Women of War - A Band of Brothers Story

Hell's Highway

A/N: Oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm actually posting a chapter on time!

Thanks everybody for voting and commenting and being really patient when I didn't upload anything for a while because I was too busy running around in real life. I really appreciate it.

As always, suggestions and ideas are more than welcome :) On the next chapter or the one after that, I'll have another "what would you like to see" question for you. It's about one character dying. I'd like to know what you think. But more details to follow ;)

Warning: This chapter has one rather graphic scene, so please proceed with caution!

It took Catherine the better part of a week to stop compulsively reassuring herself of Mia's presence and well-being. She tried to keep her hovering and fussing to a minimum because she knew how uncomfortable it made the other woman, but every time she saw the bandages covering Mia's arms from wrist to elbow, a clump of guilt formed in her stomach.

Her friend had told her to stop being silly – not in those exact words, though – and rationally, she knew that it wasn't her fault, but she just couldn't help but feel responsible.

With the operation going as disastrously as it did, Catherine didn't have time to dwell on her guilt. They were engaged in a constant tug-of-war with an enemy that hopelessly, ridiculously outmatched them on a road that was soon coined Hell's Highway.

They liberated a town and waited for the tanks.

The Germans cut off the road behind them.

They fought to retake the same stretch of road.

The Germans bombed the town, so they moved out again.

Sometimes, they left early enough to avoid the shelling.

Sometimes, they didn't.

***

They lost men. Gunfire from rifles and MGs. Mortar explosions. Strafes from German bomber squadrons. Tank shells.

The how was irrelevant, it didn't change the facts. Good people were killed, many of them replacements who just hadn't had the time and experience to develop the same battle instincts as the Toccoa veterans. Each weapon and attack caused devastation in its own way.

Theresa would maintain uncompromisingly that the railgun was the worst.

They were in a field – or was it an orchard? – somewhere along the road between Eindhoven and Nijmegen. Fighting the Germans like they had been doing practically every day of the massive pile of shit that Operation Market Garden had been from nearly the get-go.

She was shooting Krauts left and right while also keeping one eye on her replacements when out of nowhere, the ground started bucking and rumbling. With each colossal jolt, loose dirt crumbled from the walls of their hastily dug foxhole.

"Is that an earthquake?!", Pace called over the gunfire and shouts of men.

"No!", Theresa replied, shifting her aim when the man in her sights collapsed with a hole in his forehead. "Their railgun!"

Turning around, she shouted for everyone still out in the open to take cover. Cobb came hurtling into their already crowded foxhole, an angry curse on his lips, a black smear down his nose.

Wedged between him and a wall of dirt, the Nebraskan spared another glance to check on her squad.

Boom! The railgun fired again, the earth lurching violently.