Plura Ater Nox
1944 – London
"I can't believe those bloody Nazis; they've blown most of London up!" Chelsea exclaimed incredulously as she and General Dwight Marshall walked down the debris littered stretch of street known to the Londoners as White Hall St.. She kicked some stray debris with the toe of her shoe, as they walked down toward the underground offices.
On the surface, she seemed very calm and collected, but inside she was a bustling market of emotions. On the one hand, she was worried about all those men, who were still practically boys; over in a strange new land fighting some faceless demon and not knowing if they would live to see their children and grandchildren. The uncertainty of war and the future.
Kicking some debris, she growled. "They are such bloody wankers, who deserve a good swift kick in the bullocks, and a good arse whippin' from mama. They killed my brothers!"
General Marshall walked next to her in silence, his mind elsewhere as he thought of Marcus, who had approached him early before the group had split up to embark on the small-scale invasion as part of the grander scheme of things. He closed his eyes briefly then opened them as he gave a vague nod to Chelsea's ranting, to which he was half-heartedly paying attention.
He gracefully swept his overcoat around him, securing it as a gust of wind rushed through, stirring the dust that coated the street. He didn't look behind him as the wind whipped around, as he felt the dust hit him. He ignored it and walked straight with purpose. He kept a hand in Chelsea's back to ensure her safety. He kept her in front of him as he walked so that he could protect her in the event that the air raid siren would sound.
"Aren't you going to say anything? Or are you going to stun us yet again with your awe-inspiring silence?!" Chelsea drawled sarcastically, as she turned her face to her boss, a slight smile caressing her lips as she gazed back. Her russet hair, which was once neatly tied into a smart bun, was now amok with fly-away, as her bangs became intrusive.
"Really, that was uncalled for, Chelsea." General Marshall replied shortly, as he regarded her serenely. His gaze only rested on her briefly before it again returned to its scrutiny of the area as they promenaded down the boulevard.
"But you almost never humour me with a reply." She replied with utmost indignation, to which she received no reply except the deafening ring of the air raid siren.
Shrieking in fear, she covered her ears and cowered in a ball on the ground, fearing for her life. The kanji that had once been present on her left foot now vanished and was but a memory. She was strong when fear didn't set in; the kanji was a symbol of her strength and intelligence. Without she was reduced to but a simple state that was common among all humans.
"Chelsea! Chelsea! Stand up!" General Marshall exclaimed, panicking as he reached to try and grab her wrist and get them both to safety as hordes of fearful English fled to the nearest shelters, including the nearest Underground, which also now doubled as a bomb shelter. "Chelsea, remember yourself; don't lose your head! Get up!"
"Oh God….oh God… I'm going to die! Please god, save me!" Chelsea cried, her form trembling; fear consuming her whole being. Her mind wallowed in the fray of panic, as English men and women ran by, their screams of terror echoing; the very core of their existence threatened by the distant yet real sound of German bombers rapidly approaching from the English Channel.
Reaching down, General Marshall frantically searched for her wrist to grab and hoist her to her feet so they could get to the nearest shelter and take cover from the raid on the town. He had a hard time gripping it. It was mainly due to the position of her form as she cowered on the ground, crying out her cries for forgiveness as she said prayers in Latin, trying to seek salvation, for she feared death.
Terror was setting in as the roar of jets drew close. His fearful gaze was turned to the sky, as he saw for the first time the sight of an endless cloud of German bomber jets as their deafening roar dulled the siren's pitiful cry.
A gasp escaped him. Those weren't planes, those were…
"Oh shit!"
The first hit, causing what felt like an earthquake.
Think quickly, General Marshall threw himself protectively over Chelsea as a missile soared overhead, crashing into a building a mere four blocks away. The earth violently shook as glass, stone and other shrapnel and debris flew into the air littering the surrounding area.
He winced as he felt glass fall on him. It had to land on the bare nape of his neck as he remained cowered over Chelsea, attempting to protect the hysterical girl. He didn't let out any cry, for it would be a weakness if he did. He had to be strong and hold it in.
He felt sweat coursing his face; the salty liquid stinging his eyes as he struggled to hang on long enough to sense if it was safe to stand up and again attempt to guide Chelsea to safety. The liquid dripped off the contours of his jaw, as he held her under his strong frame, his arms embracing her against his body, as he recalled the last dialogue he had with Marcus just before the group broke up.
-- Flashback --
"Ike, Chelsea spoke to me earlier. She's been star gazing again." Marcus remarked with a wry grin. He added, "And she quoted to me that she foresaw doom in the stars for many of us, for the stars were moving in an unfavourable, or an unlucky way."
