"What did he mean?" Winter's asked Nixon once Strayer had left. The Lieutenant Colonel had just finished briefing Winters and the other officers on what their objectives were for the next couple of days.
Nixon shook his head in disbelief, "I don't know," he said, "I don't think he even knows." Winter's mouth tightened into a thin line of disapproval, "that's what I'm afraid of."
Nixon exhaled deeply. This wasn't the first time he and Winters had experienced frustration since coming to Bastogne. No one seemed to have a goddamn idea of what was going on as their men sat freezing on a line that was no more than a German garrote. They were outnumbered, lacking in supplies and all the senior leaders were elsewhere. The leadership that was present seemed to be clueless on how exactly to help their men. "I'll go back to regiment HQ and figure out what the hell is going on," Nixon told Winters. His compatriot nodded gratefully at him.
Nixon walked to regimental headquarters that was placed just outside of Bastogne. It was a cold walk. Without the cover of trees a nasty wind-whipped redness into Nixon's cheeks. There absolutely was risk in traveling alone so exposed, so slowly. But Nixon didn't care. He was too fed up with the cold, with the war, to really care about acting cautiously. If he died, he died.
Halfway into his trip, a jeep passed and he was able to hitch a ride. Despite that bonus, Nixon's frustration had grown with the cold by the time he arrived at headquarters. He stomped through camp looking for someone who could clarify Strayer's orders.
The level of disconnect between the soldiers on the front lines and the commanding officers was unbelievable. Nixon wasn't quite as disgruntled as Winters, but he was getting there. It was imperative that the Captains kept their heads around the men but now away from the front line Nixon felt his composure breaking.
"Lewis?" her voice broke through the angry thoughts in his head. He stopped suddenly in front of the tent in which Emily stood. "Oh, hi," he said. Great, he thought, he was not in the mood to see her right then. He could only imagine how he presented, smelly and scowling. He didn't want this to be the moment they reconnected "Hi!" Emily said, a strip of white cloth in her hand, "um how is everything?" she asked.
Nixon did his best to recover the guard he had up around the men. "Good, good. Not exactly the Christmas holiday I had in mind," he said dryly.
He wondered what she was thinking with her little smile. "What are you doing here? Everything okay?" she asked. "Yeah, I just gotta clarify a few things," Nixon said tiredly. He already wanted this conversation to be over.
"I thought Strayer just debriefed you all?" Emily asked.
"Yeah but, he-," Nixon pointed vaguely towards where he thought the officers might be, "never mind. I gotta go." He had to cut the conversation off. Frankly, he didn't have the energy to explain things further to her. There was plenty he wanted to talk about with her but not that, and not at that moment.
He continued on his journey without looking back, he couldn't look back. He felt bad for blowing her off, he didn't need to see the certain confusion on her face to reinforce that.
After learning as much as he could about the reality of their situation Nixon made his way back to the front line where Winters awaited him. He found Winters behind in the canvas-covered foxhole that served as his command post.
"Have you got a lighter or a match?" Winters asked as Nixon approached. Winters gently banged his Bunsen burner on the edge of a half-frozen crate, "or something to get this thing to work?"
Nixon dug in his pocket, "here," he thrust the brass lighter at Winters. "What's wrong with it?"
Winters scowled, "I don't know, the wicks still there," he trailed off as he focused on lighting the fuse. It was a bit of a battle, but Winters eventually got his burner to stay lit. As the snow slowly melted in his tin cup above the flame, the shivering redhead took a moment to look at the heavy lighter Nixon had handed him. He turned the brass zippo over in his bare hand. His thumb ran over the engraved emblem of a screaming eagle head. "This is nice. Where'd you get it?" he asked.
Nixon's gaze was focused on the lighter in his friend's hand, but his eyes weren't seeing anything. He spoke reflexively, "Emily."
"Emily gave this to you?" Winters admired the barely scuffed metal, "when? It looks brand new."
