In which Ave knows nothing about guns and is still clearly not a doctor.

Fun fact; ‘hier’ means ‘here’ in German, but ‘yesterday’ in French. Somehow this amuses me.

And, er, this is probably more friendship than anything else. Itried.jpg.

----

Chapter 3: Survival

----

“Wer da?” The voice repeated, sounding a lot closer than before and Miles shifted, positioning his gun so that it was no longer slung over his shoulder and was instead held steadily in his hands, ready to use. Gavin’s eyes tracked his movements and he frowned.

“Hier!”

Miles noticed how Gavin suddenly tensed and how his eyes shot up to look quickly around the clearing. The Brit fidgeted, putting his hands on the ground beneath him and Miles was quick to place a hand on his shoulder to keep him from trying to get up.

“What d’you think you’re doing?!” Miles hissed quietly, concern clear on his face. Gavin shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“You don’t understand, they know we’re-”

“Hier!”

Half a dozen figures appeared from the shadows of the trees, menacingly descending from the mist with guns at the ready and with serious faces and Miles, in a bid to look calm and collected, resisted the urge to frantically aim his own gun at them all; knowing that he was outnumbered but using the gun to conceal his trembling hands.

“Waffen niederlegen,” their leader, a tall man with a thick beard and sharp eyes barked, his gun trained steadily on Miles. “Wenn Sie nicht gehorchen, schieese ich!” Miles’ eyes widened and he spluttered a response.

“I don’t unde-”

“He wants you to put your gun down,” Gavin interrupted quickly, reaching over and tugging sharply on Miles’ jacket. “Do it or he’ll shoot.”

Miles looked at him, his face paling. “What?”

“Waffen niederlegen!”

“Put. your bloody. gun. down.” Gavin hissed and Miles did so, dropping his gun to the ground in front of him without a second thought. The leader stepped forward, eyeing them distastefully.

“Hände hoch.”

Miles half-turned to look down at Gavin, the Brit’s brow was creased in concentration. He momentarily looked confused before a flicker of comprehension dawned in his eyes and he raised his hands. Miles did the same, his hands shaking slightly, and just about caught Gavin’s small reassuring smile before he turned back to the enemy soldiers.

“You can speak German?” He asked quietly and he heard rather than saw Gavin’s shrug.

“A little. Not very well.”

“Zeigen Sie mir Ihren Ausweis.” The leader demanded, nodding to his men. The group stepped forward, boxing them in closer to the tree and cutting off any means of escape. Miles felt his blood turned cold and he stepped back, aiming to shield Gavin from view but the Brit smacked his leg and pushed him out of the way.

“Wir sind Soldaten,” Gavin replied slowly and carefully as he looked directly at the leader. “Amerikaner. Britischen.” 

“...Do we really want to tell him who we are?” Miles asked, recognising some of the words Gavin had said. The leader barked something to the others in the group and two boys, too young to really be called men and new recruits if their haste to carry out the leader’s orders was anything to go by, stepped forward.

“We’re speaking English and are wearing foreign uniforms, it’s not hard to guess,” Gavin grumbled, watching one of the young soldiers reach down to pick up Miles’ gun whilst the other watched them like a hawk. “Well, this is bad.”

Miles fought down an incredulous reply and jumped when the leader pointed sharply at Gavin. “Aufstehen.” He demanded, his voice booming around the clearing. Gavin’s eyes narrowed as he let out a gruff laugh.

“Ich bin verwundet,” he gestured towards his leg and shook his head. “Ich...kann nicht aufstehen.” The leader scowled and a couple of the soldiers around them laughed mockingly.

“What does he want you to do?” Miles asked, trying to look at Gavin whilst not taking his eyes off the soldiers nearest to them. It was a difficult thing to do, and he ended up staring at the space between them as Gavin, gaze focused on the leader, replied.

“Stand up.”

