The men who'd been wounded in the battle in Nuenen all looked like they'd seen ghosts. Those of them with wounds severe enough to be taken off the line sat in their beds in the field hospital. Dead silent. Staring into the space ahead of them. Haunted by whatever they'd seen.
From the ditch where she'd experienced the battle, Charlie hadn't realised it had been so bad. The artillery fire had been intense, yes, but it had seemed to her like more of a tank battle than an infantry one.
The way the men all sat looking like they'd been drained of life told a different story.
After the retreat from Nuenen, Easy had ended up somewhere on the outskirts of Eindhoven. The officers had ordered everyone to set up tents for the night, which Charlie supposed was better than foxholes. There was still no sign of the surgeons. When asked, Henry explained that they had been sent to work with another company while everyone else had been sent back to England, so they were likely delayed in getting back to them from there. As soon as she heard this Charlie regretted every bad word she'd said about them not being there for the battle; she couldn't imagine going straight from Normandy to another combat unit with no break in between.
And, really, the nurses hadn't much needed the extra help. While they'd struggled to get to everyone in the immediate aftermath of the battle, the field hospital tent had quickly grown quiet. The majority of the wounds were minor - cuts from rubble, gunshot wounds to arms, burns from fallen telephone poles - and had been easy to stabilise.
Charlie just worried about the man named Private First Class Robert Van Klinken. He'd been wounded during the battle in a burst of machine gun fire while hiding in a hedgerow.
She wasn't sure whether he'd make it through the night.
The nurses took it in turns watching over him, cradling his head while he coughed up phlegm and spots of blood, cleaning up and rebandaging his wounds, speaking to him softly to keep him feeling comfortable and safe. Charlie was sitting with him now, holding his hand and reading to him at his request. The book was Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, James' favourite book, and though she was nearing the end now, Robert hadn't minded. He'd said he just wanted to listen to her talk.
As she turned from the end of one chapter to the beginning of the next, Charlie lifted her eyes to check on Robert and knew. He wouldn't be seeing the sunrise. He'd be lucky to make it to midnight.
"Autumn," Charlie called over her shoulder, her voice quiet so as not to wake any of the napping soldiers.
Autumn appeared at her side from where she'd been washing bandages and leaned in close to let Charlie whisper to her.
"Will you go and get Hoobs and David Webster?" Hazarding a glance back at Robert, with his eyes half lidded and his head tilted back to look at the top of the tent, Charlie sighed. Careful to keep her voice so quiet it was nearly silent, she explained, "They might want to say goodbye."
Autumn dropped her chin to process the news, shutting her eyes tight, before giving Charlie a nod. A moment later she was out of the tent and lost to the night, seeking out Robert's two closest friends in the company.
The men of the company weren't set up very far away from the field hospital, but even still Charlie hadn't had a chance to see any of them after the battle. She took comfort in the fact that none of the wounded who had been brought to her had been anyone she held dear. All of her favourite boys were still in one piece, at least.
Charlie carried on reading to Robert, keeping her voice soft to keep him calm but giving his hand a gentle squeeze every now and again to keep him awake. Autumn returned when she was in the middle of a sentence, Don Hoobler and David Webster right behind her, both looking crestfallen, and Charlie finished the sentence with a wobbly voice.
Losing a patient would never get easier, she was sure of it. And she couldn't imagine how Hoobs and David were feeling, knowing that they'd come to say goodbye.
"Hey, Robert," Charlie called quietly, giving his hand another squeeze.
His eyes widened momentarily, flicking over to her.
Giving him her softest smile, Charlie told him, "Two of your buddies are here. They've come to keep you company before you go to the evac hospital, alright?"
She didn't want to lie to him, but she didn't see the use in telling the truth. If she were dying, she didn't think she'd want to know. It was the last act of kindness she could do to give him that.
As Hoobs and David approached Robert's bed, Charlie stood from her chair and Autumn dragged another one over, setting it on the opposite side of the bed so Robert could be surrounded by his friends.
