The chill in the air was slowly lifting, though the skies were still dark and clouded, as though they were constantly blanketed by a thick layer of ashen smoke. The blossoms on trees were struggling to break through, barely more than buds. The snow was beginning to relent, but now they had freezing rain to worry about, turning the ground into a bog. At least it melted the lingering snow. Soldiers began to shed their heavier winter clothing, but they still rugged up. It wasn't warm just yet.

No request for reinforcements came through, but that meant there were soldiers with too much energy and too little to do – a dangerous combination. The officers increased exercises and organised sport, but still there were many men getting drunk. The officers attempted to crack down on this, to the point they threatened to shoot anyone they found drunk on the streets. Their threats were mostly futile, however, much to their chagrin. Emilie was tempted more than once by the alcohol, but she forced herself to remain sober; what if someone needed her?

At that moment, interrupting Emilie's troubled thoughts, someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to see Zimmermann standing behind her, looking unusually glum. "CO's called a meeting," he told her, dark, heavy bags under his eyes.

Frowning, she nodded and followed him into a building where her platoon was already waiting, her CO standing at the front of the room. When they entered, he looked up and raised his eyebrows. "Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant Demont."

She didn't respond, simply raised her eyebrows straight back at him as she walked around the back of the seated men and took a seat in the far left corner of the room, crossing her legs, leaning back and waiting for him to continue. Zimmermann sat down in the chair beside her, a little closer than he need have.

Clearing his throat and lifting his icy glare from Emilie, her CO began to speak, addressing the entire platoon. "All our forces defending the Ruhr have surrendered," he announced, his words met my muttering and horrified looks, "That is more than 325,000 men. People may say that we do not stand a chance, but I am not one of them. We will fight for our blessed country and see this war through until it ends." His gaze scraped over the soldiers in front of him, as though daring them to defy him and leave. No one did. She scanned the crowd for Eberhardt, and spotted him sitting near the front, staring up at the man seriously. She could tell even from behind that, if she saw his face, his eyes would be filled with menace and battle-hunger. Other men fought for their homeland and their families. He fought only because he enjoyed the kill.

"We will surrender in only two circumstances," Emilie's superior continued after a drawn-out pause, "Firstly, if our enemies surrender first, and we stand victorious. However, even if they do not, we shall always remain triumphant and walk with our heads held high, because we will know we have done our duty. Or, secondly, if Hit—" She saw him clench his jaw, hesitating before going on, "Der Führer stands down or is killed." Or, as he is more commonly referred to, the psychotic Austrian.

"Do you wish for his death?" All eyes turned to Eberhardt as he leapt from his seat, glaring accusingly at his CO, who looked exasperated with the corporal. "You do not support the Nazi regime! You do not want a pure, superior race. You have no right to be leading us, you American sympathiser!" He pointed up at him.

Emilie rolled her eyes, smirking, and she could tell her CO was struggling to refrain from doing the same. "Do you have nothing better to do than accuse people of being American sympathisers, Eberhardt?" her CO questioned, not looking bothered in the slightest, merely amused, "Honestly, I only said it because, at this point, it is something to take in to consideration. Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions. That's how friendly fire occurs."

She snorted, which came out much louder than she had intended in the silent room. But no one paid her any attention; everyone was focused on the long-awaited stand-off between the corporal and the commanding officer. Quite a difference in rank, but not much difference in ego.

They stayed staring at each other for a few more long, agonizing moments, before Eberhardt finally lowered himself back down into his seat with a last sneer. Her CO straightened, lips twitching slightly at the corners as he held back a laugh. "Dismissed."

Eberhardt was the first to leave his seat, shoving men aside as he ploughed a way to the door, his supporters following closely behind, looking a little less confident than him. He didn't see Emilie and her grin at seeing him so publically ridiculed. Though he seemed undeterred on the exterior, she could tell he was fuming and humiliated just beneath the surface. Yes, it was probably for the best he hadn't noticed her at that moment, even if she was in the mood to blow off some steam and even pick a fight. She still valued not having a broken nose.

"One day, that boy's own cowardice will come back to bite him in the rear," Eberhardt told the men trailing after him, loud enough for everyone to hear and putting extra empathise on the word 'boy', despite the fact he was far younger than his CO. "And I'll be there to laugh." With that, he disappeared through the door.

It took a while for Emilie and Zimmermann to make it to the door, but eventually they were back out in the cold. The men around them had begun to disperse, either back to their quarters or dragging themselves to the lookout posts; the officers still insisted on having sentries, much to everyone's irritation.

