Oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm actually posting a chapter on time!
Thanks everybody for reading and reviewing and being really patient when I didn't upload anything for a while because I was too busy running around in real life. I really appreciate it.
As always, suggestions and ideas are more than welcome :) On the next chapter or the one after that, I'll have another "what would you like to see" question for you. It's about one character dying. I'd like to know what you think. But more details to follow ;)
Warning: This chapter has one rather graphic scene, so please proceed with caution!
It took Catherine the better part of a week to stop compulsively reassuring herself of Mia's presence and well-being. She tried to keep her hovering and fussing to a minimum because she knew how uncomfortable it made the other woman, but every time she saw the bandages covering Mia's arms from wrist to elbow, a clump of guilt formed in her stomach.
Her friend had told her to stop being silly – not in those exact words, though – and rationally, she knew that it wasn't her fault, but she just couldn't help but feel responsible.
With the operation going as disastrously as it did, Catherine didn't have time to dwell on her guilt. They were engaged in a constant tug-of-war with an enemy that hopelessly, ridiculously outmatched them on a road that was soon coined Hell's Highway.
They liberated a town and waited for the tanks.
The Germans cut off the road behind them.
They fought to retake the same stretch of road.
The Germans bombed the town, so they moved out again.
Sometimes, they left early enough to avoid the shelling.
Sometimes, they didn't.
.
They lost men. Gunfire from rifles and MGs. Mortar explosions. Strafes from German bomber squadrons. Tank shells.
The how was irrelevant, it didn't change the facts. Good people were killed, many of them replacements who just hadn't had the time and experience to develop the same battle instincts as the Toccoa veterans. Each weapon and attack caused devastation in its own way.
Theresa would maintain uncompromisingly that the railgun was the worst.
They were in a field – or was it an orchard? – somewhere along the road between Eindhoven and Nijmegen. Fighting the Germans like they had been doing practically every day of the massive pile of shit that Operation Market Garden had been from nearly the get-go.
She was shooting Krauts left and right while also keeping one eye on her replacements when out of nowhere, the ground started bucking and rumbling. With each colossal jolt, loose dirt crumbled from the walls of their hastily dug foxhole.
"Is that an earthquake?!", Pace called over the gunfire and shouts of men.
"No!", Theresa replied, shifting her aim when the man in her sights collapsed with a hole in his forehead. "Their railgun!"
Turning around, she shouted for everyone still out in the open to take cover. Cobb came hurtling into their already crowded foxhole, an angry curse on his lips, a black smear down his nose. Wedged between him and a wall of dirt, the Nebraskan spared another glance to check on her squad.
Boom! The railgun fired again, the earth lurching violently.
.
Theresa was tracking Maitland's progress towards the foxhole to the immediate left of theirs when the round hit.
The sight was traumatising enough.
Her eyes closed reflexively, but it was too late. Maitland, the youngest member of her squad – probably not even 18 yet – had literally been torn to shreds. Shreds.
But the sound, the sound of that kid, dear God he was just a boy, getting blown apart, was much worse. The ripping, cracking and splattering noise pierced through Theresa's eardrums and dug itself into her brain to haunt her until the end of her days.
Blood and other, more solid...parts, rained down on them.
She gagged.
Pace shrieked, looking about as green as she felt. Cobb uttered a curse that she normally would have rebuked him for.
Theresa forced back the bile in her throat and reloaded with shaking hands and stinging eyes. She tried to ignore the itching feeling of blood drying on her face. And she pointedly didn't look at the rest, kept her eyes glued to her sights and the enemy.
They managed to retake the road with the help of the tanks that eventually showed up.
Theresa didn't feel like celebrating. She felt sick. Pace bolted as soon as the air was clear, puking his guts out three feet away from their foxhole.
I gotta check on him, Theresa thought. I have to check on my guys. But she couldn't move. Her chest was tight, ribcage seemingly shrinking and constricting her lungs. Her throat closed up and her vision blurred. She sat down, pulled her rifle close and started crying.
She didn't miss the startled look that crossed Cobb's face and she could sense his discomfort in the way the atmosphere shifted.
He shuffled uneasily before asking: "Uh...you want me to check on the others, Sarge?"
She never would have thought that she'd ever hear Roy Cobb sound so hesitant. "Yeah, Cobb, thanks", she managed to choke out between shuddering, hitching breaths.
He nodded. Giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder, he climbed out of the foxhole and disappeared from her field of vision.
