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February 10th 1917-Squadron 83, France

"What the Devil?!?!" Captain Ellis McKenna jerked violently upright, completely forgetting that his backrest was alive, and was rewarded by a wallop in the face from a thick and hairy tail. Mac's startlement was easily explained in the fact that a pup had just hopped over the trees edging the aerodrome and had gone roaring over the tarmac, before vanishing over the far end of the aerodrome. With the non-reappearance of the pup, Mac settled back against Nero and blinked in surprise at the tarmac. Why had that pup come flying across? Nothing had been dropped, it had certainly had no intention of landing, so why had it crossed?

"Hello Mac." Freddie came strolling lazily out of the Recording Office and yawned as he entered the bright sunlight.

"Hello Freddie." Mac shifted, and earned a protesting bark and the feel of some teeth against his neck. "Alright Nero, no need to eat me, I'm not going to move on you again."

"What was that?" Freddie grabbed a nearby chock and squatted down.

"That?"

"Well I just heard what sounded remarkably like a go past and wondered if you'd seen it?"

"Aye." Mac gave a nod and blinked sleepily. "Pup just came creaming across at about ten or so feet and nipped over the far hedge. Nothing dropped, not even considering landing." Mac gave a shrug, and then rubbed irritably at the four inches of sticking plaster which were his current excuse for not flying.

"That'll teach you to argue with the what's-it." Freddie gave a grunt as he looked out at the tarmac."Wonder why we were given the go past?"

"Well I doubt we'll find out unless something happens."

"Something is happening." Freddie rose to his feet as he spoke, and one look likewise had Mac scrambling to his feet. The pup which had bypassed them only a minute or so earlier was just visible over the trees and was weaving erratically back and forth.

"Looks like there's trouble." Mac frowned thoughtfully, then swore violently as the pup went into a sharp climb, only to stall and go crashing earthwards.

"What....? Oh." Freddie abruptly saw that black hawk shaped 'plane a very short distance behind where the pup had been. "Well I suppose we'll have a wreck to collect come a few minutes.....provided we're still here to collect it." Freddie blew a shrill whistle, but continued watching where the pup had been.

"Looks like there was a whole flight of them." Mac was frowning darkly, but he abruptly pulled his glasses up and peered through them. "How odd."

"What's odd?"

"What's odd is that I'll eat my boots if that isn't James Flight. And what's doubly odd is that Ashie is in a highly precarious situation and flying upside down."

"I didn't think that was Ashie's pup which was up top."

"Quite correct, it wasn't Ashie's pup.....infact I suspect it was the clutter-witted Florrie who did the flyby."

"Why do you think it's him?"

"Because though I've never seen him he's got the highest climb stall ratio out here......and if you believe Ashie, he never stalls accidently."

"They're getting pretty shot up." It was five minutes later when Freddie spoke again.

"To be expected." Mac had not paused in watching for a moment. "Infact I think they're getting off remarkably lightly all things considered......ahh, looks like it's pulling out."

"It's pulling out?" Freddie frowned at the fight which was now only just above tree level, frankly speaking it didn't look like it had changed at all, but as he watched Freddie saw the 'plane peel away and climb for height at a speed which left the pups far behind.

"Incoming, I think.........Nero!" Mac's peremptory yell had Nero loping back from where he had been lying on the tarmac. "I think we'd best keep off the tarmac for it looks like they're coming here." Mac's prediction was soon proved accurate as two of the pups came in and landed close together, but without stopping both of them charged off and around the corner of the mess hut. Mac watched the peculiar behavior in silence for a moment, and then lifting his telescope he took a squint at the third pup which was now circling in a lonesome manner above the aerodrome.

"What's up?" Freddie looked sharply at Mac, for Mac had emitted a sharp gasp.

"Oh heavens." Mac lowered his telescope and looked over his shoulder to where Florrie and Pyro were jogging up.

"Awfully sorry to so impose on you, we'll repair the damage, but we need a fast trip to a hospital." Pyro was wiping away ineffectively with an already blood-soaked handkerchief at a gash on his forehead, but both he and Florrie were watching the third pup line up.

"Is it Ashie?"

"Aye." Pyro gave up wiping and just clamped the handkerchief to his forehead in an effort to keep the blood out of his eyes.

"He's got no undercart!" Freddie's stunned exclamation came as Ashie came down the last bit and was on the point of touchdown. Freddie's remark was accurate, for instead of wheels the wooden struts which formed the undercart ended in jagged and shattered ends.

"Hell he's going fast." With Mac's remark silence fell, except for the howling whine of an engine running overtime and four sets of worried eyes watched as Ashie flew, with great deliberation, straight into the tarmac. With a sickening crunch the pup slammed into the tarmac, dust, spars and ripped canvas flew everywhere as with aching slow motion the pup reared over and cartwheeled slowly towards the far end of the tarmac shedding spars and canvas as it went. When the pup finally came to rest against the hedge near the otherside of the tarmac it was not recognisable as the 'plane it had once been. Pyro was the first to move, with Florrie a very close second, Mac paused just long enough to send Freddie for the medic before he too followed the other pilots.

"Ashie!" Pyro stopped his run and cautiously covered the last few metres that separated him from the wreckage, but only silence greeted his call, nothing moved in the wreckage. With a rude remark Pyro loosed the wire cutters which hung from his belt and started working his way to the centre of the wreckage. Ashie's head was visible, and it didn't require any great knowledge to realise that the rescue was a one man job and not going to be short.

"Do you all carry wire cutters?" Mac had paused with Florrie to one side of the wreck, behind them the tarmac was littered with spars and canvas and deeply gouged in places.

"Well it means you can either escape, or get in much faster." Florrie gave a shrug, but he had not looked away from where Pyro was hacking his way through. A quick wriggle and Pyro's head abruptly appeared next to Ashie's, a few seconds later he was wriggling back out again.

"Get a hacksaw Florrie, looks like it's a temporary out coldness, he should come too in any minute." Pyro had discarded his handkerchief at some point of the procedures and was now using his sleeve to staunch the flow from what Mac could now see was an ugly gash.

"Florrie, you saw." Mac's frown had darkened. "Lieutenant Angel, you are reporting to the M.O. immediately."

"No." Pyro was on the point of heading of again when Mac abruptly caught his arm.

"Lieutenant Angel, you are reportin' to the M.O. immediately."

"But..." Pyro stopped and gaved a resigned shrug. "Okay, you win Mac....but see if I ever help you again."

"All it'll take is for you to see me in a mess and I bet yer Squadron honour you'll be there in a shot....fishin' me right back out. Now get moving before I drag you there."

"Aye, aye cap'n." Pyro shook his head then gave a disgusted shrug and headed off, try as he might the blood was getting too dry and frankly Pyro was nearly glad Mac had sent him away.

"Oo're you?" The man who looked up from the dispensary table had the thickest eyebrows Pyro had ever seen. "Though why you're here is more than obvious. Take a seat." The next five minutes were trying, to say the least, and Pyro's already low opinion of alcohol became even lower.

"Rubbing alcohol? Pyro, you'll be tipsey." Ashie wrinkled up his nose as he came into the room.

"Bugger off Ashie!" Pyro looked with disgust at his Captain, a look somewhat ruined by the sticking plaster which obscured one eye and covered most of his forehead.

"Willingly, unfortunately Mac pulled Garry in and I'm not in the habit of ignoring the orders from a Major."

"Garry?" Pyro looked blank.

"And I thought I was going to be the addled one. Major Gareshot, C.O. of Squadron 83."

"Oh." Pyro wrinkled his face as much as was possible.

"Dim aren't you. Look Eddie, be nice, ignore me."

"Why were you sent in?" Eddie had met Ashie once before in similar circumstances and it would take more than a few months to forget the black eye he had received for his efforts to check out the problem.

"No other reason than that it was thought that I should be checked. Take it from me Eddie, there's nothing wrong with me."

"Okay......but Pyro, make sure Moggie checks him this evening."

"Will do Eddie." Pyro gave a nod, and having finished cleaning up the front of his uniform he left the room immediately ahead of Ashie.

February 11th 1917-Squadron 284, France

"Well that seems to be it." Thomlin lifted an enquiring brow at the three pilots who were leaning against the desk. The desk itself was empty except for the small model aeroplane.

"Seems to be it." Ashie gave a nod as he reached out and dexterously turned the small model over. "Or at least I can's see anything missing.....except for the guns. Pyro?"

"Same here, I'd say that the blue prints you got were legit."

"I would be surprised if they weren't, since I have reason to believe that they were made after an inspection of the machine. Florrie?"

"Seems fine to me." Florrie gave a shrug, after swinging the small model around.

"DENNY!" The yell brought the Recording Officer into the Office.

"Yep?"

"Get Katt and get back here, we have a matter to discuss."

"Right." As Denny dove out of the room Thomlin dragged out a thick sheet of paper and laid it next to the model.

"Now, the three of you get mapping, I want to know if there are any points were you did NOT get shot." Silence held the office for a minute while Florrie and Pyro very neatly crossed the entire perimeter of the page. "Ashie?" Thomlin lifted an enquiring eyebrow since Ashie hadn't even moved.

"It isn't half obvious that the top and sides are totally defended." Ashie indicated the groups of crosses. "And I will say right now that there is one cow of a gun on the underside."

"Are you saying this thing is totally covered?"

"To any sane person it is......but I'm not sane. How long until we'll have a spare pup?"

"Well we have the Jimmy which means we have a spare pup."

"What's this about the Jimmy?" Katt came up to the table and grimaced as he saw the model on the desktop. "Still determined to rid the front of this pest?"

