discoveredinalj | Fic: Weary Soldier

Ray Doyle had been surprised when Bodie informed him he was taking the five days Cowley had just given them off to go to France – Normandy to be specific. He recalled looking at his mate for a long moment trying to figure out what was going through the complicated mind beneath the dark hair before asking if he wanted company. And that is how he found himself standing on Gold Beach watching his partner walk down to the water.

They had spent their first full day in Paris, and Bodie had made sure they had a grand time – good cheese, fine wine and a tour of Monet’s Water Lilies at the Musee Marmottan-Monet. And he'd thoroughly enjoyed their stage side table at the Moulin Rouge that evening.

Since they’d arrived in Normandy, though, Bodie had become quiet, introspective even. The first evening, after dinner, they'd gone for a walk, and Bodie had hesitantly begun to talk about his Uncle Tommy, his mother’s oldest brother. He’d been part of the D-Day invasion and had told his nephew stories of his exploits that day and those of his comrades. It was only later after he’d spent time in the jungle and then joined the paras that he'd realized how much his uncle had romanticized the stories to make them suitable for a six year old.

Knowing of his partner’s interest in military history, Ray wasn’t surprised at the knowledge he imparted as they walked the beaches and drove through the small towns, each having played its own role in history. Through his partner's words the older man could see the chaos, hear the noise, and sense the fear the men must have felt as they stormed the beaches in the face of the entrenched Germans and parachuted behind enemy lines.

At Pointe du Hoc he had looked out at the white caps on the English Channel while Bodie told the story of the two hundred and twenty five Americans from the 2nd Rangers that were tasked with climbing over 100 feet straight up the cliffs into the face of the German artillery. There were six 155 mm cannons up here in the reinforced concrete bunkers that had both Utah and Omaha Beaches in range. They held their ground for two days and only 90 men were left who could still fight when the reinforcements showed up. If they hadn’t taken the guns out, the outcome very likely would have been different.

At the British Cemetery, Bodie had stood at parade rest, and he'd taken a position to ensure the man was not disturbed by those tourists whose actions were more suited to a carnival than the final resting place of those who had made the ultimate sacrifice. After spending a silent hour at the cemetery, Bodie had taken him to see the thousand year old Bayeux tapestry.

Now, on their last day they were on Gold Beach where over 25,000 British troops had come ashore on that fateful day. Walking down to the water’s edge, Ray joined his partner. “Care to tell me what’s bothering you, Sunshine? Maybe I could help.” He’d remained silent long enough, whatever was bothering his partner he wanted - he needed - to help.

“We fight a war every day, Ray. And it doesn’t even have a name. As for the enemy, hell, some days I’m not so sure even the Cow’s on our side, let alone Queen and Country.

“And what is it we fight for, do we even know anymore? I know what Cowley tells us – sometimes I’d swear it was tattooed across the inside of me eyelids. But really, Ray, do you know?” Bodie turned to face him. “The men who stormed these beaches and parachuted into the countryside knew why they were here. But today the lines are so blurred it’s bloody impossible to tell the good guys from the bad guys; right from wrong; and what’s done for politics instead of policy.

“And when we lose someone…” the blue eyes closed for a long moment, “when we lose someone what do they get? A wreath, a headstone – which isn’t allowed to note they died in service to their country - and a pint or two raised in their memory. We can’t even tell their families how they died, let alone why!”

They walked along the sand in silence for a few minutes as Ray struggled to formulate a response. This was so unlike Bodie, or at least the image he projected to the world. But Doyle knew that every time they lost a member of their small mob, the ex-merc took it hard. "Are you telling me you want out, Bodie-mate?”

“I’m tired, my reactions are getting slower, and I’m scared to death I’m not going to be able to stop something bad from happening to you.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of the black leather jacket, and stopped to stare out to sea.

“S’okay, Sunshine. Even soldiers are allowed to retire.”

“Ray?” Blue eyes sought green ones as the older man stepped up and leaned against his partner.

“We’ll cede the field to the next generation – just as those who came before passed the battle down to us. It’s alright, Bodie, it’s time.” They stood in silence watching as twilight fell around them. Just before full dark, they made their way up the beach toward the car, shoulder to shoulder.

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Title: Weary Soldier
Author: Ice Bear
Slash or Gen: Gen
Archive: Yes Please
Disclaimer: All things Professional related belong to others, I simply borrow the lads now and then for my own entertainment.

Notes: Written for the Discovered in Remembrance challenge at Discovered in an LJ.

I visited Normandy in August of 2006. Every inch of it is sacred ground - from the beaches to the hedge rows to each village and town.