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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (46/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
The soft earth easily crumbled away beneath the blade of Rory’s knife. He wasn’t much of an artist, but the other soldiers had taken to carving into the walls of the tunnels and he needed something to occupy him. The waiting was killing him.
So far he had seen people’s names and crude and detailed pictures and some of the Canadian troops had carved maple leafs into the chalky stone. Rory didn’t need a record of his false name carved into a wall for all to see so he went with the thing he knew the best.
“What is that?” asked the soldier sitting next to him. “A die?”
Rory leaned back. Even in the low light the cube shape was obvious, but the circular design in the centre of the square wasn’t as clear. To him, it looked like the Pandorica, but he knew every line and curve on the box like the back of his hand. “Yeah, it’s a die.” He put his knife back with a sigh, feeling less inspired now.
The trip to the tunnels had been uneventful; lashing rain had been the only highlight. It was a testament to the Royal Engineers. The troops were able to enter the tunnels safely and undetected. Jack had been right about there being miles of them. Lit by electric lights, they were much cozier than the open trenches. There were kitchens, latrines, and even a medical centre. On top of everything else, track had been laid down to accommodate a light rail system that would bring ammunition to the front lines. After a week, it was starting to feel like home, but they couldn’t afford to think like that. Any day now, they would be ask to charge out of the tunnels and towards certain death.
Rory pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It was close to twenty years old now and quite battered from the numerous campaigns he had participated in, but he had no intent to trade it or buy a new one. Though the clock face was a bit scuffed, he could still see that it was almost two o’clock in the morning.
It was April 9th. April 8th, Easter Sunday, had come and gone. He had seen some soldiers reading out a sermon yesterday, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Prayer was a common sight before a big battle.
Easter wasn’t a big event in the Williams family, but all the relatives that were willing did get together for a dinner. Chocolate was Rory’s greatest memory. Chocolate eggs wrapped in coloured foil, solid chocolate bunnies that nearly broke your teeth when you bit into it, chocolate desserts that his mum made. There were fewer of these treats as the years went on and as the kids got older, but Rory always found time to buy at least one moderately sized chocolate egg for himself. Lately, Amy had adopted the tradition, too. This Easter just past she had purchased a large chocolate bunny for the both of them to nibble on.
“Happy Easter, Amy,” Rory whispered to himself. His shut his pocket watch and stuck it back in his jacket.
Feeling the need for a change of scenery, he got up to take a walk. The tunnels were lined with the unlucky men who hadn’t been able to get a proper bed in the tiny dormitories, but rough sleeping conditions were the norm these day. Rory passed by one soldier sprawled out on the ground, snoring loudly. One last moment of peace. He was envious.
The ceilings of the tunnels were just a bit too low, forcing him to stoop his head as he walked. Being small and short was an advantage here. The tunnels weren’t exactly warm, either, but they weren’t cold and draughty like the trenches. He had a mate from university who had visited Vimy Ridge once but he hadn’t mentioned any of the subways. Once again, Rory regretted not being more of a history buff. Biology had been more of his thing and it had been too time consuming for him to take interest in other subjects.
Signs with names like London, Carlisle, and Liverpool hung overhead, with arrows pointing the way. It wasn’t nostalgia on the troops’ part, they weren’t signs pointing the way home, but the name of the tunnels. In other sections, the tunnel names were taken from New Zealand cities, reflecting how a lot of the work had been done by Kiwi soldiers.
“Robert.” It took Rory a split second longer to react to the name. It had been centuries since he had heard his real name be called by an actual person, but it was the name he identified with. Robert Ross was just a name Jack had pulled from a book.
He paused and looked back. Tim made his way down the narrow passageway, but with his lanky form he barely brushed shoulders with the other men. “Couldn’t sleep?” asked Rory.
“Too noisy.”
Even in the dim light, Rory noticed the bags under Tim’s eyes and his drawn features. The men around them spoke in hushed tones. It wasn’t loud to him, but he was sure it was a cacophony for Tim.
“Come on. I know an out of the way place.” He motioned for Tim to follow him and they made their way through the various subways until they came out into a wider tunnel. Perhaps four men abreast could walk along here. The extra space, in Rory’s mind, was so medical staff could wheel patients down the corridor without running into each other.
With the fighting postponed, the medical centre was quiet. There were no major injuries to treat and the doctors had finished cataloguing their supplies. Rory found a pristine operating room and he plopped down on the floor, making sure he didn’t touch any of the sterilized equipment. He indicated to Tim to sit down next to him.
But Tim had his eyes closed and he was taking deep breaths. The muscles in his neck were taut and it seemed likely that his whole body was tense. After a few breaths, he didn’t look any better, but it wasn’t just his physical well-being that was in turmoil.
