Hello everyone. I'm really sorry for the late update, writer's block has struck and I've been so busy at work that I didn't have time to write. Which leads me to an important announcement: The next update will likely not occur before mid-May.
I'm terribly sorry to keep you all waiting so long, but right now, my life is so stressful that I just need to prioritise and not add more pressure by trying to stick to my (already not exactly regular) update schedule. I have a 3000 word essay to write for university and my work days are so hectic that all I do after coming home is eat and sleep. I've been pulling so much overtime at work that I could literally take a full week off and still have OT. My shifts are 10 hours long, usually with 1.5 hours of breaktime. But if you manage maybe 45 minutes of breaktime in one day because it's just one crazy deadline after another and then you stay another hour because there's jobs you have to finish today and administrative tasks that need to be done, and it's like that basically every day for a month... well, in short, I'm physically and mentally exhausted. Adding to that comes the continued issue of COVID, waiting for a vaccination appointment and fiercely missing my hobbies. So, I'm in a bit of a bad place right now.
Again, I'm very sorry and I hope you understand if I can't update at my usual pace, especially when the next chapters will be dealing with Landsberg and a massive amount of emotion. I promise that I will continue writing whenever I can and that I will update as soon as I'm able. It's just gonna take a little longer. Thanks for your patience and understanding. Look after yourselves, everyone, and stay safe!
Also: Shoutout to BlackShadowWolf31 for suggesting the dream sequence
By the end of March, the 506 PIR was considered back to full battle strength. The downtime had done them a world of good. Medals and awards had been distributed, a second unit citation and numerous Purple Hearts among them. And they had taken the rigorous training in stride, even if the arrival of the newest batch of replacement had caused the usual amount of grousing, cursing and eye-rolling.
"I honestly wonder how their basic training instructors haven't been reassigned", Esther had commented with a shake of her head as she had observed the new guys' at times dismal performance on the shooting range. "Seriously, that guy over there couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with buckshot ammo. Who taught him how to hold a rifle?"
Theresa, who had heard similar complaints from her own company as well, had just laughed. "The Army just wants to fill the ranks so the regiment looks fighting fit again on paper."
"Yeah, and switched up the rosters for some variety."
The companies had undergone another reshuffle to even out the number of veterans per squad and platoon and compensate for the loss of experienced leaders on all levels. Esther was still under Sergeant Caracea, her and Steve Kapopoulos the only other Toccoa veterans in the squad. Their replacements had shaped up nicely under their tutelage, even Phillips had managed to get over himself and started listening to Esther's input.
Theresa still had Cobb in her squad, which she was absurdly pleased about since she genuinely liked and trusted the man – despite his irritability, scathing remarks and penchant for being a mean drunk. She'd also kept Pace, another Holland and Bastogne veteran, and Babe had been transferred to her command, along with three new kids whose attitudes ranged from star-struck (Levinson) over respectful (Rhodes) to gratingly cocky (Barker).
.
It didn't go unnoticed that there had been far less problems from the new kids that found themselves under a woman's command than last time. There had been a few like Barker that felt the irrational – not to say stupid – need to try and prove that these broads were somehow unfit to be soldiers. The attempts all failed dismally since everybody else knew them to be highly capable in the field. And even those that hadn't been there for all of it themselves knew that having made it through Toccoa, and Sobel's special brand of hell in Easy's case, D-Day, Normandy, Market Garden, Pegasus and Bastogne had to count for something.
On the flip side, there were those that were thrilled to find themselves in the only combat battalion with female soldiers. And that unnerved the women more than they cared to admit.
They had weathered the scepticism, the mocking and slander and blatant antagonism in basic training, proving themselves over and over to be as good as the men. They had read the articles that had been written about them in newspapers and magazines, the disparaging comments and doom-filled predictions. Awe and adoration were not reactions they were used to.
