"We're taking the fight into the woods today, soldiers," Emilie's CO announced. He had woken them at dawn, from what had been a restless, near-sleepless night on Emilie's part, and they were now standing at ease in their foxholes as he stood before them, above ground. "To hit the Americans where it hurts. I'm not going to lie to you, men," He paused, eyes finding Emilie for a split second, "And woman. We've had a few of our men captured by them, and more killed by them. By doing this, we are doing our comrades justice."

He was interrupted by Karl to her left, who cleared his throat. "Sir, forgive me if I am out of place for asking."

Her CO raised an eyebrow, but nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

All eyes were on Karl as he began, sounding a little nervous. "Is it true? Clearly, the Americans have not accepted our proposal for peace, but is it true that their commander sent back the reply 'nuts'? Someone told me the term means 'go to Hell'."

The CO pursed his lips, nodding once again. "They refused our offer of a truce, so I'm choosing to take it as a sign that they want to fight. We'll teach them to show us some respect." He raised his rifle over his head. "For the Motherland!" he yelled, and all the men around him cheered, shaking their guns over their heads. A few fired shots into the air, still yelling their support.

"For the Motherland," Emilie breathed, clapping softly along with the other soldiers. The other soldiers. She was a soldier.

"Follow me!" her CO ordered, and with that all the men jumped out of their foxholes, fired up by adrenaline and wanting vengeance for their dead and imprisoned friends. When Emilie didn't move, assuming she was to stay behind, her CO walked over to her and offered a hand. "You too, Demont." She could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

She waved off his hand and clambered out of the foxhole, struggling to heave herself out with all her medic bags weighing her down. Her CO stood back and watched pointedly; she could tell he was thinking 'hey, I offered you my help'. Hearing the soldiers chuckling as they watched her fuelled her on and she finally stood up triumphantly.

But the loose snow at the edge of her foxhole gave way under her feet and she stumbled backwards, arms swinging around and around as she fought to regain her balance. But her efforts were useless, and she landed back in the hole with a thud. Her tailbone felt like it had been set on fire and she cursed under her breath. The men above her erupted with raucous laughter, and she looked up to see them peering down at her, grinning.

"You alright there, Em?"

"So eager to get back to bed?"

"Six feet underground already?"

Emilie scowled up at them for a moment, before her sneer broke into a wide smile and she let out a loud, un-ladylike burst of laughter. "Shut up, sheißkopfs!" she yelled up at them, still grinning goofily. That only made them laugh harder. "Okay, well, now that I've officially lost all my self-respect, could I have a hand getting out of here? Please? This is a one-time offer; you'll never hear me say that word again, boys."

Every single man's, save her CO's, hand shot forward, some straining to get closer to her so she would chose them to help her up. She let out a giggle and reached up, clasping the hand of the man who had been shoved back by all the others; he had always been shy, awkward, smaller than the other men with a seemingly fragile, delicate, bony frame, and thick glasses and slight buck-teeth, too afraid to talk to her because he was evidently unsure of how to talk to women. He hadn't seemed to realise that she was one of the guys. Who just happened to have tits.

He seemed shocked that she had chosen him, and all the other men groaned in disappointment. He struggled to help her up, as he was almost the same size as her, and it was an awkward ordeal, but finally she was standing beside him, wiping dirt and snow off of her ass. He stared at her with something akin to wonder and disbelief. "Well, thank you, Zimmermann." She smiled, trying to ignore the pain in her lower back. But her pride was hurt more, not that she really cared around her regiment. They were family, and she had seen their most embarrassing moments as well.

Zimmermann smiled back, his top teeth lightly touching his bottom lip. She found it strangely cute. She had always liked mice, though she expected he would hate to be compared to one. "No need to thank me," he replied, speaking with a slight lisp, "I'm just surprised you even know my name."

"How could I not?" She began to follow her CO and the other soldiers, waiting a second for Zimmermann to join her.

