Fireworks

A short story about a young woman during World War Two who becomes a hero without ever meaning to. Completely fictional.

March 10, 1943

    "I will never understand how you function without coffee, Tana."

    I smile at Sophie Turner, my colleague, friend, and quite honestly the only other person who's really taken me seriously in the DSW (Department of Scientific Warfare) since I joined a few months ago.  "Like I said, hot bean water isn't my thing, Sophie." I reply. "I got through the Marine Corps without coffee and I'll do just fine for the rest of my life."

    Serving with the Marines was the greatest honor of my life, but I've seen hell and back and I'm never being sent back there anytime soon. So that's why I'm here. I was honorably discharged and they put me in the DSW for a slightly quieter, yet equally as important job. I have spent the months with Sophie and a few scientists developing a new biochemical weapon. Well, more like they wanted me around for my knowledge and experience in active duty on the frontlines. I don't actually know as much about biochemistry. The number of nights I've spent with Sophie while she tries to explain the most technical concepts of the project to me is too high for me to bother counting.

    "Anyway, lemme get this clear," I fold my hands as I lean in closer, glancing around the mostly-empty diner, "we're going to take the solution that Dr. Zube's been developing for the past year, and we're going to shoot it into an actual person to see if it works."

    Sophie nods grimly. "It's the only way to comprehend how it works. Since--"

    "Yeah, yeah, since it's supposed to paralyze humans temporarily. I was there when we tried it on the rats. Don't even remind me." I shudder at the memory of the spasming rats as they suffocated to death. Oh, the paralysis worked. It just never wore off on them, despite the careful dosages we tried. "I'm just saying, what if it damages them permanently? Or even causes lethal damage?" I watch her face carefully.

    She bites her lip. "That's why our test subject is a volunteer." she slides a file across the table.

    I open it and raise an eyebrow. "Timothy Phillips. Why would he volunteer for something like this?" I stare at the picture on the sheet of paper. A young man with light brown hair and a slight smile on his face stares back at me.

    "He's very enthusiastic to serve his country, in any way possible." Sophie shrugs, and I catch a glimpse of uncertainty on her face for the first time.

    I sigh, and shake my head. "No. I'm volunteering. I'll be the test subject."

    Sophie's eyes widen. "Tana, you can't--"

    "It's what's best, right, Soph? I mean, I'm expendable anyway, and I've already served. If anything happens to me it won't matter. Look," I gaze determinedly into my friend's eyes, "if we've messed up on this solution, it's either me or an innocent young man. Let me do this." I lean forward, staring her hard in the eye, willing her to agree to this. I can't let some random person take the fall for our mistakes, if we did make any. I trust in science but it's just not safe.

    "And...if things do go wrong? You think they're going to let us off easily? You got the Congressional Medal of Honor, Tana. You're important, not expendable." she retorts.

    I sit back and shake my head, not relenting on my gaze.

    Sophie sighs and smiles tiredly. "There's no talking you out of this, is there?"

March 13, 1943

    "If I die, my will is in the medicine cabinet of my apartment." I whisper dramatically to Sophie as she straps me into the very uncomfortable chair.

    "Why there?"

    "I'm only joking, I never wrote a will. I trust Zube." I smirk, earning a half-amused, half-exasperated scoff from her.

    "I am glad you do, Agent Carstairs. Are you ready?" Dr. Zube's voice sounds over the intercom.

    I look past Sophie and at the glass wall separating the two of us from the rest of the scientists on the team, about twenty of them. I can just barely see their silhouettes behind the glass if I squint hard enough, which is easy to do in the nearly-blinding lights of my room. They've aimed not only the chemical-dispersing mechanism at me, but also a bright spotlight. "Let's get this over with." I say, tilting my head back.

    Sophie gives me one last look-over, then nods. "Good luck, Tana." she murmurs before she steps out of the room, and her shadow joins the rest of them in the other room.

    "Agent Paralysis chemical solution test on Tana Carstairs, attempt number one. Presiding scientists..." Zube drones, saying all the necessary stuff for his audio log. I stopped paying much attention to it the first month I came here. It's a useful habit to get into, I suppose, but in this moment, as my heartrate increases with each second, I can't help but think about how he just said "attempt number one," like this is the first of a series of tests. I turn my eyes to the machine aimed directly at me from about ten feet away. It's simple, shaped similar to a pistol, since that's kind of what we plan to put this chemical in for use in the military. It's propped up on a metal stand, one that I assembled myself just this morning.

    What have I gotten myself into?

    "Commencing in five, four..."

    I mean, if things don't go well it's not like it matters. My parents won't care. I swallow hard, my throat dry.

    "Three, two..."

    I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. Either way, I don't want to die.

    "One."

    My eyes flutter open just long enough to see the metal stand fall to the floor with a clang.

    I can't move. Bright light blinds me, and a sharp pain envelops my chest, but the most terrifying thing about this is I can't move. Where am I? What just happened? Why can't I remember anything? No matter what I try to think about, my mind reaches a blank. Blankness, emptiness. It's scary.

    A door opens somewhere to my left and I realize I can't breathe, either. I can't breathe I can't breathe. Panic rises in me and a strange person in a long white coat approaches me. A lab coat? Where am I? How did I get here? Who am I?

    "Agent Carstairs, do not panic. The paralysis will last only ten seconds more. You seem to be doing fine, your vitals are normal." He starts unstrapping restraints from my wrists and ankles. How did those get there? Agent Carstairs? Who the hell is that? Is that me? Is this man talking to me? Paralysis? Is that why I can't breathe? I want to get up, run away, escape, breathe, but I can't. I can't do anything. I'm powerless. Empty, powerless, afraid. Terrified.

    But sure enough, in a short few moments that, at the same time, seem like a lifetime, I'm released. Air floods my lungs as I take a heaving, gulping breath, and I stumble from the chair I was in, hitting the floor and trying to remember how to breathe. I blink quickly and stare at the hard tile floor, my hands splayed before me.

    "Tana? You okay?" a woman's voice says uncertainly behind me.

    I glance up and around me, squinting in the light. "Wh-who's Tana?" My voice comes out shaky and uneven.

    "That--that's you. Don't you recognize me, Tana?" the woman kneels slowly. She tucks her dark curls behind her ear and reaches out to touch me, forehead creased in concern. She's young.

    I flinch away. "I don't know who you are. Where am I? Who are these people?" My eyes sweep across the room as they adjust, and I take in at least fifteen other lab coats in the room, all muttering to each other. I scramble to my feet and press my back against the wall, analyzing it all. There's too many people in this bright room. There's nothing I can defend myself with. I turn my stare back to the young woman.

    "It's me, Sophie. You're in our procedure lab, and we just concluded our test on you of the paralysis solution. You have no memory of this?" the woman says, panic starting to rise in her voice. She looks up at the first man that came in the room, the one who took the restraints off me. "What's happening?"

    I shiver and look at my hands. They're callused and rough and trembling hard. The room suddenly starts feeling colder and it gets dimmer. Why are they only turning the lights down now? I blink and try to focus on somebody in here. I just want to make sense of everything, but before I can comprehend it the room goes completely dark.

    "Her heartrate is increasing. Is she waking up?"

    "I believe so. Tana, can you hear me?"

    My eyelids feel heavy as I open my eyes to white. I'm lying on a bed. I blink slowly and look around. Sophie and Dr. Zube stand by me, looking down at me with concern.

    I sit up. "What the hell happened?"

    "Tana, do you remember who I am?" Sophie asks softly.

    "Sophie, please tell me the procedure is over and I'm not dead. Because something really weird just happened. Was that the procedure? I couldn't remember anything. I couldn't breathe." I babble, and both of their expressions change from concerned to...even more concerned. With some relief, if that could ever make sense. Not that anything makes sense right now.

    "It's over. You've been asleep for six hours." Sophie tells me evenly, though her eyes reveal her great worry.

    "The important thing is you are safe and fine now. Tell us what you remember exactly." Zube prompts, his arms loosely crossed and his expression hard to read. It's always near to impossible to decipher what he's thinking. It frustrates me to no end.

    I shake my head as if that'll clear my head, letting out an overwhelmed huff. "Um, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and I couldn't remember who I was or what had happened at all. But I do now, which is weird, right? Because you're usually not supposed to realize when that kind of stuff happens. Or are you?" I look back at him. "It feels like a hazy dream. It's so strange."

    He had his hand on his face before, stroking his beard, but now he lowers it. "So you still feel very disoriented."

    "Extremely." I nod. "I...I'm not sure if what just happened is real. Or if this is real." I glance around quickly. I'm in a white, clean room. A hospital room. Presumably I'm in the hospital wing of the lab facility. The only other time I've been near this place was when I accidentally made a gash on my forearm from tripping over a stack of books Sophie left by my desk and trying to catch myself on a bulletin board full of thumbtacks. She still feels guilty about that whenever she sees the slight discoloration on my skin, a thin line running from my elbow to wrist. I think it's funny because it's the only scar I have, despite my service with the Marines. I glance down at the scar now, and decide I'm pretty sure this, right now, is real. I'm okay. This is real and I'm okay.

    Sophie bites the inside of her cheek anxiously and stares up at Zube for an answer. "We didn't anticipate memory loss as a result of the solution. Or..." she gestures vaguely at me, "this!"

    "'This' has a name, Sophie my darling." I try to joke, but she glares at me.

    Zube presses his lips together broodingly. "Rest up, Agent Carstairs. Agent Turner will answer any questions you have. I need to document these results."

    "Wait, you can't just leave us like this!" Sophie protests.

    I put a hand on her arm. "It's fine, Soph. Let him go."

    She sighs and sits next to me on the bed. "Do you have questions? I expect you might."

    I shrug. "Not really. I understand what's going on. I just...need time to process it, you know?"

    She nods. "You want to sleep more? I'll watch over you."

    I close my eyes, nodding as well. "Thanks, Soph. It's been a wild day."

    "Indeed, Tana. Indeed."

March 20, 1943

    "You sure you're all right?" Sophie asks, concern coloring her face as she sits by me at the corner table we always occupy at the DSW cafeteria. It's been a week since the procedure and I'm still being kept in the hospital wing.

    I nod. "I promise you, I'm fine. How's Zube?"

    She rolls her eyes. "He's shut himself up in his lab office as he usually does after procedures. He won't tell any of us what he's up to. I haven't seen him come out of there in a couple days, and he just tells me to go away when I bring him trays of food."

    "That's always to be expected of him. He's a jerk, but he also happens to be a genius. He'll be fine." I mutter, tracing circles on the table, the ridges of the wood bumpy against my rough fingers.

    Sophie leans in closer. "Really, Tana, something's eating at you. Tell me."

    I sigh. She always knows. "It's just...The reason they've been holding me so long is because they're making sure I'm fit for duty."

    Sophie raises an eyebrow. "What?"

    "They want me to help command a mission. The 101st army division apparently needs a temp officer who knows her stuff to prepare and lead a mission and Colonel Roberts put me to the job, bless his soul." My lip twitches at the memory of the gruff man as he briefed me while I was still in my hospital bed. "I mean, in what world is it fine to give someone a mission while they're still in the hospital?"

    She allows a chuckle at that before she turns serious again. Always the realist. "What's the mission? Why you?"

    I look her in the eyes. "They want us to invade an enemy base. Mind you, a Nazi science lab, and ain't no one knows science and has as much experience in combat as me!" I add a drawl to my voice as I bitterly laugh. "There's only two issues with that: one, I never studied science as much as you did, and two, I don't know if I'm ready to go back to the frontlines after the Pacific. I'm gonna die, Soph."

    She swallows. "When are you leaving?"

    "Tomorrow morning."

    Sophie nods slowly. "You are to be leading a squadron?"

    "Yes. I really wish you could come with, Soph. We'll be away from each other for months!"

    "How will you survive without me?" she says sarcastically. She seems to be relieved at my words.

    I wrinkle my nose. "It'll be hard, Agent Turner. Extremely hard. Who else will wake me up in the morning and make me eat my breakfast?"

    "Who will talk to you when you're absolutely bored out of your mind?"

    "Which is often," I grin.

    "Do I know it! I'm sure there will be nurses and mess staff you can talk to." she laughs.

    "None like you, Sophie. There's no friend like you."

    "Flattered, Agent Carstairs."

March 24, 1943

    "Easy Squad, atten-hut!" the sergeant calls out as I enter the room.

    I take confident strides, having my Marines combat uniform on. There's something about pants and boots that I think a skirt and heels just can't live up to. Of course, the last time I wore this uniform was in the Pacific. I push aside those thoughts. I have work to do. I glance and nod at the sergeant who spoke. He's handsome. Neatly combed dark brown hair, blue eyes. I notice his name is Winters. I'll have to talk to him later and get the dirt on this camp.

    The list in my hand is crumpled around the edges, and I smooth it out between my fingers. With each name I read aloud, the corresponding soldier sounds off and I take a good look at each of them, my squad. Twelve lives on my shoulders. Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic, but I'm in charge of the way these men live their lives on this base now, from their daily activities to their training.

    "At ease, men." I begin, and the soldiers shuffle their feet to be more comfortable. "I am Agent Carstairs of the Department of Scientific Warfare, Weapons division, former Master Sergeant in the Marine Corps, 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines, 3rd Marine Division. I will be temporarily assuming my role as a sergeant, as well as taking on the role of scientific weaponry specialist, and will be co-leading you into the German base recently discovered, also known as Operation Checkmate."

    "A woman leading us? She's awfully pretty, but I doubt she'll do any good." a man mutters. No one else reacts to him. He must be new, a replacement. No one's ever fond of those.

    I frown and walk up to him calmly. "What did you say, private?" I ask quietly. His nametag reads Grant.

    He stares straight ahead. "Said you were pretty." he mutters.

    I step back. "See these stripes, private? These are what you should focus on instead of my looks. I've seen s**t worse than you could ever imagine, soldier, and you'd better remember it. And when you speak to a male officer you address him as sir. I expect the same level of respect. Do I make myself clear?"

    "Yes ma'am!" the private shouts.

    "I CAN'T HEAR YOU, PRIVATE!"

    "YES, MA'AM!"

    I stare at him for a lingering second, then scoff in disgust and walk away. "Let's get this show on the road, boys. I want you all in PT gear running out 5 miles to Stellacoom Point and 5 miles back. Be back by 1600, showered and ready to be briefed. That's one hour. Well? What are you waiting for?"

    Sergeant Winters dismisses them and they all run off to follow my orders. He salutes me and I nod before he takes off as well.

    If there's one thing I've missed about leading soldiers, it's that look of sheer shock in their eyes when I, petite blonde of twenty-three years, shout at them at the top of my lungs.

    "How much time you think she spends on those curls?" I hear someone ask in the mess hall.

    Another man snickers. "Too bad she's an officer."

    "You hear the way Grant impersonated her earlier? 'I expect the same level of respect 'cause I'm a a lady!' Hah. Think she's that authoritative in bed too?"

    Vile. Disgusting. I force back a revolted look on my face and remain nonchalant as I retrieve my food.

    "Wonder how many men she left drooling when she decided to join the military. What a waste." Someone else says more softly.

    I ignore them, a fire churning in my belly. No matter how long I've been exposed to this kind of thing, it's something I never learn to completely stay calm about. And I don't really think I should remain emotionless when it comes to this kind of crap anyway. But I'm suddenly not hungry at all.

    I find a mostly empty table and sit at the end, away from the others. I don't see Major Patton yet, the person I have to answer to, so I'll just talk to him later. I sigh, looking down at my hot stew and bread. I'll have to force myself to eat. I've been in this business too long to be dumb enough to go without food.

    Some commotion in a corner makes me look up, and then a greasy-haired soldier approaches me. "Say, Master Sarge," he raises an eyebrow, "whaddaya say I treat you to a nice dinner sometime? You must get sick of this gruel."

    I eye his neatly pressed uniform and slicked-back hair. Clearly he's used to getting attention from the ladies. I see it in his demeanor; overly confident, smooth. Irritating.

    "No thank you, private; and you may refer to me as Agent." I say flatly.

    "Aw, you know there's no need to be all stiff. You can soften up for us sometimes." he smirks and reaches a hand out toward me. Before he can touch me, though, I've grabbed his arm and twisted it, pushing him away a few feet. It's an old trick; use the weight of the enemy against them, just by adding a bit of force.

    "Hey!" he growls, glaring at me. The other men paying attention chortle with excitement. They're like hyenas, the whole bunch of them. I clench my fists and stand up.

    "Pathetic." I sneer and dump my tray, too angry to care about wasting my food. I guess I'll be dumb this time. I sigh harshly as I pass by a table of men by the door who have at least some respect, eating their meals in stunned silence.

    I miss Sophie.

    This camp is big. And by big I mean it's not huge, but I'm a little lost. I think I've passed the ammunitions tent about three times already, so I try going a different direction to find my living quarters. I kind of wish we'd had time for a tour of the camp today, but as soon as I arrived Major Patton had sent me straight to meet my assigned troops. I've decided Patton is a nice enough guy; he's your classic major-type. Ginger, clean-shaven, mid-thirties. Strict but not as gruff as Colonel Roberts, and he's got a sense of humor. I hope his leadership skills are up to par with his personality. There have been plenty of officers who merely became so because of their people skills, and knew absolutely nothing about being a proper CO. I remember we were stuck with a total a*s for a couple months before the general realized he was all talk and no action. I hated him; everyone did. He was friendly if you talked to him at first, but the longer the conversation the more you realized the guy had no clue what he was doing. He couldn't command, he was an awful strategist. Once, he got the whole platoon lost in the woods for a night during an exercise and it wasn't until morning that we were found shivering, all huddled together next to a fallen tree. Yeah, he didn't last very long.

    I smile to myself as I recall the creative swears some of the soldiers came up with to describe that captain. And I've found my tent, just as the sun is starting to sink below the trees.

    The next morning, Sergeant Winters approaches me with a tin mug in the map room. "Sergeant Carstairs."

    "Sergeant Winters." I greet. "And it's Agent."

    "Sorry, Agent Carstairs. Not used to calling people anything but their military rank. I, uh, I brought you a cup of coffee."

    I look at him with a surprised expression. That was an unexpected kindness. "I don't drink coffee."

    He looks down at it in embarrassment. "Oh. I--sorry, ma'am. Can I get you something else?"

    I cross my arms. "Why?" Let me guess. It's because I'm too pretty to go without food. Or something like that. I glare at him silently, awaiting the answer.

    "I just...thought you might like something to eat or drink. I saw you leave dinner last night without eating, and you never came to breakfast. Gotta keep yourself alive during war, right?" he chuckles nervously.

    Oh.

    I blink quickly, trying not to blush. "Well. Thank you, Sergeant. I mean. Y-You can accompany me here if you're not doing anything else. Hold this up for me, would you? It's irritating that the map room doesn't have windows for light to come through."

    He nods, takes the lantern I pointed at, and shines it on my map so I can get the whole picture while taking notes.

    "Thanks," I say as I scribble down measurements and scan the area carefully. "Thomas, wasn't it?"

    "Yes, ma'am. That's my given name. But I prefer to just be called Tom." he replies.

    "Tom Winters." I say slowly, taking a mental note that maybe not everyone in this camp is a total idiot. My fingers work the paper carefully to hold it open, scooting quickly as the edges are curling up.

    "Yes ma'am." Tom holds down a corner of the map for me. His hand is callused, but the nails are neatly trimmed and clean. He's come from a life of hard work. I wonder if he's got a family waiting for him at home.

    The corner of my mouth twitches in amusement. "Quite frankly, that ma'am stuff is getting on my nerves. I'll let you call me Tana if you let me call you Tom." What am I doing? I've talked to this guy for a solid thirty seconds. I guess I must be desperate for a friend at this point, and he's the first person so far to actually talk to me like a person.

    He laughs a little, running his hand through his hair. "Sounds good to me."

    "Good to meet you, then, Tom."

    He nods, then gets serious again. "I'm sorry about the other soldiers treating you so badly. They should be treating you better, considering you're the only woman they've probably seen on base in ages. Hardy's a plain jerk."