.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Jessica came to sit next to her. Theresa couldn't find the energy to acknowledge her. For once, the blonde Marylander had no witty comment or snarky quip on her tongue; she just draped an arm across her shoulders in quiet support.
When the tears dried up and Theresa could think and breathe properly again, she realised that Jessica was talking. Probably had been for a while. Her friend didn't seem to mind that she was only now starting to pay attention, though.
Instead, Jessica returned to the beginning of the story she had been telling without missing a beat. Theresa listened and after a while, found her lips twitching in amusement as Jessica regaled her with tales of childhood exploits and fond stories of her little brothers.
"They drive me crazy, but I love those two scallywags", she said with the longing smile of a proud sister.
Theresa could relate. "How old are they?", she wanted to know, wiping her face with her sleeve. With all the grime and blood on her uniform, some tears and a bit of snot hardly made a difference.
"David's eleven and Fabian will be in December. What about Sam?", Jessica asked back. "He's older, right?"
"Yeah, one year exactly."
Jessica paused, eyes narrowing before going wide. "Wait, so...no, you're shitting me, right? You two have the same birthday?"
The sheer incredulity in her voice along with her baffled expression drew a short chuckle out of Theresa. "Yeah."
.
Less than twenty minutes later, Theresa was keeping Pace company as he struggled to handle his buddy's death.
The poor kid brokenly confessed that Maitland had indeed lied on his papers. "He's- h-he was just a few months shy of 18, Ma'am", he sniffled.
She told him that it didn't change the fact that he had been a good guy.
Pace swiped at his eyes and nodded.
.
That evening, Theresa pulled small clumps of gooey red stuff out of her braid. She promptly threw up.
Nearly a week after the ambush at Nuenen, in another town they had all forgotten the name of already, Bull watched from where he was sitting nearby with Johnny, Luz and Grant as their most taciturn medic staggered out of the aid station. She had her helmet held loosely by the chin strap, revealing her shock of short hair, matted with grime and sweat and sticking up in all directions as usual. Unaware of the contemplating gaze on her, Mia ran a hand through her perpetually tousled hair and heaved a long, bodily sigh.
"What're you looking at?", Johnny questioned, a thin coat of annoyance covering the genuine curiosity in his voice. He leant forward to see what had captured his friend's attention.
Luz and Grant turned to follow his line of sight as well. "That's Mia", Luz stated unnecessarily and before anyone could say anything, he whistled through his teeth and waved her over. "Hey! Mia! C'mon over!"
He frowned at the subtle flinch the medic gave as well as the split-second moment of hesitation before she walked towards them. Looking at his comrades, he gathered that they had seen it, too. It struck them all how lost the young woman looked in that moment, presenting such a stark contrast to her generally unflappable exterior.
A mildly bewildered, faintly concerned expression was on Mia's face when she reached them.
"Do you need something?", she asked.
Luz grinned at her. "Yes, for you to sit down and take a break before you keel over."
She blinked in astonishment, then smiled tiredly. "I assume that 'keel over' means to collapse?", she said as she gingerly lowered herself down into the spot they had freed up for her, making sure not to lean into anyone's space.
"That's right", George answered easily. "And you looked about six, maybe seven seconds away from it."
"Mhm."
.
Conversation revolved around rumours and gossip, as it so often did. Grant listened to Luz regaling them with one of his many humorous stories, though his attention rested on the thin figure next to the chattering radioman.
Mia followed her friend's animated narration, shoulders twitching with a soundless laugh here and there. She was scarfing down a K-ration without complaint or grimace, apparently not too bothered by the taste (or lack thereof) as she listened. The road rash on the side of her face had already faded with healing, just some scabbed areas peppering her skin now.
She laughed at a snide remark from Johnny, Chuck internally startling at the realisation that this was the first time he had heard the young woman laugh. A glance towards Johnny and Bull told him that he wasn't the only one.
"Say, Doc", he piped up, nodding to the ration in her hands. "How can you eat this crap without pulling a face?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I'm too focused on swallowing it down to pull a face."
Luz cackled, which made the others register that they had just witnessed Mia Arricante, the oddly quiet medic with the kind smile and unreadable expression, crack a joke.
.
Their conversation followed twists and turns until Bull said: "You know, after Nuenen, I was wondering if you got family on the other side?"
The young woman baulked at the question, muscles stiffening. Guarded blue eyes shifted to each of them. Then, after a long moment of silence, she looked away and nodded her head.
"You got family with the enemy?", Johnny questioned, taken aback. From the looks of it, not even Luz had known about this.
