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Safely back on the farm, he hid his contentment from his mother who fretted over her own concerns that hostile ships might sail into Apollo Bat at any moment. News from Europe was scant. Together, they took weekly rides into the village on horseback, using the pretense that the shop needed tending although it was carefully buttoned up in advance of their aborted trip to America. Each knew the real reason was to learn anything they could about the far off war. Newspapers from Sydney and Melbourne carried accounts of battles in unknown locales across the continent. Melba read and re-read each story, wondering if America might also join the fray. She worried for her younger brother, only a few years older than Aaron. Would he find himself in a uniform? The thought made her shudder as she envisioned her mother, waiting and worrying day and night. That Aaron might seek his own uniform was unthinkable. Apart from the Japanese threat that was more imagined than real, Australia had little to fear from the conflict. It was too isolated and distant to be of any concern to the European nations at war.

As the months passed, more detailed accounts began to arrive. It was increasingly apparent that this was becoming a war unlike any other. Unimaginable casualties were mounting on both sides. New machines, carrying gigantic guns, obliterated whole landscapes, annihilating anything in their path. The fight that had been predicted to end swiftly was now a protracted duel of deep trenches, dug amidst barren terrain strewn with broken trees and scattered with the bloated bodies of the dead. Thousands were dying in single battles as leaders, equipped with outmoded tactics, compelled their men into the sights of horrifically efficient machine guns, only to be mowed down, limbs shorn from their torsos in a sea of blood. America remained on the sidelines, showing little taste for the horror, but Australia and its tiny neighbor to the east were agitated. Communications and consultations between the leaders of both Commonwealth Dominions had reached a feverish pitch. What to do?

England's military and political leaders, including Churchill, who served as First Lord of the Admiralty, searched for a way to break the deadlock. Churchill convinced his
colleagues that a successful assault on the Dardanelles, controlled by Germany's ally, Turkey, could open a path up the peninsula and enable British and French forces to supply the Russian army, attacking from the east. More troops were needed.

As plans for the assault were hastily developed, a call went out to Britain's allies, especially in the Asia/Pacific. The leaders of the Australian Federation and New Zealand's small, but competent military corps that had distinguished itself during the Boer War were called upon to enter the campaign. The two sparsely populated lands were eager to comply. The call up enticed thousands of young men from all corners of Australia. For most, this was an adventure. Few of those who rushed to volunteer at makeshift recruitment centers across the country had ever been more than twenty kilometers from their place of birth. This was their chance to see the world and come home with exciting stories about their exploits. From shore to shore the continent's youth rose up.

Aaron signed up at the tiny recruitment office in Apollo Bay. When he left early in the morning to make his way to the village, Melba was still asleep. He told her nothing of his plan. He had no stomach for the endless argument that would have ensued. He felt guilty about keeping such an important decision from his mother, but he knew she would rail against his wish, using every tool at her disposal, including tears, to break his resolve. This time he was determined to overcome her influence and find his own way. It was not that he did not love his mother. He did with all the same reverence that most sons held for the first important woman in their life. However, as her only child and fatherless, despite his surrogate grandfather's tutelage, she dominated his life, clinging to him with a mixture of love and fear that all but smothered. In three days he would travel by train to the army training ground outside Sydney. He girded his emotions to weather the storm of rebuke he would have to endure thankful that it would only be a few days.

The shock of her son's enlistment tore through Melba almost as painfully as the heartbreak that gripped her when her husband went silent at sea. Over the next three days she visited an assortment of emotions upon Aaron, from earsplitting bursts of outrage to heart wrenching tears of anguish. Stoically, Aaron withstood her onslaught, knowing the decision was made and there was nothing she could do. He hated the hurt in her voice, but he was determined to step forward as his own man. He had unwavering confidence that the war in Europe was being waged for the very soul of his English heritage. He had to be a part of it. And, like his fellow Australians who viewed themselves as Brits first regardless of the 1901 establishment of the Australian Federation, he had total confidence in the superiority of the British military. It could not be defeated. Only triumph and glory awaited any man who joined the fight.

Melba knew better. She never understood the blind allegiance that the people of Australia held for Mother England. As an American she had been taught about the Revolutionary War, fought so desperately on the Massachusetts mainland, not far from Nantucket's shores. She knew even more of the War of 1812 because many of the families who had populated her island could tell tales of their forebears who had been unceremoniously kidnapped into naval servitude on the high seas by British warships. Even the Civil War was a bone of contention in the minds of those island families who gave up their sons to the Union. Did England unite with the North to defeat the hated slavery of the South? Had it done so, how many graves out on Prospect Hill might never have been necessary? To her, the English were a callous people, only too ready to
sacrifice the citizens of other lands in dubious, if not, blatant attempts to dominate the commerce of the world. She saw this obscene war in Europe as more of the same. Silly arguments between arrogant monarchs, sold to naïve countrymen on both sides as a great battle between good and evil. That England was also the world's most dogged advocate for the rule of law and democracy escaped her reasoning.

On the last day Aaron patiently listened as his mother finally lowered her voice and softly catalogued all that might be lost if he went on this dangerous adventure, including his life. He did not attempt to reason with her. He knew she was overwhelmed with emotion. There was no use trying to make her understand that he felt an obligation to defend the principles of his heritage. She did not go with him to the village where military transports waited to bring him and others from his region to Melbourne where they would board a train for Sydney. Both mother and son believed the strain would be too hard. As the moment of his departure approached Melba swallowed her fears, busying herself with the things that mothers do when their children are about to leave. She prepared a hearty breakfast and sat with him as he ate at the small table in the kitchen. When he was done she cleared the dishes and prepared more food for him to take with him on the train. His recruitment officer had instructed him not to bring personal items, as they would not be needed. Apart from being certain that his clothes were cleaned and pressed she had little else to do.

