I really like your headcanons like damn you're really creative person and I like your ideas.Kinda motivate me to finally make mine about cod ww2 characters
Would you like to make headcanons about William Pierson??
Have a nice day 🤍🤍
YESS!! thank you so much for the kind words🥹 i definitely have some Pierson headcanons in my noggin to share. apparently Pierson is a much requested man here..SO HERE WE GO!! im more than happy to share my headcanons🤍
also i am SO SORRY for my inactivity recently. life has been kicking my ass but i am so ready to get back into writing and work on requests (that have definitely been sitting for too long) and WIPs (that have also definitely been sitting for too long.😓)
ALSO I WILL BE MORE ACTIVE IN THE COD WWII DISCORD SERVER I PROMISEEEE
so, from popular request, (especially recently), here’s some Pierson headcanons!!!
— — —
William Pierson Headcanons
again…from my notes app.
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is a decent artist!! everyone would buy him new pencils and stuff on holidays as a kid and he hated it
routinely runs over mailboxes
visits Turner’s children and widow after the war and kind of takes on an uncle role in their lives
like Stiles, he definitely has MULTIPLE dad jokes in his back pocket. ask him to tell one. please.
has a fancy lamp on his bedside table that he meticulously dusts to make sure he doesnt break it
won a couple medals during the war but he never told anyone back home in Oklahoma. he feels as if he doesnt deserve them
can and WILL slap a bitch (this is kinda canon tho)
is the type of guy to have a red pickup truck thats covered in dried mud and dust and speed through backroads
was sent to Korea after WWII..whether or not he made it home is up to you
used to bite his nails when he was little and his mom would smack him with towels to try and get him to stop
is a burrito ENTHUSIAST. knows how to throw down a tortilla and make a damn good burrito.
surprised the HELL out of Daniels when he came to visit Longview post-war. Red had invited him to a reunion he was setting up but didn’t hold his hopes out for him to show, but he sure as hell did, and it for sure shocked Hazel
^ Aiello thought he was seeing things when Pierson pulled up into the driveway.
was excellent at English in high school. read a lot in his spare time, and got back into the habit post-war before being deployed again
likes when vinyls get slightly scratched up in just the right way so they sound all crackly and extra vintage when playing them
cannot use chopsticks to save his life
becomes a completely different man around kids. is all soft-spoken and nice around children. WILL carry a kid on his shoulders
struggled a lot with empathy when he was younger. over the years he’s gotten better at making emotional connections, but it still takes some time
probably still goes shooting after the war. he wants to keep his skill level with a rifle, even if the PTSD he suffers from after might get to him
^ also probably drags a buddy of his with him to go shooting, it helps with the flashbacks, and he’s good at teaching people rifleman skills
has a big ass truck. it’s the only vehicle he has and ever will drive and it’s like two or three decades old
never take this man to an all you can eat buffet. he’ll be respectful, but all that brisket WILL be gone.
hates vodka. can drink practically anything, but NOT vodka.
can’t spell consciousness
WILL put his cold hands on the back of his soldiers’ necks to get them to break
^ ended up retiring from the military after the Korean War. (if he survived—I MEAN WHO SAID THAT…)
likes the clacking sound typewriters make when you press really hard.
^ has broken plenty of typewriters.
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I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THESE. im so sorry it’s been so long i will absolutely be catching up soon enough
Where Queen of Gaming era herself has already give away what she thinks about queer people besides not only ‘Pierre and Larson’ snogging right behind her 😅✨🌈🏳️🌈
Pairing: William Pierson x f!oc
Summary: The Bloody 1st Infantry Division realizes that the world is smaller than they thought when another Daniels lands on the same beach.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Cannon typical violence, period typical violence, medical inaccuracies, graphic depictions of injuries & death, Normandy, Kasserine, WW2, language, depictions of corpses, period typical sexism & racism, hurt / comfort, whump, PTSD, angst, Grumpy & Sunshine trope, slow burn, survivor's guilt
Word Count: 7.4k
Also on Ao3
A/N: I don't think there's enough COD WW2 fics so I thought I'd make some of my own. Haven't posted anything in almost a decade but went back down the rabbit hole on this recently so I think it's time to kick it out into the world. It's been a hot minute (or a decade) since I've posted a fic so excuse me while I learn the new tagging process.
Series Masterlist
June 6th 1944
“Today, with our Allies we embark on an operation of unparalleled importance.”
The skies above rumbled bleakly, greys and black twisting together while the fading storm thundered dully overhead. Waves knocking against the massive battleships and destroyers that littered the sea just over the horizon from the beaches. The booming echo of the monstrous guns turning rock to dust just out of sight, heavy winds tossing the smell of gunpowder and salt onto the deck. Calm blue eyes stared out over the railing as the first wave of landing parties made their way towards the beaches under a blanket of planes and gunfire.
“To establish a beachhead at Normandy and roll back the German aggression that has terrorized Europe for the past five years.”
