ᴘᴀɴᴅʟᴇ & ᴋɪᴊᴀɴɪ ᴡᴡɪɪ

[Pandle]

ᴊᴀɴᴇᴛ ʀᴜʙʏ ᴡɪʟsᴏɴ

The defiance by which she strode, streaming between the buildings of independence shone with Godly resplendence. But she could not hope to kill them all. Could not possibly conceive victory alone. So why did she bother to try? Her life was spent in the company of Death. He plucked her from the plump mound of earth named so aptly for its soil, he held her when life could not bare to. Death did not discriminate or disappoint, Janet had learnt well of Death and how to wield it, she felt certain that death could be relied upon now. Life would always fail her, but death was not so crude in its gentle manner, how it came to each and every being, collecting the discarded temples, the void carcasses life chose to leave behind on its conquest for glory.

It had taken betrayal of life for her to realise it. Men did not need war to murder, war was the excuse of rich men who could not afford their desires, always the rich wage war and it's the poor who die; Jayne, Danny, her mother, her father, her unborn baby. They were not casualties of war, they were victims of humanity.
Her mother; the dupe of adoration and pleasure, her father; the martyr of love, Danny; gopher of another man's greed, her unborn baby victim of heart-ache and sorrow, Jayne; a casualty of desperation. They were not weak or unloved, they were strong, each of them, just not to life's persnickety glares. Death took them encompassed them all.
But Janet would not let Death take one man, she would lay her life down to prevent it, she needed him to stay alive. Life could not ignore her forever, could surly not leave her hostage to the hands of death alone? Life had to intervene somewhere.

The Germans were beginning to hunt her down. Her first blind shots had taken one down wounded but Janet doubted it was dead, more were coming. She took momentary shelter behind the corner of a small café before returning fire and weaving around. By the time Haines and his soldier friend could spot her she had claimed the lives of five men.
But even as they arranged to rescue her the barrel clicked dry of amunition. It was the one thing that Janet had forgotten to account for. Yet in the pause of gunfire there was one final shot. The bullet rotated, hurling through the air, slicing it with the same cruel intentions it held for the soft flesh it flung into. Tearing. Ripping. Embedded.
Janet's hand struggled with the gun, open it fell onto the road with a clatter, trembling. She stumbled backward, her mouth open in surprise, her hands slowly finding the wound, the ivory flesh of her skin coming away slick with crimson, the black dress clinging and sticky with blood.
She turned slightly, neither side seeming to fire for the seconds it took to play out the scene, the slow rotation, the melting of her face from determination to surprise and then to crumpled hope, her swaying to falling, her breathing from heavy to laboured, her body from healthy to wounded.

The gun lay beside her spine, a millimetre to the right and she would be paralyzed forever, a centimetre left and her intestines would have ripped in half, the eternal bleeding of which would see her dead in less than an hour. Instead she clung to life, life that was not discriminating any more, life that flocked to her in the darkness of the Calais street, clinging and pressing and suddenly tenderly motherly. Life so desperate not to let the child it had destroyed die now.
"I'm sorry Haines." Came the words slowly from her lips...

[Airmid]

Haines

Haines had only moments to think of a plan in order to get himself, the private and more importantly Janet out of the situation alive. For the thousandth time, Haines wondered why on Earth the nurse was there, and wishes with all his heart, that he might be able to turn back the clock, go to her past self and convince the headstrong, brave and beautiful woman to stay where she was. But Time Travel was an impossible wonder, that would never be used for such meaningless purposes. The Captain was proud however, when the two came across five dead or dying Germans shot in the head or torso. "Wow..." The private muttered, before bending down to smother a dying German until dead. Haines watched the action grimly, before looking away when the private stood up. Carefully, and quietly looked round the concrete corner of the building the two were currently shielded behind, just in time to see the devastating scene. Memories of Timothy and the pitiful handgun came rushing back to the Captain, only instead of an over-eager 16-year-old, the woman he loved dearly was the victim.

The world seemed to slow down to half-speed as his brain processed the scene before him. The gun, unable to shoot any ammunition, unlike the German weapons, who emptied their cases quickly and without hesitation. For a moment, it looked as if Janet would be safe, but one lucky man, was able to hit her right in the torso, throwing her out of Haines' sight. For all the Captain knew, she was dead already, or the bullet had paralysed her, and she now suffered the agony of having to watch herself die. Without thinking, Haines began to rush to her, the beginnings of an agonised cry forming in the base of his throat, however and unexpectedly, a strong arm wrapped around the soldiers waist, roughly pulling him back behind their cover. It was Private Dennis. Before Haines could shout in anger and agony, a second hand was over his mouth, the cry muffled to a slight grunt and groan before the Captain was pulled to the floor. The impact of Haines landing on the private, released the distressed man from Dennis' grip, and Haines began to scramble forwards, face scrunched up in horror and pain, unfortunately the Private was too quick and again pinned Haines to the floor by the neck, other hand again muffling the angry and pained screams from the Captain. The two struggled for a moment, quietly, but intensely, however in the end, Dennis was the victor, managing to keep Harley still, and restrain his voice and movements. "Dammit Captain, hold it together-!" The Private hissed in his superiors ears, but Haines wasn't really listening. All strength had left him, and the Englishman could only lie still stare at the sky and try not to cry.

Unfortunately the temporary bliss that came with such a clear head was soon shattered, by the rough shaking of his body, before a hard slap round the cheek. The Captain flinched, before locking eyes with the Private, who was still pinning him to the dirty streets of Calais, "She may not be dead sir" Dennis whispered frantically once more, however the word 'dead' only made Haines feel even worse, "We may be able to retrieve her body, and kill those men, sir" Dennis suggested desperately searching the Captain's face for some kind of enthusiasm. Haines considered the idea for a moment, still unmoving, and for the briefest of moment, looked about ready to reject the idea. But with new found strength, Haines pushed the private off his body and sat up, rubbing his forehead and flicking away some of the sweat that had accumulated there. "We should go either side of them, there are only three left after Janet..." Haines explained, his voice cracking and trailing off, after saying the nurses name out loud, before continuing, "All three of them are in the centre of the road, unaware of us, if we time this thing right, we should be able to gun them down before they even notice" Haines finished easily, raising an eyebrow at Dennis for support who, in turn nodded at the idea. The two of them concentrated on their guns for a few precious seconds, replacing half-used lines of ammo, for full lines before looking at each other, Dennis waiting for Harley's signal.

