Hey guys, look who's still alive! It's me. Gosh, I feel so bad for just disappearing for an entire month... I got hit with writer's block (I had the same problem when I was writing episode 8 for my other story), my personal life has been a bloody mess and work has also been insane thanks to the holidays. So I simply didn't have the mental or emotional capacity - or the time - to write.
If anyone has any ideas or inputs for what could/should happen next, I would be happy (and grateful) to hear your thoughts. I do have an outline of the most important plot points, but I've been stuck on the same scene for two weeks now, so any new perspectives are welcome.
As always, thank you all so so much for reading and reviewing. I can't tell you how much it means to me and I'm so excited that you guys enjoy the story.
Noville was in Allied hands. Due to their reduced numbers, Maxine assisted her platoon in clearing houses, doing a sweep for hiding enemy combatants, leftover weapons or any sort of exploitable intel. They had reshuffled platoon assignments two days prior to compensate for the huge losses they'd taken, but it still wasn't enough. The latest batch of replacements would probably only catch up to them in a week or so.
"So who's gonna be First Sergeant after Lip's promotion goes through?", Frances asked as they left the last building on the street, turning back towards the town centre where the temporary CP had been established.
Maxine suppressed a cough. "My best guess would be Talbert. Malarkey's name also came up, but I didn't want to put even more weight on him right now."
Studying her from the side with keen eyes, Frances questioned: "Is that why you put Louise in charge of 2nd?"
The lieutenant sighed, which quickly turned into a cough. Malarkey was – also by his own admission – not in the right mental state to carry that responsibility. And while Louise was less experienced in terms of leadership because of her solo and tandem missions as a sniper, she had seniority and was more than up to the job.
"More or less", she allowed. "Until we're off the line, he's her second."
Frances nodded pensively, then cracked a laugh. "Bet you ten bucks that she and Liebgott are gonna have one of their spats before the month is out."
Maxine grinned and shook her head. "Oh no, I'm not going to touch that one. The last time I took one of your bets was enough, thank you very much."
"Aw, come on, that was–"
BOOM!
.
Mia had been crouched by a fallen soldier's side a few yards down the debris-lined road when the explosion ripped through the street. Momentarily left deaf and blind, she barely had time to flinch before the blast winds picked her up and tossed her aside.
With a groan, she rolled over and came onto all fours. She spat out some dirt, tried to get her bearings. The side of her face throbbed. Her gaze caught on two dark lumps up the road. She struggled upright, squinting through the settling dust.
Then recognition hit her and her heart dropped.
She flew over, paying no mind to her own off-kilter worldview and buzzing ears. She only had eyes for the prone, crumpled figures of Maxine and Frances, looking not unlike corpses as they lay amidst the rubble, covered in stone dust.
When she reached them, battered kneepads skidding through a slowly growing puddle of blood, Frances was crying. Maxine completely still and unmoving.
"Oh God", Frances sobbed, tossing her head and looking about wildly. "Argh, it hurts so much!"
.
The detonation hadn't gone unnoticed. Yells of "What happened?" and "Medic!" filled the air.
Mia tuned it all out in order to focus on assessing and treating her patients. "I'm here, Frances, I'm here", she soothed over the North Dakotan's guttural howls and pleas, forcing down the sick feeling in her stomach.
"Make it stop, Mia, please make it stop! It hurts so bad!"
Mia wasted no time, pulling a syrette from her bag. To give Frances the necessary dose of morphine, though, she had to straddle her thigh.
Near-incoherent with pain and panic, Frances thrashed under her and tried to buck her off.
"Hold her", Mia told Talbert and Geraghty, who had come running.
While the two soldiers hurried to assist, the medic slid off her friend and quickly catalogued the injuries. Dislocated shoulder, burns on the face, several pieces of shrapnel sticking out of the side of the leg, deep, jagged laceration on the calf. Bleeding from the nose and mouth.
.
Delegating the simpler tasks like using the sulfa and bandaging the worst cuts to Talbert and having Geraghty immobilise Frances' mangled leg, Mia turned away to tend to her second patient.
Only to be stopped by a hand twisting into her sleeve.
"D-don't leave!", Frances gasped out, wide-eyed and shaking. "Mia please, please don't leave!"
Mia gently detached the dirty, bloodied fingers from her jacket, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm here. I'm not leaving, I just have to check on Maxine, okay? I won't leave."
She moved Frances' hand to her ankle. "There", she said softly. "Can you feel that? I'm here."
Reassured, Frances sunk back down, frightened tension leaving her as morphine and exhaustion began to take effect.
With a last assessing glance, Mia shifted her attention to Maxine. Garcia had carefully turned the lieutenant onto her back and Heffron was pouring sulfa onto a heavily bleeding gash along the lieutenant's hairline. She was still unconscious and in a worse state than Frances. Blistering burns covered the side of her face, down to her neck, shoulder and upper chest. Parts of her jacket and shirt had practically fused themselves into the burns on her forearm. A puncture wound to the upper right side of the abdomen. Her left shin had snapped clean in half.