"Oh we'll do it, or someone will die." Ashie gave a yawn, and then flipped the model over onto its back. "The underside is covered by one cow and two smaller guns. The two guns are here and there." Ashie pointed to a point under either wing. "The cow is here." Ashie pointed to the dead centre of the fuselage. "The cow is also manned and the gunner needs to move if anyone is to operate either of the two smaller guns."

"So what are you saying?" Pyro had no difficulty in remembering how Ashie had kept climbing time and again up to the underside.

"It's a fixed gun that cow, too damn large to be anything else."

"So?" Florrie abruptly leant forward as Ashie caught the pencil and drew a small circle on the page before planting the model over it.

"There's a window." Ashie pointed to the small circle. "The 'thing' is totally defenceless in this region for the five seconds it's going to take the operator to transfer from main gun to the side gun, get the sights up and fire. Five seconds in which the Pup has to get up there."

"Why not take the Jimmy, it climbs considerably faster." Thomlin frowned at the small hole.

"Bigger wingspan, the sod could stay on the main gun and shoot the wings away. The Pup lacks four foot of wing span that the Jimmy has, and Jimmy needs everyone of those four feet to stay aloft and stable."

"A truth." Thomlin considered the plan. "Frankly Ashie, it's suicide."

"That's why we are merely discussing the subject. No questions asked, no answers given. If I fail...well I did it without asking for permission and I paid the appropriate price. If I succeed, well I was bloody lucky and will I please remember in future that such ideas must be past through the Commanding Officer for approval."

"And if you fail but return alive?"

"I won't." Ashie's response was curt. "That 'thing' has been laying eggs on 83 for close on a month now. 19 pilots have died trying to get rid of it, even more have become casualties......and that's not counting the 'planes which went down trying to find where it was based, and why it's bombing 83 and no other Squadron." Ashie's voice abruptly took on an acidic edge.

"So, Milty's crowd found those Divisions tucked away in the wood.......but does this really mean we've got to get the 'thing'?" Katt glanced speculatively.

"I don't give a damn WHO found the divisions, the problem is that even with divisions bombed out the 'thing' is still bombing 83 and as of last night it extended its reach and bombed 14, 164, and 254 Squadrons. We can't afford to have that big a hole blown in the reconnaisance net. That 'thing' has to go and we're the only ones insane enough to take it on." Ashie growled in annoyance.

"We?" Florrie's eyebrow soared. "You say we? I'm afraid you got it wrong Cap'n, I much prefer the idea of stayin' in bed."

"Right, you stay in bed and I'll borrow your Pup." Ashie turned on Florrie.

"On second thoughts I think I've got Afternoon flight to fly." Florrie beat a tactful retreat, since his arrival Florrie had quickly learnt that there was the odd occasion when Ashie did not take kindly to joking, and they invariably seemed to be when they were least expected.

"So that's it." Ashie gave a nod and then turned and strolled from the room, the door slammed closed after him and Pyro immediately looked back at the small model on its page.

"He doesn't believe he's going to make it back." Pyro tapped the model with an idle finger. "And frankly, I don't blame him."

"Ehh?" Florrie looked hard at the model then glanced at Pyro. "You were saying Lieutenant?" Thomlin had returned to the plan as soon as Ashie had vanished over the far hedge.

"I've checked the wreck twice, at most there is going to be a four foot space. I'm not surprised that Ashie made it clear that no one else would take it on. He's got one chance at this sir, he's going to have to climb within a degree of stalling and to get the shots off he will have to stall. He'd going to be within range of the 'cow' as he calls it until he is quite close, and the same goes for any descent."

"Spit Lieutenant, what does Ashie know that the rest of us doesn't?"

"I don't know, sir." Pyro shook his head. "But it seems to concern a Spring push and us trench strafing."

"That is helpful." Thomlin studied the model.

"Hell, that can't be right." Katt studied the model and looked at the small circle on the page. "How big is a pup by camparison to this model?"

"'Bout half size." Florrie had sat down and was swinging his legs restlessly.

"Well if that circle is to scale...."

"It will be or Ashie would have just crossed the point." Thomlin responded briefly.

"Which means at least three quarters off the wing area will be exposed at any given point in time." Katt's voice was stunned.

"Hi! Mac!" Freddie came charging into the barracks where Mac had most unsuccessfully been attempting to sleep.

"There goes my sleep." Mac kicked out his feet, then promptly appologised as they firmly connected with Nero, Nero responded by closing his teeth around Mac's feet.

"Why appologise." Freddie gave a grin. "I'm not the one suffering." Freddie was well aware of the reason behind the appology, but he couldn't resist the temptation.

"Shut up!" Mac snapped in disgust. "NERO!" Mac tried to free his feet without success. "NERO!!" As Mac's tones got more aggravated Nero finally ceased worrying Mac's feet and stood up. "Thankyou." Mac scrambled from his camp bed and stretched stiffly. "Now what brought you in here?" Mac started dressing as he asked the question.

"Well you thought the Cads were being nutty yesterday, you'll swear Ashie's off his head tonight."

"Why's that?" Mac pulled his boots on and then scrambled across to the mess to look up the orders, his boots were still unlaced.

"He's taken on the what's-it."

"Freddie you should learn.......Ehh, what was that?" Mac jerked back around and stared at Freddie.

"Ashie's taken on the what's-it." Freddie repeated himself.

"He's completely off his nut."

"HI!!!!!!!" Hal came charging into the mess, he hadn't even paused to shed his helmet or goggles.

"What?" Mac turned away from Freddie in partial irritation.

"He's done it!"

"Whose done what?"

"Ashie, he's downed the what's-it."

"You're joking." Mac's jaw gaped.

"I'm not." Hal was fairly dancing. "I've never seen the likes of it. He must have been a degree off stalling when he went up, he stalled dead underneath it and let fly. Looked like nothing was going to happen and Ashie was plunging like a chased goose, then it just rolled over and nose-dived into the ground."

"Ashie fine?"

"Seemed to be, he was legging it straight back to 284 last I saw of him."

"Probably means he's not actually meant to be out, he'll be cutting it fine for catching dinner." Mac studied the orders in front of him and groaned softly.

"Night bombing again?"

"Aye." Mac grumbled morosely, if he didn't get the hang of sleeping during the day he was going to run depressingly short of sleep in the very near future.

"MAC!" The cook came out of the kitchen roaring menacingly and Mac responded by clamping a hand over his eyes and then peeking past his fingers.

"What did he get Jim?"

"He got the whole damn dinner."

"Oh no." Mac closed his fingers again. "How much will his dinner set me back today?"

"Well if you could find the damn dog you should be able to rescue some.......even it it is only the baked carrot."

"What?" Mac dropped his hand all together. "How in....what the.....why in smoke did he take the carrots."

"I doubt he knew he had them, he snagged the whole container."

"Damn......will it quarter my bill if I get the barrel back?" The question was asked in a mournful tone as Mac exited the mess, leaving fellow pilots who couldn't decide whether to laugh at Mac's predicament, or beat the stuffing out of him for costing them another dinner of canned beans.

February 24th 1917-Cunard Liner Laconia, Atlantic Ocean

John Knightley was pacing restlessly up and down the corridor, Isabella had just left him to retire for the night, but John was not feeling tired in the slightest, but neither was he feeling sociably inclined. Indistinctly John could hear the talking from the Smoke-Room.

"You alright sir?" A steward seemed to magically appear from the surrounding darkness to stand beside him.

"No problems." John responded quietly.

"Very good sir." The steward vanished as if he'd never been there and John resumed his pacing.

"Considering the zone and the class of this ship, I should put it down at two hundred and fifty to one that we don't meet a sub." The voice stated the matter firmly and somewhat distractedly John wondered what was at the odds of two hundred and fifty to one, and how the speaker had come to that conclusion. But as John began he wondering there was a sudden lurch to one side and a sound like the slamming of a door in the distance. As John pushed up from the wall he heard honest shouting from the Smoke-Room, and a violent shuffle which indicated that everyone was on their feet.

"We're hit!" The voice shouted loudly and John was willing to lay even odds that it was Mr. Chetham, the London Solicitor.

"That's what we've been waiting for," The response came in an equally english voice, but John suspected it was Mr. Jerome, the man with the ecquadorian valet and who was returning home from South America. It was Jerome who had given the odds of their being hit.

"What a lousy torpedo!" It was Mr. Kirby who spoke next and he spoke in typical New Yorkese. "It must have been a fizzer." But just as obvious as these remarks were to John was the fact that everyone was just waiting, and as they waited the five sharp blasts peeled out and boomed through the ship. Doors flew open and people came piling out of rooms, speed was definitely there, but there was no panic among the people. John ducked back through the flow and dove into their Stateroom, but it was empty, Isabella's heavy coat and flask were absent which meant he had missed her in the crowd. John grabbed his heavy coat, hat, notebook and pencil, and flask and dove out of the Stateroom again. The deck was already starting to heel as John made the main deck, and at the same time blinding lights sprang on, lighting up the deck and surrounding sea like it was the middle of the day. John was racing to get to his lifeboat when a hand grabbed him and shoved him into the nearest boat.

"But it's not mine." John started to climb out again, to be in the wrong boat could cause havoc.

"I don't give a damn! There's been some scrambling and we're one short and I won't have overloaded boats." The hand shoved him back in and the call went out. "LOWER AWAY!" With a jolt the boat started to descend from the davits. John twisted worriedly and scanned the railings and other boats, hoping against hope to see Isabella, but in truth he knew the effort was useless because the boat he was meant to be on was on the other side of the ship.

"Damn it, we're stuck!" The voice swore next to John and turning John saw one of the seamen wrenching viciously at the rope securing them.

"Here." John grabbed the tail of the rope and lent a hand in yanking. With a jerk they came free and the rear of the boat plunged downwards, only to pull up with a jerk as John's hand, still tangled in the rope, slammed into the winch and was nearly dragged through the block.