Ana María nearly choked on her water when Corporal McGorin came up to her after a training exercise and asked, stumbling over his words and blushing furiously: "Can I- could, I mean, um, would you sign this picture, Ma'am?"
He produced a newspaper clipping, most of it occupied by a photograph. She put aside the handheld radio she was trying to revive and looked at the picture, recognising it as one taken right after they had received their jump wings, at Fort Benning. 24 women in their Class As beamed in to the camera, looking so young and carefree that it almost hurt.
"It's just", McGorin continued, clearing his throat, "well, my sisters really admire you all. They think you're heroes. Which you are."
Ana María felt a heat rising into her cheeks that had nothing to do with the weather, which had leapt towards spring unexpectedly. The idea of giving out autographs seemed slightly absurd, but he looked so sincere and hopeful that she just didn't have the heart to shoot down his request. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the merciless teasing she would no doubt get from her friends once they heard about it. "Okay. You got a pen?"
.
Esther was next and at McGorin's initial request, she narrowed her eyes. When he explained that it was for his sisters, who apparently saw them as an inspiration, her expression softened. "Word of advice", she said as she took the photograph and pen, stalling briefly at the sight of the faces of absent friends smiling up at her, "lead with the second part. Otherwise, you're liable to get yourself punched in the face."
"Oh, uh, yes Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."
She had to laugh at his flustered demeanour and handed the signed picture back with a sincere "Your sisters can count themselves lucky to have a brother like you". A brother who would willingly accept embarrassment and face potential judgement and rejection in order to get his sisters autographs from their idols.
The beaming grin she got in return was worth the ribbing she got from Steve, who had witnessed the entire exchange and done the bare minimum to hold in his laughter.
.
Entering the mess hall after a long day of field problems and drills and KP duty, McGorin's mood lifted slightly when he spotted a few of the women in a cluster of veteran soldiers. Recalling Esther's advice, he gathered his courage and approached the tables.
The two women from Fox Company looked up when he addressed them, the initial surprise waning as he explained his request. Jessup frowned and opened her mouth, but closed it again when Maynard placed a hand on her arm.
"Can we see the picture?", the dark-haired woman asked after a glance at her A-gunner.
He nodded and hastily pulled the newspaper clipping from his breast pocket. "I'm sure my sisters would understand if you don't want to", he offered.
Maynard gave him a little smile before turning her eyes to the photograph. The smile dimmed, turning wistful, and McGorin felt like he'd made a huge mistake. After all, many of the women on that picture were no longer in the regiment, for one reason or another.
Unnoticed by McGorin, the hand Audrey had on Cassandra's arm slipped down to grip her friend's hand. The blonde wore a similar look on her face, fond and pained and sad and reminiscing. "Look at Margie's hair", she murmured. "She always had the best hand at doing those rolls."
The sound Audrey made was a bit too wet to be a true laugh, but it broke the strange spell that had settled over them and Cassandra turned her head and called: "Hey, Reese, Catherine, come get a look at this!"
The two women came over, now under the eyes of half the mess hall. "Kid here is collecting autographs for his sisters", Jessup explained before McGorin had a chance to.
Part of him bristled at being called a kid because she wasn't much older than him, if at all, but then again, he was inexperienced and green when it came to combat, so he checked his ego and said: "They really admire you, Ma'ams."
Nolan's expression softened, the confusion and healthy dose of suspicion making way for a light smile. "Alright."
.
A crowd gathered around them, everybody angling to see the picture and to poke fun at them giving out autographs. McGorin flushed, but the women didn't seem bothered by it, taking it in stride and laughing with their friends while they signed the photograph.
"Not all of us can be naturals at calligraphy, Ray", Jessup returned with a half-grin and a light shove when Maynard teased her for her chicken-scratch handwriting.
Catching a glimpse of the new signatures before the picture was passed over to Nolan and Wilson, McGorin had to admit that the name 'Audrey Maynard' was indeed written in a particularly beautiful, looping script.
Watching Nolan scribble her name above her image, Wilson looked up and asked: "What's your name, trooper?"
