A/N: I am the world's worst updater. Seriosuly, I suck. Thank you to all of my reviewers though. When I finally checked my email and saw all of the lovely-ness, I swooned over and over again, and then proceeded to write. I'm home for the next couple of months, so everything should be quieter, giving me more time. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Band of Brothers. Lyrics belong to The Shins.

VII. Young Pilgrims

But I learned fast how to keep my head up
'Cause I know I've got this side of me
that wants to grab the yoke from the pilot
and fly the whole mess into the sea

"May a shell fall into your self-righteous hands and blow you to pieces!" Cora snapped as she shoved her way through the sea of orange flags.

Her face was a brilliant shade of red, partly for the anger she felt and partly because the women of Holland assumed that only men were under those uniforms. Richard had instructed her not to remove her helmet, in fear of sniper fire, but enough was enough. Cora's hair fell loose about her face as she wiped the lipstick from her cheeks. She felt revolted, disgusted, and horrified, understanding the reasoning behind the head shavings better than the men. Cora scooped up a bottle of wine from a table as she passed it and sat down on the stairs of a nearby building, away from a majority of the noise and festivities.

The kiss, the reason that she was in the fight with Richard, still ran through her head, spinning madly like a seasick ballerina. She could still taste Sobel, feel him. Hell, she could practically reach out and touch him because the memory was so vivid. If only she could have kissed Herbert once more… maybe it would have proved that it was just a fluke; that not having been kissed like that for such an extended period of time had done something to her. Cora was lost in a trance. She hadn't noticed Private Hashey until he had finally spoke.

"Captain Larson?" he said, his voice deep and soothing. "Captain Winters, uh, wanted you to know that we're staying for the night."

Cora glanced up into the replacement's eyes, bewilderment dancing in the hazel orbs. "Alright. Thank you, Les," she answered softly.

Hashey stepped back into the crowd, accepting the receptive arms and waiting lips of several Dutch girls. Cora rolled her eyes. Is that what I look like? She looked around at all of the smiles and realized that she was the only one without joy spilling from her pores. This, for some reason, worried her. There had to be a mistake. Her eyes darted back and forth once again. Nope, they're all so goddamned happy. Cora rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Had she missed the note about the Apocalypse coming? For as long as she could remember, (unless it was a family function) Cora was the animated one. She usually had to be told to quiet down. But, now, she sat alone on a cold stoop in Holland with morbid and hypocritical thoughts. If you weren't wrapped up in fucking Sobel for two seconds, you'd realize that you're that touchy-feely too, you little trollop. Kissing is fun remember? It isn't about love. It never has been! Cora nodded her head as her conscious shouted at her. The nagging voice finally had a point. Had she finally turned into one of the drones that her mother wanted her to and that her sisters had become? Looking down upon her uniform, she laughed. Get out there, Larson and quit your moping. Be a man about it. Cora took a long swig from the wine bottle before standing and pushing forward through the crowd. A young man, perhaps only sixteen, gaped at her as she passed; shocked to see a woman in army fatigues. She turned to him suddenly, placed her hands on both sides of his face and pressed her lips chastely to his.

"Danke," she whispered before promenading over to George Luz, the bottle in hand.

&

When Cora woke up the next morning, she hardly remembered why her lips were so sore. George was curled up next to her with lipstick on his face and neck, which reminded her automatically. The pair had celebrated with a competition: who could kiss more people. At first, he had had her beat, but Cora suddenly turned on him and began to include the other paratroopers in their little game. Yet, the minute she had announced herself as winner, George pressed her against a haystack and left a trail of light kisses down her neck.

"We'll call it a draw," she had sighed.

Cora stood and stretched, hating the way she felt after a night on the ground. Her joints cracked and her spine realigned itself with a zipper-like creak. The aroma of coffee floated on the soft Dutch air and sent the addict in search for the source. Richard watched her from a distance as she flitted around. She was following her nose the way a dog would. It was both fascinating and disturbing to see. He looked down into his cup, watching as the steam rose from the black liquid. Cora stepped closer and closer in his direction before their eyes finally met. She walked confidently toward him with her head held high.

"Can I steal some?" she asked, her tone nonchalant.

"Sure," he answered with an indifference to his voice that aggravated her.

