Hello again, dear readers and reviewers! :) I owe each of you another huge apology for disappearing for such a long time – especially after the little cliffhanger from the previous chapter (no spoilers for those who haven't read it yet ;) ). I'm fairly certain that I've become boring, constantly asking you for patience and forgiveness. But, I'm afraid I can't upload new chapters at a faster pace. If I did, I wouldn't have much time to spare for them. Not only would they be shorter, but they would also be of lower quality than the previous chapters – and I think that would be an injustice to all of you, who have followed this story so far. So, don't lose hope. I'll be back as soon as I can. :)
But, firstly, a shout-out to these wonderful people: annabelleigh1996 (Thank you for your lovely review! I've been hardly waiting to write the meeting between Jess and Renée. I'm so glad that you like it! :) Speaking of Renée, I also like her character in the miniseries. It's just too bad that she wasn't given more time on-screen. Have a splendid day! :) ), vintagecowgirl101 (Heeey,welcome back! It's always great to hear from you! And thank you so much for your kind words, I greatly appreciate them. :) You're not the only one who missed good ol' Jess for so long – I missed her very much, too. ;) ), Afreakbynature, (Your wish is coming true today! I only hope that you'll like this chapter as much as the previous one. :) Welcome to the story, by the way! :) ), Love-Fiction.2016 (Thank you! Have a wonderful day!), Cayendoenelolvido (When I found out how much these updates make you happy, I was thrilled to bits. Thank you so much! I hope this chapter won't be a disappointment. :) I'm also glad that you liked how Jess and Renée met. They will appear in two large parts of this chapter, so keep an eye out for them. :) I tried to add Eugene here, as well, but I had already planned too many things to happen. With him in tow, the chapter would end up as too long. I had no choice but to move that extra "scene" with him to Chapter 43. But, don't worry – you will find out soon what happens there. :) ), ZukiShi (Thank you very much! ), xxReaper666xx (Welcome to the story! It's always wonderful to come across someone new. And thank you!), and last, but not least – Velanburg (Hello and welcome!).
Many thanks to Booklover0802, InfinityMars, Live and Love16, TroubleMaker1397, iijoanne, xxReaper666xx, 1dreamymimi (I like your username so much ;) ), SconnieGirl92, amariabt, stephiegjohnson and Velanburg for the favourites and follows!
By the way, there are some (but not many) parts of this chapter written in French. It has been a long time since I was studying it, so I profusely apologise for any grammar mistakes made. If there is someone among you who speak French, feel free to correct me. :)
That's it from me, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy the chapter! And, if you have the time, let me know what you think about it. It doesn't matter if the reviews have just one word or many more – they are the fuel for my writing. ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own Band of Brothers. This piece of writing 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-Two – No Rest For The Air Support
I never got the chance to reach my gun.
Before I could even turn my head in its direction, Renée clutched my jacket and wrenched me backwards, dragging me after her. But, although she moved as fast as she possibly could, that still wasn't fast enough. And the snowdrift halfway to her knees wasn't of much help. Gracelessly turning on my stomach, I grabbed the hem of her sweater so as to haul myself up. I shuffled my heavy feet in hope that they would cooperate somehow – until my bad leg got smacked against a rock and I went down again, shouting at the top of my lungs.
That didn't make Renée falter, though. She carried on at the same pace, her grip firm even while the Messerschmidt's rattle drew closer. Skidding to a stop under a tree close by, she sank to the ground to catch her breath, just when the plane whooshed above our heads. Chills crawled up my spine as the bird flew parallel to the path we had been on. It darted further to the east and soon vanished out of sight, yet its deep rumble lingered, loud enough to leave my ears ringing.
"Renée?", I shouted over the noise, turning back to her, "Renée, you alright?"
She slowly nodded in return and I heaved a sigh. However, my relief was gone the moment I noticed her concerned gaze, fixed on something below us. I looked down and, once I realised what it was, my throat became tight, dread already pooling in the pit of my stomach. The cloth around my leg had come undone. With nothing left to apply pressure, blood was oozing down my boot again, slowly leaking into the dirt. Shit, this is bad. This is very, very bad.
I couldn't walk anywhere like this, let alone run. Staying here in the open wasn't an option, either. A small voice in the back of my head told me that, if I wanted to get out of here alive, I had to staunch the flow fast. Otherwise – I swallowed hard at the other possibility. Having brushed that thought aside, I shoved my shaky hands into my pockets, in search of anything that could be of use.
"What are you doing?" Renée's face appeared above me with a frown. She tried to reach out, but I hastily moved my leg away.
"It's okay. I can solve this. I–I think."
Unfortunately, my hopes quickly fizzled out. I glared at a couple of spare rounds for my sidearm, a battered lighter and a cracker I had forgotten ages ago. I clenched the items in my hands, having a good mind to fling them somewhere. Yet, I gave up on that idea the second I gave the Zippo a closer look. Instead, I shifted it slightly in my grasp and flicked the thing open, lighting a small flame. And then, just as quickly as the light came into view, the dread inside me tripled and twisted my insides further. I'm not going to enjoy this, am I?
