#wfu

They expected to get shot at, that wasn't some secret that was kept from them, but one thing that the infantry didn't account for was the fact that they were headed straight into a blast zone as soon as they loomed over France.

Easy Company trained for this, to jump out of perfectly good planes and land in the soft grass with the comfort of seeing their chute open above them. What they didn't train for, though, was landing in an active battlefield, explosives lighting up the night sky like the Fourth of July.

The first blast was an eye-opener, literally. Joe blinked a few times before looking around at the other guys, they all had the same tense look on their face. The kind of look someone gets when they're trying too hard to stand up straight and hold their breath. Anticipating. Waiting. They had all heard the explosion in the distance.

Before they had any time to brace themselves, the plane shook violently as nearby bombs set off around the other C-47s, knocking some men over, including Joe. The red light sparked on like a bomb of its own, glowing angrily as if it was about to burst.

Joe grunted, listening to Lieutenant Winters tell them to hook up and check their equipment.

"SEVEN OKAY!" he screamed, patting the man in front of him to signal that it was his turn.

A few more blasts rumbled through the aircraft, jerking and throwing the men around like ragdolls, some falling back onto the seats. Other planes could be heard outside of their own, the low buzz of the engines failing making Joe's stomach twist in knots.

"I WANNA JUMP, SIR!" one man shouted.

Winters shouted over the commotion, guiding the men to the door, "Now, listen to me, STAY ON THE PLANE, you're not jumping!"

Joe clenched his jaw as if he was already preparing himself for impact. He was on auto-pilot now, trying to let muscle memory take over from the previous jump trainings that they've had. Slivers of light came in through the increasing number of bullet holes through the plane's body, each one narrowly missing the soldiers by a hair.

He hung onto his clip as they approached the drop zone, but there wasn't any time left. Sure, they would miss the DZ entirely, but the alternative was ending up like most of the other planes, in flames and into pieces.

The pilot flipped the switch, changing the vicious, red jump light to green. There was no coming back from this. It was no longer Camp Toccoa; it was Normandy.

"LET'S GO!" Winters shouted. He made eye contact with Joe briefly, giving him a slight nod before jumping out of the plane without any hesitation. The rest of the men followed, an uncomfortable silence falling over them as they were launched into the air. No screams, no sharp breaths— only acceptance that this is what they were meant to do. They pulled their ripcords, chutes exploding into canopies to bring them to the ground.

The sky filled with the odd beauty of men and their parachutes as they descended. The feeling was somewhat comforting, but in the eerie sort of way due to the fact that they could die at any moment while in the air. During training, they had the luxury of a clear field with no German artillery aimed at them. They had a real chance, save for some small fractures or the occasional concussion. But here? Here, they weren't guaranteed anything— not even a landing.

Some landed in the brush of the trees, suspension lines strangling their limbs as they hung like marionettes, the sick sound of their necks and joints snapping ringing like a gunshot.

Some didn't even make it to the ground, already taking bullets and shells mid-air. Even when their feet touched the enemy land, patches of it were engulfed in flames, and others were infiltrated with high concentrations of Kraut soldiers.

Joe was fortunate enough to land safely, hands ripping off his chute and untangling himself so he could get out of the open. His wrist started to burn, causing him to look down and see the skin stripped off, pink and raw. He didn't even feel it when he first landed, the adrenaline coursing through his veins veiling any sort of immediate pain reaction.

"Fuck- fucking hell," he cursed, realizing that the ropes gave him a severe friction wound. He ripped off some of the silk from his used chute with his M3 trench knife, wrapping it around his wrist as he hissed in pain, tightening the knot with a pull of his teeth.

As he finished, he heard ticking in the distance made by one of the cricket clickers they were given to identify one another, looking around cautiously as he held his M-1 Garand in a ready position.

"Flash!" Someone whispered hastily, the nearby bushes rustling with movement.

Joe turned around sharply, "Thunder!"

From the bushes emerged Malarkey, Popeye, and Guarnere. Joe exhaled out of relief to see at least some of his comrades, hustling over to them to form a plan.

