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19th of December, 1916
Thomas Blake felt something akin to butterflies in his stomach as he followed his superior into the trenches. Behind and in front of him were new soldiers, just like him. Twelve of them now, though he knows that they weren’t the only new group joining the ranks. Thrown into a war nobody really wanted to fight except for world leaders who didn’t have to fight for it themselves.
Up the trenches they walked. The closer they came to the front, the more tired and lifeless the soldiers looked. Tom was not really looking forward to the empty shells of men he’ll encounter at the front line.
Thomas shuddered a bit and pulled the jacket closer around his body as they walked on. It was fairly cold as December was already halfway over. A few soldiers up ahead were warming themselves by a small fire pit they had made.
They reached an intersection. Tom had expected them to go left, where there were less soldiers so they could pass more easily. However, the lieutenant led them to the right. Just as they rounded the corner, Tom could see a large hole in the trench wall with a pile of sand and several bodies buried in it. Before he could question it, the lieutenant grumbled: “grenade explosion.”
Fear gripped Blake’s heart. A single grenade could cause this much damage? The war all of a sudden didn’t seem so fun anymore, no longer an adventure for him. He looked around at the others, they all had the same look of terror on their face, but no one broke the silence.
It didn’t take much longer before they reached the front line. The atmosphere here was way different than the trench line all the way to the back. The soldiers looked haunted, their empty eyes followed the new soldiers’ forms.
“Here is where I leave you, men,” The lieutenant said, not even an ounce of emotion in his voice. He knew he was leading mere boys to their deaths. He had done it in the past and will do so again.
“Listen to your superiors and do your country proud.” With that said, he left them awkwardly standing there as he walked off.
Tom looked around. A few soldiers were playing with cards, others were sleeping, while a few were eating their measly rations of tasteless food. One of the soldiers who were playing card noticed the rookies.
“Ah, new cannon fodder.” He said and let out a humourless laugh. The soldier was extremely skinny and had a dull look in his eyes.
A friend of his elbowed his side. “Don’t mind him,” He said with a much friendlier tone. “Why don’t you join us?”
Blake looked around and saw that most of their original group of twelve had already scattered to find a place to rest or make new friends. Tom himself and two other soldiers were the only ones to give in to the man’s request. They nervously took a seat with the group.
“So, new here, huh?” the same guy from earlier asked them. The three of them nodded.
“Ever fought a battle before?” He continued, to which they shook their head. “Oh well, you’ll learn it soon enough.”
A tense silence followed.
Blake looked around some more, and suddenly his eyes caught a lone figure near a little inlet. The man was sitting, knees drawn to his chest. His head was leaning against the wall behind him, eyes staring dully into nothingness. An extreme aura of sadness and despair seemed to hang around him, Thomas could sense it, even from this far away. The soldier had seemingly dirty blond hair, though it was more dirt than blond at this point.
Tom was still staring at the lone soldier, lost in thought, and thus missed the question that one of the older soldiers asked.
“What? Sorry, I-“ He said quickly, but was interrupted by the skinny man who made the ‘cannon fodder’ remark earlier.
"Making love-eyes already, huh?” he asked with a wide grin. Before Blake could defend himself and make up an excuse, the soldier continued. ‘We were just asking what your name is. I am Wright, John Wright.’
Blake nodded and shook Wright’s outstretched hand. “I’m Thomas Blake.”
They continued to talk for a while, about their pasts, their girlfriends, wives and/ or mothers back home. A sudden movement in the corner of his eyes piqued Blake’s interest and he turned his head right on time to see the lonesome soldier from earlier stand up.
Tom nodded at the general direction of him, “Who is that?”
Wright looked the same way and said, “Oh, him? That’s Lance Corporal Schofield. Bit of a weird guy if you ask me.”
Blake was taken aback by that last comment. “What do you mean?”
Wright’s friend, Jack Lewis, answered for him. “Ever since the Somme, he keeps to himself. Never talks unless he has to. His right hand is always trembling, shellshocked, we think. Keep it quiet though...”
Wright must have seen the question in Blake’s eyes and explained, “The higher-ups see shellshock as cowardness. There have been soldiers executed for it. So shh, yeah?”
Thomas nodded, understanding. The last thing he wanted was to cause a man’s death.
“What is it exactly? ‘Shellshock?'” He asked, keeping his voice down. He hadn’t even heard of this ‘shellshock’ thing before.
The older soldiers didn’t seem to judge him for his ignorance, instead taking the time to explain it. “It doesn’t really have an official definition yet. But here in the trenches, we see it as a syndrome that some develop after traumatic experiences in the war. Usually they hyperventilate, they can’t fall asleep, and when they do, they have nightmares. Some lads even hallucinate. Some can’t walk anymore or lose control over their body. It’s a scary thing, really.”
Schofield had, in the meantime, walked a bit closer to them. Blake could see deep, dark bags under his eyes, Sharp cheekbones poking out, and hollow cheeks. He looked downright unhealthy.
“Does he ever sleep?” Asked Blake. “He looks like he could fall asleep at the spot.”
“Well he probably could fall asleep on the spot right now.” Lewis said with a laugh. “He hardly sleeps, only when his body is so drained that it can’t keep him up anymore. And even then his sleep is still plagued by nightmares. Poor guy wakes up screaming occasionally. Like I said, shellshock.”
“I’m telling you,” added Wright, “the Somme really messed him up. They always say ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,’ but in this case..”
“Has he changed that drastically then?” Tom asked. He didn’t know why he was so invested in the story of this certain soldier, but he just couldn’t help wanting to know more.
“Well, yes.” Another man, James Clarke added. “He’s always been a bit shy and quiet, but opened up easily enough once you got to know him. He was always reading whenever he could. Had made a few good friends here too. Most of them died in the Somme, however.”
With that, Thomas had made up his mind. “I’m going to become his friend.”
The older soldiers must have missed the seriousness in his voice, since they all started laughing. Wright wiped away a tear as he held his stomach. When they saw that Blake wasn’t laughing with them, they stopped.
