This would be the continuation of the Happiest Millionaire. Mr. Anthony Biddle has learned jujitsu, and both he and John Lawless are serving in World War 1. I don't own anybody in this story except for Lieutenant Manfred and the nurse at the hospital.

Chapter 1

"War, sir? You really mean it?" The Irishman seemed perplexed. For about a year and a half, he and his master, Mr. Anthony Biddle had been training at Paris Island. But since President Wilson hadn't made any moves John had assumed that their marine training would end in another couple of years.

But that wasn't what was happening. And Mr. Biddle seemed to be enjoying himself. He held out the uniform to his butler invitingly.

"We've both grown strong, John. And now, President Wilson wants us to go out, and fight for our country. It took him long enough to realize that he should have let me enlist. Blasted ideas about age!" He stormed.

John patted him on the shoulder nervously. Even though he knew that he could probably kill a few Germans without being killed himself, the idea of dying in those trenches didn't quite suit him. "Yes, sir. But are you sure about this, sir? Dying in the trenches isn't my idea of a good burial, sir." He argued.

Mr. Biddle turned to glare at John. "Are you afraid, Mr. Lawless? After all, since you're part of that tattered "Rainbow Brigade" I would think that you would feel a certain zeal in joining up for a worthy cause." He didn't want to despise the man that he had trusted with his alligators back in Philadelphia. But he couldn't help it. The man was sounding like a blasted coward!

John instantly shrunk back from his master, and ran his fingers through his strawberry blonde, wavy hair. "I'm sorry, sir. But I am just a little nervous. It's nothing, sir. I'll go with you to Europe, if that's what you desire, sir." He conceded. He hadn't been taught ju-jitsu and all the in's and outs of war just to return home to Philadelphia.

John tried to shrug off the cold, as he remembered the little tiff that he and his master had had. How many months ago had that been? Six? Seven? He couldn't remember.

But all he could remember was that he was cold, hungry and miserable. All that time in the snow filled trenches in Amherst Belgium had worn him down to a small nub of the Irishman he'd been when he'd enlisted.

He rubbed at his frozen fingertips, replaced the helmet on the back of his head, and started to whistle 'Yankee Doodle Boy'.

"Private Lawless! What are you doin down here, me boy!" The Scotch Lieutenant, Manfred shouted, grabbing John by the collar of his coat. "You're going to catch your death o'cold out here, son!" He warned.

John laughed. "Oh, I'll be alright Lieutenant Manfred. Just thought I'd take a turn on watch meself. Wanted a bit'o fresh air before I settled into the trenches." He explained quickly, knowing how much the old Scotsman cared for him.

Manfred's eyes twinkled. "I know how much ye fear the trenches, lad. I myself have had a dreaded fear of them since the beginning o'the war. Don't ye worry, it will soon pass." He patted his new friend on the shoulder comfortingly, and turning back to the camps squeezed in among the rows of pits.

John nodded, as he accompanied the Scotsman back to the dreaded camps. How many deaths had he seen in the past few weeks? He didn't know. But the trenches were filled with dead bodies, flies, old rusting weapons and those rats that converged on dead or unconscious men's bodies, stripping them down to a mere skeleton. He pinched his nose closed. He still hadn't gotten used to the smell, even after all that time.

He smiled at Mr. Biddle, as he spotted him, leaning against the muddy wall. "Why hello, sir! I didn't realize that you were at the shooting gallery!"

Anthony turned on his butler, with a welcoming glare. "John! You sure took your time! What've you been doing man?"

John chuckled. "I-I was at the back, taking a breath of fresh air, sir. But don't worry, I was with Lieutenant Manfred the entire time!" He promised.

"Well, I still can't see how you Irishmen are so darn quick! Colonel Davies wants you to take over the sniping, anyhow!" He grumbled, as a heavy barrage of shells pummeled the trench, even finding their way in. The explosions were everywhere.

In a quick second reflex, John jumped on his master's back, pushed him to the ground, and became a human shield. He took a deep breath fighting the feeling to scream, as shrapnel tore at his legs and back.

Mr. Biddle crawled out from under him, as the barrage ceased. "John, John are you alright?" He asked weakly, his voice wavering, as he realized that John had just sacrificed himself.

John nodded slowly. "My back's a bit sore…and my legs are…" He paused to wince as he tried to sit up. "Can you see?"

Mr. Biddle nodded, and bent down to untie John's woolen leg wrappings, which had acted as bandages until the present moment. "They're pretty cut up. But at least your head's alright. I'll have Lieutenant Manfred take you the distance to the hospital. But in the meantime, don't fall asleep; I wouldn't want to lose you." He said kindly.

John smiled slightly. "But I'm supposed to stay and carry out the orders sir! We're going to make a charge at sundown!" He hadn't admitted it, but he had slowly become used to that sort of fighting style, and enjoyed the "pushes" across the frozen wasteland.

Mr. Biddle shook his head. "No, John. With your legs in that condition, you shouldn't even be in the trenches right now. I want you to come back in tip top shape, you understand me?"

"Yes sir." The Irishman said glumly, wincing as Lieutenant Manfred eased him into his arms.