day eighteen. world; military/war
( challenge on infinite earths. pairing; nick/louis
title: left of six hundred
rating; nc-17
word count: 2,105 +/-
warning(s): major character death, use of weapons/military stuff, angst.
summary: “we'll just have to pray they do," nick says being very careful this time to not hit anyone as he tries to sooth the worrys out of harry, "pray so hard that those upper class twats listen to what our little, tanned, tactical genius has to stay."
a/n this is probably not realistic at all and I’m sorry I had to do a lot of research for this fic, and surprisingly only general statements about what happened at The Charge of The Light Brigade during the Battle of Balaclava. Other than the poem by Lord Albert Tennyson (which is used in this fic; everything in both bold and italics is from the poem) I couldn’t find all that many personal accounts. Although I tried to be rather accurate regarding what was said, I take a lot of artistic licence with this and I don’t really know that much about nineteenth century military campaigns. I, rather than rewriting a great military blunder, tried to focus on ordinary cavalrymen, the boys and men who were a part of this campaign and where gunned down and killed needlessly because of some miscommunication.
The Charge of Light Brigade was supposed to be simple; they were supposed to harry and chase retreating Russian artillery battery but due to that miscommunication where in fact sent to the wrong guns and into a frontal assault. They were forced to retreat, but really battered and with no gains whatsoever. A hundred and eighteen men were killed, a hundred and seventy seven wounded and sixty taken prisoner. Only a hundred and ninety five men still had horses; over four hundred horses were killed. Captain Nolan was killed, presumably trying to tell the Earl of Cardigan that they were attacking the wrong guns, and Cardigan himself didn’t even bother sticking around to rally the troops or help the saviours of the bungle; he went to his yacht to have champagne dinner.
This is poor excuse of a dedication, but nevertheless I do in fact dedicate it to all that lost their lives in The Charge of The Light Brigade. To those barely old enough to be considered an adult, to those with sweethearts who would be notified three weeks later of the tragedy, those who died, were injured or taken prisoner in a needless and wrong battle.
the very early hours of the twenty fifth of october nineteen fifty eight.
*
a candle flickers amidst the middle of a tent of crowded, scared faces. it's going to be simple, really, charge at the will be retreating russian guns and harry and pursue them. something the light bridage was made for, something that will easily be done. still, that doesn't stop nerves from churning even the strongest and well war-ed in their minds. and, nick notes, the most of them here are young; barely eighteen he thinks as a stares at the charges resting with him.
some are nervously shining sabres, others writing out letters to their families or rereading ones from lovers back home in england.
he nudges the young harold with his foot, just reaching over enough and harry looks up, face peaky. he's obviously scared too, and nick shuffles over to harry's sleeping gear, curling up next to him. harry's all limbs and gangly and his hair gets into nick's hair as nick wraps his arms around his friend. a couple of harry's friends - more of those barely old enough to be in army soldiers - scoot their sleeping gear closer and it turns into a big sort of puppy pile. it makes nick's heart ache a little, knowing all these young boys are going off to die for their country.
"lou's not back yet," harry whispers, all muffled up in the heavy cotton of nick's shirt and nick rubs slow circles into harry's back, accidently clocking one of his friends - the other brunette is liam, right? - in the face as he does so. he pats the friend on (hopefully) the shoulder in apology.
"i'm sure he won't be long," nick promises and really, he shouldn't be promising things that he can't control, things that he doesn't really know the answers for. and really, harry's the one that should be comforting nick, "i'm sure he's coming soon. they can't keep him all night, we've all got to be well rested for the charge."
"they won’t even listen to his tactic advice," harry murmurs mournfully and nick nearly gets hit in the balls as the boy behind harry - it was liam wasn't it? - hugs harry tighter, "they'll not even take notice. probably having a slap up dinner."
"we'll just have to pray they do," nick says being very careful this time to not hit anyone as he tries to sooth the worrys out of harry, "pray so hard that those upper class twats listen to what our little, tanned, tactical genius has to stay."
later, when harry's asleep and the candle is out a small, warm body wiggles its way between harry and nick, fingers pressing into nick's hips tightly and breath hot against nick's neck where kisses are pressed. nick lets his own fingers splay over rounded hips and down to the small of louis' back, tugging him closer. he can feel where louis smiles tiredly into the bottom of his chin, and those lips trail upwards, hands shifting until they're pressing along nick's jaw, angling his face in for a proper kiss.
