Violence warning

Tommy

Tommy had been separated from Dawson as soon as they had set foot in the camp. And although he hadn't know the other Englishman for more than a night, Tommy had become saddened by the loss of company. It was to be another night of restless sleep.

He was surprised they had been put together at first anyway. Everyone knew it was dangerous to force the enemy together. But Tommy had noticed the lack of common sense that the soldiers that guarded them had. Not only did they tie fences and poles with rope, but they left their keys at their posts constantly, whether that be guarded or not.

From where he was dumped, he could see the keys, hanging in plain sight. He was confined to another ditch, this time blocked at the top by a small fence. He had supposed it had been as a result of the Frenchmen that had escaped two days prior. Ultimately, they had been shot.

The keys were a little over half a meter from his place, given that he had been placed near the soldiers posts, where they held prisoners in solitude. If he stretched his arm, his finger tips could graze its cold metal.

As he attempted to sleep, the soft glimmer of silver distracted his mind. Tommy eyed it bitterly. The guard beside the key slept, uncaring. Rigidly, he lifted the weighted ball, bringing it up to lean between the fence, that started at his chest, and his shoulder. Reaching his arm out slowly, his hands grappled against dry soil. Tommy with held a grunt as he stretched further, the darkness that surrounded him making it harder for him to search in the right direction.

He flinched. The jangling of metal rung through his ears, making him pause as he glanced through the fence to the guard that moved over in his chair, settling with a groan. With a sigh, he stretched once more, but his shoulder was too broad to fit between the slim gaps between wooden posts. He forced his arm forward, taking no noice as a loud crunch was heard, a sharp pain reaching down his arm, after grasping his calloused hands around icy metal.

Tommy paused a moment, letting his arm adjust to the burning pain that settled in the top, right area of his body. It was no different to when he would break and dislocate bones when he was younger. A familiar numb pain shifted in his shoulder- it was clearly dislocated.

Rolling to the side, Tommy allowed the weight to tumble to the ground, pulling his injured arm out and down, taking the keys with it. He slid down, sitting his back against the curving, mound of mud. He felt his eyes flutter to a close, his heaving chest slowing.

Tommy didn't awake until heavy shouts drifted into the cage-like structure that he was held in. The keys were still openly in his hand and the chains still lodged firmly onto his arms. His shoulder was also still dislocated.

The shouts that came from behind him were louder than usual, sounding more like screams as he struggled to a stand, peering over the side and across the courtyard. The guard that had once been station beside him, was no where in sight, along with his gun.

He didn't allow himself to flinch as the first sound of gunshots rang through his ears. The area around seemed desolate, like the abandoned city that had been left in conflict. Not one prisoner dared to move: where they killing them off? One after the other, gunshots blasted into the air violently, until the numbers of bullets fired became even larger than that of the count of prisoners in the camp. It wasn't the prisoners that were being shot at.

Tommy scrambled, dragging his other arm that hung limply, and unlocking it from the weight with the keys. He used his opposite hand to shake his wrist, easing it out of the metal boundary that had implanted itself into his skin over time. His eyes scanned the area, seeing nothing abnormal, apart from the odd flashes of clothes that swung around corners.

Feeling around with his good hand, Tommy searched for an opening in the fence. There was one to the corner of the confinement, a loose knot in the fiddly rope that wrapped around short poles, like a sleeping snake. He fumbled to unloosen them, dropping it down to his feet and pushing the remaining rope back and forth, moving it continuously until it came out and found its place in the muck beside his shoes.

Using one hand, he gripped onto the pole that still stood next to space that he had created, and attempted to pull himself up, placing feet against the mud wall, attempting to walk him self up. Tommy grunted as he fell, feet slipping from a meagre height, falling back to the beginning.

"Shelby?" Tommy's head shot up at the sound of a familiar voice. He watched eagerly as Dawson raced over to him, gripping under his arms so he could be pulled up.

Tommy clapped him on the back, thanking him with a respectful nod. He looked over him, he looked slightly fatigued, with dirt smothered over his cheeks and light bags under his eyes, but he still looked bright. How'd he manage that? Tommy couldn't help but think it, when he could imagine his own face, withered and weary. As he looked down, he noticed the chain that still bound him.

"What the fuck happened to your arm?" Dawson asked.

"Don't ask." Tommy said, shaking his head at the pointlessness of his injury, considering the fact that he was out of his cage without it.

"What's going on?" Tommy asked, as he pulled the key up, unlocking Dawson's chains.