"Jess?", Renée asked, this time more incredulous.
Not now. Please, not now. Not now. I bit my lip while I carefully placed one round on a path of dirt, at the base of the tree. Taking a few deep, yet unsteady breaths, I picked up a large rook that was near my feet and tested its weight in my hand. Perhaps that should do the trick.
"Watch the plane for me, yeah?"
"But –"
"I need your help. If–if it starts turning back, just let me know."
I didn't know whether she really listened to me or not, since I was busy using the rock to crack the round open. It took me more than a few tries and letting it all go crossed my mind somewhere along the line. But, the thing eventually gave way, the dark powder spilling out on the ground. Doing my best to keep my hands remotely steady, I scooped up what I could in my palm before steeling myself for the next part.
"Where's the plane?" By the time I flexed my hand into a fist lest I lost the powder, my voice was already breaking. There was nothing I could do to make it stop, however. "Renée? Is it – close?"
"Je ne sais pas. (I don't know.) I cannot see it."
"What? What do you mean, you can't?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Renée tilting a bit to the side, shading her eyes with her hand as she gazed forward. "It disappeared behind those buildings and –" All of a sudden, her eyes widened and she pointed a finger in the distance. "There it is. Mon Dieu, it's coming back!"
Oh, shit. The ominous roar of the engine was growing louder by the second. Forcing down another lump down my throat, I bent my knee a little in order to reach the piece of debris in my lower leg. I yanked it out with a grunt and, before I could lose my nerve, I opened my other fist and poured all the powder into the wound. A groan escaped me as it stung horribly, tears already welling up in my eyes.
I let out a shaky breath, my vision already swimming by then. Everything about this felt utterly wrong and I halted, wishing to walk away from this. I was longing for a different solution so badly, any solution for that matter. Yet, if there was a moment for changing minds, it was far gone by now. Having gathered what was left of my resolve, I snatched the Zippo, bringing its tip to the hole under my knee and the powder visible on its surface. And then I pushed the metal cap up to light it.
My vision turned black at the edges.
Searing pain shot up my leg, through my stomach, and rammed straight into my head. The next thing I recalled was keeling over, my back striking against the ground. Someone shouted from nearby, but I couldn't put my finger on who that was. The voice seemed dull and distant somehow, like when the volume was turned down on an old wireless. I was only certain that there were dark blotches everywhere I looked, gradually spreading along my line of sight until –
"No! Non, don't close your eyes! Jess!"
Renée was there with no warning, patting my cheek firmly and relentlessly. While I was blinking back to my senses, I raised an unsteady hand to swat hers away. However, my eyes flew open instead and I jerked back, abruptly aware that she was looming inches above me. Whatever she had seen turned her face ashen with fear.
"Jess, get up!" A hard tug at my jacket made me snap out of it. "Get up, get up, GET UP!"
In the next moment, I was scrambling back to my wobbly feet, my arm looped around Renée's shoulders, eyes glued on the plane. The bird was now flying lower than before, its silhouette dark against the sky as it thundered towards us. I barely had the time to gulp when Renée whirled around with me. That was when she made a run for it, pulling me along.
It was more similar to a jog than a sprint, but every second step was a nightmare. Every time I had to put some weight on my leg, my knee was dangerously close to buckling and I had to swallow each groan. Yet, there was no way I could stop. If I did, Renée would stop as well, and both of us would be dead. While she kept me upright, I huffed loudly and forced myself to keep running, just a bit longer, just a little bit further. It shouldn't be very long now. That thought stuck with me as we pushed through a thick hedgerow and ended up in a wide street clear of snow, ruins of a few houses lined up on one side.
We were one third down the street when Renée slipped.
She crumpled to the asphalt, yanking me down with her, and I dropped to the wrong knee with a scream. My vision blurred with tears, almost impossible to choke back. Keeping them at bay with everything I had, I struggled to get back up. I had to get up before it was too late. Once I pushed myself to my feet, I grabbed Renée by the apron to pull her after me. But, then my leg chose to give out for good, which sent me toppling to my hands and knees, gasping from the pain. Renée shouted something in French – but her voice was cut short by a loud, dry rattle as the Messerschmidt opened fire at us.
With strength born in despair, I clambered back up and lunged sideways, running into Renée head-first. That knocked us both over, straight through a cellar on our left. At one second, we were plunging into the darkness, but in the next one, we hit the floor at the bottom with a heavy thud. My side throbbed as it crashed into what felt like concrete, chucking up dust everywhere.
And then the bullets went through the wooden door, like a hot knife through butter. The rounds punched holes in the floor and Renée screamed while I instantly curled up, covering my head with my hands. A heartbeat later, as swiftly as someone would flip a light switch, it was over. The gunfire abruptly ceased before the plane flew above our hiding place. Within moments, the noise the engine was making faded away as well.
I didn't dare to move at first.
