England was back home. He had settled in for a few days before he decided to take his visit to Fremantle. With no reply from him or America, England was getting anxious to have some new news.

After a ride over to Arthur Fremantle's house, England readied himself for whatever would happen when the door would open. He patiently waited until a man maybe entering his 30s opened the door. It was Fremantle.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Hi, I don't know if you've received my letters, but I am Arthur Kirkland. I was writing to see if I could join you in your trip to America in several months."

Fremantle eyed England carefully. "You're the one who has references from the Queen and the Prime Minister? You don't look like much…"

"I'm a lieutenant colonel in the British Army."

"Are you now?" Fremantle said with a smirk. England knew he was of the same rank.

After a few seconds of silence, Fremantle looked to him and said, "Come on in, boy. We have some things to discuss."

England walked inside in front of Fremantle as he closed the door. Inside, England could tell Fremantle had a fascination with this American war. There were newspapers all over with each update on the battles and the effects they had on trade.

"Wow, this is all I've kept on as well," England admitted.

"Studying this has become a hobby of mine. I can tell you've heard of my venture to the states. I would like to see it up close. The South wish for our help, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah, I've heard. But I know we also have to stay neutral. We wouldn't want the Union turning on us. Especially our own people are rooting for the United States over the South anyways. They would be sure to riot if we brought war upon ourselves."

"Don't think so drastically, Mr Kirkland. But I do understand completely. I don't care much for either of their causes, as to keep to the neutral mind set."

England sat down in the sitting room. Fremantle only had a few servants. He probably preferred to be helping the Army, than being at home anyways.

Fremantle had his servants serve tea and then he joined England. After sipping his tea, he sighed. "To be honest, I'm doubting the trip now."

England tilted his head and asked, "Why is that?"

"Well, fellow members in the British Army tell me it would cause problems regardless. If even observing the South would cause problems in the North, I am at a loss. I do not want to be the one to be known for making the North turn on us just because of my fascination in this war."

England smiled to himself. He knew he could take advantage of this situation.

"Yeah that sounds like a tough situation. Is there anything that can be done?" England asked carefully as he took a sip of the tea. It was nice to have tea made by English again.

Fremantle scratched his head. "Well honestly, I thought about your letters. No offense, but I haven't heard about you in the army. If others are like me, the North would almost have no idea about you observing."

England had to chuckle. Even with references from the Queen and Prime Minister, he is almost hidden within the ranks of the army. He liked it that way. He never wanted to bring attention to himself.

"I can see your point. I assume the army wants some notes on this situation?" England asked carefully.

"Yeah, that'd be required. The Army would be funding the journey, and they would like something in return."

England nodded and sipped some more tea. He was surprised how well this ended up. He didn't want to be watched if he tried to find America while he was over in the States.

"I see. Well Arthur, I am more than happy to take your place, as much as it hinders your hobby."

"Mr Kirkland, I'd be fine with you in my place. With your references, I don't doubt your ability to do what needs to be done."

"For Queen and country as they say, right?" England said proudly.

"That they do." Fremantle laughed heartily.

England smiled as they shook hands. He was one step closer to finding out what happened to America.

They had to stay in that place in their newly formed lines for nearly an hour. With the sunken road behind them full of bodies it felt like they were guarding the dead. He sent the wounded of his company off to the nearest field hospital and with them some of the wounded rebels, or at least any that looked like they had a chance. Finally Major Collins returned and said that their brigade would be relieved. Another brigade took their place and not much of a fuss was made, the next day was sure to bring plenty of fighting after all. They fell back to the wooded area they had started at more or less. Sound continued to erupt in the area but it came from the right this time. They were officially on stand by and had orders to move out as soon as possible if they were needed so it wasn't as if they were resting. Time dragged on and America noticed that the sun was starting to set. He had forgotten all of this had been one day, it had been so long. They remained like this until the sun was almost gone. It was perhaps six in the evening if he had to guess. That's when the noise stopped and they were drowning in silence. Finally the order to make camp came then for any wounded to make their way to the field hospital, and he was undoubtedly wounded.

