Normandy, France. June 6th, 1944. 0300 hours.

Nix had been on the ground for less than two hours before he had allowed himself to concede that he was not where he was supposed to be. This was only slightly embarrassing, as S-2 of Easy, he really should have known the plan. He had been the one to inform the officers of the plan and yet, he could not follow the plan. It wasn't slightly embarrassing. It was mortifying. The only thing Lewis had done right was finding a sign for Foucarville, and by what he remembered of the maps put him about 8 kilometers from Sainte-Marie-Du-Monte.

He was in the wrong landing zone by a landslide. By more than a landslide, an avalanche. If he was this far from his landing zone, Lewis was sure the rest of Dog, Easy and Fox were nowhere near their respective zones. Nixon had been lucky enough to hook up with the battalion headquarters and Captain Hester and while he allowed a fleeting thought of his company and battalion somewhere in the wilds of Normandy to cross his mind, the agent weighed heaviest of all.

Gold's words didn't leave much room for error or hope. He didn't know where his agent was, precisely. He didn't know if his agent was alive. But he made it very clear how much the Airborne and the Allies owed his agent.

For all he knew, the agent was dead. He hadn't known much about their intel that had helped formulate this mission that was credited to her. He didn't know what they looked like if they were alive, or where the hell in Normandy they were. Lewis cursed under his breath. He didn't even know where he was.

Lewis and his gaggle of paratroopers headed southeast, in the pitch black, their weapons drawn and their breath bated. The artillery fire and the sounds of planes above them were loud enough to cover their footfalls but no one dared speak. Nix's hands were trembling, he was ashamed to admit, wishing he had his canteen of Vat69 to take the edge off. He had lost it in the descent along with his leg bag. It couldn't be helped. There was nothing to steady his hands or calm his nerves now. He had lied to himself. The paratroopers of Easy company did weigh on his mind. What had Gold said? "Good soldiers are hard to come by," Well, Easy Company had some of the best.

A rustling in the bushes to his left, barely perceptible in the deafening booms and drumming of the German's weapons but there, all the same, made Nixon raise his hand, pausing the group's movements. The rustling stopped too as if whatever it was in the bushes was waiting for the cover of their footsteps to continue. Was this creature who hid in the shadows German or was it another soldier, lost and confused?

"Flash!" Nixon hissed, willing to take a chance. There was a heartbeat of silence, the only sounds were the drumming beat of the artillery from the next village.

Then a soft voice whispered, sounding very confused. "Light?"

Nixon's breath caught in his chest, resulting in a spluttering, "What?"

Was this soldier concussed or had his nerves gotten to him? He sounded terrified, his voice high and thin in the night air.

"The correct response is thunder, soldier." Captain Hester, the one officer Nix had been able to join up with, mumbled under his breath, just behind Nixon. He rose, trying to see who the idiot was. Really, he thought. Had he missed every briefing for this jump?

"Are you Easy Company?" The voice asked. Still soft, still high.

"What?" It seemed that was the only thing Lewis could say.

"I'm not a soldier," was the still softer reply. "Are you Easy Company? I met a few of your boys a few kilometers back." Out of the shadows stepped a figure, who looked like they could fit inside a musette bag easily.

"I'm Easy Company. Nixon." He said, placing his pistol back to his side.

He had drawn up a sketch of the agent he would be looking for. A beast of a man or a snake of a woman. The carefully drawn lines and shades that comprised the sketch in his mind were not the curly hair and wide face that he saw before him, barely visible in the moonlight. Someone so round and young didn't look like the great agent Gold had sent him to find. But maybe that was the point.

"You are-?"

"Yes, I'm Irene."

That wouldn't be her real name. That wouldn't be who she really was but this little creature who had carved out survival in the woods of Normandy didn't look like she would be offering anything else.

"And I've been sent to fetch you," Lewis said.

"Lieutenant Nixon, a pleasure to put a face to the name," Irene dipped her head in greeting. Her voice had nothing to read. Not monotoned, exactly but her accent could have been anything. She could have been anyone and everyone.

Irene extended a hand for Nixon to shake, saying. "Do I have something on my face?"

She did. Copious amounts of dirt and grime and was that blood? But that wasn't what Nixon had been staring at. Nixon shut his mouth, which had been hanging open, he was ashamed to admit and grasped her hand in his own.

"Irene, good to finally meet you. Are you ready?"

Irene laughed softly, holstering her pistol in the belt of her slacks, a clash between feminine and brutal. "I've been ready for nearly a week. Where were you two days ago?"

Nixon opened his mouth to say, "England," but the operative barrelled on with the force of a tank.

"Do you have a command post on the ground?"

"No,"

Irene studied Nixon's face with an appraising eye. "And just where are you supposed to be taking me?"

"Sainte-Marie-Du-Mont," Was the captain's response.

She crossed her arms, looking unimpressed. "I don't suppose you all have cleared the town of the German soldiers since two days ago?"

"We have had a little difficulty landing. Weren't you supposed to clear our landing zone?"

Irene sighed. "I was a little preoccupied."

"So were we," Nixon hissed. "But we are here now. And I'm supposed to turn you over to CP at Sainte-Marie-Du-Mont."

There was a pregnant pause, where Lewis could feel the operative's eyes on him, waiting for him to make the first move. They stood, separated by a few steps across the underbrush and three years of war.

"You don't know where you are, do you?" She asked finally.

"No," Nixon admitted, low enough that the group behind him couldn't hear.

"Would you like me to show you the way?" Irene whispered.

"Very much, thank you."

She should have been intimidating. She should have been the serpent of the Normandy that he had heard so much about. The silent movement, the infiltration. Hell, the rubble of an anti-aircraft gun of an unprecedented design. But this creature was a harmless garden snake. Small and green, the kind that writhed away from stomping feet. Gold had pained a goddess of espionage and, at first glance, Irene was just a girl.

"Let's hurry," She said, tilting her head to listen to the now not so distant sounds of gunfire. "I could use a change of scenery."