Please note that I don't speak Spanish. I can understand little bits and pieces, but that's it. So if there are any mistakes, please tell me :)
Bill Guarnere was a nosy person by nature. He liked being in the know and that included gossip. He was always privy of the latest rumours and up to speed on foxhole talk. So of course, he had heard all the stories about Lieutenant Speirs from Dog Company that were circulating in the battalion (and further). And as a Toccoa veteran, it was old news to him that Speirs and Mia Arricante, Easy's most elusive medic, had some kind of connection. But the exact nature of that bond, now that was something not even Wild Bill knew for sure.
Maxine had told him that they were friends, but Bill honestly found that rather hard to believe because how would that work? Mia, the soft-spoken and kind girl that shied away from too much attention, friends with Speirs, the man with the blank stare that had shot his own sergeant?
Even after catching a small glimpse of interaction between them, Bill wasn't quite sure what to think.
Speirs had spoken to Mia after she and Bull had returned from being MIA in Nuenen. Bill had only witnessed the scene from afar, but the lieutenant had looked at the medic's injuries, cupping her chin to turn her head with something he was hesitant to describe as care.
Mia had tolerated the physical contact despite famously preferring her personal space. She had smiled and probably assured him that she was alright – at least that's what Bill had guessed from her body language.
Speirs had withdrawn his hand and they had exchanged a few more words before the lieutenant had given her a smile – Bill would have thought he'd been dreaming if it weren't for the fact that it had been bright day – and briefly put a hand on her shoulder before leaving.
.
Naturally, Bill jumped at the chance to investigate the mystery that had most of the company scratching their heads. Apart from a select few more insightful and/or knowledgeable individuals like Lipton, Maxine and Louise. Though the sniper wasn't saying anything and Lip was too considerate to discuss what wasn't his business.
So when he ended up sharing a foxhole with the young woman one night, Bill seized the opportunity. After all, it wasn't just about satisfying his own curiosity, but also to have something to shut down the more maliciously inclined whispers about Mia. He waited until she had settled after coming back from her rounds, drenched from the thunderstorm the skies were bestowing onto them tonight.
Then, he asked: "What's the deal between you and Lt Speirs?"
She looked at him. "The deal?", she questioned. She sounded somewhere between confused and surprised, but it was difficult to read her face in the dark.
"You know, what's going on with you and him", he clarified with a shrug, tone nonchalant and neutral. He was pretty sure that there wasn't a romantic side to their relationship because neither she nor Speirs struck him as the type of person to stupidly risk their position like that.
Comprehension lit up her eyes just as a flash of lightning briefly illuminated her face. "Oh", she made, smiling softly. "I don't know. I think we're friends?"
The questioning inflection had Bill raising an eyebrow and he probed: "You think?"
"Naja...I don't know if that works", came the halting explanation, almost drowned out by the thunder rolling above them. "He's an officer...and I'm not completely sure if I'm his friend."
"But you like him?"
Mia nodded. "Yes", she said simply, "he's nice."
Bill's eyebrows made a valiant attempt at touching his hairline. "Nice?", he parroted. There were countless other words he would have expected, but 'nice' really wasn't an attribute he'd associate with 'Lieutenant Speirs'.
She shifted and pulled her knees up. The next crack of lighting left him with an afterimage of her expression – hesitant and a little defensive. But night time had a tendency to strip away masks and walls, making people more open and honest than in the cold light of day.
"He is nice", Mia repeated, her light voice mixing with the steady drumming of the rain. "He lets me be me and doesn't care what people say."
Mutual acceptance. The term popped into Bill's mind as he remembered Max using it when they had discussed this exact topic.
.
Mia wanted to know why he'd asked, suppressing a yawn.
Inspired by night's mystical properties, Bill told her about the scene he'd witnessed, a private moment between friends (or at least companions if she was hesitant to use the word friendship).
"Oh."
He frowned, unable to place the emotion in her tone. Embarrassment? It wasn't annoyance or anger. Maybe chagrin? Or worse: Worry and fear? "I didn't mean to", he explained himself. "And I didn't tell anyone. Figured it's none of my business."
A chuckle drifted through the rain and he saw a flash of her smile. "I don't want people to get the wrong idea", she confessed after a pause, growling thunder underlining her words. "We...we're friends" – the unsure hitch in her tone told him that it wasn't the perfect description for their relationship – "and friends care about each other. We're not lovers."
Bill hadn't expected her to be so blunt and choked on a surprised laugh. "Got it", he managed, mock-glaring at the dark silhouette of the young medic as she snickered softly.