"McGorin, Ma'am. Corporal Angus T. McGorin."
"Nice to meet you, McGorin. How many sisters do you have?"
"Um… four, Ma'am. All younger."
Easy's ranking medic smiled and accepted the pen from Nolan, taking a moment to study the photograph before adding her own signature. "There. Your sisters are lucky to have such a nice big brother."
"Thank you, Ma'am." He took the picture back, carefully returning it to his pocket. "Ma'am, would you happen to know where I could find Sergeant Fields or Corporal Arricante? I haven't had a chance to talk to them yet."
"Well" – she glanced at her wrist watch – "Arricante is on shift at the infirmary. And Fields… try the shooting range."
Thanking her, McGorin decided to try his luck at the shooting range first. He didn't want to distract Arricante from her work at the infirmary over a simple signature.
.
The way Sergeant Fields arched an eyebrow and regarded him with piercing eyes had him convinced that she would turn him down, at the very least. "Your sisters want to have our autographs?", she clarified slowly once he'd stuttered his way through his request.
"Yes Ma'am. You're their heroes."
Her brow rose even higher at this, but she slung her rifle over her shoulder and took the newspaper clipping he held out to her.
It was startling to see the sniper's expression – which had just minutes ago held a look of calm, deadly focus – grow distracted, a touch of sadness in the curve of her faint smile as she studied the grinning faces on the photograph. "Holy shoelace", she murmured, "we look so young."
Not knowing what to say, McGorin stayed silent.
Her eyes lingered on some of the figures for another few seconds before she shook herself out of her thoughts and asked him for a pen.
"Bloody ironic", Fields said as she put her scrawling signature onto the picture. "The papers muckraked us ten ways to Sunday for being stupid or selfish or arrogant enough to play soldier and now we're flipping inspirations."
"Not everyone believed those articles, Ma'am", he offered awkwardly. "A lot of people think you were really brave for doing it."
Her sharp gaze flickered up to him, corner of her mouth ticking up in sardonic amusement. "I never gave two hoots about the public's opinion." She returned the photograph and pen and continued: "But those vultures spouted a lot of horse shit and did quite some damage with it."
He grimaced, remembering more than a few articles that had gone out of their way to paint the women in the worst light possible.
"Exactly", she said, confirming his reaction. "So you can imagine that they would have an absolute field day if they found out we handed out autographs."
Frowning at the unexpected turn, he nodded seriously.
The blonde smiled and McGorin shuddered, suddenly distinctly aware of the M1 Garand hanging from her shoulder and the jump knife strapped to her shin.
"Lovely, then I suppose I don't have to tell you what a colossally moronic idea it would be to share this picture with the press."
"No, Ma'am, I understand", he hurried to reassure her. "It's just for my sisters and they wouldn't do something like that either, I swear."
"Good."
As unnecessary – but understandable – as it was from McGorin's standpoint, Fields' unvoiced threat had been more intimidating than he cared to admit. Especially since she didn't strike him as the type to make empty promises. Combined with her reputed fiery temper and her skill with a rifle… he pitied the fool who tried to bring harm to those she cared about.
.
At the infirmary, one of the doctors pointed him towards Arricante, who was putting fresh linens on a cot. Her expression remained largely unreadable when he told her why he was here, but then she smiled softly and agreed. She handled the picture with care, studying it intently like she was trying to memorise it.
"This must seem like ages ago to you", McGorin commented.
"Yeah", Arricante replied quietly. "It's only two years, but it feels much longer." She uncapped the pen and added her name next to Fields'. "How old are your sisters?"
"Eliza's 17, Virginia will be 15 next month. Tiffany's… 12 and Lou Ann just turned 7."
She hummed an acknowledgement and returned the pen and newspaper clipping. "Tell them thank you for believing in us."
He promised. Thanking her profusely, he then rushed to his billet to write a letter to accompany the photograph that was now adorned with eight signatures.
