A/N: Same rules as last time apply here!
The first thing that Kathryn Egan was acutely aware of was the fact that her head was still ringing as though the alarm back on base was blaring. Every moment of trying to open her eyes felt like she was swimming through some sort of lead—and then she was aware of an unnatural burning sensation on her left shoulder and a pain in her jaw.
Forcing her eyes open, Kathryn was met with the sight of her own bare feet. For a moment, it was all she could do to just stare and wonder where the hell her shoes had ended up. They were covered in dirt and a thin trail of red ran down the sides of her legs and it was when she shifted that Kathryn couldn't help the wince of pain that spilled from her lips.
Because the fact of the matter was that she had cigarette burns up and down her inner-thighs and hips and chest—so any sort of movement and friction from her ripped skirt or torn shirt was just agony against those burns. She could barely bring herself to look down at her shoulder—
And a cry nearly tore out of her lips as she stared at the chunk of skin that was now missing from her shoulder. After she had stabbed Hausmann, things had gotten chaotic and confusing, too confusing for her to keep track of. He had shot at her and it had skimmed her shoulder—and now she had a flap of skin that seemed to have fused to her nurse's jacket and blood streaming down into her white shirt.
The sound of a gunshot made her flinch violently and Kathryn didn't get another chance to panic before someone else was being tossed into the ditch. And when she looked over, she realized that Rhoda was staring unmoving at her—eyes glazed over on the ground and her shirt was covered in crimson.
But the body that had been dropped was Dorothea—she had a bullet in her chest and her eyes were fluttering shut. And Kathryn moved so quietly and quickly, she almost prayed that she would get shot again so she wouldn't have to do anything else.
Screaming from up above and more gunshots—but Kathryn's gaze had locked onto Dorothea. Dorothea, who was barely 20 and hadn't even lived her life yet. Dorothea, who had bruises up and down her neck and her shirt had been torn open in the same way that Kathryn's had. But Kathryn wasn't focused on that. She was just focused on her friend—her friend who she knew was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.
"I'm scared..." The words sounded barely above a whisper.
So Kathryn Egan, in all of her agony and pain—despite the fire that she felt still burning in between her legs, she moved to Dorothea Potter and she clasped her hand in hers. She held Dorothea to her and this time, she could not stop tears.
Dorothea rested her head against Kathryn's chest and Kathryn murmured a little song to her. Because what else was she supposed to do? Dorothea was slipping from this world and into the next. Kathryn Egan was a damn doctor and there was nothing she could do to save her. The bullet had pierced in between her ribs and she didn't have the equipment from up above. She didn't have any of it. And so when Dorothea Potter slipped from this world into the next, something died in Kathryn Egan.
And for a moment, staring at the dead bodies in that hole—her patients and her nurses: Rhoda, Charity, Evelyn, and now Dorothea—Kathryn knew what she needed to do. She quite truthfully wasn't sure where she found the strength to move. To do what she was doing. But she crossed over to one of the dead Allied soldiers and pulled his pistol from his body.
And just as one of the Germans returned and was throwing Inez into the hole—Kathryn Egan pulled her own trigger. She didn't miss, not like Hausmann had. No, her bullet struck him right in between the forehead and his look of surprised remained on his face as he landed in the hole—
Inez had let out a horrified scream and gasp—only to be abruptly shushed by Kathryn. Footsteps sounded and another one of the German soldiers leaned over the ditch, peering in with a concerned look—he was still holding onto Maggie. And Kathryn just pulled her trigger again—the force reverberating up her arm. And Maggie, to her credit, extended a hand to Kathryn Egan.
Kathryn didn't stop firing until the other two German soldiers were dead. She didn't stop firing until the pistol was empty and she was standing there, looking like some sort of banshee or ghost of a girl and she was shaking in pure agony and rage.
The silence that fell was astronomical. Hausmann was long gone—already finding his way over to the German forces. But they were the ones that were left sitting here with their dead patients and four dead nurses. Four dead nurses .
Rhoda had been the first to fight back after Kathryn had stabbed Hausmann. She wasn't going to let any of the girls be raped or brutalized. And it had cost her her life. The mother figure of the nurses on the front lines had been shot and deposited in the same ditch that Hausmann had left Kathryn in.
Evelyn was next. Charity wasn't about to let her younger sister get raped, not when she was standing right there. So they had both fought back against one of them—and they had been shot, one through the other. And then there was Dorothea, shot as the other soldier had finished with her. As if she had never been there in the first place.