He sat on the edge of the desk, as General Marshall moved around. "That doesn't surprise me in the least. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the group broke up. Russell and JC are the precise antithesis to the other; Jeremiah doesn't have his priorities straight; Séamus and Brennan will likely get themselves killed and we'll get many deaths because of this."
The general sighed running his fingers through his cru-cut.
"Don't think of blaming yourself, Ike. You were only thinking of a possible and quick end to this never-ending war waged by the Nazis. You witnessed too many deaths close to home when they dropped bombs on Béal Feirste."
"It's the same as if they dropped it on Baile Átha Cliath; it's all really the same in the end; it's all part of Eire."
"I know, but what is important at this point is taking the fire to their home and putting them under siege."
"If we can drive them back there first. It'll be futile if we fight them on soil that is not their own, for they feel the pain as if it were their own."
"Mitsukake, did you ever imagine that we would spend this life fighting as well after the hurt and tragedy of the last life?" Marcus asked softly. "Did you think we would be lucky this time around and not have to witness the death of our friends again?"
"Oh, so many times have I wondered why we have to live a life that is so redundant the last, Chichiri. I have asked myself why we must ensure this tragic existence all over again. What sins did we carry over from the last that Suzaku did not forgive us for? We were not sorry for out actions? Did we not feel the pain and sorrow of loss? The guilt?"
"Yes we did. In many ways we did." Marcus replied quietly, as he moved to stand next to his friend. "But now our fate lies in the hands of another god, a god that is so unlike Suzaku, a god who defines what is good and not and punishes the sinners. We can't blame Suzaku for the last life, nor can we blame God for this life. What has happened in the world, like the wars, is outside of our reach. The only thing we can do is protect those that are close to us."
"Protect the generation which will be fathering and mothering the next generation so they can live in a better world tomorrow." General Marshall said, as he gazed out the window into the endless velvet night sky littered with bright stars.
"So, I'll accompany the twins and Tasuki with their crew. Hotohori and Nakago can certainly defend their backs easily. The younger ones will likely put themselves into too much danger if without guidance, no da." Marcus declared.
A knowing smile caressed the general's lips. "Is it because Brennan and Séamus remind you of a certain someone?" His eyes twinkled with knowledge, which was reflected in Marcus's very nod, as he made his ascended reply.
"Yes, of myself. Both are out there fighting an enemy greater than themselves; the English and now the Germans because the Nazis dared to bomb their own very allies."
"Although it was slightly different for you, was it not?"
*FLASHBACK – 1916: The Verdun*
It was the first of July of the year of 1916. The war had been going on for a good two years now and the mentality had set in that this was a stalemate and wasn't about to change any time soon. All the men who had not yet been killed had realised, as they listened to their commanding officers. Their lives were in grave danger; they were about to enter 'no man's land', from which few returned.
It was that long stretch of land between allied trenches and enemy trenches. Bodies of unknown soldiers lay strewn amongst the ruin; the barbed wire, empty shell cases, abandoned foxholes, stray rifles. From the area rose a pungent stench of death; it pervaded every aspect of their lives, as they spent long days in the trenches fretting about the future.
In the distance rant out the constant dull roar of artillery fire from German forces and the detonation of strategically planted land mines; this, was the downfall of unsuspecting men of the allied forces, as they were sent to an uncertain fate. The bright flashes were noticeable from even a sitting position within the trenches.
They knew the Germans were attempting to break through French lines, so some members of the 16th division, as well as Canadian volunteers were sent to act as back-up.
The first and second waves of men had been sent over, while the third wait. In the third line were Marcus, Dwight and Sergeant William Delaney. They stood against the wall, waiting for the command to go over the top and attempt to make gains for the allied forces.
"Lousy bloody Brits; buncha muderin' wankers; no better than the Germans!" Marcus groused, as he hefted his gun by his side.
"Then why did you enlist?" Dwight remarked.
"Because I don't want to see my best friend, leave for some alien country and have to die there because the Brits are a bunch of bloody sadists." Marcus replied with a warm smile. "I'm not going to let you die alone out there in 'no man's land'; I'm going to be with you for the whole war. You shouldn't have to die alone."
"NOW! Go!"
Sergeant Delaney was the first of the three to go over the top at full speed. "This is for Treasa!" he declared loudly, as he kept his sights ahead. He vanished from sight quickly.
