Hero, son of Süleyman Ağa, son of Abdullah Ağa, was born in 1892.

"Either be a veteran or a martyr" was whispered in his ear.

Time passed quickly.

The hero has become a tough young man.

Footsteps of the First World War could now be heard in the villages.

They called the military.

The hero walked around each hearth of his extended family one by one and said, "The time has come... I&39;m going...".

He wished everyone well.

There was to go and not come back and not see.

The fire rising on the horizon couldn&39;t wait to engulf him.

On the morning of the trip, Kahraman went before Süleyman Ağa.

His father was waiting for him at the door.

Father and son met eye to eye.

Süleyman Ağa walked towards his son, who was standing in front of the sofa, and put his hand on his shoulder.

He squeezed hard.

"You are going…"

"I&39;m going dad."

“Our honor and dignity are entrusted to you.

Don&39;t blacken our face.

Death is the command of the God.

Do not hesitate.

Our longing for you will be deep.

Here, every eye will look for Hero every morning and he will not forget.

Keep your head up.

Do not turn your back on the enemy.

If you are lucky enough to find your home, you may not find me here. My will is this:

Do not go beyond the word of God.”

Süleyman Ağa hugged his son and kissed him on the forehead.

"Make it right, father."

"I&39;m sorry."

Hero was ready to go.

His older sister, Zekiye, walked up to him and handed him a handkerchief.

He swept his eyes, shining with maternal tenderness, on his brother&39;s face and whispered:

“When you sweat, you wipe it off.”

Hero

He took the handkerchief in awe, like a sacred trust, and placed it in his bosom.

Then he took the large pearls from the fountains of her sister&39;s eyes with his thumb.

"Cry…"

The soldier took one last glance at the lovers and lovers swarming in the courtyard.

Called out:

"Do not forget me!"

A scream broke out in the courtyard.

Exactly 7.5 years later, the ship that brought the prisoners from the Sana Prisoner Camp anchored off Fatsa.

The soldiers, who could not escape from the agony of captivity even in their homeland, were carried to the port by boats.

Blind in one eye, Kahraman set off with a clog and reached Ordu city center after a two-day journey.

She was about to faint from exhaustion and excitement when she came to the door of her older sister Zekiye, who is married to Belikırıkzade Şükrü Efendi.

The doorbell rang…

Zekiye carefully looked at the one-eyed, beggar-looking, devastated and exhausted man standing in front of her…

The hero handed the bloody handkerchief he took from his chest towards his sister…

“Sister…” he said. “My… Hero…”

Zekiye looked towards the handkerchief… He looked and collapsed on the spot.

A handkerchief could best describe what was going on.

But unfortunately he had no language.

Zekiye kept putting the handkerchief on her face for days, as if she wanted to share in every embarrassment, every trouble, every ordeal her brother had lived through for 7.5 years.

(Last Heroes, R. Şükrü APUHAN, 2006, Timaş Publications)