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kat1132 · 8 years ago

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Fic: Warbonds - (Part 1/ 11: Toccoa)

-Chapter 1: Political Sway-

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Shh!” Eve hissed, trying to get her brother to shut up. “You’ll spook all the game.”

“I’m serious, Eve,” Alex said, deliberately ignoring her.

“I’m not having this conversation right now.” She turned her attention back down the sights of her gun, desperate to find something to shoot so she would have an excuse to ignore her brother. Mipsy, their third hunting companion, was a pure-bred spaniel with brown spots and expressive eyes. She buried her head between her paws, sensing the tension between the siblings, but her eyes were still trained on the sky, eagerly anticipating the promised fun of a hunt.

With a heavy sigh, Alex settled back into the bush, a mulish pout on his face as he watched his little sister valiantly pretend she wasn’t paying the slightest attention to him. Just to be contrary, he thumped her with his foot.

When she ignored that too, he thumped her again even harder.

“Ow!" Eve yelped as Alex kicked her hard enough to jostle Mipsy, who whined in protest.

Five yards away, the shrub Eve had been eyeing erupted with fleeing partridges, desperately taking to the sky to avoid being picked off by a predator.

Brother and sister both sprang to their knees, trying to hit as many of the fowl as they could.

One, she thought, watching the partridge she was tracking drop from the sky. She flowed to the next. Two and three followed soon after before the flock disappeared out of range.

With a flick of her fingers, Eve sent the spaniel bounding through the brush to retrieve their prizes. Elated, she turned to find Alex’s own beaming mug. After a second of shared exuberance, she watched his face darken and his mouth open; she scrambled after the dog, ready to defend herself with Mipsy’s penchant for accidentally shredding the delicate birds as she retrieved them. If it also happened to put off the conversation lurking in Alex's eyes, well, perhaps that was for the best.

It didn’t take her long to find the dog. Mipsy released the birds she’d gathered easily enough, knowing she was in for a treat after successfully finding the kills. It only took a matter of minutes for Eve to get the prizes ready to haul back to the house.

“Eve,” Alex said. She knew that tone and she hated it. It was his “you’re just a girl, what do you know?” tone. He used it every time he disagreed with her. “You know we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“No, we’re not.”

“You can’t just go to war!”

“You are!”

And that right there was the problem. Alex was leaving tomorrow, bound for the sea to fight the Japanese.

And Eve wasn’t.

His face softened. She turned away from him, unable to watch his regret when it wasn’t going to change his mind. He was still going to leave her behind.

Well, she wasn’t going to give up just yet. Eve wanted to fight more than anything and Grandmamma and Aunt Eleanor had vowed to help her. With Aunt Eleanor, really her godmother but closer than any blood relation and her formidable Grandmamma on her side, the battle was half won. Sure, they still had to convince her father, mother, brother, and half the world – undoubtedly a herculean task, but Eve was confident in their plan.

It all hinged on the gala her parents were hosting tonight. It was Alex’s going away party, conveniently doubling as a party to raise money for War Bonds. All the key players for the war were going to be in attendance, as well as more than a few of the wealthiest people in the country.

All Eve had to do was convince one person, just one General in the fifty or so supposed to be in attendance that she could fight as well as any man. If she managed it, she was sure Grandmamma and Aunt Eleanor could get her papa on board. He was the key to convincing her mother. As for Alex, well, her brother would just have to get over it.

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Alex said, pulling her attention back from thinking of tonight's party to the conversation at hand.

“It’s not fair that you get to go just because you’re a boy. Why do you get to go die for your country? It’s my country too!”

“Live isn’t fair, Eve! And it’s not a ‘get to,’ I have to go. If I don’t then they’d just conscript me into the infantry. At least as an officer I get a bit of say in my own destiny.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Alex. Everyone wants to go, to prove that the Japs made one helluvah mistake bombing Pearl Harbor. You don’t understand what it’s like, not being able to go! Sarah’s younger brother was 4F and killed himself,” Eve argued. “He was colorblind and had asthma and he’s not alone! Thousands of men are begging to go to war and kill the Japs, killing themselves when they’re told no! I can pass those requirements. I can fight and shoot just as well as you can. Why is me wanting to go any different?”

“It just is!”

“It shouldn’t be! I can meet the physical requirements. I can shoot a gun just as well as any man, certainly as well as you can, Alex!” Eve kept pushing, despite knowing that it didn’t matter. Alex had already made up his mind.

“Shooting is all well and good, but it doesn’t mean you can join the army!”

“You joined!”

“I didn’t have a choice!” He’d joined up before he could be drafted, but there was no avoiding the war for young able-bodied men like her brother. Better to join up and choose where he was sent than be drafted in. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He was still going and she wasn’t. Not yet, at least.

“Well, I’ve made my choice!”

“No one is going to take a girl to war!”

It was like he’d slapped her.

She spun away and all but ran back to the house to get away from him, Mipsy gleefully yipping at her feet as she bolted to the house. She ignored Alex as he called her name, pleading for forgiveness.

There had never been a difference between them. Eve did everything with Alex. Everything. Now he was going where she couldn’t follow, and it was infuriating. Eve had never wanted anything like she’d wanted to be a soldier and Alex knew it.

And he’d still thrown reality in her face.

“Eve!” she heard him call again, far away now.

She ignored him. The house was in sight.

The white washed walls, surrounded by green fields had always heralded home after a long day outside. Today they looked foreboding and sent her anxiety ratcheting again. It was frustrating. She’d gone hunting to get rid of this exact feeling and Alex had ruined it. Eve knew she should have refused when he'd asked to come along.

But he’d said he wanted to spend his last day at home with her and she’d crumbled, like he’d known she would.

He was infuriating.

She stormed into the kitchen, dumping her partridges on the table without a word to the flustered cooks and scullery maids. She was too angry to listen to them flutter over her dingy appearance. Instead, she told the dog to stay and headed up the stairs to her room.

She’d never much cared about being the “pretty one” after all. That was what her older sister Elizabeth was for. Well, she would be if she ever came down from her room.

At any rate, Eve had a party to get ready for, and if this was going to work, she’d need to compose herself properly.

Eve’s family was well connected and well thought of in society. Her father was a senator on numerous committees and her mother was the light of Washington D.C. Whenever they were in residence at the capital, Buchanan wealth and influence turned heads. It could be worth more than any dowry if it was leveraged the right way. Eve had taken refuge here in their country estate, to avoid suitors eager to make these connections their own.

Marie, the maid, was laying out the royal blue evening gown that Eve was meant to wear tonight. It was a dress she'd gotten from one of those well-meaning suitors who hadn’t even known her well enough to know she would have preferred a prized pistol like the one he always wore better. The pistol was the only thing she remembered about the man, his name long since escaping her memory.

Eve shed her hunting jacket and trousers to hop in the bath. It was time to get started.

The party was in full swing.

Elizabeth had already snagged the eye of half the room. She looked stunning; the sun had put enough red in her auburn hair this spring that the light caught it at just the right angle to bring out her sapphire eyes. All of her curves were draped and emphasized. Eve knew what the hoard of men surrounding her sister was feeling. It was the same joy and excitement she always felt when Elizabeth was near – like anything was possible. It was a graceful dance for Eliza, entertaining so many admiring young men.

Eve could only watch with envy as her confidence dwindled in the wake of her sister’s effortless beauty. She’d always felt like the ugly sister, the one passed over every time Elizabeth was near. Eve was too boyish for men to desire her – though, at least it made ferreting out the men hunting after her name simple enough. She guessed she must be pretty enough to keep around, because none of the Alex’s friends had ever objected to her presence when she invited herself along to more masculine forms of pleasure, like hunting trips, and camping out in the woods, and race car driving. Nevertheless, as soon as Eliza was near, they were gone like moths to hover around her beckoning flame, too much in awe to realize the danger of the fire. Too many of Alex’s friends had been spurned by Eliza enough to vanish from their circle. Eve always thought less of the men for it, because she adored her sister.

Eve’s hair had more black in it than red, and it despaired at holding where she’d tried to style it, flopping in her eyes and generally becoming a nuisance. Mama had forbidden her from just pulling it back in a horsetail, and had even done her best to help Eve style it, but the pins itched and she couldn’t get it to stay where she wanted it to. Where Eliza’s eyes danced, Eve’s were frozen lakes of blue, which made her seem even more frigid, according to the man with the fine pistol.

She was taller than Eliza too, inheriting their father’s height rather than their mother's. Yet, what had once been a source of much gloating as a child had since made Eve feel like she towered over people, particularly when she was coaxed into wearing heels. She was too willowy, with only a modest bosom rather than the full curves of her sister. Not even the tight corset she’d been synched into had given her much shape. Maybe if she’d taken mama’s advice and dedicated herself to more womanly pursuits she would put on the weight she needed for curves like her sister’s, but sitting and stitching was so boring when there was a whole world outside to explore as it changed through the seasons.

Eve saw her mother glide over to pull Elizabeth away from the flock of would-be suitors, and deftly guide her sister towards their father’s political rivals to charm them.

It was a dance all Senator Edward Buchanan’s children had learned practically from the cradle, but Elizabeth was the best at it.

Eve’s eyes stumbled to Alex, who most of Elizabeth’s admirers had ambled towards, decked out in his fetching pressed uniform of Navy blue. She bit her cheek to stop herself from glaring at him as he dared to give her a sardonic smile. She saw the look in his eyes, the condescension. He didn’t believe in her. Worse, he’d do everything in his power to stop her.

Eve acknowledged this challenge with a slight nod and moved on. She would make no headway with Alex tonight. Besides, he shipped out tomorrow morning, so what did it matter? The thought of leaving their disagreement unresolved nearly had her moving to his side to reason with him once again, but she steeled herself. She would not concede. She would not let him dissuade her – and he was wrong to even try.

But God, did she miss the Alex who would have cheered her on from the sidelines when they were children, before the world had seen fit to define their roles.

She turned away from him and scanned the party again. Her eyes found her Grandmamma's. A smile stole its way onto Eve’s face almost without her consent. Grandmamma Buchanan was in fine form tonight with a contingent of Generals hanging on to her every word. The elegant woman was a force of nature in black lace and ivory. Her bright silver hair gleamed like a beacon in the hall.

As Eve drifted closer she overheard the woman’s imperious voice saying, “Flora Sandes was English. She fought with the Serbian Army and made the rank of Captain. The Russians fielded an entire battalion of women so infamous they were called the Battalion of Death.”

“If memory serves, they were also known by that name because of the high casualty rate of the Battalion,” a dark haired General with three stars on his lapel commented.

Grandmamma’s voice cracked like a whip. “People die in war, General. If no one died in war, how would anyone know who’d won?” She waited until the startled laughter settled down before she continued. “And besides, there were far unluckier battalions that were comprised of all men. One of yours was even lost in the woods, God help them.

“My point, gentlemen, is this; all over the world, women are picking up the rifles dropped by men and fighting for their homes, as they’ve done for thousands of years.”

She caught Eve’s eye and winked as her male companions blustered to try and rebuff her without offending her.

“Ma’am, the simple fact is that a woman doesn’t have the strength a man does,” some fool tried to argue. “Or the mental acuity required for battle.”

“Actually,” interjected another of her companions, an elderly gentleman with kind blue eyes and bright white hair. “Queen Elizabeth defeated the Spanish Armada in the 1600s.”

“The ships sank in a storm,” another protested. “Storms don’t require skills or battle planning, just luck.”

“Anyone can get lucky. It doesn’t take an ounce of skill to shoot a gun. Not one ounce,” Grandmamma decreed. “The skill comes in getting the bullet where you want it to go; something a woman is perfectly capable of achieving.”

“Evelyn!” the woman cried, as though just noticing her granddaughter’s presence at the outskirts of their circle. “Come here, child.”

Wary, Eve complied. No one argued with Grandmamma when she used that tone. “Yes, Grandmamma?”

“You look lovely, child,” complemented Grandmamma. “Doesn’t she just look ravishing, gentlemen?”

The men were quick to agree with the woman on this point, at least.

When their complimentary murmuring died down, Grandmamma winked again at Eve, who bit her abused cheek again to smother her amusement before she laughed and ruined the game. “These men seem to think shooting is a men’s sport. Would you like to educate them?”

Eve bowed her head and shoulders, “I wouldn’t want to interrupt the festivities for something so trivial, Grandmamma. Besides, I’m sure these men don’t want to see -”

“Nonsense!” cried Grandmamma. “I insist we go immediately.”

“Ma’am,” said a dashing General with dark hair graying at the temples and soft gray eyes. He was twice Eve’s age, and half her grandmothers, but he seemed genial enough with a smile tucked into the corners of his thin mouth. “It’s dark outside.”

“And since when has the dark stopped soldiers from shooting each other?” demanded her grandmother. “Come, come, General. This won’t take but a moment. Evelyn, be a dear and go fetch your rifle.”

Eve did as she was bid, retrieving her favorite gun from the cabinet in her father’s study, where one of the maids must have replaced it after she’d stormed through the kitchen. As an afterthought, Eve grabbed two boxes of ammo and took them with her. Who knew what Grandmamma had up her satin sleeve?

She returned within five minutes and met her grandmother who had somehow gathered a much larger party of gentlemen to come watch the spectacle. It seemed that the older woman had somehow gathered every last military man from the party and drawn them outside to watch the show, including her father and godparents.

“Lead the way, Edward,” Grandmamma demanded of her son. Eve’s father smiled indulgently and took his mother’s arm to lead her to the field they kept set up for skeet shooting.

Eve was surprised how well she could see. The moon was full and bathed the whole lawn with silver light.

“Now, darling,” said Grandmamma. “You stay where you are. Edward and Alex will pull for you, since they have the most experience.”

“But Grandmamma,” protested Alex, flinching at the glare the older woman fired his way. “Skeet shooting is done with a shotgun, not a rifle.” The pellets fired from a shot gun were far better for shattering the clay pigeons. Using a rifle to the same affect would be far more challenging.

“Do not argue with me, Alex. Report to your post.”

Alex obeyed her command like the obedient soldier he was about to be.

When the men were ready, they each held up their hands.

“Are you ready, dear?” Grandmamma asked Eve.

Eve smiled to keep from laughing. She loved shooting. “I’ll need someone to hold my ammunition boxes.”

The blue eyed General from earlier stepped forward. “I would be happy to, Miss.”

“Thank you, General,” Eve said. “I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Bill Lee, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, General Lee,” Eve said, passing over the ammo.

Eve took a breath to calm her racing heart. She didn’t let herself think about how much was riding on this moment; didn’t let herself contemplate that her future was at stake. She inhaled and took herself back to this afternoon, where the sun was bright and everything was right in the world.

When she opened her eyes, she’d settled into an easy shooting position, rifle loaded and ready at her side.

She took a breath, and took the plunge. “Pull!”

Her heart beat. One, two, she pulled the trigger twice, both pigeons shattered.

“Pull!” she called, one, two, she tracked the movement the clay made through the air with precision. The trick was not to think about it. Her idle thoughts and anxieties drifted away as she reloaded. Focusing her entire being on the next breath, the next shot, again and again, until all one hundred pigeons had been shattered on the field.

“HOLD!” cried her grandmother.

Eve, already braced for another shot, paused, and felt like she’d fallen a hundred feet. She locked her knees to keep from staggering and tried to hide her shaking arms.

Next to her, the General she’d completely forgotten about whistled. “Damn fine shooting, Miss.”

A round of applause broke out, begun by Grandmamma but quickly becoming thunderous as the soldiers appreciated the spectacle.

Alex came bounding up to her, sweaty from hauling back the pull fifty times. “I’m gonna have to start calling you Annie Oakley!” he proclaimed as he pulled her into a hug, mussing her once tidy hair.

She took a deep breath, filling her nose with the scent of her brother and allowed herself to shake just a fraction as her body realized that the shooting was over and tried to loosen the muscles that had been tensed. She’d done her best. She just hoped it was enough.

It had to be enough.

Pulling away, she heard General Lee saying, “- got me convinced! Sign her up right now.” He was beaming at her godparents, who, seeing her attention was back on them made their way over.

“Well done, darling,” said Aunt Eleanor as she leaned in to kiss Eve on the cheek and give the girl another hug.

“Very well done, dear,” said the President of the United States, smiling broadly from his wheelchair. Despite the immense public secrecy regarding his polio, Franklin Roosevelt had no reason to hide or be ashamed of his condition here on her family’s country estate among his most trusted circle and war council. Eve bent to give him a kiss on the cheek, happy as ever to see him. He squeezed her hand to show his approval.

Her father then reclaimed her as soon as she’d straightened, putting her under his arm.

“Let’s go back inside,” he announced, pinning his mother in place with his stare, not entirely happy with the outcome of this display.

Grandmamma smiled, knowing she’d already won, and allowed the party to disperse back towards the house. To her satisfaction, there was not a single conversation that didn’t revolve around the possibility of women like Eve going to war.

“I’ve already crunched the numbers on this, you know,” said the President after Eleanor had pushed him over to join the scheming woman. “The American people are overwhelmingly not in favor of women being on the front lines.”

“The American people will change their minds,” decreed Eleanor. “They do every week.”

“Still, war is something I had wished to keep from our Evelyn.”

“She wants to go, Franklin,” Eleanor reminded him gently. “She will go with or without our blessing. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a ticket for France in her purse already.”

“Which is why,” said Madame Buchanan, “I, for one, want her to get all the training she can stand.”

Roosevelt sighed, knowing he was outmaneuvered. “If her father says she can go, she will go with my blessing,” he finally allowed.

Madame Buchanan and Eleanor shared a look, knowing how Franklin didn’t like to lose, even to them. But they had won all the same.

“Tell me about this General Lee chap,” enticed Madame Buchanan, settling the matter.

“He’s been put in charge of a new concept for the European Front. The idea is that soldiers parachute behind enemy lines. The Germans used the method to invade Belgium and Holland in their ‘lightning war’.”

“I like him,” decreed Madame Buchanan.

“Yes,” agreed Roosevelt, turning an idea about Eve’s possible enlistment over in his head, missing the sly look passed between the women on either side of him.

Men, thought Madame Buchanan. You just have to make them think it’s their own idea.

As Eve walked up to the house, content to quietly go along with the whirlwind that was Alex and General Lee discussing her technique rapidly over her head, she saw her mother, arms folded and face awash with disappointment.

Eve lowered her eyes, instinctively ashamed by her defiance of her mother’s wishes, but soon found her resolve and met her mother’s eyes, face set with determination. This was what she wanted.

Her mother’s disappointment would not dissuade her from her goal.

Carol Buchanan saw the stubborn set of her daughter’s face and turned away, biting her lip to hold her tears at bay.

“Mama?” Elizabeth called from the ballroom. “What is it?”

She brushed a finger under her eyes to catch the gathering tears and prevent them from ruining her makeup before she rejoined her guests. “Nothing, dear,” she replied.

Elizabeth didn’t believe her, but she allowed her mama the luxury of the lie and didn’t push.

Honestly, Carol was shocked that Evelyn had managed to keep her intentions a secret from Elizabeth at all, let alone for so long. When their youngest daughter had come to Edward begging to be sent off to war, his first stop had been Carol’s study.

Carol was not proud of how she’d reacted to the news that Edward was considering letting their baby go off to war, nor was she happy with the way Evelyn had resorted to avoiding her to keep from igniting a confrontation.

She wondered where she’d gone so wrong that Evelyn felt that her only recourse was to head off to fight a man’s war on the other end of the world.

“Do you know where all the party guests went, mama?”

“Hm?” said Carol, gathering her thoughts and registering her daughter’s question. “They’re on their way back in now, dear, not to fret.”

“Was that shooting I heard?”

“Oh, yes,” remarked Carol, mind still on other things. “Your Grandmamma cooked up some scheme.”

“Oh dear,” remarked Elizabeth, well aware of her grandmother’s schemes. “Is everyone still alive?”

“I’m certain if they weren’t, we would hear the screams.”

Eliza laughed, and accompanied her mother back inside, pretending she didn’t notice the sorrow that etched itself across her mother’s face. What have you done now, Evelyn?

“Women don’t fight in wars for a very good reason; they’re too unpredictable. There’s no place for histrionics in the army. And never mind the distraction to the men –!”

Eve ignored the knot of men she was passing, even as their voices carried over to her ears. It was all things she’d expected to hear; that women were unsuitable for war. It wasn’t true. She knew she could be just as successful a soldier as any man, she just needed the chance to prove it.

“Women need to stay and protect the home. It’s a man’s place to die for his country so women don’t have to. She should be grateful –“

She kept her head high and kept moving, ignoring the increasingly fervent outcry for her to remain home.

“It’s a proven fact: women are inferior to men in every way. She wouldn’t have the strength to carry her own gear, let alone a wounded comrade.”

“She’d be a danger not only to herself, but to whatever unit unfortunate enough to house her.”

She had decided not to remain behind. God help her, if she couldn’t get into the army properly, she’d buy her way on a passenger ship bound for France or Belgium and join the Nazi resistance however she could. There was no way she could blend in at the Pacific theater or she might’ve tried to steal away on a navy ship and fight the Japs.

She was already trying to achieve the impossible by being the first openly female soldier to be stationed on the front lines. Taking an officer’s commission like Alex had wasn’t an option. She would not be saddled with some secretarial position designed to placate her.

No, she needed to go into the infantry – the lower the rank the better. It was her only chance of actually seeing combat.

She knew the risk involved in her plan. The infantry had earned is name from the Romans, who sent their newest and often times youngest troops into battle at the head of the army, allowing the enemy to tire while slaughtering the “infants”. An officer’s jobs was safer, but had the unfortunate side effect of the ability to be kept from the lines altogether, whereas the infantry was inherently dangerous by virtue of being the front lines.

Eve knew that joining a unit bound immediately for combat was also unlikely. There was too much to overcome and in too short a time. She would never manage to integrate with the men before shipping out to Japan, which could be dangerous. They would never trust her if she was just thrown in with them.

Her best bet was an experimental unit.

“She’s going to get herself killed. What kind of message will that send to the folks at home?”

“Look at her! There is no time for chivalry in war and boys have needs after all –”

Eve bit her cheek to stop from flushing bright red at the appraising looks the men in that particular clump were sending her way. She quickly glanced at their faces, imprinting them with alacrity gained from terror, and resolved to keep at least half the banquet hall between her and them.

“Are you mad?” cried Edward Buchanan faced down by his mother and his child’s godmother. “You want me to send my youngest daughter off to war?”

Madame Buchanan scoffed. “Despite all your bluster, you’ve yet to name a single reason she can’t go.”

“I don't want to be accused of plucking the low bearing fruit, Madame, but I will state the obvious as you so desire: she will get herself killed! What happens when the task of war proves too much for her and she crumbles in the face of the enemy to the detriment of her unit? She is physically incapable of keeping up with the men.”

“What if she could?” Eleanor asked.

“Could what?” Edward demanded, already a few sentences ahead in his rant, and unsure what point she was addressing.

“Give her a trial period,” Eleanor suggested. “If Evelyn proves herself to be as physically capable as a man, then give her the option of joining permanently.

“Yes,” agreed Madame Buchanan quickly. “Isn’t basic training required to judge all soldiers on their state of readiness? I fail to see why it works for our young men, but couldn’t work for our Evelyn.”

“First of all, she’s not a man!”

“Don’t be so obtuse, Edward,” scolded Madame Buchanan. “I was quite capable of defending my home at her age, and my newborn son, just as thousands of women have done for thousands of years.

Said newborn son quieted, unwilling to provoke his mother further by implying her unfit in some way. Instead he tried a different tactic.

“We’re not being invaded, Mother.”

“Aren’t we?” she demanded. “The news I saw had Japanese planes attacking Pearl Harbor. The world is shrinking, Edward. Soon there won’t be anywhere for our girls to hide.”

Without a comeback, Edward stared at his mother defiantly.

“Start thinking strategically, for God’s sake!” scolded Madame Buchanan, wishing she could just pinch his ear to get him to start thinking again as she could when he was a child. “If Evelyn could prove herself in the army, she could become a symbol for all women. Just because suffrage is politically new, does not mean that it wasn’t a long time in coming. Women need someone who believes in them. Evelyn could be a shining light they could rally behind.”

“Are you trying to imply that women would vote for me if I put my daughter in harm’s way?”

“And why wouldn’t they?” asked Eleanor, reminding them that she’d been listening to them air out their family’s laundry for years. “Why wouldn’t women rally behind a senator who’s fighting for their equality? For a senator who is fighting to give them a choice to fight and die for their home, the same as any man? Already thousands of women are flocking to factories and jobs that they were once considered unfit for because they were women. If you got them, as voters, on your side…”

She let the possibilities hang in the air. Edward Buchanan was a shrewd politician, he understood the implications well enough without her having to spell them out further.

“Suppose I get her into a unit, what then, hmm?” he asked.

“I guess that’s up to Evelyn,” replied his mother. “If she fails to meet the physical standards the men accomplish, then she can be sent to a more … conservative position, where she can still help the war effort, but out of the front lines.”

“And if she succeeds?”

“Then you let her go make you proud.”

They left him then, to think and brood and pretend that his mother hadn’t just railroaded him into a decision.

His daughter was going to war.

He poured himself a drink and slugged it back. Straightening, he went back out to rejoin the party. He had to find a fitting unit for his daughter and someone crazy enough to take her, God help him.

