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"Emma! Emma!" The abnormal occurance of Isabella yelling brought Emma flying from her room.
"What's up Izzy?" Emma grabbed the boxload of work that Isabella invariably brought home with her and placed on the table.
"You said yesterday that you wanted an excuse to get thoroughly angry. Well today we received a very nice excuse for getting thoroughly cross. On the whole I do not particularly like war, but as long as they take potshots at each other and leave the civilian populations along I don't mind. But when they start deliberately bombing the civilian populations Ifind that I am made distinctly angry. Yesterday the Germans crossed the English Channel and bombed the coastal towns of Hartlepool, Whitby and Scarborough, and it is not even as if those towns have troops training within their environs."
"Are you serious, Izzy?"
"Would I be telling you if I wasn't? I'm on the point of retiring and going home!"
"WHAT!" Emma stared at her sister in horror.
"I told you, I'm on the point of retiring and going home."
"Then what am I meant to do?"
"Write a letter to the Prussian Emperor expressing your thoughts." Isabella retired in the direction of the kitchen, and soon Emma heard the unmistakeable sounds that marked Isabella making Angel Food Cake. With a slight grin, which was still very grim, Emma retrieved her writing pad from her room and started to write, slowly at first, then with ever increasing speed. What ever had happened in Isabella's office that day, the bombing had not been the only thing to upset her.
"I expect a reply to this you realise!" Emma let out the usual response for when she had been told to write a letter.
"Good!" Isabella's head appeared in the kitchen doorway. "I'm also going to write to the emperor, so you'd better polish up your skills in diplomatic writing."
"Alright." Emma stopped writing for a minute. "What else happened today?"
"I'll tell you later, if later ever arrives. I'm still to annoyed by it to talk now." Isabella's head vanished back into the kitchen. An hour later Emma addressed an envelope and shoved it under the kitchen door, a few minutes later Isabella appeared with the unopened letter in her hand.
"Can I have your pad Em, I need to write my letter to the Kaiser before I'm affected by your peroration."
"Sure." Emma chucked her pad and a pencil onto the table. "Admittedly these things shouldn't be written in pencil, but pencil is much easier to write in then pen."
"You should practice with the pen more." Isabella set to work writing, Emma's letter still unopened by her elbow.
"Father will tell you that the pen is a sinful device."
"What!" Isabella looked up startled. "You've never said that one before."
"No, it arrived in my mail today. Apparently it has something to do with the ink used while writing and the way it is made. He hasn't gone into great depth, but he assures me that it is all to be found in the bible."
"Emma, you just distracted me from my letter, I'm never going to finish it now." Isabella paused just long enough in her laughing to frown briefly at Emma.
"Read mine then and write a response. I'll read what you've written and I'll see what I can respond with."
"I doubt you'll get much but here you are." Isabella handed the pad back to Emma and finally opened her letter, Emma scanned the few lines that Isabella had written, then with a chuckle she started to scribble away on the next page, she then stopped and stripped several pages off the pad.
"Here, use the pad for your response." Emma chucked the pad and another pencil onto the table, then returned to writing her response, for her pains she had received a distracted nod in response.
"Angel Food Cake awaits you in the kitchen, though I think I'm going to have to start cooking something else if we ever go to war, it is a shockingly expensive thing to make. There is so much sugar in it."
"Sugar never hurt anybody." Emma didn't even glance up from the pages she was writing on.
"I call it unfair, how is it that you can just write away like that without showing that you are the slightest bit disturbed by noise, or even pausing as if to consider what you are writing."
"I think as I write, saves a lot of time compared to stopping after each thought to think up another thought."
"That just makes it worse. Go into the other room or something, why did I decide to become a secretary?"
"Because you write an awful lot faster than I do and dislike thinking about what you need to write.....unless it is instilling tact into my refusals for parties."
"Now that sort of thing is fun. Shall I make this note of yours to the Kaiser tactful?"
"Don't you dare, I was deliberately being rude in it. I've now finished with my response, shall I make dinner?"
"No thanks, I'll make it when I'm done here." Isabella returned her attention to the letter she was writing. "The worst of the bombing is that the Germans got away again without a single casualty."
"That doesn't sound at all like the British Navy."
"A heavy fog descended after the bombing, so they sort of accidently passed all but undetected through the British cordon, a few shots were exchanged, but fog apparently makes communication a bit awkward. Do you know anything about this radio communication stuff Em?"
"I don't know a thing about it, but Knightley could probably give you a lecture on the subject and show you how to build one."
"Well ask him next time you see him." Isabella turned back to her letter again, as Emma went into her room and pulled a heavy folder out of her desk. The folder contained sheets of closely written paper, and Emma sat quietly flicking through them for about five minutes, then she pulled a pencil from her pocket and another pad from her desk and started to write again, a steady stream of words onto the page, though she frequently went back and re-read things, making minor corrections, or crossing out and re-writing entire passages. She added new sheets filled with writing at regular intervals to the file, a small piece of coloured card where she had started today.
"Em!" Emma grunted distractedly in response to Isabella's call, then dragged herself out of her chair as the call was repeated.
"What is it?"
"Suppertime, your response is on the table." Isabella's voice came, slightly muffled, from the kitchen. Emma grabbed the response from the table and opened it, she read through it swiftly, chuckling occasionally.
"I wonder whether they would send such a reply if you did send them a letter."
"I doubt it would get through, the blockade by Britain seems to have been fairly successful so far, for absolutely nothing can be got out of Germany now."
"Be interesting what the port officials would make of this letter if they read it."
"Don't try it Em." Isabella placed several containers on the table while Emma produced crockery and cutlery from a nearby cupboard.
"You spoil my fun. Is John calling tonight?"
"Shouldn't think so, I actually hope not, I don't think I could take him calmly enough right now." Isabella's voice tightened again.
"What happened?" Emma took control of a large dish just before Isabella dropped it onto the floor.
"Not much, just the prejudice stuff again, there's nothing I can do about it, I got hit a bit harder though because of this bombing I think." Isabella suddenly dropped down into her chair, her shoulders shaking slightly as she buried her face in her arms.
"How much more do you think you can take?"
"I don't know. She's accused of having Prussian sympathies because of her name. If she changes it they'll decide that she obviously have something to hide. I can't take it Emma, she's my best friend and they are making her life hell."
"Well correct them then, those Prussians have no 'w', tell them to either pronounce her name correctly or to shut up."
"It doesn't work like that. It's not what they say, it's what they don't say."
"Unfortunately one cannot write a letter on a matter like this." Emma stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I wish I could say something to help, but I can't." She rolled her eyes suddenly. "I can't even advise you to read the bible like father always advised me to do."
"Can I borrow John Burnet of Barns?" Isabella suddenly straightened and rubbed her eyes.
"Well, sure." Emma blinked in surprise. "I'll get it for you." And having shaken her surprised head again she went to retrieve the now slightly delapidated volume from her bedroom. "I am absolutely certain that father never read this book before he gave it to me." Emma handed over the book with a grin, then settled down to her supper while Isabella retreated to her room. That book had been read a lot ever since Europe had gone to war, Emma had no idea what Isabella found comforting between its covers, but no other book could supply that comfort.
Elizabeth scanned the post eagerly for a letter from Folin, hoping it would be a slightly thicker envelope then usual if she found it. With a crow of delight she pounced on the cream coloured envelope which was addressed to her, then hurried up to the roof to read it, for indeed it was thicker then usual, a lot thicker.
