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August 18th 1918 - Bavarian Foothills, Germany

Thankyou, thankou Stephanie for reading my hideous e-mails and answering questions for this post :) The end is now in sight!

Walter sighed heavily as for the third time his stick slid off the steep slope and sent him tumbling painfully back down the slope until something interfered with his fall. Last time it had been a pine tree. It was another pine tree which stopped his career this time. Walter cautiously struggled to unwrap himself from around the pine, but it was an unsuccessful struggle and Walter turned a gloomy glance to inspect the slope above him. Even Bismarck had deserted him Walter realised as he looked around and failed to find the Riesenschnauzer anywhere nearby. Walter actually felt particularly sore that Bismarck had deserted him, in the entire year and a half they had been together Bismarck had never left him, and yet right now Bismarck was not to be seen. Walter kicked awkwardly once more and then cursed as his knee-cap smacked against the coarse bark.

Ten minutes struggle had reduced Walter to uncaring exhaustion. Walter looked around but Bismarck still hadn't reappeared and neither could Walter see his stick lying on the ground. Walter twisted around once more and then abruptly froze. He stood at the top of the slope, silhouetted against the sky.

"He!" Walter yelled as loudly as he could. Now was not a time for good manners, now was a time to get himself out of a very uncomfortable position. "He!" Walter yelled a second time as the figure seemed to look around searchingly. "Ich bin hier unten!" I'm down here! There was a moment and the head turned and looked directly at Walter. The head nodded slowly before focussing it's attention on the ground. The figure came down the slope very carefully indeed, each boot being firmly grounded indeed before any weight was put on it. The figure paused next to Walter's head and looked concernedly around. "Oi!" The response to Walter's unhappy calls was a muted grunting noise. Walter couldn't say why, but he found the noise comforting. The figure continued to look around for another minute, then he grunted once more and picked his way carefully down the slope a couple of metres.

Walter watched the figure worriedly until he realised that the man was retrieving his stick. The figure returned with the stick in hand and carefully laid it on a slightly flatter bit of the slope before he came back and began what Walter recognised as quite a professional inspection of physical health. The man grunted irregularly, yet comfortingly, for the entire duration of his careful study. At only one point did the grunt change at all and then it acquired an inflection of surprise. Walter gave himself a rueful smile as he realised that the man had discovered his peg. The man finished his study and then quite carefully pulled Walter up from where he lay and hung him over one shoulder. The man then picked up Walter's stick from where he had laid it down before he began his cautious return to the top of the slope.

Walter could not quite silence the delighted sigh of relief which escaped him when he found himself lying flat on his back on a flat piece of ground. The strange man responded to the noise with a grunt which sounded like it was probably a laugh.

"Na los, lachen Sie soviel Sie wollen. Aber lassen Sie sich's gesagt sein, daß ich eine ziemlich unbequeme Nacht vor mir habe." Go on, laugh all you like. But I'll have you know I'm in for a very uncomfortable night. The man responded with a slightly more prolonged chuckle-grunt. He then made a walking movement with two fingers and pointed towards the nearby trees. Walter twisted his head awkwardly and blinked. Bismarck was hovering shamefacedly just at the edges of the trees.

"Nun, er sollte sich auch was schämen, mich so zu verlassen." And well he'd want to be ashamed, deserting me like that. Walter looked away from Bismarck as something in his back made a spirited protest. The response came in a series of grunts and some more walking fingers.

"Ich verstehe keine sprechenden Finger. Wenn Sie mir etwas sagen wollen, müssen Sie Ihre Methode ändern." I don't use speaking fingers, if you want to say something to me you're going to have to change your methods. The response came in an exasperated sounding grunt.

Walter had been lying on his back for ten minutes before he finally attempted sitting up. Walter did not manage to sit up, but he soon found that the man had not departed when the said man abruptly lent him a not so gentle hand to straighten up.

"Autsch!" Ouch! Walter attempted to rub the numerous aching points all at the same time. The man grunted yet another finger-walking enquiry.

"Das kann ich nicht sagen. Ich weiß immer noch nicht, was Sie mich gefragt haben." I couldn't say, I still don't know what you've asked. Walter rolled his eyes and tried once more to ease a couple of his aches. This time the man didn't bother making a second attempt at getting his query across, he acted. Walter found himself pushed more upright and then the man vanished behind him before an imperative hand pulled him back.

"Was...?" Walter terminated his half-asked question when he realised what actually was going on. The man had just provided him with an exceedingly comfortable backrest.

"Wie groß sind Sie?" How big are you? Walter made the query after he found the man's knee was several inches higher than his head, and Walter had never considered himself as a small man. The response came as a series of grunts.

"Mist!" Damn! Walter cursed briefly. "Ok, zeigen Sie mir, wie Sie Ihre Größe gewöhnlich angeben und ich versuche, die richtige Übersetzung dafür zu finden...Ich nehme an, Sie kennen Ihre Größe?" Okay, show how you usually give your height and I'll attempt to get the correct translation...I assume you know your height? The response came with an extremely indignant sounding grunt.

"Ich nehme an, Sie sind größer als einen Meter, wie wäre es also, wenn Sie es mir so angeben?" I'll assume you are more than one metre tall so how about you give it to me? The response did not come in grunts, it came in two extremely large hands with the index finger extended.

"Sie sind einen Meter groß?" You're one metre tall? There was another grunt, the fingers dropped, one fist clenched with the thumb extended upwards. The fist relaxed and abruptly nine fingers rose. The fingers then retracted before five fingers rose.

"Nun, ich würde auf einmeterfünfundneunzig tippen, weil meine anderen Rateversuche überhaupt keinen Sinn ergeben. Ist Ihnen klar, daß Sie fast einen halben Meter größer sind als ich?" Well I'll rashly guess at one hundred and ninety five centimetres because my other guesses make no sense at all. Do you realise you're nearly half a metre taller than me? The response came in a disinterested grunt.

"Wissen Sie, daß es ganz schön schwierig ist, mit Ihnen zu sprechen?" You are a very difficult person to talk to you know. The response came as yet another chuckling grunt.

"Ja, ich bin sicher, daß Sie das ziemlich amüsant finden, aber es tut mir leid, wenn ich Ihnen sagen muß, daß ich es ziemlich schwierig und nervig finde." Yes I'm certain you find it amusing, but I'm afraid to say I find it rather difficult and highly irritating. There was another grunt and then a moment later a dirty piece of paper was pushed forward. Walter took it reluctantly and opened it up again.

Sie sind absolut in der Lage zu sprechen, ohne eine Antwort zu bekommen. Viele Leute sprechen gerne, ohne unterbrochen zu werden.

It is entirely possible for you to talk without getting a response. A lot of people like to hold forth uninterrupted.

"Nun, vielleicht mögen es andere Leute, wenn sie sprechen, ohne eine Antwort zu bekommen, aber ich gehöre nicht zu denen....ein Moment, strecken Sie Ihre Hände noch einmal aus." Well maybe others do like to talk without response, but I'm not one of them.....half a moment, hands forward again. The response was a puzzled grunt.

"Los, strecken Sie nochmal Ihre Hände aus." Look just put your hands forward again. There was once more the puzzled grunt but after a pause the hands came forwards once more. Walter caught the hand which interested him and stared at it in silence for several minutes. He finally released it with a sad little sigh. The hands withdrew and an enquiring grunt followed.

"Vergessen Sie es, mein Freund, ich habe vor vielen Jahren Englisch gelernt, auch wenn Sie offensichtlich Deutsch verstehen, ohne es sprechen zu können." Forget it my friend, I learnt English years ago, though clearly you also understand German even if you can't speak it. The grunt was now bewildered in note.

"Nun, wenn Sie's nicht raffen, dann eben nicht." Well if you won't come clean so be it. Walter sighed tiredly. "Seit all diesen Jahren träume ich davon, daß ich eines Tages einen Engländer treffen würde, der den Krieg genauso haßt wie ich es getan habe...das sind sicherlich nicht Sie....es verträgt sich nicht mit Ihrer Vorliebe für Siegelringe. Sie haben Ihren so vielen Jahre lang getragen, daß er entweder abgesägt oder abgeschossen worden sein muß. Und bevor Sie anfangen zu streiten, Ihr Hauttyp ist eher säurehaltig und die Eingravierung ist noch zu sehen. Den Deutschen, der einen Ring mit der Gravur 'Forever' trägt, müßte ich erst noch finden." I have had a dream these many years that someday I might meet an Englishman who disliked this war as much as I did. Clearly it won't be you.....your tendency for family signet rings undoes you. You've worn one for many years, to the point that either it needed to be sawn off, or it was shot off. And before you consider arguing, you've an acidic skin type and the internal engraving is still there. I've yet to find a single German who wears a ring with 'Forever' engraved on it.

"Ich...spreche....nicht....sehr....viel....Gewohnheit." Not...speaking....very....much....habit.

"Nun, das ist eine schlechte Angewohnheit. Wann haben Sie das letzte Mal gesprochen?" Well it's a bad habit. How long has it been since you've spoken?

"Welches...Datum?" What's....date?

"August....der achtzehnte August, glaube ich. Sicher ist, daß ich am dreizehnten meine letzte Nahrungsmittellieferung bekommen habe und das war vor ungefähr fünf Tagen." August....Eighteenth of August I believe. Certainly it was the thirteenth when I last got supplies and that was about five days ago.

"Mai....später Mai, früher Juni." May...late May, early June.

