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September 1916-Breque, Belgium (cont.)

"Ahh, chyba zesmy sie obudzili." The voice had Chris twisting his head around. Ahh, it seems we are awake.

"Excuseer?" Chris looked blankly at the man who was stooping in the entrance of the cabin. I beg your pardon?

"Powiedzialam, ze obudzilaes sie. I nie udawaj, ze nie rozumiesz, bo mowiles czysta polszczyzna, gdy odpowiadales na pytania" I observed that you were awake. Don't pretend you don't understand me because you were speaking fluent Polish when you responded to any questions.

"W porzadku, nie bede udawal." Chris studied the man, he was fairly tall in build, but tall in a slight manner. If that is the case then I won't deny it.

"Madra decyzja. To moze odpowiesz na kilka pytan?" A wise move. Do you feel up to answering any questions?

"Raczej nie." Chris abruptly realised that he was no longer clad in his own clothes, which meant that his pockets were probably emptied by now. Probably not. Chris was now relieved that the outdated pass had not been returned.

"Tak tez myslalem." The man nodded slightly then turned to leave. I thought that might be your response.

"Kim jestes?" Who are you?

"Powiedzmy, ze nazywam sie Alexei.....i ze jestes bezpieczny......powiedzmy, ze bezpieczny." The Count turned and left the cabin. For now, I am Alexei.....and you are safe......for now. Chris settled back in perplexity, than promptly sat up again to strain his ears in an attempt to pick up any words at all. Was he in Poland? or was this Alexei in Belgium? Where was he? A brief experiment proved to Chris that he did not have the strength required to get out of the bed, so he gave up the effort and went back to sleep again. After all when you can't go anywhere it is much better to sleep and regain strength as quickly as possible than to attempt the impossible and worry.

Chris had no idea how much later it was when he woke again, but it was considerably later, and he was in the same rough, tarred room he had been in before, though now he suspected that he was on board a barge. This suspicion was helped by the continuous motion and by the fact that everything he could see was firmly secured to the floor or wall.

"Znowu jestesmy obudzeni." The voice caused Chris to turn his head, and he observed that Alexei was standing in the doorway. It would appear you have woken once more.

"Tak jakby." Chris studied the man again for a minute. I quite agree. "Ktory dzis mamy dzien?" What date is it?

"Piaty pazdziernika." There was a slight hesitation before the date came. Fifth of October.

"Co???.....Czy bylem chory?" Chris squinted at the expressionless face. What the.....Have I been sick?

"Troszke." Just a little bit.

"Na co?" What with?

"Male zapalenie pluc." Mild pneumonia.

"Oh, jak milo." Chris paused. How pleasant. "Gdzie jestem?" Where am I?

"Gdzies w Belgii." The response was indifferent. Somewhere in Belgium.

"A nie mozna troche dokladniej?" Can you not be more precise?

"Leonie, waar zijn wij?" The response was muffled and the man turned back in with a shrug. Leonie, where are we? "Dwadziescia mil od granicy, nie wiem w ktorej czesci, ale na granicy belgijsko-holenderskiej." Twenty miles from the border, but I cannot say which part of the border......but it is the Dutch-Belgian border.

"Tez pocieszenie." Chris responded somewhat sardonically. Comforting thought. "Dlaczego ciagle mowicie po polsku?" Why do you always speak in Polish?

"A czy zawsze mowilbys w rodzimym jezyku, gdybys mialwybor?" Why would you always speak in your native language given the choice?

"Celna uwaga." Chris fell silent considering the matter, only to jolt out of his musings as his slate was dropped square into his middle. That is a very relevant point. Chris eyed the slate for several minutes in silence, then without touching it he turned his head and looked at the man who stood next to him now. "Czymam cos tu zrobic?" Am I meant to do something?

"Byc moze rozpoznac swoja wlasnosc." Recognise your property perhaps.

"Nie mowilem, ze jest to nie jest moje." Chris still didn't touch it, he kept his eyes on the man who stood beside him. Well I didn't say it wasn't mine.

"Zgadza sie, ale tez nie powiedziales, ze to jest twoje." No you didn't, but neither have you said it is yours.

"Uznalem, ze wiecie, ze to moje, skoro wyjeliscie to z mojejkieszeni." I assumed you knew it was mine since you have to have taken it out of my pockets for it to get there.

"A czy to nie moglo wypasc?" Could it not have fallen out?

"Nie." Chris calmly shook his head. No. "Z tamtej kieszeninic nie wypada. Ktos musi to wyjac." Nothing can just fall out of that pocket, it has to be deliberately removed.

"Dlatego jestem zaciekawiony. Dlaczego berlinski lekarz masrebrna tabliczke szyfrowa, w specjalnej kieszeni, podczas gdy termometr i skalpel walaja sie w zwyklych kieszeniach?" Which is why I'm so curious about it. Why does a Berlin doctor have a silver slate in a specifically designed pocket when his scalpel, thermometer and a few other odds and ends just drift around loosely in regular pockets?

"Nie mam na to odpowiedzi." I have no answer.

"Dziwne, ze jest pan berlinskim lekarzem i nie moze panodpowiedziec na proste pytanie." How peculiar that you supposedly are a Berlin doctor, and yet you apparently can't answer that question.

"Czy to nie.... ale i tak wiecie, ze nie jestem kimstakim." Isn't it just.....but you know as well as I do that I'm nothing of the sort.

"A to sprowadza nas do pytania, po co ktos trzymalby szyfrownik w specjalnej kieszeni." Which brings us to the question of why anyone would keep a slate in a specifically designed pocket.

"Raczej nie wymysle wlasciwej odpowiedzi." Chris abruptly turned his head so he smothered his yawn in the rough coat that was serving as a pillow. I cannot think up an appropriate answer for that.

"Obawialem sie, ze to sie moze stac. Spij dobrze, bo bede czekal znowymi pytaniami." I was afraid that that might happen. Sleep well, for I will be waiting for your next wake up with more questions.

"Juz sie ciesze." Chris closed his eyes and let the sleep he had been fighting off take over him. What a pleasant thought. The Count frowned grimly for a minute then he abruptly went out and looked around.

"Stop aan het volgende dorp, Leonie." Stop at the next town Leonie.

"Waarom?" Leonie immediately pushed the tiller over and soon the barge came alongside the shore. Why?

"Ik moet telefoneren." The Count gave a faint frown. I need to make a telephone call.

"Er is een dorp zo'n 5 mijl naar het zuiden, ge kunt het niet missen." There's a town five miles south of here, you can't miss it.

"Ok." The Count slid over the edge and jumped to the shore, before running easily into the small wood that nearly overhung the canal.

"South-west 1869." Anne picked up the receiver and swallowed her yawn, these calls which came in at two in the morning were usually important.

"I want to speak to Uncle Mac." The voice came as a clicking monotone.

"Who is it?"

"It's the Count."

"The Count." Anne calmly handed the receiver across to Uncle Mac who had been restlessly studying a map of Belgium.

"Uncle Mac here."

"The Count here. Have you had any men go missing?"

"Perhaps." Uncle Mac wasn't about to admit anything, least of all that he'd only just given up trying to get hold of this self-same Count.

"A week ago I fished someone out of the Canal and he is being remarkably unco-operative when it comes to supplying information."

"Where did you pick him up from?"

"Forty miles from the border controls, he was suffering from what turned out to be mild pneumonia and as of two days ago he has decided to live. But if he's one of yours I'll assume he's dynamite and I prefer to send dynamite back to England as fast as possible."

"What does he look like?"

"Dark hair, darkish skin, rough hands, wore a small engraved metal medallion, has an ornate silver slate in a specially designed pocket."

"Sounds like him." Uncle Mac paused. "Ask him who Josiah Vavsor Bott is, if it's who I think it is he should respond along the lines of calling the man a series of very impolite things and then admitting he was the secretary for the prosecution."

"Poisonous name, any other comments?"

"Well if I'm right you've currently got one Chris Angel on your hands....I advise you not to let him see any written material."

"Why not?"

"The man is, as far as I know, a forger of quite admirable expertise."