Of my company, well we are called a mottly bunch and that is a very good description of us. There are four of us Lieutenants under our major. Our major is one cracking good fellow, though a bit of an odd one at times, and he is a mountain, but more on him later. To my left is Lieutenant Charles Bingley of the open heart and carefree nature, he is one of the lucky fellows who manages to take war quite seriously and at the same time make it seem like a joke. To my right is Captain Miles Holloway, officer in charge of the next company, and more than a bit of a pacifist, he doesn't force his view on anyone, but as long as he doesn't go west he is going to climb the military ranks at a pace much faster then yours truly, he started out as a Lieutenant in our company and enlisted about the same time as I did, then the Captain of the next company took sick and so they gave Miles the Captaincy and gave us another Lieutenant. It is no secret that he is only here because his uncle refused to forward his allowance unless he enlisted in an oversea regiment, Carrigan saw to that. Apparently Miles is completely broke except for the allowance he receives from his warlike uncle....But this Uncle has nothing to do with his current position. Why he has remained in our barracks instead of being housed with his own men is matter which is discussed by the privates, and by us when we can't sleep (note at this point that the privates seem particularly good at dreaming up the most horrific reasons for his remaining, they stretch from a belief that Miles is the current Prince of Wales and our barracks are considered safer then the other barracks [a belief which no one believes for very simple reasons.....do not let mama see this letter] right through to a most complex plot which I am ready to swear they got from a shilling shocker [this latter plot seems to concern the morals of every figure of note in Europe, some of which are deceased {a matter which deters them not a wit}...though we have yet to make the connection between this plot and our barracks]). To the right of Miles is Lieutenant James Carrigan, but Carrigan is entirely another matter and I may tell you about him some other time, to say the least he was the last person to settle down in this mottley group, and he didn't come near settling until Miles got his captaincy. And then we have Lieutenant James Ashington-Frankston, who is known to all and sundry as Ashie (yes I believe there is a substantial story behind the name but he won't tell it. Though we were informed very soon after his arrival that it had nothing to do with his name.). Ashie was the Lieutenant who filled in when Miles got his promotion, but if his current track record continues, he won't be with us much longer (a definite pity) for he has the most impressive list of disciplinary breaches I have ever seen, never seems to be in the right place at the right time and he is a past expert in the art of getting caught by superior officers. And yet he is still a magnificent officer, our Major says it is because he only follows orders......then supplements and extends them with ideas of his own, as well as the fact that he proves to his privates that he can do everything that is required of them and perhaps a little above and beyond what is required of them, but he has rotten luck. He, Ashie, is currently causing our Commanding Officer (one Colonel Axleton) more than one headache, and I think the only reason that Ashie hasn't been booted is because of our major.....I will be very surprised if Ashie hasn't been sent to Africa and the Middle East by april. This really doesn't do Ashie justice Beth, don't think hard of him until after you've met him (if you ever do), I really do not do him justice, he must be met to be understood. Ignore what I have written on him and DON'T show this to father, he would die if he read it, for all his breaches and bad behaviour Ashie is actually a much better officer than I am.
Our Major is a cracking good fellow, and is fully expected to become a Colonel in the none to distant future (he was a Captain when he enlisted, but he wasn't left there for very long, had far too many brains and too good a nack when it came to making us behave and follow orders). I would describe him if I knew how, but as I can't find suitable words I shall fail to describe him, but he is a perfect example of pride, and that pride having nothing to do with his person (any other type of pride you get deprived of in the first day.), the only other description I might attempt is a physical description and the most apt description is to liken him to a mountain, he is nearly a foot taller than ME (we cannot be certain of his exact height because he slouches a trifle, not that I blame him, even slouched he can see clearly over the head of every other man in our company), and he isn't lanky or rangy either, infact he is disconcertingly solid for a very large number of privates. Bing actually knew our Major (one of the puzzles of our particular company is that our major is not yet thirty.....though I suppose for the company next to us it is worse, for most of the Lieutenants are older than the Captain) at Eton, then at Oxford (there's about two years between them), but otherwise there is absolutely nothing known about our Major, even he won't tell about his life outside of schooling. I have sometimes wondered why the privates don't supply him with a story, but I think it's because they don't find him at all suitable material, he's a cold fish and very uncanny and yet they'd trust him to hell and back again (they wouldn't trust him at all if he left them in hell). Also is the standing and thoroughly acknowledged fact that our Major has some brilliant methods of enforcing discipline, not the least of which is that he can thrash every member of our company in a fist fight if necessary (a move he has only made once, and then that was because a private was drunk and intended to thrash Bing. That particular private has remained sober ever since) . Most of the other Captains and Majors in our Battallion are easily accounted for but our Major is considered a bit of a mystery....a VERY powerful mystery since you don't get dumped a Major that young unless you've had previous military service (which he lays no claim to) or you have powerful friends in the higher political ranks (which he doesn't claim either). But for all the mystery (which gives us something to discuss when we can't sleep) he's got to be one of the best Majors in the entire war.....excepting his unfriendly habit of reading your thoughts, most disconcerting to have him answer your question before you ask it. Oh well enough of my fellow officers.
It is now two days later and I do appologise for the condition of this letter, Bing sat on it while I was out yesterday so I couldn't rescue it. Military Parlance is something you will have to learn a bit of, as it will probably riddle these letters, so pass your serious little eyeball over the following and try to remember it.
Well I think that covers the lot, but I'm not going to guarantee, new words crop up every other day.
Seems weird to be writing to you, I always wrote at school, but here I have absolutely nothing to write about, all I can think of is home. So near, yet so far. I'm wallowing in mud out here while you and Jane scatter decorations on the christmas tree, trying to prevent Lydia and Kitty from eating the popcorn balls, while Mary reads aloud her latest discovery in some dusty tome or other. What would I give right now to hear even Mary's eternal spoutations of wisdom, and yes I know, spoutations is not a word, but it so aptly suits what Mary does in my humble opinion (or maybe not so humble). I read back through this and come to the conclusion that your brother must be insane. We are now off to do further drill and the post will leave any minute, so I'm going to dump this one final time in the mud while I go ask of our Major about some minor thought I had.
Life is beautiful.....or it would be if the damn chooks would get off my bed......and I will get homesick if I don't terminate this promptly and join in the DELIGHTFUL task of shoveling cow pats out of the Major's office (we'll spend the evening trying to find out how the cows got into the office in the first place).
Since I wrote that last bit we have been shuffled to somewhere else in England, and the post is on the verge of going out. By my calculations this should arrive sometime around Christmas Day, so a merry christmas to you all, please remember me and say hi to everyone.
P.s. It seems I might get some leave during next month, by the sounds it means we will be moving out.Dear Beth,
MUD! that is the only way to describe this place, and a very good description it is, for that substance surrounds us. I would have given a position for this letter, but for all my supposed knowledge of the British Isles, all I can tell you is that I am somewhere in South England, ask father he will be able to tell you where I am. I have also neglected to date this for the simple reason that I don't actually know when I'm going to let it go and send it off to you, and I think that it is very embarrassing to receive a letter dated several months previously, but maybe that's just me being daft. But back to the mud, which we are buried in, and I will give you a bit of stuff so you know what life is like. We spend our time marching, doing drill and rifle practice and digging, how this all connects I continue to to be unsure, but never the less it appears to be considered important by the people here, so we dully learn it all. Though I will admit that while we have been here we have formed a fairly solid group, we just fuss because one has to do something. My uniform was made probably a century or so ago, and it was made for a man who was at least a foot taller than me, but it is better than some of the privates uniforms, one of mine has too small a coat and trousers in the region of three sizes too large so he is continually tripping over them. Our barracks leak, so my shirts are ALWAYS wet, and the food isn't always so terrific, but it's more edible than the stuff they get next door.
To go west = to die (cheerful isn't it, hope I never do it)
Front = This is the battle front. All nicely protected by barbed wire and sentries.
Batteries = Gun placements. Big gun placements.
The Line = Another name for the battle front.
The Lines = Company campsite back from the Line.
No man's land = The land between the lines, no man in his right mind goes near their if he can avoid it.
Digger/Sapper = The lads who dig our trenches, ranging from the front line trenches, to the communication trenches.
Cooties = Lice (don't actually know if you know that one)
Hun, Jerry, Boche = All names given to the enemy, and excepting 'Boche' they are all also used when refering to raw recruits. Survive the first week and you cease owning the title.
My love to you,
Ben
Victoria walked slowly up the path towards the 'Little House', she had chosen to come home for christmas because her father had been failing steadily and she had wanted to see him at least once more. The doctor did not expect him to live through to next summer, infact Dr Edwards had not expected him to last until christmas, but James Elliott had been displaying remarkable tenacity when it came to staying alive.
"Vicky!" Mrs March's voice had carried clearly to her, and Victoria raised a hand to wave briefly, then continued her climb at a slightly accelerated pace.
"Good afternoon Mrs March." Victoria gave her honourary mother a quick hug before coming into the kitchen with her.
"Elliot's not finished at the school for another hour yet if that's who your looking for."
"I do not only come here to see Elliot. No wonder Mrs Becky keeps trying to set us up if that's what you think."
"Don't worry Vicky, I was hoping you didn't only come up here to see Elliot." Mrs March smiled and went to the cooking that was always on the stove.
"Hmmph, no greeting for me. Meg, I really do think the younger generations have been deteriorating."
"You think nothing of the kind Emilie, so stop being rude." Victoria gave the small figure by the stove a quick kiss on the cheek. "How's the knitting going?"
"Not at all well, I keep getting interrupted and dropping stitches."
"Gives you lots of practice, I still can't pick up stitches I drop. I always end up with triangle instead of squares, tell me your secret to squares Emilie? I would like to make myself a nice blanket."
"The secret, Vicky, is........practice." Emilie gave a small chuckle. "You seen Elliot lately?" Emilie continued her knitting.
"No, not recently."
"Something the matter Vicky?" Mrs March had been worried by a brief shadow that had passed over Victoria's face.
"I don't know." Victoria spoke slowly, carefully feeling for the words she wanted, then offering them tentatively.
