Rose felt like she was on a never ending roller coaster, just slowly clicking further and further to the top for an inevitable endless drop. A drop that would never come. Instead, she was stuck perpetually going up and up and up, her anxiety and fear with it. Her nerves were shot and every sound made her jump. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Well she was, this was definitely where her papers had her, but it must have been a mistake.

When Rose had signed up for the war as a medic, her mother cried for seven days straight, but her father looked at her with a newfound respect, as if he was finally seeing her as more than his little girl. After watching her male counterparts at the hospital leave one by one, some drafted, most volunteering, Rose felt like she couldn’t stand by any longer. Plus, how much different could a military hospital be anyways. But this was no hospital. Rose was sent to Gascony, France just south of German-Occupied territory. She was going to the front lines.

The sound of gunfire was constant at the camp. Rose kept waiting for it to let up, but silence never came. The sound of bombs being dropped broke up the rat-a-tat-tat of the bullets just enough to keep her on edge at all times. This was her personal hell.

“We got a GSW and a whole squad 3 clicks out all kinds of messed up making their way back in. Private Lehman you take over here while we set up.”

Rose nodded at her orders, happy to be given something to do besides standing around in the mud. She sent to work cleaning up a man groaning on a gurney, cursing up a storm about his shoulder. No sooner had she pressed an alcohol soaked rag did he start to address his anger at her instead of “those dirty German dogs.”

“You ever hear of fucking bedside manner? That fucking hurts more than the god-damn bullet in my shoulder. Why don’t you go play nurse elsewhere and get me a real fucking doctor,” he viciously spat.

Rose fought the urge to yell back at the man, but pressed the rag a bit harder into his skin, taking some solace in the new cry of pain. “Well unless you want to be back here later tonight so I can saw off that arm, I suggest you suck it up and let me stitch you up.” Rose was already numbing his arm and starting to stitch up his shoulder by the time the first of the next squad came in. By the time they had finished for the night, Rose could barely feel her fingers. It was all she could manage to get herself relatively clean before collapsing in her bunk for the evening.

---
Swearing it had only been a second with her eyes closed, Rory cursed at the sound of her CO screaming at her to get up. New orders were coming in and she only had ten minutes before debriefing. Rose quickly tied up her blonde hair into a tight bun after forcing a brush through it quickly. She gave her face another quick wash after pulling on her already caked in mud uniform. Her smaller frame was hidden underneath pounds of equipment normally, but for a quick debriefing, she wouldn’t need her pack or rifle right away. Rose ran to the tent, joining the rest of her squad, thanking her lucky stars once again that at least she had boots that fit.

“Hey squirt. Didn’t think you were going to make it on time. And heaven knows I would have kicked your scrawny ass if we had PT because of you,” joked her only friend in the squad, Samson with a friendly elbow to her side. Samson towered over her 5’4 frame at a hunkering 6’3, and massive build. The two had clicked quickly after being outcasts in the group- her for being the only woman, and him the only black.

“Okay guys, round up. Here’s what’s going down…”

It was a grisly scene. Three dead Nazis, two dead Poles. One cabin with a bunch of bullet holes, and three surprised partisans (five, if one counted the dead Poles). Thomas sighed. He and his companions, Édouard and Bernard, were supposed to meet two members of the Polish Partisan Resistance. Apparently, they had information relating to a very disturbing discovery that the French Partisans had made recently. Thomas didn't know too much about it. Felix, the leader of his cell, had been rather tight-lipped about the whole affair. He'd heard from some of the others that it had something to do with Nazi Research. Thomas had heard the horror stories, monstrosities stalking the battlefields at night, undead soldiers who felt no pain. He didn't think it was true. Or, at least, he hoped it wasn't true.

"Damn." Édouard said, finally. "It's a good thing we arrived late. We could've ended up like these poor bastards." He spoke in accented English, for Thomas's benefit. The Irishman could speak French, but not fluently. Much to his embarrassment, most of the cell could speak fluent English.

"I don't think they would agree with you." Thomas slung his rifle's strap over his shoulder. It was bolt-action, and of German make. He'd lifted it off of a dead Wehrmacht, not too long ago.

"How many Nazis do you think there were?" Bernard spoke in French. Thomas took a second to translate.

"At least three." He said, slowly, in heavily-accented French. Bernard chuckled, and Edouard cracked a smile.

