A/N: Ola once again! :D So, I'd like to start of this chapter with a few shout-outs to my reviewers (you can skip this, as it's a bit long ahaha).

That fantastic random reviewer, who has been with this story since the start; you never fail to put a huge smile on my face! Thank you so, so much, darling. You make my experience on here a great, rewarding one. You've critiqued my work, but been so nice about it, and you've actually given me a few ideas about what to do in later chapters! There are no words, and I am so happy you like my fic. So, you pointed out a possible mistake about Eugene being on the German line, and what you said is completely reasonable – so thank you! I probably didn't describe it as well as I should have. But Emilie was walking through the woods that form a kind of rough horse shoe shape around Foy; there was the German front, and then the American one less than a mile in front of it, with Easy in the centre. I'm just going with that, since Emilie was in her dazed, grief-stricken state, that she didn't realise how far she had walked. And, because the Americans were spread so thin and Germans were just walking straight through the line every which way, she was actually on American territory, where Gene was walking to clear his head or something. (; I hope that clears things up, and don't ever change! All my loooooooove.

LovingBOBThePacific: Another awesome person that has stayed loyal to the story! You help to spur me on, so thank you so much. Don't you change, either. I get so excited when I see a review from you, especially since I love your own BOB stories. :D

And to everyone else, such as mrssteverodgers, Amanda and FFww2reviewerJC.

Enjoy! The two Americans that mistook a German tank for a British one were Alley and Shames. I just had to include that bit ahaha. Sorry for the lack of actual dialogue in this one. I just thought the Bastogne chapters were dragging on longer than they needed to, so I decided to put it to an end. Hope that's okay with all of you, and, if it's not… Well, tough bananas. C: Also, I'm planning to start a whole other story with her flashbacks, so things don't get cluttered here. I'll have that up once I finish the main story. OH MY GOD I DON'T WANT IT TO END. xD

Wow it's more author note than actual story, this one...

xx

The battle for Foy didn't end there, however. At 04:15 the following day, the Germans launched a vicious counterattack on the village with six tanks and a company of infantry – not Emilie's company this time, thank God. The General had agreed they needed a rest. That attack was repulsed by the Yanks, but then another with fourteen tanks and a battalion forced one of the American battalions out of Foy. Emilie's company remained in the woods, watching the commotion from relative safety, but even where she was there was much rejoicing; it was welcome, after the sadness of losing over 100 soldiers to the Americans. The unsympathetic General had bluntly reasoned that they still had around 90,000 good soldiers, so it was a small loss, but few had managed to see the bright side of the depressing situation. Besides, not all of the soldiers, many of them new recruits, were well-trained.

But they weren't able to hold onto Foy for long, and by 09:30 that same morning, the village was once again in American hands. The German soldiers came back weak and weary, with the numerous attacks being carried out in the most horrid of conditions. Emilie treated many wounds, but only those of the men able to drag themselves back to the woods. The others were left, lying in the snow surrounded by Americans, screaming for help. She had tried to cover her ears and squeeze her eyes shut, but nothing had been able to block out the heart-breaking sound. It still rang in her mind.

Next had come Noville. The Germans were running low on men by this point; she had wanted to laugh in the General's face after his earlier comment, but she hadn't dared. He already seemed on-edge, as did Heinrich Freiherr von Lüttwitz, the other general. The Germans had made a terrible tactical blunder: most of the troops had moved away from Bastogne towards Meuse, leaving only one German regiment behind to fend off the Americans and fool them into thinking they had more soldiers than they actually did. Emilie's company was, unfortunately, in that damned regiment.

Emilie had just kept her head down and did what she always did: try to help people. Of course, most of her efforts had been in vain. At one point, Hinkel had stopped shooting and started laughing from beside her, and she had turned to see something that had managed to put a sly, half-smile on her blood-spattered face. Two American soldiers had walked straight up to the side of a German tank, clearly mistaking it for a British Sherman, and had started talking to the tank commander. When he had turned to see the two Yanks, he had sworn and dropped back into the tank, traversing his turret towards the men.

They had taken off so quickly they were kicking up snow into the German's face; the tank had followed. One of the running Americans had seen an open window and had dived into it, head-first, in a way Emilie had only seen in movies. The other had run three or so metres past him before jumping into a doorway with his rifle ready. When the other Americans had seen the German tank coming towards them, they had dove for cover under knocked-out Shermans or behind walls. The German tank had put two shells into the already-screwed Shermans (which Emilie was sure would have given the Americans hiding under them quite a fright and an interesting story to tell the grandkiddies) before roaring north out of town in search of safety.

Emilie and all the other Germans that had stopped to laugh at the sight had promptly stopped grinning like a gang of Cheshire cats when they had spotted an Allied P-47 fighter plane. Some had tried to yell warnings to the tank, but it was already well out of hearing-range, and the men in the tank would have stood no chance of hearing them even if the tank had been just a metre from them. The plane had dropped a bomb on the unknowing tank, and destroyed it in an explosion of flames and metal.

Shortly after that, the Germans had retreated.

Back on the frontline, another American force of troops had managed to break through to Bastogne, and the Germans finally knew they didn't stand a chance. With the retreat of the Germans, the Siege of Bastogne was all but over. But the nightmares would haunt them forever more.