A/N: This chapter is dedicated to The Noted Musician for reviewing all of the three one-shots preceding this. This is the chaptered sequel to Duty to the Dead, though all you really need to know from that is that Jack is dead (sorry! That just seems to keep happening! I actually really like Jack, promise!) and MI6 and the entire of England think that Alex is dead, except Wolf and Tom. Alex, now, lives in Germany with Yassen, David (Yassen's son) and Amethyst (his would-be wife).

Ok, so recap over, though I would suggest you go and read DttD first! (Sorry – shameless plug there! lol)

DISCLAIMER: Alex Rider does not belong to me, nor will it ever.

***

The explosions were close, incredibly close, just over the lip of the dig, in fact. World War Three had finally come. If you told him when he had first emigrated from England – or more accurately fled, though he didn't like to put it like that, he didn't like to think of his last few months there at all– that the entire world would go to war again – well, actually he would have believed you. But if you told him that it would be Europe – including Britain – against America, he would have thought you were crazy. And another thing, this was the twenty-first century, how come everything seemed to have reverted to the same methods as seen in his history lessons on WW1?

In the last two years, he had built on his cover. He was half German, through his father, his mother was English and he had lived there for most of his life before moving to Germany. It explained away any mistakes in his German, though they had become less and less frequent over time.

Alex had returned to England to sign up. He had never really been patriotic – he knew exactly what his country was like, no different from any other country. But it was his country and he didn't want the American dictator to take it over.

For that was what was happening. Somehow, despite all the background checks that the CIA performs, a certifiable lunatic had slipped through their net. Slowly he had brought his people into government until he had majority. He could do what he wanted. He replaced Byrne with his own man. He got rid of the vote. Things had gone from bad to worse. In America, you did as directed or you were shot. They had invaded Canada and conquered it. Then they had turned their attention south, to Mexico. Mexico had been prepared, but against larger forces and better firepower, they didn't stand a chance.

France had mobilised first, quickly followed by Spain and Germany and Russia. Britain had held out longer, as long as they could, unwilling to give up the special friendship they had with America, but with thousands of refugees arriving everyday from the 'new' America, they had not been able to hold out long. It was Europe against America, and Britain had finally chosen a side.

The entire world was waiting, terrified, for the launch of a nuclear missile. And virtually every able bodied man had joined the army in the hopes that this could be ended quickly, before that happened. So far it had dragged on for six months. Alex had been here for three, having joined up just two weeks after his eighteenth birthday.

They were dug in on the southern border of Mexico, sheets of sloping iron over their heads to roll the bombs away from them, down into no-man's land. Planes roared overhead constantly, the noise deafening the new recruits within minutes. Sometimes there was a lull in the constant barrage of shells and grenades. It was then that the soldiers raised their eyes to the clouded sky and prayed. It was then that they knew the men were coming.

It happened now. The eerie silence as the planes retreated, drawing the battle of the air away from the battle field. The sudden shortage of exploding shells.

The men looked over the edge and see shapes emerging from the smoke and fiery pits of the battle field. Alex gritted his teeth.

"Up and at 'em!" he yelled, vaulting onto the step and over the side, gun in hand.

He tried to ignore the screams as bullets dug into human flesh. He tried to ignore the burning in his shoulder from his own bullet wound. So far he had been lucky – he hadn't been injured. And living is a habit – the longer you do it, the better you get. Alex had been actively practising living for over four years now. He was an expert.

But luck wasn't with him today. He felt something click under his foot and froze. Landmine.

As soon as he moved his foot, it would blow. If he stayed still, a bullet would find him in no time. Johnny, a friend from the platoon, saw his unnaturally tense position and started forward. Alex shook his head frantically.

Don't come over here.

Johnny ignored him, still coming ever closer. Alex closed his eyes, bent his legs and leapt.

The mine went off. He could feel the heat of the explosion on his legs, but he was out of it. He went cannoning in to Johnny and both of them fell to the ground, tumbling down into a crater.

Alex lay still. The right leg of his trousers had been burnt away to reveal the hideous red, cracking flesh underneath. He could feel a shard of something – shrapnel, he guessed – embedded in his shoulders. He gritted his teeth as he experimentally moved the arm; it hurt like hell but was just about manageable, he'd seen worse. Johnny was lying beside him, unconscious, his helmet missing and lying several feet away. Alex grabbed it and placed it back on his friends head, checking him over for injuries as he went. One of his legs was bent at a funny angle, broken. Alex winced in empathy.

Cautiously he raised his head, only to duck again immediately as a shell went off nearby. So the attack was over. There was no chance of getting back to the trench now, not until nightfall. Thankfully that was only a few hours away.

***

Alex spent the hours until nightfall in the crater, biting his lips to keep from screaming in pain. Johnny woke up after about twenty minutes. Alex thought he had concussion, but wasn't sure. Alex tried to block out his moans. He wasn't very successful.

When it was dark, and the only danger the sporadic, un-aimed shells dropped from over head, Alex rose carefully to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. It felt as if it were still burning, and every movement sent waves of agony through him. He bent over Johnny, who had fallen into a fitful sleep, and shook him awake. Johnny looked at him blearily for a moment then clambered unsteadily to his feet, leaning heavily on Alex to keep weight off his leg.

They hadn't far to walk to the trenches, about twenty metres, but in the dark, with shells exploding around them and only two uninjured legs between them, it seemed like every metre was a mile.

They were greeted with machine guns and Alex froze, until one of the boys, Ben, yelled from the back.

"Wait! It's Johnny and Alex! God, we thought you were dead!"

Alex laughed, a horrible choking, coughing sound. "Takes more than a land mine to kill me, mate."

Hands reached out and pulled them in to safety. Immediately, the sound of shells seemed to dim. Alex couldn't hold it together anymore. He was exhausted from spending hours battling against pain and unconsciousness. He fainted.

***

A/N: Ok, so the start was a bit slow, but I needed to let you know what was happening, or I would have got a whole load of confused reviewers asking me what on earth was going on. Oh... speaking of reviewers... seeing as I was very nice and let you know what was going on, feel like reviewing and letting me know what you thought of it?

Actually, that's an order, not a suggestion, lol. REVIEW!!!