It's August 25th, 1914, near Mons Belgium, one month into World War I.

British Lance Corporal J. Doman rides on horseback with his cavalry regiment to reinforce a group of British riflemen

pinned down by unrelenting German gunfire.

As he charges forward, Doman unsheaths his sword, ready to protect the riflemen

and buy them time to escape.

But as he spurs his horse onward, an artillery shell explodes on the ground next to him.

Doan feels shrapnel hit his back like a punch thrown by a giant, and he's tossed from his

saddle. He lands headfirst on the ground, and his vision swims. His fingers fumble around

behind him, trying to find the source of the awful burning, metal embedded in his flesh.

His uniform is wet with blood, and for a moment the world seems to spin around him.

Then Doman's vision goes dark.

When Doman regains consciousness, he recoils in horror at what he sees.

British soldiers lie dead on the ground in every direction.

Then Domain hears footsteps approaching.

He tries to sit up, but he's too weak from blood loss.

A pair of boots come into view, and Domen looks up weakly,

hoping to see the brown and khaki uniform of a British soldier.

What tucked into the man's boots are the black and gray colors of the enemy.

The soldier calls out something in German.

And as another enemy soldier runs over, Domen wonders if he's about to be shot.

But instead, the German soldiers lift Domen off the ground and put him face down on a stretcher,

carrying him off the battlefield and out of harm's way.

...