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Chapter 2: Initial Prognosis

"Who the hell was that woman anyway?" Liebgott asked Webster as they sat waiting for Winters to brief them on the patrol.

"Why was she in uniform?" Ramirez also put in.

"Is she a nurse?" Heffron asked.

"Yeah, a second lieutenant too," Webster explained.

"No way," McClung commented.

"You gotta be kidding me," Popeye said to himself, shaking his head.

"Bullshit," Liebgott told Webster. "A woman? Higher in rank than us?"

"Yeah. Apparently, she's been assigned to Easy," Webster elaborated.

"You know everything Webster. Fucking encyclopedia," Liebgott said, shaking his head.

"Great, just what we need," Heffron commented.

"Another fucking replacement," Cobb added.

"A dainty, whiny replacement," Ramirez added, making his voice higher and making the men chuckle.

"Eh, I don't think she's a replacement. Her clothes look new, but that doesn't mean she's a replacement," Webster argued, shaking his head.

"Her face was perfectly clear. She's a replacement," Liebgott retorted.

"Did you notice how tan her face was compared to ours?" Webster asked seriously, making Liebgott's face drop a little. "Did you?" Webster looked around at all of the men who had now grown silent at the question. "That meant she had to have been in some sunny, warm places. And I don't think any patriotic woman is going sunbathing too often back home." The men looked away from Webster and coughed or adjusted themselves uncomfortably before Jones called out,

"Ten hut!"

Lillian exhaled as she wrapped the coat around her. She wasn't used to the cold of a European winter. In Algeria and in Italy as well, she had grown almost fond of the dry heat. She was used to sounds of bombs, grenades, guns, and tanks; she was used to the sounds of war. Lillian would watch men she had bandaged and stitched up, and their friends lucky enough to not have been wounded yet, go out and risk their lives all over again. If her COs allowed it, and if she could find a moment and get away from the field hospital, she'd watch the maneuvers. It was probably because Oliver had been a paratrooper. She could vividly remember times at home where'd she just sit in her room, pondering on what type of danger he was throwing himself into on behalf of his country. There was just this constant worry welling up inside of her. It was like butterflies in her stomach, but it was not by any means excitable or enjoyable.

"Do you plan on watching?" Roe asked, coming next to her. "Trust me, you won't want to see it."

"The hospitals were never very far from the front lines," Lillian explained. "I've seen and heard my share of war." Roe nodded, and a silence crept up on them.

"Where is the 94th?" Roe asked.

"Warm, mild, rainy Italy. Nothing like here," Lillian complained, shaking her head. Roe gave in to a small chuckle. That's when they heard a commotion of gunfire and grenades erupt across the river.

"Did you get yourself settled in?" Roe asked, purposely walking away and back in to the aid station.

"Yes," Lillian said, coming in and shutting the door behind her. "I forgot what it was like to have luxury of my own bed." This would be the first she had slept in a bed, by herself, since she had enlisted.

"Didn't you have beds for yourselves in the hospital?" Roe asked, turning to face her as they continued walking.

"Of course, but they were joint beds. Some lucky nurses had bunk beds, but normally we slept two to a bed," Lillian explained. "We never knew how many men we'd have coming in to get bandaged up, so we were being prepared."

"Well, alright, you need anything, come find me first, and you can get what you want out of here," Roe explained, pointing out their small supply room. "Bandages, morphine, anything and everything we have left, it's in here." Roe walked on as Lillian saw what medical supplies were left and began to wonder how Eugene Roe ran this almost by himself. Sure, there were other medics in the other companies, but still. All of a sudden, someone burst the door. Lillian whipped around.

"Doc! DOC!"

"What's happened?" Lillian asked, going up to him. The man looked hesitant at first, but then said,

"OP 2. Jackson, hit by a grenade." Lillian grabbed her musette bag on the table next to the cabinet and ran out the door, not waiting for Eugene.