"Half tick." A lunge and a haul from the seaman had John's hand free, and also regained control of the rope. Their descent the rest of the way was completed at a respectable pace and soon the seaman was yelling orders to get them away from the ship's side. John watched in numb silence as they pulled an ever increasing distance from the ship. Where was Isabella?

"Move it! Move it!" The order came irritably. "Things'll go to hell when the water reaches the boilers." Five more minutes passed in relative silence. John had already watched in awed silence as the distress rocket had gone hissing up from the bridge before exploding into a brilliant star far up in the dark sky.

"Thirty minutes?" It was a question which initially made no sense to John.

"Aye." The response came from near the bow, and instinctively John took a look at his clock, it was eleven o'clock and it had just gone ten thirty when the torpedo had hit.

"Oh _____, _____, _____!" It was an impressive bout of cursing which followed the muffled explosion and a brief look showed John that the Laconia had abruptly sunk considerably lower in the water, there was no question of what had happened, another torpedo had hit the Laconia. Somewhere out there, lurking in the dark water was a dark form which carried death.

"What is it?"

"Sods just shot the engine room." The Officer who was crouched in the stern gave the response and then he frowned. "Ouch, you'd best get something around that hand of yours."

"What?" John followed the line of the Officer's indicating finger and found himself studying his right hand with a sickened revulsion. The thumbnail had been ripped clean off, and with it had gone a fair percentage of skin, blood ran freely from two deep gashes and the rest of his hand was swollen and badly bruised. "Crumbs, must have happened when the rope was caught."

"Well get the damn thing tied up."

"Yes sir." It wasn't until after he responded that John realised he actually had no way to deal with his hand, and it was somewhat abstractly that John realised that he hadn't even been aware of the injury until after the Officer had pointed it out to him, and now he was aware of very little else.

"Use this." The Officer shoved what had once been a shirt sleeve into John's good hand.

"But...." John looked up protestingly, and then saw that the sleeve had been torn from a spare shirt someone was carrying. John then studied the task on hand and realised very quickly indeed that like it or not, someone else was going to have to tie his hand up.

"I'll do it." The owner of the mangled shirt crossed cautiously and crouched down next to John, five minutes later he had crossed back to his original seat and John was the proud possessor of one hand and one mound of whiteness.....whiteness which was reddening pretty quickly. After watching it for a minute John firmly closed his one good hand over the bandage and manfully ignored the blast of exquisite pain which raced through his hand and lanced up his arm.

Turning his head John watched in silence with everyone else as slowly the Laconia rolled over even further, lights which had previously burned like a multitude of small suns had faded to yellow and then to a blood red colour before they faded and died completely. This left the nearly sunk Laconia looking like a dark and forbidding headland. A soft sigh and a hiss was the last warning the Laconia gave before her bow rose majestically up into the air before she slid sternfirst below the waves.

"Vot ship was dot?" The query carried none to clearly over the water, but there was no doubt of where it had come from, the long, forbiddingly black shape was sitting next to boat three, even if the accent hadn't been heavily teutonic.

"The Laconia." The answer was less audible, but the seaman who sat next to John said that it was the Head Steward who spoke.

"Vot?"

"The Laconia, Cunard Line." This time the response was clearer.

"Vot did she veigh?" The next question came.

"Eighteen thousand tonnes."

"Any passengers?"

"Seventy-three. Men, women and children, some of them in this boat. She had over two hundred in the crew."

"Did she carry cargo?"

"Yes."

"Vell, you'll be alright. The patrol will pick you up soon." And except for the soft sound of the conning tower hatch being fastened the U-Boat slid silently away into the darkness.

"What a great comfort." The Officer spoke somewhat sarcastically. "As if anything could get here within three hours....even if it wanted to."

"You sound doubtful as to a rescue in the near future."

"I'll be bloody amazed if we get rescued within 12 hours." The Officer grunted shortly from his position on the otherside of John.

"With those clouds that is not something I like the sound of." John indicated the dark thunderheads which were piling up on the horizon.

"What's wrong?" Knightley was out of his chair in a flash and across to where Emma was standing. Emma didn't utter a single sound, she just walked straight across to him and buried her face in his coat front. Knightley considered the golden head with a perplexed frown, a perplexed frown which darkened considerably when Emma's shoulder's heaved violently and she started sobbing softly. Knightley finally closed an arm around her shoulders and tapped the golden head which leant up against him. "What's up Em?" But it didn't take Knightley long to realise that whatever the problem was it was major and Emma was still in no condition to talk. Five minutes later Emma gave an abrupt sniff and pulled free, Knightley calmly dropped his arms and retreated back to his seat. "What's up Em?"

"Don't ask." Emma responded curtly and hastily fished her handkerchief out of her pocket, before firmly blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. "Y-your housekeeper called me because your telephone was busy." Emma shot an accusing look at the telephone which was not even plugged in.

"It's been ringing too much lately so I decided to give it a holiday." Knightley picked up a pen and tapped it restlessly against his finger.

"A telegram arrived for you an hour ago, but eventually she gave up trying to get you and called me instead."

"John?" Knightley jerked up from his seat questioningly, Emma responded with a mute nod.

"Laconia was torpedoed, no lists have yet been released but there are several casualties among both passengers and crew."

"Oh God." Knightley buried his face in his hand, it was no blasphemy, it was an honest appeal. Knightley didn't know what he'd do if John was deceased, but he had a feeling that though he would consider all manner of things the reality would probably be that he just changed camps and become pro-war. The idea stopped Knightley dead in his mental tracks and he considered the matter, the real truth was that whether John was alive or not he had already changed camps, the war was now personal and no longer could he view it from the detached outsiders viewpoint.....those _____ had dared to torpedo the ship his brother was on. So lost in his thoughts was Knightley that he didn't realise that Emma was rubbing his shoulders and attempting to get him to relax until several minutes after she had begun.

"But what price America?" It was about ten minutes later when Emma asked the question, and it seemed to shatter the silence in the room.

"What price America?" Knightley repeated the question softly. "Can you read my mind Em?"

"No." Emma stepped back and dropped into a nearby chair. "But you wouldn't be Mr Knightley if that wasn't your response."

"Depressing realisation. For no other reason than because it has become personal I have abruptly changed my opinion of war." Knightley lifted his head with a sigh and stared across the room, restlessly tapping his pen against his fingers.

"We're going to be at war before the year is out aren't we?"

"Absolutely no doubt about it, it's been all but written in the history books since the January peace efforts fell through, neither side is interested in an uninterested negotiator. Britain reckons we're backing the Germans, and Germany reckons we're hand in glove with the British." Knightley gave a shrug. "Any American life lost in this sinking and I'll have us join a month or two earlier than before. Frankly it had to happen, ever since the Germans resumed their unrestricted Submarine Warfare, the risk to us as a country is too great, too many American lives are lost, too much tonnage is wasted. It's basically a lose-lose situation, if we keep out of it we're going to lose trade and everything and we'll have a world that is billions of dollars in debt to us and unable to trade. If we enter the war on the other hand we'll probably end the war sooner, but possibly we'll merely extend it, we'll kill a large number of people, we'll maim even more, and we'll probably run up a debt of our own......though I have no idea of who we'll go indebt to."

"Taxes will rise and I'll have to listen to father bewailing the accounts." Emma rolled her eyes in irritation.

"Emma." The reprimand was there and Emma looked appologetic, no more was said on the subject for Emma knew the reason for the reprimand, which concerned the disrespectful remark, not the subject, and Knightley knew that Emma knew what he meant.

H.M.S. Laburnum was a welcome sight to the weary occupants of lifeboat four, they had been watching her approach for the past hour, ever since she had appeared as a questing and mocking finger of light on the horizon. They had hung off her stern for several minutes before they had been ordered around to the side where a somewhat murderous ascent was made by each passenger in turn. The swell was immense and the lifeboat varied between nearly at the mine sweeper's rail and at other times dipped into a deep pit before accelerating up again. After three attempts John was tied to a rope and unceremoniously hauled up the side, where a crack from the railing knocked him out cold for a few seconds. After six hours in the open life boats, the cramped, warm and stinking inside of the mine sweeper were a welcome change.

Slowly the Laburnum scoured the seas in search of the twelve lifeboats, slowly boats were found and survivors were hauled aboard. The injuries were few and minor, mostly consisting of strained backs, sprained legs and mangled hands, though John carried the day in the mangled hand class. After steaming around for a while it was concluded that no more were to be retrieved and H.M.S. Laburnum headed away from the wreckage, carrying a load of 266 relieved survivors and one utterly miserable survivor.

John stood leaning numbly against the backrail, he had searched eagerly each face which ascended into the boat, he had watched as the small Canadian Chaplain's wife was reunited with a child she had thought gone, he had watched as men who had not bothered about each other before warmly embraced and became acquainted, he watched as many had cheered when the ship's Captain ascended from his waterlogged lifeboat. Then John had watched as a Old German-Jew limped slowly around the boat collecting large pennies for some small boy he was carrying, but still the face he wanted to see was not to be seen. Several men had shaken John by the hand, but soon his total lack of response drove them away and John was left under the eye of some british tar who smoked the vilest pipe John had ever smelt.

The H.M.S. Laburnum steamed for half an hour and joined up with two sister ships, towards which one open boat was being rowed at a furious pace. John watched as the open boat unloaded with numb and disinterested gaze, he could easily recognise the french-polish actress, and she was looking exceedingly wet and draggled. A small boy with golden curls followed the actress up, and then there was a seeming rush and a swarm of people went up the ladder. John hadn't seen the form he had wanted to see, the familiar hat and coat were absent, and with a sigh he leant over the opposite rail and stared down at the murky water. Right now there was nothing John wanted to do more than slide over that rail and let the murky, cold water swallow him up, but such an action was not an option, Knightleys did not behave in such a cowardly manner.

