Over the following three weeks, Easy Company cleared town after small town. They were sent on patrol and ended up in skirmishes and fights with the Germans on an almost daily basis, exchanging shots in those infernal hedgerows with their near-impenetrable foliage that provided fantastic cover for the enemy. Attempts to cross the fields between the hedgerows often ended in a number of casualties and the medics from both sides were fed up with being caught in the literal cross-fire as they tried to tend to the wounded.
Contrary to popular belief, quite a number of German and Allied medics worked well together. They were more interested in their patients' survival than in the colour and design of their uniform. A wounded man was given treatment, regardless which army he belonged to. There even were instances where two medics from opposing camps reached a wounded soldier at the same time and argued about who would treat him. And other times, they ended up helping each other out if one or the other lacked certain supplies or simply needed a hand.
Still, the constant fighting was taking its toll on the medics. When the rest of the company was already enjoying their well-deserved rest after another battle won, another town cleared, the medics were busy treating wounds, saving lives, setting up evacuations for their patients.
.
Catherine raked a hand through her dirty hair and yawned as she exited the aid station. Her colleagues were taking care of the last patients and had practically pushed her out the door with a strict admonishment to take a break. She shuffled over to where a small cluster of Easy's First Platoon lounged.
"Hey guys", she greeted them around another yawn, sitting down next to Theresa.
A smattering of greetings echoed back.
"You look like shit, Mom", Jessica announced, grimacing at the K-ration she was eating.
The Hawaiian hummed an acknowledgement. "Tell me something I don't know." She dug through her pack for something to eat.
"So, Doc, how's Louise?", inquired Perconte.
Their resident sniper had caught a piece of shrapnel in the shoulder in the latest skirmish against the Germans, leaving her swearing up a storm as blood soaked through her OD sleeve.
Catherine snorted and answered: "Peeved. She's probably arguing with Roe about getting evacuated right now."
They chuckled, picturing the scene in their minds as the hot-tempered Brit went up against the responsible Cajun in a battle of wills.
"Is it that bad?", Christenson wanted to know.
She shook her head, opening a canned K-ration. "Nah. Besides, even if we evacuated her, she'd just go AWOL from the hospital to come back."
"Yeah, that was the first thing she said when I got to her", Theresa recounted with a laugh. "She looked at me and told me flat-out she wasn't going to the hospital. 'If they evacuate me, I swear I'll sneak off the transport' she said."
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Catherine listened to the chatter around her as she ate, quietly amused by how much the soldiers loved gossiping. Their attention was diverted when Hoobler came over, holding a squirming something in his arms.
"Hey, Catherine, can you take a look at this little guy? I think he's hurt", he asked – almost pleaded.
The mother of two had her suspicions as to what he was holding and nodded. "Sure, let me see."
And Hoobler deposited a kitten in her lap. Its fur, originally white in colour, was dark grey with dirt and grime and there was blood on its paws and hind-legs. The kitten mewled, baby blue eyes peering at Catherine as she carefully lifted it up.
"Aww, it's adorable", Jessica gushed, scooting closer. "Where'd ya find it, Hoob?"
He explained that he had practically stumbled across it on his way back from the latrine and since he'd seen the blood in its fur, he'd decided to bring it along.
The sharp gazes of Catherine and Theresa thoroughly examined the small feline and they both agreed that while it was certainly in desperate need of a bath and some cuddles, the kitten was in good health.
"Sweet!", Hoobler grinned. "Think he can be our mascot?"
"I don't know, Hoobler", Catherine replied, handing the little creature back over. "I'm not sure the brass would be happy."
He shrugged, not overly concerned. "Right, I'll get some rags and then I can give him a bath", he decided, already scampering off towards the aid station to ask for some gauze.
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The kitten, eventually named Bert for some reason, stayed with Easy for a grand total of two days, travelling in the various pockets of various members of the company. Until one of the officers discovered the feline stowaway and ordered whoever was responsible for the kitten to get rid of it.
