“so call it what you want to.”

Men drifted between buildings with mugs balanced in gloved hands, boots crunching over frozen earth as they picked their way through puddles that had iced over during the night. Somewhere nearby, a jeep coughed into life before immediately dying again, earning another round of colourful language from whoever had been unfortunate enough to be driving it.

Smoke from the cook fire curled lazily into the pale morning sky, carrying with it the familiar smell of burnt coffee and powdered eggs.

You weren't sure which of the two smelled worse.

"You look disappointed."

The voice came from behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to find Joe adjusting the straps on his webbing, helmet tipped back as he wrestled with a buckle that refused to sit flat.

"I was hoping breakfast would've improved overnight." You muttered moving loose strands of hair out of your face.

"It hasn't."

"Didn't think so."

He gave up on the buckle with an irritated sigh before finally getting it to cooperate.

"Tastes the same every damn day."

"Maybe that's the point."

Joe looked at you, "The point's to punish us?" Then let out a huff, “even more.”

"Builds character I guess."

He glanced at you sideways with his lips pursed, "We've got enough character for about ten dickens novels ."

You shrugged with a laugh, "I don't know, I think Babe could do with a little more."

As if summoned by name, Babe wandered past carrying two dented mess tins and a small snarl on his face. "I heard that you know."

"Good."

"You'll want this in about five minutes." He held one of the rusted tins out towards you and shook it in your face. The labels were worn off, and there was a massive dent in the side of one of them but it was the smell that really sold it on being disgusting.

You peered inside before looking back at him. "I think it's alive."

He looked inside, then shook his head before looking back up at you with a shrug in defence, "No it ain't."

It looked revolting. The mixture was a strange colour of brown with bits floating around in it, and it almost looked like a living organism when Babe shook the can around and it recoiled at the edges.

A brow raised in concern, "You sure about that?"

“Yeah,” he spoke "I stirred it myself."

You and Joe stared at him blankly, "That doesn't help." You continued to stare, “whatsoever.”

Babe rolled his eyes, moving the disgusting looking can away from your face, "Suit yourself then." He spoke with a dramatic sigh.

He disappeared towards Perconte, who then started complaining that his portion looked smaller than everyone else's and he was being robbed of “nutrients”.

Joe watched them for a second before shaking his head.

"Every mornin'."

"Routine."

"You call that routine?" He pointed towards the scene that was happening before you.

"I like a nice routine." You smiled.

He hummed quietly, studying your face for a second too long before following your tired gaze across the yard.

Lipton was crouched beside one of the replacements, showing him how to adjust the straps on his pack without making the kid feel stupid for asking. Near the trucks, Luz had somehow convinced three different people that he could do a decent impression of one of the corporals on site.

No one believed it was very good per se, but nothing could stop him from shutting up.

The camp settled into the familiar rhythm that always came before orders disturbed the small calm that they had built.

Nobody was rushing as there wasn't any point in it. Some of the men just sat in silence, staring off into the distance waiting for their quiet atmosphere to be broken. Sooner or later somebody higher up would tell them where they were going and how dangerous it was likely to be. Until then, all anyone could really do was drink terrible coffee and pretend the morning was no different from the one before.

Joe folded his arms against the cold, a small line of frost trailing out of his lips. "You sleep alright?" His eyes briefly scanning your face.

You tipped your head from side to side, humming as you did so. "'Alright' might be generous."

"The floor?"

"The snoring."

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Luz?"

"Guarnere actually." You corrected.

"Huh."

Wincing slightly at the memory you took a sharp inhale through your teeth, the cold cutting into your chest, "I thought someone was sawing through the wall."

Joe laughed quietly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "I was wonderin' what that noise was."

"I nearly threw a boot at him." You laughed turning to look at him.

He shook his head with a smile, "Wouldn't've reached."

Your face dropped at his attempt at a joke, "I’m a great throw thanks."

"I've seen your throw."

You frowned, unamused. "That one time." You lifted your finger, twisting it in the air in a dramatic manner, “one.”

"It was awful." He laughed.

In an attempt to defend yourself you thought of the first plausible explanation, "It was windy."

"No it was not."

"There was a draft."

He looked at you for a long second before giving a small shake of his head, the smile still lingering.

"You always got an excuse."

"I've got plenty more if you'd like to hear them."

"I think I'll spare myself."

The two of you fell into an easy silence. You stood shoulder to shoulder watching the camp wake around you, listening to the low murmur of conversation that drifted from one group to another. Somebody laughed. Someone else swore after dropping a mess tin. A replacement hurried across the yard with his helmet on backwards before another man caught him by the sleeve and turned it around without saying a word before sending him back on his way.

Joe reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He tapped one loose and held the packet towards you out of habit.

You shook your head, face scrunched up slightly, "I'm alright."

He nodded, slipping it back into his pocket instead. "Thought I'd ask." He shrugged.

"You ask every time."

"One day you'll say yes."

Shaking your head you looked down at your warn boots, "I doubt it."

"Never know."

You smiled faintly. "No... I suppose you don't."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Joe leaned back against the fence post, watching a flock of birds lift suddenly from the trees beyond the fields. His expression changed, almost imperceptibly, the easy smile fading as he tracked them disappearing into the grey sky.

"Funny, ain't it?"

Startled at the sudden noise, you looked towards him, "What?"

"Birds."

You followed his gaze confused as ever, birds? What was so funny about birds?

His hand scratched at the outgrown stubble on his chin, "They don't know there's a war."

"I reckon they're better off for it."

He nodded once before he let out a small whisper, "Yeah..."

I suppose they don’t you thought. They obviously must know something was going on, the constant explosions and screaming the never ending fire and the crumbling of society beneath their wings. They must see everything, so surely they would know something was happening.

Then, almost as quickly as it had settled over him, the moment passed.

Luz shouted something from across the yard that made half the company groan.

Joe looked over.

"I swear," he muttered, "that guy's gonna get himself shot one day just for bein' that loud." He stopped before continuing again, “I mean, who has that much to say?”

"He'd probably talk the bullet into turning around."

Joe chuckled, pushing himself away from the fence dusting away a cobweb in the process, "I hate that you're probably right."

Before you could answer, Winters' voice carried across the yard.

"Easy! Fall in!"

You felt your stomach drop slightly at the command, the sensation becoming more and more common as the days dragged on.

