A War Through Time Semester Project

My project focuses around the concept of war. The main character is a knight from a war taking place before the Hundred Years War. During the story, he comes to experience wars involving Britain and France on French land throughout the centuries. He sees that while the time and equipment changes, the battleground does not, and brings to light different views of looking at history.

Link: link

The boat docked at harbor in Rions, England. Formerly a French garrison, stolen from the English upon the king’s failure to meet the French king and pay homage to him, now successfully reclaimed by the English navy. Harth stepped off, along with his fellow knights, ready to ride off to claim another town from under France’s rule. He was in the area of Gascony, in the year 1294 AD, and after four cold months traversing the water from England to the southern tip of France, Harth was finally able to get off of the boat and begin the march from Rions to Bayonne, to continue the expedition. He was a knight under the command of John St. John, under king Edward I. He, along with a group of knights as well as many infantry, were to march to the city and lay siege, moving North from there to reconquer Gascony and claim it for the Crown.

After hours of unloading, preparations and organizing of ranks, the order was finally received to march. The whole war machine began to move, starting with the infantry, then the mounted units, including Harth himself, and finally the lieutenant John St John. The march was slow, especially considering the winter weather, but after traveling about 250 kilometers, one month later, they had arrived at the English garrison, now populated by French forces at Bayonne. Tents were set, and a siege planned. An initial strike was ordered, to test the defenses, and the next day Harth lined up with his fellow knights behind the front lines of infantry. The call was sounded. As a unit they attacked.

Almost immediately, Harth felt strange. Never had he felt like he did then. It was bizarre as if he were not participating in the attack but was looking on the event from above. He could see the infantry failing to access the garrison, and eventually the army pulled back. He saw himself follow along, when suddenly, he was not there anymore! His horse stumbled, surprised, which caused the rest of the line of knights to look, bewildered at the empty position which Harth had formerly held. Harth blinked, trying to figure out what he had just seen occur. Had he died? Had he vanished? He closed his eyes, willing the sensation to go away.

Yells suddenly cropped up around him. Opening his eyes, he was in the front line, holding a pike against a wholly unfamiliar castle.  He cried out in confusion, and next to him, someone cursed, and started asking him who he was. All around him, other pike-holding infantries charged along with him. He seemed to be on the edge of a line, and was suddenly dragged out of line by someone to his right into a nearby bush. He came face-to-face with the pikeman that had exclaimed at his call. “Alright, who are you?” he asked

“I would ask you the same question. Not only that, but where are we?” Harth responded.

“Have you been living under a rock? We are in the middle of attacking Fort Montmuran!”

“What are you talking about? That is in Brittany! And who are you to speak to me like that?”

“Who do you think you are? You are no better than any other infantry. You speak like a noble, but look at you! Peasant’s clothes, pike in hand. You are no noble. As for the fort, where do you think we are? Normandy?” Harth was taken aback. Never before had been treated like this by anyone of a lower rank than him. He was the son of a baron, and five years knighted. To be told that not only was he not a noble, but that he was a peasant, and to be treated like one, was unsettling.  Not only that, but he had just been told that he had somehow been transported across the full country of France, in the region of Brittany. “Okay, ignoring your insults, can you please explain to me why I have suddenly been transported from Gascony to Brittany?”

“Gascony? In the Aquitaine area?”

“Of course. Do you know of another?”

“That is under French rule! Are you saying that you are French?”

“Of course not! I am an Englishman! I was in the process of reclaiming Gascony for the Crown when I suddenly found myself here.”

“What are you talking about? Reclaiming? From my birth that region has been under French control.”

“How is that possible? It was only taken from us in 1294, only last year.”

“I’m sorry, 1294?!”

“Of course!”

“That was 60 years ago! This year is 1354!” This was even more stunning. How could he be 60 years from the attack on Bayonne? He had only just left. But then again, he was also in Brittany, nowhere near Gascony. He was given no more time to think on the problem, though, because he was yanked up onto his feet by the other man, and together they reentered the battle. Up ahead, the sounds of war could be heard, and from the sounds, it seemed the English army was losing. They both charged on ahead, ready to fight, despite Harth’s clumsiness with a pike (he had only tried it once as a child, on a whim). However, as they approached the thick of the battle, Harth had the same external feeling as before, and closing his eyes, found himself once again far away from the action happening in front of him. As he listened, however, the sounds of battle were replaced with the sound of grinding metal and people clambering over each other, and, in the distance, the occasional sound of something like thunder. Unlike before, he first singled a lone man out for questioning. He was sitting on a barrel, cleaning a strange tube with a handle. “Excuse me,” Harth began, sidling up next to the man “would you be able to tell me what is going on?”