"Das ist eine höllisch lange Zeit um zu schweigen." That is one hell of a long time to go silent for. Walter chewed meditatively on his lip and thoughtfully stared out at the surrounding greenery. "Warum schweigen Sie?" Why are you silent?

"Mein deutscher Akzent ist bestenfalls zweifelhaft. Gewöhnlich hat er ziemlich heftige holländische Anklänge, da ich die Sprache in Südafrika gelernt habe. Gewiß macht sich jemand, der schweigt, verdächtig, aber man muß mich erst einmal zum Sprechen bringen und daher habe ich nichts getan, um mich verdächtig zu machen. Ich bin niemals an einem wichtigen Ort, ich bin niemals dabei beobachtet worden, wie ich etwas Eigenartiges getan habe. Um es klar auszusprechen, man erschießt keinen als Spion, der eine kleine Kriegsneurose hat und stumm ist." My German accent is dubious at best, usually it has heavy overtones of a Dutch accent since I learnt the language in South Africa. Certainly they are suspicious of a man who is silent, but they have yet to make me talk, also I have done nothing to make them suspicious of me. I am never near anything important, I'm never seen doing anything peculiar. To put it bluntly, you do not shoot someone as a spy because they are a trifle shell-shocked and mute.

"Aber das sind Sie nicht." But you are not.

"Das muß man aber erst einmal beweisen." They have yet to prove that.

"Das wird man." They will. Walter turned his head slightly. "Nehmen Sie dies als Warnung, Engländer, man wird es beweisen." Take warning Englishman, they will prove it.

"Werden Sie es ihnen sagen?" You're going to tell them?

"Um Gottes Willen, nein." Hell no. Walter gave a soft laugh.

"Warum nicht?" Why not?

"Nun, der Hauptgrund ist, daß ich zu kriegsmüde bin. Wir werden nicht gewinnen und offen gesagt habe ich genug Menschen getötet. Ich habe nicht die Absicht, noch mehr zu töten." Well main reason is because I'm too tired of war. We're not going to win and frankly I've killed enough people I have no intention of killing any more.

"Welches ist der andere Grund?" What's the other reason?

"Sie sind scharfsinnig, ich sag's Ihnen." You're sharp, I'll give you that. Walter moved cautiously again, but he soon ceased, it still hurt too much. "Der andere Grund ist derselbe, aus dem ein früherer Geschäftsmann jetzt ein einbeiniger Förster ist. Sie würden mich nicht treffen wollen, wenn mehr als drei Menschen um mich herum sind." The other reason is the same as the reason for why a former Businessman is now a one-legged forester. You don't want to meet me if there are more than about three people around.

"Kriegsneurose?" Shellshock?

"Wissen Sie viel darüber?" You know much about it? Walter twisted his head around to glance at the face behind him.

"Ein bißchen." A bit.

"Sie sind also an der Front gewesen?" So you have been on the Front.

"Zweieinhalb, vieleicht drei Jahre insgesamt. Ich hatte eine ganze Zeit Erholungsurlaub." About two and a half, maybe three years. I was on convalescence leave a fair bit.

"Das klingt, als hätten Sie nicht das beste Stück Kuchen abbekommen." Sounds like you got the rough end of a wedge.

"Ich kenne jemanden, den es härter getroffen hat. Wie lange waren Sie draußen?" I know someone who had it rougher. How long were you out for?

"Zwei Jahre." Two years.

"Anderthalb Jahre....Kriegsneurose mittleren Grades, schätze ich, möglicherweise auch nur eine leichte, aber langandauernd aufgrund der Geräuschempfindlichkeit. Ich kannte einen Soldaten, der noch drei Jahren, nachdem er von einer Granate begraben wurde, kein klares Wort herausbekam." Year and a half....medium shellshock I'm guessing, possibly only light but long-term due to sensitivity to sound. Knew a Pivate who is still gibbering three years after he was buried by a shell.

"Das sind diejenigen, die bezahlen." They're the ones who pay.

"Dem stimme ich nicht zu." I disagree.

"Nicht?" You do?

"Sie erinnern sich nicht, sie fangen neu an. Diejenigen, die bezahlen, sind diejenigen, die sich erinnern. Sie müssen sich an die Gefallenen erinnern...an diejenigen, die sie zu Tode befördert haben." They do not remember, they start anew. Those who pay are the ones who remember, they're the ones who get to live remembering those who have fallen....those whom they sent to their death.

"Sie sprechen als würden Sie den Krieg nicht mögen." You speak like you don't like war.

"Das tue ich auch nicht. In Wahrheit hasse ich ihn." I don't. In fact I hate war.

"Wie rechtfertigen Sie dann Ihre derzeitige Beschäftigung? Wenn es ein Paradebeispiel für die Verderbtheit des Krieges gibt, würde ich eigentlich die Spionage als solches bezeichnen." Then how do you justify your current occupation? If anything was the epitome of the foulness of war I would have thought Intelligence was it.

"Das ist Auffassungssache. Die eigene Meinung zur Spionage hängt davon ab, in welcher Beziehung man zu ihr steht. Natürlich ist etwas Hinterhältiges dabei, wenn man Akten stiehlt und Leute ersticht, aber das ist nicht meine Form der Spionage." That is a matter of opinion. One's view of intelligence changes depending on one's contact with it. Certainly there is sneaking around stealing files and knifing people, but that is not my form of intelligence.

"Sie glauben also, daß es unterschiedliche Arten der Spionage gibt?" So you believe there are different types of intelligence?

"Das muß es. Eine Person, die damit betraut ist zu verhindern, daß Nachrichten durchsickern, ist keine Person, die Nachrichten sammelt. Eine Person, die herumschleicht und wichtige Akten stiehlt, erkennt eine Battalion wahrscheinlich selbst dann nicht, wenn sie ihr ins Gesicht sticht." There have to be. A person who is involved in preventing intelligence leaking out is not a person who gathers intelligence. A person who sneaks around stealing important files is unlikely to know Battalion if it hits him in the face.

"Sie gehören zu keiner dieser Kategorien. Welches ist "Ihre" Form der Aufklärung?" You don't come from any of those categories, what is 'your' form of intelligence?

"Ich gehe mit offenen Augen umher." I walk around with open eyes.

"Wozu ist das gut?" What use does that do? Walter twisted to look doubtfully at the man behind him.

"Sie wären überrascht. Haben Sie jemals einen Vorstoß geplant, der in letzter Minute abgeblasen oder verschoben worden ist?" You'd be surprised. Were you ever preparing for an advance when at the last minute it was cancelled...or moved?

"Häufig." Frequently.

"Ich wette mit Ihnen, worum Sie wollen, daß Ihre kommandierenden Offiziere gerade die Nachricht erhalten haben, daß die Alliierten mehr Reserven haben als angenommen. Die meisten kommandierenden Offiziere sind ruhmsüchtige Dumpfbacken, aber selbst der Schlimmste unter ihnen weiß, wenn er die Schlacht nicht mehr gewinnen kann und nur wenige blasen einen Angriff, bei dem sie keinen Grund gewinnen und viele Männer verlieren." I'll lay you any odds you like that your Commanding Officers had just received intelligence that the Allied reserves were stronger than expected. Most of the Commanding Officers are fat-witted glory seekers, but even the worst of them know when they cannot win a battle, and very few embark on an assault which will gain no ground and expend a lot of men.

"Sie gehen also nur herum und untersuchen, wieviele Männer wir haben und wo sie sich befinden?" So you just walk around analysing how many men we have and where they are?

"So ähnlich." Something like that.

"Jemanden getötet?" Killed anyone?

"Seit wann?" Since when?

"Seitdem Sie dies tun." Since you took this up.

"Nein." No.

"Und davor?" Before then?

"Wenn es um Tote geht, die in meinen Verantwortungsbereich fallen...das geht wahrscheinlich in die Zehntausende, vielleicht mehr. Ich muß zugeben, daß ich das wirklich nicht weiß...und auch nicht wissen will." For deaths which are my responsibility...probably in the tens of thousands, maybe more. I have to admit I really don't know....and I don't wish to know.

"Hmm." Walter made his third attempt to see whether he could stand up, much to his delight his attempt was met with success. Walter turned and looked gravely at the man who had supported him for several hours. The man was struggling awkwardly to his feet. "Das sieht unbehaglich aus." That looks uncomfortable.

"Ich habe niemals gesagt, daß ich unverletzt durch den Krieg gekommen bin." I never said I had come through this war unscathed. The response was brief.

"Vielleicht besuchen Sie micht wieder, wenn der Krieg vorüber ist?" Maybe when this war is over you'll come visit me again?

"Es würde Ihre patriotische Einstellung wahrscheinlich ziemlich strapazieren, wenn Sie sich täglich in Gesellschaft eines garstigen Engländers befänden." It probably would put rather a lot of stress on your patriotic spirit if you found yourself in the company of a nasty Englishman on a daily basis. The man yawned. "Wir sehen uns nach dem Waffenstillstand." I'll see you after the Armistice.

Walter watched as the immense figure moved away and vanished among the trees. He had not been lying, he had indeed wished to meet an Englishman who was tired of war. Walter whistled Bismarck across before he finally picked up his stick. To think that they could throw explosives at each other because patriotic duty required it and yet they could also spend about two hours talking. Perhaps after the Armistice this strange man would be willing to discuss methods of propaganda. How had the English reviled his country? What means had they used to enable their men to kill without qualms of conscience?

September 24th 1918 - Quebec, Canada

Miss Victoria Elliott buried her head in her hands and finally released the groan which had been building all day. Maybe she should go join some war relief group, her French wasn't good enough to teach at this school and Victoria had no doubt but that her probation period of a month would come back with a negative attached to it.