A bitter anxiety settled into their bones, every soldier and doctor knew what to expect. Every man and woman holding their breath before the drop, the uncomfortable feeling settling in their stomach as they swallowed the bile that rested at the back of their teeth. The Germans had months – years even – to fortify the beaches against the allied attacks. Hundreds – thousands – of people could and would die today when the forces clashed.
“We are all that separates the world from darkness. This is so much more than a chance to be heroes in our own lifetimes.”
Waves beat against the sides of the Higgins Boats as they cut through the agitated seas. A lone woman stood near the back her expression carefully pieced into a calm mask while blue eyes stared ahead at the looming beach. Smokes was already rising from the MG nests built into the rocks, hundreds of bodies littering the sand and waters as the allied forces breached the wall.
“If we prevail, our triumph will be etched into the hearts and minds of a grateful world for untold generations! I’m talkin’ about glory, gentlemen. True glory.”
If she had been honest with herself, she hadn’t expected to be on the boat headed towards the impending hell that was Omaha Beach. Logically – she knew that there had been a mix-up in names, a clerical error that sent her into the bloodbath. Somewhere on USS Nevada there was another doctor tucked into an infirmary with the rest of the medical teams. Probably thanking a number of gods that he’d been spared from the landing boats, tucked away within a floating fortress miles away from the battle.
Machine gun fire rattled through the wind, barely audible over the roaring waves and thunderous AA guns as they watched the beach come into view. The specks that had dotted the beach became clearer, black and red breaking through the mist and smoke the closer they got. Blue orbs narrowed briefly, her lips pulling into a frown as her mind wondered. Idly wondering if the impending battle would be worse than Kasserine.
She was only half listening to the Lieutenant as he shouted out the orders during their final approach. Her eyes remaining trained on the beach while the sand exploded upwards, smoldering and smoking under the relentless gunfire. This was the moment – the first in what would undoubtedly be a long line of moments that would define the course of the war. It was still too early to tell if it would be in their favor or not.
“Daniels!” The Lieutenant roared over the engines, “Pay attention! Did you even hear me?”
“Yes Sir.” She commented – her voice just loud enough to be heard over the wind, “Stay low – don’t bunch up.”
“Isabella?!” The group turned towards her, eyes widening as any remaining color drained from their faces. “What the fuck are-.”
“We don’t have time-!” The Lieutenant cut him off, “The beach is going to be flattened – we’re bringing up the rear. But stay low – prioritize those who can be saved.”
They were getting closer now – the familiar tink-tink of bullets bouncing off of the armored sides, the guns at the rear echoing overhead when they returned fire. Peppering the cliff faces as they cut through the quickly approaching shallows. Next to her a man’s prayer was cut short, warmth splashing across the side of her face forcing her attention towards him.
The man’s gargling cries were drowned by the wind, wide brows eyes turned upwards while he clawed at his neck, trying in vain to slow the bleeding. Each beat of his heart painting the walls and soldiers in crimson, a vicious hole torn down through his cheek into the opposite side of his neck. Isabella dropped over him hands moving quickly to press against the side of his neck, crimson quickly bubbling up between her fingers.
The man’s panic was short lived, hands slipping from her wrists while the light faded from his eyes heavy frame rolling limply when the boat crashed over another wave. Isabella stilled, inhaling deeply through her nose before her hands slipped towards her side, the warmth against her fingers causing a rock to form in her stomach. Shouting drew her attention upwards, eyes clashing briefly with the gunner before he pointed overhead, words finally breaking through the cotton that had formed in her ears.
“Get ready to go!” The driver shouted, his expression grim, “10 seconds!”
Isabella’s attention snapped towards the ramp when it dropped, immediately bullets began to tear through the soldiers at the head of the boat. Cursing violently to herself Isabella moved to the side, throwing herself up and over the ledge to plunge into the shallow waters. One arm remained above her head, holding the heavy pack of medical supplies over the water’s surface. Resurfacing, she spat the copper tinted sea water out of her mouth before she moved towards the remains of a Higgins boat, the twisted metal still smoldering and smoking from whatever explosion had sunk the vessel. Running a hand down her face to clear the stinging salt from her eyes she felt her heart skip a beat, wide blue eyes taking in the blood soaked sands that stretched out before her.
It was worse than Kasserine.
Despite the carnage that lay before her there was a noticeable change – unlike Kasserine the Germans had taken losses as well. Omaha was littered with blood and ash, strangled cries and crackling flames rising up over the fading sounds of bullets that echoed down from the cliffs. Fires flickered from within the bunkers, smoke billowing out of windows while shadows danced in the distance.
The allied forces were making headway.
Slowly and surely the Bloody 1st were clearing the bunkers above, leaving those on the beach in haunting silence. The Infantry teams that had landed with the medics began to push forward, hurriedly racing across the sand to reinforce the teams in the cliffs, only a handful of them remaining behind as the medics began to flood the beach.
It was a heart wrenching process, racing between corpse and fallen man, desperation in a constant battle with professionalism as they were forced to make hard decisions. The scent of blood so heavy in the air that they could taste it across their tongue, overpowering the gunpowder and smoke as they plucked the wounded from the wreckage. Tourniquets and compresses were applied with practiced ease, fingers pale as they fought the fear back through sheer force of will.
