January 17, 1945

Rachamps, Bastogne, Belgium

For three days, Alice had been forced to stay in Foy. She and a dozen other sick men had taken up residence in the houses that had been spared by the war. It annoyed her, but she understood the necessity to keep her indoors and dry. Every day she waited, she received news on Easy's advancement. Finally, on the 17th, the men had taken their last small town near Bastogne. 

The medics who had been tending to them agreed she'd improved enough to rejoin the company at Rachamps, provided she didn't go into combat with them should that occur. Alice wasted no time. Her cough lingered, throat scratching and dry with every breath she took. Her fever had broken the day before and, while still present, had drastically fallen.

The jeep took her to Rachamps that evening. By the time they arrived about forty minutes later, the sun had set completely. The purples and reds that had dyed the sky were replaced with a star-studded black. She watched it in silence. 

The jeep left her standing at the entrance of town. Alice found herself looking up in the sky at the small crescent of the waxing moon. As she watched it, the memory of her mother playing the Debussy piece Clair de lune in their living room flooded her mind. Why it had decided to come back to her as she stood in the broken Belgian town of Rachamps, Alice didn't know. But it had.

"Lieutenant, good to see you back."

Alice turned to her right, distracted. Private Vest had several packages in his arms as he moved across the town. She nodded. "Thank you. Easy?"

"Head straight down, to the convent. They're all in there," he told her.

She didn't move even after he'd walked away. Rachamps didn't sound nearly as chaotic as she'd come to expect. Her watch read 2100 hours, so she supposed the men were probably trying to grab what sleep they could. With a sigh, she started into town.

Brick buildings rose up on all sides. It surprised her how in tact Rachamps seemed, despite the war. The steeple of the convent she made towards towered into the sky. The building had been painted white over the bricks with dark tiling for the roof and around the windows. Light spilled out from the stained glass. She looked at it in awe. 

Alice moved to the main doors. She could hear music inside, the melodies of angelic voices intertwining with the harmonies of a piano. Alice closed her eyes. Even standing beyond the door felt like paradise. But after a moment, the desire to be closer to the hymns pulled her in. Alice placed her hand on the metal ring of the door. It opened silently, despite the weight of the wooden doors. The beauty that opened up before her eyes stopped her in her tracks yet again.

A hundred candles or more stood lit around the center of the church. It was small, housing maybe a hundred or so people in all. On one side, near what looked to be an altar, two dozen or so young people and children stood serenading the gathered paratroopers. Nuns wearing black and white habits moved about tending to the men. One directed the choir. But the way the candles flickered and danced in the gentle air of the convent struck Alice speechless.

After a month of hiding in dirty, wet, frozen foxholes under the constant threat of death, this Catholic convent really did seem like heaven. It took her a full minute before she could tear her eyes away from the candles and look around. To her right and her left, wooden pews lined faced the center. At least fifty men of Easy sat in absolute silence. They looked to be as transfixed as her.

She saw Liebgott near the front, hunched over the pew in front. He looked absolutely spent. But as she looked around, Alice saw that everyone had the same expression. Exhaustion permeated every inch of every soul in that room. Though she noticed Shifty talking to one of the nuns. He had a small smile on his face. It made her smile as well.

The more Alice scanned the group, the more familiar faces she saw. Almost everyone who she'd been close to who had survived Bastogne was there. This brought great comfort to her. In the paradise of the convent, with the serenade of angelic voices to fill the space, she relaxed.

Her eyes found George sitting absolutely still on one end of a pew. To his right across an aisle, Perconte lay on a litter, and to his right, Gene. To George's left, Lipton sat with his back against the wood of the end of the pew. He scribbled away at a pad of paper. The sight didn't surprise her. Lipton never stopped. Beyond him, she saw Ron.

Alice picked her way around as unobtrusively as she could. She nodded and flashed small smiles at any of the men who looked her way. But not many did. When she managed to reach the place where Gene had set up with Perconte, she sidled in behind them. 

"Hey, Perco," she said quietly. Alice smiled at him and patted his arm. "How's the wound?"

"Alice!" he turned around in surprise. Though he kept his voice low, his quick movement pulled the attention of all the men around them. "Not dyin' anymore?"

"I never was," she argued.

Gene shook his head and sighed. "You would'a if you'd kept up the way you were goin', cherie. The Docs cleared you?"

"I didn't bust out of Foy, if that's what you mean. My fever's down, I can eat, and I can breathe a bit better too," she assured him. "Not dying."

He nodded. "Good." 

They fell back into silence. The power of the french hymns kept them calm, relaxed. Alice felt good for the first time since Paris. She could feel her heart beating. It made her feel alive. After a few minutes, she laid a hand on both Perconte and Gene. With a small, encouraging smile, Alice slipped into the aisle.

She slipped up to the front row. With a light tap on George's shoulder, she smiled and nodded at him. Without a word, he smiled back. Alice slipped in next to him. Turning to look down the pew, she sent Lipton a smile and a nod as well. He returned it.

