He stepped out, flinging his duffel bag over his shoulder while he locked the car. Today was his first mission. He and his father had joined the No. 601 Squadron of the Royal Air Force immediately after the war broke out. He was excited, thrilled to finally put all those months of training to use. The squadron was awarded some Bell P-39 Airacobra's by the RAF and he had trained extensively the last 3 months. The plan was to bomb some enemy targets just past the battle front near Dunkirk. The settlement was important for the Allies, so they did everything to protect it. He saluted his Lieutenant when he walked into the hangar, "Officer Horan is reporting for duty."
He strapped himself into the seat, checking the switches and gauges one last time before giving a thumbs up to the Lieutenant watching from the hangar. He heard the tower give him the permission to initiate take off and he fired up the engine to taxi to the runway. His heartbeat pulsed almost visibly in his neck. He was nervous. He had done this many times already, but those were only practice runs. Today he would fly to the front and aim at true targets... probably killing people. He swallowed dryly, pulling the lever towards him and the plane took off into the sky.
He flew in formation, his plane up front, his buddies flying behind him in a triangle shape. They talked casually to each other over radio. Liam wondered how he should pop the question to his girlfriend, while Louis went on and on about how his new-born kept him up all night. Niall himself was rather quiet, his stomach tightened as land popped up on the horizon. The guys wished each other good luck as they separated to fly to their own set targets. Niall kept his eyes on the radar, checking his coordinates carefully, before dropping the bomb. He looked out the window as he circled to turn around to London, a small dust cloud forming way down below. His first mission was a success. Suddenly, the plane shook violently and various alarms started to go off. "Shit," he tapped his finger on some of the gauges, "What's happening?!" He turned his head as he saw smoke coming out of the left wing. The blood drained from his face, eyes widening as he realised what was happening.
He was glad his parachute had come on, but he regretting thinking about setting the ejection seat procedure into action too late. The hard surface of the earth neared him fast and he braced for the impact. A hard slap of his body hitting the ground, a jolt of pain shooting through him. He laid still for a minute, scared of opening his eyes and probably realizing he was dead, but the pain he felt, told him at least he wasn't dead. His head pounded. His shoulder felt sore. But most painful of all were his legs. He slowly lifted his head, looking down to see his legs in the weirdest of positions. He let his head drop to the floor, sighing. This would be the end of him. Having broken legs, he would be doomed to die in these bushes in France.
He had laid there for at least half an hour, his body gone cold from lying on the damp leaves. His mind was troubled with the possible ways his life could end: taken prisoner by the Germans, executed, die of hunger, cold. His head jolted up at the sound of footsteps. This was it, they we're coming to get him. He pulled out his gun, hearing the footsteps come closer. Some leaves moved, and he pointed his gun directly at it, "Stop right there!" A man stepped out of the bushes with his hands up, "Calm down, mate. We're on the same side." A sigh of relief left his body as he heard the guy's heavy British accent. He lowered his gun, looking at the stranger in the khaki uniform. "I saw you land here," the man crouched down next to him, "are you alright?"
The make-shift splints on his legs, made from some pieces of wood, softened the pain somewhat. Lieutenant-Colonel Styles, who came to rescue him, carried him bridal style out of the bushes. Niall held a tight grip around the stranger's neck as he rested his head on the man's shoulder. He felt tears pooling involuntarily in his eyes, his body trembling. "Shh," his saviour cooed, "Don't worry. I'll get you home."
His broken legs were treated properly in the camp's hospice. Both his legs had a double fracture and needed a cast. However, he was soon displaced as his hospital bed was needed for soldiers with more serious injuries, mainly shot wounds or dismemberment from grenades. Lieutenant-Colonel Styles insisted on sharing his cabin with Niall. They became close friends in a short while. During the day, Harry, as it turned out he was called, went out with his division to do whatever had to be done. Late in the evening he would retire to his cabin, where Niall would be waiting, reading a book or repairing boots. They would often play a game of cards or chess, as the sounds of war died down in the night.
"Goodnight, Harry," Niall mumbled in his pillow, as he rolled over to face the wall. "Night," was the answer from the other side of the room. It had been a long day for Harry. Niall knew he was worried. They weren't holding up well against the Germans and they lost more terrain every day. Niall had noticed that Harry was less and less cheerful every day, his expression always left with a hint of fear. Niall turned around in his bed, facing the silhouette of the man sleeping across from him. His heart ached to see his saviour and new best friend so stressed. He sighed and laid down on his back to stare at the ceiling.
He wasn't able to sleep. His inability to move made it nearly impossible for him to get tired during the day. He turned on his side again, facing the wall. "Ungh," he heard a weird sound behind him. Looking over his shoulder he could see Harry moving restlessly in his bed. "No," his voice sounded helpless and he was thrashing his head from side to side. Niall slid out of bed, letting his bum sink to the floor first. Harry was having a nightmare so he should probably wake him up. Niall did his awkward shuffle across the floor, the only way he was able to move from one spot to the other. When he was just close enough to haul himself up to Harry's side, Harry sat straight up in bed with a cry, panting heavily.
"Shhh, Hazz," Niall cooed, softly tugging on Harry's arm to make him lie down again, "It will be alright." Niall expertly pulled his body up on Harry's bed and wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders. Harry buried his face in Niall's chest, body trembling with fear. "Shh," Niall whispered in his hair, rubbing his back soothingly. "No, we're all going to die, Niall," tears were soaking through Niall's shirt. "No, we're not," pressing a kiss on his friend's forehead, "Don't worry. I'll get you home."
Harry's worries had been right. They've lost too much terrain to the Germans. They were essentially fighting a lost war. The only way to survive was to retreat, but how is that possible when surrounded by Germans?
"Hop on," Niall sat on the edge of the bed, Harry crouched down in front of him to give him a piggy-back ride. "Whatever happens, never let go, alright," Harry took Niall's arms and wrapped them around his shoulders. "Alright," Niall nodded when Harry carefully took a hold of Niall's thighs and held them close to his waist. Harry stood up, the weight of the casts felt uncomfortable on Niall's legs. "This will probably hurt a bit, but we'll be home soon."
All the soldiers stood gathered at the edge of the camp, just the beach and a bit of water separating them from the ship and the motherland. "Gentlemen," the General spoke loudly, "You know your instructions now. We'll speak to each other again on the ship." The evacuation was dangerous, knowing that the Germans were watching their every move. They would probably shoot or bomb the battalions who were running up the beach. The General gave the sign and the soldiers started running down the beach. Harry ran as fast as he could with Niall on his back. Niall felt the impact of every step drill through to his legs, the pain shooting up his spine. It was hard to hold on, but his promise to Harry made him stronger. The sounds of gunfire filled the sky, sand splashing up around them. The low grunts some men made before they fell to the ground shocked Niall. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on holding on to Harry until he heard the wet sound of water under his friend's feet. He was put down in a boat and Harry and several other soldiers hopped in to row it to the ship. He was hauled onto the ship, everything passing in a daze. They've made it, they're safe.
