Work Text:
A full moon shone above London, enveloping the town in a gentle silver light. For some it brought peace, for some it was company and for some it caused vivid dreams.
Bamm!
Arthur groaned in his sleep. The germans were relentlessly bombing once again.
Bamm!
Take cover! Lieutenant lead the new boys to the dugout!
Bamm!
Watch out! Retreat to the second trench!
Bamm!
Take the machine guns and the ammo! Save what you can!
Bamm!
- Wait! We can't go! Charles fell behind!
- Let him go, Smith! He's dead for fuck's sake!
Bamm!
- How many did we lose so far?
- At least 30 sir.
Bamm!
- Gas! Gas attack!
Arthur turned to his other side, pressing his face against the pillow with a whine.
Bamm!
- It burns!
Bamm!
- The shells are getting closer! Take cover!
Arthur shivered, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Bamm!
- Private Fisher! Take cover! That's an order!
Bamm!
- Private Fi- JAMES!
Bamm!
The last sound of the nearby church's clock hitting 12 echoed in the quiet room. Arthur jolted awake, sitting up in bed, gasping for air. His hands were tightly clutching the sheets, his whole body felt hot and he could not stop trembling. It was a dream. It is not real, not anymore - he whispered to himself, trying to calm his nerves.
It is not real... - he repeated.
But it was real once - his thoughts said and that fucked up all progress he made in calming down. It was all real not too long ago.
With a pained groan he buried his face into his palms, curling up in a sitting position. Even in the room the air still smelled of gunpowder.
- Calm down Hastings, calm down! - he repeated again and again, but the sound of war got louder and louder, memories taking over his senses.
Arthur covered his ears, digging his nails in the sides of his head so hard they nearly left a mark.
- I did all I could! They needed more time to get ready for the front! They didn't know... I should have sent James home earlier, I should have...
His trembliing intensified as guilt started to consume him once again, as always when he thought about the war.
- The order was already signed, I would have let him... I would have let him...
Nobody heard his choked mantra that he desperately tried to soothe himself with. His voice quivered and turned into crying. But nothing seemed to be useful. The bombs did not stop falling, not in his mind.
Bamm!
This wasn't even a clock this time, no it was a real shell, it had to be! He let out a strained whine and began sobbing, curling up under his covers. It was always that same damn night with that same damn helpless feeling. The same boys dying over and over again. With their bodies torn apart and their mouths bloody from their lungs having melted, they haunted him. God, the smell of blood surrounding him was awful...
The darkness wrapped him in a tight hold. His tears fell and fell as he tried to muffle his sounds of crying with his pillow at least, burying his face in it with desperation he rarely felt. He couldn't save them. He should have. He was the Captain. Experienced, soldier for years before the war, an officer. And yet he did nothing but send young men, merely boys to no man's land. James could have lived. Charles could have lived. If only Arthur had been careful enough. The thought made him cry harder until the lack of air made him feel like he was suffocating from the gas. Panic settled in even more, his body started convulsing, when the loud knocking on the door yanked him out of his trance. He immediately stopped crying, his muscles tense and his brain suddenly switched to alert. Still panting he sat up, covers still up to his chest as if it could provide some kind of protection.
- Hastings, mon ami are you alright? - he heard a familiar voice.
Major Dawson? No that couldn't be, he wouldn't speak french unless absolutely necessary. And he was dead anyways.
He couldn't answer yet, but there was no need for it as a second later the door opened. Light crept into the dark room from the little gap and broke the rest of the hold the darkness had on Arthur. As he recognized the silhouette, the shells in his mind were silenced at last.
- Poirot?
The little belgian man's eyes were full of concern as he peeked inside.
- Mon cher Hastings are you alright? I heard noises that suggested you're in great distress.
He gently shut the door behind himself and swiftly walked over to his friend's bed, switching up the small light on his bedside table.
- May I? - he asked.
Arthur nodded, his gaze fixed on the sheets, head tilted down to maintain at least a scrap of his pride by not letting Poirot see his tears. Poirot however did not seem bothered by it. Right after sitting down on his friend's bed he took his hand, gently, but without hesitation.
- What happened? You were plagued by nightmares, non? - he inquired softly, guessing right. Arthur waited before answering, a few seconds that seemed endless until he was finally able to speak without breaking down again.
- Yes... His voice sounded so broken and quiet, nowhere near the cheerful unbothered man he was. Poirot let out a sigh of sympathy. Arthur as far as he's seen was not plagued by his experiences in the war. Of course Poirot always suspected that the zone outs and strange noises from his room were signs of his relived experiences but nothing more. Seeing him in such a state worried him greatly.
