Hi, ladies (and possibly a few gentlemen)! I'm finally back! :)
I profusely apologise for disappearing again for such a long time. You are all probably tired of me writing yet another note about how sorry I am. But, I couldn't post this chapter sooner and share it with all of you, as I had promised. During these few months, life became extremely rough and a lot of things sprung up that made me postpone my writing. To everyone who followed Jess's story so far, I can't thank you enough for not giving up on me. Hopefully, once I pass all my exams and graduate – which is not very far – I will update new chapters more often than before.
I wish all the best to beth-rodrigues.77 (Thank you so much! I was afraid that my writing would be rusty after such a long break. :) You are right, Jess is getting into more and more trouble by the minute. And she is not making very smart decisions. Unfortunately, that won't help her much on the road ahead of her. Things will become increasingly tense, starting from this chapter. As for Gene, he will definitely talk to her about that night. I planned to include it here, but – with the other things that are about to happen – this chapter would be far too long, so I had to move it to the next one. Look out for it, because there will be a few surprises. :) By the way, I want to thank you for staying with this story since day one. I will always be grateful for your support. :) And one more thing – have a great time during the Olympics! :) ), Love-Fiction.2016 (Thank you for the sweet smiley! I'm sending you one, too. :) Have a wonderful day!), Cayendoenelolvido (Hola! I'm so happy to hear from you again! :) When I read how much you liked the fight scene, it really made my day. Thank you! :) I'm very sorry for the ending, though. I know Gene didn't deserve how Jess treated him. But, I couldn't resist making a sudden twist at the end of the chapter. ;) Thanks again!) and ZukiShi (Welcome to The Whole Nine Yards! And thank you so much for your kind words. :) I hope you will enjoy in this chapter as much as the previous one. :) I'm afraid I can't complete the next chapter faster, although I'd love to. But, that might change for the better in the not-so-distant future. I wish you a lovely day! :) ). I'm sending each of you a big, squishy hug! And best of luck to your teams at the Olympic Games!
Also, many thanks go to anabelleigh1996, Harlie-LOTR-4ever, kahall978 and ZukiShi for the favourites/follows! It's always wonderful to see someone new joining the story. :)
Furthermore, I want to tell you that something amazing happened. A couple of weeks ago, I came across Richard Speight Jr. (a.k.a. the actor who portrayed Skip Muck in the miniseries). He was incredibly sweet and kind, and it was lovely meeting him. I'm still finding it hard to believe that I've got his autograph. :)
That's all from me. I hope you're ready for what is to come. ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own Band of Brothers. This is purely of entertainment. It is based on the HBO miniseries and no disrespect is meant towards the real men of Easy Company.
Chapter Forty-One – Fare Thee Well
My back felt horribly stiff every time I moved, even if it just meant turning a little in my bunk. That was hardly a surprise after spending another night on a reconnaissance mission. Confined within the narrow cockpit for so long had left me exhausted, cold and, along with the soreness remaining from the alley brawl a couple of days ago, I silently prayed that nobody would need the air support in the morning. If they did, I was unsure if I could roll off the bed to the floor, let alone fly a Spitfire.
While I pondered whether I could manage even that, the sun emerged behind the nearby window. The light shone through the glass and burnt through my closed eyes, forcing me to quietly groan into the pillow. Cautious not to jar anything, at least not more than necessary, I slowly reached out towards the thin blanket that was sprawled at my knees. Having dug my fingers in it, I steadily drew it up until it was over my head and blocking out the dawn.
That's more like it. The darkness was warm, close to soothing, and it didn't last long when I found myself relaxing, my eyelids becoming difficult to keep open. I turned on my side, letting out a feeble whimper as pain rocketed through my ribs, and I tucked my legs closer to my stomach. I sighed deeply soon after, waiting for sleep to finally take me away. However, that didn't happen, because a loud and sudden clatter resonated through the barracks.
My eyes flew open. Yet, I didn't move, unwilling to kick the blanket off and see what had happened. I wasn't keen on doing it since Eugene usually came back from his shift at this time. And the very last thing I wanted to start my day with was seeing him in the same room. But, every thought of him slipped my mind when something started thunking clumsily towards me. Someone grabbed my shoulder and I instantly tensed, already thinking of lunging for the pen I had left on the bedside table. Although it was't much of a weapon, it was better than having nothing.
"Malarkey!", a voice whispered from somewhere above me, "Mal, I know you're under there. Wake up!"
I sighed under the blanket, running a hand down my face.
"Wrong bunk, you twit", I muttered. Poking my head out in the light, I squinted at the figure standing beside my bed. "Ralph?"
He reeled away in a second. "What the – Jess, what the heck are you doing here?"
"Well, it all started when Britain declared war five years ago."
His lips merely twitched in response, and I couldn't refrain myself from frowning a bit. Being as serious as this, not even bothering to scoff at my rejoinders, was quite unlike him. However, what took me aback more than his silence was the growing dread in his wide eyes. Wondering what was going on, I took a closer look at him, only to discover that he had a few things missing. His boots were gone and he had just one sock, dirty and wrinkled on his left foot. As I stared, he gave an impatient wriggle with his bare toes.
"Ralph, should I be worried right now?"
"No. Yes. Maybe?" He stalled for some time before he huffed in defeat. "Okay, since that dumbass Malark fell off the face of the earth, I guess you can help –" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes abruptly widening. "Holy Christ. What happened to you?"
