Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June 4th, 1944 - Upottery, England

Isabella had always wanted to go to England when she was younger. Her mother would tell her stories of when she had seen Big Ben and Buckingham Palace. How the countryside was filled with rolling green hills and the nicest people. She was not expecting to finally see England after months of grueling training surrounded by men years older than her. She was especially not expecting that the last thing she would see before jumping into enemy territory, would in fact, be England. 

She looked off into the distance, rosary in hand and heart pounding. She was scared.

But so was everyone else.

The planes were being loaded, paratroopers at the ready. She tries to control her breathing when a pair of jump boots enter her vision. Shakily looking up, her eyes land on her ranking medic. Doc Roe nods down at her, glancing at her hand. 

“Hi Gene”. She smiles and pats the space next to her. Smiling back, he took a seat next to her.

“Are you praying?” He glances down at her hand again, still clenched. 

“Not really,” her voice is shaky and she clears her throat to try again, “It’s more of a comfort than anything.” 

They sit in silence as she tries to calm down, but she’s failing miserably and it seems he can’t seem to handle it any more than she can. 

“You’re gonna have a real rough time using that hand if you keep clenching it any tighter,” he started, “How is my best medic supposed to work if she can’t use her hand?”

His joke seems to do the trick and knocks her back to reality. Unclenching her hand as she giggles, she feels the blood rushing back into her palms. Turning back to him, the young girl can tell that he was just in as bad a state as she was. 

Grabbing his hand, she squeezes, smiling. “I’ll be just fine, Gene. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

“Easy Company!”

Startled, her head jumps up. 

“C’mon boys, gather up!”

Gene slips his hand out of hers, standing. He turns, waiting for her to do the same, Meehan still yelling in the distance. As they head over, her nerves start to catch up with her yet again. Something doesn’t feel right.

“The channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High wind on the drop zone. No jump tonight.” She feels her stomach drop as Meehan continues. “The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants take charge.” 

She was right, something had been off. There would be no invasion of France today.

There would be no jump tonight. 

Chapter Text

Orlando, Florida, 1941

For as long as she could remember, music had always come easy to her.

She would sit in the muggy outside, temples sweating as she sang along with her father and brother. She loved to run around as her father played the guitar and her mother would finish a painting. But she especially loved when her brother would sit her down at his piano and start teaching her how to play.

Isabella’s family had always been simple. Her father, Michel, would go to work every morning. Her mother looking after her and her brother while her father would slave away in the heat to make sure his family was well. When her brother, Michel Alejandro (or just Michel for short), finally was old enough, then he too would leave early in the morning with her father to work the day away.

Those days had hit Isabella the hardest. She only had one sibling, and he was nine years older than her. So while she would still be playing with dolls and mud, her brother would study and work, leaving her behind to live her childhood in solitude. But she would never blame him. It wasn’t his fault after all. Her mom said that was just the plan God had for him. But her highlight of the week would be on Sunday’s, when neither Michel would work and they could all head to church together. She loved the church, with its smell of frankincense and myrrh. She adored the hymns and the psalms. She adored picking a veil every week and seeing the beautiful windows. But she loved being with her family the most. She would almost always fall asleep by the end, and her brother would help carry her back home.

Michel had always been smart, and incredibly capable. He hadn’t been born in the states like she had. He had to work to get to where he was, just like her parents had. His childhood so much harsher than hers. Sure, Isabella was lonely. But it would never compare to the violence he had lived through as a boy. Her family left Colombia for a reason and she would never complain about what she felt. Her brother was the top of his class, working his way to make his spot in the world. When he wasn’t working, he would study. And when he wasn’t studying, he would work. She found it sad, how the light in his eyes had dimmed as he grew. Her father looked like that too. Eyes dark and tired. 

As Isabella grew and Michel had begun growing more distant, she embraced the talent her family had helped cultivate. She would go to school, learning as much as she could to help her parents, and when she would go home she would help her mother around the house before she would run to the piano in the living room, playing away until her mother finally yelled at her to stop. Eventually, she had made friends and learned more of herself in her independence. She would stay late with her friends in the marsh around her house. Feet wet with mud and cheeks red from laughter. She’d always come home with something new in hand, whether it be a rock or a snake (much to her mother’s dismay).

When Isabella turned 9, her life had changed. Michel would leave to go to university. She would truly be alone. Sure, they had grown distant in their age difference, but her brother had always been there for her when she needed it. She had let out heart wrenching sobs that night when her brother had left on the train, and she hadn’t been the same since.

As she grew, she had learned more and more of why her family had left Colombia. Her fathers family had all fought in the war against the Spanish, and became known for their military presence. Her father joined as a young boy, only 14. And as he grew older, he flew through the ranks, a natural. Eventually, he met her mother, Claudia, and got married. A year or two later, Michel was born. But then, the military seized power from the government, and another civil war erupted. When it ended, resentment toward the military remained, and her family wasn’t safe from the hands of those who wanted them dead.

So they left.

She admired her father greatly. He was an incredible man with a beautiful heart and soul who had been given the short end of the stick. With her brother's absence, they had grown closer, and Isabella enjoyed hearing his stories of the homeland and his life there. 

Their lives flipped upside down when her brother had graduated college four years later. Michel walked into the house one day, Coast Guard officer uniform on and eyes determined. Her parents had been ecstatic, Isabella on the other hand, had almost beat him over the head with her guitar. A year later, he married a nice Japanese girl he had met in school, and she finally realized her brother wasn’t going to come back anymore. It stung, but she was happy for him, and moved on. She had a niece to take care of. To learn Japanese and a new culture for. To teach Spanish and love to. She’d begun to perform with her friends every weekend at the local bar, and had gotten a job at a barn. Her studies were going well, she was happy.

Four years later, Pearl Harbor was attacked, and her life truly was never the same again.

Chapter Text

Orlando, Florida, January, 1942

They had been lucky. Michel had been out at sea that day, saved from the savage attack on Pearl Harbor. Maya and the kids had been in Orlando. She had decided to give birth here, Japan too far and her own parents unwilling to travel to help her. She didn’t want her son to be born in a military base, surrounded by unknown faces.

They had been lucky. 

Her parents had been huddled in the living room, Anzu running around outside on the patio with her and Maya was upstairs with Taiga, healing. But everything came to a stop when she heard her mother scream and a plate shatter.

They had been so, so lucky.

Eventually, Michel managed to call. Reassuring them he was fine and that there wasn’t any need to worry about him, especially with them being busy with the baby. 

The house had been dim that week, even with the blessed arrival of Taiga. Her mother had gone to mass everyday while Isabella stayed back to watch over Maya and the kids and Michel Senior went to work. She cooed at Taiga’s little squeals and gurgles. But there was a weight on their shoulders that nothing could get rid of, not even the innocent laughter of children.

Once winter break had ended and Isabella went back to school, she realized it wasn’t just her. Her childhood best friends and honorary brothers, Lucas and Cameron, felt it too. Everyone did. She felt no need to go perform, to sing and lift everyone’s spirits like she always had. No need to paint the walls of the barn in her usual flowers. Not even Lucas or Cameron would ask her to woo them away with her music. The songbird in her had gone silent.

She had been walking home, hand in hand with Cameron and Lucas behind them when they broke the news to her. 

Her boys would be leaving her too. 

Tears pricked her eyes, hand tightening around Camerons. “You guys should at least finish school before you start making stupid decisions,” she sighed, “Cameron isn’t even old enough to enlist.”

Lucas sped up, throwing his arm around her, grinning. “That’s what lying is for, Isa.”

She scoffed, annoyance and worry radiating off her. She rolled her eyes at him as he kept grinning down at her, his blonde hair shining in the sun. 

“Is that what you guys are going to tell mama when she finds out?”

They stilled at her words. Nothing was more dangerous than an angry Vega. Especially if it was Claudia, who had lovingly taken them under her wing when their own families hadn’t.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” she gritted out. She let go of Cameron’s hand, stomping her way home. 

She heard fast footsteps behind her, racing towards her. 

“Come on Isa, don’t run off like that. It’s too cold for you to be walking by yourself, especially in that dress.”

She turns around, cheeks pink from the wind, dress skirt flowing behind her. Folding her arms over her chest, she squints.

Angrily, she answers back. “You have one minute to give me a good reason to not kill the two of you before my mother does.”

Her boys stayed silent. Deep inside, she knew that they were only doing what they thought was right. To fight for the country they loved. But they were her boys. Who would perform with her at the bar? Walk her down the hallways at school? Make fun of her bookworm habits?

What would she do without her boys?

She sighs, tears growing in her eyes again. “I’m sorry…” she sniffles. “I’m being mean.”

Her tears begin to fall and she feels them wrap their arms around her as she puts her hands on her face. 

“You guys are so unfair, you were going to make me a cake this year.”

They chuckle as they hug her, waiting for her to calm down. After a while, she speaks up again, ready to continue torturing them for their decisions.

“Mama really is gonna kill yall you know?”

They stiffen and she laughs.

“Let’s get home before I freeze my butt off.”

That evening, her mother truly almost did kill them. But after scolding them at the dinner table, she fell silent and wrapped her arms around them, making them promise to always write no matter what. 

As they lay on the floor of her room, Cameron dead asleep, she asks Lucas about everything.

“So, what are yall gonna sign up for?” she whispers.

Lucas turns back toward her, eyes tired. “Cam wants to join the Army.”

It would suit him, somehow. Cameron was the youngest of the three, with Lucas as the oldest and her in the middle. She stared back. “What about you?”

“Marines.”

Her stomach dropped. She wasn’t dumb. She knew what the Marines would go through, she’d rather he go with Cameron to the Army. 

“Isa-”

“Did the Army reject you?”

Surprise flashed in his eyes. But Isabella knew he wouldn’t go to the Marines if he hadn’t been turned down by the Army. Lucas had always loved planes and the logical part of her mind knew that he would want the Air Corps before anything else.

He stayed silent as she stared. 

“What was it?”

He turned towards the ceiling. He’d always found her room the most beautiful thing in the house. She had painted it when she was younger, covered it in flowers and vines and birds. 

“My eyesight was too bad.” he sighed.

That’s all she needed to hear. She stretched her hand out to grab his, squeezing. 

They stayed quiet for a while, so long that her eyes had begun to shut from exhaustion. She was about to doze off until Lucas spoke up again.

“You could be a nurse you know?”

She shifted, body turning towards him. “What brought this on?”

“You’ve always been good with people. Helping them.”

Eyebrows wrinkling, she retorts. “That ain’t mean I’d be a good nurse.”

“You gonna say that to all those animals you take care of?”

He was right. She saved more than one cow and horse from a bad colic. Saved more than one baby when its mother couldn’t handle it anymore. Wrapped more hooves and legs than she could count.

“I wanna sing and perform, Luke. I ain’t wanna be a nurse.”

Lucas scoffed. “Do you think I was born yesterday?” He pulls her close, hiding her face in his chest. “I know you. You think we ain’t notice how excited you get when your pa tells his stories? How happy you got when you shot his rifle for the first time? You were made for the military, just like Michel is.”

She stays quiet, not knowing what to reply. He was right, she was a military brat through and through, just like Michel was. 

“I ain’t gonna tell you if it ain’t true. Two things can be real at the same time you know?”

Would she truly be able to leave this life behind and do the same duty her brother and father did? The same sacrifice her boys were making?

“It ain’t bother you than all these people are treatin’ Maya and the kids dirty? That those kids at school keep kicking ya because of your family? You won’t do it for the future you want Anzu and Taiga to have?”

It was true. Ever since Pearl Harbor, people had been treating her and the family differently. Maya barely left the house anymore after someone tried to throw a rock straight at Anzu’s head.

“I’ll think on it…” 

She feels him smile into her hair. “That’s my girl.”

Two days later, Lucas and her had walked into the Army enlistment office. She hadn’t told her parents yet, but Cameron had agreed with Lucas. They were her closest friends, who was she to doubt them. 

She walked up to the desk, hands clutching her skirt.

“Excuse me? I would like to sign up for the Nurse Corps.”

Chapter Text

Orlando, Florida, February, 1942

Her family was obviously not very happy with her when she returned home that afternoon, uniform in hand. In fact, her mother didn’t speak to her for a week after how upset she was. She started speaking with her after they dropped Lucas and Cameron off at the train station and she sensed how upset Isabella was.

The worker had been skeptical about receiving her information when she signed up. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to, considering she was still 16, but after confirming her birth date, she was allowed to continue the process. 

Isabella didn’t feel excited, more queasy than anything. Her gut was telling her something was going to happen and she just didn’t know what.

It was on February 24th, her 17th birthday, did she finally figure out what it was. 

She had come home from school, exhausted. She had been restless recently. Nerves finally getting to her. When she walked into the dining room, she found her parents and Maya around the table, unreadable expressions on their faces.

Uneased, she finally broke the silence. 

“So, is everything okay or are yall going to leave me in the dark?”

Surprisingly, it had been Maya to finally answer her. 

“いさ, すわて”

She felt fear crawl up her throat, was it Michel? Had something happened to Lucas or Cameron?

Her father spoke up, voice tense. “Te llegó una carta en el correo.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, a letter in the mail for her wasn’t anything unusual. So what the hell were they playing at?

Taking the letter from her father, she finally understood why.

“ United States War Department
Washington, D.C.
February 15th, 1942

Miss Isabella M. Vega
Orlando, Florida

Subject: Assignment to Special Project "Blitz"

Miss Vega,

After careful review of your familial background, language qualifications, and exemplary educational record, it is my duty to inform you that you have been selected for participation in a newly-formed initiative, codenamed Project Blitz . This project represents a significant advancement in the United States Army's medical deployment strategy. As part of this experimental program, you will be assigned to a unit of Airborne Infantry , providing medical support to combat soldiers during airborne operations in enemy territory.

The role you are being asked to undertake is unprecedented in military history, and as such, will require exceptional skill, adaptability, and discipline. You will be expected to operate under extreme conditions, often isolated from traditional support structures, and your courage and ability to innovate in the face of adversity will be critical to the success of the program.

You will be attached to the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Easy Company , currently in training for airborne operations. As part of Easy Company, you will parachute into combat zones alongside the infantry, providing direct medical support on the front lines. This assignment is not without risk, but the War Department is confident in your ability to meet the extraordinary demands of this operation.

Your orders are to report to Camp Toccoa, Georgia, no later than March 10th, 1942 , for further briefing and specialized training. You will receive additional details upon arrival.

It is important to note that your assignment to Project Blitz is considered classified . Discussions regarding the nature of your assignment, or the existence of this project, outside of official military channels are strictly prohibited.

The War Department expresses its full confidence in your abilities and looks forward to your contributions to this groundbreaking initiative. Your performance in this role will not only aid in the immediate needs of the war effort but may also pave the way for future generations of women in the military.

Respectfully,
Lt. Col. James A. Merritt
Personnel Division
War Department

Isabella’s heart pounded, her hands shaking. How the hell had her name made it all the way to D.C?

Her father cleared his throat, looking at her severely as if he was trying to see right through her. 

“ Vas a aceptar?”

She gulped, this had been what she had always wanted right? To do something and prove herself? To be just as capable as the men on the front lines?

“ Si.”

That night, she had her birthday cake. For now, she would enjoy her last birthday at home, surrounded by those who cared for her. Her parents had bought her a new guitar strap along with a new journal. Usually, she would just doodle and write new music in her journals, but this time around she decided she would start writing in it once she started her training. Lucas had gotten her more veils for church, while Cameron got her new art supplies. They’d made sure to leave it with her mom before they left. Then, Maya excitedly brought in a box all the way from her room.

“あなたのお兄さんと私は、この誕生日を特別なものにしたいと思いました。あなたが子供たちの面倒をたくさん見てくれたおかげです。私たちはこれを作ってもらい、私の家族の助けを借りて、日本から送ってもらいました。”

Her eyes widened. She carefully received the box from her, placing it gently on the table. She took the lid off, not knowing what to expect. Inside was the most beautiful kimono she had ever seen. The furisode was dark green, with delicate light green flower patterns. The obi pink and green, along with a pink obiage and obijime. It came with a beautiful white juban with the haneri having flower embroidery. But the most beautiful part was the haori; an off-white with sakura and crane patterns.

She felt tears roll down her cheeks, too stunned to speak. How could she even repay them for this?

“Your お兄さん and I had this made for you. There is still much time until you turn 20, but we hope that when you do, you will be able to wear this for the coming of age ceremony. But, who knows? Maybe you will meet some 素敵な兵士 while you are away that will dignify wearing this.” Maya grinned. 

Furisode were traditionally only used for very special events, like the coming of age ceremony or weddings. Maybe Maya and Michel hoped she would meet someone soon? Isabella was never romantically adept, especially with how religious she was, Lucas and Cameron being her friends and coincidentally being male was pure luck at its finest. 

Isabella doubted she could even take this with her to training, and even if she could, it was unlikely the men training for war against the Germans and Japanese would enjoy seeing their medic dressed in the enemy's traditional clothing, but she would do it for Maya. Maya, her only sister, who had been there with her through thick and thin ever since she met her when she was only a girl. 

Yes, Isabella wasn’t ethnically or racially Japanese, but the culture had been a part of her since she was a child and she had grown up with it. Maybe that’s what was most beautiful about the United States, how culturally diverse it is. 

She carefully put the lid back on the box and slid from her chair, kneeling with her head touching the ground. She sobbed, “心から感謝いたします.” As she cried, she heard Maya quickly rush up from her chair, flustered, begging her to stand. 

As she finally stood, wiping the tears from her eyes, she saw her parents hugging Maya, thanking her all the same. Suddenly, she felt a pang of grief in her heart. Maya said Michel had planned this too. Her brother, who despite being so far and in so much danger, still thought of her and her future. She missed him terribly. 

Anzu ran up to her, begging to be carried. She brought a drawing with her, hastily drawn in a way only a child could. She hugged her tight, confused over the strange commotion, but still excited to give her only aunt her birthday gift.

“Isa. I made you this.” Anzu whispered in her ear. “I hope you like it.”

It was the entire family, crudely drawn with love. She smiled through her tears, putting the drawing on the table so as to not ruin it. “Oh my sweet girl. Thank you.”

“Why are you crying?”

“Well Anzi, I have to go somewhere far away for a while.” she sniffled. Anzu tilted her head to the side, wide-eyed. 

“Like papa?”

Her heart hurt again, how long had it been since Anzu saw her father?

“Yeah sweetie, like papa.”

Anzu giggled. “You’ll be back, so why are you sad?” She let out a giggle after hearing her innocent reply. “You’re right Anzizi, I won’t be sad anymore.”

“Good!”

The night carried on, tears no longer shed and laughter aplenty. The next day, her family helped her pack for her trip. She put her new uniforms neatly folded in her bag with help from her mother, along with some normal clothes. She took her journal and some stationary with a picture of the whole family, her new veils for mass, her bible and school books to keep her sharp. She decided she would take the kimono by hand, and if they indeed said she couldn’t keep it, then she would mail it back home for safe keeping. 

Anzu sat on her bed, watching her pack the last of her things. 

“Isa?” asked Anzu.

She hummed in reply, waiting to hear what her niece had to say. 

“Why aren’t you taking teddy and tokage with you?”

She giggled. Teddy had been the very first thing she had received in this world. A bear her brother bought for her the day she was born, and she slept with it every night ever since. Tokage, on the other hand, was a stuffed lizard toy Maya had sent her during her last trip to Japan. 

“Do you think I should?” she teased.

“Yeah!”

She threw them in her bag too, no loss, no foul right? She’ll mail them back if needed. At least she’ll have something from home to keep her grounded. The men would probably make fun of her for it, but she couldn’t care less. 

She zipped up the bag, carefully standing. She still wasn’t used to the pencil skirt the uniform had. She had always worn Michel or the boy's hand-me-downs, or loose dresses and skirts her mom made that allowed her to run around unrestricted. Hell, even her performing clothes were loose. Her favorite was a brown, plaid circle skirt with a fitted black short sleeve blouse made of velvet with white flowers embroidered on the collar and some leather ankle boots that she had worn-in to the bone. She paused, maybe she should take that outfit too, just in case.

As she truly finished packing. She called for her father to help her with the bag. Maya and her mother were waiting at the door for them, Anzu running to hold Maya’s hand while her mother held Taiga. Thankfully, the walk wasn’t too bad, she still wasn’t used to wearing heels and despite the short walk her feet were starting to hurt. 

As they arrived at the station, the reality of everything finally hit. This would be the last time she would see her family for a long time. She would miss Taiga’s first words and steps, Anzu’s first day of school, her own high school graduation. Would her parents change too? 

As their time together shortened, she tightly hugged her parents. 

“I’ll be back soon okay? Lo prometo. ” she strained. 

Her father kissed her head, smiling. “I’m so proud of you. Stay out of trouble okay?”

She nodded, “Take good care of the cats, don’t be mean to them while I’m gone. I’ll know when I get back if you were.”

Her father chuckled and pulled away as her mother kissed her cheeks. 

“Remember to pray every day, and keep up with school as best you can.”

Isabella honestly didn’t know when she would find time to pray the rosary every day, hell, if she would even have time to study. But she would try for her mama. 

She kneeled down to Anzu’s height, brushing her dark hair from her face. 

“Alright Anzizi, you’re gonna have to be a big girl when I’m gone okay? Make sure to help your mama and あぶじ”

The girl nodded, fiercely determined.

“I promise!”

Isabella grinned and ruffled her hair. 

“Atta girl!”

She stood, facing Maya and Taiga. 

“You’ll be okay right?”

Out of everyone Isabella was most worried for, it was Maya. Attacks on Japanese people were getting more and more frequent, and without her there she was afraid the worst would come true.

Maya nodded and smiled, grabbing her hand.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Isabella leans over and kisses Taiga’s head. 

“I’ll be back Taiga, be good.”

She turns back toward the train and boards. She feels tears begin to form as she sits down and looks out the window to her family. She scans over their faces, trying her hardest to commit them to memory. Who knows when she will return.

The train begins to move, box in her lap, and she feels like the world is slipping out from under her. This was it. She places her hand on the window as she moves further away, and she sees her father run alongside it, yelling, trying his hardest to see her till the very end. The platform ends and she sees the devastated expression on his face. Her tears roll freely when she finally hears him. 

“ I love you!”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Hi everyone! I'll be doing some editing to this story before I add more chapters since I've noticed it has a ridiculous amount of typos and errors. I'll try to get it done this week so I can post the new chapter.

If anyone is interested in becoming a beta reader please contact me via my tumblr!!!

Tumblr: weekendpassrevoked

Chapter Text

Camp Toccoa, Georgia, June 1st, 1942

Nixon and her had eventually managed to give Winters a reply through their laughter, although Winters seemed to be quite embarrassed at his lack of knowledge over Japanese traditional clothing.

“Not to worry sir! I wouldn’t really expect anyone to really know what a kimono is. I’m surprised Lieutenant Nixon even knew what it was.”

The trio came to a stop in front of a large, stable-like wooden building.

‘The Army really takes care to make sure everything looks the exact same, huh?’

“Alright Corporal, this will be your barrack during your time here. We’ll leave you to get settled in. The men are currently at lectures, but expect them back in about 30 minutes. Dinner is at 1900.”

She beams back at them. “Thank you for all your help sirs!”

“Remember to hide that box somewhere really well, okay?”

“I will, no worries sir!”

She quickly climbed the steps up to the door, trickly maneuvering her body to prop open the door while both her hands were occupied. Hurrying inside, she notices the only free bed is at the very back, tucked in the corner. She scurries over, hands getting tired from the weight. Dropping her bag on the ground and her box on the bed, she sits down in a huff, exhausted.

‘And it’s technically only day one…’

Georgia was almost the same climate this time of the year compared to Florida, feeling the incessant mugginess all the same. Strands of her hair were sticking to her forehead, and her cheeks felt warm. Deciding she would clean herself up later, she started on unpacking. 

She found a large footlocker at the end of her bed much like the one she had in her room. She hadn’t brought a lot, so everything would easily fit. It would’ve been quite the problem if she had packed as much as her mother wanted her too. As she started pulling her things out, she started quietly humming. 

She decided she would put her most personal and valued items at the bottom of the footlocker. Based on what Nixon had told her, it was highly likely Sobel would try to make her life as miserable as possible, and she wouldn’t put it past him to snoop in her things. Her only choice was to bury them as deep as possible and hope for the best. Placing her stuffed animals and her kimono box at the bottom, she quickly began layering her civilian clothes on top to hide them. Placing her veils in the middle, she carefully put her uniforms inside. After her bag was empty of almost everything, she triple-checked the footlocker to make sure nothing unusual was noticeable from the outside. She placed her books on top of the footlocker, finally finished.

Happy with her organization, she messily took out the braided bun on her head. Quickly running her hands through her thick curly brown hair, she set on slipping back the loose strands. She had always been bad at braiding her own hair, much to her brother's chagrin, and she clumsily felt the back of her head to check for any bumpy or loose ends, tying it back up when she was satisfied. It wouldn’t do her any good to be making first impressions when not looking her best. It had been one of the most important things her mother had made sure to teach her…

‘Always dead over badly dressed.’

She wasn’t sure how she would uphold that ideal when she was out fighting Germans, but she would try her hardest to make her mother proud, even if she wasn’t there. 

Her humming quickly stopped as she heard loud voices approaching the barracks. The door opened before she managed to turn around to see who it was.

“Oh shit, the broads in here!”

Isabella could already feel the annoyance forming in her chest. She grimaced, cursing her sheltered upbringing.

‘Not one word exchanged and I’m already a broad.’

Her parents had always made sure their son respected women, and eventually that teaching had made it to Lucas and Cameron who’s parents hadn’t done so. It took them a while, but they eventually got the gist after her father slapped them both across the face when he heard what they had said to their next door neighbor. All this to say, Isabella wasn’t remotely used to being referred to insultingly. 

Sure, Isabella had quite the bad habit, one her parents and brother made significant effort to remove once she came home age 9, swearing to her little hearts delight. They ran out of soap that night and her mouth tasted like lye, but her habit never stopped and her family eventually gave up on her potty mouth. But this wasn’t the same. These men didn’t even know her. 

She deeply breathed in, calming her temper down before she caused issues before she even introduced herself. 

‘You never get a second chance at a first impression.’

“You lost sweetheart?”

‘Nevermind, I might get kicked out even earlier than expected.’

She turned around, hands fisted against her sides and a smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, I’m Corporal Isabella Vega, one of your medics.”

The room fell silent, and Isabella felt a drop of sweat roll down her neck as she noticed the different looks of apprehension and displeasure on the men's faces.

Isabella had been a relatively shy girl growing up, and that carried on into her teenage years. This would only change when she would perform, but this meant that she wasn’t very adept at social interaction. Especially with men years older than her. So she did the only thing she knew how to do in this situation…

Appease.

“Listen, I know you don’t want me here, and I understand that. So I’ll make my best effort to stay out of your way as long as you don’t cause any problems with me. Is that okay?”

She heard various mumbles throughout the room and the men turned around once they were satisfied with her introduction. 

Isabella let out a huff, not noticing she was holding her breath. Sitting back down on her bed, she checked the watch on her wrist.

‘Only 5:30…’

Wanting to distract herself, she hurriedly grabbed the journal she had placed on top of her footlocker with her school books. 

‘Maybe I can write a letter to the boys?’

Trying to add about her day, she blanked. 

‘Well, the day isn’t over yet so maybe I’ll wait till tonight to finish it.’

Bored and afraid, she began to think of home. Of the marsh around her house, of the bird songs and sticky heat that would last all day, of the willow tree in her backyard.

‘The willow tree…’

Quickly thinking back to the tune she hummed earlier while unpacking, she flipped to a new page and began writing in her journal, inspired.