She took several sips of the coffee. It was so hot that it set fire to her throat and her insides, but the jolt that came from it sent electricity to her toes. Cora held the mug in her hands for a moment and sighed loudly.

"Have you ever been kissed, Dick? I mean kissed good, with something that knocks the shoes right off your feet? Have you ever had that?" she inquired between leisurely swallows.

He glared at her defensively, but without much emotion, not knowing exactly where she was headed with the argument. It had been entirely too random to be anything good. "Why?" he challenged.

"Because if you had, you would understand where I was coming from yesterday. You'd know what a good kissing does to the senses. You wouldn't be mad at me."

"Is that what this is about? I could care less about your reasoning or what your state is with Sobel."

"So you're being an ass for no real reason?" she snapped.

"Cora, you wanted me to get blown into a million pieces. You don't consider that a reason? How much wine did you drink exactly?"

Cora smiled sweetly, and then threw the cup like a fastball at his head. "My suggestion to go to hell still stands."

Richard jumped out of seat, missing the hot beverage by mere inches, and wiped the splatters off of his uniform. He looked as she stormed away from him once again. A small smile made the corners of his mouth twist upward into something that was more like a grimace. Cora thought she was so observant, but luckily for Dick, she was entirely oblivious to the fact that a blush had risen on his cheeks. If you only knew…

The tanks rolled in sooner than anticipated that morning and Easy was order to climb aboard. The company was to head into a part of town that was currently occupied by the Krauts. According to nearly all of the reports given to them, the German soldiers in Holland were made up of "kids and old men." Cora, knowing Easy Company's luck, was suspicious. To her, it was too good to be true.

The surgeon climbed up next to Liebgott, off of whom she had bummed a smoke and a light. There were plenty of jeeps still mildly available for her to ride in, but being with the other officers would have sent her into a frenzy. She was safer with the enlisted men, since she didn't wish harm upon any of them and not many had the nerve to question her choices.

"Thanks for this, little brother," Cora teased.

"Sounds funny coming from you, you know. Especially since I'm older than you," Joe shouted, in order to be heard over the rumbling of the tanks.

Cora stared out into the field as she inhaled the tobacco. On both sides of the gravel road, wildflowers bloomed purple and yellow among the pale grass. The scent wafted in the breeze, swaying in every light gust. A blue sky spread above them, with few clouds to block the sun's soft autumn rays. For a fleeting moment, Cora pictured herself spinning in circles in the middle of the field, dancing like a Romanian gypsy with her hair free and wild. The tanks then rolled to a stop and practically tossed her from the platform.

Lieutenant Bob Brewer wandered forward, ahead of the company, and peered through his binoculars into the town. Each of them watched in confusion, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Cora shook her head a little. "He's not all there, is he?"

A shot rang out then and Brewer fell to the ground, the blood spurting everywhere. Bull Randleman ran up towards the lieutenant as the others all darted for cover in the ditches that ran along both sides of the path. Cora waited until he called for a medic, knowing that it was only a matter of time. The bullets continued to fly near Bull. She was going to have her work cut out for her. The tanks began firing upon the others, setting one ablaze. The Americans returned fire upon the Kraut vehicles as well.

"Medic up front! Medic up front!" Bull shouted.

Roe stood, but Cora stopped him with her arm. "Let me do it. I think he's been hit in the neck." Eugene nodded and she was off. She sprinted up the hill and onto the road, kicking up the rocks as her boots dug into the dirt. Cora yanked the bag over her head and off of her shoulders, and tossed it to the ground. As she prepared to kneel next to Brewer, a pain suddenly ripped through her right thigh. Cora fell hard to the ground, gripping her leg. A bullet had tore through the side, missing the major artery by mere inches. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes as she lifted her hand to see it covered in her own blood. She fought the urge to pass out and gathered all of her strength.

"Medic!" she cried, her voice cutting through the gunfire.

Cora flipped to her stomach, breathing heavily as she went. The initial pain consumed her as she reached out for her medical bag. She grabbed the strap and dragged it along as she crawled on her elbows toward the side of the road. The soldiers had started to move toward the enemy, directing the fire elsewhere. The rocks were like razor blades through her uniform as she inched closer and closer to the grass. Cora reached the edge and tumbled down into the ditch. She opened her mouth to call for a medic, but another name escaped her lips.