The chatter dissolved almost instantly. Cigarettes were stubbed into the dirt, mess tins abandoned, rifles picked up.

Joe adjusted the sling on his rifle and glanced at you, "Ready?"

You drew in a slow breath, tightening the strap beneath your chin before giving a small nod. "Don’t really got another choice."

He held your gaze for just a second longer before turning towards the forming line.

"Come on."

You fell into step beside him, boots crunching over the frost as the company assembled.

Neither of you knew that by the end of the day, the easy rhythm between you would be gone, replaced by words neither of you would ever get the chance to take back.

The patrol had wrung everyone out and left almost every member of easy company in a foul mood.

Nobody spoke much as they trudged back through the farm gate, boots thick with mud, shoulders aching beneath the weight of rifles and webbing. The adrenaline had worn off somewhere along the walk home, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and ringing ears.

You just wanted five minutes. Five minutes to sit down. Five minutes where nobody expected anything from you.

You'd barely made it halfway across the yard before his voice stopped you.

"Don't walk away from me."

You kept going.

The strap of your rifle dug into your shoulder as you crossed towards the barn, pretending you hadn't heard him.

Behind you came the crunch of hurried, heavy footsteps.

"I said don't fuckin’ walk away from me."

Before you could reach the doorway, Joe stepped in front of you.

You nearly walked straight into him.

"What?" Your shoulders were heaving up and down as the question came out, a mix of rage and adrenaline coursing through your body.

"What the hell was that back there?"

You let your pack slip from your shoulder. It landed in the mud with a dull thud.

"I haven't got the energy for this."

"Well, you're gonna find it." He spat, venom lacing his voice.

Your hands were shaking as they dragged down your face, small specks of dirt spreading out across your cheeks, "Oh, for Christ's sake..."

You tried to sidestep him.

He moved with you.

He pointed an aggressive finger towards you, the movement almost pushing you back, "You ran straight into open fire."

"I crossed a road." The sentence barely left your mouth as it had to fight its way through your gritted teeth which were acting like a jail cell.

"You crossed a road while Germans were still shooting at us."

"I knew where they were."

He scoffed as he looked around in disbelief, though everything besides you currently felt like a blur to him, "You knew?"

His voice carried across the yard.

A few heads turned before quickly looking away again.

Nobody wanted to get caught in the middle of whatever this was.

You scoffed.

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"No."

He jabbed a finger back towards the fields you'd just crossed.

"You scared the shit outta me!"

You groaned, rolling your eyes so far back into your skull that if your mum was here she’d tell you they’d get stuck there, "I got the man out!"

"You nearly got yourself killed doin' it!"

"And I didn't!"

Your hands began to tense up into fists out of annoyance, small crescent marks beginning to seep into the cracked skin of your palms.

"That's not the fuckin’ point!"

You laughed once, dry and tired. "It never is with you."

Joe stared, looking you up and down with nothing but irritation written across his face, "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means every time I do something you don't like, I get this." You gestured vaguely between the two of you, your back beginning to feel as though someone had placed an iron against it.

You smacked your lips, raising your hand as you began to list off reasons on your dirt covered fingers, "The lecture. The shouting. Like I'm some replacement who doesn't know one end of a rifle from the other."

He shook his head sharply.

"Don't twist this."

"I'm not twisting anything."

"You are."

"No, Joe, I'm bloody tired."

You bent to pick your pack back up, but before you could sling it over your shoulder he caught it first.

"Look at me."

You pulled against him, the fabric of the straps starting to cause friction at the harsh movement, "Give me the pack."

"No."

You glared at him through your brows not wanting to take no for an answer, "Joe."

"Look at me."

You yanked it harder until he let go. The force almost sent you stumbling backwards. "I looked." You threw the pack over your shoulder. "There. Happy?"

He took two quick steps after you as you started walking again. The sound of his boots thudding against the ground in a competition with the hammering of your heart to be the sound that drummed in your ears the most, "No, I'm not happy!"

You spun around quickly, the once neat plait which now lay ragged whipped into your face as your head snapped to face his.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop actin' like you're invincible!"

"I'm not acting invincible!"

"You ran into gunfire!"

"There was a wounded man!"

He slammed his hand into the other, the sound of the slap making you wince slightly, "Roe was there!"

You gasped almost unable to believe the bullshit you were hearing, "There wasn't time!"

"There would've been if you'd stayed where you belonged!"

The words hung there.

Your expression hardened and your face grew dark, "Where I belonged?"

He tutted slightly as he rolled his head backwards, hands dragging down his face, "You know what I meant."

"No...” you shook your head “go on." You folded your arms and tilted your head to the side, inviting him to explain what he had just said "I'm curious now."

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "For God's sake."

You smiled sweetly at him, eyes creasing at the corners, "No, finish it."

"I meant with the rest of us."

"You mean somewhere safe?"

"I mean somewhere your stupid ass wasn't gonna get shot."

You laughed again. Though this one had more bite to it.

"Funny."

"What?"

"You've done the exact same thing." You continued to laugh almost sounding borderline manic from the adrenaline which was currently egging you on to continue and push your limit.

"I know what I'm doing."

The laughter stopped, and your face turned to stone so cold that it could rival a victim of Medusa, "So do I."

"No,” he paused for a moment before taking in a razor sharp breath, “clearly you don't."

Silence.

You took a slow step towards him.

Your eyes searched his, hoping to find some sort of deception in them, "So that's what you think of me."

"I didn't say that."

“Oh no!” You raised your hands in mock defeat, "You didn't have to."

"I said what you did was stupid."

You gave him a questioning look, "And what you do every other patrol?"

"That's different."

Giving a theatrical gasp you covered your mouth with one hand while the other placed itself over your chest, "Because you're Joe Liebgott?"

"Because I'm not talking about me!"

"No." You nodded while your lips pulled themself into a paper thin line. "You're talking about me because apparently I'm too thick to make my own decisions."

"I never called you thick."

"You didn't need to."

Your voices had climbed without either of you noticing.

Perconte quietly muttered something to Babe from across the yard.

Neither of them moved. Neither did anyone else. The fear of stepping in between the two of you evident among many of the soldiers who were near by.

Joe threw his hands into the air.

"Jesus Christ, will you listen to yourself?"

"Will you?"

"I'm trying to stop you gettin' yourself killed!"

You shoved your hand into his chest to push him away, "And I'm trying to tell you I knew exactly what I was doing!"