He was followed by others, including Dwight and Marcus, who quickly forgot their conversation and joined the other men making the journey into 'no man's land'. They moved over the top quickly, more fortunate than others, as they were gunned down immediately as they crossed the barrier between safety and danger. Others were not as lucky and lost their life before they had barely set foot onto the soil between the long stretches of the trenches.
The friends ventured deeply out, however, Sergeant Delaney, wasn't so lucky, and lay in a puddle of his own blood. He stared up at the unforgiving morning sky, which was dull with a grey overcast. His eyes were fixated on it as he tried to breathe steadily and wait for help. He knew he was fooling himself; no one would find him. He'd die among the thousand of faceless soldiers.
The hot lead of the bullet that penetrated his stomach and chest had knocked him down, leaving him among the other bodies that littered the long stretch of land. He was now moments away from becoming another one of these dead bodies that would be forgotten. He would just be another name on the long list of soldiers who lost their life in battle and all in the name of the king.
His hand covered up the wound, his eye-sight blurring into a blissfully hazy cloud, as his life slipped from the grasp. A bright white light appeared before him. Was that the entrance to heaven before him?
His last brief thoughts were of Treasa….
Crying out as the bullet penetrated his chest, Dwight fell to his knees; his hand covered up the chest-wound. Instinctively, he cowered on the ground, plotting his gradual return to the trench so that he wouldn't die out here with the other men who had been unfortunate enough to have been so brutally gunned down that they were immobilised.
"Ike?" Marcus looked back over his shoulder. "IKE!" he exclaimed fearfully as he ran back to his friend's side, heedless of the fact that he could get killed by doing this. His only concern was taking his friend to safety.
Their trench was so far; the only closest safe hide-away was a foxhole caused by stray mortar fire. This was noted by Marcus, as he picked up his friend and moved quickly to the fox hole, weaving around the mines, which were planted in such obvious places. He narrowly missed stepping one, as he jumped into the hole.
Once in, he placed his friend down.
"Ike, Ike talk to me!"
"Seadh, Mark?"
"Buíochas, Dia…" Marcus breathed a sigh a relief. He smiled serenely at his friend. "You'll be ok. I got you out of the line of fire. We'll go back to the trench when German fire lets up long enough for us to skulk back into our camp."
Sighing happily, Dwight returned the smile. "Thanks, my friend."
Blinking, Marcus acted quickly and pulled friend down, as he sensed the dull rumble of a German tank. He put himself protectively over his friend, as they cowered in the safety of the hole, knowing that the Germans wouldn't find them there, unless they were on foot.
The tank violently shook the ground as it rumbled over the muddy terrain. The trembles it caused alone were mild compared to the earthquake-like affects of the land-mine as it rolled over it. The walls of the foxhole convulsed ferociously. The dirt broke off in large chunks and fell on Marcus's back, as debris and shrapnel from the tank also rained down on them.
Pained he let out a cry of anguish as a piece of metal shrapnel penetrated his back, the sharp jagged edge ripping through his skin. He didn't dare move, for it hurt even to think about it. His eyes were shut tightly, as he tried to think of something else; something that would ease the pain of his suffering.
"Mark?" Dwight asked, as he gazed at his friend. "Are you ok? Mark, answer me, MARK!!"
The only sound that resonated from him was a dull moan of anguish, as sweat poured down his face. The affects of the injury were written all over his face as it was scrunched into a pained scowl.
"Enemy fire has briefly ceased, we should go back now! Now before it's too late!" He declared, standing up, his hand covering his wound. He held out the other to Marcus. "Move it! I'm not letting my best friend die out here!"
"Ike… I can't! It hurts too much!" Marcus groaned, as he tried to sit up.
"Cock and bull, wanker! Stand the bloody hell up before the Germans find us and make us POWs!" Dwight exclaimed as he grabbed his friend and hoisted his to his feet.
The pain caused by the shrapnel deeply imbedded in his back was too much and his legs crumpled under him. However, as he fell, his left twisted awkwardly, as the sound of cracking bones could be distinctly heard at least once.
Panicking, Dwight knelt next to his friend. "Mark, how bad is it? Can you move?"
"No, you bloody bastard! My leg is broke in two spots and I can't stand on it no more!" Marcus seethed scathingly.
Thinking quickly and forgetting his own wound, Dwight picked up the bulk that was the weight of Marcus and hauled him from the foxhole and ran back to the trench that was their own. He jumped down gracefully and landed, notably out of breathe as two medics ran over to take care of them, as well others who made it back, though not in the best of health…
1916: The Somme – the Letter
He stood, alone. He no longer had his friend by his side. He had returned to the battlefield alone. His wounds had been minor. His friend had been transported back to Dublin because of the severity of his injury. The two friends hadn't seen each other in months, and only on this day had Dwight received a letter from his friend. The letter came to him following a revolt by the Catholics in Dublin against the English monarchy/regime.