    I assume Hardy is the guy who tried me this evening. I roll my eyes and shrug it off. "I don't need them to treat me as a woman. I need them to treat me as any other superior. With respect."

    He bows his head slowly, pondering that. "Makes sense."

    "Well, thank you, Tom. That's all the help I needed." I drop my pencil and nod curtly to him.

    Tom tips his head with a little smile. "Major Patton says I'm to give you a full tour of the camp and facilities when you're ready, so just let me know."

    I give him a little smile. "All right. I'll meet you back here at, say, 0730?"

    He grins. "0730 it is. Ma'am." and he leaves.

March 28, 1943

Dear Tana,

I hope those army men aren't giving you too hard of a time. Have you made any friends yet?

Zube has gone missing. He is nowhere to be found, and his most crucial papers are gone as well. There's no hints of a kidnapping, and no blood or signs of a struggle in his office. No one seems to know anything about it. And the worst part is all data and samples of the Agent Paralysis solution are gone. It's utter chaos here! I'm working around the clock to track him down. What do you make of it all?

Love,

Sophie

April 2, 1943

    A few of the men seem starstruck when I glance back at them, away from the target I was shooting at with my rifle thirty yards away. Out of five shots, I hit the bulls-eye three times and two were barely on the edge of the center. My mouth twitches with a slight annoyance at myself; I need to focus harder. The news I received with Sophie's letter has been distracting me for the past few days.

    My displeasure doesn't seem to register with these soldiers, though. I watch them assemble their weapons after I give the signal and observe their shooting. Not bad.

    Sergeant Winters - Tom - stands at attention next to me, hands clasped behind his back as he eyes the men, a certain fondness in his expression. He's been working with these men for a long time, I realize. On the tour I learned there are about 600 soldiers on this base, but the ones I'm working with are a Special Operations company of 200 people, led by Major Patton. We're the first of three companies on the base, so we're referred to as Able Company. As a specialist, I don't only get to work closely with Patton, but I'm also in charge of a special squad consisting of the twelve men I met on the first day, whom I will be taking personally into the science base.

    I also learned that Tom's been the presiding sergeant over his squad of ten men for the past five months, so he is very close to them, and I can see it in the way he talks about them. I can hear it in his voice, and I know how much he cares because I felt the same way about my men. But this isn't the time to think about that now. I steel myself and force those thoughts away. I need to focus on memorizing the names, faces, and ranks of my new colleagues.

    "I hope your aim is better than theirs." I mutter to Tom, trying to distract myself.

    He chuckles. "It's much better."

    I glance at him. "Aren't you confident."

    Tom smirks, then approaches the shooting range and blasts five holes in the center of the target. He turns to me and grins.

    I let out a short laugh, shaking my head and holding up my hands in defeat. "I believe you now."

April 4, 1943

    I shiver, rubbing my hands together in the chilly night air. Major Patton sent us commanding officers of Able Company to work on a night exercise. We're to meet in the forested area just outside of camp, then work together to find a silver tea set that he hid somewhere earlier today. It's supposed to be an exercise of teamwork. I've always been good at these, so I'm not nervous at all. I glance around at the other officers huddled around the map, their faces illuminated by the gentle glow of the lamp we brought with us.

    There's Lieutenant William Hart, who I've seen talking to Tom a lot. They must be very good friends, I think as Tom himself shifts his weight next to Hart. Our company has four platoons and Hart is the presiding CO of the one I'm assigned to. Lieutenants Williams, White, and Anderson are here as well as the four squad sergeants directly under each of them. That's twenty people in all in this exercise.

    "Okay, so if we divide the map into four sections like this," Lt. Anderson runs his finger across the paper, brow furrowed in concentration, "we can split up by platoon and search."

    "Sounds like a plan. Where should we rendezvous?" White asks.

    "Back in the center, here." Anderson responds, pointing.

    "Shouldn't we send a runner from each platoon to give status checks every so often?" I offer.

    "Good thinking, Carstairs. How about you, Winters, Coleman, and Ramirez. You'll be the points of contact. We'll send you to meet every half-hour." Hart decides as his gaze sweeps around the group. "Remember, there's a teapot and eight teacups we need to find within this range."

    I nod, staring at the map, trying to memorize it as best as I can. It's faster than having to pull it out every five seconds to check it.

    We all set off and I glance at my fellow team members. Hart, ever the focused tactician, is giving the map another look-over, while John Barnaby, leader of Fox Squad, walks alongside me. He's a tall man, as I'm not too short myself and I barely reach his shoulder when we're side-by-side.

    "Gee, Sledge, answer me this: why a tea set, of all things?" the How Squad sergeant asks. I forget his name...Bill something.

    "Apparently it's Patton's very favorite silver set. An antique one." the fourth man grins. That's it. Bill Walsh.

    "Yeah, well, if it were my valuable stuff, and made of silver, I wouldn't be trusting a bunch of guys to find it in these woods in the dead of night." Walsh grumbles.

    "Ed, Bill, quiet down back there and help us look, will you?" Barnaby says over his shoulder to them. "And besides, he's not trusting just a bunch of guys. We've got Carstairs here helping us too."

    "Oh, how could I forget? Those a******s still bothering you, Carstairs?" Sledge asks me amiably.

    "What do you think, Sergeant?" I say dryly, scanning the bushes for any glimpses of silver as I shine my flashlight around.

    "I think you should all shut up and take this exercise more seriously!" Hart glances back at us, his face only partially amused before he turns back around to keep searching.

    Barnaby elbows me and I look up at him. He grins and imitates Hart's steady amble, and I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile.

    "Hey, I think I found something!" Walsh exclaims excitedly. A few rustles of some leaves later, he emerges from a large bush with a teapot in hand. It gleams in the brightness of all our lights, and Hart nods.

    "Good, Walsh. Put it in my pack."

    We continue on and find a teacup, but then the half-hour mark hits and Hart sends me off to meet the others. I nod and take off through the woods, retracing our steps to find the center of the area. Tom and Ramirez are already there, and Coleman arrives shortly after me.

    "Reports?" I prompt, breathing fast from my run.

    Ramirez shares a look with Coleman that I don't like before speaking. "We've searched about three-fourths of our section and found two cups."

    Coleman flashes a grin. "One for us."

    "We've gotten one, but we're only halfway in. How 'bout your platoon, Tana?" Tom questions.

    "We found the teapot and a cup, and we're about two-thirds of the way through." I answer. "So there's three cups left."

    Coleman rolls his eyes. "We can count."

    Slight annoyance flares through me at that comment and I say nothing, just glaring at him and turning to go back. Things were good while they lasted. At least the sergeants in my platoon are nice enough.

    "Don't be a jerk, Coleman." I hear Tom sigh behind me as I set out.

April 5, 1943

Dear Sophie,

That's terrible news. I wish I could be there to help you. I'm not sure what to make of the whole thing, but I'm sure you'll come up with something.

Army men are sad, sad people. There are some nice people here, and I've had some chats with the supply staff. There's also my CO and a colleague, who seem to be decent. My colleague, Sergeant Winters, showed me around the camp. It's a nice place, much better than anything I'm used to. I'm glad he's one of the sergeants I am to be working with; he's not an idiot like the rest of them are. You know, the first day I got here, some guy tried to touch me in the dining hall? I'm sure I don't have to describe to you what happened afterward, but I'll just say I was hungry that night.

Things are getting better, I must say. We had a night navigation exercise with most of the COs and you know those are something I'm good at. We had to search for the major's favorite antique tea set, and it only took us about three hours to finish the exercise, which is fortunate, because by the time my group found the final teacup I was shivering something fierce! I think I'm starting to gain at least a little respect around here. It's slow progress, though.

Best of luck to you on finding our missing person.

Yours,

Tana

April 6, 1943

    I grit my teeth. There's getting on my nerves, and then there's outright getting me angry. And this Private Hardy guy has done that.

    He somehow got into my tent and has his feet up on my desk, folding his hands as he sits in my chair. I'm practically seething as my gaze flickers to my letters from Sophie laying on the desk. He has no right to my personal quarters and he knows that. He knows it and his smug face says everything.

    "What are you doing in my tent, soldier?"

    He grins. "Thought you and me needed to have a talk. You know, officer to soldier. Person to person. Man to woman." he raises an eyebrow. "Helped myself to a seat while I waited for you."

    "Get out." I clench my fists, bristling. "That's an order. If you have any business with me you'll take it up during the day, in my office." My voice shakes with anger as I see he has no intentions of moving. "Get the hell out!"

    "You know what? No. I think you need to step off your high horse. I don't believe for one second that a lady officer has the capability of doing anything useful around here. Major Patton is nuts to think that. He lets you run around barking orders at us all the time. Just 'cause you're pretty." Hardy drawls, eyes glinting at me. He stands and moves toward me.

I don't budge. He's just saying things to tick me off. I've heard all this crap. I stare hard into his eyes and raise my chin. "Are you disobeying my order, private?" a pungent scent hits my nose as he stands and approaches and I scoff in disbelief. "You're drunk."

    He grins nastily. "Anyone ever told you how pretty you are? That Winters, does he ever tell you that?" he adds mockingly. "He's a nice fella, isn't he?"

    I want to punch him. And I don't know why I don't. "I'm warning you one last time. Get the hell out of my living quarters or I'll have you court-martialed for trespassing and disobeying the orders of your CO."

    Private Hardy laughs loudly. "Empty threats, see, that's all you can do." he reaches out to touch me, fingering the buttons of my uniform, and that's when I hit him straight in the jaw, hearing a satisfying crack.  

    I knocked him onto the floor and one of his hands goes to his jaw in agony while the other reaches for something at his side, his eyes wide and frantic. He aims his gun at me with a trembling hand.

    Well, crap. I pull out my own pistol hanging at my waist and aim it at him swiftly and steadily. My heart races. This cannot be happening. This man is so drunk he doesn't realize what he's doing. "Put the weapon down, private. Put it down or I fire!" Surely there's another way to do this. But I know he can't be reasoned with. If I step toward him to kick the weapon out of his hand he'll shoot me first.

    He grits his teeth and c***s his weapon, shaking, and it's now or never. I pull my trigger before he can.

    His howl of pain splits the air as blood seeps from his shoulder. I shot to maim, not to kill. He drops the gun as his arm is rendered useless and I lower my pistol, turning away and seeing Tom standing there gaping.

    I sigh. "How much of that did you see?"

    Tom blinks. "I...walked in and saw him trying to unbutton your shirt."

    I put the gun back into its holster at my side. "Good. You can be my witness when this sorry excuse of a man tries to sue me for shooting him." I lift Hardy up partially and start dragging him to the infirmary as he groans.

    Tom breaks out of his stupor and moves to helps me. "Excuse me, but what exactly just happened?"

    "He was drunk, broke into my tent, tried to start something with me. I ordered him to leave and he wouldn't. Then you saw the rest."

    Tom opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. "Holy mackerel." he looks back down at the now unconscious Hardy. Great, he's out like a light.

    "If you tell me I did the wrong thing, Winters, I swear I'm going to stop letting you address me by name." I glare at him.

    "No, it's just--you're amazing. I'm floored. I--I'm still processing this."

    My lips twitch. "Well, process away."

    By now we've stirred up a commotion. Soldiers are gathering around the medical tent as we approach it.

    "I heard a gunshot. What happened, ma'am?" Will Hart, a childhood friend of Tom's as word has it, asks.  

    "I shot him." I say flatly.

    Collective gasping ensues and I let out an impatient huff. "Look, we need a medic. He got shot in his right shoulder."

    Tom laughs shakily next to me when the others turn to him. "Don't look at me, I was only the witness."

    Hardy groans as he's taken away by the medics, who eye me fearfully.

    Naturally we're brought to the major's tent and I have to explain what just happened to Major Patton, who, not to my surprise, bursts into incredulous laughter. I’m tempted to ask if this is an appropriate response, but I keep my mouth shut.

    "It seems like justifiable self-defense." he dismisses the matter once he calms down enough.

    "Really?" Tom asks with bewilderment, and I glare at him.

    "Hardy's had it coming to him. This'll set him straight. You're fine, Agent Carstairs." Major Patton sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I mean, it would've been nice if you hadn't shot him, but he'll live."

    As Tom and I walk away I wrap my arms around my torso, tired and shivering from the excitement of the evening. Adrenaline still seems likes it's running through my veins. It felt awful shooting one of my own soldiers, but at the same time, I might have died back there.

    "You're okay, aren't you? He didn't--didn't hurt you anywhere?" Tom asks worriedly.

    I shake my head. "I'm fine."

    "You seem pretty shaken."

    "Of course I'm shaken, I was just almost shot by a drunk subordinate who probably intended to do extremely bad things to me!" I burst out, stopping in my tracks. "And I shot him!"

    Tom stands still, staring at me. "Gee, Tana. That really got to you." his eyes are strange, calculating, like he knows he's treading on thin ice.

    "Yeah, look at Agent Carstairs. Always so calm and emotionless. That's how she manages to be a woman while being a commanding officer. Now she's expressing her feelings like the poor, weak lady she is. Watch out, I might cry on you next!" I spit bitterly and walk away.

    "I don't think you're emotionless. Controlled and calm, yes, but not emotionless. And there's nothing wrong with having feelings. It doesn't mean you're weak." Tom says matter-of-factly from behind me.

    I pause and turn around to raise an eyebrow at him.

    "Tana, I'm on your side. You don't have to be afraid of me turning against you." he murmurs.

    I look down at the trail of blood tracing the way back to my tent. "Thanks, Tom. Sorry for snapping at you."

    "I understand. Just--let me walk you back to your living quarters, okay?"

    I nod, still not meeting his eyes.

    We walk in silence and he stops a few feet from the tent entrance. "Sleep well, Tana." he says softly. "Let me know if you need anything. Someone to talk to, maybe."

    "Thanks, Tom." I finally find his eyes. I nod and Tom smiles reassuringly before I turn away.

April 20, 1943

    It's been raining for five days straight and we can't train or do anything but sit on our behinds and stare out at the mud. At least, that's what I'm doing. I'm perched on a chair at a table in the mess hall drinking tea while the soldiers are enjoying a picture show in the briefing room. The boredom is toxic; it's like with every drop of rain that hits the window I'm staring at, a drop of acidic boredom hits me and I'm slowly eroding, wasting away to nothing.

    Drip, drip, drip.

    Maybe I'm just being dramatic, but this all reminds me of the Pacific. The way the rain seems to get to every inch of dry land it can possibly reach, the mud slick and just everywhere. Every step I take only results in mud and water spattering all over my boots. I shiver as I think back to the dark, wet, painful weeks my men and I spent trying to fend off the Japanese troops.

    Drip, drip, drip.

    I stare down at my hands and remember how I couldn't quite get the dirty crescents out from underneath my fingernails for days after, how I always found traces of blood--I would never know exactly whose--somewhere on my skin at any given point. How my skin seemed to crawl with bugs, and itch from the mud and sweat long after that battle. How, after numerous hot showers, that stink stayed with me for the longest time and how sometimes I'd turn my head and a waft of that disgusting scent of carnage and bodily fluids would seem to hit me, taking me back to those moments in the sludge. How sometimes I can't imagine being that cold and dirty but at the same time I really can. And I do.

    Drip, drip, drip.

    I think back to how clean the general's hands felt as he bestowed me with the Medal of Honor for my deeds and how when I shook his hand I felt filthy and wanted nothing more than to take off the medal. How nearly every time I shut my eyes I can just see the faces of my dead colleagues and the bodies of the so-called enemy, rotting away in the warm tropical rain, the looks of horror of the people who eventually came to help us, their shocked expressions when they saw my wounds and heard what I had done to the Japanese soldiers. I can remember all the names of the dead men in my platoon. Because I spent months in camp shouting them and those few weeks in the mud mourning them.

    Drip, drip, drip.

    Apparently I managed to kill a whole platoons' worth of the enemy myself. Apparently I saved the lives of thirty of our men from the enemy. It sounds ridiculous, but at times, when it was really dark and my vision was blurred by the raindrops on my eyelashes, I wasn't sure who the enemy was. It's all a matter of perspective, right? Who is the true enemy? Looking down at my bloody, calloused, grimy hands during those dark nights, I was never quite certain.

    Drip, drip, drip.

    For a crazy second the rain outside is too loud. So loud it's almost maddening. I struggle to take steady breaths and my trembling fingers seem to be slick and shiny with something dark, crimson, but when I blink it goes away. My hands aren't dirty right now, but they'll never be clean ever again. I sigh and take a sip of hot tea, shutting my eyes and feeling the warmth of the liquid feather through me as my hands move up to clutch at my head. My fingers massage my scalp as I try to push those images away, to summon blankness in my mind, to just for once not think.

    Drip, drip, drip.

    A deep rumbling comes from outside and I jump before I convince myself it's just thunder.

    "You okay, Tana?" a familiar voice comes from behind me.

    I glance up. Tom smiles and sits across from me, his head blocking the window partially. I force a smile.

    "Just bored is all." It's only a partial lie. "Is the movie over?"

    He shakes his head. "I've seen it before."

    I nod and take another gulp of my drink.

    Tom rests his chin on his hand, propping himself up with an elbow. "When I was little and got bored, my mother always said 'change that boredom into curiosity. Learn something!' and so I'd just go around asking questions."

    "Should we ask each other questions?" I ask.

    He smirks. "What's your favorite color?"

    I roll my eyes. "Blue. Yours?"

    "Green."

    I smile. "When's your birthday?"

    "June 30th." he grins briefly.

    "Mine's in November. The 15th."

    Tom thinks for a moment. "Do you have a hobby or favorite pastime?"

    "I actually quite enjoy carving things out of wood." I reach into my pocket and hold out a small figurine in my open palm.

    He picks it up to examine it. It's an owl, about an inch tall. I made it back when I was 18, and kept it in my pocket since then out of habit, really.

    "That's fantastic. You've got talent!" he gives it back after admiring it for a few seconds.

    I shrug. "Just a fun little hobby. And yours?"

    He makes a face. "I used to write poetry, but it was never any good."

    "I want to read your poetry."

    He shrugs. "I haven't written in years."

    "Never too late to try again." I say with a smile. "Your turn to ask a question."

    Tom seems not to mind the quick subject change and leans forward slightly, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes. "What were you thinking about before I came in?"

    Well, that got really personal quickly. "War." I say simply, gazing straight at him.

    "What about it?"

    "It's stupid."

    Tom laughs softly. "Agreed, Agent Carstairs. Agreed."

    I glance down at the wooden grain of the table. "I've got another question. Why do you always come and talk to me instead of talking to the other men?"

    "Aw come on, I do talk to the other guys. Haven't you seen me with Will?" he retorts.

    "I mean, you two have been friends since you were kids. That doesn't count."

    He grins before his face turns serious. "Look, I just...I dunno. You just seem lonely. And you're one of us now. We gotta take care of each other, make sure we're all okay."

    I avert my eyes again and stare pointedly at my mug. "You're not afraid of me like everyone else is. I appreciate that."

    "C'mon, Tana, not everyone is afraid of you."

    "Tell that to the guys who bolt when they see me touch a weapon."

    "Well, I was your only witness when you shot Hardy and I know your justification. They probably just think you're slightly nuts. For good reason," he adds with a playful spark in his eyes.

    I make a face. "Thanks, Winters."

    "No problem. In fact, you should hear the nonsense some people have been making up!"

    I prop my head up on my arm. "Humor me."

    "Well, some say you were on a rampage and he got caught in it, some say you lured him into it, some say he shot himself to make you look bad, and I heard the smallest rumor that you're just completely bonkers." Tom grins.

    I shake my head, laughing in exasperation. "Well, I suppose I'll let them think that. Maybe I'd get some peace around here."

    "I won't say anything. They're already afraid of me because they think I'll tattle on them to you." Tom raises an eyebrow.

    I roll my eyes. "So you've got a reputation too? Sergeant Winters, in cahoots with the loony agent."

    He laughs loudly, slapping the table with his hand. "Gotta say, being your friend has its perks."

    "So you'd say we're friends now?" My lips curve into a small smile.

    Tom's eyebrows knit together as he regards me carefully. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

    I nod. "Good enough for me."