"Let me know if you need anything, alright?" Charlie told Robert, brushing some hair back from his sweaty face.
He gave a minute nod and mumbled something which Charlie couldn't quite make out before she gave him a final smile and turned. To Hoobs, standing behind her, she shook her head, her smile failing. His face, usually so joyful and alive, was so sad she could hardly bear it.
"How long?" he asked her quietly, turning his eyes on his friend.
"Maybe half an hour," she replied. Her voice cracked on the final word. "An hour, potentially."
Hoobs nodded and didn't look at her again, so she squeezed his shoulder as she passed and allowed him to take the seat she'd just vacated.
"Charlie," Autumn said as she crossed the tent to put her book down with the rest of her belongings. When she turned to her, Autumn gestured in the direction of the tent flap. "Floyd's out there waiting for you. He said he had something he needed to tell you."
Charlie's eyebrows furrowed but she nodded. "Okay," she said, "I'll go see him now," but she couldn't imagine for the life of her what he needed to say. Had he been hurt and not realised until now? But then, why wouldn't he have told Autumn when he surely came back with her after fetching Hoobs and David? Maybe he just wanted to say hello.
When Charlie pushed out of the tent and found Floyd standing in the darkness, she knew immediately that that last guess wasn't right. He didn't look like he wanted to say hello. He looked like he wanted to say goodbye.
"Floyd?" Charlie asked quietly as she approached him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No, Freckles," he replied. He let her lead him a ways away from the tent so as not to wake up any of the wounded, keeping quiet until they'd stopped by a patch of trees at the edge of the field they were set up in. "I'm alright," he went on, then pulled at his lip for a moment, lost in thought.
"What's wrong?" she questioned, ducking to meet his downcast gaze.
It was with great reluctance that he met her eyes. With a shake of his head he dropped his hand from fiddling at his lip.
Charlie knew something was very wrong.
"Floyd," she began slowly, trying desperately to keep her voice level in spite of the flips her stomach was doing, "what's going on?"
There was a beat of silence. Charlie looked at Floyd and he looked right back, his eyes steady and her heart racing.
He said it all in one go. "We lost Miller."
Charlie's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"He's gone, Charlie," Floyd said lowly, his eyes full of sorrow. "Miller - James," he corrected himself. "James is dead."
"Dead," Charlie repeated, searching Floyd's eyes for some sign that he was joking.
"Yeah," he confirmed on a long exhale.
"Can I see him?" Charlie asked. Her voice sounded so small and young. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere outside of herself.
Floyd's eyes grew so sad Charlie felt like a little girl, staring back at her parents as they tried to explain something difficult to her.
"He's gone, Charlie," Floyd repeated with a small shake of his head. "He got hit by a shell. It would've been -" He ducked his head and muttered a curse before forcing himself to look back up and meet her eyes again. "It would've been painless."
Charlie took a moment to process the information. Hit by a shell. Painless.
There one moment and gone the next.
It didn't seem possible. James couldn't possibly be gone. Not twenty minutes before the battle he'd said he'd see her after they stopped. His eyes had been so bright, too alive to now be shut forever.
"But -" Charlie began, and cut herself off. Her thoughts were racing. It couldn't be true. It was impossible that James was gone. Her James, with his freckles and his dimples and his smile, with his ocean blue eyes and his shyness. The first boy she'd ever kissed, ever been on a date with, ever felt truly adored by.
"Can't I just see him?" Charlie asked, her voice thick with the rush of oncoming tears. She couldn't let their conversation from before they'd gotten onto the tanks be the last time she ever saw that sweet, handsome face. She needed to look into those bright blue eyes again, watch that bashful smile and search for the appearance of those dimples.
Floyd took a wary step closer to her, gave a slow shake of his head. "No, Freckles," he said quietly, reaching out a hand for her but not touching her just yet.
"I just want -" Charlie sniffled and stood up straighter, forcing back her tears and swallowing around the tightness in her throat. "I just want to see him one more time. I want -" - for this to not be real. I want this to end.
