Originally written for the 2006 Yuletide Rare Fandom fiction Challenge. There have been some slight revisions.
I do not own Blackadder, nor any of it's characters. I make no profit...
WARNING!
Blackadder/Darling Slash lies ahead. If you don't want to read it, turn back now.
Bugger All For Christmas
Part I: The Front Lines
Christmas Eve, 1916
"Baldrick, what on earth are you doing?" asked the dark-haired captain.
Captain Edmund Blackadder looked up from the table and glared at the scruffy private as he scavenged through wooden boxes perched on the makeshift shelves. It wasn't the first time the captain was annoyed by the mindless busy work of one Private S. Baldrick.
Blackadder rubbed his gloved hands together, trying to get warm. He tried to ignore Baldrick, however, it was futile. Aside from the pungent smells emanating from the soldier's unkept uniform, there were the scuffling footsteps, the clattering noises, and the off-tuned humming of sickly sweet Christmas carols.
It was more than the captain could stand.
The captain restated the simple question. "Baldrick, I'll ask you again. What on God's earth are doing?"
"I'm getting ready for Crimble, Captain," the soldier replied, almost lyrically. His words were naive, hopeful and innocent. Or perhaps they were simply vapid and vacuous. The captain could not decide.
"You're gtting ready for Christmas, by rifling through my personal belongings?"
"I'm sorry sir," Baldrick replied, stuffing a few unidentifiable objects into his pockets. "I was looking for snow."
There was a noticeable pause.
"Snow." Blackadder repeated. "You are looking for snow . . . In my toiletry case . . ."
"Yes, sir."
"Why?" the captain questioned, calmly and rationally. "Do you think my toothbrush maintains it's own independent weather system?"
Baldrick turned to look at his commanding officer, with a dazed and confused look on his face.
"Oh, never mind, Baldrick. How can I explain nature to one of Mother Nature's own inexplicable wonders?" After a deep sigh, the captain continued. "Why were you looking for snow in those boxes?"
"Oh, no sir. Not real snow! I was just looking for white, fluffy things."
"Like what, a rabbit?" the captain asked, sarcastically.
"Do you have one?"
The captain rolled his eyes. "Baldrick, you have exactly three seconds to explain yourself, before I decide to check for snow in another equally improbable place: the innards of one Private S. Baldrick."
"How would you do that, sir?"
"Pass me a spoon, and you will see. The boxes?"
"Oh, right sir. I need decorations for the tree... and snow... And these white things look like snow."
"Oh, God . . ." The captain shook his head.
"We have to get ready for father Christmas! For when he comes down the chimney tonight!"
"Baldrick," the captain responded, growing annoyed. "Do you see a chimney anywhere in the trenches?"
"No, sir. But if I ask Father Christmas to bring one, I bet he would!"
"Private, don't you find it a bit ironic that you're putting up a Christmas tree? While you and I, in service of King and Country, do battle against Harry the Hun, you are participating in a time-honored tradition brought to England by none other than that German sausage, Prince Albert."
"I-ron-ic . . ." the scruffy soldier repeated, over enunciating each syllable.
"Oh, why do I bother?"
"But Captain Blackadder, if we don't put up a Crimble Tree, how will Father Christmas know where to find us?"
"Baldrick, did it ever occur to you that the last thing we need on Christmas Eve is a fat German climbing down into the trenches, coming into our bunker in the middle of the night, sneaking up on us, and leaving us all a little surprise while we're asleep!"
"Happy Christmas Eve!" shouted Lieutenant the Honourable George St. Barleigh, as he walked through the makeshift threshold into the bunker. The Lieutenant - dashing, tall, and amusingly awkward - joined the other two soldiers standing around the captain's table.
"Oh God. Not you, too?" Blackadder asked, rolling his eyes.
"It seems that Captain Blackadder is not interested in celebrating Christmas this year. And he doesn't want a tree" Baldrick said, looking up to the Lieutenant, and breaking the news as if it were some sort of state secret.
"Celebrations? Why on earth should I be celebrating?" Blackadder stood up, angry and amazed at the two other men. "Instead of a Christmas Goose with all the trimmings, what can we look forward to? The delicious meal options of Chez Baldrick? What's on the menu this year for Christmas tea?"
"Rat roast..."
The captain pointed to the private, and shook his head and finger. "You see? Exactly what I mean!"
Moving away from the table, he began to pace back and forth through the room.
"Instead of a choir singing Silent Night, we get to listen to the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns, performed by none other than Harry Hun's Harmonica Band!" The officer was visibly growing annoyed and agitated, his arms moving excitedly as he spoke.
