-1Author's Note: Ah, another story. This one will be a bit different than my other. It may not be updated as fast, though. I got this idea today whilst sitting in the cafeteria at school, staring at the clock, and wishing I was somewhere else. Damn, it's boring there…

The song used in this chapter is called "The Unknown Solider" and I have no idea who it is by, but it is most definitely not mine. It's from 1926. And I am not that old…

And if you thought I was, I should punch you…

Title: Just One Word

Rating: T (PG-13) Yeah. For language, death and probably violence. But mostly language and death.

Summary: An unknown solider. Tossed aside, she was forgotten. It would have been nice to know some one cared…And even though she was surrounded by a company of men, she was so very alone…

Disclaimer: Since these are real people, I own nothing but my characters. This story is purely fictional, and I hope no one is offended by it. Thank you.

Prologue

It was cold. So damn cold, she thought her fingers were going to fall off. Snow was encrusted on her coat, any warmth she might have gained seeping out through the chill of winter.

Rubbing her hand together, she felt the snow shift and give way under her feet, displacing a bit more each time she took a step. White powder fell from the sky in gentle waves, coating the ground and the forest in a blanket of white.

Snow is beautiful, she reflected grimly. When it isn't trying to kill you.

It seemed like her battalion had been on the move for days now. They hardly ever stopped to rest, and for them, fires were forbidden. They couldn't risk getting caught out in the open, and smoke, or even the fire itself, was a dead giveaway of their position.

It's too risky to stay warm, she thought unhappily, and rubbed her hands down her coat-clad arms.

Her heavy jacket did little to shield her from the cold. If she had her way, she'd have scrounged a hundred jackets by now, and piled herself under them for a thousand year nap. But of course, her commander had sent her for supplies.

If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought he actually wanted her to die.

The town of Foy wasn't very lively. In fact, it almost seemed deserted. She wondered, briefly, what supplies he had sent her here for. It wasn't as if they had any to spare for a rag-tag battalion that had moved into the area only a few days before. They were short on men, ammunition, artillery, food, and supplies. They have their winter clothing, she reminded herself dully, but they lack the men to fill those clothes.

A glance over her shoulder, and a brief thought for the enemy.

She wondered if they fared better than their counterparts. Briefly, she hoped that they did. She would not wish such a fate upon anyone. And it was just so damn cold!

The snow crunched and shifted beneath her boots, as she topped that last, small mound of before her and stood in front of the city. How pathetic it looked. It had taken a few hits, to be certain, for the enemy wanted to take it over. She wondered why. Surely this scrap of pitiful land wasn't worth dying over?

Her shoulder shrugged, and she watched as her breath materialized and then vanished in the cold, crisp air.

She was no now, she had to remind herself constantly. Not a soldier, not a general or a commander. She could never see the reasoning behind war, but that was because she was not fighting now. In fact, she wondered why she was even here at all. She could have been far more useful to her commander if she had been stationed elsewhere. But he had instructed her to remain with this battalion, whilst her comrades, those she had known for many long years of training, were sorted and mixed into the other battalions.

She was surrounded by a company of men, but she was so very alone.

The girl picked up her pace, but as she neared the outskirts, her footing was compromised, and she slipped on a patch of ice. Down she went, and a few choice words flew from her blue, trembling lips. She cursed the snow, and the cold, and the war. She cursed everyone and everything she knew or saw. And then she stood up, and brushed herself off.

A lapse in judgment, she decided. I should not be so foolish.

She could not afford to be seen as weak. She could not afford to let them know just how frightened she was to be here. She couldn't afford a single mistake. It could cost her, and her commander, dearly. And not only would she pay with her life, but so would countless other soldiers, on either side.

Huffing, she wrapped her arms around herself, and trudged on, careful now of anything that might cause her to let down her guard.

It took her a few short minutes to reach the man in charge of this small town. He wasn't busy. The enemy was watching, waiting. They hadn't attacked, as of yet. It was safe…for now. Pulling off her gloves, she turned the knob to the rickety old door of his probably only recently acquired office, and squeezed into the warm, fire-filled room.

Hell, that whole damn room could have been ablaze, and she still would have gone in. Anything to be warm!

Chuckling to herself, she shut the door behind her, and rubbed her trembling hands together above the fire after she crossed the room. The commander, who had been in one of the many back rooms, strode through the door.

As if it had a mind of it's own, her body grew rigid, and she instantly pivoted and saluted the higher ranking officer. The man nodded, dipping his head to her in acknowledgement before he too, joined her by the fire, sitting in a very large, lavish chair.

He looked tired. And old. His face was worn, and he had a grim expression that told of trouble on the horizon. She had an odd foreboding, and she could not shake the feeling that something important was about to happen. Something she could neither foresee, nor control.