“You okay?” asked Rory. He could heal cuts and tend bruises, but how did one doctor a battered mind?
“I’m tired.” Tim sat down next to him. “It makes it harder to block out everyone’s thoughts.”
“Do you want something? I’m sure I could ask one of the doctors-”
Tim shook his head. His blonde hair was dirty; it was the colour of ash in the low light. “We might be called to fight at any second. I need to be alert.”
Rory nodded his head, but he felt absolutely useless. It was like spending time with the terminal patients. With the ones near the end, all one could do was talk.
So he started talking.
“How long have you been out here?”
Tim didn’t even have to think. “Three years. I signed up the moment they started asking for volunteers.”
Rory wasn’t surprised to know that Tim was a volunteer. The 12th Division was New Army, comprised of men with little military experience but who had been eager to serve their country. But if Tim was twenty, he was just seventeen when the war started. So young.
“A friend of mine convinced me to join,” said Rory. He could still picture Jack, running into the office, the declaration of war in his hand. There had been no doubt that the captain would serve, but he had wanted Rory to come with him, too. What was the point of Torchwood, Jack had argued, if they couldn’t help the nation they had sworn to protect.
“Is he still here? On the Western Front?”
“He’s a military man. Fighting is what he does.” That was Jack Harkness in a nutshell. If there was danger, he was in the thick of it. He couldn’t stand by idly and watch.
“I attended a boy’s school, it wasn’t a military school, but they taught us about war. How to assemble a rifle, how to fire a machine gun, where to aim to kill a man. I hated it.”
It wasn’t hard for Rory to sympathize. He would have flunked out before he picked up a gun. “But you still signed up.”
Tim stared at the far wall, but he was clearly seeing something else. “We thought school had prepared us, but it was nothing like school. People shoot back here. A jam in your gun doesn’t get you a scolding from the teacher. The enemy… is just as young as you.”
This was when the world grew up. War wasn’t something fanciful anymore. It was hard and agonizing and, above all, heartless. Rory knew the costs and the outcome, but he had hindsight on his side. Tim was the one living this firsthand.
“There was a boy in my dormitory, Baines. He liked the military exercises, but he only lasted a year. I thought we would make it out of here alive, but maybe none of us will.”
“Tim.” Rory clamped his hand down on the young man’s arm and he looked over at him with those big brown eyes. “Don’t ever think that. This war will be over soon. A year from now, you’ll be home.”
Tim’s eyes darted over Rory’s face, trying to gauge the truth of his words without the aid of his telepathy. He hoped the young man saw only an open, earnest expression.
November 11th, 1918. The end of the Great War. It was coming.
Tim blinked a few times and then he suddenly turned towards the corridor. Rory looked to the door, too, but he didn’t see or hear anything.
“It’s time,” said Tim.
Above them, muffled by the layers of earth, a barrage of explosions began.
Five thirty, on the dot, the exit tunnels were blown open and the troops flooded out from beneath the earth. The hurricane barrage was done and the enemy confused. Now the real battle began.
Smoke blew across the battlefield, momentarily obscuring it from view. Rory rushed out of the exit tunnel, his gun held at the ready, and right away he knew something was wrong. The mud was past his shins, nearly up to his knees. He dipped his hand down and it came back wet, but clean.
Not mud.
A break in the smoke came and it was then that Rory saw it. The entire battlefield was covered in knee deep snow and it was still coming down. The other soldiers who had exited the tunnels with him all paused as well. It was bad enough charging through sticky mud. The heavy snow was now another headache on top of that. The only blessing was the direction of the wind. It came from behind them, which meant the snow was blowing towards the Germans, hopefully obscuring their vision.
“Keep moving!”
Rory wasn’t sure who shouted, but they were right. They had to keep up with the creeping barrage or the timing of the operation would be thrown off.
He waded into the snow, kicking a path clear with his feet. Other soldiers saw him move forward and that seemed to spur them on. Soon, larger men, being driven on by their wits and adrenaline, ploughed ahead of Rory. The ground was uneven from the constant rain of shells and though soldiers stumbled, they picked themselves up and kept on moving. There was no enemy fire, not yet. They had a chance, a slim change, to catch the men manning the German artillery off guard.
Shells whistled through the sky and a few seconds later they struck the ground a few miles ahead and exploded. It was another wave of the creeping barrage meant to clear the way. They had practiced and timed it down to the last second, but a thick layer of snow had never entered anyone’s mind. If the barrage got too far ahead, there wouldn’t be any troops behind it to take out the remaining Germans.