"Thankyou." The dull click which followed the word informed Uncle Mac that the call had ended a good minute before the exchange person caught on and cut the connections.

"What was that about?" Anne laid aside her pen as Uncle Mac put the receiver down.

"It sounds like Angel has survived after all, even though he is still in Belgium."

"That must be a relief to hear." Anne picked up her pen again, added a few words to what she had written, then put the pen down again and started packing away her things.

"Well I think it is.....but the Count currently has him and it is entirely possible I won't get him back."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the Count has a much greater need of someone with Chris' particular skills than I do, and he could certainly make better use of those skills than I could."

"Infact you are expecting an offer to buy Chris off you?"

"No, the Count always plays clean....he'll just ask if I have any need of Chris and frankly I must admit that for the time being I have nearly nothing for Chris to do that any one of our other people couldn't do. If I had a use of Chris the Count would depart without arguing, but the fact remains that I don't."

"What about Chris? It's quite possible he'll have something to say about this."

"Oh it's very likely he will." Uncle Mac gave a yawn. "And the Count will duly listen to all of it......then either change his mind for him, or totally disregard it all. But Chris is not stupid, or he would actually have been caught at a real forgery job not handed himself in for someone else's bad job. Any offer the Count makes is going to be much more to Chris' abilities than anything I can offer."

"Are you saying that that wasn't Chris' work?" Anne creased her brows.

"I'm not going into that subject." Uncle Mac blinked sleepily.

"Anything else you need done?" Anne had risen to her feet having finally packed all her things away.

"No....you headed to Devon soon?"

"Leaving on the tenth."

"Enjoy your break from all this." Uncle Mac gave a short nod as he resumed his study of the map which was spread out in front of him.

"Hello." Parker pushed his chair back as Uncle Mac came into the room. "I was just going to call you....it seems that table 13 is occupied once more."

"A dubious joy." Uncle Mac paused and frowned. "I'll come see you this evening.....if you can manage to be in."

"I should be able to arrange that." Parker paused. "You seem unsurprised by the news."

"Really. I've been expecting him to turn up for a week now." Uncle Mac rolled his eyes and pulled the door open. "See you this evening."

"Right." Parker picked up an intimidating stack of folders, then promptly dropped the lot as the door slammed behind Uncle Mac. "Why am I always the last to hear of everything?" Parker paused the conversation with himself to answer the telephone which started to ring. "Dellingham here."

"Greetings Parker. You got anything interesting to say?"

"Probably not. Where are you Darcy?" Parker kicked his feet up onto the desk.

"I'm currently lying in my bed submitting to Alastair's far from tender ministrations."

"Well send him my condolences, I couldn't think of a worse patient." Parker smiled faintly as he heard the brief exchange.

"Alastair claims he has never found a worse one. Say Parker, can you get time off tomorrow?"

"No....why?"

"Well there was something important I needed to give you....but I'm damned if I can remember it right now. The only thing that jingles is that it has something to do with Paris. I'll call if I remember what it is."

"See you whenever you can leave your bed." Parker replaced the receiver and retrieved his files, that Darcy could remember anything of Paris surprised Parker. It had been one hell of a return journey with the coffins and Darcy, there had been the desperate call to Alastair when they docked in Dover, and there had been the days of nervous waiting when Darcy had been in that oxygen tent....Parker knew he would die happy if he never had to see such haunted terror in a human's eyes ever again, Parker doubted he would ever be able to forget the silent fear in Georgiana Darcy's eyes as she had sat at his door. An isolated case, no one but the doctors were allowed into that room, and Georgiana hadn't stirred from the door in two days until they let her in to speak to Darcy. Parker shook his head as he tried to focus on the papers in front of him, Magreeta had been right when he had called Darcy the unkillable.

October 15th 1916-Chatsworth, England

Dakota was staring mournfully around himself at the dripping countryside. The sight of trees heavy with rain was not a sight which rated high in Dakota's book of likes. Infact it was Dakota's personal opinion that there was only one place where water should be, and that was in the ocean. Hence he did not take kindly to when it left the ocean and deposited itself on the landforms.

"Look alive man." Fordingham came up, shaking the rain off his hat.

"I didn't think I was looking dead."

"Well I'm feeling it, oh bliss to be able to stand up straight without worrying about banging my head." Fordingham shook his head again, then abruptly handed Dakota's pack to him. "Here, I'm no servant of yours, take your bloody pack."

"There's no blood on it at all." Dakota's tone was a slightly offended sniff.

"Oh do shut up." Fordingham gave the response curtly as he dove across the station and obtained the services of the station taxi driver. His dive had just managed to get him to the man first, and as a result the man who stood behind him gave a sniff and reboarded the train.

"Didga see dat mug?" Dakota muttered the question under his breath as he loaded his pack into the boot.

"Which man?" Fordingham took Dakota's abrupt descent into colonialisms without a blink.

"The one wot ya cheesed outta this 'ere taxi." Dakota plunged into the back seat.

"No, was there something special about him?"

"Not much above the fact 'at he looked fit ta murder ya." Dakota dug through his pocket after a packet of cigarettes.

"Oh, did he?" Fordingham was supremely indifferent to whether or not the man had looked fit to murder him.

"Yep.......and what's more 'is mug is familiar."

"How so?" Fordingham finally twisted around in his seat and frowned at Dakota.

"I dunno." Dakota shrugged. "I'll tell you when I remember."

"Great!" Fordingham twisted back around so he faced forward, and as a result he missed Dakota's grin.

"Anne!" Marie's shriek rang through the house, and with a moan Anne pushed her folders aside and rose stiffly to her feet, automatically glancing at the clock. The time was a quarter to five, and that in itself informed her what was distressing Marie. They were due at the Croft's in and hour and fifteen minutes which almost guaranteed that Marie had just discovered a problem with her new dress. Anne pushed some loose strands away from her face and picked up her sewing equipment before she headed for the second floor where, as Anne could easily have predicted, Marie was standing half in her dress.

"What is it Marie?" Anne cast a critical eye at her sister's dress, but could see no problems with it.

"My head." Marie's screams reduced to moans when she realised that Anne had arrived.

"Is it one of your migraine's?" Anne was well aware that any other question would be met with hysterics and a declaration that everyone hated her and just couldn't wait until she died. Though what anyone would gain from Marie's death Anne had yet to work out, but Marie was quite persuaded on the subject.

"I fear so." Marie relaxed onto the longue in a limp manner which strongly reminded Anne of a wet rag.

"Shall I go get Nurse?" Anne still hadn't moved from the door, a feature which seemed to annoy Marie.

"Oh stop standing there in that ridiculous manner Anne, get my hartshorn from the dresser and ask cook to prepare me a tisane."

"Marie, the cook cannot prepare a tisane, she doesn't have the necessary materials."

"Cook is careless, tell Harold we need a new one."

"Marie...I know you must be in a lot of pain, and it is good of you to show such endurance about the matter. But you can hardly expect cook to get the ingredients when they are no longer sold. Would you like me to call up the Fordingham's and cancel for the evening?" Anne wasn't about to admit how much she wished that Marie would answer in the affirmative.

"No, no, I would hate to be so much trouble, I think I'll be alright if I lie down for a while."

"Alright....but tell me if things aren't right so I can make appropriate arrangements." Anne started to leave the room.

"I don't know what I'd do without you Anne, really I don't." It came as a thready whisper, and Anne took the edge off her annoyance by putting an extra half hour into the accounts before she ascended the stairs once more to dress. It was on days like these that Anne felt a particularly strong desire to bang Marie on the head, her sister moped around howling and bewailing any ache or pain she had, or imagined she had, while men lay in complete silence suffering from neuralgia and shattered limbs, men who were in so much pain that nothing short of a lethal dose of morphia could give them even a few minutes of peace. Anne dug around in her cupboard and eventually retrieved a dark blue dress that suited her mood very well. Marie and her fainting fits. Anne scrambled into her dress, pausing only briefly to wonder how Marie would feel if she was in the position of at least one man she knew who could not even sit up without passing out....for him standing up had not even come into the question.