His hands tensed up in front of his and your face, "No, you didn't!"

"I did!"

"No!"

"I said I did!"

He took another step forward, close enough now that neither of you had to raise your voices anymore.

Somehow, that made it worse claustrophobic even. It felt as though was coming crashing down around the two of you and nothing could salvage it.

Joe's jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful.

"You scare the hell outta me every time you pull something like that."

For the briefest second, something flickered across your face.

Then it disappeared as quickly as it appeared and was replaced by anger.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?"

Joe opened his mouth in retaliation, the vein his head popping out slightly.

You didn't give him the chance. "Every patrol I watch you disappear around some corner and wonder if that's it. Every firefight I lose sight of you and think I'm about to watch you die."

Your voice cracked, not with sadness, but frustration.

"And then you stand here acting like you're the only one allowed to worry."

For a moment neither of you spoke. You both stood there gulping back the air that surrounded you, chests aching as they wretched so deeply attempting to find some sort of salvation.

The yard around you had gone noticeably quieter.

Guarnere glanced over at Babe with a look of concern "...This ain't good." Though he seemed ready to move incase it somehow escalated further.

You shook your head.

"I can't do this."

You turned away.

Joe snapped.

"Fine!" His voice echoed across the yard. "Don't listen to a damn word I say!"

You kept walking the foreign feeling off tears beginning to stab at the backs of your eyes.

"Go ahead!"

That made you stop dead in your tracks.

Joe took a step towards you, hands thrown out in disbelief. "Next time, run right out into open fire!" Another step. "Get your ass shot!"

His breathing was uneven now, every word fuelled by panic more than anger.

"See if I care!"

A nauseating silence intruded its way between you.

You stared at him for a long moment, for the first time ever your mind blank at how to give him a response.

Then a bitter breathy laugh escaped you.

"You know what?" You took a step towards him this time, teeth gritted so hard they threatened to shatter. "If that's what you think, maybe I will."

Joe's expression hardened.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Eyes wide you nodded slowly, "Oh, now I'm ridiculous?"

"You know damn well that's not what I meant."

"No," you shot back. "I know exactly what you meant."

Another step. Now there was barely any space between the two of you.

"You think I'm reckless."

"I think you don't know when to stop."

Another harsh laugh scrapped its way out of your chest, "And I think you're a damn hypocrite."

His nostrils flared, "The hell did you just call me?"

"You heard me." Your voice barely above a whisper.

Before either of you could say another word, a hand landed firmly against Joe's chest.

"Easy."

Malarkey.

Joe never looked at him, his gaze dotted on you the same way a deer froze in headlights "Move."

"No."

At the same time, Babe appeared beside you, gently but insistently taking hold of your arm before you could step any closer.

"C'mon."

You moved against his grasp, "I'm not done."

"I know."

"I said I'm not done." You snapped, harsher than you would’ve liked.

"I heard you."

He kept a steady grip on your sleeve as you continued to try pull away.

Across from you, Malarkey was doing the same with Joe.

"You need to cool off."

Joe shrugged him off with a huff. "I don't need to do shit."

"Yeah," Malarkey cut in. "You do."

Joe looked past him, trying to catch your eye.

His anger hadn't gone anywhere and neither had yours.

You met his stare.

For a second it looked as though one of you might break free and start all over again.

Instead, Joe barked out a humourless laugh.

"Unbelievable."

He shoved past Malarkey hard enough to knock his shoulder and stalked across the yard without another glance.

You watched him go.

Your chest still rose and fell with quick, angry breaths.

Babe looked down at you his eyes full of unease, "You alright?"

You swallowed, though it felt like acid had been poured down your throat, "...Yeah."

It came out flat.

He knew it was a lie.

You pulled your arm free, not roughly, just enough to tell him you wanted to be left alone, and headed for the barn.

The door slammed behind you with enough force to rattle the frame.

No one spoke for a few moments.

Finally, Guarnere let out a slow breath.

"Damn."

Malarkey watched the barn door for a moment before glancing in the direction Joe had disappeared.

"...Those two are gonna kill each other."

Guarnere rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Nah." His voice was quieter than before. "They're just scared."

The following morning felt different before you'd even stepped outside.

The thing was, nothing had physically changed.

The same barn walls greeted you when you opened your eyes. The same chorus of groans echoed around the room as men searched blindly for boots and jackets. Someone was already complaining that they'd slept on a rock despite the fact the floor was made of wood, while another voice accused Luz of snoring loud enough to wake half of France.

Ordinarily, somewhere amongst all of it, Joe would've caught your eye.

Maybe he'd throw you one of your gloves if you'd forgotten them. Maybe he'd mutter some sarcastic comment about breakfast before either of you had even left the barn.

Instead, he walked straight past you.

Not close enough to brush your shoulder like he usually would've. Not far enough that you could pretend it hadn't been deliberate.

You watched him disappear through the doorway without so much as a glance in your direction.

The knot that had settled in your chest the night before pulled a little tighter.

Outside, the cold had teeth.

Your breath drifted in pale clouds as you crossed the yard, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. Men milled between buildings, rubbing warmth back into stiff hands or standing around the cook fire with steaming mugs balanced carefully between their palms.

Everything looked exactly the same. It just didn't feel like it.

Conversations seemed quieter. Laughter didn't last as long. Even the usual morning arguments over coffee somehow lacked their normal enthusiasm.

Word travelled quickly among the men. Nobody had to ask what had happened yesterday. Half of them had heard it. (Half the country probably heard it) The other half had heard about it.

You caught Guarnere glancing between you and Joe before saying something under his breath to Babe. Perconte looked like he wanted to make a joke, thought better of it, and wandered off in search of someone less likely to bite his head off.

You almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, you headed towards the row of crates stacked beside one of the trucks where Toye sat with one boot resting on an ammunition box, tightening the laces with practiced hands.

He looked up as your shadow fell across him, "Mornin'."

"'Morning."

You lowered yourself onto the crate beside him with a quiet sigh, resting your elbows on your knees.

For a while neither of you spoke. There wasn't any rush. Around you, the camp continued to wake. A replacement struggled to force a frozen buckle through one of his pack straps until Lipton wandered over and silently fixed it in about three seconds. Someone laughed near the cook fire before the sound dissolved beneath the coughing engine of another jeep finally spluttering into life.

Toye finished tying his boot before nodding across the yard.

"You've looked over there four times."