Rory was fast when he put his mind to it. He could reach the front of the charge in no time at all and keep up with the bombardment. But if he ran ahead, there wouldn’t be anyone to keep an eye on those who had fallen. Around him, everyone struggled, their breaths coming in laboured gasps. They had been told to leave their great coats behind to allow for freer movement, but that had been before they discovered the snow.
The flakes were getting heavier now and falling with a greater fury. The sky was dark, almost purplish thanks to the thick clouds. How anyone, friend or enemy, was supposed to see was beyond him.
The growl of machine gun fire made up Rory’s mind for him. He slowed and swept his gaze across the battlefield. The snow was no longer a pristine shade of white. The footsteps of charging soldiers and exploding bombs had churned it into a dark brown. It didn’t really help him as he looked for fallen men, but he was used to searching out prone bodies lying in the mud. He didn’t see any injured, though, much to his relief. The Germans were firing blind.
Rory kept pace with the men at the rear of the charge. The ridge that was their main objective was somewhere ahead of them, lost in the snowfall. Another salvo fell. It was a numbers game now. The Allied artillerymen were relying on previous calculations to get their direction and timing right. If they were off by even a fraction then there was the risk that the bombs would land on the troops at the front of the assault.
More gunfire sounded, the familiar rat-tat-tat causing Rory to grind his teeth. He heard someone cry out and he quickly looked left and right. A few steps ahead he spotted a soldier sprawled atop a muddy snow bank. He crossed the distance with a few long strides, only slipping once on the packed snow. He started to ask if the man was all right, but he quickly saw that there was no point. A stray bullet had gone right through the man’s heart. The front of his uniform was already soaked with blood.
With nothing else to do, Rory closed the man’s eyes and then he moved on.
The bombing had obliterated all of the barbed wire strung up in no man’s land. All that remained were scraps of twisted metal. Instead of crawling through the mud to get under it, Rory could run ahead freely without getting caught on anything. It may have seemed like a small thing, but it was a big difference. It really felt like they were getting somewhere instead of just inching along.
Gunfire, this time from a handful of rifles. Were they close to the first German trench? The rapid response of a machine gun told the tale. One of the gunnery positions was nearby. Allied soldiers were trying to take out the men at the machine gun, but the falling snow wasn’t on anyone’s side. And while the Germans couldn’t see that well either, they had the advantage. They were protected, likely by a wall of sandbags, and they had more ammo. They could strafe the machine gun from left to right, spitting out death from all angles; accuracy didn’t really matter.
Rory tried to listen, to pin down the machine gun’s position, but the snowfall seemed to muffle all sounds. The gun fired again and men cried out this time. He started towards where he thought they were when bullets tore into the ground just inches from his left foot. Instinct took over and he dropped down into the mud, trying to make himself as flat as possible. Ricochets, unless the Germans had the machine gun aimed at the ground. He tried not to think about it as he crawled forward.
Mud slid its way down the front of Rory’s uniform as he scurried along the ground. He hated how his clothes clung to his skin but he pushed on, listening hard for the sounds of men in distress. He didn’t even bother to try to keep his gun out of the mud. His dive into the sludge had got the weapon wet and it was probably clogged, too. Firing now would most definitely cause a jam.
The gunfire continued, alternating between the short, loud bark of Allied rifles and concussive pounding of the German machine guns. Just below the racket, Rory heard men fall and curse. He was getting closer.
A painful bellow came from somewhere to his right. Rory diverted and he finally came across two men sprawled in the mud. One was on his back, his limbs constricted as he writhed with agony. His friend was next to him, trying to get him to stop moving so he could help.
“I’m a medic,” Rory said quickly. He put his gun aside and slung off his pack. “Where was he hit?”
“The stomach, I think,” said the other soldier, a slight tremor to his voice. “Carl, calm down. There’s a medic here.”
Rory placed a gentle hand on Carl’s shoulder. “I need to see where you were hit.” He spoke as calmly as one could in the middle of battle.
Carl nodded. His face was smeared with mud, but his tears had cleared a clean path down both cheeks. With considerable effort, he lay back. Immediately, Rory spotted the dark stain on the front of the man’s jacket. He tore the uniform open with his bare hands and lifted Carl’s shirt. Two bullet holes in his left side seeped blood.
Rory carefully probed Carl’s lower back, but he felt no exit wounds. The bullets were still in him. They would need to be extracted, but he couldn’t do it out here. “Are you hurt?” he asked Carl’s friend.
The young man had ginger hair the colour of flames. It reminded Rory of Amy’s hair. “N-no.”