It had been dubbed the "Easter Rising". The English guard hadn't been impressed with the insubordination on the part of the Irish Catholics, who dared to usurp their English rulers. Many of the men and women who had participated had been arrested or shot on sight. This rebellion wasn't tolerated in the least.
Dwight had received a hint of this before it happened. He knew from the letters he received from Marcus that stated this several times. On two occasions, he had been given notice that his friend was considering joining the uprising. As it stood, because of his heroic service during the Battle of Verdun, Marcus had been awarded for his bravery, as had Dwight, but, he knew that if Marcus dared to go through with it, Marcus would stand to be stripped of his medals and title.
Sighing, Dwight took out the unopened envelope and carefully ripped it open.
A morose sigh escaped him. His friend had gone through with it.
Ike,
I've joined with the Catholic force of Sinn Fein in the hopes of driving the English from our homeland. If I cannot be of service on the front, then I will be at home and I will fight here for a better tomorrow. We have found a weakness in the English and we will use it to our advantage.
However, I'm sad to report that our rebellion has been quashed by English forces and many of our kin have been arrested or killed. I was however, fortunate enough to have escaped such a fate. I have found sanctuary in the countryside of Wicklow. I have joined the monastery there and I will hide there until the fog has cleared.
Don't worry about me, I shall be fine. They won't think to look for me here. When it is safe, I shall again come out of hiding and fight for our country's future free of English oppression.
There is a small force, the Irish Republican Army, that has been formed, since the English have outlawed Sinn Fein, and there is a group of such here and we will fight for our lands and freedom from within the walls of the Lord's Sanctuary.
God bless you, my friend.
Brother Marcus Faulkner
'You fool…' Dwight thought, as he folded the letter up. 'You have done so much and you're willing to throw it away for a futile effort? You're a real man; none like the cowards on the German front…'
With that, he hoisted his rifle and again ventured over the top, this time with more men, as they charged the German trenches in the early hours of dawn.
-- End Flashback --
The air was dead silent with the dull persistent ring of the air raid siren, as General Marshall looked up, gazing around, as he decided that it was safe enough for them to try and seek shelter before the next attack. He knew they wouldn't have much time. Taking Chelsea by the wrist, he pulled her along despite her resistant cries as she tried to stand her ground and stay in a foetal position; in a ball.
Running quickly, he tried to make her keep up with him, but it was hard. She may be small, but she could use her weight smartly. He was left with no choice but to take her and carry her, at the risk of being kicked and punched. True her firsts and feet were tiny, but it would still hurt.
Before he could lift her, her foot caught on stray debris and she tripped, falling to the ground with a shrill cry. She landed on her front. Pushing herself up, she winced, a soft whimper escaping her as she gazed at the twisted mass under her left leg. "Ow…"
"Chelsea!" General Marshall moved to her side quickly. He knelt, his eyes moving over her body, landing on her injury. He lift his hand, preparing to use his usually suppressed healing ability to restore the ankle to health, but pulled his hand back and covered her body with his again and in right time too, as a building in front of them erupted into a ball of flames with a triumphant bang. How the building came to be reduce to a burning, twisted mass of twisted metal one would never know.
He gritted his teeth as he felt the red-hot metal and glass rain on his back. Not a sound of pain escaped him, not even when large pieces struck him. Tears of pain brimmed under his eyes, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.
Once sure that it was okay to uncover her, he sat back, feeling weak. His gaze shifted over her body. Some small pieces had struck herm but she was otherwise fine. But he still didn't want to risk anything and raised his hand, filtering his chi to his healing ability. He knew he was weakened, he could feel it, but he did this anyway; he had made a promise to protect her. She was part of the generation that could change the world after the war.
He trembled, feeling his weakness consume his body. Standing on quivering legs, he nodded at an officer. "Please escort the young lady to the nearest shelter. I have other business to take care of first."
"Yes sir, general!" the officer, replied as he hefted Chelsea as though she weighed nothing.
Once the policeman had left, General Marshall collapsed to the ground, closing his eyes. 'I protected her the best way I could…'
TBC...
Author's Notes: It's been a while since I've posted a chaper, hasn't it? At least I'm moving things along. It shouldn't be long before I am finished, and this time I'm not changing my mind. This is certainly long enough. I hope you all like it up to this point. Yes, there are more surprises ahead... So, keep reading.