Hoobler left Bert in the care of a farmer's children, the three kids delighted by the new pet.
Eugene Roe, who had accompanied the corporal to serve as a translator, smiled as he translated the children's excited jabbering. "They promise to look after him and say that we can visit anytime to check on Bert."
Hoobler stifled a snort and waved goodbye to the kids, the two soldiers turning to re-join their unit.
"What did you tell them?", he wanted to know.
The Cajun medic gave him an odd look. "That we'll visit after the war", he answered.
They walked in silence the rest of the way.
They were nearing the end of July when they crouched in the bushes outside another small town on D-Day plus 25. Battalion wanted to know the contents of a building tucked away in the shelter of the dense vegetation.
Jessica tried to subtly shift her weight since her leg was slowly going numb beneath her. Nobody moved while Welsh conferred quietly with Lt Nixon, the two of them peering through the foliage at their objective.
Their platoon leader turned, staying low and said, voice clipped: "Need to look at that farmhouse. Who wants to go?"
Awkward silence spread as everyone evaded the lieutenant's gaze, looking anywhere but him.
Blithe rose. "I'll go", he offered softly.
"Anybody else?" Welsh paused, scanning the soldiers, before sighing and assigning: "Martin, Helak, you just volunteered. Hubba hubba."
Swallowing back a curse, she got up, joining Johnny and Blithe, the latter volunteering to be in the lead. They crept through the thick undergrowth, Jessica and Johnny taking a knee while Blithe moved ahead to an upturned cart about halfway between their platoon and the building.
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Jessica scanned the abandoned farmhouse, an uneasy feeling in her gut. She had her rifle at the ready, but she didn't see anything suspicious, which made her all the more uneasy. Up ahead, Blithe shifted and raised a hand to signal them forward.
Crack!
Out of nowhere, a shot rang out. Blithe fell.
"Fuck!", Jessica hissed.
"Covering fire!", Lt Welsh was hollering. Their fellow platoon members opened fire.
Johnny clapped her on the arm. "Go, go!"
They rushed to their fallen comrade. Each of them grabbed a handful of Blithe's webbing and together, they hauled him back to their line while rifles barked around them.
"Hang in there, Blithe", Jessica panted.
Welsh cried: "Medic up!"
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They dropped to their knees as soon as they were back at their original position.
"Medic!", Martin shouted. "We need a medic down here!"
Jessica fished out her aid kit, eyes riveted to the blond. He had lost his helmet. Blood was gushing from a wound to the side of his neck. Distantly, she heard Welsh shout: "Cease fire!"
"Take it easy, Blithe, take it easy", Johnny muttered, pouring sulfa onto the wound with shaking hands. "C'mon Helak, come on", he urged.
Jessica's fingers fumbled with the bandage as she went to press it against the wound in an effort to slow the bleeding. "Hang in there, Blithe", she repeated. She couldn't take her eyes of the alarming amount of blood already soaking through the collar of his ODs. He gasped for air.
Rapid footsteps heralded the arrival of a medic. "Outta my way", a familiar drawl ordered.
Jessica was all too happy to step back and give Doc Roe the space he needed to work.
"I got it", he said, taking over applying pressure.
.
She tore her gaze away from the scene before her.
Roe was speaking to Blithe, a stream of soothing nothings. "I got you, Blithe, nice and easy. You'll be okay."
Her fingers were slick with blood. Blithe's strangled breaths filled her ears. She felt sick.
Her blue eyes travelled to the decrepit farmhouse that hadn't been abandoned after all. Her stomach roiled and something burned in her chest. Her hands held her rifle in a white-knuckled grip. Her jaws clenched so tightly that her teeth ached and her nostrils flared as a wave of pure hatred rose up inside her.
She had sworn to make the Nazis pay for what they had done to her father's beloved Poland. Now, she swore to make them pay for each of her friends and comrades that they had killed.