Haines waited for a few moments, before nodding his head. Within seconds, the two were in the middle of the road, not one-hundred metres from the three German soldiers, who turned around in surprise. It took them a few seconds to realise that Haines and Private Dennis were not of their company, but it was a few seconds too long. The roar of the machine guns would be deafening to those unused to the noise, as the enemy were peppered with about one-hundred or so bullets between Haines and Dennis. Both men stood there solemnly, uncaring as three more men became victims of the war. Haines and Dennis emptied their lines around the same time, and stood in the middle of the small road silently, carefully eyeing the dead bodies for any sign of movement. But there was none. The bloody mess of bodies held no life in them now. It was almost enough to satisfy the grief that had turned into intense anger towards the enemy, as a result of killing Janet.

"Shall we retrieve your ladies' body sir?" Dennis questioned quietly, the two of them taking their time to bask in the air thick with death. Haines thought about it for a moment, but just the thought of looking at the lifeless face of Janet made the Captain blanch, before stumbling to the side of the road, throwing down his empty gun before promptly throwing up. Dennis took that as the Captain's answer, however jogged past the dead German bodies, curiosity overtaking him in order to see the face of this woman who single-handedly, and with a pitiful hand rifle, had been able to kill or down five German soldiers. However, a gasping bloody and more importantly alive woman was not what the Private had been expecting. Inhaling sharply in surprise, the gangly man dropped to his knees at Janet's side, before instinctively pressing against the wound made by the bullet. "Captain!" Dennis shouted, his voice cracking at how loud he was shouting, "Captain Harley, she's alive! She's alive!" Dennis continued to shout, before returning to attend to Janet. Almost immediately, Haines was at the side of Janet at the Private, wiping some saliva from the corner of his mouth due to his previous activities. Hazel eye wide, Haines dropped to his knees in relief, before crawling over to the shaking body of Janet, as blood seeped through the beautiful evening dress. Dennis let his Captain take over the task of pressing against the gun shot wound, before standing, wiping some of Janet's blood on his trousers, and picking up his own gun, "Take care of her if you can, Captain Harley" Dennis began, "I need to get back to the boys and help them" The private explained and without waiting for a reply, ran back in the direction of the main fight.

Haines crawled closer, tears prickling his eyes painfully, but refusing to fall. The soldiers spare hand gently touched Janet's cheek, a fingertip slowly brushing the length of her face affectionately. Finally able to tear his gaze away from Janet's own, Haines looked up and into the Havens desperately, "Lord, oh lord of you are there, please-" Haines began, cutting himself off halfway through before continuing, "Please my lord, do not let her die, do not let her die, please" Haines finished, muttering the last few words of his little prayer over and over to himself.

[Pandle]

[Sorry for the delay, I was pondering what to write. And i'mma change my style (well, i'll be switching between first person and my usual)]

Funny. The sounds in the world of limbo, they struggle to remain audible and struggle to remain quiet. Each attempts to dominate the others. I realise this, lying against the cobbles of the Calais street, the darkness above stained with a growing blade of scarlet and flecks of other colours all marginally blurry, all marginally absent. Funny. How the silence screams at me. Funny how life clings to me. Friend of death and daughter of life.
Funny.
I think.

Beat. Beat beat beat. Beat. Beat.
B e a t.
B e a
Be
B

Stillness. The motion of which thrashes against the cobbles, her body plagued by loneliness and fatigue. Rocking with splendid absence of pain. Caught in a world between living and dying. Each battling to take her for their own. And Haines the fool who leaves her for death, Dennis the Private who runs for her life.

B
e
a
t

The falter of her heartbeat, the struggling flutter of it against her ribs. Inwardly collapsing into misery and hopeless abandonment. Dying. Life losing her, the brightness of her eyes faltering after so long struggling, the fight leaving her, the sinking sensation of drowning.

Drowning. That was what the experience felt like. Being cupped against the rims of the bath, unable to swim, unable to rise, nose pressing for the sheet of water just inches above, hands trapped in violent jerking movements, frozen by the icy tentacles of the water. It was the sound that was reminiscent. The strange disembodiment of the world going by whilst being trapped in the past. It was the sound of feet walking past the bathroom door that came the loudest but lost was the voice of my father. He could speak to me, call out for me but never could his voice quite reach me; only the sound of his retreat downstairs. Whilst still I struggled.
It was like that now, if now is even where I am. The notion that there is sound for the world itself could never be empty of it, but it is missing from my ears. Footsteps come though. I can hear them loudly, so loudly. An awareness stirs as hands arrive, plunging deep into the wasteland of limbo to drag me back.

It's a struggle, for the world of limbo is filled with a comforting veil of freedom and as hands bring me back to the world of the living an acute pain strikes at my stomach, wrenchingly damned. The worst effort lies in opening my eyes. I can feel the reluctance, a weight of crushing thoughts desperate not to let me open them. As if the battle will be won by life and death distraught. But I am curious as to why death should fear my eyes opening to much.
And then i understand. For holding me is my Captain. My sweet Captain.

B
Be
Bea
Beat. beat beat beat beat beat

Rushing back comes a pulse and a requirement to survive. Oxygen floods back, desperate to reunite with my aching lungs. I give way to the torrent of movement, the transitions of my body thriving in the thunderous agony of surviving.
"Captain," I stutter unsure, the shards of strange light still haunting my vision, they obscure his handsome face and merge with the lines of buildings and memories. But with his protection comes something stronger than a requirement of obligation; will. I will myself to speak to him, give him orders for he looks so lost and confused, so pitiful without someone to oblige him.
"They mustn't find us." How could Janet tell him of little Jayne murdered in cold blood? Janet had no evidence of the things said in the car, just a corpse to prove her guilt. Even going to the allies or to Blighty would see her vanish from the face of humanity; Jenkins would have her neck in a rope, MI5 would shoot her for containing secrets, the Germans would take her to Hitler, or to a dungeon. No matter who she went to her life would end. The effort to speak was suffocatingly painful but she needed to.
"Leave Calais, car, south, go to south coast." One moment for bracing then, "you'll need to remove the bullet, it'll get infected otherwise. Listen to me Captain, you'll need a candle or some way of heating a knife, bandages but failing that material, any, lots of it. Tweezers if you can find them, if not try, try, oh god!" Think! Think! "A, a spoon or a fork. And brandy."
With a mouth twisted in pain I curl into Haines, hopeful, thankful, clinging to his life.