He smiled up at her, his dark blue eyes swirling with his many thoughts, and waved a hand for her to sit in the chair across for him. Obligingly, she did so, and the moment she touched the soft cushion, she felt every muscle relax almost instantly. How long had it been since she had felt such comfort? Hell, any type of comfort. Half a pillow, a square of a blanket, a warmer jacket or pair of trousers. Anything would have been comfort to her. But this, this chair…It was pure bliss.

The commander must have noticed her disheveled and tired countenance, for he remarked upon it as she sat, basking in the relative luxury offered by this simple chair. His smile did not quite reach his eyes, but it touched his cold, chapped lips.

"Nurse? Did they send you all alone?" His kind smile did not fade, and the woman snapped her head forward, eyes wary as they settled upon his tired features.

"Yes," she replied almost instantly, "They did, sir. I was instructed to make my way to Foy to retrieve supplies for my company. We are in desperate need, sir. We have little food, few bandages. Our ammunition is very low. They sent out two scouts an hour before I left, and they tried to find their way here as well, but apparently they went in the wrong direction. We found them only twenty minutes later, both shot dead. After that, I was given orders to come here, and beg, borrow or steal what I could. But I certainly don't want to steal, sir."

The man placed a hand to his forehead, and closed his eyes. The woman sat in relative silence, her eyes flickering towards the fire as it crackled and burned and lapped teasingly at the fireplace. Shadows danced across their features as the peaceful silence stretched on, and then was broken.

"Supplies? I can only give you a little. A day's worth of food, enough bandages and morphine for thirteen or less wounded, and enough ammunition to last you through tomorrow. But that is all. I will send a man with you to help you carry what you need." He made a noise in the back of his throat, and glanced at the door. There was a click, and it opened, and a man stepped through it.

The man was clean cut, his dark hair and dark eyes an odd contrast to this fair haired, blue eyed commander. But the woman paid his appearance little heed. To her, that entire 'racial superiority' issue, wasn't really an issue at all. She couldn't understand why it was such a huge deal. They put far too much emphasis on their idea of 'purity.'

Her own dark hair and dark eyes were proof enough of that. In fact, she quite enjoyed having them, for they set her apart from the other nurses, the blond haired, blue eyed type. The only reason she was where she was today, was because she had clawed her way to the top, honed her skills, and used her many connections.

It was good to have friends.

The man saluted the commander, and then her as well. She was slightly taken aback. No one ever saluted her. She was a nurse, not a general. She was a woman, not a lieutenant colonel. She was unimportant, not like the average solider. So why then, did he do it? She was almost certain that if the commander had not been there to witness it, then it never would have happened. It was a mild form of respect, not for her, but for the commander's company. Like he was taking care to wipe his feet before he stepped on the expensive bear rug.

She cringed inwardly, but her face remained cold, impassive, and blank. She stood, unhappily of course, and left the relative comfort of the chair. Going rigid once more, she offer the commander a salute, and he nodded once more. "Take care, miss," he called wearily, as she followed the man out the door.

He said nothing, but she assumed he knew where he was going. They weaved around buildings an rubble, until they came to a house that looked relatively intact. She balked at entering, for such rickety foundation made her nervous, and she wondered about the stability of the roof and the walls. But the man ushered her forward, his face scrunching up in annoyance and irritation as he pushed her through the door.

She stumbled through the entry way, but caught herself before she fell. The glare she focused upon her young escort went unnoticed as he began to heave boxes out of a corner. She glanced at them, and then at her own hands. She could not carry something so heavy over such a great distance.

But she would endure. If he thought she could, then she would. A grim expression settled over her troubled features, and she bent to pick up one of the boxes. The man rushed over and slapped her hands away.

"No, not this one. It's not for you." He handed her a small box, light, and poorly filled. There were a handful of bandages, a few rounds of ammunition, and only a couple boxes of rations. Not what the commander had promised.

"What is this?" she demanded instantly, her heavy eyes lighting up with a stubborn indignation. They flashed dangerously. "This is not what I was promised. Where are my supplies?"

The man scoffed, and set his hands on his hips, his dark eyes glowering down at her. "Those are your supplies, woman. Take them or leave them. Now get out of my sight. I have more important things to do than baby-sit some wayward nurse." He turned his back on her, and the woman was left to stand in the middle of the drafty hall, mouth agape.

The nerve!

If she wasn't so certain she'd be shot, she'd have leapt over the boxes and snapped his neck in two. One of the many perks of her physical training. Controlling her temper…yet another perk. But no one was to know of it, not even her own family…

She snorted hotly, and pivoted, marching out of the old building with a furious growl erupting from her throat. They had no right to treat her like this! She had done just as much as any of them! Her brows knit dangerously as she quickly made her way to the outskirts of town.

Turning around, she gave Foy one last backward glance, and turned her lips downward in an annoyed frown. She was glad to be rid of this place, once and for all. And when the enemy attacked, she wouldn't be the least bit sorry to see that young man become a prisoner. But her thoughts then turned to the commander, and his kind smile and tired eyes. She prayed for him, and for the ret of the poor souls trapped in such a merciless place.