“You need to get Carl back to the tunnels. The doctors there will be able to help him.” Rory reached into his pack and pulled out some gauze. The mud on his hands instantly stained it, but he made sure to place the side that was still clean to Carl’s wound. Then he pulled out a roll of bandages and started to wrap it around Carl’s stomach. He made it as tight as he dared without causing the soldier further pain.
“Of c-course.” The soldier looked over his shoulder. “Blast this snow.”
“Just stay low. We’ll take out this machine gun and-”
Rory didn’t see the rifle until the muzzle was pressed up right against his temple. He froze, his hands midway through a revolution with the bandage around Carl’s middle.
“Bleib wo du bist!”
He ticked his gaze left without moving his head. The German stood on the slight rise above them. Several feet behind him was the machine gun. Rory had been closer than he realized and here he was, talking up a storm and giving away their position.
The other soldier had been looking back, but the German’s shout brought his attention forward. He tensed and his already pale face paled even further.
A bullet to the brain. There was no way Rory could survive that.
“Bitte,” begged Rory. “Dieser Mann ist verletzt.” His German was a bit rusty, he hadn’t had a chance to use it since he left Canada, but he didn’t need that many words to get his point across.
The German scowled. “Nien.”
At the sound of gunfire, Rory’s entire body went stiff, but the rest of it was very peaceful. He didn’t feel a thing.
He blinked. The rifle wasn’t pointed as his head. In fact, the German was gone, too. He risked turning his head, his bullet hole free head, and he saw the German soldier lying flat on his back in the mud. Rory looked to the other soldier with him, but the man was still in the same position, just as perplexed.
Carl lifted a trembling hand and pointed past them.
The snow swirled and a figure stepped forward. The man tipped up the brim of his helmet to survey the scene and he smiled when he saw Rory.
Rory sighed with relief and he allowed himself to relax. “Tim. Thank goodness you were nearby.”
“I heard German.” The phrasing wasn’t unusual, but Rory suspected that Tim didn’t mean “heard” in the traditional sense.
“There’s…” Reminded of the nearby machine gun, Rory looked to where it was positioned. If the German soldier’s comrades had been watching, then they weren’t safe. But when he looked, he saw nothing but an unmanned machine gun and it was silent.
“It’s secure,” said Tim and he spoke with certainty without even having to look.
Rory had been so wrapped up in the moment that he hadn’t noticed if other Allied soldiers had stormed the German soldiers. It didn’t matter anyway. “Can you help?” He gestured to Carl as he finished up with the bandage. “He needs to get back to the tunnels.”
“Of course.” Tim slung his gun over his shoulder and helped Rory to get Carl to his feet. The man groaned and he nearly bowled Tim over as he swayed on his feet. Carl’s friend moved in and helped to steady him.
“We’re lost out here,” said the other soldier.
Rory put his pack back on. “Tim can find the way. Remember, stay as low as possible.”
Both soldiers nodded and they started the slow hobble back to the tunnels. Rory turned his attention in the other direction. The Allied barrage had drifted ahead, but there were no enemy bombs falling in response. It was probably chaos in the German trenches. No one knew what to do.
He took off at a run, keeping his head and shoulders hunched down in case there were more machine guns positioned ahead. After a minute, though, it became obvious that there was no need to worry. The battlefield was devoid of any automatic fire. Any German soldiers who had been quick enough to take up their gunnery positions had been subdued.
He encountered wounded, and the dead, on the way up to the ridge, but it wasn’t as extensive as some of the other battles in which he had participated. Rory helped whoever he could along the way and by the time he reached the objective, the fighting was seemingly over. They had taken the ridge and the first German trench.
At least, what was left of the first German trench. The hurricane barrage that had preceded their charge had done its job. Much of the structure was destroyed or caved in. The prisoners being led out were caked with mud; evidently they had tried to dig themselves out. Rory also noticed that a large number of the prisoners were half-dressed, like they had just rolled out of bed. None of the Germans looked resentful. In fact, a few looked grateful that the bombardment was over.
“Centurion.” Rory didn’t need to turn to know that Jack was calling him. No one else but him knew to use that title. A second later, Jack stood next to him atop the ridge, his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “You made it.”
Like everyone else, Jack had ditched his great coat; it was strange to see him without it. The captain was dirty and a little bloodied, too. Rory thought he saw a few bullet holes in Jack’s uniform. “I had a close call, but Tim came to the rescue. Are the casualties bad?”
“Today, they’re not bad. It’ll get worse, though. The Germans know we’re here now.”
It was aggravating to know that there was nothing they could do, but if they changed history now, who knows what it could do to the future. “I better stock up on supplies, then.”