“The Airborne?” Senator Buchanan queried an hour later.

“Yes, sir,” said General Bill Lee. “It’s a new kind of warfare. The idea is to fly troops in behind the enemy lines. With proper training –”

“And you support this, Franklin?” interrupted the senator. Edward spoke to the President of the United States with a candidness that their long friendship allowed.

“I believe the idea has a lot of merit,” answered the President with a cowing look for his friend.

Edward visibly took a deep breath and calmed himself. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he finally allowed. “It has been a trying day. You were saying?”

General Lee continued to elaborate on his wild idea for modern warfare. All Edward could imagine was his daughter freefalling from thousands of feet in the air towards the unforgiving ground.

He paled and made his excuses. General Lee allowed him to slip away easily enough, content to delve into further detail with Madame Buchanan and the Roosevelt’s.

Edward tried to walk away, only to be joined by the President a moment later.

“I could do with a drink,” suggested Roosevelt.

Edward could only agree. He led the way to his study where his favorite bottle of scotch was calling his name. The hallway passed by in a blur of single-mindedness. It felt like he’d blinked and been magically transported in front of the globe that contained his scotch.

Pouring both of them a healthy two fingers he offered one to Roosevelt. The President had seated himself on the couch with noticeable relief and took the crystal tumbler. He leaned back and studied his friend.

“You don’t want her to go.”

Edward sighed and took a gulp from his scotch, barely grimacing as the burn raced for his stomach. “Does any parent want their child to go to war?”

Roosevelt sighed and took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “This is why I spent so long trying to avoid this war. After the Great War, a whole generation was wiped out. Who knows what kind of catastrophic casualties we’ll see this time?”

“Do you think this Airborne scheme of yours will work?”

“I’m willing to give anything a try,” admitted Roosevelt. “Anything that will help us win this war.”

Edward sighed. “She wants to go.”

“She seems quite adamant,” commented Roosevelt.

“Adamant?” scoffed Edward. “Determined. Spitting image of her grandmother, and just as stubborn. She’s decided to go to the front, and if we don’t put her in a regiment, I fear she’ll end up in one of those resistance movements. At least in the army she’ll get some decent training.”

“So, you think she can succeed?”

“I think she’ll die trying.”

Silence hung between them as the horrific reality of that phrase permeated into both of their minds.

“That is my fear as well,” confided Roosevelt.

Edward moved to the window. The moonlight bathed the grounds in silver.

“But I’m still willing to let Alexander fight and possibly die for his country.” Edward sighed, “I’m being hypocritical, aren’t I?”

“You love your daughter. There is nothing a parent wouldn’t do for his child.”

“That’s why I have to let her go,” he said, realizing that he meant it.

“Alright,” agreed Franklin. “Let’s see how we can go about this, then.”

“You cannot be serious, Edward!”

Senator Buchanan stared balefully at his wife. He’d made up his mind, now he had the nearly impossible task of convincing Carol. He’d waited until the party had ended and they were both getting ready for bed, but now it was time to face the music. “It’s what she wants.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to let her.”

“Denying her permission isn’t going to protect her. She’ll just find another way. You know she will. She gave me this yesterday.” He pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket and gave it to his wife gravely.

Carol’s hands trembled as she took the receipt for passage to France, scheduled to depart at the end of the month.

“Where did she get this?” Carol asked as she sank into the couch next to him, trying to draw in some of his strength.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Carol stared at the ticket for a long moment. “What are we going to do, Edward?” She finally said, her voice vulnerable in a way he’d never heard before. “She’s my baby.”

Edward pulled his wife into his side, tucking her into his chest as he turned the problem over in his mind.

“What if,” he began, “we send her through basic training?”

Carol pushed away from him and stood up, glaring down at him with a fury holding all the passion he’d married her for.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Just hear me out, Carol. There are several experimental programs going on. There’s one called the Airborne. The general in charge has already expressed an interest in having her in one of their units. The program is going to be very difficult to complete, and those who don’t finish wash out into other branches of the military, but Evelyn… what if Evelyn would wash out entirely? If she fails to meet the requirements for the male soldiers, then she gives up on this nonsense and finds another way to help the war effort. A more conservative way.”

“And you’re sure she won’t make it through training?” demanded Carol, arms folded across her chest.

“As sure as I can be,” replied Edward. “Although the training is not without danger, it might be enough to scare her out of this whole soldiering notion.”

He let Carol digest this in silence, offering no further input.

“I’m angry,” Carol confided. “And I’m scared. What will I do if she dies? With Alex, I always knew that he might follow you into the military but I never thought… Evelyn…

“I know we’re setting her up for failure, but…” Carol sat back down, and let Edward comfort her.

“I know darling,” he said, pulling her close and rubbing her arm. “I know.”

The next morning, the family arrived home after dropping Alex off at the train station. Evelyn watched her mother go into the house and tried not to cry. She hadn't spoken a single word to her all day. There was no secret why, and Evelyn tried not to be hurt at her mother’s blatant disapproval.

Elizabeth touched her arm in support as she walked by, but Eve shrugged it off, watching as her sister glided into the house. Her sister had made her feelings clear: Eliza was on their mother’s side, just like she always was.

Evelyn tried to pretend she didn’t care, that the isolation was just a small price to pay if she was going to be able to become the first woman in American history to be openly on the front lines.

Nonetheless, she missed her brother fiercely already, and her mother and sister’s distance made her heart ache.

Eve understood her parents worry and fears. Anything could happen in combat and she was their little girl. The number of polite society rules she was going to break was astronomical on that count alone. She was going to have to learn to eat, sleep, and generally live her life in front of the men in her unit.

But she wouldn’t change her mind. This was what she wanted. She wanted to help by doing something she was good at. She was good at shooting and tactics. Anyone with eyes could see that pointed towards soldiering. She was not going to live her life in a cage, withering away until all chance of glory had passed her by.

She was not going to sit idly while men died for their country. She could fight and she would do no less than any of them, even if that meant dying herself.

“Evelyn,” her father said, startling her. “Come take a walk with me?”

Bewildered, Eve nodded and joined her father as he stepped across the lawn.

The sun was bright in the morning sky, but the spring wind was bitterly cold as it snuck into her coat.

Neither of them spoke. Eve waited for her father to start the conversation, too wary of saying the wrong thing and angering him.

“I know that you’ve wanted to join the army for a long time now,” he said, finally breaking the silence and mounting Eve’s anxiety. “And by all rights, I shouldn't let you go.”

Eve opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she managed to draw enough breath to start persuading him.

“No, let me speak,” he said, and then remained infuriatingly silent as he gathered his thoughts. “Your mother and I love you very much. She does not want you to go. I do not want you to go.”

“But you let Alex go!” argued Eve, forgetting that she’d tacitly agreed to let him speak.

He glared at her in the way fathers do, and she fell silent, face set in an apology. He nodded and continued. “Your brother is a young man and bound by law to do his duty for his country. If he had not enlisted, the draft would have called upon him sooner or later. Alex going to war does not justify your wish to join him.

“Regardless,” continued Edward, “I have decided that if this is what you really want –”

Eve flung herself into her father’s arms, excitement and exhilaration melding so tightly together in her that she was completely overcome.

He hugged her back just as fiercely, savoring the embrace.

Eve couldn’t stop smiling, beaming into her father’s face even as he pulled away.

“Now listen, alright?” he said, gripping her shoulders tightly to convey the severity of what he was trying to tell her. “There are a few conditions.”

Eve nodded, not particularly caring what they were because she was still so blissfully excited.

“You’ll join the unit I’ve selected for you. The Airborne is an entirely new concept. The general in command of the unit was at your demonstration last night,” he gave her a wry look and she bowed her head sheepishly. Sure, the demonstration hadn’t exactly been her idea, but she’d certainly had a hand in it. “He was impressed enough to offer you a chance.

“If you fail to meet the physical requirements for the unit, you will be washed out and sent home. There will be no second chance or do-over, no transfer to another unit. If you can’t keep up, you will be sent home, understand?”

Eve nodded again, unbothered, and still beaming. She could do this.

“Are you still sure it’s what you really want?” Eve opened her mouth to answer, but he held up a hand. “No, let me finish. You realize that it’s going to be hard? Maybe impossible? They’ll make it tougher on you to prove that you’re not fit, just because you’re a woman.”

“I’m ready to prove them wrong,” said she, showing the stubbornness that ran in the women of his family.

He pulled her into a hug and kissed the crown of her head. “I know you are. Your train leaves for Georgia tomorrow morning. So we’d best head back so you can pack.”

Eve smiled and nodded, already making a list of things she wanted to pack to take along with her.

“I don’t think the army is ready for you, darling, but I know you’ll make me proud. Whether or not you succeed, you’ve already done so by being my daughter.”

Eve buried her face into her father’s chest as the urge to cry overtook her; she fought it back with an unsteady sigh. “Thank you, Papa.”

He kissed her head again and let her go, laughing with her as she wiped away tears of joy.

“Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Eve said instantly.

“Promise me you’ll really think about this tonight? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Eve warned.

He sighed in resignation. “Just promise me you’ll think on it?”

Eve nodded to appease him, not intending to do any such thing. She’d spent almost a year weighing her options before enlisting Grandmamma’s help in persuading her parents. She’d wanted to be absolutely sure about her decision to join the army, about possibly – probably –dying for her country a thousand miles from home.

Eve didn’t need to reconsider. She’d made her choice.

She was going to war.

He took her arm and escorted her back to the house, offering his advice for what she would need to take along.

The next morning at breakfast, bag packed and waiting for her in the foyer, Eve informed her parents and Elizabeth that her decision had not changed. She understood what she was about to walk into and was ready for it. Evelyn Buchanan was ready to become a soldier.

The family’s second drive to the train station was just as chilly as the first, but this time Eve was too excited to care.

She exchanged embraces with her father and sister easily, and finally, when faced with her mother and the inevitability of leaving her for years, possibly forever, on a sour note without even saying goodbye eased the tight grip of her pride. Eve hugged her mother with all the fierceness she had as the strong woman wept into her hair.

The train’s whistle blew, ready to depart.

Carol pulled away from Evelyn with a sob and turned immediately into Edward’s comforting arms.

Elizabeth gave Eve another hug. “Promise me you’ll write.”

“I promise,” said Eve assuredly. “Every day, if I can manage it.”

“Good,” said Elizabeth, breathing shakily as she held back the tears. “I’m going to miss you, little sister. Please don’t get yourself killed.”

Eve laughed. “I’ll be back before you know it, ‘Liza. Don’t fret.”

“Write if you need anything,” instructed Edward.

“I will, Papa.”

“We love you,” said her mother.

“I love you, too,” she said, and got on the train.

She waved to her family from the window until the train pulled out from the station and she could no longer see them.

For the first time, nerves fluttered in her stomach as she headed off, ready for an adventure.

-End Chapter-

---

-Chapter 2: Initiation-

When Eve stepped off the train in Toccoa, Georgia, she was not expecting the military escort holding a white paper with her name on it. Despite there being no mention of an escort of any kind, Eve mustered her confidence and strode towards the soldier with a purpose.

“I’m Evelyn Buchanan.”

He stared at her, ogling, and Eve found it difficult to keep from shifting uncomfortably.

She hadn’t worn a uniform; hadn’t been assigned one yet. Instead, she’d chosen a modest blouse, without shoulder pads, and trousers, among the plainest clothes she owned. Evelyn had even forgone makeup this morning and tied her hair up in a tight braided knot at the back of her head to appear more masculine. It was as close to a soldier as she could get in civilian life. She’d received many inquiring stares from the other passengers; women were supposed to be perfectly coifed in public, especially women who had first-class train tickets.

It appeared that her efforts had all been in vain. Eve tried her best to meet the young soldier’s eyes emotionlessly as he gave her another once over.

His bright yellow hair curled into tufts atop his head; his face was pale considering they were so far south. He looked like he was younger than her. His uniform was neatly pressed, and his shoes still shined with their black polish despite the red dust already clinging to Eve’s.

She coughed and shifted her single bag to her left hand. In it was what little she’d deemed essential enough to bring from home. Nothing against the regulations that her father had warned her about, but spare brassieres and pads for her monthly cycle were necessities she was unlikely to find on an army base, and if what her father told her was correct, leaving base was a privilege she wouldn’t have for quite a while.

The man finally seemed to remember himself and started babbling nervously. “Gosh you’re pretty,” he said. “I mean – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Can we start over? Hello there, miss. My name’s Lorraine, er, Gerald Lorraine. It’s nice to meet you. I’m here to escort you to base.”

She smiled at him, relieved. He seemed like just another of Alex’s friends, young and eager to be of use, harmless, like a puppy.

“Pleasure’s mine,” she said, deeming him harmless enough.

“Oh, can I take your bag?”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

“Oh,” he said, almost seeming putout and then fidgeting around trying to find some alternative for his hands. “Um, oh! The jeep’s this way.”

Eve smiled and fell into step with Lorraine, amused. He kind of reminded her of a puppy, all too big paws and eager affection.

The jeep wasn’t hard to find. Lorraine waited for her to get in the passenger side, somehow managing to swipe her luggage while she wasn’t paying attention and set it gently on the back seat.

The jeep roared to life and jerked forward along the road. There were no doors, no roof on the jeep. Within a few moments of turning onto the road, one of the tires snagged in a pothole and nearly popped Eve out of the jeep and onto the pavement. She gripped the windshield's frame for the rest of the ride, so she wouldn't bounce out.

“It’s just a few miles up the main road here,” explained Lorraine, trying not to laugh at her as he maneuvered them out of town. “When we get there, Colonel Sink – he’s the regimental commander, kind of a hard ass, but fair – anyway, he wants to debrief you before you begin your training, answer any questions you have, and all that.”

“Sounds good,” she said.

“If you don’t mind me askin’, miss, why’d you decide to join the Airborne?”

“It was this, or nothing.”

“Really?” said Lorraine shooting a look at her.

Eve hummed. “There are other reasons. Mostly, that the 506 is merit based, and I wanted to be with the best.”

He blushed at the implied compliment and then pushed forward. “It’s just, didn’t you want to do something else? Go work in a factory or join the WAC or something? Jumping out of planes is dangerous business.”

Not sure she shouldn’t be offended, Eve replied. “I wanted to fight, not make soup.”

“Well, then why not enlist as an officer?”

Eve shifted, uncomfortable. Her father had offered her a commission, but Eve had seen the easy path for an officer to being buried behind the line. “I wanted to fight, not push papers, or be a nurse, or drive a jeep,” – here Lorraine blushed, “I don’t want special treatment because I’m a woman or the rumors that would come with a rank I didn’t earn. I just want to fight for my country. Isn’t that why you joined?”

“To be honest, ma’am, I joined the paratroopers for the extra fifty dollars.” That startled a laugh from her. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

Eve nodded and stared out the window as they passed the sign proclaiming their arrival. Lorraine slowed down and fell silent as he concentrated on not hitting any of the many pedestrians in the road, using the horn to encourage them to get out of the jeep’s path. Some of them were in uniform, some in shorts and t-shirts running, all of them young men with military haircuts.

The jeep pulled to a stop outside of a building with HQ stenciled on the sign out front. Eve got out, not waiting for Lorraine to walk around and open the door for her. “For what it’s worth, miss,” he said, grabbing her luggage before she could. “Good luck.

She smiled at him and followed him into the building.

He led her through a maze of hallways. She tried to memorize the route, but ultimately failed as she was also desperately trying not to shake from nerves. Her hands were sweaty and she wished she had something to hold onto. Lorraine stopped outside a door that read “Colonel Robert F. Sink,” and put her bags down.

“Ready?” he asked.

Eve nodded.

The man knocked sharply.

“Yes?” answered a gruff sounding voice from within the room.

Lorraine opened the door. “Private Buchanan reporting for training, sir,” he announced as he walked into the room.

Eve took a deep breath and followed him in. The room was small and cramped. A single window on the left wall overlooked the training fields where men in sharp rows preformed jumping-jacks. Behind the desk that dominated the room, there was a man dressed in olive drabs and a paratrooper’s leather jacket. He had dark hair and a stern mustache. She could read discipline in each line of his form as he opened up a paper she recognized as a letter from her godfather – the White House letterhead showing through the thin paper in the beaming sunlight. He left her standing there, demonstrating that he was in charge and that he could have her stand there all day. She let him demonstrate, knowing that if she let him know it bothered her, it would be her first step along the path to being drummed out.

When he finished with the first letter, he picked up a second. She could see her family crest imprinted in the reverse through this much thicker paper and realized that he must be reading a letter from her father.

After the longest minute of her life, he set down the second letter. “Miss Buchanan, of course,” he said. He stood from behind his mammoth oak desk, rounding it to shake her hand. She gripped his hand, perhaps a little too tightly, but this was no time for a lady’s gentle handshake. She needed to portray every bit of harshness that she could so he would believe she could survive what she was about to undertake. His eyes were kind as he smiled at her, which she hadn’t really expected.

“Good to meet you, miss,” he said, releasing her hand. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how clammy it was. “Lorraine, shut the door on your way out.”

Lorraine saluted before turning with a military precision she admired. He closed the door with a quiet snick that might as well have been a gunshot.

“Please,” said Sink. “Have a seat, miss.” He walked her over to his desk and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down gracefully, as she had been taught. “Would you care for a beverage? Tea or coffee?

“I’m fine, sir,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

His overly friendly attitude made her wary. She wasn’t sure what kind of game he was playing. Surely, he didn’t offer beverages to every guest to his office? It was not something he would have done for any of his other soldiers and she resented him for thinking that she required such manners from him. He was supposed to be her commander. He needed to see her as just another one of his soldiers. However, her position within this unit was still at his discretion, and it was a knife’s blade line as it was. She kept her peace. If it became an issue later, she would address it then. Technically, she wasn’t a soldier yet.

“Let me be perfectly honest, something like this has never been tried before for a damn good reason. Women just aren’t as strong or mentally tough as men are. But I’ve been given an order to be fair to you, and by God fair is what you’re going to get.”

He looked her over. “Evelyn, is it?” She nodded, as though he hadn’t already said her name once. “You understand that you are here on sufferance? You have two months of a probationary period to prove that you can keep up with the men. If you do not satisfy either myself or any of your instructors, you will go home without complaint. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, struggling to hide her resentment. Long practice as a politician’s daughter kept her face serene as she inwardly seethed. They promised a fair trial. A month was hardly enough time to gauge her preparedness for war, especially since the standard for basic training was a minimum of eight months. It was ludicrous. She would never meet the standard in only a month. It wasn’t physically possible. But she couldn’t even argue. Instead, she just had to sit here and take it.

“Now, having said that, are you sure you want to join the Airborne?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, meeting his eyes and hoping that she was conveying every ounce of her determination through her gaze.

“The Army has done something entirely new here; rather than train as individuals to filter into units just before deployment, the paratroopers train as a unit and will be fighting with that unit throughout the duration of the war. Hence, this being the ideal place for one such as yourself. If you survive training, your unit will become like a family for you and if you survive the training, they’ll take care of you and you of them.

“You’ll need to be prepared to work harder than you ever have. Easy Company, the unit you’ll be joining, already has one of the highest dropout rates in the entire army, and the best performance record in the 506. That means they have a vacancy for latecomers. You will rise to standards, standards that are the highest you’ll find anywhere in the armed forces. This is an all-volunteer unit, so you’re entitled to drop out at any point you wish.

“When your two-month probation has ended, you will undergo evaluation from both myself and General Lee to prove that you’ve met the standard the men are at. If you fail that evaluation, you will leave my base. If you pass, you’ll join the men in training. If, by some miracle of God, you survive training and earn your jump wings, you will be treated like any other soldier. That means that you’ll sleep, eat and shit with the men in your unit, all day every day as long as we are in combat, so you’d best get used to the idea. There will be no time in a warzone for you to have your own room, so enjoy it while you can.”

Eve frowned. Wasn’t she going to join the men immediately? Why on earth would she need her own bathroom? They had stalls didn’t they? How was she ever going to integrate and be treated the same if they were already treating her like an outsider.

“If you make it,” continued Sink, “and you meet standard, I personally guarantee that you will be treated the same as any other man in your unit.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. If she could survive training, she was in. That was fair. That was like anyone else.

“Now, in the meantime, we’re still coming to terms with the exact protocols for your integration with the men.”

“Sir,” she interrupted sensing his gaze lingering on her hair. “The barber was my next stop, sir. I would have cut it to regulations already, only –“

“Don’t worry about it. As long as it’s out of your eyes and off your collar, that’s all I’m going to ask.”

She inhaled sharply, startled. That was not a response she’d expected. “Sir, I’m not looking for any special treatment.”

“We’re not trying to deny your sex, Private,” he said, addressing her as a rank for the first time. “You’ll have a separate bed and a separate bathroom. If you have any special medical needs, report to the infirmary. If your classmates or a superior officer acts in a harassing or otherwise unbecoming manner, you are to inform me immediately, so I can deal with it immediately. It may not always run smooth but we’re trying to make this as painless as possible, for everybody.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, “but I expect a certain amount of pain.”

That made him laugh, and for a minute, she saw the jovial man he must be at home. She hadn’t meant to say that. Her nerves had been on edge for so long that her mouth ran away with her.

“I like you, Private,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ll make a good soldier if you have that kind of spine.” A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Sink called.

A tall, dark haired man entered the room. He had a large nose and dark eyes that gave her a polite, acknowledging nod. “Ah, Lieutenant Sobel,” said Sink, waving the man into the room to sit in the other chair. He did not get up to pull it out for the man, Eve noticed. Nor did he offer him drinks as they set right down to business. “This is Evelyn Buchanan, our newest paratrooper.”

Sobel’s eyes roved over her. She met his gaze squarely, knowing that this was the pivotal moment. “Private,” he said, offering her a hand to shake. She noticed that his nails were clean despite the supposedly grueling nature of training.

“Sir,” she replied, voice as firm as her grip when she shook his hand. She tried not to let her nerves break his fingers. Sobel did not extend the same courtesy. Eve flexed her fingers subtly when they were returned to her, out of sight from Sink.

“Lieutenant Sobel here,” said Sink, indicating Sobel with a weathered hand, “will oversee your probation and eventual entry to his unit. His Company, his standard.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, glancing back at Sobel with newfound curiosity.

“Then you are dismissed, private. Settle your gear in your billet. Have Lorraine show you the way. Dinner will be served in the mess hall at 1800 hours. Report to the drill field at 0530 tomorrow morning for training with Lieutenant Sobel.”

“Sir,” she gave him a salute she’d practiced over and over again in the mirror until she’d perfected it. He looked surprised, but grudgingly pleased. She about-faced and marched quickly from the room, grabbing her bag on the way out. She nodded to Lorraine who was waiting for her and left the door and the conversation behind her.

She closed the door behind her.

Lieutenant Sobel’s waited for a moment, to make sure the woman was well out of hearing range to protest. “Sir, a woman? She’ll get everyone in her unit slaughtered, including herself.”

“Now, Herbert,” chided Sink, a gentle tone in his voice, but a cunning spark in his eye. “I believe if you successfully integrate a woman into your unit, get her up to your exacting standards, well, that would make you one of the finest commanders in the entire Army.”

“But, sir, there’s no way she’ll ever reach the standard that the men have.”

“If she can’t hack it, then she’s out, but it had better be fair. I don’t want some bureaucrat coming in and complaining that we didn’t give her a fair chance. We’re going to let her try. The President Roosevelt himself wants her in this unit and by God that’s what we’re going to do.”

Sink paused, looking over the man who had the highest dropout rate in the entire 506. Lieutenant Sobel was tough on the men, but he got some damn fine results.

“I won’t lie, Herbert, it’ll be a challenge. It would be a great accomplishment, a mark of your effectiveness as a combat training officer, if you can whip even a girl into shape. General Lee and I will both oversee her progress and evaluate her after her probation. If she makes the grade, it’ll be one hell of an achievement. I personally can’t think of a better man for the job than you.”

Sobel thought it over. “I understand, sir.” He stood. “I’ll make sure she meets standard.”

“Good man, Lieutenant. I knew I could count on you.”

Eve endured wolf-whistles and catcalls as she followed Lorraine up the main road for the base.

“Who’s the broad?” someone asked openly ogling her bum as she passed him.

“I don’t have any idea, but I saw her first!” cried another.

In any other environment or situation she might have felt flattered but she wasn’t here to be some Private’s sweetheart, she was here to serve her country. She carved her face from stone and kept moving, ignoring their attempts to garner her attention. She did her best to ignore the two men, still calling out for her attention though she hadn’t acknowledged them in any way, and the many other strikingly similar comments thrown her way as Lorraine led the way to her assigned cabin.

“We’ve just finished building the camp,” Lorraine informed her with a proud smile. “Last month you’d have been in a pup tent.”

Eve made some hum of agreement and tried to keep her head from swiveling around like a gawker. There were so many different groups, all training in different ways. Some were climbing a twenty-foot log wall, others were wading through some sort of hopscotch course made of rope tied to stakes at ankle height, while still more were amidst hand-to-hand combat training. Then there was the random smattering of men mingling about or playing sports like basketball, and a bizarre form of kickball. She thought they’d have gotten enough with training, but apparently they were still trying to out alpha dog each other and prove they were the best and meanest of the group.