Unfortunately, there were some traces from the brawl that I couldn't hide. By the way his gaze was glued, he was probably gawping at the huge darkening bruise on the side of my face. Or perhaps it was the curved, partially healed gash that cut my right eyebrow in half. Whatever he had picked, the sight of it downright scared him.
"It's nothing I can't handle on my own", I said tightly, "So, what brings you here at this hour?"
He glanced from his left to right, and then looked behind him, as if he were assuring himself that we were the only people in the barracks. His gaze darted around the room in a way of someone who was terrified of being eavesdropped. What on earth is going on with him?
"Do you have ten bucks I could borrow?", he almost whispered.
I pushed myself against the mattress until I was sitting up. "What's wrong?"
"Do you remember all those posters in town, about the dance the Red Cross came up with?" He paused again, hesitating. "It was last night."
"Don't tell me you got yourself in trouble."
He said nothing in return. Instead, he made a couple of steps back and plonked himself on the vacant bed across from mine, hastily searching through his jacket pockets. In a matter of seconds, a new cigarette was already sticking out of his mouth. He cupped it with his hand and tried to light it with the battered Zippo he had pulled out, but that didn't turn out to be working. Despite his constant flicking, not a spark appeared.
"Toye and I got into a bet with some locals. We thought it would be fun, ya know, since we'd easily win. It was darts, for chrissake. Ever since we came here, all we did was play darts and smoke."
"But, it wasn't enough, right?"
He wryly laughed. "Nope. Before I knew it, she turned the tables and took me to the cleaners. Sweet mother of Jesus."
I couldn't help but narrow my eyes. "She?"
Ralph was about to reply when he realised that his lighter had given up the ghost. With a frustrated sigh, he began fiddling with it, but he didn't get rid of his cigarette. He had decided to keep it where it was.
"Denise. She's a shopkeeper in town. Her friend gave me the heads-up that she was good, but I had no idea she was that good! I ended up a tad short on cash, so I had to give her my boots as collateral until I found more."
"How did you lose the sock?"
"I'm still trying to figure that out."
"Oh, God. What were you thinking?"
"The deal was that, if I won, I'd get a kiss from her." He sheepishly smiled, yet that disappeared the moment he saw my glare. "Hey, if you saw how she looked like, you might think of kissing her, too!"
"I'm not sure I'd go that far, Ralph."
"Fine. Forget the last part. Now, could you help me out before my feet turn into ice cubes? Please?"
"Hmm. Let me think about it." I placed my chin in my hand, pretending to be lost in thought. "Maybe I should kick you out. You wrenched me from my sleep, after all. And nearly gave me a heart-attack."
"But, you won't do that. You won't let my poor toes freeze and fall off, will you?"
It was incredibly hard to keep a straight face once he gave me the puppy-dog eyes. I succeeded at holding on for a while, though. But, I eventually stumbled, a corner of my lips curving into a smile.
"Don't move, yeah? I'll fish out something."
While he lifted his bare foot on the bunk, scrutinising his toes just in case, I shrugged off the blanket and knelt on the floorboards. Shoving a hand under the mattress, I pulled out a small wad of papers, leafing through them as I counted. Yet, I had to stop somewhere near the end of the stash. Sitting still on the floor, I confusedly looked at a piece of paper I had found, which wasn't a dollar note. It was a piece of regular paper, wrinkled slightly at the corners.
"Whoah. I didn't see that one coming." I could almost hear Ralph grin beside me. There was a short creak as he moved to the edge of the bunk. "You've been hiding a love letter?"
I was close to shaking my head. However, I didn't do it, not after I had caught a glimpse of the words Dear Neve written in my scrawl, near the top of the page. One brief look at them was just enough for the memories of that night to return in full force. That was followed with pain, such immense pain that it made my fingers clench. The letter let out a short crackle as it was crumpled into a ball in my fist.
Because of Eugene and his stupid decision to drag me away from the CP, I might never get the chance to see her again.
"Hey, Jess, you okay down there?"
Only then did I become aware of Ralph's bewildered look.
"I'm always okay." Having tossed the letter away, I handed him the dosh. "Here's your ten smackers. Go and get your stuff before Dike sees you like this."
"Thanks a bunch." He tucked the money into his pocket with a hugely relieved smile. Yet, for a reason I couldn't figure out, his expression gradually began to change into a more thoughtful one. "Would it be weird if I asked Denise to write to me?"
"That's a bit fast, don't you think? You met her last night."
"I know, I know. Still, would she say that I'm crazy?"
"Of course not. But, why are you asking me about this? The lads could've given you some good advice. Also, you wouldn't have to shake them awake."
"That's because you're the only..." He stopped and fumbled. "You're the only female friend I have. And, since Denise is a girl, you're also the only one who really knows what she'd think about this."
Oh, gosh. I quietly sighed, not knowing how to tell him that I was a wrong choice for an adviser. The only friends I used to talk about these things were long gone. Neve had been there, but there were some subjects that simply weren't meant for a twelve-year-old to hear. All in all, the word "rusty" would barely describe where I was now.
"Female friend, eh?" I chuckled, maybe a little forcefully. "Speaking of lasses, don't you have someone special already? You know, who's at your home and waiting for your return?"
A heavy silence fell into the room.