"Christmas. Last Christmas. I try not to use it too much," Nixon mumbled absent-mindedly. The memory of Emily's bright face filtered through his foggy thoughts. The version of her who had given him that lighter had been very different from the dark-eyed woman he had encountered earlier that day. He wondered if he had changed just as much as she had.
As if reading his mind Winters asked, "were you able to see her at regiment?"
Nixon swallowed hard; his throat was dry. He blinked his eyes back into focus and extended a hand for his lighter. Winters handed it back, his bright blue eyes searched Nixon's face.
"Yeah," Nixon finally said, "just briefly."
"She okay?" Winters stirred his coffee.
"Yeah!" Nixon squatted down beside Winters, "all good."
Winters eyed him, "what's going on between you two?" he asked.
"What d'you mean?" Nixon trained his gaze on Winters stirring spoon.
Winters shrugged, "I don't know, I never know where you two stand. One moment you can't stand her the next she's all you talk about." Winters caught Nixon's eye.
Nixon's jaw clenched and unclenched, "I'm married."
"I know that," Winters said in his dry tone, "but what's that have to do with Emily?"
Nixon cleared his throat trying to think of the best thing to say. Winters was his closest friend but this wasn't a subject they discussed. They dealt with their private affairs just as they were, privately. Winters had shared his opinion on Kathy, but only once and left it at that. The friends were straight with each other and not the type to indulge each other's musings or fantasies.
"You're married, Nix," Winters spoke for him, "you're also a Captain and her superior." Winters paused to let those words hang in the air. "So either leave the girl alone or end the marriage."
"I can't do that," Nixon muttered.
"Which one?" Winters asked. He licked his dry lips and studied Nixon. There was no hint of judgment in Winters's face. In a situation where, had it been any other man, he would typically have a strong opinion Winters granted his friend grace. Winters understood that Nixon's home was a loveless one. He would not want to deny his friend happiness in order to preserve a marriage for appearance's sake. Unfortunately, Nixon's social class did not agree.
"I'm married, Emily is too good to be a mistress or a divorcee's wife."
"Why don't you let her decide that?" Winters suggested.
Nixon huffed, "yeah, I can't ask that of her. Neither life is good enough for her."
"Look, you either believe in her ability to make her own decisions or you don't."
Nixon couldn't stop the frown from settling over his face. He knew exactly what Winters was doing, but he didn't want to concede. The truth was if he gave Emily a chance, he was afraid she would take it. That meant a chance for him to disappoint her and frankly, Nixon didn't have a lot of faith in himself not to fail. There was a consistent theme in his life he had long come to terms with. He could do everything right when it didn't matter, and everything wrong when it did. He was a star at school, in work, in the military but when it came to nurturing familial relationships or expressing love or appreciation or kindness Nixon was lost. He had gotten lost long ago in a place that had never encouraged that growth. Instead, Nixon had been taught to dress it up pretty and in order to cope with the facade, he drank. He wanted none of this for Emily.
"Unless you still see her as that naive young girl who started with us," Winters continued to press all the right buttons.
"No," Nixon responded thoughtfully, "I was definitely wrong about that one."
Winters eyed his friend thoughtfully. Unspoken words rolled around in his mouth before he carefully said, "it's your life, Lew. You have the ability to change its course. Don't be a coward."
Nixon grit his teeth together. He wanted to argue further with Winters, but he knew it was pointless. Winters was frustratingly right, as always.
Boom! Only meters away from them the earth exploded in a shower of snow, rocks, and dirt. Before the earth settled the cry of medic erupted into the bitter air.
This had become the dark routine of the day. Winters and Nixon would wait for things to settle before walking the line to check in with Lieutenants and First Sergeants to determine who exactly the casualties were in this case.
Nixon and Winters had a similar approach to their relationships with the men: arm's length. To an outsider, it may have come off as unsympathetic but it was necessary in order to cope as each casualty was run by them.