"Miss Elliott?" It was the secretary who looked into her cramped little office room.

"Yes Miss Harris?" Victoria looked up enquiringly.

"Mail for you." It was a fat envelope Miss Harris held out along with the slip which would tell her if she were employed.

"Thank you." Victoria took the letter and dumped it on the desk without even glancing at it. The scrap of paper confirmed her expectations. Five minutes slowly ticked past before Victoria dropped her hands to the desktop and finally glanced at the envelope which still rested on her desk. The address was written in a large hand which seemed vaguely familiar. The letter was certainly addressed to her, and it had certainly not come through the postal system. Victoria finally split the envelope open and spread out the sheets of paper.

Miss Victoria Elliott,
I am uncertain how to approach this matter, and as a result I am keeping this on the formal level. Before I continue further I will give you a relatively compact edition of news since your departure, this is just a precaution since I fear I will fail to remember to explain things. Rosie left the day after you. Emilie wishes to thank you for having remained the rest of the week until the Little Mother was buried. I also wish to thank you. The farm has been rented out to James Elliott and Emilie has Mary Harkness and little Sarah keeping her company. I have returned to school in Kingsport and with a reasonable chance I'm hoping to grab the scholarship for the Burnett Medical School. I hope all is well for you.

Victoria shivered as she repeatedly read through the opening paragraph, it seemed unbelievably cold and distant, it was like being on the other end of a long-distance telephone call. The paragraph seemed to almost echo the words as opposed to having the words there to be read.

I must admit at this point to a reluctance when it comes to writing this letter. This not a reluctance to let you know the contents, this is a reluctance because I must admit that I wish I could tell this to your face. How to word this is my current problem. How does one convey the importance without sounding either over dramatic or pretentiously insulting. Forgive this letter being disjointed, but I can think of only one approach, and that is to write as it comes without regarding whether it forms a coherent form.

Currently I am thinking of a young boy, perhaps ten years old. For reasons of compacting this I'm going to summarily name him Ian. Ian is running away. I don't remember what Ian was running from, but it was something which at the time certainly warranted running away from. It is entirely possible that Ian was running from himself.

I'm thinking of Ian delivering papers, serving food, collecting garbage, walking dogs, writing for the local newspaper and many other tasks so he might continue to have sufficient funds to stay at school.

I'm thinking of Ian teaching at a college and living in probably the worst lodgings available because it simply didn't occur to him that he could live more comfortably.

I'm thinking of Ian returning home and taking the local school. He was home as he knew home, but he was still a stranger. He had not been home is some eight years.

I'm thinking of Ian going to war. As with many things this was not judged and considered. Ian needed to go to war, so he went without considering it further because he felt that he would not be able to go if he did consider it.

How much of my life have I utterly screwed up because I was too afraid that my mind would change if I gave it half a chance to consider the matter. The minute I consider something I seem swamped in doubts and uncertainties.

Why am I studying Medicine? I've asked the question more times than I can remember. I'm not studying it because Jackie couldn't. I can say that with confidence because I've pondered that particular aspect at length. I will admit that I am not studying Medicine because I feel a driving ambition to save my fellow humans from sickness and suffering. There's a chap studying with me who is here for that reason, he feels that his sole reason for being alive is to relieve the sick and the suffering. He feels the need to develop new ways to prevent the sickness and suffering from occurring. He is twenty years old and makes me feel like a doddering grandfather. I wonder about this boy, I wonder what he would have been like if he were in France. I find myself most reluctantly admitting that if I had met him in France I would very rapidly have left France.

Why am I afraid of these boys who take the Lecturer's words as law? I'm not only afraid of them, I am also afraid for them. We can develop vaccinations 'til we're blue in the face, but people are going to continue to find ways to chop off their limbs. People are going to continue to fall ill because they simply disregard the fact that they're pushing themselves too hard.

There's a Doctor Hall here, he's the Lecturer for Neurology and an interesting bird. We walked into our first lecture and were met by a beautiful magnification of a human hand. The others were all certain that it was just a cadaver hand, but it reminded me too much of a hand I saw years ago. The hand I was thinking of had been submerged in water when a shell landed only a couple of metres from it when it exploded. The force of the nearby explosion had stripped ninety percent of the soft tissue from this chap's hand. Dr Hall came into the room after we had settled, he delivered a brief lecture on the hand, how it worked, and what caused it to work. Dr Hall then asked a few questions which the cubs were pretty disrespectful to. Dr Hall then removed his left hand from his pocket and held it out. It was mind-blowing Vicky, his arm was perfectly normal until about an inch before his wrist and then the skin just vanished, it was a skeleton hand Vicky. I thought my job had been rough and careless until I saw that.

I have not written all that I wished to, but it is late and even my leg cannot keep my eyes open any longer. I had meant this to be a letter apologising for my foul behaviour, but truth be told I cannot apologise yet. Please tell me if you would prefer I did not write and I will cease. I hope you don't mind my writing, I desperately need someone to talk to.

Take care Vicky, sickness is coming and even though I may be the most selfish mutt this side of Christiandom I am not going to curse this 'Flu on you.

Ellie

Victoria dropped the pages onto the desktop and rubbed her face wearily before making an extremely impolite remark.

"What's the problem Miss Elliott?" It was the principal who looked around her door.

"Sorry Miss Deprois. It was unwelcome news, that's all."

"Unwelcome news from the male letter-writer?"

"Yes. He is an old friend who has only just returned from Europe."

"I see." Miss Deprois departed, leaving Victoria to glare with no little animosity at the closed door.

"Nosey old......" Victoria didn't bother finishing the sentence. Victoria glanced at the letter once more before she crammed it into her bag with a muted curse. She still wasn't strong enough to cope with Elliot, a fact more than proven by the fact that she still couldn't say no to him. Victoria rubbed her face and sighed once more before she left her room, things were unsteady enough right now, she didn't need a crosspatch, crotchety old friend making her feel guilty for skipping out on him all over again. The fact that it was completely unintentional on his part made it worse.

October 14th 1918 - Minnehaha, U.S.A.

Miss Emma Woodhouse sank onto the rough front steps of her home and bit down hard on her knuckles in an effort to combat the tears which stung at her lids. There was an icy edge to the wind which predicted another harsh winter, but Emma was totally uncaring of it. Rough splinters which would usually drawn a far from ladylike comment out of Emma likewise went unheeded even though they dug in cruelly. Tears won the battle and began to slide with ever increasing velocity down cheeks still clenched in the unequal battle to keep tears at bay.

It was the creaking of the front gate which brought Emma to her feet, her numbed fingers angrily dashing tears aside. Emma could dimly make out a figure which was moving steadily closer to the house.

"Quarantined! Get away immediately!" Emma screamed it as she began her escape up the stairs.

"Really Emma, I knew you disliked politicians......but I never realised that it was so deep that you assumed us to be illiterate." Mr. George Knightley's tone was ironic and it stopped Emma in her tracks.

"No George! Go away!"

"Emma, you are a fool." Mr. Knightley drew even with her on the top step. "I am not going away, no matter how much fuss you make."

"Too late now." Emma swiped once more with a despondent hands at the tears which still slid down her cheeks.

"It was too late two weeks ago Emma." Mr. Knightley produced a large handkerchief. "Now hold still while I effect some repairs......You are a very ugly person when you cry Emma."

"I don't care." Emma coughed, sniffed, swallowed hard and then sniffed again.

"Oh but you do Emma." Mr. Knightley stepped back slightly to inspect his efforts. "Admittedly you wouldn't get into a dinner party like this....but certainly you are no longer an insult to women."

"Like you know." Emma pushed his hand aside. "You shouldn't have come here. We're under quarantine and there's still a month left of it."

"I've already told you I am not illiterate Emma. You have huge red signs announcing the fact. Please stop insulting me." Mr. Knightley pushed the front door open. "Now, I've just stopped for a couple of minutes to see how you are all going and then I'll be on my way."

"Father's got the Influenza." Emma snapped angrily.

"I was aware. Frankly I wouldn't have come otherwise."

"Then why are you here? What are you trying to do?" Emma rounded on him and grabbed his coat lapels.

"I'm making my 360th visit to an infected property in southern Minnesota. As of this evening I enter a month of quarantine at Donwell. A week after my quarantine ends I'm booked for a passage England to visit John and Isabella."

"But..." Emma spluttered uncertainly, but nevertheless she followed Mr. Knightley into the house and sat silently through fifteen minutes while Mr. Knightley politely discussed a number of wholly unconnected subjects with Mr. Woodhouse. Equally silently Emma followed Mr. Knightley back to the front gate where finally Mr. Knightley paused.

"Emma..." His tone was slightly distant.

"Mrs. and Miss Bates send their love and greetings to you." Emma spluttered it out, rudely interrupting Mr. Knightley..

"Well let them know that I appreciate it and it is reciprocated." Mr. Knightley looked speculatively at Emma.

"Miss Jane Fairfax has returned to San Francisco."

"I was aware of that. Mr. Frank Churchill has also returned to San Francisco."

"Has he?" Emma was surprised to realise that she really couldn't care about Mr. Frank Churchill and what he was doing.

"Yes. Senator Weston is buried at the office as a result."

"Poor Mrs. Weston." Emma looked glum.

"Waste of effort Emma. Mrs. Weston has been Senator Weston's private secretary for several months now."

"Why are you going away?"

