The POW camp was nothing too snazzy. A few buildings for them, the bare necessities, and a handful of American soldiers to guard them. But the Germans didn't complain much; they were just happy to have a roof over their heads, and had learned to not take anything for granted. They were allowed to write a letter home, but, naturally, Emilie skipped out on that. Her mother would have torn it up and thrown it out without even reading it, anyway.

In the morning, four Americans arrived while the Germans were standing in rows, obedient and silent. Emilie looked up from where she had been eating the sweetest, juiciest apple she had ever tasted to see Captain Nixon, that fiery-haired Major and another soldier she didn't know sitting in an army jeep. But what really caught her attention was that, sitting in the back, looking rather bored, was, if her eyes weren't deceiving her, the man that had run straight through the German line back in Foy. He looked much cleaner, but she was pretty sure it was him. Well, what were the chances?

As soon as they turned off the car engine, her CO walked over to them and said something to which the Major nodded politely. Her CO was dressed in the whole works; displaying his medals, with his black coat with red lining, cap with golden symbol on the front. And there he was, asking permission or something of the like from a far younger American Major. What had they come to? In truth, she hadn't even realised that he spoke English. Why hadn't he gone to surrender himself, and why had he acted as though he needed an interpreter? She would never know. Possibly to preserve his pride.

Dipping his head, her CO marched to the front of his gathered soldiers, up onto a rise of earth. She stood up and took her place between Kuhn and Ehrlichmann at the edge. Her commanding officer began to speak in Deutsch, voice thick with emotion, looking out over his men. "Men, it has been a long war, it has been a tough war." He paused and she saw him breathe deeply before continuing, voice ringing out in the silence, "You have fought bravely, proudly, for your country. You are a special group, who found in one another a bond that exists only in combat among brothers of shared foxholes. Held each other in dire moments. Have seen death and suffered together. I am proud to have served with each and every one of you. You deserve long and happy lives in peace." She glanced over to see that the Americans were looking gobsmacked and actually moved, as though they hadn't realised how similar the two armies were, "And you are needed to help rebuild your home."

The men all cheered, and even Emilie was amongst them, at the top of her lungs.

But that was when it hit her. The company was being discharged. They would most likely leave when their CO was transferred. The POWs would soon be shipped home and left to fit back home into normal life on their own. But this was normal for her now, and for most everyone. Around her, some of the men were crying as they hugged each other and saluted their ranking officers.

She had never shown weakness in front of her men before; she had forbidden herself to. But now, she thought what the hell? This might be the last time she saw any of them, and it was the end of the war, cause to go a little crazy and show emotion.

Ehrlichmann was standing a little awkwardly, back from the commotion, while Kuhn had already been dragged into the group and was currently shaking hands and smiling at his friends. Even the men that had followed Eberhardt and turned their backs on Emilie, including the one that had struck her in her foxhole back in Bastogne, looked at her and nodded, calling a truce. Though she still didn't fully forgive them, she nodded back. No point spending her life resenting them. That was reserved specially for her parents.

"Well," she turned to Ehrlichmann, a single tear running down her cheek and collecting on her collarbone. He looked mildly surprised to see her crying. "Guess this is the end of the line, huh?"

He nodded sadly. "I suppose so."

She tried to smile the best she could but her chin quivering ruined her attempt. Emilie choked back a sob, opening up her arms. Ehrlichmann looked uncertain for a moment, before realising what was happening and closing the gap between them, pulling her into a tight embrace. He rubbed her back comfortingly, but she still didn't get the same feeling she got whenever she was close to Gene.

"You know, I'm actually going to miss you," she told him, drawing back and wiping her eyes, "Remember when we didn't get along at all?"

He chuckled lightly. "The first time we met in Bastogne, you screamed at me."

Emilie laughed softly, nodding and grinning despite the warm, salty tears that dripped into her mouth. "Don't you ever change, you hear me? Don't ever stop bein' your annoying self."

"Same goes for you, Emilie," he replied, "You can do a world of good outside the army. Just don't forget us."

She raised her eyebrows at him, rubbing the dark circles under her wet eyes. "Right, like that's even possible." She licked her lips, looking down before raising her eyes back to his face. She continued in a quiet voice, "I don't think a single day will pass that I don't think about all of you and the time we spent together. Not all of it was fantastic, but you really are like brothers to me, even the men that had died." Usually, she would have stopped there before she began thinking about all the people she had lost. But, no. She continued to wipe her eyes as she went down the list, her voice cracking every so often. "Eichmann. Kattenstroht. Drechsler. Renée. Augusta Chiwi. Van Patten. Williamson. Bernd. Amsel. Bergmann." She broke off, shaking her head. The names continued on in her head, but she didn't speak them. She couldn't.

Ehrlichmann gazed down at her sympathetically, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezing it. He didn't ask about the non-German names. She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him, smiling shakily. "Go back to your mother and your brother in Wiesbaden. See? I do listen after all, contrary to popular belief. Have a great life, Ehrlichmann. Maybe we'll run in to each other later down the track."

"I'll be waiting for that day, sergeant Demont."

They took a step back from each other and saluted. For some reason, though she had saluted hundreds of times before, that was when she remembered something she had once read as a child, about where the act of saluting originated from. In India centuries ago, when they saw a prince or king, they would carry such a strong glow and aura that the commoners would have to shield their eyes to protect them from their blinding glory. And thus it became a sign of respect. The things that she stored in her fucked-up mind.