"Oh, come now, Captain!" George pressed on. "Where's your Christmas Spirit?"
"Christmas Spirit?" The captain glared at the Lieutenant, then returned to his seat, tired of his own theatrics. "If we're lucky, we won't all become Christmas Spirits this year."
"Oh, tut!"
"Any moment, I'll receive the call from Field Marshall Haig, offering his typical holiday cheer. What will it be this year? Perhaps he'll order up another good game of football across no man's land. Only this time, it won't be a friendly little game, will it?"
"Well," George shrugged "I for one think it's a jolly good idea to have a Christmas tree!"
"I do too!" Baldrick chimed in.
"Might I remind you both of one tiny little problem?"
"And what's that, Captain Blackadder?" George asked.
"We. Have. No. Trees." Each word was spoken slowly, to emphasize the point.
"We do too, sir," Baldrick offered, proud that he knew something that the captain did not.
"Baldrick, right now, the nearest trees are 35 miles behind the front lines. Surely, any timber between here and the enemy has gone up in flames, long long ago."
"But sir, we do have a tree!"
Baldrick turned and walks out the door. Moments later, he returned, carrying a trench climbing ladder.
"What is that, Baldrick?"
"A Crimble Tree."
"No it's not, Baldrick. It's a ladder. Although I can understand the confusion. Both made out of wood . . .Other than that, I couldn't imagine to guess."
"I have to agree with the Captain, Balders," George said, shaking his head. "That is, indeed, a ladder."
"Right now it's a ladder," the small soldier said. "But with a few decorations, and some Christmas snow - courtesy of the Captain's toilet - it will be the loveliest tree on the front lines."
"No doubt illuminated by holiday flares across the horizon," Blackadder mumbled.
Baldrick tried to navigate through the bunker. The ladder rested clumsily on his shoulders. Both the Lieutenant and the Captain ducked, avoiding its blow after several awkward swings. Baldrick clumsily maneuvered the ladder until he could lean it against a wall. Then, pulling strips and clumps of white from out of his pockets, he began to decorate the wooden "tree." Amazed, the officers walked across the bunker to take a closer look.
Upon closer inspection, the decorations - the white snow - were an odd assortment of torn handkerchiefs, bandages, plasters, cotton buds, and strips of gauze, no doubt scavenged from dozens of toiletry boxes and first aid kits. The occasional pieces of tin, fashioned from cans of unknown origin, were suspended from wires and hung from the rungs. A piece of twisted barbed wire was carefully woven through the rungs like wicked garland.
Upon completion, the officers stepped back. Heads tilted to the side, the two crossed their chests with their left arms, resting chins in gloved right hands as they contemplated Baldrick's Christmas creation.
"I thought it would give the place a festive look," Baldrick declared. "For when Father Christmas comes."
Without missing a beat, Blackadder responded "You think Father Christmas will think -Peace on Earth, Good Will Towards Men- when he sees a bunch of plasters and barbed wire on a ladder, do you?"
"I do!"
"Excellent," Blackadder answered, not surprised. "Just what we need now. A Sadistic Santa.
All right, Baldrick. You can have your tree."
"Hurrah!" cheered Baldrick, accompanied by another Hurrah from the Lieutenant.
"Well, why don't we put our presents under the tree!" George added, excited as a schoolboy.
"Presents?" Blackadder asked, uncomfortable.
"Yes. Prezzies from home," Baldrick responded, nostalgia dripping from his words.
"Oh, dear sweet home!" George cried, blubbering.
"Are you two done?" Blackadder asked, impatiently.
"Well, my mum sent me something. And, yes, I do think there was something from Uncle Bertie. Baldrick, wanna give us a hand?"
"Which one?"
With a deep sigh, Blackadder waived Baldrick out. "Oh, just go help the lieutenant . . ."
A few moments later, George and Baldrick returned with several large packages, each wrapped in bright red and green papers, each tied with fancy ribbon. Blackadder sat up in his chair, in shock and surprise.
"George, all of those are for you?"
"Well, yes, they are," George replied, peaking out from behind the top box. "You know, it's a bit embarrassing, really, with so many gifts from home."
"I should say so!" Blackadder shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching as the two others piled packages around the ladder.
"And I have a prezzie from my mum, too," Baldrick added, as he walked over to a corner shelf and pulled out a very small package, cradling it in his hand.
"And what about you, captain." George asked, innocently. "Anything from home?"
"I'm afraid not, George, except for that dreadful Christmas letter. Same thing, really, every year. Dearest Edmund. We wish you a Happy Christmas. Don't die. Signed, your adoring mother . . ."
George looked at his commanding officer, with sympathy and concern. "Oh. Well, right then. You can have one of my packages. I'm sure mater won't mind one bit!"