"I can't believe those bloody Nazis; they've blown most of London up!" Chelsea exclaimed incredulously as she and General Dwight Marshall walked down the debris littered stretch of street known to the Londoners as White Hall St.. She kicked some stray debris with the toe of her shoe, as they walked down toward the underground offices.
On the surface, she seemed very calm and collected, but inside she was a bustling market of emotions. On the one hand, she was worried about all those men, who were still practically boys; over in a strange new land fighting some faceless demon and not knowing if they would live to see their children and grandchildren. The uncertainty of war and the future.
Kicking some debris, she growled. "They are such bloody wankers, who deserve a good swift kick in the bullocks, and a good arse whippin' from mama. They killed my brothers!"
General Marshall walked next to her in silence, his mind elsewhere as he thought of Marcus, who had approached him early before the group had split up to embark on the small-scale invasion as part of the grander scheme of things. He closed his eyes briefly then opened them as he gave a vague nod to Chelsea's ranting, to which he was half-heartedly paying attention.
He gracefully swept his overcoat around him, securing it as a gust of wind rushed through, stirring the dust that coated the street. He didn't look behind him as the wind whipped around, as he felt the dust hit him. He ignored it and walked straight with purpose. He kept a hand in Chelsea's back to ensure her safety. He kept her in front of him as he walked so that he could protect her in the event that the air raid siren would sound.
"Aren't you going to say anything? Or are you going to stun us yet again with your awe-inspiring silence?!" Chelsea drawled sarcastically, as she turned her face to her boss, a slight smile caressing her lips as she gazed back. Her russet hair, which was once neatly tied into a smart bun, was now amok with fly-away, as her bangs became intrusive.
"Really, that was uncalled for, Chelsea." General Marshall replied shortly, as he regarded her serenely. His gaze only rested on her briefly before it again returned to its scrutiny of the area as they promenaded down the boulevard.
"But you almost never humour me with a reply." She replied with utmost indignation, to which she received no reply except the deafening ring of the air raid siren.
Shrieking in fear, she covered her ears and cowered in a ball on the ground, fearing for her life. The kanji that had once been present on her left foot now vanished and was but a memory. She was strong when fear didn't set in; the kanji was a symbol of her strength and intelligence. Without she was reduced to but a simple state that was common among all humans.
"Chelsea! Chelsea! Stand up!" General Marshall exclaimed, panicking as he reached to try and grab her wrist and get them both to safety as hordes of fearful English fled to the nearest shelters, including the nearest Underground, which also now doubled as a bomb shelter. "Chelsea, remember yourself; don't lose your head! Get up!"
"Oh God….oh God… I'm going to die! Please god, save me!" Chelsea cried, her form trembling; fear consuming her whole being. Her mind wallowed in the fray of panic, as English men and women ran by, their screams of terror echoing; the very core of their existence threatened by the distant yet real sound of German bombers rapidly approaching from the English Channel.
Reaching down, General Marshall frantically searched for her wrist to grab and hoist her to her feet so they could get to the nearest shelter and take cover from the raid on the town. He had a hard time gripping it. It was mainly due to the position of her form as she cowered on the ground, crying out her cries for forgiveness as she said prayers in Latin, trying to seek salvation, for she feared death.
Terror was setting in as the roar of jets drew close. His fearful gaze was turned to the sky, as he saw for the first time the sight of an endless cloud of German bomber jets as their deafening roar dulled the siren's pitiful cry.
A gasp escaped him. Those weren't planes, those were…
"Oh shit!"
The first hit, causing what felt like an earthquake.
Think quickly, General Marshall threw himself protectively over Chelsea as a missile soared overhead, crashing into a building a mere four blocks away. The earth violently shook as glass, stone and other shrapnel and debris flew into the air littering the surrounding area.
He winced as he felt glass fall on him. It had to land on the bare nape of his neck as he remained cowered over Chelsea, attempting to protect the hysterical girl. He didn't let out any cry, for it would be a weakness if he did. He had to be strong and hold it in.
He felt sweat coursing his face; the salty liquid stinging his eyes as he struggled to hang on long enough to sense if it was safe to stand up and again attempt to guide Chelsea to safety. The liquid dripped off the contours of his jaw, as he held her under his strong frame, his arms embracing her against his body, as he recalled the last dialogue he had with Marcus just before the group broke up.
-- Flashback --
"Ike, Chelsea spoke to me earlier. She's been star gazing again." Marcus remarked with a wry grin. He added, "And she quoted to me that she foresaw doom in the stars for many of us, for the stars were moving in an unfavourable, or an unlucky way."
