**WARNING** this chapter contains distressing scenes and some strong language...
I should also explain what the challenge is. Oops, should have done that before now! *blushes*
Anyhoo, in short The challenge is to write an Enterprise story set in a historical time period that was assigned to me, with a significant part of the story taking place on Earth (not on a planet with a similar culture). The period I received was WW1 Europe.
The first thing Captain Archer became aware of was that he was lying on his back, his head ached, and his body tingled. It wasn't a good tingling, more like pins and needles. Pins and needles that burned, he thought, detached. His head felt fuzzy, his mind confused. Why would my body feel like its burning?
He felt something soft under his hand, something he held with a death grip. He tried to flex his aching fingers. Why that phrase? Death grip...
The captain licked his dry lips and coughed slightly as he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times before his vision cleared enough for him to make out a prone form, silhouetted against the near darkness next to him.
He stared at his own hand for a moment before moving his eyes up the familiar blue uniform sleeve and settling on a face he knew so well. "Trip," he tried to call, but his throat felt so parched that he could only rasp the name.
Questions raced through the captain's mind. He gave his friend a shove to try and stir him. Why is Trip unconscious? Why was I? "What the hell happened?" he whispered.
Suddenly everything came crashing back. The attack, the pain, the screaming, his body being torn apart...
"Trip..." Archer flew upright and wished right away that he hadn't. His head spun and his stomach lurched. He raced to his hands and knees and lost whatever contents he had in his stomach. His head pounded, a jackhammer, pummelling into his skull with each heave he made.
After a final retch, Archer spat, cleaned his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform then wiped his face with his hands. He gulped in oxygen to steady himself, before shifting his attention Trip.
Still feeling unsteady, Archer crawled slowly over to his unconscious friend. As he neared, he quietly begged that the commander was still alive; he was awfully still. He placed a hand on Trip's chest and relaxed when he felt his lungs rise slightly under his touch. "Trip," he attempted again. When he didn't stir, Archer tried once more. "Trip," he called louder, shaking his body more forcefully.
"Wha..." Trip moaned as he rolled onto his side.
"Just take it easy for a minute," Archer told him, soothingly. He watched his friend carefully, waiting nervously, to see how he would handle the waking part. Not good, he thought, wryly, when Trip rolled onto his hands and knees quickly, and threw up violently. Archer rubbed his back. "Yeah," he sighed, "waking up's a bitch," he said without humor.
Trip gave one last dry heave then sat heavily on the ground. He wiped his mouth. "No kidding," he grimaced, resting his head on his curled up knees.
As Trip recovered, the captain took the moment to look for Malcolm. He couldn't see him in the immediate vicinity, but he knew that meant nothing. "Malcolm?" he called. Receiving no an answer he focussed back on Trip. "Feeling any better?" he asked, squeezing his shoulder.
Trip nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, a bit," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell happened?" he mumbled, squinting at the captain.
"I'm not sure," Archer replied, deciding to finally get up. The captain placed his hand on Trip's shoulder, to steady himself, when he swayed slightly as he stood. "The last thing I remember was being under attacked," he added as he checked for Malcolm again. Still not seeing him, he looked back at Trip. "Then pain. After that? Nothing." He winced and rubbed the back of his neck.
With Trip's pallor improving, Archer pulled out his communicator and flipped it opened. When the familiar chirp didn't sound, he closed it shut and tried again. When nothing happened the second time he turned his attention back to his friend and held out his hand. Without so much as a question, Trip grabbed his wrist and pulled himself upright. The captain held onto him for a moment when he staggered. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, studying the young man closely before settling on his face.
Trip held his eyes. "Yeah, Capt'n, just feel a bit woozy," he said, flexing the muscles in his neck. He held out his hand. "Let me have a look."
Archer didn't see what Trip could do in the near darkness, but he handed over the communicator nonetheless. While he fiddled with the device, the captain took another look around. There was some light coming in through broken windows, but not enough to really illuminate the room.
Archer glanced at Trip before setting off to explore. He didn't get far when his foot made contact with something solid. Bending down, Archer could see it was a lantern, similar to what was used on Earth. He picked it up, took a sniff, and smelt the familiar odor of oil.