Turning, she sucked in a breath, put on a brave face, and squeezed through the cram of soldiers in search of Kuhn. As the men saw her passing, some shook her hand and patted her on the back, thanking her for everything she had done for them. Each time she replied by thanking them for all they had done for her.

Eventually, she found Kuhn saying his farewells to a sergeant and waited a little way away until the other man left. In that time, in between being bustled by the other soldiers as they moved around, she had a chance to remember the first time she had met Kuhn.

It had been on the first day of basic training. It had been raining, and he had been talking to Drechsler, walking backwards in order to face the other man and thus not looking where he had been going, cracking jokes. As clumsy as ever, the inevitable had happened and Kuhn had crashed into Emilie, who had been moping around, not wanting to talk to anyone. She had snapped at Kuhn to look where he was going, and he had told her to calm down, that he was sorry and it was his fault. "You're bloody right it's your fault," she had spat, not really thinking what she had been doing, having been too consumed with her own morbid thoughts. Kuhn, to make it up to her, had introduced himself, and Drechsler had greeted her in turn, smiling shyly but nevertheless charmingly. Kuhn had then gone on to invite her for a drink, but she had declined. Half of her regretted not spending more time with Drechsler while she still could, but another part reasoned that, if she had known him better, it would have hurt even more when he died.

"Emilie."

She was roused from her memories to see Kuhn standing directly in front of her, frowning at her blank expression, a small, thin smile gracing his lips, rather an odd combination of expressions.

Not even bothering to say anything, she walked forwards and, leaning up, fastened her arms around his neck, burying her face into his uniform. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't want to leave any of them. Wrapping his arms around her lower back, he lifted her off her feet and twirled her around before she had a chance to protest; she had to draw in her legs in order to not hit the soldiers around them. It reminded her of her first day in Bastogne, when a similar thing had occurred. Just as before, when he set her down, she was dizzy.

"Goodbye to you, too," she laughed, blinking away tears.

Kuhn's smile broadened. "I couldn't have gotten through this damn war without you, Emilie."

"The feeling is mutual, my friend." She sniffled and his eyes softened even further.

"Don't cry." He soothed, sounding worried, "Why are you crying? I have never seen you cry before, not since that time in training when you missed your brother and I found you in your quarters."

Emilie had forgotten about that, and realised just how many people knew what her brother had meant to her – still did mean to her. She chuckled. "Why am I crying?" she echoed in disbelief, "Do you really need to ask that? I'm leaving my best friends, my family! That gets to a girl."

He sniggered, hiding his mouth behind his hand and looking down, shaking his head.

"What?" She frowned.

Kuhn looked up, still smiling. "Nothing. It's just… I've never, in the whole time I've known you, heard you actually refer to yourself as a girl. You've always considered yourself one of the men."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to hearing it," she warned, smirking, "I am still one of the guys."

After saying her last farewells to Kuhn and struggling to keep from crying the entire time, her last stop was her CO. She found him standing away from the commotion, only interacting with men when they walked over to him. But it wasn't because he was rude or thought the soldiers were beneath him, as General Tolsdorf had. She could see the pain in his eyes, and just how much he would miss them even if he never said so. He was almost as stubborn as her, and that's saying something.

She ducked between two men and came to a halt in front of him. There was silence between them for a few moments, but in that time more was said than either of them could ever hope to put into words. Finally, she broke the quiet and stuck out her hand. He looked down at it for a second before taking it in his own and shaking, clasping his other hand over it as well. Emilie smiled faintly.

"Well, big guy," she began, not really knowing what to say. Nothing could really sum up what they had gone through together. They had started out resenting each other, with Emilie the dysfunctional new-recruit that never followed orders and enjoyed stepping on his toes, he the stern veteran that had already survived one war. He was the stereotypical German, the type that expected everything to be done on the dot. If a train was so much as one minute late, that was simply unacceptable in his eyes. But now, they had come to a kind of understanding, one that was derived from mutual respect. He had become almost a father figure to her. She continued. "It's been a long run. You did a good job. Will you be staying in the army?"

He nodded. "Yes." He glanced around at the men around him before adding, "But I doubt I will ever command a finer group of men." He must have seen her eyebrows shoot up as he looked down at her, smiling ever-so-slightly. "And women. Your praise means a lot to me, sergeant Demont. You did your job well, going well beyond the call of duty to follow your heart. I respect that."

"Thank you." Her voice came out weakly and she cleared her throat.

"There is no need to thank me," he told her in a strong tone, "It is the truth. And it is a shame Eberhardt couldn't see that. But do not let yourself feel guilty about that unfortunate incident. You were right when you said you did us a favour, and, from the tone of the letter his wife addressed to us after she learned of his death, I would even be so bold as to say she was also glad. That may be disrespectful, but what I am trying to say is that…" Were those tears in his eyes? "I won't babble any longer. It has been an honour to serve with you." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently before releasing her from his grip.

Emilie stared up at him, at a loss for words. "I… I don't know what to say," was all she could manage, rather unintelligibly. She chuckled, wiping her eyes. "Good luck, sir."

With one last farewell, she stepped around him and began to walk back to her quarters. The POWs would be allowed out into the town, but under close observation. She glanced back, watching all the men for a few minutes and feeling her heart shatter in two. She didn't want to leave them, but, at the same time, she could never stay in the army, simply because, as her CO had said, she would never have another group of soldiers like them. They were… Amazing, inspirational, a truly special group that should be treasured by their country. And she almost couldn't believe she had had the chance to be a part of that. The memories, good and bad, would stay with her forever.