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"Pepel!" Phillipa went running through the house in search of her brother.
"Yes?" The response was accompanied by the invariable crash of upset furniture.
"Really, I think I should get all the furniture in this place fixed to the floor." Phillipa came into the Library where Fordingham was setting a chair and two small tables back onto their feet.
"Maybe you should just get more robust furniture.....this stuff is ridiculously flimsy." Fordingham waved a hand and sent the table he had just righted spinning again.
"It's not ours Pepel." Phillipa gave a frown. "But, that's not why I came. The Chatsworths and Miss Marshall have arrived complete with horse and carriage."
"Punctuality is their strong point it would seem....who's driving?"
"Anne is currently, but I suspect it is expected of you to take over." Phillipa hesitated and glanced enquiringly at Fordingham, Fordingham looked blankly back at her.
"Something else Pip?"
"Well I know for a fact no one else can, or will, tell me, so I'm hoping you know. What is it with Miss Anne Marshall's hands?"
"She has a problem with her hands?" Fordingham looked blankly at Phillipa, he had to admit he had never consciously watched Miss Anne Marshall.
"Well that's what I don't know, and I had been hoping that Mrs Paul Chatsworth had mentioned the matter to you." Phillipa started neatening up some nearby books.
"Mrs Paul hasn't even mentioned Miss Marshall in any conversation I have had with her." Fordingham gave a shrug and headed for the door, failing to see Phillipa's small smile.
"You're late!" Marie was standing by the carriage.
"It's Dakota's fault." Fordingham threw their bags up onto the roof and Dakota went scrambling up to fasten them down. "He was determined to sleep in."
"Oh. Well I'm glad he woke up." Marie was hopping from foot to foot. "Will you drive Captain?"
"Only if Dakota won't." Fordingham glanced up at Dakota, who responded with an infintesimal nod. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to suffer Dakota as a Chauffer.....besides he can manage a horse much better than I can." Fordingham continued to hesitate, but soon gave into the insistant tugging on the part of Marie and entered the carriage.
"You are well Miss Anne?" Dakota spoke from the horses heads.
"Quite well, I take it that you are to drive."
"Yes, a pleasure I'm thankful the Captain let me have." Dakota gave the horses a last rub before he clambered easily up onto the coaching seat.
"You like horses?" Anne willingly relinquished the reigns.
"Most certainly." Dakota gave a practised tug on the reigns and they were in motion down the drive to the road.
"I suspect Lieutenant that you did not sleep in." Anne gave a quiet smile.
"Miss Anne, for once you are in error, did you not hear the Captain say that I slept in?"
"I did indeed, which is why I am fairly certain that you did not sleep in."
"I would not let the Captain hear that, he would be offended that you doubted his veracity."
"Someday Lieutenant I fear you will have a problem on your hands." Anne suddenly became grave.
"Do you really think so?" The question came with a whimsical look.
"Indeed I do Lieutenant, you seem to take a perverse joy in trying to persuade my sister that you are an uncivilised being."
"Well if you don't mind my saying, it fair makes my blood boil to hear how your sister snipes and swipes at Johnsons...and for no other reason than because he actually does the odd bit of work."
"And I don't get so frowned at?" Anne looked curiously at him.
"For one, you don't swipe and snipe........and for two you work."
"I would hardly call what I do work." Anne dodged the matter.
"Oh yeah!" Dakota reverted back to colonial accent and phraseology, as he abruptly reached out a hand and grabbed Anne's, twisting it so the soft inside of the wrist faced up, a dark scar was visible. "That Dr. Marshall is a cut, and a bad cut." Dakota paused for a second, but Anne didn't move. "There are only three ways you can get a cut like that, and two I'll ignore with a clear conscience. The third way to make a cut like that is to drop a scapel, attempt to catch it and fail."
"What were the other two ways?" Anne carefully tugged her hand free.
"The first is to drop your razor....I ignored it for the simple reason that you have no reason for carrying a razor, besides which the cut isn't really long enough." Dakota paused again. "The second is to have attempted suicide by slicing your wrists, but once again I could discount it for logical reasons." Dakota fell silent for a moment. "I'm not the only one with secrets. Dr Marshall, when do you intend to tell your family that you are one of the highest ranking Neurosurgeons in this country....and in the world, specialising in the nervature system of the arm and upper torso with head surgery chucked in to keep things interesting."
"How do you know?" Anne didn't bother prevaricating, it wasn't worth the effort and she was curious.
"You may recall an awkward case you helped Dr Jermyn Alastair on some four years ago. Fifty year-old man with serious fractures to the Squamous Temporal and right Parietal Bone. He was brought in to die after being hit by a falling log in a German Pine Forest. Two days later he was still breathing so Alastair was called in to see what he could do, no other doctor would touch it. Day three after the accident saw the arrival of Dr Alastair and assistant Dr Marshall. Eight hours of surgery and then Dr Marshall emerged to speak to the family while the father was in recovery for seven hours. Mother fairly fainted when she realised that Dr Marshall was a woman. For seven hours Dr Marshall sat with us talking to mother....you gave us no hope, but neither did you destroy what hope we had. Four years have made a big difference in me doctor, but I have to say I don't believe you've changed at all from the day you emerged from that theatre to speak to my mother till this day. We're grateful to you doctor, my sister swore that day to become a doctor herself, though her studies have been interrupted by this war. My father recovered and he says that some conversations he held with you made him realise how he'd wasted his life, he's now an army cook in Africa. You actually made our family feel important and worthwhile doctor, but rather than thank you then we chose instead to make something of our lives and prove our gratitude by proving that our lives were worthwhile saving. How could you be so kind to a family of South African bums who'd spent their whole lives running and feeling inferior? How did you manage to make us feel important and good? What magic do you possess doctor?"
"No magic Dakota." Anne gave a sad smile. "There's nothing special in what I did, I just chose to make time for a small family which was looking cold and lost. The first time I entered a hospital it was as a patient, and no one had time to talk to me, they were so busy attempting to fix me that they hadn't time to speak to me. Then one day one of the nurses did stop, she was the nurse from another ward and had come across because she was interested in nerves and wanted to speak to me....and I'm referring to real nerves, not the nerves my sister suffers from. Sister Bonnard was beautiful and graceful, and to me she was an angel. Sister Bonnard spoke french and perhaps a few words of english. We spoke little and understood each other not at all for the first month, but she made me feel important. At that time I decided I would become a nurse and make another little person feel important and useful in the big bustle. Then my doctor changed and Dr Alastair came into my world. Dr Alastair of the loud laugh, the messy hair and the too large tweed coat. The only reason you didn't see Alastair that night was because he was so terrified we'd lose your father, I will swear I had only once seen so much of the inside of a head....and that was in anatomy classes. I was only the assistant, in truth I myself did not know how close things were to failure. Alastair knew that if he came out your mother would panic, and panic was the last thing we needed in that small hospital. I can still remember the first day Dr Alastair came into my room, he came breezily in with a stethoscope in one pocket, a thermometer behind his ear, and a tie which would have made a blind man blink. It took not many weeks of Dr Alastair for me to decide I most certainly wanted to be a doctor, and that I would specialise in Neurosurgery. The day I graduated from Sorbonne with my medical degree I swore that no matter how busy I was, I would always have time for the patient and for the patients family. Medicine is all very well, but a fair percentage of our bodily ailments are simply a warning alarm. Overwork, underfeeding, dissatisfaction, anger, uncertainty, you name it and some type of ailment can result, be it colds, indigestion, tonsilitis. When we fall ill a change of activity is called for. Sometimes even a person has fallen ill for no reason other than because the people around us need to be shaken up."
"Sounds a bit callous." Dakota wrinkled his nose.
"Oh, I quite agree, it's terribly callous. But as you observed, I'm a neurosurgeon, a 50% fatality rate is considered stunning success, 70% fatality is on the good side of average. Infact you're still considered good if you only lose 90% of your operations. There are very few doctors who will even touch a head injury, fractured skull, spinal damage, you name it and there are about three doctors in England who will actually do it from choice."
"Why did you choose Neurosurgery?" Dakota looked puzzled. "It sounds like a hell of a career choice, if you'll excuse my language."
"It is a hell for most people, but I had had experience, I knew how important it could be. Neurosurgery has quite honestly been my saviour. You needed to feel important, at least to someone. I had need to feel important to myself, I was the ugly sister, I was the clumsy and untalented sister. I discovered I needed to find what I was good at, to feel like I was important within myself. Unlike my sisters I was not confident in my place and position, I looked to others to see how I should behave, I looked to others to see what response I should give, I looked to others for guidance....after all I was just Miss Anne Marshall, old butter-fingers who still couldn't tie her shoelaces at twenty, how on earth could I have an important opinion?" Anne suddenly gave a shiver. "I'm sorry I said that Lieutenant, it was not fair of me to burden you with my bitterness."