They searched through the pockets of the dead Poles, and of the dead Nazis, to no avail. Whatever intel the dead Partisans had either died with them, or had been recovered by the Nazis. They looked around for anything useful. The Nazis had been smart enough to take the weapons of their dead with them, when they left. They'd left behind the sidearms of the dead Partisans. Bernard and Edouard pocket the guns, and they left, feeling defeated.

---

The hideout of Felix's Partisan Cell was near Bordeaux, and was little more than a glorified campsite. If nothing else, it was comfortable. The French Partisan resistance was low on manpower, weapons, ammo, and information, but they had plenty of tents and blankets. Concealed by trees and hills, the hideout was as safe as they were going to get. The concealment was aided by size. There were only twelve Partisans in Felix's cell. Seven Frenchmen, one Frenchwoman, two Poles, one Russian woman, and Thomas, an Irishman.

Thomas woke up to the familiar sound of Edouard shaking his shoulder.

"Come on, you filthy Irish bastard! Wake up!" The harsh words delivered with humor. Edouard was his best friend. Perhaps it was the fact that they'd fought and bled together, but he felt closer to him than he did to any of his friends back home. Thomas sat up and followed him out of the tent.

The hideout was against the rather sheer face of a hill, that served as a good wall. The tents formed a sort of semi-circle off of it. In the middle of that semi-circle were crates of ammo, a fire pit, and a rickety wooden table with a map of the region on it. Most of the cell was already gathered around the table. Chief among those gathered was Felix Chastain, an imposing Frenchman with a sharp, severe face and a wicked scar across the bridge of his nose. Thomas and Edouard weren't the last to arrive at the table, but they were close. When the cell had gathered, Felix started speaking.

"We suffered a failure last night." He began. "The Polish Partisans were dead before Thomas and the others got there, because they were late." It was hardly Thomas's fault that they were late, but Felix glared at him anyway. "Their information is lost, and now we have to hope that the Americans still want to help us." He sighed. "We're meeting them soon, about three miles east of Bordeaux." He spoke in French, likely to spite Thomas. "There'll be a squad, and they're following our lead. We were going to attack a research facility North of here, but now we don't know where that's at. As such, we'll have to either search for it, or figure out a way to acquire its location." He paused. "I'll go to meet the Americans. Bernard, Edouard, Thomas, Anna, and Gerard will come with me." He looked around. "The rest of you will stay here." He paused. "Are we clear."

"Yes sir!" They chorused.

---

Thomas stared at his reflection in the river near the camp. A head of messy, brown hair. Pale green eyes so wide that he looked perpetually surprised. A stubble that threatened to grow into an unfortunately patchy beard if he didn't shave soon. A nose, just a bit crooked from being broke one-too-many times. He splashed some water on his face, as he did every morning after the briefing. In part to wash the dirt off, partly to wake him up, and partly out of habit. He stood, and for a moment, he looked at his full reflection. Tall, thin. He sighed, grabbing his rifle from the dirt and slinging it over his shoulder. Edouard was calling for him.

There was work to be done.

The eight Americans travelling were now travelling in silence, the only sound being faint gunfire and their boots squishing in the mud. When they had first set out into the occupied zone, the group was more fired up, joking to relieve the nerves that were building. Vincent, a gunner from New York, had been doing impressions of famous actors in movies they were missing. Josh, Vincent’s closest friend and practical shadow, would help him out by whistling along music scores. It was almost easy enough to forget that they were headed into enemy ground. They had been sent to rendezvous with a Partisan group three miles out of Bordeaux, a french city along a river bank. Allied forces had been caught out by a group of Germans, and they were the reinforcements. Everyone’s pack was heavier then normal, carrying supplies for the others. Rose had wanted to question what the group had been even doing, but she had learned her lesson about questioning her Sergeant. Where healthy skepticism was good in the medical field, it had no place on the battleground. The groups hearty laughter and joking soon petered out the further they got away from base until a heavy silence took over.

The man leading point, Connor, held his hand up to freeze the group. They were losing the cover of the forest as they neared the outskirts of the city. Rose could feel her heartbeat in her ears as her grip on her rifle grew tighter, her knuckles whitening. She let out her breath she didn’t realize she had been holding when Connor waved them forward. Rose had been near the fighting before, but this was an entirely new beast. This was a lot more covert than she had been trained for. Walking in enemy territory meant that every twig snapped, every footstep out of place was a threat. A threat that sooner or later had to be dealt with.

