CHAPTER SONG: "Never Let Me Go" by Florence & the Machine
"Everybody needs to get out of the truck now! We need to push it out!" Emmanuelle shouted as she went around to the back of the truck, Schofield following close behind.
Both of them saw a handful of soldiers standing around in the grass, chatting to each other or smoking to wait out the delay in travel. The other half of them were still in the truck, just sitting and grumbling about being stuck again.
Emmy huffed out an irritated breath as the vehicle's back wheels continued to struggle in the soaking mud. She could sense Schofield's presence at her side, his observant eyes going between her and the group of bored restless men, wondering how she would regulate them in line.
Blake would be having a right laugh at what was happening, but not at the expense of the girl...
"All of you! Corporals, privates!" She continued to shout at the men, her voice a clear ringing bell amidst the deeper rumbles of masculine laughter. She kept her focus on the group in the truck. Some of them turned their heads and their eyes widened at the sound of a female voice and the sight of a woman clad in their captain's coat.
Schofield stepped forward as the men, both on the grass and in the truck, only stared with confusion at the notion of Emmanuelle acknowledging them in such an authoritative voice. He knew time was running out each minute this truck was trapped.
"Everyone, we need to come forward and push!" He demanded in a desperate tone as he went to the rear of the truck and began pushing. "Come on! Help me, please!"
His eyes met Emmy's, as if he were looking to her for guidance or perhaps inspiration...
Some of the men standing in the grass went to assist Schofield, who was yelling at the top of his lungs in the effort he was pushing his body with, no doubt further damaging his hands as well. His face was red and his teeth clenched together in using all the possible strength he had in his body.
When was the last time he had eaten or slept?
Emmanuelle stepped forward closer to the group of struggling men, rage coursing through her at the sight of some of the straggler soldiers still in the truck and adding extra weight inside.
Schofield and the others assisting him let go of the truck, still unsuccessful in their labors.
"All of you, in the truck! Get your asses out now!" Emmy shouted, not caring what words they may say or what they may try to do to intimidate her.
"Hey, you've got no business being here, girl!" One of them barked to her in protest.
"And you have no business being in the Army if you don't get off your backside and help get this damn truck out of the mud!" She retaliated back, her posture arched straight with confidence.
The sound of her voice aggressively pushing the men to aid them made adrenaline course through Schofield's body, gathering more drive to push the truck again. They locked eyes, an unspoken understanding between them that now was not the time to be worrying about who was ordering who around.
The remaining soldiers finally began filing out of the truck, dropping down and joining the others to give one final push. Schofield heard some of the soldiers mumbling choice words referencing Emmanuelle in not the most flattering way, but he kept the anger under control.
"Come on, everyone! We need to push!" Emmy joined Schofield's side at the back of the truck, the hem of her captain's coat and shoes caked in mud. She began pushing, knowing that her slight frame most likely wouldn't make much of a difference, but she needed to help in any way she could.
The wheels turned again as the driver accelerated. Everyone pushed, shouting and grunting. Schofield sounded to be in pain, releasing his frustration from the events that had happened in only the last few hours and the pressure of what he absolutely could not let happen...
He had failed Blake by letting him out of his line of sight on this mission.
He would not allow the same to happen to the girl pushing the truck alongside him, branding whatever place she could secure for herself in this country and this time she was not from...
He would not see her die...
At last, the sensation of the truck moving forward broke Schofield out of his distraught thoughts. He caught himself as he fell forward into the mud. Emmy had landed in the mud too, trying to lift herself up. She stood up onto her feet, wiping her hands off onto the captain's coat.
Schofield went to make certain she was alright. Her foot was caught in a deeper hole of mud, grasping onto her shoe. She bent down at her ankle to try to pull it out, but to no avail.
The tired soldier bent down to where her foot was stuck, reaching down at feel for her shoe. Her bare, bandaged foot was released, but her shoe was still submerged. Emmanuelle placed her hands onto Schofield's shoulder to help in her balance.
Before they could try to grab the shoe, one of the soldiers from the truck, a bearded man of Sikh nationality with kind eyes and who had immediately gone to help Schofield in pushing, bent down to where her shoe had sunk and managed to pull it out.
"I believe this is yours, Miss." The man looked at Emmanuelle with genuine politeness, using the sleeve of his jacket to clean the shoe. "If you give me your other shoe, I can clean it. It's the least I can do to thank you for helping us."
"We need to go." Schofield softly directed to the both of them. "Emmanuelle, let's get you out of the mud."