"Anne!" Marie's call came just as Anne was tying her shoelaces, and quickly finishing the job she went galloping across to her sister's room. Marie was now fully dressed, and was seated in front of the mirror while the maid fixed her hair. "You've no idea how much that rest helped, Anne." Marie paused for a second in the process of powdering her face. "I do wish I didn't appear so haggish though."

"You look lovely Marie." It was of course the answer which was desired, but it was also the truth, Anne had rarely seen her sister appear so beautiful.

"You really do spoil me Anne." Marie turned her head aside, then gave an abrupt gasp. "Oh the time Sarah, the time. Anne, see that Harold has had the horses brought around......I really do think it inappropriate for Harold to have laid up the motor, it's not as if gas is that expensive......why even the Fordingham's still run their car."

"Marie, the Fordingham's do not use gasoline, and Harold laid up the car because of an engine fault......and yes the horses have been ready and waiting this past half hour if not more." Anne was all too well aware of why Marie had wailed at the time, whether they liked it or not they were going to be late.

"Well see that Harold is ready while I get my shoes on." As Marie bent to tying her shoes Anne left the room and headed for the stairs and the telephone, Harold would have been ready for the past hour.

"Hilary's Pride." The Butler, to Anne's surprise, sounded somewhat hasseled.

"Hello Billins, it's Miss Anne here. Could you please inform Mrs Fordingham that we are going to be delayed by about half an hour."

"Very good Miss, not but what I doubt she would notice if you were an hour late, a surprise arrival has caused chaos." Billins had hung up the phone before Anne could enquire further into the matter, so with a sigh Anne went to sit with her brother-in-law until Marie came tripping downstairs announcing that she was ready.

"WHAT?!" Captain Pepel Fordingham gaped at his sister-in-law. "You better be joking, Dakota we're leaving immediately."

"I don't want to though." Dakota was seated on a nearby chair and had his legs drawn up to his chest in an effort to hold his laughter in. Dakota doubted he would ever get to see the equal of Fordingham's face when his sister had announced that the Chatsworth's were coming for dinner.

"Stop being ridiculous Pepel." Phillipa Fordingham had not been living with an Admiral for nothing. "Anyone would think I had just announced the arrival of a fleet of U-boats.....not just that some friends were coming for dinner."

"But I've had enough of formalities, I was coming here to get away from my dress uniform." Pepel had a very nasty feeling that all that was happening was that he was appearing stupid.

"Well don't wear your uniform, I never said it was a formal meal."

"It's going to look mighty odd if I'm in dress and he isn't." Dakota grinned at his steaming superior.

"Anyone would think that the world is setting up against me. Alright, move it Dakota we need to get the gladrags ironed. Stall 'em as long as possible Phillipa dear." Fordingham went charging from the room with Dakota immediately behind him.

"Hello, come in, come in, come in." Phillipa Fordingham ducked under Billins' stiff, and now offended, arm and dragged the Chatsworths, senior party, into the parlour.

"Madam."

"What is it Billins?"

"Miss Anne called up to say they would be late."

"Thankyou Billins." Phillipa promptly re-entered the discussion between Mr Chatsworth senior and Admiral Fordingham, which left Fordingham and Dakota to the tender of Mrs Chatsworth senior, an intimidating woman as used to getting her way as her daughter-in-law, but who was much less pathetic about it. Though Fordingham seemed thoroughly entertained by her Dakota was finding the gold braid on his uniform somewhat dull company when the front door opened again.

"Mr and Mrs Harold Chatsworth....Miss Anne Marshall." Billins then majestically withdrew allowing the others to enter the room. Marie and Harold were almost immediately drawn into the other conversation, and after a brief hesitation Anne crossed to where Dakota sat conversing with his gold braid.

"Would you mind if I sat here?"

"Not at all." Dakota promptly made room for her on the sofa.

"I was hoping you might consider me potentially more interesting then your gold braid." Anne gave a slight smile as she sat down.

"You speak dutch?"

"Not enough to converse with. Infact it is more a general knowledge of German."

"That makes it slightly less embarrassing. Please Miss, what did you understand?" Dakota was more then a little embarrassed, his conversation with his gold braid had relied entirely on not being overheard.

"Relax Lieutenant, I understood none of it other than the fact that you were addressing your 'dear Gold Braid.'"

"Then I will relax. You speak many languages?"

"Not really, and none of them particularly well." Anne gave a chuckle. "You're dutch?"

"Well, Dutch-Belgian from South Africa."

"South Africa?"

"Yes, lived there until about five years ago, which is when I joined the Navy."

"But of course, one must join the Navy."

"But definitely, your infantry wallow in a perpetual sea of mud and the Flying Corps have such hideous jackets."

"I was lead to understand that the Royal Naval Air Service continued wearing Naval Uniform."

"What is to prevent me from being RNAS?"

"The fact that I never knew of aeroplanes taking off from submarines." Fordingham appeared at this point. "Miss Anne, I believe your expert knowledge is needed at the other end of the room.....or at least so my brother seems to think." Fordingham thought nothing of the sort and his body language more than stated the fact.

"But....." Anne stopped, but only because the Admiral had interrupted her.

"Do come Anne, I never trust the words of a Captain, and you are bound to know the truth of the matter."

"I would not be so sure." Anne finally rose and permitted Fordingham to escort her across the room, even though it was more of a drag than an escort.

"Well in this you are bound to, for you actually read the papers where none of us do." The Admiral was smiling cheerily, but Anne had noted Marie's miffed appearance, the matter would not end with this conversation.

"So what am I supposed to be an authority on?" Anne took her seat.

"Merchantile Shipping."

"What about Merchantile Shipping?" Anne rifled through her thoughts trying to settle them into a different order.

"Enlighten our ignorance, what are our current losses to the Germans?"

"That, the newspapers do not go into in any great depth......but I've heard that in the past month we've lost something around 200,000 tonnes of shipping to German U-boats. Our loss has increased since the Germans resumed their offensive against the shipping lines. They realise, as do most of the others, that this war will be won at sea.....and by submarines, not by the surface fleet."

"Why do you say that?" The Admiral shifted and his expression abruptly concentrated, he did not precisely appreciate this apparent importance for these submarines.

"Well look at it, we hold Germany in a blockade, they cannot get any supplies except over land and all the land is currently at war. They are calling this a War of Attrition, who ever wins this war will win because they can shove men out onto the front for five minutes longer, because they can fire the few extra artillery shells. This war won't just finish because we push the Germans back past the Belgian Frontier, this war will be won by us on the day the civillian population refuse to support the government any longer. Refuse to have their sons sent out to be slaughtered for the whim of a bunch of pig-headed, arrogant politicians who believe in the supremacy of their own race.......Infact one might quite legitimately say that this will be won by the most arrogant combatants, the ones so firmly intrenched in the belief of their own supremacy, and the wrong-ness of the other side."

"That sounds somewhat........unpatriotic." Fordingham's remark was acidic.

"Very unpatriotic as we call it, but it is the result of the work I do. I can see what is happening clearly because I am not a part of the war, I do not get the censored paper work."

"Censored?" Admiral Fordingham's brows had creased even further, and at this point Phillipa and Marie drifted away into a conversation of their own.

"The information fed to the public at large is heavily censored. Take the recent battle of Somme, the newspaper report a few thousand dead."

"You say that as if it's an understatement." Fordingham was also frowning.

"I say it like that because the casualty rate the newspaper gave for the entire engagement is much closer to the casualty rate for the first five minutes than to the entirety. Take a look around when you are in London, take a tour of the northern counties, go to Ulster in Ireland, and if the number of widows and mourning sisters and relatives doesn't make you feel positively ill, I can assure you that nothing will."

"Why those places?"

"Because that is where the units involved primarily came from. If you went to Germany you would find the same thing, for everyone has lost at least someone. Entire families are being wiped out by this war.......and all at the whim of four politicians who think it would be a good idea to rule the world."

"Miss Anne." Billins had slid silently into the room and was now standing blank-faced beside her.

"Yes?" Anne twisted in her seat.

"A certain Dr Alastair has called."

