Within days of reaching their final stop in England before travelling further towards the front line, the Shelby boys had been split up. Arguments sprang out, angry words spat with poisonous venom, exclamations of anguish and hurt, never had they been split up in such a way before and none of them really knew how to express themselves in a way that didn't result in fighting their way to the people at the top.

Something they couldn't exactly do.

Thomas and Sebastian both had an idea as to why they were split up, it didn't take a man of science to understand that it would only cause favouritism and issues amongst the other troops around them.

They weren't given much time to say their final goodbyes as each of them had a different train to get on, a different time to depart. But the fifteen minutes they did have, they said not a goodbye, but a see you soon. Their superstitions were too embedded within their minds for any them to allow a goodbye to pass through their lips.

A sweet concoction of fear and an unwavering sense of loyalty to one another, God and country. Of course, the loyalty was much stronger between brothers than anything else.

Bash was now the only man left in England, every single brother had said their quick goodbyes, and gotten to their destinations safely, at least, each brother had hoped they had. Communication from that point forward would be nil, but it eased their minds slightly - only very slightly, knowing that none of them were alone.

"Lieutenant Colonel-" a man, no, boy - no older than eighteen, raised his hand rather timidly to ask the first question of the day.

Bash raised his head from the papers that were in front of him, coordinates of where they were going, but that was all. Bash wasn't a man who knew how to read coordinates like they were letters on a page.

"Do you know if we're going to the front line?"

That was one question he could answer, the coordinates to the front line had almost been drilled into his mind, and the ones on his papers weren't what he had seen before.

"I know that we aren't destined for the front line, for now."

It was true, bash knew for a fact that they weren't going to see that much action but he couldn't be so sure if they wouldn't see it for the entirety of the war. He had heard stories of men being rotated from position to position, as the men on the front line grew tired, men from behind are brought forward to take over whilst they recover.

If they ever did truly recover.

"How can-"
"Don't argue with the boss, it's not a good look, nor does it show that we'd have each others back in conflict."

A man, maybe ten years older than Bash was, stood up, talking as if he had been through it once before, showing his maturity with every syllable.

His name tag read Private Dawson, his accent was - well, broadly English, nothing that made it stand out like his own did, but that didn't mean a whole lot anymore. Not with the booming industrialisation of the North.

"I've said that we won't see it for now because if I say we won't see it at all, and three months down the line we're sent there, I'd be nothing more than a liar." Bash's voice cut through the silent bickering between the two soldiers, finally realising why he out of all of his brothers had been chosen to be promoted.

He had a sense of authority about him that Tommy didn't, it was different and people didn't fear him like Arthur - or make people feel too comfortable like John.

The group carried on asking a few questions, until a rather unsettling whistle blew, people walking in and out of their half-tented area like they were trying to prove something to someone that wasn't even there.

"Sorry, Lieutenant..." the youngest of the lot finally mumbled out, head bowed low.

"Let's get one thing clear, lads. Call me Bash, it's the only way I think you will all finally look at me as an equal, because it's what I am."

Bash paused, standing up from where he was sat, papers now firmly back on the table. He'd do anything to make these men feel more comfortable, after all - they were about to become family for the best part of the year.

"I'm just a normal man from Small Heath, with four brothers and a sister. Nieces and nephews for a mile, worked behind a bar since I was old enough to hold a full pint... even did a paper round once, but hated the idea of having to walk through the streets in the pissing rain." The last line gained a few hearty chuckles from the men around him, a sense of newfound familiarity washed over the fourteen men.

As they all began to tell parts of their stories, starting with their names; their actual names, and the gloomy looks they once wore transformed into half smiles, or faces that didn't look quite as scared as before.

The eldest was indeed ten years Bash's senior, Jimmy Dawson, he hadn't lived in Birmingham long- hailing from just slightly more north than Bash had thought. Ormskirk, but he didn't exactly sound like it. It was ... odd, but at least his accent was pleasant enough to listen to.

