CHAPTER SONG: "Shallow" by Bradley Cooper & Lady Gaga (from the movie 'A Star Is Born')
Emmanuelle swam closer to shore, her limbs aching with the effort to keep both herself and Schofield's limp form above water.
His arm slung across her shoulders, his weight against her smaller body threatening to pull both of them beneath the river's surface.
She spat out water from her mouth, the rotten taste on her tongue causing her to gag.
One of her arms was occupied with holding up her Lance Corporal above the water, the other used to keep her swimming.
Her vision was blurred with the sting of blinking the river's remnants out of her eyes. Emmy's free hand reached forward, desperate to grab out for maybe a tree branch or a rock. All her fingers touched were the cold stream surface at first, then something else.
Clothing, then something solid similar to another person's arm...
By instinct to keep afloat, she grabbed onto it, blinking away the rest of the water from her eyes. Her vision finally cleared up enough to where she could see what she had latched onto.
The bloated remains of a human arm, floating in the water...
Choking on a startled scream, the stench of rotting corpses caused the bile to rise in her throat. The tears of disgust and bone-shattering exhaustion flowed down her face as another body bumped into her side. She pushed it back with a wail of reaching her mental limitations, forcing her body to move forward through the water closer to the blessed shore.
Schofield groaned into her arm, possibly beginning to regain consciousness.
Emmy's feet was able to touch the mostly smooth rocks at the bottom of the river, allowing her to grab ahold of her gallant soldier, her hands holding him underneath his arms and dragging him with all the energy sustained within her to the riverbank.
And there was nothing heavier than the body of someone you loved...
A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her sense of balance. The bullet grazing on her leg... Now that she was out of the water, the blood continued to flow down from her calf and stick to the bottom of her foot and she bled still...
She collapsed backward onto the grass, landing on her back with her last ounce of physical strength to heave Schofield fully onto dry land with her. She managed to maneuver his head and shoulders into her lap, knowing he deserved a more comfortable area to wake up in than a bank shore where dead corpses floated only meters away from them.
Emmanuelle leaned herself against a tree, battling the urge to black out. She was losing blood and they had no supplies left...
Schofield stirred, his regal face seeming so peaceful to Emmy it made her want to cry, seeing him so tired. Ignoring the flare of agony in her leg, the she bent down and placed a feather-light kiss upon his lips, giving him a signal to awaken faster for her.
"William, please wake up. Please!" She placed one hand on his pallid cheek and the other on his soaking wet scalp, her fingers stroking his hair. She was dismayed to see his head bandages had washed away in the river. "It's morning! You need to find the Devons. And Tom's brother!"
Her tears splattered on his face and the sobs racked her small body. She felt prepared to implode with all the turmoil raging in her subconscious...
Then, in a God-given reversing of one of her childhood fairytale stories, her prince was being revived in the aftermath of her kiss...
Schofield's vivid blue eyes opened, coughing as he turned to the side to spit out water onto the grass.
"Em...Emmanuelle." His croaked whisper of a voice graced her ears much to her immense relief. His head landed back down onto her lap, mindful of the tender area at the back of his skull. "Are...are you alright?"
"Will!" She cried out despite herself. His hand reached up to cradle her face, as though to assure himself that she was real. The rough skin of his palm was as soothing as any balm or lotion that had been used to relieve her hands back in the future.
How her heart ached for home... But was she even sure anymore where her home was?
Emmy gently removed his hand from her cheek, grasping onto it tightly with her fingers in a reflex responding to the pain in her leg.
"Will, you need to go. You need to get to the Devons, the message..." Her voice trailed off and whatever words she tried to say came out in a slurred pattern. "...love you. Leave me..."
Black spots clouded her vision and everything around her vanished into merciful darkness.
"Emmy!" Schofield sat up in spite of his drenched state and exhausted body. His hands grasped onto the young woman's shoulders as her eyes fluttered closed and her upper body slumped against the tree. "Emmanuelle, no! Stay awake! We need to keep going."
She failed to respond and her face began losing the color of blush in her cheeks. His hands patted down her body, checking for any possible wounds.