"Why the devil wasn't he brought to me earlier?" The voice was irritated and turning his head slightly John observed the ship's doctor frowning at his right hand, still wrapped in its bloodstained shirt sleeve.

"He wasna lettin' no one near 'im, Joey only jest saw the wrappin'."

"Well young man, that hand is coming downstairs immediately." The doctor scowled darkly and it was in a numb dream that John followed the doctor down into the warm and stinking bowels of the ship. "Why you were so stupid as to stay out all the time in that...!" The disgust in the doctor's voice as he indicated John's soaked overcoat was indescribable, but John didn't even note it. "What's with this man?" The query was asked of the attending tar, but the only response was a shrug. "Well go and ask, someone's got to know if he copped a wallop or something."

"Aye, sir." The tar hastily retreated, and John watched with detached interest as the doctor applied himself to the task of getting the shirt sleeve off without taking John's hand off as well.

"This is a mess, young man......do you have a name?" The doctor looked up sharply but all the response he got was a blink. "Hopefully Joey will dig something up on you."

"Is a John Knightley in here? He's nowhere else on the boat."

"I couldn't say, only he's in here, and he won't give a name."

"You John Knightley?" The Able Seaman came across and stared hard at John, and after a moment's consideration John nodded. "'Bout bloody time I found you. I was instructed to give you this, seein's as Sheppy wouldn't let her come across." Able Seaman Walley hastily shoved the thin chained necklace into John's hand and then beat a hasty retreat, he didn't like what he was seeing and he wanted out as quick as possible. John stared numbly down at the thin chain, trying to ignore the wild hope in his heart.

"What did he say?" John turned his head and looked back at the doctor.

"He said an awful lot of things, but item one, 'I was instructed to give you this, seein's as Sheppy wouldn't let her come across.' and I suspect that's what you wanted to hear."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that some lady is across ower thar, and she wants you to know she's alive even though she isn't right with you now."

"Possibly this will sink in in a few minutes and it might occur to me to believe you." John settled back and stared blankly across at the far wall pausing only occasionally to glance back down at the thin gold chain which was draped across his fingers.

"Sir." The tar came back into the small room where the doctor was cautiously approaching the task of sewing up John's hand.

"Yes? and hold this hand."

"Yes sir." The tar somewhat gingerly took the mangled hand. "Phew, you did get fair mangled. Well the talk says that he has a ladywife who was written off in the missing boat. Able Seaman Walley who just transferred across says that contrariwise to their 'pinions ladywife is alive, but somewhat unwell....she'll live, will be fighting fit in jest a day or two."

"Well I suspect our friend will be glad to hear that after he's had a few hours sleep." The doctor tapped the first cut gingerly, and then with a sigh swamped the entire hand in basilicum powder before wrapping it all up again. Without any skin it wasn't worth even trying to sew it shut while shipboard. "Get him into a bunk, I don't want to hear of him emerging from it until tomorrow morning....and it that means you have to mount a watch on him, then mount a watch on him."

"Yes, sir." The tar started to tow John from the room, but John stayed put.

"I wish to speak to Able Seaman Walley."

"You go to bed and you can see him when you wake up." The doctor turned to his small table.

"No." John shook his head.

"If you don't go to bed I'll dose you and keep you in bed for the next week....don't argue!"

"Very good." John's mouth tightened, but he obediently allowed the tar to tow him from the room.

Izzie here writing John

Knightley stared numbly at the yellow sheet of telegraph paper, he read it once, he read it twice, he read it a third time, then finally he closed the door on the long vacated step and read the telegram for the fourth time. The jangling of the telephone bell jerked Knightley from his preoccupation and he crossed and picked up the receiver.

"Knightley speaking."

"Oh Mr Knightley." Emma's voice bubbled excitedly through the receiver.

"Let me guess, you just got a telegram?" Knightley couldn't help but smile as he interrupted.

"Yes. Father is positively overjoyed and Izzie is no longer poor.....do come for dinner, I'll consider you to be ignoring us if you don't."

"Okay Emma......but can I arrange for a call to be sent to you instead? I'm expecting an important one which was going to keep me here waiting for the evening."

"Would you prefer if we were to come visit you and bring dinner with us?"

"Your father wouldn't like that idea at all, I'll arrange things and be knocking at the door in an hour. Be seeing you Em." Knightley replaced the receiver gently and stared once more at the telegram strip before heading for the stairs, it would be tight to arrive within the allotted hour, but Knightley was determined to do it.

March 3rd 1917-Squadron 284, France

Mac eyed the dusty sign out the front of the squadron the same as he always did, with a wry and somewhat amused eye. Mac had no idea when the sign had arrived there, but he had no memories of the squadron without it.

"'Lo Mac." Pyro was yawning widely as he came around the corner of the barracks. "Sorry, goodmorning Sir."

"Cut it out Pyro, where's Ashie?"

"Up." The response was succinct.

"Know when he'll be back?"

"Roundaboutation probably an hour, longer if they meet fun." Pyro smothered another yawn.

"Heard things were a bit tight here for pilots."

"About usual." Pyro yawned again. "Awfully sorry sir, but I didn't get overly much sleep last night."

"So I gathered.....what happened?"

"Some sod tried to shoot me down and I was sewing streamers all night." Pyro smothered another yawn.

"Colonel Thomlin in?"

"Nope."

"Where is he?"

"Up....he wouldn't trust me with his official 'plane so he took my place, damn dope still isn't dry."

"Denny in?"

"I'll lead you right to him. You crashed?"

"No, just out of fuel."

"Where?"

"Four miles thataway." Mac waved an aimless hand behind himself.

"Well I'm sure we probably have a few drips you can borrow." Pyro gave another yawn as he shoved open the Recording Office door. "Mac's here to steal a bit of fuel, can we help him?"

"Don't see why not." Denny glanced at some pages beside himself and then gave a yawn. "That was pretty bat-eyed of you to run out of fuel Mac."

"Night Bombing, had to take a slight detour and it was slightly longer than the Fee could take."

"Bat-eyed fool." Denny picked up a nearby pad and a coil of tubing.

"Bat-eyed yourself Pip. Now can I get the fuel out of you, they'll probably be howling my death already back at base."

"Oh they are." Denny grabbed his pen before coming across to the door. "Freddie's been ringing around to see if you've visited any aerodromes....having seen you inspecting our sign I sent Pyro out to yawn at you and I set Freddie's fears at rest."

"Kind of you." Mac watched in silence as Denny syphoned fuel out of the storage tank and into two smaller carrying tanks. Denny broke the syphon and quickly noted the quantity supplied and to whom.

"Indeed it was, I could have added nicely to Freddie's grey hairs had I not told him you were here."

"Freddie has quite enough grey hairs already."

"Who's watching Nero for you?"

"The Cook."

"Lucky Cook." Pyro gave another yawn.

"Where is everyone?" Even for the Cads the aerodrome was quiet, it was as if Denny and Pyro were the only ones on the aerodrome.

"Well Geordie and Saine are sleeping off a night of work in there." Denny jerked a laconic thumb at the hanger.

"And Katt's sleeping off a crack on the nut in there." Pyro indicated the barracks.

"A bad crack?"

"Nup, just a flying glass splinter from his instrument board. It chewed a hole in his cheek and Moggie ain't lettin' 'im go nowhere until the stitches start holding." Pyro smothered another yawn.

"Are you saying that there are only four flyers at this aerodrome?" Mac looked stunned.

"Five.....counting the Colonel, and Denny's filled in once when Ashie fell asleep while eating lunch." Pyro yawned again. "Now let's get moving or that flight's going to return and I won't have returned with the tanks."

"How do you do the three flights?"

"Two on, one off. I usually take dawn and lunch flights. Katt used to take lunch and dinner flights. Florrie takes dinner and dawn flights."

"Ashie?"

"Flies the lot except when he falls asleep where he stands."

"You can't go on like that!"

"Tell me about it." Pyro gave a shrug. "We were meant to have received four new fliers since January. Only one of them ever arrived and he went west during his first flight."

"When did Katt get shot?"

"Four...five days ago now." Pyro gave a jaw splitting yawn and then shook his head.

"Has Colonel Thomlin been filling in?"

"Hell no, we've had inspection officials and what not in all week, this is the first time he's even been able to get a wheel off the ground. We've had Saine and Geordie running around like fury pretending to be pilots, we'd be finished in a flash if they knew we only had one flight. They damn nearly did when they thought we only had six with one injured."

"What's happening?"

"Well we're meant to get some freshies in next month, but with our luck the moon will also wear green stripes tonight."

"For your sakes I hope the moon wears its stripes."

"Where's your gunner?" The trip to the Fee had been carried out with all possible haste and Pyro made the query as they transferred fuel from the carrying tanks into the Fee's tanks.

"Ass went west on me. We got into a minor dust up and he jumped over the side in his hurry to get to the top gun." Mac's expression was somewhat morose as he remembered the scream as the boy had plumetted away into space, but there had been absolutely nothing Mac could do about it.

"You run through observers at a fair clip." Pyro studied the face across from him carefully.

"Not really, most of them are just transferred on me. I hold them for a month and then, just when they start to get useful, they get transferred to another Squadron or they return to H.E. to become a pilot. Can you tell Ashie I want to speak to him as soon as possible, I should be in for the entire day so just tell him to call through."

"Will do." Pyro stepped back to the prop as Mac scrambled up into his cockpit, a quick wind and a hefty swing later Mac was warming up the motor and a few minutes after that he took off. Pyro having watched the departure took to his heels and ran for the aerodrome. Ashie would be seriously annoyed if Pyro wasn't at least making an imitation of sleep when they returned.

"Excuse me." The voice brought Pyro to a skidding halt as he re-entered the aerodrome.

