A/N: Wow okay phew writing this concentration camp scene almost made me cry aha. It's kinda hard to work out how Eugene would sound if he yelled, too. But, hey, I tried! Also, I should warn you that my mum's going to India in about two weeks and I'll be staying with my Oma. Since I only get the internet when I go to my mum's work with her on the weekends, you probably won't get a new update for maybe two weeks, but don't worry just yet! Maybe I will have finished this story by then and will be able to upload the chapters. (God, I hope not! I don't want this to end ahahah. A part of my sooooooooooul will go with it.) BUT I have, naughty lil' thing I am, been uploading some of the most recent chapters at school when no one's looking, so that might not be a problem after all.. Oopsie daisy.

As usual, I don't own Band of Brothers, and the characters portrayed here are purely based off of the ones in the TV series, not the real men, whom I idolise. Really. I'm joining the Army Reserves when I start Uni, even if I don't' want to do it as a career. But that's a long way away yet!

Enjoy, if that's possible. And thanks so much to everyone's continued support. I love you all. And a particular shout-out to my lovely newest, self-proclaimed "huge fan", readxme. C':

xx

"Gene," she tried desperately to get through to him, "Eugene, dammit, speak to me! Make me understand!"

But he didn't need to respond. That foul odour was growing stronger as they moved further into the woods, of death and rotting, sickness and black smoke, worse than the hospital back in Bastogne, worse than anything she had ever encountered before. Emilie forced herself to pretend to not be bothered by it for as long as she could, being the stubborn woman she was, but, eventually, it proved too much and she lifted up a hand, pulled her sleeve over it and used it to block the scent from her nose as best she could. But to no avail.

"Seems like one too many dead rats have been left inside the walls," she commented, half to herself, gagging.

Eugene glared at her, and she instantly scolded herself for not remaining silent. "Rats?" he hissed, "Is that what you think of them as?"

Her jaw dropped in confusion – bad idea, as that allowed the horrible air to settle on her tongue, and she spluttered in disgust. Could she say nothing right? "No, I—" She shook her head, trying to look him in the eye but he snapped his gaze back to straight in front of him, "Gene, I have no idea in hell what you are talking about, okay?"

"What you are about to see is the closest thing to Hell I have ever seen," he murmured, voice low and accent thick.

Emilie drew in a shaky breath; for some reason, his words and his very demeanour sent goosebumps running up and down her spine. And not in a good way, for once. She had thought that all her fear had been used up in combat. Apparently, she had been wrong, and she hadn't even seen this supposed 'Hell' yet.

If only it could have stayed that way.

As the trees began to thin out, a clearing became visible up ahead. Emilie strained her eyes to see better; American soldiers were patrolling around the perimeter of… something. What was that? They got closer, and she glanced to the side to see a fresh layer of sorrow and disbelief settle onto Eugene's handsome fact. Her legs suddenly felt like lead, as though she had to put all her effort into just making them move, and her entire being was screaming at her to turn back. But that wasn't who she was. She would see this out. After all, she was curious. And curiosity killed the cat.

They walked closer still, and she noticed Eugene's steps were far less urgent; he also seemed to want to flee, but his will was just as strong as hers. They were a dangerous combination indeed. A twig snapped under her feet, making her jump slightly. The stench was almost over-powering by this point.

That was when she saw it, and her breath caught in her throat in horror. Her footsteps faltered, and Eugene stopped for a moment to wait on her before urging her onwards, a tiny bit more gently this time. Trapped behind tall, chain-link fences with their arms sticking out were people, at least three-quarters starved. As Emilie looked at them, they dropped their gaze and heads like a beaten, mistreated dog would cringe, clearly terrified. She reciprocated their feelings.

Emilie dropped her crutches and rushed into the camp; armed American soldiers stationed at the entrance began to stop her, but an assurance from Eugene settled them and they let her pass. Even if they hadn't, she still would have climbed over that damn fence until her hands her bloody and sliced open. On the front gate were the words 'Arbeit macht frei', which translated as 'labour makes you free'.

The camp was small, but filled with thousands upon thousands of men, all in the same dreadful condition as the first man she had seen; starved, with their bones jutting out like walking skeletons and their stomachs grotesquely bloated, wandering around aimlessly, some carrying and clutching dead bodies that looked like nothing more than skin and bone. Some were partially burned, all had their black and white-striped clothes ripped and ragged, hanging off their shoulders. Corpses in the hundreds littered the place. Some stinking, disgusting huts were smouldering and covered in ash, at least the ones still standing were. A little way away, Emilie spotted huge, rusted red storage containers, and she didn't even want to know what was inside them.

She walked over, dazed, to one of the men. His gums were bleeding, his skin covered in sores and his hair falling out. As she approached, he let out a pitiful sob and stumbled forward, wrapping his stick-like arms around her in a tight hug, seeking comfort wherever he could find it. Emilie suppressed a sob of her own as she hugged him back, rubbing his back in soothing circles. "I've got you," she managed to croak out in German, and he let out a wail into her shoulder. He absolutely reeked and his ribs jutted into her. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you."

"Th-they ran away," the man cried in German into her clothes, his voice muffled, "The horrible men ran away when they h-heard the Americans were coming. B-b-but they burnt the h-houses before they left, with people still in-inside them. We could still hear them screaming!"

Emilie was faintly aware of Eugene standing behind her. She carefully broke the hug, and the man dragged his feet as he walked slowly away, still crying and sobbing prayers.

"The women and children camp is through the woods," Gene informed her in a quiet voice, "There are at least ten in this town alone, who knows how many in the whole of Europe."

"But why are they here?" she cried, too upset and blinded by anger to realise she was speaking in German until she saw Eugene's expression. She took a moment to collect herself, hiding her head behind her arm as she wiped tears from her eyes before they had a chance to fall, before repeating herself in English.

Eugene shook his head, casting a glance around the camp before his gaze settled back on her. "They're Jews," he told her simply, but she didn't miss the look in his eyes. Now he looked at her like you would an enemy, like you would someone guilty.

She scoffed to hide a sob. "I knew nothing about this!" she snapped, gesturing vaguely around her, blue eyes huge and traumatised, "Neither did anyone I know, I swear. It's the Nazis, not us. I told you that when I first met you." Holding up a hand, she looked away and folded her arms across her chest, the horror too much to comprehend. "You know what?" she whispered, this time unable to hold back the tears at the devastation she was witnessing, "I don't have to fucking explain myself to you."

"You're right," he muttered, preparing to walk away, "You don't."

With that, he turned and stalked away, still as lithe on his feet as a cat, despite his heavy army boots, leaving Emilie choking down her own sobs. The smell had become nothing more than something in the background. But the prisoners around her were very much still there.