The fact I'm a history student may come through a bit in this chapter :P
Thanks to ofthewood and theblondeone07 for the lovely reviews, this chapter's for you!
& next chapter's nearly done, it will be where all the action happens!
Please review if you have the time, they definitely encourage me to write! :D
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"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."
- Aristotle
June 1916
Slowly moving further and further away, leaving Sybil standing alone on the platform as his train departed, was one of the hardest things he had ever done. So much harder than running across an open field in a war zone, fearing for your life; leaving her on her own, especially after the disagreement she had had with her family, inevitably left a weight in a back of his mind he couldn't rid himself of.
That had been almost a year to the day, and the memory still lingered in his mind.
He longed to see her again, yet they needed all the men they could on the line. He was currently stationed in the reserve trenches, and the only way for him to possibly return to England would be through injury.
They'd kept up a frequent correspondence; he wrote whenever he could, it was the only thing he looked forward to, the only form of light in the gloom that the war had become. He'd recently sent her a letter, keeping in good spirits so that she, in turn, would too. That was how Branson's mind seemed to work lately; he had to be optimistic about things or else he would sink into despair.
New replacements had been coming in constantly due to heavy losses in their division, so much so that Branson was one of only a small group of men still remaining from the training camp. As he was currently in the reserve trenches, there was much more freedom to move. On the front lines he would stay huddled in the trenches for days on end, yet now he welcomed the opportunity to run errands. He was currently on such an errand when he was stopped in his tracks by an all too familiar voice.
"Branson is that you?"
As he turned he was greeted by the last person he expected to see. To say Branson was surprised at Matthew's appearance was a severe understatement.
Tom wasn't certain as to what Matthew's reaction to him would be. From what Sybil had told him he and Mary were supportive of them being together, though Branson had yet to come face to face with either of them to see for himself.
"Yes, Sir" Branson replied, addressing him how he would any other officer.
They exchanged other pleasantries and how the war had been going in their respective divisions, and Branson seemed to even forget for a time that he was talking to someone of superior rank, someone whose family he used to work for. Matthew's friendly attitude towards him eased his anxiety somewhat and he was glad that they were on good terms with each other; that would definitely please Sybil.
When Matthew paused in their conversation, Branson got the feeling something was troubling him, something he needed to say but wasn't sure how to put it.
"Is everything alright?" Tom asked, curious.
Matthew wasn't sure whether it was his place to say, but figured Branson should know if he didn't already.
"Branson" he began, initially uncertain, "You must know that there just aren't enough medics to attend to the increasing number of casualties." When Tom nodded he continued, "So the government has been sending more and more VAD units to us."
Branson took a deep breath, not liking where this was heading.
"Sybil came with them last week."
"She's here?" Branson replied, stunned. He knew she was determined, and the idea of coming to France had come up in their conversations, but he'd never thought it would actually happen.
When Matthew nodded in confirmation, Branson began to question him; he needed more answers.
"Is she far from the line?" Even Sybil being a few miles away from the conflict was too close.
Matthew noted Branson's clear anxiety about the matter, "I don't think she's in any immediate danger" he replied, trying to reassure him.
Matthew's words did little to quell Tom's fears for her safety. "It's not far enough" he muttered, more to himself than to Matthew.
A shout came from behind them and Matthew turned around in response, "I must go attend to an important matter, but I'm sure Sybil will be fine. She's well away from the line, surrounded by our soldiers, she's in the best place she can be."
No, the best place she could be would be back at Downton, or even just in England, Branson wanted to reply, but thought better of it. There was nothing he could say to Matthew that would change anything anyway, so just nodded in response.
As Matthew turned to leave he extended his hand out towards Tom. Branson was initially caught by surprise at the gesture; one usually restricted to those of equal rank, and took a second to reach out his own.
Matthew shook his hand and gave him a quick nod, "Good luck."
"You too."
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General Haig's plans for the forthcoming battle were passed down through the ranks until Branson was sat in a room full of his fellow soldiers being briefed about the basics of the assault. There would be 13 British and 11 French divisions involved on the allies' side for the opening phase of the offensive.
Preceding the infantry assault they were told there would be 6 days worth of artillery bombardment of the German lines.
On the 7th day of the bombings it was clear the assault was being postponed for a day due to the bad weather. After a week of endless explosions Tom was on the verge of losing his mind, especially when he let his thoughts drift to the main assault that he would have to take part in on the following day.
The rain poured down in incessant waves, creating an endless pattering that was beginning to drive him mad. The fields of France were coated in a thick layer of mud and he couldn't remember the last time his boots, or clothes for that matter, were dry. Everyone was feeling the tension that the past week of shelling had provoked.
At 7.30 am on the 1st July the bombings suddenly ceased, though the ringing in Branson's ears still remained, to be replaced by an eerie stillness.
The silence permeated the air, infecting everyone with a heightened sense of unease.
That meant only one thing; it was time to attack.
