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It was a cold night in the trenches, the sound of bombs raining over the field almost impossible to ignore before the sudden sound of groaning and the overwhelming scent of rot drowned it out, and for once, the sound of war was replaced with panic. All three nations had paused their fighting, a truce being panickedly sent over the telephone lines. The soldiers rushed out of their trenches, the only time they could do it without being killed. Under normal circumstances, they would’ve been killed in seconds, but today something had arisen, the dead now joining the cause.
Amidst the chaos, three people of different nations had bumped into each other. Three soldiers, a British officer named Barry, a German sapper named Garin and Jasques, a French field medic. They were all very different rankings, but they were stuck together since the new uprising of the dead. They all shared a shocked glance before running separate ways, Barry to try and get troops into fighting formation, Jasques to go help the variously injured men and Garin to build some defenses to try and temporarily stop the zombies from advancing onto them.
Later, after several grueling hours of fending the zombies off, they were finally allowed a break as nightfall came, for they had found out the zombies had horrible night vision and were not able to attack at night. The three from earlier had met again, Barry restlessly tapping his bayonet against the dirt floor of the trenches sleeping quarters, Jasques nervously shifting around as if anticipating another dying man coming up to him in need of help, and Garin sitting in the corner farthest away from them, wanting them all to leave him alone.
After a while of uncomfortable silence, Barry spoke, trying to start some conversation. “So, uh… What was it like back at home for you guys?” It was a simple but uncomfortable question, one that could bring many different answers. Jasques looked up in surprise, seeming to hesitate before answering. “I was a surgeon's apprentice… My dad worked at a small hospital in Strasbourg, but he got drafted as well as myself.” Jasques sighed as he even thought about it, feeling homesick. Garin had glared up at Barry, not in the mood for conversation. He spoke anyway, sighing dramatically before he did so. “I’m from the German countryside. I worked on a farm, and I didn’t get along with my parents. I don’t plan to go back once this is all done.” He simply said, not wanting to share much more. He sighed yet again, this time less dramatic. Barry looked uneasy at that answer, regretting even asking. Though, he answered his own question. “Im from a more dangerous part of Liverpool. Fistfight in alleys, dog eat dog kind of place. My parents weren’t around often but I still miss them.” He glanced off, trying to force the unwanted feelings of the admission off of him. Jasques looked sympathetic and Garin simply nodded in acknowledgement.
They all sat in awkward silence again before Garin abruptly stood up and flopped onto one of the makeshift bunks. He took off his military jacket, instead pulling it over himself like a blanket. “Goodnight then.” He turned so that the others couldn’t see his face. Barry also went over to a bunk, feeling uncharacteristically stiff. He didn’t pull off his jacket like Garin did, leaving it on. Jasques curled up on the dirt floor, a habit he had due to always letting patients sleep comfortably instead of himself.
When Jasques had awoken in the morning, he found that Barry and Garin were gone. He sat up quickly, feeling a building feeling of dread welling up within him. He got up, practically bolting out of the trench with frantic eyes searching over the dreary landscape. His eyes landed on two injured people in the grass, and he quickly rushed over. He dropped to his knees, kneeling by the people he quickly figured were Barry and Garin. He hastily opened his medical satchel, muttering silent prayers as he began to expeditiously work on their wounds, applying salve and bandages with practiced ease. He grabbed a stretcher, yelling across the field for another medic to help him carry the two back to the trench. The other medic glanced over and promptly helped Jasques load the two unconscious men onto the stretcher and begin carrying them back to safety. They both worked carefully, not trying to jostle their wounds. Once they arrived, the other medic left with a curt nod, leaving Jasques alone to help them.