[Airmid]

Haines

Tentatively, the finger that had been lightly grazing Janet's cheek, drifted south before resting underneath her ear and jaw and firmly pressing with his thumb. It felt as if the Captain was pushing the digit right into her mouth, and through the mass of skin, muscle and ligaments; could faintly feel the large muscle that was her tongue as it rested in Janet's mouth. But that was not what the Captain was interested in, whether or not he could feel the innards of the nurses mouth, but the large vein that would lead straight to her brain. Almost immediately, Haines could feel it. The tell-tale thump of Janets heartbeat as it struggled to pump the vital life through her body. But what absolutely terrified the Captain was the rate at which is was pounding. Slower and slower. And then slower still. A choked sob fell from the man's lips, as all he could do was watch helplessly, as he witnessed Janet dying. Soon enough, the beat of her heart had slowed down to barely anything, and whatever Haines was able to feel, was so faint and light it could've easily been wishful thinking or a trick of the mind. Finally, tears did manage to spill from the Captain's eyes, as the hand that had been fiercely pressing against the gunshot wound, shakily rose to Janet's head, stroking her hair lightly, before entangling his fingers in it. Another sob was wrenched from the Captains throat, and suddenly all strength had left the weak man. All Haines could do, was bury his weeping face into Janet's neck and cry into her shoulder, hand's unmoving.

After drenching the nurses skin and clothes with the salty tears, Haines could only lift his head up and continue to look into Janet's face. Had she known she had been there? Haines remembered witnessing a dying man back in the trenches, asking for one of his closest friends to be by his side, but when the friend was able to get there, the dying solider did not recognise his oldest friend, and refused to even be in the sane room as the man, whilst he finally died. It broke Haines completely to think that perhaps, Janet may have suffered the same fate. The Captain stayed in that position for a good half a minute or so, before his mind began to accept what had happened, and attempt to move on. Perhaps joining the fight would take his mind of the lifeless body of the woman he loved. Yes- that would do it. The Captain turned his attention back on the still figure of Janet in order to look at her face one last time, memorise everything about her before having to say goodbye for a final time. It's a good thing the sentimental fool took those few extra moments to look at Janet, for a millisecond before the soldier was going to untangle hi fingers from her hair, his other thumb felt the wondrous, hopeful and beautiful, but faint beat of her heart. At first, Haines thought it was his mind playing tricks on him once more, but took another second to prove himself right. But this time, he could feel two heartbeats, stronger ones. Which soon enough grew stronger and stronger and stronger until...

Haines was nearly head butted by the flailing woman as life flowed through her body once more, her muscles contracting and then relaxing. And then Haines was gifted with the dry and spluttering voice that he already missed dearly. A strained, choked but relieved laugh escaped the Captains throat, before he affectionately cupped Janet's face, still unsure whether or not her waking up was a dream. The Captain wanted to take some time to bask in this small victory over the war effort, but Janet of course was having none of it. Before Haines could even say anything, she was ordering him, telling him how to save her life. So he needed to get the bullet out, and fast if she was going to survive this. Unfortunately for the two of them, Haines' body and mind were not working at the correct speed, and the captain took a maximum of five seconds, to just look at the living, breathing body of Janet, "Oh Miss Wilson..." Haines whispered in astonishment, before carefully standing up. If the Captain was going to be able to get everything he needed to save the nurse, he would need both hands, no matter how much he wanted to take the woman with him everywhere he went now. Pulling off his green jacket, Haines lay it over the bleeding woman carefully, hoping it would give her some kind of warmth against the chilly August night.

Haines sped off up the small road to the restaurant in order to grab everything he needed, only after hesitating for a few seconds. The Captain was halfway up the road before he was forced to stop. Not because German troops were heading his way. Not because he was now lost. But because of the explosion. Followed by flames that lit up the night air, turning Calais into Hell itself. Thankfully, the large bomb had not been aimed in his direction, but the blast was strong enough to knock the Captain clean off his feet landing painfully onto the stone floor. Ears still ringing, Haines clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in pain before opening his eyes in surprise and groaning. Slowly, the dazed man rolled onto his side and looked at the figure of Janet on the floor. At least she was already at ground level and hadn't been knocked onto her spine. But that didn't null the fact that she was bleeding out, and needed his help. Coughing up a little blood and spitting it in between the stone slabs, Haines shakily rose to his feet. Eyes wide and chest heaving the weak man took in his surroundings in awe. It seemed everywhere he looked was on fire due to the sizeable bomb that had obliterated the streets of Calais. And Haines knew exactly where the epicentre of this disaster was. The Square.

The place with all the British and French resistance, all of those men, were now likely to be dead, "Ahhhh-" Haines growled and sobbed at the same time in frustration, thinking back to Private Dennis and Merryweather. Both superb fighters, and killed by a bomb. This also meant that the restaurant which had the alcohol and a means of removing Janet's bullet would not be safe to retrieve said items from now. Haines had to think, and fast. Those enemy soldiers would soon be checking the surrounding areas for survivors, and eight dead German bodies did not make he of Janet look good. His car. His beautiful, wonderful amazing car was the answer. The car that every high ranking soldier was given, would have been kitted out to survive in a war. Large flat tyres, secret compartments for guns and the like and more importantly, rudimentary medical kits. They were more like the dissection kits Haines had used during his Sixth-Form years when cutting open a rat or frog, but they would be able to remove the bullet. There was also a small roll of bandages, and as for alcohol well- Haines kept some whiskey in the car at all times for when he needed a little liquid courage.