"JENKINS!" She probably should've waited, but being hit by a grenade wasn't an easy thing to bounce back up from and get better. In her experiences, that wasn't the greatest possibility. Only one had survived from it. Her heart began to race. She had to get to him fast. She drove herself to run. Mortars were flying, machine guns were firing, and explosions were coming from everywhere. However, she really didn't notice mortar fire. She just ran. She wasn't thinking about that. It was just Jackson. Coming in OP 2's sight, she practically bolted in through the door towards the group of crowded, yelling men around a table and in the back of the room.

"Where the FUCK is the medic?"

"Move out of the way! Move!" The men parted like the Red Sea, and Lillian went over and immediately grabbed one of Jackson's hands. Webster moved out of the way and stared at her as she began talking. Most of the men quieted down at that point.

"Hey Jackson, hi. It's alright. You're okay. You're okay," Lillian said, purposely smiling at him and nodding her head. Jackson calmed down almost instantly and was smiling too. She squeezed his hand and smiled wider, and she used her other hand to move his face towards hers. One thing she learned about wounded men in a very panicky, loud setting: a woman's smiling face was a relief for them. A sense of normality and relaxation is what they gave when they smiled. That's what Marie had told her the very first day being in Italy. It worked almost every time. That's why she was a CO among other reasons. Lillian went through the process in her head: calm them down to the best of your abilities, then examine the damage. She was about to start when Roe came up to them.

"Hey Jackson, it's okay. Take it easy," Roe said to him, grabbing his neck, trying to get a view of the damage.

"Shh, shh. It's okay," Lillian reassured as a silence enclosed the room. Jackson was gagging slightly as Roe leaned close to Jackson's mouth. "Eugene, what do you need?"

"Light. I need some light. Gimme some light," Roe said, not taking his eyes off of Jackson. One of the guys whipped out a lighter and lit it over Jackson's head. "Jackson, look at the flame. Look at the flame." Roe opened his mouth up more and looked inside. "Okay, that's good." There was claustrophobic moment of complete silence despite the fact that Jackson whimpered slightly. "Alright, let's get him outta here." The two medics with a stretcher came in, and all four of them helped maneuver Jackson onto the stretcher.

"I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!" Jackson kept crying out, panicking again. They were about halfway to the door when more explosions came and shook the house. They had to stop about three feet away from the door.

"Jackson! Jackson, you're gonna be okay. You gotta hang on," Roe kept saying amongst the cacophony of screaming, talking, and explosions and firing.

"It's going to be alright. You're going to be fine," Lillian said to him. Jackson gagged again before crying even louder.

"I don't wanna die!" Jackson cried, shaking his head and tears coming from his eye.

"You're not gonna die! I just need you to hang on!" Roe said to him. "JACKSON!"

Jackson went limp. Debris came down from the ceiling as Roe took off his helmet and sighed. Lillian sat down fully on the ground and looked down at the pale, dirty heavy hand in her own. Roe looked at Heffron. The look was enough for Heffron to conclude that Jackson was dead. He shook his head to the others. Martin sighed and moved through the men, slightly dragging his feet before he grabbed a blanket to place over Jackson's body. The men stood there, and the medics and nurse sat there, distraught over a loss that shouldn't have happened in Haguenau. They eventually moved Jackson's body, and the men went back to their respective OPs. Lillian and Roe went back to the aid station and about three hours after they had returned, a runner gave them a message from Colonel Sink, authorizing them to mandate "checkups" for the men.

"You should get some sleep. The first night is always rough," Roe told her. Lillian nodded and turned towards him.

"I will. I need to walk though," she explained.

"Walk?" Roe inquired.

"I suppose you can call that my coping mechanism. Some people hide inside themselves, cry, yell, smoke, drink, to numb themselves or make them forget for a while. I walk," Lillian explained. Roe nodded slowly. "When does Colonel Sink want the examinations to begin?"

"Fourteen hundred hours," Roe replied.

"I'll be back before the end of the hour," Lillian told him, nodding her head. She started walking down the steps, but Roe, against his better judgment, stopped her.