"I wouldn't call it a burden Miss Anne." Dakota cast an ear back and listened to the gay chatter behind them. "I'm glad you felt confident enough that you could tell me......but would you object if I wrote to my sister about it?"
"If you think it would interest her and help her I would not object, but I'd prefer it didn't get around for it would cause much difficulty for me."
"Don't fear, it won't go beyond her. She's currently working as a nursing sister in France."
"What do you think of this part of our country?" Anne shook off her dismal mood and on such topics did their conversation continue.
Shipley was reached in the middle of the afternoon, and after a brief break to consume a meal and to obtain accomodation for the duration of their stay the party set out on foot to pay a call on Old Jim and his family.
Author's note: The symptoms described in the following post come courtesy of Lloyd C. Douglas and Nevil Shute....or come courtesy of them as I remember reading them.
"You are going to lay that pen aside and come for a walk with me." Dakota's voice abruptly shattered the silence in which Anne had been working. Having lost the previous day to travel, and the evening to Old Jim and the vast number of small boys who lived under his care, Anne found herself behind in her accounts.
"Am I?" Anne looked over her shoulder in puzzlement at him, when occupied with accounts it was all too easy to forget who might or might not come into your room.
"Of course you are.......surely you're not going to desert this poor Lieutenant to walk by himself?" Dakota looked mournful.
"Are you going out?" Mrs Paul's head suddenly appeared around the door. "Oh do wait for me." Mrs Paul's head vanished.
"It would appear we are going walking. Up Miss Anne, surely you can't desert me to walking with someone only my Captain talks to?"
"You are mournful Lieutenant de Smet, a mournful and miserable individual." Anne laid her pen aside and stood up.
"I should be, I had to sit all by myself yesterday evening while you told endless stories of high adventures to little boys......what is it with Captains and little boys, they all seem to get what they want." Dakota was now looking dismal.
"Maybe that'll encourage you to get a promotion." Anne gave a smile and then looked up as Mrs Paul came into the room. "You here Felicity? Then let's get moving." The three of them quickly left the Inn and entered a pink-washed world of dawn, and Anne drew a shakily deep breath of the sweet, salt-tanged air.
"Why do you always do that Anne?" Felicity asked the question as they descended the sea stairs.
"Do what?" Anne looked puzzled, but Dakota was chuckling softly to himself.
"Everytime we come out into open air near dawn you always take a deep breath, as if relaxing." Felicity skipped down the last couple of stairs before she looked back again. At twenty years younger than her husband, Mrs Paul was frequently mistaken as Paul's daughter, with Harold as her son, but as it was Felicity was only Harold's step-mother who, when she wasn't being intimidating, was extremely lively and carefree.
"Maybe I am." Anne scooped down and flicked a small pebble across to Felicity.
"But why?" Felicity gave a muffled shriek as she ducked under the pebble.
"Why not?" Anne abruptly flicked a pebble at Dakota who was still laughing softly.
"No Miss Anne, you don't flick them at me." Dakota caught the pebble and threw it aside, his eyes searching the pebble for a suitable stone. "A-hah!" Dakota pounced off down the beach, much to the amusement of Felicity and seized on a smooth pebble about a quarter the size of his hand. "Now I'll show you what to do with nice stones like these." Dakota waved his finger reprovingly, then with a hop and a skip he was down at the edge of the sea and the stone was sent skillfully skipping out through the minor wavelets.
"Oh do show me how to do that!" Felicity scurried off to join Dakota at the water's edge, only just in time to shriek and jump back to avoid a small wave. Dakota was not so successful and after the wave retreated he shook his feet with a distasteful grimace before coming further up the shore.
"First one finds a smooth, flat stone." As Dakota went searching a second time for an appropriate stone Anne settled herself against the sea wall and watched with soft laughter as Dakota set forth on a lesson of teaching Felicity how to skip rocks....on a wavy surface.
"Lieutenant!" It was a good half hour later when Anne gave the call.
"What?" Dakota emerged from where he had been most childishly paddling in the water.
"I observe one Naval Captain approaching, I think you might wish to resume......"
"My shoes? I quite agree with you Miss Anne." Dakota came sprinting up the pebbles hauling one large white handkerchief as he came. "The Captain would be appropriately shocked if he were to find me engaged in such a childish past time." Dakota crashed down beside Anne and energetically applied himself to the task of drying his feet sufficiently that he could get his socks on.
"I observe that once more my Lieutenant had been behaving inappropriately." Fordingham's observation came as he descended the last step, and Dakota had long since had his shoes and socks safely attached to his feet.
"I see no reason for such an observation." Anne rose to her feet and brushed the pebbles from the folds of her skirt.
"It is an observation I make not from his appearance....though his socks and shoes are still wet....I make the observation from his somewhat cautious and sheepish air."
"Why should that be inappropriate behaviour. Afterall perhaps he was just retrieving something I had dropped." Anne then turned to call Felicity up, and as a result did not see the third gentleman who arrived on the sand. Dakota saw him immediately and a deep frown creased his forehead. Fordingham saw Dakota's frown and turned abruptly, but he could only look blankly at the man he had no recollection of ever having seen before......though it was startled blankness because Fordingham had never seen such a large man in his life.
"The station....damn it I've met him before." Dakota shook his head in annoyance as he muttered the information to Fordingham.
"Station?" Fordingham took as startled look at the man, and then looked doubtfully back at Dakota.
"You didn't even glance at him, you were too interested in cheesing him out of that taxi."
"That was the one you were refering to?" Fordingham looked took another startled look at the man, and then abruptly a frown darkened his face and his attention refocussed to where Anne was kneeling. Anne was at that point of time occupied with attempting to help dry Felicity's feet with a whispy lace handkerchief, her hair had been blown out of its bands by the brisk wind which had similarly whipped up the colour in her cheeks.
"Miss Anne." Dakota abruptly moved, breaking the complete imobility of the other two men.
"Yes?" Anne looked away from her task and suddenly realised the new arrival, she also realised that two of them were unabashedly staring at her, and not in a critical manner at all. Though the stranger did have a wondering crease between his brows.
"You might find this more efficient for the task." Dakota started to pull out his own handkerchief, but then with an abrupt flush he leant across and stole Fordingham's handkerchief before handing it across to Anne.
"Thankyou." Anne took the handkerchief with a smile, nodded to Fordingham, and gave a half nod of greeting to the stranger before resuming her task, Dakota was of the opinion that the stranger was not actually a stranger to Anne. "Could someone please get Felicity's shoes."
"I'll get them." Dakota had retrieved the shoes with a jump and a skid, a brief tumble into the water and Dakota returned with the soaked shoes to the sounds of Felicity's laugher.
"Thankyou Lieutenant." Anne accepted the dripping shoes and eyed them thoughtfully.
"I think I can walk without my shoes Anne." Felicity was eyeing the way Anne was tipping water out of her shoes.
"Okay." Anne looped the laces around her wrist and rose to her feet.
"Oh! So this is where you are!" Marie's voice came from the top of the sea wall. "Lieutenant de Smet you are soaking wet!"
"Is he Mrs Chatsworth? How perceptive of you." Wentworth's voice bit somewhat acidicly. "Dakota, get back and get changed."
"How rude." Anne could hear Marie's sniff as Dakota went scurrying up the stairs with Fordingham on his heels.
"Marie." Had Anne's voice not been that soft, one might have read reprimand into the remark. Marie did read reprimand into it and with a sniff she swept around and stalked from the scene. Anne hesitated briefly, then offered Felicity a hand off the pebbles before she lead the way up the stairs. Marie's non-greeting of Felicity had not surprised Anne, for Marie certainly disapproved of Felicity's occasional descents into childish fun.
"What's going on here?" Fordingham frowned darkly, he had just returned from a pre-luncheon stroll, and he had returned to an Inn of Chaos. Servants fluttered hither and thither while the Landlord's wife dithered, hopping from foot to foot as she contradicted most of her commands.
"Oh good afternoon." The woman nodded before abruptly fogetting his presence and flying off to yell at some 'Jack' over some misdemeanour or other. Fordingham gave a shrug and ascended to where the party were quartered, and he found even more chaos up there as Felicity Chatsworth fluttered ineffectively around. Paper was everywhere, giving the rooms the appearance of a midwinter snow storm, Anne and Dakota were scavanging around picking up pages which apparently had a page number in the thousands. Marie was seated by the window, limply clasping her head and moaning, Harold Chatsworth was accepting the occasional sheet from Anne and Dakota and apparently ordering them in some obscure manner. Mr Paul Chatsworth was watching inscrutably from the external door.
"What is going on here!" Fordingham repeated his demand.