    There's a slight pause.

    "So, where does the great Tana Carstairs hail from?" Tom changes the subject abruptly, like he's just eager to keep talking.

    I chuckle at that. "She hails from Milwaukee."

    "Are your parents farmers?"

    "No, actually. My father is a lawyer and my mother a teacher."

    "You miss them often?"

    I bite my lip. "No. No, I don't."

    "Oh."

    I finger the rim of my mug awkwardly. "How about you? Where are you from, Tom?"

    He blinks slowly at me. "Portland. I never knew my dad, but my mother said he was a good man. He died in a factory accident when I was a baby. She died in a fire at the hospital she worked at six years ago."

    "That's awful, I'm sorry." I feel bad now, saying I didn't miss my parents.

    "Yeah. But it's okay, I had to get over it. Say, what do you think your plans are, for after the war?"

    "You mean, if we manage to survive all this?" I laugh with a slight edge of bitterness. "I don't know. I might go home, pack all my stuff up, and move to a different state entirely. Start my life anew. I might even just stay with the DSW working as an agent."

    "You don't like Wisconsin?"

    I flush with embarrassment and stare down at my tea. I haven't even told Sophie about this. It just never really came up.

    "You don't have to tell me, it's okay." Tom says quickly.

    "No, it's just that--well, see," I murmur uncomfortably, "my parents and I don't get along much. They were always too busy for me and all. I was raised by our maids most of the time since my father was either traveling for work or in his office all the time, and my mother just-- well, she's not a very...loving woman. When I told them I was joining the military, they stopped talking to me altogether. I've tried writing letters but they never reply. They will never understand me and what I want and what I do. They'll never try. And, it's just, after the war I'm done with all that. I don't want to be near them at all."

    "So that's why you don't miss them."

    "Yeah."

    "Thanks for telling me."

    I glance up. His eyes are kind, sympathetic.

    "Thanks for listening." I return softly.

    His mouth curves up into a little smile, like he's assuring me of something.

    "And what are your plans?" I ask.

    His smile turns faraway and wistful now, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "I'm gonna use my war savings and go study chemistry. Science always interested me. Maybe I'll get married too, always wanted to settle down with someone. If I find the right girl." he grins at me playfully.

    I nod. He's got his life all planned out and knows what he wants. "I'm sure you'll find someone. You'll be really successful."

    "Hey, so will you, Miss Master Sergeant." he winks.

    I blush. "Not if I haven't got any goals for the future like you."

    "I can help with that. I am an excellent goal-setter. What do you want in life?"

    I shrug. "I just...want to be happy."

    His gaze softens as he leans in closer. "Then we'll make sure you are happy."

    "Is that a new goal?"

    "That's my goal." he leans back and winks.

    Voices come from outside. The show is over, I realize, as soldiers come filing in for dinner. Some of them eye us, and I notice a couple of them wink at Tom, who averts his eyes.

    Drip, drip, drip.

April 31, 1943

    Lieutenant White grimaces as he shows me the eight completely muddy Jeeps sitting by the fence. They're filthy, all caked with dirt and mud. "We need these cleaned up, and normally I'd have Third Platoon do it, but they're all really pooped out from the mission and I hate to force them to do more. Could you get some of your men to help us out?"

    I gape, staring at the large vehicles. "I-uh, sure. I'll take care of it."

    He beams. "Thanks so much. I owe you one, eh?"

    I sigh when he jogs away. Fantastic.

    Naturally, Easy Squad isn't pleased to see their new project.

    "Why can't they clean up after their own mess?" Shifty groans, grabbing a bucket of water and a rag.

    "I'm really sorry, guys. But this is what we've been landed with and I'd like to avoid trouble, so let's just get to work." I press my lips together and copy Shifty.

    Tipper stops short, sloshing his soapy water when he abruptly halts. "Wait, 'we?' You're actually helping us scrub?"

    I blink in surprise. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I?" Silence follows and I stare around at the group.

    Garrett grins, sharing a look with Randleton and Evans. The three of them, I've noticed, are practically inseparable. Martin and Grant look like they're trying not to look impressed, but they're failing at it. Carter, swirling his hand in his bucket of water, stops as he eyes me with my own rags in hand. Price, Cox, Christenson, and Webb just kind of stand there blankly.

    "Really, what's the big deal?" I ask uncomfortably. Have I done something wrong? Did I screw up?

    Tipper breaks into laughter. "You're our CO. You don't have to be doing this with us. But you are. Our old squad sergeant never did that."

    "He'd just sit there and yell at us. No bullshit." Evans adds.

    "Oh." I breathe. "Well, I could do that, now that you mention it." I laugh when their faces stiffen. "I'm joking. Now quit gaping at me and get to work before Lieutenant White has our hides."

    Randleton whistles and comes over to thump me on the back. "Amen!" he whoops and is joined by the rest of the squad. Even Grant, who was rude to me the first day, smiles at me with newfound respect.

    I smile. I could get used to this.

    "Golly, it's been a good two hours and we've only cleaned three of these fuckers." Cox complains as he pushes his hair back with a soapy hand, running his fingers through the coarse black strands.

    "You kidding me? The mud on these b******s is like glue. Really tough glue." Webb grunts. He decided it'd be a good idea to try to chip the dried muck off with a knife. It falls off in pieces and he holds one up like a trophy, earning grins from the others.

    "Jesus." Garrett huffs as he regards the cake of mud.

    Men. They can't do much without complaining about it. I smile to myself at the foul language and keep scrubbing the roof of a vehicle, having had the privilege of being boosted up here by Shifty. My pants are grimy, my hands are nearly rubbed raw, and sweat rolls down my face, but I don't want to complain because for the first time it really feels like I'm getting along well with these men.

    "Hey, there's a familiar face. What brings you to this show, Winters?" Christenson calls amiably.

    I look up quickly. Or, rather, down, since I'm sitting up higher than everybody.

    Tom grins up at me. "All right there, Tana?" His eyes squint against the sunlight and his hands are in his pockets as he walks toward the Jeep I'm perched on.

    I make a face. "Oh, I'm just relaxing up here." I say sarcastically.

    "Clearly. What a loafer, am I right?" Tom laughs and looks back at Christenson, his head tilted back as that warm grin remains on his face. I smile, watching him talk to his friend for a few moments before I realize I'm staring like an idiot and return to my work, blinking hard.

    I scrub and scrub and hope no one noticed, the back of my shirt damp with sweat, the low sound of Tom's cheerful voice below me.

May 3, 1943

    "You're up early. Want some coffee?" a young woman approaches me with a mug in her hand. She leans against the countertop my own mug of hot tea is sitting on, and I glance at her. Usually no one else is up at this time, so I like to come and sit alone to wake up. I guess I wasn't the only one who had that in mind this morning.

    "No, I'm not a fan of coffee." I say quietly, taking a long drink. "I'm--"

    "Agent Carstairs. I know. You're the only girl here in a combat uniform." she replies with a kind smile. "My name's Lena Bartok." she holds a hand out and I shake it, wondering why I haven't seen her around before. There aren't many girls on this base. In fact, I can count them on my fingers. There are exactly six, and three of them work as mess staff, two are supply managers, and the last one is, well, me. And I guess there's Lena now too.

    "Are you new?" I voice my thoughts out loud, just as I spot the chevron on her uniform. She's a sergeant, too.

    Lena nods, taking a sip of coffee. "Just transferred from Fort Pendleton. Say - and you don't have to answer this - but rumor has it you shot a soldier once, is that true?"

    I smile, tilting my head back. "What do you think of it?"

    "I believe it. And I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. The story itself is going around, so you have to make do with it however you can." she shrugs, eyeing me over the rim of her mug, her penciled eyebrows slightly raised like she knows she's just said something meaningful.

    I regard her carefully, mulling that over. A smile slowly forms on my lips and I look back down at my mug. "You're a smart lady, Sergeant Bartok."

    "I know. And call me Lena," she laughs, and the second that bright sound comes out of her mouth I know she and I will get along very well around here.

    "All right, Lena. Call me Tana." I reply.

    "Go, go, go!" I shout. "You slow down now, you better pack your bags and go on home, 'cause you'll have no chance against the Germans!"

    The men all run past me, swerving erratically to the left and right as their chests heave, sweat dripping down their faces. I wipe moisture from my own forehead, the afternoon sun beating down on us all. But at least I'm not running the camp's field obstacle course.

    "Perseverance, soldiers! You can be the best if you want it bad enough!" I encourage at the top of my lungs. I check my stopwatch. They're improving.

    "I'd like to see you try this," someone mutters.

    My lips twitch and I glance up, but I can't tell who spoke.

    Most of them have finished the obstacle course and are standing around waiting for the rest to finish, handing each other rags to wipe their sweaty, dirty faces. Some of them are lying on the grass, chests heaving.

    Tom is among these soldiers, wiping at his brow with a towel, nodding at something someone is saying, and smiles at me when he spots me walking toward them. He steps away from the others to salute me. I return it.

    "16 minutes and 34 seconds." I tell him matter-of-factly. "That's your personal record, Sergeant Winters." I smile slightly and let my arms drop to my side.

    "What's yours?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

    I chuckle. "18:12, but on a different course. I must say, it was far more complicated than this."

    "Well, aren't you a show off." he grins, not unkindly. His dark hair falls in front of his eyes and he sweeps it back with a hand, blowing out a breath of air. "Ever given this one a go?"

    I shake my head and eye his dirty, formerly white t-shirt. It's torn in a few places and has mud stains all over from the course. "Someone earlier seemed to doubt that I could complete this course. I was tempted to drop everything and run it, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction."

    "That would have been satisfying to see, indeed. I bet you could do it in fifteen." Tom raises an eyebrow.

    I laugh. "Thanks for your confidence, Tom." My watch beeps and I glance at it. "All righty, time for a pep talk." I grin at him and he laughs, shaking his head.

    The men all grimace slightly when I tell them to shape up even more. I pace between the ranks, hands clasped behind my back and my chin up, sweat running down my back and face. It's hot as hell out here.

    "Why do I push you all so hard? So you can be the best. You need to dress like the best, act like the best, think like the best, and only then do you become the best. Even the best die out there in battle, but at least you die knowing you gave it everything you had. Am I understood, soldiers?"

    "Yes ma'am!" they all shout. And this time it's different than before. It sounds like they mean it.

    I allow a slight smile. "You've done well today. I'll tell the mess staff to cook up something nice tonight. At ease, soldiers!"

May 4, 1943

    I sigh in annoyance, gazing around at the cluttered supply room. Major Patton clearly doesn't give a hoot about organization. There's just things scattered everywhere, so much that I can't even tell what's what because it's all buried. I check my wristwatch and decide that I have enough time until dinner to at least pick up some of it.

    It's kind of peaceful, doing easy work that doesn't require too much thinking. I stick my tongue out slightly as I try to reach a shelf high up.

    "Need some help?"

    I startle and turn to see Tom grinning with his hands in his pockets. I clear my throat self-consciously and try to look dignified. "Yes. I do need help."

    Tom laughs and strides over to put the can I'm holding onto the top shelf with the others. "It's like every time I take a walk around camp, I find you cleaning or organizing. You like neatness, huh?"

    I shrug, dusting off a stack of books with the back of my hand. "Just something I do."

    He chuckles and tilts his head back in that unique way. "Well? Your orders, ma'am?"

    I roll my eyes. "Gather all the books around and stick them on that shelf over there." I drop the stack of books in his arms and gesture to where I want them.

    He huffs in surprise with the sudden weight and obliges.

    "You know, you've certainly gained the respect of these men. You should've heard them talkin' about you in the mess hall last night." he says matter-of-factly.

    I glance at him. "Oh? About how great I might be in bed, or was it actually good things?" I say bitterly.

    "Good things and more, ma'am. They practically think you're a goddess and that you're gonna end this war yourself."

    I laugh out loud, a surprised little huff of amusement escaping my lips. "Well, that might have been the spaghetti they had last night talking. I wouldn't go that far." I add nonchalantly, and then sneeze when a cloud of dust overtakes my face, having come from a pile of old boots. They just throw everything in here, don't they?

    Tom smiles, his strikingly blue eyes crinkling around the edges. "I would, Top."

    I wrinkle my nose at him. "Top?"

    "Yeah. You're always so busy and spinning around every which way doing things, like a little top. It's kinda endearing, how hard you work."

    I give him a strange look and he laughs. Always carefree, letting himself enjoy the best of the moment. I wish I could do that.

    "Top, huh?" I find a grin slowly creeping onto my face.

    He nods. "Top and Tom of the 101st. It's got a nice ring to it, dontcha think?"

    "We should have our own radio show."

    "Maybe after this damned war is over, huh?"

    Tom's eyes meet mine and for a second this all seems like more than just some friendly exchange of quips.

    But I smile dismissively. "I just might take you up on that, Tom. From the frontlines to the radio."

    His head c***s slightly to the side as he grins. "We'll sit around and tell war stories like old veterans."

    I chuckle absentmindedly. If this war ever stops. This war, this godforsaken war. I don't know if it'll ever end.

    Tom claps his hands together, then glances at his watch. "And now I shall escort you to dinner."

    I blush. "You don't have to escort me."

    "I don't have to." He doesn't even bother finishing that thought, just smiles and marches right out the door.

    I follow him.

May 16, 1943

    Tom seems to have taken it upon himself to walk with me to the mess hall every evening. "I worry about you, Top. You don't eat much." he tells me when I comment on this.

    I shrug in response. "I get by."

    I've stopped getting looks from the other soldiers now that I've established my leadership skills. Also, it could be because of the fact that I'm now known across camp as the officer who shot a disobedient soldier. They're all respectful of me, sure, but some of them are also terrified as heck I'll pull out a Luger and turn them into Swiss cheese.

    Either way, Tom sits with me during meals and quietly makes sure I'm never hungry or lonely. I'm secretly grateful; it feels nice to have a companion in the mess hall. I've missed talking to Sophie. And talk we do indeed. Tom asks me lots of questions about myself, shrugging off my questions toward him sometimes. "I'm not as interesting as you are," he'll tell me with that sweet smile and those light eyes. Still, he answers some of my questions, always leaning forward as he talks thoughtfully. He's got this habit of blinking slowly when he's thinking hard, like an affectionate cat. Not very slowly; just subtle enough that it's noticeable.

    A lot of the time, we all sit with some other people at a table, with Barnaby and the rest of my platoon leaders, some privates and a couple corporals, and all of them seem friendly enough. I've come to understand that not all the men here are bad; just like in the Marines. Things aren't so bad.

    "Hey, here comes Hardy." Barnaby nudges me and tilts his head to my left. "Looks like he finally got that sling off his shoulder."

    Tom and I glance to where he gestured. Hardy walks in looking as polished as ever, back to his old confident self now that he hasn't got the mark of a disobedient soldier on him. His eyes flicker in our direction and I smirk as I look away.

    "Hah! Will, you see that? You see his expression when he saw Tana watching him?" Tom chortles.

    Hart grins. "Did I ever."

    "Tomcat." I laugh that evening as we're walking back from the mess hall.

    "Huh?" Tom’s eyes are wide when he glances down at me with surprise, nearly missing a step in his usually confident strides.

    "When you talk to me, you blink like my pet cat back home. You're a Tom-cat." I say, my mouth curving upward with my joke.

    His lips part to form an "o," and then he's chortling with surprise. "That's a good one, Top!" he laughs, ruffling my hair.

    "Hey!" I duck as I join in his laughter, and nudge him. "I guess we'll have to name our radio show Top and Tomcat, huh?"

    "Sounds fine to me! Top and Tomcat of the 101st, hailing from Milwaukee and Portland." he grins. "Say, Top, I finally saw you smile."

    "What do you mean? I smile a lot."

    "No," he lightly taps my nose with his forefinger, "you smiled for real just now, all on your own too. Like you were actually happy."

    I blink in surprise. He's right. I haven't felt this... light in a long time. Happy.

    "You don't know it, but I can tell when you're faking a smile, my dear little Top. And it feels great when I see that real smile of yours, I gotta say. Like the sun rising after a rainstorm. Like a breath of fresh air. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July." he continues thoughtfully.

    I blush. "And you said you stopped writing poetry."

    "I'm not exaggerating!" he widens his eyes innocently at me.

    I look away dismissively, my face getting hot. "It can't be all that great." I mutter.

    Tom leans in closer. "Fireworks, Tana. Right here." he puts a hand on his heart and makes a pat-pat sound with it, then bends down slightly and, after the tiniest hesitation, presses his lips to my cheek.

    My heart skips a beat. Maybe two or three. I don't know. It's erratic. I stare at him as he draws away, my head spinning while trying to comprehend what he's saying. Trying to understand what he just did.

    "Anyways, g'night, Tana." Tom smiles, suddenly very soft. Then he walks off to his sleeping quarters, chuckling and muttering "Tomcat" under his breath.

    I watch him go, bringing my fingers up to my cheek where he just kissed me.

    Fireworks.

    Huh.

May 18, 1943

Dear Sophie,

I'm sorry I haven't written in a month. It's been ridiculously busy here; you understand. I'm sorry to hear your investigations haven't been making much progress. Do you think it's possible Zube turned? I mean, he did seem withdrawn at times, and you said he just up and disappeared. Perhaps he planned it. I hate to think of his hidden motives though, especially when we were working so closely with him. It's a possibility, though, you must admit.

We went on our second raid of a German base a few days ago. It went fine, and we gathered intel, but not quite what I had planned to get. I'm pleased with the lack of casualties we've had on these first two missions, though.

You asked about Tom, and I have to tell you now, I'm not sure how I should say this. You'd like this man, Soph. He's great to be around; funny and smart and just really nice. It's hard to find really nice people like that. We've spent quite a bit of time together during these past couple months. I know what you'd say to me if you were here now. Whats the catch? The thing is, I've never seen a dark side to Tom. He always seems so cheerful and positive. And I know it sounds silly, but...does it hurt to say I think I have feelings for him at this point? Is it too early? I don't know. But I can say there's something there, Sophie.

I miss you something awful. Hopefully this mission will go smoothly and we'll get to talk in person soon. These letters are so ridiculously short it irks me, but the censoring of mail is so strict now.

Yours,

Tana

May 26, 1943

    Someone clears his throat outside my tent. "Tana?"

    I smile. "Come in, Tom."

    He enters abashedly, pushing aside the entrance flap, letting in the sunshine from outside. Ever since that long spell of rain, we've had lots of nice days.

    Tom clears his throat again. "I, uh, just wanted to ask if you were busy."

    "Not as of right now." I say, looking up from my papers, his constant throat-clearing sparking my curiosity. "What's the matter?"

    "Nothing's the matter!" he says quickly. "It's just - Well, the train's going into town at 1800 and I wondered if you'd like to accompany me. I-I know a nice place to eat at. If you want to go." he watches me apprehensively, blinking that slow blink as I deliberate.

    "Sergeant Winters," I say slowly, leaning on my elbows on the desk as I laugh uncertainly. "Are you asking me out to dinner?"

    He laughs unsteadily, scratching at the back of his head. "I suppose I am."

    I regard him for a while longer, then smile. "All right, Tomcat. I'll meet you at the train platform at 1750."

    He nods, flashing a characteristic grin. "See you then."

    I watch him go, a bubble of excitement rising in me. But I shake it off.

    Tom is in his nicest dress uniform, an olive green, when I meet him at the train platform, his hands behind his back. He rolls back and forth from his heels to his toes, licking his lips as he checks his watch. He spots me and his tense face breaks out into a grin. I smile, eyeing his outfit before I look down at myself in my own service uniform; I realize I haven't ever worn it at the camp. I've always just worn my combat uniform to train. My collared shirt is neatly tucked into my skirt and my heels are shiny and polished.

    Tom clears his throat. "You look nice, Tana." he pulls a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back and offers them to me. So that's what he was holding.

    I take them, smiling shyly. "Aw, I love daisies. Thank you. So, what are we calling this?" Might as well get it out of the way, right?

    "Huh?"