He bent down and carefully placed one of his arms around her back, her arm going to wrap around his neck as though it were completely natural. She looked into his eyes, her breath leaving her lungs at what he was about to do.
Schofield swept his other arm underneath her knees and gathered her up in a bridal carry.
The Sikh went to where her lovely legs dangled over Schofield's arm and carefully removed Emmy's other shoe, wiping the mud off with his own uniform sleeve. Â He had absolutely no reaction toward the position the young lady was in, being literally swooped off her feet by a soldier as though it was an everyday occurrence for her.
The coat around her frame made the lance corporal grasp a little tighter onto her with its coarser material, but he noticed the definite difference compared to when he carried her after she had fainted back at the farmhouse. Her thankful smile made him catch his breath and ignore the wolf-whistles from the soldiers, playfully mocking his act of chivalry.
"We did it, Will." Emmy whispered only for him to hear. Her fingertips touched his jaw-line in a reassuring gesture. "We're one step closer."
Schofield couldn't find appropriate words to respond with, only gently placing her to sit on the edge of the truck, her legs dangling down. He noticed a splotch of mud near the corner of her bottom lip. His thumb wiped it away, just barely grazing her mouth with the utmost precision. His hands took a grasp of hers, bringing them to his lips and planting a respectful kiss upon her miniature knuckles, thanking her in his own silent way.
The gesture made her want to wrap her arms around him and never let go. To show what he was beginning to mean to her, the measures he was going to insure her comfort and safety when he only knew her since earlier that afternoon...
The Sikh soldier handed her the shoes to be placed back onto her feet.
"Thank you, sir." Emmanuelle thanked him profusely; glad to have her shoes back. She went to sit down on her seat nearest the truck's edge.
Schofield hoisted himself back inside and sat next to her, missing the warmth of the woman he had just held in his arms.
The raging ocean of emotions flowing through Schofield ebbed within him at the feeling of Emmy taking one of his hands within both of hers, her fingertips exploring the material of the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Then, they moved to his calloused fingers, hardened with blisters and scratches...
So many stories to be told with just the sight and feel of his hands, the same ones that had touched her with nothing but concentrated gentleness, yet she had seen them handle the rifle that he had shot the German pilot with...
She leaned against his shoulder, sighing with exhaustion...
Her eyes closed and she dared to rest her eyes for a minute while Schofield released his hand from her grip and enfolded his arm around her petite waist, wanting to keep her from inching too close to the truck's edge should she almost fall out and injure herself.
With his other hand, Schofield reached into his uniform tunic and pulled out a blue tobacco tin, rectangular in shape. Opening the lid, he checked to make sure the contents were safe and secure inside, especially the letter from General Erinmore about the approaching attack tomorrow...
Placing the parchment back into the tin, he secured it back inside his tunic. The truck went over a bump, jostling everyone around. Emmanuelle snuggled closer into Schofield's arm wrapped around her, disturbed from her semi-consciousness momentarily before sinking back in. Her head laid onto his uniformed collarbone, showing her full trust in him to not let her fall from the vehicle's sudden jerky movement.
Schofield closed his eyes as well, exhaling out at the vibration of his heartbeat increasing at the peaceful demeanor of the girl slumbering against him. As a soldier, he most definitely could not afford to display weakness. But, perhaps that wasn't entirely the problem...
This girl who had displayed more than what he had initially thought she was capable of. So much willfulness inside one who had not weighed much when he had her in his arms...
"She's quite a remarkable woman." The Sikh soldier spoke up to Schofield, breaking him away from the musings in his head.
"Yes, she is." Schofield agreed, thinking that it was an understatement but not saying it aloud. "God placed her in my path." He whispered, glancing down with reverence at a still dozing  Emmy.
The Sikh recognized the way Schofield's exhausted face then melted into that of another expression he recognized as something beyond compassionate affection toward a female companion... Something definitely deeper...
"So, where are you going?" The Sikh asked Schofield, keeping the conversation steered away from other personal topics.
"I have to get to the 2nd Devons, just past Ecoust." Schofield explained, blinking away the fog of fatigue from his eyes. "They're walking into a trap."
"How many men?" A fellow British private on the Sikh's side curiously interrogated.
"Sixteen hundred." Schofield tensed up at the reminder of the numbers, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
"Why in the hell would they send you alone with a girl?" Another private asked, more abrasive in his questioning. " You won't make it in time if you have to drag her around with you."