"I had. She left me as soon as I told her I'd enlisted. The last time I heard from her, she was marrying some 4-F guy." He raised his shoulders in a small shrug. "I guess she hadn't been eager to wait for me."
"Jeez, Ralph. I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry, too. Sometimes." He gazed somewhat absently at the floor. However, not long after that, he stood up and leaned his bare foot against its heel, giving his toes another wriggle. "Thanks again, Jess. And don't forget to ice those bruises."
I hardly mustered a smile as he walked away, passing from sight behind the door. The truth was, I was baffled by what he had said. That must have been eating away at him for years, but he hadn't mentioned a word about it until now. I never would have guessed that, while he was telling funny stories to me and the rest of the lads, he actually had this on his mind.
I hope that Denise will say "yes". Otherwise, I'll have half a mind to pay her a visit.
Yet, until I found out the news from him, I chose to follow his advice. I was too stirred up to fall back asleep, anyway. That was why I pushed my feet into my boots, wrapped my jacket around me and tiredly shuffled into the cold outside.
I didn't head directly for the Aid station, though. I made a turn at the corner, reaching the windows of the barracks, and scooped up a handful of fresh snow from the nearest sill. Reluctant at first, I pressed the snow against the bruise on my cheek, wincing as my skin began to sting. However, I didn't let it go. With a bit of luck, the cold should get the swelling down – and so I toughed it out, as the lads would often say, propping my forehead against the brick wall, breathing out through clenched teeth.
"Was that a bar you were in, private?"
I lurched backwards as no other than Dike approached. He knitted his eyebrows while expecting an answer, and the lump of snow fell out of my hand, splatting against the pavement. I gave an audible gulp soon after.
"No, sir. It was an... occupational hazard. But, there's no need for concern. By this time tomorrow, I'll be in shipshape and Bristol fashion."
His sullen expression told me he wasn't convinced at all. That got me a bit frightened. Perhaps he had known the whole truth from the start and he was now just making small talk. With that in mind, I didn't dare to even fidget, waiting for whatever he was planning to throw at me afterwards.
"Tell me about the last night's recon."
Hold on. That's it? I was on the verge of blurting it out loud, but I stopped myself in time. If there was a way of getting off scot-free, I couldn't mess it all up. Okay. Just relax and go with the flow. And relax. And, for pity's sake, start talking. Dike won't read your mind any time soon.
"All right. Since the wind wasn't strong last night, the recon went according to plan and I managed to fly further to the east. But, um, I saw nothing out of the ordinary in that area. Though, about eight miles north of –" I went silent, having realised that he was yawning and not paying attention to me. "Sir?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "I heard you. But, I've got to make a phone call now."
A what? I was still blinking in surprise when he moved on. However, he only made a few steps across the pavement before turning his head, which was barely enough for him to glance at me over his shoulder.
"By the way, private, I suggest you start scrounging up some ammunition for your plane. If what they say is true, nobody's gonna get resupplied in a long time. So, when we all head out to Belgium, we might have to work out with the few things we have."
"Why Belgium?"
"News just came in from the HQ." Dike whirled around, so that he was facing me again. "The 1st and 6th SS Panzer division jumped the 28th and 4th Infantry up in the north. We're gonna move out to a place called Bastogne and try to push them back – except you, that is. You're not coming with us."
If his next yawn didn't throw me off balance, what he had said about the north certainly did. Too shocked to say a thing, I stood by and waited for him to backtrack somehow, as he had to be mistaken. There was no other explanation for that. Yet, he had nothing of the sort, which gave me a strange, tight feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"But... but... does that mean I'm staying here, sir?"
"Looking for shirking duty? I'm afraid that's not gonna happen. You're going to Belgium, too, just not to the same spot as the boys. You'll be stationed at the Saint-Hubert Airfield, around eighteen miles west of Bastogne."
"When am I moving out?"
"Tonight. Make sure your things are packed by then."
I swallowed against the sudden constriction in my throat. However, every attempt at loosening it turned out to be futile.
"If you want, you can stop by your friends", Dike added coolly, "To wish them luck and such. But, then you'll report to Colonel Denham at the airfield outside of town. He'll notify you of your route before take-off."
"But, what about my ammunition? I can't just scrounge it from somewhere."
"Why not?"
"Because there's nothing left of it. And what's already loaded might not be enough I have to intervene out there."
"That's not my problem."
He can't be serious. "Sir, wait. Sir!"
Cursing under my breath when he turned around again and kept walking, I bolted after him. With a quick dash around him, I skidded to a halt right in his path, giving him no choice but to stop, as well. That didn't prevent him from sending me a deep, warning scowl, yet I ignored it altogether. I had far more pressing things to worry about.
"With all due respect, lieutenant, how can I provide air cover if I run out of bullets in the middle of a fight?"
Dike stepped back in bemusement.
"Well, private, this was unexpected. After everything the colonel told me about you, I thought you'd find some solution by yourself. But, it's fine. It happens to the best of us. You know what – since you've been doing a good job so far, I'll drop you a small hint." And then he got into my face, profoundly irritated. "Aim better. That's how you won't spend your ammo on the first day!"
At the same speed that he had jolted forward, he was back on his way, which was in the opposite direction from the barracks. He soon strolled across a street in such a leisurely pace that it was astonishing, as if the news from Belgium had been a figment of my imagination. Topping it all off, he raised his hand to hide another yawn. A part of me wished to shout after him, to tell him a thing or two about his so-called advice, but I had to settle for staring at his retreating back, complete disbelief washing over me.