My heart is sad and I am lonely

For the only one I love

When shall I see him? Oh, no, never

'Til we meet in heaven above

Oh, bury me beneath the willow

Under the weepin' willow tree

So he will know where I am sleeping

And, perhaps, he'll weep for me

He told me that he dearly loved me

How could I believe it untrue?

Until the angels softly whispered

"He will prove untrue to you"

Oh, bury me bеneath the willow

Under thе weepin' willow tree

So he will know where I am sleeping

And, perhaps, he'll weep for me

Tomorrow was our wedding day

Oh God, oh God, where can he be?

He's out a-courting with another

And no longer cares for me

Oh, bury me beneath the willow

Under the weepin' willow tree

So he will know where I am sleeping

And, perhaps, he'll weep for me

Focused on her scribbles, she doesn’t notice the man walking up to her until he clears his throat.

“What are you writing?”

She pauses, noticing the distinct accent, not looking up and timidly replies.

“A song…”

“Oh.”

She feels her ears warm in embarrassment, feeling silly. 

“D’you do that often?”

She shrugs. “I guess so?”

The man hums in reply, intrigued. Curious herself, Isabella looks up to see who had gotten the strength to come speak with her. She’s met with short cropped black hair and gray eyes and notices the patch of white on his arm. Her eyes widened.

“You’re the other medic.”

The man nods. “I’m Eugene Roe.”

Her hands tremble and she has to lay her journal on her lap to distract her. “Nice to meet you, Roe.” Her hands feel numb and cold. “Can I help you with anything?”

Shaking his head, he lets out a sound of denial. “Was just curious.”

A silence falls and she isn’t really sure what else to say.

‘What the hell would the boys do?’

“Um…where are you from, Roe?”

He raises his brow, surprised. “Louisiana. You?”

“Florida.” She smiles gently. “We’re neighbors.”

Her attempts at small talk seem to pay off as Roe chuckles back at her joke, and relief floods her chest. 

“How old are you?” He asks.

Realizing he’s continuing her small talk, she wipes her hands on her skirt.

“I turned seventeen in February the day before I arrived at Toccoa.”

Isabella sees his face harden into something unreadable, and she’s afraid she’s said something wrong until he finally answers back.

“Happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you.” She whispers.

They sit in a comfortable silence until Eugene tells her it's time for dinner. She follows him to the mess hall, feeling much more at ease with someone by her side. She feels kind of like a lost puppy as she follows him around the mess hall and lets her sit next to him. 

‘He’s a lot like Michel…’

Maybe that’s why she feels safe with him?

“So Roe, since you’re technically the leading medic despite my rank, did you do any work in the medical field before this?” she asks.

“No. They chose me to be a medic, so now I’m a medic. How about you?”

She shakes her head. “Me neither. All my medical knowledge relates to farm animals.”

Hearing someone scoff close by, she’s met by a man with chocolate colored eyes and fluffy brown hair.

“Only farm animals huh? What are you here for then?”

She feels a flicker of anger, and speaks before she’s able to stop herself.

“To take care of farm animals, what else?”

‘First impressions my ass.’

“ What’d you sa-”

She hears more laughter coming from next to the man and sees someone slap their hand on his shoulder. 

“Aw lighten up Liebgott, she’s just giving back what you gave her! Cut her some slack.”

“Shut up Luz.”

The man, Luz, reaches over the table, extending his hand. “Nice to meet ya’, I’m George Luz.”

Shaking his hand, she answers. “Isabella Vega.”

“Don’t worry too much about Liebgott, he just has a perpetual stick up his ass.”

She covers her laugh up as a cough. “I see.”

“How old are you, kid? You barely look out of high school.”

“I turned seventeen in February, so you’re right.” She smiles. 

“No way!”

“Yes way!” she giggles. “I didn’t even finish my senior year. That’s why I have all those school books sitting on my footlocker.”

He continues. “Oh, so you’re a bookworm?”

She happily hums back, excited to have gotten some sort of speaking done. She turns back to Liebgott, and she feels a pang of guilt.

“Hey, Liebgott is it?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry I said that, I was really rude. I didn’t mean it.”

They all seem to wait and see what he does and it feels like forever before he finally answers.

“Yeah, whatever.”

‘I’ll take what I can get!’

Eventually, dinner ends and everyone heads back to the barracks for the night. She quickly scurries inside behind Eugene and grabs her clothes. Realizing she has no idea where the bathrooms are on this side of the camp, she timidly tugs on Eugene’s sleeve. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Um, where are the bathrooms?”

He kindly accompanies her outside while she profusely apologizes for bothering him. He’s adamant he doesn’t mind, but Isabella is sure he wants to get back inside as soon as possible and get the hell to sleep.

Entering the bathrooms, she finds a stall at the very end with a sign with her name on it. She shimmies out of her skirt and heels, sighing in relief. Quickly putting on the PT clothes she was provided, she takes a moment to wash up her face and brush her teeth. She has a horrible headache and she realizes she’s been ridiculously tense all day and the bun on her head was not helping. Letting the bun go, she quickly undos the braid and runs her fingers through, untangling any knots. 

As she walks out, she realizes Eugene is still standing outside, seemingly waiting for her. He insists that his waiting wasn’t a big deal, stating, “I don’t need my new medic getting lost in the dark by herself on her first day.”, and she can understand why. It doesn’t make her feel any better though. 

When they finally reach the barracks, she bids Eugene a goodnight and heads for her bed. She realizes she hasn’t prayed her rosary yet or finished writing in her journal the moment her head hits the pillow.

She had no dreams that night.

Chapter Text

Camp Toccoa, Georgia, June 2nd, 1942

She woke up early the next day, before anyone else. Sink had given her two different assigned times for the showers; one in the morning and one in the evening. Isabella hadn’t bathed since the day before last and she felt disgusting. It made more sense to bathe at night after all the day’s activities, but she would not go a day longer without being clean.

It was still dark out when she left the barracks, the men all asleep. Quickly slipping into the showers, she stepped into the water. Sighing as she feels the water over her skin, she starts scrubbing, unkeen to spend more time alone than necessary. After around 5 minutes, she steps out, hair wet and finally clean. Hastily, she puts on her OD’s, hair dripping down her back and exits the showers. Outside, she walks back to her barracks, wringing her hair out, and doesn’t notice the looming figure in front of her. She bumps into him, falling back and gasping in surprise. 

“Oh, goodness I’m so-”

The person interrupts. “You’re the Project Blitz girl.”

She freezes, caught off guard. “That’s right,” she pauses. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lieutenant Speirs of Dog Company.”

‘Oh shit!’

“What are you doing outside?” She feels her eyebrows furrow.

“I’m coming back from my watch.”

Isabella straightened immediately, feeling the water from her hair drip down her back.

"Lieutenant Speirs, sir. I apologize for bumping into you."

She could barely make out his features in the pre-dawn darkness, but something about his silhouette—the way he stood, perfectly still and utterly alert—made her pulse quicken slightly. This wasn't the fidgety, nervous energy of Sobel or the calm steadiness of Winters. This was something else entirely.

"At ease, Corporal," he said, his voice low and measured. "Colonel Sink mentioned you'd be using the facilities at odd hours."

She nodded, suddenly conscious of her wet hair and the fact that she was alone with an officer she'd never met before, in the dark, away from the barracks.

"Yes, sir. I have assigned times."

Speirs studied her for a moment, his face half-hidden in shadow. "You're younger than I expected."

It wasn't a question, but she felt compelled to answer anyway.

"I’m seventeen, sir."

He made a noise—not quite a laugh, more like a short exhale through his nose. "And they sent you to jump out of planes."

She stood a little straighter. "The War Department seems to think I'm capable, sir."

"And are you?"

The question was direct, probing. Not insulting, but genuinely curious. As if he was sizing her up.

"I believe I am, sir," she replied, meeting his gaze despite the darkness. "Colonel Sink trained me personally before the men arrived."

Speirs nodded slightly. "I know. He speaks highly of you."

Isabella felt a small flicker of pride at that, but kept her expression neutral.

"Thank you for telling me, sir."

A moment of silence stretched between them, not quite uncomfortable but charged with something she couldn't name. Then Speirs took a step to the side, clearing her path.

“Come on Corporal, I’ll walk you back to your barracks. Formation will be called soon."

"Yes, sir." She moved to step past him, then hesitated. "Lieutenant Speirs?"

He turned slightly, waiting.

"What is Dog Company's opinion on Project Blitz, if you don't mind me asking?"

Speirs considered her question, his expression unreadable.

"Dog Company follows orders," he said finally. "Whether they personally agree with those orders is irrelevant." He paused, then added, "But if you're asking whether they'll give you trouble, I doubt it. My men know better than to question command decisions."

There was something in the way he said it that made Isabella believe him completely.

"I see. Thank you, sir."

She hoped that the dark helped hide her disheveled appearance and the rising blush on her face. They walked together in silence and eventually reached her barracks. Speirs accompanied up the steps and opened the door for her, stopping Isabella before she could go inside.

He gently held her shoulder and whispered. “Make sure to dry your hair before you catch a cold, Corporal.”

“Yes sir, thank you…” 

‘His hand is really warm.’

After heading inside, she sat on her bed, quietly finishing getting ready for the day. She towel-dried her hair and brushed it, clumsily braiding it until she was satisfied. By the time she finished, the men had begun to awake. She decided to read one of her schoolbooks while she waited for Eugene to finish getting ready. 

An airplane takes off and climbs at an angle of 30° to the horizontal. After flying a distance of 500 miles along this path, how high is the airplane above the ground, and how far horizontally has it traveled from its starting point?

She stared at the page, minutes ticking by and frustration growing.

‘Man, I hate math!’

Eugene tapped her shoulder when he was ready and they walked together to the mess hall. They quietly ate together and enjoyed the morning as the other men began to crowd in. She peacefully listened to the conversations around her, and she was about to take her tray back when Eugene finally spoke to her.

“So, what were you reading?”

She quickly feels the frustration from earlier come back, and smacks her head against the edge of the table in annoyance.

“One of my math books from school.”

Eugene hums in reply, amused at her reaction. 

“Makes sense, you looked at it like you wanted it to burst into flames.”

Isabella’s face burns in embarrassment. Picking her head up from the table, she looks at Eugene in disdain as she realizes he found her misery quite funny. 

“Yeah well. Numbers don’t really work in my head.” she grumbles. 

They stand up to take their trays back as she tries to defend herself from Eugene’s quiet teasing. As they wait, Eugene seems to finally take pity on her and relents.

“Don’t worry kid, there’s a lot more to worry about in the world than numbers.”

Isabella had always been a top student, trying her hardest to make her family proud. Her only obstacle in that goal was math. It had started off fine when she was a girl, adding and subtracting no more difficult than what every other child dealt with. But bit by bit as the math began to grow, so did her lack of understanding. She had spent hours slaving away at the kitchen table with her brother trying to understand the concepts behind the equations but all it ended in was her in tears and her brother quite upset.

Eugene’s words struck a nerve, frustrating her even more. 

“Alright then, what else must we worry about?” 

Eugene’s eyebrow quirked, confused at her reaction.  

“Lieutenant Sobel, for example.”

Her anger died out at his answer. He was right. Isabella wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, she was a soldier and her worries would have to adapt to the things in front of her.

“Sorry...”

She feels a hand on her head, softly rubbing her hair. 

“No worries.” Eugene sighed.

As the two of them headed outside with the rest of the platoon, Isabella felt her nerves return. She had only spoken with three of the men, and she couldn’t even consider one to be an actual conversation. 

‘So much for introductions…’

As the men quickly went to their positions in the formation, she stood by herself, confused as to where she should stand. As she began to look around, she heard a familiar voice call her name. Her head turned back, mood bettering at the sight.

“Good morning Lieutenant Winters!”

Winters stops beside her, nodding back in greeting. “How was your first day Corporal?”

As Isabella thinks back to yesterday, despite her anxiety and her various mishaps, she couldn’t say that her day was horrible.

She smiles. “It went quite well sir! I was able to make a friend.”

He smiles in return, relieved at her reply. “I’m happy to hear that. You can tell me about it later if you’d like. For now, you can go stand next to Guarnere.”

Relieved at finally having somewhere to stand, she nods back quickly and heads to her spot. She was thankful the uniforms had names on them, considering she barely knew anyone and she didn’t have time to start asking. 

She finds that Guarnere is quite a bit taller than her, with short-cropped black hair and a strong jaw. She then quickly realizes that Guarnere was the one who called her a broad last night in the barracks.

‘Men…’

As the time ticks by, her hair begins to stick to her skin and sweat begins to roll down her temple. The weather is scalding hot and the sun shines bright. She thinks of home, wondering what her family must be up to. 

‘I’d be in my English class right now if I was at school.’

During her wait, she starts going over what she could write to start yesterday's journal entry until her mind goes blank into the empty buzz it always ends in when she gets bored. Her boredom bleeds into sleepiness, and her eyes begin to become heavier as their wait continues. She’s about to nod off when she hears a yell, startling her.

“You people are in the position of attention!”

Quickly adjusting herself, her mind wide awake at the scare, she straightens up and focuses forward. That obnoxious voice could only belong to one man.

Sobel.

“Private Perconte, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?”

‘Oh boy.’

“No sir.”

“Then explain the creases at the bottom.”

There’s a pause, and she can feel the disdain the platoon quickly gains at Sobel’s antics.

“No excuse sir.”

She feels Sobel quickly walk off to torture someone else, and her nerves rise up again as she hopes it won’t be her. He quickly begins approaching her row, and stops in front of Liebgott.

“Name.”

“Liebgott, Joseph D, Sir.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Sobel take Liebgotts bayonet, inspecting it. He looks back with disdain.

“Rusty bayonet Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?”

“Yes sir.”

Sobel scoffs, smacking Liebgotts helmet with the bayonet. “Not with this. I wouldn’t take this rusty piece of shit to war.”

Sobel turns again, continuing down the line. This time, he stops in front of her.

He glares, eyes full of something she couldn’t decipher.

“Now, look who we have here. Name.”

She straightens up, not willing to let Sobel ruin her pride. 

“Vega, Isabella M.”

“Why are you here wasting my time, Corporal Vega?”

Isabella glares back. “I want to be a paratrooper, sir.”

Sobel takes her strong response as a challenge. “Is that so?”

He walks back to the front, facing the men. “Well men, thanks to Corporal Vega and her…”ambitions”, every man in the Company who had a weekend pass has lost it. Change into your PT gear, we’re running Currahee.”

As Sobel treks away, Winters quickly takes charge, properly facing his men.

“2nd platoon, fall out. You have two minutes.”

She feels a rock sink down into her stomach as she feels the glares begin to hit the back of her head. Eugene walks up to her, sensing her distress. They run to the barracks, quickly changing into their PT clothes and she’s relieved that everyone is in too much of a hurry to pay attention to her changing, although she continues to hide behind Eugene as a precaution. 

Isabella is retying her boots as she hears Liebgott grumble, unamused.

Outside, the company quickly forms up, finding their spots. As they walk to the starting point, the men knock off the caps of some other soldiers after they got made fun of. Quickly, the men from the other companies begin to notice that something is off about Easy Company. As they finally realize what that is, Isabella begins to dread her day more and more.

Men begin to catcall her as she walks in her PT clothes, making nasty remarks. She feels her face turn warm from the shame, not used to men acting that way after she had spent so much time with Sink along with her modest upbringing, but she feels more ashamed of the way the PT uniform sits on her.

Isabella had grown broad from the hard work she did on the farm. Her back had widened and her legs grew strong, but the hard labor didn’t take away from the fact that she was still a developing young woman and the added muscle along with her natural features made it hard for the PT clothes to properly fit her. Sure the shirt and the pants fit, but considering they were made with men in mind, the clothes fit tight in places that were noticeable. It was why Isabella had always preferred the loose clothes her mother made for her along with the large hand-me-downs from Lucas and Michel. Compared to the other girls in her class, she didn’t have a relatively large chest, but somehow the PT uniform made the opposite come true.

She was not happy.

Her anger lessened as the run up the hill began. If she thought of music while she ran, it became more tolerable and she could build up a good rhythm to keep up with the men. Her legs burned as they trekked uphill, trying to get used to the incline. 

She had almost forgotten about Sobel until he began speaking again, his grating voice hurting her ears.

“Where do we run?” he asked.

‘Huh?’

“Currahee!” the men replied.

“What does Currahee mean?”

“We stand alone.”

“How far up, how far down?”

“Three miles up, three miles down.”

“Now, what company is this?”

“Easy Company.”

“And what do we do?”

“Stand alone.”

‘Interesting…’

She was eventually able to reach the top, much to Sobel’s dismay and as she sat on the ground after she finished her run, waiting for others to finish, she realized that she had one goal throughout this war, no matter how much Sobel and others didn’t want her to achieve.

‘I will not let these men stand alone.’

Chapter Text

Camp Toccoa, Georgia, June 2nd, 1942

Isabella’s revelation had sparked a new sense of determination in her. She would make these men accept her no matter what. She was their medic, and she would make sure they would be properly taken care of, whether they liked it or not. Especially under the command of Herbert Sobel.

This goal came to play almost immediately after she had made it. Shortly after Sobel’s strange running chant, a man by the name of Warren Muck (or Skip as many of the men preferred) had tripped during the grueling exercise and was denied any help by Sobel. Fueled by her anger, she insisted after she and Muck finished the run to take him to the infirmary and check his foot. Trailed by Eugene (who’s concern for his junior medic far outweighed his fear of Sobel’s wrath), Isabella helped Muck to the infirmary where she was able to properly wrap and ice his sprained ankle. 

Surprised by her insistence, Muck quickly befriended her and learned that the girl so many of the men had ignored and doubted was actually incredibly friendly and determined.

“So where are you from?” Skip asked curiously, looking down at Isabella while she finished wrapping the bandage around his foot. She quickly grabbed the clip from Eugene’s hand, who was beside her making sure nothing was amiss. Grinning, satisfied with her work, Isabella stood up from her seat on the floor. She dusted off her pants and finally looked at Skip.

“I’m from Florida!” she answered excitedly.

Taken aback by her enthused reply, he chuckled. “Pretty close then, huh?” he asked.

Nodding back, she tried her hardest to keep the conversation going. 

‘This is the best I’ve got besides Gene.’

“What about you? You don’t sound southern, so I guess you’re from up north?”

“Keen observation kid, you’d be right. I’m from Tonawanda in New York state, right on the border with Canada.”

‘This guy’s a real northerner!’

“No way, I’ve never met a yank from so high north before.” she replied, awestruck.

Skip laughed at her answer and he could even hear Gene let out a chuckle of his own. It seemed Easy Company’s youngest member was quite the character. 

“Careful, or I might start calling you a Johnny Reb.”

Satisfied at Skip’s improved ankle, she helped him stand up and walk around, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t need crutches for the rest of the day.

“Don’t worry Skip, since you’re from so high north, I can just start calling you a Canuck instead.” she answered.

After making sure Skip wouldn’t need to stay off his foot, the three of them headed to their lectures. Isabella was looking forward to learning something new. She had always enjoyed school and she was elated that she had managed to get a good talk with someone besides Gene.

Sitting between Gene and Shifty Powers, who had introduced himself after he saw they were sitting together, she felt her legs begin to hurt. Running distances had never been her strongpoint, even after Sink’s training, and she had always preferred sprinting short distances more than anything. She shifted around from time to time, hoping that neither Shifty or Gene would find her constant moving distracting. If she wanted to prevent her legs from cramping up from the pain, she would have to keep moving them. 

As the lecture went on, her mind slowly went back to the events from the early morning.

She returned to the lecture and focused her attention on what was important. It was unlikely she would run into Lieutenant Speirs again anyway, so it was best to forget about the whole ordeal and move on.

Lunch time was a welcome reprieve from the monotonous classes they were required to sit through and Isabella was more than excited to try speaking with more of the men. Skip had invited her to sit with him after they had left the infirmary and she was dedicated to quit being her shy self and make the best effort to become a proper part of Easy.

After grabbing her lunch and finding Skip in the sea of khaki the mess hall had become, she quickly sat down. The men looked at her strangely, confused at her presence. Noticing the tense air, Skip slapped a hand on Isabella’s shoulder, startling her and grabbing the table's attention.

“So you know how you were all asking me how my foot was? Well you can ask my nurse right here!” he stated.

Nervous, she cleared her throat and dried her hands on her pants. “Hello…” she replied quietly. Surprised at her greeting, the men looked back, staring. Her face warmed, embarrassed by her weak greeting and the men’s reaction.

Determined to get the other men to talk, Skip kicked Penkala with his good leg, who was sitting in front of them. Brought out of his stupor, Penkala quickly answered.

“Oh, hello!”

Thankful for Skip’s help and not wanting to take it for granted, she continued at her attempt at conversation.

“So…how was training?” she asked, hoping to break the tension.

A few of the men exchanged looks before Penkala answered. “Oh you know, just the usual-running up Currahee ‘til our legs fall off and trying not to freeze our asses off at night.”

Chuckles rippled around the table, and Isabella found that Penkala reminded her a lot of Lucas. If she did the same with Penkala that she did when she befriended him, then maybe she would have a good shot at being friends with him too.

Feeling a bit braver after her inner revelation, Isabella leaned in slightly. “Well, at least you’re not the one who has to deal with all the blisters after.” she teased.

That had gotten her a proper laugh from the table, and somehow Isabella found the whole situation similar to being back in grade school, hoping for the approval that other children could give.

Penkala shook his head. “I guess you’re right!” he declared. Looking back at Skip, he grins. “I like this one.”

Isabella beams at his reply and feels Skip shake her body, hand still on her shoulder. “Told you she was alright.”

The men around the table eventually move onto their own worlds, forming their own conversations with their friends. Isabella starts eating her own food, not wanting to waste anymore time.

“So…” Penkala started. “I heard you called Skip here a Canuck.”

She hummed, shaking her head. “Nope. I called him a Yank and then threatened to call him a Canuck.” she replied.

“What’s that make me then?” He asked.

“Where are you from?”

“Niles, Michigan. On the border with Indiana.”

She laughs. “You’re a Yank, but not a Canuck don’t worry.”

Penkala grins. “That’s a relief. I don’t think I could handle the responsibility of being Canadian.”

“Yeah, you’d have to start saying ‘sorry’ all the time and be way too nice.” Skip chimed in.

Isabella snorted. “Don’t forget about hockey and maple syrup. It’s a tough life, Penkala.”

There was a redhead sitting next to Penkala. If she remembered the morning's formation correctly, then he would be the one Sobel had called Private Bullshit. 

‘Private Bullshit…oh! Malarkey.’

Malarkey leaned in, curious. “So wait, what do you call someone from Oregon then?”

Pretending to think, Isabella placed her head onto her hand, humming. “I don’t know? Tree hugger?”

Malarkey laughed loudly, turning some heads. Isabella relaxed at the interaction, she had broken the ice. There was only little more to do.

“Alright then kid, where are you from then?” asked Malarkey.

Isabella smirked, sensing the shift in conversation. “Florida.” she answered, sitting up a little straighter.

“Ah, so we’ve got ourselves a real Southern Belle then?”

“That’s right.” she beamed.

Penkala chuckled. “Guess that makes you the official Rebel of the group.”

Skip nudged her playfully. “See? Now we’re even—I’m the Yank, and you’re the Reb.”

Isabella rolled her eyes, laughing at his insistence. “Alright, fine. Just don’t expect me to start saying ‘y’all’ all the time for your amusement.”

Skip leans forward, eyes narrowing in curiosity. “So, how old are you anyway?”

Isabella froze, not expecting the conversation to change. Her nerves returned, and her hands twisted around the hem of her shirt. “Uh, seventeen.” she muttered, soft and tentative. “Seventeen years old.”

The three men fell silent, eyes flicking between her and each other. They had been briefed, of course. Of her presence at the camp and about Project Blitz, she was there. But they hadn’t expected her to be so young. 

“You’re seventeen and they put you through Project Blitz?” Malarkey asked, his tone full of surprise. “Ain’t exactly what I’d expect from someone so... young.”

Skip cut in. “She’s only a year younger than Penk.”

Malarkey glances back at him. “Still…”

Isabella shrugged, gaze shifting around, fork moving her food around. “I guess it’s a family thing.”

“What do you mean?” asked Penkala.

“My dad and brother, they’re military. My dad’s family, especially. They fought in the war against Spain back in Colombia, and he joined at fourteen. And my brother, he’s been in the Coast Guard for years.” she shifted uncomfortably, unsure on how much she should share. She wasn’t used to talking about her family like this, especially when she was getting to dangerously close territory on revealing the Japanese influence in her life. 

“So you’re saying it runs in your blood?” Skip asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice intrigued. 

“Yeah.” she muttered, nodding. “I never planned on being here. But after Pearl Harbor everything changed for me, just like it did for everyone else. So I signed up for the Nurse Corps, and then I got chosen for Project Blitz.”

‘Please don’t ask me what I mean…’

Penkala leaned forward, an almost incredulous look on his face. “So, what exactly did they see in you? What made them think you were cut out for something like this?”

Isabella munched on her food, quickly thinking of all the things she had done growing up on the farm that taught her to be here. “Well. I grew up on a farm. I learned how to patch up animals, take care of wounds, and treat injuries. I did real good in school too, but I never got the chance to graduate. I was supposed to in May, but I left for here so…”

“Little Miss Brainiac is what she is!” 

She grins, face warming. Her nerves die away, and her body feels light at the fact she’s finally been accepted. 

“What do you like to do kid?” Skip asks.

Isabella replies quickly, excited to talk about what she loves. “Well, I’m a musician!”

Skip raises a brow, intrigued. “A musician, huh? What do you play?”

Isabella’s eyes light up, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt as she speaks. “Piano mostly, but I play guitar too. My dad taught me to play, and my brother used to show me stuff on the piano when I was little. I learned how to play the violin in school and transferred all I knew to all my other instruments.” She smiles, the memories warming her from the inside. “I play the piano, guitar, mandolin, banjo, violin, viola, and the cello. Once you know the core of music, you pretty much can play anything.” she explained. “I love singing too, but I don't get to do much of that now.”

Penkala leans forward, his curiosity piqued. “Singing, huh? You ever perform anywhere?”

Isabella nods, her smile soft but a bit shy. “Yeah. Back home, I used to perform with my friends at a local bar on the weekends. Just for fun, you know? But it was always nice... being able to make people smile.”

Skip grins. “You ever sing in front of a crowd this big?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Not unless you guys are all about to start a sing-along. I’m not sure I’m brave enough for that.”

Malarkey snickers. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you get your chance eventually. You’ve got a voice, and we could use a little music around here. Keeps things from getting too serious.”

Isabella’s cheeks flush a little. “I don’t know if I’m that good.”

“Kid, don’t sell yourself short,” Malarkey teases, his smile warm. “If we’ve gotta deal with this place, might as well have some tunes to make it better.”

She laughs softly. “Alright, alright. Maybe I’ll sing one day. If you guys promise to be nice.”

“Promise,” Skip says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No throwing tomatoes, I swear.”

“Alright gents, that’s enough about me. So now it’s my turn!”

Malarkey grins, wrapping an arm around an unsuspecting Guarnere who sat next to him. “This here is ol Gonorrhea!” 

Isabella’s brows furrow, confused. “Wait what-” 

Her question is cut short by the shrill ring of the bell, echoing through the mess hall. The clatter of utensils and murmur of voices stutter to a halt as the sound cuts through the air, signaling that lunch is over.

The group collectively groans in unison, the sudden shift in atmosphere palpable. The carefree chatter and laughter vanish as the men begin to stand up, gathering their things with reluctant movements. Isabella quickly follows suit, her stomach sinking at the thought of what Sobel might have planned next.

“Well, guess we’re back to reality,” Skip mutters, his voice tinged with mock annoyance.

Malarkey pats Guarnere on the back, still grinning. "Don’t worry, Gonorrhea. You’ll get your time."

As the men start to file out, Isabella trails behind them, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The brief reprieve from the tension of camp was over. Time to face whatever came next.

