"Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die."

Herbert Hoover -

ChapterOne: TheDyingMan'sPlea

The field once green and lush with vegetation stood dry and barren in the fading light of day. Dust rose into the air as the wind blew the dry, dark soil high into the humid air. Cracks formed in the dry land and puddles of blood seeped into the cracks as the bodies of the dead and dying lay scattered across the dusty terrain for as far as the eye could see. Empty shells of what were once buildings gave the eerie scene a foreboding atmosphere against the blood red sunset on the horizon. Agonizing moans and groans of those on the verge of death sent chills down the spines of the passerby, the looks in the eyes of the men still with enough strength to raise their heads were sure to haunt minds for years to come. The sound of boots crunching over the dry soil broke the silence and all attention seemed to be fixed on the small group of people now standing on the edge of the field, surveying the scene with expressions of pity and shame. Time seemed to stand still and all movement came to a halt, even the vultures flying high above them seemed to falter in their constant circles at the appearance of the weary men.

At the front of the group stood a tall man, his uniform ripped, dusty and blood stained. As he looked out over the scene once more, he bowed his head in a silent prayer, his long silver hair falling over his face. Raising his head, the man issued orders to the men who promptly scattered throughout the field in search of those who could be saved. The silver haired man made his way towards one of the nearby buildings and peered through the window into the dark. Seeing nothing, he turned to look elsewhere when a soft sound reached his ears. A voice. A faint voice, but a voice nonetheless. He followed it until he came to another building, smaller than the others but not as ruined. The voice seemed to get louder the closer he came to the building. Cautiously, he peered through the doorway and saw a figure in a dark corner. Taking out his gun, he approached cautiously, making his presence known.

"Put the gun down, solider," a soft male voice said as its owner noticeably struggled for breath.

"Who are you?" the silver haired man demanded, lowering the gun slightly as he approached.

"Kenta Sasaki," the man paused as he tried in vain to fill his lung with precious air. "And you are?"

"Colonel Sesshoumaru Takahashi," came the response as the gun was lowered and replaced, hidden from sight.

There was silence as the two men looked at each other, respect for each other obvious in their eyes. It was then that Sesshoumaru's eyes were drawn to the other man's chest where a figure was hunched over him. The figure was so small that it could have been that of a child, but it shook so pitifully that it wrenched his heart just to look at it.

"I assume you were the help that was sent here?" the man asked, looking over the younger man's military uniform.

"Yes. We were delayed on out way and it seems our help is too late," Sesshoumaru looked away and out the door at the bodies littering the field.

"It seems everyone is dead."

"Not everyone," he said, nodding towards the man and the small figure crouched over him.

The older man chuckled slightly. "I am dying, colonel. There is no hope for me." He looked at the figure which had sat up at his words and lifted a shaky hand to caress the person's face tenderly. "Yes, child. This is the end for me. Cry not for me, I wish to see your smile just once more before my time comes."

Sesshoumaru felt somewhat awkward witnessing such a private scene and stepped back slightly. As he did so, his eyes widened as the figure revealed itself to be a young woman, only a few years younger than himself. A hood had been pulled up over her head, covering her face in shadow and what little of her face that could be seen was covered in dirt and streaked with tears. Suddenly, he felt pity for the girl well up within him and he quelled it quickly. Emotions were useless during such a situation, they could not help the man, could not take away the girl's pain.

"Colonel," the man wheezed, beckoning the tall man closer. "May I make a request of you?"

"Certainly."

"My daughter, please look after her."

Sesshoumaru looked at the man and nodded.

"My dearest daughter," the man turned misty eyes to the girl at his side with a weak smile. "Remember me with a smile and know that I will watch over you. The colonel will save you. Be thankful for his generosity."

That said, the man coughed once more and his eyes closed as his head fell limply to one side, his hand falling from its perch on the girl's cheek. There was a moment of silence as the pair stared at the now dead man before the reality of the situation struck home and tears fell down the girl's face, creating fresh trails through the dirt on her face. Silent tears turned to sobs before becoming wails of despair as she flung herself over the still form of her father. Knowing better than to interrupt such a scene, Sesshoumaru watched quietly until the wails had subsided into soft sobs. Moving over to the girl, he pulled her away from the corpse and held her shoulders, looking down into her dark eyes.

"I will do as he asked," he said quietly and she nodded silently. "We will give him a burial and then you will come with me."

Without another word, Sesshoumaru rose to his feet and pulled the girl out of the building, back towards the group of men assembled on the edge of the field.

"Find shovels, prepare a mass grave and one individual one," he said in a cold tone as he steered the girl towards one of the jeeps they had come in.

Seated on one of the front seats of the nearest jeeps, she watched the tall colonel search through the few bags that scattered the back of the vehicle. Her eyes widened as she saw him return with a flask and a chunk of bread which he pushed into her hands, watching her with soft eyes.

"Eat," he instructed. "Then we will bury your father."