"Has he said anything?"

"No miss, just asked to speak to you."

"Thankyou Billins." Anne was out of her chair and headed for the door, then promptly stopped and grabbed the doorframe. A few seconds later Anne gave her head a gentle shake and continued her journey to the telephone. "Hello?"

"Alastair here Anne."

"So the Butler said.....how is he?"

"Success Anne, if you want you can speak to him."

"Thankyou."

"Why has he handed me this?" The question drew a laugh from Anne.

"Just so I can be assured that you are alive. Fear not."

"That makes me even more afraid, I never know what you medics intend to do next."

"I suspect that it will be a few months holiday in the country."

"I don't want a holiday....I want something to do."

"Well come here and you can argue to your heart's content."

"No thanks Anne." There was a brief scuffle as the receiver changed hands once more.

"Satisfied?"

"Quite."

"Colonel Darcy informs me to inform you that he will go north thankyou very much."

"That is probably wise. Has there been any variations yet?"

"A bit of fever for the first few days, but now he's been steady for several days and happens to be walking about....at least a little bit."

"That is indeed good news, I will now proceed to enjoy myself knowing that everything is fine."

"I'll call if you're needed."

"How kind of you." Anne replaced the receiver and exited the pantry, only to find herself face to face with Fordingham.

"What was that about?"

"It was just a call from a friend."

"Why?"

"Because a friend of mine has been seriously ill and there was a large risk run to save him." Anne took a brief glance around, then settled herself comfortably, for Fordingham had stationed himself such that Anne could not pass him.

"Seriously ill?" Fordingham had patent disbelief in his face.

"Possibly you would not consider Anaemia, back to back with Typhoid Fever, as serious but certainly I do." Anne bit back sharply, this man seriously irritated her and what right he had to question into her affairs was something she had yet to find an answer to.

"Sorry." Fordingham abruptly backed off, he had not missed the irritated edge to Anne's voice, then turned and returned to the parlour where everyone was.

"What was that about Anne?" Phillipa came flying across the room as Anne returned.

"Dr Alastair was kind enough to inform me of the recovery of a friend....that's all." Anne tried to shrug it aside, it was bad that the call had come through now, but at the same time she was relieved to have received it.

"What happened to him?"

"He was at Somme, fell sick, came back to England, recovered partially and promptly left England, got even sicker and has spent the last little while suffering from anaemia. He has now recovered from it thanks to a risky blood transfusion, and provided he doesn't repeat two months ago he should be completely recovered by December." Anne gave a slight shrug. "Please, I'd like to leave the subject."

"But certainly." As Phillipa dragged Anne across to where the Admiral sat, she risked a quick glance at Fordingham's face and what she saw caused her to bite her lip and hastily avert her eyes. Phillipa had long felt that her arrogant brother-in-law needed a set down, but now he was receiving it she was starting to change her mind. Phillipa saw Anne settled back into a discussion with the Admiral before she finally turned back to her brother-in-law, but she found the move unnecessary, for Fordingham was deep in conversation with the two Mrs Chatsworths, it was not a sight that Phillipa wanted to see at all.

"Pep." Phillipa came somewhat cautiously into her brother-in-law's room, stirring cautiously by using the despised name. "Just to ask a few questions." Phillipa, feeling more comfortable now since Fordingham had not ordered her straight back out and had used his common name for her, sat down on the foot of his bed and tucked her feet up. Phillipa was well acquainted with Fordingham and she knew possibly better than anyone how he oscillated back and forth between engaging confidence and moods of utter, and black despair. When he was happy he could discuss anything, even that which was private to him. Catch him in a bad mood and he was more likely to order you from the room than he was to talk to you.

"Fire away." Fordingham laid his book aside.

"Why did you come here?"

"Dunno, wanted away from the war I guess. Needed a bit of 'Rural Tranquility' as Dakota persists in calling it." Fordingham gave a shrug. "Maybe.....Well I think I just want to get married, there's nothing anchoring me Pip. You and Fordingham are settled here, but I don't live here. My apartment in Dover got bombed clean away and I suppose I just want a wife. Someone who can tolerate my horrible temper, someone who can laugh at me, make me laugh.....someone who will make me a better person....someone who has the patience to take on such a monsterous task....someone with the courage to even attempt it." Fordingham abruptly buried his head in his hands. "I've made a mess of my life Pip.....please help me fix it."

"It seems to be a trait for naval men to come to 'Old Pip' for help." Phillipa grabbed one of the strong callused hands. "Come on Pepel, head up, I don't like talking to the top of your head."

"Seems to be my best aspect, no one else seems to like my face."

"Brother, I refuse to pander to your vanity. Now get your head up or I'll leave you here and now." Phillipa waited until Fordingham had lifted his reluctant face. "Now little brother. Do you have any ideas on who you might wish to marry? Have you even considered someone?"

"Few people...some you know, others you've never met." Fordingham gave a shrug. "Surely you know some girl who would suit me Pip?"

"No fear, I'm not making the decision for you.......It's something you have to do yourself Pepel." Philippa paused. "Marriage isn't all happy smiles and love....or at least not if you actually want someone who can make you a better person. Don't marry someone if you feel compelled to always appear in one....." Phillipa moved her hands awkwardly, trying to find the word. "Pose is I think the best word. Don't even consider marrying someone until you have truly given them your worst side .......you're a dashing Captain in the Navy, there are no shortage of girls who would willingly marry you, but one touch of your tongue and they would shrivel up and dissolve. Now that's really pandering your vanity." Phoebe rose to her feet. "Think about it brother, I'd hate to see you foul up just because you feel divorced from reality. Remember you're always welcome to stay with us.....you can even bring your entire crew if you think it appropriate. But please......make sure you really know her before you ask her."

"Pip.....sure you can't marry me? I've never met a more dedicated improver of my person."

"Pepel, you are an ass. Now go to sleep.....And I must admit that I highly doubt I am your most dedicated improver." Phillipa left the room with that, and left a thoroughly irritated Captain to glare up at the unresponsive ceiling. An hour later Fordingham abruptly threw his pillow at the wall and left his bed. It took him only a minute to scramble into his uniform and still less time to get downstairs and out of the house. Fordingham stared silently around the darkened countryside from his position on the back stairs. The breeze which had risen was far from warm, but after a shiver Fordingham moved off, he really did not require Phillipa's remarks to give him insomnia......even less had he required the reminder of a sun-soaked summer when a girl had taken the oafish Lieutenant in hand and with exquisite tact had sought to improve both his mind and his person.....such a pity that her dedication had not extended to self-confidence in her own person. Fordingham abruptly cursed and lengthened his stride, he didn't care where he went, he just wanted away......away from the memories....away from the truths he couldn't even acknowledge, let alone admit.

Author's Note: Actually fairly important this note. What is 'viewed' in this post is actually (as far as my sources go) true, and this is why the particular part of the Geneva convention which specifies that Prisoners of War may not be tortured for their information was made. Though I may add that I doubt torture solely lay with the Turks and the Germans, but it just so happens that Allied methods are not where I can find them.

October 18th 1916-Squadron 284, France

"Denny." Thomlin came into the Recording Office with a dark frown and an unfriendly gleam in his eye.

"Uhhh, yes sir." Denny came abruptly to his feet, he had not seen Thomlin this annoyed before. Not that he had long experience in the matter since Thomlin had only been installed for a week.

"Tell Ashie to come to the office when he lands."

"The office?"

"Yes." Thomlin vanished into the room leaving a very nervous Denny to chew on his lip while he resumed work.

"G'day Denny." It was more then half an hour later when the flight return and Ashie strolled into the Recording Office to fill in the Squadron Record book.

"Thomlin wants to see you in his office."

"Oh, does he?" Ashie bent over the large book and scribbled in it briefly.

"He seemed annoyed."

"Well it shouldn't be with me." Ashie straightened abruptly and blinked. "I haven't done a thing all week, let alone something which might annoy him."

"Is that including the bats in his baggage?" Denny lifted a curious eyebrow.

"Well he's worse than Rowland if that riled him." Ashie scratched his head. "Oh well, may as well go see what's up. Have Pyro stand by, if things get bad clear them out for the afternoon."

