A/N This is set during The Battle of Albert, 1-13 July 1916 (The first offensive of the 1916 Battle of the Somme). So in advance this is kind of a depressing chapter, well more so than the first two. This chapter also has an AU version of the Savoy massacre.

30th June 1916

Aramis stood out on the trench board watching the German lines in front of him, artillery shells were fired above him and he had been at the Front long enough not to flinch. While the Germans were the army they were fighting, he could not help but feel sorry for the men who were on the receiving end. He had been in that position in the past and it had been an experience he would prefer never to relive. Athos walked past him along the trench, he was more tense than usual. Aramis knew this was because Thomas, Athos' younger brother, had reached the age of 18 and was now serving as a Lieutenant in the 8th (Service) Battalion Gloucestershire Regiment which was a part of the 57th Brigade in the 19th (Western) Division. A Division that was also going to take part in the battle Aramis' own Division, the 1st Division, was taking part in.

Without being told by the officers Aramis knew the battle was viewed as an important one because they had been shelling the German positions non-stop for a week. The insistent booming sound along with the flashes of orange light were beginning to invade Aramis' mind, even when there was a few moments of silence he could still hear the shelling and see the flashing lights when he closed his eyes. He found it hard to sleep and was envious of Porthos' ability to fall asleep as soon as he was lying horizontal. Aramis made sure he did not toss and turn to avoid from waking Porthos and the two other men in their dugout, but as soon as he fell asleep to him what felt like minutes later he was being woken up in the morning for some reason or another. The waiting was getting to him, he felt as if he would go mad if he did not do something soon. There was nothing to do other than sit in his dugout or stand on sentry duty and watch as the German lines were bombarded.

From the corner of his eye he watched as the youngest in his company began cleaning their rifles for there was nothing else to do. They were 18, the same age as Thomas, Aramis himself was only 19 (by four months) and he felt years older than the fresh-faced boys new to the horrors of war. It had almost been a year since Aramis watched as the cliffs of Britain faded away from sight; he almost couldn't recall the faces of those he held dear back home. His memories were taken up with the sights he had seen and he hated it. He had no peace of mind; some of his fellow soldiers had the ability shut themselves away in their dugout and get lost in the happy memories of home. Oh how Aramis envied them. What he wouldn't give to just be able to sit quietly and remember the soft, lush grass of the Gloucestershire countryside and remember the fun he and Porthos had growing up on the farm.

His replacement came and Aramis nodded his head in greeting and stepped down into the trench and wandered back to his dugout. While he would much prefer the wide open spaces of the farm back home, he couldn't deny the safety he felt sitting in the small muddy space. Inside was only Porthos, who was busy cleaning his rifle. They would be up extra early the following morning to trek across No Man's Land. Something Aramis was equal parts looking forward to and dreading.

Aramis stretched out on his blanket and angled his head so he could see Porthos with his head rested on one arm.

"Athos seems more tightly strung that usual" commented Aramis, not liking the silence that had taken hold in the dugout.

Porthos snorted without any humour, "He found out his younger brother has joined the army and is about to fight in a battle. What is there not to be tense about?"

"You sound as if you are talking from experience. Don't have a younger brother I don't know about do you?" smirked Aramis.

Porthos reached across and lightly smacked Aramis' arm, "You idiot you know you're my younger brother"

"I don't understand that" mused Aramis as he stared up at the roof of the dugout, "I understand Athos being worried about Thomas, there is four years between them. But I am merely a month younger than you." Aramis then turned his head to look over at Porthos.

Porthos gave his friend a small smile, "I don't know, growing up I always felt a little protective, you were the one who got hurt more often than I, you were ill more, I just got it into my head that I had to look after you"

"Well you don't need to worry anymore" assured Aramis,

"You sure?" questioned Porthos, "Looking at where we are, I'd say I have a lot of cause to worry about you. You can go through phases of being accident prone and a war is no place to become accident prone"

Aramis rolled his eyes, "You can save your breath on that lecture. Mama told me that before I left and she tells me that in every other letter she writes. And look I've been here almost a year and I haven't tripped over my own feet or accidentally shot myself"

Porthos gave Aramis a look; they both knew accidentally shooting themselves was not an option. Others could think they were trying to go home and get out of the army and they could be shot for cowardice.

The sun began to set and so Porthos propped his rifle against the wall and shifted under his blanket, "Best get some sleep"

Aramis moved so his blanket was covering himself and muttered under his breath, "Sleep. What's that?"

