Every time Lip coughed, Alice cringed. For a single night, Easy Company had rested in blissful peace, confident in their impending departure from the front lines. But then they'd woken up. Not only had they all woken up to the news that the Americans had retaken, again, the town of Haguenau and the 101st were being sent to occupy it, but poor Lip had woken up with a nasty cough. Everyone hoped it didn't mean he'd gotten the pneumonia still plaguing Alice.

She'd been given a spot in a troop truck with Gene and Spina. She'd been sent back to Easy under the assumption that they'd be moving out for Mourmelon-le-Grand. Clearly that wasn't happening. She'd willingly agreed to spend her time with the medics. Despite her fever having gone down and her appetite somewhat returned, the cough lingered and she'd been sorely depleted of strength.

Alice sat next to George, and to his right, Lipton on the edge of the truck. So far he only had a cough, no fever or chills. To her left, Pat Christenson sat messing with a pencil and scrap of paper. He was always drawing, whenever he could get a spare minute, something Alice found admirable, especially because he had real talent. Also in the truck sat Bull, Malarkey, Gene, Spina, Babe, Ramirez,  Talbert, and Liebgott. A couple of their most recent replacements rounded out the group.

At one point that morning they got a laugh at First Battalion's expense. Charlie Company strolled along the side of the road. As soon as George noticed who it was, he'd heckled them, much to the amusement of the truck filled with Easy Company. His jab about them "shitting in their foxholes" on the line was an obvious and well received callback to when Joe Toye had ranted about it in the Ardennes. Alice had heard the story. It sounded just like Joe: calm, cool, and collected until someone did something stupid enough for him to go completely, well and truly, off.

Now, an hour into the ride south and east, they'd quieted down. Conversations were struck between those sitting together in an effort to pass the time and alleviate stress. With George occupied chatting with Lip, she turned to her left. Over his shoulder, Alice watched the sketch Pat tried to do on the bumpy road. He'd managed to sketch out an eagle, its beak wide, shrieking into the empty page.

After a little while, he turned to her. She gave a short laugh and apologized. "Sorry. You're just so good."

Pat shook his head. With a small smile, he led it out a bit further. "Thanks. It'd be better if we weren't in a truck."

"That goes without saying," she joked. 

They fell back into a comfortable quiet. Alice continued to watch him work. All around them, the cold countryside of Belgium and then France passed by. Muddy roads and fields, occasional snowy patches, everything looked bleak. At some point she realized pretty much everyone had fallen silent. At least, silent until George poked her in the arm.

"Sing somethin'."

"What?" Alice looked at him in confusion. 

But he looked totally serious. And then he started to smirk, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He pointed at her. "Sing."

She'd never been particularly self conscious, but with the drastic change from silence to total attention on her, she froze. But George just continued to grin at her. Immediately she looked at the others. They watched her, expecting something.

"You're serious?" When George just laughed, she sighed. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Alice turned away. But she couldn't stop herself from smiling when she had an idea. "Pat, you can sing."

The man next to her choked on the water in his canteen. A few of the men started laughing at his shock. Once he had his sputtering cough under control he looked at her. She just smiled back.

"I'll start, you join in."

"How do you know I know the song," he objected.

Alice chuckled but didn't answer. Instead she just smiled at him and started singing the lovely Vera Lynn's hit, We'll Meet Again. "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when! But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day!"

The whole truck burst out in applause and laughter. They all knew that one; she'd known they would. Even Lipton and Malarkey who had been the most withdrawn all day couldn't help but smile.

"Keep smiling through, just like you always do," she continued, "'Til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away."

With a grin, Pat continued with the next bit. "So will you please say "Hello" to the folks that I know. Tell them I won't be long. They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go, I was singing this song."

"We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day," Alice finished. She nudged George and he grinned.

Pat, Alice, and George took up the chorus. "We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day. Keep smiling through, just like you always do, 'til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away." Half way through, Gene, Tab, Babe, Ramirez, and Lieb joined in.

Alice started laughing when Liebgott cursed out Spina for joining in. The man was infamous for his poor voice. She just raised her voice higher and continued on. "So will you please say "Hello" to the folks that I know. Tell them I won't be long. They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go, I was singin' this song!"

"We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day." All of them, minus a pouting Spina, finished it with a rousing cheer.

