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awesomesockes · 8 years ago

Text

Common Ground

Summary: As the dirt walls of his half-dug foxhole collapse in front of him, Officer Cadet Daniel Howell finds himself face-to-face with another soldier. To make matters worse, this one is wearing a German uniform.

Or:

In which Dan and Phil have a rather unorthodox meeting when their foxholes collide.

A/N: this fic (code name: craig) is an idea i’ve had for quite a while, maybe years, and here it is! finally… always good with some historical aus amiright?? i really really like it and i hope you will too (please i need love) also thanks to bethany for writing in the boob-hand-motion. i guess you’ll have to read it to laugh with us lmao

Genre: Historical (WWI), fluff, humour-ish. Warnings: Mentions of blood, war themes. Words: 2371

Common Ground

After stretching his body and throwing his head back for what felt like the millionth time that night, the sun was finally starting to rise. The sky slowly began changing colour to a beautiful mix between blue and orange, and he was once again able to see his breath in the frosty air. Hard to believe he’d ever be grateful to see that again.

In those early dawn hours, the world seemed awfully quiet. Only the sound of his own shovel hitting the ground echoed in the silence. Every strike of the tool burned his palms as he continued to move the heavy, half-frozen dirt from one side of the foxhole to the other in a never ending motion.

In another hour, they’d start shooting again, and all memories of the morning stillness would quickly be forgotten.

So there he was—Officer Cadet Daniel James Howell, serial number 0945065, only eighteen years old—standing knee-deep in muddy water, contemplating the irony of how the hole he was currently digging for protection from the enemy also had the distinct possibility of becoming his own grave. He couldn’t help but smile at how ridiculous it all was.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the dirt walls came crashing down around him. They landed in the water surrounding his feet, causing mud to splash up and cover the few remaining clean spaces he had left on his uniform. The dirt found its way into his mouth and nose, and he had to cough a few times before registering what had just happened.

At first, he figured he’d just hit an unstable part in the soil to cause the collapse, but then he saw the tip of a boot sticking out from under the mud, and his heart began pounding in his ears.

Dan stared down at the man who had just appeared before him and was now scrambling to free himself from under the pile of dirt. “Looking for something?” Dan asked hoarsely, brushing off his sleeves.

In a moment, the other man was free of the mud and had leapt to his feet. His hands were now fumbling around near his hip. Dan, who was still squinting from the dirt in his eyes, suddenly found himself with a gun pointed at him. His hands flew up into the air.

“Wow, hey. If you shoot that thing, it won’t be just the two of us. People will be swarming here in seconds. You understand what I’m saying?” Dan tried desperately, backing away from the broken wall that stood between them.

The stranger was covered in dirt from head to toe. Like looking in a mirror, Dan took in the sight before him. The same mud, the same freezing water, the same miserable expression. Even their breaths were synchronized.

“Leutnant Philip Michael Lester, 52067,” the soldier spat out, loud and clear. “Stehe bleiben.”

“I wasn’t tryi-”

“Ruhe! Und legen Sie die Schaufel auf den Boden!” Philip said in a commanding tone, nodding towards the shovel Dan was holding above his head in surrender.

“Oh, sorry.” He dropped the shovel, which quickly sank to the bottom of the knee-deep water and disappeared. “Do you speak English? Er… Englisch?”

“A little,” came a shaky reply.

“Great…” Dan mumbled, mostly to himself, and maintained eye contact with his new “friend”.

Silence fell upon them as the sun continued to rise, finally high enough to shine into their, now shared, foxhole.

“You’re bleeding,” Dan pointed out nervously, breaking eye contact to look at the dirty wound along the other’s hairline. Blood was slowly trickling down his forehead and mixing with the mud on his cheek.

The soldier blinked in confusion and slowly moved his left hand from the pistol to the side of his head. An expression of surprise was clearly painted on his face. Dan gradually lowered his arms back to his sides.

“Hände hoch!” the German suddenly yelled, sending Dan jumping backwards, almost tripping over his own feet, with the feeling of his heart leaving his chest.

“I don’t know what that means!” he pleaded.

“Äh… hands up!”

Dan instantly complied. Once again they were standing face to face in silence, breathing heavily.

