THIS ONE IS FOR BUGALOUIE, AND SEVERAL OTHERS WHO ASKED ME ABOUT A WINTERS STORY. IT WAS GOING TO BE A ONE-SHOT, BUT OUR RED-HAIRED LEADER JUST WOULDN'T LET ME WRITE IT THAT WAY... SO HERE IS CHAPTER ONE.

** ROSE POV **

I was twenty when Major Richard "Dick" Winters announced that the war was over. Japan had surrendered and, instead of being shipped to some God-forsaken island in the Pacific, we were all finally going home. I watched his face. For the first time in over a year, he looked completely at peace.

I had been with Easy Company since Toccoa, and I had always had an immense respect for the red-haired officer, a Lieutenant at the time, standing before me. We were never especially close during training, as he was always careful to keep a certain professional distance between himself and the enlisted soldiers, but he was easy to like and to follow. When we jumped into Normandy, I landed almost on top of him, and we spent the next few hours alone together in the French countryside. It was there that our friendship was truly born.

"Rose? You okay?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry about that landing. My chute has some holes in it and one of my riser lines got snapped."

"You're down safe. That's what matters. Do you have a weapon?"

"Yes, sir. Lost my leg bag but I have my rifle."

"Okay, good. Mine is gone but I have some idea of where we are and we have a lot of walking ahead of us."

We were definitely in the wrong zone, and for the first hour or so, all of the distant voices we heard were speaking German. We moved silently, listening to the popping of gunfire and the roar of anti-aircraft artillery. Then, off to our left, I heard a crackle in the bushes. We stopped, sinking silently into the underbrush until we could identify the source.

Click. He gave the signal on his cricket and we waited, almost holding our breath. No response.

Instead, we heard the terror-inducing sound of someone moving toward our position, muttering to himself in German. From my limited knowledge of the language, I could tell that he had seen someone come down in this area and he was searching for us.

We held still, split up across the small path that the German was using, hoping that he would simply pass us by. He did not. Instead, he headed straight toward where Winters was hidden. I had my rifle, but I couldn't fire without bringing more attention to our position. I could see my lieutenant's eyes glinting in the moonlight as he prepared himself for what was about to happen, but as the German's arm came up aiming a Luger I realized that there would be no chance for him to counterattack. I had a choice to make.

The world that had been moving in slow motion now seemed to be racing by. I jumped from my hiding place, freeing my trench knife as I moved. The kill was quick and quiet, the wound to the German's throat coming before he could see me and, thankfully, before he could get off a shot. He fell, pulling me down as he went, and I rolled toward Winters.

"Rose! Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He stood and carefully helped me up, checking me over for injuries. It was then that I realized I was shaking, as much from adrenalin as from fear. He put his hands on my shoulders and held me steady with his eyes.

"You did the right thing, Rose," he reassured me, adding with a small smile, "And you probably just saved my life."

I returned his smile and, with a small nod, we began our long walk to the assembly area, adding to our group along the way.

That night was the first night I ever heard him raise his voice when he shouted at Bill Guarnere for firing without his order. I had to internally scold myself for finding him so incredibly attractive in that moment. D-Day was no time for such thoughts, but that was the night we began to look a little differently at each other. Before we knew it, respect had grown into admiration.

I watched him flourish as our leader, proving his incredible tactical skill at Brecourt and leading us through the seizure of Carentan. He had been making a point of checking in on me since the jump, so when I first saw him in the aid station, I assumed that was what he was doing. I had been helping Roe as best I could when I looked up and met his piercing eyes. He took a tentative, hobbling step forward and I noticed blood on his leg.

"Lieutenant Winters! Here. We have an open table here."

I rushed to his side and put his arm over my shoulder so that I could bear some of the weight off of his wounded leg, helping him onto the table. His cheeks flushed at the attention as he tried to assure me that he was fine, but I had the leg of his trousers rolled up quickly, revealing a small shrapnel wound.

"What happened?"