Lying on my side, with my knees pulled to my chest and my heart threatening to burst out, I stared at the floor in front of me. The cluster of holes left by the rounds ended right next to my head. I still had my gaze fixed on them when everything became simply too much to be kept under a lid. I couldn't take it anymore, no matter how hard I tried. And so I lowered my head until it touched the dusty floor again. No sooner did I screw my eyes shut than I shuddered, breaking into tears in the end.
"Ça va? (Are you okay?) What's wrong?"
Renée lowered her hand on my back. However, I couldn't bring myself to look up at her. I just shook my head in reply and clenched my jaw, praying that would reign the sobs in. Nevertheless, it was painful. Everything felt incredibly painful.
"Let's get you off the floor, oui?. You'll feel much better." Even if I wanted to stay right where I was, I didn't have the strength to argue. Renée carefully pulled me up and, for a minute, I was assured that I would be up and walking without her help. Yet, I suddenly started to list sideways and Renée grabbed me by the shoulders to keep me steady. "Zut alors, anglais. What were you thinking, jumping down here like that?"
I was unable to give her an answer. Drenched in sweat, my shirt clinging uncomfortably to my back like a second skin, I was shivering – and I had never felt so desperately tired, so lost.
Come to think of it, I wasn't supposed to be here right now. I should have been sitting in a cozy kitchen with my sister and probably making sandwiches, instead of bleeding on the floor of some decrepit, long-forgotten basement. But, Neve was gone, that kitchen was gone as well, and I was once again on the run from blokes who were trying quite hard to do me in. Instead of letting that happen, I should have found a way not to get dragged back into this.
For fuck's sake, I should have fought harder.
With tears rolling down my cheeks, my hand fisting in my hair, I barely noticed that Renée was rubbing a few comforting circles on my back. However, that wasn't helpful in the slightest. I didn't feel better. If anything, it only led to my breath catching in my throat and I let out a couple of small, pathetic hiccups.
"I'm really sorry." Readjusting her grip on my jacket, she hauled me up and helped me shuffle to the far corner of the cellar, where was tad less dusty. Unluckily, my leg chose to flare up along the way. I halted once more with a grunt, more tears brimming over. "Shhh. It's alright. You're alright."
Through bleary vision, I somehow sauntered to the wall and leaned my back against it. That was when I let gravity take over, finally and mercifully sliding down to the floor.
"A–are you hurt?", I asked, only to cringe at how shaky my voice was.
"Non. I'm fine."
She didn't sound that way, though. Having wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand, I caught a glimpse of her hands, clenched into fists at her sides, yet visibly trembling. She must have been even more shaken up than I was. But, I didn't have the time to say anything, because she beat me to it.
"The plane –" She stopped to swallow thickly. "Will it come back?"
"I don't know. But, w–we should wait here for a while. Just i–in case."
She didn't seem too thrilled about the idea. However, not long after she sat on the floor beside me, her gaze wandered to my torn trouser leg, and her expression changed. In a matter of moments, it changed from afraid to solemn, perhaps a tad concerned as well. Having shifted closer, she pried away the torn fabric with gentle care, gaining a better look at the burn underneath.
Mary, mother of God. I merely got a brief look of the damage, yet it was enough for the nausea to kick in. It felt as if my stomach were moving, steadily crawling up and heading towards my throat. I quickly turned my head away, trying to focus on something else – which ended up being the floor peppered with bullet holes. But, then a thought hit me, fueling the suspicion I was already harbouring.
The Belgian lass hardly blinked at the burn mark. Even though the darkened patch of skin was horrific in my eyes, she only frowned at the sight. While she was scrutinising it from a different angle, I moved my hand closer and pressed it against the floor for better support. I was going to need that in case trouble occurred.
"You've seen things like these before." I sniffled and tilted my head a bit to the side, gauging her reaction. "Haven't you?"
She quietly sighed. "Too many times. I'm a nurse."
"You? No way."
"Oh, yes way." She gingerly prodded at the skin around the burn. I did my best not to flinch, yet I failed when she pressed a particularly sore spot. "You did a good job with this, Jess. It's an old method and a little... brut. Crude. But, it worked."
At that point, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or start crying again. But, it slipped my mind when she gave me an mildly confused look.
"I didn't know British pilots were taught this."
"They weren't."
I abruptly went silent after that, having given myself a mental smack upside the head. I shouldn't be saying too much about these things. Although she had helped me avoid being shot up, it still wasn't a guarantee that we were on the same side. I simply couldn't take that chance, despite everything.
Come on. Think. "A–a friend taught me. I never thought I'd do it, though."
"You should thank him."
"Aye. Or slog him for giving me deranged ideas."
Renée shrugged. "You could do that, too."
Only then did it occur to me how quiet everything was. I gazed up at the door, and the light streaming through the holes in the wood, soon discovering that there was no noise from the outside. The familiar belt of a Messerschmidt was gone. I couldn't hear it even as I strained my ears. Wondering what was going on, I tried to move a bit to the left, when I found out that the darkness inside the cellar had grown denser. The air seemed different as well, having become stale and almost syrupy.
