Dedication
The Great War, also referred to World War I, is estimated to have contributed to the deaths of 40 million people worldwide, and is quite fairly seen as the bloodiest war in history.
Only at death is the final chapter of our lives written
and only then we will know whether we have lasting happiness.
Only the dead have seen the end of war.
In remembrance for all that was lost
‘lest we forget
Prologue
Norfolk, England
September, 1919
Only the dead have seen the end of a war.
~Plato
I take a sip of my tea, but my hand shakes when I return my cup to the saucer. It has been raining for hours. I look at the fireplace in my small farmhouse as concern washes over me. The fire’s embers are dwindling, and I have no more firewood in the house. To keep the fire burning, I would have to venture out to the woodshed next to the barn at the back of my property. I get up from my chair and walk to the back window.
“Bloody hell, will this rain ever end?” I ask myself out loud. It doesn’t take but a quick glance to know the rain is heavy and appears it will never end. The thunder and lightning are relentless, with loud, earth-shaking rumbles followed by quick, jagged jolts of lightening, causing me to quickly move away from the window. I hate storms!
There are few things in this world I am afraid of, but thunderstorms are one of them. And this is not a recent fear. When I was a child and the sky grew dark with storm clouds, I would run to the outhouse and hide until the storm passed. It wasn’t the most pleasant place to hide out, but it had one major advantage: no windows. The outhouse worked perfectly for many years, until it was struck by lightning with me inside. Thankfully, I was not harmed, but after that evening, my fear grew even more, and to make matters worse, I had no place to hide.
I look back out the window. It occurs to me that I need to check my property for flooding or damage. The heavy rain has gone on far too long. As I glance out into the darkness with a little more focus, I notice a pool of water next to the barn. Damn, the stream looks as if it is backed up, I think to myself. The stable housing my beloved horses and hay for the winter is located on the banks of a stream that runs through my land. When I decided to build the barn there, my neighboring farmers warned me about building it so close to the stream. They were concerned that during a storm such as this, the water would rise and flood my barn. While the horses would be fine if water got inside, my hay rationings would not. But the stubborn man I am argued that the barn was far enough away it would not be a problem and built the barn there anyway. I wanted my horses to be close to the stream, which encompassed my pasture. And in all the years I have been here, I’ve never had a problem, until now.
I hesitate for a moment and watch the water slowly rise around my barn. I’m sure something is blocking the drain in the culvert, causing the water to rise on the embankment. As much as I hate to admit it, this problem is not going away on its own, especially if it continues to rain. I curse the weather again as I pull on my Wellingtons and raise the collar of my rain slicker. I am not happy about venturing out during this horrible storm, but if I don’t fix the problem now, it could be worse by the time the storm subsides. If I can’t find the source of the blockage, there is a real fear of water ruining my autumn harvest. If that happens, money would be tight for the winter months ahead.
I make my way out to the barn, trudging through the swampy grass, my Wellingtons squishing in the mud. The sound of rain pellets echoing off my slicker is like explosions going off all around me. Once I finally reach the barn, nearly slipping in the mud as I enter, I grab a shovel and proceed to go find the source of the backup.
Because of the heavy rain and darkness, my visibility is compromised. I can’t readily see the source and decide to start digging at the base of the culvert where it appears to have more water building up. I begin to dig, hoping my efforts will remove enough of the blockage to allow the water to flow through freely. My shovel pushes through leaves and debris as I scoop it up and place it on the bank of the creek. When I place the shovel back into the area around the culvert, I feel something heavy. This is not typical debris, like what I have already removed. This is something different, and I am having a difficult time getting the shovel to pass through it.
I crouch and pull back my hood to see better. Digging through the debris with my bare hands, I feel something leathery. “What on earth is this?” I mumble aloud. Why would someone carelessly toss something of this magnitude into the stream? Their disregard could have caused me a winter’s earnings.
I try to pull at the garment, but it will not budge. It is really jammed in there, or perhaps stuck on something. I tug harder and it still will not give. I begin to clear away more of the debris around the leather. When I finally get to the root of the problem, the sight before me causes me to fall back into the creek in horror.
Once I get my wits about me, I decide to investigate further. Frankly, I am in disbelief at what I think I may have seen. After another careful look, I confirm the leather belongs to a British officer’s air corps uniform. But that was not the root of my astonishment. If it could only be that simple… My shock and horror comes from what remains of that officer’s very dead and decomposed body.
The Great War
1914-1919
Chapter 1
Savannah, Georgia
September 1919
I live a good life now, married and with a child on the way. We are happy.
After my debriefing and screening, I was cleared to reside in the United States. We wanted to live in the South, where the climate is warm and sunny most of the time, and very little snow. I shudder when I think of the bitter cold winters of Russia. So we bought a house in Savannah.
My husband retired, somewhat. He no longer goes on missions, which I am thankful for, and actually works with American Intelligence recruiting and training.
I still can’t shake the fear they will find me. I’m always checking behind me every time I leave the house. The only place I feel safe is in our home.
Other than that, I guess you could say we live a normal life. We have the most adorable home. It’s like a little cottage compared to what I grew up in, but I don’t mind at all. In fact, I prefer the smaller, more modest home. We have no servants, so I had to learn to cook. When you lose everything, you learn everything you had was not so important, and the things that mattered then—like a pretty new frock and the next party—don’t seem to matter much anymore. A roof over your head, a hot meal on the table, and someone you love more than anything to share it with are all you need. Life’s priorities change, and you find out what kind of person you really are.
My husband is working, and I just returned from the grocer. I am making my first lamb stew for dinner, and I can’t believe I am about to say this, but I am really excited. I walk into our home and head straight for the kitchen, my arms full of groceries. I set the bag on the table in the middle of the room.