If this is death, it really isn't that bad, Lieutenant Price decided.
A Lieutenant Thomas Price was floating in a timeless void of darkness and silence, both comforting in their own way, questioning his current situation.
He was never particularly religious, considering he only went to church because everyone else did, and the things he did and saw during the war? He was never going to be a devout Christian after that.
Is this death? Or am I dreaming?
How did I even die? Is this the end?
This can't possibly mean the end for me, right? So much to live for, and so much left to see.
Dark angry thoughts raged in his mind against the damned Hun, the blasted politicians who got Britain in the mess in the first place and, most of all himself.
Who dies after winning the war?!
Seconds, minutes and possibly hours later of tears and anguish in this timeless limbo he started to calm down at last.
Bittersweet resignation to his fate of never seeing home again took over the Lieutenant. He did make it after all to the end.
And if this was death, it wasn't so bad, he decided, after all it could have been worse, it could have been hell.
No sooner he finished his thought, his whole world jerked, and he was plunged into a world of pain and noise.
"Sir, wake up!"
That voice sounds awfully familiar.
"Wake up!"
That voice also sounds urgent, and it was getting so peaceful as we-
"The Hun is here, sir!"
Wait...what?! Damn all the Hun to hell, even in the afterlife they still cause trouble for him!
With a herculean effort, he groaned and opened his eyes to the sight of a vaguely familiar face, screwed up in worry as it hovered above his face.
Private Harry Cooper nervously knelt over his superior officer, waiting for him to wake up.
Everything had gone to hell after that bright light.
He awoke to the sounds of breaking waves, finding himself lying down next to his rifle on a large sandy beach, looking up to the sight of a forget-me-not blue sky with the sun blazing as if it was a warm British summer afternoon.
Warm sandy beaches, that was strange, wasn't he supposed to be in the middle of a muddy french countryside, in the middle of November no less?
With great effort, he pushed himself up and saw the beautiful clear watered sea, tropical trees lining the seaside, it would not look out of place in a Robinson Crusoe novel if it were not for the many soldiers, weapons and equipment lying unconscious on the beach for miles on end.
Many wore different variations of the British army uniform. Khaki tunic, 1905 webbing and pants and puttees marked them as British aligned soldiers.
Although all these details were overshadowed by the fact that half of the people here had some form of animal appendages sticking out of their heads, reminding him terribly of the stories of travelers incurring the wrath of fairies.
Deciding to ignore what clearly seemed to be hallucinations caused by that homemade illicit "whiskey" he drank with his mates for a lark before the last hour of fighting till Armistice, he picked up his rifle and with trudging exhausted feet, he walked around to see if there were any faces from his platoon around.
After, what seemed like an age, he found the familiar face of his platoon leader, and by this time many men were starting to wake up groggily eyed and mysteriously exhausted.
After shouting out to the Lieutenant several times without any response, unthinking and out of desperation, he slapped his superior officer in the face.
THAT got a response out of the formerly comatose Lieutenant. Callously ignoring the sleepy mumbles of fairness and peace, he shouted out thrice more at him to wake up, until finally Lieutenant Price was back among the living.
The superior officer groaned as he held his part of the face where he got slapped.
"Copper?"
Harry sighed, he couldn't expect him to remember his name out of fifty other faces. He was, after all, just a lowly private.
"It's Cooper, sir, Harry Cooper, I'm in your platoon, sir"
"Right, right, Cooper...didn't you drink that bottle of moonshine when I specifically ordered you not to?"
"Err..."
"...and weren't that man who I gave to the Provost Sergeant for sloppiness in kit inspection three times in a row?"
Oh god. Well, at least he remembers him.
"And did you just slap a superior officer?"
"...no. I mean, no sir!"
"And there is no Hun around is there?"
"...no sir."
"...Remind me to punish you later with latrine duty Private, now help me up for God's sakes."
"*sigh*...yes, sir."
Even when transported to a strange foreign land in most mysterious cirmcumstances, some people never change.
"Private...where the bloody hell are we?...why does that man have rabbit ears Private?"
Sod, that wasn't a hallucination.
The days that followed that fateful day were of chaos and confusion.
On the first day, many were confused and scared when they woke up, as where ever this place is with its tropical trees and warm climate in November was clearly far from Europe.
A lack senior leadership caused havoc amongst the army, until most senior officer that could be found was quickly found, promoted to General and given overall command.
The next set of problems came with the animal appendaged soldiers that woke up with them on the beach.
All of them swore they were all grievously injured, before waking up whole and unscathed after the Light brought them there, animal features notwithstanding.
Most had no trouble believing it.
It was after all, a godly light that moved armies of men from the Western Front to a tropical paradise. Who knew what the light could do.
The greatest problem of all came afterwards, when the next night fell and the moon shone brightly and clearly in the sky.
Chaos returned, and emotions ran high, for the moon that was shining innocently in the night sky was in pieces.
Paul Miller idly thought about life as he lay on his bed looking at the alien nightsky above, recognizing none of the constellations above.
The Event had many of the officers arrange emergency meetings, due to lack of Senior High Command present, the most senior officer available being a Lieutenant Colonel Jack MacCraw.
For whatever the reason, he was glad to have a semblance of law and order restored.
He pondered how he came to be here on this tropical paradise, as he last remembered lying in a foxhole with a bullet to the gut and half his face torn off by shrapnel. Then the Light came, and he awoke to find himself whole, hale and back with his friends again, much to everyone's shock. Though it was diconcerting to find foxes ears on top of his head and unblemished skin from where there should be scars, it would be more disconcerting when he found out the ears functioned perfectly as well.
He wondered what his family would think of him now, fox eared instead of scarred face and lame. His little sister would definitely approve, he thought fondly.
The thought of his family brought a pang to his heart as he glared at broken moon above. What would they tell his family back home? His Da and Ma would be sad, sure, but at least they still had another son in the navy to cope with, his little sister would be devastated though as he would be the only one to play with her.
Funny, how loyalty to the King and the country meant so little to him now, stuck in an alien land, when he would give it all up just to see his family and his home in the countryside again.
Where ever this place was, it clearly is no where near Francr or Europe or bloody Timbuktu. No place on Earth has the privilege of ever having a shattered moon above at night.
And no man before has the privilege of having foxes ears granted by a magical lights. He wasn't the only one with an animal appendages. At least half of the people here had some form of animal features.
He whistled a song that got stuck in his head from a long time ago, which seemed to fit the situation perfectly here, to himself at least.
It's a long way, to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go,
It's a long way, to Tipperary,
To the sweetest girl I know,
Goodbye, Piccadilly,
Farewell, Leicester Square!
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there!
The calmness of the night was interrupted by the sounds of rifles and machine guns firing from the freshly dug trenches and fortifications and howlings of wolves.