Eve couldn’t wait to try it all for herself, to see how she faired against the boys, before remembering that it would be a long time before she would get to compare herself against them.

“Well, this is it!” announced Lorraine.

Eve barely kept herself from running into the kid’s back. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice. The cabin was the same size as the others, with two square windows on either side of the door. The thing was raised a few steps off the ground on stilts, and Eve wondered if it flooded around here.

“Do you want me to show you the inside?” Lorraine asked, solicitous.

“No, thanks,” she replied. She rather thought it would be more appropriate, for her probation at least, that no one other than herself entered her cabin. She wouldn’t want to unknowingly foster some kind of rumor.

Lorraine looked put out again, but recovered quickly. “Okay, then. If you need someone to show you around, let me know?”

“I will,” said Eve, with no intention of doing so. She’d much rather explore and get to know the camp on her own terms.

“Well, then, I’ll let you get settled. It was a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“Likewise,” she said, and smiled at him as he ambled off back towards headquarters.

Taking a deep breath and clenching her hand tightly around the handle of her suitcase, she walked up the stairs and opened the door to her new, temporary home.

The cabin was clearly being used for storage. Several empty bed frames littered the room, some overturned, and some piled atop one another in a random assemblage of spare parts. A little investigation revealed a washroom in the back, with a spigot she assumed was meant for showering, and a small sink and toilet. She was so grateful for the privacy it offered, she was willing to overlook how obviously filthy and unkempt it was. Nothing a little work wouldn’t cure if she could find the right tools.

She wondered if this was a billet that had been emptied of volunteers after they’d all dropped out, but she shoved the depressing thought to the side. She was just going to have to prove to herself and everyone else that she was more capable than those washouts. She could do it, she hoped. The road was going to be long and hard, but at least everyone else had also started out as civilians. It would be different if she’d been trying to fit in with a unit of experienced soldiers. Hopefully, because they were volunteers like her, they’d be more likely to accept her as one of them.

There was only one bed frame with a mattress, situated just to the right of the door. On it, she found her gear. Placed prominently were her dog tags. She fingered the embossed metal reverently before slipping them over her head. They settled between her breasts and brushed the top of her stomach. She tucked them out of sight, under her shirt, feeling for the first time like she had finally made it.

Also on her bed were a folded set of olive drabs and PT gear. The PT shirt had a parachute on it. The shorts were black and only hit her upper thigh. That was a little worrying. She’d never worn something so short other than a bathing suit. She shoved the notion of embarrassment out of her mind.

It is what it is, she thought. They certainly weren’t going to change the uniform for the sake of her ridiculous notion of modesty. If she wanted to be treated like a boy, this was as good a place as any to act like it.

There were a lot of other supplies she wasn’t really sure what to do with, but mainly, she wasn’t sure how on earth all these things were supposed to fit on one person. She picked up a harness made up of six different straps including a loop of several pouches, trying to puzzle it out. She tried to picture Lorraine, but he hadn't been wearing anything but a uniform, not even a helmet, which had a weird fabric net made of yet more straps of fabric, which might be meant to go on the inside and fasten to it in some manner.

She played with it for a while, trying things on and trying to get them to lie flat in some kind of comfortable manner. In some cases, like that of the six strapped harness, she gave up on ever being comfortable in it. Her anatomy wasn’t meant for flat straps. For once, she was grateful that she didn’t have Elizabeth’s more pronounced curves.

Despite spending the better part of the afternoon playing with her new supplies, and trying to learn all the secrets to it, there were some things she’d have to find someone to ask about and endure the embarrassment of not even knowing how she was supposed to dress herself.

Eve tried not to despair that she was going to be completely behind in this area on top of everything else.

Well, she thought, there’s nothing I can do about it right now. She changed into her olive drabs, assuming that was standard wear while not in PT based on the men she’d seen outside, and unpacked the rest of her stuff neatly into the footlocker at the base of her bed.

She took the time to lace up her boots, tightening the laces so the leather was snug to her skin. She winced as the laces bit into her hands. The boots themselves were heavy, obviously made for hard use. Eve was pleased that they fit her though.

When she finally ventured out from her rack, she was a little surprised to see the sun going down. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been holed up in her cabin. The camp was silent, the obstacle course and the training grounds were deserted. The contrast from the bustling camp of this afternoon to this ghost town was eerie, but Eve decided to take advantage of it while she could to explore and maybe find out where the heck everyone else had gone.

The air was crisp for early summer. Eve was grateful for her long sleeves as the wind tried to burrow into her clothes.

She strode between the cabins, trying to imprint the layout and keep her own cabin’s location fixed in her mind as a reference point.

A nagging sound in the distance caught her attention. Curious, she followed the noise to its source and stumbled on what she assumed was the mess hall. The smell of food drifted into her nose and left her stomach rumbling, reminding her that the last time she’d eaten was breakfast.

Without thought, she pushed open the door.

The scent of butter and grease, rationed so carefully even in a senator’s house, overwhelmed her nose for a moment with their pungency. The stench of salty sweat and a lack of deodorant from the men hit her next. It was the kind of civilized chaos that came from busy meals. The men were all eating, joking, laughing, teasing like it was their last meal on earth.

She had but a moment to take it all in before some of the soldiers closest to the door started slapping their buddies in the arm, pointing at her. Within a heartbeat, the hall had fallen utterly silent. Every eye was on her, judging her, weighing her worth, her value as a soldier, and finding her wanting.

Her appetite vanished.

She walked forward, deeper into the lion’s den with a forcefully bland face to hide her nerves.

As she moved deeper, a wave of hushed conversation began in her wake. She knew they were all talking about her, scrutinizing her, but she couldn’t turn back now. Couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

“Check this out fellas! Dame thinks she’s a soldier!” The voice was gleeful, the tone jeering.

This drew a cacophony of laughter.

Quickly, the men grew bolder. There were some whistles of appreciation and much leering as her OD’s did little to disguise her slight figure, even a couple of grabbing hands that she deftly avoided.

She kept her face neutral with every scrap of will she possessed. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy.

Ignoring them as best she could, becoming deaf to the remarks of her being some kind of whore who slept her way into the army, Eve kept moving.

She refused to let them get to her, refused to bow her head as though she was ashamed of herself, of her gender.

Her head straight forward she got in to the chow line. It was still teeming with soldiers on their second or third helping. Several of the cooks sneered at her, deliberately missing her plate as they dumped spoonfuls of what amounted to food in her general direction. Some of it stained her brand new ODs. She met their laughing eyes with ice-cold rage, but said nothing, moving down the line.

When she finally had a tray, half drenched with greasy sauce, she turned back to see that the entire canteen had closed ranks. There were no open seats anywhere save an isolated bench all the way back across the room, in the very farthest away corner. She could easily have fit five men in the space left around her.

So be it, she thought crossing the hall once more, to even more jeers and taunts, the men encouraged by her indifference to try harder at breaking her spirit, she did not slow, or give into the temptation to give them a piece of her mind. It wouldn’t matter if she did, it would only prove them right, that she couldn’t even take these small discomforts.

Never mind that any man here would no doubt be fighting mad if these soldiers had treated their mothers, or sisters, or daughters, this way.

She was utterly alone, not a one of them would defend her, not a one stood up to say that their fellows were wrong. If they wanted to act on the lewd suggestions they were spewing, she would be helpless to defend herself, though she would try her damnedest.

It seemed to take an eternity, but Eve made it back across the room to the last open bench, proud that the only evidence of her anger, her fear, was the slightest shaking of her hands. She sat down where they’d obviously designated her spot to be.

The last stragglers on her table stood up and left, hammering home that she was an unwelcome outsider, a pariah.

Eve bit her lip and looked on the bright side. At least she had elbow room. And no one was likely to hurt her if they were set on pretending that she didn’t exist.

She ate as quickly as she dared, scooping each morsel into her mouth with as much propriety as she could manage – just because she was in the army now didn’t mean she had to turn into some kind of barbarian – and she was determined to finish every scrap. She would not run away like some kicked dog just because they didn’t want her here.

Fortunately, the men seemed content to ignore her and get back to their own meals now that she was just sitting and eating.

She let her gaze fall into the middle distance stare she used while hunting. She was aware of everything going on around her, and yet she was directly staring at nothing. It allowed her mind to disengage for a while.

Her fork was halfway to her mouth when someone, accidentally or otherwise, bumped into her hard from behind, sending her face forward into her meal. She literally shook in fury as she pushed herself up, dripping with ruined and wasted food – unthinkable even now that the Depression was mostly over.

Eve turned, eyes hard as ice chips, and faced the man who’d knocked her. He had a sharp face, with dark brown hair and eyes. His breast read Liebgott.

“Whoops, sorry about that, doll,” he said, cruel smile darting around his mouth.

Deliberate then, she thought and grabbed her tray, fixing his face in her mind.

Rather than try again with the line and the long walk between it and her, she turned her tray over to the dishwashers, who accidentally sprayed her with the water they were swishing around.

Or not, she thought as his eyes lingered on her, trying to provoke a reaction, as she turned away. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her anger, her hurt, at their poor behavior.

The men she would, hopefully, eventually, be fighting alongside disliking her so intensely and so immediately was something she hadn’t foreseen, and was far more potent than she’d ever imagined. She tried not to glare at the room at large, tried not to be disappointed. It seemed now that her little girl’s dream of immediately being accepted and loved by these men was as unrealistic as unicorns.

Eve left the dining hall with all the dignity she could, at a steady, easy pace, as though food and soapy suds weren’t dripping onto the wood floor with her every step. She needed to find the laundry and get these stains out before they set. Maybe someone there would be kind enough to have an instruction manual or offer advice on how to put on her full gear kit, she hoped, but even as she thought it, she discarded the hope she felt as unrealistic.

It made the part of her that desperately wanted acceptance wither as she foresaw the loneliness destined to be her future in the army.

She had to resign herself to that fact now, lest it sneak up and surprise her later. She didn’t need these men to be her friends. She needed to depend on them in combat. That would start by proving to them that they could depend on her.

Eve would just have to prove herself to these men the hard way: through perseverance and being too damned good – or stubborn – to wash-out. It would start tomorrow.

There was a long road ahead of her before she became a certified paratrooper, and it had just gotten longer.

---

-Chapter 3: Probation-

Private Evelyn Buchanan tried not to shift and fidget as she stood at attention for what was closing in on the second hour in a row, waiting for her instructor. She'd been told to meet him on this field at 0530 and stand at attention until he arrived.

She shifted her weight again, easing off first her aching right foot, then her left. Her new boots were biting into her feet. It felt like they were sandpaper lined instead of wool, grinding away the flesh around her bones.

A near constant stream of sweat dripped from her hair line, down her nose, and dropping to her chest to disappear in the damp mess under her clothes.

Eve couldn't help but feel a bit silly. Like a little girl standing in daddy's shoes and mommy's overlong dress. It didn't help that it was way too hot to be wearing all this gear. Who in their right mind thought it would be a good idea to train in three layers and fifty pounds of gear in the Georgia summer?

Only a man would think it was a good idea for men to train in the hottest part of the country in three layers of cotton.

At least the laundry attendant had taken some pity on her and briskly showed her what she would be required to wear for her first day of training, even if wearing so many layers seemed like a cruel joke.

She closed her eyes and shifted again, slowly trying, while not moving overly much, to stretch out her cramped muscles. It didn't help that she already felt baggy and tired. Her monthly bleeding had started last night, much to her mortification this morning as she stripped her bed and scrubbed it diligently. The whole thing was two weeks early, and Eve attributed it to stress more than anything. But the cloths used to stop her monthly bleeding from humiliating her did nothing to help her feel good about herself.

More infuriating than standing here, baking in the rising sun for hours with nothing to do, was that she had a clear view of other company’s training on the obstacle course.

They weren't her company – Easy Company was in lessons at the moment – but these men already looked like fighting men, like soldiers. Eve just looked silly, standing here alone, waiting for no one.

"You are standing at the position of attention!" barked a voice from behind her. Eve nearly leapt in surprise. She would have, but her muscles were too stiff and sore from standing still for so long.

Sobel had finally arrived, and he was furious.

Eve's entire attention honed in on the raging man, momentarily forgetting her aching body.

"Name?" he demanded, snarling.

Eve swallowed and tried to clear her parched throat enough to speak through her chapped lips. "Buchanan, Evelyn, Sir."

He looked her over, sneering his disapproval and tugging her equipment out for his inspection with a meticulously clean hand.

"What is this?" he asked, a mean look in his eye.

Eve stared at the bayonet he held with trepidation, unsure what to answer, or how she'd already managed to get herself in trouble.

"I asked a question, Private," he hissed. "What is this?"

"A bayonet, sir?" she asked, unsure.

"That's incorrect, Private. This is property of the United States Army. Property which you have failed to keep properly maintained! This blunted piece of shit isn't worth being called a bayonet. Is your whet stone malfunctioning? Were you too tired this morning to sharpen it? DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY, RIGHT NOW!"

Eve dropped, and tried to manage pushups in fifty pounds of gear and through twenty pounds of sweat. She tried to breathe through the pain, and bit her lip as she forced her quivering arms up and down, trying to keep her pack from slipping off her shoulders.

"YOU'RE NOT COUNTING, SOLDIER!"

"O-one," she said, knowing better than to guess what number she was on.

"I can't hear you!"

"ONE!" she screamed.

"Faster!"

"Two! Three," she grunted as she pushed herself up and tried not to fall back to the ground.

"You might be dressed like a soldier, but you've got a long way to go before you prove you belong here!"

Eve bit her lip and kept going, focusing all her will into just doing one more, and then another after that.

She lost count a few times, and Sobel made her start over from the beginning. She guessed she'd done maybe thirty pushups when her shaking arms could not manage to push her body up for another one. Not even if he'd put a gun to her head would she have been able to do one more.

"On your feet!" he barked.

Eve scrambled up, a messy cacophony of colliding equipment as it rearranged. She tried not to grimace where he could see, but the condescending smile he gave her bedraggled form let her know she'd failed.

She wiped her hands, slick with red dirt turned to mud by her sweat, onto her pant legs.

"What is this, Private, dirty ODs?"

Eve glanced down and winced at the mess she'd made.

"Ten more!"

Eve dropped down and did ten more, too exhausted to argue at this point. It took her nearly three times as long to finish the set as it had the first ten she'd completed.

When she stood, he gave her a narrow eyed look, waiting for her to wipe her hands again. She resumed standing at attention and tried not to think about how much her hands itched.

"Because of your numerous infractions," said Sobel once she'd stopped heaving for breath, "your weekend pass is revoked. We're running up Currahee, Private. Three miles up, three miles down!"

Eve tried not to whimper and followed Sobel as he took off, doing her best to keep up with the man, who was running faster than she'd thought him capable of, which made it all the harder to keep up with him loaded down as she was with all her kit.

When they finally reached the base of the mountain, Sobel pulled a stopwatch from his pocket.

"Get going," he announced, clicking the button.

Eve hitched her pack higher on her shoulders and lurched forward, already exhausted from her morning run.

It was impossible to run the whole stretch. The hill was steep; the gravel littered dirt road crumbled from beneath her feet with each step. She walked when she couldn't jog, jogged when she couldn't run, and cried when she couldn't do anything more than stand and breathe.

Somehow, she made it to the top. It came down to pure stubborn tenacity. She kept going even when she wanted to give up and just let herself roll back down the hill so she wouldn't have to walk back down.

It was Alex's voice in her ear that made her finish, that kept her from folding into a ball or just sitting down to quit.

"No one is going to take a girl to war!"

She would not let him be right.

She was going to finish even if she died trying.

When she hit the top, she was practically on her hands and knees. She touched the stone, and looked down on the valley below, on camp Toccoa and all the very small soldiers below and laughed – with a touch of hysteria – before all but tumbling back down.

It took an embarrassingly long time. She passed another company running up the hill and tried to keep out of their way. Though the officers kept their men on the other side of the road, the jeering laughter at her wrung out appearance could not be silenced, and the officers didn't even try.

Eve acknowledged two things as she stumbled back to the bottom and met Sobel's judgment, just enduring the screaming anger he heaped on her without comment or protest. One, that was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever done, and two, that people should be careful what they wished for.

Every morning, Evelyn woke up and was ready and waiting on the field by 0530.

If Sobel was the one training her for the day, the start time varied due to his propensity to arrive anywhere from exactly on time, to leaving her to wait for hours. When he did arrive, he started by going through her gear. Despite the hours she spent meticulously going over each piece of equipment to make sure it was in perfect shape, he always found and pointed out several infractions.

Evelyn learned to simply save time and answer: "No excuse, sir," for each one, whether she could see the imperfection he was pointing out or not.

"You will drop and give me ten pushups for each infraction," he would say. On one particularly hot day he only found one, but the next day he found six. So, she dropped. He watched her down his long pointed nose. She was fine through the first twenty, was sweating by thirty, trembling by forty, and positively shaking by sixty, but she finished. She stood back up, consciously remembering not to wipe her palms on her trousers, never forgetting the lesson she'd learned that first day.

When they'd finished the bizarre ritual of equipment check, Sobel took Eve on a morning run, a run that grew increasingly longer, a half-mile added every days. She was then dismissed to eat breakfast and shower. Fifteen minutes allotted for each activity, before reporting back for another equipment check, this time in the barracks as he inspected it for cleanliness and contraband.

If she had failed to address the issues he'd pointed out earlier that day, she did triple the punishment. He always found more to criticize, but Eve realized pretty early on that he was just making up infractions more than half the time.

Then it was a run up Currahee, which Sobel timed every third run.

Eve had to assume she was improving because he never showed her her time.

Then it was off to assorted drills. They changed every few days, but it was always grueling. Sobel pushed her beyond what she thought she could handle, keeping her out late on all-night-marches, and had her up before dawn each morning for more PT.

Gradually, she realized that he was teaching her things as he was tormenting her, but he was so petty and small minded through the lessons that Eve didn't even care. She began to hate him with every small infraction he pointed out, every petty chore he assigned to just waste her time.

She said nothing, she did nothing. She just did what she had to and kept a blank face.

Sobel made sure that the gap between her, the person working in the muck and the mud, and him, the ever clean and presentable superior, was ever observed.

When it was all over for the evening, she was always so tired she just wanted to cry. Only the potential teasing she faced from the man kept her eyes clear.

She learned to expect the half portion she usually got for dinner, with the other half adding grease and slop to her already mud stained ODs. She hardly noticed any more, just moved sleepily down the line and automatically to her deserted corner of the room to eat in peace.

She learned to savor the meals where no one went out of their way to harass her.

The harassment was typically pushing her into her meal. Once, she'd sat on something squishy on her bench. But overall, the men generally didn't bother with her. She was often already too deep in her own misery to react with anything more than blank acceptance of their pranks. She hoped they felt like they were kicking an animal that was already beaten down, because that's how she felt.

The isolation was endless and unforgiving. There was no one she could turn to; no one she felt she could say with confidence was rooting for her, just herself. It was a hard, bitter pill to take, but every meal alone was a reminder.

Each day pushed these hard truths home a little further. No one was going to help her. No one wanted to befriend the girl. No one wanted her here. She was utterly alone.

She had nothing but her own determination to keep herself going.

But sometimes, that didn't seem like enough.

Sobel wasn't the only person drafted as her instructor. He had a whole company to oversee after all, and he certainly couldn't spend all his time tormenting her.

The first replacement instructor she had was First Sergeant Evans.

Evans wasn't too much different from training with Sobel. The ginger haired man skipped over her equipment check and put her straight to work. He shared Sobel's annoying habit of watching her like a heckling spectator while she worked increasingly harder.

Where he differed was that Evans was likely to wait until she'd done something completely wrong before telling her she'd messed up, but not how, and then letting her try and fail until she figured it out on her own. Sobel just didn't have that kind of patience and typically just screamed at her until she figured out how he wanted her to accomplish the task. Where Sobel wanted everything done exactly the way he would go about it, Evans didn't much care about the execution as long as the goal was achieved.

It was different, but not necessarily better than working with Sobel.

The second person she met from Easy Company was altogether different than Evans. He was a handsome dark-haired fellow from New Jersey. His eyes betrayed his sharp mind; his grin his wry humor.

The first time she met Lieutenant Lewis Nixon, he staggered onto the field fifteen minutes past 0530, looking rather worse for wear.

Eve watched this new authority figure with some trepidation. If he felt half as bad as he looked, she was going to be in for one hell of a day.

"Jesus Christ," the man mumbled upon seeing her. "You always up this early in full gear?"

Eve didn't know if the question was rhetorical, but hedged her bets that he didn't actually want to hear the obvious answer and stayed quiet.

"Aren't you friendly?" he muttered, mistakenly thinking he'd done so under his breath.

Eve heard him just fine and tried not to be stung. She didn't even know this man’s name yet, and he was already predetermined not to like her. Immediately, she reminded herself that she wasn't here to be liked and tried to straighten her spine just a bit more under the weight of his stare. No one else here liked her, so why would this fellow be any different?

"I'm Lieutenant Nixon. I'll be taking over your training today from Lieutenant Sobel, because he's sleeping in like a normal person."

Eve could read between the lines. He was being punished for something and had been stuck training the girl.

He scratched his stubbled cheek and yawned.

"So, what do you normally do this early?"

He reminded her of someone. It took a long moment before she realized it was Alex. Something in the way he held himself, an uncaring slouch despite being raised to have perfect posture.

"Typically, Lieutenant Sobel checks my equipment first, then he has me run Currahee first, and then –"

He interrupted her with a groan. "I'm not doing that this early in the morning." He cocked his head and considered her. "Tell you what, why don't you go ahead and get rid of all that gear? I've got something better in mind for this morning. Besides, you look dead on your feet."

Eve just stared at him, trying to decide whether or not he was kidding.

"Come on, don't just look at me, I haven't got all day."

Confused, but unwilling to question it, Eve raced back to her billet and stowed away her gear before racing back to the field just in time to see Nixon stowing a flask in his breast pocket.

"I'd offer you some," he said, noting where her gaze had strayed, "but you don't look old enough to have one just yet."

"I'm twenty-three," she informed him, the words spilling out of her without permission. Eve was already dropping into position for pushups, Sobel's usual consequence for speaking out of turn.

Nixon didn't bark at her, just watched as she ran through the standard ten-pushup punishment for speaking out of turn without comment, a sharp look in his eye.

"He's got you well trained, hasn't he?" he remarked as she stood back up and automatically assumed the position of attention.

Eve blinked at him, not sure if she was supposed to be offended by the comment or flattered.

"At ease, Private," he said. "All that standing at attention is making me feel tense. Don't worry about speaking freely around me either. You got a problem, I damn well wanna know what it is, got it?"

Eve nodded.

"Let me hear you say it," he pressed.

"Yes, sir."

"Alright," he said. "Sit down."

She did, unconsciously mirroring his pose, slouch and all.

"This morning, we're going to go over standard operating procedure for capturing a target…"

Eve settled in to listen, already riveted.

Before she knew it, the whole morning had passed away in a flurry of questions and answers. Nixon was willing to answer pretty much any question she had about the military.

"Why do you have to select two people if you suspect a gas attack? Can't you just pick one?" she inquired. Apparently, it was standard operating procedure for two people to remove their masks in the event of a suspected gassing. "Wouldn't it make more sense to just look around at all the dead animals?"

"There aren't any animals on a battlefield," said Nixon, "And you're missing the main point, which is that first you take everyone's weapons, and then you select two people."

The bell rang signaling lunch as Eve tried to decide whether she was supposed to laugh or be unnerved by that notion. Eve had often times been too far away from camp, mostly running Currahee, to actually take a lunch break during the day, but Nixon was already getting up, dusting off the seat of his pants as he straightened.

Eve followed his lead and stood as well, but waited for orders. She'd missed her run up Currahee after all.

"Let's get some chow," said Nixon, already walking away, leading her to the officer’s mess rather than the traditional mess hall. "After lunch, we can talk about unit tactics and run through the hand signals you should be learning…"

As Eve ate her first peaceful lunch in weeks, listening riveted to Lieutenant Nixon ramble on about various aspects of military life and procedure, she thought, for the first time, that maybe this army stuff wasn’t so bad.

About four days after meeting Nixon, Eve met a third member of Easy Company. Lieutenant Winters had red hair, sharp blue eyes and an easy manner.

"Hello, Private," he said when he arrived, precisely on time, something Evans and Sobel rarely bothered with. "I'm Lieutenant Winters, I'll be overseeing your training today."

He gave her a half smile she couldn't help but return. Eve had to admit, he was very attractive. As soon as she recognized the thought – and the budding blush behind it – she stomped it down and squashed it. She had no time for romance, especially not here of all places.

It was odd. Winters was just as demanding a task master as Sobel was, often asking what felt like impossible feats from her, but he was fair. He only demanded her best, not perfection, and he encouraged her.

"Good job, soldier. Keep it up," said Winters early in the day.

Eve nearly dropped her rifle from using it as a workout weight, floored by the actual positive encouragement.

Winters made sure her technique was correct, adjusting her posture with clinical hands so she was able to get more exhausted than ever from her workout. It was worrying that she'd been doing it wrong for so long, and even more worrying that Sobel hadn't pointed it out to her.

"Permission to speak, sir?" she asked.

He smiled, "Granted."

"Will you walk me through the rest of the exercises too?"

She tried not to interpret the surprised look on his face as rejection and waited for his answer.