“What’d you do? Drink too much last night? We’re in the middle of a siege!” The man responded.

“I see. Where exactly is this siege taking place?”

“You really must have been hit hard. We’re on the island of Ile-De-Re, attacking a French garrison. Now if you don’t mind, I’m busy”

“About that. What is that device you are cleaning?” The man gave Harth a blank stare. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am”

“Blimey, man! This is a gun! A ranged weapon! Do you know what a weapon is? Or are you a tourist exploring a battlefield?”

“I know what a weapon is. I’m not an idiot. Is that device like a crossbow?”

“Yes, I suppose, only faster, more deadly, and a heck of a lot easier to use. Where have you been for the last 50 years?”

“50 years? What year is this?” As the man, sputtering, began to respond, a call rang out. Despite somehow being nowhere near his original home in both time and space, Harth recognized the call as a call to arms. The man grunted, pulling himself up and slinging his “gun” over his shoulders, he moved swiftly to the area where the army was concentrating. Harth, not knowing what to do, followed along. “Why are we fighting exactly?”

“Look, we’re about to attack a fortified structure with less-than-optimal plans, I would really like to stop listening to your blathering.”

“Just tell me, already!”

The man glanced back. “Privileged, are we? Fine. The French seem to think that Catholicism is still an uncorrupted religion. We’ve come to help those who think otherwise. Happy?” At this, Harth stopped cold in his tracks. “Catholicism? As in Christianity?”

“You know any others?” Harth was baffled. “What religion are they-I mean we?”

“I don’t know what you would call it. Lutheranism? Either way, it’s still Christianity.”

“Still Christianity? Like the Eastern Christianity?”

“I guess, but they’re wrong and we’re right.” The man moved on, but Harth stood, contemplating the reality that he was now going to war against the religion he had lived with his entire life, in support of some rebellious secondary Christianity that all of England believed in.

He had no more time to dwell on that, though, because he found himself in the front line, being handed a part of a long siege ladder. Having never been directly on the front line before, Harth could not help but feel mildly nervous, but despite that, the anticipation of battle overwhelmed that idea. As a knight, he had participated in enough battles, mostly squabbles between baronies and small French raids, to anticipate the start of a battle. However , once the horn was sounded, and he and his ladder-carriers began their rush towards the wall, something seemed different. Instead of looking at archers shooting down on an attacking army, he was looking up at soldiers holding both crossbows as well as the strange tubes, which he got to see in action firsthand on the soldiers around him. The devices popped loudly into a puff of smoke, and a man fell next to him, bleeding. They didn’t seem very accurate, and took a while to reload, but were deadly when they landed a hit.

Finally they reached the wall. Harth paused, finally looking back at the army that he was letting into the walls. It was a pitiful sight, with far too few people, many even who looked sick, and they had a few strange hollow battering rams that looked vaguely like that man’s “gun,” but were useless, now that the army was at the wall. Despite this view, he got to work with the other ladder carriers, pulling it up against the wall. However, as soon as they got it in the air, it was clear how not well thought-out the pan was. The ladders were too short! No one could climb the walls to attack the fortress, and the guards at the top began to take aim at him and those around him. Harth squeezed his eyes shut, and immediately felt outside the scope of the battle, just like last time. The noises drew more distant, until they were overcome by the sound of water, and a familiar sense of rocking came to him.

Opening his eyes, Harth was on a massive ship, much larger than anything he had ever seen before. It was clearly a military vessel, but much larger than any ship he had ever been on. He could see to his side several more ships that looked similar in size. They all looked worse for wear, with strange scorch marks like what might come from fire around scars in their hulls. They also had rows of small covered windows, too small to see out of, and out of place on a military ship. He tried to gauge where he had ended up this time, but the warm weather threw him off. As he was thinking, a man behind him called out. “You’re a long way from home sir.”

Harth spun around. “What do you mean by that?”

The man smiled and winked towards open space. “I just mean your appearance was untimely.”

Harth narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“No one of consequence. You want to know what just went on before you showed up, right, sir?”

This was the first time someone had referred to him as “sir” since the attack on Bayonne. Confused, Harth responded. “Yes…”

“Well, we have just failed a naval battle against the French near the island of Minorca.”

“Minorca? Like in the Mediterranean?”

“The very same. We are now headed to Gibraltar, where I can’t imagine Admiral Byng will receive a very hearty welcome.”

“Byng? What year is this?” Harth asked, sitting down next to the queer man.

“1756, by my count, though I can’t imagine it’s the same for you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” the man said, smiling.

“Never mind that,” Harth responded quickly. “What can you tell me of the goings on between France and England?”