She hoped they would find peace when they were gone.

----

"Finally!"

The man rushed towards the woman, and took the box from her hands. She said nothing, but took her customary place near the back of their camp, a small, but deep, foxhole her only comfort, her only welcome. She watched as the men dug around in the box, each face so eager, and then so disappointed.

It was not my fault, she reminded herself. And why should she care what happens to them? Just because she was their nurse, did not mean she had any affection for this particular company. She didn't know them, and they made no effort to get to know her.

She had no love for this place, or these men.

She watched, uncaring, impassive, as they emptied the box, never thinking to offer her food, though she had trekked long and far to retrieve what they now ate. She wondered how long it had been since she'd had more than a stale slice of bread and that damnable canned cheese. And when was the last time she had fresh, clear water? Not some snow that had to be melted off the ground.

It was ridiculous.

She watched them eat, she watched them rifle through the box's contents, and then leave the empty crate there. And she stared at the box, so alone, left in the snow, and she noted just how like her it really was.

Uncared for.

Dismissed.

Overlooked.

Forgotten…

She hadn't expected her commander to remember her. She hadn't expected him to care. But she had expected relief. At least once. One time. One letter home. One letter from home. To talk to some one from her own home town. To talk to some one from her former battalion, for Christ's sake.

But no. None of it came. It would give away her position, give away the objectives. And she couldn't risk it. This mission was far too important to allow her emotions to screw it all up now. But still…It would have been nice to know some one cared…

Just one word was all she wanted. Just one God damned word of comfort. Was that too much to ask?

---

The sound of an explosion rocketing overhead shook her awake.

It couldn't be the enemy, could it? She wondered on this briefly, as she unraveled herself from her blanket, and hauled her frozen body from the foxhole. She was stiff, and sore. Her limbs and shoulders ached, and her torso felt like it had been folded into thirds.

She doubled over for a moment as she heaved out of the foxhole, and was nearly knocked over by a solider who hurried past her.

Her hand shot out to steady herself, and caught on a tree. Nobody cares, she reflected grimly, before straightening her body, and flexing her stiff muscles. Her dark eyes followed the path of the fumbling solider, and she watched, wide eyed, as she realized that they weren't running in front of her, but behind her.

They were retreating…

The thought echoed glumly in her mind, and her first instinct was to run. But no. She would be cut down if she did so. She was far too easy a target. Her legs propelled her forward of their own accord, and she found herself running almost perpendicular to her company's frantic retreat.

She was hunched over, clutching at the shoulder bag that hung in front of her. In his bag, was her objective. Everything she had fought for tooth and nail for nearly two years would be lost, if she were to allow herself to lose this bag.

She could have run faster if she had dropped it. She could have gotten away. She could have been free. But she would never, ever let this fall into the wrong hands. She felt her legs burning, her muscles aching from the constant force of their exertion. And then, without warning, she dove behind a boulder. It was huge, covered with snow. But most importantly, it was safe.

She watched, helplessly, as her fellow soldiers were cut down as they ran. She knew it would have been inevitable, and she knew she had made a good choice in the direction of her own retreat. Her arms trembled as her lips formed the words of a song that had kept her comforted through the long, cold nights.

"Oh, I'd like to see their faces
When they reach the Devil's door,
But even down in Hell
There is no torture such as war.

I am the Unknown Soldier
And maybe I died in vain,
But if I were alive and my country called
I'd do it all over again."

She shivered violently, from shock, and from the cold. And she heard the shouts of the enemy as they advanced past her position, oblivious to the presence of a lone woman, whose soul mission was to bring back victory for her country. What she clutched close to her chest so desperately, was intelligence. Intelligence that could make, or break the soldiers around her.

She wondered if any of them knew. And she wondered if any of them cared.

Her dark eyes drifted closed, and her body jerked violently. Perhaps she could just die here, pass on in peace, and go undiscovered. She would not be missed. Her name would be erased from the record, and it'd be as though she was never there at all.

Suddenly, a click, and a sharp intake of breath.

Wearily, she lifted her head to stare into the eyes of an unknown solider. Not an enemy, she told herself warily, but a friend. Slowly, slowly, she stood up, dropping the bag at her feet, but making sure he couldn't get to it, unless he went through her.

There was an eagle on his shoulder.

Their eyes met, and he blinked, quietly, before he realized that she was no man. She was no solider. A smile warmed her lips, the first real smile she had ever worn in Europe, and those words, those few, dreaded words that she had never dared to utter in this God-awful place, passed through those lips.

"I'm an American."

---

Author's Note: Well, what do you think so far? Is it all right? I am actually quite proud of this chapter…Review, please. I would be so very happy if you did. Yaya!