He looked down, face falling. "You probably only know who I am because of how weird I look, right?"

Emilie spluttered in indignation. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, "No, I know who you are because you're a fantastic soldier and a good man. You joined the army just after me, on the fourth of December, 1941. You're 21 years old, from Neunberg. Now, how would I know that if I hadn't been paying attention? Sebastian, even if we haven't talked, you're my family here." She was almost surprised by herself.

Zimmermann stared at her for a few heartbeats, and she smiled back at him. Then he slowly began to lean in, and before she knew what was happening his lips brushed hers. Emilie leapt backwards, almost falling over once more. "What are you doing?" she yelped.

He looked crestfallen and alarmed. "I-I'm sorry, Emilie," he began, rubbing his hands together, "I thought… That was inappropriate of me. Forgive me." He looked away, and she barely heard him mutter, "Who would ever want to kiss me?"

That's what I get for being nice to people. Still surprised, it took a second for her muscles to relax. As soon as they did, she shook her head, smiling reassuringly. "No, no, it's fine," she assured him, "Don't worry about it. You'll find someone who will want to kiss you, Seb. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that…" She chuckled lightly, trying to not make it sound as awkward as she felt, "Well, that was a bit sudden, and I was thinking we could start off by just being friends, yeah?" And I like someone else. She bit back the words. They weren't true. She didn't like anyone else. Not Eugene. That was ridiculous. Insane. She didn't like him… Did she?

Zimmermann nodded, seemingly relieved that she wasn't punching him in the jaw. "Yes, of course," He let out a breath, smiling thinly, "Thank you, Emilie."

To her dismay, she looked over to see all the men watching the pair, barely stifling their laughter. Apparently, Emilie was a source of great amusement that particular day. The rest of the walk into the woods, the men pestered them, and Emilie and Zimmermann were quickly labelled as 'the Beauty and the Beast'. Emilie was ready to shoot back a stinging retort, defending Sebastian, but he smiled kindly at her and told her not to worry, he wasn't offended. Strangely, he seemed to be lapping up the rare attention, and, to Emilie's chagrin, he appeared proud of himself for what he had almost accomplished with her. Well, at least I've made their day. I guess I can do without my dignity.

Her CO didn't join in the joking, his face set in a stony expression. The laughter quickly died down when he raised as hand as they entered the woods, and was replaced by nervous murmurings and eyes darting back and forth. A few prayed under their breath. They were now in enemy territory. Though the German army had a reputation of being fantastic soldiers, which they were, most of the soldiers could still be called boys, and, as such, they did get afraid. Tension always crackled before a battle; a mixture of excitement and fear.

They walked a little more, until their CO gave the signal to set up their defences. There were mixed feelings; some of the men much preferred the cover of fighting underneath trees, while others, the soldiers that enjoyed warfare, were at their element and found thrill in the open field, where the enemy had nowhere to hide, and neither did you, so it was, in their eyes, a more 'fair fight'. Emilie bit her tongue. There was no such thing as a fair fight. There was nothing fair about killing. It was still murder, even if it was 'justified'.

Emilie waited, crouched with her back pressed against the thin trunk of a tree (it subconsciously made her feel better to know no one could sneak up on her from behind), as some of the soldiers set up a single machine gun behind a larger, fallen snow-covered tree. The rest cocked their guns and checked, and rechecked, their ammunition. And then the worst part came. The waiting. No one dared speak. Everyone breathed through their open mouth so as not to make any noise, which made Emilie's throat sting and throb when she sucked in the freezing air. More than one person was on the verge of hyperventilating, but their friends managed to calm them down.

They waited for the Americans to find them. They waited to die. They waited to kill. They waited with their comrades they knew better than anyone else, with a bond that could only be forged in the barracks and on the battlefield, huddled together in the cold.