Alice coughed a couple times into her arm, searing pain shooting through her chest. But she still found it hard not to smile at their antics. George patted her on the back a couple times. She glared at him. "Not helping."

He just snickered around his cigarette. Just like that, the tension around the truck faded. The men returned to their conversations, Liebgott heckling Spina. Eventually he turned to Gene, but the lead medic wanted nothing to do with it. So Spina shouted for Babe. Both being from Philadelphia, Babe stuck up for him.

In the end, it was concluded that Spina should not, for any reason, attempt to sing unless he had a death wish. To be honest, Alice thought that conclusion had been reached back in Bastogne after he'd tried to join Liebgott and Alley's mini USO performance in the foxholes. 

Alice fell back against the truck and just sat watching them with a smile on her face. She loved this. She'd missed this, this side of the Toccoa men, and apparently Babe. Perhaps Babe could just be considered an honorary Toccoa man. After a while, she turned to George. He and Malarkey and Lipton were chatting. Despite his overgrown hair, scabbed cheek, and unshaven face that looked the exact same as the night before, he seemed infinitely better. 

Funny how getting off the line to go to a new part of the line managed to improve everyone's moods so drastically. Just leaving Bastogne had done that. A testament to the hell they'd endured, she decided. 

It took three weeks to reach their target thanks to constant interruption by the Germans. On a wet, snowy February 9th, after various skirmishes along the way, Easy Company rolled into Haguenau. It looked horrible. The men they'd be relieving, the 313th Infantry Regiment of the 79th Division, mulled about looking cold and depressed. They clambered into troop trucks, casting glances that seemed to be an odd mix of awe and annoyance, towards the arriving paratroopers.

Alice still had a bad lingering cough, but it was nothing compared to the hell that had finally hit Lipton. The hopes that he hadn't caught her pneumonia had been shattered a few days prior when his fever escalated and his breathing became erratic. Now Gene and Spina had to worry over him, not her. She would've been grateful for the reprieve if it hadn't come from the suffering of Sergeant Lipton.

Her cough still sounded ugly, though. Because of how much she still wheezed, Gene insisted she stay out of the cold. Especially with the snow returning, he watched her like a hawk when they pulled in to make sure she didn't run off.

So with a terribly sick Lipton on her left, Alice wandered into the main building the were setting up as a command post. When she stepped inside and saw the oriental rugs on the floor, in tact but covered in dirt and dust, she almost stopped. Most of the windows were smashed in and glass and wood swept to the walls out of the way. Each wall had white wood moulding a third of the way up where it then became a blue and gold floral wallpaper. Had it been intact, the whole house would've blown Alice away.

As it stood now, it still impressed. When she walked in, Gene told Lipton he'd be back with medicine as soon as he could track some down. With a long stare at Alice that screamed "don't do anything stupid" he moved away. Ron, Vest, and George sped off in different directions also.

"Lip, sit down," Alice insisted. She watched him walk around the house, looking for things to do. Her heart ached every time he coughed. "God... Lip!"

He turned back to her slowly, face full of agony. But he just shrugged. "I've got things to do."

"Lip, I swear, I will go get Speirs myself and sic him on you if you don't find a couch and sit down," Alice ordered. "Don't make me pull rank."

He glared at her. With a nod, though, he moved towards the central room. A couch with red cushions and brown wicker back sat in the middle. She flagged down George as Lipton sank into it.

"George, find a blanket for him if you can," she asked.

He nodded, cigarette hanging from his mouth. With a glance over her shoulder, he saw Lipton shivering on the couch. "Yeah, yeah 'course. Gimme a minute, ok?"

She just nodded. A few chairs sat along the wall. Her wheezing sapped her of energy and after catching a pointed stare from Lipton, she sank down along the wall in a chair to wait for the medics again. Alice shut her eyes.

"Sergeant Lipton? Feeling alright?"

The voice tugged her back to the present moments later though. David Kenyon Webster, standing in the doorway looking pristine, glanced around at them in the crumbling living room. Alice had heard the boys saying he was back, but she hadn't seen him yet.

George completely ignored Webster in favor of dragging a blanket back over to Lipton. "Look what I found," he said with a grin. Then he tossed a second one over to Alice before turning to Webster. "He's got pneumonia."

Webster frowned. "Sorry to hear that."

