Women of War - A Band of Brothers Story

Hanging On

A/N: Hello my wonderful readers, how are you today? Sorry, I'm still a bit hyped. I got a full-time job at the company I interned with and I just binged The Mandalorian and can't get the theme out of my head.

Anyway: I just wanted to thank you all for reading my work and leaving such uplifting and kind comments. I am so happy that you enjoy my writing!

Now on with the story. Be warned, things are going to get worse before they get better. (Gosh, I started working on episode 7 yesterday and I already made myself cry once...)

In the early hours of Christmas Day, Catherine walked the line, lost in thought. Snow creaked under her boots, the cold creeping up her limbs and down her collar. Her anger at the officers had dispelled, the heaviness of Jessica's death returning to the forefront of her mind.

She couldn't help but think of Jess' two little brothers, David and Fabian. They were only eleven. In fact, as Jessica had told her not two months ago, when they had sat huddled together in a foxhole in Holland, Fabian's birthday was on Christmas Eve.

How would that affect the little boy? The fact that from now on, his birthday would always be also the day his big sister, his hero, lost her life?

Catherine couldn't even begin to imagine.

Mr and Mrs Helak would receive a telegram from the war department. Sometime later, Jessica's personal effects would be sent to them. And after that, they'd receive the 10,000-dollar life insurance most, if not all, paratroopers had signed up for.

A poor recompense for their daughter's life. For the fact that the joy of Christmas Eve and their youngest son's birthday would forever be tainted by their daughter's death.

***

Forcing the thoughts from her mind because this was the absolutely wrong time for pessimism and melancholy, the ranking medic crouched down at the lip of a foxhole and lifted the tarp.

The next thing she knew, she was staring up into the snow-grey darkness, no air in her lungs and a searing pain lancing through her gut.

Somebody yelled her name.

Catherine was on her back without knowing how or why. Snow soaked into her clothes and hair. Where had her helmet gone? Small spots of cold registered on her face where snowflakes landed.

"Oh shit", the same person swore before screaming for a medic.

Something warm and sticky was spreading on her stomach and running down her side. It felt wet. Why does it hurt? What happened? A moan tore at her throat.

"Oh fuck, oh God", the same voice rambled. "Shit! MEDIC!! God, I'm sorry, Doc, I'm so sorry, I gotta do this."

Then, hands pressed down onto the pain in her stomach and she screamed. Black dots swirled before her eyes. She didn't feel all that cold anymore. Odd, a tiny voice remarked, just as the black vortex swallowed her field of vision.

"Fuck, where's the goddamn medic?! MEDIC!"

That was the last Catherine heard.

***

The solitary gunshot had had everyone ducking for cover. When Malarkey's voice – pitched high and horrified – split through the frigid air, half of second platoon saw Doc Arricante fly past a heartbeat later, her boots kicking up fluffs of powdered snow.

Appearing out of the fog- and snow-hazed night, Mia came to such an abrupt halt that Malarkey was honestly astonished that she kept her balance. What little colour the cold had left on her face drained away.