Splinting the broken shin, Mia moved on to the Washingtonian's other injuries. She bandaged a long cut across Maxine's collarbone, packed the wound in her stomach and used burn kits on the most affected areas of her face and arm.
Gene arrived with Lipton in tow. "What happened?", the First Sergeant wanted to know as Roe knelt down by Maxine's side.
Mia shifted, nodding at Gene who signalled that he would take care of Maxine. "There was an explosion", was all she could say in response to Lipton's question.
The hand on her ankle tapped sloppily, capturing her attention.
"Hey Mia", Frances spoke up slowly. "My arm feels kinda funny."
The young medic shot her an apologetic glance. "I know. I have to put it back in."
Lipton looked at Frances' oddly misshapen shoulder and winced. Judging by the way it jutted out an unnatural angle, her arm was clearly out of joint.
Frances frowned, glazed eyes trying to focus. "You're… gonna set it?" Surprise and confusion warred with blurred horror.
"Yes."
Quietly asking Talbert and Geraghty to brace her, Mia took hold of Frances' wrist. She took a fortifying breath, then, with one precise motion, set the shoulder.
Everyone within earshot paled or turned faintly green at the grating sound of the arm getting popped back into its socket.
.
Despite the morphine taking the edge off, Frances screamed. Her eyes threatened to roll up into her skull. She heard Mia slip into German, the words unfamiliar to her abused ears, but still oddly comforting. Grounding.
"Hate it when you do that", she wheezed breathlessly as the pain ebbed.
"Do what?"
She blinked lethargically, head lolling as she tried to shake the cobwebs from her mind. "Speak German." Her vision was still fuzzy.
Her friend's shoulders twitched in a micro-shrug. "It's my first language", she responded evenly, dismissing the pang of affront fluttering through her chest.
"No, no, I…I know that." She flapped a hand weakly, frowning at the uncooperative appendage. "I jus'…hate not knowing what you say. I can't- can't read you when you s-speak German."
Mia smiled softly, pain in her blue eyes. "I was telling you to breathe."
"Ah…", Frances made, grimacing at how leaden her body felt. "That…makes sense… 's good advice. How's- ngh…how's Max?"
Noch schlechter als dir. Mia dug her teeth into the inside of her bottom lip, swallowing the words before they could trip from her tongue. "Gene is looking after her."
.
As he helped Roe and Heffron lift Maxine into the back of the jeep that would take her and Frances to the closest field hospital, Lipton kept watching Mia from the corner of his eyes.
Sporting the beginnings of a bruise high on her cheek, the redness glaring against her fatigue-pale, dust- and dirt-smudged face, there was an uncharacteristic abruptness in her movements as she climbed in after her patients.
He didn't have time to dwell on his observations, though. Mia gave the driver a brisk nod and the vehicle roared off.
Wedged in between the bodies of her wounded friends, Mia monitored her patients, the engine's growl a familiar thrum in the background of her awareness. Frances had slipped into a drug-induced doze and Maxine had finally started to stir a few minutes ago.
She absently prodded at her cheekbone, winced at the throbbing ache that gentle touch alone caused. She had been lucky, she knew that. She could have easily lost an eye or broken her nose when that piece of debris had struck her. But what was one little bruise compared to the injuries of the two women next to her?
Packing another bandage around the persistently bleeding cut on Frances' calf, she heaved a weary sigh.
"Mrgh."
Maxine's brows furrowed and her breathing intensified. Mia pulled one of her few remaining syrettes from her bag. She would need it soon.
.
Maxine woke up with a strangled whimper at the back of her throat. Raw pain assaulted her from seemingly everywhere and bile forced itself up her oesophagus. Coughing, she lurched blindly to the side before getting violently sick.
.
Tossing the empty syrette over her shoulder, Mia hurriedly helped Maxine roll onto her side, not even blinking as splatters of vomit landed on her jacket. She held her, mindful of her injuries, making quiet shushing noises while the taller woman retched and gagged.
"Everything alright back there?", the driver called. He shot anxious glances through the rear-view mirror.
"Yes. Just hurry."
"You got it, Doc."
.
The heaves finally died down, leaving Maxine panting and breathless. Eyes screwed shut, her vice grip on Mia's wrist slackened. A few tears trickled down her blistered face, not even the morphine enough to take the pain away completely.
Soft whispers filtered through to her. Flowing and ebbing like a wave, repeating over and over. "Alles wird gut."
She knew those words. That voice.
"Alles wird gut."
Am I dying?, she wondered for a confused second. She felt strangely light, like she was floating. The cadence of those words carrying her.
"Alles wird gut."