"Oh, hello Captain." Felicity went dithering past, only to be caught by her husband and firmly installed in a nearby chair and held there.
"What is going on?" Fordingham crossed to stand next to Paul Chatsworth, where he repeated his enquiry.
"Well first Anne was called to London........and then Marie upset all of Anne's files. The result as you can see is Chaos."
"Well I call it damned impolite." Fordingham growled. "To expect us to cut short the trip...." Fordingham stopped abruptly realising he had just said the wrong thing.
"You wrong her Captain." Paul spoke softly, he still held his wife down with one hand and watched the activity inscrutably. "Had it not been for Marie Anne would already be on the train for London......infact she would have been on it an hour since."
"How did the pages get so scattered?" Fordingham bit his lip in annoyance, there was nothing he disliked more than being caught on the wrong foot.
"That is what all of us are waiting to find out. The files were stored in heavy cardboard boxes which nothing short of Force 10 could have disturbed, and they were on the floor." Paul nodded gravely in response to Fordingham's startled look. "Quite right, there is no possible way they could have got so scattered........or at least not without some assistance."
"Anne!" Dakota's call broke the silence abruptly.
"Yes?" Anne picked up a final page before she scurried across to where Dakota was crouched.
"I think I've found it." Dakota held out the page he had been inspecting.
"Indeed you have." Anne scanned the page quickly. "Just grab all the others, I can straighten them out some other time." Anne carefully slid the sheet in question into the lid of a large cardboard box. Anne then just grabbed a huge pile of paper, banged the pages into place and dumped them into the box. This process was repeated until the box was full, and then Anne went to the next box and then the third, by which time the rooms ceased to resemble a snow field and were looking once more like an hotel suite.
"Goodbye everyone, I'll call the Admiral Fordinghams or Forthy if I arrive safely." Anne gave Paul a quick hug and then with a wave she flew out of the room carrying one of the boxes. Dakota followed warily balancing the other two boxes, but he returned inside of five minutes having seen Anne safely into the hands of the Inn transport and on her way to the station. Anne had specified when the news came through that she did not wish an escort.
"How was she called to London?" Fordingham looked at the remaining people in the room.
"A very large Colonel showed up and they had a serious five minute conversation, the result of which was that Anne promptly began packing and the Colonel re-entered the Bentley which waited outside and headed west. We have reason to believe that he was headed for some hospital.....or his driver was headed for the hospital and as a result could not transport her to London." It was Paul Chatsworth who responded.
"Though why he should be going to hospital...." Marie left her sentance unfinished and sniffed her opinion.
"I believe." Dakota spoke softly. "I believe he is headed for the hospital to get the final check that his blood transfusions were successful." Dakota spoke softly and his tone was even polite, but his words lashed with a bitter lash and Marie didn't bother responding, choosing instead to moan and hold her head.
"Dr Alastair!" Dakota charged down the long hallway to catch the doctor he had seen at the other end.
"And you are?" Alastair studied the face somewhat blankly.
"Four years ago, German Pining Accident, Parietal and Squamous Temporal. Name of de Smet." Dakota rattled the items off. "Not but what I'm not actually expecting you to remember me."
"You expect me to forget that????" Alastair shot Dakota an odd look. "Though I'll swear it wasn't you I was hacking around."
"No sir, it was my father."
"Well how is he? Or have medical expectations finally caught up with him?"
"Last I heard he was in charge of some Military Canteen in Africa." Dakota gave a grin.
"Well tell him I said hullo, but now if you'll excuse me I've actually got some work to do."
"Sorry for delaying you, but since you haven't sprinted off yet, can you please tell me where I can find Dr Anne Marshall?"
"I have no problem telling you where you could find her, but I can tell you right now you can't see her."
"Well where is she?" Dakota stuck persistantly to Alastair's heels as Alastair headed down the corridor.
"In here, but you can't come in here." Alastair paused and looked at Dakota. "But I'll let her know your here if we get any break this side of midnight."
"Thankyou." Dakota backed away and sat down in a corner as Alastair headed into the theatre. Dakota's search for Anne had been painstaking and deliberate, it had taken him to nine separate hospitals and had included a call at Queen Anne's Gate where he had received no information at all. In Dakota's opinion, if Fordingham wanted his Number One he could take as much trouble to find him as Dakota had taken to find Anne. This was also known now as Dakota was too tired to go in search of a Post Office and telephone, especially since he hadn't the slightest idea what number he'd have to call.
"There you are." It was just after seven in the morning when Alastair came out of the theatre, and Dakota had just woken from one of many light dozes.
"Problem?" Dakota was on his feet immediately for Alastair looked like a wreck, haggard and pale with dark circles around his eyes Alastair was a perfect example of extreme exhaustion.
"Just a bit. Someone needs to carry Anne out to a cab and I'm too dead-beat to manage it."
"She's in there?" Dakota indicated the theatre.
"Yes, and if you'll carry her to the cab then you may enter." Alastair rubbed his head wearily and smothered a yawn before turning back into the theatre. Dakota followed Alastair into the dim room. Two large electric lights were suspended above a long table, but they were not turned on and at a guess Dakota was willing to bet that they were modelled off the Archie lights for picking up aircraft at several thousand feet, they must have been murderous lights to be under. Dakota saw Anne seated on one end of the table, she had loose bandaging stretching from elbow to the end of her palm, bandaging which left her fingers free but supported everything else.
"Hello Dakota." Anne gave the greeting around soft giggles, they were curiously soft and weak giggles and it was with surprise that Dakota realised that Anne was on the verge of hysterics.
"Anne!" Alastair's voice cut sharply through the dim and stuffy air, and with a hiccup Anne attempted to stem her giggles. but her efforts were not met with success. "Well that's lovely." Alastair crossed to a small table and started heating a small jug, half a minute later he was back and he held a small glass up. Anne dutifully opened her mouth and drank off the contents.
"Trying to make me as bad as Darcy was." Anne muttered the remark darkly after she had swallowed the dose.
"Take her to Queen Anne's Gate and turn her over to Isabelle. I've dosed her with morphia, just sufficient to make her sleepy until about midnight, so make sure she is given nothing else. Tell Isabelle she'll need help changing as her hands are totally useless, also tell Isabelle that Anne is to do nothing until I come.....or Bobby." Alastair added the last somewhat abruptly as he had to grab the table to keep from falling over.
"I think you should get some sleep sir." Dakota was busy getting Anne off the table as he spoke.
"The true words of a de Smet......such a pity I'd probably not wake up if I went to sleep." Alastair gave a yawn and a laugh. "I'll be by to see Anne sometime tomorrow."
"Right." Dakota gave a nod and finally had Anne comfortably positioned.
"There should be a cab out the front, I certainly sent someone to ask com to get a cab. I'll appologise now if a cab is not waiting." Alastair gave another yawn and pushed the door open so Dakota could leave the room.
"Not much I can do." It was half an hour later when Alastair came out halfway between annoyance and laughter from his inspection of Anne. "A fact she knew long before I even turned up."
"She'll be alright?" Dakota was shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"Ask her when she wakes, I can only say who knows." Alastair gave a shrug, then a yawn. "Well I'm going to bed.....I hope never to see any of you again." Alastair gave yet another yawn before strolling away in a manner which appeared to be extreme boredom, but which actually signalled his complete exhaustion.
"What....." Fordingham stopped and blinked as Alastair passed. "What on earth is going on....Anyone would think that Anne Marshall's hands are more important than any patient."
"Maybe we're behaving like that because that's how we feel and think." Dakota's voice suddenly lashed out with a viciousness Fordingham had never encountered before. "I'm sorry if it seems disrespectful to you and what you think Sir, but the fact remains that for most of us have zero interest in the patient......afterall that is the only way you can cut them around like they do. Because of the urgency of the situation of this particular case one of the greatest Neurosurgeons this world has seen may just have become inactive......do you expect them to be worried about the patient who is confirmed to have a near complete recovery." Dakota's expression was harsh and angry.
"Okay Dakota, settle down a bit." Fordingham had a slightly concerned expression and even Isabelle was looking startled.