"How are you feeling?" Renée popped into my view. She seemed more concerned than the last time we talked. "Jess, are you still with me?"
"I–I think so." I scrubbed a hand down the side of my face, willing the haze to dissipate. "Urgh. Is the hospital far from here?"
"It's a couple of streets away. But, you won't be walking out of here so soon, not like that." She reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and rectangular, wrapped in a creased white paper. There was a large tear in it, with something dark peeing from the inside. "Take this."
"What's that?"
"You've never seen chocolat before?", she asked in a mystified voice. I shot a glare at her. "Vas-y. (Come on.) You look like you're going to pass out. Some sugar will help, so try and eat some of this."
I thought of shaking my head. I wasn't entirely sure if I could stomach it. But, I was certain that she wasn't going to accept 'no' as an answer. That was why I eventually took the chocolate from her. Hoping not to let it slip through my still shaky hands, I broke off a small piece of it and popped it in my mouth.
"When was the last time you ate something?"
"Maybe yesterday." I thoughtfully chewed on the piece of chocolate. It was cold and brittle, yet it tasted almost as sweet as I remembered. "I don't recall. The last f–few days were a real hustle and bustle."
"I understand. Things have been the same over here."
"What are you doing in this town, anyway?" I paused, wincing as I shifted my leg. "Did the Red Cross send you here?"
"Send me?" She let out a short chuckle. "I lived here all my life. And, after we heard that the Germans were coming, I decided to stay, to help."
"That might be an honourable thing to do. But, it's not very smart."
"Neither is fighting German planes." Her eyes narrowed at me. "How did you become le pilote? I've never heard they allowed la femme – a woman – to fly with the others."
"Now, that's a long story to tell."
"Oh. But, is it a good one?"
"No." I breathed a small sigh before taking another piece of chocolate. "It's just bloody long."
Renée merely gave me a sympathetic nod before something rustled above us.
In a second, my senses went into overdrive as I shot a look at the ceiling. I craned my neck, heart thumping, listening intently while the sound of footsteps approached. I also muttered a curse under my breath for having left my gun outside. One could really come in handy now.
Judging by the noise, someone was slowly walking through the snow, accumulated along the edge of the street. It also seemed as if that person wasn't too far from the cellar we were in. A step away from me, Renée rose to her feet as a woman's voice rang out:
"Renée? Renée, où es-tu? (Where are you?)"
All of a sudden, eyes round in disbelief, Renée bolted for the door. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led down to us and shouted:
"Anna, nous sommes ici! Venir vite! (Anna, we're here! Come quickly!)" While the steps abruptly picked up speed, she turned back towards me. For the first time since we had made that insane run through the town, I could have sworn there was hope etched over her face. "It looks like we're leaving sooner. Are you up for a walk?"
.
.
Shivers ran through me every couple of minutes, the folded blanket under my head scratching my cheek as I squirmed. After what felt as the twentieth time I shifted on the floor, someone's hand reached out, holding a cold cloth against my forehead. I struggled to ground myself with that. I fought hard to focus on the damp fabric, the uneasy feeling of cold seeping into my skin. I was in a growing, almost desperate need to think about anything but the place around me.
As it turned out, the hospital had never been a part of the plan.
We were all in the town church, instead.
However, this was nothing like the place of worship I usually imagined. Its tall vaulted ceiling, with yellow stars painted across a dark blue background, stood a contrast to the seemingly endless red that lay below. The bodies of the dead and wounded covered the entire church row upon row, their clothes torn and blotched with crimson. There was blood on the marble floor as well, smeared across various places, as if somebody had made a sloppy attempt to wipe it away before being suddenly called elsewhere.
The smell was far worse. Unlike the horrid injuries and cries of those still alive, I couldn't tune this out. All efforts to do that were quickly proved to be futile. It was overwhelming, the combination of sulphur powder, the scent of different bodily fluids that I identified, and those I could only wish I didn't. That was in itself a good reason for me to try running out of here – but someone had a grip on my shoulder, gently pushing me until I was lying flat on my back.
"It's alright, ma'am. I'll watch over her. You can go if you're needed elsewhere."
The nurse, who I later found out to be Anna, turned to the source of the voice. She seemed hesitant at first. But, then she whispered her thanks in French and stood up, rushing down a long line of makeshift beds. It didn't last long when a larger, slightly bulkier figure sat on the floor beside me. Wondering who that might be, I blinked up at the person, and the feeling of surprise rapidly turned into complete dread.
Without a doubt, Denham had seen better days. That was clear in the gash running down his forearm, the dark circles under his eyes, as well as his five o'clock shadow. But, the manner in which he gazed down at me was utterly unlike him, belonging to a man who had witnessed something too horrible to talk about. I became aware of my heart rate picking up at the thought. If someone who operated from the line was in such a condition, I could only fathom how the rest of Easy company was faring. The lads must have been worse out there – if they were alive at all, that is.