"Good to see you, Joe," Guarnere said, tipping his helmet in acknowledgement.

"Yeah, you too, Bill," Joe replied, nodding back to him and the other two.

"What happened to your wrist?" Popeye asked, gesturing to the now blood-soaked fabric tied around the joint.

Joe waved him off, not wanting to concern about any minor wounds right now, "Rope burn, it don't matter. Where the hell did we land?"

Malarkey answered this time, taking a look at his surroundings, "I don't know, but it's definitely not the fuckin' DZ."

"Aye, there's some tracks up ahead. We can follow 'em, see where they lead." Guarnere gestured to the faint glimmer of the steel tracks, a promising sight since they had not the slightest clue where they were at the moment.

The four walked for a while, on guard at all times just in case they got ambushed by a bunch of Krauts. Joe was itching for a cigarette, fingers twitching against the side of his rifle as if he was mimicking flicking his lighter open. He'd have to wait for now, though.

Joe thought the area felt a bit familiar based on what he'd studied back in Aldbourne, but the reality of the situation was that they were still separated from the rest of Easy.

"I don't remember hearing about any railroads near our objective," Malarkey huffed, continuing to walk the tracks.

Joe glanced at Malarkey, "I'm tellin' you, this is the spur line that runs parallel to the river. We should be comin' up to a road and bridge ahead."

Malarkey scoffed, "Yeah, how would you know?"

"Because I studied the sandtails, alright?

Popeye suddenly signaled for them to stop moving as he crouched down, Joe and the others quickly followed suit, inching forward slowly.

Malarkey started to whisper, "Probably a friggin' train or—"

"Shh!"

"Flash!" Came a voice from behind them, the four turning around in alert.

"Thunder!"

"Lieutenant, is that you?" Malarkey asked.

"Malarkey?" Winters approached them, all exchanging greetings with each other.

Joe followed as they ventured farther down the tracks, stopping when they heard distant gunfire and the sound of a German cart nearby. Winters specifically told them to wait for his command, but Guarnere opened fire on the band of Germans in an angry frenzy, everyone else firing their weapons shortly after.

"That's enough Guarnere! Everyone okay?" Winters shouted.

"Yes, sir," Joe replied.

Guarnere's little blow up could've cost them big time, especially since Winters and Lipton didn't even have any weapons except knives and some explosives. Joe looked down at one of the horses that was still twitching and whinnying in pain, the sound too painful to keep listening to.

He took out his pistol and shot the poor animal, his face contorted into a repulsed expression at having to do it. They moved out from the area, walking even when the sun started to rise.

"Did you see him? He just sat there," Guarnere complained as they walked through the shallow water. Their boots were soaked with mud and algae, the moist friction becoming more unbearable by the minute.

Joe shrugged, "He didn't have a weapon. What's he gonna do? Shout at 'em?"

"Shouts at me for killing Krauts," Guarnere grumbled back, stomping his way through the mud.

Joe tried to reason with him once more, "He just wanted you to wait for his command."

"Joe, he don' even drink!"

They reached a point to grab supplies from dead soldiers, navy aircrafts raging up above. They had to move fast since the landings were starting. Once they reached the Battalion HQ, they realized that many of the men were still missing.

Joe lit up a Lucky Strike, finally inhaling the sweet taste of tobacco as he took a seat. It wouldn't be long until they had to start moving again, but damn, it felt good to just take a break for a minute or two.

"Toye! Get over here, Winters needs us up front."

Joe tipped his head back and groaned, getting up with a grunt as he made his way into the barn. They talked battle strategies and mapped out where the German guns are firing.

Joe was to be part of the main assault line, so he stubbed out his cigarette and started to collect ammo to get ready for battle.

During the Brécourt Manor assault, Joe nearly got blown up by grenades twice. He was surprised he even made it past D-Day at this point.

"Jesus Christ, fuckin' twice," he muttered, slightly dazed from his concussive state.

While securing the second German gun, one of the Krauts started blabbering while putting his hands up in surrender.

"Shut up," Joe growled.

