Promise me You'll be Careful

Chapter 3: Rumble

Arthur moved swiftly through the field. He was not about to be spotted by the Germans. It took him an entire day to move this far, he wasn't letting all that hardship go to waste. He tried to stay as low as he could, he'd crawl if he had to. The wheats that cover the field were, to Arthur's surprise, almost his height. Despite not wanting to admit it, he was rather short compared to the others. He was considered below average in his own country. 5'7 was a perfectly good height, especially in his current situation, trying to hide in five foot wheats.

As Arthur made his way to the end of the wheat field it began to rain. The slight breeze just moments before had picked up into a strong wind. The thunder rolled through the hills with a deep, soothing sound. That's the rumble Arthur liked. The one he preferred. Not the rumble of Panzer tanks making its way through France, accompanied by the sound of thousands of feet marching towards the inevitable death on a foreign battlefield. That kind of rumble stirred up dread in the Brit's abdomen.

He muttered crass insults to himself as he made his way out of the field and into the town itself. There were no Germans, yet unspoken dread hung in the air. Arthur was used to fear. He's constantly putting himself in dangerous situations. This is war, isn't it? There's no safety in war. But the fear he faced now was different, it was eerie almost. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. He had prepared for this battle, and he prepared his troops. Arthur was expecting an attack, but for some reason the suspense and the expectation made it worse. Way worse.

Arthur took a step back, coming up onto the sidewalk. He needed to asses the situation at hand; yes, he thinks, that'll help. Viewing the problem at face value will tone down the uneasiness. Sometimes Arthur has to pat himself on the back for his intelligence.

So, the Germans will be here possibly hours from now. I have my troops... my troops. The thought hits him like lightning. He's all alone. It's just him. No reinforcements, no backups, no allies by his side ready to fight to the death. Maybe I didn't think this through enough... Arthur had fought alone before, in the past. But last time he was left alone to fight the Germans back himself he ended up scrambling through Dunkirk, shamefully making a quick retreat through the English Channel. The guilt of that battle clings on to him. No, it wasn't your fault, you had no other choice! He reminded himself, And at least you aren't François, he gave up as soon as the Germans made it past the Maginote Line! Speaking of which, he should be here!

Arthur grunted at that thought and furrowed his eyebrows, that damn frog should be here. It was his country after all, not Arthur's. He began chiding himself for not forcing François to come along. What was he thinking, charging in to defend someone else's country while the other has done almost nothing for him. The more and more Arthur thought about it, the more regret and embarrassment he felt. Why couldn't he think of that before?

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A couple hours have passed and the sun has just barely gone down, the sky still orange and periwinkle from the sun's light. Arthur has decided to find a place to sleep for the night, maybe he can find a nice hotel somewhere. He was about to turn the corner when he heard it. The rumble of a death machine accompanied by at least a thousand footsteps heading right for them. Its presence bringing doom and despair with it.

The Germans.

They're here.