Shot. Found? (Tristan)

[Stephen Colly]

BANG! BANG!

The last fading gun shots echoed out in the distance. Mist hung in the air, dust particles merged with it giving it an eerie atmosphere. A skirmish battle had just come to an end, with both small sides retreating.

It had occurred in woodland. The trees had stood tall and defensive throughout whilst chaos had occurred beneath their bowels. But now all was silent, the trees were silent, the mist floated across the landscape out into the countryside, leaving the eerie place. A few bodies were lying on the ground, bodies of German and British soldiers, all with families who would all be getting the same letter telling them of their loss. War was extremely horrible.

Nothing moved apart from a few crows who circled above the bodies, ready to peck at them. A few birds twittered in the trees but that was it. Both armies had retreated and had left their dead and wounded in the woods, not going back for them. Nearly all of the fallen men were dead or had died of their wounds. Apart from one. Stephen Colly had been shot in the chest; he was bleeding, loosing a great deal of the blood. He was lying, propped up against a tree and clutching his gun shot wound, his hand shaking...covered in blood.

He had been shooting wildly at anything and everything and had been hitting a few Germans but had not noticed the bullet which eventually wounded him, it had come out of no-where and shot him right there in the chest. The other men around him had begun to retreat and had been calling out to him to get back but they hadn’t realized how seriously his wound had been. He had shouted back weakly at them to stay or at least help him but the men were too scared and wanting to save their own skin, to save his.

So he sat there, staring out weakly at the mist and trying to stay conscious. His breathing was slow. Tears were running down his face, he looked very venerable. The thoughts that rushed through his mind were everything that had happened in his 19 years of living. His family, his horse, his friends, his childhood, the army training, Edward, Daniel, Nathan, Rhys, Niamh...he was doing this as he was afraid he would die any second. He shifted slightly, the sharp pain in his side made him gasp and he closed his eyes, wanting for the darkness to take him.

[♠ Pvt. Tristan Green]

"Bloody hell..."

The dismal stretch of woodland was a lonely place. A place where a smattering of boys had died, where the wizened branches watched over the bodies of the fallen. And there were plenty of those. Too many.

The nine men of Baker Squad were tired, bruised and beaten - they had come across the German advance guard a click to the West and had launched a brutal ambush over the bracken stream. They had lost a young private in the attack and had dealt the Germans a vicious blow before the enemy had begun their frantic retreat northwards and every man in the squad felt as if they had walked in the shadow of death for too long that day. The universe had had other ideas. Now Sergeant Riley's squad had stumbled across a fresh battlefield.

Private Tristan Green, one of the newer recruits, was ashen-faced. He almost felt as if he was trespassing on his comrades' last resting place. He heard Harry Fledger, a boyish young Englishman, murmur a gentle prayer over the British dead. "Poor buggers," he said softly.

Sergeant Riley turned to the men. He was a lean, battle-hardened man, tough, weather-beaten and grim-faced who had seen more than his fair share of battle. The sound of his voice was enough to make Tristan swallow nervously and wonder whether or not he would be the next to incur his wrath. If he had that affect on his own soldiers, Tristan thought to himself, he must instill unbridled terror into the enemy.

He stood with surprising little emotion as he glanced down at the bodies. He looked more bored than anything. "Check every body," he said at last. "Anyone still alive, deal with him as best you can and we'll take him with us, see if we can't save a couple of miserable lives. Any one as good as dead, put him out of his misery. A shot between the eyes. We'll bury the dead. That goes for the enemy as well, you hear?" He swallowed and continued. "Get into three groups of three - Spennock, Fox, Morgan, you'll go left. Green, Fledger, Stirling, you go right. Wiseman and Cameron, you're with me, we'll deal with this lot. And be careful," he added, as the privates moved to split into their groups. "There could still be enemy units in the area."

The men split into their groups and moved through the bodies. Tristan followed Fledger and Stirling towards the collection of bodies that lay to the left of the clearing. John Stirling kneeled down and turned one of the bodies over. Sightless, milky eyes stared up at him. He sighed and let the body drop back to the floor, closing the lids of his eyes as an afterthought.

Tristan could hear something, a faint moan nearby. He followed the sound and found the catalyst; a badly-wounded British corporal, his uniform tattered and blood-stained, hemmed in by a couple of other corpses. Tristan gritted his teeth and reeled back the heavily overweight German soldier that pinned down the corporal's legs. He knelt down at the Englishman's side. His eyes were closed but the muscles of his boyish face still twitched and he seemed to be murmuring silently to himself. The Cornish private swallowed. "Hello?" he said desperately. "Umm...open your eyes if you can hear me..."