Emilie edged quietly over to the cover of the fallen trees, falling in at the end of the line. She checked her medicine supplies (an almost pointless exercise, as she couldn't go back even if she had forgotten something. But it soothed her to have something to do), creating the only sound. For once, there was no wind, though a light sprinkle of snow stated to fall, as per usual. Emilie found herself hoping Eugene would be amongst the Americans when they came. No. She instantly reprimanded herself. He would be safer in his foxhole.

Then the moment they had all been anticipating arrived. A voice could faintly be heard in the distance, along with the soft crunching of snow under boots. Everyone's eyes flicked from the advancing Americans to their CO, waiting for the order to commence fire. He stared straight ahead, jaw moving slightly from side to side as he ground his teeth together. Even officers get stressed before a fight.

He waited until the Yanks were almost on top of them, unaware of the Germans waiting for them. Emilie chewed on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from yelling out a warning to them. This went against every one of her instincts. Then her CO let out a bellow, and the peaceful air exploded with rapid gunfire and yells. Emilie pressed herself closer to the ground, still peeking out over the tree.

The Yanks dove for cover as the machine gun's bullets threw up snow when they hit the ground. But a stunned American remained standing, looking to his fellow soldiers as though asking what to do. The machine-gunner let out a chuckle. "I have him now."

"Get down, Julian!" Emilie could just hear the frantic order over the flying bullets.

But, before the man could obey, he was hit straight in the throat. Emilie watched in horror. She so desperately wanted to run forward and help him, but, even if she could, throat wounds were almost impossible to fix in time. The soldier remained standing for a few more moment, still staring at the concealed Americans to his left, before crumping to the ground. She could see the exposed muscles moving and twitching in his torn throat as he struggled to breathe, blood pulsing out in waves. She could sense the fear radiating off of him even at this distance.

"Stop moving or they'll keep shooting!" the same male voice screamed again, "Keep still!"

Emilie's eyes were fixed to the man that was still writhing in the snow; she could tell he was desperately trying to stay still, but that the pain was too much. He looked so young.

Then, when they had been in the one-sided battle for less than five minutes, Emilie heard the order to fall back rising over the gunfire. That only fuelled the Germans around her, and, for the first time, Emilie saw them as the enemies must see them: merciless. It disgusted and enraged her.

"We can't just leave him!"

"We have no choice!"

"Stay there, Julian! We are coming back! We are coming back for you, do you hear me?"

And then the Americans began to retreat, running as quickly as they could, staying low and sticking to the trees. Her CO gave the order to cease fire, that they were already running away with their tails between their legs and that they had succeeded in damaging their morale.

But one replacement continued to fire at the fallen Yank with his rifle. No one stopped him, not even the CO. So it fell to Emilie, who was shaking.

"Stop firing at that man," she ordered, using the log to help herself to her feet. She rushed forward, towards the critically injured man, but, before she reached him, the same replacement fired another shot. It whizzed right past her ear and hit a tree. She dropped into a crouch and whipped around, leaping to her feet.

"I said stop firing on that man!" she yelled, absently rubbing her ear the bullet had narrowly missed with one hand, "You have one goddamn medic, and you almost shot her! What would happen if you went and got her stupid ass hit? Who would help you then?"

He stared back at her defiantly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Who are you to be giving orders?"

"Who are you to be disobeying them?" Emilie snapped back, feeling as though her blood were on fire. The replacement didn't seem to know how to react to that, and the other men elbowed him, chuckling. Nearly every one of them had felt the full brunt of her wrath at one point or another. It had become a popular saying amongst her regiment that you weren't an official member until you've been told off by Emilie Demont.

Shooting him one last, scorching glare, Emilie turned and kneeled down beside the American. His eyes sparked with fear at the sight of the German, and he struggled to get to his feet to flee. But his effort was useless. She offered a small smile, digging in her bag to find the bandages. "Hey," she murmured in English, and she felt him stiffen beside her, still choking, "Calm down, don't worry, I'm here to help you. You're going to be okay. Just keep looking at me, alright? Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

He tried to speak, but the words just gurgled in his shredded throat, forcing more blood out.

