Chapter 16 - Nixon - July - September 1944
All thought left Nixon's mind as he stared down into Emily's red-rimmed gray eyes. He wanted to say more, but the words were stuck in his throat. Who the hell was he to tell her anything? He was married. He was a bad husband, a selfish lover, a drunk - he had no business giving her advice.
"Just trust me," he whispered. Emily's frown deepened as she searched his face. But Nixon would reveal nothing. The only thing he was certain about in that moment was that he didn't want to see Emily get hurt; not by Harry, not by him, not by anyone. "Emily, I'm sorry I accused you of not taking your job seriously. You are one of the best people on my staff." "Really?" Emily's voice was meek.
"If not the best. You're invaluable. I'm sorry that I haven't given you the acknowledgment you deserve. I'm sorry you don't get the respect you deserve."
Emily swallowed. Nixon's heart broke into a thousand pieces when her chin quivered. "I'm sorry I got so emotional," she said in a hushed voice.
"Don't apologize." Nixon wanted to move forward to touch her, to hold her, but something in him wouldn't allow it. She probably didn't want that from him anyway. His words could only heal so much in a night.
"Please," something caught in Nixon's throat, "please just don't say anything to Harry. I don't want to see you get heartbroken."
Emily bit her lip. It took all of his patience to remain quiet as he waited for her to respond. She roamed his face with her eyes. It was as if she was looking right through him, right into the very core of him. Nixon's stomach jumped at her shameless gaze. "Fine," she finally said.
Fine, he would have to accept that. Inside, he begged her to say more. He begged her to stay standing there so he could just look at her a moment longer. But she turned to the street, the city's shadows rippling off the folds of her dress, the angle of her jaw and curve of her eyelashes. She stretched a hand into the night sky and a black cab appeared, its golden headlights flashing. Emily turned back to look at him before stepping through the open car door, "see you in Aldbourne, Nix."
Nixon only managed to raise a hand goodbye and then she was gone, slipping off into the night.
Nixon kicked himself. Why did he make the same mistake over and over again? He always went too far. He was mean. Why? Why did he lose his cool around her? Day after day he had officers, soldiers, and Tommy's saying stupid shit to him and he still managed to hold his tongue. But the simplest conversation with Emily would spiral out of his control.
Nixon returned to Aldbourne in the morning. He was relieved to be back. He needed a purpose and he enjoyed the work that occupied him. Green replacements were showing up every day to take the place of men Nixon had worked alongside for two years. All of the new faces suddenly made the quaint refuge of Aldbourne feel foreign. The new soldiers hadn't had half the training the Toccoa men had, nor the rigor that Easy Company experienced under Sobel. Winters and the other officers had their work cut out for them getting the replacements up to standard.
Nixon had other things to worry about. The 101st was on standby; jumps were scheduled and canceled as Patton's army infiltrated the continent.
The men were restless. Having faced the reality of war in Normandy, the men were living carpe diem. They went out drinking, fighting, and playing every chance they got. John Martin and Bill Guarnere even got themselves some tattoos. In the evenings, Nixon found himself in his lover's bed, and during the days he was watching Emily.
As far as Nixon knew, Emily hadn't said anything to Harry regarding her feelings. But Nixon didn't miss the forlorn looks she gave him. Nixon grit his teeth each time he saw her mooning over Harry's turned back.
That night in London Nixon realized that he cared deeply for Emily in a way that could never be realized. He was married. He was a rogue. She deserved so much more than being a mistress- stop. He had to stop himself there. He couldn't afford to even entertain the idea. Let her pine for Harry. It was only a crush, a crush and nothing more. It wasn't hurting anyone; at least no one but him.
The reality was, Emily was young. She was beautiful and clever. One day she would meet someone and it would be more than just a crush.
Their fight in London had sobered Nixon up. Not literally, but it made him check his own behavior. He didn't want to fight with her again. He never wanted to make her cry again. If all they could be was friends and colleagues, he wanted to be the best friend and colleague she had. Once they returned to the continent their time together would be even more limited. Nixon was determined to make the most of it.
That summer in Aldbourne they worked together more symbiotically than ever before. Nixon's conscious patience combined with Emily's keen intuition made their workdays go smoothly. This was beneficial for the American intelligence's reputation in front of the Brits.
The next drop onto the continent would take place in Holland. Operation Market Garden was the brainchild of British intelligence. Nixon didn't want to sound like a snob so he wouldn't admit that he was wary of their plan. But orders were orders so Nixon surrendered control.
Though Operation Market garden was the strategic genius of the British, Nixon and his staff did a lot of the grunt work. Emily helped to identify drop zones and coordinated routes for the paratroopers to meet up with the British armory.
