Posey's hair had never been so dirty. Her entire body was caked in dirt and mud and, in some places, blood - both hers and other people's - but she was most conscious of her hair. It lay plastered against her forehead whenever it fell into her face, feeling heavier and thicker than it ever had, even when it had been long. It felt claggy, and greasy, and horrible, its golden blonde now a dull brown. This was the first time she'd ever been grateful to have cut off her hair.
She sat alone in a foxhole in whatever part of Normandy they were in now, helping to hold the line. Since the Battle of Bloody Gulch their time in France had been more reminiscent of the Great War than anything she'd been trained for - sat in holes in the ground, preventing the Germans from pushing them back and taking more territory. Her father had never spoken about his time in the trenches but Posey had learned about the first war in school; she'd learnt about reserve trenches and support trenches and front-line trenches, about going over the top to engage with the enemy, but she'd never been taught about the waiting. Waiting for the Germans to attack. To shell. To bombard. To do anything.
At the present, Posey was waiting for her turn on watch. She was supposed to be sleeping because she'd be on watch during the night but the sunset was too vibrant just now. She was tired, that much was true, but she didn't feel particularly sleepy. Exhausted by life but not so much by labour, really; Shifty had gone out on patrol today, so she'd been spared. Still, Posey closed her eyes as she tilted her head skyward, allowing the sun's final stand against the barrage of night to wash over her. It was orange. Always orange. Halfway between yellow, for happiness, and red, for blood. It seemed fitting, really; each of them hung in the balance between those two exact things - either they'd survive the war and have a shot at happiness, or they'd gasp their last breaths on the battlefields of Europe in a puddle of their own blood.
Posey hated orange. The light was warm, though.
She sat in silence for a while, drinking in the sounds around her. Men from surrounding foxholes could be heard talking, laughing, sometimes singing, though their jollity was considerably less than the first night they'd spent in foxholes. Living between various holes in the ground got old fast, and God knew they'd been at it for long enough. Posey wondered briefly whether General Taylor felt even the slightest bit of guilt for promising them relief after three days and three nights, or whether he'd known all along that that would never be enough. So much had been asked of them during their time in France so far that Posey had a difficult time believing the general hadn't known they'd need to stay.
"Wells?"
Posey kept her eyes closed and remained motionless. She wasn't in the mood for talking just now.
Still, Guarnere persisted, as always. "Wells."
"What?" she hissed, opening one eye to shoot him a glare before returning to her original pose.
"Not asleep yet, then?" Guarnere asked, a smirk in his voice. Posey heard the muffled thud of his boots hitting the ground beside her before he plonked himself down into the dirt.
Posey huffed. "Clearly not."
"What you thinkin' about?"
She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "Nothing."
Guarnere waited a beat before venturing, "You want me to get Johnny?"
Posey opened her eyes and turned to him fully, her eyebrows set low over her eyes. "No," she replied, keeping her voice even. "I'm allowed to have thoughts and they're allowed to be private. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm desperate to talk about my feelings all the time."
"So you admit you weren't thinkin' nothin', then," was all Guarnere said in reply.
Posey made a show of rolling her eyes. "Was there any particular reason you returned?"
Guarnere shrugged. "Finished checkin' in on everyone. This is my foxhole too, you know." Before Posey could retort, he asked, "How's that wound doin'?"
"Fine."
"Does it still hurt?"
She took a moment to consider the question, sat up straighter and moved around a bit to check, and nodded. "Yeah, but not as much." Or maybe she'd just gotten used to it. She supposed it didn't really matter, either way.
Guarnere nodded and they fell into a brief silence. After a few beats, he asked, "So what were you thinkin' about before?"
This man was almost as stubborn as she was herself. Only an answer would satisfy him, so that was what she gave. "My mum." It was only once she'd said the words that she realised they were true. Behind the veil of thoughts of death and life and General Taylor had been thoughts of her mother. Indeed, she didn't know that she could honestly say she was ever not thinking of her mother. Still, she made no move to elaborate. Guarnere could do with that information what he willed.
"You miss 'er?" he asked after a short pause.
Posey turned her eyes on the burnt orange of the sky, already being chased away by a deep navy blue, and hummed her affirmative.
Guarnere didn't respond for a while, and whilst this had been what Posey had wanted, she found herself unsettled all of a sudden. After a considerable pause she turned to look at Guarnere beside her and found his eyes were on the sky, too, watching as night crashed in once more, their only indication of the passing of time. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he spoke up, "I been thinkin' about my brother a lot."