- Should I bring you some tea, mon ami? - Poirot stood up, not knowing what else to do. He thought some chamomile tea would do good in calming his friend's nerves. But Arthur suddenly grabbed his hand with an uncharacteristic desperation in his eyes.
- No! - then, a bit calmer he continued - Please not yet... I couldn't get anything down my throat anyways... - he lowered his gaze again.
Poirot nodded and sat back down, keeping Arthur's hand in his.
- It is alright mon ami. It is alright - he said softly. A few seconds of silence passed.
- Should we just sit or do you want to talk? I know it is not good to recall memores like that but perhaps it could help? I am not forcing you of course to do anything.
Poirot didn't remember rambling like this on many occasions in his life, only when something unsettled him deeply. And Hastings being in distress did.
Arthur finally answered.
- I haven't told anyone about this yet. - he said quietly - I didn't want to. But... if there is anyone I'll ever share it with it should be you.
Poirot searched for his friend's gaze, and finally the englishman was able to lift his head again and return it. Silence settled between them again. The warm light usually made Arthur's eyes sparkle, but now it was as if the sparkle had vanished. His eyes reflected the light, as required by the laws of physics, but there was no life in them. Just ice cold blue, and it made a horrible feeling settle in Poirot's stomach. After the long minutes of silence, Arthur took a deep breath and started.
- It's always the same dream you see... I've seen a lot of things out there and still it's just that one night that haunts me. A young boy from my company...
------
Arthur Hastings' memories, Passchendale, October 21st, 1917
- Captain Hastings! - a voice called from outside
- May I come in, sir?
Arthur roused from his slumber. He fell asleep at his desk, again. It was a common consequence of not being able to sleep at night because of artillery fire.
- Yes, come in Lieutenant - he called out, standing up from the chair and adjusting his uniform just before Lieutenant Roberts entered.
- Good afternoon sir. I am here to remind you to consult with the doctor about private Fisher - the man saluted.
- Ah yes the boy with the terrible anxiety, right? - Arthur frowned, rubbing his forehead - Is he really unfit for duty?
Roberts nodded.
- I was told so. But he needs your approval to send him home and the doctor wanted to consult with you personally, as you already know.
Arthur sighed.
- Tell him I'm coming in a few minutes.
Upon entering the medical dugout, he immediately spotted the doctor. He said exactly what Arthur had expected. James Fisher was suffering serious symptoms despite having no relevant physical injuries. He didn't have any appetite, he suffered episodes of instense panic, he was prone to talking to himself. All this combined with insomnia and a constant detached look in his eyes that anyone would find unsettling.
- He has to go home, Captain. If we want him to even have a chance of recovery - the doctor looked into his eyes, expression as serious as one's could be. Arthur sighed, looking towards the curtains that separated them from the beds of the wounded.
- I'll send him home with the first group. Can I see him?
- Of course. Just try to not bring up topics that would trigger him.
Fisher was easy to spot. Sitting on his bed in the corner, a thin, blonde boy with a constant scared look in his brown eyes since he came back from the last battle.
- Captain! - his face lit up when he saw Arthur.
- Yes I am. How are you boy?
He walked up to the soldier's bed and sat down on it, giving him a pat on the back. James let out a shaky sigh, his gaze back on the ground.
- Not very well, Captain... The doctor said I should be sent home immediately - he sounded defeated and tired.
- But I'm not a coward! I swear I am not!
Arthur nodded with a sympathetic expression on his face.
- I know, private.
- Will you... let me go home?
- I will- Arthur nodded - But the major told me the germans are attacking soon. We can't arrange the travels of those who can go home, yet.
He was a little hesitant to say the rest but eventually he decided it would be best to warn the lad.
- You might have to endure one more night of shelling.
James' eyes widened and his whole body jerked as if a bucket of ice was spilled on him. He covered his ears and started shaking his head.
- No... please no.... I can't take it...
Arthur frowned. He messed up. His hand instinctively moving to rub the boy's shoulder, attempting to soothe him before he could get too panicked.
- I know it doesn't exactly sound good but you'll manage, you're brave - he attempted to be reassuring - But if I no you can come to me - he added quickly.
Unfortunately it was too late. James was now trembling and curling up in his sitting position, hiding his face by pressing it against his knees.
- No... No... They're too loud... I'm not....
- James Listen to me-
-No! I don't want to go back there!
The trembling quickly got worse and before the captain got the chance to try and calm him James started crying and screaming in distress. Arthur jumped up from the bed.