Archer combed the area around his feet until his eyes settled on what he was looking for. He walked over, retrieved a box, and struck a match to light the lamp. In the ghostly shadows thrown off by the lantern, he immediately got a better look at their surroundings.
It was a living room of some sort, littered with shattered bricks and glass, broken beams and ruined furniture. Dust and dirt covered everything. A fireplace sat inlaid on a wall to his right, with half burned timber resting on ashes and coals. Left of the fireplace was an open door, and judging by the wooden stove and a table, with dishes containing uneaten food, it was obviously the kitchen.
Archer turned in the opposite direction and inspected the rest of the room. On his right was a staircase, broken and scorched in places, bordering a wall leading upstairs to where, the captain presumed, the bedrooms were located.
Near the bottom of the stairs was a closed door. Another door sat off to his left which was hanging precariously on its hinges. With everything so broken and destroyed, the captain wondered what had happened.
After a little more scrutiny, Archer returned his attention back to Trip and smiled. The engineer's face was buried close to the communicator, eyes almost cross eyed, as he inspected the device. "Any luck?"
Trip looked up and shook his head. "All the circuitry is fried," he said handing back the device.
Archer put the communicator in his sleeve pocket and nodded. "Okay." He took one more look around him before turning back to Trip. "We should look for Malcolm," he said heading for the kitchen.
"Capt'n," Trip called after him.
Archer stopped and faced his friend.
"Why don't you check up and I'll check down," Trip offered.
Archer eyed the area. "It's pretty dark down here, Trip, and there's only one lamp."
Trip shrugged. "It'll be fine." He indicated to the broken windows. "There's enough light for me to see."
Archer still wasn't sure. He wanted to locate Malcolm as quickly as he could, his concern growing that his armory officer was badly injured or dead. But after the attack by the mysterious aggressors, and not knowing where the attackers were, he didn't want to be separated from Trip, especially in this unknown environment. He stared at his friend. "I don't know," he said.
Trip put his hands on his hips. "Capt'n, the quicker we find Malcolm, the quicker we can get outta here and find out what's goin' on," he urged.
Still not liking the idea, Archer knew he made sense. "Okay," he finally said, "but be careful," he warned, and set off for the stairs.
"Always am, Capt'n," Trip told his back.
Archer twisted his upper body, shot Trip a dry smile, then proceeded on his journey. As he mounted the steps carefully, he noticed paintings hanging crooked on the wall. In the eerie light thrown off by the lantern, he could make out the painted portrait of a young family.
He ran his fingers over the image of a little girl, no more than four years old, Archer guessed. Her eyes, dark blue, were full of curiosity and openness. Her little snub nose was in contrast to her mother's whose nose was shaped into a slender rise, perfectly balancing the rest of her face.
He felt the ridges of the oil, used on the canvas, under his fingers as he journeyed across to the woman who held the child firmly on her lap, then over to the father who stood rigidly behind them. Jon stared at their features. So much like humans, he thought.
The mother's hair was short, but stylish, and parted in the middle, with tight curls that ringed her long face. She wore a sky blue loose flowing dress, buttoned all the way to her neck. Her bright red lips were lifted in a gentle smile.
Archer's eyes drifted to the father. He was wearing a dark, slimline suite, also buttoned to the neck, with a white collar sticking out stiffly at the top. His hair, like his wife's, was parted in the middle, though it looked to Archer that a ton of oil had been used to keep the shape of it in its place. His chin jutted out, just slightly, giving the air of someone who was use to being in charge, but there was something about his manner that radiated warmth and protection to the captain.
Archer smiled when his eyes fell back on the child. Her hair, much like her mother's, was offset by a huge pink bow, which matched the band that ringed her hips on her little white pinafore dress. He ran his fingers over the image of the little girl again and pondered what games little children liked to play on this planet.
He tore his eyes away from the child and studied the next picture on the wall. In this one there was a much older couple than in the previous painting. Grandparents, Archer speculated. The woman sat in a hard back chair, the man stood directly behind. Both had stoic looks on their faces that the captain thought would give T'Pol a good run for her money.