Then, he remembered the bullets flying at them less than half an hour ago... And she had fallen to the ground.
He looked down and saw her leg coated in blood from underneath her kneecap to the sole of her exposed foot.
His breath hitched as he took in her unconscious state, unmoving and becoming ever paler by the minute...
Knowing he had to take advantage of this sudden regained amount of energy he possessed left, he slid his arms beneath the injured girl and lifted her up. Schofield's heart sank as she wilted like a dying flower against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as he did his best to make certain she was settled securely in his arms.
Her dress was in such a miserable, tattered status that he was able to see the bright pink fabric of an even smaller nightgown hiding under it. Possibly what she had been wearing when he had found her back at the farmhouse...
The farmhouse...
That was where he had last held somebody as they were bleeding out...
Blake...
With his legs wobbling slightly at the traumatic memory, he made his way up the grassy hill, taking a deep breath to straighten himself up. The most cherished thing to enter Schofield's life was potentially dying because he failed to keep his vow to her...
She exhaled shallow puffs of breath against his neck as he glanced to the side at her lifeless face. Dark circles and bags of sleep deprivation inhabited under her eyes and her skin was nearly grey... The bruises on her throat were a vibrant dark purple, imprinted from the fingertips of that bastard German pilot...
Schofield definitely didn't regret shooting him in hindsight...
He held back the tears of anger, holding back a sob of guilt as he pressed his lips to her feverish forehead. It was all he could do in the moment to give her some gesture of comfort. What he would have given to go back to that decrepit basement just hours from before, just to be lying with her in their temporary shelter.
Had she any idea how much he loved her?
As a soldier, he really had no way to truly express it. All he could do was continue walking. Find help for her; she needed medical attention.
In spite of this sudden surge of energy, every step taken up the hill felt as though each foot weighed a hundred pounds. As though all the blood in his body rushed down from his head to the soles of his feet...
The toe of his boot caught on an upturned rock jutting from the ground and the Lance Corporal fell to his knees with a guttural howl of frustration.
Emmy's head slid off his shoulder and hanged limp over his arm as he sunk down onto the dirt, still keeping a tight grasp on her. Panting out in huffed breaths, Schofield felt the scorching tears trail down his cheeks as all the rage and tiredness poured out of him from the last twenty-four hours.
He looked in alarm upon the motionless girl, her struggling ragged breaths the only signals of life presented to him, her bosom just barely rising up and down with the motions of her lungs.
"Emmy, hold on." His trembling hand tenderly held her head to where she was cushioned against his uniformed pectoral. "Stay strong... stay with me, my love." He could barely form the words, his weeping over her breaking his normally reformed pattern of speech.
She didn't respond to his begging pleas, only breathing in and out with shallow wheezes. Her eyes still remained closed much to his dismay; Schofield only once had to look into those gorgeous green irises of hers to feel one kernel of inspiration...
He prayed to God with all the resolve and humility he had, cradling this young woman who was the embodiment of everything precious to him in his arms. He looked upward into the dawning sky, shutting his eyes and hoping for some form of salvation to complete his mission.
Lord, if you truly are virtuous, please don't let Emmanuelle Hunterson of this mysterious future perish. Show her mercy, and allow me this penance. If I couldn't save Thomas Blake, please let me save her. Spare those sixteen hundred souls about to walk into a trap. Please, just give me a sign that I can make things right...
All the noises of the forest surrounding him suddenly ceased buzzing in his ears. No birds or bugs chirped their morning calls.
One sole sound floated in his ears, faint and soft, but impactful enough to push him back onto his feet.
Somebody singing, a biblical hymn floating on the breeze...
Schofield stood up again, re-adjusting Emmanuelle in his arms to carry her to the source of that voice... Other people around meant help and possible rescue...
The sound became clearer and he absorbed the poignancy of the words being sung.
I'm only going over Jordan, I'm only going over home...
The drained Lance Corporal stumbled around the thin trees of the forest, weaving in between them carefully to make sure Emmy's bare feet didn't scrape against the bark-roughened trunks. Schofield stopped as his knees buckled, sinking back down onto the earthy ground.
