Author's note: There are heroic feats in every war. This is just one of them...

The sky was crystal blue; the air crisp and cool. The sun cast its warm glow down on her charges. The Australian monument, shaped like a T with a giant tower in the centre, stood tall and proud, keeping watch over those in forever sleep.

The bottle hissed, releasing its gasses, as he cracked open the beer, Australian made, and raised it to the sky. "Cheers," Trip saluted and took a sip. He rested the bottle against his knee as he looked around the grounds. The land had long ago healed from the battles, the grass was once again green and fertile, the row upon row of white headstones the only indication that wars had been fought there.

His eyes fell on the monument once more. A lump formed in his throat as he read some of the names etched on the white walls. Thousands upon thousands of men who didn't make it home.

Next to him, Jon stood tall in his dress uniform, as did Malcolm. Hoshi, Travis, and Doctor Phlox stood by their sides observing quietly. On his other side, T'Pol, dressed in her Starfleet blue jumpsuit, had opted to also wear her ceremonial gown. Its brown pattern flecked with gold and black trim, hung neatly on her petite body. Around her neck was the symbol of hope her mother had passed onto her. The IDIC.

T'Pol moved up beside him. "I took the liberty to call up the historical records regarding this battle."

Trip looked at her with hope. "And," he asked, his voice slightly breaking.

T'Pol took out a PADD from beneath her tunic, turned it on and began reading. "With their unit all casualties Lieutenant Clifford and Sergeant Stokes had little option but to..."

T'Pol's voice faded into the background as Trip closed his eyes. He could hear gunfire and explosions; could smell the smoke hanging in the air. And he could hear voices from long ago, but only heard yesterday, transcend down through the ages...

He ducked again. "You alright?" Eddie yelled to be heard over the ongoing cacophony of explosions and gunfire.

Harry glanced at him. "What?"

Eddie pointed to his thigh. "You're bleeding, Harry!"

Harry looked down. "Aww, shit!" He fingered his wound. "The ugly bastard shot me point blank."

"I noticed," Eddie said as he checked around them. Smoke from fires sparked by the explosions drifted through the forest, creating an eerie sight as soldiers from both sides advanced on each other, fighting one on one in hand to hand combat. He checked on Harry. "You good?"

Harry nodded. "Bloody oath, mate!"

Eddie scouted the way ahead, trying to calculate what the best course was to the next gun emplacement. Seeing a small opening, he pointed in the direction. After counting to three, Eddie took a deep breath and ran.

Despite his wounded leg, Harry kept up with Eddie as the two friends raced up the hill. They were forced to use the trees as camouflage to dodge the endless hail of bullets. When another verily light exploded overhead, they quickly dropped into a newly created fox hole.

Eddie grunted, the air knocked from his lungs as he threw himself to the ground. He straightened his tin helmet and stared at Harry through the sweat that stung his eyes. "Fucking Fritz!" he swore. "Wish they'd stop with the bloody flares!"

Harry's face, covered in sweat and mud, creased into a smile. "Maybe that should be our next objective," he roused.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe it should be," he said.

Their attention was drawn to a machine gun nest to their left. The constant blaze of gunfire that disgorged through the small opening was doing a lot of damage to the Australian soldiers as they forced their way through the forest.

"Our next target," Eddie growled with determination as he watched more Australians fall casualty to the war. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled to his feet and raced to the fortress with Harry at his side, still firing their pistols at any stray Germans who appeared anywhere near their path.

Harry ran to one side of the bunker, Eddie ran to the other. Breathing heavily, he took a step forward and tossed a grenade through the gap. Sandbags disintegrated on impact, others flew high in the air before landing explosively on the ground.

Through the resulting smoke and chaos, both men ran to the back and breached the doorway with their guns firing. Eddie quickly analysed the scene as they entered.

One German was slumped over the machine gun, the others appeared to be disorganised, surprised by the unexpected invasion. As the Germans fumbled for their pistols, Harry and Eddie fired, giving them little chance to defend themselves.

Eddie grabbed the abandoned weapons and ran outside. He quickly dropped to the ground behind a tree to wait for Harry. For a moment, he spared a glance behind him in time to watch three Germans rise from their position, only to be stopped by a hail of bullets, their bodies doing a macabre death dance as they were riddled with holes before falling to the ground.

He turned back in time to watch in horror as Harry spun when a bullet hit him. "God dammit!" Harry barked as his gun dropped to the ground and he fell on his knees.

Eddie scrambled over to his friend, his alarm growing when he saw the blood pouring through Harry's fingers. "You okay?"

Harry shook his head. "My arms numb." He stared at Eddie. "I can't hold my gun."

Eddie's chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. They were so close to their goal, and now...

"Get Jack—"

Eddie shook his head as he shot a look back.

Harry followed his gaze and dropped his head. He looked back at Eddie. "Is there anyone left?"