- Doctor!
Dr. Harvey came, immediately sending him away, as if he wasn't the captain but a child being a burden. The desperate cries echoed through the trenches and no man's land. Arthur left as if he was chased, but he could hear them even when he arrived back at the command post.
------
-He was already having severe symptoms then - he explained, avoiding Poirot's gaze as he looked down into his lap again.
- We were closer than normally an officer and a private should have been... But I couldn't help but care about him. He was a boy from my hometown enlisted against his own will, because of peer pressure - he sighed.
- By september I think he thought of me as a father... or something else. Maybe- he bit back the rest of the sentence, hesitating before deciding to continue - Maybe held a love for me that many would deem inappropriate. But I didn't realize it until after his death, and now...
An now it doesn't matter. Poirot could read as much of his friend's face. He knew there was more to the story so he didn't interrupt, letting Arthur take his time to continue.
-I remember... it was late in the afternoon, the sun was starting to set. I expected a german attack just as much as the Major but it didn't even cross my mind that it could have been that night. I was telling myself I could make it up to James the next day... - his voice wavered off and he needed another minute to bring himself back from the verge of crying.
- We were gaining land slowly but surely and the germans felt the need to give it all they had. So they started the shelling earlier than any of us speculated.
------
Arthur Hastings' memories, Passchendale, October 21st to 22nd night, 1917
Arthur was about to lay down to have some rest at night, finally. He took his boots and jacket off and pulled the blanket all the way up to his neck. It was starting to get cold at nights, especially with the rainy days. Wasn't long before he was asleep. His mind took him back to the countryside, he was horse riding with his cousin, Peter again. He felt the wind on his face, the fresh air filling his lungs. Even the sound of birds chirping loudly in the early morning as they rode through the forest. Everything was peaceful, happy and full of life. He enjoyed the feeling of security and freedom. Until suddenly the birds started making really weird sounds. Almost like....
- Shelling!
Arthur jolted from his sleep sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the bed.
- Good God!
He immediately pulled his boots on, just grabbing his coat as he rushed out of the dugout. Chaos was already unfolding.
The artillery attack took the new recruits by surprise and they panicked more than they should have, the officers had a hard time restoring order.
Arthur ran to the closest fire step and looked out to no man's land. One shell hit the ground around 50 yards from their outpost line. Despite the yells and movement around him he didn't move, his blue eyes fixed on the muddy field laying before him. Another shell, next to the one before. Then another, now closer, and another. The last one hit the ground about 40 yards from him.
Arthur frowned, he now knew what he wanted to know. The shells were getting closer, and rapidly so, meaning they might reach their main line. But there was still a chance it wouldn't completely destroy them.
He stepped away from the firing position and took a deep breath.
- It's getting closer! Take cover! - he yelled as loud as he could, then grabbed the whistle hanging in his neck. It was the only thing his men had a chance of actually hearing through all the noise. In seconds the sharp sound of the command signal for "take cover" echoed from everywhere, other officers picking up on the order.
- Captain, should I order retreat too? This attack was not expected so soon! - Lieutenant Roberts asked, seemingly anxious but not nearly as desperate as the soldiers around them.
- Where's the Major? - Arthur asked.
- He's dead, sir.
Another shell, now close enough for the sound to make them flinch.
- Dead? How?
- Killed himself this evening. You're the highest ranking officer currently, sir - Roberts panted.
Arthur's gaze darkened. He wanted to ask how was that even possible, last time he saw him the Major seemed fine. But they had no time to waste. The first in command was dead, and who had to take his place was the Captain. Him.
Another shell hit the ground, now close enough for them to feel the ground shake.
- Take cover! - Arthur yelled grabbing Roberts' shoulder.
- Don't order retreat yet. Take the new boys to the dugouts. Try to calm them, I'll be there in a second.
Roberts nodded and ran away, towards the other end of the trench. Arthur ran to the other direction with the intention of checking the rest of the company as much as he could reach them. The shelling though got more and more intense by the minute and he soon saw that it would not stop at their outpost line, nor their first line. The germans already got a high ground and they somehow found a way to extend their range. As the realization hit in, he felt chills run down his spine. Roberts was right. They had to retreat if he wanted even one of his men to survive.
- Watch out! Retreat to the second trench!
He lifted the whistle to his lips again and the sound echoed through the chaos. He hoped it would reach everyone, he didn't have more time. He ran in the direction his Lieutenant left just a few moments ago. He knew which dugout he'd lead the lads to, the safest, on the northern half of the trench.