War was hell.
And it was their job to claw their men back from the gates, no matter the cost.
“Daniels!” A voice shouted, cutting through the woman’s thoughts, her attention snapping up from where she’d pressed down on the bullet hole in the man’s leg.
“Jack-.”
“Isabella, we need you up the hill.” The man cut her off, “O’Hara will take over here, I need you with me. Now.”
“Understood,” She nodded, blue eyes shifting towards the other medic as he dropped to his knees next to her. “Lead the way, Cap.”
They moved across blood-soaked sand with unyielding determination, the captain’s words falling in quick succession as they broke through the wall and turned up towards the bunkers. They’d already started to build up a makeshift hospital, since she’d had previous experience with high casualty conflicts it was decided she would be running through triage ahead of the younger doctors while the more senior worked on stabilizing everyone they could.
A strangled gasp drew her attention towards a young brunette stretched out on the ground, one in a growing list of men who’d been dragged from the bunkers. A baby-faced medic crouched over him, hands pressing too hard against the gaping wound that split through the soldier’s abdomen. Muttering a string of curses under her breath Isabella rushed forward, irritably swatting the medic’s away with sharp orders before her attention turned back to the wound.
It was a fortunately straight wound, easily sutured once they stopped the bleeding. New bruises were forming across already battered and raw flesh, some from the force the Nazi had used to slam the knife through his skin while others were clearly from someone’s attempt to stave the bleeding. Cold fingers brushed against his skin, pressing down on the compress while her other hand began to dig through her bag.
“Hey, Kiddo.” She announced slowly, attention snapping to her bag briefly when she struggled to find her kit. “Bud – Hey! I’m gonna need you to stay awake for me, yeah?”
Her gaze snapped back towards him when she pulled the kit forward, dropping it to the ground between them. He was so young. He couldn’t have been much older than Ronald, a thought that sat uncomfortably in her stomach. Despite the swelling storm of anxiety that threatened to claw to the surface she forced her expression to remain calm, cool blue eyes clashing with unfocused green.
“Hey, Hey! – Buddy.” She spoke again, reaching forward to lightly tap his face with her free hand, “You have to keep your eyes open kiddo.”
His eyes flickered open again, a heavy groan hissing passed his lips when the world spun beneath him again, gaze struggling to find her through the fog of pain. Incoherent words were mumbled into the air between them, half lost to a slurring voice while shouts rose up from the road. Rasping whispers that weren’t quite able to cut through the ringing that was left behind by the roaring guns and screams that had swallowed the beaches. Only the occasional word manage to cut through the chaos – muddled sentences about a farm kid and his girl. Jokes she realized that had been traded between his squad mates that she hadn’t been privy too.
She met his unease with reassurances, blue eyes steeling when they snapped towards the younger medic that had stepped towards them. Stab wounds were easy. They shouldn’t have been, all things considered they were just as deadly as a stray bullet. But they were familiar in a way she hated to acknowledge, whether it was from twisted metal or the stray nail from a fence post – gashes and cuts were her forte.
“You’re in luck, Kid.” She drawled slowly, blue catching half lidded green once more, “I have brothers who got into a lot of trouble just like this… I can patch this in my sleep. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Daniels? Daniels!” Jack shouted, hard grey eyes scouring the mass of bodies that rushed around the makeshift hospital.
They were hours into the day now, the sun chasing the clouds away to reveal a dull blue sky, smoke rising in pillars from burned cars and tanks. A thin mist clinging to the trees and grass, quickly fading under the sun that had finally broken through the thick cloud and smoke cover. Soldiers still rushed around, teams quickly stacking up in preparation for the attack further up the road to clear the farm.
“Daniels!” Jack roared again, irritation bleeding into his words, “Get over here!”
A young Private spun towards him, wide blue eyes locking in on him as confusion flooded his features. A hand slowly pointing towards himself while his Lieutenant’s gaze switched between the two. The squad slowing briefly in their march up the hill.
“Sir?”
“Not you – Private. Obviously I need a different Daniels-.” Jack cut himself off, moving quickly towards a lithe figure that had appeared over one of the splintered walls, “There you are! Is the next batch ready for transport?”
“Keith, Franks and K. Smith need more time.” The woman announced hauling a large medical bag over her shoulder. “Everyone in Medic 3 are wrapped up and ready to go, Reeds and Swenson are in the red – they need to the theater asap. Make sure someone is ready to receive them.”
Private Daniels felt the color drain from his face eyes widening as the woman stepped towards them with a clipboard in hand. The bold red cross of the combat medic stitched into her shoulder and painted across the helmet on her head. Her uniform was coated in dirt and debris, new and old blood soaking into the fabric of her pants and dotting across her sleeves and chest. Despite the gore and grime her hands were remarkably clean, scrubbed multiple times as best as she could while moving between patients.
“Alright,” Jack sighed gruffly running a hand over the side of his face, “Bartels, Gamer get them prepped and on the next boat. Harrison is working through Medic 1 and 7, and Deerfield is prepping the team on the ships.”
“Bella?”