Miles’ jaw dropped slightly and he turned sharply to glower at the leader. “What the hell! He can’t stand like that!”

The leader’s scowl deepened and, at hearing Gavin groan, Miles turned back to him. The Brit had sat forward and was slowly trying to maneuver himself to his feet by moving his injured leg as little as possible. Miles ducked down, the young soldier nearby twitching as if he’d considered stopping him and then thought against it, and put one arm around Gavin’s waist. The British man smiled tightly at him and brought his hand up to Miles’ shoulder, the American gripped his wrist and they shared a look before, as one, they rose.

Immediately Miles was aware of the fact that he seemed to be supporting Gavin’s entire weight and in surprise he nearly stumbled; his hold around the shorter man’s waist tightening to accommodate the strain and his heart twinging at Gavin’s strangled cry.

“I d-don’t think I c-can d-do this,” he stuttered, his good leg shaking as it tried to keep the him upright and the blood draining from his face. Miles could see a noticeable tremor in his injured leg as the Gavin tried to keep it off the ground and he turned his head, pain-filled eyes looking at Miles’. “Ugh, bloody h-hell.”

“Take your time,” Miles said reassuringly, concern growing as Gavin swayed slightly into him and he tightened his grip around the British man’s waist. “I’ve got’cha don’t worry.”

The leader snarled something at his men before narrowing his eyes at the two, no trace of concern on his face as he snapped a command at them. “Folgen Sie mir,” he turned sharply on his heel and strode off. The young soldiers closest to Miles and Gavin bristled as their comrades followed the leader, looking over their shoulders to sneer, and they awkwardly positioned their guns in a stance that Miles thought was supposed to look intimidating but didn’t suit them at all. Their eyes looked unsure and Miles could see a myriad of emotions run across their faces.

“C’mon, we have to follow him,” Gavin said, breathing heavily as he tried to scoot forward on one leg, his weight pulling heavily on Miles. Miles shuffled forward, trying to be as slow as possible to enable Gavin to move easier, but barely got the chance to take a full step ahead. Gavin barely matched him.

“This isn’t going to work,” Miles shook his head. “We’re not going to get anywhere like this.”

“Not. with that. attitude,” Gavin replied tightly, grimacing. “Ugh, b-bollocks.” His knee buckled and Miles hastened to keep him upright, his arms aching from the strain. “msorry.”

“Don’t be,” Miles shot back, holding back a groan. He turned a harsh glare, one that he didn’t know he had in him, on the soldiers who had remained with them and they jumped at the sudden attention. “If you want us to go anywhere you’re gonna have to help.”

The two hesitated, either from incomprehension or not wanting to go against their superior’s orders he wasn’t sure, and Miles glowered at them before turning his head back to Gavin.

“I could probably give you a piggyback or something,” Miles suggested softly, fighting back a grin at the indignant look Gavin gave him in return, and he sighed. “Don’t give me that look, let me help you.”

“You. are. helping. me,” Gavin groaned, getting his foot back onto the ground. He exhaled, causing the small part of his fringe that was sticking out from underneath the helmet to flutter, and looked up at Miles. He swallowed heavily. “You didn’t have to.”

Miles shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

A flicker of something passed in Gavin’s eyes and he smiled sadly. One of the German soldiers, pulling away from a hushed debate with his comrade, stepped forward and took Gavin’s other arm and pulled it over his shoulders; causing the Brit to grunt at the movement. The soldier muttered something that Miles didn’t quite catch and that Gavin only hummed in reply to, before his comrade levelled his gun at them and as one they moved forward.

Miles thought it was uncharacteristically kind of the German to help them, but was grateful for it nonetheless as it seemed to be much easier for Gavin to move with the support from both sides. Still, their stride was agonisingly slow and Miles was thankful for the distance that seemed to have appeared between them and the rest of the group. The two soldiers with them, however, didn’t seem to share the same sentiment if the anxious looks they kept sharing were anything to go by and as soon as they started muttering to each other Miles’ concentration turned to their conversation in hopes of understanding any of the words they were saying.