"things went okay?" nick asks fearfully, words resting upon louis' bottom lip, hands resting along louis' back and louis breathes out, not quite a sigh leaving his lips slowly.
"not really." he replies and snuggles his forehead into nick's cheek, nuzzling a little, trying to get closer but gives up because anything short of inside nick's skin, being the beat of nick's heart is not really good enough, "i just, i need you right now." and nick curls his body closer too, trying to get as much of him cuddled right up into louis' space, trying to be as comforting enough.
"things will be okay darling." nick says and he kind of hates himself for promising things he can't really be sure of.
-
1.
Half a league, half a league,
alf a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
ode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
ode the six hundred.
-
nick wakes to warmth snuggled into his front and sick kind of whirling in the bottom of his stomach. he pretends it's just nervousness.
the boys clean away at their already sparkling sabres. they tend to their war horses; feed and water them, groom them and saddle them, check that all hooves are clean and well healed, look away as the lame ones are mercifully put down. they put on their uniforms, a bright red waistcoat, buttons all down the front, golden waistline and all rather fetching. they shine at their buttons, clean up the cuffs and tend to their jodhpurs and riding boots. they get ready for war.
nick helps with louis' buttons, does the ones closest to his chin up and sneaks a kiss when no one's looking. it's a risk, but it's a risk well taken and one that nick will always sacrifice for louis. he shines at louis' shoulder pads and helps his friends too. louis holds onto his hand when they saddle up their horses, curled fingers behind saddles and tack and great stallions pawing at the ground in anticipation.
"things will be okay," louis promises with another stolen kiss, heads hidden from view and nick actually believes him; has to believe him with the whirring of his stomach and the settlement of dread deep within.
"i promise." nick adds because he needs in some way to cement this, make it entirely real.
-
2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
omeone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
ode the six hundred.
-
nick can't see louis when they're in line, all set up and ready for their charge. louis' farther up the front, rather close to major general himself, earl of cardigan. it's an almost deadly position to be in. he hasn't got a god, but he puts a prayer out there anyway, in hope one does hear him and grants it.
please keep louis safe.
the men are restless; they're waiting for an order. it's to come from up upon the highest vantage point, from lord raglan's lips carried through captain nolan and then their nerves can be settled. they whisper now, mutter of inconsequential things, gossip like old housewives and nick tries to shut his ears to the chatter of cardigan and the earl of lucan's intense dislike of one another. having upper class twats as army leaders is disconcerting enough, having upper class twats that are brother-in-laws that hate each other as army leaders is even more so.
-
3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
olley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
ode the six hundred.
-
"lord raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. troop horse artillery may accompany. french cavalry is on your left. immediate." the order comes through, captain nolan's loud voice saying so to lieutenant general the earl of lucan. he questions which guns, and nolan's hand sweeps across the valley in response. it mainly points to the russian guns in a redoubt at the end of valley, perhaps a mile away.
cardigan is heard muttering bad about the french, and more whispers and secrets find themselves dancing through the troops. the enemy is the russian, but old cardigan is far too scatter brained and still in the past war to consider it any other way. a few remind him that the enemy is the russians. the french are but alongside them, ready as they are to fight.
the feeling in nick's stomach is worse. a bubbling and rumbling and he sends more prayers out to any possible entity, hopes they understand the simple thing he's asking. lucan instructs cardigan to lead all six hundred and seventy three cavalrymen straight into the valley, towards the russian guns.
-
4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
ll the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
hatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
ot the six hundred.
-
they advance down the gradual descent of the valley, sabres tightly gripped in hands, glad for gloves as the nervousness rolls off their shoulders, just a little, batteries throwing out shells upon them. there's a batter on their right flank, and another on the left and the intermediate ground ahead covered with russian riflemen. nick's eyes widen, and he bites down upon his bottom lip because they're getting closer, so much closer and they're surrounded, encircled by a blaze of fire. the artillery is hurtling destruction upon the cavalrymen and nick grits his teeth together, sharply and it hurts his jaw, he tells himself he can't hear the screams.
they climb the hill; the artillery firing upon the rear of the cavalry, and it just adds to the batteries spewing forth; on their front, on their flank. the hooves of the many horses unheard through the gunfire, and they head forwards, into the battered, going through the battery. sabres barely glinting in the overcast day as they cut down a number of Russian gunners. horses fall; men do too. it's chaos; blood as red as their waist coats splattering and spraying.
other regiments follow, endeavouring to try and complete the duty assigned to the brigade, bodies falling and horses buckling and shot. they ride through the russians, them at least five thousand strong.
