Wavering as my foot sank into an unseen puddle, I managed to just keep my balance, but notably slower than before, muck clinging to my boot and weighing it down. The cold air of the bog was searing my throat like liquid fire as the bitter taste of bile and blood coated my mouth. Matthew ran beside me, face pale and violet eyes wide. Behind us, a low groan echoed off the walls of mist that had lessened some, but still obscured our sense of direction. Glancing over my shoulder, the thing flailed its limbs as it chased us down, its head thrown back and mouth agape. We had been running for god knows how long, having dumped our packs in order to hopefully escape, but this one bugger wouldn't go, and by now, both of us were getting tired. Matthew was starting to lag, his lips were white as snow and every few steps he staggered, the thing coming that much closer every time

"Shit," I muttered, grabbing Mattie by his arm and all but throwing the lad behind me. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, I raised the gun, opening fire on the berserker. It seemed aiming for the head was the only effective means. The bark of the Sten set my nerves ablaze, even as the bullets riddled through the thing's chest and head. It danced a moment, the bullets tearing through before it collapsed to its knees, then fell face-first into the muck.

In the fog, the gunshots echoed for what seemed like an eternity, unnerving.

"W-we shouldn't stay here, Arthur," Mattie finally broke the eerie silence. His voice had always been soft, but it made me jump. Already I was straining for the sounds of madness and shadowy figures lurching through the fog. I paused a second longer before nodding my head, reaching out and gripping the kid's arm, giving what I hope was an encouraging squeeze before dragging him after me, turning our backs to the corpse.

The overcast clouds were thick, smothering the sun and sheltering the mist. It had lightened some, we could now see two meters ahead and some way through the murk, the silhouettes of shrubbery and uneven landscapes looming. The cloud cover made flying bothersome, but the fog seemed to encase the area in a thick blanket and obscured aerial observations to the point of them being unreliable. On top of that, it was not uncommon to hear of aeroplanes disappearing around the location. That was all I had been able to gather on the subject before the mission, but even if it wasn't spelt out to me, I could figure that the predominate suspicion was some sort of secret Nazi base. The weather was certainly dank enough for the likes of them.

"Arthur?" Matthew suddenly spoke, his little voice more startling than if he had shouted in my ear. Even though we were walking to the point our shoulders touched, I had all but forgotten he was here. I looked slightly up to him, both the boys had gotten tall, but their faces were still young and innocent, violet eyes marred with fear. "It got very quiet."

Mattie was not an obtuse boy, unlike his younger brother, but he rarely ever spoke plainly. Perhaps that was my fault, or his mother's, or both? It was quiet, our sloshing footsteps and tired breath overwhelmed my ears the moment he pointed it out; not a sound of birds or a breeze, everything was distressingly static. Above all else, there was no more gunfire or voices. How long had it been since we were attacked? I hadn't heard from any of our crew since the order to scatter was given, the thought of being the last ones started creeping up on me.

"Right now, we have to look after ourselves, and they need to do the same until we know what, exactly, we're dealing with."

Uncertainty coloured his face as he looked away. I opened my mouth to say something, hopefully encouraging, when he beat me to it. "Can you promise me you'll remember that . . . in the case we don't find Alfred?"

"Arthur, I want you to promise me that you'll keep them safe. Please. Swear to me, you won't come home without them. They're all I have left. Any more heartbreak, and I shall surely die.'

How like his mother he was, unknowingly cruel with his words. "How can you talk so darkly about your own brother, especially after all your mother has gone through." Chastising him was not something I did often, Matthew had always been a good boy, but it also didn't hold much weight with how little our age difference was.

He didn't even have the decency to look guilty, "I know mother has made things hard on you since father passed, but how realistic is this? Really? We're at war."

"Regardless of how fantastic it seems, my sister, your mother, has been through quite enough." I kept staring ahead, unwilling to meet the disapproving gaze directed at me. My legs already felt like lead, I didn't need this added weight, especially with that edge of pity. I didn't want him thinking such things, or allowing him to coerce those same shadows into my own mind. I attempted a smile, though I could feel the bitter ruefulness behind it. "Alfred has always been the lucky sort, knowing him, he's fine, though perhaps catching a cold."