"Yes?" Pyro eyed the freshly creased uniforms and fresh faces dubiously. Now was not when he wanted to deal with raw recruits for another aerodrome.

"Is this Squadron 284?"

"Yes." Pyro gave a nod.

"Well here we are Charlie." The fresh-faced youth turned to his companion with a relieved sigh.

"Here we are indeed." The other relaxed and sat down on his pack, only to leap to his feet immediately. "Awfully sorry Sir. Flying-Lieutenants Bunch and Morely.....sorry we're so late, but we were taken to the wrong place and it took us a while to realise that."

"Sure that it wasn't the London Barmaids who caused the distraction?" Pyro lifted a quizical eyebrow and both youths flushed defensively. "Okay, come on, Denny will be DE-LIGHTED to see your ugly mugs.....though the ack-emmas won't be so thrilled."

"Why's that?" Lieutenant Bunch queried.

"Because your arrival means that on top of the usual repair work we also have to make two more wrecks operational. Hurry up I want to go to bed."

"Bed sir?" Morely looked startled. "But it's only just gone six in the morning."

"Laddie, when you get old and grey like me you will realise the importance of sleep.....and frankly I actually like more than half an hour's sleep in twenty-four."

"Sorry sir, wasn't thinking."

"Not sir, just a Lieutenant, and a very sleepy one." Pyro pushed open the Recording Office door. "Denny, look what two lovely birdies met me outside. Delayed three weeks by the London Barmaids and possibly a fortnight or so at the channel by the Dover barmaids, the weather, and some nasty German Sub, possibly a week in Calais by the French barmaids and the lousy transport system but finally their epic journey has reached its conclusion and they have arrived."

"Bugger off Pyro and get some sleep, you are impossible."

"Bye-bye birdies." Pyro waved a hand as he exited the Recording Office, only to turn around and stick his head back in. "You think I'm impossible, just wait 'til Ashie gets hold of them."

"I am Pyro, I am. Now GO AWAY!!"

"Hmmm, just remembered, they probably lost a few days to the Parisienne Barmaids as well."

"Pyro get out of my office before I throw you out."

"I'm going Denny, I'm going." Pyro finally withdrew completely and his head did not reappear so Denny finally pulled out the Squadron records.p> "Okay Birdies, who's who?"

"I'm Flying-Lieutenant Peter Bunch.......is he sane?"

"Quite Bunch, infact Pyro is the sanest flyer on this totally insane aerodrome." Denny calmly scribbled down Bunch's name. "And you birdie?" Denny looked quizzically at Morely.

"Flying-Lieutenant Charles Morely."

"Your papers?" Denny asked the question as he scribbled down Morely's name. Two sets of papers arrived simultaneously on Denny's desk and with a sigh he checked through them and signed a few points in them. "Kind of you birdies to turn up, we've been somewhat in need of your services and your absence has been keenly felt by all. Usually at this point in time you'd be shuffled through to be scowled at by Colonel Thomlin, who is the C.O., but as he's not available I suggest you grab seats and look suitably bored."

"Honestly sir, we were not delayed by the barmaids."

"You weren't?" Denny blinked hard at the two men. "Birdies, never, never, NEVER make an admission like that. You'll never live it down. To be delayed by barmaids is totally acceptable....unless you've been delayed for too long. To claim to be delayed by something else, well no one will believe a word of it and you'll get a bad name."

"Must you call us Birdies?" Bunch was looking somewhat pained.

"Would you prefer being called Birdie 1 and Birdie 2?" Denny looked up inquisitively.

"NO!" Bunch gave the response emphatically.

"Then don't complain about being called Birdies. Sorry, but Pyro has dubbed you as Birdies and as long as you remain at this Squadron you will be called Birdies.....and don't worry, he could have dubbed you names a lot worse." Denny gave a yawn.

"Does everyone on this aerodrome yawn?"

"A rough assumption to make when you've only met two of us. But yes, currently yawning is like saying hello."

"But why?"

"Well, you know, yawning is what you tend to do when the beauty sleep is viciously foreshortened....possibly non-existant." Denny yawned again. "Blast it Pyro, now you've set me going again and I thought I had them under control......Will you two birdies sit down, you make my legs ache standing around like that."

"Sorry." Bunch hastily sat down in a nearby chair and Morely sat down beside him.

"Hi Denny!" Katt's head appeared around the door.

"What's up Katt?" Denny gave a yawn.

"Pyro just came in muttering about Birdies."

"Meet them for yourself, the Birdies, Lieutenants Bunch and Morely."

"They sound like a variety show. Hello Birdies and welcome to 284.....how about you set them to work on their pups Denny, you really can't keep them sitting doing nothing until Thomlin comes, besides which the acks would be fit to murder us."

"Good-oh, you show them their pups and supervise initial repairs.....and don't use the hanger for struts Thomlin says the framework's getting too unstable."

"Right, we'll get the struts from A-Flight's barracks then." Katt gave a nod. "Come Birdies, I'm going to introduce you to an exciting new world, but first you have to dump your packs. B-Flight Denny?"

"Aye, I don't think Ashie would appreciate it if his flight is permanently chewed up."

"No I don't think he would either. Come Birdies, I'm going to introduce you to the new world of 'build your own aeroplane'." Katt left the room with the two Birdies following him and Denny shook his head in silent amusement. Here was hoping that they weren't scared away by all this.

"Who's Katt got in the junk yard?" The question disturbed Denny from his records some time later and drew his attention to the fact that Ashie and Florrie had come into the Recording Office.

"Oh hello to you to. Pyro met two Birdies out the front and Katt's taken them to build their pups." Denny gave a wide yawn.

"Glory be, it's about time the reserves arrived." Ashie gave a yawn and blinked sleepily as he tried to remember why he had entered the office in the first place.

"Interesting flight?"

"Not a soul in the sky." Ashie crossed quickly to the book and entered a brief entry. "Which particular Birdies are they?"

"Uhh, books say that they are Flying-Lieutenants Bunch and Morely and they are only..." Denny stopped to calculate. "A month and a half behind schedule."

"Sounds okay. Just the two of them?"

"So we hope the Birdies survive. Why was Pyro out the front?"

"Mac ran out of fuel so we leant him some. Someone had to bring the tanks back, they get far too dinted if someone flies over and drops them."

"True." Ashie gave a yawn. "Oh well, bed sweet bed here I come. Tell the Birdies I'll speak to them after Dinner. Thomlin should be in here any minute now." Ashie gave another yawn before he left the office. Thomlin entered the office a few minutes after Ashie's departure.

"I see two new uniforms, are they late or early?"

"Late, but only by a month and a half. Pyro has officially dubbed them the Birdies and they didn't take kindly to my suggestion that they be Birdie 1 and Birdie 2."

"Well send them in to see me before lunch and tell Katt that he's in complete charge of them."

"Ashie might have his objections, sir."

"Ashie can object until he is blue in the face, but whoever does their training is not going to cross the lines until they do...and I doubt Ashie will be willing to cut all flights."

"I doubt that as well. Very good sir, I'll let them know. Oh, and we lent Mac some fuel."

"Right.....and send out another general call for wrecks, those two new pups will seriously deplete our repairs store and they will actually need a complete instrument board."

"Will do, they're taking struts from A-flight Barracks."

"I think it's time we got busy again." Thomlin gave a yawn. "Tell Katt and the acks to raid tonight, we need two instrument boards and anything else that looks nice.....I believe 198 got a new load of supplies just yesterday."

"Very good sir." Denny gave a nod as Thomlin went into the inner office. Denny folded away his files and rose stiffly to his feet before leaving the Recording Office in search of Katt and the two Birdies.

"Why?" The question was irritably asked.

"I dunno, I jest got told that by Denny. I asked him and he said it was Thomlin's orders." Katt gave a shrug.

"Well I'm going to ask." Ashie irritably hauled n his jacket and headed across to the Office hut.

"'Lo Ashie." Denny was digging through an immense pile of files. "And no you can't see him quite yet he's currently on the telephone."

"Why's he on the telephone?"

"I believe that there have been some complaints lodged against us again. 198 lost half their strut supply, two instrument boards and two boxes of general equipment.......and about ninety metres of dope canvas and several sheets of plywood. Thomlin I believe is currently giving headquarters a very large piece of his mind, either we'll be rolled in a couple of minutes or we are going to get fresh supplies and the flyers necessary to get this Squadron up to at least nine flyers."

"Well the equipment will be nice, but the idea of having to break in that many flyers is intimidating. Which reminds me, why has Katt been given the Birdies?"

"Ask Thomlin, not me." Denny grabbed his folders again.

"I will then.....when he's finished with Head Quarters."

"I think it has something to do with your current flight load and propensity to fall asleep while eating."

"That is hardly my fault." Ashie objected.

"No, infact we wouldn't say it was your fault at all, but are you seriously thinking you can pack in the training schedule of these Birdies as well as manage the three flights, repairs and have more than five seconds of sleep?"

"When you put it that way, no, but I still want to be told I'm being deposed, not just informed second-hand."

"Katt's grounded anyway because of that cheek of his, we can't have him totally idle and the sooner those Birdies are in the air the better."

"True." Ashie frowned, but the banging of a telephone receiver had both men looking up.

"Denny!" Thomlin came flying out of the inner office. "Get everyone and every 'plane onto the tarmac. In two hours a truck's coming and any appropriated items not actually on an aeroplane are being taken back." Thomlin's announcement needed no response Denny was already racing from the office and Ashie was not very far behind him. Denny headed straight for the hangers and Ashie dove into the barracks where Pyro and Florrie were in a semi-dozing condition.

"Up!" With unceremonious hands Ashie dug his two wingmen out of bed.

"What's up?" Pyro blinked foggily.

