(Sorry this isn't a fanfic, and some of you readers may find this really boring. But this is a remembrance day I did for some school thing, and i thought i might as well just post it!
Dont worry though, I will still be trying to regularly update my fanfics too!
Thankyou beautifulss!! :*)
The captain was very old now, but could still hold himself stiffly at attention before the stone monument. His war, the one to end all wars, now just a fading part of history. Very few could remember the savageness of the event that had sent millions of young men to their deaths, sent before the guns to be mown down -- blown apart by chunks of metal which had quickly decimated their frail bodies. The memories of a generation; almost wiped out. He was haunted by the faces of the boys he'd had to order into battle, the ones who'd never come back. Yet one nameless ghost was able to bring comfort to his tormented mind. At the sound of the gun signaling the eleventh hour he was mentally transported back to the fields of Flanders.
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The battle had raged for over two hours, with neither side gaining any advantage whatsoever. Wave after wave of soldiers had been dispersed from the muddy trenches and sent over the top. So many had died already that day that he decided he could not afford to lose any more men before reinforcements arrived. There came a slight setback in the battle due to the sheer exhaustion of the men on both sides.
During this interval, a young soldier came up to him requesting that he be allowed to go over the top. He looked at the boy who couldn't have been more than nineteen. Was this extreme bravery in the face of the enemy, or was the soldier so scared he just needed to get it over with?
"Why would you want to throw your life away? It's almost certain death to go out there."
"My best friend went out over an hour ago, captain, and he hasn't come back. I know my friend must be hurt and calling for me. I must go to him, sir, I must." There were tears in the boy's eyes . It was as if this were the most important thing in the world to him.
"Soldier, I'm sorry, but your friend is probably dead. What purpose would it serve to let you sacrifice your life too?"
"At least I'd know I'd tried, sir, he'd do the same thing in my shoes. I know he would."
He was about to order the boy back to the trench, but the impact of his words softened and melted his heart. He remembered the awful pain he'd felt himself when his brother had died. He'd never had the chance to say goodbye.
"All right soldier, you can go." Despite the horror all around them, he saw a small smile on the boy's face, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"God bless you, sir," said the soldier.
It was a long time before the guns fell silent for the last time and each side was allowed to gather their dead and wounded. The captain remembered the young soldier. He looked through the many piles of bodies. Young men. So many of them it was unreal. The boy was not there.
When he came to the makeshift hospital, he looked carefully through the casualties. He soon found himself before the drained body of the soldier, alive, but severely wounded. He knelt down beside the young man and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, son. I knew I was wrong to let you go."
"Oh no, sir. I'm glad you did and I'm glad you're here now so I can thank you. You see sir, I found my friend. He was badly wounded, but I was able to comfort him at the end. As I held him dying in my arms, he looked me in the eyes and said: "I knew you'd come."
The captain was touched by the graciousness of the boy.
“God bless you, son” said the captain, kissing the forehead of the boy and beginning to turn away. He then felt a feeble hand grab his arm. He turned back. The boy was looking up at him and smiling, the colour in his eyes slowly draining.
“I tried, sir”
The young soldier faded between consciousness and oblivion for some time before he finally slipped away. The captain stayed by his side until the end, tears seeping quietly down his cheeks. Only in war could the happy endings be so awfully sad.
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The old captain began looking through a diary he kept during this tragic time, flicking through until he found the entry of the day this soldier died. An extract of it said…
“This young man was not a hero because of his actions. This amazing young man was a hero, because he had a heart of gold”
As the horn sounded for the last time, the old captain visualized once again the young soldier's face, and the words that came from his lips. Looking up, he could almost hear the stone monument calling out to him: "I knew you'd come."