"Of course," he replied, and then did it, walking her through each and every exercise Sobel had her do, and several she'd never done before.

Better than that, he explained why what she was doing was wrong after he showed her how to fix it.

"Turn your knee a bit more to the outside. It'll help you get back into position easier."

"Make sure you keep your chin straight ahead. Otherwise your back bows when you push back up, which can really hurt your back. Try again." He watched her try another push up. "Better."

Even more impressive: Winters actually did the exercises with her in a form of camaraderie that she'd never experienced before.

Winters was definitely her favorite instructor, Nixon a close second.

There were others, but never more than once as officers seemed to be in Easy Company one second and gone the next in an ever revolving door.

Nixon and Winters came out to help her least often, but she looked forward to those days. Every morning she waited anxiously, praying that it wouldn't be Sobel or Evans on their way to meet her. She was disappointed often.

Despite working with some of the lieutenants, she still wasn't allowed to watch the men train. This led her to believe that the men were laughably far ahead of her. Maybe Sobel was doing her a favor by preventing her from watching them, but she yearned to compare herself.

That didn't mean they weren't allowed to watch her. She often had an audience that came by to heckle her, taunting her as she struggled to mount the ten-foot wall for the third time in an hour, running sprints between each wall climb.

"Better run, Girlie! The Japs is here!" She heard someone cry in a mocking tone.

They didn't come by when Winters and Nixon were around, only Evans and Sobel.

Sobel seemed to subtly encourage their taunting, if only because he didn't do anything to stop it. It certainly wasn't isolated to E company either. Members from every Company, from Able to Item, had swung by her field or the obstacle course or even as she was trying to run Currahee (taunting her as they easily outstripped her), to mock the clumsy girl running the obstacle course under Sobel's fierce scrutiny.

She swung herself up and over the log wall and hurled towards the tunnels. She crawled under the barbed wire-lined mud pit.

She could hear Sobel screaming. "For God's sake Buchanan, move faster!" She did. "Stay lower!" She tried. "If you run around like a girl, the Japs will pick you off right away. They're good at picking off the weak link."

Eve gritted her teeth through the mud and kept going. If the litany of curse words she chanted in her head to keep a rhythm grew with each of his high-pitched, nasal shouting, well…

When she finished the course, she stood at attention before Sobel as he dressed her down, listing all the things she'd done wrong that would get not only herself, but everyone around her killed.

"Yes, Sir!" was always the answer. The only answer she could give, before she fell back to the beginning and tried again.

One night, he pushed her too far.

Sobel had been in fine form. He'd followed her up Currahee, trying to humiliate her at every turn, even going so far as running circles around her when she had to pause to jog.

"The men of Easy Company can run this hill at double time in a full pack and gear in half this time! You're too slow! You're not cut out for this. Just say the word and it can all be over. You can go back home to mommy and forget this whole thing ever happened. Find a nice husband to take care of you-"

Eve tried to tune him out, to just keep her head up and keep going.

"You look tired, Buchanan. You can go back down to bed, right now. Just say goodbye to all this. You know you're never going to make it as a paratrooper anyway." The barrage was constant.

She took it all, gritting her teeth and biting her lip.

Sobel hadn't been satisfied when they'd finished running Currahee. He put her right to work on endless exercises. Jumping jacks, chin-ups, sit-ups, push-ups, squats, duck-walks, lunges, sprints, deep knee bends, designed to stretch each and every muscle in her body.

Afterwards, just when she felt like she was about to collapse, he sent her to run the obstacle course twice, smugly holding his stop watch in his lily white hand.

And then he sent her back up Currahee.

She had no idea how long she'd been at it, but she'd barely been able to remain upright when Sobel finally told her she was dismissed.

Eve fell out, and stumbled towards the mess hall, feeling as though she was a wash cloth someone had wrung out and left to dry on too-thin wire.

She ate automatically, each raise of her fork agony for her still quivering arm. She'd been humiliated and belittled over nonsense all frigging day, and now all she wanted was to sleep.

Bang. She jumped, much to the enjoyment of the snickering men. But it woke her up enough to finish the last bites of her cold food.

Eve stood with a grimace and stared down at her tray, vividly imagining it magically floating itself over to the dishwasher. She resigned herself to the extra steps and grabbed it, trying not to notice the way her hands throbbed and her knees quaked as she slowly made it to the line, buzzing in her ears as the space between blinks became longer each time.

Her feet took her automatically out of the mess hall. It must have been closer to sleep walking because she didn't even remember the walk to her billet, longing for a shower and hopefully bed.

Sobel had other ideas.

He was waiting for her outside her billet, a full pack and kit dumped in the red dirt next to him.

She begrudgingly put it on, inspecting each bit of equipment as she assembled it, as quickly and as thoroughly as she could with Sobel's eagle-eye focused on her. Altogether, it felt like it must weigh more than she did. She sagged under the weight and waited for orders.

"Aren't you missing something, Private?" Sobel asked after she'd been waiting for a good five minutes for him to tell her what to do.

Eve thought about it, but honestly had no idea.

"Your canteen, private. The most important resource a soldier in the wild has, and it was not with your gear. Why is that, Private?"

"No excuse, sir," she said, baffled.

He hummed. "As it turns out, I may know the location of your missing canteen. Some thieves have stolen it and hidden it somewhere in the woods around camp. Luckily for you, they've left you a map with its location. You will retrieve your canteen and bring it back to me before dawn, or you won't come back at all. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" she barked.

"But first, you will complete the exercise I had scheduled for you tonight. You will demonstrate your ability with orienteering on a compass course."

She blinked at him, confused and too tired to ask.

"You will find all ten points indicated on your map, and retrieve your canteen. At each point will be a card with something on it. Report back to me with what was on those cards. You have about," he looked at his watch, an exaggerated motion to taunt her, "nine hours, starting now. The course begins once you reach the top of Currahee. And remember, Private, I will be watching you, so no funny business."

Eve had never once tried to take a shortcut or skive off some task that Sobel had assigned, so she did not let this comment affect her.

"Here's your map, Private." She took it, noticing his clean fingernails with irritation. "What are you waiting for?"

Eve saluted him and began her run. He did not join her.

She ran the hill without leaving her gear at the bottom out of pure stubbornness, which was as good a reason for doing anything in her experience. She jogged going up, taking breaks to walk every hundred yards or so, and trying not to think about how slow she was going.

Running now, while she was exhausted would ultimately help her in the long run, but right now she didn't care about the long run. She was more tired than she'd ever been in her life and now she had to do this nonsense.

Stubbornness was going to put her in an early grave if Sobel kept at her like this.

But she would die before she gave up. If they wanted her out, they'd have to carry her.

She made it up the mountain in roughly an hour, typically a terrible time for her, but she could do nothing about it but try to work faster. She had to hurry if she was going to retrieve her canteen from wherever Sobel had thought to hide it before dawn. Thieves indeed.

Eve could read a map just fine. She had a knack for it. She'd found that she could walk in any direction from a starting point, twisting to avoid obstacles, and return with ease. Plus, she used a hunter's eyesight to find even the most obscure landmarks.

Unfortunately, she couldn't say the same for Sobel.

Even with the limited amount of fieldwork Eve had had with him, it was no secret around Toccoa that the man got lost constantly. She'd overheard Easy Company men complain about it more than once; and of course she'd witnessed it on occasion.

She probably wouldn't trust him to lead her to water. She definitely didn't trust that the canteen was actually where he said it was, even if his original intention had been to leave it where indicated.

Eve pulled out her map and compass. She contemplated using her flashlight, but it went against all of her sensibilities and all the things that Sobel had pounded into her recently about stealth. The moon was full, and there were a few big clouds, which gave off enough reflective light that she was able to make the map out without risking the flashlight.

Maneuvering around obstacles, like the swamp at the bottom of this gully – which would've slowed her down tremendously had she been foolish enough to try just walking in a straight line – saved her heaps of time. The cards were all on nice tables, hidden under oiled tarps so that they could weather the elements. Obviously, they were a standard part of training, and not something special Sobel set up just for her.

She dutifully recorded what she found on the cards. Sometimes it was a random alphanumeric sequence; one time it was the word 'fish'. They'd designed it to prevent cheating. Eve could have never guessed what was on the cards had she not actually found them.

Plus, there was no way that Sobel could claim that she hadn't done the course properly, now.

Finally, she'd found the last card. She squinted down at her wristwatch, thankful again that the moon was out so she could read the darn thing in the dark. The extra light had made this whole exercise much easier too, come to think of it, because she hadn't worried nearly so much about tripping over things and spraining her ankle or something equally stupid that would pull her from training.

She had less than two hours to retrieve her canteen. She'd been up and training for more than nineteen hours today by her reckoning.

There was nothing to do but get on with it. If she wanted to finish, she'd have to track where Sobel went with her canteen from here.

It helped her significantly that Sobel hadn't taken much care to disguise his movement in the forest, leaving the most obvious trail she'd ever seen from a person with the way he'd just charged forward; and to her fortune, there had been a series of flash thunder storms over the past week, which had been hell to run in. Red mud covered every inch of the forest floor, sucking her boots down further with each step she took.

Combined with the weight on her back already pulling her down, she was in hell.

But it made it so much easier to track where Sobel had gone.

It was easy enough to figure out where he'd deviated from the obvious route she would have taken if she were trying to get where the map said she needed to be.

It was infuriating.

This wasn't even a place where he could have made a logical mistake.

He must have done it deliberately to throw her off. If she hadn't had so little confidence in his navigation, it might've worked and she could've been out here for hours.

Eve tried to keep herself calm and rational, tried her best not to get angry at the unfairness of it all. It didn't do any good to get angry. It just made it harder to focus on the task at hand.

Still.

Sobel would have had her wandering around all night looking for a canteen that he never intended to be where he said it was.

The unfairness of it all struck her particularly hard. She bit her lip to suppress her emotions, but it was a losing battle.

It didn't help that she was shivering, despite having gloves on. Her boots were soaked through to her socks, which slipped around her feet to create what she was sure would become some very interesting blisters.

Each step sucked more energy from her. She fell over debris that she could've easily avoided had she not been exhausted beyond all measure.

It took her far longer than it should have to find the tiny cover Sobel had erected to camouflage her canteen. She'd managed to pass the thing twice before figuring it out.

Suddenly, it struck Eve that her canteen meant water. Thirst slammed into her fatigued body, sending her to her knees reverently in front of the hideout as she pulled forth her canteen.

It was like a little ray of hope in an otherwise desolate day. She was parched and swaying, even now that she was on her knees, from thirst and exhaustion, and yet she'd found it. She'd beat Sobel's stupid test designed to prove that she couldn't hack it.

She was so thankful she'd finally found the stupid thing. Her hands trembled too much to actually unscrew it, mud sliding on the cap, making opening it impossible. With a sound of frustration, she wrapped the bottle cap in her sleeve and twisted as hard as she could.

The seal sighed as it released. Eve brought the blessedly cool metal to her lips and threw her head back.

Nothing.

Not a drop.

Eve could feel the burning trail of frustrated, exhausted tears making their way down her cheeks. She stared at the canteen in her hand, betrayed. Maybe it was some kind of trick, maybe her body was so thirsty it couldn't even register the water? She tried dumping the canteen over her head again.

Still nothing.

The bastard had emptied it before he'd left it here.

She started honest-to-God sobbing.

She'd never been so miserable, never wanted to give it all up so much before. She was at the end of her rope.

Why on Earth had she ever decided to join the Army? This wasn't training! It was torture!

She'd beat Sobel's stupid test. She'd done absolutely everything he'd asked of her today. She'd been going for nearly twenty-four hours. She just wanted to be done.

She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. Her body was pushed beyond her endurance and that was the part of the life of a soldier that she'd accepted, expected even.

But this? This was just cruel.

She threw her canteen to the ground and collapsed. She screamed and cried and raged at the world, remembering every injustice she’d suffered at the bastard’s hands, at the hands of the soldiers she was meant to rely on to watch her back, felt all the emotions she’d been desperately suppressing – rage, fear, doubt, loneliness – overwhelmed her as she gave into the feminine weakness of actually being a thinking, feeling human being.

When she was empty of tears, hollowed out of emotion, she climbed back to her feet and began stumbling back towards camp, canteen secured on her belt.

She was still on a time limit.

Eve started picking her way carefully down the mountain. She'd get water and bed when she got back, she was certain this time. It was just a little bit farther, she coached herself. Just a bit more and then she would be done with this horrible day.

She rubbed her eyes furiously, smearing them with dirt and not caring one bit. She couldn't stop crying. She couldn't do anything now that the floodgates had opened.

If she wasn't so lonely, if she wasn't so mad at Sobel, if she'd just listened to her father...

But she was, and she hadn't. But she wasn't going to give up now.

She'd come too far to give Sobel the satisfaction of seeing her quit. She would not give up. She would not be a failure.

She would show everyone that a woman could make the cut.

When she returned, just shy of the time limit, the camp was pitch dark. Sobel met her looking well rested and impossibly clean when she handed over the cards she'd copied, frowning deeply when he realized they were all correct.

He gave her a nod and dismissed her, no words of praise or pride to spare on her. Eve hadn't really expected any, but it might've been nice to hear them.

She stumbled to her rack as soon as he released her, her entire body trembling with adrenaline-fueled fatigue.

For once Eve was grateful about not having bunkmates as she tried to get into her PT gear for bed. It took her three tries to get her shirt off. Her hands and arms just didn't respond correctly the first few times she'd tried it.

Dressed, she walked straight for the spigot in the corner and cranked it on. She didn't even bother waiting for the water to heat before she dunked her head in the blissfully cold water. She guzzled down enough water that she puked a little back up. It was the best water she'd ever tasted.

Still desperately thirsty, she drank even more until her belly was full for what seemed to be the first time since she arrived at Toccoa.

She made a perfunctory attempt to put away her gear before she collapsed onto her bed, not even making it under the covers before she was instantly asleep.

The next morning, a mere two hours later, Eve dragged herself up at reveille, Sobel cussed her out for no apparent reason and then she was back to it. One day closer to being a paratrooper.

Overall, Eve thought the physical part of her training was progressing well. She certainly felt stronger. She was able to do more, and much faster. What was once a seemingly endless list of chores became steadily easier each day.

Even her clothes were looser in places, and tighter in others. She had dropped at least a cup size, and had to ask Elizabeth to discretely send her a tighter bra.

Running Currahee was a staple. Three miles up, three miles down; three or four times a week at minimum. Eve did it closer to six or seven times a week, sometimes twice in one day. She still couldn't run the whole way, but she'd stopped walking all together, and each time she jogged a little less often.

She could do fifty pushups easily now that Sobel had taken sadistic joy in making her do a hundred. Five chin-ups still made her arms ache, but it was better than the pitiful one she'd managed on her first day.

Of course, it didn't ever get to be easy. Sobel constantly upped the ante. He added a timer to her obstacle runs.

The obstacles themselves were numerous and varied, all requiring some form of dexterity and strength. She knew, mentally that they were designed to help build the muscle required to manipulate a parachute and survive prolonged combat, and not for Sobel's sadistic pleasure. But she resented every moment of joy he derived in watching her fling herself up and over the ten-foot log wall. The horizontal ladder over water was a special kind of torture. Between the individual obstacles there were hills to run, ditches to cross, and trenches to jump.

Failure meant restarting from the beginning, no matter how close she was to finishing.

Eventually it got easier too, as Eve started learning the small tricks she could use to help her. The horizontal ladder, for example, needed momentum more than strength to accomplish it.

But that didn't mean that the thirty-foot ladder wasn't challenging after she'd figured it out its secret.

By the time she finished the course, she was physically exhausted. Sobel used this opportunity to belittle her, mocking that she hadn't done nearly as well as the men had.

Eve wanted to scream: "Then why am I still here!", but managed to refrain each time by the skin of her teeth.

Soon the course became routine as her body developed and her condition improved. Sobel and Sink added more to it, to make it more challenging for everyone, and she dreaded each addition with all of her soul, but accepted them without complaint. It was grueling and monotonous, but day by day, it was getting a bit easier. Of course, what was being asked of her was getting harder too, so she couldn't really judge her progress.

She didn't have the upper body strength of a man, but she was lighter, and she had better balance because her center of gravity was lower. She worked smarter, not harder, and was able to accomplish everything asked of her, even if sometimes it was just barely.

Just as surely as her muscles grew, so did her loathing of Sobel; the man was petty and cruel for no reason other than he could be.

He asked a lot of her, and that she'd expected, but she hadn't realized how degrading he would be. He spent sometimes hours of time ripping her ego and then her rack to shreds, looking for infractions he could punish her with. When he couldn't find any, he made some up and punished her anyway.

If training hadn't been miserable enough, dealing with Sobel's constant ignoble bullshit was exhausting.

Sobel gave her field manuals to study and then would surprise her with quizzes about what she had studied. It didn't matter what her answers were, she was always wrong. And wrong answers meant more drills.

She did the best she could and accepted the punishment without complaint, which she figured was what Sobel wanted from her anyhow.

On days when the weather was poor, he sent her into classroom lectures with Regular Army noncommissioned officers to learn weapon handling and components, standard procedures, and covered a wealth of other information in between. Eve found the lessons on how to pilot a parachute especially interesting.

Of course, these lessons had their own homework, which she had to complete on top of whatever Sobel had assigned, with similar consequences when she failed. She did her best not to fail, even going so far as staying up into the wee hours of the night to finish the work. It made her exhausted, and PT the next day that much harder, but it meant less punishment duty – which meant she had more time to study.

It was all a vicious cycle to wear her down.

Sometimes, she was absolutely certain that her instructors told her that she'd failed to accomplish the parameters of the assignments they'd set even when she'd done what they'd asked to the letter.

She was definitely sure that Sobel did it with her field manual assignments.

All she could do about it was redo the work on top of whatever else she'd been given to do and hope that they accepted it this time.

Eve accepted this unfairness as a fact of life and moved quietly onward, doing the work she could and accepting punishment duties when she failed. She took punishment duty for trumped-up bullshit charges from Sobel as well.

Scrubbing the men's latrine was his favorite to inflict on her. Night duty was another unpleasantness she'd had to endure. She stood guard for two two-hour shifts at night, listening intently as each sound collated into imaginary enemy converging on her location. Such was her exhaustion that she didn't even notice the private that came to relieve her.

She gave the man a quick salute and jogged back to bed for a few hours before she had to get up and relieve his relief. After that, she'd be back up to start all over again with a run.

When she was off-duty, Eve spent a lot of time on base. She rarely, if ever, had a weekend pass as Sobel loved to assign her punishment after Saturday afternoon inspections. She'd never actually gotten to see Toccoa, much less anything beyond the scrap of Georgia woods they'd settled the camp on. She was curious by nature, and not being able to leave camp was a pain in the ass.

She filled whatever down time she had with yet more exercise. This time it was because she wanted to. She needed to be the best – better than any of the men – to gain their respect. And she was going to do it by outrunning, out-climbing, and outperforming everyone else.

If I’m the best, they won’t care that I’m a girl, she told herself optimistically.

When she was too tired to move any more, she flipped through the field manuals and played solitaire until sleep claimed her, pretending that she wasn't lonely.

Eve's problems with the other men were coming to a head. It seemed like every day that she stayed, the men became more determined to convince her to leave.

She endured them calling her a floozy – and several other names she tried not to remember – every day and accepted it. She'd forced herself to get used to it and tried to remember that the names were just names, not things that defined her; some days it even worked.

She found herself bumped and shoved her into walls and sharp corners, the crowd always too dense to pick out who exactly was behind it. It felt like she had a new collection of bruises every time she showered.

On one memorable occasion she'd been shoved into a row of trash cans. She'd then had to gather the spilled, spoiled garbage by hand and replace it in the bins, gagging and fighting back tears the whole time. A full thirty minutes under her freezing shower hadn't washed the stink off, or the bruise on her thigh the size of her fist.

She had more bruises from bumping into the men than she did from training.

There wasn't much she could do about it. She would never be included if she decided to tattle. No one liked a rat.

Still, if she had told someone the men probably would have never ambushed her a few days before her final examination.

She was leaving the mess hall just after lunch when she ran into a group of five privates from Baker Company.

Eve tried to go around them, expecting the shoulder checking that knocked her into the wall.

What she didn't expect was for the soldier to follow and try to pin her to it. He realized very quickly why that wasn't a good idea.

When Eve was a child, her governess and then her older brother had taught her how to make overzealous men let her go and regret ever grabbing her.

Cold fear raced down her spine. She fought like a cornered wild cat, kicking, biting and scratching. But she was too scared to scream, too focused on getting him to let go. She pinched at every nerve she remembered on his hands, finally finding one that made him holler.

He lashed out and walloped her in the face, his fist blackening her eye. But the momentum of the hit got her out of the corner she'd been backed in.

She didn't stick around to finish the fight – that had never been her intention – she ran like hell.

Eve burst through the onlookers, vaguely recognizing them as Easy Company men.

Humiliation washed over her.

They'd watched. And they'd done nothing to help her. Granted, they didn't join in trying to humiliate her either, but it was clear – she was not one of them, and thus didn't even warrant their protection. It made her feel sick.

She didn't slow down until she was in her barracks, leaning all of her weight against the door, trying desperately to stop trembling. She tried to ignore the hot tears dripping off her chin as the fear she'd felt overwhelmed her for a moment.

Just a moment, she vowed.

When her hands had stopped shaking, she straightened with a sniff and went to the spigot that served as her shower. She ran her washcloth under the frigid water and brought it to her eye, vaguely noticing that she had blood under her nails from where she must have raked the man who'd hit her.

She left the cloth on her eye for as long as she could, rewetting it whenever the water warmed to her skin temperature. It wasn't the steak her housekeeper would've given her, but it was the best she could do. She wasn't going to medical for a black eye.

When she'd shown up for evening PT with a shiner, Sobel had growled about it and proceeded to double her load for fighting. Eve was almost grateful since it kept her mind off what had happened.

She needed to be a soldier first and her evaluation was just around the corner.

It was her only weapon, the only thing she had sole control over.

Instead of trying to retaliate, she needed to put her head down and keep working.

She was going to prove them all wrong. She would prove she belonged here, that she was just as capable a soldier as any other man in the company. She just had to survive these last few days, and then her test tomorrow.

She couldn't help the anxiety that churned in her stomach every time she thought about her test. She tried to push it away and focus. She had to survive the rest of her probation first.

Eugene Roe staggered back as the girl careened into him. She looked exhausted and disheveled, and scared.

She pushed away from him, with barely a glance backwards as she fled.

He took quick stock of the scene, of the Baker Company boys caterwauling about their injured hands and how the girl was going to pay.

"Did you see what happened?" he asked Sergeant Guarnere, who was also watching the action.

Easy Company had just finished PT with Sobel, and he was tired. He'd planned to try for a nap or something before dinner.

But it looked like his bunk mates would be too riled up for him to get any peace now.

"She should just take the hint and leave," said Liebgott from behind him somewhere. Roe cocked his head to listen to the San Franciscan. "One less thing to worry about when we get over there. We don't need dead weight when we're fighting Japs."

George Luz, easily the friendliest man in Easy, laughed. "That's what we have Sobel for, huh, Lieb?"

"All's I know is that I joined to be with the best of the best. Ain't no way a girl is the best this country has to offer. Ain't no way," said Guarnere.

Privately, Roe hoped she would give up and go home. He didn't want to watch a woman being torn to pieces on a bloody battlefield. He could respect her want to be a soldier, but he didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he had to watch a woman die, fighting a war thousands of miles away from home where it was safe.

He prayed that night for God to send Evelyn Buchanan back home.

Eve didn't think she'd manage to sleep at all the night before her examination. Sobel took care of that notion and worked her so hard she gladly dropped into bed, dreaming before her head hit the pillow.

The next morning, she rolled out of bed and changed into her PT gear. The sky hadn't even started to lighten yet with the dawn, but she was far too nervous that she'd be late to try and get back to sleep.

She threw up what she'd managed to eat last night for dinner.

When she got to the field, she was beyond relieved to see that she was the first to arrive.

She waited anxiously for Sobel and her examiners to turn up. Every minute felt like an hour.

Finally, after what seemed like a hundred years, they appeared. Eve watched the trio of men, too far away to identify anyone but Sobel’s very familiar figure cutting across the still damp field.

Eve had to remember to keep breathing.

"At ease, soldier," commanded Sink once he was in front of her. "Miss Buchanan, I'd like to introduce you to the new General in charge of the program, General Taylor."

It was Eve's worst nightmare. General Lee was instrumental in getting her into this program; he was the one who was backing her. Taylor had no incentive whatsoever to allow her to stay even if she succeeded. He might be inclined to fail her before she even got started.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," said General Taylor with a smile. The man was handsome enough, and was probably her father's age.

"Shall we get started Lieutenant?" Sink asked.

"Right this way, gentlemen," agreed Sobel. "Report to the obstacle course, Private."

Eve saluted and headed that way, carefully forcing herself not to run. She wanted every scrap of energy she had to go into the task before her.

Her time here was worth nothing else. If this was going to be the end of her journey, she wanted them to remember her at least.

When the three men arrived, each had a stop watch.

"Alright, Private," said Sink, addressing her from a distance away. "You'll have three opportunities to go through this obstacle course. You must make it through in under three minutes in one of those runs. Are you ready?"

