CHAPTER SONG: "Compass" by Zella Day
"Let me through!" Schofield struggled to shout amidst the hellish chaos around him. "Let me through!"
Two orderlies standing guard at the Colonel's cut-and-cover were restraining him by the arms, preventing the Lance Corporal from entering.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" One of them demanded, holding him back against the wall of heavily weighted sandbags that constructed the makeshift shelter.
"I have to get through! I have to see Colonel Mackenzie!" Schofield clutched the crumpled letter in his fist, praying the penmanship of the General was still legible after being in the river. "I have to stop this attack!"
He could hear other voices inside the dugout ante-room, giving Schofield the drive to push back against the two guards, but to no further avail. He could feel whatever strength left inside of him fading...
Another captain swept past where Schofield was being held and inside the shelter. "Colonel, we've seen flares. The men on the left flank have made it to the German line."
"Colonel!" Schofield screamed at the top of his voice. His throat burned as a result of his efforts to be heard above the exploding noise.
The orderlies hauled him away from the dugout and up against the trench wall only a few feet away.
"Listen to me! I have a letter!" Schofield faced the two guards struggling to hold him down. "I need to see Colonel Mackenzie!"
He looked for any sign of understanding on either of the men's hard stares on him, but found nothing of the sort.
"There's no bloody way you're getting in there, mate!" Both of them continued to hold onto Schofield as the captain that had entered the dugout a couple moments before, his deep voice bellowing out the orders.
"Sergeant, send in the next wave!"
"NO!" The Lance Corporal managed to strike on the orderlies in the stomach with his elbow and free himself from their grasps. He stumbled forward and entered the dugout, panting with breath to find the energy to speak again.
A group of men were huddled together around a table, possibly looking at a battlefield map. One of their voices stood out from the others, imposing and undeniable to a near fault.
"Tell Ivins and Murphy to direct their men to the left flank. Concentrate everything there." Mackenzie continued to direct accordingly when the younger soldier alerted them to his presence.
"Colonel Mackenzie!" The men around Mackenzie turned in the lance corporal's direction, stunned into absorbing silence. "This attack is not to go ahead! You've been ordered to stop!"
"Who the hell are you?" Mackenzie stared Schofield straight in the eye, taking in the more youthful man's frenzied appearance and his frantic yet weathered facial expression.
"Lance Corporal Schofield, sir. 8th." He saluted as was the custom for one of his rank acknowledging a superior officer. "I have orders from General Erinmore to call off this attack!"
In his shaking hand, Schofield held out the wrinkled and dampened letter, hoping against all better judgment the Colonel would oblige and at least take it. None of the men stepped forward, standing in place.
"You're too late, Lance Corporal." Mackenzie began to turn away from Schofield and toward the table he had been leaning over.
"Sir, these orders are from Army Command! You have to read them." Schofield was out of breath, his lungs aflame with over-exertion of his body.
His trembling hand, the sensation now extending to his arm to the point of aching, continued to grasp onto the letter.
"Sir, shall we hold back the second wave?" A major standing next to the colonel asked, his conscience tempting him to hear the lance corporal out.
"No, Major." Mackenzie ordered without a pause of consideration. "Hesitate now and we lose. Victory is only five hundred yards away."
Schofield was nearly beyond military mandated decorum at this point. He had to break through to this superior officer whilst more men were dying outside with each passing second.
"Sir, please!" The lance corporal was begging now. "Read the letter."
"I have heard it all before." Mackenzie was fully facing him; his blazing eyes alight in a way that brought the words from the captain back at the convoy truck from a millenium ago.
Make sure there are witnesses. Some men just want the fight.
"I'm not going to wait until dusk, or for fog. I'm not calling back my men, only to send them out there again tomorrow. Not when we've got the bastards on the run. This is their last stand."
"The German's planned this, Sir. They've been planning it for months." His dignity be damned, Schofield needed to make him understand. "They want you to attack. Read the letter."
The entire group of men froze, all of their eyes locking onto the younger man like a sniper to a target.
After a beat and another distant explosion rumbling through the ground underneath them, Mackenzie gestured to the Major who had spoke up and the letter was taken from Schofield's hand.
The colonel snatched it away into his own hand, nearly shredding the paper in half. His steely eyes of teal never left those of the annoyingly persistent Lance Corporal. Until he read the words inked on the parchment...
Schofield struggled to stay upright on his feet, catching his breath as he awaited the colonel's decision. Just the one word from him would either turn today for the worse or the better.
Mackenzie folded the paper in half, having finished reading it. Schofield's heart skipped a beat, feeling the anxiety wash over him like an ocean wave.
