CHAPTER NINE.   HAPPIEST DAYS OF OUR LIVES

HER SHOULDER COLLIDED WITH THE SOLDIER NEXT TO HER. His glare at her was sharp and angry. She mumbled an apology before turning her gaze across from her. Schofield stares down at his hands. They're shakier than she had ever seen them - even shakier than after the bunker. She wants to say something, anything, to comfort him, but she knows her words are fruitless. After all, she was a stranger he had met mere hours ago; Blake had been his best friend for who knows how long.

His eyes meet hers. He's holding back tears. Her eyes hold nothing but grief and sorrow and maybe a bit of pity for him. There was a thick tension between the two. The horrid words they had shared were now ingrained in their minds and hearts. He wants to apologize but his stubbornness won't allow it.

An arm nudges her. Mags looks over to see a soldier holding out a whiskey bottle. She takes it with a grateful smile and quickly downs a bit. Wincing at the sting, she holds the bottle out in front of her. Her eyes look down at the bottle cork in her hand. "You mind if I keep this?" She asks the soldier next to her. He shrugs in response.

Holding out the bottle to Schofield, she offers a small smile. His eyes dart between her and the bottle. Reaching out, he takes it and mumbles his thanks. He quickly downs a small bit, leaving half of the bottle full. "So, what's your name, pretty lady?" The soldier to her right asks as a suggestive smirk grows on her lips. He leans his elbow on his knee.

"Margaret." She responds. Her hand clenches around the cork in her hand. The ridged and hardened edges dig into her hand.

"Well, Margaret," he chuckles, "let me know what aid station you're posted at so I can request a transfer."

"You try that on all the nurses you talk to?" Her eyebrows furrow as her arms cross over her chest. Maybe if she hadn't just lost a friend, she'd be more in the mood to flirt. If Blake were here, he'd probably tell this guy to fuck off. But he wasn't here. He was back at the farmhouse, rotting by the dead dog.

The men around them all chuckle as a faint blush forms on the man's cheeks. "Only the beautiful ones."

Schofield watches the interaction. He can tell Mags isn't into it. He wants to say something, but he can't find his voice. Once again, her eyes find his. They plea for help. That was all he needed. "Lay off her, mate." He finally speaks.

"Excuse me?" The soldier asks, pushing himself in a more upright position.

"She's clearly not into it."

"And who are you? Her boyfriend?" A few of the men chuckle in response.

"And if I am?"

Mags tenses up at the argument. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the soldier scoff before turning back to her. "Is this lad your boyfriend?"

"And if he is?" She sends a pointed look his way.

"You can do better."

"And you think that's what you are, Butler?" Another soldier jokes, erupting the entire truck into laughter. Both Mags, Schofield, and Private Butler are the only ones not laughing.

A soldier hits Butler on the arm. "Carry on with that story from earlier, mate."

"Oh, yeah..." Butler begins retelling a story he had been telling his friends before Mags and Schofield had joined. She refuses to listen to anything out of the man's mouth.

An arm from her left nudges her faintly. A man in a turban smiles at her as he holds a cigarette out to her. "Ignore him. Actually, ignore all of them. Who knows how long it's been since they've seen a woman - let alone talked to one." They both chuckle as she accepts the cigarette. He lights a match and lights the cigarette. "So, where're you two heading off to?"

"Top secret mission." Mags holds her index finger up to her lips before placing the cigarette between her lips. "We're supposed to stop an attack from the Second Devons tomorrow morning. Well, he is." Her head nodded towards Schofield. "I think I'm just along for the ride, at this point."

"Why do you say that?"

She shrugs her shoulders in response. "I'm just a nurse, y'know. I can't shoot a gun, and I can't fight. The only thing I can do is wrap a wound."

"That's more than these sorry chaps can do."

"But you all can fight and defend yourselves." She took another deep puff of her cigarette.

He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Everyone's got their thing. If we had a world full of soldiers, there'd be no love." Taking a drag from his cigarette, he let out a sigh. "You're strong, whether you believe it or not. I see it in you."

Her eyes move up to look at him. Did he really think so highly of her? He didn't even know her. How could he speak so highly of her without even knowing her? Tears began to well up in her eyes. Mags was quick to blink them away. Never, in her life, had she heard someone speak so genuinely of her. Taking another drag of the cigarette, she begins listening in to to conversation, chuckling as each man gives their impression of their captain.

Schofield watches her, his hands flexing before tightening into fists. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out the blue tobacco tin. He quickly glances inside before placing it back in his pocket. "You mind if we switch, mate?" Mags asks the soldier sitting next to Schofield. The man nods before switching places with the nurse. "You want a drag?" She holds out the cigarette between her middle and index finger.