"Because I have a matter of business to discuss with my brother. Also I'm rather curious to know whether any of my friends are still alive in England, none of them have written in at least six months. Thirdly I like the idea of seeing old England again, it'll be interesting to see how war changed the old place. Fourthly, I haven't had a holiday is seven years and I feel like one. So with your permission, I'll depart."

"Is it me?" Emma caught Mr. Knightley's arm as he turned away. "Is it me Mr. Knightley? Is it my rotten behaviour these past few months made you decide to leave? Honestly I am trying to improve!"

"No Emma." It was an infinitely sad and very slow smile which came. "No it's not you at all. I will admit that after the strawberry picking I had my doubts about you.....but you've only improved since then."

"You're not just saying that because you think it polite?" Emma took a savage grip on Mr. Knightley's hands and he flinched slightly.

"No Emma." Mr. Knightley gave another smile, a bit quicker and quieter. "I'm saying it because it is the truth. If you hadn't I'd have taken the horsewhip after you. You've improved, you're growing up, I'm proud to be your friend.....If it's anything it's me. Perhaps I've been working a bit too hard, but whatever the reason I need some time away.....away from everything."

"When will you return?"

"I don't know Emma." Mr. Knightley sighed softly. "I honestly don't know. But keep your chin up, stiff upper-lip and the rest. I'll come if you need me.....I may even come when you don't. Shall I bring you an outrageous hat from London?"

"No thank you, Mr. Knightley." Emma paused. "To be honest, I'd like to see the return of my old friend as soon as possible."

"And that you shall have. Keep faith old thing, remember, friends are not the ones who doubt and despair, they are the ones who have.....hope." Mr. Knightley bowed formally before turning sharply and walking away. Emma settled on the front steps and meditated quietly with herself, she couldn't say why but Mr. Knightley's visit had brought her infinite comfort, though she had to admit to disappointment over his departure. John and business..... That was almost always why Mr. George Knightley had left something. Sometimes the business was real, other times he was just tired of the company. Emma smiled ruefully to herself as she remembered some of the times when 'John and business' had called Mr. Knightley away and she had been required as well, those times had been fun. Emma smiled again, more quietly, it was pleasant to remember the fun times. If anything marred those fun times it was the fact that Mr. Knightley seemed to be in all of them. And now Mr. Knightley has gone away. Emma shoved the thought aside and stepped briskly up into the house. There was no time for daydreaming....though she had to admit she wished George Knightley was taking her with him.

October 27th 1918-HMS Avalanche, North Sea

He had the worst reputation of any officer for swearing, but when you have an officer like that you take the swearing and love it.....so few of them are ever in the trenches.

The siren blasted in an ear-splitting manner throughout the ship and on the Bridge the Deck Officers had hands clamped to their ears. The men came slowly at first, but with ever increasing speed, piling out of various hatchways and lining up along the deck.

"Engineering!" The intra-ship communicator sputtered.

"What?" Fordingham winced as he removed one hand from one ear in hopes of hearing the Engine room better.

"What's up?"

"All hands on deck...and that includes all your stokers and your Officer on duty."

"Yessir." There was an occasional, indistinguishable gurgle from the communicator as the Duty Officer in the Engine Room saw to the departure of all hands.

"What in Hades is going on Fordingham?" Halworthy, the Chief Engineer came wincing onto the Bridge.

"Our Navigator is the problem." Fordingham glared at the man who was standing near the door looking a sickly white in colour. "Turn that damn alarm off Dakota."

"Sir." With the termination of the blaring horn the silence seemed even more painful.

"So what has the Navigator done?"

"He has us five miles off course."

"What is so particularly bad about that?"

"The fact that we are currently too damn close to the mine net for comfort. It only takes one drifting mine to make us a statistic." Fordingham glanced out the forward window at the serried ranks of sailors. "If nothing happens it was just a drill."

"We had a drill only yesterday."

"Then I'll call another drill at two tomorrow morning." Fordingham looked icily at Halworthy before he turned back to the immense chart. Halworthy's mouth tightened before he abruptly quit the bridge.

"Commander Halworthy did not look happy." Dakota made the observation in a slightly distant tone.

"Commander Halworthy is afraid his sleep will be disturbed tomorrow." Fordingham stabbed his finger at the chart. "We should be clear before we have to send someone down just to keep the boilers alight."

"We've not been here an hour yet."

"I should damn well hope not." Fordingham glanced once more towards the Lieutenant who was currently in charge of the wheel. The boy's face was paper grey and a nervous tick kept jerking at the side of the boy's mouth. Fordingham wondered idly as he studied the boy whether he had any muscles jerking in his face.

"Sir." It was the Doctor who came up into the Bridge this time. "How much longer?"

"Why do you ask?" Fordingham turned sharply on the Doctor.

"I've got patients down....."

"You telling me you left sailors in the medical ward when all hands sounded?"

"Well.....yessir."

"And what may I ask do you think their chances of survival are if we should sink?"

"We're not going to sink."

"That is irrelevant. Get them on deck immediately. Tell Engineering his men are crooked and let everyone know this drill will last a further forty minutes due to slackness of response." Fordingham turned his back on the Doctor.

"You are not making yourself popular sir." Dakota had closed the bridge door once more.

"Being popular is not my aim, keeping us alive is.......and panicked sailors is the last thing I need. This ship is as green as grass in spring and their drill is shocking." Fordingham returned his attention to the forward window. "How far are we through the turn Lieutenant?"

"Three quarters." The response was hoarse and rasping.

"Maitland." Fordingham spoke into the communicator.

"Yes?" Lieutenant Maitland stood on the foredeck watching the men.

"Do you know anyone who is willing to die?"

"Not off the top of my head I must admit."

"Do you know how to work the engines?"

"More or less sir." The response was cautious.

"Would you know how to engage reverse?"

"Yessir."

"Good, set Lieutenant Housemann up where you are and get up here."

"Yes sir." A minute later Lieutenant Maitland came onto the Bridge. "Lieutenant Housemann is on the communicator. What can I do?"

"Get down to the engine room and make certain you're near the controls."

"Then what?"

"Either wait for a bang or for me telling you to come back up."

"So we're somewhere unsafe?"

"Correct." Fordingham hesitated briefly. "At risk of bringing us bad luck I'm going to say thank you."

"I'll ask for the reason of that later." Maitland quickly dodged out of the Bridge and Fordingham looked back just in time to see him duck through the back companion.

"Maitland's good." Dakota made the remark calmly.

"I'd already figured that one out. Lieutenant?"

"Almost turned sir, we'll be running in a couple of minutes."

"Good." Fordingham caught his fingers restlessly drumming the chart table and very consciously stopped them. "Any responses wireless?"

"HMS Cartwright has heard us, as have three trawlers. However only one of the trawlers is willing to come to us." The Wireless Officer was as bad, possibly worse, than the Lieutenant at the wheel. Fordingham turned away and glanced at Dakota who was lounging gracelessly against the doorframe, the Lieutenant might have been enjoying a Sunday afternoon picnic for all the concern he displayed for the situation.

"How long 'til we should be in the clear?"

"Projected edge of the field.....ten minutes off yet."

"Alert our contacts as to our position and speed." Fordingham once more had to consciously stop his fingers from drumming on the chart table. The wireless kept up a near continuous chatter of communication in the relatively silent bridge.

"Ten minutes."

"Tell me when we're two miles in the clear." Fordingham wasn't relaxing yet, it would take only one mine escaped from its moorings.

"Sir." Minutes ticked past. "Two miles sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Fordingham rapped on the communicator. "Maitland, you may come up again."

"Thank you, sir."

"Navigator."

"Sir?" The Navigating Officer, who was still pale as a sheet and shaking, came to attention.

"Don't make a mistake like that again, even if it means you take an extra minute plotting position."

"Sir." The Navigating Officer was visibly relieved as he returned to the chart and began replotting the course they had taken.

"Maitland is deckside again sir." Dakota seemed to be leaning a trifle more heavily on the doorframe than he had been before.

"Good." Fordingham tapped into the speaker system. "This is the Captain speaking, all hands may now return to their allotted tasks, we are now clear of the mine field."

"Halworthy's on his way up." Dakota had changed from lounging to a white knuckled grip on the sill.

"Thank you. Dakota, you're off watch."

"Sir." Dakota came to attention before making his way unsteadily off the bridge.

"If your Lieutenant is such a wreck under stress, why do you keep him on the bridge?" Commander Halworthy was frowning worriedly after Dakota as he entered the bridge.

"Because while the stress is on there's probably not a cooler head on the entire ship. What can I do for you?"

"We were in the Mine Field?"

"Correct." Fordingham turned to glance at the now vacant foredeck.

"You're one hell of a cool customer."

"I'm meant to make a response?" Fordingham glanced at Halworthy expressionlessly.

"No, but I have to admit I'm never going to trust you that it is merely a drill again."

"That never hurts." Fordingham returned his attention to the task on hand while Halworthy shook his head and retreated back to the Engine Room.

"What's up Hal?" Lieutenant Bates, the Second Engineering Officer looked up curiously from sump plans as Halworthy re-entered the Engine Room. Halworthy was slowly shaking his head.

"I've just found out the size gap between someone who has worked the whole way through this war to become a Captain as opposed to just being commissioned as high as possible because of a University degree."

"Is it a big gap?"

"I can't actually see the other side of it." Halworthy spoke frankly. "We were two miles deep in that mine field, the boat turned and steamed out again and if it weren't for the junior deck officers I probably wouldn't have guessed that there was any risk to us at all."

"There's been someone down here." Bates spoke calmly.

