Beginning, Previous Section, Section XXIX, Next Section

July 31st 1917-Ypres Salient, France (cont.)

"What's that?" Darcy waved to the slightly swollen stream that lay in front of them.

"The Steenbeeck." Benchly studied the map intently for a moment.

"Peter...get Carrie up here." Darcy didn't even glance at Peter as he gave the order and barely even noted his departure.

"You suspect something?"

"I suspect that is going to be one hell of a bog...there's no gravel in this place." Darcy kicked his boot into the soft turf which made the bottom of the trench, a trench which had about an inch of water in the bottom.

"You wanted to see me?" Carrigan was breathing somewhat heavily when he arrived.

"What do you make of that stream?"

"Full."

"I'm of the opinion it will be a problem."

"We can't go around it...we have to go through it."

"Then make sure all platoons have boards, that place will be a swamp very soon."

"Yes sir." Carrigan vanished.

"Billy." Darcy had his telescope on the ridge itself.

"Sir." The runner came quickly out of his corner.

"Take this back to Mayhew." Darcy quickly scribbled a brief note handed the note to Billy before abruptly heading off down the trench, followed by three other runners, Benchly and Horton.

"Ten minutes." The count down had begun as Darcy threaded his way through the trenches.

"How are they?" Darcy stopped by a pale-faced Corporal.

"Seem to be good sir."

"Good." Darcy risked a quick look over the parapet. "Benchly, we're going forward." Darcy immediately followed his words with actions and dove into the small fire trench which lead to the forward observation posts. A quick run and a dive carried them through already swampy ground and into the forward observation pit. "How is it?"

"Muddy." The response was laconic.

"Much going on?"

"Not a blurry thing." The Corporal grimaced before ducking up for another quick look around.

"Good." Darcy got his telescope busy. "Coming Benchly?" It was five minutes later when Darcy snapped his telescope closed and leapt from the forward post and sprinted for the fire trench.

"Sir, you really shouldn't run such risks."

"Bugger the risks." Darcy was scribbling furiously and soon he had only Peter following as all the other runners were gone.

"One minute." Fear is an emotion you can feel, it steals through the air and wraps clammy fingers around everything, it is almost an emotion you can see.

"Three...two...one...now." It seemed so common, as if they were counting down the start of a race, but it was not a running race it was a race against death and time. The ground seemed to lurch as the hundreds leapt and scrambled out of the trenches and plunged across the flats. Woe is the lot of the man who stumbles, for death is most likely his lot.

Darcy pulled out his telescope again and took a squint, the combined bombardment and the wave of men had indeed made the edges of the stream bad. Guns rattled and chattered with the deeper roar of the heavy artillery. Half an hour had reduced the salient from a battlefield to Hell. Corpses dotted across the battlefield and the grass was rapidly trampled away...and with the grass went the poppies.

"I wonder why they're red." Benchly was studying a newly arrived report when he made the comment.

"What's that?" Darcy looked down at Benchly, only to have Peter cannon into him. Darcy was on the verge of profanity when the parapet took a direct hit. "Thank you Peter." Darcy spat the mud out of his mouth and started shoveling away the mud and sand which covered both of them.

"Only just saw it."

"Fortunate you did...you okay Benchly?"

"No." It was a thread of a whisper.

"Damn." Darcy promptly occupied himself with digging Benchly out, even without digging Benchly out Darcy knew there was no hope, but Darcy wasn't just going to leave Benchly, the man had been around to long just to be buried with a few hundred other corpses. "Peter, get through to Harralds, everything is forwarded to him until I return."

"Darcy...you can't leave the battlefield." Benchly was rapidly turning blue as he struggled to breathe.

"I'm not. But I need to talk to Artillery, you need to be got back, I also need a word with Mayhew and arrangements must be made to get some boards out there for it is going to rain before the day is out." Darcy responded curtly.

"What's up with Artillery?" Carrigan appeared suddenly in the trench.

"They're firing short...just wasting ammunition and nearly hitting us as it is." Darcy finally managed to get Benchly free.

"True." Carrigan had risked a quick look over the destroyed parapet. "Let me do that sir, you're needed forward...Miles has fallen a cropper on the 5th and they're trying to squash him back into the mud."

"Right." Darcy handed Benchly over to Carrigan and dove down the nearby fire trench with Billy in tow.

Four o'clock brought rains and a thoroughly infuriated Darcy as he plunged through the rapidly deepening swamps by means of twisting board walks.

"Darcy." It took Darcy a moment to recognise his drenched, mud-soaked regimental officer.

"What is it Chering?" Darcy nearly had to yell to be heard over the rain and roar.

"The tanks, they've got to retreat...they're just making things worse."

"Billy." It took the single call and once more Billy had fled, his quick, diminutive form seemed indestructible, tosses from shells were frequent but his thin weasel form invariably rose again with nothing worse than a bruise. But as Darcy watched he saw the first of the tanks retreating, firing as hard as it could as it retreated.

"Kind of them." Chering pushed a clump of rain-soaked hair out of his face. "I need a hair-cut...what in hell are you doing this far out sir?"

"Mayhew's back at divisional headquarters and there's nothing for me to do back there."

"No he's not."

"What?" Darcy stared sharply at Chering.

"Mayhew's here."

"Why?"

"Courtiss got hit an hour ago and Mayhew brought himself in as a replacement."

"Hell...well I hope to God nothing happens to the duffer. How do your mob fare?"

"Seem to be managing." Chering rubbed his face. "Carrie was howling an hour back, seems that he's lost two Lieutenants and forty-two Privates. I just absorbed his lots into the others and gave him Shortly's Company."

"Shortly?"

"Dead."

"Many others?"

"Few, but Carrie's been worst hit so far."

"Sir." Peter appeared breathing hard. "Harralds is calling for more boards, he's in the middle of a quagmire and they're sinking faster than their boards are getting them out."

"How many?" Darcy was already dodging back as he flung the question back.

"A good half of the regiment."

"Hell." Darcy collected any who could move as he went and soon boards were ferrying out to the stranded Regimental Officer and his men.

"Sir." It was just passed eight when Billy came up, he was gasping for air desperately, saturated from head to foot in mud and slime. "Harralds...dig in?"

"Tell him..." Darcy stopped. "Peter, go find Harralds and tell him to dig in. Jimmy, get through to Chering and tell him to get dug in...if he can dig in that pond he's swimming in."

"Yes sir." Jimmy, previously of the Signals, fled.

"Billy, get your breath back, and then I want you to go across to the fifth and get news of Mayhew...What is it?" Darcy spun on the diminutive runner who came gasping up, he was clearly on his last legs.

"Jack...5th..." The boy could hardly speak for breathlessness.

"Take a drink." Darcy offered the boy his bottle and the sip of rum went down the hatch and the boy visibly regained strength and his breath soon settled.

"General Mayhew's been hit...Gough has ordered that you take over the Division until you're moved back." Jack held out a mangled, wet and muddy scrap of paper.

"Right." Darcy rubbed his head and glanced at the barely readable scrap. "Billy, see to Jack. Hal, get through to Carrigan I want him here the minute he can get free...on second thoughts can that. "Billy, I'm going forward for a minute, send any messages to Lieutenant Carrigan."

"Yes sir."

"Come Hal." Darcy ducked off down the slickened boards and was soon swallowed up by the darkness.

"What brings you here sir?" Carrigan seemed to abruptly loom out of the darkness.

"Looking for you." Darcy was digging a large wooden splinter out of his hand as he spoke. "Chering doesn't yet know it but he just got the Brigade on a temporary promotion."

"What's happened?"

"Mayhew was hit." Darcy whispered it quickly and then ducked back into the shadows, things like hit Generals you did not spread around more than was essential.

"Colonel Chering is looking for you." A diminutive runner appeared beside Darcy.

"Why?"

"He can't dig in where he is."

"Does he need to go back or forward."

"Forward."

"Damn." Darcy shot through the twisted paths until he finally came across Chering swearing profusely as he tried to settle his men where they were. "Hell, what a lake you've got here...go forward Cherry don't be daft. You've got thirty yards open to you."

"'Ullo." Chering grunted and forty minutes later after a short but intense exchange of fire Chering had managed to get a footing on sound ground with a bit of cover.

"What brings you this far forward?" Chering looked somewhat worriedly at Darcy.

"To see you." Darcy shifted awkwardly. "You just got the Brigade."

"Mayhew hit huh?"

"Seems so." Darcy frowned darkly.

"Poor devil." Chering frowned along his dodgy foothold on the edge of the swamp.

"You'd better get someone to replace you here. It'll probably be another day at least before we're relieved."

"Right-ho...sorry, not thinking well just now...my brains seem to be echoing."

"Well muffle 'em." Darcy wriggled backwards as he spoke. "Hal, you and Billy stay with Chering...stop the others as well when ever they show up...I'm only taking Peter back with me."

"Yes sir." Billy nodded, his eyes blinking whitely from a mud blackened face.

"Good work." Darcy gave an approving nod to the boy before retreating with Peter on his heels.

It was just past ten when Darcy finally made it to the Divisional Headquarters and he made a fearsome figure to say the least. Soaked to the bone and covered from head to foot with mud and blood he would have made a good grim reaper.

"Sir." The Intelligence Officer scrambled to his feet.

"Where is what?" Darcy squinted at the map.

"Well I was just trying to update the 4th...but you know where they are. The 5th dug in at 1930 hours because they had a good holding point in a sunken lane. The 6th dug in at 2000 hours in this region." The man indicated the area, he looked very unwell.

