A/N: Thanks a lot for K-yers for the edit. It makes this chapter more readable ^_^

And as usual...reviews are loved.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!

What...What did...What did I do just now? Mother would kill me if she knew about this. I can picture her lecturing me about what a "lady" should and should not do when a man is involved.

And kissing a man you just met is the most unladylike behavior in my Mother's "Guide of Ladylike Behavior". She'd say, "It's not proper." Or something like that.

But I kissed him. I kissed George Luz on the cheek...

What the hell am I thinking?!

It's just, the way he talked "subtly" about his standards...and his eyes...Yeah, I solemnly blame his brown eyes.

Damn you, George Luz and your gorgeous eyes!

Apparently, running in the night with you mind occupied by a certain Company Clown is not a wise thing to do. Because the next thing I know, I end up hitting a solid wall. A solid wall that says "umpf" and falls down on his butt just like me.

"What do you think you're doing, soldier?" Speirs's voice sounds.

Holy hell!

I stand up as fast as I can, just as he does.

"I'm sorry, sir." I said. "My situation awareness has been compromised."

He lifts one of his eyebrows, but he doesn't shoot me either, so I counted it as a win. "You're one of Colonel Sink's staff, right?" He asked.

Well, no shit, Sherlock. I'm the only female in the regiment. Of course you know me.

"Yes, sir."

His face is unreadable. "I've heard about you. What are you doing at this hour?"

"Visiting friends, sir. In Easy Company."

"Hmm, yeah, I figured. I understand that they need moral support. Especially one particular radio man who looked very stunned when you kissed him on the cheek." And then he smirks, which is eerie.

Holy shit! He saw that.

I stuttered, "I..I.."

"No need to worry, Jones is it? As long as that radio man is still doing his job exceptionally, I won't tell anything to anyone. I heard he's the best radio man in this battalion. A good rifle man too."

Without thinking, I grin and say proudly, "He is, sir." My George is the best radio man. He can fix any kind of trouble with his radio. He knows tricks that are not taught in the training. I heard that his aptitude test score from training is one of the highest. He's also calm under fire, never making mistakes in forwarding messages or orders.

Wait! Hold up! When did George become "My George"? I filed that away to analyze later. I had a sparky Lieutenant to attend to right now...who can apparently read my mind, since he gives me "Ha-I-Caught-You" grin.

Which, to be honest, was a lot more scarier than his regular "I'm-Gonna-Kill-Any-Human-Lower-Than-Me" facade.

Jesus! Who would've thought that Speirs was interested in gossip?

"Go back to your billet, Jones." Speirs said. "And don't let your...situation awareness...be compromised again. We are still in a war zone."

I nodded to him, since we're not allowed to salute to officers in combat, and rush off to my room. There's no need to push my luck further with the infamous Lieutenant.

"God dammit! These limeys must have lost their minds!" Colonel Sink shouted, entering our regimental HQ tent. He slammed a report onto his desk.

"Sir?" I asked.

He exhaled spectacularly and then walked over to his footlocker, pulling out his supply of Bourbon and drinking it. "Easy couldn't get through Nuenen because some particular asshead in the form of British tank commanders had orders not to destroy too much property in a friendly country. Easy got hit pretty bad. They have to retreat."

It feels like an ice block just formed in my stomach. "Any casualties, sir?" I asked.

He gives me the report. "Here. Brace yourself, Becca; I know you have friends in there."

That was a major understatement.

I skimmed the list, looking for familiar names while silently praying that I won't see George's name on it.

Sgt. Chuck Grant: wounded.

Pvt. Robert Van Klinken: KIA. Oh dear Lord, I hope David's all right. Van Klinken was one of his closest friends.

Pvt. James Miller: KIA. The kid wasn't even old enough to drink a beer...

Lt. Lynn Compton: wounded… in his butt. It would've been funny if I wasn't so worried about George.

