The Last Battle
Set between Series 7 & 8 of Foyle's War. Based on information and plot from "Fifty Ships," "All Clear", "Killing Time," "The Hide" and "The Eternity Ring."
Landrecies, France
August 25, 1914
Bullets whistled around Christopher Foyle as he attempted to lift the stretcher. The War Office had rejected his attempt to enlist as an infantryman-too small they'd said. Wouldn't be able to carry heavy loads. 'Bet if they saw me now they'd have another think' he mused bitterly, as he hauled the 250-pound man into the waiting ambulance. His reverie was interrupted when a spent bullet shattered the glass in an ambulance window.
The Gerries had come out of nowhere, arising like ghosts from the field. The exhausted men charged with guarding the retreat had been resting, even sleeping, told they were safe in this new defensive position, that the Enemy were still held up near Mons, nursing their wounded. Those who'd been through the fierce fighting there could only describe it as a nightmare, bullets mowing men down like grass. The other side had taken it as least as bad as the BEF-surely they'd have no heart for the chase.
But all of a sudden, there they were, as ferocious and ravenous as the fierce African Lions Foyle had seen in storybook illustrations, descending on the once pristine little village.
All hell had broken loose. Men were shot where they slept, horses panicked and neighed. Bullets flew, men shouted orders, or just screamed with abject fear. The pressure that had been building up in the past few days due to this unexpected retreat had finally gotten to one officer. He started wildly shooting his revolver down a street full of British soldiers, until a German bullet mercifully took his life. A small group of brave souls had taken some cover and started firing back, but it was little use. The Germans had come in overwhelming force. They'd soon overwhelm the small rearguard, possibly the whole Allied force. The Kaiser might once again triumphantly parade down the Champs d' Elysees.
There was a spray of bullets. Foyle ducked instinctively as the bullets tore through the canvas of the ambulance. There was a scream and a thud. It was Harold, the other medic. A stretcher fell to the ground and the wounded man groaned. Foyle crawled over to Harold and felt his pulse.
Nothing.
Another bullet flew by. Very well, he would have to it himself. Springing into action, he grabbed the wounded man, and with all his strength hauled him into the ambulance. The man groaned and swore a string of epithets. "Sorry old chap, you'll thank me later." He raced to the cab of the lorry. It was listing severely. Looking down, Foyle noticed the tire was completely flat. A bullet must have pierced it. He scowled. A light rain began to fall. Foyle quickly wormed his way into the cab of the vehicle. He would simply have to make do. He ducked as something whizzed through the air and hit the windshield, shattering it.
Looking the young medic could see Germans advancing just a few feet behind the ambulance. The olive uniforms of his comrades were fading away down the road, keeping up a steady rearward fire. Foyle turned on the ignition and slammed his foot into the accelerator. The lumbering vehicle lurched forward, to the screams and curses of the wounded in the back. Gray uniforms raced in front of him from a side street. Surprised to see a vehicle, any vehicle coming towards them, they opened fire. The bullets ricocheted off the back of the cab and tore up the hood of the ambulance. Foyle stomped on the accelerator, crashing it straight through the men in front of him. He could hear the sickening thuds, the horrible sounds of death. Bright red blood slapped the side of his face-whether his or his foes he knew not. He could still see their faces, the flashes of their rifles, he could hear the horrible sounds, the screams, he could feel the hot piece of metal piercing his shoulder, until he finally collapsed on the ground at the field hospital.