In Small Heath | Peaky Blinders

fourteen; fires of plenty

With the gunshots, came shouting, and Bash had been correct, it was British troops returning fire to the enemy they had unknowingly sent straight towards a group of underprepared men.

But, death came knocking loudly and within two or so minutes, everyone had readied themselves.

Thomas Arthur had seemingly formed a bond with Jimmy Dawson, and those two worked like a well oiled machine. Not a single second did either of them go uncovered when the opposing side finally came into view.

Charlie did a lot of saving ass once more, for the men he had travelled and formed a makeshift family with, but also the new arrivals. Twelve, and he had been counting, of the new arrivals and three of those he'd been with for a while, now. He even wrote their names down in a little note book once it was safe enough to do so.

It took a while, six and a half months to be exact, before the other lads felt comfortable enough talking in depth with the others. It wasn't an ideal situation for any of them to be in, and bash had been fortunate enough to have not lost anyone. But he knew from past experience at home that talking about how someone died was hard.

Bash came to know that their squadron leader had perished as the fight had reached its peak just before they all arrived at the river, he had fought for a year and a half longer than Bash had but it still didn't mean that the loss was any less a blow to moral, even to those who didn't know the man.

It was why he never pressured anyone to talk about it. Not until they felt comfortable enough to bring it up themselves. There was nothing positive to gain from forcing someone to be in an uncomfortable situation, only hatred.

"His name was John. John Parker, he said he was forty, but he looked about twelve, couldn't even grow a bastard beard."

Every man that shared a name with his brother sent Bash's already chaotic thought train into a spiral.

Having heard no news of any sibling in four months didn't do well for the pessimistic thinker but he knew that thinking negatively would shift the course of reality - almost like he had manifested bad things to happen, so those negative thoughts always turned into thoughts of how his football team must've been doing so very poorly.

After all, the prized striker was one of the first to be shipped overseas.

"That's quite - I mean, Charlie can't even grow a chest hair, so at least the man wasn't completely hairless... bald, maybe, but still not completely hairless." Another troop, this time one from Bash's platoon, called out from over the sound of the crackling fire.

The group had become a dot-to-dot Shelby family with the amount of people that were around. Bash could see at least some traits of each family member in each of them - some more than others, and some less so. But it didn't make Bash any less happy. He was just glad that these men were healthy and not ...

Well, not dead.

Usually, it wouldn't have happened, but it wasn't often that two groups were within whispering distance of one another and Bash being Bash, couldn't leave them wandering alone.

In fact, Bash had almost instructed his own boss that they were not to split up under any circumstances - and it had actually worked.

"In the culture I was brought up in, it's customary to burn the dead- but ... I think that'd just create a smoke signal as to where we all are and I don't really think that'd be ideal." Bash spoke, cutting the silence with a knife.

Heads turned to the man who hadn't said much to anyone that day, eyes opening as wide as they could go. Everyone thought he'd have the same customs as them, being an English man...