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Chapter One:

Hi! Do I Know Me?

He had been staggering down the road for some time. His pain-fogged mind told him it had been dark when he first woke up but he could no longer remember where and when that had been.

There was a fence along the side of the dirt road, and he kept his fingers anchored on the rough wood. It was the only thing he could grip in this whirling and dipping reality.

"Hello... Hey there. Are you alright? "

The voice was light and feminine and he dragged his gaze up from the road to see a blur in the shape of a face, and glowing bits of yellow gauze whirling around it.

"You don't look so good. What happened? Where did you come from?"

It was too distracting. The words and face at the same time. He couldn't figure out which one he was supposed to be concentrating on. Then suddenly there was pressure on his arm and a new feeling of rippling pain in his sore muscles.

"Hey now. Don't pass out like that. Why don't we sit you down here. Just lean back, let the fence support you." The voice dropped a little in volume. "Where's my water? Don't die. Please don't die on me."

Then there was cold liquid running down his face, and some of it was in his throat, and he coughed and swallowed and blinked.

"I-" His voice sounded horribly gruff. "Water?"

"That was good, right? Here you go. Try and hold the tin."

The water did feel awfully good and the solid metal in his two hands was reassuring. Smiling, the young woman knelt in front of him and pointed at the tin of water. "I'm going to leave that with you, alright? Just for a minute. You stay here, and I'm going to get you some more help."

Getting to her feet, she turned to look at him once more. "I won't be long. Just stay right there."

As if he had any other choice.

He blinked again and examined the tin of water. He was feeling dreadfully off. He couldn't even remember how the thing got in his hands. Did she pass it to him? Where did she get it from, and who, for that matter, was she?

Fumbling slightly, he put the tin down on the ground and looked around. Somehow he had gotten on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, with his back to the fence. On the other side of the road there was just grass, fields, and a few trees here and there.

It all seemed wrong.

This wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was used to something different.

For a moment he thought of a place that was less open, somewhere with more walls or buildings maybe. But then his head throbbed, and he raised a hand to fumble at the sore spot.

With shaking fingers he explored the thick scruffy hair on his head, finding multiple spots of mud, bruising, and dried blood. There was one messy spot just behind his right temple that pulsed wet blood at his touch. A woozy feeling in his stomach warned him away from bothering it again.

With a sigh, he scrubbed at his face, wondering what colour his hair was, and when things were going to start making sense.

"There he is. I just found him stumbling along the road, and I don't know how long he must have been walking. Where do you think he came from?"

He rolled his head to the side to see a young woman - The Young Woman? – hurrying towards him with an older man at her side. Now he could see that she was blond, with a pretty round mouth and lots of checkers on her pale blue dress.

"Looks like an officer from one of the Hammelburg patrols. You were right though; he doesn't look to be in very good shape." The older man stopped in front of him and crouched down, speaking slowly. "Hey there, boy. How are you feeling?"

He coughed a little and was surprised at how deep and raspy his voice was. "Not that great. Where am I?"

"The closest town is Hammelburg, son. But that's a good three hour's walk from here. What are you doing in the area?"

Three hours? The name Hammelburg didn't ring any bells in his throbbing head. Dare he ask what country Hammelburg was in?

"I'm not sure what I'm doing here."

The older man's bushy grey eyebrows pressed together. "Well, what patrol are you in? Or, who is your commanding officer."

"Patrol?" He could feel his breathe speeding up. "I don't remember anything about that. Am I in the army?"

The young girl placed a hand on her companion's shoulder, and they exchanged a long look that he couldn't read. Then the older man turned back to him with a lighter expression on his face. "Never mind that. My name is Niklas Einstein and this is my niece Berta. Our farmhouse isn't that far from here. For now you can come with us, and we'll be able to get you back with the rest of your men soon."

Niklas knelt down beside him and helped him throw a clumsy arm over the farmer's shoulder. It took a couple tries for him to get his knees locked into an upright position, but eventually they were both standing.

Seeing the way the younger man's head dipped at the change in altitude, Niklas put out his other hand to stabilize him, getting a good grip on the soldier's belt. "It's all right, just move slowly. You'll feel better after a few minutes."

He stayed silent, unsure if he could talk without vomiting.

"What's your name, son?"

As soon as he found the ability, he looked up, blinking. He found the farmer's face beside his and the thought occurred to him that he must be of average height. Niklas Einstein was the same height as him, and Berta was standing only a couple inches shorter. Why was this new information? Shouldn't he be familiar with his own appearance?

"Hey, don't drift away on us. Can you tell us your name?"

Oh right. "My name? I don't know what my name is."

Berta stepped forward, tentatively setting a hand on his chest. "Do you mind if I check your dog tags for you?"

It made sense to do, but he couldn't help feeling a little nervous. "I guess you can."

He looked straight ahead while she unbuttoned his jacket, trying not to sway or throw up on her.

"The top buttons are ripped off your jacket." She told him, gently pulling at the dress shirt underneath. "This is torn too. What happened to - Oh..."

"What?" he reached up a shaking hand to feel the sore flesh at his throat.

The farmer and his niece were both frowning at him now. "There's horrible bruises here, and some torn flesh too. I'm surprised you can even talk, young man. It looks like someone tried to strangle you."

After a minute of carefully shuffling through the ripped material, Berta sighed in frustration. "You haven't got any dog tags. I can see the marks on your neck where they were pulled off."

So... that meant...

"How do I know what my name is, then?"