“Hold up, you’re serious?” Wright asked, still clutching his stomach from earlier. He sat up straight as he noticed the determined look on Blake’s face.
“Dead serious.” He answered. “Just watch me.”
With that said, Tom stood, rolling his eyes at Lewis’ wink as he made his way to Schofield.
19th of December, 1916
Thomas approached Schofield, hands slightly trembling. He doesn’t really know what to expect. Will Schofield talk to him? Ignore him? Tell him to piss off? Only one way to find out, he told himself.
The soldier didn’t even look up as Tom stood next to him, instead kept on staring blandly to somewhere in the distance. It was almost as if he ignored him on purpose.
“Hey, mate. I’m Tom Blake. You look a little lonely there, you alright there?” Blake said joyfully.
Schofield jolted a bit, his eyes went from dull to filled with fear in less than a second. He looked around for a bit, before he focused on the new Private in front of him. Scho seemed startled, but quickly recovered and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Tom in front of him, silently asking him what the hell he was doing here.
"Oh, sorry mate, didn’t mean to scare you.” Blake said as he sat down next to the hardened soldier. Before he could repeat his question, Schofield interrupted him.
“What do you want?” Hissed Schofield.
Thomas was taken aback by the sudden outburst.
“Woah,” he said and raised his hands in the air, taking a step back. “Just wanted to talk a bit, y’know?” The confusion on the Lance Corporal’s face turned into anger and irritation, his right hand trembling even harder.
“No I don’t. Go away.” Schofield went right back to staring into nothing, saying nothing else. Blake took that as his cue to leave. He apologized again as he stood up, and shuffled back to his new mates.
“Better luck next time!” Wright exclaimed as he sat down with a disappointed look on his face.
Lewis seemed to take pity on him and lightly patted his shoulder.
“Don’t feel bad, Private. No one has ever gotten through to him.”
Blake nodded but stayed silent.
The night that followed was spent thinking of all the ways their interaction could have ended differently.
25th of December, 1916
It took a few days for Thomas to recover from the less than friendly encounter with Schofield. The way he was put down still spooked through his mind, and it was Christmas eve when he decided to try again. Perhaps the soldier would be in a better mood now.
Nothing much had happened in the meantime, the bad weather made charges impossible, much to the relief of the soldiers. Rats, fleas, and lice also left the soldiers alone, another thing that brought the soldiers more joy than it would in a war-less world. The downside to the winter weather was definitely the amount of mud that filled their boots, and not to mention the rain that soaked them to the bone.
It was quiet at the front. Blake had hoped that there would be another Truce like in 1914. He was eager to see a German up close and not have to fear for his life, he had heard from older soldiers that it had been a meeting they would never forget. Alas, no such thing. The higher-ups had threatened with execution for everyone who dares exit the trench for a friendly encounter with the enemy. And thus, everybody stayed in their own trenches like obedient, well trained dogs.
Wright and his friends were playing with cards again, close to a little firepit to warm their bodies on this cold Christmas eve. The sky had been showering snow all day long, no man’s land was covered by white powder, the bodies of dead soldiers, and the craters of shells that hadn’t hit their target irregularities on the otherwise perfectly level ground.
Schofield was yet again sitting alone, bundled up in a way too thin blanket over his uniform. He had his knees crossed and was resting with his eyes closed in the inlet Blake had seen him the first time. His right hand was resting atop his knee, always trembling.
Blake approached him, careful not to scare the other man.
“Hey,” he said once he was at a respectable distance. Schofield opened his eyes and looked at him, but didn’t reply.
“The snow’s beautiful today.” Blake continued and sat down next to the Lance Corporal, his eyes fixed on the white powdered ground as silence settled between them. “You know,” he started again, unable to keep quiet, “I think God is on our side.”
That seemed to pique Schofield’s interest. He raised his head and sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean by that?” He seemed on edge, like any wrong word could set off a bomb hidden inside of him. His gorgeous blue eyes were full of interest, ready to take in whatever Blake was going to say.
“Well, it does look like we’re winning. The Germans are retreating.” Thomas quickly explained, hoping to ease down the anxious soldier beside him. However, his words only seemed to make things worse.
“Retr- Retreating?!” Schofield struggled to find the right words for a bit. “Are you fucking stupid?” He stood, shrugging off the blanket that just moments before hung loosely over his shoulders. “This trench.. it’s godless, Blake. The Germans ain’t retreating, they’re obviously preparing for their next charge. This war is far from over.”
The use of his last name was lost on Tom’s ears, he was so taken aback by Schofield’s sudden outburst.
“There is no God here! At least not a good one,” Schofield continued with a disheartened chuckle. “No good God would ever allow this killing.. The slaughtering, the absolute massacre that occurs every day!”
For once in his life, Thomas was left speechless. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, trying to come up with something, but he was stunned by the anger radiating off Schofield.
“You got any other foolish statements?” Schofield hissed, for the first time ever looking Blake straight in the eyes. There was something in those haunted, blue eyes of the older soldier that made Tom’s heart stop. He didn’t know if it was the pained, tormented look that seemed like a silent plea for help; or simultaneously the empty, hollow holes that used to be the mirror to his soul. Blake found himself lost in them.
“No? Well, then kindly piss off.”
Thomas trailed back to his mates like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs.
7th of January, 1917
“Maybe he thinks I’m boring.” Blake pondered. “Perhaps I need to draw his attention with anything that isn’t.. just me introducing myself.” He looked Lewis and Wright in the eyes, silently asking them for their opinion.
“Or perhaps he doesn’t want anything to do with you,” Wright said with a chuckle, giving him a friendly pat on the back.
“No.” Thomas answered, determined. “There must be some way to get through to him!” He stood up, Lewis and Wright wisely kept their mouths shut.
“Oh, I know! Everyone loves my stories, right?” Blake exclaimed and Clarke nodded. “I’ll just tell him a story!”