Matthew wavered, I saw him turn away out of the corner of my eye for a moment before he stopped walking. I half stumbled as I tried to stop as well, having been moving more on inertia, now that I was still, I felt utterly exhausted, my legs like rubber under my body. "Then we should split up," he suddenly proposed, digging through the pockets of his jacket, producing a lighter, "The fog has lessened, and it is still quite dingy. W can walk several paces apart and show our location with the lighters. You have one right?"

I tsked my tongue, "In my bag, but lord knows that's bloody gone."

"Then you stay on this path and I'll follow the same trail, several paces to the south, just in sight of each other, if you lose sight of me, whistle and I'll flick the light on. If you can't see that, whistle again and I'll whistle back and head in your direction."

"And if you lose sight of me?" I muttered, watching him pull out his handgun. Mattie had been the fragile child, but perhaps he had held that face for my sake. I admit I have my own issues when it comes to the boys.

"I'll whistle, if I don't get a responding whistle, I'll clap. Clap back, or shout if you have to, I'll head back in your direction."

I didn't like the idea of splitting up, god almighty, I had already lost one of them, but I could hardly argue. Staying close not only made it harder to find where Alfred might have wandered off to, but it also made us easy targets. I would be focused on Matthew, and he would be focused on me. At least if we came into trouble apart, we would have less to worry about. At the same time, he was forcing me. "You come straight back," I barked, my fingers twitching against the metal of the Sten with uncertainty, "I don't want you alone at night, so come back when you feel the fog getting thick."

"I will Arthur." How could he speak so confidently? Even I didn't sound so assured in my own ears. Then he went. He didn't go far, I could still make out his outline, but it also unnerved me. He didn't look much different than the men, soldiers, creatures we encountered before from this distance. Sometimes he would weave out and vanish, then weave back in, coming closer, a few times I whistled out of nerves and the little flame illuminated the mist, not bright, but like a small, fuzzy orb of light. A few times I didn't see it at all and whistled again, the shadowy figure of my nephew appearing not long after. At least, I hoped it was him until I saw the flame. It felt like hours until I was comfortable enough to look away for more than a few seconds at a time.

If we were trying to look for Alfred's tracks, then were were fools, the marsh was uneven and ate up any evidence of life. There was no guarantee the fool had even come this way, we were grasping at straws, but even with knowing that, telling myself I was looking for Alfred made me feel hopeful. It truly was pathetic.

The fog slowly began closing in as the sun, wherever it was, apparently started to set. I looked around, Matthew was nowhere in sight, I honestly felt alone. I whistled, no little light. I whistled again, nothing. Panic began to rise in me like bile, my mouth going dry and tasting of copper. I couldn't lose them both. I couldn't go home without them, one missing was bad enough, but both? I may as well, shoot myself now than face my sister. I honestly looked down, seriously contemplating the matter when I heard the loud clap. "Blast that boy," I muttered, now angry that he would make me worry more than anything. I tried clapping back, but my hands had gone numb from the cold and anxiety, it was as though they weren't attacked to my wrists any longer. Instead I shouted, getting another clap. He didn't sound any closer.

Frowning, I cupped my hand beside my mouth, no longer worried about Krauts or beasts. There was a lull before I heard a whistle. At least he was getting closer, I refused to move so as not to accidentally get us both lost, the gloom getting thicker by the minute. I whistled again, becoming increasingly impatient, I expected to hear the returning wail of the boy almost instantly, but it never came. Instead there was the metallic click of a loaded gun behind me.

I turned to the noise, my heart pounding in my throat as I went for my sub-machine gun, my boot slipping in the muck and throwing me off, forcing my hands away from the Sten and into the air as I tried to keep from falling. I just caught sight of a figure in the haze, their arm raised at me as I fell to the ground, tracking me. I prayed that they didn't find Mattie, waiting for the shadow to pull the trigger.

It is a jumbled mess in my mind, panic and whatnot, being in enemy territory, you assume everyone is out to kill you, I didn't spare a thought that it could even be one of my own fellows. Somewhere in my mind I had already assumed their fates. But the next second I was on my rump in two inches of muck, staring at two people, entangled in one another.

"Who are you?"