These six women that were left had been violated. Their patients were murdered. Their friends and fellow nurses—murdered. They were what was left. Not a single one had been left untouched by the skirmish and the violence of what men were capable of. By all accounts, they should have just sat down and waited.
And for a bit, they did. For a moment, they sat there in silence, trying to tend to their own wounds. But Kathryn couldn't just sit there. Not when she knew that Hausmann had moved their camp from the original coordinates. Not when the Allies wouldn't know where to find them. Not when she had a job to do—
She could compartmentalize. She could hold it all in and break down later. Right now, she had a responsibility to each of these nurses to get them the hell out of Germany. To get them home safely.
It didn't even register to her that she had killed those soldiers until Tina had crossed over to her, pistol in hand. She pressed the pistol into Kathryn's hand and Kathryn just clutched it to her like a lifeline. "We can't stay here," Kathryn's voice didn't even sound like her own. It was a strangled and almost defeated sound in her ears—
It was when she spoke that she felt the bruises and handprints all over her throat—she was covered in bruises the same way a canvas was covered in paint. It felt like burning agony to even make sounds come out of her throat—but she would do it.
"We don't know where they are," Beatrice murmured, still shaking and curled up on the ground with her hands covering her ears.
"Well we can't just sit here and wait for them to come and find us," Kathryn insisted. They were not going to sit here and take it. She was going to get them out or she was going to die trying. She was not going to be raped again or touched by anyone—not ever again.
"You're going to go after them?" Tina questioned, eyes wide.
Kathryn had steel resolve in her eyes. "I can do this. Does anyone know how to shoot?"
"I can," Maggie piped up. "My brother and da' used to hunt."
"Then grab a pistol off of one of them," Kathryn said with a huff. "I'll bring them back to us."
"Be careful out there," Inez's voice barely sounded above a whisper.
"And come back," Annie insisted.
Kathryn Egan didn't really have another choice.
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No one really knew how it happened. Kathryn Egan appearing in the Allied Forces makeshift camp was something of a miracle. She looked horrific —and some of the men couldn't help but weep at the sight of one of their nurses looking like she did. Because almost immediately, they knew what had been done. And if she was here and alive, then it was a miracle—but at what cost?
Hair undone, covered in blood and dirt and bruises—she sported bruising on her face and neck. Her nurse's uniform was torn at the shirt and skirt, and blood streaked down her legs. Her shoulder was covered in crimson and shirt stained. Her feet were barefoot and she carried nothing but a pistol in hand—and when she arrived, telling them of the field hospital takeover—it wasn't until she spoke that anyone in camp actually recognized her as Doctor Kathryn Egan.
But she didn't stop there. She led them back into the fray, a spare pair of boots taken off of one of the dead. She led them back to her girls and she didn't stop to rest until each of the dead soldiers and nurses had been deposited in the truck. And it was at this point that Kathryn Egan finally let the sweet release of exhaustion take her to the darkness.
If only that's where things had ended, then perhaps Kathryn Egan might, have in fact, come out of this entire thing fine. If the Allies had made it back to the border, then they would've been able to get those nurses and wounded men back to London. Kathryn would've likely spiraled there, but instead—
The Germans attacked the armored truck. They took every single one of those men and those women captive. The nurses were sent to interrogation—separated from the Allied Forces and American soldiers they had been traveling with. They were questioned and they were not believed.
And Kathryn Egan awoke to baggier clothes—clearly men's clothes that were a size too large for her and a bandage around her shoulder. She awoke to having to advocate for her nurses to be sent with the Allied men to the Prisoner of War Camp—because she would not have any of her nurses sentenced to work anywhere else. And she would not have them separated. They were not spies, they were not lying about anything that had happened.
The SS knew about it, of course. It wasn't hard for rumors to spiral about a female doctor on the front—she had earned herself the nickname of Doctor Death by killing six German soldiers in an attempt to save her nurses and wounded men. It was this very deed that had her and each of her five nurses sent to a Prisoner of War Camp.
Kathryn Egan hadn't died. She had survived and she had been forced to step into a leadership role. So when the SS sent her and the Allied Soldiers packing to a Prisoner of War Camp, Kathryn Egan just steeled her shoulders and prepared for the worst. Because whatever hell she had already endured was bound to be much worse wherever they were going.