He simply nods, grabbing the cigarette and taking a deep drag. He tries to feel at ease as the tobacco fills his lungs, but he just can't. How could she even smile after what they had just been through? His best friend had just died in their arms not an hour ago and she was sharing smiles with the soldier in the turban. He couldn't help but feel a bit angry at her for it. As he hands the cigarette back to the nurse, he feels that anger quickly dissipate. "We'd get further if we walked." He mumbles to her, eliciting a giggle from her.

"We'd probably smell better if we walked, too." She whispered to him. A small smile grows on Schofield's lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "Do you want to see my family?" Her question caught him off guard. It was an intimate question, in terms of how little they had known each other. "It won't hurt my feelings if you say no." She takes another puff from her cigarette.

Inhaling the smell of the tobacco, he nods. "I'd love to." He can tell she's trying to distract him. She wants to distract him from the death they had just witnessed and the heated argument they had just had. Her hands are just as shaky as his. Was that pilot her first intentional kill? Blood still stains her hands. It's a mixture of hers, the pilot's, and Blake's. It's dried enough to look a deep brown. He watches her reach into her inner breast pocket and pull out a small stack of photos.

The first one is one of two men standing side by side, staring into the camera with stoic expressions. "That's my brother," she points to the young man with dark hair, "and that's my father," her finger points to the older man. The two look nothing like her. Maybe she took after her mother - the mother that had told her to never return. "Alex here is fighting with the Second Devons. I hope he's still there. We promised to write letters, but I guess we both got busy. There is a war going on and whatnot." She shrugs her delicate shoulders.

Flipping to the second photo, it reveals the entire family of five. "There's my older sister, Eliza," she points to the girl with a deep frown on her lips, "there's my mother," she points to the older woman above her sister, "and there's me," she finally points to herself. Mags is a near spitting image of her mother. From the light hair to the constantly furrowed eyebrows, she was her mother, through and through. "Eliza and I look just like Mum." She mumbles, taking in the photo. She's not sure what to feel when she sees it. Part of her missed her family dearly, but another part of her detested it. She loathed her mother's treatment of her and her sister's ever so doting attitude and her brother's obliviousness and her... Her train of thought trailed off when her father popped into her mind. She missed him. It's bad luck to speak ill of the dead, her brother had told her.

"You do." Schofield spoke, pulling her out of her daydream. "Not in the eyes, though."

She chuckled. "How can you even know what color her eyes are?"

"You look more lively, more happy than her."

Her chuckle stopped short when his sentence had left his lips. She stared up at him with her doe eyes, confused. "You don't even know her."

"I don't need to know her, I just need to know you." His fingers reached out to take the almost finished cigarette from her hand. As he let the smoke dissipate in the air, he handed the stick back to the nurse. "I'm glad you're with me, Mags. I shouldn't have said the things I did. I didn't mean them-"

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head, waving him off. Taking one last drag from the cigarette, she snuffs it against the seat of the truck. "Water under the bridge, right?"

He slowly nods. Glancing up at her, he lets out a soft sigh. "I mean it, though. I'm glad you're with me."

"'Til my dying breath-" She was cut off as the entire truck lurches violently. She grunts as her body collides with Schofield's. The tires can be heard spinning outside of the truck. The entire engine groans in frustration. The engine revs louder, sinking the truck even deeper into the mud.

Schofield simply nods as he stands up. The soldier next to him mumbles that the driver needs lessons. They all watch as Schofield hops out of the truck and onto the muddy ground beneath them. Pushing herself out of her seat, she follows suit. The entire back right wheel is halfway submerged in the thick mud. "Maybe walking would be better." She mumbles under her breath. Glancing around the truck, she notices a large tree trunk blocking the road.

"He should reverse." Schofield speaks, grabbing all of their attentions. The soldier next to him agrees, but stays seated. With a scoff, Schofield walks around the truck to instruct the driver to put the truck in reverse. He quickly returns to the back as the entire truck cranks into reverse. The wheel spins, but it merely sinks deeper. "No, stop! Stop!" He shouts at the driver, who idles the truck. "Everyone needs to get out." He tells all of the soldiers in the back of the truck.

A few soldiers obey, standing to their feet and jumping out. Others stay seated. "All out!" Schofield shouts at them. They aren't moving fast enough for his likes. "Come on!"

Private Butler scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright. Keep your bloody hair on." He mumbles as he jumps out of the truck.