"Can you believe him?" Zimmermann murmured, looking around as though he were afraid someone would over-hear and tell Eberhardt. Honestly, they were acting like he was some kind of dictator. Put him, Stalin, Hitler and her mother into one room and the world would probably explode.

Emilie cast him a sidewards glance pointedly, smiling slyly. "Actually, I can," she replied with a light chuckle, "That was Eberhardt on his best behaviour."

He shrugged.

"Are you alright?" she asked, frowning.

Zimmermann nodded unconvincingly. "Yes," he answered, tucking his hands into his pockets to shield them from the biting wind, "I'm still trying to digest the news that all those men have surrendered. We'll have no soldiers left to fight the war at this rate."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"But then we'll be chosen for all the hard tasks," he pointed out, and she realised he was right. Her cockiness faded. "I don't know about you, Emilie, but I'm tired of fighting. I'm…" He glanced over his shoulder warily, before dropping his voice and continuing, "I'm actually considering running away. I don't know where. Just… Anywhere but here. You understand, right?"

Emilie's eyes widened. She had no right to try and stop him if that's what he wanted, but the thought of losing one of the only friendly faces around here filled her with an unexpected terror. "Well." She struggled to find the words and force her voice to remain steady, "Make sure you don't get caught. The army isn't too kind on deserters."

"Deserter," he repeated the word slowly, as though testing it out. He didn't seem to like how it felt on his tongue, as he grimaced, looking alarmed and defeated. "I never really thought of it that way before. I know, I know, don't look at me like that. But I'm serious about this. I'm sorry, and I'll miss you, a lot, but maybe I'll send word to you once the war is over and it's safe to visit me, right? I'll work to make money until I can go home. Maybe being independent will do me some good."

"You're really going to do it," she murmured, swallowing hard and staring up at him with sorrowful eyes. He returned her gaze, looking a little frightened but determined. She had never seen him like this before. With a sigh, she asked, "When are you planning to go?"

Zimmermann looked almost taken-aback and sad that she hadn't attempted to stop him. "I…" He took a second to collect himself before he looked ready to continue. But he closed his mouth, held up one finger to tell her to wait, and bounded up some steps into a house. She hadn't even realised they had been walking towards his quarters. It only took a moment before he reappeared, only now carrying a small duffel bag. He looked down at it guiltily, averting her eyes. "I can't take much. I'm planning to leave tonight. The sooner the better, that's what I've been thinking."

Emilie looked from him to the bag and back again, finally settling on his face. She blinked tears from her eyes, but he didn't seem to be able to see them in the half-light, and was too hyped-up to have noticed anyway. Soldiers congratulated their comrades when their friends were wounded; in battle, good health was a curse, and illness and wounds a blessing, if it meant only a few days off the line. When a man died, they looked so peaceful, and their friends were happy they were now away from the war. But Emilie could never be like that. She felt every loss like a personal blow. And this was no exception. "And you want me to help you," she guessed.

She saw him blush in the darkness, a dim light over the door of the house they were standing in front of providing their only light. "Actually, I want you to come with me."

Her shock must have been obvious, as he quickly began to back-peddle. "Only if you want to, of course. It's just that… You've looked so exhausted and terrified lately, even if you try to put on a big, strong act. And you may fool the other men, but not me. I know you. And that's why I would be honoured to have you accompany me. Things might get a little lonely, and I would really appreciate some help starting afresh. But only as friends. Don't feel pressured though, Emilie. I—"

"You're babbling," she interrupted, trying to make her voice sound soft and light, but it came out pained. He fell silent. "Zimmermann," she began, sighing, "I would love to, you know I would. But I… Can't. I would never forgive myself if I left these soldiers alone out here without a medic. If I was just any other soldier, then fine. But they need me, even if they think they can take care of themselves. They need me to keep their dumb butts out of trouble, yeah?"

Zimmermann looked ready to protest, but a hard look from Emilie made him dip his head. "Very well," he replied, voice gentle, "Then I wish you all the best, my friend. You will always have a special place in my heart. Can you promise me you won't tell anyone where I've gone until you think I'm far enough away? I won't even stop to sleep, I'll just keep on going. All those night marching exercises back in training will finally be put to use. Can you promise me that, Emilie?"

She was silent for a few moments, her mind whirling. She wanted to try to stop him. She knew she had that power, that he would do anything she asked him to, even if that compromised his own happiness. But she couldn't do that. So, reluctantly, a tear running silently down her cheek, she whispered, "I promise."