Around them, the snow continued to fall.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
The soft earth easily crumbled away beneath the blade of Rory’s knife. He wasn’t much of an artist, but the other soldiers had taken to carving into the walls of the tunnels and he needed something to occupy him. The waiting was killing him.
So far he had seen people’s names and crude and detailed pictures and some of the Canadian troops had carved maple leafs into the chalky stone. Rory didn’t need a record of his false name carved into a wall for all to see so he went with the thing he knew the best.
“What is that?” asked the soldier sitting next to him. “A die?”
Rory leaned back. Even in the low light the cube shape was obvious, but the circular design in the centre of the square wasn’t as clear. To him, it looked like the Pandorica, but he knew every line and curve on the box like the back of his hand. “Yeah, it’s a die.” He put his knife back with a sigh, feeling less inspired now.
The trip to the tunnels had been uneventful; lashing rain had been the only highlight. It was a testament to the Royal Engineers. The troops were able to enter the tunnels safely and undetected. Jack had been right about there being miles of them. Lit by electric lights, they were much cozier than the open trenches. There were kitchens, latrines, and even a medical centre. On top of everything else, track had been laid down to accommodate a light rail system that would bring ammunition to the front lines. After a week, it was starting to feel like home, but they couldn’t afford to think like that. Any day now, they would be ask to charge out of the tunnels and towards certain death.
Rory pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It was close to twenty years old now and quite battered from the numerous campaigns he had participated in, but he had no intent to trade it or buy a new one. Though the clock face was a bit scuffed, he could still see that it was almost two o’clock in the morning.
It was April 9th. April 8th, Easter Sunday, had come and gone. He had seen some soldiers reading out a sermon yesterday, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Prayer was a common sight before a big battle.
Easter wasn’t a big event in the Williams family, but all the relatives that were willing did get together for a dinner. Chocolate was Rory’s greatest memory. Chocolate eggs wrapped in coloured foil, solid chocolate bunnies that nearly broke your teeth when you bit into it, chocolate desserts that his mum made. There were fewer of these treats as the years went on and as the kids got older, but Rory always found time to buy at least one moderately sized chocolate egg for himself. Lately, Amy had adopted the tradition, too. This Easter just past she had purchased a large chocolate bunny for the both of them to nibble on.
“Happy Easter, Amy,” Rory whispered to himself. His shut his pocket watch and stuck it back in his jacket.
Feeling the need for a change of scenery, he got up to take a walk. The tunnels were lined with the unlucky men who hadn’t been able to get a proper bed in the tiny dormitories, but rough sleeping conditions were the norm these day. Rory passed by one soldier sprawled out on the ground, snoring loudly. One last moment of peace. He was envious.
The ceilings of the tunnels were just a bit too low, forcing him to stoop his head as he walked. Being small and short was an advantage here. The tunnels weren’t exactly warm, either, but they weren’t cold and draughty like the trenches. He had a mate from university who had visited Vimy Ridge once but he hadn’t mentioned any of the subways. Once again, Rory regretted not being more of a history buff. Biology had been more of his thing and it had been too time consuming for him to take interest in other subjects.
Signs with names like London, Carlisle, and Liverpool hung overhead, with arrows pointing the way. It wasn’t nostalgia on the troops’ part, they weren’t signs pointing the way home, but the name of the tunnels. In other sections, the tunnel names were taken from New Zealand cities, reflecting how a lot of the work had been done by Kiwi soldiers.
“Robert.” It took Rory a split second longer to react to the name. It had been centuries since he had heard his real name be called by an actual person, but it was the name he identified with. Robert Ross was just a name Jack had pulled from a book.
He paused and looked back. Tim made his way down the narrow passageway, but with his lanky form he barely brushed shoulders with the other men. “Couldn’t sleep?” asked Rory.
“Too noisy.”
Even in the dim light, Rory noticed the bags under Tim’s eyes and his drawn features. The men around them spoke in hushed tones. It wasn’t loud to him, but he was sure it was a cacophony for Tim.
“Come on. I know an out of the way place.” He motioned for Tim to follow him and they made their way through the various subways until they came out into a wider tunnel. Perhaps four men abreast could walk along here. The extra space, in Rory’s mind, was so medical staff could wheel patients down the corridor without running into each other.
With the fighting postponed, the medical centre was quiet. There were no major injuries to treat and the doctors had finished cataloguing their supplies. Rory found a pristine operating room and he plopped down on the floor, making sure he didn’t touch any of the sterilized equipment. He indicated to Tim to sit down next to him.
But Tim had his eyes closed and he was taking deep breaths. The muscles in his neck were taut and it seemed likely that his whole body was tense. After a few breaths, he didn’t look any better, but it wasn’t just his physical well-being that was in turmoil.
