#gaviles

In which Ave is clearly not a doctor and neither is Miles.

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Chapter 2: Alone and Surrounded

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He didn’t how far he’d managed to make it into the trees. All he knew was that the sounds of battle had long since faded and that the adrenaline that had enabled him to carry a man’s dead weight away from danger was slowly fading, leaving him shaking, his legs slowly threatening to buckle and send the two men sprawling across the forest floor.

He came to a halt, almost tripping over his own feet, under a thick canopy of trees and turned as best he could to survey his surroundings; his eyes wide as he looked for any sign of the trouble they’d escaped from having followed.

No sign came. No dark figures descended from the showers to attack. No shouts in a guttural, unfamiliar language. Just silence.

Miles breathed out shakily, a nervous chuckle caught in his throat before his shoulder twinged unhappily and he stumbled forward at the pressure, moving his arms awkwardly to try and remove the injured soldier slung there.

And he wished he could’ve said that he was careful, and that he managed to maneuver the other man in a way that didn’t hurt either of them but, his limbs shaking as the adrenaline rapidly wore off and his thoughts a jumble of fear and confusion, he made the mistake of thinking that the soldier was conscious enough to support his own weight. So, as he bent forward, slowly easing the other man down and to his feet Miles wasn’t prepared for him to slump forward completely and - in an attempt to grab him - he found himself sprawled across the floor at the foot of a tree with an unconscious Brit across his chest.

“Please don’t be dead,” he breathed shakily, scooting back as he took in the unhealthy pallor of the unconscious soldier’s face and the slight blue tinge to his lips. “Please oh please please please don’t be dead.” He shrugged off the gun slung across his free shoulder and gently rolled the soldier onto his back and placed trembling fingers to the side of his neck, waiting for a gentle thump in response.

A wave of relief washed over him as he felt the weak, thready pulse under his fingertips and he felt himself sag under the weight of it all, hands splayed flat on the ground and breathing deeply through his nose to try and keep the sudden dizziness at bay. Once it had died down he turned his head to the side to take a closer look at the soldier he’d rescued.

He looked about his age Miles guessed as his eyes scanned the slackened, dirt-smeared features of the other man. Perhaps a little bit older, if the lines of worry creasing around his eyes were anything to go by, and Miles found himself wondering how he’d react to the situation when he awoke and how serious he would be; the common complaint from everyone he knew who’d been stationed in Britain or had worked closely with British soldiers was their stiff upper lip, and if Miles had to admit it to himself he’d welcome a calm and serious voice in the middle of all of the current chaos.

That’s if the soldier even woke up soon. Miles’ heart sank as his eyes fixed on the angry dent in the soldier’s moss green helmet, his hands coming up to gently run a finger across the indentation whilst a frown made its way across his lips. He gently worked his fingers underneath the helmet’s strap, carefully watching the soldier’s face for any signs of discomfort and, upon seeing none, lightly unfastened the straps and eased the helmet off to reveal a head of messy brown hair with an almost noticeable lump at the back from the blow that had most likely knocked him senseless. Miles placed the damaged headgear onto the ground, his eyes spotting a glimpse of black from around the soldier’s neck.

He reached forward and slowly pulled a leather cord from underneath the soldier’s uniform to reveal a small set of discs, one in green and octagonal shaped and the other orange and circular, each stamped with a set of identifying details.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Free,” Miles muttered, running the pad of his thumb over the name on one of the discs. ‘G. D. Free.’ “I just wish it was under better circumstances.” He tried to smile reassuringly, not quite sure if he was trying to reassure himself or coax the British man back into consciousness, and then rose one hand to his face, poised to push his glasses back up his nose from where they’d slipped down and his other hand tucking the discs back under the other man’s uniform, when a glint of crimson caught his eye and he turned sharply.

There was a noticeable rip in the fabric of the British soldier’s trousers above the knee. The material, smeared liberally with dirt and grass stains, was rapidly becoming soaked in blood.

“Oooooh no,” Miles sprung forward instantly, hands hovering over the bloodied material; almost too afraid to inspect the area at risk of causing more harm than good. “No no no, c’mon! Don’t do this to me!” He whispered desperately, ripping a strip off the bottom of his army jacket and tying it as tight as he could around the thigh of the injured man.

The British male let out a choked cry, an abnormally loud sound to Miles’ ears and the American instinctively whipped his head up from where he was tying the makeshift bandage to shush him. He froze.

The British soldier’s eyes were open, confusion and pain were clouded in their hazel depths, and fixed solely on Miles.

