I wish I could say that I saw Percy again before we left London. I wish that I had found out a way to tell Beckendorf's love that he wasn't coming home. I wish that I could have fixed whatever problem I had with my father.

But none of those things were happening. We left London on time, heading back to our station in France. The war department would not release to me the whereabouts of Beckendorf's family, and grew very angry when I would not hand over his dog tags. Meanwhile, my father had not returned any of the letters I had written to him since I had refused to come home and care for his wife. I did not know how any of them were faring.

We arrived in Boisleux-au-Mont a few days into the month of February. The frigid snowy air discouraged any thoughts of warmth or happiness. There was a sad atmosphere in the hospital, more than usual at least, as the war dragged on. The only respite from the gloom was the day of St. Valentine's arrived, and the nurses and doctors handed out the mail from the soldier's family.

My heart dipped when I still did not receive any word from my family in the States. It seemed my father had all but disowned me, and my mood grew ever the depressed, not that I let it affect my work. Piper and Will noticed it, though, and often shared glances with each other that they thought I didn't see.

It was a good thing, I think, that I had my work to distract me. Nothing took your mind off of your own issues like the severely wounded. I thought about this as I injected a small amount of anesthesia into my current patient's knee. There was a large gash running over his knee that was going to need a lot of stitches. This man had injured himself badly and had ignored it for as long as he was on the front lines. Now here I was, picking maggots out of the rotting flesh. Lee Fletcher, was his name, I believed. His blond hair reminded me of Will's. Unlike Will, however, was the fact that Lee liked to sing.

He hummed even as I sewed up his wound, some songs I knew and others I didn't, but mostly church hymns. It raised some of the men's spirits as he sang, his voice a clear tenor sound. It gave hope in the dismal infirmary, so much that I wanted to talk to him to find out what drove him so much. I took out his stitches as we spoke.

"I'm a sharpshooter for the Royal Army, originally from Chesham. Got the singing from my Dad, I think." Lee smiled and then winced. I nodded for him to continue, as if I knew where that was. After all, talking often distracted from pain.

"He always had a tune in his head. Rhymed a lot. My sisters and I would come home from school and tell him about our day, then he would make it into a song." Lee closed his eyes, remembering. "Sometimes he sang strange songs too. Songs that didn't make sense at the time, but did in the future."

Lee's eyes were still closed, and he started to drift off to sleep. I was confused by what he had said though. Made sense in the future? Like some sort of prophet? Then Lee started to sing:

"You shall go west to face those who have turned,

You shall find what was stolen and see it safely returned,

You shall be betrayed by the one you call friend,

And fail to save what matters most in the end."

Eyes still shut, he clarified, "I have come west to face my enemies who used to be my allies. And I am fighting for the stolen land and freedom that the Germans want so desperately to take away…It will all make sense in the end."

My hands gathered my tools, and I set off down the stairs to the surgery room to see if there was anything I could do. Lee's words had made me uneasy for some reason. If everything made sense in the end, it wouldn't be life. Life wasn't meant to make sense. It was inconvenient—and messy—

"Annabeth!" Piper pulled me aside to where I could drop my tools in a sink to be washed.

"What is it?" I asked, wondering what on earth she wanted. We had things to be doing. There was never a moment of rest here when it was your shift.

"This came for you." Piper handed me a letter. My breathing picked up. Had my father actually responded? I reached for the letter insistently after wiping my hands on my skirt. The paper envelope was heavy in my hands, and I wanted nothing more than to rip it open. But I didn't. There was far too much to do right now.

Another round of soldiers were coming in, so I tucked the letter into my skirt pocket, underneath my apron. Piper seemed mildly disappointed that I hadn't opened it right away, but really it wasn't any of her business. I grabbed a new pair of gloves from the shelf and a mask to match it.

I nodded my head to the room over, saying, "Let's go."

Piper huffed and rolled her eyes. I ignored her and went to find my next patient. In the next few minutes the room became a lot more hectic. Men were being carried in by the dozens, and the room filled up quickly.

"There are more outside in the courtyard." Someone called over the moans and screams of pain.

"What happened?" Someone else asked.

"German bombs. Enough to take out this entire town. We'd best be working quickly before the next truck arrives."

"We work quickly no matter the occasion." I muttered to myself. "Alright Piper, we're going to have to split up to see as many patients as possible. Find all of the 'life or death' people and have them brought in, and then we will see to the rest of them."

"Affirmative!" She called, then moved to the entrance to start analyzing the men who were flowing into our makeshift emergency room. I found my first patient, a stockier man with a massive rip in his uniform around the epigastric region of his chest. There had been something lodged there, but someone had pulled it out. Whatever it was—it had caused a lot of damage.

After making sure he was still breathing, I started my work. Prodding around the wound efficiently I next slipped my hands inside of his unconscious body. There was extensive tissue damage, that much I could tell from the beginning. Then I felt the left lobe of the liver. Its rubbery exterior had been scraped and it was now swelling, leaking out bile that was supposed to go to the intestines. Thankfully it was a small scratch, and would hopefully heal itself. That is, as long as if it was cleansed of any toxins so it wouldn't get infected. I took out my hands and hastily wiped them on my apron, leaving a smear of crimson blood.