Once again, the group stopped at Connor’s command as he tapped his ear pointing to the south. Rose strained to listen, soon hearing what sounded like a mix between wheezing and grunting. The group exchanged confused looks as they veered off course to find the source. If someone knew they were there, they had to ensure they couldn’t warn anyone else.

Rose spotted the woman first. Crumbled up against the base of a large tree, a woman in muddy and tattered clothes was visibly shaking with each haggard breath. Her long knotted brown hair hung in front of her face as he hands scraped the dirt beside her. Eight rifles shot up, all aimed at the woman as they began closing rank. “Madame, êtes-vous blessé?” Rose called out in the little french she knew, her light southern twang butchering any resemblance to the french accent. “Mam, are you hurt?” she repeated in english this time as she moved closer to the woman.

“Rose get the fuck back. Fall in,” Connor barked at her.

“She’s obviously hurt and unarmed, Sir. Please let me see if I can at least help her,” Rose asked, her rifle already lowering.

“No, even if you could help her, no one can know we’re here. She’s obviously dying,” he said squaring up his shot.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Rose yelled back, moving to stand in front of his line of sight. “So what you’re just going to shoot a woman for no fucking reason?” The woman let out a painful groan, not moving from her spot.

“It’s her now, or possibly all of us in an hour. You really want to fucking risk everyone’s life here because you feel bad for her. Fall back in line now Private Lehman. Or as soon as we get back I’ll slap you with a court martial so fast you’d wish it were a bullet.”

“You can report me to whoever the hell you want, I’m checking her out,” Rose said, exchanging her rifle for her medic’s bag as she approached the woman, ignoring the cursing behind her. She had promised herself when she found out she was first being deployed that she wasn’t going to lose herself over here. War was hell, and she was sure she’d be forever changed by the time she made it back, but she would never forget who she was first and foremost- a healer. If she wasn’t helping to save lives, then there was no reason for her to be here.

“Madame, parlez-vous anglais? English?” she asked, kneeling down in front of the woman. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Up close it smelled like a putrid mix of death and rotting burnt flesh. It was a smell Rose was afraid she’d never get out of her memory again. Rose reached out a hand to sweep the hair away from the woman’s face so she could start assessing whatever wound it was radiating from. But just as she was doing so, the woman let out an inhuman howl that sounded more like a caged animal than a cry of pain. She pounced on Rose, her hands clenched tightly around her upper arm, nails digging deeply into her skin. Her face was twisted in a gruesome manner, and she foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog.

Two shots rang out above Rose who was pinned underneath the woman who was impossibly strong. As one connected, the woman let out another howl before charging at Vincent, one of the other gunners. More shots rang out as Rose curled herself into a ball, waiting to feel the sting of a bullet. Behind her, Vincent let out a garbled scream. Rose peaked out from underneath her arms just as another round of fire came from the group. It was too late though, Vincent was clawing at his neck, failing to hold in the blood pouring out. The rabid woman laid crumpled on the ground, her mouth red with blood. Did she...she chewed his fucking neck open….

Without thinking, Rose ran forward, trying to help Vincent keep pressure on the open neck, but it was too late. No matter how much she pressed his neck, blood kept slipping around her hand. “Come on...not now...I got you…” she begged the dead man as tears began to fall. Her hands were too slick with the crimson liquid, the wound was too deep.

“You fucking bitch! That should have been you. You were the one who broke fucking orders!” Josh was closing in on her, his eyes shooting daggers at her, but Rose paid no mind. She was too busy trying to save what was already lost. He was right, it was her fault. She shouldn’t have approached the woman after no response. Josh grabbed at Rose’s arm, trying to pull her up so he could fight her properly, but Samson quickly pushed him back, trying to diffuse the situation. Rose continued in vain to close the wound, while the others helped pull Josh away to cool off.

“Yo Sarge, you going to do something?” Samson asked over his shoulder. The group fell quiet when they saw what Connor was looking at so intently. He had moved the woman’s hair out of her face with the barrel of his rifle. Connor was ghost white at he looked at the woman. It wasn’t a woman though, or at least not anymore. Her left eye was completely missing behind a mass of large oozing boils. Her teeth, still shining with Vincent’s blood, were three times their normal length and as sharp as nails. It looked more like a shark’s mouth than a human’s. Her fingers were bony and had three knuckles instead of two, also much longer than normal. Besides the multiple gunshot wounds, her skin was an ashy dead color despite having only been killed minutes ago.