A few soldiers ready themselves behind the truck with Schofield, ready to push. "Right. One, two, three." They all begin to push. The truck refuses to move. Schofield continues to push. Mags winces, knowing that him using this much energy wouldn't do them any good. All of the soldiers fall slack, knowing it is a fruitless act.

"We need to get some wood to put under the wheels." One soldier suggests.

"No!" Schofield shouts, surprising them all. "We haven't got the time!" He returns to the back of the truck and begins pushing. "We all need to push! Come on!" His eyes land on Mags, who takes the hint and joins him in pushing the truck. She knows she can't be much help, but every hand counts. None of the other soldiers join them, watching in confusion and annoyance. "Please. I have to go now! Please." His voice is full of desperation and grief.

They can all hear it. They can all recognize it. They've been there before. And Lord knows what these two had just been through. They all begin to fall in line and push against the truck. Private Butler cheers them on as they all push to the best of their abilities. "One last push!" He shouts as they all push with all of their might.

The truck finally lifts out of the mud. The wheels are free and now they are free. A collective sigh of relief escapes them all as they move away from the vehicle. Schofield falls forward into the mud. Mags is quick to crouch next to him. "You shouldn't have used that much energy. This dumb truck's bound to get stuck again in twenty minutes." Her eyes scan over him for any injuries. Part of her knows he isn't injured, but it's become a habit. Looking closely at him, she can tell he's trying not to cry. "It's okay, Will."

"I wish he hadn't chosen me." He whispers, almost too quiet for her to hear.

Her hand gently rubs his back. "But he did. And we're going to finish it and give Erinmore a big middle finger, yeah?" She presses a soft kiss to his temple.

He simply nods, unable to say anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her stand up and hold a hand out to him. "Let's get back in." He tells the men. They all watch the two with wary eyes. "You heard me, let's go." The soldiers comply and begin piling back into the truck.

"Here, driver, how about you try to keep it on the bloody road for a change!" The soldier that had sat next to Schofield shouted.

"Piss off!" The driver responded with a middle finger out of the window.

Schofield and Mags are the last to climb into the truck. The entire truck is silent. All eyes are on them. A blush would form on her cheeks if she weren't so focused on Schofield. Was he even mentally fit to finish this mission? Probably not, but who else could do it? If they didn't do it, then Blake died for no reason other than stupidity.

Her left hand gently reached out, barely grazing his own hand. He takes initiative and intertwines their pinkies together. He just needs some sort of human contact and comfort.

"So," Private Butler breaks the silence, "where are you going?"

"We're going to the Second Devons. Just past Écoust." Mags answers, sensing that Schofield is in no mood for conversation.

"Why?"

"They're attacking at dawn. We've got orders to stop 'em."

"How come?" Another soldier speaks up.

"It's a trap." Schofield's voice is quiet, but it speaks volumes to the men.

"How many?" A soldier asks.

"Sixteen hundred."

All of the soldiers freeze. They're in shock. That's a death sentence for their men, their friends, their brothers. "Jesus." One whispers as he shakes his head.

"Why'd they send just you and a nurse?" Private Butler asks, receiving a glare from the said nurse. "I meant no offense, it's just an odd combination."

"There was another. She was here to make sure we didn't die." Her eyes dart to Schofield. Nothing about his tone or appearance holds hostility, but she can't help but feel the sting of his words.

"Where's the other?"

"Dead." Both he and Mags answer in unison.

"So, it's just you two?" Butler asks. They both nod. "You'll never make it."

"Blow it out your arse, Butler." Mags snaps. Her glare is sharp and furious. Fuck him. They were going to make it whether it killed them or not. But they wouldn't if they kept arguing as quickly as the two did. Nearly every word they shared was a roll of the dice on whether it would be pleasant or quickly devolve into angry arguments. They would have to talk things over sooner or later, but that was something for another time.

"Can you believe these are the happiest days of our lives?" One of the soldiers speaks up. She believes his name is Private Cooke. They all turn to him with confused looks. "Our teens and twenties are supposed to be full of life and vigor, but we're spending it shooting other teens and twenties."

The truck grows eerily silent. They can't argue with him. Everyone spoke on how happy and fun your early twenties were, and there they were, spending it surrounded by violence and death. Mags pulls the whiskey cork out of her pants pocket. She takes in every holes, every groove, and every missing piece. She just needed a corkscrew to get it onto the string necklace. Blake would like this, she thought. If he were here, he'd probably make a joke to lighten the mood. But he wasn't here. He was dead, and they needed to move on. No time for grief in war, Lieutenant Leslie had told her. But she refused to be so cold and closed off to the world. And she refused to let Schofield become that way too. She promised herself to keep him afloat for as long as she could. It was her duty as a nurse, and as a human.