Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own Band of Brothers either...

Note: Okay I believe I have officially gone insane, but we won't let anyone know ;) I have 6 different fics at this point in varying stages of completion, most of them lingering on the not-very-complete-at-all side of things. Be that as it may I have taken it upon myself to start yet another one. Having spent to better part of the summer working on finishing my Saving Private Ryan fic, Brotherhood (which you should all go read right now :P), I have been spurred to complete the first chapter of this fic, which has been in my head for something like a year or more. As I have found is a custom for my Notes in the first chapters, I'd like to just explain a bit about why I'm writing this.

I first watched Band of Brothers on TV. I caught an episode or two, I don't remember which ones, and felt instantly in love as I had with Saving Private Ryan. Buying the book was my next step, and I have since read it about four times, each time enjoying the stories the guys of Easy Company related to Stephen Ambrose. While I compare my fondness of Band of Brothers with that of Saving Private Ryan, the former is all together different. The men in the book, the men I will be writing about, are real, some are even still alive all these years later. They fought so that we could live to see better lives, but more than that, they fought for their buddies. Whether you believe in war or not, their accomplishments and sacrifices are to be admired. I respect these men, and all men who fought in that war, deeply.

I write this as the only tribute I feel I can give them, not that its much of one. I have no choice but to take small measures of literary license so as to make this story interesting. I will be taking facts from the books, not just Band of Brothers but the books some of the men themselves wrote, and I will be taking events from the movie, molding them into a mix that I find a tidy compromise. The love that will exist between my character, Bridget, and one of the men in this story is a common factor in all my stories I cannot part with, though I feel a small bit of guilt at taking any credit away from the love this man must have felt for his wife in reality. But I have rambled far too much. Forgive me :) I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. Things will be rushed, since I'm starting from the beginning, but I hope it won't be too bad.

Don't forget, reviewing is mui important.

EDIT: Chapter edited for spelling and grammar. I apologize for the appalling errors I found after I submitted it O.o

Chapter One: Fighting for a Purpose

The alarm clock went off at six in the morning. Bridget opened one eye and regarded it with disdain, having just gotten to sleep a little under three hours ago. Someone had come in last night with a bladder infection late in the evening, turning her day shift into a night shift. The guy had kicked and screamed until the pain medication kicked in. She had given him antibiotics and monitored him most of the night while the other medics slept. All three of her aides had to get up early for calisthenics and drills. Maybe field exercises, too.

Bridget Mckinley was nineteen years old in the summer of 1942 when she managed the small infirmary at Camp Toccoa, Georgia. She managed it because she had prior medical training, and Colonel Robert Sink, commander of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, needed somebody to manage it while the medics trained. He had also taken a liking to her when she had come to the camp, begging for a job. According to him, she had a good head on her shoulders, was strong-willed, and she had spunk. She didn't know if she agreed with him on all of that, but she wasn't going to complain. She was going to be with a bunch of guys almost twenty four hours a day. Men who were going through rigorous training to become not just soldiers, but paratroopers. She figured she could handle that.

Hauling herself out of bed took Bridget more effort than usual. She rubbed her eyes till they hurt, trying to get the sleep out of them. She was afraid to look at her reflection, and sure enough, her dark hair was sticking up at odd angles, and she was starting to look a bit like a corpse. Sighing, she began her morning routine of getting dressed and general hygiene before beginning her duties. These things also took more time that normal because of her sleep deprivation and the stiffness in her muscles. She would have to remember to put a little more power into this morning's coffee.

Eventually, Bridget left her small room in the back of the infirmary, her haird tamed and in a bun, and a toothbrush shoved in her mouth. She used one hand to start a pot of coffee, and the other to vigorously scrub her teeth. She looked clean and sharp now in her nurse's uniform, which was a simple grey dress. She had tied a white apron around her waist, the red cross across her chest. Once the coffee maker was turned on and the toothpaste was rinsed out of her mouth, she was finally ready to tend to her patients. As she entered the main room where the beds were she glanced at the clock above the front door. Six thirty on the noce.

"Morning Liebgott," she greeted the soldier with the bladder infection, "How's the bladder infection feeling today?" She she dug around in the pocket of her apron where she kept a few general tools while Liebgott responded.

"How the fuck should I know?" he replied angrily, sitting up in his bed, "I haven't taken a piss since I came in here last night. You know why? Because you went to sleep without giving me a glass of-" He stopped talking suddenly, cut off in mid-sentence by the thermometer Bridget had shoved in his mouth. Liebgott glared heavily at her.

