Author's Notes:
This story has been edited to remove the song lyrics, because apparently while we are allowed to use other people's characters in our own stories, we are not allowed to quote someone's song lyrics and credit them for it. Sometimes, I find rules very confusing. I also wish that the person who had complained to me about this in a review had been brave enough to not hide as a guest – am I really that scary? Oh well. I hope the story still makes sense without the lyrics, and if anyone wants to know them, sorry, you will just have to look them up or play the song online.

The song this story is based on is "Bright Eyes" by Art Garfunkel.

oOoOo

The man floated down the river peacefully on his back, barely conscious or aware of his surroundings. The river was calm and eerily quiet, giving no indication to where it would take its victim. From the banks of the river the man could hardly be seen; he was covered head to toe in black, including some sort of grease on his face, and the night was dark with no moon.

No coherent thoughts entered his head. He wondered briefly why he was in the river and what would happen to him, but before the thought had fully entered his mind it was gone again. A peaceful darkness was sweeping over him, clouding his mind and dulling his senses. As he lost consciousness he decided that, maybe, it was all just a dream.

"There 'e is!"

"Carter!"

"Carter?"

The voices entered his dream, bringing him back to semi-consciousness. Carter? He knew that word. But what did it mean? Maybe it was a name... but then who was Carter? A distant memory of laughter reached his thoughts. A group of men gathered around a table playing cards. Americans, mostly, but there were some English and French voices there too. And he was there. He was Carter.

As this realisation hit him, Carter tried to open his eyes. At first all he could see was the sky above him; a few stars covered mostly by clouds. Or were they clouds? Maybe it was smoke? Or fog? No, to his left he could see a glow in the distance, like something big was on fire. Another memory came back for a second, of handmade explosives and timers, but it didn't last long enough to make any sense.

No, maybe this was all still a dream.

Yes, it was definitely all a dream. He was floating along peacefully, and there was no pain. He remembered pain, but it wasn't there now. It had to be a dream.

But then why could he feel hands grabbing hold of him, pulling him away from wherever it was he was going? Why wasn't he floating anymore, and why was the ground under him so uncomfortable? The ground! But he was supposed to be in the river, dreaming. What was happening? He tried to open his eyes, but found he couldn't.

Someone tried to open his mouth, although he didn't know why. He couldn't do anything to stop it though. He was still dreaming, so why did it matter? The hands left his mouth and one of them was on his chest. He still couldn't work out why.

"His airways are clear, but he isn't breathing."

Now he was being rolled over; were they going to push him back in the river? No, they were moving his arms, but he lost track of where they were. Someone was pressing down on his back, or at least, he assumed it was his back. And where had his arms gone? What was this strange dream?

"Come on Andrew, don't leave us now!"

He knew that voice. But from where? Unbidden, another memory reached him. This time he was shaking hands with a man dressed in blue. The man was introducing himself as Peter Newkirk. But what name had he told Peter Newkirk? Oh, that was right, Andrew Carter.

The realisation struck him just as he felt himself gasping for air. His name was Carter.

Someone bent down to pick him up. Or was it two people? His eyes couldn't focus to find out. Maybe he was just seeing shadows, memories of the past. But he was definitely being lifted and carried somewhere. He wasn't floating anymore though, not like in the river. He could feel his body jolting with every step the shadows took, and his body was ever so slightly warming up.

Could it still be a dream? No, it couldn't. With the warmth came the pain. And it seemed to be going on forever. Where were these shadows taking him, and why were they taking so long? Did they need to climb a few mountains to get there? No, definitely not a dream anymore. Maybe it was turning into a nightmare?

No, it couldn't be a nightmare either. If he could open his eyes and see the trees as he was being carried, it had to be real, right? The wind howling was definitely real too. Unless it was laughter. Could trees laugh at him? No. No, it was the wind. Definitely the wind.

But these shadow men who reminded him of his friends, they were still carrying him. Where though? Maybe they would carry him forever, following the wind. If they followed the wind they would definitely go on forever. The wind would never tell where it was going, or where it had been. So what was the point? Why would they do that?

Perhaps it was still a dream then? After all, the world had gone dark again. He couldn't see the trees anymore, and the wind and pain were only distant memories that must have happened long ago.

oOoOoOoOo

"We got chased by a patrol not far from where we 'ad mined the rails. We lost 'em withou' much trouble, but we got separated. I found Carter pretty quick, but I couldn't catch 'im in time. I saw 'im trip over somethin' and tumble outta me sight. By the time I caught up with 'im, 'e 'ad rolled all the way into the river. Must 'ave gone under, cos I couldn't see 'im anywhere. I'm sorry guv'nor, I shoulda been able to save 'im."

"You did save him Newkirk. You found him and pulled him out the river. And LeBeau told me it was you who got him breathing again; you saved his life."

"But I wouldn't 'ave needed to save 'is life if I 'ad stopped 'im fallin' in the first place!"

"Peter, there was nothing you could have done to stop him falling, like you said yourself, he was too far away for you to do anything."

"But sir..."

"No more buts, do you think Carter will want you blaming yourself for what happened? When he wakes up he will need his friends, all of them. You will be no use if you keep hating yourself for something you couldn't control."

"When 'e wakes up? You mean 'e's gonna be alright?"

"Wilson seems to think so."

"Hey sir, 'e's wakin' up!"

"Shh!"

He opened his eyes, blinking quickly and then slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was lying down, but not on the ground this time. It was something softer. A bed maybe? He looked around slowly. Above him he could see the shadows. No, they were faces. Faces of his friends.

"How are ya' feelin' Andrew?"

Then he realised. It wasn't a dream, or a nightmare. It was real. He was Andrew – Andrew Carter. And he was alive.