Queen's Marathon (NYC FF - 1 of 3)

Writer's note: The following piece was the first of two writes in the first round of the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction writing competition started August 2014.  
 
Writers in this challenge are given a prescribed genre, location and key prop to work into their story and must complete the task within 48 hours of receiving their assignment.  
 
My group of 42 writers received as our guidelines:  Drama - marathon finish line - a box of chocolates.  
 
Writers are encouraged to be inventive in their interpretations while sticking to a strict 1,000 word story limit.  
 
ANY feedback on this would be greatly appreciated.  
 
Salud  

http://www.nycmidnight.com/competitions/ffc/challenge.htm
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Queens Marathon
 
"C'mon Peter! We've gotta keep moving. The others are way ahead."  
 
"It's my leg," I gasped,  "it's tightening up."
 
I was doubled over kneading my right thigh.   It did no good though, for with each heave of my chest my  lungs pleaded  for air.  Its' deliverance fed the pain the same way it does fire.  Murderously.  
 
"Jackie, I need to piss,  if I just take a piss," I reasoned with my eyes clamped tight.  
 
"Can't, you know that," he reminded me.
 
He came over and put his hand on my  back, and whispered, "We can catchup to the others.  I know you're not gonna let those loud mouths from Sussex beat us. Come on, one step at a time."  
 
With two pats to my back we were moving again.  
 
"The next station is just around that bend, " Jackie assured me.  "Get there and we're as good as home."
 
My stride was labored as I dragged my dying limp.  My own body was betraying me to keep me a prisoner of my darkest fears but I wasn't going to let the bastard win.
 
We had gutted out twenty-five miles.  My heart pounding like a hammer ever since I heard the word, "Go!"
 
We reached the turn in the bend and there she was, as promised an old grey farmhouse.  Though a half mile away the idea of being able to rest was heaven.  The space between her and us was a wide open meadow, and Jackie reasoned that we best wait until dark.
 
"We've come too far to get picked off by some Jerrie  patrol in broad daylight," he said.
 
"Let's pray for another clouded night too.  Don't need the spotlight," I added.  
 
With the decision to stop  I could let my body deconstruct itself.  
 
I sat there tasting my  sweat and inhaling the stench of anticipation soaked in my shirt.   It reminded me of the night my squadron was deployed to Dunkirk.  The plan went to shit and over a thousand of us were captured straight away.  
 
The hellacious march the Nazis' put us through in Poland took us to a camp just outside of Auschwitz.  
 
They expected me to work the  mines, and brash fool that I was at 18 I told them, "fuck off".
 
"Das Bein," was the reply directed towards the guards, and with that four of the bastards pulverized my right leg with their rifle butts.  They wailed at me the way the circus strong man uses a sledge hammer to ring that bell above him.  Each blow measured and deliberate.  
 
The sergeant hissed while I lie whimpering,  "We don't need your legs  just your arms and  back. Next time, it'll be an eye."  
 
That was five years ago.  
 
Jackie and I were now running what a bunch of us had dubbed the Queen's Marathon.  Rumors about the camps said American troops were within 30 miles of us, but not trusting the Jerries would leave us alive, we decided to break for it.  
 
Jackie partnered up with me straight away saying, "We boys from Dorchester stick together."  
 
So here we were.    
 
The last farmer to help us warned not to so much as shit in the woods because the patrol dogs could pick up our trail.  He gave us directions and the code to pass on to the next house where we could find help.  From there it was just a few miles to the Americans.  
 
Evening came, and with it we were standing at the door of the farmhouse.  
 
Jackie knocked and uttered but one word, "Cadbury."  
 
From that this beer barrel of a man with ruffled grey feathers for hair showed us in.  He lit a kerosene lamp and sat us at his kitchen table.   In the dark I could see him rustling in a  cupboard.  He brought out a Red Cross relief box.  
 
With the box on the table the old man pulled out another that said "Chocolate".  He reached inside like he was reaching in a baby's cradle and pulled out a tiny bit of sweetness swaddled in a wrapper that said "Cadbury".  
 
Jackie and I let the ambrosia filled with nuts and berries melt on our tongues.  Our host then brought out bread and jam, and cool fresh milk.  
 
Our host explained S.S patrols were nearby and we needed to make it to a cobblestoned wall at the top of the next valley.  Once past the wall we'd be safe because that's where the Americans were.  
 
The trek into the valley was easy enough.  The downward slope was gentle with fireflies guiding us.  Once in the valley Jackie and I could see the edges of wall outlined by the moon, but the slope up towards it was more mountain than hill.  
 
"We're almost there Pete,"  I could hear Jackie whispering in the darkness.  
 
I was about to make a crack about raising a pint when two hornets whizzed by.  The thunder came after.  The first bullet struck between us, the second went right through Jackie's back then heart leaving him face down.  
 
I looked behind us and on the other side of the valley, with the moon as their lantern, a S.S. patrol was shooting at us.  
 
I began running furiously, but the slope was besting me.  I was heaving like a drunken clod and   "Beat the wall! "echoed in my head.  
 
Bullets were racing all around me and just when I thought I'd lost and I'd never see the finish, this cackling applause came from atop the wall.  
 
I looked up to see Americans firing back at the Jerries.  They were laying cover for me while others were yelling, "Come on buddy!  Just a little further to go!"  
 
At the wall two hands guided me through the finish.  I had done it. I had run the bloody Queen's Marathon.  
 
Before we left we recovered Jackie's body so I could escort him home.  It's like he said, "We boys from Dorchester stick together for the long run."  
 
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Postscript: In the feedback I got back from the judges - one of the readers felt I hadn't researched the historical content properly.  
 
I was a bit irked at the comment because I actually read about a British squadron that was captured after a failed mission and subsequently forced to work in German mines.  
 
Once I established that bit ... I came up with prison break part (an ode to Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape") ... Also Cadbury chocolate was placed in relief packages parachuted by the British - another bit of research I found online.  
 
So to my DUP fam ... outside of that - what worked and what sucked in this for you?  
 
If you didn't like it - or elements of it tell me! ... And don't fuckn sugarcoat it!  It's the only way I'll grow and sharpen my pen.  
 
Gracias