I took a clamp to keep the wound open, then I engaged in the most non-doctor procedure ever. I scooped the bile out with my hands, getting as much as I could out before finishing with a spare cloth. It was disgusting to think about, really, getting the gloopy stuff out and then sewing up what I could. I left a shorthand note of what I had done, then safety pined it to his uniform. Before I knew it, he was carried off and another man was placed upon my table.

I changed out my gloves for new ones and began my process of examination once again. Gash on the neck and shrapnel damage to the leg, some deep, but mostly superficial. The next patient had laceration marks on his back, which were bleeding profusely. And the next was wounded in the right lumbar region of his abdomen.

This was how the rest of the day went on. Soldiers were piling in everywhere, and eventually someone woke up the night shift to help. By the time I was dressing for bed, I had seen so many injured that I had lost count, too many of them dying because I couldn't save them.

I couldn't save them.

I knew that. Not all people can be saved in the end. Sometimes it was too late.

A certain feeling came over me, one that I had felt only a few times in my life. It always gave me the perspective that I was so, so small in this mortal world. So insignificant. My head was pounding from exhaustion and I felt slightly sick to my stomach. Despite this, I took out the letter I had placed on my bed earlier. My blurry eyesight could barely make out the handwriting, which was unlike the script of my father, though I didn't question it. I scooted closer to the candlestick on Piper and I's shared table.

Then I read who it was from.

Captain Perseus Jackson

HMS Dreadnought

Royal Navy

Chills ran down my arms, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. How did he know where to write to me? And more importantly—Why?

Carefully, I peeled back the sealed paper of the envelope. Tucked neatly inside was a collection of papers, all tied together with a string. I took them out, heart racing, and hardly believing my eyes. He remembered me! The girlish part of me screamed on the inside. I untied the string and started leafing through the pages, checking the dates of each. They were in chronological order; each letter being written for the days it had been since I had seen him last. There were five in total.

Dear Annabeth,

Am I still allowed to call you that? Annabeth. I've never heard of a name like yours.

A smile befell my lips.

I cannot seem to keep you off of my mind. You continuously occupy my thoughts—I know that sounds strange and a bit forward, but nevertheless, it remains true. I have met many women in my life—

I rose my eyebrows.

—many of whom were young, beautiful, and charming. None of them compare to you.

I feel my face getting redder as I write this, and my lieutenants are starting to notice. They make jokes about me sometimes, but it is all good fun. Aboard this ship, there is else to do to keep the environment a happy one. I write to you from the bridge of my ship. I can see as far as the eye can look from up here, it seems. I came to my position of captain by chance, and because I am young, I am looked down upon by the other captains of the navy.

You see, it was through many sudden changes in events that I befell this position, the first being that the soldiers who were supposed to become captain went through unexpected sickness or even death while we were still at sea. Somehow, the leadership fell to me.

I hope you weren't too disappointed in receiving this. (If you are, please don't read any of my future letters, as I will probably write many more.)

Sincerely,

Percy Jackson

I took a deep breath in efforts to steady my erratic heartbeat. I neatly folded the letter up, then moved onto the next. My fingers traced over the words he had written. What made me so excited? I didn't know nor did I care. I simply wanted to read further. And I did.

Dear Annabeth,

I will not pretend that I have not imagined seeing you again. Would you like to see me again someday, after the war ends? I find it to be a curious thing, this war. We have been fighting for so many months now that some days I cannot remember why we even began.

Are you happy with your position in the wartime? I don't imagine being a doctor is very fun, especially with the injuries that occur within the trenches. Perhaps I shouldn't speak of the war. After all, there are far better topics. And I have so many questions. Do you want to know why I have seemed to remember you so wonderfully? I have never met anyone like you. Never has there been someone so willing to help others and still somehow keep their head about them to put others in their place. To tell the truth, I need that sometimes.

The weather is very stormy today, which makes it harder to spot lurking German U-Boats in the water. I think the world was better without the lot of that new technology. People may be able to go deeper into the ocean, but they shouldn't be doing it with the sole purpose of hurting other people. There is so much to explore down there, just out of humanity's grasp. If I could breath underwater, I would be able to explore the only undiscovered place left on earth. My dreams will never come true though, because breathing underwater is ridiculous. Its still nice to think about though.

Do you have any dreams? I hope they'll come true someday.

Yours sincerely,

Percy Jackson

I opened the next.

Dearest Annabeth,

My breath faltered, yet again.

If you are reading this, then you haven't thrown away my letters—at least, not yet. I know that it has only been mere weeks since we've seen each other, and I miss you relentlessly. My ship, the Dreadnought, is in a constant state of moving. We have been patrolling around Scotland, and though there has been little conflict, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. I hope your environment is somehow better, though I doubt a hospital could be.

I trust your friends are all in good health? Miss Piper was the one to tell me where I could write to you. The truth is that I felt a connection to you when we met, and I don't want this war to be the reason we must move on and forget any chance for a good life after it is over. Do you feel the same?

Yours truly,

Percy Jackson

The next few letters were among the same tone and context. That night, after I had blown out the candle on the table and had crawled underneath my bedcovers, I held the letters close to my heart. In no longer than three seconds, I had fallen into a contented, restful sleep.