"Maybe I don't want to settle down." Dakota made no secret of the matter that only discipline prevented him from attempting to lay Fordingham out. "I've listened to you periodically for months now, I've kept the crew away when you were so bad-tempered you would have thrown the lot of them overboard. I don't care what someone did to you eight years ago Captain, I don't care how bruised your precious feeling of godlike strength was, but I really do think you're being incredibly dense, stupid and insensitive that you can hold a grudge on the matter for this long......and take it out on someone you don't even know." Dakota saw Fordingham begin to open his mouth but bulldozed ahead with determination, he knew he wouldn't get another chance, and he was going to take this one even if it cost him his commission. "Yes throw what you like at me, throw all the damn rules and regulations, but frankly I don't give a damn. You're full ready to write Dr Marshall off as a weakling, as someone with no opinion for that simple reason that she looks a bit like, and reminds you of, an old friend. Perhaps you should learn the difference now between foolhardiness and careful consideration. Yes, some girl may have refused you years ago, but you cannot deny that there was no guarantee to either you, or your existance. Had she married you and you had not received your promotions it is quite possible she would never have blamed you for it, while there are many who would have made the foolhardy jump of marrying the man with no guarantee of his future and would have blamed him when the promotions failed to come through. Don't judge people before you meet them and know them. Does a girl leave her family, her friends, and her dolls, go to France and take one of the most exacting and exhausting medical specialisations because she is a weak, indecisive, and uncertain individual?"
"Why does she tell no one, why did she fool all her relatives and friends into believing that she was coming up here to do the supposed secretary work?" Fordingham asked the question which bothered him.
"Think of that bloody sister of hers, what do you think Mrs Marie will say if she were to know that not only does her sister work, but her sister does such degrading work. Neurosurgeon, 60% fatality rate of all cases, to most people she features as little more than a relatively well paid killer. To the Medical world there is only one person with a better success rate and he's only at 58%....and he isn't crippled by the worst hands in history." Dakota paused and frowned a bit more darkly. "And she is a secretary, because of her hands she is not a fulltime surgeon......infact she is only ever pulled in on emergencies."
"Okay, settle down will.....yeah, I'm sorry I've swiped at her...."
"Don't appologise to me, you owe me nothing." Dakota interrupted without hesitation.
"Lieutenant, I think you are wrong." Isabelle's voice interrupted softly. "You may not admit it, but this recent tirade of yours rather points to the fact that you've taken every one of the Captain's snide remarks on her as a personal attack on you. I don't know why, but the fact remains that you're probably more hurt by his assaults than she is."
"Lady....." Dakota paused, completely off stride and lost.
"Think about it." Isabelle turned as she spoke and started to move away, leaving Dakota to frown thoughtfully after her.
"Hell, I'd never realised that." Dakota chewed a thoughtful thumbnail, then glanced appologetically at Fordingham. "Awfully sorry sir."
"Don't appologise Dakota, though could you answer a question?"
"Possibly." Dakota responded cautiously.
"What is it with her hands, no one seems to know. Do you know what the problem is, since you know so much else about her."
"I actually don't know much about her at all. All I know is that myself and my entire family owe our lives to her....and the problem with her hands is nerve related."
"Eh?" Fordingham blinked.
"A natural weakness as a small child was totally ignored and people just kept doing things for her, as a result the nerves which control the movement of her fingers never developed properly....or as I understand the matter, doctors tend to speak in a different language for the most part. Now her hands are relatively normal, except they tire faster and are easily overstressed."
"Overstressed."
"What she did night before last......except she passed the mark at least an hour before the surgery ended, don't ask me how she managed to complete it." Dakota shook his head.
"I know how she did it." Fordingham turned and started to walk away. "She did it by the simple means of disregarding it.....It was that feature of her character which threw me off." The door closed after Fordingham leaving Dakota to frown after him with a somewhat perplexed expression.
"How peculiar." Dakota tilted his head speculatively at the closed door. "No, I think this is another item one must forget, though one may embarrass the Captain with stories of his accidents, but personal stuff is too touchy. Do you not agree?" Dakota lifted an enquiring eyebrow to the door, but the door failed to respond and with a sigh Dakota used it to go in search of someone other than the door to talk to, though the subject he had discussed with the door would certainly not come up.
Victoria poked a cautious nose out of her warm cocoon of blankets and promptly withdrew it again, it was far too cold out there to just hop out, today called for a nice gentle acclimatisation to the conditions. So thinking Victoria abruptly threw her covers off and dove across the cold wood floor, hopping from foot to foot as she got to the chair where her clothes rested. She then turned around and shot back to retrieve her dressing gown and slippers, before shuffling across to the window where there was nothing to be seen but whiteness.
Victoria gave a shiver and then shuffled across to the basin, but one look and Victoria decided that the face washing could wait until she was downstairs in the kitchen. Now shivering quite hard Victoria shuffled quickly back to her clothes and scrambled hastily into her clothes which were only saved from being as cold as the room because they had spent the night leaning against the chimney. Still shivering Victoria grabbed her brush and went flying down the stairs and into the kitchen where she immediately raked up the fire. As with the basin in her bedroom the water in the kitchen was also layered with ice and with another shiver Victoria placed the kettle onto the top of the stove and then put a saucepan of icey tap water on the stove as well. With the room starting to warm and the water thawing Victoria finally took the bands off her braids and retreated to the back of the kitchen to brush her hair out. Victoria had only half finished when the kettle started to boil and, pausing just long enough to catch the hair around her face back in a band, Victoria grabbed the pot holder and took the kettle off the stove top, she quickly set the tea ingredients together before she also grabbed the now boiling saucepan off the stove. Shutting off the stove top Victoria carefully put the tea onto the tray before shuffling for the stairs and up to Emilie's room, where, predictably, Mrs March had already gone and was now borrowing the rest of Emilie's bed clothes.
"Vicky, you angel." Mrs March took control of the tea tray and set about pouring out cups while Victoria settled down on the foot of the bed.
"You won't be having school today." Emilie was blinking somewhat sleepily from the depths of her bedding, and with a laugh Victoria gave her hug.
"That was my feeling when I heard the wind." It had only been a subconscious note before, but now as Victoria listened she could hear the low moan which almost invariably brought a bad storm if not a blizzard before the day ended.
"Old Man Blizzard's back.......and he hasn't even the decency to wait for the extra week." Emilie accepted her cup of tea, and from Victoria's position all she could see was an arm, a teacup and a blanket which seemed to drink tea.
"Well the children will be happy." Victoria huddled up, a blizzard would mean no school for close on a week, it also meant no sunday school or Red Cross either....infact it meant absolutely nothing for at least a week, new milk and mail included for Old Alec was extremely unlikely to come trudging up before Jarrod Elliott passed with the mail. Ten minutes later and Mrs March was descending with the tea tray, Victoria was a short way behind carrying Emilie, and Emilie trailed her big, thick, colourfully knitted blanket. The wind had already picked up to a mournful semi-howl, it would be shrieking before lunchtime, and it would probably still be shrieking when they retired for the night. The ringing of the telephone caused them to jump and Victoria hastily picked it up.
"Little House, Miss Elliott speaking."
"Frank Elliott, greetings to you Vicky. Just calling to say that school's off until further notification."
"Thanks Frank." Victoria continued to exchange polite conversation with her second uncle for a few minutes before hanging up. "Oh bother." Victoria had forgotten that she had not finished with her hair for the day, and she hurried to the back of the room again to resume brushing.
"Don't bother putting it up Vicky." Mrs March had been watching Victoria's efforts to pin up a recalcitrant piece of hair.
"But I can't leave it out!" Victoria pulled all the pins out and gave her head a shake.
"Don't, just braid it back." Mrs March was chopping up carrots for a stew, and she watched with half an eye as Victoria considered the idea. "It's not like anyone's going to drop in and see you looking so casual.
"True." Victoria gave a rueful laugh. "Likewise it will be much more comfortable." Victoria's fingers flew as she separated her hair and began braiding the thick golden hair back before tying off the ends. Victoria had just finished when a stentorian pounding sounded on the outer door, and with a laugh Victoria threw the braids be behind her shoulders before she crossed to open the door. Jarrod Elliott came flying into the room in a cloud of hard driven snow.
"Boy, I never realised it was going to deteriorate this quickly." Jarrod was quickly pulling off layers of clothing to get at his mail bag. "How do Vicky, Mrs March, Emilie." Jarrod nodded to them as he dug through his pockets. "Oh bother, which pocket did I put it in?" Eventually, after much searching Jarrod surfaced with a small box. "It arrived on the night train last night, Da thought you'd like to have it." Jarrod held the box out somewhat hesitantly, and after a brief hesitation of her own Victoria took it and turned it over in her hands. The box was extremely heavy for its size, and likewise it made no noise when shaken. It was a couple of inches square and was tied with coarse string, the metal was heavily scarred and the type was unfamiliar to Victoria.
"You'd best take the rest of your coats off Roddy, you'll no get home safe in this." Emilie was watching from her position beside the stove.
"Thankyou, Emilie." Jarrod hesitated before he took a seat and started pulling off his heavy boots and soaked socks. Whether Jarrod Elliott liked it or not he was going to have to stay at the Little House until this storm had blown over.
"I'll get you some of Elliot's stuff." Mrs March had taken one look at the number of wet layers Jarrod was wearing and she knew he was going to be wet through.