In front of him was an entire company of British soldiers, if he was correct from his blurred vision. He wasn't even certain if these men were alive or dead. Not one of them turned to look in his direction, every one of them focused on the man's voice singing to them this ballad of fare-thee-well.
Not one of them indicating they had heard him walking or see the unconscious woman in his arms.
Schofield was leaning on a tree, just behind the ensemble of uniformed men, their backs turned to him.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the singer concluding the hymn, his frozen fingers twitching as Emmanuelle stirred her head against him, her hand reaching up to clasp onto his uniform collar.
"Will." Her voice rasped out, as though she were saying his name in a delirious state of dreaming. Her face nuzzled into his neck and Schofield felt her skin definitely warmer than normal. She was burning up with fever and a shiver racked her entire body.
"D Company, move out!" The voice of strict authority voiced by a nearby captain called out for all the men to stand and clear the area.
Schofield blankly looked up at the motion of people around him, almost not even registering that he was even being spoken to.
"You alright, pal?" A group of privates gathered around him. "Where are you from?"
Schofield's arms clutched Emmanuelle tightly to him by mere instinct. He wanted to speak but couldn't find his voice.
"Who's the girl?" Another private asked, referring to Emmy. "Look at 'em, they're both bloody soaked."
"He's not one of ours." The first private spoke up. "The girl's as white as a ghost."
"Bugger it, let's just pick 'em up and take 'em with us." The second man suggested.
Schofield's dry mouth opened and his voice emerged in such a weak tone they could hardly hear him. "Help her. She's hurt, she needs a doctor."
"I'll pick 'er up and take her to the casualty station." The first private who spoke to Schofield gestured to the ashen-complexioned girl in the Lance Corporal's arms. Bending down toward her, he noticed how she was bleeding from her leg. "The battlefield is no place for a lady."
"You'll be safe, Emmy. They're gonna get you help." Schofield murmured to her as the private carefully gathered her up from his lap. His hand held onto hers until she was out of his reach, being whisked away by the private and completely limp as though she were a rag doll. "I'll come find you, I swear. I love you..."
Schofield was only then able to look up at the small group of privates around him, his head falling back against the tree trunk.
"The Devons... I have to find the Devons..." He managed to gasp out as though each word he said took the breath out of his lungs.
"We are the Devons, mate." The second private informed him. "You wanna tell us what you're doin' here, and who that girl is?"
A spark of light flashed in Schofield's eyes as he looked up into each soldier's face as they kneeled down to his level. "You're the Devons?"
"Yes, Corp." The kind private told him, a concerned frown on his face.
"Why haven't you gone over?" Schofield asked, his eyes looking up at the troupe of soldiers filing out of the wooded glen.
"We're the second wave. They don't send us all out at once." The private told the shaken corporal. "We're D Company. We spent all last night digging in."
Forcing his legs to stand him up through sheer will, Schofield staggered to his feet, reaching inside his uniform tunic to make certain his blue tobacco tin was secure inside.
"Where...where's Colonel Mackenzie?" Schofield caught his balance on the tree before gaining back his equilibrium enough to stand on his own.
"He's down at the line." The private and the rest of his group walked with Schofield as he increased his pace. "We're headed up there now."
Schofield sprinted forward past the group of privates, pushing his way ahead everyone he could reach. Groans and shouts of protests roared in his ringing ears, but he could not have cared any less about their reactions. As long as the message was received and obeyed...
The white chalk structure of the trench pierced his sight that nearly brought along for him a migraine along with the exhaustion, but he pushed further into the building chaos.
He asked after every authority figure, captains and sergeants not with-standing, where the Colonel was. He was pointed further into the trench line, like and worker ant trapped in the assembly line of colony insects below the earth.
The ground shook beneath him and knocked him off balance more than once, fiercer than the mightiest earthquake. The explosions around him blared away in his eardrums despite the intended shelter of the trench... He was only brought down further when he was passed down the line in the authority figures answering him where to locate Mackenzie.
