Hey guys, how are you all doing? I'm sorry for not updating yesterday or the day before like I promised... I was slightly overwhelmed with real life and completely forgot about this. I hope you can forgive me?

Let me know how you liked the chapter, I'm not quite sure what to think of it yet.

When Colonel Sink visited Easy Company in the afternoon of Christmas Eve and talked about the brass sitting down to Christmas dinner of turkey and hooch at the Division CP, Ana María considered walking away. She didn't want to hear about the bigwigs sitting in cushy buildings and getting to have a feast when they were stuck out here in the snow with nothing but gravelly beans.

"Men", the colonel spoke up, allowing himself a rare smile when multiple voices carolled: "And women!".

"…and women", he amended, inclining his head. "General McAuliffe wishes us all a 'Merry Christmas'."

Merry? Ana María crossed her arms tighter in front of her chest.

Sink continued to read the message, capturing the attention of the gathered men and women. Or at least most of them. "What's merry about this, you ask? Just this: We've stopped cold everything that's been thrown at us from the North, East, South and West.

Ana María's dark gaze moved away from the colonel, travelling over to where Frances stood in the background, unusually distanced from the crowd. The North Carolinian's naturally upturned corners of her mouth that looked like they smiled all the time – much like a dolphin – were drooping, her generally cheerful and lively expression replaced by a cloudy frown.

"Now, two days ago, the German commander demanded our honourable surrender to save the U.S.A. encircled troops from total annihilation. The German commander received the following reply: 'To the German commander: Nuts!'"

Chuckles drifted through the air. Frances' lips didn't even twitch.

"We're giving our country and our loved ones at home a worthy Christmas present, and being privileged to take part in this gallant feat of arms, we're truly making ourselves a Merry Christmas."

'Being privileged'? 'Gallant feat of arms'? Ana María quelled a sarcastic laugh that bubbled in her gut. ¡Son pendejadas! She saw her own disbelief mirrored on Frances' face. Brows furrowed, jaw set, her friend looked disgusted and angry.

"Merry Christmas to you all and God bless you", Colonel Sink finished his short speech.

He didn't notice two women leaving their respective positions, one leaning against a tree, the other in the back of the cluster of now cheering and chattering soldiers. Nor did anyone else for that matter, apart from Captain Winters, whose watchful eyes followed the retreating figures until Nixon claimed his attention.

Frances didn't have the kind of personality that took well to people trying to downplay her misery.

When her mother had died, relatives and acquaintances would come up to her and tell her that it wasn't as bad as it seemed. "You still have your family", they'd say. "You'll be okay."

Even at the tender age of five, Frances had angrily retorted that she knew that but it didn't feel that way. "Life's shit right now!", she had yelled at Great Aunt Marjorie on one very notable occasion, thoroughly scandalising the patronising woman.

Trudging through the forest in a foul mood, she made a half-hearted effort to remind herself that the General wanted to boost morale. That it was his job to write messages that blathered about honour and glory and gallantry.

It didn't help.

.

Toye looked up in surprise when the young woman slid into his foxhole, her features twisted into an unhappy scowl. Why she had sought him out he didn't know, but here they were now and he really saw no point in arguing about it.

"Apparently, we're privileged to take part in a gallant feat of arms", Frances announced without preamble, tone spiked with sarcasm.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? Who came up with that bullshit?"

Her nose scrunched in distaste, her fingers rifling through her worn deck of cards. "General McAuliffe. You should've heard his message." She shook her head with a scoff. "Easy for him to say, he doesn't have to sit in a damn foxhole and get the living shit shelled out of him." A card danced up into the air, merged back into the moving pile.

Toye listened silently as Frances' frustration spilled out in a flow of unbridled snark and watched as she manipulated the cards, hands running through the motions seemingly without conscious thoughts. It seemed to calm her. The furrow of her brows eased, the muscles in her jaw relaxed.

"Your Uncle taught you that, right?", he asked eventually, using a natural lull in the conversation to change the topic. It wouldn't do them any good to linger on their stress, fear and helplessness for too long.

A fond smile appeared on her lips, smoothing the hard lines of her frown. "Yeah. Him and the rest of Mom's family and friends." She plucked the Ace of Hearts from the deck without looking, shuffled it back into the pile, and picked it out of the stack again.

