Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.

- Winston Churchill


Why was it, Sam wondered as she sat at the kitchen table staring out the window at the frozen surroundings beyond, that whenever opportunity arose for her life just … got in the way? This was supposed to have been a family outing. A visit with grandparents at the family orchard, relatives whom she didn't get to see too often. A chance to play hockey with her older brothers out of doors, like it should be played. A rest from school and homework, a chance to recharge before the beginning of the new semester …

But all of that had changed two weeks before break when a freak accident at school had left her with a dislocated knee (just days before she was to go on the Senior ski trip, too!), immediate surgery for the damaged tendons and two weeks of missed studies as the semester came to a close. Now the two weeks of vacation she'd been counting on would be spent indoors, relegated to sitting around the kitchen table and completing work she had missed.

Tossing her pen atop the notepad in front of her in disgust, Sam shifted and buried her face in her hands, elbows pressed to the table. To top it all off, she had a huge paper due the day she returned to school. Papers. Lovely. She hated research papers. They were horrid things to her way of thinking. Not so much the research - Sam loved learning about things, reading, that sort of thing - but the writing ... How many ways could you regurgitate information without sounding like a monotonous drone? She'd never done well with term papers, the best grade she'd ever received on one was a C+ and that had been pushing it.

The soft 'thunk' of a mug being placed beside her brought Sam back to the present, if not out of her misery completely. Peeking between fingers that still covered her face, she felt a tolerant grin pull at her lips. "Hey, Grandpa," she murmured before lowering her hands.

He smiled warmly. Nodding at the mug, he took a sip from his own and commented, "You looked like you could use some tea."

Sam's eyes brightened. Grandpa always made the best tea. "Thanks," she told him while pushing her notebook and pen to the side. Sniffing at the hot drink, she took a careful sip. "Ooooo, it's the good stuff."

Her grandfather chuckled. "What else would I give my girl but the best, hmm?" he countered.

Sam grinned. Always, he called her 'his girl.' She'd been the first daughter born after several generations of men on both sides in the family. While her brothers seemed to think this was nothing out of the ordinary and her uncles just teased her mercilessly about being the only girl, her grandfather had always regarded her as something extra special.

"You looked as if you were having trouble with your work," he continued, nodding in the direction of her notebook. "Something I can help with?"

Sam sighed and slumped just a bit as the weight of real life settled on her slender shoulders again. "Just … homework," she explained. "A paper that I had due while I was in the hospital."

He nodded in understanding before asking, "What's the topic?"

This time, Sam snorted. After taking another careful sip of the tea, she told him, "That's the thing … I don't know. It's for my history class. I'm supposed to pick a person who's done something that affected the world around them and tell all about them. What the heck does that even mean?" She sighed again. "I mean … everyone affects the world around them!"

Her grandfather chuckled and held out a hand. Bending his fingers in a 'give it to me' gesture, Sam reluctantly handed over the assignment sheet. He set his tea aside for the moment, cleared his throat and read, "'Choose someone from the era of the Second World War and write a paper featuring how they affected the world around them during a time of crisis.' That doesn't sound so bad," he concluded, handing back the paper.

Sam groaned. "Grandpa," she moaned, "it is! I don't have anyone I can write about! I mean, anyone famous has too much written about them already and would make for a paper that will be too long, and anyone unknown won't have enough available out there." Sighing again, she dropped her head into her hands as she had done earlier. Voice slightly muffled, she finished, "I'm doomed. I never do well on papers anyway. Why should I even bother?"

Sam felt a warmth snake around one wrist and opened her eyes to find her grandfather's hand tightening there gently, tugging lightly to get her to look up. "You bother because it's a school assignment and you are required to do it. As for the doing well … perhaps you just need the right topic to write on."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Weren't you listening?" she asked. "There's no one -"

But he raised his hand in a silencing motion. "Ah, but there is," he informed her.

Sam frowned. "Who?" she demanded.

He sat back in his chair and lifted his mug again. "Let me tell you a bit of a story first, and then you can see what you think."

Sam pondered this a moment before shrugging her shoulders and reluctant acceptance. Reaching for her own mug, she muttered, "What the hell. I've got nothing to lose, do I?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Not at all," he assured her. "Now then, let me see …."