I blinked, noting a strong French accent, getting to my feet and approaching the two. A blonde man, about my height, maybe a centimetre or two taller, stood in a headlock, Matthew behind him, holding a knife to the Frenchman's neck. He was dressed in a strange assortment of clothing, a French patch safety-pinned to the sleeve of a black German jacket, his pants were a standard brown. He looked like hell. As I came forward, he stared at me in surprise, lowering the German handgun. "However baffled you are doesn't even begin to describe how we feel. The fuck are you doing here frog?" I scowled, Mattie taking the cue not to let him go.

"Pardon me, I thought you were one of the swamp monsters," he stumbled over his words, eyes looking like an owl's, "Did . . . Did you pick up the SOS? Is that why you're here? Do you have a plane?"

Matthew and I looked between each other. He looked relieved more than anything, even letting the gun fall into the mud. I gave Matthew a shrug and he let the man go. "We were looking for a gaggle of Communists. We hadn't heard of the French getting involved in the area."

He hardly had the decency to look put out, the energy radiating off of him after such a trying day was only serving to irritate me further. "Then this is a rescue mission?"

"Answer me first, Frog. Why are you here? We have no information on you lot being in the area."

"I'm the only one. I got caught up at a bad time, the facility in the area was in the middle of collapse and I caught a strange radio signal and came too close, getting caught up in the blimp."

I stared at him suspiciously, "Why would you come closer because of some signal you picked up? Are you daft?"

He gave me a sneer, as thought he was somehow superior because he had answers, "Surprising as it may seem, the signal was not encrypted and it played on all channels. It was announcing some sort of emergency, and it was German. That meant someone had the radio rigged to bypass the encryption device-."

"Someone wanted help," Matthew interrupted, earning a displeased look from the Frenchman, "They didn't care who it was from."

"Or it was a trap," I barked back.

"Unfortunately," the man spoke, looking out into the mist, "it wasn't. I'd rather be a Prisoner of War than in this place. Seeing as you are paratroopers, your aircraft will be returning for you, right?"

I looked to Matthew, before looking away from them both, "No. Our job was recon, if we found the Reds, or anyone else, that was besides the point. We were to report back any base or facility and an aerial bombing would have occurred, then we would have been retrieved. It was supposed to be quiet, if we ran into trouble, we were on our own."

"... I see. So you're just as damned as the rest of us."

Matthew remained silent, apparently digesting the news. It wasn't supposed to get ugly, and especially since we didn't know what we were up against, I have no doubt the order was given to abandon the mission. I sighed, "It appears we are. I'm Arthur Kirkland, this is my nephew, Matthew Williams."

"A rather young uncle," he commented, stooping to pick up his gun, wiping the mud from it easily, "Francis Bonnefoy."

"You said the rest of us," Matthew interjected, "There are others? Not . . . 'swamp monsters?"

"Yes," he looked around, the fog dense as it was when we first arrived, "It isn't safe out here in the open, they have shelter, if you want to call it that, and rations." The thought of walking farther made my legs ache in protest, but the mention of food was more than enough to urge me on. Discarding our packs may have saved us at the time, but we'd be dead if it hadn't been for the damned Frog. "We don't have far to go, actually, you were on your way towards the facility before I came up behind you. I thought you were one of the irregulars, they have a tendency not to come back, but a rare few of them do. They are also more aggressive than the rest."

Francis led the way, not looking at all intimidated by the bleak wall of fog. I frowned, hesitating, but following anyway, if it meant some place to sleep and food to eat, I had little choice else. "How long have you been here?" I asked, thinking it a safer option. I didn't bring up Alfred, out of fear he had come across the boy. If he wasn't with him, then there was only one reason as to why.

"I'm unsure, to be honest," he spoke with a grim sort of smile, "Days seem to blend here. Soon you'll forget there even is a war going on."

Perhaps it was exhaustion, but I couldn't help thinking what an odd thing for someone to say. It wasn't just any war, it was the war, as great in size and conflict as the Great War. It was hardly something one could forget. Or perhaps Matthew and I were uncharacteristically lucky and hadn't experienced the worst of it.

A/N: Doing some retcon control. I actually think this story is the best written so far from the last two chapters and I want to give it justice. I have so many plans you guys, it isn't funny. Just little details are changed here. Little timeline fixes. Trust me, this is gonna be a ride. Now if only I can keep up the first-person narrative...