Thomas walked away from them and towards Schofield, before any of them could stop him. He heard a faint, seemingly sarcastic “You do that!” but didn’t react.
Schofield was casually eating a sandwich when Blake sat down next to him. His right hand shook as he brought the food to his mouth, nearly dropping it, while his other hand was wrapped tightly around his rifle; knuckles white. He grimaced as Blake approached, but didn’t make a move to go sit somewhere else.
“Have I ever told you the story of the three apples?” Thomas started, a huge grin on his face. It was a story that always made him laugh, no matter how bad the times were.
“No.” Schofield said. “And I don’t want to hear it.”
Tom ignored him, instead he sat down into a more comfortable position, and started his story: “So this one takes place around 1910. We have a large orchard at home with different types of trees, including apple trees. And in the house over ours lived a young girl-”
A bit further away sat Lewis, Wright, and Clarke. They were eating their lunch, a soup that had long gone cold with a piece of bread that should’ve been thrown out a week ago. They were laughing their butts off at the faces of an overenthusiastic Blake next to a disinterested Schofield.
Wright silently applauded Blake for his perseverance, for he would have given up trying to become the other soldier’s friend a long time ago. Tom seemed very keen on buddying up with Scho.
Lewis and Clarke absolutely lost it as Schofield rolled his eyes at a piece of Blake’s story, however Blake himself was completely oblivious to the soldier’s lack of interest. Hence why they were astonished when Schofield cracked a little smile at what seemed like the punchline of the story.
“So Mum comes out, absolutely ballistic, she’s screaming: ‘who took my apples?’ with Joe and I in tow. And the girl just looks up at her from where she’s sittin’, mouth full of apple, her entire dress is covered in bloody apple sauce.”
Thomas finishes his story, tears in his eyes from laughing. He looked to his left, expecting to see a stoic Schofield, expression as neutral as ever. However, to his surprise, Schofield was grinning widely, yellowed teeth visible. His eyes were shut, shielding the striking blue orbs from Blake’s view.
“Bloody hell!” Blake exclaimed and Schofield immediately stopped his chuckling. “I actually made you laugh!”
Schofield’s face turned back to an indifferent expression as best as he could.
“Shut up”, he said and poked Blake in the ribs, trying his best to hold back a smile, but failing. A cute, shy smile crossed his face as he sat back up straight. “It was a good story though.”
“Oh! I’ve got another joke for ya”, said Blake. He’d had a taste of Scho’s joy and it seemed like he was addicted; he wanted more. For a moment, he had succeeded in making an unhappy person laugh, and he wished to do it again.
“An old chap, Gary, left his family to go to war. What crossed his mind when he was in the trenches?”
It was quiet for a bit, Schofield was thinking hard about a possible answer, his eyes turned to the sky as he was deep in thought, while Blake was looking up at him, anticipation and enthusiasm clear in his body language. He was eager to tell the punchline and make his mate laugh again.
“Good golly, I don’t know.” His right hand shaking as he brushed away a strand of blond hair that had fallen into his eyes.
Thomas took note of Scho’s use of ‘good golly’. It was adorable and so him. It fit his old-fashioned manners and aura. Little did he know the mood was about to change drastically.
“A bullet!” Blake smacked his thighs as he giggled, though he stopped as soon as he saw the unamused, almost angry expression on Schofield’s face.
“Is that it?” the Lance Corporal hissed, and for a moment Blake thought that he perhaps didn’t get the joke. “You think this war is a joke? That thousands of men losing their lives is funny?”
For the second time since meeting this man, Tom was left speechless. He wanted to excuse himself, make it up to Scho, though he didn’t even know what he did wrong. “No, I-“
“Ha – ha!” Schofield fake laughed, and Blake thought the older man had lost his mind. “So funny, my best friend gets shot in the head and falls down in front of me, hilarious!" His eyes were wide and unfocused, arms flailing around.
In his rage, Scho had stood, and so had Tom. He grabbed the Lance Corporal’s arm in an attempt to calm him down and yelled: “Scho, stop!”
“Oops, I fell over his corpse!” Schofield yelled as he pretended to trip. “And, woah, so hilarious, other men are crying out in agony to their mothers as they are slowly dying! Let’s joke about it!” His eyes were wide and unfocused, arms flailing around.
“Scho!” Blake tried to interrupt.
This was not the quiet, withdrawn man he knew. He had never seen the older soldier like this before, and he quickly decided that he didn’t like it. He didn’t know where Scho was getting all these situations from.. With a shudder he realised that those things had probably happened to Schofield in the previous years of the war.
Some soldiers around them threw them weird, unreadable looks, yet did not intervene.
“Well now, there’s a bullet in my leg. What do I do about it, huh?” He just went on and on. Blake threw a helpless look to Wright and his mates as he attempted to calm down the Lance Corporal. Fortunately, they quickly got the hint and ran towards a struggling Tom and manic Scho.
“Let go of him,” Lewis whispered in his ear and pulled him away from Schofield. Wright dragged Scho off, who had started to sob uncontrollably, to calm him down, away from the sights of others.
“What was that?” Blake asked once they were out of earshot.
“That, Blake, is a shellshocked man.” Lewis sighed as he sat down and motioned for Tom to do the same. Scho’s cries echoed through the trenches. It hurt his ears, he wanted to do nothing more than comfort his new friend, though he supposed Scho wouldn’t want to see him right now.
“Now, I don’t know what you said, but it must have reminded him of the Somme, somehow.” Lewis looked at him expectantly, clearly wanting to hear what he had said.
“I just told a joke, and suddenly he got extremely distraught.” He took Lewis’ silence as a message to elaborate more. “It was about a guy being shot in the head.”
Thomas knew he had done something extremely wrong when Lewis groaned and ran a hand down his face. “That’s the worst joke you could have told.”
It was silent for a while between them.
“Was the Somme so bad, then?”