Sgt. Denver Randleman: MIA. But, Bull was the toughest soldier I had ever known. He'll be alright.

In total, there are fifteen casualties. But no George, thank goodness. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

But for how long would it last?

In Veghel and Uden, situations were normal, paratrooperly speaking. It means that we're surrounded. Our supply line was cut by the Germans, so food, ammunition, and medical supplies were no longer coming in to the north.

And in Veghel, I experienced my first shelling. It was pure hell. I took shelter in a cellar with the Colonel's staff and some Dutch civilians. Their moans, shrieks, and prayers were constant sounds along with the explosions outside. It was all very depressing.

The Colonel himself was outside, driving his jeep and ordering Easy, Dog, and Fox to set up a perimeter defense and ordering to shoot anything that moved. They fought for the next two days, trying to reopen the road for supplies.

It became more apparent that Market-Garden was a strategic failure. The overconfidence of the higher-ups lead us to taking one hell of a licking. If it wasn't for the stubbornness of the 101st Airborne, the Allied forces would've lost even more severely.

I can only find out about Easy through reports. Easy was always on the frontlines and always in action, while I'm in the relative safety of regimental HQ.

Every single day I pray that I don't have to read another familiar name, especially one particular name, in the increasingly long list of casualties.

And here comes October: 16 days since our jump and we're still in Holland. No wonder the men want to shove their boots up General Taylor's ass. I can commiserate.

To make the situation worse, the Airborne division are now reverted to trench warfare, just like the Great War. They're trained as a light infantry assault outfit, with the emphasis on quick movement and small arms fire. But now, the landscape forces them to hide in dikes, foxholes, or barns since their asses are guaranteed to be blown to pieces by the German's artillery if they even poke their head out into the open.

But currently, Easy gets to be in rest position in a barn. After sixteen days of being in the front, they finally have a roof over their heads. So I decided to pay them a visit, since the last time I saw them was in Eindhoven.

Oh, who am I kidding? I wanted to see George. I missed him. I wanted to see myself that he was all right. There! Happy?

The ambiance in the barn is somewhat peaceful. The men are chatting, playing poker, or cleaning their rifles. One exception is Frank; he's brushing his teeth as vigorously as usual.

And then, there he is. He's fixing his radio while chatting animatedly with Bill and Joe.

"Frog?"

"Becca?" George's head snapped over to me and for a second it looks like he wants to hug me. But he restrains himself. Wise move, since the rest of the men look at us with glee, waiting for some gossip-worthy scene between us.

I raise my chess box and say, "Fancy a game?"

George grinned, "I thought you'd never ask."

I literally hear the men sigh heavily in disappointment.

Three games, two packs of hideous K rations, and a jar of preserved peaches later, George asks, "I'm fucked up, am I?"

"We're playing chess, George. Not discussing your sex life." I said. He moved his King for the second time and I happily move my knight and merrily say, "Check." I kept on winning.

"You're lucky you're a woman, Becca, or I'd give you my middle finger salute." He moves his King again.

"Oh, look at that, Frog. Check again." I moved in.

"Jesus! You two still playing?" Bill asked after slapping Joe in his head. They're sitting beside us and talking about the merits of big soft titties (Joe's preference) versus childbearing hips (Bill's preference). Important issues, apparently, since they kept gesturing to said features repeatedly.

"My manhood is at stake." George said, scratching his head before moving his King again.

"I didn't realize you had one, Frog." I said. "And also, check. Well, Bill, our friend here is not fond of losing."

"Also not fond when he's treated like he's not here." George grumbled petulantly.

"You sound like a fucking housewife." Joe said.

"Don't you have patrol duty with Les, Joe? Go and shoot some fucking Krauts."

"Fuck you, George," Joe said, but he stood up and began to assemble with Les and Alley for their night patrol.

George flicks his King and said, "Fuck! I give up, but with absolute hate."

Bill and Frank (finally finished with brushing his teeth) laugh at his expense.