“You okay?” asked Rory. He could heal cuts and tend bruises, but how did one doctor a battered mind?
“I’m tired.” Tim sat down next to him. “It makes it harder to block out everyone’s thoughts.”
“Do you want something? I’m sure I could ask one of the doctors-”
Tim shook his head. His blonde hair was dirty; it was the colour of ash in the low light. “We might be called to fight at any second. I need to be alert.”
Rory nodded his head, but he felt absolutely useless. It was like spending time with the terminal patients. With the ones near the end, all one could do was talk.
So he started talking.
“How long have you been out here?”
Tim didn’t even have to think. “Three years. I signed up the moment they started asking for volunteers.”
Rory wasn’t surprised to know that Tim was a volunteer. The 12th Division was New Army, comprised of men with little military experience but who had been eager to serve their country. But if Tim was twenty, he was just seventeen when the war started. So young.
“A friend of mine convinced me to join,” said Rory. He could still picture Jack, running into the office, the declaration of war in his hand. There had been no doubt that the captain would serve, but he had wanted Rory to come with him, too. What was the point of Torchwood, Jack had argued, if they couldn’t help the nation they had sworn to protect.
“Is he still here? On the Western Front?”
“He’s a military man. Fighting is what he does.” That was Jack Harkness in a nutshell. If there was danger, he was in the thick of it. He couldn’t stand by idly and watch.
“I attended a boy’s school, it wasn’t a military school, but they taught us about war. How to assemble a rifle, how to fire a machine gun, where to aim to kill a man. I hated it.”
It wasn’t hard for Rory to sympathize. He would have flunked out before he picked up a gun. “But you still signed up.”
Tim stared at the far wall, but he was clearly seeing something else. “We thought school had prepared us, but it was nothing like school. People shoot back here. A jam in your gun doesn’t get you a scolding from the teacher. The enemy… is just as young as you.”
This was when the world grew up. War wasn’t something fanciful anymore. It was hard and agonizing and, above all, heartless. Rory knew the costs and the outcome, but he had hindsight on his side. Tim was the one living this firsthand.
“There was a boy in my dormitory, Baines. He liked the military exercises, but he only lasted a year. I thought we would make it out of here alive, but maybe none of us will.”
“Tim.” Rory clamped his hand down on the young man’s arm and he looked over at him with those big brown eyes. “Don’t ever think that. This war will be over soon. A year from now, you’ll be home.”
Tim’s eyes darted over Rory’s face, trying to gauge the truth of his words without the aid of his telepathy. He hoped the young man saw only an open, earnest expression.
November 11th, 1918. The end of the Great War. It was coming.
Tim blinked a few times and then he suddenly turned towards the corridor. Rory looked to the door, too, but he didn’t see or hear anything.
“It’s time,” said Tim.
Above them, muffled by the layers of earth, a barrage of explosions began.
Five thirty, on the dot, the exit tunnels were blown open and the troops flooded out from beneath the earth. The hurricane barrage was done and the enemy confused. Now the real battle began.
Smoke blew across the battlefield, momentarily obscuring it from view. Rory rushed out of the exit tunnel, his gun held at the ready, and right away he knew something was wrong. The mud was past his shins, nearly up to his knees. He dipped his hand down and it came back wet, but clean.
Not mud.
A break in the smoke came and it was then that Rory saw it. The entire battlefield was covered in knee deep snow and it was still coming down. The other soldiers who had exited the tunnels with him all paused as well. It was bad enough charging through sticky mud. The heavy snow was now another headache on top of that. The only blessing was the direction of the wind. It came from behind them, which meant the snow was blowing towards the Germans, hopefully obscuring their vision.
“Keep moving!”
Rory wasn’t sure who shouted, but they were right. They had to keep up with the creeping barrage or the timing of the operation would be thrown off.
He waded into the snow, kicking a path clear with his feet. Other soldiers saw him move forward and that seemed to spur them on. Soon, larger men, being driven on by their wits and adrenaline, ploughed ahead of Rory. The ground was uneven from the constant rain of shells and though soldiers stumbled, they picked themselves up and kept on moving. There was no enemy fire, not yet. They had a chance, a slim change, to catch the men manning the German artillery off guard.
Shells whistled through the sky and a few seconds later they struck the ground a few miles ahead and exploded. It was another wave of the creeping barrage meant to clear the way. They had practiced and timed it down to the last second, but a thick layer of snow had never entered anyone’s mind. If the barrage got too far ahead, there wouldn’t be any troops behind it to take out the remaining Germans.