"No make dead! No make dead!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Joe repeated, shoving his rifle in the German's face.

"No make dead!"

Finally having enough, Joe punched the guy hard, his knuckles adorned with the brass knuckles y/n gifted him. The metal made a clinging sound upon colliding with his face, Joe smirking slightly at the little victory. So, his girl helped him knock out a Kraut indirectly. That was more brag worthy than killing 20 POWs, in his humble opinion.

At nightfall, they had an hour to rest before having to move again, finding peace in the back of a little truck. Joe sat with Buck, Malarkey, Guarnere, Lipton, and Liebgott, and another soldier, having a bite to eat and taking sips of French wine.

Liebgott escaped Malarkey's rancid farts, the rest of the guys choking on the gross air as Malark laughed at them. Winters came to exchange a few words with them, even sharing a drink, much to Guarnere's surprise. After Winters left, they talked among themselves for a little while they could spare a moment.

"So, Lip, how's the wife?" Buck asked, shoveling another spoonful of food into his mouth.

Lipton smiled a bit as he looked at his wedding band, "Jo Anne? She's good. I got a letter from her a few weeks ago. Come to think of it, she mentioned y/n, too." Lip looked over at Joe as he said that, Joe's eyes widening in surprise.

"Y/n? How is she? Is she alright?" Joe asked, leaning forward.

Malarkey and Guarnere laughed hard, "You're so smitten with her, Joe! It ain't like she's on the front lines with us."

"Shut up, I just- just want to know how she's holdin' up," he grumbled, staring at his mess tin.

Lipton smiled warmly, "Jo Anne said that y/n is doing just fine. She's working hard around the hospitals apparently. There's mentions of transfers happening soon."

Joe's expression softened a bit at the fact that his love was doing okay, but he was curious about the transfer situation.

"Transfers? To where?" he asked.

"They're going to ship out some of the nurses to England, from what I've heard. They needed help with the wounded over there," Lip replied, the others nodding their heads.

Joe was silent for a moment, biting his lower lip before he released it, "How is it? Being married."

Lipton leaned back, giving Joe a knowing look as his mouth quirked into a slight smirk, "It's special, Toye. I miss my wife every damn day I'm away from her."

Buck leaned in to join the conversation, "Hell, I shoulda put a ring on my girl's finger before we left to get into this mess."

"Why, are ya thinkin' 'bout marryin' y/n?" Guarnere asked, taking another sip of wine.

Joe hesitated, his heart skipping a beat. Sure, he's thought of it, and he obviously told Harry back in Aldbourne that he wanted to marry her, but now, with a bunch of the other guys, he felt embarrassed all over again. Joe was usually quick to act, his brazen toughness and mentality making all the decisions for him.

But when it came to love and marriage, he was a deer in the headlights. Malarkey noticed his apprehension to answer, "Hey, man, it's okay if you don't have it all figured out. But between us—all of us—I think we can all agree that war is uncertain. If you don't decide soon, a bullet or some damn grenade isn't goin' to wait for you to."

Lipton nodded in agreement, "I knew my wife was the one I wanted to come back home to after the war, that's why I married her. I didn't want to be stuck in a trench wondering why I left home without making her 'Mrs. Lipton.'"

"I. . . guess I'm just thinkin' about it, y'know?" Joe said, continuing when the other guys hummed for him to go on. "I mean, she's the perfect woman, you all know how she is. It's- this goddamn war."

Guarnere placed a supportive hand on Joe's shoulder, "Joe, we'll say it for you; you want to marry that girl."

"Yeah, make her yours, Toye!" Malarkey said, pumping his first in the air.

"Put a ring on it, Toye."

"Come on, Joe, just admit you want to marry her."

"If you don't, I will."

"Shut up, no one wants to marry your stinky ass, Malark."

Joe chuckled at his friends' banter, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, "Yeah, I do."

Lipton grinned, raising an eyebrow, "Do what, Joe?"

Joe flushed slightly, voice lowering to a sheepish murmur, "I do want to marry her."