"Lillian," she turned back around, and Roe came up to her. "Speaking as a medic to another, you better tell me the next time you go and run out into a mortar attack," Roe told her, seriously. Lillian was taken aback, not by his words, but by the subdued anger in his eyes. "You just got here. If this is the way this war is gonna be until the end, we're gonna need you. So, please, be careful."

With that, Roe went back into the aid station as Lillian slowly began her walk down towards the river. She had discovered that space was the best for her. She figured it was the only thing keeping her sane some days; being able to walk and think a problem or day through. She walked to the low wall that stood about twenty feet away from the riverbank, clearly overlooking German-occupied territory. Lillian was pondering Roe's words when she heard a cry of pain from the other side of the river.

Richard Winters, a lanky but slightly built twenty-year-old, fixed his white bow tie in the mirror and sighed. He thought he looked good enough, hopefully, that he wouldn't embarrass himself at his friend's party. Oliver Jenkins was throwing a birthday party for himself and had declared he wouldn't take any excuse from Dick for not being there. Of course Oliver, being his usual scheming self, was so adamant because he invited a girl that was interested in Dick. Oliver made it his personal mission to fix up his single friends. It wasn't that Dick didn't want a gal to go steady with, but being a freshman at Franklin and Marshall, Dick was busy with schoolwork and several different jobs during the week to pay off his tuition. Everyone in Lancaster knew Dick Winters to be an honest, hard-working young man.

About ten minutes later, Dick pulled up his tan, 1929 Chevrolet Coupe at the Jenkins household. There seemed to be an endless line to get in the front door. Dick chuckled; Oliver would be pleased with that. He was always the life of the party, and he had probably invited each and every person that would make his party of the talk of the Lancaster society pages. When Dick walked up to the front steps, he saw Oliver, neatly and sophisticatedly dressed in his black tux and shiny red bow tie. Dick chuckled; Oliver would be the one to buy and wear a red bow tie. His jet-black hair was gelled back nicely to reveal his aristocratic facial features. Upon seeing Dick, Oliver's smile grew even wider.

"If it isn't Dick Winters! Come on in!" Oliver waved him in as Dick smiled.

"Oliver, never ceasing to display your fashion sense," Dick greeted, shaking Oliver's hand.

"I have to match with my leading lady Dick," Oliver answered before the two started to move into the ballroom. Tables were heavily decorated and were supplied with enough food to feed an entire army a three-course meal. The mass of people already there was black from the men's tuxedos mixed with the bright colors of the ladies' dresses. "My God Dick you must be a mind reader! That girl I wanted you to meet is wearing white! What are they teaching you there at Franklin and Marshall?"

"Why don't you tell me who she is Oliver?" Dick asked, knowing him too well, and also knowing he would avoid the question.

"Eh, one hell of a doll," Oliver said, looking at his friend with a congenial smile that he used to get away with anything. Dick only stared at him. Oliver cleared his throat, and his smile dropped, uncomfortably. "Mariann's best friend, Carol Peters," Oliver replied, looking around the room. His smile came back very quickly. "There's my rose, Mariann."

Mariann Gilles and Oliver had been an item since freshman year of high school. She really was one of the most beautiful girls in their year—tall, and with a face like Katherine Hepburn, she was just about every man's dream. But Dick and Mariann weren't particularly friendly with each other. Dick didn't like that she tended to be a bit of a snob and flaunted her wealth. He couldn't honestly say what Oliver saw beyond her pretty face, but then again, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He was certain Mariann couldn't stand him because, even though Oliver and Dick were the best of friends, he was a poor farm-boy in her eyes.

"Dick, you certainly clean up nicely," Mariann chuckled.

"Thank you, you look very beautiful," Dick said as Mariann smiled and slithered a perfectly manicured hand around Oliver's offered arm.

"Carol, this is Richard Winters, but we all call him Dick. Dick, this is Carol Peters," Oliver said. She was dressed more conservatively than Mariann's revealing red gown. It was her platinum blonde hair pulled back, he thought that made her look like Olivia de Havilland.

"Dick," Carol greeted, her voice as sweet as honey and a small smile on her face.

"Carol. You look stunning." Carol smiled wider.