"They teach you how to cheat at cards, too?" The sly smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth told her that he was curious and not accusing.

She nodded. "Yep. Uncle Archie thinks that it's only half as much fun to play a game than to cheat at it." She fanned the cards.

"You think so too?", Toye wondered.

"Sometimes", Frances admitted readily. "Cheating is fun" – that earned her a snort of amusement – "but", she continued, shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance, "I only fleece assholes. I see it more as… managing the game."

.

While Toye helped Frances return to herself by letting her ramble about ways to cheat at different games, Ana María had made it back to her own foxhole and was staring at the opposite wall of dirt in a desperate bid to think positive thoughts. Tears pooled at the rims of her eyes. She blinked. New ones gathered. She vigorously wiped them away.

Irene, killed during the drop on D-Day. Elizabeth and Helen, their planes shot down. Kathleen, too badly wounded for Mia to do anything but keep her company when she found her the day after the jump into Normandy. And now Jessica, dead after getting struck by shrapnel.

Will they be remembered?, she questioned in the privacy of her mind. Will anyone remember us? She dismissed the idea that they would all be forgotten as ludicrous. Stories were circulating, had been since basic training. There were pictures and reports, letters and tales that were told in awed whispers or roaring laughter.

Her face turned to the sky. She wouldn't be able to light a candle for Jessica, but she would send a special prayer to the Lord. That He may let her find peace and reunite with her best friend in the afterlife. A heart-weary sigh escaped her and Ana María closed her eyes, resolving to check on Frances later.

.

"Ana María?" Clothing rustled and snow creaked under paratrooper boots. "Ana?"

She opened her eyes and managed a faint smile. "Hey Moe."

Alley hopped into the hole, shifting his rifle to rest against the wall beside him. Getting as comfortable as it would get, he then looked at the radio operator and asked quietly: "You okay?"

She shrugged plaintively, eyes downcast.

Contrary to popular belief, Ana María wasn't forthcoming when something really bothered her. The communicative, energetic Puerto Rican could become surprisingly withdrawn and subdued. Trying to figure out what was eating her was like pulling teeth.

Alley knew this and didn't take offense to her lack of verbal response. He looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Are you missing home?"

She gave an indistinctly affirmative hum, which turned into a cough.

He sighed. "Yeah", he mumbled. "Me too."

.

Night crept in even though it was no later than 5 pm.

Lipton came by on his rounds. The caring, concerned look he wore so often seemed to have etched itself into his features with a certain degree of permanence. He gave Alley a significant look, a silent 'Take care of her' as well as an unspoken caution.

Alley nodded slightly. Message received.

.

"What do you want to do after the war?"

Ana María's voice was low and hoarse, laced with sadness and that tinge of uncertainty they all felt.

Alley shrugged. "Haven't thought much about it", he confessed. "Settle down, find good work… marry a great girl." He glanced at her, heart beating a little faster as he saw the beginnings of her smile blossoming in the corner of her mouth. "What about you, Ana?"

Her shoulder lightly pressed against his side as she inhaled. She leant into his touch. "I don't know. I… Things are going to be so different back home. No use making plans now."

A sobering outlook and not one he liked to hear from his optimistic, hopeful friend, Alley decided. "Well… what would you like to do then?"

"Something with radios, I think", she said and he was pleased to hear some of her natural passion returning to her voice. "Or anything with electronics. That would be swell." Her body slumped a little under his arm and her head dipped. A shudder went through her and she sneezed.

"Bless you", he said automatically.

She craned her neck to look at him, dark irises shining. "And you", she said in return before burrowing closer against him, closing her eyes.

Alley kept watch while she slept, her face tucked against the hollow of his throat. The tip of her nose was ice-cold, but the fluttering puffs of air brushing against his skin were warm, blissfully so in the eternal snow around them.

Voices drifted through the air, the familiar melody of a Christmas carol floating over from the other side. For once, the forest felt almost peaceful.

Out on the OP, Babe quietly joined in with the singing whenever he recognised the tune. It earned him a few sidelong glances from Shindell, a replacement who was ridiculously skittish in the presence of officers.