But where was the car. The shouting of German solders just around the corner, meant the Captain had not time to ask Janet as to where she had parked his car, instead forcing him to scramble back to her jacket covered body. Gently, but with haste, Haines was able to put both arms underneath her body, one under her knees and the other around her shoulders, before standing up. The Captain was still shell-shocked from the intense bomb strike, his hearing patchy and his balance poor, but he was determined and resilient enough to stand up, thighs burning in the process. Careful to try and not make the wound any worse, Haines began to run. Or rather, jog. The Captain was strong yes, but not strong enough to run, shell-shocked and carrying a bleeding woman. His body and mind just would not let him. Instead, Haines prayed to the Lord above, to stall the enemy soldiers so they would not turn down their road just yet. Just until they were out of the built up area's and further into the countryside.

It didn't take the stumbling man too long, ten minutes or so of non-stop jogging, but the two soon enough exited a random ally-way and straight into a large field that belonged to a farmer who thankfully happened to be growing corn. The tall green plants gave the two desperate souls some kind of protection for now, meaning that Haines could stop for thirty seconds of so to get his breath back, "Janet..." The soldier panted, beads of sweat dripping from his ashy forehead, "Janet where-" Again, Haines cut himself off in order to pant a pained expression on his face, "Where did you park the car?" He finally managed to spit out, before coughing a few times and looking back at the bleeding nurse desperately. He wasn't about to explain why he needed to car, instead just hoped that she would trust him on this one.

[Pandle]

My papa was an honest man, quiet and given to his belief that my mother was always right. Though he did not creep around the house he moved with it, as if it were not he who moved but the house which conformed to his will. I often wondered if he had even been to the upper rooms for never had I seen him there. He would sit in his study every weekday after breakfast until dinner and never was I to disturb him. Even as a little girl I can recall the severity of my father's words, grave as they were.
"Now my little Ruby, you must not disturb daddy, you must never come into this room, ever." How I obeyed him. It took for his death before I could even touch the door. Years of my life sat in the hall watching his door, praying that soon the bell would ring for dinner and he would stand there, on the threshold, and hold me in his arms.
It did not shock me to learn he had been a spy. My name must have arrived on the lips of others by some means, a little girl grown in Norfolk would never have been known by the service otherwise. It took his death for wheels to roll. One foot on the thresh and I felt I had shamed my father. Stood there for hours, perhaps days, it was hardly long ago but the memories are hollow. Clouded by the desire to forget.
His room, when I finally plucked the courage to enter, was kept well. The old desk sat near the window, I noticed the framed picture of my mother and I, I being very young at the time, stood in a country lane. I cannot remember where we were, or why, but my mother's face was alight with radiating joy and I, in little Wellington boots and my pinafore, looked impish. Beside it, lying as if beckoning to be touched, was my mother's locket.

What ever else he kept in that room I never saw. I was drawn to the memories he kept on the desk and fell into his old chair. He had a view over the garden and down into the hollow by the brook. It was a house embroiled by nature, a large edge of green land before the forest rose on the hills and the hills rolled down to the moors. Impossible to heat in the winter it would force us together into the parlour or the library, I can still remember my father taking me upon his knee and reading the chest of delights to me. A book a day when the weather's grey, he used to say.
His chair was positioned so he could view me larking in the hollow by the brook. All those adolescent years of thinking that if I fell nobody would ever know...and he would have done. He would have watched me every day. And I, being young and being a fool, took hate in my heart that he should willingly outcast me. When all that time he did not. He loved me.

Such thoughts of being home in Cotton Heath arouse a notion of loss deeper than the loss of life. Cotton Heath was the place of beginnings and ends yet it was there, stead fast in chaos, unmoving and unchanging in itself.
"Did you really think I would, i would die on you, my captain?" His face is god-like as it hangs above me, perfect. But he retreats, the warmth of his body becoming isolated until I sense that he is gone completely. Alone in the cradle of memories it is wearisome. Flames flicker about, each chanting some old scene I played a part in, the lies of friends, the truths of lovers, the horrors and miseries of life. They come and go as it takes their fancy too, they've no order. I am a child stuck in a tree one moment and the next I stand on a firing range, a glock in my hand, bullet shells around me, the fresh corpse of a nazi on the turf. They dance in my head, ramming me with their injustice. They think to murder me.
They snatch me upward, jerking me from dull aches to burning. It is only the return of Haines and the fluttering open of my eyelids once more than reveals that it was not memories who dropped me but a bomb. I take in the burning buildings and the infernos that rage with a determination that will surely leave no one alive. It is harder to accept the transition between the town and the farmers field but Haines' urgency is so pressing that I struggle from the depths in which I lurk to assist.
"You're hurt."
He bleeds. I can tell, feel the clotting liquid on his face as I struggle to reach my fingers and brush him with them.
"I never meant to hurt you, captain." Oh Captain my captain! "I was going to tell you at the restaurant tonight, though they would kill me if they knew. I, never meant to hurt you Haines Harley." From somewhere strength comes and my hands holds his jaw, the slick mixtures of blood that is his and mine combining as our fleshes collide.
"I work for the British government, trained to infiltrate Hitler's personal company and feed him information, false, but that I was meant to think true. Trained to die, that is what I am Captain, and they will kill me now, for this," a laugh that could be manic or could be amusement escapes and it brings a cough of blood too.
"The car, head, head," I do not know where we are now, we've left the town and the darkness is so disorientating that I no longer know. "I don't know Captain. I have failed you. Oh please just, hold me Captain."

In his arms I lay there, caught in madness and love.

It is minutes, maybe hours, perhaps days before I speak, it is hard to tell the time though I figure it cannot be days.
"I know where it is, head west of this field, the car is there, I, I had not recognised this field at first, but I know it, this is Flanders."

[Airmid]

Haines

When the Captain had ceased running, and was safely deep within the corn field, he stopped and roughly sank to his knees, chest still heaving with the amount of effort the small jog had required. It was in that instance, that the Captain noticed the soft hand gently caressing his cheek, a hand which belonged to Janet. Still panting wildly, Haines' gaze travelled Southwards in order to look at the curled up, and bleeding form of Janet, who was in turn staring straight back at him, a strange look in her eye. Haines was about to ask her; what the matter was, other than the nurses obvious problem, when she interrupted him by stating that he was hurt. Haines frowned, quietly panting a questioning 'what?' his brain unable to comprehend that Janet, a woman with a bullet lodged in her torso, was worried if he was hurt. The main thing affecting the Captain was fatigue and stress. He needed at least ten minutes to rest, ten minutes which he didn't have, and he also needed Janet to not be bleeding so viciously. The soldiers only physical injuries, were some slight cuts and scratches over his face from shrapnel and debris hitting him, whilst he had been attempting to fend of the German troops, along with ringing ears from the previous bomb blast. But again, those were nothing compared to what his nurse would be feeling right now.

