Dreams and Thoughts - 1917

4 - Just a Bloody Bit of Tin

Two planes flew overhead - they were scout planes, probably trying to confirm if the area around them was indeed clear of any Germans as the previous aerials had shown. "Heading back home." He noted, watching them fly back toward England. "Wonder what they saw..."

The two of them scanned the area before Blake spoke. "Watch the ridge lines."

Beginning to move off again, the mood of the landscape had settled once more and their nerves had calmed. "Well, that's your medal sorted then." Will said softly, poking fun at the whole situation.

"What do you mean?" Blake questioned as they continued to walk, rifles glued to their arms.

"'Lance Corporal Blake showed unusual valour in rescuing a comrade from certain death' blah blah blah." Will mocked what would've been the write up for it. Nevertheless, his friend felt a bit of a confidence boost from this.

"You reckon?"

"I do."

It was a bit ironic for Will to have been talking about it... he himself had won a medal at the Somme, despite how little his contributions actually mattered. In fact, they probably would've performed just as poorly without him.

He thought it useless... a piece of tin with a ribbon on it. Who would he show it off to? His mother? She wouldn't want to stand the sight of him after being gone so long.

Pauline? Well, you'd be called foolish if you didn't know the answer to that question.

"Well, that'd be nice. Since you lost yours." Blake spoke just as cockily as he always would. Perhaps he were joking, but Will didn't take it too lightly.

"I didn't lose mine." He bit back.

"What happened to it, then?"

"Why do you care?"

"Why do you not?"

They were silent for a few moments, Will remembering the story behind the medal. It was for a good reason that he had gotten rid of it. It seemed foolish at first, but when he would tell the story perhaps some would understand.

"I swapped it with a French captain." He admitted, looking forward without any regret for it.

"Swapped it? For what?" Blake replied, bewildered that such an honorable award would be discarded so easily.

"Bottle of wine."

"What did you do that for?"

"She was thirsty..."

//

December 12th, 1916
The Front

It was so, so cold. It might've been the coldest winter they had experienced on the frontlines yet... and that was some record to break.

Pauline was trying her hardest to work through the blistering temperatures, her knuckles red from the frost and her eyes stricken with tears from the air hitting her face. She didn't have a coat, only her long sleeved shirt able to protect her skin.

Protect was an overstatement... she felt on the verge of frostbite either way, the only thing keeping her muscles warm was he constant work with a soldier in critical condition who lay before her. Blood was spilling from his stomach wound at an uncontrollable rate, and Pauline knew deep down inside he wouldn't last but a few more minutes.

Nevertheless, she continued to work on his wound in hopes that it would calm him before his death. The subtle reassurance that he was being healed might've been enough to settle his body, but he looked into her eyes and she could see from his that he knew as well. He wasn't going to make it.