Isabella quickly files out of the hall, proud of herself for everything she had achieved in such a short amount of time. In the muggy afternoon air, she finally understood her reason for being here. She wasn’t just a medic, but she would become one the people these men relied the most on. She was there because God had decided that is what He wanted from her, that she was there to be what could be, who she had been raised to be.

She would make it out this war, and she would make sure these men did too. She had her brothers at home, but these men would become her new brothers. No matter what.

Chapter Text

Camp Toccoa, Georgia, June 20th, 1942

Isabella’s next encounter with Lieutenant Speirs had been earlier than anticipated (if you could say she had been anticipating it at all).

Lieutenant Winters had her working at the infirmary some days after she had made her breakthrough with Easy Company. He had been quite elated to find out Easy’s youngest had finally become a part of the group.

Her work in the infirmary had consisted of revising the basics of First Aid with Gene and making sure her medical experience would properly transfer over to humans from animals. Most of it was redundant considering she had done the same under Sink, but it was a welcome break from Sobel’s wrath, who had taken it upon himself to make her life a living hell.

His most frequent efforts to break her down had consisted of insulting her; whether it be her looks, her background, or her gender. None of it had really phased her, until Sobel had brought up her family, more specifically, her Japanese family. 

It had been an offhanded remark, said with the same cruel indifference he had always used, but it had struck a nerve so harshly she didn’t think it was possible.

“Are you sure you’re on the right side, Vega?” Sobel sneered. At first, she hadn’t registered his question, too focused on her run up Currahee to process his words. Until the reality of his question hit her. “With your connections, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were passing on information to the enemy.”

Her heart dropped, his words somehow knocking the desperately needed air out of her lungs. None of the men knew of the other side of her family, and she had done so for a reason. The only ones privy to that confidential information had been Sink and Easy’s officers. The accusation made something sharp and ugly curl in her chest and terror seep into her heart.

His prejudice towards her wasn’t what made her panic, but the implied accusation towards her brother's family did. If Sobel’s words grew into something that reached around camp; then her entire family and her would be shot for supposed espionage.

‘Traitors…’

She had felt the questioning air around her, but she made the effort to keep her mouth shut unless her temper would only prove Sobel right. She wouldn’t let herself be scared of him, a man she found so cowardly, and she wouldn’t let him drive a wedge between the new friendships she had recently formed. 

That had been days ago, but Isabella had still been left reeling. The sting lingered and she poured her anger into her journal, which had quickly begun to fill with hastily-written words during her stay. She had found a familiar comfort in the leather-bound book, and it had become her closest confidant.

“Black clouds are behind me, I now can see ahead

Often I wonder why I try hoping for an end

Sorrow weighs my shoulders down

And trouble haunts my mind

But I know the present will not last

And tomorrow will be kinder

Tomorrow will be kinder

It's true, I've seen it before

A brighter day is coming my way

Yes, tomorrow will be kinder

Today I've cried a many tear

And pain is in my heart

Around me lies a somber scene

I don't know where to start

But I feel warmth on my skin

The stars have all aligned

The wind has blown, but now I know

That tomorrow will be kinder

Tomorrow will be kinder

I know, I've seen it before

A brighter day is coming my way

Yes, tomorrow will be kinder

A brighter day is coming my way

Yes, tomorrow will be kinder”

She was sitting at the infirmary, waiting for Gene to run to the barracks and back for the textbook he had forgotten. There would be no studying if neither of them were prepared. She was scribbling onto the thick pages of her journal until she heard the infirmary door open. She looked up expecting to find Gene with his book, instead, her eyes fell onto Lieutenant Speirs who sported a nasty cut on his temple.

Isabella’s breath hitched, surprised to see him in such condition. In the short days she had been at Toccoa, Speirs reputation preceded him. He was a ghost of a man—stories about him passed around like campfire tales, half-whispered and exaggerated with each retelling. She quickly stood up, snapping her journal shut. “Sir.” she greeted. “Do you need help?”

Speirs didn’t answer right away, stepping inside and letting the door shut. His eyes glanced at her hands, which had hastily tucked the journal behind her back, away from view. “Where’s Roe?”

“He’ll be back soon. Ran off to grab his book. But I can help patch you up if you’d like.”

Speirs paused, thinking. The tense silence felt as if it lasted forever until he finally nodded. “Alright.”

Isabella motioned him to one of the cots, telling him to sit tight while she grabbed what she needed. Gently angling his head to properly clean the cut, her curiosity got the best of her.

“So…what happened?” she asked.

He stayed still while she dabbed the antiseptic. “Training accident.”

Isabella laughed, glancing at the cut. “Training accident, huh? What’d you do, run into the wall?”

She hadn’t expected him to answer, in fact, she had expected him to tell her off for being nosy. Instead, much to her surprise, Speirs' stoic face turned amused. “Sure. Something like that.”

She chuckles, focusing back on her work. “Well. Seems the wall got a good hit in.

He didn’t confirm or deny, and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as she finished cleaning the cut. She was preparing the bandage when Speirs spoke again. 

“What were you writing?” he asked.

Isabella hesitated, caught off guard. “Oh,” she said, quickly securing the bandage. “Just…stuff. I write whatever comes to mind, especially things I don’t want to forget.”

Speirs studies her as she finishes placing the bandage on his head. “So, it’s a diary?” he teases.

She scoffs, face warming at his jest. “No…it’s a journal!”

He hums, not believing her. “Sure, a journal.”

‘Maybe I should rip the bandage off and have him actually wait for Gene.’

Isabella rolls her eyes. “They’re different.” she remarks.

He raises a brow. “How?”

She hesitates, unsure how to answer such a nuanced question without revealing anything. “Well. A diary is for feelings,” she starts. “A journal is for remembering. Details and such. Things you wouldn’t want to forget. Events, people, ideas, inspiration.”

Turning away to put the supplies back, Speirs continues, considering her words. “And yet you don’t write about your feelings?”

Braver with her back turned, she contemplates answering honestly. “Sometimes, but that’s what the inspiration is for.”

“Inspiration, huh?” he replies.

Isabella quickly tires of the strange game the two are playing, too impatient to keep skirting around the real question he’s asking. “My inspiration is for my songs. I take things I feel and what I’ve experienced to write the songs I perform.”

He nods, intrigued. “Songs. I didn’t take Easy’s resident nurse to be a performer.”

She wants to feel offended at what he implies, but either she’s too tired to care or she’s interested in what he has to say next. She can’t really decide which. “And what did you take me for?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead looking out the window near the cot he sits on. “Hard to say. Haven’t decided yet.”

The two of them return to the comfortable silence from before, sitting down with the majorly discussed journal, and she continues to wait for Gene, who seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.

‘What the hell is taking him so long?’

Speirs seems to tire at their lack of conversation, bored. “You always this quiet?”

Isabella doesn’t look up from her journal, her pencil scratching against the page. What had started out as blooming flowers had turned into various doodles of the Easy men, and as luck would have it, Speirs. “You always this curious?”

He doesn’t immediately answer, gaze lingering on her. The silence stretched on until he concedes. “Touche”

She finally looks up, amused. She’s surprised he was still there, and even more surprised he was following her antics at all.

“You didn’t answer my question.” he continued.

She hums, pleased. “Depends on who I’m with.”

“I see.” He leans back onto the cot slightly, watching her. “Guess I should feel special then.”

She snorts. “Oh yeah, real special.”

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she realizes a significant amount of time has passed since Gene left and since Speirs had arrived. Concern blooms in her chest and she decides to cut whatever strange game she and Lieutenant Speirs had going on short.

Placing her pencil in her book, she saves her place. Standing, she stretches. “Well sir.” she starts. “If that’ll be all, then I’m gonna take my leave. Roe seems to have decided to abandon me.”

Speirs watches her for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Isabella doesn’t wait for any further conversation, grabbing her journal and tucking it under her arms as she heads for the door. Just as she reaches for the handle, his voice stops her.

“Vega.”

His expression remains unreadable, but there’s something almost amused in his tone. “Don’t let Sobel get in your head.”

For a second, she forgets how to respond. She hadn’t been expecting him to bring up Sobel, let alone acknowledge what everyone seemed to know by now. Schooling her expression, she grins. “What, worried about me, Lieutenant?”

Spiers simply shrugs back. “Just saying. You’ve got much more important things to focus on.”

She doesn’t know what to make of that, so she just nods before she slips out the door. But before that, she gets one last quip in.

She smirks. “Oh and Lieutenant? Maybe stop running into walls.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later on in the day, Isabella met with Winters and Nixon, who were interested in hearing about her training with the company. She finds herself seated across the dynamic duo (which she finds quite interesting considering how different they were), in the empty mess hall.

Winters leans forward, hands clasped together, expression calm. “How is your training, Corporal Vega? How are you holding up?”

Isabella lets out a sigh, arms crossed. “I think ‘survivable’  is a good enough word whatever it was.”

Nixon chuckles, taking a sip from what she’s realized is his ever-present and handy flask. “That’s about the best anyone can ask for under Sobel.”

She laughed, but her lightheartedness didn’t last long after she remembered Sobel’s words. She sighed, hesitating to bring up her concerns.

Winters, ever observant, notices. “Something on your mind?”

Isabella shifts in her seat, debating. This man was her platoon leader, and had only been kind to her from the start, she had no need to be scared. “It’s Sobel.”

Nixon scoffs. “That’s usually how it starts.”

Snorting, she shakes her head. “Yeah, but this is different.” her finger picked at her skin, nervous. “He’s on me more than the others, which makes sense, but…” she hesitates. “He knows about my family.”

This grabs Winters’ attention. Brow furrowing, he asks. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been making some comments.” she said carefully, not wanting to repeat it outright. “About where my family comes from. About what side I should be on.”

The air grows tense. Nixon’s easy going demeanor hardening, and Winters’ expression darkened ever so slightly.

“He’s accused you?” Winters asks, voice serious.

“Not directly,” Isabella admits. “But he implied it. And if he’s saying it to me, who knows who else he’s saying it to.”

Winters sits back, thinking. Nixon, meanwhile, lets out a breath, rubbing his face. “Jesus. As if the guy wasn’t unbearable enough.”

Winters turned his gaze back to Isabella. “You’re here for a reason Vega.” His tone was firm, reassuring. “I’ll handle it.”

Isabella blinked, taken aback. “Sir, I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t asking me to step in,” he said, his voice gentler. “But I need you to know you’re not alone in this.”

The words settled something inside her that she hadn’t realized was so unsteady. She nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Nixon tires of the heavy atmosphere and decides to change the subject, satisfied at Winters declaration.

“Alright, that's enough of that. What’s this I’ve been hearing about Southern Belles and Canucks” he teases.

Isabella groans, head laying on her hands. “Oh come on! When’s that gonna leave me alone?”

Winters chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like you’ve made quite the impression.”

Nixon smirks, leaning back comfortably. “Oh, you have no idea. Rumor has it, Easy’s adopted her as their own.”

Isabella peeks up from her hands, feigning exasperation. “Unfortunately.” But the small smile tugging at her lips betrays her.

“Oh, don’t sound so put out,” Nixon teases. “You’ve got Malarkey singing your praises, and even Guarnere’s stopped grumbling about you. That’s a feat.”

Isabella huffs. “I’d rather they not talk about me at all.”

Winters raises an eyebrow. “That’s unlikely, given the company you keep.”

She groans again, but deep down, she knows they’re right.

“There’s still some of them I need to get to. I made quite the bad impression on Liebgott and he’s quite insistent on ignoring me. Luz is nice though.”

Winters raises an eyebrow, curious. “Liebgott’s ignoring you?”

Isabella nods, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah. Can’t say I blame him, though. Our first conversation wasn’t exactly... great.”

Nixon smirks, taking a sip from his flask. “What’d you do? Insult his hair?”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “No, but I might as well have. I was a little… defensive when we first met. I didn’t exactly expect Easy to be so welcoming, and I might’ve let my temper get the best of me.”

Winters exchanges a glance with Nixon before turning back to her. “Give it time. Liebgott’s a good soldier, but he can be stubborn. If he’s ignoring you, it just means he’s still making up his mind.”

Isabella shrugs. “I suppose. Luz is nice, though. He’s been helping me out a lot.”

Nixon grins. “Now that’s a dangerous combination. Luz takes pride in corrupting new recruits.”

Isabella laughs, shaking her head. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Now. A ranking medic has told me that you’re quite the bookworm.” Winters states.

Isabella deadpans. “Maybe we should accuse Gene of espionage instead.”

Nixon bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. Winters raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by her response. "Espionage, huh? That's a bold accusation, Vega."

Isabella shrugs nonchalantly. "Hey, if I can be accused, why not Gene?" She grins, leaning back in her chair. "He’s the one who can’t find a book."

Winters chuckles, shaking his head. "I think we’ll leave the espionage accusations to Sobel."

Nixon snickers. "Yeah, he's got that down to an art. Though, maybe you could teach him a thing or two about keeping secrets. Looks like you’ve been doing just fine with your journal."

She hums, mischievous. “Alright then, let’s make a deal. You two help me with the school work I have left and I’ll show you what’s in the journal. How’s that sound?”

Nixon’s eyes widen, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s a deal I can get behind.”

She beams. “Yeah, of course you would, Mister Intelligence Officer.”

Winters raises an eyebrow, clearly more cautious. “Hold on a minute, I’m not just doing your homework for a peek into that journal of yours.”

Isabella laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, it’s not just any journal, sir. You’d be getting a glimpse into the mind of a future musical genius.”

"Right," Nixon chuckles. "A musical genius in the making, huh? We’ll see about that."

“You two help me decipher whatever torture math is, and I’ll make sure those men of yours won’t cause more trouble than they should.”

The three of them fall silent. Winters and Nixon glance at each other, considering the offer. 

‘Helping study things they already know for discipline in return is a bargain no one can deny.’

Winters grins, teasing. “You know what Vega, you have yourself a deal.”

Chapter Text

The Georgia air had begun to turn warm as the early June mild warmth leaked into the beginnings of a true summer. Isabella mellowed out along with the weather, particularly toward Joe Liebgott. The two of them had started off on the wrong foot. Liebgott’s sarcastic attitude had been a large hurdle to get over, but she was sure as hell determined to do it. 

She had started small.

At first, Liebgott barely noticed the shift.

He was used to picking fights-verbally, physically, however he could manage. Especially with Isabella. It had been fun at first, he enjoyed watching her bristle at every remark, each well-placed jab. But now? She barely flinched.

Isabella had begun to match his sarcasm with a level gaze. When he complained about medical checks, she ignored him and patched him up anyways. Worst of all? She was actually helpful at lectures.

Liebgott wasn’t very good at paying attention. He made the effort to try at first, but half the time, he didn’t care enough to keep up with whatever poor soul was up front teaching. 

Isabella, on the other hand, was a goddamn sponge.

More than once, she’d nudge him awake when she caught him drifting off, whispering whatever he had missed while asleep. That was annoying enough, but what really got him was that she never acted smug about it.

She could’ve teased him, rubbed it in his face that she was miles ahead of him in memorizing things. But she didn’t. Instead, she’d just tilt her head and say, “I can go over it with you later if you want.”

And somehow that made ignoring her harder.

The turning point had come one evening when Isabella had overheard something she definitely wasn't supposed to.

Luz, Skip, and Malarkey were huddled around Luz’s bed inside the barracks, voices low and mysterious while the rest of the men lingered around, minding their business. Their strange behavior, of course, meant she immediately approached.

“What’s all this?” she asked, arms crossed as she stepped up to them.

Luz looked up far too innocently, setting off warning bells in her head. “Absolutely nothing, Vega.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a betting pool, ain’t it?”

Malarkey sighed. “We’re not gonna lie to you, Vega. Yeah. It is.”

Skip snickered. “Honesty is the best policy.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning forward to inspect the scraps of paper and cash stacked on the box. “Alright, what are you all betting on this time?”

“Nothing major,” Luz said casually . “Just when you and Liebgott are finally gonna snap and kill each other.”

Isabella froze.

Malarkey grinned, flipping through the bets. “I got my money on next week.”

“Nah,” Skip shook his head. “I say two days from now.”

Isabella gawked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Sweetheart,” Luz slung an arm around her shoulder, “we all thought you were gonna murder him that first week.”

She sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re all insufferable.”

"That’s a big word for someone who threw a goddamn tantrum after losing at darts," Luz quipped, squeezing her shoulder.

Isabella shoved him off. "I did not throw a tantrum!"

"You stomped your foot!" Malarkey grinned. "Like a kid !"

She groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "I hope you all get food poisoning."

"She’s just mad because she knows she’s got no shot against Liebgott," Skip added, smirking.

Isabella turned to him, squinting. "Excuse me?"

Liebgott, who was sitting in his bunk and was actually minding his business for once, let out a loud scoff. “Yeah, sweetheart, no offense, but if we ever actually fought? You’d lose.”

That was it.

Isabella whipped around, hands on her hips, indignation burning in her chest. "You think I’d lose?"

Liebgott grinned like a goddamn devil. "No, Vega. I know you’d lose."

Luz immediately perked up. "Oh, this is getting good."

Skip nudged Malarkey. "Double my bet. She’s gonna snap tonight ."

Isabella stepped closer, chin tilted up defiantly. “You wanna bet on that, Liebgott?”

His smirk widened. "What, you gonna throw another dart at me?"

That was it.

She lunged.

Liebgott, expecting it, dodged easily—only for Isabella to grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him down with her.

"Jesus Christ!" Malarkey howled, backing up as the two hit the ground in a mess of limbs .

"She actually snapped! " Luz doubled over laughing.

Liebgott managed to flip them over, pinning her arms down with an almost amused smirk. "Nice try, Doc."

Isabella huffed, out of breath, squirming under him. "I hate you."

He grinned. "Yeah, yeah. You love me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not if you were the last man on earth."

"Well, good thing I ain’t," he shot back.

Before she could retort, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos.

Winters.

The entire group went still.

Isabella froze beneath Liebgott, wide-eyed.

Winters stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression carefully unreadable.

Behind him, Nixon was smirking into his flask.

A beat.

Then—

"Get off me," Isabella hissed, shoving Liebgott off as quickly as possible.

He rolled away, grinning like an asshole.

Isabella had never gotten in trouble as a kid. She had always been a good student, always listened to her parents and brother, always made sure to be the best daughter she could be. In fact, she had never been in a fight before. So, this situation was entirely new to her.

“Would somebody like to explain why I walk in here to find Liebgott and Vega wrestling on the floor?” 

A heavy silence fell over the barracks, the previous raucous laughter now nonexistent under Winters’ impossibly calm stare.

Isabella, still flat on her back, barely had time to scramble up before Liebgott, ever the reckless idiot, shrugged.

“She started it.”

The betrayal was instant.

Isabella’s head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

Liebgott grinned smugly, adjusting his wrinkled shirt. “You heard me, sweetheart.”

The men winced.

Winters didn’t move, his expression neutral but pointed as his gaze flicked between them. “Vega?”

Isabella worked her jaw. She had never been in trouble before—not really. Sure, she had acted her age at home, never crossing the line her parents had drawn, but with Winters? A man she actually respected?

She felt all the childish bravado drain out of her.

“…It was a misunderstanding, sir,” she muttered, ears burning in embarrassment. 

Winters raised an eyebrow. “A misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” Luz jumped in far too quickly, throwing an arm around Isabella’s shoulders. “A friendly misunderstanding! Y’know, just a little—uh—company bonding.”

Winters’ eyes flicked to the betting pool still sitting on the crate.

Luz cleared his throat, removing his arm. “I’ll be shutting up now.”

A long silence.

Then, finally—

“Alright,” Winters exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you all have this much energy after a full day of training, then clearly we need to reassess the schedule.”

A chorus of groans erupted from the men.

Nixon, who had been watching this entire ordeal like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in weeks, patted Winters on the back. “That’s the spirit, Dick.”

Winters shot him a warning look.

Liebgott, still grinning, bumped Isabella’s shoulder with his own. “Guess we’re running extra miles thanks to you, Doc.”

She whipped around. “Oh, no, you —”

“Enough,” Winters cut in smoothly, already turning toward the door. “Clean up. And for the love of God, don’t make me come back here.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, the barracks erupted.

Luz was the first to speak, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “Alright, hands down, that was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Malarkey shook his head, grinning. “Yeah, Vega, I don’t think anyone was expecting you to tackle the guy.”

“I barely tackled him,” Isabella grumbled, adjusting her shirt.

Liebgott scoffed. “You yanked me down like you were wrangling a damn bull.”

She shot him a sharp glare. “That’s called strategy.”

“Sure it is,” he shot back, smirking. “Gotta say though, sweetheart, you fight dirty.”

Skip snorted. “Oh, come on, Lieb, don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“Yeah,” Luz added, nudging Isabella. “Kid’s got potential. A few more fights like that and she might actually win next time.”

Isabella groaned, rubbing her temples. “You’re all impossible.”

Bull chuckled from his bunk. “Gotta say, though, didn’t think you had that kinda fight in you, Doc.”

“Yeah,” Malarkey leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “You ever actually been in a fight before?”

Isabella hesitated, lips pressing together. She hadn’t. Not like this. Sure, she’d roughhoused with Lucas and Cameron growing up, but an actual fight? Where she had to defend herself? Never.

“Not really,” she admitted.

Liebgott scoffed. “Figures.”

She shot him a glare. “Oh, bite me.”

“I think you already tried that when you tackled me.”

The group burst into laughter again, and Isabella threw a pillow at him, which he dodged effortlessly. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve been told.”

Isabella sighed, finally sitting back against her bunk as the conversation shifted, the men still teasing and placing final bets on who would win next time. 

She was appalled at her behavior. What the hell was she thinking? Nothing Liebgott, or any man for a matter of fact, said should make her react like that. She wasn’t a child. Tears stung her eyes as she curled into a ball in her bed, embarrassment becoming too much for her to handle.

‘Idiot! What in the world is your problem?’

She quietly sniffed as tears ran down her eyes. Her humiliation grew at her reaction. Not only had she tackled somebody, but now she was crying over getting in trouble for it.

‘What a crybaby…’

The teasing continued around her, the laughter still buzzing in the background, but it all felt distant. Muffled. Like she was hearing it from underwater.

Isabella curled in tighter, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing herself to stop. To breathe. To shake it off like the guys would.

But she couldn’t.

She was absolutely humiliated.

What was she thinking? She had lunged at him like some street brawler, as if she didn’t have an ounce of restraint. As if she wasn’t better than that.

‘Mama would be ashamed.’

The thought made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t have snapped.

She shouldn’t have let them get under her skin.

She should have laughed it off. Brushed it aside.

‘You were raised better than this!’

A quiet whimper escaped before she could stop it, and she immediately buried her face further into the pillow, furious at herself.

God, if the men heard her—if they noticed—she’d never live it down.

She tried to breathe through it, tried to let it go, but the heat in her chest wouldn’t die down.

She felt small and she felt stupid.

She barely noticed when the conversation in the barracks shifted, the laughter dimming, the voices growing lower.

And then—

A presence at the edge of her bunk.

A shift in weight as someone sat down beside her.

A quiet, familiar voice, not mocking, not teasing.

Just curious.

“You alright, kid?”

Isabella stiffened and the tears ran down her face faster than before.

‘I want to go home…’

A sob wracked through her, hands digging into her face harder than before at her cry.

A beat of silence.

The weight on her bunk didn’t shift. Whoever was there didn’t leave. They didn’t tease, didn’t prod—just waited.

She hated that.

Her body trembled with the effort to quiet herself, but it was no use. The sobs had already started, and once they started, they wouldn’t stop.

Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t do this here. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

A moment passed before the voice spoke again, quieter this time.

“…Hey. It’s alright.”

That just made it worse.

She choked on a breath, curling further into herself.

Then—

A hand hesitated at her shoulder before settling there, a loose but steady grip.

“Hey.” A pause. “C’mon, Vega. Breathe.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, shaking her head into the pillow.

“I—I shouldn’t have—” her voice was muffled and broken, words catching in her throat. “ I’m sorry— ”

‘I’m so going to get kicked out for this.’

The grip on her shoulder tightened, just enough to be steadying. “What the hell are you apologizing for?”

Isabella shook her head, trying to swallow down the sobs threatening to crawl back up her throat. “I—I don’t know. I just—” She exhaled sharply, knuckles white as she clutched at the blanket beneath her. “I didn’t mean to do that to you.”

Liebgott exhaled, shaking his head. “Vega, you really think I give a damn about that?”

She sniffed, her face still buried in the pillow. “I tackled you.”

“You tried to tackle me,” he corrected, amusement creeping into his tone. “Didn’t really stick the landing, sweetheart.”

Isabella groaned, turning her face away. “You’re insufferable.”

Liebgott smirked. “So I’ve been told.”

There was a pause, the air between them heavy with something unspoken. She didn’t know why he was still sitting there. He had every opportunity to walk away, to go back to his bunk, to let her wallow in her embarrassment alone. But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Look,” he said, voice quieter now, less teasing, “you’re beating yourself up over nothing.”

She scoffed, voice still thick with emotion. “Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing ,” he repeated. “I’ve had worse, trust me. You didn’t break my nose, and you sure as hell didn’t hurt my ego, so what’s the problem?”

She hesitated, fingers curling around the fabric of her blanket.

“I was mean,” she admitted. “I—I let my temper get the best of me. That’s not…” She swallowed. “That’s not okay.”

Liebgott was quiet for a long moment before he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, kid. You act like you committed a war crime.”

She shot him a glare, but it lacked any real heat.

His smirk softened just slightly, his voice losing its usual sharp edge. “You ever consider that maybe it’s okay to lose it every once in a while?”

Isabella frowned, looking down at her hands. “…No.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Another silence stretched between them before he leaned back with a sigh. “Y’know, Malarkey once punched a guy so hard he sprained his damn wrist,” he said, tone casual. “Guarnere? Nearly flipped a table when Luz beat him at cards.”

Isabella sniffed, blinking up at him. “…Bullshit.”

Liebgott grinned. “Swear to God. And Roe—”

“If you tell me Gene got into a fight, I’m gonna think you’re lying.”

Liebgott chuckled. “Alright, fair. But the point is—” He gestured vaguely. “Everyone snaps sometimes. Even the ones who pretend they don’t.”

She stared at him, studying his face, the way his expression, for once, wasn’t laced with sarcasm or sharp edges.

She let out a slow breath, her body finally beginning to unwind.

“You’re a jerk, you know? Making a girl cry.”

Liebgott smirked. “Hey, you tackled me first. I’d say we’re even.”

She huffed, rubbing at her eyes, trying to chase away the last remnants of her embarrassment. “Still a jerk.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning back against the bunk beside hers, arms crossing over his chest, “I’m the one sitting here making you feel better about it.”

She scoffed. “I don’t feel better.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She hesitated.

Then, begrudgingly— “…Maybe a little.”

Liebgott grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Isabella sighed, shaking her head before finally shifting into a more comfortable position on her bunk.

“Hey Lieb?”

He hummed.

“I think you’ve got great aim.”

Liebgott paused, blinking at her. His smirk faltered for just a second, like he wasn’t sure if she was messing with him or not.

Then, he snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, now you’re trying to butter me up?”

She shrugged, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “Just saying.”

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “Yeah, well… you’re not completely terrible at darts.”

Isabella smirked sleepily. “High praise.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he quipped, but there was something lighter in his tone, something less sharp than usual.

She let out a quiet breath, the tension from earlier finally slipping away.

A pause settled between them. Not uncomfortable, not heavy—just easy.

Then—

“Night, kid.”

She yawned, stretching slightly before settling into the sheets.

“Night, Liebgott.”

Liebgott lingered for a second longer before turning back toward his own bunk, running a hand through his hair with a quiet chuckle.

That night, Isabella dreamt of a feral cat chasing around a mouse that highly reminded her of a certain Californian.