"We left him back there, Freckles," Floyd said gently. His hand was still hovering in the air by her left arm. "We can't go back."
"But his eyes -" Charlie choked out, then pressed a hand to her mouth to push back the sobs. She didn't want to cry, because crying made it real and she didn't want this to be real. "I just wanted to see his eyes -"
Floyd let out a long, dejected hiss of a sigh. "Oh, Charlie," he said, and wrapped his arms tight around her.
When he rested his chin atop her head, the tears finally came. And they poured. And there was nothing she could do to stop them.
"He said he'd see me after," she told Floyd, shaking in his firm hold.
Floyd said nothing, just ran a careful hand through her hair and let her say whatever she wanted to without shushing her, as her mother had often done when she'd been upset, or trying to console her, as her father had. He let her get it all out, sobbing into his chest and then speaking into her hands, holding tightly onto handfuls of his ODs.
After a while, when she'd stopped speaking but continued sobbing, Floyd finally took to soothing her.
"You're okay, Freckles," he told her quietly, speaking into her hair. "I've got you. You can let it all out."
And she did. She cried and cried and cried, and he stood there through it all. He made no complaint and never loosened his hold on her, never shifted his feet or made any indication he was getting tired of standing there with her.
When, eventually, her crying slowed, he very carefully leaned back to look down at her. Charlie kept her hands clasped against his fatigues, not letting him go far, but regardless he kept his arms around her. Through the darkness, she looked up at him with tear stained cheeks and swollen eyes, and he looked down at her like just the sight of her had shattered his heart.
"Come on, Freckles," he said quietly, lifting a hand and wiping away some of her tear tracks with a soft swipe of his thumb. He gave her a weak smile. "Let's get you to Mabs, huh?"
Charlie shook her head, her face crumpling, and buried her face back in the front of his ODs. "I want to stay with you."
Floyd went still. He was sure his heart stopped beating.
Then, after a moment, he sighed and ran soothing hands through the length of her hair again. He shut his eyes as he considered his options. He couldn't sleep in her tent because he'd get in all kinds of trouble for it - and she probably would too - but she couldn't sleep in his because he was sharing with three other guys. He could take her to Mabel, against her wishes, and leave her to take care of Charlie for the night, but he knew he wouldn't go against Charlie's wishes. He would do everything in his power to make sure she got what she wanted, and if that meant sleeping with his back against a tree all night then that was what it meant.
"Okay," he said eventually. Taking gentle hold of Charlie's shoulders, he eased her away from him and looked into her watery eyes through the light of the moon. "You wanna go tell your friends you're with me so they know you're safe, or should I?"
"You do it," Charlie said. Her voice still sounded like she was listening to it through a radio. "Please," she added as an afterthought, and cracked her very first reluctant smile since hearing the news when he let out a tiny laugh.
As Floyd started back toward the field hospital tent, Charlie took hold of his hand and clasped her other around his forearm, making sure it wasn't a trick and that he wasn't going to leave her behind. When they got there, Floyd ducked his head in and informed whoever was on shift by now that Charlie was spending the night with him, then ducked straight back out and gave her a small smile.
"You doing alright?" he asked as he began to lead her to the tree he'd already designated as his bed for the night.
Charlie didn't reply, but she squeezed his hand, and that was good enough for him.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, only the distant chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves on the air between them. At the designated bed-tree Floyd lowered himself to the ground and Charlie followed. After he'd leaned back against the tree trunk and gotten comfortable, he pulled her into his lap; he didn't mind being uncomfortable, but there was no reason for them both to be.
"I miss him already," Charlie confessed a little while into the silence.
Floyd had known she wasn't asleep, but he hadn't expected to hear her talk again tonight.
"I know," he assured her, tucking his face into her hair.
"I can't stop thinking about him," she added in a forlorn whisper.
Floyd's heart dropped an inch. He did his best to ignore it. "I know," he told her again, reassuring.
"It doesn't feel real."
"I know, Freckles," he promised her, his fingers gentle in her hair. "I know."