"Not surprising, the Bridge has to call for speed changes. If a mine explodes in the bow you put the ship in reverse every time. Watertight doors can resist a fair bit, but they can't resist the force of water at full speed for long. Someone has to be down here to change the engine setting."

"But it wasn't one of us."

"You would have patiently stood next to the controls waiting for an explosion and your almost guaranteed death?"

"When you put it that way....."

"Precisely, I would say the man was one of the eight men who accompanied Captain Fordingham from his last ship."

"Deep waters...very deep waters. What would have happened if we had hit a mine?"

"Undoubtedly our Captain would have come over announcing that we have hit a mine, would all sailors prepare to evacuate the ship. I think that Captain Fordingham has earned his reputation and accordingly I think he probably knows what he's about.....even if he has yet to change ships without sinking his previous one."

November 11th 1918 - Squadron 83, France

"Where are you off to?" Ashie looked up from his Camel's engine as Florrie came out pulling on his flight jacket.

"Rendezvous with a Reconnaissance Mission."

"Good luck." Ashie gave a wave and watched in silence as Florrie scrambled into his Camel and took off.

"Something up Ashie?" Pyro emerged from the mess to find Ashie staring up into the sky.

"N-o-o." Ashie hesitated and grimaced somewhat over his response. "A sod walked over my grave.....I've got a beastly feeling that Florrie ain't going to come back."

"That who took off?....Where's he headed?"

"Reconnaissance Rendezvous." Ashie gave a sigh and returned his attention to his Camel.

"I'll see what Denny can tell me about it." Pyro abruptly headed for the Recording Office where Denny was to be found staring blankly out the window.

"What's with Florrie's rendezvous?"

"Just came in through from Freddie, they've had a blow out from their other rendezvous flight, or something."

"Why did we only send Florrie? It's not like we're precisely stretched for pilots right now."

"Florrie refused to take anyone else....and no I don't know where the pickup is." Denny pre-empted the question.

"Damn." Pyro sighed. "Sorry Denny, Ashie's just had a sod walk across his grave and that's got me stirred."

"Ashie does not think Florrie will return?"

"Ashie is of the opinion he will not return." Pyro nodded confirmation.

"Well I hope he is wrong."

"Unfortunately he very rarely is." Pyro gave another sigh. "Cheerio Denny, I'll leave you to your paper work."

"Cheerio." Denny waved a goodbye before irritably rubbing at his ankle.

Florrie let out a sigh as he cleared the lines, he wasn't overly fond of these constant aerodrome changes. He'd got used to 284's aerodrome, then he'd managed to get the hang of 83's aerodrome, but now he had to be constantly aware for humps and bumps in unfamiliar aerodromes when ever he came in to land or take off. Rendezvous meetings were such familiar old work that Florrie hadn't been able to pass up the chance.....especially since it was Mac who was doing the reconnaissance mission.

Fifteen minutes brought Florrie to the rendezvous point and he waved cheerfully as he saw Mac's Bristol draw along aside. Mac responded by a laughing shake of his head before putting his nose down towards the lines.

It was a screaming wang which gave Florrie his first warning that something was seriously wrong. A screaming wang which smashed into his instrument board and left a bullet lodged in the side of his cockpit. Florrie snapped his head up and gaped as he saw the Squadron of incoming Fokkers. Florrie had no idea where the cloud they were coming around had come from, and if he had more time available he would undoubtedly have been exceedingly cross at his laxity. There was no escape....only one option. Florrie waved to Mac furiously and was relieved to see Mac plunge his nose for the lines. With Mac gone Florrie had only himself to worry about, and with ten to one odds it was just like old times, he could fire where ever and he could only hit the enemy. Florrie pulled up in a sharp curve and dove straight up into the incoming Squadron, his gun spitting its deadly, staccato chatter.

Florrie grunted as a bullet slammed into his thigh and only just managed to avoid a flaming Fokker as his instrument board exploded in his face. Florrie swung right and loosed off another round of deadly shot, only to feel the gouging, sickening lance of pain as a bullet plowed into his shoulder. Blackness swallowed Florrie's vision and the Camel fell over into a flat spin, swinging like a pendulum along the flat plane.

The chatter of machine guns and the sudden rush of warm air as flaming Fokker shot past brought Florrie back to his senses again and he promptly shot down a Fokker who swam into his sights. A gasp escaped as a bullet scraped across his back and Florrie fired at two more Fokkers before a bullet in the leg knocked him out once more and the Camel fell over once more into a flat spin. It was the sting of a bullet grazing down his arm that brought Florrie back into the conscious world once more and somewhat hazily he managed to shoot at two more Fokkers before a lucky shot blew away his gun mountings and threw the Camel into another spin. Florrie instinctively kicked out of the spin and looked around to find himself in a nearly empty sky, the Fokkers had retreated, with the exception of one which was circling nearly a thousand feet above him.

Florrie took one look at his right wing, he looked at the damaged centre strut, he looked at the nice flat paddock below him, and then looked at the blood which was pooling on the seat and floor of his cockpit. Whether he liked to admit it or not Florrie knew he was not going to make it back across the lines. All things considered he probably wouldn't live even if he did land, but his chances or life were considerably better down in that peaceful green field. Florrie gave a philosophical shrug, he would have liked to have survived the war, but he obviously wasn't going to.

Florrie kicked the rudder once more and went down to land, but an inopportune loss of conscious had him landing in a tree instead of in the field. Florrie felt an incredible detached disinterest take over him as his Camel slid out of the tree. With the accompanying rending sound of ripping canvas and snapping timber the Camel subsided awkwardly onto the ground in a heap of broken spars and torn canvas.

Florrie had been blinking sleepily up at the sky for a minute or two before the sky turned field grey and acquired a deadly looking revolver.

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?" It was a guttural question.

"Nein." Florrie blinked again and finally located the head in the sea of field grey.

"Okay, I'll speak English." The English was heavily accented.

"Thank you." Florrie tugged feebly at his jacket. "And if you're going to kill me please do so quickly."

"No." The man shook his head and he produced a field bandaging kit from one pocket and set about rough and ready treatment of Florrie's various injuries. "You'll lose your right leg if you live." It was made conversationally.

"Better than losing my hands." Florrie fought desperately against the waves of sleepiness which swept over him.

"Hold hard while I get some medics." The man dragged Florrie out of the wreck and under the shade of his wing before retreating again. Twenty minutes later Florrie was woken from his daze by a curious buzzing noise, which drilled irritatingly into his head. Florrie looked up just in time to be amazed by a Sopwith Snipe which was dropping its nose in preparation for sliding over the hedge to make what was undoubtedly going to be a neat landing.

"You okay Florrie?" Ashie's worried face suddenly appeared in Florrie's range of sight.

"No." Florrie winced. "Get out of here Ashie, they've got me already....they can't get you too." Florrie clamped his jaw hard, uncertain whether his pain was over his injuries or the thought that Ashie was on the verge of being captured. Everyone knew that Ashie was well known in Germany, and he was not known in a friendly light.

"What's up?" Ashie glanced briefly at Florrie's blood-soaked uniform which actually gave nothing away.

"Smashed leg, holed shoulder, and a few other grazes.....please go Ashie." Florrie desperately fought the lassitude which kept stealing over his mind.

"You certain?" Ashie looked sharply at Florrie.

"Positive....I won't live back to the Squadron, my best bet is remaining here.....Please Ashie." Florrie watched as Ashie's expression battled.

"I'll see you in England then." Ashie nodded shortly and abruptly sprinted back for the Snipe and was in the air almost faster than Florrie could believe. It had been years since Ashie had shown anything remotely near that turn of speed on his feet.

"Who was that?" The familiar guttural voice disturbed the peace of the afternoon.

"My Commanding Officer." Florrie looked disinterestedly at the German and his companions of a doctor and stretcher.

"He did not look happy."

"Surprise, surprise. He was my Squadron-Leader and Flight-Leader until six or seven months ago and he is also my first cousin. One must allow for family bonds when another is being left in enemy hands and dying."

"You's doin' none of dem." The doctor spoke in a cheerful tone, which made Florrie wince, he had the accent of the slums.

"Why do you say that?" Florrie tried to focus on the pear-shaped head, the Doctor looked like the stereotypical German, but he didn't sound like one.

"The Armistice was signed this morning and the war ended half an hour ago....that is why we did not shoot your Commanding Officer's plane.....he took a risk coming here." The Officer was still frowning after Ashie's Snipe, which had long since vanished from sight.

"He would die if he thought it would help one of our squadron." Florrie felt another wave of sleepiness overwhelm him.

"Sounds like he's a good C.O.......Herr Doktor?"

"He'll live." The doctor responded shortly, he had been inspecting and cutting ever since he had arrived and he finally stood up. It took several agonised seconds for Florrie to be positioned on the stretcher. "He is lucky...but he will lose the leg.

Ashie put down numbly on the tarmac and stared mutely through his sights, his gaze then dropped to his hands which were still clasped around the stick. Ashie dropped his hands from the stick as if it had suddenly become burning hot.

"Sir! Sir! We've done it! They've signed the Armistice!" The pilot was yelling hysterically as he came pounding across the tarmac.

"Quiet you fool." Pyro caught the young pilot in a flying tackle before the Lieutenant reached the Snipe. "Have you learnt nothing since you came out here Fed?....never disturb Ashie when he's in the cockpit!"

"Oh lord, sorry." Fed abruptly ducked his head and retreated.

"What happened?" Pyro waited a moment before he walked over and asked the question.