When she stirred awake the next morning, the memory of the dream clung to her like a fading echo— annoying, persistent, and oddly fitting.

The soft glow of dawn barely seeped through the cracks in the barracks, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. Around her, the sounds of Easy stirring to life filled the air—bunk frames creaking, boots hitting the floor, quiet muttered curses from half-asleep soldiers fumbling for their gear.

Isabella groaned, rolling onto her side and pulling her blanket over her head, willing the world away for just a moment longer.

Then—

A voice, far too smug for this early in the morning.

"Rise and shine, Crybaby ."

Isabella immediately grabbed her pillow and hurled it in the general direction of Joe Liebgott.

He dodged effortlessly, grinning like the devil himself. "Damn, and here I thought we bonded last night."

She groaned into her mattress. "I take it back. I hope that cat eats you alive."

Liebgott crossed his arms, still standing beside her bunk. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Isabella groaned, rubbing her face before muttering, “Had a dream. You were a damn mouse. Some mangy cat was chasing you.”

Liebgott blinked.

Then—he barked out a laugh. “ You dreamed I was a mouse?! ”

Isabella sighed dramatically, flopping onto her back. “I don’t know why I even told you.”

Malarkey, who had been nearby pulling on his boots, perked up immediately. “Wait, wait— Liebgott was a mouse ?”

Liebgott threw up his hands. “I don’t know! Apparently, I got hunted down by some stray in her dream.”

Penkala, overhearing, grinned as he leaned over from his bunk. “Damn, Vega. You sure that wasn’t just some deep-seated metaphor?”

Skip, now fully invested, nodded sagely. “Yeah, what’s the psychology behind that?”

Isabella grabbed her pillow again, debating whether it was worth it to throw it at all of them.

“I swear to God, if you guys turn this into something ridiculous—”

Skip clapped his hands together. “Oh, no, no. This is important.” He turned dramatically toward Malarkey. “Hey, Malark, if Lieb’s a mouse, what does that make the rest of us?”

“Jesus Christ, ” Isabella muttered into her hands.

Liebgott grinned at her suffering. “This is your fault, Vega. You brought it up.”

Sobel’s sharp whistle cut through the early morning chaos. “Five minutes, Easy Company!”

The conversation immediately shifted to groans of protest.

Liebgott shot Isabella a smug look. “C’mon, Crybaby. Better start stretching before you fall behind.”

She sat up slowly, eyes narrowing. “I hope I dream of you getting eaten next time.”

Liebgott smirked. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

And with that, she begrudgingly swung her legs out of bed, ready to face another grueling day.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grueling day had been right. Sobel had been told of last night’s incident between her and Liebgott (much to everyone’s dismay), and he had decided that making them run that damned obstacle course till they dropped was the appropriate consequence for their behavior. During her training with Colonel Sink, he had explained that he wouldn’t make her do the obstacle course because he still wanted her to have a challenge with the men, instead making her run Currahee religiously with him until she could match his pace.

Now, Isabella was fit from working the farm, and she had gotten even more fit in her short time training with Sink. Running wasn’t her strongpoint but she was great at anything strength-based, yet she had one thing against her.

Height.

Isabella didn’t consider herself short, but she sure as hell wasn’t tall. She sat at an average 5 feet 2 inches and God decided that would be her downfall. 

The ropes, the walls, the godforsaken high bars—all of them had become her mortal enemies. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do them, but they sure as hell weren’t easy. Every time she had to hoist herself up, she felt like she was fighting physics itself.

And Sobel, the bastard, knew it.

“ MOVE IT, VEGA! ” his voice ripped through the field as she barely managed to scramble over a wooden beam, her arms burning with exertion.

She gritted her teeth, digging deep to pull herself over the next hurdle. She would not give him the satisfaction of watching her fail.

Just ahead, Liebgott jogged backward , watching her with an annoyingly amused smirk. “C’mon, Crybaby, don’t let your tiny little legs slow you down!”

She nearly tripped trying to lunge at him.

“LIEBGOTT, I SWEAR TO—”

“ FOCUS, VEGA! ” Sobel’s voice cut through her threat, and she forced herself forward again, clenching her jaw so hard she thought her teeth might crack.

They hit the rope climb, and she nearly cursed out loud.

She hated the damn ropes.

Liebgott, of course, scaled his like he was part goddamn monkey, barely breaking a sweat.

Isabella, meanwhile, jumped to grab hold of the rope—and barely reached it.

“Son of a—”

“ MOVE IT, VEGA! ”

Her arms strained as she pulled herself up, her boots scraping against the rough fibers.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Luz called from a few feet away. “The view from down there’s real nice!”

“ GEORGE! ” she snapped, huffing as she climbed.

“I mean it! ” Luz grinned down at her. “I can see everything! ”

“I swear to God, when I get up there, I’m kicking you off! ”

Malarkey was doubled over laughing.

Liebgott, already back on the ground, tilted his head up. “I dunno, Vega, maybe next time we should bring a stepladder for you.”

The rage gave her the last burst of strength she needed to haul herself over the top.

When she hit the ground again, legs shaking, she pointed a finger at Liebgott, gasping for breath. “I’m gonna kill you. ”

Liebgott grinned, slinging an arm over her shoulders as they jogged toward the next course. “Yeah, yeah. You love me.”

She shoved him off, barely holding back a smile.

Sobel wasn’t as amused.

“ Faster, Easy Company! ”

As they approached the infamous pig guts, Isabella had a sudden thought.

‘I should probably work on my temper, this is getting ridiculous.’

She barely had a second to process that thought before SPLASH—

Her boots sank into the mess of pig guts, mud, and whatever else Sobel had decided to throw in this godforsaken pit.

Isabella barely blinked. She’d waded through worse.

The stench? Hardly noticeable.

The texture? Reminded her of home .

The only real problem? The damn traction .

As soon as she took another step forward, her foot slipped, sending her stumbling sideways.

Liebgott, ahead of her, turned just in time to watch her flail.

“Jesus, Doc, you look like you’re trying to swim!”

“ Shut up, Liebgott, ” she gritted out, forcing herself forward.

Malarkey was already wheezing. “I dunno, Vega, you seem awfully comfortable down there.”

She scoffed. “Boys, this ain’t nothin’.”

Luz, struggling to keep his balance, gawked at her. “What the hell do you mean, this ain’t nothin’?! ”

She shrugged, moving ahead with ease now. “You ever had to clear out a cattle pen after a summer storm?”

Skip, visibly regretting his life choices, grimaced. “I really don’t wanna know.”

Liebgott, smirking, jogged ahead of her. “So what you’re saying is—this is normal for you?”

She smirked right back. “What I’m saying is—I ain’t the one struggling, am I?”

Liebgott’s smirk widened—right before his foot caught on something, sending him stumbling forward.

Isabella saw her opportunity.

She pushed off her back foot, lunging at him and kicking him in the back.

He hit the ground hard—right into the mud.

Malarkey and Skip erupted into laughter.

Luz nearly fell over. “Oh, that’s beautiful! ”

Liebgott, face now half-covered in filth, coughed before giving her a deadpan look. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Vega.”

She grinned, completely unbothered as she sat up. “Consider it payback for making me cry, Lieb”

Liebgott scoffed, wiping at his face to little effect. “I thought we made amends.”

Isabella shrugged, completely unapologetic. “And?”

Malarkey, still laughing, clapped his hands. “Oh, man, I love this. Vega finally gets one up on Liebgott.”

Luz smirked, leaning on Malarkey for support. “Bet she’s been waiting for this moment.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Skip added, grinning.

Liebgott, still sprawled in the mud, sighed dramatically. “You all suck.”

Isabella grinned, savoring her victory.

And then—

“ VEGA! LIEBGOTT! ”

Sobel’s roar cracked across the field like a thunderclap.

Isabella barely had time to process before she heard heavy boots approaching.

‘Oh , shit.’

She scrambled off of Liebgott so fast she nearly tripped over herself.

Liebgott, grumbling the whole time, sat up just in time to see Sobel storming toward them.

The rest of Easy Company went dead silent.

Luz not-so-subtly took a step back.

Malarkey had the decency to pretend he wasn’t enjoying this.

Skip looked away, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces.

Sobel came to a halt, glowering at them.

“What in God’s name —” His gaze flickered to Isabella’s mud-covered form, then to Liebgott’s equally filthy state. “—am I looking at right now?”

Isabella swallowed. “Uh.”

Liebgott, ever the jackass, wiped his face with his sleeve and muttered, “Company bonding.”

A choked sound came from somewhere behind them— probably Luz.

Sobel’s face darkened .

‘God, give me strength.’

Sobel exhaled through his nose, a vein in his temple visibly throbbing . “Company bonding,” he echoed, voice dripping with disbelief.

Liebgott, because he had no sense of self-preservation, shrugged. “That’s what I said.”

Isabella resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

Sobel’s gaze snapped to her, and she felt every single ounce of that burning scrutiny.

“And you, Corporal Vega, ” Sobel said, voice dangerously even. “Care to explain why you’re rolling around in the mud instead of training like a proper soldier?”

She opened her mouth—paused—closed it again.

Technically speaking, Liebgott had fallen first. She had just...helped the process along.

She could feel Easy watching her, waiting.

If she threw Liebgott under the bus, she’d never hear the end of it.

She took a breath. Steeled herself.

“…Tripped, sir.”

Liebgott stiffened beside her.

Sobel narrowed his eyes. “You tripped ?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Onto Liebgott ?”

“…Yes, sir.”

The tension stretched tight.

Then—

Malarkey snorted, unable to resist any longer.

Sobel's head snapped toward Malarkey so fast that for a moment, Isabella thought he might dislocate something.

“You find something funny , Private Malarkey?” Sobel’s voice was a dangerous growl.

Malarkey straightened instantly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “No, sir.”

“Good.” Sobel’s glare flicked back to Isabella and Liebgott. “Because I don’t see anything amusing about two undisciplined paratroopers wasting my time.”

Liebgott, who apparently lacked all survival instincts, muttered under his breath, “I can think of a couple things.”

Isabella stepped on his boot. Hard.

He hissed. “Jesus, Vega—”

Sobel’s patience snapped.

“ Both of you—Currahee. Now. ”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Currahee?” Isabella asked, just to make sure she heard correctly.

Sobel’s expression didn’t change. “Would you like me to repeat it, Corporal Vega?”

Her stomach plummeted.

“No, sir,” she said quickly.

“Then move. ”

Liebgott sighed, shaking his head as he wiped some of the drying mud off his cheek. “Well, Doc, hope you’re in the mood for a jog.”

She shot him a glare as they turned and started running.

As soon as they were out of Sobel’s earshot, Isabella groaned loudly.

“This is your fault.”

Liebgott barked out a laugh. “ My fault?! You kicked me in the back!”

“You were asking for it!”

“Oh, sure, because I’m the one with anger issues.”

She swung at him—halfheartedly, mostly out of principle.

He dodged easily, grinning. “You hit like a girl.”

“I am a girl, you moron!”

“Not with the way you fight.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes, chest burning from exertion. “You keep talking, Liebgott, and I swear —”

From behind them, Luz’s voice called out across the field.

“Hey, Vega! Try not to trip again!”

Skip cackled. “Bet she planned it!”

Malarkey, not missing a beat, yelled, “Yeah, Lieb, you sure she didn’t push you down just so she could tackle you?”

Liebgott, without breaking stride, yelled back, “I knew she had it out for me!”

Isabella, ignoring her burning legs, let out a long suffering groan.

“ I hate all of you! ”

Chapter Text

Isabella’s first batch of letters was a welcome reprieve to the torture she was enduring in camp. 

She had gotten a large stack of letters at the morning mail-call, the majority coming from home. She had also gotten ones from Lucas, Cameron and her brother, along with her best friend Sina who was out training in New York City after she joined the WAVES, and her brother Darren who was out training in Parris Island after he signed up as a Marine.

Isabella buzzed with excitement, eager to read her letters as she ripped the first one open at breakfast. 

‘Dear Isa,

I hope you’ve been well. Army training has been brutal and everyday I wish I was at home more than ever. I miss Mama’s cooking and the kids' laughter. I especially miss our weekend performances! The thrill of being in the Army doesn’t compare to the thrill of being on stage.

Tennessee isn’t that different from Florida. It has the same kind of people and the same heat, but a hell of a lot more hilly. The amount of mountains in this state is insane, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many in my life.’

Isabella snorts. Of course he wouldn’t have seen so many in his life, Florida didn’t have mountains.

‘I’ve never climbed so much shit in my life. My hands are pretty much dead and writing this letter has taken every bit of strength I can muster (so you better appreciate it!). My arms hurt from carrying the machine gun everywhere, especially on our marches. It sucks, but you know what? At least I’m not a suicidal maniac who willingly accepted jumping out of a moving plane.

Despite how grueling training has been, I’ve managed to make some buddies. Billy Callahan acts just like Michel Alejandro does. He’s pure big brother and it makes it absolutely wonderful to annoy the shit out of him. Jamie O’Rourke is probably the funniest bastard I’ve ever met. You’d like him—he’s got that sharp wit you enjoy, and he can play the fiddle like a devil at a crossroads. I keep telling him we’d make a hell of a duo if we ever get out of this thing in one piece. Elijah Winters…man. What can I tell you?

He’s the coolest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. You ever meet someone who’s just effortlessly good at everything? That’s Eli. He’s got this whole quiet, brooding thing going on, and I swear, half the guys think he’s got some tragic backstory or some shit—but really? He’s just a guy who doesn’t waste words. He’s sharp, though. Real sharp. And when he does talk? You listen .

I think you’d get along with him, actually. You both have that watch-and-listen way of reading a room. Reminds me of how you can just look at someone and know if they’re about to pass out or puke their guts out. It’s a little freaky, but I get it.

Oh—and he never loses at cards. I think he’s hustling us, but I also think I’d rather just not know.

Isabella’s heart filled with warmth. She was so happy that her beloved baby brother had managed to make his place in training. It wasn’t that she doubted his ability to supersede the challenge, it’s just that Cameron was, well, Cameron.

“What’s got you smiling like that?”

Isabella jumped, hastily pressing the letter to her chest before twisting around to see Luz grinning down at her.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she huffed, shoving him lightly.

Luz just snickered, plopping down onto the bench beside her. “C’mon, what’s got you all giddy?”

She hesitated, then glanced down at the letter in her hands. “Cameron wrote me.”

At that, Luz’s grin softened. “Ah, Lucky , huh?”

Isabella blinked. “Wait, how do you—?”

“Kid, you talk about your people a lot when you’re half-asleep. Did you know you mumble ?” Luz smirked. “I got all the inside scoop just listening to you ramble in your bunk.”

She groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “Oh, God.”

Luz chuckled, nudging her shoulder. “Relax, Vega. Ain’t nothing embarrassing.” He nodded toward the letter. “So? What’s he up to?”

She exhaled, letting the warmth from Cameron’s words settle in her chest again. “Making trouble, as usual.”

Luz snorted. “Figures.”

She smiled, thumbing over the paper. “But he’s got a good group. And he’s actually doing well. I mean, I knew he could, but…” She trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Luz leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “But it’s different hearing it from him.”

She nodded.

“Do you want to read the rest with me?” she asked.

‘Anyway, Isa, these guys? They make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier. I think you’d like ‘em, Isa. Maybe even Eli—though, let’s be real, you’d probably just make fun of him for brooding too much.

Write me back soon, yeah? Tell me everything. Who’s been pissing you off? How many times have you had to patch up those trigger-happy idiots? Always remember you can handle whatever they throw at you, don’t let it get to you.

Your Lucky Charm,

Cameron Salazar’

Isabella smiled, shaking her head. “He always signs off like that.”

Luz snorted. “‘Your Lucky Charm?’”

She smirked. “It started when we were kids. He started sitting behind me on my math tests and voila, I started passing them. He’s been insufferable ever since.”

Luz grinned. “Oh, that’s gold. I’m using that.”

“Please don’t,” she groaned, nudging him with her elbow.

He chuckled, watching her carefully tuck the letter away in its envelope, her movements careful, almost reverent.

After a beat, he nudged her back, lighter this time. “He seems like a good kid.”

Isabella glanced at him. “Yeah. He is.”

There was something in her voice—something proud, but tinged with worry.

Luz picked up on it immediately. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head. “He’ll be alright.”

She swallowed, fingers lingering on the paper. “I know. I just—” She exhaled. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”

Luz leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Same way he’d feel if something happened to you.”

She looked down.

“He’s looking out for you too, y’know,” Luz added, nodding toward the letter. “Saying all that stuff about you handling whatever gets thrown at you. He wouldn’t write that if he didn’t believe it.”

Isabella pressed her lips together.

She knew Luz was right.

Still, it didn’t stop the gnawing ache in her chest.

“I know.” she started. “Let’s read the others!”

She carefully grabbed Lucas’s letter, confused at the return address.

“What’s wrong?” Luz inquired.

She hummed. “He’s supposed to be in South Carolina.”

‘Dear Birdie,

Knowing you, you’ll be scratching your head at the strange address on this envelope. Not to worry, it’s good news. 

‘The Eight Air Force took me in, and I’m in Virginia now, training with the best damn pilots I’ve ever seen. I can hardly believe it myself. Every time I step into a plane, I think about all those summer afternoons when we’d lay in the field and watch the clouds, guessing what shapes they’d turn into. And now? Now I get to fly through them. Don’t ask me how I managed to get myself transferred over there, I can barely figure it out myself. I hated the Marines and I couldn’t be happier I got my ass out of there.’

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘It’s cold as hell over here, though. And the food? Let’s just say if Mama could see what they’ve been feeding me, she’d have a heart attack on the spot. If you have any pull with those medics of yours, maybe send me a care package? I’m wasting away, Isa. Practically a skeleton.

Oh, and I finally got my own crew. They’re a bunch of lunatics, but they’re my kind of lunatics. I’ll tell you about them in another letter, but just know I’ve already got them wrapped around my little finger. Charisma, kid. You should try it sometime.

Keep writing, yeah? And don’t you dare do anything reckless before I get back. I’d hate to come home and find out you’ve single-handedly taken on the entire German army just to prove a point.

With love,
Your favorite Ace,
Lucas.’

Isabella exhaled, pressing the letter against her chest for a moment, letting herself take in the reality of it. Lucas had done it—somehow, against all odds, he had wriggled his way out of the Marines and landed exactly where he wanted to be.

She knew he would, but still—he actually did it.

Luz, still leaning over her shoulder, let out an impressed whistle. “Gotta hand it to him. Didn’t think it was possible to weasel out of the Marines.”

Isabella huffed a quiet laugh. “Neither did I.”

“You think he bribed someone?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She smirked. “Or talked their ears off until they got sick of him and signed whatever paperwork he wanted just to get him out of their hair.”

Luz snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

She carefully folded the letter, setting it beside Cameron’s, her fingers lingering on the paper. She missed them.

A lot.

But there was something reassuring about knowing they were all finding their place—each of them scattered, yet still bound together.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and grabbed the next envelope. “Alright, next one.”

Luz perked up. “Darren? Or Sina?”

Isabella flipped it over, recognizing the neat, familiar handwriting immediately. Sina.

She smiled. “Dolly.”

Luz grinned. “This one’s gonna be sweet, isn’t it?”

Isabella hummed as she unfolded the letter, already knowing that yes, it absolutely would be.

‘Isabellita,

I hope you’re taking care of yourself and not just running yourself into the ground trying to prove yourself to all those boys. I know you, and I know how stubborn you can be—but please, remember to rest.’

Isabella rolled her eyes fondly. Classic Sina.

‘New York is wonderful, Isa. The buildings are so tall, I feel like an ant walking between them. The training has been difficult, but I’m learning so much—I think I’ve found where I belong. Being in the WAVES is… different than I expected, but in a good way. I’m surrounded by so many strong, intelligent women, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’

Isabella grinned at that, warmth filling her chest.

‘You’d love my unit. They remind me of home, and we keep each other sane. There’s Evelyn—she’s a spitfire from Boston, you two would get along like a house on fire. Then there’s Jo, who reminds me so much of Lucas it’s almost frightening, and Margaret, who is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. We all take turns doing each other’s hair, and don’t you dare laugh at me, Isa, but I’ve actually gotten good at styling victory rolls. (I’ll do yours next time I see you, just you wait.)’

Luz cackled. “Oh, this is gold.”

Isabella groaned. “Shut up.”

‘Write to me soon, okay? Tell me about Easy, about the boys you have to babysit—oh, and please tell me you’re still playing music. I know training is exhausting, but promise me you won’t let it go. It’s a part of you, Isa. Don’t let them take it from you.’

Isabella swallowed, blinking down at the words.

She had been writing—but not as much as she used to. Not like before. And she sure as hell wasn’t singing.

Luz must have caught the look on her face, because he nudged her lightly. “You alright?”

She nodded quickly, folding the letter. “Yeah. Just—thinking.”

Luz didn’t push, just hummed in understanding. “Dolly seems real sweet.”

“She is,” Isabella said softly.

‘P.S. You better tell me if any of those boys of yours are worth swooning over.

Yours truly,

Sina Navarro’

Luz burst out laughing. “Oh, she’s definitely your best friend.”

Isabella groaned, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Oh, I will be writing her back on your behalf,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “And I’ll be sure to let her know all about how Easy’s finest have been falling over themselves around you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

Isabella sighed as she put the letter back.

She missed her too.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the last letter—the one from Darren.

She hesitated for a moment before opening it, preparing herself.

Darren wasn’t sentimental like Cameron or Sina.

No—his letters would always be straight to the point.

And sure enough—

‘Isabella,

Marine training sucks. That’s it. That’s the letter.’

Isabella burst out laughing.

Luz wheezed. “Oh my God, that’s it?”

She flipped to the next page. “Wait, wait, there’s more.”

‘Fine. I’ll elaborate.

Parris Island is a hellhole, the humidity is worse than Florida, and my drill instructor is the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. (Don’t tell Sina I said that.) I think I’ve had about four minutes of sleep since I got here. I hate it. But I’m good at it. And I think that’s worse.

My unit is solid. No one’s killed each other yet. But these guys? They’re real. I respect that. You’d like a few of ‘em. I’ll write more when I get the chance—assuming I survive.

Tell Lucas that just because he escaped the Marines doesn’t mean I won’t whoop his ass when I see him again.

Be good, Isabella. And don’t get yourself killed.

- Rook.’

Isabella snorted. “Jesus Christ, he’s dramatic.”

Luz grinned. “Yeah, I think I’d like him.”

She shook her head, staring down at the stack of letters now sitting in her lap. 

“Alright, we still have three letters to go.” 

As she went to open her mother’s letter, she felt people behind her yet again.

She sighed, rolling her eyes before she turned around.

“Can I help you?”

She was faced with a smug-faced Liebgott, arms crossed, Malarkey and Skip flanking him with identical grins, a curious Gene straggling behind. Luz, still lounging beside her, just chuckled under his breath.

Liebgott raised an eyebrow. “So, Birdie , who’s writing you love letters?”

Isabella groaned. “They’re from home, not love letters.”

Malarkey nudged her shoulder, peering at the stack in her hands. “Looked like a hell of a lot of ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Skip added, smirking. “Didn’t know you were such a lady of correspondence.”

She huffed, clutching the letters to her chest dramatically. “Oh, forgive me for having people who actually care about me.”

Liebgott let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. You got any scandalous ones in there, or are they all just your mom asking if you’ve been eating enough?”

Isabella narrowed her eyes at him before holding up the unopened envelope. “Actually, this one is from my mother, and knowing her, it’s at least four pages of exactly that .”

Skip whistled. “Damn. You gonna read it out loud?”

She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

Liebgott’s grin widened. “C’mon, what if she talks about your childhood? We need to know if you were always a menace.”

“I was a delightful child, thank you very much.”

Malarkey leaned in. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Luz snorted, flipping through one of Cameron’s discarded envelopes. “I dunno, boys. From the way her brothers write, I think she might’ve been the golden child.”

That earned a round of snickers.

Isabella, determined to ignore them, tore open her mother’s letter and began to read. She had barely gotten through the first paragraph before she groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

Skip, ever the instigator, perked up. “What? What’d she say?”

Isabella gritted her teeth. “She’s asking if I’ve been praying enough.”

Liebgott burst out laughing. “Oh, you are so screwed.”

Malarkey clapped her on the back. “Better hit the chapel, Birdie .”

She scowled. “I do pray!”

“Not enough, apparently,” Gene teased, surprising her.

Isabella threw her hands up, muttering under her breath before shaking the letter dramatically. “I’m gonna write her back and tell her all of you are heathens.”

Liebgott smirked. “She’ll probably tell you to convert us.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Isabella deadpanned.

The men were still chuckling when she sighed, folding the letter neatly before moving on to the next.

She hesitated.

This one was from Michel Alejandro .

She hadn’t heard from him in weeks.

The teasing faded just slightly when Luz caught the flicker of tension in her hands. “That one important?”

She nodded, exhaling slowly. “It’s from my brother.”

Liebgott and Malarkey exchanged a glance but, surprisingly, didn’t pry.

Isabella carefully slid the letter from its envelope, her heart already beating a little faster.

Isabella’s grip on the letter tightened, her breath hitching as she started reading.

‘Dear Isabella, 

I don’t have much time to write, so I’ll be brief. I want you to know that I’m safe, but things are… getting worse over here. The war in the Pacific isn’t like anything we ever imagined, Isa. It’s brutal. Unforgiving. The kind of thing that changes men before they even realize it.’

Her heart pounded.

She could feel the weight behind his words, the exhaustion bleeding through the ink. Michel Alejandro wasn’t the kind of man to sugarcoat things, but he wasn’t dramatic either. If he was telling her this, it meant he needed her to know.

She swallowed hard and kept reading.

‘I don’t want you to worry, but I also don’t want you to be naive. I know you, little sister. I know you take everything onto your own shoulders, even when you shouldn’t. But I need you to remember something—’

She could already tell what was coming.

‘You cannot save everyone.’

Her fingers dug into the paper.

‘I can’t imagine how much you love those boys of yours, and I know you’ll do everything in your power to keep them safe. But you need to remember that some things are out of your hands. You’re not God. You’re just one person. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. And the sooner you accept it, the better you’ll be when things start to fall apart.’

She forced in a deep breath.

‘Be strong, little sister. But don’t be reckless. And don’t let this war take away the best parts of you.’

The words blurred slightly, and she had to blink quickly before her vision could go completely hazy.

‘I’ll write again when I can. Give my love to Mama and Papa.
Yours,
Michel Alejandro’

She sat still, the letter trembling in her hands.

“Vega?”

Luz’s voice was softer this time, like he knew .

She cleared her throat, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. “He’s safe.”

Nobody commented on the way her voice wavered slightly.

Instead, Malarkey nudged her gently. “That’s good news.”

She nodded, folding the letter carefully and tucking it away before she could let herself linger on it any longer. She still had one more letter left.

Maya’s.

Isabella took a steadying breath, running her fingers over the edges of the final envelope. Maya’s handwriting was familiar, the curves and loops distinct from the rest, but it still made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t quite name.

She hesitated, hiding the letter from the boy's line of sight.

Maya had always been strong. Resilient. She wasn’t the type to let things slip, not unless they really mattered. Which meant whatever was in this letter… it mattered.

Luz, who had been watching her closely, nudged her lightly. “Need a minute?”

She shook her head, inhaling sharply before finally tearing open the envelope.

‘いさ、

I hope this letter reaches you well. Anzu and Taiga send their love (though Taiga mostly just chewed on the corner of this paper before I could stop him). They miss their Isa terribly, as do I. The house isn’t the same without you.’

Isabella’s throat tightened.

‘Your mother keeps busy, of course, but I can see the way she watches the mailbox every morning. The way your father lingers on the porch, pretending he isn’t waiting for news. They miss you, mi amor. But they’re proud of you. So proud. You should see the way your mother talks about you at church. They all know your name now. Even Father Miguel asks about you in every service.’