"You're coming down with trench fever." Darcy made the remark as he quickly re-marked the position of the 4th. "Well it looks like we've got a good line for now but they'll need to be moving by dawn for it's fearsomely exposed." Darcy scraped some drying mud from his chin. "Do we have any casualty numbers yet?"

"Not as bad as Somme...or that's all we've received so far."

"It bloody better be not as bad as Somme." Darcy scratched his head again. "Anything from General Gough about changed objectives?"

"No sir."

"Well let's get down to it...what are all the objectives and what have we missed so far today?" Darcy settled down as he spoke.

"Lizzie!" It was midnight when the shriek rang out and roused Elizabeth from her semi-doze.

"Yes?" Elizabeth kicked over and struggled into her shoes as the Matron came into the room.

"I'm sorry Lizzie, but you, Delph, Franky, Sarah, Minnie and Susan have just been called forward to the Casualty Clearing Station. You're officially in charge and you are to relieve all medical staff but the doctors so the may get stretchers in."

"It's that bad?" Elizabeth was horrified, even Somme had not dragged VADs forward to the Clearing Stations.

"No, but the terrain is bad and boggy and they need eight instead of four men per stretcher."

"It must be bad." Elizabeth blinked in amazement and shook her head as she finished dressing. The other VADs were either dressed or dressing quickly and in five minutes they had piled into the back of an ambulance and were headed forward.

"Lizzie." A nervous hand caught Elizabeth's.

"What is it Susan?" Elizabeth pulled the shivering girl in close.

"Do you think anything will happen to us?"

"Oh many things won't happen, we won't get sleep, we won't get food, but we will get lots of work...what was your particular fear?"

"The bombs." It came as a soft whisper.

"Sorry Susan, but I am not a Fortune Teller...besides which, whether it comes or not there is nothing you can do about so I suggest you just shrug and ignore the possibility."

"But will it hurt?"

"I don't know, I've never been hit." Elizabeth took a careful breath, the crashing of the guns only increased in volume and no matter what she might say she felt sick.

"Say Lizzie..." Philadelphia's voice came laughing from the darkness. "If we meet your friend you stand us a dinner each in Paris and if we don't see him I stand the dinner."

"Wait a minute!" Elizabeth waved a protesting hand, even though she knew it couldn't be seen in the darkness. "Before this goes any further the details must be thrashed out."

"What sort?" Franky's voice was a bit shaky but it quickly gained strength.

"Dinner type, are we just going to set a place...or is it free game?"

"I don't follow." Minnie's voice shivered.

"Well suppose Delph decides she wants dinner at the Maisson...that'll put me in debt for months, if not years. I'll be bankrupt for life if you all go to the Maisson...and likewise so will Delph be bankrupt if we go there."

"Yet it's somewhat stingy to just stand us what we'd get back at the Hospital." Franky's voice was almost laughing.

"Well how about we stand dinners at le Chat du Nord...the little restaurant thingy off the station, they serve a good meal and it doesn't cost a fortune either."

"Wait a minute, does the person also stand the trip to Paris?"

"Go away Minnie, you get your dinner when you have leave, either home leave of just Paris or day leave...your pick. But only food is to be funded."

"Maybe if it is a ticket to a concert?"

"True, sponsor ourselves to some hospital benefit function." Philadelphia gave a laugh. "Sounds good, why don't we just donate the next six months of pay straight back to the hospital?"

"I think dinner is best."

"Then dinner it is...five pounds maximum for each person, eating place of your choice."

"Oh good, I can go to the Maisson after all." Philadelphia's satisfied sigh caused a general laugh. "Though one side note, the bet is off if the friend does not walk in by his own activity, or is leaving too much blood behind when he does...if that's the case then we stand Lizzie a free meal at the Maisson and a ticket to the next concert."

"But what if the concert is a bad one?"

"Right, then it shall be a concert of her choice." Philadelphia gave a nod. "Now about that Rugger match. What is your opinion Lizziekins?"

"I have yet to see the 96th play so I can give no opinion."

"Oh you've got to...even if it's only that their Captain is the most ugly person you've ever seen."

"But I've never seen him." Elizabeth protested.

"Well take it from me, he is utterly ugly, bald and red." Philadelphia's response drew a laugh.

Two hours later brought the ambulance to a jolting halt in front of the Clearing Station and Elizabeth and the others piled out and helped with the loading before they reported in and freed up the rest of the stations hands...with the exception of the two doctors who looked like sleep was an unknown word. Men lay everywhere, and the majority of them were outside tucked away under waterproof sheets. One Nursing Sister broke off for long enough to show them the general layout of where everything was and what type of wounded were where, but after that it was sink of swim. Water here, bandages there, biscuits over there, forceps to the doctor...uh-oh, more wounded, where do they go?...another corpse into the growing piles in the waterlogged dip. Soaked to the bone hours previously Elizabeth had long since forgotten about personal comfort as ambulances needed loading and patients needed moving. Would this night ever end?...Did she want it to end? Daylight would only bring more casualties. Elizabeth twisted some loose hair back around her straggling bun and continued working. Could Delph be right? Was Darcy somewhere in that sulfur lit hell of a battlefield? or was he already back in some hospital or clearing station...or even worse... Elizabeth angrily pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the shattered arm she was splinting. It would have to come off of course, but any reduction of pain helped recovery chances.

"Sister." The doctor came flying up. "One of your companions says you have done surgery...is that true?"

"I have done some." Elizabeth responded warily.

"We've got a compounded skull fracture which needs bandaging and Nurse Hamilton is too tired to read the gauge."

"Certainly." Elizabeth numbly followed the doctor. Compound Skull fracture...this was just to knock the patient out, they would do not work on him before he reached Paris. The case made Elizabeth's stomach heave, that the man was still alive was amazing. Soaked to the bone and smothered in mud the man was somewhat rotund in figure, balding on top, his face seemed to have a perpetual smile. In fact he reminded Elizabeth of Sir William Lucas' cousin in his convivial spirit. But the mouth, the snubbed nose and the very top of the head were the only similarities, a bullet had smashed its way through the right cheekbone, glancing up to split the eyeball and crack open the forehead. He was muttering wildly, deliriously to himself while Nursing Sister Hamilton cautiously tried to clean the dirt away.

"We'll just give him a whiff of ether and then shoot him full of morphia once we've got his head bandaged shut." The doctor was acting as he spoke and Elizabeth quickly prepared the sponge before turning her attention to the morphia. Who was this man? and would he survive?

Posted on Thursday, 28 December 2000

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM." - From the Menin Gate, Ypres

First light found Darcy, followed by a string of runners, the Adjutant and a few officers from the reserves, threading his way along the slippery, mud soaked boards. Corpses lay scattered around as if by a careless hand, floating bleached and bloated in the ever-increasing pools of boggy water and mud.

"Darcy." Brigadier Hazlitt was wiping his face futilely as he came up. The rain was still sheeting down, yet it made little impact on the covering of mud worn by the men.

"What's up Hazy?" Darcy abruptly turned. "Peter, get back and see whether anything has come back from Gough."

"That's a quick one you've got there." Hazlitt had watched Peter vanish into the rain.

"One of the best...you had a problem?"

"We're getting nowhere...the sods are just blowing us silly and we're not gaining a single bloody inch."

"I know." It was a fact Darcy had been painfully aware of for the past two hours. "How's Mitchely holding?"

"Seems to be managing, but the Scots aren't helping him much." Hazlitt wiped his face again.

"I'll go out and take a look see." Darcy shifted his legs awkwardly and flinched back as a shell hurled mud, water and portions of humanity in every direction. "Charming site you have here...we should be relieved this evening...can you keep going that long?"

"Should be able to." Hazlitt coughed and then spat out a bloody mouthful and a tooth. "'Bout time that blighter came out." The tooth was a splintered, jagged mess.

"Need to go back?"

"The loss of one tooth ain't going to shift me." Hazlitt growled, and Darcy responded with a quick nod before moving off. Indeed the loss of one tooth would not shift Hazlitt, but the loss of a tooth on top of the Trench Fever he was suffering might.

"Straight from one bloody mess into another." Darcy growled to himself, then swore and swung up a protective arm as a shell landed 30 feet away covering them all with thick mud and water.

"One of you, get back to the 4th, find Captain Carrigan and find out what's happening down there...failing Carrigan get Colonel Chering." Darcy plunged into the muck to retrieve some displaced boards and pull out a Private who was missing an arm. Forty minutes and Darcy reached his right where Captain Mitchely was not to be found, in his place a pale, shocked looking Lieutenant was ineffectively trying to settle things. "Horton." The Adjutant promptly fell out and soon between the two of them they had the Company back in place and settled. "Stay with them Horton...and don't get killed."

"That an order sir?"

"Yes...and I expect it to be obeyed." Darcy issued out two Lieutenants before heading back into the swamps to find out what the devil was happening to the Left.

"Lizzie!" Philadelphia came belting up to where Elizabeth was helping wrestle yet another man into the already overloaded ambulance.

"What?" Elizabeth gave a final shove and shut the door.

"We've just been replaced and we're to drive the next six ambulances back."

"The replacements here yet?"

"No."

"Then we remain until they come...just a minute." Elizabeth called the latter to an ambulance whose horse had panicked. "How's Minnie doing?"

"Not so sick now...she's not used to this stuff."