Rolling your eyes back in a oh so familiar manner a slow sigh escaped your nose, "I have not."

"You have." He sassed back.

"I've been… people watching."

"Mm." He didn't even look at you, "You've been Joe watching."

You followed his line of sight before you could stop yourself.

Joe stood near the edge of the yard with Malarkey and Skip. Skip was talking with his hands as usual, acting out something that had happened on patrol a few days earlier. Malarkey laughed, shaking his head.

Joe looked like he was listening. You knew him well enough to know he wasn't hearing a word. He folded his arms against the cold, staring down into the coffee clasped between his hands as though it held the answer to something.

Then, almost unconsciously, he glanced across the yard.

Your eyes met, briefly.

Neither of you smiled.

After a heartbeat, he looked away first.

You hated that your stomach sank when he did.

"You done?"

Toye's voice broke the silence.

You turned back a litter shower this time to question him, "What?"

He waved his hand in that direction slightly. "Starin'."

"I wasn't,"

"You were."

You exhaled through your nose, fingers flexing beneath your ridged gloves, "He pisses me off."

"I'm aware."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

You looked down at the mud caked around the soles of your boots, "I've never asked him to worry about me."

"No."

"And I certainly didn't ask him to shout at me in front of half the company."

Toye picked up a loose pebble with the toe of his boot, nudging it idly across the frozen ground, "He shouldn't've said what he said." He stilled for a second, “it was out of order.”

You looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged, "He lost his temper."

Looking down you began to pick at the skin around your nails before whispering slightly, "So did I."

"You did."

Another silence settled between you.

You rubbed your hands together, trying to chase away the cold. "He acts like I'm incapable of making a decision."

"I don't think that's what he thinks."

You shook your head with a quiet scoff, "It sure sounded like it."

Toye leaned back against the truck wheel. "I think..." He paused, searching for the words. "I think Joe's got a habit of lettin' fear come out lookin' like anger."

Again, you scoffed quietly. "Well, he does a hell of a job."

"I'm not sayin' he's right."

You hummed, "I know."

"But neither are you."

That earned him a look of disgust, the same look you gave Malarkey when you turned your nose up at the mysterious soup he’d cooked up in a corroded pot. "Oh, don't give me that." He shook his head like an annoyed farther.

"What?"

"You know exactly what you said yesterday."

You rolled your eyes huffing in strop, "He deserved it." You sassed back while crossing your arms tighter in an attempt to making the skinning feeling go away.

"Maybe." He croaked, "But you still said it."

You opened your mouth, ready with another argument, but the words refused to come. Instead, you looked across the yard again. Joe had moved now. Malarkey was saying something to him, his hands buried deep in his pockets against the cold. Joe answered with a short nod.

That was all. No smile. No sarcastic remark. Nothing that looked remotely like the Joe you knew. It should've made you feel vindicated in some strange way. Instead, it just made the whole yard feel a hell of a lot colder.

A whistle cut sharply through the morning air. Heads lifted almost in unison. Winters stood near the waiting trucks, map case tucked beneath one arm.

"Easy! On me!"

The conversations around the yard dissolved. Men drained the last of their coffee, tossed cigarette ends beneath their boots and reached automatically for rifles leaning against walls or stacked beside doorways. The familiar rhythm took over.

Helmet.

Rifle.

Pack.

Check the man beside you.

You stood, brushing frost and splinters from your trousers before hoisting your pack over one shoulder. The weight settled across your back with an all-too-familiar ache.

By the time you reached the forming line, Joe was already there. Three places away. You could've reached out and touched him if not for the men standing between you. Though it felt as though there was a world between you. Neither of you acknowledged the other.

Winters waited until the company had settled before unfolding a map across the bonnet of the nearest jeep.

"The Germans have established a position in a village a few miles east of here." His gloved finger traced a narrow road across the paper. "Reconnaissance suggests they're using it to control movement through the surrounding area. We're going in to clear the village and secure the crossroads."

A breeze stirred through the yard, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke.

No one spoke. Every man standing there had heard briefings like this before. Some villages fell in minutes, others cost countless lives.

"You move in by squads," Winters continued. "Watch your spacing, cover your sectors, and don't outrun the men beside you." He looked slowly along the line. "If things change, adapt. Don't get tunnel vision." His gaze lingered for only a fraction of a second before he nodded once. "Let's move."

The company broke apart with quiet efficiency. Engines began to rumble to life into life. Men climbed into trucks while others formed up to move on foot, boots already crunching over the frozen lane leading away from the farm.

You adjusted the sling of your rifle and fell in beside Toye without a word. Across the column, Joe matched his pace to Malarkey and Skip. Neither of you looked for the other this time. Whether it was stubbornness or pride, neither of you could've said.

The convoy rolled through the farm gates and onto the narrow country road, disappearing beneath bare trees that stretched skeletal branches across the pale morning sky.

Ahead lay another nameless village. Another set of unfamiliar streets. Another day that everyone assumed would end with the company returning together.

The village had dissolved into chaos almost the second Easy Company crossed its edge.

What had looked quiet from a distance had become a maze of noise and movement the moment the first shots were fired. The narrow streets funnelled the sound until it was impossible to tell where the shooting was coming from. Rifle fire cracked from upstairs windows, bullets punching into stone walls and showering the road with chips of brick and mortar. Somewhere deeper in the village, a machine gun hammered relentlessly, forcing men to throw themselves behind walls, carts and whatever cover they could find before daring to move again.

Smoke drifted through the streets in thick grey sheets, carrying with it the smell of explosives, damp stone and burning timber. Doors hung open where families had fled in a hurry, furniture lay overturned in the middle of the road, and broken glass crunched beneath heavy boots as Easy Company pushed from one building to the next.

The world had shrunk to a series of split-second decisions.

Move.

Stop.

Cover.

Reload.

Move again.

You'd lost all sense of time. It could've been five minutes since the first shot or fifty. In the middle of a firefight, it never seemed to matter. Your ears rang constantly now, making every shouted order sound distant and muffled, as though everyone around you was speaking from underwater.

You kept close behind Toye as the two of you crossed another narrow lane, backs pressed against the rough stone wall of a farmhouse whose upper windows had long since been blown out. The bricks were cold and damp against your shoulder as you leaned around the corner just enough to check the street ahead.

Nothing. You muttered a silent prayer under your breath. At least, nothing that stayed still long enough to identify.