Lewis nodded. He looked up briefly as someone walked past but redirected his focus to Blake. “I wasn’t there, but the things I’ve heard are… I can’t even describe it. I don’t know the exact numbers, but apparently on the first day of the Somme, there were around twenty thousand dead on our side alone. Another sixty thousand wounded. It was a massacre. From what I’ve heard, Schofield served the first day, was wounded and retreated from battle. Then he served again at Thiepval, nearly a month later.”
“Bloody hell.” Thomas gasped. “Poor Scho.” He noticed that said soldier’s sobs had started to cease. Lewis didn’t respond and he himself stayed quiet too.
After dinner, Wright had joined Blake and Lewis, while Schofield was in the inlet he was sitting in before, blankly staring ahead, right hand always trembling.
“Is he alright?” Blake asked and Wright nodded.
“He will be. He’s just sulking a bit now, wanted to be alone. He’ll probably have nightmares this night, since you reminded him of the Somme.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Thomas couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty. He had only wanted to friendly interact with the Lance Corporal, and it had seemed to be working until he had messed up and gone too far.
“Yeah. Just never tell a joke like that again.” Wright didn’t seem very happy with his behaviour, which only added to Blake’s regret.
And that night, Blake cried himself to sleep to the sounds of Schofield begging for help in his own nightmare.
January 27th, 1917
The cold, freezing winter days were finally over and the trenches warmed up as January reached its end. It was warm enough to shed their blankets and extinguish their bonfires during the day. Though at night the soldiers slept as close as possible to each other, trying to warm themselves with another man’s body heat, their teeth clacking as they shivered.
Blake’s khaki uniform was soaked, no longer keeping him warm in the drenching rain. He hated thinking about how long he still had to wear this one before he could switch to another one.
He was walking around aimlessly near the back of the trench lines, a wave of shelling last night had taken out a nearby trench at the front and Tom had been anxious that soon he too would meet his end. Luckily, the higher-ups had ordered a rotation, and the sections on the frontline retreated to the back, which allowed them to live probably a week longer. Blake was happy to finally be away from the front, the unexpected shelling, and possibly even worse: the lice and rats.
His eye caught a lone soldier shielding from the rain under a large weeping willow. He approached him, and recognized Schofield, who was drenched and miserable as well, looking at old photographs with a face that made it clear to everyone that he was yearning for home.
Still feeling guilty from the joke that had catastrophic consequences, Blake walked and sat down next to the Lance Corporal. He hadn’t had a chance to apologize yet, Schofield had been avoiding him after their conversation.
“I’m sorry.” Blake said. Scho didn’t look up from his pictures. “For the joke, it was uncalled for.” Blake sighed and sat down next to him.
The elder soldier nodded and looked up briefly, before focusing back on his pictures, and Blake felt hopeful, perhaps their friendship – were they even friends? - wasn’t entirely lost.
“I didn’t know that it was such a sensitive issue for you.” Again a nod. “But now I do, so I’ll stick to the funny stories now.” Blake finished and laughed, while Schofield smiled gently.
“I appreciate that.” Schofield took a small tin box out of his chest pocket and tenderly put the pictures away. Blake could faintly make out a young woman on one of them. Was Schofield married? Did he already have children? Sure, he was older than Thomas, but he couldn’t be that old, could he? Perhaps around the age of his older brother, Joe?
Shaking off that thought, Blake desperately sought for something to start a conversation.
“I-“ He started, waiting until he got Scho’s attention. “I never really got your name.”
“It’s Sc-“ before he could finish, Blake interrupted him again.
“No, I meant your first name,” he explained and chuckled awkwardly.
“Oh.”
It was quiet for a moment, and Blake thought he’d gone too far. He took in Scho’s facial features; the small blue eyes with dark circles from exhaustion beneath. Next he beheld the straight nose and pink, slightly plump lips. He wondered what his hair might look like, had it not been cut as short. He looked like a Jack, Blake wondered, or a Ryan.
“William.”
“What?”
“It’s William.. Will.” Schofield clarified.
Blake grinned widely, which Sc- Will mirrored, and held out his hand for the other soldier to shake. “Nice to meet you, William Schofield.”
Scho shook his hand and said with a chuckle: “Likewise, Thomas Blake.”
Thomas had his head too much in the clouds to ponder about how Will knew his full name.
5th of February, 1917
“Mail’s here,” a young boy, the trench’s postman, yelled. Soldiers from their trench and nearby trenches gathered around him as he was handing out the letters he carried.
“I’ve got one for William Schofield!” He shouted with a heavy English accent, and Schofield took a while to respond and reach out to take the letter. He had been awaiting a letter back from his sister, but he hadn’t expected one so soon.
“Watcha got?” An overly excited Blake asked next to him. “I got a letter from my mum.” He added, clearly impatient to open it.
“Let’s go sit somewhere private.” Schofield suggested and Blake nodded.
Side by side they walked to the little inlet where Blake had first seen Scho. It felt like it had become their little spot to hang out while in the trenches. When not at the front line, they too had a few trees where they liked to spend time at, pondering over their existence and the war.
Will sat down with Tom next to him and glared at the small, grey envelope in his hand. He had a bad feeling about it for some reason. Blake, on the other hand, had opened his letter and was reading through it with a giant smile on his face.
“Good news?” Scho asked and Thomas nodded.
“My dog is having puppies! I can’t wait to meet them! I can just imagine what they look like..” He said and went off on all the possible coat colours and markings the pups could have.
“That’s cute.” Will responded, but he couldn’t help but think: ‘if you make it out of this damned war’.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Thomas who was gesturing at the unopened letter in his hands. “Read it!”
Schofield nodded, took a deep breath and opened the letter with shaking hands, his right hand always trembling more than the left one.
Dear Will,
He read. Though there was nothing different about the heading than on other letters, it felt wrong. Like the person who wrote it had been.. occupied with something else, had something else on their mind.
The reason for that soon became clear as he read the next line.
It is with heavy heart that I regret to inform you that your sister has passed away.
