Hey guys! I can't believe I am actually updating already! I got a big part done during the last two weeks, so I can start working on episode 8 now. And the next update will finally see Easy going into Foy. But first: more suffering for our poor favourite company.

Maxine settled into her role as platoon leader of 2nd platoon as quickly and seamlessly as Winters had known she would. She led her guys with integrity, tactical skill and clear instructions, her trust in her platoon members apparent in her ability and willingness to step back and let the platoon sergeant and squad leaders select the best people for a task.

Along with her fellow officers, Lieutenants Shames and Foley in particular, and their ever dependable First Sergeant Lipton, she compensated much of their CO's lack of strategic planning or even orders that were thought through. Together with the steadfast backing of the NCOs, which was about as good an endorsement as one could get, her confidence and stubbornly positive realism soothed some of the latent unease and anxiousness prevailing in the company.

In the grand scheme of things, however, Maxine's tireless efforts and unwavering dedication to her men didn't change their orders from higher up the food chain. And while she hated it and a boulder-heavy knot of regret, worry and dread sat in the pit of her stomach every time until they returned, she sent her guys on patrols and scouting missions, a prayer for their safety in her mind.

I have never been colder.

Never in my entire life have I felt this cold.

Louise clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering.

This is the coldest I have ever been.

I feel like a walking icicle.

Her hands were probably frozen to her rifle.

I AM FUCKING FREEZING!

.

A Private whose name she didn't know and didn't care for nearly pissed his pants when she stalked past, face drawn in a deep scowl that could have stopped a raging bull in its tracks. He stuttered something, which she ignored. All she cared about was getting back to Easy.

Another pointless scouting mission, ordered by some wet napkin whose biggest battles are against his own zipper.

Well, maybe not pointless, she allowed as she shook with another bout of violent shivers. Between Nixon's intel and hers, they'd have a pretty good idea of what they were up against when they continued clearing the forest west of Foy tomorrow.

Doesn't change the fact that my uniform could stand on its own. Her clothes were soaked with melted snow and sweat that had quickly re-frozen in the frigid air.

Blowing out a tired sigh, Louise nodded to Guth as she passed his foxhole.

Their unofficial armourer offered a greeting in return, more focused on the weapon he was tinkering with. "Alright?", he asked.

She just gave a vague grunt. "Same shit as always." Her chest hurt. Her cough hadn't had the time to clear entirely and now, she could already feel illness setting in again.

He snorted in agreement.

.

By the time she reached the CP, her teeth were chattering up a storm and all she wanted to do was collapse on the spot and sleep for the next ten years or so. She gave her report to a worn-looking Captain Winters, who commended her valuable insights and told her to try and warm up and get some rest.

"Gladly", the sniper said, wincing as more shivers wracked her body. She cracked a rueful smirk. "Mia's gonna be so cross with me for getting too cold again."

Amusement crossed his features. "I doubt she's the type for that."

"Oh she'll frown and fuss and smile", Louise replied with an affectionate huff, "and if she's really upset, she'll mumble things under her breath that I mostly don't understand."

Her prediction proved to be correct. As soon as she spotted her friend, Mia's brows furrowed and before Louise could properly protest, she was being bundled into blankets and ushered into a foxhole.

"I'm fine, Mia."

She was met with an unimpressed look. "You're too cold", the young medic pointed out, expertly slipping blessedly dry socks onto her feet. "You're shaking so much, I can hear your bones rattle."

Bull, whose foxhole Louise had just ended up in, chuckled. "Ain't no use arguing against the truth", he told her in his steady drawl.

To her annoyance, he was immune to her glare and simply pulled her into his side.

"Sleep", Mia said with a kind smile, putting her boots back on. "I'll be right back."

Louise hummed a reluctant noise and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she was out before Mia had finished lacing her boots back up.

.

Mia glanced at Bull, concern shadowing her expression. "Do you mind?", she asked, pointing to Louise with her scar-peppered chin as the sniper curled against him in search of warmth.

He waved her off with a smile. "Got nowhere else to be right now", he said easily. "She'll warm up quicker this way, too."

She nodded and hopped out of the hole. "I'll come back soon."

