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Written in honour of all those who lost their lives in the Great War. You will never be forgotten.

Date, 1st July 1916, Time, 7:15 am.

In fifteen minutes time the whistles will blow, and the battle of the Somme will commence. Today is also my birthday, but that is insignificant compared to the looming battle. Before I go over the top, I have taken it upon myself to record this journal entry. Perhaps it will give future generations an insight into the mind of a combatant on the front lines? Or maybe it will give them something to read at my funeral when the time comes. There won't be much else left of me if any of those German machine gunners are left standing. But it gets worse. This trench is filled with rats, gangrene, mud. Choking, drowning mud. Maybe I'm being overly pessimistic. Everyone else seems to be jingoistic, full to the brim with patriotism. Happy, even. They're looking forward to sending the Germans back with their tails between their legs. We've been shelling them for over a week now. Day and night. At first it keeps you up, but you get used to it eventually. Grow accustomed to the sound of speeding metal cutting through the air. At least we're not the one being shot at.

They should be smashed to pieces, but I can imagine the chatter of their machine guns now, in my head. I can see myself, a John Doe, lying, mangled, unrecognisable, on a pile of my pals. No wolf should envisage such things, it breaks their spirit. Good thing I never had anything invested in this war to break. But I don't want to think about what's going on here and now, I want to be free of the whole blasted thing. I want to write about home. Because that's why I'm here. In this trench it is cold, wet, and it stinks of disease. This time last year it was warm, I can just about remember the feel of the sun, beating down on me...

It's so blissful; you just want to lie there. Do nothing all day. But what a waste of a birthday that would be. I open my eyes to a cloudy, blue sky. Pollen floats lazily through the air. It sparkles in the light. A cool breeze blows, softly tugging at my light grey fur. I take a deep breath and sigh satisfyingly. Here it doesn't smell like grime, oil and gunpowder. Here it smells of lush grass, blooming flowers and fresh, meat pies. If I listen carefully, I can hear water rushing below me. I'm close to the river bank, it's very steep at this point. I watch as the wind shapes the grass as a baker does a cake. Every movement is smooth and refined. It's like the blades are a sea of dancers, moving in perfect synchronisation. I feel at peace, I can't bear the thought of moving.

Then the sun goes behind the clouds. It starts to rain.

The weather was temperamental that day. It seemed Mother Nature couldn't make up her mind whether it should rain like hell or shine like heaven. In the end, I was left hot and panting, but with damp clothes. There were probably some beautiful rainbows out, but I wasn't looking. The war had broken out over a year ago, but if felt very, very far away in the scenic peaks of England. No one could have convinced me that I would have been conscripted and fighting on the front lines within a year. I was in Limdale, lying down in the long grass by the river side. As long as I live I will never forget the joy I felt there. I loved all of it. The stone humpback bridge, the shop which sold anything you could have wanted on a hot summer's day. They made their own pies too, which were the best ones I've ever tasted. I could have walked its streets blind folded, and I did, on a couple of occasions. There had been worse dares I'd had to perform. The village had stayed the same because no one had been allowed to build new houses. Instead, people just renovated the old ones. It was a slice of tranquillity at the bottom of a deep valley, lined with bushy trees on either side. They cut out so much of the sky that in the winter you only got a few hours of light. But this wasn't in winter; it was summertime, of course. However, it was her that made Limdale special. In a way, I think I am writing this for her. We were best friends. We had grown up together and when that's the case, you learn to get along pretty well. We spent as much time together as possible.

After five minutes of downpour, the sun appeared again from behind the clouds and the rain stopped. We were going to make the most of it. I approached the riverside, gazing down onto the sparkling water. I wouldn't've described the water as crystal clear, but it was good enough for us. Looking straight down, my reflection stared back up at me. Before my fur was caked in mud and my eyes blood shot, I hadn't been bad looking - or so she joked. My fur was fluffy and well groomed. My features were clean cut: high cheek bones; long muzzle, smallish ears which stood out at an angle.

"Are you jumping in first or do I have to push you?" She whispered in my ear. I nearly fell in there and then. Her foot falls were so light I never seemed to hear her creep up on me.

"Neither!" I shouted back as I jumped in feet first. I knew from experience that being pushed in was not pleasant, dangerous even. I can't say that it feels that was now, sitting in this god forsaken hole. Like a rat in a trap.