"You know how to give compliments Dick," Carol laughed. All of a sudden, the hall became quiet as music began to play.

"Ah, our festivities begin." Oliver said, pointing towards the front of the hall.

"Gracious! Doesn't Lillian look just adorable?" Mariann cried with a smile, making Oliver chuckle. Dick looked towards the front as well, and his eyes instantly set on the young lady in a pure white dress. Although her back was towards the crowds of people, Dick Winters knew it had to be Oliver's little sister, Lillian Jenkins. Facing the crowd was a group of ten girls separated into two rows of five. One stepped out and began to sing as Lillian's hands began to move to the tempo. The song made Oliver chuckle heartily.

"I knew there was a reason why she was listening to Belle Baker! Ha, smart girl. Wonderful song," Oliver exclaimed. As the all of the girls joined in the singing of "You Brought a New Kind of Love to Me", harmonizing on certain parts, which produced a very wonderful and rich song. Lillian's hand motions were graceful, precise, and consistent. Dick noticed a voice that stood out at certain parts. Of course, he knew all of the girls in the choir and that Lillian had conducted this choir since her freshman year of high school, but he hadn't heard this voice. Dick noticed it seeping in and out in the higher vocal range. It was suave and relaxing. However, the last line of the song, was when he finally figured out who it was. Lillian Jenkins instructed the girls to hold their notes as Lillian turned around. Her brother smiled as she sang the last line,

"For you brought a new kind of love—to— me." Compared to Belle Baker's version, Lillian went higher on the final notes, rather than going lower; it sounded so much sweeter and innocent. Dick smiled at the performance. Lillian smiled as the applause roared in the ballroom, Oliver being one of the loudest. The choir bowed, and Lillian bowed only slightly.

"My sister, Lillian Jenkins! What a doll!" Oliver proclaimed, moving through the crowds and greeting his sister. He picked her up, spun her around and then kissed and hugged her.

The night continued on with a grand dinner and plenty of dancing. Dick Winters had mingled in and out of the different crowds, but was secretly searching out Lillian. He wanted to congratulate her on a great performance, but also to talk with her. It had been a year and a half since he had last seen her; what a year and a half had done to her. Dick finally managed to find her, talking with a few friends. He took in Lillian's appearance before approaching her. She certainly had matured, and Dick knew if he kept looking, certain thoughts her brother would never forgive him for having would be swimming in his mind for the rest of the night and every time he looked at her. He gathered his courage instead and walked up to her.

"You did a beautiful job Lillian," Dick said, smiling. Lillian looked behind her, and her eyes widened, a smile crossing her face.

"Richard Winters!" She hugged him. "It's been so long."

"Dick?" Winters didn't realize that Nixon was talking to him until he had turned around. Nixon was waiting for a response with raised eyebrows.

"You alright?" Nixon asked curiously.

"Yeah, sorry. Were you saying something?" Winters responded, seeming a little dazed.

"I asked you if you knew our feisty new Lieutenant," Nixon asked for the third time, but Winters, who had been reminiscing, didn't realize just how long he had been daydreaming. He looked back out over the river.

"Jenkins?"

"No, Jones," Nixon replied, sarcastically. "Of course Jenkins!"

"Oh, because Jones is very—"

"Dick!"

"Yes Nix, I know her," Winters nodded simply.

"Care to elaborate?" Nixon pressed.

"I graduated from Lancaster Boys High School with her brother," Winters explained, as Nixon came beside him. "The family has served in the armed forces. Father, grandfathers, uncles, even her brother, who's a friend of mine but not someone I ever saw as a paratrooper. He was in the Italian campaign from what I heard. I didn't expect her to get into this though."

"You hoped she wouldn't, you mean?" Nixon restated, purposely. Winters looked at him suspiciously.

"Well, of course not. She had a great future back home. She didn't need to get caught up with all of this," Winters answered, sounding rational and reasonable. "She's a talented singer and conductor."

"Conductor?" Nixon asked, confused.

"Of a choir," Winters explained, plainly and simply.