He sat on the edge of the desk, as General Marshall moved around. "That doesn't surprise me in the least. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the group broke up. Russell and JC are the precise antithesis to the other; Jeremiah doesn't have his priorities straight; Séamus and Brennan will likely get themselves killed and we'll get many deaths because of this."
The general sighed running his fingers through his cru-cut.
"Don't think of blaming yourself, Ike. You were only thinking of a possible and quick end to this never-ending war waged by the Nazis. You witnessed too many deaths close to home when they dropped bombs on Béal Feirste."
"It's the same as if they dropped it on Baile Átha Cliath; it's all really the same in the end; it's all part of Eire."
"I know, but what is important at this point is taking the fire to their home and putting them under siege."
"If we can drive them back there first. It'll be futile if we fight them on soil that is not their own, for they feel the pain as if it were their own."
"Mitsukake, did you ever imagine that we would spend this life fighting as well after the hurt and tragedy of the last life?" Marcus asked softly. "Did you think we would be lucky this time around and not have to witness the death of our friends again?"
"Oh, so many times have I wondered why we have to live a life that is so redundant the last, Chichiri. I have asked myself why we must ensure this tragic existence all over again. What sins did we carry over from the last that Suzaku did not forgive us for? We were not sorry for out actions? Did we not feel the pain and sorrow of loss? The guilt?"
"Yes we did. In many ways we did." Marcus replied quietly, as he moved to stand next to his friend. "But now our fate lies in the hands of another god, a god that is so unlike Suzaku, a god who defines what is good and not and punishes the sinners. We can't blame Suzaku for the last life, nor can we blame God for this life. What has happened in the world, like the wars, is outside of our reach. The only thing we can do is protect those that are close to us."
"Protect the generation which will be fathering and mothering the next generation so they can live in a better world tomorrow." General Marshall said, as he gazed out the window into the endless velvet night sky littered with bright stars.
"So, I'll accompany the twins and Tasuki with their crew. Hotohori and Nakago can certainly defend their backs easily. The younger ones will likely put themselves into too much danger if without guidance, no da." Marcus declared.
A knowing smile caressed the general's lips. "Is it because Brennan and Séamus remind you of a certain someone?" His eyes twinkled with knowledge, which was reflected in Marcus's very nod, as he made his ascended reply.
"Yes, of myself. Both are out there fighting an enemy greater than themselves; the English and now the Germans because the Nazis dared to bomb their own very allies."
"Although it was slightly different for you, was it not?"
*FLASHBACK – 1916: The Verdun*
It was the first of July of the year of 1916. The war had been going on for a good two years now and the mentality had set in that this was a stalemate and wasn't about to change any time soon. All the men who had not yet been killed had realised, as they listened to their commanding officers. Their lives were in grave danger; they were about to enter 'no man's land', from which few returned.
It was that long stretch of land between allied trenches and enemy trenches. Bodies of unknown soldiers lay strewn amongst the ruin; the barbed wire, empty shell cases, abandoned foxholes, stray rifles. From the area rose a pungent stench of death; it pervaded every aspect of their lives, as they spent long days in the trenches fretting about the future.
In the distance rant out the constant dull roar of artillery fire from German forces and the detonation of strategically planted land mines; this, was the downfall of unsuspecting men of the allied forces, as they were sent to an uncertain fate. The bright flashes were noticeable from even a sitting position within the trenches.
They knew the Germans were attempting to break through French lines, so some members of the 16th division, as well as Canadian volunteers were sent to act as back-up.
The first and second waves of men had been sent over, while the third wait. In the third line were Marcus, Dwight and Sergeant William Delaney. They stood against the wall, waiting for the command to go over the top and attempt to make gains for the allied forces.
"Lousy bloody Brits; buncha muderin' wankers; no better than the Germans!" Marcus groused, as he hefted his gun by his side.
"Then why did you enlist?" Dwight remarked.
"Because I don't want to see my best friend, leave for some alien country and have to die there because the Brits are a bunch of bloody sadists." Marcus replied with a warm smile. "I'm not going to let you die alone out there in 'no man's land'; I'm going to be with you for the whole war. You shouldn't have to die alone."
"NOW! Go!"
Sergeant Delaney was the first of the three to go over the top at full speed. "This is for Treasa!" he declared loudly, as he kept his sights ahead. He vanished from sight quickly.
