A Fight for Survival

The Unexpected Allies of Currahee

Easy Company is on a train to Iowa. As the train was arriving in Iowa, Dick was remencining on the conversation the day before. 

August 31st, 1942 - Camp Tocca Georgia 

The Georgia sun beat down on the backs of Easy Company as they thundered down Currahee Mountain. Each man was a blur of sweat and grit, legs burning with exertion. A chorus of gasps and groans filled the air, punctuated by the occasional curse. Leading the pack was Shifty Powers, his lanky frame seemingly gliding over the uneven terrain. Behind him, a fierce rivalry played out between Liebgott and Perconte, their faces contorted with effort. Bringing up the rear, Malarkey stumbled, his ankle twisting beneath him. He cursed under his breath, pushing himself back up, driven by the knowledge that Colonel Sink awaited them at the bottom.

Sink stood ramrod straight, his expression unreadable as his men assembled before him, chests heaving. He let them stew in their exhaustion for a moment before speaking, his voice sharp and clear. "At ease, men. You've all earned a week's respite."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the ranks. Even Sobel, standing stiffly at Sink's side, couldn't suppress a flicker of surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sink silenced him with a look.

"Don't get too comfortable," Sink continued. "Your next assignment requires a different kind of training." He paused, letting the suspense build. "You'll be meeting with a specialized unit. They call themselves...the Hunters."

Murmurs rippled through the men. The Hunters? No one had heard of such a unit. Speculation ran rampant, fueled by exhaustion and curiosity. But Dick, David and Andrew had knew who the 'Hunters' were. But not what the mission was.  "Who the hell are the Hunters?" Roe whispered to Malarkey. "Damned if I know," Malarkey wheezed back. "But if they got Sink this riled up, they gotta be something else."

Sink cleared his throat, silencing the chatter. "The Hunters," he announced, his gaze sweeping over the assembled men, "are a group of highly trained female operatives. They're stationed at a classified facility in Iowa."

A stunned silence descended upon the clearing. Women? In their ranks? Sobel's face was a mask of barely contained disapproval. The journey to Iowa was shrouded in secrecy. A select group, handpicked by Sink, boarded a nondescript train. Among them were David, Andrew, Nix, Roe, Lip, a reluctant Sobel, and Dick himself. The landscape blurred into a monotonous green as they traveled westward, the weight of their unknown mission pressing down on them.

September 1st, 1942 Fort Des Moines - Iowa

The facility, nestled deep within the Iowa countryside, was deceptively ordinary. But behind its unassuming facade lay a training ground unlike any they had ever seen. And at its heart were the Hunters.

They were an intimidating sight. Women, yes, but hardened and capable, their movements honed to a razor's edge. They moved with a quiet confidence that spoke of countless hours spent mastering their craft. There was Molly, the leader with fiery redhead with a gaze as steady as a sniper's aim. And Alexis, her dark hair pulled back in a no-nonsense braid, her every movement radiating quiet strength. Sarah her golden locks and a smile that could brighten anyone's day. 

Dick thought back to when they met their first 'Hunters' 

The rhythmic thud of hooves against packed earth echoed through Fort Des Moines. momentarily silencing the usual racket of training exercises. The men of Easy Company, assembled for what they thought was another grueling drill under Sobel's watchful eye, turned as one towards the sound. Even the perpetually stoic Lieutenant Winters felt a flicker of curiosity.

A cloud of dust announced the arrival of two figures on horseback, their laughter carrying on the wind. "Yee-haw! Coming through!" The lead rider, a blur of red hair and infectious energy, expertly steered her steed through the makeshift obstacle course, her companion, a dark-haired whirlwind, right behind her. "Well, I'll be damned," drawled Eugene Roe, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Speak of the devil and she arrives in style." Andrew DeYoung chuckled beside him, shaking his head. "Told you they'd make an entrance."