And then her confession. Chest still heaving deeply and incredibly quickly, Haines couldn't quite understand what she was saying. Face permanently confused, Haines could only stare with knitted eyebrows at Janet as he listened to her story. So she was not a nurse? But an agent? Haines had heard of male agents, but never women agents. The idea seemed alien to his 1940's male mind. Not that Haines held no respect for women, like some of the men he knew of, but he still found the idea odd. But he was not one to judge. The Captain was also torn as to which emotions he should be feeling due to this revelation, all of which passed through his face for a few seconds before moving onto the next one. Should he feel; Relief that this nurse was trained in some way, able to take care of herself, Jealousy, because this nurse would most likely have much more training than him or most of all, Hurt. Because it took a raid, bullet wound and a bomb blast for Janet to tell him the truth. But then again, Haines wasn't sure whether or not he had the right to feel hurt by Janet's actions. He had to keep reminding himself that the two had not known each other very long, even if they loved oneanother. His time with Janet had felt like a lifetime, but infact it had been around Two weeks. The soldier wanted to feel hurt and angry at the former nurse, now double agent for keeping such an important truth from him, but there was something inside him that stopped those emotions. The more the Captain looked at the emotional, injured and fearful form of the woman he loved, the less Haines felt any of those things. It was Janet's laugh however, that stopped Haines in his tracks. There was such a range of emotions within that one human trait. Haines could hear, anger, bitterness and amusement, all of which sounded slightly mad. And that scared him.

But when Janet coughed up some blood as a result of the strange laughter, Haines relaxed a little. She was not lost to him then. Removing the hand that was supporting her legs, Haines used his ash-stained cuff in order to wipe away some of the blood that built up in the corner of Janet's mouth. The small beads of liquid reminded the Captain of the fact that she needed some serious medical attention. And fast. Haines swallowed nervously, before continuing to catch his breath heavily through his nose, eyes still trained only on Janet. When Janet began to explain where the car was, hope began to rise in the Captains chest, perhaps the two would get out of this alive after-all, perhaps he would be able to speed to the nearest port unoccupied by Germans and manage to get to England, or at the very least Jersey. Jersey was under the King's rule, and Haines doubted that the Germans would be successful in invading the tiny island. Unfortunately, that tiny bit of hope was shattered, when Janet admitted that she didn't know where the car was. It made Haines feel a little bit better. It meant that he had a reason to be upset with her. Even if it wasn't Janet's fault in the slightest. And as a result, stayed silent when Janet continued, speaking of how she failed him, when really inside; Haines wanted to shake her for saying something like that. The nurse would never be able to fail him, and even if she did, the situation would always be rectifiable, no matter how severe. Always.

But being the stubborn man he was, made no sound or move to comfort her. Well consciously anyway. Unconsciously, Haines pulled the pained woman closer to his body, instincts telling him to shield her from the cold August night, and from the sight of any enemies. Janet was thankfully silent for only a few more seconds, before making anymore noises. Initially, Haines didn't believe his ears, when Janet suddenly spoke that she knew where the car was, before revealing that the two were in Flanders field. Of course then, the field was not particularly famous, so the name had no impact on the Captain. But her directions did. Gently, but with urgency, Haines rose to his feet once more, before looking up. There. Right there was the famed North Star. It was brighter than any other star in the sky, but right now it was his most important tool to finding the car. The Captain had neither the time nor patience to search for his compass, and so would have to rely on his star-gazing skills. Facing the star head one, Haines took a sharp turn to the left, thus facing West. And then without hesitation, began to jog once more in that direction. The jog was much less urgent than his previous running, as he was now less concerned about German followers, but he was still quick about him, knowing that Janet still needed that bullet removed.

The two soon came across one long dirt road, and Haines had two choices. Left or right. The Captain looked right. Over the horizon in that direction, the sky was lit up a ghostly orange that flickered brighter and dimmer now and again. Fire. Over the small apex of the hill that the two were currently on in that direction, was Calais. Not that way. So Haines would have to hope that the car was parked along the dirt road to the left. Sharply turning left, the Captain silently preyed that the car was there. When the soldier felt the ground begin to drop slightly, making jogging a little more difficult, he opened his eyes, hoping with all his heart that the black figure of the machine would be visible in the dark night air. Initially, he was unable to see much after looking at the bright flames of Calais, but after a few seconds, Haines' eyes began to adjust. There, off to the side of the road was a large shape, blacker than the surrounding air, it almost looked like a monster. A flutter of hope, frittered like butterflies deep within Haines' stomach, before the Captain sped off at a brisk and desperate run down towards the dark shape. "Look Janet..." Haines whispered, already having forgotten his previous and unneeded resentment towards the nurse, jerking his head in the direction of the hidden car, as it became visible.

The keys were even still in the door, causing the soldier to sigh in relief. But there was something off about the scene, that made Haines hesitate. Where was Janet's hysterical friend form before? Instead of rushing into the car, Haines continued his pause, looking round wildly for the woman, but something else caught the Captains eye. The passenger window was darker than the rest of the windows, almost looking tinted. Warily, Haines opened the drivers side door with a quick hand movement and his knee, before turning on the in-built light, already knowing what the black stain was. And he was right. The black was infact a bright red. Red that had stained and splattered all of the right side of the car. Haines was absolutely fine with blood, but this concerned him. Instincts told him, that this incredibly fresh blood belonged to the woman, Janet had been escorting. "What in the blue-blazes has happened here?!" Haines whispered in confusion, still trying to make sense of all the blood in his car, before automatically looking down at Janet for an answer, but this action only reminded him that Janet was severely injured and needed immediate attention.

