A/N: Now, I know this is where a flashback is supposed to be, but I've just been to in to writing the whole Bastogne thing that I've forgotten about that aha. But don't worry: I'll get to writing it soon, and upload them into the spaces they're supposed to be in – in between the present day chapters. I have so many ideas for them, too. Want a little spoiler for the next flashback? I'll be including a little hat-tip to 'The Pacific', featuring two certain Marines. CoughSledgeandSnafucough. (;

xx

It was cold. But not any cold she had ever experienced before. She had once visited Scotland on holiday with her family. It had been snowing non-stop, but they had been inside, tucked under a blanket sipping tea in front of a fire, with music filling the room. This was different. It was a penetrating cold; it seeped into your bones, and just when you thought your body couldn't handle it anymore, somehow you pushed through, making way for a new freezing.

They had reached the Ardennes forest the day before, and had immediately set up their line. The men had jumped out onto the snow, some of the shorter men having it up to their knees as they struggled to push forward. The CO had helped hand out shovels and ordered each man to dig their foxhole.

The SS had arrived just a few hours before them, along with the 7th Army, a number of Panzer Divisions, and a few other regiments. With them they brought tanks and heavy artillery. They were still working to set them all up, and Emilie stood back, her hood covering her head and her hands stuffed into her pockets. Her breath was coming out in white clouds, where the warm air from her lungs met the freezing air.

She was still the only medic to her knowledge. About half an hour ago, a soldier in her regiment, Herrmann (she still found that ironic, with Herrmann translating to warrior or soldier in German), had come rushing over to her to alert her of another medic that had joined them. She had been over the moon, and had gone to meet him. But, upon talking to him – Hirsch was his name - she had discovered he was, in fact, merely a Hilfskrankentrager – they were regular soldiers with some basic first aid training, who, in combat, would drop their weapons and adopt the armband, helping their fallen comrades to some degree. Emilie hadn't been able to hide her disappointment.

It turned out that many of the medics of the other regiments had either been killed or evacuated due to injuries. Emilie looked around, biting her lower lip with such force she tasted blood. Around her were thousands upon thousands of soldiers. How could she possibly be expected to help them all?

"What in God's name is a woman doing on the line?" a booming voice behind her demanded.

She spun around, ready to snap back a response, but stopped when she saw who had spoken. Standing about ten feet away from her was General Josef 'Sepp' Dietrich, flanked by other high-ranking officers, including her CO. Without thinking, she snapped to attention, eyes wide. Before the war, he had been Hitler's bodyguard and chauffeur, and had been involved in the Night of Long Knives, the murder of Hitler's political opposition in 1934. Long story short, he was an SS General, and one of the most decorated and respected Nazis. She had only seen photos.

"Sir," she finally managed to choke out, clearing her throat and beginning again more strongly, having to raise her voice to be heard over the howling wind. He simply raised his eyebrows, waiting, "General. I'm Sergeant Emilie Demont, a medic." She let her gaze wander around her for a few seconds, before adding darkly, "Well, at the moment, I'm the only medic, but you get the idea."

Much to her surprise, the General let out a loud, deep laugh, turning to the men behind him in turn, who smiled back tentatively, seemingly unsure of why he was laughing and whether or not they should join in. "A woman medic!" he exclaimed. He must have seen the malicious glare that she shot at him, because he continued, still chuckling, "Oh, I'm sorry, sergeant. I'm just a little… Well, shocked! This will be quite a story to tell der Führer." He let out a final chuckle, brushing snow from his overcoat, before nodding to her, "Good luck to you, Demont. You'll have quite a battle on your hands."

"Evidently," she replied dryly, "Under your command, I'm sure the Yanks will get one hell of a beating."

He shook a finger at her, grinning, "Oh, you can be sure of that. If it was stardom you were looking for, being involved in this fight was the way to go. We'll go down in history."

Her CO, still standing behind the General, looked a little alarmed, and shot an almost pleading look at Emilie. He was clearly afraid that she would pick a fight with the man, which she was on the verge of doing. Dietrich was saying all the wrong things. It wasn't 'stardom' she was seeking. She didn't even want to be here, but, since she was, she was going to help her men to the best of her ability. She didn't give a shit about being remembered in history. Actually, it might be better if she wasn't. Then future generations wouldn't have to read about all her failures.

But Emilie fought down the rage that was quickly filling her, and instead forced a tight-lipped smile, remaining silent so she wouldn't accidentally snarl at him.

Finally, Dietrich tipped his helmet and walked away, the other men trailing behind him like lost dogs. Before he disappeared into the white haze of snow, her CO turned back to her and gave her a stiff thank you nod. She lifted her middle finger in response, but, unfortunately, he had already turned away before he had a chance to see it.

Suddenly, without warning, the 88mm flak guns the Germans had been positioning along their line began firing at the forest in front of them where Emilie had been informed the Americans had set up their own line. Everyone around her almost leapt out of their skins, some going to the extent of flinging themselves to the ground, humiliated when they realised it was their own army that was firing. The guns, usually used as anti-aircraft guns, made such a noise that the whole ground vibrated around them, and Emilie thought for sure that her eardrums would burst. She grimaced every time they fired.

"We have to go through 90 minutes of this!" a soldier nearby screamed at the man beside him, who had his hands clamped over his ears.

90 minutes? Emilie stared at the forest just a few hundred metres from her. Even with the snow blurring her vision, she could see trees exploding and faintly hear men yelling. If this was what it looked like now, after just a few minutes of this barrage, what would be left of the forest in 90 minutes?

Finally, when the guns had become just a booming roar in the background accompanied by the screeches of wounded Americans, they stopped. The silence was deafening, and Emilie had never been so glad to greet it. No one spoke for a few moments, eyes flicking from the forest to the flak guns, as though making sure they wouldn't start up again.

When they didn't, another kind of roar filled the air, this time of cheering Germans. A number of them hugged each other, and Emilie couldn't work out whether they were cheering for the damage they had done to the Yanks, or simply because there was silence once more.

Before she had time to contemplate on it anymore, a soldier she didn't yet know ran over to her, hauled her up from where she had been seated on a log, and swept her into a tight embrace, twirling her around and around. When he finally put her down, she was so dizzy that it took everything in her not to topple to the ground. It took a few moments for the world to stop spinning around her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, still stumbling around. It reminded her of the first time she had ever had whiskey, illegally at a celebration. When she groggily opened her eyes once more, the soldier that had hugged her was nowhere to be seen.

Well, she thought to herself amusedly, rubbing her eyes, that was unexpected.