Disclaimer: This fic started with two Au sets gif I've done for tumblr on which my dear drmadwoman made me give further explanation and for some reason it came a whole fanfic. If you watched Benidorm ever in life do not be alarmed if you recognize one thing or another (or Madge!). Data on the war and the British Army I researched on the internet so do not be too attached to it or timeline.
- Elsie, Sarah, Charles, Lang, Downton and Benidorm does not belong to me. Sophie was created by drmadwoman. And I think anyway owed a bit of a Mexican soap opera to my dear Duda! :D If I were you I would have some tissues, just in case.
Chapter 1
April 6, 2003 - City of Basra, Iraq.
The air smelled burnt; a full acid smell, strong and highly polluting. Thank god they had masks. In the darkness of the deserted streets, the atmosphere was tense. No civilian could be seen, but the amount of debris and dead was terrifying. The American vanguard had done its job quite accurately.
Young soldiers, inexperienced, had tears in their eyes and some withdrew their masks when the bile came up their throats with an uncontrollable surge. He walked through blindly and with a totally different picture from that vast wasteland in his head. Sarah's face kept his mind occupied all the time in the war.
"How do you think this will be in day light?" The soldier beside him had a narrow smile on his lips, making the situation somewhat sardonic. War was war, sometimes needed, and respect was the basic requirement to stay alive. That and subdue the enemy. Lives lost and destruction, it was war.
"Hot and chaotic," he responded shortly before turning away.
The British campaign was large, 46, 000 men with heavy, cutting edge weaponry, extremely well trained; those poor people would not have a chance.
The walk to the position of the troops should not take more than twenty minutes. Much of the route was quiet, accompanied by a morbid and fearful silence. For several blocks he saw no one until he turned a corner and came upon a woman.
With rifles in hand, many pointed their weapons at her, until someone gave them the signal to lower the weapons. It was a civilian and had nothing to do with their operation. She remained standing in the middle of the street with her dusty black burqa fluttering around her.
Andrew Lang, Major of the British Army was a block from the woman and noticed the hatred in her face and in her eyes. When she shouted something in that foreign language and raised her hands to her clothes there was no time for him to say anything. The blast killed three officers and in a few seconds night turned to day.
That was just the beginning.
April 7, 2003 - London, England.
"Look you're still alive! Answering the phone would be good, Elsie."
Beryl was always like that, entering by the back door unannounced and mostly always carrying a platter with her. On that fateful and boring afternoon the vision of a walnut cake with frosting was nice.
"I've been busy." Elsie said. She preferred to be alone, put her thoughts in order, fill her head with anything and everything she could and living in a big house with no maid helped her in this matter. She always had something to do.
"I imagine I can be pretty hard to avoid, sister-in-law." The irony in Beryl's voice was just joking. Without any shame, Beryl always made herself home enough to open and close the kitchen cabinets and the fridge. Following ceremony was not something Beryl knew, and she prepared tea, cutting two generous slices of cake for them. "So ..." She began to speak when they were seated facing each other with Elsie on the kitchen counter. "You had a fight."
Elsie sipped her tea and laughed. Of course she knew, she always knew, and of course she would try to calm the situation. Her sister-in-law was an active member of the family, always looking for a simple, direct and whenever possible peaceful solution.
"Can you imagine why?"
"No need, I know and agree with you. I don't think that Charles should get carried away by his emotions and leave for a war where he will not do anything except be in danger."
The two got along well in silence, respecting their space. It was the same with Charles, always had been and always would be. Not everything needed to be verbalized and between them a look was worth a thousand words, literally.
"Have you talked to him?" Elsie asked after a while, concentrating on the cake in front of her.
"William told me Charles slept in his room on the last day at home."
A heavy sigh escaped Elsie's lips and she abruptly changed the subject.
"How many times have we been through this Beryl?"
They exchanged a meaningful look.
"Too many times."
April 10, 2003 – Benidorm, Spain.
As she passed through the lobby and saw a group of people, all obviously English, standing in front of the television Sarah did not need anyone to tell her that the news brought the first information on the first four days of the war.
Andrew on the battlefield, in that hostile and inhospitable place, was risking his life while she was there on vacation, spending her days at the edge of a pool, lying under the scorching sun of a Spanish resort. She never wanted so badly to be in London, chasing Lady Cora all day in her affairs; dinners to plan, confirming meetings, parades and charities to attend. She missed the hectic schedule of her routine.
Until then she had not received any news from him and focused her best efforts to not show her nervousness and anxiety in front of the boys. Michael and Henry were so happy, enjoying the trip so much that she could not fail to enjoy their pleasure. Motherly pride, maybe. They didn't need to worry about their da', she did it all herself.
"Una atacante suicida, he visto una cosa así antes? La mujer esperó a que los soldados se acercasen de ella y explotó!" Said one attendant to the other.
Without understanding a word of that crazy language, Sarah approached the television and saw the scene. Apparently a soldier filmed the moment they entered the city of Basra with his mobile phone. The recording quality was bad, but she could distinguish the soldiers around him and the woman standing in the middle of the street.
Sarah closed her eyes for a few seconds when her breakfast quickly rose in her throat and she swallowed hard, forcing it back to the stomach. A sickening feeling stayed with her all day long, even when she lay on a plastic chair beside her mother and watched the boys playing in the pool with Alfred.
"Any news?" Not that she cared, or endeavored to demonstrate that she actually cared, but the small and seemingly fragile Mrs. O'Brien studied her daughter with her deep blue eyes, eyes that she had inherited.
"No."
"You told him?"
"What are you talking about?"
Her mother shook her cigarette between her fingers and released the smoke through her nostrils like a fucking dragon, giving a cynical smile.
"No, I did not tell him."
"I liked these highlights you did in your hair, makes you look less old," she commented absently, changing the subject altogether.
Of all people, why did it have to be her?
April 11, 2003- City of Basra, Iraq.
The campaign in the army was a sensitive issue, more political than purely military and Charles Carson was born a soldier, not a politician. For him what mattered was the fulfillment of his duty to his queen, his army and his nation. The policy was for politicians.
Perhaps because of this and his extreme sense of duty, he had a brilliant career and was one step away from reaching the maximum rank of the army, if it were not, of course, his tendency to follow the troops.
"You do have Colonels, Majors and Captains enough to send to war! You don't need to accompany your men on each of the battles!" His exasperated wife had complained last time. "Charles, you do not need to go to Iraq in person."
"And not participate directly in my work? You know very well that I need to be there, my people need me. And anyway, I like being on the battlefield." That had struck Elsie in the chest, more accurate than any shot despite the words having escaped him harsher than he intended.
"Your family needs you." And like that she told him goodbye, head down, walking quickly across the runway to the air base with their children.
Elsie was not able to understand, never would. An army needs to be commanded, led by a commander, and it felt more effective to accompany them personally.
As energetic as usual he entered the small makeshift operations center. Wasn't there a place in this country where there was no sand?
"Major Lang, what is our current status?"
TBC? Not sure about it, so reviews are very welcome! :D