooklynite turned to take up guard duty now that he knew the pair would be okay.

"Christ almighty," Jackson said as he came to, craning his neck as he peered around groggily, a hand gingerly massaging his forehead. "Why do I feel like I got hit by a bus?"

"Probably 'cause Corpy landed on you," Mellish said cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder. "It'd feel about the same."

Jackson's head drooped back onto the ground. "Oh."

"Shut the fuck up, Fish," Caparzo growled weakly.

Miller snorted and shook his head as he started palpitating Jackson's arms and torso, searching for injuries much like Irwin was doing with Caparzo. "I think you're good," Miller eventually told the sniper, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Sit up slowly." Jackson did, and Irwin watched his friend like a hawk while he dug through his bag for a gauze pad. Caparzo's shoulder was bleeding again as a couple of the stitches has ripped, so he wanted to dress it before the man sat up. "How're you feeling?"

Jackson shrugged. "Like I got squashed, and my bell rung, but I'm good sir."

"The hell happened?" Horvath asked, thumbs tucked in his belt loop. "What did you do to knock yourselves out? Trip?"

"Hilarious, Sarge," Jackson retorted, rolling his eyes then grimacing when it hurt. He waved a hand at the bunker they were at the bottom of. "Stray grenade. The top of the foxhole took most of the damage, but the blast knocked us backwards." He looked around. "Must've knocked my head on somethin'."

"Yeah, me." Caparzo sat up with Wade's help, rubbing his forehead. "That was my fault though, you were closer to the blast and I tried to catch you, but we ended up whacking our heads together instead."

"You two are unbelievable," Mellish sniggered as he stood up, extending a hand to Jackson. The sniper took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He was a bit unsteady, but Irwin was pleased to see that he recovered quickly. "Can't even be knocked out like normal people."

Jackson gave him a lazy salute. "I aim to please."

"KRAUT!"

They all spun at Reiben's shout, the more able-bodied of the squad racing off to join the man when they saw him tackle someone to the ground.

Irwin flung a hand out and held Upham back when the man tried to join the others. Miller had made the interpreter hang back for a reason; he sure as hell wasn't going let Upham get himself killed because he wasn't thinking.

The Captain, Sarge, and Mellish all had their guns trained on the German as Reiben hauled the man to his feet, Caparzo and Jackson adding their guns to the mix the moment they joined the others. Satisfied they were no longer at risk, Irwin tugged on Upham's sleeve to signal it was safe for them approach.

"What do we do, Cap?" Reiben asked, pushing the barrel of his gun into the other man's ribs. The German had his hands in the air and was speaking frantically in his native tongue. "We can't take him with us."

"Make him mark and cover those Paratroopers bodies for grave detail," Miller replied after a thoughtful pause, pulling his map out of his pocket. "Jackson, strip that stuff off him and check him for intelligence."

"Yes, sir." Jackson started searching his pockets, only to grab the German by the lapels when he kept talking, sounding more hysterical than he had a second ago. "Hey! Shut up with that filthy pig Latin!"

"Mellish, you and Sarge watch the perimeter," Miller continued, as though Jackson hadn't spoken. "Wade -"

"Sir," Upham interrupted, eying the German before turning to the captain. "He says please don't shoot him."

"I don't care what he says," Miller snapped. "Wade, check Caparzo and Jackson for concussions. I want to know what we're dealing with. Reiben, find a good spot for our friend here to start digging. I'll deal with him after."

"Steamboat Willie, toot toot."

Roy glared at Upham who was sitting with the Kraut, his lip curling in disgust. Didn't that goddamn interpreter realise the kind of man that German was? They were all the same – hell bent on wiping out an entire religion because they didn't fit the stupid narrative they'd created for themselves, and were more than happy to blow the planet to pieces while they were at it.

And here was Upham, offering the Kraut a smoke. Disgusting.

"Steamboat Willie," Upham agreed quietly.