"Major." The Colonel directed to the other man standing alongside him.
"Yes, sir." He responded, anxious for what would be commanded of him, feeling a swell of pity for the shaken young man who seemed as though he had endured Hell and came back.
"Stand them down." Mackenzie again locked eyes with Schofield, sending him a glare of stoic rigidness before turning back to the table to remove his helmet.
Schofield felt the weight of everything at last leave his shoulders. He felt lightheaded and battled the urge to fall to his knees on gratitude. Perhaps God was on his side after all...
He heard the faint shouting of the other men that had crowded around Mackenzie as they rushed outside, blowing their whistles and ordering a ceasefire. He was alone in the shelter with the Colonel, having nothing else to say now that it was done.
"I hoped today might be a good day." Mackenzie rubbed his hand through his hair, as though his scalp was irritated from wearing his helmet for hours upon end. His voice, however gruff and strict, was softer as he spoke to Schofield. "Hope is a dangerous thing."
The Lance Corporal kept his eyes to the floor, downcast and his head bowed as though in a silent prayer. Mackenzie continued to address him, his tone more matter-of-fact.
"That's it for now; then next week Command will send a different message." The Colonel spoke as though he could hear the exact words of alternate orders in the exact same situation. "Attack at dawn..."
Schofield lifted his head and looked at Mackenzie, finding absolution in his own silence.
"There's only one way this war ends. Last man standing." The Colonel had a prophetic feeling about this young man who stood staring him down, a sense of pride he rarely felt toward any of his battalion since the war started.
He could clearly see the Lance Corporal was wasting minutes in the shelter and he needed to snap him back into reality and send him on his way. Certainly, he didn't expect any reward for this task.
"Now fuck off, Lance Corporal." No rhymes or reasons about it, Schofield was dismissed.
The younger soldier slowly turned away and went to the main door of the dugout.
Right outside the entry way stood the Major who given out the call to cease and desist. He patted Schofield on the shoulder in genuine thanks. The lance corporal was barely able to look him in the eye.
"Well done, lad." The major hoped he was giving the exhausted boy some kind of reassurance that he had succeeded.
"Thank you, sir." Schofield was grateful, however lifeless his voice may have implied otherwise. "Do you know where Lieutenant Blake is, sir?"
"Blake?" The major responded, wondering why this young man was asking after someone in this camp in particular.
"There were two of us. I was sent here with his brother." Schofield's stomach twisted into a knot, mentioning Thomas Blake out loud for the first time since...
He immediately retracted that memory to the back of his mind, hoping the Major had not noticed.
"Well, knowing Lieutenant Blake, he would've gone over with his men. He was in the first wave." The major had an understanding look upon his face much to Schofield's relief.
"How could I find him, sir?" The Lance Corporal asked, not even knowing if he had the strength to walk anymore for the remainder of the day. How badly he needed to sleep...
"You can try the casualty clearing station, behind the line." The superior officer informed him, his vocal tone one of subtle sympathy.
That location in the major's answering him sparked a different flame within Schofield's veins. Where he would find his resolve and possibly even the slightest sliver of redemption.
As concerned as he was to find Lt. Joseph Blake, another name mattered in equal amount. Someone else he had promised to save... and she had been literally taken away from his arms, in and out of consciousness with fever.
Somewhere here just beyond his reach, she was lying ill and vulnerable...
Emmanuelle...
.
.
Joseph Blake was ever attentive at the bedside of this anonymous girl, not even knowing himself why he was bothering to care. Other than the fact that she knew his brother's name...
Soothingly sliding his hand underneath her head to lift it up from her sweat-soaked pillow, he held a metal spoon of water to her dry, cracked lips.
She drank every drop of it much to his relief, her eyes remaining closed as he laid her head back down as gently as possible to assure no crick resulted in her neck. A gagging cough erupted from her mouth, some spittle dribbling from the corner of her bottom lip to her chin.
"Blake...Tom..." She murmured in her delirium. "Schofield..."
The lieutenant wiped away the stray saliva from her face with a clean cloth, a strange flow of compassion melting away his more hardened qualities for the time being. From the medical training he'd had prior to the war's beginning, he deduced that she was definitely displaying symptoms of pneumonia.
Joseph was torn between going to his commanding officer to see about transporting this girl to a hospital and waiting to see if she would awaken soon enough to give him more information.
At least her name and how she knew the name of his brother Tom...
Her head tossed to one side on the pillow. Joseph held the tips of his fingers to her forehead, feeling for her temperature to be decreasing with fever. Even without knowing her name, he could definitely tell she had a strength about her that he found quite admirable.