Bull watched the quiet medic disappear from his line of sight before looking down to check on their resident sniper. Her blonde hair was slowly sneaking out of the tidy plait Liebgott had put it in before she'd left on her mission. There were tiny ice crystals clinging to her eyelashes and her cheekbones jutted out sharply enough to cut glass. And just like everybody else – especially the NCOs – she had deep bags under her eyes the colour of three-day old bruises.

No wonder she dropped like a ball of hay, he thought to himself, carefully repositioning Louise's elbow that had been digging into his ribs. The shivering was already improving, he noted as he adjusted the top blanket a little.

His mind turned to the friendship between Louise and Mia. While people had scratched their heads when Louise and Liebgott had become friends, they had all been baffled to see the fierce, sharp-tongued Brit seeking out and enjoying the company of the guarded, tight-lipped girl who – at the time – seemed so unremarkable.

Nobody had really dared question it at first since the Louise would only respond with a glare and a scathing remark before switching topics and ignoring any other attempts at prying a real answer from her.

.

Some poor soul had made the mistake of trying to list all the reasons why she should spend less time with the quiet brunette. He hadn't gotten much further than "Seriously, that bird is so weird. Ya know, she probably never opens her mouth because she's too dumb to-" before Louise's fist had come flying towards his face.

The only thing saving him from a broken nose and Louise from a reprimand or court-martial had been the quick intervention of Grant, Helen and Christenson. They had grabbed the seething woman and held her back while several others jumped in to push the unfortunate idiot away.

Bull remembered clearly how everyone had been very careful from then on to never say anything bad about their most reticent medic when Louise was around. Easy had slowly come around to the odd pair, acceptance spreading faster as they started getting to know Mia as well.

It had been on one of their rare nights off, during a friendly poker game in one of the barracks, when the topic had been broached again in Louise's presence.

"Say, Fields", Guarnere had asked as he'd considered his cards, "why are you friends with Arricante?"

She'd groaned and rolled her eyes. "Why the fuck does everyone have a problem with that?"

"We don't have a problem with it, Louise", Salty Harris had said, pushing a couple of bucks into the middle of their circle. "We're just curious."

"Is it that hard to believe that we're friends?"

Irene had calmly placed her bets and answered: "Nobody said that. All we're saying is that it's an unlikely friendship" – she'd raised her hand to curb the storm gathering on Louise's features – "let me finish. You're both very different and she's not the easiest person to get to know."

Making a distracted noise at the back of her throat, Louise had added her own money to the pot, anger faded from her expression. "I know", she'd acknowledged. "But she's really nice."

.

Rapid footsteps pulled Bull back to the cold present. Mia appeared at the lip of the foxhole, sliding inside with practised ease. She was holding one of Frances' modified canteens.

"This will help", she said, tucking the jury-rigged heating device under the blankets.

"She gonna be alright?", Bull asked. The lack of urgency in her actions and demeanour was reassuring, but it wasn't a reliable indicator.

Mia smiled softly and nodded. "I hope she doesn't get sicker, but she's okay. Just a bit more cold and tired than the rest of us right now."

The little shrug she gave made him chuckle and her smile flashed a little wider.

When Louise woke up a couple of hours later, she found herself sandwiched in between Luz and Malarkey. Drowsily swiping grit from her eyes, she wondered if they'd all died and gone to Heaven because she was actually not freezing for once.

"Well, look who's awake", Malarkey said, the teasing smile contrasting the heaviness in his eyes.

Luz grinned. "Ah, the Ice Princess graces us with her presence."

She frowned at him. "Ice Princess?"

"Well, you were cold enough and calling you a regular chunk of ice just didn't seem right", he explained nonchalantly as Louise sat up and freed her hands from the cocoon of blankets hugging her.

"How considerate", she said, eyes narrowing as her hand brushed something smooth and warm. Picking it up, she knew what it was without even looking at it. A smile softened her features. Thank you, Mia.

.

"So", Malarkey asked, casually helping himself to one of her blankets, "learn anything new on your recon?"

"It is not conducive to one's health and overall well-being to spend six hours lying unmoving in the snow."

The two men burst into muffled laughter, Louise grinning to herself as she fiddled a smoke from the depths of her pockets.

Shaking his head at her, Malarkey said: "You don't say. I never would'a thought that."

"It is outrageous, lads", Luz quipped, the over-the-top rendition of her British accent setting her teeth on edge. "Positively galling!"

