ACKWNOWLEDGMENTS 3

CHAPTER ONE 6

CHAPTER TWO 12

CHAPTER THREE 17

CHAPTER FOUR 22

CHAPTER FIVE 29

CHAPTER SIX 36

CHAPTER SEVEN 43

CHAPTER EIGHT 48

CHAPTER NINE 55

CHAPTER TEN 59

CHAPTER ELEVEN 66

CHAPTER TWELVE 72

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 76

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 81

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 85

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 89

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 94

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 100

CHAPTER NINETEEN 106

CHAPTER TWENTY 112

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE 117

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO 122

It was the summer of 1914, the British Army who had made their way to Mons, the capital of the province of Hainaut, Belgium, to protect Belgium as a neutral country and also prevent a French defeat that would leave Western Europe in the control of Germany, were in a gunfight with the German Army.

Rounds were being loaded into the machine guns positioned on flat tripods on the edges of long narrow ditches dug into the ground, known as a Trench, as windstorm of bullets whizzed through the sky passing through the bodies of the British crew members stationed around them, damaging organs and tissues in its (bullets') path.

The corpse were trampled on, as a new set of crew members positioned themselves by the gun, firing at will at their German enemies.

The bullets from the German's trench glittered under the sun's intense rays raining effortlessly on the British soldiers who scurried aimlessly, trying to take cover somehow.

The effluvium of death increased causing the rats in the trench to rejoice at the increasing pile of dead corpse, caring less about the ongoing battle as they nibbled on the open flesh of the dead soldiers.

Molten red blood sluiced from different parts of the soldiers' body but that didn't stop them from firing their rifles at the enemy. It was a battle to the death and dying on the battlefield was an honorary sacrifice for the greater good, as neither was ready to give up.

More bodies landed on the mud floor, as the heated blood washed mud-water splashed into the faces of the few British soldiers still standing, the acrid taste making their spines tingle with uncertainty and fear.

The German Army, seeing the damage they had already done to the British soldiers, surged into No Man's Land, determined to finally overpower the British Forces by all means necessary.

"We are surrounded, Captain!" The British Unit's Corporal, a man in his early thirties, yelled, his neck hairs felt like pins, with the sound of his heart pounding against his ribs cages which could be heard from a mile away.

"Stay calm Corporal! Head over to the underground bunkers and call in for some backup!" The Captain, a tall man in his late thirties with light brunette, yelled back, eyes firmly fixed on the approaching enemies, as he continued aiming and firing at them, causing them to fall by his bullets.

The Corporal gathers his shaking self together, as he nods his hand in understanding, turning around to head for the bunkers, a glimmer of hope tugging at his weak heart, the thought of being saved once the backup arrives, as more bullets flew overhead from the enemies' camp.

Walking a little distance from the Captain, he found a dead soldier lying on his path, who was one of the Unit's Runners, the glimmer of hope fading away as quickly as it had surfaced, his cold hands trembled even under the intensity of the noon's sun. The fear in his heart had suddenly gripped his feet, as he struggled to catch his breath, the irregularities in his heart beat causing him to feel dizzy.

Was this the end for him?

The Captain, who took cover to reload his rifle, met with the Corporal's back, as he stood with shaky feet over a dead comrade.

"Do it now!" He yelled, pulling the Corporal out of his thoughts and back into the reality of the life and death situation he was standing right in the middle of.

"Roger that Captain!" He tried to sound as brave as he could, in hopes that the bravery of his voice would drive out the fear in his heart, as the Captain returned to the firefight.

Another heavy exchange of gunfire between the only soldier of the British army and the still strong German army was overpowering, as the Captain took cover from the flying bullets, impatiently turning around to see what was holding back his Corporal from feedback from the telephone call he had asked him to make, when his eyes caught glimpse of the Corporal lying dead with a bullet hole in his forehead.

Taking a deep breath, he took one last glance over the bodies of his comrades scattered all over the trench. Realizing hiding the battle out wasn't the way of a true soldier, he jumped out from behind the covers, headed for No Man's Land, shouldering his rifle.

Throwing caution to the wind, he storms in the direction of the enemy soldiers who gave him a confused look. Letting their guards down, they watched him hope for a miracle of killing every last member of their units without any help, as he fires off a round, deciding to give up only when his heart stopped beating.