Every hair on her body stood up as adrenaline plunged into her system. She nodded, too shaken to speak.

"On my mark," he said. "Go!"

Eve sprinted flat out as fast as she could, flinging herself up and over obstacles. Her muscles anticipating what she would ask before her brain had even caught up. She raced through the course once, twice, a third time and just prayed that she'd made time once.

She just needed once.

Next they led her over to a machine gun.

"For this task, Private, you will disassemble, clean and reassemble this gun, then fire a burst over yonder to hit that target."

Eve followed Sink's finger to a barrel propped up in the distance. She nodded.

"On my mark," he said, the words well familiar after three runs through the obstacle course. "Go!"

Eve went, working steadily until each piece was taken apart and checked over. She cleaned the barrel and made sure to replace the firing pin before she snapped the ammunition in place and took aim. One quick burst, one, two, three, the barrel went down smoking, and she was done with the second part of her test.

She couldn't tell if she'd passed, or even if she'd done well. All three men were stone faced.

At least she'd hit the target.

Sobel marched her through a variety of other physical exercises. They never told her what her benchmark was, so Eve did them all until she couldn't do any more.

"Well done, Private," confirmed Sink. "For your last standardized test, you're going to make a round trip up Currahee, and back. Are you ready?"

Eve could do nothing but nod around the lump in her throat.

"On my mark, then… Go!"

Eve ran. She ran as fast as she could for as long as she could. She jogged when the trail became too steep for a flat out sprint, but managed to run for most of it. It was somehow fitting that this mountain, which had become her bane while training, was her final task.

She could do this.

Eve kept going, kept pushing, until she was suddenly back at the beginning, standing in front of General Taylor, Colonel Sink, and Sobel.

The two commanders were smiling. Sobel looked smug.

"Forty-three minutes! Well done, Lieutenant Sobel. You've out done yourself. Damn fine job, soldier," said Colonel Sink. Eve felt cheated that Sobel was getting the praise for her hard work, the man who'd done anything to see her fail, was reaping the benefit of her success. He must have been addressing her as well in his praise, but it surely didn't feel like it. "General?" Sink addressed his superior.

"I think this young woman is ready to integrate with the others," confirmed General Taylor. He shook her hand, and gave her a warm smile.

Sink copied the sentiment and said, "Congratulations, Private. I knew you could do it."

Eve bit her lip to keep from laughing as elation bubbled in her breast. Absolutely no one had known she would be able to do this; secretly not even her. "Thank you, sir," she said instead, diplomatically deciding not to mention his falsehood.

"Take the afternoon off, Private," said Sink before he left the grounds. "You've earned it."

Once the two brass were off the field, Sobel said, "Be ready tomorrow morning at the regular time, Private. I will be escorting you to Easy Company barracks at 0600 tomorrow morning."

“Yes, sir," she said.

"Dismissed," he confirmed.

Eve felt like she could float away, but she did her best to walk sedately back to her billet.

Once the door was safely closed behind her, she twirled around, just once, in excitement and started packing.

She was in. From tomorrow forward, she'd be a member of Easy Company, 506, 101st Airborne division until the day she died.

She would deal with the fact that her entire Company hated her tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to celebrate by falling into bed and staying there until morning.

-End Chapter-

---

-Chapter 4: Boys-

Eve was up at dawn, after sleeping though the predawn light a whole extra hour. Yawning, she rolled out from under the blankets and dressed in her PT gear. She made her bed with the crisp military lines she’d been drilled in, and then ruined all her hard work by sitting on it.

Today was her first day as an official member of Easy Company. Eve waited for the feeling of bundled nerves to settle, but they didn’t. She still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d made it. She only spared a moment before she forced herself up, and went to her sink to splash some water on her face.

She wondered if she should have changed into her ODs, but PT gear was more likely. She didn’t have time change her mind, because Sobel barged into her billet with a bang.

She moved back to stand at attention before her bed.

He looked her over critically, searching for infractions. Eve held her breath.

After what felt like an age, Sobel nodded.

“Follow me,” he said, uncharacteristically blunt and then left.

Eve obeyed.

Down the line of tents and barracks they went, Evelyn keeping one step behind Sobel’s easy pace. She tried to keep her attention on Sobel’s back, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting about. She’d never really felt like part of the base due to her segregation.

She tried not to notice how the men they passed stared at her. She could feel their eyes sliding up her waist to her small bosom, and then down to rest on her bum. She fought to keep a blush from her face, tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

Sobel certainly hadn’t. He glared at anyone foolish enough to get in his path and blazed ahead.

He halted, without warning, in front of a particularly noisy billet, and said, “This is where Easy Company’s second platoon is housed. You are officially a member of Second Platoon as of today. You’ve already met your Platoon leader, Lieutenant Winters. He will assign you to a squad. You will follow the chain of command. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Should you fail to maintain this Company’s standard of excellence, you will wash out, just like any of the men. Just because you passed your probationary exam, does not make you a paratrooper, merely a candidate just like everyone else. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said again.

“Good,” he said, then charged into the barracks.

The room immediately fell silent as he strutted down the aisle between beds. Eve, still framed in the doorway, froze where she stood, inwardly shrinking as the occupants stood at attention beside their bunks and stared at her with hostility. The majority of the men were already dressed in their PT gear, but not all of them. Eve refused to be bothered by the multitude of shirtless men glaring at her.

Sobel cleared his throat, eyeing the glaring men. Eve could see Sobel gearing up for a speech and hoped that he might finally let the men get to know her, prayed that he might allow her the courtesy of introducing herself, on her own terms. The hard look on his face indicated otherwise, and Eve’s heart sank.

“Easy Company, this is Private Buchanan,” he barked, and waved their attention over to her, despite the men already staring at her.

Eve suppressed a sigh. Sobel’s gesturing was a completely redundant motion, but she kept her eyes from rolling.

“You will treat her as you would any other member of this unit. She will run with you. She will eat with you. She will train with you. Any concerns you have about her fitness for this unit will be taken up with Colonel Sink. Private Buchanan is one of you now, and you will treat her as such. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” The men shouted back in crisp unison.

Eve fought to keep her face composed as her dismay mounted. Rather than make an effort to include her into the group, Sobel had singled her out – isolated her – again. The man didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

She was doomed to be the pariah of Easy Company.

“Good. You have two minutes to be in PT formation. We’re running Currahee.”

Eve ducked back out the door, not eager to watch the men get changed, and waited in front of the billet for them to file out. Sobel had gone to the next billet up the road – she could hear him bellowing orders through the wooden walls – before he walked out and went to the next one. Eve wondered for a minute why second platoon’s billet was first on the road, but discarded it as unimportant when the soldiers started lining up in formation.

Eve waited until they were just about finished, and then slotted into a row at the back, slightly worried. She’d hauled herself up that God forsaken hill nearly a hundred times in the month she’d been at Camp Toccoa, but this was the first time she would be running with somebody other than Sobel. She hoped she could keep up.

It wasn’t until they were just about to head out that she noticed how many glares she was getting for picking the back of the column. Apparently, she’d exhibited some sign of weakness by deciding to stick to the back. Her efforts to blend in were in vain. Instead, she seemed to have given them more cause to dislike her.

She smoothed her face. There was nothing she could do about it now, they were already moving. She’d just have to try the front for the next run, and hope that she could ignore their spite better when it was directed at her back.

The run up Currahee was hard, as it always was.

Eve had hoped that Sobel would bore of tormenting her now that she was a part of a larger group, and spread his vitriol around. This too was a vain hope, as Sobel honed in on her immediately.

“Different running with men, isn’t it Buchanan? Are you ready to go home yet?”

But this time, when she ignored him, he moved on to other people.

“You look tired, Private Perconte!” she heard him tormenting a poor fellow in the column ahead of her. “What’s the matter, you can’t keep up with Private Buchanan?”

Just like that, the pace increased.

Eve pushed harder to keep up, trying not to resent Sobel even more.

Maybe Sobel’s intention had been to prove to the men that she could keep up, that by belittling her, he was proving that she’d received the same harsh treatment as they did to make it this far. But he failed to understand the sheer offense the men took to her presence. She was not one of them, singling her out in any manner just made it clearer to see. So his attempt to integrate her, and create a cohesive unit, fell flat on its face.

And then they started to sing.

Everyone else clearly knew the words, because they all sang along without hesitation, even the ones who were terrible singers. The man next to her probably couldn’t have found the right key with both hands and a map, but he sang just as loudly as anyone else.

The songs were easy enough to follow along with. Despite never hearing the songs before, Eve picked them up quickly. They ranged from motivational, to bragging, to bawdy at the drop of a hat. Some were filthy, and she sang along with everyone else, a grin on her face. If only mother could see me now.

Most were call and answer songs, so she didn’t stick out too badly, apart from her voice. There was no blending in with the rest of their voices, no anonymity in her singing.

Of course, as soon as she felt like she was getting into the song, it changed out from under her.

And then that God-awful singer deliberately tripped her. She caught herself with a few steps, but she’d broken the rhythm they’d fallen into. It drew Sobel’s attention. She endured his vitriol, staring at the mop of hair in front of her and nowhere else.

She ignored the singer’s smirk, and kept going.

It would take more than a stumble to get rid of her.

After a grueling morning of training, where Eve had to watch her every move, and more terrifyingly, everyone around her, she was exhausted.

She’d dodged more “accidental” elbows and “misplaced” feet this morning than she had in her entirety of being at Camp Toccoa.

It was depressingly obvious how much displeasure the men took in her presence.

She was supposed to fight and die for these men, and they for her. How could they ever do that if they didn’t even like her? And how were they ever going to like her if they didn’t even give her a chance? Eve had never even spoken to any of the men beyond her instructors. She’d never had the occasion.

Training gave way to lessons in the afternoon about all manner of things. These lectures, which had been a welcome reprieve during her probation, were yet another area where she earned scorn from her fellow Easy Company members.

The instructors themselves didn’t help matters. They called on her once every fifteen minutes or so to make sure she was paying attention, despite the constant scratch of her pencil as she took diligent notes.

It was frustrating that even in this aspect she was the focus of all the negative attention in the room.

She could do nothing about the teachers but answer their inane questions and study harder, knowing that each class period was going to be full of questions designed to make her look stupid or fail.

“What is the advantage of the high ground?” she was asked.

“The most obvious advantage is the greater sight line the high ground offers, but the high ground also gives most heavy weaponry superior range. It’s also a more defensible position.” Eve responded.

“Well done, Buchanan. I’m so glad someone decided to do their homework today. Thank you for answering that so eloquently.”

Eve blushed, feeling oddly ashamed that she’d done well.

Every time she answered a question correctly, it was overly acknowledged, to varying affect. Sometimes she was placed above the men, a pedestal they should aspire too, and sometimes she felt pandered to, as though the question was so simple, even an infant could have come up with the answer.

His constant attention was like a hammer, driving the nails of the men’s hatred deeper until Eve would never be able to pry herself free of them.

On her way out of the classroom, someone jostled her as she got up just hard enough that she went sprawling, her notes flying everywhere and catching her hip on the sharp corner of the desk.

“Brownnoser,” the man hissed, and deliberately stamped his boot tread into her papers.

The other men laughed, and hustled out, making sure she was the last person in the room.

Eve sighed and figured she might as well get used to it. Within the day, brownnoser, bookworm, and teacher's pet all became new monikers added to the various other colorful names she was called. She ignored these as deftly as she did the smears on her honor. There was nothing she could do about any of it.

The mess hall became middle ground. Apparently the members of Easy Company had decided that it was only safe to approach the girl when food could be used as an excuse.

One morning, a man joined Eve in the chow line. He introduced himself as George Luz. He had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and reminded her of a Labrador pup. He had an air about him that put her at ease.

“So where are you from?” he asked.

“Virginia.” She gave him the easiest answer and picked her favorite of her family’s homes.

“No shit? So’s Shifty Powers and Popeye over there.” He gave a vague gesture to a vague table. “You gotta job back home?”

“No,” she said, moving down the line.

“Huh,” Luz’s eyes turned sly. “Leave behind a sweetheart?”

She shot him a look, acknowledging the dangerous territory. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Not really interested in sweethearts, and they’re not really interested in me.”

“Ah, c’mon. I bet, with a bit of make-up and a bit of soap, you’d clean up real good.”

Is this guy serious? Mood suddenly dampened, she moved away from him, unwilling to continue the conversation.

“Hell, I’ll take you!” he called after her, much to the amusement of the men, who’d been eavesdropping, and laughed at her.

She retreated to her isolated table, trying to let the encounter slide off her like water off a ducks back. She tried to focus on eating; determined to ignore everyone for the rest of the meal.

It was a silly resolution to make. No sooner had she done so, than Lieutenant Winters slid onto the bench across from her.

She smiled at him, genuinely glad to see him.

“Hello,” greeted Winters, “It’s good to see you again, trooper. Do you mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full.”

Eve blinked; what an odd thing to say. Eve hadn’t been with Easy Company a whole day, and even she knew that the men nearly worshipped the ground Lieutenant Winters walked on. He was the perfect juxtaposition to Sobel’s petty cruelty. If he asked, she was sure he could find room at any table he wanted.

“Not at all,” she said eagerly, her mouth replying without her brain attached. She grimaced; she hadn’t meant to say that, or at least not in that tone.

Another tray slid in next to her. She met the dark eyes of Lieutenant Lewis Nixon with a small smile. “Hey, kid,” he said.

Eve had often noticed these men in each other’s company, but after meeting them both separately, she couldn’t see how they had turned into such good friends. Yet, they were nearly joined at the hip. Anywhere Winters went, Nixon was sure to follow, and vice versa, which was odd considering their different temperaments. Winters was as straight laced as it came, and Nixon could give two figs about authority of any kind.

“Hello, sir,” she said, as glad to see him as she was to see Winters. These two men had been her only bright spots in an otherwise completely miserable month.

“Finally,” said Nixon, settling in, “some seats with elbow room.” He stretched out to prove his point. Eve grinned back at him, his smile too infectious to do anything else. “Pass the salt, would ya?”

She did. He gave everything on his plate a liberal coating, even his bread.

Eve dropped her eyes to her plate and began eating like she thought of nothing else, suddenly unsure. She was definitely glad to see these men, but what were they – as officers – doing in the enlisted men’s mess hall?

She tried not to shrink under the suspicious glares that had followed the men over to her table and were directed at her.

“While I appreciate the sentiment of you coming over to say hello,” she started, still staring down at her plate. “It will win you no favors, sir.”

“Buchanan,” said Nixon, sharply enough to draw her eyes to his face. “Does it look like we care about what these sons-of-bitches think of us sitting with you?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Winters, cutting off her retort to Nixon about how he very well should care. “I am exactly where I want to be, and that’s really all that matters.”

Eve tried not to blush again.

“Don’t worry about it, alright?” he asserted. "Now that you're in my Platoon, I want you to know that if you have any problems of any kind," said Winters. His eyes flicked to Luz and the group of guys gathered around him laughing uproariously at his jokes. "Let me know. I'll at least make sure your side is heard."

Eve noticed that he carefully left out what side she would have. She nearly said something about that, when she thought better of it, and gave him only a nod in reply. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried something with serious intent. She was the "easiest" slut in the entire state according to some of these men – and the fragments of newspaper she pretended not to see when they'd been left in front of her barracks – and though no one had really put any effort into accosting her, she wasn't going to put down money that it would never happen.

She also made the deliberate choice not to mention the other petty bullying that was going on. Even if Winters tried to put a stop to it, he would likely just make them more vicious in the attempt.

No, that was something she had to deal with on her own.

“Count me in on that account," said Nixon, bumping her with his shoulder. She ducked her head embarrassed. She hoped she never had to take them up on the offer, but she desperately appreciated it.

She needed all the allies she could get.

“So, are you planning on moving into the barracks?” Winters asked her, exchanging a loaded glance with Nixon.

Eve shrugged and looked up to meet those sharp eyes, noticing the flecks of green in his irises. “I guess. I thought that was the plan, but I’ve had no orders to do so. I was planning on talking to you about it during free time.”

“I’m not sure I can do anything about it,” confessed Winters.

“So should I talk to Lieutenant Sobel about it then?” asked Eve, already knowing what the answer would be if she did so.

Winters speared a piece of mystery fruit with his fork, but he waited to chew it until Eve had asked her question, giving himself time to mull over his answer. “This might be a problem that you should take directly to Colonel Sink. I think he’s the only one who can make that kind of decision.”

Eve spent the entirety of three bites considering this thought. It would definitely piss off Sobel if she went so far over his head to complain to Sink. But then, Sink had told her to take up her complaints with him.

She didn’t know if she wanted to cash in such a valuable favor on something that might have a firm answer, though.

But this was important. If Eve never moved in with the men, they’d never get used to her. The chances of friendship forming if things remained as they were, with Eve a separate but equal member of Easy Company, diminished with each passing day that they didn't accept her.

Finally, Eve decided that she would take her chances with Sink tomorrow and risk Sobel's wrath. He was already perpetually angry with her. A few more rotations on the bullshit duties list wouldn't make that much difference.

"I will, sir," she finally answered Winters.

"Good," said Winters.

"So," said Nixon after observing Eve take several overburdened bites of food to avoid talking with them to some considerable personal amusement, "how was your first day training with Easy Company?”

Eve slowed her pace and chewed the question over with her shoe-leather tough mystery meat, and then set aside her silverware, appetite suddenly gone.

“I’m behind,” she admitted softly to her food, too ashamed to look at these men, who’d been among the first to encourage her. She hadn’t even acknowledged the truth of that statement, lest she allow herself to despair at the gap separating her and the men. “I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to catch up.”

Winters and Nixon traded surprised glances.

“Buchanan,” said Winters, voice coaxing. “You’re not behind.”

Eve looked at him, unable to hide her incredulity.

Nixon took over. “Buchanan, you ran Currahee in forty-four minutes. That’s six minutes faster than what’s required of the men to pass basic training,” he said. “Sobel’s been taunting the men with your time running that hill since you broke the fifty minute mark in your second week.”

Eve slowly met his eyes, face still set with her blatant disbelief.

“Sobel wouldn’t have let you stay if you weren’t going to run circles around the boys.”

Nixon paused dramatically, really waiting for Winters to take a bite of mystery meat, knowing he was too polite to speak with his mouth full, no matter what Nixon said.

“He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch. I swear he actually said my ears were dirty yesterday. Damned if he didn't have the same complaint about the next four guys in line before he switched to creased trousers. I had a headmaster just like him once.”

Eve tried not to laugh, but Nixon just kept going, kept pushing, and suddenly she couldn’t help it, and was sniggering into her palm.

It felt so good to laugh again.

Nixon smiled at Winters, beaming at his triumph, despite his friend’s blatant disapproval, the man couldn’t argue with the results.

When she sobered, she gave the men a small smile, acknowledging how much she’d needed that. “At least I’m not the only one,” she said, a lingering smile twitching her lips upwards.

She couldn’t put into words just how relieved she was that Sobel was just a jerk to everyone; he wasn’t being malicious specifically towards her.

"No, you're not the only one," said Winters, finally finished with his arduous mouthful, and deftly pulling the conversation back from ragging on Sobel, very conscious of the ever listening ears around them. He gave Nixon another disapproving look for good measure, though he knew his friend would continue to ignore him. "And we probably shouldn't be caught disrespecting our superior officer, Nix," he scolded.

Nixon seemed almost gleeful at the reprimand, but schooled his features into a serious expression – for all of four seconds before Eve's incredulous face broke through his mask and he burst out laughing again.

Winters, also catching the face, laughed as well. Maybe there wasn't much to worry about with Private Buchanan. He thought she'd fit in with the boys rather well, if she stuck it out that long.

He knew she was physically capable of keeping up with the men, but would she be mentally capable of surviving training with them?

Despite her humor, Eve took the words to heart, deciding it made a lot of sense. There was no real value in moaning about the officers. They were there to do a job. Sobel's job was to be an asshole.

She accidentally said as much under her breath – her mouth and brain connecting in a way that usually got her in trouble; and also meant that she was exhausted – and nearly sent Nixon's recently inhaled drink all over Winters. She pounded the Lieutenant on the back so he wouldn't choke and he gave her a face like she'd hung the moon.

"Now you've done it," said Winters, knowing Nixon. "He'll be like a dog with a bone over that one."

“I didn’t mean to say that, sir,” she said, sheepishly. “My mouth ran away from me. It won’t happen again,” she promised.

Winters didn’t seem too offended, though, despite his earlier comment about disrespecting officers. If anything, the look on his face was somewhat relieved.

“Just be cautious,” he ordered, thinking that perhaps she had enough spunk to weather it out after all.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed.

Nixon gathered himself. "No, seriously," he said, casting back to the point he’d been interrupted while making. "I had a headmaster just like Sobel. He's pushing us to be better because we hate him. We improve to spite him."

"I suppose I wouldn't have improved so much if I didn't want to prove him wrong," she admitted, swirling her fork through a brown sauce that might have been gravy once.

"That's the spirit," said Winters. "Just hang tough."

Eve caught Nix rolling his eyes and wondered what that was about. Sadly, she'd finished eating though and noticed that most of the guys were putting their trays away.

She’d somehow managed to actually make it through a meal.

"Hey, Dick," said Nix and tapped his watch. "Sorry, Buchanan," the Lieutenant directed at her as he and Winters gathered their plates and got up to go. "Sobel wants us in the barracks in ten minutes. If we're a minute early, he'll call us five minutes late."

"It was nice talking with you," she said and stood up too. It was probably the most pleasant meal she'd had since she'd left home. "Thank you for eating with me," she said.

Eve hurried away before she could see the pity on Winters's face.

Looks like I'm back to eating alone, she thought as she handed her tray over. Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want to start some rumors. I like them both too much to drag them down with me.

Recognizing that her thoughts were completely useless and melancholy, she shoved them away and went to barracks. She had no time for melancholy.

She had work to do.

The next morning, she went to the barber and paid him to cut off her hair. She’d specifically asked for a military regulation cut. Her hair had been getting in her face for way too long, and now that she was in the paratrooper training, she couldn’t have it in her way.

Her next stop was Colonel Sink’s office.

“Did you speak with your CO about this?” he said, preempting her question.

“Sir, I believe I was instructed to come to you if I felt I was being mistreated in any way,” she said, knowing it was a trigger phrase to make him think the worst. He needed to know that she was serious.

His face fell in disappointment, and a bit of pity as he searched her tired eyes for signs of trauma. “Oh.” He shut the door to his office. “Alright, Private, I want names, I want specific grievances.”

“Permission to speak frankly, sir?” He nodded. “It’s you, sir. It started the moment I came here.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “If I behaved in some way to suggest –“

“No, sir,” she said. “It’s the double standard, the separate quarters. I mean, you pulled out my chair and offered me a drink when I first got here, sir. I managed to survive probation, didn’t I? If that’s so, I’d like to be with the men, sir. How am I ever going to fit in with these guys if you’ve got me set up as an outcast?”

“I see your point,” he said after a long moment digesting the thought. “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know that, sir,” she said. “It’s why I brought the matter straight to you.”

She just wanted to be treated the same. That meant moving in with the men and sooner rather than later.

“I appreciate it. In the future, I would appreciate if you’d continue to do the same. You might regret this, but we’ll do it your way Private. Move into the barracks before reveille tomorrow.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

She saluted him and left, a little disappointed that he hadn’t mentioned her haircut.

“Oh, no, what’s she doing here!” cried Private Parks as he saw her come through the door.

“Hey, Lip? Shift? Roe? Anybody wanna trade beds with me?” he announced waking up the still groggy troopers who watched as Eve dumped her army issued stuff sack into the footlocker at the base of her new bed.

“Jesus, calm down, hotshot,” said Luz. “I’ll trade ya.”

Eve shot him a glance. He gave her an innocent smile she would believe more on a bank robber’s face and ignored him, apprehension twisting her gut. She knew that face, too guileless to be innocent. She’d need to keep a closer eye on Luz. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep with him so close, so obviously threatening.

He gave her a more real smile, obviously reading her apprehension. It loosened something in her as she remembered her first impression of him.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad? Maybe she’d give him a chance. If he proved to be just like everyone else in this Godforsaken unit, well, then she’d have learned her lesson.

She wasn't here to make friends. She was here to do her duty and do it to the best of her ability.

But it would be nice not to be quite so lonely.

Her move to the men's barracks came with hiccups, but she dealt with them, mindful that she wouldn't have the luxury of privacy in a warzone.

She'd taken care of changing by simple prejudice of wearing her bra to bed. The tight fabric was never completely comfortable, but she couldn't just bear all in front of the men. After a few initial moments of awkwardness, mostly ogling and the occasional “check it out fellas!” when her shirt came off, she mostly kept them at bay by the brisk, efficient way she switched from her PT to her ODs. She kept her personal hygiene secret as was proper, the only indication of her monthly gift being an increase in her chocolate consumption.

The attempts to get rid of her quickly intensified after her move. It was nothing obvious, and nothing overly time consuming, but all of it was horribly tedious.

On field maneuvers, she often woke up to find equipment missing from her pack. It was gone just long enough to make her look stupid in front of Sobel or Winters or whoever was leading the mission, but reappeared afterwards.

No one wanted to carry someone else’s gear with so much of their own to haul already.