[Stephen Colly]

The darkness was coming, edging around him and coming closer to the point where he could almost touch it, willing it to swallow him up. But after a while, he realized the darkness was ebbing away and this was because....because of what? Ah, there...yes, voices awoke him from this state but he didn’t open his eyes in-case these voices were just in his head...or from heaven? No, because he began to feel again the ground beneath him and the weight of the German on his legs.

And then he heard footsteps coming closer and a voice – a British...Cornish region voice of a man...a soldier... "Hello? Umm...open your eyes if you can hear me..." [/b]
Yes! Yes, he could hear the person! Very slowly he opened his eyes. His eyelids fluttered and he groaned slightly as he realized that he was awake and that the pain had come back. Shit! He gasped as his eye s took in the bloody mess that was his torso and he slowly lifted a shaking hand from his wound and saw that it was covered in blood. He screamed and realized suddenly that the person above him was the one who had been speaking so he stopped screaming and gasped again.

He was alive and that was what mattered. He wasn’t dead yet, however he didn’t know the extent of his injuries. The weight on his legs had been lifted by the man? Must have been. Slowly, Stephen raised his head and looked into the eyes of his saviour. They were amazingly open and honest and showed slight nervousness but...but he was a beautiful man. He shifted and stopped suddenly, he wanted to get up and study the man more, he was fascinated by him but obviously that was too quick for his body and he fell back against the tree and moaned again, closing his eyes again.

OOC – Sorry its short!

[♠ Pvt. Tristan Green]

Tristan broke out into a relieved smile when the corporal's eyes fluttered open. His expression disintergrated into a frown, however, when the man suddenly let out a strangled yell at the sight of his own crimson blood. Tristan blanched. He had never been wounded, never felt the bite of a bullet as it twisted through tendons and flesh. He had barely even fired a shot! The corporal looked as if he had. Although he could only have been a touch older than the Cornish private, his face seemed lined, tired. He looked like he had lived through more than his fair share of hardship.

Maybe he was going to die through it as well...

He twitched a reassuring smile when the man stopped and looked up at him. He wasn't entirely sure what to do and, apart from smiling like an idiot, he was faintly aware that unless he acted quickly, the man's eyes would close again and never re-open. Allowing the corporal to sink back against the bark of the tree with a deathly moan, Tristan glanced over his shoulder.

"Harry!" he yelled, catching the attention of Private Fledger who was cradling the dying body of a British sergeant. Blood was crusty on the sergeant's lip as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Fledger shook slightly as he placed the man back down. "I knew him," he mumbled, staring blankly at the Cornishman. "He...I knew him..."

"Harry," said Tristan again, forcing his friend to look at him. "Go to Riley and fetch a medic. Now. Run, just bloody run!"

Fledger nodded and, still in a daze, stumbled away through the woodlands in search of help. Private Stirling scratched the back of his head and continued the vain search for survivors. Tristan noticed that he held an expensive-looking German pocketwatch in his left hand.

"You can't take that," said Tristan, fury etched across his handsome face. Killing the enemy was one thing, desecrating their bodies was another. "You can't!"

"He's not going to be needing it," said Stirling casually, before turning away to check a young officer's pulse. Tristan, shaking with anger, swallowed and tried to concentrate on the young man he held in his arms. "You're gonna be fine, corp'," he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. "I'm Private Green, alright, and I'm going to look after you. What's your name?" He glanced down at the scarred face. "What's your name?"

[Stephen Colly]

The man smiled a beautiful smile and Stephen gave a small smile back but it was gone as soon as it appeared and his face looked pained again. He really was scared, scared of how he would disappear into blackness when right now, when there was help...well; he didn’t want to die, not now...not anymore. He was breathing faster now, trying to hold on in there but the pain and energy was being zapped from him every second. He closed his eyes once again and listened to the voices. Frantic voices.

The person above him was calling to someone and that person answered back and then another voice so...three people in the woodland? Or more?

"You're gonna be fine, corp', I'm Private Green, alright, and I'm going to look after you. What's your name?" and then again "What's your name?"

For a split second, Stephen didn’t answer; he opened and closed his dry mouth and then croaked out in his Devonshire accent – ”Corporal Colly.” before licking his lips slightly as they had become horribly dry. ”I...I’m g-g-going t-to die!” he moaned, shaking slightly and reached forwards with one hand to grip the Private’s arm, shaking again but the effort of it made him slump again back onto the tree. ”Fuck.” he moaned and gripped his side again, again closing his eyes and trying to breathe steadily to rid himself of the pain. His hands were shaking against the wound and his teeth began to chatter.