"That's the only reason though?" Nixon pressed once more. Winters looked back at Nixon and stared. "Come on, you think I can't notice?" Winters raised his eyebrows. "Don't be shitting me now, Dick. And don't give me that look."

"What look?" Winters asked, innocently. Nixon rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Never mind. A runner gave this to me. It's from Sink, and he's on the way to talk to us," Nixon said, handing him a paper. Winters opened it and read it through. He sighed angrily before rubbing his forehead. Winters put the paper away and looked back out.

"He knows we lost a man?" Winters asked.

"Yeah, he knows. He also knows you picked up two prisoners that talked." Nixon explained.

"About what?" Winters inquired, curiously.

"OB. Supply trouble. Hitler's favorite color. I don't know. None of it gets us across the river." Nixon explained, shaking his head.

"So, what's the point?" Winters asked, turning to him, not seeing why Sink thinks that it was necessary to demand a second patrol.

"Honestly? Sink's been bragging it up on the phone all morning. Now I think he's just showing off," Nixon explained, which made Winters roll his eyes. "I don't know Dick. You gave him a successful patrol, and he wants another one," Nixon commented, not really liking the situation any more than Winters.

"Successful," Winters said with disgust.

There was a crunch among the rocks and debris as Speirs walked up to them. "Sir, the men are ready for the debrief. Same roster as last night … well, mostly," Speirs said, not waiting too long for Winters to respond since the silence with him was awkward.

"Evening gents," the Colonel greeted as he joined the group looking across the river. He went to Winters and placed a hand on his shoulder before saying, "Y'all did a damn fine job on a tough mission last night. I'm wishing you good luck tonight because I'll be expecting more of the same. Did you brief the men?"

"We were just on our way sir," Nixon explained.

"Make sure you tell how damn proud I am of what they did," the Colonel said, taking his leave after the three men nodded.

"Would you like me to debrief the men?" Speirs pressed.

"No, I'll do it," Winters said, somewhat pensively. The three soon made their way to OP 2. Winters' mind was spinning with ideas and mixed emotions. He really didn't want to send these men on another patrol. But how would he explain it to Sink and the higher ups? When they entered the OP, Martin called out,

"Ten hut!" The men immediately stood at attention. Winters, Speirs and Nixon entered the room.

"Martin."

"Sir," Winters glanced over the men gathered.

"At ease," Winters said, making his way to the head of the table where they were gathered. The men relaxed in their standing position, but their faces didn't change the slightest. "You men did an excellent job last night. Proud of you, very proud of you. Colonel Sink is too—I just saw him. He's so proud he wants you to do another patrol tonight." Winters saw the looks of despair and worry come over the men's faces at the thought. It was uncomfortably quiet. Winters looked at his watch. "At any moment now the outpost we hit last will be up in flames, Martin."

"Sir," Martin nodded.

"Which means we have to venture farther into town this time. Captain Speirs, do you have the map?" Winters explained and then asked. Speirs searched in his pocket and handed the map to Sergeant Grant.

"Yes, sir." Winters laid out the map.

"Now, there is enemy movement here and here. This is our new house target here." Winters explained, pointing at different places on the map, but the places were quite close to each other. "Recovered all the boats, we'll setting off at the same place we did last night."

"We're not changing the plan any sir?" Martin asked.

"No, the plan is the same." The distress was evident and felt tangible among the group of men. "It'll be zero two hundred instead of zero one hundred. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, good. Because I want you all to get a full night's sleep tonight. Which means in the morning, you'll report to me that you made it across the river, into German lines, unable to secure any live prisoners," Winters said, decisively. "Understand?"

"Yes, sir," the men resounded.

Winters nodded, "Good. Look sharp for tomorrow. We're moving off the line." The men looked happy and relieved.

"Next." Lillian had gotten tired of the word. She had called out that word so many times, she couldn't count it on her fingers and toes combined—it had stopped sounding like a word. She checked off another name on the list before a dark redhead came and sat on the bed.

"Name, please?" Lillian asked.

"Sergeant Malarkey, Donald G., ma'am," Sergeant Malarkey replied.