“Hey,” Miles greeted softly, finishing the knot in the fabric tied around the other man’s thigh. It looked like a gunshot wound, but Miles assumed that it hadn’t hit the femoral artery or he would’ve bled out already. The soldier grunted and gave him an incomprehensible look which had Miles feeling nervous under the sudden scrutiny, an involuntary chuckle bubbling to the back of his throat. The soldier’s hand grasped his wrist tightly and he jumped.

“Dan?” The Brit croaked, his voice cracking midway through the name and his eyes desperate. Miles shook his head and carefully removed the soldier’s grip from his wrist.

“I’m Miles,” he replied, and at seeing the British man’s eyes start to slip out of focus he hurriedly continued; his voice a little bit louder than before. “My name’s Miles, what’s your name?” The soldier’s head lolled to one side and Miles leant closer. The soldier’s eyes focused on him once more. “Awwwww c’mon don’t do this to me. I found your identity disc, G. D. Free right? What does the ‘G’ stand for? ”

“Huh?” The Brit frowned, raising a hand to rub his forehead and Miles noted how sluggishly he was moving.

“What’s your name?” Miles asked again, slowly and clearly. The soldier, his eyes clearer than before but still pained, stared at him for so long that Miles didn’t think he’d understood, until he answered.

“Gav’n,” he slurred in reply, his forehead creasing slightly. “M’name’s Gavin.” He held up his right hand and after a moment Miles realised he was expecting a handshake.

“It’s great to meet you Gavin,” Miles replied, laughing slightly as he returned the handshake. Gavin huffed. “Well, the circumstances are arguably not the best but it’s always great to meet a fellow ally! You’re the first Brit I’ve properly met out here and I’m really glad we’re here to help you guys out!”

Gavin stared at him with a look of immense concentration on his face. “Y’re Am’r’cn?” He asked, shifting to try and sit up. He sucked in a pained breath as he jolted his leg and Miles moved quickly to help pull him up so that his back was against the tree trunk. At the end of it all he was breathing heavily and his face was paler. Miles bit his lip.

“Maybe you should’ve waited to do that.”

Gavin grumbled something, his gaze going from Miles’ face to the trees behind him. His jaw dropped slightly in shock. “Where is everyone?” He asked in a tight, clear voice with a strong English accent.

“I, er, I am everyone.” Gavin stared at him, mouth opening and closing a couple of times as he tried to articulate a reply. Miles held up his arms in defense. “I’m sorry! We hadn’t heard from you guys in days so we came to take a look and the Germans ambushed us! I had barely enough time to grab you and run!”

Gavin’s lips narrowed into a straight line and he looked at Miles with an odd expression on his face. “You saved my life.” He stated, no hint of a question as he spoke and Miles stared back.

For a moment there was silence. Then somewhere in the distance a bird cawed and Miles swallowed heavily, uncomfortable under the gaze of the Englishman. “Yeah...I guess I did.”

Gavin’s face broke into a grin, a wide infectious smile that added a twinkle to his eyes and Miles couldn’t help but return it. The Brit reached over slowly and clapped a hand onto Miles’ shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Anytime man, anytime.”

Gavin gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze and then retracted his hand, rubbing it over the light stubble on his chin. His expression slipped into one of hesitation as he spoke. “I...” He exhaled shakily. “Did you guys find anyone else?”

Miles shook his head apologetically. “We got ambushed before we could properly check.” Gavin’s expression didn’t outwardly change, but Miles caught a flicker of something in his eyes. “I’m guessing the same thing happened to you.”

“They were waiting for us at the bridge,” Gavin muttered, shifting slightly and gritting his teeth in pain. “We tried to retreat into here, get under the cover of the trees y’know? Find the rest of our forces and double back when we were stronger and ready but...”

“I’m sorry.” Miles said and Gavin shrugged. Reaching over to his gun Miles slung it over one shoulder and slowly got to his feet, sending sweeping glances around at the dark and misty trees around them. “Anyway, we can’t stay here forever.”

“Of course not,” Gavin piped, reaching for his discarded helmet. He eyed the dent with an annoyed look and promptly tried to place it back onto his head. Miles chuckled.

“Gavin, get a new one when we get back to our guys.”

Gavin shook his head, a coy smirk on his face. “Nah, someone’ll get rid of the dent for me. ‘Waste not want not’ as they say Miles.” He readjusted the helmet on his head, grimacing slightly, and held out his hand. “It is Miles right? You’re going to have to help me move about, I don’t think I can on this bloody le-”

“Wer da?!”

Both allied soldiers froze at the shout -  issued from nearby but from a figure neither man could see - before Miles crouched back down close to Gavin. The two men shared a glance that told the other they knew that whatever came next would determine if they would get out of the forest alive.

I have tried my best to get this as historically accurate as possible, but as someone who has never actually studied WW2 in school (bow down to the superior British school system people >.<) I’m limited to what I can find on the internet so...approach this as you would with all fanfiction: with an open imagination!

