The memories of that fateful day had never left you. Years ago, your squad had been ordered to invade a British village and kill all inhabitants. It was a cruel and inhumane mission, and your heart ached with every step you took. As your teammates mercilessly carried out their orders, you stumbled upon a little boy, terrified and trembling.

Without a second thought, you hid him, fed him, and kept him safe until you could anonymously hand him over to social services, ensuring his survival. You never forgot the fear in his eyes, nor the relief when you told him he would be safe.

Years had passed, and now your base was under siege. Enemy soldiers stormed through, killing everyone in sight. You and your teammates fought valiantly but were ultimately overwhelmed. Beaten and half-conscious, you were lined up with your comrades, ready to meet your end.

A group of enemy soldiers stood before you, their weapons raised. Just as they were about to pull the triggers, a commanding voice cut through the chaos.

"Stop!"

The soldiers halted, stepping aside as a British officer approached. He was a captain, his presence commanding respect and fear. As he neared, you recognized him—those eyes, that face. It was the boy you had saved all those years ago.

"Leave this one," he ordered, his voice steady and firm.

Your breath hitched as his gaze met your hazy one. Recognition flashed in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the past. He knelt beside you, his expression softening for just a moment, uncaring of what his men might think of his weird relationship with the enemy soldier.

"You're safe now," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din of the battlefield.

The boy you had saved had grown into a man, into a soldier. An enemy, and now, he was saving you.