“No.” He whispered; surely this must be some kind of joke? His dear sister couldn’t have passed away, right? She hadn’t even turned 25 yet, she’s got an entire life ahead of her! She had just met this nice boy and-
Thomas seemed to notice his distress and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. With tears in his eyes and hands trembling so bad he could hardly make out the words, he read on.
Her house was bombed last night. She did not suffer. I am so sorry for your loss. She was a lovely woman. I wish you much strength to process her death.
Regards,
Father.
“No!” Scho said again. He read the letter over and over again, the words twisting in his head. It simply couldn’t be! His sister, the sweetest woman on earth.
“What’s wrong?” whispered Blake in his ear, hand on his shoulder tightening, but Scho could only shake his head.
“She’s dead.. Eleanor’s dead.” Tears fell from his eyes, ran down his reddened cheeks. The salty droplets landed on the cursed letter, making some words unreadable. Blake immediately engulfed him in a tight hug, shielding him from the cruel world and the other soldiers with their judging stares.
“I’m so sorry, Scho.” Blake whispered gently, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. “I’m so sorry.”
“It just can’t be!” he attempted to hold back his sobs, to appear strong, but it was no use. Tom’s presence was a surprising comfort in these tough times. “Just let everything go.” He heard Blake mutter tenderly, and that’s all it took for Will to ascend in a full on mental breakdown.
Everything he’d been holding back all came out now and it was with full force. The trenches, the loss of his best friends at the Somme, his sister’s death, and just the overall hopelessness he felt every day from this damned war. The itching and hurting, the isolation and learned helplessness that had taken over the normal way of life.
Will had had enough of it.
But before he could let his mind wander to a successful method to deprive himself of his doomed life, Blake’s hand had found its way into his dirty blond hair and Schofield found himself thinking that perhaps not every single thing in the trenches was cursed.
Blake was likely the most sacred soul around.
16th of February, 1917
Blake was not happy to be back in the trenches. No matter how badly he had missed his mates’ company, no matter how much he’d missed Will’s soothing presence, he had absolutely not missed the rats, lice, measly food rations and startling gunfire. It had been harder to leave his friends behind, praying to God that they would not be killed by shells, bullets, and whatever other dangers lurk in the trenches. Though he’d had a week of training and had enjoyed the peace and quiet behind the trench lines.
But now he was back, ready for battle. Thomas joined Schofield at the inlet he was resting at, enthusiastically waving his new badge of Lance Corporal around. “Look at what I got!”
Will raised both eyebrows at the badge, obviously not as thrilled as Blake was. “Congratulations.” He said, voice devoid of any emotion. “Now they can send you in to more battles and kill you off easier.”
Blake sighed at his mate’s pessimistic outlook and sat down next to the bloke, his hand casually resting on Scho’s shoulder. “At least I’m equal to you now!”
“Yeah.” Answered William distantly, not quite looking Blake in the eye.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Tom asked with a lowered voice. Something was clearly bothering the other soldier, and he knew how hard it was for Will to talk about things.
“Nothing.” Will started but knew from the look in the younger soldier’s eyes that Blake wasn’t buying his lies. “It’s just..” He took a minute to gather his thoughts. “There was a shelling.. John Wright was hit.”
Blake didn’t know what to say.
“D- Don’t worry, he’s still alive! Just had his arm blown off.” Scho added when he saw the mortified look in Tom’s eyes as if that was any consolation. “He’ll probably go home once he’s recovered enough. Plus Clarke’s there to keep him company, had a severe case of trench foot.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have-“
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you weren’t there. It could have been you.”
Blake didn’t ask Schofield to elaborate on that. He hoped it meant what he thought it meant.
It was after dinner when the night found Schofield and Blake talking to forget their troubles.
“I’m telling you, training was though!” Blake had found his smile back and was enlightening Will on all kinds of weird and funny stories of his time away from the trenches. “One day we had to live through the day with no food since they hadn’t calculated their rations right! I’ve never been so hungry in my life. I’ve heard that two men fainted at the end of the day, too.”
It was quiet for a moment and Tom could just about see the gears turning in Will’s head.
“At the Somme,” Scho began and Thomas knew that it was time to be silent. Will almost never talked about the Somme, so when he does, it is important. “After our charge, there was this guy waist-deep stuck in mud. I couldn’t get him out on my own and there was no one around for help.” Will paused before adding with a sarcastic chuckle: “Well, no one alive, that is.”
The joyful look that had appeared in his eyes earlier was now fully overshadowed by immense sadness and guilt. His blue eyes that normally held the sea in them, now merely held lonely droplets of rain on drizzly day.
“I told him I’d go get help. So I crawled back, through no man’s land, over dead bodies of fallen friends, through litres of blood mixed with mud, to our trenches.” Schofield wiped away a stray tear. Blake noticed how difficult his friend had it, and his hand moved from Scho’s shoulder to his back in a comforting motion.
“When I got there, some officers chewed me up for returning but they brought me over to a field hospital for my injuries. They never once let me tell them about the stuck soldier.” Another tear was wiped away as discretely as possible.
“I still hear him shout in my dreams. He blames me for his death. I left him there to starve and rot away.” For the third time in his presence, William burst out crying. Blake didn’t know what to do, he awkwardly stroked his friend’s back, whispering utter nonsense, like ‘it’s going to be okay.’ Was it ever going to be okay in this war?
“I understand.” Thomas said and it was perhaps the stupidest thing he could have said. “I understand what you’re going through. At the training-”
“Do you now?” Schofield hissed and broke free from Blake’s grasp. “Really? Do you know what it’s like to see your best friend get blown to bloody pieces right in front of you?”
“No, but-“
“Do you know what it feels like when you see men drown in puddles of mud or bleed to death while their organs are in their hands, screaming for their mums? No, you don’t. So shut up!”
“But-“ Blake tried again.
“That’s your problem, you never know when to shut up, to just be quiet!”