    "Is it a dinner among friends, or...a date?" I swallow nervously. What if I totally got this wrong? What if I'm just an idiot and he just wanted company in town? But if that were true, he would have asked Will to come with him instead of me, right? Did I just screw the entire evening up?

    Now it's his turn to flush pink. "Well, I did say you made me feel like I had fireworks going off in my heart. I meant that. I...I really like you, Top."

    I let out a sharp breath and his gaze softens as he regards me with a look of anticipation. He's always so confident and aloof, but in this moment his expression is slightly timid. Sincerely and genuinely afraid that I may not return his feelings.

    I inhale. I'm going to say it.

    "I like you a lot, too, Tomcat." I say simply.

    He lets out a tiny relieved sigh. "It's a date, then?"

    I smile, probably the widest I've smiled in months. "It's a date."

    I glance up from my meal to see Tom watching me. "It's rude to stare, you know." I say, the corner of my mouth lifting.

    He blushes and looks away. "Sorry. I just--you're beautiful."

    I laugh. "You always get right down to it, don't you?"

    He laughs, a toothy goofy grin on his face. It's endearing, really.

    I tilt my head. "And thank you. I don't get that often."

    He blinks. "I'm surprised."

    I shake my head. "Not many men are willing to speak to a woman who might court-martial them. Pretty or not."

    "So you're saying not one man in the Marine Corps tried to date you?" Tom asks with genuine curiosity.

    "Oh, I don't know. There were nice men there, and there were some more like Hardy and his crew. But I never really had time to date then, and nobody there was as nice to spend time with. Not like you, Tomcat." I rest my chin on my hand, gazing at him.

    He blushes again and looks down. "Well. Would it be bold of me to say I'm glad none of them suited you?" his face looks hopeful.

    I laugh out loud. "Sure, but who doesn't like a little boldness?"

    He bows his head, smiling as he looks at me through his lowered lashes.

    My heart pounds and I reach out to pick up my glass and take a sip of water, trying not to show how hard my hands are trembling. Now I really get what he meant by "fireworks."

    I shouldn't be so on edge. Spending time with Tom is always easy, comfortable. Now that we've called it a date it's like the stakes are raised somehow. But I'm not sure what the stakes even are. I like this, but I'm afraid I'll mess it up somehow.

    I glance up at Tom to see how he is. He's chewing on his steak delicately, brows furrowed slightly like he always has them when he's thinking. He catches me looking at him and his eyes soften.

    Music starts to play somewhere in the distance and people start shuffling onto the dancefloor in the center of all the dining tables. This restaurant has quite the setup, I'm now realizing.

    A small orchestra is seated in the corner, and I recognize the melody.

    I smile. "The Vienna Blood Waltz."

    Tom perks up. "You know this?"

    I nod. "It's very beautiful."

    "Do you...do you want to dance?" he asks hesitantly, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

    My heart skips a beat. "Uhh, I've never danced before."

    He chuckles. "I can teach you, it's easy. Especially if it's a waltz."

    Oh, what the heck. "Alright, then. Let's dance!"

    He sets his napkin down and grins while he stands to hold out a hand to me.

    I take it and his hand grips mine firmly as he leads us to the floor. When we reach the center, Tom takes both my hands and starts murmuring instructions in my ear on how to step.

    I stare down at our feet, trying to match him, and he takes a hand to lift my chin up. "Don't look at the ground, Top. Just trust me."

    I gulp nervously, my throat dry. "Okay."

    Soon I've gotten the hang of it and Tom grins. "See? Not so bad, is it?"

    No, not at all. I like this. I like this very much.

    And then I realize what's actually happening. It truly hits me. I'm dancing. With Tom. We're holding hands. We're moving in sync together, as one. We're touching. A harp plays with the orchestra, its reverberating notes floating along, seeming to linger in the air. Light and free, and that's how I feel now. The burdens of everything don't seem to matter so much in this moment.

    I try to steady my breathing as I keep my eyes trained on Tom, who gazes back at me.

    He laughs a little.

    I raise a questioning eyebrow, afraid he might have noticed how nervous I am.

    He shakes his head slightly. "It's just that, well, I never thought things would lead to this. Never thought we'd get this far. You're a government agent, I'm a sergeant, and we're trapped in this crazy war, and somehow we're dancing together like everything is okay."

    I nod. "I feel that way too. Who knows where things will take us next?"

    "I try not to think about that." he murmurs, voice uneven.

    Up this close I can tell suddenly there's something in his eyes that isn't happy. It's dark and it's like he's...

    "Are you afraid?" I whisper.

    A new piece starts to play. It's another waltz, and it sounds hollow, sad.

    Tom stares at me for a long moment as we continue dancing, mouth slackening the tiniest bit. "Yes." he breathes, and his grip tightens a little. "I'm very scared."

    I smile reassuringly, trying my best to keep it steady and calm. "Well, you don't have to worry if you're around me. I got the Medal of Honor for a reason." I say to lighten the mood. "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

    He shakes his head, his expression pained. "It's not myself I'm worried about. I've lost too many loved ones already. I'm scared of losing more."

    It's like the breath is knocked out of me when he says that. I thought he was afraid of dying himself. He's not; he's afraid to lose his friends, the people he cares about.  This is the dark side I've never seen. His fear. His deepest fear.

    I can't say anything to that. Can't comfort him because I've never felt strongly enough about a person to think of their well-being in the face of danger.

    Tom seems to steel himself, then sighs, putting on a smile again. "But let's not worry about that, huh? After all, I invited you out on this date to have fun."

    He told me once how he could tell my smiles were fake; I wonder if the principle of "it takes one to know one" comes into play here. My stomach drops as I realize how much Tom must have been hiding to keep up that blazé personality. How much he must have pretended things were okay just so I wouldn't be concerned.

    "Tana?"

    I snap back to attention, having been lost in my thoughts.

    The music's stopped. A jazzy swing tune starts playing now and I laugh abashedly. "Sorry, I was...thinking."

    "You know, sometimes I think you think too much." Tom murmurs with a small smile, that playful spark returning to his eyes.

    "You think?" I say, wrinkling my nose.

    He chuckles and shrugs, moving us as we start swinging to the song. "Sometimes."

    "Okay, I'll work on not thinking so much."

    "That's the problem, Top." Tom leans in closer to me. "You shouldn't have to work at it. Just...let loose. Dance with me."

    I hold onto his hands tighter. "Okay, Tomcat. Okay."

    And dance we do. I find myself breaking out of that shell of trying, of working, of everything difficult, and I find that dancing is easy. This isn't a waltz, but I'm swinging with Tom and laughing. Freely. Carelessly. Unstoppable.

    He grins, breathing fast, noticing.

    We dance and dance until we're too tired to move anymore and when we leave our hands stay intertwined, ghosts of laughter still on our lips.

    I adjust my messenger bag and turn to the tall man beside me. "Well, Tom, it's been a lovely night." I say breathlessly. "Thank you for dinner, for the dancing. I learned a lot!"

    "Don't mention it. Thank you for agreeing to it." he replies softly.

    I squeeze his hand. "I'll always agree to a date with you."

    "Hey, Top."

    My eyes meet his and he leans in close. "Is this all right?" he pauses and whispers.

    I blink quickly a few times, surprised. "Y-Yeah."

    He closes the gap between us then and our lips touch. The kiss is sweet and lingering and I flush when he draws away.

    "We'd best get going, I guess." he laughs nervously and holds out his arm.

    I loop my arm within his, heart pounding. "I guess."

    As we wander towards the train station, I can't stop my brain from churning and this time I don't bother stopping it. What is this? Me and Tom... I get a wave of excitement up my whole body, everything tingling warm when I think about what just happened. What's happening now. His lips on mine, his soft husky voice, his tender gaze, his gentle but firm grip.

    I actually have feelings for him. By golly, it's been two and a half months since we've met and I just kissed him. And I'm happy about it. I don't care, it's the war, we could die at any given moment, and I don't care. I like this, not caring.

    My lips curve up on their own and I look up at Tom nervously.

    He smiles quickly, licking his lips and then blushing as soon as he does. "That was my first kiss." He admits abashedly.

    I blink in surprise. Surely a handsome man like him would have had many girlfriends already.

    "I know, seems impossible." he shakes his head. "I've danced, I've flirted, but you're the first girl I've cared enough for to...to kiss."

    "Well," I say with a grin, "you're my first kiss as well, Tom Winters. And my first dance. My first flirt, too, I guess?" I add as a joke.

    He laughs again and turns to face me fully. His eyes soften and he reaches his hand out to touch my cheek. "Can...can I kiss you again?"

    I chuckle and go on my tiptoes to press my mouth to his, closing my eyes and cupping his face with one hand.

    He inhales sharply, taking my face in both hands and pulling us closer.

    "Hey! Lovebirds! You're gonna miss the train!" Somebody calls out to us.

    I laugh, breaking away, and Tom joins in. "C'mon," he chortles as he pulls me by the hand to hop on the train.

    We're sitting in silence on the train when he asks me that question. "How exactly did you get the Medal of Honor?"

    I let out a little sigh. "Please tell me you heard about that before I said it back there. I didnt mean to sound like I was bragging."

    He shakes his head dismissively. "Everyone knows, Top. Besides, don't you think you deserve to brag a little?"

    I look away at that, wringing my hands and wrists anxiously as I clear my throat. "They, uh, they didn't ever let the women do much fighting. We were short officers one day, so I convinced my commanding officer to let me take a platoon on a mission. He allowed it." My voice gets low as it settles into storytelling mode. "We ran into trouble; we were ambushed by the Japanese troops and were stuck with no means of communication for a week in the heavy rain and mud. Most of my men were short on supplies. Morale was low and so I just...killed as many enemy soldiers as I could when they came at us. I got a Purple Heart for all the injuries I sustained: two broken ribs, a fractured ankle, a mild concussion. My whole body was covered in different cuts and bruises, it was like a rainbow. They told me I was a hero for killing all those people. Nearly forty of them, I was told." I pause and swallow, looking down at my hands. For a second they seem to glisten that all-too-familiar deep slick crimson, but when I blink it's gone. "I never wanted to be a hero. If they knew what was really going through my head during that week, they probably wouldn't have awarded me that medal." I say, staring at the darkness outside moving in a blur. It feels good to have gotten that all off my chest.

    "What were you thinking?" Tom asks quietly.

    "'I don't want to die. Dear God, don't let me die here.'" I close my eyes. "All I could think about was killing others just so I wouldn't be killed myself. Just so I wouldn't get my men killed."

    I sit in silence for a moment. Now that I've started talking, it feels so nice that it's hard to stop. "The Pacific theater. The European theater. They call them that as if it's all a show. The connotation is one of pleasantries to anyone not in the military. They made a big deal out of how I was the 'star of the Pacific theater.' So many men were lost. It hardly feels like something to celebrate." I say bitterly. "Hardly feels like I'm a star, for heaven's sake. Sure, I killed the enemy, but after so much killing, at what point do you yourself become your own enemy? They don't have anything in the strategy books for that."

    Tom watches me as I speak, sympathy coloring his face. Sophie always tries to give me advice; she's always got something helpful to say, which is nice, but sometimes it's just good to have someone listening. Just listening.

    "So...all those stories of the Marines in the Pacific. That was true? That was you?"

    "That was us." I hug myself, swallowing. "I'm so sick and tired of this stupid war."

    "We'll end it. It'll end." he whispers.

May 27, 1943

    The morning after our date Tom eyes me in the mess hall. I'm sitting with the major for a briefing over breakfast with a couple lieutenants and every time I glance over in Tom's direction he's looking at me.

    I catch him for about the twentieth time and he laughs, inaudible to me from across the room, but I can hear that low chuckle in my head as I flush and smile. His eyes sparkle with playful humor.

    "So are you and Winters officially going steady now?" Major Patton grunts.

    "Pardon me, sir?" I say dumbly, reverting my attention to him.

    His mustache twitches as he chuckles and spoons another bit of oatmeal in his mouth. "Come on, Carstairs. Everyone in this room can see you two makin' eyes at each other. I'm fine with it, but don't let it distract you from your duties."

    Lieutenants Ferndale and Brown chortle softly.

    "Y-yes, sir." I stutter.

    "Hey, Top!" Tom calls from behind me as I'm leaving.

    I turn and my breath hitches. "Hi Tom," I smile.

    He grins. "Didn't get you in trouble with Major Patton, did I?"

    I shake my head. "He's fine with it, as long as it doesn't--" I puff my chest out pompously and try to deepen my voice, "distract us from our duties."

    Tom laughs, slapping a hand on his thigh. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful." he chortles.

May 30, 1943

Dear Tana,

I say if you feel like this Tom is worth your valuable time, you go after him. It sounds to me like you've got a little crush on him, and I say it's good for you! I hope you've gone on a date or something with him  by the time you receive this letter; if not, ask him out. Boldness is good. If he's not scared away from you by now, he won't be scared away by your asking him.

I agree with you about our missing person. It frustrates me, but I do have reason to believe it is how you speculate. No progress on his case.

It's been busy here as well, so I barely had time to scribble out this letter before the mail carrier leaves. I wish you luck on your mission.

Love,

Sophie

June 14, 1943

    I hate using this typewriter. But I'm supposed to when writing my reports to the Colonel, so here I am struggling away with this stupid thing.

    "Having fun?"

    I jump, pressing the wrong key. I slam my hand against the desk in frustration and whirl around in my desk chair and glare at Tom, who has just walked into my tent looking very satisfied with himself.

    "No. I'm not having fun." I say through gritted teeth.

    He smiles apologetically. "I've got something that'll cheer you up. Maybe," he adds hastily when I sigh huffily and run a hand over my hair, smoothing it down.

    I stand up to stretch, then approach him with my hands on my hips. "All right, Winters, what have you got?"

    He grins and holds up two pieces of folded paper. "Tickets to the Fourth of July fireworks show they're having in town. And you know how we both feel about fireworks." He adds in a sing-song.

    I let out a little laugh. "I do know. That's really neat, Tom."

    "Cheered up yet?" he asks jokingly.

    I tilt my head to the side. "Not entirely." I step forward to press my forehead against his collar.

    He chuckles and wraps his arms around me.

    I sigh contentedly, letting his familiar scent wash over me. "Now I am."

    "Having a rough day?" he asks gently.

    "Yep. I have to finish that report to the Colonel and it's not going well. I just got a letter in the mail from my father, of all people." I gesture out towards my desk. "Read it."

    He lets go and picks up the letter.

    I let out a huff of breath and sit on my bed, watching him.

    Tom frowns as he scans the letter. It's just one page, barely any greeting, and my father even signed it with a dry "sincerely."

    He didn't even bother to ask about my well-being. Just launches into what he has to say. It's classic.

    "Gee, Tana, I'm sorry." Tom looks up at me, his face colored with sympathy. "Your mom's got tuberculosis, your cat ran away. You must feel awful."

    I nod, looking down at my boots. "His name was Summer. I had him for ten years, found him in an alley when he was a kitten. He was a good cat."

    "Yeah?" Tom comes to sit with me.

    I nod again. "He was real affectionate. Always wanted to play. Sometimes I'd wake up with my nose buried in his fur. He liked to come and sleep next to me on my bed and he had this habit of rubbing against my face. Mother never did like him much." I mumble the last sentence, remembering how much my mother complained about the cat. "I guess she won't have to worry about it now that he's gone."

    "Why the name Summer?"

    "He was the brightest thing in my life. Warm and happy, like my summer vacations used to be. And I found him in the summertime." I add, smiling at the memory.

    Tom is quiet for a moment.

    "It's kind of funny," he murmurs, "his name is Summer and he's a tomcat. I'm Winters and I'm a Tomcat."

    I stare at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. "That is ironic, isn't it?"

    He smiles broadly, clearly pleased that he made me laugh. "C'mere," he says as he puts an arm around my shoulders. "Everything's gonna be just fine, okay?"

    I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes. "You're the best, Tomcat."

    "You know it, Top."

June 20, 1943

    "The squad brawl?"

    "Yeah, that's what Major Patton likes to call it. All the squads of the platoons go against each other in this sort of field training exercise. It's sort of a tradition we do here every few months or so. Unloaded weapons, full gear, and we start out at assigned positions around the field. Then at the predetermined time, each squad sets out to take down all the others. The game is over in six hours, and whichever squad has the most overall 'kills' and still has live members wins."

    I raise an incredulous eyebrow at Tipper, who is patiently explaining this crazy thing to me. Apparently we're supposed to spend a day off doing this...this activity. "Do all army companies do this, or is Major Patton just that weird?"

    "Weird? He's a genius! Nothing like friendly competition to encourage us to practice our tact!" Sledge grins. "Good luck, Carstairs. You'll need it. Dog Squad has won the game the last three times we've played. Winters won't let any of us live it down."

    I roll my eyes. "It's just a game."

    "That's not encouraging. I want to win for once." Christenson says, his eyes wide.

    "Lead us to victory, 'kay, Sarge?" Webb juts his chin out at me before taking a gulp of water. "You ain't gonna let your boyfriend beat you, right?"

    I don't even bother telling him to call me "Agent." Instead, my eyes flicker toward Tom, who is sitting with his squad and grinning confidently, and a smile creeps upon my face. I look around at my squad, their anticipation showing on their faces. "Damn right, Webb."

    ~~

    "Damn right, indeed! Here's to Dog Squad finally losing!" Webb shouts, and his raised glass of foaming beer is met with roars and applause.

    "Here's to Agent Blondie trampling Winters and leaving him in the dust!" Barnaby laughs a booming laugh, thumping me hard on the back.

    I wrinkle my nose. "Agent Blondie? Is this what I've been reduced to?" I joke.

    "You're a blondie and you better be proud of it, Blondie!" he responds, guffawing as he nudges Lieutenant White. "Did I tell ya what she did?"

    White rolls his eyes. "You've told everyone twice already--"

    "Oh, tell it again, Barnacles, let us relish in it!" Garrett calls out.

    Barnaby winks at me and I make a face, which he ignores as he turns to the large round table, where everyone is gathered, either sitting or standing. Anything for a glimpse of me. And Tom, who is sitting with an expression on his face that is torn between embarrassed and positively delighted at the fact that I led Easy Squad to beat all the other squads today.

    "So Carstairs has this great strategy and all, which gets Easy Squad about forty kills," Barnaby shakes his head and a few others do the same, making disbelieving scoffs. "But that's not the best part. I'm up in a tree scouting for enemies and I spot Carstairs sneaking up to Winters and I figure this is gonna be great 'cause I know for a fact that he's the last of Dog Squad, so I keep watching. And what does she do? Blondie shows herself to him, and he's about to get her, but hesitates. And she f****n' darts up and kisses him full on the lips and then says 'BAM. You lose, Tomcat!'"

    Everyone in the room is in hysterics not for the first time tonight. I blush furiously, my face getting hot, and I haven't even had any alcohol. I sneak a peek at Tom, and he's about as red as a tomato as he covers his face with a hand, shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes are shut tight as he shakes his head, and I grin at that.

    "This warrants a name. Easy Squad needs a new title!" Walsh proclaims, earning nods of approval from the others.

    Barnaby sits back, then slams his fist on the table. "The Lightning Blondies. Lightning because you twelve workin' together are the fastest, sharpest b******s around, and Blondies because without your sarge here, you probably wouldn't have stood a chance against The Digging Dogs!"

    I laugh out loud. "The Lightning Blondies? That's the most ridiculous--"

    "Lightning Blondies! Lightning Blondies!" Shifty roars loudly, his chestnut hair darkened with sweat as he chugs his drink. Tipper and Cox join him and then all of a sudden the whole room is booming with Barnaby's crazy idea.

    I bury my face in my hands, incredulous. Tom's squad earned their nickname for always being the first to finish digging foxholes whenever we need them, and I know Love Squad are the Red Cyclones because they once took on a platoon of Russian troops on their own. But the Lightning Blondies? For having fast tactics? And because my hair is blonde? Please.

    Tom nudges me. "Blondie." he whispers in my ear.

    "This will never happen. It's not happening!" I laugh, throwing Barnaby a look.

    He shrugs and makes a little pouty face, smug.

