Amelia Greene -
It's either a blessing or a curse to finally leave Aachen. Something about the city's grown on me, but also makes me want to run for the hills.
I highly doubt wherever we're heading will be any safer. But glancing uneasily into the buildings each morning is tiring. Especially when they seem to grow in size each morning.
Besides, I'm hoping a chance of scenery will ease the tension between Turner and Pierson as well. This city has too many buildings for any type of peace. Perhaps a forest will remind them of how important it is for them to get along . .
Never minding that, I despise having to pack up whenever we move. Pierson wants everything in a very specific way, and if it's not perfect, we have to start all over again.
I'm not entirely sure why forks and spoons need to be perfectly arranged, but whatever Sergeant wants, Sergeant gets. I neatly tie a rubber band around the ends of a handful of the pronged utensil, humming a song in my head.
A new breeze falls over me, and I shiver. One of these homes would be nice refuge for the winter. Though their foundations are cracked and all windows shattered.
The last of the convey should be coming in soon. I'm not sure if they'll be here to send us off. Funny how we do the dirty work only to leave into another unmarked area and establish it as our own again.
I turn at a familiar groaning. A smile bursts across my face seeing a tan man climb out of a metal beast, a winning grin already showing.
"Perez!" I jog over to him, forgetting about my very important duty of fork handling. He reaches me halfway, engulfing me in a large hug.
"Hey, Greene!" He cheers, loud enough to garner a decent amount of attention. He never was one for volume level. "How've you been?"
"Good!" I reply almost as loudly, hyped by his excitement. "How bout yourself?"
"Kicking ass and trying not to fall on it." I laugh at his comment. He nods upwards, flexing a bearded jaw. "Where's Aiello?"
I make a face and look around, seeing if we'll be lucky and catch him between shifts. "He's got a busy schedule today. We all do. How long you gonna be here for?"
"An hour or two." It's never long visits with him, and I hide a frown. "Needa refuel this tanks, rendezvous with Turner, get orders. I'll be around more by the time you all get out of here." I'm pleased with that promise. "How is it out here?"
I shrug, gesturing to the smoking homes. "Up and down. We'll have quiet days and then have to defend every entrance the next. They're popping up out of nowhere. But we'll be out of here soon."
He scoffs, taking in the recent and ancient destruction. It does appear more like a movie set than real life. "Yeah, I can tell. Good thing you got Turner and Pierson, huh?"
He gently nudges my shower, smiling as though that's supposed to be a good thing. It is supposed to be a good thing. But some hard headed ass I know decided to constantly defy Turner's word.
"Yes, but it would be even better if they got along."
His flat eyebrows raise against his head. A flash of worry in his brown eyes. "They going through it again?"
I nod; he remembers the time directly after Kasserine when Turner wouldn't look him in the eye.
"Worse than before. They try to flat out ignore each other if they don't need to talk."
And put me in the middle of it - as if I have any idea what the hell is going on.
Perez let's out a low whistle, adjusting his helmet. I wish I didn't have to be so worried about this. He's pretty much his own boss with the exception of Davis. "That's what happens when there's history. I thought by now they would've worked past that."
I shake my head. "I doubt they will until this war is over. Right nows about the time everyone starts to darken a little."
"Even the new boys? Daniels and Zussman?"
I nod, remembering Daniels' reluctance to open up a letter from his girl. That's one of the least common things to do out here. All because of a simple misunderstanding.
"They're getting there. Missing their girls or home. Starting to want personal space but there's none of that. I'm surprised we don't hate each other." He chuckles.
"We would've if I wasn't traveling all the time. I got off lucky."
I push his shoulder, rolling my eyes whilst he laughs.
"You're an ass." An ass that I miss seeing on the daily, yes, but an ass nonetheless. "You happen to know anything about where we're heading next?"
Perez spills the information without stopping to think that maybe I wasn't allowed to hear it. He brushes off rules more than what I consider to be reasonable.
"Hurtgen forest," he extenuates the letter I don't think are supposed to be pronounced, "Haven't heard anything too good. Dark, heavy, few cleared areas. You're gonna have your work cut out for you."
No surprise there. Though I do tend to get off from chopping down trees. "How close is it to the Rhine?"
"Closer than here," he answers unhelpfully, "You ever gone camping? That's what it's gonna be like. Except with snow." He realizes my flat expression. "Oh, but you're a smart girl, you'll make it work."
"Thanks for the heads up," I reply monotonously. "I should be warning you, you've never seen snow before."
"Not my fault Arizona's a desert. Caliente como el infierno," a smile lines my lip, "I'll be fine, I got this bad boy to keep me warm."
He affectionately pats the front of the tank, to which it purrs in response. He then leans down and kisses it, which makes me laugh and cringe thinking about all the shit that thing has went through and how rarely it'll get hosed down.
"When are you coming around next?"
Professionally optimistic, he shrugs. "You'll see me here and there. I'll try to come around for Christmas, though."
I spent my last two Christmas's with him. Call it tradition. He better keep that promise.