God, please let them be in one piece.
"In case you're wondering, your friends are still kicking. It was a tough day – I gotta admit that – but, they're holding their own. Now, care to explain what happened?"
"I – my plane was shot down. Sir."
To my surprise, he didn't stare at me in bafflement. He didn't seem like he was going to blow a gasket, either. The sole reply I received from him was a small nod. "I figured that much when they brought you in. I assume this means that the airfield is out of commission."
"Aye, sir. It's out." I felt my stomach drop at the thought. I had known that Saint-Hubert was beyond saving, I was under no illusions about that. Yet, once I confirmed what Denham had said, it all became somehow final, stripped of any hope. "There's nothing left of it. Whoever was posted there is either on the run or dead." I mustered a bitter smile. "Or alive in this area without a plane, like me."
He nodded once more. It was a tad unsettling, seeing him like this. While sitting next to me, he seemed as if he had come across something he had no idea how to deal with. But, he obviously wasn't going to chat with me about it. All I could do was ponder and hope that the news weren't that bad.
"Sir, what is this place? Where did these people come from?"
"Haven't you heard? This is the new hospital."
That took a few moments to set in.
"Christ on a bike." His expression suddenly turned into a scolding frown, and it dawned on me that I had just cursed within these walls. "Sorry, sir. But, what happened to the old one?"
"Turned into rubble in a shelling, weeks ago."
I gaped at him, this time without an inkling about what to say. However, I might have muttered some inappropriate things when the burn on my leg started to itch again. There was no way of reaching that spot, though, since my lower leg was now swathed in a thick layer of bandages, bulging out of a hole cut in my jumpsuit. I raised my hand a little, unable to resist the urge to scratch, at least at the edge of the dressing.
"I wouldn't do it if I were you, private." My hand stopped halfway there and I caved in, letting it drop. Meanwhile, he shifted on his spot on the floor. "By the way, I heard the doc. It looks like you'll be okay. You're gonna need a few stitches, maybe more than a few, but you'll be back on your feet in no time."
Heh. Lucky me. From where I was standing, everything was light years from okay. In search of a more comfortable position, I folded my arm under my head and closed my eyes, so as to take my mind off what was happening in the church. However, something crossed my mind, urging me to look up once more.
"Sir? If I may ask, why the need to keep me company?"
"You might see me as the bad guy in this picture. But, when I say I don't leave my investments in the lurch, I actually mean that. I even check on them from time to time." He gave a little shrug. "Besides, it's refreshing to talk with someone about matters that don't involve battle plans."
I frowned, this time quite confused by everything. Yet, before I could come up with any more questions, another silhouette in olive drab emerged from the crowd. Lieutenant Dike, in the flesh and equally disheveled as the colonel, sauntered to our side with a look nothing short than flabbergasted.
"Sir." He halted beside Denham and, having given him a quick salute, he leaned closer until he was almost getting into my face. "Prichard, I hope what I've heard is just some silly joke. Or is it, in fact, true that we've lost our goddamn air support?"
I backed away as he all but bellowed the last three words. "Sir, that wasn't my fault!"
"Then whose was it, huh? Was my great-uncle flying that plane?"
"That's enough, lieutenant." Denham's tired, but stern gaze stopped Dike in his tracks. His eyes darted to me and back at him, after which he picked himself up and gave a long, weary sigh in some sort of resignation. "This isn't the place I had in mind for an urgent meeting. But, what the heck. Desperate times and all that."
He snatched the edge of the tattered floorcloth I was lying on and yanked it hard, pulling me along with him until I slid through an archway, ending up in the nearby chapel. To be precise, it was more a supply room now than a chapel, since it had numerous boxes stacked up against the walls. I merely caught a glimpse of them when I had to look away, having heard Denham clear his throat.
"This'll be a good place as any. Prichard, are you listening?"
I've got a bad feeling about this. "Yes, sir."
"Here's what you missed." He crouched next to me, resting his elbows against his knees. "A few days ago, the Germans jumped the entire 326th Medical. Every doctor, nurse and medic posted there is officially their prisoner for the time being. Do you know what that means?"
"Nothing good, sir. I presume."
"Damn straight. It also means that the folks working in this church will be the only help for the poor souls coming in. Lieutenant Dike, could you remind me how many people they can rely on?"
Dike shuffled his feet a little. "Uh, there are two nurses, a couple of medics that volunteered, I think. There's also a chaplain and –" He cast a glance behind Denham and peered through the chapel's entrance. "And their local padre, sir."
Denham snapped his fingers. "That's right. Correct me if I'm wrong, Prichard, but did you have some medical experience in the weeks after D-Day?"
I gulped, having an idea of what he was driving at.
Among other reasons, he might have been planning to assign me here, as an extra pair of helping hands for the nurses. And the sheer thought about it left me climbing the walls. I would rather do a hundred other things than stay in this place that smelled like death. I was ready even to shuffle into the next plane I could find and face the Germans, bockety leg be damned – but not for this. Anything but this.
