Most people don't realize that 56.4 million people were killed in World War II, more than any other war, ever. The total material cost of the war eventually came to 1.5 trillion, more than every other war in history put together. It's frightening to think about. Over fifty million people--that's something like five percent of the world's total population at that time. The ratio of females to males in the United States surged for years. The average lifespan statistics for men were affected almost permanently.

Not that women weren't ever killed in the war. In fact, more women were killed than most people ever knew. They were nurses, performers--they may not have been on the front lines, but they were most certainly not out of danger. All of them knew the danger, but they took the risk anyway.

****

Liz slipped out of Max's grasp, and put her clothes back on quickly. It was messy, but she could take a shower when she got back to the room she shared with Alex. Hopefully he was back by now.

She looked at the clock on the wall and froze. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. It was almost midnight. They'd been asleep almost four hours. Max stirred at the sound of her movement, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Her body relaxed and she pulled her blouse back on.

She slipped out the door, not knowing if anyone noticed, and not caring.

****

Max woke up slowly with the daylight, his body actually sore from his exertions the night before. He reached for Liz, disappointed but not surprised to find her not there. He leaned back into his pillow, rubbing his face to try to wake himself up. Last night had not involved very much sleep. He was used to getting a full night's rest. He knew he shouldn't adjust to that, since he could go into combat anytime. But that's what they had told him on the boat over here. *Men, you never know exactly when Uncle Sam will need you.* Hurry up and wait...that was army life. More than once Max had wished that he'd joined one of the exciting branches, like the Marines or the Air Force. Of course, his mother would have been hysterical and he'd probably be dead by now, instead of lounging around at an ex-hospital in a beautiful European country.

Now he had to find Liz. Where could she be? Her clothes were gone. She must have gone back to Alex, he realized with a sudden surge of bitterness. She can't leave her Alex for you, buddy, but she at least wants one good fuck.

Great. Just great, Evans. Mess up everything you've got with both the people you love at once.

Max sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and burying his face in his hands, his bare body inured to the dim, wet cold of the room. Why even bother to get dressed today? What was the point?

****

Liz stumbled down the hall, her whole body sore. She wasn't a virgin, but it had never been like that with Alex, ever. It was like he'd reached inside her mind as well as her body, further than anyone had before. She tripped and went sprawling, landing with a thump at someone's feet.

She reached for the hand that was put down next to her face...and was pulled straight into Alex's arms.

"Hey, baby," he drawled. "Where've you been all night? I've been looking all over for you."

She looked up at him, and tried not to flinch at what she knew she had to say. "With Max."

Instead of being horrified, or insulted, or angry as she had expected him to be, his smile widened. "Great, Liz! I knew he'd take good care of you while I was away."

"Yeah," Liz muttered to herself as Alex led her down the dank hallway. "Really good care."

****

"Sir?"

Kyle Valenti looked up, surprise flashing briefly across his face. "Well, well. I'd heard my brother-in-law was here, but I never really believed it until now. Small world, huh?"

"Small war," Max said, and sat in the chair across from Valenti's desk.

"So what can I do for you, Max? Or should I call you Evans?"

"Either one is fine. Uh, I wanted to ask you a question."

"Ask away."

"Why are we here?"

Valenti looked up in obvious irritation and surprise. "I thought you knew that. We're here to fight the goddamn Nazi bastards."

Max shook his head. "No, I mean why are we here -- in England? So many of us, just waiting around? Why aren't we on the battlefield like everyone else?"

Valenti put down the stack of papers he'd been shuffling through, and looked his brother-in-law straight in the eye. "I'm not going to tell you that, Evans, because you'll find out soon enough yourself. But I will tell you something, and you have to promise me that you'll never tell your sister. I know you two write each other sometimes."

"No, I won't tell her."

Kyle leaned across his desk until he was only a few inches from Max. "This war is going to be *hell*, Max. Hell unlike anything you've heard about, or seen in the newsreels. And you, and I, are going to be right in the thick of it."