Roberts was waiting there with the new platoon, clutching his left hand. Some of the guys were bleeding and they trembled like leaves of the same tree.
So the safest dugout got hit after all - Arthur thought bitterly.
- How bad is it? - he asked Roberts immediately as he saw his injury. He couldn't afford to lose another important man.
- Just a shrapnel, I'll live - the younger man answered - Retreat it is then?
Arthur nodded, gesturing for the group to follow him.
- Take the machine guns and ammo! - he shouted - Save what you can!
Then swiftly added:
- Come on, after me! - and the new platoon, or at least what was left of them - followed him.
They began retreating although it was no more than slightly organized run for their lives through the communication trench, as fast as their legs could take them. Arthur could only hope that with the leadership half gone he would be enough to command the company.
They ran past their own men, yelling retreat to get the message to everyone. The whistle was consantly in his mouth at that point. They were halfway to the second line when they were forced to stop as a small commotion stood in their way. Arthur nearly fell over his other Lieutenant, Turner who just finished clearing their path of the rubble that was in the way.
- Ah Captain! Thank God you're still alive! - he crossed himself when he saw Arthur - We'll go with you. Retreat!
Turner's small group joined Roberts and the new platoon.
- Wait! We can't go! - one of his men cried - Charles fell behind! We can't leave him there!
Another shell exploded, hitting a machine gun post in the first line.
- Let him go, Smith! He's dead for fuck's sake! - Turner yelled and grabbed the boy's hand violently pulling him up from the ground, almost twisting the poor lad's arm. - We'll be the next if you don't move!
-------
- Poor Charles. He and Johnny were the best friends I've ever seen. No soldiers were as close in my company as them. - Arthur sighed. He took a little break from talking. With closed eyes he focused on Poirot who was gently rubbing his hands, holding them still. I thought I could at least save the most of them.
- Soon after, I ran into James again...
-------
Arthur Hastings' memories, Passchendale, October 21st to 22nd night, 1917
They finally reached the second trench. Arthur looked backed, seeing that the artillery fire reached their first line.
We need to retreat at least until the third! - he ordered, then turned to Roberts and Turner
- How many did we lose so far?
- At least 30, sir. - Turner answered.
- Around 20 from the new ones from my platoon - Roberts added
- The other two Lieutenants? Other officers?
- As you know sir the Major is dead - Turner said - And I saw Lieutenant Asher leading his platoon to retreat not long ago. As for Armstrong...
- We don't know. The other officers, sergeants are mostly alive I think - Roberts sighed.
Arthur nodded.
- We can't stay here. Tell the boys that we are moving further back. And try to calm them down again, a few of them, didn't make it in time...
- Arthur turned his head to look at the new platoon. Some of them were crying, shaking, and they were covered in mud and their comrades' blood.
- Come on! the two lieutenants started leading the men (and boys) further back.
Arthur started leading the company again but just after a few long steps he bumped into somebody - somebody he could barely recognize from the dirt stuck on him.
- James! Good Lord! - in the panic that he had to lead the entire company alone Arthur completely forgot about the boy.
- You made it! - He helped him up and the young man immediately wrapped his arms around him.
- Captain! - he pressed his face into Arthur's shoulder, starting sobbing right away.
Arthur wanted to hold him as long as the poor lad needed but he knew the germans wouldn't wait for that with their shells.
- There there private - he patted James' back - We have to go. How did you even get away? - he asked.
- I heard your voice... - James hiccupped.
Arthur's gaze softened and he let out a relieved sigh. It was worth yelling his lungs out.
- Come on lad we have to go. Germans are not going to wait for anyone. - Arthur rubbed the young man's arm.
James nodded and collected all his strength to separate from his officer (at least physically) but the next shell landed just half a yard from them throwing shrapnel, dirt and body parts everywhere. Arthur laid down to take cover and brought James down too. The boy screamed and curled up in the mud, the captain had to physically refrain him from bawling his eyes out.
- Captain we have to keep moving! - Roberts yelled out.
- Jesus Christ... I know! - Arthur grunted, grabbing the private still in shock and pulling him along.
The race against the rapidly advancing german shells started again. James flinched at every distant explosion and his entire body convulsed when there was a shell hitting close enough to them. Arthur was moving way slower with him but couldn't let him go.
The men ran as fast as they could, Roberts and Turner taking the lead at least physically while Arthur kept up James' pace. Just that moment somebody cried out:
- Gas! Gas attack!
Arthur was forced to stop to put on his mask.