“We can’t stand here all day. I’m unarmed, I swear.” Glancing over his shoulder Dan caught a glimpse of his rifle, which was standing at least fifteen feet behind him in the foxhole.

Unarmed. That seemed to be the key word. Before Dan got the chance to say anything else, the German collapsed backwards onto a pile of dirt with his head leaning against the side of the trench. All colour had left his face, though he still held the gun in one hand.

Dan exhaled heavily and started running his fingers through his already messy hair, only now realising how much he was shaking as the adrenalin was leaving his body. He glanced over at his neighbour, who seemed to be in the same state.

“I can help you with that. The bleeding. Hilfe?” Dan moved carefully towards the collapsed part of the foxhole. Stepping over the pile of dirt meant stepping into hostile territory. Even though the situation seemed to have calmed, that simple act was enough to set him on edge again.

“Philip, right?”

“Phil, Bitte.” Some colour seemed to have returned to his cheeks since he’d sat down.

“I guess I’m Dan.” Dan pulled out a partly clean handkerchief from his chest pocket and tossed it over to Phil.

“Danke,” he slurred in response, accepting the piece of cloth with shaky fingers.

Dan leaned his head back and took a few deep breaths, finally regaining some control over his own body after the shock of having a loaded gun pointed at his head by the presumed enemy.

“Beautiful morning, huh?” He rubbed his hands together briskly, trying to get some feeling back in them. The black gloves he wore stopped short of covering his fingertips—perfect for gripping the shovel, but lousy for keeping warm. He cupped his hands over his mouth and exhaled hot air into them.

“I do not know about that,” Phil snorted. “Cold.”

“I guess you’re right. I haven’t been able to feel my feet since September.”

“Me neither.” A small smile became visible across Phil’s lips.

The cloth was more red than brown by now, as Phil’s injury continued to bleed. Head wounds always bled an alarming amount; even before the horrors Dan had seen in his past nine months fighting on the frontlines, he’d known that.

Dan watched as the other soldier retrieved a small first aid kit from his chest pocket. It mainly contained gauze, but that would do.

“What do you suggest we do?” Dan asked quietly, still processing what had just occurred. The odds of two foxholes meeting were miniscule, and yet here they were. Two sides of the war, standing in the same pit.

“Cover it up and not speak of it again,” Phil mumbled from his side.

Dan nodded in agreement and started searching for his shovel in the icy mud.

This soldier wasn’t much like Dan had expected. Then again, he didn’t really know what he had expected his first face to face meeting with the enemy would be like. But it sure wasn’t this. Phil seemed much more human than the rumours would have him believe. At least more so than anyone Dan had encountered in no man’s land. Although, everyone was.

“If we start from that side…” Phil suggested, and pointed to Dan’s right with the hand that wasn’t trying to contain the bleeding. “Normally I would have a work plan…”

“We have to move that side first, or it’ll continue to collapse.” Dan pointed at the opposite wall. “See that hole there?”

“Nein,” Phil sighed heavily. “The heavy frozen dirt must be at the bottom. You start over there.”

“Why are Germans always so commanding?” Dan mumbled under his breath, but he began moving the dirt Phil had indicated.

“Why are the English always so messy?” came a quick reply.

Surprised that Phil had even heard Dan muffled words, the Englishman looked up, only to meet two determined eyes. “Even your cars give up half way.”

Dan stopped digging and tightened his grip around the shovel’s handle. “At least you can stand to look at our cars,” he spat back.

“Maybe I should just declare you prisoner of war. This would be much easier.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I have the gun, yes?” Phil reminded.

“And I have this shovel.” Dan kicked the end with his boot. “You don’t look much like you’d use that gun anyway.”

A fresh wave of anger seemed to come over the German and once again, Dan was staring down the barrel of a gun. Phil’s hands shook even more than the first time as he fumbled with the pistol.

In one quick motion, Phil raised the gun straight up toward the sky and pulled the trigger.

Dan shut his eyes and covered his ears, yet nothing but a wet sounding click echoed in the trench.

“Well, that was bloody terrifying,” Dan giggled, allowing himself to smile while waving his hands in the air. “England surrenders.”