The German shells skyrocketing into the once tranquil French countryside only served as a consistency of this godforsaken war for Schofield. Fighting over this damned land...
At last, he went down the chalk path and encountered another commanding officer who could assist him. He was a lieutenant, revolver in hand to keep a signal for when his men needed to charge over the top.
Schofield grabbed at the C.O. by the shoulders, desperation transforming into near madness. "Sir, I have orders to stop this attack! Where's Colonel Mackenzie?!"
An explosion cracked through the edge of the trench, sending chalk particles and sharp-edged rocks into the air. Schofield ducked away, briefly guarding his head with his arm.
"He's further up the line." The lieutenant answered him, pointing behind toward the trail of chalk behind him.
Even more men blocking the Lance Corporal's way and delaying him...
"How far?!" Schofield shouted the question, his throat in pain from both lack of speaking and hydration.
"Three hundred yards; he's in a cut and cover!" The lieutenant yelled back, wishing he could do more the help this frantic young man. "You'll have to wait until the first wave goes over!"
"No! No, I can't!" Schofield was beyond desperate now, past reasonable thinking at this point.
More shells shattered the trench, nearly knocking the Lance Corporal off his feet. He looked past the C.O. and saw no way to get past while inside the chalk barriers. His veins froze with fear and the knowledge that after everything endured, he would fail all of these men...
He would fail Thomas Blake...
And Emmanuelle... she pulled him from the river and rescued his worthless hide only so he could prove himself to be unworthy of her love...
"Seven platoon, thirty seconds!" The lieutenant's shouting behind Schofield spurned the young soldier back from his self-loathing thoughts as though an electric current sent a shock-wave through his vertebrae.
No...none of this hellfire will be for nothing.
Schofield looked up to the firing wall and positioned himself up to climb, feeling the C.O's eyes burning into the back of his head.
The younger soldier stared straight ahead on his hands and knees into the vacant greenery of No Man's Land. It may have been just irrational enough to succeed if he lived to tell the tale...
Only 300 yards...
A storybook hero, he certainly was not by any stretch of the imagination, but he could still do what was necessary for the right thing. To save all these men and be certain his beloved sheltered away in the hopeful safety of the casualty station would live to see her "modern" life in the 21st century...
"What the hell are you doing, Lance Corporal?" The lieutenant interrogated Schofield, who only turned to look at the C.O. without a verbal response. The manic shine in his eyes conveyed everything the lieutenant was powerless to prevent him from doing.
Schofield inhaled a breath and climbed over the wall, not even looking back at the C.O. crying out for him to stop...
.
.
Emmanuelle Hunterson opened her eyes, but she was nowhere near oriented enough to know where she was.
All she could see were blurred shapes, her fever only increasing her delusion in between reality and a dream. A distant explosion rumbled the makeshift bed that held her up. The thin woolen blanket covering her only served to heat up her sweltering body...
The medics became frankly unconcerned with the strange young woman as more wounded soldiers came through the queue. Only her leg was bandaged, but the resulting fever and coughing still remained to leave her helpless...
She called out random names, her face reddened with tears. Nobody took notice of her cries, as though she were abandoned in a corner of invisibility.
She cried out for a William Schofield, a name none of the soldiers around her recognized.
None of them came to her bedside to seek for her well-being...
Until she called out for a Blake in her delirium... Lance Corporal Thomas Blake...
She reached out for any kind of lifeline to rescue her from this sickness, any kind of human contact to assure her that she wasn't alone.
A gentle hand, much larger than hers, held her fingers. She could sense someone at her bedside, a gaze of intensity aimed right at her. A voice called for her to speak to him while stroking her hand.
"Someone get me some water and a damp rag! Help this girl, for God's sake!" The anonymous figure hovering over her commanded, a voice she didn't recognize, but the accent she had heard before. "Miss, what was that name you said? Tom Blake?"
Lt. Joseph Blake sat guard at Emmanuelle's side, ever vigilant as he awaited further answers from this Lance Corporal Schofield she continued to call out for along with his kid brother's name...