"Older men start wars, but younger men fight them" –Albert Einstein

12:00pm 11th November 1918

Peace had arrived at last. In the past hour Aramis had sat with Athos as everyone else celebrated the hour long peace. He had lost count of how many drinks Athos had had, but he himself wasn't drinking. He wanted to fully remember the first day of peace after three long years of fighting. He shifted uncomfortably and Porthos quickly strode over.

"Are you alright?" demanded Porthos worriedly,

"Porthos I'm fine" sighed Aramis tiredly.

"But your shoulder-"

"Is fine" snapped Aramis as his eyes drifted to the sling holding his right arm. He immediately felt bad and rubbed his left hand across his face. "I'm sorry Porthos. But you don't need to worry."

Porthos nodded but he didn't look convinced. He had been separated from Aramis for a week after Aramis had been shot in the shoulder during the Battle of the Sambre on the 4th November. Aramis had been taken to an Aid station and on to a Field Hospital and he had somehow managed to get himself transferred to a Field Hospital which was following the British Army as it steadily marched towards the German border with France. Not that Porthos was complaining at Aramis getting himself transferred, it was easier for him to focus knowing that Aramis was not over fifty miles away.

Porthos went to say something to Aramis but stopped seeing Aramis had drifted off to sleep in his chair, his head drooping forward. Porthos smiled as he sat in the chair on Aramis' left and propped Aramis' head on his own shoulder. He smiled seeing Darrel running around with some of the younger boys, a bullet had scraped Darrel's leg but he had survived due to Aramis' efforts that day crossing the Sambre Canal. A lot had changed since October, Aramis had been promoted to Lance Corporal meaning he was in charge of a group of four men; this had led to Aramis becoming even more serious and a little withdrawn. Porthos knew it was because Aramis had piled more pressure on himself; Aramis felt he was responsible and needed to get his men home. Captain Treville had also recommended Aramis for the Military Medal for his actions on the Sambre, something Aramis strongly denied deserving.

Unwillingly Porthos' thoughts were pulled back to the Sambre, a place where Aramis had also been pulled to in his sleep.

4th November 1918

Aramis crouched low as bullets whizzed past him, making a pat-pat sound as they hit the water. Shells landed all around him with water, dirt and small rocks bouncing of his helmet with pinging sounds. Bodies had steadily begun piling up in the canal and Aramis kept his eyes adverted from them, he knew he wouldn't be able to cross the canal if he was faced with the bodies of his friends. Porthos was crouched on his left and Aramis breathed easier knowing Porthos was beside him.

Aramis looked on horrified as their medic Sam Hobson fell and didn't get back up, he watched as a Private fell clutching his leg. Knowing that without a medic many more of his friends would die from unattended wounds, Aramis did the only thing he could think of. He surged forward to Sam ignoring Porthos' sudden yells for him to come back; he grabbed the medic's bag and crawled the short distance to the wounded Private.

Soon a bandage was tied around the Private's leg and he was helping the younger boy back to the safety of the bank where they had come from. He could distantly hear Porthos calling for him but he tuned out the combined voices of Porthos and Athos and steadily began bandaging wounded men and helping them back to the safety of the bank.

Once the bridges had finally been put together Aramis found it was easier getting to the wounded, Porthos and Athos past him on their way to the German bank. Porthos managed to grab his arm, but he twisted out of Porthos' grip and continued helping the wounded. He saw from the corner of his eye that Athos had to force Porthos to continue moving along the bridge.

"Aramis!" called Porthos as he tried to escape Athos' hold on him.

"Go!" shouted Aramis over the booming of shells and whizzing bullets. He looked up and saw Porthos' desperate look, remembering how he felt when Porthos had been wounded in the leg Aramis began to follow his friends when he saw Darrel stumbling over the bridge and noticed a German machine gun pointing in Darrel's direction. Aramis looked sadly up at Porthos; it took a split second until Porthos knew what Aramis was going to do.

"Don't Aramis! Aramis!" yelled Porthos as he struggled more violently in Athos' grip in his desperation to get to Aramis.

But Aramis was already moving. He pushed Darrel sideways so they both began to fall into the canal just as the machine gun opened fired. He felt a burning pain erupt in his right shoulder, the machine gun continued to fire over his and Darrel's heads so he let himself go completely limp, Darrel doing the same. They both floated on their backs, gently being rocked by the waves in the canal created by the shells.

