In Small Heath | Peaky Blinders

seventeen; the war to end all wars

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.