Blake kept his mouth shut as tears welled in his eyes. Didn’t Will like his company? Or had it all been an act, had he been too kind to shoo him away? Perhaps everyone else thought so too, and perhaps no one really wanted him around. They all thought he was a menace to their peace and quiet during their off times at the front.
“Go away.” Will hissed once he had calmed down enough to stop yelling, though his breathing was still laboured.
“Will-“ Blake tried to object, but to no avail.
“Fucking leave.” Schofield emphasized every word and Blake left with a defeated frown on his otherwise so joyful face.
That night, the fellow British soldier that Schofield left to starve visited him in his dream again. His cheeks were sunken, cheekbones quite visible. His hands no longer had flesh on them, but merely consisted of bone. The uniform was way too big on his malnourished body, the pants almost falling off the poking hipbones and the service coat hanging on him like a dad’s shirt on his little girl.
“You.” The man said, and his skeletal finger pointed at Schofield who was now stuck in the mud as well. The mud reached to his waist, and no matter how much he struggled, Will could not get out.
“This is your fault.” The soldier said with a raspy voice. His hair was falling out in chunks and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “You left me there to rot. So now you must suffer the same fate.”
William didn’t answer. He knew what was to come. He’d had this dream so many times yet it never stopped frightening him.
Suddenly time increased tenfold as the scenery around them changed. They were no longer alone, instead there were a number of soldiers around them. Scho and the British soldier moved at normal speed while the other dying soldiers around them were all sped up.
To his right was a young boy, probably not older than seventeen, stuck in the mud, just like them. Schofield was positive he had seen him around in the trenches a few times. He struggled to get out, but the only thing he achieved was wearing his body out. He laid there, exhausted, as slowly his body got thinner and thinner until he passed away. The crows picked at his remains until there was only his lower body left, still stuck in mud, and a few skeletal bones.
Then, in front of him was a group of men. With a shock he realised that he knew them. The five of them are- used to be his best friends in the trenches. A whistle sounded through the air, and Scho was shaken out of his thoughts. The men had been ordered to charge at the German front line but didn’t get very far. One by one they were shot down by an invisible line of German soldiers, some instantly dead, while others were left to slowly bleed to death as they laid helplessly on the bloody soil, calling out to him for help.
One of them – David Wilson, Will knew, they had been inseparable - managed to not get killed by guns, however his life ended not too long after. It all happened so fast. One second the man was running along a line of barbed wire, the next his body was shot high up in the air by a shell as his limbs were torn off of his body by sheer force of the explosion. One of his arms wacked Will on the head before it landed close by in the mud. He cried out, trying to shield himself from the blood spattering on his face but it was no use.
“Please, stop it!” Will pleaded. He didn’t want to see all of this again. He had seen enough of it at the Somme. He was crying now, his cheeks covered in wet lines that the salty tears had left behind as they dripped off his face.
“Schofield,” he heard faintly somewhere in the background. He looked around, but there was no one calling his name. An older soldier was gurgling as he drowned in the mud and his own blood, his body paralysed by a bullet to the spine.
Close by was a young woman, she seemed to be looking for something. Her familiar form took Will’s breath away.
“Eleanor.” He whispered. She turned around with a smile, and waved at him. She mouthed his name, but before he could call out to her again, she too was hit by a shell. He watched in horror as her body was ripped apart, almost in slow motion. Her head was torn off her torso, the smile never leaving her precious face. Schofield turned away before he could see where the rest of her landed.
A bullet wound had suddenly appeared somewhere on his thigh. He couldn’t see it through the mud, but he could damn well feel it. Within a minute it had gotten infected too, and Schofield could just feel the infection spreading through his entire body. It hurt like hell, but he knew that the nightmare was almost over. He just had to-
“Scho,” he heard again.
The soldier he’d left looked at him with a disgusted expression on his dirt-streaked face. “No one is coming to help you.” He said. “No one is willing to help a bloody piece of shit like you are.”
The man paused for a moment to let his words sink in. Schofield thought that he was finished, normally the soldier kept quiet after that as they witnessed another few men run to their deaths and then the nightmare ended as Will woke up to another dimension of hell.
However, this time, the man continued: “You should be fucking terrified when you die, because I’m going to haunt you like a damn deranged ghost. I’ll be awaiting you in Hell.”
Before Schofield could work out what that even meant, the voice came again.
“Will.”
Schofield closed and opened his eyes again, staring straight into the worried eyes of Blake. He couldn’t put into words how happy he was to see his friend. The soldier had never before said those last words to him, it had truly shaken him to his core. What on earth could they mean?
“Are you alright, mate? You were crying and screaming...”
William could only shake his head. Blake’s expression softened and he spread his arms wide.
Nothing more was said between them as Thomas engulfed Will in a tight hug and let him cry it all out on his shoulder.
17th of February, 1917
It was a peaceful day behind the trenches. Blake was resting under their favourite willow on the grounds while Schofield sat next to him. It was still a bit chilly out as it was mid February. There was still a tense silence between them from their conversation from yesterday, though Tom had offered an apology which Will had accepted with a grateful smile.
Blake had been shocked to hear of all those things the Lance Corporal had been through. Suddenly this war didn’t seem so fun anymore. He’d wanted to join the army as soon as possible to follow in his brother’s footsteps, though he now heavily regretted it. When he joined, he had expected glorious charges and heroic deeds as he fought for his country. He had never expected millions of men living in horrendous conditions as they slowly rot away as if that one mile that they gained could make them win the war. He wished he had stayed at home, with the ever so beautiful cherry trees and his mum and lovely Myrtle with her pups.
Why were they even here? To obey their superiors and be send to their deaths? And for what? Because one semi-important guy got assassinated and everyone got mad at each other? Is that why an entire generation of young men are suffering every single day again and again in the trenches? Why mothers had to receive the news that their sons died? Why wives had to live on without a husband, and kids without their father? Blake had lost all respect for the war.