With an elbow, Haines pushed the drivers seat forwards, making room for someone to climb into the passengers seats in the back. Carefully, Haines laid the bloody body of Janet along those seats, along with the green jacket, before retreating to lean over the driving seat and pop open the glove compartment. Inside was the silver box containing his primitive medical kit, along with the half-consumed bottle of whiskey that the Captain would use when feeling depressed and/or bored. Stepping back out, Haines pushed the drivers seat forwards once more in order to lean over Janet ready to remove the bullet. "Janet...Janet, I can't do this" The captain finally whispered, the prospect of having to dig out the bullet from the nurses insides absolutely terrified him. More than watching his friends die and being unable to do anything, more than facing one-hundred German armies, he was out of control, and lacked any of the required skills for something like this. In truth, Haines felt like a stupid, foolish child. Someone, who was unable to do a simple task. Of course this task was not simple, but the soldier didn't know what to do. And not knowing what to do, was something that really distressed the already tired and stressed out man.

[Pandle]

Time has become an anomaly, events happen, and there is order to them, but i cannot grasp them nor understand them. Motions take place, we move around, the scenery changes and the temperature cools but there is no conscious part of me able to decipher this world of hurrying.

Not until we reach the car. I can feel his disappointment, saw enough of his face to know that he doesn't trust me any-more. I have deeply offended him with the truth of what i am. I would feel guilt or remorse for it but now i cannot summon the strength too; we are born monsters made into men, the beast in me was never tamed, it was encouraged. I could not help that. I was driven to killing, sworn to oaths and legions, fed lies to die by. I have been the pawn in the game of war, a pawn dancing on the chess board, headed for the final square, to force a checkmate. But i won't. I'll make myself a queen.
As he drapes me over the back-seats of the car relief swells in me, at least now we might escape with greater haste. Blinking back tears of joy for the feel i heave my eyes to Haines'. He has seen the bloodied window, he has seen the absence of Jayne. What do i tell him now, he will think me a liar, a murderer, soon. So i say nothing.
Not until he cowardly informs me that he cannot save my life. Another woman might feel hollow, another woman might cry and beckon for death. Another woman was not me.
"Help, help me sit up slightly," i cannot let the bullet lie in me, the bleeding is too great and to leave it would bring an infection of immense agony and certain death, if there had been less bleeding i'd be tempted to leave it but it cannot be left, not this time around.
"That's it," so it shall simply be i who removes the bullet. "Start a fire, candle, anything," i brace myself, speaking slowly despite the pain for i know it is nothing on what is to come. "I'm going to remove the bullet, usually i would have someone apply ice to the wound but we have none so i shall have to cope without." My body shakes, tiny little movements, the anticipation and contractions of it jolting my bones.
"Please, Haines don't argue with this; i will need something to bite else i may bite off my tongue, anything will do. When i begin i may faint, i may, lose conscious but you must wake me at once, hear me? A slap should do the trick." Humour. Dry humour.
"I will find the bullet, i will free it, i need you to heat the knife until it is red, nothing less. I should expect i will be unable to do this next bit, you'll near to sear it shut. Use the knife, hold it against the wound," the shaking has become almost violent now, it jars my speech, makes me tremble.

There is no time to check if he is agreeable with this, he himself admits he cannot do it, there is no point in bickering, if it were i in his position i would feel the same. Instead, without care for the indecency, i slowly pull the hem of the black dress upward. It snakes up my body exposing my thighs and the flat of my belly. For a moment I stare at the wound, it is not tidy. The skin is torn and the blood makes it hard to tell, but i have seen it before. My face grimacing i accept the knife and hover it over the wound.
"I need you."

I take the knife and push it in against the edge of the wound. I feel the giving of tissue as it pulls and snaps, twinging like broken elastic against the blade edge. I push it further, face contorting with horrific agonised cries, back arching, legs spasming but still deeper, deeper with the knife as i pathetically cling to staying alert, deeper, into the word of pulsing and bleeding and death itself.
Terror and misery erupt from my mouth, howls of inhuman wrath falling outward.
But with a sudden jerk the blade finds metal. Still howling i take my fingers to the wound and delve them in, ignoring the bizzare touch of my own organs against my fingers, the strange fludic world of my insides coming to the world of bullets. With one final explosion of noise i fish the bullet out, not even a moment later than that my head lolls, my body sinking into the world of dreams.

[Airmid]

Haines

Never in the Southern man's life had Haines failed someone this badly. He had passed his school exams with flying colours exceeding the expectations of his teachers, and bringing a tear of happiness to his mothers eye as well as a pat on the back from his dad. During those school days, Haines would lark about with his friends, teasing the state school kids and buying adult magazines whilst being under-age. During all experiences like those, Haines had always been the first to volunteer and do something, pleasing friends in the process. Girls. Or more specifically Girlfriends. In every sense, he never disappointed them, be it birthday or Christmas presents, or being free to go out with them, or anything else, he would not disappoint. Until now. The Captain could see the frustration in Janet's eyes at his cowardice, the slight anger and perhaps understanding. He had never been needed to perform such an operation before, sure he'd bandaged and stitched up friends in the past, but never had he dug out a bullet. Haines had no control. One would think that a person who fears lack of control would not do well in the army. But if anything it re-enforced his nature. The army was all about climbing. Climbing further and further up the ranks until one had the power to control not just oneself, but everyone else. That was something Haines felt came naturally. As a child, he'd always been a natural leader, and was comfortable in doing so. It may sound conceited, but his group of friends followed him, he was the leader, and everyone did well in the arrangement. But Haines was only able to lead, because he knew what he was doing. Fighting came naturally to him, and injuring another human being had never really been a problem as; a) Haines had never known the person he'd injured, b) He was unable to see their face and c) Well- because they were the enemy Nazi's who did not hold the same morals as him to an extreme and deserved to die. Of course, there were many more complicated parts to the war than this, but these three examples were the main reason Haines was able to cope fairly well in this war effort.

But looking at the nurse whom he cared for deeply, and knowing that in order to save her, he would not only be forced to put her under a great deal of stress and pain, but he lacked the knowledge base to save her properly. He couldn't do it. Something in his brain physically stopped The Captain's body from cutting through Janet's skin. And the soldier couldn't bear it. Silently, and with great shame, Haines did as Janet asked, pulling out his cigarette matches and lighting one. These matches weren't really made for cigarettes, but lighting candles so the bases were long, and they burnt for quite some time. Long enough for the sharp blade of the scalpel to become red hot, and keep it there. Hurriedly, Haines looked around the car for something for Janet to bite lest he want her tongue to be bitten off in the process. Triumphantly, Haines found the small and thin car manual. There were enough pages for it to be big enough for her to bite, without going through it. At Janet's mention of slapping her, Haines looked at her in alarm. His uncle used to slap his auntie regularly when he was a child, resulting in the woman 'accidentally' overdosing on some sleeping pills one night and consequently dying in her sleep. But the Captain knew that if he was forced to slap Janet it would be to save her, not to beat her.