"And you can have mine, too, Captain." Baldrick added.
"Baldrick?"
"Yeah, it's the thought that counts. And every year it's the same thought, ain't it? Mum sends me a tiiiiiiny plum pudding, to remind me of home." With that, Baldrick held out the wet and greasy package - clumsily wrapped - handing it to the Captain. Blackadder, highly skeptical, recoiled.
"Well, yes. I know that I know the answer to this already, but one must ask. Is she a good cook?"
Proudly, the private smiled and said "She taught me everything I know . . ."
"Right! I think, with all due respects to your mother, her cookbook, and the good spirits of Christmas Present and Christmas Future, I will go with option three: Christmas Pass."
"Captain?"
"Yes, just looking at that package, Baldrick, an old Christmas motto comes to mind: It is far better to abstain, than to receive."
"Are you sure that's how it goes, Captain?" George asked, a confused look on his thin face.
"Quite sure, George," the captain replied, cautiously eyeing the package. "No, this year, it's bugger all for Christmas for yours truly, Edmund Blackadder."
"Well, there was that package that General Melchett sent over earlier today."
"What?"
"Yes, Melchett's driver dropped off a package. And it's addressed to you!" George looked around; spotting something near the door, he ran over and brought Blackadder black a small package, wrapped in brown paper, and tied with twine.
"Shall we open it?" he asked, shaking it violently in his hand.
"Oh, I don't know," the captain responded, completely unenthusiastic. Finally, he grabbed it out of George's hand, simply to save the contents from the seismic activity of George's arm.
"Oh, go on, now! Aren't you a little bit curious?"
"What? And ruin the surprise? Deny myself the hours and hours of waiting? The anticipation, the tense build up, followed by the amazing let down?"
"Look!" Baldrick pointed at the package. "There's a little card!"
Blackadder, eyebrows raised, removed the card from between the twine. "To Captain Edmund Blackadder. For Christmas, I decided to give your men an extra ration for Christmas tea."
"Hurray!!" Baldrick cried out, on behalf of enlisted men everywhere.
"I wouldn't get too excited, Private."
"Oh, alright then . . . hurray . . ." Baldrick whispered in a soft voice. Blackadder shot a nasty look at the private while tearing open the small package. Once open, the three men looked inside.
"Hmmm . . . Yes, well, is that it?" George asked, again with a slightly confused look. His forehead wrinkled, and his eyebrows were scrunched together.
"Well, he did say An Extra Ration, Lieutenant." Blackadder said, with a slight chuckle. "One would have hoped that the General would not have been quite so literal. Baldrick, distribute this amongst the men." Thrusting the box into Baldricks hands, the box crumbled slightly.
"Distribute it amongst the men?"
"Yes, Baldrick. That's what I said."
"All of it, sir?"
"Yes, all of it. You can probably split the tin of sardines between two regiments, if you're careful about it. Now off you go!"
Baldrick turned and scuffled out of the bunker, leaving the officers alone.
"Well George, let's see if we can make it through Christmas Eve without orders to go over the top."
"Do you really think they'd send the order down?" George asked, wide eyed and surprised.
With that, the phone rang. Blackadder, with dark brown eyebrows raised and lips pursed, looked back at his Lieutenant. Again, Blackadder pointed his finger and nodded his head. George looked on in surprise, amazed at the uncanny sense of timing.
The phone rang a second time, and Blackadder answered.
"North Pole! Yes, it's Blackadder, newly appointed to elf." Ear to phone, the captain rolled his eyes and nodded his head, as he listened to the voice on the other end.
"Yes . . . Yes . . . Yes . . .We got the package. Tell the General it was most thoughtful. No, no . . . Tell him I don't think it was too extravagant. No . . . No . . . I don't think the masses will be asking for an extra ration every day. I am quite sure he has not spoiled them . . . Well, alright, Darling . . . tell him I'll be right there."
"General Melchett's office?" George asked, pleased with himself at following the gist of the conversation.
"Very good, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should request a transfer to intelligence."
"Do you think so, sir? You don't think I'd be out of my element with the intelligentsia?"
"No, George. I am sure of it," Blackadder gathered up a few things, buttoned up his coat, and headed for the door. "While I'm at HQ, George, and I hate to say this, you're in charge."
"Really! Absolutely spiffing!!"
"Do us a favor, Lieutenant. Don't surrender while I'm gone."
"Right! Captain, if you are going to Headquarters anyway, maybe you can bring us back a real tree!"
"Of course I can't, George. I couldn't ruin the moment and upstage Baldrick's Christmas Ladder . . ."
-continued-