“What in the hell is that thing?” one of the other members of the group asked with disgust.

“Is that a mask?”

---
It wasn’t long before the group was almost at the rendezvous point. Josh was still glaring daggers at Rose, his best friend’s dog tags and a letter for his girlfriend stuffed beside his own now. Samson kept between the two, just in case he had any funny ideas. But Rose felt numb to it all, part of her hoping he would punch her. She deserved it. She should have listened to Connor. It should have been her, covered in some leaves until the group could return to take back to base camp. But she was here, and he wasn’t. It’s not like Rose hadn’t killed anyone before or seen death. Every doctor lost patients. Most took solace in knowing they helped more than any damage they had done. But this was different. This wasn’t a patient. He was perfectly healthy man, laughing only hours ago. Rose had killed him with her insubordination and misplaced sense of right and wrong. Her mistake was fatal and was going to haunt her for the rest of her life.

The Americans were the first to the point, a small farmhouse whose windows had been covered with old newspaper. They cleared the rooms, before settling in, happy to put down their heavy packs. While the others pulled out water and sat down for a short reprieve while they waited, Rose just leaned against the far wall, staring at the knots in the floorboards. She kept replaying the scene over and over in her head of the woman lunging at her and then at Vincent. She kept trying to pinpoint the exact moment she should have done something to stop her.

There were a few attempts at conversation, while the Partisans walked toward the meeting place. They might've been in enemy territory, but they were keeping it quiet. Everytime they started to speak, however, Felix would cut them off with a phrase that Thomas knew well.

"Ferme ta gueule!" He'd hiss. "Shut the fuck up."

So, they did. The harsh silence broken only by the occasional gust of wind, and the sounds of their travel. The shifting of gravel, the just-a-bit-too-loud breathing, the shifting of their gear. They walked down side-road, and stopped everytime they came close to a patrol.

"Lot of Krauts out today." Edouard noted.

"Aye. This isn't normal. I don't think we've ever dealt with this many patrols." Thomas agreed. This was most disturbing. Perhaps whatever information the Nazis got from the Polish Partisans had them riled up. Perhaps some high-ranking Kraut was coming to meet with the Vichy, and the extra patrols. It didn't matter to Thomas and the others. All it meant was an increase in difficulty.

"Just means more heads to put bullets in." Anna said, speaking for the first time since they'd left the hideout. The Russian sharpshooter spoke with such confidence that even Thomas, the least warlike of the group, found himself almost hoping for contact. Almost. They carried on, dodging often to the side of the road to hide from the passing Wehrmacht. It was not a pleasant journey, but it passed mostly without incident.

Mostly.

---

They were nearly to the meeting place when they saw him, lying on the side of the road. Blonde hair plastered to his head by blood and sweat, his grey uniform stained red, his blue eyes full of fear. He weakly raised an arm. The Partisans looked to each other for confirmation, then stepped toward him, guns at the ready. The fallen Nazi was in even worse shape upon closer inspection. His wounds were savage and deep, as though he'd been mauled.

They expected him to ask for help. Help that they would have to deny. To their surprise, the Wehrmacht wanted no such thing.

"Tue-moi." He rapsed. It was French.

Kill me.

The soldier couldn't have been older than twenty, yet he was begging for death. Though his eyes were clouded by pain, Thomas couldn't shake the feeling that the soldier wasn't chasing death as an escape from it. Thomas frowned. Death, wounds, suffering. It was a part of war, and he was a soldier. If only that made seeing dying people any easier. Pointless suffering, borne of pointless violence.

What am I doing here? He asked himself, not for the first time. Before he could ponder further, the boy spoke again.

"Tue-moi!" Likely the only French he knew, spoken in desperation.

"We're not going to get anything out of him." Thomas said, sighing. "What's the harm in taking him out?"

"I agree." Edouard said, hesitantly. "Of all the gifts we might give to a Nazi, a merciful death is the easiest."

"He doesn't deserve mercy." Anna spat. "Would he do the same for you?"

"Maybe not." Edouard said.

"I'm not wasting one of my bullets on a fucking Nazi." Felix grumbled. "You can knock yourselves out, but hurry up about it."

Neither Anna nor Edouard moved. Gerard, the ever-silent giant of a Frenchman followed Felix as they walked up the road a few steps. Bernard remained silent.

"I don't think I can't shoot an unarmed man." Edouard said, with his head down.

"What, you want me to?" Anna scoffed.