Conversation came hard. Their thoughts were occupied with different concerns. Aaron tried to calm his nerves as he thought about where he was going, so far from home. He had seen Melbourne only once as a boy. His memory of the city was obscured by the wonder of its sheer size. Sydney, he knew, was much larger. The prospect of the military training also filled him with curiosity and nervousness. He had never held a gun. In battle he would be called upon to shoot at other men. Could he do it? Could he kill? His mind was far away as he sat with his mother in the cottage his grandfather built.

Melba resigned herself to a fate she never expected. With the deaths of her husband's surrogate parents, she had spent much of her time considering what should be done with the farm. Eventually, it would belong to Aaron. Still, she wanted more for him, perhaps in her own country where the opportunities seemed endless. Secretly, this had been one of her reasons for wanting to take him home to her family on Nantucket. She wanted him to see another land where his imagination might be piqued and some new destiny found. If their sailing had not been aborted, she knew they would already be safe with her mother and father. The war would be far off and Aaron would be occupied with wondrous new things to consider. Now, she had to decide what to do as she worried for her child. She could fend for herself on the farm, but certainly the market in Apollo Bay would remain closed. Should she stay while he was away? That was the central question. Could she endure the silence and loneliness? ‘Damn this infernal war,' she whispered, to herself. ‘Damn the men who made it happen, damn them for taking Aaron.'

As the moment arrived for him to leave she buried her thoughts and gazed up at his face, smiling with all the courage she could muster. Aaron smiled back, taking her hand and raising her from the table. Their embrace lingered as each held the other tight. He kissed her forehead, ignoring the tears that glistened in her eyes. Then he turned and stepped through the door. Melba watched, heart breaking, as he ambled down the path, turning one last time to wave before he trudged around the bend and out of sight.

***

In four short weeks Aaron found himself driven to top physical condition while outfitted in a drab woolen uniform that chafed his skin from neck to ankles. A lifetime on the farm had given him a capacity for the rigors of constant exercise. Hardships that other men found difficult barely impacted his ability to learn all that was required. On the firing range he quickly took to his carbine. His platoon leader was impressed, soon taking Aaron under his wing to act as his second during various training exercises. His spirits and those of his fellow recruits remained high throughout the shortened training that ordinarily would have lasted eight weeks.

The troop ship sailed for Egypt in early January 1915, carrying four thousand Australians and New Zealanders. The unified troops came under a joint military formation called the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps or, ANZAC, for short. Aaron's infantry platoon was part of the Australian 1st Division that was joined by another division of New Zealanders. Within days of their arrival they came under the command of the British Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Yet no one believed the ultimate destination would be anywhere other than Europe.

In early March, after weeks of drudgery on the target lines, word reached Egypt of a naval engagement to the north in Turkey. The better informed knew that Russia, was suffering bitter defeat on the Eastern Front because the Ottoman's had cut supply routes to its stranded troops. Churchill had given the order for the long awaited Dardanelles naval assault. Overconfidence proved costly. The British naval attack on the narrowest point of the strait was a dismal failure. The obsolete battleships maneuvered into the passage only to find an array of well-placed mines that crippled the assault. After only a few days heavy losses caused the British strategists to cease all further attempts to breach the strait until ground forces could be transported to the region.

Four weeks passed, giving the Turks, already boosted by their initial success, a chance to dig in. Gifted with talented young officers, the Turks surmised that the British effort would not end with just a single defeat on the water. Wherever there was a chance for foreign troops to land the Turkish commanders quickly seized the high ground, fortifying them with gun emplacements. From these positions the heavy guns could fire down upon any attempted landing on the beaches below.

On April 25, 1915, British forces landed on the tip of the peninsula at Helles. Simultaneously, the Anzacs began their assault to the north from the Aegean Sea, landing in a small cove at Gaba Tepe, later to be known as Anzac Cove. Ignoring intelligence reports indicating that the Turks were prepared, troop ships came to anchor off shore at dawn and began dropping boats into the water. Aaron's platoon was among the first to paddle toward the beach. Gradually, the first wave formed a quiet flotilla. In the eerie gray silence, broken only by the soft rhythmic swoosh of oars passing through water, it was hard to believe that the Turks were waiting. Yet they were deftly hidden, alert and ready.

When the boats came within twenty meters of the beach, platoon leaders gave the signal to disembark. The Anzacs slid over the sides and stepped into the waves. High above, the Turkish guns were readied for action. Then, with stunning surprise, a wall of mayhem was laid down with instant catastrophic results.

Aaron saw his fellow soldiers scream and fall. Within seconds, a bullet slammed into his carbine, ripping it from his hands as he looked in terror at the falling bodies all around. The cacophony of shouts and thunderous explosions destroyed all semblance of
order as men scrambled to protect themselves, not knowing where to shoot or how to find the shore. His platoon leader was among the first to die, some five meters from where Aaron stood, trembling with the water lapping his knees. The beach looked far away as he tried to make his mind work. In that terrifying moment he felt himself to be singularly alone with no one to show him the way.

He was nudged from behind by one of the empty boats that drifted aimlessly among the floating bodies. Quickly, he climbed into it, hunkering down as low as possible. The boat gave little solace to his nerves as bullets riddled its side inches above where he lay curled in a fetal position. The screams of dying men grew louder even as the withering fire from the ridges above intensified. After what seemed like hours, but was a mere ten minutes, the sharp crack of bullets hitting the edges of his boat diminished, but Aaron was afraid to lift his head to look. Suddenly, a heavy limp body slammed on top of him. Then another soldier flung himself into the boat. As Aaron clutched at the headless torso that crushed the breath from his lungs, he saw the other soldier rise up and fire his rifle upward at the ridgeline. Then the soldier dropped low and shouted.