It was a lot of work in a region Emily had never seen, nor would likely ever see. The plan was to drop into Holland near Eindhoven. This meant another troopship for Emily and overground travel through the seized territory. If everything went as it should, Emily would link up with Battalion headquarters just across the border in Germany. That was if everything was executed as the allies hoped.
Summer wound down and the first chills of winter came with the falling leaves of September. Back in their old digs, Nixon sipped on a whiskey-laced cup of coffee.
"Why are you being so nice to me lately?" Emily was working at her desk, using a ruler to draw a grid on a black and white map.
"What do you mean? I'm always nice."
Emily lifted her pen from the map she was looking at to give him a look.
"What? You want me to be mean?" "No, of course not," she turned back to her paper, "but it's weird." "Why is it weird?" "I'm just not used to you like this."
"Like what?"
"You have two versions." Emily said, "smart Nix and grumpy Nix."
"Nice to hear you think I'm smart," Nixon perched on the edge of his desk to watch her work.
"Smart as in smart-ass," she elaborated.
"Well, that's not very nice."
"I'm not the one being accused of being nice."
"Accused? You make nice sound like such a bad thing."
Emily giggled, "I do not! I'm just saying you're out of character."
"Maybe war has changed me."
"I'm so glad you're never dramatic."
Nixon raised his eyebrows over a sip of coffee, "If I'm dramatic it's from spending time with you."
Emily stuck her tongue out at him. Nixon was about to retort when Lt. Colonel Strayer appeared in in the doorway, "Captain Nixon,"
"Right," Nixon sat his coffee down on his desk and followed Strayer out the door.
Nixon shared a jeep with Strayer as far as the hanger outside Aldbourne. Winters stood in front of the Easy Company men assembled beneath a large map of Holland. Nixon took his place on Winters' left and the lieutenants and sergeants fell in by rank behind him. Nixon noticed Emily's handiwork on the stenciled letters above the hand-colored map.
"This is called Operation Market Garden," Winters presented, "in terms of Airborne Divisions involved, we're dropping deep into occupied Holland."
Nixon scanned the faces of the men assembled before them. Without knowing the individuals, he could tell who had been in Normandy and who hadn't; it was the difference of acceptance and anxiety. All of their serious faces hung on Winters' every word, soaking up every detail of what was to come.
As Winters finished his presentation some of the veteran's expressions changed to ones of confusion. Nixon stepped forward, "the entire European advance has been put on hold to allocate resources for this operation. It's Montgomery's personal plan and we'll be under British command."
Once Nixon finished the men filed out to prepare to jump the next day.
"Old men and children?" Winters said over Nixon's shoulder.
Nixon looked over at his friend, "that's what they're telling us."
"And how reliable do you think the intelligence is?" Winters asked as they walked out of the hanger.
Nixon rolled his jaw, "what can I say? It's coming from the top." "It's hard to believe this will end the war." "All we can do is hope for the best. Home by Christmas," Nixon said.
"Home by Christmas," Winters repeated as if it were a mantra.
That night Nixon couldn't sleep though he needed to. They would be leaving for the airfield at first light. After an hour or so of staring at his ceiling, Nixon pulled on his boots, grabbed his flask, and walked downstairs. He didn't know what he was seeking but he had to get out of his room. Nixon took a sip from his flask as he stepped into the hall. It seemed to stretch on forever in the darkness. He didn't bother to screw the cap on his flask. He made his way down the carpeted steps drinking along the way.
Nixon didn't know where he was going as he wandered through the winding halls of the manor. It wasn't until he was in front of her door that he realized he had walked to Emily's room. He raised his hand to knock when the door swung open.
"Oh!" Emily yelped in surprise then quickly pressed a hand over her mouth, "Lew, you startled me."
"Uh, sorry," Nixon said.
Emily's expression quickly morphed into concern, "is everything okay?"
Nixon smoothed his hair down, realizing it was probably mussed from laying in bed.
"oh yeah, I just was walking by and noticed your light on. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Oh," Emily smiled suspiciously, "okay, well I'm going downstairs for some tea, you want to come?"
Nixon hesitated, considering her offer, "uhh, no, that's okay. Thanks."
"Okay, you sure?" Emily's eyes flicked down at the flask in his hand. Nixon tightened his grip on it suddenly self conscious.
"Yeah, gonna head to bed."
"Okay, well hey, if I don't see you before," she paused, not wanting to verbalize the goodbye.
"I'll see you over there," Nixon nodded confidently at her.
Unexpectedly, she reached out and took his empty hand. Nixon looked down at her grip and back up into her sweet face. She squeezed his hand, "I'll see you over there, Lew."
It took all of his willpower to turn away from her. He walked slowly back down the dark hallway listening to her light steps fall away down the steps behind him.