She huffed a small, watery laugh.

‘Things are changing here, though. It’s harder than it was before. People whisper more, they stare longer. I don’t go into town unless I have to. Anzu doesn’t understand, but she knows something isn’t right. I see it in her eyes every time she asks why we can’t go to the park like we used to.
But don’t worry about us. I mean it, Isa. Your only job right now is to take care of yourself.
And I know you’re not.’

Isabella stiffened.

‘I know you’re pushing yourself too hard. I know you’re holding too much. I know you, Isabella Vega, and I know you won’t admit it to anyone else, so I’ll say it first: you are not alone. You don’t have to be. Those men—your boys—I hope they know what they have in you. I hope they look out for you the way you do for them. I hope they remind you to eat, to sleep, to laugh.

That’s enough of the sad things. Have you found yourself a 素敵な兵士 yet? I want to make sure the 着物 doesn’t get forgotten. Make sure to remember to take care of yourself, and have fun. You’re still young and you deserve to be happy.
Please don’t forget that. 

With all my love,
Maya’

Isabella giggled at Maya’s insistence at her finding a ‘handsome soldier’ to wear her kimono for. It was incredibly unlikely Isabella was ever going to let that thing see the light of day, especially with how much the men disliked anything Japanese at the moment.

To her delight, she finds a drawing from Anzu on an extra page. Anzu had messily drawn her in her dress greens, surrounded by Anzu’s interpretations of Liebgott, Roe, Luz, Skip, Penkala, and Malarkey. 

“Ooh, what do we have here?” Luz asked.

Isabella smiles wide. “I’m guessing my sister-in-law has been reading my letters to my niece and nephew.”

Luz leaned in, squinting at the crayon figures. “Oh, this is gold. Which one’s supposed to be me?”

Isabella pointed at a figure with what appeared to be wildly exaggerated hair. “Take a guess.”

Luz gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I have never felt more seen.”

Skip reached over, peering at the page. “Why does Malarkey look like he’s got a whole mop on his head?”

Malarkey scoffed. “The kid has taste, clearly.”

Gene, who had been silent beside her, tapped at another figure—one drawn with a clear red cross on the arm. “That me?”

Isabella nodded, her heart warming at the sight of it. “She probably remembers me telling her you take care of me.”

Gene hummed, a soft chuckle escaping. “Guess I got the official approval, then.”

Liebgott, who had been feigning disinterest, finally glanced over. “And what about me?”

Isabella smirked. “Oh, you’re this one.”

She pointed to a very jagged, wild-looking figure with what appeared to be an oversized, angry mouth.

Liebgott deadpanned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Luz burst into laughter. “Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Isabella bit her lip to keep from grinning too hard. “Hey, don’t be mad! It just means you made an impression when Maya read the letters.”

Liebgott groaned, shaking his head. “I swear to God, if I ever meet your niece, I’m demanding a redraw.”

“Oh, trust me,” Isabella giggled, folding the letter carefully. “She’s just getting started.”

The warmth of home lingered in her chest as she tucked the papers safely into her pocket. Despite the exhaustion, despite the grueling training, despite everything—they were still with her, still a part of her.

And for now, that was enough.

She made a mental note to write back that weekend when she had time.

Breakfast had gone by and so had the rest of the day. She was hoping her week would keep on going on the same high note, and she felt it would.

Until Friday.

Lieutenant Sobel had been promoted that day to Captain, and subsequently, Winters from Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant.

Sobel hadn’t been happy at that revelation.

When they returned to the barracks later that afternoon after training ended, they had been greeted at the barracks with their belongings strewn across the floor, mattresses flipped.

A stunned silence fell over the room as the men stepped inside, surveying the mess. Footlockers were thrown open, clothes and personal belongings tossed carelessly onto the floor.

Skip let out a long, low whistle. "Well. Ain't this a warm welcome home?"

Isabella’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Her hands clenched at her sides as she scanned the room, already feeling a sickening sense of dread creeping up her spine. She rushed forward, her eyes immediately landing on her footlocker—thrown onto its side, contents spilling across the floor.

Her letters.

Her pictures.

Her journal.

Her stuffed animals.

Her personal sanitary items.

And, worst of all—Her personal box with the kimono safely tucked away had been pushed to the far corner, thankfully still closed, but the lock had been broken. She'd hidden it beneath her bed instead of in her footlocker recently, and whoever had done this had clearly been determined to find whatever they could.

She inhaled sharply, her breath catching.

Behind her, Malarkey cursed. "What the hell is this?"

"Somebody's got it out for us," Skip muttered darkly.

Gene's gaze flickered to Isabella, watching as she quickly moved to gather her things, especially the box she was so protective of. His jaw tightened. "Vega..."

She forced herself to breathe. Slowly. Carefully. Her hands trembled slightly as she checked the box, making sure it was still sealed properly. Her heart pounded at how close her secret had come to being discovered.

Liebgott exhaled sharply through his nose. "This is some real petty bullshit."

"Gee, I wonder who could've done this," Penkala said dryly.

As if on cue, the barracks door swung open again.

"Ten-hut!" Guarnere snapped, straightening immediately.

Sobel strode inside, his expression unreadable, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

A slow rage burned through Isabella's chest.

He didn't say anything, just surveyed them for a long, tense moment before finally speaking.

"You men have been getting a little too comfortable." His voice was even, almost casual. "And I think you've forgotten who's in charge around here."

The silence was suffocating.

Winters, who had walked in just moments before, took a step forward. His voice was carefully neutral. "Captain Sobel."

Sobel barely spared him a glance. "First Lieutenant Winters." He said the title like it was bitter on his tongue.

Nobody moved.

Isabella, still kneeling beside her things, gritted her teeth, willing herself to keep her mouth shut. To stay calm. To not react.

"Corporal Vega," Sobel started. "It seems that you have quite a bit of contraband in your bunk."

The words barely registered at first.

Isabella's grip on her box tightened, her breath hitching as she slowly lifted her gaze to Sobel.

Contraband.

Her journal. Her letters. Her stuffed animals.

Liebgott took a sharp step forward, but Malarkey stopped him with a look.

Winters, however, was already moving. "Captain Sobel," he said evenly, voice dangerously calm. "There's nothing in Private Vega's bunk that violates regulations beyond the stuffed animals."

Sobel barely glanced at him, his lips curling ever so slightly. "That's not for you to decide, Lieutenant."

The emphasis on the rank was deliberate. Petty.

Winters held his ground, but Isabella could see the flicker of something cold in his eyes.

Sobel turned his attention back to her, his gaze flickering down to the box still clutched in her hands. "And what's in there, Corporal? More contraband?"

Isabella forced herself to swallow the immediate response clawing up her throat. She could feel the men around her tense.

"Just personal items, sir," she replied, voice steady despite the churning in her stomach.

Sobel's eyes narrowed. "Open it."

Her heart dropped, but she kept her expression neutral. "Sir, it's just—"

"I said open it, Corporal." His voice cut through the barracks like a knife.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the latch.

It was Winters who spoke next, stepping slightly forward. "Captain, as the platoon leader, I can vouch for Corporal Vega's belongings. There's nothing—"

"When I want your opinion, Lieutenant, I'll ask for it," Sobel snapped.

The barracks fell silent.

Isabella's mind raced. If she opened the box, everyone would see the kimono. Questions would follow—ones she wasn't ready to answer. But if she refused...

Her fingers tightened around the box. "Sir, with all due respect, these are my private belongings."

Sobel's eyes flashed. "Are you refusing a direct order, Corporal?"

The tension in the room mounted.

She could feel the eyes of the men on her, uncertain, confused. She thought they'd eventually learn about Maya, about her connection to Japan—but not like this. Not as some spectacle for Sobel's amusement.

Just as she was about to resign herself to the inevitable, a voice cut through the silence.

"Sir, if I may."

It was Nixon, appearing in the doorway behind Sobel, his expression characteristically casual but his eyes sharp.

"Lieutenant Nixon," Sobel acknowledged stiffly.

Nixon stepped into the barracks, surveying the chaos with raised eyebrows. He glanced at Isabella's box, then back to Sobel. "I believe Colonel Sink has authorized Corporal Vega to keep certain items from home due to her..." he paused meaningfully, "...unique circumstances."

Sobel's jaw tightened. "What circumstances?"

Nixon smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid that's above my pay grade, sir. But I'd be happy to escort you to Colonel Sink if you'd like clarification."

A tense moment passed.

Then, with a barely concealed snarl, Sobel stepped back. "That won't be necessary." His gaze swept over the men once more. "This barracks is a disgrace. I expect everything to be in perfect order within the hour for reinspection."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door. But before leaving, he paused, looking back at Isabella with cold eyes.

"And Corporal Vega," he said, voice dripping with disdain, "I don't care what special permissions you think you have. In my company, you follow the same rules as everyone else. Is that clear?"

Isabella met his gaze evenly. "Crystal, sir."

Sobel held her stare for a moment longer before finally leaving, the door slamming shut behind him.

The barracks remained silent for a long beat.

Then Luz exhaled dramatically. "Well... that was fun."

Nixon, still lingering by the door, caught Isabella's eye. There was a knowing look there, a silent message passing between them.

Your secret's safe.

She gave him a small, grateful nod.

"Thanks, sir," she said quietly.

Nixon shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "Just happened to be in the right place at the right time." He glanced around at the mess. "I'd get this cleaned up if I were you. Sobel's not one to bluff about reinspection."

With a lazy salute to Winters, Nixon turned and left, leaving the men of Easy to process what had just happened.

Skip was the first to break the silence. "Anyone else feel like they just missed something?"

Liebgott snorted. "Yeah, like the part where Nixon saved Vega's ass."

Malarkey nudged Isabella gently. "You okay?"

She nodded, finally loosening her grip on the box. "Yeah. Thanks."

Gene came over, kneeling beside her to help gather her scattered belongings. "What's so important about that box anyway?" he asked quietly.

Isabella hesitated, glancing around at the curious faces of her platoon-mates. They'd find out eventually—but not today. Not like this.

"It's... something from home," she said finally. "Something important."

Gene studied her for a moment, then nodded. He didn't push further, and she was grateful for it.

Guarnere clapped his hands together. "Alright, you heard the man. We got an hour to make this place look like we don't actually live here."

As the men began to move, organizing their belongings and righting their bunks, Isabella carefully tucked her box back under her bed, her heart still pounding.

That had been too close.

Luz appeared beside her, helping her pick up her letters. "So," he said casually, "you gonna tell us what's in the box that's got Sobel so worked up?"

She shot him a look.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just curious."

Isabella sighed, gathering the last of her scattered belongings. "It's personal, Luz. That's all."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough." He paused, then added, "But you know, whatever it is... we wouldn't judge you for it."

She looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a sincerity there that caught her off guard.

"Thanks," she said softly.

Luz shrugged, offering her a small smile. "That's what friends are for, right?"

As the men bustled around her, putting the barracks back in order, Isabella felt a strange mix of emotions wash over her. Relief that her secret was safe, for now. Gratitude for Nixon's timely intervention and Winters defense. And something else—a warmth in her chest at Luz's words.

Friends.

Maybe they were. Maybe, despite everything, these men were becoming something more than just fellow soldiers. Something like a family.

And just like with her family back home, there would be time for them to learn all of her secrets. But on her terms. When she was ready.

For now, though, she had a barracks to clean and a reinspection to prepare for.

And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she made a note to thank Nixon and Winters properly the next time she saw them.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still things unspoken, still tensions and secrets that couldn’t be fully erased in one night.

But as she sat there, surrounded by her boys, their teasing voices filling the barracks, she had a realization—

“Wait!”

Everyone quieted down and Isabella’s ears burned as she bowed her head down in embarrassment.

“Can you guys turn away? Not really comfortable with the whole platoon blatantly looking at my unmentionables. ”

Skip was the first to snicker, throwing an arm around Malarkey’s shoulder. “Aw, c’mon, Doll. We’ve been through hell together. You mean to tell me you don’t trust us?”

Isabella shot him a glare. “I trust you just fine, Warren, I just don’t trust your nosy ass.”

Liebgott held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough.”

Skip nudged Guarnere with a smirk. “C’mon, boys, let’s give the lady some space before she loses her mind.”

With exaggerated sighs and grumbles, the men turned away, though not without a few last-minute jabs.

“Don’t take too long, Vega, or we’re gonna start charging rent,” Penkala teased.

“I swear to God, I will dump my entire footlocker on your bunk, Penk,” she shot back.

A few more chuckles rippled through the group, but they respected her request, giving her a semblance of privacy as she quickly reorganized her things.

Gene, who had stayed close, lingered for just a second longer before speaking quietly, “You alright?”

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Yeah. Just—didn’t think I’d have to reorganize my whole life today.”

His lips twitched slightly.

She huffed a laugh, finally securing the last of her belongings before standing up.

“Alright, you idiots,” she announced, hands on her hips. “Crisis averted. You can turn back around.”

Malarkey spun dramatically. “Doll, you wound me. You think we were looking? ”

Isabella scoffed. “Malarkey, if you don’t shut up, I’m feeding your socks to the laundry gremlins.”

He gasped. “Not the gremlins.”

Penkala grinned. “Alright, alright. Enough torture. What’s next, Vega? You wanna read our fortunes too?”

She smirked. “Depends. You wanna know how many more miles Sobel’s gonna make us run?”

A collective groan filled the barracks.

Guarnere clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Doll, you keep talking like that, and we’re gonna start thinking you like making our lives miserable.”

She grinned. “Maybe just a little.”

It wasn’t perfect. But they were hers.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Isabella had never had any problems with her allotted shower time. She was happy to rise before all the men and melt the sleep from her body under the water, finishing getting ready by the time the men woke up. She enjoyed braiding and pinning her hair in the quiet of the barracks, quickly doing her prayers as the sun rose and one by one the men would do their own wake-up routines. Her night shower time was also welcomed. It gave her time to herself after a day of dealing with a variety of men with ridiculous personalities, and it especially allowed her to get rid of the day's problems and the grime that covered her. 

Usually she wouldn’t need any accompaniment when using her time. It was either too early in the morning for anyone to be willing to take watch or too late for any of the men to want to waste their precious time before lights out. 

Until today.

Isabella stood under the cold water, sighing in relief. Her body relaxed despite the frigid temperature of the water, and she quickly began cleaning herself, eager to finish and head to bed. She hadn’t been in for more than a few minutes before she heard something—something off. A shift in the air, the faintest shuffle just outside.

Isabella had been careful—always careful. She had her assigned times for a reason. No one should’ve been anywhere near the showers right now.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

Maybe it was a raccoon? She had seen many at Toccoa and she found them quite cute, but she definitely wasn’t amused if they were scouring around for food outside the bathrooms right now.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

Then—another shift.

Someone was standing just outside the entrance.

Her heart jumped.

For a moment, she debated calling out—demanding whoever it was to leave—but her gut told her something was wrong.

She moved quickly, shutting off the water, wrapping herself in the towel she had hung nearby. Her damp hands trembled slightly as she pressed herself against the cool tiles, listening.

Nothing.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

Then—

A quiet chuckle.

Low. Amused.

Male.

Her stomach twisted.

A voice, light with casual amusement. “Didn’t think I’d see the day a woman actually made it through Toccoa.”

Isabella’s breath hitched.

The voice wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t one of her boys.

She exhaled slowly, forcing steel into her spine before responding. “And I didn’t think I’d see the day some dumbass couldn’t read a schedule.”

Silence.

Then, another chuckle. “Feisty.”

Her jaw clenched.

The only time anybody had seen Isabella naked was when she was born, she was baptized, and the time Lucas accidentally walked in on her in the shower and he couldn’t look at her for two weeks without his face turning so red it looked like he was a tomato. So, she sure as hell wasn’t gonna let somebody see her like that now.

Her mind raced.

It wasn’t Easy Company—she knew that much. None of them would pull this shit. And if they had? Luz, Liebgott, or even Gene would’ve already dragged them into the dirt for it.

Which meant this was someone else.

And she was alone.

She didn’t let the fear show.

Instead, she forced herself to move. Quickly. Purposefully.

She snatched up her clothes, pulling them on over damp skin as fast as possible.

Footsteps.

Whoever it was, they hadn’t left.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the voice continued, still too damn casual. “No need to rush. Just making conversation.”

Her gut twisted.

‘I need to get out of here. Now.’

She inhaled sharply, grabbed her boots, and shoved through the door.

The cold air hit her like a slap, wet hair dripping down her back.

And then—she saw him.

Tall with a head of blonde hair and an ugly mug she had never seen before. A different unit.

He had no reason to be here .

His smirk faltered for half a second when she stepped out. He hadn’t expected her to walk out so fast, hadn’t expected her to stand tall.

He adjusted his stance, recovering quickly. “Relax, sweetheart. Didn’t mean any harm.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t falter.

But inside?

Inside, something deep, buried, and vicious boiled in her chest.

‘Run your mouth one more time.’

Just one.

The man took a step closer.

And then—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The voice was sharp. Dangerous.

She had never expected Eugene Roe’s voice to ever sound like that, and she couldn’t be more relieved to hear it.

She turned her head just enough to see him standing a few yards away.

And he did not look pleased.

The soldier shifted slightly, suddenly aware of the ranking medic glaring him down.

“Christ, it’s just a joke,” the man muttered, throwing up his hands. “Didn’t realize she needed a babysitter.”

Gene’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t say a word.

But the tension? It was thick enough to cut through steel.

The guy faltered.

Then, finally, he backed up. “Whatever,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets before turning on his heel. “Not worth it.”

They both watched as he disappeared into the dark.

Isabella didn’t move.

Neither did Roe.

Then—

“You alright?” he asked, voice lower now.

She exhaled slowly. Nodded.

Gene didn’t look convinced. He took a step forward, scanning her face for any sign of what she wasn’t saying.

Her hands still gripped her boots too tightly.

“C’mon,” he muttered. “Let’s get back.”

She hesitated.

And that? That was enough for him to see it.

She wasn’t scared. Not exactly. But she was a strange form of angry . And the weight of it was sitting heavy on her chest.

Gene sighed. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “You want me to tell Winters?”

She clenched her jaw.

Then, quietly— “No.”

Roe studied her for a long moment.

Then, finally, he nodded.

On the walk back to the barracks, Gene tailed her, protective.

“Why’d you come out?” she asked.

“You were taking too long.”

“Oh.”

They continued their walk in silence, reaching the barracks that were finishing getting ready for lights out. Inside, many of the men were already tucked in bed, fast asleep.

Isabella’s wet shirt stuck to her back and she felt the chill crawl up her spine. Her heart pounded and her hands were tingly.

She was scared.

Gene, ever observant, watched her silently as she shakily let out a breath. 

He quietly went up to her, careful not to startle her. 

“You okay?”

As Isabella looked back at him, she saw how kind his eyes were and she felt the words leave her mouth before she could even think of them.

“Gene, can you stay with me tonight?”

Gene blinked at her, his mouth slightly parted as he tried to process her request. His face remained impassive, but his ears burned red at her words.

Isabella, realizing exactly how that must’ve sounded, rushed to clarify. “I mean— not like that! Just—” she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I just… don’t wanna be alone.”

That seemed to knock some of the tension from Gene’s shoulders. His face softened as he studied her, the way her hands were still subtly trembling at her sides, the way her breath came just a little too fast.

She was rattled.

And he didn’t like that.

Without a word, he glanced toward his bunk, then back at her. He sighed through his nose, then gave the smallest nod. “Alright.”

Relief flooded through her. “Thank you.”

She quickly ran to her bunk, opening her footlocker quietly. She brought out her stuffed bear, Teddy, and her journal. Gene stood next to his bunk, patiently waiting for her to come back.

His brow quirked curiously. “What’d you got there?”

Isabella hesitated at the foot of his bunk, shifting awkwardly on her feet before holding up the stuffed bear with a sheepish look. “Teddy,” she admitted. “I, uh… I’ve had him since I was born. Helps me sleep at night.” she pauses. “I have a stuffed lizard named Tokage too…means lizard.”

Gene stared at her for a beat, then at the bear—worn, well-loved, its fur matted in some places from years of being held. His lips twitched slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Always the sentimental one, huh?”

She huffed, clutching Teddy closer to her chest. “Just because I can stick my hand into somebody’s chest doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart, Gene.”

His smirk lingered, but there was something gentler behind it. “Yeah, I know.”

His gaze flicked to the journal tucked beneath her arm, and he nodded toward it. “And that?”

“‘S my journal.” she started. “Helps me think.”

Gene hummed, expression unreadable. “Do you write about us?”

She smirked. “More than anything.”

Gene chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.”

He scooted back on his bunk, making space. “Alright, come on.”

She hesitated for only a second before clambering in beside him, mindful of the limited space. The barracks were dark now, save for the faint glow of the lantern near Gene’s bunk. The steady breathing of the men filled the room, a quiet rhythm that, strangely enough, had become comforting.

Her hair still dripped down her back, too thick to dry in such a short amount of time, but next to Gene she didn’t feel as cold as before. 

“I think you get to help me write my entry tonight. What do you think, Gene?”

Gene let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head slightly to glance at her. “Oh yeah? And what exactly am I supposed to write?”

Isabella smirked, shifting onto her side so she could look at him properly. “Whatever comes to mind. Maybe something about how wonderful and charming I am.”

Gene snorted, shaking his head. “Sure, chérie . That’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping open the journal and clicking her pen, ears burning at the nickname. “Alright, fine. I’ll start, and you can add to it.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

She tapped the end of the pen against the page, thinking.

“March…” she trailed off, checking the small wall calendar across the room. “March 17th, 1942.”

Gene hummed in amusement. “St. Patrick’s Day.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? You planning to celebrate?”

He shrugged. “Maybe if Malarkey convinces the others to smuggle some booze into camp.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head before returning to her journal.

‘Today was another long one, but nothing I’m not used to. Morning drills, obstacle course, avoiding getting killed by Liebgott—’

Gene huffed, peering over her shoulder. “He’ll love that.”

“Oh, I know.” Her lips twitched mischievously. “Anyway… the only real surprise today was that I ended up in Eugene Roe’s bunk, so I suppose that’s worth writing about.”

He snorted. “You make it sound scandalous.”

“Would make a great headline, wouldn’t it?” she teased, then dramatically continued. “ Gasp! Sweet Isabella Vega found in the arms of a Louisiana boy! ”

Gene rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re worse than Luz.”

She giggled, shaking her head before handing the journal to him. “Alright, your turn.”

Gene hesitated before taking it from her, eyeing the pen warily. “I don’t write, Isabella.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” she countered. “Come on, just a line.”

He exhaled, muttering under his breath, but she caught the slight quirk of his lips as he put pen to paper.

‘Roe is too tired to be writing in some damn journal, but Vega insisted. If I don’t wake up in the morning, it’s because she talked my ear off before bed. Also, she needs to learn how to dry her damn hair before sleeping, ‘cause now my bunk’s wet.’

Isabella read over his shoulder and smacked his arm lightly. “Hey!”

Gene smirked, flipping the journal shut and setting it aside. “You wanted me to write. I wrote.”

“I swear…” she huffed.

She pulled the blanket up to her chest after closing the journal, curling slightly on her side with Teddy tucked against her. Gene lay on his back, one arm resting over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling like he wasn’t quite sure how he ended up here.

“You know, this reminds me of the sleepovers I had at home.” 

Gene hummed, intrigued. “Really? You have a lot of those?”

Isabella shifted closer to Gene, head nuzzling into his shoulder. “I guess so.”

Her eyes got heavier as she explained. “I don’t think they really count as sleepovers though.”

He felt her breath softly puff against his neck as he shifted, arm curling around her.

“Why’s that?” he asked softly.

“Well. I only ever had sleepovers with Cameron and Lucas, and they live in the same house as me, so I guess it isn’t the same.” she explained. “They’d come into my room and try to stay up as long as possible. We’d lay on the floor of my room and stare at the painted ceiling and talk about the future until we fell asleep.”

Gene listened quietly, his fingers idly tracing circles against her arm. There was something wistful in her voice, something so deeply nostalgic that he could almost see it—three kids lying on their backs, whispering secrets and dreams to each other under a hand-painted sky.

He could picture it clear as day.

“You ever paint anything else?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

She hummed, her breath warm against his shoulder. “Mhm. I painted everything I could. My room, the boys rooms, even the patio.”

“The patio?”

Isabella let out a sleepy chuckle. “Yep. Mama nearly had a heart attack when she saw it, but Papa told her it was ‘artistic.’ He let me keep it.”

Gene smirked slightly. “Sounds like your old man knew what he was talkin’ about.”

She nodded against him. “He did.”

The circles Gene drew on her arm lulled her into a state between awake and asleep, and she couldn’t feel safer.

“Hey Gene?”

“Hm?”

“You speak French right?”

Gene’s fingers paused for half a second before resuming their lazy movements. “Yeah.”

Isabella let out a sleepy hum. 

“I like it when you call me chérie.”

Gene felt his pulse stutter for just a second.

He swallowed, willing himself to keep his voice steady. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Isabella murmured, her breath warm against his collarbone. “Sounds nice… soft.”

Gene exhaled slowly, his hand still tracing idle circles against her skin. “Well… you are.”

She blinked, lifting her head just slightly to look at him. “I’m what?”

His lips twitched, his usual dry humor creeping in as he smirked. “Nice. Soft. Real delicate, actually.”

She scoffed, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with a huff. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

Gene chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah.”

He meant it.

For all the fire in her, all the sharp edges she could wield when provoked, there was something undeniably gentle about her. It wasn’t just the way she looked—the big eyes, the small hands, the way she barely took up space beside him—it was the way she was.

The way she cared.

The way she felt things so deeply.

The way she kept fighting, even when the world threw everything it had at her.

“ Chérie suits you,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could second-guess them.

Isabella stilled.

Then, slowly, a small, sleepy smile curled on her lips.

“…You’re real nice when you’re not being grouchy.”

Gene snorted, nudging her lightly. “And you’re real talkative when you’re supposed to be sleepin’.”

She just giggled, burying her face against his shoulder.

He sighed, shaking his head before murmuring, “Dors bien, chérie.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, but she didn’t respond right away.

Then, just as she was drifting off—

“Bonne nuit, Gene.”

His chest tightened.

“…Bonne nuit, Isabella.”

And for the first time in a long while, Isabella slept without worry.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning at Toccoa was always the same—early, cold, and filled with the sound of nature before the sun even had the decency to rise.

This morning, however, was not the same.

For one, Isabella woke up warm . That was new. It took her a moment to register the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek, the solid weight of an arm resting loosely at her back.

Then, another thing registered.

Voices.

Low murmurs, shuffling movement—the kind of sounds that meant the barracks were awake.

Isabella’s eyes snapped open.

The moment she moved, the warmth shifted, and Gene muttered something sleep-heavy in French before exhaling deeply and shifting his arm away.

Her brain caught up with reality all at once.

She was in Gene’s bunk.

She had fallen asleep in Gene’s bunk.

The barracks were awake.

And she was still in Gene’s bunk.

Her stomach dropped.

‘Jesus Fucking CHRIST’

Scrambling upright, Isabella practically flung herself off the cot, snatching up Teddy and clutching him to her chest. Her entire body burned as she avoided looking at Gene, who was now rubbing the sleep from his eyes, utterly unbothered.

She had seconds before the men noticed.

Except—

Silence.

Not the sleepy, early-morning grumbling or the groggy swearing as someone tried to lace their boots kind.

This was absolute silence.

And Isabella, still gripping her stuffed bear like a lifeline, felt the shift before she even turned.

They were staring .

She blinked, heart pounding. “What?”

Nobody moved.

Then—

Malarkey let out a slow breath. “Holy shit.”