"No." Edouaro was looking at Thomas.

"Ed, I-" He stopped, unsure of what to say.

I don't want to kill him either.

The Partisan produced his sidearm, one that had recently belonged to one of the unlucky Poles. He held it, handle-first to Thomas. The Irishman hesitated for a moment, before sighing and grabbing it. A revolver, a Nagant, if he was correct. Loaded and cocked already. He looked at the Nazi. Fear in the boy's eyes, but determination behind it.

"Bitte." He whispered. German for please. Thomas sighed. He aimed the revolver down at his head. The soldier began talking again, but clearly not to Thomas. "Gott vergib mir." Tears welled in his eyes. Thomas closed his own, then pulled the trigger. When he opened them, the German was dead, a bullet hole square in his face that looked paltry compared to the gashes across his body. He turned to Edouard, the pistol held out. The Partisan shook his head.

"Keep it."

So, he did.

---

They arrived late. Thomas hoped this wasn't to become a patern. The meeting place was quiet, and the Partisans readied their weapons. It was quiet. Felix broke the silence, calling out in English.

"Is anyone here?"

They couldn't see inside the farmhouse. Thomas only hoped that the answer wasn't spoken by a German.

Everyone seemed to perk up immediately as a voice rang out.

“You bring the firewood?” Conner called out, waiting to hear the countersign signaling it was the Partisan group and not the enemy.

“Enough for a bonfire,” rang back a voice. Everyone immediately relaxed as the Sergeant went to open the door, letting in a group of six men and women into the silent cabin, everyone sizing the group up. When they had started the mission, they had told their main duty was to provide resources and backup, but Rose wanted to get back to Vincent and the woman. The more she replayed the afternoon’s events in her mind, the less clear it was.

As the group filed in, the Americans naturally fell closer together, untrusting of their new allies. So far, most everyone had only fought alongside other Americans, and trusting internationals was unnerving.

“We’ve brought ammo and rations, a couple batteries as well. Base supplies are already low so we weren’t able to bring all of the requests. We also have our medic with extra morphine and gunshot kits if any of your team needs medical assistance before we begin. General Mathews didn’t tell us much about what we’d be doing after meeting up with you, so everyone still needs to be briefed. But, we’ve been traveling all day and already lost one of our own, so unless this is time sensitive, my men need rest,” Connor said, addressing the new group. Rose’s head dipped at the mention of Vincent as she fought back a bit of bile, and she could feel the hate radiating off of Josh. But, she was grateful Connor didn’t offer more on the subject.

"Damn." Felix hissed. The way he figured, they would've barely been able to this with all of the backup, and all of the supplies. Thinks were risky before, but now they practically betting on a lame horse. Thomas noticed the concern on Felix's face, and frowned. "That is most unfortunate." He looked around. "Gerard, Anna. Watch the windows." The great hulk of a Frenchman, and the Russian markswoman moved to windows on opposite side of the room. Felix found a table, and Thomas and Edouard dragged it to the middle of the room for him. Most times, Felix seemed a lot younger than he was. In times like this, when Felix was worried or exhausted, Thomas could see his years. The Old Partisan reached into his satchel and withdrew a rolled up map, which he laid out on the table. It was a map of France and part of the surrounding countries. "There's no way to ease into this, so I'll say it outright. We have reliable information suggesting that the Krauts are doing research into the Occult and the Paranormal."

Silence. Bernard raised an eyebrow, Edouard looked confused, Anna chuckled to herself, and Gerard didn't even move.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked scratching his head.

"I mean, the Nazis are getting up to all sorts of scary shit. Some sort of solution that can turn people, and anyone they bite, into feral cannibals. Metal armor powered by ghosts. Rifles that shoot lightning. Soldiers that can turn invisible." He sighed. "We don't know how much of this is true, but we do know that the Russians are taking hefty losses on the Eastern Front, which is a battle they should be winning. Conflicting reports from the front say all sorts of nonsense, but there are patterns." He ran a hand through his hair. "That's what we've heard, anyways. That's what we told your Government, the Brits, and Tommy's government. They seem to take this pretty seriously. The Americans are especially worried that the Krauts will start using this stuff in Africa, and the Brits are afraid of this stuff being used in air raids." He shrugged. "As expected, The Irish voice concern, but maintain neutrality."

"Fuckin' De Valera." Thomas mumbled. Felix chuckled dryly.

