Charlie Burton hadn't talked much in the month of aimless wandering, but then again... no one had. The one man who had kept them all sane, and orderly could no longer see an arms length in front of him and the bloodied tears that occasionally fell didn't help with moral either.
They all knew Bash couldn't help it, if they hadn't been trapped in a cloud of whatever it was, they'd be fine- they would have probably been on the first boat home, too.
They'd have a great leader telling them the stories he remembered off of the top of his head, even going as far as spoiling books that he'd only just managed to read before being sent off. Of course, most of the time he couldn't quite remember how some books ended, so he went along with whatever he thought would help them.
Jimmy Dawson had to take over the roll quite quickly, he hadn't much chance to turn the position down before Bash was using whatever he could to almost glue the half torn badges to his sleeves.
"How are we today." Charlie asked Bash in an almost silent whisper.
Charlie had been one of three who hadn't stopped talking to the man, and he hadn't changed the way he did so, either
"I feel like a sack of shit, Charlie, but better than yesterday." A small, heavy pause followed, neither really sure of what to say next.
"Do we know where we are yet?" Bash added, and although he couldn't quite see the shift in the boys face, he could feel it.
They didn't know where they were, and hadn't for a while. They'd stayed near streams, but not too close to be ambushed with no escape, that was Bash's idea - taking inspiration from when he and his brothers walked up and down the cut, looking for someone to push in.
"No... but, we've figured out it's not on the right side of the line." This time, it was Jimmy Dawsons turn to reply, their aimless walking hoping that they'd run into someone with some medical knowledge.
They hadn't even had a medical tent in their half of the front line, so that was already way out of the question, and since the only medical knowledge Bash had was about broken bones, he was about as good as a lump of lard in the middle of summer... plus, he couldn't exactly help himself out in this situation.
Men ahead began to shush those behind, and so on, until Bash heard it.
Heavy footsteps, heavier than theirs, broke twigs under their feet as they advanced towards where the sixth battalion men, and not at a leisurely pace either. It reminded Charlie of the sound of snow boots against the concrete, but it reminded Bash of death.
Climbing trees was useless, jumping into the water was a death sentence, so as best they could, they all dispersed. Those who could climb did so, Bash practically hauled Charlie up that tree like his life depended on it and Jimmy crouched down by the base.
It wasn't their brightest idea, having both of the men who were in charge of the whole regiment in such close proximity to one another, but when the boat begins to sink, sailors do what they can in the time they have.
Which wasn't much.
At least a hundred eyes watched as men in unfamiliar yet recognisable uniforms passed them, guns drawn- pointing up towards the tree line.
"Cap, I see one." A man whispered but not quietly enough to be disguised as a grumbled cough.
Bash drew his hand held pistol, mumbling a silent prayer, before waiting for the perfect time.
If he had to shoot blind, he would. He'd done it before and he wasn't about to look death in the face again. At least not without a smile and maybe a nice haircut, too.
"Who are you?" An English accent came from a man, tall and bearded, the limp in his step was indicative of pain though he showed nothing in his voice.
"We're the one with guns surrounding you, mate, who are you?" Bash replied, no longer focusing on the headache his eyes created.
This wasn't something they had expected but it was a happy sound to hear. It had been so long, and if he was being honest, Bash had grown tired of listening to the same things over and over again.
They were English, and from the way that no one with a good shot stayed with their guns raised. Ready, but not raised.
"We're the twenty third battalion, from London, sir." Another voice called out, the sound of a hand connecting with bare skin almost echoed through the silence that followed.
Men began to jump from the trees, step out from their hiding spots, hands raised in peace, their uniforms almost matched but the Londoners wore thicker coats, which wasn't much of a strange sight to behold.
With the help of Jimmy and Thomas Arthur, Charlie and Bash were both now stood on solid ground, inches away from the men who they had all just met.
"Sixth battalion, Warwickshire regiment." A hand extended blindly towards another as Bash's voice carried.
The man who stood in front of him noticed what many others hadn't. Though the man didn't sound to be crying, the slow leak of tears fell from his eyes without so much of a flinch.
The Londoner was about to mention it, but in front of everyone would've looked like was questioning his abilities and after just meeting them all? He thought that was more of a suicide risk than walking into the German trenches. Although, they weren't too far from them, so it was still very much a possibility.
Jimmy Dawson stared at the two, being the eyes and ears for the platoon as the stare off commenced. Internally, Jimmy knew that it wasn't a staring competition, but if it had been - Bash would've won, hands down.
Though stood in silence, Charlie really wished he had been left in the tree, it didn't hurt his leg as much as standing did. Even if he didn't put any weight down on his left leg.
Just as someone was about to raise their hand, or even talk, the two staring each other down decided to make conversation.
Finally.
"Alfie Solomons, Lieutenant Colonel."
"Sebastian Shelby, Captain."
"Your eyes... guess you got stuck downwind of them fuckers playing with the chemicals?" Alfie asked, light laughter helped to cure the awkward air that suddenly began to suffocate them.
Bash let out a real chuckle, raising his hand to his face - using the back of his hand to wipe his cheek, nodding his head didn't seem like a good enough answer.
"Guess you got it too, then? I may not be able to see much but you stink of it just as much as we do."
Now it was Alfie's turn to return the laughter, this time it wasn't forced. He had been nodding his head in agreement before he was given a light kick to the calf. It was such a normal response to something so trivial, but forgetting that the shorter man in front of him could barely even see his own hand, had slipped his mind almost completely.
"Sorry, mate, was nodding along in agreement. Gonna have to get used to actually speaking shit out."
Now it was time for the rest of the men to become at ease, their small burst of laughter helped almost to boost moral. But, standing still in the open woodlands made them chickens ready for a fox's supper.
No one wanted to be a meal for a fox.
Especially not when they were a hand stretch away from home.
"What way are you heading, then?" Alfie asked, and instinctively Bash shrugged.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Captain, we haven't a fucking clue where we are. We aren't even all of the same regiment, or even country." Lips moved before his brain could tell him to stop, but with a now cheeky smile painted effortlessly on Bash's face, no one seemed to notice.
"We're a couple days away from France, we think."
What they thought was better than what the others had, at least they had a general idea as to where they were and where they were going.
"So, we'll follow you then." Jimmy Dawson stated, rather than asked, and he didn't even give the Captain much time to reply before hauling Charlie up onto his back, walking towards some of the others who looked injured.
As Alfie fell superior in the chain of commands, and because Bash couldn't see, it fell upon the Captain to now man a vessel of four combined units, but at least he wasn't going to do it all alone.
He had Bash, sure, he couldn't see, but he seemed to be the oil in everyone's lamps, keeping them cheery even on the lost miserable of days. And he had Jimmy Dawson; the mechanic, who would prove more useful as the hours pass.
The two groups began their new adventure towards the beaches of France, talking as if they had all known each other for their entire lives.
As Bash walked, side by side with Alfie Solomons, he couldn't help but think of his brothers. He wondered if they had all been handed life sentences like he had, or if they had been handed a nicer future.
They would all make it home, Bash felt it. Thomas, Arthur, John. They'd all find themselves back in their kitchen arguing over who had the last slice of bread before they knew it. Bash, too, but he was a little less certain about himself than he was about the others.
"C'mon, them Canadians aren't gonna wait for Christmas."
Christmas was only three months away, but three months out in the fields of reddened poppies and grass was like seconds with a rush of adrenaline blinding all the useful senses.
"At least they're here, now."