"Yeah, Steamboat Willie. American," the German smiled around his cigarette, although that smile quickly disappeared when they all joined the pair. The Kraut stiffened, his eyes widening as he dove for the spade and started digging frantically, muttering something in his native tongue.

"He said he's not finished," Upham translated listlessly, not that anyone had asked for it.

"Yeah, that's what you think," Mellish scoffed. "C'mon."

Roy joined Mellish as he hauled the Kraut out of the hole, but the man fought them desperately. "Nein!" he pleaded, breaking free and throwing himself back in the hole. "Nein!"

Rolling his eyes, Roy shared a look with the others. Caparzo and Reiben were furious that the Kraut was still breathing; Wade seemed sad, if a bit resigned by what was going to happen; Sarge was indifferent; Upham scared; and Mellish disgusted. The only one he was struggling to read was Miller, but then that was nothing new.

He, Reiben, Caparzo, and Mellish all cocked their weapons. The German looked around, chest heaving, as though realising just how serious they were.

"Please! I like America!" the man pleaded in heavily accented English. When no one spoke, he started digging hurriedly. "Fancy-schmancy! What a cinch! Go fly a kite! Cat got your tongue! Full of beans!" Everyone stayed quiet. If anything, Roy felt pity for the man. But overpowering that feeling more was the fact that if he was let go, he would turn around and shoot them the second they turned their backs. "Betty Boop, what a dish! Betty Grable, nice gams!"

Still no one spoke. "Ohh I say can you see!" The German started singing. "I say can you see! I... I say..." he broke off, lips moving wordlessly before eventually uttering; "fuck Hitler." Then he repeated it louder, with more conviction. "Fuck Hitler!"

He looked around, and when did nothing more than stare back impassively, he lunged for Upham. But it wasn't the interpreter he went for; it was the gun laying on the ground beside him. The German grabbed the rifle and managed to get a couple of wild shots off before he, Mellish, and Caparzo fired back.

The Krauts body hit the bottom of the grave, hard; blood pooling on the soil.

"Guess that solves the problem of what we do with Steamboat Willie," Reiben commented, clearly pleased. In all honesty, Roy wasn't too upset by the man's demise, himself.

"Uh, guys?" Roy looked over, swore, and practically flew across the ground to grab Wade when he started listing to the side.

He threw his gun at Caparzo and tugged his friend against him. "Shit, Wade. Where're you hit?"

Miller was there in an instant, hands yanking Wade's jacket aside so he could get a better look. "Got one entry wound, right side," the captain reported. "No other injuries. Wade, you need to tell me what to do."

Wade was shaking in his arms, his forehead beaded with sweat. Roy held him tighter. "You'll be okay, Doc," he whispered. "What do we do?"

"Is... is there an e-exit w-wound?" Wade asked, his voice shaky, but strong. Roy shuffled around to give the captain access, and Miller ducked his head to look.

"Yeah, we got an exit wound about the size of an acorn. Here, feel." Miller took Wade's right hand and guided it first to the front, then the back. The medic slumped in his arms, and Roy looked at his friend worriedly. Thankfully it wasn't needed, as Wade was smiling.

"There's n-nothing there," Wade laughed weakly. "It c-clipped me th-through m-my abdominal w-wall. It's g-going to hurt, but it w-won't kill me."

Relieved, Roy rested his head against Wade's shoulder, taking a moment to catch his breath. "You want some morphine?"

"Y-yeah. N-need to t-take the e-edge off s-so I can th-think s-straight."

Miller showed the medic the little tube that he'd fetched from one of the medical bags, and Wade took it off him, stabbing it into his thigh without preamble. The effect was instant, the furrow of his brow smoothing out.

"We still need to patch you up," he said quietly. "Do you want me to do it, or someone else?"

"Wouldn't ask anyone else," Wade grunted, his hand clamped against his side, dripping blood. "I know you can do it."

"You don't trust the rest of us? I'm hurt," Mellish said, but he didn't sound offended in the slightest. Just relieved.