She frowned. “What—”

“Oh my God, ” Luz muttered, shoving Skip’s shoulder. “Do you see this?”

Skip, who had frozen mid-way through pulling on his boots, nodded dumbly. “Yeah. Yeah, I see it.”

“What?” Isabella repeated, voice rising in panic.

Liebgott had been sitting on his bunk, tying his laces. Now, he just stared at her, eyebrows raised, as if actually stunned for the first time in his life.

Then, suddenly, he let out a sharp breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Vega.”

Isabella had had enough.

“What?! ” she snapped.

Luz gestured wildly at her. “Your hair!”

Isabella blinked, her hand twitching toward her head—and that was when she felt it.

Her hair was down.

Not braided. Not pinned. Not stuffed beneath her helmet or cap.

Loose. Thick. Wild. Cascading down her shoulders in dark waves from where it had dried overnight.

For a second, she just stood there, horrified. She had never —not once—let them see her like this.

And judging by their expressions?

She might as well have walked in naked.

“Oh,” she whispered, mortified.

Luz let out another stunned chuckle. “ Oh ? That’s all you have to say?”

Malarkey was still blinking like he was trying to process it. “Jesus, Vega. You—” He gestured helplessly at her, like the words just weren’t there.

Skip ran a hand through his own hair, exhaling like he was actually overwhelmed. “I mean—fuck, kid.”

Even Penkala, usually the reasonable one, was nodding to himself like he was genuinely impressed.

Liebgott, however, recovered first. His smirk returned, slow and knowing, as he leaned back on his elbows. “So that’s what you’ve been hiding under that damn helmet.”

Isabella groaned, flinging Teddy at him.

He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like an asshole.

Her face burned as she quickly raked a hand through her hair, trying to tame the waves, but it was too late—the damage was done.

“Stop staring,” she hissed, flustered beyond belief.

Luz shook his head, still looking at her like he was witnessing some kind of rare, mythical event. “Doll, I think we deserve a minute after you’ve been keeping this under wraps the whole time.”

“I haven’t been keeping anything under wraps—”

“Bullshit,” Malarkey cut in. “You never let your hair down around us!”

Before she could even try to defend herself, Luz’s eyes widened as he took another good look at her— then at Gene, who was still lying in bed, now blinking at them sleepily like he wasn’t quite sure why they were losing their minds.

Luz’s mouth split into the widest grin she’d ever seen.

“Oh. Oh . This just got better .”

She had a second— one second —before Luz exploded.

“Vega slept in Roe’s bunk!” he howled .

That was it.

All hell broke loose.

“What?!” Malarkey shouted, his jaw dropping.

Skip actually dropped his boot. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

Liebgott cackled. “Well, shit, Roe! Didn’t think you had it in you!”

Gene, to his credit, just sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“ It’s not like that! ” Isabella shouted, her face on fire.

Luz ignored her completely, hands on his hips as he grinned at Gene. “Hey, Doc, didn’t know you were so accommodating!”

Gene just grunted, shifting onto his side and pulling the blanket over his head. “I hate all of you.”

“Gene!” Isabella whipped around, betrayal clear in her tone. “Say something!”

A long pause.

Then, muffled under the blanket—

“…Chérie.”

The barracks erupted.

Isabella, mortified , snatched up her pillow (technically his) and attacked him with it.

“You’re” SMACK “Dead” SMACK “To me” SMACK “Roe!”

The chaos eventually died down— eventually —though Isabella swore she was never going to live this down. Between the merciless teasing, the hair revelations, and the absolute disaster that was waking up in Gene’s bunk, she was already exhausted and the day had barely even started.

Still, she had other things to focus on. Like taming her hair, and breakfast.

Or so she thought .

Because the second she stepped outside, fully prepared to leave the morning behind her, she felt someone fall into step beside her.

She didn’t even have to look.

“What do you want, Liebgott?”

Liebgott smirked, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Just making conversation, chérie. ”

She froze.

Slowly, slowly, she turned her head to stare at him.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His grin widened.

“Oh, but I would.”

Isabella inhaled deeply through her nose. “I will actually kill you.”

“Sure you will.” Liebgott hummed, clearly enjoying himself. “But, y’know, it’s funny—”

“Liebgott—”

“—I thought you didn’t have favorites—”

She whipped around to grab him, but he dodged, laughing as he jogged ahead.

She swore to God.

But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“You know what? Whatever! Y’all better hope I don’t hear any of this from Sobel because if I get kicked out over your stupid mouths then I will come back to haunt you!” she exclaimed.

Luz clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh no, the ghost of Vega! Whatever shall we do?”

Skip smirked. “I dunno, man, sounds like a terrifying fate.”

Malarkey, grinning, waggled his fingers. “Oooooooh, I’m Corporal Vega, and I’m here to make sure you idiots don’t bleed out after you do something stupid—”

She whipped around, fork in hand. “You wanna test that theory, Malarkey?”

Malarkey immediately ducked behind Skip, laughing as Isabella pointed at him like a woman on a mission.

“Alright, alright, we’ll lay off,” Luz said placatingly, though the amusement in his voice gave him away. “Wouldn’t want our beloved medic to hold a grudge.”

Gene, who had been completely done with this conversation from the start, just exhaled sharply. 

Liebgott smirked. “So, Vega, what’s it like waking up next to Romeo over here?”

Gene shut his eyes for a long, long moment.

“She didn’t sleep with me. She got harassed by some son of a bitch in the showers and didn’t want to be by herself. So lay off her and quit!”

The table immediately went silent.

Liebgott’s smirk vanished.

Malarkey blinked, all traces of amusement wiped off his face. Luz, who had been mid-bite, froze, his usual easy-going demeanor shifting into something sharper. Skip’s jaw tightened. Even Penkala, usually the first to tease, suddenly looked uncomfortable.

Isabella stared at Gene, taken off guard.

He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was glaring at the table, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists against his thighs.

It wasn’t often that Gene got angry. He had this uncanny ability to remain level-headed, to stay calm even when things went to hell. But now? His voice had been cold, edged with something dead serious.

Liebgott cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “I—” He stopped himself, rubbed a hand over his face, and exhaled. “Shit.”

“Gene,” Isabella finally said, her voice quiet.

That made him look up.

And for the first time, she saw the anger in his eyes. Not at her, never at her, but at the situation.

The realization stung.

She swallowed. “It’s—”

“Who was it?” Skip cut in, voice low.

She hesitated. “I don’t—”

“Who,” Luz echoed, tone deadly calm, “was it?”

She looked around the table, at the men who—just seconds ago—had been mercilessly teasing her, and now sat rigid, their faces set in varying degrees of anger.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “It wasn’t anyone from Easy.”

That seemed to cool the tension just a fraction.

But only a fraction.

“Some bastard from another company?” Guarnere muttered darkly.

She nodded. “I didn’t recognize him.”

Gene huffed sharply through his nose, crossing his arms.

“Did he touch you?” Malarkey asked, his voice more serious than she’d ever heard it.

“No,” she assured, quick to ease their spiraling thoughts. “Just words. Just…” She hesitated. “Enough to make me want to get the hell out of there.”

That didn’t seem to make anyone feel better.

“Next time,” Luz said, voice light but laced with something hard, “you come get one of us.”

“I handled it,” Isabella countered.

Gene snorted. “Yeah, real good job, considering you damn near jumped out of your skin when I walked up.”

She glared. “Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up!”

She sighed, exhausted. “It’s fine. Let’s turn the page and forget it.”

They continued their breakfast quietly, the air heavy with tension. She lazily moved her fork around, sliding her eggs back and forth. 

‘I hope the poor bastard never gets caught if this was the reaction…’

Isabella was desperate to change topics, to get their minds off the truth Gene had revealed to them. She didn’t want them worrying about things that she herself wasn’t.

“Did you guys know I sleep with a stuffed bear?” she said, taking a bite of her toast.

Luz choked on his coffee.

Malarkey blinked. “You what ?”

Skip, who had been mid-bite of his own breakfast, slowly set down his fork, squinting at her like he wasn’t sure if he heard correctly.

Gene, unbothered, simply grabbed his cup and muttered, “Told you.”

Liebgott, who had just started to get over the morning’s chaos, let out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, hold the hell on—that’s what you’re going with?”

She chewed slowly, leveling them with an impassive stare. “What? Thought I’d give you guys something else to rag on me for.”

Luz, recovering quickly, wiped his mouth and grinned. “ Oh , sweetheart, that’s adorable .”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Malarkey was still reeling. “How did this never come up before?”

“I did bring it up.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “I had him with me when I crashed in Gene’s bunk last night. It was on the ground when Sobel ransacked the barracks. I literally threw it at Liebgott this morning. ”

Liebgott stared at Gene like he had just learned some horrifying secret. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Gene, in the most Gene Roe way possible, shrugged. “Wasn’t important.”

“Not important —?!”

“Oh my God,” Isabella groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “It’s not a big deal.”

Skip leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Alright, alright. Let’s settle this. How long have you had this bear?”

“Since I was born.”

A pause.

Luz placed a hand over his chest, feigning overwhelming affection. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Liebgott snorted. “No wonder you turned out so soft.”

She glared at him. “Say that again, Lieb, and I’ll shove my boot up your ass.”

“Oh yeah?” His smirk widened. “You gonna throw Teddy at me again?”

The rest of the table howled with laughter.

Isabella, cheeks burning, grabbed the closest thing she could—her napkin—and whipped it at him.

Gene just sipped his coffee. “You walked right into that one.”

She grumbled. “Whatever.”

Breakfast quickly ended and they headed to the classroom; a full day of lectures ahead due to weather. Sobel had been kind enough to cancel outdoor training but Isabella had a gut feeling that something was going to go wrong and decided to stay on her toes.

The rain pattered steadily against the windows of the classroom, the dull hum of it threatening to lull Isabella into boredom-induced exhaustion. She had never been a bad student—hell, she actually enjoyed learning—but listening to some poor idiot drone on about map reading like it was the most complicated thing in the world was painful.

That day she sat between Joe Toye and Johnny Martin. Isabella tried to sit next to somebody new every lecture in order to properly integrate herself in the company. Both Toye and Martin had been kind to her despite not really interacting with her, and she appreciated it greatly. 

As the lecturer rattled on in the front, Toye gently nudged her, grabbing her attention.

“What was with you waking up in Roe’s bunk this morning?” he whispered

Isabella sighed. “Nothing important, Toye.”

He glanced at her, eyes looking with an emotion she couldn’t recognize. “If you need someone to take watch while you shower, you can tell me.”

She blinked, taken aback. Isabella didn’t know how he had figured out what happened, but she smiled back, appreciative.

Turning back to the notebook in front of her, her mind wandered. She began doodling a bird, a Florida Sparrow. It was her favorite bird and she had named her band after it, Sparrow’s Flight. Her pencil carefully sketched out the round body, softly pressing on the paper. 

Toye didn’t say anything else, didn’t press her for details, didn’t ask if she was sure she was okay. He just nodded, turning his attention back to the lecture, as if his offer had already been settled.

Isabella swallowed, the warmth of gratitude settling deep in her chest.

She let her focus drift to her sketch, letting the familiar rhythm of drawing ease the restlessness in her mind. The delicate curve of the sparrow’s wings, the tiny sharp beak—her pencil traced the lines with careful precision, each stroke a reminder of home.

Her fingers stilled for a moment.

Home.

She thought of the evenings spent on the back porch, listening to the sparrows sing as the sun dipped below the horizon. The way her father would hum along absentmindedly, Lucas whittling a piece of wood as she and Cameron picked out harmonies. The scent of her mother’s cooking, the laughter of Anzu as she tried to mimic Isabella’s melodies.

The longing curled tight in her chest, but she pushed it aside.

Eventually, the first half of the day ended and the company headed to lunch. Since Winters had been promoted to First Lieutenant and subsequently Sobel’s executive officer, he was put in charge of overseeing the kitchen. Isabella was happy for Winters, he deserved the promotion despite it only happening due to Sobel’s own promotion.

The lunch for the day was Spaghetti, one of Isabella’s favorite foods. She practically jumped off the walls with excitement while she waited in line.

Luz, standing beside her, grinned. “Jesus, Vega, didn’t know spaghetti was all it took to make you happy.”

She huffed, nudging him with her elbow. “Shut up, Luz. You don’t understand. I love Italian food.”

Guarnere, who was behind them, spoke up. “That so, kid?”

She beamed, excitement too potent. “Yes sir! I could eat only Italian food for the rest of my life and I would die happy.”

They soon reached the front of the line and Isabella’s happiness went down the drain as she looked at the food on her tray. It was an odd orange color and the noodles looked dry. She had never felt more disappointed in her life.

She sat down with Gene and Liebgott, a storm cloud lingering over her head as she reluctantly ate her lunch. Not only had she been betrayed by her lunch, but she was still trying to figure out what Sobel was hiding up his sleeve. She had had a nagging feeling ever since this morning and something told her everything was going to go wrong.

Gene, ever observant, nudged her lightly with his elbow. “You look like someone shot your dog.”

Liebgott, mouth full, snorted. “Yeah, what’s with the long face, kid? Spaghetti betrayal hit you that hard?”

Isabella stabbed at the sad excuse for pasta with her fork, sighing dramatically. “I trusted it, Joe. I trusted it.”

Gene shook his head, amused. “Christ.”

Liebgott leaned in, smirking. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up over anything . We’ve been getting our asses kicked for weeks, and this is what breaks you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Food is important, Liebgott.”

“Oh, of course . ” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Heaven forbid the Army doesn’t meet your gourmet standards.”

Isabella groaned, dropping her fork. “Y’all just don’t understand.”

Gene smirked. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, chérie . Food critic in the making.”

She rolled her eyes, picking up her fork again before shaking her head. “Whatever. This isn’t what’s actually bothering me.”

Liebgott raised a brow. “Oh? Do tell.”

She hesitated, lowering her voice slightly. “Sobel’s been too quiet today.”

Gene frowned. “You think he’s up to something?”

Isabella scoffed. “He’s always up to something.”

Liebgott sighed dramatically, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. “Great. And here I was hoping for a peaceful afternoon.”

She smirked. “Since when do we ever get that?”

He pointed his fork at her. “Fair.”

She hummed, mind drifting as she absentmindedly twirled her spaghetti with her fork. The color reminded Isabella of when she was a kid, watching her classmates throw up after lunch when they didn’t have enough time to digest their food before gym class. 

‘ Wait.’

Her hand stopped moving, eyes narrowing. 

“Stop eating.”

Liebgott, mid-bite, froze. “Huh?”

Gene lowered his fork immediately, already catching on to the shift in her expression. “Vega, what’s wrong?”

She set her utensils down, scanning the room. “That son of a bitch set us up.”

Liebgott frowned, fork still hovering near his mouth. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Isabella exhaled sharply, pushing her tray away. “Think about it. He canceled PT because of the weather, but the rain stopped hours ago.”

Then, like clockwork—

The mess hall doors slammed open.

“ ON YOUR FEET, EASY COMPANY! ”

Sobel’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Isabella clenched her jaw, already rising before he could finish the command.

“Orders changed, get up. Lectures are cancelled – Easy Company is running up Currahee. Move, move!”

Groans filled the mess hall as chairs scraped back, boots stomping against the wooden floor in a scramble to follow orders. Isabella shot a knowing glance at Gene and Liebgott as they stood, both wearing identical expressions of irritation.

Liebgott sighed dramatically. “Vega, I swear to God, if you ever get a bad feeling again, keep it to yourself. ”

“I’ll be sure to let you suffer next time,” she shot back.

“Hi-o Silver!”

The run up Currahee was brutal. As she predicted, Sobel had deliberately planned to sabotage the company. He taunted them as they ran, spitting up their lunch. 

Isabella did as much as possible in order to avoid the vomit on the ground. She had been lucky, not liking the food to the extent of barely eating and then realizing Sobel’s plan; she didn’t have to worry about nausea while she ran. 

As she pushed forward, Isabella kept her breathing steady, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Her legs ached, but she refused to falter. The last thing she needed was Sobel honing in on her as a weak link.

Liebgott, red-faced and wheezing beside her, shot her a glare. “You look way too smug right now.”

She huffed out a breath, half-laughing. “Told you I had a bad feeling.”

“You also barely ate,” he grumbled, nearly tripping over Perconte, who had stopped mid-stride to retch on the side.

“I like to think I’m smart,” she said, dodging another unfortunate soul bent over on the side of the trail.

Gene, looking pale but determined, kept pace beside her, his usual quiet presence oddly reassuring. “Smart doesn’t make this any easier.”

“No,” she admitted. “But at least I don’t have to taste that spaghetti twice.”

Skip, gasping somewhere behind them, groaned. “I swear to God, Vega, if you keep talking about that damn spaghetti, I’m throwing you down this hill.”

Sobel’s voice cut through the suffering like a knife. “You’re a washout, Private Hoobler. You should pack up those ears and go home!”

Isabella winced at the sharpness in Sobel’s tone, glancing toward Hoobler, who was struggling to keep pace. His face was red, sweat dripping down his forehead as he forced himself forward despite the obvious exhaustion in his movements.

Liebgott scoffed beside her. “What an asshole.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she muttered, feeling her temper bubble dangerously close to the surface.

“Looks like Gordon’s done, aren’t you Gordon? You finished? You do not deserve to get your wings.”

“Jesus Christ.” she groaned.

Isabella understood that Sobel had a job to train them, to prepare them for war; but he was horribly sadistic.

“Private Randleman, you look tired. There’s an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill. It can all be over right now – no more pain, no more Currahee, no more Captain Sobel.”

Beside her, Liebgott muttered, “One of these days, someone’s gonna knock him on his ass.”

“I’d pay good money to see it,” she huffed.

Gene, who was running just behind them, spoke up, his voice unusually sharp. “Keep your heads down and focus.”

Luz, the bright light of the company, had tired of Sobel’s insults and had realized how high tensions were running, took matters into his own hands. “We pull upon the risers…”

Realizing what he was doing, Isabella grinned. “We pull upon the grass. We never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass.”

The men around them picked up the cadence, voices rising in defiance against the miserable run and the miserable bastard leading them. The exhaustion in their limbs, the ache in their chests—none of it mattered in that moment. 

Even through the haze of burning lungs, Isabella felt a surge of energy as she ran beside them. She met Luz’s eyes, a glimmer of mischief and determination passing between them.

“Zim-zam, goddamn, we’re Airborne Infantry!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the Currahee run, Isabella found herself knee-deep in treating the aftermath of Sobel’s cruelty. The infirmary was packed with groaning, sweat-drenched paratroopers—some lying on cots, others sprawled against the walls, too exhausted to move. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, sweat, and damp uniforms.

She moved quickly, hands steady as she worked her way through the line of battered men, checking for dehydration, bandaging blisters, and occasionally smacking away wandering hands when one of them got too dramatic with their complaints.

“Alright, Toye,” she muttered, kneeling to examine his foot. “You’re officially the worst case of blisters I’ve seen so far.”

Joe Toye winced as she prodded at the raw skin. “Great. Put that on my grave.”

“Keep whining, and I’ll make sure it’s there in bold letters,” she shot back, carefully wrapping his foot.

“Jesus, Vega,” Luz drawled from his spot on a cot, an ice pack resting over his eyes. “You’re vicious today.”

“I just spent an hour dodging vomit and listening to Sobel’s voice,” she deadpanned. “Excuse me for being a little on edge.”

Liebgott, sitting on the cot beside Luz, smirked. “She’s got a point.”

She shook her head and moved on to Malarkey, who looked like he’d been through hell. His uniform was drenched, and his hands were still shaking slightly from the exertion. “Drink,” she ordered, shoving a canteen into his hands.

He took a long sip before muttering, “I’m never eating spaghetti again.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Gene worked quietly on the other side of the room, moving with his usual precision, though there was a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there earlier. She knew him well enough now to recognize when something was bothering him. She’d ask later, when there weren’t so many ears around.

Winters stepped into the room then, scanning the rows of exhausted men with a calm but assessing gaze. He looked at Isabella, nodding slightly. “How bad?”

She exhaled. “Mostly blisters and dehydration. No serious injuries, but they’re gonna be sore for days.”

Winters’ gaze flickered across the room. “Good work.”

She nodded, lips turning up in a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Luz, never one to let a moment of tension linger, suddenly groaned dramatically. “Vega, I think I’m dying.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a bruised ego and a sore everything. You’ll live.”

“But at what cost?” he lamented.

“God, you’re ridiculous.”

Gene, who had been silently working nearby, finally snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

Winters sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before shaking his head. As he turned to leave, Luz grinned. “Sir, can we declare Vega our official savior?”

Winters, already at the door, didn’t even pause. “That’s between you and the chaplain.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Isabella, despite her exhaustion, found herself smiling.

“Alright Luz, if you can find it in yourself to be silly, then you’re fine.”

He groaned. “Aw, but Vega”

“No buts.” She crossed her arms, staring him down.

She continued her work diligently, offering water and buckets to the men who needed it. As she left Bull’s cot, she turned to the desk in the corner, eager to rest and watch over the men collectively.

When she sat, Luz’s voice rang out through the now silent room clearly. “So Vega, why do your friends call you Birdie?”

Isabella, mid-stretch, froze for a moment before turning her gaze to Luz. His expression was relaxed, but there was curiosity in his eyes, and she could feel the weight of the other men’s attention shifting to her.

She huffed, rolling her shoulders. “Why do you want to know?”

Luz grinned. “Because that’s all they called you in your letters, and I’ve got a feeling there’s a good story behind it.”

Sighing, she leaned back against her chair. “It’s not that exciting.”

“C’mon,” Malarkey encouraged. “We’ve just been through hell. Give us something.”

She groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jesus Christ. Fine!”

The men called out happily, excited to be entertained at her embarrassment.

“As you all know, I’m a musician,” she began. “I perform with a band back at home, named Sparrow’s Flight.”

The men listened diligently, not wanting to miss any part of her story.

“One night, we had a big performance. Everyone in the crowd got real riled up and excited after I sang a new song. Somebody in the audience had yelled out ‘Birdie’ when I went to sing again, and it stuck. The rest is history.”

Guarnere, who’s cot was next to Toye’s and was silently listening, spoke up. “So you’re telling me you got a whole nickname because some guy in the crowd got a little too excited?”

She huffed, deadpanning. “It wasn’t just one guy. It had been going on for a while and finally caught on when I took it on as a stage name. It matched the band name and my voice type. Nothing crazy about it.”

Malarkey grinned. “Birdie Vega’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Oh, hell no,” Isabella snapped, pointing at him. “You guys are not calling me that.”

Luz sat up in his cot, all too pleased with this revelation. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we absolutely are.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “It’s a stage name! It’s not a military thing! It stays back home!”

Liebgott, looking far too entertained, smirked. “You really think you get to decide that?”

“Watch me,” she shot back.

Guarnere crossed his arms, looking her up and down with exaggerated consideration. “I dunno… kinda fits.”

“Don’t encourage them!” she hissed.

Luz grinned, throwing her a mischievous look. “Oh, Birdie, Birdie, Birdie… I think we’ve just found Easy’s new favorite nickname.”

Isabella groaned, trying to get him to shut up. “Luz.”

“Aw, don’t be shy,” he teased. “Hell, if you’re good enough to get a stage name, maybe you oughta prove it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

Malarkey smirked. “I think he’s saying you owe us a song, Birdie.”

She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “No way in hell.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Luz pressed. “We went through hell today, the least you can do is serenade us a little.”

“I’d rather run Currahee again.”

Skip snorted. “I dunno, Vega. You didn’t even puke today. Maybe Sobel’ll make you do it twice.”

She shot him a glare. “I guess you’re all feeling better if you’re up for pestering me.”

The men groaned, reality returning at her words.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” she smirked.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night in the barracks, Isabella prepared for her nightly shower as the men prepared for lights out. She grabbed her spare set of PT clothes and her towel. As she gets ready to leave, she feels the same anxiety she had last night after her confrontation with the strange man outside of the showers. 

She hesitated at the door, fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of her towel. The barracks were dimly lit, the familiar hum of the men settling in for the night creating a comfortable lull of noise behind her. It should have made her feel safe.

But it didn’t.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, willing herself to move.

‘ Come on, Isabella. It’s just a shower. Don’t be a coward.’

Still, her feet remained planted.

‘This is ridiculous.’

Huffing, she turns back, ears warming.

She clears her throat, voice the softest she’s ever used. “Um…can somebody keep watch while I shower…please?”

The barracks quieted.

It wasn’t a long silence—just enough to make her second-guess asking in the first place. She felt the heat creep further up her neck, embarrassment curling in her gut.

Then—

“Course, Birdie.” Luz’s voice was light but sincere, cutting through the awkward pause like it was the easiest answer in the world. He swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, already moving.

Isabella let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Gene, still lying on his cot, exhaled through his nose. “I’ll go.”

Luz paused, brows raising slightly. “You sure, Doc?”

Gene just sat up, pulling on his boots. “Yeah.”

Something unspoken passed between them.

Luz, never one to argue with Roe when he actually made a decision, just smirked. “Well, look at that. Ain’t every day Roe volunteers for somethin’ that doesn’t involve patching us up.”

Isabella rolled her eyes. “Can we not make this a thing?”

Liebgott, from the corner, snorted. “Too late.”

She huffed but didn’t push it.

Gene stood beside her, his usual quiet presence somehow grounding as they stepped outside into the cool night air. The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they walked, the path to the showers feeling both too long and not long enough.

When they reached the small building, Isabella hesitated at the entrance, shifting awkwardly. “You… you really don’t have to wait.”

Gene leaned against the outer wall, arms crossing over his chest. “I know.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’ll be quick.”

He just nodded.

She ducked inside, letting the door close behind her.

The shower was brief—faster than usual, but not rushed. She let the cold water wash away the day, let the tension ease just a little. By the time she stepped back out, towel draped over her shoulders, Gene was still there.

His head turned slightly at her approach, eyes flickering over her just once before he pushed off the wall.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

They walked back in the same comfortable silence, the night stretching wide around them. The barracks were still dimly lit when they returned, some of the men still murmuring softly among themselves.

Isabella paused by her bunk, glancing at Gene. “Thanks.”

He ruffled her hair gently. “Sleep well, chérie .”

As she lay in her bunk, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Isabella fell asleep with a smile, in the comforting presence of the brothers she had gained in her new adventure.

Chapter Text

Camp Toccoa, August 10th, 1942

The weeks passed by quickly, the warm summer turning into mild autumn. August soon arrived, marking the end of their basic training and the beginning of their basic jump training. Personally, Isabella was elated. The jump training aspect of boot camp had been something Sink hadn't touched upon. He had taught her what would be covered in theory, but never had her physically try it.

As they began, she started to understand why physical fitness was so important as a paratrooper.

The mock door at the training yard loomed over them, a crude simulation of what they'd experience on an actual aircraft. At six feet off the ground, it wasn't particularly high, but the purpose was clear—learn to exit properly or risk injury before you even hit the ground.

Isabella stood in line with the rest of Second Platoon, watching as each man took his turn. Jump, land, roll. Again and again.

"Remember," the Sobel barked, pacing in front of them, "you're carrying gear. You're carrying a weapon. You're jumping into the unknown, potentially under fire. You screw this up, and it won't matter how much PT you've done or how good your marksmanship is. A broken ankle in battle is a death sentence."

Isabella shifted her weight, feeling the familiar knot of anticipation tighten in her stomach. Her gaze flicked toward the front of the line, where Guarnere was readying himself.

"Watch the landing," Gene murmured beside her. "That's where most injuries happen."

She nodded, eyes tracking Guarnere as he jumped, legs together, body slightly curved, landing with a practiced roll that absorbed the impact.

"Nice form," Malarkey commented from behind her. "Bet he practiced that in the mirror."

Skip snorted. "Yeah, right after he practiced his pickup lines."