Despite Aramis' quiet voice Porthos heard him and shot him a sharp glare, "You didn't say you hadn't been sleeping"

Aramis shrugged the best he could from lying on his back, "I have slept, just not for as long as you or very well"

Porthos' sharp glare became a worried look, "You should have said. You need to be well rested"

Aramis shifted so he was lying on his side facing Porthos, "Don't worry, no matter how tired I am I will be wide awake tomorrow. Getting shot at tends to do that to a person." Porthos wasn't amused by Aramis' attempt at humour. Aramis saw the look on Porthos' face and sighed. "Porthos don't worry, if you do that you won't sleep tonight and then who will make sure I don't trip over my own feet?"

Porthos snorted and nodded his head. They both closed their eyes and Aramis was pleased he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Maybe his self-consciousness was aware he needed sleep to be able to function tomorrow. While he said to Porthos he would be wide awake from being shot at, Aramis knew without enough sleep he would be slightly slower in making decisions and that was not something he needed when walking across No Man's Land.

When a decision could mean life or death.

Aramis stumbled through the mud and craters of No Man's Land his rifle griped tightly in his hands, Porthos walked close on his right and Athos nearby on his left. He narrowed his eyes in determination and marched across the mud not once flinching at the rat-a-tat of machine gun and rifle fire, and the screeching of shells.

He heard the desperate mutterings and shouts of his fellow soldiers of their confusion, "We bombarded them for a week. Their positions were supposed to be destroyed. Why are they still able to shoot at us?!"

Aramis did not look at the men around him, he knew many were being cut down by the machine gun and he could not bear to see his friends lying in the mud knowing he could do nothing to help them. Then, his worst nightmare became a reality. Porthos stumbled and crashed into the mud with a pain filled gasp.

Aramis crouched down beside his friend and was relieved to see Porthos had taken a bullet to his left thigh and it appeared no arteries had been hit.

"What are you doing?!" hissed Porthos as he tried to push Aramis' hands away, "You need to keep moving. If any Officer sees you they'll punish you!"

Aramis forcefully moved Porthos' hands and wrenched a bandage from his pack. While he was not an official medic, Aramis had experience in tending to injuries, something he had learnt from his father. So the medics would give Aramis any bandages they could spare. Just in case they were unable to reach a wounded man and Aramis was closer. Aramis had not had to do this often; he only tended to the men who fell within feet of him. This was something Porthos hated, Porthos would have to keep marching on and leave Aramis in the depths of No Man's Land, whenever Aramis caught up to Porthos he wouldn't be able to stop his friend from ranting at him to stop doing the medics job.

"Aramis! Just leave me here a medic will soon find me!" ordered Porthos as he looked despairingly up at his friend.

"Just shut up and let me bandage your leg!" growled Aramis. Porthos quickly closed his mouth and looked up at Aramis in shock; he was seeing his friend in a new light. He saw how quick and efficient his friend was, Aramis looked calm despite the shells howling overhead. Porthos knew Aramis had done this a few times for their friends and so he made the decision to talk to Athos about the bravery Aramis was showing.

Aramis had soon bandaged Porthos' leg and draped one of Porthos' arms over his shoulders and hoisted Porthos to his feet and Aramis began to walk them towards the German lines.

"You've bandaged my leg now leave me here and move" urged Porthos,

Aramis rolled his eyes and sharply replied, "So you want me to leave you here. Alright so you would be fine to watch me march across this muddy mess and possibly never see me again?"

Porthos' face paled and he began to walk quicker, Aramis had a point. If Aramis did as Porthos said, there was a chance, a very big chance, that Porthos would never see Aramis alive again. No that wasn't an option, if one of them was to die, then they would both go together. Aramis smirked knowing that he had won and so he gripped Porthos' waist a little tighter and carried most of Porthos' weight as they made their way to the German trench.

The two friends stumbled over to the meeting point where the Sergeant, a man in his early forties called Charles Fowler, was starting to take a register of the men from their platoon. Just to the side Aramis spotted Athos stood watching as the men from his platoon slowly started to make their way over.

"Baldwin, John"

"Sir"

"Barker, Derrick"

Pause.

"Berry, Jerald"

"Sir"

"Bridges, Thomas"

Pause.

"Brooks, Andrew"

"Sir"

"Brooks, Gerald"

"Sir"

"Bryant, Kevin"

Pause.

"Daniel, Colin"

Pause.

"d'Herblay, Aramis"

"Sir" responded Aramis, his eyes lowered as even he could see that over half of their platoon of thirty-five men was missing from the meeting point.

"Du Vallon, Porthos"

"Sir" answered Porthos, trying to keep his voice neutral from the pain from his leg and the pain at the sheer number of their friends who had been lost. Aramis hoped that most of their friends were only injured, waiting in No Man's Land for someone to help them. He didn't know how much he believed in that hope.

"Elliott, Charles"

Pause.

"Elliott, Darrel"

"Sir" came the pained answer.