"Say, Lieutenant", Babe interrupted his off-key rendition of Silent Night, "you must be a great singer. What with your uppity family and all that."

Maxine chuckled. The guys liked to tease her about her upper-class background, but it was all good-natured since they knew how much she disliked the stifling social conventions and the scheming and insincere flattery that took place in those circles.

"I'm not", she replied with a grin. "I can carry a tune reasonably well, but that's about it. My brother is the musician of our family."

"Oh yeah?" He smothered a cough in the crook of his elbow, grimacing at the barking noise rattling up his chest. "And you?"

Her smile turned sharp and he picked up on the sadness and hurt underneath the humour as she said: "I'm the black sheep." She shifted a little and plastered a haughty, stern look onto her face that was incredibly at odds with her wide smile. "Now get yourself back to your foxhole, your shift's over."

"Yes Ma'am."

.

Babe shuffled through the trees, pausing once when a coughing fit nearly brought him to his knees. Cursing the snow and the Krauts in his mind and out loud after he'd caught his breath, the Philadelphian redhead righted himself and trudged on.

He was nearly at his foxhole when he heard his name called in a whisper. He turned, squinting into the dark. Catherine, his tired mind supplied at the sight of the silhouette standing out against the dirty greyish snow.

"Huh?", he made.

The ranking medic was now close enough that he could see her properly. "You still have that cough, right?", she asked, studying him with her experienced gaze.

"Um… yeah."

Her lips pursed as she nodded. She pulled something from her bag. "We got some penicillin on the supply drop", she said, stepping closer. "I'll give you a dose. If your cough's caused by bacteria, it should get better soon."

"Okay." Babe wasn't exactly a huge fan of needles, but his cough was really getting on his nerves.

Catherine swiftly injected the medicine, using the same trick to distract him as she always did with her kids when they were at the doctor's. Just before she gave him the shot, she asked Babe what his favourite colour was.

Bewildered and caught off-guard, he spluttered a hoarse "What?" and didn't notice the needle pricking his skin until it was too late.

She smiled at him, carefully removing the syringe. "Sorry, it's the easiest way to make it less painful."

He shook his head, still a little confused. "'s alright, Mom, I just didn't expect it."

"Well", she said, storing the empty syringe in her bag, "that was the point. Now go get some rest, okay?"

Grumbling half-heartedly about mother-hen lieutenants and medics, Babe turned to manoeuvre between the foxholes.

.

Catherine smiled to herself as she watched him leave. She had heard what he'd muttered under his breath. The men often pretended to complain about being fussed over, but it was all for show. She knew they appreciated her care and, at the end of the day, she was a mother and these guys were family to her.

The unusual peace of the night was shattered by a mortar explosion, followed by screams of pain.

"Medic!", somebody shouted. It was always difficult to distinguish between voices in the forest. The trees seemed to muffle some noises and distort others.

A few more detonations echoed through the forest, shaking the ground.

"Medic!", the voice hollered again.

Catherine had wheeled around at the first cry. By the time the second cry rang out, she was running. Shit shit shit, she cursed in her mind.

A mortar shell blew up five feet from her and she went down in a heap as the world spun mercilessly. Scrambling to her feet before her vision had righted itself, she continued, sprinting past foxholes.

Her jaw clenched when she recognised the direction she was running in as the way to the CP.

Shit.

"Roe!"

Oh no. Catherine's stomach took a nosedive towards her scuffed boots. She dodged a fallen tree, nearly slipped on ice-coated pieces of splintered wood and ducked as more artillery blasts tore through the forest.

Moans and pained cries reached her ears, along with the fast-paced voice of Captain Nixon requesting an A-jeep to 2nd battalion CP. Finally, she was close enough to see it. And her stomach sank further.

Roe stood a few feet from the fallen man, unmoving. From behind, Catherine couldn't see his face, but she didn't have to.

"Roe", Winters spoke, a hint of fear underneath the urgency in his firm tone.

.

Catherine reached her fellow medic and was ready to take over for him when life returned to his frozen form with a start. The two medics rushed to Lieutenant Welsh where he lay on the ground, legs writhing in agony.