At this point, he swore he could see smoke coming out of Phil’s ears. Before Dan got the chance to wipe the grin of his face, Phil hurled his gun directly at Dan’s head. Dan just managed to duck out of the way, and the gun landed with a splash in the water a few feet behind him.

Phil was left looking furious. Even given as familiar with grenades as Dan was, he was sure this soldier could be mistaken for one.

“Now we’ve got that out the way, can we move on?” Dan asked.

Without another word, they both resumed moving the dirt in short, aggressive movements. A few angry glares were exchanged. With every deep sigh that Phil let out, Dan had to keep himself from hitting the man over his already injured head with the shovel.

Finally, Dan had had enough of the awkward tension. “You speak good English, you know,” he ventured.

“Danke.” Phil’s shovel made a clang as it hit a rock. “You speak horrible German.”

“I took French.”

Phil stopped digging for a second to glance towards Dan. “Voulez-vous parler français?”

“Show off…” Dan muttered.

Dan caught a quick smile forming on Phil’s lips. As soon as their eyes met, both men quickly turned away again, back to task at hand.

Dan paused working and rested his chin on the end of the shovel, looking thoughtfully at his companion. “One thing I have to ask…”

Phil grunted in response, so Dan went on, “Is it true that the German daily rations are six sausages and one potato?”

Without stopping, Phil glanced up just long enough to reply, “No, we get mustard too.”

“Really?”

Now the German paused and cast Dan a look of exasperation. “What do you think? Is all you drink tea?”

“How would I know?”

Shaking his head, Phil went back to the task of rebuilding the wall. Dan was still leaning on his shovel, looking at Phil with interest.

“What about girls?”

“What about them?” Phil wheezed. “Are you asking if they also eat six sausages and one potato a day?”

“No, I’m just asking…” Dan continued. “Do you have any?”

Phil glanced back over at Dan with one eyebrow raised. “Well, not here.” At this point Phil had already moved about two feet of dirt back into the space between them. As much as Dan hated to admit it, the Germans definitely were efficient. And Phil had been right about the work process after all.

“Is it true German girls have… you know.” He swooped his hands in front of his chest in an exaggerated fashion.

Phil sighed. “When you dig foxfoles all night and shoot people all day, everything becomes meaningless.”

“Even girls?”

“Even girls.”

Dan let out a small huh and looked back down at his boots. The sun was finally high enough to shine into his eyes, forcing him to squint when he looked up again.

“What about the lads?”

Dirt suddenly started raining down Dan’s neck.

The wall was almost at chest height, and lifting the dirt that high was becoming increasingly difficult. Dan’s shoulders were burning again—every muscle in his body was aching. He couldn’t wait for this to be over so he could head back to camp and snag a few hours of sleep.

A single gunshot sounded in the distance and both men stopped moving—only their heavy breathing remained in the air. It was beginning again. The war had awoken once more; the calm stillness of the night was forgotten.

“Düsseldorf.”

“What?” Dan turned his head to meet Phil’s eyes. They were back to looking lifeless, yet somehow full of concern.

“Düsseldorf. That’s where I live, should you ever find yourself lost in Germany.” He was only visible from the neck and up, indicating that their job was almost complete.

“Wokingham. If you ever find yourself lost in England,” Dan responded nervously. Another gunshot echoed above their heads.

Phil gave a quick nod and swallowed the lump in his throat.

At this point, it was only possible for Dan to see glimpses of the other soldier’s head over the remaining gap in the nearly intact wall.

“Oh… Dein Taschentuch!” Phil said hurriedly, holding out the formerly white piece of cloth as far as the wall would allow him. Dan could just spot the initials his mum had embroidered in the corner of the handkerchief—D.H.

“Keep it,” Dan replied. He was standing on tiptoe now to peer over dirt.

Phil smiled back—a true, genuine smile that made his eyes light up for the first time that morning. “Thank you.” He grasped the fabric tighter in his fingers and lowered his hand back down.

Dan grinned in return. Then he lifted up one final shovelful of dirt to fill the gap, and Phil was gone.

The fighting was picking up pace now, and Dan could hear cannons in the distance, followed by shouts.

“Hey Phil?” he breathed, his voice mixing with the sounds of the war.

“Ja, Dan?” floated back a voice.

“Merry Christmas.”

thend

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