Jasques sighed and meticulously hoisted them up onto their respective bunks. He pulled up a crate, using it to sit by the two and monitor them carefully. About an hour and thirty minutes later, they finally stirred. Jasques quickly stood up and rushed over to the bedside, a very concerned look on his face. “What happened? Are you two okay?” Barry and Garin suddenly looked ashamed, glancing at each other nervously before looking back at Jasques. Barry started, nervously chuckling. “I- Uhm… We were just-” Garin cut him off, sounding more composed. “He was trying to work himself to death again, and I followed after him. The zombies ended up getting us, no bites, only scratches.” He simply stated as if it was a normal occasion, shaking his head and huffing. “And we are fine. We don't need rest, it was just a scratch.” Jasques sighed, shaking his head at the two's persistence. He gently put his hand on Garin’s shoulder, looking at him pleadingly. “You do need rest. Even if it was just a scratch, it’s pretty deep. Listen to me, just allow yourself to relax and it’ll heal up in no time.” Garin rolled his eyes at Jasques being so gentle with them, but he didn’t object again. He instead huffed, turning his head away. Jasques smiled, moving to sit back down. The two injured men slowly drifted back to sleep, and Jasques didn’t move an inch. He stayed there all night, watching over like some sort of guardian angel.
Hours later, the sun violently shone through the trenches opening, waking them up. Barry sat up first, glancing over at Jasques who looked tired as hell but still awake. Garin refused to let himself wake up though he was conscious. He just kept his eyes closed with his usual scowl on his face, not even bothering to get up. Barry’s expression immediately turned to one that was adjacent to guilt, not liking that Jasques had stayed up for him. He contemplated speaking for a few seconds before he stammered out a few words. “Jasques… did you?..” Jasques looked up as he realized Barry was awake, and he managed a weak smile, his face ridden with exhaustion. “Just making sure you two slept okay… I don’t want those scratches to bother you.” Barry shook his head, his expression turning more worried for Jasques. “You know we can handle ourselves, right? You’re allowed to let yourself be comfortable–“ Barry trailed off, instead fidgeting with the ends of his uniform. Jasques glanced away, feeling guilty himself now. He opened his mouth to respond before Garin loudly yawned, forcing himself up only because he realized his head was itchy. Both Barry and Jasques turned amused as they watched Garin scratch his head, looking grumpy as ever. Garin squints his eyes, his scowl deepening at the harsh sun in his face. “If you two are done being concerned about each other, I need a smoke.” Barry and Jasques snapped out of it, Barry rolling his eyes but still handing him a cigarette. Garin pulled a lighter out of his pants pocket, lighting it with exhaustion despite just waking up.
Garin sighed, realizing that there’s still those damned creatures out there, and now that it was day, they had to deal with them. He opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, hesitating to say it. “You know we still have to fight those things, right?” And suddenly, the other two realized why Garin was so grumpy already. They all collectively sighed, not wanting to deal with it either, but still, they arose. Barry and Garin winced at the wounds, but managed. After all, they’d dealt with worse. They all left the trenches sleeping quarters, squinting as the sun hit their formally relaxed eyes. They all went their separate ways, Barry to command his unit of men, Jasques to go help the wounded and stretcher bearers, and Garin to reluctantly set defenses. The sounds of gunshots and screams filled the air, familiar for all of them, even without the zombies.
Meanwhile, Jasques was kneeling next to a severely injured man, applying gauze and bandages wraps. Suddenly, a solider saw the crouched form over the bleeding man, and made an assumption for the worst. He aimed for his jugular, pulling the trigger. He’d known he’d shot true when Jasques crumpled in the dirt, dying on spot with blood splattering everywhere. Everyone around them temporarily froze in shock before some people covered their mouths, and others eyes widened in horror. Garin abandoned his barbed wire, running over and dropping to his knees next to the lifeless body. He shook those cold, still shoulders, the body limp. “Jasques? Jasques!” Garin yelped, and for a moment everything seemed still, quieter even. The groans of the undead stilled as well, as if they could sense the grief. Garin pulled the body into his arms, glaring hell into the solider who had shot the man whomst cared for him even when he was an asshole. He began to openly weep, tears falling down his normally grimly face. He shook his body again, though it was no use. Jasques was gone and they all knew that. The most caring field medic was gone, and it was all because of this soldiers stupid ass eyesight. Garin was torn between being devastated and being angry as to why the army would enlist someone with eyesight that poor.