Avery's Note: This story is molded off of Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front and I believe that he deserves a substantial amount of credit for being an inspiration to me. I'd also like to thank you as well for taking the time to read this. This is my first "published" work of fan fiction… I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: "This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will simply try to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war." Erich Maria Remarque All Quiet on the Western Front

The story thus so far: N/A

A Passing Eternity

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Chapter 1:

A light rain drizzled on the members of the 27th Infantry of Poland. A soldier tilted his head back and stared towards the melancholy gray of the sky above. The dust from destroyed pieces of brick and cement settled like a cloud about him. It stuck and dried on his muddy clothes. An expression of grief flashed across his face as he pondered the fate of his beloved militia. As much as he did not wish to admit it, Quatre knew that many of them had not survived.

The distinct rattling of a machine gun was firing off a few meters from his left. He could also hear the unnerving shriek of metal scraping against metal. Quatre cringed at the horrendous sounds and welcomed the safety that the abandoned building provided; even it was what was left of the vertex of two walls.

It had been a few months since the German invasion of his country, Poland. It was within a matter of days the entire European continent became engaged in a conflict. Only a few months had passed since the day that marked the start of the Second World War. Just like his father before him, Quatre had to give up his life as an international financial investor.

"Rashid," Quatre whispered to himself, "where have you gone?"

The blonde youth admired the strength of his eternal protector and friend. Rashid was given both the position as bodyguard and godfather on the day of Quatre's birth. Wherever Quatre went, Rashid went as well. And when Quatre's father was assassinated a few years after the end of the First World War, it was Rashid who stepped up and took his place in Quatre's life.

Just as if he heard the calling of his own name, Rashid appeared at Quatre's side, his back pressed against the wall. "Master Quatre," he said with his comforting, strong voice.

Quatre cracked a weak smile. Just having Rashid there was reassuring to Quatre. "Let us get out of this hell hole, please."

Rashid was about to make a response but the vibrations of the ground beneath them shook violently. They could hear the crunching of rubble beneath the weight of an approaching tank. It released a blast of shot near the two comrades. Little bits of dust and cement sprayed everywhere once more, covering the two.

"See that ditch over there? Count off five seconds from the next shot and then jump in there."

"What about you?"

"I'll be there before you know it." Rashid smiled.

The smashing of a building reverberated throughout the town. Rashid took this cue and opened fire. Under the cover of the deafening sounds and Rashid's fire, Quatre made a mad dash for the ditch. He made a last stretch jump and dropped down into the ditch. The land warmly greeted him, hiding him within her loving embrace from the tank.

The rattle of machine gun fire was now directed at his previous location, the cement corner Rashid was still occupying. Quatre poked his head out above the ditch and was about to scream to Rashid.

Machine gun fire was now aimed at him. The adept German gunner must have caught sight of Quatre's sudden movements. Quatre's instincts screamed at him to duck down, and he did so in a flash. A series of about ten to fifteen bullets ricocheted off of his helmet. It left a loud ringing noise in Quatre's ears and feeling of disorientation.

Another individual dropped into the ditch with Quatre. Assuming that it was Rashid, Quatre ignored the person and concentrated on figuring out how to stop the oncoming tank. He had two fragmentation grenades, but that wasn't going to be enough to defeat the Germans.

The man, more accurately the adolescent around his own age, was not Rashid.

Quatre turned around to face him. "Rashid what should we do now?"

All thought escaped Quatre as the muzzle of a Walther P38 met the bridge of his nose. The hand of the young man was still, there was no detectable fear in the other. It was obvious that if he pulled the trigger he shot to kill.

"Please don't kill me," Quatre whispered, trying his hardest not to sound like he was begging. He knew it was futile though, that the other would never understand him. He was a Polish refugee playing soldier in a war that he believed should have never happened to his country.

The one holding the gun was a German. He wore the uniform of Hitler and every inch of his grim disposition confirmed it. He was a Nationalsozialismus, aNazi, a being incapable of feeling any emotion. His auburn hair fell sharply into his face on one side and accented the stoic emerald of his eyes. He neither smiled nor frowned.

Anger swelled up within Quatre and replaced his fear of death. He thought about all the injustices dealt against him by these Nazis. It was these horrendous men who committed the heinous act of starting the war with their radical ideals. They killed his father and his family.

There was the whine of airplane engines. Quatre took advantage of the moment when the soldier made a quick glance at the sky. Just like lightning, leapt up from a crouch and moved in towards the other's body. He swung he knee straight into the abdomen and caused his opponent to cringe. Quatre turned the tables by wrenching the gun from his adversary's weak grip. He planted a foot on the German's chest and stood towering over as he pointed the P38 at him, the positions now reversed. Surprisingly though, the young soldier didn't fight back.

"Why?" Quatre asked harshly. "Why aren't you attacking me like you should be doing?"

The German soldier stared past him into the gloomy sky that was now dotted with aircraft, not saying a word. His expression still hadn't changed, neither smiling nor frowning.