"Please, no ma'am. Nurse Jenkins, Nurse Lillian or just Lillian is fine," Lillian said, checking off his name and writing a number next to his name. Malarkey nodded as she turned around to grab a blood pressure cuff.

"My apologies. Nurse Lillian," Malarkey said, putting his hands up in defeat.

Lillian chuckled as she gently took one of his arms with her hand, sending goose bumps up Malarkey's arm. She strapped the cuff around his muscular arm. Lillian then retrieved her stethoscope from around her neck, putting it on and quickly squeezed the inflation bulb to tighten the cuff around his arm. She placed the cool metal of the stethoscope on his skin and began to count. He looked up at her face. It was focused and tired. He had heard that she ran to OP 2 to try and save Jackson after they came back for the patrol and found Bill King dead. First day on new turf and already two people dead. Yet, she would've seemed perfectly fine if he was a citizen just staring at her; if he weren't a soldier, he would've just seen a working nurse. He wouldn't see the exhausted, caring woman in a uniform, trying to keep the men who fought for their country alive and who had seen too much death and injury in her line of work for however long she had in this war.

"Alright, your blood pressure sounds pretty good. Do you have any trouble sleeping?" Lillian asked, placing the stethoscope around her neck again. Lillian unwrapped the cuff from his arm and placed the tools down on a little table. She picked up her clipboard and began writing down some more information.

"Well, even though I'm usually in the middle of a warzone, no, I can get a decent night's sleep," Malarkey explained, his eyes wandering. He caught sight of her helmet that had the rank of second lieutenant on it; his eyes widened as she turned back to him.

"Follow my finger with your eyes please," Lillian said as Malarkey quickly adjusted his eyes back to normal. She began to move her finger in the shape of a cross. "What would you call a 'decent night's sleep' Sergeant?" she inquired, staring right at his eyes, continuing to move her finger in different directions and places.

"I don't know. A few hours." Malarkey explained, feeling slightly at ease with her.

"All you can get I suppose," Lillian said with a small smile as Malarkey gave into a chuckle. His chuckle was cut short as Lillian placed her careful hands at the bridge of his neck and jaw. He felt like he was being lightly massaged in an awkward place. "Your tonsils are fine, that's good. Stick out your tongue and say 'ah'." Luz, Liebgott, Grant and Heffron chuckled from their seats since they could hear and see the conversation.

"Ah?" Lillian looked at his mouth and nodded.

"Alright. Now, I'm going take a look at your heart. So, open up your jacket please." Malarkey was slightly taken aback by the request, but he undid his jacket to reveal his white tank-top that conformed to his body and muscles. Once Lillian was done writing, she turned back around and held the stethoscope again. "I'm going to need you to take a deep breath in and out twice, and then I'm going to move to your back, so can you please take off your jacket entirely?" Heffron and Luz especially were desperately trying to hold their laughter at that point.

"Yeah, sure," Malarkey replied, nodding. He slithered his arms out his sleeves and then sat up straight. Lillian lifted up his shirt, bending down slightly and placed the metal in the middle of his breast.

"Breathe in," she said, adjusting the stethoscope. Malarkey did so, trying in vain to look straight ahead. He ended up looking right at her pensive face. For some reason, he couldn't look or focus on anything else. "One more time." Malarkey did again, and Lillian listened a bit closer. "Alright, onto the back. I'm going to ask the same thing again."

"Fine with me. You're making sure that I can still fight in this war," Malarkey shrugged as Lillian moved around to the other side of the bed. She lifted the back of his shirt up and repeated what she had done before; Lillian also checked his knees, legs and feet. It was all okay.

"Okay Sergeant, you're all set," Lillian said with a congenial smile.

"Thanks Lillian," Malarkey said, honestly. "And you can call me Don, Donald, Malarkey, whichever." Lillian didn't say anything for a moment simply because, aside from Eugene, he was one of the first soldiers that she had a conversation with in Haguenau. Now, he was even allowing her to call him by his name and not his title. Lillian smiled.

"Alright Don, have a good day."

"You too,"