Title: The Blitz
Fandom: Static Shock
Characters: Virgil/Richie hint, Francis, Ebon, Oliver Queen
Prompt: #69 (thunder)
Word Count: 500
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or DC.
Author's Notes: m/m hints, drabble. OMG, I just did an AU!! A WWII AU! In 500 words!!!! This brings me so much joy, you guys have no idea. Yeah, sure, there's so much more story here that could be told, but that's beside the point. This is a drabble created for the Lj community known as fanfic100. Unedited and unbeta'd.
The Blitz
"Goddamn blitz!" Sergeant Queen hissed as he ducked into an Allied bunker, mindful of the falling dust and debris from the continuous air raids bombarding the area. 'Who would have thought that the world could erupt into war for a second time? Didn't we learn from the first?'
Once inside, the veteran of one other world war paused in shock. There were dozens of young, dirty faces staring up at him. All American soldiers, fresh from boot camp flung into the pits of this hellish war. But this group of helpless lambs was different than most of the others he had come across. A mixture of black and white Yankees, something uncommon even among the most progressive of enlistee regiments. They even mingled together, clumping together in groups that defied traditional rules of segregation.
"Sgt. Queen," a tall, lanky black man said, detaching himself from the shadows of the larger group of people. "I'm Lt. Evans."
"You requested a doctor, Lieutenant?" the Irish born soldier asked, showing his satchel and the big red cross over the white patch.
"Yeah, over here," he said, motioning towards the back of their makeshift camp. "Francis, show the man the way."
A pasty-faced redhead created a ball of fire in his hand and threw to the back of their enclosure even as another concussive bomb exploded close by outside. Looking at the youth, Sgt. Queen warned, "If you're not careful with that, you're going to help the sauerkrauts out by setting this whole place ablaze, your friends included."
In the very back of the dark enclave, a single cot resided. An ashen young black man rested, his helmet cast off to the side, while a bespectacled young private tended to him. The two were as similar in age as they were in build.
"What happened?"
"He's ill. Not sure what it is."
"I see," Sgt. Queen muttered caustically. Kneeling beside the prone boy, he opened his bag and pulled out his stethoscope. He was mildly surprised to see his unknown assistant already undoing the buttons to young Private Hawkins's uniform. Looking up at the green-eyed boy in front of him, Sgt. Queen asked, "What's your name, son?"
"Richie. Richard Foley," he answered smartly. "And he's Virgil Hawkins. Blood Type AB."
"Blood type, huh?" Sgt. Queen intoned. "Know a lot about this kid?"
"Everything there is to know," Virgil groaned below him, his face twisting with pain.
"But he doesn't know what's making you sick," the aged doctor retorted.
"My bet's on the food," Virgil whimpered even as he doubled over.
Quick as a shot, Richie was there with a bucket as the dark-skinned boy lost what little he had in his stomach. Making hushing, reassuring noises, the boy comforted the invalid better than the sergeant had seen any nurse do until Virgil fell back onto the cot. "Can you help him, sir?"
"I sure hope so."
"Not exactly reassuring," Virgil muttered.
"Please. We're on a mission, and I'm not going to leave him behind."