"198 objected a bit too loudly about our raiding party the other night and some truck will be coming in two hours to collect any unused materials."

"Florrie, you and Pyro help Katt and Geordie get the two Birdies pups up and running...they will be helping." Thomlin was yelling the directions from the wing where he was stripping back much patched and sewn canvas. "Saine, give me a hand with stripping the canvas off these wings.....Denny take some other pup. Ashie you are in command of the stores, I want to know where everything goes and how much of it goes." Thomlin finished pulling off the lacing which held the wing in place, and five minutes later he was up again wrestling with Saine to get the new stiff canvas into place and stitched down. Ashie studied the much patched sheet of canvas which had been removed and then most carefully he rolled the canvas up on itself and laid it in a corner. Pyro's saw was flying as he hacked his way through sheets of plywood and only Katt's legs were visible as he hung upside down in the cockpit of one of the new pups wiring in the instrument board. Geordie was working at impressive speed while he loosened damaged or even faintly marked struts from all of the 'planes and replaced them with new and proper struts. Florrie and the two Birdies were engaged in overhauling engines, tappets and leads were stripped and replaced with new ones. Gallons of filthy castor oil were drained from engines and into small substitute tanks, and as each engine was emptied of oil Morgan the cook washed boiling water through them and caught the runoff in a huge vat like saucepan.

The roar of incoming 'planes had Ashie turning sharply and to his amazement he observed seven Fees fly overhead and line up for a landing in the field next to the aerodrome.

"Hi! You need help there?" It was Mac who came through the fence first and he was followed by several others.

"Well if you like threading up new wings we'd be delighted." Thomlin was already rolling from where he had been stripping back a wing and Mac and his friends went up. Forty minutes and eight planes had been re-winged completely from canvas to struts and as several helped replacing the floor of Katt's cockpit Mac went hustling over to where Thomlin was frowning at an engine.

"Sir, you've got several wrecks here which only need a bit of work, why don't we supply you with a complete squadron while we're here."

"If you think you can." Thomlin gave a dissmissive nod, he was currently occupied with straightening out the mess which had been Ashie's engine, with months of bad servicing several short cuts had been taken to preserve on tubing and couplings.

"Freddie! Get everyone who is currently not working furiously to come round to the wreck yard, we're going to try cobbling together three more wrecks." Mac vanished around the side of the hangers, followed by about seven others, and as he did so several more 'planes came overhead and simultaneously a large truck pulled up outside the aerodrome. Activity froze as the truck came to a halt, but it almost immediately reactivated as one of the most familiar and unforgettable figures on that section of the front came piling down from the driver's seat and let free a bunch of men who had been in the back.

"Hi! Ashie! Where can these mugs go?"

"Probably best if they join Mac in the junk yard." Ashie yelled back, then stopped and watched in puzzlement as Darcy ascended into the driver's cabin again and drove off down the road again. "Where's he going?" Ashie abruptly left his post and chased across to where Lieutenant Carrigan was staring in amazement at the junk yard.

"Ehh." Carrigan jolted upright and looked at Ashie. "Oh, there's just going to be a minor breakdown about a mile down the road, should delay anyone incoming by about an hour."

"I see." Ashie gave a nod and headed back to his post of managing the supplies. Indeed he did see and with a silent groan Ashie had to admit that he once again would owe the Major for extensive forethought, it had not occured to Ashie to delay the arrival of the pickup truck. Saws seemed to appear from no where along with various other mechanical tools and two and a half hours after the warning had come through ten essentially brandnew pups were wheeled into the hangers.

"Well we need to get moving Ashie." Mac came charging up.

"Thanks Mac, you've saved our hides today."

"No problem." Mac gave a nod and in a few minutes the Fees had taken off from the nearby field and flown off again. It had not been spoken, it had not needed to be spoken, Ashie knew that this was thanks from 83 for services rendered.

"Ashie, what needs doing with the discarded stuff?" Carrigan came loping up. "You want it all pitched?"

"NO!" Ashie couldn't have spoken any more forcibly even if he had wanted to.

"SCATTER!" The private came flying onto the aerodrome running flatout, and under Ashie amazed and slightly amused gaze the men who had come with Darcy seemed to be swallowed up by the earth, they just vanished and the private went with them.

"Okay, let's get the discarded parts classified and put away." Thomlin started picking up oil tanks as he spoke and dragging them to the fuel store behind the hanger. Florrie, Pyro and the Birdies set to work dragging the masses of doped canvas into the hangers and storing them on huge shelves built into the back of the sheds, while Saine and Geordie were occupied with grouping the multitude of scattered odds and ends from engines and instrument boards and storing them away in their own private rats nest off the hangers. Ashie watched the activity begin and then slowly he started piling up the sheets of plywood and leaning them against the hangers, pausing occasionally to inspect the fresh paint on all the aircraft. They had been working for perhaps ten minutes when the truck came up to the aerodrome.

"You there!" It was a pompous and irritating figure who descended from the cab of the truck and beckoned imperiously to Ashie.

"You want me?" Ashie looked at the man and hurriedly smothered his annoyance.

"Yes."

"Just a moment." Ashie dragged the sheet he was holding across to the hanger wall and then he crossed to where he had draped his jacket over a projecting lump of wood. "You wanted to speak to me?" Ashie buttoned up his coat and clapped his hat onto his head as he came across to where the man stood.

"Squadron 284?"

"Yes."

"I am here to requisition the items stolen last night."

"Feel free to requisition what spares you find and believe to not be ours.....though it would be more appropriate if you were to go through our Commanding Officer and Recording Officer, I actually hold no authority here."

"Your pardon. May I speak to your Commanding Officer then?" The man had tried three times to pass Ashie, but all three times he had been mysteriously thwarted in his efforts.

"If you will follow me?" Ashie turned and walked slowly across to the Office Hut and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

"A visitor for the C.O." Ashie couldn't quite smother his grin for Denny's invariably messy desk was a magnificent display of what a dream office should look like. Not a page was out of place and Denny had been working at a neat ledger.

"Appointment?" Denny lifted his eyes from the ledger in front of him.

"No, I am here to requisition the items abstracted from Squadron 198's hangers."

"Just a minute." Denny picked up the telephone and buzzed Thomlin's office. "Visitor sir.......no he has given no name......no he says he does not have an appointment..........he says he is here for the requisition of the items abstracted from 198's hangers.......very good sir." Denny laid the receiver down and turned back to the pompous official who was fairly bristling now, and Ashie who was showing exactly why he was the second son of an Earl. "Colonel Thomlin will see you now, sir. If you will try that door?" Denny returned his attention to the ledger and Ashie, having watched the pompous individual into the office promptly departed.

Twenty minutes later a disconsolate official departed with an empty truck and the clean-up from the afternoon's activities had been completed. While everyone retreated either to the mess or their office a somewhat grim-faced Ashie took up post near the road watching for an expected sight. Ashie was not disappointed and in five minutes a battered truck came bouncing up the road and came to a halt outside the aerodrome.

"Success?" Darcy slipped down from his seat and strolled across to where Ashie stood.

"Well we have the most operational pups since the first time I was out here." Ashie gave shrug.

"The problem being that it'll be quite a while before you get anything for repairs?"

"Correct. Oh and before I forget, thanks for pitching in."

"No problem, we're back and frankly this Squadron is somewhat indispensible." Darcy gave a shrug.

"I just wish others realised that we're worth our trouble." Ashie restlessly rubbed his face.

"Ashie." Darcy tapped a nearby shoulder with one finger. "Let me assure you that you are being noted."

"Not half, that's why we've spent the last near month with less than one flight."

"Head Quarters are of the opinion that you actually had two operational flights, and since you seemed to be coping they decided to leave you as you were and fix up squadrons which weren't coping." Darcy dug around in his pocket and calmly produced his pipe which he lit. "Though I will say that the place was fairly buzzing as a result of your antics last night. They don't like aerodromes burgling each other."

"Are you saying that if we actually let them know how bad things were here they might actually help out more?" Ashie looked up sharply, but Darcy responded with a brief headshake. "Damn! I hope these Birdies last....and as for burgling, well what else are we to do?"

"That part of the reason behind the raid?"

"Aye. They needed instrument boards and we just don't have the necessary materials." Ashie gave a shrug. "And no Major, we need to sort this out our own way, it doesn't do us any good if you stick your nose in too frequently."

"I wasn't intending to, it doesn't do me much good to interfer either."

"Hah! So you did run into trouble concerning my move to R.F.C." Ashie gave a victorious crow.

"I had to endure an hour long lecture concerning my duties pertaining to that immensely irritating thing called bureaucracy."

"In otherwords they told you to bite your tongue."

"Something like that." Darcy paused hesitantly. "How are the hands?"

"Killing me, unless a miracle happens tonight I'm going to have to pull out of flights."

"Let's see them." Darcy extended his hand and after a pause Ashie pulled off his gloves and extended his hands. Darcy tapped each hand gently and then bit his lip before he gently rubbed down Ashie's fingers and palm. Barely a twitch. Darcy pushed the hands back towards Ashie and gave him a hard look. "What precisely are you trying to do?"

"Kill myself as fast as possible." Ashie pulled his gloves back on stiffly and pushed his hands into his pockets.

"So I noticed." Darcy paused and looked at Ashie thoughtfully for a minute. "I'm ordering you to not touch an aeroplane for the next week."

"What happens if I fly?"

"Then I pull the plug and withdraw my citation that you are fit enough to do active service." Darcy stared levelly back at Ashie. "I'm serious Ashie, those hands of yours are not a joke and if you continue to push like you are you will crash and crash badly."

"Can I have permission for light flying? We've got the Birdies fresh in and someone has to train them."

"No more than one hour of flying per day. I'll settle this if you don't want to."

"I think I can manage." Ashie gave a sigh. "See you round Major."