The man glanced at him. “England? I do think you mean Great Britain, of which England is a member.”

“No, Britain is the island, sharing the area with Scotland, unless you intend to say that Scotland is under English rule?”

“Not quite. Look at our flag.” Harth glanced upwards, and saw that the flag flying high above them on a massive mast, was in fact St. George’s Cross, superimposed onto the Scottish blue cross. “I see. Well, my question still stands. What has been happening between the two nations?”

The man laughed. “Quite a lot, I must profess. You need to be more specific. When do you want me to start?”

“As far back as possible, I suppose.”

He laughed again. “That’s pretty far. How about I start at 1336?”

Only 42 years after the attack on Bayonne. “Alright. Begin.”

The man leaned back, and began to speak. “Starting back in 1336, The English government and the French government fought over the right to rule the country of France. Due to specific relations between France and England, when the French king died, both countries erupted into conflict over who holds the right to the country. For the next 100 or so years, France and England fought, until finally France retook control of their country, took over Gascony, and stopped fighting in 1453.

“For the next 150 years, various smaller wars plagued the two countries, keeping both in a constant state of conflict. Along with these wars, a German monk decided to stir things up. He started a reformation of the Church, splitting the whole world in half. Of course, by this point, the world had doubled in size, and the pockets of countries had doubled in size. I can see your face, and yes, we just so happened to find a whole other continent floating in the ocean, which proceeded to make Spain, France, and Britain very rich. But besides that, the split in the Church led to wars between practically every country, including Britain and France, in support of protestant Huguenots in France.

“Fast forward a few years and a few wars, we now come to today, where our country, along with Prussia and Portugal is fighting against France, Russia, Spain and Austria. We just finished fighting with France over in the New World over some land, which we won, though that seems to have had unintended side effects, but never mind that. That is the situation we live in now. Quite a few years later, and still fighting against France.”

Harth’s head spun. Not only had England become a new country and a new continent been discovered, but it seemed that Britain and France hadn’t stopped fighting for 520 years. It seemed bizarre. How could these two countries, which were only arguing over a small portion of land in his time, still be fighting now over different lands? It made the war he fought seem like nothing. How long into the future will this continue? How many more wars will be fought in the future? Will there ever be an end? The whole game of war seemed ridiculous now. Why fight in wars if they will never end, if there will always be a next war to fight over another part of land? If he ever found his way back to own time, he didn’t believe he would be able to continue as a knight. His view had been expanded. Of course, that would require that he find a way back home.

The navy worked its way to Gibraltar over the next few days. While he was on the boat, Harth learned more information about where he was and what had happened previously. He learned the actual reasons behind the unification of Britain and Scotland. It had been decided after Scotland’s failed attempts to colonize the New World, which was known as America, and after the country was practically broke. He learned of the vast British empire, spreading across the entire world, not only in America, but also in the Eastern lands of India, Australia, and others that he had never heard of. He learned that the windows along the sides of each ship were in fact hiding large guns known as cannons that were also responsible for the scorch marks on the side of the ships. As they pulled into the Gibraltar docks, however, Harth felt once again his mind pulling away from the scene. Having been there for multiple days, Harth had hoped he had finished being transported around, but no luck. As the world faded from view, he looked down and almost thought he saw the strange man waving at him as he vanished from view.

Opening his eyes, Harth was greeted with a roaring sound of some sort of creature above him. Standing erect immediately, he yanked down by someone next to him. “Are you insane? Do you want to die?” Looking over, Harth looked into the eyes of a man in a completely different uniform, holding a more complex-looking gun. “Sorry, what?”

“You stood up! you could have gotten your head blown off!” Looking around, Harth saw he was in a wide trench in the ground, a completely different sight than on a ship.

“I apologize. Would you please be able to explain just where and wen I am?”

The man looked at him strangely. “You sound French, but like old French, but you speak English. Who are you?”

“My name is Harth. Could you please answer my question?”

“Harth? That’s a strange name. I would think you’d know where you are. Near the river Somme, France, 1916, in the middle of the largest war the world has ever seen.”

“France? We’re still fighting France?”

“Who’s side are you on? The French are with us against the Germans!”

“Germans? Like Prussia?”

The man looked confused. “No, I mean like Germany. The country. Unified for many years now.”

Harth was confused. France? Britain? Working together? He wasn’t able to ask many more questions, though as something farther ahead erupted into a massive explosion. The noise was deafening. “What was that?”

“The bombers. We’re about to attack. I would grab your gun and get ready to run.”

“Run where?”