"Is it Elliot?" Mrs March frowned at Victoria's slow nod of response.
"Best tell us." Emilie's voice spoke up from her corner again, and Victoria sat down by the table, her elbows resting on its worn top and her chin in her hands.
"Well if I can't tell you, I can't tell anyone." Vicky gave a slight shrug. "He's stopped talking to me."
"What's that Vicky?" Mrs March had a very worried expression on her face.
"He's stopped talking to me. No I don't mean he won't say hello or be polite, but Ellie has gone, he does not tease me like he used to, he never tries to prolonge my visits. He seems to have vanished, the Elliot March who meets me in the street and places is superficial, a shell, he's shut me out."
"Has it ever happened to you before?" Emilie's voice spoke up suddenly from her corner, the sharp note in her voice surprised Victoria.
"No." Victoria shook her head, and looked a little surprised.
"That is not good, in fact, that is bad. Meg, we have a problem." Emilie had laid her knitting aside for the first time in Victoria's memory.
"Has he shut you out before?" Victoria looked back and forth between the two women.
"Oh yes." Mrs March spoke matter of factly and turned back to her cooking. "We assumed he shut everyone out before, but obviously not. He shut us out while he waited for his results on whether he could get into the Academy, he shut us out when he tried for the Redmond Scholarship. He shut us out when Becky started harping on about you two getting married, and then he went to Coldstone and we saw him not at all. It seems to be a thing Elliot does, I hadn't realised that he'd never shut you out before."
"Do you know why he does it?"
"Probably for the same reason that my father did it. He is afraid, afraid of failing, afraid of hurting others, afraid of being hurt himself. Even at the best of times you have to be brutal to get information out of him."
"But what on earth is he afraid of now? He can't be afraid of dying or being hurt, for he hasn't gone to the war. He can't be afraid of being ridiculed, because he's been ridiculed for most of his life. So what is he afraid of?"
"We don't know. We were just waiting for him to get over it." Mrs March had resumed stirring her pot, and Emilie had picked up her knitting again.
"Well I'm not waiting. Mrs March, I appologise in advance but Elliot is going to be late home tonight." Victoria then stood up in determination and collected her coat and hat. "But I assure you, he won't be home 'til he at least stops shutting me out."
"Oh dear." Mrs March had been silent until Victoria had left. "Oh well, she appears angry enough that she might just manage to get through to him." Mrs March resumed her cooking.
Victoria was still absolutely furious when she reached the schoolhouse, it was not that she was shut out that had so enraged Victoria, but the fact that he regularly shut out both his mother and his Great-grandmother, and that was something Victoria was not going to tolerate. It made no difference to her what Elliot did, she was returning to Kingsport the next day, but Mrs March and Old Emilie were not leaving, they had to continue living with Elliot, and though they had concealed it well under indifference it didn't take a genius to realise that they were hurt badly everytime Elliot did it. But what Victoria saw when she peeked into the schoolhouse, verifying he was alone before she entered, took a lot of the rage out of her.
Victoria had seen Elliot March in nearly every mood he had, she had seen him radiant with happiness and delight, when he had got a first class degree at Redmond and nearly been top of his class, and she had seen him moping around while he awaited exam results, but never had she seen him in a state of collapsed defeat and despair. He sat at the desk, shoulders hunched forward, with his face buried in his hands, utter defeat was written in every line of his frame. It was infact, the fact that he had never appeared so defeated that took most of the anger out of Victoria, and when she finally knocked and entered the schoolroom, her fury of the walk had been reduced to a medium-hard simmer.
"Elliot?" He obviously had not heard her knock, or heard her enter, as he was still slumped at the desk, but the minute she spoke he sprang out of his chair as if he had been bitten, sending the chair crashing back against the wall.
"I beg your pardon Vicky, I had not realised you had entered. You startled me." Having waved her a greeting, he immediately turned and righted his chair before turning to stack his books.
"Leave them Ellie." She spoke quietly, but once again he looked up as if he had been bitten.
"Why?"
"You and I need to talk and I don't want to have you fiddling with things."
"Do we have to do it here?" Elliot looked gravely back at her, for the first time meeting her eyes since she had entered.
"No, I was intending to take you for a brief walk to a place I know. So get your coat. We'll pick your books up on the way home....AFTER we've talked." Victoria promptly went to stand by the door while Elliot picked up his heavy great coat and pulled on his boots.
"After you, my lady." Elliot bowed gracefully while gesturing her to proceed him out the door, the result being that he gestured her to go through the floor, and had the circumstances been anything but what they were Victoria would probably have laughed. She took his arm as the cleared the school yard and entered the deeper and softer snow of the surrounding countryside, unpacked from numerous feet. It was a small gully that Victoria lead them into, the heavy trees blocked out both the light and the snow, so the floor of the gully was iron hard dirt, frozen by the weather.
"It's much nicer in the spring I assure you Elliot."
"Then I'll remember it's here." Elliot watched her curl up at the bole of one of the numerous trees, then sat down and crossed his legs nearby. "It's not that bad as it is actually." Elliot turned his head to inspect the gloomy depths they were in.
"Why are you shutting me out?" Victoria realised that Elliot would quite successfully ramble on about this place until the fading light made a return to civilisation essential, unless she interrupted him and prevented him from doing it.
"Shutting you out, Vicky?" His head spun to look at her in surprise.
"Yes shutting me out!"
"But, I'm....." He got no further as Victoria cut in on top of him.
"Yes you are Elliot March, and what's more, you know you are. I asked you to come here because we needed to talk about something. I told you that in the schoolroom before we even left, and yet you have deliberately steered all converstion into mundane subjects. Subjects that bore both of us witless, but you use as a safeguard against the world." She had seen a look of protest come into his face, and hurridly steamrolled on. "And what's more you have also shut both your mother and your Great-grandmother Emilie out. I'm not so worried about your shutting me out Elliot, I'm returning to Kingsport tomorrow and quite possibly won't see you again for years, but your mother and Emilie live with you, and when you shut them out you hurt them a lot. You can't shut out everyone who cares about you Elliot, or they eventually stop caring about you. We won't care if you hurt, we won't care what happens to you, all we'll know is that as soon as something we might be of use to you comes up, you shut us out, you fend us off with inane witticisms and mundane conversations. People don't like being shoved aside as soon as someone starts to hurt or have some concern, they want to help, and by shoving them aside and fending them off, you do not protect them from what you feel, all you do is hurt them, you make them feel inadequate and useless." Victoria broke off as her emotions threatened to break through.
"But Vicky...." He stopped as her furious glare appeared over her arm.
"Think of Emilie, Elliot, think of your own Great-grandmother. She is 90 years old Elliot, and she hasn't been able to walk for the last twenty of them. Put yourself in her position Elliot, how would you feel in her situation. And how would you react when the boy you had known since he was born, suddenly started to have the basic problems we all have in life, but instead of letting you calm and soothe him like you did for her when you skinned your knees or fell off your bike, you got pushed aside, fended off with mundane conversation, avoided with pathetic excuses and inane witticisms. We are at war Elliot and everyone knows it, your own uncle is already dead along with one of your cousins, what effect do you think this has on her? She can't join the Red Cross Society because her eyesight isn't good enough for needle work, so she knits endlessly at socks of the same dull Khaki. She wants to feel useful to the world, not like a useless weight dragging down and slowing those around her, a burdan and a nuisance, and yet as soon as she might be useful to you, you push her away...." At this point Victoria broke down, unable to speak coherently anymore she put her head in her arms and cried.
"Please don't cry Vicky." The plea from Elliot only made her cry harder, and emotionally she was now totally out of control and the crying was interrupted by hiccups and hysterical laughter. "Vicky please!" Victoria found herself suddenly pulled into a very strong pair of arms, arms that prevented her from trembling as the wave of emotion swept through her, though she hadn't realised it, her father's extended illness had taken a heavy toll on her emotional strength. With physical movement very effectively prevented, Victoria found herself crying even harder, though she was less hysterical now, the choked laughter was the first to end, soon followed by the hiccups, but Victoria couldn't stop crying, and what's more, she didn't want to. She lay there in Elliot's arms, gripped so tightly that her circulation was restricted in many of her extremeties, but all she did was cling back and cry into the rough material of his greatcoat, relieving the tense months of war, financial difficulties, and worry over her father and the owner of the arms that now held her, Elliot's communications by mail were scatty at the best of times, but she had not even received one of his brief scrawls since october. Neither knew how long Victoria cried for, but it ended the same way as everytime she cried.
"Sorry." With a final gulp Victoria pulled her face from the front of his greatcoat, sniffed and tried to dry her face with the back of her gloved hand, Elliot had immediately released his hold on her, and now handed her his handkerchief.
