Hi All,

Thank you to BobtheFrog, lightweight101 and MASHlover23 for the review *hugs*. And also thank you for the new followers and readers who favorited this story. You guys are the reason I keep writing.

And thank you to KBear143 who made a multi-chapter fic for me. It's called "But you love me". You guys should read it. It's really good...

As usual, this chapter is un-beta-ed and since English is not my first language, if you have any ideas or see any mistakes, please poke. I'll really appreciate it.

Don't forget to leave your review ^_^

Oh...And this chapter will back to George's PoV. Enjoy..

You'd think that after the nightmare that was Bastogne and we've captured Foy, we would be pulled back to regimental reserve and finally had a roof over our head, right? Wrong!

Because apparently, capturing Foy was not the real objective; Noville and the higher ground were. But to capture Noville, we need tank support. And tank needs roads. Ergo, Foy it was. But then, we had to occupy a tiny village of Cobru and then Recogne before we could reach Noville. And to reach Cobru, we have to across a 2 kilometers of open and snow-covered field (again), in a bright sunny day. In Colonel Sink's words to Winters, "2nd Battalion would have the honor of leading the attack on Noville". In which of course could be translated as "Easy is the spearhead. Now get it done!"

That's the logic in the Army, my friend. Ike wants some action, Monty wants some action, General fucking Taylor wants some action, Sink screwed, Winters screwed, Speirs screwed, thus us screwed.

But thank you the almighty deity above, we got Winters AND Speirs now. With their brilliant strategy, by night, we've worked our way to the southeast corner of Cobru. But since we had worked up a sweat getting to Cobru, now our clothes were fucking freezes; it crackled when we move. There're no trees to protect us from the wind. We slept in a shallow foxhole, because the soil was frozen. No shelter at all and it's fucking snowing. Here we're, freezing our asses again, waiting for the earliest light to attack Noville. Joy, right?!

Nope. Abso-fucking-lutely NOPE.

And I missed Becca. Terribly. Even though the last time I saw her was before the attack of Foy (that was…what? 2 days ago? And I couldn't talk to her since I had to babysit one stupid cow), but the last time we had time for a little talk was when she surprised us that she's still alive. That felt like ages ago. And a lot had happened since then.

"H-Hey G-George…the-the f-fuck are we doing here?" squeaked my scrawny Hebrew friend.

I was not in the mood for hearing his whining, so the most suitable answer was "Please not right now, honey. It's my time of the month and I'm having a headache."

"Fucking asshole." He grumbled. "It's fucking cold, George. I…"

"Don't you dare to pee in this foxhole!" I snapped.

"That's not what I want to say, dickhead! How the hell it can be this fucking cold anyway? T-this is not normal. I c-can't even feel my fucking balls!"

"Well that's new. I d-don't know you have b-balls. I thought it's r-raisins…s-shriveled up like that."

"F-f-fuck you." But the usual heat behind it was lost due to the shivering. "J-Jesus! I wish W-Winters order some n-night attack or my nuts w-would have to be s-surgically removed f-from my stomach."

"Joe…p-please…my life is miserable enough w-without imagining your n-nutsack in your stomach."

The night was saved from further shock-inducing mental image of Joe fucking Liebgott's nutsack when Lipton came to our foxhole and asked me to accompany him for a recon patrol. He was uneasy about leading on an attack without knowing what was up ahead. And I was happily obliged. Playing intel on the risk of being shot was so much better than sitting idly on a frozen foxhole with Joe Liebgott and his nuts.

"You fucking idiot! Can't you tell the difference between Shermans and Panzers?!" I shouted to Alley right after the Panzer shot the burnt Sherman where we're dived under to take cover. Goddamit! It felt like we jumped a foot in the air when those shells hit the Sherman.

"It's an honest mistake, George! And I'm with Lieutenant Shames when I approach that tank. So it's not solely my fault."

"Honest mistake my ass! You're both the Three Stooges levels of stupid."

The attack of Noville started at dawn. Since Speirs looked like he's fallen in love with my charm (or maybe because I was the only one that immune from his signature glare), I again designated as his radio man/ runner/ PA (in which one of my job description was listing his shiny 'findings'. "I can't let this valuables being left alone. They have historical value", he said). I followed him and the 2nd platoon spearheaded the attack directly into the center of Noville, while the 1st platoon supporting the 3rd platoon in securing the right hand side of the city where the resistance was stronger.

