Author: battyderp PM
T-4 Emilie Demont never wanted this. But when she is drafted, she reluctantly accepts the responsibility of being a medic for the German army. But what she thought was a curse could turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Based off of the miniseries and the actors' portrayals of the men. No offense intended to real soldiers. You are heroes, and have nothing but my love and respectRated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Adventure - E. Roe/Doc - Chapters: 68 - Words: 103,692 - Reviews: 68 - Favs: 27 - Follows: 30 - Updated: 12-13-12 - Published: 06-25-12 - id: 8256513
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that has been keeping up with this story! I'm so sorry this update is late, but I hope it's okay aha. Also, I feel I should apologise for all the mistakes in the last few chapters. And something that has really been bugging me is that, in one of them, I said how medics were only permitted to carry shotguns. Blah that was a stupid mistake I made. It's actually meant to say handgun. But, oh well.
I hope you enjoy this chapter (it was written late at night so pardon any mistakes, yo! Oh, and sorry they're so short), and that you're catching onto the pattern: every second chapter will be a flashback, leading up to her participation in the Brecourt Manor battle with Easy Company. Yeah, I realise this has some major mistakes, because the same German company didn't fight all those battles, but just bear with me, guys. Ahaha. Reviews are awesome, and I'll take the TARDIS, travel back in time, and bring you a cookie baked by Easy Company as a reward. (;
I don't own anything in these stories but Emilie and the fake German soldiers I've created.
The news of the SS soldiers that had been defeated at a crossroads in Holland spread like wildfire. When it reached Emilie's company, it was met by complete silence. No one could believe it. No one could believe they could have lost. She could feel the hope in the room diminishing by the second, at an alarming rate. Finally, the soldiers reluctantly went back to their meal, though their conversations were significantly less cheerful.
Emilie sat away from the others, picking at her meal, if it could even be called that. The things they were given to eat in the army was an insult to food, and she had begun craving sandwiches a few days ago. Such a simple craving, yet she vowed to never take them for granted again when she got out of this war. When. She almost laughed at her optimism. The best she could hope for was if she got out of his war, and, at that time, it seemed as though the only way she might get out was in a body bag.
She could hardly taste the food, which was probably a good thing, so pushed it irritably away. The memory of how Kat was the only one ever brave enough to eat with her flashed in her mind, but she pushed it away. She couldn't allow herself to think about that, to grieve. She had to remain strong, if not for herself, then for her company, for her little brother.
"An order has just come through."
Emilie recognised the voice of her C.O. Everyone else in the room stood to attention, and she saw a few of them shoot her a questioning glance when she was the last one to stand up, taking her time. The chair she was sitting in scraped noisily against the hard ground but she didn't care. When the C.O glared at her, she simply smiled back at him, finally standing straight, though a smirk still played at her lips.
Her C.O began to speak, walking down the line of soldiers. "Der Führer has ordered a counterattack on the small town of Bastogne in Belgium," he announced, heels clicking as he walked, gaze sweeping over each soldier's face, "His objective is to achieve complete surprise, to strike before the Allies have a chance to properly prepare." He stopped in front of Emilie, staring her straight in the eye as she winked back at him teasingly, "He has chosen us to fight alongside the SS. This is a great honour, soldiers. Do not let him down."
He turned back to the men. "Finish your meal. We leave tonight." With that, he clicked his shoe on the ground and stalked out of the room, the soldiers saluting sharply as he went, Emilie included.
As soon as he left, the room exploded with chatter:
"Tonight? This is ridiculous! We've barely recovered from Eindhoven!"
"The SS – can you believe it? Hitler hand-picked us."
"Do you think we'll get medals for this?"
"I hate snow."
Emilie remained silent, sitting back down. A replacement medic still had not arrived, meaning she would be the sole medic in this battle. She could feel the stress building in her, until finally she couldn't bear it any longer. She lashed out with one hand and sent the half-eaten plate of food in front of her flying against the wall. It shattered and fell to the ground, loud enough to startle all the soldiers in the room. They instinctively reached for their guns, but upon seeing Emilie had been the cause of it, merely exchanged confused glances and shrugs.
She just stood there, avoiding eye contact, chest heaving as she fought for breath. Where was her nurse training when she needed it, when she needed to remain calm? Why was it only there at the most inconvenient of times? She could hear the soldiers whispering to each other, but didn't look up.
"Miss Demont?" She tensed as a voice sounded nervously behind her, using the same name Eugene had called her by. Eugene. Why was he always on her mind? "Miss, a-are you alright?"
That was when she truly realised what she was doing. She was appearing weak in front of her company. So she sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and nodded. When she flicked her eyes open once more, she raised her head and swallowed, forcing what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Yes. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, running a hand through her hair she had barely managed to brush that morning, "Just… Well, I have a lot on my mind, Bachmeier. Guess I'm not handling it as well as the rest of you."
For some reason, every time she used their names, the soldiers looked surprised. Most likely because she knew their names, even if she had never spoken to them. She didn't know why she did it, but she only ever called them by their last names. Probably because she didn't want to get attached. Well, look how well that had worked with Kat.
Bachmeier nodded, offering a small smile. She could almost swear she saw a blush forming on his face, and remembered with an inward chuckle the conversation she had overheard when she had first met her company: who could score a date with her first. Eichmann - tall, blonde, good-looking, notorious for his womanizing skills – had been the favourite, but Emilie had turned him down every time, which only seemed to make him more eager. She hated men like that, that viewed women as play things.
Eichmann had been killed at Brécourt Manor just a few weeks ago.
Emilie grimaced at the thought, making Bachmeier frown, but she didn't give him time to ask any questions. "We need to go prepare to leave," she told him softly, flashing him a smile of assurance that she really was okay. Yet another lie.
He nodded again, clicking his heel and walking back to the other soldiers who had been peering at them intently; they began bombarding him with questions and slapping him on the back, laughing. Everyone tip-toed around Emilie, preferring to gossip about her behind her back or when they thought she wasn't listening. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, or a medic, or simply because they could sense she was the equivalent of a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Or maybe it was a combination of all three. Though she was often grateful she had time to herself, she found she was lonely, wanting someone to talk to. Wishful thinking.
From then on, everything happened in a rush as soldiers ran around, frantically trying to gather all the supplies they would need: ammo, food, winter clothing – enough to last them at least a month. Emilie stuffed all the medicine she could carry into the bag she already had, and collected two other bags for safe keeping. Anyone would think she was getting ready to run a hospital.
To add to all that extra weight, she also pulled on more layers of clothing, including a heavy wool greatcoat, with silver dimpled buttons so as not to reflect light, lined, waterproof boots, muffs, and a hooded waterproof parka. She looked awkward once she had it all on, but at least she would be warm. Only when she had it all on did she remember she had to display her medic sash, and had to take off all the extra layers, undo the sash, put everything back on, and put the sash back on. It barely fit now, and Emilie felt constricted, but she sucked it up. She walked as best she could over to her company, feeling somewhat like a penguin.
And that was it. They were going to Bastogne.