[♠ Pvt. Tristan Green]

“Corporal Colly. I...I’m g-g-going t-to die...''.

Tristan swallowed again. ''Umm,'' he said hopelessly. He was the kind of person who said ''umm'' a lot. The English language had a vocabulary more extensive than nearly any other language in the known world. Tristan could have used this great wealth of words to convey what he wanted to say to the corporal. He wanted to tell him that he'd be alright, that he was going to be fine. That if he kept fighting the pain, he could eventually overcome it. Instead, he settled for a good, old-fashioned but hopefully reassuring ''umm''.

''Please,'' he said, feeling lost. ''Don't...don't let go. Please. Keep your eyes on me. Concentrate. Umm. Tell me a story. Tell me about your family, your friends, your girl, anything. Just concentrate. Please. Just concentrate. Just don't close your eyes.''

He turned his attention to Corporal Colly's wounds. The largest of these was a vicious gash that had cut through his uniform into his stomach. There was nothing Tristan could do about that - without a trained medical technician he could cause more harm than good. But there was a lesser wound on the man's upper leg, where a copious amount of blood glistened a deep red beneath the branches.

Tristan was no medic but he knew that blood was blood and was meant to stay inside the body. He tore a strip of material from the corporal's bloodied uniform and wound it tightly around the nasty-looking lacerations where bullets had grazed but failed to enter the body. He looked down at the faintly stirring Englishman and felt a lump in his throat. I'm not going to let you die, he thought. Not today.

[Stephen Colly]

''Pleas. Don’t...don't let go. Please. Keep your eyes on me. Concentrate. Umm. Tell me a story. Tell me about your family, your friends, your girl, anything. Just concentrate. Please. Just concentrate. Just don't close your eyes.''

He blinked and tried to keep his focus on the person in front of him. Private Green...a private...he remembered when he had been a private, like this one. How old? Early 20’s? Younger maybe? He didn’t look battle scarred...he looked fresh and didn’t know the horrors of the war. The war that had ruined so many lives and would continue to.

The private tore a strip of material from his uniform and bound it tightly around his leg. Stephen then quickly thought of what to say, to keep himself awake and not to fall back into the darkness again. He kept his eyes fixed directly on the private who was probably saving his life. ”M-my family? Er...I have a mother and father...they live in E-Exeter...” he took a sharp intake of breath from the wound being bounded up. ”I h-have a h-horse ca-alled J-Joey...b-beautiful h-horse.” he gasped again and one hand tightened into a fist as the pain shot through him once again, in surges.

”Don’t h-have a- a girl.” shook his head quickly, ”S-shit...” he gasped in pain and tears rolled down his face...yet again, more tears. They feel on to his shaking hands and ran down his cheeks, mixing with the blood.

”Ha-ate thi-s f-f-fucking war.” he gave a pained smile slightly. ”I hav-e f-friends...n-not m-many from w-when I was younger...b-but n-now g-g-ot f-friends in the a-a-army.” he bit his lip and reached up and gripped the private’s arm, his grip was tight and he stared, with desperation, into those eyes. ”Y-you a-are a- a good m-man.” he let go of the man’s arm and breathed heavily, his eyes darting everywhere in wild pain and panic.

[♠ Pvt. Tristan Green]

”M-my family? Er...I have a mother and father...they live in E-Exeter...”

”I h-have a h-horse ca-alled J-Joey...b-beautiful h-horse.”

”Don’t h-have a- a girl.”

”S-shit...”

”Ha-ate thi-s f-f-fucking war. I hav-e f-friends...n-not m-many from w-when I was younger...b-but n-now g-g-ot f-friends in the a-a-army.”

Tristan nodded encouragingly as the corporal spoke, trying to keep his smile from fading and his face from blanching an even paler shade of grey. He wanted to make sure that the corporal was completely reassured, keep him from realising just how hurt he really was.

The young man's shaky speech, punctuated as it was by the odd swear word, verged on the babbling. Few men would discuss the beauty of a horse whilst lying on what could potentially be their deathbed. But then nothing about Colly suggested an affinity with the majority of men. He seemed different. Somehow, anyway.