"They didn't send her with me." Schofield corrected him, daring the rude private to insinuate anything in regards to Emmanuelle, who was stirring slowly awake against him. "I will make it in time. And I gave her my word I'd keep her safe."
Both privates stayed silent, wondering to themselves why the lance corporal was bothering himself with this woman.
Before any other discussion could be had, the truck halted to an abrupt stop again. Emmanuelle opened her eyes at the movement and Schofield moved his arm from her waist to her shoulders, assuring her that no danger was present.
The soldiers around them groaned in frustration. Emmy stood up to stretch her legs and released an ungraceful yawn. Some of the men gave out good-natured chuckles at her behavior. Fighting back a flustered blush, she heard the driver call out from the front of the truck.
"Bridge is out!"
The more blunt of the two privates beside the Sikh soldier raised his eyebrows in faux shock. "That's a shame."
Schofield gathered himself up from the truck seat, gesturing toward Emmanuelle.
"Looks like we'll be getting out here." He jumped out, landing onto the rough dirt road. "Good luck."
Schofield then held out his hands for Emmy to take, aiming to assist her out of the vehicle. Their gazes connected again as she placed her hands within his, becoming used to the comforting feel of them. Taking a good leap with her legs, she landed down beside him with surprising ease.
"Keep some of that luck for yourself, mate." One of the privates responded to Schofield's good-willed statement of comradeship. "Think you'll be needing it." The private briefly turned a leering look in Emmy's direction.
She took Schofield's hand in hers, not caring if the soldiers saw. Let them say what they pleased...
"I hope you get there. Both of you." The Sikh soldier kindly wished the sentiment upon them.
"Thank you." Emmanuelle said, nodding her head in respect.
Schofield looked away from the exchange to survey their surroundings. The landscape was most definitely unfamiliar. They had stopped next to a destroyed canal, the bridge submerged from the middle into a body of murky water.
The captain who had assisted them in acquiring their transport approached the both of them. "The next bridge is six miles. We'll have to divert."
"I can't, sir. I don't have the time." Schofield glanced toward the sun that was already beginning to sink below the cloudy horizon.
"Of course." The captain held his hand to the lance corporal for a gentleman's honorable handshake. "Best of luck to the both of you."
Slight worry invaded in the captain's gaze aimed at Emmy as he released Schofield's hand.
"Thank you, sir." Schofield nodded his head to the superior officer.
"One more thing, corporal." The captain stopped himself from turning away from the duo. "If you do manage to make it to Colonel Mackenzie, make sure there are witnesses."
"They're direct orders, sir." Schofield informed the captain, uncertain of what he was referring to.
"I know." The captain sighed out in understanding to the younger man. "But some men just want the fight."
Schofield absorbed his words, his frenzied mind processing the implications of the captain's statement. "Thank you, sir."
The lance corporal found his hand holding Emmanuelle's in an even firmer grip, his protective instincts bubbling up to the surface.
With a farewell nod to him and a polite tip of his parade hat to Emmy, the captain turned away and walked back up the front of the convoy, commanding that they continue moving forward.
The sound of the vehicles departing, the engines buzzing in Emmanuelle's head as she took in the sight in front of her, what their next obstacle to face was...
Schofield looked at the structure with a quiet determination, breathing out a deep sigh as he led Emmy toward the demolished bridge. The entire middle section was submerged in the water. The surface of it was so dark it was impossible to see anything underneath.
Emmanuelle shivered at the thought of sinking below, possibly being impaled by some unfortunately placed debris.
Schofield didn't see any other way to pass through into the town across the canal. If the half the  bridge was sinking into the water, how in the hell would they get across?
Right where the bridge railing began, there was a wide, stone platform about seven feet high.
"Emmanuelle, I'm going to need you to trust me again." He unclipped the strap of Blake's helmet from where it had been around her neck to where it would rest comfortably beneath her chin. The helmet may have been a little large for her smaller head, but it have to do in protecting her from concussive injuries.
"I trust you, Will." Her voice contained no hesitation or wavering in her confidence she had for him.
The breath in her lungs stopped as he tenderly adjusted her long hair behind her shoulders, but she kept her gaze on him, trying to digest what plan he had to get them on the other side.
He released her shoulders, doing his best to keep calm for both of their sakes. Taking her hand again, he led her to the stone platform by the bridge. It was at least a foot taller than Schofield's towering height at six feet.
An understanding came between them as Schofield held his hands to Emmy's waist, her own hands upon his shoulders similar to when he had first lifted her up into the convoy truck. She took deep breaths, closing her eyes as she tried to calm herself.