It was the beginning of April when Easy Company entered Germany. They had been hoping to participate in the jump into the Rhineland, but Eisenhower gave the job to the 17th regiment. If the rumours were to be believed, it was because the 101st would be dropping into Berlin once the Allies had crossed the Rhine. Instead, the 101st was sent to the recently liberated Ruhr Valley.
They were stationed in a town by the name of Stürzelberg, a few miles outside of Cologne, and the first thing they noticed when they rolled in was the absence of destruction. No bombed-out buildings, no rubble lining the streets, no scorch marks on the pavement. It was as if the war had never reached this part of the country.
At first, the veterans – especially those of Bastogne – were on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But after a while, the vigilance faded. The patrols they ran in the area always came up empty and manning the MG-equipped outposts was about as exciting as watching cheese melt. In short, they were bored.
The irony was not lost on them and while the veterans rolled their eyes and snapped at the bushy-tailed replacements that were chomping at the bit for some action, they couldn't truly deny that this waiting around for something to happen wasn't in equal parts dull and aggravating. It didn't make the replacements' thirst for combat any less infuriating.
"…heard a story that one of the woman paratroopers killed twenty Krauts on D-Day with only a bullet and a shoelace, did that really happen?"
Audrey silently wondered if the kid was ever going to run out of air. He had been talking her ear off for the past hour that they had been at the outpost and it was really starting to wear down her patience. "It was soap and sugar", she corrected, checking the barrel of the machine gun she had disassembled for maintenance. "And it was a smoke bomb."
"But why not just toss a smoke grenade?"
Biting back the first response that came to her mind, Audrey explained: "We'd all lost them on the jump."
The kid looked almost disappointed, then seemed to catch onto her use of 'we' and pestered her for more details.
"We were outnumbered five to one and almost surrounded", she recounted tersely. "So Frances Shea jury-rigged the smoke bomb to create a diversion. It worked, we got out of there and reached the rendezvous point the next morning." She pointedly went back to cleaning the MG, hoping that the kid would take the hint and leave her alone.
.
She'd startled out of a strange and unsettling dream in the middle of the night and the uneasiness had since refused to leave her. A week before, she'd woken up with confusing echoes of a broken spade and a bird's high-pitched chirps fading from her mind. This time, the dream had imprinted itself as crystal-clear like real memories.
It had started out peaceful, Audrey ambling through a lush green meadow, surrounded by sounds of birds and wind in the trees. A fantail had appeared, sitting on low branches as it chirped its song, black and white tail fanning out. She had walked closer and the bird had flown to the next branch and the next and the next, always just out of reach, beckoning her to follow. It had led her into the forest, which got denser and quieter with every step.
The dream had changed and all of a sudden, she had found herself in no man's land. Burnt tree stumps, the ground churned up by tank tracks and shell craters. In the distance, the smoking ruins of a town. The fantail had disappeared. She'd felt something wet on her hands and looked down. They had been covered in blood. Faint moans, disembodied whispers had hung in the grey air, unintelligible but distraught. Audrey had headed towards the town, the voices following her, growing louder, the muddy ground clawing at her ankles. She'd started to run, the town never getting closer. The voices had become more distinct, some of them – many of them – familiar. She'd been able to make out certain words. She'd tried to run faster. Gunfire, almost drowned out by the voices. Somebody screaming her name.
She'd woken up to silence, her heart beating so fast it hurt, that scream still ringing in her ears. Her forearms had tingled like she'd touched a live wire, her chest tight like she'd had to double-time Currahee in full pack.
.
"Hey Sarge, what was it like on D-Day?", the kid's voice snapped Audrey out of her distraction. "Night jump, gunfire everywhere, landing behind enemy lines and dropping smack dab into combat… it must have been a lot."
She clenched her jaw and briefly closed her eyes to try and restrain her rising temper. "Yeah."
