I was one of five women chosen to serve our country, fighting side by side with the men, and only some of us had come home. Being surrounded by friends and enemies, having to choose who you can save, who you can love, and how to survive is something...
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Later that night, the nuns came out from their hiding places to offer us drinks and what little food they had to offer. It was a grand gesture and we accepted whatever was given without complaint. The nuns, who were happy to have us, assembled their choir to sing to the men to show their appreciation. The beautiful songs, accompanied by the hundreds of lit candles for light, possessed an ethereal calmness to it - entrancing many of the exhausted battle-worn men but after a couple of verses, I had to step outside. Even outside, I could still hear their singing but was glad to have a moment to myself - to think over everything that happened up to this point. It started to feel surreal.
When we started this journey, we had so many men - so many friends - but now we were few as our losses were heavy. We went into Belgium with 121 officers and men, receiving about two dozen replacements. We came out with only 63. Recently scribbled in my notebook were the names of the men lost - Muck, Mellett, Herron, Kenneth Webb, Harold Webb, Sowosko, Shindell, Hoobler, Hayes, Penkala, and Julian, to name a few. Thinking about them made me remember Webster and the thought of him angered me.
I didn't want to be angry with him but I couldn't understand why it was taking him so long to return to the lines when so many others found a way. I realized as I blew a heavy sigh from my lips that I couldn't bring myself to love a man if he so readily abandoned those closest to him - his brothers in arms - or even me this way. What made it worse was seeing how few men made it out alive from the 1st platoon - only eleven were left out of forty. Webster was a part of that platoon, too. I shook the thoughts plaguing my mind away, desperately trying to think of other things to distract me.
The music from inside the convent briefly grew louder before it muffled again. Footsteps slowly approached me from behind. "What are you doing out here?"
I glanced over my shoulder to see Speirs stepping out of the archway of the church behind me. I replied, turning back to stare at my dirt-encrusted boots, "I needed to think."
"And you couldn't do that inside?" he asked. I braced for a lecture from him but it never came. Instead, he waited patiently for me to answer.
I shook my head. "I needed some space." He descended the stone steps to stand next to me. Feeling his presence close to me was comforting - even from this distance, the heat radiating from his being warmed me. "What happens now?" I asked, breaking the growing silence.
At first, he didn't speak, causing me to look up at him. He must have been watching me since he stood beside me because as soon as I glanced up at him, he averted his gaze. "We'll be resting here for the night," he told me, "before moving out in the morning." I nodded aimlessly, feeling tired of it all. "By the way, I delivered your letter to Darla," he stated calmly.
I sighed, pushing myself to my feet to stand beside him. "Are you ever going to tell me what you've done?"
He shifted next to me, placing a hand on his hip as he returned his gaze to me. "I'm taking care of it," he said with a half-shrug, "Why do you need to know the specifics?"