George scoffed and shook his head. "Yeah, what are you sorry about? He's alive, he's got a couch, a goddamn blanket. He's snug as a bug." 

Lipton, Alice, and George shared a look. Even just the first statement, the fact that he was alive, meant a whole lot. And Alice hadn't had a couch. But with the two men looking over at her, Webster did too.

"Lieutenant," he added quickly.

"Webster," she added. "You look good. Leg heal up?"

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah, thanks." Webster watched George hurry off further into the house. With a frown, he turned back to Lipton. "Sergeant Malarkey said to check with the CO if I should be in Second Platoon."

Under his warm, brown blanket, Lipton nodded. He waved at him with his small report he was reading. "Have a seat Webster, we'll get you situated."

He did so. Settling on a piano bench just to the left of the entrance way, he offloaded his rifle and settled in looking cautious. "How long have you been sick?" he ventured.

Alice snorted, and Lipton looked from her back to Webster. He shrugged. "Long enough."

"Right." Webster watched Lipton for another moment. After the man didn't add anything, he glanced over at Alice.

Alice watched him closely. She tried to keep her annoyance off her expression. After all, she didn't know really why she felt annoyed; Webster had done nothing wrong. He'd been a good soldier, had fought with them through D-Day and Market-Garden and at the Island. He'd even been wounded in action. She'd never particularly liked him; she found him a bit too ready with knowledge that oftentimes wasn't even true. One particular instance, where he'd mentioned Nuenen as the birthplace of Van Gogh, she held her tongue but had wanted nothing more than to correct his false information. Van Gogh had been from Zundert.

But he was kind, and she held a certain respect for his refusal to accept promotions as a way to express his dislike of the war. He did his duty and never let anyone down. But his wound had been minor, and he'd not come back to them. 

Plus, his German could use some work.

"Unfortunately, Lip owes me for the pneumonia," she said with a sad smile. "So don't work him too hard trying to find a platoon, Webster. I couldn't live with myself if it killed him."

She said it with a smile. Even Lipton let out a small laugh. But Webster looked at them in concern.

"You had pneumonia, Lieutenant?" He looked her over.

She nodded, but Lipton cut in before she could say anything else. "She caught it in Bastogne, and fought the whole siege with it. This is heaven compared to what she had to deal with back there in addition to the pneumonia."

"Lip, don't talk so much. Focus on your breathing," Alice ordered. But then she turned back to Webster. "Trust me, if I'd had the option I'd have been on a couch in a house back there. I did what anyone else would've done. We were out of options."

"Yeah," he said, warily, "I'm sure."

Heavy footfalls sounded from around the corner. They all turned to the entrance way. Around the corner came a young man, ODs beautiful and face clean shaven. His helmet had a Lieutenant's bar. At his entrance, Webster, Private Vest, and even Lipton attempted to stand.

Alice didn't. She examined him from her spot along the wall. He couldn't have been older than she had when she'd joined the Airborne. As he asked if it was Easy's CP, and Lipton affirmed it, he looked around the room.

"Lieutenant Jones looking for Captain Speirs."

"He's on his way sir, why don't you sit down." Lipton, ever the gentleman, gestured to a nearby seat. Then he turned to a private who entered the room. "Can you get me a coffee?" When the man nodded, Lip turned to Jones. "Would you like a coffee sir?"

"No, thank you."

At that moment, Lieutenant Jones noticed Alice for the first time. He paused mid step. Alice didn't break eye contact. After a moment, Lipton jumped in to introduce them.

"Lieutenant Jones, this is First Lieutenant Alice Klein," he said.

He eyed her carefully for another second before nodding, and offering a small salute. He looked totally confused, but it impressed her that he showed her the respect of a superior officer anyways. Alice decided to smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant," she said. 

As he went to say more, George Luz and Ron Speirs both walked into the room. Jones straightened up immediately. The others did so to varying, often minute, degrees. Alice couldn't hide a smile at the sight of Ron holding a beautiful antique clock in his hands.

Lipton gestured to the new officer. "Cap'n Speirs, this is Lieutenant Jones-"

But Ron had had enough with Lipton not taking care of himself. "Listen, for Christ's Sake, will you go back in the back and sack out! There's some beds back there with fresh sheets!"

"I will, sir, I'm just trying to make myself useful-"

When Alice laughed, Ron spun on her. "Goddamnit, you're no better. Go to bed! You almost died a few weeks ago and you still look and sound like shit."

