As promised, I'm posting a chapter ahead of schedule because I'll be on holiday until the 30th. I'm going to New York! I'm so excited, but also quietly terrified because I have never been on an airplane for longer than 3 hours...
On D-Day plus six, Easy Company was lying in wait in the ditches along the road into Carentan. Birdsong and the chirping of crickets filled the air that was laced with tense anticipation. They were crouched just behind the crest of the hill and waited for their CO to signal the beginning of the attack. Easy would be leading the main assault, first platoon going in hard and fast with second and third right behind.
A dog barked. An uncomfortably high-pitched sound ruptured the strange silence at a periodic interval. The penetrating, rhythmic squeaks set Theresa's teeth on edge. She glanced at her squad behind her. She was doing a squad sergeant's job, she knew that, but since their actual squad leader was still unaccounted for, she was simply the next in line.
.
Finally, Winters looked up from his watch. "Go!", he hissed to Welsh.
Welsh turned to his platoon and whispered: "Let's go, First. Let's go." He got up running, Luz hot on his heels. As radio man, it was his job to stick to the leader and if that leader was one of those who lead from the front, then that was where the radio op would be, too.
Theresa and her squad quickly followed. They were half-way down the road when machine guns came to life, rattling and pouring round after round on them. Dirt sprayed up and the soldiers ducked into the ditches, pinned down by the gunfire.
"Down!", Theresa called to her men as she followed her own order and slid into the ditch. She saw Welsh and Luz dive for cover behind the first building on the left before she had to duck to avoid getting a bullet through her skull.
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From her position a little ways off from battalion's observants, Louise heard Colonel Strayer hollering: "Get those MGs moving, will ya!? Let's get them outta there!"
Bloody brilliant idea, sir, she applauded with the appropriate amount of snark, peering through her scope. Never would've thought of that.
"You're in the open for Pete's sake!", Nixon screamed at Winters, who was indeed in the middle of the road, dodging bullets left and right while he was busy kicking the men into gear.
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Borrowing some of the more inventive curses she'd learned from her fellow women soldiers, Theresa decided that she didn't fancy being a sitting duck and dying in a roadside ditch. "Fuck it", she said to herself, jumping up.
She didn't bother looking over her shoulder, trusting her guys to follow her. They rallied behind her without hesitation. Weaving this way and that to evade the countless projectiles zipping past them, they ran for the town and the closest cover.
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Meanwhile, another rifle barked in response to the incessant spewing of the machine guns. Singular shots cut through the pandemonium, accompanied by the splintering of glass or the thump of a body falling to the ground. Louise was systematically scanning rooftops, balconies, windows and building entrances and firing on anyone in an enemy uniform.
"Spotter!", Nixon called from where he was observing the battle through a pair of binoculars, "upstairs window, left!"
Her spotter – she had been quite surprised to actually be assigned one for this mission – was from battalion staff and good at his job. He gave her the necessary information and she lined up the shot.
Second and third platoon started moving into the town from other sides. They encountered just as much resistance as First, with muzzle flashes coming from virtually every window. But they gave as good as they got, peppering each suspicious curtain and gaping doorway with bullets, just as a precaution.
Maxine had sent her guys to start clearing houses. Crouched behind the edge of a building, she provided covering fire with Frances while they dashed across the intersection.
"Shea, with me!", she shouted over the noise of the battle, clapping her on the shoulder before racing out into the open to the cross to the other side of the street.
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Louise was cursing a blue streak under her breath as she tried to get the machine gunner currently pinning down Shifty into her sights. Jesus bloody Christ on a thrice damned bicycle, sodding-
She inhaled sharply as Welsh broke cover and pelted down the rubble-strewn road. With baited breath, she watched as he flung a grenade through the window at the machine gunner she'd been trying to hit just as he was busy with reloading.
The lieutenant threw himself to the ground to avoid being caught in the explosion, arms automatically coming up to protect his head and neck.
"Halle-fucking-lujah", Louise muttered when a cloud of debris and smoke belched out of the window hole, making a note to later congratulate the lieutenant on his gutsy move. She watched Luz rush to join Welsh while Lipton and Perconte came from the right, heading for the warehouse where at least two more snipers had holed up.
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Theresa reached her lieutenant, Liebgott, Tipper and Jessica on her heels.
"Tipper, take Liebgott and start clearing these buildings!", he assigned rapidly, wasting no time. "Nolan, Helak, take care of those." He pointed to his right.
They all nodded and took off at a fast jog, not stopping to acknowledge when Welsh hollered after them: "Two on a house!"
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Ana María yanked a guy from her platoon back just in time before the wall exploded into a shower of plaster and stone. Then, the tell-tale rush of a heavy mortar shell reached their ears. They ducked as it zoomed over their heads, blowing up with a bone-jarring boom a second later.