"Surprise, surprise. I don't believe anybody could be used to it." Elizabeth gave a wave and promptly charged over to help the ambulance while Philadelphia hustled back to bandaging and the nauseous Minnie.

"Sister." Philadelphia turned to see one of the nursing staff running up.

"What's up?"

"We need a driver to take a couple back."

"I'll get Lizzie, she's the best driver out of all of us."

"Right...I hope she's not sick."

"Lizzie is never sick, I'll swear the girl has guts of iron, she can see anything, eat anything and do anything and it seems to have absolutely no effect on her internal system...no nerves." Philadelphia shook her head, of the six of them that had come up only Elizabeth had not been sick, Philadelphia had been mortified on the one occasion she was...but she still held there were certain things a human being could not see without being sick and the inside of a head was one of them.

"Well she's going to need them, I wouldn't be driving that ambulance if you paid me a fortune." The nurse turned away and Philadelphia went charging off to find Elizabeth.

"Lizzie!"

"Yes?" Elizabeth looked up from the stump she was tying off more firmly.

"They need an ambulance driven back."

"Right." Elizabeth gave one last yank of the knot before straightening up and following Philadelphia back to where the small motorised ambulance was being prepared.

"Sister Bennet." The nursing sister looked sharply at Elizabeth.

"Yes." Elizabeth gave a brief nod in response.

"Good. You're actually to go straight through to Paris, nothing can be done for any of them here, or at any of the base hospitals. There's some morphia in this bag if any of them surface too thoroughly...and you will not be returning with the Ambulance. At L'Hopital de Angleterre Corporal Change will release you from ambulance duties...you have three days leave in Paris."

"But..." Elizabeth could not accept leave orders from anyone, it was not permissible.

"The order will be waiting at L'Hopital de Angleterre...this is just pre-warning of what is to come."

"Yes Sister." Elizabeth paused. "What of my fellow VADs?"

"They will be relieved shortly and given leave as well." The Sister responded levelly.

"And you?"

"We have another week before relief."

"Then I'm coming back." Elizabeth spoke bluntly.

"Sister, do so at your peril, we've got more VADs being shoved up here and at six other stations than you've probably ever had in the one Base Hospital. Now take off and get those men safely to L'Hopital."

"What if they won't take them?"

"L'Hopital de Francais, and failing them there's a hospital ship near Calais...but sister, the Ambulance goes to L'Hopital de Angleterre."

"Yes, sister." Elizabeth nodded and promptly started inspecting the motor, before she abruptly cranked it up and leapt in.

"Do I know you?" Darcy squinted the man who stood next to Peter on the boards behind him, it was midnight and the rain helped not a swat. The uniform was damply immaculate and comprehensively out of place among the mud and bloodstained men who were crouched in the sunken lane. Not a stain marked it.

"I don't know." The response was calm, but slightly accented.

"Why are you here?" Darcy's fingers slid unobtrusively into his pocket, through an oilskin wrapper and a heavy coat a bullet is just as deadly as if it came from point blank range.

"Captain March, 14th Canadian Division...we're here to relieve you."

"You're bloody late." Darcy straightened up and led the way to a slightly less crowded section of the road. "Where are you?"

"Back in your previous trenches." Elliot March looked at the exhausted and filthy face in front of him. "The Brigadier wanted to know how things were up here before he came any closer."

"Things are bloody horrible." Darcy gave an exasperated sigh and then abruptly waved for his runners and in one minute had dispatched all but Peter to various points of the front. "Now move it and take me back to this Brigadier of yours."

"Your Intelligence Officer?"

"Died yesterday and our current Officer situation is such that we cannot spare one for that task. We're stuck together here by red tape and runners...we've even had to pull in a few of the not quite so sick Officers to fill gaps."

Three hours and the exhausted 3rd Midlanders Division were regrouping in the trenches where they had left a mere two days previously. Four hours and they were sleeping where they stood and sat in a small field ten miles from the front. Darcy was crouched over a heavy wooden board and was constantly adjusting the waterproof over his head in an effort to keep the report from being utterly soaked.

"Darcy." It was a hoarse croak and Darcy poked his head out to see who it was.

"What's up Miles?" Darcy scribbled the last line of the report and folded away his portable house.

"I'm a feared we have problems."

"What type?"

"That type." Miles waved wearily in the direction of the road and Darcy stared for a moment in uncomprehending bewilderment, then hastily grabbed his telescope.

"Damn." Darcy frowned at the three motors which travelled in a string along the narrow road. "How long do you think we've go?"

"Fifteen minutes at the outside." Miles coughed loosely.

"You're getting checked out the minute this is over." Darcy was on his feet and belting down the hill to where the officers were sheltering. "UP!" Darcy started unceremoniously digging the officers up.

"What?" Eyes blinked sleepily.

"We have fifteen minutes to get this place looking remotely like a camp, move it." Darcy called it back over his shoulder as he moved off himself.

"MAJOR!" Carrigan came belting up to where Darcy was occupied with a bunch of Privates and the mess tent.

"What?" Darcy turned away from his efforts to get the mess tent up.

"Minor disaster down in the 3rd Brigade."

"Why?" Darcy gave a quick yank on a rope.

"Ashie just crashed through them."

"Devil take his hide...any casualties?"

"A couple of tents will never be the same again. As I speak Ashie is frantically trying to clear the lines from his prop Florrie and Pyro have just landed in the next field.

"Well collar them, they can pay for their errors by helping get tents up."

"Who's coming that's caused this mad rush?" Carrigan semi-ran to keep up with Darcy's long stride.

"Haig." The response left Carrigan gaping.

"Oh, LORD!" Carrigan turned and set about breaking any records that stood between the Division and tent erection.

"Who on earth are they?" Johnstone asked the question without even looking to see who had come up behind him.

"C-Flight." Thomlin responded after a brief pause during which he located the three Camels which held Johnstone's attention captive. "Though they're better known as James Flight."

"Oh, them!" The two words held a wealth of meaning and Thomlin gave a laugh.

"Precisely Johnstone, it's them." Thomlin watched the three Camels, who were manouvering almost unbelievably close together and then gave a nod. "However they're about to land, so I suggest we remove to the side of the tarmac."

"You sure they are?" Johnstone made the query as the three Camels vanished from view, but nevertheless he followed Thomlin to the side of the tarmac.

"The fact that we can't see them makes me definite on the subject. They always stunt around a bit before landing, but invariably come in over the barn if the wind is favourable for their landings." Thomlin cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and turning Johnstone got a brief glimpse of the two wingmen nipping over a nearby barn before vanishing again. But any fears Johnstone had that they might have crashed would not have lasted more then a few milliseconds as the roar of aero engines only got louder. The Flight-Leader came over the trees at the far end first and seemed to almost dive straight into the tarmac as the two wingman came over directly behind him. In a cloud of dust, a fierce rush and scuffle the three Camels drew up just feet short of the hanger.

"That would be messy if one of them made a mistake."

"They don't make mistakes." Thomlin spoke firmly, but Johnstone saw an unusual line of worry creasing Thomlin's brows.

"What's up?"

"I think you'll see in a minute." As Thomlin spoke the three pilots descended, they hadn't bothered removing either helmet or goggles and it was obvious that the discussion was not without heat. Then abruptly one helmet came off and the others also started pulling off helmets, goggles and gauntlets, but the discussion still raged punctuated with jabbings towards the Camels.

"What on earth are they discussing?"

"Probably the new roll series and Florrie's propensity to stall in a steep climb. No one knows how he does it, but Florrie can pull off an incredibly quick stall ratio. No warning, he'll just abruptly fall back on you, and the Jerries hate it like hell because it means that can't tail him closely enough...and every time it is deliberate."

"Good grief!" It was a soft murmur, and it came as the three pilots passed into the Recording Office. Even Thomlin had to admit that they looked particularly bad today. Stretched and drawn, the skin on all three faces had the same drawn, grey, waxen quality of near complete exhaustion. Dark eyes glistened with unhealthy brilliance out of those same faces, the constant movement, shifting, twitching, unconscious tics. Johnstone had no recollection of ever seeing such exhausted men, not even directly after a battle with no reserves. Fired only by nervous energy the three men would undoubtedly collapse if they stopped thinking and working for a moment, a tight and vicious spiral of exhaustion.

"Exactly, they don't make mistakes...but they may well begin making them soon, and when it happens it won't be pretty."

"When did they last have leave?" Johnstone was frowning darkly.

"Ashie and Pyro? They've been going without a day off since before I came, in fact I suspect neither of them have had a break since they first came out here...and that was over a year ago. Florrie's not had a break since he came either, and that's not much short of a year now...well you might say Ashie had some leave four months ago when he crashed out in Switzerland, but I don't call it that. From what I've heard he smashed himself up pretty thoroughly and took up carrier duties the minute he could wheedle his way out of the hospital."

"Well send them on leave."

"They won't go." Thomlin gave a shrug. "They won't even take the single day off every now and then...or they will but they'll spend the time flying, attempting to devise some new stunt with which to bewilder the Hun. It's all too frequent that at least one of them has to fill in for someone who's injured, sick, or gone on leave themselves, for them to take leave."

"Then post them to H.E. those men are too exhausted to work properly."

"They'll murder us if they're posted to H.E." Thomlin stared in stunned amazement at Johnstone and shook his head. "Post them to H.E. and all three will promptly transfer to either another Squadron, or possibly even the eastern battle front."

