Sound Barrier.

All right people, here it is. The story I was talking about in the forum and that I meant to start 2 weeks ago. Now, I must warn you it is very much a story in the making, seeing as I have currently only planned 2 chapters and would really appreciate people giving me ideas for sub-storylines. And I have abandoned another story slightly I order to do this one. I hope you like it.

XXX

Prologue

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

'Take cover, lads!'

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

'I can't get there!'

'Come on! It's going to –'

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

A momentary ringing, and then utter silence. Thomas Merrick opened his eyes.

'Am I dead?' he thought. He looked around at the half-destroyed trench and felt the rain falling on his face. This didn't feel like death. He was still alive! For a few moments he stayed in his curled position, waiting for the transitory deafness from the shell to pass, but didn't move even when he supposed it had passed.

At the minute it was quiet. Was the battle over? God knows he was beginning to hate the sound of gunfire with a vengeance.

It was February 1915, he was in a cold trench in France, and he loathed it. He'd never wanted to have to come and fight. In an attempt to get out of trench warfare he'd tried to train as a doctor, but many people had the same idea and hospitals had too many employees to take him on. One thing led to another and he ended up enlisted on this suicide.

He was wet. He was freezing. His uniform was unwashed and covered in mud. He was hungry. Rations had been reduced further as supplies struggled to arrive in the cold weather. Getting up, he looked at his dirty hands. One was trembling slightly.

Thomas jumped as a hand clasped his shoulder, and swerved around to find himself facing Matthew.

Matthew nodded quickly before reloading his gun, but Thomas wondered if it was broken, because it didn't click. He also didn't know why he wanted to fire again, Thomas was quite enjoying the lull in the battle.

His companion mouthed something at him before he peered cautiously over the side of the trench and fired a couple of shots, but it didn't make any sound. Gun must be broken or out of ammunition.

The soldier was about to go over to him when around five more men ran to this part of the trench. The officer, a burly man with a cliché handlebar moustache, motioned for them to huddle together like rugby players, to plan his new attack.

When he began talking enthusiastically, Thomas backed out of the circle as a cold washed over him and his mind went blank for a few seconds.

He couldn't hear anything. There was just complete, unnatural silence. The shell explosion could have caused brief deafness, but that would have passed by now. Was this just a temporary thing? Would it go in a few minutes? Of course it would leave. It had to…

His platoon looked at him oddly, and he saw William, also in his unit, glance at him in a confused but apathetic way before turning to someone else.

XX

Matthew saw Thomas back away from the group with a slight look of shock on his face. Was he shell-shocked? The man walked over to him along with the officer of the unit.

'Thomas? You all right?'

His partner just looked at him in incomprehension. Matthew frowned. The officer sighed.

'Pull yourself together, Merrick! There's work to be done!' No reaction. 'Are you all right? What's wrong?'

'I…. I – can't hear.'

'You can't hear? From the shell?'

Blank stare. Matthew mimed an explosion. Thomas shrugged, and then nodded. Officer Hurley pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Shall I take him to the infirmary section, sir?'

'No… yes. But I want him back. This'd better be temporary.'

But it continued.

For the next few days Thomas was kept in the makeshift infirmary in a vain hope his hearing would return. Brief tests were done, but the medics were more busy with the people with life-threatening injuries.

Eventually, the officer of the regiment agreed to give him leave on the conditions that he returned as soon as he could hear again ('Sending perfectly fit soldiers home! It won't do!').

Thomas himself gave no argument, but neither did he show much enthusiasm. A day after the injury he had clammed up and hadn't been heard to utter a word since. Most of the time he just sat and stared into the distance.

Not many people sympathised. It was very easy to take a dislike to him. However, the people who knew him before the war tried to put aside their differences for the greater cause. Of course, relations would always be strained between Thomas and William, but he had managed to find an odd warped friendship with Matthew Crawley. Branson had been transferred to a different regiment.

And so it was, Thomas and Matthew forming an odd comradeship. Not exactly friendship, but called as such for lack of a better word. Thomas still had a tendency to be snide, but he still seemed aware that Matthew was slightly higher class than him, and tried not to resent the fact. The younger soldier proved to have a witty sense of humour when he wasn't pushing everyone away.

Matthew could often return a sharp comment with a sharp retort. On good days he and Thomas could have great conversations, on others they would hate each other.

Now, of course, everything changed.