Rory was fast when he put his mind to it. He could reach the front of the charge in no time at all and keep up with the bombardment. But if he ran ahead, there wouldn’t be anyone to keep an eye on those who had fallen. Around him, everyone struggled, their breaths coming in laboured gasps. They had been told to leave their great coats behind to allow for freer movement, but that had been before they discovered the snow.
The flakes were getting heavier now and falling with a greater fury. The sky was dark, almost purplish thanks to the thick clouds. How anyone, friend or enemy, was supposed to see was beyond him.
The growl of machine gun fire made up Rory’s mind for him. He slowed and swept his gaze across the battlefield. The snow was no longer a pristine shade of white. The footsteps of charging soldiers and exploding bombs had churned it into a dark brown. It didn’t really help him as he looked for fallen men, but he was used to searching out prone bodies lying in the mud. He didn’t see any injured, though, much to his relief. The Germans were firing blind.
Rory kept pace with the men at the rear of the charge. The ridge that was their main objective was somewhere ahead of them, lost in the snowfall. Another salvo fell. It was a numbers game now. The Allied artillerymen were relying on previous calculations to get their direction and timing right. If they were off by even a fraction then there was the risk that the bombs would land on the troops at the front of the assault.
More gunfire sounded, the familiar rat-tat-tat causing Rory to grind his teeth. He heard someone cry out and he quickly looked left and right. A few steps ahead he spotted a soldier sprawled atop a muddy snow bank. He crossed the distance with a few long strides, only slipping once on the packed snow. He started to ask if the man was all right, but he quickly saw that there was no point. A stray bullet had gone right through the man’s heart. The front of his uniform was already soaked with blood.
With nothing else to do, Rory closed the man’s eyes and then he moved on.
The bombing had obliterated all of the barbed wire strung up in no man’s land. All that remained were scraps of twisted metal. Instead of crawling through the mud to get under it, Rory could run ahead freely without getting caught on anything. It may have seemed like a small thing, but it was a big difference. It really felt like they were getting somewhere instead of just inching along.
Gunfire, this time from a handful of rifles. Were they close to the first German trench? The rapid response of a machine gun told the tale. One of the gunnery positions was nearby. Allied soldiers were trying to take out the men at the machine gun, but the falling snow wasn’t on anyone’s side. And while the Germans couldn’t see that well either, they had the advantage. They were protected, likely by a wall of sandbags, and they had more ammo. They could strafe the machine gun from left to right, spitting out death from all angles; accuracy didn’t really matter.
Rory tried to listen, to pin down the machine gun’s position, but the snowfall seemed to muffle all sounds. The gun fired again and men cried out this time. He started towards where he thought they were when bullets tore into the ground just inches from his left foot. Instinct took over and he dropped down into the mud, trying to make himself as flat as possible. Ricochets, unless the Germans had the machine gun aimed at the ground. He tried not to think about it as he crawled forward.
Mud slid its way down the front of Rory’s uniform as he scurried along the ground. He hated how his clothes clung to his skin but he pushed on, listening hard for the sounds of men in distress. He didn’t even bother to try to keep his gun out of the mud. His dive into the sludge had got the weapon wet and it was probably clogged, too. Firing now would most definitely cause a jam.
The gunfire continued, alternating between the short, loud bark of Allied rifles and concussive pounding of the German machine guns. Just below the racket, Rory heard men fall and curse. He was getting closer.
A painful bellow came from somewhere to his right. Rory diverted and he finally came across two men sprawled in the mud. One was on his back, his limbs constricted as he writhed with agony. His friend was next to him, trying to get him to stop moving so he could help.
“I’m a medic,” Rory said quickly. He put his gun aside and slung off his pack. “Where was he hit?”
“The stomach, I think,” said the other soldier, a slight tremor to his voice. “Carl, calm down. There’s a medic here.”
Rory placed a gentle hand on Carl’s shoulder. “I need to see where you were hit.” He spoke as calmly as one could in the middle of battle.
Carl nodded. His face was smeared with mud, but his tears had cleared a clean path down both cheeks. With considerable effort, he lay back. Immediately, Rory spotted the dark stain on the front of the man’s jacket. He tore the uniform open with his bare hands and lifted Carl’s shirt. Two bullet holes in his left side seeped blood.
Rory carefully probed Carl’s lower back, but he felt no exit wounds. The bullets were still in him. They would need to be extracted, but he couldn’t do it out here. “Are you hurt?” he asked Carl’s friend.
The young man had ginger hair the colour of flames. It reminded Rory of Amy’s hair. “N-no.”