"Keep it under your tongue," she instructed him firmly, "And if you bite down on it I'm shoving it where the sun don't shine." She walked away from his bed, to tend to her other two patients. Liebgott was from Easy, and so was Martin who had spent the night in the infirmary after he twisted his ankle on a march up Currahee. Maggio, who had been waiting for her to wake up only to ask for some medicine for a headache, was from Fox company. He was easily dealt with, and she could not keep Martin longer than she had or else it would upset Sobel, so she let him go after a quick check-up as well. She hoped today would go by just as easily.

It was early afternoon, the best time of the day as far as Bridget was concerned. Her early patients, victims of morning drills, were gone, and it was not yet time for the victims of the late night drills. Right now she had only one patient, and she was standing over him with a clipboard, making notes, when she heard the bell above the infirmary door jingle. She looked up, and was pleased to see the familiar face of Lieutenant Winters. He waved as he closed the door behind him and she held up her forefinger in a 'Just a moment' gesture before looking back at her paper. She plucked the thermometer out of her patient's mouth, read the temperature, and jotted it down in her neat script. She wiped the instrument on the front of her apron and dropped in the jar of other things that were to be washed at the end of the day.

"Okay, Douglas," she said to the half-asleep man, "You're going to be fine, just try and get some sleep." Douglas gave a single, tired nod of his head and then turned over to sleep. Bridget watched him a moment longer, a long standing habit, and then walked over to Winters.

"Lieutenant," she said in greeting, giving a little nod of her head.

"Bridget," he said, trying to sound stern even though he was smiling, "I told you to just call me Winters. Lieutenant makes it sound like you don't like me. So, what's wrong with him?" He indicated the other man with a jerk of his head. She glanced in that direction and then looked at her clipboard.

"I think he has the flu," she told him. Winters frowned at her.

"How'd he get the flu?" he asked. Bridget shrugged.

"Most likely somebody here is carrying it, but is immuned to the strain. Douglas over there isn't. We'll see if any more turn up. My guess is no."

"What company is he from?"

"Dog." Winters nodded and for a few moments the two stood in silence, staring at the snoring soldier. They were both probably thinking about what Douglas' likely fate was. If he stayed sick he would be kicked out of camp. They had had a few of those already, and it was never a enjoyable experience for anyone to watch. Finally, Bridget broke the quietude.

"So," she said, turning to Winters, "Did you come in for something specific?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, coming out of his thoughts, "I did, but first I need to ask you what the heck you did to Liebgott." For a moment Bridget almost lost control of herself and burst out laughing, but she kept a straight face as she replied.

"He bit down on one of my thermometers," she said simply, knowing of course that wouldn't explain it all, so after a small pause she looked down at the ground, "So I took his temperature rectally...twice." There was another pause, and Bridget cautiously raised her head to look at Winters. To her great relief, he looked on the verge of laughter.

"Well, that explains his unusually irrate behavior on today's Currahee run," he said with a large smile.

"Oh," Bridget said, remembering something she had been meaning to ask Winters, "Did Martin make it up in one piece?" Still smiling, Winters nodded.

"Yeah," he told her, "Sobel tried running him too hard, but the rest of us pitched in to keep the big boss occupied so Martin could at least run at a regular pace. He told me his ankle was mighty sore afterwards, but other than that he's none the worse for wear." Bridget rolled her eyes at the mention of Sobel, Easy's Company's tyrranic C.O., but she smiled when she heard about Martin.

"That's good," she said sincerely, and then after a pause, "Anything else?" There was a moment as Winters seemed to gather his thoughts again, as though he had forgotten what he had come in here for.

"Oh," he said suddenly, "I was wondering if you could give a basic first aid discussion to the boys on Monday when they get back from their weekend passes? It'll be a while before out medics are properly trained, and I think its a good idea to teach these guys a thing or two in case they find themselves in a situation where they have to treat themselves."

"Like what kind of topics are we talking about?" Bridget was suddenly all business. She took her job very seriously, and she felt she was good at what she did, but she also knew from experience that it was best to know what you were getting into before committing. Never volunteer for anything. Winters shrugged.

"Basic run-through of the supplies available in battle, bandaging, splinting maybe, bullet extraction is probably a big one..."

"Bullet extraction," Bridget said sharply, not meaning to interrupt him, but being unable to help herself, "Sir, I know next to nothing about bullet extraction. I don't know how much I can be on that subject."