He was followed by others, including Dwight and Marcus, who quickly forgot their conversation and joined the other men making the journey into 'no man's land'. They moved over the top quickly, more fortunate than others, as they were gunned down immediately as they crossed the barrier between safety and danger. Others were not as lucky and lost their life before they had barely set foot onto the soil between the long stretches of the trenches.
The friends ventured deeply out, however, Sergeant Delaney, wasn't so lucky, and lay in a puddle of his own blood. He stared up at the unforgiving morning sky, which was dull with a grey overcast. His eyes were fixated on it as he tried to breathe steadily and wait for help. He knew he was fooling himself; no one would find him. He'd die among the thousand of faceless soldiers.
The hot lead of the bullet that penetrated his stomach and chest had knocked him down, leaving him among the other bodies that littered the long stretch of land. He was now moments away from becoming another one of these dead bodies that would be forgotten. He would just be another name on the long list of soldiers who lost their life in battle and all in the name of the king.
His hand covered up the wound, his eye-sight blurring into a blissfully hazy cloud, as his life slipped from the grasp. A bright white light appeared before him. Was that the entrance to heaven before him?
His last brief thoughts were of Treasa….
Crying out as the bullet penetrated his chest, Dwight fell to his knees; his hand covered up the chest-wound. Instinctively, he cowered on the ground, plotting his gradual return to the trench so that he wouldn't die out here with the other men who had been unfortunate enough to have been so brutally gunned down that they were immobilised.
"Ike?" Marcus looked back over his shoulder. "IKE!" he exclaimed fearfully as he ran back to his friend's side, heedless of the fact that he could get killed by doing this. His only concern was taking his friend to safety.
Their trench was so far; the only closest safe hide-away was a foxhole caused by stray mortar fire. This was noted by Marcus, as he picked up his friend and moved quickly to the fox hole, weaving around the mines, which were planted in such obvious places. He narrowly missed stepping one, as he jumped into the hole.
Once in, he placed his friend down.
"Ike, Ike talk to me!"
"Seadh, Mark?"
"Buíochas, Dia…" Marcus breathed a sigh a relief. He smiled serenely at his friend. "You'll be ok. I got you out of the line of fire. We'll go back to the trench when German fire lets up long enough for us to skulk back into our camp."
Sighing happily, Dwight returned the smile. "Thanks, my friend."
Blinking, Marcus acted quickly and pulled friend down, as he sensed the dull rumble of a German tank. He put himself protectively over his friend, as they cowered in the safety of the hole, knowing that the Germans wouldn't find them there, unless they were on foot.
The tank violently shook the ground as it rumbled over the muddy terrain. The trembles it caused alone were mild compared to the earthquake-like affects of the land-mine as it rolled over it. The walls of the foxhole convulsed ferociously. The dirt broke off in large chunks and fell on Marcus's back, as debris and shrapnel from the tank also rained down on them.
Pained he let out a cry of anguish as a piece of metal shrapnel penetrated his back, the sharp jagged edge ripping through his skin. He didn't dare move, for it hurt even to think about it. His eyes were shut tightly, as he tried to think of something else; something that would ease the pain of his suffering.
"Mark?" Dwight asked, as he gazed at his friend. "Are you ok? Mark, answer me, MARK!!"
The only sound that resonated from him was a dull moan of anguish, as sweat poured down his face. The affects of the injury were written all over his face as it was scrunched into a pained scowl.
"Enemy fire has briefly ceased, we should go back now! Now before it's too late!" He declared, standing up, his hand covering his wound. He held out the other to Marcus. "Move it! I'm not letting my best friend die out here!"
"Ike… I can't! It hurts too much!" Marcus groaned, as he tried to sit up.
"Cock and bull, wanker! Stand the bloody hell up before the Germans find us and make us POWs!" Dwight exclaimed as he grabbed his friend and hoisted his to his feet.
The pain caused by the shrapnel deeply imbedded in his back was too much and his legs crumpled under him. However, as he fell, his left twisted awkwardly, as the sound of cracking bones could be distinctly heard at least once.
Panicking, Dwight knelt next to his friend. "Mark, how bad is it? Can you move?"
"No, you bloody bastard! My leg is broke in two spots and I can't stand on it no more!" Marcus seethed scathingly.
Thinking quickly and forgetting his own wound, Dwight picked up the bulk that was the weight of Marcus and hauled him from the foxhole and ran back to the trench that was their own. He jumped down gracefully and landed, notably out of breathe as two medics ran over to take care of them, as well others who made it back, though not in the best of health…
1916: The Somme – the Letter
He stood, alone. He no longer had his friend by his side. He had returned to the battlefield alone. His wounds had been minor. His friend had been transported back to Dublin because of the severity of his injury. The two friends hadn't seen each other in months, and only on this day had Dwight received a letter from his friend. The letter came to him following a revolt by the Catholics in Dublin against the English monarchy/regime.