"Thank'ee." Jarrod accepted the rough towel Emilie held out to him and energetically proceeded to dry his head, before he stripped off his shirt and and dried his arms off. Victoria had retreated to the back of the room and was finally opening the box, rough khaki cloth was packed into the lower half of the box, the top was occupied with about eight sheets of tightly folded pages. Victoria unfolded the pages and took a quick look at the hand, though wobbly the hand was familiar.
"It's from Elliot." Victoria spoke as she proceeded to read quickly through the sheets. Victoria was halfway down the first page when she suddenly gave a gasp and abruptly tipped the khaki cloth out of the the lower part of the box. The cloth fell out easily and hit the wooden table top with a dull clunk. Victoria untangled the cloth with stiff fingers and looked in astonishment at the twisted fist of blackened metal.
"What is that?" Jarrod was looking at the twisted lump in fascination, infact the twisted lump of metal seemed to have caught everyones attention, in the manner of a snake in the chook yard.
"Shrapnel." Victoria spoke softly. "It's part of a shrapnel shell." The lump had viciously sharp edges.
"Why on earth did Mr March send back a lump of shrapnel?" Jarrod still had not lost school room habits even though he'd had a different teacher for a year and a bit now.
"He just wants it put in his room, to quote him 'I lose my kit far too often to entrust it there so I'm sending it home to you.'"
"But where did he get it from?" Mrs March cautiously crossed and picked up the lump, she had handed Jarrod a shirt, pants, and a pair of moccasin slippers when she returned to the room.
"It would seem" Victoria had resumed reading while the others discussed the lump. "That the hospital returned it to him on request...though he has yet to say why he requested it." Victoria continued reading through the closely written and cramped pages, and Jarrod took the moment to duck out of the room to finish drying himself and change.
"What has Mr March to say about France?" Jarrod took up a cross-legged seat on one of the stools.
"I really don't think you want to know, all he observes is that if he survives he wants to return ten years later." Victoria scanned the lines and then bit her lip.
Damn it all Vicky, I highly doubt France can really be this bad.....unless of course it was during the Reign of Terror. Mud, a sea of mud, this is worse than the spring thaw....and I really thought nothing could beat our spring thaw for mud. The mud is everywhere, it pervades and contaminates everything, there is mud in your clothes, in your boots, in your water bottle, in your food, in your helmet......and even in the bloody hospital. The mud lies thick on the floor and spreads up the walls, even when it is bright sunshine outside moisture trickles down the walls and pools with the mud on the floor. I've got to come back in ten years Vicky or I'll swear that France is worse than any hell dreamt of.
"Why ten years?" Jarrod looked puzzled.
"Because within ten years there is some hope that the mud will have dried away and he won't find himself viewing the world through the crosshairs of a machinegun."
"Oh." Jarrod fell silent and chewed thoughtfully on his lip.
"Has he yet said why he wants to keep that lump of shrapnel?" Emilie indicated the piece of metal.
"No, and I'm on page six of eight." Victoria finished the page and went on to the next before she spoke again. "If any good can be said for the irregularity of his correspondence it's that he invariably sends a lot of news when he actually sends, as opposed to telegram like scribbles which tell absolutely nothing." Victoria continued reading and silence held the room until finally Victoria finished the letter and laid it aside, a deep frown creasing her brows as she picked up the lump of shrapnell, cautiously turning it over in her hands.
"Did he say why?" Mrs March was looking curious, and just a whisker afraid.
"Yes." Victoria nodded slowly and finally balanced the lump of metal on one finger. "Last page, last paragraph. It seems it came from him. He got hit on about the last day of September and if I follow correctly he's going to have three scars as a result." Victoria paused and shivered. "He doesn't exactly say so, but I think it's somewhat lucky that he's still alive. He observes he's had to get a new rifle since the stock on his old one got mangled, he also observes he's had a hefty nick taken out of his bicep and he's got a six inch scar gashing down and across his back."
"That sounds like only the rifle deflected it from going through him." Emilie was staring at the lump with morbid fascination.
"That's what I thought." Victoria finally placed the lump back on the table. "He said he wants to keep it safe just as a reminder of how mortal and insignificant we are, to quote 'A few inches and I'd have gone into a dirty little hole with fifty others instead of being dumped into a muddy, badly sprung bed with five others.'"
"Put it away Vicky." Mrs March abruptly walked back to the cooking. "Hideous boy, tell him Vicky that he is hideous."
"You would prefer he made no comment at all?" Victoria folded up the letter and restored the shrapnel fragment to it's khaki covering, before returning both to the small metal box.
"No way, okay, don't tell him he's hideous." Mrs March stirred the stew violently.
"Jarrod, will you come help me move some boxes downstairs?" Victoria rose to her feet, it didn't even take Emilie's look for her to know to get Jarrod out of the room. The boxes weighed a tonne and Victoria was more then half relieved when they got the last of them out of the roof.
"Miss Elliott." Jarrod was hopping uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"What is is Jarrod?" Victoria was pulling the nails out of the top of the first box.
"Well...." Jarrod paused to help Victoria pull the lid off before he continued. "Would you mind wishing Mr March luck for me?"
"Not at all Jarrod......but why not write to him yourself?"
"Da wouldn't like it, he seems to think I'm going to enlist the first second I can."
"Aren't you?" It startled Victoria this comment, for Jarrod was the most pugnacious fighter Victoria had ever met.
"No, I've got Da and the Post Office to consider." Jarrod gave shrug as he helped pull the heavy rugs from the box. "After all Da can't sort and deliver all the mail, and given a chance Joe Maitland would muscle in and try to make things happen his way."
"That is a consideration I think has been ignored by most people." Victoria gave a nod. "You going to come back to school at all?"
"Is there a reason why I should?"
"Well two years and you'll have completed the curriculum which will enable you to leave Narrow Creek if you wish to further your education."
"But what of Da and the mail?" Jarrod wrinkled his nose at the dust.
"Mathematics is never a wasted subject, neither are any of the others." Victoria was also looking at the quantity of dust they were disturbing. "I think moving the rugs from the boxes can wait until a clear day."
"I quite agree with you ma'am.......but the mail run takes up the morning."
"Perhaps if you were only to attend in the afternoons and you get given extra work to take home at night."
"Well I'll give it a shot....I think it was always a disappointment to Da that he never got his schooling completed." Jarrod frowned thoughtfully. "But will you send good luck to Mr March for me, he was a cracking good teacher and I'd hate for him not to come back."
"You're not the only one Jarrod, now let's see if lunch is remotely near ready." Victoria had only just realised that they had been wrestling with the boxes for two hours. The two cousins clattered down the stairs noisily and charged into the kitchen, where Mrs March was occupied with filling plates of stew.
"It would seem as ever that my habits are well known." Victoria slid into her usual seat, having first taken a plate of stew and a slice of bread to Emilie, Jarrod took a somewhat nervous seat on another high stool. The wind was now shrieking and howling around the house in a manner which said that once more Emilie had been accurate where as the fancy friends of Frank Elliott had once more been wrong. They were indeed on the edge of a blizzard, and a fairly bad one by the sounds.
"Ashie! You misbegotten son of Belial, where in hell is your hide!" The yell echoed angrily through the aerodrome, and had no difficulty in penetrating the mess where the flyers were deep in a game of Mods Maid.
"Caught again Ashie?" Pyro glanced up briefly from his hand.
"It would certainly seem to indicate something like that.......Though how that farmer got me blasted number is beyond me. 'Scuse me Chaps, I'll see what's happened." Ashie dumped his hand and headed for the door, well aware that already his hand was being inspected by the others.....and that as the inspection occured several cards were changing hands.
"There you are." Thomlin was fairly glaring when Ashie came up behind him.
"Yes, here I am."
"Well get into my office." Thomlin waved his hand curtly, before he resumed his discussion with Geordie. "Now where was I?" It was nearly five minutes later when Thomlin entered the Office.
"Ahh, you had a short time before called me a misbegotten son of Belia......"
"Cut that out. But it reminds me alright." Thomlin frowned darkly at Ashie who was grinning unrepentantly. "I take it you know why you're here?"
"I have a fairly good idea." Ashie admitted gravely.
"Two....for this week so far."
"Well be happy, that means that six complaints haven't yet made it."
"Captain, nothing less than zero complaints is going to make me happy."
"I'll see what I manage next week then." Ashie rose to his feet again. "Which farmer was it?"
"Farmer Briceaux, Mortann."
"Better than I thought." Ashie gave a nod. "That was the day I had the busted centre strut. Get hold of Mac sometime, he was muttering about some new buzzard on the front which was shooting them all to hell and back again."
"Good, and I'll sent you after it in a glider with a pop gun." Thomlin growled as his grinning Squadron-Leader retreated.
"What happened?" Pyro was lounging outside when Ashie emerged.