The glare she sent him would've scared a normal man. But Ron Speirs was not normal, she knew, and as such he merely shook his head and pointed back into the house. Only the appearance of Dick and Nixon saved her from that fate.

"Listen up," Dick announced. "Regiment wants a patrol for prisoners."

Immediately the vibe in the room went from a calm neutral to a thick tension. Alice frowned at Dick, straightening up in her chair. When Nixon joined him, she glanced his way. He met her gaze as well. He sighed.

"This one comes straight from Colonel Sink, so, it's not my idea."

The way he tried to cover his own hide made her wonder just how bad this idea was. Alice let her gaze wander from him to Ron to Lipton, and finally back to Dick. None of them looked happy. Her frown only deepened.

Dick turned to Ron. "Since the river's the main point of resistance, we're gonna have to cross it to get to them."

"What do we need to do?" Ron asked.

"There's a three story building on the enemy side, up the embankment. We know it's occupied." Dick glanced over at Alice in apprehension. Then he turned back to Ron. "You can have fifteen men. Think very hard about who you want to lead the patrol. You'll need a lead scout, a translator."

Nixon, Dick, and Ron all glanced at Alice. She straightened up. She knew they were probably looking at her because they knew she'd want to go and they wouldn't let her. Part of her agreed, but the less intelligent, more impulsive side of her brain didn't care. She was the best damn translator in the whole Regiment, and knew what to look for in terms of intelligence.

"I've got the entire Battalion on covering fire," Dick added.

"When?" Ron asked.

"Tonight, 0100."

"Yes, sir." Ron nodded and then looked down.

"Speirs, I want this to be as foolproof and safe as possible."

Nixon nodded, turning from where he'd been looking between Lip, Alice, and Jones. He eyed Ron carefully. "Yeah, don't take any chances on this one. We're too far along for that."

Ron looked hard at Nixon. But though he usually hated Nixon giving him orders, he seemed to take the severity of the patrol seriously and just nodded. After a moment, he walked over to Dick to discuss options for the patrol. Nixon moved towards Alice. On the way, he stopped in front of Lieutenant Jones.

"Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Jones, sir."

Realization dawned on Nixon's face. He grinned and looked him up and down. "Right, our West Pointer."

"Yes sir."

"When'd you graduate?"

"June 6th, sir."

Alice, who had been listening, nearly started coughing as she tried to suppress a laugh. But Nixon just looked at him in shock. "June 6th? Of last year?"

"'D-Day', yes sir." 

To his credit, Jones looked sheepish as he answered. But it didn't stop Alice or Nixon from down right giggling at his answer. Nixon just shook his head with a grin. "Alright. Don't get hurt."

Nixon moved past Jones towards where Alice sat along the wall. He grinned and rolled his eyes, gesturing behind himself towards Jones. With only a smirk and a shrug, Alice shook her head.

"How're you feeling?" Nix asked her.

She took a deep breath through her nose. When she didn't break down coughing, Alice smiled. "Better, it seems. Would've been ever better without hearing of this patrol."

His smile fell. "Yeah, we all would."

They all would. As he stood there, frowning, Alice felt her heart break a bit. Nixon had been drinking more and more since they'd gotten out of Bastogne and he'd managed to restock his whiskey. Not enough to worry her, but enough that it had caught her attention. As he and Dick turned away, walking from the CP to find more information for the patrol, Alice sighed.

"Captain, request permission to go on the patrol."

At Jones' request, everyone in the room turned to him. Ron looked about ten seconds away from wanting to punch the young replacements officer. Lipton and the nearby Vest just sighed. But Jones looked undeterred. 

Ron glared at him. "No."

Alice tried to suppress a grin at how defeated Jones looked. His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes. Turning to Ron, she opened her mouth. But he'd clearly been expecting it.

"I swear to God, if you ask what I think you're about to ask I will lock you in a goddamn bedroom with Doc Roe to reprimand you," Ron snapped.

She shut her mouth. If she'd not felt like hell after only three quarters of the day, she'd have fought him on it. But she knew he was right, however much she hated it. Her defense of her reckless behavior in the Ardennes had been the lack of options. Here she had no such excuse. So she shut her mouth and sat in silence, content to listen to Lip and Ron discuss tactics.