Movement flickered at the far end of the road before disappearing behind a collapsed wagon. A burst of rifle fire followed a heartbeat later, kicking splinters from the timber beside your head.

"Jesus..."

The words barely left your mouth before Toye was already moving.

"C'mon!"

You pushed away from the wall together, boots pounding over uneven cobblestones as the pair of you darted across the street. The weight of your pack bounced heavily against your shoulders with every stride, your rifle clutched tight against your chest as another volley cracked somewhere overhead.

By the time you reached the opposite side, your lungs were burning and your head had began to throb.

Toye crouched beside a low garden wall, peering through a gap where the stones had crumbled away. "They're pullin' back," he muttered.

You risked a quick look.

A pair of German soldiers disappeared between two houses further up the street, one glancing over his shoulder before vanishing around the corner.

"Think they're regrouping."

"Or lurin' us."

Neither option was particularly comforting.

Another explosion rattled the village. The ground beneath your boots trembled as dust drifted from the roof of the house beside you. Somewhere off to your right, someone yelled for a medic. Another voice shouted directions you couldn't make out before being swallowed by another burst of gunfire.

You wiped a grimy sleeve across your forehead, smearing more dirt than sweat, and adjusted your grip on your rifle.

Across the street, movement caught your eye.

Joe.

He was advancing with Luz and Babe, using the remains of a stone trough for cover as they worked their way towards the crossroads. His face was streaked with soot and mud, his helmet sitting crooked after what looked like one too many near misses.

For a split second he looked up, your eyes met across the smoke-filled street. There was no anger left in the look he gave you. Not really. Just concentration, maybe frustration? And something else wedged deep behind enemy lines. Something that looked an awful lot like he wanted to say something.

You opened your mouth instinctively. Whether to call his name or simply wave him forward, you weren't entirely sure.

You never got the chance.

A crack echoed from somewhere behind the houses.

You spun instinctively, rifle already coming up.

A German soldier stumbled out from behind the remains of a collapsed garden wall barely twenty feet away. His uniform was filthy, one sleeve dark with blood, but he moved with the kind of desperation that made him dangerous. His rifle hung awkwardly against his shoulder, abandoned almost as soon as he spotted the group spread across the street.

Instead, his hand dropped to his belt.

Your stomach lurched eyes twitching as bile clawed up your throat .

"No..."

He yanked free a stick grenade, thumb already hooking the cap as he pulled the igniter free with one violent tug.

Everything seemed to slow.

The grenade left his hand in a clumsy arc, spinning end over end through the smoke.

It struck the cobbles.

Bounced once, then twice.

Rolled.

Not towards you.

Towards Joe.

He hadn't seen it.

He was focused entirely on the alley ahead where Malarkey had ducked behind cover after another burst of machine-gun fire.

He never even looked down.

Your body moved before your mind had time to argue or retaliate against your sudden movement.

"Joe!"

He turned at the sound of his name and your ragged voice.

Just enough to see you sprinting towards him. Your shoulder hit him square in the chest. The force sent both of you sprawling, his rifle flying from his hands as the two of you crashed hard against the cobblestones.

For one impossible heartbeat, there was silence.

Then the world erupted.

The blast slammed into your back like the kick of a mule, lifting you from the ground before hurling you into the side of a low stone wall. Something cracked against the back of your head with blinding force, and for a moment all you knew was white-hot pain.

The air vanished from your lungs.

Your rifle slipped from your grasp.

You hit the ground hard enough to rattle every bone in your body, the rough cobbles scraping across your palms as you tried instinctively to push yourself upright.

Nothing happened.

A shrill ringing swallowed every other sound, so loud it felt as though it was coming from inside your own skull. The smoke overhead blurred into shapeless patches of grey, drifting lazily across the strip of sky you could still see between the rooftops.

Somewhere nearby, men were shouting.

You could see mouths moving, though nothing was coming out.

Someone was running towards you.

Another figure dropped to one knee beside the shattered wall.

You couldn't make out who any of them were.

Something warm and sticky spread beneath your side. It soaked steadily through your jacket, pooling beneath you before disappearing into the cracks between the cobblestones.

You tried to lift your hand but it barely twitched despite your best efforts.

Your eyelids suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

The world tilted rapidly.

The ringing grew quieter.

Then everything slipped away into darkness.

The force of the explosion hurled Joe backwards, the breath leaving his lungs as his shoulder slammed into the edge of a stone trough. His rifle spun from his hands, clattering somewhere across the street, and for one endless moment there was nothing but white.

His ears screamed with a high, relentless ringing that drowned out everything else. Dust and grit rained down around him, filling his mouth the second he tried to breathe. He coughed hard, rolling onto one elbow, his vision swimming as the world struggled to settle back into focus.

Everything felt slow like he was trying to wade himself through thick, cold cement.

Smoke drifted through the street in thick clouds, swallowing the buildings opposite until all he could make out were vague shapes moving in and out of the haze. Men were shouting somewhere nearby. Rifles cracked in short bursts. Someone yelled to keep moving.

He couldn't hear any of it properly, not really he felt as though he was on a rollercoaster constantly spinning, unable to catch his breath. His hand searched blindly across the cobbles until it found the edge of the trough, fingers gripping the rough stone as he forced himself upright. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and he squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, willing the ringing to stop.

Then he remembered, it hit him like a punch to the gut hard and relentless.

The grenade.

Your voice.

"Joe!"

His eyes snapped open, realisation spilling over him in one cold wave, "...Reader?"

Nothing.

His gaze darted frantically across the street, jumping from one broken wall to another.

Then he saw you.

You'd landed several yards away where the blast had thrown you against what remained of a low stone wall. Part of it had collapsed around you, chunks of masonry scattered across the road, your rifle half-buried beneath loose rubble a few feet from your outstretched hand.

For a heartbeat, his mind refused to understand what he was looking at.

You weren't moving.

Blood spread steadily beneath you, seeping into the cracks between the cobbles and soaking through what remained of your jacket. Dust clung to your hair, your face, your uniform, turning everything the same dull grey except for the blood that seemed almost impossibly bright against it.

You looked smaller from this angle, younger almost, dust covered strands of hair splayed around your head in a halo like manner.

Joe felt his stomach drop so violently it made him feel sick and his knees feel as though they’d been shattered in an instant.

"No..." The word came out barely louder than a breath. Before he could comprehend what was happening his legs were moving and he was running.

