All was quiet along the trenches. Only occasionally somebody coughed, talked silently to a fellow soldier or whispered a curse about the weather. It was a damp and foggy night, and the moon was shining through the mist, creating an unnatural gloom.

At least it had stopped raining, Joe Rover thought. The rain had been pouring down during the last three days all over France, and he had grown tired of it. It had made the clothes he wore wet and cold, made it difficult to see the enemy's installment and filled the trenches. The trenches -- how long had they been sitting here on the same spot? Three weeks, four weeks? Would this stupid war ever come to an end? Joe and his comrades had succeeded in holding back Imperial Germany, had defended France and Britain, but what had they had to sacrifice? What had he personally left behind?

And he loved her, more than everything else -- probably even more than his own life.

* * *

Torn apart from his unit, Joe looked around; there was fierce fighting going on in the distance. He could hear men screaming, could see them dying. Two grenades exploded close to him, and he started to run. To his left, he could see two French Mark IV tanks advancing, and a group of men following and hiding behind them. Then there was machine gun fire coming out of a trench, the muzzle fire flashing in the darkness. Joe made a giant leap and was safe for a moment, covered by the huge armored vehicles. The soldiers readied hand grenades, and moments later, the German gun site was gone in an orange blast of fire.

For a while, he moved on with the two tanks. The group now proceeded without having serious problems, the German resistance broken. Ahead in the distance, Joe could see the enemy's army retreating. From the right, some soldiers stumbled on the way, carrying a wounded -- or maybe dead -- man. They were his men, Joe's unit. The tanks stopped to give cover, and soon a truck arrived; however, when the field doctors came to the man there was no life in him anymore.

The men got into the back of the truck and departed, to some other place, where the next battle was to be fought. They were sitting there in the truck, tired, exhausted, everybody caught in his own thoughts.

Then Jack broke the silence; he was one of the soldiers in Joe's unit."You are a coward, Joe," he said, "you are a damn coward."The words hung heavy in the air."Where have you been, Joe Rover, where have you been when we needed you?" he continued, stressing Joe's name.

Joe tried to answer, tried to tell that he stumbled and fell, but he was cut off by another soldier: "You are a bastard. You -- I don't know what your woman likes in you."

Jack's eyes stared into the distance for a moment, as if he remembered something, and then said: "Yeah, you know, Mary doesn't really like him. She likes me, no, she needs me! I don't think she told you, Joe, but for weeks we met, and I took her home. She gave me everything, and when the morning came and I had to leave she begged for more. But she didn't tell you, she knew it would destroy you."

Joe's eyes got an unreadable mad look, and he swallowed, trying to get rid of the surprise. He clenched his hands, making fists, and began to talk: "No -- no, that's not true. It can't be. Mary is mine, and I am hers. There is nothing that could get us apart..." Jack interrupted him, saying with a taunting voice: "And yet it is true; she was so soft and pleasing, Joe." Joe lost control, and jumped into Jack's direction, his hands finding his neck. Shouting, Joe started throwing his fists into Jack's face. It just couldn't be, Mary loved him, he was sure about that. But there was something in him that believed in what Jack said, an undeniable feeling coming up in him. Hands were grabbing his uniform now from behind, pulling his arms behind his back. Bleeding, Jack got up, fighting for his balance. He looked into Joe's face, and said: "You are a bastard." Then he hit Joe hard into his face, throwing him out of the truck. Landing on the ground, Joe lost consciousness.

* * *

During the first few miles of his way, a reviving joy filled his tired and tortured body, and he anticipated the pleasure of seeing Mary again. It was such a good feeling to hold her close, to feel her next to him in the night, and to hear her breathe. Her beauty was out of this world, like a bright star shining in a dark and lonely night. He imagined her skin so pale and soft, and her character so warm, gentle and pure, a class of its own. But could somebody else have noticed the star on the black sky, and could it have guided this person into Mary's arms and heart? How many men had seen this heavenly vision?

With every pace he made, and every village he passed, his doubts returned and returned more intensely. She was so exceptionally charming that it seemed sure that there were other men adoring her as he did. Joe found himself asking what these men had done since he had left, asking what they were doing now. Were they there with Mary, as close as he once had been, while he was fighting for his homeland? But would there ever be somebody else in Mary's heart? Deep inside, Joe couldn't believe that. He was special, he thought, because she had chosen him. This decision had always seemed like it was made forever, joining their lives in eternity. She had taken his heart a long time ago, and it would always belong to her.

As his muscles became tired and sore from the long march, he began to ask if he had really known her so well. Though his heart's feelings were still pleading for Mary, his head wasn't sure anymore. How could he know her decision was still the same, what made him think she was his until the end of time? Suddenly, the months they had spent together seemed short like a second while he had been away for years. So much could have happened during the time since this war had begun, and nothing remained unchanged, Joe thought. His doubts had overcome the trust in Mary that he had acquired, and jealousy and anger made his throat dry and his eyes burn.

* * *

"Who is it?" Mary asked. Joe could tell she was afraid. She was afraid of him.

He swallowed, and answered: "It is I." He wasn't able to say more, so many thoughts raced through his mind. Did she still love him? Who else could she have expected?

Surprise filled Mary's voice when she spoke again. "Who?" She paused. "Is it you, Joe?"

He could hear her move, looking for something. Then, she lit a candle, and he was blind for a moment. When his eyes had adjusted to the light, she was standing beside the bed. With her long white nightgown and her curly golden hair, gleaming in the candlelight, she looked like an angel. "It's you. It is really you, Joe!" She made a quick step towards him, but then stopped. "But what are you doing here?"

What was he doing there? Had she really asked that. Joe's face went hard, his expression that of a madman, as his suspicions returned and his anger rose. Barely able to control himself, he retorted: "I am living here. This is my home, isn't it?" The tone of his voice made her startle. "But I thought you were in France."

He went wild, started to shout. "I came back. And now I'm here, in my house. Does that cause any inconvenience for you? I bet it does! Out of sight, out of mind, Mary?" Disbelief on her face, she answered: "What do you say, dear? Of course I'm happy you..."

Joe cut her off: "Don't call me dear!" Breathing heavily, he stalked closer. "To how many men have you said that? With how many have you been whoring around?" Praying and desperate now, she replied quickly: "Heavens, with none, of course. You are the only man in my life -- you know that!"

He couldn't stand it anymore. "You're lying!" She shook her head, and with a worried voice asked: "What is wrong with you, Joe?" Wrong with him?

He slapped Mary in the face, throwing her backwards into the bed and making her lips bleed. Then time seemed to come to a halt. Joe could see tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. There was blood on her face and blood on his hands. What had he done, he asked himself. He had wounded and killed men on the battlefield, taking young men away from their families, leaving their wives and children behind alone. He had tortured others, but never had he hurt his beautiful Mary. What had this war done to him, why was he doing this, he asked. Had this killing turned him into a hostile monster unable to love? Had he changed, and not the rest of the world? He turned his head, and saw Mary opening her mouth.

"I missed you," she said. Nothing more. His inner pain killing him, Joe burst into tears. She opened her arms, welcoming him, and he fell into her warm hug. "What have they done to you...," she whispered after a moment. She was the only person that understood. The only one that always forgave.

Weeping bitterly, he stayed in her arms until late the next morning.