Louise sputtered, almost choking on her smoke in her indignation. "I do not sound like that!"

"You're right, not enough cursing"

Malarkey laughed.

.

"Not that", she huffed, swatting Don's shoulder and aiming a glare at Luz. "You made me sound like my mother when she's on the phone with her posh cousin from Luton."

"Alright, alright, no need to get your knickers in a twist", he placated, jokingly raising his hands in surrender. This time he modulated his voice into an impressively accurate imitation of her actual tone and pronunciation.

"My knickers are nobody's business but mine, thank you very much." A smirk curled around her cigarette and she shoved her unravelling braid over her shoulder.

"Actually, Louise", Malarkey pointed out innocently, "those are Army property, too."

"Don't remind me." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe how difficult it was to get some decent underwear. It was like teaching a pigeon how to play chess."

The first week of January blurred into the second as they continued clearing the woods, the town of Foy a constant reminder of what was to come behind the slope of the hill.

"I wish we could just get it over already", Toner sighed, scowling at the darkening horizon as he watched the enemy line.

Ana María hummed and offered absent-mindedly: "The waiting for the battle is almost like a battle of its own."

"Who's that from?"

"Hm?" She pulled her eyes away from the frozen landscape.

"What you just said. 'The waiting for the battle is almost like a battle of its own.' Who's it from?"

She stayed quiet for a moment. "Kathleen", she said softly. "Kathleen Preston."

The name sounding familiar, Toner thought back, trying to remember any of the newspaper articles he'd read about the women that had volunteered for paratrooper training.

"You never met her", Ana María added, noting his confusion.

"Oh. What happened to her?"

The Puerto Rican shrugged. "She died on D-Day. That's all I know."

Not knowing how to respond, Toner offered a small "I'm sorry."

She dipped her head in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything in return. Every response that came to her mind would only drag the atmosphere lower and Ana María knew that OP duty was not the time and place to ponder the grim costs of war or their own mortality.

.

When she was relieved by Kiehn half an hour later, she was too tired to let her thoughts wander towards lost friends while she trekked back to her foxhole.

Her head hurt from an uncomfortable pressure behind her nose and around her eyes, her legs burned and itched as the blood flow picked up and a persistent ache twinged through her lower back with every step thanks to a massive bruise she'd sustained during a recent shelling.

Which was why she didn't stop to chat with Luz, Malarkey, Muck and Penkala. They waved at her and usually, she would have joined their little cluster to hear the latest gossip or share a laugh. But right now, all she wanted was to sack out for a few hours, so she just waved back and continued on her way.

She was maybe 50 yards from her foxhole when the shelling began.

The by now familiar shouts of "Incoming!" and "Take cover!" rose up, but through the cacophony of whistling artillery and thundering explosions, Ana María only heard choppy bits and pieces. She ran, eyes fixed on the soot-stained logs covering her foxhole. Flashes of light and fire flickered in rapid succession, the concussive blasts like iron-fist punches to her stomach and lungs.

She stumbled over a root half-hidden in the snow. If not for another shell striking a tree, mere feet away, she would have caught herself. Instead, the tree was ripped apart and wood sprayed everywhere.

A tree limb the size of an anti-tank round hurtled towards her. The impact sent her sprawling.

She landed awkwardly, dizzily clambered to her feet, kept on running. Her back hurt, her head pounded. Where was her foxhole? When it wasn't flashing white or bright orange, the air was black.

Disoriented by the pandemonium of explosions, Ana María uttered a desperate prayer and forged ahead, hoping fervently that she was still going in the right direction.

.

A smoke-blurred figure came careening out of the darkness. She squinted, but couldn't make out any distinguishing features.

Her foxhole came in sight. The cover had been partially blown off, the bottom of the hole filled with chips and chunks of broken wood. Bracing herself, she slid inside, gritting her teeth when her ankle bent sideways on the uneven floor.

There was an almighty boom and it rained searing metal and dirty snow. She groaned as her headache spiked. Her ears popped. And then she was knocked clean off her feet as a heavy weight slammed into her. A body-shaped weight. Something hot spilled down her front.

Ana María blinked ashes and sweat from her eyes. Looked at the soldier that had landed on top of her.

And screamed.

"Argh! Medic!"

