A prediction of how Major Jamie Stewart's life would've gone after his capture.
'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!
It had been three months since the Germans had captured Major Jamie Stewart. Actually, it had been three months, one week, and five days; Jamie counted each time that the door to this rusted tin shack opened to allow a German soldier inside with him, as they only entered once a day.
Each day, when the faceless soldier entered, he would try to get information out of Jamie; he applied every torture technique he had in his arsenal, every time. And yet, every day, Jamie withstood the pain and remained silent, ignoring the sadist, until the shadowed soldier left with two promises. The promises were always the same; that the soldier would return the next day (which he always did) and get the information he so desired (which he never did), and that, should Jamie even attempt to set one foot outside the door, that that step would be his last.
Jamie was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He knew the German soldiers were just itching to kill him, and would do so without hesitation. He remained inside the tin room, never speaking, just waiting and planning on an opportunity presenting itself to him. It was a long shot, of course, but it was his only shot.
Today, on this seventy-third day of captivity, Jamie was partially asleep with exhaustion and starvation, his mind playing old memories of Captain John Nicholls. As he remembered, Jamie wondered what happened to his closest friend, where he was now, whether or not he escaped the Germans. He was pulled out of his state by a series of pops erupting outside the door. This was not exactly common, but neither was it unusual; occasionally, a soldier would have a mental breakdown and try to leave, or even try to kill other men, but these endeavors were hardly, if ever, successful. And so it was with confusion that Jamie regarded the door that was opening for the second time that day. His body, malnourished and weak though it was, tensed, bracing itself for the blinding pain it had learned came with the sound of creaking door hinges.
Jamie had been a soldier, of course, and as such easily trained himself to ignore pain. And so it was that Jamie ignored the frantic, unfamiliar German soldier brandishing a whip, completely disregarding him until a bullet shot into the room and the man fell at Jamie's feet. He turned his head up, squinting against harsh afternoon sunlight at the soldier silhouetted in the door.
"What's your name?" The new soldier's voice was strange and gruff, likely from the rush of adrenaline of the attack. Jamie forced himself from his slumped position against the wall into a sitting one, upper body swaying like a reed in the wind. This was the first shred of hope he'd felt since he'd been captured; the man not only spoke English, but had a delightfully familiar English accent, an accent that Jamie missed dearly.
"Major... Jamie Stewart... of the British-" Jamie began, his voice thick and gravelly from months of disuse, but was cut off by a coughing spell. The young soldier quickly approached him and began tugging at his rusting shackles.
"I know you, Major, save your breath." The man tugged sharply at the wrist shackles, trying to break them apart. "Thought you were dead, they did. Prisoner o' war, it ain't much better, though, is it?"
Jamie shook his head and folded his thin legs under him, holding his wrists out over the warm metal floor. "Shoot them apart... then the ankles... from the wall."
"Yessir." The soldier stood straight up, pointing his pistol down with a steady hand and firing. Jamie twisted his face away from the shots and, after three more blasts, he was completely free. The soldier wrapped an arm around Jamie's waist, dragging Jamie's arm around his shoulders and gripping his gun securely in his free hand. "No offense meant, Major, but you look just bloody awful."
"No offense taken." Jamie wheezed as he was hauled to his feet. The Major tried to remain stoic throughout the ordeal of being lugged out of the decrepit shed as though he were a rag doll, and very nearly succeeded. His face scrunched together in an effort to keep the pain and screams at bay.
"We'll get you home, sir." The soldier promised, snapping his pistol up and gunning down a German soldier who'd come too close for comfort. Jamie gave up the struggle to hold his head up, letting it drop against the soldier's shoulder. He forced his feet to pick themselves up and move him along, heavier though they seemed to be growing.
"Sir?" Jamie heard a cloudy voice somewhere far off. He struggled through the darkness to the surface of consciousness. Jamie blinked his eyes open to the realization that he was no longer outside, but indoors, in a bed. He was more comfortable than he'd been in months. "Sir, are you awake?
"Yes." Jamie's eyes focused on the soldier who'd found him in the shed. "How much time has passed since you found me?"
"Little over two days, sir." The man's fresh face was etched with youthful worry and concern, his eyes raking over Jamie's figure in the bed. He held his cap anxiously in his hands, playing with the brim. "Are you really awake? You opened your eyes before, but weren't... exactly all there, sir."
"Ahh." Jamie sighed. He lifted a taped-up hand, running it through his matted tangles of curly hair. He moved his hand down, feeling the beard he'd been growing from months of not shaving. "I must look a fright."