The soldier ignored the fact that Janet's stomach and legs were on display when she pulled the evening dress, now completely ruined, up revealing the extent of the wound. It was an alarming sight, the skin bloodied and torn, curling inwards from the impact of the bullet, and Haines inwardly cringed. Janet seemed to be having some second thoughts, and for a moment Haines wondered if she would beg him to do it for her, but instead told him that she needed him. Swallowing in apprehension, Haines leaned further into the car, left hand resting on her exposed thigh, with the other above her head. This meant that the Captain's head was just centimetres away from Janet's own as he forced himself to watch and wait. Thankfully, Haines was able to use his left hand to restrain her legs, as she pushed the knife further into the wound meaning she wouldn't kick him too hard. Watching Janet in such pain, distressed the Captain. He wanted to pull her hand holding the knife away form her stomach so as to cease the pain she was in, but stopped himself. If she was going to survive this, she would need to remove the bullet. The least Haines could do, was keep close and prey she found it.

Which coincidently, she did. It was only a matter of seconds, but for Janet it must have felt like hours or intense pain, before Haines heard the light clink of the small piece of metal hitting the floor. The Captain opened his mouth in order to praise Janet, hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay, when her head rolled to the side, indicating that she had passed out. Hazel eye wide, Haines remembered that she specifically old him, not to let her pass out, but also to close the wound. Grabbing hold of the knife between her limp fingers, Haines lit up another long match before heating up the knife until red hot. Then without hesitation, squeezed the pieces of skin together, and pressed the flat edge of the searing knife over the wound. The moment the blade hissed against her skin, Haines raised his left hand, and with as much strength as he could muster sent the passed out nurse an almighty slap. Haines flinched against the sound of his skin painfully meeting hers, and eve blanched at the sight of red fingermarks forming on the woman's cheek. The hand that slapped her, moved to soothe the cheek he had hit, hoping to soothe any and all of the stinging sensation she would feel. His other hand was still firmly pressing the rapidly cooling blade across Janet's wound, but after a few seconds of tense waiting, The Captain removed the blade, grimly watching the skin as it tried to follow the blade, before making a sickening slapping noise as the two parted.

"Janet, Janet!" Haines whispered frantically, hoping that she had recovered from passing out. If she had not woken from Haines' slap, he would do it again, but a little harder, before soothing the reddened sight once more. When Janet does open her eyes, or make any move to show she was awake, Haines would breathe a heavy sigh of relief, before sinking to the cramped floor of his car, and bury his face in her legs, partly from fatigue but mostly from shame. "Janet, I'm...." He would begin, his quite mutterings barely audible, before looking up at the injured woman, chin resting on her knees and eyes pleading for forgiveness. Never had the brash, confident and cheerful Captain ever felt this level of shame.

[Pandle]

It is a fitful world to inhabit.

He comes toward me, fist raised ready to strike, his piggy eyes plunged deep into his mask of fat, his cheeks stained with my blood. I think he might laugh as I raise my knee, meeting his belly with the force of a small car, pushing him backward. He stumbles and I, carried by my own momentum, follow after him. It is the click of his gun against my head that brings me to still. Panting I drag my belittled eyes to his wishing for nothing more than an opportunity to blast the bullet into his brains.
"You lose again, Miss Wilson." Laughs he, his finger settled on the trigger and gaily squeezing.
"You cheated. Again." His gun clicked. My head snapped back, ducking the bullet, foot between his obese legs, his startled cry, my anguished yell, elbow down on the small of his neck, his blubbery corpse face first in the muck. "You tried to kill me." I turned slowly to face the Colonel, boiling broth of hatred in my veins. He shrugged, unfolding his arms which had been crossed over his chest.
"Is he dead?" His baritones are sceptic, as if he does not believe a woman capable of cold blooded murder. Snatching the gun from the floor I aim and squeeze. His brains land on my arms and legs, the blood splatter leaping onto my uniform.
"Is now." The colonel owns a face of disbelief. "As you always say; better be safe than sorry."

...

I come around with an acute sense of burning flesh. It scratches, itches beyond on beggaring but it is done. The bullet is out. I hold it in my hands. I can feel its little weight pushing against my fingers as gravity acts upon it. With some effort I raise my right hand out, colliding it with Haines' head, gently fingering the strands of his scalp.
"You did a wonderful job Captain." His eyes are pleading, pitiful creatures that sing of sorrow. I have seen the look a thousand times, worn it myself before, it is the expression of someone who has failed in their duty. There is only reassurances to be made that he did not, he has saved me. Twice now. And I have done nothing but jeopardise him. A sore smile at him and the brushing back of his hair are made.
"We should clean you up, we can't stay here," i have seen soldiers with worse wounds than mine survive, i've seen them get up and keep going, a sense of honour in their movements, the instructor of their death was not the bullet inside them but their own determination. They didn't know when to stop, their judgement was poor. I will have no such event snatch Haines from me.
"Don't protest, else i shall march out there toward the Germans this instant." Withdrawing my hand from his hair I fumble with the first aid kit, pulling from it a small sanitary swab and a roll of bandages. Perhaps without realising it he had achieved a fierce looking gash on his head, a result of the explosion is my gaze. He would have a wretched headache by the morning, worse if he left it untreated. Ignoring the pain of my abdominals I stretch forward and hold his chin steady with a finger, dabbing at the gash with my other, cleaning away the mud, dirt and blood from his brow.
"It could do with some stitches but, we should get away-" the ground had begun to shake, the car windows rattling with the force of some great weight, a tank, or group of them perhaps. Either way I am not fond of the idea of hanging around to find out. Nodding for Haines to climb into the front seat I wait for the engine to start before easing myself fully upright, head propped against the glass. But where to go? I had said south but that route was gone now, blocked by the German advance.
"Where will we go?" A weakness. I hated to show it but my geography had never been as apt as i would have enjoyed. Going to Spain would only lead me to my death and Haines to some form of dishonorary discharge for assisting a criminal; for no doubt i will be named thus by the government now.