There was a sudden hush in the Immediate area, soldiers and medics alike freezing in place their attention snapping towards the Private. The woman’s head swiveled, brows furrowing with her lips pulled down into a frown before she zeroed in on the source of the voice. Meeting the Private’s gaze her expression relaxed, relief seeping into her gaze while a lopsided smile pulled at her lips.
“Oh – Hey Red. Fancy seein’ you here.” She smiled glancing over his frame quickly to check for wounds. “Glad you’re okay, kid.”
“What are you doing here?” He questioned, stepping forward as he stared down at her bloodied uniform.
“Private is right,” His lieutenant cut in, stepping closer to the pair drawing her attention towards a familiar face. “What are you doing here?”
Isabella’s brow arched lightly at his question – she had expected it. Joseph Turner was well meaning even in the worst of times, and the last time they’d spoken it was before she shipped off to ‘safer objectives’.
“My name was called,” She shrugged lightly, remarkably and disturbingly unbothered by the atmosphere that had settled around them. “If I had to venture a guess, there’s an Isaiah Daniels still on the boat. Between the two of us – that’s probably for the best. Isaiah is a jumpy guy, dunno what good he’d do out here.”
“Bella…” Red muttered, exasperation breaking through the exhaustion and fatigue.
The soldiers couldn’t help but see the similarities between the two as they stood facing each other. Their eyes and nose were the most obvious giveaway, the dark blonde hair being a close second as it stuck out from beneath their helmets. Isabella stood a few inches shorter than Red but the familial resemblance was obvious. It was also clear that she’d already seen battle, though it was unclear to the newer recruits where she could have been deployed.
The younger soldiers had been shaken by what they had seen on the beaches. Understandable trauma ground into their bones by the horror and malice that littered the blood soaked sand. Isabella stood out of place amongst them, shoulders relaxed with smooth features still visible beneath the grime.
“Daniels!” A new voice shouted an elder medic bolting past them, “Med 2 – Med 2!”
Without hesitation she took off after him, goodbyes tossed over her shoulder before she rounded a corner with the other medic. The small group watches them go, Jack glancing back towards Turner with an arched brow before he returned to the fray, sharp orders falling from his lips to direct soldiers and medics alike.
“You didn’t mention you got a nurse for a sister, Daniels.” Aiello grinned, stepping forward to elbow Red jokingly. His grin widening considerably when the younger man glared harshly at him, his own lips pulled into a deep frown.
“She had the doctor badge.” Stiles corrected slowly, wide eyes shifting towards Red from behind his glasses. “Your sister’s a doctor and that didn’t come up?”
“Alright, alright, college. She’s a Doctor.” Aiello sighed, his attention shifting between the two before he elbowed Red again. “Still doesn’t explain why you didn’t mention her. That’s way more interesting than the farm.”
Turner shook his head slowly, glancing over at the tall Sergeant when he stepped up next to him, brows knitted together as he tried to piece together the conversation he’d missed. Eyes shifted towards the woman’s frame before she vanished into the crowd, perpetual scowl etched into his features.
“What are the odds…” Turner muttered, drawing the Sergeant’s attention before he nodded towards the Private, “That of all the Private Daniels that could’ve landed in our Platoon, that we’d end up with Isabella’s brother?”
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” The man ground out, irritably running a hand down the side of his face.
“She’s here, Pierson.” He nodded slowly, motioning towards the med tents “On the beach.”
It wasn’t long before Isabella was back at the staging area, idly flipping through the reports while she ran through the near endless list of wounded that had cycled through the field hospital. The Higgins boats that had survived the assault were converted to transport, a near constant wave of movement as they ferried the worst back to the theaters on the carriers. The camp had settled into a tense calm, the chaos slowing to a dull roar as the infantry teams returned from the farm.
The private from earlier – Zussman as she found out – had regained consciousness while she was working in Medic 2. He was much chattier now that he wasn’t actively bleeding out, though it was strained, long pauses stretching as he tried to suck air into his lungs without aggravating the injury.
“Ayy, Zussman, you’re awake already.”
The voice drew Isabella’s attention towards the black haired technician that had been marching with Red. Brows arching lightly when he offered her what she imagined was supposed to be a charming smile, she tilted her head in greeting before she turned her attention back to the papers.
“What? No way!” Isabella jumped lightly at the loud exclamation, eyes shifting to see Zussman grinning up at her, “You’re Daniels sister? Small world!”
She offered a lopsided smile, shaking her head slowly while Zussman rapid fired questions about what Red was like as a kid and stories of what he’d been up to since he enlisted. The Technician – Aiello he’d introduced himself as – offered up his own stories and questions, the pair quizzing her for some time before she was pulled away by another Doctor.
There was a cautious optimism that settled around her when the pair had been so lively despite the siege. They’d be good for Red and would help him find his footing, she felt better knowing they were going to be marching alongside him. Zussman had already taken a knife for Red, it was obvious that they had already formed solid foundations and she hoped it would carry them all through the war.
“Zussman – where is he?” Her gaze lifted to the road again, blue eyes falling on Red’s familiar features, “Please – I just want to make sure he’s ok.”