The soldier chuckled nervously and shifted his weight before he seemed to remember something. "Forgive me, I forgot to tell you; my name is Private Naracott. I knew your name. Seemed fittin' that you know mine."
"Thank you very much, Private." Jamie offered him a smile before he, too, was struck by memory. "What happened to my garrison? To Captain Nicholls?"
The soldier's tentative smile immediately fell from his face, recognition flashing through his eyes; Jamie shut his eyes tightly, clenching his hand into a fist.
"Shit." Jamie breathed out. "What happened?"
"Germans gunned them down from the woods." A moment of tense silence passed, the only sound being Jamie's heavy, erratic breathing as he struggled to control it, before Private Naracott spoke again. "M'sorry, Captain."
"The war takes things from everyone, Private." Jamie said calmly. His eyes flickered up to meet Private Naracott's. "But, thank you."
Private Naracott didn't answer, opting instead to simply perch in the hard folding chair beside the bed, settling in for the night.
Fifty-Three Years Later
"John, you can come in now. Albert, Josephine, you, too." The elderly doctor motioned for the three middle-aged siblings to follow him into the hospital room. The new technology inside was amazing, state-of-the-art and completely modern, and also the only thing keeping their father alive.
Their mother, Anabelle, was a woman whom their father had met during World War I in France. He had brought Anabelle home with him, and made a family with her; she was now seated beside him in the small, sterile hospital room. His left hand was held tightly between both of her own. Josephine hurried to her father, falling to her knees on his right side and grasping his hand. Albert moved to stand behind his sister, and Joey to stand beside his brother.
"Where are the kids?" Jamie rasped, meeting his daughter's eyes. Josephine smiled.
"At home. We thought that'd be best." Josephine's voice was thick and watery with tears. She had a sweet accent, the smooth sound being mostly British with a tinge of her mother's familiar French, much like her brothers'. She had her mother's face but she, again, like her brothers, had her father's red hair; both brothers, however, strongly resembled their father, rather than their mother.
"I'll leave you all alone. If you need me, I'll be right outside." The doctor informed them before leaving as promised. Anabelle squeezed her husband's hand reflexively when the door shut, and the corner of Jamie's mouth quirked up for a moment.
"I'm going to miss you, Dad." Albert said finally. Josephine started crying at the words spoken by her strong brother, allowing herself to break down and shed tears in this eleventh hour. Jamie shushed her and pulled his hand from hers, laying it on her cheek.
"You'll be fine, all of you will be." Jamie smiled reassuringly at his children and his wife before shutting his eyes. "I love you all very much. I've had a full life."
Anabelle laughed her high laugh and nodded at her husband's words. "You certainly 'ave." she agreed in her heavy French accent. Jamie squeezed her hand, opening his eyes again.
"We'll miss you, too, you know. Not all about Mum and Josie." John laughed. His father chuckled with him for a moment before the laughter succumbed to his lack of breath.
"Be brave, for me." Jamie's voice had fallen to a whisper. John helped his sister up off of the floor, and she clung to her lanky brother, burying her tearful face in his shoulder as their father died. Albert wrapped his arms around his mother's shoulders as she leaned forward in her chair, pressing her forehead to their intertwined hands. The silence that fell was astoundingly familiar.
When Jamie opened his eyes, he was no longer elderly, cancer-ridden, and bound to a hospital bed. He was in a practicing field, atop his precious horse. There was sweet green grass as far as he could see, a smattering of trees here and there, and a sky as blue as it was in his fondest dreams. He gazed around in a dazed wonder at this peaceful place.
"Oi!" A voice shouted beside him, breaking the silent serenity and catching his attention immediately as he recognized it. He turned his head expectantly and was not disappointed as he met the smiling face of Captain John Nicholls. John's face was one Jamie knew intimately and would not be soon forgotten. He was stunned for a moment by John's reappearance on the very horse he'd died on, and also by the youth that both his own face and body now possessed, as did John's, when the Captain spoke again.
"You ready, mate?" John asked, grinning toothily, eyes shining gaily. Jamie smiled back, much to John's apparent surprise, as the Major had never smiled often when he knew him in life, and nodded in agreement. "'Be brave.' Fierce last words."
"I found them fitting." Jamie replied before snapping the reins he gripped in his hands and taking off at breakneck speed. John laughed joyfully behind him and raced to catch up with his dear friend.