The kid sighed plaintively. "Biggest invasion in history and where was I? Back home, listening to the reports on the radio because I was too young to sign up before. I wish I could have been there."
His melodramatic, longing tone was the straw that broke the camel's back.
"You wish you could have been there?", she parroted, incredulous and vexed and plain fed up with this clueless kid's incessant chatter and gushing. "D'you think it was fun? Planes were blowing up left and right, there was AA fire everywhere and we were dropped all over Normandy. Unless you have a death wish, be glad you weren't there."
He looked away, stumped and embarrassed, and stammered "I didn't-, I don't-", but Audrey wasn't finished. The leftover unease from her dream, the boredom, the subconscious waiting for the next catastrophe and the ache for peace and the end of the war coalesced into a foaming-hot mixture that manifested itself in a string of harsh but honest words.
"Take it from somebody who's lived it: war isn't glorious like those damn propaganda movies want you to think. I've been on the battle field for the better part of nine months. I've been up to my elbows in flooded fields, mud and snow and I've fought in the most miserable conditions you can think of. I've seen dozens of my friends get shot and blown up. I've watched my A-gunner drop like a bag of bricks with a piece of metal in her goddamn skull. I've spent so much time in foxholes and dug-outs that something as simple as having real fucking toilet paper feels like the goddamn height of luxury!"
The kid was staring at her, all slack-jawed and wide-eyed horror as her mini-tirade hit home, and Audrey suddenly felt old and drained. The sharp tang of anger still on her tongue, she inspected the trigger mechanism of the MG, giving him time to process her words and herself to get her frayed temper back under control.
.
"I'm sorry, Sarge", he eventually whispered. "You're right, I've got no clue what it's really like."
Audrey looked up from her work, a frisson of guilt stirring at his downtrodden appearance. She blew out an explosive sigh. "Look, I get it. Before D-Day, we thought we were invincible, too." No amount of training jumps, simulated battles and field problems could have prepared them for the real thing. "But a lot of us haven't seen home in over a year. We just want to make it to the end of this damn war and go home."
Seeing the solemn frown on his face, she went back to cleaning and oiling the machine gun parts and reassembling the weapon, leaving him to his thoughts. As bad as she felt for losing her temper and snapping at him, the reality check had been necessary and hopefully, he would now think twice about asking about when they would get to drop into Berlin and see some real action.
The weekly current event readings were about the most exciting thing that happened in the area. Attendance was mandatory for all soldiers that weren't on sentry duty or patrol, but nobody paid much attention to the mostly trivial news. Most of the time, they simply appreciated the break in the monotony, playing cards more or less inconspicuously to pass the time if they weren't scheduled to go on duty at some point during the reading.
Sliding into a free seat next to Johnny Martin, Theresa murmured: "Did I miss anything interesting?"
He gave her a disbelieving look and shook his head. "Anything interesting on patrol?", he asked back.
The squad leader shrugged, declined when Luz offered to deal her in on the next round of their card game. "Cobb wanted to knock Barker into a mire for being annoying. I didn't let him."
He snorted while Luz commented "Shame" around his ever-present smoke.
She waved it off and turned her attention to Nixon, who was the unfortunate soul that had to go through the news packet today. According to Talbert, he'd been demoted back down to Battalion staff. She couldn't say that she was overly surprised. He was extremely good at his job, but Col. Sink had always disapproved of his drinking and had probably decided to "clean house" during this lull in combat activity.
Nixon didn't look like he was too bothered by it though as he read the random bits of information off the pages on his clipboard. "Aww", he made, gaining everyone's attention as he looked at them with an expression of exaggerated regret. "Rita Hayworth's getting married."
"Oh Rita, say it isn't true", George bemoaned dramatically.
Leaning over to take a peek at Liebgott's cards, Theresa let her hair down and began to comb out the snags and tangles with her fingers.
.
Skimming the pages, Nixon perked up, apparently reaching the good part of the news packet. "Ah, war time news!"