He quickly abandoned that idea as the rapidly spoken words flitted in and out of his ears in a jumble of unfamiliar sounds and intonations, his mind struggling to align them together into a form he knew and he soon stopped.

Gavin, who had been quiet since they started moving, momentarily tensed. Automatically Miles turned his head to look at him and managed to catch the brief look of surprise that crossed his features before it was gone. Gavin noticed the look, leant his head towards Miles and quietly whispered.

“I think your lot are still out here,” Gavin straightened up and caught the look of confusion that filtered across Miles’ face at that statement. “Y’know, the guys like you.” He added, eyes briefly lingering on his uniform before looking up at him with a point-blank look on his face.

Miles stared at him for a split second before it sunk in and he fought down a grin. Before them, standing straight-backed and alert, the leader waited with an unimpressed look on his face. The other soldiers who had gone ahead laughed, and the young soldier who was helping to keep Gavin upright quickly ducked out of the supporting hold and darted off to stand closer to the his comrades, muttering what sounded like a hurried explanation as he did so.  

With half of his support gone Gavin stopped, and Miles was quick to hold him upright when he wavered as the other soldiers chuckled amongst themselves.

“What do you mean they’re out there?” Miles asked hurriedly. “They escaped?”

“I think those two were afraid of being found by the Americans before they could meet back up with this lot,” Gavin replied, his voice low and strained. “I’m not sure, they were speaking a bit too fast for me.”

“Ruhe.” The leader snapped at them before turning and speaking harshly to the rest of the group. They immediately straightened up and the laughter stopped, dying off almost instantly. Miles was sure that they were being reprimanded and, if the circumstances were different, he would’ve laughed at the chastised looks on their faces. Gavin shifted by his side and Miles readjusted his hold on him, slowly looking around whilst trying to come up with an idea of what to do next that wouldn’t get them shot.

The leader issued a harsh command and the group continued to walk on, with the two younger soldiers keeping a close eye on Miles and Gavin but neither of them offering to help them move.

Miles had a split second warning, the high whistling sound of a bullet coming from somewhere to his left, before all hell broke lose. Armed men, wearing the same uniform that Miles had seen daily since being dispatched to Europe and one he wore himself, rushed out in a flurry of yells and the lead German dropped instantly, roaring out in harsh German as he clamped his hands to his leg.

With strength he didn’t know Gavin possessed, especially in his current state, he found himself dragged to the floor by the shorter man as the German soldiers retaliated at the Americans suddenly in their midst. But it didn’t last long. The Germans, outnumbered and with their leader incapacitated, were quick to surrender and almost as soon as it started he was being pulled to his feet and into a tight hug.

“Where the hell did you go!” Miles instantly recognised Kerry’s voice, relief in his tone, and he laughed as he warmly returned the hug. Kerry pulled back and stared at him in concern and Miles wide smile turned apologetic. “People thought you’d gone AWOL man! I told them that you wouldn’t do that but you just disappeared without a trace and I was so fucking worried!”

“I’m sorry! I-”

“We need a medic!”

Miles spun around and immediately crouched down next to Gavin, barely hearing Kerry’s surprised exclamation behind him. The Brit’s eyes were half open and he was frowning at the soldier who had called out.

“I don’t need a medic mate,” he groaned, shifting his gaze to Miles and giving him a small smile. “Just get me up and I’ll be fine.”

Miles turned his head to look up at Kerry, realisation dawning in the younger man’s eyes before he nodded and sprinted off. Miles, noting that their group seemed larger than before and guessing that they’d been helped during the ambush, turned back to Gavin and shook his head, chuckling.

“I’m going to have to disagree,” his eyes fixed on the sluggishly bleeding wound in his leg and the tired look of pain on Gavin’s features. Gavin grumbled in reply and Miles’ brow creased in worry. “I might go and hurry that medic along.”