"We wanted to talk to the Russians, too, but that's been difficult." Felix frowned. "The Brits said they might help, eventually, but the Americans sent you guys. We're going to break into a Research Facility here." He drew a pen from his bag and marked a spot on the map, in German-Occupied France, near the Swiss Border. "Safest way to get there is going to be through Vichy Territory. I might have a way to get us some real transportation. Either way, we'll be stuck here tonight." He stopped, and looked at the people he'd just addressed. Felix wanted to stop there, but he supposed he had just told them that the Nazis were essentially using magic weapons. He sighed, as he seemed to be doing a lot, anymore. "Do remember that this is all speculation. We have intel, but intel's never 100% right, is it? We need to take this with a grain of salt, but remain on guard." He cleared his throat. Thomas raised his hand. Felix nodded.

"If we see some of those lightning rifles, are we allowed to use them, sir?" Thomas asked, with a note of humor. Felix's lip twitched, like he wanted to smile, but was suppressing it.

"Fine, but don't blame me if it blows up in your hands."

Rose was certain she would have bursted out laughing at the mention of the occult if it wasn’t for the day’s earlier events. “We, uhm, we might be able to confirm some of it,” Rose said stepping forward, clearing her throat. She had waited for Connor to jump in and mention Vincent when the briefing was done, but he remained quiet. She ignored the dirty looks of the rest of her squad. Information was like gold during war, but if this was her new team, they all needed to be on the same page. “I don’t know about the occult nonsense, but there does seem to be some kind of chemical warfare we haven’t… I haven’t seen before. Some kind of rabies that causes the victim to go mad and attack,” Rose began to elaborate. “It’s what killed one of our members on the way here. There was a...”

“No, your fucking stupidity took care of that,” Josh interrupted Rose , pushing himself off the wall as he stalked towards her. “Not following orders got Vincent killed, not a fucking cannibal,” he continued, his eyes clouding over with anger. Before Rose could spit out a response though, Connor jumped in.

“Pittman, take a beat. Vincent’s death was an unfortunate one, but it does no good throwing blame around. What’s done is done. Why don’t you go try and get a signal outside and radio that we’ve made it. See if we can’t get some kind of transportation help either,” he ordered, his tone icy. Rose knew just because he was defending her, didn’t mean he didn’t also blame her. It did no good showing the cracks in his squad to the others. It made them look weak… made him look weak. “And Private Lehman, I don’t remember you being fucking addressed. Fall back and speak when fucking spoken too. The woman was obviously war crazed, she wasn’t rabid,” he said, now directing his anger at her.

“Yes sir,” Rose said through gritted teeth, returning to her spot beside Samson, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. She knew she was speaking out of turn, but she also knew what she saw. War crazies didn’t explain that woman’s deformities. It didn’t explain her unnatural strength or the bite she took out of Vincent’s neck. Connor was in denial and the partisan group was offering an explanation. A crazy explanation that must have been exaggerations but an explanation. It wasn’t beyond the scope of reality that a new form of chemical warfare was causing psychosis.

“I’m not sure what you guys are expecting to find out there, but we’ll help break into the facility,” Connor said, turning back to the map.

---

Rose was busy watching the steam rise out of the kettle stout. The two groups had dispersed after a bit more planning. They were to head out an hour before dawn by foot. No vehicle could be given by the American’s so for the time being, they would walk. Everyone was making food and settling down for the evening. Samson was busy cleaning his weapon next to Rose, whistling a soft tune Rose didn’t recognize. It helped passed the time though, so Rose didn’t bug him with idle conversation. Instead she sat there watching the kettle heat up, waiting for the familiar screech of hot water.

“You were caught off guard,” Samson said, speaking softly, answering a question Rose hadn’t asked. He started back up on the broken tune.

“Come again?” Rose asked, looking up, her brow furrowed.

“You fell over from the woman. You were caught off guard. We all were,” he said. He was trying to comfort her. Look out for her. But he was wrong. Rose knew she wasn’t. She had her footing, and despite her smaller stature, she was strong from all of the training. There was no way that woman should have knocked her over.

“Stop.” Rose demanded, cutting him off. She knew what Samson was doing. He was trying to convince her it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t mess up today. She didn’t want to hear it though. The kettle broke the tense silence that was threatening to fall over the pair. Rose used it as an excuse to make up the MREs to avoid talking any further.

