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HER FEET DRAGGED AGAINST THE GROUND. Her wide eyes took in the destroyed artillery that the German forces had left behind. "Look at that," Blake speaks, breaking the silence, "they destroyed their own guns." Ammunition and cannons are abandoned in the field, destroyed beyond recognition.
"They destroyed their own trenches, too." Schofield mumbled, taking in the surroundings.
Furrowing his brow, Blake glanced back at his friend. "What do you mean?"
"I think they wanted us to go that way." Schofield spoke with a grim tone. From behind him, Mags stared towards the dismantled weaponry on the ground. "They wanted to bury us." It sounded true, but were the Germans that smart? Did they really plan all of that, knowing they would go that way? Maybe they just set it all up. Maybe they're watching them. Maybe they've been watching them from the moment they left the General's bunker and they're watching them at this very moment. She shook her head - no point in believing such conspiracy theories.
A noise startles the trio. Both Blake and Schofield turn, ready to kill whomever appears from the rubble. A fat rat scuttles out from underneath a dead German soldier. The group lets out a collective sigh of relief. "Bastard rats." Blake mumbles under his breath as they continue their trek.
Mags lets out a soft sigh. A soreness begins to form throughout her spine. She stretches the muscles, hoping that maybe that would provide her some relief; it provides very little support. Her feet begin to ache. She wasn't used to walking this much. Standing, she did with little issue, but being on the move constantly for hours on end was new to her. It didn't help that she was almost killed in a German bunker. A piece of honey blonde hair falls into her face, tickling her cheek. With a huff of air, she blows the piece away.
"So, Mags," Blake starts, eliciting an eye roll from the nurse, "do you like peaches?"
Her eyebrows furrow. "I'm sorry?"
"Peaches, do you like 'em?" He repeats the question.
"Uh..." she chuckles, shaking her head, "I could take 'em or leave 'em. I don't really hold strong opinions towards peaches."
"Well, I hate them." His voice fills with disgust, surprising her. She'd never heard him speak on something so strongly. "I think this world would be much better off without them."
Mags' steps fell in line with Schofield's. "Should I even ask?" She whispered to him.
The soldier shrugged his shoulders. "He'll tell you that he 'just does.'" His fingers formed air quotes.
"Why do you hate peaches so much, Blake?" She asked. Her bottom lip was taken by her top row of teeth as she pushed back her laughter.