****

Max wandered into the cafeteria, feeling more than a little dazed by what his sister's husband had just told him. *This war is going to be *hell*, Max.* What was that supposed to mean? Were they heading over soon? It almost seemed now like it couldn't be true. Like war, for him, was going to be a rainy military base in England and a distinct lack of pretty girls.

Max could remember clearly the intense shock he had felt after the Japanese attacked. Every ounce of safety, every bit of security that he ever had had vanished in an instant. The fact that some foreign force, in a country he'd barely heard of in safe, continental Roswell, could come out of nowhere and completely devastate one of America's major naval bases, had hit him like a slap in the head. He'd known from that very moment that he was going to go to war, and he was going to fight those assholes who were trying to take over, like they had any right to. Like they could kick the U.S. of A around.

He almost didn't realize it when he reached the cafeteria, and he had to stop dead and turn around. He blinked slightly, not sure if he was really seeing what he was seeing.

The cafeteria was bedecked as though for a ball, the whole ceiling strung with streamers and balloons. Max imagined that the rubber, and the dyed paper, were unbelievably expensive. He looked around in awe; who knew that the boring, shapeless room could be turned into something so grand?

He tapped the shoulder of a girl gluing a streamer to the cement wall. "Hey...what is this for?"

She turned around; it was the girl, Maria, that he'd spoken to the night before. She studied his appearance carefully, and he could read her face. Typed on it, clear as day, were the words, "What have you been up to?"

But she didn't say that. Instead, she said, "Ball tonight, for the boys before the girls ship out."

"Girls? Shipping out? What do you mean?"

"Well, Marlene Dietrich has finished with her run, so we're on next. We leave tomorrow afternoon."

"When--when will you be back?"

"Back? Who knows. And won't you be shipping out soon, anyway?"

Max couldn't find the words to respond to the little blond -- Maria was her name. Liz was leaving. He had wanted to talk with her, he had so many things to say, and now he might never get a chance. She'd be with Alex tonight, undoubtedly, and tomorrow too. What if he never got a chance to tell her what he felt for her? That she should leave his best friend for him?

****

Liz looked down at herself. Her performance dress wasn't much - just a simple cut of cream-colored fabric - but it would have to do. Things were tight, especially around here, and she just needed to live with it. This was going to be her last taste of real civilization for awhile, she'd been told, so she'd better make the most of it.

She headed for the dolled-up cafeteria, feeling more pampered in her high hairdo and makeup than she had in weeks, even months. Maggie and Maria joined her, wearing their matching dresses. They seemed happy. Liz wished she could feel the same way. This wasn't going to be pretty.

Maggie and Maria giggled, and Liz was pleased to see Maria really happy for the first time in weeks. It had been nearly a month since she'd gotten the news, and for her most of it had been spent inside her room. It appeared that the thing that worked best at drawing Maria out of mourning was something absurd -- gossip.

"So what's going on with you and Max? Alex not ringing your bell anymore?"

Maggie gasped at Maria's audacity, but Liz shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it, Maria."

Maria put her hand on her chest in feigned indignance. "Are you implying that I'm being nosy? Why, I never!"

"You should," Liz said. "It's fun."

They all laughed together, and turned to walk into the transformed cafeteria.

****

Max looked up and sucked in a breath. They all came in together, breathtaking even in the boring shades of their performance dresses. They were a pale, shadowed milk color, intended, no doubt, to forecast attention to the singer who would make up their center. Astonishingly enough, the color managed to set off Liz's dark, flowing tresses, the color glimmering through them as she walked under the bright lights.

He watched her come toward him. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't seem unhappy. In contrast, she looked as though she'd just been laughing. Her lips were painted a deep, unruly red, making her delicate skin glow. The corners of her lips turned up slightly, and she headed straight for the person directly to the left of Max.