𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞 | 𝐰. 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 ON HOLD

seven

"Watch the ridge lines." Blake said, as the three moved off again, Blake keeping his eyes to the left, and Schofield keeping his to the right. Alena kept to the middle of them, not wanting to get in the way.

"Well, that's your medal sorted then." Schofield says, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Blake asks.

The three of them continued walking, Alena walking slightly behind the two men.

"'Lance Corporal Blake showed unusual valour in saving a comrade from certain death' blah, blah, blah."

"You reckon?" Blake asked, excited. Alena noticed how his eyes lit up once Schofield had mentioned that he would receive a medal.

"I do."

Blake is pleased, proud of the fact he can return home with a medal to show his mum.

"Well, that'd be nice. Since you lost yours."

There's a moments pause, Alena sees something in Schofield's eyes, but she can't quite tell what.

"I didn't lose mine." He keeps walking, Alena can feel a slight tension between the two men.

Blake asks, "What happened to it then?"

"Why do you care?" Schofield asks, bored.

"Why do you not?" Blake wonders.

There's a pause. Silence befalls the trio.

"I swapped it with a French captain."

"Swapped it? For what?" Blake's annoyed, he knows his friend should have taken it home.

"Bottle of wine." This earns a chuckle from the woman, Blake shoots her a look.

"What? It's funny." She replys.

"No its isn't, Alena." Blake says, his voice growing louder, "What did you do that for?"

"I was thirsty." Alena laughs again, but covers it with a cough.

"What a waste." They pause, Blake's anger growing, "You should have taken it home with you, you should have given it to your family."

Schofield doesn't respond, just keeps walking.

"Men have died for that."

Again, the older man doesn't reply, just keeps walking.

"If I got a medal, I'd take it back home, why didn't you just take it home-" Schofield cuts him off,

"Look it's just a bit of bloody tin! It doesn't make you special, it doesn't make any difference to anyone." Schofield says, annoyed at the fact Blake keeps pressing.

"Blake, leave him.  Please." Alena urges, not wanting the boy to upset Schofield anymore.

"Yes it does." He says, ignoring the woman.

"And it's not just a bit of tin. It's got a ribbon on it."

Schofield let's out an exasperated laugh, he turns to Blake, looking at him. Alena sees sadness in his eyes, but he would never admit it.

"I hated going home. I hated it. When I knew I couldn't stay. When I knew I had to leave them, and they might never see me-" He stops himself, trying not to break.

He turns, suddenly, and keeps walking. The two watch him, feeling sorry for him.
The follow after him, watching as he approaches a destroyed wall of an orchard.

Schofield stops, admiring the destroyed wall, Alena walks up beside him, placing her hand on his arm. He looks to her, and she gives him a reassuring smile.

"They cut them all down." He said to her, "I know, but why?"

Blake comes up beside them, stepping over the broken wall, he reaches out to the branches, examining the flowers.

"Probably so we can't eat what ever they grow." Schofield answers her, as he steps into the orchard.

"Cherries." Blake says, looking at the branches.

He bends down, picking up a flower from the blossom, "Lamberts."

The three of them walk through the fallen trees, Blake continues examining them.

"They might be Dukes, hard to tell when they aren't in fruit."

"What's the difference?" Schofield asks him, intrigued.

"Well people think there's only one type, but there's lots of them - Cuthberts, Queen Anne's, Montmorencys. Sweet ones, sour ones..."

"Why on earth would you know this?" Schofield asks, confused.

"Mum's an orchard, back home. Only a few trees. This time of year it looks like it's been snowing," Blake let's out a laugh at the memory, "blossom everywhere. And then in May, we have to pick them. Me and Joe. Takes the whole day."

Hes quiet, homesickness seeping into him.

Alena notices this, "Are these one's gonners, then?"

Oh no, they'll grow again when the stones rot. You'll end up with more trees than before." Blake says, his eyes lighting up as he speaks.

A large wall borders the end of the orchard, a small gate in the centre.

There's a valley ahead of them, a French farmhouse sits on the edge of it.

" lIt looks abandoned." Blake says, breaking the silence no one realised had fallen.

"Let's hope." Schofield says, fear creeping into his body.

"We'll need to make sure." Alena says, a sudden boost of confidence.

Schofield leads the way, raising his rifle. Alena and Blake follow suit.

The slip down the small hill, leading to a small pond. As they walk, Schofield and Alena walk beside each other, Blake further ahead. The men scan the building, searching for any signs of life.

The wind rustles the grass as they approach the house, "Alena and I will take front, you take the back."

They split up, Alena and Schofield walk towards the front of the house. A dead dog lies in the grass, a pang of sadness hits Alena's heart.

Schofield looks to her, "Hey, it's alright. He's probably in a better place." Alena looks at him, tears pricking her eyes, "I guess you're right."

He looks up, eyeing the front of the house, his hands tighten on his gun, Alena stays close to him.

"Here we go." Schofield says, as Alena grabs his arm. Her heart rate picks up, thumping in her chest, she let's out a shaking breath, blood rushing in her ears.

"Now or never." Schofield says, looking to her, she nods.

With a final look around, they enter the house.