“He’s over here,” she spoke up, raising her hand to catch his attention. “It’s okay, Kyle. Let him through. Red – he’s in the corner with Aiello. They’re on their way out now.”
Red jogged down the steps towards her, eyes immediately finding Zussman and Aiello, the former slowly hauling himself up with a weak smile. The color had started to return to his face now, though he was still too pale for comfort. Blood soaking the front of his uniform, stark white bandages visible through the tear in the fabric.
“Daniels...” Zussman greeted; hand pressed to his side while he tried to sit up. Giving up the effort moments later as pain radiated up his chest, wrapping around his abdomen as he rolled back onto his arm.
“Man, I thought I’d seen everything…” Aiello sighed, glancing down at Zussman before he met Red’s gaze.
“He going to be okay?”
Red glanced up, eyes shifting from Aiello back towards Isabella before settling back on Zussman again. It was clear he was still worried, the fear and guilt pushing him past the limits of his fatigue. Trying to reassure himself that his friend was going to be alright – that they’d all survived the massacre on the beaches.
“Yeah, Doc stitched him up good.” Aiello assured, offering a reassuring smirk of his own in an attempt to ease the rookie’s fears.
“Shoulda stayed on the boat.” Zussman joked weakly, his lips pulled into smile.
“Oh, now he tells us.” Aiello muttered, rolling his eyes sarcastically.
“Hey… What you did back there… I owe you.” Red admitted, causing Isabella’s brow to arch lightly.
“I’d say we’re even.” Zussman smirked, hand slowly shifting from the bandages across his stomach.
“We’ll see this through.” Red nodded.
“To the end?”
Zussman’s hand moved away from the bandages slowly, muscles straining as the movement pulled and stretched skin. Red met him halfway, nodding his head resolutely as he grasped the outstretched hand, shaking forcefully but carefully – eyes flickering down to the wound.
“To the end.” He agreed, head turning towards the approaching figures.
Behind him Turner and Pierson moved through the tents, the lieutenant motioning towards the plains beyond the bunkers. Isabella’s attention shifted towards them, sharp eyes flickering over the frames to find the pair dirty but unharmed. Blood clung to their pants legs alongside the mud and sand that had only just started to dry, but they were – like Red – remarkably unharmed. The casualty list kept climbing despite the lull, and with a guilty sigh Isabella was at least thankful that she hadn’t lost someone in her circle.
“Beachheads secured. We’ll bivouac at the second hedgerow after the ridge.” Turner nodded again towards the small plateau above them, eyes shifting to Pierson briefly before the Sergeant nodded.
Red rose to his feet slowly when the officers approached, rubbing his hands against his pants in a nervous attempt to clean them. Pierson stepped away from Turner slowly, gaze drifting across the small group before he met Red’s eyes. From her position behind Red Isabella watched as the Sergeant regarded him, cool indifference settling around him before he continued forward.
“Welcome to the Bloody First.” Pierson announced, dull disinterest flooding his words before he shouldered his M1928 lazily. “You’re a long way from Texas, farm boy.”
The doctor scoffed under her breath when Pierson turned away, already moving up the narrow pathways towards the other soldiers. She wasn’t surprised by the less than friendly exchange, if anything it amused her – It was a comfort. Some things didn’t change.
Like Turner.
The Lieutenant watched Pierson walk away with a reserved expression, lips pulled into a frown before his attention turned back to Red. Compassion pulling at his features before he began to step towards the Private slowly with a relaxed gait.
“None of us could have prepared for that.” Turner encouraged gently; his expression serious as he met Red’s gaze. “But you came through when it counted.”
“Thanks, Sir.” Red began, stumbling slightly over his words. “I uh-…”
“You’ll be alright, son.” Turner assured, lightly gripping Red’s shoulder with a nod.
“Thank you… Yes, sir.”
Isabella watched with eagle eyes when Red’s gaze lowered to his hands, absentmindedly rubbing them together in an attempt to stop the shaking as the full weight of the day set in. Blood smeared across his hands – whether it was German or Zussman’s she wasn’t sure. But the fatigue and anguish punched her in the gut. Twisting painfully while Red studied his hands, closing them into unsteady fists to block the gore from view.
“Of course I will…” He sighed, mostly to himself.
A frown had settled on her lips, for a moment she thought back to the frightened 13 year old. It was difficult to fully accept that her brother was an adult and fighting in the war. She wanted to hide him away from it in the back of the infirmary, shield him from the horrors she knew were only going to grow as they advanced forward. The beaches had been hell, but she knew that the worst was far from over.
“Alright, Zussman.” Isabella announced slowly, cutting through the tension drawing three pairs of eyes towards her. “You’re on the next transport out. It’ll be a few weeks before you’re cleared to come back, but you should heal up fine.”
A barked command from a group of medics across the road drew her attention, brows furrowing before her lips were pulled into a thin line. Bidding the group a farewell before she crossed the road quickly, sharp orders falling from her lips as she approached them. Zussman and Aiello watched her go with raised brows, their gaze shifting to find Red staring after her with exasperation and worry.
Clearly the behavior wasn’t unusual.