I heard in my radio that there was a friendly armor approaching 3rd platoon's position. Alley and Lieutenant Shames got the message. And what happened next was worthy of a comedy movie if we're not in a war. Alley approached the first tank he saw, he shouted over the roar of the engine to the tank commander, who was standing in the turret looking the other way, to "Come this way." The tank commander turned, and….drum roll please…..it's a Krauts tank (Ba dum tss). The Kraut swore loudly (or Alley thought he was. Who the hell know what "Scheiße!" means), dropped into his tank, and began aiming his turret toward Alley and Shames. Both of them run their sorry pasty-white-asses, unfortunately, to Lipton, Speirs and my general direction. Long story short, Shames saw an open window and jumped in head first, Speirs and Lipton hid behind a wall, Alley and I hid under a burned-out Sherman, and the Panzer shot aforementioned Sherman. Hilarious, right?! (Right?) Well, not whenI was under the shelled Sherman…but…you get the general idea…

And the most hilarious thing of all was when Alley and I went to look for Shames, we saw him tangled up in beds, springs, and furniture in a basement he had not realized was there when he jumped through the window. He practically dived in, head first, straight to the basement. We burst into laughter. But Lipton smacked our heads, Speirs gave us The Glare (which has no effect on me, but I was pretty sure Alley kind of wet himself. I heard he mumbled "Thank GOD he didn't offer us cigs"), and Shames started to throw us pieces of furniture, so we helped said Lieutenant but not after we guaranteed that we would tell the whole company about this, much to his chagrin.

"I cannot pull my rank on this, can I?" he grunted.

"Nope." Alley and I grinned and shook our heads in unison.

Shames just rubbed his face in shame (pun fucking intended!) and mumbled "fucking kids".

But jokes, insults and profanities aside, we still proof ourselves as a cohesive, well trained and discipline unit (which sometimes I thought it's a miracle). By noon, we got Noville in our hand (that has been our objective since Dec 20), buuuut….General FUCKING Taylor wanted us to take over Rachamps as well. Which was in a valley. Which we have to go over a snow-covered ground sloped. Which we would be obvious targets for Krauts' heavy arties.

We persuaded Shifty to 'accidentally' shoot the General to no avail.

We got Rachamps. It was an easy victory.

Since D-Day, we've been kicked Krauts' paratroopers, armored and infantry divisions right in their sorry Aryan ass. We've been surrounded, shelled, and fought the finest units Nazi Germany could produce. We've been fought in hunger, cold and rationed ammunition and medical supplies. Do you know what the newspapers called us? The Battered Bastards of the Bastion of Bastogne. Suck on that, Hitler! We're fucking badass!

And the best of it, Speirs set up company CP in a convent in Rachamps. Finaly, we had roof over our head. It's been one moth since we left Mourmelon. We're entering Belgium with 145 men and officers. We were going out with 63.

I saw Doc sadly gazed the nuns who sang for us. The song was in French so he might be understood it. Frank beside him, laying butt up, since the midget was waiting to be transferred to the hospital. The other men were either in contemplative state or resting. Speirs and Lipton were sorting documents. Might be the casualties report they will sent to the regimental CP. That reminded me of Becca. If only I could talk to her. After those death-defying episodes that were Bastogne, I've decided to honestly confess my feeling for her as soon as I found the opportunity.

"Hey, Frog."

Oh my goodness. How I miss that voice.

"Princess" I whispered.

"Pray with me?" she offered her hand.

I nodded and took her hand. We walked toward the altar.

"You're Catholic?" I asked.

"No. But I'll pray anyway. It's the least I can do."

She lit the votive candles one by one while whispering the names of the dead.

"Hoobler…Julian…Herron…Mellet…Sowosko…Shindell…Hayes…Webb…Penk…" her voice started to break and her hand shake "Skip…Renee…" And she finally cried.

I wrapped my left hand on her shoulder and kiss her temple. We then kneel before the altar. She'd stop crying but tears still falling from her eyes. We prayed for our fallen brothers, for our wounded friends. We thanked for God's mercy for letting us alive, for finally gave us a good leader.

I thanked God for let me met Becca. For let her alive. For gave us another chance.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was alive." She whispered after we sat back in the pew.

"You're alive. That's the most important thing."

"You don't have any idea how terrify it was reading the casualties report, hoping I won't see your name"

I hold her hand "We're here."