-
5.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
olley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
eft of six hundred.
-
"nick!" louis screams into the mess of the battlefield, only one thought going through his mind and harry grabs at his arms, tries to tug louis away, tries to pull him back from the russian artillery. they've lost their horses, louis nearly crushed under the fall of other's, bodies littered upon the ground. it's obvious he's wounded, blood seeping from between his fingers upon his left side and he's screaming, tears welling up in his eyes and harry just needs to get him away from this carnage.
"lou," harry grabs at him once more, frustrated and scared as louis walks forwards, the wrong direction to the retreat and louis lashes out, hitting harry's hands away. he tries, fails, to dart away, eyes scanning the ground; red and brown. harry jogs up closer, gets a better grip upon louis' shoulders and pulls, tugging him backwards.
"no haz," louis pushes angrily, wriggles and struggles to get away from harry's long fingered hands, clamping down upon his ripped up uniform, "i have to find nick, we've got to find him."
"we need to go," harry replies, "things are a mess we need to retreat."
"no," louis says weakly, "no we need to find nick. we have to find nick, he's got to be here somewhere." the words a desperate and tears flow like the blood does down louis' side. he looks so small, so young in his too big uniform with blood and mud and tears smeared across him and harry picks him up, suddenly so louis can't react in time, and throws him over his shoulder. louis pounds at harry's back, yells at him to put him down, but harry just shifts him upon his shoulder and carries on. louis strains his eyes, staring out into the smoky world around him, searching and calling out, because nick will be there, he has to be, he's got to be alright.
no one says anything at the regroup, huddled quietly together, scared and smeared faces. louis' nervous and jittery, glancing around and refuses medical help until nick's back. more and more cavalrymen walk back, a few horses spotted throughout, but no nick.
there’s no nick.
-
6.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
ll the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
oble six hundred.
title: left of six hundred
rating; nc-17
word count: 2,105 +/-
warning(s): major character death, use of weapons/military stuff, angst.
summary: “we'll just have to pray they do," nick says being very careful this time to not hit anyone as he tries to sooth the worrys out of harry, "pray so hard that those upper class twats listen to what our little, tanned, tactical genius has to stay."
a/n this is probably not realistic at all and I’m sorry I had to do a lot of research for this fic, and surprisingly only general statements about what happened at The Charge of The Light Brigade during the Battle of Balaclava. Other than the poem by Lord Albert Tennyson (which is used in this fic; everything in both bold and italics is from the poem) I couldn’t find all that many personal accounts. Although I tried to be rather accurate regarding what was said, I take a lot of artistic licence with this and I don’t really know that much about nineteenth century military campaigns. I, rather than rewriting a great military blunder, tried to focus on ordinary cavalrymen, the boys and men who were a part of this campaign and where gunned down and killed needlessly because of some miscommunication.
The Charge of Light Brigade was supposed to be simple; they were supposed to harry and chase retreating Russian artillery battery but due to that miscommunication where in fact sent to the wrong guns and into a frontal assault. They were forced to retreat, but really battered and with no gains whatsoever. A hundred and eighteen men were killed, a hundred and seventy seven wounded and sixty taken prisoner. Only a hundred and ninety five men still had horses; over four hundred horses were killed. Captain Nolan was killed, presumably trying to tell the Earl of Cardigan that they were attacking the wrong guns, and Cardigan himself didn’t even bother sticking around to rally the troops or help the saviours of the bungle; he went to his yacht to have champagne dinner.
This is poor excuse of a dedication, but nevertheless I do in fact dedicate it to all that lost their lives in The Charge of The Light Brigade. To those barely old enough to be considered an adult, to those with sweethearts who would be notified three weeks later of the tragedy, those who died, were injured or taken prisoner in a needless and wrong battle.
the very early hours of the twenty fifth of october nineteen fifty eight.
