" I will be waiting for you on the other side of the frozen pines. " E. Roe x Oc

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐫𝐚𝐧.

A/N: Привет, сучки. ツ

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"It ain't the artery- who the hell told him that?" I hissed, Tying a bandage around the upper part of his arm, then over the wound itself. "What's your name, kid?" I laughed at myself internally for calling a - likely older than me - man 'kid.'

"Penkala," He winced and drew his arm back. "Gosh, softer hands, would ya'?"

"Sorry we had to meet this way, Penkala. I'm Lucille." I began to move his stretcher to the larger room with more of the wounded of the day. Recently the Germans splintered some artillery on the second battalion. A pang of slight worry shot through me as I wondered if that was Heffron's battalion, or Roe or Malarky's. I stopped next to another wailing paratrooper, then went to the next one, checking up as I could on his state. My mind drifted to the American stash of bandages and other medical whatnots we could possibly use. Word was that 3rd battalion had somewhat of a supply - at least one better than that of second, which word was they were just about as dry as us. "You don't happen to have your aid kit, do you?" I asked Penkala, who seemed completely enraptured by the wound on his forearm.

"Huh? No ma'am. Medics in our area have taken all they can get. Don't even have my personal anymore."

"Work of Doc Roe, huh?" I wasn't sure what made me say that, but it earned me a look from Penkala.

"You know Doc? He sacked all the morphine from the frontlines to Paris or somethin'?"

"Nevermind." I shook my head a bit, ripping a strip of fabric from the sheet below the soldier I was working on. My Hands wove fresh bandages onto his wounds - a tear in his lower abdomen.

Charlotte appeared to my left, slowly taking the bandage from my hand. "Go on - third battalions just got some wounded here. Renee and Jane need extra hands."

I looked at her green-blue eyes and nodded a bit, sending a silent prayer to God that the workload wasn't horrible. It was selfish of me. It felt in my heart that it was selfish, but I sent the word to the Lord anyway. At the beginning of the war I was much more devoted to my religion - living solely off the idea that I would survive because I had God on my side. It wasn't until one of my first weeks in France that I lost all that devotion - I had watched a church, God's very temple on earth, a sanctuary for the civilians, be ruthlessly bombed. I thought to myself, 'Lord, how can there be such horrible suffering in your domain?' Though I knew the answer, I couldn't help but be upset with the sovereign. If I was anyone else, I would have walked my way up to myself and said 'we were given free will, this suffering is not the lords doing.' But I was tired of hearing it from myself. I was tired of consoling myself of my unfaithfulness. So I fell from my religion. I stopped reading the bible; but I could never break the habit of prayer. Praying even though I had no semblance of belief left - just in case they were received by anyone, anyone at all.

He doesn't exist.

I'll focus on my faith again after the war.

When I walked up the main stairs I was met with yelling orders, men screaming, rushing around and chaos. I tried to clear my mind through its cadence, but their voices mixed and boomed at just the right frequency that I could hardly tell where my name was being called from. I walked blindly through the crowd, dodging stretchers, empty and full alike, in hopes that somehow I would meet whoever was calling my name. It was Jane - the young brunette was in a panic, trying her very best to tend to a man with multiple bullet wounds, their whereabouts evident through the concentrated blood on his tunic.