Trusting Gene to treat the wound, Catherine stepped around the officers crowding around their friend and knelt by his head. "Hold still, lieutenant", she soothed, feeling his pulse and frowning at his pasty, clammy skin.

"Oh Jesus", he groaned out through tightly clenched teeth.

Taking stock of the situation, the ranking medic noted Peacock just sitting there, staring at his wounded comrade. Nixon and Winters were doing their best to help Gene, who was working to keep their patient from bleeding out.

"Morphine", she decided while shifting to elevate Welsh's head and upper body. It wouldn't do to have him slip into shock, he was already on the verge of it due to the pain and blood loss.

Gene gave a curt nod. "I got a syrette in my pocket", he said, addressing Winters without taking his eyes off Welsh's bleeding leg. "Give it to him."

"Where do you want it?"

"Opposite thigh."

Silently thanking God for Captain Winters' presence of mind and clear head, Catherine turned to Nixon. "You'll explain later", she muttered to him. Her tone and expression left no room for arguments.

.

Bundling Welsh onto the stretcher was a matter of seconds.

"Gene, get yourself into town and grab a hot meal", Catherine ordered.

He nodded and hopped into the jeep. He knew that he was slipping and he knew just as well that she knew. He had been having trouble focusing the past few days and now, he had zoned out when he should have been helping Welsh. If she decided to make him a runner for Captain Winters for a while, he couldn't protest. He couldn't freeze up again.

The jeep roared off, leaving them in breathless silence. Catherine blew out a long breath as the rush of adrenaline slowly faded from her mind. Spending an hour or two away from the line would do Gene some good.

She raked a hand through her grimy, stiff hair and let out another gust of air. Her eyes travelled to the puddle of blood staining the ground in a grotesque imitation of a colour study. The shelling had stopped, she realised. The smell of smoke, acrid and stinging, still hung in the air. Then her gaze caught on a charred pile of ash and blackened twigs and the pieces came together. Fire stirred in her chest.

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Catherine raised her head to look at Peacock, who was staring at her with a mixture of trepidation and hope.

"He should be", she allowed tersely. Heat crept up her collar and she could literally feel her blood pressure rising. Hands firmly on her hips, she faced the assembled officers with a disapproving glower and wanted to know: "What happened?"

It was quickly established what had transpired, Nixon and Winters' explanations complementary to each other as they told her about the fire and the resulting mortar attack. The Hawaiian listened quietly, feeling more and more tired by the second. After they had finished, she silently considered them as anger overpowered the sense of exhausted resignation once more.

.

If it hadn't been so dark and if Nixon hadn't been so good at feigning indifference, he would have cringed away from the distinctly unimpressed expression settling on Catherine's features. As it was, he couldn't quite conceal a wince and he knew Dick was likely also remembering the last time they had witnessed the mother of two deliver a formidable tongue-lashing.

"What the Hell were you thinking?!", she questioned, the low volume of her words making their intensity all the worse. "What the hell were you thinking, lighting a fire? God damnit, you know better than this!" Her hands flew up in an exasperated, furious gesture. "We have enough people dying as it is without anyone irresponsibly breaking a rule that is in place for a very good reason!"

Peacock muttered miserably: "It was Welsh's idea."

This time, Nix did cringe at the man's obvious lack of self-preservation. You idiot…

Nostrils flaring in fury, Catherine rounded on him, her brown eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't care whose idea it was", she snapped, somehow still managing to keep her voice down. "In fact, I couldn't care less whose idea it was! You are grown-ups, you are officers, you should have stopped it." Her glare fixated one man after the other, letting them know that none of them were blameless.

Peacock wisely kept his mouth shut and ducked his head.

"You're right, Catherine", Winters said with a nod. "We should have put the fire out immediately."

Slightly appeased by her former CO's acknowledgment of their guilt, the young woman pointed out: "It never should have been lit in the first place."

"No, it shouldn't have", he agreed succinctly.

Silence fell, stretching uncomfortably, before Catherine finally sighed. "I gotta get back to the line", she murmured, letting her glare fall away.

Winters dismissed her with a sincere "Take care of yourself, Catherine."

"See you later, Mom", Nixon added.

The ghost of a smile twitched around her lips. "Yes sir", she replied. "You too, sirs."