"I just got matted again for low flying.......and getting caught." Ashie scratched his head and scowled at an envelope in his hand.
"Mail?"
"Mac handed it over at the bar....hell the ale is useless down there, I'm going back to squash."
"All for you?"
"Only one letter and it seems to be addressed to me, but you can have it with my blessing, it's from my Aunt confound her."
"Your Aunt? Which Aunt?"
"My Aunt Florington-Smythe." Ashie finally flipped the letter over and ripped it open.
"Well I'll leave you to enjoy her tidings from Home Sweet Home, the tender is supposed to actually come here today for Geordie and Saine have ordered in a mountain of equipment......and we might even have finally got a few replacement pilots."
"Oh joy." Ashie was grimacing as he skimmed through the latest reports of the Red Cross deliveries, the analysis of life on the home front and of the depressing society to be found in London currently.
"You are looking somewhat dismal Captain." It was nearly ten minutes later when Thomlin ran into his Squadron-Leader striding around behind the hangers with a mournful expression. "What's up?"
"My Aunt." Ashie could hardly have sounded more dismal or depressed.
"What's she done.....surely society isn't that bad?"
"No, what's bad is my cousin Lord James Eustace Claude Montague Florington-Smythe, and he looks exactly as he sounds, a slice of semi-warmed death wrapped in silk."
"Well what's so bad about him......assuming he hasn't just arrived in the world."
"What's so bad is that he's turned 18 and persuaded my blasted Aunt that he should do his duty. My paranoid Aunt has had him sent here under the apparent belief that I'll keep him safe from marauding Huns." Ashie scrunched the already badly mangled letter back into his pocket. "To hell with marauding Aunts who can pull strings, he's coming here and I think on the tender this afternoon. You better keep him away from me for I swear I will murder him."
"I fear that is something I am completely unable to do, for not only has your aunt got him posted to this Squadron.....but she's also had him posted to your flight." Thomlin paused. "But don't be too rude until you have identification confirmed because we have another new one arriving by the same tender."
"I see the world is against me today, in one day I get decked, matted and supplied with a cousin."
"Decked? Where?"
"Just this side of the lines, engine shot to scrap iron, I borrowed Katt's pup for the morning flight."
"I'll call you in then if Katt gets called in for low flying then. When will it get back here?"
"Should be back soonish, Mac said he'd deal with it."
"Well enjoy your last five seconds of duty free bliss for the tender has arrived." Thomlin headed off.
"Of all comforting farewells." Ashie straightened his jacket with reluctance and then strolled towards where the stinking, rattling tender had come to a grinding halt. Saine and Geordie were dragging boxes from the back the minute it came to a halt and stacking them beside the ditch. Two Flying-Lieutenants in painfully clean and beautifully creased uniforms had come scrambling down from the back of the tender and now stood with tightly packed packs standing next to the ditch.
"Flying Lieutenants Batten and Florington-Smythe?" Ashie walked across to the two men.
"Yes sir." Lieutenant Batten was looking decidedly nervous, his hair fell lankly across a boney forehead and he was certainly not picture perfect.
"You're cousin James?" The startled question came from the second officer, who with curling golden hair, deep blue eyes and a classically shaped face would have been too handsome to be real had the effect not been totally destroyed by one comprehensively snubbed nose.
"Captain Ashington-Frankston." The correction was delivered curtly. "Welcome to Squadron 284. Our Recording Officer, Lieutenant Denny will assign you to your flights and your barracks, the C.O. will then want to see you concerning the rules and regulations which govern this Squadron. Colonel Thomlin will also be the one who decides how much flying time you get before you cross the lines."
"Oh, and Florrie." Pyro had been listening from a short distance behind Ashie. "You might want to get a haircut."
"Eh?" Flying-Lieutenant Lord James Florington-Smythe was not certain who was being referred to. "Me?"
"Well I wouldn't say anyone else has sufficient hair to get a haircut." Pyro had been lounging against a post, but finally he shifted and crossed to tweek a curl. "That stuff ain't nevair goin' ta dry in time."
"You got everything Geordie?" Ashie lost interest in the proceedings and turned to the Ack-emma.
"Well we have enough boxes to have everything, but we won't know fer final til we've unpacked it."
"Well let's get shifting it.......Pyro, show those two bedlamites Denny and the Recording Office, then hump back here with the others so we can get this stuff tucked away."
"Right-oh. Come on you two, no dawdling now." Pyro moved off driving the two Officers in front of him, Ashie watch their departure with a faint smile before returning his attention to the process of sorting out the boxes.
"Ehhh....hold on Mac, gonna have to call ya back.......yeah, some green'uns, cheer-o." Denny hung up the telephone. "Clear out Pyro, leave me to deal with them."
"Will do Denny, if you see any of the others tell them Ashie has chocolate and cigarettes out the front."
"I bet he has nothing of the sort." Denny gave a grin.
"True, but I'm damned if I'm to shift all those boxes myself." Pyro gave a wave and headed out the door, leaving Denny to inspect the new arrivals.
"Names?" Denny lifted an eyebrow.
"I believe my mother gave me one." The answer came back deadpanned, and Denny didn't quite manage to control the twitch of his mouth.
"I see." Denny rubbed his chin and scribbled something on the page. "And you?" Denny glanced at the other Lieutenant who was looking even more nervous than before......if such a thing was possible.
"F-flying-L-lieutenant B-Batten."
"Okay F-flying-L-lieutenant B-Batten, you're in A-Flight with Katt as a Flight-Leader. Barracks number 2, you'll find the C.O. through that door waiting for you."
"Y-yes sir." Batten scurried nervously through the indicated door and Denny settled back in his chair.
"So Lieutenant I-believe-my-mother-gave-me-one....would you happen to have any papers on you?" Denny's eyebrow rose again.
"Flying-Lieutenant Lord James 'Florrie' Florington-Smythe." Florrie had the grace to flush somewhat before he gave his name.
"Well it's an improvement.....but not much of one." Denny corrected the page in front of him. "Where's Florrie from?"
"I received it while standing next to a ditch by a Flying-Lieutenant.....who seemed to be called Pyro but I would not be sure....he had red hair."
"That's Pyro, and I suspected as much." Denny tapped his pen for a moment. "You might want to watch your step, son, we don't take cheek from just anybody."
"I'm not just anybody." The response was grave.
"Now why's that?" Denny's eyebrow rose again.
"Because that is not the name I was given, I am Flying-Lieutenant Florington-Smythe."
"Well." Denny paused and studied the man in front of him. "Either you'll die in the first week, Ashie will murder in the first week, or you're going to fit very nicely with this Squadron. Take a seat and continue talking, it's no good your going in until Batten is out."
"Have you a topic I should talk about?"
"No, use some initiative and think up your own topic."
"Do you think I should have a haircut?"
"Well." Denny inspected the beautiful gold curls. "If you was a Lizard I'd say you couldn't have a better set, but you're an airman and as a result they'll have to go else you'll have a fearsome headcold inside a week........and getting crook is the last thing Ashie will thank you for doing."
"Ashie.....is that Captain Ashington-Frankston?" It was accompanied by a cautious look.
"Well I will confirm that you did." Denny dug through a pile of papers and grimaced.
"What are you doing?"
"Paperwork."
"What type?"
"You definitely beat the cat. This is the really boring confirmation that garbage made a safe arrival.....don't ask any more questions or I'll give it to you to do instead."
"What flight am I in?"
"I don't actually know....and since I don't know your flight I also can't tell you where to dump your stuff."
"But you could tell Batten."
"And if you care to have a look you'll notice a big difference between Batten's sheets and your sheets, and that is that he has them."
"That makes no sense."
"Unsurprising, but it will probably make sense in a couple of minutes." Denny dug back into the pile of paperwork and successfully ignored Florrie until Lieutenant Batten came out from the office. "In you go Lieutenant I-believe-my-mother-gave-me-one, and do be polite."
"Very good." Florrie scrambled to his feet, waved to Batten and gave Denny a cheerful grin before he crossed and knocked on the inner door.
"Yes."
"Lieutenant I-believe-my-mother-gave-me-one reporting sir."
"Ehh?" Thomlin looked sharply at Florrie. "Care to explain yourself?"
"Willingly sir, I was unable to be serious to the recording officer so when he asked for my name I said that I believed my mother gave me one, and as a result I am Lieutenant I-believe-my-mother-gave-me-one."
"I'll translate it as Lieutenant Florington-Smythe if you don't mind. Take a seat..........and get a haircut, I'm amazed you got through Flying School with that crop."
"Oh I didn't."
"Didn't what?" Thomlin finally kicked his feet up.
"Your pardon sir, but what Flight and Barracks am I meant to be in?" They had resumed their seats when Florrie finally asked the question which had been bothering him.