- Captain! - James struggled to put on his own mask, his hands trembled so much he could barely even hold it. The wind was strong, within a minute Arthur felt the sting of the mustard gas on his skin.
- For god's sake!
The buckle got stuck. Arthur yanked it once, then again until the sheer force undid the fastenings and he could properly clasp them again.
- Captain! - James started coughing and dropped his mask - It burns!
The second Arthur finished doing his own mask kneeled next to the boy, grabbing and pressing it against his face.
- Hold your breath private! - his hands trembled nearly as bad as James' now but he managed to fasten the strips on the young man's mask just before it was too late.
- Come on, we have to keep moving! - Lieutenant Roberts yelled.
Keep moving! Keep moving!
The officers signaled to the soldiers, leading the further back. The artillery fire was hitting dangerously close to them, advancing rapidly. Arthur's stomach dropped when realized they wouldn't make it to the third line.
- The shells are getting closer! Take cover!
Upon the sound of whistles total chaos unfolded. All the men were running to take shelter in the dugouts, smaller than the ones on the lines and providing less coverage. The new boys were in complete panic, the older soldiers yelling at them, pulling them inside before it was too late.
Arthur stumbled in a piece of debris and fell over, barely able to avoid the boots of his own comrades hat separated him from James. He stood up as swiftly as he could and looked around, his eyes searching for the privae among the sea of smoke, men and blood.
Another shell hit right before the second line, Arthur was knocked back by the sheer force and a shrapnel hit his leg. He cried out in pain, unable to even catch his breath for a few seconds. But as soon as he was able to sense the world around him again he started searching for James with his eyes. Finally he saw the boy standing in the middle of the line, frozen in shock with the blood of probably other soldiers on his face and clothes.
- Private Fisher! - Arthur yelled - Take cover!
But James seemed like he barely heard anything. He turned his head towards Arthur but made no move to get to him.
Arthur groaned in frustration as he tried to stumble towards the boy, before being yanked back by his lieutenant.
- Captain are you insane? Come inside, that boy's way too far! He's as good as dead!
- No, I have to get him, he got this far! - Arthur pulled back, grabbing the edge of the dugout's entrance to hold himself up.
- Private Fisher! Take cover! That's an order! - he yelled as loud as he could, taking off the gas mask.
But James just stood, an expression of terror frozen on his face as he watched the dirt fly in all direction.
Arthur became desperate. He knew it was a matter of seconds and the artillery would reach them.
- Private Fisher! Come over here! - he felt like his voice chords were close to snapping but he didn't give up.
Private Fi- JAMES! - he cried as the next shell hit, right where James stood, and he was pulled inside the dugout in the last second. His head hit the ground and everything went dark.
------
- I got knocked out for a few minutes. My lieutenants took over command and thanks to them the rest of my company survived. We even managed to withhold the german attack that came after the shelling but I barely remember anything after that - he admitted - My wound got infected and I was taken to the hospital.
The silence was long before he brought himself to speak again. Poirot waited patiently, not wanting or daring interrupt the fragile moment of grief.
- As for James... I couldn't save him. Now I'm thinking maybe it was better for the poor lad but... He was so young....
Arthur's voice wavered again and he turned away, pressing his lips together as his eyes filled with tears once again. Poirot shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his friend's torso, gently rubbing his side.
- Every time I dream about this I'm reminded that I could have sent him home to heal... He trusted me and I let him die... - the captain whispered.
Poirot sighed softly and squeezed his hand.
- There was nothing you could have done, Arthur. You did all that you could, you even risked your own life for that boy.
The soldier tensed up upon hearing Poirot say his first name. He never said it before.
- It is not your fault - the detective continued, his dar brown eyes staring right into Hastings' to emphasize how seriously he means it.
- But.. -he added - if another night this dream torments you, you have my permission to wake me up. Anytime.
Hastings slowly glanced back at the little belgian man and his posture relaxed a little. Poirot valued his privacy and sleep over anything. Except it seemed like for his friend.
- Thank you Poirot... - Arthur whispered with a relieved sigh.
Poirot smiled at him reassuringly.
- May I hug you mon ami? - he asked.
Arthur's eyes widened at first, the english in him revolting for a second but then he looked at their already locked hands.
- Yes... of course... - he nodded slowly.
Poirot extended his arms and wrapped the tall englishman in a tight hug. Hastings reluctantly reciprocated it, and his long arms soon circled his belgian friend. He leaned his head on Poirot's shoulder, his breathing slowly evened out.
- Thank you old chap... Really.