"I didn't think Ashington-Frankston could go there."

"He's not supposed to, but they haven't followed rules in over a year now, and I doubt they'll just start now."

"Well look, put the daily posting up shifting them to H.E. When they come to murder you, give them the option, six weeks leave or H.E. for six months."

"We'll see...and I'll telegraph extensive appologies to H.E. if they won't take the leave because they'll make hay if they ever go there."

"I don't think I want you to expand on those comments." Johnstone grunted as he turned to leave. "Well see you around, and I hope those three are absent next time I come."

"I won't guarantee anything." Thomlin watched Johnstone's departure in silence, and then crossed to the now empty recording office, empty that is, except for the presence of Denny. "Where have they gone?"

"Decided to camp down until dinner...seems Ashie had a jammed tappet again, hence the delayed return...I'd say he crash landed somewhere and fixed it before they returned." Denny pushed across the Squadron Record for Thomlin to inspect.

"Good-oh. Now I just want to discuss tomorrow's orders and postings with you." Thomlin quickly laid down the orders and Denny listened with every increasing astonishment.

"Sir, they'll murder us for that."

"That is why I haven't told you the reason behind this insane order. If they object, send them to see me." Thomlin abruptly retreated into his office, while Denny blew out an awed breath and turned his attention to editing the orders for the next day. Murder was an understatement, Denny had no idea what would happen, but whatever it was it wouldn't be pretty.

August 3rd 1917-L'Hopital de Angleterre, France

The wireless telegraph is not difficult to understand. The ordinary telegraph is like a very long cat. You pull the tail in New York, and it meows in Los Angeles. The wireless is the same, only without the cat. - Albert Einstein

"What the...!" Elizabeth spent all of a second attempting to focus her eyes, and then she abruptly rolled over and buried her pounding head under a hard board which was called a pillow.

"You wake at last." The voice had no respect for Elizabeth's head, and she emerged back into the painful light to throw a dirty look at the speaker.

"No I am not awake...who are you?"

"I am Louisa...and you will feel much better if you drink this." A cup was shoved under Elizabeth's nose.

"I don't want to drink anything." Elizabeth buried her head again, only to look up with magnified dislike at the peel of laughter.

"Drink it Sister, please!...or they will invade your room once more."

"Who will invade my room." Elizabeth took a deep breath and hastily gulped down the sour concoction.

"I must admit I have no idea who they are, but they are by far the most stubborn people I have known." Louisa gave a shrug.

"French or English? What service...or are they civilians?"

"English, R.F.C., Major and two Lieutenants. Dark, red and blond...they've got plenty to say for themselves, the first and the last that is, the second seems to rarely open his mouth. They flattened the Matron to get up here and were then thwarted by your complete disinclination to wake up."

"What time is it?" Elizabeth pushed higher in her bed.

"Four in the afternoon, you've had just under twelve hours sleep."

"Aargh!" Elizabeth rolled over and buried her only slightly recovered head under the blanket.

"Another drink Sister?"

"No thanks." Elizabeth freed her head again and massaged it gently, grimacing at the knots and clumps in her hair.

"I'll send up a jug of water and a hairbrush for you...if possible I'll detain your friends for a few minutes."

"They claim to be friends?" Elizabeth rubbed her eyes.

"Friends of your brother's."

"Well tell them they can be friends of whoever they damn well please, but they'll be no friends of mine if they come barging up here."

"Will do." Louisa gave another laugh.

Twenty minutes later, refreshed and changed, Elizabeth descended the rickety stairs and into the main passageway. It was not the first time Elizabeth had met 'friends of her brother's', and she doubted it would be the last time.

"Be-eth!" The holler turned more then one head, and Elizabeth looked around herself in bewilderment. "You must excuse the lot of us." A hand latched firmly onto her arm and they proceeded towards the main doors.

"Ashie!" Elizabeth finally managed to twist her head around sufficiently and recognised the face beside her.

"Correct as ever." Ashie shoved the door open. "I banished Florrie and Pyro to a nearby canteen and there we shall meet them. Once again you must excuse us, we're meant to be on leave, but when we learnt you were sulking away your birthday sleeping in Paris we decided to remedy the fault immediately...Florrie's mother can foot the bill for our expenses in England." Ashie dragged Elizabeth into a waiting cab and then they were off. There was a slight pause in front of the canteen where Ashie held an extended, noisy, and badly accented argument with the driver...the driver finished with a very rude remark and refused Ashie's pay. Ashie grinned as he towed Elizabeth into the canteen and a few minutes later another argument broke out concerning payment for the large basket which was to be purchased...and this time the argument was between Ashie, Pyro and Florrie, and was in English. Elizabeth listened in amusement for a couple of minutes as they squabbled about who was to pay.

"Why don't you just divide it evenly?"

"Because if we did that we could not enjoy this exceedingly pointless squabble." Florrie gave a grin and promptly chucked some money onto the counter before attaching himself.

"A pointless squabble?" Ashie banged Florrie firmly. "Let me tell you, you low down double-crossing son-of-I-will-not-say-what, I do not hold pointless squabbles. They are all very deliberate, very pointed disputes."

"And the point of that one?" Pyro scratched his head and looked up at the sky.

"Why was to pay for that damn thing...I hope you got a worthwhile motor Pyro."

"I got the Hunchy."

"Now that's a worthwhile motor...now where's this devilish fete Florrie's so excited about?"

"Two blocks away." Florrie was already heading off down the street.

"Go on." Ashie gave Elizabeth an encouraging shove towards the drop-eared little tent. "There's no way I'm going in there, but one of us must."

"But I don't want to..." Elizabeth hesitated.

"Garbage." Ashie gave another shove and Elizabeth reluctantly passed through the dirty flaps and into the tent. The tent was small, and it seemed even smaller due to the large table which occupied the middle of it. The woman sat hunched behind the table, a crystal ball lay in front of her and she gazed into it unwinkingly like a cat.

"Ahhh, a Child of the Stars are you, deep is your wisdom, great is your strength...do not abuse them lest you injure more than you help." The woman looked up from the ball and across at Elizabeth, her eyes were black, as if they were bottomless holes, they stared out of her face like the gates to another world. Eyes which beckoned and dragged you deeper, eyes which seemed to see the world in all its honesty. "Be seated child, your fortune I will not read for the Children of the Stars are invariably complex and vague, much of your life is in the shadowlands and very dependant on the actions of those around you."

"Who are the Children of the Stars?" Elizabeth sank into the available seat, then sat on her hands to prevent fidgeting.

"Children of the Stars." The woman blinked slowly than gazed across at Elizabeth. "The children are rare, they come only when specific stars are in conjunction and at the will of the gods...they are the rarity with no fear, but much love of the night. Your birth date is come again and with it will come a year of mixtures you will have great joys and great sadness, you will find yourself detached and separated or part of a deeply integrated group, times of great security and times of great danger." The woman blinked again, the slow sleepy blink which once again reminded Elizabeth of a cat. "Your life is a life of extremes, extremes of joy, sadness, danger, safety, industry, indolence...be careful of your hatred child, for though it is hasty and short-lived it can do much damage."

"I have met my anger and it scares me." Elizabeth scrunched her fingers up into a ball.

"Do not fear your anger, for that gives your anger strength...learn to know it and control it...learn its weaknesses and learn its strengths...anger in many is a great weakness, but at times it is a great strength...learn the anger of the strong, not the anger of the weak forced onto uncomfortable ground...Have a friend...you have two of them...you have two friends, Children of the Stars they are not, but that is not why they require help. Help them, be patient with all, learn from all. Never be afraid to listen Child of the Stars, your wisdom is ever expanding...I see sickness ahead of you, learn that sometimes to enforce discipline the call is harsh and though they will not show it, you are not the only one sickened by the idea but they are used to it and know the repercussions if they show any opinion." The woman blinked. "Mind your anger for it may do extreme damage...many people feel things they never show...a gun to your head is an incredible incentive not to be sick near others." The woman grimaced abruptly and wrinkled her nose. "Only one more thing will I say, you will lose someone personally important to you. The best of you will die before the trail truly ends. A second who is personally important to you will be lost as well." The woman returned to her ball and after a moment Elizabeth deposited the franc on the tabletop before leaving, to say the least her skin was crawling and not just because she had just left the tent.

"What's up?" Ashie caught Elizabeth's arm as she came out. Elizabeth gazed gravely back at Ashie for a moment and then abruptly shivered and walked crash into him.

"I'm scared Ashie, I'm scared silly and I want to forget."

"Nothing we're better at." There was a slight hesitation before Ashie hugged Elizabeth, but he only did it with one arm and he was clearly using the other to issue some directions. "Now come Beth, we are going to walk slowly back towards the canteen...and unless you want me to go back and beat the truth out of Madame Georgia, you are going to tell me what happened in there." Ashie moved so his arm was now only resting across her shoulders. "And mind you, if I don't like it the Major will probably scalp me for sending you in to begin with...so do try and remember that she's just an old bag with a liking for scary stories."

"She isn't Ashie, I've seen fortune tellers before and I know their styles...She was telling the truth."

"Then we have a problem." Ashie frowned and creased his brows. "Madame Georgia...devil take it where have I heard that name from before?" Ashie scratched his head in annoyance, and then abruptly shrugged. "But that is irrelevant. Get talking, and when I'm satisfied you've talked enough we'll make you forget anything and everything...I advise you to refrain from luncheon."

