It reeked in the bunks.

All the forged documents, the stolen name, a life that was never hers to begin with—every piece of it had shoved Jesse into a war she didn't believe in. A war that, as far as she was concerned, was never the U.S.'s damn business to begin with. She muttered it under her breath like a prayer, or a curse, every time the mud soaked through her boots or the gunfire got too close. Every time the war reminded her it could take everything—and no one would even know her real name.

Richard May.

That's what they called her—her 'mates,' if you could call them that. Loud, swaggering bastards she was supposed to care about, but never shared a damn thing with. All ego and filth, drunk on their own bravado. Men who called themselves heroes for every Japanese soldier they shot, every prisoner they kicked in the ribs, every woman they dragged into the shadows.

But everything changed that one day.

Jesse remembered it too clearly. Private 'Andrews'—another quiet one, always keeping to himself, someone she'd barely registered in the blur of mud and blood. The Japanese had lobbed a grenade into their foxhole. The blast shredded her upper jacket, tore through the fabric and left the bandages underneath exposed like a secret she'd buried in her own skin. She caught 'Andrews' staring, face flushed and wide-eyed—not with horror, but recognition.

Because he—Private Andrews—he was no man. That was the day Jesse was introduced to another woman hiding in plain sight.

**

Inseparable since that day, Jesse had never known laughter like the kind she found with Andrews. Never smiled like that—honest and full—except when Andrews was nearby. The war felt endless, a gray smear of gunfire and smoke, but with her, it was like they carved out a world of their own. A quiet place, just the two of them, untouched by the filth outside the wire.

And for a while, it was enough.

Everything was good—until it wasn't.

**

The night raid south of the nearest known Japanese base separated them under the gunfire, Okinawa ground stained with the blood of men and two women both with too much unsaid between them to die. Out of the corner of her eye, Jesse watched a Japanese soldier aim his gun at Andrews, and she got ready to yell. But the words remained unsaid as two bullets caught Andrews in the shoulder, a yell that'd haunt Jesse forever.

She couldn't move, her legs stuck to the ground. "Private Richard, move your fuckin' ass!" But she just stared as Andrews crumpled to the ground, two men braver—better—than her hopped to Andrews' side.

The rest of the raid passed in a self-blaming haze. If only she yelled. If only Jesse had done a fucking thing. But she didn't, and now here she was, in one of the tents of the base's field hospitals, holding Andrews' hand. Scarred, calloused—yet it fit perfectly in hers. Two broken things mended together by a war meant to break people apart.

Andrews' eyelids fluttered, Jesse squeezed her hand in an attempt not to jump on her and shake her awake. "Andrews. You.. fuck, I was so scared that you.." she choked up, wiping at her eyes. "Just.. you awake?"

'I'm so fucking sorry' Jesse's expression said, but she didn't allow herself to cry. She had to be Richard after all.