Author's Note: Hello, and welcome to the next instalment of the Poppy Field. This time, we are on the Mesopotamian Front, when the Ottoman forces begin their advance to Egypt through the Suez Canal.

I found out that some ANZAC and Indian troops trained here before going to to either the Mesopotamian front or, later, the Gallipoli front- which is due to open up soon, so that is what inspired this chapter.

Once again, thank you for reading,

~Anonymous Lily

P.S: I will probably refer to Egypt as Hassan, because Gupta is not an Egyptian name, as abc has assured me.

Chapter Nine: Surprise in the Suez Canal

Cairo, Egypt, (late) January 1915.

The Ottomans were advancing.

It was all over the news in Cairo, Alexandria, Luxor and every other major city. An Ottoman infantry unit was planning to take the Suez Canal to assert their dominance in the area.

Hassan had known that it was to happen eventually- he was a British Protectorate within marching distance of the Ottoman Empire. They had already begun to place soldiers at the edges of their land to defend from invasion and he heard that others were coming soon. But when?

Around him, small pockets of students wandered the streets, looking for some form of refreshment- most likely a nice cup of hot karkadey*. Despite their efforts to maintain calm, all were on edge- Hassan could feel the anxieties of his people building up like water as it boiled. It was making him feel dizzy.

He had not heard of how the Ottomans had planned the offensive on his land- but with Djemal Pasha being assisted by a German artillery officer leading 25,000 men, it was bound to be well-executed.

How can I survive this? He thought, How can I protect the ordinary people from such an army?

Footsteps approached from behind him. Sharply, Hassan turned and was startled by a young-looking man dressed in a smart yet wrinkled uniform. He wore a turban, dusty brown, with a small silver pin holding it in place. The way he carried himself suggested that he was a Nation, however Hassan could not place who he was exactly.

"Hello! Oh, are you all right?" the man asked, frowning concernedly, "I'm here to help. I came with some of my men to train for the Mesopotamian front. You must be Egy- I mean, Hassan." His accent was warm and soft, as well as strangely familiar.

"Who are you?" Hassan questioned, I don't remember England mentioning any help arriving, but then again, I might have missed it.

"Ah, my apologies, I am Inderpal Gupta, or India, if you wish to be formal." the man introduced himself, with a curt nod, before sitting beside him.

"When did you get here, Inderpal?" he asked, looking up at the Indian with light suspicion.

"Just yesterday- there was some difficulty getting through the Red Sea," Inderpal laughed somewhat shakily, "The ship I was on was almost spotted by the Ottomans."

Hassan nodded understandingly. Travelling anywhere in this war was risky, especially by sea, where you could get bombarded by planes, submarines or other ships. That was how the Germans had attacked Scarborough back in December, as he had come to understand from the newspaper clipping England had sent him over the winter ceasefire.

"Anyway, there are about 30,000 soldiers at Ismallia, that's me and Jett's men," Inderpal recalled, his soft voice hardening, "And from what has been said, there are about 25,000 of the enemy. We are quite evenly matched in terms of men, but I get the feeling they have something up their sleeve."

Contemplating, Inderpal turned to the shop in front of them, which was giving off the pleasant aroma of coffee.

Hassan stared into the crowd absent-mindedly. A young child was being gently tugged along by a tired mother; a businessman held a bunch of papers under his arm and among them, a pale and confused face stuck out like a sore thumb. The man weaved out of the crowd and narrowly avoided a speeding vehicle.

Another soldier, probably British, Hassan observed, Is he looking for something?

"Jett!" Inderpal exclaimed. Hassan watched with as the man ran towards them.

"Who?"

"Australia." Inderpal replied, waving to Jett.

Ah, another Nation, he sighed. The Australian slowed to a walk.

"Inderpal, there you are! I've been looking all morning for you." Jett explained as he caught his breath. He glanced at Hassan. "You all right, mate?"

"Yes, thank you for your concern." Hassan answered.

Ismailia, February 1915

It was noon in Ismailia, where Hassan had travelled to wish the soldiers good luck by special invitation. Hassan reflected dishearteningly that he would have had lunch by now, however he was too worried to eat. The Indian and Australian troops were fighting tomorrow- to protect him.

Suddenly, a sharp breeze raked the stale air in the train station as the train set off. Hassan held the sides of his keffiyeh to stop it from falling off, noting to himself that he should really find a new one that fitted better after this was over.

He spotted Inderpal and Jett discussing something with a lieutenant when he got to them.

"Ah, Egypt!" the lieutenant cried, shaking hands with the Egyptian enthusiastically, "Come to wish us good luck against the Boche, eh?"

Confused, Hassan nodded, glancing to the other Nations for guidance. Noticing this, the lieutenant politely backed away.

"I'll leave you to it, then." he said.

"Do you think that your troops are ready for battle? I heard that you underwent some training back with your regiment, same as me." asked Hassan.

Jett nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be. I mean, this is one of my first real experiences with war so I'll just try to take things as they come."

"Just be careful, the both of you." he warned.

"Relax, Hassan," Jett comforted, "Everything's going to be all right!"

"Do not worry," Inderpal said, placing a hand on the Egyptian's shoulder, "We're not going to fail, we promise."

"We'd better not, otherwise we' never hear the last of it from ol' pommie face." Jett chuckled, "He still hasn't recovered from the last time we played cricket."

Hassan laughed despite himself, feeling a little more calm with support of his new friends.

*A popular beverage that calms the nerves, made from Hibiscus flowers. Fun fact: they are best made in coffee shops or kahwas- this also just means coffee.

Author's Note: The German military officer Hassan referred to was Friedrich Kress von Kressenstein- I'm not surprised he did not recall it. Oh yes, and 'Boche' was a common nickname for the Germans in those days.

Luckily for the trio, this particular battle was an overall success for the Entente, only suffering 125 casualties. In fact, the Central Powers were fairly stretched out in this case, as they had to go without a lot of provisions and basically walk to the battlefield in order to get there in time.

In case you are wondering where my information is from, I get it from The Great War you-tube channel, FirstWorldWar. com and my books.

There will be a time jump in the next chapter- focusing on either Poland or China, I'll figure out which later.

Thank you,

~Anonymous Lily