"I worked in various Aid stations for a while, sir. But, I'm afraid I don't have as much experience as you expect. I'm not a nurse, not one that's skilled enough. I'll be only a liability in this hospital."
Dike scoffed. "Oh, please. Where would you want us to place you? At the line?" He eventually shook his head in disapproval. "Don't be ridiculous. Without a plane to use, all you can do is work with the nurses. There's where all the other womenfolk are, anyway."
"Maybe that's true, sirs. But, before I crashed, I had the chance to see the area around the town. I can tell you thinks that certainly aren't on your old paper maps." Noticing their dubious looks, I focused on Denham while adding: "Sirs, it's an all-hands-on-deck situation, isn't it? You're besieged and you need any help you can get. Would you be willing to refuse it only because it was offered from a woman?"
For a moment, Denham seemed to be contemplating that possibility. Sadly, his expression didn't go unnoticed by Dike, who rolled his eyes soon after.
"Colonel, with all due respect, you can't think that someone like–like her can be an asset! She just needs a broken fingernail to start falling apart! It would be much better if you sent out some of the men. Firstly, they're much more –"
"Lieutenant Dike, I'll do you a favour and pretend I didn't hear that." Dike stared at him, taken aback by the colonel's words. Yet, instead of saying something, he kept his opinion to himself and replied with a curt nod. "I suggest you go down to the CP and see if we've made any progress. Make sure that, until I get back, things don't just start falling apart." He waited for a beat before clipping. "Dismissed."
Dike flushed scarlet in rage, resembling a tomato with a cap on top. Sending daggers one last time in my direction, he whirled around and marched right out of the chapel, leaving the two of us inside. As he retreated in the distance, Denham leaned slightly forward and, in a lower voice than usual, he said:
"I know you're hardly waiting to get out of here. But, here's the problem – you can't."
I propped against an elbow with a frown. "Is that because of my gender, sir?"
"It's because you're in no shape for any action, Prichard. You also got your plane wrecked. That means you can't observe the terrain from up there. You can't fight if enemy aircraft turns up. There's nothing much you can do buy stay put, let those cuts and bruises heal. While you're at it, assist those two nurses in any way you can." He furrowed his brow. "Don't take this so dramatically. This is only temporary."
"Is it, sir?"
"Yes. And remember, you can make a big difference by helping. Although you don't think so, some of those boys that were carried in might make it because of you."
Although every part of me protested, I found myself agreeing. "Aye, sir."
Denham stood up then, wincing a bit as he did so. He then strolled to the further end of the chapel and reached for something hidden in the shadows. "But, if things take a turn for the worse and the Germans slip through our perimeter, this can be useful. I heard you'd had practice at the range back in Mourmelon, so I think you'll manage with this."
He tossed it at me with no warning. I raised my hands barely in time to grab it, grunting as its weight wrenched my arms down. But, then my jaw went slack, because I abruptly found myself holding an old and slightly singed Lee-Enfield. Holy shit.
"Being benched doesn't mean you'll be far from trouble."
"Understood, sir." However, the fact that a loaded weapon had been chucked in my lap wasn't by biggest reason for feeling bewildered.
I could have ended all of this, right here and now.
Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell. All I had to do was turn its business end at him and demand the whereabouts of my sister. For some time, that chance seemed too good to be squandered. He was exactly where I wanted him to be, alone, unarmed and unable to fight back. Other than that, due to the commotion outside the chapel, everyone would be too busy to notice that something was wrong. Denham would have no choice but to tell me where to find her.
But, I bit my lip quickly after that, having imagined the possible ending. Even if he caved in and wrote down the address, he would raise an alarm and I would be labeled a traitor. Escaping Bastogne would become my only option, which would be a bit tricky since there were Germans waiting just outside of town. Hunted down by both sides, there would be no places left for me to run, let alone hide in.
"If you see their troops sneaking into town, fight back", Denham continued, completely unaware of what I was pondering, "If it turns out to be too many of them, get out of Dodge. I'd prefer if you gave us a heads-up about what's coming for us. And if you can't run anywhere –" He trailed off in the middle of the sentence.
"Point and shoot, sir?", I suggested.
"Point and shoot. But, although you badly wish for it, don't shoot me first."
What? How on earth does he – I fumbled for the right words to dissuade him, but he raised a hand to stop me. There was a hint of amusement spreading over his features when he said:
"You're not very good at hiding that look of yours."
.
.
Around fifteen stitches later, I felt fuzzy and uncomfortably warm. That might have had something to do with two glasses of unnamed spirits coaxed down my throat. Nevertheless, my leg wasn't throbbing in pain as much as before, which I counted as an upside. That also gave me a chance to walk around a little, and get some sense of how much weight it would handle. But, in spite of the things going swell so far, I kept a hand propped against the wall beside me, just in case.
Keep going. Keep moving.