It had been dubbed the "Easter Rising". The English guard hadn't been impressed with the insubordination on the part of the Irish Catholics, who dared to usurp their English rulers. Many of the men and women who had participated had been arrested or shot on sight. This rebellion wasn't tolerated in the least.
Dwight had received a hint of this before it happened. He knew from the letters he received from Marcus that stated this several times. On two occasions, he had been given notice that his friend was considering joining the uprising. As it stood, because of his heroic service during the Battle of Verdun, Marcus had been awarded for his bravery, as had Dwight, but, he knew that if Marcus dared to go through with it, Marcus would stand to be stripped of his medals and title.
Sighing, Dwight took out the unopened envelope and carefully ripped it open.
A morose sigh escaped him. His friend had gone through with it.
Ike,
I've joined with the Catholic force of Sinn Fein in the hopes of driving the English from our homeland. If I cannot be of service on the front, then I will be at home and I will fight here for a better tomorrow. We have found a weakness in the English and we will use it to our advantage.
However, I'm sad to report that our rebellion has been quashed by English forces and many of our kin have been arrested or killed. I was however, fortunate enough to have escaped such a fate. I have found sanctuary in the countryside of Wicklow. I have joined the monastery there and I will hide there until the fog has cleared.
Don't worry about me, I shall be fine. They won't think to look for me here. When it is safe, I shall again come out of hiding and fight for our country's future free of English oppression.
There is a small force, the Irish Republican Army, that has been formed, since the English have outlawed Sinn Fein, and there is a group of such here and we will fight for our lands and freedom from within the walls of the Lord's Sanctuary.
God bless you, my friend.
Brother Marcus Faulkner
'You fool…' Dwight thought, as he folded the letter up. 'You have done so much and you're willing to throw it away for a futile effort? You're a real man; none like the cowards on the German front…'
With that, he hoisted his rifle and again ventured over the top, this time with more men, as they charged the German trenches in the early hours of dawn.
-- End Flashback --
The air was dead silent with the dull persistent ring of the air raid siren, as General Marshall looked up, gazing around, as he decided that it was safe enough for them to try and seek shelter before the next attack. He knew they wouldn't have much time. Taking Chelsea by the wrist, he pulled her along despite her resistant cries as she tried to stand her ground and stay in a foetal position; in a ball.
Running quickly, he tried to make her keep up with him, but it was hard. She may be small, but she could use her weight smartly. He was left with no choice but to take her and carry her, at the risk of being kicked and punched. True her firsts and feet were tiny, but it would still hurt.
Before he could lift her, her foot caught on stray debris and she tripped, falling to the ground with a shrill cry. She landed on her front. Pushing herself up, she winced, a soft whimper escaping her as she gazed at the twisted mass under her left leg. "Ow…"
"Chelsea!" General Marshall moved to her side quickly. He knelt, his eyes moving over her body, landing on her injury. He lift his hand, preparing to use his usually suppressed healing ability to restore the ankle to health, but pulled his hand back and covered her body with his again and in right time too, as a building in front of them erupted into a ball of flames with a triumphant bang. How the building came to be reduce to a burning, twisted mass of twisted metal one would never know.
He gritted his teeth as he felt the red-hot metal and glass rain on his back. Not a sound of pain escaped him, not even when large pieces struck him. Tears of pain brimmed under his eyes, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.
Once sure that it was okay to uncover her, he sat back, feeling weak. His gaze shifted over her body. Some small pieces had struck herm but she was otherwise fine. But he still didn't want to risk anything and raised his hand, filtering his chi to his healing ability. He knew he was weakened, he could feel it, but he did this anyway; he had made a promise to protect her. She was part of the generation that could change the world after the war.
He trembled, feeling his weakness consume his body. Standing on quivering legs, he nodded at an officer. "Please escort the young lady to the nearest shelter. I have other business to take care of first."
"Yes sir, general!" the officer, replied as he hefted Chelsea as though she weighed nothing.
Once the policeman had left, General Marshall collapsed to the ground, closing his eyes. 'I protected her the best way I could…'
TBC...
Author's Notes: It's been a while since I've posted a chaper, hasn't it? At least I'm moving things along. It shouldn't be long before I am finished, and this time I'm not changing my mind. This is certainly long enough. I hope you all like it up to this point. Yes, there are more surprises ahead... So, keep reading.