The Golden Soldier (Call of Duty: WW2 Fanfiction)

Chapter 42

Two long months went by before the snow really started to melt off and disappear for the season. It was a relieving time, especially because soldiers found places to wash up at without freezing to death and they were able to shave and have a good time. Layers of uniforms were peeled off during the day and some were put back on during the chilly nights.
It felt like the weather I'd arrived to months ago.
I walked back from washing up, enjoying the cleanness of my hair, more growth on it from the previous two months. Of course, only I knew that alongside Stiles and Aiello; we were the only ones who ever saw me with my hair down. I had been able to replace some of my older, used things for new. Clean socks and new, comfortable boots accented my feet. It was the simple, basic objects which made life a luxury.
"Finally shaved the beard off, did you?" I nudged Aiello as I passed him to head into our tent.
"Shut it," Aiello growled, finishing up by using the mirror of the jeep he stood next to. "I'm trying to concentrate on this handsome face."
I snorted. "Concentrating requires a brain."
"Shave your own beard, Ava."
I let out a gasp, returning from the tent, and slugged his relaxed bicep. "Fuck you!"
"Dammit you hit hard!"
"Shoulda hit him harder," Stiles rolled his eyes as he came back from trying to report to Pierson.
"How'd it go?" I questioned, swinging my legs as I sat on a stack of supply crates.
"He's been drinking. Hard."
Aiello shook his head and I looked at the ground in disappointment.
With all the patrols and constant moving of camps and attacks against the Germans, I hadn't had a chance to ever really see Pierson. Aiello and Stiles were my company over the past four weeks. Now, Pierson drinking became a worry.
"Don't even say a word," I snapped to Aiello when he faced me. "I'm not some medication he gets when he starts drinking. He makes his own decisions."
Aiello only nodded respectfully.
"If Pierson is going to drink away his stress and problems, then so be it. We can't control him."
"We have to keep him on track though," Stiles pointed out. "If Davis comes—"
"Pierson will get the repercussions, not us," I argued. "Besides, have either one of you seen him drunk? He can still manage to fight."
Stiles winced. "Not this drunk he can't. He's stumbling around like a child learning to walk."
"Shit," I breathed, crossing my arms.
Aiello gave me another knowing look.
"I won't do it," I growled, standing. "I'm going to help unload some supplies with Howard."
I left the two as I headed to the west part of camp. There, more supply trucks were making rounds, both picking up and dropping off. I passed the small shooting range set up for incoming replacements, seeing a younger blonde man struggle to load a rifle.
"Need assistance?"
The boy had to be eighteen and he looked at me with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. "I swear I know how to load a rifle."
I chuckled, crouching next to him to unjam the weapon. "It's nothing to be bashful about, it happens to the best of us."
I slid the action back, slamming the opening down onto my palm to force the wedged bullet out. It wiggled but didn't budge. I held the action open as I shoved the bullet down onto the spring and then let it sprout back up. The brass bounced out and rolled onto the hard ground.
"There, unjammed," I smiled, handing the rifle back to the novice.
    "Do you have any tricks for loading?" he was sheepish.
    "How new are you?"
    "Just got out here yesterday."
    The replacement hadn't even seen war yet. Unexpected pity went out to the young man and I wanted to comfort him. I had to remember that I couldn't be feminine in front of him though, a difficult challenge in this situation. He didn't even know how to load a rifle and already he'd been put at the front lines.
    "You'll be okay," I told him firmly, and then shifted to give him all of my attention. "There are three ways to load."
    The first one I showed him I popped the bullets into the chamber individually. The kid watched my fingers like a hawk, silencing memorizing the strategy I used.
    "This takes a lot of time and, if you're not careful, you'll snap your finger right off," I explained as I let the bolt go.
    "Sounds like the way I shouldn't go."
    "It can be useful in some situations," I unloaded and the used the clip to load four bullets into it. "This is the usual way of loading. Much safer for the fingers."
    The boy had a baby-like face. Thickly freckled cheeks with a small nose. His eyes were blue and contrasted his hair greatly. He was solidly built, but his hands were rather dainty, useful for tight spots or technical areas.
    "Have you been assigned to any specific duty yet?"
    "Infantry," he sounded let down. "My mother was very upset when I decided to come to war."
    "You're young, why did you?"
    The boy shrugged. "I felt it was the right thing to do. It needs to hurry up and be done. America...it's not the same with so many men gone."
    I nodded and then focused back on the rifle. "The final way is to load the bullets into the empty clip from an open bolt. You can count easier, but it's dangerous to jam and time-consuming."
    "Thank you," the young man took the rifle as I handed it back to him. "I don't know what I'm doing with any rifle besides a hunting one."
    "Aim at the chest," I clasped his shoulder. "It's the surest spot."
    He nodded twice more and then I stood.
    "Fire off a few rounds, but not too many," I suggested. "What's your name?"
    "Private Thomas Smith."
    I nodded, memorizing the name. "Private, I'll try to talk to Sergeant Pierson and get you a...more appropriate position. You're a good mechanic I assume?"
