Evelyn's Tale

-Twenty Three-

21st December 1944, Bastogne

The Bois Jacques at this time of year was like a verse from a Christmas carol. A veritable winter wonderland. Majestic trees decorated with crystal like icicles stood proudly upon a thick blanket of pure white snow, where they had stood for hundreds of years, their roots firmly grounded into the earth that sustained them through every season. The freezing cold gave an exaggerated performance as Jack Frost, biting at fingers and toes until they were so cold that they were numb. In between the dancing snowdrops falling to the ground there was the fog that cast an eerie feeling in the air.

It was early morning when Evelyn found her way to battalion CP where Winters and Nixon were sitting pouring over a map and the smell of coffee lingered in the frigid air. They looked up when they heard her approach, and Winters greeted her with a small smile. He was positively shaking and his teeth were chattering as he struggled to brace himself against the cold. He was completely clean shaven unlike his shabby looking counterpart. In fact, unlike the rest of all the men. She supposed that as their leader, Winters wanted to set a good example. But it still made Evelyn chuckle to think of him diligently shaving every last hair from his face in the middle of a forest that was constantly under attack from German shelling, and where the presentation of one's uniform and personal cleanliness was the least of anyone's worries. Judging by how cold he looked right now, it was a miracle that he hadn't managed to do himself a serious injury with his shaking hands in possession of such a sharp blade so close to the skin.

Evelyn was actually rather jealous of the men and their ability to grow facial hair because at least they would have something with which to keep their faces warm. When she had mentioned this to Malarkey, who was already sporting an auburn fuzz on his face, he had told her that his next door neighbour was an elderly woman who actually had quite a decent beard forming herself and that maybe Evelyn would be able to grow one eventually when she was that age. But, as she had pointed out, she hopefully would no longer be in the middle of freezing cold Europe where she would need a beard or particularly want one. Nonetheless, she thanked Malarkey for his positive outlook on her situation.

"Miss Guarnere, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company on this lovely morning?" Nixon grinned, knowing that his use of her title instead of her rank irritated her terribly. As predicted she narrowed her eyes at him and scowled.

"I ain't sure what's lovely about it," she muttered, taking the steaming hot cup that Winters was holding out to her. She blew on it gently before taking a sip.

"Joyful mood as ever I see," Nixon raised his eyebrows. "You manage to make your brother look about as happy as a children's entertainer."

"One day Nix, she'll hit you and I'll pretend I didn't see anything," Winters said with a small smirk when Nixon's remark was rewarded with the famous Guarnere glare. "Now, what can we do for you Evelyn? How are the men?"

"They're as well as they can be, Sir," she answered, sighing contentedly as the coffee warmed her stomach. "They're in remarkably good spirits for now. But we do have a big problem. I've come because we're seriously lacking medical supplies. Doc's headed out to third battalion now and I'm gonna look for Dog and Fox this afternoon to see what they can spare. But between the three of us we literally have four syrettes of morphine, five or six bandages, no plasma and no sulfa. We've scrounged as much as we can from the men but most of them had nothing or we've used what little they've been able to give us."

Medical supplies weren't the only thing Easy was lacking. They had no winter clothing, very little ammunition, and only a little more in the way of food. The situation was rather dire, but they were all trying to make the best of the terrible situation they had been put in.