“Miiiiles...”

Miles shook his head and caught the eye of the soldier crouched on Gavin’s other side, the one who had originally called out for medical help. “Keep talking to him okay?”

The soldier nodded and Miles got to his feet, turning to walk in the direction Kerry had sprinted off in, before a loud shout in German rang out.

He didn’t understand the words but the intention in which they were yelled was clear, and even as he watched one of the German soldiers violently pull away from the American troop trying to subdue him whilst forcibly pulling the gun from his grip his mind was too slow to react.

The German, spinning as he moved, fired the gun until there was nothing left to fire. He screamed loudly, his incoherent words causing blank looks amongst the other Germans in their midst, and Miles watched numbly as he was harshly tackled to the ground.

“Miles!”

Miles turned at the accented shout and looked towards Gavin. The Brit, his hand gripping the shoulder of the soldier beside him so tightly his knuckles were white, had forced himself to sit up and was staring at Miles with wide, slightly panicked eyes.

“W-what?”

The pain hit him so suddenly he gasped, clamping a hand to his side in reflex and a heavy feeling appearing in the pit of his stomach as he felt his hand meet with something warm and sticky. The soldier beside Gavin yelled out something that Miles couldn’t hear through the screaming in his mind and arms caught him as he stumbled.

“Fuck! Miles no!” A voice he thought sounded like Kerry’s yelled from beside him and the last thing he remembered was Gavin trying to move towards him before it all went black.

----

Miles awoke in a medical tent hours later, aching in pain but - he was told - lucky to be alive. The bullet hadn’t pierced anything major, was relatively easy to remove and he was told that with a few weeks of rest he would be good enough to return to action. Miles nodded and, as he lay there, the only question on his mind was that of the fate of the British soldier he’d pulled out of harm’s way.

Gavin’s injury was a little more complicated he was told, and couldn’t be so easily fixed on the field; not if the Brit wanted a chance of full recovery.

So he was sent back to England.

Miles did make a full recovery, kept back at a safe base until the pain from his wound faded and until he was given the all-clear by their team of field medics. All the while his mind kept churning over what had happened out in the woods. His frequent requests for information on how Gavin was doing were never answered, his superiors - perhaps rightly so - were far more occupied with the war at hand than the fate of one foreign soldier and soon Miles found himself, fully kitted out in uniform and beside his fellow comrades, launched back into battle.

And then the war ended. And they won.

Amidst the glorious celebrations, Miles found himself hurriedly tracking down as much information as he could and, before he knew it, he was stood outside of a small semi-detached house in England, his jacket collar pulled up in a feeble protection from the light drizzle of rain.

He stared down at the address that had been hurriedly scrawled on a piece of paper, despite its age the smudged writing was faded - the end result of being folded and looked at so many times - and he ended up stood with his hand poised to knock on a paint-flecked front door for perhaps longer than he should have.

The door opened, startling him, and he nearly knocked on the face of the person who now stood in the doorway.

Gavin, leaning heavily on a crutch, stared at him with a startled look of surprise on his face and he gaped, mouth opening and closing a few times before he grinned incredulously. His eyes alight in happiness.

“You’re okay! Thank Christ!” He clapped Miles on the shoulder and Miles found himself returning the grin. “No one would tell me anything!”

Miles chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “No one would tell me anything either, I had to to pull in all sorts of favours from people just to get your address...I wasn’t sure if it was the right one either. My guys aren’t very helpful at times...”

Gavin stared at him, the grin still upon his face, before he reached over and grabbed Miles’ wrist. “C’mon, let’s get you in out of the rain.”

Miles was gently pulled into the house and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Despite the odds they’d both made it out alive and what they’d survived through together would forge a lasting friendship between them,  and here they were at the end of it all.

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

----

Chapter 2: Alone and Surrounded

----

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!

----

Chapter 1: Arnhem

----

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.