Time passed quickly for the medial teams, running through the tasks and treatments while the steadily increasing number of allied soldiers continued to arrive on the beach. Tents and temporary buildings were constructed where there was space and bunkers were cleared out and re-fortified. Isabella worked alongside Jack for much of her time, only occasionally spotting Red and his squad through the crowd of infantry men.
Turner and Pierson kept the rookies busy, putting them through their paces as they re-hammered the expectations of life in the field and the patrol schedules before releasing them for dinner. It didn’t take long for Red to find Isabella once he was released. The elder Daniels was found in one of the many medical tents that had popped up above the beach, brows knitted together as she flipped through a seemingly endless stack of papers and supplies.
Conversation had started easily enough between them, Red unwilling to approach the topic that had been haunting him since he’d found out she was on the beach. Isabella knew what he wanted to ask; it had been written on his face all day. But she was content to push off the conversation until he was ready to verbalize it.
Red was so young when she left, she didn’t really discuss much of her career with him. Even before they lost Paul, the youngest sibling was always kept out of the heavier topics of the family. Partially to shield him, but also because he was so young. 13 years separated Isabella and Red, a gap so large she was already out of the house before he was old enough to form his own opinions. As such, it was a struggle to see him as anything other than the baby faced brother who struggled with the weight of the expectations put on him by their father.
“Bella…” He began slowly, drawing her out of her thoughts to find him already looking at her, “What are you doing here, really? I know you told me it was an error… but – why’d you get on that boat?”
The longer he thought about it the more the rock in his stomach grew. He’d seen so much on the beaches while they tried to breach the sea wall. The idea that his sister would be walking through the same devastation made his stomach churn. Isabella had always been a positive and warm light in his life, patient and kind no matter what life threw at them. She carried him through Paul’s death and shielded him from their father long as best she could.
She didn’t belong in war.
The idea of her being so close to combat ripped the air from his lungs more than once, an unsettling fear that she’d be gone in a blink clawing at the back of his mind despite the fact they both stood in the tent alive. He knew she’d signed up with the Army’s Medical Corps, she’d mentioned it before in one of her letters, but he never imagined that she’d accepted such a dangerous mission.
“I had an opportunity to do good,” She spoke up with a shrug, seemingly unbothered by the reality that had settled around him.
She was so… casual about it. Her stance relaxed as she leaned against the crate with her arms folded across her chest. Zussman had told him about how quickly she’d stitched him up – how gentle and calm she’d been despite the fact he was convinced he was going to die. His mind wandered back to Paul as his brows furrowed, a worried frown settling onto his lips.
Would Paul have let her join up?
Did she talk to Paul about it before she left for her first deployment? He realized then that Isabella never discussed her assignments or her work with him. Perhaps she didn’t think he could bear the weight of it – maybe she didn’t want to risk distracting him.
“Red – don’t do that.” She spoke up again, narrowed eyes locking in on him while she watched the Private spiral. “Don’t put that on your shoulders. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself and my decisions.”
“But-.”
“No buts, Ronald.” She cut him off gently, brows furrowed lightly. “We’re both here, we’re both fine. If anyone’s gonna be worried, that’s my job. You’re the one in the Bloody 1st, you’ll be spearheading a lot of this effort, I’m going to be bringing up the rear with the medics. We’re not gonna see a lot of combat.”
“But you’ll still see it.”
“You let me worry about that, baby brother.” She announced, stepping forward so she could toss an arm over his shoulder in a reassuring hug. “You focus on keeping out of trouble. Turner is a good leader, he’ll do his best to keep you out of it. And what he can’t keep you out of he’ll help you out of – just listen to him.”
“Pierson’s the problem…” He muttered quietly, drawing a lopsided smirk from her.
“He’s a complicated man.” She shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair affectionately, “They’ve got two different ways of getting through the things they’ve seen, try not to take what Pierson says too seriously… Just stay outta his way and it’ll be fine.”
Isabella shifted quietly between the stack of crates and papers; brows furrowed as she read through the reports. She’d sent Red off a few hours before and buried her head in her work. The constant need to be busy was familiar – you can’t dwell on reality when you’re faced with a mountain of tasks. She’d just finished running through the already dwindling supply forms when she heard someone step into the tent. Two pairs of footsteps crossing the dirt floor before they stopped across from her, blue eyes lifting to rest on Turner and Pierson.
They were an odd pair in the grand scheme of things. Turner’s expression was filled with a subtle distress and worry, an almost fatherly concern twisting his features. It was laughable considering he was a year younger, but it was endearing all the same. Pierson in contrast buried any concern with frustration and anger. A near impervious mask set into tired features as he scowled at her from across the makeshift table.
“This is not staying out of the front lines.” Turner spoke up first, drawing her attention towards him again. “Isa-.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” Pierson cut in, dark eyes zeroed in on the woman while she stared back at him impassively, placing the papers down as she gave them her full attention.
“Friendly reminder, boys, but I’m not a soldier so you can’t really tell me where to go or what to do.” She sighed, running a hand down the side of her face, tired blue eyes not missing the way Pierson’s jaw clenched. “My group was recruited for Operation Neptune. I think we can all agree that my inclusion on the landing team was a fluke, but it wasn’t exactly the time to argue.”