"I'm quite sure that's what many people think", Mia said, cheer mellowing out in her voice. "But they're wrong." She cleared her throat and was serious again. "Can you keep this to yourself, please?"
He huffed and would have been offended by her request if he hadn't just gotten a sense of her hidden insecurity and the constant niggling concern at the back of her mind about being rejected and scorned.
"Don't you worry, Doc", he said easily, blindly patting her bony shin. "Your secret is safe with me."
"Thanks, Bill."
As he drifted off into alight (and most likely extremely short-lived) sleep, Bill thought to himself that this was probably the most he had ever heard the quiet girl talk.
Things only got worse when they were moved to The Island. The low-lying area between the Waal River in the South and the Rhine River in the North was cut off to all sides by rivers and canals. The Germans had the high ground on the north bank of the Rhine and could see basically every move the Allies made. With lots of artillery and seemingly endless supplies of ammo, they kept shelling the Allies almost nonstop.
The 101st was stretched thin as they took over holding their assigned piece of the line from the British 43rd Wessex Division. The only way for the OPs to keep contact was through patrols, runners and radio. Everyone was tired, tense and filthy, stuck in foxholes with near-constant shellfire raining down on them. Tempers ran short, the paratroopers unused to such static warfare. The feelings of annoyance and restlessness were only aggravated by the general exhaustion. Nothing happened apart from all the shelling and sporadic skirmishes when a German patrol crossed their line or the other way around.
.
After losing far too many people during Market Garden, the newest batch of replacements arrived to bolster their dwindling numbers. The veterans hadn't thought it possible, but these kids were even more inexperienced and green than the last ones.
"Jesus Christ, were we this bad, too?", Andrews muttered to McClung as they watched Maxine demonstrate the quickest way to check and clean the breech block on their M1s to the new boys in their squad.
McClung smirked and shook his head. "No", he whispered back. "You guys were green, but this? This is just painful."
Two of the new boys managed to mix up their breech blocks, resulting in two momentarily non-operational rifles.
Maxine pinched the bridge of her nose, even her patience wearing thin after all these weeks of no sleep and constant fighting. But she kept herself in check and sternly impressed on them the importance of knowing which parts belonged to which rifle. "If you can't tell them apart, mark them in some way so this doesn't happen again", she finished, wiping her hands on her trousers. With all the dirt on her ODs, a couple of gun-grease smears would blend right in.
They nodded and mumbled a sheepish "Yes Ma'am" before putting their rifles back together again, properly this time.
.
One bright spot, however, managed to briefly raise everyone's spirits a little. Especially Fox Company's because one of their own returned against all odds.
Everyone had been certain that after she'd had a piece of shrapnel lodged in her skull in Normandy, Cassandra Jessup would be shipped home. Many had quietly wondered if she'd even survive. So naturally, shock and stunned disbelief were the most common first reactions when Cassandra showed up at the battalion CP a few days after their arrival on The Island.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer", the South Dakotan said tongue-in-cheek in response to the many stares. She had four months of practise ignoring the way people's eyes grew wide at the sight of the raised, jagged scar that her hair likely wouldn't ever hide completely.
"Well, excuse us for staring", a familiar voice said behind her, sarcasm sparkling with laughter, "after all, last time we saw you, you were only bleeding out all over Ray's pants."
Smiling ruefully, Cassandra greeted her company's First Sergeant, Melrin Shennum. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before Shennum, still not quite over his surprise, asked: "But seriously, what the hell are you doing here?"
She shrugged. "The doctors said I could go back or go home", she answered, as if that explained everything. It did.
"And naturally, you picked this shithole instead of a one-way ticket back stateside", he concluded, shaking his head with a half-incredulous smile. He clapped her on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Jessup."
"Thanks, Sarge." Slinging her rifle down from her shoulder, Cassandra then wanted to know: "Where is Ray?"
Shennum hid a smirk since he'd been waiting for this question. "Out on the OP", he answered. "She'll be glad to have her A-gunner back."
Relieved to hear that her friend was alright, Cassandra accepted the box of MG ammo that he wanted her to take to the OP.
"God, I feel awful looking spit-shined clean while you guys have been slogging through the dirt for weeks", she commented, wrinkling her nose at her near-spotless ODs.
"Don't worry, by tonight, you'll look like everyone else", the First Sergeant reassured her drily, turning around to wave over one of the replacements who was about to start his shift on the line. "Pescini, take some more ammo with you, Easy's third platoon is running low after this morning", he instructed.