"Well you'll have to wing it," he said, rather firmly and without a smile on his face, "Because you probably know more than any of the men." For several moments they stared each other down, like thaty were having a standoff. Winters won in the end. Bridget sighed.

"I don't have to do this in front of the entire camp do I?" she asked hopefully. Winters shook his head.

"No," he answered, "Just for Easy. Though, a few of the other company commanders might catch and ask you to do a similar thing, but I doubt that." She sighed again.

"Fine," she said, trying to sound as absolutely reluctant as she could, "I'll do it."

"Terrific!" Winters said jubilantly, clapping his hands together and breaking into a large grin, "I will see you Monday then." And without another word, he turned and walked back out through the door he came in, leaving Bridget look mildly disgruntled, but also rather enjoying the idea of spending a little time with the men of Easy Company. She turned away from the door and continued her duties.

They were about two and a half months into camp, but it felt like an entire lifetime to Bridget. She had wandered to Toccoa in desperation, her spirit crushed by tragedy at eighteen. She was a plain looking, unwanted girl in a city she no longer wished to live in. Her mother was gone, her father had been gone long before that, and she was alone. There was no family to take her in, and no young man to hold her close. She had lost what purpose she had felt she had. She didn't know how much longer she would have lasted in such a depression. Probably not very. But that was behind her now. All because of Colonel Sink and Easy Company.

Two days later, late enough in the night for it to be dark outside, Bridget was brushing her teeth for bed, when the bell above the door rang, and she heard someone shouting her name loudly. She spun around, her face wide-eyed and shocked, with the toothbrush still in her mouth. She saw George Luz, another guy from Easy, standing in the door way, clearly out of breath. He looked like he had ran for several minutes to get to the infirmary. Considering that, as far as she knew, he and most of the company were still on their weekend pass, this seemed likely. It was Sunday night, however, so they would all be heading back this way so as not to miss their deadline.

"Fight!" Luz finally shouted breathlessly, and that word was enough to get Bridget moving. She dropped her toothbrush to the floor, spat in the sink, and ran out the door. She sprinted after Luz, who led her out of camp, both of them moving as fast as possible. She knew where they were going. There was a pub literally just five minute's outside of the camp's main gate. It was a frequent stop for the men as they were coming back from their weekends on the town.

She heard the fight before she saw it, and Bridget was shocked when she and Luz came upon the pub to find at least ten guys rolling around on the ground. There were sounds of grunting, shouts of pain, and that horrible thud of fists hitting flesh. She tried to make out who was fighting who, but there was not time, and there was not enough light to see much. So, without hesitating another second, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and let loose a loud, high-pitched whistle. From the corner of her eye she saw Luz wince, as well as several of the people standing around. It had the desired effect on the men squirming on the ground, because they stopped moving suddenly. One guy had even frozen in place while he had another guy in a headlock.

"Everyone from the 506 get back to Toccoa NOW!" she screamed with all her might, "And you better hope we're not too late to save your asses from getting kicked out of the army!"

It didn't surprise her when most of the guys who had been fighting stood up to follow her, and the crowd dispersed. Bridget led everyone back into camp, making sure everybody moved quietly as they re-entered the gate. She prayed over and over as they walked that they wouldn't run into Sobel, so she was grateful when they made it back to the infirmary. She shut the door behind them and then rounded on the line of men in front of her. Luz was sitting off to the side, looking at the ground. There were eight of them. Seven were from Easy Company.

"So what was it this time, hm?" she asked.

"Some guy picked a fight with Liebgott," someone said, and she recognized the man as Warren Muck, "When he jumped him we all ran to help, then the guy's friends joined in and..." He held up his hands as though to say 'That was it'. Brittany stared blankly at all of them a moment.

"You guys are all idiots!" she shouted suddenly at them, walking back and forth in front of them, "You guys are all damned lucky that Luz came to get me. You know Sobel makes stops at the pub to check on you guys, and you know he does not tolerate fighting that close to camp."

"Who cares?" grumbled one of them guys. She saw that it was Liebgott and she walked over to stand in front of him, looking him hard in the face. He had a bit of a black eye.

"I care," she told him, her voice as stern as her look. She looked at the rest of the guys, turning her head from side to side. "I care very much. If I'm going to be stuck in this camp, then by God I'm going to make sure the rest of your are stuck with me." This brought twitching smiles to some of their faces, and she was glad to see it, but she was far from smiling herself. She took a few more steps back so she could see them all.