“You could’ve died.” Turner spoke up, eyes flickering to Pierson when he cut off the man’s impending rant. “You’re safer on the ship – in a theater.”
“Yeah. That’d be true for everyone.” She shrugged, “Face it, Joe. I’m the best field medic in the battalion, I’ll do substantially more good stabilizing the boys to get them back to the surgeons at the camps and theaters than I would’ve done on the ship.”
The woman was unbothered by their expressions, she’d long since become desensitized to Pierson’s anger and Turner’s lectures. She’d met them both after the war started, during the first tour when she’d been assigned to their unit’s care following her time in Hawaii. She was an unflappable doctor, unbothered by most of the things thrown at her. Much like Turner, there was very little that could anger the woman.
“You should go back to the carrier.”
“You act like I’m going to be going to be at your heels through the sieges.” She drawled blandly, eyes shifting between two equally unimpressed expressions. “While my team is technically following you lot, we’ll be trailing far enough behind that we won’t be regrouping until long after you’ve torn everythin’ down.”
Neither man moved, steely gazes locked in on her frame when she moved the papers on the crate again. She knew they meant well – in their own way. She knew that they’d be pulling whatever string they thought could help to try and get her re-assigned back to one of the ships. At the same time she knew that it wouldn’t work. She’d already received her orders – her team was embedded with the Bloody 1st and she would be with them until they crossed the Rhine.
No matter the cost.
But she didn’t have the energy for that conversation – or argument in Pierson’s case. She’d built her reputation since Kasserine, between the politics and the tactical advantages the Brass wouldn’t be recycling her. No matter how their stomach might churn at the sight of a woman in combat – she got results. And anyone who posed a threat to the health of the troops faced sharp consequences.
“No.” Pierson shook his head, stepping forward to tower over her. “Absolutely not. It’s already a miracle you made it off the boat-.”
“Not as much as you’d think considering we weren’t deployed from the ship until after the sea-wall had been breached.” She cut him off, her tone even and smooth as the man glared down at her. “Look, it’s great to see y’all again, I’m happy you’re alive and mostly unharmed given the breach you both just finished. I appreciate concern and that y’all are tryin’ to look out for me.
“But – this isn’t a situation where you’re gonna be able to pull strings, I will respect your tactical directions ‘n will do my best within the confines of my own orders to follow them. But the General already gave us our directives ‘n we are following behind you. Despite the mix up with Isaiah, Davis and Shepherd both agreed that a surgeon on the ground was worth more than a veterinarian.”
Hours began to bleed into days, camps and landing bases were built up just off of the beach. The allied forces fortifying their position against any lagging Nazis. In the wake of the battle the camp fell into an uneasy silence – the rush of victory had faded, pushed beneath the surface as the weight of the losses set in. Isabella moved between the medical tents while she and Jack worked through triage. True to her words, her space with the medical teams on the ground was cemented by the Generals.
Tired eyes stared out at the ships anchored offshore, stars and shadows reflecting in her blue pools as Isabella lazily kicked her legs over the edge of the cliff. She’d spent the better part of the evening shifting supplies between the infirmaries, shuttling bandages and medication between the bays as she checked in on the patients that had been deemed stable enough to remain on the beaches. They’d slowly climbed out of the chaos of the landing, leaving behind only the trauma and unease. No new patients entered the infirmaries, the doctors finally managing to settle into a quiet – albeit stressed – routine.
“It’s not safe to sit out here.” Pierson’s voice cut through her thoughts, drawing her attention briefly over her shoulder.
Blue eyes shifting to where the man was standing a few feet behind her just off the path, rifle clutched loosely in his hands. Arching a brow at him lightly her attention shifted back towards the sea with a shrug. Her lips pulled back into a smirk as she heard the heavy exhale of exasperation followed by footfalls when he slowly made his way to the ledge.
She hadn’t spoken with the Sergeant since the confrontation in the medical tents with Turner the first night. Whether that was intentional on his part or not she wasn’t sure, there was no lack of work to be done by anyone on the beaches. Turner had mentioned in passing that Pierson had taken a special interest in the soldiers, pushing them through formation and drills at every opportunity if any one of them dared to look too relaxed.
If he wasn’t putting Red and the squad through their paces he’d been in the Command tent with Turner and the other commanding officers. Pouring over maps and running over scraps of intel while they started to formulate the next course of action and coordinate the advance.
“Y’done being grumpy yet, William?” She questioned suddenly, brow arching when her gaze shifted to the sour look on his face. “Take that as a ‘no’ then,”
“I am not ‘grumpy’.” He scowled, his words harsh and irritable.
“You quite literally are.” Her lips turned upwards into the familiar lopsided smile, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Everyone thinks so – they just don’t say the word.”
“Cause they fuckin’ know better.” He met her grin with an unamused frown, brows furrowing heavily as he glared at her without any heat.
“That statement implied that I’m right, just so we’re clear.” She announced, leaning back on her hands so she could kick her legs again.