They'd all gathered around, clearly worried about their injured teammate, and Roy ducked his head to hide a smile at their protectiveness. War was brutal and unforgiving, yet Wade always saw the best in people, more than the rest of them could; and it was that bright spot of hope amongst the blood, death, and destruction that they had secretly sworn to protect and nurture as long as they could.

He had no idea if Wade had ever realised that, come to think of it. He'd probably be mortified when he did.

Wade peered up at them, lips quirked in weak amusement. "The last time I watched Caparzo sew anything, it was a button onto his pants, and he sewed them shut at the top. Reiben and Sarge are too impatient to thread a needle, let alone push one through my skin; Cap's... got better things to do, like work out where we go next." Roy was impressed with his friend's quick thinking. He personally would have mentioned the shake that started at random times as the reason why he wasn't allowed to come anywhere near him with a needle.

"You admitted before we shipped out that you don't know how to sew, Mellish, and I doubt Upham knows what to do. Jackson's got the steadiest hands out of everyone; and I've watched him stitch himself together before, so he knows what he's doing."

Nobody argued, so that seemed to be that. Roy, with Reiben's help, moved the medic over to some sandbags to lean against, and nodded in thanks when Miller placed Wade's kit next to him. With his friend's help, he found the bag he was looking for, digging the needle and silk-thread out and preparing both.

"Reiben, second pouch on the left of that belt is the bottle of cleaning alcohol," Wade said tiredly, waving a hand at the belt in question. "Can you grab that? Jackson's going to need to wash the wounds and his hands."

"Yeah, sure." Reiben grabbed the bottle as requested. "Hey, Doc? There's like, sulfa packets and stuff in here. You need those?"

Wade nodded. "Yeah. Might need you to help, actually. Jackson's going to have enough to do." Jackson grumbled at that. He could do multiple things, if needed. Wade just rolled his eyes at him. "Bring a couple of those sulfa packets. I'll need you to irrigate the wound with the alcohol, then try push some of the powder inside the hole. That'll help fight off any bacterial infection that might try start up. We'll put more on the gauze once the stitches are done."

They worked well as a team, while the others all lingered on the fringes; on hand if their help was needed, but also watching their backs in case any other German's appeared. Wade spent most of the procedure with his belt between his teeth, biting on the leather and groaning lowly as he and Reiben worked in tandem as quickly as they could.

"Y'know, I hope mama Ryan is really fuckin' happy knowing that little Jimmy's life is more important than the two of our guys we nearly lost goin' after her son," Reiben growled, refusing to look at Wade's scrunched up face. While the medic had assured him he wasn't going to die on account of his injuries, the whimpers of pain were enough to make Roy want to drag Steamboat Willie out of his hole and shoot him in the face for hurting his friend. "Three if we want to include your ass in the equation, Bumpkin. But then again, we haven't found him yet, have we?"

There was a retort on the tip of his tongue that he hadn't been wounded, so he most certainly didn't count, but when Wade placed a hand on his, he paused – the bloodied needle suspended in mid-air. He was about halfway through stitching up the front, the back – which was significantly larger on account of it being the exit wound – was already done. "Reiben, this ain't her fault," Wade scolded breathlessly, his eyes glassy and chest heaving on account of the pain. "This ain't Ryan's fault either. He doesn't even know his brothers are dead; and he would've known there was a chance that'd happen when he enlisted. Hell, they all would've, yet they decided to take that risk for their country. The fact that none of our esteemed leaders thought this might occur with families of multiple brothers, or put measures in place to make sure a whole bloodline wasn't wiped out is no one's fault but theirs."

"But -"

"I don't blame either of them, and neither should you," Wade interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Leave off, yeah?"

Reiben bit his lip, chastised, and nodded.

Wade nodded back. "Good. Now, hurry the fuck up, would you? I want to get as far away from here as I can."

Grinning to himself at the command, Roy got back to work.

Leaving sounded like a mighty fine idea to him indeed.