Archer glanced once more at the family then, focussing his thoughts, climbed the last few steps quickly and carefully. When he reached the top he looked around. It was shaped like a square with only three walls fitted with doors, the fourth, adjacent to the stairs, overlooked the area below. The doors to the rooms in front of him, and to his right, were slightly ajar, the one to his left was wide open. Archer made his way to the door on his left.
As he entered he knew that this was the parents' bedroom. A double bed, positioned in the middle with linen thrown askew, was testament to that. Here, another oil painting, hanging crooked, lined the wall. It was of a cottage bordering a dirt road, surround by hedges, trees, and a field of red flowers. It was remarkably similar to images he had seen in art galleries on Earth.
Archer shifted his attention away from the painting to the rest of the room. A stand, with a wash basin and jug which was empty and covered in grime, stood under a broken window. On another table in the corner, black and white photos of the family laid cracked and scorched.
Like downstairs, everything was covered in dirt, bricks, shattered timber and glass. Again, the captain wondered what had happened but decided to leave that question for another time. He quickly checked under the bed and in the closets. Not finding Malcolm, he took one last look around, then made his way the second room.
He pushed the door open slowly and immediately recognised it as the child's bedroom. A multicoloured blanket, embossed with angels, laid crumpled on the bed. Toys and books were littered around on the carpet, and a worn teddy bear, covered in dirt, rested on a pillow.
Perched against one of the walls was a small table adorned with smashed plastic cups, sauces, and various pots. The table was nested by tiny chairs with small dolls reclining in place, as if waiting to be served afternoon tea.
Archer walked over to the foot of the bed and picked up what looked like a child's book. Unable to see properly, he made his way over to another small table, placed the lamp down, and flipped through the pages. It was written in an alien language, so he couldn't understand the story, but the colourful images of castles and fairies, unicorns and forests, again struck him as human, something mothers would read to their children on Earth.
The captain raised his eyes from the book and smiled wistfully at the evidence of a young girl at play. There had been a time when he wanted children, but that time had passed, especially with the Romulan threat lingering. Now he lived his dreams through the stories his crew would tell, and Trip; who would spin yarns about his sister's antics when they were growing up.
As his eyes floated to a colorful picture on the wall, he thought back to one of the photos he saw in the parents' room. It was a snapshot of mother and daughter enjoying a special moment. The captain contemplated what dreams and hopes the mother held for her young child for the future.
Shaking himself out of his daydreams, Archer walked back to the bed and placed the book back down then set out to continue his search. He knelt down beside the bed, threw the cover up onto the mattress then stopped in surprise at the unexpected sight.
Clothes, books, toys and, what looked like a half eaten, rotting, apple, lay discarded under the darkness of the mattress, hidden from searching eyes. An amused smile broke out on his lips. "Some things are universal," he laughed softly as he raised himself from the floor. He stumbled over a toy as he quickly inspected the rest of the bedroom. When he came up empty, Archer made his way to the last room on this level.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, the captain knew he wouldn't find anything. It appeared to be a utility room of some sort. A sewing machine, remnants of material, and general household items, filled every nook and cranny. A crib, sitting in the centre, was empty but had baby blankets draped over the side. A hasty inspection confirmed what the captain already knew. Malcolm wasn't here either.
His mind threw up questions as he headed back downstairs. Who attacked them and why? Where were they and why were they here? Where was Malcolm? He didn't have any answers, and his apprehension was increasing as to the lieutenant's whereabouts.
"Shit," Trip's angry voice echoed from downstairs.
With his mind full of visions of Trip standing over a lifeless Malcolm, Archer quickly and, as carefully as he could, made his way down the rest of the stairs. "Trip!" he shouted as he crossed the living area.
"In here," Trip yelled back.
Archer raced for the kitchen. "What is it?" he asked, anxiously, as he burst through the door where Trip stood rubbing his knee.
Trip looked up and smiled ruefully. "It's okay," he answered. He stopped massaging his knee and raised a stool. "It's just taking time to get my night vision," he added turning the stool around in his hand.
Archer leaned heavily on the door jamb in relief. He frowned as he watched Trip study the piece of offending furniture, and wondered if he was really okay. Their transport here hadn't exactly been pleasant, he was feeling the residual effects himself, but with everything that had happened recently, he thought Trip might still be suffering a reaction. "You sure you're okay?"