"That is currently optional." Thomlin paused and frowned across his desk. "Do you know why you are at this Squadron?"
"I was lead to understand that my mother had pulled some strings to get me posted here." Florrie responded somewhat cautiously.
"Correct, which is why we have our current problem." Thomlin frowned grimly at the wall. "If you don't mind my saying your mother is an ass and a nuisance."
"I might object to such a remark." Florrie's expression tightened.
"You can object as much as you like, but the fact remains that her actions and remarks have suceeded in seriously annoying your Squadron-Leader....who incidently was also meant to be your Flight-Leader." Thomlin blew out a breath. "Do you know Ashie well?"
"Well that doesn't help in the slightest.....C-Flight and three days." Thomlin threw his pen across the room.
"Uhh, I'd prefer to remain in the flight I was originally meant to be in."
"That, Lieutenant, is exactly where you are. Now hop it before I change my mind. Denny will tell you where to pitch your garbage."
"Yes sir." Florrie left the interview feeling somewhat damped and as a result he just dumped the pack on his campbed before sallying forth once more.
Florrie had no idea how much later it was when he heard the rumble of approaching aero engines, and he automatically turned to look for them, but could find nothing. The fact that he found nothing produced a dark frown and he continued looking, until some weight came crashing into him and sent him flying. After half a second of fighting, Florrie abruptly lost interest when he more felt than heard the whoosh of a pup passing at close range.
"Still feeling inclined to struggle?" A voice asked politely.
"Well at least get off me so I can breath." With the weight off his back Florrie rolled over and took a look at his attacker cum rescuer. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, the man reminded Florrie of nothing but a monkey with a decidedly bland face.
"Who in hell was that?"
"That was the Squadron-Leader.....and as ever he seems either to have trashed his engine, or he has run out of gas."
"Who are you?"
"I am yours very truly Chris Angel, part time ack-emma and airman rescuer."
"Florrie." Florrie held out a hand.
"Ahh, I hear my brother has already dubbed you. Well on your feet laddie we must be moving or we might get got by Katt...or perhaps my ever so deplorable brother." Chris grabbed Florrie's shoulder and headed for the hangers at the far end. "Enter your attempted suicide. Ashie, you should keep a better eye on him."
"Keeping his eye on me??? Oh terror!" Florrie rolled his eyes, then abruptly yawned.
"Exactly my feeling." Ashie was stripping off his helmet and goggles as he spoke. "Laddie, if you value your life keep OFF the tarmac when you hear incoming aero engines."
"Was that the tarmac? I thought it was my bed." Florrie caught the helmet that was abruptly flung at him.
"Heavens! Thomlin, remove this fool." Ashie's remark caused Florrie to realise that the C.O. was lounging against the far side of the empennage.
"Chris can do it. What was it like?"
"Boring." Ashie caught his helmet as Florrie lobbed it back and pitched both it and his goggles into the cockpit. "Didn't see a blessed soul, and then what happens but some swine of an ground based machine gun must needs puncture my fuel tank."
"Ahh so that's why you made the stealth landing." Thomlin rolled his eyes. "You need to learn that eight feet is not high enough to make a scatheless crossing of No Man's Land."
"It's not eight feet." Ashie growled and he went to inspect his fuel system. "It was five feet today and I nearly walked off with their trench wiring.....you should have seen that staff car stop." This remark was followed by a sharp curse.
"Pyro's incoming with Katt. What's up?" Chris crossed around the pup as he spoke to where Ashie was crouched.
"The blighter didn't even hole my tank." Ashie sounded disgusted.
"Oh?" Thomlin came around and gave a short laugh. "That'll teach you to try and make the lowest crossing of No Man's Land." Florrie watched the two incoming pups land before he too went to have a look, a third pup was a short distance behind them. At first Florrie could see nothing the matter, for the petrol tank was most certainly not holed, but then he saw that nearly an inch of rubber tubing was missing from the feed line. Ashie had a heavy pocket knife dangling from his wrist and he was holding the mangled strip of rubber he had just cut free.
"Downed by a problem which sticking plaster could have fixed." Ashie's tone was really disgusted, but his eyes were not.
"Okay, lend a mit getting those other pups away." It was a curt order from Thomlin and immediately the other pilots moved away. "What's the problem?" It was a soft query, but it stopped Florrie in his tracks and half turning Florrie decided that he was not needed with the pups.
"Look." Ashie was apparently pointing to something and the response came as a soft hiss.
"Close....very close." There was a pause during which Florrie could hear the scrape of a knife on wood.
"I think this Squadron just decided it would no longer participate in low flying runs across the lines." Ashie's voice was calmly thoughtful. There was a final scrape and then abruptly Ashie swung under the body of the pup, he showed no surprise at finding Florrie standing there, and infact after a thoughtful look he merely beckoned and ducked back under. "Show inquisitive here the reason for the decision and hope it will make him keep his mouth shut on the matter." Ashie ducked back under the pup and crossed to where the other's were occupied with putting the other three pups away.
"We don't like people who don't follow orders." Thomlin's eyes were a chilly, metallic grey and reminded Florrie uncomfortably of his mother's gaze.
"I was more likely to be in the way than help, I had not originally intended to hear." Florrie knew that nothing but the truth would help, and even that was unlikely to do any good.
"That's usually the case, but watch what you overhear it can land you in a lot of trouble." Thomlin held his stare for a moment longer, and then he abruptly averted his gaze and pointed to a faint discolouration on the lower back of the fuselage. Had Florrie seen it at any other time he would have assumed that it was the mark of an old shot, but he suspected that is was nothing of the sort.
"Looks like an old shot."
"It's half an hour old at the most, if there's nothing else you learn out here you'll learn very fast that there are ways of concealing a near miss. One bullet hit this machine today. It came from behind, it cut diagonally up and severed the fuel line. Taking the known position of the severed fuel line and that mark, would you care to guess where that bullet passed?"
"Looks like it passed just a bit above the cockpit." Florrie felt suddenly chilled as he realised the import of his words. The angle was low, and it was over the cockpit, it could only have missed the pilot by inches.
"Precisely." Thomlin had been watching the change in Florrie's expression. "One thing to remember Lieutenant, your Captain may look like an ass, he invariably sounds like an ass, and he'll put forward all manner of hair-brained schemes, but he will never risk the lives of the men on this aerodrome....unless he's risking his own at the same time. I was deadly serious when I told you to do whatever he says Lieutenant, and now I'm equally serious in telling you to keep your mouth shut about what you just heard."
"Would it be too much to ask why? I'm full ready to and hadn't even considered talking about it. But why the insistance?"
"Because your Captain holds a near god status out here, and currently we can't afford for it to be dented...yet."
"Between nine and twelve."
"Doesn't it strike you odd that not counting you and your fellow pilot who arrived today there are only five pilots on this aerodrome?"
"Oh." Florrie mulled over the question.
"Morale is one hell of a hard thing to keep up when you lose pilots like moths at dawn Lieutenant. We're the Cads of the Flying Corps, there is no hope of promotion for anyone here and they all know it......and now that includes yourself as well. We have to raise Cain if we want anything. You saw the boxes that came with you? That was the result of fourteen raids across the front, lovely isn't it, to get spares for repairs we actually needed to form an aerodrome raiding party. Soon enough the other aerodromes complained enough that we got our spares, but come two months we're going to have to find another way to dig supplies out of the system. We live on the edge here, literally, you'll fast learn why you're going to have the most peculiar training before going over the front. Sure any squadron would give you some training, they'd check you can shoot straight and teach you a few stunts in hopes of keeping you alive. Here we're teaching you how to control your wings, the difference between the pilots here and in many other Squadrons is that they can land without instruments, they can fly without speed guages. With this squadron you have your own plane and very fast you get to know its tricks. The pilots here fly by their ears for the most part, how the wind sings through the wires, how much ripple is forming on the canvas, how sluggish the controls are. They have to fly that way because control boards bust fast and we never have suitable repair equipment. Ashie has risen to near god status for his ability to survive across the front here, what most people don't see is what goes into his surviving, the endless hours of flying around the aerodrome. Testing machines to the maximum is usually reserved for test pilots, Ashie does it daily. We have a phenomenal crash rate here, and it's all because of the Captain. We have not a single whole plane here, every single one of them has been repaired more than once from parts of crashed aeroplanes. We salvage every matchstick, we pick through every crash we find.....Ashie's Pup currently has the altimeter of a downed Fokker, the stick of a Fee, and the wheels of a Bristol. Ashie knows to the eighth of a revolution how close he can spin to the ground and still pull out, he knows to the last degree how sharply he can bank and climb without slipping or stalling. Ashie knows exactly how close to the ground he can venture without crashing a roll. On average it takes six or so months to get that down, but Ashie did it in one month. Ashie's wingman, the dull looking Lieutenant James Angel, is only fractionally less skilled when it comes to aeroplanes. Katt is similarly active, what he doesn't know about his Pup would fit on a pin head with space to spare. You will have heard your instructors telling you about the lucky pilots I'll bet, take it from me Laddie, Lady Luck hides under the mantel of bloody hard work."