"I wasn't going to have it anyway." Elizabeth hesitated and then slowly began, she kept it in the brief form.

"Cantankerous old hag, probably just wanted to scare you." Ashie wrinkled his nose. "A poor little Beth, I won't force you in to see another...you don't mind me calling you Beth do you? You've just been stuck as my little sister."

"Oh, another brother I've acquired somewhat abruptly." Elizabeth gave a soft laugh.

"The Major?" Ashie looked at Elizabeth sharply.

"No, not your Major." Elizabeth responded quietly.

"Good, I was worried you'd made the error of thinking of him as a brother...Darcy isn't your brother and he never will be." Ashie's expression relaxed only slightly.

"You're not another of these tactful hinters are you?" Elizabeth looked at Ashie, unable to prevent the thread of irritation in both voice and expression.

"No I'm not, I'm stating the basic truth...Even Georgiana Darcy is not a sister to Darcy in the usual sense, he's a man of pendulum, you either hate him like hell or you tolerate him, but either way you'd die for him if you know him...and you sure as hell wouldn't do that for any old brother...and now that I've finished with that peroration we will join Pyro, who is dancing around like a cat on hot bricks, and relieve him of whatever concern is concerning him...and in twenty minutes if you are still worrying about that tent I'll buy you anything you want when we return to England."

"Anything?" Elizabeth looked at Ashie with extreme doubt.

"Anything with a price tag of 5000 pounds or less." Ashie amended his statement as he led Elizabeth around the motor and shoved her in. The motor which awaited them did not fill Elizabeth with any confidence whatsoever, but clearly Ashie was delighted to see the rusty, low-slung machine because he gleefully vaulted into it and settled down beside the dozing Florrie.

By the end of the day, which ended with Elizabeth back at the hospital just before curfew, Elizabeth realised two things. Number one was that the Cads could make you forget anything...and that was mostly because you were too concerned about surviving until the next minute to consider anything else, which also meant that Ashie managed to keep his 5000 pounds. Two, that nothing was considered worthwhile unless it moved fast...and as long as it moved fast it didn't matter how rickety it looked. All in all they were infectious companions and Elizabeth would have had to be sour not to enjoy the afternoon which toured most of southern France and had included several displays of brilliant formation flying and stunting as Florrie and Pyro set themselves to entertain the Bristol. It had not been long before Elizabeth's complete intolerance to air flight interfered with Ashie's part in the antics and reduced him to flying very stably and slowly nearly at the Bristol's ceiling.

August 5th 1917-Paris, France

The fear of death is the most unjustified of all fears, for there's no risk of accident for someone who's dead. - Albert Einstein

Chris looked at the cheerful display, even through that accumulated mud and dirt the garish colours displayed cheerfully, wrinkled his nose and took a second, and very doubtful, look at the display.

"What do you want?" The precision of enunciation seemed peculiar coming from such a down at heels character as the sullen-faced gypsy who peered from a nearby caravan.

"Khalid."

"Green Caravan...on your right...and except for Khalid and Georgia there's no one else who speaks English...and most of us don't speak French."

"Thank you for the warning." Chris gave a brief nod before cautiously walking to the Green Caravan on the right. It was a loud green with yellow stripes decorating it in a seemingly random pattern. Chris hesitated and then knocked cautiously.

"Enter." The Caravan was dimly lit, a dimness increased by the grime on the window. The air inside was dusty, musty and had a slightly sour odour. The occupant was seated on one of the bunks, a dim and indeterminate figure dressed in flowing robes of indeterminate age. In fact the only thing which was not indeterminate, dank and dusty was the gleaming pistol barrel which glinted cheerfully from the man's right hand.

"Khalid?" Chris did not stir from the doorway.

"Chat du Nord." The pistol vanished with the hushed whisper and then the figure straightened, his voice sharpening and harshening. "What does yer want?"

"I merely wanted to thank you for a most enjoyable performance...I'll now be on my way." Chris reversed sharply and dove from the caravan, he grimaced ruefully as the shots peppered after him and hastily dove down into some nearby streets. In Chris' opinion there should be a limit to how far imitation was taken and frankly he was not at all partial to being shot at, even if he knew that no shot would connect.

The Chat du Nord was only slightly better than the Gypsy Caravan ranks and Chris ordered beer as he sank into one of the dim corners. Dust was piled everywhere, swept into piles and then left for the occupants to kick around. But long experience had proved to Chris that though the surroundings were doubtful it was the best place to go if you wanted worthwhile beer. Not that Chris was any person to complain, five years spent voluntarily in the London Slums prevented one from being picky.

"I see you've returned safely." The Count was still one of the very few people who could arrive without Chris having noticed him before.

"I tend to like doing it." Chris paused and then rolled up his sleeve. "I thought you said I wouldn't get hit?"

"Phillipe...you were late. Had I known you would be late I would have warned you that Phillipe does shoot well...you nearly met Angelo, and that would truly have destroyed things for Angelo never misses."

"A comforting thought." Chris rolled his sleeve back down, once more concealing the six-inch trench the bullet had carved up his forearm.

"It should be, I am reluctant to shoot the best knifeman we have."

"Would you have?" Chris lifted a curious eyebrow.

"Quite likely...we need to pay a visit and unfortunately we will be unable to write or take anything away with us."

"Ah." Chris gave a single nod. "Do we just meet again or do I travel with you?"

"We meet, there is no way we could turn you into a seasoned Circus performer without months of notice...and even then it is doubtful."

"Where did this circus come from?"

"It was Andrea's for thirty years before I took over it." The Count shrugged disinterestedly. "It is handy, comfortable, and reliable."

"Isn't a Circus somewhat clumsy to carry around with you?"

"Not at all." The Count paused as he sampled the drink in front of him. "I have a reasonably steady income, I have a good excuse for never staying more than a week in one place...have you ever seen a circus stopped by Border Controls?"

"No." Chris frowned. "Point of fact I've never seen them at Border Controls."

"That's because the Gypsies have their own routes of travel."

"But even though it is a good excuse for movement, can't it be awkward."

"What General will turn down a few hours relief in laughter and courage? A Circus carries no thought of war, it is only the Generals and the high ranking officials who always think of the war...and it is interesting what they choose to converse about at such entertainment."

"Fair enough, and true, who will not go see a Gypsy Circus and Fete, they are held to be the best in the world for good reason." Chris paused. "However, for the time being I will not attempt to follow your lead. My mode of travel works for me."

"Your mode of travel is open to few people...Vienna...Outside the Imperial Palace."

"'Til then, than." Chris easily emptied his glass, planked the coins next to it before strolling away. It wasn't until Chris was halfway down the street that he remembered two things he had forgotten, the first was that the Count was not in the robes of Khalid. The second was that the high wire and tumbler performers had been lounging in nearby seats...whether the Count had brought them or not was a question Chris had no answer for. But whatever reason had caused them to perch so close to the table, it did not mean that Chris could not be in Vienna and outside the Imperial Palace within the next week and a half.

"Okay." The Count had stifled a yawn as he walked past the potted plants, potted plants which looked withered and ill a nice blending with the pale and desiccated looking man who emerged from behind them. "Phillipe and Georges will follow?" It was hardly a question when asked that way.

"Yes."

"Good." The Count swung down a narrow street, for all his lazy stride his eyes flickered warily and his fingers rested just millimetres from the hilt of a well-balanced throwing knife.

"Are we really going to Wien?"

"For a couple of days only and then we will swing north into Germany once more."

"He is a good man that one, he reminds me of the man...the first Khalid."

"A very good man and since we are about to lose him we will make good use of these last few months."

"Lose him?"

"He has other ties, and those ties need him elsewhere within the next year. The job they have for him is one which will suit him and his peculiar talents well. Very few men could pull it off to begin with...and even fewer could live to tell the tale."

"Madame Georgia is of the opinion that your group has another member."

"Madame Georgia would be correct, but she has a very different role to play...for once I have no idea how it fits."

"Perhaps Madame Georgia is incorrect."

"Madame Georgia is never incorrect, if she says it is so, than it is so."

"A pleasant thought...I do not wish to die."

"Everyone does eventually." The Count gave another disinterested shrug.

"Madame Georgia I do not like, she and Georges give me the creeps with their monkey tricks."

"With Georges monkey tricks is a very good description, but not with Madame Georgia. Madame Georgia comes very much from what the Scots call fey, I would not irritate her if I were you."

"No one irritates Madame Georgia," the man mumbled to himself and then sighed. "with the exception of the dark-haired man."

"Dark-haired man?" The Count's brows snapped together.

"I know little more, he was accompanying the girl she said was one of you and she was fairly glaring after him when they departed."

"Could she not have been glaring after the girl?"

"No, Madame Georgia does not glare without direction...Phillipe also thinks it is the dark-haired man who was the object of the glare."

"Well something will probably surface soon." The Count shrugged once more before stopping as he reached his Caravan. "Sleep well, we have much work ahead of us."

"We always have much work ahead of us." It was a dismal grumble which came in response and the man faded into the shadows of a nearby caravan. As the Count stood there he observed two more shadows enter the camp and fade into their own respective caravans. Ten minutes produced no more shadows and without any trace of emotion the Count turned and faded into the shadows himself, one had to be careful if one did not wish for followers.

August 6th 1917-L'Hopital Angleterre, France

Our real blessings often appear to us
in the shapes of pains, losses and disappointments;
but let us have patience,
and we soon shall see them in their proper figures. - Joseph Addison

Elizabeth frowned at the bag which sat at the foot of her bed and then at the pile of odds and ends which were supposed to fit into it yet, even she knew that such a stunt was impossible.

