Something in Charlie's reaction engages what hasn't been present in David until now: survival instincts. Charlie is afraid. Charlie isn't a civilian, no, but he's afraid and that means there's something here to protect him from. Something he thinks he can't take on alone.
That probably shouldn't settle David's mind as much as it does. He checks his weapon again, spots a broken piece of something that could have been a cart and wrenches it out of the mud as they pass. Something to bludgeon and stab with, should he need it.
Charlie swivels again, this time with a finger over his lips. Barely audible, more mimed than whispered: "Wait."
The rows of barbed wire are still to their west, barring the way between them and the frontline trench. But closer and half-hidden by thistles is a long ditch set into the ground, walled with sandbags, deep enough for a man to crouch along and not be seen. It cuts back through the barbed wire at a right-angle to the front line. A dead sapper sits propped against some chickenwire at its end, his brains on his helmet. He looks startlingly familiar at a glance.
The singing voices rise in a joyous chant, punctuated whenever a singer is taken over by wild and raptured laughing. The sound is closer now. The whites of Charlie's eyes are very visible: he looks like a man with something breathing down his neck. He gestures for David to follow, the movement of his hand staccato, and then he drops into the shallow trench.
Wait, Charlie says, and David freezes into a silent crouch. He moves when Charlie gestures for him to do so, forces himself to keep his eyes away from that familiar-unfamiliar corpse.
Caleb isn't here. It's not him.
That noise though--small as it is, it's enough of an alert that David will try to put himself between Charlie and any obvious cause.
As soon as David follows over the edge, the cause will become very obvious indeed: they're falling. What was a shallow ditch stretches under his feet into darkness, and he tumbles past sandbags and wire and bones with the ruthless gravity of falling in a dream. The laughter is suddenly right in his ears, as if they're surrounded by invisible revellers. Their singing and chanting are loud and excited; they use a strange barbed language that hurts to listen to. It's catchy. Makes you want to sing and laugh along, even if forming the words yourself makes your mouth bleed.
A little way below him, Charlie is panting and twisting and reaching for the sides of the trench, grasping at anything that might arrest his fall.
He finds himself humming, finds the taste of copper on his tongue, grimaces and spits to one side as they fall.
Then he turns in the air, using his arms and legs to weight the way he's angled, and arrows down after Charlie.
As soon as Charlie is in reach, David braces himself--this is going to hurt--then loops an arm around Charlie's waist. David's gun gets carefully pointed away from the other man. Then he takes the spar of wood he pulled out of the ditch, hopes it holds up to the both of them, and drives it into the nearest trench wall. He lets momentum do the work of digging it in deep.
At best he's going to dislocate something. At worst the wood will break. It's worth a shot.
One moment Charlie is falling and in hell and falling. The next moment he's-- well, he's still in hell, but he's also making a squeezed-stress-ball noise as he jerks to a halt with David's arm around his waist like a motion picture damsel grabbed by an action hero. And like a motion picture damsel, he grabs back, hanging onto David's arm for dear life.
He breathes in a bit too fast, half-spits and half-coughs out a mouthful of blood, and wheezes "Jesus! Okay!" out of sheer surprise.
Then they hit the wall in a tangle, as 'up' fights briefly with itself before switching roles with 'sideways'.
Yep, that fucking hurts all right. The popping sound his arm makes as it abruptly takes both of their weight hopefully hides the soft grunt that pain squeezes out of him. Pain is irrelevant, the priority is survival.
He clears his throat and horks a mixed wad of spit and blood into the abyss--
Except it hits his leg instead as the world tilts aggressively around them and they land on the brand new ground formerly known as wall.
They're now in a vast underground space with no visible end, as if a huge empty car park had a ceiling and floor of dirt and wood and wire. Here and there, ceiling and floor meet each other in a rubbly pile, and here and there, those piles are hollowed into dugouts. In those holes, booted feet and the tops of heads are barely visible in the low light. It's impossible to tell whether the men they belong to are dead or sleeping.
Charlie, who is now covered in nearly as much slime as David, laughs a little hysterically as he untangles himself, and then says: "Fuck."
He chokes up another round of blood. Furtive: "You okay, kid?"
"All good," he confirms, even though getting to his feet is slightly more of a production with one shoulder dislocated. Without waiting for instruction, he goes to the closest pillar of earth, braces himself against it at an angle, closes his eyes--
Yeah that ugly crunchy popping sound was David shoving his arm back into its socket.
He winces as he gives it an experimental lift and rotation. That's all, though--after that he has steady blue eyes on Charlie again, waiting for an explanation or plan of action. Whichever is more relevant.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
That probably shouldn't settle David's mind as much as it does. He checks his weapon again, spots a broken piece of something that could have been a cart and wrenches it out of the mud as they pass. Something to bludgeon and stab with, should he need it.
"Who's on us, Charlie?"
He has the feeling it's not Germans.
no subject
The rows of barbed wire are still to their west, barring the way between them and the frontline trench. But closer and half-hidden by thistles is a long ditch set into the ground, walled with sandbags, deep enough for a man to crouch along and not be seen. It cuts back through the barbed wire at a right-angle to the front line. A dead sapper sits propped against some chickenwire at its end, his brains on his helmet. He looks startlingly familiar at a glance.
The singing voices rise in a joyous chant, punctuated whenever a singer is taken over by wild and raptured laughing. The sound is closer now. The whites of Charlie's eyes are very visible: he looks like a man with something breathing down his neck. He gestures for David to follow, the movement of his hand staccato, and then he drops into the shallow trench.
Before he lands, he makes a quiet noise of shock.
no subject
Caleb isn't here. It's not him.
That noise though--small as it is, it's enough of an alert that David will try to put himself between Charlie and any obvious cause.
no subject
A little way below him, Charlie is panting and twisting and reaching for the sides of the trench, grasping at anything that might arrest his fall.
no subject
He finds himself humming, finds the taste of copper on his tongue, grimaces and spits to one side as they fall.
Then he turns in the air, using his arms and legs to weight the way he's angled, and arrows down after Charlie.
As soon as Charlie is in reach, David braces himself--this is going to hurt--then loops an arm around Charlie's waist. David's gun gets carefully pointed away from the other man. Then he takes the spar of wood he pulled out of the ditch, hopes it holds up to the both of them, and drives it into the nearest trench wall. He lets momentum do the work of digging it in deep.
At best he's going to dislocate something. At worst the wood will break. It's worth a shot.
no subject
He breathes in a bit too fast, half-spits and half-coughs out a mouthful of blood, and wheezes "Jesus! Okay!" out of sheer surprise.
Then they hit the wall in a tangle, as 'up' fights briefly with itself before switching roles with 'sideways'.
no subject
He clears his throat and horks a mixed wad of spit and blood into the abyss--
Except it hits his leg instead as the world tilts aggressively around them and they land on the brand new ground formerly known as wall.
He makes another small irritated noise.
"Fuck's sake."
no subject
Charlie, who is now covered in nearly as much slime as David, laughs a little hysterically as he untangles himself, and then says: "Fuck."
He chokes up another round of blood. Furtive: "You okay, kid?"
no subject
Yeah that ugly crunchy popping sound was David shoving his arm back into its socket.
He winces as he gives it an experimental lift and rotation. That's all, though--after that he has steady blue eyes on Charlie again, waiting for an explanation or plan of action. Whichever is more relevant.