Captain by Sam Angus is an excellent novel on the boy recruits of WWI. Captain, a young boy who isn't an official recruit and his donkey Hey-Ho add emotion and character to a story that is filled with the hardships of war. The book is recommended for a fifth through eighth grade audience. I recommend this great example of historical fiction.
"Hey-Ho had the mournful ancient eyes of all his species, but he was in some ways more donkey than any other. His cans clanked more merrily that those of any other, his bray was louder than any other, his ears somehow sweeter and sadder than any other. He was the quintessence of donkey, all the donkeys of all the centuries distilled in that one little Hey-Ho." (pp. 66-67)
"Dawn fingered her way over the ridge and met a scene of cruel desolation." (p. 67)
"I would stay with them, whatever happened. We'd lived together in the crannies of this barren rock, raked by the same heat, the same cold, the same thirst and hunger and illness. Together we'd snatched our food, our water, from the jaws of death. Wherever we went, we'd go together, two boys in a world of men." (p. 89)
"He stretched out an arm towards the northern end of the bay, but didn't turn his head in that direction. Very slowly I turned mine and looked. Gradually I made out dark mounds, row after row of them, the dark blood of them staining the shingle and running down into the water. I reeled-their throats slit-cut with a knife so they'd die in silence-Hey Ho? No, no, no, surely not-his throat slit?-No-No, not that , not his throat, not Hey-Ho, nor. . ." (p. 98)
"The boat slipped through the starry sea, the moon broke through the clouds and smiled and it seemed that we were moving away into a better world. I saw Hey-Ho's four neat hoofs braced against the boards, the tips of his ears silvered in the moonshine, his long head towards the open sea." (p. 102)
"We were armed once again with our swords, and our mounts were fresh and fit. I grew reckless and wild, taunting death, firing and riding with the best of them. Each gun rattle drummed an accusation in my ears till they might bleed with guilt. I could feel the hot, whistling breath of bullets on my skin, but each skimmed by me and it seemed none could touch me. It seemed my life had a sinister, grinning charm." (p. 201)