"Hah, and is she awake or is she awake. Lizzie, beloved angel that you are, give me some chocolate before I have to steal it." Philadelphia crashed onto the foot of the bed.

"Hello Delph." Elizabeth pitched across a lump of much melted chocolate and then yawned. "How is one meant to pack all this into a bag?"

"Either with a lot of force...or get a bigger bag."

"Obviously force is called for." Elizabeth sighed and resumed pushing items into the bag. "What brings you down here to haunt me?"

"Haunt is a bad turn of phrase." Philadelphia straightened up. "I was sent down to aid you in escorting the ambulance back to our new base...we moved."

"I didn't think the base hospitals moved very often...23 only moved six months ago."

"Irrelevant." Philadelphia waved an airy hand. "I'm afraid Lizziekins that you and I just got transferred...again. Ambulance duties with the Casualty Clearing Station we were at for the opening of Ypres."

"Well it's a change at any rate." Elizabeth dropped onto the bed and rubbed her face wearily.

"What's up Lizzie?" Philadelphia crashed onto the bed beside Elizabeth and gave her a hug. "What's made that mopish face."

"Nothing." Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her face before hastily turning back to pack.

"Don't lie, Lizziekins, what's up?" Philadelphia moved around and caught Elizabeth's arm.

"Nothing." Elizabeth snapped in exasperation.

"Oh yes there is, and by the time we reach the Station you're going to have told me what it is." Philadelphia settled down with a bang and scowled at Elizabeth.

"Not very ladylike." Elizabeth shoved the last item into her bag.

"Which?...the remark or my method of sitting."

"Both." Elizabeth yanked on the straps before sinking back onto the bed.

"I've changed my mind, you are revealing all before we depart...it will never do if you crack up on the road for I sure can't drive that motor." Philadelphia caught Elizabeth's arm and started dragging her out the door.

"Let go of me!" Elizabeth wrenched her arm free. "Why does everyone push and pull me around."

"Lizzie..."

"Just go away Delph, I don't want to see you." Elizabeth jerked around and stomped back into her room. Philadelphia whistled softly to herself and rubbed a thoughtful ear before she turned and walked slowly down the stairs before settling on the lowest step.

"Someone is not happy...in fact someone is comprehensively upset...or perhaps just nervy about something, and I seriously doubt the problem is the Massive Major." Philadelphia scratched her ear again. "So what has upset her?"

"MATRON!" The yell came an hour later and startled Philadelphia out of her near doze. Turning, Philadelphia saw that Elizabeth was standing at the top of the stairs.

"Lizzie." Philadelphia straightened, but Elizabeth did not even look at her as she repeated her call for the Matron.

"Who calls?" The Matron appeared in the corridor.

"Sorry Matron, I called for I cannot find the Communications Sister."

"Down the hall on your right...why do you want her?...aren't you going back today?"

"No." Elizabeth shook her head. "The only place I'm going is back to England."

"Lizzie!" Philadelphia turned wildly. "Matron you can't let her do this!"

"Sister Baker, I'm afraid I have no say in what happens." The Matron nodded briefly before she turned and walked away leaving Philadelphia to gaze after Elizabeth.

"Lizzie!" Philadelphia abruptly found the power of locomotion again and she shot after Elizabeth. "Lizzie what is going on?"

"I'm making arrangements to go home." Elizabeth shrugged, she did not even look at Philadelphia as she spoke.

"But why?" Philadelphia rubbed her forehead in bewilderment.

"Because I don't like it out here. I've been here for a year and I've had more than enough of it, I prefer working in England."

"Elizabeth Anne Bennet that is a filthy lie. Possibly right now you are thinking that you've hated it, but I can assure you that a week ago nothing but direct orders from the Head of VADs would have shifted you."

"So I'm good at pretending." Elizabeth shrugged disinterestedly.

"Bloody good at it." Philadelphia snapped shortly. "Good heavens Elizabeth why?"

"I told you." Elizabeth's shoulders slumped wearily. "I'm tired Delph and I want to go home."

"Poor diddums." Philadelphia snapped back. "Well perhaps we better give the men the same leave, they must be starting to get a bit tired of those trenches by now."

"Delph please."

"Why?" Philadelphia growled.

"Because I don't want to talk about it."

"You're scared." Philadelphia spoke flatly.

"No I'm not."

"Then why are you leaving? You're deserting Lizzie. You're just upping and departing because things are uncomfortable. Well I'm glad you're going and I'm damn sorry I ever knew you." Philadelphia abruptly turned and left, she felt sick. "And you'd better tell Sister Richie that you're not coming back and that I still can't drive an ambulance." Philadelphia was feeling nauseous as she managed to get back to the stairs where she sank limply onto the step again. That Elizabeth could just walk out like that seemed unbelievable. "Something has happened but she won't say what."

"Who won't say what?" The voice which interrupted Philadelphia's musings was male and undertoned by weariness.

"None of your business." Philadelphia responded very curtly, barely even glancing at the man as she spoke.

"True enough...Sister Bennet up there or not?"

"Sister Bennet is highly unlikely to even speak to you, let alone do it in a civil manner." Philadelphia snapped abruptly.

"Tell." The man sat down heavily next to Philadelphia. "What has upset the imperial Miss Beth?...and I'm Major Ashington-Frankston so you may rest assured that I have very nearly every right to know what's nabbed her."

"Sorry, I didn't recognise you." Philadelphia rubbed her forehead. "I don't know what's wrong with her, she won't say, all she says is that she's going back to England because she's tired of France."

"The Devil she has." Ashie abruptly straightened his legs and was jumping up the stairs. "Beth...Beth where in hell are you!"

"I'm in here Major Ashington-Frankston...I doubt the matron will approve of your language."

"I couldn't give a damn about the matron...What the devil is this garbage about your returning to England?"

"I'm sure Delph told you, I'm just tired and want to go home."

"The devil you do...your running scared Elizabeth Bennet, running scared of yourself and a Gypsy. Those people aren't going to live, it doesn't matter where you are, if they're slated to die they'll die and there is nothing you can do about it...and running back to England certainly won't help. Why don't you just try admitting that you're a spineless coward and useless to everyone, the Major will absolutely love to know that the sister of one of his best Lieutenants was so afraid of the future that she couldn't even face today. Which would you prefer? Waiting the long months to hear the details from the war office to hear that I, the Major, or possibly one of your fellow Sisters, has gone west...that is if you heard at all. Or would you prefer to be there, to know the worst when it damn well happens and know for certain that you have the real details of what happened." Ashie abruptly grabbed Elizabeth's arms and swung her around to face him. "War hurts Lizzie. Life hurts Lizzie and there is damn little you can do about it...except you can face it front on and give the best show of your life, give the show of a life and make it a life people remember for honesty, bravery, and unselfishness. Everyone's tired Elizabeth and I'd say that right now the Major is probably one of the most tired, stop thinking of your damn self and the dark mutterings of a bloody Gypsy Fortune Teller who told you what anyone could have told you. Everyone's tired, but bloody few of us get any chance to go home...let alone go home on a more permanent basis, unless we're pretty smashed up."

"What did you mean about the Major being tired?"

"Why should you care? Aren't you going back to England?" Ashie responded to Elizabeth worried look with a bland look of surprise.

"No I'm damn well not, now stop rubbing my nose in the mud that I'm being horribly selfish and tell me what you meant."

"Language Lizzie."

"I'm not interested in language, if I was I'd have fainted on a permanent basis years ago. Now what was that about the Major?"

"He's back out on the Front." Ashie looked faintly reluctant as he spoke. "Sorry Lizzie, I shouldn't have brought the matter up, it wasn't fair."

"All's fair." Elizabeth gave a sigh. "Ypres?"

"Seaforths again, not the same lot but he was sounding pessimistic." Ashie gave a shrug.

"Thank you Ashie, I'm sorry I was beastly." Elizabeth gave him a hug. "I've now given you a beastly start to your leave...Enjoy it Ashie...to be honest I'd give nearly anything to have you not return."

"Nearly anything?" Ashie cocked a curious head.

"I'm afraid I can't give Ashie. I'm terribly selfish because I want you to return...you wouldn't be Ashie if you didn't, and I'm afraid it's Ashie who is my adopted brother...Lord James is a stranger and I don't want to meet him right now, I doubt he'd be sufficiently rude to set me straight when I got muddled." Elizabeth paused. "Thank you for everything Ashie."

"S'Okay Beth." Ashie abruptly gave her a hug. "It's not all in your favour, I do it mostly out of a favour to myself. Now here's the reason for why I actually came past...I hope you enjoy it, I could blackmail the Major for a fortune when it came to this note if I felt so inclined." Ashie handed across the grimy envelope before he turned and headed for the door, then stopped and turned back. "Why don't you teach yon Delph to drive so you can read the damn thing." Ashie gave a final wave before he removed himself from the room, where he found a frowning Philadelphia. "What's up Sister Baker? You look dismal...don't you wish to drive?"

"Not particularly, but I need to learn sometime so I may as well learn now."

"Grand idea...now come and let one exhausted Major buy himself a mug of dishwater...I'll buy you one too if you want it, but I really don't advise it." Ashie was leading Philadelphia down the stairs as he spoke.

"Now I know why Lizzie was irritated when I tried to lead her." Philadelphia made the remark to nearby empty space.