Trip nodded. "I'm sure," he replied absently as he put the stool back down. "Anything?" he asked, casting his eyes around the room.
Archer shook his head. "What about you?" When Trip shook his head in reply, the captain took one last look around. For him, it was obvious Malcolm wasn't there. "Let's try outside," he ordered turning for the door.
As soon as they walked out into the cold night air, the captain wished he could turn around and go straight back inside. He heard Trip swear but his own mind was having trouble absorbing the devastation for him to respond.
Bodies, dozens of them, laid scattered around the ruins of buildings and smouldering fires. Men, women and children, buried under rubble or lying on the deserted streets, bloodied or burnt beyond recognition.
"Where we are, Jon?" Trip whispered in horror.
The captain didn't notice the drizzling rain when he dragged his attention away from the distressing sight and met Trip's eyes. With his mind reeling, all he could do was shake his head in answer. He had no idea. All he knew was that he wanted to find his armory office and go home to Enterprise.
Archer turned away from Trip. "Look for Malcolm," he ordered, gruffly then placed the lamp on the ground, and got down to the business of searching for his armoury officer.
As he combed the area, Archer tried not to breathe in the stench of death, tried to avoid looking too closely at the bodies, he didn't want them haunting his dreams. But he knew it was too late for that. The images and smells were already burning their way into his memory.
He twisted his head slightly when he heard Trip curse under his breath. "You okay?" he asked, softly.
Trip put his hands on his hips and dropped his head. "Yeah," he sighed then looked up at the captain, his blue eyes filled with sadness. "It's just... you know..." He waved his hands in a helpless gesture.
Archer smiled grimly and nodded. "I..." His voice trailed off when something caught his attention. Walking over to take a closer look, the captain felt his brain tilt and he wanted to scream.
Lying on their sides, no more than five feet away, were the bodies of the family whose life he had just had a glimpse of. The mother had her arms wrapped around her child; the father had his arms and body encasing both. Dried blood had set on the father's back, which was riddled with holes. Dried blood was also visible on the young child's winter coat. Her lifeless blue eyes, frozen open in fear, stared at nothing. Jon groaned.
"What is it?" Trip asked. "Is it Malcolm? Do you see Malcolm?"
Archer just heard Trip's panicked voice over the rushing sound of blood pounding in his ears. For a moment he couldn't answer, his mind was too busy screaming at the injustice of a young life cut way too short.
He remained transfixed for a few seconds more on his grisly find, before he dragged his eyes away from the nightmare. "No. No it's not," he mumbled, turning away from the heartbreaking scene, but Trip grabbed his arm, stilling him, before he could move far.
"Where are you going?" Trip asked.
The captain stared at Trip's hand, then into his eyes. He didn't know what to tell him. Malcolm wasn't in the building they had just searched, he couldn't see him among the dead, and a young child and her family, laid slain in the ruins of a town that he knew nothing about. "I don't know, Trip," he answered walking away.
"Capt'n?" Trip called.
Archer stopped and closed his eyes at the plea he could hear in Trip's voice. He didn't want to admit to his friend that he didn't have an answer, didn't want to admit that, as the captain of a starship, he was at a loss as to what to do. He straightened his back and kept walking.
"What about Malcolm?" Trip growled.
Archer spun and rushed back. "I know," he said as calmly as he could. However, in the back of his mind, the memory of their attack was still fresh, and he thought there was a strong possibility that their assailants were the ones responsible for this massacre. He grabbed hold of Trip's arm and squeezed. "But I don't like the feel of what's going on around here, and we should leave," he added, pulling the commander with him.
Trip wrenched his arm free. "What if Malcolm's one of them?" he hissed, keeping his eyes fixed with the captain's as he pointed to the decomposing bodies.
Archer refused to look where Trip was pointing, he didn't think he could bear seeing the child's bloodied body once more. "I don't like this anymore than you do," he growled in return.
Seeing Trip wasn't going to relent, Archer blew out a frustrated breath. "We can't even be sure if he's here, Trip," he tried to reason, then looked around quickly before staring at the commander's troubled eyes. "He could be anywhere."
"Jon," Trip pleaded.