During the previous few hours, the number of people brought in the church had nearly doubled and – since evacuating was out of the question – there was barely any space left. The wounded were now lying on almost every available surface, from the remaining pews to the odd table. That made it a tad difficult to move through the church. I had to glance down after every few steps, only to make sure I wouldn't trip on someone on the floor – all while trying not to get nauseous by the sight below.
Keep going.
Making a turn to the left, I came across Renée, occupied with the latest batch of clean laundry. With quick and precise movements of someone who had done it plenty of times, she was stripping large pieces of cloth from a number of ropes, stretched between two pillars, and placing them aside on a chair. A basket full of what appeared to be newly washed sheets was already waiting at her feet.
"You should be lying down, anglais."
"You didn't even turn around. How did you know it was me?"
"Because you're the only one on your feet at this time."
"Oh." I cautiously limped closer, only to eye another basket not far away. "You should use a break, too. You've been here for quite a while."
"I'll use my break when I finish all my work."
I had a nagging feeling that it wouldn't so soon. Right as we were talking, a new group of patients trickled inside. I could tell that by the sudden shouts going up near the front door, accompanied by Anna's raised voice giving orders. I didn't dare to take a closer look, though, afraid that those blokes would turn out to be someone I knew. I wasn't sure how I would keep it together if I saw them injured, or worse.
Just keep going. "Renée, you have enough on your plate. Let me help you with that."
Having rolled my sleeves up, I went for the basket on the floor, but she nudged it away and out of reach with her foot. "Bien sûr que non. (Absolutely not.) It took me a long time to coudre – patch you up. I'm not going to watch you rip open my handiwork."
"I'll be very careful. That's a promise."
She didn't look convinced. "You also promised not to get up until tomorrow."
"Well, you know what they say. There's no rest for the air support." I gave a faint smile, which she didn't find amusing whatsoever. In the end, I let it fade. "Listen, if I've got to spend another minute twirling my thumbs in that corner over there, I'll go berserk. Just let me take care of this and you look over the lads. Please?"
For a second, I didn't believe she would accept. But, then she gave a long, quiet sigh in defeat. "Fine. Bring it to the chancel as soon as you're done." She turned around afterwards, about to go on her way, yet she halted mid-step and turned to me again. "Oh, j'allais oublier. (Oh, I almost forgot.) I was telling the truth out there."
"About what?"
"That I wasn't your enemy." She smiled this time, though hers was much more wry. "You were fairly sure I was planning to murder you."
Heat started to build up in my face and neck. As embarrassment ensued, I guessed they would soon become more red than my hair. I awkwardly gulped and glanced down, picking at the hem of my shirt.
"Yes, about that –" I hesitated for some time. "It appears that we are on the same side. And–and I almost shot you."
"Don't think about that, Jess. I'm not mad."
"Perhaps you're not. But, I still want to tell you that I'm very sorry." I paused then, searching for an explanation that wouldn't be too hard to believe. "I've had an extremely emotional few months. A lot of people tried to kill me – some of them almost succeeded. I didn't expect someone to help me when I planted my plane here."
She nodded in return. "I see."
"Wait a minute." I narrowed my eyes at her. "You're not surprised?"
"You're not the first person who pointed a gun at me." She became quiet for a while and, during that moment, she seemed to be in another place, in a different time. "Many things happened here during the last few days. Most of them weren't good." That was when she hurriedly gathered the laundry she had taken down. "Let me know when you're done. We need those bandages fast."
Bandages? I took one cloth off while she walked away and squinted at the fabric, finding out that those were pieces of ripped sheets. It then hit me why each of them had such a strange, pale pink tinge. It wasn't merely an effect of the candlelight. They indeed doubled as bandages, and not only once by the looks of them. Jesus. These things have been boiled and re-used.
I was still staring at them when an icy cold draught of air blew in, nipping at my exposed forearms. I turned on my heel just in time to see the church door move, slowly creaking on its hinges, and two blokes slipping inside before dusting some snow off themselves. They must have come from the line like the others. But, since they didn't appear to be injured, I moved my attention back to the dressings. And then i made a double take, my heart leaping as I abruptly recognised one of them.
I can't believe it. He had taken his helmet off, revealing a mop of red hair, prominent in the warm yellowish light. If that wasn't a tell-tale sign, the way he shifted his right foot while he was standing, digging the heel of his boot into the floor, told me it was undeniably him. I cracked a faint grin while I left my work, hobbling over to his side.
"Looking for someone, Mal?"
Malarkey whirled around in an instant, and something in my chest tightened. He looked almost sickly pale, which the dark brown, torn scarf around his neck made only more apparent. Whether the reason was the cold outside or something else, I didn't know. I was about to ask him what was wrong when he moved without a warning, crossing the space between us in three long strides, wrapping me in a tight hug. Unfortunately, he squeezed my bad side by doing so. I groaned a little and he immediately reeled back, arms raised with an apologetic look.
"Oh, sorry! Jesus and Mary and –" He trailed off while gawping at me, as if he couldn't completely believe his own eyes. However, he managed to ground himself, his face creasing into a sheepish smile. "Did you catch the number of the bus that hit you?"