"Surprise, surprise. My particular golden rule is never to try to lead someone larger than you...and certainly not stronger."

"So you prefer backhand manipulation of events around them?"

"Not at all, Sister. Now stop being rude or I'll forget what few manners I ever had...and I have it on very good authority that those are very few and somewhat doubtful as to their actual existence."

"That does not sound polite."

"He was not meant to be polite...one is never polite to a fag...least of all when the fag fails to be polite back."

"You fagged?" Philadelphia frowned doubtfully.

"Everyone fags in their first year at Eton unless they're really out of place."

"She referred to Lord James...I never realised what she meant before."

"Hah! I was not the only one who listened." Ashie gave a triumphant crow.

"Well I never pretended that I hadn't."

"Ooh, defensive. Well it's an improvement on trying to marry a fellow Sister off to one of the most awkward men in the entire Allied Armed Forces...and I am counting the Yanks in that."

"I was never trying to marry her off." Philadelphia sniffed.

"I'm very glad to hear it...ah, friends have arrived." Ashie rose abruptly. "Do you require escort or am I to miss my boat without an excuse?"

"I don't need an escort...get moving Major Ashie or you'll give me a bad reputation."

"I like that." Ashie gave a nod. "I'll see you around Sister...and don't hesitate to sound the alarms if the beloved Sister Bennet goes off the rails again."

"Don't worry, you'll hear if she goes weird again." Philadelphia paused and looked curiously at Ashie. "Is that the only reason why you haven't tried for her yourself?"

"Sister Baker, one thing is certain and that is that you are impertinent." Ashie lifted a finger and waved it warningly. "It is none of your business but never the less I'll have the courtesy to answer. Sister Bennet is not my cup of tea, she's a damn sight stronger than I am...I'd crack if someone threw at me what I just threw at her. I'm a selfish taker at every turn, I help her because she is a stability in my life and my life will probably go to hell if she cracks. Lizzie's a giver, she'll keep giving until she cracks...unless some bloody rude buffoon, namely myself, gives her a kick up the pants and makes her take something back."

"Must the person be rude?"

"No, but they have to be stronger if they're not rude. A fellow acquaintance of both of us, whom I will not name, shows the other method, and that is to quite simply give the person no other option."

"Give her no other option?" Philadelphia frowned doubtfully.

"If you ever hear him invite her to do something I think I'll be absolutely dumbfounded if she can do anything but accept without appearing rude, or ungrateful or both." Ashie shot a quick look out the window. "And now if you'll excuse me I really have to fly or I'll be sunk. Cheerio." Ashie waved a careless hand as he shot from the canteen, leaving Philadelphia to help the aid return the dishes to the kitchen before she returned to the hospital.

"'Lo Delph." Elizabeth waved a hand sleepily from her bed as Philadelphia peered cautiously around the door.

"'Lo Lizzie." Philadelphia dropped onto the foot of the bed and studied Elizabeth thoughtfully.

"I trust Ashie lived up to expectations for entertainment?"

"He called me impertinent."

"He calls everyone impertinent...unless they don't speak and then they're stuck up snobs." Elizabeth gave a shrug. "Sorry about being horrible to you Delph."

"Well I'll say sorry to because I was being nosey...and now we'll call it a truce of the sorrys and completely forget about the matter." Philadelphia frowned slightly. "Lizzie, why don't you take some home leave?"

"I need to be offered it first." Elizabeth gave a shrug as she rolled off the bed.

"True...do we leave now or later?"

"We won't make it today if we don't leave now."

"Probably won't make it today if we leave at any time, the roads are hell."

"Good...you're learning to drive once we clear Paris then." Elizabeth gave a quick grin as she grabbed her pack. "Now move it Sister Baker or I'll go to sleep again."

August 14th 1917-Deraux Castle, Cambridgeshire

The station taxi was a rusty and rickety affair, rusty and rickety to the point that even Ashie had his doubts about its safety and Ashie considered himself somewhat a connoisseur of unsafe motors. But much to Ashie's surprise the taxi had safely conveyed himself, and his pack safely to the intimidating front doors of Deraux Castle.

"Ye'll no get a warm welcome." The driver spoke as Ashie left the taxi.

"A warm welcome was the last thing I was expecting, but never-the-less I had to come." Ashie calmly paid the driver off and then watched the taxi out of sight before he finally shouldered his pack again and ascended the stairs before pounding firmly on the ancient knocker.

"Yes?" The elderly Butler, Jenks, looked even more elderly and fragile than Ashie remembered, but he certainly remembered the man. Just as clearly the man did not remember him.

"I'm here to speak to his Lordship the Earl of Deraux." Ashie responded briefly.

"His Lordship is not currently available for visitors."

"Why not?" Ashie slipped his pack off his shoulders and leant it against the wall.

"That is a personal matter within the family."

"If I did not have a personal interest in the family I doubt I would have asked. Either I am to hear why his lordship is not available or I demand to be taken to him immediately."

"The previous Earl died last week, if you will please allow the family the right of time alone."

"Not in the slightest, that merely reinforces my request to see his lordship."

"His lordship is not available for visitors." Jenks repeated the words like a mantra.

"I am not a visitor." Ashie's jaw tightened. "Now take me too see his lordship immediately, or I will see his lordship on my own accord with or without introduction."

"If you will follow me." The invitation was grudging in the extreme, and only came after Jenks had failed to close the door in Ashie's face. Ashie calmly followed Jenks into the small saloon and appeared to take a seat, but the minute Jenks had left Ashie was on his feet and out the door. With light feet Ashie hurried through the twisting passageways, his movements the automatic response of a deeply engrained habit. Ashie took a final nervous look around before he ducked into the room which had once been his bedroom, and to his relief he found it to be totally unchanged. It took Ashie a minute to pull his old dressing gown from his cupboard. Flying Corps hat and 'maternity' jacket went flying onto the bed followed by ribbons and tie, a quick comb straightened the hair which was not long enough to be disordered and Ashie slid into his dressing gown. Having stowed his pack behind the door and shoved the ribbons into the front pocket and draped jacket and hat over it Ashie finally exited his room and descended once more to the lower levels where he observed Jenks to exit the small saloon fuming. Ashie held back for a minute and then calmly followed Jenks until he satisfied himself that indeed Jenks was headed straight back for the kitchen, the rude Flying Corps Officer was going to have been told most apologetically that the Earl was not available to anybody. Ashie then turned and headed for the upper stories, he had no doubt of where he would find Gerard for though they had never been close, they did know each other.

"Who is it?" It was gruff, it was curt and it was incredibly weary.

"Greetings Gerard." Ashie push the door open and strolled calmly into the small upstairs sitting room. Gerard had always been a fairly colourless individual in appearance, and weariness and hunger had not added any colour to him.

"James?" It was in total astonishment and disbelief that Gerard rose from behind the large desk.

"In person. How are you Ger?"

"Tired." Gerard sank back into his seat. "What are you doing here?"

"I actually came to speak to father." Ashie tilted his head. "But Jenks informed me he died a week ago."

"Correct." Gerard responded dully.

"Books a mess are they? Here, give me a squiz?" Ashie crossed and picked up the first of many immense estate account books

"I suppose you've come to gloat."

"Gloat? Hell no, why on earth would I climb three flights of stairs to gloat?" Ashie looked up in surprise.

"Then why haven't you come before?" Gerard pushed his seat back. "Father was willing to make his peace with you about five minutes after you left...for the second time." Gerard somewhat hastily amended his original remark.

"Thank you." Ashie frowned at the account books and gave a soft laugh before grabbing a nearby pen. "Well it's the first time I've really been back in England."

"Really been back in England?"

"Mmm." Ashie was swiftly re-ordering and putting notes beside entries. "I was here in June of last year, but I was also under guard and so I did not think it precisely diplomatic to turn up complete with military guard to pay father my regards."

"Why were you under military guard?"

"Mmm?" Ashie reached out and pulled the bell before resuming his work. "Oh, slight misunderstanding in the system, they thought I'd made a run for it and deserted...I suspect it was only my worthy father who saved me from execution."

"How'd that happen?" Gerard frowned as Jenks came into the room.

"You rang my lord?" Jenks stood by the door.

"No Jenks, I did. Do get me something to drink...and I expect Gerard would like a drink as well."

"Master James?" Jenks stared at Ashie.

"You know that's much more the greeting I had expected, but do get the drink."

"But...how did you get in here?"

"Well first you were abominably rude to me on the doorstep, and then I was abominably rude to you and didn't wait for you to return and kick me out. Now a drink before I perish at your feet...though preferably something warm." Ashie turned back to the accounts.

"Ever the same James. Jenks, bring up tea please." Gerard shook his head in resignation.

"Yes my lord." A puzzled Jenks bowed himself out.

"What was all that about James?" Gerard looked enquiringly across the desk.