"Richard!" she shrieked.

He picked up his pace when he heard her call, already running toward his fallen friend. She looked up at him with a dirty face and bloody hands. "I… I-I'm so sorry," she whimpered. Dick bent down next to her, throwing the medical bag over his shoulder.

"Can you put your arms around my neck, Cor?"

Cora nodded as he gently picked her up, one arm supporting her legs and the other on her back. He ran with her up to the trucks and placed her there softly. With trembling fingers, he opened the bag and handed her the things she asked for. Quickly, she patched herself up and looked to her savior with big, apologetic eyes.

"I'm so sorry for everything I said. I'd never really want you to get blown into pieces," Cora said, blubbering a little.

"And you are the strongest woman I know. Maybe even stronger than my mother, which is a feat I never thought I'd see accomplished. I'm sorry I said all those things about you… and him."

The two exchanged fragile smiles before he went off. Cora hoisted herself upon a bench and watched as he walked away. Just tell him the truth, you idiot.

"I don't love him."

He turned to look at her with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean?"

"I don't love Sobel. I never did. I figured if I did, I would have found a way to forgive him for what he did to you. You mean more to me than he ever will."

Richard nodded and turned again. He held his façade and collected demeanor in tact as he walked away, making sure she didn't see the life that danced in his eyes.

The men were told to fall back the minute that the German's unveiled their tanks, blowing the troops and the town to smithereens. Four were dead and eleven had been injured, including Buck, who was placed at Cora's feet in the truck. "One bullet, four holes," Malarkey had told her. She reached down and patted Compton on the shoulder with a laugh.

The trucks retreated back to the farmhouses outside of town, where they had rested the night before. It had ultimately been one obstacle after another, especially for Winters, who had to deal with a missing soldier, a faulty operation, and a surgeon who refused to be taken to a field hospital.

"Do you have any idea how long they've been waiting for this? For an excuse to pull me off the line and make an example out of me?" Cora pleaded. "Don't make me go. I'll be fine in a few days, maybe a week. By then, I'll be running around and being useful, just don't make me go there. It's my ticket home and I don't particularly want it."

"Fine, but just stay in one place for a while and try not to move around too much," Dick told her, wagging a finger in her face as a warning.

In a matter of minutes, though, she had disobeyed his orders. Cora had waved Cobb, Webster, Hoobler, Garcia, and Hashey off as they went in search for their missing squad leader; visited with Guarnere and Johnny Martin to hear of what had happened to Brewer and Buck; had a bit of bread with Liebgott; and shared a pot of coffee with Don Malarkey and Skip Muck. She expected to be reprimanded by him, but found him alone near broken machinery. Cora limped over to him, the pain beginning to subside a little with each passing hour.

"They're bombing Eidenhoven," Richard said, staring off into the distance.

Cora watched his face for a moment, the hurt painted vibrantly across it. The fire from the bombs illuminated their faces as the two of them watched on, once again. She reached out for his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. He could feel the callous on her thumb as it touched the back of his own. As they continued to look forward, Dick gave her hand a light squeeze and she returned the favor. The two of them stood next to each other, hand in hand, for what seemed like an eternity as the warfare raged on. There weren't going to be as many orange flags when the sun rose the next morning.

&

"Bull!" Cora beamed, going slowly toward him with her arms wide open. She turned him around in order to inspect the wound, which she stared at, petrified. "Who dug it out of you? Attila the Hun?"

"Well, if you're gettin' yourself hurt, I don't think I trust you with my problems," he teased, tapping her chin with his knuckles.

"Shut up, you. Come on; let's get you onto a truck so I can fix the mess that the barbarian left for me. Malarkey, you big, strong, strappin' man," Cora said with a devilish smirk, "would you mind lifting me up there, love?"

"Not at all, Corey. And, do me a favor, wait until we're around a bunch of the other guys and call me that. Drive 'em wild."

Cora let out a throaty laugh and agreed whole-heartedly to it. Bull sat on the floor of the truck in front of her, allowing her to put her graceful fingers to good use. As the vehicle pulled down the trail and the dust cleared, Richard looked to see Randleman as he winced, and Cora as she pulled gently on a needle and thread. The amusing look of determination covered her usual pixie-faced features. I wonder what you taste like…

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