June 21, 1943

    I sigh as I take a seat across from Major Patton. "Sir, I'd like to request your presence during my lecture today for Easy Squ--"

    "The Lightning Blondies, huh?"

    I blink. "Sir?"

    Major Patton grins as he butters his toast. "It was only a matter of time before they came up with a nickname for Easy Squad."

    "Sir, please, it's ridiculous. It makes no sense and--"

    "I like it. And yes, Sergeant Carstairs, I will be at your lecture this afternoon."

    And just like that, my squad's identity has been forever altered.

    

June 30, 1943

    "Say, Winters, it's your birthday today, innit?" Private Malarkey nudges Tom, who nods abashedly.

    The rest of the men start singing the birthday song, goofy grins on their faces.

    I laugh as Tom blushes red. He shakes his head in embarrassment as he glances up at me.

    "That was sure something," Tom chuckles as we leave breakfast and head toward the briefing tent.

    "You said it. I've never seen you that red!" I tease. "Hey, got a present for you."

    He blinks. "Aw, you didn't have to--"

    I shake my head. "Put your hand out."

    He does so and I drop what I've been holding into his palm.

    I've been working on it for a couple weeks, in my spare time. It's a little eagle figurine.

    His mouth opens slightly in awe as he looks at it closely. "Tana, this is beautiful."

    "It's not much but I figure everyone's got to have something on their birthday. Something other than a great song sung to them, that is." I wrinkle my nose and he scoffs.

    "Thank you," he says simply, and kisses the eagle and puts it in his pocket and pats it. "For luck on our next raid." he winks.

    I furrow my eyebrows and study the charts and maps for our objective, which consists of taking another German base. Major Patton explains to the entire company the procedure and everyone sits and listens in silence, completely focused. It's times like these when I can fully appreciate the beauty of organization. Patton describes the way each platoon will head into the German line, and how each of the squads are to fan out and take their cannons one by one. It's precise, it's fluid. Granted, when things are happening for real, it's not beautiful and perfect, because you also have to worry about getting shot at and trying not to die, but still.

July 4, 1943

   What was supposed to be a three-day long mission has turned into a "sorry-men-but-we-happen-to-be-surrounded-by-enemy-troops-so-it-looks-like-we're-stuck-here-until-they-move-on" kind of mission. As in, there's an enemy company camped out near us and neither of us want to let the other move forward so we've been exchanging fire for the past two days and it doesn't look like it'll end soon.

    "Hey, Carstairs! Patrol time," Lt. Anderson calls out.

    I nod and get up quickly, grabbing my rifle. Shifty joins us and so do a few other men from Item Squad.

    It's an uneventful patrol until a shot goes off and Private Edwards gets hit.

    "They've got me!" he shouts, sinking to the ground in agony.

    "S**t!" Shifty curses and kneels behind a fallen tree, squinting. The rest of us scramble for cover as well as another bullet comes flying past us.

    The next few minutes are an almost panicked frenzy as Edwards groans in pain and the Germans keep firing at us.

    "Just...just stop moving, Edwards! Stop moving or they'll keep firing!" Richards of Item Squad bellows over and over, but his friend keeps squirming, and I try not to look at the blood gushing out of his side, focusing on my aim.

    "That's it, we're falling back. Fall back, guys!" Anderson yells as he turns tail.

    "Wait, we can't just leave him! Edwards!" Richards exclaims.

    Anderson glances back and the look on his face tells me he doesn't think Edwards is going to make it. Before he can say anything I rush out and grab both of Edwards' arms and start dragging him to safety, grunting with the effort.

    "Carstairs! Shifty, help her!" Anderson yelps and hurries over to me, dodging bullets as he grabs one leg and Shifty comes over to take the other in his hands, and we lift Edwards off the ground and practically stumble all the way back to where everyone's settled. Richards sobs a little, terror overcoming him as he ducks constantly and hangs onto his helmet, running for his life.

    "Medic!" Shifty screams as we approach our company.

    Doc Kessler comes to our aid and swiftly starts to work on Edwards as we all stand by. Anderson is kneeling and patting Edwards' face as the young private starts to take rasping breaths.

    "Come on, buddy, stay with us! Keep your eyes open, come on, you can do it!" he encourages.

    Kessler bites his lip as he does his best to bandage the wound, but even I know it's hopeless. Within a few minutes Edwards has bled to death and the doc bows his head, sighing.

    Anderson frowns deeply and looks away, closing his eyes. After a moment he looks up at Richards, who is shocked silent, not even crying anymore.

    Kessler stands and makes to leave, but I put a hand on his shoulder before he does. "You did good, Eugene." I assure him gently.

    He nods, not making eye contact with me. "Thanks, ma'am," he mumbles and ambles away.

    

    I notice Richards sitting alone, hugging himself tightly in the dim light of the evening.

    "Hey, Steve," I murmur quietly, sitting by him.

    He doesn't acknowledge me.

    I think for a moment, then reach into my uniform pocket and pull out the bar of chocolate Lena gave me. "To keep your morale up!" she'd said brightly. I unwrap the chocolate and take a whiff of it, the sweet scent almost dizzying. I haven't had chocolate in forever, it feels. I hand the whole thing to Richards. "Eat this, it's chocolate."

    He doesn't move for a second, then slowly reaches a shaky hand out to take it from me. He hesitates before taking a bite, then his face scrunches up. "He was my best friend. I promised him I'd have his back."

    "You're a good friend, Steve. I'm glad he had you." I say kindly.

    The young man looks up at me finally. "Really?"

    I nod and smile. "Really. You should go get some rest, buddy. You can sleep with Shifty in his foxhole, I think he's alone."

    Richards nods slowly and stands up. "Thanks, Sergeant."

    "No problem." I reply.

    It's dark by the time I've checked in with all my squad members and finally get a chance to flop down in my shared foxhole with Tom.

    He's watching the line for any enemy trespassers and spares a quick glance at me. "Happy Fourth of July." he says wryly.

    "Oh, shoot, it's the Fourth?" I gasp. "Our date, we planned it for weeks. I'm sorry, Tomcat."

    He shrugs, then looks back at the line. "Nobody's fault. 'Sides, we get to spend quality time in this lovely romantic setting."

    "A foxhole in the middle of some crummy forest, surrounded by Germans?" I deadpan.

    He grins at me. "Exactly."

    I shake my head and laugh. "Just watch the damn line, Winters."

    He ruffles my hair without looking and I jab him in the side, so he yelps.

    "If you're gonna play slap and tickle, make it quiet!" a voice says above us and I look up to see Major Patton standing there, his mustache twitching.

    I blush and Tom chuckles.

    "Good night, sir." he says, and Major Patton grunts in reply before moving on to check on everyone else.

    "You should get some shut-eye." Tom murmurs after a while of silence.

    "All right." I say without hesitation. I'm beat.

    He knows it too, and his eyes glint playfully as he leans in to press a quick kiss to my forehead, then turns back to watching the line.

    I flush with heat and close my eyes, trying to steady my heartbeat.

    "Day by day, I'm falling more in love with you." Tom sings, almost under his breath.

    I open my eyes. "Is that Frank Sinatra?" I murmur sleepily, taking note that it's bright outside. And that Tom is still sitting next to me, his hair tussled slightly on one side.

    He nods, smiling. "Hey, you're awake! He's got the prettiest lyrics, dontcha think?"

    I yawn and rub my eyes with the back of my hand, inhaling deeply. "I'll say. Did you get any sleep at all?"

    "Yeah, I think I nodded off a couple times. It's too hot!"

    "Mhm." I blink and regard him carefully. He doesn't seem tired or upset. Is he always this cheery at the crack of dawn?

    "If you take a picture, it'll last longer." Tom waggles his eyebrows.

    I let out a little laugh and sit up. "That's one way to spend a date. I'm sorry you went through that trouble to get those tickets."

    Tom shrugs. "I didn't mind. We got to spend time together."

    "You're the best, Tomcat." I smile.

    "You know, I never get tired of you saying that, Top."

July 25, 1943

    My weapon is heavy at my side as I prep all my gear for the mission. We got back from that long mission a week ago and now we're headed out again. My men are exhausted and so am I.

    "Sergeant Winters, Sergeant Barnaby, Major Patton says we set out at 0300." I tell the two men waiting for me.

    "Yes ma'am." they say briskly.

    I swallow. This mission is not going to go well. As time progressed I realized that we had very little information about this base, despite our knowledge of all the others around. I tried bringing it up with all the issues to the Colonel but he said he had to follow orders from his higher-ups and I couldn't say any more.

    "If my men and I all die during this mission, I want it to be known to the general that we died for a crap reason, and that reason is that we had to follow stupid orders." I had told him grimly.

    When Sergeant Barnaby is out of hearing distance Tom approaches me. "Are you okay?" he whispers with concern.

    I nod. "Yeah. Just a little nervous."

    "You'll be fine, Tana. You've led missions before." he assures.

    "Not like this." I stare up at him, seeking comfort in those clear eyes. "We barely know anything about their science. I've never taken my special ops squad out like this before."

    He gives me a firm nod. "We're gonna be okay."

    I sigh and press my lips together. "I hope you're right."

    

    "Okay, Easy Squad. We've spent hours and hours on end preparing for this mission, and you are the key to its success. Remember your training, remember what I've taught you regarding scientific weaponry, and you'll do fine." I look around at my squad, trying to keep my breathing even as I wonder if I'm just lying to them at this point.

    But they don't know either way. Evans whoops and the rest of them join in, eliciting a quick abashed smile from me.

    "First Platoon, split and flank left and right. Surround the base and take it. Third and Fourth Platoons stand by and await the signal. Easy Squad, on Carstairs. Fox Squad, follow. George Squad, How Squad, attack with covering fire on my signal!" Major Patton commands and turns to watch us approach the enemy base. It's heavily guarded, from our studies, but we are ensured we have enough people to get past them. I pray it'll be enough.

    I twist around and squint. "Shifty, Evans, on me. The rest of you wait."

    We feel our way through the underbrush and stay low, and I narrow my eyes as we get closer, watching for the enemy.

    I turn back to glance at Major Patton, who is watching through his binoculars from his post. He nods and I continue, only stopping to hold up a hand to my squad once we are near enough. I make eye contact with Private Evans and make the hand gesture to signal for the rest to come forward.

    He watches carefully and copies my hand movements to relay the message back.

    The squad moves up and streams toward the brick building. I follow them and raise my weapon, running as low as I can.

     I kick down the door and then shots rain down on us. A couple men are hit and I grit my teeth.

    "Sniper!" I shout, looking up searching for where he could be.

    "Got him. Top window on the right." Shifty, our best shot, grunts and takes aim. He shoots and nails the guy next time he surfaces.

    "Good, Shift." I praise, then continue into the building, a feeling of dread rising in me. We have no idea what's in here. And that sniper may have relayed the fact that we're here to his people.

    I take deep breaths, scanning the plain white halls of the building. There's locked doors everywhere. "Barnaby, take Fox and circle around that direction. See if we can meet in the middle somewhere." I point.

    He nods, his squad following. "Copy that, Blondie."

    My group pushes forward, but all there is in this place is walls and locked doors. I want to avoid making noise, so I leave them untouched for now, telling my men to keep an eye on them. Long moments of silence follow.

    Footsteps suddenly approach us and I glance at Grant, who nods and stays around the corner ready to strike. I grip my weapon and step out into view, in the dim light. "Halt! Rainstorm."

    "Lightning. Private Morris, Fox Squad." comes the countersign.

    "Morris. Find anything?" I whisper.

    "Not yet, ma'am. I've been sent to tell you that everything's quiet. Too quiet. Sergeant Barnaby thinks it could be a trap."

    I frown, continuing to look around. "Carry on as planned, Private. We have extremely strict orders." No matter how stupid they may be, I add in my head.

    Private Morris nods curtly. "Yes ma'am." he says briskly and runs off.

    Ten minutes later, according to my watch, we've made little progress. This base is either worthless to us or everything is extremely well-disguised. Extremely.

    A shot is fired somewhere, maybe twenty yards to our left, and I glance at Tipper next to me to confirm it was what I think it was. He nods.

    "Go," I hiss to the rest of the group.

    Walking swiftly but carefully, we advance by twos, in two lines. I listen, putting my ear barely past a corner, and hear men shouting and other sounds of struggle. D****t.

    I signal to the men for them to fan out and sneak around and see if not all hope is lost in regards to engaging the enemy using the element of surprise.

    They follow my orders and we push forward.

    I hold up a hand suddenly and point. More German soldiers than I can count, swarming around our people in a large clear area of the tunnel-like halls. It looks like the center of a crossroads, where people can approach from all directions. This is a terrible structure for a battlefield. It's too close-range. I spot Barnaby amidst the chaos, see Anderson taking on two soldiers himself.

    And then Evans, Webb, and Price come from what I guess is the west wing of the building, having made their way around, and overtake a few soldiers. From exactly opposite me, four more of Easy Squad show up and throw themselves into the fray.

    "Long-range, cover." I say, and Shifty squints as he takes aim from our hiding spot. Christenson nods and finds a new position to snipe from.

    I leave the safety of the shadows and aim at the head of a German soldier. He goes down not a second after I pull the trigger. Taking advantage of the fact that they don't know I'm here yet, I take down more soldiers, trying to gauge how many we're up against.

    "Hey, Blondie, your six!" someone shouts, and I guess it's Barnaby, but I don't care about who said it as much as what they said. I turn sharply and duck, a bullet whizzing past me, and shoot twice before taking cover. This is utter chaos.

    I grit my teeth as my mind totally switches over to combat mode. Adrenaline rushes through my body and I can feel the energy pulsing beneath my fingers with every trigger pull, every reload. I feel the heat that takes over my whole body; I burn with the need to destroy every threat to the safety of my soldiers. My friends. Everything happens in a blur; load, aim, fire, kill.

    There's Shifty, safe in the distance, our best sniper. There's Christenson, aiding him.

    Reload, aim, fire, kill.

    The Three Musketeers, as we've started calling them, are of course near each other, always having the backs of one another. Evans and Garrett and Randleton.

    Aim, duck, take cover.

    Tipper being thrust against a wall and the German soldier aiming. I shoot before the enemy can and Tipper glances in my direction and nods, that dazed look of someone who barely escaped death plastered on his face.

    Webb and Price shouting in pain and I'm taking off to help them when a hit to my forearm makes me double over -

    Punch, duck, kick, grab knife, slash, kill.

    Have to help. Have to help my squad. Pick up weapon, kick, aim -

    A sharp pain hits my back and my finger is stuck on the trigger, just ready to squeeze. The world gets blurrier.

    I fight it, struggle against it, but my whole body just freezes. And then another blow to my head and then I can't see anymore.

    

    The breath is knocked out of me as I'm brutally shoved against something really hard and cold. Hard and cold to wake me up from my stupor, and I sit there, still as my eyes try to focus.

    A guttural, gravelly voice speaks above me and then rough hands are pulling me up.

    I can't do anything. My body seems unable to move as they roughly grab my arms and drag me across the floor. It's like I'm paralyzed. But I can breathe this time. I can't even look around, and all I can do is dazedly stare ahead of me, my head lolling due to the fact that I'm being pulled along. More people lie along the wall, all unconscious. I want to close my eyes, want to look away from them, because I don't know if they're dead or alive and that's maddening even in my dazed state. I don't know if my friends are okay, if Tom is okay, if I'm going to be okay.

    The floor beneath me changes from dank stone to clean tile, and I'm hoisted up onto a platform, where someone promptly sticks something sharp into my thigh and I'm out again.

    "Tana? Oh, no no no no. Tana!!" Someone's shaking me. It hurts. Actually, everything hurts. A lot.

    I open my eyes slowly, and they feel like they weigh twenty pounds each.

    The person shaking me is unidentifiable at first--I have to focus a little but I realize. "Soph...?" I breathe in shock.

    "Yes, my poor Tana, what did they do to you? Are you--can you walk? Here, get up." Sophie says, her eyes wide and concerned.

    I wobble on my feet, feeling woozy and nauseous from whatever happened to me. I'm not sure what they did but I know it's bad. "What're you doin' here?" I stammer, my words slurring a little.

    "Most of your division is missing in action. I demanded to come find you, so I flew in with the reinforcement troops. You've been gone for two weeks. Let's get out of here." Sophie exclaims breathlessly, putting an arm around me to support me as I stumble forward.

    "Tom." I croak.

    The brunette startles and stares at me like I'm crazy. "Huh?"

    "Where's Tom? And m'squad?" I blink blearily, my stomach churning.

    "There's a squadron releasing them from captivity. You weren't there, so I came looking for you elsewhere. You're in a separate chamber than everyone else. The sign for the corridor I found you in said 'isolation chamber.' Tana, it looks like they performed experiments on you. Can you - do you feel any different?"

    As Sophie speaks, her words coming out rapidly, I try to fight back the bile rising in me. I feel sick. Very sick. I pull away and violently retch on the floor, chest heaving as I struggle to breathe. My body shakes uncontrollably and I throw out a hand to support myself against the wall, sputtering weakly and pathetically.

    "Oh, poor Tana. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. But we have to keep moving. We have to."

    I say nothing, blindly following her as she pulls me along. Keep moving, indeed. I'm surprised my legs don't just collapse beneath me as I force myself forward, pain striking every bone in my body. I don't keep track of how long it takes for us to finally stop, but I do know it feels like an eternity. An eternity of agony, an eternity of frantic "I'm sorrys" from the girl in front of me.

    When she tells me we're safe, I let myself fall to the ground and I don't get back up.

August 10, 1943

    I slouch in my chair, still groggy and sore everywhere. Earlier I woke up to people probing me and my reaction wasn't that great. It took a few long panicked minutes before I realized Sophie was there talking to me in a gentle calm voice, and only then did I stop trying to strangle whoever was touching me.

    Now the medics have had their look at me and say they only found bruises and minor cuts, nothing else. It feels like a lot worse. It feels like I've been broken all over. I suppress a wave of nausea and swallow, my throat dry. "How many casualties?" I ask.

    Colonel Roberts sits before me, while Sophie stands with her arms crossed in the corner of the room. "Tell me everything you can remember first." he says flatly.

    I sigh. "Please, sir. How many?"

    "Tana, it's not your fault...we lost five and there are eight wounded." Sophie says softly.

    I shut my eyes and shake my head. "Who were the five?"

    "Tana, you don't have to do this to yourself. Not yet, at least."

    "Sophie, their names. Please."

    "Tell her, Turner." Roberts sits back and rubs his temples. "We'll never get anything out of her otherwise. Goddamned Carstairs and your compassion."

    Sophie sighs and comes closer so she can read off a piece of paper. "John Barnaby, Michael Randleton, Randall Manning, Theodore Danforth, and Christian Rogers."

    I bite my lip, every one of their names hitting me hard, their faces flashing behind my eyes. I let this happen. Barnaby's familiar smile, his clever remarks, gone forever. Evans and Garrett must be devastated at the loss of their best friend. I didn't know the others as well, for I never worked with them as closely as I did with John and Randleton, but I knew them. I remember their faces clearly.

    "And...the wounded? Is it bad?"

    "Most of them aren't critically wounded, except for Lt. Paul Anderson and...Eric Price, who are currently in the medic tent."

    After a few moments of silence, the colonel clears his throat. "So. Tell us."

    I explain everything I remember that happened before the mission went terribly wrong. "And...they took us prisoner and locked the others up but took me to some sort of...I think Sophie called it an isolation chamber. I can't remember what they did. I woke up and everything hurt."

    "And do you feel any different now?" Colonel Roberts asks.

    I start to shake my head, but stop. "The pain aside, I feel...bad. Just like there's something dark inside me. It's hard to describe. It's like a feeling of dread."

    "I don't suppose they injected you with a fortune-telling formula." Roberts says dryly.

    I shake my head. "It's not like that, it's--"

    "So other than feeling sad and woozy, you don't feel any different?"

    I grit my teeth. "Look, I'm telling you, I don't know!" I pant, a rush of anger running through me.

    He raises an eyebrow.

    "Tana, sit down." Sophie says carefully.