His arm had been throbbing like a tooth ache and he was praying with all his might that it had healed enough. It dangled lifeless at his side as he dragged his heavy legs along. He was then directed to a white painted farm house that had a river of men in blue around it. It seemed to be untouched by the battle and an air of gloom was hanging over it. It somehow managed to be an even more depressing place then the one he had come from. The lines to the surgeon were wrapped along the building. He got in one and did what he felt like he mostly done that day. Wait.

That wasn't to say that there weren't things to do. The organization of the line was soon forgotten and the surgeon soon went back and forth to exam any man that looked like he didn't have much time left. These made America witness the event that awaited most of the men waiting. Amputation. He also had to take on the uncomfortable job of helping hold a man down as they hacked his leg away. It was something he had to witness before and he was sure he'd see it again. But that didn't absolve him of the absolute dread of the experience. But as time made its steading march the "line" was slowly fading away. Several times he was approached by the surgeon or a nurse but he would wave them off, claiming that another man needed more attention. This was both the truth and a covenant way for him to buy time. After a while though, the supply of other men was almost gone.

He now found himself in a secluded bed room in the back of the building. He sat at the end of a bed with a now sleeping man recovering on it. The sheets that he assumed were at one time a pale blue were now a deep red. The man's deep breathing being the only sound in the room other than the clinking of a nearby nurse's efforts at cleaning up. She was swiftly throwing surgical tools into a bowl. She started to leave the room but as she did her feet got caught in the hem of her dress and she caught herself by grabbing the dresser next to the door. They both looked to source of her stumble and saw that the material was drenched in blood. She rolled up the end of her dress in her hands and gave him a sheepish look, as if to reassure him. A forced smile was all he could give her. She left and almost instantly the surgeon took her place. He was an older man with brown hair that was starting to grey. A large but well-kept mustache graced his face.

"Now then Captain, let's take a look at that arm shall we?"

With the speed and procession of a man who had done it many times, he quickly un-wrapped the dark piece of cloth that was snuggly clingy to his arm. The throbbing was still there but America knew better than to show it. The surgeon began to exam the arm in detail. He looked at the entry and exit wounds that were starting to scab over. Starting from the wrist he slowly felt the bone with his fingers and went upward. A puzzled look was on his face the whole time.

"Can you lift your arm over your head for me son?" he asked politely.

America instantly started to oblige him, though with much effort. Despite the stiffness and pain surging through it the arm started to rise. While withholding a grunt of exertion his hand made it above his head at last. His face had stayed neutral the whole time as well.

"Alright, now make a fist for me."

The arm returned to his side and his fingers began doing what they couldn't do before. A fist covered in blood and dirt was now lying on his lap. The surgeon nodded as a response and stood behind the younger looking man. His hand went over the exist wound several times.

"Strange…." He muttered to himself.

America understood what was happening. The surgeon couldn't make sense of his wound. By all means his arm should be shattered and yet it was not. He had to move things along before he attracted too much attention.

"A million dollar shot then? I'm quite lucky. But if you think I'm fit for duty Sir, by all means I wish to return to my regiment." His voice was cheerful but also held a bit of force behind it. After a few moments of thought he received a response.

"I don't see why not." He said with a sigh. "Nurse, fresh wrappings." He called.

The same nurse from before returned to the room with the requested white cloth and the two of them rewrapped his arm. From the wrist to his shoulder was now a sheet of white with dark spots growing on it.

"Keep it dry, keep it clean, and have it re-wrapped the first chance you get." He was instructed.

"Yes Sir, thank you."

America snapped a salute and tipped his hat to the nurse before turning around and leaving. He had to get out of there he was sick of the iron scent of blood. He needed fresh air. When he got outside the smell followed him but it wasn't as thick. The night air was a relief of the highest order. He kept walking and soon his sight no longer held the dead and dying in it. It was instead filled with the camp after camp of men in blue. He needed to find his regiment so he could rest, he was near his limit.

He had dodged a bullet today, not literally of course, but he didn't exactly feel lucky about the situation he and his army were in. Sleeping was all he could do about it now though.