"C'mon, all men between the age eighteen and forty-one are required to sign up for the draft!" A rough British voice barked, someone in the crowd nudging Jameson forward as the line moved.

The year was 1939 and Parliament had declared war on Germany, then immediately passed the National Service (Armed Forces) Act to draft men, many unwilling to fight such as Jameson.

The line to get signed up for the draft felt miles long, Jameson uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as he waited.

The male looked up at the cloudy gray sky, rain gently drizzling down for once instead of pouring rapidly like a waterfall much to his relief.

"What's your name?"

The same British voice from before yanked Jameson out of his thoughts, the male quickly scrambling to retrieve his notebook and pen from his vest pocket before writing down his reply.

My name is Jameson Jackson sir, my age is twenty-eight and the only disability I have is that I am mute

The recruiter nodded as he muttered something incoherently under his breath, scribbling Jameson's information onto a piece of paper before stuffing it into a capsule and placing it in the steadily growing pile next to him.

Jameson stuck his notebook and pen back into his pocket as he walked back home, his job as a roll film examiner giving him the day off to register for the draft and spend time at home.

The mute stepped into his small home and let out a silent sigh of relief, shaking the water from his bowler hat as he placed it on the hat rack by the door.

Jameson wiped his shoes off on the mat before stepping off of the entryway, walking towards the kitchen to make himself some tea.

The male sat at the table lost in thought as he started a kettle of water, staring at his hands while trying to imagine a gun in them.

He quickly shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that he wouldn't be drawn in the draft lottery so he wouldn't have to take the lives of other men.

Even though the Germans are supporting terrible things, Jameson added mentally, glancing over at the kettle as it began to whistle loudly.

Jameson hastily moved the kettle off of the stovetop and placed it on a trivet on the table, retrieving a mug from his cabinet before placing a tea bag inside.

Some music would be nice, Jameson thought as he poured some hot water into his mug, placing the kettle back onto the stovetop as he walked over to the radio in the living room.

A hot jazz song from Dixieland immediately began playing, the mute grinning as he danced around in the living room.

"We interrupt this program to announce those who were drawn from the draft lottery in the London district."

Jameson's heart leapt into his throat as he abruptly froze, swallowing hard as he went into the kitchen to retrieve his tea before sitting in the living room to listen.

"John Smith, Rupert Bradbury, Bob Jones, Micheal Strong, Tom Lemmings-"

Jameson couldn't focus on the other names as he prayed that his wouldn't be chosen, the mug shaking in his hands to send hot tea spilling onto the floor.

"-and Jameson Jackson. Best of luck to you!"

Jameson sat stunned as the jazz music returned, the mute quickly shutting off the radio to focus on the thoughts whirling through his head.

Loud banging on the front door caught Jameson's attention, the mute's hands still shaking as he placed the mug down on the table beside him and crept towards the door.

Jameson peeked through the window to see a soldier standing at his door, a uniform, backpack, and gun tucked under his arm as he waited impatiently.

The dapper male took a deep breath before opening the door, plastering a fake smile on his face as he fought to restrain his shaking while the soldier handed the supplies Jameson.

"Meet at the port in an hour." The soldier directed simply before leaving, Jameson standing in the doorway with the uniform, bag, and gun in hand.

The mute closed the door and walked into his bedroom, carefully laying the uniform and bag on the bed while examining the gun.

There was a note attached that stated the type of gun, Jameson glancing at it as is blood ran cold.

Arisaka Type 30. Bolt-Action Service Rifle / Infantry Carbine

Dread knotted Jameson's stomach as he changed out of his clothes and put on the uniform, neatly folding his clothes and placing them into the bag.

The mute didn't dare look at his reflection as he packed up all of his necessities, shouldering the gun once he was finished.

Well, guess I'll have to let my boss know I'll be gone for awhile, Jameson thought wryly as he stepped outside, refusing to look back since he knew that he wouldn't be able to go on if he did.

Hundreds of people were gathered by the pier from all of the districts in the U.K, a few Irishmen in the crowd as well.

Jameson managed to squeeze through the crowd to stand next to a man with a bushy brown beard and crystal blue eyes that matched the mute's, his expression unreadable as he stared ahead.

"Hey, you one of the poor British bastards that got drafted?" The male whispered to Jameson, the dapper male nodding in response.

"Ireland's technically neutral, but there's no way in hell that I'm just gonna stand by as this shit goes on. The name's Shawn Flynn." The Irishman introduced himself, offering Jameson a hand.

Jameson smiled as he shook his hand, retrieving his notebook from his vest to write his name.

"Can ya not talk?" Shawn prompted curiously, Jameson's face flushing a light red hue in embarrassment as he nodded again.

"That's okay, I got your back." Shawn assured him with a wink, the dapper male shyly showing his name in the notebook.

"Jameson Jackson? Well, nice to meet ya!" Shawn exclaimed, the crowd abruptly quieting down as all attention turned to the front of the group.

A man with balding hair stood in the front with a grim expression, his eyes scanning the sea of new soldiers.

"My name is Winston Churchill, and today you're all shipping out to Agordat. We deciphered some codes from the Italians and learned that they're there already at Agordat. After we defeat them, we will be trying to get them on our side." The man explained in a booming voice.

"Best of luck soldiers, you'll be training during the long ride there." Winston Churchill declared, snapping the men a salute before stepping aside.

A large warship was docked and ready for the group, Jameson making sure to stick close to Shawn as they boarded.