August 23, 1916, Somme Field, France A person crawled forward, covered in mud.It was late at night. This is a young British lieutenant.He moved very carefully, but there was haste and recklessness in his cautious movements.In such extraordinary times, such actions are extremely dangerous.This was no man's land, only thirty yards from the German border, and it would have been suicidal for him to do so. For about three minutes, he crawled forward in silence like this, bullets whizzed past his ears, but he turned a deaf ear to them.Finally, he climbed to the side of a not deep crater and rolled into it.He waited a moment with vigilant hold of his breath, and then called, "Tom! Tom! Tom Cleary!"

For a moment there was silence in the night sky, no response.The moon is looming in the clouds.In the distance, cannons roared against the skyline.Stepping over dirt and debris, he searched everywhere. Then there was a faint sound, although it was only a soft moan, and the young English lieutenant immediately became alert. "Tom? Tom? Is that you?" There was eager anticipation in his voice.He quickly crawled out of the crater and crawled towards the direction of the sound.He twisted his body and hurriedly crawled, completely forgetting to keep his body and head close to the ground.

In 40 seconds, he climbed about thirty yards.The voice was that of a young British infantryman, badly wounded in the leg and abdomen, and apparently dying. A tinge of painful disappointment appeared on the Lieutenant's face.Whoever the young man was, it wasn't Tom Cleary, but the disappointment on his face was fleeting. "Well, boy," said the lieutenant, "I've come to take you home." Under the moonlight, the young infantryman's face was pale and frightening. "I'm badly hurt, sir," he sobbed.He is afraid of death. "Injured? No big deal, boy. We'll wrap you up and put you on the train back to England as soon as possible. How's that going?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Oh, yes!" The lieutenant nodded.With one hand, he passed the jug to the young infantryman's mouth, "Drink some water." The infantry drank.While he drank, the lieutenant fumbled in the mud with a revolver in his other hand.The infantry put down the jug, eyes full of gratitude. "Good boy," said the lieutenant.He held his gun up to the infantryman's head and fired.The young infantryman fell back and died. After lying on the ground for a minute or two, the lieutenant began to search the infantryman's pockets for private papers.After taking everything away, he fell to the ground again, head and shoulders raised.

"Tom? Tom? Tom Cleary—?" This time there was no response, not at all.