"Move!"

He stumbled more than sprinted, boots slipping on loose rubble as another burst of gunfire cracked somewhere overhead. He barely registered it. His entire world had narrowed to the figure lying in the middle of the street.

He dropped beside you so hard his knees struck the cobblestones with a sickening crack.

"Hey." His voice sounded strange. Too quiet and too strange to believe that it had left his mouth. His hands hovered uselessly over you, trembling so violently he couldn't decide where to touch first.

"...Hey, c'mon."

He brushed the dirt carefully away from your face with the back of his fingers. Your skin was frighteningly cold beneath the dust.

"Open your eyes sweetheart."

He swallowed hard, getting no response only the distant sound of explosions and screaming.

"No..."

His hand found your neck, fingertips pressing desperately against your pulse.

Come on.

Come on.

Come on...

Then,

A faint flutter.

Weak and uneven but there nonetheless. Relief hit him so hard he nearly folded over with a moan. "Oh, thank God..."

His head whipped around. "Medic!" The shout tore from somewhere deep in his chest ripping through his throat. "MEDIC!"

No answer.

He looked back at you, eyes hopelessly beginning to glaze over.

Your breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one sounding harder than the last.

His hands were already slick with blood. He pressed both palms instinctively against the worst of the wound, panic completely overriding any thought of what he was actually doing.

"I'm here." His voice cracked. "I got you." He whispered the phrase over and over to not only reassure you but himself.

Another explosion shook the street. Fragments of brick showered over the pair of you, bouncing harmlessly off Joe's helmet, as he attempted to shield your body from any more damage.

He didn't even flinch. "Doc!" This time it was almost a guttural scream, it sounded painful and gruesome. "I NEED A MEDIC!"

A figure burst through the smoke at a run like an angel with a Red Cross band wound tightly around his arm like a lifeline.

Roe.

His medical satchel bounced violently against his hip as he skidded to his knees opposite Joe, already pulling bandages and dressings from the bag before he'd even caught his breath.

"What happened?"

He inhaled sharply before stuttering out an answer, "The grenade-" Joe could barely get the words out. "She pushed me-"

"I know."

Roe's hands moved with the kind of speed that only came from having done this too many times before. He cut away the torn fabric around the wound, his expression unreadable as he worked.

Joe searched his face desperately. Looking for something, anything. Instead, Roe's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. It was enough.

Joe felt the blood drain from his own face and began to sway slightly as he felt the acid in his stomach turn and threaten to start clawing at his throat.

"...No."

Roe looked up, eyes frantic, "Joe."

"No."

"I need you with me."

"No, she's-"

"Joe!" The sharpness in Roe's voice snapped him back. "I need pressure here." He guided Joe's shaking hands onto the dressing. "Hard."

Joe obeyed immediately. His palms slipped against blood-soaked fabric. He recoiled back slightly as a almost silent whimper trailed like blood out your chaffed lips, "I'm hurting her."

Roe didn’t look up, opting to move his hands quicker, "You're keeping her alive."

Joe shook his head hard, vision blurring slightly, "I can’t-"

"You can." Roe was already reaching for another dressing. "Don't let up."

Boots thundered across the street. Malarkey appeared first, breathing hard. The second he saw you, he stopped dead.

"...Jesus Christ."

Skip wasn't far behind. His eyes flicked from you to Joe, then to Roe. "What do you need?"

"Truck." Roe didn't even look up. "Right now."

Malarkey was gone before the sentence had finished.

Skip dropped beside Joe instead. Without saying a word, he reached over and steadied Joe's forearm where it had begun shaking so violently he could barely keep pressure on the wound. Joe looked at him for the briefest second.

"I can't..."

Skip squeezed his arm.

"Yeah, you can."

Joe looked back at you. Your face had somehow gone even paler beneath the dirt. Far too pale.

"...Hey." His voice softened instinctively. "You remember this morning?"

Nothing.

"You were still mad at me." His throat tightened painfully. "You can stay mad." His breathing hitched and he spluttered out a wet cough. "I don't care."

Roe was still working.

Bandages.

Morphine.

Checking.

Listening.

His movements never slowed, but Joe noticed how often he glanced towards the road. Waiting. Wanting, no, needing that truck.

"Just yell at me again." Joe leaned closer, one bloodstained hand brushing carefully against yours. "Call me an ass." A broken laugh escaped him as he found himself beginning to beg the same way someone looked to god for answers.

"Tell me I'm wrong." His thumb rubbed unconsciously over your knuckles. "C'mon..." He sniffled slightly, “I’d rather you stay mad at me for the rest of our lives rather than not having a life together at all.”

The rumble of an engine finally echoed through the smoke. A jeep came bouncing violently down the ruined street, tyres skidding across broken cobblestones before lurching to a stop.

Malarkey jumped out before it had fully halted. "We got it!"

Roe exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes. "Alright." His voice stayed calm. "We move her together." He nodded slowly, eyes not daring to leave you.

Toye and Skip were already crouching beside him.

Joe instinctively slipped an arm beneath your shoulders with an unmatched pace.

Roe caught his wrist. "Not there."

Joe froze instantly before he looked down. Only then did he really see his hands. Blood coated every crease in his skin, soaked into the cuffs of his jacket and streaked halfway to his elbows. It covered his palms, his fingers, even beneath his fingernails. Almost all of it belonged to you. His breathing faltered and his eyes fluttered and stung.

For a second, all he could do was stare.

Roe's hand landed firmly on his shoulder. "Joe."

He looked up.

"Don’t disappear on me."

Joe blinked once, swallowing hard before giving the smallest nod.

Together, they slid you carefully onto a stretcher, every movement painfully deliberate as Roe called out instructions and the others answered without hesitation. Around them, the firefight still raged, rifle fire echoed from the far end of the village, someone shouted for ammunition, another grenade exploded somewhere beyond the square, but for the handful of men gathered around you, the war had shrunk to the space of a single stretcher.

Nothing else mattered except getting you to the aid station before it was too late.

The jeep lurched violently over another rut, throwing everyone sideways. It wasn’t a long journey back from the village but Joe felt as though he Odysseus fighting his way back to Penelope.

Roe caught himself against the side of the vehicle without taking his hands off the dressings pressed firmly against your abdomen. Every bump in the road threatened to undo the work he'd managed to do in the village, fresh blood soaking through the bandages almost as quickly as he replaced them.