"It was just a ricochet. I'm really okay," he insisted.

I glanced up at his face as I dabbed around the wound to clear away some of the blood.

"You can't afford for it to get infected, so I really need to get it out of there. I'll do my best not to hurt you."

People buzzed around us. The room was full of activity. Lieutenant Compton came by to check in and find out what the plan was, as it was clear that the Germans would probably plan a counter-attack. I tried to focus my entire attention on the wound in front of me. The noise and activity were easy to tune out, but Winters' eyes studying my face as I worked were harder to ignore. I took a deep breath and slipped one hand behind his calf to hold it steady, gently probing the wound with forceps in search of the piece of metal.

He hissed in pain, twitching his leg just as I got a grip on the shrapnel, but I held his calf firmly and removed it as quickly as I could without causing further damage. It had been a ricochet, unpleasant and painful, but not life-threatening as long as it didn't get infected. That, and the fact that it hadn't been deep enough to break the bone were very good news.

"Are you going to be able to stay off of this, sir?"

"Doesn't look that way," he winced as I began to clean it again.

I looked up at him apologetically and he gave me a small smile.

"Try to as much as you can. At the very least, please make sure you let me clean and redress it a couple of times a day. It's not a bad wound, but it could be if it got infected. You'd have a hell of a time making General on one leg, Lieutenant."

That drew a laugh. Then he noticed Albert Blithe sitting against the wall, staring blankly.

"What's wrong with Blithe?"

"Nothing. Except he says he can't see. Told Roe that things just went black all of a sudden."

Before I could finish dressing his wound, he stood and walked over, spending a few minutes talking to Blithe. As he made his way back toward me, to both of our astonishment, Blithe stood up and said that he was okay. It was strange to witness, but Roe would later call in "hysterical blindness." Apparently, our CO's reassurance was enough to calm him down and restore his sight. I smiled and motioned him back to the table.

"Okay, miracle worker. Now, sit down so that I can get this bandage on your leg before I have to clean it all over again. You're bleeding on my floor."

"Is that any way to talk to your CO?" he chuckled.

"My apologies. You're bleeding on my floor, SIR," I replied, snapping a salute.

"Alright, alright. Just wrap my leg up so that I can get back to work."

Months went by quickly after Carentan, but days seemed to take forever. My red-haired Lieutenant became my red-haired Captain, and then we learned that we were to jump into Holland under British command. This half-baked scheme was supposed to get tanks over the Rhine and into Germany, setting us up to be home by Christmas. It sounded too good to be true, and I could see the concern on Captain Winters' face as Nixon briefed us. It turned out much worse than we could have expected.

The daytime jump went smoothly enough. Nobody was shooting at us, which was nice, but our wide-open arrival and the lengthy march to our first target, a bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal, gave the Germans plenty of time to prepare. The bridge exploded in a hail of timbers and splinters just as we reached it, and I was thrown through the air with the force of the blast.

"Rose! Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

I shook off the momentary stun from my hard landing and looked up to see the concerned eyes of Richard Winters kneeling above me.

"Yes sir. I think I'm okay. Just a little stunned. Bumps and bruises. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? Here, let me help you up."

He slid an arm underneath my neck and his other hand into mine, helping me first to sit, and then to stand. I wavered slightly at the blood rush from standing up, and he put his arms around me to steady me. Looking up into his eyes did little to help my balance, but I struggled to compose myself as we stood there for what must have been a suspiciously long time, because Nixon soon appeared beside us and cleared his throat.

"Everything okay over here, Dick?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Nix," he answered, responding as though he were coming out of a trance. "Rose just got thrown by the blast and was a little unsteady on her feet."

He released my waist slowly, as if he were waiting for me to fall, and looked over at Nixon's smirking face.

"Well, I'm glad you were here to assist her. Now, if you're finished feeling… I mean 'holding'… her up, we need to figure out how we are going to get across this bridge."

"Excuse us, Rose," a blushing Dick spoke through gritted teeth, pulling Nixon away by the arm.