Her gaze snapped to him. "They didn't have a choice", she defended emphatically, misinterpreting his shocked tone. "They're not Nazis."
"They were drafted?", Grant ventured.
Mia nodded, eyes flickering over before dropping away to focus on a dark stain on her knee. "Everyone. My uncle and both cousins", she said softly. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as her brows drew together in a sad, worried and wary expression that Chuck decided he didn't like seeing on her.
"The last I heard", she continued, "they were still alive." 5 months ago, when Uncle Stephan's division had been sent to Southern France for refitting while Rolf and Adrian's unit had still been at the Eastern Front.
.
The quiet admission slammed into their guts like a ton of bricks. None of them had truly realised just how difficult this had to be for her. Johnny was first to recover and he asked how she got news from her family if they were "on the other side" as he put it.
Her lips pursed into a tiny smile as some of the tension drained from her frame. She explained that her mother and aunt wrote to each other and that her mother kept her updated as best she could.
"Isn't that dangerous?", Bull frowned. The censors were one thing but he was pretty sure that mail in and out of Germany was heavily monitored on both sides of the Atlantic.
She shrugged, but didn't contradict him. "Aunt Sophie has many contacts", she said. "If it gets too dangerous, she can leave the country very fast."
Luz grinned at that and made a joke about how her aunt sounded like she'd make an awesome spy. Johnny shot back that Luz would of course be terrible at that with his big mouth. The mood lightened instantly as they dissolved into good-natured bickering and ribbing.
Mia smiled to herself as she scraped the last bits of her ration out of its can.
Chuck rolled his eyes and turned to the medic, commenting jokingly: "You know, I still can't believe that you can eat this stuff without pulling a face."
She peered at him and giggled softly, a light blush spreading on her cheeks, the colour highlighting the still-healing scabs on her face.
In each town they liberated, Louise and Ryan had a separate mission. They evaluated possible sniper perches and cleared them, often with the help of the Dutch Resistance.
Mostly, there weren't any problems worth mentioning. Louise dealt with any unwanted advances in her usual way – with liberal cursing and pointed threats. Ryan was happy to stand back and let her handle it, taking a gleeful pleasure in watching the blonde cut the offenders to size with words.
One day, Louise explained to a big-headed idiot that she'd dangle him over the balcony like an old carpet if he didn't lose the leering gaze. Ryan couldn't keep himself from grinning and he thought he might have just fallen in love a little.
"You should write a book", he said as they climbed down the wobbly stairs from the attic they had checked.
She turned her head to look at him, eyebrow arched, storm only gradually retreating from her features.
"That threat was pure poetry", he continued, taking out the rudimentary map of the town that the Dutch had provided them with. "The sleazebag looked ready to shit his pants."
.
They stepped out into the street and headed to the next potential perch.
Louise huffed. "Walking piece of garbage", she grumbled under her breath, but the corners of her mouth were quirking upwards. "I really wanted to punch him."
"Oh I could see that", he told her with a laugh. "And I applaud your self-restraint."
She snorted, the smile fully spreading on her face. "Well, I do my best", she quipped with a teasing look.
They sobered up before they entered the building. It had been a rare occurrence, but once or twice, the enemy sniper positions had still been manned. So, they decided to err on the side of caution and retain the element of surprise as best they could.
After all, they never knew what would be waiting for them behind the next corner.
Days and weeks blurred into a continuous stream of fighting, blood and misery. Despite being protected by the Geneva convention as non-combatants, medics weren't impervious to injury and death. To fill in the gaps, they were forced into a macabre game of 'musical companies', getting borrowed and loaned out by all companies of the battalion.
Kneeling on the ground, scuffed knee pads grinding against pebbles and debris, Catherine fashioned a splint amidst the noisy mess of gunfire and shouting. Her patient had had his leg shattered by a flying piece of wall. A piece of the broken bone protruded from his shin.
He writhed and moaned; his hands clamped around his upper thigh.
"Shhh, it's okay", Catherine soothed, wishing that the morphine would take effect already. Splinting the badly mangled limb without the pain-killing medicine would be hell.
The fighting seemed to move away from where she was if the noise level was anything to go by. She lifted her head for a moment to survey the street. Rubble, bodies strewn about, a smattering of people with red crosses on their helmets taking care of the wounded.
She sighed and steeled herself.
.
Even with the syrette's numbing properties, the poor guy was in a world of pain. Catherine worked as fast as she could, realigning the broken bones with sharp, precise movements.
He cried in agony.
A gunshot rang out. A bullet zipped past her and buried itself in the wall behind her.