Archer understood Trip's distress; he was also struggling with the very idea of potentially abandoning Malcolm to this horrid fate. "I'm sorry," he said, placing his hand back on Trip's arm. "We'll come back later. I promise," he told his friend gently.
Trip glared at him for a few more seconds before throwing his head back in defeat.
Archer nodded. "We better go," he told him, quietly, leading them away.
They had only taken a few steps when Archer heard a loud bang, then a whistling sound coming from above. He stopped and raised his eyes to the night sky. His heart hammered hard against his chest when he recognised the weapon. "Trip!" he yelled as he flung himself at his friend.
He heard Trip grunt, and felt the air leave his own lungs, when they hit the ground hard. He covered Trip's body with his own then threw his arms up to protect his head, when the explosion erupted close by. As the blast expanded, noise roared in the captain's ears, heat kissed his skin, and he felt the sting of debris hit his back.
Archer could feel Trip's body trembling under his, could just make out his ragged breathing, as they remained pinned down. He did his best to protect them both when more explosions engulfed them. Some close, some not so close, but each one caused him to flinch, as it did Trip.
"What the hell's going on?" Trip yelled.
Fucked if I know, Archer thought, wildly. He dared to lift his head, and struggled to control his panic when, over the tumult of explosions, he could make out angry shouts nearing. Then something familiar, something he had only heard a few times, the rat-tat-tat of gunfire. His heart jack hammered. "We need to get outta here," he ordered, fiercely.
Not waiting for a response, the captain flew off the ground and grabbed Trip by his uniform at the scruff of his neck. "C'mon," he urged, shoving his friend in front of him.
"Where are we goin' to go?" Trip shouted as they broke into a desperate run.
"I don't know, Trip," Archer yelled as he scanned the area frantically. All the buildings they ran past were in ruins. The gaping holes and collapsed roofs were proof that it wouldn't be a good idea to take refuge in any on them. And then there were the explosions, and angry voices that were closing in on them, to consider. "But we need to find somewhere safer than here," he shouted.
Trip threw his hands over his head when another blast erupted to their right, raining down rocks and dirt. "I'm with ya," he yelled, picking up speed.
Despite the cold air, sweat trickled down the captain's back. His lungs craved for oxygen, and his muscles burned from the extra effort he was putting into running from the danger. His harsh breathing, and pounding pulse, fought for supremacy in his head. His mind was in turmoil.
Archer attempted to block out the sounds of people yelling and screaming, and of the endless explosions that persisted all around them, causing his ears to ring with every thunderous boom. He cast a quick look at Trip and could see the same determination set on his face.
As they ran through the destroyed town, Archer wiped the dust from his eyes, and tried to ignore the sight of more dead bodies that lined the deserted streets. But he couldn't avoid the smell of rotting corpse, and the acrid odour of fires and cordite that filled the air.
"Jon!" Trip called.
The captain pulled up short and spun around. "What?" he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
Trip slowed and bent over. "I think it's stopped," he said, gulping in air. He lifted his head and met Jon's eyes. "Well, I don't hear anything close by."
Jon closed his eyes and listened. He could still hear voices in the distance, but the barrage of bombing had stopped. Realising that Trip was right, he followed his example by bending at the waist, rested his hands on his knees, and dragged in oxygen. His ears still rung and his heart still pounded, but with the immediate danger passing, he forced his body relax. After a few short moments, he straightened and examined their environment.
There were more destroyed buildings, homes and business, standing in ruins. He was sickened to see more people lying sprawled in the streets. Some were twisted at odd angles; all were exposed to the elements.
As before, women and children were among the dead, but most of those lying bloodied and broken were men in uniform. A number of them were in a bluish grey uniform, the majority, however, were wearing light brown. Archer tore his eyes away from the macabre scene and continued scouting the area.
They were near the edge of the town. He could make out what looked like a railway station, similar to Earths, and beyond that a forest, with its trees almost stripped bare of leaves. Maybe...
"Where to now?" Trip asked, breaking the captain's concentration.
Jon turned to Trip. "I think we should head to the forest," he told him, pointing to the woodlands.
Trip studied the horizon. "That's a lot of open ground, Jon," he said looking back to the captain.