"Who are you, lass? Just tell me if you know about my brother..." He readjusted himself in the crude outdoor chair and continued his vigil at her bed, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands as one of them grasped onto hers.
He closed his eyes and prayed to whoever was above listening for his fallen men and tried to drown out the sounds of the dying amongst the peaceful landscape of Flander's fields.
.
.
.
"Tom, I don't want to die. I was only trying to save Will." Emmy felt as though she were on fire, every inch of her skin aflame.
In spite of the pain, the safety of Corporal Blake's arms wrapped around her made it feel as though a douse of cooling water was poured upon her body, soaking her from head to toe.
"You're gonna be alright." Tom hugged her close, embracing her with a brotherly assurance that he would not allow this sickness to take her away from those who loved her.
Scho would be beyond consolation if she were to be lost after everything they had endured. Blake had seen the state they were both in after they escaped the river.
The devastating sight of his comrade straining to carry the ailing girl up the hill was enough to even melt the coldest of any battle-hungry officer's heart.
"How do you know?" She asked him, pulling away to look into his blue eyes while still remaining in his arms.
"Because God put you in our path so we could find you. When we were assigned the mission to deliver that message, they told me to pick a partner to accompany me. Schofield just happened to be next to me and the decision was made." Tom stroked away a stray piece of hair off her forehead.
"Will loves me...somehow I don't understand why. We've only known each other for barely a full day. But, I love him too after everything he's risked for me." The hot tears flowed down her reddening cheeks.
Tom wiped them away from her face, giving her a soft smile. Looking at her like she was the most beautiful, pure thing to have walked this scorched earth.
His lips pressed to her forehead, and then something round and metallic was placed in her hands as he pulled away from her arms' reach.
His compass...
"Find your way. The choice is yours in which direction you take." His soft voice instructed as he disappeared from her sight.
The gold, metal arrow spun and pointed north. Everything vanished around her in a white flash and she broke through the surface of consciousness.
.
.
Her eyes opened and her breathing evened out more. Emmy's head pounded as she tried to focus on everything around her.
Moans and yelling in the distance were faint in her ears and the raw stench of burnt flesh made her stomach coil with the urge to vomit.
From what she could decipher, she was in some variety of outdoor medical tent. How did she get here?
The last thing she remembered was being in Schofield's arms and he had sunk onto the ground in the forest. There was some sort of hymn being sung in her head...
Schofield begging for someone to help her...
Then, someone else lifting her up from the security of her Lance Corporal's embrace as he held onto her hand for those few precious seconds before she was carried away by a stranger, promising he'd come find her...
I love you...
He had finally said those words aloud to her. And she believed them with all her soul...
"William!" Her voice was a croaky squeak as she struggled to talk. Her arms attempted to prop her to sit up on the unfamiliar bed she had been placed on.
"Hold on, steady now." A male voice, not Will's much to her utter disappointment.
She turned to look at the man who was daring to order her to lie still, but the fast motion of her neck causing a wave of dizziness to assault her sense of balance.
Joseph tenderly placed a firm hand on her shoulder, to slowly push her back to lie down. He was especially careful to not touch any skin, just the remaining tatters of her dress sleeves.
"Miss, you need to take it easy. You've got yourself a high fever." The lieutenant attempted to dissuade her from making herself worse faster.
Emmanuelle looked up at the mysterious visitor at her bedside, choice words coming to her recovering mind to demand why he was there and not her Lance Corporal.
"Please, I don't know where I am. Who...who are you?" Something in the back of her mind told not to be frightened. Even though he was now standing over her bed, like a noble specter of principles guarding her as she slept, she saw the same eyes she had just seen in her dreams.
Blake's eyes. His brother...
She said his name aloud at the simultaneous instant another voice joined with her.
"Lieutenant Blake."
She looked in the direction of the other voice that harmonized alongside hers. Her heart leapt in relief at the sound.
"Will!" She found the energy to throw the rough fabric of the blanket off of her and place her bare feet onto the cool grass.
There stood her hero, pale and worn-out, but alive. Despite the shaking of her legs while standing from the bed, she was in his arms again before she could even risk falling.
Schofield immediately felt fulfilled when her arms were flung around his neck. His own arms clutched around her tightly. He lifted her up to hold her as close as humanly possible, her feet dangling several inches off the ground, the blades of grass tickling her toes.
Her hands were upon his shoulders and he continued to hoist her up against his body. The pronounced circles under his wide eyes made her want to weep and demand of him that he rest, but she was so relieved that he was safe.
"Thank God, you're awake." He whispered for her to hear, his warm breath in her ear. Their foreheads touched, Schofield kissing her lips with sheer elation. "I thought I'd never see your eyes open again."