“Towards La Boisselle, a village where Germans have taken refuge. We intend to recapture it.” Suddenly, a call was sounded. People started rushing down the trenches with guns, and one man quickly thrust a gun into Harth’s hands. Above his head, a massive metal bird flew, making the same roaring noise he had heard earlier. Moments later, another boom was heard in the distance. As a unit, the soldiers leapt up onto the surface and began to run. Harth followed, towards one of the fastest guns he had ever seen. It was spitting hundreds of pellets out at everyone, with much greater accuracy. From the village, large red pellets seemed to fly by themselves before exploding, injuring many around it. This war, whatever the cause, was so much more deadly than any war that had come before. He watched numerous people drop like flies against the large rotating gun and the flying red pellets. As they neared the village, more soldiers, sporting different colors, emerged, and the two groups began hand-to-hand combat combined with the firing of their own guns at each other, often killing on impact. 

Harth wanted so badly to escape from this place, and blessedly, the feeling of disconnect came as a man was turning towards him, ready to shoot. He felt himself being pulled away from the horror that was that battle. The largest war in the world? Was that happening everywhere, or only in France? And why, after hundreds of years of fighting the same enemy had his country decided to join that enemy in the fight against another? How bad must they have been to merit the collected effort of two global superpowers? Or was something else afoot? This was the same land fought over between Britain and France. Had anything really changed, or was the enemy the only thing different, if that? He only hoped wherever he landed next would be more peaceful.

That turned out to not be so. The shouting hardly decreased at all, and opening his eyes Harth found himself crammed in a metal boat transporting hundreds of men across what looked like the Thames. Britain was once again invading France. Nothing had changed. However, as he looked towards their destination, he noticed some specific differences. For one, there seemed to be an army with weapons just as dangerous as they had been previously. Not only that, but there seemed to be large cannons in the background and what looked like giant metal beasts carrying cannons on their backs. Finally, the flag flying over the French land didn’t look like the traditional blue, instead it was a strange red flag with a twisted plus sign.

As he watched the boats inch closer to this ominous sight, the boat he was in suddenly stopped and dropped its whole front down, allowing the soldiers in it to rush out towards the beasts and the weapons. He watched as the beasts launched large pellets that exploded, the soldiers launched their own weaponry at the attacking force. The British used similar machines that rolled across the water on their own, blasting rounds that did damage. The infantry kept up their belt towards land under heavy gunfire. The death toll around him was immense. Whatever sort of future he was watching was hideous. Worse than any war he had ever seen, this was only one part of the bloodbath that was sure to come. He didn’t even know how far he had gone since the previous battle. Is this the same war? Has it been going on like that other war that went on for 100 years? How many have died to sate the bloodthirst of two nations? Is that flag flying in French territory the Germans that man had mentioned? Had they won? Harth felt himself unable to continue. He collapsed into the river, soldiers around him moving around him as if he were already dead and they didn’t care. How much death had they seen? These machines before him lay waste to all. He now understood that he wasn’t going back to his original life. How could he, after seeing what was going to befall his great-great-great-great-grandchildren?

Harth lay in the water until the tide fell. The soldiers had since marched up the hill, killing all in their wake. They couldn’t be stopped. And why should they be? They were in the hands of a global superpower, pushing them around without thought or care. The entire world would be set upon each other, killing everyone with increasingly larger weapons. Arrows, to guns, to cannons, to bombs, when would it stop? How much destruction would need to occur before people say “enough is enough”? He felt himself drifting away again, and would have fought it if he had the will to move. He drifted, but then stopped. He felt himself looking down at an island he had never seen, but from what he could tell was huge. All of the sudden a pillar of fire erupted from one point on the map. He could feel it consuming hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of lives. That scene faded away, but on the same island, another, larger pillar exploded in another region, killing just as many people. Harth then watched as nation after nation purged their stock of weapons, creating meetings where they can communicate in peace. An opening of borders. Free travel. A relaxation of hostilities. Some hiccups, but an ease towards global peace. Everything moved towards nonviolence. After 800 years of killing, the world had decided to stop.

Harth suddenly woke up with a blinding pain in his side. He was lying on the battlefield in front of Bayonne, where the siege was wrapping up. John St. John’s army had won the siege, the French soldiers stationed in the fort had retreated to the keep, and the inhabitants had let in the army. Struggling, he stood up, and made his way to the walls. English soldiers on the walls noticed him and called out to open the gates. Harth stumbled through the gates to meet with his superiors. After a short discussion with the Lieutenant, it was decided that he would be sent home on the next ship to England. Shaken, Harth spent the whole trip home thinking over what he had witnessed, came to the conclusion that he would withdraw his request to go on any further expeditions. He would remain as a knight, performing other duties, but couldn’t bring himself to want to kill any further. After seeing the world fight for the next 800 years, he decided they didn’t need any help.