Jon could see his concern, he shared it, but he didn't know where else they could go. "I know, Trip," he said, turning to check the route that they had just travelled. The sounds of gunfire had started again, as had the explosions, and both were moving closer to their position. He looked at Trip and could still see his reluctance. "I don't think that we have any other choice." Without waiting for an answer, Archer led them to what he hoped was safety.
As they approached the station, Archer spun at the approaching sound of desperate and angry voices, underscored by the noise of gunfire - then the ominous whine of a missile heading in their direction.
He looked at Trip. No words were needed. Both men bolted.
They were only a few meters away when Jon heard the whine of the missile getting louder. "Hurry, Trip!" he urged.
With a final burst, the two friends reached the station just as the bomb impacted the ground behind them. They stumbled and fell, but quickly got back to their feet and then, side by side, flew up the steps, ran across the platform, then scrambled over the edge and hunched down against the wall. They buried themselves under their arms as the blast blew out.
"You have got to be kidding me," Trip screamed over the roar.
Jon lowered his arms and looked at Trip, whose face was filled with disbelief. "I wish," he yelled back then drew Trip further under the landing when another bomb exploded.
After the rocks and dirt stopped falling, Jon waited for the barrage to continue. When it didn't, he risked a look over the parapet. He could still see fires in the distance, could still hear gunfire and angry voices, but for the moment it seemed that the bombing had ceased again. He turned and collapsed back down to the ground.
He knew that they shouldn't stop, but for a few moments, all Jon wanted to do was catch his breath. So he leant up against the wall and closed his eyes. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing; his and Trip's, and felt his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, his mouth was awfully dry. He tried to get some saliva going, but after a few moments, he realised that was a futile activity. "What I wouldn't give for a sip of water," he rasped.
Trip chuckled. "I'd give my left arm, right 'bout now," he replied.
Archer grinned. "Just your left?" He opened his eyes and looked at his friend.
Trip's hair was plastered down by sweat, his face was flushed, but there was still a small twinkle left in his eyes that the captain was relieved to see. So far, their journey into this unknown world had been rough, and he had been concerned about how Trip would cope. After all...
"Jon, stop worrying 'bout me," said Trip, interrupting Archer's thoughts.
Jon smiled. "Nope!" he told him, maintaining his eye contact. As his studied his friend's face, Jon realised just how far their friendship had come since they met all those years ago. He knew he'd do anything for Trip, just as Trip would do anything for him. But there was a time, during their mission to find the Xindi, where they weren't so close.
Then Trip's life fell apart twelve months previously, and with Jon still coming to terms with his actions in the Expanse, they had reconnected, this time building a more solid friendship. A bond that was difficult for anyone to break.
Jon tore himself out of his thoughts, and broke his eye contact quickly, when frantic shouting, and the sound of heavy footsteps, marching toward their hiding place, hit his ears. He chanced another look over the wall and could see shadows quickly approaching. He dropped down again and looked at Trip. Fear was deeply etched on his face, but Jon saw unquestionable trust in his eyes. "We have to get out of here!" he said, urgently.
"Couldn't agree more," Trip replied with a grim smile.
As they continued to stare at each other, the unspoken passed between them. Trip smiled knowingly and nodded his head. They took deep breaths, rose in unison, and ran.
At first Jon thought that they would make the distance undetected, until a flare lit up the night sky and exposed their bodies against the backdrop of the forest. Suddenly a shout resounded directly behind them, and the night exploded once again.
They both put on extra speed as bullets flew past them, kicking up grass and mud as they impacted the ground at their feet.
Jon's mouth went even dryer when he felt a bullet buzz past his ear. He was about to yell for Trip to go faster when he stumbled. At first he thought he had tripped over a rock, but then searing pain pierced his back and traversed his body, burning its way through, until it blew out the other side through his stomach.
He heard Trip yell, felt his arms catch him as his legs crumbled, then his body being lowered gently to the ground. He could see Trip's lips moving but he couldn't hear his voice. Jon tried to say something, but he couldn't force the air out of his lungs to form the words. He felt Trip hold him tighter, this time hearing his order to stay with him. Jon didn't think he could.
The captain looked up through blurred vision and stared into Trip's panicked eyes. As the shadows surrounded him, he forced out his last command. "Keep going, Trip..."
To Be Continued...