"ARAMIS!" roared Porthos, Aramis kept his eyes closed until the machine gun stopped firing and a shout confirmed it no longer a threat.

Darrel was already moving, but with the risk of the machine gun over Aramis felt the pain in his shoulder grow more excruciating. He felt Darrel help him to his feet when a second pair of hands joined Darrel's and he knew they belonged to Porthos. Once he and Darrel were on the bridge Porthos hefted him over his shoulder and charged back towards the bank they had taken.

Porthos gently dropped him on the ground as Athos helped Darrel to the ground.

"You idiot!" exploded Porthos, "After the massacre I told you to never scare me like that again!"

Aramis blinked slowly up at Porthos not fazed by his brother's anger, "It was either play dead or be dead."

Porthos breathed heavily for a moment before the anger drained out of him and he hugged Aramis tightly until his friend let out of a hiss of pain. He suddenly pushed Aramis back so he was lying on his back and saw the blood staining Aramis' uniform over his shoulder.

Without hesitation Porthos pulled the medic bag off Aramis' shoulders and pulled out a bandage and began trying to stop the bleeding. Treville appeared over Porthos' shoulder and shouted for stretcher bearers.

Black dots began to cloud Aramis' vision and he was dimly aware of being moved onto a stretcher.

"Aramis!" called Porthos, "Aramis!"

"Aramis!"

Aramis snapped his eyes open and found Porthos kneeling in front of him, he blearily looked around him and checked the time on his watch, it was one o'clock. Two hours of peace.

"Are you alright Aramis?" questioned Porthos worriedly, one hand resting on Aramis' uninjured shoulder. He nodded rubbing his eyes tiredly, he had slept for an hour and yet it still felt like he hadn't slept in years.

"Something wrong?" asked Aramis, he could tell from looking at Porthos' face that his brother was unsure about something.

Porthos sighed, "Treville says our Division is going to be going into Germany as an occupying force."

"So…we're not going home yet?" choked Aramis, he was trying desperately to kept his voice even. But he had thought when the war ended he could go home; it had been three years already, he just wanted to go home.

"Treville has pulled some strings. You, me, Athos and a couple others who've been here the longest are going home" smiled Porthos.

Aramis relaxed and began smiling until he remembered the four men he was in charge of and Darrel. "But I'm a Lance Corporal, my men!-"

"Will be fine" soothed Porthos; he squeezed Aramis' uninjured shoulder comfortingly. "There is no war anymore Aramis. You've done it; you got your men and Darrel through it. While they won't be going home with us, they will make it home."

Aramis nodded his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he looked up at the sky. Finally for the first time hearing the beautiful sound of silence.

Late November 1918

Aramis, Porthos and Athos were stood on a ship that was taking them back to Britain after long years at war. Porthos had been sticking closely to Aramis out of the fear that if he looked away for too long Aramis would be gone forever. Twice he had thought he had lost Aramis, he did not intend to feel that again for a third time. Aramis was stood at the front of the ship flanked on either side by his friends, his eyes staring straight ahead waiting for his first glimpse of the British coast in three years.

They were dressed in their smart uniforms and people had been staring at the ribbon on Aramis' uniform, the one showing his Military Medal. Aramis had become self-conscious with all the staring so Porthos and Athos had taken to standing in front of him.

Aramis touched the ribbon with the hand that wasn't in the sling and sighed. Porthos rested an arm lightly across Aramis' shoulders, "You were so brave Aramis. You deserve it."

"Many others were also brave. Who's to say I was any braver than them?" retorted Aramis, still staring straight ahead.

"I know" murmured Porthos, "But you were not a medic and the fact that you took over from Sam Hobson and risked your life to save others..." Porthos swallowed past the lump in his throat from the memories, "Never doubt yourself Aramis. You are worthy of that medal."

Aramis turned to Athos who nodded seriously, "Porthos is right Aramis. If I had my way you would have had a higher bravery medal."

Aramis opened his mouth to respond but stopped when through the slight mist he saw the outline of the coastline of Britain. His eyes began to water and for the first time it really hit him that it was over. No more fighting, no more living in mud and no more death and destruction. He was home. Unbidden tears slipped silently down his cheeks as the three of them stood silently. Athos and Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis connecting the three of them together.

"Welcome home gentlemen" said Athos softly.

"Home" smiled Aramis.

A/N One more chapter to follow, it will be an epilogue set in August 1919.