How is he still alive?
.
.
I was doing my hardest to avoid Eugene, yet my luck opted to run out in the wee hours of the night. I almost collided with him at the town square, while he was pacing to and fro with a box in his hands, gathering as much medical supplies as he could find for the road ahead. At that moment, I deeply regretted not paying attention to where I was going. However, it was too late to do anything about it. He had yanked the box aside to keep me from smacking into it, utterly perplexed for seeing me here.
"Jess...", he wanted to say more, but I was quicker.
"Don't."
Darting away from him, I kept walking along he edge of the square, towards a bloke I had been trying to reach. Meanwhile, he was sitting on the front steps of a house close by, watching new snowflakes floating through the air and silently landing on the pavement. When I came closer, I noticed that his right eye was twitching every few moments. Yet, the reason behind it wasn't anger, nor the bright lights cast by the lamp posts. It was a rather large shiner he had, a souvenir from the infamous brawl we had been in.
"Hi, Shakespeare." Leaving my duffel bag on the lowest step, I went up and sat next to him. "Those lads from the 82nd can throw a bloody good punch, can't they?"
Bill muttered something I didn't catch. "If only the replacements could hit half as hard. In that case, we might have some chance in Belgium."
"Are they that troublesome?"
"They're a bunch of kids. I thought I'd see some bright ones, but those must've got lost in the goddamn ocean on their way here. These guys are –" He paused and slowly shook his head. "Jesus, I have no idea what to say."
"Bill, don't be so negative. I used to be a kid. And I wasn't too bright at the start, either."
"You're different from them."
"I might take that as a compliment."
Although I had shifted my gaze to the square, I didn't fail to notice his smug smile. Nevertheless, I said nothing, since I had begun to spot more and more figures arriving in olive drab. They were trickling into this part of Mourmelon with their gear in tow, making the assembly there larger by the minute. That could only mean that we were getting closer to moving out – and I wasn't ready to leave this place just yet.
"Speaking of fightin', Jess, don't think I didn't see what you did."
"What are you talking about?"
"You. I didn't have a clue you were talented with a tray."
His last comment rooted me to the spot. I cringed, having recalled the café and the guy I had whacked before he attacked Bill from behind. "Oh. Right. You saw... that."
He snickered. "Yeah. That."
"Hey, at least try to be serious. You know I couldn't let those bastards beat you up. With you down for the count, who will find extra cigarettes and Hershey bars for me?"
The reply I received from him this time was a playful, but well-aimed punch in the arm.
"There's one thing I don't get, though", he added in a slightly lower voice.
"And what's that?"
"About a minute after you clocked the guy, he was gone. It was like he simply vanished. Poof." Bill's hands shot up as if he were casting a spell. "His pals couldn't find him after the brawl was over. That gave 'em a fright, lemme tell ya that. But, get this – an hour or so later, the MPs found him in some side alley, a few streets away from the café."
I pretended to be surprised. "I don't believe it."
"Believe it, Jessie. Mild concussion, that's what I heard. A buddy of his was right next to him, his kneecap busted. They're both laid up at the hospital as we speak." He hunched a little with his elbows resting on his knees, clearly puzzled by everything. "Someone sure did a number on 'em."
"Did they say something about that night?"
"Only that they had it comin'. If you ask me, they should thank God that I wasn't there. If one of those two hit you in front of me, they wouldn't be able to talk at all."
Shit. "How do you – why do you think I was there?"
"Because one side of your face is as purple as some weird fruit. You can say whatever you want, but I know you don't get something like that by slippin' on a wet floor."
"Maybe, if you hit the floor hard enough."
"Yeah, and if that floor chose to punch back." He peered at me, his brow furrowed in suspicion. "They came after you after the fight. I got that. But, you weren't alone when that happened. Someone gave you a helpin' hand in that alley."
"What, you don't think I can fend for myself?"
"Against those two? Gimme a break. Each of 'em is bigger than me!"
Judging by his pinched face, I could never talk my way out of this. However, that didn't mean that I should tell him the whole story, with all the important details. No. Absolutely not.
"If you really want to know, it was he who needed help." I pulled a face at Bill's blank look. "Do I look like I'm joking? He was in a tight spot and I tried to help him. But, that went a bit south, so he ended up helping me, instead."
"Huh. Why doesn't that surprise me?"
I returned the favour by giving him a light cuff upside the head. He smirked at me, yet that only lasted until a gust of wind blew into our faces, scattering the snow and turning us both into a shivering, teeth-chattering mess. It was so cold that I hardly felt my nose.
"D-d-damn it." Bill blew in his hands and rubbed them together in an attempt to warm them up. "Jess, can I ask ya somethin'?"
"You already have. Haven't you noticed?"
"Okay, smart alec. Here's another one. What did I miss while I was in England?"
Hardly did he say it than I froze. I didn't know what expression I had at the time, but whatever it looked like, it suddenly wiped all the cheerfulness from Bill's face. What remained was a mixture of fear and concern etched on his features, which made me bite my lip in dread. However, everything became worse as he slowly moved to the lower steps, crouching right in front of me.
"Jess. Hey." Bill moved his head at an angle, so that he could get a better view of my face. "I can tell it was bad. That look of yours when I saw you at the café summed it up. But – Jess, please look at me. I gotta know how bad it really was."