    I blink, then look at myself. I'm standing up, fists clenched like I'm ready for a fight. I gape and sit hastily. "I-I apologize, Colonel. I don't know what got into me."  Suddenly I feel really nauseous again. I clutch at my stomach and dry heave over the side of my chair.

    "This is enough, Colonel. She needs rest." Sophie comes to rub my back, taking my hair and holding it back. I struggle to breathe, clutching onto the wooden arm of the chair until my fingers feel cold and numb.

    I recover and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Sorry, sir."

    "Just go get yourself rested, Agent." Colonel Roberts sighs.

    Sophie helps me with her arm supporting me as I stumble out of the tent.

    "What's happening to me?" I mumble blearily.

    "I don't know, Tana. We couldn't find any other information while there and they were fighting back. Whatever's in there, it's under extreme protection." Sophie sighs frustratedly. She sets me down in a bed and I groan, letting myself relax into the mattress.

August 14, 1943

    Everywhere I turn, my men are dying. Their heads are being blown off, explosives are going off everywhere, and this is all my fault. I led them here. I led them into this mess.

    I shoot blindly, raging after the enemy. And then something gets me and I fall over. "Corpsman!" I shout in agony, out of habit before I remember that they're not called corpsmen in the Army. But somehow I know that even our medic is dead. They're all dead. And it's all my fault.

    The explosions won't stop and the sound of men groaning as they die never ends and it's hot and cold and wet and bone-dry and the smell, the putrid rotting smell is everywhere. I'm dying. I'm going to die.

    "Tana!" Someone shakes me and I open my eyes to the darkness. "Tana? You're okay, Tana. You're okay." the voice soothes.

    "S-Sophie?" My voice is small and thin in the pitch-black.

    "Yes, it's me. You're not in that battle anymore. It's over. You're safe in England, at Fort Hallow." She murmurs gently.

    I gasp in relief. "I'm--I'm not dying?"

    "No, you're not. You're fine."

    I grip her arms. "Oh, Soph."

    "I know, Tana, I know." She sits beside me and I can see her dark curls in the dim moonlight as my eyes adjust.

    "They were all dying and it was all my fault." I whisper, my voice breaking.

    "It's not your fault. It was never ever your fault." Sophie reassures.

    "But what if it was?" I break into a sob, trembling.

    My friend wraps her arms around me and pats my back. "Don't play that game with yourself, Tana."

    I cry into her shoulder, images of blood and guts and mud everywhere behind my closed eyelids. No matter how tightly I shut my eyes, I can't stop seeing it all.

    After my tears have dried up for the time being, and my breathing evens out, I wipe at my face and sit up. "I think I'll take a walk." I rasp.

    She pats my back. "Take care."

    I pull on my boots and leave the tent feeling exhausted yet refreshed after crying.

    A few minutes of walking around aimlessly in the moonlight take me to the weapons tent. I sit on a barrel of gunpowder and just stare up at the stars. The cool night air caresses my skin, nearly having lost its sweet warmth from summer. We're getting close to autumn.

    "Can't sleep, Top?" a familiar voice murmurs softly.

    I turn and see Tom with his hands in his pockets, watching me carefully.

    "Since we got back, I've had more trouble than ever trying to sleep." I tell him quietly, my voice low and raspy from crying.

    He comes to sit next to me, exhaling deeply and thoughtfully. "I understand. We were tortured for two weeks, Tana."

    "Do you get nightmares too?" I ask hesitantly.

    He gazes down at me, concern coloring his face. "Yeah. Mostly they're about losing you."

    I blush and stare at my scuffed boots.

    "Stop that." Tom says and lifts my chin up with his fingers. "Stop looking down all the time. Your eyes are too pretty to be facing the dirt."

    I gaze up into his own blue eyes and feel myself relax a little. "My eyes aren't nice like yours. They're just mud brown."

    "Naw, they're much prettier than mud. And in the sunlight they're beautiful. You should look in a mirror sometime, Top." Tom murmurs.

    I smile, letting out a sniff of amusement, and reach for his hand.

    He squeezes mine and smiles gently. "There's the smile I like to see."

    "Fireworks, right?" I murmur.

    "Pounding in my chest this very moment, Tana."

    A moment of quiet falls over us as we just sort of take each other in under the night sky, in the safety of the darkness. Crickets chirp in the distance and I sigh.

    "How do you cope with your nightmares?" I ask quietly.

    He sighs and stares up at the inky sky. "I breathe. I remind myself of where I am, who I'm with, who I am." Tom grasps my hand tightly, still looking at the stars. "Tipper told me how you saved his life back during that battle. He was cornered, and you killed the guy who was about to drop him."

    I frown. "I wish I could have done more."

    "Operation Checkmate was bound to be a disaster from the beginning and you guessed it. Don't blame yourself."

    "Yeah," I shrug, shutting my eyes.

    "You know, one day I'm gonna marry you, Tana Carstairs."

    I blink in surprise and look up in surprise. "Huh?"

    He grins. "I'm gonna marry you."

    "Are--are you proposing right now? Because I'm not sure that's how it works."

    He shakes his head. "Don't be silly. We've only known each other for, what? Four, almost five months? Naw, I'm just giving you a heads-up. Be ready, it's gonna happen someday." he winks. "I can feel it."

    I let out a soft laugh. "Whatever, Winters, if you say so. I'll be ready." I promise, despite everything, and he laughs and ruffles my hair.

August 20, 1943

    "Are you all right, Tana?" Sophie asks gently, over a huge feast they've made us all in celebration of the troops' rescue. I'm sitting with her at a table in a rather quiet corner. This feels familiar.

    I look up from poking at my potatoes and nod. "Just sore, but I feel fine."

    She puts down her fork. "I don't mean your physical condition. How are you really?"

    I sigh. "I don't know, Soph. I feel so...exhausted. And...and scared and angry and sad and confused. I feel like...I don't know. I just..." I trail off, shrugging and shaking my head, at a loss for words. I turn my eyes to her dark brown ones, calm and caring. "Price died today. I don't know. My nightmares have been worse and worse."

    "You could at least try to eat."

    My temper flares. "What do you think I'm doing?"  the words are spat out of my mouth before I realize it and I stare at my friend, shocked.

    Her mouth is hanging slightly ajar. I've never raised my voice at Sophie.

    "I'm so sorry." I stutter, and look back at my untouched plate of food. "What's wrong with me?" I lean back in my seat shaking my head.

    "You'll be all right." Sophie assures me.

    I shut my eyes and clasp a hand to my forehead, exhausted.

    "Would one of you ladies care to dance?" a soldier asks from nearby, a smirk on his face as he reaches a hand out. I didn't even notice him come up to us.

    I frown without looking at him. After all this, they're still trying? How stupid can you get?

    "No, thank you." Sophie mutters.

    "Come on, a pretty evening like this and you don't want to dance?"

    "She said no!" I glare at him.

    He straightens up once he sees my face. Or my rank on my uniform. Both, probably. "Just as well. I'd rather not dance with a Marine anyway."

    I sigh. "You say that like we're a bad thing."

    "Well, you do get all the glory when we pretty much do the same exact thing." the guy says. Private Still, I notice his name tag reads.

    I scoff at how stupid he is. The same exact thing?

    "Well. I'm sorry for crawling around in scum and mud day in and day out to save you army brats from the trouble of doing it yourselves."

    Sophie chuckles softly next to me.

    "Is that what we are to you? Army brats?" he bristles.

    "That's how you're acting." I turn back to my food.

    "Hey!" he puts a hand on my shoulder and in an instant I'm on my feet and socking him in the jaw. A few other soldiers have heard the commotion and come toward us, clenching their fists.

    "You should know better than to mess with Agent Carstairs!" Walsh glares at the man.

    "What the hell? She just punched me!" the guy exclaims, bewilderment on his face.

    Fury rushing through me, it's all I can do to restrain myself from hitting him again. "How dare you touch me. You'll never know what we went through. You'll never experience close to what we Marines did in the Pacific theater. You think war is all about glory and winning? It's not. It's about watching your friends get their faces blown off and having their guts splattered all over you. It's about sitting for days on end soaking wet in the goddamned mud not knowing if you're sitting in dirt or the enemy's s**t. It's about killing whoever gets in your way just for the sake of killing whoever gets in your way. War isn't Stars and Stripes and Medals of Honor. Grow the hell up, soldier."

    He rubs his jaw angrily and stands up, bristling.

    Walsh, Sledge, and Tipper grin at me. "That's the spirit, Carstairs!"

    I give them an exasperated look and shake my head.

    Sophie stands beside me. "I'd suggest you leave now before you cause more trouble, private."

    He turns to go and I sit back down in my chair.

    Sophie frowns at me, her eyes shocked. Is that disappointment I see in them as well? "You never used to lose your temper like that, Tana. That's the third time you've gotten cross with a person since you've come back."

    I shake my head. "Sophie, I don't know why I keep getting so upset. But that guy had it coming. He's probably friends with that Hardy guy that I shot."

    "You're tired, Tana. You were tortured for weeks. You'll be fine after some good rest."

    "I hope you're right."

    "Wait...did you say you shot someone?"

    I grin abashedly. "Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you about that."

September 3, 1943

    "Why don't you drink coffee?" Tom asks.  We're taking a break from training units of men and just sitting on a stump back to back.

    I shrug and even though he can't see it, I know he felt it. "I used to. The last time I had coffee was the morning I told my parents I was joining the military. They...they weren't exactly thrilled, like I told you before. They wanted me to go to college and be a schoolteacher. You know, safe housewife life and all that. Anyway, they said they never wanted to see me ever again, and since then I just...couldn't bear the taste of coffee. It doesn't matter who makes it or how. No matter how much sugar I put in it, it still tastes too bitter." I draw my legs up and hug them to me, shivering.

    "That's okay. There's other things out there you can drink. Better things." Tom says in response after a moment's silence.

    I smile at that, then take a deep breath. "My mom...she died a couple weeks ago." I whisper in the thin air.

    Tom says nothing, but I feel him fidget a little bit and in a second his hand slides behind him. I grasp it. He squeezes comfortingly and I close my eyes.

    I don't cry, though. Is that bad?

September 24, 1943

    I'm sitting alone tonight in the mess hall, since Sophie is off doing something for Colonel Roberts. I eat quietly, since most everyone has left. I haven't really cared to be social at all today. I'm tired. That's all I can feel. Tired. It's a deep ache in my very bones, like when you've been sitting out in the snow for so long that you feel the damp wetness seeping past your gloves and socks. It just settles within you and stays and stays. During missions I feel fine, but when I'm just sitting myself, idle, left to my thoughts, the fatigue blooms.

    Naturally, I startle when Tom comes to sit by me. He's wearing his uniform, neat and tidy, his dark hair unusually slicked back. A few strands have escaped his usual neatly combed hair, and I crack a smile at the little rebellion. He seems flushed, like he's just come back from a jog or something.

    "How're you doing?" he asks almost breathlessly.

    I let out a little laugh. "I'm all right. Where's Will?"

    Tom shrugs. "Doesn't matter right now. I came here to find you tonight. It's a pretty night. Wanted to ask if...if you'd like to dance."

    I swallow and look around. "I mean, sure. Now?"

    He nods and stretches a hand out toward me. I take it, letting him pull me up and pull me close.

    "There's no music!" I laugh.

    "There doesn't have to be," he grins as he grasps my hand more tightly and delicately rests his other hand on my waist.

    I roll my eyes. "You're something else, Tom. Imagine the laughs we'll get if somebody sees us!"

    "What did I tell you about thinking too much, Top? Who cares?" Tom replies airily, swaying us back and forth to a crazy yet silent tune. Maybe it's a big band swing, with the way he's moving. I laugh again, feeling a thrill rush through me. It's not exactly rebellion, but we never dance in the mess hall either. It's just...different. And I like it.

    I just let him take us around the pretend dancefloor, feeling satisfied to just trust him to not run us into any tables. My heart pounds as I inhale his familiar, comforting scent. Everything feels warm and safe and right in his arms. I never want this to end, and all of a sudden it doesn't matter that we're dancing to nothing but silence, it doesn't matter that there's a war going on and we might all die tomorrow. None of it matters except for what's here, what's now, and whatever I feel. Right now. "Tomcat, I'm think I'm in love with you." I whisper suddenly as I gaze into his face. As soon as the words fall out of my mouth, I realize I don't even doubt their truth.

    He grasps me tighter to him and inhales deeply. Then he stops moving and kneels, sliding his hands down my arms, stopping at my hands. "Tana," he gazes up at me and murmurs so I can barely hear him, "Tana, hear me out, okay?"

    I nod slowly. I don't know what's coming but at the same time I think I do.

    "Tana, I don't have a ring or anything fancy, but I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in the world. And I know we're in the middle of a war and we've only known each other for seven months and it's crazy, but if--if anything happens to me I want it all to go to you. And if we make it out of this alive, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So will you marry me?"

    I put a hand to my mouth and smile, my lips quivering with the tears threatening to spill over. "I wasn't ready for that." I say weakly.

    He grins. "C'mon, Top, I told you to be ready, didn't I?"

    I laugh and pull him up. He kisses me with an air of exhilaration, slightly out of breath, trembling a little. I pull away and grin.

    "Yes, I'll marry you, Tomcat. On one condition."

    "Oh no," he sighs with sarcastic weariness. "What's that?"

    I grin. "Write me a poem."

    Tom nods once, his eyes wide and innocent. "Okay."

    "A really cheesy one. Sappy enough to make me cringe."

    "Done."

    I laugh in surprise. "That was a very quick response for someone who says he hasn't written in years."

    He laughs too. "I told you I was gonna marry you one day and I'm a man of my word, Top. How's that for a proposal?"

October 14, 1943

    Major Patton sits broodingly alone, smoking as he's perched on a big crate outside the ammunitions tent. It's the favorite perching place for a lot of us, I guess.

    "Sir? Are you all right?" I step towards him warily.

    He makes a "hm" sound in acknowledgment and I lean against the crate next to him.

    "Do you ever think of different ways things could've played out in your head?" Patton murmurs softly after a few seconds.

    I bow my head. That's what's eating at him. "Yes. I do," I sigh, "but none of it matters because what happened happened. It just is. If you spend so much of your time trying to imagine alternative realities, it's just going to destroy you."

    "Alternative realities." he echoes thoughtfully, his voice far-off.

    "Reality's a funny thing." I continue, gazing up at the dimming sky. "You're never really sure what is, what isn't, what could be, what will be."

    He remains silent. And I suppose that's okay too, because the noise of the forest surrounding us is probably enough of a response to my words. The tiny whistle of the wind every so often, the gentle flapping of the canvas tents near us, the soft rustle of the trees. And...the sound of troops arriving. From a raid.

    "That must be First Platoon!" I perk up and turn back to the major. "Sorry, sir, I have to--"

    "I heard you and him are gettin' hitched. You and Winters." Patton cracks a small smile. "I'm not sure if I should give you my condolences or congratulations, Carstairs."

    I smile back, feeling a rush of warmth for him. "I'll take both. Thanks, sir."

    He takes a long draw from his cigarette and I hurry off.

    Tom's face brightens when he spots me coming toward him. "There's a sight for sore eyes," he grins wearily.

    "You okay?" I look over him carefully, flashing a quick smile at his words.

    "I'm fine, Top." he assures, and gives my cheek a brief caress before he looks around at his swiftly disappearing platoon. "Have to go for debriefing. Talk to you later tonight?"

    I shake my head, frustrated. We barely get to spend much time together anymore, as Major Patton has been afraid to send the whole company on large missions for fear of things falling apart like before. The platoons have been taking rotations as well as integrating the new replacement troops into our ranks; I've been alternating between training the rookies and briefing platoons before they go, not to mention actually taking them out on patrols.

    "I'm sorry. I've got to meet with the colonel tonight." I frown. "Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow night, meet me at the vehicle port."

    He nods, gives me a reassuring smile, and takes off to join his men.

    

October 15, 1943

    "You wanna know why I call you Top?" Tom murmurs beside me. We ended up lying on top of a Jeep together, watching the stars. It's a small act of rebellion since we're all supposed to be sleeping, not climbing the military equipment, but he suggested it, not me. This base is a lot bigger than the one we were at before.

    The night air has lost its summery sweetness and instead nips at my skin with its sharp cold.

    "It's because I'm busy whirling around like a top, right?"

    "No, there's another reason. I just didn't want to tell you at the time I gave you that nickname because you would've thought I was being a creep."

    "What's the other reason, then?" I turn to look at him curiously.

    He smiles and reaches out to twirl my hair between his fingers. "The more time I spent with you, the more I felt like I was on top of the world. You were the beacon I wanted to climb towards, the pinnacle, the top. You were my new goal. I wanted to take care of you. You were my top priority. My little Top."

    I stare. "Wow, Tom. That's sweet...and a little corny."

    He laughs, letting it out loudly and abruptly; he laughs like that when I say something surprising or snarky. "I know. You would've thought I was trying to make advances on you if I'd told you all that."

    "But you were trying to make advances on me!" I wrinkle my nose.

    He taps my nose with his forefinger. "Not like that, Top."

    I giggle and reach over to grasp his hand. "Hey Tom?"

    "Yeah, Tana?"

    "Let's move to Wyoming after this."

    "Why Wyoming?"

    "Always liked the countryside. We could have a nice little quiet farm. With some goats and chickens and a cow. A dog, maybe, and some cats."

    "Yeah...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." Tom whispers, sticking his hand in the air like he's trying to touch the sky.

    I do it too, and for a few seconds it really feels like I could drag my fingers across the tiny white specks scattered across the inky dark sky. Like it's all a fabric that I can reach out and touch. And for a second, a rush of excitement pushes its way through my whole body, like electricity. I feel like I can do anything.

    "I mean, you could go study chemistry first. And maybe I'd go to college too. I'll go where you go." I say, imagining the sky feels silky and the stars are little bumps I can poke at with my fingers.

    "Now don't just make those kinds of decisions on account of me. Make sure it's what you want."

    "I know, Tomcat. You've taught me how to set goals. How to want crazy impossible things. I'm finally figuring out what I want to do."

    "Yeah? What are your goals now?"

    "There's a few things." I start, putting my arm down and grasping his hand. "I want to live in a nice little house with you. I want to do something quiet with the rest of my life. No more killing and explosions. I think I'll go study biology more, since I liked the research I did with the DSW."

    "I'm glad, Tana. But you're forgetting something important."

    "Huh?"

    Tom turns his head to smile at me. "Remember one of our goals was to make sure you're happy."

    I laugh. "Right. But that's your goal."

    He scoffs. "You smartass."

November 3, 1943

    "Do you still have your Marine dog tags?" Tom asks me.

    I nod. "I keep them on my person at all times. I can't wear them while I'm here, but once a Marine, always a Marine. They're in my boot right now."

    "They say," he smirks a little, "that if you don't have your dog tags on you, you can't die."

    I smile. "We gonna throw our dog tags away? Because that's illegal."

    He shakes his head while reaching around his neck and unfastening his tags. "How about you and me switch. That way we'll never die, the both of us."

    My lips curl up into a broad smile. "Still probably against the rules...but I like it." And I reach up to take my Army tags off. They gave me a pair despite the fact that I'm not officially in the Army. But then a thought strikes me and I reach for my boot instead. I pull the tags out and hand them to Tom. "My Army tags don't mean anything. Take these instead."

    We put them on each other and I lift his and squint at them in the sunshine. "Y'know, this is better than a wedding ring."

    His eyes light up. "Really?"

    I nod and bring the metal to my lips. It's warm from his body heat and bumpy against my skin. Then I slip the tags into my shirt and kiss him on the cheek. "Much better."  

    He gives me a long blink and a crinkly smile, then grasps my hand. "We're leaving for a mission tomorrow morning. Lieutenant Williams thinks we'll be gone two weeks. I'll be missing your birthday," he adds sadly.

    "What kind of mission?" As soon as I say that, I realize maybe this is what brought on our little exchange. "Tom..."

    "We're invading that old lab and trying to capture the lead scientist in charge of doing whatever the hell it is he's doing."

    "No, they're sending you back? That's a load of--"

    "We've got more people working on our end this time and they're still working on rebuilding the facility. We have good reason to believe they're still storing important things there."