Then came Stevie Jennings, a local lad from the neighbouring town to Small Heath, eight and a half years in the army as a mechanic, but with no experience behind a gun, he was sent with the volunteers. After him, was another lad from the centre of Birmingham, unknown to many but he seemed nice enough- his name was probably the most familiar part about him. Thomas Arthur.

The youngest of the lot, was a boy named Charlie Burton. He had only just turned eighteen when the plea for soldiers entered the papers and radio. He was; according to him, the first one of his street who had signed up and he was rather proud of the fact.

Bash had made a silent vow to make sure that Charlie got to see his twenty first birthday, and he was sure that a few of the others would do the same.

He wasn't even a man yet, not yet shaved away his first beard and yet here he was. Stood with the rest of the men, his face bore the same solemn look everyone else's did and the uniform he wore made him just another number in the British registry of troops about to fight for a war that wasn't really theirs to fight.

"What are you going to miss the most, Bash?" Young Charlie asked, after the comfortable silence became almost unbearable.

Bash didn't have to think about it for too long, he knew his answer long before the question had even been asked.

"I've got this horse, Ole Faithful, she's- God, she's older than I am... she's probably going to be the one thing I miss the most. Not the wife, not the brothers or sister, but the horse."

The revelation of their lieutenant being married made some of the lads turn their heads to whisper their confusions to those around them, he wore no visible ring and he didn't give off the vibe of being the marrying type. In fact, none of the lads in the half tent gave off that impression, even those who wore visible markers.

"You're married? Shittin' hell." Jim Dawson cracked out, his words were quickly followed by an unexpected bubble of laughter.

"It's not that much of a bloody shock!" Bash bounced back with his reply, a stern look briefly graced his face before his smile ruined the façade.

Before anyone could continue quizzing Bash on his marriage, a head popped through the half opened tent door, beckoning the Lieutenant Colonel to come hither. Bash of course, did as silently told, walking away from the group trying his best not to arouse any more attention than he already had.

When a safe distance away from prying ears, the top dog, as Bash liked to refer to him as, placed his hands in front of him- the same way Bash used to whenever he was trying to tell John bad news.

They were about to be shipped off, he just knew it.

"Gather your thoughts, Lieutenant, you're about three minutes away from leaving. Remember what you are fighting for and who you're fighting for. You'll never lose hope if you remember that." Although his boss had just given Bash some news he didn't want to hear, it was better now than later.

The suspense would've begun to eat away at the lads hope, gnawing away every last piece from the bone.

Never lose hope, easier said by most than done, but he'd be sure to relay the message to his men. News he didn't want to hear, now being relayed to men he didn't know all that well was going to be hard.

No harder than trying to pry conkers out of horses mouths, so on the short way back to the tent he mentally prepared himself.

Rip off the plaster like it was just news about what they were going to eat.

As easy as that.

Easy as that my rear end, Bash thought to himself as he neared the tent.

Unbeknownst to him, all of the lads had an inkling that they were about to leave, why else would someone pull their Lieutenant away for a talk whilst they were all waiting for the command to leave. They watched as Bash paced for a moment, obviously trying to collect his thoughts and felt a pang of sorrow for him.

None of them wanted to be in his shoes. None of them had an ounce of jealousy, knowing that the news he held weighed heavy on his shoulders.

"Come on Bash, we already guessed." Thomas Arthur called out, his body half in half out of the tent.

At that moment, Sebastian Shelby, newly minted Lieutenant Colonel, was grateful for the men he was about to spend (potentially) the rest of his days with.

"Alright then, we've got about two minutes until we need to be on that-"

Silently, the men began their short march, heads held high with the spirit of their ancestors, of their loved ones, of their futures after the war. They were about to dive head first into a chaos they had never seen before but they were all ready.

"Goodbye to the cliffs of Dover, the fields of England, the innocence we all hold."