"Right." Denny watched as Ashie went into the small back office which served as Squadron Office, then left his desk and went in search of Pyro.

"Returned have you?" Thomlin was wrestling with a mass of bottles when Ashie entered. "Take a seat, I'll be with you in a second."

"Do you want some help?"

"No." The answer was curt and with a heave Thomlin pitched all the bottles out the window, then slammed the window closed and took his seat, planting his feet firmly on the desk top. Ashie had dropped into a seat and was occupied with scraping his thumb through the dark castor oil stain on his right shoulder. The fresh layer deposited by the recent flight was scraping off and wedging claggily under the long thumbnail. Thomlin watched in silence for a moment. "Why is your thumbnail the only long nail?"

"Family tradition." Ashie dug out his badly stained handkerchief and wiped his thumb clean. "You wished to speak to me?"

"I did as a matter of fact." Thomlin studied the fine drawn face across from him. "What's your interest in this Squadron?"

"Primarily my current interest is to keep it in existance."

"Why?" Thomlin fired the question back and watched as shutters seemed to close on Ashie's face.

"Because I'll be out of a job when it does." The tone was stiff.

"Why?" Thomlin wanted some answers because this Squadron was strange.

"You forget sir, we are the Cad's of the Flying Corps, if this Squadron dissolves most of us will be discharged permanently from the military."

"And you're included in that number?" Thomlin's brows rose slightly.

"I am the most likely to go first, in particular thanks goes to to Major Rowland and a certain Colonel Axelton, my spell in Africa will have done little to make it so the military chiefs might ignore their reports on me."

"Considering Rowland's current condition you either have nothing to fear from him at all, or a lot. As for Colonel Axelton, he is deceased."

"I know." Ashie hesitated. "Was their anything else, sir?"

"Who was your former Company Officer before you went to Africa?"

"Darcy......I think he's a Colonel now."

"A Colonel?" Thomlin's brows rose sharply.

"Precisely." Ashie hesitated barely a second before he answered. "He also has spent almost a year of the war out of action."

"What are you saying." Thomlin frowned.

"He'll have been on ten months of convalescence leave by the end of this year if predictions hold true."

"Darcy you say." Thomlin had a deep crease between his brows. "Ahh, yes." Thomlin gave a brief nod and frowned at the ceiling for a minute. "What's your interest in making this the best Squadron on the front?"

"Is it possible?"

"Definitely......If the Squadron-Leader is willing to put in the effort." Thomlin stared levelly back across his desk at Ashie.

"If you think it possible. I cannot and will not ask the impossible of them."

"I would expect no less. I'll see if I can borrow a Fee from 83 tomorrow." Thomlin paused briefly. "Don't pass this on to any yet, we have a lot of work to do first."

"Are you certain we're worth the effort sir?" Ashie had risen, then stopped.

"Take it from me Ashie, and I most certainly know what I'm talking about. I've been watching this Squadron for a week now, and when I say it has the potential to be the best on the front, I mean it has the potential to be the best on the front. But it is going to take work and a lot of it."

"What type?" Ashie paused.

"By yourself, a lot. Starting tomorrow, if you're really interested in this, you're going to start flying. Flying until you can fly in your sleep, so you can land in the dark and so that given two wings and two wheels you can still land it."

"Does this also include information about the business of flying from the drawing boards?" Ashie found himself subjected to a very sharp and interested look.

"Can you live off five hours sleep?"

"Easily, as far as I know."

"Then we'll start as soon as you like. Two hours of theory and four hours of extra flight every day. If you know this stuff the others will soon follow."

"I was aware."

"Good. See if you can find a camera gun. I'll have to arrange for one if there isn't one here."

"We don't."

"Right. Tell Denny....wait I'll tell him myself. You're free until your next flight, business starts tomorrow."

"Right." Ashie stood up and headed for the door.

"Ashie." Thomlin abruptly called Ashie back.

"Yes?" Ashie turned by the door and looked back in puzzlement.

"I just remembered something I had forgotten......why do you always wear gloves?" Thomlin indicated the matted gloves which had no fingers at all.

"They protect my hands." Ashie responded calmly, and Thomlin responded by lifting a disbelieving eyebrow.

"You have flying gauntlets to protect you hands.....the truth please."

"That is the truth." Ashie gave a shrug.

"You came into the Flying Corps without sitting a medical examination at all.....how about travelling to Paris so you can sit one?" Thomlin gave the response on a hunch, but nothing prepared him for the response he got.

"You wouldn't dare?" All colour had drained out of Ashie's face, and he had stiffened.

"Why shouldn't I? I've found a discrepancy in your files, a matter which should be fixed." Thomlin kept his expression deadpanned, but it was a struggle for Ashie was treating the prospect with total horror.

"You wouldn't get me there." The words came out stiffly, Ashie gave his head a slow shake and turned towards the door.

"Captain! Sit down, I have not excused you yet!" Thomlin snapped out the order.

"Your pardon sir." Ashie returned stiffly to the seat he had exited, he still had no colour at all. "I had thought the matter closed."

"Nothing of the kind." Thomlin responded curtly, he then fell silent and tapped his fingers together silently for a minute or so, finally he stirred. "Captain, you have two choices ahead of you. One, you can take those gloves off and let me form a decision.....or two we can dully head to Paris.....and I can assure you that if I say you will sit that medical, you will sit that medical."

"I hope you're happy." It was bitterly that Ashie spat the words out as he yanked the gloves off. "You have left me no other choice." Ashie then extended his hands palm upwards.

"Well that is certainly a good reason for wearing gloves." Thomlin kept his expression deadpanned as he studied the hands in front of him. Then Thomlin abruptly leant forward and caught one of the hands, twisting it easily and turning the back up. Dark purple-blue, streaked with red and the dead white of serious scar tissue. Star shaped with radiating lines, there were five of these scars over lapping each other. It was enough to sicken anyone and there was absolutely no doubt how they had occured, there are few things which cause near identical scarring on both sides of the hand to such depth. Thomlin turned the hand back to palm up and took a look at the other hand, it was just as bad as the other, possibly even worse. "Gallipoli?"

"Senussi raid." Ashie responded curtly as he withdrew his hands and pulled his gloves back on. "I was unfortunate enough that they thought I was too important to have my throat slit out of hand."

"Torture?"

"Yeah....sort off...more a close neighbour, softening up so I'd be more talkative next time they asked a question."

"I assume from that remark that you were insufficiently talkative initially." Thomlin was frowning steadily at the still pale Captain. "But that is insufficient reason for having avoided a medical....you could have still got through, possibly."

"Colonel...I was in the hands of the Turks for a month. If you think this relative of crucifixion is all they use for their enquiries permit me to enlighten you. You put me through a medical......you let a medical man near me and I'll be out of the armed forces completely. I'm not interested Colonel. My hide is a mess, and I'll be the first to admit it because I was also blown up while at Gallipoli and I still have metal buried inside me. I got run through an onside medical which deemed me fit enough to join the Flying Corps."

"Who have guaranteed you to be fit?"

"Colonel D.F. Darcy; Lord Parker Dellingham, Earl of Dellingham; Lieutenant C. Bingley, as was; and Major M. Holloway."

"That is a fair number........how come no one else seems to know about this?"

"No one else knows because I take precautions, I wear gloves, I take dawn patrol, sleep in my uniform and because I change at carefully selected times when I know some ass won't come barging in on me. About the only things they didn't do was break bones or draw teeth and I have an intense dislike of the questions which my appearance draws, so I avoid the questions and I'll thank you not to let it out."

"You're relying rather heavily on the fact that I won't insist on you sitting that medical."

"What I'm relying on is that you'll give me a fair go." Ashie had stiffened once more. "The minute I start falling behind and not managing to stay up with the load I can assure you that I'll take that medical and receive the boot on grounds of medical unfitness. But until then, all I ask is that I am given a chance to show that I can work for my own living."

"You seem somewhat bitter Captain."