"So who do we have here?" she asked, mostly to herself, "Lieb's no surprise...Muck, never thought you had it in you...Guarnere, guess you don't get enough fighting on base you got to go elsewhere...Aw, Shifty I thought I'd never have to worry about you fighting...Toye...Hoobler...Perconte...who the hell are you?" She had reached the end of the line where a single unfamiliar face stood. He looked considerably nervous when she spoke to him.

"Uh, uh, Messer, miss," he said, his voice as shaky as he was, "I'm from Dog Company." She looked at him, puzzled.

"How the hell did you get mixed up into all of this?" she asked him. He looked down at his feet, clearly embarrassed.

"I was, uh, watching the fight when someone shoved me from behind and I fell into the pile." Brittany looked at him silently a moment, desperately trying to hold back her laughter. When she felt she had herself under control she spoke.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, and the guy shook his head, "Then you better get out of here so Spiers doesn't come down on you too bad." Messer nodded and quickly left the infirmary. She turned back to the Easy guys. "Any of you hurt?" Nobody spoke for a few seconds. They were all glancing at each other, as though they had some secret that none of them wanted to be the one to share. Joe Toye finally spoke up.

"I think Perconte was hurt the worse, Bridget," he said, using her name, something that a few of them had begun doing by now. Perconte immediately through him a glare, mumbling incoherently. Bridget immediately walked over to the man, who was shorter than all of the other guys. She finally realized that he had both hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

"Let me see, Frank," she told him calmly. He looked like he wanted to disobey her, but she could see he knew he had to show her.

"It ain't that bad," he said, slowly taking his left hand out of his pocket. One of the fingers was swollen and obviously broken. Bridget inhaled sharply when she saw it, not able to help herself. She gently took his hand in hers examining it closely, but already knowing what she would have to do.

"I have to set it," she said, looking up from the hand to his face, "And its going to hurt." Frank sighed looking off to the side.

"Just do it," he said firmly.

Bridget nodded, then looked at Hoobler who was standing next to him. Hoobler seemed to understand what she wanted, and he stepped behind Perconte and placed a hand over his mouth. They all knew it was best that no one in camp hear the scream. Bridget then carefully felt along the finger to find the break, and then without warning pressed from both sides. There was a snapping sound as the bone snapped back in place, and Frank screamed against Hoobler's hand so loud, Bridget thought he was sure to damage his throat. When he had calmed down again, Hoobler removed his hand and stood back in his spot in the line.

"Alright," Bridget told them all softly, "Get to your beds, and if Sobel asks anyone about the fight, you all tell him that it wasn't you, that you guys came back to camp early because Frank broke his finger tripping over something in the street. I'll let Winters know in the morning what happened and he'll smooth things out. I want you all to look lively tomorrow. I'm giving a medical discussion in the morning after calisthenics. Now go on, get." She waved her hand in a shooing motion.

At first they wouldn't leave. They just stared at her. Then Bill Guarnere stepped forward, stood at attention and snapped her a salute. Bridget stared at him with stunned disbelief. He left the infirmary, and then Muck stepped forward and did the same thing, as did all the other guys until it was just her and Luz remaining in the dark infirmary. She turned to look at him after Perconte had closed the door behind him.

"What was that for?" she asked him, clearly meaning the guys and their saluting. Luz looked at her, smiling, and shrugged one shoulder.

"You're always there for us, Bridget" he said, patting her on the shoulder as he walked past her, "And not just tonight either, but all the time, ever since we got here. Guess they figured you deserved some gratitude." And with that he, too, exited the building, leaving Bridget standing there by herself in silence, except for the diminishing ringing of the bell above the door. After another moment or two, a large grin spread itself across her face and she finished getting ready for bed.

"OK boys, now listen up!" Bridget said, speaking loud enough so that everyone in the tent could hear her. She had the entirety of Easy Company listening to her now, and she felt rather pleased about that. "I want to get this over with. I've got a lot of work to do when I'm done here."

"Like what?" demanded a loud voice from the group, "Need to shove a few more thermometers up some unsuspecting soldier's ass?" It was Liebgott, shouting rather angrily from his spot midway through the crowd. He was immediately beaten over the head and elbowed by the men around him, because of course, Bridget was a lady, and cursing was forbidden while she was in earshot. She surveyed them all coolly.