"Aw, Frog, what sportsmanship you've got there."

George grumpily helps me collect the pieces. "Let's play poker. And then we'll see who has the last laugh."

We don't play poker that night. Easy needed to head to the frontlines again. This time they needed to attack a mass of land called the Island.

And Easy has been so lucky. With only 35 men, it turned out that they're facing two companies of 300 SS soldiers. Their casualties, are "only" one dead and 22 wounded. The Krauts' casualties were fifty dead, eleven captured, and about 100 wounded. Statistically, this is impressive. Solid proof of the Captain's strategic and leadership abilities.

But when I read carefully through the casualties report again, I found David's. Colonel barely said "Yes, you may go" when I rushed to the regimental aid station. I hoped I could find him in there. Because if he could make it to the regimental aid station, it meant that he had a higher probability to survive.

"Davey?"

"Becca?" David's voice responded. "I thought I'd never see you again." He's laying on a makeshift bed. The regimental aid station is only a temporary area before patients can be moved to a British hospital in Brussel. I cry with relief.

"Becca, honey, it's okay. It's just my leg. It's a clean wound in my calf; no need to worry."

"I'm so relieved, Davey. The report only said that you got shot. I didn't know how bad."

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. Not bad enough, so I'll still have my limb, but bad enough so I can stay off the line for a while. Oh, and George is fine too." He added with a knowing smile.

"Davey, I'm here for you. Not to ask about George."

He scoffed. "Becca, everyone in Easy knows that you both are practically married."

I choked. We were what?!

"We what?"

David laughed. "Oh, Becca, you should see you face. You like him, right?"

"Um, yeah, I think I do-but..."

He cuts me off. "The love is love. That's that. No need to define the sky."

"Sometimes, I hate that you're so good with words."

He smiled at that. "Yeah, but I said the most inadequate and unimaginative cliché when I got shot. 'They got me!' Jesus! That was embarrassing."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. Leave it to David to elevate the drama for every event. "Oh my God, don't let our pretentious Harvard friends hear that. It will be mortifying."

"Pah, civilians, like they understand what we deal with." He laughed bitterly. "Do you think you can respect those snob dumbasses who bribe their way so that they're not drafted? I'll never forgive them."

"Davey..."

"I hate this war, Becca. Why don't they throw Hitler, Mussolini, Hirohito, Stalin, Roosevelt, and Churchill into a ring, give them all kinds of weapons, and let the fight to the death. There will be no more young men dying for old men's war. To be honest, I'm glad I got shot. I can get away from the frontline; I dreaded every second I was there. But when my mother sent me a letter saying that she didn't want me to go, I got mad. She didn't want me to go, so some other son could get killed instead of her's. That would be too selfish. I know my obligation to my country; I don't have to like it, but I'll do it."

I hold his hand. "And you will fight alongside your brothers."

He smiled weakly. "Yeah, I'll come back for Easy. But I won't hurry. I'll use every bit of time I have to stay away from the front."

David is a scholar, not a warrior...and a little bit stubborn. But he's loyal to his friends. I can understand him, I just hoped that the Easy men could understand him too, considering it's kind of Easy's tradition to go AWOL from the hospital.

"When will they move you to the hospital?" I asked.

"I don't know, maybe tomorrow. I've been tagged. And then they'll send me for some rehabilitation in England."

"Write for me, okay Davey?"

"I will, honey. I'll miss you. Take care of yourself, okay. You have one radio man who will be very pissed if something happens to you. And I thought you said that you're not looking for a husband."

"I'm not!" I said, hoping it didn't sound too petulant. But from the look on his face, I know I've failed miserably.

"What? He's not good enough for you?"

"It's not that-"

"He'll make you happy, Becca."

"How do you know?"

"I'm an observer. Trust me."

I sighed. "How convenient, don't you think? Falling in love with a soldier in the middle of a war."

David gave me his widest grin. "So you admit it, you love him?"

God dammit!