"Same to you Ashie." Darcy drove his thumb into the bowl of his pipe to smother it before he returned it to his pocket. "Cheerio." Darcy gave nod and returned to his truck. Ashie watched in silence as that truck departed and then he turned and walked slowly back towards the barracks. It was a truth that Ashie had known since two days previously, he had been pushing too hard and for too long. Ashie took a look across the fields to where the sun was sinking low in the horizon a ball of fire, he had spoken the truth to Sister Bennet back in December, he never stuck at anything, he never made the hard decisions. Darcy had known the order had to be given else Ashie would have continued flying until he cracked completely and fouled up in a major way.

For five minutes had silence held the small office, then finally Thomlin tapped his finger gently onto the desktop. It was a small sound, but to Ashie it seemed thunderous.

"So what precisely are the options I have been given?" Thomlin lifted an eyebrow.

"Basically I'm to have a week leave or I will be sent down for a medical examination."

"Seems to be a rough call." Thomlin tapped his finger against the desktop again.

"Yet it is the only possible call, I've known for half a week now that it would have to happen." Ashie rubbed his face.

"You've known for two days and yet you have not called yourself in sick?" Thomlin's brows drew together sharply.

"Sir, as Colonel Darcy could easily tell you, I have no opinion when it comes to myself. I need direct orders if I am to do anything at all." Ashie gave a shrug.

"Well I seem to have no other option. You have your week Captain, enjoy it, and make sure I have two useful flyers when you return."

"Yes sir." Ashie rose to his feet in preparation of leaving.

"Ashie, before you leave, would you mind answering a question?"

"I suspect I know the question and if it is that one, then yes I do mind answering the question."

"Very well then. Good day Captain, enjoy your week of flight training." Thomlin nodded as Ashie left and then he fell silently to consider the view out the window. Who was Colonel Darcy? What was he to Ashie? and why did Ashie treat him with constant and unfailing respect?

March 4th 1917-Washington D.C., U.S.A.

"Senator Knightley, do come in." Mrs Weston stepped back from her door, she was ever willing to see her former boarder, especially since he invariably carried news of Emma.

"Really Ann." Knightley saluted a cheek and gave her a quick hug in greeting. "How does this day find you, ma'am?"

"Very well thankyou, sir." Ann Weston gave a smile as she gave a slight curtsey before she lead the way into the cosy sitting room.

"Very good to hear." Knightley settled comfortably into a nearby chair and quickly smothered a yawn. "So sorry, a bit short on sleep right now."

"I'm sure I can take you yawning. Tea?"

"Please." Knightley promptly yawned again while Ann Weston seemed to magically produce a cup of tea for him.

"And how are you today?"

"Other than sleepy?" Knightley accepted his cup of tea and took a meditative sip. "Annoyed I'm afraid."

"Why?" Ann Weston looked puzzled for a moment, before she hastily took a cup of tea and settled into a chair opposite.

"I'm annoyed with Emma." Knightley spoke frankly. "I do not know what you think of this friendship between Emma and Harriet Smith, but frankly I think it very bad news."

"A bad thing!" Ann was startled by this. "But why? What do you find bad about it?"

"I think they will not have a good effect on each other."

"But why? Emma can do nought but help Harriet, and by giving Emma occupation outside of those endless societies and functions Harriet must be doing Emma good. Not think they will do each other good? I fear this is another of our disagreements over Emma."

"Perhaps you think I chose this time because I knew Mr Weston would be out?" Knightley took another sip of his tea.

"Not at all, but I know that Mr Weston would be on my side. We were discussing it last night and he quite agrees with me." Ann gave smile as close to triumphant as she ever came.

"If I did not know you better I would call that a triumphant smile." Knightley paused. "Why do you think she will be good for Emma?"

"Well it is important for a young woman to have a companion. You know nothing about it for you have essentially live alone for years now, I'm afraid I do not count you as a fair judge this time." Ann paused. "Though I will say that I might wish Harriet to be a little quicker, I will also say that there are advantages in the fact that she is not quicker. I am thankful that Emma so quickly found such a friend good friend, I feared she would spend months without any companion at all."

"You think that Harriet's slowness is an advantage?" Knightley looked very doubtful indeed.

"Well Emma intends to make her better informed, such an intent will induce her to read more herself I am sure. They will read together. She means to do it."

"Emma has been intending to read more since she was twelve years old." Knightley's response was slightly edged. "I have viewed endless lists she has prepared of the reading she will do. Lists arranged in all imaginable ways, some are arranged alphabetically, others were arranged by some peculiar rules which even I can't make head or tail of. Infact there are only two things Emma does better than making up lists, one is writing fiction stories, and the other is making every other woman in a room feel like a dowd...even when she hasn't dressed up. I dare say that Emma has already drawn up a magnificent list of which books they will read and when, but I have long since resigned to the fact that anything demanding industry and patience will not come from Emma, least of all if it subjects fancy to understanding. Where Miss Ann Taylor failed to stimulate I may safely say that Harriet Smith will do nothing. You could never persuade her to read more than half what you hoped she would."

"I daresay." Ann Weston smiled. "but thinking back I must admit that I have no memories at all of Emma ever refusing to do something I asked."

"I have no intention of reminding you of the occasions." Knightley spoke with feeling and for a moment or two there was silence as the two old friends sipped their tea. "Emma is spoilt, she is spoilt because she is by far the cleverest person in her family, she was managing at ten what puzzled her sister at seventeen and she has been in charge of Hartfield since she was twelve."

"You sound as if you object to that matter."

"I do, Emma needed her mother and she did not have her mother."

"I'm glad I never turned to you for a character reference because you would have surely persuaded any employer I was worthless."

"Rubbish, I would have written you a stunning reference had Mr Weston asked me for one. Anyone who has lived with Emma for 15 years must be the perfect wife for any man, no matter how impatient he be. But no, I don't think you should have been a governess, least of all to someone like Emma, though I think you did better than most, fortunately you saved her from vanity of appearance."

"I do not believe I have ever seen such a perfect appearance in a girl." Ann paused again. "But I still hold that you are too harsh on her."

"For her appearance I have no arguements, it should be your pride and joy that she is not vain of her physical appearance....... unfortunately her vanity lies elsewhere." Knightley paused. "And who am I supposedly being harsh on?"

"Both of them actually."

"Well I do not see advantage in the friendship of either, bluntly Harriet Smith is a foolish little fluff who quite unconsciously flatters Emma at every moment to the top of her bent. How can Emma be expected to try to improve herself when she has Harriet Smith constantly looking up to her as an all knowing goddess. Harriet Smith was not born to be a member of high society. Yes, I grant you, she has good face and figure, but that does not make a person suitable for high society....."

"You go back to old terms Mr Knightley."

"Irrelevant, they are the easiest terms even though they may jar against our supposed equality of life. Harriet Smith does not like politics, she doesn't understand them, and she isn't interested in politics. I see nought but that she become refined enough to know that she does not fit up here, and she will become sufficiently conceited that she will be unable to live where she belongs. I forsee that Emma could do here much good, if she had any strength of mind, but one of Harriet Smith's assets is that she is pliable and willing. Harriet Smith is much more comfortable gossiping over the back fence about neighbours new baby than she is discussing the relevance of Trade Unionist Acts."

"Mr Knightley, NO ONE is comfortable discussing the relevance of Trade Unionist Acts, baby's are infinitely preferable."

"Not for all." Knightley countered shortly. "Emma refers to such gossip as a 'dead bore' and I quote her on that. She would sooner argue the changes in British Politics than she would commiserate neighbour over little Harry's toothache. And no I am not saying that she is uncharitable and won't do her duty, infact there are few more willing and able to do their duty, but the fact remains that she considers it a duty and part of her life, not an interest or a joy."

"I depend more on Emma's good sense than you do. I cannot lament the acquaintanceship for it has done Emma so much good already. How well she looked the other night."

"Ah, so you would prefer to discuss her appearance. Very well then, we will discuss her appearance....though I would sooner discuss the weather."

"Mr Knightley!" Ann gave him an indignant look and the rest of the visit passed without serious dispute.

"Just a minute." Emma was fumbling with the tiara in her hair, and at the same time trying to do up the innumerable little buttons on her cuff. The call was in response to a quiet little knock and Emma turned to see Harriet Smith nervously coming into the room.

"Emma you look magnificent." Harriet couldn't help but gape as she looked at Emma's.

"Do you think so?" Emma twirled thoughtfully infront of the mirror having finally put the last pin into her hair. Midnight blue, the form fitting dress would have appeared out of fashion on anyone but Emma Woodhouse. Pale blue, the sash tails fell completely to the floor embroidered with small cardinals, pale blue embroidary exquisitely decorated the front of the gown and the high neck was decorated by embroidered Lady Slippers. The gown threw Emma's pale face into striking relief, making her eyes even bluer and her hair even more golden then one would have thought possible.

"Emma, I know so." Harriet gave Emma a careful hug. Harriet had always thought Emma to be a Fairy Princess, and tonight merely strengthened that thought.

"When's Mr Elton coming for you?" Emma asked the question while she laced up the delicate French slippers which matched her sash for colour, the jewels glittered elegantly on her heels. Harriet had been lent to aid the dressing process, but all that had really had happened was that Harriet had sat attempting talking to Mr Woodhouse while Emma had got dressed, Emma never needed help dressing.

"I don't know." Harriet gave a sigh as she watched Emma retrieve the silver gauze shawl from the foot of her bed and draped it artistically across her elbows.

"That is most thoughtless of him." Emma gave a slight frown, and then she frowned carefully at the mirror while she checked her make-up. "Still." Emma straightened with a sniff. "I'm sure we can deliver you home if he does not arrive in time. Chance he has been delayed."

"You think so?" The hope in Harriet's voice was undeniable.