"No," he answered, curtly, too stunned by the losses to say anymore. He tried to keep focussed as he rummaged through Harry's backpack for the med kit, but he was finding it hard.

"Eddie!"

He looked up.

Harry's eyes darkened. "It's up to you."

Eddie swallowed hard as stared at his injured friend. The unspoken crossed between them. He knew what he had to do.

"She'll be right, mate," Harry assured.

Eddie steeled himself and squeezed his friend's good arm. "Stay low 'til help arrives," he said getting ready to move. "I'll see ya back at camp."

Eddie secured the extra stick grenades that he had procured from the Germans around his waist. He scouted ahead, and without further words, rose and advanced to his next target.

He propelled himself to the ground again, throwing his arms over his head, when an explosion erupted close by. He waited until the mud and rock that was bombarding his back to abate before moving.

Determined, Eddie kept low to the ground as he inched forward. Laden down with the extra kit, he was finding the going tough. Dust stung his eyes, twigs and leaves tried to make their way into his throat as he crawled over the hard, unforgiving, ground until he reached his next target.

Wasting little time, he withdrew two grenades and lobbed them inside the bunker then ran to the back and opened fire on any survivors. Ensuring no one moved, he checked for his next target. His tired body was relieved to see that only two bunkers remained.

As he bent over for a few seconds, gulping in air, Eddie was heartbroken to see all the dead bodies strewn through the forest. Noting that most were German didn't do much to relieve the anger that so many of his friends had died. He fuelled that anger inward, and scrambled up the hill to repeat what was now an appalling routine.

He kept firing his pistol as he ran until he reached his goal. After lobbing his explosives inside, he raced behind to finish the job. This time, though, there was a blood smeared German ready with his rifle.

"Shit," Eddie swore when he went to fire only to hear the death click of an empty pistol. Heart beating in his ears, Eddie threw the useless gun aside and charged his enemy with a roar. Without thinking about it, he ran the German soldier through with his knife.

He ignored the blood around him and gulped in air as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. He was desperate for water. But the tracer fire streaking across his line of trajectory, reminded him he wasn't done yet.

"One more," he muttered, breathlessly. He took the German pistol lying on the ground before he crawled to his next, and final, target.

The sound of war - the bullets that whistled by his ear, the explosions that rocked the round beneath him, seemed to crescendo – coming to a climax, as Eddie advance, his adrenalin fuelled veins pushing him forward until he reached his final objective.

His heart hammered against his chest, reverberating all the way to his throat. He swallowed and ignored the yelling, the screaming - the sound of men dying, as he concentrated on his last mark.

The rata-tat-tat of the gun was warm against his cheek as he threw his last grenade, silencing the weapon instantly. He could hear one of the Germans yelling, but ignored his urgent voice and threw himself around the back of the bunker and fired his pistol until no one moved.

Breathing heavily, he stumbled outside what was left of the bunker and collapsed to the ground, his legs finally giving up the fight. His pulse raced, his chest heaved. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

He turned his attention to his comrades and smiled as he watched the Australians, now coming under less fire, complete their mission and forged through. He closed his eyes again and listened to the sounds of combat.

"Well done, cobber."

Eddie smiled at his fellow soldier. He forced his fatigue aside and pushed himself to his feet to re-join his battalion as they continued their advance into Villiers-B...

"...though running an hour behind schedule, the 13th Brigade met up with the 14th and, using a pincer movement, entered the village..."

T'Pol's voice returned.

"Where they fought from house to house until they successfully pushed the Germans out of Villers-Bretonneux."

Trip opened his eyes and stared at the monument. He could still see the faces of those he called friends.

"A British General noted that the ANZAC's attack was perhaps the greatest individual feat of the war," T'Pol concluded.

"What about the others?" Jon asked, his voice low.

T'Pol turned to him. "None of the men you referred to survived," she said, gently.

Trip laid his hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, softly, knowing he was thinking of Clancy.

"But Harry and Eddie did?" Malcolm asked.

T'Pol bowed her head, slightly. "They were both repatriated back to Australia, and lived out their normal lives."

Trip smiled sadly as he placed the near full bottle of beer down next to the six pack at the base of the monument then took a step back. He looked around one last time before standing tall with his fellow Enterprise crew, their shoulders squared, as they observed a moment of silence. They raised their hands as one and saluted the memory of those who never made it home.

As they turned to rejoin Enterprise, Trip recalled the words written above every whiteboard in every school of Villers-Bretonneux that they had visited earlier - N'oublions jamais l'Australie...

"Never Forget Australia..."

The end...

Author's note:

The battle scenes you have just read are based on actual events. I have tried my best to honor the ANZAC's who went up against the odds and won.

"For the Fallen"

by Lancaster

(born poet Laurence Binyon)

1869-1943

They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old.

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Lest We Forget...