Schofield had been quiet too. Blake didn’t know if the older soldier was still mad at him, or if he had seen something particularly gruesome in his nightmare. He supposed he didn’t really want to know.
“Scho.” Blake said and waited for the older man to acknowledge him. Once he did with a nod, Tom continued.
“Why are we here?”
Schofield didn’t seem surprised with his question. “Because we are.” He answered simply, shrugging. He was picking at some blades of grass, right hand trembling as always.
“No.” Blake answered. He eyed his dirty uniform. “Why are we fighting this war?”
Schofield let go of the grass knot he was making and shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
“I just want to go home.” Thomas missed his home. He missed the smell of the country side with its beautiful cherry trees on their farm. He missed always-excited Myrtle, her pups must be so big already. He missed his mum and Joe – if Joe was still alive by now. Hell, he even missed his dad, even though he had left them when they needed him most.
But no need to dwell on the past.
“I just got my leave.” Schofield whispered, and Blake was not sure if he had heard it correctly.
“Wha-?”
“But I don’t want to go back home.” Thomas couldn’t believe his ears. Not wanting to go home? That’s what most soldiers dreamed of!
“Why not?” He asked, though he already knew the answer. Will had nothing to come back home to.
Luckily Schofield did not take offense, instead he stayed silent.
“I wish I could give it to you.” Schofield said instead. “I know you want to go home.”
Thomas nodded, grateful that his friend had even considered that idea, however impossible it may be. “About last night-“ He started on a different subject, but his fellow Lance Corporal interrupted him.
“Quiet. I don’t want to talk about it.”
With another nod, Blake shut up. However, natural to his talkative personality, he couldn’t keep quiet for another minute.
“Why are we really here, though?”
Schofield stood up with a sigh, joints cracking as he did so. “Remember Blake, we’re here because we’re here,” he sang to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. As he walked off, still singing, several soldiers joined in and together they sang the song of hopeless soldiers who were in this hell all together.
Blake had come to a shocking realisation after Will had left. He- he liked Scho. And he liked him much more than just as ‘a friend’. He loved staring in the blue oceans that were his eyes, he loved gently stroking his hair whenever the Lance Corporal was upset or terrified. Hell, he even liked letting his eyes drop to his friend’s rotund behind once every while, when he was certain that no one was looking.
Tom knew it was wrong, that it was a sin to like another man, but he simply couldn’t help it. Everyone was lonely in the trenches, plus Schofield was exactly his type. Blond hair and blue eyes, precisely what he liked in women, and in men too, apparently.
He shook his head, no need to dwell on it. Scho would never ever like him back like that. And even if he did, how small that chance would be, they would both be killed before they had a chance spend their lives together, whether it was through combat or society.
But, as said before, Schofield would never like him back, that much is certain.
4th of March, 1917
The ground shook under their feet as the numerous soldiers attempted to search for cover. Loud bangs echoed in the air, drowning out the screams of the frightened soldiers. A young Private next to Blake was shot up in the air as a shell exploded nearby. His body was torn apart and body parts shattered the already blood-spilled soil.
Schofield had gone awfully quiet, the look in his eyes was distant and Blake knew that he was stuck somewhere in his head. “Scho!” He yelled and nudged the Lance Corporal. The older soldier did not react. A fresh wave of bombardments blew the soil under their feet and the soldiers around them apart.
Suddenly a loud BOOM shook them both to their core, the world tipped and tumbled and then everything went black.
The first thing Thomas noticed as he came to was the suffocating darkness he was in. The next thing that came to his attention was a warm, wet patch of something liquid running down his leg, and the horrible pain that came with. It was dead silent around him for a while as he struggled to find a way out of the darkness, though slowly but surely sound filtered back through.
“-ake!” He heard a somewhat familiar voice, but couldn’t tell where it came from.
“Blake!” It came again. He tried to move, but found himself pinned down by heavy pieces of rubble on top of him. His hand was the only thing he was able to move, and he did so, weakly moving his fingers around.
All of a sudden, a warm and secure hand grabbed his. Blake cried out; was it Satan’s hand reaching out, ready to punish him for his sinful nature?
He was pulled out of the dark by that strong grip and for a moment he was blinded by the light. It stunk, was the second thing he noticed, after the sudden light. It smelled like death, the leaden smell of spilled blood.
“Are you okay?” A familiar voice sounded worriedly, Blake recognized it as Will’s. He had no time to reply before another shell exploded close by.
“We need to get out of here!” The same voice yelled. The hand moved from his own hand to his arm, and before he could even get the dirt out of his eyes, he was pulled along.
“I can’t see!” He yelled back, but the other soldier did not stop. They ran across the trenches, Blake still attempting to get the dust out of his eyes, as shells exploded around them left and right. As they moved further, Blake often tripped over what he assumed where corpses. He felt cold liquid spatter on his bare foot – his one shoe had come off – and he did not know whether it was mud, rain, or blood. He did not want to know.
He heard the crying and screaming around them. Men crying out as they were dying, begging for their mum or for God to come and save them. One even yelled to a friend to put him out of his misery. It was now that Blake realised the true horrors of war, why Schofield was so sensitive to jokes about death.
Finally they stopped and Thomas was allowed a moment of rest. He panted as he tried to catch his breath. He grabbed his water bottle to rinse his eyes and afterwards he took a sip.
“Are you okay?” Schofield repeated. Tom didn’t answer, he could only whimper as another shell blew up with a loud boom.
Will noticed his distress and, despite his own fear, held his friend close and told him it would be alright. Blake noticed that they were farther away from the front line, Scho had probably led them farther down the trench structure. “We should be safe here”, he had said.
Blake nodded, though he was still on edge. He closed his eyes tightly and he felt how William patted him down to check for injuries.
“Your leg is bleeding quite badly. You should get it checked out once the shelling stops. I think you’re fine otherwise.”
“What about you?” Countered Blake. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Answered the older soldier, though Blake could see blood running down the side of his face. He did not press further.
