Private Terry Longworth had only one mission in mind: Save the Union Jack.
That brilliant banner of red, white, and blue, who for many a century had swelled the soldiers heart, was in dire trouble of being captured by the Arab foe, as the British prepared to regroup behind Suez City. Machine gun fire whipped around like hail, flying horizontally, thirsty for unsuspecting flesh. Artillery shells bellowed all around, and it seemed every odd one was accompanied by the scream of an unfortunate soul. And yet the Union Jack flew, waiting for her prince to rescue her.
Out from the trench Terry sprang, to the screams of, Are you MAD!?! Mad, maybe, he thought to himself. But now was not the time to question madness (who could honestly be so brash?) but rather to trust its guidance.
The desert sand kicked all around, from footsteps and from bullets. Madness turned out to be an excellent guide through the maelstrom; who but madness understood it better? He dived to the dust without knowing why, and then sprung to his feet once again. He dived into the mortars grave; it made an excellent foxhole on the fly. Whistling from fore and aft signaled the presence of the bullet swarm. Terry remained low and patient. The princess had a few more moments.
His mad master suggested that once the shell fell, it was time to resume the rescue. He crawled from the foxhole then leaped once again to his feet, and resumed the dink and dodge that had got him this far. The pole lay not ten feet away, and the journey through Hell was almost over. A few feet more, and he leaped for the pole, gripping her tight, like a mast in a storm. He was hit, again and again, but Apollos arrows could not stop his climb.
Before he knew it, she was in his hands, his princess. He cut her free with what remained of him, and let the wind bring her home to her British lines.
One final shot brought him down, and his body thudded to the desert floor. He lay there bloody and mangled, dead, but the Union Jack was saved.