One consolation that added some light to an otherwise gloomy existence was the news that, somehow, the letters to the German soldiers from their loved ones had finally arrived, only a few months late. If they hadn't been able to deliver the mail in Holland, Emilie was surprised they were able to in Bastogne, where it was a million times worse. But, by some miracle, they had.

"Hey, hey!" A man's voice rang out over the excited, impatient shouts of the soldiers, and Emilie stood on her tip-toes to see someone standing on a chair at the front of the crush so that he could make himself heard. "One at a time! Get in line! Would somebody please make a line? This is getting us nowhere."

The soldiers obeyed and fell into a line, some still pushing to be at the front. But, finally, they were all in a single-file queue, with Emilie somewhere in the middle. Everyone still pushed and shoved and yelled, but, hey, at least they were in a goddamn line.

The man on the chair at the front waited for relative silence, before thanking everyone, stepping off it, and taking a seat behind a flimsy desk where packages were piled in heaps. He then began calling out names, starting with people with a last name beginning with 'A'. The men with last names beginning with letters near the end of the alphabet groaned and swore, but the A-group couldn't be happier. They collected their packages with smiles, before hurrying away to read them in the privacy of their new foxholes deeper in the woods.

After a little while, the call of 'Demont, Emilie' rang out, and Emilie squirmed out of the suffocating throng of men to collect the package she was half-surprised was actually there. Her parents had written her? Or maybe it was her brother, Tobias. The thought filled her with a warmth, but a longing to hold him in her arms again. He would have grown so much since she had last seen him. As she walked down along the line, the muttering of the men filled her ears, and a few attempted to kick her crutches out from under her. Luckily, she was always one step ahead of them, and lifted the crutches before they had a chance, turning to them and smiling and thanking them for getting the snow off of them, much to their annoyance.

When she arrived at the desk, the man ticked off her name and handed her the small, brown paper package that seemed to contain two letters and something round and bulky. She thanked the man with a thin smile, before limping back to her foxhole. Sliding into it, she sat down and ripped open the paper.

As she had suspected, there were to letters. One was from her mother, which she flung aside to read later, while she recognised her baby brother's handwriting on the second one. After more than a year, and she guessed with her mother trying to force him to write neater and stop being left-handed because 'that was the hand of Lucifer!', his writing was still messy. She gleefully opened it, grinning.

Dear Lizzie,

It's so lonely without you here. And quiet! But it's still fine, and I really enjoy reading the old books you gave me. I have read my favourite one three times. It helps to take my mind off things when we have to go down into the bunker. I swear there is no sound more scary than the air-raid siren. Every time it goes off, I get goosebumps and I wish you were here. But you are doing good over there, I know you are, even if Mama doesn't think so. I get every update on the war I can. I always hope they might mention you've done something heroic, like I know you would have. But they never do. Their loss! I also love not having to go to school, though Mama tries to home school me still. She says I'm like you when I don't want to work because I'm stubborn, but I take that as a compliment.

I hate the war so much and just want it to be over so you can come home, but now you've inspired me to be a soldier. But I'm still too young. I wish I wasn't, though, so I might be able to be in the same place as you. I wouldn't be afraid, I promise.

Anyway, I have to go now. Mama doesn't know I'm writing this and I hope you get it. I miss you so much. I have the necklace you gave me in my pocket every day. It makes me feel happy.

Lots of love,

Tobias

September 1944

She reread the letter a few more times, clutching it to her heart with tears welling in her eyes. Emilie laughed quietly and smiled, tucking the letter carefully into her pocket along with Julian's and the little bluebird her brother had given her all those months ago. She still carried it everywhere, took it out to hold when she was particularly down.

Then she moved onto the letter from her mother, bracing herself and not wanting to dampen the happiness the letter had given her with her mother's words. Even so, she let out a sigh and opened the letter. It had clearly been written in a hurry and with a pen lacking ink, as some of the paper was ripped by the tip of the pen and covered in ink splotches.

Emilie,

Your brother was killed. He refused to be evacuated to the country because he was waiting for you to come home. The shrapnel went straight through his head. He died instantly.

This is your fault, Emilie. If you make it out alive, don't bother coming home. I have left your father, not that you care.

Helga.

September 1944