Chapter One

Upon the green pastures of Ireland lived a young man named Killian O'Brien. He woke that morning, like any other, nothing unusual ever happened. The morning was foggy and cold as the harvest season came to pass. That morning he turned on the radio to listen in on the war; it was hard for him to listen, after his brother’s death on active duty, but he was mesmerized by the new series of tactical words to describe, the horrific events. He turned off the radio and went outside to sit on the porch and look over the cliffside, listening to the waves hit the rocks below and the sound of the seagulls flying high above.  He never particularly liked them as they always destroyed some of his crops around this season.  As he leaned back in his chair, pulling out his pipe and taking a few puffs before putting it down,  he saw a convoy heading down the dirt path he lived on. It scared him to death seeing the troops come down towards his home.
Killian stood to face the captain, who by now left the car and walked up to face him. The captain came with a wee bit of news that they were setting up camp at his home and that he could stay but would have to provide and train with the troops in the event of an attack on the camp. Killian was shocked’ he couldn’t believe his own ears. “Why on earth would an attack occur on a camp based on a cliffside,” he mused. “Crazy blokes they are, taking what property I have, to feed their own.”
As the camp was being set up, Killian went back inside, sighed, and as he leaned back a wee bit in his chair, a group of troops barged through the doors. Two men swiped Killian’s table clean and then placed maps in the place of a flower vase and his plates and silverware.  As  plates and silverware hit the floor, Killian stood up and asked the two men,

“What are you doing ye gobshites? Ye don’t just barge into somebody’s home and start makin’ a mess of their stuff. By Jesus I will in me hole before I let the likes of you kernes make a mess of me life!” 

The soldier turned with shock and whispered to the other.“Quite the knobs on this here fellow. Let’s have a craic at this one shall we?”

As Killian was reaching for his brother’s rapier upon the shelf, the two soldiers smiled and drew theirs.
“A fighter eh?  Let’s see what you got.”

Killian stood in a defensive position ready to parry, he walked outside to settle it there. The two men followed suit.  As the the first soldier starts to swipe his rapier at Killian, he parrys it and holds his to the soldier’s neck.  The other trooper starts to take a swing, but Killian quickly reacts to grab his wrist and succeeds, continues on to snap it, disarming him.  Then he sweeps his foot and takes the first soldier out at the knees, tossing him into the other. Not noticing the crowd around him, he threw his rapier to the ground as the captain slapped Killian’s shoulder then continues to say, “We’ll make a fine soldier out of you yet boy!”  The two soldiers look up towards Killian in pain and regret;  Killian suddenly gained a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction in winning a fight.  As he went to reach to pick up the rapier, the captain kicked him down after he grabbed it.

“Why not start now?” the captain said.

Killian got back into a defensive stance. As the captain lunges towards him, Killian quickly analyzed the strength and agility of the captain, countered at the last second, and then quickly lunged to attack directly after.  Of course, with no surprise that the captain countered just the same, this batter back and forth continued. One striking and the other countering, but the captain was genuinely surprised and saw Killian's brother inside of of the experienced man: a true Celt and fighter. The captain could see it in his eyes: the unforgiving nature, the will to win, and succeed, the temperament to do so giving the captain hope that he had found a true Celt which would fight the war until there was none left to fight. Then out of respect, the captain put away his rapier and nodded as he walked away.
The crowd suddenly dispersed to what they were doing, leaving Killian confused and in a daze of what happened and why the captain stopped. Throughout the rest of the day, nobody said a word, as they worked all was quiet. As a storm was heading near, Killian could hear the rolling thunder and see the faint hints of lightning that looked like they were far from the camp. He slowly made his way back to the house and cleaned up the mess of broken plates and silverware, trying to get back to that morning. He wanted that calm peaceful morn’ that he held so dear. He put his brother’s rapier back upon the shelf sighing, and whispered,  “I wish you were still here.”
As he sat back down in his chair and tries to sleep, thinking maybe this was all a dream. But how could it be? Killian thought it all seemed so real and in some sense natural. So Killian stopped trying to sleep and went back out of the house and helped the troops pitch up tents and shelters.
The storm finally hit but there was more work to be done, so while most troops stayed in the tents and shelter to warm, Killian stayed and harvested the last of the potato crop of the season and finished pitching up the shelters for the troops.  In some sort of rally cry, one soldier got up to help, followed by another, and another. Pretty soon all the troops went back in the storm and finished putting up the camp.
As Killian slumbered, the thundering drone of the storm came upon the coast; it blew away half the camp and several crates of ammo off the cliff into the pit of seawater below. The wind howled and shrieked.  Killian awoke and stared at the ceiling, “What a storm, kinda feel bad for the blokes.” He turned on the radio to tune out the storm, his favorite music, Celtic of origin.  Killian then went back out into the storm, fighting against the raging winds. He picked up all that had fallen and yelled,“If it’s not stuck to the ground, make it that way!”

The troops rallied together, gathering the fallen supplies. Men climbed down the cliff face to retrieve the missing ammo crates and pitch the tents back up. As they did so, the wind grew stronger and stronger.

“Any crate that’s damaged, I want in the house now!” he shouted at the troops.
 
One by one the crates were brought into the house and all were accounted for.  As the rest of the tents were pitched so were the spirits of the troops.

“Push on push on until the work is done,”he told himself.

Many of the troops fought to keep the shelters on the ground as the wind got stronger and the rain got harder. Then the clouds broke and the storm let up, taking stress off of all the troops, but still none the less leaving all the troops exhausted but not Killian. He stood strong and continued to shout orders with the authority of experience and the song of Celtic origin still fresh in his mind. The sound of flutes, drums, bagpipes all creating his battle song making him stronger in a sense. Then as the last of the crates came into the house, Killian sat down on his porch to look over the cliff side and listen to the waves hit the shore and the seagulls returning to fly high above.  Killian decided he would fight with these campmates through hell and high water and wouldn't stop until hell froze over. The captain couldn't believe his eyes. Was it true what he saw in Killian? Or could he be dreaming? But that day Killian proved his metal not only to the troops, but to the captain too.

“Alright now, back to work. That can't be the end of it; the weather just gave you worthless s***es a break.”

The soldiers got up and went back to work while the captain walked up to face Killian and said, “Thank you for all that you've done to help.”

Killian nodded as if to say, “You’re welcome,” to the captain. He soon went back into his home and watched on as the soldiers kept preparing for the next storm as it turned night Killian looked across the land only to see how close the war was to his home, he shook his head in grief as shell and bullet fire thundered across the cliffside and the muzzle flashes could be seen for miles. He was scared but also a rush if bravery came upon him so he put on his uniform and hung a rifle over his shoulder excepting that the war with England came to him.