Isabella bit back a smile, grateful for the momentary distraction from her nerves. She'd faced countless challenges since arriving at Toccoa—grueling runs up Currahee, Sobel's targeted harassment, late-night marches, and the near-constant physical exertion that came with training. But something about jumping, even in practice, stirred a different kind of anxiety.

"Vega," Lipton called, nodding toward the platform. "You're up."

She stepped forward, hyperaware of the eyes on her. It wasn't just her platoon watching now—men from other companies had gradually gathered around the training area, curious about the female paratrooper they'd been hearing about.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, "an audience."

Luz grinned from his spot in line. "Just imagine them in their underwear."

"Luz, that's the opposite of helpful," she replied dryly, earning a few chuckles from the men nearby.

The Sobel eyed her skeptically as she approached the platform. "Remember, keep your legs together, arms in, chin tucked. Land on the balls of your feet, roll to distribute the impact."

"Yes, sir," she replied, climbing up.

Standing at the edge, she took a deep breath, mentally running through the instructions. The six-foot drop wouldn't normally intimidate her, but knowing this was just the beginning—that in a few weeks they'd be jumping from actual aircraft thousands of feet above the ground—made her pulse quicken.

'Focus, Isabella. You've got this.'

"Now, Corporal!" Sobel barked.

She jumped, tucking her body as instructed, legs together, arms in. The ground came faster than expected, and she hit with more force than she'd anticipated. Her landing was solid, but her roll wasn't as smooth as Guarnere's had been—she came up a bit awkwardly, knees slightly scraped.

"Not bad, Vega," he called, "but you need to soften that landing. You hit like a rock."

She nodded, brushing dirt from her uniform as she moved back to the line.

"Nice job," Gene said quietly as she took her place beside him.

"I botched the roll," she admitted.

He shrugged. "First try. You'll get it."

As the day progressed, they moved from basic jumps to more complex training—landing with gear, accounting for wind drift, emergency procedures. Each repetition helped Isabella refine her technique, but by late afternoon, her muscles ached from the constant impact.

"Alright, listen up," Sobel announced as they gathered for the final briefing of the day. "Tomorrow, we move on to the harness training. You'll learn how to control your descent, how to handle your parachute in different conditions, and most importantly, how to avoid becoming a casualty before you even fire your first shot."

He paused, scanning their faces.

"I don't care how fast you can run Currahee or how many pushups you can do. In the air, you're all equally vulnerable. You train hard, you train right, or you don't jump at all. Is that clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, sir!" rang out.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Dismissed."

As they headed back toward the barracks, Isabella felt a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Her knees were sore, her palms scraped raw, but there was something undeniably thrilling about what they were learning.

"You okay, Vega?" Winters asked, falling into step beside her. "You took some hard landings out there."

She straightened slightly at his presence, not having noticed his approach. "I'm fine, sir. Just need to work on my technique."

Winters nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I noticed your first few attempts. You're trying to control the landing too much. Sometimes you need to let your body absorb the impact naturally."

She considered his words. "Makes sense. I think I'm overthinking it."

"That's common," he said with a slight smile. "Just remember, we're all learning this for the first time. No one expects perfection on day one."

"Except Sobel," she muttered before she could stop herself.

Winters raised an eyebrow, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Captain Sobel has... high standards," he said diplomatically.

She bit back a smile. "Yes, sir."

As they neared the barracks, Isabella noticed a familiar figure leaning against one of the adjacent buildings, watching their approach. Lieutenant Speirs from Dog Company, his expression unreadable as ever.

Since their brief encounter that early morning months ago, their paths had crossed occasionally—mostly passing glimpses during training exercises or in the mess hall. Each time, there was a strange tension, not exactly uncomfortable but charged with something she couldn't quite name.

Winters noticed her gaze shift. "Lieutenant Speirs seems to take an interest in our training progress," he commented neutrally.

Isabella quickly averted her eyes. "Does he?"

Winters didn't respond immediately, but there was a hint of curiosity in his glance. "Dog Company will be joining us for the advanced jump training at Fort Benning a few months from now," he said finally. "We'll all be working more closely together soon."

She nodded, trying to maintain a casual demeanor despite the unexpected flutter in her stomach. "Good to know, sir."

As they reached the barracks, Winters paused. "Get some rest, Vega. Tomorrow's going to be even more demanding."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

After he departed, Isabella lingered outside for a moment, stretching her sore muscles and enjoying the evening air. When she glanced back toward where Speirs had been standing, he was gone.

Inside the barracks, the men were already discussing the day's training, comparing notes on their performances and speculating about what was to come.

"I'm telling you," Luz was saying as she entered, "they make it out like jumping's the hard part, but it's landing that'll kill you."

Malarkey nodded sagely. "My cousin broke both ankles in a bad landing. Washed out before he ever saw combat."

"That's reassuring," Isabella remarked, dropping onto her bunk with a wince.

Liebgott glanced over. "You took a beating out there, Birdie."

She shrugged, trying to appear unfazed. "I've had worse."

"Yeah, like that time Skip stepped on your foot during drill," Malarkey teased.

Skip threw his hands up in mock defense. "Hey, that was one time!"

"Three times," Isabella corrected, pulling off her boots to examine the emerging bruises on her shins. "I'm pretty sure my toes are permanently flattened."

The banter continued as everyone settled in, the familiar rhythm of their conversations a comforting backdrop. Isabella had grown accustomed to their voices, their habits, their quirks. Despite the rocky start, Second Platoon had gradually accepted her as one of their own—not just tolerating her presence but actively including her.

As she leaned back on her bunk, letting the chatter wash over her, Gene appeared beside her, offering a small tin of medicinal balm.

"For the bruises," he explained quietly. "Trust me, you'll want this tonight if you plan on walking tomorrow."

She accepted it gratefully. "Thanks, Gene. You're a lifesaver."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Not yet. But that's the idea, isn't it?"

Later that night, after most of the men had fallen asleep, Isabella sat on her bunk, journal open in her lap, writing by the dim light filtering through the window.

“August 10th, 1942  

Dear Journal,

Jump training started today. It's as challenging as I expected, maybe more so. My body feels like one giant bruise, and we're only beginning. It's hard to imagine doing this for real—leaping from an actual plane, not knowing what's waiting below. There's something terrifying about it, but exciting too.

The men did well today, especially Gene and Guarnere. Even Liebgott, who grumbled the entire time, executed his jumps perfectly. I'm still struggling with the landing. Lieutenant Winters gave me some advice about not overthinking it. I'll try tomorrow.

I saw Lieutenant Speirs again today. He was watching our training from a distance. There's something about him that...

She paused, pen hovering over the page. What was it about Speirs that caught her attention? His intensity? The quiet confidence? The way his gaze seemed to cut through pretense?

...that's different from the other officers. More intense, more focused. Lieutenant Winters says Dog Company will join us for advanced training at Fort Benning, so I suppose we'll be seeing more of him and his men.

I received another letter from Cameron today. He's doing well, advancing in his training. I miss him terribly, along with Lucas, Darren, and Sina. I've been writing to them as often as I can, but it's not the same. I haven’t heard from Michel Alejandro in a while either.

Sometimes I wonder what Mama and Papa would think if they could see me now—jumping from platforms, running miles in full gear, training to parachute into combat. Would they be proud? Terrified? Both?

I'm exhausted, but I can't help feeling that we're building toward something important. These men—my platoon—they've become more than just fellow soldiers. They're becoming something like family.

Time for sleep. Tomorrow brings new challenges.”

She closed the journal, tucking it safely away in her footlocker before settling back onto her bunk. The barracks was quiet except for the soft sounds of sleeping men—Luz's occasional mutter, Skip's light snoring, the rustle of sheets as someone turned over.

Outside, the moon cast silver light across the camp, illuminating the training grounds where tomorrow they would continue their journey toward becoming paratroopers.

Isabella closed her eyes, her body weary but her mind still active, replaying the day's jumps, Winters' advice, the glimpse of Speirs watching from the shadows.

In a few months, they would move on to Fort Benning for the real jumps—actual aircraft, actual parachutes. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

As sleep finally began to claim her, one thought lingered:

'I'm actually going to jump out of a plane.'

The idea was still as terrifying as it was thrilling. But with each passing day, with each new skill mastered, she was getting closer to becoming what she had set out to be—a true paratrooper.

Camp Toccoa, August 15th, 1942

Five days into jump training, Isabella had finally mastered the landing.

"Much better, Vega," Sobel called as she executed a perfect roll, coming up smoothly to her feet. "You finally stopped fighting gravity."

She grinned, preening at the praise (even if it was from Sobel), brushing dust from her uniform as she rejoined the line. Her body had adjusted to the constant impact, muscles learning to absorb and distribute the force properly. The bruises from her early attempts were fading, replaced by a growing confidence.

"Someone's been practicing," Malarkey remarked as she took her place beside him.

She shrugged, but couldn't hide her satisfaction. "Just took some getting used to."

"Next week we start with the 250-foot tower," Skip reminded them, a hint of nervousness in his voice despite his attempt at nonchalance. "That's a hell of a lot higher than these practice jumps."

Isabella had heard about the towers—massive structures used to simulate actual parachute descents, with trainees suspended from cables to practice controlling their fall. The thought made her stomach tighten, but she pushed the anxiety aside.

"We'll be fine," she assured him, though she wasn't entirely convinced herself.

As the day's training continued, Isabella found herself partnered with Liebgott for a series of equipment checks—practicing how to identify and address parachute malfunctions mid-descent.

"Remember," Sobel emphasized, "you'll have seconds—not minutes—to make these decisions. Hesitate, and you die."

Liebgott examined his mock parachute rigging with careful precision, his usual brashness replaced by focused attention. "Check the risers, then the lines," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Look for tangling, check the canopy..."

Isabella watched his methodical approach with mild surprise. "You're good at this."

He glanced up, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes. "I pay attention."

"I didn't mean it as an insult, Lieb" she clarified. "It's impressive."

His expression softened slightly. "Yeah, well. Not looking to become a pancake on my first jump."

The blunt imagery made her laugh despite herself. "Fair enough."

As they continued through the drill, Isabella noticed a group approaching their training area—Dog Company men, led by Lieutenant Speirs. Her hands fumbled slightly on the rigging, and she silently cursed herself for the momentary lapse in concentration.

Liebgott noticed her distraction, following her gaze. "Dog Company joining the fun?"

"Looks like it," she murmured, returning her attention to the equipment check. "Lieutenant Winters mentioned they'd be integrating into some of our training sessions."

Liebgott made a noncommittal noise, but there was curiosity in his sideways glance. "You know Speirs?"

Isabella kept her expression neutral. "Not really. Met him once or twice."

She could feel Liebgott's skepticism, but mercifully, he didn't press the issue. Instead, he completed his equipment check with exaggerated thoroughness. "All clear. Your turn, Birdie."

As she took over, demonstrating the proper inspection sequence, she was acutely aware of Dog Company watching their training exercise. She refused to look up, focusing entirely on the task at hand, determined not to make any mistakes.

"Good," Sobel commented as she finished. "Remember, your life depends on this equipment. Treat it accordingly."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of training exercises, with Dog Company occasionally rotating through the same stations. Isabella managed to maintain her professionalism, though she couldn't help noticing how different Speirs' company seemed from Easy—more regimented, perhaps, less prone to the banter that characterized her own unit.

By the time they were dismissed for the day, the sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the training field. Isabella's muscles ached from the exertion, but it was a satisfying kind of exhaustion—the proof of progress.

"Hey, Birdie," Luz called as they headed back toward camp. "Rumor is Sobel might let us have a weekend pass coming up before we ship out to Fort Benning. You got plans?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What kind of plans would I have?"

"I dunno, maybe visit that family of yours?" Luz suggested. "You talk about them a lot."

The mention of her family brought a pang of homesickness. "They’re in Florida. That's too far for a weekend pass."

"Well, some of us are heading into town," Malarkey chimed in. "Nothing fancy, just a chance to remember what civilian life feels like."

Isabella considered it. She hadn't left camp since arriving in February, and the prospect of a brief escape was tempting. "Maybe," she said finally. "I'll think about it."

As they approached the main camp, Isabella noticed a figure waiting near the headquarters building—Lieutenant Nixon, seemingly engaged in casual conversation with Speirs. The sight of the two officers together sparked her curiosity, but she kept walking, not wanting to appear nosy.

"Vega," Nixon called as they passed. "Got a minute?"

She stopped, surprised. "Yes, sir."

Nixon nodded toward the headquarters building. "Colonel Sink wants to see you."

The sudden summons sent a ripple of concern through her. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"Just a check-in," Nixon assured her, his expression giving nothing away. "Nothing to worry about."

As she followed Nixon toward headquarters, she was uncomfortably aware of Speirs watching their departure. Something in his gaze felt more assessing than usual, more intent.

Inside, Colonel Sink was waiting, his office as meticulously organized as she remembered.

"Private Vega," he greeted, gesturing for her to take a seat. "How's jump training treating you?"

"Well, sir," she replied, sitting at attention. "It's challenging, but I'm making progress."

Sink nodded, studying her with that same keen observation he'd shown during their early training sessions. "I've been receiving regular reports about your performance. Lieutenant Winters speaks highly of your adaptability."

"Thank you, sir."

Sink leaned back slightly in his chair. "I wanted to check in personally before you move on to Fort Benning. Project Blitz is under a lot of scrutiny, as I'm sure you can imagine. Your success or failure will determine whether more women follow in your footsteps."

The weight of that responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders. "I understand, sir."

"The War Department has taken a particular interest in your progress," Sink continued. "They'll be sending observers to Benning to assess the project's viability."

Isabella swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Observers, sir?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Sink assured her, though his expression suggested otherwise. "Just military officials evaluating the program. Your job remains the same—train hard, jump well, and prove that this experiment is worth continuing."

She nodded, trying to project confidence she didn't entirely feel. "Yes, sir."

Sink studied her for a moment longer, then his expression softened slightly. "You've come a long way since February, Isabella. Keep it up."

"Thank you, sir."

As she left headquarters, the evening air cool against her face, Isabella mulled over Sink's words. Observers from the War Department meant higher stakes, more pressure. If she failed, it wouldn't just be her career at risk—it would impact every woman who might follow.

Lost in thought, she almost collided with Lieutenant Speirs, who was still lingering nearby.

"Sorry, sir," she said, quickly stepping back.

Speirs regarded her with that same inscrutable expression. "Training going well, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, surprised by the direct question. "Looking forward to Benning."

He nodded slightly. "I hear the first jump's the hardest. After that, it's just falling with style."

The unexpected touch of humor caught her off guard, and she couldn't suppress a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

For a brief moment, something shifted in his expression—a flicker of... what? Interest? Amusement? It was gone before she could identify it.

"Dog Company will be training alongside Easy at Benning," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I look forward to seeing how Sink's project performs."

There was no judgment in his words, just a simple statement, yet Isabella felt a familiar tension return. Was he skeptical of her abilities, like so many others? Or merely curious?

"I'll do my best not to disappoint, sir," she replied, keeping her voice even.

Speirs held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "I don't doubt that, Corporal."

With a slight nod, he turned and walked away, leaving Isabella with the distinct impression that she'd just passed some kind of test—though what kind, she couldn't say.

As she made her way back to the barracks, the twilight deepening around her, Isabella reflected on the day's events: mastering the landing, the impending visit from War Department officials, the brief but loaded exchanges with both Sink and Speirs.

Fort Benning would be a new challenge—real jumps, real risks. But it was also one step closer to deployment, to the real war waiting across the ocean.

She was ready for it. She had to be.

When she entered the barracks, the familiar sounds of her platoon-mates—Luz's storytelling, Skip and Malarkey's bickering, Gene's quiet conversation with Liebgott—welcomed her back to the world she'd come to know so well.

"There she is," Guarnere called when he spotted her. "What'd the brass want, Birdie? You getting a promotion or something?"

She shook her head, settling onto her bunk. "Just checking in before Benning."

"Speaking of which," Penkala chimed in, "anyone else nervous about jumping from an actual plane?"

"Nah," Luz replied with exaggerated confidence. "It's just like jumping off a diving board, except, you know, a few thousand feet higher."

As the conversation devolved into good-natured teasing about who would freeze at the door, Isabella found herself smiling despite the pressure weighing on her mind. These men, with their jokes and their worries and their unwavering determination, had become her anchor in this strange new world.

Whatever challenges Fort Benning brought—whatever observers came to judge her fitness for this role—she wouldn't face them alone.

She had Easy Company. And somehow, that made all the difference.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As August turned into September, and September into October, and so on and so forth, December finally came.

Isabella suffered greatly in this time, not remotely used to the cold that plagued the states north of Florida. She had taken advantage of her winter uniform which was thick and made of wool. At one point she had even stormed into Sink’s office, begging him to let her wear a scarf outside of regulations. Much to Sobel’s chagrin and Isabella’s delight, Sink had agreed.

Along with the biting cold came the imminent arrival of 2nd battalions move to Fort Benning to continue their jump training. Unsurprisingly, Isabella was quite sad at having to leave Toccoa. It had become her second home and she had many fond memories there. But orders were orders and that’s all there was to it.

Unfortunately for Isabella and the rest of the battalion, Colonel Sink had read about a Japanese Army battalion that had set a world record for marching 100 miles in seventy-two hours. As a result, Sink had decided the 2nd battalion was going to beat that record by marching the entire way to Fort Benning.

Isabella had been begged by the entirety of Easy Company to talk to Sink, and even if they hadn’t begged her she would’ve done it anyway. It was absolutely ridiculous and no amount of respect she held for Sink would change that opinion.

"With all due respect, sir, have you lost your mind?"

The words slipped out before Isabella could stop them, her usual filter completely abandoned in the face of what she could only describe as pure insanity.

Colonel Sink raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Excuse me, Corporal?"

Isabella took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She had stormed into his office the moment she'd heard about his plan, not even bothering to knock—something she could only get away with because of their established relationship. The secretary outside had tried to stop her, but Isabella had been too quick, too determined.

"Sink," she said, dropping the formality now that the door was closed behind her, "marching 118 miles in full gear, in December, seems completely insane."

Sink leaned back in his chair, regarding her with that familiar calculating gaze. "The Japanese did it."

"The Japanese didn't do it in the middle of winter," she countered, folding her arms across her chest.

"Are you suggesting the men of the 506th aren't capable of surpassing what the enemy can do, Isabella?" There was a challenge in his voice, but also a hint of amusement at her boldness.

Isabella bit the inside of her cheek, recognizing the trap. "No. I'm simply concerned about the practicality of such an undertaking. And the frostbite. And the potential pneumonia. And—"

"I get the picture," Sink interrupted, raising a hand to stop her. "War isn't practical, Corporal. And neither is jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. Yet that's exactly what we're training to do."

She couldn't argue with that logic, but still... "The men—"

"Have been training for this exact scenario," Sink finished for her. "Long marches, physical endurance, mental fortitude. This is what we've been preparing for."

Isabella shifted her weight, trying to find the right words. "Yes, but a hundred and eighteen miles? In three days? Even you have to admit that's excessive."

Sink's expression remained immovable. "We're not just any unit, Isabella. We're paratroopers. The best of the best. And I intend to prove it."

She exhaled slowly, recognizing the familiar stubborn set of his jaw. It was the same expression her father wore when his mind was made up, an unmovable force of pure determination.

She changed tactics, studying his face more carefully. "This isn't just about beating a record, is it?"

A flicker of something—approval, perhaps—crossed his face. "Go on."

"It's about proving what the Airborne can do. What we can endure." She paused, the realization dawning on her. "It's about showing the War Department that we're ready."

Sink nodded slowly, pleased with her perception. "The eyes of the entire Army will be on us, Corporal. This march could determine the future of the Airborne project."

Understanding washed over her. This wasn't just some arbitrary test of willpower or a personal challenge Sink had concocted. This was strategic—a deliberate demonstration meant to validate everything they had been working toward.

"And Project Blitz," she added quietly, the pieces falling into place.

"Indeed." Sink leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Your performance on this march will be closely scrutinized. The War Department has expressed... concerns about a woman's ability to endure such physical demands."

Isabella straightened, indignation flaring. "I'll complete the march."

"I have no doubt," Sink replied with genuine confidence. "But this isn't just about finishing, Isabella. It's about how you finish."

The weight of his words settled on her shoulders. This wasn't just about her personal achievement anymore—it was about every woman who might come after her, every door that could open or close based on her performance.

"I understand," she said, her determination hardening.

Sink studied her for a moment longer, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "The battalion moves out at 0600 tomorrow. I suggest you prepare those boys of yours."

As Isabella turned to leave, Sink called after her. "And Corporal?"

She paused at the door. "Sir?"

"That scarf better not slow you down." The return to formality signaled the end of their private conversation.

Despite everything, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

When Isabella returned to the barracks, she was met with a barrage of hopeful faces.

"Well?" Malarkey asked, practically bouncing on his heels. "Did you talk him out of it?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "No such luck."

A collective groan rippled through the room.

"You're kidding," Skip muttered, falling back onto his bunk dramatically. "A hundred and eighteen miles? In December?"

"Three days," Penkala added miserably. "That's nearly forty miles a day."

Isabella sat on her bunk, rubbing her temples. "It gets better. Full pack, combat gear, and a rifle."

Liebgott cursed under his breath. "Is he trying to kill us before we even reach Benning?"

"Actually," Isabella said, "he's trying to prove what the Airborne is capable of. The entire project is still under evaluation. This march could determine whether it continues."

That silenced the complaints, at least momentarily. Everyone in the room understood what was at stake—they had all volunteered for this, had all fought to be part of something special.

"Well," Guarnere said finally, "guess we better show 'em what Easy Company is made of, then."

Gene, who had been quietly listening from his bunk, turned to Isabella. "What about you? Anything specific about Project Blitz?"

She nodded, appreciating his perceptiveness. "The War Department has 'concerns' about whether a woman can handle this kind of endurance test."

Liebgott scoffed. "Bunch of desk jockeys who've never seen you run Currahee."

"You'll show 'em," Luz said confidently. "Hell, you'll probably finish ahead of half these guys."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Penkala muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

"Did your rank help at all with Sink?" Guarnere asked, raising an eyebrow. "Thought you two had some kind of teacher-student thing going."

Isabella gave him a wry smile. "We do, which is probably the only reason I wasn't disciplined for barging into his office and calling him insane to his face."

Malarkey's eyes widened. "You didn't."

"Oh, she did," Luz laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. "Our Corporal Birdie, telling off a Lieutenant Colonel. You've got guts, kid."

"Or a death wish," Liebgott added, though he looked impressed.

Isabella shrugged. "When you've known someone long enough, you can speak your mind. Besides, he expects me to challenge him when necessary. Always has."

"And this wasn't necessary enough?" Skip groaned.

She gave him an apologetic look. "I tried. But once Sink has made up his mind, there's no changing it. Trust me, I know him well enough to recognize when he's immovable."

Isabella stretched, feeling the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. "Alright, enough complaining. We all need to prepare. Extra socks, preventative bandaging for our feet. We should check each other's packs to make sure we're not carrying anything unnecessary."

The men nodded, already moving to inventory their gear.

"I'd kill for my winter boots from back home right about now," Malarkey said wistfully. "Army issue isn't meant for this kind of distance."

Isabella couldn't help but agree. The standard-issue footwear was decent enough for regular training, but for a hundred and eighteen miles in winter conditions? She was dreading the inevitable blisters.

Gene appeared beside her, offering a small tin. "Foot powder," he explained. "And I've got extra bandages if you need them."

"Thanks, Gene," she said, accepting the tin gratefully. "I have a feeling we're all going to need it."

As the evening progressed, the barracks buzzed with preparation. Men checking their gear, swapping tips on how to prevent chafing, sharing what extra supplies they could. Despite the grumbling, there was an undercurrent of determination—even pride. This wasn't just any unit; this was Easy Company. And if anyone could do this, they could.

Isabella organized her pack methodically, prioritizing essentials and eliminating anything that added unnecessary weight. Extra socks went in first, followed by bandages and medical supplies she might need. Her journal and letters remained, though she wrapped them carefully in a waterproof cover. Some things were worth the extra weight.

As lights-out approached, a strange calm settled over the barracks. No one was under any illusions about what tomorrow would bring—it would be brutal, exhausting, potentially dangerous in the December cold. But there was also a sense of shared purpose, of being part of something bigger than themselves.

"Hey, Birdie," Luz called from across the room. "You still got that scarf Sink let you have?"

She nodded, pulling it from her footlocker—a simple olive-drab wool scarf, nothing fancy, but it would make all the difference in the biting cold.

"Lucky," Malarkey said with a dramatic sigh. "The rest of us are gonna freeze our ears off."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "I offered to ask him if everyone could wear one, but you all said it wasn't worth the risk of him changing his mind about mine."

"And we stand by that decision," Skip declared solemnly. "Your comfort is a small price to pay for our entertainment when Sobel has a conniption about your special treatment."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. Captain Sobel had indeed been livid about the scarf exception, especially coming directly from Colonel Sink. It was a small victory, but a satisfying one nonetheless.

"Get some sleep," Gene advised, his voice cutting through the banter. "Tomorrow's going to be one of the longest days of our lives."

As the lights went out and the barracks grew quiet, Isabella stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing despite her body's exhaustion. A hundred and eighteen miles. Three days. Full gear.

Could she do it? Would her body hold up? What if she failed, not just herself, but every woman who might follow in her footsteps?

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply.

'One step at a time,' she told herself. 'Just like everything else. One step at a time.'

Toccoa to Fort Benning, December 2nd, 1942 - Day One

The pre-dawn air was bitter cold, seeping through layers of wool and cotton to chill the skin beneath. Isabella pulled her scarf higher, covering her nose and mouth, grateful for the small barrier against the freezing wind.

Around her, the entire 2nd Battalion assembled in formation, breath forming white clouds in the darkness. The men stomped their feet and rubbed their hands together, trying to generate warmth before the long day ahead.

"Easy Company!" Sobel's voice cut through the quiet morning. "Fall in!"

They lined up quickly, packs secure, rifles in hand. Isabella took her place in Second Platoon, Lieutenant Winters moving among them for last-minute inspections.

"Remember," he said as he passed, "pace yourselves. This isn't a sprint."

When he reached Isabella, he paused briefly. "Your pack secured properly, Vega?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He studied her for a moment longer. "Stay hydrated, even in the cold. And if you need assistance, don't hesitate to speak up."

"I'll be fine, sir," she assured him, though his concern was touching.

Winters gave her a small nod before moving on, but Isabella caught the worry in his eyes. He'd never say it outright, but she knew what he was thinking—the same thing everyone was thinking. Could she do this? Could a woman march a hundred and eighteen miles in full combat gear?

'Watch me,' she thought, determination hardening like steel in her chest.

Colonel Sink addressed the battalion briefly before they departed, his voice carrying across the assembled companies.

"Men of the 506th," he began, and Isabella caught his slight pause, his eyes finding her in the formation before he continued, "you are about to embark on a journey that will test your physical limits and your mental fortitude. One hundred and eighteen miles in three days—a challenge the Japanese Army has set, and one we will surpass."

He surveyed them, his expression stern but proud. "The eyes of the Army are upon you. Show them what paratroopers are made of."

With that, the order was given, and the battalion began to move.

The first miles passed relatively smoothly. The rhythm of marching was familiar to all of them by now, and despite the cold, spirits remained high. Men sang cadences, told jokes, anything to distract from the long road ahead.

Isabella kept pace easily, her breathing steady, her stride matched to Gene's beside her. This was the easy part, she knew. The real test would come later, when muscles began to fatigue and the initial adrenaline wore off.

"How're you holding up?" Gene asked quietly after the first hour.

"Fine," she replied, adjusting her med bag slightly. "Just getting warmed up."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Let me know if you need anything."

