Thank you for reading so far, I hope to impress you all, and I hope not to disappoint you. I thank you for the positive reviews I have gotten so far, please review more! It makes me so happy to see them!
I am ever so sorry that it has taken me absolutely FOREVER to finish this chapter but I have had so much to do in the last month.

Enjoy!

The German outpost had split their company in two, sending ninety of the British soldiers with the larger half, which were traveling to the nearest POW camp. The smaller half would take the nine more seriously wounded back to Germany to be better taken care of. James was with the party that would go to the mother land. It was a hard, slow and agonizing journey. The days seemed to stretch themselves into long weary weeks. Illness for the injured was inevitable, and with it only came more death. The nine prisoners soon diminished. A young man who had to have his arm amputated was the first to go. An older soldier who had taken a bullet to the head soon followed him. Next was a mere boy! Who had only suffered a leg wound that was not fatal, but due to lack of proper supplies, infection set in and claimed his life as well. Fever spread quickly, amongst both captive and captor, getting its icy hands on all who were vulnerable. James was last of his group to fall to its clutches. Being the only officer, he tried to keep his few men's morale up, even when two more died from wounds and illness. He them to stay strong, to keep thinking of home, and they would make it through.
At long last, they made it to a hospital far behind enemy lines. James was put into a room that was packed with other wounded soldiers of all ranks. It smelled horrible! There were very few windows and they were all barred shut. When James was finally attended to, his fever had put him into a semi-conscious state. He did not feel anything, he could hardly hear anything, and he would not eat at all. He lay with a sense of insecurity, not really remembering what had happened to him or where he was. All he could see was a reddish-brown horse, with dark flowing mane and warm brown eyes that could penetrate to one's very soul. In his thoughts, he saw the horse with a boy, a young boy, who was very much attached to the creature. The horse too returned the affection.
This was the way things went with James for about three weeks, taking no notice of his surroundings, speaking to no one, and eating enough to stay alive. An older nurse, who spoke no English, was assigned to him. It pained her to see him this way; he had no resolve, no desire to stay alive. He reminded her very much of her son, his nose, his hands, his chin. No amount of medicine would cure this! She was resolved to do something in order to keep him alive! One night when no one was looking, she went through his jacket. What she found was a piece of paper that had been folded over twice. It was worn around the edges and looked like it had been handled many a night. Her curiosity drove her to open it. She gasped when she saw a pair of soft eyes looking back at her. It was a pencil drawing of a horse. Magnificence etched in every line and crease. She was astonished at how real the picture seemed! The horse had his head turned toward you; it's body lengthwise, showing off its silky coat. He was wearing a cavalry saddle and short riding reigns. He looked poised, ready, as if waiting for his master's command, then spring do to what was bidden. At the bottom of the paper was written, "'Joey' by Capt. J. Nichols."
"Joey..." The woman breathed, savoring the sound of the English word. The nurse thought for a moment. If this picture is in this state, the animal must be very dear to him. She looked to the sleeping captain. As usual, his eyes were closed, his cheeks sunken, his face and lips were white, giving him an eerie look in the moonlight that filtered in through a window apposite him. The nurse placed the drawing in one of his cold, limp hands.
"Ich Sie beten, Mien Herr?" she breathed the short prayer before leaving.
James watched her leave. She was a dear old soul, of that he was sure, he had watched her the past few days and it looked as if he actually cared whether he lived or died! Peering down at the drawing in his hand, he let a tear fall.
"I have let so many people down!" he said to himself. "I'm sorry Joey; you were a friend I was privileged to have. If you can hear me somehow, thank you."
James fell into a deep and peaceful sleep, one that he had not had in a long time.

The next day, as the elderly nurse made her rounds; she stopped as always by James cot and sat down in a chair that was nearby.
"Wird er überhaupt gut sein?" She said aloud as she closed her eyes.
"I am terribly sorry," came a soft voice near her, "But I cannot understand what you say?"
The nurse opened her eyes to confront the speaker; they came to rest on her charge. James eyes were slightly open and there was just a hint of a smile on his pale lips.
"Sprechen Sie Englisch?" He asked.
"Nein verstehe Nein, ich es nicht!" the nurse replied shaking her head.
"Nederlands?" James asked hopefully.
The woman shook her head again, she did not understand him. James sighed.
"Français?" A look of desperation in his eyes.
The woman's face lit up! "Ja! Ja!" she checked herself and smiled, "Oui! Oui je peux, vous aussi ?"
"Oui Madame." James sighed in relief. Someone he could talk to at last!

Pardon for the interruption, but I am going to write the rest of their conversation in English so you don't need to read this with the help of a lexicon. :D

There was a moment of silence before James spoke, still very quietly.
"I want to thank you for the way you have treated me... us bloody English, and a prisoner of war no less!" he closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into fists quietly at his side.
"No sir," The woman interjected, "As the famous Abraham Lincoln of the American United States said, 'All men are created equal.' I believe it sir with all my heart. Humans are just that... humans! And they should be treated as such! To some they are no more than machines to work for them, expendable machines that neither think nor feel, oh how very wrong they are! I believe there to be good in everyone sir..." she paused as laughed at her statement, "Well almost everyone, but that includes you Mon ami."
the lady gave James a smile he would never forget.
"Goodness! I do forget myself!" she continued, "My name is Laura, Laura Valskee."
"A pleasure Madame Valskee, I am former Calvary Captain James Nichols."
"You drew this picture, of the horse?" Mrs. Valskee asked.
The smile on James face quickly faded. "Yes... I did." The weight of seeing almost all of his men dead or wounded still haunted him, hurt him, tortured his dreams.
"Do not fear for your friends, James, they are in the good Lords hands."
James eyes became watery and red, he turned away so she would not see his face.
"Yes Cherie," Laura placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I know what it is to lose someone. I believe most people do in this war."
James turned his face to her again.
"You see, my husband left me to join our young daughter in heaven over ten years ago, and my boy? Well, he is greeting them as we speak, no doubt."
She paused and looked into James eyes.
"You remind me so much of him..." she gave a sigh and looked heavenward. "He was shot for dishonorable conduct." She shook her head. "I know my son, I saw him the night before he died. He told me that the only crime he had committed was that of sparing and enemies life against his sergeant's orders."
"He was a brave man." James whispered softly.
Oh I know he was." Laura replied, "He was so much like his father." She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes
"Look at me?" she laughed, "A full grown woman crying like a petite child I am!" she paused then continued, "What made you change your mind about leaving?"
James let his mind wander a little. "A friend I do not wish to let down." He said after a moment.