"Ha-ha. I missed you too, you big plonker."
"I heard what happened. Sorry about the plane."
"Eh, you can't stay lucky forever", I said with a shrug, "Speaking of luck, have you found out the latest news? Just hours after I crashed, I landed a new job."
"What? Where?"
"Denham posted me here, to help the nurses."
"You?" Mal knitted his brows. "What cigarettes has he been smoking?"
"It's orders from the top, I'm afraid. I just hope it will be as temporary as he claims." I soon remembered that I had a task to fulfill, so I signaled him to come after me and limped back to the ropes. Once I got there, I began picking up the dressings, creating a free space for the sheets to dry on. "What brings you to this part of town?"
"Begging for supplies. And some shovels to borrow. We're digging in further at the line, but the ground has frozen solid. We need something to – hold on –" All of a sudden, he made a step to the side and shouted at someone behind me: "Hey, Guarnere! Guess who I found!"
I looked over my shoulder and grinned even wider as I spotted Bill himself. With an uneven gait that was similar to mine, he walked over to us only to loudly say: "Well, smack me three times and hand me to me ma. How you've been, Jessie?"
"I've been better. And you?"
"Just peachy. But, I gotta ask ya somethin'. How can one lose a whole plane?"
"That's easy. By being shot by another plane." Trying not to snigger at the look on his face, I turned towards Mal this time. "I can't help you much, but Renee might. Look for her near the altar – she's wearing a blue scarf, so you can't miss her."
Malarkey smiled and clapped me on the shoulder before darting off to the other side of the church. Bill didn't rush after him, though, having chosen to stay for some reason. I was aware of his gaze lingering on me while I was draping the damp sheets. But, then I cringed, realising that the sheet I was holding also seemed a bit pink in some parts. Damn it. Not again.
"How are you, Bill?", I asked, "And, please, be honest this time."
"I can't say I'm excited to be here. But, seriously, I'm okay. Even with the awful chow Mal has been whippin' up these days."
"He's been experimenting again, hasn't he?"
"Nobody blames him for tryin', since we'll be out of supplies at the end of the week." By the time I looked at him, his once cheerful and carefree expression had morphed into a rather sullen one. "Doc looks worked up a lot about that. The supplies, I mean. With what he has now, he can't help a lot of us."
"Are you talking about Ralph or Eugene?", I questioned, although I knew the answer very well.
"Who tends to stop talkin' when things go south?"
"So, it's Eugene, then." I went to drape the last sheet when I suddenly stopped. "Wait – he stopped talking?"
"He barely said a word after he ran out of penicillin." Bill slowly moved to one of the nearby pillars, leaning his side against it, and pulled out a creased pack of Lucky Strikes out of his jacket. "He did want to go on a patrol with us this morning, but Martin didn't let 'im."
I stepped closer, once again leaving my work behind me. "There was a patrol?"
"The brass ordered us to go deeper into the woods." While he talked, I caught him fiddling with the cigarette pack in his hand. "You know, to poke our heads through the pine trees and see who's hidin' out there. Do you recall that replacement who used to play darts with Babe? Julian? He got himself killed."
"Shit. What happened to him?"
"An ambush. But, that's not the worst thing." He fished out a cigarette and lit it, not saying a thing until he got it wedged in his mouth, puffing out some smoke. "When he was shot, the rest of the fellas got pinned down. They couldn't get to him, so they had to pull back and just leave him there."
It was hard to suppress a shiver. "Poor thing."
"Don't feel sorry for him. Be sorry for Babe. He saw his friend kick the bucket, and that's gonna haunt him for the rest of his life." Bill pulled on his cigarette one more time. "You didn't hear this from me, Jessie, but it's bad out there. Really bad."
"Says the most optimistic bloke on this side of Belgium." I gave a strained chuckle. "What happened to 'life never sends us things we can't handle'?"
He said nothing at first. Yet, instead of utter silence, we were encircled by the clamor that filled the church. I thought I would hear nothing apart from the shouts and groans of the people inside the nave, interwoven with prayers a chaplain was uttering a few steps away from us. But, then Bill took another long drag and exhaled a plume of greyish smoke.
"I might have been wrong this time."
As the cigarette smoke curled while floating above his head, he tried to make a faint smile. However, that didn't work out so well and he eventually gave up. I held my breath in apprehension.
"Bill?"
"It's been nice to see ya. Don't set anything on fire while I'm out."
Having given me a mock salute, he turned away and started to hobble through the church, following the same way he had come from. While I watched him approach the massive front door, I replayed his words a couple of times in my mind – and I couldn't help but wonder how all of this was going to end.
I have another thing to mention. Four days ago, on March 10, this story officially became four years old. :) This will probably sound a bit cheesy, but it really feels like yesterday when I joined this site and began writing about Jess, Gene and everyone else. I wish to thank every single one of you, with all my heart, for your steadfast support and your words of encouragement. You are the best readers and reviewers a fanfic writer could ever ask for. :)
Best wishes,
ChocAndSnow19