Everything will be alright.
The next day saw Easy Company liberating Rachamps. They were invited to spend the night in the town's convent, an offer which they graciously accepted. The nuns were only too happy to provide shelter and a filling, hot meal for the exhausted soldiers. Warm and dry for the first time in a month, tension and worry fled for the night, leaving them with a sense of calm and peace.
Most of them, at least.
The grey sky was growing dark when Speirs found Mia outside, lit cigarette shrivelling up between rust-flecked fingers while she stared through a patch of snow. She seemed weirdly detached.
He studied her closely, took in the slump of her thin shoulders, the tension lining her face. There was a blueish tinge to her lips, the tip of her nose nearly as red as the bruise colouring her cheek.
"It's warm inside", he said.
She glanced at him and shrugged, exhausted indifference dulling her features. "I'm wearing a scarf." Her gaze dropped away, back to the ground.
His stomach swooped coldly at her flat tone. Mia was quiet, soft-spoken, with an even temper and her manner of speaking reflected that. But this complete lack of inflection didn't fit the young woman's natural voice.
Mia grimaced when her untouched smoke burned her fingers. She flicked it into the snow with a soft hiss, vapour curling in the cold.
Speirs' hand rested on her back, applying the slightest bit of pressure. "Let's go inside."
She gave a small nod and after a moment, breathed out a toneless sigh before forcing her legs to move. Turning, she let him steer her to the door, following quietly even after his hand left her back again.
.
In the warm lights of the hallway, she looked even more ragged, Speirs noted as he led them towards the chapel where the choir's clear harmonies filled the air. Shadows highlighted the scars on her chin and cheek, their colour silver against her sallow skin.
And her eyes were dull, duller than he'd ever seen them. Almost as if the light inside them – ineffable and difficult to gauge like sunrays through a still lake – had retreated.
They met Louise on the way. She greeted Speirs with a steady look and a polite "Sir".
"Fields", he acknowledged.
Focusing on the figure next to him, a frown settled on her features. The blonde pushed off the wall and fell into step with them, flanking Mia. After a beat of silence, she said: "You should get some rest."
"I'm fine, Louise", the young medic replied listlessly.
Speirs snorted inwardly.
"Don't give me that", Louise huffed with a shake of her head, "you look like death on legs. When's the last time you slept, hm? And please don't say last night because I mean sleeping, not catnapping."
Mia shrugged, the corner of her mouth tilting sheepishly.
"Right, that proves it. You, my friend, need to sleep", Louise declared, looping an arm around Mia's shoulders. "You can't even properly force a smile anymore."
.
Entering the chapel, Speirs split from the pair, selecting an empty pew and getting to work on the countless reports that waited to be filled out. If he listened with half an ear to Louise discreetly but vigorously mother-henning over Mia, nobody had any idea.
Except maybe First Sergeant Lipton, who seemed to be doing the same thing, judging by his fond smile when the Brit muttered "lucky I'm blonde, that way people won't see all the grey hairs you're giving me".
Lipton couldn't help but smile when he heard Louise fuss over her friend, all harmless grumbles and affectionate exasperation. Their dynamic had always been interesting, as they embodied the age-old conundrum of unstoppable force vs immovable object, but with both of them holding a deep understanding and respect for one another.
Mia's calm and unflappable patience balanced Louise's passionate volatility while Louise brought Mia back when the young medic lost herself a little too much looking after everyone else. They were good for each other and Lipton loved seeing how they both seemed able to relax and breathe in each other's presence.
How Louise could burst into unrestrained laughter over a subtle, sarcasm-laced quip from Mia. How Mia could tell energetic, nuanced stories to a raptly listening Louise. How they both radiated joy and enthusiasm when they taught each other funny, strange or obscure words.
.
Shaking himself out of his musings, Lipton got to his feet to give the miserably short roster to Lt Speirs. He tried not to think of the numbers. They had been at 60 percent battle strength when they'd gone into Bastogne. Even with two dozen replacements coming in during their time in the Ardennes, Easy Company didn't even count 70 people now. Less than half of what they'd been before.
"Well, I better get back to Battalion before they disappear", Speirs commented, getting to his feet. He turned around to face Lipton and paused briefly. "You want to ask me, don't you?"
"Ask you what, sir?" Lipton feigned ignorance with a small smile.
The look he received was knowingly amused. "You wanna know if they're true or not", Speirs said evenly, "the stories about me."
Lipton considered denying it, for the fraction of a second. The story of Speirs' mad sprint through the enemy lines had spread like wildfire, adding to the many rumours already circulating about the hard-nosed lieutenant.
But Speirs didn't seem offended or annoyed as he continued. "You ever noticed with stories like that, everyone says they heard it from someone who was there. But when you ask that person, they say they heard it from someone who was there." A minute shrug hitched his motions of donning his gear. "Nothing new really. I bet if you went back 2'000 years, you'd hear a couple of centurions standing around and yakking about how Tertius lobbed off the heads of Carthaginian prisoners."