"I see........I think."
"Wisest answer I've heard for a while. Now hop it or you'll miss dinner." Thomlin watched the departing airman with a faint frown, Flying-Lieutenant Florrie would serve some watching.....provided he survived long enough.
"Hey!" Ashie rose to his feet. "Batten, Florrie, get moving, Saine will have your pups on the tarmac by now, let's see what you can do with them."
"Yes please." Batten had shot out of his feet, finally losing his scared and nervous look....which had become sullen at some stage during the afternoon. Ashie's brows rose by a miniscule amount at this change and he shot a look across at Florrie who was chewing a slightly nervous thumb, it was as if the two men had changed roles. The pups were on the tarmac when the got out there, and Florrie had no difficulty in seeing the repaired fuel line for white tubing had been used for the job.
"Ignoring my pup, you can choose which pup you want." Ashie swung up as he spoke into his cockpit. "And you'd better get your kit on because we'll be up until fuel runs low."
"Aye." Florrie turned and immediately went for his kit, and when he returned Batten was heading for his barracks.
"You've got Rampy's old one." Ashie was fully kitted, though his helmet straps dangled loosely.
"What happened to him?" Florrie carefully inspected the pup from top to tail while he pulled on his boots and coat.
"Got shot, managed to return here and land it, but he died on the tarmac." Ashie's tone was dead and flat in accent.
"Then I'm going to call it Rampy.......and I hope I'm as brave and can do the same when the day comes."
"I'd sooner hope the day never comes." Ashie's tone remained flat, but his head had nodded in a slow and approving manner. "Pyro, give him a swing. Get moving laddie, we'll watch you until five minutes after Batten has made it into the air."
"Yes sir." Florrie hurriedly fastened the straps on his helmet and scrambled into the cockpit. Florrie held a hand out to stop Pyro from starting him while he checked over the slightly less than standard setout of the instrument board.
"Switches off?" Pyro's query jerked Florrie out of his study.
"S-switches off." Florrie flicked the switch and swallowed nervously in an attempt to swallow the nervous bubble in his stomach.
"Suck in?"
"Suck in." Florrie started to relax as he heard the familiar gurgle that accompanied the winding of the prop.
"Contact."
"Contact." Florrie confirmed as the engine roared into life. Having waited for a few minutes while the engine warmed Florrie finally eased the throttle and turned his attention to getting a smooth take off and to not hitting the trees at the far end. Florrie slowly lapped around the aerodrome getting the feel of his pup, satisfying himself as to the turning of the pup.
The pup turned with greater sharpness than the training pup had, and it seemed to do it faster, not that Florrie really had much experience to compare with. Infact Florrie had a grand total of two hours flying a Sopwith Pup, and he'd only had fifteen flying solo. After fourteen laps of the aerodrome Florrie finally started changing his track, climbing and diving in the straight sections, but staying on the same course. One time when Florrie took an extended look around he saw Batten was flipping and diving and generally throwing his pup around. Florrie would have been lying if he said he did not wish to throw his pup around like that, but at the same time Florrie had no intention of doing anything but straight flying until given instructions to do otherwise. Florrie took another look at the ground and he could see two shadows standing next to the last Pup which was still on the ground, it wasn't half obvious that the Squadron-Leader and his wingman were watching. Florrie turned his attention back to flying and promptly found himself wrenching the controls across to avoid a spinning Batten. Florrie returned to his previous course and a took another glance at the tarmac, but the third pup had vanished and now only a lone figure occupied the tarmac. There was a sharp chatter, which Florrie couldn't place and whipping his head around he was stunned by the sight of Batten twisting and diving like a snipe, with Ashie seeming attached to his tail by a wire. Florrie kept an eye on the two diving and twisting planes, but continued his laps of the aerodrome.
When Ashie abruptly peeled away from Batten's tail Florrie kept a sharp eye on the wiley Captain's position, Florrie had no wish to be caught, but at the same time he had to keep an eye out for Batten. But Florrie's worry about Batten was soon over as Batten almost immediately turned and went in to land. With Batten safely landed Florrie continued his laps, while keeping a wary eye on Ashie who was similarly lapping around the aerodrome. Florrie wrinkled his nose and abruptly ceased the climbs and dives and went into figure of eight formations back and forth across the aerodrome, practising wing changes at the beginning of the second loop. Predictably Ashie also changed routes and for the next ten minutes the planes looped back and forth across the aerodrome, then quite sharply Ashie cut sharply across the loop so he flew directly over Florrie. Florrie glanced up as the pup passed overhead, undecided of whether he should follow, when he saw Ashie extend a hand over the side and something dropped on top of him. Florrie grabbed the object and frowned, it was a piece of paper, screwed around three spent bullets and wrapped in several pieces of material. Keeping in his loops Florrie carefully untangled it and quickly scanned the scrawled note:
In five minutes get me off your tail
No more and no less, and Florrie shot a sharp look after Ashie who was coming around in a broad curve. Florrie believed that never had five minutes passed so quickly. In an unbelievably short time Florrie glanced over his shoulder and saw the pup absolutely nailed a few feet behind his tail, and as Florrie looked there was the stuttering chatter which had so surprised Florrie before. Florrie now had no doubts as to what it was, it was a camera gun firing. Florrie jerked his head forward and simultaneously threw his Pup sideways. The chatter stopped for a moment, then resumed again. Florrie took a look over the side and promptly decided that he would not do that again, it cost too much height for too little respite. Should he spin? Florrie shot a look backwards over his shoulder, but promptly decided against it. What had it been that the pilot back at the training school had said? Never spin unless there is no other option.......and then you probably won't be able too. A spin is the sign of an amature trying to avoid death. If you have an experienced pilot on your tail he will know the second you break your spin and he'll start shooting as you come out. Florrie shivered as the words sounded again, before he banked sharply and started climbing sharply.
A quick glance showed Florrie that Ashie was still nailed right behind him and that camera gun was still chattering away. Florrie took a look at his options, then abruptly tightened his climb. In seconds the engine stalled and the pup fell over backwards and plunged earthwards. Florrie got a fleeting glimpse of Ashie desperately throwing his pup to one side, but he was too busy trying to get the engine going again and the pup back the right way up. Florrie had stalled the Avro a couple of times, but never had he stalled a pup, or at least that's the number of times he had stalled on a climb deliberately. It was with a breath of relief that Florrie heard the engine catch and with a final swing he got the pup righted and brought it around in a tight turn before bringing it into land. As Florrie ran to a halt he took a look back over his shoulder and saw the other Pup coming in to land.
"Strewth laddie." Pyro came up with a chock under his arm while Florrie shut everything off. "That's one really good way to suicide."
"Oh bother." Florrie rubbed his head. "Do you think he'll be annoyed?"
"Because it's highly unlikely that any Hun would get out of the way and you'll both crash out."
"You must be the first person we've had here who has not attempted spinning to get away." Ashie didn't bother removing his helmet as he came up. "Why not?"
"Lieutenant Forsythe said there was no surer way of dying if you got in a tight corner because any reasonable pilot would know exactly when you came out and would come out himself and shoot you."
"Lieutenant Forsythe never spoke a truer word. Katt's got a hole in his shoulder because he was stupid enough to spin. Laddie, never, and let me stress NEVER, stall your engine like that....unless killing him is more important than your life is." Ashie pulled his helmet off as he spoke. "Talk about trying to scare your poor Captain silly."
"Close was it Ashie?" Pyro was looking amused.
"I'll say." Ashie looked somewhat annoyed. "Talk about a black horse, he just boringly loops around, and then he damn well tries to murder me."
"What's this about murder?" Thomlin came out of the hanger.
"That twerp just tried to murder me." Ashie jabbed his thumb at Florrie.
"Maybe he should get a medal for it.....where'd the other go?"
"Lieutenant Batten landed twenty-five minutes ago and immediately went to his Barracks and hasn't been seen since." Pyro spoke gravely.
"Where are Katt, Pete and Cub?" Thomlin's brows rose.
"You are an ass Ashie. Katt tried to get in once but the door seemed jammed." Pyro gave a shrug.
"Well get the pups away." Thomlin gave a yawn and headed for the barracks'.
"Okay Florrie, get your rear moving. You're a horrible pilot, so you may as well learn to put your machine away first and tomorrow we'll attend to learning how to fly." Ashie returned to his plane and turned his attention to putting it down for the night.
© 1999, 2000, 2001 Copyright held by the author.