It was silent for a while, if you excluded the constant battering from shells, neither of them knew what to say.
The ground blew up a trench away from them and both Lance Corporals winced in fear. “I’m scared”, Blake admitted finally. His body was trembling, breathing ragged. “I’m so fucking scared.”
And just like how Blake had comforted him after his millionth nightmare, Scho pulled his friend close in a hug. One hand stroked the shaking boy’s back, while the other softly petted his hair.
“It’s going to be okay.” He whispered, trying to calm the other down. “I’m here with you, you’re not alone.”
Tom nodded but could not stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. “I wish I was at home.” He whispered in reply.
“I know. Everyone does.” Blake did not know what to think when he felt Will’s soft lips press a gentle kiss on his uncovered neck. He decided to ignore it, perhaps it was by accident.
However, he was unable to ignore it as it happened again. Schofield’s large hands moved to both sides of his head, forcing Thomas to look the older soldier in the eye. He couldn’t stop but be surprised about how blue Scho’s eyes really were every time he looked into them.
Schofield’s eyes were full of emotion, desperate to feel something after so long. They looked into each other’s eyes, Blake felt Will’s warm breath on his face.
He thought they were going to kiss, he really did.
They moved closer and closer, until William moved his face away at the last moment, burying it in the crook of Tom’s neck instead.
The shelling now sounded farther away, and he felt calmer than before, but he couldn’t help but be disappointed.
6th of April, 1917
The next time Blake and Schofield saw each other, it was pretty awkward. They had both spent some time in a field hospital to be treated for their wounds, but they were both put in different units.
Neither mentioned the almost-kiss, but it felt as if their friendship wasn’t like it used to be. Even Lewis noticed that something was different between them, though he did not mention it. They were both distant, waiting for the other to make a move and try and solve this. Blake didn’t quite know what there was to solve, while Schofield couldn’t help but feel guilty that he actually gave in to his sinful desires.
It was still early in the morning as the two Lance Corporals were resting against the willow they had claimed. Schofield had a very bad feeling about today, and tried to sleep it off. So far nothing bad had happened yet, but in war you never know.
It was unusually warm for the sixth day of April and Schofield had already doffed the outer layer of his uniform. The sun shone brightly and trapped the heat in his wool pants.
“Hey, Scho.” Blake tried to get his attention. Will looked at his friend and shielded his eyes with his palm from the intense sunlight. He nodded and Blake continued.
“About yesterday-“
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Schofield said shortly after a sigh. He turned away from the younger soldier and closed his eyes again to show that he was done with this conversation.
“Do you- how do you feel about me?” Blake asked instead, ignoring Scho’s remark, as he inched a bit closer.
It was quiet for a moment. Tom looked at the other Lance Corporal expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“You’re a good friend.” He said after a while, opening his eyes again and looking at Blake with an unimpressed stare.
“No!” Tom countered, perhaps a bit too loud. “No. I mean- with the..” He continued quieter. He fell silent before he finished, whispering: “kiss.” He licked his lips, eager for Scho’s response.
“I don’t like men.” William said simply, but Blake noticed how his eyes were filled with lust and followed the trail of his tongue over his lips. It was quite obviously a lie.
“Are you sure?” Blake answered. He too felt lust building in his mind and he loved it. Never before had he felt this way. He wanted Schofield, all of him, no matter how sinful or forbidden it was. He crawled closer to Will, until he was close enough to touch the other. His left hand rested on the older man’s thigh, while the other crept upwards to cradle his head.
Scho’s eyes landed on him. He too raised his trembling right hand to grab a few strands of Tom’s brown hair. He pulled the other closer until their noses were nearly touching, then whispered:
“Now that you mention it, no.” His normally stoic face morphed into an insecure, tight smile.
“That’s fine.” Tom said and caressed the blond’s cheek. “I’m not sure either. Perhaps I do like men.” He smirked and leaned in closer, and suddenly their lips were touching. He got as close as he could and even moved onto Scho’s lap as their mouths moved against each other. Will moaned softly.
Tom would like to say that it felt like fireworks exploding as their lips touched, but honestly, it didn’t. The kiss was heavenly and everything he ever longed for, but that’s how it was going to stay as. Never could they take their friendship to a higher level. Never could they kiss or hold hands in public, and much less could they make love to each other. There was an unresolved sexual tension between them that they could never act up on. They knew they could not be seen like this.
That’s just the way things were.
He knew that. They both knew that. They were both lonely soldiers, living in horrible conditions, searching for some affection. Neither knew when they were going to pass away. It could be when they were in their seventies, or it could be tomorrow. Perhaps even today.
They broke apart suddenly as they heard footsteps approaching, and recreated the distance between them that they had managed to close just a few seconds ago. A lone soldier walked by, a Corporal, and they both saluted the man. As soon as he was gone, Blake and Schofield let out a nervous laugh.
“So-“
“So.”
There was a silence, but it was not uncomfortable at all. Blake turned back towards Schofield and sighed deeply.
“I really like you. More than as a friend.” He admitted. Will smiled gently.
“I do too, to be honest.”
Neither of them spoke after that and they both fell into a dreamless slumber.
Blake was harshly woken up by the voice of his Sergeant booming by his ear.
“Blake,” A harsh kick to his leg. “Blake!”
Tom removed the helmet off his head and sat up. “Sorry, Sarge.” He said, still tired. Schofield too woke up by now.
“Pick a man. Bring your kit.” With that said, the Sergeant left them alone.
The wind had picked up, the sun was hiding behind the clouds, and the uneasy feeling that something terrible was about to happen came back to Schofield.
Together they walked all the way back to the trenches, and further to the frontline.
Together, they went on a journey.
Alone, Schofield came back.
He knew he never should have befriended the positive minded, friendly chap. It only brought on more hurt in the end.
Schofield assumed he had something like Midas’ touch, everything he touched turns into gold.
Except his touch might be more of a curse: Schofield’s Touch.
Everything he touches, dies.