She eventually took to hiding her rations on her body, or she would wake up without any. It was getting better, in fits and starts, as she proved that she wasn't there to flake out on duty. She volunteered for the shit duties no one wanted, especially if it meant time isolated from the guys. They left her to dig her foxholes alone, pitch a tent alone, start a fire alone, but with each task she accomplished competently, she gained allies. Not friends, and certainly not companions, but guys who weren't completely opposed to her staying anymore, which was far better off than she had been even a week ago.

She heard the men whispering at night in the barracks. They were afraid. Afraid she'd freeze in combat and get them killed.

"She's a dame, for Christ's sake! Who's to say she won't swoon at the first sight of blood, huh? Or freeze up and get herself shot?" she heard someone ask the room at large. Honestly, she was afraid of freezing too, but couldn't they say the same for any of the men?

And the notion that she'd faint at the sight of blood was one of the most hilarious things she'd ever heard. She had never heard something so ridiculously Victorian in all her life. She'd lost any and all squeamishness about blood by the time she was fifteen. Any girl who lived past puberty did so. The notion that grown women fainted at the sight of blood; it was enough to make her giggle.

She could do nothing about any of it but endure.

They would accept her one way or another, but they would have to try a lot harder to get her to wash out. They would have to carry her cold, dead carcass out the gates before she'd ever give in or give up. And they could all go to hell if they thought otherwise.

George Luz seemed to be the exception. More often than not, he chose to sit next to her in class making jokes to lighten the atmosphere. Many a time Luz had the entire class in stitches, teachers included.

Eve never heard rumors about what he’d done to make the others stop tormenting her in class, which was in a way scarier than if she had.

Though Luz never ate meals with her, he still managed to pop up whenever she had punishment duty. Occasionally, he'd help her along, which she appreciated. His sometimes inane chatter kept boredom at bay, at least.

Outside of class, he seemed determined to get to know her. He quizzed her about her family, her friends, and her childhood. She gave the information freely, but frowned once she realized that it was not reciprocal. He hardly shared anything with her. Why, she couldn't be sure, but it gradually began to bother her. She tried to let it go, not let it worry her, but it stayed in the back of her mind. She never mentioned it though, wary of upsetting her only companion.

She might almost call him her friend.

“Today,” Sobel announced to the entirety of Easy Company one Friday morning, “we will begin the most critical phase of your training. Until this point, killing the enemy was completely theoretical. Today, we’re going to put it into practice. Live ammunition, gentlemen,” he said, daring Eve to protest the pronoun. “Let’s get to work.”

“Basics are simple,” said the regular Army NCO instructor. “You will aim and fire your weapon at the target until you can reliably hit the center nine out of ten shots. Once you’ve mastered this basic course, we’ll move on to more difficult targets.

“Get on the firing line, and assume position.”

Evelyn allowed herself to be jostled to the end of the line, too excited to care.

She was thrilled to finally get a crack at something she was actually good at, for a change.

She’d missed shooting.

After weeks of disassembling and reassembling her M1, and performing routine maintenance, she had already fallen in love with her gun. It was not her beloved rifle from home, but each quirk she found endeared her to the weapon all the more. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and they’d get along together just fine.

When she got her first live cartridge, she popped it into the base of the M1 and lined up the sight. She adjusted her stance for the weight of the gun, anticipating the recoil. Breathed. And squeezed.

Just to the right of center. She adjusted.

She squeezed again. Perfect.

She went through the entire cartridge, each shot taking less time than the last. Until the cartridge popped out of the gun with a ‘ping’ and bounced away.

She looked at the target, satisfied.

Then, something made her look down the row.

There was only one other target that looked like hers; the man responsible was looking right back at her.

He gave her a friendly smile.

Unsure, she nodded in acknowledgement and took a new cartridge, determined to get as much shooting in as possible before Sobel realized how much fun she was having and found some reason to take it away from her.

Sobel had the nasty habit of making them wander around in the pitch dark for no apparent reason other than he could. His favorite was making them march twelve miles every Friday night, in full gear.

She’d done night marches on her probation, but now she wasn’t marching around in full gear by herself. It was much easier to fall into a consistent pace when everyone else was walking to the same rhythm.

It meant that she wasn’t walking nearly as fast as she had before, but they still made rather remarkable time. If the men were half as tired as Eve felt, she was amazed they were all still upright and walking straight.

She didn’t put it past the fellow who’d walked right into the ditch to have been sleep walking, though.

Tonight, Sobel caught poor Christenson – handsome enough fellow from first platoon with shocking blue eyes and a towering height that made toting his heavy caliber machine gun easier – out for being stupid enough drink from his canteen. As punishment for drinking water when he wasn’t supposed to, Sobel ordered the man repeat all twelve miles of the march as punishment.

After what was already a long, exhausting day spent training Eve was just grateful that Sobel hadn’t decided to focus his sharp attention on her tonight. One miserable march per night was enough, thanks.

She knew Christenson had it worse, what with having to tote the .30 caliber machine gun along with him. It was a lot of extra weight to haul. She was infinitely grateful that she was a rifleman, and not a part of the mortar or heavy gunners' squads.

He probably wouldn't be back tonight, and if he was, then he'd probably only get an hour or so of sleep before they had inspection tomorrow morning.

Eve took a moment to consider going with the man. On the one hand, it would be a good show of solidarity, and perhaps a good way to finally make a friend.

But Eve didn’t know Christenson, and didn’t know how he felt about her. She wasn’t sure her company would be welcome, even if she did offer it. Her mind turned to what the other men might think of her volunteering to go with Christenson alone – and the vicious talk that might spark because of it. She had enough to deal with when the rumors of her amorous relations were unfounded.

The fear of rumors cropping up combined with the thought of going through tomorrow on virtually no sleep to force her back into the barracks.

No one else had decided to go with Christenson either.

Eve collapsed on her bed and decided not to think about it anymore. She was continuously exhausted, and more often than not fell into her bunk after changing without thinking about the fact that men surrounded her.

While unfriendly during the day, at night they left her alone, acting like her corner of the barracks didn't even exist, which was fine. They had a weird truce about sleep. She trusted them not to do anything to her while she was sleeping, and they lived up to the expectations hidden in that trust and never did, not even for a prank that they might have done on another new guy.

She got enough shit for being a woman during the day that they were all too tired to fuss with it at night. And anyway it didn't really seem right to torment her in her bunk. If she cried silently into her pillow at night, it was no more than any other man did, and was just as respectfully ignored.

This distance was the only mild respite she had from the men, and she was wholeheartedly grateful for it.

Exhaustion permeated the room. Men from other platoons filtered through, finding separated friends and joining together for some very subdued relaxation activities. Many of the men were too exhausted to move once they’d sprawled out on their beds, some managed to flip through magazines they weren’t supposed to have and gossip with their friends about the contents. Some gabbed while they were polishing their boots. Most of them were smoking – everybody always seemed to be smoking. And then there were those too tired to do any of that, too tired to do anything at all but to converse about their lives before all this.

Eve always tried to ignore those stories. It was easy enough to tune it out and focus, since there was no real motivation for any sort of the rowdiness the men usually exhibited during the day. The soft hum of conversation was easily tuned out as she took apart her M1, meticulously cleaning it now that it had seen some action.

“Miss Buchanan?” said a soft voice from next to her bed.

Eve jumped, hand flying to her chest, still holding the cloth she was using to wipe down the stock of the gun.

There was a man standing next to her bed. He’d crossed the no-man’s-land around her and invaded her territory to loom over her, making her feel small and vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the intruder. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask where you learned to shoot like that? You’re really good, near as good as my pa I’d reckon, and he’s the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

Eve wondered how she could answer that without sounding condescending. “You have me at a disadvantage,” she said instead of answering the question. “You know my name, but you’re not from my platoon.”

“Oh, I’m Darrell Powers, call me Shifty. I’m from Third Platoon. I just came over here to visit with my buddies.” He waved over to a knot of young men sitting on Luz’s bed shining their shoes. They didn’t seem to have noticed Shifty’s absence just yet, but that wouldn’t last.

“My father taught me as a girl. I used to go hunting all the time back home.”

“Oh yeah?” said Shifty, looking excited. “What kinda gun you got?”

Eve described her rifle with far too much fondness. “You’re not a bad shot yourself, you know?” she pointed out, feeling like she was stating the obvious even when the kid blushed and acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Where’d you learn?”

“My pa taught me,” said Shifty. “Got so good I knocked a dime outta the air once. I lost the dime though.”

“That’s rough,” she said. “It would have been some kind of lucky token.”

“Yeah, I-“

“Hey Shift! What’re you doing over there?” called a redhead – Malarkey if she wasn’t mistaken.

He beamed at the room at large, who’d noticed his proximity to the girl with some skepticism and quieted to a whispered hush that didn’t bode well for either of them.

“You’d better go,” she said quietly, before he could answer. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, ma’am,” he said.

“My name’s Eve, or Buchanan if you insist; not ma’am. Ma’am makes me feel old,” she said, quoting one of Grandmamma Buchanan’s favorite sayings.

“Yes, Miss Evelyn,” he said, grinning so endearingly that she couldn’t help the smile she gave him back. He must’ve read the humor she’d tried to put in the statement.

“Don’t you worry about them,” he reassured as he left her. “They’ll come around.”

He rejoined his friends who then proceeded to welcome him back with exaggerated talk as though he’d been away on some grand quest.

Eve went back to her gun. He’s a nice kid, she thought. Maybe a little naïve.

But still, if he was coming over to talk to her, maybe she had made some progress.

Two hours later, the lights had been turned off, and everyone was tucked away in their racks, willing themselves to sleep before dawn snuck up on them.

“Buchanan?” called Luz, a mere hissing whisper in the night.

Eve, on the edge of sleep, ignored him, certain he was up to nothing good.

“Buchanan? Hey, Ev? You awake?” he repeated a little louder.

She stayed still. Maybe he'd go away and she'd find the sleep that was dancing on the edge of her brain. She was exhausted, but there was still a smattering of the other men in her barracks still chattering quietly.

They'd been relatively polite about it, especially when someone told them to pipe down, never Eve, but being men, and young men at that, there were several times when they forgot themselves and got too loud.

It was aggravating, but Eve knew better than to turn around and show them that she was listening, much less scold them for being up so damn late. Inspection was bright and early tomorrow, and Eve had been trying to absorb these few hours of sleep to no avail thanks to her rowdy roommates who hadn't even had the decency to dim the lights before they spent the last two hours bitching about Sobel and the Army. If Eve had wanted to listen to useless chatter, she would have had similar luck at a sewing circle at home listening to old biddies bickering over politics.

And since when did he call her “Ev”?

"I think she's asleep," said Luz, obviously addressing the room at large.

"Finally!" said Liebgott.

She heard a gentle rustling that indicated that they were shuffling around the room.

"Alright," Luz said, an organizer calling a meeting to order. "Parks, you lose, fork it over."

"You too, Guarnere!" called Martin.

"Yeah, yeah," the Italian grumbled. "Well, put me down for this Thursday, then."

"Sure," said Luz, "How much?"

"Five dollars."

Someone whistled. That’s a lot of money, Eve thought. I wonder what they’re betting on?

"Alright, so that's Guarnere for this week, five dollars," he said.

"Can you believe this broad's still here?" someone grumbled.

"Nope," said Luz, "that's why we're bettin'. My money's on her washing out before we even get assigned to squads."

"Actual dates only, Luz, you know the rules, you made them."

Eve felt her eyes widen and her brain shut down as pain lanced her heart. Oh.

So much for having a friend.

She sank deeper into her pillow and struggled not to cry. Stupid, she thought, so irrevocably stupid for thinking she'd made progress with the men.

She heaved a quiet sigh that nearly traitorously turned into a sob. She repressed it ruthlessly. Now was not a good time to wallow in having been so ruthlessly fooled.

Had she really been so desperate that she’d latched onto the first kindness? The first insincere offer of friendship to be had?

Any kinship she’d felt with George Luz was ashes in the breeze. She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep.

When reveille was called the next morning, Eve felt like she’d just closed her eyes for a second. With a quiet groan, she pulled herself from bed.

“Hey, Buchanan,” said Luz with a smile.

She could hear the scorn in his voice now, and ignored him, pulling on her ODs as though he’d never spoken.

“What, not feeling like talking this morning?”

Eve gave him a look, knowing her feelings were too raw to be hidden.

Strangely, he backed off and went to bother someone else.

Eve finished getting ready, and spent the rest of the day on her own, enduring the bullying with a stony face and an iced-over heart. She’d show them all.

-End Chapter-

---

-Chapter 5: Hang Tough-

George Luz watched Evelyn Buchanan. Ever since she’d looked at him this morning after he’d greeted her, he’d sensed something had gone awry. Just yesterday she would have at least said good morning. It felt like she’d retreated from him completely.

He’d actually grown to like her a bit. He still wanted her to go home – where she’d be nice and safe – but she was a nice girl. Whip smart too.

He wondered what had happened, what had put the ice into her eyes this morning. She’d scared him with all that feeling he could see, especially since he’d started to think that nothing they did could touch her.

It made him uneasy.

Eve made a habit of leaving the mess hall early. Since discovering the gambling ring, she didn’t really feel comfortable spending her free time in her barracks right now.

After lunch, so long as Sobel didn't have any other sadistic ideas, was two hours of free time before afternoon PT. Eve figured the other men used it for shooting the shit, polishing their boots, tending to their gear, or just to sleep. Such activities, however, would have confined her to the barracks, where she was obviously not welcome.

So, she did her own PT instead. Some days she ran the track or the camp perimeter, other days, the obstacle course, and when she was feeling particularly masochistic, she might even drag her lonesome self up Currahee. She never did the same route twice in a row, though. That would’ve just been asking for a jeering audience.

When she left the barracks, she did so at a jog – brushing past some Able Company guys, who either didn't feel like hassling her or didn't recognize her. Working her way to the perimeter of camp, she began to run along the fence line. It didn't take long for her legs and lungs to stop protesting and settle into the easy rhythm she set. The humidity made her sweat, but she had already been disgusting when she started, so another layer of grime really wasn't going to make any difference.

About two thirds of the way around camp, someone called her name.

"Private Buchanan! Wait up!"

She slowed down, and turned to see who was interrupting her. If it was one of her bunkmates, she was fully prepared to ignore them and keep running. She really couldn't handle any more unpleasant surprises today without monumentally losing her temper.

It was Lieutenant Nixon. She came to a halt and saluted him, breathing hard and wondering what he wanted.

"Yes, sir," she said, and he saluted back, slowing to a walk from the jog he had come over at. She wondered if he had been waiting for her.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, sounding somewhat amused.

"Uh," Eve looked over her shoulder at the fence line she had been following and took a breath; she kept her eyebrow down, though it desperately tried to creep up her forehead with incredulity. "Running, sir."

He chuckled and nodded, "I can see that, Private. What I meant was: why are you running during your free time, when we're just going to run again in," he checked his watch, "an hour-and-a-half?"

She shrugged and said, "Didn't feel like lollygagging in the barracks, sir. Thought I'd get some fresh air."

Eve hoped he couldn't tell that she was lying through her teeth. What she'd like to do was sleep for a week, but then she'd have to be around the bastards she was billeted with. That, and she needed all the help she could get. Doing extra drills was her only hope of keeping up with the men.

"Fresh air, huh," Nixon said, and she knew he had seen right through her, "Mind some company?"

She did. She was in no mood to mollycoddle anyone but herself at the moment, and she was well aware that she was in a temper. But she wasn't about to say no an officer, especially not one she liked so much, so instead, she just nodded and started jogging again, the Lieutenant falling into step beside her.

They made it a few hundred yards before Nixon spoke up once more.

"You're Senator Buchanan's daughter, aren't you?"

She nodded and he hummed thoughtfully.

"Why'd you want to join the Airborne? Your dad could have gotten you a position anywhere, why here?"

Eve shrugged. "Honestly, there were a couple reasons."

He waited for a while, eyebrow cocked expectantly. When Eve caught sight of it, she sighed and continued. "The paratroopers might never actually see combat, and yet the training is rigorous. Dad said if I was going into combat, I was going to be with the best."

She chose not to mention the fact that he didn’t expect her to succeed. No one else did, so it was hardly a surprise, but if she didn’t admit it aloud, she could pretend it wasn’t true.

"Why not take an officer's commission?" suggested Nixon. "You've got the aptitude for it and you'd probably be safer that way."

Eve huffed, trying to catch her breath while she thought through her answer. "If I had taken a commission, they'd have made me a supply officer or an aide, somewhere tucked safely away in the corner like a delicate flower. Frankly, if I wanted to be a secretary, I'd have stayed home and saved myself a lot of trouble.

"I want to be in combat. I want to know that I'm making a difference every time I pull a trigger, not hiding away behind a skirt in an office typing reports. By the time the reports are written, it's too late to do anything."

They ran in silence as Nixon mulled over her answer in his head. The reasoning was sound, as he'd somewhat expected, but less sentimental then he had originally assumed. He'd guessed that she would have some naïve notion about how fighting was honorable and war was glorious, but instead all he found was someone with a profound desire to help, even if her help wasn't wanted.

He wondered if she was that sentimental girl anyway, and was just too smart to admit it.

"You know, the press is all over your story. 'First woman in combat,' and all that. They all say you're going to go down in history as either the Army's greatest mistake, or the next Joan of Arc."

Eve shook her head, exasperated. "Lieutenant Nixon, I'm not trying to stir the pot, I couldn't care less what the newspapers say about me, and I’m well aware of the worst of it.” She added thinking of the endless news scraps her platoon had read aloud in her presence to amuse themselves at her expense. “I'm just trying to do the right thing as best I can.”

She stopped running and turned to look at him, "This is what I was meant to do. I know it in my bones. If they don't like it, then, frankly sir, they can go to hell, because I don't give a fig."

Nixon laughed, thinking, Honest-to-God she sounds just like my favorite grandmother, the old battleaxe.

She didn't know what she had said to make him smile with such a strange mix of ruefulness and pride, but shrugged it off when he just shook his head at her and saluted her. She returned it.

"Well, then, Private Buchanan, carry on," he said and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets and sauntered off.

Eve shook her head at his back and continued her run, grinning despite herself. Nosy bastard.

“Not that way,” said a lilting voice over her shoulder. Eve looked down at the bandage she was trying to get to stay on a practice dummy. He was made of straw and not cooperating in the slightest.

Brisk, long fingered hands took the bandage off the dummy and tied it again with practiced ease.

“See here,” the man behind the hands said, voice a soft Cajun twang. “You gotta get it tight around the arm first, easiest way is to tie it like a boot.” He showed her again, quickly. “Once it’s tight, then worry about getting the ends tucked away.”

Eve watched as he tied the bandage several times around the wound, tightening at each layer, before knotting it with a small, neat knot, tucking the tails into the upper and lower bandages to keep them from getting in the way.

“Thank you,” she said, searching for the man’s name. He was from her barracks, and was a medic-in-training. He had dark hair, and was unusually pale for someone from the Deep South; but he came from Louisiana if she wasn’t mistaken. His dark blue eyes were patient and calm.

“Eugene Roe, miss,” he said, polite.

“Thank you, Roe,” she said again. “I never would’ve got it.”

He shook his head and turned back to his own dummy, already finished. She pretended he wasn’t looking around furtively, making sure no one had noticed him helping the girl.

She returned the favor several hours later at the gun range.

Somehow, Roe had ended up next to her on the line.

“Keep both eyes open,” she told him gently, under the cacophony of gunfire.

He looked at her, sharply, so she demonstrated, hitting the bull’s-eye.

Roe shifted his stance a bit, so his weight was a little more evenly distributed like hers was, and locked his elbow up where it belonged. He lined the sight up with one eye, and then, following her advice, opened both eyes to fire.

He hit just right of center. A marked improvement.

She grinned at him, happy for his success, and went back to her own shooting.

The one thing Eve really couldn't get the hang of was hand-to-hand combat. She got her ass handed to her every time.

Eve's father had insisted that she and Elizabeth both learn how to defend their honor from overzealous men should they ever have the need, so Eve had thought she would do well. But this was completely different. To succeed, she had to completely overpower a man and kill him.

She just didn't have the upper body strength for the standard holds to be effective, and her lithe stature made getting any leverage nearly impossible. The blocks felt awkward and inefficient, and her punches didn't do a damn thing. Every time she ended up on the ground with even more bruises and Sobel's spit in her hair from when he shouted down at her.

She really hated Captain Sobel.

Today, Joe Toye was paired up with her. He had at least five inches on her, and everyone in the company knew he was one of the best brawlers in the entirety of the 506th. She sighed and settled in.

This is gonna hurt.

It did. Her moves just didn't flow together like everyone else's did. Every punch was too low and every block was too high, and everything was awkward.

Even Toye, easily one of the most laid-back guys in the company, quickly grew frustrated as her ineptitude foiled his chance at improving this session. His blows started having more and more of his weight behind them and soon he was pushing her backwards.

"C'mon Buchanan! Just quit already, why don't cha? Fuckin' hopeless," he murmured after Sobel moved on from correcting them for the second time to stay in line with the others.

Fury and frustration filled her, and her next punch was wild. She overextended and next thing she knew, Toye had her on the ground, her right clavicle feeling as though he'd split it in two.

She couldn't breathe. Every attempt sent fire ricocheting from her shoulder down her arm. Her ears started to ring, but she could still hear Sobel's screaming, "Line up! We're running up Currahee! Move it!" and felt hands yanking her up.

She nearly fainted from the pain, vision whiting out and spotting dangerously as she viciously bit her lip to keep from screaming.

She heard Lieutenant Nixon's voice in her ear, egging her up.

"Come on, Buchanan, up you get. Let's go," he said, and her feet began moving on orders without any real consent from her mind.

The shock of pain began to dull just enough for her to focus on the man in front of her as she trudged toward that infernal hill. Every step jarred her shoulder, which she could already feel beginning to swell. She bit her lip to keep the tears welling in her eyes where they were instead of rolling traitorously down her face in the wake of her agony.

She barely remembered anything from the run, or the following discussion on Fuller’s Tank Warfare Strategy, and what that meant for the infantry and riflemen they supported, led by Lieutenant Colonel Strayer, which was something she would normally have been extremely interested in. But the throbbing in her shoulder had spread up to her neck and head and she was just trying not to pass out in the middle of the lecture.

She missed the concerned glances Lieutenant Winters and Nixon kept sweeping over her too pale face every time she winced trying to roll her right shoulder or lift her arm.

She didn't even bother to change out of her PT gear after their late night march before falling into her rack and passing out, dead asleep.

She woke with a start to someone shaking her ankle and whispering her name.

"Private Buchanan? You awake?" Eugene Roe asked. She could only just make out his dark hair and luminescent features in the pale moonlight spilling through the windows, but his low voice and Louisiana accent was unmistakable.

"Yeah,” she whispered groggily. “Yeah, I'm up. What's up?"

She tried to sit up with a groan, belatedly remembering her shoulder when it burned. After a pause – to gather herself after being so careless in trying to sit up – her shoulder already settling into an angry throb, flaring with renewed pain, and waking her up fully – she forced herself up, babying the shoulder as she levered herself into a sitting position. She’d hoped it would have stopped hurting – or lessened at least somewhat – by now, but no such luck.

"Easy," Roe said, catching her grimace and sharp intake of breath as she sat up, "Lieutenant Winters asked me to check up on you. Mentioned your shoulder was hurting?"

She nodded, beyond caring how Winters had guessed. She really hadn’t been able to be subtle in hiding her pain due to its overwhelming nature.

She swung her feet off the side of the bed. Roe knelt in front of her. He reached for her shoulder.

"May I?" he asked and nodded at her shoulder, and she was too tired to do anything but nod.

He gently moved aside her shirt and brassier strap. Even in the low lighting, the swelling and deep bruising was readily apparent. He frowned and pulled out his Zippo lighter to better see the damage. Eve couldn't stop her flinch as he ran cold, callused fingers over the swelling he found.

"Toye really walloped you, didn't he?"

She shrugged, her uninjured shoulder, wincing as even that made bright spots of pain appear behind her eyes. "I don't think he meant to hit me that hard. I overextended." Eve didn't even know why she was making excuses for Joe Toye. She hardly knew the man, and he certainly didn't know her – which didn't stop him from hating her – but all the same; she should have known better than to lose her temper.

Roe hummed, probably going for thoughtful, but it came out as a mixture of disbelief and what Eve thought might be disgust. That might have been wishful thinking.

"Well, your clavicle's probably got a hairline fracture. It's definitely bruised though. You're gonna have to try and go easy on it for a while," He pulled a towel filled with ice from somewhere. "Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off."

He gently pressed it to her shoulder and held it there until she understood that he wanted her to take it from him. She did so slowly and was mortified by the tear that leaked from her eye. She wiped it away quickly.

"Sorry," she said, her voice wracked with exhaustion and humiliation.

Roe didn't mention her tears. He just handed her his watch and said, "Twenty minutes, then toss it, and get some sleep."

She clutched the cold metal and nodded, bringing her feet back up onto the bed and leaning on the wall behind her. She pulled her knees up and glanced at the watch. 23:45. She hoped she could stay awake for twenty minutes.

Roe stood up and pocketed his lighter. He paused for a moment before leaving and patted the knee closest to him.

"Hang tough," he said, then padded silently back to his bunk.