He walked forward while still keeping her close, making sure her feet still avoided touching the dirty ground, and settled her back onto the bed. His eyes set on her freshly bandaged leg.
"You'll need to keep pressure off your leg. I'll see about getting you to a hospital to have it properly examined." Schofield told her, his fingers swiping away a piece of hair from her forehead.
The blanket was placed back around her now nearly bare legs, whether it was either to preserve her modesty or keep her warm, she would only feel embarrassed either way.
Schofield made a mental note to also make certain she had clothing provided for her as well; Emmanuelle deserved something more comfortable than the ruined dress that made Cinderella's servant rags look like a debutante gown.
"I take it that you're her Schofield, then?" Lt. Joseph Blake spoke up, half-jokingly reminding the two reunited people of his presence.
"You're Joseph Blake?" Emmanuelle asked him as the lieutenant stood a respectable distance away as Schofield knelt on the opposite side of her bed and took ahold of her hand in both of his. "Why were you here with me?"
"Why don't you tell me your name, miss? Then, we'll get down to the bottom of this confusion." Lt. Blake's eyes held a gleam that she wasn't too certain if he had much patience left to hold. He had just been blown through on the battlefield.
Schofield wanted to talk Blake down and keep the focus between them and away from Emmy, but she was a part of this too.
Emmy groaned with the pressure of an oncoming headache pushing against her temple, but she flinched away from the pain and could feel Schofield's concerned gaze on her.
"My name is Emmanuelle Hunterson. Lance Corporal Schofield found me because I...I'd lost my way and he offered me protection." She omitted certain parts of her explanation, but Emmy knew Lt. Blake was catching on.
"You said my brother's name. Tom Blake." His tone was on the verge of accusatory and one of Schofield's hands released Emmy's and clutched onto the edge of her bed to keep this exchange from turning confrontational.
"Yes, I knew him!" She cried out in an uncontrollable burst of sadness. Her other hand went to her mouth as she used past tense in reference to the late Lance Corporal Blake.
"I'm from the 8th Devons, sent here with him to deliver a message." Schofield explained further, fighting the urge to enfold Emmanuelle into his arms and comfort her.
Joseph stared at the both of them, his mind gathering together what this woman meant about her reaction to using the word "Knew" and Schofield's lack of detail. His vibrant eyes filled with tears of repressed mourning.
"It was very quick." Schofield lied for the lieutenant's benefit, not describing how the boy had died slowly while losing copious amounts of blood and begging for him to find his brother. "I'm sorry."
Emmanuelle looked down at her lap and stayed silent. This news was not hers to tell. Schofield's hand holdings hers prevented her from breaking into sobs that would only work to increase her slowly downgrading fever.
Schofield stood up from her bedside and reached into his uniform tunic. He stood before the silently grieving Blake. He pulled out Tom's rings and army dog tag, spotted with dried blood on the precious metal, and placed them into the lieutenant's outreached hand.
Lt. Blake stared down at the trinkets in his trembling hand before clenching them tightly into his fist and placing it into his own tunic pocket. His eyes were shining with tears he refused to allow freedom.
Something overcame Emmy as she again arose from the bed, knowing it was well against her judgment, but she didn't care. She was done with all this death and destruction around her.
"Emmy." Schofield said her name and he took a step toward her as her feet were placed on the grass, specks of dirt coating between her toes. She looked up at him with a look that must have given him the message to allow her this moment.
Joe Blake stood still as a statue as the petite woman limped toward him, her green eyes locking with his as he stared at her in wondrous confusion.
Schofield took a step back as well his breath taken away at the sight of her walking up to the grief-stricken soldier. She enfolded her arms around his neck and embraced him.
A simple gesture of giving assurance that he wasn't alone in grieving Thomas Blake...
Comforting a total stranger...
Lt. Blake stiffened at the feeling of this girl's thin arms around him, but the principle instincts of pushing away his emotions failed him. His rough hands clutched at her back as gently as possible, knowing that a fellow soldier who had a romantic connection with this woman was witnessing their action that she had initiated.
His forehead touched her shoulder as he released a sob. Only one he could afford right now...
His remaining men needed him to stay strong.
Joseph Blake unwound himself from the lovely woman's embrace and stepped away, wiping off some stray tears.
Emmanuelle took her own steps back away from the lieutenant and walked to Schofield. His arms went around her as though it were an instinct for him. She stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his in a kiss conveying that he didn't need to be worried about her hugging another man in front of him.
As though he couldn't have loved her any more for what she had done for him, but for an unfamiliar person who simply needed someone there for a moment just to be human.