"Why?"
"Maybe your ol' pal could help. Or find a way to do it. What do you think 'bout that?"
"I seriously doubt it."
"Try me."
"Okay. Try this, then. I deserted and hitch-hiked through Holland, France and England to get to my sister. We ran away together and hid in another city, just for Denham to find us about a week later."
For all the months I had known Bill, I had never seen him so stunned. Unaware that his mouth was a tad slack, he was barely blinking, and I could have sworn I heard the cogs turning in his head.
"I went to my neighbour's..." I swallowed hard, my bravado breaking like thin ice when someone would step on it. "And he was there. He made himself comfortable on the couch, sipping on his tea. When I saw him, I thought I was a gonner."
"But, you've been alive and kickin' so far."
"Only because he needed me here." A quiet sigh escaped me. "I wish I never came back from Normandy, Bill."
He abruptly straightened up on the steps. "Jessie, you can't say things like that."
"Why not? If I hadn't got out of that forest on D-Day, I wouldn't have to put up with all of this now. I wouldn't even have to be here!"
"And what would Neve do without you around, huh? What would the company do?"
My chest felt incredibly tight. Keeping my head low, I raked my fingers through my hair before forcing myself to look him in the eye once more. Unfortunately, from that point on, things went further downhill. My hands trembled at the thought that this fight could be my last, which was quite possible given how little ammunition I had. I would rather stay in France, where it was remotely safe, yet Denham's and Dike's orders were hovering above my head, waiting to be followed.
"I don't know what to do", I whispered, clasping my hands together to stop the shaking, but with no success, "I – I'm scared."
Bill's answer was lost in the splutter of a truck engine. I looked up, expecting to see it somewhere in the distance. To my horror, the vehicle was already here, rumbling on the other side of the square. It waited for the gathered lads to create a gap large enough for it to pass, and then it steadily moved to a spot not far from Bill and me. As I jumped to my feet, shielding my eyes against the falling snow, the tailgate was dropped with a clang. A face I didn't recognise soon peeked out from the trucks back end.
"Which one of you is heading for the airfield?", the stranger shouted to nobody in particular.
I hastily raised my free hand. The bloke beckoned to me and, while he retreated inside the vehicle, I couldn't have felt more nauseous. For a few seconds, I contemplated throwing up in the empty flower pot at the bottom of the stairs. However, I forgot about that when Bill stood up and grasped my wrist, tugging me closer to him. His hand slid down after that, halting when two of his fingers gingerly wrapped around mine.
"Don't be scared", he said, just loud enough for me to hear it, "You've got no reason for that. You're gonna be a-okay, you hear me?"
"Aye. I hear you." Pulling my hand free, I picked up my duffel bag and hefted it over my shoulder. "Good luck, Bill. But, if I hear that you commandeered a motorcycle for joyriding again, I'll find you. And perhaps shoot you."
He became quiet, stopped in his tracks. Yet, it wasn't long until he managed a smile in understanding. He knew that the only thing I could do now, apart from sniffling, was to crack jokes.
"Your threats are beginning to sound a lot like mine." He flashed a small grin. "Are you sure we're not related?"
I wished I could grin back, but I was afraid that I would start to crumble if I stayed only a moment longer. Giving him a short pat on the shoulder, I turned my back on him and ambled towards the parked truck, which hadn't stopped grumbling on the pavement. Once I made it to one of its muddy back tires, I readied myself for the task of flinging my heavy bag over the tailgate.
However, I didn't get to throw it.
"You should quit following me, Eugene."
Without a single word, he stepped out from behind a lamp post closest to the truck. I thought he would leave me alone, but his weary gaze lingered on me, even when I was the one who moved, walking past him towards the tailgate. Having lifted my bag with a grunt, I sent it flying into the truck, where it landed with a dull thud.
"Why the long face?", I asked him, "Thanks to you, I can't run away anymore. You should be happy."
There was no reply from him. Once I brushed my hands against my trousers, I turned around, hoping to see that he had left at last. Yet, not only was he still there, but he traipsed to me until he was a couple of steps away, the half-empty cardboard box remaining in his arms.
"I need to talk to you."
"Why? You said more than enough the last time we talked." Unwilling to hear what he would say next, I moved to the tailgate and came face to face with a handful of pilots sitting inside. "Oi, lads, you couldn't help a colleague, could you?"
The closest bloke grabbed my hand. He hauled me up and I settled beside him, flinching in fright when the tailgate was slammed shut, followed by a shudder that coursed through the entire vehicle. The engine coughed and spluttered, while the wheels crunched the snow underneath, steadily pushing the truck away from Eugene and the square.
A part of me was glad we were going separate ways.
.
.
"There's another one on two o'clock and –!"
The voice from the radio was silenced in a blink. I gasped and careened my Spitfire to the right, hardly avoiding a plummeting Allied plane. My insides writhed as it dropped like a stone, straight through the spot I had been in seconds ago, its hull enveloped in flames. However, I had to pull myself together fast when someone fired at me from behind. With a hard wrench of the control stick, I sent the plane into a quick turn, escaping the spray of bullets.
The airfield was lost – after two relatively peaceful days, a bomber had appeared above Saint-Hubert, blowing the supply areas, buildings and runways to kingdom come. A few pilots somehow scrambled to their planes alive and took off, including me. But, that was all the success we notched up. We never managed to fly to safety, because the bomber's escort intercepted us east from our post and began hunting us across the Belgian sky.