"No, Lieb," she said with an overly sweet tone, "I save that special for you. Now shut the fuck up." She bestowed a smug smile upon him, but let it slip away just as quickly while she let the guys recover from hearing such profanity come out of her mouth. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but they still didn't seem to be used to it. When everyone was paying attention again she continued.

"Alright," she said, softening her tone from the authoritative one she had adopted earlier, "Now I'm sure that I shouldn't have to explain this to any of you, but just in case some of you missed the memo, let me educate you a little bit." She swept her gaze over all of them, letting them all see the intensity shining in her eyes. "We are at war, gentlemen. At any given moment you could be wounded or struck ill. Gunshot and shrapnel wounds may be your biggest concern out there, but its not the only thing to worry about. You could twist an ankle while running, break a bone or two in a fall, or even lose consciousness. All of which leaves you vulnerable to the enemy. Don't even get me started on trench foot, and there are dozens more afflictions that you could fall victim to in the midst of battle." She paused for effect and to gather her thoughts. "Now, as if all of that wasn't troublesome enough, we are more than likely going to be short staffed in the medic department, or...I mean you are. So, what are you going to do when you're stuck somewhere, gushing blood and screaming in pain, and theres no nice medic to come help you?" She hadn't expected an answer, but she got one anyway.

"Call upon the magnificent Bridget McKinley," said one of the guys near the front. Bridget regarded him with a smile.

"Yeah, you wish Nixon," she said, reaching into the bag that was on the table behind her and tossed Nixon a roll of gauze bandaging, "And thank you for volunteering."

The grin slid off Nixon's face as soon as he caught the bandages. The rest of the men quickly began laughing and hollering at him, pushing for him to get up. Finally, Nixon grudgingly stood up. Bridget patted a spot on the table beside her with her hand, grinning all the while. Nixon walked over, grumbling under his breath, sitting down on the table where she had indicated.

"No thermometers," he told her seriously seriously, pointing a finger at her. Bridget smiled again.

"Like I said," she told him, "I save that special for Liebgott. Now lay down and play dead." Nixon followed orders quickly, and to an annoying degree. He flopped down on to his back, eyes closed, and tongue protruding out of the side of his mouth. Bridget placed her hands on her hips as the guys behind broke out into light laughter. Her annoyance faded as she adopted a mischievous smile. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of scissors. She turned to her audience. "Now, if you come across a comrade like this, the first thing you need to do is check to see if hes still alive. Sometimes checking their pulse can be inaccurate, so all you need to do is a take a stick, which I am demonstrating here with a large needle, and prod him in or around the genital area, like so." Bridget had only taken a small step towards Nixon when he sat bolt upright, staring at her fearfully and crossing his legs together. She looked at him smugly and snipped her scissors at him a few times while the company roared with laughter behind her. When it subsided she looked at them then at Nixon, her expression stern again.

"Alright," Bridget said, "Lets get serious now."

For the next hour, she schooled them on as many first aid topics as she could think of. She demonstrated proper bandaging, improvised splints, and the right and wrong ways to clean wounds. Bullet extraction was a bit tougher for her to instruct, but Bridget was satisfied with what she had told them. She was quite pleased to see every face in the tent hanging on her every word. Lipton was writing things down. This was more than she could ask for. Even Perconte, obviously in a decent amount of discomfort, kept his focus on her while she spoke. All-in-all, it was a pretty successful session. But all good things must come to an end sometime.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

Every head in the tend turned in the direction of the voice, which belonged to Captain Sobel. He stood near the back, hands planted firmly on his hips in an attempt to look as intimidating as he was trying to sound. The overall effect was unsuccessful. He did looked pissed off, that much was clear, but then again he looked pissed off about ninety percent of the time. It was one of the many things Bridget hated about him. An awkward silence followed his entrance, and she believed that Sobel actually expected an answer to his question, even though everyone in the room, including Winters, looked incredibly confused.

"I said what the hell is going on?" Sobel yelled again, as though they were all just stupid and hadn't understood him the first time. Like a proper leader, Winters saving them all from having to try and answer him.

"This is the medical discussion you ordered, sir," he said, his voice totally calm. It never ceased to amaze Bridget how little things rattled him. Needless to say, her admiration for Winters began early.

"Then what is she doing here?" Sobel asked, pointing a finger at Bridget who was now sitting on the table she had been using for demonstrations, arms folded moodily. Sobel's mere presence irked her. Winters, on the other hand, merely tilted his head to the side curiously.