"They got us zeroed!", Lipton screamed from the third storey of the warehouse fire escape. "Spread it out, spread it out!"
Maxine and Frances pressed themselves against the wall, shielding each other as dirt and debris rained down on them from another explosion. The ground shook beneath them.
"Get the hell out of here!", Lipton was screaming, gesturing wildly.
A shell landed right across the street from where the two women were crouching, making them scramble up and follow the rest of the guys who were hurrying to find cover.
Cries for medics were already ringing through the streets. The four Easy medics had their hands full, hurrying back and forth on the battlefield to patch up their guys or at least try and stall death. Those that were beyond saving were tended to by the priest.
Easy's chaplain, Father Maloney, calmly went from one wounded to the next to give them their last rights, not discriminating between German and American.
"Crazy fools, the Irish!", Malarkey called to Muck as they snuck from cover to cover, firing back at the Germans.
His friend snorted. "You should know", he retorted.
Pausing to fire off another shot, he then asked: "And what do you call that?", pointing to Doc Arricante, who was kneeling in the middle of the street, looking after one of their comrades while the town was being blasted to hell around her ears.
Throwing herself over her patient to shield him from the dirt and debris another mortar shell spat her way, Mia then righted herself, finished tying off the bandage and stood. She helped the injured man to his feet and swiftly ducked under his arm, obviously preparing to half-guide, half-haul him to the aid station.
"Balls of steel!", the two mortarmen agreed, their respect and awe for the medic, this one in particular, just having reached a new level.
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Theresa and Jessica had linked up with Welsh and Luz again and were trying to coordinate with battalion to have somebody get rid of the "goddamn" mortars, as the lieutenant put it.
After a good few minutes of arguing and shouting over the radio – with the infernal racket of the artillery, it was impossible to make oneself understood otherwise – they were assured that it would be taken care of.
With the hope that the shelling wouldn't last indefinitely anymore, they moved on to clear the next row of houses. They swerved away from the wall to avoid a shower of glass shards when a window splintered above their heads, but they encountered surprisingly little resistance on their sweep. Only three rifles fired upon them and the shooters were quickly dispatched.
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Maxine and Frances had little to no warning before the whining whistle of another shell filled their ears.
"Incoming!", Frances screamed, the two of them leaping for cover.
Maxine had the misfortune of being half a millisecond behind her subordinate. The deafening blast made her teeth rattle and she went hurtling through the air.
The involuntary summersault ended with her slamming into the ground. Her head hit the cobblestone pavement with enough force to leave a dent in her helmet. Her vision whited out for a second before snapping back into a wobbly focus of greys. Searing specs of ash and debris stung on her face.
She blinked. Her ears were ringing so badly that she could hardly see.
"Lloyd!"
"Maxine!"
"Max!"
The three voices sounded oddly distorted to her abused ears, almost as if she were underwater. Maxine blinked again. The world was still spinning and rolling madly, but at least some colour was returning to it. A groan made its way past her lips.
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Frances hadn't seen her friend get thrown back like a ragdoll by the shockwave, but when the dust had settled and revealed her Sergeant lying in an unmoving heap a few feet away, her heart had well-nigh frozen for a second before trying to leap out of her mouth.
Clambering to her feet and rushing over, calling Maxine's name, she was joined by Joe Toye and Dukeman, who had actually witnessed the whole thing. They ran to the woman's side, the guys each grabbing a handful of her shoulder straps, and dragged her out of the street.
"Ow", Maxine muttered, raising a hand to touch the back of her head which was pounding like a herd of wildebeest. Blinking again, she looked at them, relieved to find that her vision was no longer swimming. "I'm okay", she said, pushing herself upright with a grunt.
They looked at her like she had either just declared her undying love for smelly socks or had been touched by an Angel.
"I'm okay, right?", Maxine asked, suddenly worried that maybe she wasn't.
Toye recovered first, giving her a nod. "You're gonna be alright", he replied with conviction.
Dukeman and Frances nodded as well. "You'll be fine, Max", the young woman added.
"Well good, then quit goggling at me like that", the Washingtonian admonished, "there's a war on, you know!" Using the wall as support, she stood up, ignoring the throbbing ache of her head or the way he world and her stomach lurched in unison at the change of position.
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After being reassured that the Staff Sergeant wasn't going to collapse on the spot, Frances and Toye moved off.
"C'mon, Sarge", Dukeman said, draping one of her arms over his shoulder and looping an arm around her waist to steady her. "Let's get you to the aid station."
Maxine mumbled a distracted thanks, focusing on staying upright and putting one foot in front of the other. At least the ringing in her ears was fading.
The aid station was located inside what might have been a café or restaurant. It was surprisingly clean and well-lit, a stark contrast to the dirty, rubble-filled streets.