"Elliott, Kenneth"

Pause. Aramis bowed his head, Darrel had lost both of his brothers in the same day. Aramis didn't look at Porthos knowing that had the bullet that hit Porthos been a little higher he would be in Darrel's position.

"Gilbert, Hugh"

Pause.

"Gray, Edward"

"Sir"

"Gray, Robert"

"Sir"

"Hamilton, Ellis"

Pause.

"Harris, John"

"Sir"

"Higgins, Leo"

Pause. Aramis could hear Sergeant Fowler's voice begin to crack with emotion, as the reality of so many who had been lost came crashing down.

"Hughes, Robin"

Pause.

"Mason, Jamie"

Pause.

"Mason, Thomas"

Pause.

"Moore, Charles"

Pause.

"Patterson, Joe"

Pause.

"Porter, Douglas"

"Sir" the sigh of relief was audible. After so many names going unanswered it was a relief to know at least some more of them has still survived.

"Powell, Arthur"

"Sir"

"Price, Peter"

Pause.

"Richardson, Harry"

Pause.

"Russell, Frank"

Pause.

"Scott, Victor"

Pause.

"Stone, Francis"

"Sir"

"Taylor, Ryan"

Pause.

"Thompson, Joseph"

"Sir"

"Watkins, John"

Pause.

"White, Brian"

Pause.

At the end of the list, there wasn't a man standing at the meeting point who didn't have tears in his eyes. So many had been lost. The poor mother of Jamie and Thomas Mason would be getting two telegrams informing her of the death of her sons. Darrel Elliott, should he survive the war, would be the only brother out of three returning home. Aramis shook his head at the unfairness of it all.

2nd July 1916

Aramis sat in the trench forlornly, he was burrowed into a dugout with Darrel Elliott; he had taken the 18 year old under his wing. He hadn't wanted to after what happened to Jimmy Marshall, but Darrel was used to the company of his older brothers, he didn't have them anymore. Porthos had been taken to a Casualty Clearing Station and from there moved to a Field Hospital; Porthos had kicked up a fuss. He didn't want to leave Aramis behind, but Aramis could only tell Porthos that he would be fine. The desperate look in Porthos' eyes would be a look that would haunt Aramis for a very long time. He had grasped Porthos' hand and squeezed, it was uncertain if Aramis would ever see his brother again.

Aramis shook himself out of his thoughts and turned to Darrel who sat staring blankly at his hands. Aramis wrapped an arm around the younger boy's shoulder and pushed Darrel's rations into his hands.

"Eat Darrel" urged Aramis,

Darrel turned his pitiful eyes on Aramis, "I can't I'm not hungry, just the thought of eating makes me feel sick"

Aramis nodded in understanding, "Just little bites now and then. That'll be just as good for you"

The boy nodded and took a few bites before placing his rations next to him and settled down to go to sleep.

Aramis watched the lonely figure of Athos, as he stood overlooking the trench just outside the dugout. Aramis stood up and went to stand beside his childhood friend. Minutes after the register was taken the day before, a messenger had arrived to inform Athos that his brother, Thomas, had been killed. Standing beside his friend Aramis could smell the alcohol Athos had consumed.

"Athos" greeted Aramis, at a loss for what to say for the first time in his life.

"You're still here then" commented Athos, "I'm beginning to lose track on who is alive and who isn't"

"I'm still here and so will Porthos once he gets back from the Field Hospital" replied Aramis, trying to show Athos that he wasn't alone.

"For how much longer?" questioned Athos bitterly before he turned and stumbled through the trench, Aramis' saddened eyes following him.

12th July 1916

Aramis and ten other men from his platoon were grouped together with ten men from another platoon from their company. They were tasked with patrolling the surrounding area for anything that might be useful in forcing the Germans out of the area. Aramis and a man he was friendly with called Marsac, paired off to stand sentry a little away from the men as they rested in the woods. Suddenly, Aramis felt his stomach twist and he knew something was wrong. So he spun around and charged back towards the others with Marsac hot on his heels. And there he came face to face with his friends being massacred by a bigger group of German soldiers. Without thought Aramis loaded his rifle and began to fire, but soon he was grouped with the others and didn't have enough room to aim with his rifle so he began to use it to hit the enemy.

He spun around and found himself staring at a German rifle that was pointed at him, he braced himself for the shot and sent up a prayer that Porthos would not take his death too hard. But the German soldier lowered his weapon, he approached Aramis swiftly.

"You are a boy, I will not kill you. But you must be injured for my fellows to believe you are dead" Aramis frowned in his concentration to understand the thick accent. Just as he understood that he was being spared, the German raised his rifle and with the butt of the rifle he hit Aramis on the head.

Pain consumed Aramis' head like fire, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He felt himself fall to the ground and roll down a small embankment, the last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was Marsac crouched over him. Hiding them both from the enemy's eyes.