"Really." Ashie's tone was sarcastic. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that as soon as I leave the Flying Corps I'm going to be dependent on my brother. A layabout and a useless bludge on society. Now if you'll excuse me I need to leave." Ashie gave a curt nod and left the room abruptly, leaving Thomlin to frown thoughtfully as he tapped a pen against his teeth.

"Sir......Colonel Johnstone is on the telephone and demanding to speak to you." Denny poked his head into the office.

"Damn!.... Okay, put him through Denny." What Thomlin actually wanted was a few hours in which to make up his mind about what had happened, but a few hours weren't available.

"Hello Thomlin, how do you find being a C.O.?"

"Less boring than I expected......but I think that mostly has to do with the Squadron, I had bats in my baggage."

"Bats as in the animal or bats as in the item of sporting equipment?"

"Bats as in the animal....and it was not in a very well preserved condition."

"What did you do about them?"

"I held a brief cremation ceremony. Now why are you calling up?"

"Actually just to check you were still alive."

"Well currently I am, but I nearly wasn't."

"Why?"

"Because I stepped on the Captain's feet and seriously annoyed him. Fortunately he chose to stalk out of the room on me instead of making a fuss, hence I'm overlooking that far from minor breach of discipline."

"That does not sound like a wise move."

"Infact it was a very unwise move, I've so far managed to annoy both the Captain and his wingman.....and they seem to be the ringleaders in this place."

"Pyro? Yes, though I suspect Pyro has more to do with the running of that place then Ashie does."

"Why do you say that?"

"Pyro's the brains behind it....Ashie supplies the mischief and the motivation, but I'm pretty sure that Pyro supplies the old-fashioned brain work. If you've upset both of them I'd watch your step.....I thought you must have been getting soft since you over looked that breach, but now I've decided you're just clumsy."

"Bugger my step, this Squadron could be the best on the front and I intend to make it that."

"I think you're dreaming Thomlin, those are the bombs, no one will touch them."

"Which gives me a low opinion of the people in charge of this game." Thomlin paused. "Say can you do me a favour?"

"Possibly, depends on what it is."

"There's an Ack-emma back at Farnborough who goes by the name of Geordie, I think he is actually Corporal George Mauger. He dealt with my 'planes while I was there. Do you think you could wiggle some wires and get him out here? The only ack here is a Froggie who is all too willing to ignore me."

"I'll see what I can manage, but I promise nothing."

"That's all I ask. Oh, could you also get hold of a camera gun for me." Thomlin hung up on that note and turning he proceeded to frown speculatively out the window. Rules, regulations, and every other thing of that class which he had practically lived his life by demanded that he order Ashie to sit that medical, but logic demanded that Ashie be given his chance. Thomlin abruptly flicked his pen to one side, left his office, crossed to the hanger and was soon engrossed in repairs on the badly damaged Pup which was supposedly the Comanding Officer's aeroplane. It was at times like this when he had a major problem on his hands that Thomlin invariably either repaired, or totally destroyed, an aeroplane.

October 23rd 1916-Kellynch, England

"Pepel!" The Admiral's roar rang through the house in a manner which had previously turned the knees of hardened seamen to jelly.

"What?" Fordingham looked up somewhat indifferently as his brother-in-law came charging into the library.

"Phillipa and I are going driving."

"Why tell me?" Fordingham laid his book aside and looked enquiringly at his brother.

"Because we're also engaged to go walking with the Chatsworths.....So you'd better prepare for that walk."

"Could we hitch a lift with you as far as Chatsworth, or had you intend to go in the other direction?" "You alright?" Phillipa looked back to where the two officers were precariously attempting to retain their dignity as they were bumped, rattled, jostled and nearly thrown out.

"Perfectly fine." Fordingham's tone assured Phillipa that he meant nothing of the kind. The automobile was designed for two passengers, and since the Admiral was reluctant to be crowded it had required some innovative seating. The two Officers were, technically speaking, seated in the boot, a position they had taken because of a suggestion from the driver. This suggestion was received with greater acquiescence than might have been expected, had the driver not also been an Admiral.

"Mama." Little William Chatsworth came across the room frowning in perplexity.

"Yes?" Marie responded in exasperation.

"Nothing." Little William turned and crossed to where Anne was seated at the table. "Aunt Anne?"

"Yes?" Anne laid aside her pencil and pulled William up so he was seated on the table.

"My boat's come unfolded." Little William held out the mangled sheet of paper which had once been the pride of a fleet.

"That it most certainly has." Anne frowned throughtfully at the sheet, trying to remember how it looked folded and trying to work out how to get it back into that shape. "Can you refold it?"

"No." Little William gave a sniff. "I tried, but I only got a mess."

"Well I'll see what I can do." Anne studied the page for a moment longer, then pulled the back page out of the book she had been working on and started experimenting.

"Captain Fordingham and Lieutenant de Smet." The butler made his announcement in a stately voice before withdrawing.

"Captain!" Marie greeted Fordingham effusively, and totally ignored Dakota.

"You have a problem?" The question caused Anne to jump, and turning she observed Dakota looking curiously over her shoulder.

"Well it's little William's problem actually, the pride of his fleet got torpedoed and was not responding well to his repair efforts....and I've got the feeling that it will be even less appreciative of my efforts." Anne laid her page aside and flexed her fingers awkwardly. "Your training wouldn't include this sort of repair would it?"

"Well it might if he could tolerate a boat of a slightly different style."

"Shall we hand it over to the Lieutenant William?" Anne appealed to the owner of the damaged ship.

"Ya." Little William nodded vigorously. "I just want ship."

"Here, use this and check he appreciates your efforts first." Anne handed across the sheet of paper from the back of her book which had a few corner folds but no more. Dakota took the sheet and settled down with a concentrated frown, then abruptly he grinned and started folding carefully. As Anne watched sharp ends appeared at either end of the page, there was then a pause before the sort-of boat-shape with an enclosed top took form. There was then a decidedly extended pause.

"Is it finish?" Little William was frowning at the paper form which still rested in Dakota's hands, there was an unfolded buckle in the middle of the top.

"Uh-uh." Dakota shook his head briefly before he finaly began the last cautious folds on the buckle. The result when he finally laid the object in Little William's hands sent Anne's eyebrows up and she formed a noiseless whistle.

"What is it?" Little William frowned in perplexity at the item.

"That is the latest naval craze, it will defeat anything your brother can send against it."

"Really?" Little William's eyes grew round as he studied the paper formation. "But what's it called?" "Well we call it a 'Sub', or more accurately it is a Submarine......a submersible boat, you can sail under the water, you can shoot from under the water."

"Hmmm." Little William wrinkled up his nose. "I think I prefer my other boat."

"Then you'll have to wait for the Admiral to call." Dakota straightened stiffly from where he had been kneeling and bent over to dust his knees.

"Such a move would offend my sister." Anne's smile danced faintly.

"Which move?" Dakota straightened abruptly. "Requiring Billy-boy there to wait for the Admiral, or dusting my knees?"

"Possibly both, did you not know that the requirements of a child are paramount to all considerations.....except when you suffer from the headache, in which case you call for nurse as fast as possible."

"Sounds like a perfect recipe for disaster.....but I also observe that the party is on the point of departure, so we will return Billy-boy to the floor and then I will offer my arm in hopes that you will not spurn it."

"Arms offered politely are rarely spurned." Anne waited until Little William had been returned to the safety of the floor before she took the offered arm.

"How about polite arms?"

"If that is your usual tone I am surprised the Captain hasn't thrown you overboard long since."

"The Captain tries frequently, unfortunately for him I swim very well so he ceased the activity after he discovered that I'd just come back on board and then not only would he have to put up with me.....but it was a wet me."

"That is indeed a good reason to cease throwing crew members overboard."

"Besides which, he took over that perogative." Dakota's eyes were dancing, he was enjoying some quiet revenge.

"I think I missed something......" Anne creased her brows slightly at this.

"Indeed you did, it was just before Jutland." Dakota choked abruptly on a laugh.

"Tell all, it sounds like the imperious Captain might have embarrassed himself."