"Unlucky bastards were caught in German cross fire because of these," Dawson said, motioning to the weight and his newfound freedom. "Thanks."

They began to jog around the camp, slipping into the small makeshift alleyways that then deemed to be safe and empty. Upon seeing the look on Tommy's face, Dawson got to the point. "Some people from God knows where broke in and helped break some people out at the lower end. They're shooting at the German's at the main entrance. That's why it's quiet here and chaos there."

"Fuck!" Tommy exclaimed, as he grabbed Dawson, pulling him to the side of the wooden posts, narrowly missing the hard gaze of an enemy soldier.

"What do we do now?" Dawson asked, his chest heaving from the surprise.

"We go to the entrance, leave with people that are helping."

"We go back to the fighting?" Dawson asked. "But I came this way because of it. To get out we have to get round the soldiers first."

"How have you lasted this long?" Tommy chuckled, glancing to him as they continued to jog in a zig zagged patter, heading toward the commotion. "It's a fucking war- there's fighting everywhere."

"Yeah well In the war we were fighting, at least we had a gun." Dawson joked.

They slowed down their quick speed as they neared the entrance. There was people running around all around them, bullets flying equally as stealthily. Tommy lead them around the soldiers posts, loosing distance between guns and the edge of the narrow gateway.

The rescuers were retreating, having allowed most of the prisoners to escape before them, using their prepared weapons as protection. But despite that, Tommy watched as many of them fell like dominoes, one after the other, disappearing into the mud of the streets.

"What about what you said yesterday?" Dawson suggested, motioning to the side of the fence in the direction of the area they had first been put. "We could get out that way."

"I won't be much help." Tommy said, hinting at his shoulder. "Quick, while they're still shooting back.

Dawson hurried quickly in front, reaching the estimated area of the place they had seen the day before as they were paraded around the city. He used his hands to dig around the post, loosing the soil around it.

"Find me something sharp."

Tommy turned and walked toward the guard post a few meters away that had been abandoned. He glanced around the floor, finding a small knife, dug deeply into the ground, unintentionally. He picked it up, the metal was dull and the blade blunt. His eyes flickered toward Dawson, seeing a blur in his periphery.

"Shit." He swore, noticing the uniform of a German soldier, advancing toward Dawson, who continued to dig his hole, unaware. Tommy ran, pacing his steps so they would be unidentified. He reached the soldier, but he was too late.

Dawson let out a cry as a bullet was planted into his lower back, its corse led astray by the distraction of the man running up behind him. Tommy growled out loud, taking the blunt knife and pressing it his neck with a slash.

Tommy hurried to Dawson, sitting beside him, so he could use his legs to push the fence out of place. Like a donkey's kick, he pushed his legs forcefully forward, knocking the pole down, leaving a gap for them to slide through. He helped Dawson to his feet, offering a shoulder to lean on. But Dawson shook his head, slipping through the gap by himself.

Before leaving after him, Tommy ripped the handgun from the soldiers hand in the floor. Dawson waited, pressed against the fence. They had been right, it had lead them to the path near the citadel, which was near the fields where the prisoners had been lead to escape too. He could see it, a mere two streets away.

They headed into a sprint straight away, managing to avoid the view path of the soldiers thanks to the short cut.

Another gun shot rang out, landing straight into Dawson's shoulder. He had already lost enough blood. It had bled through his thick uniform.

"I'm going to need that shoulder, lad." He tried to push a smile as he groaned in pain, his eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness.

There were two soldiers running on their tails. Tommy balanced Dawson on his good shoulder. The dead weight left him running as fast as a snail. They were only a couple steps from a cut in the road. He would be able to get a good shot there.

With one last push, he made it to the cut and dumped a passed-out Dawson onto the wall of the building. Tommy heaved, cocking the gun. Swiftly, he turned around the corner, holding the gun out and shooting one of the soldier that persued him. But he too, was not quick enough. The other soldier had acted quickly, firing his own rifle, sending a bullet into his chest.

Tommy stumbled back around the corner. The soldier was too close to be able to shoot again. He felt light headed, the hot flood of blood now flowing down his chest. He dragged forward, pulling Dawson, trying desperately to avoid their inevitable fate.

But that somber fate never reached them. Tommy keeled over in defeat, the weight of Dawson becoming too much of a burden thanks to the immense loss of blood. He fell flat beside his fellow soldier. Eyes gazing up to where the soldier should be following them; he never did.

As Tommy's eyes fluttered to a close, they fell upon a swerving car. He couldn't hold them open any longer. His vision was clouded with darkness.