That made Posey's ears prick up. Johnny had begun to tell her about this brother of Guarnere's just after Carentan but they'd been interrupted. She had forgotten all about it afterwards. She waited patiently for an elaboration that never came and hid a smile; maybe Malarkey hadn't been too far off the mark back at Toccoa when he'd called the pair of them 'too similar'.
"Where's your brother?" Posey wondered quietly. Her eyes searched the side of his face, watching as he attempted to mask any emotions. His eyes were an open book, though, when he made the mistake of turning to look at her. It was only a brief glance but Posey saw what she needed to and what she dreaded all in one: the kind of sorrow that only came from losing a loved one. His brother had died.
Posey nodded and Guarnere looked to the sky again. She did the same, offering him his privacy. He wasn't crying but the situation was so familiar Posey couldn't help but smile as she drew out Teddy and placed him gently in Guarnere's lap. He didn't look at her, but he smiled down at the little teddy bear now sat on his knee.
"If you squeeze his paws," Posey began softly, her eyes on her bear, "he'll bring you luck." She felt Guarnere's eyes on her as she went on, "Protection. So your family won't lose another son."
She gazed up into the heavens again, leaving him to it, so she didn't find out whether he squeezed Teddy's paws or not. A little while later she was called to go on watch. She left her teddy bear under Guarnere's protection whilst she was gone and was given him back the following morning when she returned. The pair of them exchanged a nod as she tucked the bear back into her ODs. Posey shut her eyes and tried to sleep.
The sun rose, lilac painting the sky as opposed to the orange of sunset, and another day meant another line to hold and another patrol. Kraut hunting, looking for trouble, something to bide the time. No one ever wanted to go on these patrols but their numbers were too few by now for any of them to avoid it.
The number of men Easy Company had made the jump with seemed astronomical now. It seemed strange to think they'd ever been that many. Full planes had gone down on D-Day, some men had been hit in the planes, some had never found their way back to the company, and others had died in the various bits of combat they saw. Each day seemed to bring with it another casualty, even when they didn't see combat; as Posey watched Blithe, Johnny, and Dukeman set out to scout out a building in the middle of nowhere, a bad feeling settling low in her stomach with how quiet it was, she thought about Tab and how he'd been stabbed by one of their own in the middle of the night. How any of them were supposed to survive, she had no idea.
Posey watched on closely from where she was crouched in some bushes with a mixture of First and Second Platoon - in itself an indication of how low their numbers had fallen. Blithe was lead scout and Posey wasn't sure the dreamy look in his eye had faded just yet. She worried about him and kept her gun aimed at the building, even though she knew she couldn't have hit anything if she fired from this height. But a shell-shocked lead scout would not be good news.
Blithe split from Johnny and Dukeman to get a better visual on the building. He took a good look before turning to beckon the others closer, just as a bullet hit him in the neck. He fell sideways immediately.
Posey hopped to her feet and began shooting at the building, alternating between both of the windows and hoping to hit a sniper. All the while, Johnny and Dukeman rushed over to grab Blithe and drag him back to cover.
"Top window, right!" someone shouted. Posey aimed her gun there and continued firing.
When Welsh ordered, "Cease fire! Cease fire!", she lowered her gun. Silence fell over them once more, until the frantic rustling of bushes behind her had Posey turning to glance back.
"Move, move!" Roe shouted as he pushed through the gathered men. "Comin' through, give me room! Out of my way!"
Posey crouched back in the bushes and watched as Roe tended to Blithe, her face expressionless and her eyes miles away. She knew this could have been avoided. She was sure they all knew. Blithe hadn't been up to taking point on a patrol and, beyond that, the patrol was pointless. Their still being in Normandy was pointless and good men were dying because of it. She was tired of waking up in a foxhole and wondering whether that would be the last sunrise she ever saw.
When Welsh gave the order they began to move out, Johnny assisting Roe with taking Blithe to the aid station. Once the rest of them were back and gathered with the rest of the company, no one spoke. They were exhausted. It was easier to sit down and drink water and await orders. No one was interested in pretending everything was fine anymore.
"Easy Company," Winters called, requiring little volume to get their attention. He wore the tiniest of smiles as he informed them, "We're being pulled off the front line to a field camp north of Utah Beach. We'll have hot food and showers and a roof over our heads. Then we'll be heading back to England."
Posey wanted to smile but her face didn't seem to share in the sentiment. Truly, she was relieved, but she was also exhausted. And whilst hot food, showers, and a place to sleep that wasn't a hole in the ground all sounded so wonderful she could have wept, she didn't let herself believe they'd make it there without suffering yet more pointless deaths.
Still, an end was in sight. And if she made it back to England she could only hope it would be for good this time.