“You need to get Carl back to the tunnels. The doctors there will be able to help him.” Rory reached into his pack and pulled out some gauze. The mud on his hands instantly stained it, but he made sure to place the side that was still clean to Carl’s wound. Then he pulled out a roll of bandages and started to wrap it around Carl’s stomach. He made it as tight as he dared without causing the soldier further pain.
“Of c-course.” The soldier looked over his shoulder. “Blast this snow.”
“Just stay low. We’ll take out this machine gun and-”
Rory didn’t see the rifle until the muzzle was pressed up right against his temple. He froze, his hands midway through a revolution with the bandage around Carl’s middle.
“Bleib wo du bist!”
He ticked his gaze left without moving his head. The German stood on the slight rise above them. Several feet behind him was the machine gun. Rory had been closer than he realized and here he was, talking up a storm and giving away their position.
The other soldier had been looking back, but the German’s shout brought his attention forward. He tensed and his already pale face paled even further.
A bullet to the brain. There was no way Rory could survive that.
“Bitte,” begged Rory. “Dieser Mann ist verletzt.” His German was a bit rusty, he hadn’t had a chance to use it since he left Canada, but he didn’t need that many words to get his point across.
The German scowled. “Nien.”
At the sound of gunfire, Rory’s entire body went stiff, but the rest of it was very peaceful. He didn’t feel a thing.
He blinked. The rifle wasn’t pointed as his head. In fact, the German was gone, too. He risked turning his head, his bullet hole free head, and he saw the German soldier lying flat on his back in the mud. Rory looked to the other soldier with him, but the man was still in the same position, just as perplexed.
Carl lifted a trembling hand and pointed past them.
The snow swirled and a figure stepped forward. The man tipped up the brim of his helmet to survey the scene and he smiled when he saw Rory.
Rory sighed with relief and he allowed himself to relax. “Tim. Thank goodness you were nearby.”
“I heard German.” The phrasing wasn’t unusual, but Rory suspected that Tim didn’t mean “heard” in the traditional sense.
“There’s…” Reminded of the nearby machine gun, Rory looked to where it was positioned. If the German soldier’s comrades had been watching, then they weren’t safe. But when he looked, he saw nothing but an unmanned machine gun and it was silent.
“It’s secure,” said Tim and he spoke with certainty without even having to look.
Rory had been so wrapped up in the moment that he hadn’t noticed if other Allied soldiers had stormed the German soldiers. It didn’t matter anyway. “Can you help?” He gestured to Carl as he finished up with the bandage. “He needs to get back to the tunnels.”
“Of course.” Tim slung his gun over his shoulder and helped Rory to get Carl to his feet. The man groaned and he nearly bowled Tim over as he swayed on his feet. Carl’s friend moved in and helped to steady him.
“We’re lost out here,” said the other soldier.
Rory put his pack back on. “Tim can find the way. Remember, stay as low as possible.”
Both soldiers nodded and they started the slow hobble back to the tunnels. Rory turned his attention in the other direction. The Allied barrage had drifted ahead, but there were no enemy bombs falling in response. It was probably chaos in the German trenches. No one knew what to do.
He took off at a run, keeping his head and shoulders hunched down in case there were more machine guns positioned ahead. After a minute, though, it became obvious that there was no need to worry. The battlefield was devoid of any automatic fire. Any German soldiers who had been quick enough to take up their gunnery positions had been subdued.
He encountered wounded, and the dead, on the way up to the ridge, but it wasn’t as extensive as some of the other battles in which he had participated. Rory helped whoever he could along the way and by the time he reached the objective, the fighting was seemingly over. They had taken the ridge and the first German trench.
At least, what was left of the first German trench. The hurricane barrage that had preceded their charge had done its job. Much of the structure was destroyed or caved in. The prisoners being led out were caked with mud; evidently they had tried to dig themselves out. Rory also noticed that a large number of the prisoners were half-dressed, like they had just rolled out of bed. None of the Germans looked resentful. In fact, a few looked grateful that the bombardment was over.
“Centurion.” Rory didn’t need to turn to know that Jack was calling him. No one else but him knew to use that title. A second later, Jack stood next to him atop the ridge, his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “You made it.”
Like everyone else, Jack had ditched his great coat; it was strange to see him without it. The captain was dirty and a little bloodied, too. Rory thought he saw a few bullet holes in Jack’s uniform. “I had a close call, but Tim came to the rescue. Are the casualties bad?”
“Today, they’re not bad. It’ll get worse, though. The Germans know we’re here now.”
It was aggravating to know that there was nothing they could do, but if they changed history now, who knows what it could do to the future. “I better stock up on supplies, then.”
Around them, the snow continued to fall.
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