In Small Heath | Peaky Blinders

ten; in the fields of dover

Within days of reaching their final stop in England before travelling further towards the front line, the Shelby boys had been split up. Arguments sprang out, angry words spat with poisonous venom, exclamations of anguish and hurt, never had they been split up in such a way before and none of them really knew how to express themselves in a way that didn't result in fighting their way to the people at the top.

Something they couldn't exactly do.

Thomas and Sebastian both had an idea as to why they were split up, it didn't take a man of science to understand that it would only cause favouritism and issues amongst the other troops around them.

They weren't given much time to say their final goodbyes as each of them had a different train to get on, a different time to depart. But the fifteen minutes they did have, they said not a goodbye, but a see you soon. Their superstitions were too embedded within their minds for any them to allow a goodbye to pass through their lips.

A sweet concoction of fear and an unwavering sense of loyalty to one another, God and country. Of course, the loyalty was much stronger between brothers than anything else.

Bash was now the only man left in England, every single brother had said their quick goodbyes, and gotten to their destinations safely, at least, each brother had hoped they had. Communication from that point forward would be nil, but it eased their minds slightly - only very slightly, knowing that none of them were alone.

"Lieutenant Colonel-" a man, no, boy - no older than eighteen, raised his hand rather timidly to ask the first question of the day.

Bash raised his head from the papers that were in front of him, coordinates of where they were going, but that was all. Bash wasn't a man who knew how to read coordinates like they were letters on a page.

"Do you know if we're going to the front line?"

That was one question he could answer, the coordinates to the front line had almost been drilled into his mind, and the ones on his papers weren't what he had seen before.

"I know that we aren't destined for the front line, for now."

It was true, bash knew for a fact that they weren't going to see that much action but he couldn't be so sure if they wouldn't see it for the entirety of the war. He had heard stories of men being rotated from position to position, as the men on the front line grew tired, men from behind are brought forward to take over whilst they recover.

If they ever did truly recover.

"How can-"
"Don't argue with the boss, it's not a good look, nor does it show that we'd have each others back in conflict."

A man, maybe ten years older than Bash was, stood up, talking as if he had been through it once before, showing his maturity with every syllable.

His name tag read Private Dawson, his accent was - well, broadly English, nothing that made it stand out like his own did, but that didn't mean a whole lot anymore. Not with the booming industrialisation of the North.

"I've said that we won't see it for now because if I say we won't see it at all, and three months down the line we're sent there, I'd be nothing more than a liar." Bash's voice cut through the silent bickering between the two soldiers, finally realising why he out of all of his brothers had been chosen to be promoted.

He had a sense of authority about him that Tommy didn't, it was different and people didn't fear him like Arthur - or make people feel too comfortable like John.

The group carried on asking a few questions, until a rather unsettling whistle blew, people walking in and out of their half-tented area like they were trying to prove something to someone that wasn't even there.