"There you go, atta boy!" Buck laughed, clapping Joe on the back. The back of the truck erupted in cheers and shouts, all of it making the warmth in Joe's heart spread even more.

— ♡

The days after D-Day were filled with intense battles and taking over several towns, including Carentan. Joe wasn't a mortarman, neither did he do things like snipe like Shifty or arm the bazookas like Tipper, but he was a damn good rifleman, and intense when he needed to be.

He followed Guarnere as he called out commands, the other men in the squad following close behind as well. The Battle of Carentan was only a taste of how the rest of the war would go, soldiers getting flanked left and right with machine guns and artillery. Doc Roe was scampering around the whole town trying to help those who screamed for him.

Joe was fortunate enough to make it out unscathed, the company successfully securing Carentan as American tanks pulled through. The men were headed back to England, having been taken off the front line for the time being.

Joe decided that he needed to send another letter to y/n, tell her all about what he'd been through so far, and that he was finally back in England for a short break.

What he didn't know, of course, was that she was writing him a letter around the same time. Y/n had been chosen as one of the nurses to be sent to England to help the wounded at the aid stations there, since they were extremely shorthanded and needed extra support. All the soldiers that had been wounded in France immediately flowed into English hospitals, the amount becoming overwhelming for the staff there.

So, y/n had packed her bags and got ready to go to England, not even knowing that Joe was there, but only for a short time.

Joe sat down next to Harry as he pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil from the inside of his jacket, the latter giving him a goofy grin and nudging him.

"Writin' again, lover boy?" Harry chuckled, leaning his elbows on the table to get a better look at what Joe was writing.

"Leave me alone, Welshy," Joe retorted, but his voice failed to have any real annoyance in it, only causing Harry to laugh harder.

"It's a damn good nickname for me, and I love it because Kitty loves it," Harry said proudly, flashing a toothy smile at the thought of Kitty. Joe that it was tooth-rottingly sweet that the slightest mention of Kitty managed to make Harry into a sappy, lovestruck fool.

"You love anything that she does, huh?" Joe said, starting to map out his letter. He treated it like he was writing a battle report, much to Harry's disappointment.

"Y'know, you're not one of those behind-the-desk, upper echelon typists. You can add a bit of feelin' into the letter." Harry took the paper from Joe and studied it.

"Toye, this can't even be considered a love letter."

"Whatever, it's. . . hard for me. Could you help write it again?" Joe asked, a slight tinge of guilt in his voice. He was a grown man, he should know how to do things like this on his own. He wrote letters to his parents all the time while in basic training, but he guessed nothing was enough to prepare him for writing things with feelings in them.

Harry sighed dramatically, "Fine, but you owe me one. Now, start out with this. . ."

Within a few minutes, thanks to Harry's help, Joe wrote a nice letter just for his lovely girl. This was the first letter to be sent to her since Aldbourne, so any previous skills that he gained in love letter writing had diminished, but he was quite proud of how he did this time

To My Darling Y/N,

I am now back in England after dropping in Normandy and spending several weeks there. The D-Day invasion was incredibly difficult, but I managed to make it through safely. I even survived two grenades and punched a Kraut with the brass knuckles you gave me. Isn't that crazy, my love? We also secured the town of Carentan, but many of the men were either killed in action or severely wounded.

I'm sorry that I haven't gotten the chance to write until now, the days have been long and tiresome. It all sort of feels like a blur. But one thing is for certain, I miss you. And I miss you dearly. Every time I see your picture in the locket, my heart aches to see you again.

I love you very much, my little nurse.

With love,

Your Darling Joe

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it, Joe?" Harry gently squeezed his friend's shoulder, noticing the obvious tense state that Joe was in. His hand was gripping the pencil so tightly, Harry thought it was going to snap in half.

"Yeah- no, it wasn't. I'm gonna get this sent out, thanks, Harry," Joe mumbled, getting up from his seat to search for Vest.

"Vest, hey, Vest!" Joe called out to the younger male, the boy turning around from where he was standing.

"Oh, Joe! I was looking for you actually," Vest said, hands rummaging through his bag.