"Use this, Vicky. I'm only here to be used as a crying post." Victoria's laugh in response was weak, and very watery, but she was grateful for the use of his large handkerchief to dry her face and clean up.
"Why are you doing it, Elliot?" She returned his handkerchief as a wet and crumpled ball, which he calmly shoved into an outside pocket.
"I could play the fool, but I'm not going to." He spoke softly, almost to himself, but just loud enough for her to hear. "You don't give up do you Vicky?"
"I can't Elliot, I'm fighting for the happiness of two of the most important people in my life, I can't give up."
"You've pointed my own behaviour out to me, isn't that sufficient?"
"No." Victoria shook her head firmly. "That doesn't fix whatever is hurting you, you might change your behaviour, but until the problem is fixed you're going to continue pushing people away. And if the war is the reason, you are going to be pushing for three to four years if you really do believe that Kitchener."
"I do. No, I don't think the problem is the war."
"Then what is it?" Victoria returned to the bole she had been previously sitting in.
"I honestly don't know." He shrugged helplessly and resumed his cross-legged seat.
"Are you afraid of something Elliot?" Victoria had been expecting some sort of response, but she hadn't expected that he'd leap again as if he'd been bitten for the third time in one afternoon.
"Why do you ask?" His tone was wary, and careful.
"Your mother referred to fear as the reason that you'd shut them out before." Victoria shrugged in what she hoped was a careless manner, whatever the problem was, it was fear related, otherwise he shouldn't have responded as warily as he had.
"Fear?" He looked curious at this.
"When you sat your entrance exams for 'The Academy' you shut both your mother and Emilie out, I expect you also shut everyone else out, except me. Your mother said that the reason had been fear of failing, she drew the conclusion from the behaviour of your maternal grandfather, whom she seems to think you are very similar to."
"Yes, I am quite similar to my maternal grandfather in many ways, but I'd never considered this aspect." Elliot fell silent, and as Victoria watched his expression withdrew and became abstracted. It was quite a time later when Elliot finally spoke again, and when he did speak, he startled Victoria, who had fallen into a light doze.
"Sorry, Vicky." He appologised as she huddled a bit further back into her bole. "It's not fear of failing, I was never afraid of failing." This brought Victoria's brows up slightly.
"Why not?"
"Never considered it, I was always going to pass. I think I was afraid of never doing well enough." Elliot was obviously still considering the idea.
"Not doing well enough? Elliot you got into the 'Academy' with the highest recorded score on the exams in the entire history of the place."
"That doesn't stop you being afraid of not doing well enough."
"Elliot, why should you worry about not doing well enough, both your parents were good, intelligent, and were the best of what they did." Victoria frowned in perplexity over the problem.
"That's the problem I think." Elliot suddenly uncrossed his legs and rolled onto his stomach, bending his legs back up over his back, his chin resting in his hands. "Mr Calt was my first teacher, I was caned on the first day of school because I didn't come out at the top of the quiz. He told me I should be ashamed of myself, and that my parents should be ashamed of me. Imagine coming from such intelligent stock." Elliot's expression was slightly bitter, and he was obviously talking to himself, but Victoria didn't stop listening. "My father, a general in the english army when he was only forty, held to be one of the most brilliant generals they had. He had more medals than he knew what to do with, such a pity he died in the Boer War, for surely he would have made sure I learnt my studies. My mother, gold mining stock from the Yukon. Oh yes, most would consider a Yukon girl to be beneath the attention of my father who at the time was thirty years old and a Colonel. But this Yukon girl had come across to the east coast with a missionary family. At the age of five she left her own parents, actually she was sent away, to travel the whole way across the continent with a missionary family so she could get a good education away from the coarseness of the mining towns. She was one of the first women, if not the first woman, to attend the 'Academy'. She did her teacher's degree in the single year and came out at the top of her class, she left to teach so she could raise sufficient funds to go to College. The only thing that prevented her from going to college was the fact that she married my father. Great stock I come from, and I haven't done a swat of work to continue the great tradition..."
"That's a lie." For the second time that day Victoria found herself bulldozing in on top of Elliot. "Stop this self-analysis and comparison Elliot, all your doing is destroying yourself."
"It's the truth, look at it, my father a great general, and I haven't even enlisted."
"That is a totally different matter Elliot March! He was your father, not you! If I remember rightly his father enlisted him at eighteen, it was not your father's choice. Of course you can't emulate your father, I can tell you I certainly don't intend to emulate mine, they lived at a different time to us, they had different problems to face and different reasons for their response. Of course you can't be your mother, you weren't born out in the Yukon, you were born in Narrow Creek. But think of this Elliot March. Who was the first resident of Narrow Creek to take their teacher's license in one year....and your mother doesn't count, she comes from Yukon, not Narrow Creek. Who was the first person to consider going to college and taking a B.A. degree. Who won a scholarship to help pay their way, and who was so stubbornly.......I will say it, BLOODY-MINDED that not only were they determined to put themself through college, but that they weren't going to do it at the expense of the family. Yes I know the fights you had with your mother over the fees. I also remember the number of summers while you were at Redmond when you never came home at all except for one single fortnight at the beginning, there were four of them Elliot. You came home for the fortnight between exams and when the results came out, so you came home and spent a fortnight ignoring practically everyone, fending them aside, then vanished again for a year. No one is going to take down that effort on your part, you were the first person in Narrow Creek to do it, and you did it entirely under your own steam. You accepted help from no one, and you worked like the devil to do it, and you more than deserve the results. But you have to stop trying to force yourself to meet non-existant standards which no one can equal. Your parents were nearly made to do what they did, you chose to do it. Now get it into your thick skull that you are neither an embarrassment to your parents, or to yourself, realise that you are a role-model for half of Narrow Creek, and the only reason that I even considered going to the Academy and College. Retrieve your self-respect, or give yourself some if you've never had it before, and realise that it is now dark outside and I am hungry."
"Oh Vicky." Elliot couldn't help but laugh as she finished off her tirade in such a typical manner. "How can you be so full of commonsense. You make me feel like I've been making a big fuss out of nothing."
"That's exactly what you have been doing, so retrieve yourself respect, become a good little teacher at Narrow Creek, send the largest class ever to the Academy, and remember that if I hear you've been sulking I'll come the whole way back here from Redmond for the simple task of spanking you. Now move, I'm hungry." Victoria stood up and brushed the accumulated dust off her skirt then offered Elliot a hand up. It was quite late by the time they returned to the 'Little House', and mrs March was more than a little relieved to see them come in through the back gate and the orchard.
"Little mother, I'm just going to change my coat before taking Vicky home. Could you please give her some food, she has been bewailing her hunger the whole way home." He had then vanished through the house and was heard to mount the stairs.
"Success Vicky?" Mrs March sat her down at the table and gave her a large bowl of stew. Victoria nodded mutely and applied herself hungrily to the stew.
"He was not afraid of failing, he took success for granted, but he'd set himself an impossibly high standard that he considered to be worthy of your son, and as a result he was afraid of disappointing you and everyone else. Now don't you get feeling guilty or I'll...." Vicky paused, unsure of what to say next.
"Don't worry, Vicky, that little one won't do anything of the sort, I've been managing her for twenty-seven years." Emilie waved her knitting ferociously, causing both mrs March and Victoria to laugh. A sound which Elliot heard upstairs, and he felt his heart lift, Victoria had obviously taken an opportunity and made the right moves, finally he shrugged off his coat and jumper, before pulling on a new jumper, his best greatcoat and descending the stairs to the kitchen. Victoria had nearly finished her stew, and soon they were headed into Narrow Creek.
"Goodnight Ellie, and good-bye." Victoria gave him a quick hug, and then a wave before she vanished into the house, leaving Elliot to thoughtfully return to the 'Little House', he had much to think of that night, and several new resolutions to set in motion.
Parker rubbed his aching temples, then finally closed the file and stood up, he immediately crossed his eyes and grabbed the edge of his desk to prevent himself from falling to the floor, tomorrow he would try to find time to get checked out, this was really getting ridiculous. As it passed, Parker straightened up, then started to straighten his office, it was settled, they were now going to make use of all the Africa troops that had been doing little else than dig roads and practice bridge making. Parker was glad they were to be used, but at the same time he wished there weren't so many damnable risks involved, but such was war. Parker rubbed his temples once more, then finally departed the building, at this hour there were no cabs to be caught, but Parker was more than a little glad for the exercise a walk to Queen Anne's Gate would supply.
"Parker!" As always, Isabelle was waiting for him when he keyed into the house.
"You should be abed Izzy."
"And so should you." Isabelle deprived him of his couple of bags and all but dragged him up the stairs. "No coffee, no drink, into bed with you."
"Izzy, I have work to do." Parker knew his resistance was purely habitual, there was no doubt, he could do no more work tonight.
