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Tommy

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Tommy

Tommy and Dawson woke to the harsh sound of German voices, soldiers shuffling about the makeshift camp, their guns in hands, listing to the barking orders of a leader at some other corner. The sun was bright and high in the sky. They had managed to sleep until mid day, the fatigue of war taking over their bodies for the first time since they had departed home soil.

Tommy woke with a fright, jumping to stretch and glance at the feet of the soldiers above, straining his neck despite the weights pulling his down. He could see prisoners, hands in rope and feet in flimsy chains, but bodies too weak to resist them.

It was that hour again. The hour in which the auxiliary force would parade the prisoners from the train station to Lille's city citadel and back. It was a way of keeping inhabitants in check, of showing the force of the German Army. There was no sympathy to be shown.

"There's no time to plan." Tommy said. The days he had counted had merged into jumbles. A miscalculation had set his plan askew.

"Help make a noise." He shouted.

"Why?" Dawson was still sat, hair messed and eyes slanted, half asleep.

"Every couple days, they take a line of prisoners to march across the city. It's meant to show their dominance, force the french citizens into submission." Tommy exclaimed as he began to rattle the chains on his feet.

"That still doesn't explain anything." He said.

"When we're walking around, we'll be able to look for any ways to escape."

"But how will making noise make them choose us?" Dawson asked, and Tommy grunted in annoyance as he shook the chains over and over again.

"Its a punishment, we've got fucking weights on our arms." Tommy shouted.

"Fuck sake." Dawson said, as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Just do it."

The boys began to wail and scream as they shook the chains that would soon set them free. The sound of marching footsteps echoed through the ditch as the soldiers drew closer.

Tommy was pulled up first, by two rough hands on each shoulder. He continued to shout, releasing the anger that had burrowed within him for days on end. Dawson was dragged up next to him at the top of the ditch, from out of the shadows. The sun glared down on them as they were forced to their feet and into a line in the middle of the squared off territory.

They began to trudge on, some more wearily than others. There was silence, broken only by the scraping and rattling on the chains of their feet.

Tommy glanced around. The two Englishmen had been placed down a ditch near the makeshift gates: a chain hanging between two tattered vehicles. The camp was also surprisingly small, and there seemed to be less soldiers lurking around the site than he had imagined.

The chain was opened and the walking continued through the city streets.

"Why don't we make a run for it?" Dawson said, glancing over his shoulder inconspicuously to Tommy.

"There's only two of them." He added motioning to the German soldiers that hung at either end of the line.

Tommy shook his head as Dawson turned for another glance.

"No, just wait and see." He said, before nudging forward so the man would turn in time for the soldier to walk past.

It wasn't even second later when a man began sprinting from the back of the line. He had picked up the weighted ball, its chain jangling and catching the guards attention. The soldier turned, eyes landing on the man's slowly retreating figure. He lifted his gun, shooting smoothly and carelessly. The man fell flat.

Dawson glanced back at Tommy with wide eyes. He nodded at him to look forward.

They had neared the train station and without stopping their steady march had been forced around a steep corner. It was the long stretch of cobble toward the citadel. The people of the town had been forced from their homes and onto the side of their streets, heads glued toward the hoard of soldiers.

"Why are they watching us?" Dawson turned again to ask Tommy. He was becoming agitated by the frequent questions. Did he not realise the risk? But he answered anyway, his eyes scanning the crowd.

"Most of these people will know someone in the camp. It's to scare people. Stop them from causing chaos."

And as if his words had triggered a switch, a woman in the line had begun wailing, her voice high pitched and tortured. Tommy's eyes scaled across faces once again, before landing on an older woman's, her hands gripping the side of her face and pulling at her hair as she screeched.

"Louis!" She shouted, as she began to jog in line with the prisoners march, before breaking through the mass of people. "Louis!"

"Stop, mama!" The second voice came from somewhere within the line of prisoners that walked in the middle of the street. The voice was soft and young.

The banging of a gun echoed from the walls of the enclosed road. The screaming had stopped. It was silent once more.

"Jesus Christ!" Tommy could hear Dawson's exclamation, though it was under his breath.

They had neared the citadel with nothing more said. The threat of death loomed over their heads, suffocating.

"What good has this done?" Dawson asked. "Except wear down our feet?"

"Look to your right as we walk down this street, at the wooden barriers. Notice anything?"

He took a few minutes to gaze across the fence. His eyes met the bottom of the wooden posts. "They're only tied with rope."

"That's right. And recognise that flag on that building?" Tommy said.

"Yes, you can see it from the ditch."
Tommy smirked at him, nudging his head forward again, hearing footsteps behind him.

"Now we know where we are when we escape."

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