"She's discussing things with us, sir," he told Sobel, and Bridget wondered if their boisterous leader picked up on the mocking tone. She guess not since he just started yelling again.

"No, no, no!" shouted Sobel, shaking his head with a little too much exaggeration, "I wanted a properly trained medical personnel to be in charge of this meeting. Not some amateur nurse!"

It had only been a matter of time before Sobel said something that was the last straw for Bridget, and that had been it. She was willing to take a lot of crap from the man, but she could not take him insulting her profession that way. It was her knowledge of medicine that had initially saved her from the depression she had found herself in. She pushed herself off the table, and walked towards Sobel. She must have had one hell of a venomous look on her face because she didn't get very far before Winters hooked an arm around her waist.

"Easy there, doc," he said to her, speaking softly. At first, Bridget couldn't understand why he had stopped until she saw Sobel's face. The man looked terrified. She sighed heavily, pushing Winter's hands away from her.

"Let me go," she said, her voice more weary and irritated, "I'm not going to him or anything." She looked directly at Sobel, who was doing his best to hide his nerves, but he was failing miserably, like he did in almost everything else as far as she was concerned. "I should though. Maybe it would knock some sense into you. I'm the only damned qualified medic on this base at this time. All of your 'medical personnel' are in training. You wanted a medical discussion, and you got one. I'm pleased to say your men listened very attentively and are better equipped with essential knowledge than they were prior to the discussion. You did the right thing ordering it, Captain, and I expect appreciation for doing what you asked and doing it well." There was another heavy silence, and Bridget could feel all the eyes behind her watching to see what Sobel would do. She was wondering the same thing. Eventually, their Captain gave in.

"Thank you for your assistance," he said to her stiffly, not sounding a single bit sincere, "I'll take it from here." He walked past her, striding to the front of tent where she had been, hands still on his hips. He faced the men, looking pissed off again. "Change into your PT gear. We're running Currahee!" And with that he left the tent. Bridget heard the men all get up, mumbling things under their breath, grumbling about Sobel, about running, but on their way out nearly every guy patted her on the back, or thanked her for the discussion. It made her smile. But her day was not over yet.

The men of Easy Company were gathered together in one of the wide open grassy areas in camp, doing some stretches before Sobel gave the command to jog up Currahee. They had all changed into their physical training gear, a plain white shirt, and a pair of navy shorts. Bridget walked with conviction over to where second platoon was being led in stretches by Winters, her head held high. Her hair was out of its usual bun and in a ponytail. She was wearing a plain white shirt, and a pair of modified shorts. She had deemed it prudent to lengthen the shorts she wore. Some of the guys looked at her in awe, but most of them just shook their heads and smiled. This was not the first time she had joined them for their Currahee run. She joined second platoon, stretching her arms and legs. When Sobel came strutting in, he eyed her with disdain, but he had already gotten told off by Colonel Sink once for telling Bridget she was not allowed to exercise at her disclosure. He was apparently not keen for it to happen again.

"Alright, men!" Sobel shouted, "I do not want any stragglers today. Twenty-three minutes may be good enough for the rest of the 506 but it is not good enough for E Company. Anyone who finds themselves unable to keep up, you might as well just march your behinds on home." He made a pointed glance in Bridget's direction when he said this, but she merely smirked. He ordered the company to move out, and they did, jogging as a group. Bridget kept pace the whole six miles.

--

Two months later, Bridget stepped out of the infirmary building, grey dress looking sharp, not a single hair out of place. Fall had taken hold of Camp Toccoa, but they were still graced with a few sunny days, and though they had experienced a steady decline in temperature, the guys still had no trouble sweating throughout the day. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and then started walking through the camp. She couldn't help but smile as she saw the progress that had been made. Everywhere she looked companies of men were doing calisthenics, or sitting in groups discussing tactics. All of them looked harder and leaner than they had when they arrived. As she walked, she passed a familiar group of men.

"Look who it is!" shouted a voice she recognized as George Luz, "The record breaker of Currahee." He made a sound like a trumpet, looking at Bridget with a large grin.

"Stuff it, George," she said, smiling in spite of her harsh tone. She jogged over to where he, Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala were taking a smoke break, "I didn't break any records."

"You beat us all to the top of the hill," Luz pointed out to her. Bridget rolled her eyes.