She traded a glance with Luz, Liebgott and Johnny, all of them sitting up a little straighter.
"Resistance in the Ruhr part is crumbling. It looks like there might be a breakout in Remagen", Nixon narrated. "Apparently, the Krauts forgot to blow up one of their bridges when they headed back over the Rhine." His expression softened and he added, almost distractedly: "I guess the boys in the 17th Airborne did okay after all."
"Ah, forget it", Luz piped up, grinning lightly. "We'd be in Berlin by now, sir, if it was us instead of them, huh?"
The smile on Nixon's face didn't reach his eyes and with a slight shrug, he glanced back down at his clipboard. "Alright, what else?..."
Hair detangled, Theresa decided against putting it back into a simple ponytail, instead starting on a Dutch braid now that she had some time on her hands for once. The guys returned their focus to their card game while Nixon continued reading off more or less salient bits of information, his dry tone and sarcastic jibes making the dull event at least slightly entertaining.
When the current events reading was finally over, Theresa headed to the CP to put the verbal report she had delivered upon returning from patrol into writing. Collecting a report sheet and a working pen, she wrote down the date, her rank and name and the mission, then paused. "Now let's see", she muttered, mentally reviewing her verbal report.
"How do I write 'We traipsed around the town for two hours, startled a few birds and saw a mouse' in Army language?" She tapped the pen against her teeth in thought.
She was reading over her finished report when Vest came in, a bag full of mail by his hip.
"Oh hey Sarge", he greeted. "I think I got a letter for you…" He pulled out the stack, rifled through it and plucked out an envelope. "Aha. There you go."
"Thanks, Vest."
She took it, tucked it away while she finished checking over her work. With some creative wording, she had managed to fill an entire page to declare subtly and professionally but in minute detail that the patrol had been a complete waste of time. Their most notable finding had been a patch of wild pansies.
Delivering the report to Lipton, who was catching up with his own paperwork, she stopped to chat with him for a little bit.
.
"Alright, I better get back to my squad", she said eventually, getting to her feet and wincing as her hip popped loudly. "If they're squabbling again, I'm going to volunteer them as runners for Captain Winters", she added with a grin, pulling out the letter and opening the envelope.
Lipton smiled, knowing how much being a squad or platoon leader sometimes felt like herding cats – or corralling a bunch of pre-school children. "You've always been good at keeping your guys in line", he told her. Some of the most temperamental people in the company were or had been under her command at one point and there had never been any incidents that had gone beyond heated words being exchanged or maybe the random shove.
"Thanks, Lip. I've always had a good squad, though."
Giving him a smile and a cheerful "See you later", she unfolded the letter and started reading her mother's neat cursive on her way to the door. Her steps slowed at the strangely grave tone, then one sentence caught her like a blow to the chest. Her hand froze on the doorknob when the words fully registered and she felt like somebody had yanked the floor out from underneath her.
Eyes stinging, she re-read the sentence. And then again, just to be absolutely sure she hadn't misunderstood.
A voice called her name – most likely Lipton, but she couldn't hear him, the sound distorted and faraway as the room disappeared around her until all she could see was the letter, that one sentence.
"Theresa?"
Lipton's voice sounded closer now, but still strangely faint through the roaring of her own heartbeat in her ears. The letter blurred before her eyes and something wet dripped onto her hand. Water? She blinked. The blurriness persisted. There was a spot of wetness on her cheek.
A hand touched her shoulder. The world snapped back into focus, the noise inside her mind abruptly fading into the background. Lipton was by her side, watching her with open concern. Another drop landed on her hand. Theresa frowned at it for a second before she realised that she was crying.
"Theresa, what's wrong?"
Everything, was the first thought to pop into her mind, closely followed by a brief flash of I want my mom and I'm crying in the middle of the CP.
"Sam…", she began, her voice catching and wobbling on the one syllable.
"My brother, he-"
She inhaled shakily, wiped at her eyes, then forced herself to say it.
"He's MIA."