"Did you miss me, George?"

"Fucking hell I did" I said incredulously

"George Luz! Do not talk like a dirty sailor in front of Jesus."

"My bad." So I lean forward and say directly to the statue of Jesus in the altar. "Sorry, Jesus."

Becca chuckled "Even after all of this, you're still one crazy ass Portuguese."

"Rebecca Jones! Do not talk about my supple behind in front of Jesus. Apologize to Him and wash your mouth with soap."

She struggled to stifle her laugh and said "Aaaww…Frog…But you love me" She nudged me with her shoulder.

I nudged her back and smiled "That I do"

And the way she tried (and failed) to hide her blush and smile by scratching her nose was simply the loveliest thing I've ever saw.

"Luz, wake up. We're moving"

I suppress my yawn because it's not wise to yawn in front of Captain McCreepy. I was immune from The Glare but I didn't have a death wish.

"Back to Mourmelon, Sir?"

"No" he said grimly. "Krauts launched an operation in Alsace. Ike sent us to bolster the line."

Un-fucking-believable. "Permission to speak, Sir."

Speirs exhaled like he embraced himself before he nodded.

"In the risk of sounded like a teenage girl, Sir…but…Seriously?I mean…don't they have anybody else in this army to plug these gaps?"

He gave me his 'you did sounded like a teenage girl' glare before he shrugged and said "Just make sure Vest already sent my belongings to England before we leave" And then he left me.

Yeah…right…his 'belongings'

And that's why we ended up in an open truck. Again. And the weather was cold, miserable and snowing. Again. Moved to where-the-fuck-ever. Again. Still in filthy uniform. Again. As the spearhead. Again.

Sometimes it's a curse for being the best unit in the ETO.

It's a 160 miles journey through a slippery and dangerous road, so the truck must proceed slowly. We moved so slow, you could jump off the truck, relieved yourself and hopped back in. That's something since we're wearing layers of clothing (baggy pants, OD pants, long underwear and undershorts), all with buttons. Fancy.

"I bet you're happy, Joe"

"Why?"

"You can pee freely"

"Asshole"

"Brotheeeeer" I hugged him. And I need warmth...okay?!

You could conclude that it was so fucking cold since Joe 'Don't-Fuck-With-Me' Liebgott didn't throw me from the moving truck when I hugged him.

We moved from village to village as a reserve for two weeks before we finally stationed in Haguenau. That's 48 days since Mourmelon, or 48 without shower and changing clothes. Blood, guts, dirt, mud, sweat and other questionable bodily fluids were become our second skin.

Captain Don't Make Me Offered You Cigarettes ordered me to find a house with roof intact enough for company CP because Lipton was sick (Doc said it was pneumonia). Since Lipton and Speirs were now practically the Mom and Dad of Easy, they shared the same room…with only one bed. And they were bickering already like an old married couple.

"You're my CO, Sir. You're sleeping in the bed. I'll use my sleeping bag."

Captain Broody But Softy simply replied "You're sick" and left the room while Lipton gaping at him.

I pat his back and offered him a bottle of schnapps.

"I don't drink" Lipton said.

"Don't be such a dick. I've been…umm...scrounging this for you. " I said.

"Stealing" he corrected.

"Semantics". And I left the bedroom to start sorting the supplies.

In the living room, Captain I Have A Sexy Hair Even Though I'm Filthy asked "He's sleeping?"

I shrugged "I don't know. I left him with a bottle of schnapps though. Hope it'll help him sleep. But he's stubborn, Sir."

He chuckled (in which I had to suppress my gasp) "Tell me about it. By the way…after you finished sorting the supplies, I want you to blow a house across the river. We suspect it's Krauts' OP."

You've. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me. "Me, Sir?"

"Yeah. You. You've once said you want to try the bazooka."

I love you, Daddy Speirs. "Yeah. Sure, Sir. Thanks."

I walked outside the house looking for Vest to start with the sorting thing when I heard someone called my name.

"George Luz!" The man who called me was so clean he looked shiny. I couldn't see his face because the sun was behind his head.

"Yeah! It's me." I said, squinting my eyes.

"Come on, I haven't been gone that long." The man said cheerfully.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! It's Webster. He's so pretty and clean you'd mistaken him to Miss Haguenau 1945.

I was too shocked I can only say "Jesus…Yes, you have."