JMDC Challenge 161 - Birthday treat

[m_findlow]

Title: Birthday treat
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, OC
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,320 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for enchanted_jae's Monthly Drabble Challenge - Cake, Candle, Catch, Charm(s), Confection
Summary: There's a little bit of happiness to be found even in a war zone.

Jack wanted to groan at the sound of knocking. He'd only had his eyes shut for ten seconds, reveling in the peace that had descended on the bunker. After ten hours of incessant shelling and gunfire, the odd pat-pat sound of a single gun ringing out over the darkened battlefield was absolute bliss. It wasn't a ceasefire but merely an agreed postponement of killing so that both sides could rest their men.

There was no sleep for him though, only more reports and maps outlining current positions that had to be constantly monitored and manned. Not even so much as a single inch of ground could be lost. That was the job he was tasked with, and he'd follow it to the letter, or be shot alongside the cowards and deserters for failing in his duties to the monarchy. Sometimes he wondered if the generals even remembered they were here in this backwater part of the French countryside. More than that, he was beginning to wonder if Torchwood even remembered he was here.

He tugged his cap off and dropped it on the makeshift desk adding it to the pile of papers littering the tiny surface, looking up to find one of his fresh-faced soldiers waiting patiently for him to permit them to approach.

'What is it, corporal?' He mentally prepared himself for the worst: a broken radio line, another medic, dead from injuries sustained in dragging his fellow men back behind the lines, news that the regiment supposedly arriving to supplement their own had been redeployed.  

The corporal uneasily shifted from one foot to the other. 'Word went round the men that today is your birthday, Captain.'

Jack tugged his pocket watch from his pocket and studied the date on it in the muted light, letting out a mirth filled chuckle. 'So, it is,' he said, forcing himself to recall the date that he'd arbitrarily inherited from another Jack Harkness in another lifetime. 'What of it?'

'Someone the men wanted to mark the occasion, sir.'

Jack leaned back in the rickety wooden chair. 'Well, you can tell them I won't be playing pin the tail on the donkey with them. If they think I'm going to bare my arse over the top of the trenches and see if I can attract German fire with it, they've got another thing coming.'

The young corporal blushed slightly. 'Not what they had in mind, sir. It's a gift, actually.' He held out a small package wrapped in a scrap of British armed forces uniform fabric, that same drab olive colour .

Jack gave him a querying look. 'And you're the lucky one who drew the short straw to deliver it?' He reached out and took it, quietly praying for a new pair of socks. Or even an old pair would do.

'It's no cake with candles,' the corporal confessed. 'Well, we probably could have managed the candles, I suppose. Haven't run out of those yet.' Just everything else, Jack inferred from what wasn't said.

Jack smirked. 'What, and shoved them on top of a can of bully beef? How festive.'

'Or a can of jam,' he replied, as Jack pulled back the cloth. 'One of the lads got it, Douglas, I think. I don't know how he got his hands on it, sir, but he did.'

Jack turned the tin around in his hand. It was a little dented and worse for wear but there was no mistaking it. It had the same Ministry of Food logo, blue on white, and was clearly marked British Army Jam Ration. He marveled at how it had survived and somehow made the journey here into the middle of a battlefield in rural France. They could barely get munitions or a few clean bandages let alone decent rations beyond basic tea and tinned meat. No one had seen a piece of chocolate in weeks. Confection of any kind, even sugar for tea, was growing scarce. The army looked after its troops but this war was dragging on longer than probably even they had anticipated and something had to give soon.

Even more startling was that his men wanted him to have this. Something as priceless as a tin of jam could have been bartered for a hundred different things, or simply squandered by someone looking to bring a tiny moment of joy to a place that seemingly gave them none.

'I don't know what to say, corporal. I really don't.'

'Then don't say anything. Just keep doing your job and keeping us alive, sir. We can't ask for more.' He paused for a moment. 'You're not like the other captains.'

Jack appreciated the sentiment. He was no battle-hardened military commander. All he was doing was putting everything he knew about survival into action, but on a much larger scale. Usually it was only his own arse he was trying to protect, maybe that of a companion or a coworker, but now he was in charge of over a hundred men, all who were relying on him to get them through this campaign. Most days it felt like a losing battle. Even on a day with no enemy fire he was losing men to trench foot, fever and the bitter cold. Even those who appeared healthy were slowly suffering from the madness of being shelled day and night, forced to go over the top knowing they might be gunned down in a heartbeat, and for what? So some general somewhere miles behind Allied lines could claim to have gained a few worthless yards of mud and barbed wire. It was hard to believe that fifty years from now these fields would reclaim their former beauty, lush green and rolling with bright yellow wildflowers and only a handful of bullet casings left buried in the soil beneath to mark out their former horror.

Jack studied the can. He could almost taste the sticky red richness inside and it made his mouth water at the thought. He couldn't wait to dismiss the corporal and tear open the top, digging his fingers in and sucking the sweet fruit from them like a child snuck into their mother's pantry.

A twinge of guilt hit him as he had the thought. His men had gone above and beyond to celebrate a birthday that didn't even exist. He couldn't remember the real date, as if it mattered anymore. Who was counting off the years when they just kept rolling on forever? He'd survive to see the end of that war but so many - including the men in his company - wouldn't. 'How many men in your platoon are off duty tonight?' Jack asked.

The young  corporal stopped to run through a mental list. Not that it was his job to know;  that would be one of Jack's first lieutenants, but the men were close. Closer now that they'd been reduced in size, cut down by the attrition of war. The original company had been one hundred and eighty. He supposed he should be lucky to still have more than half his men.

'Sixteen off duty tonight, sir. Eight pulled double watches and were ordered to rest by Lieutenant Rogers.'

Jack winced. Still more than half but not even enough men to cover standard twelve hour shifts now. He nodded, keeping his expression as stoic as he could. 'Have them report here with their tins and biscuits. You've still got biscuits, don't you?'

'Yes, sir. Saving them for a rainy day, albeit every day here is a rainy one.'

'Good. You'll need something to spread this on.'

The corporal frowned. 'But, sir...'

'No "but, sir" anything,' Jack said, dropping any semblance of being superior. He knew his men were at breaking point. A little treat would do wonders for their morale. 'Besides, it's my birthday. I'm commanding your platoon to make themselves present to help celebrate it.'

The corporal grinned and saluted. 'Yes, sir.'

Comments

[enchanted-jae.livejournal.com]

Aw, how poignant. I love stories of selflessness. Thanks for the entry!

[bk_forever]

Oh, this brought a lump to my throat. Such a priceless gift in the midst of hardship, but of course Jack would share it to boost morale, even if just for for a little while.