"To bed, or I won't let you up in the morning."
"But...." Parker stopped then nodded slowly. "Okay Izzy."
"I mean it Parker, I won't have you killing yourself, war or no war!" Izzy frowned with concern into her brother's tired face.
"Okay Izzy." Parker allowed her to drag him the rest of the way to his room. "Can you call Randall Bruce, I have a matter of importance to discuss with him at ten o'clock."
"Oakly is waiting for you." She then turned and walked back to the head of the stairs without acknowledging his request.
"Isabelle?" Anne slipped softly out of her bedroom.
"Sorry, Anne, I didn't mean for you to be disturbed."
"I wasn't disturbed." Anne gave a gentle shake of her head. "Is he always this late?"
"No, he's usually two hours later than this." Isabelle allowed Anne to pull her into her room without resistance. "Anne I'm frightened."
"Quiet Isabelle." Anne settled her friend in a chair, and looked around the room, but the room was still unfamiliar and she didn't really know what she was looking for anyway.
"He's killing himself Anne, and I can't stop him." Isabelle started to cry softly.
"Isabelle, do you know if he has been passing out lately?" Anne gave Isabelle a sharp shake, the last thing she needed now was for Isabelle to become hysterical, something which Isabelle would undoubtedly become if her train of thought was not disturbed.
"I don't know." Isabelle sniffed damply for a minute. "I'm sorry Anne, it's just that this is the first time he has only put up very minimal resistance to orders to go to bed."
"Go to bed yourself Isabelle, you haven't been getting much sleep yourself either lately."
"But what of the call to Bruce?"
"I'll deal with that, remember I am his secretary and you're not meant to be paying me so you can make telephone calls at two in the morning."
"You heard?"
"I'm not deaf, now go to bed and leave it to me." Anne watched sadly as her friend hesitated by the door. "Go Isabelle, at worst I'll start dosing his coffee with Laudanum."
"I'm sorry Anne, I must seem a fool to you." Isabelle gave a weak chuckle and a watery smile. "But he's my brother, and my brain never was good."
"Bed Isabelle, or I'll dose you to." Anne then watched silently as Isabelle left the room, before dressing quickly and descending to the library. She had told Isabelle the truth when she had said she was not disturbed, infact she had been deliberately keeping herself awake so she didn't miss a call that was supposed to come any minute now. It was a fair guide to Parker's sheer exhaustion that he had not remembered the call, a call on which he held great importance, it also pointed to his trust and reliance on Anne, which had been ever increasing as the months passed, that he had left the call to her at all. With half an eye on the clock and half an ear on the telephone, Anne deposited the rest of her attention on a heap of manuscript she had been proof-reading earlier in the evening.
The manuscript, written by one Dr Jermyn Alastair, was an impressive pile of paper, packed to its limits with diagrams and reference annotations. To any but Anne, and a few other populators of the earth including Dr Alastair, the manuscript would have appeared as gibberish, the ravings of a demented lunatic with a very bad grip on the english language. Latin jostled english for terms and positions, fractures of the squamous temporal fought with lesions of the occipital lobe, while the meningin vein argued with contusions of the upper Parietal, diagrams of nervature systems around the axis and atlas were leered at by bloodshot eyeballs.
Anne rubbed her eyes one final time, then picked up some fresh paper, and sharpened her red and black pencils, she rather wished she could ask Jermyn how she was meant to proof read this when she could barely even read it. A book on how not to perform surgery on the brain if you wished for the patient to live. What next would the man think up.
It was the harsh ring of the telephone which roused Anne from her wrangles with Dr Jermyn Alastair's manuscript, and she grabbed the receiver hurriedly, hoping that none in the house had been disturbed.
"I want to speak to Parker Dellingham." The voice was curt and monotone, and also very static, which meant the caller was being relayed in through the telegraph system.
"Parker Dellingham is currently unavailable. This is his secretary Anne Marshall speaking."
"Well tell him immediately that it is essential that I speak to him, a matter of life and death for more than one person."
"Who's calling?" Anne was wary, admittedly the speaker did not sound like a local hoax, but Anne was also reluctant to wake Parker up.
"The Count. Oh Damn!" there was a brief silence from the other speaker which was filled with the crackle and hiss of static, then there was a muffled grunt. "Tell Parker to draw the net! DRAW THE NET!" The last was almost yelled and Anne leapt back from the telephone, but not so quickly that she missed the tone which warned that the call had disconnected. After a moments hesitation Anne turned and ran for the stairs, but Parker was already halfway down them.
"What is it?" His face was pale and he was furiously fastening his dressing gown.
"A man calling himself the Count called, he originally demanded to speak to you, then he swore and told me to tell you to 'draw the net!'."
"Oh Hell!" Parker pushed passed Anne and ran for the library. "Get Izzy up, tell her to get Lydia for all hell has just broken loose." Anne ran up the stairs and delivered her message to Isabelle who had been unable to get to sleep.
"Go back and help him Anne. Tell him Lydia will know in two minutes." Isabelle vanished back into her room, leaving Anne to blink, then hurry back down to the library. Parker had cleared the desk by the simple expedient of swiping his arm over the desk and shoving everything except the telephone on to the floor. He then spread out a large scale map of England which was decorated by a wealth of small flags and marks, the map cut off at the scottish border.
"She says Lydia will know in two minutes."
"Good." Parker was bent over the map, his fingers tracing at high speed between various flags and markers, then he grabbed the telephone. "Trunk call through to Derbyshire." Parker's fingers tapped restlessly on the desk top as he waited for the call to be connected through. "LAM 3621," again Parker fell silent except for the drumming of his fingers. "I don't care, just keep it ringing." The first sign of real tension crept into Parker's face, and the drumming increased in tempo. "Devil take it Nash you can't be out. Operator, give me a line with Hertfordshire, MER 3876 when you connect. Interrupt me if either call connects." Parker was rifling furiously through the pages of a thick diary. "Jones, be ready to drive like hell. You may now disconnect the Hertfordshire line and get me Worcestershire instead, GRM 2764." Parker scowled direfully at his map. "Operator, is anything coming in from Derbyshire yet?"
"No, sir." The operator sounded hassled.
"Mike, draw the net." Slight relief came into Parker's voice as the Worcestershire line was answered. "Anne, 0310 hours, Derbyshire still not responding." Parker continued to listen to the telephone as he scribbled in the edges of the map. "Yes, it is very urgent." Parker's fingers were now skipping beats when they were drumming. "Anne, 0320 hours, Derbyshire still not responding. What in hell has gone wrong!" Parker scratched his head, perspiration starting to bead on his forehead. "Anne, 0330 hours, Derbyshire still not responding." The clock ticked with deafening loudness in the room that was silent apart from the scribbles Parker was making around the edges of the map. "Anne, 0340 hours, Derbyshire still not responding." Parker sank back into a chair, resignation on his face and near defeat in his attitude. "Operator, get me HAL 5470.....that you Bruce?"
"Yes." Even to Anne on the other side of the desk the Permanent Secretary to the Foreign Office's voice was clearly audible.
"I need to see you at ten tomorrow if feasible."
"Totally infeasible, my lot are stirred and I assume you're in the process of stirring your lot. Is something the matter?"
"Derbyshire is not responding!"
"I'll be back in a minute, hold the line."
"Sir, we have a response from Derbyshire."
"Put it through." Parker snapped as he leapt to his feet. "Hullo?"
"Mrs Reynolds speaking."
"Dellingham here Mrs Reynolds."
"Oh dear." The feminine voice fell silent for a minute. "I'm afraid that Mr Nash is currently in a condition which does not permit him to get out of bed."
"What's happened?"
"He.....he was brought in by the under gardener, m'lord. He has been shot through the chest, the doctor has little hope for him."
"Thankyou Mrs Reynolds, sorry for disturbing you."
"It was no problem m'lord, sorry for the delayed response but a lad had to come for me from the village for the line to Pemberley is down."
"Oh I see. Well thankyou again Mrs Reynolds." Parker cut the connection. "Operator, what is happening at Halfmoon street?"
"He is currently calling on another line."
"Thankyou. Put him back here when he's finished."
"Very good sir." The operator's voice was acidly edged and Parker pulled a wry grimace for he didn't blame the operator at all for bad temper, it was not frequent that so many calls needed handling at nearly four in the morning.
"Parker?" Bruce's powerful voice blared over the telephone once more.
"Here."
"Raise anything from Derbyshire?"
"My man was shot earlier through the chest and the lines are down."
"It appears that they managed to get the jump on us as well as the Count. Last I got from him was that all hell was to pay and now he had to shoot his way out if I would please excuse him."
"That does sound rather like someone got the jump on the Count. Where's Andrea?"