"You good?" George asked, lowering his voice. He looked her over where she sat next to him. "Docs cleared you?"

"I'm feeling better, but not great," she admitted. "Since we're heading back to Mourmelon, they sent me back here." 

As he'd examined her, she took the time to check him over. He looked tired, very tired. And he seemed more sad than she'd ever remembered seeing him before. Like with all the men, he'd not shaved in weeks, nor cut his hair. The cut he'd gotten on his cheek had scabbed over. He looked like a mess.

He frowned. "What?" 

With a sigh, Alice shook her head and looked away, back towards the young choir. "I wish I could fix this. You. Everyone. Everything is a mess right now. I guess I'm starting to wonder if this war is even worth it, George."

The frown on his face only deepened. George shook his head a bit before letting it lay back against the wood of the pew. "I don't know. I got no answer for that."

"Neither do I. I keep telling myself that we need to win it for everyone who's died, but is there any logic in letting more people die for that?" Alice sighed. "I don't know."

"What, like, a logic in sacrifice?" George frowned and glanced her way. 

"Yeah, yeah I guess." 

George sighed. After a moment he nudged her with his shoulder and then gestured to the space where the choir sat. Beyond them, on the wall, a crucifix hung. "I mean, I know you're Jewish so this isn't your thing, but Jesus died for people. Saved them all by getting killed."

Alice hummed. She knew what Christians believed. She'd had a few Christian friends, had seen the imagery. Catholic churches were everywhere in France. The image of the supposed Son of God hanging from a cross had scared her as a child. 

She turned to George. "But that's self sacrifice, George. Theoretically, he made a choice to die in the place of other people." She shook her head. "I don't think that's the same as a bunch of drafted men being forced to fight and die for a people other than their own."

He didn't respond. After a brief silent exchange, he looked away and back at the choir and the crucifix. She didn't pester him. Alice had about the same amount of answers as he did: none. But as she thought about the justice and logic in sacrifice, her mind wandered to Elsa. Before she knew what she was doing, Alice had taken the letters out and stared down at them.

"Dear Addy," they always started.

Alice sighed. Her head settled back against the wood. As she lay there, eyes closed, Alice threw her mind into the music. The choir sang in french, alternating between hymns and folk songs. It didn't take long for her to catch the melody of the one they sang and without thinking, she joined in. Her voice caught the harmony, not forming words, but matching the notes and tones. As the women chanted on, Alice tried to release all her tension into the music.

Her harmony only faltered when she heard Ron talking to Lipton to her left. Still she kept her eyes closed. Her smile grew as she listened in. After Lip assured his new Commanding Officer that the men were just glad to have a competent person in charge, Ron flipped it on him. He began to list all the things that had been done for Easy already by their leader. Though Lipton didn't respond, didn't catch the meaning behind Ron's words, Alice did. Ron listed every single thing she'd told him about how fantastic Lipton himself had been for Easy. 

"You don't have any idea who I'm talking about, do you?"

"No, sir."

After a pause, Ron replied, "Hell, it was you First Sergeant. Ever since Winters made Battalion, you've been the leader of Easy Company." 

Alice looked over as he paused. She couldn't help the grin on her face as Ron made to leave. Lipton looked totally blown away. Then Ron stopped, and turned back around. "Oh, and you're not gonna be a first sergeant much longer, First Sergeant."

"Sir?"

"Winters put in for a battlefield commission, and Sink approved on your behalf. You should get the official nod in a few days. Congratulations, Lieutenant." Ron nodded at him. Looking past Lipton for a moment, he nodded to Alice before heading out of the church. 

Not long after, the choir left for the night. Alice didn't move from her seat though. The candles still burned, and while the candles burned, she would wait. George had fallen asleep next to her, leaning against the end of the pew. To her right, Lipton now sat looking at the altar on the far side.

About a dozen other men still remained in the church with them. The others had left to catch some sleep or find food or smokes. The sound of flickering candles and shifting bodies in wooden seats made up the only noise in the otherwise silent paradise. Alice took a deep breath. To her relief, she could do it without choking to death on mucus.

When her eyes turned to Lipton, she found him looking depressed. She frowned. "Lip, what's up?"

He sighed and moved over closer to her. In his right hand he held the papers he'd been working on for the better part of an hour, or perhaps longer before she'd come in. "Roster count. We lost well over half the company in Bastogne," he muttered. "We're down to sixty-three."

Alice felt like she'd been punched. She'd kept moderate track of casualty counts from Easy while at Battalion, but the full combined total over the past month hit her like a sucker punch. Alice had no response.

Was it worth it? What was the logic in sacrifice? Turning from Lipton's anguished face back to the crucifix that hung from the wall at the other side of the church, she just fell silent. In the silence of the convent, she tried to return to her prior state of relaxation. But suddenly she found the silence oppressive and longed for the hymns. Before she knew what she was doing, Alice had stood from the pew.  Even the candles couldn't keep her there.

She only spared the crucifix one more look before stalking out of the convent. Sacrifice. She shuddered. These men had sacrificed enough.