I had never seen so many Messerschmitts in one place.
Saints help us. Another sharp turn helped me shake off my pursuer, which dashed past me, disappearing somewhere in the clouds. I heaved a sigh after that, certain that my heart was thumping three times its normal pace. But, then a movement made me look up, just as another Allied plane whooshed above me. A P-51 Mustang was being chased by a second Messerschmitt and, despite manoeuvring skillfully, it was struggling to fly out of the line of fire. I hurriedly applied rudder, darting after.
"I've got one on my six...", the pilot's voice shouted in my headphones, "Can't shake him off!"
"Ten-four, I'm coming. Just hold on!"
However, catching up with them was the only easy part. Having levelled my plane with the German bird's tail, engaging in the pursuit, I was at a loss how to help the P-51. Both planes were now moving in rapid spirals so as to outsmart each other. It was unbelievably hard just to follow them, let alone shoot at the same time. I chewed on my lip at the thought that I could hit the wrong bird. Yet, I was running out of time too quickly. The P-51 could be hosed at any moment, which would certainly happen if I kept hesitating.
Come on. Come on, you can do it. Just move it a bit to the left. Tightening my shaky grip on the stick, I corrected my aim and took my chances. I fired in a single, short spurt – but I missed the plane's tail. Nevertheless, the rounds peppered its right wing, forcing it to give up on the chase. Relief flooded through me as the bird pulled out, while the P-51 was left in one piece. But, that welcome feeling lasted only shortly before I was pelted again, this time from the side.
I pressed the stick and plunged.
Dodging the fire, I led the Spitfire into a descent, flying down further and further until I was a few feet away above the ground. That should discourage the other bird from following me. However, to my utter surprise, it remained at my heels, firing whenever it had the chance. The fact that we were dangerously close to the rooftops of a town below didn't bother the pilot. On the contrary, the close proximity just made him more keen on knocking me down.
All right, you've asked for it. Let's dance. Holding my breath, I waited for the moment I would pass the building ahead. That was when I tugged the stick with all my strength. The engine thundered and the Spitfire turned across the Messerschmitt's flight path that I became queasy. My stomach felt as if something had shoved it against my spine, yet it was worth it. I ended up right behind the German plane in hot pursuit. Having closed one eye, I aimed at its fuselage, but I didn't get the chance to fire as it abruptly banked in front of me. Without a warning, the plane soared while rolling into a turn – and vanished.
I looked around in shock, searching for the bird. However, I couldn't find it anywhere. The only things I saw on the other side of the canopy were the other birds, engaged in their own fights high above. It was then that my attacker returned and headed towards me. I swallowed thickly, moving out of its way while it re-positioned nearby. After angling the Spitfire to the side, I evaded the other plane's rounds, huffing at how they had almost ripped through my cockpit.
My mind was racing by then, grasping for an idea to take the bird out. There had to be some way I could fly to its tail once more and stay there. Yet, I pushed that aside when I looked to my right – my eyes going wide at the dark silhouette of a second Messerschmitt bolting in my direction, the sun shining at its back. I was at the start of a barrel-roll as it zipped closer and got me in its range.
It shot me without a second thought.
A horrific sound rattled the engine, the type that curled my toes inside my boots. A faint stutter followed and, for the second time in six months, I was falling. However, I didn't have the chance to straighten the plane. A part of it slammed into something, sending the whole world into a violent spin. Pain tore through my leg, but I couldn't scream as my head was smacked against something, at the same time when the Spitfire screeched to an unexpected stop. The bird became absolutely still in an instant, eerie silence draping over the cockpit like a shroud.
Jesus Christ. Am I dead? Between shallow breaths, I pushed down a lump in my throat, my gaze flickering over my surroundings. The inside of the plane was strangely dark, as if someone had turned down the sun during the fall. Trying to get a better look around, shifting a little only to yelp, digging the back of my head into my seat while my leg protested. Sighing shakily, I glanced down and saw an alarmingly dark stain on my right trouser leg. It was steadily spreading under my knee, around a sharp object sticking out of my skin.
"Okay...", I muttered to myself as I stared at the piece of metal, doing my hardest not to gag, "You're okay. It's not that bad."
Of course, everything was miles away from okay. But, if I could feel that, it meant that I hadn't bitten the dust. Not yet, at least. Gritting my teeth, I searched for something else to think about aside from the pain when I was hit by an awful smell. I coughed, yet I stiffened soon after, having found out that there was smoke all around me. Long, dark wisps of it were snaking their way through the air, steadily filling up the cockpit. It didn't last long until I began to cough again.
I had to get out of there. Reaching out with quivering arms, I succeeded at unbuckling myself. However, instead of thrusting myself out of the seat, something jerked me upwards, and I collapsed on the broken canopy with a grunt. I lied motionlessly for a moment, gaping at the seat that was by some means above me. It dawned on me that the plane had flipped over during the crash. What was up was now down, and the other way round. That explained the reversed fall.
"Shit." Moving my pounding head to the side, I cast a better look at the damaged canopy. It had been pressed into the earth when the Spitfire had dropped, with snow being pushed through the cracks. Yet, despite that, a small section of the canopy was above ground-level. Hopefully, it should be enough for me to squeeze through. Bringing myself up to my knees, I latched to the edge of the canopy to yank it open.