A bullet from the enemy rips through his shoulder, as he fell on the battleground, groaning in pain. He could see some of the German soldiers cautiously heading for his trench to confirm if there were any survivals, while others walked slowly towards him. He could see the satisfied grin plastered on their faces, even as the rays of sun shown brightly on their hatred festered eyes, as his blood boiled inside him.

Still not willing to give up and die like this, he tries to lift his rifle to continue firing despite his wounded condition. Even if he died, he would be happy knowing he took one or two German heads with him during his last breathing moments.

Unfortunately, the bullet was making his arm unable to lift up his rifle, as he groaned louder in pain.

Seeing how he still struggled to get his rifle up, the Germans rushed over, maybe out of fear of loosing their lives to an already dying man, to take away the rifle from his grip.

"Jetzt kapitulieren schweinehund!(Now Surrender, Bastard!)" One of the soldiers said standing over the British Captain who laid motionless at his feet. His eyelids soon feeling too heavy to stay open, as he tries fighting away the sleep that tugged tirelessly at him, but he lost the battle, as he slowly loses consciousness.

****************************************

Two hundred miles away from the battlefield in Mons that seemed to grow fiercer by the weeks, in the "Garden of England," Kent, a county in the South East corner of England, a lonely farm house sat gracefully on fields of emerald green, staring up at the earth's roof. The pale crescent moon, alongside her friends, the perfect sparkling dots, that seem like birthstone blue moon dust scattered all over the sky, welcomed its warm gaze.

It was supposed to be yet another quietly peaceful night with the wind singing a song only the trees understood and a silence that gets interrupted by occasional barking of dogs, but the turning of keys in this farmhouse caused the moon to peer curiously.

A woman who appeared to be in her early thirties with long black hair that was styled in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and dressed in a frilly puffed blouse and fluted skirt, pulled her twelve year old son, dressed in a long sleeved shirt with a jacket, on knee length shorts, a pair of white socks on boots, by the hand with hunching shoulders, towards her bedroom, securely locking the door behind her.

Motioning for her son to go under the bed as she carried a chair quietly, placing it on the door knob, before getting under the bed herself. She held his hand in her trembling hand, beads of sweat walked down the side of her face.

Seeing his mother trembling, the little boy became worried and wanted to asked exactly what was wrong but before the words fell from his lips, his mum, as though she had read his thoughts, placed her right index finger on his lips and her left index finger on her own lips, moving her head slowly from side to side, a way of her saying, "shush son, don't make a sound."

The boy nodded in the affirmative, removing his mum's trembling finger from his lips as he held it in a comforting manner. He needed to be strong and protect his mother, just like his dad would have if he was around.

The sound of the front door being forced open caused her to fall into yet another state of confusion and panic, as she looked at her son who still had his entire life ahead of him. Thoughts of probably never seeing her husband when he returns filled her head as hot tears gushed down her cheeks.

Pulling herself together, she decided to save her son atleast, as she came out from hiding, opening the window gently and motioning for him to go out through it.

Understanding the difficult choice his mother was making him take, he shook his head in the negative with tears flowing down his cheeks, tears that said, "mother, I'm not leaving without you."

With a finger still on her lips, she wiped away his tears, kissing him lovingly on his cheeks and forehead, refusing to let him see her with tears as his last memory of her. She knew going with him was only going to put the both of them in more danger, as the men would immediately go after them if the house was empty, and she needed to save him by every means possible.

The violent opening and slamming of doors, followed by hastened footsteps made her heart pound faster, as she quickly helped him outside, shutting the window slowly behind him, sending him off with a last wave.

Quickly, she ran back into her hiding, holding both trembling palms against her mouth, as she tried to be as quiet as possible. The door to the room was forced open after several attempts, as the chair she had placed as a wedge broke from the impact.

Three Englishmen dressed in high round collared shirts on an ankle length trouser, with one of them wearing a cravat and the other a bowler, stepped into the empty room, scanning every inch of it.

The woman under the bed could see their lace up boots moving slowly across the room, as she closed her eyes, silently praying for them to give up the search, so she could escape into town and wait for her husband's return. The sound of the boots caressing the wooden floor suddenly stopped, as she opened her eyes to find out why, only for them to see two pairs of boots. Short rapid breaths landed on her sweaty palms, as her heart raced even after.

Has she been caught?