They were taken off the line the same day. First, they pulled back to Carentan. The town was in much the same state as they had left it in; houses demolished, rubble and debris strewn across the street. There wasn't much to do apart from sitting or lying around and waiting for transport to a field camp like Winters had promised.
Maxine found herself a nice spot on the steps of what might have been the town hall at some point. It overlooked the town square and the warm sun was a welcome change from the infernal drizzle that had plagued them for the most part of their time in Normandy. She slumped down, too tired to even spare a thought about what an ungainly sight she must be, and leaned back with a heavy sigh.
It didn't take long for others to join her.
First was Ana María, the diminutive Puerto Rican's tan barely noticeable under the layers and layers of dust and grime. Forrest Guth came next, collapsing onto the steps with a groan and closing his eyes. He was asleep seconds later. Alley flopped down, his helmet landing on the stairs with a soft clunk as he tipped his head back to soak in the sun. And lastly, Louise appeared quietly and sat down next to her, absently rubbing her sore shoulder while she dug out a cigarette with the other hand.
Nobody spoke at first, everyone just content to lie there and not move unless absolutely necessary for a while.
"I hope they have showers at the camp", Ana María mumbled eventually, wincing as her fingers hit countless snags and knots when she ran them through her dark hair.
Alley gave an inarticulate hum of agreement and added a muffled "And hot food" around a mouthful of K-rations.
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Their wish was only partly fulfilled when the trucks brought them to the field camp north of Utah beach. It was packed with wounded. Many lay in the infirmary that was chock-full with stretchers and cots. But just as many were walking wounded, some shuffling slowly or shakily, others ambling around seemingly unbothered by their injuries. To the newcomers, it seemed as if everyone wore bandages of some kind.
The medics, dutiful as always, stumbled off their transport, dead tired like everybody else, and sternly ordered their patients that could walk to make their way to the infirmary and to stay put until their injuries had been seen to. Those that were too weak or badly injured to walk were carried away on stretchers.
With varying degrees of pride, relief, amusement and satisfaction, Lieutenants Winters, Welsh and Compton observed the women of Easy. Of the twelve that had boarded the C-47s on the eve of D-Day, eight had made it. In the other companies of the battalion, the statistics looked much grimmer.
Dog Company had lost two of its three women. Only Esther Bowman had made it out of the plane alive before it had been shot down. She had linked up with members of her company mere hours later, arriving in the assembly area at nightfall of June 6.
And in Fox Company, the death toll of female soldiers was highest. Out of nine women, just two had survived the jump, Cassandra Jessup and Audrey Maynard. Unfortunately, Jessup had been critically injured in the Battle of Bloody Gulch and from what they knew, her chances of returning to combat were slim.
The officers weren't the only ones watching the female soldiers. A war-time reporter also had his eyes on them, studying them and taking notes.
Felix Arbogast had been wounded by flying shrapnel and was still awaiting passage to England – much like everyone else on the beach. But since patients with more serious injuries were, understandably, given precedence, he had decided to make use of his time. It was fascinating to watch as the by now famed Easy Company disembarked off the trucks and it was even more intriguing to see the women interact with the men. There was no unease or awkwardness, just steady trust and familiarity like it was only found in combat.
Staff Sergeant Lloyd was shooing her squad off to grab some food. The promise of hot chow that actually came close to being palatable had even the grumpiest and most tired soldiers perking up. But her smile couldn't chase away the signs of weariness in her slender frame.
Corporal Nolan and Private Helak were dragged along to the mess by their squad as well. If it weren't for the length of their hair, it would have been impossible to discern between them and the rest of the men. They were all equally dirty and battle-worn.
Private Shea practically tumbled off the truck, a tall, broad-chested man steadying her when her knees buckled upon hitting the ground. She smiled up at him even as she rubbed her eyes that were no doubt burning with the desire for sleep.