"Indeed he did." Dakota retarded his steps a bit more as he began the story, he was well aware that his audience would enjoy it, but he was also aware that one Captain would be ripe for murder if he knew that story had leaked out.

Harold Chatsworth came to a sharp stop and dropped his wife's arm recognised the gate that Dakota and Anne were leaning against.

"Hullo, we at Forthy already?" The surpise in his voice was clear, and he took a thoughtful look around to check.

"Uncle Harry!" The call came from down the hill, and turning Dakota saw three tow-coloured heads coming up the hill at a run. "Uncle Harry, papa wants......" The voice stopped, obviously out of breath and did not resume until the three children reached the gate. "Papa wanted to know if you would come inspect a cow he's just got." It was the eldest who was speaking, a sturdy, sunburnt lad of some twelve years. "Hello Aunt Marie." It was a polite and formal greeting.

"Auntie Nan!" The youngest, who Dakota guessed to be eight or nine, flung himself at Anne and attached himself with limpet-like strength to her legs.

"Hello Billy." Anne greeted the boy with a smile, before effectively detaching him by the simple act of tickling him, and then picking him up. "My you have grown, soon I won't be able to pick you up at all."

"Hah! as if!" The response showed that the youngest did not keep what Marie would call appropriate company.

"Hello Auntie Nan." The other two gathered around for their hugs, and Dakota gave an understanding nod, he had forgotten that Anne had only just returned from London.

"Okay chaps, let's move. Come Uncle Harry." The eldest boy called the other two to order before leading the way back through the gate, and Harold was directly behind them. With an offended sniff Marie settled herself on a nearby bank, it was no secret that she disapproved of her sister-in-law's husband. Anne paused for a minute, and then she also took a seat for whether she admitted it or not, the walk had tired her. The hillside was very peaceful in that bright sunshine, it was a very warm day.

"Captain!" Dakota's sudden call had Anne's head up, for Dakota's tone was somewhat worried.

"What?" Fordingham abruptly pushed through the hedge-rows to where his Lieutenant sounded to be.

"This critter has got me somewhat nervous." Dakota's voice had an increasingly worried note to it. Whatever Fordingham made in response Anne could not work out because both men had abruptly dropped their voices, but their return was punctuated by a shout of laughter and Dakota emerged somewhat redfaced, followed by Fordingham, who was clearly making a manful effort not to laugh.

"What was that all about?" Marie looked up somewhat distainfully from her seat, but Fordingham only shook his head, a move that Anne was pleased to see. Marie sniffed at this disregard of her request. "I personally do not think I have been to the Johnson's above twice in my life. I really fail to see why Harold encourages them, they are so encroaching." This statement of Marie's caused Anne to blink, there were times when her arrogance positively astounded even Anne. Fordingham responded to this statement with a disgusted look of disbelief and a sardonic curl of one lip. Dakota had deposited himself on another bank and he was eyeing Marie with distinct nervousness. Anne couldn't blame him for his nervousness at all, afterall if Marie thought that of honest people like the Johnsons, what would she think of mining stock from South Africa.

October 25th 1916-284 Squadron, France

"What's your name?" The question caused Geordie to step back.

"C-corporal George 'Geordie' Mauger....sir." Geordie was somewhat nervous of the of the laughing twinkle which lurked in the Captain's eyes.

"How old are you?"

"F-forty-five, sir."

"What shoe size do you wear?"

"S-sir, is there a reason for this?"

"Yes. What shoe size do you wear?"

"Eight."

"Any serious illnesses?"

"No."

"Any insanity in the family?"

"No."

"I disagree, but we'll let it pass. Can you fly?"

"No."

"Interesting." Several minutes of silence followed this, then the Captain turned his head and looked at the other people in the mess. "Do we pass him boys?" "Very good." Ashie rose up from his seat. "Corporal Geordie, you are now officially a member of the Cads of the Airforce. You'll find Colonel Thomlin's office three doors down and one door in."

"Ashie, those instructions are more likely to lose him." Thomlin came in the door as this ended. "How'd the aeroplane go Geordie."

"Beautifully sir." Geordie was relieved to see Thomlin's familiar dour expression. "Only needed the one re-fill."

"Good." Thomlin turned to leave, then turned back again. "Ashie, we need to talk about that warning from Mac tomorrow."

"Will do sir......but does it really need talking about? Can't I just say that I won't buzz anymore messes?" Ashie was banging a finger against the table top.

"'Fraid not Ashie." Thomlin paused. "I'll explain why later as well."

"Will do sir." Ashie shook his head ruefully and stared silently into his half full glass, why was it that he was always caught when he broke the rules?

"Warning from Mac?" Pyro looked up inquisitively from the newspaper he was perusing.

"I buzzed 83's mess, and no one believes it was an accident." Ashie spoke somewhat dolefully, but Pyro gave a shout of laughter.

"Accidental?......I'm not surprised they don't believe you. What's this, the third time you've been on the mat for low flying?"

"The other two weren't my fault I couldn't get the 'plane any higher than it was!"

"Ahhh, so now you admit that buzzing 83 was your fault."

"Of course I do, half the Squadron were out on the tarmac when I passed. All I'm saying is that it was not deliberate!" Ashie rubbed his face then gave a yawn. "Heigh-ho, we'd best turn in for the night. It will be more than a little embarrassing if Katt beats us to dawn patrol again."

"Which reminds me." Pyro didn't speak until they were settling into the hard camp beds, a process which invariably drew some very rude remarks from Ashie. "What got you last night?"

"What do you mean what got me?"

"You must have had a nightmare or something, you were screaming and yelling like billy-o."

"Surely not screaming." Ashie wrinkled his nose up.

"Okay, maybe not screaming, but you were making sufficient noise that even the C.O. came in to find out who was being murdered."

"What happened after that?" Ashie had tensed, his fingers less than an inch from extinguishing the lamp.

"Nothing much, he just kicked the lot of us out. You settled down pretty quickly because it was only about five minutes later when C.O. said I could go back."

"Well it must have been a pleasant wake-up." Ashie finally extinguished the lamp and settled back.

"Well I've certainly had nicer ones......I take it you don't want questions asked."

"Bingo."

"Will do, you can tell me about C.O.'s warning sessions tomorrow then."

"I might not want to." Ashie's response was nearly drowned out by an echoing crash.

"Will the pair of you shut-up!"

"Maybe we don't want to Katt!"

"Maybe I'll take a sledgehammer after you if you don't!"

"Maybe that's called insufficient respect for your superior officer! Don't fret, we're setting the z's in action right now."

"And about bloody time!"

"How'd dawn patrol go?" Thomlin looked up from the mountain of paperwork as Ashie knocked cautiously before entering.

"Quiet, not a bird in the air exceptin' ourselves." Ashie settled himself in the indicated chair.

"Now since it is required: Why did you buzz 83's mess yesterday?"

"It was an accident."

"What was destroyed?" Thomlin's tone was resigned.

"Tail controls." The admittance came with a rueful grin.

"How?"

"That blue ____ again." Ashie's tone was disgusted.

"Did you get him?"

"No, he high-tailed it immediately after he got me, a hit-and-run raid in the literal sense."

"Well here's hoping you can catch him sometime." Thomlin pushed his papers aside, then handed a page across to Ashie. "What do you make of that?"

"Looks like a map of Belgium......it also seems to have a red cross in the corner." Ashie responded in a deadpan.

"Your observational powers amaze me, Captain." Thomlin rolled his eyes.

"Serious, well it looks remarkably like a map showing where either a pick-up or a delivery is to be made." Ashie returned the sheet.

"Quite accurate Captain, it is a pick-up.....and what's more it's a pick-up you're going to do before ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Ashie responded equably. "What am I picking up? I'll probably defer the job to Pyro if it's explosives."

"I wouldn't let you near explosives if you paid me to." Thomlin responded curtly. "What your picking up is a man, he may or may not have a companion, but the companion is not to be picked up. He'll identify himself.....unless the germans are too close, by observing that his uncle is trying to sell a budgerigar."

"Well I won't buy it off him....Why isn't this going through 83, I'd have thought a two-seater much better fitted for such a job."