    I shake my head angrily. "This is crazy. I'm going to talk to Roberts. Get him to stop this somehow and--"

    "It's no use, Top. He can't stop it, it's what the general wants."

    "Then what am I supposed to do? Sit and wait for you to come back? What if--" I break off and wipe at my face angrily. I didn't mean to start crying. "What if you don't come back?"

    Tom looks away. "Then I don't come back."

    "Tom--"

    He takes my face in his hands quickly. "I won't die. Okay? I'll be extra careful and I will come back to you. Just wait for me."

    I stare at his face for a long time, taking it in, taking in how desperately afraid he looks despite his steady words, before I sigh resignedly. "I'll man the communication systems. That way I'll know everything that's going on."

    He seems to release a long-held breath. "There's no one who works with Morse better than you here." He smiles and ruffles my hair. "Besides. I have to come back to give you that poem for your birthday."

    I laugh out loud. "It's done?"

    "Almost!" He grins. "You know, I haven't written since my mom died. The night of her funeral, I just lost the words. They never came to me as easily."

    I glance at him. "Tom, you didn't tell me."

    He shakes his head, smiling. "You gave me a new reason to write. You're the first person I've loved since my mom died."

    I sit back and stare up at the darkening sky. Purples and blues blotch the blushing sunset, like bruises ebbing along the orange atmosphere.

    "Tomcat?"

    "Yeah, Top?"

    "Let's have our wedding this month. After you get back, and after you read me my poem."

    "Sounds good to me, Top. I'll tell the Colonel. We'll take a night off, have a nice dinner and music and everything."

    "Tom?"

    "Yeah, Tana?"

    "I love you."

    "I love you too, Tana."

    The next morning is so chaotic I barely find Tom in time before the troops leave for the mission.

    He's standing with Will and Sophie, constantly turning his head, a look of worry plastered on his face.

    "Looking for someone?" I come up to him.

    His eyes snap to mine and relief overtakes the concern as he runs a hand through his unkempt hair. "Top, I thought I wouldn't get to see you before we left."

    "You think I'd let that happen?" I wrinkle my nose and kiss him on the cheek.

    He smiles and presses his lips against my mouth, cupping my face in his hand.

    "Tom, you should get going." Will murmurs apologetically.

    Cold air brushes past my lips in Tom's absence and he salutes me. "See you in two weeks, Top."

    "Be safe." I return the salute and he chuckles airily before glancing at Sophie and nodding politely at her. Then he blows me a kiss and turns to go.

    I smile at Sophie. "Right. I'm off to hijack Communications."

    She shakes her head exasperatedly but smiles anyway. "You two act like you've never been separated by missions before."

    "Oh, but we're at war and this is true love!" I say dramatically before I wink and give her a friendly thump on the back. "I'll see you at dinner, Agent Turner."

    "See you, Master Sergeant Carstairs."

    "Sophie, please. It's Agent." I laugh.

November 5, 1943

    Sophie comes to sit by me like always in the mess hall. "How's Lovebird Number One doing?"

    I roll my eyes. "Give me a break." I mumble through my mouthful of toast.

    She laughs. "I found your Christmas present while I was in town last week. I can't wait for you to see it!"

    "No, why'd you tell me? Now I have to spend a month thinking about it, thanks a lot, Sophie." I groan.

    Sophie smirks as she takes a sip of water. "What I wouldn't give for a good home cooked meal," she sighs, looking down at her tray.

    I nod. "How many variations of stew can you come up with?"

    "Seriously, what is this, a mushy carrot?" she holds up a spoonful of some brownish-orange gunk. "That does it. When the war is over you and I are opening up a restaurant and we will serve everything but stew."

    "Sure, I'm positive that'll be a success, along with the radio show Tom and I are going to start up." I chuckle.

    "Ah, yes, Top and Tomcat of the 101st. You two never shut up about that, it's sweet."

    I blush. "You've heard about that?"

    Sophie nearly chokes on her water. "Are you kidding me? Willie told me all about you two and your gooey doe eyes while I wasn't here. Goodness, girl."

    "Oh," I waggle my eyebrows, "so it's Willie now, huh?"

    Her face turns red as a ripe tomato and she splutters, wiping at her mouth with her napkin, eyes darting every which way but my way. "I don't know what you mean."

    "I think I do." I grin, leaning forward.

    "Shut up, Carstairs, or I swear I'll shove this wannabe carrot up your--"

    "Gee, Soph, a couple months with a bunch of Army men and you've already started to speak the lingo."

November 12, 1943

    "Hey Carstairs, I'm going to grab some grub, you want anything?" Private Malarkey asks as he gets up.

    "Yeah, I'll take a small snack. You know what I like." I say without looking at him. "Thanks, Malark."

    "'Course, Tana."

    I focus on my map carefully, charting the coordinates of the base in relation to us. I have to make sure we've communicated the right location to the team, especially since our last course of action wasn't too successful.

    The tent flap opens and I turn to see what Malarkey brought me. "That was fast, Malark--"

    I'm faced with three German soldiers all pointing strange rifle-looking things at me.

    I reach for my pistol, but before I can even touch it a little snap goes off and I can't move and the world is black.

    Cold.

              Loud.

                        Bright.

    I am awoken by these three aspects of my surroundings.

    My eyelids feel like they weigh thirty pounds each when I try to open them, but it's not like it helps any when I do get them open. It's bright. Really bright.

    My face contorts as I recoil from the light, but everything feels strange. My skin feels like it's being pulled tight, my bones hurt like they've been pounded over and over. A deep rumbling in my stomach sends sharp bolts of agony through me and I can't breathe.

    Am I dead?

    And then it happens.

    At first it feels like I'm frozen stiff and then the next second it's like I'm being set on fire. Think about the times you've rubbed your feet on the carpet while wearing socks, then poked someone. Your cat, your little brother, the annoying girl who lives across the street from you but can't seem to realize that she's not welcome in your yard. That little shock of electricity you both get? Multiply that pain by a million and make it all over your body, make it feel like it's lacerating your skin--no, your internal organs-- and that's how this feels.

    And the worst part is I can't breathe. The shocks pulsate through me so suddenly it's like being immersed in icy water, where you can't even take a breath. It's just not possible. I never thought I would ever wish for this, but I need to breathe, to hyperventilate, and all I can do is choke on my own shallow tiny breaths, as feeble as they are while I attempt to breathe through my nose. It burns.

    It burns it hurts it hurts and I want to die and please end this now I want to die I'm ready to die and--

    --and all at once the agony stops.

    Silence fills my ears and it's such a relief it almost hurts just as much.

    Almost.

    I let out a choked sob.

    My throat hurts from the screams I couldn't even hear myself let out.

    I let myself completely relax into the pillow of nothingness, of bliss. Take a short, staggering breath, then another.

    That's when the deep, silky voice speaks next to me.

    "Who is Tom?"

    I continue gulping for air, staring in confusion at the darkness standing above me, though with the blinding light I can't make anything specific out.

    Tom. Familiar. Tomcat?

    The voice speaks again. "You were screaming for a Tom."

    "Where...am I?" I breathe.

    "What is your name?"

    I hesitate. "Tana Carstairs."

    "Wrong. You are not Tana Carstairs."

    The pain starts again. I can't tell if it ever ends.

November 19, 1943: Tom

    "What the hell do you mean she's just gone?"

    "Tom, please--"

    "Don't you tell me to calm down, Will! Tana's missing and no one knows why or how. What's going on?" I snap, ignoring the hurt look on my friend's face.

    We got back on time and everything. Two weeks. And I came looking for her, tired and dirty and sleep-deprived, just wanting to see her. I wanted to hold her and be held. Wanted to take in her gentle gaze and her familiar sweet perfume. I want to be lost in her eyes, her beautiful compassion-filled eyes despite what she says about their color. I want to hear her voice telling me things will be okay and I want to forget all the bad things that passed through my head during these past two weeks and I want her to be here, to be okay and I want to be okay and she's not here and I don't know why and nothing is okay.

    "She went missing from the comms tent two days ago. She was with Malarkey. He says he left to get them food, and came back twenty minutes later and she was nowhere to be found." Colonel Roberts says as if he's said this a hundred times before and maybe he has but it's all new information to me and quite frankly I want to punch him for delivering the news to me this way. "I've been trying to track her down but there's no clues to anything. I don't know how the hell we lost her. She was right there."

    "This can't be happening." My knees go weak and I grasp onto the desk with both hands and bow my head. "Malarkey has no idea what happened?"

    "Not a clue." The colonel sits back, sighing in frustration. "We've had people search the place. Agent Turner's been through her tent and says nothing is strange about any of it."

    I grit my teeth and head towards the comms tent. My eyes narrow, scanning the place when I burst in. No sign of a struggle. No sign of anything. It's like she just...up and left.

    "She could've gone somewhere and gotten kidnapped." Will mutters thoughtfully, having followed me.

    "Why would she leave her post?" I counter.

    "True. There's not even a sign of her being taken here."

    "She would have fought off any attackers. We'd see signs of a scuffle."

    "Unless they snuck up on her."

    I groan in frustration and sit in a chair. "God, why?"

    "Tom, there's still hope. No body, no proof she's--"

    "Don't say it." I growl. "Don't you say anything."

    "Well, where do we start looking for her?" Will shakes his head a little, his blond hair all mussed up from him running his fingers through it.

    "I don't know, I don't f*****g know, Will."

    "Let's assume the Germans took her." Will starts pacing, like he always does when he's thinking. I never understood it; I think better when I'm standing still. "Okay, so we're gonna say that happened. Now we just... tell the colonel that we need to invade every German base we can find until we find her." He says simply.

    I give him a look. "You say that like it's easy."

    Will shrugs. "She's your girl. You're my best friend. We gotta find her."

    I glance away at the ground. "She's not my girl. She's her own girl. I just happen to be the idiot she fell in love with."

    Will smiles. "So let's get cleaned up and go talk to the Colonel. We're gonna find her, Tom."

    I frown and stand. "Yeah." And I walk out of the tent. I can't be in here a second longer or I'll tear the place apart.

    I didn't really intend to end up here, but my feet brought me here and now I don't want to leave.

    I push open the tent flaps and go inside.

    Tana's sweet perfume hits me, the air light with it. Her living quarters are tidy everywhere save for her desk, where papers are scattered all over. I doubt she ever spends time anywhere but her desk. She's always up to something. The nickname 'Top' really does fit her.

    Images of her smiling face flood my mind and I push aside all that. This isn't how I expected this evening to go.

    I rub my eyes exhaustedly and sigh and as soon as I let out such a deep breath, I can't stop and next thing you know I've got tears rolling down my face. I suppress a desperate whimper and curl up on Tana's cot.

    Where are you, Top?

    Her dog tags slip out of my shirt when I lie down and I hold them to my lips, eventually falling into a restless sleep like that, clothes still sticking to my skin with sweat and grime.

    "Tom, you gonna come outside today?" Will asks timidly, coming into Tana's tent.

    "I didn't even get to say happy birthday." I mumble, lying curled up on her bed.

    "Oh. Oh. I'm sorry, Tommy."

    I don't say anything.

    "Colonel just wants you to know that he's giving you a couple days off on account of your wounds and...mental condition." Will murmurs before leaving me alone.

    I shut my eyes and clutch onto the piece of paper I had ready for her. My poem. Her poem. I've been working on memorizing it so if I lose the paper, the words will still be in my head. I spent all my idle time over the past two weeks, though it wasn't much time at all, mulling over the poem and remembering it line by line.

Roses are red, violets are blue.

How, oh how, do I write a corny poem for you?

    She'd get a kick out of that opener.

    I squeeze my eyes shut as horrible thoughts flood my head.

    She has to be okay. She has to.

December 24, 1943

Roses are red, violets are blue.

How, dear Top, do I write a corny poem for you?

Shall I write about your wrinkly nose when you smile,

How those dimples make my heart race for miles?

    I down another glass of Vat-69 and swirl the bitter liquid in my mouth as I shut my eyes and let the music playing from the phonograph wash over me. The droning, dragging vocals of Frank Sinatra pull at me just like how they're pulling along the people slow dancing on the floor, only I'm sitting at the bar alone.

    I swallow hard, the whiskey burning my throat and chest as it slides down.

    "I'll never smile again, until I smile at you. I'll never laugh again, what good would it do?"

    I bow my head. "Haven't smiled since the day I found out you were gone," I whisper, reaching into my shirt to hold up the dog tags around my neck. The bumps read her name, blurred as my vision is, and I put them to my lips, imagining I'm kissing her. "I miss you, Top."

    For a second some laughter in the room makes my head snap to my right, half-expecting her to be there, chuckling at how silly I am.

    But the barstool next to me is empty. Spinning, but empty, and my heart sinks.

    Then some low voices interrupt my thoughts.

    "He just sits there all night muttering to those dog tags. Every night."

    "Leave him be. You know how close he was to Agent Carstairs."

    I grit my teeth and pour myself more whiskey and gulp it down like it's medicine and I'm a desperate sinner with a deadly disease.

    "I heard they were gonna get married."

    "Really? Him and Carstairs? Pity."

    I slam my shotglass down on the granite countertop of the bar, probably a little too hard, but you know what? I'm drunk and frustrated and Tana is nowhere to be found, so I don't care. I don't care.

    I sigh huffily and swivel around in my seat to glare at the two gossiping soldiers, tucking her tags back into my shirt. "I can hear you, y'know." I drawl, the room spinning.

    They just kind of stare at me in fear and I laugh humorlessly to myself, picturing how menacing I must look.

    "Better watch out," I say, my words all mixing and blending together as I stumble toward them. "Better watch what you say 'bout her."

    The ginger on the left, PFC Jones, shakes his head as he regards me. "You ever get tired of waiting for nothing?"

    I blink. "Huh?"

    "She ain't coming back, sarge. Anyone can see that she's long gone." Jones says quietly, and I can tell he's not saying it out of meanness but I can't help punching him in the jaw.

    "Don't you say that bullshit." I growl, grabbing him by the collar. "What do you know, huh? You little punk? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?!" Everything is hot. My anger, my skin, my world. It's hot and red and I'm so done and tired.

    "Hey--Tom, calm down, man!" Christenson exclaims, holding out a hand.

    Next thing I know he's on the ground and I'm suddenly trapped. Someone's holding my arms as I struggle. "Get--off--me--" I mutter before a sharp pain hits my cheekbone.

    "Guys, what's going on?"

    I groan when I hear that voice.

    "Sir, he's--he's drunk. Got upset about...about Agent Carstairs again."

    A deep sigh and then someone's dragging me somewhere, my head still reeling after I took that hit.

    After a few seconds my vision clears up and I'm being thrust into a chair.

    "Tom, I'm not letting you do this to yourself anymore." That familiar voice of reason, always patient and gentle. "Let's get you to bed, come on."

    "Can't sleep." I mumble, staring down at the floor. Tana used to do that all the time. I remember telling her how pretty her eyes were, so she wouldn't do that anymore. So I could stare into them as long as I liked.

    Those eyes. Inquisitive, sweet, always looking up at me with wonder every time I'd say something. Beautiful.

    "What's that?" Will asks.

    I run a hand through my hair, nothing making sense. He's brought me somewhere quiet. But instead of boiling now, I'm just simmering. The burn of the whiskey still echoes inside me and I put a hand to my chest, pressing against it like it'll stop the ache. "Can't sleep at night. Can't. Not knowin' she's out there somewhere."

    "Tommy--"

    "Will, it's Christmas Eve. Can't you just let me be? I'm goin' crazy. I know I'm the only one who thinks she's still alive. But I--" I swallow dryly, "sometimes I'm not even sure of that m'self. I'm going insane. The love of m'life, my lil Top, my Tana's gone and I miss her so much and there's not a goddamn thing I can do!" I bring my fists down hopelessly, shouting at the top of my lungs, not caring. I don't care. Why should I care?

    "Tom--"

    "She should be here right now with us, Will!"

    "You know we're trying our best to find her. We're close, Tom. I can feel it. We're close."

    "I miss her." I choke out, voice breaking as hot tears spill down my cheeks. I clutch at my hair and rock back and forth, trying to escape the wretched, twisted feeling in my gut. "I miss her. Dear god, why'd it hafta be her?" I'm blubbering and it feels good, actually.

    "Tom, you need to get some sleep. You haven't slept since our mission last week, have you?"

    "Can't sleep." I mumble again, shaking my head in my hands. Didn't he hear me the first time?

    Will sighs and I continue shaking my head, appreciating how dizzy it makes me feel. It's like the dizziness is the thing I can count on when I get drunk. When I'm sober, everything hurts a lot more because the clarity's there. I get everything and it's sharp and cold and it hurts. Under a layer of alcohol, all that gets muddled up with everything else. It's duller, hiding behind a buzz. I can't see her face behind my closed eyelids as clearly and then it doesn't feel like my heart's being stabbed as much.

    So when Will lifts me up by the armpits I just sort of let him walk me wherever. I stumble blindly forward, trying not to sway too much, but whenever I teeter in one direction, Will pulls me back straight.

    "You're a good, good, good friend, Willie." I mumble, reaching out to pat him. I'm not sure what I'm patting but I assume it's his head because it's kind of hairy.

    He sighs. "You're in for a bad hangover in the morning, buddy."

    He takes me back to base camp. To my bed. I haven't slept here in ages. I've been going to her tent and lying on her cot, trying to breathe in her scent, so that I can pretend she's there with me. So I can pretend everything is okay.

    Will sighs as he looks down at me sympathetically. He turns to go, but I reach out and stop him.

    "You need something?" He asks.

    I shake my head. "Can...can you just stay with me for a bit?"

    He smiles a little. "Like old times? Yeah, Tommy." Will sits on my bed and sighs again. "We'll find her."

    "I know it." I murmur sleepily, clinging onto those words like they're a breath of air. We'll find her.

January 1944

There's a fire in your eyes,

And oh, my Tana, I pity anyone who tries you on for size.

Your laughter is as bright as day

Come rain or fog or what else may

I'll write all day long about your love

Too patient and too endless to fully speak of.

    "We'll find her."

    "I know it."

February 1944

I'll wade across the endless tides

If it means you'll be waiting on the other side.

I'll sign the dotted line again and again

And end the war once you tell me when.

    "Winters, I'm not positive we're gonna--"

    "Please, Colonel, you know she's just as important to you and your operation as she is to me."

    "You know Tom is right, sir. We can't give up."

    "Agent Turner, you're not a part of this conversation."

March 1944

I'll whisper the same words moor to moor

And they'll all know it's you I adore.

I'll travel all the way to Mars

Just to hear you talk about the stars.

    It's been a year since she and I first met.

    And yet we've only known each other for seven months.

    It's wrong. This is wrong, it's unfair, and it is so wrong.

April 12, 1944

I want to make you happier than happy

Even if I can't say it without sounding sappy.

And finally, when this is all said and done,

I'll be your one and only, your only and one.

    "I can't believe she turned."

    "Who would've thought? What if she was on their side all along?"

    "Don't be a shithead, Peterson. That's our squad leader you're talking about. She f****n' saved my life, okay?" Tipper bristles, though the look in his eyes is haunted, terrified.

    My head whips toward the men talking excitedly. Garrett and Tipper, and then there's Peterson of George Squad. Their clothes are grimy and they look like they're in need of a shower.

    "What are you talking about?" I ask, though there's only one person I know they could possibly be talking about.

    Peterson comes toward me, eyes wide as he starts rambling in his Brooklyn accent. "Blondie. Get this, Winters. We were just on a mission, right? And everything was going fine, we was approaching the enemy. All of a sudden, a huge explosion comes out of nowhere and kills like sixteen guys. I look around and I see a girl. In a tree. Tana Carstairs. She's not dead! She was dressed in all black and had a bunch of weapons and grenades on her and she jumped down and started slaughtering us. We tried talkin’ to her, lettin’ her know we were the U.S. Army, but she kept shooting at us. Hell, I shouted at her a bunch of times. 'It's us, it's George Squad and the Lightning Blondies!' But no, she didn't even care. She was like a one-woman army, Winters. Half of our guys barely escaped; she took out at least ten of us as we bolted the hell outta there."