"He was alive." It was a soft whisper.

"He was alive?" Pyro stared at Ashie, he could not believe his ears.

"Yes." Ashie roughly stripped off his helmet, goggles, coat, gauntlets and gloves before he descended from the Snipe.

"Much smashed?" Pyro misliked the expression, or lack there of, in Ashie's face for the simple reason that he had never seen it before.

"Quite smashed. He'll lose a leg...possibly an arm as well.....and that all depends on whether he lives."

"That sounds quite smashed."

"Was that younker serious about the Armistice?" Ashie had been studying his boots, but now he glanced up.

"It came through nearly an hour ago." Pyro gave a yawn.

"Explains why they didn't shoot me." Ashie shook his head wearily. "Oh God Pyro, I hope he survives......I won't be able to forgive myself for leaving him if he doesn't."

"Didn't shoot?" Pyro frowned doubtfully.

"The German who caught Florrie returned before I took off....he was damn nearly there before I arrived. They just waited under the trees until I cleared out....Florrie ordered me to go, he knew where his best chance of life lay......But I feel like I've executed him."

"Don't....they're not our enemies, they won't dare hurt him more than they must......in fact they'll probably shove him back like a hot potato."

"I hope so." Ashie hesitated and then pitched his kit into the Snipe's cockpit. "I damn glad this is over.....I don't feel like I want to see another 'plane in my life."

"Discharge isn't quite that quick."

"I know....but I wish it was.....I'm going to bed Pyro I'm no damn use right now."

"Sleep well." Pyro waved a brief farewell which was nearly a salute.

Ashie stared blindly at the far wall of the Barracks, the metal sheet walling formed a barrier to his vision. The metal sheet also seemed to form a barrier to his thoughts because he had none. A German used to lie here. It was a curious thought which echoed into Ashie's head. It was a thought which seemed to bounce around, for it never went away. Ashie sat up and rolled his legs off the side of the narrow bed.

"What's up?" When Pyro entered the Barracks ten minutes later he found Ashie restlessly pacing the length of the room.

"Nothing.....everything....What odds do you lay that at some stage I fired at the men who used to sleep in this place? I find myself absolutely adoring our system of misinformation and propaganda......I used to have German friends, friends whom I used to spend a lot of time with, write a lot of letters to. I haven't even considered them in four years now." Ashie sat down heavily on the foot of his bed, which responded by collapsing. "Do you think any of them are still alive?"

"I couldn't actually say." Pyro gave a shrug and then yawned. "If they're as nutty as you are I have no doubt but that they are probably in at least a modicum of perfect health."

"The Major always said that Bennie was as nutty as me....Bennie was dead before I even came to France."

"Do you wish to wallow in your blue dismals? Or would you like to come out and waste some fuel?" Pyro made the offer in a blunt tone, when Ashie was in this particular mood, a rare mood, he had a zero tolerance for any kind of commiseration.

"Let's waste fuel." Ashie rose to his feet. "Preferably the Dust-buster's fuel, but you can choose."

"How kind of you." Pyro rolled his eyes and then yawned. Pyro was fully aware of what had prompted Ashie's mood, because frankly he'd be a worse case if he even let his thoughts stray that direction. The problem was that it was too utterly impossible that Florrie wasn't about to come charging through the doorway, complaining bitterly about anything and everything just for the sake of something to say.

November 12th 1918-Longbourn, England

It was a joyful, hammering clangour. The Change Bells were still being rung in no order at all. People were yelling and shrieking. Kitty was still dancing in the hall with Mrs. Hill and Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bennet had looked up from his book for a brief moment, smiled a resigned smile and then resumed reading. Upstairs in her bedroom Elizabeth was crying, it was a steady, silent flood of tears which left her limp and exhausted.

"Lizzie?" Kitty warily entered Elizabeth's bedroom.

"What is it Kitty?" Elizabeth rolled over and looked at Kitty for a moment before she rolled back onto her back and resumed staring at the ceiling.

"It's James." Kitty took a careful breath as she delivered the message. Kitty had to admit she just felt weird calling the baby by name. In fact, it was plain weird that Elizabeth had a baby.

"Oh dear. Tell Mrs. Hill I'll be down in a minute. I need to change and tidy up first."

"I actually wouldn't think that he'd care."

"I think you'd be surprised. I suspect he'd probably object loudly."

"Why?" Kitty looked startled and bewildered.

"Because I could hardly be wetter if I'd fallen into the river. You know, Kitty, I never realised how much I can cry. I think it's a bit like blood, there're an awful lot more tears inside than you'd believe."

"You tidy up Lizzie and then go see to Baby. You can philosophize to your heart's content later and I'll even listen."

"How generous of you." Elizabeth pulled Kitty in and gave her a hug. "Thank you Kitty, you're a gem beyond price."

"My response is that you speak the truth." Kitty gave a laugh. "You are indeed soaking Lizzie. I'll see your sheets changed while you're gone."

"You spoil me." Elizabeth gave a brief laugh before she grabbed spare trousers, a shirt and ducked down the hall to the bathroom.

Kitty stripped the soaking bedsheets off Elizabeth's bed and pitched the equally soaked pillow into the corner. The laugh had still lacked real amusement, and Kitty hoped that someday it would return. Kitty then checked for any possible handkerchiefs, and she found a lot of them scattered on the far side of the bed and started gathering them up.

"Don't worry about them Kitty, I'll deal with them later." Elizabeth was twisting her hair up as she spoke.

"Alright." Kitty dropped the handkerchiefs she had picked up, but her attention was caught by a large white one which was certainly never Elizabeth's, it was too....masculine. D.F.D. The initials were embroidered in one corner, there was nothing else on the handkerchief to distinguish from any old handkerchief. Kitty quietly retreated with her load of linen to the laundry, she couldn't say precisely why, but Kitty was willing to stake her life that the unnamed husband had the initials D.F.D. Just as clearly Elizabeth did not wish for anyone to know her husband and Kitty was willing to allow Elizabeth her privacy. Kitty couldn't understand Elizabeth's wish for secrecy, but there must be a reason and Kitty simply hoped that someday Elizabeth would tell her.

Elizabeth escaped with her father from the parlour after dinner and with a sigh she dropped into one of the arm chairs in the Library.

"You're going to have to tell your family someday Elizabeth."

"Officially I haven't been recognised by the other side yet. They know about me, and some of them have met me. I would rather let that side untangle before I have to take on my own family."

"You going to finish the map?" Mr. Bennet responded to the pleading in Elizabeth's eyes and changed the subject.

"Hmm. Sounds like a good idea." Elizabeth thoughtfully flipped through the piles of newspapers and scribbled notes. "Looks like I finished 1917 on the Western Front and finished the War for the Eastern Front......which leaves the Mediterranean......and I haven't touched that since the end of 1916." Elizabeth pulled a grimace as she thoughtfully fingered the flags which perched in the South-Eastern corner of the Mediterranean.

"So start with the Med. Finish the war there and then we can cover the Western Front and you will have finished that map."

"It seems unbelievable that this is going to be four years of my life." Elizabeth flipped her fingers through the multitude of flags.

"I have a bigger problem with the fact that the baby I once held is now 25 with a baby of her own." Mr. Bennet gave a sigh as he spoke.

"Why doesn't Jane have one?" Elizabeth paused to ask the question after several minutes of searching the papers.

"It doesn't happen every time, sometimes it can take years to occur, sometimes it never occurs. By the general run it's somewhat surprising that you did become pregnant."

"That's one thing they didn't tell us before we went to France." Elizabeth frowned for a minute or two.

"This is hardly a topic for discussion."

"I know, mama says that is the husband's business......but I don't have one."

"Hmm." Mr. Bennet pondered for a thoughtful moment. "I would assume therefore that you are not meant to know more then."

"Which seems terribly unfair." Elizabeth frowned at the paper. "Oh well, fair or not the subject is now closed and will not be reopened."

"You could marry again."

"Unlikely." Elizabeth rubbed her nose gently. "I'm 25 with a child already."

"You would consider if someone asked?"

"It would depend on the person who asked." Elizabeth pondered for a moment. "Currently I can't think of anyone I'd accept." Elizabeth hesitated a bit longer. "But then everyone I know has already pledged their help if needed which automatically removes the need to marry."

"So your he left you a means to live by?"

"He did, plus provisions for any child."

"When did he have time for that may I ask?"

"I don't know.....but it occurred within a month of his marrying me so he must have had time for it at some stage."

"True. The map calls you and my book is trying to call me, but I will instead make an imitation of listening wisely to your map."

"How kind of you." Elizabeth drove a pin into the map. "February 24th 1917, we took Kut for the second time and we did not let it go. March 11th saw the fall of Baghdad......Do you think the citizens of Baghdad actually cheered our arrival?"

"It would not be surprising, General Maude is a very good organiser and where he is it rarely looks like war. Besides citizens almost always cheer for the victor....you never know, if he thinks you're friendly to his cause he'll possibly refrain from killing you."

"That's cynical and disgusting. Ar Ramadi, 60 miles west of Baghdad was enveloped in September, and this apparently made Baghdad safe in our hands."

"It is also true."

"Tikrit, which is halfway to Mosul, fell six weeks after ar Ramadi. General Maude died of cholera on November 18th 1917, he was replaced by Sir William Marshall."

"And so ends most of the activity on the Mesopotamian Front. Where do we go now?"