But just like outside, there was a battle going on inside, a fight to save the lives of the grievously injured, a fight to make the eager and battle-hungry ones stay put until their wounds had been seen to, a fight against pain and fear and death.
Still feeling a bit wobbly on her feet, Maxine docilely let Pepping lead her to an empty spot, grateful to have somewhere semi-comfortable to lie down.
"What happened?", he inquired, trained eyes already scanning her.
She told him, acutely aware of his fingers as they probed the back of her head. She hissed in a sharp breath when they hit a particularly painful spot. Otherwise, she bore his ministrations without protest, glad when he gave her a smile and said: "You'll be fine. Since it looks like we won't move out until tomorrow, I'm not gonna send you to hospital."
"Thanks, Doc", Maxine replied with a careful nod. "Appreciate it."
He nodded back and went to wash his hands. "Get some rest and call if your headache gets worse or something feels off, alright?", he advised.
"Okay." With that, she closed her eyes and tried to relax, hoping that some sleep would help the hammering in her head.
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Catherine rushed over when the door slammed open and Liebgott hollered for a medic, voice strained and razor-sharp. "Over here", she said, directing them to an empty table.
"It's Tipper", Liebgott added.
She nodded, already busy assessing her patient, trying to find all the injuries and prioritising the worst of them. "We'll take care of him", she offered, giving him a reassuring glance.
He swallowed, but nodded back before briskly leaving the building again.
Turning to the badly injured Tipper, Catherine smiled warmly. "It's okay", she said, wiping away the blood trickling from his mouth.
The morphine was doing its job and was starting to pull him under, but he was still terrified and in pain. Making sure that he wasn't about to bleed out on her, she smoothed the hair back from his forehead, just like she would when one of her kids got sick.
When his eye – singular, the other was gone – finally closed, she allowed herself a brief moment to collect herself before returning to work. She dressed the burns, splinted the broken bones, wrapped bleeding wounds and cleaned away dirt and grime.
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Mia passed her on her way to tend to Lipton, not pausing to see who her colleague was treating, too busy with all the patients they were getting. The battle was apparently coming to an end and they had more capacity to get the wounded off the battlefield.
There were cuts and bruises, concussions and broken bones. Shrapnel wounds, injured joints and ricochets. Lacerations, gunshot wounds, burns, blast injuries and missing body parts. Men were groaning and gasping, bleeding and crying, in shock and in agony.
"Hello Sarge", Mia said to Lip, wiping away the dust and blood staining his face. "What happened?"
"Got caught in a mortar blast", he answered, grimacing at the sting of the disinfectant she had doused the rag with.
She didn't miss his wince and offered a brief, apologetic smile. "Sorry", she muttered, moving on to the makeshift bandage Tab had tied around his wrist, "Iod kills the... things that cause an infection."
He managed a small smile of his own. "It's okay."
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After tending to his wounded wrist, she paused and looked at him. "Do you rather want Pepping or Roe to take care of the rest?", she asked earnestly.
It took Lipton a second before he realised what she meant. "Oh", he made, too surprised at the question to be properly embarrassed. "No, it's alright. As long as you don't mind."
Mia gave a soft, short chuckle. "I'm a medic, sir", was her response. "I don't get to choose."
Lipton had to admit that he'd expected it to be a lot more awkward. Then again, he mused, mind slightly fuzzy from a mixture of waning adrenaline and residual shock, the young half-German was always kind and friendly despite her reticence and her features never held any judgement.
He came out of his ponderings to see Mia looking at him with an expression that was part quizzical, part something he couldn't quite place.
"You alright?", she asked, breaking eye-contact to finish sprinkling sulfa onto the wound.
Lip nodded, absently watching her work. "Just thinking."
She made a small noise of acknowledgment at the back of her throat, tying the bandage and wiping her hands clean of blood. "Just don't think too much", she said, corners of her mouth curling into a little smile, "or you get headaches."
He chuckled, offering her a fond smile. "I'll try."
Mia glanced up to his face again, eyes light with humour, and advised: "Rest, evac will take a while."
Meanwhile, Theresa checked on her squad, sending Alley to look for Liebgott, who had gone off to God knows where. "If he's in a funk you can't break him out of, grab Louise", she told him, completely serious.
He gave her a funny look, but left without comment.
That taken care of, Theresa allowed herself to relax. "Right, boys, find yourself some chow and get some rest."
They were only too happy to oblige, plonking themselves down on the nearest convenient surfaces, taking off helmets, digging through their pockets for rations and fishing out canteens.
"Hey", Jessica protested when she saw Theresa wasn't following suit. "What about you?"
The Nebraskan smiled down at her. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a minute." She started walking away.
"Where're you going?!"
"If you don't mind, I'm gonna go pee!", Theresa tossed over her shoulder, leaving the squad speechless for a moment before they dissolved into giggles.