{{ Heavens, that post is diabolical i'm sorry >.> i thought it would be good for Janet to be all "oh captain my captain what ever shall we go?" and he could be all like "i'll save you!

[Airmid]

Haines

The Captain's dark eyes looked at his remarkable woman for just one moment longer. This incredible nurse was something else to him. Not just twenty minutes ago, she had been shot in the stomach, before having an incompetent fool such as himself remove the bullet, and now she was able enough to give him orders. A bead of sweat rolled down Haines' temple in response, before he silently nodded to himself in reassurance. Reassurance, that she was alive and well. From the corner of his eye, the soldier could still see the orange horizon, lighting up the sky as the town was laid to waste by the Germans. For a brief second or two, Haines could only feel despair and mourning for those few men who he had fought with. For sure, they would all be dead now, or taken hostage before being tortured. Janet had spared him of that by her presence, and for that he loved her. But a tiny part of him wished he was there with those brave men. Wished that they would not die Captainless. In a moment of selfish desire, he'd abandoned his post and left his brothers. Shaking hands balled into fists, as the Captain resolved not to let their names go unnoticed by his superiors. Their families would be supported, and they would be commemorated, and he would be the one to inform the generals.

Haines glanced back at Janet in order to make sure she was safely in the car, before steadily shutting the car door. Purposefully, Haines marched to the driver seat, before stiffly sitting down. Onyx eyes warily glances at the dried blood spattered up the passenger seat, courtesy of Janet as she defended herself from that traitor. Turning his attention back to front of his car, Haines tightly gripped the steering wheel, cracking his knuckles in the process. Once he started this car, he was not going to stop until he arrived where he intended to go. Yes- he had a plan. A daring one, but if successful, the two of them would surely be safe. The Captain reached forwards to start the car, counting the seconds until he could give the car some welly and get the hell out of there. 3...2...1 and- nothing. Well, more like a pathetic grunt and a gurgle from the engine as it revved a few times before ceasing any noise. A vein began to bulge immediately across Haines' forehead. Again. 3...2...1 nothing. "Come on...." The Captain growled, becoming more and more desperate by the second. Once more. Nothing. Haines tried a few more times, each twist of the key becoming more and more violent as his anger and frustration grew, until his frustration gave way, earning the steering wheel a hard punch.

The car started.

Haines had not been expecting it, but his reactions were quick enough. He put the vehicle into first, took his foot off the clutch, gave it some gas before speeding away down the road away from Calais without another word. Although silently, he sighed out in relief. Now that the thing was working, his hopes began to lift. The car had enough fuel to take them to where they needed to go. No doubt the main port towards England would have been shut down because of the German invasion, but the army had a private port for times such as these, and a wave of his uniform would enable the two of them a fairly hush-hush passage to Jersey. Yes, Jersey. It was a small island, closer to France than England really, but under British rule. The Germans would not siege the island knowing that it belonged to Britain, so the two of them would be safe until they could chart a ferry to Dover. In addition there was a small hospital near the centre of the island that Haines knew of. Janet would be able to receive proper treatment from qualified nurses and doctors there. Haines was neither of those things, but one thing he did know was that Janet was not safe yet. One of the biggest killers to a soldier was disease. If her wound was to get infected, she would be danger. Haines needed time really, but in this moment, time was not their ally.

The army port was not but a twenty minute drive from Calais, and that was at the reasonable pace of thirty when one was driving. So Haines expected the two of them to arrive after ten to fifteen minutes. Thankfully, the road to their destination was fairly straight if a little bumpy at times, but Haines was not about to stop and take precautions. After just over ten minutes or so, the captain hesitantly looked in his rear view mirror to eye Janet nervously and see how she was feeling, "We're not far to where I want to go Janet, do you think you will be okay?" The captain asked in concern, occasionally glancing away from her to look at the road before returning his gaze to the injured woman. Whatever her answer was, Haines was not really listening as he leaned forwards in excitement at the sight that was just coming over the horizon. A familiar sight; the run down sight of an old farmhouse. It looked odd against the blue backdrop of the sea, but there was no mistaking it. They were less than five miles away now. Haines accelerated a little, just to stay on the safe side.

The car pulled up along the side of the large barn before coming to a rough halt. The Captain paused for a moment, eyes searching for signs that only trained soldiers would identify with his majesty's royal army. Satisfied with the invisible signs, Haines hesitantly opened the car door before stepping out and looking around cautiously once more. Without looking at Janet, the soldier made the hand sign to 'stay' although half of him didn't think she would. In a moment or two, Haines pieced it together. No doubt the soldiers who would usually inhabit this place were here, but they were hiding, guns trained on himself and the car incase he was German. It should have been obvious, they would have of course heard about the Calais invasion. The Captain needed to talk to them, but they wouldn't come out without some persuasion. Sighing in slight annoyance at his brothers, Haines cocked his gun before raising an arm, and without missing a beat began shooting into the air. The loud boom of his MK2 echoed through the otherwise silent atmosphere. Which ironically was not silent for long.

Nearly fifteen soldiers all ran out, with all manner of guns trained on himself all of whom were shouting at him to 'Get down' or 'Drop the weapon' among other things. The Captain raised his hands in submission dropping his gun in the process, which was the sign for the troop to move in and surround him and Janet further. The Captain quickly identified the other Lieutenant leading the group due to his uniform, whom had his gun nozzle trained on Janet. Ignoring the shouting protests of the men surrounding him, Haines extended his right arm towards the Captain for a handshake, "Captain Haines Harley, regiment six..." The Captain began with a smug smile, at the look of shock from the man, "By his Royal Majesty the King, I wish to arrive on the Island of Jersey' Haines requested formally, all friendliness gone from his manner and voice; he was Captain now, and pulling rank on the less experienced man. All the guns were immediately lowered followed by meek salutes and apologetic glances, "W-When for sir?" The lieutenant asked hesitantly, "I want to have been gone five minutes ago man" Haines growled, sending the men around him a piercing glare.