"I'm certain." Emma gave her attire one last check before she finally turned and picked up her reticule and handkerchief. "Come Harriet, time we descended to wait." Emma left the room and Harriet followed directly behind her. Had Emma had any doubts about the perfection of her attire they would have been laid completely to rest by the response to her entrance. The room had been occupied by three seated men, but by the time Emma had come through the door all three men were standing, and Mr Elton's jaw was nearly sitting on the floor.

"Well, well, well." Mr Woodhouse went bustling forward, while Knightley calmly stretched out a hand and closed Mr Elton's mouth.

"Father." Emma gave a smile as she swept a stately curtsey to her father.

"I think he is observing that it is quite a nice dress." Knightley took a quick look at his ornate watch. "However we must be moving or we will be late." Knightley pocketed his watch with one hand and extended his other hand for Emma to take.

"Well." Emma gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek. "It would appear that his public schooling had some uses." Emma took the offered hand and they left the room, leaving Mr Woodhouse to potter around, while Mr Elton abruptly remembered that he had promised to escort Harriet home.

"Was there a reason for that?" Knightley lifted a brow while they waited for the chauffer to open the door.

"For what?" Emma glanced up with a smile.

"For that slight once more at my schooling."

"Not a slight at all." Emma protested somewhat mildly. "I was merely noting that it was a much practised move."

"Indeed." Knightley gave Emma a somewhat old-fashioned look before he handed her into the car and walked around to take his seat on the otherside.

"You seem to doubt my claim." Emma straightened her skirt so it wouldn't rumple.

"When it comes to you Emma, I invariably doubt you.....most of all when you are looking like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth." Knightley gave a tap on the chauffer's shoulder before he settled back in his seat.

"I think I should be offended." Emma gave a sniff. "Mrs Weston came to see me this afternoon."

"Indeed?" Knightley paused, and then took another look at Emma. "Your tone seems to indicate that there is a problem."

"There is. Frank Churchill has called off once again, it seems that the aunts are now sick."

"If Frank Churchill had any wish what so ever to visit his father he would have no problem at all with visiting." Knightley observed grimly. "I think silver embroidary would have looked better than sky blue."

"I'm sure you would." Emma rejoined. "But then I would have had to use a silver sash and get silver slippers......and silver slippers are all too common now. Stop changing the subject."

"I changed it because I am not in the mood to discuss anything even remotely approaching Frank Churchill, I have no wish to spend the entire evening sitting and arguing about a man neither of us has met."

"So what do you intend to do?" Emma returned sharply.

"Dance once with you before I let the masses gain your attention and then I will retreat to the refreshments table and pretend to be insanely jealous of the fact I couldn't have more than one dance with you."

"You think nothing of the sort!" Emma responded roundly. "You're going to wipe a relieved brow the moment someone else demands my attention and then you will retreat to discuss that odious Trade Unionist Act with Senator Weston...assuming he is coming, and failing him you'll probably discuss it with Bobby Merton."

"When did the Trade Unionist Act become odious?"

"The moment you decided that I couldn't discuss it with you.......I think I will twist my ankle in the first dance, just so you have my company for the entire evening and you can show the use of......"

"E-emma!" There was warning in the growl.

"Mr Kn-nightley." Emma responded in the same tone and gave a smile. "Truce for the evening?" Emma extended a gloved hand.

"Truce." Knightley shook the hand then looked up as the motor came to a halt once more. "It would appear we are here." Knightley descended easily and rounded the motor to hand Emma down when the Chauffer had opened the door. "Shall we?"

"Indeed." Emma accepted his arm and they ascended the stairs into the Whitehouse. The rooms were already crowded when Emma and Knightley entered the room, and Knightley did not even get his first dance as Emma was asked to dance at the same time as Bobby Merton came up to enquire of Knightley his opinion of some matter which was totally new to Emma. Not that it was unusual for Emma not to have heard of something Bobby Merton wished to discuss, it was a well known fact that Bobby knew everything. Emma made a mental note to herself as she allowed the young man to lead her out onto the floor to enquire of Mr Knightley what Bobby was talking about as soon as she saw him again....which probably wouldn't be until they departed.

March 8th 1917-Base Hospital 23, France

"Bother, bother, bother, bother, bother!" Sister Elizabeth Bennet mumbled to herself as she trudged through the snow. The snow was now little more than a wet slurry, but that merely made matters worse as it soaked through her boots even faster.

"Lizzie! Parcel for you, and the day off."

"Why?" Elizabeth accepted the parcel and looked enquiringly at Matron.

"Because you haven't had more than a half day off since you came and it's time you had a day off."

"Yes ma'am." Elizabeth was never going to protest a day off in this weather, after such a shift, but she really didn't know how she was going to spend it. Elizabeth distractedly pushed the parcel into her pocket as she mounted the stairs to the dormitory. Sisters were either sleeping, attempting to sleep, or attempting to wake-up, it took Elizabeth only a few seconds to decide that where ever she might want to be, it certainly wasn't in the dormitory. Elizabeth distractedly pulled the parcel from her pocket as she headed down the stairs once more, and it was with distracted fingers that she started pulling at the knots in the string tying it shut.

"What on earth is that you have there Lizzie?" Sister Sarah Johns stared in amazement, and in surprise Elizabeth looked down, leaking from the parcel was a complexly intertwined gold chain.

"What the...!" The fingers which ripped at the wrapper were no longer distracted and soon the chain and locket reposed in Elizabeth's hand, it glinted yellow gold in the watery sunlight and it also looked evil to Elizabeth. "Oh my...." Elizabeth's hand rose to her mouth.

"What is it Lizzie?" Sarah looked in amazement at Elizabeth's shock.

"It's my sister's locket." Elizabeth barely whispered. "Sarah, you've got to help me, do you know any other sister's with today off? I have to get out to one of the Squadrons."

"What's the emergency? I've got the day off and I'll certainly come, but what's the emergency?"

"I can't say, but I know it's important. My sister left it to me because she knew she was getting into trouble....there has got to be a reason."

"Look just give me a minute to get my coat. Take a seat Lizzie, I'll be back in a minute." Sarah shoved Elizabeth onto a nearby seat and sprinted for the hospital. Elizabeth turned the locket over between stiff and unwilling fingers, it glinted in the sunlight and sharpened to a blinding gleam as the sunlight hit the engraved face. Cramped in together the letters and numerals were nearly running into each other.....Roman Numeral. How could she have not suspected it before? "Squadron.....two-eight-..." Elizabeth came to a halt and bit her lip, for the life of her she could not remember the last number.

"Anything to identify them with?" Sarah was well acquainted with the signs that Elizabeth had completely forgotten something.

"They were called the Cads, they're some of the worst cricketers on the front, Squadron-Leader, the name's hyphenated and he's called Ashie generally."

"That's Squadron 284.....what do you want with them?"

"Look I have no idea on how to go about finding the person I want, but I'm willing to swear he will." Elizabeth closed her hand abruptly over the locket.

"They're a fair hike away Lizzie. Stay here and stop any transport that goes past heading east, I'm going to see if their's a tender going out there today, and I'm also going to check that the Squadron-Leader is on base......can I have a name to give the Squadron-Leader, we don't want to have to hike all the way out there, only to have to hike back again." Sarah was off and running, but stopped to ask the latter question.

"Just say that Lizzie needs to speak to 'The Major' and tell him it's urgent." Elizabeth resumed her nervous pacing beside the road, while Sarah ran for the hospital. Five minutes later Sarah came running back, and no transport had past.

"Well?" Elizabeth came to a tense halt.

"There's a tender passing in five minutes and the Captain will be waiting, he also observed that he was very curious and said if we want to hurry up to stop at Squadron 83."

"What's there?" Elizabeth was bewildered.

"Fees." The succinct response made little sense to Elizabeth.

"Fees?"

"Farman Experimentals, two seater aeroplanes."

"I'm not following." Elizabeth stepped out to flag down the lumbering tender.

"It's going to take the tender at least half the day to get there, a nice smile and we can get there in less than an hour." Sarah spoke quickly to the driver before swinging up to join Elizabeth with the boxes, barrels and mail bags. There were also thirteen soldiers crammed in there as well and as a result conversation was terminated.

"Where are we going?"

"To 83, I'm blowed if I'm to spend my day off cramped in the back of this thing." Sarah relapsed into silence again, and ten minutes later they were scrambling down in front of a grouping of dusty sheds.

"Well, hello, what's this?" The dusty Captain who was pulling two barrels and a mailbag from the back of the tender stopped and took a sharp look at the two sisters, and then abruptly a light of recognition sprang into his eyes. "Sister Bennet, how do you do?"

"Very well thankyou." Elizabeth frowned slightly as she tried to remember who he was.

"NERO! Damn it you hell bred dog get away do!" The explosion startled both sister's, but it also reminded Elizabeth.

"Well if it isn't Lieutenant McKenna, though I observe you are now a Captain."

"To true Miss." Mac shook his head and gave a mournful sounding sigh. "But what can I do for you ladies? I highly doubt you've come all the way out here to.......damn it Nero, leave be." Mac gave another annoyed yell and once more chased Nero away from the food barrels. "Now what was I saying?"

"You were asking why we were here." Sarah took over at this point. "I'm Sister Sarah Johns, since Lizzie never remembers to introduce anybody. We actually came in hopes of persuading you to bend some rules."

"Why here?" Mac looked somewhat sharply at Sarah.

"Because Captain Ashington-Frankston from 284 suggested that we did."

"Where do you want to go?" Mac scratched his neck and looked thoughtfully at the barrels.

"Squadron 284."

"No wonder you didn't want to take the tender." Mac gave an even darker frown and bit his lip. "Look take a seat on these barrels, I should be back in a minute."

Continued in Next Section