The waterworks didn't seem like it'd run dry as more tears walked majestically down her beautiful face.

Should she had not put up a fight when these men asked her nicely?

Did they come back only because they knew her husband might have died in the war, making her and her son their perfect victims?

One of the men suddenly pulled her by the leg out of her hiding as she screamed loudly, hoping someone might hear and save her, but no help was coming. Her son who was safely hidden outside the window cried silently for his mother, hoping by some miracle his father would show up and save her.

"Pl..." The sound of the gun sent a bullet into her chest, arresting the word that was about being her last, as she crashed, with a thud onto the floor. Another bullet was fired into her already dead body as the boy held both palms over his mouth, tears falling helplessly down his face.

He could see the satisfied grin on their faces as they stared at his mother's lifeless body. He wanted to cry out for help but that would only get him killed, and recalling the sacrifice his mother just made for him to survive, he had to survive.

The moon comforted him with all of its light as he ran through the fields into the night with tears in his eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

It was yet another lazy day for the British captain who still had a bed in the infirmary of Germany's Prisoner of War Camp.

Asides the loud groans of other injured soldiers, and the pacing of doctors and nurses, nothing new seemed to be happening as he stared blankly at nothing. He had already had more than enough time to decide on going back to the war, as he pulled himself to sit up on the bed, but the bandages on his shoulder were always ready to pose a threat to his mission.

Turning his head to his side, his gaze met with the glare of the German soldier, who had a belt worn over his brownish-green khaki jackets with trousers, loose around the hips but tighter at his knees, tucked into black leather boots, assigned to be his own personal 'body guard'.

"I demand to speak to the Commanding Officer of this camp. The rules of war state that..."

"You don’t make the rules around here Arschloch! (Asshole!)" He blurted angrily.

Taking a deep breath as though deciding against any form of angry decision his brain was cooking up, he closed his eyes, a way of calming both him and his angry beast.

"I’ve been in this damned hospital bed for three weeks now and I demand to be treated in a way becoming of a British officer." The words fell through his clenched teeth, as the sound of footsteps approaching his bed caused him to open his eyelids.

Another German soldier had walked in to relieve the first guard of his duties, who walked away without a response to the captain's earlier statement, a sigh of frustration escaped his (the Captain's) lips.

A German nurse, dressed in a starched white apron with bib front, a curved neckline and crossed over straps at the back, soon walks up to the bed, her face lighting up with a warm friendly smile, as his plans kick-started into motion. If a soldier like him wasn't willing to perform his duties, maybe a medical officer who values the life of her patients, above the reasons of war, would.

Dropping the tray in her grip carefully on a table besides her patient, the injured Captain looked over at his guard who seemed to not be paying much attention to the nurse or his "hostage", as he quickly hands the nurse a crumpled-up note, looking straight into her eyes that held a mix of confusion.

She, however, acted like nothing had happened as she didn't want to alert the guard besides him, as she bends down to flash a little light into his eyes.

"Nurse, please give this note to your commanding officer. It’s urgent." He whispered hastily into her ears, as the nurse glances at the guard a few centimeters away from them to see if she had been caught but he was too preoccupied looking around the infirmary to notice.

She gave a gentle nod, a way of her saying she understood what he said, as she stuffed the crumbled paper into her pocket, before continuing her medical duties.

When she was done with checking his vitals, she gave a warm smile to her patient before walking out of the infirmary into the open camp, with the captain hoping his letter reaches the commanding officer in one piece, but it was not to be so as the nurse's eyes wandered around the camp for the German soldier who had been guarding the captain. Her eyes caught hold of him as her feet hastily took her body towards him.

The soldier, who seemed to somehow not look surprised by her presence, gave her his undivided attention, as she handed him the captain's crumbled note. A grateful nod and some money were gladly received by the nurse, who immediately excused herself to attend to other patients.

Excited that once again, he had been able to shut the door, to meeting the commanding officer, in the face of the resilient Captain of the British army, the German guard strutted back into the infirmary to relieve the guard who had just started duty some minutes earlier.

The Captain looked away angrily as the German soldier smiled annoyingly in his face. An arrogant laugh echoed in the captain's ear, as a crumpled piece of paper landed on his chest.

"Where the hell did you get my note?" He asked

"If you British dogs think that you can break up the unity of the German army with your little notes and dirty tricks..."

"...you are sadly mistaken."