Nothing happened, however. It simply didn't budge. I pulled again with all my strength, which resulted with me slumping back in exhaustion. My vision was tunnelling by then, darkness floating at its edges and spreading. But, I couldn't give up when the exit was so close. Shaking slightly, I pushed myself up again and gave it another go.
Fare thee well, love. I hacked a few more times before wrenching my sidearm out of its holster. After some fumbling while taking the safety off, I aimed at the constantly darkening space in front of me, and hid my face in the crook of my free elbow. Regret for what I was about to do to my trusty plane would come later. My ears rang at the first shot, the recoil almost ripping the gun out of my hand, but I held onto it tighter. I fired a few more times until I faintly heard the canopy shatter into piece. That was my cue to try to crawl out.
With vision now reduced to a head of a pin, I reached out and felt the hole I had made. Clutching the edges of it, I shouted when the remaining shards dug into my palms. But, that didn't stop me from mustering all my remaining strength to wrench my upper body through the opening, out of the smoke.
The bitterly cold air felt like heaven. I gulped in gasping breaths, just to cough harshly. However, despite of finally, mercifully escaping, I had to keep moving. Having jerked my legs through the canopy – first the bleeding one and then the other – I continued to drag myself across the crisp white powder, tears prickling in my eyes. Even though I couldn't clearly see where I was heading, any direction opposite from the plane would suffice. If there was smoke inside the cockpit, there also could be a fire, and I didn't want to be close if the flames started licking the fuselage.
I didn't know how much time had passed when I couldn't carry on anymore. I also had no clue whether it was the pain or lack of strength. All I was aware of was me moving forward in one second, and in the other, I dropped on my stomach, hacking like never before in my life. Relying on sheer willpower, I pushed an arm underneath me and used it to weakly turn myself to the side. It didn't help my leg, yet it made gasping for breath a lot easier. I curled in the snow as I coughed for the umpteenth time, waiting for the burning in my chest to lessen.
"Oh, mon Dieu!"
The shout yanked me from my daze. Not long after that, a sound of something rustling reached my ears. My vision hadn't cleared enough in the meantime, so I noticed only a faint shape moving in the distance. While it seemed to be coming closer, I gracelessly ran my hand over the ground, hoping to find the sidearm I had dropped. I clutched at it the second I touched it, whirling on my back and aiming at the silhouette.
"Don't you fucking move", I said hoarsely. Letting out a surprised sound, the figure stopped in front of me.
"Qui êtes-vous? (Who are you?)", it exclaimed.
The voice obviously belonged to a young woman. And she was speaking French, which wasn't one of my talents. But, that was everything I could say for certain. Although she wasn't far, she still looked less like a person and more like a shadow. Keeping my aim on her, I tried taking a sitting position. However, I sank back on the ground instead, too exhausted to hide a groan after I coughed again.
The woman visibly winced at the sound, yet she didn't move away. In fact, she did something I would never expect. She moved towards me slowly, with one hand outstretched, as if she had forgotten that I had a loaded gun in my grip.
"Don't move!", I warned, "I won't say it again!"
She stopped once again, the snow crunching under her feet. Yet, then she slowly raised her hands, until they were at the same height as her shoulders. It took me a while to figure out what she was showing me – that she was unarmed. Sadly, I couldn't notice if she had a weapon even if I squinted.
"You're anglais?", she asked in a bewildered tone, "British?"
"And you're not." Unlike her, I was scared half to death, especially while glancing at the silhouette of my plane smoking behind her. However, she didn't need to find that out. Being sardonic was one of the ways of keeping that dread hidden. "Belgian, I assume? Nice to meet you."
"Good. Now that we know who is who, will you put that down?"
"After a morning like this? I don't think so."
She frowned a little. "You sound like I'm your enemy."
"Maybe because you could be one. If you think I'll risk it and drop the gun, you're very wrong."
"You are the one who is wrong, anglais. I'm not here to harm you. I just heard a crash and ran over here, to see what happened. Nothing more."
Her voice was gentle, calm, as if she were talking to a creature she didn't want to scare away. But, although I was tempted, I couldn't let go of the sidearm. I strengthened my hold, because this might easily be a trap set up for me. There was a possibility that I had crashed somewhere near the front line, or behind it, and that the woman could be working for the Germans.
Speaking of which, they could be already here. Perhaps they were hiding somewhere, watching the both of us, waiting for her to pry the weapon out of my hands before they sprung into action. That was why I kept it as steady as I could in my weakened state. I wasn't going to be locked away and interrogated like what happened in Carentan, or worse. Not while I was still breathing.
"You're hurt", she said, "I can see that you're in pain, too. Let me help."
"Nobody here can help me."
"I can." She lowered her hands for a bit, but they remained up. "I can fix your leg before it gets infected. Or your hands, for that matter. Stitching them up won't be a problem."
"My hands are perfectly well, thank you very much."
The woman quietly scoffed. "If that's 'perfectly well' to you, I wonder what 'not good' looks like."
I let out a painful hiss as maintained my grip on the gun. I must have cut my palms quite badly, since something warm was oozing from them and down my wrists. It was making the sidearm so slick that holding it was cringe-worthy. Yet, there was no way I would let it drop.
I took a more comfortable position in the snow, sucking in unsteady breaths. "Listen, whatever your name is –"
"It's Renée."