Colly was clearly trying to stay brave in the face of his horrific wounds but he couldn't stop the tears from flowing, mingling with crimson blood as they rolled down his grubby cheeks. "My old sergeant once told me that girls are keen on chaps with scars," Tristan piped up in a feigned cheeriness. "You'll be fighting them off with a stick when the medics are done with you." He continued to smile, as the man jerked forwards. He neglected to tell the corporal that his sergeant was long since dead. He didn't want to remind him of death...

But then no one joined the army unless they had at least a rudimentary knowledge that, as a profession, a position in the armed forces wasn't entirely famed for its low mortality rates...

”Y-you a-are a- a good m-man.”

Tristan smiled at that, making sure to maintain eye contact. "I do my best," he said awkwardly. Footsteps behind him made him glance over his shoulder. The middle-aged medic, MacPhearson was hobbling through the woodlands, Private Fledger hot at his heels. "There," said Tristan, beaming with relief. "The medic's coming, he's here. You're going to be fine." He glanced down. "I promise."

[Stephen Colly]

"My old sergeant once told me that girls are keen on chaps with scars. You'll be fighting them off with a stick when the medics are done with you."

Stephen laughed drily and then coughed, his face creasing into one of pain again. ”D-Don’t l-like gi-irls.” he shook his head, not realizing he had said that out-loud. ”T-they ar-e to....to...” he kept his eyes on the man and a small smile lingered across his face before it disappeared as his hands shook even more with the pain and he lent his head against the tree again.

”I do my best.”

Stephen smiled at this comment and shakily patted the Private’s arm before seeing the medic coming along the woodland track towards them with another private hot-on his heels. The medic looked middle aged and Stephen gave him a pained but friendly smile through the blood and tears that covered the majority of his body.

”Right then.” the medic had dropped to his knees and was beginning to quickly take out medical instruments and bandages from his bag, placing strip after strip of bandage on every part of Stephen’s body where a wound was. The boy yelled as he felt his stomach twist and turn in a horrible way as the medic began to place another bandage across it. ”Bad stomach wound...” he murmured to himself as he frowned and glanced over at Tristan, ”Hold this here.” he snapped, pointing to the strip of material that was already becoming blood-soaked.

The medic took out a morphine syringe and quickly injected it into Stephen’s arm, rubbing at the skin where the needle had gone in and patted it slightly before quickly going back to the wounds, he put another bandage around the leg wound that Tristan had done up and then reached a hand up to cheek Stephen’s pause on his neck.

”Good, you’ll be fine lad. Just need to get you out of here as soon as possible.” he smiled reassuringly at the wounded boy before turning to the two privates.

”You two better help me.”

[♠ Pvt. Tristan Green]

The medic looked like he knew what he was doing. He had the look of someone who had gone through his entire life knowing what he was doing. This was an alien state of mind to Tristan who, when partaking in any activity that didn't involve a fishing rod, tended to be fairly loss. Tristan Green, the kind of person who said umm a lot. MacPhearson didn't looked like he'd ever said "umm." For a medical professional who spent most of his time with someone else's life in his hands, this was probably a good thing.

”Hold this here.”

Tristan grimaced and did so, making sure to put pressure of the small scrap of material. The medic had barely glanced at Tristan when he had been issuing his orders but this was, of course, to be expected. He was a high-ranking medical officer and Tristan was a private. The former recognising - or even respecting - the existence of the latter would be comparable to a bear acting amiably to a fruitfly.

The medic treated the corporal in what seemed like a couple of seconds, a true expert at work. When he had finished, he turned to Tristan and Private Fledger, who stood ashen-faced nearby, and had ordered the two to help him support the wounded soldier. Fledger scuttled over to Tristan's side and, with the medic's help, managed to haul him over the Cornishman's shoulders.

"Are you alright there?" asked MacPhearson gruffly. Tristan nodded weakly. Although he was a slight man, he was also surprisingly strong and managed to support most of the corporal's weight quite admirably. The medic turned towards Private Stirling. "Any more survivors?" he asked, his voice slightly strangled. He was obviously affected by what had happened here. Stirling shook his head.

"Right then," said the medic, clearing his throat. "Let's be off, shall we?"

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen felt like he would faint any second and the voices around him were becoming distant but he kept his eyes fixed on his saviour – Private Green – as if he was worried that if he took them off he would slip away into the darkness once again. It kept coming towards him but every time another bandage was applied, the darkness went away and the light entered as if making him live.

He was lifted up and was helped by the private who bore Stephen’s slight frame well. He moaned slightly as he felt his stomach turn and he felt like he was about to be sick. His head spun at the sudden movement and blood rushed to it, making him even more dizzy than he already was.