As far as I’m aware the German is accurate, but I’m open to being corrected if it’s not! I speak French not German ;)

I’d like to specially thank Tea for putting up with my tentative raving over this fic and for reading it through and offering advice. Without her it would most likely still be sat, untouched, on a Google Doc somewhere and would probably never be finished. I owe you so much!

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Chapter 1: Arnhem

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They advanced in silence, sticking close to each other in a tight formation and treading carefully to minimise the crunch of the crisp autumn leaves under their boots, guns poised and eyes alert.

Their line of sight was obscured primarily by a thick, heavy fog - cold enough to seep in through the fabric of their uniforms to press itself uncomfortably against their skin - and the looming outlines of trees that surrounded them for as far as they could see.

Miles knew he was a fool for thinking that the war in Europe would be anything different than this; deluded as he was by fantasies of swooping in and stomping Hitler into the ground, fantasies sold to each and every one of America’s boys in a bid to get them to go to war halfway across the world.

And it had worked.

Fresh-faced, full of naivety and almost certain of an easy win; Miles, along with nearly every young man in the city of San Antonio, signed up with a sense of boyish enthusiasm and had soon found himself on a boat heading off into the war zone that was Europe. Six months later, and with no end in sight, he was relatively certain that the dreary forests and murky climate of the continent and would haunt him for the rest of his life. He swallowed heavily, the crisp air tickling his lungs, and readjusted the firearm in his hands. The rest of his life might not be for very long.

The path the small group was taking ran almost parallel to a main road, but was deemed safe enough to use due to the thick concentration of trees shielding them from the direct view of anybody travelling along it. Miles huffed at the thought, visibly seeing the air escape his nose in a cloud of wisp. The world had clearly gone to hell when ‘safe enough’ was a valid excuse to send a small group of foot soldiers out into the wilds.

The leader of their group stopped suddenly, raising a gloved hand to indicate to the other soldiers that they should do the same. The taller man, almost nearly twice his age if Miles had to hazard a guess and wearing a pair of glasses similar to his own, turned to mutter something to the man stood at his right, a look of deep concentration on his face as he nodded his head in agreement with whatever was being said.

“Y’think we would’ve heard something by now.”

Miles turned his head, relaxing his grip on his firearm slightly, and looked at his friend. “They can’t exactly call us to let us know where they are y’know.”

Kerry shrugged, pushing up his helmet from where it had slipped down over his forehead and was threatening to obscure his vision completely. “I dunno man, I was hoping we’d of heard something by now?” He huffed, a look of frustration clear on his face. “We haven’t heard anything from the Brits and you would’ve thought that if anybody would’ve got news to us asap it would’ve been them.”

Miles grimaced. “Maybe they’ve had a harder time of it than us?”

“They had one bridge. One,” Kerry groaned, fidgeting slightly against the cold that had taken their lack of movement as a cue to make itself known again, and Miles was relieved to see that - despite being clearly unhappy with their situation - Kerry didn’t look truly resentful of their British brothers-in-arms. He didn’t think Kerry possessed the character to be truly resentful of anyone without a valid reason and he openly smiled at the sheepish look his friend gave him. “The sooner we meet up with them, the sooner we can help and get out of here and back to our guys.”

The Captain and another senior officer had pulled the soldier in charge of communications into their conversation and they seemed to be trying to hail the British using the radios. The look of annoyance on each of the men’s faces seemed to suggest that, along with every other time the radios had been used, they hadn’t had much success. Miles didn’t think they would be moving anytime soon, a thought that was apparently shared amongst the group as quiet conversations struck up amongst them.

“I’m pretty sure we’ll be there soon,” Miles replied optimistically and grinned lopsidedly at Kerry’s unimpressed look in response. “C’mon, we’ve been walking for ages. We’ve gotta be there soon, at least we’re closer now than we were an hour ago?”

“My blisters are going to have blisters,” Kerry whined, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Miles chuckled and resisted the urge to clap his friend on the back..

“Aw, are wittle Kewwy’s feet huwting?”

“Miiiles.”

The sound of a twig snapping in the distance brought their attention back to the present and a tense silence descended upon the group, the boyish grins upon Miles and Kerry’s faces disappearing and giving way to looks of expectation. The Captain, hand up again to indicate silence from his troops, turned his attention away from the radio and carefully looked around.

“Halt!” He called out, his startlingly loud voice shattering the former quiet. Miles heard what sounded like birds lifting off from a nearby tree and the rustling of stray twigs hitting the forest floor, he exchanged worried looks with Kerry and both boys adjusted their stances; ready to spring into action. “Zeigen..Sie mir Ihren....Ausweis!”