*
a candle flickers amidst the middle of a tent of crowded, scared faces. it's going to be simple, really, charge at the will be retreating russian guns and harry and pursue them. something the light bridage was made for, something that will easily be done. still, that doesn't stop nerves from churning even the strongest and well war-ed in their minds. and, nick notes, the most of them here are young; barely eighteen he thinks as a stares at the charges resting with him.
some are nervously shining sabres, others writing out letters to their families or rereading ones from lovers back home in england.
he nudges the young harold with his foot, just reaching over enough and harry looks up, face peaky. he's obviously scared too, and nick shuffles over to harry's sleeping gear, curling up next to him. harry's all limbs and gangly and his hair gets into nick's hair as nick wraps his arms around his friend. a couple of harry's friends - more of those barely old enough to be in army soldiers - scoot their sleeping gear closer and it turns into a big sort of puppy pile. it makes nick's heart ache a little, knowing all these young boys are going off to die for their country.
"lou's not back yet," harry whispers, all muffled up in the heavy cotton of nick's shirt and nick rubs slow circles into harry's back, accidently clocking one of his friends - the other brunette is liam, right? - in the face as he does so. he pats the friend on (hopefully) the shoulder in apology.
"i'm sure he won't be long," nick promises and really, he shouldn't be promising things that he can't control, things that he doesn't really know the answers for. and really, harry's the one that should be comforting nick, "i'm sure he's coming soon. they can't keep him all night, we've all got to be well rested for the charge."
"they won’t even listen to his tactic advice," harry murmurs mournfully and nick nearly gets hit in the balls as the boy behind harry - it was liam wasn't it? - hugs harry tighter, "they'll not even take notice. probably having a slap up dinner."
"we'll just have to pray they do," nick says being very careful this time to not hit anyone as he tries to sooth the worrys out of harry, "pray so hard that those upper class twats listen to what our little, tanned, tactical genius has to stay."
later, when harry's asleep and the candle is out a small, warm body wiggles its way between harry and nick, fingers pressing into nick's hips tightly and breath hot against nick's neck where kisses are pressed. nick lets his own fingers splay over rounded hips and down to the small of louis' back, tugging him closer. he can feel where louis smiles tiredly into the bottom of his chin, and those lips trail upwards, hands shifting until they're pressing along nick's jaw, angling his face in for a proper kiss.
"things went okay?" nick asks fearfully, words resting upon louis' bottom lip, hands resting along louis' back and louis breathes out, not quite a sigh leaving his lips slowly.
"not really." he replies and snuggles his forehead into nick's cheek, nuzzling a little, trying to get closer but gives up because anything short of inside nick's skin, being the beat of nick's heart is not really good enough, "i just, i need you right now." and nick curls his body closer too, trying to get as much of him cuddled right up into louis' space, trying to be as comforting enough.
"things will be okay darling." nick says and he kind of hates himself for promising things he can't really be sure of.
-
1.
Half a league, half a league,
alf a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
ode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
ode the six hundred.
-
nick wakes to warmth snuggled into his front and sick kind of whirling in the bottom of his stomach. he pretends it's just nervousness.
the boys clean away at their already sparkling sabres. they tend to their war horses; feed and water them, groom them and saddle them, check that all hooves are clean and well healed, look away as the lame ones are mercifully put down. they put on their uniforms, a bright red waistcoat, buttons all down the front, golden waistline and all rather fetching. they shine at their buttons, clean up the cuffs and tend to their jodhpurs and riding boots. they get ready for war.
nick helps with louis' buttons, does the ones closest to his chin up and sneaks a kiss when no one's looking. it's a risk, but it's a risk well taken and one that nick will always sacrifice for louis. he shines at louis' shoulder pads and helps his friends too. louis holds onto his hand when they saddle up their horses, curled fingers behind saddles and tack and great stallions pawing at the ground in anticipation.
"things will be okay," louis promises with another stolen kiss, heads hidden from view and nick actually believes him; has to believe him with the whirring of his stomach and the settlement of dread deep within.
"i promise." nick adds because he needs in some way to cement this, make it entirely real.
-
2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
omeone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
ode the six hundred.
