It's the 2nd of July 1945 as we know it, two months before the end of the Second World War, but for the men involved the bloodshed felt like it would never end.

You're not the type of soldier to disobey a direct order, but that all changes when a man holds a revolver to your head and you realise what really matters.

The bullets flew overhead as the three surviving men scrambled to the nearest dugout. "Tom!" jack yelled at the blond haired man above him "get in here you idiot-you wanna bullet in the head, I already got one in the arm!" he quickly threw himself into the pit and sat, eyes closed at the two men's feet. "We're going to die here aren't we?" he shakily whispered, "we where seventy two strong and now there's three of us."

The second fleet had been sent to a large area of fields in the south of England to clear the way for other soldiers. Things had been going in their favour until a surprise ambush had turned the table. Jack knelt and put his arm over Toms shaking shoulder "your eighteen, a kid, too young to be here in this hellhole, but I guess you are here and as your older brother its part of my duty to make sure you make it back home" Jacks eyes met those of his brother, "I promise you Tom, as long as there is air in my lungs, you will get home alive".

The other man sergeant Dawson was quickly bobbing his head in and out of the pit, "you know there's a forest not fifty feet from here, if we run, if we're quick we can make it" he turned and gestured at the men to move, "Jack!" he looked sternly at the two "I can get you and your brother shot for not following orders" Jack stood and looked at the man "why wait?. Shoot me now, its better than dying out there, go on, kill me, its not like this is the first time I've disobeyed you" Dawson sighed and looked at the sky "you yanks are all the bloody same, never willing to put your scrawny necks on the line…" he began climbing over the top of the dugout "if you want to die in here, fine". Dawson stood and began to run, he ran as fast as he could, but everyone knows you can't out run a bullet…twice, back of the head, within thirty seconds he was dead, like the rest hunted down like an animal.

As hours past the intense firing seemed to slow until it stopped, by this time it was dark and only the eerie sound of death filled the air. "Tom…Tom" Jack whispered as he shook his brothers shoulders "c'mon… this is our chance," Tom slowly opened his eyes, "are you sure, I kinda like breathing" he sat upright and rubbed his eyes, then looked over to his brother who was ruffling his hair, "you always do that"

"What?" jack looked at him with a puzzled expression

"Ruffle your hair, you always do it when you're nervous…but I guess if it's our best chance, let's go."

Both men tried to smile positively as the climbed over the top of the dugout and crawled their way through the maze of dead bodies, until they where about twenty feet from the edge of the woods. "Tom, don't get left behind" he looked in the same direction as his brother and noticed what had made his suddenly stop… a man, kicking random bodies to make sure there was no life left inside, he sounded German from the way he was muttering, Jack also noticed Tom had a gun in his hand and was pointing it at the guard, "don't shoot him Tom, if you do you'll just attract more of them… tom, just lie still face down in the ground and don't move until I tell you too"

Both men waited, they knew if they moved they would surly be shot but if they lay there for too long they would possibly be noticed which made the urge to run even greater. Eventually the guard stopped and forced his heavy boot into Jacks' ribs, Tom slowly crawled toward his brother, Jacks eyes seemed to plead with him to stop, but he didn't, he stood quickly and slammed the side of his gun into the guards' skull, knocking him unconscious or dead…one of the two. The two ran into the wood, "the nearest town is about tem miles from here…how's your ribs?"

Jack untucked his shirt, pulled it up and looked at his red, bruised chest" I'll be fine,

"And that?" Tom looked at the shot wound at the top of Jacks arm; it was by now caked in thick stinking mud,

He laughed, "Stop worrying 'mom', trust me I'll be fine."