The German phrase, calling for the identification of strangers and uttered in a halting, unsure voice with a thick accent, was one that Miles had grown accustomed to and had tried his best to learn himself. It was met with silence.

“Hallo,” the senior officer, standing around the same height as the Captain with light mousy-coloured hair and an openly friendly face that Miles thought looked out of place on a military man, said as he slowly handed the radio back to the communications officer and swept his eyes over the misty trees searching for movement.

Nothing.

“Keep your eyes open men,” the Captain said, dropping his voice and stepping forward with his gun poised. Almost as one the rest of the group followed.

They advanced slowly and in total silence, completely focused on their surroundings and straining their ears to hear anything out of the ordinary that could signal the arrival of friend or foe.

At first Miles wasn’t sure if he was seeing things, the thick fog hanging in the air obscuring his vision and almost inviting his mind to play tricks on him. So he shrugged off the occasional dark shape that, low to the ground and indistinguishable to his eyes, seemed far too obvious to be enemy soldiers and blended in with the landscape of the forest.

“Miles, do you se-” Kerry’s voice to his left, quiet and unsure, piped up.

“Holy crap!”

Kerry’s question was drowned out by the Captain’s incredulous shout, the group coming to an abrupt halt behind him, and Miles strained to see what had caused it.

It was like a scene out of a horror movie. Straight ahead, partially obscured by the fog, the dark shapes that Miles had caught fleeting glimpses of through the trees had solidified into a mass of bodies. Soldiers clad in moss green uniforms covered in dirt and stained with blood.

“Shit!” The Captain spun around, a look torn between shock and mounting fury clear across his face and with fire in his eyes. “Stay alert and search for survivors!”

“I guess they did have a harder time than us,” Kerry breathed, eyes wide and face pale as Miles put a hand on his shoulder and gently moved him on as the rest of their group immediately jumped into action. Miles was pretty sure Kerry’s shocked expression was mirrored on his own face and was glad that having his hand on his shoulder meant that he could hide its shaking.

“C’mon,” he replied, swallowing thickly. “We’ve got a job to do.”

The tension in the air was thick as the Americans searched for survivors amongst the fallen British soldiers and Miles crouched down, reaching for the wrist of a man who looked to be no older than himself. Upon finding no hint of a pulse he exhaled and shakily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, bumping his glasses in the process.

“What happens now?”

Miles readjusted his glasses and shrugged, running a hand across his chin nervously. “I dunno. If this was the group we were supposed to meet...”

“The Germans have got to be nearby then? They wouldn’t just do this and then leave them here for anybody to find.”

“I don’t think it’s the entire group,” Miles rested a hand on his chin and looked at Kerry, an eyebrow slightly raised. “This can’t be the entire group. Some of them must’ve got away, and we’ll...meet up with them I guess. Whatever the Captain decides.”

The Captain whistled, drawing the group’s attention back to himself, and waved a hand to indicate that they should group around him. Miles stood up straight, offering a hand to Kerry to pull him to his feet and the two quickly moved back to the Captain.

“Men, change of plans,” he shared a look with the senior officer, one that spoke volumes and one that Miles couldn’t quite guess the meaning of, before sweeping his gaze over each man in the group. He met each of their eyes, fixing them with a hard glance, his jaw set. Somewhere behind him Miles heard a weak cough and he frowned. Beside him Kerry shifted uncomfortably. “You all know that our aim was to check on the outcome of the British mission in Arnhem. Under the circumstances I’d guess that it wasn’t as successful as we’d hoped it would be,” he paused, sighing heavily. The person coughed again and Miles turned slightly, trying to see who it was, but he met Kerry’s eyes instead and tried his best to send a reassuring smile at the shorter man. He was pretty sure his smile looked more like a grimace. “We will be returning to Nijmegen to reconvene with our Division-” The cough came again and Miles turned his head sharply to the side, almost certain this time of where it was coming from.

A number of things happened almost at once. The first, Miles’ gaze locked with a pair of hazel eyes; clouded in pain and their owner - a barely conscious British soldier - clearly struggling to keep them open as he coughed weakly from where he lay. The second, a booming shout of ‘Feuer!’ came from nearby and the Americans found themselves surrounded from what seemed like all angles by armed assailants, appearing menacingly from the mist.

Miles reacted without thinking, and as the furious sounds of gunfire from both sides and startled cries filled the air he lunged forward towards the wounded Brit. He ducked down and in one fluid motion, using strength he didn’t know he had, grabbed the soldier’s arms and pulled him up and over his shoulder.

The Brit protested weakly and Miles leapt sideways off the path into the trees, where he then set off on a quick jog, eager to get the injured soldier to safety and to lose the enemy soldiers in the fog as quickly as possible.

Behind him, the sounds of battled continued.