Even over the earth-shattering thunder of the barrage, Frances could hear Hashey's pained cries. Squinting through the gunpowder haze, she could make out his shape. Half a tree's worth of broken wood showered down on them. She ducked her head, wincing as it bounced off her helmet and crept below her collar.

"Medic!", the wounded man called again, voice fraying from the strain.

Another explosion blasted them with more debris and shrapnel.

Frances pulled a face, bit her lip. "Fuck it."

"Are you insane?! Get back here!", her foxhole buddy, Gordon Carson, shouted when she scrambled up, nearly tripping over the lip of the foxhole in her haste to get to their injured comrade.

.

Staggering on the bucking ground, the North Dakotan hit the snow when a shell ripped apart the treeline, sending razor-sharp fragments flying everywhere. A grunt tore from her throat.

Ignoring the stinging cold digging claws into her stomach, Frances crawled on.

She reached Hashey and hooked stiff fingers in the shoulder straps of his webbing. She tried to pull him up. He moaned in pain, but she persisted. She got a better grip and heaved him into a semi-upright position before dragging him to the relative safety of her foxhole.

Even though Hashey tried to help as much as possible, Frances was panting with exertion by the time she had gotten them back to the hole.

"A little help, Carson?!", she snapped when a detonation knocked her off balance.

Gordon quickly gave her a hand and together, they managed to haul the grunting and gasping Hashey into the foxhole.

Hastily patching up the wounded man with the sparse contents of their aid kits, all they could do was shout for a medic, keep their heads down and wait.

Luz hadn't thought that he'd ever see Mia scared. Sure, he'd seen her nervous and uneasy, spooked and wary. But openly frightened? Never. Not even on the Samaria, when she'd practically hidden herself behind him and Toye.

Now though, they were pressed against each other, holding onto one another in the relentless onslaught and he could feel her racing heart, her trembling body, the half-audible breaths she drew. The quiet noises of distress were so unlike her that at first, he'd chalked it up to his mind playing tricks on him.

.

The barrage was trailing off and Lipton loosened his grip on Luz and Mia. He had pulled them close, the horror of seeing both of them out in the open during the attack – Luz belly-crawling, Mia dodging flying debris, neither wearing their helmets – closed around his throat like an icy fist.

Mia was just sitting up, freeing Luz to do the same, when there was a sickening thud. The three occupants of Lipton's foxhole flinched, hazel, brown and blue eyes staring at the shell that had rammed into the loose dirt at the edge of the hole.

.

Mia was the first to move, sagging against packed earth with a stuttering exhale. Her right hand stayed fisted in the fabric of Luz' coat.

A split-second later, Luz fumbled a pack of smokes from his coat and lit one like his life depended on it. Before he could take a drag though, Lipton plucked the cigarette from his mouth and inhaled deeply.

"I thought you didn't smoke", Luz said, vague confusion in his tone.

Lip answered seriously: "I don't."

Accepting it with an "Uh-huh", Luz simply lit another cigarette, passing that one to Mia. His zippo snick-ed a third time and a puff of smoke danced into the air, mingling with the other two streams before being dispersed by the biting wind.

The quiet helped settle their nerves. Their breathing slowed and their hands stopped shaking.

When they had signed up, none of them had imagined finding themselves in a situation like this. But here they were, huddled together for protection, warmth and no small measure of comfort, sharing a smoke in a half-finished foxhole with a dud shell three feet away.

After the initial panic – during which she had frantically shoved the body off her, belatedly recognising the soldier as one of her platoon's soft-faced replacements – had worn off, Ana María shakily searched for a pulse. An irrational exercise in futility since Hughes was clearly dead, a fact made obvious by the large amount of blood on her clothing and the massive hole in his skull.

She gagged, clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her disgust and horror swung into anger. And as the shells continued to drop, laying waste to the forest around her, Ana María cursed. She cursed Hitler, the damn Nazis, the stupid idiots of Allied command that had left them hanging, everyone and everything, first in English and then in Spanish.

She cursed and raged and by the time the smoke cleared and soldiers poked their heads out of the foxholes again, the tears of grim frustration were drying on her cheeks.

Passing a sleeve across her face, the Puerto Rican folded her hands and asked God to take Hughes into Paradise. And then, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw, she pulled herself up and checked her radio to make sure it was still in working order.