Realization struck the boy like running head straight into a brick wall. Quatre was a handsome young blonde with crystal aquamarine blue eyes. It was forbidden amongst the Nazi's to kill an individual of the noble Aryan race. Quatre had the automatic advantage because of his physical appearance.

"I don't want to kill you."

Quatre dropped the gun on the ground next to the young man. "Go home. Go back to your family. Go and escape this war." He backed off and frowned.

Their eyes met and locked. They stared into one another, searching for keys to understand the other's soul. What seemed like the passing of eternity made the fighting around them melt into the background. It wasn't until a chunk of cement grazed Quatre's arm that they were brought back to reality.

The cloth of his sleeve was ripped and was stained with fresh blood. The wound, although shallow, radiated a stinging sensation across his arm. Quatre ignored the discomfort and reinserted himself in the battle raging around him.

Quatre could tell by the pitch of the sirens and the shouting in German that something was amiss. The machine gun fire had ceased and the shells of antiaircraft were exploding on the opposite side of the town. There was a vibration in the air from an airplane circling closely overhead.

It was an air raid. The ground vibrated more violently beneath them than when the tank was released its shots. Quatre dropped down on the ground yet again. The two strangers laid together in the ditch, waiting for the bombings from above to let up a little. The consciousness of another eternity passed between them.

Except this time, it was different. Instead of two enemies reaching into one another's soul, it was as two soldiers bound together by the instinct to survive.

Quatre could tell from the insignia that it was a British Airspeed Oxford. That meant troops from his allies had arrived. He turned to the German boy. They would kill him he they caught him, or even worse, torture him as a prisoner of war.

Without second thoughts, Quatre said one of the few words he knew in German to the soldier laying next to him. "Laufen."

Run.

The Nazi took off. Quatre watched him disappear amongst the rubble and wondered if he would see the soldier again. There was something different about him that intrigued Quatre. Secretly, Quatre was hoping that they would find each other again on the battlefield.

A few hours later, a cease fire was called for the Nazis in the area retreated to their base further in the Austrian country. What was left of the 27th Infantry of Poland picked itself up with the help of the British pilots. Starting at the beginning of the war with 210 men, there were only about a handful of them left after 17 encounters with Germans and Soviets.

Quatre scanned around him and noticed something out of place. He cocked his head to the side as he thought about the implications of something missing and dark crimson splayed all over.

Rashid.

The small fortress Rashid was occupying was completely reduced into tiny bits of rubble and dust. Quatre ran over and started digging through it, looking for Rashid. He caught sight of abandoned equipment and scraps of tank metal. An Allies bomb blew a tank to pieces, sending those pieces flying about the vicinity.

Quatre stood up and scanned the area once more. Lying beneath a slab of concrete was Rashid. Quatre pushed it off and cradled the dying body of his protector and close friend.

"Rashid, you promised me that we would make it out of this war together."

"I am sorry, Master Quatre," Rashid sputtered.

"Save your breath. Our friends are coming to help us."

"Mater Quatre," Rashid continued, "I am proud to have served your family all these years."

"No, no, no," cried the blonde. "Don't talk like you're dying."

"Take the goggles. It belonged to your father, and he wished for me to give it to you when the appropriate time came." He reached up and pulled the strap from around his head. He handed Quatre the pair of aviation goggles.

Quatre had seen his father wear them proudly no matter the occasion. He had seen photographs of his grandfathers wear them proudly. He had seen Rashid wear them proudly. It was the symbol of the men of the Winner family. Quatre understood well the symbolic meaning of Rashid passing them on to him.

Quatre took off his helmet and slipped the goggles on. He wouldn't upset his dying comrade in his last minutes before the black hand of death crept dragged him away to her domain.

"Master Quatre…"

Quatre struggled to keep his voice even. He had to maintain confidence that Rashid was going to survive.

"Rashid…"

"You're heart is the most magnificent aspect about you. Don't let the ugliness of the war taint and shatter it." Rashid grasped Quatre's hand a final time as he did so many times when Quatre was a little boy. "Live and show the world its beauty."

"Yes, I will. You'll be there with me as I give it away as well."

"I wish I could see the day you married. Your father's wedding was splendid. I have never met another man who loved his wife as your father did your mother."

Any change in the conversation was fine with Quatre. As long as it kept Rashid alive, Quatre was willing to discuss anything.

"But why do you wish? You will."

"No Master Quatre, I won't." He gripped a little more tightly onto Quatre's hand. "Death has already come to take me back with her."

Rashid's grip loosened and fell from his young master's hand.

No words were able to be spoken as he watched the remnants of his lifelong companion's life vanish. Everything he wanted to tell the older man surfaced and jammed in his throat. All he managed to produce was a strangled cry. Tears rolled down his face and left streaks where the dirt was washed off.

Member of his own unit found him sobbing in a heap and had to carry him to their encampment for Quatre was too weak to stand. They set him on a cot and draped a blanket over him. Many of them had felt connected to Rashid as well and understood Quatre's excruciating emotional pain.

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To be continued…