"I'll get to that shortly, right now I'm informing you as to why I spent several months as a deserter." Ashie abruptly discarded his gloves and hurriedly made a few more entries. "What happened was I got caught during a Senussi raid...that was down in Africa. Unfortunately the Senussi decided I was probably too important to the Turks, so they did not slit my throat, I was sold to the Turks instead for some fairly large sum. Doubly unfortunate was the fact that my Battalion Officer just forgot to register me as Missing-in-Action until a month or so after I vanished. I spent roughly a month kicking around various prisons and hospitals in Turkey, then managed to hitch a lift over the lines and into Russian territory. I spent about a fortnight under medical observation with the Russians before I was returned. Further misunderstanding lead to the African High Command deciding that I was a deserter, so I was shipped back to England. After a fortnight kicking around prisons here I got attached to a Labour Battalion and shipped back out to France. About a week or so after that the Gods of Fate smiled and my name was cleared." Ashie paused as Jenks entered, laid out the tea things and left again. "This brought me back to England and straight into Training School for the Royal Flying Corps, I didn't have any time to visit between my return and the start of classes. I finished Flying School and was promptly shipped back out to France again, once again there was no time to get back up here, and even if there had been time I doubt they would have let me go. I've been Flying in France ever since."

"Now why the remark to Jenks?"

"Well as you observe I'm wearing my rather elderly dressing gown, by the way I am very thankful I was not moved out of my old bedroom. When I arrived I'm afraid to say I was attired in full Uniform, which is not only very ugly but also completely unlike anything I've ever worn before...unless you clearly remember me dressed in skirts aged about one year."

"Surely they're not that bad?" Gerard looked startled.

"Don't you believe it. What's happened to everyone else...assuming that you've remained in good health."

"Well if you believe the medics I've got bad legs, hence I wasn't conscripted, but other than that I'm well."

"Good to hear. The others?"

"Well mama still lives in the grey sitting room."

"Think it's safe for me to visit her?"

"I expect it would delight her."

"What's with Margaret?" Ashie tilted his head questioningly as Gerard paused once more.

"She's dead, died about a year and a half ago after something went wrong during child birth."

"I see." Ashie frowned. "Baby?"

"Didn't make it either." Gerard gave a shrug. "Caudly remarried as soon as was decently allowable and father spoilt his shooting for the season."

"I never liked Caudly, he was only interested in Margaret because she was daughter to the Earl of Deraux."

"Are you back for good James?" There had been a period of silence before the question was asked, during which Ashie had silently worked.

"No." Ashie shook his head gently.

"Why not, there's more than enough work for you to do here?"

"There's also work for me to do out there." Ashie paused. "Gerard, you were always going to be the Earl of Deraux. If I come back here I'll go back to being irresponsible Lord James Claude Francis Abraham Aristide Clarence Ashington-Frankston...or at least if I come back now."

"What?" Gerard frowned.

"I need occupation Gerard, and estate accounts are not a full time occupation...or at least they won't be within a week."

"Well if money's a matter then forget it, the estate brings in plenty."

"No Gerard." Ashie realised the tea things were rapidly cooling so he promptly poured out two cupfuls and handed one to his brother. "Look there will only be two reasons if I return. One will be because the medics have finally caught up with me and the other will be because the war will have ended, but I have still managed to retain my commission."

"Why didn't you ever respond?" The question finally burst out.

"Respond to what?" Ashie looked up sharply.

"The letter father sent you."

"I never got a letter...when did he send it?" Ashie looked sharply at Gerard.

"Late May, early April, I do not remember the exact date."

"No wonder I didn't get it." Ashie abruptly buried his head into his hands.

"What?" Gerard frowned in bewilderment.

"Ger, I was dead. Any mail that came in early April was either opened or returned to the War Office, to be dealt with as they saw appropriate. That'll be the letter from London which Pyro sent back...you mean it wasn't a sudden death?" Ashie looked up sharply once more."

"No...Father was sick for over six months, just slowly wasted away. He was in a lot of pain for the last couple of weeks, but the doctors could find nothing the matter with him."

"They wouldn't have." Ashie grated somewhat harshly.

"You have little faith in medics..." Gerard's voice died away to a whisper. Puzzled, Ashie looked up to find his brother's attention focused on his hands. "How in hell did that happen?" It was a soft whisper.

"Self-mutilation." Ashie's tone was sarcastic. "Or at least that is what our Medics reported...pretty aren't they...that's real Turkish treatment for you." Ashie extended his hands so Gerard could take a closer look.

"Is he dead?" It was a soft question, and though to many it would have seemed obscure and in need of explanation Ashie had no difficulty with it at all.

"Yes...his horse bolted into a minefield."

"I hope it was not a quick death." It was a soft hiss and Gerard twisted Ashie's hands over thoughtfully.

"I can promise you it was a long, prolonged, and somewhat agonising death to endure as he was slowly blown to pieces." Ashie responded flatly.

"I think it well father is dead for he would have massacred the entire nation for this." Gerard finally pushed Ashie's hand back, and stared meditatively at the desk for a moment. "This isn't why you've remained at war is it?"

"No." Ashie paused thoughtfully for a moment. "No Ger, whether this had happened or not I would still be at war."

"I do not understand James." Gerard shook his head in resignation.

"Well..." Ashie paused and bit his lip. "You're the Earl, you were always going to be something...but I never was...and nothing I wanted to be was acceptable to father. Because he didn't like my ideas he wouldn't fund me, and I wouldn't take funding to the things he thought appropriate. The result was a stalemate. Father wanted to get rid of me and I wanted to leave, but neither of us were willing to accept the terms of the other...very much like this bloody war, everyone wants peace but neither side is willing to accept the other's terms. Germany would cease the war, but they refuse to give up any territory they have taken. England wants peace, but she won't make terms for anything less than the return of Belgium and Alsace-Lorraine. The result is an impasse and we continue to fight." Ashie gave a shrug. "The war came, and though I have absolutely no wish to fight Germany I went to war. I learnt a trade, I have a skill, an ability, I am now in a position to battle with the masses in a couple of trades and will possibly be able to earn a living for long enough to do what I want to do."

"What do you really want to do?" Gerard looked curiously at Ashie and in response he received a somewhat disbelieving stare.

"Ger you know perfectly well what I really want to do."

"Well I sort of assumed that those hands of yours would rule that profession out." Gerard responded bluntly.

"True." Ashie paused. "I want to stay in the Flying Corps actually...or get into the aircraft industry as a test pilot. However I have to keep clear of the medics until the war is over first."

"Why don't you just let yourself be invalided out?"

"Ger, have you listened to a word I've said? I don't want to marry a rich and ugly girl so I'm not totally dependant on you...in fact I don't want to marry at all...and even if I had wanted having watched the Major these past few months would certainly have turned me off."

"The Major?"

"The Cricket Captain...you remember him?"

"Indeed I do...is he still alive?"

"Alive, kicking, a Brigadier..errr General and madly in love with the sister of one of his former Lieutenants. Bennie died at Loos and since then his sister has emerged from the wood work and comprehensively rocked the Major's moorings."

"He didn't seem much of a man to be upset by a woman." Gerard looked doubtful.

"Oh he isn't, in fact I only know he's been bashed for six because I'm well acquainted with him. You couldn't see it in his behaviour or attitude. In fact he's so thoroughly gone that I think if he thought her at all amenable to the proposal he'd make it in a flash...there are times when it's handy to spend two years fagging for a big man."

"That's one thing I never understood...how on earth did father not kick up a fuss of your fagging?"

"He wasn't given the choice...I never told him because I knew he'd make a fuss." Ashie gave a shrug. "But this is all off the subject. If I become invalided out that's going to be a mark against me, why don't I just sign up for a coffin and die right now?"

"Is it really that bad?" Gerard looked thoughtful.

"Don't you believe it brother, would you employ a man with mitts like mine?" Ashie flattened both palms upwards.

"Well...no." Gerard grimaced.

"Would you employ him any more readily if he came with a reasonable war record and proof that such lovely marks did not effect his ability to work?"

"Yes." Gerard paused before responding and then nodded ruefully. "I see your point."

"Now you know why I can't leave and can't let the medics catch up with me...the medics couldn't give a damn whether I'm doing my job, it all depends on what they think."

"But then how did you get in in the first place?"

"Powerful friends." Ashie abruptly grinned. "The African medics wrote that I had marks of 'self-mutilation'. Though a few medics have seen my files, none of them have seen me and so no one realises that there are slight differences between their image of self-mutilation and the reality of what the medics called self-mutilation."

"Ah." Gerard nodded thoughtfully. "Why were you reported in as dead?"

"Well I sort of failed to return one day, the last time I had been seen was near dusk headed straight for Germany with some Fokkers on my tail. Twenty minutes later a snowstorm swept in. Two days and I had still not returned so I had to be registered as missing. Three days after that and there had been nothing from Germany and I had still not returned, as a result I am missing-in-action, assumed dead. They assume I'm dead because they have found no corpse...but they certainly don't believe I am alive...basically they're just saying to the family that they're not going to bother looking." Ashie gave another shrug.

"I think I'm glad we did not know that earlier." Gerard frowned and rubbed restlessly at his eyebrow. "James..." Gerard shook his head and shrugged in a hopeless manner before spreading his hands restlessly.

"Go to bed Ger, you can't do the accounts any good when you're half dead with exhaustion." Ashie waved a warning finger.

"You don't look to good yourself." Gerard responded with a wave of his own.

"Nothing can be done for my lovely looks, I've been sleeping for the better part of the last week." Ashie dismissed the matter with a wave. "Buzz off and sleep, I will entertain myself with the estate accounts until supper and I will murder you if I see you before then."

"I think you would make a very bad Earl James, so if you'll excuse me I'll depart."

"I don't think...I know, I'd make a hideous Earl. Now buzz off dear Earl and leave me to be the flighty and irresponsible James who likes mathematics." Ashie waved a distracted hand, already lost in the world where confused numbers danced and needed order.

Continued in Next Section