Author's Note: On this 76th anniversary of D-Day, I wanted to seize the opportunity to remind everyone of how the Allies fought against religious and racial intolerance in WWII. We've still got a long way to go for racial justice, so this one-shot is dedicated to that cause, and to Black Lives Matter. Keep moving forward.
THEY UNDERSTOOD, BUT DID NOT COMPREHEND
Summary: "Men died every day. They knew this. They understood it. Bullets didn't discriminate in war. They didn't avoid the young men, and they didn't avoid the old ones. So why had they assumed the bullets would avoid Alice?"
Eindhoven, The Netherlands
In the dark, the blood against Bill's hand looked black. Alice looked white, nearly as white as the bandages he'd tried to wrap around her arm. Now those bandages lay cast aside, stained the same as his hands. Spina knelt with her, talking quietly, something Bill had never quite mastered. With quick movements, the medic compressed the bullet wound and tried to keep her talking.
It didn't take long for that to fail. Spina stuck her with a syrette of morphine and let her drift off. In the dark, lit only by the raging flames behind them in Eindhoven, her scrunched expression turned eerily soft.
"I sent Heffron to get a jeep," Johnny said. He kept his voice low where he stood beside him. "You said one of the Dutch shot her?"
"Yeah, our own goddamn allies," he snapped. Bill tore his gaze away from where Spina finished up checking her for other injuries. With a sneer, he shook his head. "Fucking jackasses."
Johnny didn't respond. "Doc. How's she look?"
With half a sigh, Spina turned around. He still crouched on the ground in front of her. "I don't see any other major injuries."
"That ain't an answer," Bill muttered.
Spina shook his head. "Bullet didn't hit any major veins or arteries. Could'a been a lot worse."
Before either Johnny or Bill could respond, the sound of a jeep pulled all of their attention away. Babe pulled up. As he hopped out of the driver's seat, Johnny ordered him to go find the rest of the men from Easy and get them back to the CP.
"Come on," Spina ordered.
Bill moved to his side. Alice's still form, peaceful amidst the bombing and destruction around them, worried him. Ash and blood smeared across her skin. The once-pristine bandage around her arm continued to darken. Sliding his arms under hers, he and Johnny lifted her into the jeep.
It surprised him, how much weight her body carried. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "She's a pain in the ass even like this."
Johnny scoffed at the half-joke. Once they'd laid her body across the back, Spina clambered up to join her. He didn't smile. Bill noticed it immediately. When Spina ordered them to get moving, Bill climbed into the passenger side as Johnny took the wheel.
The thudding bangs of the last few bombs in Eindhoven drowned out the roar of the engine. Spina stayed silent the whole way, and Bill couldn't decide if he appreciated that or not. It didn't take too long to reach Easy's CP. As soon as they pulled up, Spina started barking orders.
"We've got wounded. Get another medic!" He turned to the nearest group of men. "Dukeman find me a litter! Alley, track down a driver to head back to the field hospital."
Chaos erupted. Bill leaped out of the jeep and rounded to the back. Easy's men swarmed them, and he snapped. "Give us some fuckin' space! Jesus!" Glancing around, he caught sight of some other sergeants. "Perconte! Go find Lieutenant Winters."
Noticing Johnny pushing the other men back, Bill turned to Spina. The man had flagged down another medic for plasma. Instead of white, the bandage on Alice's arm had turned completely dark, almost brown.
Her face was still, too still. Only the rise and fall of her chest beneath her sooty undershirt told them she was alive. It spooked him, more than he'd been ready to admit. Even as Spina and the Doc Mampre moved her gently from the truck to the ground, Bill watched.
He wanted to punch someone, something. He wanted to find the fucking coward who had shot her. He wanted Alice to wake up so he could scream at her for speaking German in a country terrified of Germans. As blood continued to seep from the wound, Spina undid the bandage and reapplied a new one.
"What happened?"
At the sound of Winters' voice, Bill turned and looked at him. He bottled down his anger and pointed to her. "Lieutenant Klein got shot in the arm, sir," he told Winters and Nixon who stood with him. Bill noted the latter's obvious concern.
"Snipers?" Nixon asked.
"No, sir," Bill seethed. "Dutch civilian."
Winters startled a bit. "What?"
Before any more could be said, Spina stood up and moved the few feet to them. He sighed. "She's gonna be okay, sirs. The wound isn't that bad. Her lungs are a bit clogged with smoke, though." He sighed. "She's unconscious from the morphine."
"Right." With a nod, Winters looked over at her still form on the ground where Doc Mampre sat taking her pulse.
Another jeep pulled up, a medic from Battalion Aid jumping out of the back. Spina wasted no time in grabbing the other side of the litter that Dukeman had supplied. Ash-covered, bloodstained golden hair became the last thing many of Easy saw.
"Guarnere, get some rest," Winters told him. "I want a debrief at 0700 with you and Sergeant Martin."
Bill turned to him. He nodded. "Yes, sir." As the two lieutenants moved away, he added. "Anyone heard from Sergeant Randleman yet, sirs?" Both Winters and Nixon shook their heads. With a sigh, Bill nodded. Of fucking course not. That would be too goddamn easy.
As Spina moved off with Mampre to get cleaned, Bill looked down at his own hands. It barely registered when Johnny rejoined him. All he could think about was his stained skin, how dried blood filled the cracks in his palms. Based on the way George and Tab looked at his hands when they joined them, they were thinking the same.
They were fighting a war. Men died every day. They knew this. They understood it. Every time someone walked away from the CP, they risked their lives. Bullets didn't discriminate in war. They didn't avoid the young men, and they didn't avoid the old ones. So why had they assumed the bullets would avoid Alice?
"She'll be fine," Johnny said. He looked towards the retreating forms of the medics. "Docs said it looked relatively minor."
"She got shot by our own fuckin' allies," Bill snapped. He shook his head. "Goddamn Dutch. She shoulda known better than to speak German."
George forced a laugh. "You'll have to yell at her for it when she gets back."
"Fucking right I will."
Talbert snorted with laughter. Together, the four sergeants moved off to find a place to sleep, and Bill to find a way to clean the blood off his hands. He'd never cared too much about how red his hands got from deeds and from death, but this, Alice's blood, that he didn't want to see. Bullets didn't discriminate. They'd understood, but couldn't comprehend. Not until Bill had had to stuff bandages into a gaping wound, surrounded by bombs and screams and raging fires. The reality of war crashed down on them, hard. No one was safe. No one.