Heavy raindrops began to fall on the barren landscape known as No Man’s Land. The path ahead of us was blocked by human debris and shrapnel. My shins were soaked by puddles the size of rivers, hidden by the layer of mist that hovered above the wasteland. I glanced behind me to see my fellow soldiers, who looked mortified. James, a dark-haired skinny adolescent, who was the youngest in our Pals’ battalion, looked as sick as a dog. So scared you could see the tears through the mud on his ashen face. The conditions out here were so dreadful I wished I was still stuck in the trenches. Now that’s a first.