"Hey!", somebody shouted.
Catherine looked up and flinched when another shot hit close to her. Closer than the other one. A German soldier advanced on her, yelling something. His rifle was pointing right at her. She ignored him for a moment, focusing on her patient. His cries dissolved into sobbing pleas as she finished the splint. "Shh, I know. It's almost over, hold on."
.
"Verpiss dich!"
"Sag mal, geht's noch?! Was ist denn in dich gefahren?!"
The two voices drew her attention again, especially since one of them clearly belonged to the man that had fired at her twice. He was still yelling, angrily gesturing with his rifle.
Catherine could only make out a handful of words and understood maybe three of those.
The other man that was obviously arguing with his comrade was one of the German medics who had been tending to the wounded.
The Hawaiian turned back to her patient. She pulled out bandages and sulfa and started dressing the young man's other wounds. He whimpered and snivelled, eyes glassy and unfocused.
.
Another shot.
It struck dirt, less than a foot away from her.
The soldier was screaming at her. The other medic was shouting at him. The man with the shattered leg had finally, mercifully passed out. The soldier was only a few footsteps away, rifle still at the ready. He was frothing at the mouth, ranting and raving unintelligibly.
Her heart hammered in her throat. "Sanitäter!", she called to him, praying that he'd understand. Mia had taught them all some of the most vital vocabulary for combat medics, but it wasn't enough for a situation like this.
The German medic's voice had taken on a desperate pitch. "Nimm das Gewehr runter, verdammte Scheisse! Das ist ein Sani, siehst du doch! Bist du komplett übergeschnappt?!"
The soldier's finger tightened on the trigger again. The barrel pointed straight at her forehead.
.
It seemed like somebody had wrapped an invisible rope around Catherine's neck. It was strangling her. The yelling and clamouring blended into a distorted roar. She was rooted to the spot, hands continuing their task autonomously as she stared at the raging soldier.
This was it. She was going to die.
Bang!
Catherine jumped, a pitiful yelp escaping her.
The soldier's body hit the ground with a thud and a clatter. He didn't even twitch. Her gaze slid over to the German medic. He stared back at her with wide, frantic eyes, horrified, shocked and deeply apologetic.
Attempting to swallow even though her mouth was completely dry, Catherine blinked a few times and pulled in a gulp of air.
And another.
Keep it together, Catherine. You have a job to do. Keep it together.
She couldn't remember much after that.
The next clear memory she had was of sitting on a pile of debris next to the aid station, eyes fixed on a scorch mark on the pavement without really seeing it.
A shadow fell on her, jerking her out of her daze. She rocked back and came face to face with possibly the single-most intimidating person in the entire division.
.
Speirs had heard what had transpired and he'd decided to check on Easy's ranking medic before sending her back to her own company. Already from several feet away, he noticed that she was shaking. He supposed it wasn't unusual after staring down the business end of a rifle.
"Wilson", he said when the medic finally registered his presence. The pallor and jumpiness weren't unexpected either.
"Lieutenant Speirs, sir", she responded, returning to herself. Her voice shook a little, but her startled expression quickly became professional.
"Everything alright?"
A frown appeared on her face as she considered the question. "I'll be fine, sir", was the answer she eventually gave. "I was just shaken."
Speirs knew that quite a number of people would have been fooled by her response. Her tone was placating, her small smile reassuring. But he saw right through it. Wilson had lots of practice downplaying her own distress for the benefit of her children and while she was good, she was nowhere near as skilled at masking her thoughts and emotions as a certain other female combat medic.
.
Catherine could see that the lieutenant didn't quite believe her. His brow lifted a fraction while his blank gaze bored into her. But he didn't call her out on her evasion, which she appreciated.
"You did good, Sergeant", he said instead, a clear note of respect in his tone.
Maybe it was just the lingering nerves or her imagination, but Catherine could have sworn that there had been a tiny hint of a smile on his face.
Deciding not to dwell on it, she thanked him and got to her feet.
By the time the mother of two reached Easy, word of her encounter had already run its course and she was greeted with great relief and enthusiasm.
The incident was quickly added to the Toccoa veterans' repertoire of stories about their company's women pulling off death-defying stunts, holding their own against all odds or just generally being pretty awesome in their eyes.
The stories and with it, the women's reputation, grew every day, spreading further and further across companies, regiments and divisions. There would always be malicious tongues whispering ugly words, but they were being drowned out by the supportive voices that recounted the tales of those strong, brave and capable girl paratroopers.