As the sun rose higher, the temperature gradually increased, though it remained cold enough that no one dared remove any layers. The pace was relentless—not punishing, exactly, but steady and unyielding. Every hour, they were allowed a brief five-minute break to drink water and adjust their gear. No sitting, no removing packs. Just a momentary pause before continuing on.

By noon, the first signs of fatigue began to show among the men. Conversation died down, replaced by the steady sound of boots on the ground and the occasional cough or grunt of exertion. Isabella's shoulders ached from the weight of her pack, and her feet had begun to throb in protest.

'Don't think about it,' she told herself, focusing instead on the rhythm of her breathing, the cadence of her steps. 'Just keep moving.'

During the brief lunch break—cold rations eaten standing up—Malarkey sidled up beside her, his face already showing signs of strain.

"How's it going, Birdie?" he asked, taking a swig from his canteen.

She shrugged, wincing slightly at the pull on her sore shoulders. "Still walking."

"That bad, huh?" he grinned.

She couldn't help but smile back. "Not as bad as Sobel's 12-mile marches."

"Yet," Skip chimed in, joining them. "We've still got a long way to go."

Winters moved through the platoon, checking on each man, ensuring everyone was eating and drinking enough. When he reached their small group, his eyes immediately went to Isabella.

"Corporal," he nodded. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, sir," she replied automatically.

He studied her for a moment, as if trying to determine whether she was being truthful. "Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. Conserve your energy."

"I will, sir."

As the day wore on, the march became increasingly grueling. The novelty had worn off, replaced by the harsh reality of physical exertion. Men began to fall out of formation—some briefly, needing a moment to adjust equipment or catch their breath, others more permanently, picked up by the trailing vehicles when they simply couldn't continue.

Isabella gritted her teeth against the growing discomfort, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Her feet were on fire, her shoulders screamed with every step, but she kept moving, one foot in front of the other, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

"How're you really doing?" Gene asked during the late afternoon break, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She exhaled sharply. "Like I've been run over by a truck. Twice."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Join the club."

"Is it showing?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

He shook his head. "No more than anyone else. But I know what to look for."

She nodded, grateful for his honesty. "I'll make it."

"I know you will," he replied simply, with such conviction that it bolstered her flagging spirits.

As dusk began to fall, the temperature dropped rapidly, the chill becoming more pronounced with each passing minute. Isabella pulled her scarf tighter, grateful for the extra layer even as guilt pricked at her conscience for having something the men didn't.

Just when it seemed the day's march would never end, the order came to halt. They had reached their first checkpoint—thirty-five miles covered, with a hasty camp to be set up for the night.

Isabella's body practically screamed with relief as she was finally allowed to remove her pack, though years of military discipline kept her from collapsing onto the ground like she desperately wanted to. Around her, men were setting up small shelters, their movements slow and stiff from the day's exertion.

"Jesus Christ," Liebgott muttered, massaging his shoulders. "And we have to do this again tomorrow?"

"And the day after," Guarnere reminded him grimly.

Isabella sat on her pack, finally allowing herself a moment of rest. Her feet throbbed with each heartbeat, and she dreaded removing her boots to inspect the damage.

"You made it, Corporal," Winters said, appearing beside her with a small nod of approval.

"First day down, sir," she replied, trying to inject more confidence into her voice than she felt.

"Get some rest," he advised. "Tomorrow won't be any easier."

As Winters moved on, she noticed Colonel Sink walking through the camp, observing the men. When he spotted her, he changed course slightly, making his way toward her position.

"Corporal Vega," he acknowledged, his voice carrying the formal tone he always used in public. "How are you holding up?"

"Still walking, sir," she replied, matching his formality despite their earlier casual conversation.

A hint of a smile crossed his face. "Good. I've had reports from Lieutenant Winters about your performance today. Seems you're proving those War Department concerns unfounded."

Isabella straightened slightly, pride pushing through her exhaustion. "Just doing my job, sir."

Sink nodded, his gaze sweeping over the camp. "Keep it up, Corporal." His voice lowered slightly. "I knew you could do it."

With that, he continued his rounds, leaving Isabella with a renewed sense of determination despite her aching body.

After he left, Isabella finally removed her boots, wincing at the sight of her raw, blistered feet. She wasn't the only one—all around the camp, men were dealing with similar injuries, applying bandages and foot powder with grim determination.

Gene knelt beside her, medical supplies in hand. "Let me see."

She didn't protest as he efficiently cleaned and dressed her blisters, his touch clinical but gentle.

"It's going to be worse tomorrow," he warned, applying the last bandage.

"I know," she sighed. "But I'll keep going."

He nodded, seeming to understand the determination behind her words. "We all will."

Dinner was cold rations again, eaten quickly before the bone-deep exhaustion took over. Isabella found herself surrounded by her usual group—Gene, Luz, Malarkey, Skip, Penkala, and Liebgott—all of them too tired for much conversation but taking comfort in each other's presence nonetheless.

"Heard Dog Company's leading the pack," Luz mentioned between bites. "Speirs has them moving like they're not even tired."

Isabella wasn't surprised. Lieutenant Speirs had always struck her as the type who could march to hell and back without breaking a sweat. Just thinking about him brought a strange flutter to her chest, one she quickly attributed to exhaustion.

"How many dropped out today, you think?" Penkala asked, his voice hushed.

"Dozens," Gene replied. "From across the battalion. Not so many from Easy, though."

There was a quiet pride in his words that they all shared. Easy Company had something to prove, just like she did.

As night fell fully, Isabella retreated to her small shelter, her body crying out for rest as she lay between Gene and Liebgott. She should have fallen asleep immediately, given her exhaustion, but her mind was still active, replaying the day, analyzing her performance, worrying about tomorrow.

She pulled out her journal, wincing at the effort it took to hold a pencil with her stiff fingers.

“December 2nd, 1942  

Dear Journal,

First day of the march completed. Thirty-five miles down, eighty-three to go. I'm still walking, still with Easy, though I'd be lying if I said it was easy. My feet are blistered, my shoulders feel like they're on fire, and I'm pretty sure I've discovered muscles I never knew existed, all of which are now screaming at me.

But I'm doing it. One step at a time, just like I told myself. The men seem surprised—not that I'm keeping up, exactly, but that I'm not showing how much it hurts. Little do they know I've had plenty of practice hiding pain. Growing up with three brothers teaches you that much.

Colonel Sink was right about the War Department watching closely. I've spotted several officers I don't recognize, observing from vehicles that occasionally pass by. Taking notes, I assume. Judging whether a woman belongs in the Airborne.

Well, they can watch all they want. I'll be marching all the way to Benning, no matter what it takes.

Two more days to go. I can do this. I have to do this.”

She closed the journal, tucking it safely away before finally giving in to the exhaustion pulling at her. Tomorrow would come all too soon, bringing with it another grueling test of endurance. But for now, she allowed herself the small comfort of rest, knowing she had made it through day one.

As sleep claimed her, one thought lingered, a quiet promise to herself and to all those watching:

'I will not fail.'

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Toccoa to Fort Benning, December 3rd, 1942 - Day Two

Isabella woke before dawn, her body stiff and unyielding, every muscle protesting at the slightest movement. For a moment, she simply lay there, staring up at the canvas above her, dreading what the day would bring.

‘Dear God, somebody fucking kill me.’

She bit back a groan as she forced herself to sit up, the cold morning air biting at her exposed face. Around her, the camp was beginning to stir, men moving with the same pained reluctance, cursing under their breath as they prepared for another day of marching.

"Morning, Birdie," Gene greeted, his voice low as he approached with a steaming cup. "Coffee. Three sugar with milk. Thought you might need it."

Isabella accepted it gratefully, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. "You're a saint, Eugene Roe."

He gave her a small, tired smile. "Just doing my job."

"Is this medicinal coffee?" she asked, taking a cautious sip. "Because I think I might need something stronger to get through today."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Wouldn't that be nice."

As she drank her coffee, Isabella assessed her physical state with clinical detachment. Her shoulders were deeply bruised from the pack straps, her feet were a mess of blisters, and every joint felt like it had been filled with sand. But she could move. She could walk. And that was all that mattered today.

Reluctantly, she pulled on her boots, wincing as the leather pressed against raw skin despite the fresh bandages Gene had helped her apply. Standing was an exercise in willpower, but she managed it without showing the pain on her face.

"How bad?" Gene asked quietly, watching her with a medic's trained eye.

"I'll live," she replied, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

He nodded, respecting her determination without pushing further. "Let me know if you need anything during the march."

By the time they assembled for formation, the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, casting long shadows across the frost-covered ground. Isabella took her place with Second Platoon, noting the stiff movements and grimaces of pain around her. She wasn't the only one suffering.

Sobel paced in front of the company, his eyes sharp as he inspected them. "Easy Company! Today we continue our march. I expect the same discipline and determination you showed yesterday. Anyone who falls out will answer to me personally."

His gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment longer than necessary, searching for signs of weakness. She met his stare evenly, refusing to be intimidated.

"Move out!" he barked.

The first mile was excruciating. Every step sent jolts of pain through her feet and up her legs. Isabella gritted her teeth, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, establishing a rhythm that would carry her through the day.

“Hey Birdie, how about you sing for us?” Luz suggested as they settled into the march, his voice strained but determined to lighten the mood. The men of Easy Company slowly but surely began to murmur, asking her to entertain.

Isabella was reluctant, but she would do it. She performed because she enjoyed making people's lives easier through music, to give them a moment of happiness in a world so dangerous. 

“Alright,” she started. “But if Sobel tries to eat me alive for it then I’m throwing you all under the bus.”

"Something to keep us moving," Malarkey suggested, wincing as he adjusted his pack.

"Yeah, none of that sad shit," Liebgott added. "We're miserable enough already."

Guarnere spoke up. "Give us something with some life to it, Doll. Something to keep our feet moving."

Isabella thought for a moment, then smiled. "I've got just the thing.”

She took a deep breath, pushing through the fatigue in her muscles and the pain in her feet. After a moment to find her pitch, she launched into "I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart," her voice clear and confident in the morning air.

“I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart

I want to learn to rope and to ride

I want to ride o'er the plains and the desert

Out west of the Great Divide

I want to hear the coyotes howlin'

While the sun sinks in the West

I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart

The life that I love best”

The upbeat, lively rhythm of Patsy Montana's hit immediately caught the men's attention. Isabella's voice carried through the ranks, the quick tempo perfectly matching their marching cadence, giving their steps a newfound energy and purpose.

When she reached the yodeling sections, several men turned their heads in surprise. The complex vocal technique echoed across the line of marching soldiers, showcasing a skill none of them had known she possessed. Her voice dipped and soared through the difficult passages with practiced ease.

"Holy shit," Skip muttered, eyes wide with amazement.

Even Sobel looked impressed, eyebrows raised as Isabella effortlessly navigated the yodeling that had made the song famous. The men around her began to smile despite their exhaustion, some even laughing in delighted surprise at this unexpected talent from their normally reserved medic.

Malarkey grinned at Guarnere. "Did you know she could do that?"

"Not a clue," Guarnere replied, shaking his head in wonder. "Girl's been holding out on us."

“I want to ride Old Paint, goin' at a run

I wanna feel the wind in my face

A thousand miles from all these city lights

Goin' a cowhand's pace

I want to pillow my head near the sleeping herd

While the moon shines down from above

I want to strum my guitar and "odo-lay-ee-dee"

Oh, that's the life that I love”

As Isabella continued through the song, the spirits of the men visibly lifted. Their steps became more coordinated, finding rhythm in the music. The pain in their feet and the weight of their packs seemed to recede, if only temporarily, replaced by the shared experience of this unexpected performance.

“Now I have found my cowboy sweetheart

And he taught me to rope and to ride

And we've settled down in a California town

Out west of the great divide

Our two little cowgirls have two kids of their own

That makes me a yodelin' grandma

I'm still ridin' side-by-side with my cowboy sweetheart

He's a rootin'-tootin' cowboy grandpa”

When she finished, there was a moment of stunned silence before the men erupted in cheers and whistles.

"Again!" someone called from further back in the line.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Luz asked, genuine amazement in his voice.

Isabella smiled, a slight blush coloring her cheeks at the attention. "Taught myself. A good yodel carries across the farm better than any dinner bell."

"Well, it's carrying us across Georgia, that's for sure," Skip quipped, earning laughs from those around him.

Lieutenant Winters, who had made his way back to check on the commotion, couldn't hide a slight smile. "That's quite a talent, Corporal."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, surprised by his approval.

"Anything that keeps the men moving is fine by me," he added quietly before moving back up the column.

As they continued marching through the morning, Isabella moved through her repertoire of upbeat songs. When they hit a particularly difficult uphill stretch, she launched into "Sixteen Tons," her voice dropping into a surprisingly powerful lower register that contrasted with her yodeling from earlier.

“ Some people say a man is made out of mud

A poor man's made out of muscle and blood

Muscle and blood and skin and bones

A mind that's weak and a back that's strong”

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store ”

The strong, steady rhythm of the work song matched their labored steps perfectly, the lyrics about struggle and endurance resonating with their current situation. The men joined in on the chorus, their combined voices creating a determined rumble that seemed to push them up the hill through sheer force of will.

"She's got range," Gene commented quietly to Guarnere as they trudged upward. "Didn’t think she could sing like that."

Guarnere nodded, impressed. "Girl's full of surprises."

By midday, word of Isabella's impromptu concert had spread through the ranks. Even men from other platoons were requesting songs, shouting suggestions whenever they passed nearby during water breaks.

During one such break, Lieutenant Nixon approached her, canteen in hand.

"Quite the morale officer you've become, Corporal," he remarked with his characteristic wry smile.

Isabella shrugged, taking a careful sip of water. "Just trying to make the miles go by faster, sir."

"Well, it's working. I haven't heard this much chatter from the men since we left Toccoa." Nixon glanced toward where Sobel stood conferring with other officers. "And our illustrious captain seems to have decided it's not worth shutting down."

"Surprised he hasn't tried," she admitted.

Nixon's smile turned knowing. "Even Sobel can see the men are marching better with the music. And Colonel Sink mentioned he could hear the singing from half a mile away. Seemed to approve."

As they resumed the march after lunch, Isabella's voice was beginning to show signs of strain from hours of continuous singing. Noticing this, Gene appeared at her side with his canteen.

"Water with honey," he explained. "For your throat."

She accepted it gratefully. "Thanks, Gene. You're a lifesaver."

"Just doing my job," he replied with a small smile. "Can't have our songbird losing her voice."

Refreshed by the sweet mixture, Isabella began a haunting rendition of "Wayfaring Stranger." The change in pace and mood created a different kind of energy—contemplative but no less powerful. Her voice soared on the sustained notes, demonstrating impressive breath control even while marching.

“I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger

Travelling through this world below

There's no sickness, no toil, nor danger

In that bright land to which I go

I'm going there to see my Father

And all my loved ones who've gone on

I'm just going over Jordan

I'm just going over home”

The song's themes of hardship and hope resonated deeply with the exhausted men. Even those who had been joking earlier fell silent, moved by the emotion in her performance.

When she finished, there was no cheering this time—just a respectful quiet before conversations slowly resumed, more subdued but somehow more purposeful than before.

"That was beautiful, Birdie," Luz said softly.

She nodded her thanks, not trusting her voice for casual conversation after the demanding song.

As the afternoon wore on, she alternated between spirited numbers that kept their energy up and gentler songs that provided moments of reflection. Her voice became a constant companion to their march, setting the pace, lifting spirits, sometimes simply reminding them that there was beauty still to be found even in their suffering. Her medicine the music she sang so devotedly.

When they passed Dog Company at a crossroads, Isabella was in the middle of "Barbara Allen," her voice crystal clear as she navigated the traditional ballad's complex melody. She noticed several Dog Company men glancing their way, some with evident curiosity, others with barely concealed envy at Easy's relative high spirits despite the grueling march.

Lieutenant Speirs was among them, his expression characteristically unreadable as he efficiently directed his men. For just a moment, his eyes met hers across the distance—a brief, neutral acknowledgment, nothing more—before he returned his attention to his company.

By the time they halted for the night, Isabella's voice was reduced to a raspy whisper, but the effect of her day's performances lingered in the improved morale of the company. Men who would normally have collapsed in exhausted silence were talking quietly as they set up camp, recounting favorite moments from the day's impromptu concert.

"You should rest that voice," Gene advised as they ate their evening rations. "Won't do us any good if you can't speak tomorrow."

She nodded, too hoarse to argue even if she'd wanted to.

"I've never heard someone who could sing so many different ways," Malarkey commented, genuine admiration in his voice. "Where'd you learn all those songs anyway?"

Isabella took a sip of water before responding in a whisper. "My brothers taught me some, although we usually write the songs we perform.”

"Well, you just became Easy Company's official entertainment," Skip declared. "Sorry, Luz, you've been replaced."

Luz clutched his chest in mock offense. "I'm devastated."

Their laughter, though tired, was genuine—a precious commodity after a day of such brutal physical demands.

That night, as she settled into her bedroll, Isabella felt a quiet sense of satisfaction beneath her physical exhaustion. Today, she had contributed something uniquely hers to their shared ordeal—not just her endurance or her medical skills, but her music. Her gift.

In this company of men, where she had fought so hard to find her place and prove her worth, she had finally shared a piece of herself that had nothing to do with being a soldier or a medic. Just Isabella, the girl who loved to sing.

And somehow, it had made them all stronger.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Toccoa to Fort Benning, December 4th, 1942 - Day Three

The final morning dawned clear and bitter cold. Isabella's breath formed white clouds in the frigid air as she prepared for the last leg of their journey. Her body protested every movement, muscles stiff and sore beyond anything she had experienced before.

'Dear God, please just let me finish this godforsaken march without my legs falling off.'

Despite her silent prayer, there was something different about the atmosphere in camp—a sense of anticipation, of impending achievement. They had come this far. They could make it the rest of the way.

"Last day, Birdie," Gene said as he handed her a cup of coffee, now a morning ritual between them. "How's the voice?"

She attempted to respond, her voice coming out in a raspy, husky whisper. "Still here. Barely."

Gene raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Shouldn't be using it at all. Your vocal cords need rest."

Isabella shrugged, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. "Last day. Worth it."

"You've got more grit than sense sometimes," he replied, but there was admiration in his tone. "Added extra honey to that. Might help."

As they assembled for the final day's march, Isabella could feel the collective determination of Easy Company. They were battered, exhausted, feet raw and muscles aching, but they were going to finish this thing together.

Sobel paced in front of them, his usual stern expression firmly in place. "Forty-five miles today, gentlemen. I expect every single one of you to complete this march. No exceptions, no excuses."

His gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment longer than necessary, as if expecting her to be the first to falter. She met his stare evenly, refusing to be intimidated even as her entire body screamed in protest at the mere thought of another day's march.

As they set off, the first few miles passed in grim silence, each man focused on simply putting one foot in front of the other. Isabella marched between Liebgott and Malarkey, their movements stiff but determined.

"Christ, this is quiet," Skip finally commented from somewhere behind them. "Makes the miles feel longer."

"Hey Birdie," Luz called out, "think you've got one more song in you?"

Isabella hesitated. Her throat was raw, her voice barely more than a rasp. Gene had advised against using it at all. But looking at the exhausted faces around her, she knew what they needed—what they all needed—to make it through this final stretch.

"What do you want to hear?" she asked, her voice rough and husky.

"Something that'll get us to Benning," Guarnere replied.

Isabella nodded, taking a careful sip from her canteen before launching into "Wayfaring Stranger." Her normally clear soprano had transformed into something deeper, raspier—but the new timbre added a haunting quality to the old spiritual that seemed to resonate with their current ordeal.

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger  

Traveling through this world below  

There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger  

In that bright land to which I go"

Her damaged voice gave the song a raw, emotional quality it might not have had otherwise. The men fell silent, listening as she sang of hardship and hope, of a traveler pushing through difficulty toward a promised destination.

When she reached the chorus, several men joined in, their voices blending with her raspy one in a rough harmony:

"I'm going there to see my father  

I'm going there no more to roam  

I'm just going over Jordan I'm just going over home"

As the song ended, there was a moment of respectful silence before Malarkey spoke up.

"Your voice sounds different, Birdie. Kind of... I don't know?"

She managed a smile. "It's called vocal damage, Malark."

"Well, it sounds good," he insisted. "Different, but good."

Isabella shook her head, amused despite her exhaustion. Leave it to these men to find something positive in what was essentially an injury.

Throughout the morning, she continued to sing, though more sparingly than the day before. Her damaged voice could only handle so much, and she had to take frequent breaks to sip water and rest her vocal cords. The songs she chose were slower, requiring less technique than her performances of yesterday.

"Red River Valley" proved particularly effective, its steady rhythm matching their marching pace perfectly. Even with her raspy voice, or perhaps because of it, the emotional resonance of the old cowboy song seemed to affect the men deeply.

"From this valley they say you are going  

We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile  

For they say you are taking the sunshine  

That has brightened our pathways awhile"

By midday, Isabella's voice was fading fast, each song requiring more effort than the last. During their brief lunch break, Gene appeared at her side with his canteen.

"More honey water," he said, holding it out to her. "Though what you really need to do is stop singing entirely."

She accepted it gratefully. "Last day, Gene. They need it."

He studied her for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "You're treating them, you know."

She raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

"As a medic," he clarified. "You're treating them without ever touching them. Healing something we can't reach."

Isabella had never thought of it that way, but as she looked around at the men—exhausted but somehow still holding onto their determination, still finding moments of laughter despite their suffering—she realized he was right. Medicine wasn't just about bandages and sulfa powder. Sometimes it was about giving people a reason to keep going when their bodies wanted to quit.

"One more big push," she said, her voice now barely audible. "We'll make it."

As they resumed the march after lunch, Isabella found herself increasingly unable to sing, her voice reduced to a painful whisper. The men, noticing her struggle, began to take up the songs themselves, their rough, untrained voices carrying the melodies she had taught them over the past two days.

"I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart" proved particularly popular, though their attempts at yodeling ranged from amusingly bad to downright painful. Isabella couldn't help but laugh silently at their efforts, which only encouraged them to try harder, competing to see who could produce the most ridiculous yodel.

"Jesus Christ, Malarkey, you sound like a dying cat," Liebgott complained after a particularly disastrous attempt.

"Let's hear you do better then," Malarkey challenged.

Liebgott's attempt was, if possible, even worse, sending the entire platoon into fits of laughter despite their exhaustion.

Around mid-afternoon, something unexpected happened. As they passed through a small town, people began to line the streets, watching the battalion march past. Word had apparently spread about their attempt, and the locals had come out to witness it.

An elderly man, his chest decorated with medals from the First World War, stood at attention and saluted as they passed. Children waved small American flags. Women offered cups of water to the marching soldiers.

"Would you look at that," Malarkey murmured, surprise evident in his voice.

Isabella felt a surge of pride, of purpose, seeing the faces of the people they were training to protect. This wasn't just about setting records or proving themselves to the War Department anymore. It was about being worthy of the expressions of faith and hope.

The brief morale boost carried them through the next several miles, though the physical toll continued to mount. By late afternoon, even the strongest among them were showing signs of severe fatigue. Conversation had ceased entirely, every ounce of energy reserved for the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Isabella found herself marching between Liebgott and Gene, the three of them supporting each other without words. When Liebgott stumbled slightly on uneven ground, she steadied him automatically, just as he had done for her earlier when her knee had threatened to buckle.

Small acts of camaraderie. Tiny moments of shared determination. This was what had brought them through—not just individual willpower, but the collective strength of soldiers who refused to let each other fail.

During a brief water break, Isabella noticed Colonel Sink moving through the battalion, checking on his men personally. When he reached her position, he nodded in greeting.

"Corporal Vega. How are you holding up?"

She tried to respond, but her voice had finally given out completely. Instead, she gave him a thumbs up, straightening despite her exhaustion.

Sink's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly noting her silence. "Lost your voice, I see."

She nodded, feeling a bit like a child caught misbehaving.

To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "Heard you put on quite a performance these past two days. Lieutenant Winters mentioned it boosted morale considerably."

Isabella managed a small smile, shrugging modestly.

"Resourceful," Sink commented. "Using what you have to support the mission." He glanced around at the exhausted men of Easy Company. "That's what makes a good soldier."

With that unexpected praise, he moved on, continuing his inspection of the battalion.

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, a ripple of energy moved through the ranks. Word passed back from the front of the column: Fort Benning was in sight.

Isabella felt a second wind rise within her, pushing back the exhaustion, the pain, the doubt. They were almost there. Almost finished.

The last five miles were both the longest and the shortest of the entire march. Each step was agony, yet the end was so close that it pulled them forward like a physical force.

And then, suddenly, they were there. The gates of Fort Benning loomed ahead, and beyond them, the parade ground where their march would officially end.

As they passed through the gates, Isabella became aware of people lining the route—other soldiers, officers, civilians—watching as the battalion completed its historic march. Some were merely curious, others openly impressed by the sight of men who had marched 118 miles in three days.

And some, she couldn't help but notice, were staring specifically at her—the lone woman in uniform among hundreds of men, completing the same grueling test of endurance.

The battalion marched onto the parade ground in perfect formation, despite their exhaustion. Colonel Sink took his place at the front, back straight, head high, showing no signs of the fatigue he must have felt.

"Battalion, halt!" The command rang out, and as one, they stopped.

For a moment, Isabella simply stood there, not quite believing it was over. Three days. One hundred and eighteen miles. And she had made it. They all had.

"Battalion, dismissed!"

A ragged cheer went up from the assembled men, though it was far more subdued than it might have been if they weren't all on the verge of collapse.

Isabella felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Lieutenant Winters beside her.

"Well done, Corporal," he said simply, but there was genuine respect in his eyes.

She nodded her thanks, her voice now completely gone but her pride evident in her posture despite her exhaustion.

As the formation broke up, she spotted Colonel Sink in conversation with several officers she didn't recognize—more War Department officials, most likely. One of them glanced in her direction, said something to Sink, and received a nod in response.

Before she could wonder too much about it, she was surrounded by her platoon-mates, all of them equally exhausted but sharing in the triumph of the moment.

"We did it," Luz declared, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Hundred and eighteen miles of pure hell, and we made it."

"Never doubted it," Guarnere added, though his grimace as he shifted his weight said otherwise.

Skip dramatically collapsed onto the ground. "Someone carry me to wherever we're sleeping tonight. I don't think my legs work anymore."

Isabella silently laughed, pulling out her journal and scribbling on a blank page: Get up, Skip. You've made it this far on your own two feet. Might as well use them a little longer.

That night, despite her exhaustion, Isabella took a moment to write in her journal before sleep claimed her.

“December 4th, 1942  

Dear Journal,

We made it. One hundred and eighteen miles in three days. My feet are a mess of blisters, every muscle in my body is screaming, I've completely lost my voice, and I'm pretty sure I'll never look at a pair of boots the same way again, but we did it.

Easy Company finished the march intact. Not a single dropout. I'm proud of that—of them—more than I can say. We're a real unit now, forged in shared suffering and determination.

Sang as long as I could today, until my voice finally gave out completely. Gene called it "treating without touching"—using music to heal something medicine can't reach. I'd never thought of it that way before, but he's right. Sometimes the best medicine isn't in a medic's bag at all.

The War Department officials were watching us the whole way, especially me. I don't know what they'll report back, but I hope they saw what I know to be true: that determination and courage aren't exclusive to men. That women can endure, can push through pain, can be soldiers in every sense of the word.

We’ll begin official jump training soon. Five jumps to earn our wings. After the past three days, leaping out of a plane almost seems easy by comparison. Almost.

I'm too tired to write more. But I wanted to mark this day. To remember what it felt like to push beyond what I thought possible. To prove—to myself more than anyone—that I belong here.

One step closer to being a paratrooper. One step closer to the war waiting across the ocean.”

She closed the journal, tucked it away, and finally allowed herself to surrender to sleep, the deep, dreamless rest of someone who had earned it entirely.

Chapter Text