"Unfortunately the field marked is too small, a Fee needs nearly ten extra yards for landing, even unloaded. McKenna may be crazy, but he's not so stupid as to venture forth in full daylight without a gunner."

"He should have left before dawn." Ashie smothered an abrupt yawn.

"Which I s'pose is when you intend to leave." Thomlin lifted an enquiring eyebrow, Ashie gave a vague shrug.

"Damned if I know when I'll go."

"Okay Captain." Thomlin returned to his papers, clearly signalling that the interview was over.

"Sir." Ashie had paused by the door.

"Yes?" Thomlin glanced up at the unaccountably shifty Ashie.

"Pyro informed me that I made somewhat of a nuisance of myself the night before last, I wanted to say thankyou."

"Don't bother Captain." Thomlin paused, studying Ashie thoughtfully. "But I think someday I'm going to ask for a full inventory of your injuries."

"Don't bother asking yet, for you won't get it." Ashie gave a faint smile.

"Then repay my efforts to silence you by successfully retrieving that man!"

"Yes sir." Ashie turned and left the office, leaving Thomlin to thoughtfully tap his fingers together. Twenty minutes later Thomlin was disturbed from his thoughts by the howling roar of aero-engines in warm up phase, a glance at the clock showed Thomlin that it was three in the afternoon, obviously the afternoon flight.

The afternoon flight had just crossed the lines, that zig-zagging scar through the countryside when Ashie gave a brief wave and peeled out of the formation. Katt watched Ashie's departure, then turned and headed in the opposite direction. In Katt's opinion it was very like Ashie to choose the most active part of the day to go solo flying across the lines.

Ashie studied the ground beneath himself, then with a curt nod changed his course by a few degrees. The pickup itself would probably be the second worst part of this flight, the worst was going to be the return with low fuel and the annoying possibility that a southerly buster would come through and make it impossible for him to recross the lines at all. Ashie hummed tunelessly to himself as he cruised through the atmosphere at ceiling height, he was 100% alert to any possible new arrivals constantly scanning the sky and squinting into the sun, and at the same time he kept a very sharp eye out for the various landmarks between him and his destination.

"Sir.....Johnstone on the line for you." Denny came into the office.

"Thankyou......hello?" Thomlin listened calmly, and somewhat expressionlessly in Denny's opinion, to the voice quacking away through the receiver. "Right." Thomlin gave a brief nod and hung up. "Is Ashie on base?"

"I haven't seen him," Denny gave a shrug, "but Pyro will know." The latter was added as that worthy came strolling into the Recording Office.

"Know what?"

"Where Ashie is?"

"He went with afternoon flight, said he wanted to do some flying."

"I see." Thomlin gave a brief nod, then returned to his office, leaving two men to stare blankly at each other.

"Something is up Denny, and I'm damned if I know what it is."

"I suspect Ashie does." Denny responded as he returned to his desk.

"Oh, I'm positive Ashie does." Pyro gave a yawn, then strolled across and knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

"Do you mind if I ask what that was all about sir?"

"No matter now." Thomlin gave a shrug. "There was a pickup which required a smaller 'plane than a Fee. Ashie got sent to do the job. Johnstone rang up just now to say that news had come through that the pickup had been caught, which means Ashie's going to go charging off for no reason what-so-ever."

"Ashie never charges anywhere, and he always has a reason.......even if that reason undergoes so reforms during his flight."

"Hmmm. And Lieutenant." Thomlin's words caught Pyro by the door.

"Yes?"

"If dark comes and he still hasn't returned, we are going flying."

"Yes sir." Pyro nodded and left.

Ashie studied the ground beneath, then finally he touched the controls and began a gentle descent. The one advantage of being 100 or so miles behind the lines was that no one expected to see you there. Ashie was studying the ground intensely, and he abruptly frowned, a large group of cavalry were in the field but one from where he was meant to land. Ashie paused, considered this occurance, and then abruptly changed his flight path so his landing would bring him directly over the top of the cavalry. As he shot past Ashie could feel the bullets strinking home, but damage was minimal since the cavalry had very few shots available between them and were none too practised at shooting moving targets. Ashie nipped over the hedge, but the field still looked empty. It was with a fatalistic shrug that Ashie let his wheels hit the ground, his revolutions were far too slow to take the sharp climb required to avoid the trees at the far end, so he had to land, which meant his take off would be back across the top of the cavalry.

Ashie was out of his machine the second it ran to a stop and was dragging desperately to turn it around.

"They're bloody close you know." The voice startled Ashie.

"Oh really." Ashie cast a quick glance at the ragged individual. "Then maybe you'll give me a hand turning this machine around."

"Sure.......Do you want to buy a budgerigar? My uncle has one for sale."

"No I don't want a budgerigar this is hard enought to manage as it is." Ashie ripped off his flying gauntlets and threw them to the man. "On the fuselage, behind the cockpit." The return journey was slightly more eventful then the journey out, but Ashie manged to evade any fights, though it was touch and go near the lines and he'd had to drive straight across the lines at a height of not many feet above the ground. More than a few stunned faces looked up from the trenches as he crossed, but fortunately the pursuing Fokker did not feel inclined to follow his lead. Ashie glanced somewhat nervously at the fuel gauge as he climbed for a bit more height again, the needle was sitting at empty and it gave Ashie a none to good feeling. Then Ashie cursed as he realised that the tail controls were, once again, not responding to his demands.

"Are you good at jumping?" Ashie's question got a nod of response. "Good, if we make it I'll drop you on the roof before attempting to land." This got another nod and Ashie returned his attention to hedge-hopping back to the squadron.

The roar of an approaching engine had the contents of the mess piling out onto the tarmac, but almost as soon as they heard it the roar coughed, spluttered, restarted and kicked harshly before spluttering once more and dying completely. Silence held the aerodrome as the pup continued its approach, its prop pinwheeling uselessly through the air. As the pup crossed the mess a man was seen to bail out and onto the roof, while the pilot attempted to bring the pup around for a landing. The attempt failed and as the pup crashed with sickening slowness into the trees at the far end of the aerodrome everyone got moving towards it, except Thomlin and Pyro. Thomlin had not gone for the simple reason that the man on the roof was in difficulties, and Pyro had not gone for the simple reason that he was getting the ladder up as quickly as possible to retrieve the man on the roof.

"That was a stupid way to crash." Thomlin paused his inspection of the roof rescue process for anly a moment as Ashie came jogging up.

"Leave be for God's sake Jim." The voice was weary, but the man was finally on the ground. "What in muggering did you mean by landing when you couldn't see anyone?" This exasperated question was asked of Ashie.

"I had little choice in the matter, if you didn't notice the trees at the far end were not small." Ashie growled his response as he stripped off jacket and gloves.

"If you'll come with me." Thomlin's voice was somewhat stiff.

"I would prefer to stay outside." The man's face was thin and somewhat strained in appearance.

"Maybe we don't want you to stay out." Thomlin frowned darkly.

"Ashie and I can watch him for you." Pyro came forward.

"Katt can watch.....Ashie's going to get the hole in his arm patched."

"Crumbs." Ashie studied the spreading stain on his uniform, then with a sigh he turned and trailed Thomlin into the M.O.'s quarters.

"How'd you get here Chris?" Pyro turned to the man as soon as Thomlin closed the door.

"I got flown by that muggering twerp of a Captain of yours." Chris' response didn't sound at all grateful.

"Apparently intelligence here thought you'd already been nabbed." Pyro was frowning.

"Oh I had been." Chris abruptly smothered a yawn. "Infact I'd only just returned when that Captain of yours came in. Is it impossible for you to supply me with food and drink?"

"Nope......Carter, get food, pronto." Pyro gave the order sharply.

"Aye-aye sir." Carter moved off with that sarcastic response.

"Why'd you return?"

"Convalescence leave actually." Chris gave another yawn

"Well here comes Colonel Johnstone, so you can have it out with him." Pyro rose to his feet as he spoke, and crossed to where Ashie was glaringly buttoning up his shirt again, the bandage on his arm made a bulky lump in his sleeve.

Continued in Next Section