"Derbyshire." The response was succinct.
"I see." Parker fell silent for a moment and thoughtfully scratched his head. "Well I suppose I'll be hearing from you sometime soon."
"Hopefully."
"Anne." Parker had been silent for a moment after he had hung up the telephone receiver, having first called Hertfordshire to cancel his orders to Jones. "Please excuse me for saying this, but I am currently of the opinion that we have the devil of a mess on our hands and I haven't the slightest idea of how we might manage to get out of it."
"So I gathered from what I have heard." Anne paused for a minute. "Go to bed Parker, I'll wake you if anything else develops." Anne met Parker's eyes steadfastly and for a moment he showed fight, before he turned aside with a shrug.
"Thankyou Anne, I don't know what I'd do without you." Parker walked from the room, leaving Anne to remove the maps and papers from the desk to, and rearrange everything as it had previously been. Anne paused momentarily as she started to roll up the map and permitted herself a brief laugh, for Parker's scribbles in the blank borders around the map were not notes, as she had assumed, rather they were caricature faces of most of the big names in politics Asquith and Grey leered at each other, while Churchill and Lloyd George seemed to be having a competition over who could pull the worst face, the Secretary of State and the Treasurer seemed bent on stringing up the King while the First Lord seemed to be experimenting with compressed air and blood pressure. Having cleared the desk and returned everything to it, Anne settled down once again to Dr Alastair's manuscript and listening to the telephone.
"Anne, thanks for cleaning up last night." It was six in the evening and Anne had just descended from her bedroom.
"You hired me as a private secretary, I'm meant to deal with such matters."
"If any previous employer pulled that sort of emergency on you I am amazed." Parker indicated she take a seat. "Take a seat, it's about time I told you a bit more about what you're mixed up in."
"Something more than the fact that I'm currently juggling two separate estates and more than half of you mail?"
"Correct." Parker watched as Anne sat down, smoothed he skirt over her knees and folded her hands quietly in her lap. "Last night, as I said, something went to the devil and depending what happens will decide quite a bit about this war." Parker paused for a minute and glanced around the library, the room was definitely a male domain, the panelling was of heavy wood and the few armchairs were scattered haphazardly around the room. "In June of last year it was most rudely brought to our attention that we were on the verge of war. This warning came from a man, mr H.Y. Hanasyde to be precise, but Hanasyde is not his real name, he died a fortnight before his warning reached us." Parker grinned faintly at Anne's incredulous expression. "The letter in which his warning came was sent to us via Portugal, Italy, Russia, and Norway, such was friend Hanasyde's mania for covering his tracks. This warning we took with a modicum of seriousness for Hanasyde also had some serious biases against certain races that live on this planet, and the race of his particular bias played a critical role in this most astonishing looking melodrama.
At the end of June Hanasyde's warning was backed up by a completely unofficial source, infact our police had just been chasing that source all over the country in an attempt to nail him for forgery. This source was introduced to me by my god-son, a clutter-witted lad who lives in Aberdeenshire. I didn't know that the man was to be a source at the time, my god-son just promised me a really worthwhile story if I would help a certain man who was now headed south.
That man turned up on my doorstep in Devon shaking from Malaria and completely off his head with fear for a person he would not name. A week after this man's arrival he regained his senses and became a convalescence to his Malaria, and as my God-son promised he spun me a yarn which out did the best shilling shocker, unfortunately for me his physical appearance and my god-son's letter backed that tale the whole way, along with a certain book the man carried. We left that day for London and I haven't left here since, though that man, the best men in Scotland Yard and the Military went tearing around South England in a Bentley with the First Lord of the Admiralty and the Minister for War. Had our enemies stopped that car they would have made a brilliant start to the war, but fortunately they weren't interested in that car. That group managed to catch the men they were after and as a result saved some rather important information getting out of the country.
Unfortunately three months ago one of the men we caught escaped, why he wasn't executed with his associates three days AFTER they were caught is a question which has never been answered, and has been running loose ever since. Last night was meant to get the man, unfortunately one of our men was shot before we started work and if Andrea doesn't win back to one of our contacts we will have lost that man. So as I observed last night we have the devil of a mess on our hands and there is nothing we can do about it." Parker shrugged slightly and picked up a pile of nearby papers.
"I assume therefore that the source, your god-son and Andrea are assumed to still be alive."
"Of the first two they are most certainly alive, of Andrea, we have some waiting to do yet."
"I see." Anne frowned thoughtfully. "Is this bound under the official secrets act?"
"Oddly enough it is not. The matter was all over before the war began, besides which if it is known that you know about it in much detail your life would be in danger, hence I left out all names except for Hanasyde, who is dead, and Andrea who makes little difference as you don't know what he was doing."
"I need to return to Marie soon."
"You can leave as soon as you like, but be ready for another speedy return. Your sister will have a very low opinion of me if this continues."
"She already does." Anne stood up and shook hands briefly with Parker. "I'll fix up those estate matters while I'm down there, if you do not send for me before next month I will be coming up on the 12th of February."
"Thankyou Anne." Parker returned to his papers as Anne let herself out of the room, he knew from experience that Andrea could be missing upward of two months before one need be concerned about his survival, so Parker was now going to make the best of his two months before he might have to start worrying about whether they actually managed to get Andrea.
Fordingham almost lounged in his post by the intraship communicator, it was a position from which he could watch the entire bridge and yet have a view for'ard which was only rivalled by the view which was available to the current officer on watch. The position also had the advantage that he could see the wireless officer, and he'd be the first man to hear if there were problems below deck, which was also admitting the fact that he shouldn't be on the bridge at all since he wasn't meant to be on watch, but on occasions like this it was fairly easy to bend the rules a trifle.
Dakota was pacing restlessly at the back of the bridge, departing at regular intervals to pace outside and have a look for himself while conferring briefly with the various watches. But the restlessness of the crew was in Fordingham's opinion entirely excusable, for one was not sent out to watch for a fleet of cruisers and destroyers without getting a bit edgy. A reconnaissance of Dogger Bank, it would appear that the German Navy were either incredibly nervous, which didn't fit in with anything else that had happened, or they had some trick up their sleeve and required information before it could be carried out.
As the former didn't fit with the previous behaviour of the German Navy the latter was assumed and off went Admiral Beatty with five cruisers to intercept the fleet with the aid of one Commodore Tyrwhitt who was coming up from Harwich to rendezvous with them. And to say the least, they were probably in for a rough time if Tyrwhitt was late or the intelligence concerning the number of ships in the incoming fleet was inaccurate.
"Sister Anne, sister Anne, is anybody coming?" Fordingham spoke up as Dakota reentered the bridge, and the result was a roar of laughter from the rest of the bridge, and a very dirty look from Dakota.
"No, sir." Dakota's expression may have been dirty, but his eyes danced with appreciation of the old game and he took the hint and ceased leaving the bridge so frequently.
"What a pity." Fordingham opened his mouth to say more when the communicator at his elbow suddenly came into a garbling life. "No, nothing sighted." Fordingham responded crisply and the communicator fell silent again.
The night watches passed slowly for the restless inhabitants of the bridge, and even Fordingham's tongue couldn't prevent Dakota's regular perambulations from the bridge. At the same time it was Dakota who brought the news back first.
"Incoming from the north." Dakota crossed the bridge as he spoke and vanished out the other side to consult with the other watches, at the same time the radio spluttered into excited life.
"Tyrwhitt is incoming." The wireless officer frowned as he scribbled away on a sheet of paper. "Lion says that Tyrwhit will reach us first. The Germans are turning, Lion will chase with, Tiger and Princess Royal."
"Damn!" Fordingham kicked the wall in annoyance. "No, nothing doing, the Germans have turned." Fordingham snapped in response to a gurgle from the intraship communicator. "I've just terminated my extra watch. Have fun boys." Fordingham turned and left the bridge, with an extra slip and slither as he went down the stairs to his cabin too quickly, then crashed onto his bed. He must be getting old, he had never remembered feeling so decrepit after missing a night's sleep.
"Sir!" Dakota's voice and a sharp shake brought him awake, Fordingham knew not how many hours later this occured.
"Yes?" Fordingham sat up and looked gloomily at his much creased uniform, he hoped there would not be a dress inspection any time soon.
"The reports just came in, along with the ships. Lion's been towed to Rosyth, but few other injuries have been sustained." Dakota gave a stiff salute.
"What of the Hun?"
"Blucher has been sunk, sir."
"Wake me in two hours and then I'll consider celebrating such lovely news."
"Sir, it is six o'clock."
"You do like news don't you Dakota. Okay, get into bed." Fordingham stretched stiffly, then growled as he bashed his feet against the end of the bunk. "Who fired first?"
"Lion, range 20,000 yards."