We had agreed that we were going to swim in the river today. We splashed and paddled together in the cool, refreshing water. I loved doing handstands and flips. She absolutely adored diving in from the river bank. Sometimes we hang around the deepest part for ages; she would dive in, again and again. I would give a score out of ten every so often - not that it really mattered. She used to throttle me if I gave her less than eight. We were just friends, but I couldn't help admiring her body. She was athletically built, with grey blue fur that glimmered in the sun as if it was silver. To be honest, you couldn't really see much under her pinstripe swim suit. But I think a lonely wolf on the front line can dream can't he? Looking back, maybe I should have asked her to marry me? I knew she was single, and that her father approved of me. Alas, it is too late now. I was certainly attracted to her.

And boy could she dive! I think she wanted to dive for the Olympics at one point. Until war broke out. Now she's in a factory, making shells to fire at the German army. Seems like a waste of talent to me.

Back to the river...

It had started to rain again, but we just laughed it off. We thought we were invincible. We had no responsibly, no pressure, no fear. How much times have changed amazes me. I haven't fire a bullet yet and already I am a changed wolf. It's hard to say how long we spent in the river. You don't really care when you've got a friend like her. We didn't mind that it was cold or that it was raining. It was our place, no one was mad enough to follow us in. Our best times together were in that river.

The sun had set by the time we pulled ourselves up onto the clay bank downstream. Well... I pulled her out, she pushed me back in. I made sure to shake myself out next to her. It was all light-hearted. Neither of us had the energy to laugh as much as before so we just sat there, smiling at each other. The sun was nearly gone. Its last rays illuminated our faces. I can remember ever part of hers: her smooth round cheeks, her sly, blue eyes. The ridiculous expression she used to pull, with one eyes brow high and the other one so low her eye was closed. We were just about dry after ten minutes. I was leaning again the incline behind me, and she was resting against my shoulder. We were skimming stones across the calm water. She looked half asleep but that didn't stop her from beating me. She swore that it bounced eight times, I only saw six but the light was fading. She always won anyways.

"For flipping goodness sake Cassey! Why are you so good?" I cried, frustrated. "I think you've been practicing."

"I wouldn't need it. You always take stones that are too heavy to bounce." She replied. "You should practice being a better loser."

I rolled my eyes at her, I was a bad loser but only because I was so competitive. Cassey and I were always competitive. It kept thing interesting.

"Happy Birthday."

She said, quite unexpectantly.

Then she kissed me.

It wasn't long, but it was a kiss that was full of emotion. It was then that I decided she had feeling for me. It was also the point at which I realised my feeling towards her. That only made it feel better; it was the first step in our new relationship. I cannot describe on paper what that kiss meant to me. You can only experience something like that first hand. I stood motionless, and started to blush. She laughed at me. I had no idea how to respond and that amused her.

"I...um...err". I stuttered. "Thanks for that ... I guess." I mumbled. We both chuckled lightly.

"Now, don't you get any ideas." She wagged a finger at me.

"I won't." I lied. If I miss one thing more than home, it's her. What I would give to spend one more day with Cassey. Lying in the grass by the river, in the summer warmth...

The door creaked open, a tall, stocky wolf entered. He was aged and he had a cut across his throat. It had turned his sing song voice into a monotone growl that half of his soldiers couldn't understand. His fur was stark white. He looked over angrily at the private sitting at the desk.

"Private, what are you still doing in here? Get your gear in order and get outside on the double!"

The general paused as the other wolf quickly stashed a leather bound journal in his pocket and picked up his rifle.

"Yes sir." He replied. His voice was shaky. The private began to gather his equipment and the general relaxed.

"That-a-boy." He said "We need every available wolf to win this war."

The private scoffed at him.

"I don't think I'll me much help sir. Both you and I know I'm a dirty coward."

The general stiffened up again. "If you refuse to go over the top, I will have you executed private." He said coldly. "Please don't force me to condemn one of my own."

"I never said I wasn't going to fight. I just don't see the point sir? No German's ever done me harm. How can killing them do any good?"

"Son, I fight because King and country demands it. But you, you can fight for something better, that dame of yours." He paused. "I know you wouldn't let her down."

The private's eyes brightened and his ears pricked up.

"You're right sir; I'd go to hell and back for Cassey." He ran for the door, feeling more confident than ever before.

The general lowered his tone for his final remark.

"Some advice private, write her a letter next time. Make sure she knows how you feel. It won't do nought in that little journal of yours."

"Sir yes sir!" The private grabbed his helmet with a crooked smile on his muzzle.

"To hell and back," he repeated internally.

The whistles blew; the battle of the Somme had begun.