"Emmaunuelle, remember what I said before at the truck." One of his hands caressed her cheek, leaving small markings of ash and dirt along her smooth skin.
She looked into his cerulean eyes, shining with determination. I won't let you be harmed while you're at my side.
Emmy nodded her head, taking his hand that her just then stroked her face as though she materialized from flower petals, easily susceptible to damage. Her chapped lips placed on his rough fingers her own kiss of mutual thankfulness.
Schofield's heart skipped a beat at her expression of trusting him and his promise to her. Adjusting his hands back onto her waist and his eyes never leaving hers, he used whatever stroke of adrenaline he possessed to lift her up onto the platform.
She stood above him, bending down to assist him up. He managed to climb up with her literal helping hand.
They were both standing in open air, exposed to the elements and what possible hazards awaited them. Schofield's breath choked when he saw the tall structure of an abandoned lock-house building near the edge of the canal. His arm enfolded around Emmy to assure that she was close by and he was positioned to shield her.
He looked ahead at the railing, knowing the risk that had to be taken for them to get across.
"My shoes won't have enough purchase on the railing without slipping." Emmanuelle basically said aloud what Schofield was thinking. His boots possibly had enough traction against the metal railing if he could balance enough to walk along its short width.
"I'll have to carry you." Schofield knew they had no other choice if they were both to get across in a timely manner. The sun was already starting to dip lower into the western sky. Bending down, he swept her up into his arms again, securing his grip under her slight back and under her knees.
Emmanuelle's arms enfolded in a near choke-hold around his neck, her eyes locked onto the black water below them. She gasped, her breaths coming out in short instances similar to hyperventilation.
"Don't be frightened, Emmy." Again he used her nickname to console her. "Just close your eyes. Put your head against me and shut your eyes." He spoke softly, no hint of condescending in his tone.
She shut her eyes tight, struggling to concentrate on anything else other than the sound of Schofield's deathly cautious steps upon the railing.
Her mind battled against her and she counted each sound of his boots...
One...
The scent of Schofield's uniform, the faint aroma of tobacco ash and gunpowder mixed with some kind of cologne...
Two...
The way his uniform collar rubbed her forehead as she leaned her cheek against his shoulder...
Three...
The way he was holding her securely to him, doing his most absolute to make certain she knew he wouldn't let loose of her. If they had been anywhere else and he had just been carrying her this way across the French countryside like Blake had jested about to her back at the farm, she could have fallen asleep this way, being cradled so by this man who had no stake whatsoever in her personal well-being...
Four...
The shot from the lock-house's tallest window shattered the calm surface of the water beneath them.
Schofield stopped in his limited tracks, clutching onto the woman in his arms more tightly in his being startled out of his focus.
Emmanuelle screamed, burying her face into his neck...
Five...
His foot slipped out from underneath him.
They were both in the murky water before they could process what was happening...
Emmanuelle was no longer in her soldier's safe hold, but now she was in the water. Her head managed to break the surface, spitting out the polluted fluids so she could call for Schofield.
His voice shouted her name, assuring her that he was okay. The shots from above them continued to break through the water.
Before she could gather enough oxygen to yell out to Schofield, she felt something wrap around her ankle beneath the water... Something weighted... and it was beginning to pull her down.
Panic invaded her mind as Schofield's name broke through her mouth.
He saw her head above the water and swam, worried that she was hurt from the fall. How could he have been so foolish to think this would work?
Then, to his horror, she disappeared underneath the surface...
Something was dragging her down under the water...
Emmy struggled to hold her breath, trying to reach for what object had caught around her leg. A cold metal chain attached to something, possibly a heavy piece of metal...
Her lungs weren't strong enough in the capacity to hold her breath for very long. She was losing this battle. The chain around her ankle pinched at her skin surely leaving it bruised...
Perhaps this was how she was meant to die...
She hoped Schofield would go on without her...
Her lips began to open, allowing the water to flood her mouth and travel down her throat and her vision darkened into a completely black void.
The shots had ceased from above her. She prayed for Schofield not to have been hit.
Her mouth opened wide as her body went numb; the agonizing sensation of drowning was certainly a way to go...
Maybe she was going home now...
She prayed with the last ounce of awareness that Schofield would choose the right path to go down for the mission he had.
Then, something wrapped around her abdomen and the chain was freed from around her ankle...
Bubbles of air emerged from her mouth as her eyes closed shut and the last thought crossing her mind was that a guardian hero had come to salvage her from the watery abyss...
William...