"Worth the risk?" Fordingham had stopped dead when Dakota had announced the distance, but now he resumed changing his uniform.
"Apparently yes. The wireless officer will fill you in when you get to the bridge." Dakota saluted stiffly then withdrew from Fordingham's cabin, leaving Fordingham to finish his change and resume his forbidding facade. Fordingham expected people to work for what praise might be handed out, but if you worked Captain Fordingham without a doubt would be your staunchest supporter in troubled times. Fordingham had once met someone whom he had thought had the strength, but she had failed him under opposition, and having once been failed Fordingham swore never to fail anyone who earned his support. As he stepped out of his cabin Fordingham turned his attention to ship matters, pushing all other matters and thoughts out of his mind.
McKenna stared fixedly over the tailgate of the tender and wondered once again what he was up to. He also rather wanted to know why he had been bundled out here so easily considering he had been sitting round for more than a six month in the army.
"83, the lot of you hop out, we go no further!" McKenna gingerly prised himself from his corner at the stentorian roar of the driver, and pulled a wry face, he considered the driver's remark superfluous since he was the only thing left in the back of the tender, with the exception of a sack full of mail. McKenna swung his pack onto his back and scrambled from the tender, gingerly testing his legs as he went, these bumps and potholes had played havoc with his muscles.
"You McKenna?"
"Yes, sir." McKenna responded shortly, then grabbed a nearby post so his legs didn't give way. Having recovered enough feeling in his legs McKenna glanced up at the one who had asked.
"'Bout bloody time you showed up, we were expecting you last week."
"Storms in the channel delayed the boat, sir."
"Likely story. Name's Paige, Alexander Paige, so cut the sirring for I am not even an officer." It was a deeply sunburnt face with rugged features, he had the build of a football player, and the hazel eyes which watched the world were cool and calculating. "You got your papers?"
"Here." McKenna brandished the fist full of movement papers before returning them to his pocket.
"Good, recording officer is in the second room. Carries the name of Freddie and he wants that mound of paper. Flown a B.E.2C before?"
"No," McKenna bit a nervous lip. "I'm actually not at all sure about what I have flown."
"What?" Paige stared at him as if he had two heads. "Look buddy, are you sure your Lieutenant Ellis McKenna?"
"Positive." McKenna bit back on his temper. "I am also positive that I was ordered out here and that I completed the set courses required to be permitted to attach these to one's uniform." McKenna indicated the wings on his uniform. "The only thing I am uncertain of is the type of plane's I learnt to fly in. I had my practical flying training as a test pilot."
"Oh, HELL!" The look Paige cast him was filled with loathing. "Why do I get loaded with such furry birds as pilots."
"Perhaps I take you up before you draw any conclusions."
"I don't need to go up to draw any conclusions, I have a much greater respect for my hide."
"Then I'm surprised that you became an observer in the RFC. If you excuse me." McKenna waited not a second longer before stalking off, his temper was badly ruffled by his trip in the tender, and it had not been improved by this fellow.
"You McKenna?"
"Yes." McKenna responded shortly as he inspected the scarred individual who had halted him this time.
"Name's Freddie, I'm the recording officer."
"You'll be wanting my papers."
"Correct. The C.O. also wishes to see you."
"Who's the C.O.?"
"Major Gareshot." Freddie lead the way into a small office, then having acquired McKenna's papers he directed McKenna through another door where McKenna found Major Gareshot.
"Take a seat Lieutenant." Gareshot pushed his chair back and propped his feet up on his desk and gave the young Lieutenant a piercing stare, individuals like this one whom had just entered his room were indeed a rarity, infact McKenna was the first pilot Gareshot had met who had not come through regular channels. "What's your experience?"
"Flying? I've spent close on one hundred hours in the air officially, considerably more unofficially."
"What's your experience in two seaters?"
"Extensive, three quarters of my experience I would say. But I have flown in none of the aeroplanes currently on the front."
"That could make things interesting. Take a 'plane up this evening and learn the controls."
"Observer?"
"You'll have to take Paige." Gareshot's expression was very wry.
"You've had test pilots before?"
"Only one, and technically speaking he shouldn't have been permitted near the front, but he had a swell for some relative and he was cleared and sent out here. He crashed within a remarkable time frame and was invalided back to England."
"I see." McKenna considered the remarks, considered the unspoken side story, and wondered whether he would ever learn the real story in its entirety, he was pretty sure that he knew the pilot in question.
"Freddie will fix up your barrack space, and other than that I can only hope that you enjoy your stay and live longer than our last one did."
"I thankyou, sir." McKenna stood up, correctly having interpreted that his interview with the C.O. was now finished, and left the office. He was just finishing storing his kit in the available space when Paige appeared at the foot of his bed.
"Garry says your going up this evening."
"If by Garry you are referring to Major Gareshot, then yes, he had given me permission to take an aeroplane up to acquaint myself with the controls."
"Heather!" Paige gave McKenna an incredulous stare, then shook his head. "I'm to be your observer, give a yell when you want to go, I'll be writing my will in the mess."
"That might be a good idea." McKenna responded coolly, then finished packing his things away and standing up. "But write fast because we're going up as soon as an aeroplane can be prepped for me." McKenna left the barrack and went to inspect the already fading light, one hour and he was going to need flares to land by, a thought that thrilled him not in the slightest. An ack-emma was wheeling a B.E.2C out onto the tarmac. McKenna might not have actually flown in one, but Thomlin had not neglecting any part of his training and he identified it without any difficulty for what it was.
"Do you mind?" McKenna signalled to the Ack-emma that he wished to see inside.
"Not at all, Gareshot had ordered this out for your use."
"Thankyou." McKenna swung up easily into the cockpit and frowned briefly at the controls, familiarising himself with where all the controls were to be found on the dash board. Five minutes later he gave a grunt and scrambled easily out of the pilot's cockpit and turned his attention to the observer's cockpit which was set up in a most unfamiliar manner. Most of the things he could place, but a series of pockets had him puzzled for a minute before the answer clicked, the weaponry on the aeroplane of course, that is what those pockets held.
McKenna completed his inspection by testing the wing spars, empennage, and flying wires, everything seemed to be sound and reliable and infact he rather liked the set up of the empennage. He swung down off the plane and picked his kit up off the tarmac where he had dropped it, he then dropped it again and headed for the mess, with the light fading this quickly he didn't wish to kit up, then wait for Paige to get into his kit. But to his surprise he found Paige already in kit and standing on the edge of the tarmac.
"You going?"
"As soon as I've got my kit on." McKenna returned to his kit and donned it quickly. Paige was already waiting in his cockpit when McKenna swung into the cockpit and he was arranging a large variety of weapons into the pockets. "We won't be going far because I know nothing of the local geography, but strap in because I'm bound to foul up more than one move."
"You're the first pilot who has ever admitted the possibility that he may foul up, don't worry, I was strapped in before I started arranging the armoury."
"Good." McKenna did up the straps on his helmet and nodded briefly to the ack-emma.
"Switches off."
"Switches off." McKenna confirmed as he flicked the switches.
"Suck in."
"Suck in." McKenna listened critically to the gurgling clunk as the propeller was twisted around a few time to draw fuel into the cylinders.
"Contact!"
"Contact!" McKenna confirmed as the ack-emma poised, then spun, the propeller with the ease of long practice. McKenna listened to the deep throated roar of the engine as he focussed down the runway, a bellowing racket that was now almost as familiar to him as life itself, though of a slightly different pitch to the engines he was used to. McKenna listened as the engines warmed and the roar became slightly mellowed, then he waved a hand for the chocks to be removed from under the wheels and touched the throttle. The B.E. rolled forward with ever increasing speed and as McKenna steadily moved the throttle further open he kept a sharp eye on the wings. After a breathtaking minute he found himself in the air and climbing relatively swiftly above the aerodrome, he touched the stick experimently being unsure as to how it reacted to movement, pretty plain and ordinary. McKenna then sent the aeroplane round in a gentle bank, which he held just long enough to glance at his observer whose posture spelt bored disgust in every line, McKenna then gave him not a moments more consideration and turned his attention to familiarising himself with the controls.
For thirty minutes he climbed, spun, dove and turned endless circles and with the light now verging into the region which may be labelled as seriously lacking he turned the B.E. back to the aerodrome again, only to have an unholy little devil of an idea spring into his head, an idea he carried out without any further consideration.
Having located the aerodrome and checked the wind direction McKenna dropped his nose and dove flat out for the hedge at the downwind end of the aerodrome, a last minute tug on the controls jinked the aeroplane neatly over the hedge and he was now hurtling straight down the tarmac, after a brief pause McKenna gingerly applied a little bit of rudder and ailron and listened intently for the sickening grind which would inform him that he had fouled it and that the undercart was on the point of collapse. No such grind sounded so McKenna continued to increase his use of rudder and ailron until with a final swerve he drew up to the hangers and stopped. Having paused for a moment to catch his breath McKenna leapt down and strolled up to the ack-emma who had come to attend to the machine, stripping off his helmet and goggles as he came.