"Palestine." Eliabeth gave a yawn before leaning over to take a look at James. "Gaza, April 1917, we have a reverse. Murray is replaced by Allenby in June. Gaza bombardment resumes on October 20th. On November 1st, an assault is formed, but neither of these is attributed to actual intent. The bastion of Beersheba is seized on October 31st. November 6th and Allied forces have broken through the Turkish centre onto the Plains of Philistia. December 9th brings the fall of Jerusalem, though it is hinted at that a lack of water delayed this assault. This newspaper very kindly likens us to a great python wriggling along, slowly consuming our adversary from the toes upwards."

"Very polite of them. I take it that ends Palestine in 1917?"

"Correct." Elizabeth grabbed two immense piles of newspaper. "And tonight I'm very tempted to have a bonfire to burn all of these."

"That will be a big fire. Where do we go now?"

"I'll finish of Palestine and then we'll deal with France." Elizabeth started sifting through the next pile of newspapers. "We have two attempted advances across the Jordan in March and May of 1918, they were fiascoes due to the depletion of the army with drafts being taken for France. The Battle of Megiddo begins on September 19th, it follows a month of covert behaviour.....cardboard and plywood horses?" Elizabeth stared at the article in amazement. "Plywood horses?"

"Better than invisible horses."

"True. There was also T.E.Lawrence....whom the Americans like a lot."

"The press like Mr. Lawrence. What happened at Megiddo?"

"We won." Elizabeth drove in yet another pin. "September 20th and we're past Nazareth, 30 miles up the coastal corridor and sweeping inland to close off the bolt holes." Elizabeth wiped a weary hand over her face. "October 1st, Damascus was occupied. Aleppo, was when they ceased the advance.....approximately 350 miles in 38 days."

"Where now?"

"Mesopotamia. January and they.....they......they seem to have a sort of continuous but slow move. May 7th and Kirkuk fell to us. October 24th, we seem to have interfered with the Turkish retreat or something. 30th of October and we have the Armistice of Mudros.....which was signed on a cruiser off Lemnos, and this resulted in hostilities ceasing at midday 31st of October on the African/Mediterranean Front."

"Where do we go now?" Mr. Bennet spoke after several seconds silence, during which the had both stared at the map.

"Northern Mediterranean, the Italian and the Greek Front."

"June brings an assault on the Tonale Pass, one southward from the Trentino in the Asiago sector, the other southwestward across the Lower Piave. The assault from the Trentino collapsed quickly. The assault across the Piave was initially successful by the aid of fog and a smoke screen. Reserves raced in by motor blocked the breach and hemmed the attackers in. Rising water forced the Austrians to retreat. October 24th and the Italians take the offensive in Monte Grappa....a failure with a heavy cost. Counterbalanced by a successful crossing of the Piave by English and Italian forces at Papadopoli Island where they took a firm footing on the other side of the Piave on the 27th of October. The Austrians make a general retreat on the 28th. The Italian advance becomes general and continues until they reach the Tagliamento. The Armistice was granted to Austria on November 3rd 1918." Elizabeth paused and rifled through the piles of scribbled scraps of paper. "May 1918 and we have activity on the Salonika front for the first time since early 1916. Guillaumat has replaced Sarrail, Guillaumat distinguished himself at Verdun. Skra di Legen.....or at least I think that's how it is pronounced. Skra di Legen ridge was taken in an ably engineered advance. This ridge is apparently ten miles west of Vardar. July 1918 sees the departure of Guillaumat and the arrival of his replacement General L.F. Franchet d'Espèrey. September 1st brings the beginning, it is a feint in the Vardar valley. Or at least that is what the newspapers call it."

"It was a feint, not enough casualties for it to be a real assault which went wrong and they hastily called a feint." Mr. Bennet glanced briefly at the group of articles.

"September 14th brings the actual assault. September 16th brings the Salonika front five miles forward. September 17th they have advanced 20 miles and caused a breach 25 miles wide in the Central Forces. September 21st brings a general collapse along the Doiran-Vardar front. Main reason for this is due to an unspectacular attack by the British which held down the Bulgars best Divisions and their reserves. September 29th and Skopje, the communication centre of the front, is taken by the French Cavalry. With British forces in Bulgaria and the 11th Bulgarian Army separated from the rest an appeal was made for Armistice. The appeal came on the 26th of September, the Armistice of Salonika was signed on the 29th of September." Elizabeth drove her third scarlet and black crossed flag into the map before she sat back and rubbed nervous fingers together as she stared at the map.

"Are you going to take up Jane's offer?"

"Sorry?" Elizabeth looked up with a blink of surprise.

"Jane's offer, are you going to move into the east wing of Netherfield?"

"I don't know." Elizabeth hesitated. "I've got work to finish in London first. I've also been asked to help the Red Cross."

"In other words you may just move to London. Where will you stay?"

"I'm not settled on it yet, but I have had an offer from a friend in London. Small flat which is currently uninhabited. I pay a minimum rent and it is in a pretty good area, near everything and yet quiet."

"That sounds too good to be true." Mr. Bennet gave a laugh.

"He's a good friend."

"He wouldn't have a first name James would he?"

"He does, he's one of four James' who are good friends."

"Is McKenna a fifth, or one of the four?"

"He's a fifth. Captain McKenna you've met, he knew Ben."

"A passport for any man. Okay Lizziekins, I won't pry any further. Though if you can manage, why didn't you name him after the father?"

"He isn't his father and he never will be. It will be bad enough for him being a Darcy without everyone expecting him to be a repeat of his father."

"Very thoughtful of you. Something tells me this was not a spur of the moment decision."

"It wasn't, there was many months consideration put into it."

"Now you've procrastinated sufficiently, give your baby a hug and then deal with the Western Front which you are treating rather like it is an adder about to bite you."

"It feels like one." Elizabeth's tone was gloomy as she picked up the newspapers. "March 20th 1918, we have multiple German assaults all along the Somme and Arras sectors. The Arras assaults failed miserably and the entire army changes its focus to the Somme sector where progress has undoubtedly been made. Focal point was the St. Quentin position as of the 27th of March and the result was a 40 mile retreat for us. On the 28th of March the German's seem to have taken a moment to breathe for it is the 30th before the assault resumed....not that it felt like there was a two day break in there. However.....by the 30th we had managed to change over some divisions and the French reserves had arrived. The second assault on St. Quentin lasted until the 4th April and was unsuccessful." Elizabeth drove in the two flags and strung them together. "April 9th brings an assault in the Lys sector, between Armentiéres and La Bassèe. The assault travelled in ten miles before it was halted. Further fighting occurred around Ypres, but a retreat on our part and the arrival of more French reserves prevented any real success on that front." Elizabeth was ramming flags home as she spoke. "May 27th brings a German assault in Champagne, an extended front which stretches from Coucy to Reims. Chemin-des-Dames ridge and the Aisne fell on the 27th. Soissons and Fére-en-Tardenoi fell on the 29th. The Marne was reached on the 30th between Chateau-Thierry and Dormans. June 6th and we have the first real appearance of the Americans. This is the Battle of Belleau Woods and it continued for a fortnight. June 9th has an attack on Noyons, assumed that the Germans were attempting to isolate the Amiens-Marne tongue, but it was unsuccessful. July 15th 1918 brings yet another assault by the Germans which fails. A counter-attack comes on July 18th. By August the 2nd the lost ground in the Lys sector had all been retaken. August 8th brings an assault by the Allies on the Amiens bulge, it was lead by...tanks."

"You're velcome." Mr. Bennet's expression was deadpan and Elizabeth looked at him very suspiciously for over a minute.

"That, dear Papa, was limp."

"True, but you were looking too sober."

"I thought sobriety was something to aim for."

"Not over a map. But back to it."

"This assault ended when we reached the old Somme Battlefields of 1916, it seems a map is required to navigate through there and they hadn't drawn their maps." Elizabeth looked enquiringly at her father.

"Undoubtedly." Mr. Bennet managed to control his face, but he could not control his eyes which were dancing with concealed mirth.

"Tanks."

"What now?"

"Lots of flags." Elizabeth gave a quick grin. "With the fall of Montdidier we seem to have struck out in all directions for a day or two at a time. 10th of August we're heading south towards Lassigny. August 17th and it is an assault across the Oise. August 21st brings an assault towards Bapaume. August 26th brings another assault from South-east Arras. The first week of September and the Germans are back at the Hindenburg Line." Elizabeth did a quick check of the flags she had driven home before she turned her attention back to the notes. "September 12th and General Pershing of the United States Armed Forces has erased the St. Mihiel Salient, a salient which was formed in 1914 and hasn't moved since. September 26th brings the American assault on Vauquois. When the American assault ended it was October 14th and the army was no further north than Grandpre. October 5th and the English were beyond the German defences, but inexperience and equipment deficiencies apparently acted as a bit of a stall. October 28th and the German Navy, High Seas Fleet, mutinies against orders to set sail for the North Sea and combat with the English Navy once more." Elizabeth paused. "November 8th Armistice negotiations open. November 10th sees Kaiser Wilhelm II taking shelter in neutral Netherlands. November the 11th and the allied line runs from Pont-&aaccute;-Mousson through Sedan, Mèzi&eaccute;res, to Mons and Ghent. November 11th 1918, The German Armistice is signed at 5:00am in Rethondes." Elizabeth drove the fourth scarlet and black flag into the map and she then slowly sank down to perch on her heels as she studied the flag decked map. "One really has to ask 'was it worth the price we paid?'" Elizabeth rose to her feet and picked James up and tucked him under her arm. "I'm going to tell Jane I'll use her East Wing when I return from London. See you this evening Papa, I'm going for a walk."