"Well…", Lip ventured, "maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it."
Speirs picked up his rifle and helmet and came to stand right in front of him. "Maybe that's because Tertius knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion." He offered a brief smile, then walked away.
.
"Sir?" Lipton spoke up quietly before Speirs could move out of earshot.
The lieutenant turned back, retraced his steps to keep the conversation between them.
Lip cleared his throat, unused to the undivided attention of a CO after months of vacant stares and meaningless ramblings. Giving himself a mental shake, he said: "These men, uh, these men aren't really concerned about the stories. They're just glad to have you as our CO. They're happy to have a good leader again."
"Well, from what I've heard, they've always had one", Speirs responded, acknowledging Lipton's words with a dip of his head. "I've been told there's always been one man they could count on. Led them into the Bois Jacques, held them together when they had the crap shelled out of them in the woods."
He looked at Lip as he carried on: "Every day kept their spirits up, kept the men focused, gave them direction. All the things a good combat leader does."
A rueful smile settled on Lipton's face, flickering in the warm light. "Lieutenant Lloyd would have made a great XO." But sadly, due to the unfair whims of war, they wouldn't get to see it become reality.
"That's true." Speirs had planned to have her take up the position in official capacity, at the very least until Welsh returned. When he'd brought it up during a briefing, both Winters and Nixon had given their enthusiastic approval. "But I wasn't talking about Maxine."
Lip frowned, puzzled.
.
Speirs searched his face briefly before stating: "You don't have any idea who I'm talking about, do you?" The glint of amusement was back in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his lips.
Lip shook his head with a toneless "No, sir".
"Hell, it was you, First Sergeant. Ever since Winters made Battalion, you've been the leader of Easy Company. Lloyd took over a fair share of it when she got promoted, but it was still the two of you leading Easy in those woods. It's you the men look to for guidance."
Overwhelmed by this direct, honest praise, Lipton stayed silent.
The CO nodded and turned to leave, only to pause once more. "Oh, and you're not going to be a First Sergeant much longer, First Sergeant."
Now completely lost, Lip managed only a confused "Sir?".
"Winters put in for a battlefield commission and Sink approved on your behalf", Speirs explained. "You should get the official nod in a few days." There was the smile again, small and genuine, smoothing the lines of his stony features. "Congratulations, lieutenant."
And then, he was gone, passing the rows of pews in purposeful strides, his footsteps quiet against the marble floor.
Dazed with shock, Lipton stared after him for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around what he'd just heard.
Returning to his seat, his gaze caught on the pew occupied by Louise and – by the sniper's insistence – Mia. Sharp grey eyes met him, creased with a sincere grin. "Congratulations, lieutenant", Louise whispered.
He huffed a soft laugh because of course she'd heard. "How is she?", he asked instead, referring to the young medic beside her.
"Run-down. Told me she was fine, then passed out the second she was horizontal."
The shake of her head and her little eyeroll when she looked down to her friend eased Lipton's concern.
.
When she'd returned from delivering Maxine and Francis to the aid station, Mia had been a ghost. Too pale, too quiet, too thin. Hollowness had lurked in the purple-dark bruises under her eyes, shimmered through the dust, dirt and blood smudging her face.
"How are they? Are they going to be okay?", he'd asked as she'd slipped out of the jeep. He'd given her a quick once-over, had noted the large wet patches on her jacket and pants with distracted curiosity before realisation had sunk into his stomach.
Mia had nodded, pulled in a weary breath. "Probably. Maxine broke her skull and Frances is bleeding inside. But the doctor said they have good chances", she'd replied in a monotone, her expression empty. Emotionless in a way he'd never heard before and hoped never to hear again.
.
That was what had worried him the most. The blankness on her face. The drained numbness in her voice. The absent-minded look in her eyes, like she was miles away with her thoughts. It had dredged up images of Buck staring helplessly at his wounded friends, of Malarkey mutely cradling the scorched remains of a rosary. Of Doc Roe sluggishly blinking at a proffered mug of heated rations.
Now though, sleeping curled up on that wooden pew with her bag as a pillow, Mia looked less ghostly again. Bruised, bloodied, dirty and completely worn out, but alive. It gave Lipton confidence that once they were off the line, with some time to rest, she would bounce back.
That they all would.
.
But in the morning, Easy's hopes of returning to Mourmelon were disappointed once more. They were being relocated to Haguenau in Alsace. The grumbles and complaints stayed at a token minimum. The veterans had learned not to trust command's promises on how soon they could move off the line again. A few bitter murmurs, some resigned sighs. Anything more would have been a waste of energy they already didn't have, so they traded weary looks and hauled themselves onto the trucks.