"An interesting landing, sir."
"Wasn't it, I was curious to know if the aeroplane could stand it."
"Only seen a landing like that once before in one of these, it was Colonel Thomlin who did it but the runway was a bad one and he cracked his undercart."
"You know Colonel Thomlin do you?" McKenna looked at the ack-emma with renewed curiousity.
"Indeed I do, sir. I was his fitter and rigger until I got dragged out here."
"You must be Briggs then."
"Yes, sir."
"Thomlin sends his regards and hopes to see you some day."
"That was always his way, he's probably frightening the poor wits out of the mechanics at those flying schools he's been nailed up in."
"I can assure you he is." McKenna glanced at the observer's cockpit. "Paige are you going to get out, the 'plane needs to be put away for the night."
"Bite your bloody tongue." The response was a sour growl, so McKenna shrugged and stripped off his kit, before waving a casual hand to Briggs and departing to his barrack. Admittedly he would probably have to appologise to Paige for that last bit of devilry, but right now he felt not in the slightest bit penitent and he was very hungry, so he dumped his kit quickly and went cautiously to the mess.
"Take a seat Mac." It was Freddie who beckoned him over to a table, and after a moment's hesitation McKenna went over and took a seat. "Where's Paige?"
"Outside still."
"Well let me introduce you to Matey, or more formally Lieutenant Charles Maitland, we then have Phil and Way, and those two are observers. Sorry boys, Phillip Morrison and Archibald Way. The rest will introduce themselves in their own good time. Here's the mess Menu, order what you like, but our cook's coffee is poisonous and the tea is not much better, so stick to water if you can."
"Thankyou." McKenna ordered a small meal, he was not wishful to eat while others sat around and watched him, and consumed it quickly before joining the others in a convivial and post-prandial smoke.
"Heck, Paige isn't in a hurry to come in. I'll go see what continues to delay him." Way kicked out of his chair and left the mess, watched by a slightly concerned McKenna.
"Something up Mac?"
"I really don't know, Paige told me to bite my bloody tongue, so I dumped my kit and came in here."
"Jeez, you must have really got to him." Freddie whistled silently, then ordered himself a beer.
"Oh dear." McKenna looked ruefully at the end of his cigarette.
"Don't worry, Paige needs to be riled on occasion, it's good for him."
"I woul...." McKenna stopped as Paige suddenly entered the mess followed by Way whose expression was mixed.
"Hello Paige." Freddie waved a hand.
"Shut up Freddie." Paige bashed on the hatch and placed a brief order.
"What's bit him?" Freddie looked inquiringly at Way, who had resumed his seat.
"It seems our friend here." Way waved a bored hand towards McKenna as he looked around for his beer. "Managed to scare Paige fairly silly, but Paige won't say how."
"I'll ask the ack-emma on duty, he'll know." Freddie waved a kindly hand at Paige and sank back in his chair again. McKenna continued to studiously observe the glowing tip of his cigarette.
"McKenna?" Paige's voice brought McKenna's eyes up briefly from his cigarette, but they soon returned to their former occupation.
"Yes."
"Why the devil did you forget to say that you knew Colonel Thomlin."
"Why should I remark on the subject?"
"To pre-warn me that you were going to try and assassinate me when we landed."
"But how would his name have pre-warned you."
"He's got you there Paige." Freddie was listening to the exchange with an amused grin.
"Shut up Freddie." Paige never looked away from McKenna.
"How about we discuss this subject in private at a later date Paige?"
"Fine." Paige turned his attention to his meal and McKenna resumed his study of the tip of his cigarette until Paige returned his plate to the mess waiter and headed towards the tarmac. McKenna followed close behind him and was not at all surprised when Paige squatted down on a discarded chock by the tarmac, for in an aerodrome the tarmac was one of the few places where one could be sure one was not overheard. "Why did you land that way?"
"Why should I not, it is one of the most foolproof ways of testing the strength of the undercarriage."
"Why did you decide to test the strength of the undercart?"
"Why not? You had been looking bored so I decided to liven up your existance a bit. I will at this point appologise for any fear I caused you, but at the same time I will say that you firmly put my back up since you just assumed that I could not fly."
"My experience with test pilots has not been good."
"Mayzen was not a test pilot by any stretch of the imagination, he just chose to call himself that."
"You know Mayzen?"
"I have met Mayzen on three occasions and I have no wish to extend my acquaintance with him." McKenna spoke flatly.
"Who are you that Colonel Thomlin took interest in you?"
"I am someone whom he took up in foul weather to test a dubious 'plane. The only thing that lies to my credit was that I was not sick."
"That's more than many can boast. Since you have managed to scare me, you may be safe in the knowledge that you will be at least treated with respect by the Squadron, if not with friendliness."
"I have clearance to go up tomorrow as well, do you have any wish to call in sick?"
"No fear." Paige stood up and stretched. "There are maps in the recording office, the C.O. won't expect you to cross the lines until next week."
"Okay." McKenna retreated to the recording office and took up an inspection of the numerous aerial photographs which showed a large amount of the land that lay around the aerodrome.
It was three days later when McKenna returned from one of his trips to learn the countryside that things started to happen. He had side-slipped in and landed way too fast, the result of which was that he ruined the undercart while trying to stop before he ran into the main hangers.
The accident could hardly be blamed on him as the wind had died as they touched down. As he and Paige had got themselves clear of the wreckage, Paige using all his available breath to rain curses onto the head of McKenna, the C.O. came up with a slightly amused grin on his face.
"That how you customarily land McKenna?"
"No, sir. Only when I misjudge the wind and forget that I'm not in a 'plane with a carefully reinforced undercart."
"You better see about quick repairs, then get into my office, I'll be waiting for the pair of you."
"Damn!" McKenna pulled a rueful face as he went in search of an ack emma to arrange for the clean up and repair of his aeroplane.
"You said it Mac. I wonder what the C.O. wants with us?"
"If I knew that I doubt if Garry would be requesting we present our countenances in his office, after all we're never invited in their for social reasons."
"Well if we're getting disciplinary marks you're going to have to wear the lot because I'm taking no responsibility for them."
"Now that's what I call suitable respect for your senior officers."
"Glad to hear it, for I refuse to treat anyone with respect after they've landed me in that fashion."
"Briggs!" McKenna sighted the ack-emma who dealt with his 'plane and after a brief exchange of abuse and instructions Briggs went to round up a crew to deal with the wreck and McKenna and Paige headed for the C.O.'s office.
"Come in the pair of you, and McKenna what do you make of this?" Gareshot cast a slip of paper across the desk, McKenna picked it up and frowned at it briefly then handed it to Paige.
"I make nothing of it at all sir, other than it seems to be requesting that I do some flying near Breque."
"Yes, that's the conclusion I drew as well. Do you agree with us Paige?"
"Yes, sir." Paige handed back the slip of paper.
"Then get moving, find where Breque is and do some flying over it. Since I don't think our mechanics are quite so quick when it comes to repairing a 'plane that yours will already be repaired, you'd best take one of the new ones." Gareshot nodded his dismissal, but spoke as they reached the door. "Crash that 'plane on the runway at your peril."
"Yes, sir." McKenna saluted stiffly as Paige left the room, then departed himself. A quick check of the aerial photographic map in Freddie's office showed that Breque was not listed on it and raised a very interesting problem.
"Well there had better be a regular map here or we have a major problem on our hands."
"You boys want something?" Freddie appeared somewhat suddenly with a enquiring look.
"Yes, we need a map of Belgium and a list of towns."
"Well there's that map that was sent some weeks back when someone was complaining bitterly that these aerodromes had no maps, but other than that we have none but the aerial map."
"Produce it, and pronto." McKenna pounced on the map as Freddie dug it out from under a pile of papers and was quartering over it rapidly.
"That's where the photos end." Paige drew a rough line with his finger across the map.
"So we'll start by looking north of that line."
"I think we'd better look within the map region, for I feel that it is not a large town we are looking for."
"Got it." McKenna grunted his satisfaction. "You're right, it's not big and it is to be found on our aerial map." McKenna traced some lines with his fingers, then went to the aerial map and found Breque again. "Paige, you acquainted with this place?"
"I can find it." Paige spoke after considering the map for a minute. "But we better ensure the compass is right first."
"Well Freddie, if we're not back by tomorrow dinner time you may safely assume that we have become deceased or have been captured."
"Good riddance." Freddie's response came as they passed out of the door and only McKenna's restraining hand prevented Paige from returning to the recording office to 'Learn Freddie a thing or two.'