"Why? Did I get somethin'?" Joe asked, hands still tightly clutched around the letter for y/n.

"Yeah, here." Vest handed him a letter addressed to Joe. "Is that going out? I'll take it." Joe gave him the envelope, thanking him again before going to a quiet corner to sit and open the letter for him.

It was from y/n, and as soon as he registered that clearly, he stood up out of surprise. He didn't expect anything from her— in fact, he didn't expect anything from her at all. He was happy to just exist in her little world. That was enough for him.

But alas, she sent something anyway, and that made his heart grow in ways that one would've thought impossible. He gingerly took the letter from the envelope, hanging onto every word and kiss that clung to the page.

To My Darling Joseph,

I haven't heard back from you in a while, so I'm sending you this in hopes that it gets to you safely. I've just been told that I'll be transferred to England to work at one of the aid stations there. I'm not quite sure where you are right now, but I miss you, and I hope you're doing alright.

I love you so much, Joe.

With love,

Your Darling Y/N

Joe couldn't believe what he just read. A letter she must've wrote a couple weeks ago that he just received, which could mean that she was on her way to England right now. But the worst part was that his letter that he just gave to Vest won't even get to her right away.

They had every chance to see each other, but also the chance that they would miss each other all the same. Joe's heart thumped in anticipation, silently praying for a miracle.

Sergeant Lipton stood in the front of the room, announcing to the men that he had something to say. Joe felt a lump in his throat as he realized the inevitable— they were going back to the front lines.

"Listen up, all weekend passes are cancelled. We're not coming back to England, boys. We’re moving out at 0600," Lipton announced, disappointed groans coming from all sides of the building. Joe’s heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach as he clutched y/n’s letter.

They were going to drop into Holland soon, and the war would continue from there.

— ♡

Y/n was shipped out to England via ship alongside other nurses from her department, boxes of medical supplies surrounding them. She gripped her aid bag tightly, thumb brushing over the coarse fabric. The war had taken a toll on her— seeing the wounded men’s hopeless gazes, hearing their soft cries for help or mercy, some wanting to be put out of their misery and some screaming out of desperation for the nurses to not let them die.

She’d pulled out more bullets and shrapnel pieces than she could count, injected flailing bodies with morphine that offered them the slightest bit of relief. It broke her heart whenever they’d hold her hands, their eyes watery and filled with the fear of being alone.

She treated each of her patients with gentle care, tending to them as they needed. Y/n wanted to help them as she hoped someone would help her darling Joe if he ever got hurt. Amidst the uncertainty that the war dawned upon everyone, she made it her mission to save as many soldiers as she could. But now, trudging across the seas to reach England made her stomach churn with the nagging thought of seeing more violence and bloodshed.

Upon her arrival, she was thrust into the nearest hospital and began working quickly.

“I need morphine! What happened to our supply boxes?” y/n screamed, struggling to keep a hysterical soldier on the bed as he thrashed around in pain.

“We’re already low! We can’t keep up with the amount of wounded coming in here!” shouted another frantic nurse whose apron was stained dark red with blood.

As weeks passed, this was their normal. Every day became a chaotic whirlwind of agony and anguish for soldiers and nurses alike. Y/n had finally gotten a moment to catch her breath, her head resting on an empty hospital bed. Her entire body was trembling with leftover adrenaline from a previous encounter that morning. A young boy’s face was nearly split open with large pieces of shrapnel sticking out from the torn flesh.

She couldn’t save him. A boy whose life was taken far too soon by this damn war. Y/n didn’t know whether to scream in anger or cry out of frustration. And yet, she stood silent, not even having enough energy to emit a sob.

“Miss y/n?”

The voice startled her, causing her to jump and let out a small gasp.

The delivery boy bowed his head in apology, walking closer and extending his arm to hand her a letter. She took it gingerly with a soft “thanks,” the boy scurrying out quickly.

She recognized Joe’s handwriting right away, immediately opening the letter with her bloodstained fingertips. Every word only pulled the knot in her stomach tighter, her heart aching with the weight of not being able to see her beloved.

They had missed each other by a week. A fucking week.