The next day was easily the most miserable one Eve had ever experienced. She had never realized how interconnected her shoulder was. Even walking and running aggravated the injury, causing a deep throbbing ache punctuated by sharp pain whenever she tried to rotate any part of the right side of her body.

God must have been looking down on her because it rained all day, not letting up for even a brief respite between thunderous deluges of rain. The tendency of rain in Georgia, at least thus far in Eve's experience, was for clouds to roll in, dump massive amounts of water, and then roll away. The sun typically managed to burn off most of the actual water before evening unless it had been raining for a particularly long time, but the humidity stuck around like an unwanted guest, keeping them all dripping with sweat.

Today, the clouds seemed content to squat over the camp, pissing rain all day.

What this meant for the paratroopers in training was that they were in lessons all day. The cacophony off the tin roof made it nearly impossible to hear the instructors, who had resorted to shouting.

Eve couldn't even get her right arm onto the desk, much less use it to write anything down. She had to make do with the illegible scribbles she produced with her left hand. It meant that she missed more than half the day's notes, only able to take down the main concepts rather than her usual neat, detailed transcript of what the instructor said. It was insanely frustrating.

No one seemed to notice her difficulties, or the increasingly tense set of her shoulders, which did her injury no favors. Not even Luz, who was again sitting right next to her. She was somewhat thankful for it, because it meant that he wasn't pestering her, but she hadn't quite forgotten that he was betting on her to fail.

He could stuff his inane chatter back into his skull for all she cared.

Her shoulder was making her irritable.

She could have kissed the man (not that she ever would have) when the instructor announced that they were done for now and to get their butts to chow for lunch. She tucked her notepad away in her coat and ducked her head down and made a mad dash for the mess hall with the rest of the Company doing the same, some in twos and threes, others braving the rain alone. They all ran like they'd melt like the Wicked Witch from Oz if they were exposed to too much water. She noticed the red-head Malarkey strolling along like it was sunny and shook her head. Crazy fool Irishman.

She took a moment to breathe once she hit the awning around the mess, trying to quell the nausea that had reared up after jostling her shoulder with running like that. She almost couldn’t stand the idea of bumping into the other guys on their way to the mess like it was a competition to see who could get in line first. Like the chow was going to run out or something equally as stupid.

"Buchanan?" said a quiet voice. She looked up and met Eugene Roe's concerned eyes. He looked around to make sure they were alone before handing her some papers. She took the sheaf, grabbing for it awkwardly with her left hand having only remembered not to use her right after she'd already started the movement.

She flipped through the thin pages, noting the precise elegant script. It took her a moment to actually adjust to the way the letters looked to actually read what he'd handed to her.

His class notes.

She flipped through them, scanning the words quickly. She couldn't have done better herself. She looked up at him, taken aback by his kindness. He gave her a nod, the barest quirk of his lips in a smile and stepped around her into the mess.

Eve folded the notes as carefully as she was able and slipped them into her jacket with her notebook before following the medic-in-training into the building.

Balancing her tray in one hand was not fun, but at least the cooks had bored of splashing food on her as she went through the line. She sat at her abandoned table and tried to utilize her fork left-handed. She felt like a heathen. Her mother would cringe and scowl in the most amusing way if she was here to witness her daughter's atrocious sham at table manners. The thought cheered her up considerably and she ate with much more enthusiasm. She took out Roe's notes and read them over, mouthing the words as she went, trying to get them to stick in her brain while she had access to them.

When she finished eating, she'd finished reading the carefully recorded words, and tucked them back into her jacket. She dumped her tray with little fanfare and then left.

They had an hour to see if the rain would let up before they had to assemble for close order drills. Eve used the free moment to slip the notes, and the watch he’d lent her the night before, back under Roe's pillow in the empty barracks.

She walked back to her bunk, more than happy to spend the rest of the time off trying to sleep, because her shoulder didn't hurt when she was asleep, and was caught halfway there by Guarnere, Toye, Luz and Liebgott coming in, drenched from the rain.

She met their faces, stoic in Guarnere's and Toye's case, false cheer in Luz's, malicious glee in Liebgott's, with the blank smile she used whenever she wanted to appear politely interested and really telling the people she was listening to (or pretending to listen to) that she didn't give a flying fig, and slipped past them, already trying to think of an alternate place to be for the rest period.

As she squeezed by Luz, he clapped her on the shoulder roughly, nearly sending her to her knees. She could see, through the grey pain, that he was probably trying to be friendly, but it hurt too much to even scream.

She stumbled a bit, but regained her footing. Jesus Christ, that hurt.

She passed by Lieutenant Winters on her way to find another place to be, ignoring the laughter behind her as she closed the door. Winters gave her a smile as she let him pass by and wandered off. Maybe she'd go for a run after all.

Dick Winters walked into his platoon’s barracks. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon rest period rounding up the most likely instigators of Private Buchanan’s hazing. He'd been observing it for some time now. Buchanan had put up with it admirably, never coming to him or any other officer for support despite his offer that he'd be willing to listen.

Nix seemed to like the young woman. He’d talked of little else after training her that first time as Sobel’s backhanded punishment. Nix had gone on and on about the ramifications of her joining the army often with great zeal for the stir it was causing.

This, combined with his own favorable impression, was what initially drove him to look out for her.

Before he’d met her, he hadn't really concerned himself with the girl. He, like everyone else, assumed she'd wash out before her first month as a probationer was through. Three months in now, and she was still here. Winters admired that kind of determination.

She was an underdog in the most classic sense, and he wanted her to prove to everyone what he’d known she was capable of that first day he’d trained her. Buchanan was born to be a soldier.

He'd been watching for weeks as the men of Easy Company made it abundantly clear that Buchanan wasn't welcome amongst them. It had been mostly harmless, no crueler than any of the pranks they'd played on each other apart from the sheer volume.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, Toye nearly broke her shoulder. Winters had asked Roe to look in on her, and this morning, hearing Roe's estimation of her injury, made him realize that he had let things go too far.

So he'd spent the afternoon getting together the men he'd seen most often fueling the fire. Joe Liebgott rarely let a moment go by where he could jostle the woman into walls or tables or even her own food. He'd been the start of it all, by Winters's estimation.

Bill Guarnere was forever bitching about the girl, calling her "cunt" and threatening to take her to bed to "straighten her out." Winters knew, that a lot of this animosity spread from Guarnere's desire to get her out of the danger zone, but Bill's foul mouth only became worse when she was around. His tough love approach was more tough than love, and definitely sharper than what Winters had observed from anyone else.

George Luz was well-known as the ringleader for all bets and gambling, but the particular favorite right now was the massive wagers placed on when Buchanan would wash out or drop out. It caused the men, worried about losing their bet, to become downright vicious where they would have otherwise been indifferent. If the gambling stopped, nearly half the spite would as well.

And then there was Joe Toye. He'd never been exactly quiet about his firm opinion that women belonged at home. But Winters hadn't thought Toye had it in him to actually hurt her. He'd crossed a line.

Collectively, they had crossed that line a long time ago.

Winters removed his garrison cap, running fingers through his hair to flatten it back into place. "Hey, fellas," he said.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" said Luz, cheerful as always. "You wanted to see us?"

"Yeah," he said, looking the men over. They appeared bored and eager to be elsewhere. "Yeah, I did.”

“What's goin' on sir?" asked Guarnere.

Winters gave each man a flat look and decided blunt honesty would work better than subtlety. "You need to lay off Private Buchanan."

"Sir?" asked Liebgott, confused.

“Private Buchanan has earned her place in Easy Company," said Winters, trying to make this as clear as possible. "Colonel Sink specifically oversaw her completion of her probation period, which she served under Lieutenant Sobel.

"After which she became a full member of Easy Company. And you will start treating her like one, understand?"

"Sir," said Toye, offended that he'd called his behavior into question. "She's not like anyone else. Buchanan can't survive in the field like a man can. She's a liability to the unit. The sooner she washes out, the better for everyone."

Winters was disappointed when everyone in the room seemed to agree.

"Look," he said. "Buchanan is excelling at the same training everyone else is. She's getting no special favors or treatment from command. She survives on her own merit, which is why she hasn't already been drummed out of here. And she's been doing it without even the support that you men have from each other. If she's a detriment to the unit, it's because she's not a part of the unit. Your antics over the past two months have isolated her completely from her Company. This whole experience is meant to give you men a stronger bond in combat. That cannot be accomplished if you're willing to leave her behind. She's your teammate now, so you'd best get over the fact that she's a woman.”

The men before him looked cowed, but he could see the anger that still lingered. "You may not have set out to cause deliberate pain, but you crossed a line yesterday," he said staring into Toye's eyes to make sure the man knew how serious he was about this.

"Sir?" asked Toye, definitely offended now.

"You broke her shoulder, Joe."

He waited for that to sink in. From the horrified shock on Toye's face, and the grimaces on the other men, he could see that the news surprised them. He hadn’t realized it was so bad that they no longer recognized it when she was in pain, if they ever had. A single glance at her had been enough for him to realize that she was in agony.

"It stops now," he said. "If you cannot be friendly, you owe it to her and your unit to be civil. The least you can do is have an open mind. She's earned the chance to fail out on her own without any help from you.”

He met each man's eyes again, receiving nods from each man as he processed the gravity of the situation. He could tell that they were all somewhat disbelieving, but hopefully, they'd give her a shot or approach her with an open mind and form a new opinion.

"Good," he said. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." He nodded at them, confident in these men that they would at least take his advice to heart and started to leave the room.

"She gonna be okay?" asked Luz, catching the Lieutenant as he was heading out the door.

"Doc Roe says she'll be fine in a few weeks. The bruise will be colorful, but she should be able to continue training," he said, and left.

"Shit," said Toye, coming to terms with what he'd inadvertently done to another person. Sure they were training, but he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, let alone a girl.

"Alright," said Guarnere, recovering first. "We give her a chance."

Luz was digging through his footlocker for the journal he kept the bets in and flipped through it. "I guess I can give you fellas back the money you bet," he said. "No way I'm keeping it up now that Lieutenant Straight-laced knows about it." He forked over the cash.

Liebgott tucked his away and flopped angrily down on his bed, thinking hard about the girl.

-End Chapter-

---

-Chapter 6: Allies-

Dearest Alex,

Can you believe it’s already November? I swear, the last time I looked at a calendar, it was only June. Where has the year gone?

Training has been every bit as difficult as I anticipated. We work to exhaustion from sunrise to midnight. It’s never boring, there’s always some new task to do, but the amount of work that we accomplish each day is astonishing.

Still, despite all the changes, there are some reassuring consistencies from day to day. Friday nights are a march in full pack and gear. Our commander is very strict with them, no talking, no smoking, no stopping for anything at all, and he adds an extra five miles each week. We have random inspections, where our commander will take away our weekend passes if he finds any infractions. Often times, he’ll take the whole company’s pass because too many of the men have failed some aspect or other. I confess, I haven’t had a weekend off base since I’ve arrived. I think he knows when the guys have plans out in the town, because it’s usually right after they talk about it that we get waylaid by some task or other.

It’s frustrating, but each hardship forces the company closer together. And it’s not as though our CO isn’t right there with us, doing everything he’s asked of us, which can’t be said for all the officers here.

I have been welcomed with open arms. The men all treat me as a younger sister. They are all dedicated to my success as a member of their unit, but also to my safety. Have no fear for your little sister, dearest brother, I am in good company.

I only hope your unit has welcomed you half as well as mine has me.

There’s no need to waste your worry on me. I am doing as well as can be expected. There was one small mishap with my shoulder in hand-to-hand, but it has become something of a blessing in disguise. I will admit that learning to do everything with my left hand was a bit daunting, but after a few weeks, it was as though I’d been doing it my whole life. I can only imagine how it will be useful in combat.

How are you faring on the high seas? I saw in the newspaper that your ship has already engaged the Japanese. Trust that I am praying for your continued safety.

Write to me more often brother. I’m sure you know that mail-call is one of the few pleasant surprises we soldiers receive in basic training.

All my love,

Evelyn

Eve folded the letter up and tucked it into an envelope, and then tucked that into her breast pocket to drop off at the PX on her way to the obstacle course.

She didn’t feel bad about lying to her brother. If he knew the way it really was, he would just start nagging her to go home. And it wasn’t as though she’d lied about all of it.

Eve finished her last few bites and got up from her still empty table. She needed to leave early if she wanted to hit the PX before hand-to-hand.

She still got her ass handed to her in close combat fighting though. Every single time. She wasn't expected to win every fight, but she was expected to be able to hold her own. With each bout she lost, she felt the noose tightening, washing out impending. She was just not as strong as the boys.

Her shoulder – which still throbbed and ached at the littlest bit of pressure – was taking its sweet time healing up. Their constant training regime didn’t help. She wished there was time to rest it properly, but it was keep up or washout with Sobel. If she didn't straighten up and pass, prove that she could use her size to her advantage some way, Sobel wouldn’t hesitate. She would get tossed out on her ear, after coming so far…

Eve would be damned if she washed out now after surviving probation.

She’d tried watching everyone else while they were doing exhibition matches, trying to glean something – anything – of value, and then tried to force her body to copy poorly remembered stances and blocks when she was on her own, out of the way of prying eyes.

It wasn’t working.

She'd just have to swallow her pride and ask for help.

She wasn’t looking forward to it.

Eve started by finding Roe.

It was easy enough catching him with no one around. The man was a loner, preferring his own company more often than being rowdy with the other men. It was something Eve appreciated about him. He was a place of quiet when everything else was chaos.

That afternoon, she sought him out.

Roe had found a peaceful and isolated little bench and was smoking his way through a cigarette.

When she blocked his shadow, he looked up, and blew some smoke up and away. She asked if she could sit down with a nod, and he gave wordless permission.

When she was settled, Roe offered her a drag off his cigarette. She waved it away. She didn’t smoke.

The first time she tried smoking, she’d gone into such a violent coughing fit that she’d never touched it again.

Giving her a suit yourself shrug, Roe reclined and waited for Eve to formulate whatever it was she was here for.

When she still hadn’t spoken after he’d finished his cigarette, he knew something must be really bothering her.

“What is it?”

Eve pulled herself from her circling thoughts and just blurted out her question, “Can you help me with hand to hand?”

Roe blinked, surprised. “Prolly not. I do alright, but I’m not one to have much cause for fightin’. Not like you’ll need to do anyway.”

“Oh,” she said. “Ok.”

“I’ll ask around,” he offered, surprising himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” she countered. “It was stupid anyway. Thanks.”

And then she was gone.

Roe shook his head, baffled. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never figure out women.

He thought about her question, mulling it over. There’d been a bit of talk lately from some of the guys about maybe misjudging her. Roe figured Winters must’ve stuck his nose into it after Toye walloped her. Maybe those fellas might be lookin’ for a way to make amends with Buchanan. Maybe he’d give those fellas a nudge in the right direction.

“Buchanan, you’re with Liebgott!” barked Sobel.

Joe Liebgott winced, ignoring the jostling that the other boys gave him as he walked over to join his sparring partner for the afternoon.

She looked just about as eager for this as he felt.

Great.

They lined up in their two columns, so he could face her. She took a stance that almost physically hurt him to look at. She was so off balance, a strong breeze could put her on her ass. What the hell was she thinking?

“For Pete sake!” he barked, when he could stand it no longer. Darting a glance at Sobel, and seizing the moment the Captain was distracted, he invaded Eve’s personal space and started adjusting her posture and foot placement.

When he stepped back, she looked nonplussed, but she hadn’t slid back into that terrible stance from before.

“Feel that?” he asked, trying to keep a sneer on his face when he was genuinely curious.

Eve nodded, surprise still painted on her face.

Liebgott finally realized what he’d just done and looked around, praying no one had noticed.

The pair next to them, Guarnere and Toye, coincidentally enough, seemed to have kept anyone else from noticing. Toye looked over her stance and gave his nod of approval at the improvement.

She was still staring at him, but she hadn’t moved.

So he started to explain, first what she was doing wrong, and secondly, why he’d made his corrections.

“How your feet are on the ground, affects how your knees bend. Outmaneuvering the other guy is a hell of a lot easier if you can move your feet faster than him. Keep your weight evenly distributed with your center of gravity. That should help your balance issues and keep you from over extending, alright?”

Buchanan looked at her own feet and then back at him, her cool blue eyes alight with understanding.

“Good,” said Liebgott. “Now hit me.”

Buchanan stepped into the punch, but he grabbed her arm first thing and pinned it behind her.

Then she whimpered.

Liebgott let go as though she were a hot iron.

He watched the girl compose herself, gave her a moment, and hoped Sobel didn’t choose now to turn his attention back on this side of the line.

To her credit, it didn’t take her more than a moment to straighten and settle back into nearly the same stance he’d put her in.

He hadn’t expected her to get it completely right, and she hadn’t, but it was a better attempt than he thought it would be.

“You alright?” he asked, the question popping out without his consent.

She nodded and put up her dukes.

“You see what I did there?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“Alright,” he said, “try again.”

Buchanan stepped into the punch again, but this time, didn’t throw all her weight behind it. She kept enough lightness in her feet that she was able to step out of the grab he tried and instead landed a blow to his forearm.

“Better,” he said, and settled in to the fighting pattern Sobel was leading.

She’d improved so much from so little instruction, it made his stomach knot. A corner of his mind wondered where else she wasn’t getting the right training.

It might get her killed, he realized as he caught her in a grapple.

"Not like that!" scolded Liebgott as Eve tried to get out of his grip. He kicked at her feet with his own toes. "You gotta use your goddamn feet! Keep your knees bent to keep your center of gravity low and balanced so you can use my weight against me when I lean on you like this.” He pressed down on her arms, letting up when she flinched.

Movement at the corner of his eye gave him an idea. “Watch Guarnere get out of Toye’s hold,” he said, disengaging.

Buchanan watched Guarnere pull a dirty trick and get around Toye’s grabbing hands. When the two men settled back for another go, Toye was grinning.

“It’s not about winning clean,” he said when he caught her looking. “It’s just about winning.”

Buchanan nodded and settled in again.

This time when he grabbed her, she dug into his hand with her sharp nails and made him bite his lip so he wouldn’t howl. His grip faltered and she danced out of his grip to sock him in the gut.

When he finally managed to breathe again, Guarnere was laughing at him.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE!” barked Sobel, crashing the party. “Unauthorized deviations from the routine? Drop and give me fifty!”

The four of them dropped, and got to it. Sobel watched them get through a few before drifting away to shout at Alley for something.

Liebgott was used to doing pushups for punishment. It was a wonder the guy wasn’t more creative.

A glance out of the corner of his eye, just to check on the other’s progress, brought him up short. Buchanan was doing one armed pushups, probably out of self defense for that shoulder of hers, and though she wasn’t having an easy time of it – her face was bright red and she was panting like she’d been running a marathon – she was still doing them.

When Guarnere and Toye both stood up, finished with their own counts, Liebgott got up too, despite losing count somewhere along the way.

Buchanan stayed down for another thirty seconds, finishing the whole set to Liebgott’s admiration, before falling back in line to resume training.

Liebgott gave her a nod, and they got back to it.

When Sobel finally let them go an hour later, Liebgott was looking forward to a shower before lunch.

He was trying to catch up to Alley, when she called his name.

"Liebgott!"

He tried to ignore her, but she caught up to him. The girl was persistent, he’d give her that.

“What?” he snarled at her. “Don’t think that just because I helped you that makes us friends-“

She cut him off. “I just wanted to say...” She took a deep breath and met his eyes.

“What?” he demanded. She stared into his eyes, judging him.

“Thanks.”

She booked it before he could even formulate the acidic retort on the tip of his tongue.

Having watched the whole thing, Guarnere was laughing at him again. “I’ll say this for the broad,” he clapped Liebgott on the shoulder, “she’s got guts.”

Liebgott shrugged off the hand and hustled to the bathrooms so he could get that shower. Maybe it would help him wash off the guilt he felt.

Stupid broad.

Eve spent the rest of the day avoiding Liebgott. It was pretty easy, since he seemed to have the same idea.

She forgot all about him once they hit the shooting range. Her weak shoulder meant that shooting a gun properly, the way she had all her life, was nearly impossible. The recoil that she usually absorbed with no problem turned what was a dull ache into sheer agony.

The white hot pain caused her shots to veer wildly off center, which caused all its own frustration.

Fortunately, the M1 was a unique gun, in that it could be wielded with either the right or left hand, because the cartridges popped out the top and went flying far enough not to hit her when she was looking down the scope. She never could’ve shot her old rifle left handed – the hot casings would’ve hit her right in the face.

But just because she could shoot the thing left handed, didn’t mean it was easy. What had once been the highlight of her week, had become an ordeal.

It was exceedingly frustrating, because she knew when she wasn’t doing things correctly, but she couldn’t manage to fix them. She had to learn how to operate her gun with her left hand, which meant that she had to adjust her entire stance, all of her calculations, and even the way she saw the target. Everything was backwards.

It was like starting over at the beginning, but worse, since she knew how easy it was when she could shoot with her gun on the right.

Not today though. Bolstered by her improvement in hand-to-hand, Eve was determined to put in a good showing today.

She had improved from the first time she tried shooting south-paw, she knew, but she still had a long way to go before she was back up to snuff.

Thanksgiving Day was supposed to be a day of rest and feasting. Or so the announcement said. In fact, the rest of the 506 did just that, but not Second Battalion.

Instead, Major Strayer had decided that a two-day field exercise was just what they needed to stay sharp. This meant two days of long marches, attacks against defended positions, a gas alarm in the middle of the night, and the introduction of K rations. Eve thought food could never possibly be worse than the slop at the mess and they'd proven her wrong. She decided she hated commanders who wanted to prove their company was the best just because they could, by having the company do the work for them to get the praise.

She just didn't see the point to making the men miserable for no particular reason – especially not over a holiday.

Strayer then decided to make things even more interesting and added pig guts to the field for them to crawl through instead of a Thanksgiving feast.

It was completely disgusting, but it wasn't too terrible an exercise. They'd crawled under the wire before after all, so it wasn't difficult to do.

That said, she got some in her mouth and had ended up throwing up in disgust after she'd finished the course. She found somewhere extremely private to do so, not wanting to rekindle the rumors that she couldn't handle blood or guts. She could handle them just fine when they weren't in her mouth, thanks. She could even handle having to sit drenched in the gore until the shower was free and empty. When they finally were, she was tempted to just go in the stall and shower in her clothes.

She didn't, but it was a nice thought while she waited.

Eve was sitting in her usual spot, trying to endure the interesting texture of her chipped beef and toast.

A newspaper plopped onto the table in front of her. Eve looked first at it, then the snarling man who’d dropped it.

Eve took up the paper and looked for the article that set him off. Sure enough, there was her name, along with several wild accusations about what she was doing in the army surrounded by men.

“So how about it?” he sneered. “Go on and give us a kiss. Who knows what you and Sobel’ve gotten up to in the last month? Why else would he let a girl stay?”

Outraged, Eve couldn’t even utter a single word in response. When he leaned in, she slammed the paper into his chest and pushed hard, standing so he would no longer be above her, in a position of power. She got enough momentum going that he toppled backwards, landing on his ass.

He just laughed at her, a mean glint in his eye.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I wouldn’t want Sobel’s leftovers anyway.”

“Why don’t you mind your damned manners,” said someone from behind her.

Eve glanced back, humiliated, to find Guarnere standing behind her. “Everyone knows Fox Company is full of shirt lifters, so why don’t you tuck your tail between your legs and run back to the hole you came from?”

“Jesus, Guarnere. You’re defending her? She get to you too?”

“Get outta here,” Guarnere barked, taking a threatening step forward and raising a fist.

The man left.

Eve sat back down, watching Guarnere warily.

“What?” Guarnere barked at the guys still staring their way. “Show’s over.”

Eyes quickly turned back to whatever they were doing before.

Eve resumed eating. Guarnere’s intervention notwithstanding, this type of altercation was fairly typical for Eve. She’d learned it was best to just act as if nothing had happened.

“Budge over,” said Guarnere. Eve looked around at all the empty space, and wondered if he was serious about her budging over. Certainly there was plenty of bench for him to sit at, if he was so inclined, not that he would.

Eve was genuinely startled when Guarnere planted himself right next to her.

She waited, but it seemed he had nothing more to say. Instead, Guarnere just started eating as though that had been his intention in coming over all along. She stared at him. Honest-to-God she had no idea what the hell he was doing.

No one ate with her. Not since Winters and Nixon once months and months ago, and certainly not Guarnere who made no secret about hating her guts.

"What?" he asked after she'd managed to stare at him for two whole minutes without blinking or even noticing the bite of food halfway to her mouth. "Can't a fella eat without you gawkin' at 'im? Geeze."

Eve raised her eyebrows but refocused on her food. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away and give up whatever his intention was in coming over. Certainly it hadn’t been to ‘rescue’ her from the idiot from Fox. She’d borne several such incidents of the same kind without any protest from Easy Company. Guarnere had been known to start a few of those incidents himself, or add fuel to the fire.

But if he was content to just sit there, who was she to argue?

Careful to keep a few inches between them – so she didn’t accidentally bump him and set the man off – Eve went back to eating.

The next meal, Toye and Liebgott joined Guarnere. They started up a talk amongst themselves about tactics in a fistfight and comparing various stories. Eve ignored these additions to her table the way she had Guarnere, and ate like she thought of nothing else.