"Easy..." He wasn't sure if he was talking to the driver or to you.

Joe sat wedged beside the stretcher, one hand wrapped tightly around yours despite the blood that made your fingers slippery in his grasp.

You hadn't opened your eyes since the explosion. Every now and then your brow furrowed faintly, as though somewhere beneath the darkness you could still feel the pain. Every tiny movement gave him hope.

"Stay with me." His thumb rubbed absent-mindedly across the back of your hand. "You hear me?"

The jeep bounced again.

Your head shifted weakly against the folded blanket beneath it. Joe leaned forward immediately. "There you are."

Roe glanced up only briefly, hands shaking, "Keep talking to her."

Joe nodded. "You remember yesterday?" His voice was quieter now, stripped of all the anger that had filled it less than twenty-four hours earlier. "I didn't mean any of it."

Another silence.

The engine groaned as the jeep rounded a corner.

"I was scared, okay." His throat tightened. "I should've just told you that."

The aid station came into view as little more than an old stone farmhouse with a faded Red Cross hanging from one side.

Orderlies were already running before the jeep had fully stopped.

"Move!"

The rear gate dropped with a metallic clang. Hands reached in immediately. "One... two... three." The stretcher slid free.

Joe jumped down beside it, refusing to let go of your hand until someone physically prised his fingers away.

"We've got her."

He didn’t retreat, "I'm coming."

"You'll only slow us down."

"I said I'm coming."

No one argued.

There wasn't enough time.

The room they carried you into had probably once been somebody's dining room. Now every flat surface was covered with dressings, bottles, bloodied instruments and whatever supplies the medics had managed to salvage. Another wounded soldier groaned somewhere behind a hanging blanket while someone else shouted for plasma from the opposite corner.

The air smelled overwhelmingly of antiseptic, damp stone and blood.

"Get her up."

The stretcher landed on a wooden table. Roe was already working before it had stopped moving. Scissors cut through the remains of your jacket. Bandages disappeared almost as quickly as they were opened.

Someone called out your pulse while another repeated it.

Joe stood rooted beside the table, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides.

He wanted to help truly he did, he just didn't know how.

Your eyelids fluttered.

Barely.

Joe was beside you in an instant. "Hey." His voice cracked. "Hey... sweetheart."

Your eyes opened only a fraction. They struggled to focus before finally settling on him. "...Joe"

"I'm here." He reached for your hand again. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

Your lips parted, a small cough escaping your mouth as small specks of blood spluttered out. Joe’s hand was quick to wipe it away before it could roll down your face.

It took all your strength to force out the words. "You’re… mad."

Joe shook his head so quickly it almost hurt the sudden movement causing a muted pop. "No."

"I, don't..." A weak breath escaped you. "...want to fight, anymore."

His eyes filled instantly. "We're not fightin'." He tried to smile. "I already lost." The faintest twitch touched the corner of your mouth. “Remember?”

"I..."

You were speaking in such small fragments he almost thought he'd imagined it.

"Told..." You struggled to breathe. "...You."

"What?" He leaned closer. "I'm right here. Talk to me."

"...Hypocrite."

A wet laugh escaped him despite the tears spilling down his face. "Yeah." His forehead rested gently against yours. "You were." His voice became little more than a whisper. "You were right, you usually are."

"I love-" The words caught in his throat sharp and piercing.

"I love you."

Your fingers twitched weakly inside his hand.

"...Joe."

Then your eyes drifted shut again.

"Reader?"

No answer.

"Hey." He squeezed your hand gently. "C'mon." His chest began to heave, “this isn’t funny.”

Around him the room changed. Voices became sharper and faster.

"Pressure's dropping."

"More gauze."

"We're losing her."

Joe looked up. "What does that mean?" No one answered him.

Roe's hands never stopped moving. "Come on..."

Another medic checked your pulse. His expression changed.

"Gene-"

Roe’s lashes flickered as his eyes began to glaze over, "I know."

"No pulse."

Joe frowned. "...What?"

Roe pressed two fingers against your neck himself.

Nothing.

He listened and waited eerily calm before trying again. The room had become impossibly quiet. Finally, Roe lowered his head. His voice was barely audible.

"...Time of death."

Joe stared at him in disbelief, the words sounding like a foreign language in his head. "No."

No one in the room moved an inch.

"No."

He looked back at you. "You just talked to me." His voice climbed. "You were just awake!"

A medic reached towards the sheet.

Joe slapped his hand away. "Don't."

"Joe..."

"No!" He grabbed both of your shoulders. "She's still here."

"Joe."

"She's cold because she's in shock!" His breathing became frantic. "She's not dead." He ran an erratic hand through his hair as his legs began to grow restless beneath him.

Nobody answered his pleads they only looked at him with eyes full of pity though some eyes looked towards the wooden ceiling as their eyes began to also fill with salt.

The silence only made him angrier. "You don't know!" He climbed over the stool beside the table, placing both hands over the centre of your chest. "I'm not losin' her."

He pushed down hard.

Again.

Again.

"Joe."

Again.

Roe caught his wrist. "Joe." He an exhaled a shaky breath through flared nostrils, “you need to stop. You’re gonna’ shatter her rib cage.”

"Get off me!" He tore free and continued, movements becoming more sporadic by the second. "Come on!"

Another compression then another more aggressive one.

"Please!" His voice broke completely. "Please..."

Two orderlies stepped forward. One of the two reached for his shoulder muttering a small “come on.”

Joe shrugged him off so violently the stool tipped sideways. "I said don't touch me!" He bent over you instead, tilting your chin the way he'd seen medics do before. "She's gonna breathe."

His hands shook uncontrollably as he pinched your nose closed. Someone quietly said his name. He ignored them. Why should he listen to them? Why do they think they have the authority to stop him?

He sealed his mouth over yours and breathed into your lungs. When he pulled back, there was no breath returned. Only the metallic taste of blood.

He tried again. Harder this time as he was becoming frustrated from the same outcome each time.

Blood stained his lips.

His chin.

The front of his jacket.

The metallic taste clung to the backs of his teeth like rot and pricked at his gums like thorns, stinging every inch of his body like a hive mind.

Still he got no response, you remained there lifeless.

He looked around wildly, "Why isn't it working?" He was only met by a harrowing silence, "Tell me!"

Another breath, then another, then another, nothing.