"You guys were vomiting spaghetti all over the place," she said earnestly, which caused them all to laugh, Muck adding a few gagging noises to the mix. Bridget smiled and shook her head in amusement.

"So where are you heading off to?" Malarkey asked her when the laughter died down.

"Colonel Sink asked to see me," she said with a shrug, watching as all the guys exchanged grim looks, "Don't worry. I'm pretty sure I know what its about, and I'm not worried. I'll see you guys later, alright?" They all voiced their agreement and she continued on her way, knowing it was probably best not to keep Sink waiting.

Sink's office was located on the far side of Toccoa, on a slight rise where he could see all of the training fields. Bridget had been there many times before, and cut between some building to take a short cut. She waved at a few more men, Lieutenant Nixon, who was now an intelligence officer for the Battalion, among them. She didn't even bother knocking on the door to the office, and instead just turned the knob and walked in. Colonel Sink was sitting behind his desk, looking down at a piece of paper he was writing on. She walked in and stood before him, hands behind her back, almost looking like a soldier at ease. It was a few moments before he spoke.

"Its good to see you, Bridget," he said, still looking at his piece of paper.

"Its good to see you, too, sir," Bridget said politely. Sink had been very busy the past few months. She had not been to see him in a very long time. He finally pushed himself away from his desk and walked to sit on the front edge of the desk in front of her.

"A few days ago," he began, "one of our supply officers failed to complete his duties. Can you tell me about that?" Bridget took a deep breath. She had known this conversation was going to happen, and she had been dreading it all the while.

"Yes, sir," she said, trying to remain professional, "Boyle got laid up last Tuesday with a bad case of diarrhea. I believe it was that supply of fruit the mess hall got a few days before. I have since talked to them and they stopped serving them until a new supply got here. But Boyle, even though it was obvious he could not move anywhere without...well, without making a mess, seemed to believe that he was going to be in supreme trouble if he did not get the new shipments sorted and a full inventory made. So, having no other possibility that I saw, and it being a slow day at the infirmary, I took it upon myself to complete Boyle's duties. I reported to the supply truck, kept a strict record of things, and we got the job done." She finished, and stood there, waiting for Sink to say something. The Colonel stood there a while longer, looking at her with a blank expression, as though he were thinking.

"You like the men of Easy Company," he said, making it clear it was not a question. Bridget stared at him unblinkingly.

"Yes, sir," she said tentatively, thinking it was probably a bad idea to lie, not that she needed to, "But I'm not sure what you mean." Sink continued to look at her expressionlessly.

"Over the last four and a half months," he said, "I have received reports of you marching up Currahee with them, doing almost all of their other physical training with them, covering up brawls the men have at the pub down the road, and Sobel even told me that you accompanied Private Christensen when he was ordered to redo a twelve mile march too make sure the he made it back alright. I'm sure if I asked you could recite Easy's entire roster. You seem to have bonded pretty tightly with them." Bridget shifted uneasily, but she held her gaze.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, not knowing what else she could say. Sink sighed.

"You should not have taken over Boyle's duties," he said, "That is a job for an enlisted man." Bridget winced a little, afraid of what might come next. But, she saw Sink's mustache twitch, and she realized he was trying not to smile. "However, I'm glad that you did. That was the most efficient inventory I have ever seen. Everything was perfectly organized and in its proper place quicker than I've ever seen accomplished. Job well done." Now he was smiling at her, and she smiled back.

"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice sounding as amazed as she looked.

"So well done, in fact, that I have seen fit to make you our full-time supply officer for Easy Company. That is, if you think you can handle it along with your medical duties?" Bridget couldn't help but grin, and she happily told him that she could definitely handle both jobs. Sink was full on grinning himself now as he stood and clapped his hands together, walking back around to the other side of his desk. "Good. Now, that means that you will be accompanying the rest of the regiment to Camp Benning. Please, sit down." He sat back down in his chair, as Bridget took a seat in one of the chairs situated in front of the desk. He looked at her seriously. "I've been meaning to discuss this with somebody, and you seem the perfect candidate considering who I have in mind for the challenge." Bridget looked at Sink curiously.

"What do you mean, sir?" she asked.

"Its come to my attention," he told her, "that a Japanese Army battalion has set a world record for marching endurance by covering 100 miles in seventy-two hours. I believe our men can best that. What do you think?" Bridget smiled.

"Of course," she said proudly. Sink smiled again.