"Edouard." Felix said, breaking the relative silence that had come over the partisans. Seated in various places around the front room of the old farm house, the Partisans had been acting much like the Americans. They kept to themselves, speaking in hushed tones. Thomas and Edouard had been talking, and Thomas was practicing his French, with mixed results.

"Sir?" The Frenchman turned to face his leader, and raised an eyebrow.

"You and Thomas go talk to some of the Americans, figure out the food situation." Felix ordered, not looking up from the map. Edouard sighed, standing up. Thomas followed suit. "Oh, and try to be friendly. They seem divided enough as it is. We don't need them angry at us, too."

"You're ordering us to make friends?" Thomas asked.

"Essentially."

---

After some deliberation, Edouard and Thomas approached the two Americans handling MRE's.

"Hello!" Edouard said, almost painfully genial and approachable. Thomas wondered if Felix had ever considered espionage. Edouard would make a good spy. "My name is Edouard, and my compatriot here is Thomas." Thomas nodded.

"Hello." He said, simply. He looked at the Americans. The massive black man, and the considerably smaller woman. An odd pair, to be certain. "Are you two in charge of food?"

"Right. Our leader, Felix, was wondering if you might be able to get us some food." Edouard explained. Thomas noticed that Edouard's accent almost vanished when he spoke. "Or, if not, we were wondering if you knew anyone who could."

Rose didn’t bother looking up at the sickly sweet introductions of Edouard, not in the mood to play hostess. Her partner Samson, however, wasn’t nearly as prickly, offering a hand to the two men. “Sure thing, help yourself. Once the others catch wind that food is ready, you’ll be lucky to get any,” he joked as he passed over two of the ugly packets. Rose offered them cups of bad instant coffee as well.

“Do you trust your intel?” she asked harshly, cutting straight to the chase.

Samson tskd at her, his lips pursed. “Come on now Rose, we can talk shop later. We have a long enough walk ahead of us tomorrow. This is Private Rose Lehman, one of the best damn medics I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. She’s not always so rude,” he said, now addressing the other two. “I’m Private Samson Reddington, infantryman. I’ve never seen such an unusual makeup of people before,” he started, motioning to the other partisans. “Normally you get one or two different groups together, but your lot,” he said with a dramatic whistle for flair, “that’s something else.

Rose, picking up an MRE and coffee, stood up abruptly, not in the mood to make idle chit chat. She had no interest in getting to know anyone at the moment. No, she had to deal with Josh before it got taken any further. That was the second time today Connor had to stand up for her. Any more, and there was no doubt she’d be seen as even weaker by her squad than already. She already had her gender fighting against her, she wasn’t going to let some prick intimidate her.

Samson gave her a questioning look, but she didn’t give him a chance to talk her out of it. She quickly left the cabin to find Pittman who was still probably looking for a transmission signal. The young woman wasn’t surprised to find him leaned up against the side, smoking and staring up at the sky. Based on the amount of butts littered around him, he had been there for a while. She quickly placed the food down by him which he payed no mind to. She watched as his jaw clenched in anger, and his breathing deepen.

“I know I fucked up. I know it should have been me who lost their throat today…” Rose finally said, her arms defensively crossing in front of her.

“Go...away….” Josh gritted through his teeth.

“No. Not until I finish saying what I have to say…” she spat back. In an instant, Josh leaped up at her, knocking over the food and coffee. His hands wrapped tightly around her neck as he swung her around, and pushed her hard up against the cabin wall. Rose’s hands went to grasp around his wrist, but he was to strong.

“You just couldn’t leave her alone could you!” he started to scream. Rose had only been half heartedly fighting back, mostly to just keep breathing. But part of her had felt she deserved whatever Josh was going to do to her. But yelling was putting everyone else in danger. She already killed one person today, she wasn’t going to get everyone else hurt. She slammed her knee hard up against Josh who quickly let go of her as he grasped himself in pain. Rose bent over coughing hard as she tried to gasp for air.

“No I couldn’t leave her… she looked hurt. She was hurt…” she said painfully in between wheezing breaths. “I was doing my job…”

“Just fucking go you bitch…” Josh said glaring at her, still obviously in pain.

“I killed him. I know that. I’ll live with that. But you don’t get to bully me because he was your friend,” she said defiantly. She didn’t want to be afraid of him, but she was also looking for a fight, punishment for killing Vincent. Part of her knew she was riling him up again. He didn’t take the bait though, choosing instead to send an icy glare her way, before pulling out another cigarette and sliding back down to where he had been sitting previously.