"Well, Renée, why do I have the feeling you're not alone?"
"Perhaps because you landed in a town."
"You know what I mean, so stop the funny business. You have some friends of yours nearby, in case things went awry, don't you?"
"Nobody else is here, anglais. I came here alone. You have to believe me."
"Give me one good reason why I should do that."
Renée straightened up for a bit, the look on her face becoming solemn. "I have just the thing – you're losing a lot of blood. Without me, you can't take that thing out of your leg and stop the bleeding. Sooner or later, you'll reach that point where 'nobody can help', as you said. So, put the gun down, and let me see what's wrong. D'accord? (Okay?)"
I was about to retort when another cough and splutter beat me to it. I doubled over, horror splashing me as my hand involuntarily went down. That was when Renée took the chance and hurried to my side. Before I could raise the sidearm again, she grabbed it first with her hand around the barrel, keeping it pointed away from us, and snatched my hand with the other. I grunted, trying to prevent her from taking the gun away. But, I didn't have the strength to fight as I used to. She easily pulled the weapon out of my slick fingers, lowering it to the ground just beyond my reach.
I couldn't have been more screwed.
While the cough subsided, I stared up at her, expecting her to pick up the sidearm herself and point the business end of it at me. However, she merely turned her back on it. She left it in the snow without a second glance, reaching for something on her front that looked like an apron. Hearing her tearing off a piece of it and feeling as she tied the cloth above my knee like a makeshift tourniquet, I dared to believe that she wasn't here to kill me, or hand me over to the Germans. But, my hope wavered a bit as she suddenly tightened the cloth, making me shriek.
Renée shushed me, tying off the knot. "There. I'm done."
"You'll be done when I –" I hacked again, this time harsh enough to be left bone-tired and breathless on the ground. Even the simple task of shifting my head proved to be difficult. That's it. After all that smoke, I'll never touch a cigarette in my life.
While I heard Renée ripping another piece of her apron, I glanced at what was going on behind her. By then, I still couldn't see everything properly, yet I could make out more details instead of merely greyish stains. Among them was my plane, or what was left of it. It hit me that it had not only turned upside-down, but it had also dug a long furrow in the ground before finally halting. There was something scary in seeing a magnificent bird lying like that, reduced to a smoking wreckage.
My heart flipped, yet for a different reason. What really filled me with unease was not knowing what would happen to me next. Flying a plane was my job and it was what I knew best. It was also my only strength in a case of a fight. Without it, I had nothing to defend myself and the lads with. I couldn't have been more helpless than a kitten. That compelled me to turn to my last option – which was escaping this place, the sooner the better.
"Renée?", I asked in a raspy voice. Once her gaze darted to me, I paused for a while, attempting at recalling all those dots I had seen on the maps at the Mourmelon-le-Grand Airfield. Saint-Hubert might have been turned into a pile of rubble, but that didn't mean that the other airfields in the area had shared the same fate. If my brain wasn't scrambled from the blow, the closest airfield to Saint-Hubert was a few miles north, at the city of Liege.
"Oui? (Yes?)", she asked and I realised I hadn't said a thing.
"Could you show me where the road to Liege is?"
She made a bitter smile. "The only road you'll be taking, anglais, is the one to the hospital."
"My name is Jess, not anglais. And, fine, I'll go there. But, after I get patched up, could you show me the way north?"
She didn't look up, since she was occupied with tearing another piece of her apron. It was then that I found out how young she actually was. After a closer look at her pale, oval face, I reckoned she wasn't much older than me. What on earth is she doing so close to the line?
"You know, I've never met someone so têtu. Stubborn."
"I've been told that. A lot." I flinched as she covered my hands with what remained of her apron. "But, I'm serious. I need to go there."
"I'm afraid that won't happen."
I tensed up at the sadness in her voice. The way she looked at me didn't seem right, either. It was almost as if she was pitying me for having crashed here of all places, and made it out alive.
"Why?", I asked, somehow finding the will to crack a smile, "Are you taking me prisoner?"
"We're all prisoners here." Renée tiredly sighed, her shoulders visibly sagging under the grey sweater she was wearing. "We're entourée. Surrounded."
"You're – I'm sorry, what?"
"The Germans, they came three days ago and surrounded the town. They closed off all the roads. Nobody can go in and nobody can get out – unless you want to break through their lines alone."
She reached up and took off the bright blue scarf she had around her head. Having taken a brief look at it while she placed it on her lap, she smiled, but that smile never seemed to reach her eyes.
"Welcome to Bastogne." As quickly as someone would blow out a candle, her smile dropped. "Do you hear that?"
Hear what? I opened my mouth to ask her. However, a too familiar sound was much faster. It was coming from the sky, bringing back memories that made me clench the earth underneath me. I didn't have the guts to look up at first, because I knew what I would see if I did so. But, I soon picked up what was left of my courage and moved my gaze up, and then to the side, recognizing a shape of a Messerschmitt.
It was flying incredibly low above the town, tilted slightly to one side. My breath hitched when I realized why it hadn't chosen a different path, and why it was flying in that position. It wasn't simply flying over Bastogne on its way back to the rest of the bomber's escort – it was coming back for any survivors of the crash.
That definitely wasn't a good thing.
Uh-oh.
Before the next chapter comes out, please, let me know what you think about this one. All reviews will be deeply appreciated! :)