His panic tipped into wild desperation, "WHY ISN'T IT WORKING?"

The room stayed painfully still as the man in front of them begged and pleaded with his entire souls for them to bring back the girl who lay still on the table.

Finally, Roe stepped forward. His own eyes were red, though whether from exhaustion or grief Joe couldn't tell. He placed a hand on Joe's shoulder, biting his lip before sighing, "She's gone."

Joe shook his head violently blood rushing to face quickly, "No." His voice had become frighteningly quiet. "No, she ain't."

"Joe..."

"No!" He looked down at you again, brushing damp hair back from your forehead with trembling fingers. "She can't..."

His words dissolved into tears, "She can't die here." He looked around the cramped room, taking in the cracked plaster walls, the leaking ceiling, the muddy footprints across the floor, "Not in some dingy old room." His shoulders began to shake as violent as a volcano threatening to erupt, "She deserves..."

He couldn't finish.

The orderlies moved in gently this time. One took hold of his arms while another eased him backwards from the table.

He fought them at first, anger and desperation radiating off his body.

"No!"

He reached towards you as they pulled him away, "Reader!" His fingertips brushed yours for the briefest second before the distance between you became too great.

"Please!" His voice echoed through the farmhouse, guttural sobs bouncing off the walls, "Please, please just wake up!"

No one spoke, no one had the words or the courage to.

The only sound was Joe's broken protests as he was guided through the doorway, his boots dragging against the stone floor, eyes never leaving you until the door swung shut between you.

The latch clicked into place and suddenly he couldn’t see you anymore.

Joe sat alone on the worn stone steps outside the farmhouse, his elbows resting heavily on his knees.

His jacket was stiff now.

Your blood had dried dark across the sleeves, soaking into the fabric until it felt almost part of it. He hadn't changed it. Hadn't even thought to.

His hands rested loosely between his knees, he couldn't stop looking at them. Couldn’t drag his eyes away from the massacre engraved across his arms.

No matter how many times he'd scrubbed them at the water pump outside, he still swore he could see it. Tiny streaks of crimson caught beneath his fingernails.

He rubbed at them again.

Harder this time, the skin beneath becoming raw and irritated, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix it.

His chest tightened so tight he thought it would snap like an elastic band which hand been pushed beyond its limits as he let his hands fall.

The door behind him creaked open.

For a moment he didn't look around.

He already knew who it wasn't.

Boots crossed the stone floor slowly before stopping beside him. Roe stood there with his helmet tucked beneath one arm. He looked every bit as exhausted as Joe felt. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, dried blood still marking the cuffs of his sleeves despite someone having clearly tried to wash it away.

Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched awkwardly between them, begging to be shattered.

Eventually Roe reached into his pocket. "I thought you'd want these."

Joe looked down.

Resting in Roe's open palm were your dog tags. The chain was tangled, and one tag was bent slightly near the edge, as though it'd caught on something during the blast.

Joe stared at them.

He didn't move.

He couldn't move.

Roe gently took his wrist and turned his hand over before placing the tags into his palm.

The metal was cold. He closed his fingers around them automatically. The chain hung between his knuckles. For a long time, he simply looked at it. Then, very carefully, he ran his thumb over the letters stamped into the metal.

Your name.

Your service number.

The little details he'd never really paid attention to before.

His breathing caught.

Up until now, some stupid, naive part of him had still been waiting. Waiting for someone to open the door behind him. Waiting for someone to say there'd been a mistake. That you'd woken up and that you'd asked for him with that groggy voice you usually had after a rough night sleep. That everything inside had somehow been a nightmare brought on by exhaustion. Why couldn’t it just be a nightmare? Why couldn’t he just wake up? Why couldn’t you wake up.

The weight of the tags in his hand crushed all of it.

They weren't handed to the living.

A shaky breath escaped him before he could stop it.

"...Thanks." It was barely audible.

Roe nodded once, "I'll leave you be."

Joe didn't answer. Roe lingered for another second, as though searching for something that might make any of this easier. There wasn't anything he could conjure up that would come close to making the man before him better. He settled for resting a hand briefly against Joe's shoulder. Just once. Then he disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Joe was alone again.

The tags sat in his hand like they weighed a hundred pounds.

He turned them over slowly. The chain slipped through his fingers with a soft metallic rattle before settling in his palm once more. Without thinking, he curled his fist around them until the edges dug painfully into his skin.

He welcomed it.

It was easier to focus on that than everything else.

His eyes drifted out across the courtyard.

Men came and went beneath the lantern light, speaking in hushed voices as they carried boxes of supplies or helped the wounded from newly arrived trucks.

Life carried on. It had to. It couldn’t just stop every time there was a casualty, no one would ever move on.

Tomorrow morning someone would complain about the coffee. Luz would probably make another joke nobody asked for. Guarnere would argue with Toye over something completely pointless. Someone would swear because they'd lost a glove. The sun would come up.The company would move again.

And somehow... the world would keep turning.

As though you hadn't been in it that morning.

His grip tightened until the edges of the dog tags bit into his palm.

A memory forced its way in before he could stop it.

"Don't walk away from me."

He could still hear his own voice, wincing his grip on the metal tightened.

Still see you turning back to look at him.

"See if I care."

His stomach twisted so violently he doubled over, pressing a fist against his mouth.

He'd been angry. Scared. He’d been angry and scared before, but he’d never brought himself to utter such horrible things as an attack towards you. He hadn't meant a damn word of it.

But those were the last words you'd heard from him before the grenade.

The last words.

Not I love you.

Not be careful.

Not come back to me.

Just anger.

Just fear dressed up as something malicious and cruel.

His shoulders shook and he laughed once. It wasn't really a laugh. Just a bitter sound that escaped somewhere between a sob and a breath.

"I did care." The words disappeared into the empty night for no one to hear. "I cared more than anythin'." You wouldn’t hear them.

He lowered his head, the chain slipping between his fingers as he bowed over the dog tags.

For the first time since Roe had said the words inside the aid station joe found himself crying. Just quietly, alone on the cold stone steps, clutching the only piece of you he had left while the war carried on around him as though nothing had changed.

For everyone else, tomorrow would be another day.

For Joe Liebgott, the world had ended in a dingy farmhouse miles from home, and no amount of marching, fighting or surviving would ever quite make it start again.

He looked down at the tags once more, before kissing his teeth as he took a gasp for air.