"Good-bye Elizabeth." Mr. Bennet sank back in his chair and picked up his book, but it was not the words he saw on the page. What Mr. Bennet saw was a quick grin, a quick grin he had not seen in nearly two years. It was a quick grin which had been invisible for over a month, even in the face of the most brutal assaults of bad humour. It was a quick grin which was the essence of Elizabeth. It was a quick grin, which would take on the world and win. It was a quick grin which could work miracles. It was a quick grin which Mr Bennet knew was going to play a major part in bringing a war-strained, heart-broken country back to its feet.....even if that country never knew it.

November 12th 1918-Scherckwald, Germany

War makes for strange bedfellows.

Chris grimaced as he hauled himself cautiously and painfully over the edge of the roof. A quick wriggle had Chris next to the skylight and peering down into the dimly lit room. Dimly lit the room might have been, but Chris could see more than enough to send his stomach lurching. Chris had seen plenty the previous week when Darcy had been taken to know that anything he saw would not be pretty, but nothing had prepared him for what he saw.

Darcy was lying on a musty bed in the corner, and even in the bad lighting Chris could see the leg angling off at nearly forty-five degrees from mid-way down the shin and the foot then twisted above the ankle back in towards his right foot. Darcy's right hand hung limply off the edge of the bed, dried blood crusted heavily on it and dried blood had soaked through the entire sleeve. The worst was the blood which was still sluggishly gathering at the ends of Darcy's fingers and dripping into the immense pool of partially dried blood on the floor. Half of Darcy's face was entirely masked by blood from a savage gash just above the right temple. Chris pondered the four metre drop into the room for less than a second before he gave up on the idea of rescuing Darcy. Even if he survived the four metre drop there was no way in hell that he'd get Darcy out of there. Chris looked more carefully around the room, but except for the bed it was totally devoid of furnishings. Chris looked back to Darcy and cursed softly, blank and unfocussed the left eye had opened and was shifting hazily around the room. Then abruptly the eye looked up and Chris realised that blank though the eye was there was plenty of focussing ability in it and that Darcy was desperately trying to warn him of something. Chris slid millimetrically back from the skylight and cast a cautious glance around the area, but nothing was in sight. Chris started to move back towards the skylight, but then he froze for the door was swinging slowly open.

Two men walked into the musty room and they were arguing animatedly, though Chris could neither hear nor work out what was being discussed, though it was clearly Darcy who was the subject. Both men were familiar to Chris and even though he expected it, it still sent a sickening cramp through his stomach. The Count had warned Chris that these men played by different rules, but until today Chris had not realised how different those rules actually were.

Darcy was only vaguely conscious of his surroundings, they surged around on waves of pain, and the few things he could focus on tended to be edged by grey fuzz. Darcy was well acquainted with the surging pain, such had been the end of every day for the better part of six months....unless the day ended earlier than expected. Then he'd caught typhoid, but that had merely brought waves of exhaustion. But Darcy had never met the grey fuzz before, though he expected it was probably related to the butcher's cleaver which was buried in his head. Darcy shifted his head, intending to take a look as something other than the rock above his head. Head movement, as with thought, was a mistake and the top of Darcy's head fell off in a rainbow flash of exquisite agony with the move. When Darcy re-entered the conscious world it was to the strange sensation of something tugging at his left arm.

"Mehr.....mehr..." More......More.... The words echoed in Darcy's head. What was more wanted of? Darcy looked up, but Chris' expression was useless as he could not focus on it. Darcy felt a sharp jab near his elbow and abruptly he knew what was happening. Darcy felt the pressure rise briefly with the icy cold wash of something flooding into his vein and then die away. Then there was a second jab and once again the pressure rose in his arm with an icy flood before slowly easing. Darcy lay there staring up at the ceiling, he had no idea what had been injected into him, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't be nice. As the door closed Darcy abruptly recognised the sensation which the injections were inducing. Morphia! It echoed hauntingly in his head and Darcy controlled a desire to be sick. He had no idea how much they'd actually put into him and all he could do now was cross his fingers and hope that he'd wake up again.

Chris watched with sick fear coiling in his stomach and venomous hatred on his face as the first man injected both syringes into Darcy's arm. They retreated and Chris waited no longer, a quick slip and he was sprawling on the ground, slightly winded but otherwise unhurt. On stealthy, rubber-soled shoes Chris slid around the edge of the building and settled down behind a tree to wait for the re-appearance of the two men.

"Herr Schlief, treffen wir uns wieder." Herr Schlief, we meet again. Chris smiled somewhat vaguely as he emerged from behind his tree to confront the two men.

"Wiedertreffen?" Meet again? Schlief shook his head in perplexity.

"Nun ja, mein Hut verbirgt irgendwie meine Identität." True, my hat does conceal my identity somewhat. Chris easily tipped it back off his head and then smiled again.

"Herr Doktor.....Doktor von Hense."

"Ah Bernd, so intelligent, Sie haben richtig getippt." Ah Bernd, so intelligent, you have guessed me right. Chris shook his head regretfully and then smiled once more. "Dieses Mal liegen Sie richtig, das war Ihr Fehler. Mord ist in Friedenszeiten nicht erlaubt, Sie haben einen Mord begangen....Ich werden Sie daher exekutieren." This time you are correct, it was your error. Murder is not permitted in times of peace, you just committed murder...I'll now make the execution.

"Mord, wer spricht von Mord?" Murder? Who speaks of murder? Herr Schlief trembled fearfully.

"In dem Gebäude hinter Ihnen liegt ein Mann. Vor drei Tagen haben Sie diesen Mann gefangen...es brauchte zehn von Euch, um ihn unter Kontrolle zu bringen und damit nicht genug, haben Sie ihm mit einem Gewehrkolben fast das Gehirn herausgeschlagen. Sie haben fast das Gehirn aus einem Mann geschlagen, der sein linkes Bein schlimm gebrochen hatte, eine Schußverletzung im Bauch und eine potentielle Katastrophe statt eines Handgelenks hatte und im Fieber lag. Hat Ihnen das gereicht? Nein, nun finden Sie sich in einer Ecke zusammengepfercht, weil der Waffenstillstand unterzeichnet worden ist und er immer noch lebte. Was tun Sie? Nun, Sie bezichtigen fälschlicherweise den Quacksalber, der Ihnen so lange im Hinblick auf den Geisteszustand der Leute in England geholfen hat. Sie haben mir Ihre ungewollte Leiche aufgehalst, weil Sie keinen kannten, der dem armen Dr. von Hense glauben würde, wenn er behauptete, daß er den Mann niemals gesehen hätte. Das war unklug, Bernd Schlief. Der Mann, der wahrscheinlich sogar jetzt noch tot ist, war mein bester Freund, er war seit vier Jahren ein Mitarbeiter und ein Partner seit etwas mehr als sechs Monaten." In the building behind you lies a man. Three days ago you captured that man.....it took ten of you to control him, and not satisfied with that you nearly bashed his brains out with a handy rifle butt. You nearly bashed the brains out of a man who had a badly broken left leg, an abdominal bullet wound, a potential mess instead of a wrist and was running a fever. Was this sufficient for you? No, now you find yourself in a cramped corner because the Armistice was signed and he was still alive. What do you do? Why you frame the quack doctor who has aided you so long in the mental condition of the people in England. You chose me on which to dump your unwanted corpse because you knew no one would believe poor Dr von Hense if he claimed never to have seen the man. That was unwise Bernd Schlief. The man who is probably even now dead was my best friend, he has been an associate for four years and a partner for just over six months.

"Nun, das ist ja äußerst schlimm." Well that's just too bad. Bernd Schlief smirked.

"Nicht wahr?" Isn't it just. Chris smiled again. "Sie sind kein Profi, mein Freund, Sie sind der Abschaum. Sie buckeln und treten sich an die Macht und wechseln die Seiten mit der Regelmäßigkeit eines Pendels. Der Count war hinter Ihnen her, lange bevor wir uns in Zürich getroffen haben, aber lebend dienten Sie unseren Zwecken besser. Aber jetzt sind diese Zwecke erfüllt und Sie haben meinen Freund auf die allerschlimmste Art und Weise getötet. Leben Sie wohl...Ich hielt Graf von Nickel für einen viel besseren Gegner, zumindest ermangelte es seinen Methoden nicht an Anstand." You are not a professional my friend, you are the foul sludge of the earth. You cower and cringe to power, changing sides with the regularity of a pendulum. The Count was onto you long before we met in Zurich, but it suited our purposes that you remained alive. But now those purposes are finished and you have murdered my best friend in the basest manner possible. Goodbye.....I found Graf von Nickel a much better opponent, at least his methods did not sicken decency. Chris turned his head aside in disgust and the revolver barked twice in very quick succession.

Ten minutes later Chris was back in the small musty room. With quick and sure hands Chris was checking first the left and then the right leg and he was no less skilled when he quickly moved up and inspected the rest of Darcy's mangled carcass.

"That can be fixed by a couple of stitches and they will only mar your beauty." Chris smiled slightly grimly as he settled back from inspecting Darcy's temple. The temple was still intact and unbroken and it was with relief that Chris finally turned to the right wrist. The left leg had not been fun to set, but it was now set and given a month it would be close on as good as new. The abdominal wound had been minor, little more than a graze and already starting to heal. Chris took one glance at the wrist before calmly returning his attention to the temple. with the aid of a jug of water and his handkerchief Chris managed to remove the majority of the blood from Darcy's face and a couple of minutes later he was firmly applying the sticking plaster over the stitches.

Continued in Next Section