Corporal Hernandez adjusted the strap of her radio and smirked at something a fellow radio operator said. The small woman yawned as she joined other members of her platoon, fitting seamlessly into the group.
Private Wilson was overseeing the unloading of the wounded. Her ODs were caked with mud, dust and blood and yet, she still managed to look kind and gentle while speaking to one of the patients, brushing his hair back from his forehead in a soothing motherly gesture.
And last but not least, Sergeant Fields was being led towards the medical tents by Corporal Arricante. The sniper, who had a reputation for being hot-tempered and sharp-tongued, was surprisingly docile. Though Felix wagered that the young medic's unreadable smile and the uncompromising way in which she steered the other woman away might have had something to do with it.
.
"Enjoying the show?"
Felix jumped and nearly fell off his seat. Blinking owlishly, he looked up and gulped as he found himself facing a group of rather intimidating soldiers. "Um..."
The men plopped themselves down around him. Their mismatched expressions – some wore deep, menacing scowls while others smiled toothily – only served to heighten his unease.
"Now", one of the men began, arching an eyebrow. "Gonna answer the question?"
"I..."
The brown-haired man across from him held up a hand and placated: "Easy, Skinny." Still, his blue eyes turned to Felix, regarding him expectantly.
Felix swallowed, his collar feeling uncomfortably tight all of a sudden. "I was just-", he started before abandoning his initial response and saying: "-taking notes." Met with several unimpressed looks, coupled with a few sharp frowns and glares, he hurried to add: "I'm a war correspondent for the Washington Post, you know?"
That didn't appease the suspicious NCOs too much.
"And what, you're taking notes so you can write another slam piece about the women in our battalion?", the Staff Sergeant with the scary glare challenged, his voice biting.
He rapidly shook his head. "N-no, I swear, I never wrote anything bad about them. I have total respect for them."
The smile he received from the fellow with the dark hair and eyes was just a little too wide for his comfort. "So what did you write down then?", the man asked innocently.
Felix simply handed over the notes he'd taken on his observations. The men crowded around the little booklet, reading over each other's shoulder and muttering amongst themselves.
.
Eventually, the man holding the notebook – a stocky guy with a distinctive jawline – let out a short, sharp laugh that startled Felix and declared in a nasal accent: "Seems like you're an alright sort."
"Erm, thanks?" Really, what could he say to that? This entire encounter was far too bizarre and nerve-wracking for him.
"So long's there's no more muckraking, we're happy", the one with the cheerful grin commented, shrugging easily.
He nodded. "I never agreed with those articles", he asserted, taking his notebook back. "I promise, I won't write anything like that. I just want to report the truth."
"Good", said the man with the gravelly voice who had first spoken.
His comrade with the bright blue eyes elaborated: "These women are heroes, end of story. They made it this far on their own merit, fair and square. They don't deserve any of the slander the papers have put them through."
His friends agreed, the group of NCOs nodding emphatically.
.
"Alright, break it up, boys", a laughing voice spoke behind them.
Felix watched in awe as the threatening stances and expressions melted away when the Easy men turned around to face their acting ranking medic.
"Just coming to an understanding, Mom", the man with the prominent jaw offered.
Catherine Wilson snorted and gave him a look that told him she had seen right through that vague obfuscation. "Yeah right, Guarnere, pull the other one", she said, a fondly exasperated smirk on her lips. "Stop bothering the man and get your asses to the mess tent."
"Yes, Ma'am", the cheerful man with the dark eyes grinned, saluting her in jest.
She rolled her eyes at him and shooed them off. "C'mon, get going. Unlike you, there's people who still got work to do." Looking at Felix, she smiled and said: "I'm sorry, I hope they didn't bother you too much. They're good men and only want to look out for us."
He weakly waved his hand. "It's alright", he muttered.
"Well then, I have to get back to work", she said. "Take care." And then she was gone, vanished in the constant bustle of the camp.