”Right then. Let’s be off, shall we?”

That was the voice of the medic and the little party trooped off out of the woodland. Stephen felt safe now, yes he felt ill but to be in the strong arms of Private Green...he held on tight as they stumbled along, trying hard not to weigh too heavily on the private’s shoulders.

”Thank you.” he muttered again, giving the man a small smile once again. He felt a lot better but was still not out of the woods yet. It was this odd feeling that he had towards the private, and the way the private had been so kind...it made him go all giddy but he pushed it away. One thing he wanted to remember was this private's face, and the name - Private Green.

The journey wasn't too long to the medical base. The red-crossed flag could be seen fluttering in the light wind that had sprung up and had cleared the mist of the morning. People rushed about in a flurry of activity, a few survivors from the second battalion that had gone after Stephen's were being rushed through the doors of the main base.

"CAUSALITY!" shouted the medic as they neared the building and the doors opened, "Being him in." MacPhearson nodded to Tristan and went ahead, clearing the way and searching for a bed. The place stank of wounded men, a few had only one arm or a leg, a few bandages round their heads...it was a horrible place to be, all this wounded.

[♠ Pvt. Tristan Green]

Tristan trudged forwards after the medical technician, bearing Stephen's weight as best he could, with Harry Fledger and John Stirling standing by as support.

”Thank you.”

Tristan returned the corporal's smile. He sounded pathetically grateful that he had bothered to carry him. "Oh, come on, corp', I was hardly going to leave you there, was I? Maybe if you'd been a fatter sort of gentleman..." He allowed himself a good-natured chuckle but couldn't quite mask the look of concern on his face. He knew that every one of the corporal's words must have been agony for him.

They made their way towards the medical centre, moving past the distressing sight of the dead. He saw Spennox and Fox, two grim-faced soldiers, digging a great pit to hold the dead in their mangled state. As final resting places went, it didn't come close to doing justice for the sacrifice these men had made for their countries and for their comrades. Survivors were few and far between. Tristan could make out the shape of the sanguine Private Wiseman bearing a wounded soldier in the distance. Even from the distance, it was obvious that the man was in a bad state. He seemed to be twitching erratically, like a helpless, broken spider. Blood dribbled down onto Wiseman's faded uniform.

Another medic scuttled forwards as they approached, almost as if drawn by the stench of warm blood. He signalled for them to follow him into the small base. Tristan swallowed nervously and followed MacPhearson inside. A sensory overload smacked him right in the face. He saw the viciously wounded soldiers, writhing in pain. He heard the violent screams and, somehow worse, the laboured, resigned, choked breathing. But most of all, and worst of all, he could smell the blood.

An admittedly very pretty nurse gestured for Tristan to lay the corporal down on a nearby bed. It felt horribly warm. The Cornishman couldn't help imagining that its previous occupant wouldn't be needing it anymore. "If you could move away from the patient, please," she scowled. Tristan backed away defensively and smiled weakly at Colly. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Probably.

[Stephen Colly]

He shook his head and Private Tristan’s response to his word of thanks before staying quite as he knew if he spoke again, he would probably die of exhaustion and loss of blood. He just lay there, and nearly faded off into blackness again but the noise of the medical area soon awoke him from his nightmares of dying.

It was so busy that Stephen didn’t know where to turn, but then he saw the bodies of the dead and he felt sick. I could have been one of them....I could have been one of them...I could have died... were the thoughts going through his head, those dead, lifeless eyes stared back at him...watching him from beyond the grave.

But now, he was inside the medical tent and the place stank of blood, and he could hear deathly screams from the patients, many may not make it through the rest of the day. The bed they lay him on was warm...horribly so. Its last occupant would not be coming back obviously. It smelt as well and he could see the stains from the last occupant’s blood.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine."

It was the voice of the Private as he was asked to step away and Stephen nodded his head weakly. ”Stop moving, please.” muttered a nurse – who was surprisingly pretty, even in uniform. He kept still and lay there, feeling the horrible pieces of material sticking into his back from the cover. They were sorting out his stomach wound – the morphine had helped as what they were doing now felt very numb.

”Stomach wound...leg...above knee...” the voices were distant and Stephen closed his eyes slightly; the darkness this time was back, but it was good darkness, not the bad one. He’d remember the face of his saviour – he was very lucky indeed.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Stephen "Accident Prone" Colly - 12CP

Tristan "The Savior" Green - 11CP

-JT