For King And Country (not mine)

Spring 1940

April 21st 1940
The Captain walked downstairs, aiming to grab some food from the kitchen before returning to his work. It had been a long day of drills again. A run this morning, three laps of the house with the Eleven as a whole, then shooting.

They'd done some hand to hand combat work, as well as attempting another three laps around the house with equipment on their back.
That last one had been Havers' suggestion. He'd been talking to his sister again. Her husband had had to do something similar recently, evacuating the trenches with as much equipment as possible due to the severity of bombs.

It was always safer to come back to reclaim the territory later with more reinforcements than it was to lose three hundred men in one night. That loss could've been detrimental.

The Captain was glad that Havers had suggested it. He had even taken part himself, wanting to push himself despite his creaking and cracking joints.

The Captain undid the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and pushed them up to his elbows. Crumbs and stains wouldn't do. He was supposed to set an example for his inferiors.

He could hear singing coming from the common room as he gathered a few things to make a sandwich. It took several seconds for it to become clear enough for the Captain to recognise, but when he did, his heart sank.

"Happy birthday to Havers, happy birthday to you!"

There were cheers and hurrahs and enough noise to think a whole battalion was packed wall to wall inside the common room.

The Captain hadn't even known it was Havers' birthday today. It had never come up. But the others all knew.

He fought to stop feeling so sorry for himself. If Havers didn't want to tell him something, he didn't have to. He owed the Captain nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

One drunken kiss in an Anderson shelter shouldn't be used as evidence of something.

It was time he enforced that thought.
They were both drunk, and scared, and far too high on adrenaline to think properly. Neither of them had agreed upon entering anything with each other. As far as either of them knew, the other didn't even remember.

It was best left that way.
The Captain was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp feeling on the skin just below his thumb. He focused and realised that a four-inch-long gash was welling up with blood.
Dammit. He must've gotten a bit too close when slicing cheese.

He cursed under his breath and grabbed some thick kitchen paper to press to the wound before pulling away from the counter and leaving the kitchen.

He headed straight for the cupboard in the entryway that held various first aid kits.

His hands shook as he fumbled with drawers and zips, having to put down the already bloody kitchen paper to regain use of his hands again.

Thank the Lord I took left my jacket upstairs, the Captain thought.

He couldn't abide the idea of getting blood on it. Shirts, he could get blood out of, but the thick material of his jacket was much harder to work with.
"Captain?"

"Evening, Havers." The Captain called over his shoulder, finally finding a pack of bandages and gauze. "Don't mind me. I'm not making a racket, am I?"

"No, sir, not at all," Havers replied, his voice closer now. "I was just about to come and find you.
Are you okay? What are you looking for?"

"I have a small cut. I wasn't paying enough attention to what I was doing, nicked myself with a knife while making a sandwich."

"Let me see."

"That's not necessary, Havers." The Captain protested.

"Cripes, sir, that's not a small cut at all!" Havers gaped, finally standing beside the Captain.

"It's only because I haven't cleaned it yet. The blood makes it look worse than it is."