A/N: Gah! still hates me. I've written in all these author notes that haven't shown up in the chapters... Ah, well. The mystery of the missing author notes. I guess I'll just do a brief summary of what I said in the lost ones: first of all, considering an earlier chapter, I should probably point out that the whole thing about people just "disappearing" is fictional, something I thought up, so I have no idea whether or not it actually occurred. Just thought I'd warn you.
And ahahaha yes, that Hinkel is meant to be the one mentioned in the episode; in my head, for this story at least, the man calling out for Hinkel that Spina and Babe stumbled across was Kuhn, when he got separated during the patrol. Sue me. C:
Reviews are a very good thing. Hint. Hint. Enjoy, and thanks once again for your continued support! It means the world to me and puts a smile on my face when I'm feeling down, or have the flu, as I currently do. D: I think all this talk of Bastogne has made me sick aha.
Enjoy, my sweets.
xx
It seemed to move in slow motion.
Never had Emilie seen anything like it. In all the other battles she had been a part of, the enemy had just suddenly appeared from the shadows. But not now. Now, she saw them run across the open, snow-covered field, wielding their weapons, saw the men that would either kill or be killed. It was a strange phenomenon, to stare into the eyes of the enemy, to think they have families.
And then they are shot right between the eyes.
Emilie was snapped back into the present as the German 88's began to fire and the Americans scrambled apart, ducking for cover behind large bales of hay, peeking out to fire their rifles. But something didn't seem… Right. She and her company had faced these paratroopers before, and they were among the best they had ever encountered. The Americans had always run straight into the fray. But now they stayed behind the flimsy cover of the hay, looking confused and panicked. She could hear them yelling frantically over the gunfire.
The Germans didn't seem to be taking as much advantage of this as they could have, but, strangely, she didn't want them to. Maybe not as many had to die today.
She glanced up at the second-story window where the German snipers were firing from. Before the battle had begun, she had overheard them praying; they knew that they would most likely die, but they were willing to do that for their country. It was common knowledge that the enemy always tried to take out the snipers first – strategy.
All around her, shouts of 'feuer!' rang out, and Emilie watched, helpless, as American soldiers fell to the ground, dead. Most of the time, their comrades only spared them glances that lasted a split second, but in that time she saw over-powering emotions cross their faces. Such was war. It causes feelings so strong – stronger than any civilian could ever hope to comprehend.
Only for a second did she catch a glimpse of Eugene's white armband with the blood-red cross before he joined the others behind the haystack. No! She wanted to scream at him, it's not safe there, you idiot!
Emilie was currently taking shelter behind an old barn, peeking out. Her CO had ordered that she stay back, out of the way, and only move to assist people. But, with a grave, regretful face, he had also told her to not bother moving if it looked like the man stood no chance, that they couldn't risk their only medic. Of course, she wasn't going to obey his orders. She wasn't about to start now after all this time.
"Mediziner!" The scream for a medic sounded somewhere to her right and she turned her head to see a man sprawled out on the ground beside a German tank, one of the other men crouched over him protectively. "Sheiße! Mediziner!"
Keeping her head low, she skirted around a stack of singed wooden crates and limped quickly towards them, hoping to Hell the Americans would see she was a medic and hold their fire as the Germans had done countless times before. Hopefully, they had enough decency to do at least that.
She sat down beside the man (because of her injured foot, she could either stand up or sit to treat someone, and, right then, standing in the open didn't seem like such a brilliant idea), landing heavily on the dirt. She had bandaged her hands after ripping her nails through them in the woods, and thus fixing anyone up was going to be difficult. But she was going to give it a go.
The soldier had been hit in the calf, but it was a clean shot, in one side and out through the other; if it had been a few inches higher, the bullet would have severed the main artery in the thigh. But he would survive that wound. "Okay," she turned to the other man that had been crouched over him, "Take him, get him back away from the front and have a surgeon patch him up. Dammit, where are the Hilfskrankentrager when I need them?" She looked around but couldn't spot any. Emilie returned her attention to the man. "Drop your weapon."
"What?" He stared at her as though she were insane, "I'm not going anywhere without my gun. In case you haven't noticed, sergeant, this is a war!"
"Oh, yes you are," she hissed back, wishing they would just trust their medic. She knew she was asking a lot of him, but Jesus! "You're going as a medic, so drop your fucking gun or they'll splatter your brains on the snow before you even get two feet."
He looked ready to argue, but she obviously wasn't willing to put up with any of his bullshit, so he did as he was told and placed his weapon at her feet. Emilie nodded in thanks, then leaned down to the injured man, who was just lying there, barely looking frightened. In fact, there was a somewhat deranged smile on his face. She swallowed and let out a sigh, knowing what that meant. He had lost his effectiveness. "You're going to be fine," she murmured, patting his shoulder lightly.
The man let out a sing-song laugh in response, mumbling something she didn't understand. When she gestured to him, the other soldier picked up the wounded man, slung him over his shoulders easily, and carried him away as quickly as he could. Once she was satisfied they were out of sight, she began to get to her feet.
But, before she could, the Tiger behind her exploded with a deafening boom. She barely had time to throw herself to the ground and cover her head before chunks of metal began to crash to the snow around her, raining down around her body. Her breaths were coming in gasps, adrenaline streaming through her veins and making her feel warm. But she wasn't scared, not like she usually would have been. Maybe it had something to do with her brother. Maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found she didn't like it. She needed the terror. The thrill, as much as she hated the army, or at least told herself she did.
Remembering where she was, she pushed herself up and snapped her head back to look at the remnants of the tank – clearly too quickly, as her neck muscles twinged painfully. Men in their white winter uniforms were still climbing out of the tank, but everyone seemed intact. "Anyone wounded?" she called to them, relieved when they shook their heads. But, at the same time, not having anyone to treat left her feeling useless. Oh, but she knew she shouldn't worry about that. There would be plenty of people she would be unable to save in the coming battles.
Nodding, she turned around. And the sight that welcomed her was… Well, quite frankly, unbelievable, and, for a brief moment, she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Every German around her seemed to think the same thing, as no one fired at the man.
Running past her, looking impossibly unfazed and determined, was a handsome American soldier. He passed straight by the Germans, not sparing any of them a second glance, flung himself over a small, stone wall, and reappeared a moment later, doing the whole spectacle over again before re-joining his fellow soldiers behind a building.
She couldn't help the disbelieving laugh that flew from her lips as she stared at the man. No one could be left feeling unimpressed after seeing that. Wow… Just… Holy shit! What kind of soldiers were the Americans training?
Behind her, she could hear an officer yelling abuse at his men: "Why didn't you shoot at him? You're soldiers, for Christ's sake! Act like it!" Usually, the Germans fired their 88's at anything that moved.
He received no intelligible excuses.