Pierson's rough voice suddenly booms from behind us. Distantly, I spot him scolding at a pair of cowering boys, and sigh. Perez smirks, knowing he's exempt from his tyranny.
"I have to get to work," I excuse myself before Pierson sees me off track. "Take care, Perez. Don't get yourself killed."
"Ah, you know me. No ofrenda for me back home yet. I'll see you soon, Greene."
I send him a warm look as I step back, holding him to his promise. "Goodbye, Perez."
"Adios, Greene!"
Feeling a lot happier than before, I go to return to my duty of fork arranging. It's a simple task in comparison. I'm lucky. I could arrange forks all day.
"Where the hell were you?"
I gasp and flinch horrendously at Pierson's sudden arrival. He watches me react and then compose myself with an indifferent expression - he's gotta stop doing that.
"Jesus Christ," I murmur under my breath, subtly looking him up and down before nodding towards Perez. "Perez called me over."
He narrows his eyes as he confirms my statement. "For what?"
"Wondering where Turner was," I reply swiftly, surprised at my own quickness.
"Did that need a hug?"
I sigh and avert my eyes before I make an offensive movement with them. "I - well - he's been gone -"
"That's not an excuse," he states solidly, glaring down at me. "Stay focused or else I'll have you doing Zussman's job instead."
The next words slip through my mouth without reason behind them. "They're only forks, sir."
Pierson is quite unimpressed with my attitude. He takes a large step and is on the other side of me, readying to walk off. "Then you can eat with your hands, Greene."
I then roll my eyes, but smirk in mild amusement at his half-joke. He stalks off to terrorize someone else, leaving me having to press a hand to my heart to check if it was truly beating that fast.
I'm going insane.
"Hey, fork girl!" Wondering if everyone was now going to disturb my task, I shoot Daniels a bland glower.
"How may I help you, Daniels?" I ask sarcastically, wrapping another band around a set.
"Just letting you know there's a package on your bed. I won't let Aiello snoop through it, if you want," he says with bitter discontentment at his own experience. I snort, thanking him.
"It's probably from my mother. That won't intrigue him too much. If it said Jonathan on it," I shudder at the thought from a letter from the quarterback who wouldn't give it up.
"Who's Jonathan?" Daniels' interest peaks. I find it hilarious how they jump at any mention of a male presence in my life.
"Dumb quarterback." He takes a few moments to understand the reference and then chuckles.
"That's what we do," he says, referring to his high school days, "I chased after Hazel through all of Sophomore and Junior year."
"He had me all of Sophomore and Junior year. I might've broken his heart after."
"Well, you have someone back home, then, huh?"
The fast paced beating of my heart quickly ceases.
"He lost me for a reason, Farm boy."
--
"Mom,
It's always good to hear from you. Your letters always arrive right when I need them. We're in Germany, now. Things are getting rough but it's necessary to take back Europe.
I'm not sure when I'll be home. Entering Germany means we're getting there but everything is subject to change. It's not a question we usually ask around here.
What've you been up too? Any new recipes you've been trying out? How's the neighborhood?
Please tell Evelyn to write me soon. I'd like to know about all of her adventures. I miss her dearly.
Oh, goddamnit - I'm sorry for my language, but I have to skip the friendly conversation. There's something nipping at me.
Usually, when I write, I try not to seem too distressed. You're worried sick and I'd rather not give you another reason to stress, but somethings come up as of late, and I desperately need to write it out. By the time this reaches you, it may already be solved, but regardless, it's more for my sake of mind.
I'm not sick nor injured. In fact, this has little to do with the war itself. I suppose it's personal. But nothing can stay personal out here for long.
I know you know about Sergeant Pierson. He's been with us since I enlisted originally. I've probably complained about him before, or expressed sort of an admiration; but that's not why I'm mentioning him. It's because thinking about loosing him pains me in a way it desperately shouldn't.
I can only admit this to you. Even writing it seems foreign; I don't think I'll ever be able to say it out loud. But I spoke to him today and felt like a tight grip was suffocating me. Maybe I'm lonelier than I think, and wanting to hold onto something I know I can't have . . .
It's incredibly wrong. I know it is. I remember the neighbors joking that I'd fall for someone out here, it would be inevitable with the amount of men I'd be close with, but I didn't think it was remotely possible. I refused to fall into that stereotype.
But I think I may have taken a wrong turn, because whenever I think of home, I end up at him.
Out of all the men here. Not Aiello, who's hip I've been stuck on since the beginning, or Zussman, who's expressed an interest. Not Stiles, the college grad, who could keep my mind occupied with endless amount of topics.
It just had to be the man that doesn't give a damn about any of us.
But I don't know how to stop it. I've ignored it for months, yet it's persistent, and every emotion refuses to be ignored out here.
What the hell do I do? Do I risk the respect I've worked so hard to gain by whoring around, as they would automatically put it? But it's deeper than that. It has to be. It can't be lust because I've hardly expressed a desire for it.
All I know is that I'm at a dead end. When I turn, I know he'll be there, and I'm not sure how much longer I can stay turned away.
- Amelia "