Her entrancing beauty aside, Schofield loved her compassion and her spirited internal strength.
Lt. Blake cleared his throat and stood up straighter than he had been before. "The both of you will need something to eat. Corporal, you get your lady some food from the mess tent."
Schofield nodded silently in response as Emmy laid her head against him, listening to his heartbeat and his voice vibrating in his chest as he spoke. The combination was the most easing sound to her.
"If I may, I'd like to write to your mother. Tell her that Tom wasn't alone." Schofield attempted to further soothe the wound of Lt. Blake's mourning.
"Of course." He responded with a great amount of dignity in those two words.
"He was a good man. He made me laugh when I was the most frightened." Emmanuelle spoke up to Lt. Blake, smiling at the memory of Tom joking with her at the abandoned barn from what felt like an eternity ago.
Schofield's heart lurched at the mental picture of how he had found Emmy at that damned farmhouse. He hoped that whole property had burnt to ashes.
Except for the chopped down cherry blossom trees...
"In a way, he saved the both of us." The lance corporal stepped toward Lt. Blake and held out his hand.
Emmy took another step forward, wanting to support both Schofield and the elder Blake brother with this vital interaction.
"I'm glad you were both with him." The lieutenant held out his hand to Schofield, who graciously took it in a proper gentleman's hand-sake of mutual thankfulness. "Thank you, Will."
Schofield only silently nodded, conveying everything that wasn't necessary to say in words. Emmy felt so proud, loving him all the more for his benevolence towards a comrade.
"And you, as well, Miss Hunterson." Joseph Blake took ahold of her hand and bowed his head, pressing his lips for the briefest of seconds to her delicate knuckles. "You two are most fortunate to have each other. Reminds me that there's still good to be found in this world."
After releasing her hand, he walked away from the tent and out of their sight, perhaps for a moment alone to process everything.
"Oh, Will. I'm so glad you're safe." Emmanuelle sighed, leaning into her Lance Corporal's arms. "Get me out of this tent. I wanna feel the sun on my face."
"Emmy." He protested, stepping back to hold her face in his hands. "You still feel very warm. We need to get you to a real hospital."
"Will, please." She begged him, reaching up with her own hands to stroke his with her fingers. "I just want a moment with you where we're not running for our lives and being shot at. That's what you want for me, right? To not be afraid anymore?"
He led her to the bed she had been lying on and went down on his knees in front of her, not breaking eye contact. His hands held tightly onto hers as though she would vanish from his sight.
"Emmanuelle, I want you to be able to breathe without fighting through sickness. And to eat proper meals morning and night without the uncertainty if you'll live to see another minute. You deserve to smile and laugh, to enjoy every day of your life free of danger. And around those who love and care for you." He was choking up with his words to her.
Schofield bowed his head and buried his face in her lap, hiding from her his self-perceived shame.
"And you don't include yourself among those people?" She dared to challenge him with her question, wanting to provoke him into expressing what he felt for her.
His head rose up at her words, taken aback by her sharp tongue. What else did he expect of her, after all?
"Emmy, you should never doubt what I feel for you." His hands held her face again, his thumbs stroking along her lower cheekbones. He finally found the resolve to say those important words aloud while looking into her eyes. "I love you so much; I never thought my heart could contain this much feeling for one person. You were the only thing on my mind as I was running through the battlefield to get that message to Mackenzie. I had to make it back to you."
She flung herself onto him, her arms around his neck as he was almost thrown backwards. The mere thought of him racing on a bombed and shelled battlefield terrified her to no end.
He immediately cradled her close, standing up from the bedside and gathered her up so her feet weren't upon the earthy soil and to ease her injured leg.
Schofield walked outside into the dawning sunrise with Emmanuelle safe in his arms again, his feet taking them both toward a large tree on the small hilltop. Its sheltering shade welcomed the both of them.
Emmy laid her head on his shoulder, taking reassurance in the swaying motion of being carried through the grass by her Lance Corporal. The twittering of birds flying overhead only made her appreciate the outdoors in a way she never bothered to before.
They arrived to the base of the tree. Schofield leaned against the trunk and slowly sank down to sit on the ground, adjusting Emmanuelle in his lap where she was leaning against his chest. Her eyes closed and she began drifting off in William Schofield's arms, her head cushioned on his uniformed collarbone.
"Will." She whispered. "I love you."
"And I love you, my Emmy." He murmured quietly, running his fingers through her untamed mahogany hair.
Schofield softly kissed the top of her matted head and leaned back on the tree, lifting his own head up to the sky and feeling the golden rays of warmth on his face. His eyes closed.
And they both rested.