-
nick can't see louis when they're in line, all set up and ready for their charge. louis' farther up the front, rather close to major general himself, earl of cardigan. it's an almost deadly position to be in. he hasn't got a god, but he puts a prayer out there anyway, in hope one does hear him and grants it.
please keep louis safe.
the men are restless; they're waiting for an order. it's to come from up upon the highest vantage point, from lord raglan's lips carried through captain nolan and then their nerves can be settled. they whisper now, mutter of inconsequential things, gossip like old housewives and nick tries to shut his ears to the chatter of cardigan and the earl of lucan's intense dislike of one another. having upper class twats as army leaders is disconcerting enough, having upper class twats that are brother-in-laws that hate each other as army leaders is even more so.
-
3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
olley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
ode the six hundred.
-
"lord raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. troop horse artillery may accompany. french cavalry is on your left. immediate." the order comes through, captain nolan's loud voice saying so to lieutenant general the earl of lucan. he questions which guns, and nolan's hand sweeps across the valley in response. it mainly points to the russian guns in a redoubt at the end of valley, perhaps a mile away.
cardigan is heard muttering bad about the french, and more whispers and secrets find themselves dancing through the troops. the enemy is the russian, but old cardigan is far too scatter brained and still in the past war to consider it any other way. a few remind him that the enemy is the russians. the french are but alongside them, ready as they are to fight.
the feeling in nick's stomach is worse. a bubbling and rumbling and he sends more prayers out to any possible entity, hopes they understand the simple thing he's asking. lucan instructs cardigan to lead all six hundred and seventy three cavalrymen straight into the valley, towards the russian guns.
-
4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
ll the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
hatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
ot the six hundred.
-
they advance down the gradual descent of the valley, sabres tightly gripped in hands, glad for gloves as the nervousness rolls off their shoulders, just a little, batteries throwing out shells upon them. there's a batter on their right flank, and another on the left and the intermediate ground ahead covered with russian riflemen. nick's eyes widen, and he bites down upon his bottom lip because they're getting closer, so much closer and they're surrounded, encircled by a blaze of fire. the artillery is hurtling destruction upon the cavalrymen and nick grits his teeth together, sharply and it hurts his jaw, he tells himself he can't hear the screams.
they climb the hill; the artillery firing upon the rear of the cavalry, and it just adds to the batteries spewing forth; on their front, on their flank. the hooves of the many horses unheard through the gunfire, and they head forwards, into the battered, going through the battery. sabres barely glinting in the overcast day as they cut down a number of Russian gunners. horses fall; men do too. it's chaos; blood as red as their waist coats splattering and spraying.
other regiments follow, endeavouring to try and complete the duty assigned to the brigade, bodies falling and horses buckling and shot. they ride through the russians, them at least five thousand strong.
-
5.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
olley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
eft of six hundred.
-
"nick!" louis screams into the mess of the battlefield, only one thought going through his mind and harry grabs at his arms, tries to tug louis away, tries to pull him back from the russian artillery. they've lost their horses, louis nearly crushed under the fall of other's, bodies littered upon the ground. it's obvious he's wounded, blood seeping from between his fingers upon his left side and he's screaming, tears welling up in his eyes and harry just needs to get him away from this carnage.
"lou," harry grabs at him once more, frustrated and scared as louis walks forwards, the wrong direction to the retreat and louis lashes out, hitting harry's hands away. he tries, fails, to dart away, eyes scanning the ground; red and brown. harry jogs up closer, gets a better grip upon louis' shoulders and pulls, tugging him backwards.
"no haz," louis pushes angrily, wriggles and struggles to get away from harry's long fingered hands, clamping down upon his ripped up uniform, "i have to find nick, we've got to find him."
"we need to go," harry replies, "things are a mess we need to retreat."
"no," louis says weakly, "no we need to find nick. we have to find nick, he's got to be here somewhere." the words a desperate and tears flow like the blood does down louis' side. he looks so small, so young in his too big uniform with blood and mud and tears smeared across him and harry picks him up, suddenly so louis can't react in time, and throws him over his shoulder. louis pounds at harry's back, yells at him to put him down, but harry just shifts him upon his shoulder and carries on. louis strains his eyes, staring out into the smoky world around him, searching and calling out, because nick will be there, he has to be, he's got to be alright.
no one says anything at the regroup, huddled quietly together, scared and smeared faces. louis' nervous and jittery, glancing around and refuses medical help until nick's back. more and more cavalrymen walk back, a few horses spotted throughout, but no nick.
there’s no nick.
-
6.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
ll the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
oble six hundred.