    I shake my head dismissively. "That's crazy. How can you be sure it was her?"

    "Trust me, I'd know that face and that aim anywhere. That was her. Tana Carstairs, turned bad. Who knew she was a Nazi this whole time?" Peterson holds his hands out, shaking his own head in awe.

    "It's true, Tom. I'm sorry." Garrett murmurs sympathetically.

    I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water, in shock, shaking my head. "No. That's not true." I mutter, and take off running to find Will. Half of me is terrified at the news that Tana's been shooting up Americans, but the other half of me can't stop the bubble of excitement slowly rising in me as my head spins: she's alive. Tana's alive!

    "It's insane. Why would she turn?" Major Patton says as he paces.

    "Brainwashed, maybe?" Will suggests.

    "She might've been conspiring against us the whole time." Anderson scowls. "Who knows what she's told them?"

    "She'd never do that!" I growl.

    "You know, you don't have to be here." Colonel Roberts gives me a stern look.

    White gives me a pained glance before turning back to the colonel. "Sir, if it's true, if Carstairs has turned, what does that mean?"

    "You know what it means, Lieutenant." Roberts sighs.

    I press my hands to my sides, barely able to control my panic. "Can't we capture her for questioning? I just can't believe she'd willingly do this. She's being forced. Brainwashed, like Will said."

    The colonel nods. "That's a possibility, but as of now she is a threat and we have to do something about it when we find her next. Sergeant Sledge, you have the exact coordinates for where the incident took place?"

    Sledge nods grimly.

    The colonel pulls up a pen and sheet of paper. "Agent Turner, send those privates in here for questioning. And escort Winters out."

    Sophie, whose eyes look as dark and as tired as I feel, nods and stares at me as I gape in disbelief.

    Will throws a look at me that is sympathetic, but clearly he just wants me to go quietly.

    I bite my lip and leave, not bothering to wait for Sophie.

    What in the world is going on?

May 5, 1944

I'll keep running into enemy frontlines after you,

'Cause darling, all it takes is your "I do."

    "Our orders are to capture, not kill unless a U.S. life is in danger."

    

    I close my eyes. We're really doing this. We're going back to the place where they encountered her. My Tana. And we're going to bring her back. It's going to happen. We're finally finding her and bringing her back where she'll be safe, where I swear I'll never let anything bad happen to her again.

    I reopen my eyes and watch carefully for signs of life in the surrounding forest.

    "F**k!" someone shouts and an explosion goes off. "Carstairs!"

    Will glances back at me. "Tom, remember what we talked about. She doesn't respond to anybody. You've got to try and--"

    I nod. "I'll find her." I turn around and make my way to the general area, avoiding being seen by the enemy troops. The plan was for our guys to keep them distracted so that I can talk to Tana, talk sense into her maybe. I glance down at the handcuffs hanging from my utility belt and shudder. Hopefully I won't have to use those to get her to come back to base camp with us.

    So far, First and Second Platoon are doing fine "distracting," if that's what you still want to call it. If I didn't know any better, this would be just another raid. Any old mission, take your pick.

    She's not hard to find. Once I get outside the building, I turn a corner and have to step back right away to avoid being spotted. I peer around the corner.

    Tana is standing there dressed in all-black gear, guns and knives protruding from every practical place on her body. Her long blonde hair is now cropped to her shoulders and her face is blank and expressionless. Five men surround her and she holds her own with all of them.

    I can't bring myself to help them. Not now. It's been a long time through the cold months of winter without her and now that I finally am this close without anything stopping me from going to her, I can't do it.

    She moves differently. Like she doesn't care. Doesn't care if she lives or dies, doesn't care who she kills. Guiltless, no restraints. It's terrifying.

    I watch helplessly as she tackles one soldier to the ground, silently taking a bullet in her arm in the process before she shoots another down. He falls to the ground groaning. My stomach drops as she slaughters the remaining soldiers around her with ease, moving swiftly and ruthlessly.

    She stands over the slain people, looking around, expression blank.

    I take a deep breath, heart pounding. I think I'm going to be sick. But I have to. I have to do this. I brace myself and step out.

    "Tana." I call out to her as I approach.

    She whips her head to face me and pulls a pistol from her upper back and fires it at me.

    I duck just in time, the bullet whizzing past my ear.

    "Tana, it's me. Tom." I say, my voice hoarse. The breath is knocked out of me when I face her directly. Her eyes are dead. There's no sparkle to them anymore. "It's been a long, long time, darling."

    She shows no recognition, no hint that she knows me, at all. My heart sinks and I step closer, holding my hands up slowly.

    "Tana, listen to me. You don't have to do this. This endless killing." I tell her.

    She turns her whole body to me and aims again.

    "Tana."

    "Stop calling me that." She mutters and fires.

    I stop moving and the bullet grazes my arm. I gasp sharply and grit my teeth. "I'm going to keep calling you that, because you're Tana."

    "No, I'm not." For once her face changes, and her eyebrows furrow in frustration.

    "You're Tana Carstairs and you're an agent of the U.S. Department of Scientific Warfare. You used to be a Master Sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps. You lead an Army squad called the Lightning Blondies and you act like you hate that stupid nickname but I know you love it. You love to drench your pancakes in honey, you hate coffee, you like it when I hum Frank Sinatra, your best friend is Sophie Turner, and you're in love with me."

    Tana clutches her head like it hurts or something. "Stop. Stop!" She grits her teeth and c***s her gun, her hand trembling. "You're lying. I don't know who you are and I'm not Tana."

    "Then who are you?" I retort, clutching my arm, where the blood is slowly flowing.

    She shakes her head. "I have to kill you. I have to kill all American soldiers."

    "So the Germans brainwashed you and fed you lies to make you work for them." I say. "That's the only reason you'd have to kill us. You're one of us, Tana. You never wanted to do this. Just put the weapon down and we can help you."

    She growls and pulls her trigger again, only to find that she's out of bullets.

    But that doesn't stop her. Tana reaches for her belt and unsheathes a knife with a blade about the length of my hand and leaps out at me.

    I grunt in pain as my left arm throbs when I move it, and block her with my right, struggling to keep the knife away from us both.

    Tana clutches onto it tighter and twists around in my grip to throw me onto the ground. I wriggle away and get back up on my feet.

    "Tana, please. I don't want to fight you. I love you." I beg as she approaches me again, brow furrowed in concentration.

    "That's a lie. Everything you're saying is a lie." She mutters.

    I bite my lip and tackle her, holding her long enough to stare straight into her eyes. "I would never lie to you, Top."

    A flicker of confusion passes through those brown pools. Her grip slackens for just the slightest second and I take advantage of it, pinning her arms down against the ground, forcing her to look at me. "Listen, please listen to me, Top. You call me Tomcat, and we were going to get married. I told you that every time you smiled, it was like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Don't you remember any of that? Don't you realize that you have no memories of your life before the Germans took you?"

    She gapes at me, horror engulfing her face. Her hands tremble violently. I start to think I'm getting through to her before she bursts upward suddenly, catching me by surprise. Her fingers snag my sidearm and pull my pistol from its holster on my belt. She c***s it, aiming, shaking, trembling. "You're wrong," she whispers, barely audible.

    "Tana, I know you're scared and confused. But you have to listen-" I reach forward and try to take the gun from her, and we struggle for a moment and everything happens so fast and I can't keep track of who's got what -

    I grab onto something hard and try to wrench it from her grip -

    And a loud snap goes off -

    A cut-off, high-pitched whimper that I will never ever forget -

    So I step away and, no, no, no, NO -

    She's looking at me in the eyes, shock written across her face like a novel -

    Her hands go to her stomach, please, no, this isn't real, this isn't real -

    My hands fall to my sides, limp, and the pistol lands on the ground with a soft thump -

    And Tana falls to the ground and oh no oh no, did I do this to her -

    I did. I shot her. I shot Tana.

    I shot Tana.

    I stand in shocked silence as I stare at her, gasping shallowly as blood seeps from her stomach. Her eyes are filled with agony, wide open and staring at her bloody hands.

    "No," I whisper as my legs cave in and I take her face in my hands, feeling like I'm underwater, reality swirling around me, the face of my dead mother flashing in front of my eyes. Not you too.

    "Tana!" I shout frantically, like being loud will make everything untrue. Maybe if-if I yell her name loud enough she'll be okay. It doesn't make sense but nothing does anyway so I say her name over and over and over, my mind reeling, and all I can think is not you not you not you.

    "T-Tom?" Her voice comes out tiny and small.

    "Yes, Top?" I reply softly, because she's still here, she's still talking to me, so it's all I can do to respond quietly, gently, biting my lip so hard I can taste metal. But even that doesn't stop my face from scrunching up in anguish. She remembers, doesn't she? She remembers.

    "They t-told me n-not to sustain large wounds--else the sh-shock would make me remember."

    "It's okay, doll, you're going to be fine." I whisper, but my heart feels like it's collapsing in on itself as the blood flows, hot, steady, beneath my fingers. My chest feels like it's being ripped apart, like the bullet of a hunter piercing the flesh of a deer, a hook in the mouth of an unlucky fish.  

    "Tom...Zube. It's Dr. Zube. His s-secret base. Coordinates. Write it down." Tana chokes out, tears rolling down her face as she grimaces.

    I look around for anything to write with or on, but we're on grass. "Just tell me," I beg. But I don't want to hear this, I don't want to know this, nothing matters right now but her.

    She shuts her eyes and whispers the location to me once. "You'll remember?" she asks.

    I nod. "You know me, I'm good at memorizing," I joke unsteadily, trying to elicit a response. Anything to keep her awake.

    Tana smiles weakly before she shudders. "Tell the Blondies...and everyone...I'm so sorry. And...Tom--I really wanted to marry you, Tomcat."

    I can't contain the wracking sob that escapes from me. There's - there's a dam. It's inside me, and when she says those words it's like that dam, which had been falling to pieces bit by bit, is just suddenly destroyed and everything behind the dam that had been threatening to spill out just floods me. Floods the world around me. I can barely catch my breath and muster enough strength to swallow it all back just for a second. "We can still get married, Top. Just...stay awake, okay?"

    She nods a tiny nod, sweat rolling down her temples, her skin turning more and more pale.

    I put my forehead to her damp shirt and close my eyes so I can't see the puddle of crimson ebbing across it and pretend everything is okay, pretend we're just sitting here in the grass, but the ever-increasing raggedness of her breathing stops me from slipping into that happiness.

    "Did you finish..." Tana coughs twice and I hold her tighter, "you finish my cheesy poem?"

    I chuckle through my tears, not knowing it was possible to feel so much agony while laughing, and I blink hard so I can see her clearly. "I did. You wanna hear?"

    "Mhm." she reaches up to touch my cheek.

    I hold her hand to my skin, not caring that a thin layer of slick blood covers it, and I murmur the poem to her. The words fall off my tongue, and I know them better than anything because I toiled for nights over them on paper, went over them in my head as I lay on my back in the cold nights on raids.

    When I finish, I open my eyes again and look at her face to see her reaction, half expecting her to laugh and tell me that was the corniest crap she's ever heard.

    But it's still and slack and everything just breaks and I can't handle it and I press my lips to her forehead and bury my face in her hair and hold her tight against me and I feel myself break because I shot her.

    I shot her and now she's dead. She's dead, Tana's dead, and I'm the one who did it to her and it's all my fault and "I love you, I love you, I love you so much Top, I'm so so sorry," I murmur into her hair, squeezing my eyes shut, heart wrenching, stomach churning, hands trembling, body cold, chest heaving, tears streaming, because Tana is gone. She's here in my arms and yet she's gone and that's what hits me. Hits me hard.

    Hits me hard and it hurts like I've never before felt pain.

    Hits me hard and it stings like I'll never feel whole again.

    Christenson was the one to find us first, and then as he stood there in shock, more and more came. Her squad surrounded us, looks of horror and grief coloring their faces. I think Tipper cried. Will hurriedly wrote down the coordinates I practically spat at him, eager as I was to forget them.

    They served us well, though, and Able Company, Baker Company, and Charlie Company took the base that was there, capturing the scientists and questioning all of them. We also gathered an enormous amount of intel about the operations going on there, most of which were being led by the man sitting before me right now.

    Dr. Dietrich Zube. The man Tana trusted with her life once, and the man who ultimately betrayed the U.S. for better facilities and technology deep in Nazi Germany.

    Sophie, the government agent that she is, was given the opportunity to drill the man with questions every few days or as we find we need answers, and she lays them on him hard as he sits bound to a chair. Colonel Roberts is here too, listening intently. I don't pay attention, though. My eyes are glued on the table to our right where all the files containing information on his projects are located. I've read through all of the ones labeled "Project: Agent Paralysis" already. Twice. Those are the ones that involve her.

    They tell us everything. How Zube extracted himself from the U.S. after realizing he had created an effective memory loss serum that would allow him to easily brainwash people, how he managed to chemically separate the two attributes of Agent Paralysis so that he could perfect the paralysis solution and the memory loss solution as well. How he knew Tana was the perfect test subject because she'd undergone it all before and because her system only helped him to improve his solutions every time he tried them on her. How his newly-developed brainwashing serums integrated themselves into her blood, strengthening their potency in her and only her.

    The paperwork even tells us everything that happened to Tana herself in detail, as logged by her "handler," as they referred to it.

    So now I know everything. Everything about her months of captivity. I know Zube started the whole operation when he captured Tana and experimented with her DNA back in August on Operation Checkmate. I know that in the past few months he tortured Tana numerous times to try to get the information he wanted--no, the information Hitler and his party wanted. I also know that Tana never cracked and never gave any vital information about U.S. operations.

    That's when he switched over from what he called his Paralysis-Torture method to just... erasing her, bit by bit. Erasing her memories, her identity.

    She screamed my name the first few times she was wiped.

    At first she screamed "Tom," then "Tomcat," then finally nothing as she forgot.

    The papers say she felt guilt over murdering American soldiers for no good reason other than the fact that she was told to by her handler. She tried to ask questions, questions like "why am I killing them" and "what did they do" and "am I bad" and then they erased those memories from her mind, too, after she displayed an unwillingness to kill anymore.

    But there's one thing that's true, something the papers don't mention.

    Tana was a hero until the very end, even on her deathbed as she whispered the exact location of all these papers and their owner to me. She was so inherently strong and honest and good and she deserved so much more than this, deserved to live a life beyond the war, deserved -

    "Sergeant Winters?"

    I close my eyes. I don't say anything, haven't said anything since I told the remainder of the Lightning Blondies that she said sorry. There's only eight of them left now. She killed Martin and Cox.

    "Tom?" The voice gets closer. "Tom, it's over. Everyone's left," Sophie murmurs softly.

    I open my eyes and stare at the ground blankly, then get up to go.

    "Wait." Sophie grabs my arm and makes me face her. I look her dead in the eye and she flinches. "It's been nearly a month, Tom. She wouldn't want you to--"

    "It doesn't matter what she wanted or wouldn't want. She's gone." I spit, surprising even myself with the venom in my voice.

    Sophie lets go of me. "Tom..."

    "I'm tired. I'm so tired of missing her all the time. It's unfair!" I shout, hatred suddenly coursing through me. "I shot her. That's something I'll never forget. I killed her." My eyes turn back to Sophie, desperate for her to tell me something like "it's not true" or "you didn't kill her."

    But she doesn't. Because it is true.

    She looks down at her heels, blinks a few times. "You saved her from her own suffering," she whispers, "and that's all that matters. If you had let her kill you, she would have gone on to be tortured, to be forced to kill more of us. She would have hated that."

    And she says nothing else, just leaves.

    I stare around the room. I take in the white papers, the empty chair that Zube was cuffed to moments before, the bare, bland canvas of the tent. I feel the heaviness of grief and guilt on my shoulders, feel the weight of the pistol at my hip. I pull it out from its holster and think about the people I have left in my life that care about me.

    There's a lot of them, I guess, but at the same time, there's not that many. There's the friends I've made, all soldiers who could die at any given moment.

    I have no family. They're all gone. Tana was the one person I considered my family. Her arms were the home I could go to when I felt lost, her laughter was the cushion that broke my fall when I felt like collapsing from fatigue. I loved her. It's not surprising when I think this, but the weight of how I feel--felt?--feel for her, it's crushing.

    We would've been happy, Top.

    I put the muzzle of the gun under my chin.

March 24, 1965

    I was a coward. Or I was brave. Call it whatever you please. I couldn't pull the trigger. Just couldn’t. I saw her face behind my closed eyelids and not for the first time, my Tana saved my life.

    I hated myself for it for a while, but then I started to feel more and more grateful that I was a brave coward. I never told anybody about what I'd almost done, and I never will.

    When the war ended, Will decided to continue his service. Sophie went back to work with the Department of Scientific Warfare. Some of the Lightning Blondies, what was left of them, followed Will, some went home. We all stay in contact regularly, sharing anecdotes and memories.

    As for myself, I found I couldn't bear to fight anymore. I went home. I only spent a month in Portland though, catching up with neighbors and childhood friends. I visited Milwaukee, and met Tana's father. He didn't cry when I told him all about the Tana I knew, just sat there in silence listening. I tried to give him her Medal of Honor and all the other decorations she received, but he shook his head and told me to keep it. He thanked me for seeing him, thanked me for bringing the medal for him to see. He didn't acknowledge the fact that I'd asked her to marry me, or that I was the one that shot her.

    With my war savings I went and bought a little farmhouse in Wyoming. I bought some goats and chickens and a cow. A dog and some cats. I took classes at the university nearby, and with some pressure from my academic advisor, I finally pursued a degree in science. But I didn't go for chemistry like I had initially wanted. I majored in neurology.

    One thing led to another over the years and I made a breakthrough, published a paper on memory loss, and got called onto a national radio show to give a speech on my success.

    Now, as I sit with the headset over my ears, I can't help but think back to her grinning face. "Top and Tomcat of the 101st," she'd laugh. I smile to myself.

    The interviewer, a humble man in a suit, smiles back at me, not knowing. "Mr. Winters, you've had quite the history. You were an extremely distinguished and decorated sergeant of the U.S. Army during the war, and now you've spent years devoting yourself to the field of neurology. There are some out there who'd call you a hero. I can't help but ask if there's something, or someone, who's inspired you to perform such great deeds as you've done."

    "You're asking if I've got an inspiration? Like a hero?" I ask.

    He smiles encouragingly. "Yes, exactly!"

    I let out a quiet laugh and reach into my shirt to pull out her Marine Corps dog tags, hanging from their chain around my neck. The little bumpy letters that spell out her name glint back at me in the light of the recording studio. I squeeze the tags tightly in my palm. The metal, warmed by my body heat, digs into my skin. I take in a deep breath. "See, we all define hero differently. I don't know if I am one myself, but I'm really grateful those who choose to call me one." I hesitate, then clench my fist tighter. "I can tell you about my inspiration, though. I fought in the war alongside this person, and she would have laughed if you'd called her a hero. But she was one. She’s known in the newspapers and history books by a different name, but I liked to call her Top."

Author's Note

I tried my best to be as historically accurate as possible regarding military basics and such, but it might not be as great as I'd like. Any advice on that aspect or any technically/detail-oriented things would be greatly appreciated! And if you read this all the way through, thank you so much and please leave a comment so I know.

Reviews

[Sara]

I made an account just so I could write a review for this fantastic short story. First, I think that the character development is well-paced and thorough. As a reader, I liked watching how Tana transitioned from an "outsider" to "one of the boys". The romance between her and Tom was very sweet, especially considering their setting. I also like that you included PTSD because that is something that often plagues a lot of soldiers (and it's a reminder that war isn't about glory and honor). The ending was expected, but unexpected. I figured someone would die, it definitely just wasn't in the way that I imagined. I really appreciate the fact that you didn't do it for shock value, and it did propel the story further. I like the theme, the characters, the depiction of emotion, and the plot. I could go on and on, but I'll stop. It was an enjoyable read.

[PerpetuallyJune]

Yay, thank you! I'm so glad you read it all the way through and enjoyed it!