I just love Tom Hiddleston! His acting was impeccable in War Horse (as usual) and I cried when he died. His face... was just... ;A; Well, I hope you enjoy!
Captain James Nicholls saw the barrel of the machine gun turn towards him, and from that second, he knew his life was close to an end. He felt his entire being numb as fear took over. It was hopeless. Death was inenvitable. He was going to die. The fear tore at him, and he could not more his eyes from the barrel of that gun. The thrum in the air and the noises of death were suddenly muted; all Nicholls could hear was his own breath and his rapid heart, pounding in his chest as if it wanted to escape. His head was hot, the fear prickling in his skull.
And then the fire.
It shot through him once, twice, three times. He fell backwards off of Joey, his heartbeat slowing, his breaths coming faster. Around him was a blur; he paid it no attention - all there was to him was the fire, the fire, the fire. It burnt deeper into him, scalding him, scarring him. He was going to die. And then; darkness.
...
He opened his eyes in immeasurable pain, lying in his own blood. Gasping for breath, he clutched at the ground, his fingers sinking into the crimson-stained mud as he felt his life drain away. Death lurked on the edges of his vision, reaching its icy fingers towards him.
He was burning, but cold, so cold at the same time. The world was silent except for his breath and heartbeat pounding slower in his ears; his eyes fixed upwards on the sky, as dark and grey as the ground was red and slick. Rain began to fall, pouring down onto the young captain, soaking him and freezing him to the bones.
That was, until the umbrella came over him. A small figure, kneeling in his blood next to him, pressed warm fingers to his neck with one free hand, the other hand holding an umbrella.
"A...m... I... d...dea...d...?" Nicholls struggled with his tongue and lips forming the words, but he got them out eventually, no matter how broken they, and his voice, were.
The figure let their fingers drop from his neck, and rested their palm on his forehead.
"You are but lying in your own grave," responded the voice, cool and matured for the size of the figure, and definately feminine. Feminine and English.
"T...h..e... the... o...th...er...s...?
"You and I are the only living in this field of Death's."
Nicholls felt a tear run down his cheek, but did not have the energy to wipe it, or even move his fingers. The girl wiped it away for him, then stuck the umbrella quite firmly in the ground so as to cover the captain's face and top half from the rain while she examined the rest of him.
From under an old fashioned cloak she pulled a variety of bandages, needles, threads and bottles, placing them carefully under the umbrella. From the corner of his eye Nicholls noticed with a start that one of the bottles was disinfectant, and hoped that the girl would not reach for that bottle.
She pulled out a small knife, cutting his jacket and shirt off him. There was a sigh and a tut, and the girl ran her fingers gently over the broken and bleeding flesh.
"You've been shot twice in the shoulder, once on your hip. The shot narrowly avoided any major organs; you should live tonight if you don't die of blood loss first. I am awfully sorry, but I am afraid I will have to disinfect it to ensure that no infections take root."
Nicholls gave an unaudiable whimper. Disinfectant on open wounds was not the nicest thing after being shot and falling off a horse - even so, it was not generally nice anyway!
The girl picked up the dreaded bottle and poured some into a small cloth. She screwed the top of the bottle on tightly, the rested it next under the umbrella again. She didn't bother to warn Nicholls it would hurt; she assumed correctly he was aware, and instead took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Nicholls squeezed his eyes shut, and the girl began to dab and his shoulder.
It burnt like acid, and he clenched the girl's hand so hard he feared he might break it. The girl continued dabbing, and after a few more seconds, she gave a little nod, flipped the cloth in half with her one hand, and began on the wound near on his hip. It burnt like hell, and he was glad when she gave the same nod and put the cloth back under her cloak and pulled out another. She mopped his face from the grime and mud, then let the rain soak the cloth and rested it on his forehead.
Gently wriggling her hand out from his, she scooted closer to his head and supported his from below his neck.
"I need you to sit up so I can bandage you. Do you think you can?"
Nicholls tried, but his body didn't move as he wanted it to, and he stayed on the ground.
"N...o..."
The girl simply nodded.
"That's fine, that's fine. Just rest, then. I'll bandage as best I can."
She began bandaging, first his shoulder, then his hip. After a few minutes of scrambling under him with the bandages and wrapping back around, miraculously keeping the bandages spotless, the girl sat back and admired her work with a small smile.
She slid his jacket off and under from him, cutting it where needed, but stitched his shirt back together over the bandages as best she could. Then she cut up his jacket and stitched together a sling, putting the rest of the jacket into a good sized backpack that she slung over her shoulders. She put all the bottles, spare bandages, needles and threads away into small pockets in the cloak and a belt that circled her waist.
"I do hate to hurry you, but I will need to move you to a safer place. Soon the ones who caused this will begin to look for survivors themself, and I am armed with only a knife and a few needles, and you need to heal."
"Al...right...," began Nicholls, "I... wi...ll... t...ry..."
The girl picket up the umbrella, and walked around Nicholls to his good shoulder, and put her arm under his to support him as best as her petite frame could. Nicholls half sat himself upright and was half dragged upright by the girl, then with trembling legs managed to find his feet and stand up. He leant heavily on the girl, even though she was over a head shorter than him, though taller than he originally suspected.
As he hobbled along, he did his best to not look around him at his fallen comrades, men he had laughed with, drunk with, wished good health to. Minutes dragged by, and then the girl swore quietly under her breath and pulled Nicholls down quickly. He fell on her, but before he could apologise she put a hand over his mouth and a finger over his. Don't speak, whispered her eyes.
Two German voices were heard coming closer. They sounded drunk.
"Mädchen!" They called. "Mädchen! Girl! Ve saw you! Come out!" They fired a few shots and laughed drunkenly.
The girl held her breath as the came closer, firing in the air. They would see them and shoot them. She had no choice. She turned around silently, still hidden but now facing the Germans, and pulled two small, sharp knives out. She held one in each hand, and focused on her targets. She had one shot; if either missed, if one German remained, her hiding place would be revealed.
She threw the knives and they cut through the air, slicing into the necks of the Germans. They fell to the ground with soft thumps, and the girl sighed. Nicholls stared at her, startled by her deadly precision. She snuck out to the Germans and relieved them of two hand guns. Making sure the safety was on, she slid them into pockets in her cloak and put her arm under Nicholls' again, helping him up.
"Well, let's be off."