“You’re insufferable.”
“I’m a fuckin’ delight, William.” She countered, “That’s why you’re sittin’ with me.”
“I’m sittin’ with you cause you’re gonna get yourself shot. There could be snipers-.”
“Alpha Company and the Brits have cleared the surrounding forests 1 klick out in just about every direction.” She drawled, “’n that’s not counting what the flyboys have been droppin’ on anything they find further out. ‘s not like I’m layin’ around on the barn roof.”
“Not yet – haven’t been here that long.” He muttered, running a hand along the back of his neck.
Isabella snorted at the retort, the pair falling into a comfortable silence as they watched the stars twinkled off the water’s surface. There was no telling what the coming weeks would bring – if they’d continue to lose tens of thousands of men or if their loses would trend downwards. The thought caused her nose to wrinkle, the smell of gunpowder and blood overtaking the ocean breeze.
“So why aren’t you sleepin’?” Pierson interrupted her thoughts again, drawing her gaze away from the memories. “Heard they were dumping boys on your case more often than the other seniors.”
He wasn’t wrong – any patient that had been deemed ‘too far gone’ was placed in her care by many of the other doctors. It had been frustrating, a dull anger setting into her bones when she entered a tent to find a new body. It wasn’t the patient’s presence that angered her, but the lack of notice. Precious time wasted because she hadn’t been expecting them. It took one rather venomous conversation with O’Neil and Shepherd to put a stop to the surprises.
Isabella saw the situations for what they were – a thinly veiled attempt to push her out of the makeshift theaters by the male doctors. Many of them were younger than her on their first deployment, some were fresh from college, some weren’t even human doctors and had only practiced veterinary medicine until the war arrived. The resulting anger from the woman pushed her to work harder, disappearing under the hospital tents as she preformed whatever surgery she could to fight back infections or remove shrapnel.
Not everyone who crossed her table was able to return to duty. Some were sent home with missing limbs or snarled scars, others without full range of motion or strength in their limbs. Breathing – but still broken. Others were recycles, shipped back to the floating fortresses to heal before being sent back to the front lines.
“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open or are you ignorin’ me?” Pierson questioned again, causing her to snort lightly.
“The only time this place is quiet is at night between watches.” She shrugged, “Wanted to just sit ‘n smell something other than blood ‘n antiseptic.”
Nodding mutely his attention drifted back to the waters again, the familiar silence settling back between them.
Further up the embankment sat the final row of tents assigned to 1st Platoon, anchored down against the stones with ropes and well placed iron spikes. At the doorway to one of the tents sat Stiles, the other rookie who had graduated with Red and Zussman. He was leaning against the post quietly, idly turning the mug of water around in his hand as he stared out at the pair perched on the cliff.
“It’s weird.” Stiles announced suddenly, brows furrowing while he watched Pierson and Isabella interact, the doctor lightly elbowing Pierson. “How’s someone as kind as your sister get along with the Sarge?”
The rookie team was wrapping up for the night, each one trying to catch some semblance of relaxation before they’d need to go to sleep. There hadn’t been much in the way of conflict since they’d pushed the Nazi forces from the farm, but they’d been running drills daily. If they weren’t being put through their paces by the Pierson or Turner they were loaned out to other divisions to cover any shortcomings.
The closest they got to down time during the day was if they were lucky enough to be assigned to one of the medical teams where they’d be able to rib Red by grilling Isabella. The conversation was refreshing and it was downright hilarious to rile Red up but it was still exhausting. Shuffling crates of various supplies or reports between the tents.
“College’s got a point.” Aiello drawled, lighting the final cigarette for the night. “Most can’t stand Pierson for more than a few minutes.”
“I don’t know.” Red shrugs, re-cleaning his rifle in a futile attempt to pass the inspection he knew was coming in the morning. “Bella’s always been patient. I’m not surprised she can put up with him.”
“They got a history?” Stiles questioned, glancing back to Red.
Red frowned at the suggestion, eyes narrowing when he turned to look back at the cliff face. She’d never mentioned Pierson or Turner before, the only soldier she’d brought up was Jack Russo – a Captain who had deployed with her before.
“I don’t think so…” He admitted slowly, uncomfortable with the idea and already hating the possibility. “But she never talked about her deployments or work.”
“You lot should spend more time resting and less time gossiping like schoolgirls.”
Turner appeared at the mouth of the tent, unamused brown eyes shifting between the shocked men in the tent. Stiles was the most flustered, nearly dropping the mug he’d been holding, Aiello letting out a curse when ash fell on his knee. Red had the good graces to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck when the Lieutenant’s stern gaze turned to him.
“You’ve got formation in 6 hours, I’d recommend you get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.” They chorused awkwardly, shifting around the space before Red turned his attention to the Lieutenant.
“Sir – can I ask you something?”
“She was stationed with our Platoon from ’41 to ’43.” Turner sighed, halting his movement to turn to look back towards the trio. “Been through a lot with us – but you’re not wrong. Isabella is one of the few doctors who can put up with Pierson for any length of time… She’s got a knack for it.”