But she listened. She learned quickly that the men’s idea of a fair fight was a lot dirtier than anything they’d shown her before. The meal was littered with stories of various scraps the boys had gotten into.

It broke the ice.

Eve wasn't sure what exactly happened, but somewhere after that, the animosity from the other men died down. It was a gradual transition, but one day she woke up and realized that no one had outwardly harassed her in days. It seemed like the boys were slowly warming up to her.

Within the week, Eve's table was just as bustling and crowded as any in the mess hall. Her tablemates rotated, but were too caught up in their own antics to pay much attention to her silently applying herself to her meal. She still generally left early, but occasionally they drew her into conversations about homework assignments and various battlefield maneuvers they were supposed to be memorizing.

They even began to draw her into conversations late at night when they were polishing their boots. It seemed like she'd hit a turning point and now, each day that went by where she didn't complain and did the exact same thing they did made her go upwards in their regard.

It was a strange kind of truce, and Eve was wary of making too big a deal about it lest it disappear once mentioned, but it was nice not to be quite so lonely anymore, even if she still didn't have any friends and they barely tolerated her.

Now that she wasn't being quite so thoroughly rebuked, she had taken to following groups of guys from Easy around. There was a safety in numbers that hadn't been there before.

She wasn’t quite in the group – she hadn't earned that privilege yet – they still mostly left her alone, and she didn't have any real close friends, but she wasn't outright hated anymore, and was able to drift between groups and hover.

Eve tried to take advantage of it as much as possible. But unfortunately, once the E Company guys stopped tormenting her, the men in the other companies became even more determined to take up the slack. They found time to taunt her in private, daily.

She'd been cornered by two guys from Charlie when Toye, of all people, broke in.

"You got a problem, pal?" he said, getting right up in the instigator's face. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

Toye had at least three inches on the man and was still regarded as the best fighter in Toccoa, hands down. Eve was actually closer to the man’s size than Toye was.

The two men were so baffled by her unlikely defender that the instigator just shook his head and wander off, his buddy on his heels.

“Coward,” Toye hissed as the man ducked around a corner.

Eve turned to Toye, and opened her mouth.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, cutting her off before she could even get a full breath of air.

“I should,” she argued.

“Don’t,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?” he cried and then stormed off before she could say another word.

She stared at his back, thinking with despair, One step forward, three steps back.

A month went by. Eve was still in a weird limbo of being under Easy Company’s protection, but absolutely not one-of-the-guys. It was bearable, and she was no longer isolated, which was a marked improvement to her first few months with Easy.

One night, Eve came back from training, utterly exhausted and ready to collapse on her bunk and sleep as long as she possibly could.

That was before she walked into the billet and saw the catastrophe that had wrecked the place. It looked like a tornado had swept through and flung everything in its path as far away from where it belonged as possible.

"What the hell?" Liebgott said as he saw his rack littered with things he'd spent an hour organizing. "Goddamn asshole!" He kicked his empty footlocker hard enough that it jumped into the air.

Eve darted past the shocked men to pick her things up. Her stuff had managed to get literally everywhere. She plucked her spare bra from where it was obscenely displayed at the head of her bunk, and – face bright red – began furiously repacking her footlocker.

Luz asked, “What the hell is this thing?”

Eve glanced at him and burned with humiliation. She swiped her feminine hygiene product from his hand and raced to snag the rest of her feminine supplies strewn around the billet before someone else could make a similar exclamation. Someone had taken great glee in festooning the barracks in order to humiliate her further.

Her bunk mates graciously let her pick her stuff up first without further complaint or comment. Not even Cobb tried to say anything despite the cotton pad directly on his pillow, much to their mutual disgust.

Most of the guys were entrenched in fixing their own footlockers, and realizing that some of their stuff had gone missing.

Tipper in the corner was lamenting the loss of a stack of letters he was saving until he could afford the stamps to ship them out.

Another fellow was frantically searching for his magazine stash.

Eve focused on finding her stuff. A few of the less busy guys helped point her in the direction of her wayward items. No one touched her things after Luz, for which she was immensely grateful.

A month ago, no one would have even bothered pointing them out.

Not saying a word beyond the private cursing Eve repacked her gear.

The fact that the boys were missing things too, and it wasn’t just her things strewn about meant that this wasn’t a prank just for her. No, Sobel must have decided to do an inspection, and wrecked the room to find contraband.

As she took further stock of the room at large, she realized that some bunks were completely cleaned out that hadn't been this morning. People had gone home for this surprise.

Repacking her things with resignation, Eve wished an itch in an unpleasant place on Sobel.

The next leave she had – which was two weekends later due to several individual, invisible, infractions resulting in all of E Company losing their weekend passes – Eve went into Toccoa, Georgia to the local market and found a female seamstress. She paid the woman to make up some discrete bags to place her feminine items in for convenience and washing sake.

It cost her five dollars –exorbitant by any means, but prices had gone up with the war – but two weeks later, she had three army green bags.

The next time Sobel trashed the tent, he left those bags packed, but in various and strange locations.

It caused a few grumblings, since this was unequal treatment in favor of the girl, but Eve privately thought the guys were relieved her stuff wasn't all over the room anymore, and were just bitching about it to bitch.

Luz would never admit it, but he figured he’d been completely wrong about Evelyn Buchanan.

She was a quiet, mellow sort of girl. It could be almost soothing to just yammer on at her because she was good at listening to whatever he happened to have to say.

But since that day, months ago now, when she’d woken up furious with him for no apparent reason, he’d felt like he’d screwed something up. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, because George Luz liked to think he was a good person. Ask anyone in Toccoa and they’d probably agree. Anyone but Eve, that is.

The most frustrating bit was that he genuinely didn’t know what happened. One day it was like a switch had been flipped, and she was suddenly frigid towards him.

Sure, she’d thawed since then, but there was always some distance between them that he couldn’t seem to breach.

His resolve to fix things only strengthened as he watched her open up to other members of Easy Company.

Spying a well-worn deck of cards, he invited her to join in the poker game he’d started up for the sole purpose of inviting her to play.

He soon realized his mistake as she cleaned up the table.

"Jesus, Buchanan," said Martin, a shorter man with enough sarcasm to fill the ocean. He was from First Platoon, but he was good friends with a lot of the guys. Could get you anything you asked for, Martin could. "Where the hell'd you get so good?"

She smiled like a shark who’d scented blood in the water, "Wouldn't you like to know, Martin."

"You're cheating!" cried Luz after she won the fifth hand in a row.

She smiled at him, sweetly this time, all sugar and honey, the picture of a southern belle despite her filthy ODs. "Prove it, darlin'."

Luz gave her a speculative glare but couldn't figure it out. He lasted another three hands before he bowed out. "Before you take next month's pay too," he grumbled.

"Pleasure doing business with you," said Evelyn, standing up from the table.

She smiled at him, but it seemed bitter somehow.

A stray thought drifted across his mind as he watched Eve leave the room with the unexpected bounty, a swing to her step that he’d never seen before.

I wonder if she knows about my betting ring?

As soon as he’d thought it, Luz knew in his gut that he was right. Somehow, Eve had discovered the betting, and his part in it.

He wondered why it felt like he’d lost a friend.

He hadn’t even really liked her, had he?

After the poker game, Eve found herself trading with the boys. She soon learned what had value, and what didn’t. Eve made good use of her cigarettes, hoarding them to use as bribes since she didn’t smoke. The Army issued seven packs a week to each man, which was sufficient for all but the most avid smokers. Luz for example, could take three packs for himself in one day, easy, which meant that he went through more than two smokes an hour.

Most of the guys on base smoked, some just for something to do with the other guys, some from long ingrained habits. Unless they were on a Friday night march, the guys constantly had cigarettes dangling from their lips. Sometimes it felt like she was the only person on the entire base who didn’t, though she’d never seen Sergeant Lipton smoke, or Lieutenant Winters for that matter.

Soon those in need of a smoke realized they could trade their chocolate bars with Eve. She kept a stockpile just in case, though, of both chocolate and cigarettes.

She was being singled out and dressed down. Again.

“Why are you here, Buchanan?” Sobel demanded.

"I want to be in the Airborne, sir!"

He glared at her. She was in full gear from a long hike they'd just gotten back from, she couldn't recall why she was being singled out now when she hadn't been on the hike, but here she was. "You have fifty minutes to the top and back, and I will be watching you." She stared at him, nearly in horror, but it was closer to shock and rage rather than fear. "What are you waiting for?"

She saluted him and turned back towards the mountain. She didn't need to turn back to feel his and her Company's eyes drilling into her back. She paced herself. She'd done it in under forty-three minutes once, no need to rush to the top too quickly, plus her feet were absolutely killing her.

She'd just made it to the half-way-up-the-hill curve before she heard the pounding of boots behind her. She was about to move over to the side of the road, out of the way of whoever was running up the mountain, when three men joined her. She recognized Shifty, Popeye Wynn and Sergeant Floyd Talbert from First Platoon. They were good guys, and Eve happily slid out of the way.

But rather than race past her with good-natured teasing as they might’ve done on any other day, the men slowed down and matched her pace.

She blinked in surprise as Shifty grinned at her and kept easy pace. Talbert and Popeye easily flanked them and kept up.

Eve ducked her head and kept going. No one had ever done anything like this for her before, no one had ever volunteered their own free time – when they should all be resting up for whatever Sobel and the Army were going to throw at them next.

Was it a support of solidarity? Did they actually want her to succeed and stay? It could be that they just wanted to run up the hill anyway as the guys were wont to do when they weren't being ordered to do it, or that they wanted to make sure that she actually ran the whole thing. Either way, their motives puzzled her.

Despite her confusion, she accepted their company without protest and fell into an easy pace with them.

For the first time, Eve felt like she wasn't in this alone.

She idly wondered how long it would last.

Eve’s shooting improved over the next few months until she knew she was just as proficient with her left hand as she’d ever been with her right on her M1, perhaps even more proficient because she knew all the nuances of the gun better with her left side.

She managed to empty three whole clips into the bull’s-eye in less than two minutes, the circumference barely the spread of a quarter.

“Neat trick,” commented the fellow next to her. His name was Alley. She knew him because he was always digging holes for Sobel and filling them back in because of some innocuous infraction or other. She thought he might be Liebgott’s friend.

Not knowing what to say, she gave him a nod and went back to work trying to replicate the feat.

She’d managed to get back in shape with the gun just in time. Not two days after making those shots, Colonel Sink announced the people who’d been awarded the title of Expert Marksman.

Eve’s name was on the list. It was at the bottom of the list, but it was on there.

It meant a four-dollar increase in pay. But it also meant that Eve had proved herself as more than just a girl trying to hack it as a man. If she could learn to shoot left handed, she felt like she could accomplish anything.

She started feeling like a soldier.

One afternoon, the cooks served them spaghetti for lunch. Captain Sobel had read a weather report indicating rain all afternoon so they'd been scheduled for lessons; PT was canceled.

Eve figured it was some kind of reward or something to celebrate his promotion to Captain.

Eve spied Winters in the kitchen – where he was spending his first day as XO of Easy Company by playing Mess Supply Officer.

It was embarrassing to admit, even to herself, but she had a crush on Lieutenant Winters that wouldn’t go away. She did the only thing she could do, and ignored it to the best of her ability, striving to act indifferent to him, smothering her feelings with the formality between their ranks.

Sure he was attractive, but perhaps no more than a lot of the men here, certainly Nixon was more handsome, but Winters was kind. It would be different if she didn’t genuinely liked the man. He was an amazing tactician and he welcomed her with open arms to his Platoon, providing a safe harbor in choppy seas if she was going to be metaphorical about it. In some ways, she respected him far too much for anything to ever work between them, and she knew it, so she tried her damnedest to treat him like everyone else.

Eve had been worried, joining the army, that she might have the misfortune of falling in love with one of the other soldiers.

It was something she’d vowed to never, ever do.

And while she could appreciate the boys’ appearance in an abstract way – there were a lot of very attractive men at Camp Toccoa – she never let any indication of such thoughts pass her face. Sometimes they would turn at a certain angle, and the thought "Gosh, he's attractive," would dart across her mind, a reminder of something she'd already acknowledged.

But it was hard to be attracted to men who were such bastards. Some were better than others, she had to admit, but for the most part: bastards.

So whenever her traitorous heart started beating faster, or her face started to tingle when Winters smiled at her, she squashed the emotion ruthlessly, and avoided him. She thought she was doing pretty well so far.

Eve did her best to appear indifferent as she passed through for her portion of "army noodles and ketchup" as Perconte said.

Winters, kind man that he was, smiled at her. She managed to return the smile, trying not to let her strain show. She genuinely liked the guy after all. He was one of the few people who’d treated her like she was capable of being a soldier.

But she couldn’t love him. She wouldn’t.

Eve left the line and headed for the chaos that was the dining hall.

In the last few months, her table had been thoroughly invaded and all her coveted elbow room lost.

Eve had soon found herself jockeying for a seat just like any of the other guys.

This was its own terrifying experience. Each time she stood there with her tray trying to find a place to sit, nerves would swamp her. She knew she wasn’t welcomed by everyone, and certainly not every day.

But she swallowed this down, every time, and made her feet take her forward.

Generally, she found a spot by Guarnere, who had somewhere along the line, quietly started looking out for her. She wasn’t sure when that happened, or what prompted his change of heart, but she wasn’t stupid enough to ask either.

It was an adjustment, going from complete isolation to being with Guarnere at the center of the table, and not something she’d ever have predicted.

She was used to it outside the army; you didn't grow up with siblings without becoming used to rowdy meals. But it was different being surrounded by guys she had to keep her guard up around.

She still wasn’t buying the sudden change of heart, carefully guarding herself by remembering the last five months of hell.

Various grumblings around about the food were ignored in favor of savoring the bliss of something that didn't taste like uncooked flour.

Eve didn't waste her breath complaining about the color or taste of the food. Even if it wasn’t what spaghetti was “supposed to taste like” it was still better than a good ninety percent of the food she'd eaten in this mess hall. She was starving and this at least resembled tasting like tomatoes.

It was enough just listening to Perconte bemoaning his mother’s prize winning meat sauce from her other side.

Eve was packing away just as much as the fellas were, dragging a hunk of bread through whatever dredges of sauce were left. Though, she privately agreed with Perconte, calling it spaghetti was a mortal sin.

Hoobler, from the table behind them, also hearing the short Italian’s complaints, squashing her to get some of Perconte's abused share was less welcome. She braced herself against the table, trying not to wear the orange sauce, nervous as all hell that he wouldn’t let up until she was chest down in the sauce as had happened on numerous occasions. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the day doing laundry when she could be sleeping.

Guarnere and Perconte finally managed to push him away.

"Hey! Get outta here!" barked Guarnere as Perconte swatted the invading arm.

A whistle pierced through the hall, a dreaded warning for what was to come. Captain Sobel barged into the mess screaming: "ORDER'S CHANGED, GET UP!"

Everyone shot to their feet, mouths still open and chewing, grabbing their remaining bread to cram into their pockets for later. Some stared at the crap spaghetti impersonation longingly, Eve included. Goddamn Sobel.

"Lectures are canceled; Easy Company is running up Currahee!" Sobel screamed. "MOVE, MOVE! Three miles up; three miles down! HI-YO SILVER! Let's go, let's go!"

Eve was nearly swallowed whole in the rush for the door to appease the asshole who'd ruined her lunch. She caught the quiet rage in Winters eyes as he watched them file out the door but was in too much of a hurry to get on her PT gear to do anything other than notice it.

"You should pack up your ears and go home!"

Eve vaguely heard Sobel yelling at the man in front of her, but she was too busy not puking to give a damn.

Sobel moved down the line to where the others were trying just as hard not to puke. Some didn't manage and she had to look down to watch that she didn't step in the sticky slime and fall, which didn't make not throwing up any easier.

After another ten minutes, several offers for an ambulance to take them back, which would wash them out of the Airborne, Eve gave up the fight and hunched over while she puked, spraying chunks of noodles and congealed red grease all over her boots and legs. Her legs didn’t stop moving, she didn't stop running, but it was the most disgusting experience having the noodles come back up her esophagus.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to eat spaghetti again.

Stomach empty, she was much more able to focus, though she tried not to focus too hard on the orange now covering her white PT shirt. She'd be at it for hours before the stain came out.

From up in the column Luz started singing. The whole company was singing by the third word, Eve included.

"We pull upon the risers,

We fall upon the grass.

We never land upon our feet,

We always hit our ass.

Highty-tighty, Christ Almighty,

Who the hell are we?

Zim-zam, goddamn,

We're Airborne Infantry!

We pull upon the risers,

We fall upon the grass.

We never land upon our feet,

We always hit our ass.

Highty-tighty, Christ Almighty,

Who the hell are we?

Zim-zam, goddamn,

We're Airborne Infantry!"

The next day, Eve managed to pin Malarkey to the floor in hand-to-hand, without fighting dirty.

Liebgott gave her a satisfied nod afterwards. “Not bad, for a dame,” he drawled.

She glared at him. “I have a name; it’s not ‘dame’.”

He laughed at her and slung his arm across his shoulder. “Sure do,” he agreed. “Let’s go get some chow, Ev.”

Evelyn shifted, unsure what to do about the arm around her shoulder. It was certainly more contact than she’d had since joining the army. Plus, he smelled awful.

“Ev?” she asked, when she finally processed what he’d called her.

He just grinned and tugged her along.

When the announcement came that the 506 was leaving Camp Toccoa, Eve packed her stuff-sack with no small amount of reverence.

She had survived it. She wasn’t a paratrooper yet – she could still wash out – but she’d beaten the odds already to get so far.

Evelyn would miss this place, she realized with surprise. Even a week ago, she would’ve sworn she’d always hate this place. She’d gone through hell here; but the hell she knew was always preferable to the unknown; and Eve knew that despite her hatred for running that stupid hill, she’d never forget it.

They were heading to Fort Benning. It was a much larger facility than Toccoa, and had equipment specialized for jump training. Eve had already experienced mock-jumps, but they’d geared it towards getting comfortable with exiting a plane from only five feet off the ground. Sobel promised that their new facility had jump-towers over thirty feet tall.

She was looking forward to it.

Eve joined the rest of Easy Company in the assembly area with her sack draped over her shoulder, expecting to head out for the train depot, or load up in trucks bound for Fort Benning.

That became a distant dream as Lieutenant Colonel Strayer announced that Second Battalion was not going to be taking the train with First, or even the trucks with Third. Instead, Second was going to march the entirety of the 118 miles to Fort Benning in order to beat the new world record the Japs had set – 100 miles in 72 hours – by marching farther in less time; or they were going to die trying.

And they were going to do it in full gear.

They set out at 0700 on December 1st. Eve and the rest of Easy Company were joined by Dog, Fox, and Battalion HQ as they set out, each man wearing all of his gear and carrying his weapon. The riflemen, and thus Eve, had it far easier than say Gordon – carrying a machine gun – or Malarkey who was in the mortar squad.

But that did not mean that the walk would be easy.

Strayer had specifically chosen a route consisting of minimally visible roads in the back country of Georgia.

The hike was miserable.

Breaks were infrequent, and December meant horrible weather. Freezing rain and snow made the already rough roads slippery and treacherous.

The guys at the back had a much rougher time slogging through the mud than Battalion HQ up front.

Eve was fortunate enough to be somewhere in the middle where the mud only stuck midway up her foot rather than ankle deep or worse. Each step involved yanking her shoes from a vacuum of sucking muck.

It was a miserable way to spend the day.

Most of the hushed conversation around her focused on what Second Battalion had done to deserve this punishment. The general consensus was that it was all Sobel’s doing as a new method of torture.

Eve kept her own opinion quiet. Personally, she figured they’d been selected because Second was the best. They were the fittest Battalion in the entire 506 and thus the most likely to make the march alive and on time – which was the most important thing.

She almost wished she were with some other Battalion in order to avoid this stupid, pointless ego boost. But she had wanted to be among the best, and her Colonel had picked her Battalion as the best of his whole Regiment.

There was a compliment in there somewhere, but she was just too tired to figure out what exactly it was.

They finally stopped for the night around 2300. Strayer had been trying to find a campsite for the last half an hour or so and had finally decided to park the Battalion on the side of a bald hill. Eve wondered if he’d done it purposefully, or if he’d just never been camping before.

The ideal spot would’ve been flat ground surrounded by trees to keep the wind out. They’d passed several of those spots. Instead, Strayer had picked the barest, most windswept hill he could find.

By the end of that first day, they’d covered 40 miles. Eve’s feet felt like they were going to fall off. Her back ached, she felt frozen stiff, and she just wanted to pass out. The cold was so bad it made her bones ache, and the temperature just kept dropping.

Eve unrolled her bag and gingerly climbed in after she’d shed just her boots. She did her best as she crawled in to keep her blistered feet off the ground. Her arms shook as she collapsed down and curled into a tight ball to try to gain heat faster. The bag felt like she’d crawled into an ice bath, but she was just grateful to have it at all. They could be out here with blankets or be in foxholes.

“Hey, Buchanan?” someone whispered.

She rolled over in her sleep sack, trembling with the cold. She’d been trying to sleep for half an hour and was no closer to being warm than when she’d first got in.

“Yeah?” she whispered back. She literally had no idea who was sacking out next to her, nor did she much care.

“You cold?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” she hissed, and rolled back over to try and shiver herself further into the ground.

“I heard that if you put your jump gloves on your feet it’ll keep you warm.”

“You don’t say?” said Eve, disinclined to believe him.

There was a chance he was just messing with her, just to see if he could get her to actually put her gloves on her feet.

But Eve was cold enough to give anything a shot, and honestly too cold to give a damn what she looked like or if they laughed at her in the morning as long as it worked.

It took her less than a minute to pull the gloves off her hands and put them on over her socks.

They fit somewhat haphazardly on her frigid toes, and she felt a little ridiculous, but it wasn’t like anyone could see her.

And then, amazingly within a few minutes she actually began to feel warmer. Huh, she thought, surprised, it actually worked.

“Thanks,” she whispered at the man who’d decided to help her. The shivering that wracked her body stopped and her eyelids finally got heavy.

She was out before she heard if whoever he was replied.

They moved out at 0600 sharp the next morning.

Overnight, frost had set in and glued everything to the ground. Eve spent a good five minutes hacking away at the ice trapping her rifle with a stick before she was able to pry it up. Malarkey appropriated the stick after that and set about prying his mortar loose. It may have made further rounds, but she was too busy with other things to notice.

Trying to get her boots back on her feet was another interesting chore. Her feet had swollen from the march, so she had to relace her boots entirely to get the frozen leather to fit.

Any hope she might’ve had for a hot breakfast was squashed with the disbursement of bread smeared with jam and butter. Eve ate her food and was grateful for it. They could have left off the jam.

Though part of her had already known it would be, the second day was infinitely more challenging than the first. She spent the first half of the day thawing out frozen muscles and the rest grimacing and regretting that her feet had thawed enough to hurt again.

Eve was still a little astounded at how well wearing her gloves on her feet had worked last night and quickly resolved to stock up on socks if she ever made it to Fort Benning. The goal seemed to get less likely with each hour.

She forced herself to keep going despite the pain she was in. It built up in her mind, becoming bigger and sharper than it really was with each onward step.

To get her mind off it, she started singing the Airborne Infantry song. The men joined her quickly and just like that, she could walk a little further.

They managed another 40 miles on the second day, which made 80 miles in total. There were only 38 miles left.

After another miserable night, Eve woke up absolutely certain that she’d never walk again. She hadn’t even managed to get her boots off, sleeping with them on. It meant that she spent the night shivering.

The third day was the most difficult day by far.

The last twenty miles into Atlanta were on the highway. Mud was hard to walk on, but cement was much more difficult, particularly on her sore joints. Each step sent pain through her blisters and into her brain like a lance.

Some of the other guys swapped Malarkey’s mortar around amongst them to give the man some relief. Last night his feet had been bleeding. By the time they hit Atlanta he – and a few others who hadn’t been whisked away by the ambulance that had been trailing them – was damn near crawling.

And yet somehow, as they walked into town and heard the band playing, everyone’s spine straightened. It was as if the cheering crowd and joyful marching music lifted the pain and misery away and left the strongest men in the entire world.

They’d crushed Japan’s record 100 mile march.

Later Eve found out that they managed 118 miles in 75 hours. They’d slept for 33 hours and 30 minutes of that.

3rd Platoon – who hadn’t lost a single man to injury or the ambulance – was allowed to lead the way into Atlanta.

Each person present, not just those marching, felt the elation and pride in their country.

The sense of being a part of something so much bigger than herself overwhelmed her. She’d just helped Easy Company and the 506 march into the history books.

Not bad for a bunch of grunts in training.

When the newspapers rolled out with headlines proclaiming the 506’s triumph over the Japs’ record, the article was a stark disappointment to the men as it quickly overlooked their accomplishments as a unit and had turned into a speculative piece focused on the novelty of Eve still being in the army.

It made Eve miserable. This was Second Battalion’s moment. And because of Eve, an accomplishment that should have brought them together, had been completely overshadowed by her gender.

It was absolutely not what she needed. It made the divide between her and her company that much deeper. At this point, Eve felt like she would never to be accepted by the men.

-End Chapter-

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