    "Yes, how'd you guess?"
    I smiled. "Just a lucky guess."
    Leaving the young boy to shoot, I headed back towards the command tent. It was situated on more of a hill than the rest of camp, supplies scattered on the path leading to it. I weaved through the few men going through those supplies.
    Aiello and Stiles looked up from a crate they were examining. I smiled, faltering when I noticed the worried looks on their faces.
    "What's going on?"
    "Daniels is here," Aiello jerked his head to the tent.
    He didn't need to explain more. I moved to be within earshot of the flimsy tent, hearing the roar of Pierson's voice already. Daniels was trying to talk sense into him.
    "You better leave while you can still walk."
    "Davis told me. It wasn't your fault," Daniels spoke calmly. "You were only trying to do right by your platoon."
    There was a short pause and then a loud smacking sound, a sign someone had been hit. Pierson was cold when he spoke next.
    "Get out. Get out!"
    "I'm not going anywhere."
    Sounded like I wasn't the only one who could stand up to Pierson. I glanced over to Aiello and Stiles, who were less obviously listening to the situation at hand. Their faces looked defensive, like they wanted to be there for Daniels, but they stayed put.
    "I said get out!"
    There was another punch, but this time it hit something denser. I judged that Daniels had dodged the second attack, letting Pierson's fist slam into a post of the tent. He let out an anguished grumble.
    "Goddammit!"
    There was a temporary silence, as if Pierson was composing himself.
    "My orders were to fall back," Pierson began, his voice more shaky than before. "But I couldn't just leave them. I told my men we were gonna hold this pass until reinforcements got here but they never came."
     I moved my gaze to where Aiello was frowning at the mention of Kasserine. My heart ached at the memories he could've been reminded of, of the comrades he'd lost. His eyes dragged themselves to mine and he shrugged as if to signal he was okay.
    "They never came," there was a shuffling again. "So I guess you're right. I did get my men killed. Now go."
    "Not without my platoon."
    "You think you got some guts, don't ya? Try getting the job done day in and day out while your men are dying all around you."
     "Turner would've never of given up like this!"
     The comment from Daniels was a punch to my lower gut. I sat on the nearest crate, gripping the sides as I gasped out in hurt breaths. Still to this day his death was something that caused me distress.
    "Turner is dead!"
    The rage and throatiness to Pierson's voice made my heart tremble. Daniels' following wail assisted that.
    "Then make that mean something! No sacrifice too great!"
    "You don't know anything about sacrifice!"
    I wanted to charge in there, but my hands gripped the crate underneath my haunches harder. Stiles came by me, his hand brushing mine in both comfort and warning. I spared him a pained glance and then focused back on the conversation at hand.
    "How about this?" Daniels demanded. "Honorable discharge papers signed by Davis."
    A small gasp escaped me and Aiello raised his eyebrows in shock.
    "My ticket home. I could've had everything. A hero's welcome. My girl in my arms. Hell, even a bronze star."
    There was a sudden, forceful tearing sound. I shifted forwards on the crate and Stiles cautiously grasped my right wrist. Daniels...what was he doing? Tearing up his discharge papers?
    "But I got one last mission."
Zussman.
    "You must be crazy," Pierson huffed, more sobered up at this point in events.
    "Crazy ain't the half of it."
    "All right, fall in."
    "Sergeant..."
    "I said fall in, goddammit. If you want in, now's the time."
    Aiello and Stiles went for the entrance, pushing through the flap. I stood, taking two steps to follow. Pierson glared at them as he moved from the tent, shoving them apart.
    "Get the fuck outta my way."
    My eyes stayed on him as he glared around the mostly-barren camp surrounding the tent. His eyes fell on my wide, frozen face and faltered only temporarily; he knew I'd heard everything just as Stiles and Aiello had.
    With a huff, Pierson continued past me down the slope.
    I snapped immediately to the tent, rushing in to see if the Daniels I knew was truly there. He was already watching the flaps for my entry, his eyes softening to my arrival. I didn't rush into his arms as much as I wanted to.
    "I guess the gang's all here," Stiles grinned, glancing between the four of us.
    "Not all of us," Daniels was serious and determined. "Let's take that bridge and find our boy."
    Aiello nodded, also growing mature. "Yes, Corporal."
    Aiello and Stiles began to exit the tent, brushing past me. I only watched Daniels in surprise, shock, relief, every emotion related to those. He glanced to the discharge papers, his bandaged right hand still holding a flake of it.
    "I'm glad you're back," I spoke words Daniels didn't expect. "You're crazy, but I respect that."
    "Looks like we both are giving this thing a second go," Daniels remembered the night he'd gone after Zussman.
    "We'll find him," I promised, also moving to exit with him next to me. "I promise you we will."
    Daniels looked at the camp before us with a determined shadow on his features. "I hope so."

--•--•--•--

Woo hoo! Daniels is back which means the platoon is back in business. The next couple chapters are gonna be filled to the brim with action!
Sorry this wasn't published sooner. This weekend has been crazy!!
Stay golden, readers.
Song: Genesis by Ruelle
~MS~