"Good," he said, "Because I have picked 2nd Battalion to march it's way to Atlanta. I thought that you might accompany them along the way as a medical officer. You would not be required to carry anything more than necessary, obviously, but I believe your presence could go along way for morale purposes. And since our medics are still finishing up their training, you're still all I got." Bridget nodded.

"That would be fine, sir," she said. He dismissed her then, and she got up and left the room, breaking into a full sprint as soon as she left the building, happiness practically exploding out of her.

Heading for one of the housing complexes, Bridget saw that the group she has seen earlier had been joined by Randleman and Liebgott. Since Randleman was the closest she ran at him and jumped, throwing her arms around him in a giddy manner. He was very tall and so she literally had to jump off her feet. Reacting on instinct, he threw his arms under her and caught her, holding her sideways in his arms now as she hugged him. The other guys were practically doubled over with laughter, Luz whistling through his teeth.

"Now, come on," Luz said, "Thats not fair. How come Bull gets all the attention?" Bridget asked Randleman, otherwise known as Bull, to put her down, which he did, looking very perturbed about what had just happened. She brushed a few wrinkles from her dress and then walked over to Luz, throwing one around around his shoulder.

"I am the new supply officer for Easy Company," she announced joyously. Everyone clapped and cheered, Luz patting her on the back. Only Liebgott felt the need to ruin the mood.

"But you're not an officer," he said haughtily, "Or even a soldier for that matter." Bridget sighed and looked at him wearily.

"Well, be that as it may," she said, "Colonel Sink made the appointment himself if you'd care to lodge a complaint." This seemed to shut Liebgott up for the time being, and so she continued. "Oh, and heads up, we're going to be marching to Atlanta when we leave for Benning." It had been common knowledge that the regiment was moving camps, but the guys all groaned at the news that they would be marching. She held up her hands for silence, frowning at them. "Hey, I don't want to hear any of that. Sink is trying to beat a record set by the Japs for marching endurance and he picked 2nd Battalion to do it. No complaining." This lightened their moods about the news considerably, and they all starting betting how much they would break the record by. She told them she had to go see Winters, and she left them to their discussion.

Bridget found Lieutenant Winters in one of the lecture tents, looking at a map and making notations. Over the past few months, she and Winters had bonded in a slightly different way than she had with the others. Since he spent his weekends on base more often than not, the two of them had found themselves spending the nights talking about books and movies and stuff about home. Winters had become like a big brother to her, and she respected him greatly as a soldier and leader. He also respected her as the bold, tough, and intelligent person that she was. Truthfully, Winters was the reason that she had developed such a bond with Easy Company. If it had been some other soldier that she had befriended her so easily, things would be different.

"Sir?" Bridget spoke up softly. Winters lifted his head up, looking at her with those piercing eyes.

"Bridget," he said, breaking into a smile, "Not giving another medical discussion are you? Because I told you I'm not volunteering again." Bridget smiled and laughed a little, shaking her head.

"No," she told him, "I just wanted to tell you before anyone else did that Colonel Sink has picked 2nd Battalion to march to Atlanta. Hes trying to prove that we're better than the Japs." She smiled a little crookedly. Winters chuckled.

"Well," he said, "I guess since we are better than the Japs that shouldn't be a problem. I'll start preparing the men." When Bridget didn't say anything after a moment or two he looked at her curiously. "Is there anything else?" Bridget took a deep breath.

"Colonel Sink made me the supply officer for Easy," she said, letting it all out in one breath. She neither knew nor cared what Sobel would say to her new position in Easy, but she did care what Winters thought.

"Congratulations," Winters said, smiling slightly, "Good to hear."

"So, you don't have a problem with it?" she asked him curiously, just to be sure. Winters smiled a little more warmly.

"Of course not," he told her, "You're damn near as good as some of these soldiers are anyway. You'll make a great addition to the company." He excused himself then, saying that he had to go check on something with Nixon before the afternoon's discussion, leaving Bridget in the tent, her expression full of wonder.

When Sink had told her she would be the new supply officer for Easy, Bridget had not really thought about what that meant until she heard what Winters said. She was a part of the company, as in she was an official member. Did this make her a soldier? No, that was silly and absurd. But this still made her a part of Easy Company. She was finally a part of the group she had come to care so much for. It didn't seem as though it were actually possible. Her purpose in life had finally been restored, her greatest dream realized. She closed her eyes, feeling the tears welling up behind them. She stood there a moment, basking in this moment life had granted her, and then she left the tent, returning to the infirmary where she was needed.