"Yes sir."
.
On their way to the line, Cassandra was filled in on their current situation, which sounded just as discouraging and frustrating as it really was, by PFC James C. Pescini. He seemed like a good kid, not as energetic and overeager for battle as some of the other replacements she'd encountered on her way here.
"Sergeant Maynard is gonna be happy to have you back, Ma'am", he commented on their way to the supply depot to get the additional munitions for their sister company.
Cassandra hummed indistinctly and returned: "She'll scold me first for coming back."
Pescini chuckled. "Well, to be honest, Ma'am, I don't think many people would have come back with an injury like yours", he said. To his credit, his eyes only briefly flickered to the scar before he focused on the way in front of them again.
"I was lucky. The metal didn't go through the bone", she told him. To keep things from getting too dark and depressing, she added lightly: "But I had one hell of a headache for about a month."
He snorted in amusement, lips curling into a small smile. "Yeah, I can imagine that."
.
Cassandra's prediction proved to be right. Audrey laid eyes on her friend and assistant gunner, let out a gasp and managed to wrap her in a near-crushing hug despite the tight quarters before demanding: "What the hell are you doing here? Did that shrapnel scramble your brains?"
"Missed you too, Ray", Cassandra replied fondly, deciding to be mature about it and stick her tongue out to her. "It takes more than a little scrap of metal to put me out of commission."
The New Zealander was distinctly unimpressed. "That 'little scrap of metal' punched a hole into your skull", she clarified, a frown on her dirty face.
"I know. But the doctor said I could come back if I really wanted."
Audrey made a strangled noise at the back of her throat that was somewhere between a scoff and a helpless laugh. Then slowly, a smile spread on her face, the frown clearing off her expression. "I'm glad you're okay, Celia."
"Of course you are", Cassandra retorted with a wry smirk, nudging her with her body. "I'm the only one besides you who knows how to handle that wonky tripod."
Audrey stuck out her tongue and they both giggled before silence settled over the OP again.
Until the Germans decided to send the next barrage of MG fire and artillery shells their way.
Because they didn't really have enough manpower for all the ground they had to cover, regular patrols became necessary to make sure the enemy didn't slip through any of the gaps between their OPs. Though apparently, the Germans didn't have men galore either.
One night in early October, Theresa and some members of her squad were sent on a recon patrol. Frustrated and worn out as they were, the last things they wanted to do was creep through the low flood land, cross drainage ditches and climb the high, sloped dykes.
Lesniewski was on point and walked ahead, carefully picking his way up the slope of the dyke while the rest of the patrol waited at the bottom, rifles ready. Liebgott grumbled under his breath, scowling at the mud caking large parts of his left pantleg from when he'd slipped five minutes prior. Theresa shushed him silently, giving him a pointed glare because they were on light and noise discipline, for fuck's sake.
Things went wrong.
Badly.
Lesniewski came hurtling back down the slope, hollering a warning.
But it was too late.
.
Gunfire erupted on the dyke, spewing bullets down on them. Theresa ducked instinctively and raised her voice to get her squad moving.
Something sailed over the dyke and hit the ground in an explosion that left her blinking away white spots.
In front of her, Alley went down like a sack of potatoes, a scream of pain tearing from his throat.
Somebody sucked in a sharp breath, somebody swore.
Her stomach filled with ice.
"Lesniewski, Liebgott, grab Alley!", she ordered. "Pace, Helak, covering fire! C'mon, let's go!"
.
Two men weren't enough to carry Alley's limp weight, so Theresa had Pace take the lead while she went to help Liebgott and Lesniewski. Even in the dark, she could tell that Alley was in bad shape. He was only semi-conscious, moaning intermittently as he was jostled this way and that on their hurried retreat.
Dear God, please let us be fast enough, she prayed frantically.
Another part of her brain – one that wasn't preoccupied with getting her squad out of there – cursed her. This is your fault! This wouldn't have happened if you'd just enforced noise discipline. Alley is wounded because of you.
She shoved the thoughts aside. There was no time for self-recrimination. Alley needed a Doc, now.
.
They stopped only briefly when they were out of reach of the enemy's bullets to remove Alley's gear. Pace volunteered to carry it, already slinging the rifle and musette bag onto his back before anyone could open their mouths to agree.
"Let's go", Theresa urged, cradling Alley's head once more as they lifted him up. Warm blood seeped through her fingers and into the fabric of her ODs. "Hurry!"
