I had no idea how long I'd been out, but when I finally woke up, the sky outside was already darkening. A glance at my watch told me it was just past eight. So, what—three, maybe four hours of sleep?
I lay in bed a few more minutes, then dragged myself up with a groan.
"Hmph, no one even bothered to wake me for dinner. Bastards, all of them—heartless bastards." I muttered as I tightened my belt, slung my weapon over my shoulder, and stepped out of the small room they'd set up as my temporary quarters.
Two of my men were supposed to be standing guard outside—but both of them had their heads slumped, dozing off against the wall. I couldn't help but smile bitterly. If any Kraut commandos had slipped in, those two doofuses would've been dead giveaways that someone important was inside. I'd have been the first to catch a bullet. But hey, this was Carentan—relatively safe, at least for now. Delaney and his men were handling security, and it wouldn't do for me to stay constantly on edge. First, it wasn't necessary, and second, Delaney and his crew would probably start thinking I was a paranoid lunatic.
Besides, if German spec ops really did sneak in here and take me out... well, that just means my number was up. Nothing more to it.
I clapped the two soldiers on the shoulders, startling them awake.
They immediately reached for their rifles.
"Who goes there?!"
"Idiots. It's me!" I snapped. "You two are off-duty. Go get some sleep."
"Yes, sir!" they chorused, clearly thrilled. They vanished down the street so fast you'd think someone lit a fire under their asses.
"Ungrateful little shits..." I muttered under my breath as I spit on the ground.
I wandered down the street, passing a couple patrol units, but didn't see anyone I knew. My stomach let out a loud growl. I had a few emergency rations in my pack, sure—but damn, those things were like chewing on concrete. I wasn't that desperate. Yet.
I headed toward the field kitchen, hoping to scavenge something edible, but when I got there... the place looked like it had been looted. Not a scrap left. Damn. Hunger's a cruel mistress.
"Good heavens—is that Lieutenant Carter I see?"
A familiar female voice called out. I looked up and, sure enough, it was Monroe—the reporter I'd met earlier today. Instinctively, I glanced around, suddenly remembering the ridiculous nonsense I'd been spewing with Joanner and the guys this afternoon. God, I hoped she hadn't heard any of that.
"What are you looking for?" she asked curiously, seeing me glance around.
"Uh... nothing. Nothing at all," I said quickly. For some reason, being around her made me oddly uncomfortable. And not in a bad way—just... jittery. We'd only met twice, but every time she was near, I couldn't quite relax.
"You don't seem to enjoy my company much, Lieutenant."
Damn, she was perceptive.
"No, no! That's not it at all!" I stammered. Truth was, my mind kept flashing back to all the bragging I'd done earlier—and every time I looked at Monroe, my eyes had this annoying habit of drifting to her chest. I mean, hell... I'm a soldier with a ticking clock over my head. Thinking about things like that isn't exactly a sin.
I once read this old book about a small Vietnamese army is trapped in a cave—and among them was a young soldier, barely eighteen, who'd been gravely wounded. Everyone thought they were going to die. The kid's dying wish? He said, "I've never even seen a woman's body."
Nobody laughed. Not even close. The female medic cried as she undressed, letting him see her before he passed away—smiling.
That story hit me hard. There were too many young guys who died without ever experiencing anything remotely close to love or intimacy. If I hadn't somehow survived that beach, I might've been one of them.
So, no—it's not lust. It's just... the ache of knowing what you might never get to have.
"I didn't take you for a lech, Lieutenant Carter," Monroe said with a teasing smile, clearly catching me sneaking glances.
Heat crept up my neck, but thankfully the night helped hide my embarrassment.
"Ahem... Monroe, you're just... too beautiful. A man would have to be blind not to steal a glance or two." I said honestly.
"Why, thank you. In that case, I'd be honored if you agreed to a personal interview." Smart girl—she knew how to use both timing and charm to her advantage.
"Of course. I'd be honored, too," I replied. What I really wanted to say was, spending time alone with you sounds like heaven.
"Shall we begin now?" she asked playfully.
"Sure, but fair warning—I haven't exactly rehearsed anything. Don't go publishing anything that'll get me court-martialed."
"Don't worry, Lieutenant Carter. You're safe with me." She gave me a reassuring smile—though I wasn't entirely convinced.
"Alright then, first question." She slipped into professional mode. "You were one of the first to land on Omaha Beach. Your unit has seen some of the heaviest fighting. Compared to the Germans, many Allied forces suffered devastating casualties. From your perspective, what's the real difference between us and the Germans?"
Damn. She didn't waste time softening the blow.
I paused, gathering my thoughts. It was a sharp question—and fair.
"You don't pull punches, do you, Monroe?" I chuckled. "Alright... to be honest, overall, we hold the advantage. We've got the resources—supplies, manpower, air support. Our weapons, at least in my company, are better across the board. Just look at our rifles, our grenades, even our radios."
"But?" she cut in smoothly.
"But," I echoed, "as far as individual soldier quality goes? The Germans outclass us. Their discipline, their tactical training, their cohesion in battle... it's on another level. Our edge is in logistics and firepower. The only way to close that gap is to use those advantages smartly—pin them down, stretch them thin, and overwhelm them before they can outfight us."
Monroe nodded thoughtfully. "Lieutenant Carter, I have to say—I'm impressed. Strategic thinking and humility? You should be a colonel by now."
I grinned. "Maybe you could put in a good word for me."
"No, no. A man like you won't need any favors. The cream always rises to the top, right?"
"Touché, Miss Monroe. Though I was only half-joking."
She seemed relieved that I hadn't taken offense at her earlier teasing.
"One more question, Lieutenant, if you don't mind."
"Fire away."
"I heard from some of your men that you have... some views about Hitler. Apparently, the kind that might raise a few eyebrows in higher places. Care to comment?"
I froze.
So one of those loudmouths had blabbed. Dammit. I'd have to find out which one later. But for now, I couldn't show weakness.
"Who told you that?" I asked casually.
"That's a secret," she said with a mischievous grin.
"Touché again. Alright, listen… this is America, right? Land of free speech? I believe in facing facts, not just waving flags. If we want to learn from history, we have to look at it objectively—even the ugly parts. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Monroe?"
"You're surprisingly diplomatic, Lieutenant Carter. I see you're good at covering your tracks." She laughed. "Don't worry. This conversation stays between us."
I didn't fully trust that—but I nodded anyway.
Yes, Monroe was beautiful. But I wasn't going to fall for the illusion that beauty meant innocence. Not here, not in wartime.
"I just try to tell the truth, Monroe. That's all."
"Is that so?" she said in an exaggerated tone. "Now I'm even more curious."
"Well, for now, I need food more than philosophical debates," I said sheepishly. My stomach growled loud enough to punctuate the point. Monroe laughed.
"Good luck with that—there's nothing left at the mess. But I do have two cans of rations back at my place. You're welcome to join me... if you don't mind sharing."
"A personal invitation from Miss Monroe? I'd be a fool to say no."
And let's be honest—who says no to food and the company of a beautiful woman?