"Shh," she soothed, placing a hand lightly on his sweaty forehead as she pressed the bandages down hard on his throat. Then I shouldn't have asked him a question. "Don't try to speak. I think I heard someone call you Julian. Sorry if that's not your name." She smiled again, gently pushing a stray strand of dark hair off of his brow. The thought that this could have been Eugene scared her more than anything else. But she didn't think about it. She had to concentrate. "Stay with me, Julian. Don't close your eyes, honey. I know it hurts, but the pain means you're still alive. And I'm going to keep you alive, yeah?"

The words sounded empty to her ears; she had said them so many times before, and they had almost always died. She broke her promises so often. But she had been praised as a nurse in Australia that she had excellent bedside manner, so she hoped her words managed to comfort Julian at least a little. She knew, deep down, that he was going to die, but she refused to accept it.

She ripped open a packet with her teeth, spitting the top of the rapper onto the snow, and sprinkled the powder onto his throat. Julian let out a gurgled cry. Emilie pressed down harder with the cloth, careful to not suffocate him while doing so. "I know, it's not fun. The powder stings a bit. Hey, when you make it out of the war, this will be a weird story to tell your friends."

She was about to tell Julian not to move, when she realised he was fumbling in his pocket for something. Emilie glanced over, still applying pressure to the wound that refused to stop bleeding – the bullet had hit an artery – and helped him pull out a crinkled, folded letter. He shoved it into her hand.

Emilie shook her head, chin quivering as she tried to smile. "No, no, I won't be needing this. You can give it to whoever it's for for yourself when you make it out of here."

He pushed it more insistently into her hand, huge eyes wet and pleading as he stared up at her. What sounded like 'please' sounded in his throat. Reluctantly, she took it from him and tucked it into her jacket's breast pocket. As soon as she did so, Julian's eyes began to flicker shut, with a small, gurgling 'thank you'. Emilie pressed down even harder on his neck; her hands were now drenched in blood, and the cloth was completely red. "No. Hey," she tucked some of her hair behind her ear, smearing the side of her face with his blood. She let out a sniffle. "Hey, Julian." She patted the side of his cheek, her hands shaking, "No, sweetie, don't you dare. You stay with me, do you hear? Your friends are coming back for you. If you can't stay awake for me, stay awake for them. Julian!"

But it was no use. His last breath had left his body, and his muscles had stopped their spasms. Emilie had never been one for giving up. She shook his shoulders, continuing to press down on his throat. "Julian!" she screamed, back shuddering as she fought back her tears. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry. Finally, leaning back on her haunches in defeat, she looked away, swallowing resolutely. Then her gaze flicked back to his corpse. So it wasn't just Germans she was unable to save.

Letting out a screech, she threw the blood-soaked bandage against a tree, the crimson liquid splattering off as it hit, small droplets staining her face. Then she closed her eyes, the image of his dead body imprinted behind her eyelids. When she opened them again, she let out a breath and began to pack up her bag, standing up and walking away from Julian.

"Emilie, are you alright?" one of the soldiers reached forward to touch her, but she held up a hand, not looking at him.

"Don't touch me," she snarled, pulling her jacket tighter around her body as she continued back to the German line, not waiting for her CO. He didn't protest. Only when she remembered something did she stop, not looking back as she warned them, voice low and deadly, "Oh, and if anyone dares strip his body, you'll have me to deal with. Someone bury him, don't just leave him there to rot." She would have done it herself, but she couldn't bear to look at him any longer. But she deserved to be forced to, to be tortured by staring at his body.

As she walked away, she heard the replacement hiss that she was a traitor for helping the American, to which another soldier replied that she was the best, most loyal medic they could ever have hoped for, and that they were lucky to have her. If only they knew.