They burst into the barn that was housing First Platoon. Pace slammed the door open and shouted: "We got penetration!"
A dog barked.
"Alley's hurt", Liebgott added, voice strained, "we need a Doc!"
Men appeared from all sides as they jumped up from the benches and tables or scrambled down from the loft. Theresa payed no mind to the flurry of activity around her, her attention on her wounded comrade.
"Get him on the table", she directed, shifting her hold so they could hoist Alley onto the table that had hastily been cleared.
Winters stepped in and sent Boyle to get a medic, the man rushing off without hesitation. In the dim lighting of the barn, they finally got a good look at Alley's injuries. They were extensive, blood covering a large part of his chest. Ana María materialised at Alley's side, catching the hand that was weakly grasping at air. Señor ten piedad e aleja su dolor.
Confusion flickered on Alley's blood-splattered features. He tried to move his head, which Theresa prevented so he wouldn't aggravate the nasty wound to his neck.
She smoothed back his hair. "Shhh, stay sill."
"Where am I?", he asked, eyes dazedly roving around before they managed to focus onto Lipton. "Something happened, what happened?"
Theresa's heart constricted painfully at the questions, guilt rearing its head. She bit down on the inside of her cheek while Lip gently reassured him that it was going to be okay.
.
"Where was it?", Winters wanted to know.
"At the crossroads, sir", Theresa answered, tearing her gaze away from Alley to look at the CO. At the same time, she noticed Liebgott unfurling a pressure bandage and it hit her like a ton of bricks. He was hurt, too. Blood was trickling down his neck to the collar of his shirt, a patch of deep red slowly soaking into the fabric. Jesus, are the others hurt, too?
Unaware of her scrutiny, Liebgott tacked on: "Where the road crosses the dyke." He pressed the bandage against his wound, but with only one hand, he couldn't tie it off.
"If it wasn't for your loud mouth, they'd never known we were there!", Lesniewski burst out, glaring accusingly at the man next to him, who promptly argued back: "Hey, you know what, Joe? Back off!"
Dukeman tried to step between the two in an attempt to defuse the tension. He opened his mouth to placate them, but Theresa was faster.
"Hey! Zip it, you two!", she snapped, glaring at them. The situation was bad enough without them tearing at each other's throats. Plus, if anybody was to blame for this mess, it was her and her alone.
.
Before the argument could continue, Winters cut in with orders. "Lesniewski, send a runner for Lieutenant Welsh. Lipton, assemble me a squad."
Lipton acknowledged with a quiet "Yes sir" before raising his head and hollering: "First squad, on your feet! Weapons and ammo only, let's move!"
The crowd around the table dispersed as everyone ran to grab their gear. Ana María stayed, taking over the task of soothing Alley. In her mind, she was still sending prayer upon prayer heavenward, begging the Lord to spare her friend.
"Ana María?", he mumbled, blinking at her.
She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand, her thumb gently brushing over his knuckles. "Hey Moe."
Roe arrived, pushing through the soldiers and immediately taking charge. "Nolan, get the boots off and elevate the legs", he ordered. "Liebgott, use the sulfa, not too much. Hernandez, keep talking to him, keep him awake."
They complied, moving quickly while also trying not to cause Alley any more pain.
.
"C'mon, let's go!", Cobb called, pushing a stack of ammo clips at his squad sergeant when he passed her on the way out.
Liebgott stepped away from the table and made to follow.
Theresa stopped him with a shake of her head. "Not you. Stay here, help Doc with Alley."
Baffled indignation sparked up in his eyes and he protested: "Don't be stupid, Reese, I'm not gonna sit this one out."
"Yes, you will. You got hit in the neck."
That caught Roe's interest if the way his gaze flashed to Liebgott for a moment before returning to Alley was any indication. She refused to feel guilty for the underhanded move.
Liebgott scoffed. "So the fuck what? I'm fine."
He tried to push past her, but she held her ground and stared him down, not intimidated by his mutinous glare. "You're staying", she repeated firmly. He might hate her for this, but she wasn't going to lose another man because of this patrol.
"Like hell-"
Her temper flared, frayed nerves snapping her patience. "This is not a debate, Liebgott!" Her hand sliced through the air as if to physically cut him off. "You're not going and that is final!" With that, she whirled around and left, falling into step with Jessica who had waited for her.
.
"I sent a runner to get another medic", Jessica informed her between two breaths as they ran to catch up to the rest of the squad.
Theresa nodded. "Thanks, Jess, good thinking", she said absently, forcing down the acidic guilt churning in her gut.